#I was pondering what to do for this for a while

[moonstruckme]

Idk if you’ve done anything like this before but maybe reader who’s feeling insecure in her swimsuit with Steve 🩵

cw: reader's swimsuit is compared to underwear, reader is insecure about her body, Steve is a silly boy

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 735 words

From beneath the surface of the water, you hear a voice. Deep, resonant. Your heart skips pleasantly as you kick upwards. 

You crest the surface to find Steve halfway to you. He’s squinting in the sun, one hand brought up to shade his face. There’s something indescribably but undeniably handsome to you about Steve’s frown. It brings those ultra-expressive brows of his down and together, causing his lips to purse and his jaw—you don’t know how, but you swear—to appear more defined. Or maybe it’s just that there’s usually a sort of exasperated care about the look, and you like to think that care could be directed at you.

“Hey,” you say, the word curving with your smile. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” He crouches by the edge of the pool, leaning down for a kiss. Afterwards, you set your chin on your crossed arms to look up at him, lips buzzing. Steve touches your face with a finger, unsticking a piece of hair that’s become slicked to your cheek and combing it back in with the rest. “They’re showing Jaws at the movies for a buck a piece. You wanna go?” 

“Right now?” 

“In an hour. Plenty of time to get dried off and grab snacks.” 

You kick your legs idly, pondering. Really, nothing sounds better to your sun-warmed brain than showering and putting on some comfortable clothes to go sit in a dark room. Steve will probably have you half in his lap by the end credits, too, it being a scary movie. 

“Sure,” you say. “Want to hang out here while I rinse off and stuff?” 

Steve grins; it’s nearly as handsome as his frown, enough to send your stomach into fits. “Sounds good to me.” He reaches for your hands to help you out. 

You start to take them automatically, but hesitate. You and Steve are pretty comfortable with each other, but you haven’t had your clothes off in front of him. The bikini you have on now is really no different than underwear. You glance down at the body currently distorted by rippling pool water, insecure.

“What’s up?” Steve asks at your pause. 

You feel trapped. There’s really no way out of this for you. You could ask him to go inside so he doesn’t see you and you know he’d do it, but that feels worse. The only thing scarier than him seeing you like this might be confessing how worried you are that he won’t like what he sees. 

If Steve isn’t acting like it’s a big deal, you decide, neither will you. 

“Nothing,” you say, putting your hands in his. Steve hauls you out of the water without another delay. 

It’s not a pretty process. Your back bends forward as you emerge, tummy sticking out and water streaming off you. In your mind it glistens most obviously in the places you’d like not to show, the rolls and curvatures you’d rather Steve’s eyes sailed past unseeingly. You get one knee up onto the warm tiles surrounding the pool, letting his hands go so you can crawl the rest of the way up on your own. As you straighten, you fight hard not to bend your shoulders and cross your arms over yourself. 

But Steve has already turned away. Not in repulsion or some attempt at preserving your modesty, just to grab the towel you’d set nearby. He wraps it around your shoulders. 

Your stomach flips at the appreciative glance you catch him dropping to your chest. Steve notices you noticing; his cheekbones tinge a pretty pink. 

“Sorry,” he says hastily. 

You wrap the towel around yourself, feeling rather flushed yourself. “It’s okay.” 

“I just, I—you know, we haven’t—” 

“I know,” you say. “It’s fine.” 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You’ve never seen Steve so flustered. It makes it difficult to feel very self-conscious yourself, a laugh bubbling in the back of your throat. “Like, if you don’t want me to see, but you’re—you—obviously, you’re--” He gestures helplessly at your body, now mostly covered by the towel, then looks like he regrets that, too. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m going to go inside, okay?” 

“Okay.” Your smile is irrepressible, now. “Steve, it’s really fine. You’re good.” “You go shower.” Steve turns around, walking face-first into your back door. He continues talking as though this doesn’t register. “I’ll be in the kitchen, just—not thinking about—uh, yeah.”

[kingedbishop]

"Such is the price of wanting to find mysticism where there is none. Keeping in mind you all came from an assembly line can be humbling."

Then again, he came from one too and his ego was endless. There were some ideas that shouldn’t be run by Bishop, as it was suggested by the way he immediately looked way more present while pondering the idea of going through some heads. He was very tempted to suggest to do to the same to Kamski to see whether there was anything in there at all.

"Before you proceed, do consider how bad it would look if the public were to find out that a member of law enforcement is harassing a central figure in the android revolution." Bishop advised, "So you can prepare accordingly."

"Stop giving him ideas." the other Bishop snapped.

"I'm hardly doing anything!"

Willow glanced at Dan, "Yes, I understood as much. Social protocols shouldn’t be difficult for him to grasp. His personality is already predisposed for socialization."

"Yeah, you're a nice dude." Rook translated.

"And I'm sure it will be the case for Kelvin as well, with a bit of patience and time." Willow added, before placing a hand on Kelvin's arm to provide him with some information on the type of person Vincent was and how to deal with him. "Look but do not touch is the preferable approach."

Though she had the feeling the android Bishop could grow fond of him as well. He seemed to prefer being around quiet androids anyway and that would probably keep both out of trouble as well.

In the meantime, he'd keep glaring at the human Bishop as long as Vincent would be around him. Bishop simply ignored him as he accepted the glass without a word.

"Yes, it was quite troubling indeed. But it's still somehow not the strangest circumstances I've seen a shady company being involved with." As it was too long to explain with words, Willow waited for a moment where Dan wasn't handling anything too dangerous and grabbed his arm to share what she had seen in a more orderly manner.

Rook shrugged, "Whatever it is, it will have to wait. We can only save one world at a time, but it's one more reason to come visit some other time. How about that, Strasky?"

"I'm sure some would be disappointed to hear this, but evolution doesn't exactly happens by mistake. The deviancy had to have been caused by something Cyberlife did."

Of course, that didn't necessarily prove Kamski had a direct hand in it as he claimed, but the opposite case would imply the company failed to detect an extremely serious case of sabotage. That being said, if Willow expressed a wish to kill the man, then he was definitely implied in this.

But of course, that wouldn't be worth anything in court. Bishop pushed his shades up as he considered the logistics of identifying patient zero.

"Well, obviously reducing the timeframe would improve the chances of finding that android. Patient zero should be searched among those androids that were placed in roles that allowed them to interact with as many more as possible. It's rather simple."

Being a stubborn man, Bishop didn't see why this had to wait until Peter had something to say on the matter.

"And if you can't expose yourself, get my copycat on the case. He isn't afraid to ask questions." Whatever passed for questions with these two.

"The pleasure is mine." Willow replied. She watched the brief interaction between Ellis and Kelvin with a curious look. The two of them were very different from all the androids she got to observe so far.

"Maybe you should give sign language a try." Rook said.

"Another attempt might be more successful now." Willow confirmed. She wasn't familiar with the recipe Dan wanted to try, but it sounded promising.

She moved to stand in a better position from where she would be able to watch without being in the way.

"Well, the circumstances of the accident that left Kelvin in this state are most concerning. I may look into it once our current quest is complete."

"It must be bad if Willow wants to go on another adventure right away." Rook said while eyeing Vincent. If he was around, then his shadow had to be nearby.

Though it seemed the version of Bishop she found to be slightly more likable was more interested in his lookalike at the moment.

[kpop---scenarios]

The Hot Neighbour

Pairing: Chan/ Hyunjin/ Minho x Reader

Summary: Their hot neighbour keeps dressing and undressing in front of the window. One night, they decide to take control of the situation.

Warning: Smut [ Oral, f. receiving & m. receiving, unprotected sex, facial etc] 18+ ONLY. MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: It sucks, but please don't hate lmfao I'm feeling rusty!

Taglist: @wife2straykidss @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @silly250 @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @tsunderelino @iovecb97 @1810cl @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @anskiiz @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @ayyonoona @31maze13 @stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited @hoesheez @stayatinykatsy @catlove83 @jeonginstulip @kaleigh-2002 @honeycombbaybee @hyuneyeon @flylis @kpop-choco @chloe-elise-2000 @hwangjoanna @stephanieeeyang @nightmarenyxx @0325tiny @m1nn1everse @igot7bulletproofmonstas @imeverycliche @cathyxhaddy @hodgepodge-musings

“So.” Chan begins, looking at his two best friends and roommates, all three of them sitting in the living room, doing their own things. “Have you guys seen it or am I the only one?” He asks.

“Are you talking about the window?” Minho smiles.

“More so the girl in the window?” Hyunjin pipes up, glancing between the two men.

“Yes to all of that, but more so the fact that she undresses in front of that window every day.” Chan says.

“It's multiple times a day.” Minho says. “She drives me fucking crazy.”

“I think she's driving us all crazy.” Hyunjin says. “She's so fucking hot.”

“Her name is Y/N.” Chan says. “I looked at the buzzer this morning when I came home from my run.” He sighs.

“I wonder if she's there right now.” Minho ponders.

All three men look at each other, and without saying a word, they all stand up, walking towards their kitchen window that happens to face your living room window. As the three of them walk up to it, they all stare into the empty living room across the way. Just for a second before turning away, heading back to the living room.

“We shouldn't watch her anymore.” Chan says.

“Yeah, you're right.” Hyunjin responds.

“What if she's doing it on purpose?” Minho asks.

“We still shouldn't watch.” Chan mumbles. “It's not right.”

“Okay.” Minho responds.

“Okay.” Hyunjin murmurs.

“Then it's settled. No more watching the hot neighbour.” Chan huffs, looking back at his phone.

It didn't last long. And they weren't trying to look. it all seemed to be when they were in the kitchen, cleaning, cooking or doing whatever. The amount of times the sink overflowed or food was burnt was ridiculous. One, or all would glance up, seeing you smiling as you slowly pulled your robe open. Sometimes you wore a bra and panties, sometimes you didn't. Sometimes you were wearing clothes and got undressed, or sometimes you were getting dressed. It really didn't matter. It was the fact that you were getting naked in front of them, and they wanted to fuck you. Hard.

They suffered. For weeks. And weeks. Watching you. Dreaming about you. Fantasizing about you and what they'd do to you if they got the chance, and one night, after the last guest of a little get together they had left, they all stood around in the kitchen, tidying up when you appeared, again. This time you were getting undressed. It was like you knew how to drive each of them insane. Rubbing your hands over your body, throwing your head back while you grabbed your tits. Each man was hard and horny as fuck. They watched you smile, motioning them to come with one finger, and that was really all they needed.

“Fuck it, I'm going.” Minho says, turning to walk towards the door.

“We can't just go over there.” Chan says.

“She just invited us.” Hyunjin half slurs. “She did the ‘come here’ motion.”

“What he said. I can't take the teasing anymore.” Minho groans.

“So what, we're all gonna fuck her?” Chan asks.

“Fuck yeah we are. Now let's go.” Minho says, walking away. Hyunjin walks past Chan, heading to the door with Minho.

“Well fuck, I'm not missing out.” He murmurs to himself, jogging to catch up with the two that had already left the apartment.

“Does anyone know which apartment?” Hyunjin asks as the three of them walk down the unfamiliar hallway.

“5B.” Chan murmurs.

Minho and Hyunjin look over at Chan who shrugs his shoulders. “It said it on the buzzer when I looked. She was the only new name on it.”

“You know all the people in the apartment building?” Minho asks.

“You don't?” Chan gasps, looking between both men who shrug and continue walking down the hallway. It doesn't take long to find your apartment, the three of them standing outside the door.

Minho raises his hand, knocking three times on the door. They're nervous as they hear the shuffling of feet coming towards them. The door is pulled open, and you're standing there in a silk robe, part is hanging off your shoulder showing some of your bra.

“Gentlemen.” You smile. “What can I do for you?”

“You keep undressing in front of your window.” Minho states. “You're doing it on purpose.”

“You're right. I am.” You giggle. “You boys like what you see?”

“Like you wouldn't believe, Y/N.” Hyunjin sighs.

“Would you guys like to come in for a drink?” You ask. Without looking at each other, they all nod their heads, while you open the door wider for them.

“I don't know any of your names but you know mine.” you murmur.

“I'm Chan, that's Minho, and Hyunjin.” Chan says, pointing to the two other men.

You walk into the kitchen, grabbing four glasses, pouring some whiskey into each glass. You turn around, seeing all three of them standing there, eyeing you up. You had been hoping this would happen. You'd been doing this for weeks, hoping they would show up at your door, and if they hadn't come tonight, you were going to opt for writing a sign asking them to come over but now you didn't need to.

You handed each of them their drinks, and they down them within a second, setting the cups onto the counter before you had even taken a sip.

“A little eager, are we?” You laugh. You set down your cup, walking towards the hallway to your bedroom. You turn your head to look back at the men who are still standing there. “You guys coming?” You ask, walking down the hallway, opening the door to your room. You stand in the middle of your room, slipping off your robe while they walk into your room, the door closes and there's hands all over you without a second thought. Hyunjin comes up to you, kissing you, his hands grabbing at your hair. His lips were soft as they gently moved against yours. You were pulled away from Hyunjin, Minho smiling as he pressed his lips to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss. He backs away from you, Chan’s hand grabs the back of your head, moving in for a kiss of his own, leaving you breathless. Hyunjin moves behind you, peppering kisses against your neck before Chan pulls away from you. You let out quiet moans as their hands are all over your body, touching you in places that make your knees weak. Hyunjin unhooks your bra, you let it fall to the floor while Minho grabs your tits, wrapping his lips around your nipple, sucking and tugging at it. You throw your head back while Chan moves in, kneeling down, pulling your panties down your legs.

“On the bed.” Minho says, motioning towards your unmade bed.

“Legs spread.” Chan demands. You bite your lip, making your way to your bed, laying on your back with your legs spread wide open.

You watch each man as they all begin to undress. They pull their shirts over their heads, dropping them to the floor, before taking off their pants and boxers, each one of their thick, veiny cocks standing tall. You can see the precum seeping from their tips, making you lick your lips. You wanted each of them to ram their cocks down your throat.

Minho walks to the edge of the bed, dragging you closer to the edge before he places your ankles over his shoulders. He spreads your lips, leaning in to wrap his lips around your clit.

“Fuck.” You gasp, immediately feeling nothing but pleasure flowing through your body. You try to buck your hips, but Minho places his hand down onto your stomach, preventing you from grinding on his face.

Hyunjin and Chan crawl onto the bed, each one kneeling beside you. They were both grabbing your tits, playing with your nipples. Your head looks over at both of them, seeing their cocks standing tall, twitching, needing to be touched. You reach over, one hand on each cock. You rubbed your thumb over their tips, spreading the cum spilling out of them, all around their cock's before you slowly jerk them. Your moans increase, as both men start thrusting into your hand. “Oh my fucking god.” You cry out. “Fuck I'm gonna cum.”

With that, Minho moves his tongue faster. He pushes two fingers inside of you while he sucks on your clit. Hyunjin and Chan thrust harder into your hands, making you explode. You scream out as your orgasm pushes through your body, sending you into pure euphoric bliss.

Minho pulls away from you, licking his lips, lapping up your juices from his face.

“On all fours.” Hyunjin tells you. You roll over in your bed, getting onto your knees and hands, spreading your legs for whichever once was going to fuck you first.

Chan moves behind you, you can feel his hands on your hips as he pushes his cock inside of you. Minho moves in front of you, on his knees.

“Open wide.” He smiles, holding onto your cock. You open your mouth, letting Minho push himself into your mouth. You close your mouth around Minho's cock, your arms already shaking. Hyunjin strokes his cock while he watches you get fucked by Chan, and throat fucked by Minho.

You try to moan, but it's muffled by Minho's cock, he thrusts his cock into your mouth, doing his best to shove it as deep down your throat as he can.

Just before you were going to cum again, they all switched positions, this time Hyunjin is behind you, stretching out your cunt while he pushes his cock into you, Chan kneeling in front of you, letting you wrap your mouth around his cock, sucking your juices off of him.

Hyunjin digs his fingers into your hips, ramming into you as hard as he can. “You're pussy's so fucking tight.” Hyunjin groans.

You're panting, Chan grabs a clump of your hair, holding your head, throwing his own head back as you suck his cock. “Holy fuck, I'm not going to last much longer.” Chan breathes, trying to hold back his orgasm.

“Me neither.” Hyunjin grunts, smacking your ass.

“Lemme fuck her.” Minho groans. Hyunjin pulls out of your pussy, and you drop onto your stomach, rolling over onto your back.

“Mhmm, that's a good view.” Minho murmurs, holding up your legs, sliding his cock into you. Chan and Hyunjin are on either side of you, your hands once again wrapped around their cocks, stroking them. They watch your tits bounce as Minho plows his cock into you. Minho places his fingers on your clit, rubbing your sensitive and swollen clit, making you scream.

“Oh my god.” You pant, squirming beneath him, while still letting Chan and Hyunjin fuck your hand.

It felt so fucking good, you couldnt control it, your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, making you scream out as you came all over his cock.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Chan groans. “I'm gonna cum.” He grunts.

“Shit, so am I.” Hyunjin moans.

“Cum all over me.” You gasp, opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out, waiting for them to cover you with their juices.

“Oh fuck.” Minho groans, watching you lay there with your tongue out, mouth open, jerking off Hyunjin and Chan. It didn't take long, Chan was first, missing your mouth, hitting your tits and neck. Hyunjin came next, getting some in your mouth, but mostly covering your face.

Minho pulls out of you, stroking his cock, spilling his load all over your stomach.

“Where's the bathroom?” Chan asks, getting off the bed.

“There's one right through that door.” You heave, pointing across the room.

Chan goes in there, grabbing four towels. He throws one at Minho and one to Hyunjin before wiping himself down. When he is done, he walks to you, where you were still trying to catch your breath. He wipes all the cum from your body, throwing the towels into the laundry room.

“That was so fun.” You mumble, your eyes closed. All three men begin to get dressed, while you lay there naked and raw, pussy throbbing.

“Going already?” You laugh.

“No.” Chan laughs with you. “Hyunjin is going to grab some food. Minho is going to start your shower, and I'm going to find a movie for us to watch.”

“Do you guys do this alot? Fuck a girl together and then do all this extra stuff? Especially a one night stand.” You ask.

“Actually, this is the first time we've ever done this.” Chan laughs. “And you're definitely not a one night stand.”

“Not even close.” Minho says, wiping his hands from starting the shower. “I think it's safe to say we all wanna get to know you and see where things go.” He adds. “I mean, if that's something you'd want.”

“I think that's something I'd definitely want.” You smile. “Let's see where things go.”

[frostiexavier]

˖⁺(pondering over you)_🖤

☆ MINORS DNI | 18+ ONLY ☆

credit to Astralis Serenity on Pinterest for pic

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

✮♱✮ summary: You have a tiny little secret you are hiding from Sylus. Basically you love him but you refuse to admit it and his flirtiness/banter doesn’t help. One night you just decide enough is enough.

✮♱✮ warnings: smut, nsfw, (kinda soft) sylus x fem! reader, banter, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, confessions, boxing scenes, kind of a slowburn kinda not, not much else i don’t think, sylus is beefy

✮♱✮ word count: 6.5k

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

“Sylus you really need to be more careful. You are banged up really bad this time.”, you say as you are dressing his wounds. You pour a bit of disinfectant on a gash on his shoulder and he grunts. The liquid dripped down his bare chest to his abdomen. Trickles of the substance landing on his black pants. You try to focus on his wound and not him being completely shirtless in front of you.

“Sorry, I’m trying to be careful”, you say and he chuckles looking at you then to your hands.

“Don’t be sorry sweetie, it doesn’t hurt”, he smirks and you give him a side eye along with a scoof.

“You act so tough but if I didn’t help you, you would be sulking”, you say and wrap the gaze around his shoulder. You can feel the intensity of his gaze.

“Mmm probably, otherwise I would be left here like a wounded deer, with no one to take care of me”, you laugh while keeping your eyes on the gauze you are wrapping. You cut the edge of the gauze and tape down the excess. You gently pat the gauze and Sylus looks at your work.

“All done bambi, now you can recover and rest”, you smile and he pats your forehead.

“Thanks kitten, what would I do without you?”, he winks while he smiles and you roll your eyes. He is being flirty…again. This man drives you wild. You try to hide your blush as you turn away from him.

“I don’t know, you could use your evol to heal yourself. I don’t understand why you make me bandage you up and waste medical supplies when you can just heal yourself”, you question him and he looks at your eyes, then your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“Because then I wouldn’t be able to see your pretty face this close”, you freeze at his words, feeling chills run down your spine. Did he just call you pretty? Impossible, you hate when he teases you like this. Sylus notices your facial expression and decides to cover his compliment with banter.

“Now your face looks uncomfortable. Are you constipated kitten?”, he asks and you raise your eyebrow at him. You swat at his shoulder and he gasps. Without realizing it you hit his wounded shoulder.

“Oh my god Sylus are you okay?”, you ask looking at his gauze wrapped wound. His hand is over it and you place your hand over his, concerned you hurt him. He chuckles and smiles.

“I’m fine, you are so easy”, he laughs and you roll your eyes. You grab the first aid kit and clean any supplies that you used. Sylus stands up to help you but you insist that you are fine. He puts his black tshirt back on and looks back at you.

“Really, thank you again for your help, for bigger wounds like this it takes longer to heal”, Sylus thanks you and you nod, putting the first aid kit back in its place in the nearby storage closet.

“No worries, but stop getting hurt so much, I may start charging you”, you joke and he chuckles while placing his hand behind his neck, following you out of the bathroom and into the living area.

“I don’t know if I should take your advice or see this as you only want to see me if I pay you. Either way, I am more than likely to be able to afford your services than to stop getting injured”, he says and your cheeks are painted a light pink at his words. What is with the flirtiness today? You are used to the nicknames and the teasing but he normally doesn’t keep going for this long. You decide to just play along.

“Don’t be so sure Mr. Onichynus, my service fees can be expensive”, you say as you grab your bag to leave. Your heart starts to race when Sylus grabs it before you can.

“Is that so?”, he says holding the bag and starts to walk towards you, slowly. You start backing up, step by step until your back meets a wall. Sylus looks down at your face, his body towering over you as you try to attach your body to the wall. He leans in closer, putting a hand beside your head to meet the wall. He is so close that one more inch your bodies would be touching. He leans down slowly and you can feel his breath on your ear and your neck. The sensation gives you goosebumps and your neck feels extremely sensitive.

“Name your price”, he says in a deep whisper and you feel like your legs are going to give out. Sylus has always had this effect on you. Everything he says, everything he does affects you. It drives you mad and you start to wonder if this is just playful banter or something else. Your body starts to feel hot and you know he heard you audibly gulp. You could almost feel the smirk he has on his face that's right next to your ear. You look up at him and you grab the bag from his hand. You try to shake off this intense feeling and move around Sylus. He could easily trap you with his arms and legs but he lets you go.

“Hmmm I’ll have to think about it, I’ll get back to you on that”, you say nervously and head towards the front door of his home. You don’t turn around to look back at Sylus and fumble with the front door knob until you finally get it open. Without a goodbye you exit through the door and rush to leave. You sprint to the first bus stop, not stopping to take a breath. What was that? Your body still feels hot and your skin is on fire. You can just imagine him gaucking right now, satisfied with his effect on you.

The bus arrives, you get on and swipe your bus card and take the nearest seat. You sit down and try to push down this hot and bothered feeling. You shake your head and look down at your phone to see you had a text from Sylus. Even seeing his name on your screen makes your heart drop, this has to stop.

Sylus: Meet me tomorrow at the boxing ring. I still owe you for today.

You pick your brain at his words and remember that he promised to help you pass your hunters training by showing you some defense moves in return for helping him so often with treating his injuries. You sigh and text him back.

You: Can we reschedule?

You wait for his response, you are unsure if you can see Sylus two days in a row. Especially after all the teasing and flirting today. Your heart can’t take it. Your thoughts put on pause when your phone buzzes.

Sylus: Sorry kitten, I have a tight schedule. See you tomorrow @ 6pm, don’t be late.

You sigh and lock your phone. No way in hell is this going to just be him showing you defense moves. You decide to do everything in your power to keep your distance from him during this training. How? You have no idea but you can’t fall into his little trap.

Once you get home you go straight to bed, thoughts of Sylus invading your mind. You toss and turn all night and you can’t sleep. Exhaustion hits you but your eyes stay wide open. Why does he have this pull on you? Why do you keep wanting to go to him? You know you shouldn’t, it would never work. Your brain and your heart have an intense battle throughout the night and you're unsure of who the winner is because you got a total of 2 hours of sleep that night.

Hearing the annoying tone of your alarm you groan. You sigh as you turn off your alarm, getting up to get ready for the day ahead. You pack your gym clothes, a long sleeve compression jacket and black leggings so your entire body stays covered. You don’t want Sylus to see you in your sports bra and small shorts, not because he will look or say anything but because you don’t want to have any effect on him whatsoever. He already flirts with you on a daily basis, you don’t want him to think you love it, even though you do.

You head to the hunters association and you get looks from everyone there. They can tell you are obviously tired and decide to let you just work on reports the whole day. You mentally thank them for the break. You type away at your computer when Tara decides to pay you a visit.

“Hey, you okay? You look exhausted”, she looks at you with concern. Her gaze is soft and attentive.

“Yeah just didn’t get much sleep last night”, you respond and she nods. She sits a coffee at your desk and gives you a small smile before walking away. You smile down at the cup and take a drink, hoping it will give you enough energy for this lesson later today.

As the day goes by, you clock out of work and head to Onichynus. You sigh as you ring the doorbell to Sylus’ home. Luke opens the door and gives you a small wave.

“Hey, you look horrible”, he says and you glare at him.

“Thanks, where is Sylus?”, you ask, walking past him and into the leader's home.

“The boss man is already in the gym warming up. He has been waiting for you”, he replies and you make your way to his at-home gym. Luke disappears down a different hallway as you enter the gym.

Sylus is already practicing with a punching bag in the corner of his enormous boxing ring. You walk into the room and he doesn’t notice you until you walk past him to make your way towards the changing room.

“You made it”, he says blatantly and you nod at him. You don’t say anything and head into the changing room to change into the outfit you packed. After changing you walk back out and onto the ring.

“Alright so what are we doing today?”, you ask him and he tilts his head to the side to look at you. He doesn’t say anything and you start to feel embarrassed.

“What?”, you ask him and he shakes his head.

“Are you okay? You seem tired”, he says with an almost concerned tone. You brush it off and then come up with an excuse.

“It’s just work was exhausting, it's fine, let's do this”, you say and put on your boxing hand gloves. He nods and then notices your outfit, he coughs and clears his throat.

“Uh, aren’t you going to get hot in that? I have some shorts you can change into if you want”, he suggests and you decline his offer.

“It’s fine, let’s just get this over with”, you say and you walk opposite of him on the ring.

“Are you sure? We can do this another day if yo-“, he says but you cut him off.

“I thought you had a tight schedule, less yapping and more teaching please”, you say with an annoyed tone. You know this is unfair to Sylus and you aren’t really annoyed with him. You are annoyed with yourself because just being around him like this is making your heart pound in your chest. You are physically and mentally exhausted from thinking about him so much. The sweeter and more concerned he is, the more you will have to stay here and you want to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Okay then”, he says and walks towards you. Just focus on the training and his advice, you try to remind yourself.

“So when you are trying to defend yourself you need to think of yourself as the predator not the prey.”, he says as he looks down at you, the feeling of his gaze makes your knees weak.

“Think like a predator, you need to know your prey's weakness so you know what and how to attack. But most importantly you need to know how to defend yourself when the prey tries to counter”, he speaks firmly as he leans down to meet your eyes.

“For example, my shoulder is still healing, size up your opponent, see what could make them falter because they will be doing the same to you.”, he says, grabbing your hand gently and placing it on his wounded shoulder.

“They will be trying to hide their weakness when they go to attack, you need to find an opening and strike while also defending your own weakness”, he says looking down at your feet.

He quickly uses his leg to knock you off your feet as you land with one of his hands on your waist and the other on the back of your head, protecting your fall. You gasp in shock of the sudden movement and he smirks as he examines your features. His face is extremely close to yours as he whispers. So much for keeping a distance, you thought to yourself.

“Never let them know your weakness, that's the best defense”, he whispers, his breath hitting your neck. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, nose, and back to his eyes. That familiar heat building inside of you makes your cheeks tint a light shade of red. You push him off of you and stand back up fixing your jacket. He joins you in standing and you don’t say anything in response.

“Alright now try to attack me and then try to defend using that advice”, he says and you nod. You put your fists up next to your face and bring your elbows toward your body. After a few seconds you walk toward Sylus and throw a few punches. He dodges all of them and then once he reaches the ropes of the ring, he decides to switch to offense.

He starts to move his arms towards you, at first you dodge all of his attempts but he quickly catches you from behind. His arm is firmly holding you over your chest just above your breasts. You try to pull his arm down at first but struggle because of his strength.

“Stop struggling and think, how do you get out of this”, he says calmly and you stop your movements. Trying to focus on your movement rather than you firmly in his arms and pressed against him. You take your elbow and shove it into his abdomen, he lets go of you and you turn around and start throwing punches again.

He dodges them again, tilts down and picks you up and over his shoulder using one arm. His arm is holding you by the back of your knees.

“Your opponent now has an advantage over you, how are you going to get out, think about their weaknesses”, he says. You can feel his calloused hands through your leggings. Your mind racing about the way he was man-handling you. You push the thoughts down and decide to lightly hit his shoulder, trying not to hurt him. His hands let go of your knees and you quickly wrap your legs around the back of his neck. Putting all your weight on him so he would have to bend down so you can jump off.

“Good job, now you're thinking”, he smirks and you laugh, you smile at his praise.

“Now try to take me down”, he says and you become determined to do as he says. Sweat is now dripping off both of you from the rising heat in the room and the intensity of the training. But that can’t stop you from proving to him that you can do this.

You lunge towards him and at first he dodges your swings but you finally get a punch in that barely affects him. He puts his arms up to defend and as soon as he does you use the same trick on him as he did with you earlier. You kick his legs to knock him off his feet, he falls down and you pin him down, both of your hands on his wrists, thighs on either side of his hips to straddle him so he can’t move, He doesn’t resist and stares up at you as his chest falls up and down rapidly, matching your breathing. Sweat drips off your forehead and onto his chest but neither of you care.

“Like that?”, you finally speak and he smiles.

“Yeah, just like that”, he says somewhat out of breath. You take the opportunity to admire his jawline, his beautiful crimson eyes and sweat beads slowly sliding down his neck. Your gazes linger for a moment before you pull yourself out of your trance.

You get off of him quickly and go to grab a water bottle. You stood up really quickly and suddenly got dizzy. Your vision blurs for a second and you feel your legs turn to jello. You almost fall but a pair of arms catch you before you could hit the mat.

“Y/n are you okay?”, Sylus asks frantically and sits you down gently.

“Yeah I just got a little dizzy”, you say and he stands up to quickly grab a water bottle and a towel.

“You didn’t seem okay earlier, I should’ve been easier on you.”, he says, unscrewing the cap of the water bottle and handing it to you.

“Thanks”, you say and start to drink the water.

Sylus watches you and brings the towel to your face and starts to pat the sweat dripping down your temple. He fans your face with his hand and you watch as you continue to drink your water. His face is full of concern and worry. Was he always this caring? He has never been this concerned before. Maybe he feels guilty for pushing you but you were fine until you stood back up.

“Thanks, I think I am fine now”, you say, putting the cap back on your water and looking at him.

“Here let me help you up”, he stands up and you grab his hands. You use his arms to support you, your legs still feeling like jello.

“I’ll take you home, sit down and I’ll go grab your bag”, he says and you nod, knowing that if you try to refuse he will rebuttal.

Sylus shortly returns with your bag in hand and he helps you stand again. You feel a bit better after hydrating but still feel shaky.

“Here, hold onto my arm”, he says and guides you to his garage and toward one of his luxurious sports cars. You mentally laugh thinking of course he has multiple of them.

He opens the door for you and helps you get in. He grabs the seat belt and buckles it in for you. The action makes your heart flutter, you don’t dare to look up at him while he does. He closes the door and sprints to the other side, he puts your address into the GPS and starts the ignition.

The car ride is quiet with the occasional “how are you feeling” from Sylus and you only nod and say you feel fine. He really didn’t have to drive you back home but you couldn’t help but smile at his sweetness. Does Sylus show this soft side to anyone else? He puts up this cold and intense front but he is actually very thoughtful and considerate. You ponder this the rest of the car ride until the headlights of his car meet the sign to your apartment complex.

“Let’s go, I’ll help you up”, he says unbuckling but you grab onto his arm frantically before he could get out of the car.

“Wait Sylus, really it's okay, thank you for giving me a ride”, you say and he freezes and looks down to where your hand meets his arm, You touch is gentle and goosebumps rise to his skin.

“Sorry”, you apologize and quickly remove your hand. You unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your bag from the backseat of his car before reaching for the door handle to exit.

“Are you sure?”, he asks and this time you feel his hand grab onto yours. The feeling of his thumb slightly rubbing the top of your hand doesn’t go unnoticed. Your back is still turned to him, you haven’t turned around yet.

“I can just help you to the door, then I’ll leave”, he says and you feel it. You feel the ping in your chest, the yearn of wanting to say yes but your mind telling you to be rational and say no. Your heart wins, you turn to him and say a gentle okay.

He gets out of the car first and opens your door for you. He grabs your bag and helps out of the car. He locks your arm around his to support your somewhat still shaky body. You walk with him into the complex and make your way to your door.

“It’s right here”, you say pointing to your unit and he waits until you have put in your passcode and you step into your apartment before he says anything.

“Text me if you need anything at all. I hope you feel better, goodnight”, he says and turns around to leave before you can say anything. Your mind starts to race and before it can catch up you open your mouth.

“Sylus”, you say almost too urgently and he quickly turns around.

“What is it sweetie?”, he asks softly. His face looking for what you might say.

“W-would you.. um… stay with me?”, you ask and you can feel your heart start to race a million miles and minute. Why did you just ask him that? Why would he stay? For what reason? Before you can come up with an excuse, Sylus' body is towering over you once more.

“Is that okay?”, he asks and you slowly nod looking up at him with doe eyes. Your heartbeat doesn’t settle down, you turn around and walk into your apartment and you hear Sylus follow you and close the door behind him. What were you thinking?

“Uh, you can take a shower, I’ll find you some clothes to change into. Towels are in the cabinet”, you tell him, noticing he is still in his gym clothes and still sweaty. He nods and quickly makes his way into the bathroom.

You let out a strangled breath that you didn’t know you were holding in. You make your way into your bedroom to find something that maybe sylus could wear. You could only find a pair of pajama pants that Caleb left here one time. You couldn’t find a shirt to save your life so the pants will just have to work. You hear the water turn off in the bathroom and make your way towards the door.

You knock gently, “Sylus here are some pajama pants, I couldn’t find a shirt”. Suddenly the door opens slightly and Sylus sticks his hand out for you to hand him to pants.

“It’s okay, I normally sleep without one”, he says and takes the pants from you and closes the door back to change. You aren’t going to make it through the night. You gather a pillow and a soft throw for Sylus and lay them on the sofa.

Sylus walks out of the bathroom and you have to hold yourself back from audibly gasping. The pants length is fine but they are a bit tight on him, especially around the thighs. His abdomen is toned and his chest and shoulders are broad. A few water droplets are still dripping down his skin. You avert your gaze quickly, trying not to stare. This isn’t the first time you have seen Sylus shirtless but something about him right now feels different. Shirtless in your living room and staying over. He didn’t even ask why.

“Uh, here is a blanket and a pillow, my sofa is pretty comfy.”, you smile and the edges of his lips curl into a soft smile.

“Thank you, are you feeling okay now?”, he asks. You honestly feel better, not knowing if it was the fact Sylus was staying over or if you genuinely felt okay now.

“Yes, much better.”, you smile and Sylus moves to the sofa and unfolds the blanket. He positions the pillow to one side of the sofa and lays down. You immediately see that his legs are way too long for it and hang off the edge from his knees down.

“Is that comfortable for you? I didn’t realize how small my sofa was”, you ask and he chuckles.

“It's fine kitten, go ahead and get some rest” he says, shooing you away with his hand and he closes his eyes, pretending to fall asleep. You laugh at his playfulness and head to your room.

You lay down and your bed and close your eyes, you try not to think about the fact Sylus is just in the other room. Why did you even ask him to stay? Why did he so- willingly? Was he really comfortable on the sofa? His shoulder is injured, it can’t be comfortable for him.

You feel guilty for making Sylus scrunching up on your small couch. You get out of bed and head back to the living room. Sylus was sitting up and scrolling on his phone when you opened the door. His eyes leave his phone and meet your gaze, confusion settling on his face.

“What's wrong?” he asks, locking his phone and setting it beside him.

“Um, you can come in here, if you want”, you say shyly looking at the ground, too embarrassed to look at him.

“Y/n I’m fine right here, don’t worry about me”, he replies and you take a deep breath. Of course he would say that, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable but honestly he wouldn’t. If anything it would give you peace of mind knowing his shoulder wasn’t hurting. You had to say the only thing that would convince him.

“I know but I- I want you to”, you say, your cheeks immediately burning and your body feels hot again. He stays quiet for a moment but slowly gets up and grabs the pillow you gave him.

You let him follow you into your bedroom. After he closes the door you watch as he walks to the other side of the bed. You get comfortable on your side and Sylus stops before simply sitting on the edge of the bed.

You know he is hesitant so you pull down some of the cover and tap the side across from you, he turns his head to your hand then meets your gaze.

“You can get comfy, I won’t bite”, you jab at him and he slightly scoffs. He lays his head gently on the pillow facing you and pulls the duvet over him slightly. Keeping his shoulders and chest exposed.

You both just look at each other for a moment in comfortable silence. He looks back and forth between your eyes and you admire his beautiful features. Before he could say anything you turned around facing your room.

“Goodnight Sylus”, you say just above a whisper, shutting your eyes. You don’t know if it was the sheer exhaustion from the previous night or sylus’ presence but you felt yourself quickly starting to drift into a slumber.

“Goodnight y/n”, he says softly and that's the last thing you heard before your dreams carried you away.

You feel a slight sensation against your cheek, it tickles almost and pulls you out of your dreamland. You gently open your eyes to see Sylus facing you. His hand placed a strand of hair behind your ear. He looks at you and his eyes widen and he quickly pulls his hand away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you”, he says softly and places his hand back to his side. The room is still dark, your eyes adjusting to the lighting so you can see him. It must me the middle of the night still.

Your brain is still foggy from just waking up. You look around and see your arm slung over his waist and your body pressed closely to his.

“Am I dreaming?”, you ask him and he chuckles softly.

“No sweetie, you aren’t dreaming”, he says softly and watches you closely. You don’t pull away from him, the feeling of his skin on your making you feel comfortable and warm. Being this close to him feels right, it feels safe. At this moment you let your heart win this final battle. You know this may not work out but how could you know if you don’t try.

“Sylus”, you say softly, looking up to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft, softer than normal, they are a gentle shade crimson red in the dark lighting of your room.

“Hmmm?”, he hums and you move your arm away from him to grab his hand. He looks down at your hand holding his and back to your gaze.

“I think, I think I am falling in love with you”, you say so softly he almost doesn’t catch it.

“What?”, he asks, eyes widening like you told him the most surprising news of the century.

“Can I kiss you?”, you ask bravely. It’s all or nothing. You prepare yourself for him to get up and leave you. You wouldn’t blame him because this came out of nowhere. But not for you, you can’t deny your feelings any longer.

He stares at you for a moment and cups your cheek with his hand. You close your eyes and nuzzle into his touch, feeling his thumb slightly graze your skin softly.

Before you could open your eyes again you feel his lips meet yours. His lips are soft and light almost like touching a pillow or freshly baked bread. He tilts his head to get better access to your lips. It’s not rushed, it's gentle and the passion starts to build despite the slow pace. You move your body closer to his and place your hand on his bicep. He tilts your head closer to his as he deepens the kiss. You moan softly as his tongue traces your bottom lip, begging for entry. You invite him in and your heart melts as the kiss begins to feel more hungry and passionate.

You move your hand down his bicep to his chest and slowly drag it down his toned abdomen. He breaks the kiss once you reach halfway down his body and he grabs your hand to still it.

“Y/n”, he says breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours.

“Sylus please, I need you”, you say almost too desperately. His eyes flutter open and they stare into yours for a few seconds. He kisses you again and lets go of your hand, letting you continue to touch him. His hand goes to the strap of your nightgown and slowly pulls it down your shoulder. This does nothing but expose your shoulder but it feels so intimate. He kisses your cheek and makes his way to your jaw, peppering soft kisses until he reaches your neck.

You place your other arm around his shoulder and tangle your fingers in his hair just above the nape of his neck. You gasp as he starts to suck at a sweet spot on your neck and gently licks over it, repeating this process making his way to your bare shoulder.

“You are so beautiful”, he says against your skin and your heart flutters. Listening to his sweet words makes you feel more comfortable with him. You decide to take it a step further and place your hand over his pajama pants. You can feel his hardened member and you palm him softly and Sylus nuzzles his face into your neck.

“Y/n”, he softly moans your name and you don’t let up on your touch. You feel him slightly buck up into your hand which only makes you feel more confident in your movements. You go to tug on his pajama pants when his hand stops you quickly.

“Are you sure? I only want to do this if you want to”, he says out of breath. You have never seen this look on Sylus before. His eyes full of desire and his cheeks a shade of pink you can’t even miss with the small shine of moonlight glowing in your room.

“Yes, I trust you”, you reply and he quickly shifts your positions. Sylus moves over you and helps you lay comfortably on your back. He pulls the other strap of your nightgown down and pauses to look at you. You nod giving him the go ahead to remove it. He slowly pushes the straps down and helps you remove the nightgown entirely, leaving you in only your cotton pink panties with a little white bow. Sylus’ breath hitches and he cups your face again.

“What did I do to deserve you?”, he asks softly and leans down to kiss you again. The kiss is full of longing and lust. His hands move down to one of your breasts. He gently cups it and starts kneading it causing you to lightly arch your back. The feeling of his hands finally on you makes your arousal start to form. He moves his lips back down to your neck and then to your chest where he lightly kisses your other breast.

You gasp and whimper as he takes your nipple into his both and slightly sucks. The feeling so euphoric you feel like it isn’t real, it couldn’t be.

You reach down into his pajama pants to feel him again. The feeling of your small hand brushing against him makes him groan around your nipple. You take his shaft in your hand and slightly stroke him, precum already leaking from his tip.

He stops his torment on your chest and lays his forehead between your breasts, letting himself bask in the feeling. He moans against your skin and you stroke his hair with your other hand.

He looks up at you and takes your hand away from him. He kisses back up your chest and onto your cheek. He interlaces your fingers with his in both of his hands, laying beside your head.

“I have waited for you for so long. I want to be your world, just like how you’re mine. I love you y/n”, he says looking down at you with pure love written all over his face. You can’t help but smile at his words and you trace his cheek with your thumb, he closes his eyes at the feeling.

“Show me how much you love me Sylus”, you whisper and his right eye seems to turn to a brighter shade of red. Before you could say anything else his lips are back on yours and he tugs his pajama pants down.

“You have been my every thought, every single moment since the day we met”, he says breathlessly as he kicks his pants to the floor. You moan at his confession and you go to tug your panties down but he catches your hands first. He moves them away and he slips his fingers underneath the hem and slowly pulls them down.

He takes a moment to look at you, completely bare in front of him. You start to feel embarrassed so you close your legs a bit, but Sylus quickly opens them back up.

“Don’t hide from me, you don’t ever have to hide from me”, he says and positions himself between your legs. He tugs your waist closer to him and holds himself up with his other arm. You can feel him against you and you can’t help but thrust up to get some friction.

“Are you sure y/n?”, he asks softly before kissing you on your cheek.

“Yes, please”, you beg and he complies. He positions his tip at your entrance and slowly inches in. The feeling of him stretching you out delicious makes all the nerves in your body rapidly fire. Goosebumps raise on your skin, feeling unbelievably full of him.

You feel him gasp at first and then groan at the feeling of you enveloping him. You pulse round him and he could almost cum right then at the feeling. He finally bottoms out at the hilt and lets out a sigh.

“You okay?”he asks, cupping your cheek and you nod.

“Yes, please move Sy”, you say and he groans at the new nickname.

He slowly pulls out just to the tip and thrusts back in with a bit more force and speed. Your body arches off the bed and he catches your back with his hand. He holds you in place as he starts to move, his thrusts consistent as he finds a rhythm.

You try not to be too vocal but you can’t help it with the way he is making you feel. He is everywhere, not only all over your body but he is always on your mind. Everything has led up to this moment, every banter, every flirty comment, every gentle touch and caring thing he has ever done. You want him, not only for tonight but forever.

“You are everything, absolutely everything”, he says leaning down to pull you back into a passionate kiss. You both moan against each other's lips as you feel him pick up the pace.

You can feel every drag, every bit of him along you and it's the closest you have ever been to anyone. This isn’t just sex its pure love. Nothing and no one has made you feel this way before. You felt loved and you felt safe.

“Sylus, I’m-“, you try to warn him but his thrusts start to get more desperate and needy, cutting your thoughts off.

“I know kitten, let go. Let me feel you, please let me feel you”, he asks desperately. The feeling of him everywhere and his lustful words bring you to your climax. Your back arches, your chest flush against his. You flutter around him, milking him consistently. Your head feels light and you grab onto his back and you ride out your high.

Sylus cums soon after, working you through your orgasm set him off. You feel him unload inside you, thickness and warmth invading you and the feeling euphoric. His face is resting in the crook of your neck and his breathing is heavy. His chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. You stroke his back and he slumps on top of you, beads of sweat formed on his skin.

“I should have said it sooner, and I'm sorry you had to say it first. But I love you, more than you know. Will you stay with me? Will you be mine?”, he asks looking back into your eyes. You smile and kiss the tip of his nose.

“Yes Sylus, I’ll be yours”

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

a/n: hhheeeyyyyy so I know I was supposed to post my Xavier fluff first but I couldn’t help it this smut was on my mind so I had to write it first IM SORRY!

Xavier will be coming soon I promise, I won’t let my fellow Xavier girlies down <3 Also how was banner pulls for you guys? I R1d all of the guys oops :P

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “distraction ”.

| summary | Haechan was paying attention to everything but what was coming out of your mouth now. | cw | fluff, talkative reader. | a/n | so... is it the same ship or not?

“And you know what else?” you looked at him with raised brows, your eyes glowing with excitement, happiness, and curiosity. “The Ship of Theseus.”

“The Ship of Theseus?” he repeated, a small smile dancing on his lips as he watched you.

He’d been sitting there on the couch for a while now, elbow resting on the backrest, cheek nestled in the palm of his hand, just listening to you ramble with a kind of captivated patience. In the past hour alone, he’d learned that octopuses have three hearts (each with a different function), that you shouldn’t boil water in the microwave, and that there’s a post office underwater in the Bahamas. That, and a dozen other strange little facts you’d gathered from the corners of the internet or your own imagination.

And now, somehow, you’d segued into philosophical thought experiments and “what if” hypotheticals—What if the internet shut down globally? What if black holes contained entire civilizations? What if you and he were enemies in an alternate reality? What if the person who invented ice cream… hadn’t?

No matter the topic, he loved hearing you talk. Even when you drifted into “If I were a zombie, I’d eat your brains first” territory, it was always entertaining. Time moved differently around you—faster, lighter. Especially when you were on one of your rolls, your brain and mouth fully activated, like you could talk forever.

“So here’s the thing,” you continued, eyes bright. “Theseus’s ship has thirty planks. As he travels, the planks start to rot, so he replaces them, one by one, until eventually, none of the original planks remain. So… is it still Theseus’s ship? Or is it a completely different ship?”

“Hmm, interesting question,” he hummed, pretending to ponder deeply for a few seconds before adding, “What do you think?” That was the magical sentence.

“Glad you asked!” your eyes lit up instantly, as if you’d just been waiting for the invitation to dive deeper. “We have to ask ourselves: what actually makes Theseus’s ship his ship? If we say it isn’t the same ship after replacing all the planks, then how many planks need to be changed before it becomes something else? Like, where’s the line?”

Your hands moved as you spoke, passion flooding your tone. “And think about us. Our body cells change every day. Some die, others regenerate. Does that mean we’re a completely different person over time? Or are we still ‘us’ even after all that change?”

“Hmm, difficult question,” he nodded thoughtfully, watching as you nodded back with enthusiastic agreement. “So this ties back to what you said about what makes a thing that thing, right?”

“Exactly! I’m getting there,” you giggled, visibly delighted. “So, some philosophers say that…”

He stayed quiet, listening as you rambled on, occasionally nodding or humming to show he was still with you. And he was—just not exactly in the way you'd think.

At some point during your monologue, he stopped focusing on your words and started focusing on you.

The way your brows furrowed at each contradiction, the way your smile bloomed when you hit on an idea you found satisfying, the way your hands waved through the air in wide, expressive gestures, it all captivated him. But more than that, what really got him was how free you looked. How natural. How completely yourself you were around him.

It wasn’t just about the random facts or philosophical tangents. It was the way you trusted him with every thought that passed through your mind—like you wanted to let him in on the world inside your head.

And god, he loved it.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, how your voice picked up speed like it couldn't wait to catch up to your thoughts. He loved the little creases that formed between your brows when you were deep in explanation, and how you'd pause only to grin when you realized he was still watching you, really watching you.

“—and that’s why some argue identity is more about continuity of function than physical components,” you continued, eyes bright, hands still moving, completely immersed in your train of thought. “But that was only one of the theories. There’s another one that…”

You trailed off when your eyes met his again.

There it was, that warm, soft gaze, like he was looking at the most precious thing in the whole world. His eyes almost pulsed, like hearts of their own, and his lips curled into an enamored smile that made your chest flutter… but also…

Yeah. That was definitely the look of someone who hadn’t heard a single word you’d said in the last five minutes.

“Hyuck… you’re not listening to me, are you?” you deadpanned, crossing your arms as you started to sulk.

He laughed, not even trying to deny it. “Yeah, I’m not.”

“At least you’re honest,” you muttered, eyebrows knitting together, a pout already forming on your lips.

“I was too distracted,” he added, and that soft tone again, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“You could’ve just said you weren’t interested,” you said, eyes dropping to the side, voice quiet and maybe even little wounded.

Another chuckle escaped him, even softer this time, as he scooted closer. Gently, he cupped your face, coaxing you to meet his gaze again.

"I am interested," he said, voice lower now, more sincere. "Just... more in you than in what you were saying.”

God, how he loved looking at you up close like this, close enough to take in every single detail of your pretty face, from the curve of your lips to the spark in your eyes.

“Plus, you can’t really be mad at me,” he added with a playful grin, pinching your cheeks lightly before gently squishing them between his hands. “I did listen to everything you said, up until a few minutes ago.”

He tilted his head, eyes softening again.

“I don’t know about Theseus’s ship,” he murmured, “but I do know you’ll be mine forever… no matter what parts change.”

You blinked a few times at the sudden declaration. If he was trying to make you less mad with such a ridiculous statement… well, damn it—it was working.

“That was so cheesy, oh my God,” you said, your tone lighter, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your best efforts. You didn’t look mad anymore. As stupid and over-the-top as it was, your heart was doing those annoying, giddy flips that you pretended not to notice.

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “What? I’m just showing you that I love you,” he said, the smirk on his face growing as he pressed another kiss, this time to your cheek.

You tried your best to hold a straight face, but the warmth of his words (and those sweet kisses) were melting away your sulk faster than you'd ever admit.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, a small smile betraying your attempt to sound irritated.

“And yet,” he said, stealing one more kiss, this time right on your lips, “you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, yeah… lucky you.”

His grin only grew wider, because yeah, he was.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[angeleclipsey]

late night thoughts about toru♡, 2k got carried away, not proofread

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who was an absolute brat to everyone, no matter if his parents, the maids, or any other grown-up person. He was the chosen one, the saturo gojo after all, he stood over anyone and anything. And he made sure everyone knew that

childhoodbestfriend!satoru knew his duties: to get as strong as possible, produce as many heirs as possible, and show the other clans what the Gojo clan had in stock. He knew he didn't have time for these childish things, like playing with kids his age, and he surely didn't need it. He spoke more languages than most adults could dream of, was a master in many fighting styles and could exorcist a grade 2 curse at the ripe age of 7

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who was ashamed of himself for letting his eyes linger a few seconds too long at the playground, were the dirty, filthy, and childish kids playing, mud all over their clothes, but with the happiest expression on their faces. Were they so happy? What was it like to play hide and seek? Don’t they have duties as well?

childhoodbestfriend!satoru was 9 when he first snuck out of the big gojo mansion, on the mission to see why these kids were so happy. The children were loud and reckless, but he somehow felt happy the first time playing hide and seek (the kids found it weird that he didn't know how to play it)

childhoodbestfriend!satoru first saw you when the kids made a circle around you as you joined them playing, treating you as if you were an idol, your hair in two childish pigtails, dressed in a pink flowy dress that knitted so badly. How could you go out like that? Isn't your family ashamed of you?

childhoodbestfriend!satoru had first actually talked to you two weeks after that. You fell, the dress you wore (blue this time) had ripped, and you had scraped your knee, while running. “yn, are you alright?” a small blonde boy had asked as he saw you laying on the ground. “I..I’m fine,” you had said, your voice wobbly and your mesmerizing eyes suspiciously glassy. Other than the children, that were too dumb to notice and ran off , he had noticed it directly. You had your eyes locked on the white haired boy in front of you, obviously waiting for him to finally go with the other children.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru, doesn't know who was more surprised, him or you, as he lent you a hand and helped you up, bringing you to the gojo mansion and letting you get stitched up. ( he claimed you were “the daughter of one of the maids”, and there were so many of them, nobody noticed.) As you got stitched up ,you were so loud and bubbly, the opposite of what he was used to and what he was taught, and the first time in some months, he was actually happy that he snuck out of the house.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru ,who found out shortly after , that you're not just anyone , but a daughter of the Kamo clan and share the mindset as well as the future with Gojo. He was utterly surprised and spent hours pondering over it. You had the same destiny and yet you were so different from him. You were talking a lot, you were allowed to do things age appropriate and you are so free. He needed to know why.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru and you became inseparable after that, meeting each other officially at both of your first clan meeting. You didn't have to sneak out to see each other again, each of your meetings made Satoru forget his responsibilities. Every Time he laughed with (or at) you the world seemed a bit brighter, everytime you two were laying in either his or your room and playing anything, everytime the dark red limousine of the kamo’s pulled through the driveway, it felt as if the years of loneliness disappeared. The warm feeling everytime he looked at you, smiling at him with so much warmth, was because you were his first ( and only) ever friend. 

Everyone wondered how childhoodbestfriend!satoru became so open, the cold and rude boy that was the nightmare of any maid from before, turning into a caring and bubbly teenager.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru, whose first kiss was with you, both of you being 14, because you claimed you needed to know how it feels, while you were watching a romance movie with him. It lasted for only a few moments, a few awkward minutes, both of your cheeks dusted pink, before you turned around and continued watching the movie as if nothing happened , while the white haired boy could not take his eyes off you. That was when he realized that the feeling was in fact not because of your friendship.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru, whose heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he heard you were going abroad to help you master your abilities. That was the first time he ever argued with his parents, begging them to use their power to make you stay. He even talked to your parents, doing everything he could have done.  But nothing had mattered and you left.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru, who met you some years later, at Jujutsu Tech, taller now, sharper, and not as smiley as he remembered.  You were dressed in complete black, even tho you had claimed to hate the colour black. A “depressive and sad colour”. But now your go to attire. 

childhoodbestfriend!satoru hated that your pigtails were gone, replaced by a high, almost professional bun

childhoodbestfriend!satoru was devastated when you were not talking to him (you had thought he’d gotten annoying and too cocky) 

“What do you mean you don't know who i am? It’s me, satoru gojo. How could you forget me?! You know, devastatingly handsome, incredibly smart and the strongest?” “Nope, doesn't ring a bell, sorry” 

childhoodbestfriend!satoru had tried everything to make you feel like you were best friends again, from waking you up everyday ( by standing in front of your room and banging at your door till you woke up and punching him straight in the guts), to walking together to class. He remembered you liked strawberry milk. Every time his brain craved something sweet and he bought himself candy, he ALWAYS got you your strawberry milk.

“Suguruuu, who does she keep ignoring me? I'm always so nice to her. “Maybe because you are literally stalking her and following her everywhere?”

childhoodbestfriend!satoru wasn’t hurt. He was surprised. Surprised by the fact that it was scratching so much on him. Surprised that every night, his already overstimulated mind managed to twist and turn even more wildly than usual; each time he closed his eyes, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. 

childhoodbestfriend!satoru was over the moon when you got your first mission together, the only available special grader sorcerers since suguru was out of town. It was a clear mission, eliminate two 1 grade curses. Nothing easier than that. 

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who didn’t realize he’d been grinning like a fool until you raised an eyebrow and said, “You’re being weird.” But you didn’t push him away this time. Instead, you walked beside him in silence, the comfortable kind that once defined your friendship. You weren't pretending to not know him anymore. 

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who risked more than necessary on the battlefield that day. Not because he underestimated the curses — but because you had laughed again. Just once. A short, breathy, almost-forgotten sound, and it made his heart clench so tightly it hurt more than any cursed wound.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who shielded you instinctively when the second curse exploded in black flames. Your curse techniques clashed for a heartbeat — yours, sharp and precise, his bashful and destructive.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who felt the weight of years fall away when you touched his arm after the fight, his Infinity still off for you, looking him in the eyes for the first time in forever.  You didn’t say anything, but your eyes said enough. You saw him. Not the strongest. Not the prodigy. Just Satoru.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who said, half-joking, “You finally remember me, huh?”  And you, tilting your head slightly, replied, “I never really forgot. I just didn’t want to remember.”

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who didn’t push after that. He didn’t need to. You started showing up next to him again, first in silence, then with small conversations, jokes. At first it felt like rewinding time. Then it started to feel like something new.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who found you asleep on the school rooftop two weeks later, jacket balled under your head, your hair finally untied. He sat next to you for hours, his cold hands stroking you hair, not daring to wake you, not wanting the moment to end. you were awake

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who noticed the way you looked at him during a sparring match — not with annoyance, not even with challenge, but something softer, heavier.  “You’re holding back,” you told him.  “Only because you matter more than winning.”

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who walked you to your dorm in the middle of the night after a late mission, both of you still in uniform, dirt and blood mixed on your cheeks. He didn’t want to say goodbye yet.  “Do you remember,” he asked, “when you fell in the park and cried because you ripped your dress?”  You groaned. “Why are you bringing that up now?”  “Because you looked at me the same way back then. Like I was important.”  And you didn’t deny it.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who kissed you a month later, under a lantern hanging crooked in the training yard, your lips tasting like stolen laughter, sweet cherry and something achingly familiar.  Neither of you said a word after. But he held your hand the whole way back.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who memorized every new detail about you like it was a mission: the way you hummed while writing reports, the way you covered your face when embarrassed, the way you never let go of his sleeve when you were tired.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who laid next to you under the stars, one arm behind his head, the other loosely around your waist, and whispered, “You were my first friend.”  “I know,” you replied.  “But now you’re also…”  You turned your head, nose brushing his. “I know that too.”

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who married you five years later — not in a grand sorcerer ceremony, but quietly, in a garden. Suguru gave the speech, Shoko cried, and Satoru…  He just looked at you like you were the only thing in the world he ever wanted to protect without a technique.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who never thought he could belong to someone without being possessed. Until you.  Because you never wanted to own the strongest.  You just wanted him.

Bonus ✩· childhoodbestfriend!satoru who woke up next to you every morning, the sunlight streaming through the windows, filling their shared room with warmth. You were still the first thing on his mind when he opened his eyes, just like it had been all those years ago.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who now found himself making breakfast with you on lazy mornings. Pancakes and coffee, Megumi's favorite. He was 16 now, taller, quieter, and often more mature than Satoru could handle. But the bond between them was undeniable, and the way Megumi acted around you — with the smallest smiles and the occasional sarcastic comment directed at his "old man" — made Satoru feel like he wasn’t as alone as he used to be.

childhoodbestfriend!satoru who could only look at you with a mix of adoration and quiet pride. He had once been too proud to admit how much he needed someone. But now, years later, he knew that his strength wasn’t just in his cursed technique, his skills, or his title. His strength was in this — in the family he’d built, in the love you gave him, and in the life you had all made together.

[taegularities]

candles & flames: breeze | jjk (m)

(final) bonus chapter III: breeze

Summary: One day an end might near – but never with him.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: mmmkay, they are at a weird place, but love each other so much; insecurities and sadness, jk grovels a lot, jihyo/illegitimate child mention, tears and overthinking, their kids <3, fears, abandonment issues, dad!jk, brief mention of a past death, yearning, an event, manyyy memories and references to the other parts, mention of post-sex memories, orphanage!!, kissing in the rain, jihyo sigh, oc makes him better fr </3 the ending bc that's what this chapter is </3 ➳ wc: 19.6k ➳ a/n: ah yes, the end of an era :') not sure if it was due to this being the definitive finale or just them in general, but i cried a lot, once again. thank you for giving them the amount of love that you did. i hope you like this one <3 ALSO, listen to the playlist, trust me!! ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s interesting how a routine turns every night into the same returning experience.

Somewhat soulless, people awake in the morning, treading through their days and hours to fall back into the deep slumber that their bodies so desperately beg for. Back into the peace from the moment that the sky reveals its stars and its moon.

Then, the cycle repeats: cracking up their eyes at the same dawn or noon as the day before, or when the sun sits at its highest point, greeting and smiling, or hidden.

For you, it’s been different.

The nights always shift their personality, and the mornings unravel yet another unfelt, unseen emotion. Love, then longing, then misery, then near paralysis. Numbness. 

You don’t recall ever having been much of a victim to fate; you consider yourself more or less lucky, born under just the right constellation. But something about the odd way your mind has been circling around its own axis for a while now doesn’t feel natural.

An indicator of something bad, and you know. You know the phenomenon and know the reason and know the pain it accompanies.

With the nights, the seasons change, too. The more time passes, the warmer it gets. The cold has left. Left the shivers behind; left your head hanging. The dark and grey clouds floating above have vanished for the most part, clearing like a mist to boast the sky’s beauty.

You love the view. You love how rays of sunshine fall into your room like giving it a halo, golden and warm.

But above all, you have changed the most. In every shape and form, you’re somebody entirely new. As if you’re pottery, forged into something solid before smashed flat again. Inconsistently moving up and down, building and crashing, to the better and worse.

Healing isn’t linear, you have realised. You have known; you have seen it on him before, too. Sometimes, you do ponder whether you’re overreacting. Whether you’re supposed to move on the way so many other women do when their husbands come home late.

But no.

Your husband did not come home late.

You were the one who was late.

He never did you wrong; he didn’t intend to hurt you, did he? And thinking about it realistically: not a soul in this world summons even a fragment of the life you breathe into him. Nobody comes into any close proximity of who you are in his eyes and in his heart and in his mind.

But the pain never subsides so easily. What a shame, though. Your sister always appeases you by insisting that you have every right to hurt; that envy can be part of a deeply-feeling empath, and that love elicits these emotions naturally.

That one day, it’ll get better. That for now, you’re allowed to hate people, and allowed to hate him.

But you don’t. You do not hate him. You guess if you did, it would hurt much less.

It would hurt less to stand in the bit of sun shining through the window, letting it prick your skin. It would ache less to sleep next to him every night; to get up and leave at times, wandering the lonely mansion, just so his touch doesn’t stun your body or keep you awake.

Sometimes, you turn to see him awake, too, tossing and turning. Lifting his lids to meet your eyes wordlessly, at times with the smallest, weakest of smiles.

And it would pain less — stepping over the threshold, silken robe draped around you, and into the spacious room downstairs. It’s brighter than the corridor; the latter would’ve been quieter, darker, but certainly more depressing, too. Colder. 

You can’t just roam around there. Weird, though — who knows what dragged you back into this room of all, right where you first broke down; where your perspective changed.

It’s often the same; you tend to land here, as if to relive the moment and to convince yourself that it wasn’t as bad as you make it out to be. Or that it was, but that you need to look past it. You promised Jungkook to work on this, to not give up.

Told yourself that distance hurts more than closeness.

And it does. If you were to pack your bags and leave again, you might not be able to come out of the pitch black void again. At least he’s here; where you are.

You and me, in every damn life.

But you’re in a loop. Still right there, in this heart of his, but so forlorn, too. Always the same shit. If she hadn’t come, life would pain less. If you hadn’t been here, life would hurt less. If, if, if…

If you didn’t love him, you could look him in the eyes. If you didn’t love him, you’d care less. But you do. And you’re tortured by the fact that he constantly seeks your gaze. All the time.

Even now.

Right now, as he stands near the dead chimney, staring up to you from whatever document he was reading. You don’t have it in you to meet the dark brown eyes beseeching you to forgive. Sometimes, you do — in a moment of strength, you do.

But not right now.

And you guess you have forgiven him. You converse with him; but the change is palpable, just like the weather is.

From afar, you watch a smile appear on his still-gorgeous face, though a bit more sunken since last fall. His steps are timid when he nears you, and you mimic, walking towards the man whose arms you so desperately seek.

“Good morning,” he greets, and you answer in kind before he adds, “You still look tired. Do you need to sleep more? I don’t mind, I have a bit of time to take care of—”

“Oh, no, no,” you reassure, coming to a stand in front of him. Your fingers twitch to reach out, but your mind refuses; you hate this constant occurrence. “I feel fine, actually. And Hana will get up soon as well.”

“If you are certain.” Jungkook nods; then rolls his eyes again, more in a manner of amusement and sarcasm than annoyance. “That girl runs to her pony so fast these days that she barely ever acknowledges us anymore. So not a lot to do there for us.”

You chuckle a little. “Isn’t that right?” You observe as his head tilts just slightly; a gesture you well associate with affection. “What about you? You are awake early, too.”

A shrug of a shoulder as a response, no word uttered. He blinks once, just slowly, before his hand surrenders to the urge yours suppressed — and moves up, up towards your face. It happens in slow motion, an unnatural pace to it; but a moment later, you feel the touch.

A palm cradling your face. A familiar, somewhat ancient feeling. Known yet so estranged these days.

You close your eyes. Take in the warmth. Let the delusional relief wash over you for a second. And you feel better; much better when he presses in a tiny bit. You forget the pain still lingering.

Every fibre of you yearns to jump into his arms and to remain right there. To inhale his scent, to feel his lips in your hair, to feel the longing in his touch. And he would succumb to each sensation within a moment, a walking white flag, waiting for you to bring him to his knees.

He has been craving every bit of you in every little way, and you know. You know because you have been, too. But whenever his parted lips linger on your burning cheek, perfectly rosy and inviting and as beautiful as ever, or his thumb grazes your trembling chin, you just…

You trap yourself in this cramped cage of your own miserable thoughts; questions arise.

Such as—

Did he touch her like this, too? What did her skin on his feel like? And did he look at her with the same glint dancing in his dark gems? The same hooded gaze, pining and erasing every other thought, so incredibly desperate; like your own eyes offer oxygen for another day? 

And—

How are you different? 

This is what has been undeniably wounding you the most. The recurring thoughts you can’t turn off. The queries popping up. The fact that you can’t and won’t ask, and that you know what the answer would be, and that you would still burst your head overthinking.

Jungkook knows you’re drifting away day by day.

He’s crept up on you and learned about every single piece of you, has understood you on a level so detailed that even you can’t quite comprehend about yourself. So it’s only natural that he sees it when your mind doesn’t reside with him.

When you’re in pain. And he is in pain, too — perhaps in greater distress, even. But you have told the petty inner voices that this isn’t a competition; that no matter what the bad parts of you demand, he is not supposed to hurt worse than you. None of you is.

But he’s told you. Told you about the torment. The night you came back, as he held you for dear life, glued to you under the thin sheets until you could barely breathe against the fabric covering his chest, you heard him say—

“I cannot figure out what to do… I— I lost myself once. I wouldn’t recognise myself again if I lost you, too.”

You wonder — did he already know what future to expect if you weren’t in it? The time you were gone; did he see a version of himself he didn’t recognise?

You want to ask, but your mentality keeps slipping. Always absent but deep in his own emotions; you hate that you’re so aware of his thoughts. That even right now, he doesn’t expect you to quite look at him or to reciprocate his touch, even though sometimes, reluctantly, you do.

And he doesn’t expect you to smile. He has never known you otherwise — but he doesn’t expect it, consumed by his guilt. He knows you’re entitled to feel the way you feel. Doesn’t expect you to talk to him as you used to either, or to love him the way he’s always known.

He knows you love him… but he misses the moments when you showed him you were in love with him.

Months and years of affection passed, and the weeks since Jihyo entered your life shattered part of the idyllic paradise you had built for yourself. Covered it in clouds.

Yet, he accepts it. To you, it sometimes seems that he is content that you’re here at all. He won’t tell you what happened, how he felt, what he did while you were away, but it seems that his most prevalent fear is you vanishing again.

As long as he sees you standing here, in flesh and blood and not just in his wanting mind, understanding that you are not a figment of his imagination, he is satisfied.

Then again, you don’t think there is an absolute way of not hurting. So you’re not surprised when he brings you back to where you stand, into this moment, and says, “Hey,” he tries to lift your head, “I miss looking at you properly.”

You try. You meet his eyes. They’re filled with sleepless hours and the same sadness as yours.

You keep looking at him, eyebrows slightly moving, breath accelerating, and say, “I do, too.”

“And I miss your voice.”

“I know.”

“And I want you to laugh again. About anything at all.”

ƒrims Well. Maybe you were wrong. Or maybe not — he doesn’t expect you to smile, but… he can still want it, right?

Your body reacts fully automatically, closing in until your forehead gently collides with his. You hear it when he sucks in a sharp breath, hopeful and so hopelessly adoring, before he whispers, “I love you so much.”

Translates to: I need you back.

Translates to: I need you here.

Translates to: Stay.

For a moment, you keep staring into his pupils. A little longer… and then a little longer. It’s hard to look away; as if they harbour a spell and he’s practicing it right this moment. But then you feel another ache in your heart.

Familiar, but never less painful. The same damn one that your mind and body have been shooting through you, keeping you from giving in.

You move back just a little — but he understands. Accepts that you need more distance, just for a while; that it’ll take time. But as if to tell you he’s nowhere near giving up, he grazes your cheek again, warmth in the back of his fingers; hot as the fire that he is.

When he lets go, you feel breathless. Drowning. 

“It seems that our daughter is awake,” he comments. You only now notice her tiny voice. Drowsy little girl waddling to her beloved father. Cheek to his shoulder, quiet in the morning, eyes closed again once she’s settled. He adds, “Let’s get breakfast.”

And you follow, but the appetite isn’t too big. Your heart is still beating in your stomach.

Hana has now learned to express herself enough to ask what’s wrong. She understands basic emotions. Sometimes, you let yourself feel in your twins’ presence alone, solely for the reason that they do not pose questions.

But Hana knows.

And you adore her with everything that you are and everything that she has become; but so does she. She sees it when your eyes droop; notices when her father misses a thing she said or two. When he looks at her with deeply rooted affection, but with dead and stinging pain, too.

You think that sometimes, gaping at her round, bubbly face, he remembers as much as you that she’s not all there is. That she and the boys do belong to his blood, but that somewhere out there, another boy gets all excited about visits every now and then.

A child older than any toddler in your massive mansion, residing in a warm home so small and compact in comparison. At times, you think that your husband knows, too: That sweet Minjun is truly all that has ever defined Jungkook.

The art; the smile; the dimples. The politeness and gentleness.

You take a deep breath.

How does anybody ever get over this? You promised Jungkook to fight, and you will, with time you will because you love him, but…

How will you move past this? Will you stop seeing all that happened in everything one day? Grow out of it, find a way to hold onto him and onto who you are, to hurt less?

“Mama… did you hear?”

“Hm?” You glance at your daughter as she wipes her bangs out of her face, eyes too big on it. She’s holding a toy pony towards you. “Hear what, sweetheart?”

You stretch out a hand, carefully holding the toy in your palm. It’s still beautiful, solid snow white porcelain, albeit missing one of his four legs. Hana cried for a whole while when it happened.

“What I just said!” she tries again, her voice reprimanding, disappointed. Then she sighs, pouts, “You didn’t hear.”

It’s the enormous doe eyes that pierce your heart. When he’s sad, he looks the same. Awakens the urge to protect and to love and to keep him far from even a scratch. You sigh, too; keep yourself together.

“I apologise, baby,” you shift closer to her; she’s a bit older now, more forgiving. Still feisty, but very forgiving. “Mama is just tired. But I’m here, yes? Tell me again, please?”

Whenever Hana starts a thought, she needs to finish it. Your absent mind can’t keep her from it; so she soon turns to you, her voice much louder than yours. “I was saying,” she starts, easy to persuade, “I want to see Tee.”

You laugh.

Tee.

A self-made abbreviation for the term auntie. Somehow, it was too odd of a word for her to pronounce, so she settled on this one syllable to define your sister. She has accepted it; grown to love it, in fact. You guess her name is now simply Tee because Jeon Suhana says so.

“How convenient.” Your laugh dies; replaced by a little jump as his posed, soft voice suddenly joins the room, echoing through it. You give him a small smile. “Right?”

Jungkook walks in with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, two buttons of his dark shirt open. His chest peeks golden from underneath, with light spots of red, as if he rubbed the skin over his heart, soothing it.

The usually lifted collars are falling lazily to the sides; the baggy, loose sleeves rolled just below his elbows.

He looks as breathtaking as he did when you met him all those years ago; when you fell for the soul he revealed. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t fade, in any way at all. He still emanates the same confidence, even in times of desperation. Radiates pure attraction.

You guess people would be fooled by this, fall for the untamed, silky, dark hair if they didn’t know him well.

But you do — and you see the change in hue under his eyes. How the fragile, thin skin is a tad bit darker, and how he usually takes care of his mane so well. The way his strands stick out isn’t his usual appearance. Your husband used to be more put together.

But he’s smiling. For your sake and for hers, perhaps even for his own.

Hana is beaming back at him, though a bit timid in face of the change she’s surely seen in him.

But she couldn’t focus on more than the grand city right now, you know. Somehow, you reckon he planted this thought into her mind. He’s been mentioning an upcoming ball this spring, not too many days from now.

If you went, it’d be an excuse to visit your families again. For him to see his mother, and for you to spend an afternoon with your sister. He’s spoken about this once or twice, told you to think about it.

That—

I, however, understand if it is uncomfortable. If it hurts.

Of course it does. Going back to the one place where he handed you his bleeding, beating heart, yours for taking. But the place where he almost became hers, to. The place you met pain and then embraced love.

You were going to give him an answer soon, and you haven’t, and you know how goddamn unfair it is to him, but…

Your heart has been so delicate, and your tongue too mute to truly verbalise a proper response. Yes or no is all it takes, but you can’t stop pondering about the pros and cons.

“Daddy…” Hana calls, palms on the ground, butt up to lift herself upright. “Daddy, what?”

Ever-the-curious daughter. She probably got this from you. Too many unknown flowers that you picked together.

He lifts his trousers to his ankles and then crouches down to her, on the carpet that the two of you have made yourselves comfortable on. Hana drops back onto it. “We could see Tee, if we can make time, baby.”

If your mother agrees.

“Really?!”

Her legs are folded, her upper body leaning forwards, as if she can’t contain the joy in her little heart. She’s delighted, fists on the carpet, and for a moment, it lifts your spirits.

His eyes shift to yours carefully as Hana does a little victory dance, and you feel a prick in your chest. Is it okay to go back? You want to. You don’t want to. Will your heart withhold the pain and take the weight the trip might bring? Or perhaps the opposite…

“Wait,” Hana interrupts, suddenly solemn, “who will play with Leehi if I go?”

Leehi, her favourite nanny, young and beautiful and gentle. You chuckle, and Jungkook follows before he hums for a moment, responding, “Well, she will certainly miss you. Perhaps you should go and tell her that you might go away for a bit?”

Hana gets to her feet again, still your teeny tiny baby as she lifts a finger and declares with raised eyebrows, “I will tell her to not miss me.”

“You do that, love. Leehi is in your room, making your bed.”

Your daughter bolts away with such determination that you can’t help but laugh; her two braids move back and forth.

And once she’s out of sight, Jungkook plumps down on the carpet, knees pulled in and arms around them. He tilts his head with a tender smile, chest rising before he asks, “Did you have time to think about it? Going home?”

You remember a time not too long ago when you’d sit here like this, too; despite the couch in the back, you’d play with the twins and Hana right here, on this warm carpet, and Jungkook would join after work. You’d place your head on his shoulder and whisper-converse with him.

Sometimes, you’d fall asleep and wake up in his arms, in your bed, with the children secured in theirs. You never needed proof for how gentle Jungkook handles you — but if he could carry you into your room like a feather without disturbing a moment of your sleep, you were at utter peace, right?

He did that to you. He still does; his presence calms you, though it stirs your heart, too.

You want to put your head on his chest again, slumber there. Instead, you nod and say, “I did, yes.”

“And?”

“Hana wants to go.”

His eyes move to the side, down to the floor, then back to you as he tries again, “And what about you?”

You shrug a little. “Can I really refuse my daughter’s wish?”

He moves closer; a very small distance, but noticeable to you. His eyes are intense as he emphasises, “What’s your wish, love?”

Yours? You have a lot of wishes.

Whispered upon falling stars and eyelashes. You can’t utter most of them now, though, can you? But maybe you should. Maybe, rather than the universe, it could be him granting you what you desire.

He can read your thoughts anyway. Because he encourages, “You can share your mind with me. I’m your husband, darling.”

You nod; let something in you break and break until your fingers move, up to one of his knees. He immediately puts a palm onto your digits, holds onto you as you say, “You are.”

“Only yours.”

You inhale deeply. The tears are less these days, but never truly gone. You blink before they can reemerge, quickly adding, “I will go if you want to go. Your wish is my wish.”

“It is?”

“Of course. I am yours, too.”

A fresh colour dusts his cheeks, as if he’s falling in love anew. But his gaze betrays him; still sad when he wonders, “Then… Can I say something very kitschy?”

You feel yourself melt just a little. A hint of a smile graces your face. “Always.”

“My wish is… that I want you back.” He drops his head the moment your heart sinks, too. Even from here, you see the damp waterline. “I want you to be mine the way you were. I wish to give you the same joy I used to. I just…” His voice shakes. “I need my girl back so badly.”

And then, another whisper, stuck in a loop, “I miss you.”

You nod again, tell him, “I know.” Because if you said anything more, you’d cry. You know you would.

He looks up at you, the rims of his eyes red, trapping the tears in. He sniffles; shuts his lids, as if preparing for something. And then asks—

“Do you still love me?”

Do you?

Does he truly need to ask?

His presence still calms you, though it stirs your heart, too.

You love him irreversibly. You love him with an intensity that has nestled into your heart and is here to stay. Jungkook will never leave its crevices, no matter what. You just wish…

You wish you could show these sentiments to him better. Easier.

You’re the only one in your way now.

Mustering strength, you admit, “If I had stopped— I might’ve been long gone.”

He nods right away — it seems to be enough for him. Encourages him. Like he needed the confirmation; like, even for a moment, he’s glad that your life and soul and being are still merged with his. You haven’t strayed as far as he always fears and it relieves him.

Relieves you, too.

He licks his lips, clearing his throat, and says, “If you don’t want to go… we don’t have to, yes? I am sorry for putting pressure on you.”

“No,” you hold onto his fingers, just weakly, “no, we can go. I want to and… It might be a good alternative to the usual routine.”

Another bop of his head before he sees the pony in your other hand, reaching for it. You give it to him, and he inspects it. Comments, “Oh… It broke.”

“Mmh… damaged but still here. Hana makes sure of it.”

Jungkook looks at you. You understand your words; understand the hope behind them. And it makes him smile.

The same smile that you remember from before; the one you saw in the orphanage, in the carriages, in the rain. Months ago when you pestered him in his office until he came to bed with you.

You don’t know if he hears it when you add a quiet mumble under your breath; you guess he registers at least pieces of it as he finds your eyes soon again, so tender and vulnerable and speechless.

Pained and comforted at once as you whisper, “I miss you, too.”

This is far from your first time entering a hall that exceeds all expectations you have of pre-summer events and boasting the riches.

Jungkook and you have hosted parties before and attended even more. The number accumulated over the years; to a sum that made you immune with time. To the lusters and the dances; to the lights and the food.

Never to his touch, but much to the noise and the giggle. Most of the conversations are superficial, and when they’re not, you’re barely part of them. In your town, people respect you, but they have their own little culture that you’re not always too well versed with, up there in your mansion.

And here in this town, you stopped being a true, proper member of the peerage long ago. Even when you’re welcomed with wide arms and open hearts. People encourage you and admire you, but your life has long evolved.

These people don’t know half of it. To them, you’re the co-ruler of a beautiful town, far from here and deep in your own head. Living your days with gorgeous children and a wildly desired husband.

But you have perfected your act. Nobody suspects a thing, and you don’t want them to. So you cling to Jungkook’s arm, a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach when you enter the brightly lit hall and take in what you know.

The place is familiar; many years ago, you flipped to a new page right here, following the same steps. You probably walked the same line to the middle of the room, too, and then up to a dark hallway, meeting Jungkook in a corner before you turned your lives around.

For a while, this spot was connected to memories you would’ve rather forgotten. Tears and pain and betrayal and lies and eventually, the truth. But aches have dimmed over time, despite the fact that neither of you will truly ever forget.

You replaced these miseries. You live through your own and resolve them with a priority unmatched to all you ever experienced.

Yet, this very moment feels different somehow.

It has been years since you danced here together. Months since you danced properly at all.

Back then, there was envy in his touch, you so vividly recall. Affection in his words, concern in his thick eyebrows, fear in his dark brown pupils. Gems, is what they always were, and you would always fall for them; when you’d sneak up to empty rooms or hurt in vacant hallways.

When he was still younger than he is now, and you were, too; when you had so many other issues to forget about, the world seemed much bigger. Like there was hope somewhere out of these walls; and there was.

You were children so in love, inevitably possessed by a powerful force that never quite left you after that. The heartbeat, wild and thumping, never calmed.

All you used to be and all you remained is in your chest and in your mind. On your lips and in your words. No wonder everybody behaves so normally. Who could think otherwise than to be absolutely certain that your days are still the same as they always were?

Jungkook pulls up his arm gently, glove-clad hand lifting up to offer to you. He isn’t interested in conversing with others today. He allows a little greeting or a smile, but he doesn’t indulge in more or divulges his innermost emotions.

And they don’t bother. He isn’t trying, so they don’t either just yet; being a royal plants timidness in other people.

No, what he is focused on is your weak self next to him, knees as wobbly as many years ago. The palm shown to you is beseeching you to come with him, and to do him the honour of being his for another night.

You didn’t ever stop being his, but you don’t need to reveal this to him. Even when he nods a little, moving his hand up just a little to urge yours into it, you know he knows.

But you still accept with soft fingertips lightly kissing upon his warm hand, debunking all possible thoughts of doubts and erasing them out of his mind. And he seems relieved when you gulp down the stress, following your silent husband across the room.

You remain as wordless as you watch familiar and stranger faces float by. You nod when they do, pressing their digits when they reach for yours, a soft and quiet greeting with a smile or, on the other hand, a delighted, “Hello!”

You find your voice when you respond, find it when Jungkook does, reciprocating the others’ eventual, brave curiosity and joy upon seeing the two of you. Hearing him helps you bring your vocal cords back into swing.

And you feel as though you haven’t spoken for ages when you finally tell Jungkook, “You know…” He turns a little, not quite in the middle of the room just yet. “You used to be worried about me rejecting you.”

You aren’t sure why you’re saying this at all. Perhaps because he isn’t fearful of distance anymore — or at least, not the one he used to be afraid of. This is different. Back then, he was scared he’d lose a presence in his life that he hadn’t been able to call his own just yet.

Today, he knows exactly what he’d be letting go.

Maybe he isn’t overthinking it as much as you, though.

Because as you look at him, head a little tilted and carrying a big, dreamy mind, you lose yourself in his twinkle a bit. The smirk is crooked and saccharine, the same old as when the two of you met. 

There aren’t that many couples on the dancefloor yet when you reach it, but it seems that you two being one of the few to make the start helps. Inspires others; pre-wedding season is always an interesting event to witness. People are just waiting for an opportunity.

And when his hand reaches the small of your back, body close in front of you, you catch yourself taking in a breath too deep. You’re enthralled when he once again reminds you of the sugary undertone in his voice, so cautious when he says, “You know, I do not think I was ever worried.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You weren’t?”

“Well, worried would be the wrong word. I would rather argue—” He shrugs a shoulder, eyes drifting to the side, to the floor, and then back up to you as he scours his thoughts for a proper term. “You teased me, and I indulged in it.’”

You laugh softly, blinking slowly. Encouraged by the sound of it, he laces his fingers with yours, and you let him. Let him burn your skin through the gloves. Amused, you whisper, “I teased you?”

“You always did, did you not?”

You’re not too certain about this. If he is referring to your little sarcastic taunts, playfully threatening to keep his dance cards empty, he might be right. But you remember more than just this—

“You were the one to make short carriage rides adventurous,” you playfully accuse.

Another chuckle, and you’re nearly sold. As he twirls you a bit, leading you across the shiny floor, you find enough time for yourself to reminisce for a moment. Wherever you went, whenever the world called you to some nearby thing to attend to, his lips would find you.

Innocent or not.

Your clavicles, your neck, the spot behind your ears.

Or — your knuckles, your shoulder, your wrist.

People might have wondered how your love could bud this fast when only weeks had passed back then, but you knew and saw and felt it all. You never questioned any of it.

Jungkook says, “Maybe I should again.”

Hm…

“Maybe you should.”

Weren’t you just as breathless and faint back then, too? You think so. And you think he fared no better, did he?

He’d sigh, too, the moment you arrived at your destination, whispering promises and plans to you through similar symphonies as you are hearing right now. But even with the familiarity of the strings, reality has changed now.

Because as you rock, you don’t hear the cheerful music playing. The strings are dim in your ears and the dancing a reflex. Rather, for you, there is a piano in the background, keys singing the tune of what you were.

The more you talk and the more you listen, the more you see. Behind your eyes, fabricated by your mind, you register all the fleeting pictures of a distant yet vivid yesterday. And some of it still aches, but…

You can’t stop talking, and you can’t stop listening, either.

The nostalgia, paired with the movements dragging your feet across the floor and into his arms, keep catapulting you back to a place you know and one you crave to return to so deeply. But at the same time, you can’t be that young again.

You will always be in love, but you won’t feel the same sickening beginning again. Truths are harsh.

But are they always as thorough as you valued them to be?

Because if you can’t be who you were, why does your heart still hammer like this? If you’re so hurt, why do you still feel transported to another lifetime, like you never really left? As if you’re trudging and wading and crawling through it again to relive it all?

Maybe because you are. Maybe you never truly left indeed.

A voice interrupts your thoughts, the lights coming into focus again. Jungkook’s breath is close to your cheek as he hushes the words, wondering, “What are you thinking about?”

Yes, what are you thinking about?

You’re thinking about a plethora of things; none of which you can arrange into rational, lucid thoughts. Words don’t come easy to you these days, so you rely on what you feel. Rely on your senses.

On how he looks at you. How he touches you. How he speaks to you. And on how he moves.

You swallow again, hoping for your voice to overshadow the violins playing and the piano’s tunes taking form in your head. You tell him, “I am thinking about how gracefully you still dance.”

“Hmm,” he hums, “can that ever change?”

Your left shoulder lifts a little. “We don’t dance as much as we used to. But I suppose not.”

“Or perhaps it can change and I just find it easier with you.”

Your eyes expand a bit, but you don’t know if he sees it.

Easier with you.

With you, of all the people he has known over the decades. A life filled with touches so godless that you can barely wrap your head around still being the only one.

And you try to blend them out so badly. The thoughts of his body swaying as easily with somebody else’s, or hiding in another nook, far from creeping eyes. Feeling another heat on a chilly night.

You are truly trying to focus.

To focus on the heartbeat against your back when he releases you and turns you in his grip. For a moment, he holds you there, against his vest, the buttons cold on your bare arm. Your skin reacts, goosebumps scattered all over, helped by the proximity his lips come into.

They graze your ears, as if he’s doing this to you on purpose; as if he’s attempting to draw out the message your soul delivers. Responding with your name, spelled out by the pumping of his heart. He’s trying to make you receive it.

Every damn second, he has been wanting you to focus on him, and you have been. More so now than ever. On this and this only.

But it’s never easy. It hasn’t been.

You turn back in his arms. Even the piano fades a little now; you barely hear any of it anymore, let him lead you, relying on the pure trust you still put in him. It burns as much as all you see in those eyes of his.

Two tiny flames, red and orange, flickering blue sometimes. Behind them, a dark and sweet and gorgeous void; it still leads to his heart.

You have never seen this much love in anyone’s glance. Except for when he looks at your children, you guess. But this is different. The two of you are always, always different.

Jungkook loves you. Jungkook loves you with all he has and all he ever had and all he’ll be able to give. Jungkook intends to love you to your last exhale, and will love you into the next life; and Jungkook will wait for your soul in order to merge back with it someday, in the great unknown.

No matter who of you leaves this cruel world first — you have never caught him looking at someone like this. Like he will be sitting on his cloud impatiently on the other side, holding onto the fate bestowed upon you.

You know this much. You know the nature of the two of you because you are part of this constellation. So it should hurt less. Eternity should relieve you.

And he understands, too, that you’ll always be here, patient as he watches you come closer step by step, back to him. No matter in which universe and which time; he’ll be there, in an uncertain future and when humanity has changed into something far bigger.

But…

Right now, right where you are…

The same lights, the same light steps. The same love and the same scent announcing the change in season. This place and the memories attached to it; the fragility of your mind and the still fresh wounds to your heart.

They extend in size much too fast, much too ruthlessly.

You unlace your fingers when the sound ebbs down, just in a moment all too fitting to not raise much suspicion. The bodies around you are bowing, chattering, smiling. They don’t notice you.

So you step back by mere inches, parting from him with a frail smile. You offer a slight bow, as well, watching him imitate it with muscles just as feeble. You bring a hand to your face. Touch your cheek first, still feel the heat brushing your skin.

Then, you fan air against it, feigning the warmth that a near-summery event such as this often brings. They won’t know. You breathe out, as if overwhelmed by the heat, and then begin to walk away. But he realises your intentions immediately.

For a second, you see his mouth forming your name. Then, his voice changes, as if you’re the only one who can hear it through the crowd, adding a tiny, “Sweetheart—”

So aware of it all.

But you’re already stepping away because you can’t stop now. Because your feet won’t halt, their heels pressing into the floor as if they’re moving by themselves, carrying you away.

And because the wind outside helps, even if just a tad; even if only until his shoes clack against the floor, their sound all too known to you. He catches up to you right away; not that you expected otherwise. Jeon Jungkook would not stand there and let you go.

Not again.

You hear your name again, wondering about the next syllable to utter. Your mind is obscured, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing, no matter how obviously you just ran away. So you sniffle a bit and then suck in some air, as if to blame the now colder night.

It’s a lie. It’s still pleasant; you aren’t cold despite the still-present gooseflesh. Maybe that’s why you find it so hopeless to contain your silent cries or to wipe away that one stray tear as you respond, “Yes.”

And the moment allows some time again. Time to think back to more that you never experienced, that you’d rather still not be a part of.

Because you still can’t stop comparing. All you ever see is her when he never does. Whenever you think about how much he loves you now and loved you then, you remember that he was in the same halls with her, staring from a far end, hoping for something she could never grant.

That he stood at the same spots in this damned world as the two of you did many years ago — but without them ever further advancing. Because none of them could, not because they wouldn’t. Because they were veiled, forbidden.

You start to pour your heart out the moment you turn to him, at the end of the porch, watching his mouth open to speak. You aren’t prepared and haven’t written a mental speech, so you’ll need to improvise.

Which means, you need to shield yourself as you speak, expecting how pain-struck he looks when you begin, “My mind keeps saying…”

It’s already a miserable start; but Jungkook still urges, “It says what?”

“That,” you clear your throat, so absolutely fazed and dazed when his thumb reaches out, catching the tear only followed by many others, “that it could have been her. That she is still there and—”

You pause to breathe, looking past his shoulder. Nobody else is outside, and you see the crowd through the door. A pair of eyes or two peeks out, but you’re clearly not interesting enough right now. So they diverge their gaze again.

You don’t care about whether somebody sees. You only care about them possibly thinking that he hurt you. That the grand, famous son of the former, beloved duke has done something to break a heart.

You don’t want them to.

So you drop your head, keeping your voice in check as you try to add, “I am afraid that you might start regretting that it was not her.”

Jungkook silences. The lips so close to your ears before are locked now; not because he thinks you’re right or because he’s ever entertained the option of a reality where she replaced your role in his life.

But because he’s told you the truth so many times. Over and over; circling round and round. It won’t carve itself into your mind as it has onto his tongue, words repeated like crazy.

He pauses a little longer; much until you glance up. And despite each of his failed attempts at bringing you back to where you used to be, he refuses defeat and tries again—

“And does this not tell you otherwise? Does it not mean anything? This…”

The thumb wanders from your cheek to your jaw. “That it ended up being you and not her.”

You tilt your head again; it’s different now than from a couple minutes ago. Maybe you truly are being a tease. Giving him hope one second, crying the next. Asking things like, “What does it mean?”

You know. Of course you do. But you’re being selfish for the first time, waiting until he tells you, “That it was supposed to be you. Always, and even now. I can’t tell you how all the days without you pass, but I just…”

A shake of his head, a drop of his hand. His head falls like yours did, and he closes his eyes, bringing two fingers to the bridge of his nose to pinch it a little. You wait. His lips, full and pink, form a circle, breathing out, and then he says,

“I am running out of words.”

Maybe he doesn’t need to add anymore. The former ones still echo. All of them always echo.

The eyes looking at you and the whispers he utters. The stare that wants to bring you the stars. They want to freeze the moment, the wind, the clouds in place — it all echoes his heart.

“Jungkook…”

It’s all your strength allows.

And what else can you say at all?

You can only listen as he pleads again, “Please stay.”

What else can you do? You see him everywhere anyway, hear him all the time. The love never vanishes either way, no matter what the world does to crush you. And you don’t want it to.

You want to remember it.

Even if any of this came to crumble to pieces and left you with merely half of what you’re able to call yours. Even if one day, you were deserted and alone and started forgetting his voice or the way his hands moved or the warmth of his touch, you’ll remember this much.

The intensity of the burning in your stomach as it spreads, a wildfire that consumes. But if you’re smart enough, you’ll listen. You’ll stay. You’ll add to the memories instead of erasing them.

Build a world that’s both old and new to you and leave whatever you survived throughout these months in another universe, one that you didn’t ever live in but solely visited.

You were wrong. His name isn’t all that your strength allows. There’s more left in your wobbly, fragile body. A rising of your chest; a lift of your head, blinking of your eyes; and a step or two, enough to close the distance.

He’s pleading on repeat, the same little request that has accompanied you the past months. Still whispering a little, “Stay,” as he watches you close in, lodged in place because this time, it’s your feet dragging you to him instead of away from him.

You feel it in every fibre when your body collides with his. Head to chest and arms wound around him as if clasping some support to keep you afloat. Your legs, no matter how aflame your heart, are weak somehow; you might falter.

But Jungkook helps you fare better. Keeps you in place when his hand finds the small of your back, slowly, unsurely. Cautious as it drifts up your spine, leaving something in its wake that you missed so fiercely.

You need to stay like this. Just for a while. Perhaps tonight, if you don’t, you might die. With a feeling eating you up, blazing as it could get, and tears rolling down that you’re certain could be acid.

They have been for a bit; everything has been for a bit.

But right now, somehow, somewhat, they’re still as different as you prayed for them to be for so long.

That night, you don’t stay in his humongous mansion that is resplendent in this picturesque town of yours. In truth, Jungkook doesn’t spend much of his nights over there when you visit the place you once knew.

His mother and brother mind less, but to him, the bright walls are tinged with a darkness only he sees, perceptible under the touch of his palms and in the endless, empty hallways.

Instead, you spend an hour of the night staring at the door you grew up gazing at, big and comforting and closed, a portal to your younger years and turbulent moments. Just a minute walk from that door and down the stairs, there is an entrance that Jungkook once stood in front of, begging, stepping over the threshold to touch you just once.

To tell you what you needed to know, without his tongue ever working. And you remember bringing him back here one day then, with a ring on your finger and an arm slung around his. Listening as he told you, looking around, “So cosy.”

“Pretty?”

“Beautiful. And the scent helps.”

You smiled. You had given the kitchen staff an entire list of Jungkook’s favourite dishes. He is an omnivore; he will eat almost anything presented to him, never too picky. Before you were married, he had enjoyed every bite and every drop given to him.

But he was here as your husband for the first time, and you wanted to pamper him as much as he spoiled you daily.

He looked sweet as he sniffed, nose crinkled, dark, dark eyes so enthusiastic and happy. That moment had long killed all the pain you’d felt burning in your blood a year prior, and you knew he’d keep your veins clean and your heart pumping.

And today… years and years after.

It felt different as he came in. This is still his home, too. Your mother loves him. Your father loves him. Your sister, while empathic, no matter what past she shares with him, adores him as her brother-in-law, too.

And despite all the trails of dryness on your face, where the tears flowed, you love him, too.

His calm breathing behind you offers a source of relief. His warmth is palpable under the blanket, the mattress filled. When you came here with Hana last time, you truly noticed how big your bed was and how you’re not used to the space, how you don’t even want it anymore.

And when Jungkook moves, sighing, evidently turning, you close your eyes. If he notices, he will ask why you’re awake, and if you tell him why, you will cry, and you can’t cry again.

Too late, though.

He knows; but he doesn’t ask.

What he does do is touch your waist just a little. The fingertips send a shiver up your sides. Gentle goosebumps and a fiery pain, well-known but so far away that it catapults you back to what you were.

Your throat is clogged when he, well aware of how awake you are, analyses the pattern of your breathing so easily that you should’ve known you needn’t act. He whispers, “May I…”

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t. You want to turn around and cuddle into him, so close to holding the side of his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

But before your body can react, he does, an arm slinging around you when you put a hand over his. He pulls you close to him, a trembling lower lip sinking to your shoulder, and your inhales break.

Quickly, you close your eyes, thinking of the wind in your hair a couple hours ago. It was balm to your heart, the way his hug was; but the sobs echoing in front of the porch added a couple stones to your heart, forcing it heavier.

All these months, you have suppressed your tears in front of him, but by now, there is no need to hide and to pretend. Jungkook never has. Even now, he doesn’t veil a thing — you know when you realise he’s crying, too, shakily breathing in against your shoulder.

Between the silent weeping, you hear his voice whimper. You’re carried away when he holds you closer, still grovelling, delivering a now-rare touch to your clavicles and your jaw, as if to feel your heart and your presence.

And then, he mutters, “I love you. I am so sorry. I love you so, so much.”

The words are quiet, drowned as he presses his lips deeper into your shoulder, into your neck. His tears fall onto your skin, and you shut your eyes tight, letting out the same liquid, mixed with a longing, quiet moan. You don’t need to tell him that you feel the same.

You know he feels it. Feels it in the way you grip his hand. In how your head turns to his, and his fingers pinch your chin, and in the way you look at him. How you let him kiss your nose. Your lips.

In how you finally do put a warm palm to his neck, grazing the hair in the nape of it, mouth close to his as you shut your eyes before he does.

You remain and cry and hope and love until he falls asleep, and you follow.

You basked in the breeze.

It was scented and gentle, like the back of loving fingers caressing your cheeks. The sky was nearly cloudless; spring was slowly setting in. When you had walked the distance to this very spot, the wind howling in your ears had soothed you somehow.

Softly and sweetly; a desired change, along with the welcoming sun rays kissing your face. Warmth and love, a dress swaying. There was something about this world you breathed in that resembled a girl’s fairytale dreams.

So you didn’t mind the bugs or how ticklish the ankle-high grass made you or how hot it was getting by the hour today.

You wanted to be here. You wanted to be surrounded by the old trees, gazing at the paths between them leading to where you stood, amidst the butterflies and flowers and underneath the azure sky.

You were alone.

Saturdays were busy for the mansion and the village; people wandered about and tended to their businesses. Sometimes, they’d indulge in low-labour days and wander to this place. Some of those who could afford horses, would ride here with their kids, take a walk to breathe in the season and the worldly wonders the edge of your town offers.

But not today; and you were thankful.

You kicked the earth underneath your feet, the low boots not high enough or protective of your skin beneath the dress. You had fled from the mansion and the conversations going on. Jungkook was in the parlour and the children were playing with the nanny.

You guess this was the place to be. So you tucked your hair behind your ear, looking around the empty space, and then took a seat despite the wildness of the field. Plucked the grass.

Jihyo was probably still sitting in front of him, legs not nervously pressed together as she used to do when she visited. She crosses them now, her back a little more bent than usual, comfortable with her son and the man she once knew.

When you left, they were still exchanging pleasantries, but you knew it wasn’t long before they’d get to the business he’d promised her. Both of them pleaded with you to stay. To listen in and make decisions with him.

He held your hand until you retracted it, fingers left in his hold, and then, you pulled back entirely. 

You were terrible at being there. And you were terrible at being away, too. But the wind engulfed you with some solace at least, and this was only half as worse as the stifling air in that one room. Invisible thumbs pressing into your neck.

But this town, this village — they weren’t big. And your staff, and Jungkook, and the people knew you.

So you shouldn’t have been too surprised when she found you here, too. When you heard her voice close and recognised it immediately, swearing that the field was empty just a moment ago.

She was slow, careful. She knew you by now, at least a little; but she still always approached you as if she was waiting for an outburst, well aware that you weren’t going to snap again. But she saw a deep fault in herself, expected to be thrown out at some point.

But you wouldn’t; you never did. If you wanted to, you wouldn’t have found this very hidden spot that she’d located so easily.

Hands folded in front of her body, she smiled when you looked back at her, alarmed by the steps in the grass. You managed a little smile, just as savvy of the fact that she was harmless as she was. You didn’t hate Jihyo; but you were still wounded, insecure.

Squinting into the high sun, eyes hidden behind some of her strands swaying in the wind, she nodded towards you, standing over you before she said, “We are done.”

You reciprocated her nod, telling her, “That’s good.”

“He is giving Minjun a bit of his time, so I left. I have been wanting to find you for so long, but you always disappear.”

Of course she’d noticed. Jihyo, despite her faults and stupid mistakes in the past, wasn’t dumb in any way. She was a woman, like you, deeply tenderhearted and understanding of what swirled through your mind in her presence.

She knew that if she was you, she’d be hurting the same.

Yet, you told her, “I apologise.”

“There is no need.” Small pause, and then, “May I?”

She pointed to the spot next to you, asking to take a seat in the middle of a field that you didn’t own. Not like this; she didn’t need to ask. But you still nodded, shifting a little to the right, even though you didn’t need to.

Putting both hands under her thighs, she tucked the dress under her bottom and sat down, legs folded and fingers immediately grabbing some grass to toy with. She asked, “How are you?”

You puffed out a tiny breath. What were you supposed to answer? The shrug of your shoulder accompanying your seeming pondering was redundant, because you knew the answer very well. What good did it do to put on an act?

You responded, “It might take a while to feel like myself again.”

It was enough as an answer. She nodded once again, one eye still pinched shut as the noon sun stung in it. “It does take a while. Life would hurt less if it didn’t.”

“My mother says hardships build character.”

“Yes?” she wondered, letting out a little chuckle. Her digits wandered from the grass to her dress, picking at a stray thread. “I don’t know. I think it wouldn’t be too bad to evade these hardships. Does the character really need to be built?”

You sighed. “Right? I do not reckon I need to evolve as a person if I can just be happy.”

“Right,” she repeated.

She silenced again for a moment, the quietude broken by the whistle of the breeze. You breathed in, thankful for the oxygen so different from your hometown. You were thankful for a plethora of things around here and this was one of the aspects topping the list so easily.

Jihyo tongued her cheek and you watched for a second. When she noticed you staring, she smiled again, adding, “I appreciate your honesty. You do not need to talk to me at all, but you still do. Thank you.”

“Well,” you began, offering a tender smile, “it kills me to not be honest.”

Which was true, but not quite.

It wasn’t that you had been lying to Jungkook; you were just constantly burying your actual thoughts. What you felt and what you thought and what you needed. You felt odd about the moments you shared with him, and often waited for the right situations to be vulnerable.

It was killing you to not verbalise your mind, but you still powered through.

“I can see it,” she still admitted, “I see it even in your face.”

You were sure she could. Your face often felt contorted. Even if you wanted to, you were certain you couldn’t quite hide the emotions your brain elicited; it would always show in the eyes first. Windows to the soul and whatnot.

Did his eyes reveal the same to her? Did she see any of what she had so many years ago?

When he found out about her morals, when he felt the pang of pain in his chest back then, did he look similar to her? Or did she see a difference now?

Your stomach churned at the thought of this.

Words at the tip of your tongue, you chose to let them tumble, and asked in a voice so fragile, “How was he back then? Jungkook.”

Jihyo thought about it for a minute. Looked at you. Then gazed back down; without meeting your eye now, she said, “…Hurt.”

“Hmm…” you voiced, uncontrolled with your following words, seeking answers. “Then, he must not look different now. You know him like this, do you not?”

Another second to evaluate your question.

Your heart beat in your throat, and you let your head fall, understanding her answer until she spoke, and you realised that you actually didn’t, “I am not sure. For one, I did not know how to heal him. Back then, it was not just me. His emotions had to do with something much bigger than what we had.”

You only stared.

Your eyes begged for her to elaborate, and she did.

“He was hurt, but for another reason. Back then I was the distraction from his problems and he fell back into them once he stepped out of my life. But…” She hesitated, fumbling for words. “But you are the main reason for his heartache.”

Her words hurt deeply and violently. They had long been sitting in a space so concealed, but they floated to the surface now. As she voiced them, there was no way to deny them anymore; even if you weren’t at fault, and even if you understood your pain, validated it every day…

It was no lie that he was hurt because of you, too.

“Yes…” you confessed, your voice tiny and pained.

Maybe Jihyo understood what she had just uttered and how you’d taken it, because she shook her head in the next moment. Clarified, “Do not misunderstand, I don’t mean this in a bad way. Just that—”

She was struggling; was attempting to not be the source of your ache again. She inhaled deeply, and then tried again, “There is a big difference between me and you and his pain between us. With you, it’s so much more profound. If he can hurt because of you, and only hurt because he had lost a distraction all those years ago… doesn’t it reveal his true feelings?”

You didn’t answer. You needed to digest her words; eyes drifted to the ground, and you repeated them in your mind. She leaned into you, touched your elbow ever-so-gently. “Does it not?”

You tucked your hair loosely behind your ears. Partly, because it kept covering your eyes; partly, because you felt shy all of a sudden. Not the way you used to. Rather in a familiar in-love-way, yearning for somebody who was waiting for you just the same.

Somebody adored you for who you were, thankful for every damn breath you drew. There were moments of realisations like this; when you rethought your life and once again understood who it truly was who fell for you.

You were lucky, you thought, to be the one to be worthy enough to be loved by him.

“You’re right,” you soon agreed, “of course… of course you are.”

Jihyo didn’t answer right away. Your conversation was shaped by certain awkwardness, but it was drenched in support, too. You didn’t think you’d find yourself here, but realistically, you also knew that Jihyo wasn’t quite a bad person.

She had hurt, hadn’t she? Every woman deserves a love she can be proud of; Jihyo had never experienced it until now. Not when she hid with Jungkook in vacant rooms. Never meaning to hurt anybody when she broke into your life.

You wished you could despise her for her flaws, but you couldn’t.

Not when she looked at you like this. Those gorgeous, dark eyes so sweet, eyebrows knitted together just a little. Arched, pretty lips in a small smile, but the distress so obvious underneath her expression.

She said, “I don’t want to come in between you. I never wanted to, it’s just that…” She gulped. You already knew what she’d say and you nodded, but she explained anyway, “I need to ensure his safety. I wish there was another way.”

Perhaps there was. But no easy one. And maybe she was right anyway. If not the father, who else?

“I wish there was,” she repeated, “but as soon as I have figured it all out… I will be gone.”

The shake of your head came quicker than you would’ve assumed or expected. You surprised yourself when you defended, “But Jungkook deserves a relationship with him, too. I don’t want to take it away.” You gazed down again. “He wasn’t part of his life until now, but… can you or me or he really abandon that? Minjun is still his… his blood.”

You choked out the last words, suppressing the urge to hold onto your chest, to grip your heart and protect it, so it didn’t bleed through your digits. What could you do, really? You could’ve agreed, told her to pack her things once things were resolved.

You wished you were selfish like this; you knew Jungkook would’ve been for you if you just told him. But you couldn’t. It wasn’t fair towards anyone.

“Then…”

Jihyo’s gaze was intense, trying to communicate verbally. Maybe she knew it was hard to find the right words at the right times; she wasn’t bad at it, but it didn’t come to her naturally either, like the way it did for Jungkook so often. And he had said many times that it did for you, too.

“Then you might need to find a way to cope,” she threw out, “or to… to not hurt anymore. I’m wrong, I don’t want you to cope. I want us to stop hurting. Because I respect you.”

She let out another breath. Her hand moved in place, and you knew she was trying to reach out, holding back until you did it for her. Put a palm on her fingers. She continued, “And I do not want to lie… I am fond of you.”

Maybe because she understood. Or because, at heart, she knew you were good. Worth respecting. You wanted to hurt others just as little as she did.

You nodded, responding, “Thank you. I— I am fond of you, too, just not… of—”

“Of the situation itself. I know.” You agreed with another nodding gesture, nibbling at your lower lip for a second. Jihyo sighed. “Realistically… without lying to yourself. Do you want to leave?”

Did you? Of course not. If you’d wanted to, you would’ve. But you were too weak to fall out of love with him. Or maybe, in truth, this was one of your strengths.

Compassion. Care. Forgiveness. 

You never thought it took much to love him. But it always takes a lot to compromise, to fight through issues and circle back to love. Were you strong enough to do this?

Maybe. Probably.

Because it was him. Come on…

It was him.

“No,” you then said.

“You love him,” she stated. Not a question. A solid observation; anyone would see.

“I do.”

“…Would you regret staying more or leaving?”

Asking the right questions. Then again, the answer didn’t take much thinking. Your instinct knew, and your heart knew, and every overthinking thought, once cleared, would give way to one and only answer.

So you acknowledged, “I do not know how to leave him.”

And that was it.

Jihyo didn’t say more than that. She leaned back, one single nod, palms against the sharp grass; she didn’t seem to bother.

She stretched her chin towards the sun, indulging in the start of the spring. You saw a ladybug crawling up her clothed leg, but she didn’t pay it any mind. In fact, she didn’t utter anything at all anymore. Because she didn’t need to.

You knew, and she knew.

Because whatever she could’ve said, you already saw. Her silence divulged it.

Quietly, wordlessly made clear to you—

“Then you know where this will eventually go.”

The corners of your eyes are dry, somehow crusty when your lids flutter open the next morning. You guess that’s where the liquid traced down your face and left your skin to desiccate.

Your left side feels airy and empty, and when you turn, you see it devoid of a presence indeed. But there’s a soft, close rustling and whispering that you soon detect to be the man that priorly deserted the bed.

He’s standing close to your childhood room’s door, throwing a thin, baby blue coat over his shoulders. It’s reminiscent of the royalty he is.

His eyes meet yours in time as you blink at him, sad yet dreamy. The desire to act upon the emotions that the dream — no, the memory — called forth is vigorous. Like an invisible force, urged by the girl you expected it from the least.

She was right, you knew where it’d go. Perhaps you just needed more time; to heal, to come to terms with all the change around and inside you.

And you want to leave it behind and want to pull him back to you; but as his eyes flicker with an already established plan, you hold back, listen as he verbalises it, “Get dressed, my love. We shall go out today.”

“Out? Where?”

“Let me lead you. I wouldn’t want to ruin the moment.” And then he turns away. Adds, “I will wait downstairs. I will give you some time to get ready.”

He nods once towards the general direction of the house’s exit, hand already on the handle of the door. You start, “You can stay if you—”

But he sighs, not in annoyance but amusement. His mouth curves into a smile before he chuckles a bit, pushing down the handle. You silence, but he doesn’t leave before infiltrating each of your thoughts when he says, “I know you are fine with this, but—”

Just one more time, he turns to you, “But I want to revisit it. The moment I saw you and felt it for the first time.”

He doesn’t need to specify what it is, because you remember, too. The excitement seconds away from the door, when you’d rush to open and put your gloved hand into his. He’d bow and kiss your knuckles and offer his arm.

And you’d stare. You’d keep staring. Would marvel at the sun reflecting in his eyes or the raindrops trailing down his temple or the snowflakes melting in his hair.

You’d admire and fall, freeze and burn. Would wait for a single moment in a vacant corner, anticipate his lips closing in, holding the hand lifting to your cheeks.

The clot in your throat is thick as Jungkook leaves and shuts the door gently. And you, as lovesick as you have always been, let your legs dangle, for a minute tops before you hurry to find all you need.

Your maid helps you a little, tightening the corset and assuring you that Hana is still asleep. That your sister was planning on buying her toys today anyway, a certainly long trip. Maybe it was Jungkook who had schemed all this beforehand — it seems to work quite well.

Hana is never one to complain when it comes to her aunt or her uncle or her cousin.

You don’t notice how much time passes until you’re finished, a lock dangling on each side of your face and a summer hat sitting on top of the carefully mended hair. You only question what Jungkook did in your absence once you near the staircase.

Converse with your father? Flatter your mother? Soak in some of the sun, just outside on the porch, greeting passersby who must surely still remember him?

But it’s none of these things, really, and you should have known. Should have reminded yourself of the sincerity in his voice and the words he uttered as you awoke.

Because he’s nowhere near any of your family members; instead, he’s right there in the middle of the welcoming hall. Stands there like a lost but gorgeous, sweet puppy. Fondles with his fingers, a strand in his forehead.

His mane is as dark as his eyes when they find you at the top of the staircase, but they’re shinier, with a degree of affection you’ve known for years. So there’s something ancient in his gaze.

Something you knew back when life truly started. When he’d wait, just like this, and you’d walk down the stairs, as if descending to join him at the altar. Come to think of it, you think you remember similar sentiments in his pupils when you married him, too.

No, you don’t think so; you know. Hell might freeze over — you wouldn’t forget the way he looked at you, so vulnerable and in disbelief. Somewhat glad and relieved that you were there, putting his trust and his heart in your palms, yet expecting the worst.

You know that you taught him — to understand his worth and to see what he is to you.

And you see the same feelings now.

He knows you, knows you better than anyone. But he’s falling in love again. Seeing you again. Trying to mend what’s broken and finding an anchor in you, seeing the beauty one usually recognises in forests and waterfalls and colours.

You breathe in. Then out.

Keep watching as he watches.

His mouth is slightly apart, a bittersweet pain in his eyebrows, and once you reach him where he waits, you see him gulp. He dares not to blink as you take his hand, cherishes each moment and all he’s allowed to see of you.

Jungkook doesn’t need to say any of it. He has before. And even when he didn’t, you knew. He might have studied you over the years, but you know him better than anyone, too.

Strange, how your brain convinced you otherwise and planted doubts when you’ve never not been aware of the loyalty he always pledged to you.

But he’s so unwaveringly beautiful as you take him in. There is no moment in existence when he isn’t, but… those eyes. And the bridge of his nose, ending in that little button. The arch and curve of his lips and the moles you have kissed so often.

You’re breathless and taken when he smiles like this, madly insane when he says, “Not that I ever forgot, but,” he exhales, “I am incredibly lucky.”

Timid, you lower your head for a brief moment, fingers curling around his as you swallow the knot and tell him—

“Funny… I was going to say the same thing.”

You know the building. Know it like the back of your hand, even now.

“You brought me to…”

You look around, slightly blinded by the sun as you squeeze one eye shut. Some of the bricks look the same, some have been replaced. You didn’t realise how much you missed it here until now; not until the door of the carriage closes and it sinks in that he actually brought you here.

“The orphanage,” you breathe.

“You talk about them so much,” Jungkook says. Good — perhaps you did miss them and knew. But years passed. A new life started. Still… “We never got around to visiting this place. But I wanted to bring you this time.”

Your head turns to look at him. “Have you ever since you first asked to come to town?”

“Well… no,” he admits, “rather, I have wanted to for months. Before anything happened.”

You don’t know what to reply. There’s a little version of you in the back of your head, jumping in joy and tearing up at the same time. Another reminder of a million that Jungkook has always been attentive with you.

Maybe that’s why you fell just a bit deeper every day while other loves faded and wavered. Because Jeon Jungkook fucking cares. If not for anyone, then about you. You might die with this certainty embedded in your mind.

“Shall we go in?” Jungkook asks, and you nod, nervous and curious and so, so fond.

Once you’ve put your name in the visitors’ archive, the passage to the main hall is more or less empty, with a couple new faces passing you by. But once you reach the lovely place you’d frequent, watching spontaneous or carefully crafted performances on a small stage, names start coming to you.

It takes a second for them to perceive you. The orphanage can be a crowded place and random guests, especially unannounced, are not a given. You knew that back then, too. There are kind souls in this town, but the children are still not used to visitors.

They were used to you before you left.

And you see the month and year-long fondness they had set up for you once they do finally detect you. Some of them are new once again, but several you recognise. Just like you, they freeze momentarily, robbed of air.

For a second, they stare at you as if met with a forgotten ghost. As if they’re trying to place you into a fitting category in their lives, figuring out when you were part of it until they finally get it.

A boy and a girl, fraternal twins, are the first to abandon their game of nine men’s morris and get to their feet. You wave with a quiet, “Hello,” and they lift their hands and open their mouths, wordlessly telling you that, “I can’t believe this!”

The boy, Chul, would always hug you back when you came here. He was still so young then and now he’s grown by one or two heads. It’s easy to tell who they all are despite the time that passed; the moles and movements and smiles are still the same.

Though they have grown into such dashing gems.

Behind the twins, you see more children rushing, but he’s the first to speak your name, taking off his ivy cap, “You… it’s been so long. So long, welcome—”

“It has been,” you tell him as you allow him to take your hand. He must be around sixteen now. “Way too long as I can see. When did you start sounding like this?”

He laughs, looking around to the other kids and tells you, “You missed quite a lot. I even choose my clothes myself now.”

His sister chimes in, “Yet he’s not mature enough to see how awful they look at times.”

It is a joke, but you can’t help but feel a little sad. Even all those years ago, these two would bicker, playfully insulting each other’s intellect and appearance as siblings knowingly do. But even today, you know that the mere reason for unfitting clothes is the lack of resources at times.

The orphanage tries its best, but it can’t defy worse times. Chul is tall but on the leaner side, and the shirt is slightly too big. One day, you hope they can find a life outside from here, shape something they have dreamed of.

“You will grow into it,” you tell him, Jungkook quiet next to you, and pat the boy’s bicep, “you already look so much stronger.”

Chul blushes, carding his fingers through his chocolate brown hair. “I do try my best.”

Your eyes fall to the back, to a girl with lifted eyebrows and an absolutely delighted expression. Easily recognisable, too. She used to have flaming red hair; somehow, it has darkened with time, only by a shade. 

But her eyes are still a rare green, as unique as all of her. Lily was one of the few children who travelled from afar, in her mother’s arms that she never got to meet, like most of the kids here.

You still don’t quite know which country she originally came from, and it took her a while to accept that she’d never meet who brought her here. Almost everybody struggled with this at some point, but it took Lily longer to come to terms with it.

She was always loved, though. You recall her being mature beyond her years, and even now, she seems so put together. She must be close to adulthood by now.

And she was also one of the girls speaking to you when you brought Jungkook here for the first time. Bittersweet and nostalgic; she embodies much more for you than just the sweet girl you used to know.

She reminds you of Hana a bit, though they have nothing in common. Perhaps it’s because you hope Hana will be just as amazing one day; heighten all the wonderful qualities she already possesses.

Lily steps forward, along with the others; you soon see that a bunch is missing. A lot of those you played with and talked to — but as the conversation continues, you soon learn that they left the orphanage when they were old enough.

Saved up from the work they did as they grew old enough and then travelled the country and cities to find a college, studied what they desired, established a life. Those you knew as older children back then are now probably somewhere, hopefully happy, finding joy in something new.

You feel inexplicably proud.

The rest is still here — hoping to follow in their footsteps. Different from you who disappeared so long ago. You said your goodbyes back then, but you were sure you’d return.

Life moved so fast.

The kids, soon finding themselves in a circle on the clean floor, facing you, ask where you went and how you were doing. What life was like away from here.

They’re sweet, these people. Didn’t mind folding their legs on the spot, but insisted on offering a blanket for you to sit on. Jungkook is close to you, just a few inches behind you, allowing you space and privacy with those you cherished.

But as enthusiasm in all voices grows, he speaks up as well, curious as he asks, “Do you all remember me, too, by the way?”

Some nod enthusiastically; others stare at each other, still young and even younger then. Jungkook picks them from the circle, cocking an eyebrow in faux-offense as he curses, “Well, damn. I shall remember this.”

But the twin sister, Eunji, shakes her head, reprimanding, “How do you all not remember? He was the prince!”

Enlightenment spreads over the others’ visages. Of course it’d take them a little. They have probably heard of the Jeon Jungkook, one of the main royals the town offers, but since he left with you years ago, they wouldn’t know his face anymore, would they?

They were so little when they met him first.

“I mean, I am not really a prince, but—” Jungkook starts, but one of the older ones interrupts—

“Well, you looked like one.”

Then, one of the youngsters that forgot, “You still do.”

Jungkook chuckles. You look over your shoulder, catch the crinkles around his eyes and the bunny grin; the way he lifts his shoulders some whenever he laughs. He looks much younger like this.

Like before. Like then.

“Wow,” his candied voice utters, “thank you so much.”

“Were you already married back then?” Eunji asks.

You shake your head. “No, not for a while still. I invited you, did you forget?”

“Ooooh. I keep mixing up memories. But dang,” she teases, leaning forward, “so you fell in love when you brought him here, huh?”

You smile; see Jungkook blush. These are still hormonal, young adults. They’re probably roaming around, falling in love, too. No wonder they dig such topics so much. They didn’t care all those years ago.

But you’re delighted when you tell them parts of your and Jungkook’s story, conveniently leaving out pieces that concern nobody but the two of you. You must admit even: being here helps you forget some of it.

And as time passes, you reckon this was partly Jungkook’s intention, too.

Another girl, Hayun, hitherto quiet and listening, wonders at some point, “So why are you here?”

“I wanted to visit you,” you tell them.

The answer is easy and clear as day, though you weren’t the one to manifest the idea into actions. You don’t tell them that it is Jungkook doing this for you; that you would’ve come back for them, but perhaps not now, not with how life went for weeks.

But you don’t regret a moment. You’re thankful. If you could, you’d take his hand, squeeze it, silent gratitude, so he knows how you feel about all of this. And you’re determined to keep their smiles on, to return when you can when they ask,

“Are you going to stay?”

“Not for long… I will need to go home in a day or two…”

You could feel guilty. But you don’t; you’re not leaving for so long ever again. You adored all of them from the bottom of your heart. You won’t let all of what you came to feel be for nothing.

“But… if you’d like,” you begin and some of them straighten their posture, “I can stay here for a bit today. I will come back another time, too. Is that… alright?”

Their reaction is immediate. How did you never assume how much you mean to them, too? Of course you do. You were a frequent face and they learned to love it, to appreciate you deeply. Considering some of the lonely days they lived through, they’d never forget you.

Your waterline dampens, for the millionth time this week, and you blink it away. You won’t cry, not here, not now. They’re a source of joy, so you’ll show them this exact emotion, too.

“Of course!” they chime. “As long as you’d like. We’ll be here.”

But it’s hard, containing it all in your eyes. They must be seeing your glassy look, because theirs turns empathetic, smiles everywhere you look. Filling the seconds of noon, and then afternoon, with stories.

You’re baffled about how much has changed. Years ago, they’d tell you about their day and ask you for permission to braid your hair and draw with you.

Now, they reveal their first loves and tease you and ask about your children. And still, some of the moments are so familiar.

Because you remember that Jungkook sat next to you back then like this, too, and that he was silent, staring and caring and falling in love just like he is now. Seeing you for who you are and creeping deeper into your heart.

Things have changed and relationships have changed, but then again, they haven’t.

The young people the two of you were, flirting and rolling your eyes, pushing the other and then pulling them in. Swiftly into his arms, into his mind. You’re more mature now, but still in love, still one molten soul.

And you still see the same damn devotion when you recite a poem the children remember pieces of. You’re glad you still recall most of it, because they struggle with finding the words, reminiscing about how they loved it but not what it consisted of.

A belt of straw and ivy buds, with coral clasps and amber studs, And if these pleasures may thee move, come live with me, and be my love.

When you catch him looking, he doesn’t avert his eyes. They stay on you, aching and yearning, soft but so expressive.

There’s unspoken comfort floating between you, a sense of pleasure and beauty that truly moves you to your core, like ivy buds and amber studs, and you feel it perfectly.

Your heart — much closer to his chest than your own.

His hand is balmy in yours as it escorts you out.

The children’s day isn’t infinite. They soon find themselves busy with chores, apologising every now and then, and as the evening breaks in, you decide to leave them to their meals and tasks.

You have barely left, stepping into the carriage when you whisper, “Thank you.”

He squeezes your fingers, much as you wished to do before, and asks, “What for, love? This was long overdue.”

But you shrug, tell him, “Not just for this. But also for reminding me who I used to be.”

“You’re still who you were.” He nods a bit, a corner of his lips slightly jerking upwards. “If I saw anything today, then that you’re still you.”

“This is…” You furrow your eyebrows, not because you’re irritated but because you’re so deeply affected. Still sore from the knots in your throat, still wounded by the longing. “This is comforting… hearing it from you.”

He lets your hand go, fingers sneaking up to your face instead, cradling it. It’s not the first time, but the repetitiveness doesn’t stop him from vowing to you that, “Whatever you might assume… I will always feel the same about you.”

This isn’t what you are scared of; Jungkook has proven over and over again that he loves you more than humanly possible. It’s rather that—

“And I will never feel the same for anyone else.”

This. It’s this.

Your chin trembles and you start to give in, succumbing to the touch and the eyes and the memories. Your voice is shaky when you start, “I love you, Jungkook… I do. If there was—”

The shake of his head quietens you. “We’re not done yet.”

“What?”

“We’re not done,” he repeats, pinching your chin tenderly, “tell me all you need to once the night is over. I… I need you to be certain.”

You blink. “Certain about what?”

“About… all you need to be certain about. You’d know what that is.” Digits come back to yours, holding them again as the carriage starts with an unsteady jolt. “Only you.”

Yes… maybe nothing has changed as much as you thought.

“Back then you gave me time to think, too… Never rushed,” you say.

“I always will.”

“…Even though we live a human life that is so limited.”

“I will keep waiting.”

“I will be certain before the night is over, then,” you promise, breathe out the pain, “like I was then.”

He brings your knuckles up to his velvety lips, silky like your scarf as he presses a feathery peck onto them. They graze his cheeks and then his jaw, and you barely notice when your body drifts towards his when he speaks.

“Like you were then.”

As far as you recognise, you aren’t too far from your home.

Jungkook walked through a park and along a river with you, admiring the content fish and swans in its depths and at its shore. You didn’t come here a lot when you were younger; mostly with your parents, so there are memories attached to this place that aren’t quite his and yours.

Or at least, until now.

You assume Jungkook is giving the two of you the time you need, bringing back pieces of what was. But you don’t fully understand what it is and what he’s doing until you reach a bench and a spot you are very well acquainted with.

Jungkook’s and your name is clearly written in the sky above where you stand, like you own this place. Like it’ll be you who’ll be remembered by those passing by once both of you have left this realm.

The resemblance to the night you first spoke to Jungkook, many, many years ago when you were just kids, too, is striking. It’s when your initial enmity started; when you learned to abhor somebody you’d eventually learn to treasure.

And this… this is exactly where he first asked you about the odd deal. To be courted. When you stared at him in disbelief and dismissed him with a hundred accusations.

Why did he bring you here?

And why do you feel this way, as if things could truly be okay again? How does it all fit?

So you ask, “Why here?”

“Because… I don’t care which insufferable things we felt for each other,” he explains, “we started here.”

But I want to revisit it. The moment I saw you and felt it for the first time.

This is it, isn’t it? Jungkook didn’t just plan a random outing due to the pleasant day, the warm sun, the gentle breeze slowly introducing thunder and grey clouds. If he had, you’d have spent the day on a hill the two of you love, or strolled amongst a crowd.

No, Jungkook is retracing your steps. The ones you took several years ago, when you hadn’t each exchanged half of your hearts just yet. He wants to bring you back to a place of hopelessness and hostility, prove to you that sometimes, you can save a withering flower.

Or make something new bloom instead.

“We changed so much over time, no? I can barely remember what I used to feel that day,” he says; he’s right. You cannot even conjure fragments of the revulsion between you; it dispersed so quickly. “I can’t even believe any of the hatred ever existed at all.”

“As if we were someone else.”

“It seems like it, does it not? And then… now…”

Yes…

A shared mansion and shared offspring. A beautiful face choosing toys with her aunt and twins familiarising themselves with the grandparents they met too seldomly.

From there to here, from black to white. Then, to a hue of grey.

“As we started our life together…” Jungkook starts, his face more like ash now; the space between the clouds is narrowing. “Did you ever doubt the change? Remember how we were the years before.”

You would never dream of such a question or a thought. Would never form a doubt such as this in your mind. Even then, you were nearly blindly trusting, hopeful in people. You knew they were capable of change, because you weren’t the same anymore either.

“No,” you tell him, “I never thought you were a bad person at your core, but… it needed time for me to realise, too. And when we became what we are today, I knew who you really were. So no, I never did.”

You wait, watch him nod. He seems relieved but also nervous, distracted. Tells you, “I did a little. Doubt myself. I was scared that I wasn’t truly that kind person you saw me as. That I was still the same man plaguing you.”

“You never plagued me,” you promise, stepping near, an automatic hand finding his cheek. “You gave your all.”

“Do you remember,” he begins, halting when a quiet thunder sounds, “do you remember how scared I always was to mess up? Before Hana and anything.”

The books he’d read. The memories he’d carry. The conversations you’d have. Frightened to repeat or forward what he’d grown up with.

“I do,” you say.

“And you’d always remind me that I was easy to love… that effort is always worth it.”

“It is. It was for you, too. Our kids love you.”

The rain collects silvery in his waterline, at the same time as it does above in the sky. He’s harbouring something in this fragile heart of his — a dozen questions and a hundred scenarios. You know he’s hoping for a specific one, hoping for the right responses to all his inquiries.

So there is no surprise in the words he utters next, nor in the shaky fear in his voice, “And you?”

You're quick to answer.

“I will never unlove you.”

“D-do you also remember… how I’d always tell you how afraid I was you’d run away? Before I married you. How much I feared that I’d wake up and not find you anymore?”

“But you found me. I would never hide—”

“But I’m still scared. You reminded me that everybody’s worth loving, despite their mistakes and burdens, and despite all I let out on you or anyone else… you found a way to forgive me and love me. And I’m still scared because—”

His palms shoot up, too, holding your face much as you are holding his. He presses them in, pulls you closer, and you gasp soundlessly. Then, “Because none of this was or is ever a given.”

“I know, too, Jungkook,” you counter, “I never took you for granted. And you know it, you were never bad. Just…”

“Mistreated. You’ve told me, just… I chose to handle it all… way worse than mistreatment justifies. You never did so, no matter what or who hurt you because you’re the sound one, you know?”

“Jungkook, my coping does not have to align with yours, we’re different—”

“Yet, baby, I learned to be a proper human being because of you.”

“This is too big of a responsibility, Kook… it was never just me.”

“No…” he says, gulping, shutting his eyes for a second when another thunder rolls. Fitting spring evening for a blossoming yet blue couple. “I don’t want to attach my sanity to how you react to the things I do. I did this once and…”

He shakes his head, moving your hands with them. Your thumb brushes over his cheekbone and then sideways to his hair. He continues, “I don’t want my ability to make wise choices to be dependent on who you are to me, but…  I will never deny what your existence did for me.”

You nod, as if to pacify him; you do it with your children sometimes, make them feel heard and seen. It works with every human being. Jungkook is no different. He seeks your approval and seeks your love.

He sniffles. “Perhaps it wasn’t you making me decent but— it was you leading me back to myself.”

The sun is starting to set. You don’t know when time disappeared and rushed, but it’s almost invisible behind the pale sky. And now, the first drops fall, too. Starting slow but exploding quickly.

It’s a harsh reminder that, as a human being, you cannot repeat moments from the past. Even when you trace them back, they won’t come again; you won’t feel the exact same giddiness again.

But you can create new ones, more dizzy days.

Ones that resemble the night you stepped out of the orphanage, or any other hazy and dark evening that you spent wading through the shower instead of evading it. Or the moment you saw the duke’s son properly for the first time, sobbing on a lonely bench.

Whatever ghastly and foggy disappointment grew in your chest that very night a lifetime ago has long been replaced by guilt — guilt about not understanding better as a kid, not being able to elude the disgust that would follow your entire youth.

But most of all, sadness about how hurt he truly was and would continue to be; how you see something similar now, even though the situations differ drastically. Most of the issues from then have been resolved, and now he’s caught in something else.

Then again, losing somebody and dreading loss both induce fear, don’t they?

And it’s you who helped him last time; how deeply does the pain really run when his anchor is drowning, too?

You look around the world for a moment, lost in dreams and in your head. Jungkook calls your name, a distant sound as the rain patters onto your skin. It takes you a second to recall that you’re supposed to answer, and when you look at him, his voice is so terribly delicate—

“Do you remember?”

“…I do. All of it.”

“We’re living a new life now, aren’t we?”

“I guess we are,” you say, your hands falling a bit, grazing his neck to keep his attention and sanity just enough. “But a new life means rebirth. That does not have to be a bad thing.”

“It doesn’t,” Jungkook agrees. His hair is already soaked — when he shakes his head even a bit, the tips throw the drops into all directions. “But some things stay the same.” He stares up for a second, blinking faster as the sprinkle falls into his eyes. “The rain still connects us to the sky.”

He laughs when you do, suddenly and sweetly, breaking out of you. It has been a while. You keep your smile intact, but the chuckle stirs another emotion in you that you’ve kept at bay for the minutes you’ve stood here.

Glassy eyes find his, silence befalling the world for a moment barring the gentle storm. Then—

A sob.

It travels up straight from your throat, no way of stopping it, no matter how hard you try. Your voice stutters, eyebrows coming together, and his expression changes. Culpable, unforgiving towards himself.

His head sinks a bit, and you guess it doesn’t help when you admit, “Jungkook… I am so hurt.”

“I know,” he whispers; you’re surprised you hear him at all. “I am, too.”

“I’m so… why are my thoughts everywhere, Kook?”

Your desperation implodes and explodes, evident in every tone and tear. You hold onto the collars of his blue coat, tug yourself closer to him. You’re aching, but you need him nearer. Maybe you’ll spiral if he isn’t.

“It hurts so goddamn much to think about it, well knowing who I am to you, and… and I hate losing this part of my sanity,” you tell him.

“Do you…” he starts, swallowing. The state of his eyes resembles yours now; the salty grief is similar as it glides down his already wet face. “What do you need me to do to be happy? Do you need me go— gone?”

He barely gets the word out. Hesitates. So terrified of hearing your answer, unsure whether to take it back, as if it could make you forget he suggested it at all.

But you know Jungkook. He’d rather cut pieces of his heart and never mend them again if it meant bringing you peace and comfort.

The truth, though, is…

“How could I?” you mutter to the ground, not daring to move, like it could make reality dematerialise and throw you into one without him. “No matter the pain, I think that— that losing you would hurt more.”

His breathing accelerates. Some of the life he always breathes into you sparks anew, and he grasps your hand, lets you know that, “You’re not losing me. I’m right here.”

“What if this all, or I, ruin your life?”

“…How?”

“By being like this all the time, Kook—”

“What?” You shut up at the tone. He has told you before — he detests you accusing yourself of something when he messed up… always his words. “Do you know what’d happen if you left?”

You do. You don’t.

You have an idea of what happened when you were away, but he never told you all of it. If you disappeared for good, you’d possibly be met with a world with a Jungkook in it that you don’t even want to imagine.

“I don’t care if you ruin my life,” he emphasises, “I want you to. I want to sit at the fireplace with you and laugh and cry and fight with you. I want to see the kids grow, together with you. I want this. Okay… Okay?”

“I—”

“And I want you to keep remembering it all. How we started, how we grew, too. How I thought I’d die without you the moment I saw you walking towards me at the altar.” He brings your hands to his face as he always does, brushing your knuckles against his lips. “I… I can’t have this with anyone else.”

He moves your fingers to his eyes, and a moment later, you feel further wetness, the tears against your skin. He shakes his head, lets all he concealed for weeks flood out at once. You knew he was hurting, but he barely ever showed it as openly as he is now.

Just like you are. You remember — that he held back for you, died a bit every day.

“And I don’t want to,” you hear him whisper. And then, again. “I really don’t fucking want to.”

You’re speechless; if only for a second.

“This is… what you’ve grown to feel?”

“I always have,” he tells you through his trembling voice, a pitch higher now as he capitulates, “she was just— a fleeting memory of just one moment. And you are every second of my day.”

He has been occupied all these years — in every single nanomoment of every damn day and night, you were the main thought taking over his brain. Whatever he’s done, whatever’s he’s ever said, he’s done and said so for you.

Jungkook favours you over every existence in this universe, and you should have always known. No, you did. You were never an overthinker until the world turned upside down, until it forced dubious hesitation into you that you should’ve deemed irrelevant from the start.

Jihyo isn’t part of him anymore. He didn’t see you when she was. He didn’t see her now that you are. Does that very past matter more than this, though? This warm touch and the promises in it and the love in his eyes and the sadness in his lower lip.

“You don’t know who you are to me,” Jungkook says, not waiting for your query before he tells you, “you don’t know who you are at all, do you? Do you never see all the kindness and generosity? How selfless you are and how much you care?”

“Don’t you? See it in yourself, Jungkook?”

“This is what I mean. You’re so fucking forgiving, too, no? I—” Pause. Then, quieter, “Please forgive me…” He’s begging now, full on crying, closing in until his lips float over yours. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Jungkook has kissed you a million times. But when he does this time, he adds emotions you don’t think you’ve ever felt his lips press against yours.

And you feel it all when he leans in, parted mouth colliding with yours. He’s been so afraid to kiss you; but not now. Not when every single one of your glances pleads for him to. Not when you’re not ready to break the rhythm, not now, not ever.

Everything is already blurry around you, but it seems to vanish now. You still register the glossy streets, the silver, misty air, but all of it seems unreal. And then, you finally close your eyes, give in.

None of this feels rushed, but it feels urgent. Slow and tentative, but also desperate and thirsty. The rain combines with your tears and slips down your faces, threaded through your hair and soaking your clothes.

But you don’t care. You don’t move. You need warmth. Need shelter. This achingly gentle, still and suspended moment where everything ceases to exist.

Only skin and rain and tongues and lips. Only him and how he holds you, pulls you in, uncaring of who might see or what they might say. This waited to happen. You know it did.

It takes minutes until you gasp for air, remembering to breathe, fingers in his hair and forehead against his as you realise that you will never be able to unshackle yourself from him. You’re here to stay, following his steps, entangled with him until you cease to exist, too.

You’ll keep running back until he catches you. And you’ll catch him when he hurries to you.

And as he exhales into the air, face half lit as the moon rises, you clutch his body to yours, his ruined clothes for dear life, cheeks searing as you tell him—

“I do, too. I love you, too.”

For a moment and for an eternity.

Seasons changed again.

The twins talk now.

And ever since they learned to finally babble, it’s all they’ve been doing. Hana loves the fact, but acts as if she doesn’t. She’s an undoubtedly mature child. Knows too much for her age, still forgiving — but her ego also still remains intact, especially when it comes to her brothers.

The care she grants them rattles your heart. Protective and loving and so giving. But the fights continue; your twins are as gentle as their parents, but they do not shut up when they feel like they don’t need to.

They confront you or their sister when needed. Probably got this from you, too.

So nobody is really surprised when Hana feels as thoroughly irritated as she does most days growing up with them, a whiny voice exclaiming, “I don’t want your carrots! Eat them yourself!”

The brothers have been dumping their vegetables onto her plate for the past seven minutes; half of their meal makes a mess on the floor. You usually don’t let them eat on your precious carpet, but the kids have been particularly sweet these days.

Absolutely and unwaveringly mannered at yesterday’s gathering especially. You were celebrating Hana’s eighth birthday; maybe they were too distracted by the pastries and the cake to fight, too.

But you’re too weak, too easy to convince. As strict as needed at times, but not entirely immune to their irresistible charm. And Jungkook… he’s a hopeless cause anyway when it comes to them.

“Stop this!” Hana yells, returning the already mashed baby carrots. She emphasises each word with each piece she throws back onto their plates. “Eat. Your. Veggies!”

“I dun want to,” Jaehyuk responds, and Jaehoon, following, imitates. It fully provokes her. “You like them.”

“I am done, Jae. Let me rest.”

You can’t hold back the sudden laugh, not even when she fights back with a sigh, leaning back. Acts as if she took care of the dozen chores in the mansion when she’s merely exhausted from the party. To be a child again.

“I need my quiet time,” she told you, and you furrowed your eyebrows in delight before you granted the princess what she wished for.

The sun is setting outside, though having been hidden for most of the day. It’s colder now, but dusk is still pretty. You’re thankful for this; thankful for it all. Because this time of the day equals Jungkook close to you.

Done with work. Hip to hip on the same carpet against the couch that you once kept your distance on from him.

But you long stopped thinking of this. Whenever you find yourself here, basking in the presence of your little family, you think of the precious moments before anything happened. In hindsight, however, not much changed in the extent of affection after all.

Because you learned to cope, learned to let go. Jungkook still meets Jihyo sometimes, forms a bond with his son, provides him with a sense of fatherly love. And you let him — you don’t feel insecure anymore.

“Daddy,” his girl calls, tapping his knee for exclusive attention, “say something.”

And the father, ever so diplomatic and peaceful, settles on, “Leave the carrots, okay? I’ll eat them later. Stop fighting.”

“Hear?” Hana voices, an accusing finger scolding her brothers. They offer a full grin, absolutely aware of their effect on her.

Your eyes widen when Jaehyuk randomly and without a good reason rebukes, “Stupid Suhana.”

“Hey, hey!” you reprimand immediately, cocking an eyebrow until they go quiet. Their attention shifts to their food innocently as you chastise, “Don’t say such things. And definitely not like you’re insulting the name.”

“We are because we dun like her.”

Another giggle from Jaehoon. The boy mostly listens; doesn’t pick a fight. But if it’s about his siblings, he’ll definitely be a culprit, too.

“You so do,” Hana defends, and you agree with a nod and folded arms, “now eat. Leave me alone.”

This time, they listen; resume to their dinner, but not before sticking out their tongues to her. She ignores them, fiddling with her fingers. When she looks at you, her head is tilted, eyes curious as they are all the time before she asks, “Where does this name come from anyway, Mama?”

“Oh…” you respond, shooting Jungkook a look right away. You tell her, “You should ask your dad. It was his idea.”

Her gaze shifts to him, and he hums; then explains, “It was your aunt’s name. So you’re named after her.”

“Oh. Can I meet her?”

Your eyes drift to your lap. You register the change in his undertone as he speaks on, “I’m afraid this won’t be possible. She’s… she’s not with us anymore, baby.”

Hana’s mouth forms a silent Oh. She’s empathetic, sad when she sees a dead bird or a sick cat. She knows to grieve, but she knows to move on, too — so she says, “Well then, I like the name. I think I was named after somebody great!”

“Oh?” you wonder. “How do you know?”

“I wouldn’t have her name if she was bad.”

Jungkook chuckles, and you resume staring at him from the side, quietly finding the hand on his thigh as he answers, “I’m sure she was. I have heard only good things.”

“Good,” Hana says, much at the same time as Jungkook adds, “If I could… I’d thank her.”

You don’t know who this statement is directed to. Perhaps it’s too complex of a thought to truly expand on for your children; perhaps he’s thinking out loud for himself. But Hana doesn’t ask anyway, even though she hears it.

Too distracted by Jaehyuk, the troublemaker, who pokes her annoyance back, and she slaps his hand away, sulking. You let them handle this — sometimes, it’s easier to get rid of a situation when you let it unfold.

Instead, your eyes drift back to your husband, and you wonder, “Thank her, yes?”

“Yes.”

“What would you say?”

From the corner of your eyes, you see Jaehyuk and Jaehoon leave their posts and march to a disheartened Hana. No matter how impossible they are, they don’t like seeing her anything other than joyful.

It warms her heart as much as yours, you know. Soothes it when they position themselves on either side, cuddling into her, eliciting a half toothless smile. You’re content.

Back to Jungkook in time, you listen, “What I’d say?” He turns his hand under yours and entangles both your digits. “Hm, I would say…”

He ponders for a while. Waits for the right words to come to him.

And then, a puff of air escapes, your heart swelling when his eyes soften with his voice, “I would try and word my gratitude towards her. It was her who showed me that even the worst people can care.”

“He cared for her.”

“He did,” he squeezes your fingers, shoulder to shoulder. “It was also partly her who saved me, even if she’ll never know. And it was her who brought me closer to you. I wish I could tell her.”

“I wish I’d met her even once, too.”

“I know.” 

He nods. The Suhana you never got to know hasn’t been a topic very often. As years passed by, your mind developed its own image of the Suhana you do know. Hana, Suhana.

But when she is, this remains a common phrase. The never-to-be-fulfilled wish to see her just once. A stranger who never even knew of your existence, let alone your name.

“Suhana was supposed to stay,” Jungkook then voices. “But she didn’t and still managed to shine such light onto us from up there. So yes… I would express my gratitude for the life she gave me.”

He sighs, as if remembering somebody from a distant past. “For the life I had the blessing to witness as a human being and… will have the privilege to experience for the rest of my days. I would thank her for that.”

You cannot stop looking. You keep gazing and gazing. In truth, you don’t think you ever stopped ever since you came back from that one healing trip from your town years ago. You kept gaping. Kept falling — again and continuously.

And he’s still beautiful. Still the same mesmerising entity you once married. The same bright smile, still somehow youthful, blindingly lovely when he gives you one even now.

You and me, in every damn life.

Fingers brush his hair back, and you ask, “How could you ever doubt your kindness?”

And in response, he kisses your forehead, “I don’t anymore, I don’t think.”

You beam back at him. Hook your arm with his, settling your tired head on his chest. You hear his heart underneath, like a lullaby with a steady rhythm, and wait for the children to grow fatigued enough to go to bed.

And after that, he’ll carry you to your room, you foresee it already. Will let you fall into feathery, tranquil dreams.

Then again, perhaps you don’t need to wait for any of it. Don’t ever need a slumber for it.

Because you already live in a dream. And you are one, too.

okayyyyy. i don't cry a lot irl at all, but i'm so weak when it comes to these characters. crazy that their story is finished (once again), but i truly hope you guys will remember them for as long as you can. i know some of you grew to love them a lot and i am so, so thankful, truly. 🤍

if you can, please do let me know what you think! i shall answer everything bc it makes me giddy af anyway lol so do give this a like, a reblog and leave a comment, and talk to me about it!! <3 see you with more taegularities shenanigans soon mwah

[andre-and-cal]

no one else but you.

Calvin’s practically got the coat of a pig.

Pigs frequently sabotage themselves, anyhow— as soon as someone rids them of the muck and grime cocooning their bodies, they’re flopping snout first back into the mud, spoiling what little charm they’d previously exhibited.

Throughout the week, the blond showers inconsistently; granted, he’s often sitting in his room underexposed to an enthusiastic climate— underwhelmed, even. Every day, he drenches himself in gallons of cologne and deodorant, even if he’s showered the night before. He wants to be semi-presentable— as in, he doesn’t want to repulse Andre, although it seems that he’s already been-there-done-that because of their decisions from nearly half an hour ago.

Calvin’s irrationally calm at the moment. He should be irritated, he should be ashamed. And he certainly should be going for Andre’s jugular after he’s blatantly ignored their two-man army’s metamorphosis. He could be throwing hands— yes, he could be on top of Andre, forcing him to eat the carpet flooring.

Yet, he isn’t.

He somewhat accepts that Andre’s still a caterpillar and that he himself is already a moth. He knows what he wants, Andre’s still seemingly unsure. Cal figures he should talk to him about it and hopefully convince him how Zero Day is the best thing that’ll ever happen to them.

The brunet isn’t even moving, just staring with those dumb brown knobs of his.

He wishes that Cal would stop going on and on about the brevity of human life, how watching them die, experiencing their terror and suffering, is sometimes more valuable than being the cause. And while they’ll technically be apart of the same situation as their classmates, they’re not facing the danger. They are the danger.

At the same time, though, he’s guilty of seeking reassurance from Cal when he needs it.

He does want to carry out Zero Day. He craves the establishment of the distinction between man and pseudoprophet. To be the opposite of likable but to have worth nonetheless; most importantly, he wants to spread the message that dirty mirrors should be favored over broken ones.

That the dirty ones can be cleansed, can be “treated”. Yet, they’ll still remain the same.

Yet sometimes he does wonder if Cal’s approach is slightly biased. They’re both abnormal, they’re both unequal to their peers— Andre knows that. He just can’t help but ponder about what really lies behind Cal’s eyes.

He leaves him alone about it, however. He never pries, never wants to display even the slightest of his sanctimoniousness to his companion.

After all, they walk together— they’re a pack of dogs banded together. They’re as dependent on each other as two wounded soldiers in war, one has to hang onto the other and the other has to hang onto one.

Andre would occasionally ask himself questions regarding who he’ll attempt to target during Zero Day, but Calvin’s convinced him to simply point, aim, fire into the room instead. Punch holes into their bodies, too. Yank the fallen deep down into the dirt. Discard the person who’d maliciously uttered their names within the same air as them before. Squash the remnants of pensive teenagers as if they contributed nothing to the world.

Cal wants to be able to wordlessly communicate the phrase, ha-ha, Andre and I won. But Andre isn’t making it any easier. They’re supposed to go together, to be together. He’s not doing anything about it, though— he knows Andre’s uncertain. But he’ll come back to him one way or another, he knows how to tug him back without himself coming across as desperate.

Andre needs him.

Currently, Cal’s parents and siblings are asleep. The upstairs are inhabited by two teens only.

But they’d gone out a couple hours prior, having fooled around at the movie theater while Scary Movie played on the big screen. After they left, Cal kicked muddy water at Andre’s legs once. Andre reciprocated the action to achieve a sense of playful vengeance, of control. Further, in the car, they’d chatted for a little while. Cal instructed him to pull over near the deserted park. They then proceeded to practically devour each other’s mouths.

Well, it was so sudden that Andre doesn’t even know why it happened— he’d just noticed Cal’s face rapidly approaching the side of his own. He let it happen, but he’d instinctively turned his head slightly, and thus, their mouths connected, fitting together like two missing pieces of a puzzle.

It’s disgusting to think about. Neither one of them had broken it and Andre feels weird for not stopping it sooner. He doesn’t even know how to kiss, so Cal did most of the work— but Andre knows the blond wouldn’t have let him pull away even if he’d wanted to.

Andre wonders if Cal’s kissed anyone before. Probably not.

He’s tried to rationalize their actions. He thinks Cal didn’t mean to kiss him that hard, that he doesn’t understand why he did it or why they’d both gotten so into it.

Maybe they’re both deprived because they’ve never had girlfriends. Andre knows Cal has Rachel, that he’s into her a little. Or, at least, Andre assumes he was. But he still holds a strong distaste for Rachel and he grows a little jealous when she spends time with Cal… god, he always gets so unnecessarily paranoid it’s almost stupid.

It’s honestly moronic how Andre’s decided he doesn’t have the time to indulge in his emotions, to push their friendship. Zero Day’s supposed to be his prime concern, after all— Cal had reminded him of that multiple times. So why did he keep acting like he wanted him? And why the hell did he agree to take a bath with Cal?

Perhaps he’s still dazed and drunk on adrenaline from when Calvin had kissed him silly.

Andre blinks rapidly. His mental dam is starting to falter. Maybe he and Cal shouldn’t be friends.

Maybe the Army of Two should have a greater meaning, rather than merely revolving around two military-loving best friends planning a school massacre.

Maybe he should kiss Cal again to see why he feels this way.

Now sitting in the bathtub, the door’s shut, locked, and blocking the dozing Gabriel family from possibly entering, from disturbing their oldest son and his friend.

They’re both staring at each other, heated water quivering around their bodies. It’s silent, too, with the evidence of mutual pining hanging between one another, plaguing the air around them. The bath’s calm demeanor provides what little peace and serenity they’re able to reach— even through the midst of their innermost unrest— but the sight of the other’s nude form has stunned them into silence.

There are a couple bottles sitting in the corner of the bathtub, each displaying unlike brands of shampoo or body wash, ready to be plucked like fresh-grown fruits awaiting their new basket enclosure.

Neither boy enjoys conditioning his hair. Besides, Cal’s hair looks better when it’s unconditioned— it’s less flat, less hollow around his scalp.

He’s already submerged himself prior to Andre joining him in the bathtub— his shaggy hair appears darker while it’s slicked back, bangs sticking to his forehead. When it’s damp, the light tones apparent on his blond head always seem so dull, so faded, whereas his skin shines glossily in the warm bathroom lighting.

Meanwhile, Andre’s arm is draped over the side of the tub, knees slightly perched over the water, looking like a walking wet dream. He wants to moisten his hair, but he’s already distracted— he keeps looking away while trying to sneak glances at Cal’s body.

He tries to pretend that he’s feeling awkward, but not even he can manifest that destiny.

Because whenever he catches inviting glimpses of them, his eyes rove over the blond’s hard, rosy nipples enticingly adorning his chest… Andre concludes that he’s cold. Then, while gladly embracing every inch of him, the brunet’s gaze trails down his ribs before drifting lower atop his crinkled stomach, ultimately halting right above the blond, unshaven tuft of hair settled above his crotch.

“I’m not looking at your… you know,” he starts abruptly, peering at the bathroom counter. He thinks that bringing it up will make him sound less suspicious, that it’ll sound like he’s just joking around. “Your— your, uh…”

Cal smiles, both shocked and intrigued by Andre’s modest efforts to make him feel comfortable. “My what? My penis?” He says bluntly.

He wanted to hear Andre say it himself, wanted to watch him stumble over his words… but he’d ended up finishing his sentence for him instead.

Andre’s cheeks fade into a scarlet hue, his flushed visage complimenting his dark irises. His shoulders drop noticeably and he shifts restlessly, reclining against the icy surface of the porcelain bathtub. His sopping-wet hand rises and combs his hair back. “Yeah…”

Cal holds back from continuously teasing him. Because granted, he’s never seen the other this shy. He wonders if being in here alone together affects Andre more than it does himself.

He can’t blame him, though, and he’d be lying if he claimed he felt unbothered, relaxed… after all, he’s vulnerable, likewise to Andre. But the younger teen just lets it roll off his back— and on the contrary, he isn’t nearly as antsy as the brunet seems to be.

Cal moves his hand up to play with his hair, as if subconsciously fixing his appearance, and his sights flick up to Andre’s face.

He believes they should do this more often.

Finally, refusing to further prolong his stalling, he decides to scoot closer to Andre, reaching out and cupping his hand over his upper tibia. He slowly caresses the skin and disregards the wet leg hairs simultaneously gliding underneath his fingertips with each recurrent movement. He sees a couple faded bruises on the older teen’s knee, so he then slides his hand up and rubs it, squeezing gently.

Andre’s letting him. Again. No one’s really touched him in this way before.

Cal’s acting like he’s some king, like he’s demanding the pull of a relentless civil war— and Andre has always liked violence, much like Cal. Andre’s the furthest thing from a ruler, though— he’s practically a dictator. But Cal’s an emperor shrouded in a bitter angel’s clothing.

Every motion stings.

“You got so quiet for a while there, Andre,” Cal begins, patting Andre’s leg before retracting his hand. “So that— that was, like, a weird conversation starter, you know.” He flicks his wrist to hear his bones pop.

“No fucking shit,” Andre mutters, sharply exhaling through his nostrils. “But fuck, I’m so fucking dumb, man. Why’re we even here?”

“I wonder that, too.” Cal replies.

“Not in general, though— I mean, like, right now. Why’re we taking a bath together?” Andre complains. “We’re both naked and both our dicks are out and god—” he groans.

Cal grins, baring his braces-clad teeth at Andre. “What? You scared you’ll get a boner?”

He suddenly crawls over to the boy in front of him, accidentally splashing water out of the tub in the process.

For a second, the brunet’s about to object, but the moment their dicks casually brush together, he’s tensing up.

“I just don’t know why this shit bothers you so much,” Cal hums. “You don’t have to think about it.”

Andre’s heart jumps at the way his blond comrade manipulates him with a smile on his face. But naturally, he can’t help but feel a little guilty. He doesn’t know why.

Regardless, he gently pushes Cal off of him and sits back, anxiously adjusting his position.

“I’m not thinking about it,” he protests. “It’s just that it pisses me off when you do some stupid freaking crap! Like when you kissed me, for example!” His body tenses as he looks down at himself, the bathwater rippling.

Cal leans closer to Andre after a few seconds pass, and he stares intently at his flustered form. “Selfish bastard.”

Andre’s face scrunches up with annoyance at his words, brown brows furrowed together and optics narrowed. He glances back up at Cal through his dark lashes, refusing to give him his full attention. Cal believes he looks like an animal.

As soon as Andre tries to speak, however, Cal’s crushing their mouths together, exerting as much force as he can to assert some power over the brunet.

It’s now clear to the teenager that Cal’s only insulting him to get his attention.

He’d never really thought he’d feel this way toward anyone. He knows he’s lucky it’s Cal out of anyone else he may know.

[novas-corner]

Gang I saw someone make a post about being isekaid (???) into LaDS and I think it would be really funny to write my own version (heavy inspiration taken from them but I saw this months ago and cannot remember who they are, if it was you homie you cool asf.)

Um anyway, I think it’s funny so here is basically just… me??? But written as something anyone can read. Being isekai’d (?????) into LaDS (I’m only there to collect cards and stare at pretty men, I genuinely know little to nothing about their lore, this will be painful to read if you’re deep into their lore😍)

This has been read once over, just to make sure I didn’t add my own name in anywhere, but that’s about it

I DIDNT ASSIGN COLOURS TO THEM AND IM ON MY PHONE SO ITS LIMITED (oh yeah hi this is me weeks later writing more of this, you wouldn’t know that though, this all came out at once) ANYWAYS COLOURS ARE HERE.

Xavier. Zayne. Rafayel. Sylus. Caleb.

Ok anyways back to whatever this mess is 🤩

Oh fuck! An isekai!!

One day you’d be just playing your silly little gacha game, staring at the screen as you debate if you wanna swipe the card or not. You decide ‘the gods will give me a sign if I should or not’ knowing damn well you probably will anyways (This if for my gambling addicted freaks… you spend too much money on pixels, put the card dOWN)

You decide to sleep on it instead of spending the twelve dollars left in your account on a few pixels. The decision will be slept on and if you roll over in your sleep an accidentally send yourself into debt… oopsies!!! Y’know? God forbid someone have their hobbies!

What you did not expect however was waking up on solid ground in someone’s house… did you drink before going to bed and forget..? Whose house is this???? Why does it look so… familiar? You swear you’ve seen this place before, maybe you met an old friend and passed out on their floor? But you swear you didn’t go out last night, so how in the hell…

While you’re sitting on the floor pondering what in the hell is going on a knock at the door snaps you out of this trace of yours.

You pause.

More knocking.

Well fuck… someone should answer that… and you seem to be the only person home.

You reluctantly pull yourself off the floor and over to the door, the person knocks again as you open the door. He’s mid knock and you recognize this very familiar face.

“XAVIER..?”

You can’t help the shocked call of his name that tumbles out of your mouth, you’re staring at him wide eyed and he’s just looking at you confused.

“…yes? We had a date for today, did you sleep in again?”

He’d say with a small chuckle, letting himself in and ruffling your hair.

“You look a mess, not in a bad way though!”

He says backtracking his words slightly. You’re still stood at the door slack-jawed when you notice a mirror and move over to it… damn you really do look a mess.

But not just that, you look eerily like your character from LaDS… oh dear.

“I WAS ISEKAID?????”

You’re freaking out a bit right now, you never play the game for the story, you don’t know their personalities, they’re going to act so much different than you’d expect and you won’t be able to stop it.

You pause, thinking for a moment. Ain’t they all in different timelines or something..? FUCK YOU GOT THE XAVIER ONE. Whatever he’s still cute as all hell and a FREAK so you could get used to it. (I’m a Caleb person, so sue me, this is me if I was isekaid not you)

He’s standing behind you now, confused.

“Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?”

You don’t know how to answer, lucky for you, you don’t need to due to another goddamn knock at your door.

“Oh did you plan something with Tara at the same time again..? We can go out later if you need”

He’s smiling as he opens the door, sweet as sugar he is. His smile however, fades pretty quickly seeing another man at your door.

Your face drops, you feel faint, why you??? Give the isekai to someone else!!

It’s Zayne!!! Yaaaaayyy…

Alright well you could maybe talk your way out of this… or well… you thought you could. One by one more of them show up until five men are surrounding you as you sit on the couch, head in your hands as you try and figure this mess out.

Rafayel and sylus are doing most of the talking, arguing with each other about who’s dating who and whatnot.

Eventually you get sick of the lot of them, standing up and shouting at them to shUT THE FUCKUP-

“Okay please for the love of gods just shut up! Gods!! Your bickering is driving me insane I’m just trying to think!!”

“Think about what, the fact you’ve been cheating on all of us?”

Your head snaps to Rafayel.

“Listen to me and listen good mister man. I ain’t the me you know, I hardly know all of y’all in general!! Is an isekai a thing here?? Do y’all know what that is?”

The five are clearly confused, you don’t let them speak.

“Well it’s what happened to me, I’ve been brought from a different reality into whatever the hell this one is, and somehow I wasn’t put in the main story but eACH OF THE DIFFERENT TIMELINES.”

You’re frustrated, flopping back down on the couch with your head in your hands.

“I don’t know how I got here I just know I’m not supposed to be here. None of this is right and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Sylus smacks Rafayel on the back of the head and tells him to apologize, which he walks over to your side and places a hand on your shoulder and looks at you with gentle eyes.

“Hey… I’m sorry…”

This does not however stop (man I gotta assign personalities to all these mfs hold on I’m googling it… okay I’m back five minutes later, I’ve got it kinda right for the OG three, luckily the only two I’ve paid any attention to are Sylus and Caleb 😭‼️) Xavier from looking at you confused.

“So we’re all… from a video game..?”

Euuuhhggh… maybe you shouldn’t have let that slip… gods now you’re gonna deal with a mid-life crisis from these idiots-

“So you would know… things about us we haven’t told you then… right?”

You’re confused but nod.

“I mean yeah kinda? My issue here is that I don’t… play the story that much, I’m bad at focusing on something for a while”

“Oh? Interesting sweetie… what are we like then?”

An excuse to yap about the game??? SAY LESS.

“Well… hmmm… Sylus you’re a mafia boss troupe I guess, mean, cold, scary, tough… I’m running out of words here… regardless, you’re like an angry kitten, which is ironic since that what you call ME. When we meet you’re so mean, you try and kill me kinda, whatever… and then in the alternate universe where we date you’re literally the sweetest ever??? It’s kinda confusing. ALSO. YOU HAVE SUCH A BACKSTORY WITH US??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOURE A DRAGON WHO SAVED US AND THEN WE KILLED YOU AND FATED YOU TO SEARCH FOR US FOREVER??? THATS SO DEPRESSING??? Ooooh sorry I ramble a bit sometimes.”

You add that last part in with a small laugh, he’s staring at you absolutely dumbfounded.

“Oh right I guess your version of me didn’t know that… oops??”

You look around the room, asking if anyone else wants to hear your opinions on their story, they all do (I just want to write it, I find it funny) so you turn to Caleb, who is your personal favorite (but you won’t say that out loud, it could end in a death.)

“You’re like my adopted brother, which is a bit weird when you think too hard about it but whatever you’re hot so I can look past it. You’re colonel of the fleet or something, you were only recently added to the game and unfortunately I didn’t get your extra story because I’m a broke bitch who will not pay for it. OH ALSO YOU TRICKED US INTO THINKING YOU DIED???? I WAS SO INVESTED IN THE STORY AT ONE POUNT AND WAS ENTIRELY SHOCKED THAT THE HOUSE BLEW UP WITH YOU INSIDE IT.”

He just chuckles and ruffles your hair. You push his hand away with a small glare and fix said hair (so sorry to anyone that’s not got hair reading this, just pretend for the sake of it being me and not you 🤩) now looking to Rafayel.

“You mister, you’re a pain in the butt. You’re annoying, you talk back, AND I THINK YOU KILLED ME IN A PAST LIFE??? I don’t know, mister mermaid boy and whatever else. You’re fun though I guess, and usually really funny, also impatient as all hell… which is ironic since I’m pretty sure we act the exact same. Or well- you act like how I act, not the MC, but ME.”

“Well that’s something”

“Yeah yeah whatever… Zayne you’re like… a cutie patootie who can do no wrong in my eyes. You’re my doctor but also my childhood friend, free healthcare for LIIIFE. You’ve probably managed to die like twice??? I’ll be so real I have not paid much attention to your lore, you’re just super sweet and rather quiet… which is probably why you have not spoken yet…”

He just nods, not really paying much attention… jackass…

“And Xavier!!! You’re mysterious as fuck, my guy I’ve played this game for months now and I still do not understand anything about you. You show up out of nowhere as my mysterious work partner and then in all of our alternate universe stuff you’re sleepy as heck and a FREAK. OH MY GODS YOURE SO FREAKY. I EXPECTED SYLUS TO BE THE SLUT BUT NO, SIR YOU’RE INSANE.”

He shrugs

“I know what I want”

“Right well anyways, now that introductions are out of the way… what’s uh… what’s the plan here?”

You’re looking around at the group, who are mostly still not over the things they have learned they’re video game characters.

“Well… we had a date planned… so I vote everyone else leaves and we go on said date”

Which okay fair enough, but here comes the loud ones again arguing against it. You groan, moving over to Zayne, who has literally been silent this whole time, he’s like the calm amidst the storm for you right now.

“I’m glad you’re at least chill about all this… pun not intended”

He laughs a bit at your words, patting you on the head.

“Well you don’t know what’s going on and if what you’re saying is to be believed, you had a life outside this. I’m sure us fighting like this is only adding to your stress.”

“Sir I could marry you right now, why are you such a sweetie??”

You blurt out like an idiot. He just chuckles again, wrapping an arm around you. He’s surprisingly warm for his evol being y’know… ICE??

You both just kinda watch the rest of them (mostly raf let’s be real) bicker, looking back up at him.

“Should I step in befor- SYLUS DO NOT KILL RAFAYEL-“

That mf got FED UP with that fish, and unfortunately fish are prey to birds. Sylus was about to use his evol on Rafayel and Rafayel was about to retaliate. The two look over to you as you shout at Sylus.

“As sweet as it is that you’re still willing to fight over me knowing I’m not the person you’ve grown to care for or whatever, I ain’t letting you kill each other. I’m very bad around blood, I will puke and never forgive you.”

You say with a glare, walking over to the two. Rafayel hold hind hands up in surrender. Sylus just shrugs, Xavier and Caleb didn’t attack but Caleb definitely seemed ready to.

“For now until we figure out how to get me back to my universe… can we all just… chill?”

You feel yourself being lifted off the ground, a noise of surprise (it can be as loud as Tom from Tom and Jerry, or a cute kawaii lil noise, idc make it up, have some whimsy) comes out of your mouth as you find dAMN CALEB WITH HIS FLOATY POWERS-

He just hugs you, fall in back onto the couch.

“Yeah we can make that work pipsqueak, let’s all just relax m’kay?”

He’s patting your head all sweet while giving the others a shit eating grin, they want to fight but remember you literally JUST told them not to, and so they reluctantly gather on the couch with the two of you.

“Well… not how I expected my night to go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHA SO SORRY THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE FOR NO REASON. ITS SO SILLY??? Also this was almost purely just a me yapping to myself one day and then I went “lol what if I wrote this down?”

Anyways I might make separate one shots of like dates with each boy separate or together. We’ll see if I want to or if people want me to. Idk, I just got here man 🤩

[dixons-sunshine]

What Ifs | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: While cuddled up in bed one night, Daryl springs a question onto you, one that made you think. After seeing Daryl truly caught up on the ‘what ifs’, you took it upon yourself to reassure him as best as you could.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria

Warnings: None, other than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it allusion to past sexual activity.

Word count: 1.1k.

A/N: This one’s for my Daryl lovers! Yes, I am very much still writing for Daryl, even though I’ve started writing for Joel lol. I haven’t forgotten my roots. Anyways, I had this idea and (kind of poorly) executed it (also please ignore how meh the summary is. I struggled coming up with one). I hope y’all like this!

“D’ya think we would’a been together? Under different circumstances, I mean?”

The sound of Daryl’s surprisingly soft, tentative question filled the quiet, blissful air. The room was dark, the only source of light being that of the moon that trickled in through the window and spilled past the barrier of the curtains. The hour was late, probably nearing midnight, with owls hooting in the distance and crickets chirping outside the window. Sleep tugged at your eyelids, but the archer’s question kept you awake.

“What do you mean?” you inquired in a voice just as soft, raising your head from its position on his shoulder to peer down at him. Your fingers trailed over the bare flesh of his chest, being extra gentle whenever you came across one of his many scars. Blankets covered you both, tugged over you by your partner after a night of pleasure.

Daryl did not answer. Not at first. He stayed silent, his eyes—blue like the water in the ocean—looked anywhere but at you at first. The door, the dresser, his crossbow leaning against the wall, the curtains, until finally they landed on you. His gaze was uncertain, insecure, like he was scared his question would make you mad, and your heart ached.

“Daryl,” you began, making sure to keep your voice soft, gentle, almost honey-like, “it’s okay. You can tell me.”

Inhaling shakily, Daryl ducked his eyes down again. He drew lazy circles over your hip, hoping to anchor himself before he got lost in the abyss that was his mind. Despite his build, he looked so small in that moment, so vulnerable, and it made you want to hug him tightly and soothe his troubles away.

“I don’t really know how to explain it,” Daryl started slowly, swallowing at the lump that threatened to form in his throat. “Jus’... if we met under different circumstances, maybe earlier in life or in a world where none’a this bullshit ever happened, would we still be here today? Together? Or…”

Daryl couldn’t finish the question. He didn’t want to finish the question. Voicing this worry out loud made him feel foolish. Why did it matter? You were with him now. You were his woman, and he was your man. You loved each other. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

You took a minute to ponder over his question. You wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t say that for sure. Thinking back, you and Daryl lived two completely different lives. You had a job, an apartment, a life that seems like a pipedream compared to the one you led now. Daryl… his life hadn’t been that simple, and he never truly had any roots. If you had met in a world where the apocalypse never happened, would you have spared him a second glance? Would you have asked him out, introduced him to the people closest to you, done all the things couples did back then?

Then there was Merle to consider, the life Daryl lived with him before the outbreak. Would that have hindered Daryl from keeping in contact with you if you two met in a world where the outbreak didn’t happen? Would he have tried to break free from Merle’s shadow and live his own life, a life that wasn’t dangerous to have you involved in?

The answer wasn’t as simple as saying yes or no. There was a lot to take into consideration. You both lived very different lives before the apocalypse, but would fate have come into play? Would you still have ended up together? You couldn’t say.

“You want my honest answer?” you asked after a good minute of silence.

Daryl’s heart dropped at that, fearing the worst, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I do.”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I want to say yes. I want to believe with my whole heart that destiny would have brought us together regardless of how or when we met, but I can’t say that for sure.” Laying your head back down on Daryl’s shoulder, you kissed his pulse point, smiling to yourself when a shiver rolled over his spine. “But I choose not to think about that. You wanna know why?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because I have you now.” You pressed a string of soft, loving kisses against his neck, before continuing. “In a weird way, I’m grateful that the apocalypse happened because it led me to you.” You paused. “Although I definitely wish we didn’t have to lose so many people because of all of this.”

Many different faces flashed through Daryl’s mind when you said that. “Definitely could’a gone without all the losses.”

You nodded in agreement. Willing your mind away from thinking about all the friends you lost since the quarry, you spoke up again. “But my point is that it doesn’t matter. The ‘what ifs’. We have each other now, despite everything we had to overcome. So what if some alternate versions of us don’t end up together? We are together in this universe, and that’s all that matters. And for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be yours. I love you, Daryl, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say. He had never been good with words, and no words would ever perfectly convey just how much Daryl loved you, how grateful he was to have you in his life, to be able to share his life with you. You deserved the world, and for as long as Daryl was alive, he would try to give you that.

“I love ya, too,” Daryl finally whispered quietly, his arm that held you to him tightening slightly, pulling you even closer. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh. Don’t talk like that. Of course you do.”

He didn’t address everything you said. He didn’t need to. You knew he had heard everything you said, knew he appreciated it. Daryl was a man of few words, but his eyes showed it all, and you saw everything in those beautiful blue pools. You knew he appreciated what you said. Would that feeling—one he had for reasons you didn’t know of just yet—of his go away after one speech? Most likely not, but thankfully, you had time to show him just how much you loved him, and that he didn’t have to get caught up on the ‘what if’ scenarios.

“Daryl?” you said after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I know you now. There’s nobody I’d rather take on the apocalypse with.”

Daryl chuckled at that and tenderly kissed the top of your head. “Me too, Sweetheart. Me too.”

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 7

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (don't hate me)

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for...

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Word Count: 32.6k +

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

Warnings: please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY. struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, talks of end-of-life plans, anxiety/stress/depression, parents fighting, child neglect, eating disorder behaviors as a result, recollection of past struggles with anorexia/restricting, talks of an ED facility, passing out, blood, (from an accidental cut) SMUT: oral, (f!rec) fingering, (f!rec) cock warming, unprotected (please let me know if i missed anything that is triggering!)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: as always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patience. this certainly isn't an easy story to write, but it comes from & with a lot of love. 🤍 (i ask that you kindly ignore any mistakes/grammar errors. these chapters are awful to edit, as i'm sure you could've guessed. i'm doing my best. LOL)

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for. big thank you to @gracev0609 for some very sweet ideas to include in this chapter.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 9th:

Graduation day

“[Arthur] felt the light of Guinevere’s eyes [in] his life…”  (Tennyson, IOTK)

You’d convinced yourself this was gone for good. Certain that this feeling would fade into a distant memory, dulled by the slow drag of time. Nothing more than a blip in your past, a chapter in your book. Nothing more – and, to your quiet heartbreak, nothing less. 

Waking up in his arms is…it’s magic. It’s safe. There’s nothing in your life that could come remotely close to the solace you find in the embrace of his arms.

He’s still asleep, tiny snores falling from his kiss-swollen, lipstick stained lips – evidence of last night. His chest is warm against your cheek, rising and falling in near perfect rhythm with your own breathing. And your body, still feeling everything from the night before. Aching muscles, sore limbs…the best pain this world can offer. 

Neither one of you bothered putting clothes back on before you fell asleep. And truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s something so beautiful about the intimacy of it all. Your bodies, in their most natural state, resting together after a night of absolute bliss. Only half covered by the satin sheets, too hot last night to bother with them. Yet, the chill of the morning has given way to goosebumps littering exposed flesh, making you seek his warmth all the more. 

The soft, morning sun, peaking her quiet light through dark blinds. Specks of dust and fluff living in her rays, normally hidden in plain sight when she’s not there to give them light. And, she’s displaying even more evidence of the events of last night. 

A shattered photo frame rests on the floor near the dresser, left for the next days’ clean up. A subtle tinge shivers your bones when you remember that you were the cause of the destruction. 

I’ll buy him a new frame, you silently ponder. Though, the reason for the frame’s untimely death is making you tremble for a purpose entirely different. 

Pleasure, of the degree in which your body has never before experienced, sent the glass cascading to its doom. He didn’t seem to mind one bit. And while you tried to offer your apologies, in truth, you didn’t care much about it, either. Not in the moment, when your world was held in the hands of Jake Kiszka. And in his lips.

The memory, though only hours ago, feels distant enough. Your body is suddenly in a state of craving once again. A familiar pulsing between your legs at the thought. It just so happens that, maybe, you can have it again, instead of lamenting on a piece of the past.

You needed this. And the fact that you were sure you’d never have it again, after barely having it in the first place – your body suddenly feels whole again. And the irony of it all is that the person who took those pieces of you, he’s also the only one truly capable of giving them back.  

Perhaps you haven’t truly lost him. At least, not now. 

And, perhaps…

It’s a shot in the dark, a foolish thought that, if wrong, could lead to more heartbreak. But, maybe, after last night, he won’t leave. Maybe last night proved to him that you’re worth sticking around for. 

His slow breathing becomes a bit more shallow as he begins to stir, wrapping his arms around you even before his eyes have even opened. A sleepy pair of lips kisses the crown of your head just before you kiss the blushed skin of his chest. The contact makes it rise a bit higher as he takes a deeper breath, a gentle sigh escaping his half-parted lips. 

You kiss him again, then again, sucking the flesh a little more with each contact of your lips. And, every gesture elicits more of a reaction from him. More sweet sighs, beautiful groans. Each noise only makes you want to give him more. 

And, that’s just what you’ll do. You angle yourself just right, so you’re able to reach a bit higher. Kissing the expanse of his chest, his pecks, finding your way to his neck, the skin still littered with pretty marks in the shape of your lips. 

He stirs just a bit more, a lazy grin worn on his lips. His eyes, still partially covered by sleepy lids, though exhaustion doesn’t stop him from pulling your body up a few inches, your face now close enough to his that your lips can at last meet. 

The kiss, so sleepy yet full of passion. He moans beautifully against your lips, stealing your breath when his hand reaches down to your thigh, drawing your bent knee to rest against his hip. His lips grow in vigor, warm hand gliding up the skin of your thigh and reaching for your ass. 

His fingers rake over your skin, heated and purposeful as they dip between your legs. 

You feel yourself tense the moment his finger slips inside, only from the tenderness left from only hours ago. You’re dripping for him, yet there’s a dull ache that exists from the night prior. 

“Hey,” he says, hushed and worried. His movements stop altogether as you silently curse your body for reacting the way it did. “Everything okay, doll?”

His fretting, though you truly just want to keep going, is the most sweet gesture. The way he knew that something was off, before you even had the chance to say anything. (Odds are, you probably wouldn’t have.)

“Y-yeah, just a little sore from last night, I guess,” you breathe, your ache for his touch far more potent than the physical pain. Nevertheless, you do hurt a little. Not much, yet enough that it elicited a bit of a reaction when he touched you.

“Oh, baby…,” he hums, his voice full of remorse and heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry, doll. We don’t have to keep –,”

“No, please don’t stop,” you whisper, pleading with him. Any ache you could ever experience is worth it with him, and a pain such as this only serves to turn you on all the more. It’s a testament of the gravity of last night – the exhaustion of your physical form is a mark of the most intense bliss that he offered you. 

And, it’s certainly not his fault that he’s so goddamn big. 

Fuck. The thought alone has you willing to do it all over again and again, despite any pain. 

He looks up at you with lazy, sleepy eyes. Dark circles beneath them, an image of unfiltered beauty. And his lips – enviable to anyone. So plush and soft. The perfect natural shade of muted rose – never pale like yours are without any lipstick. 

And beneath the fragile gleam of the morning sun, you can see the beginnings of his facial hair better than you ever have. And god, you just hope he continues to let it grow. So handsome with or without, but you’d love to see it on him.

He catches the growing smile on your lips, offering you one in return with a gentle wink of his eye. “Then let me help you, doll.”

Before you can even question his intentions, he’s swooping you up with one arm wrapped around the small of your back, an unparalleled strength in his arms that you’ll never get enough of. 

Laying you down on the bed, the two of you having switched positions, he looks even more beautiful on top of you than he did below you. In truth, you quite like him like this. Him overtop of you, domineering in the gentlest of ways. And when he holds himself up with his arms, the muscles bulge and contour in a way that makes you want to give him everything you have. 

“Just relax for me, doll,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss your lips with the most delicate force. “I want you comfortable first. Don’t ever want to hurt you.” 

He lays his body down between your legs, hands holding your ribs. His lips kiss a path down the center of your chest, spending a little extra time on each bud of your breasts. Sucking them gently, circling his warm tongue around them, paying each one the same amount of care. His tangled, messy hair, draped across your bare skin like a blanket of the finest material. It tickles your flesh as it falls over you, moving with him with the same lingering touch of his lips.

His lips mark a path down to your center, sucking a warm kiss on your lower belly. You sigh from the deepest point of your lungs at the feeling, his lips inching closer still until they meet your dripping core. A gentle kiss to your aching bud, with lips so full and warm. 

He moans at the taste of you, his eyes fluttering closed as he licks his lips, your juices dancing on his tongue. “Jesus,” he whispers, his breath hot against your chilled flesh. He places a palm on the back of each of your thighs, spreading you open even more before his lips press into you again, tender and primal. “Fucking intoxicating.”

His tongue trails your pulsing clit, falling down to your clenching opening and sinking inside. Pressing in and out, soft and gentle like the softest velvet inside of you. His face lifts away, just for a moment, giving room for his middle finger to slip inside. And again, he sinks in so carefully, his eyes studying your face. “This feel okay, doll?”

“Yes, yes…,” you breathe, your eyelids falling shut when his finger presses all the way to the knuckle. He holds still for a breath, then begins massaging your walls with the pad of his finger, somehow soothing any pain that exists. 

Fuck – you feel yourself clenching around him, muscles pusling with every movement. Your pussy, spilling around his finger from the most gentle touch he’s offering. When you feel his lips kiss the flesh of your inner thigh, you feel the warmth in your lower belly begin to spread, your heart beating faster and faster as your walls tighten. They give way to the most entrancing bliss, your wetness now dripping in the palm of his hand.

Jesus. The way he can do this to you, to make you fall apart with even the lightest touch…

Your hands reach for his hair – an instinct – gently pulling at the locks as you come down from your soothing euphoria.

“Does it feel better, doll?” He seals his question with another kiss to your thigh, his finger carefully pulling away as your breathing becomes normal again. In one spellbinding move, he places his finger in his mouth and sucks it clean, eyes growing darker as he tastes you on his skin.

“Mhm,” you hum, reaching for his shoulders, coaxing him up your body. You weave your fingers in his hair once more, using it to draw his face toward yours. He kisses your lips, so soft and warm. The taste of you, still lingering on his tongue. 

“My pretty doll…,” he whispers, the gruffness of his voice vibrating against the skin of your neck, his lips kissing a slow and lazy path to the shell of your ear. Goosebumps present themselves on each inch of your skin, your belly tightening as you feel the thick head of his cock begin to carefully slip inside of you. “Let me know if it’s too much,” he mutters, filling you at a slow and gentle pace.

The soreness from the night before is no more than a tender twinge, eased by the gentleness of his movements. An elating kind of ache, the kind that you welcome. 

You feel yourself growing more aroused, the dull ache only heightening your pleasure. Slow as he can, he fills you completely, resting inside of you. The careful twitching of his cock against your pulsing walls, the slow nibbles and kisses left by his lips against tight skin…the feeling in your belly only begins tightening even more. You’re certain you could reach your release again, just like this, with nothing more than him nestled inside of you, warm and full. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, hands tangled in his messy locks as he kisses along your jaw, the column of your neck. His hips, so tender in their wary movement. “I want you to come with me,” he mumbles, a warm, silken whisper into your skin. 

So lost in your state of bliss, you nearly missed his words, your mind focused only on the languid movements of his body and lips. There’s a beat of silence as you take a moment to register, and once you do, a memory of the very same words from last night comes forth in your mind. It leaves you with only one question.

“W-where, baby?” 

You can hardly speak, his body almost rendering you void of speech, lacking the proper weight of air in your lungs to form more than a few words. 

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he balances himself on one arm above you, the hand of the other cradling your face when his heavy-lidded eyes beg yours to look into them. “London, doll. Come with me to London. Go to Oxford, live in the literature with me.” 

What? 

Your brain short-circuits. Your eyelids flutter, like your body’s trying to make sense of what it’s just heard. He wants you to go with him? Instead of just staying here? 

“You…you’re still going?”

He nods slowly, his brows knitting together — like he can’t believe you’d even ask. The confusion in his eyes hits harder than words ever could. And suddenly, you’re humiliated for saying anything at all.

In the breath of a sigh, your body suddenly tenses beneath him, your hands letting go of his hair. He doesn’t waste another moment, reading the language of your body well enough to know that this should probably stop. 

He pulls himself away from you, slow and gentle, letting your body set the pace before he’s no longer resting warmly inside of you. 

He then helps you sit up, your back resting against the headboard. “Y/n…,” he begins, the muttering of your name sending a chill up your exposed spin. 

He’s sitting just across from you, black silk sheets draped over his hips, just below his stomach. You can see the outline of his cock – still hard – through the thin material, the indentions of his hips. The vision of him, making your core pulse between your legs…your body is betraying your emotions. 

But as much as you crave him, that moment has undeniably passed. 

Everything felt so soft, just a moment ago – his hands, his mouth. Now, it feels more distant than ever. Was it all just a prelude to this? 

“What – what made you think I wasn’t going, baby?”

“I – I guess I –,” you try, yet your mind is suddenly a scrambled mess of your own foolishness. “I don’t know…I was just hoping you changed your mind.”

He breathes a heavy sigh, tousling his hair with his fingers. He’s looking toward the corner of his room, staring off into a distance that you can’t see. You can only wonder what he’s thinking, his glaring eyes holding more depth within them than you’ve ever seen.

He lets out a breath once more, looking at you once again. His hand reaches for your calf, holding you within his warm grip while he glares at you with heavy intent. “Y/n, I’m so sorry that I’ve made you think that. But, doll…” He shifts closer to you, your legs now on either side of his hips, his hand gliding up to your thigh. “I’m still going. I have to, y/n. And I want you on this journey with me.” 

With him? To say you’re blindsided…

You’re in shock. Frozen in pure disbelief. Does he really think this could work?

“Jake that’s…” Your heart is spiraling. You want to cling to the version of this moment that was yours just minutes ago. The one where nothing else mattered. But now, every word feels like a cruel reminder that he’s already made his choice. 

But, fuck. Every goddamn cell in your body is longing to kiss him, to reach for him and hold him. You can’t. And fuck it all – you just don’t know what to do right now. “That’s not possible.”

“Look, I – I know I’m proposing something massive. But, I feel this from the depths of my soul, doll.” His hand reaches for yours, and you place it within his palm without question. His thumb, rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles, his body leaning closer. “This could be your path – you’re brilliant. Why don’t you give yourself the chance to embrace the sky? Soar beyond any limit you’ve placed on yourself?”

There’s something holding you back, a muffled voice in the back of your mind telling you that this can't happen. It’s impossible. Though, you can’t think of any good reason. The way he’s looking at you right now, waiting on his own bated breath for you to speak, like his very life depends on your answer…this is a pressure you’ve never known. 

You just want him to stay. To choose a future here – with you – instead of chasing on across the world.

How can he expect you to do something so drastic, something that’ll change every single aspect of your life? You’ve been through enough change. You’re sick of abrupt, unnerving change. 

For once, just for once, you wish things would remain just as they are.

No. You can’t do this. And he can’t expect you to do this. It isn’t as easy for you as it is for him. And apparently, it’s very easy for him. 

“I can’t, Jake. It isn’t that simple – nothing is that simple for me.” Your skin begins to heat with an anger you don’t recognize. This isn’t fair – it’s not right. He can’t string you along the way he has, lie to you, and then expect you to follow him wherever he goes. 

Suddenly, you can’t handle being in this bed any longer. You can’t handle him looking at you as though you are the problem here. Why is he putting all of this on you? 

Your canvas bag is laying on the floor next to the bed, just within arms reach. You lean over and dig through it until you find your pale blue Nike pullover. Once you toss it over your head, knowing it’s long enough to cover you, you pull yourself away from the bed, from him. 

“What are you doing, y/n?” Jake follows in suit, and from the corner of your eye, you catch him padding across the room to his dresser and pulling out a pair black sweatpants. You’re rummaging through your bag once more in a frantic search for the pair of leggings you know you packed with your sweatshirt.

“Can we please just talk about this?” He asks, standing directly behind you as you're crouched on the floor, finally locating the leggings. 

“My life isn’t something I can just pack up and carry to the other side of the world,” you snap as you step into your leggings, one foot at a time, the waistband snapping against your skin when you pull them up. 

Your next words churn in your stomach, bitter as bile rising in your throat. You don’t want to speak them – but they’re the truth. And he knows it just as well as you do. “You’re leaving, Jake. That’s not going to change. So why don’t you make it easier for both of us and just end this now?”

He flinches, as though you’ve just physically struck him. His jaw tensing, eyes glassy and dark. “So this, it’s just…” His hands float between the tiny space between you, a subtle gesture towards the both of you. “It’s just over, then? Just like that?”

“You’re not exactly giving this much of a chance. I don’t know what you expected me to do, but going to London isn’t possible, Jake.” 

That tiny space, closed in all the more as his body leans in towards yours. His breath, blowing gently against your tousled bangs. “You’ve still not given me a reason why you won’t come.” 

A reason…

Moving across the world for a man you’ve known no longer than a few months sounds rather absurd. 

But, you know better than to limit the person standing before you to just some man. Jake is different. He’s always been different. That pull toward him – it’s never made sense. Never needed to. It just is. Even when he acted as though you were the last person in the universe he’d want to be around. 

You thought you were over that. Over his aversion to you without any good rationale.

But.

What if that was the truth? What if he was never pretending? What if you were just something convenient for him? Something temporary?

Did he make you fall for him – give him the deepest parts of your heart – only to crush them when he decided you weren’t enough to stay for? And now he has the audacity to ask you to go to him?

Well, he’s asking you to do the impossible. And at this point, it’s offensive that he’d do so. He knows you can’t do that. Why torment you further? And why does he think you’d move across the globe for him, when there are plenty of opportunities right here in the states for you? It’s not all about him. You are just as much a part of this equation as he is. And, in your mind, even more so.

You’ve not made the decision yet. Haven't given yourself enough time to give it the proper amount of consideration. But if it’s a reason that he wants…

“I’m going to L.A.”

He says nothing. His eyes widen, lips part, but no words come.

So, you will fill the silence.

“After – after I graduate, I’m going to L.A. to pursue this, this modeling thing.  It’s…it’s what I want, Jake. I want to do this.”

Still, no words dare to leave his plush lips. Instead, a silent echo of despair plays across his features. Looking down at you, his lips now closed in a tight line. Questions in abundance are written in his eyes, yet he still doesn’t ask them. The air, tense and heavy, is now suffocating. 

But, why? Why would he be so full of disillusionment when he won’t even be here to see you leave, like you will be forced to do when he leaves? 

It’s not entirely the truth. You don’t know if you’ll actually go through with this. But that isn’t the point. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping you from giving in.

This isn’t just about him. 

The silence grows unbearable.You can practically hear his heartbeat in your own ears. You feel this urge to explain yourself, though you know you don’t owe him a thing. Still, your heart is working overtime to keep your walls up. And, looking into his whiskey toned eyes, your heart is begging to be placed on your sleeve. 

“I just…” Your voice, weighted and hardly louder than a whisper. “I’m graduating earlier than I thought. This May, actually. And I wanted to –,”

He lets out a sharp exhale, making you stop.

Your words barely make sense in your own mind. Saying them outloud only makes them sound more absurd.

What the fuck are you even saying?

This reason is beginning to feel more like an excuse. And, what Jake doesn’t know is that you’ve already applied to Oxford. And yeah, you did it mostly because of the persuasion from Dr. Movack. But, your professor isn’t the only reason you did so. 

You should be excited to tell Jake about it. But instead, you’re lying to his face to prove a point. A point that has become lost within his eyes. 

If he found out – if he knew you’d already considered choosing London – what would he think about this?

You’ve dug yourself a goddamn hole. And at this point, you can no longer see any glimmer of sunlight at the top.

He takes a step back from you, to which you feel the coldness in the air at his absence. Only a step, but a pronounced step. Enough that you’ve lost his warmth. He scoffs as he prepares his response, the callous smirk on his lips agitating you to no end. “And what exactly are you going to L.A. for?”

Excuse me? Have you seriously forgotten, or are you just trying to piss me off?

You tilt your chin up, defensive.“Stardust, Jake. The agency that wants me to model for them. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

He laughs, dryly, looking at you as if your words were some other language he didn’t fully comprehend. “A good opportunity for what, exactly?”

The uncontrolled huff of sharp breath that passes your lips is nearly matching his own mockery, the muscles in your jaw tightening as you begin to speak. “For my future. I want to do this. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”

If you don’t believe what you’re saying, you know he doesn’t, either. But you’re not giving this up. If he can have his thing, so can you. 

“That is bullshit, y/n. And you know it just as well as I do.” He steps forward again, closer this time, forcing you to meet his gaze. His stern, serious glare that’s making any air from your lungs catch in your throat before it can reach your lips. His voice drops, intense. “Since when do you care about modeling? Since when is that something you’ve ever wanted?”

Arms still crossed tightly over your chest, you steel yourself, firm. “People change.”

“No.” He exhales, sharply, shaking his head. “People lie to themselves when they’re trying to prove a point, when they’re trying to be ingenuine and deny who they are.” 

How dare he…

“That’s what you’re doing, right?” His voice is razor-sharp, but his eyes soften. “Trying to prove a point to me? Because I don’t know what you’re doing, y/n, but I know you’re not doing this because you want to.”

The muscles in your jaw clench once again, to a near painful degree. Your heart beats angrily in your chest, slamming against your ribs. “Why do you care so much about what I do? You don’t know everything, Jake. You don’t know everything about me.”

His lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak.

Then, softer – quieter – he says, “I do know you.”

His chest rises and falls with a heavy breath, gaze locked onto yours. “And I know that your passions have never had anything to do with ending up on the cover of a magazine.”

He leans in just enough to make you catch your breath. His voice is raw, almost pleading.

“It’s late nights buried in stories, dissecting them until you’ve found every possible hidden meaning. Studying until your eyes are too heavy to stay open. It’s m –,”

He swallows hard. Shuts his eyes for a second. When they open again, they’re softer.

“It’s literature, y/n. The lore you’ve fallen in love with won’t be there when you’re posing behind a camera.”

Your stomach twists. A lump rises in your throat.

You want to be angry. You want to tell him he’s wrong.

But he’s not.

He’s dead fucking on.

And he knows it.

But you’re not backing down.

“I can do this, Jake. I am doing this.” Your voice shakes, yet you keep your chin held high. “This is for me to decide, not you.”

“I’m not trying to decide anything. I just — it’s dangerous, y/n. Dangerous for someone like you –,”

“Someone like me?”

Realization begins its dawn, and every silent second that passes winds you up like a tightening wire, tension creeping up your spine the longer he doesn’t speak. Though the fear that exists in relation to his next words is incredibly pronounced, you do wish he’d just say something. 

You can decipher one thing within his silence – he didn’t mean to go this route. And it’s evident that he isn’t prepared for such a conversion.

And neither are you.  

“I just mean –,” he tries, though your own mouth seems to be moving much faster than his.

“You really think I’m not strong enough, is that it? Think I can’t handle it?”

“Y/n –,”

“You think I’ll fall apart.”

His lips are pressed in a thin, firm line. Not quite a frown, not soft. The corners of his mouth are twitching just slightly, betraying the tension on his jaw. A heavy gaze cast upon you, loaded with concern, unwavering. Like he’s holding back something. 

He doesn’t confirm your question, though he’s not denying it. 

It’s true. It’s exactly what he thinks. 

You shake your head as you look away, as it’s becoming increasingly difficult to look at him any longer. To see those eyes, looking at you is if you’ll break at any second. “I’m not some fragile thing, Jake. I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you were.” He hesitates, as though he’s pondering his next words with careful precision. You then feel a finger hook under your jaw, pressing you to look back to him. And when you give in to his touch, as you irritatingly seem unable to deny, you realize the worry in his eyes has only grown deeper, heavier. His face, far softer than before. “But you’re not invincible, either.”

Those words…they sit in the air for a moment, weighted. They echo through your mind, hearing his voice repeat them over and over on a loop. They only go silent when his hand cups your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek bone as he takes a deep breath. “I’m leaving, y/n. I’m leaving soon. And I’m begging you…” He leans in just a spell, yet enough that his lips are daring to touch yours. “Please consider chasing after what you love.”

What I love. 

He means literature. He means books, stories. Lore that you’ve become lost within more times than you have your own, real life. The very thing that has been the only constant in your life, the world that remained stable for you when yours fell apart. 

Yes, that is what he means. 

But, one thing you’ve realized you love even more than literature…

If you were to choose London, if you decide to go to school at Oxford University, to chase after what you love…

You’d be chasing after him. 

And you can’t. You can’t do that. Not this time.

As his lips press into yours, you let yourself feel them. Kissing him it’s…it’s the most painful kind of bliss you’ve ever known. 

And before the kiss can linger any longer, you pull away. And it hurts. The pain, physical, pressing into your ribs. This choice isn’t easy. 

But it’s right. 

“And what if I don’t, Jake?” 

His eyes, beautiful, laced with honey and whiskey, flicker with a pain you’ve never seen in him before. And when you take a step back, keeping your arms safely over your chest, they become even darker as he rips them away from you. Staring at the floor, a hand running through his silken locks, he says the words you thought you were prepared to hear. But, as it is, you’re not. 

“Then, I guess this is over.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The morning sun was blinding through the layer of frozen glass the night's bitter cold had left behind on your windshield. Though it was hard to see, the wipers did help to clear your view, and the sun was shielded a little by your sunglasses. You didn’t want to spend another second there, so you took the risk and left.

The ice melted eventually.

The drive home presented a new kind of numbness to your system. A hollow, stagnant void where emotion should be. Your mind, meanwhile, spins like a relentless tornado. A storm of thought that you just can’t calm down.

 Thoughts about London. About L.A – a modeling job that you may have just decided to accept. (Out of spite.)

Modeling…when the fuck have you ever wanted to model?

His words have played like a cracked record in your mind since you left his room. Skipping, stuttering, never stopping. Over and over again – his voice presses against your thoughts as if he’s still standing by your side, breathing them into your ear. 

Every last word his lips spoke this morning. All of them, sitting directly against your chest, weighing down your heart, refusing to let you take a full breath.

You’re adamantly against going to London. It’s out of the question. It just can’t happen. 

Only, you seem to have forgotten why.

You’re reasoning, your excuse – it’s slipped your mind somewhere beyond your reach. All you can think about now is the way his emotions flooded his eyes when you walked away.

Neither of you said much before you left. It’s true – he got the last word. The last one that mattered, at least. There wasn’t anything more you could’ve said. Though, there was plenty more you wanted to say. But your pride wouldn’t allow for it. Instead, you offered an absent “goodbye,” and walked away, leaving everything from last night and this morning behind with him.

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

The truth is, last night and this morning are stitched into you now. And they’ll stay there, clinging to you for a long, long time.

Forever, maybe. 

But right now, you don’t have the luxury of letting yourself outwardly feel it. You probably couldn’t even if you tried.

Your mom needs you. And you’ll give her as much of yourself as possible until Nat comes to pick you up for graduation later this morning.

Yes – you’re still going. You have to. Not just for Jake, for Josh, too. (And for you, in a way that you can’t fully comprehend just yet. But, you know you need it. In some way.)

She’s doing pretty well this morning. Her breathing is mostly clear, her skin looks more plump and hydrated than usual. She’s even got enough energy for a cup of coffee, something she hasn’t wanted the last few mornings.

You’ll take that as a good sign. Anything she can put in her system is a step in the proper direction. Even if it’s just a warm cup of coffee.

You have your own coffee in hand, having made a quick stop at Hyperion on the way here. The place Sam took you to not long ago – you found yourself a strange craving for it this morning. 

It’s so cold out today, and a warm vanilla latte sounded like the perfect remedy to contrast the chilly air. The sweet, warm drink – comforting in more ways than one right now. 

You’re ready for the ceremony a bit earlier than you needed to be. There’s still at least thirty minutes until Nat and Danny are expected to pick you up. You’re glad you gave yourself a little extra time, because the jewelry in your green velvet box has somehow become a tangled mess. Every necklace, knotted into one giant ball of metal chain. 

You only begin to panic when you see gold, a realization that your necklace from your dad is mixed up in there.

You can’t begin to fathom how this happened. It just doesn’t make sense. Everything in this box is always handled with the utmost care – you never leave it in a state that could cause this to happen. 

Panic ensues even more when you see the sword charm poking through the center of the mix. 

Every other necklace, you couldn’t care less what happens to them. But those two, specifically, you need to untangle, safely. 

A few bobby pins lie loose at the bottom of the vox, scattered across the black velour lining,m spared from the tangled chaos.

This trick has worked before – surely it’ll work now.

You grab one, pry it flat and wedge one end of it right in the center of the knot. You dig, twist, nudge, searching for any slack you can find. You tease at coils and pull at edges until something begins to give. But as a few chains start to loosen, your mom calls from the living room, asking for another cup of coffee.

“Y-yeah, one sec,” you call back, voice tight as you frantically attempt to free at least one of the two necklaces. You’ve managed to untangle most of the others, but not those – not the ones you need. They refuse to budge.

And now that a few links are freed, you can see it clearly – the two necklaces, your gold charm with your initial, and the sword, are wrapped into each other in a single, impossible knot. It almost looks deliberate, like someone rolled the chains between their palms, again and again, until they became fused together in a tight mess.

If you had the time, you know you could get them loose. You know that. But right now, you don’t.

You’ve hardly gone a day without wearing the necklace from your dad. It’s been your anchor as of late. Without it, you feel a sense of loneliness. Emptiness.

And today, of all days, you could really use it’s comfort. But there’s just no time to free it.

It’s the same story with the sword. 

You probably shouldn’t wear it today, but you want to. 

Again, there’s no time. 

Both will have to stay here, twisted and snarled together in a bind that you can’t release them from. The thought has your throat constricting, your chest heating with a frustrated sadness. 

Is this what will finally get me to cry this morning? 

“Y/n!” The power behind her voice startles youm cutting through the quiet storm. She’s mustered enough strength to yell, probably more than she should spend, all for the sake of another cup of coffee.

“Coming,” you say, a whisper, using the sleeve of your sweater to dry your dampening eyes before carefully closing the lid of your jewelry box.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Graduation.

The twins didn’t leave a single person out today. 

Sam, Nat, Malachi, Danny – even Danny’s parents were extended an invite. And you, of course. Weeks have passed since Jake had personally handed you your own invite. Though, when he did, things were a bit different between you two than they are now. Of course, you had no problem making the promise to be here today at that time. 

It stings your chest when it dawns on you – their parents would have been here. Their grandparents, too. They’re supposed to be here. Thanks to the cruel nature of the world, they aren’t.  

Jake’s emotions were certainly heavy this morning. Heavier than usual. And fuck you for not even thinking of the fact that he’s graduating college without any of the people who raised him being here. Not a single one. 

The grief he must be experiencing at this very moment…you can’t fathom. Truly.

And here you are – doing whatever the fuck you’re doing – perhaps making it worse for him. Maybe he will be better off in London, without you to drag him down any further. 

And yet, here you are, at the packed full Crisler Arena to witness Jake and Josh be granted their well deserved degrees. And that’s just the thing – this day is just as much about Josh, too, whom you also made the very same promise to. You couldn’t break the promise you’d made, to both of them. No matter the circumstances.

The last graduation you attended was your own from high school, some four years ago now. You graduated alongside a measly thirty six students, nothing in comparison to the eight thousand and some change that will be handed their futures today. It’s the moments like these that you realize just how different the world you grew up in was. Vastly different. Cherry Tree may as well be another world – another universe – at this point. 

A simple, all-black outfit felt like the best choice for today. Not that you typically wear much different – black just happens to be the most flattering shade on you. The favorite look as of late has been an oversized sweater and tights, with your thrifted Chelsea boots and your pleather coat. A little variation in the sweaters, of course. Today’s is a full-fledged turtle neck with bell sleeves. 

The red lip has become a staple of yours since filming came to an end. And having taken a bit more time with your eye makeup as of late, you’ve perfected a quick black wing with nothing more than an angle brush and a good black eyeshadow. The film brought out a new sense of confidence in you that you’re trying your damnedest to include in your day to day. The modeling offer certainly helped with that cause, too. 

The clothes are still big – they still hide your body when you can’t allow yourself the poise to show off that part of yourself. But, you’ve discovered that a few extra minutes on your makeup in the mornings does add an air of confidence about you that you wouldn’t have normally. 

Simple. But effective. And yet one more instance in which this film changed the entire pathway of your existence. 

Nat is a picture of perfection in her midnight blue bodycon. Full sleeves, the dress reaching her nude heel clad feet in a sweater material to keep her warm. Every color compliments her honeyed skin tone, but this particular tinge of blue, a rich sapphire – her skin is glowing more than ever. 

And Danny, her model compliment in a mustard yellow sweater and dark wash jeans. 

The first thing you noticed about the pair today when they came to pick you up was their curls. Both of them, with the shiniest, tightly defined ringlets framing their features. Nat’s hair, always the most incredible set of ebony curls, so there wasn’t a single cell in your body that was shocked to see her hair in such pristine shape. 

But Danny’s. His curls are gorgeous, but they’re always a bit more frizzy than his counterparts. Noting how shiny and defined his shoulder-length curls are today, pulled back in a handsome half-up ponytail, you made sure to extend him a compliment. To which, unsurprisingly, Nat boasted her own hand in the matter, twirling one of his curls around her finger from the passenger's seat while he drove. “He finally let me dip into my products and give this hair a proper curl routine,” she’d said, admiring her work while he was stuck at a red light. 

He said she’d argued with him for weeks about it, but he finally gave in and let her have her way. And, knowing Nat, there is truly no other way to be had. He was bound to give in someday, so she was going to have it her way, one way or another. 

She even got him to admit that she was right about the effect a couple of curl creams could have on already beautiful curls. And that, you’re certain, boosted her ego tenfold. But she deserves it. Because, when it comes to hair – specifically curly hair – everyone should trust Natalia Delores with their life. 

It felt like a bit of an inside joke when Danny’s parents even noticed the stark difference in his locks, his mom practically squealing when she saw him, doting over how ‘handsome her sweet boy’ is. His dad, big Dan, made a couple jokes regarding his own hair that had begun to thin over the years, but that he was a true lady killer back in the eighties with his hair that didn’t require the ever-popular perm. Lori, Danny’s mom, one of the sweetest souls you’ve ever encountered, had to disagree with her husband. It certainly garnered a chuckle out of you, and it was very much needed.

Being here now, after the events of this morning – from only a few hours ago – your nerves are teetering the edge. And aside from the obvious, being here to watch Jake in his final moments as an undergraduate, his final moments in the role that introduced you to him…

Perhaps it’ll offer some closure. Finality to the months long rendezvous with him, that came to an end hours before this very moment. 

This will give that ending its final bow. A piece you’ll no longer need to cling onto, one that you can allow to end the second he receives his degree. 

A chapter, coming to its final end.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’d tried so hard not to place him amongst the rest of the graduates, but your eyes find him naturally – drawn to him the way moths are drawn to moonlight. For a moth, the lunar veil serves as its guiding glow. Its sense of direction. Its instinctual compass.

Without the quiet, pale glow, it will lose its way –  frantic, searching for something to replace it, something else to be its guide. But nothing will offer the sanctuary it once found in the ashen gleam. Instead, what it clings to seals its fated demise. 

You are the moth – irresistibly pulled towards him, a desire that at times overrides all reason and sense.

But, Jake. 

Is he the moon that represents the right path, or is he the false light you cling to that knocks you off course? 

If nothing else, you’re certain of this – after last night, and especially after this morning, the sight of him derives the kind of pain that feels wrong to be felt. Too heavy, cutting much too deep for him to be the thing that lights the right path for you.

Still, though. 

You know it hurts because you want him to represent the right path. 

But if he doesn’t, you can’t force him to. Fate is fate. You can’t choose who will guide you in the right direction. 

And yet, there he is. Glowing amongst thousands of other graduates – a gleam in the ocean of students wearing their all-black regalia. Your vantage point, a bit distorted from how far up you are; a disadvantaged side view at best. But, that’s enough to know he looks incredible. Unfairly beautiful. And if anyone could make a cap and gown look like a sin, it’s Jake. 

The only thing that disappoints you is how little you can see of him. 

You should be surprised that he’s sporting his round, black frames on the day of his commencement – you can spot them easily, even from this high up. 

You’re not surprised he’s wearing them. Not even a little bit. They’re a classic Jake statement at this point. And frankly, it makes you smile that he’s wearing them. Those John Lennon shades that are his staple, that go perfectly with any outfit he wears – indoors and out, huge event or casual outing. 

If it weren’t for Josh and Natalia’s protests to your aversion to coming today, you wouldn’t be here. Truly, it’s the last place you want to be at the moment. 

Your heart begins fluttering a mile a second as his row rises next, each student filing toward the stairs at the side of the stage to begin their walk. Only a few more names stand in the way the moment he will cross beneath the stage lights, Josh close behind him for his own journey. You’re just as nervous as if you were right alongside the rest of the graduates, feeling the daunting pressure of having your name read aloud for the thousands of people watching you.

But you’re also proud. So, so proud. Of both of them. If you were to be asked, you’d say that those two are the most deserving of this outstanding eminence. 

Your heart pounds – fast and hard – when the student ahead of Jake steps onto the stage. You don’t catch their name. Wouldn’t be able to name this person if you tried. Even as their name has just been announced through the microphone, bouncing off every wall in this massive place. 

No, when your sights are set on Jake, everything else around you turns to black. 

Then, you watch Jake slip off his shades, gripping them tightly in his right hand. Behind him, Josh reaches out and pats his twin’s shoulder. But Jake turns, pulling him into a hug instead. A sweet rebellion against the formality.

Though you’re a few hundred feet away from them, the distance shrinking them to tiny blips of themselves, you can see and feel their shared emotions. 

Your whole row stands in preparation for Jake’s walk. And, while the name read just a moment ago was a muffled echo, Jake’s name rings perfectly loud and fucking clear. 

“Jacob Thomas Kiszka, Summa Cum Laude.” 

Thunderous. 

The cheers are like constant claps of powerful thunder accompanying his well deserved trek along the stage. But, as loud as the nearly twelve thousand spectators are, Josh’s cheers are certainly giving everyone here a run for their money. You swear you can hear him shouting for his twin. Whistling through his fingers, screaming what you can only assume is an abundant ‘hell yeah, Jake!’ at the very top of his lungs. Josh is loud. That is just a fact. 

Chi’s face is beat red at his fiance’s display, though he can’t disguise the smile stretching across his pearly whites. Nat can’t stop giggling at him, cheering Jake on through beats of laughter. And Sam, chanting hard for his brother is such a sweet display. Huge grin, palm-clapping louder than everyone else.

You don’t know how he’s so alert today. You’d thought for sure he’d be out for the count with the world's worst hangover, given his state last night. But his demeanor is quite the opposite. If you didn’t know he was blackout drunk only twelve or so hours ago, you wouldn’t know. He doesn’t even look sleepy. 

How? 

Meanwhile, the buzz you had last night is still present in your queasy tummy and aching head. Though, that could be the effects from this morning, the loud, constant echoes of cheers in the arena. Could be a lot of things, truly. 

You’ve noticed it a few times since you’ve been here, but Sam’s eyes keep finding you from the other end of the row. He’ll smile each time your eyes meet, a smile that says there’s more to it than just a friendly grin. You don’t know what, of course. But he’s looked at you most of this time. And all you can do, aside from blush, is smile right back.

Summa Cum Laude. The highest academic honor bestowed upon Jake, and a golden medal placed around his neck to signify his massive achievements as a scholar. His brain is a work of pure art, a place of wonderment.

And, unfortunate for you, it’s sexy as hell that he’s been given this honor, that he’s earned it. A perfect grade point average to seal his bachelor’s degree. 

Far away as you are, up high in the stands, you can still see the tight, closed-lip smile on his mouth as Dr. Movack personally hands him his diploma holder. A strong handshake from the two, turning into a warm squeeze. A tear begs to fall from your eye at the vision, though you sniff it away before it can make its quick escape. 

Crying is ridiculous right now. Save it, y/n. 

He then pauses for his photograph, hand in hand with Dr. Ono, U of M’s President, a slightly bigger grin on his lips. After a second, he continues down the stage with a saunter in true, Jake fashion; no urgency whatsoever in his boot-clad steps. His golden stole embroidered with the letter ‘M’ swinging from his neck, amongst a plethora of colorful chords to accompany his medal. And his cap, lazily sat on top of his chestnut hair, on the verge of slipping off his head entirely. 

Time is moving in slow motion as you watch him make his final steps across the stage, stopping to place his tassel to the left for his official graduate photo at the end of the small staircase leading back to the floor seats. The same path every student who’s walked the stage has taken thus far. Only, Jake is the first student you’ve seen thus far to place sunglasses on his face for his photograph. 

That little gesture certainly makes you smile, annoying as it may be. Because, seriously – who does that? 

Jacob Thomas Kiszka. That’s who. 

Those give peace a chance shades, straight out of the strawberry fields. The ones you tried to hate, but for very obvious reasons, you just couldn't. Ever. 

The lump in your throat as you’ve just witnessed his final moments as an undergraduate is so profound, nearly choking you with the urge to shed a lot of tears. But, you swallow them back yet again when his twins name is announced, the very same academic merit bequeathed to him.

“Joshua Michael Kiszka, Summa Cum Laude.”

In the same, identical fashion to Jake, the arena erupts with celebratory applause. Josh, not nearly as cool and collected as Jake, practically skips down the stage, pumping his fists high in the air before he reaches Dr. Turner, who’s handing him his own diploma holder. 

Josh doesn’t hold back – he goes straight for the hug. No handshake, no formalities necessary; just a full hug. A Josh hug – the most loving type of hug there is. 

Malachi can’t stop shouting for his fiance. Jumping up and down, flailing his long, lanky arms about, his tall frame making the entire row shake with his celebration. Nat certainly is not much different, having now celebrated both twins in a similar fashion to Chi. They are siblings, afterall. 

As Josh takes his final steps across the stage, he looks directly to your row, locking eyes the best he can with Malachi despite their hundred-foot distance. And with that, both of them blow each other kisses and catch them, holding their closed fists to their heart at the exact same time. 

Their love is so beautiful – it truly makes your heart hurt with adoration. 

Of course, no sunglasses grace Josh’s face for his photograph at the end of the stage. Only a massive, full-toothed smile. The most precious human being. Always.

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“Good afternoon, graduates, families, faculty, and honored guests.”

The graduates have all passed along the stage, and in what you would consider to be record timing. Thousands of them, in just under two hours. Given the sheer volume of people in their graduation regalia, you expected at least double the amount of time that it actually took. 

Dr. Ono is now center stage, reciting his final, farewell speech to the crowd before the ceremony comes to its official end. 

“Today, we gather not only to celebrate achievement, but to honor the grit, the growth, and the passion that brought each of you to this moment. You’ve written papers through the night, questioned the world around you, and dared to dream a little bigger every year. And now here you are, crossing this stage into your next chapter.”

“I’d like to take a moment to recognize a few extraordinary groups among you. To those who graduated Summa, Magna, and Cum Laude, please stand so that we may recognize you once more.” 

Jake, Josh, along with several other students stand to be honored. The twins, each nudging into each other with their shoulders and smiling, reaching around to shake the hands of their fellow peers and friends who are also standing. 

And of course, the audience celebrates them with echoed intensity, a sky-splitting roar in the arena. 

Dr. Ono claps a few times away from the mic before giving permission for the graduates to take their seats once more.

“Before we conclude this morning’s ceremony,” he continues once the crowd has quieted, his gaze sweeping the sea of caps and gowns seated in their designated chairs across the floor. “There is one final honor I wish to recognize – an extraordinary one.”

He pauses a moment, folding his hands lightly over the edge of the glass podium. The crowd quiets a smidge further, distant sounds of careful coughs and gentle whispers are the only murmurings among everyone.“In my more than twenty years of service in higher education, I’ve personally had the privilege of bestowing this award to only three students. Today, I am both honored and proud to say that a fourth joins their ranks.”

He takes a breath, steadying his voice. “Today,” he continues, more umph on the word this time. “This University, founded over two hundred years ago, will see its thirty-second recipient of one of the most distinguished academic awards in education.”

You can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling – quiet, a little uncertain. Yer, undeniable.

This is for Jake.

"The Rhodes Scholarship, established over one hundred and twenty years ago, remains one of the most prestigious academic honors in the world. It was created to fully fund the postgraduate studies of exceptional students at the University of Oxford in England. This student was nominated by the English department chair, Dr. Chadwick Movack.”

Yep. Here it is.

“Admission to Oxford alone is a remarkable achievement. To be selected for the Rhodes Scholarship – among thousands of applicants worldwide – is a rare and extraordinary distinction.”

Your eyes, ever trained to spot him as they are, immediately find him in the mix of black caps. 

And there he is, sitting beside his twin, looking up at Dr. Ono as he finishes his speech. Seemingly unaware that he is the honoree. But, how could he suspect any differently? Who else would be so deserving? Who else from this class is going to Oxford?

In your mind, no one, not a single soul, is more deserving than him. 

“At this time, would you please join me in congratulating Jacob Thomas Kiszka for his outstanding achievements.” 

Like a storm breaking, the arena fills with roaring applause. Most are standing in ovation, including your row. Each of you, shooting up the moment his name is announced. Hell, you were ready when he said Movack’s name. When Dr. Ono mentioned Oxford. 

Those tears – you were able to hold them back before. But, right now? They’re entirely uncontrolled. Wetting your cheeks, landing on top of your smiling lips, a salty taste finding your tongue. 

These are proud tears, happy tears. 

But, selfishly, these tears do not just celebrate. 

They mourn. Each drop on your cheek is a word your lips cannot say. Not right now. And, perhaps, not ever again. 

Yes, these tears are born of pride and joy. But even moreso, they are born of the ache in your heart. 

Nat, standing beside you, cheering for her friend to the fullest extent that she can, quickly looks to you. She must’ve heard a sniffle, a quiet sob that needed release. 

She knows. 

And she offers no words, for she understands that words aren’t needed. Only the kind touch of a friend who gets it, a sweet embrace of your shoulder as she smiles at you. A quiet reassurance that, although it doesn’t feel like it right now, everything will be okay. 

Eventually.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Hey, y/n!” Sam taps your shoulder to gather your attention, walking close enough behind you that his foot catches the heel of your boot. 

“S-sorry about that,” he giggles as you turn your head over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of his warm smile and sleepy, alcohol-binged eyes. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted to run a quick errand with me before we head back to the apartment. Won’t take long, just need to pick something up real fast.” 

Upon first instinct, your eyes make a quick scan to locate Jake. He’s walking with Josh and Malachi, reading from the graduation program and seemingly paying no attention to you. So be it, then. 

“Y-yeah, sure!” The excitement in your voice is feigned, and you’re not even sure why you said yes. It’s not what you wanted to say, not what you want to do. But Sam’s excitement is very much real, and the gesture to lock his arm with yours as you make your exit from the arena a bit quicker is indicative that you’re now fully committed.

Arm in arm, you walk past a somewhat confused couple that you rode with initially. “I’ll uh, I’ll meet you guys there,” you say to them as Sam drags you along. Nat nods her head as she continues down the stairs with Danny.

Sam, acting as though he’s been here dozens of times, takes you through an alternate route, away from the mass of the crowd. A bit of a back way, of sorts, walking you through the areas behind the stands in lieu of through them. And he’s smiling the whole time, too. Like the most giddy, excitable child about to embark on a wondrous vacation. Before you know it, you’ve surpassed the crowd of people and made it to one of the parking lots, Sam’s vintage Bug now in clear sight. Certainly hard to miss such a vibrant orange amongst a sea of neutral colored vehicles. You’ve hardly gotten the chance to throw your pleather coat on before he’s prancing around to the drivers side and not wasting a single second to hop in. 

“I presume you’ll tell me where we’re going soon,” You say, situating yourself in the passenger seat while he takes a moment to let the engine warm. 

He chuckles with a mysterious undertone, stretching his seatbelt over his lap. “You’ll see when we get there!” Seatbelts secured, the engine thrums a deep grumble as he backs out of the parking spot.

Old as his Bug is, his radio is still in working condition, quite unlike your Firebird that’s about thirty years newer than his cruiser. He scans the stations for a second until you hear a few recognizable chords, and a very distinct voice belonging to none other than Ann Wilson. “Ah, a classic,” Sam says, turning the volume up a few notches, Alone echoing off of every window and leather seat. “These women are badass.”

Sam starts bobbing his head in beat with the drum, as though it’s a full on rock anthem instead of the heartbreak ballad you know it to be. His voice, hit in pitch and a little more than rough, slips into the chorus: “I never really cared until I met you!” 

He certainly doesn’t hold back, even tossing in a dramatic air-drum hit on the dashboard for good measure. You try to keep a straight face, really – you try. But the sight of him getting incredibly theatrical with the song that has no business being funny is just too much. A giggle slips out before you can stop it, and even you find yourself falling victim to the catchy lick of the song. 

“And now it chills me to the bone – how do I get you alone?” The two of you, singing in perfectly off-key unison. He glances at you and smirks as the final chorus finishes out, both of you still singing your hearts out like you mean each and every word. And maybe you do. Maybe he does. 

Underneath the laughter and tone-deaf singing, the lyrics somehow begin hitting a little too close. That ache Ann is singing of – wanting someone who just feels out of reach. Yeah. That gets shoved down real fast. 

The song fades to its ending, and Sam’s fingers twist the volume knob to the left, turning it down to a near mute. The static noises being the only thing left that can still be heard, along with the rumbling tires against the paved city roads. 

“I heard about the modeling offer,” Sam admits with quite the grin stretching his mustache. Still looking at the road, his head is just slightly cocked towards you, awaiting your response as he’s ready to give you his attention on the matter. Already, a drastic difference in the way Jake has treated the situation. Not a smile one on his lips when you’d discussed it. He acted repulsed by the idea, implied that you lack the strength to be able to handle such a thing. But Sam…

“Not too sure about it yet,” you say, staring down into your lap as your mind flashes images of Jake from this morning, when you’d had a very similar conversation that went to absolute shit. 

Those images begin to fade, though, the second that Sam chimes in with his opinion. And, again – a drastic difference from his older brother. “Well, I, for one, think it’s a great idea,” he boasts, his heartfelt smile widening all the more, his eyes lit up as they move back and forth from you and the road. “Look at you, y/n. You’re just as pretty as any model I’ve ever seen. Prettier, even.”

When he reaches the four way stop, waiting for the two cars that were there first to take their turns, his warm hand reaches for your thigh, holding you just above the knee. Fingers wrapped tight around you, thumb rubbing small circles over your tights. 

Sam hasn’t touched you like this in….well, it’s been a very long time. And as innocent of a gesture as it is, you can’t deny the rush of heat burning your chest, filling your lungs at the contact. And right now, though you’ll never admit it outloud, you can’t deny it to yourself that you want more. 

It feels nice. Really nice. And his compliment certainly helped. Something Jake can’t seem to do. It’s like he refuses to acknowledge that it just might be a really good thing for you, that it could help you. Instead, he thinks you’re too weak to handle such a thing. Well, you may just have to prove him wrong. And you may need Sam to help you do that. 

Though Sam was not garnering much attention from you last night at the party, you do remember overhearing a few conversations between him and a couple of guests he was taking photos of for Josh’s guest book. Apparently, from what you could gather, Sam offered to take the photos with his new Polaroid for the purpose of testing it out. He’d been finding himself deep within the photography realm as of late, and wanted the opportunity to hone in his skills a bit. 

And, though you’ve blocked a lot of this night out of your mind, the night you found yourself tangled up with him in his sheets, your memory is clear enough to recall a collection of cameras sitting neatly on top of his dresser. Some new, some old. Dozens of them.

“Sammy, would you want to help me with something?” You ask, your own hand instinctively finding the top of his, still draped over your leg. The movement didn’t even require a thought – you just did it. It was a natural compulsion – you’re not even sure why it happened. 

But it did. And Sam, given his cherry red cheeks and a grin that reaches his bright eyes, he certainly likes it. 

“Anything for you,” he answers through his smile, voice sweet and soft as silk. 

“I need to build a portfolio for the agency. Just a collection of photos to show my skill, or whatever.” It feels odd to even speak about these things, as if the contract has already been accepted. Of course, it very much has not been. You’ve not called Sylvia back to confirm or deny, and you haven’t even made up your mind whether you will or won’t. She did, however, advise that you go ahead and gather some photos to submit. Just so they have something, should you decide to go ahead with it. Doing so doesn’t exactly promise anything. So, what’s the harm in it? And, what’s the harm in enlisting Sam for a little help? Afterall, it’d be helping him, too. His drive is awfully attractive to you. 

He pats your thigh before he answers your question, breathing a sweet giggle as he pulls his Bug into a parking lot. You’d been so caught up in the conversation, in his hand warming your leg, that you hadn’t been paying any mind to where you were going, to where you are right now. You’ve driven past it a couple of times, always felt a sense of pride in the city for housing such a place. All About Animals, a rescue, shelter, and adoption agency for homeless animals. 

You did notice something in the back seat earlier, though you’ve not really looked until now; a pink collar with a silver charm dangling from the clasp, a matching pink leash curled around it, and a white harness with pink polka-dots. That’s right. Sam told you last week that he was on the hunt for a puppy. 

Oh my goodness. 

“I would be honored to take photos of you, y/n,” Sam says as he tosses the gear in park, jiggling the key a bit until it comes out of the ignition. But you’re a bit too distracted to talk about that any longer.

“Sam! Are we picking up your puppy?” Your voice blurts out in a beam of pure excitement, ignoring his offer to help entirely as you’re pulling your seatbelt off and opening the door, all in one eager go. 

He does the same, an ecstatic leap from the driver's side, far too distracted to bother with locking up the Bug before taking impatient strides toward the glass doors. “Yep!”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Well hi there, Samuel!” Her eyes crinkle with the smile she offers him. She gives her auburn-dyed curls a quick fluff with one hand, the strands springing up against her forehead like they’ve done this a hundred times before. With the same hand, she reaches into the front pocket of her cotton denims – the kind with the elastic waistband – and pulls out a baby pink hanky. She blows her nose into it with a loud honk, folds it neatly, and tucks it right back where it came from like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The smile on your lips is derived from a memory, to a time when you’d visit Texas, playing by yourself in the humid afternoon air, your grandma doing practically the exact same thing as she enjoyed her porch swing. The Summer air would often make her sneeze, and boy would she let one fly. Rather dramatically so. 

The old hanky, the loud nose blowing and sneezing. A few silly things that you’ll always remember, and with a strange fondness that feels altogether nostalgic and melancholic. 

“S’it that day already?” Shesteps around the corner, arms open wide for Sam who walks right into her embrace without hesitation. It’s a sweet sight – she doesn’t even clear his shoulder, her short frame swallowed by the hug. 

“Sure is! Can you believe it?” Sam replies, his voice high and bright. Their hug lingers a beat or two longer than you’d expect, held together by something deeper than a simple greeting of an acquaintance. When she pulls back, one arm still looped around Sam’s waist, her gaze shifts to you. Her warm face, softening even more when Sam gestures toward you with a gentle sweep of his hand.

“Helen, I’d like you to meet y/n,” he introduces. His smile is soft, his eyes finding yours with an aura of tenderness that makes you smile. “She’s here for a little moral support.”

“Hello, sweetheart!” Helen beams, already closing the distance between you. Before you can even react, she’s in your space, arms wrapping around you in a hug so tender and warm. Her head just grazes your chin, and her embrace carries a kind of sincerity that makes your throat tighten just a little bit. You haven’t known her for more than a minute, but something about her makes you feel chosen. Seen. Like she’s picked you to care about, and that’s that.

“Pretty as a picture,” she murmurs, tapping your cheekbone with a cold, wrinkled finger, so gentle that you hardly feel it. She smells like sweetened black coffee and a particular kind of mint – Mentos, you’d bet money on it – the scent so distinct it wraps around you. You imagine she’s the type to keep sleeves of them tucked in her purse, always ready to press one into someone’s palm with a wink and a pat on the hand.

“Thank you, ma’am,” you say, polite on instinct. 

But her dark blue eyes widen behind those oversized square frames, her hand waving in front of her face like she’s shooing away a pesky fly. “No, no, baby girl,” she says, her voice like sugared honey. “Just call me Helen.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Helen amiably leads you and Sam toward the back of the building, down a long, echoey corridor lined with kennels full of dogs of all sorts. The two of them, engaging in small talk as though they go way back as old pals, while you tow behind them, only hearing every few words or so. These precious dogs are yanking at the strings of your heart. Their sweet faces watching you, tails wagging as you walk by. Each one, with their names written in dry erase on the glass they’re imprisoned behind. You’d thought about adopting one when you first moved here, but the right time just hasn’t presented itself yet. And with your moms health, the right time may never come. At least, not until she…

Helen lets out a cheer that would rival a younger crowd, throwing her hands in the air in a display of triumph when she and Sam near a little room at the very end of the hallway. She opens the door just a hair, and before she can open it all the way, out comes the most excited little creature. A beautiful pitbull with a brindle coat. Not quite a puppy, though not entirely full grown. And, this sweet baby runs straight to Sam.

“Rosie!” He exclaims, dropping to his knees with a thud to the ceramic flooring. In an instant, his arms are wrapped around his new baby, pulling her close. Unable to stop yourself, you crouch down beside him, drawn in like gravity to the soft, wriggling mass of love in his arms. She’s beautiful – eyes warm and liquid with trust, tail thumping against the floor like it’s a drum. Her mouth splits into the closest thing a dog has to a grin, and then her tongue is everywhere, a flurry of ecstatic licks painting Sam’s cheeks.

“This is – ,” Sam starts, but he doesn’t stand a chance. His words dissolve into helpless laughter as she climbs further into his lap, tail wagging so hard her whole body wobbles with it. He tips backward with a huff of breath, arms flailing slightly before steadying her again, caught entirely in the whirlwind of affection.

“Rosie?” you echo, trying to help him find his words. The second her name leaves your lips, her attention snaps to you – ears perked, tail wagging even faster. Then she launches herself into your arms like a missile of pure love, tongue darting for your nose, your chin, your forehead. Her paws scramble up your shoulders as she presses into you, her own clumsy version of a hug. You laugh – loud, unfiltered, and real. The kind of laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep and good, the kind only a dog can summon.

“Rose Bud Kiszka,” Sam announces through a grin so wide it’s nearly a laugh itself, his chest still heaving from joy. “Rosie for short.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Dribbles of drool through heavy, happy pants drip against your tights, but you couldn’t be bothered to care even if you tried. Rosie has kept close to you, perched on your lap during the drive back to the apartment. Her hot breath has completely fogged up the icey glass of the passengers window while she watches the city pass by. 

She’s about the happiest dog you’ve ever encountered – she’s more than ready to go to her new home. And it’ll be the most loving home she’s ever known. 

When Sam was filling out her adoption forms at the shelter, Helen told you all about Rosie’s story. Rescued from the streets, about two months ago. She somehow managed to find her own way to the shelter, stood outside in the pouring rain one day and barked like her life depended on it, until she caught Helen’s attention. 

She didn’t go into too much detail, but from the sounds of it, Rosie had some signs that she’d come from an abusive home. Perhaps escaped one. You didn’t ask any questions – you knew your heart couldn’t handle knowing much more. All you needed to know was that Helen had spent the last few months taking care of Rosie, getting her back to health, loving her when she’d never known love before. Helen also told you that, when Sam came by last week, he and Rosie had a bond so strong and instantaneous. She and Sam both knew right away that Rosie was the dog for him. She only needed a few more shots before she was ready. And today, she was ready. Ready to come home. 

Rosie has come such a long way, all thanks to the big heart that Helen possesses. It just makes you wonder how many babies just like Rosie that Helen has saved. People like her deserve all the goodness and love this world has to offer. 

“Helen is absolutely precious,” you tell Sam as you reminisce on meeting such a wonderful woman, reaching a hand up to scratch behind Rosie’s ears. She leans into the touch, resting her head against your hand, her tail thumping in her own beat against your lap. 

Sam glances at you from the driver's seat, one hand steady on the wheel while the other reaches for Rosie’s back, offering her even more scratches.“Isn’t she?” He agrees, a lingering smile as he watches the road. “She was my grandma's best friend for years. She’s known us our whole lives.” 

He takes one final turn down the road toward the apartments, his hand sliding over the leather in a single woosh as it spins back around. “Helen would give us these weird, chewy mints every time we’d see her,” he giggles, eyebrows scrunched as he remembers. “The twins loved ‘em, but I was more of the chocolate kind of kid. Didn’t care much for minty candy.” 

I knew it.

He’s now pulling into the parking lot, taking his designated space right in front of the building. And, right behind Jake’s Rover. The vision of The Black Pearl alone has your chest tightening, your face burning red hot despite the cool air coming in from Sam’s now open door. 

“You girls ready to go inside?” He asks, giddy as can be while he rushes over to your side. And sweet Rosie – her ears fell the second he left the car, but as he’s opening the passengers door for the both of you, her ears have perked right back up, her tail thumping away as her brand new dad is back in her line of sight once more. She loves him so much already. It’s enough to make you almost forget about Jake for the moment. Almost. 

The lapse doesn’t last long. Rosie leaps from your lap, your fingers wrapped tightly around her pink leash in case she tries to bolt. She doesn’t, of course. She pounces Sam instantly, hugging his hips, gentle barks and happy whines coated with excitement to see him once again. 

It takes you a moment to realize that a claw on her back foot dug into your skin when she bolted from the car, snagging your tights and effectively ripping a large hole right down the middle of your thigh. The cold breeze on your exposed skin takes your attention away from the leash for a split second, your grip on it letting up just a bit. But, that’s all it takes. The leash slips from your hand quick, the nylon slipping through your palm, nearly burning the skin. And before you can even try to catch it to stop her, you realize she’s now seeking the affections of Jake, whom you had no idea was already out here, eager to meet his new dog-niece. 

Rosie, treating Jake the very same as Sam – he bends down to her level, letting her kiss and hug him all she wants. He greets her, using her full name, both hands offering rubs and scratches all down her back and up to her ears. “She’s quite a hoot, Samuel,” he snickers, kissing her right back through her displays of love. “She’ll be a wonderful addition to the family. Won’t ‘cha, girl?” 

Until now, you’d thought it’d be a cold day in hell before you’d hear Jake use a baby voice. It should not be affecting you in the ways that it is – tormentingly domestic, agonizingly gentle. 

Though, why should you be surprised? You’ve seen this man’s heart more times than you can keep track of – of course he’s warmhearted with animals. How could you expect any less from the man that played you a beautiful, enchanting rendition of a heartfelt love song in the privacy of his own room? 

All at once, you’re wishing this whole scenario could’ve played out just a little different. As in, you wish it were you and the other Kiszka out here that had gone to pick up this sweet angel. Terrible as it sounds. But, an even worse thing to feel. It’s a feeling you’ll just have to get used to, because it won’t be waning anytime soon. 

Like a moth drawn to moonlight.

Jake’s coos and kisses have you battling the glowing neon L-word flickering in your mind – louder, brighter, more blinding than the bulbs on Josh’s marquee from last night. More powerful than the sign displayed against The Fox Theatre. 

You don’t think Jake has looked at you yet. And if he has, it was for a fleeting second. The dog seems to have his undivided interest, and that’s fine. That’s how it should be, in truth. But, of course, that isn’t quite the case for you. And it doesn’t help at all that he looks damn good. 

Baggy khakis, a white, torn up t-shirt under the black corduroy jacket you’ve seen him wear a lot recently. It’s not nearly heavy enough for the brutal cold, and the ‘scarf’ he has tied around his neck is closer to the likes of a thin bandana, with a single coin on a silver chain hanging below it. He must be cold – the temperature is several degrees below freezing. But, in typical Jake fashion, his winter ‘coats’ are usually reduced to some cool button down-shacket type of outerwear. Not that you’ll complain, of course. It certainly makes you giggle to think about, though. 

The bitter air is far more unforgiving outside of the car, and the wind has only picked up since you left the animal shelter. The rip in your tights – though they weren’t that warm to begin with – is making every inch of your skin ice cold, even beneath your layers up top. 

Your first instinct is to run inside, not expose yourself to the burning chill much longer. Let these two brave the cold if they so choose – doesn’t mean you have to. But as you turn to shut the car door, preparing your trek inside the warm apartment, you notice a set of eyes behind a familiar pair of shades looking up. At you. The sunlight is catching just right against their black tint. And because of that, you can see his orbs perfectly as they fall upon you. But not just you, on the rip in your tights. 

A flame – practically enough to warm you, despite the cruel nip in the air – ignites beneath your chest, warming your cheeks on an instant. And that very flame, fanned by the memory of the night prior, when Jake’s hands saw the demise of another pair of tights. 

His brows, muddled and flustered, are drawn in the middle. And his lips are held in a tight, fine line as he’s staring directly at the damage done to the garment. The damage caused by the dog. 

But Jake may be thinking the worst of the worst right now. Something along the same vein as the happenings of last night. And considering you’ve been with Sam for the better part of two hours now…

But why should he care? It was his choice to call it quits this morning, right? So, the anger seeping through his features right now is not warranted. Yeah, you could explain that Rosie is the reason your tights are ripped. (And if Jake had any sense right now, he’d realize that she was just in your lap, and that she is the most probable cause for this.) 

But, what’s the point in trying to explain? You know you’d fall victim to over explaining, all for the purpose of ensuring that he feels better about it. 

Well, you don’t owe him that. Let him think what he wants. If that’s what he’s thinking.

And if it is, the mere thought of it is giving you a strange feeling of power over him, an upper hand of sorts. A bit of confidence, even. Confidence to do something you may not have done otherwise. Something that’ll bathe his fury in even more fire when you do. 

Fuck it. 

“I think she’ll fit in beautifully,” you say, kneeling down right beside Jake. It’s unmistakable, the extra threads that tear in your tights when you lean down. Too much tension in the fabric, and you know Jake heard them rip further. 

Your face, close to his, though you’re not looking at him. Only paying attention to Rosie, who’s turned her attention toward you a little. Her fur under your touch is so soft – you can only assume she’d just gotten a fresh groom and bath before her departure from the shelter. Given the sweet scent of coconut emanating from her, you’d say that’s a plausible assumption. 

You’re doing your very best to focus on Rosie, and not Jake. But as it stands, his scent is overpowering the coconut – sandalwood, musk. Jake. 

He's looking at you – that much you can decipher from the image your peripheral is offering. You’re trying to play it off as though you’re only down here for Rosie. But, the choice to do this has suddenly become one of regret. After this morning, doing this is not only cruel to him; it’s cruel to you. 

And now, you’re feeling like an utter fool. Going with Sam in the first place was perhaps not the best move – it’s one that you’re certain Jake isn’t exactly crazy about. And why’d you go with Sam in the first place? 

Fuck. 

Jake is silent now, and his lack of response – of any words to you at all – makes you want to sprint toward the apartment. Get out of this situation altogether. Where you should’ve been this whole time. Had you just gone up there like you’d meant to the second you stepped out of the Bug, this situation would’ve been avoided altogether. You can only imagine what he’s thinking now. 

And imagining is all you can handle at the moment; you don’t want to know what’s running through his mind right now. What ran through his mind when he discovered that you’d gone with Sam to pick up his dog. Doesn’t get more couple than that. And the goddamn rip in your tights, to make it all so much worse. Completely out of context, but you know how it looks. 

And, to make it all so, so much worse, you’ve asked Sam to take photos of you. Photos for the job that Jake is adamantly against you partaking in. 

Fucking hell, y/n. What are you doing?

You wish to god that you knew. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The party today is far more mild than last nights. A small lunch of chicken salad croissants prepared by Lori, and the drinks are reduced to a much calmer mimosa bar. The entire kitchen counter, dedicated to creating any guests’ brunch cocktail of choice. You’d gone your whole life believing there was only one way to create a mimos – a simple concaction of champagne and orange juice and viola. However, the Kiszka’s have yet again challenged what you’ve known of the world. 

There’s orange juice. But there’s also grapefruit juice, (a classic Josh choice) pineapple, guava, pomegranate, tangerine. All set up in chilled, tall glasses, with their names written on the front. And, tons of bowls of endless frozen fruit options. Just about any variation your own mind could possibly come up with is feasible, thanks to this insane mimosa display. Just one more thing that reminds you of where you came from, and that you’re most certainly not from here. Oklahoma just wasn’t like this. Not your area of Oklahoma, at least.

Your mixture of choice was champagne, pomegranate juice and frozen blueberries, and it’s perhaps the most delicious drink you’ve ever sipped on. Tart, sweet, and the Faire La Fête is a beautiful choice for the base. Not that you’re a connoisseur by any stretch of the definition, but you’ve certainly learned a lot about this sort of thing in the past few months. 

Some of the decor is still up from the night before, most notably the marquee and the banner you and Josh had created for Jake. The guest books are now in each of the twin’s rooms, and the space isn’t nearly as packed as it was last night. A more intimate gathering, the room filled only with a few of the most important people in the lives of the two you’re celebrating. And you just happen to be one of them. And no matter what has happened – or is happening – with you and the long-haired twin, you’re flattered to be considered a part of this group. 

Speaking of the twins — they’ve been each other's main company since you’ve been here. Keeping to themselves in the kitchen, talking and laughing the loudest you’ve ever heard from these two. More cackling than anything – wheezing and snorting with every other word. The smile on your lips at their repartee is straight from your heart. 

“Where’d you two run off to?” Nat asks, plopping herself down on the couch beside you, the bounce of the cushion threatening the mimosa in your hand to become part of your ensemble. “And how did that get there?” She questions, looking directly at the blatant rip across your thigh as she takes a bite of her sandwich. You’ve tried to cover it as best you can — crossing the other leg over it when you’re sitting down, stretching the polyester fabric of your sweater as far as it’ll go before it rips. Of course, you can’t escape it. 

The knowing look in Nat’s golden eyes is indicative that she’s thinking something similar to what Jake probably assumes as well. “It was the dog, Natalia. She snagged them when she got out of the car.” You take a sip of the tangy, fizzy liquid held in your hand, feeling it come back up your nose when Nat nudges you so hard you nearly drop the glass. 

“Nat! I’m serious!” You say, a whispered yell so as to avoid anyone hearing the conversation. She gives out an amused little laugh, full of disbelief and perhaps a little judgement. She shovels in the last bite of her chicken salad sandwich, scooching over just a bit closer to you to make room for Danny’s mom. 

“I hope the sandwiches were up to par,” Lori says, Nat wholeheartedly agreeing with a mouth full of the food in question. Nodding her head, croissant crumbs falling from her smiling, chewing mouth. Lori chuckles and shakes her head amusingly, patting Nat on the shoulder like she’s seen her this way a hundred times or more. “What about you, y/n? Did you like ‘em too?”

A cold, tense chill stiffens your spine, your posture straightening the instant she asks you. 

If you’re honest, you didn’t intentionally avoid the food. You’re just…not hungry. So, eating a sandwich didn’t even cross your mind. The drink felt like plenty. Hunger hasn’t called yet, so you haven’t felt the need. 

Nat’s thoughts may as well be amplified through an intercom, with speakers in every corner of the living room – you know what she’s thinking, her carefree eyes hardening as she now realizes that you haven’t eaten yet. You just hope to god that she doesn’t verbalize her thoughts, embarrass you in front of everyone. In front of Danny’s mom, who's as unsuspecting as she could possibly be. 

The truth of it is, you didn’t mean to not eat. Not for the reasons running amuck in Natalia’s mind, you’re sure. It was as simple as a lack of hunger. That’s all. But of course, a lovely response of someone being privy of your complex relationship with food, is they assume the worst. Always.

And this very moment is why you don’t enjoy people knowing. Why you’ve opted to hide it, even from those you deem closest to you. Because, no matter what, they’ll look at the illness before they look at you. 

You look to Lori, whose eyes are wide and eager to hear your thoughts on the food she’d prepared. A pleasant mom smile, warm and inviting on her thin, lightly glossed lips. “I haven’t had the chance to dig into them yet,” you explain, avoiding Nat’s glare as much as you can. Though, it’s hard, given she’s right in the middle of you and Lori. “But I’ll get one before I leave! They look delicious.” 

“Yep, she sure will,” Nat butts in, just as Lori was taking a breath to speak to you. A snarky smile on Nat’s face, and a tension very much present in her jaw as she looks at you. Her eyes, speaking all the words she wants to say, but (hopefully) knows she shouldn’t. Not here, at least. 

“I’ll make sure she gets a couple,” she says, now looking at Lori who, still, is completely oblivious. “Actually, I’ll just go put a few in a ziplock for her.”

“Wonderful idea, Natalia!” Lori commends, placing her hand on Nat’s leg just as she’s about to stand from the couch. Instead, Lori stands. “No, no, sweetheart. Let me do it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wagner,” you say as she heads to the kitchen, assuring you with a smile that it’s no problem.

“They’re good, y/n.” You hear Nat’s voice from over your shoulder, her cool hand now resting on your knee. When you look back at her, that tension she’d held before has softened, a familiar hint of concern in her irises. “You really should try them. Please.”

“I will, Nat.” 

You’re not angry with her. You can’t be. You know she cares. But, dammit. Why do things always come back to this? Conversations with her anymore almost always end up going somewhere deeper, somewhere that you wish you could go one day without discussing. 

Jesus – you have to feel it all the fucking time. It’d just be nice to live like normal for once, pretend it’s not there. Even if it’s just for a little while. Not every single thing in your life needs to revolve around it. But when it’s a near constant topic of conversation, it certainly feels like it’s the only thing about you that matters.

At least she cares. And at this point in your life, that’s all you can ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You’ve always talked about it,” you hear Josh say before he takes the last, generous swig of his grapefruit mimosa. “And I’ll be honest — I’m puzzled that you’ve not done it yet.”

You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they aren’t exactly keeping their voices down. And, you’re only a few short feet away from them, rinsing out your champagne flute in the sink while they talk. 

“I guess I knew that living here was always temporary, and I wanted to wait until I moved somewhere more…” Though you’re not looking directly at him, your eyes solely on the task of rinsing the dish soap from the glass, you can see his hands grabbing at the air, as though he’s searching for the right word to take hold of. “...more permanent, I suppose”

Permanent. That word. It stings. Like fucking hell. 

“I get that,” Josh says, understanding. Though you can sense a melancholic lilt in his tone. It hits you – something you hadn’t truly considered until now. Jake and Josh aren’t just brothers. They’re twins. They’ve never lived a single day without the other by their side. They’ve always been each other’s anchor, each other’s constant – understanding one another in a way no one else ever could. They don’t just share a bond. They share DNA.

This whole thing…London – it’s probably a thousand times harder on Josh than anyone else. You’ve been so lost in your own sadness over it that you hadn’t even considered how his twin brother may be feeling. 

“Will your driver's license work over there to operate one?”

What?

“Yeah, for the first twelve months. But I’ll have to register it under my London address before I can purchase a motorcycle anyways, so I’d just as soon renew it once I get there.” 

Motorcycle? 

Your grip on the glass loosens the second you hear that word, and it comes crashing into the black, steel sink. Naturally, of course, it shatters upon impact. The noise echoes throughout the whole damn apartment, drawing everyone's attention straight to you. 

Even Rosie, who’s been calm and sweet as can be since the moment she walked into her new home, is startled and begins barking, loudly. Sam kneels to the floor, rubbing her chest and talking to her to calm her frazzled nerves. Your cheeks are suddenly burning with the blood that’s rushed to them. 

“You alright over there, girl?” Nat asks from her place on the couch, sinked into the cushion between Danny and his mom, his dad on the other side of Danny. All of them, each set of concerned eyes, looking at you as though you’d just, well, broken glass. 

“I’m, uh – I’m good,” you say, unable to keep from glancing to your right, noting a set of twins who are looking right at you. Their faces, the very same expression – concern laced in each set of brown eyes. 

You begin to feel warm water trickle down your left hand, reaching your wrist. There’s a paper towel on the counter to your right, so you grab it real fast to dry your skin. Only, when you do, you realize rather quickly that it isn’t water.

“Shit,” Jake rasps, wooden chair legs screeching against the linoleum floor. He’s beside you within a matter of seconds, taking the paper towel from your hand and pressing it against the opened gash on the outside of your palm, right below your pinky. How did you not notice the blood in the sink, on the counter, the droplets on the floor? And how did you not feel the glass slicing into you?

Of course, you feel the sting now. Now that you’ve realized what’s happened. It happened so quickly – your brain couldn’t register it until your eyes saw it. 

But what’s more tangible than the sharp pain on the surface of your skin, is the feeling of him pressed against you, treating your wound as though it’s the most crucial thing he needs to be doing at the given moment. 

He’s holding your wounded hand so tight, with both of his. Holding the dampened cloth against you, soaking up the blood. And his body, nestled right against yours. His scent, intoxicating. 

“Are you alright, doll?” 

No. Not now.

You blink a few times, attempting to ground yourself in this reality and not in another one. One where Jake is more to you than a fleeting experience, more than a goddamn chapter. 

Something as simple as taking care of your cut is rendering you almost speechless, nearly in a trance. His touch does that, though. You know that, and surely he knows that. “Y-yeah, didn’t even feel it,” you say, trying your damnedest to avoid his piercing eyes right now. Though try as you might, his gaze is impossible to ignore. Always. And this time, it's weighted with worry. Worry for you. 

Still looking at you, carrying your gaze as he holds your bleeding hand within his, he speaks to the room. “Can someone go grab the first-aid kit?”

“On it,” Josh responds, immediately following Jake’s request and jogging toward the bathroom down the hall.

Jake’s eyes then follow a path down to your hand, now trembling as the pain has begun to increase just a bit. You look as he carefully lifts away the towel, and for a cut to bleed so much, it’s certainly rather small. “I suppose stitches won’t be necessary,” he says, low and under his breath. More husky than before, as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. A careful, mysterious smile on his lips. “Maybe just a little scar to tell the tale.” 

You’ve not even noticed that Josh is now standing beside you, digging through the first-aid kit for the proper items. Jake’s thumb brushing over the blade of your hand, the careful knit in his brow as he examines you — the rest of the world is suddenly not nearly as important. 

Jake holds his other hand out, to which Josh then places a tiny tube of Neosporin ointment in his opened palm. He squeezes a small amount on the cut, the initial sting jolting your body a bit. “Sorry, y/n,” he whispers, surely noting your involuntary reaction. 

The tip of his finger rubs it in just a bit, then he reaches for the open band-aid next to the sink that Josh prepared for him. He places it over the cut, his touch gentle and light as a feather as he smooths it over your skin. “That feel okay, doll?”

Fuck. The ache between your thighs, a reminder of last night and this morning, is growing all the more as your legs threaten to squeeze together. 

“Y-yes, it’s fine,” you stutter, snapping yourself out of this when you notice Nat walking up to you from your peripheral. 

“Damn, y/n,” she says, leaning over the kitchen peninsula to take a gander at the situation. “That could’ve been bad, dude.” There’s still a decent amount of blood in the sink, and a few drops along the counter. Luckily, the finish is a dark, almost black granite, and the sink is black. So, staining won’t be an issue. Still, the mess makes it look much worse than it actually was.

“Undoubtedly,” Jake agrees, quiet and deep. “It’s a wonder she didn’t slice clear to the bone.”

He wets another paper towel and uses it to clean the rest of the blood that had trickled down your wrist, his other hand holding your arm close to his chest as he ensures he’s gotten it all. The towel, cold and wet against your skin, sends a flood of goosebumps up the expanse of your arm.

“It’s okay, Jake. I got it from here,” you say, your voice breaking as you speak each word, feeling yourself crumbling away even further as he doesn’t follow your command. 

You don’t dare stop him physically, however. Your body simply won’t let you. You’re drawn to him, captivated. He’s magnetic, pulling you in, keeping you where he wants you. Where you want you. 

Like a moth drawn to moonlight.

“It’s all gone, I believe,” he says, entirely disregarding what you’d said. Ignoring you, holding true to this calling he feels to take care of you. 

Suddenly, the air flickering with a sense of deja vu, this moment begins to feel familiar. A forgotten memory — you know this. But how?

“We’ve been here before, haven't we?” His words, whispered, meant only for your ears. It’s as though he can hear what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. Perhaps he is feeling it, too. 

That’s right. 

The night your mom was taken by ambulance to the emergency room, when you became so overwhelmed that you slammed your left hand on the counter in a rage-filled moment. 

He held ice on your hand that night as you spoke with the nurse about your moms condition. He stayed there with you, refused to leave you there alone, stranded when you didn’t have your car. He tended to your left hand that night, the very same hand that he’s caring for now. 

And now that you’re remembering, the cut is practically in the same spot that met the counter at the hospital. The same hand, the same place on your hand. And Jake. There to help you heal when you didn’t expect him to. He remembers. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, quietly and carrying through a sigh of your breath. And fight it as you might, your lips tug into a smile that, as your eyes meet his, he mimics. 

Though, as the moment lingers, your smile begins to falter when you remember the conversation from this morning. The things that were said, the emotions that weighed down the room, heavy. 

“I guess this is over.”

Those words, coming straight from his lips. He’s chosen to end this…thing between you. His choice, right?

Oddly enough, it feels as though you were the one who truly made the choice. He just verbalized it – made it real by speaking it into the universe. So, it’s over. 

And this moment – Jake taking care of you, holding you, not leaving your side until he’s sure you’re okay – shouldn’t be happening. Because all it’s doing is adding yet another reason for it to hurt when he’s gone. 

And you can’t allow the pain to fester even more. It’s already an open, bleeding wound. One that can’t be fixed with a paper towel and a band-aid. The blood runs a little deeper – it’s thicker. No physical wound could ever compare.

You feel your smile fade, the muscles in your face beginning to droop. Your eyes flick down to where your bodies connect – his hand still gripped around your wrist. 

And the second you look back up to him, you notice that his smile has fallen, too. Without so much as a word – in pure silence – he lets go, as though he’s realized, too, that this shouldn’t be happening. 

His eyes, a silent apology before he looks away and begins carefully removing the shattered remains of the glass from the sink. Each piece clinks softly against the stainless steel, delicate and deliberate, as though he knows one wrong movement might break something else – something already hanging by a thread.

You watch him work, the muscles tightening in his jaw, his expression entirely unreadable as he picks up the mess. The silence between you is loud. Uncomfortably so. You want to say something, anything. But, what’s left to say when goodbye has already been spoken?

So instead, you take a step back. Then another. Distance growing in small steps, and he doesn’t try to stop you. Just as you step out of the kitchen completely, now in the living room beside Sam and Nat, you glance back once more.

He’s still there. Still carefully collecting the broken pieces. And maybe, in some way, you both are.

Trying to clean up what’s already been shattered. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I know there are still a few weeks until Christmas,” Josh declares from the top of the stairs, beginning his descent down to the living room with a couple of gift bags dangling from each hand. “But I felt that right now was as good a time as any to bestow upon you all, my precious loved ones, your Christmas gifts from me.” 

He makes a slow, melodramatic trek down the stairs with the gifts. And as you glance around the room, everyone appears to be just as perplexed as you. 

What does this man have up his sleeve?  

One thing about Josh – he’s unpredictable. In all the best ways.

“I’ve recently found myself a new hobby. Once our lovely film came to an exuberant end, I decided I needed something to keep my hands busy until film school begins in August.”

Gift bags in hand as he takes the final step into the living room, he makes it to you first. “To y/n,” he says, grinning.

You blink in surprise, caught off guard in the best way, and take the gift. Inside the gift bag is something wrapped in crinkly black tissue. You glance up at him as you peel it open, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

Inside is a black frame holding a perfectly stitched replica of The Shining’s iconic carpet — the bold hexagon pattern in orange, red, and brown. And right in the center, redrum is spelled out in bold, crimson thread, delicate drops of blood stitched just beneath. Your mouth opens in a startled laugh — part affection, part amazement. It’s creepy. It’s clever. It’s so you. 

But what really gets you is the thought of Josh sitting somewhere, hands steady, taking the time it requires to create something as detailed and intricate as this. The hours this must have taken, just for you. And not just you — it’s clear he’s done something like this for everyone. You feel warmth blooming deep within your chest at the thought. 

“It’s perfect,” you murmur, brushing your thumb gently across the top of the frame. “And I love that you made it.” You glance up at him, his smile soft and full. “It’s just incredible. It seriously looks —,”

“Expertly done?” Josh interrupts, resting a hand dramatically on his popped hip.

A bubble of laughter erupts from your throat. “You just took the words straight from my mouth,” you say through a Josh-induced giggle, to which he flicks his wrist mid air. A physical display of this ‘I know’ moment. 

Still holding the frame in your lap, you look back down at it. The details. You’re still in awe over them. 

And the care. The willingness to do something like this, for you. You don’t say anything right away, but the emotions are there. Sitting heavy against your ribs. 

You’ll treasure this forever. That much is certain. 

“Nat,” Josh says, offering hers with a sly wink. “You’re next, my dear.” From the bag, she pulls out a frame wrapped in baby pink tissue. 

Ripping it away, she reveals a pale-orange frame surrounding a stitched stack of books. Each spine, stitched in gold lettering against the dark blue, yellow, pink, and purple books, are just a few of her favorite authors; Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Cherríe Moraga, and Alice Walker. 

Never one to cry at the drop of a hat. And yet, you see her struggling to fight back a few tears. A losing battle, of course. One slips away from her eye before she can stop it. Her hand quickly brushes it away, though it’s too late – she’s been caught. 

“You mean to tell me,” Josh says, crouching down to her level as she’s sitting on the couch. “That I made the Natalia Delores León – my fiery Aries – cry?” He knows damn well that his mocking could very well lead to some trouble for him in the near future. 

But, alas – she lets him have this moment. For now. 

“It was one tear, Joshua.” She pats the curls on top of his head, very much aware of the fact that he doesn’t typically love when people touch his hair. He quickly stands, a giant and satisfied smile on his lips, fluffing his hair back in place. “Don’t expect it to happen ever again,” she tosses back with a wicked, sass-filled grin. 

Josh wheezes a chuckle as he moves on to Sam, who’s now sitting right beside you on the couch. The second he took his seat, Jake – situated on his typical choice of the Nova lounge – shifted his eyes away from you, and hasn’t bothered to look at you since. Immediately after he took care of your hand, things went right back to the way they’ve been all day. 

Avoidance, tension. Silence. 

Sam didn’t even bat an eye at your injury, only picking on you for being so clumsy. And that’s fine.

But Jake…his tender care made you feel safe. And you just didn’t feel that with Sam. In fact, you’ve yet to feel it with him. But that doesn’t matter. Not anymore. 

“Samuel,” Josh announces as he hands his little brother his own gift. Rosie, sitting between Sam’s legs, becomes quite excited. Her tail thumps the floor, mouth open in a panting smile, sweetly as Josh for some attention.

He kneels down and gives her some love without question, kissing her nose and rubbing her chest while Sam opens his own gift. 

His is a shot of his orange Bug, recreated in thread like a photo. Beside it, a tiny Polaroid camera that almost exactly replicates the one he used at the party last night. Sam beams with a big smile, a gentle giggle. “Ah, thank you, brother!”

Josh then jogs to the kitchen, catching Danny just as he’s finishing off the last bit of the champagne. He’s never cared to drink in front of his parents, so he opted to wait until they left to indulge a little. But, waiting that long meant he didn’t get more than a few swigs before it was all gone. 

Josh sets his gift on the counter, making a horrible (what you can only assume) lightsaber noise as he steps away. “Daniel, I hope the force is strong with this one.”

“Cheesy, Josh,” Danny laughs as he digs into his bag, unveiling his gift high in the air so that you all can see from the living room.

As suspected: the Star Wars logo stitched just like the opening crawl of each movie, complete with tiny X-wings and a stitched lightsaber hilt in the corner. 

“This is sick!” Danny boasts, staring at his gift like it’s the most incredible piece of artwork he’s ever seen. “Damn, dude. You didn’t a good fucking job.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Josh responds in a knowing tone, prancing on back to the living room to Malachi, standing with this shoulder leaned against the entertainment center. 

“My love, my finance,” Josh says, leaning up on his tiptoes to plant a sweet kiss to Chi’s cheek. “Due to recent events,” he continues, his left hand flying up in the air, displaying the stunning ring he was given the night before. “Yours will be given to you at a later date. I'd like to tweak a few things before I give you the final product.” 

And then, Josh turns to Jake, the only one remaining. There’s a beat of silence as he hands the bag to his twin. 

The last gift, wrapped in navy tissue paper, speckled with silver stars. Jake unfolds it carefully, and finds a dark frame, one that mirrors yours. He rests it on his lap, but from where you’re sitting, the angle keeps you from seeing exactly what it is.

Whatever it is, though, Jake doesn’t speak at first. He just takes a breath. Lets it settle for a moment.

“Taurus,” he mutters eventually, his voice quiet as he runs a finger over the stitching. “It’s the Taurus constellation, right?” He looks up at Josh, standing beside the chair. The words sound more like a confirmation than a question. Josh nods once, smiling without a word.

Jake blinks down at the gift for a moment, lips parting with a smile. He laughs, quiet and breathy. More like a huff – soft and knowing. Not the kind of laugh that comes from humor, but from something warmer. Something that lives closer to the heart.

He holds it up to share with the rest of you.

The Taurus constellation, stitched in silver thread across a dark indigo canvas. Just below it: JMK and JTK, stitched in the very same thread. And, beneath that, a gentle phrase that ties it all together. 

So you always know where to look when you want to find your way home.

Jake blinks fast and rubs his eyes before rising to his feet. He sets the frame gently on the chair and pulls Josh into a hug. Tight, unhurried, deeply felt.

No one says a word. And no one needs to.

This moment is reserved for Jake and Josh – twins who have never gone a day apart since the minute they were born.

The room holds its breath with them, a quiet reverence, save for the sniffles echoing in the air. 

No one is ready for Jake to leave. No one. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Jake disappeared shortly after Josh handed out his gifts. Your best guess was he just went to work — perhaps he got a phone call from a tenant that he needed to take care of, didn’t bother to let anyone know before he left. 

You’d spent the rest of your time trying not to think about his absence. Because, whether anyone likes it or not, an absent Jake will be the new reality. Soon, at that. 

But his separation was still noticed. Especially by you, as you found yourself glancing all around the visual spots of the apartment more than once during the movie, hoping he’d come back, from wherever it was that he disappeared to. 

He didn’t. Everyone that was left — you, Sam, Nat, Danny, Josh, Chi — watched the entirety of It’s a Wonderful Life without a single trace of Jake. All two hours and ten minutes of it. (A Josh pick, naturally.)

Nat, true to form, was asleep within the first few minutes of the movie. Snoring before the first scene came to an end, snuggled up with her head in Danny’s lap while he played with her hair. 

Sam sat next to you the whole time. And every so often, he’d scoot just a little closer. Enough that the two of you were wrapped up in a full-blown cuddle by the end of the movie. You wanted it to feel wrong – it didn’t. But while it didn’t feel wrong, it didn’t exactly feel right, either. 

You certainly indulged in it, though. Because it did feel nice. He kept you warm, and his scent of herbal greens and spicy citrus was rather calming. It wasn’t wrong, it wasn't right. But it was nice. And you’d be dishonest if you said you didn’t enjoy it. But it wasn’t what you truly wanted.

Cuddled with Sam, while your eyes wandered the room for Jake — seeking him. Wishing he were close to you. But he never showed up. And at some point, you finally just gave up on him. You decided that if he were planning to join everyone again, he’d have already done it. No one else seemed phased by it, so you chose to let it go. 

The winter sun sets earlier, so it’s almost completely dark outside during the early evening hour, just a little past six. Way past time for you to be home, though. 

You’ve just gotten off the phone with your mom to let her know you’ll be on your way in just a few minutes. She sounded okay on the other end, just tired. A little winded, yet no more than usual. But you knew it was time to get back to her. 

Danny was charged with the task of waking up Natalia — she’d insisted she be the one to take you home, so you turned down Sam when he offered. But you know just as well as anyone else that waking Natalia is no easy feat. And tonight has proven to be the impossible dream. She’s still sound asleep, stirring only enough to huff and gruff when Danny tries to get her up. “It’s practically useless at this point,” he says, relinquishing all hope when she begins snoring again. 

“The offer still stands, y/n,” you hear Sam say from the kitchen, where he’s just fed Rosie her first dinner in her new home. She’s behind the kitchen peninsula, so you can’t see her. But you can certainly hear her chomping away at her kibble. A good sign that she’s eating so well, though you never had any doubt. She’s perfectly comfortable already. 

You take a final glance around the room, peeking down the hallway towards Jake’s room in one last, aching pursuit of him. Hoping against all hope that he’ll somehow appear from the woodwork and he will offer to take you. And if he did, you know it’d be the final time. But in your final search, you come to terms with the fact that he’s nowhere to be found. And he probably wants it that way. 

So, you agree to let Sam take you. A bit hesitant, of course. And it’s not his fault that you are. If it weren’t for Jake, you know you'd be more than thrilled to be with Sam. You just can’t get Jake out of your goddamn mind. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve said your goodbyes to all those awake and accounted for. You and Sam have just made it outside, and if you thought it was cold before, it’s at least thirty degrees colder now. Has to be. And, the further you make it in the parking lot, you see a few flakes of snow spitting from the sky. As you look up, you realize the sky is glittering with icy precipitation. 

It’s beautiful. It’s not quite enough to cover the ground – it’s just enough to leave a thin layer of powdered ice against the black pavement.

You blink away a couple of flakes when they land in your eyelashes, the cold air bitter, yet still refreshing against your skin. Like it’s reawakening your senses, sprinkling your face with chilly whispered kisses. 

The moon, though covered by heavy clouds that carry snow, is still as bright as if it were shining in the sky all on its own. You follow the trail of its gleam, all the way down to the parking lot you’re standing in, stopping just above a billow of smoke coming from behind Jake’s Rover. You take a few more steps, Sam oblivious as he follows behind, until the sight of him stops you. 

Jake.

He’s leaned against his The Black Pearl, one hand buried in the pocket of his black jeans, the other lifted to his mouth, a red ember flickering between his fingers. Smoke coils from his lips, catching the moon’s silver light and drifting into the cold, still air.

He’s doing the same as you just were – staring off into the vast sky, blinking away soft snowflakes when they drift across his eyes. 

You didn’t even know he smoked. Not once have you tasted it on his lips, or smelled it on his skin. This is either something new, or something he’s able to hide quite well. Sam seems entirely unphased by it, which would indicate that this certainly isn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

Whatever the case, there’s something so peaceful about it, so alluring. The smell of cigarette smoke has never been your favorite. Yet as you watch him quietly blow the smoke from his lips, the wind gently wafting it your way, it’s not nearly as bothersome as it would normally be. You quite enjoy it, in truth. 

It’s only when he looks at you that you realize you’re just standing here, staring at him. And all at once, you’re humiliated, your feet shuffling clumsily toward Sam’s Bug that, of course, is right behind the back of Jake’s Rover, facing him head on.

His piercing eyes, glowing against the pale light of the moon, watch you with pure intent as you reach Sam’s car, tracking your every awkward step. 

Sam follows close behind you, silent, not bothering to open the car door for you. Not like Jake would have. Something he’s always done. But right now, he’s just watching. 

The moment you slip into the passenger seat and yank the door closed, Jake flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot without looking away from you. 

Sam says something – a question? – but your head may as well be underwater. You can’t make out his words, his voice a mere vibration in the air. Absently, you mutter a distracted “yes,” eyes still locked with Jake, heart beating against your ribs. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands.

And then you feel it – Sam’s finger, warm and gentle, carefully pulling your chin toward him.

Before a single coherent thought can form, before you can even catch your breath, Sam’s lips press against yours. Soft, uncertain, but real. Real enough to shatter the last bit of remaining sense within you. For a quiet moment, the kiss deepens. Against all odds, against all reason, you find yourself leaning into it. Your eyes flutter closed, lips dancing with his in the silence. 

But just before you’ve reached a point when coming back will no longer be an open, your eyes fly open, the kiss breaking, heart stuttering in your chest. 

As Sam’s hand still holds your cheek, you look forward again, not even offering Sam as much as an acknowledgement. 

And he’s gone. Jake is gone. 

The spot where he stood, leaning against the back of his Rover, is empty. Fuck.

And all at once, you begin to remember the question that Sam had asked, when you were so entranced by Jake. Much too lost in his eyes to accept that he wasn’t the one to your left, asking if he could kiss you.

You said yes. Sam asked if he could kiss you, and you said yes. And it happened right in front of Jake, right before his own eyes.

And now he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Goddammit. 

“That was wonderful, y/n,” Sam says, drawing your eyes back to him. The sweetest smile on his lips, dark brown eyes drinking you in. It hurts your heart because you just can’t reciprocate, no matter how much you wish you could.

It’s just not the time.

“Y-yeah, um –,” you stutter, voice cracked and wet with tears that you refuse to let fall. “S-sorry I just…” You glance forward one more time, the spot he once stood still empty. Only an extinguished cigarette butt remains where his boots were. “I really need to get home.”

“No problem,” he winks, completely inattentive to your current state of mind it would seem. 

The engine starts with a lazy flick of his wrist, sputtering and rattling almost as much as your Firebird does upon starting it. You sit here, body stiff, your insides hollow. Your hands are clutching the seatbelt across your chest like it’s your life support.

You can’t look at Sam. Not to any fault of his own, you just can’t. He doesn’t seem to catch on, anyways. 

Your throat tightens around the apology you silently toss into the air, hoping the universe will deliver it to Jake. 

Sam hums to the radio as he pulls onto the road, blissful and unaware of the earthquake happening within you. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back the tears you feel you could cry at any second. 

You said yes to Sam. And Jake saw. How do you come back from that? Can you?

Does it even matter? He’s leaving. Even if you could fix it, he won’t even be here long enough to see it fixed. 

Maybe this was the closure you both needed. The kind that cuts deeper than any knife ever could.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 10th:

Three days until he leaves.

He’s called three times since this morning.

You just can’t bring yourself to answer him, to face him after yesterday morning. And, after what happened last night. You’re embarrassed. You’re ashamed. You don’t even know where to begin, how to explain and articulate something so convoluted in your own mind. 

Yeah, this hurts like fucking hell. But talking to him will surely hurt much worse. What is there to say, anyway? It’s done. And that’s what he wanted. 

But god, you miss him. You miss his voice. Everything in you wants to answer right now as he’s calling for the sixth time. But you don’t let yourself. Answering him won’t do anything but cause you (and him) more pain.

The call, just the same as all the others, goes to your voicemail. Unanswered. 

But now, in lieu of calling, he’s now restored to texting you again. 

Jake: Can we please just talk?

You can’t imagine what else there is to talk about – it’s already done. He made that choice. You kissed his brother. There’s nothing left to say. It’s over, just like he wanted.

You: There’s nothing to talk about.

Yes there is. There’s plenty to talk about. 

You just don’t fucking know how to talk about it. 

Avoiding it, ignoring it, seems like the best thing. For both of you.

Your heart thumps, racing in your chest as your phone vibrates in your palm again. You stare at the incoming call, his name in big letters on your screen. And you let it ring. Unanswered, again. 

Jake: Please, y/n. I just want to talk to you.

You: I can’t talk right now. I’m sorry.

Sorry I won’t speak to you, sorry that I kissed your fucking brother in front of you.

Jake: Ok.

Ok. 

There’s no response you feel you need to make to that, and before you could even try to come up with one, he’s put his Do Not Disturb on. 

So, there’s no point. Perhaps he’ll leave you be. Because that’s the best thing. For both of you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’d never experienced a Trader Joe’s until you came to Michigan. Walmart was pretty much it where you’re from. Even then, Walmart trips were reserved only for your dads paycheck weeks. The Dollar Tree down the road from your house was the grocery spot you most frequented. 

But, as you quickly discovered when you moved here, Trader Joe’s is truly what grocery shopping dreams are made of. It feels as though you’re walking into the friendliest neighborhood market each time you walk inside. And, your personal favorite touch, the chalkboards at the front with cute little illustrations to promote the best products and deals of the week. 

So, needless to say, you stop by the one on East Stadium Boulevard just about any chance you can get. 

Today, the purpose of the trip is to get some chicken broth for your mom. 

It’s about all she can manage to eat at the moment. Solid foods choke her more often than not. With as bad as her breathing has gotten – and it’s bad – she can’t find the energy to properly chew or swallow any food. Even something as soft as mashed potatoes is too much for her. She isn’t getting nearly enough nutrition right now, being only able to handle drinks. She refused smoothies when you’d mentioned those to her, knowing that you could blend up plenty of protein in one for her. But, she was adamantly against it. You questioned her opposition, of course. To which she only told you that she ‘didn’t like ‘em’ in the sharpest, most abrasive tone she could muster.

Okay. Got it. 

So, chicken broth was the next idea you’d had. And, instead of asking her if she'd be okay with it, you’d decided it’d be best to just give it to her, and not ask her beforehand. 

An ironic truth you’ve learned lately is that, even though it’s called the Dollar Tree, items at Trader Joe’s are actually much cheaper. For instance, the chicken broth you’ve chosen to purchase is $1.99 per box. That’s four cups of chicken broth for two bucks. The Dollar Tree back home would’ve charged you at least double, if not triple that. 

You’ve loaded your basket with four boxes of the stuff, feeling quite assured in the fact that this new diet won’t cost you an arm and a leg. Hell, you could easily switch to this diet, too. Not too much, but it’s enough. The thought then crosses your mind that’d only be fair to eat what she is able to eat, too. It certainly wouldn’t be right to eat the food that she wants to eat, but can’t. So, before you make it out of the aisle, you quickly turn on your heel back toward the shelf you’d picked these boxes up from. And, grabbing two more so there’s plenty for the both of you. 

I Wanna Be Your Lover fades out over the speakers, allowing for the next tune to lead in as you approach the check out. Only two cashiers are working right now, both with lines at least three people deep. No matter, though. You’re not exactly in any hurry to leave. The Trader Joe’s atmosphere offers you a bit of peace, and you’ll take as much of that as you can. Even if it means waiting in line to buy your six boxes of chicken broth. 

But, that peace is quickly dismissed as you begin to note the song becoming increasingly louder through the store’s sound system. A couple of chords in, and you feel a stark sinking feeling in your tummy. 

A delicate, melancholic piano melody. Spacious, unhurried. A quiet contemplation within each note. A subtle, gentle tap of a drum, accompanying Billy Joel’s smooth, tender voice. Knowing, heartfelt advice in the lyric. 

And, hearing it at a volume that suddenly feels much too loud, you’re remembering the last time you heard this song. Where you were, who you were with, where you were going…

You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need

Though you can see when you're wrong

You know you can't always see when you're right

As a warm, lone tear begins its trial down your cheek, you find a new sense of urgency to get out of here. To your relief, you’re the next customer in line. With a ridiculous haste, you place your six boxes of chicken broth on the counter for the clerk to scan. 

An older lady, perhaps close to your moms age. Years and years of a rough life written across her face in deeply set wrinkles. Hooded eyelids, colored with a chalky blue shadow reaching to her thin, greying brows. She smells like cigarette smoke and White Diamonds. 

She greets you with a kind grin, displaying her yellowed teeth under her red painted, cracked lips. You offer her a smile back, though it isn’t a genuine one. And, based on the fall of her features, she can tell something is wrong. “Doing alright, sweetheart?” 

Something about her. Her appearance, her voice. She reminds you of your mom. Well, who she used to be. Who you thought she was. How do you explain that to a complete stranger? 

Yeah, I’m great. This song is just triggering as fuck, and you happen to remind me of my dying mother who’s refusing to take care of herself. 

“Doing just fine,” you fib, forcing a smile to stretch your Burt’s Bees coated lips. She taps the touch screen on the register a few times before reading you your grand total of $12.66.

She places the boxes of broth in a brown paper bag while you slide your debit card through the machine, trying not to pay attention to the fact that she’s now singing along to the blessed song. 

And you know that when the truth is told

That you can get what you want or you can just get old

You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through

Her cracking voice, almost grating in contrast to the soft tone of Billy Joel. Grating, yet soothing in some odd way. Still, you’re just ready to leave. Get your boxed chicken broth home, hope that your mom will be willing to try it. 

The cashier – Gertrude, according to her red name badge clipped to her black Trader Joe’s t-shirt – rips off the receipt from the printer, silently confirming that you’re okay with her placing it in the paper bag. When you nod your head, she does just that. 

With a sweet smile and her wish for you to have a great rest of your day, you bid her the same and head towards the automatic glass doors. Brown paper bag in one hand, full with the boxes of chicken broth, the other hand fishing for your keys from your crossbody sitting against your upper torso. 

Reaching your Firebird feels like sweet relief. Chipped red paint and all – at least you know this thing is a piece of shit. No surprises, no unexpected breakdowns. 

Everything with this car is expected. So, because of that, you can rely on it to be a pretty consistent part of your life. Consistently breaking down, consistently failing you – at least you know it’s coming. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

‘It’s time to start making plans, y/n.’

That single sentence has played like a cracked record in your head since the moment you heard Doctor Roth utter the words. And, knowing there’s nothing more you can do for her, that you should only worry about keeping her comfortable…

You’re grieving her. And she’s not even gone yet. Though, grieving this woman already feels strange. A grievance that you feel shouldn’t weigh so heavily atop your shoulders. But, aside from her reluctance to help you help her, you don’t understand why you feel that way. 

No matter the reason, you’re still doing everything you can think of. Right now, that means serving her warm chicken broth in a coffee mug. Because that is the only way she’ll ingest it. You’ll certainly not argue it. As long as she’s eating it, you couldn’t care less how she wants to do it. 

You’d prepared yourself for much more of an argument when you came home with the Trader Joe’s purchase today. Fully expected her to go off on you about the proposal of trying chicken broth, in a similar manner that she had with the smoothie idea. 

But, you’ve grown accustomed to her unpredictability as of late. So, while her willingness to try it didn’t entirely surprise you, you’d still prepared yourself for a fight about it. 

She’s sipping on the warm liquid gingerly, cupping the red mug with Stillwell Memorial Hospital printed in white lettering. The hospital she used to frequent when you lived in Cherry Tree.

You’d spent a lot of time there before the move – that was the place she received her initial diagnosis. 

She’s owned that mug for years. Longer than you’ve been alive. Just one of those things – a bookshelf, a wall clock, a blanket – that’s always been around. Something you never put much thought into, something that’s just a part of your life. 

That mug is certainly one of those things. But for some reason, as you’re watching her dry, cracked lips sip the warm broth from the brim, a mundane mug that your eyes have landed on thousands of times before, you’re thinking much more about it than you ever have. It could be the hospital logo, it could be that this particular mug has never been used for anything aside from a morning cup of coffee, that it’s now being used as the sole reason your mom is getting any nutrition at the moment. 

Who would’ve known that such a simple item would curate such a convoluted, complex array of emotions. 

Perhaps it isn’t the mug that’s doing it – perhaps circumstances of your life, especially in this stage, have forced you to think more and more about things that have not yet required such deep amounts of thought. 

 A careful thank you crosses her lips as she motions for you to come gather the now empty mug. Your feet, tucked under your thighs, are now planted on the carpet, grounding you enough to stand. It takes your body a little longer than a second to get it – the couch cushions are becoming more like quick sand everyday. So worn down, so saggy from over a decade of use. Your body always sinks into them as though they could swallow you whole. 

Bracing the palms of your hands on either side of your body, you're at last able to lift yourself from the crater you’ve left in the soft cushion. 

But the moment you begin to stand, the room starts a slow, lazy spin. Tilting, though your head remains steady. A sudden rush of dizziness hits you like a thousand pound weight. Lightheaded, queasy. Your fingers and toes, tingly and almost numb. The walls around you caving in, turning black.

Your body then shifts right back down to the couch, your knees too weak to support your weight all of a sudden. Consciousness on the brink of fading, your moms voice like a distant echo as she asks you if you’re okay. An inkling tells you to raise your knees to your chest and place your head between them, quick as your body is able to. 

And the moment you do, the feeling in your fingers begins to come back, your toes no longer tingling, blood rushing back to your head. 

It all happened so fast, yet it felt like you were in a slow motion film. 

“...y/n, are you okay?” 

Her voice is suddenly much more clear, though you can’t answer her just yet. Not with words, at least. 

A lazy thumbs up with your right hand will have to suffice for the moment. You’re not ready to lift your head just  yet, afraid the sudden rush of nausea will overcome you. 

This has happened before. Though, it hasn’t happened in a long time. 

As your senses are finally coming back to normal, enough that you feel you can safely lift your head, you’re very clearly recalling a few moments all too familiar to this one. To this feeling that you haven’t experienced since you lived in Oklahoma.

Low blood sugar. 

Very low blood sugar. Low enough that your body, your brain is entirely deprived of energy. 

Textbook hypoglycemic spell. 

The first time this happened to you, you were only a few days into your sixteenth year. It happened at school. You didn’t know what to do when the room began spinning, so you ran down the hallway towards the bathroom. Only, you didn’t make it. You only made it as far as the glass case holding all the sports trophies and medals. A few steps from the bathroom. 

The principal woke you up while the nurse was taking your vitals, right there in the middle of the hallway. At least a dozen or so of your classmates had gathered around to catch a glimpse of the goth girl that had fainted. 

Your dad was there within minutes of you coming to, and while you were still foggy and too unstable to walk, he carried you out of the school and drove you to the hospital. To Stillwell, the very same one your moms mug came from. 

“Lack of fuel,” the emergency nurse had said, as you lay flat on the hospital bed, being pricked and prodded by her needle in a mad hunt for a vein. ‘Has she been eating enough?’ 

She was talking to your dad, even though you were right there. It was like you were in no condition to answer questions about your own body. But, at the time, you probably weren’t. 

You needed fluids, bad. And she just couldn’t find your fucking vein. 

Your dad didn’t know how to answer that question. In truth, he didn’t know that you hadn’t been eating. Not yet.

He knew you began to skip breakfast when you were eleven because you wanted to get to school ‘early to do some reading.’ He knew you’d take a lunchbox to school everyday when you started middle school, but he didn’t know that you’d just toss its contents in the trash the moment you’d get there. He knew you’d take your dinner to your bedroom to work on homework in highschool, but he didn’t know that you’d dump your plate outside the window by your bed. The skunks and opossums had quite the dinner every night thanks to you. And thanks to them, no evidence that you’d done such a thing. 

He did know that you’d been losing weight, but he had no reason to think you were lying about it being due to the increased activity during P.E. The weight loss didn’t truly become noticeable until your sophomore year of highschool. And it was enough that even you were beginning to see the difference. 

Your mom had noticed the weight loss, too. But she never said much. Nothing at all if your memory serves your right. It was like she was jealous of the attention you were getting from your dad at that time, like she held some vendetta over you because of it. 

Well, that only became worse when the nurse told your dad that there were signs you hadn’t been eating, that you’d have to undergo quite the recovery plan if you didn’t start eating. And given how weak your vitals truly were, that recovery plan could have included a stay at a treatment facility in Tulsa over an hour away. By yourself. For at least a month. Perhaps longer.

That was something you were not too keen on doing. 

The emergency room nurse strongly recommended therapy, but that was something your family wasn’t able to afford at the time. So, your dad opted to spend hours upon hours with you to help you recover, and to avoid the program in Tulsa. He wanted you to heal, but he didn’t want you going away anymore than you wanted to. 

But, your mom. 

Your parents had always argued, but this time in your life would serve as the worst of their fights. All because of you. 

She didn’t take your condition seriously at first. She’d tell your dad, after he’d just spent an entire day at the library doing research, that these conditions weren’t real. 

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” you heard her yell one day, both of them behind their bedroom door, trying to keep you from hearing. But, they were so loud, and the walls of your home in Cherry Tree were thinner than notebook paper. “Teen girls are just vain, Jeff. I went through it, we all go through it. She’ll be fine. You’re making a big fuss over nothing.”

At the time, though it pains you to admit this now, you agreed with her. 

And you only did so because you didn’t want to be treated like there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want to believe that there was, and your dad’s daily harping on the matter frustrated you to no end. You wanted the situation to just disappear, for everyone to agree that it was only a phase and you were just being a vain teenager. 

You knew the truth, though. 

Vanity wasn’t even on your mind when you’d stopped eating. Not initially, at least.

Your parents hated each other. Each day saw a massive fight. Some of them would result in whatever items were close by being chucked across the living room. Some of them would end with one of them – sometimes both of them – leaving the house in a fit of pure rage. 

It went on for years. And there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had spent the last ten years longing for your family to come together like they had when you spent Christmas in the hospital, with a collapsed lung from the bitter outside conditions. 

You didn’t do that on purpose, of course. But you realized that, if your parents would come together and stop fighting for anything, it’d be because of your health. 

It wasn’t even that you wanted their attention – which you did. You just wanted them to stop fighting. And if your health got bad enough, they’d have no choice but to become a unit once more, for the sake of their ill daughter who needed them. (Who needed them when she was well, too.) 

They just didn’t seem to care unless something was very wrong. 

Your body was changing. Your mature hormones began developing at a rate you couldn't prepare for. You didn’t like it – you didn’t like the new things about your body that made you feel and look different. And you didn’t like the way food made you feel. You discovered that at the tender age of eleven.

All of those things could very well contribute to a rough relationship with food for anyone. And for you, they were the perfect storm to create a terrible habit. 

But what really did it, what set your mind to skip a meal a day, two meals a day, three meals a day – it was your parents. 

You couldn’t control them. You couldn’t control their ceaseless fighting, their refusal to be a team for you, their only child. Their child who was dealing with the worst of the worst from her peers, who was being bullied on a near day-to-day basis over the way she looked, over her differences that kids her age didn’t understand. Your dad tried to be there for you, but your mom took him away everytime. 

You knew the way to get them to notice you — make yourself sick. Just like the time your lung collapsed.

Only, you couldn’t replicate that. Not safely, at least. You didn’t want anything that drastic, only something that would get them to look at you again. You needed them, and there wasn’t a single effort you’d made to get them back that had worked. 

Until you fainted at school. When you fainted due to a lack of fuel. 

You’d let things progress a little further than you had intended, and there was no turning back once you’d reached that point. It’d been years of restricting, and it had finally gotten to that point. 

The illness became a sense of consistency for you – it gave you a means of control when every part of your life outside of it was out of your control. 

And from then on, everytime chaos had taken the lead in your life, when things began to unravel even the slightest, your old friend would return just in time, when you needed to feel in charge. In charge of something. 

In reality, you’ve just been relapsing over and over again throughout the course of the last decade or so. And in truth, you’re not certain you’ve ever fully healed enough to consider these moments true relapses – these are just the moments when it’s worse. 

Right now, this stage in your life just happens to be one of those moments. And at this point, giving this long-time friend attention when it shows up at your doorstep is as innate as breathing. You know you’re welcoming danger with open arms, but it doesn’t feel like you’re doing anything more than inviting an old friend back to your home. 

Your dad did everything he could to help, though his knowledge was rather limited. And you fought the hell out of him over it. 

You were getting the affection from him that you wanted, so you knew that healing would take it away again. He and your mom were still fighting, of course. But you were at least in your dads line of sight again. 

And your mom…

She hated it. And you never knew why she hated it. 

Could a mother truly be jealous over her daughter's father giving her attention? Surely not, right? 

That question wasn’t on your mind back then, but it’s certainly crossed it a time or two since he left. That, and so many more questions. Ones that you fear will never be answered. 

There finally came a point when your mom did start to take your illness seriously, though her way of doing so was an attempt to convince your dad to send you to Tulsa. ‘There’s nothing else we can do with’er,’ she’d said. ‘She’s better off somewhere else.’

Did she want to get rid of you?

That was when you decided to straighten up. You did not want to leave, and you knew how your mom worked – she had plenty of sway over your dad, and you knew that he’d eventually give in if she’d tried hard enough. 

You started eating again, but you didn’t let yourself indulge. You carefully watched everything you ate. So, you were eating, but you weren’t eating the things that would make you gain weight. 

It wasn’t enough. Not enough protein to sustain you for an entire day. But, it was enough to get your mom to change her mind about Tulsa. 

And, just as you’d suspected, the moment they thought you were “healed,” you stopped existing in their world again. 

This all happened again when you were nineteen. 

Another trip to the hospital, just like the one when you were sixteen. You’d fainted during your shift at the diner, and your manager immediately took you to the hospital in Stillwell. 

And that time was much, much worse. 

That was when you were told that you’d done irreversible damage to your body, that carrying children in the future would most likely be impossible. At the time, you didn’t care too much about it. Hell, you were nineteen. Kids were the last thing on your mind at that time. What you cared about was getting through school, and getting the hell out of Cherry Tree. 

Tulsa was brought up again during that emergency room visit, and you vowed to turn things around quick to avoid it again.

And it wasn’t long after that that your dad left. 

Is that why he…? 

“Y/n,” your mom says, nudging your arm with her clammy hand. “What are you doing? Are you oka –,” 

“I’m fine,” you snap through a cracked voice, feeling okay enough to lift your head from between your knees. “S-sorry, just got a little dizzy.” 

She’s looking at you with an eyebrow cocked, eyes held wide open, lips parted before she speaks again. “That hasn’t happened in a while, has it?” 

You’re an adult now. A full fledged, grown woman capable of making her own choices. Capable of taking care of her dying mother. Yet, you’re still afraid she’ll try and send you off to Tulsa again. You know better – she wouldn’t want her sole caregiver gone right now.

Still yet, you’ll give into the instinct to pretend like nothing is wrong. “Nope, it hasn’t.” Though you don’t truly possess enough strength to comfortably stand right now, you’re pushing yourself to do it, anyways. The dizziness is still present, though it’s much better than it was moments ago. 

Steading yourself on your feet, mentally pleading with your knees to not buckle beneath you, you take the empty mug from your moms hand. Just like you tried to do before all of this happened. “I’m fine, though. I think I just need to get some rest.”

An elongated, disbelieving ‘oooookay,’ is your mothers response as you head to the kitchen with the dirty mug. Running some water in it, you set it in the sink to let it soak for a bit before you wash it, bracing yourself with both hands against the counter to offset your Jell-o legs. 

You know you need to eat. You know you do. Because as much as you hate the feeling of being full, you hate this feeling just as much. Maybe even a little more. 

Chicken broth in a mug. Just like your mom.

That’ll do.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 11th:

Two days until he leaves.

I shouldn’t have come here, you ponder as the cashier rings up your purchase, holding your breath when he tells you the price.

“That’ll be $272.62 with tax,” he says, deadpanned in expression as he carefully folds it into the box with the list of tips on caring for leather. 

Jesus Christ. 

Letting out all the breath you’d been holding, your arms and your brain have a major disconnect as you absently reach for your debit card. No reservations about the price are strong enough to stop you from swiping the plastic through the taunting machine. The only reason you’re able to afford this right now is because your moms disability check hit the account a day early. 

Bills aren’t due for another week, and you’ll have already received your paycheck from the library by them…So, it feels a bit more justified given the circumstances. It certainly doesn’t make it okay that you’re using disability money for this — it’s pretty shitty of you, actually. You find you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel nearly every month to make ends meet as it is. You’ve been able to get by thus far, but that’s only because extra spending has been at a very low minimum. But, fuck. You have to buy this. It’s too perfect not to. It just screamed his name the second your eyes caught it hanging with the replica collection. 

And if you’re to be completely honest, it’s kind of the reason you wanted to come in here anyway. It was advertised on their Instagram page, a limited edition piece that won’t be coming back in stock after the new year. You just wanted to see it in person, get a look at it beyond the lens of a screen. 

The intent wasn’t to buy it.

Wasn’t. 

But as soon as you saw it, you knew you had to get it for him. How and when you’ll give it to him…that’s another issue entirely. 

In truth, none of those things really matter. There’s nothing to say you have to give it to him. Maybe you can keep it for yourself. True, you have no real use for it. There’s no guitar in your life that requires it. But, it is sentimental to you for a multitude of reasons. And not all of them surround Jake. (Only most of them.) 

The dinging approval from the machine brings you back to earth, and to the realization that you did, in fact, spend almost three hundred dollars on someone you may never see again after the next few weeks. Or you spent it on you, for a nostalgic buy that will only serve to break your heart every time you see it. 

Still, either story isn’t exactly justifiable. And no justification will help alleviate this overbearing, sinking feeling that you’ve basically ensured the account will be drained for the next week.

Since you knew he just had to have it, a better option would’ve been to just send him the fucking link to it and let him buy it if he wants it. He has the kind of money for these things, not you. 

But you didn’t want to do that. The nagging voice in your head convinced you that it’d be nice to surprise him with it. (And another voice in your head, the more unrealistic one, said that such a gift might convince him to stay here with you. Stupid. Hoping against hope when it’s way too far fetched to even obtain that hope.)

“I’ve put the receipt into the box should you need to return it,” the greasy haired, unenthused hippie-wannabe says, sliding the white paper box across the glass counter top to you. “This is a limited item, so the return window is only two weeks after purchase. Warranty is good for two years.” His eyes are focused on something behind the counter that you can’t see, and if you had to guess, you’d say it's probably a script of some sort. The same spiel he gives to every customer. No one is more special than the other. You get it. Been there before. Cherry Tree Grocery made you memorize a mandatory monologue, along with a bullshit sales pitch for a credit card with scam-worthy interest rates. 

“Thanks and have a guitartastic day,” he finishes, failing at concealing the announce in his voice. Can’t blame him, though. Guitartastic? Yeah, you’d be a little more than peeved if you had to deliver that line with every customer.

“Yeah, you too,” you respond in a subdued voice, lifting the box from the counter, fishing your keys out of your crossbody with one hand as you’re making steady strides to the exit doors of Detroit Guitar. 

Return it. He said you have two weeks to return it. Maybe you can just do that after a day or so. Just keep it for a little while, let it serve as a symbol of what could’ve been a wonderfully thoughtful gift to someone you care (cared?) enough for to spend money on that you don’t possess. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You spent how much?”

“About two hundred seventy…and some change,” you admit to a very baffled Nat. You had to talk to someone about this impulse purchase during your drive home, and who better than her than confess such a thing to? The silent drive, thanks to the busted radio, would only make you question your choice even further.  Of course, her reaction is just as you’d expected. Shocked, inquisitive. A tad on the judgemental side. Her lack of restraint when it comes to voicing her thoughts should be studied, dear lord. 

“I admittedly know nothing about the world of guitar straps,” she wittingly comments. “But isn't that a bit much for a piece of faux leather that holds a guitar to you?”

“Nat, it’s an exact replica of one of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s favorites. When I say exact, I mean I would fully believe that this was actually his if I didn’t know any better,” you explain to her, and to yourself. You’re still trying to justify the purchase to yourself, too. But, you are right – it’s a true match in style to one he used often, one that has gone down in rock and roll history as iconic, and nothing less. Stark black, patterned with a flow of white music notes, hand stitched. It’s a classic piece in its own right, certainly one that any fan of his would instantly recognize. 

It’ll look so beautiful attached to Jake’s SG. A stunning complement to the dark red hue of the body. That, in truth, was all you could think of when you made the trip to shop – the image of Jake’s guitar donned with such an important piece in the vast chronicle of the blues. The point is, you know he’ll love it. You know he will. And that alone is plenty of justification. 

At least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself. 

“And it is not faux leather, Natalia. It’s one hundred percent real. Just –,” you sigh, fighting the internal battle of whether this was a completely outlandish choice or not. And her judgey tone is certainly not helping with that. “I need you to trust that I wouldn’t just buy this for no reason. It has meaning, Natalia. There’s a lot of significance wrapped up in this –,” 

You stop talking when you hear her scoff on the other end, feeling just a bit offended with the display. “What was that about, Natalia?”

“Why on earth are you getting so defensive about this?” She irately asks, with every right, too. 

You’re feeling far more confrontational than normal, probably due to the fact that you’re plagued with guilt over the whole ordeal. The money you spent on this should be spent elsewhere. It’s just not financially responsible. But, goddamnit – you want him to have this. 

“Listen,” she persists, her tone shifting to a calmer one. “All I’m worried about is the fact that you two are basically no contact at this point. It’s a great gift, y/n. But are you okay with giving him something that special when you’re not going to date him? I assume that’s the plan, anyway.” 

Well. She’s right about that. A pretty solid point, actually. Sure, you were certainly thinking everything she’s saying, but hearing it out loud makes it all the more palpable in your mind. You’re undoubtedly not going to ‘date’ him. He’s not going to be your boyfriend. Wasn’t to begin with, not ever. 

“I know,” you concede, a heavy, defeated sigh accompanying your words. The Firebird screeches to a quick stop at the red light that you almost ran through, your frustrations making it difficult to keep your mind on the fact that you’re driving. Everything in your backseat – canvas bag full of books, laptop, the guitar strap – all plummeted to the floorboard. Yet another grievance rattle your nerves to the nth degree.

“I’ll return it,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve got two weeks to take it back. I’ll just do that.”

You knew you’d come to regret this. It wasn’t wise; What if your mom finds out that you used her disability money – the money you need for rent – on something like this? You have always been the responsible one, and that doesn’t stop when it comes to money. The shit you learned after you dad left about saving each and every penny you had…feels like it’s all gone out the window. And for what? The guy who’ll just become part of your past in the very near future? 

If there were ever a moment you felt utterly stupid, right now would be that moment. 

“Just do what you think is best, y/n,” she advises, her voice more gentle than it was before. “I won’t judge you either way – I just want you to be okay with whatever decision you make and not regret it.” 

And therein lies the problem. 

What you want to do and what you know is best are on opposing sides. You want to give it to him, show him that you thought of him when you saw it. Give him a little something to make him think of you when he’s gone. (And, maybe, give him something that’d make him want to stay.)

But you know the best idea would be to take it back to the shop, receive a full refund, forget about it altogether. 

Your heart and your head – the two just never seem to see eye to eye. Do you follow the emotional urge or the logical move? 

Either way, you can’t be sure that you’ll be much better off if you’d choose to go one way or the other. Who would’ve thought that a simple (though, not really simple at all) gift could stir such a massive whirlwind of emotions? 

You barely hear Nat mutter something on her end of the call, but her voice is now drowned out by the deep, uneven thrumming of your Firebird’s ancient engine that’s now sputtering and threatening to stall after slamming on your brakes the way you did. You ask her to repeat what she’d said, but you’re still unable to make out any intelligible words. 

“I can’t hear you, Nat,” you say, raising your own voice now to compete with the intrusive noise as you’re finally turning on the street of your apartment. “My stupid car is screaming at me so I need you to talk a little louder.” 

Through shuffling and static on the other end, you can faintly make out Danny’s name. She’s probably insisting you let him take a look at your car again, but as the engine grows even louder, you decide it’s no use.

“I’ll just have to call you back,” you finally say, defeated, ending the call with a sharp press of your thumb. You toss your phone in the passenger seat, landing with a hard thud against the cracked and stained vinyl seat.

Pulling into the lot outside of your building, you shift the damn thing in park and kill the engine with a rough twist of your key. The Firebird sputters one last time before it falls silent. But the silence only makes the chaos in your mind scream even louder.

You sit there a moment, hands still gripping the wheel, forehead pressed into the worn leather. The harsh scent of overheated metal and old dust infiltrates your nose, threatening a sneeze at any moment.

The guitar strap lies on the floorboard behind you, almost hidden beneath your spilled books and laptop,

Maybe you’ll return it tomorrow.

Maybe you won’t.

Right now, you’re too tired to decide what the fuck you’re going to do.

Right now, all you can do is sit here, broken in more ways than one, wishing the world (and your heart) would just, for once, make things simple.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re not surprised it didn’t wake her. She sleeps about as soundly as any person could these days. And, with the humming noise that accompanies her oxygen machine, she hardly hears a thing outside of her room. 

Still, you checked on her first thing. Sometimes, if she’s startled awake, her coughing fits become so bad that it takes hours for her body to calm down. So, when you hear the intrusion again, it pisses you off for her sake. (And yours – if she can’t sleep, you don’t sleep.) 

Whomever it is isn’t frantically knocking, though you’re inclined to believe that whatever the reasoning for such a visit is of some importance, given it’s well past midnight. 

Your first thought is Nat, but that thought quickly dissipates when you realize she hasn’t sent you a text warning her impending arrival. She would never just show up unannounced. And if she did, the knocks on the door would be far less spaced out, because something would be very wrong.

That leaves only two options – a burglar, or the man whom you’ve been avoiding for two days now. 

At this point, you think you’d prefer the burglar to the latter. 

A third knock against the door sets your heating anger to a near boil. 

With quiet defiance, you march across the living room and unlock the door, swinging it open to reveal what you already knew.

It’s no burglar. Not one after anything materialistic, at least. This one is after your heart. And, he may as well head to the next door, because there’s not much left of yours to steal. 

“It’s late, Jake.” 

“I know that.” 

If he told you that he’s just ran a marathon, you’d have no problem believing it. Wouldn’t question such a thing based on the looks of him. 

His hair, a low, messy bun against the nape of his neck. Tendrils of hair have fallen out of the bun, framing his blushed and sweaty face, sticking to the skin. His breaths are nearly heaving, nostrils flaring with each quick bit of air he sucks in. 

You’re reluctant to invite him in, but the cold burst of air blowing through the open door calls for it. Which, again, forces you to wonder why he’s so sweaty, why the sleeves of his black Jimi Hendrix hoodie are pulled up to his elbows. 

You remember this hoodie rather well. You’ve seen it before, and though it’s been a long time since then, the image of it will forever remain seared in your memory. 

All black, with a black-and-white photo of Hendrix performing at Woodstock across his chest. The photo is a bit weathered, its corners soft and faded. You can only imagine he’s had it for years. 

You love it. Truly.

With no words, only the motion of your hands, you offer to let him come inside. He does so in a sluggish manner, turning to close the door behind him. 

Letting him inside is as far as you’ll go, though. You don’t offer your couch to him, don’t ask if he’d like to go to your room to talk. Standing, awkwardly, taking up the space in the middle of the living room will just have to fucking do. Whatever he has to say to you, whatever compelled him to show up unannounced after midnight, he can take care of right here. 

“What do you want, Jake?”

The question, more like an assertion – you can’t think of any valid reason he’d show up here like this. 

“You’re really okay with letting me leave like this, huh?”

“Yes.” 

Your arms become crossed over your chest, a bold stance of resistance. You’re mad. And you don’t even know why you’re mad. You are the one who kissed his brother. You have been ignoring him since. 

In some way, you feel that leaving things like this will make it easier when he’s gone. Mending things will only make his absence hurt much worse. At least this way, you’ll be too angry to miss him.

He watches your every move, studying you, reading you. He knows what you’re feeling, and he knows you’re full of shit when you say you’re fine with things ending this way. But what choice has he left you with?

Your arms across your body – they’re more of a comforting embrace. You feel your walls breaking above an already faulty foundation. You’re just trying to keep yourself stable at this point.

“No you’re not, y/n. And this avoidance game won’t make this any better.” 

“Avoidance, Jake? Shall I remind you of your own avoidance tactics? How you just led me on and didn’t think to clue me in on this little detail of your life? Knowing that I’ve already been down this path before?”

“This wasn’t some cruel design, y/n. I never wanted to end up here, with you looking at me like this.” 

 “You’re the one who’s okay with leaving in the first place, Jake. So, I’m okay if we leave things just like this.”

Again, a fucking lie. A lie to protect the remaining tattered shreds left of your heart. You can’t even discern whether or not it’s working. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to coming with me. Think about it, y/n. All of the things you love, the birthplace of the works you’ve spent your whole life with. The history, y/n. These are the things you care about, not some egotistic modeling gig. That’s not you, y/n.”  

He takes one step closer to you, the muscles in his jaw clenching and tightening, nostrils flaring with every deep breath from his chest.

“Oxford is you; literature is you. Why are you rejecting who you are?”  

He’s not wrong. In truth, just about everything he’s saying is right. 

It makes sense. All of it. 

But your reluctance hasn’t waned. And you’ll be goddamned if you could understand why. Spite is truly the only thing you can think of. Because if you’re honest with him and yourself, going to London feels like the moment your whole life has been leading up to.

And it makes you think…is Jake the light you’re meant to follow? Like a moth uses the moon wayfind – 

Your mom. She’s awake. 

And she’s coughing. 

Suddenly, a reason bigger than you – you can’t leave her. She’ll die without you. She has no one else in this world to take care of her. You’re it. 

Your mom. She is the reason.

“That, Jake.” For a moment, you uncross your arms, ridding yourself of the tiny bit of security you found in them, pointing your finger towards her closed bedroom door. “That is why I can’t go. And it’s selfish of you to think I could just leave her for you.”

“Selfish, y/n? I’m standing here, pleading with you to live the life that you want to live, to not forget who you are, and that makes me selfish?”

“I can’t leave her, Jake. You know that.” 

You stand firm, crossing your arms once more and willing your voice not to crack or falter in anyway. 

“But you’re willing to leave her for L.A.? If she really is the only reason you won’t consider London, what makes L.A. so different, hm?”  

Your breath catches, body stiffening as you soak in his words, his incredibly valid point. There’s no answer. No reasonable one. He’s right, again. 

L.A. truly isn’t any different. It may be across the country instead of the world, but does distance actually matter? You weren’t even thinking of your mom when you said you were going to pursue L.A. She didn’t cross your fucking mind once. 

Why are you okay with that, and not London? 

The only difference – Jake. And your goddamn pride that you refuse to let go of. And as it stands, you’re not sure there’s any turning back from it. 

There’s silence for a moment. You don’t know what to say, how to argue something utterly inarguable. 

His eyes watch you, reading the thoughts behind your own until he finally speaks again. “Why are you so sure about going after something you’ve never given a fuck about, but adamantly refuse to go with me in pursuit of something you love?”   

“It’s just –,” you try, scrambling through the thoughts in your brain to come up with something to say that’ll make any sort of sense. “It’s different, Jake. It’s just different.”

Different? 

Is it, though? Jesus – if you don’t believe it, how is he supposed to?

“She’s doing this on purpose, y/n.”

Excuse me?

“And you know that. She’s letting herself stay this way so you won’t live your own life. And it’s working.” 

Your pulse begins surging, your insides twisting in knots as a storm of pure anger begins to brew beneath your ribs. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. How dare he accuse your mom of something so…so fucking vile. 

And so completely wrong.

“That is not true, Jake!” You want to yell, to scream at the top of your lungs. But you can’t. You don’t want her to have to hear any of this.“She would never do something like that. You can’t say that – you don’t know what she’s been through.”

The way he’s looking at you, as if he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t know. He isn’t the one that’s responsible for keeping her alive. He doesn’t live with her, he doesn’t have to witness her death playing out before his own two eyes. 

The coughs don’t last long, thank goodness. You were terrified that she’d cough herself into a spell that she wouldn’t be able to get out of without you. 

“You’re taking care of her and not yourself, y/n. And she won’t let you take care of yourself. She doesn’t want me to do it, either. It’s dangerous for you to keep taking care of her. She wants you to be unhappy, she doesn’t want you to heal. Everyone else can see that, y/n. Why are you so blind to it?”

“Jake – ,”

No. He doesn’t get to say shit like that to you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s not his fucking place. 

“You’re asking me to uproot my life and move to a different country, Jake.” Your arm snaps towards your left, as if  pointing in the direction of London. The joints in your elbow pop as you do, your finger staying in the London direction as you continue pressing your point.

“That is the difference. And it’s obvious that I wasn’t on your mind when you made this decision. You were fine with leaving me. So just leave.” That finger, pointing towards your make believe London, is now pointing ahead of you. At the door. 

“This decision, y/n, I didn’t –,” he begins, voice suddenly much softer than before. A frustrated palm begins rubbing at his forehead, his eyes hidden behind their lids for a brief moment as he finds his wording. “I didn’t just choose to move across the world overnight. I was accepted to Oxford long before this semester even began. Before I ever knew you, y/n. I’m not fine with leaving you, that is why I’m begging you to consider following your true path.” 

He pauses with a heavy breath, hands tucking the loose strands of hair behind his ears. 

You feel the lump in your throat begin to tighten, your eyes blurring behind a new wetness. You can’t help but wonder how things have gone so wrong. So fucking wrong. 

What are you doing?

“I know you applied to Oxford,” he says, and your heart begins to thump hard beneath your chest. Pounding in your ears, rattling your bones. “And I know you wouldn’t have done that if this wasn’t laying on your heart.”  

You feel like a child that’s been caught in a lie – embarrassed, cheeks burning, heart exposed. He knows. 

He’s already seen that wall crumble before you even realized it had fallen.

“H-how do you –,” you stutter out through a cracked, timid voice. But he’s ready to answer you before you can even finish your question. 

You already know the answer. 

“Movack.”

Yep.

“He was elated that you applied. And that tells me that you’ve already considered this option.”  

Words fail you.

You stand here, lips parted, yet nothing dares to rise past your tongue. 

“Listen…,” he whispers, his eyes not breaking from yours. “Whether you chose to come to London or not, I can’t leave with this weight between us. If this is where it ends, then we need to let it end with grace, with us seeing each other clearly. Please, y/n. I’m begging you. I can’t bear to leave you like this. I can’t bear this.”

He steps forward slowly, fingers twitching at his sides as though he’s aching to reach for you. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, as though he’s memorizing every curve and contour of your face. 

Your lip begins to tremble, quivering as you hold his heavy gaze. There’s a long beat of silence, lingering.

He then exhales, sharp and exhausted, running a hand down his face before letting it fall limp to his side.

“And if this is the last time I see you, then I need you to know – you’ve broken me, y/n. You shattered something in me, you’ve changed me.” A bitter laugh escapes him, hardly more than a breath. “God, I needed it. I wish I – I just wish I could put it into words, but my heart is speaking a language my lips don’t know how to translate. I just –,”

He stops, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as though he’s breathing away any tears that may threaten to fall. And then, he says it. The words you can’t bear to hear. 

The ones that will make this hurt all the more.

“I love you, y/n.”

No. Please, no.

Warm, full tears spill down your cheeks, tracing the curve of your jaw. So many tears. Too many to count.

You swallow the sob building in your throat, composing yourself before you can truly let this sink in. 

You softly shake your head in blindsided silence, as if that could somehow undo what’s just been spoken.

But it won’t. You know that. 

And now, there’s only one thing left to say. Because you can’t let him see that you feel it, too.

You already feel too much. And you have for a long fucking time.

It has to end here.

 “You need to go Jake.”

“What? Y/n listen to me –,”

“You need to go.”

It’s unmistakable, the tears in his eyes as he silently turns away, giving you what you want. What you’ve wanted this whole time – for him to just leave. 

There’s no reason to watch him walk away. No reason to let yourself experience the pain of seeing him leave your apartment. For the last time. 

No. You can’t do it. You won’t. 

You let your eyes wander to your feet as you shut the door, fighting the burning desire to slam it. If you didn’t live in a complex, you most certainly would have. 

Shut, deadbolt locked – it’s done. 

The building is so quiet, so still – you can hear The Black Pearl’s engine start up all the way from the second floor. You know the sound, tangible even from a distance. You’ve heard it more times than you can count. It’s familiar. Heartbreakingly so. 

The only thing left to do — now that he’s gone — is go to bed. Sleep. Forget about all of this, of Jake. 

A faint tapping stops you before you can take more than one step. A stuttering flutter, just above you. And when you look in the direction of the strange noise, your eyes land upon a creature, wings of silken pale green floating against the overhead light. Hovering just beneath the plastic dome of the fixture, entirely lost within the soft glow it emanates like an invisible tether. 

If it stays in here, it’ll surely die. And you can’t let that happen to such an eye-catching moth. You’ve never seen one this beautiful, this noble. 

Quiet as you can, you turn to unlock and crack open the door, ensuring you're prepared to set this lovely thing free, once and for all. 

“Wrong light, little guy. Let’s get you back outside where you’re safe,” you whisper, gently reaching your hands above your head, cupping it safely between your palms. 

“You don’t belong here.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 12th:

One day until he leaves.

You haven’t heard from him today.

Not once. 

And it’s a relief. 

At least, it’s supposed to be. 

It’s not, though. 

You thought you wanted him to leave you alone. And perhaps you did when you told him as much. But now, your body is feeling ten times heavier with a burdening guilt. Guilt over letting him leave like this. He’d asked you over and over if you were truly okay with letting it end this way, letting him go to London without a proper goodbye, without anything but the nudge of a cold shoulder. 

And you said yes. 

But that’s not the truth.

You’ve become so accustomed to lying in order to protect your heart, that you’re starting question what the fuck is even real anymore. 

You’re tired of not knowing – you’re tired of lying. 

You’ve let yourself rot in bed for the better part of the day, save for your early shift at the library. Stocking books, updating records, listening to the echoing tick of the giant wall clock…it took your mind off of things at the time. 

But now, you’re on hour four of lying in bed, staring at your phone, ‘watching TikToks,’ but only truly looking at the top of the screen. Watching, waiting to see his name appear. 

And it doesn’t. You fear his time of trying to reach you has worn out – that clocked has reached its final tick. And you should be happy about it. 

So, why aren’t you? Why are you stuck here, sprawled out on your mattress – the same position you’ve been in for over four hours now – waiting for a single name to pop up on the screen of your phone? 

It’s ridiculous, truly. And it’s a waste of your goddamn time. There are plenty of things you could be doing right now, in lieu of awaiting a message that won’t be coming, one that shouldn’t be coming. 

Dinner’s easy these days – chicken broth, water, tea if your mom is feeling up to it. She’s resting in her own bed now, Western film playing on her TV, probably dozing in and out of sleep. 

So, given the earlier ending to each night as of late, there actually isn’t anything else for you to do. Apartment is clean as a whistle, dishes washed and put away. Maybe it’d be best if you let yourself drift to sleep, too. What else is there to do? Keep your eyes glued to a screen for something that won’t happen? 

Sleep. You just want to sleep. 

You click the message icon, just in case you happen to miss something. Of course, there’s nothing. Nothing new, nothing from him. So, with a deep breath in your nose and out of your parted lips, you lock your phone and sit on the dark wood table beside your bed. 

And that’s where it’ll stay for the rest of the night. No more waiting, no more wishing. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 13th:

The last day.

This morning, you woke up with a heaviness in your chest that you’ve never felt before. Weighing on you, crushing your ribs, your heart pounding beneath the pressure. Your body, covered in a layer of cold sweat the second you opened your eyes.

You knew why.

It felt as though you’d finally come to terms with it all – your guiding light, your navigational compass, he’s leaving. And suddenly, you realized just how lost you’ll be without him. 

Everything came to a crushing realization, all at once.

You drove at least fifteen miles over the limit the whole way. Speeding up when lights turned yellow, passing and weaving through traffic when they slowed you down. You’ve wasted so much goddamn time. You couldn’t let yourself waste one more fucking second. 

He came to you when your foolish self dismissed him each time he tried to reach out, when he begged for you to not let him leave without mending things. You wouldn’t fucking listen. Even when he drove over twenty minutes in the middle of the night, showing up for you. 

So, it’s only right that you offer him the same. Give both of you the chance to see him off properly. You let your hurt feelings get in the way of so much. And right now, all you can think is how fucking stupid you’ve been. He tried, and you shut him out. And the result? You didn’t end up hurting any less, like you thought you would. 

No, you’re hurting so much worse. And it’s your fault this time. Not his. He tried, and you didn’t 

You barely hit the brakes when you shove the gear in park, viciously jolting yourself forward when the car screeches to a quick halt. Not the best move for your aged Firebird, but you’ll worry about that later. 

You don’t even bother turning the thing off. There’s no time for that. 

The door to their apartment feels daunting as you run towards it, pounding the wood with your closed fist when you’re close enough to make contact. After a few seconds of nothing, you knock again. 

Finally, the knob begins to turn from the other side. You’re ready to leap into his arms the moment he opens the door, to hold him, kiss him. Give yourself one last chance to experience what it feels like to be wrapped in his arms, to taste him one more time, seal it in your memory where it can always stay with you.

But when the door opens, it’s not Jake behind the frame. It’s Josh. And if you were paying close enough attention — which you’re not— you’d notice the redness around Josh’s eyes and cheeks, his freshly wet eyelashes. 

Paying no mind, you push your way inside, ready to run to his room, where you’re sure he is. But you don’t make it far. You’re stopped by Josh’s gentle touch, his grounding hand placed on your shoulder. He doesn’t use force, yet it stops you just as abruptly as if he were. 

“Please, Josh. I know he doesn’t want to see me but I need to tell him that –,”

“Y/n. Stop.” You don’t heed him. 

It’s obvious that Jake is upset with you — he has every reason to be. But you have to do this. You can’t let him go this way, without him hearing the truth written on your laden heart. This is the ending. That is a lucid fact. But, you can’t let it end before you say what you need to say. Your heart won’t beat the same ever again if you don’t. 

“No, Josh. I need to tell him that I lo –,”

“Y/n!” 

His voice is jarring, enough to silence you and keep you from taking another step towards the hallway. And his eyes, just as staggering as his voice – they’re telling you something you’ve a feeling you really don’t want to hear from his lips. 

“Listen to me,” he pleads, closing the space between you. “He’s –” He sniffles, his eyes now heavy with new tears. “He’s not here, love.”

“W-what?” Your heart is racing, cold sweat collecting on your skin. Your throat tightens, it’s so hard to swallow. 

No. No. 

“That’s impossible, Josh! His flight isn’t until –,”

He stops you with another squeeze of your shoulder, tears now running down his cheeks, pooling around his dark moustache. “He was able to get an earlier flight, y/n. I just got back from the airport.”

No.

“His plane just left, darling. He’s gone.”

You’re too late. 

There’s nothing to say, so the tears will say it all for you. Quiet tears, no sobbing. Just quiet, regretful tears. There for you when you’re hurting. Always there. A warm, gentle comfort to accompany your pain. 

Always there. 

He didn’t say goodbye. And it’s your fault that he didn’t. 

Fuck, he tried. You wouldn’t hear it. Didn’t give him the chance to. And you let him leave without telling him how you truly feel. When you decided to get your head out of your ass, it was too goddamn late. 

You know the pain of someone leaving without saying goodbye, without you getting the chance to say the things that’d gone unspoken for so long. Leaving a hole in your heart, open and void. And when he wanted to give you that much, you closed yourself off. It’s your fault. 

And now, he’s gone. It’s the end of the chapter. The page, officially turned. He’ll never speak to you again. You may never see him again.

Josh sniffles again as he wraps both arms around your shoulders, pulling as close to his body as he can. His embrace, so warm against your trembling form. A comfort, though one all too familiar to the one you’re longing for right now. And because of that, it’s only making this pain hurt worse. 

Much, much worse. 

“I know, y/n. I’m gonna miss him, too.”

You were too late.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i know. i'm sad, too. we've still got a long ways to go, loves. don't be afraid to let me know what you think! anon or not, i love hearing from you.🤍

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍 you all are truly the best.

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?) sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @devilat-thedoor @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @ninas-tearsofrain @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy

[this-orange-anon024]

I think I'll call it Ollie- (gasp!) no wait, Beady! No, maybe Jewel? Neela!

(now you got them pondering like a excited parent to a baby. Seeing them walk back and forth while cradling the tiny creature in their arm safely)

What do you think of Beady?

Orange was training again when suddenly Natah popped out of the ground in front of them, making Orange punch them, Natah doesn't flinch however

Stop it Orange

@messagercreature

(orange immediately halted and looked at you shocked. They immediately flinch away however)

Pretty? What are you doing here? Did I hurt you??

(they sounded so worried about you, checking if they did damage anything, while looking shooken)

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Tales of the Spring Rain by Ueda Akinari

"For how many days has the spring rain been here? How pleasant and still it is! I took out my favorite writing brush and inkstone, but though I pondered long and hard, I could think of nothing to write. Merely to imitate the old romances is a task for the novice. My own circumstances, at present, differ little from those of a humble woodsman: how could I draw upon my own life for a tale? Stories of the past—and of the present as well—have deceived many; indeed, I myself, being unaware that such accounts were lies, have on occasion misled others by repeating them. But what of that? Such tales will continue to be told, and there will always be some who honor them as true history. Well aware of this, I go on writing my stories, as the spring rains keep falling." - Ueda Akinari, "Preface" to Tales of the Spring Rain

"As we pass through this world, the empty husk of a cicada, is not all our toil ephemeral as well as arduous? With frantic haste, both mighty and lowly are striving, each at his own task."

- Ueda Akinari, "The Grave of Miyagi" from Tales of the Spring Rain

"When Confucianism came to Japan, did its logical teachings correct any evils in our country, I wonder? It used twisted arguments and fancy rhetoric. Years have gone by, and Confucianism flourishes, but we are still not really at peace."

- Ueda Akinari, "The Bloodstained Robe" from Tales of the Spring Rain

"Come to think of it, being a cow or a horse isn’t all misery. In fact, in some ways it might even be enjoyable—at least judging from what I’ve observed. We human beings don’t live in such a land of joy, after all. In order to make our living, we have more worries than any horse or cow does."

- Ueda Akinari, "The Destiny that Spanned Two Lifetimes" from Tales of the Spring Rain

"There’s obviously a difference between a person with talent, and one without: even a gifted father can’t always pass on his skills to his son. On the contrary, literature and poetry must be born from one’s own heart—how can they be based on some kind of teaching? Of course, in most arts you must take your first steps under a teacher’s guidance. But as you progress further, what special training can there be, outside of the standards you yourself erect as guideposts? ...Only when you have realized your own creative powers, will your art be truly your own." - Ueda Akinari, "The One-Eyed God" from Tales of the Spring Rain

“We may be thieves, but we do value our own lives. Riches are easy to steal, but life is hard to hold on to. If you know the secret of how to steal a hundred years of happiness, then tell us all about it."

- Ueda Akinari, "Hankai" from Tales of the Spring Rain

“'I may be old, but I’m still a warrior,' said the samurai. 'All I wish is to be able to serve my master faithfully. As for how much longer I’m to live—I’m willing to leave that to Heaven; whether my life is to be long or short, I have no say in the matter. But when you wish to live for a hundred years, when you have to sneak about, hiding everywhere you go, without one single place where you can live in peace—it’s as if you had already died while you're still a young man!'”

- Ueda Akinari, "Hankai" from Tales of the Spring Rain

"The man who reclaims his heart from evil partakes of the essence of the Buddha; but he whose heart is unrestrained becomes a demon."

- Ueda Akinari, "Hankai" from Tales of the Spring Rain

[batty4vamps]

Hi! Can I request 8 from the prompt list with David?😄

8. "Am I boring you?" with David

This one absolutely ran away with me ngl- David is so intimidating to write for and something about that possessed me to just keeping adding to this for over a week until I kind of liked it lmao

That being said, while it’s probably not what you were expecting, I hope you like it!

And I hope it reads like David 🫣

Includes: fem reader, hurt/comfort, David being a threatening asshole, established relationship, fight and makeup

It’d been a hell of a day. You were a month out from graduating college, and one of your professors had spontaneously decided to regrade all of your class work, leaving you points from passing. You’d freaked out, meeting him in his office and “discussing” with him for over an hour to no avail.

The minute David had returned you to the cave you’d started telling him about your day, laying down on a dusty couch. This whole semester had been rough, and he’d heard all about it

“…and then he just said “there’s nothing I can do”, practically slammed the door in my face!”

You sighed, rubbing your temples.

“It’s like I do everything right, I play by every rule, and they still can’t just give me this one thing, this one accomplishment before- well, you know.”

He nodded lazily as he skimmed through a book. It was leather bound and dusty, probably as old as Max.

You stared at him, waiting for a response, or at least a look. It never came.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

You said sarcastically as he finally looked up from his book.

“Of course not”

Your eyes narrowed.

“So what did I just say?”

He hesitated for an incredibly telling moment, giving you a familiar stare

“Without looking in my head-“

Silence.

He broke eye contact with you, blinking for a moment before looking back down to his book.

“I knew it.”

He sighed, harshly closing the book. You noticed he hadn’t taken off his gloves.

“Now, What do you know?”

Usually his half condescending, half uncaring tone and smirk were attractive. Not when you were upset with him.

“That you weren’t listening to me. That you don’t care.”

His brows furrowed, as if he was pondering whether or not he cared enough to lie in this moment. The look broke, he’d decided.

“No. I don’t care about whatever argument your professor picked this week. So?”

It was a challenge, as if he was daring you be upset. Like he was playing with you.

You were kind of taken aback. This wasn’t the tone David usually took with you, not seriously. You knew he was a liar, that he knew how to say the just right thing. You knew that with you, it was out of affection. Because as much as he denied it, he felt for you, and he wasn’t going to lose you over saying the wrong thing.

So why was he suddenly telling you the truth?

“So, you’re supposed to care about what I say- I’m sorry it’s not a gory vampire bloodbath, or whatever you want to hear, but it’s my life, and it’s important to me“

He laughed, leaning back in his wheelchair. It was your life, he knew that, and it was so much duller than you deserved. It wasn’t important! Soon enough, you’d never have to worry about anything as trivial as passing a class ever again. He knew why he wasn’t listening, and why he didn’t care about telling you that:

He was tired of it, completely out of patience.

You saw the life you could live with him. The eternal partying, the power, the cure to consequences and boredom, the pack that would have your back no matter what. You knew he could solve your professor problems, and every other grievance you had, and you refused it. You refused him.

“And your life is boring. You sit here and tell me how unhappy you are, night after night, with the solution right in front of you. I’ve run out of sympathy.”

You stared at him, incredulous. Was that really all your life was to him? Your struggles, just dull nothings you had to get past to become like him?

“Can you really run out if you never had any in the first place?”

You couldn’t help but think of all the times you’d come to him for comfort. Every time, you’d always end up eager for eternity, longing for the day when all of your problems would be solved. You’d even considered throwing in the towel and just letting him turn you right there. Was his reassuring just another attempt to lure you?

David paused, a smirk forming on his lips that turned your stomach.

“You think you’d still be alive if I didn’t have any?”

Your face went from angry to unnerved. You knew he wanted you to join him, that you were living on borrowed time. Still, you expected him to understand that you weren’t ready. That you wanted to just finish this one thing before you gave up your whole life for him.

In the last moment, he’d not only disrespected your choice, but he bared his fangs to you. He was reminding you of your place.

“Was that a threat?”

He turned his head slightly to look at you, a subtle smirk still on his lips. You’d seen glimpses of this side of David, the sadistic angles of him, but he’d never gotten close to using them against you. He wouldn’t, not really. At least, you’d hoped.

When he saw the genuine fear in your eyes, the smirk fell, his features resuming his usual look of neutrality. He backed off, not necessarily out of regret, but the sense that he might’ve pushed you farther than he meant to.

“No. Think of it as a reassurance.”

His tone was dismissive, as if you were being silly for asking, but you didn’t believe him. For the first time since you’d began your relationship with David, he’d shaken your trust. His protection was a very vital thing to have when faced with his power.

“What?”

He snapped you out of your thoughts, noticing the staring.

“I have class work to make up. Don’t follow me tonight.”

After a moment of watching him, processing all he’d said, you got to your feet. His brows furrowed.

“Fine.”

As you approached the ledge leading to the mouth of the cave, you passed the others reentering. Paul caught you by the shoulders for a moment with a grin.

“Woah- where you going girl? Party’s just-“

You pushed him off, continuing past him silently. Paul moved out of your way, looking to David.

“Fuck, man, what was that? I didn’t do shit!”

They all looked at David expectantly. You and him had argued from time to time, but you’d never just brushed them off like that before. They’d never seen David like this either.

He was still sat in his wheelchair, hands balled into fists as he glared at the place you’d been standing moments prior.

“Aw shit. What did you do?”

His stare moved to Paul as he began to speak.

“Nothing”

The boys looked at each other, then back to David. They didn’t know he could even be that unconvincing.

Marko got brave, crossing his arms and looking at David sideways.

“Then why was she storming out like you did somethin?”

David’s eyes moved to his friend.

“Because she’s human”

David grimaced. He wasn’t wrong, he knew that. Your life, your problems, were dull and easily fixable. When he’d pointed that out, though, he hadn’t expected you to run from him like you were his prey.

If you were, you wouldn’t have gotten that far. He thought you’d learned to count on that- to count on his restraint when it came to you.

They collectively winced, a tense silence settling. Paul decided it was best to tap out of the conversation now.

“Well, hope you can fix that soon, buddy-“

He snapped a finger gun at David, disappearing down a cavern tunnel. Marko looked at Dwayne, patting him on the shoulder before following Paul deeper into the cave.

“Good luck, man”

Dwayne sighed. He didn’t know how he was somehow always the one left to give advice, but he supposed he was stuck now. He walked up to David, sitting on the couch next to the spot you’d occupied.

“What happened?”

David’s brows furrowed, his eyes meeting Dwayne’s in objection. He only let that stand for a moment before intentionally relaxing his body and leaning back.

“I said, nothing.”

You wanted out, fine. You were never in. Every time he’d try to let you in, you refused. You wanted to make the decision, and you chose wrong. He could be fine with that, really!

On the note of you not trusting him, you were right for it. Maybe before this point you’d deluded yourself into seeing him as anything but the monster he was, but that was on you. He’d been perfectly upfront since the beginning.

Dwayne looked at him, unimpressed.

“David. Cut the bullshit.”

David glared. Dwayne hadn’t spoken to him like that for a long time. Not since he’d been turned. Before he could object, Dwayne started again.

“You care. You wouldn’t have kept her around if you didn’t, and pretending you don’t isn’t helping anyone. What happened?”

David’s face remained hardened. He knew Dwayne was right, in fact he’d already had that particular revelation many times in the privacy of his own head. He wasn’t an idiot. He was just a vampire.

Caring, openly, wasn’t something that came naturally to him.

“I told her that her problems didn’t matter. I scared her.”

Dwayne sighed, hands rubbing together as he tried to navigate the situation.

“How bad?”

David paused, trying to recall the way you’d looked at him moments prior. Like you were trying to gauge how much he’d meant what he said, and didn’t like what the conclusion you’d come to. He didn’t feel guilty, but perhaps a little stupid.

“Just a little- she knows that I care, that she’s safe.”

Dwayne was unsure who he was trying to convince.

“Does she?”

David looked down, jaw set tightly. He had been caring. He’d let you into the pack. He’d protected you, let you remain human and alive. David’s standard for care was the care he showed for his boys. He wasn’t affectionate, hell, he was barely nice, but at the end of the day, they knew damn well he would kill for them, just like he’d kill for you. Of course you needed more than that. You were human.

David’s lips formed a small sneer before he decided to change the subject.

“She doesn’t want to be one of us, Dwayne. There’s not anything I can do about that. Well, nothing I can do that wouldn’t make her hate me.”

He’d certainly thought of other strategies, but you didn’t need to know that.

Dwayne rolled his eyes.

“She doesn’t want to be one of us yet. She still made you a promise-”

David interrupted before Dwayne could finish.

“And promises can be broken.”

David let more slip in that retort than he meant to. He wasn’t bitter, or angry with you for wanting to wait, not deep down. He was a man betrayed. Star first, then Micheal. They’d both gone further than you had and still managed to turn their backs on the pack, on him. David wanted you to be one of them before you had the chance to betray them. He wasn’t going to lose this game again.

Dwayne could almost hear the thought process, leaning forward to David. He saw the trap his friend was setting for himself, and he needed to tell him the truth.

“Trying to force her into it is only going to scare her away, and if she thinks you don’t care, she might as well be gone already.”

Dwayne stood up, leaving David with a final piece of advice.

“Win her back, David, before it’s too late.

If you’d thought the day you’d last seen David was rough, the week following was worse. You’d been oscillating between trying to make up your coursework, and wallowing in the reality that the man you’d give up your humanity for may not give a single shit about you. You knew it wasn’t good for you to be cooped up between the library and your apartment for this long, but where else could you go? The boardwalk, the beach, the forest? They were all his territory, and you damn well weren’t going to come to him, not after how he’d talked to you that night.

So in your apartment you stayed, until just after sunset, there was a knock at your door.

“Can I come in?”

Speak of the devil. As you opened the door you found yourself in some muddy mix of surprise, anger, fear and just a bit of relief. David had never come to you after an argument before. Then again, he’d never looked at you like that either.

“Why?”

David had hoped you’d forgotten he actually did need your invitation to enter. You hadn’t. In this moment, he was at your mercy.

Maybe this whole mess had started because of him zoning out during one of your stories, but it had become something bigger to both of you. You’d promised David your life, and he’d all but explicitly said that wasn’t good enough. That he didn’t respect your decision, and he didn’t respect you.

He’d taken that sinister, leader of the vampires viciousness you knew he had, and he’d turned it on you. Even if it was only for a moment, you weren’t going to take it lightly. Tonight, he would enter only when you said so.

David’s jaw clenched for a moment before he let out a breath. Patience.

“We need to talk.”

Your eyes narrowed. It wasn’t going to be that easy. There would be no talking on your part until he could prove he cared, and you could actually trust that.

“I think I’ve heard what you had to say, loud and clear”

David’s arms were crossed over his chest, bare hands gripping his sleeves. It seemed more out of discomfort than anger, looking unnatural on his usually cool and collected form. He sighed. This was what he came here to do, he wouldn’t go back on it now.

“You heard my frustration-”

“And what else is there?”

You interrupted him with that question, half pleading and half accusatory. It was picking a fight, you knew that, but you weren’t going to let him sweet talk his way out of this.

David cared about you in some way, that was obvious. He’d chosen you. In the end though, the care he’d shown was buy and large in the direction of the vampire you’d become, not the human you were. If you were going to be with him for eternity, you needed to know that you, all of you, meant something to him, and that meant ensuring your safety.

“There’s everything else”

His voice was hushed, eyes looking into yours with an intimacy you didn’t expect from him. You let him go on.

“Care, of course. Why else would I want you to be one of us?”

You raised your eyebrow. You could think of a myriad of less than moral reasons.

David shook his head slightly. He didn’t know he’d shaken you this bad. He switched gears.

“Why else would I have even waited this long? Your fear is warranted, but you do know me. You’ve seen the things I would do for you. I’m not going to harm you.”

Your glare lessened ever so slightly. David had done a lot for you, from small acts of unexpected kindness to saving your life. That did count for something.

But not everything.

“What else?”

He hesitated for a moment, like he was trying to get his words straight, before giving up. He looked into your eyes, a layer of defense reluctantly dropping between the two of you.

“…Fear”

The word hung in the air, stunning you into silence. Of all the things you’d expected David to admit, being afraid wasn’t one of them. It sounded strange coming from his mouth, a sneer as though he didn’t like the taste of it. You didn’t even know he could still feel fear. He spoke up once again.

“…You know what happened the last time I let someone hesitate.”

So that’s what this was about. You knew of the two that came before you in David’s eyes. Paul and Dwayne told you after nearly killing you in an effort to test your commitment to the pack. You knew how it ended, with Marko impaled and the pack seriously injured. You had sympathy for their fears, but you were tired of paying for a mistake you hadn’t made. You’d done nothing to make anyone, especially David, think you were going to betray him.

“I’m not Star.”

His brows furrowed. He wasn’t aware you knew her name.

“I know that- my point is, I’m impatient because I care, not because I don’t. I want you to be above the mercy of a professor, or a landlord, or any of them.“

You were just far enough out of the doorway for him to take your hands.

“But really, I want you to be as bound to me as I am to you. Before you have the chance to change your mind.”

You frowned hearing the veiled vulnerability in his voice. You understood where David was coming from. He didn’t want you to leave, that was the long and short of it. For either of you to get what you wanted though, he needed to respect you enough to trust you.

“I am bound, David. That’s the whole reason I’m working this hard- I know it won’t matter, but I want to feel like I’ve accomplished something before I die. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it, it’s me saying goodbye. I keep my word.”

He nodded after a moment, thumbs running over your knuckles as he agreed.

“So do I”

Months ago, you’d both promised that once your time in college had ended, your time with him would begin. He would protect you until the it came, and then, you would become a vampire. You were both bound from that day on. You both needed it to stay that way.

And it would.

After a brief moment of exhale, you spoke up again.

“You can come in now, David”

[lolobizarreadventuresshatpost]

I had a weird Jojo dream this week. It was sort of meta and took place in the near future, when Steel Ball Run was airing. Sum up in three points:

There was a Tiktok trend that had kids pretend they were pissy actors on a blooper reel, like, while in the middle of normal conversations and without being really filmed

The voice actor of BG3's gay vampire Astarion was dubbing Diego Brando in the anime. Astarion DIO??

They put the Tiktok trend in the anime. So in the middle of a normal Jojo scene, Astarion DIO would just pause and say "What's my line", pretend to listen to a prompter, then carry on. He was the only one doing it. He did not break the 4th wall in any other way than bitchily asking for his line.

Dream me was pondering modern humour

[barebonevulture]

:] hello!! I'm literally in love with your transformers dinos and I came to ponder about what dinos you think Wheeljack or ratchet might be?

Heyyo! I am so glad you enjoy my transformer Dinos! Transformers and Dinosaurs have always been my two favorite things so I’m glad others are enjoying my little shmush of them together ^^

For Ratchet, that was a bit easier for me. I believed he’d be an Iguanodon. Something that can both defend and support its herd while also being tough.

Wheeljack was a toughie for me. I was thinking of doing another ankylosaur [A Talarurus], but I felt like for some reason that didn’t fit in my eyes. Currently I am feeling a Kentrosaurus for Wheeljack but I am not 100% yet. I’d love to hear any ideas though :]

I’m still working Wheeljack out, so here’s a full-body Dino Ratchet ^^