#Ian! If you're reading this THANK YOU SO MUCH

[thankskenpenders]

IDW's Knuckles 30th Anniversary special

I'm still working on finishing Shadow Generations and writing up a big thing about it (yes, yes, it's taken me a month to finish a four hour game, I know), but in the meantime we've got another new Classic era comic out from IDW! Let's talk about that.

The last Classic era release we got was the Fang miniseries earlier this year, which I mostly enjoyed but also found a bit underwhelming. It felt like we were getting diminishing returns with the Classic comics. Ian seemed to be struggling to make the Classic era feel fresh within Sega's current restrictions for that branch of the brand, a branch that by its very nature discourages experimentation and new ideas in a way that the ever-evolving Modern era doesn't. He was mostly just playing the hits, sticking the currently permitted Classic era characters next to each other in straightforward one-off adventures and letting the art team do their thing. We were getting the Ian who was happy to simply be able to take these toys out of the toy box. Again, these comics have been fine, and the art's always a treat, but the novelty of simply seeing a comic with the old character designs was wearing off for me when the stories didn't have as much meat as Ian's (or Evan's) excellent Modern era work.

And then along comes this Knuckles 30th Anniversary special, which is by far my favorite Classic Sonic comic Ian's written for IDW.

...I can't really talk about why it's so good without getting into spoilers, though. The short version is that it's a really nice little story about Knuckles and another character from the games, who's used as a great foil for him... except the solicit didn't even say which character it is, so I'm hesitant to say here. But if you're a fan of Knuckles, you should definitely just go read this. It's great. This one's mandatory reading to me.

And with that out of the way, let's dig deeper and get into the spoilers.

The spoiler zone

After an opening that very blatantly homages Tyson Hesse's old Knuckles comic (yes, the very same one that helped inspire the name of this blog), Knuckles realizes that Angel Island has drifted near the Northstar Islands from Sonic Superstars, and decides that the Master Emerald must be giving him a mission to train the archipelago's own resident guardian.

Yes, this isn't just a Knuckles comic. It's a Knuckles and Trip comic!

I was really delighted by this. I like Trip a lot, and it's nice to get this chance to expand upon her as a character. I think this is her first speaking role, even? I'm glad to see her stick around, and I'm glad to see her appear in the comics so soon, especially since we're still waiting for the mainline comics to incorporate Sage. She's still clumsy and fairly timid, like in the game, but without the looming thread of Eggman she gets to let loose a little. She's very exuberant and expressive and playful, especially thanks to Aaron Hammerstrom's fantastic art throughout the issue (complemented with inks by Rik Mack and colors by Valentina Pinto). It makes sense why she gets along so well with Amy. I hope we get to see those two interact more in the future!

Anyway, so Knuckles shows up on the Northstar Islands after contemplating his lot in life, and realizes that he and Trip have a lot in common. She's not as strong or confident as him, but they're both the last of their kind, these lone guardians of these ancient magical gemstones. He's showing up under the pretense of training her, but you can tell it's nice for him to have a kindred spirit, someone who might be able to really get him.

And then Trip's like... wait, you think I'm the last of my kind?

Yes, the Northstar Islands have actually been inhabited by a whole civilization of sungazers like Trip the whole time! We just didn't see them in the game because, y'know. Eggman was attacking. So Trip told everyone to find shelter and hide from the Badniks. (This actually makes a lot of sense, since you pass by this very village in Speed Jungle Zone. Somebody's gotta maintain those straw roofs and light those torches, and I can't imagine Trip managing all that upkeep herself.)

This also includes a grandfather for Trip, who's been training her as the archipelago's new guardian. Naturally, this has led to some speculation from fans about the old "mandates." In the wake of the Penders lawsuits and Archie's reboot, Sega declared that the comics could no longer create comic-original relatives for the game characters. Has that changed now?

Well, I'm hesitant to read too much into this. For one, as Ian has tried to drill into peoples' heads for years now, the so-called "mandates" aren't a set of concrete commandments from Sega, they just have some general guidelines for the brand, some of which have more wiggle room than others and some of which have changed over time. There's also the simple fact that Sega is working way more closely with the team at IDW, and that people like Ian and Evan are literally on the official Sonic lore team now. Ian can presumably work with the lore team and Sega to figure out Trip's family, and then go and work what they've decided on into a comic, so it's entirely possible Trip's grandpa isn't considered a comic-original character so much as he's a character conceptualized at Sega who just happens to have appeared in an IDW comic before anything else. The lines are a lot blurrier now with all this cross-pollination, compared to the Archie days when it was a separate creative team and a separate canon.

But, again, I don't want to speculate too heavily about what goes on behind the scenes. Regardless, Ian was able to use this comic to expand upon the world of the games and the characters that inhabit it, and I love it for that. It's the first of these Classic comics that feels like truly mandatory reading for the way it builds upon the games. These days we so rarely get to see communities like this in the Sonic world with their own cultures. It's not like we know anything about "hedgehog culture" or whatever. So this is a nice change of pace. The Northstar Islands feel totally different now that I know they've actually been inhabited the whole time, and knowing that Trip is part of an active community with their own history and customs puts a whole new spin on her as a character.

It also makes her a great foil for Knuckles here. He showed up on the island thinking he'd have a lot to teach Trip as someone who's got more life experience as a lone guardian, only to realize his assumptions about her life were completely wrong. Trip brags to her grandpa that Knuckles is gonna train her, but he quickly realizes he doesn't have much to teach her. She may be kind of cowardly, but she knows her way around the island, she can think on her feet, and she can handle herself well enough in a fight, in her own slapstick way.

He doesn't say as much, but you can tell Knuckles is embarrassed about all this. This clumsy kid is showing him up, even though she won't even really listen to his advice! He's also, perhaps, a bit jealous. It's not like he had a grandfather to train him in the ways of being a guardian. (Not in this continuity, anyway.) He doesn't get a whole village of echidnas to teach him about his heritage. He doesn't get fancy ceremonial armor. It's just him, a big green rock, and his two fists. He thought he had this whole guardian thing figured out, and he'd be able to give a kindred spirit like Trip some advice, but it turns out she's lived a whole different life, making him question if he even knows what he's doing. He quickly gets fed up with both Trip and himself, blowing up at her a little.

After reflecting a bit, Knuckles goes back to Trip and comes clean. He doesn't really know how to train her, because no one ever trained him. He figured things out on his own. If he had anyone there to raise him, they've been gone since he was too young to remember. He just knows he has to protect the Master Emerald. That's it. It's a pretty vulnerable moment for Knuckles, one where his dissatisfaction with his life comes to the surface.

Still, Trip sees things differently. He may be used to the fact that he lives on a giant floating island powered by a giant magic emerald, but she thinks that's, like, the coolest thing in the world. HER islands don't fly! And while Knuckles might wish he had someone to train him, Trip thinks that Knuckles becoming such a fearsome fighter all on his own, without even armor to protect him, makes him super awesome and admirable. With both of them feeling better, Trip takes Knuckles to Golden Capital to talk about her heritage as a guardian of the Northstar Islands a bit more, and Knuckles tells her that he thinks she'll be a great guardian before he heads home, once again feeling pretty good about himself.

While this is a pretty straightforward little story about how the grass is always greener on the other side, it's a very effective and sweet one that I enjoyed reading a ton. Aside from the fun of learning more about Trip and the Northstar Islands, it's just a great showcase for Knuckles. (It's definitely a way better showcase for him than his Paramount+ show, as much as I took sick pleasure in that show's baffling creative decisions.) There are also some fun details about his life in here, such as the fact that Sonic, Tails, and Amy have taken camping trips to hang out with him on Angel Island, and the fact that he trained Amy in using her hammer better.

It's just real good, and it feels like the most meaningful addition to The Canon out of any of these Classic era comics Ian's written. We're still gonna be getting more in the future, so hopefully this is a sign that Ian and the lore team have found that happy middle ground where they can keep the Classic comics familiar and nostalgic while also being able to branch out and expand upon things.

Speaking of future comics!

Coming attractions

The end of this issue confirms some things that are in the works for IDW Sonic. For one, we're getting a Chaotix 30th Anniversary special next year. Neat! They also mention some kind of Shadow one-shot dropping following the movie, however fans seem split on whether this is referring to a new story or just the "Best of Shadow" compilation one-shot that's coming out next month. So don't get your hopes up about that in case it's the latter, I guess.

And while we're still waiting for issue #75 of the main series, the IDW team is already thinking all the way ahead to #100, which should drop sometime during the 35th anniversary of the franchise in 2026. Clearly the team's still confident about the longevity of IDW Sonic and excited for the future. And I am, too! Bring on #75!

[kazooz]

Went to visit my favorite funny blue blogging site and FOUND A WONDERFUL AND SILLY SURPRISE??? I’ve (secretly) ((unironically)) been wanting one of these goofy things because they’re just *SO* ridiculous and now I’ve got not one, but TWO important checkmarks! They’re ~RAINBOW~ and VASTLY SUPERIOR and I love them. I’m laughing, this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened on this blue website, THANK YOU FOR THIS GIFT!!!!!!!

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part two

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part two word count: 33.2k

part two warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a kiss or two, my incessant need to make sunghoon a figure skater in everything I write, family drama, use of the american (usa) university system

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

part one can be found on my masterlist!

note: reuploaded from my old blog with the same name! welcome back if you've been here before, and enjoy the conclusion to part one if you're new. happy reading ♡

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The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

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PART TWO

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Jake Sim has been staring at his philosophy homework for the last twenty minutes when a stack of pastel pink papers slides across the table towards him. 

“What is this?” Much like most interactions he’s had with you, your sudden presence at Jake's favorite coffee shop is entirely unexplained. Hell, he’s not even sure how you found him here. He’d ask, if he thought you’d give him a straightforward answer. 

But Jake knows better at this point. So with a grumble, he takes out his headphones instead and prepares for a conversion that will probably put him in a worse mood than he started it in. 

Sliding down into the seat across from him without an invitation or the courtesy of an explanation, the only thing you say is, “You know, I really am starting to get a bit worried about your future success.” Nodding at the stack of papers you’ve just put on the table in front of him, you add, “How are you a third-year business major that still can’t recognize a contract?”

“I know what a contract is.” Jake defends, eyeing the papers warily, reaching out to pick them up. “But usually they’re not printed out on pink paper.” Really, who do you think you are? Elle Woods? And where did you even get this stuff? Jake doubts that this shade of pink cardstock came from the shelves of your local office supply store. Bringing the paper up closer to his nose, he levels you with a disbelieving look. “Hold on, is this paper scented?”

“Don’t put your gross nose on it! That paper is custom ordered.”

Of course it is. “Why the fuck did you print out a contract on custom ordered lavender-scented paper?”

You have the audacity to look affronted. “You should be thanking me.” With half a mind to snatch it out of his hands, you instead tell him with a glare, “Lavender is a very calming scent and probably the only thing stopping me from strangling you right now, y’know, since this entire thing is your fault.” 

Setting the papers back on the table with a little more force than necessary, Jake isn’t in the mood to play your favorite game of beating around the bush.“What entire thing? What kind of contract is this?” 

“I’m so glad you asked.” Your tone says otherwise. “Since someone’s loser brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut, just like I predicted, and someone’s mother found out about someone’s unfortunate use of the B word–”

“Hold on,” Jake’s brow creases in confusion. “I never called anyone a bitch–”

“Boyfriend,” you clarify, cutting him off. “I figured we better lay out some ground rules. You know, if we’re really gonna go for this.”

“Go for what?” Jake is still lost. “It’s just a family dinner–”

Shaking your head, you paint a perfect picture of disappointment when you tell him, “Your lack of foresight is astounding. Truly. Forget econ, I’m surprised you managed to pass classes that involve basic logic or any kind of critical thinking skills.”

Across from you, Jake does his best to close his laptop screen inconspicuously, keeping his untouched philosophy homework hidden from view. 

Then he returns, “And you don’t think you’re overreacting? Like, at all? What do we need a contract for?” Not that the lavender-scented abomination looks particularly legally binding to begin with. “Like I said, it’s just dinner–”

“For now,” you interrupt. “It’s just dinner for now. But two days ago, it was just a fundraiser, and to the best of our families’ knowledge, you were just my plus-one.” Giving him your best fake smile, you add, “And like the person at this table who has an IQ higher than a goldfish predicted, things are already getting messy. This,” you nod to the contract, “will help us clean them up before James or my mother realize that everything about you and me is nothing but one big lie.”

Jake sighs. Tries to defend himself even though he knows it’s futile. “Look, how was I supposed to know that my brother would open his big mouth to my mom?” And it really is just terrible luck all around – that James couldn’t keep a secret, that he chose to divulge it to the one person that actually cares about Jake’s love life and not just its potential effects on the family business. 

In fact, in Jake's opinion, his mother cares a little too much. The messages that started Sunday morning haven’t stopped since then. It’s a big part of the reason why his phone is currently face-down on the table that separates the two of you. Jake is not about to let you see anything that could potentially inflate your ego any more. 

His mother, however, seems to have other ideas. Right now, his message thread with her looks more like a one-sided fan club.

Mom: I can’t wait to meet her! I remember her as a little kid. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.

Mom: Does she have any dietary restrictions or allergies? I’m starting to put together the menu for this weekend.

Mom: Does she prefer white or red wine? 

Mom: Never mind the last message. I’ll just pull out some of both. 

Mom: I just stumbled across a recent picture of her. Wow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember! I hope you’re treating her well. 

Mom: Can you send me your apartment address again? I want to mail you something.

Mom: Oh, and what’s ___’s favorite kind of cookie?

Mom: Forget it. I’ll just give them to you this weekend to take with you. 

Suppressing a wince, Jake decides to put his mother’s incessant prying to the side for the time being. Right now, he needs to build the most bulletproof defense of his intelligence and common sense as possible before you keep shooting holes in it. But contrary to his beliefs, you’re not here to argue with him about where the blame for your unfortunate situation lies, at least not for the most part. 

You tell him as much. “I’m not here to yell at you about how this is all your fault.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, lips flat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “I got my anger out already. Your picture’s right in the middle of my dartboard.” Across the table from him, you smile sweetly, imitate throwing a dart directly at the center of his forehead. 

Jake can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, and somehow that’s more unnerving. 

“So what, you don’t need to hear me say that everything’s my fault? You’d rather get it in writing instead?” Jake glances at the forgotten contract. Suddenly, a wave of panic crests in his mind. “If you’re trying to sue me–”

You roll your eyes before he can finish the empty threat. “Again, that’s not what this is for.” Looking at the papers, you tilt your head, considering. “Although it’s not too late for an amendment…”

Jake cuts that train of thought off as quickly as he can. “Okay, what exactly is it for then?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Like I said, just like someone with more than two functioning brain cells predicted, your little slip of the tongue made things messy. So if I’m gonna save your ass and pretend to be your girlfriend in front of your family this weekend, we’re gonna need some kind of written agreement about how this is going to play out. Think of it as an agreement, something to outline the…” you pause, weighing your words, “expectations on both of our ends.”

A contract. A fake dating contract. It’s all Jake can do not to burst out laughing. He’s trying to egg you on a little, piss you off and push your buttons like you’re so good at doing to him when he tells you, “Y’know, it’s kind of funny how seriously you’re taking this.”

You don’t understand how he can be so blase about it all. Sure, maybe the contract was a little overkill, but the two of you are about to start pretending to be dating, to be a couple, in front of your families. It’s not something that you’re willing to walk into blindly. 

“Really? I think it��s kind of funny the whole reason I’m in this mess is because of you.” Suddenly, there’s a reignited fire in your eyes. Jake almost regrets his taunting. “In fact, I think it’s absolutely hilarious–”

“Okay, okay,” He can sense a losing battle when he sees it. Not wanting to rehash your argument from earlier or put himself at the center of any more dartboard target practices, Jake surrenders. And then he frowns. Reaching for the stack of papers again, he scans the first page. Trying to make sense of all the legal jargon and stylized formatting, he’s hesitant when he glances at you and slow to admit, “To be completely honest with you, I’m actually not that good with contracts–”

“Oh my god.”

“So, do you think you could go over the highlights for me?”

“You are absolutely insufferable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake intones flatly. “Are you talking to me or the mirror you spend five hours a day looking into?”

You kind of have to hand it to him. Ever since your run in with his brother, his insults have been landing a lot better. That one was actually pretty good. Not that you’d ever admit it. 

“Anyway,” you glare instead. “The highlights.” Nodding to the contract you spent most of last night writing up, you explain, “The first page is just basic contract language. The actual content of our proposed agreement starts on the second page.”

Following your explanation, Jake sets the first page aside, makes quick work of skimming the second. Or at least he tries to. It proves a difficult task, however, when he gets a little caught up on the very first line. 

“Really?” You’re not quite sure what kind of expression is on his face when he looks up at you. It’s an odd mix of shock, disbelief, and perhaps, if the sudden flush on his cheekbones is anything to go by, embarrassment. “Rule number one is no kissing?”

Across from him, you just rest your chin in your palm. “I know I’m crushing your dreams and all, but don’t be so surprised.”

Jake’s glare is easier to read this time. “That is not what I meant. It’s just… I don’t know.” It seems so obvious. He didn’t think you’d feel the need to actually write it out like he’s about to start trying to plant ones on you every hour of the day. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“I mean, I don’t know how family dinners work at your house, but mine usually don’t involve makeout sessions between courses.”

“Exactly,” Jake returns. “It hardly seems like something we need in writing when it’s more than easy to avoid.”

Still, you don’t back down. “Don’t blame me for erring on the side of caution. We’re pretending to be a couple in front of your brother. And we both know that you don’t exactly make the most rational decisions when he starts  pushing your buttons, boyfriend.”

The use of the pet name is intentional. It’s a reminder that Jake can’t be trusted where his older brother is concerned. Not when in the heat of the moment, he would say or do just about anything to get under James’ skin in the same way James has been getting under his for the last twenty-one odd years.  

“Point taken.” Jake can’t exactly argue that one. 

And in all honesty, Jake kinda feels like he’s getting off easy, at least with you. Not that he would ever tell you that. 

He’s feeling apprehensive about this dinner, yes, and now about being legally bound to you, but he supposes things could be a lot worse. For starters, you’d been much easier to convince than he initially thought. He wasn’t sure what kind of bribes would work on you, how he was going to get you to keep up the facade he started for one more dinner. 

Maybe, he thought,  he would be able to leverage your phone number against you in a new way. He could promise not to pass it along to James, but only as long as you did him the solid of playing the part of his girlfriend, this time at a dinner with his family. 

But that felt a little too much like blackmail, even for him. So instead, he had told you the truth. 

Listening to the phone ring after clicking on your number, it was all Jake could do not to throw his phone across the room in anticipation of your rage. But then you answered, and it all came spilling out. 

He told you that James could not be trusted with secrets but could absolutely be trusted to do everything in his power to ruin Jake’s life, even if unintentionally. He explained how his mother was now unfortunately involved, that your initial plan to just mention each other occasionally and claim that things fizzled by the time the clock struck midnight on New Year’s was no longer viable. 

You had remained completely silent for a long pause. Too long. Jake was suddenly very grateful that he took the precaution of having this conversation over the phone. Mostly because he was pretty sure if he tried to tell you face-to-face, you would cause him actual bodily harm. But instead of threats or curses or even sarcasm, Jake had listened as a long sigh came through the other line and then–

“Yeah, my mom has been asking me about you too.” Much to his shock, you were resigned to the fact, not angry at the news. And you had told him, “I’ll come to your family dinner. Just let me… Let me think about the best way to go about this.”

Less than twenty-four hours have passed since that phone conversation, and Jake shouldn’t be as surprised as he is that your idea of the best way to go about this is printed out for him on custom pink lavender-scented paper.  

Deciding to leave the kissing debacle alone for the moment, he reads through the rest of your so-called rules. With more of an idea as to what to expect, nothing shocks him quite as much as the initial line. 

He reads the second section wordlessly: Both parties will do everything in their power, to a reasonable extent, to maintain the image of a false relationship in the presence of family members and those with immediate connections to them (including, but not limited to employees, business partners, etc).

The third section covers another base: Friends and other acquaintances of both parties are not to be informed of the arrangement. Neither party is under obligation to maintain the lie of relationship with friends or acquaintances unless deemed necessary to maintain secrecy of the relationship. 

Jake glances up with a furrow in his brow. You clarify before he has the chance to ask, “Basically it’s saying that you don’t have to lie to your friends and tell them that we’re dating, unless they get suspicious or start asking. Just don’t tell them we aren’t. And absolutely do not tell them about the contract.”  

Jake nods, moves to the next line. 

Neither party may involve themself in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. Both parties are to avoid to the best of their ability any situation in which it could be interpreted that they are in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. 

“So essentially just no dating other people?” Jake asks. 

“Right.” You nod. “And try to avoid getting into situations that make it look like you might be dating someone else. I’m not gonna make you agree to stop hooking up with people or anything.” You look mildly ill at the mere proximity of Jake and the term ‘hooking up.’ “Just, y’know, be discreet about it.”

Jake looks up at you. “I’m not hooking up with other people.”

You cringe. “Thanks, but I really don’t need the gory details of your sex life. Do you understand the rule or not?”

Jake nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Great,” you move the contract aside, setting a new stack of papers down on the table. Also printed on pink paper, this pile is considerably thicker. “That’s about it for the contract, then. This,” you gesture to the new set of papers, “is for you to memorize.”

Jake would be a little less wary if it didn't look as dense as an encyclopedia. “What is it?”

“A list of everything a real boyfriend should know about me.” Jake waits for you to finish the joke, to land a punchline, but you’re entirely serious when you add, “Think of it as your ___ cheat sheet. I’ll need one for you too, of course. Preferably in the next couple of days so that I can get it down before dinner this weekend.” 

Hesitantly, Jake picks up the first page. Scanning over yet another meticulously formatted document printed on – he sniffs again – yep, lavender-scented paper, Jake privately thinks that this may actually come in handy. If nothing else, he’s sure he could reference it for some of his mom’s questions instead of needing to guess at your responses. 

It’ll help with the basics, at least. Jake is pretty sure you wouldn’t have bothered to include things like your favorite kind of cookie in there. 

But then he glances again at the stack of papers, and more specifically, how how thick it is. He looks a little closer at the page in his hand. Single spaced. He flips it over. Double sided. 

Looking over the back of the page in his hand, he forces himself to actually read some of what you’ve written. He doesn’t get far before he’s leveling you with a disbelieving look.

“Is this a prank?”

You have the gall to look confused. “Not even a little bit.”

Jake wants to tear his hair out. Because what the actual fuck? “I really don’t think anyone is going to ask me about your third favorite shade of Dior lip oil–”

“They might. And think of how suspicious it would be if you got me one as a Christmas gift or something and the color washed me out.”

Across from you, Jake’s eyes just widen. And then he’s weighing your words. 

Despite the ridiculousness, your argument does raise a point. Albeit not the one you intended. 

“Christmas gift,” Jake repeats slowly. As of now, you’re already over halfway through fall semester, which means the holidays will be approaching in just a couple of short months. Suddenly, they seem a lifetime away. “Does this contract of yours have an end date?”

“Oh, right.” Reaching for the contract again, you turn to the final page, lay it on the table in front of Jake. “Feel free to propose something else,” you offer, “but I put the termination date as January first of next year. I figured that we could use this arrangement to get us through all of the inevitable holiday parties. My family always hosts a giant one on New Year’s Eve, so I thought we could go to that together and then call it off the next day. What do you think?” You turn to him. “Too long?”

Jake discards your insane list of personal preferences for the time being and picks up the last page of the contract. At the bottom, he locates the verbiage in the final section, just above the two blank signature lines neither of you have filled yet. 

This contract will be terminated as of January 1 of the coming year. 

Jakes stares at the date for a moment. It feels odd to see an expiration date on your relationship, regardless of the fact that it’s all a facade. Seems strange to be starting something with the sole intention of ending it. But he can hardly voice those feelings, so instead he taunts, “You wanna be stuck with me that long, huh? Just can’t get enough?”

Your lips flatten as you reach for your phone. “I will literally text your brother right now.”

“Nice try,” Jake calls your bluff. “You just told me that you didn’t want your mom knowing that you lied about dating me either.”

“No,” you correct, dangling your phone between your fingers. “What I said was that I want her off my back when it comes to my dating life and who I spend my time with. It wouldn’t matter even a little bit to her whether that’s you or James. In fact, she would probably actually like him bet–”

“Whatever.” If Jake is suddenly sulking, he figures that no one needs to be aware of it. “I know you like me more than him.”

“Incorrect. I hate him more than I hate you.”

Jake stares at you blankly. “Is there a difference?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. 

“Whatever. You’re still willing to tolerate me until New Year’s.”

“Is that actually high praise to you? Do we need to start working on your self-confidence too?”

Insult aside, Jake supposes that your deadline does make sense. Although family obligations are intermittent in nature, it would be nice to have a go-to plan for every event and dinner and interaction with his older brother that he’s forced into between now and the New Year. 

Honestly, the thought of having you at his upcoming family dinner has made Jake’s steps the last two days feel a little lighter. If anything, he thinks that you’ll be a great distraction for his father. Something to talk about besides the gory details of Jake’s many failures. 

It’s a chance to be impressive in the eyes of his family, even if only in some small capacity, even if only until New Year’s. 

A moment later, Jake warily eyes the pen you hand him. “Let me guess, pink ink?”

“Obviously not.” You roll your eyes. “How would that show up on pink paper?”

So Jake’s signature is written on the first dotted line of the contract with the matte black ink of your shockingly normal ballpoint pen. Moments later, your name joins on the second line, right next to his. 

And it’s as if something shifts in the air, as if something suddenly feels a little heavier, slightly more weighted. The following silence that passes between the two of you feels like a finale of sorts. The end of something and the beginning of another. 

Looking at the boy across from you, it feels strange to say that for all intents and purposes, even if they’re fabricated, you’ll be dating him until the New Year. Showing up on his arm and laughing at his jokes and filling in the quiet moments with little displays of affection, practiced bouts of intimacy. 

It’s weird. It’s daunting. It’s not something you have any clue how to navigate, even if the contract gives you a false sense of security, of control. 

You break the moment by glancing at the clock that hangs above the front door of the coffee shop. Suddenly, your mind is elsewhere. On the other part of your original agreement. “Your first tutoring session is tonight, right?” Jungwon mentioned it to you in passing. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods. If his voice has an odd sudden hoarseness to it, you’ll both ignore it for now. “Why?”

“What time are you supposed to meet him?”

“Six-thirty.”

A second glance at the clock confirms, “It’s six thirty-five.”

“Shit!” Jake is suddenly frantic, panicked as he rushes to repack his bag and salvage what’s left of a good first impression on his tutor. 

It hardly registers when you remind him, “Don’t forget to make me a cheat sheet of things I should know about you!” Already halfway out the door, the only acknowledgement you get is a half hearted nod. 

Frowning at the mess of papers in front of you, scattered from Jake’s hasty exit, you make quick work of rearranging your newly minted contract in the correct order. 

“Men,” you whisper, to no one in particular. Even though it doesn’t land on the ears you want it to. Even though Jake is too far gone to hear it. 

…

Instead, what Jake hears a handful of minutes later, is a less than friendly reminder from the librarian at the front desk that the university library is a quiet area and that running is strictly prohibited. Still out of breath from the way he just bolted across the entire campus, all Jake can offer her is an apologetic nod. 

He pulls out his phone to double-check the brief message thread between him and Jungwon, to confirm the exact location of their first tutoring session. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [3:02 pm]: Study room 103 on the first floor

After that, there are only two other messages – one being Jake’s hasty, misspelled apology for being nearly fifteen minutes late, to which he received:

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [6:41 pm]: No problem! I’m here

After navigating his way to the reservable first floor study rooms, Jake finds himself in front of Room 103. Suddenly, a wave of self-consciousness sweeps away any adrenaline fueled by his lateness. Any lingering annoyance brought on by a conversation with you. 

Should he knock? Is there a certain etiquette to this? How embarrassed should he be that the person waiting for him with both better punctuality and significantly better grades is two years his junior, according to the sparse information you gave him?

In the end, Jake decides it would be weird to knock and chokes down all his other uncertainty. Opening the door slowly, he nods at the boy already inside. 

“Hi, Jungwon?”

If his tutor is at all put off by Jake’s lateness, he does a great job of hiding it. Jungwon is all smiles when he says, “That’s me. You must be Jake.” Jake is still stuck halfway in the door like he wants to hold onto the opportunity to bolt, just in case he needs it. Jungwon picks up on some of his hesitation. “Come on in.”

Jake does so quietly, setting his stuff down as he slides into the seat across from Jungwon. As he pulls out his laptop, Jake glances at his tutor. All smiles and friendliness, the oversized hoodie he wears looks comfortable enough to fall asleep in. Altogether, he kind of reminds him of an overeager puppy. Or at least he would, if his features weren’t so distinctly feline. 

“Sorry again for being late,” Jake mumbles, opening a Word document. “I completely lost track of time.” More like his time was completely overtaken by someone that does a great job of consuming all his senses and sends his mind spinning sideways, but Jake can hardly say that. 

Just like he did over text, Jungwon doesn’t appear bothered in the slightest by his tardiness. “It really is no problem. I’m glad you found the room alright. It’s kind of like a maze back here.”

He’s being nice again. It’s a single hallway with a handful of clearly labeled doors. But Jake isn’t one to look kindness in the mouth, especially when he’s still sitting on a pile of discomfort. Instead, he figures it’s as good a time as any to express his gratitude. 

“Thanks again for doing this, and for keeping it on the down low. ___ mentioned that you’re great at econ.”

Across from him, Jungwon shrugs. “I’m good with numbers and data and stuff like that. And I had to get good at studying pretty quick, since I’ve been on academic scholarships since middle school.”

That tidbit swirls in the air for a moment, falls through the room like a bad premonition before settling uncomfortably in Jake’s gut. It makes him wonder, makes him question a lot of things. 

What would he be like, Jake wonders, if his family name wasn’t a safety net, a security blanket in its own right? If he had to fight to earn things like the university admission letter he took for granted?  Resented, even, since it was yet another choice made for him by his father. 

Would he be like Jungwon, tutoring older students for extra cash? Forgiving people when they’re late and convincing himself that years of staring at math problems until his eyes felt like sandpaper is the same as being ‘good with numbers and stuff like that’? 

And Jake is assuming, of course. Maybe Jungwon is just good with numbers, has a natural inclination for economics. 

But the only thing Jake has ever had a natural inclination for is doing what he’s told and then blaming the world around him when he hates himself a little for it. 

All at once, he feels like an observer in his own life. An external force that does nothing but shake the snowglobe and wait to see where the dust settles, where everything lands. 

But his self-prescribed identity crisis is not Jungwon’s problem, and Jake is at least self-aware enough to know that any hardships in his life likely pale in comparison to Jungwon’s. It’s not like measuring misery has ever done Jake any good, and it feels unfair for him to be jumping to conclusions and stacking their lives against each other when all Jungwon is doing is trying to make conversation. 

So Jake decides to save the psychoanalysis for a sleepless night and is nothing but neutral when he chooses to reply to the first part of Jungwon’s comment, “Well, I’m grateful that you’re willing to help me. I’m kind of a disaster when it comes to econ.”

“So I hear,” Jungwon smiles, and Jake thinks that maybe him and Jungwon will get along just fine, whether they have the common ground of economics or not.  “Don’t let ___ tease you too hard about it, though. I used to help her, too. Back in high school.”

And if Jake was trying to stop himself from feeling sorry for Jungwon, he doesn’t have to try for very long. He suddenly thinks friendship will be a very hard thing to form. Mostly because he has the distinct sense Jungwon is reflecting on your high school days together rather fondly. Maybe a little too fondly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “I’m a freshman, so I’m a couple years younger than you guys,” he sighs like it’s a terrible thing to be and Jake has never been more appreciative of his own birth date, “but she’s been friends with my older sister for years now. ___ was always pretty good at most subjects, but physics gave her a run for her money, so I helped her a bit when I could.”

It makes sense, he supposes. Jungwon was your physics tutor, so you knew you could recommend him with confidence. With all your first hand experience. 

“You two are close, then?” Jake hates the way he sounds almost defensive. Hates the way he doesn’t recognize the odd feeling that’s beginning to swirl in his gut unpleasantly.

“We’ve definitely gotten closer,” Jungwon nods. Jake doesn’t think he’s imagining the sudden flush on the younger boy’s cheeks. “Especially since I started university here. My sister decided to get her degree abroad, but ___ and I have still stayed in touch even without her around as the middleman, y’know?”

“Right,” Jake agrees. To what, he’s not sure. He has no idea if you have the same feelings towards your relationship with Jungwon, if you’d corroborate the fact that the two of you are getting closer, if your cheeks would get a little color in them while you talked about it. 

It strikes Jake then that he really doesn't know anything about you. At least not anything substantial. And while the dictionary of personal details you’ve compiled is still sitting in his bag, he doubts it will divulge things related to relationships. Things he’s suddenly curious about. 

He can at least feel confident in the fact that you’re not currently dating anyone. He wouldn’t have just signed a contract if you were. But that still leaves a lot of gray area, a lot of questions. 

Are there any recent exes he should know about? Messy situationships that would be glad to land a few punches on him if word of your supposed relationship were to accidentally get out? 

Jake has no idea, and even less of a clue as to how to find out. But he doesn’t like the way those uncertainties settle in his gut. And he doesn’t like the way Jungwon says your name. 

Jungwon must mistake Jake’s sudden silence as passion for fixing his grades, because the next thing he says is, “Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there.” His apologetic smile does nothing to quell the riot in Jake’s mind. “Anyway,” he opens his laptop. “Economics. I figured we could start by looking at the upcoming assignment to see which parts are trickiest for you and go from there.” Glancing at the older boy, he asks, “Or did you have a different idea?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head. “That sounds good to me.” And he shouldn't say it, but, “I’ve got plans this weekend, so I’m hoping to get as much of this done as I can before then.”

“Oh,” Jungwon asks. It’s more of an effort to be polite than genuine curiosity. “Anything fun?”

Jake shouldn’t. Not considering the conversation you just had. Not considering the contract he just signed. 

“I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’m more nervous or excited.”

He really, really, shouldn’t. But–

“I’m taking ___ to officially meet my parents.” 

The way Jungwon falters is barely perceptible. Jake only notices because he’s watching for it. 

Jungwon’s brow creases for a moment, putting the pieces together until he realizes that they definitely only fit one way. “You two are dating?”

Jake tries not to be offended at the shock in his voice. “Is it that surprising?”

“I mean, kind of.” Jungwon is still reeling a bit. “When she mentioned that you were looking for a tutor, she said you were just a friend.”

And now Jake has to think of how to play his cards here. He needs to tread carefully, choose his words wisely. There are too many ways he could back himself into a corner, accidentally tell a lie he can’t talk his way out of. That’s probably, definitely, why you made the point of saying the two of you should leave your friends out of the arrangement entirely. Should only divulge the details if they start poking around first. Which Jungwon was definitely not doing. 

Ultimately, Jake decides to leave his explanation as vague as possible, hoping that the less he reveals, the less Jungwon will be able to poke at it until his lie crumbles and leaves nothing but the truth in its wake. 

Shrugging, he says, “We’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. You know how rumors can be.” They can catch fire at the first sign of wind. Can spread before there’s any chance of controlling them. Kind of like the one he’s single handedly spreading right now.

“Oh,” is all Jungwon says. And despite himself, Jake does feel kind of bad for the kid. He feels even worse when Jungwon finds his smile again a moment later and adds, “Well, I hope it all goes good for you. ___’s a great girl.”

But all that guilt is pushed to the side when that odd, unpleasant feeling at the bottom of Jake’s gut releases a little bit of tension, heaves a giant sigh of relief. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods without thinking. In his mind, he sees a gold dress, a black marker, his name in your handwriting. There’s a sliver of truth there, albeit a small one, when he agrees, “She is.”

…

Saturday night puts you back in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, a sense of deja vu overcoming you as he navigates out of your apartment building’s parking lot and onto the highway. Although this time, he did manage to avoid an argument with your doorman. Mostly because Jake Sim is now a name on your list of approved visitors. 

And there are more differences to be found. Tonight, you’ve traded your evening gown for a pair of dark wash jeans and a sweater that Jake insists his mother will love. The aged bottle of red wine you brought as a gift for his parents has a bow wrapped around its neck where it sits on the back seat of Jake’s car. 

If nothing else, Jake has to applaud your insistence that you not show up as an empty-handed guest. Your commitment to the facade is truly admirable, even if it is motivated by the contract you keep safe and sound in the top drawer of your desk. 

And finally, as opposed to the drive to your family’s fundraiser, this commute is far from silent. 

“Good,” you nod, praising Jake’s most recent answer. Despite his initial protests, he did his studying. And if his string of correct responses is anything to go by, you seem to be a subject he has an easier time grasping than economics. Or perhaps one he simply has more vested interest in. “And my top three favorite colors are?”

“One,” Jake answers seamlessly. “Gold, but only if it’s 24 karat. Two, the exact red of the Herm��s Satin Lipstick in shade Rouge H. Three is pink. But not hot pink. You like softer shades, like baby pink.” Like that damn contract. 

“Nicely done. My major is?”

“Pre-law,” Jake fills in. “But you’re still undecided on if you’ll attend law school after graduation.”

It’s a tidbit that he finds mildly interesting. He’s not surprised that like him, like James, you’re following in your parents’ footsteps. As the daughter of ridiculously successful lawyers, it’s a career path that makes perfect sense for you. 

And the compassion also has him thankful for the partnership between your families, which has undoubtedly done you both some favors. First, Jake suspects that a few under-the-table deals have likely funded more than one of his childhood family vacations. And second, it adds credibility, at least from an outsider’s perspective, to the relationship the two of you are faking. 

He does wonder why you’re undecided on law school, though. If law is your field of choice, it seems like a natural progression. Not to mention that as third-year university students, the two of you are running out of time for indecision. Jake is well-acquainted with this particular reality, but it strikes him as out of character that you are as well.  

From the outside, at least, you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. Someone who has it all together, who has a ten-year plan and the actual conviction to see it through to the end. Unlike him, who’s still grasping at straws where all matters of his future are concerned. 

A fact that he’s reminded of when you say, “You know, I didn’t exactly have high hopes, considering your academic track record, but that was perfect.” You shift in your seat, preparing for a challenge. “Okay, your turn. Quiz me.” 

Your work has been undeniably easier. As opposed to the multi-page, double sided, single spaced abomination you handed him a few days ago, the Jake Sim cheat sheet still sitting on your night stand was nothing but a small assortment of facts that fit on a single sheet of paper. 

But now, the subject of your major takes Jake from thinking about your future to thinking about the classes you’re currently taking. Which makes him think of something he hasn’t been able to let go of since his first tutoring session a few nights ago. Instead of cooperating, he hands the reins to what’s been weighing on his mind. “Are you taking any physics classes?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “You were doing so well. And you literally just answered that one. I’m a pre-law major, remember?”

But Jake needs to know. Doesn’t quite have the room to think about anything else right now. “Just answer the question.”

The glance you give him is scathing, but you can sense that he’s not going to let it go until he gets his answer. “No, I’m not taking physics.” Jake hates the way that odd feeling in his gut makes a sudden reappearance, hates the way it unclenches at your response. “I haven’t since high school. I hate that stupid subject.”

Still, he can’t stop himself from offering, “Well, if you ever do–”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“I was pretty good at it in high school.” He’s only kind of lying. He was pretty decent at it, at least the times he bothered to finish his homework. 

“... Okay?” You still don’t see a point to this sudden detour in the conversation. 

“So I could, uh, I could help you out. If you ever have to take it for some reason, I could help with your homework and stuff.”

“Right, because the first person I would go to for homework help is definitely Mr. I Failed Economics Twice.” Jake can hear the sarcasm. He thinks to himself, a little miserably, that if you were actually picking someone to go to, it would probably be the same person tutoring Jake now. Your old physics tutor from high school. 

Jake will pretend that the way that makes his blood pressure rise is only because he’s worried Jungwon won’t have as much time for their sessions if he picks you back up as a client. 

“Don’t hold econ against me. They’re entirely different subjects–”

“Whatever.” You cut him off. “Who gives a shit about physics? Just quiz me.”

Jake wants to press it. He really does. Wants to ask his real questions, which have a lot less to do with physics and a lot more to do with a certain econ tutor, but it’s not like you’d entertain his curiosity there either. So he relents. “Fine.” Trying to remember what he even wrote on the sheet he gave you, he starts with, “My major is?”

“Business.” Slightly quieter, you mumble, “A questionable choice, if you ask me.”

“Hey!” Jake protests. “I didn’t add any commentary to your ridiculous answers.” And some of them had been ridiculous, indeed. “I mean, seriously. You made me memorize your five favorite necklines.”

“Clearly not, since you put sweetheart and off-the-shoulder in the wrong order.”

Jake just blinks. How are you a real person? “You are actually the most annoying person I have ever met.”

The dig rolls right off your shoulders as you return one of your own. “That’s hardly even an insult, considering the size of your social circle. It’s not my fault you don’t get out much.”

“It’s like you want me to kick you out on the side of the highway–”

“And show up to your family dinner without me? Yeah, sure.”

“Besides, you know that means you’re admitting to being more annoying than Heeseung–”

“On second thought, the side of the highway sounds nice. Feel free to drop me at the next mile marker.”

“Yeah?” Jake taunts, glancing down at your choice in footwear. Another pair of heels so tall he’s impressed you can walk at all. “You think those shoes would be comfortable to walk home in?” Taking one hand off the wheel, he leans over menacingly. “In fact, why don’t I break them in for you now–”

“Okay,” you push back at him in a way that’s probably unwise, considering the fact that he’s driving. “Okay. No extra comments from me.” You mime zipping your lips with your finger. “You’re a business major. End of answer.”

Jake doesn’t believe you for a second. But after pausing to send you a withering glare for good measure, he continues anyway. “Sport I played growing up?”

Much to his surprise, your answer is genuine, concise. “Soccer.” And correct. 

“Pets?”

“Just a dog. Layla.”

As the road stretches on in front of you, back and forth quizzing takes you all the way to his parents’ house. As he pulls into the long driveway, Jake spares a glance in your direction. You wear an expression he hasn’t seen on you before. 

It confuses him a little, worries him even, until he realizes–

“Hold on. Are you… nervous?”

“What about it?” Even visibly tense, your gut reaction is to deny, to make excuses. Finally, you admit, “It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone’s mom.”

Jake almost considers telling you that he’s pretty sure she’d redecorate one of the guest bedrooms and put your name on the door if she thought you’d like that, but decides against it. 

“Hey,” he reaches for your hand instead, interlaces your fingers. “My mom will love you.” In fact, she probably already does. “It will be just fine.”

Jake supposes that divulging just one of her many messages from this week couldn’t hurt. Besides, he’s half afraid you’ll actually run back down the street the two of you just drove up if he doesn’t give you some sort of confidence boost. “She’s really excited to meet you. That cheat sheet of yours actually came in handy, because she asked me what your favorite kind of cookie is. She’s sending us back with a box of homemade snickerdoodles tonight.” What Jake doesn’t mention is the fact that he’s never been big on cinnamon. 

“Really?”

“Mhm. So there’s no need to wor–”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad is…” Jake trails off, searching for the right words. “He’s a businessman. In a lot of ways, he’s difficult. And very set in his ways, which makes him particular. But on the outside, he’s easy to get along with. He wants to make a good impression on people. And even if he didn’t, you really don’t have anything to worry about there either. His biggest concern is always how things will reflect on the company, and you’re pretty much as perfect as it gets in that regard.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “And we both know my brother’s kind of obsessed with you.”

And he really did set himself up for it, he realizes, the second you turn to him with a wink and say, “Must run in the family.” Jake won’t even argue with you on that one for now. His mission was to get you out of your head and back to your usual self. The version of you that he knows and occasionally tolerates. The version of you that could probably win an Oscar for playing the role of is fake girlfriend, if you really put your mind to it. 

So before you can start to linger on your worries again, Jake steps out of the car. Makes quick work of walking around the front to open the passenger side door for you. 

When he offers you, and outstretched hand, you take it. This time, it’s you that initiates the interlacing of your fingers. Glancing at the expanse of the home in front of you – although mansion may be a better word for it – you take a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Jake echoes your words from your family’s fundraiser just a week ago. 

You’re a little less confident this go around. “As I’ll ever be.”

Jake, too caught up in his attempts to soothe your frayed nerves, forgets to warn you that Layla can be a bit of a jumper, especially with new people. Sure enough, the first person to greet the two of you as spoon as he turns the doorknob is his favorite family pet. Honestly, Jake is a little more concerned about the bottle of wine in your hands than anything. 

Especially when, just as he remembered a little too late, Layla makes quick work of giving you an overexcited greeting. 

When he does finally manage to get her mostly off of you, he’s relieved to note that the alcohol is unharmed. With a bit more trepidation, he lets his eyes wander up to your face. It’s a safe bet, he thinks, that someone with five favorite necklines isn’t a fan of obnoxious furry greetings.

To his surprise, however, the only expression he reads is pleasant surprise. 

“This is Layla?” You ask. Jake nods, still a bit strained from the way he’s preventing Layla from trying to lick at your face and leave paw prints on your jeans. 

But that’s not what you’re thinking about. No, you’ve suddenly been transported to an unfortunate forty-five minutes wasted in a restaurant all on your own. The catalyst of all of this. 

Because Layla is the same dog you saw while doom scrolling James’ social media profile. You thought she was cute, back then, sandwiched between gym selfies and other photos more telling of James’ awful personality. 

But now, looking at the way she almost seems to smile while Jake scratches her behind the ears, wraps her up in a big, warm hug, you think you just might like her even more. 

You’ve never seen your fake boyfriend look at anything with so much… fondness. It’s palpable, all of his pent up love, as he lets some of it loose to shower Layla with it. Everything about him is a little easier, a little more relaxed. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the absence of tension in his jaw. 

Most of all, you see it in his smile. Bright, warm, genuine. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear that expression before. It suits him, you think, as you reach down to give her a greeting of your own. 

“Hi, Layla,” you smile, reaching down to pat her on the head. 

And if that makes Jake turn to look at you with a little too much fondness, you’ll assume it’s just lingering remnants of his reunion with his favorite girl. Layla, that is. 

You’re pretty sure the two of them could spend hours just catching up, especially when Layla turns onto her back in a silent demand for tummy rubs, but a voice from a nearby room cuts it short. 

“Jake?” A distinctly feminine voice calls. “Is that you?”

“Well,” Jake gives Layla one final pat for good measure, turns his eyes to you as he stands. “Shall we?”

You don’t mean to be, but you’re nervous again. This is his family, his space, his mother. Not only are you a stranger here, but one that’s been invited under false pretenses. There are too many things to fuck up, too many ways you could send this evening spinning sideways by accident. 

Here in the entryway, with just you, Jake, and Layla, things feel peaceful, simple. You know that just a few steps in the direction of his mother’s voice will turn that calm in your chest upside the head. You’re not ready for it. You’re not. 

You don’t respond to Jake’s invitation, but he reads your hesitation all the same. 

“Hey,” he whispers, all the hard edges gone from his voice as he steps a little closer. “She’s gonna love you.” Again, his hand finds yours, slides his fingers through your own and finds little resistance on your end. 

She. You don’t know how he knows, when you haven’t told him, but it’s true. You don’t care all that much about pleasing his father and even less so about making a good impression on his brother, but his mom… 

You care. You don’t know why, but you care. 

And you don’t know how, but Jake knows. 

You hope his words aren’t empty reassurances as you let him tug at your hand, pull you a little further into his home, wrap you a little more inextricably into the threads of his life. 

His mother waits for you in the living room. A head or two shorter than her youngest son, she has nothing but a smile for him as she pulls him into a hug, reaching up to wrap her hand around the back of his shoulders. 

Your hand is still linked with his. The angle makes it somewhat awkward, but neither of you is quite ready to let go. 

Looking over his shoulder, her eyes settle on you. Breath suddenly stuttering in your chest, your knees feel a little wobbly underneath you. 

Jake won’t let you fall. As soon as his mother releases her embrace, he’s tugging you closer. He undoes the bind of your hands only to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. 

“Mom,” he introduces, smiling. “This is ___,” eyes locking with yours, he adds , “my girlfriend.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was proud of the fact.

And then his mother is looking at you. Really looking at you. It’s hard not to wither under her stare, hard not to brace for the results of her inevitable appraisal. But where you expect to see scrutiny, judgment, disdain, you only see a smile. A warm one. A real one. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, and you almost have the feeling that she means it. 

Remembering yourself, your role for the evening, you give her a smile of your own. “It’s lovely to meet you too.” You hope your voice is more steady than it feels. “You have a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me to it.” Remembering the bottle of wine still encased in your hold, you hold it out towards her. “And this is for you.”

“Oh,” she beams, accepting the gift. Reading the label, she admonishes lightly, “You shouldn’t have. How did you know this is my absolute favorite?”

Glancing at her son, you admit, “I may have had some help.”

“Well at least one of us got some guidance.” She leans towards you, pulling your arm into her own and leaving Jake behind the two of you. “Tell me, what do you prefer? White or red?”

“Usually white.” 

Jake rolls his eyes at your answer, or rather, the brevity of it. According to the stack of papers you made him memorize, your real answer is…

Chardonnay with poultry, sauvignon blanc with seafood, pinot grigio with dessert, pinot noir with red meat (unless it’s ribeye, then cabernet sauvignon)...

But it does make him smile, the way you fall into step at his mother’s side so naturally. The way she makes you flush when she gives you yet another compliment on your hair or your outfit or your beauty. 

Even the protest dies on his lips when he hears her whisper a little too loudly, “And how do you put up with him when he’s in one of his moods? You know, the one where he gets all cranky and can’t be reasoned with at all.”

At her side, you just giggle. Jake would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was kind of adorable. 

He likes it, watching you and his mom together. Watching her light up at the chance to finally have a pretty girl to fawn over. His mother loves her sons – Jake has never doubted this for a moment – but there’s a certain kind of connection that only comes with a daughter. 

It’s a shame, he thinks, that your own mother is in the habit of squandering it with criticism and shame and admonishment. 

Watching the two of you now, Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever seen his mom enjoy herself more. When the three of you reach the dining room, she insists that you take the seat directly across from her. Even in her excitement, she won’t let anyone fill the seat next to you except for your boyfriend. 

It’s sweet, the way she dotes on you. And Jake is content to just watch, for the time being, hoping you and her both enjoy it as long as you can. 

Until New Year’s, that voice in his head reminds him. And suddenly, even with the back half of a semester in front of him, the holidays don’t seem so far away. 

The conversation only dies down slightly when his father and brother enter the room. Even in the comfort of his own home, his father strikes an imposing presence. He’s not cold when he introduces himself to you, reaching out an arm for a firm handshake, but there is no extra warmth embedded in the action either. After sending his youngest son a nod, he takes his seat at the head of the table. 

James doesn’t bother with formalities. Sliding down next to his mother, he’s already a little smug when he says, “Hi Jake.” Pausing, he glances towards you. “___.”

“James,” you return, smile significantly faker than it was moments ago. 

Jake is debating how worth it it would be if he kicked his older brother under the table when the first course is brought out, interrupting that train of thought. 

After passing the first set of dishes around and filling your plates, his mother is the first to pose a question. To test your thorough preparation for the evening. 

“So,” she asks, taking a sip of wine. “How did you two meet?”

And it’s such an obvious question. Such a painfully straightforward inquiry and yet somehow, too wrapped up in getting a contract signed and memorizing each other’s fun facts, it’s something the two of you completely neglected to cover.  

You both freeze, absence of a mutually agreed-upon backstory making you look like twin deer in headlights where you sit next to each other. 

A beat passes. Two. 

You say, “a mutual friend” at the same exact moment he says, “a class.”

Passing each other panicked looks, you smooth things over with a shaky, “A mutual friend in our class.” After a steadying breath, you add, “We have a mutual friend in our class, and he introduced us.”

“Oh, how nice.” Jake’s mom smiles. Turning to her youngest son, she asks, “Which friend was it? Someone I know?”

“Heeseung,” Jake nods, just as you say, “Sunghoon.”

This time, Jake is the one to cover your tracks. 

“My friend Heeseung and her friend Sunghoon know each other,” he explains. “I guess it’s technically two mutual friends, since we met through them.”

“And all four of you are in the same class together,” Jake’s mom is still beaming. “That’s awfully lucky. What a coincidence.” 

“You could say that again,” James mumbles under his breath across the table, decidedly less enchanted by the false tale of your first meeting. And considerably more suspicious. His eyebrow is arched when he asks, “What class did you say it was, again?”

Your brain scrambles only for a second. “Econ,” you answer quickly. Jake’s struggles aside, you figure that it's your best bet, considering that at least two of the four people you’ve listed are actually in that class. 

The glare that strikes the side of your face from Jake’s seat is frigid enough to kill a houseplant. 

“Econ,” James echoes flatly. And then something a little sinister enters his eyes. His spine straightens, poised for offense, when he directs to you, “I hope Dr. Kang isn’t as much of a hardass as he was when I was in school.”

You open your mouth to reply, probably to bite back with something along the lines of the class actually being rather easy, or you having a stellar rapport with Dr. Kang.

But Jake spots the trap before you can fall into it and cuts you off just as quickly. “It’s Dr. Jeong, actually.” He’s not glaring at his brother, but there’s no extra kindness in his stare. “I’m sure you remember, since you always say that he was your favorite professor.”

“Oh.” James’ eyes slide to his little brother. “That’s right. My mistake.” But his words make you think the switch in names was intentional bait, not a lapse in memory. Bait you almost fell for. 

Before you can let the implications of that sink in, Jake’s father directs his attention towards you, speaking for the first time. “You’re a business major, too, then.” It’s not exactly a question, even though he doesn’t know for certain. Even though he’s wrong. But men like Jake’s father don’t get to where they are by asking questions. They get there by making assumptions and talking over everyone else in the room until wills bend to their whim and reality is what they’ve made it. 

Still, Jake’s voice is steady when he corrects, “No she’s a pre-law major.”

Something flashes in his father’s eyes, but he says nothing. 

His mother, on the other hand, passes her youngest son a look. “I think ___ can speak for herself.”

It’s under his breath, but just a little too audible for comfort when Jake argues, “Not after I just had to memorize–”

“The entire case with me!” The sudden volume of your outburst rings awkwardly in the air. Adjusting your voice, you add to your explanation, “We got a crazy complicated case assigned in criminal law a couple weeks ago.” If the elbow nudge you give Jake is a little too hard, no one bats an eye at the way he winces slightly. “I’ve been talking about it so much I’m sure Jake has practically memorized it.”

Jake’s father hears what he wants to. Picks through the pieces of what you say and paints his own picture. “It’s nice to see a young person so dedicated to their studies.” No one at the table misses the way his eyes slide over to his second son. “And the family business by extension. I’ve always liked your parents,” he nods to you. “And they’ve been excellent partners. You’re going to law school, then, I assume? After you graduate.”

Jake can practically see the answer you typed out for him, words stamped in his brain from the amount of times he forced himself to look over them. My major is pre-law, you’d written in a font that’s almost as high maintenance as you. I’m considering attending law school after finishing undergrad, but I’m still undecided. 

But then he hears you say, “That’s the plan.” 

Jake can’t quite help the way he glances over at you, a question on his face, written all over his features. The two responses can’t hold true at the same time. 

One of your answers, either the one you typed for him or the one you’ve just given his father, is a lie. If the way your shoulders round slightly is any indication, he thinks the packet you gave him must be the real one. 

But as his father nods at you approvingly across the table, you just smile at Jake. Then you shake your head slightly, almost imperceptibly. He reads it as you intend it – a silent signal to move on and act as if nothing’s amiss. A nonverbal request to just let it go. 

Across the table from the two of you, his mother is the one to speak next, to divert the conversation from one area of dangerous territory to another. “James tells me that you two were together at your family’s fundraiser event.” Like Jake considered earlier, it’s all you can do not to kick him under the table at the reminder. That gossipping little shit. “You’ll have to pass on my apology to your mother that we couldn’t make it. But I have to say, I’m surprised the two of you decided to announce your relationship by attending together.” She frowns, but there’s a lightness in her tone that tells you she’s not mad, not really. “And I still can’t believe you made me hear it from your brother!”

Jake, thankfully, handles that one with ease. “We’ve been keeping things pretty close to the chest these last few weeks.” He glances at you fondly, and you have to applaud him. From the outside, you think it must look quite genuine. “We just liked each other.” Under the table, he takes your hand back in his. You assume that he’s just caught in the moment, forgets the fact that there’s no way for his family to see the display of affection. “We wanted to see where things would go.” Turning back to his mother, he adds, somewhat apologetically, “It was never meant to be some big announcement. Of course, I would have told you, Mom, when we did actually announce our relationship.” Jake lets his eyes fall on his older brother. “If someone hadn’t beat me to it.”

You can see the way James’ hackles rise, and so can she. 

Sensing the potential for another argument to brew, his mother cuts in again, smoothing over the tension. “Well, what’s done is done.” Turning to you, she smiles. “And we’re very happy to have you here, ___. I hope my son is treating you well.”

Jake isn’t sure how you manage to do it without grimacing, without turning up your nose at the lie, but you assure his mother, “He is.” And your smile looks almost genuine. “The very best,” 

Jake isn’t the only one that seems to think that you mean it. Across the table, his mother swoons while James crumples a little. His father just looks mildly disinterested, if anything. 

And those expressions remain steady for the rest of the evening, more or less, as you and Jake take turns spinning tales of the early days of your romance. He divulges the details of the outfit you were wearing on your so-called first date (a top with a sweetheart neckline, not off-the-shoulder), and you supplement with a tall tale of the time Jake saved you from getting soaked to the bone when he showed up outside of your lecture hall with an umbrella after a torrential downpour began out of nowhere. 

After a while, even his beaming mother can only handle so much sappiness, and she begins the end of the evening by excusing herself, referencing an early morning tomorrow as her reason for leaving. After giving you both one final hug, she bids you both goodnight. His father follows soon after, sans hug, leaving the table to take an urgent business call. 

In an effort to escape James and his wandering eye, Jake is quick to excuse the two of you moments later, whispering some half hearted excuse about giving you a tour of the house. To his credit, he does actually lead you around a handful of rooms on the first floor, but the tour is cut short by the time the two of you go up the stairs and step out onto the outdoor balcony on the second floor. 

The cool autumn air is refreshing, washes away lingering anxieties from a few close calls, a handful of narrow escapes from certain fiascos. From keeping up your hastily constructed lies for an entire evening.

For long minutes, the two of you are content to say nothing at all. And Jake isn’t uncomfortable in the silence, but after a while, he still searches for something to fill it. Something to get a conversation going. Something to see where your head's at. He finally settles on, “I can’t believe we forgot to come up with a story of how we met.”

He half expects you to say something scathing. To use your wit to insult or blame him for the lack of foresight, but you don’t. Instead, you exhale. And then you agree, somewhat amused, “Me neither.”

“I think we did alright, though,” Jake reasons. He hates to admit it, but, “That cheat sheet idea of yours came in handy, after all.”

Again, he doesn’t get the sarcasm he expects. “No kidding.” And then you’re the one looking for ways to keep the interaction flowing. Something to fill the silence. “Your mom seems nice.”

“She is,” Jake nods. And he knew she would like you just as much. “She’s the person I’m closest to in my family.”

“Mm,” you hum. You can see why. She’s warm in a way that your own has never been. But it’s not like Jake exactly got dealt an easy hand when it comes to family members. You mean it when you tell him, “Your brother still sucks.”

Jake just laughs. “And I wouldn’t hold my breath for that to change anytime soon.”

A half smile pulls at your lips. It’s replaced by a small frown when you suppose it’s time to comment on the last guest of the evening. “You were right, in the car. Your dad is… intense.” It’s not like you exactly hit the jackpot of parental relationships, but you can’t imagine it’s easy for Jake to have a father like that, to have grown up with those expectations, those scrutinizing eyes, weighing on his shoulders. 

Instead of responding, Jake just looks at you for a moment. His eyes trace your profile, committing details to memory, as you look out at the night in front of you. And then he says, “Can I ask you something?”

You sigh. You’re still not looking at him, but you can sense the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Aren’t you going to anyway?”

Jake shakes his head even though you can’t see it. “I wouldn’t have asked for permission if I was going to anyway.”

A moment of silence rings in the air. And then, “Okay.”

Jake isn’t sure what you’re referring to. “Okay, you agree or okay, I can ask?”

At that, you turn to look at him. “Both, I guess.”

Jake meets your eye, considers the best way to ask what’s been weighing on his mind for the better part of the evening. “When my dad asked you about law school,” he starts, “why did you tell him that you’re planning to go? You wrote that you still aren’t sure on the paper you gave me.”

You only pause for a moment. “It’s what he wanted to hear.”

“What?” There’s no evasiveness in your words, but Jake is still looking for clarity.

Sighing, you elaborate, “Your dad didn’t want to hear about my indecisiveness when it comes to the future. He wanted to hear about the plan I have. One that would make sense to him. So I told him what he wanted to hear.” Breaking eye contact, you look back out at the stars. “Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.”

But Jake still has one other question. He might be pressing his luck, but he asks anyway, “Why haven’t you decided? About law school, I mean?”

Your gaze lands somewhere in the distance, somewhere it might take light years to reach. “What do you want to hear?”

For the second time, Jake asks,“What?”

It’s ironic, almost, how easily you’re able to rifle through his insecurities, his inner thoughts. “What do you want to hear? Something that will make you feel better about having questions about your future? Something that will make you believe you’ll have everything figured out soon?” The stars blink above you, and you ask him again, “What answer do you want to hear from me?”

Jake realizes it then, under the glow of fading moonlight, why you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. It’s not accidental, but it’s also not entirely honest. Perfection, he realizes, is your identity of choice – it’s what you think other people want from you. So you construct it, you practice it, you create it. And then you give it. You let people do what they want with it. 

But Jake isn’t asking about your future career plans because he’s trying to feel better about himself. He’s not trying to stack up your lives next to each other and see how his compares. He’s not trying to put cracks in the exterior you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

But he does want a glimpse of what’s underneath.  

So when he answers, he opts for a third option. “The truth.” Above you, the moon glows. “I want to hear the truth.”

If it catches you off guard, you recover quickly. You’re not sure what it is about this moment that has you wanting to spill your guts, but you can’t remember the last time someone asked. The last time someone cared.

So you tell him, with all your honesty, “I don’t want to go to law school. I never have. My mother has made it clear that that’s the expectation, though. So I can’t decide how willing I am to estrange myself completely. To potentially lose what’s left of our relationship.”

Jake listens. He hears you. He gets it. “What would you do?”

It’s another answer that comes easy, even though the question hasn’t been asked by anyone in a long, long time. “Architecture.” Your smile is small, but it’s real. “I had a great aunt who was an architect. And she always used to tell me, when I was kid, that the secret is to put a little love into everything you build. It doesn’t have to be actual buildings, of course. That was just her thing, y’know? The thing she could always put a little love into, even on the hard days.” You sigh. “Truth be told, I don’t hate law. It’s interesting, and I’m good at it. But it’s not something I’ve ever been able to put a little love into.”

You turn to him, words still ringing in the air. You ask, “What about you? Was business always your calling?”

If you can give him the truth, Jake supposes he ought to return the favor. “To be honest, I have no idea. It was never a question. It was always a given that I would study business and take on some kind of role in the company.” He turns over your great aunt’s words in his mind. “But I don’t think it’s something I have any love for. Not even a little.”

“So what would you do?” You echo his question back to him. “If you could do anything?”

Jake’s answer comes less easily. “I don’t know.” You raise an eyebrow. “I really don’t. To be honest, I don’t even think I could tell you most of the other majors that are offered at our university. It’s always been business. It’s what my whole family does. Even Jay, my closest friend, is a business major too.” Jake realizes how odd that must sound, but it’s true. “It’s all I really know.”

“Hm,” you muse. He can see the wheels spinning in your brain, the beginning of an idea. “Maybe it’s time for you to find your thing, then. Somewhere to put your love.”

“Yeah, right,” Jake scoffs. He doesn’t think that’s possible, and especially not at this point. “I may not ever be the CEO, but I still don’t want my dad to disown me. And besides, we’re in our third year. Not exactly the best time to change my major.”

“Yeah,” you agree, but Jake can tell you still haven’t quite let it go. “I suppose you’re right.”

This time, when the silence between you returns, you let it linger. With nothing but the pale glow of the night sky and quiet whispers of the wind, long moments bleed into each other. You take it all in, let it all wash over you – the stillness, the chill of an autumn breeze, the presence of the boy at your side.  

And it’s a long time before either of you moves again. 

…

At this point, Jake really should be used to ominous, slightly threatening messages from you. Still, he can’t help but stutter a bit when he checks his phone after another tutoring session with Jungwon the following week. 

Without any family events looming on the horizon, you and Jake have had a few days to yourselves without any fake dating facade to follow. Aside from the white lies Jake slips Jungwon every now and then, he hasn’t seen or mentioned you since e dropped you back off at your apartment after dinner at his parents’ house last weekend. 

His thoughts, however, are an entirely different matter. No matter where he is, what he’s doing, they have the very annoying habit of always straying back to the same scene. A moonlit balcony. A cool autumn breeze. The most scraps of truth he’s ever been given from you at once. A thousand misconceptions shattered and reconstructed all in a single moment. 

Still, Jake’ not quite sure how to interpret the message that greets him, other than as a very direct threat. 

You [7:48 pm]: Meet me at the far end of the quad next to the library tomorrow at 2:45 or I’m telling your brother we broke up and I have uncontrollable romantic feelings for him

Jake [8:02 pm]: Should I be scared?

He’s not reassured by your reply.

You [8:04 pm]: :)

So Jake is standing on the far end of the quad, beside the library, the next afternoon at 2:42 when he sees you approaching. 

The first thing you do when you finally reach him is swat at the baseball cap he’s wearing, knocking it askew. “What are you, a frat boy?”

“It’s sunny,” Jake defends, fixing his hat. Something you’re well aware of, if the obnoxiously large sunglasses balanced on the bridge of your nose are anything to go by.

“You know,” you tilt your head, giving it a second thought. “The hat might be kind of perfect, actually.” Deciding to divulge the reason for your message, you tell him, “I need you to come somewhere with me.”

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly thrown by the lack of details. He needs a little more warning than this, if he’s expected to play the role of your boyfriend convincingly. “Is this,” he leans in close, waits for a group of students to pass by before he whispers apprehensively, “a contract thing?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, don’t like, start hitting on other girls in front of witnesses or anything, but we don’t have to act like a couple.”

Now, Jake is even more confused. “Then where are we going?”

Never one to give in easily, all you say is, “You’ll see.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me more information.”

“I literally have James’ phone number in my favorites.”

He holds his ground. “And I have the right to know where you’re taking me!”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “Fine. We’re going to the Student Union Building.” A multipurpose building in the center of campus, it’s a typical place for events that are too large to be hosted anywhere else. Which really doesn’t give Jake much to work with.

“Why?” His question is slow, suspicious. 

“My god.” You throw your hands in annoyance. “I’m going to have to start paying Jungwon double if this is how annoying you are when you have a question about something. Just come with me,” you reiterate. “You’ll see what we’re doing soon enough.”

“But–”

It doesn’t matter, you’re already grabbing his hand in yours, more or less dragging him through the quad towards the Student Union Building before he can get his protest out. Jake’s eyebrows are still creased in confusion when you pull him through the front doors and he sees the unusually large crowd of people inside. 

Then, he sees the banner hanging from the ceiling. His lips flatten into a thin line. 

“Absolutely not.” But you’re already behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him towards the makeshift check-in counter. 

“Hi!” The student employee greets, far too cheerfully in Jake’s opinion. If she notices the way your knuckles are white around his arm, holding him in place, she doesn’t comment on it. Jake pulls his hat down further over his eyes. “Are you two here for the Explore Our Majors event?”

“Yep,” you beam. And Jake is actually going to kill you. “I’m in my third year here, but my friend Ja–”

“Jacob,” Jake intercedes. 

“Right.” You spare a glance at him. “My friend Jacob.” You’re still way too excited when you lie, “He’ll be a freshman soon, and he’s hoping to look around and see all the different programs that are offered here. Do we need to go in a certain order or anything? Or is there somewhere we need to sign in?” 

There better not be. Like hell is he putting the name Jake Sim on a sign-in sheet for a major exploration event for freshmen. It’s not like his father has time to poke around at things like this, but his claws and connections run deep where this school is concerned. And Jake imagines he would be less than pleased to find out his son is wasting his time doing something so frivolous. Or something that could signal any kind of disinterest in the future that’s been laid out for him, his eventual place at his father’s company.

“Nope,” she smiles. “Each major has its own table, and majors are grouped by college. So all the STEM tables are over there, for example,” she points over to where a group of high school seniors are flipping through pamphlets. “You can just wander around as you like and chat with the people at the tables. There’s a mix of students and faculty. Oh, and each major should have a pamphlet you can pick up too, if you’d like.”

“Great,” you grin back. “Thank you.”

Again, if she sees the way you practically have to yank Jake by the arm to get him to move, she doesn’t comment on it. But once you’re out of earshot, he does lean down to hiss in your ear, “Why the fuck are we at the Explore Our Majors event for incoming freshmen?”

“Why do you think?” Your voice is entirely too loud. He has half a mind to slap his palm over your mouth to prevent you from spilling his secrets here in the middle of the Student Union Building’s largest event hall. “We’re finding you somewhere to put your love.” The large group of girls that walks by do a double take and then proceed to take turns shooting him death glares. 

Jake panics. “Would you stop saying it like that?”

You roll your eyes, paying the group of girls and his worries no mind. “Don’t knock my great aunt. Anyway, where do you want to start? Should we go over to the STEM tables?” Pausing to consider, you ask, “Or is your performance in econ more indicative of your math and science skills in general? We could look for liberal ar–”

“I just told you this weekend that I was good at physics.” It may have been a white lie, but who’s keeping track? 

“Oh, right.” You nod, eyes already searching for the table in question. “Should we go there, then?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head immediately. “I was good at it.” Questionable. “But I didn’t really like it.” A lot more true. 

“Alright,” you agree. Spinning to look in the other direction, you take him with you “Humanities it is. Or we could always go the fine arts route.” You turn to look at him for a moment, assessing. “You know, I feel like you would actually be a great dancer. You have the face for it.”

“Has that ever made sense to anyone you’ve said it to?”

“Wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “You’re the first.” Trying not to read too much into that, Jake lets you pull him along until you’re standing in front of a table with a rather gaudy ‘Journalism’ banner hanging on the front. 

“Hi,” you smile at the students standing behind it. Jake pulls his hat down a little further. You don’t know a whole lot about journalism other than the basics, but you’re pretty sure they’re also in charge of student media on campus. “You guys run the student newspaper, right?” 

Picking up a pamphlet, you nod as the boy behind the table answers brightly, “Yeah, we do.” He’s proud when he adds, “Our last issue was one of our most read yet. We ran a really great article on the front page about the importance of understanding how economic trends affect our daily lives–”

Delicately setting the pamphlet back down on the table, you glance at Jake before apologizing to the overeager boy, “I’m sorry, but I think Jacob and I are gonna head to the next table.” 

ANd then you’re dragging him along again.

“Okay,” you turn to Jake once you’re out of earshot, “So that’s a veto for journalism. What about other kinds of writing? You point to a table a few rows away. There’s the creative writing table.”

Jake shakes his head. “Even discussion board posts are like pulling teeth.”

“Noted.” Your jaw sets with a little too much determination for his liking. “Minimal writing it is, then.” 

The two of you pass several more tables in the same fashion, Jake shutting each one down before you have a chance to so much as grab a pamphlet. 

There’s history, but who cares about dead people? English, but he’s seen the career outlook and he’d rather not study unemployment, thank you very much. Sociology, but he already lives in society. Why would he waste his time studying it?

Finally, you point out a major that he doesn't have anything scathing to say about within the first five seconds. “Graphic design,” you nod towards the table a few spots away. “That could be interesting.”

Jake hates to admit it, but he kind of thinks so too. He does think visual design is pretty interesting, and marketing and advertising have always been some of his favorite aspects of business. He’s about to say fuck it and fully embrace Jacob the incoming freshman when he notices one glaring problem. The graphic design table is set up right next to the business table. 

A nonissue, really, except for the fact that students are helping to run this event. And as you drag him closer, Jake realizes with mounting dread that he recognizes one of the faces spending an afternoon trying to convince high schoolers that choosing a business major will change their lives for the better. 

He turns to make a break for it before you can reinforce your grip on his arm and physically drag him with you, but it’s too late. 

“Jake?” he hears a horribly familiar voice call. “Is that you?” Turning around slowly, he knows he’ been caught. Jake kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. The only thing he wants to do is melt into the floor. 

“It is you,” Jay says upon closer inspection. And because you seem so hellbent on making his life even more painful, you pull him with you until the two of you are right in front of his best friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” Jay asks him. “You said you had a date.”

Butting in on the conversation, your smile is entirely too smug when you turn to Jake. “You said what now?”

Glancing at you, Jay’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. “You were telling the truth? Dude, that’s even worse.” Jay looks at you almost like he’s trying to apologize on behalf of his friend. “You’re not exactly wine-ing and dining her, here.”

“Hi,” you introduce, extending a hand. Jay shakes it warily. “I’m ___. Jake’s…” you search for a good term to use, and finally, with a private smile, settle on, “plus-one.”

“To an Explore Our Majors event?” That clears up none of Jay’s confusion. He turns back to Jake. “What the hell? Are you going on dates with incoming freshmen–”

“This is my third year,” you interrupt again. “We’re just looking around.”

“Hold on,” Jay pauses, a flash of recognition crossing his features as he studies you for a moment. “You’re the ___ that Jake was trying to get a phone number from for his brother, right? Is that what’s going on? Are you making him do a bunch of stupid shit like this to get it?”

You shrug, glancing at Jake. “You could say that.”

Jake has to give it to you. You’re a lot better at beating around the bush, at avoiding giving straight answers about the nature of your relationship, than he is. Jay looks more confused than anything at your evasiveness. If James were to somehow hunt him down and inquire about the validity of your relationship, Jake is positive that his friend would have absolutely no idea how to answer. 

A reassuring idea, other than the fact that Jake is also sure Jay will be hunting him down after this to get the real story, since he couldn’t get it from you. Targeting the weaker prey, a classic strategy. 

“Anyway,” you build yourself an out. “We’re gonna go check out the graphic design table.”

You tug at Jake’s wrist, but he stands his ground this time. Thoroughly embarrassed and done letting you pull him around, he tries to back you into a corner with one of your tricks from the fundraiser. “We should get going, actually,” he argues pointedly. “Look at the time. We don’t want to be late for…” Unfortunately, he’s still no better at coming up with excuses, “that thing.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious trick. “Don’t worry.” Your smile is sugary, but your eyes flash with warning. “I canceled it. Let’s go.”

This time when you redouble your efforts to drag him to the graphic design table, he has no choice but to follow, a little miserably. Behind the business table, Jay has zero idea what to make of what he just witnessed.

As the students at the graphic design table start their spiel, Jake is glad at least one of you is paying attention. You nod along enthusiastically while the student representative talks your ear off about the pros and cons of various online photo editing programs, asking well-timed follow-up questions as you expertly skim the pamphlet you’re handed simultaneously. 

Jake, on the other hand, still coming down from the mortification of being caught, is suddenly a little caught up in the way your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. A light pressure he could easily work his way out of. But despite himself, he’s having a hard time coming up with any motivation to do so. 

Distantly, he concentrates on the sensation. Your skin is soft, warm. The gentle pressure of your fingers is a tether to you. And in this moment, it’s a reminder that out of everyone in his life, you’re the first to be so obnoxiously concerned with what his interests are, where his passions lie. 

Despite his rightful protests against attending this event, he can read your intentions behind bringing him here. And it would be a lie if he said he didn’t appreciate them, just a little. 

At this point in his life and academic career, he feels a little bit like a toddler you’ve thrown in a pool to try and teach to swim. It’s hard for him to tread water, to keep his head above the waves, when the solid ground he’s used to is suddenly replaced by new matter entirely. 

But if Jake is sure of one thing, it’s that he won’t drown. How could he, with the lifeline of your arm still reaching out towards him? With the steadiness of your fingers still wrapped around him? He thinks you just might save him too, if you saw him drowning. Would pull him in and teach him to float on his back. To work with the water instead of against it. 

To swim, even when the water gets rough. 

At your side, terms like visual communications and web design and typography all blur together. And Jake’s focus is still narrowed in on the pulse point on his wrist, the way his heartbeat is entrusted in your unwavering grip.

…

Jake has a well-practiced routine for checking his econ grade whenever results of a new assignment or exam are posted. 

First, he makes sure that anything fragile or breakable is out of his reach. Then, he lights a scented candle. Setting the new one he just bought a few days ago on his desk, he checks the label again. Lavender Dreams. It’s all he can do not to laugh, a little miserably. Well, he supposes, thinking back to your words a couple of weeks ago, time to find out if lavender is actually calming. 

Third, he makes sure he has no other important plans for the day. Nowhere else to be, nothing to do that he can’t show up for in a ruined mood. Because that is usually what happens during this little ritual of his.

Finally, his last step is to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, imagine the sky above it, and whisper one, desperate, “Please.”

Then he sits at his desk and opens his laptop to greet his fate with a grimace and a racing heart. Today, Jake follows all the same steps until he’s navigating to his university’s learning management platform. He clicks on the Econ tab, slowly releases a breath he wasn’t meaning to hold. 

His shoulders tense at the notification of a newly inputted grade that pops up, the icon begging for his attention. He inhales deeply, letting the smell of lavender enter his nose and hopefully work some magic in his nervous system. 

Maybe he should adjust his ritual, he thinks, mouse hovering over the new grade notification. Maybe he should start burning incense or something, cleansing the air of any bad energy before he looks. In his indecision, his finger slips, presses, clicks. 

And Jake doesn’t quite have time to screw his eyes shut before the number flashes on his screen. 

Oh, he is so fucked.

So, so, so, terribly, absolutely, completely fucked. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, that the score of his latest homework problem set is a–

Wait. 

Jake opens his eyes, just barely, peeking at the screen again. 

82.

Jake pauses for a moment. His eyes open completely. His brow pulls down in confusion. 

82. He double checks to make sure he’s seeing the grade correctly, that the numbers haven’t somehow been reversed. 

They haven’t. 82. It’s his real, true, honest to god score. It’s a B. A low B, but that’s still the highest econ grade Jake has seen since his third round of the syllabus quiz.

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

Jake kind of doesn’t know what to do with his body, with all of the extra energy he suddenly has. In that moment, he thinks he could do anything. If Jungwon were here, Jake thinks he might actually kiss him on the mouth. 

82. It’s not enough to save his grade, not yet. But if it’s a trend that continues, Jake Sim just might finally pass econ. 

He goes to text his tutor the good news, to confirm their next session, but finds that Jungwon has beat him to it. Fingers still slightly shaky from the excess of nerves, he reads the new messages. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:03 pm]: Hey, I saw that the latest homework grades were released. Lmk how you did!

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:04 pm]: Also, sorry to do this kind of last minute, but I’m not gonna be able to meet you at our regular time tomorrow. We could reschedule if there’s another time that works for you? Or we could just wait and meet again next week. 

Frowning, Jake reads the message again. He’s still riding the high of a B- and is reluctant to do anything that might prevent it in the future, including missing a tutoring session. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: Is there any way we could still meet tomorrow? Maybe before our usual time. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: And I got an 82! You’re actually a lifesaver

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: That’s great! 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: I’m sorry, but I don’t think tomorrow afternoon will work either. I’m going to the university skating competition to support a friend

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: You probably know him actually. Him and ___ are good friends too lol. It’s Park Sunghoon

Jake rereads the message, sighs. He supposes it makes sense. He can’t really fault his godsend of a tutor for wanting to support a long-time friend at one of the most important competitions of his season. Still, Jake’s a little slammed this week, and the thought of missing a tutoring session is enough to sober him from the thrill of his latest assignment grade. 

Park Sunghoon. Jake has only met him once – in search of you, or rather, your phone number – and he doubts Sunghoon remembers much of that interaction. Jake doesn’t really know anything about him, other than the fact that he’s rumored to be one of the best skaters to come through this school and that he’s apparently good friends with both you and Jungwon–

Wait. 

Oh no. Oh no. 

Jungwon can’t go to Sunghoon’s skating competition tomorrow. Because Jake is almost positive you’ll be there too, is pretty sure you and Jungwon are probably going together. If there’s a flare of jealousy in his gut, he’ll ignore it for now. He has bigger problems.

Namely, the fact that Jungwon is under the impression that you and Jake are dating. Officially dating, since he knows that Jake took you to meet his family this last weekend. Quite seriously dating, if the lovesick expression on Jake’s face every time he talks about you in front of Jungwon is anything to go by. 

And the sole reason Jungwon is under that impression is because Jake couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Because he essentially told him, flat out, that the two of you are very much enjoying the honeymoon phase of your relationship. 

Still working in a cloud of panic, Jake leaves Jungwon on read for the time being and sends a message to you instead. 

Jake [7:17 pm]: What time is Sunghoon’s thing tomorrow? I’ll pick you up

You [7:18 pm]: ??? 

You [7:18 pm]: What the fuck?

Before he can think of a reply to type, Jake’s phone screen is overtaken by an incoming call notification. One that he knows better than to ignore, even as something in his shrivels a little. 

“Hello?” He answers, wheels in his brain spinning as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation on the spot. 

You don’t waste any time. “How do you even know about Sunghoon’s competition? And what do you mean you’ll pick me up?” On the bright side, you don’t sound angry, at least. Just very confused. 

“Jungwon mentioned it to me.” Jake decides he can at least be honest about that. “He had to cancel our tutoring session tomorrow.”

“So what?” Even through the phone, Jake can sense your exasperation. “You thought you could squeeze in some econ notes at the athletics center? My god, you are so persistent about the worst things. Leave poor Jungwon alone.”

Poor Jungwon. Poor Jungwon. 

Jake’s tone is a little less even when he clarifies, “No, it has nothing to do with econ. I just want to come with you. To, uh… to support Sunghoon.” It’s a weak explanation, even to his own ears. 

“You don’t know him.” Your voice is flat.

“We’ve talked,” Jake argues.

“You’ve had one conversation. He thought your name was Jacob.”

“Which turned out to be a very useful alias for me.” At the event for incoming freshmen you dragged him to unwillingly. “I owe him one.”

There’s an extended silence on your end. 

Jake begs a little more. “I let you drag me to that stupid event last week. You know, I had to run, actually, full on run, away from Jay the other day so he couldn’t ask me about it. Just let me come with you tomorrow.” 

You hesitate. “I might, if you tell me why you want to go so badl–”

“Fine,” Jake sighs. “You caught me. My secret passion in life is actually figure skating. I didn’t start training young enough, so now I have to live vicariously through–”

“You are so fucking annoying” But it works. “Fine.”

“Fine, as in, I can come?” Jake knows better than to sound too hopeful. 

You refuse to answer him directly. “Be at my apartment by four-thirty tomorrow. If you’re even a second late, I’m leaving without you.”

On the other line, Jake lets his fist fly into the air in silent celebration. Into the receiver of his phone, he says calmly, “Great. I’ll pick you up, then.”

You hang up without bothering to respond, and Jake returns Jungwon’s message. 

Jake [7:26 pm]: Let’s just plan to meet next week for tutoring. And thanks for the reminder. You kind of saved me again, actually. I’ll see you tomorrow at the competition

Sighing, Jake sets his phone down. 

For the moment, the crisis is averted, at least partially. But Jake knows he’ll have his real work cut out for him tomorrow. As he turns it around in his brain, the celebratory feeling in his chest slowly begins to morph into dread. 

How on earth is he going to sit through an entire evening with you and Jungwon without the illusion shattering one way or another? It feels like an impossible task. 

But then he takes a long inhale of lavender-scented air, looks back at the proud B- still displayed on his laptop screen. If he can pull that off, he thinks he just might be able to do anything. 

…

It’s a confidence that Jake is finding hard to rediscover the following afternoon. Just after three, every ounce of self-assuredness Jake has ever had is slowly draining from his body as the clock ticks closer and closer to four-thiry with every passing second. 

Standing in front of his mirror, Jake can’t decide how he feels about the black button-down he’s wearing. Is it too much? Not enough? 

He knows he’s probably overthinking it, but he’s about to spend an entire evening sitting with you and Jungwon, watching Sunghoon. If you don’t think he looks at least a little good in comparison, something in his pride is going to be very, very wounded. 

On the other side of his bedroom door, Jake can hear Jay poking around in his kitchen. After a few days of successfully dodging him, his best friend finally snuck his way into his apartment under the guise of delivering a package. Still a little terrified to face him and the questions he’ll inevitably ask, Jake has been hiding in his room since his arrival. 

He curses the situation now. If nothing else, Jay could at least provide a set of fashion-forward eyes to help him choose his outfit of the evening. But that would also involve explaining where he’s going, which would only send Jay’s suspicions about you and Jake skyrocketing. 

Unlike you, Jake is not particularly well-versed in avoiding leading questions. In fact, he regularly does the opposite, if his interactions with Jungwon are anything to go by. 

Somewhat regrettably, he decides he’ll have to use his own intuition for this one. 

That turns out to mean that Jake spends the next forty minutes trying on half of his closet, pulling out shirts that he hasn’t seen since middle school and watching the pile of rejected options pile up on his chair as uncertainties pile up in his gut. 

Finally, he lands on the black button-up he was wearing originally and decides to make the disaster of his room a problem for later. Glancing at the clock, he realizes with a bit of dread that he needs to head out soon if he doesn’t want to miss your threat of a deadline. But then his eyes land on the small handful of ornate bottles on top of his dresser, and he suddenly has a new problem. 

Running low on both steam and time, Jake decides that facing whatever Jay has in store for him is better than trying to make this last decision on his own. So he scans that array of bottles, picks his two favorite scents, and opens the door to his bedroom slowly, doing his best to delay the inevitable inquisition. 

Stepping out warily, he sees that Jay has moved from the kitchen to the living room and is currently snacking on a sandwich he made with whatever ingredients he found in Jake’s fridge as he watches something on the TV. 

“Hey, Jay?” Jake calls out, a little hesitantly. 

“What?” Jay doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Oh, you decided you’re talking to me again?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake searches for a feasible explanation for his avoidance. Finding nothing solid, he settles with the classically vague, “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? Training for a marathon? I can’t believe you actually ran from me–”

“I realized I forgot my computer at the library,” Jake lies. “I wanted to go back and grab it before it got stolen.”

“Whatever.” Jay doesn't buy it for a second. But he is eating Jake’s food, so he figures he owes him a little. “What do you want?” 

Jake moves to stand next to his couch, careful not to block Jay’s view of the TV and annoy him further. Tentatively, Jake holds out the two bottles of cologne. “Which one of these smells better?”

Jay sends Jake a look of disbelief, sets his sandwich down on the coffee table. “Do I look like a fucking Macy’s employee to you?”

“Just help me out,” Jake pleads. “Please,” he adds for good measure.

Jay stares at him blankly for a moment longer. “Well, it depends,” He finally concedes. “The Yves Saint Laurent has more of a causal vibe, and the Giorgio Armani feels like you’re trying a little harder, like you want to be impressive and you don’t care if people know that.” 

And then he takes a closer look at Jake. At the way his hair has been perfectly styled to look just the right amount of intentionally messy, at the outfit he’s wearing. 

“Hold on, what are you so worked up about?” Jay’s eyes narrow in on his shirt. “And is that Prada? It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday. Where the hell are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Jake replies too quickly, already beginning to retreat to the safety of his bedroom before he can be questioned further. 

Jay turns in his seat, eyes following Jake accusingly the whole time. “You’re meeting ___, aren’t you? What’s going on between the two of you anyway? Why are you being so weird?”

Jake pretends not to hear his friend, closing the door behind him and he looks for his coat in the mess of his room. Finding it, he pulls his arms through the sleeves. Stopping at the mirror, he gives himself one final once-over before turning to leave again. Right before he does, he pauses, weighs his options as he weighs Jay’s advice. And then he reaches for the bottle of Giorgio Armani, sprays it twice for good measure. Before he can psych himself out again, he heads for the front door. 

He almost makes it, too, but before he can slip out, Jay asks him one last question. “Just answer this,” he bargains from his seat on the couch. “Are you meeting ___?”

“None of your business” is the only answer he gets as Jake leaves his apartment, quickly closing the door behind him to cut off any other opportunities for Jay to catch him in a white lie. 

And when Jake arrives at your apartment, he has seven minutes to spare. Sending you a message of his arrival, he makes his way to the lobby to greet you. 

“Mr. Sim,” your doorman nods coolly. 

“Elton,” Jake returns, equally as frigid as he reads the middle-aged man’s name tag. 

Thankfully, you don’t keep him waiting long. You make your way down to the lobby before Jake and your doorman have the chance to exchange a few more choice words.

Despite the initial turmoil and the current state of his bedroom, Jake is more than pleased with the clothing choices he landed on for the evening when he sees you. 

It would be hard to claim that the two of you are matching, exactly, considering how simple both of your outfits are. But as he watches you approach him in a black sweater and light jeans, Jake likes the way it almost looks as if the two of you did it by accident. Synced up so well that even your closets align without you meaning to. 

And he likes the way it looks like the two of you go together, two pieces of a matching set.

Giving your doorman one last parting wave, the walk to Jake’s car is short. He doesn’t offer to pull the car around this time, mostly because the white sneakers on your feet are a lot more conducive to walking that your heels for the fundraiser a couple of weeks ago.  

“I assume we’re heading to the Ice Sports Center,” Jake says, putting the car in reverse as he backs out of his parking spot. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Much to his relief, you’re not projecting any annoyance. At least not yet. “But we’re picking up Jungwon first.” 

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly reminded of the awful tightrope he’s about to be walking all evening. The way he’s somehow supposed to keep Jungwon thinking that the two of you are enamored with one another without you finding out that he divulged the nature of your fake relationship to your friend. 

Mistaking his apprehension for annoyance, you shake your head. “You’re so mean,” you accuse. “First you invade our evening and then you complain about picking him up? The poor guy already has to put up with you all night. The least you could do is spare him an Uber ride.”

Jake suddenly has another bone to pick. “First of all, why do the the two of you even need an evening–”

“Because I never get to see him!” A bit dejectedly, you add, “Between classes and tutoring and his internship, he never has any free time.”

Jake wonders, somewhat vindictively, if he could start requesting additional tutoring sessions. Burn up whatever remnants of time the kid has to dedicate to you. 

Instead, he relents. He’s not going to win any favor from you by doing anything to Jungwon. Not that he needs your favor, of course. Not that he even wants it. 

So Jake just asks you to give him Jungwon’s address and plots it into his phone’s GPS without another complaint. But as the estimated arrival time begins to dwindle, so does Jake’s confidence that he can pull this evening off. 

With just a few minutes to go, he decides that honestly might be his only way out of this mess. 

Turning to you slowly, he says, “So, I kind of have to tell you something.”

You groan. “I hate the way you just said that. Please tell me I’m not also going to hate whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”

Jake hesitates, “I mean, I can’t predict the future–”

You read his guilt like an open book. Flatly, you ask, “What did you do?”

Jake is quick to go on the defensive. “Why are you assuming it’s my fault–”

You’re not in the mood for his evasiveness. “What did you do?”

It comes out all in a rush, sounds like one long word as Jake lets the truth spill out. “I might have accidentally told Jungwon that you and I are dating.”

Somehow, you understand just as well as you would have if he enunciated clearly. Your voice is dangerously low. “How, pray tell, did you accidentally tell your econ tutor that you and I are dating?”

“It just came out, I swear!” Jake tries to dig himself out. “You came up somehow, and I mentioned the dinner at my parents house. One thing led to another, and now he thinks that we’re dating.”

You’re still livid, not accepting his threadbare explanation. “I could sue you, you know. You signed a legal document agreeing to not tell our friends and acquaintances anything about our agreement.”

Jake calls your bluff. “That thing is not legally binding, and you know it. Besides, the wording on that part is so vague, I’m sure there are a million loopholes. No judge would uphold that in court.”

“Oh, so now you’re a contract expert–”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jake interrupts, deciding that neither defense or offense are likely to get him much of anywhere. Maybe an apology will do him one better. “I know we agreed to not get our friends involved, but it really wasn’t on purpose.” It kind of very much was, but he figures you don’t need to know that. “I just… Can we pretend, just for tonight?” It sounds reasonable enough to him. After all, “It’s no different than what we’ve done so far–”

“Yes it is,” you argue. Your fury has evaporated slightly, now just simmering in his passenger seat. But Jake still doesn't get it.  “Jungwon is my friend. He knows me, the real me. I’m not trying to keep up appearances around him. I don’t want to lie to him, and especially not about something like my relationships. Especially because he’s going to think that I’m the one that’s been lying to him about it.” The more you say, the worse Jake starts to feel. “I told him you were my friend.”

It wasn’t about you being embarrassed of Jake or not wanting Jungwon to think that you would ever consider dating him. It was because Jungwon is one of the few people that gets you, that really gets you. It’s because he’s one of your few real friends, someone you don’t have to lie to. Someone who accepts your truths as they come. 

“I know.” For the first time, Jake’s short-sighted solution to his jealousy doesn’t feel so satisfying. He hadn’t considered this, the potential fallout on your end. How you would feel about lying like this to someone that you’re genuinely close to. All he can say is, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up.”

You just give him a long look, silence building between the two of you as you weigh a million responses on your tongue and let all of them die, one by one, before breathing life into any of them. 

“I…” you finally say. “It’s whatever.” It’s not. Jake can hear it in your tone of voice, can read it in the way your lips twist. “Let’s just do it,” you agree to his original request. Jake isn’t sure why he can’t find it in himself to feel good about it. “Let’s just pretend for tonight.” 

Jake doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to remedy the situation. Still, your name is a quiet whisper on his breath. He feels like he’s begging, pleading. For what, he’s not entirely sure. 

You just shake your head, looking out of the windshield. “We’re here.”

And you are. Jungwon, completely oblivious to your conversation, is all smiles where he waits outside his apartment building, sending you and Jake both a friendly wave before jogging over to the car and sliding into the back seat. 

“Hey Jake, ___,” he greets, unaware of the stifling tension he’s just walked into. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way. You have a really nice car.”

And Jungwon is so nice, Jake thinks. So nice and considerate and genuinely pleasant to be around. Things that he controls, things that Jungwon wakes up every day and decides to be. Things that make you like him, want to be his friend.

Things that Jake, as he glances to where you’re still nursing your wounds in his passenger seat, understands with a sickening realization that he has not been. At least not to you. 

And Jake could pin the blame on a million different excuses. His father or the tight constraints of his life or the way he feels like nothing has ever really belonged to him. But when he looks at you, at your hurt, he knows that his lack of consideration for your feelings is all of his own doing. 

Jakes turns back to Jungwon for a moment, tells him, “No problem. I’m glad we could all go together.” And then he puts his eyes back on the road ahead of him and makes the decision to take a little more ownership of the things he can control. To do his very best to be a little better. To try, really try, to put a little love into the things he builds.

So Jake doesn’t protest, when you arrive at the ice rink and slide down into the middle seat, next to both him and Jungwon. Doesn't let the unpleasant feeling that rises in his gut when you give Sunghoon a massive bouquet of flowers and a warm hug after his program do anything but simmer. Doesn’t make his feelings your problem, a fire for you to put out. 

When he excuses himself to the bathroom, he tries not to let the imagined possibilities of what you and Jungwon might be talking about in his absence make him do something stupid. 

Besides, everything he’s thinking of is far off the mark anyway. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jungwon turns to you and smiles. “You and Jake, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Actually,” he amends, “I can believe that. What I can believe is that you lied.” The accusation is light, teasing. It still hits you like a sucker punch. “You said you two were just friends.”

But your hurt feelings won’t help you here, and you have tracks to cover. Jake didn’t tell you what he told Jungwon, not exactly, so you’ll have to do your best not to unravel any of the lies he’s already spun. 

“It’s new,” you try to explain, thinking of something that would make sense, that would wound Jungwon the least. “I haven’t really told anyone.” You mean it when you say, “But I am sorry for lying.” You wish you weren’t doing it still. You wish you could tell him the truth.

“Fine.” It’s an apology Jungwon accepts easily, even if he pretends to hold onto it a little longer. “You’re forgiven. But only because his car is really nice.” And then, “He’s good to you?”

“Yeah,” you echo the same words you told his mother a handful of evenings ago. “The best.”

“Good.” Jungwon nods. If there’s wistfulness there, it’s overtaken by his genuine desire to see you happy. “You deserve that.”

You’re not sure why you feel like crying, why everything about this conversation, this situation, suddenly feels so wrong.

“Thanks, Wonie.” You melt a little at his earnestness, the childhood nickname slipping out with your fondness. This is what you were afraid of, what you wanted to avoid. It’s not fair for him, not okay with you that Jungwon is wasting his sincerity on a lie, a false relationship. It’s hollow when you say, “That means a lot.”

Whatever reply Jungwon has dies on his lips as Jake finds the two of you again, slides back into his seat. As the rest of the evening passes, your lingering hurt starts to make room for something else. You’re not sure what to make of how undeniably easy it all is. How natural it feels to be sat in between your childhood friend and your fake boyfriend, trading jokes and smiles and stories that take no effort and make the time fly by. 

When Jake finally drops you back off at your apartment a few hours later, your anger is mostly gone. And unlike him, you were never particularly good at physics, but you do remember the conservation of mass – how things can change and transform but are never truly destroyed. In the absence of anger, you’re not entirely sure what emotions are beginning to overflow in their stead. 

But when Jake whispers, “Goodnight” from the driver’s seat of his car, it’s a sentiment that’s easy to return. 

…

As the month just before the holidays tends to do, the rest of the semester passes in a blur of late night study sessions, half-finished assignments, and a concerning amount of caffeine. Both of you slammed with responsibilities of your own, Jake hardly even sees you in those last few weeks. Instead, the promise of the holidays and your family’s upcoming New Year’s Eve party are threats that loom on the rapidly approaching horizon. 

This, then, is a small time apart from each other before your fake-dating responsibilities kick into full gear. Before they eventually as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the last day of December and your contract dissolves just as the year does. 

And at this point, that’s a concern for the future. Right now, Jake is too busy trying to pass his classes to have any brainwidth left to worry about other things. Namely, his econ term paper. The hours that he spends alone with his laptop, forgetting to do much of anything else, veer towards a number that is more than a little concerning.

But thanks to his sessions with Jungwon, a report card without any Fs is looking like an actual possibility for him this semester. So Jake doubles down and presses onwards, goes hours and sometimes even days hardly talking to anyone, just to make sure that every last detail, every last word, is as impeccable as possible. 

And a few weeks later, just as the first half of December draws to a close, Jake finds himself back at his desk, lavender candle lit, pleading with invisible deities as he opens his laptop to check his final econ grade. 

He lets one breath pass. Another. 

Slowly, he opens one eye. 

And there it is, on the screen in front of him. His final econ grade. 

73. A solid C. A fucking C. 

He did it. He actually did it. On his third go around, Jake Sim passed econ. And that alone calls for celebration. 

It’s nearly the first time he’s seen you since Sunghoon’s competition when you and Jungwon show up at his apartment by surprise with a custom ordered cake the next day. 

Predict THIS trend, Wall Street, the royal blue icing reads. Jake Sim passed econ!!!!!!

And then it really is the end of the semester, and the three of you are parting ways for winter break. With nearly a month of rest from studies and schoolwork, you and Jake finalize the details of your last two public appearances as a couple. 

The first is set to be at Jake’s parents’ house. It’s not so much an event as it is the two of you exchanging gifts, making sure that there are witnesses around to corroborate your affection. And the second, of course, will be the New Year’s Eve party at your family's home. 

The timeline gives you about a week to finalize your gift to him, something that has proven to be much more difficult than you were hoping. Despite your suggestion that the two of you just pick out your own gifts in advance and say that they’re from each other, Jake has insisted on going the traditional route. On surprising you. 

So when you show up at his family's home a few days before Christmas, a small red gift bag in hand, it’s with a bit of trepidation that the present inside will fall flat of whatever expectations your fake boyfriend may have. 

Moments later, with the glow of the fireplace casting a cozy glow on his living room, Jake holds a self-warming coffee mug in his hands. 

You feel a bit foolish as you reach for your rehearsed explanation, cite the one time he’d complained about his coffee going cold before he had the chance to drink it. But Jake insists that he loves it, assures you that he’ll put it to good use. 

And when your turn comes to open his gift, you do your best to ignore the slight shake in your fingers as you untie the bow on the small jewelry box he hands you. 

Sliding the lid off, it’s all you can do for a moment to stare. 

“Oh.” The golden chain of the necklace is delicate, fragile. But it’s the charm at the center that has you suddenly breathless. It’s a tiny, intricate outline of a house, the same shimmery gold as the chain. The color he memorized as your favorite. And in the center of the miniature home is an impossibly smaller outline of a heart. “Oh.”

Your soft words ring in the air for a moment as your fingers hover over the gift, unmoving.

Mistaking your lack of feedback for distaste, Jake is quick to explain, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s, uh,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be like what your great aunt said. Y’know, ‘put a little love into everything you build.’ If you don’t like it, I can–”

You shake your head. “I love it.” It makes your gift to him pale in comparison. The truth rattles in your brain a little too harshly. You got him a coffee mug, and he got you this. Something so obviously wrapped up in thoughtfulness and care and affection. But comparison is the last thing on his mind. 

“I… You do?” His uncertainty is still written all over his face. “You don’t have to just say that. Really, it won’t offend me if–”

“Jake,” you look up at him, put your hand on his chest. Physical touch is the only way you can think to stop his rambling. “It’s perfect. I love it. I really, really do.” Glancing back down at his gift, you smile. His eyes are suddenly wide, from your sincerity or your touch, you’re not sure. “Help me put it on?

Jake nods, swallows audibly. You retract your hand from his chest, let it fall back to your side as you hand him the jewelry box. Carefully, delicately, intentionally,  he takes the necklace out, lets it dangle between long fingers. 

And then he’s moving to stand behind you. The sudden heat of his body is a lure for your senses, a focal point you can’t pull your thoughts away from. 

“I…” He breathes, words suddenly a little strained. You feel the warmth of his words along the length of your spine, deep in your bones. Settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “Could you move your hair?”

It makes you feel vulnerable, when you acquiesce to his request, exposing the bare skin of your neck as you pull your hair to the side. “Is that better?” It’s barely a whisper. He hears it regardless. 

“Yeah,” Jake returns, just as airy, just as flighty. “That’s perfect.” 

And then his fingertips are ghosting the edges of your collarbone, skimming the sensitive skin of your throat as he places his gift around your neck. You don’t think you imagine the tremble in his fingers while he fights with the clasp for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally snaps the mechanism into place. 

“There.” He exhales and it travels over your exposed nape. 

Letting your hair fall back into place, you take a steadying breath before turning to face him again. 

You mean it when you say, “Thank you.” 

Jake takes it in, all of it. The moment. The proximity. You. Warning bells are sounding in his mind as his gaze travels from your eyes to the bridge of your nose to the slight part between your lips. 

He wants it, he realizes. In this moment, there is no doubt in his mind. There’s nothing, in fact, but his desires, his wants. And what he wants is to feel your exhale against his own. To lean down and close the distance and let his fingers trace the skin of your throat again, for real this time. Without the excuse of a necklace. 

He could, he thinks. It’s a rule you both signed your agreement on, but what are rules, he reasons, if not things to be broken? And he thinks that if he kissed you, you might just let him. It’s a theory that he’s desperate to test, almost as desperate as he is to learn the exact taste of your mouth when it’s not trading insults with him. And he was never one to let hypotheses remain in limbo for long. 

There’s heat in his gaze and desire in his bones when he leans down, just a fraction of an inch. 

Your eyes widen. Your breath stutters. Under your skin, your heartbeat races. 

You say nothing. 

And then he’s inching closer. Slowly, steadily, until he’s right there, so much closer than he’s ever been. Invading your senses and mingling your exhales and clouding anything coherent left in your brain. 

His exhale ghosts across your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re nothing but a slave to sensation. 

It won’t be him that breaks the spell. Resolve slipping with every passing heartbeat, it won’t be you, either. 

In the end, it’s neither of those things. Instead, it’s the shrill ping of an incoming notification that has the two of you springing apart, cheeks flaming, heat of the moment settling in your chest like a shock from a live wire with nowhere to put all of its excess energy. 

“I…” Jake can barely breathe, much less form words. He still wears his desire in his eyes, his want across his lips. It’s a miracle he even manages to say, “I better check that.”

“Right,” you nod, as if he’s asking for permission, as if it’s in any way under your control. But you’re scrambling to fill the burning silence, to redirect whatever is still simmering in the air. “Yeah.”

Jake nearly stumbles over his own feet as he takes a step away from you, pulling his phone off the coffee table. You avert your eyes as he skims over the notification, hoping the heat in your cheeks will fade from sheer will alone. 

Glancing back at him, you notice the way he’s still reading the notification. Notice the way his brow is furrowed, 

Without really even meaning to, you ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods, but he still looks unsure. His eyes are still on his phone screen. “I think so.”

You raise an eyebrow at the vague qualifier, and he sighs before he continues, “Apparently someone submitted an anonymous plagiarism claim on my econ term paper. It went to the dean, and they’re running an investigation to make sure it’s my original work. That was just the department head letting me know that they’re proceeding with the investigation and will reach out again if any additional action is needed on my part.”

“What?” You balk, earlier tension replaced with one of an entirely different sort. You’re still stuck on his first sentence. “Plagiarism? How is that possible? You spent literal days working on that stupid paper. Even Jungwon said he couldn’t believe how much effort you put into it.”

“Yeah.” Jake shrugs. “I know. That’s why I’m not really that nervous.” His expression begs to differ. “I mean, I know that I didn’t plagiarize my paper, so I’m sure the investigation won’t be able to find anything.”

Still, it can’t feel good. Not when it took him so long, so much concentrated effort to finally pass. Not when the relief of it all is now stained with the accusation that looms over his head, no matter how much it lacks in credibility. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You offer.

“No.” Jake shakes his head, won’t make you bear the weight or the worry of his burdens. “I’m sure they’re just going to run some more in-depth comparisons to past papers. I really don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” you concede, a little hesitantly. But it’s a worry that lingers, even as the afternoon ticks by. Even when Jake’s mother arrives home and wraps you up in a big hug. Even when she slips you another box of homemade snickerdoodles, this time wrapped up with a bow. 

It’s a worry that lingers when you say your parting words, wishing the two of them a Merry Christmas and telling your fake boyfriend that you’ll look forward to seeing him on New Year’s Eve. 

It’s a worry that you have no distraction from until you’re on your way out, and your least favorite Sim sibling catches you at the door. 

“Merry Christmas, ___,” James smiles, all pretenses and no sincerity. Despite his words, it’s like he’s begging for a fight when he asks, “Are you enjoying the holidays?” 

If his mother weren’t in the next room over, you might just take it upon yourself to wipe the smug grin off his face. Preferably with an uppercut. 

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, forcing a cordiality you don’t feel. “It’s the same as every year. Good but busy.” It’s more than a little vindictive when you add, “Your brother did get me the most thoughtful gift, though.”

“Did he?” James muses. He doesn’t rise to the bait as much as you’d hoped. “Looks like little Jake is all grown up. Seems like it’s a good Christmas for him too. Miracles all around. He has a girlfriend to spend it with.” Pausing a moment, he tacks on, “And I heard he even passed econ, too. It was about time.”

“Well we can’t all be stuck in our ways forever.” You smile. It’s a polite, family friendly way of letting him know you still think he’s a raging asshole. 

But if James is miffed, he doesn’t show it. You don’t like the way his satisfied grin doesn’t falter either, not even once. “No,” he agrees as you turn your back to him, leaving him behind as you walk out the front door. “I suppose we can’t.”

…

Christmas morning is an uneventful affair at your house. There are gifts, of course, ones that your mother watches you open expectantly. 

The jewelry box that sits in your hands is reminiscent of just a few days prior. A fleeting touch that leaves your collarbone scalding. A similar gift that you wear around your neck now. 

But lifting the lid on the present from your mother, the differences are stark. 

A pair of silver hoop earrings, beautiful in their own regard and undoubtedly expensive, but silver has never been your color. It’s something you wish she’d remember, something you thought she might know, after twenty-one long years. 

You thank her, words echoing hollowly in the vast expanse of your living room. 

On the table next to you, your phone lights up with a notification. 

Jake [9:23 am]: Merry Christmas, ___

You think it might be your favorite gift yet.

…

It’s three days after Christmas when you wake up to a series of texts from Jungwon.

Wonie [8:12 am]: Hey ___ did Jake ever work on his econ term paper with you? Like at your place or anything?

Wonie [8:12 am]: He asked me not to get you involved, but I’m getting really worried. This plagiarism claim isn’t going away, and he needs as much evidence as he can get that it was all his work

Despite the way your sleepiness usually lingers in the morning, your friend’s messages have you immediately feeling alert.  

Scanning the texts again, the whole thing really is such an awful twist of luck. Jake finally, finally passed econ and after turning down his brother’s proposal from months ago, he did it as a result of his own efforts. Jake might not have ever worked on his paper in your presence, but you know he didn’t plagiarize it. You can pay testament to the way he was practically a recluse the entire last three weeks of the semester, only ever taking breaks from that damn assignment to occasionally eat, sleep, or bathe. 

And it’s so bizarre, you think. Jake mentioned to you that everything blew up because of an anonymous accusation. It’s not like his paper was caught by some online plagiarism checker. No, someone intentionally went to his professor and claimed that the work was stolen. Someone who wanted to start this fire and watch Jake struggle with the flames. 

It makes no sense, none at all. Who on earth would–

Your train of thought cuts off abruptly. Alone in your childhood bedroom, you know exactly who would do that. 

And, one Google search later, you know exactly where to find him. 

…

You’re not exactly surprised that the Sim Corporation building is up and operational during the holidays. If anything, the employees’ end-of-the-year burnout works to your advantage as you sneak right by the secretary at the front desk, bypassing the appointment system that must surely be in place for the CEO-to-be. 

The elevator ride is slow. Agonizingly slow. And you should be using this time to think, just like you should have been doing on the drive here. You should be figuring out which cards you can play and how exactly you’re going to make Jake’s weasel of a brother admit to what he’s done and retract his idiotic, completely fake accusation against his younger sibling. 

But the only thing your brain has room for right now is rage. And as the elevator ascends, all your anger can do is heat further and further, releasing steam until it’s boiling over, clouding your judgment and making you see red. 

When the elevator finally lets you off on the thirty-sixth floor, your strides eat up the ground until you're standing in front of the door you’ve been looking for. 

You don't bother to knock. 

Unsurprisingly, James Sim’s office is as completely devoid of life and personality as its owner. Covered floor to ceiling with the stark furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in an upscale Ikea ad, there are little to no personal touches, no hints of anything that might make you think James has any kind of redeeming qualities. 

And the only acknowledgement your least favorite Sim brother gives you behind his desk are two slightly raised eyebrows. 

“___.” He jots something down on a notepad in front of him. Probably writing a reminder to fire the secretary that let you up without notifying him. “To what do I owe the pleasure”

You’re in no mood for games. “Cut the bullshit.”

James’ pen pauses. He glances up at you.“I’m afraid I don’t–”

You won’t hear it. “I said, cut the fucking bullshit, James. You and I both know exactly why I’m here.” Your chest is already heaving as you list your demands. “Back the fuck off from Jake, retract your stupid plagiarism claim, and let him enjoy the holidays in peace.”

James doesn’t give you the courtesy of acknowledging anything you just said. Instead, he demands firmly, “Break up with him.”

“What the fuck?” You’re not sure how it’s possible, but your annoyance multiplies tenfold. How dare he assume he has any say in your relationship, anything at all related to you or his brother. “Why would I listen to anything you tell me to do?”

“You want me to retract the claim,’ James echoes evenly, enunciating so slowly it’s patronizing. “Okay, fine.” He lays his hands out in front of him as if he’s offering some generous, benevolent deal. “Then end the relationship.”

You wonder how much damage it would do if you throw the chair sitting next to you at his head. “Are you actually threatening me right now?”

“Not a threat.” He shrugs, all too nonchalantly. “Just a deal.”

Your strides eat up the ground between the door of his office and his desk. Laying a palm down on the surface in front of you, you point an accusatory finger in his face. “Listen here, you little shit. You and I both know damn well he wrote every word of that term paper on his own, so I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off while I’m still asking nicely, or–”

“Or what? Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but between my brother and I, there’s only one person Dr. Jeong is likely to believe.”

“What are you, a cartoon villain?” Even this angry, his stupidity is astounding. “You still need evidence. Which you don’t have. Because he didn’t plagiarize shit, and especially not from you.”

James doesn’t falter. “Interesting that you mention that, actually. You know, I asked Dr. Jeong about you as well, and he said you’re not a student in his class.” Despite yourself, your features slacken slightly. “I thought that was odd, considering that’s how the two of you said you met. There are a lot of things that don’t add up about the two of you, actually.”

There’s a threat there, when he meets your eye and says, “So it kind of seems like you know already, that evidence isn’t just found. It’s made. And Jake’s term paper is different from the one I submitted, yes, but I also have a copy of what he submitted on my personal computer. It’d be pretty easy to ask my secretary to adjust a few timestamps here and there. To make it look like it was written years ago. Stolen by the younger brother that’s always been horribly jealous of me.”

“What the fuck is it to you if he passes econ?” You still don’t understand why he’s doing this. “You graduated university three years ago. Your life is here now, in this office. You’re in the process of becoming CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. Seriously, don’t you have better things to waste your time on? I mean, this is what most people call ‘peaking in college’ and usually try to avoid–”

James reveals his motivation with two small words. “Why him?”

But you still don’t get it. “What?”

“Why him?” he repeats, and it sounds so, horribly, terribly jealous. “Like you said, I’m older, smarter, more successful. So why him?”

“Are you joking?” It’s all you can do to not drop your jaw. All of this because you never let him take you on a date? When it’s his fault he missed the first one? The sheer audacity of it all is astounding. “First of all,” you refute. “I did not say any of that. And second, if that’s actually all you have to say about yourself, then put that shit in your Tinder bio and see where it gets you. I have no interest in hearing it.”

James won’t let it go. “That’s not an answer.”

“Why do you even care–”

“Why him?” He won’t stop, not until he gets his answer. 

“Because I like him.” It’s spilling out before you can stop it, before you can give it permission. “Because he’s kind and funny and he listens to me and cares about what I have to say. Because I’m more than just a sum of my parts to him, and the last thing he cares about is my social status and how it stacks up against his. I’m not some tool to impress his parents or a topic of conversation to brag about with boys at Sunday morning golf.” All of the things you’re sure would be a part of any kind of relationship with James.  Because no matter what role he’s given in his father’s company or what grade he passed econ with, Jake is capable of something James never has been. “Because he treats me like a person.”

Across from you, James simmers with barely controlled rage. With the truth at his feet, he has nothing left to do but be angry with it. Destroy what he can in the wake of his fury, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Break up with him.”

“Wh–”

“Break up with him, or I swear to god I will submit plagiarism claims to every professor he’s had in the last three years.”

It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on. It’s a battle you’re afraid he’ll win, no matter how fake all of his so-called evidence is. And it will all be your fault. You will be the reason that Jake has to take econ again, and that’s only if he isn’t expelled on plagiarism claims. You will be the reason his father hands him another round of disappointment. You’ll be the reason Jake ends his day with a little more shame to tuck away and revisit on a sleepless night. 

And you were always on a timeline, anyway. This relationship was one that always came with an expiration date, even before it began. 

It should be easy to concede, given the stakes, given the alternative. You’ve known since the beginning that the rapidly approaching New Year would be the end of it all, that you and Jake would become entirely separate entities again in just a handful of days. Still, you have to force the words out through gritted teeth, “Give me until New Year’s.”

James scoffs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands–”

“I’ll do it.” You double down, agreeing to take Jake’s fate into your own hands. “I’ll end things. Just… just give me until New Year’s.” You can do it, you think. It was inevitable anyway. “And retract the claim now,” you stipulate. “If I go back on my word, you can resubmit with all your evidence once next semester starts.”

Across from you, behind his desk, James weighs your offer. He must sense the finality in your tone, the determination in your gaze. “Fine,” he finally says. “You have yourself a deal.”

You don’t take his outstretched hand, don’t seal your agreement with a handshake. He’ll have to trust your word.

It makes no difference to him. His smile is smug when you turn to leave. You hope his satisfaction burns on the way down. 

Your drive home is slightly blurry. Partially because of the rain that has begun to fall. Mostly because of the tears that gather at the corners of your eyes and threaten to fall. You won’t let them, but they cloud your vision anyway, demand your attention. 

That night, a message from Jake lights up your phone just as you’re sitting down for dinner. 

Jake [6:57 pm]: Good news! The whole plagiarism thing turned out to be nothing. Just got an email from the dean that they’re dropping the investigation. I’m officially freeeeee from econ (again)

If nothing else, you have to give James credit for efficiency. And it should feel like a war won, a job well done. But staring at the message on your phone, the only thing you can think of is how soon New Years is. How little time you have before you’ll have to say goodbye. 

…

There’s never much to do, in that liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s. Minutes and hours and days blur together as the end of the year passes by, preparing to give way to a new one. 

Jake, giddy with the recent resolution of his econ grade and desperate to get away from the stifling atmosphere of his family home, tries to fill some of that time by spending it with someone he’s starting to realize he cares a lot about. Contract or not. 

First, he sends you a message asking if you’ve been ice skating this winter yet. He does his best to only be a little hurt when your rejection comes quickly, claiming in your response to have another obligation that day. Second, he invites you to drive around and look at holiday lights with him. When you tell him you already have other plans, he passes another lazy afternoon alone instead. Again, it’s a little hard not to dwell. A little hard not to let it sting. And by your third rejection – this time to take Layla on a walk with him – his hurt starts to give way to suspicion. 

But it’s not like you can avoid him forever, not with your family’s annual New Year’s Eve party quickly approaching. The last big event before the termination of your contract, you’ve been counting on him to spare you from your mother’s scathing comments and attendees’ hushed wonderings about when you’ll find yourself a boyfriend. 

And then it will be a new year, a new semester, a fresh start. As the clock strikes midnight, the end of your contract. 

Privately, Jake is a little relieved that it will be over so soon. That he won’t have to keep up pretenses any longer. That he won’t have to stick to your rules. 

He’s not sure when it happened, not exactly. Somewhere between all the bickering and arguing and fighting, but he’s come to enjoy the way you swept into his life like a hurricane and set up a home for yourself right where his heart is. 

He hopes you’ll stick around long after the ink on your contract has dried. He hopes that the two of you will get a chance to figure out what exactly those feelings between you are without worrying about how they look from the outside. How they’re perceived by James or your mother or his father. 

So Jake will be patient if he needs to be. He’ll accept your excuses, real or not, and look forward to seeing you on New Year’s Eve, relishing the fact that it’s the last time his presence at your side will be based on a lie. 

And when New Year’s Eve finally comes, he adjusts the tightness of his tie, looking at himself in the mirror. 

Midnight, he thinks. It will be here soon, quicker than he knows. And all the emotions that he’s been tucking away, all those little moments between the two of you that have fizzled and sparked and ultimately ended in nothing, will fade away with it. 

In their place, he thinks the two of you just might manage to find something solid, something real. 

…

Halfway across the city, in your childhood bedroom, you turn to Sunghoon. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods appreciatively from his seat on your bed. “Your fake boyfriend is gonna pee his pants.”

“Gross.” Your nose scrunches. “Why would you say it like that? And stop calling him my fake boyfriend.”

“Why?” Sunghoon ignores your first question. “That’s what he is, isn’t he?”

And that, you think, is another reason why you didn’t want your friends getting involved in this little scheme between you and Jake. But Sunghoon’s flight home was canceled due to inclement weather, and you weren’t about to make him spend New Year’s Eve alone. The only problem with him spending it at your family’s party is that he needs to be well-versed in the lies you and Jake have been spinning for the last couple of months to keep the last few hours of your fake relationship believable. So, a mimosa and an explanation of a contract later, Sunghoon is privy to all the gory details. But the last thing you need is reminders of that. 

Reminders of him. Reminders of what you’ll have to do in a few short hours. So you redirect the conversation. 

“Really?” You look at yourself in the mirror again. “Do you like this one better? Or should I wear the red dress?”

“No, definitely that one.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It looks really good. And everyone knows that black is better for New Year’s anyway.”

As you give yourself another once over, Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nervous, anyway? Trying to impress your faux beau?”

“Stop pretending to know French,” you threaten. “or you can actually be homeless for New Year’s for all I care.”

“C’mon,” Sunghoon sighs, ignoring the bluff. “You look great. I think so. You mom will think so. Jake’s definitely gonna think–”

“How many times do I h–”

“So stop worrying so much, and let’s head downstairs.” Sunghoon stands from your bed, nodding towards the door. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, anyway. Do you really want to leave him to the mercy of your mother?”

Point taken. You absolutely do not. With one final swipe of lip gloss, you’re pulling on your heels. It’s just in time too. Barely is the second one strapped on before the message from Jake pings through. He’s here. 

“Is that him?” Sunghoon holds his arm out for you, jerks his chin towards your phone. “Shall we go save your man from the she-devil?”

You don’t even bother to correct him, to reiterate that Jake is most definitely not ‘your man,’ as you hook your hand around his elbow, letting him pull you out of your room and towards the stairs. 

At this point, Jake is not unused to the extravagance of your family’s events. But as he enters your childhood home, he can’t help but be a little floored. It’s a house that would be impressive in its own right. Spacious and luxurious down to every last detail, the place practically screams wealth. But tonight, it really outdoes itself. 

The black and gold decorations shimmer just the right amount – enough to catch the ambient light beautifully without being garish. Every available surface is impeccable, covered with drinks and food and decor so lavish it would be almost laughable if it weren’t so impeccably done. 

Jake strains his neck over the crowd of equally done-up party guests, tries to peer around all the gowns and evening wear until he finds the figure he has memorized. He thinks he might see your mom, over chatting with a group of attendees, but no matter where he looks,  he can’t seem to locate you. 

Not until he glances at the spiral staircase on the outskirts of the room, does a double take at where you make your way down the ornate steps in an evening gown. It’s the same inky, midnight black as his suit, hugging and flowing and cascading in all the right places. Letting his gaze linger, he would have a hard time keeping his jaw closed if it weren’t clenching so tightly. 

He doesn’t mean to let it happen, the flare of jealousy that starts deep in his gut and spreads the length of his spine like a disease. But he can’t help it. Not when you look like that, not when you’re making an entrance and you’re not alone. No, you’re walking down the stairs accompanied by, on the arm of, Park Sunghoon.

Jake decides then and there that he hates figure skating. The glass of champagne in his hand suddenly feels awfully breakable. 

But then you spot him too, and some of the tension simmers, brightens, turns to something else entirely. When your gaze lands on his, your wide, genuine smile is almost enough to set him at ease. Almost. 

Cutting through the crowd, you and your unwanted chaperone make your way over to Jake. 

“Hi,” you breathe. Your hand is still on Sunghoon’s arm. 

“Hi,” Jake returns. He can’t take his eyes off it. 

Gaze darting between the two of you, Sunghoon is the one to gently but firmly remove your grip from his elbow. If it’s any consolation, you hardly seem to notice. 

Still, Jake’s shoulders are unnaturally tense, something Sunghoon takes note of. He just rolls his eyes. It’s not like either of you are looking at him to see it, anyway. 

Finally, after the silence lingers a little too long, he says to Jake, “Yeah, you don’t have to do that around me.”

“Do what?” Jake spares him only a momentary glance before letting his gaze rest on you again. 

“The whole overprotective, jealous boyfriend thing.” Sunghoon calls his game in two seconds flat. “You’re pretty good at it, though. I’ll give you props for that.”

That grabs Jake’s full attention. “What are you–”

“I know about you and ___’s contract. Don’t worry,” he mimics pulling his lips shut like a zipper. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Jake looks to you again. “You told him?” He can’t decide if it makes him feel better or significantly worse. 

You shrug. “I wasn’t sure how else to make sure he didn’t blow our cover tonight.” Besides, you add silently, how much damage could it do? After all, it’s our last night. 

Sunghoon glances between the two of you again, decides he does not want to be a part of this particular interaction any longer. “I’ll see you two later. I’m gonna go check out the hors d'oeuvres.” Turning to leave, he claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Your girl could probably use a glass of champagne.”

Sunghoon makes a beeline for the kebabs, and then it’s just the two of you. And Jake might be hesitant to follow advice from your friend, but he grabs a glass from the next waiter that passes anyway, hands it to you seamlessly as you offer him a quiet, “Thanks.”

It’s easy, just like always, to fall into your routine. His hand finds the small of your back, and you lean into his embrace just the right amount. You can tell it’s working, that the guests you mingle with are charmed by how smitten the two of you seem, that everything you do makes them reminisce on their own long passed days of young love. 

Even the brief conversation with your mother is painless as she offers a stilted compliment for your dress and wishes you both a happy semester ahead. 

But you can’t quite get your smile to reach your eyes, can’t quell the anxiety swelling in your stomach as the night marches on and the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight. 

Jake can sense your unease, your trepidation, but he has no idea what’s causing it, can only guess at what has your eyes darting around the room like a mouse watching for a cat. 

Incorrectly, he wonders if it’s the crowd that’s getting to you, the chaos of so many bodies all in one space. Trying to offer a reprieve, he asks if there’s anywhere quieter the two of you could go. 

It’s not exactly what you’re looking for, not the solution you need, but you still lead him to the second floor, out onto the balcony that overlooks your backyard gardens. It’s similar to the place you and Jake ended your night at his family dinner a handful of weeks ago. 

Even away from the crowd, the lines in your bare shoulders are tense, fraught with unvoiced worries. The inevitability of the end. 

The music is fainter out here, but the rhythm is still easy to track. Jake thinks you just need a distraction. So he holds out a hand in invitation. “Dance with me?” He asks. 

You shouldn’t, not when it will only make all of this worse. Not when there are no eyes out here, no one to convince you that you’re still just pretending. 

But resistance has always been futile. And you can’t find it in you to say no. 

Under the glow of this year’s last bit of moonlight, you intertwine your fingers with his, let him draw you close as he wraps your hands around the nape of his neck, links his own across the small of your back. 

It’s not dancing, not really. Not as the two of you draw nearer under the pretense of staying warm. Not as your bodies barely move through space, just swaying slightly, in time with the harmonies that spin and twist and crescendo and fall below you. 

Jake knows better than to press his luck. But the day is dying, and so is your contract. What are a few minutes anyway, in the grand scheme of things? 

Leaning closer, he lets his forehead rest against your own, noses millimeters apart. “It’s almost midnight,” he whispers. The end of it all. The start, he hopes, of something entirely new. Something that belongs only to the two of you. In just a few moments, he’ll get to let his desires lead his actions, not the agreement he signed his name to.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. He feels where it vibrates in his chest. 

“Ten,” he hears the crowd inside chant in unison. The countdown has begun. The New Year is nearly here. 

“Nine.” He pulls you a little closer, hands pressed a little tighter to the small of your back.

“Eight. Seven. Six.” You sigh, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his throat. 

“Five. Four.” One of his hands begins to move, traces the length of your spine, finds a new home against the curve of your jaw. 

“Three.” Using the gentle guidance of his thumb, he angles your face, just slightly.

“Two.” Around you, the world holds its breath. The two of you do the same. 

“One.” And then he’s closing the distance, lips against yours as exclaims of “Happy New Years” are lost somewhere in the wind. 

He may have brought you here, but you’re just as greedy, hands around his neck pulling him down further until the angle has you reeling. His mouth parts against yours, and you’re not quite sure if your eyes are open or closed. You’re seeing stars either way. 

Jake pulls you closer, and it’s not enough. He’s desperate for it, for something, for closer, for more. It’s everything that he imagined. Countless times in the darkness behind closed eyelids in the privacy of his own thoughts. It’s a million times better. 

He can’t focus on anything, can’t do anything but feel, give way to the shape of sensation. He wants to let his senses drown, wants to die and be reincarnated back into this moment just for the chance to live it again. Wants to wash away anything that isn’t tethered to sensation, to the urgency in his gut, to you. 

The first in a series of fireworks lights up the sky behind you. The booming echo has you jumping in your own skin, giggling against his lips at the irrational fear. Jake thinks this must be heaven. He must have died doing something wonderful, and this must be his eternal reward. 

Your amusement lasts moments longer before he’s doubling down, pulling you in again until you’re both well and truly breathless. Lip gloss a mess on both of your mouths, chests heaving as you finally break for air. The space between your bodies is miniscule, meaningless. In this moment, you’re a single entity with nothing but the desire for more. 

Fireworks continue to burst behind you as the sun sets on the contract that bound you together. His hands are still pressed against the small of your back, and you think the fabric of your dress must be nothing but a figment of your imagination. The only real thing is the heat of his skin on yours. 

The sound of your name whispered against your skin is something you’re afraid you’ll remember for a long, long time. He sounds desperate, where he repeats it. Pleading. Longing. 

But the fireworks are a symbol of a new year. An expiration date on an agreement. A deadline on a deal. 

Jake whispers your name once more, and you savor it for just a moment longer. Then, you carefully disentangle yourself from his grip. Most of it, at least. The hands against your back allow you space, but don’t stray from your spine. 

Still encircled in the arms of feelings that were never given the chance to take flight, you try to turn blows into kisses by whispering them softly, “I think we should end this.”

It’s presumptuous, on your part, to think that there is anything to end. You feel a little ridiculous saying it when you both signed your agreement long months ago. But your head is still spinning and your heart is still hurting. This is what it feels like, you realize. To mourn for the future. To grieve all of the what ifs and maybes and almosts. 

Across from you, Jake stokes your fears. “What? End what?”

“This.” You sigh. You can’t look him in the eye. “All of it. It’s officially the New Year now. We can stop going to things as each other’s plus-ones. The fake dating. Everything.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t help it. You’re afraid that if you stop to think, you’ll propose something else entirely. Something you know you can’t have. Something that will only ruin everything Jake has worked so hard for. “We can tell our families it was mutual – fizzled, like you said.”

Jake releases his grip on you, severs that last bit of connection. It takes every ounce of your willpower to bite back your tears. 

“Woah, slow down.” His brow creases in confusion. His words are still gentle; he still handles you with care. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just…” You trail off, doing your best to find steadiness in your voice. “This was our agreement. And it’s served its purpose. Besides, it’s a new year, you know? No point in starting it off with lies.” No matter how much he searches for it, you’re still avoiding his gaze.

Jake’s cheeks are flushed – a combination of things. The taste of champagne that’s fading on his tongue, replaced by something sweeter. The gentle midnight breeze. The aftermath of a kiss that he still wears on his lips. “I…” Suddenly, he finds it very difficult to breathe. “That’s all this is to you? A lie?”

And you wish he would just let this be a clean break, would stop pressing, stop making you say things you don’t mean. But you need him to believe it. That this is well and truly done. “I mean, we got what we wanted, didn’t we? You passed econ, and I got my mother off my back for a bit. This was the date we agreed to end things on. It doesn’t make sense to keep dragging things out.”

Jake is suddenly unsure of many things, and most immediately, himself. He’s not sure how to explain it to you, here on the balcony, with the bitter taste of something that stings all too much like rejection sitting heavy in his throat. That he’s pictured it a million times. You and him, together because it lets you both breathe a little easier, because it feels a little bit like coming home. Not because of a contract or your family or his brother. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he goes to a cafe, he marks a mental note to ask you what your favorite kind of coffee is. Doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he passes the corner table on the third floor of the library or the Student Union Building, the only thing he sees is your face. 

Doesn’t know how to thank you for helping him pass econ, for being the boost of confidence he needed to finally stand up to his brother for once, for making him think that he might not be as much of a failure as everyone else seems to think he is. For believing in him.

He doesn’t know how to thank you for being in his life, for making it a little better. For putting a little love in the parts of him that he thought would always be consumed by anger and bitterness and resentment. 

Doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s not just a contract to him. Not just a lie. That it hasn’t been for a long, long time. 

Instead, he listens, motionless while you whisper, “Thank you for tonight.”

He knows your voice is wavering. He knows your resolve is crumbling. But he doesn’t know why. 

So he watches, still unmoving, as you turn to walk away from him. Left alone on the balcony with no company but the stars, Jake Sim has nothing but a million regrets and the horrible, irrevocable feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong. 

…

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Sungoon.” Your voice is flat, no energy for any real malice. Sarcasm, though, you can muster. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”

“I’m just saying.” He’s still looking at you like you’re a particularly unsightly piece of roadkill he narrowly avoided colliding with. “Would it kill you to do something about those dark circles? I don’t know, maybe, like – and I’m just throwing out ideas here – sleep?”

You’ve tried. You have. But no matter what you do, rest can’t seem to find you easily these days. And aside from that, it’s the moments just before sleep that you’ve started to fear the most. In the dark, with your eyes closed, the only thing you see is the confusion, the unmistakable hurt on Jake’s face as you walk away from him for the last time.

“Look,” Sunghoon sighs, suddenly serious. “It’s just… I’m a little worried about you, to be honest. Did something happen on New Year’s? With you and–”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off. The last thing you want to hear is the sound of his name, the reminder of what you’ve done for the sake of preserving his future. “I’m just tired, really.” You try to smile, and it’s far from convincing. “It’s been a long few days.”

Sunghoon wears his doubts as plain as day, but he won’t press the issue for now. “If you say so.” He does need you to take care of yourself, though, at least a little. “At least come eat something.” Suddenly grinning, he whispers, “I snuck in some instant ramen behind your mom’s back. C’mon, we can go make some. We can even get fancy with it, if you want. I’ll fry you an egg and everything.” He’s pulling out all the stops, a testament to how terrible you really do look. 

But it works. Or it’s enough to get you out of your room, at least. Stomach grumbling, you’re about to tell Sunghoon to make it two fried eggs when the two of you are intercepted by your mother on the way to the kitchen. 

“Oh,” she intones, taking in your appearance. Her eyes travel from your sweatpants to your t-shirt to your lack of makeup, disapproval apparent in every glance. “You look…”

“Save it,” you grumble, not in the mood to be ridiculed. 

Pushing past her, she stops you again. “Hold on a minute. I have a question for you.”

You take a deep breath before you turn back to face her. Might as well get it over with. “Yes?”

Smoothing her hair, she tells you, “Your father and I are hosting a banquet to celebrate the firm’s most recent acquisitions. It’ll be the last weekend in January. We’d love it if you could come.” 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, not seeing where the question was anywhere in there. To you, it sounds more like a demand. 

Sensing your reluctance, she adds, “You’d be welcome to bring Jake, of course–”

“We broke up,” you inform flatly. At your side, Sunghoon stiffens. 

“Oh,” your mother says again, not missing a beat. There’s very little sympathy when she adds, “Well, I suppose that’s probably for the best. Don’t you think so? I mean, you’ll be so busy with law school applications soon, it’s probably better to not have a boy around to distract you.”

You don’t bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead, you turn your back to her, fully this time. Altering your course, you set your footsteps on a path towards the garage instead of the kitchen. “I’m going for a drive,” is the explanation you throw over your shoulder. 

When Sunghoon tries to follow, you just shake your head. “I want to be alone.”

“But–”

“Please.” 

There must be something desperate in your features, because Sunghoon only nods, doesn’t argue further as he watches you climb in the driver’s seat of your car. He’s still standing there, concern apparent on his features as you open the garage door behind you and reverse your car out of it. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, driven without a destination in mind. Your playlist blares through the stereo, loud enough to drown out any thoughts that threaten to cross your mind, to consume you, to send you spiraling. 

It’s not until long minutes later, when the first drop of rain hits your windshield, that you even notice the way storm clouds gather menacingly above you in the sky. 

Whatever, you think, turning on your wipers and increasing the volume another notch. You’ve navigated worse. If anything, it’s a perfect match for your temper, for the way emotions swell and churn in your stomach. 

Mindlessly, you let nothing but intuition guide your way, turning down streets you’ve never seen on nothing but a whim and the desire to escape, even if just for a little bit. The rain continues to pour, and the storm clouds darken in time with your mood. 

By the time you do start to recognize some of the scenery around you, it’s already too late. And you’re not sure where to place your blame. Fate, your subconscious, the way you can’t seem to let him go? No matter where fault lies, you’re suddenly perfectly aware of your location. 

Mostly because you’ve been here twice in the span of a month. Because you’re only a handful of blocks, at most, from Jake’s family’s home. 

The realization makes you quick to pull over. The best course of action, you decide, is to plot your course home in your phone’s GPS, since clearly you can’t be trusted to wander. It’s in the middle of searching for a better signal that you see it. A flash of movement outside your window.

It’s hard to be sure, through the thick sheets of rain that fall from the sky. But then you see it again, see her again, and you would know that dog anywhere. 

“Shit.” Turning to scan the backseat of your car, you find neither a jacket nor an umbrella. Nothing to shield you from the wrath of nature outside. But it’s not like you can leave Layla alone in a storm. Gritting your teeth, you set your resolve. And then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain. 

It’s the kind of downpour that’s unforgiving, that soaks you to the bone as soon as you’re in it. Hair sticking to your face and already so cold you think you might start shaking, you start Layla’s name, hoping it carries over the wind. 

“Layla!” It’s all you can do to hope she hears you over the storm. You lose her for a minute. Bringing up your hand as a makeshift visor, you force your eyes to focus. When you finally see a flash of tan again, you know it’s her. The relief is short lived. Frustrated, you watch her turn to run in the opposite direction. 

“Layla!” you call again, this time louder, so much so you’re sure your voice will be hoarse tomorrow. From the way rain soaks your clothes, you’ll no doubt be nursing a nasty cold along with it.Thankfully, though, your beckoning does the trick this time. At the sound of your voice, Layla spins around, makes a beeline straight towards your familiar figure.

“Layla,” you chide once she’s at your feet, still grinning at you like the two of you aren’t absolutely soaked through and freezing. “C’mon,” you open the back door of your car to let her inside. “Hop in.”

She does so without an argument, and you slide back into the driver’s seat just as soon as you shut the door behind her. Putting your car back into drive, you set your wipers to full speed and drive straight until you see the turn a few roads down, the one that you know leads straight to his house. 

Still, you pull over again a few houses away, hesitating. 

“Sorry, Layla,” you turn to the dog in question. She just tilts her head at you quizzically. “I’ll get you home. I just…”

Don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at him and face his anger, his resentment, his bitterness. Surely those are the only emotions he has left for you. Besides, it would be nothing but disastrous if his older brother were home. James would assume that your presence in his home means you’ve neglected to uphold your end of the deal and as such, has no reason to honor his. 

There’s a lot of damage to be done here, if you don’t go about it wisely. 

Turning back to the dog in your backseat, you point at her house in front of you. “You can make it home from here, right?” Again, Layla offers nothing but the slight perking of her ears. “Your house is right there,” you point again. “Just go up to the front porch and whine or scratch at the door and they’ll let you in, alright?” You give her a scratch behind the ears for good measure. 

You know Layla likes it, know that it’s her favorite place to be scratched. You know it because you watched him do it a few short weeks ago. Suddenly, you wonder if he’s noticed that she’s missing. If he’s frantic, going crazy trying to find her. 

A new sense of urgency motivating your actions, you turn back to Layla one last time. “Alright, girl. I’ll watch from here. I’m gonna open the door, and I want you to go straight home, okay?” 

She wags her tail at you, and that will have to be confirmation enough. 

Opening your door, you slide out of the car first. You hold your arm above your head as a makeshift shield from the rain, but it’s of little use. Reaching for the handle of your car’s back door, you’re about to send Layla home on a wing and a prayer when a voice behind you calls out your name. 

At least you think that’s what you hear. You can’t quite tell, over the sound of pouring rain, the whistling of the wind. Still, you turn with trepidation in your gut. Rightfully so, when you peer into the car that’s just pulled over next to you and lock eyes with no one other than Jake’s mother. 

She repeats your name, this time a little more frantic. “Oh my god,” She exlaims, taking in your appearance. “You’re soaking wet. Quick, follow me home and we’ll get you warm and dry.”

“That’s okay,” you try to explain over the story, “I have Layla, actually. I saw her wandering a few blocks over, and I–”

“Layla? Oh my goodness.” Concern and gratitude color every word. “Thank you, ___. I’m sure Jake is going crazy. C’mon,” she reiterates. “Follow me, and let’s get you both inside.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she rolls her window back up, driving away with the clear expectation that you follow. And it’s not like you have any other choice, not really. You can hardly drive away with her dog. And it’s not like you can let Layla out now, not when she’s seen you.  

So, hoping against all odds neither Sim brother is home, you climb back into your car and follow her command. 

“Oh my god,” she repeats when you pull into the driveway behind her, letting yourself and Layla out of your car. “You two are absolutely soaked. C’mon, quickly,” she ushers you towards the front door. 

Opening it, she steps inside first. 

And of course luck is not on your side. You hear him before you see him. “Mom,” he sounds panicked, horribly on edge. “Have you seen Layla? She’s been missing for almost an hour and I can’t find her anywhere. I called James, but he left on a business trip this morning.” He doesn’t leave room to breathe. “I’m worried she might have gotten outside–” 

Your rescue doesn’t remain a mystery for long. Layla bounds through the front door, jumping on her favorite sibling, wet paw prints staining his jeans as her sudden movement forces the door open wider. Reveals you. 

Relief washes over Jake’s features as he greets his dog just as affectionately, and then he glances upwards. He takes one look at you, soaked to the bone and shaking from the cold. Any other words he had die on his lips. 

“___ found her, actually,” his mom explains, reching behind you to usher you in fully and shut the door behind you. “A few blocks over, you said?” She clarifies, turning to you. 

Eyes not leaving Jake’s, you just nod. 

His mother glances between the two of you, your frozen, shocked stares. The tension is palpable, and she senses it as well. 

“I’m going to go get Layla dried off,” she offers. “Jake, why don’t you help ___ find a dry set of clothes.” Shuffling past the two of you, she brings Layla along with her. 

And then it’s just you and him. 

Both of you stand there a moment longer, neither of you saying anything.

When you do break the silence, it’s at the same time. “Are you okay?” Jake tries, just as you say, “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passes between you. 

Jake nods towards you. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry,” you try to explain, words feeling jumbled as you give them life. “I was driving and I saw Layla all alone, and I didn’t know…” That you’d be here. That I would run into your mom. That it would hurt so much to see you again. You don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for, but your presence feels like an intrusion. 

Jake begs to differ. “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. I was worried out of my mind thinking I might never see her again.” He’s talking about Layla. You know he’s talking about Layla. But his eyes don’t leave you once. 

It feels like a moment that could stretch into forever, you and him. Masking your hurt, hiding wounded prides. Standing inches apart and the distance has never felt greater. 

The spell is only broken when you sneeze, an immediate reminder of the circumstances that brought you here. Of the fact that you’re trembling like a leaf in his entry way, soaked to the bone. 

It's enough to spur him to action. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the staircase behind him, voice and features still carefully guarded. “ I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

You could argue, but you don’t see a point. Not now. Silently, you follow him, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door on the left. When he opens it, there is no doubt in your mind as to what this room is. 

It’s his. It has to be. You know it, from all the little pieces of himself he has on display. Pictures of him in his youth with friends that smile just as big and brightly as he does. Soccer trophies, a drawing of Layla done before he had well-developed fine-motor skills, a picture of him and his mother at the beach. 

All at once, you wonder what it would have been like to discover him naturally. How long it would have taken you to uncover all these little parts of him, one by one, if any part of your relationship had been given the chance to be real. 

And then you notice the mug sitting on his nightstand. The self-heating one you gave him for Christmas. There’s nothing special about it, and it’s not particularly attractive, design-wise. It’s practical. Almost impersonal. He has no reason to keep it displayed like this. Part of you wants to swell with unshed tears. The other wants to run and hide and face your shame alone. 

But Jake is already rummaging through a drawer, and a moment later, he turns to face you with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes preemptively, and you hate the uncertainty that lingers between you. The awkwardness. All the stilted pauses and unsure silences that were never there before. You hate that it’s your fault, that you have no clue how to fix it. “I’m not sure how they’ll fit.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head, ignoring the way your heart stutters suddenly at the thought of wearing his clothes. “They’ll be dry. I appreciate it.”

“The bathroom is through there.” He nods towards the adjoining room. “There are clean towels under the sink, too, if you want to dry your hair or anything.” Pausing, he adds, “Take as long as you need.”

Nodding, you walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You know he meant it, when he told you to take your time, but part of you is hesitant to linger. Somehow, this space feels even more private, even more intimate than his bedroom. Again, you feel like an intruder. An unwanted presence in a place that’s entirely his. A place you lost the right to be when you struck a deal behind his back and took his future into your own hands.  

Sighs mingling with regrets you can’t voice, you trade your rain-soaked clothes for his dry ones. You look at yourself in the mirror, and then you tuck the necklace he gave you out of sight, underneath the collar of his gray hoodie. 

A minute later, you emerge from his bathroom slightly self-conscious and significantly drier. Across the room, Jake looks up at you. You watch as he swallows audibly, eyes tracing the planes of your body swallowed by his borrowed clothes. His throat bobs before he tears his eyes away. 

“I should…” Again, you hate this tension between you, this uncertainty. “I should go. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll wash them and give them back once the semester starts–”

“What happened?” Jake couldn’t care less about your upcoming laundry plans. You can keep his sweatshirt and sweatpants and whatever else you want from him forever, as far as he’s concerned. Instead he’s still stuck on–

“New Year’s Eve. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought things were… good between us.”

And you could continue to be evasive. For his sake, you probably should. 

You could continue to make his decisions for him and decide to preserve his econ grade instead of whatever unnamed feelings might still linger between the two of you. But, the quieter parts of you whisper, that would make you no different from anyone else in his life, from the people you’ve encouraged him to break free from. The people that have molded his decisions and guided his path with a heavy hand all in the name of doing what’s best for him. All because they think they know him better than he knows himself. 

You don’t want to do that. What you want, here in the privacy of his bedroom, in the comfort of his borrowed clothes and the legacy of his youth, is to tell him the truth. You want to let him do with it as he sees fit. Taking a deep breath, you make your decision. 

And then you brace yourself for his anger, the outrage he’ll surely have at your explanation. “Your brother–”

“My brother?” Jake’s face falls, misreading things entirely as he jumps to premature conclusions. But it’s not like he’s grasping at straws. Jake isn’t blind to the way James has been gloating more than usual as of late. To the way his mood started improving right around New Year’s Eve. And he assumes the worst. “Oh. Okay.” Jake is trying to smile, but his features are completely wilted when he says, “I guess he got that second chance after all, huh?” 

“What?” Your lips twist in disgust as the implication sinks in. “No.”

“No?” Now, Jake just looks confused. 

“No,” you reiterate. “Look,” you sigh, “I figured out that those plagiarism claims about your econ paper came from him.”

Across from you, Jake’s jaw drops as it sinks in. “James was the one who…”

You nod, lips tight. You still can’t believe it either. “I went to his office to confront him about it, and he told me he’d retract the accusation, but only if..”

Jake’s eyes are imploring. You have the feeling he already knows the answer. “Only if what?”

“Only if I promised to end things between us.” And there it is. The truth. Cold, hard, ugly, and Jake’s to interpret as he will. You brace for impact. 

Jake is silent for a moment, shocked into stillness. And then, “He what?”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can see why you have such a hard time getting along with him. He’s kind of the worst.”

“Wait,” the wheels in Jake’s mind start to spin. “Did you tell him, then? About our contract and everything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He never realized our relationship wasn't real. I just asked him to give me until New Year’s. I told him I would break up with you then, as long as he retracted the accusation.”

Jake takes a step closer to you. “And he agreed?”

You nod. 

Jake pauses.Takes another step. “Why did you ask him to wait until then?”

There are a million things you could say, a million ways you could answer.

Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another New Year’s alone. Because the thought of being at a party hosted by my mother without you at my side made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Because I’m selfish. Because those butterflies in my stomach have a habit of making me do stupid things. Because everything I told your brother in his office that day was true.  

You can’t give him all of it, but you can at least offer scraps of your honesty. “Because I wanted to spend my New Year’s with you.”

Jake says nothing, but his feet are moving. Each step brings him closer and closer to you. It feels a bit like it’s playing out in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. You move backwards until you run out of places to go, until he’s crowding you against the door of his bathroom, invading your space and demanding all of your attention, your focus, you. 

There’s no hesitation this time around, not when he leans down, cupping your chin in one hand to adjust the angle to his liking.

“Wait,” you breathe, lips a hair's breadth from his own. “What about your brother–”

“Fuck my brother.”

And then his lips are on yours. In the sanctity of his bedroom, in the aftermath of revelations. It’s the second time in the span of a week, and it already feels familiar. A little bit like coming home. 

His palm finds a place to land against the sliver of skin exposed just about the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants. A shiver traces the length of your spine, this time not from the cold but from the unbearable, unmistakable heat that threatens to boil over with every touch of a fingertip, every ghost of a caress. 

When you pull back for air this time, you don’t use the moment to shatter what’s just beginning to build between you. For real this time. Instead you say, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

“Thanks,” Jake grins, still a little breathless. “I could use some more practice, though.”

And who are you to deny him an opportunity for improvement?

…

epilogue – one year later. 

“This looks pretty cute on you, you know.”

“Do not touch it,” you hiss, swatting Jake’s hand away from your graduation cap. “Do you know how long it took me to bobby pin it into place? You’ll rip out half my hair if you try to move it around.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jake raises his hands in mock surrender, puts them as far as he can from your immaculately done headwear. 

Unlike you, he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. But it makes sense. After all, the only person celebrating a milestone today is you. Jake doesn’t find that he minds so much. He just submitted his final project for Advanced Typography a few days ago, and he received stellar marks on it. The best in his section, actually. Not to mention that the class has been one of his absolute favorites so far. 

Besides, his time will come soon enough. In another year or two, it’ll be his turn to have a graduation cap bobby pinned to his hair. And he thinks a Graphic Design diploma will lead him to much happier places than a Business one ever would have. Even if it does come a year or two behind the schedule he once cared a lot more about. 

For starters, it won’t let him or you fall into any more ridiculous traps set by his brother ever again. Turns out, things like photoshop and other image-altering softwares leave traces. Ones that Jake is now excellent at detecting and could use to easily work his way out of false plagiarism accusations the future may throw his way. 

Straightening your graduation gown, your eyes land on something behind Jake’s shoulder. There’s a crowd today, as to be expected at a graduation ceremony, but you’ve always been good at finding what you’re looking for. And even better at finding what you’re avoiding. 

“I think I see your family,” you nudge Jake. Even his father is here. Mostly, you suspect, because you never bothered to correct his assumption that you’re heading to law school after this. Next to him stands James, lips twisted in permanent disdain, no doubt dragged here against his will. 

Still, you propose, “Should we go say hi?” The only reason you suggest it is because you also see your second favorite Sim (and first favorite on the days that Jake is particularly annoying). Hand blocking the sun and eyes wandering, you can tell that his mother is looking for the two of you. 

Jake keeps his back to them, steps in front of you to block you both from their sight. “No,” he denies flatly. “My brother is still weirdly obsessed with you.”

You wink, nudge him as you tease, “Must run in the family.” It’s an echo of a past conversion and rings even more true this time around. 

“C’mon,” you grab his hand, tugging him along. “I promised your mom a picture. I’ll ignore him. Trust me, I’m good at it.” Glancing down at your feet, you reconsider. “Actually, I’ll step on his foot. These heels weren’t just made to look good, you know. They’re actually a pretty decent weapon if yielded properly.” 

So Jake relents, lets you pull him along. Towards an interaction he doesn't really want to have but knows he will come out of just fine. Towards a future that’s full of uncertainties and doubts, but is his alone to forge. 

He doesn’t know what life will look like in ten years or five years or even just one, but he knows that he likes the way it feels when he does his best to put a little love into everything he builds. To let it swell and overflow until it touches the world around him and smoothes over lingering remnants of the bitterness and resentment and anger that never did anything but make him miserable. 

And Jake likes the way it feels when you smile at him. He likes the way it feels when your hand is wrapped up in his own. 

And for now, he thinks that might just be all he needs. 

outtake – sixteen years ago. 

At the age of six, there is a lot you don’t know about the world around you yet. 

For starters, you don’t understand why it’s only grown-ups that get to drive. It seems awfully unfair that you’re always relegated to your car seat in the back when the front seems much more exciting, especially considering the way your mom is always yelling at the other cars. 

You’re also not sure why she always makes you wear itchy dresses whenever you go to places with a lot of other people. After all, your princess nightgown is way more comfortable, and you like the way it feels against your skin. But no matter how many times you begged, your mom still put you in one of those awful, scratchy dresses tonight. And by the time she finally finishes her first round of mingling at your family firm’s annual charity fundraiser and lets you sit down in the seat next to her for a brief break, you’ve already been poked and prodded by people you don’t know more times than you can count. 

Which is saying a lot, since you just learned your numbers up to one hundred last week.

And you’re really not sure what your mom means when she leans over to your father and whispers, “I think this could be the start of something extremely profitable. A contract with the Sims, exclusive rights to represent them legally, I mean, that’s huge.” 

You scratch at your shoulder. That’s the itchiest part of your dress. Your mom leans a little closer to your father. “I know you don’t like to, but suck up to him a little tonight, if you have to. And if he invites you to golf, you must say yes. We absolutely cannot blow this opportunity.”

At six, your interest is still a flighty thing, and grown-up conversations you can’t understand are usually quick to lose it. It’s not long before your eyes are wandering for something to entertain them, something to hold your focus. 

Finally, it settles on a boy halfway across the room from you. He’s small, just like you. You wonder if he’s six, too. If he can also count to one hundred now. 

Head tilting, you watch as he reaches for one of the delicately balanced centerpiece bouquets sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“Jake,” you hear someone call, that edge of worry only mothers can manage clouding her voice. “Don’t touch that, sweetheart. It’s fragile.”

“Fragile?” The boy repeats.

“It could break easily,” she explains patiently, pulling his hand into hers as she guides him away from the fragile centerpiece. If he is six, you’re definitely smarter than him. After all, you already knew what fragile means. 

But watching his retreating back, you wonder some more. Wonder if he was made to wear an itchy outfit tonight too, wonder if he’s ever gotten to drive a car or if all mothers are thieves of fun, just like yours. Wonder if he also hates coming to these things, if people pinch and prod at him too. 

“Jake.” You try out his name, just to see how it feels in your mouth. 

Momentarily distracted by the reminder from your mother to keep your voice at a whisper level, you lose him in the crowd.

Jake, you think to yourself. Most of all, you wonder if he would be your friend. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

note: thank you for reading!! I know that this one is quite the commitment with the word count, so I really do appreciate it. as always, I love to hear thoughts, comments, screaming, etc. in the comments, reblogs, or my inbox! also, like part one, this is the latest version I had saved in my docs, and I didn't reread before posting. if there's anything glaringly off, please let me know. other than that, please excuse any minor grammatical stuff.

[gallapiech]

Give it up for art post number 3 for Highway of Hedoism!

[READ IT HERE]

+ some bts stuff because i enjoyyyyy doing that :)

Not much to comment on this one lol, it's a little rough I suppose. I think I prioritized quantity over quality here and that's definitely something I would've done differently if I could go back in time.

I'm still not sure it gets the image across? I hope it does. Sorry if it doesn't ehe...

I don't actually have a sketch for the outside one! I made it pretty fast and in one sitting lol.

a mimir. I loooove parallels! When we were discussing moments to be drawn I thought it would be really nice to have a little nod to their first time sharing a bed and seeing how much their relationship has changed over their journey!!

One of the issues I ran into while working on these is my struggle to keep the style consistent enough lol. ofc artists are their own biggest critics so maybe it bothers me more than it bothers everyone else ehe. In the end I do really like this one! Maybe a bit too cartoony? I hope it's not too distracting LOL!

I remember when we just started working on this I had asked Rory if they could get matching tattoos because I looooove that. But she was one step ahead of me and had already planned it hehehe ♥ We discussed some possibilities of their spelling qualities before settling on the current ones. I hope you enjoy the shoddy linework LOL I made sure to write them both with my non dominant hand. I also thought it would be funny if Ian wrote his name and then thought "fuck wait, i gotta add C for Clayton." And then quickly tried to squeeze it in. 🤣 (Also, once again me forgetting about clothing. Thank you Rory for reminding me about the bathrobe 🙏

Yeah. uh. I think mickey looks nice in this one :)

I think there will be one more art post after this one! The last one,,, aaahh! The end is nearing. I hope you're all enjoying the fic! I've been immensely enjoying reading everyone's reactions to it! Thank you so much for all your kind words ♥

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [38] - The End

A.N: The last chapter! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful support throughout the story my loves, you're amazing! ❤️

Summary: The heir becomes the boss.

Word Count: 3537

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

The week after you almost died was chaotic, and not even for the reasons you had assumed earlier.

Needless to say, everyone in your life was out for blood, but the problem was that there was a specific lack of people to take revenge on.

“Do you think it’ll go back to how it used to be?” you asked Bucky as you turned your head to inspect your nose in the hallway mirror while he kept pacing in the living room, gritting his teeth while he typed something into his phone.

“We should kill every person who worked for Ian.”

“Because Sarah said it would go back to normal but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“I bet Ryan can give us a list, and—”

“Ryan already killed his inner circle that night.”

“There has to be some people left,” Bucky insisted and you heaved a sigh.

“Bucky, you can’t kill people just because they worked for Ian,” you said. “Most of them switched sides already—”

“That’s not enough, and once a traitor always a traitor.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to him to stop his pacing, cupping his cheek. He took a deep breath, his blue eyes locked in yours as he clenched his jaw like he was trying to keep it together.

“Buck.”

“They hurt you.”

“Not really, the ones who hurt me are dead,” you said. “I killed one of them, Ryan killed the rest.”

“I need to do something,” he insisted through his teeth. “I…it’s bad enough that I let you get hurt—”

“You didn’t let me get hurt.”

“I was supposed to protect you,” he said. “Not…not you or Ryan.”

“I’ll let the next person who tries to kill me know about that.”

“Charm.”

“Bucky,” you said with a small laugh. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“Your nose is broken,” he reminded you. “There are stitches on your head.”

“Both of those things are temporary,” you assured him. “Seriously. Besides I…you know, it’ll be a good look for the sit down tomorrow night. I’ll look badass.”

He opened his mouth to argue but you both turned your heads when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” you called out and the front door opened before Ryan stepped into the apartment, his hands clasped behind him, his back completely straight in the perfect soldier pose.

“Ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Barnes.”

“Ryan, hi!” you said. “You’re back already?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said before stealing a look at Bucky and you waved a hand in the air.

“You can say whatever you want to say in front of Bucky.”

“When I asked to have the morning off, I took the liberty of visiting Mr. Ian’s warehouse,” Ryan said, making you tilt your head.

“He had a warehouse?”

“Yes ma’am. I wanted to make sure we have cleaned out everyone who might still support him or pose a threat to you, so…” he trailed off and pulled out a flash drive from his pocket, extending his hand. You took it from him, then heaved a sigh.

“Anyone we know?”

“I didn’t check what’s inside, ma’am,” he said. “The only reason why I didn’t say where I was going was because I wasn’t sure if there was anything inside that warehouse, but there was. We found it in the safe.”

“We?” Bucky repeated and Ryan nodded.

“One of my trusted men, sir, he can crack open any case.”

You pressed your lips together as you plugged the drive into your laptop, then clicked on the first file and let out a breath, staring at the screen.

“That fucker…” you murmured. “Ah. Well now it makes sense.”

“What?” Bucky asked and you licked your lips.

“Check out the name here.”

Bucky came closer to see the screen, then raised his brows.

“Should’ve known,” he muttered. “If there was going to be anyone HYDRA had its claws in, it’d be Ian.”

“I didn’t think he was this big of an idiot.”

“Did you know he was making deals with HYDRA?” Bucky asked Ryan who shook his head.

“No sir, I wasn’t allowed in most of the meetings. Mrs. Barnes saw it before.”

“Yeah, he kept him outside,” you said. “Figures. Oh, my dad will hate this.”

“Will you tell the others?”

You paused for a moment, then shook your head.

“No,” you said. “This stays in the family—that includes you as well, Ryan.”

Ryan bowed slightly. “Of course, ma’am.”

“Will you give us a moment please?” you asked him and he nodded, then walked out of the room. You turned to Bucky, tapping your fingertips on the kitchen island.

“This is how they had all those attacks on everyone’s territory—everyone’s but ours,” you told him. “That’s how Ian knew it wasn’t HYDRA, but us.”

“I guess he’s lucky you killed him already,” Bucky said. “This is betrayal. People would be racing each other to kill him.”

“Working with HYDRA though?” you insisted. “That doesn’t just mean betraying others, it means betraying the family. Forget the other bosses, my dad would kill him if he heard about this.”

Bucky grinned. “That argument should come in handy. This afternoon.”

You shook your head.

“I am not looking forward to that,” you murmured. “Especially with my aunt there.”

“She’s still here?”

“She’s leaving the city today, apparently,” you said. “I doubt she’ll go without giving me a piece of her mind first.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No,” you said. “You have your own stuff for preparation for tomorrow, to—”

“Don’t worry about that,” he cut you off. “There won’t be anyone against you being there, we already know that.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to make sure.”

He nodded his head and came closer to carefully kiss you on the top of your head while you pocketed the flash drive, then looked up at him with a small grin.

“Seriously, how bad do I look?” you asked him and he let out a chuckle.

“You look breathtaking as usual, baby.”

“You’re such a liar,” you said with a small push to his arm and he caught your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m serious. Broken nose or not, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen my whole life.”

You could feel a smile curling your lips.

“And not fucking you until you get better will be torture,” Bucky added, making you scoff a laugh.

“So romantic.”

“Only for you,” he played along and slapped your butt. “Come on. We both have things to do, boss.”

“Aw I can get used to that,” you said, still grinning, then walked out of the apartment. Ryan was already waiting for you by the entrance, and straightened his back as soon as he saw you.

“Ma’am.”

“Let’s go pay a visit to my dear father,” you said and walked to the elevator with him following you.

                                               *

Your father had been furious when he saw you at the hospital, so much that you thought he would’ve killed Ian if you hadn’t.

Well, technically Bucky would kill Ian before him but…

So you knew he was going to be happy to see you but you weren’t so sure if the feeling was gonna last when he heard what you were going to say to him.

Your aunt was on her way out, loading her suitcases to the car when your car pulled over in front of the house and you heaved a sigh, then gritted your teeth. It wasn’t that you didn’t see this conversation coming, yet that did nothing to put you at ease.

“Here we go,” you murmured as the driver opened your door for you and you stepped out, your aunt gritting her teeth the moment she saw you.

“Auntie,” you said and she held up a hand, gesturing you to be silent.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t call me that.”

“Is father inside?”

“You’re a monster,” she spat and you pursed your lips together.

“He was going to kill me,” you told her. “You know the rules, and so did he. Don’t blame me if he was too stupid to win.”

She eyed you up and down, making Ryan take a step closer but you motioned at him to stop.

“It’s fine Ryan, thank you,” you told him before your aunt let out a hysterical laugh.

“I see you surround yourself with traitors already.”

“Ryan is my right hand auntie, you need to respect him,” you told her, making Ryan give you a proud smile before his expression turned stony again upon turning to look at your aunt.

“I do hope you and Bucky have a son,” your aunt said through her teeth. “Because trust me, I will take him away from you.”

You managed to keep your expression completely calm despite the small shudder running down your spine.

“You can try,” you told her and she scoffed, then got into the car and slammed the door. You shook your head slightly, climbing the stairs to walk through the front door.

“I apologize on her behalf, Ryan,” you told him and he shook his head.

“Don’t, ma’am,” he said. “You have nothing to apologize for. She’s a mother, it’s normal that she’s angry at me.”

“Well if my mother were here, she would tear her apart for what her son tried to do,” you muttered as you stopped by the door to your father’s office. The men waiting there nodded at you and you knocked on the door, then peeked your head in.

“Dad?”

“Oh sweetheart, come in!” he said, standing up from his seat. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Good things I hope,” you muttered, letting him kiss your cheek before you sat down on the armchair across from his desk. He filled you a glass of whiskey and put it in front of you, then filled his glass as well and went behind his desk to sit down.

“Any word on that traitorous bastard?”

“Ethan?” you said. “Not yet but any day now. We know he’s not in Chicago, a couple of Bucky’s men are already waiting for him at his hometown and…” you trailed off. “It’s honestly just a matter of who will get him first, you or Bucky or Rhett.”

“Do they know not to kill him yet?”

You grinned. “Oh trust me. Both Bucky and Rhett have a lot of…creative ideas.”

“So do I,” your father murmured and you pulled out the flash drive from your pocket.

“Speaking of traitors,” you said, “You might want to know Ian was working with HYDRA.”

Your father stared at you for a couple of seconds in silence. “What?”

“That’s how they got in,” you said. “And that’s why our territory was never attacked and everyone else’s was.”

“Our territory was attacked.”

“Not by HYDRA.”

“We don’t—” he started, then raised his brows, heaving a deep sigh. “You.”

“Well Ian is dead now so it doesn’t really matter,” you said. “But yeah.”

“I asked you and you said no.”

“Can you blame me?” you asked. “I didn’t exactly have leverage yet, nor had I proven myself. I will use the names in the file to track them down, I figured you wouldn’t want anyone else to get involved, especially the other bosses.”

“You thought right,” he said. “Especially the sit down tomorrow…”

“That’s actually why I’m here,” you said, your heart beating in your ears and he pulled his brows together, then scoffed a laugh.

“Sweetheart, obviously I will name you my heir tomorrow.”

You took a sip of the whiskey, then heaved a sigh.

“Yeah I figured you’d say that,” you said. “That’s the problem.”

“The problem?”

“I didn’t almost die just so that you can name me your heir,” you said, looking him in the eye. “That’s not how it works. You know how cage fight works, I’ve been through worse. Being named heir is not going to be enough.”

He frowned at you as if he was confused before a look of realization dawned on his face and he leaned back on his seat, his eyes locked in yours.

“Is this a hostile takeover?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Doesn’t have to be hostile.”

A silence fell upon the room while he stared at you, then let out a breath.

“And you think you’re ready?”

“I know I am.”

“Just out of curiosity,” he said. “What would happen if I refused?”

“You can refuse,” you said, your voice completely calm. “But it’s not going to change anything. I have the support from other bosses, I have proven myself and your latest choice of heir fucked over everyone, which could backfire on you. So, I’m sitting at the head of that table tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”

An impressed smile curled his lips before he heaved a sigh, then stood up and opened up his arms.

“Come here,” he said, making you frown.

“If you’re planning on stabbing me father—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, come here,” he said and you got up from the armchair, then stepped into his embrace. He hugged you tight, then pressed a kiss on your hair and pulled back to look at you better.

“My little girl all grown up to threaten me,” he said and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I mean I’d rather not, to be honest with you,” you muttered. “I’m just saying, there’s family and there’s business. I’m threatening the former boss right now, not my father.”

He hummed, still smiling softly.

“You have one thing right, you have proven yourself, over and over again,” he said. “Even before that bastard pulled a gun on you. I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner, Y/N. That right there was exactly what I was trying to protect you from.”

“Yeah, protecting me from business,” you said. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t have let him take it from me, dad. One of us was going to end up dead either way.”

That made him clench his jaw. “I didn’t think he’d have the guts to do that to you,” he said. “That will be on my conscience forever.”

“It shouldn’t,” you said. “I mean yeah you fucked up but you know, there’s no one who doesn’t take me seriously in the business after that whole fight. I doubt it’d have the same impact if you handed it to me, so…it’ll work in my favor.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“My father has nothing to worry about,” you told him. “And the former boss is paying for that mistake with me replacing him. Hostile takeover and all that.”

He let out a chuckle, then hugged you again.

“Perhaps I’ll buy another boat,” he said. “I should ask George what he does with all the time he has in retirement.”

A laugh escaped from you and you held up your hands. “Hey, if you want to be a cliché, I can’t stop you,” you said and checked your wristwatch. “I need to go and meet Bucky, we’re having lunch.”

“Alright,” he said. “Tell him I said hi.”

“Of course,” you said and kissed him on the cheek, then walked to the door before turning to look at him. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not making this harder than it should be,” you told him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Well,” he said. “You’re the head of the family business now. It’s your rules, the rest will follow your orders. Including the former boss.”

You let a smile curl your lips, then walked out of the office and passed through the hallway to step outside, your heels echoing on the marble floor.  

                                              *

There had been numerous sit downs at this place but this was the first one that you would attend as a boss, so needless to say you were way too impatient.

Ever since you had stepped a foot in your father’s house, you couldn’t stop tapping your foot. The guests were beginning to arrive one by one, and you desperately needed a drink but you knew you had to keep a completely clear head so you couldn’t exactly drink what the rest were drinking.

“Here,” Bucky said, touching the small of your back with one hand while giving you a glass of water with the other.

“Thank you,” you said and he pressed a kiss on your temple, making you frown and pull back. “Nope.”

“What?”

“This is a work meeting,” you told him, nodding at Clint and Natasha by the corner of the living room while Tony talked to your father and Bucky frowned.

“They already know we’re married, Charm.”

“Well we can’t be too lovey-dovey!” you whispered through your teeth and he chuckled.

“Babe, it’s going to be fine,” he said. “You’ll do great, I promise.”

“Right?” you felt the need to ask and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I love you, you know that right?” you asked and Bucky smirked.

“I love you too,” he said. “And you’re not going to war. It’s your first meeting as a boss, but it is still a meeting.”

You nodded your head, taking a huge sip of your water and turned your head when you heard the familiar chatter. Sarah and Becca walked into the living room, making your jaw drop.

“Hey,” Becca said as soon as she reached you. “Girl talk Buck, beat it.”

“Nice to see you too,” Bucky told her with a roll of his eyes, then turned to Sarah. “Hey.”

“Hi Bucky. Sam and Steve are in the hallway.”

“Great,” he said and walked away from you. You pulled Sarah into a hug, then pulled back to hug Becca.

“Oh my God,” you said. “What are you both doing here?”

“Well it’s your first day on the job,” Becca said. “You know, emotional support.”

“What she said,” Sarah said. “And I figured you’d be nervous, so…”

“I was,” you said with a smile. “Guys, you’re amazing.”

“I even brought a cactus,” Becca said. “Apparently that’s what people get people when they start jobs, who knew?”

“They usually get them flowers, Becca,” Sarah said and Becca waved a hand in the air.

“I haven't worked a day in my life in case you guys forgot,” she said. “Oh and Leila said ‘kick everyone’s ass’.”

“Tell her I said thank you,” you said and took a deep breath. “It’ll go well, right?”

“It’ll go great,” Sarah said, lifting your chin a bit to check your nose from the side. “It is healing nicely. The stitches too.”

“Thanks to my awesome doctor,” you said with a smile and Becca looked around.

“Your bitch of an aunt isn’t here then?”

“Nope,” you said. “She left earlier.”

“Without making a scene?” Sarah asked, disbelief apparent in her tone and you shook your head.

“Of course not,” you said. “She…she told me something.”

“What?”

“That she hopes Bucky and I have a son,” you said. “So that she can take him away from me, the same way I took Ian away from her.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and Becca raised a brow.

“Oh please,” she said. “She does know that when Bucky and you have a child, that child will be like, the most protected heir in the entire world, right?”

“I guess,” you said and Sarah frowned.

“You can’t let that get to you,” she said and you shook your head again.

“I’m not,” you said. “That’s not it.”

Becca pulled back slightly, then eyed the water glass in your hand.

“Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” she said, making your eyes widen.

“No!” you said. “No, I’m just not drinking because I’m trying to keep my head clear, it’s my first meeting with everyone else as a boss—no, I’m just worried I guess.”

“I agree with Becca,” Sarah said. “First of all, that child will be the most protected heir in the city, with your people and Bucky’s people. Second of all, who’s going to take your aunt seriously?”

“No one,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Yeah. Like I said, I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be—” Sarah started but you heard Ryan’s voice by the door.

“The meeting room is ready,” he said and everyone walked out of the living room one by one. Your father gave you a soft smile and you smiled at him back, then turned to Sarah and Becca.

“Wish me luck.”

“You got this,” Sarah said and Becca squeezed your hand.

“You were born for this,” she told you. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

You let out a breath, then made your way out of the living room to the meeting room before you stepped inside, your heart beating in your ears. Bucky was walking to his own seat and you brushed your hand against his as subtly as you could while you walked past him. He winked at you before sitting down as well, making you bite back a smile.

You got this.

Becca was right. You were born for this.

You took your seat at the head of the table, Ryan approaching to place a file in front of you and you cleared your throat, then lifted your head to look at everyone around the table.

“So,” you said, your voice completely calm. “Shall we begin?”

The End.

[sam-loves-seb]

the bathroom drawer

"Mickey!" Ian yells. "Did you move my cologne?"

"Your what?" Mickey calls back, appearing in the bathroom doorway while buttoning up his shirt.

"My cologne."

"No. I don't even know where you keep that shit."

"In here!" Ian says, shaking his head as he rummages through the drawer below their bathroom sink. "I swear I left it in here."

"Lemme see," Mickey says, nudging Ian to the side. "You're shit at looking."

"I'm not shit at looking, it's just not fucking there."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grumbles, moving the junk in the drawer around. "Jesus Christ. How much shit do we got in here?"

"Too much," Ian muses, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the sink. "But it doesn't matter anyway. It's not in there. I've been looking for--"

"Found it." Mickey holds up the blue bottle with a smug grin.

Ian grabs it from him. "Whatever."

Mickey raises his eyebrows. "Whatever? That's what I get?"

Ian leans in and gives him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," he says instead.

"Better," Mickey grumbles.

Ian spritzes the cologne onto himself while Mickey keeps rummaging around in the drawer. He pulls out an empty toilet paper roll, a broken comb with too many teeth missing, and an old phone charger with exposed wires.

He throws them all in the trash. "This thing is a mess."

"Yeah," Ian says with a sigh, checking himself over in the mirror. He paws at his hair a bit. "We gotta do a deep clean in here one of these days. Closet's a disaster too."

"What the fuck is--"

Ian looks over at his husband when he doesn't finish his sentence.

Mickey's brows are furrowed as he holds up a thin black stick in front of his face. "Is this makeup?"

Ian huffs out a faint laugh. "Yeah."

"Debbie's?"

"That thing's old enough to be Fiona's," Ian tells him, taking it from Mickey. "But no. It's mine."

Mickey raises his brows. "Yours?"

Ian uncaps the tube, twists the end so the little black tip pushes through the end. "Eyeliner."

"Holy shit," Mickey says slowly. "How fucking old is that thing?"

"Old," Ian says, trying to read the chipped writing on the side for any kind of date. "Probably expired."

"That shit expires?"

"Supposedly. But who knows."

Mickey tilts his head, watching Ian examine the eyeliner. "How the hell did it end up here?"

"No idea," Ian tells him. How it survived in the Gallagher house for as long as it did and moved to their west side apartment is beyond him. "Probably got boxed up with some of my shit a long time ago."

"Huh," Mickey muses. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Can't believe you used to put that shit on every night."

"Me neither," Ian says. "You ever tried it?"

"What, make up?"

"Yeah."

"For a disguise once or twice," Mickey tells him with a shrug. "Never like, just 'cause."

Ian starts to grin. "You wanna?"

"Fuck no," Mickey says instinctively. He bites his lip. "Why? You gonna wear it tonight?"

"Why not?" Ian asks, facing the mirror and leaning in close. "We're already going to a club. Might as well get go all out."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Ian glances over at his husband. "You got a problem with that?"

Mickey shrugs. "No."

"Okay."

Mickey watches with rapt attention as Ian applies the eyeliner to himself. The stick is old for sure, and it takes a few passes to really get the make up on his eyelid. It only takes a minute though, and then Ian's eyes are outlined in black.

"There," he says, blinking and turning to face Mickey. "How do I look?"

"Weird," Mickey says.

"Sure, but like, crazy weird, or hot weird."

Mickey's brows pinch together. "...Hot weird."

Ian grins. "It's kinda doing it for you, isn't it?"

"No. Shut up," Mickey says quickly.

Ian laughs. "You should try it," he tells his husband. "It's fun."

"It looks like it's gonna get in my eyes."

"Maybe," Ian says with a shrug. "But I bet you'd look hot with it."

"You say that about everything you want me to wear."

"And I've never been wrong once."

Mickey makes a face. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"...Can I take it off if it looks stupid?"

Ian's face relaxes. "You can take it off whenever you want," he says softly. "Doesn't ever have to leave this bathroom."

Mickey glares at the eyeliner, his face slowly melting into apprehensive reluctance. "Fucking... fine."

"Really?" Ian asks, perking up.

"How do I do it?"

"I can do it," Ian offers, holding up the eyeliner and his open hand. "Lemme put it on you."

Mickey sighs through his nose, then steps closer. He tilts his chin up and fits his face into his husband's waiting hands.

Ian kisses his temple. "Close your eyes."

Mickey does as told. His eyelashes flutter at the first press of the stick, eyelids scrunching at the new, weird sensation.

"Hold still," Ian whispers, trying not to poke him in the eye.

"Feels weird," Mickey mumbles.

"Yeah, but..." Ian pulls back, smiling at his work. "Open your eyes."

Mickey blinks them open, eyebrows bouncing with it. "So?"

"Damn," Ian says, grinning. "You look good, baby."

"Fuck off with that," Mickey grumbles, turning towards the mirror. He makes a face. "I look like a fucking alien."

"A hot alien."

Mickey gives him the side eye, but he doesn't immediately wipe the eyeliner off. He leans in close to the mirror, tilts his head this way and that. Pulls at the skin on his cheeks and his temples. "Weird," he says quietly.

"So," Ian starts, capping the eyeliner and tossing it back in the drawer. "You ready to go, or what?"

Mickey sighs heavily, taking one last look at himself in the mirror.

Ian slides in behind him, curls a hand around his hip. "Don't overthink it," he whispers, kissing his husband's temple. "If you like it, go with it."

"I don't know if I like it."

"That's okay too."

Mickey leans back against him. "It looks good on you."

Ian smiles softly. "Thanks."

Mickey hums. "Fine," he says, standing up straight. "Let's go. But if anyone says anything about it--"

"I know," Ian says, hands on his husband's shoulders as he follows him out of the bathroom. "You get to punch them."

"I get to punch them."

"Fine." Ian kills the bathroom light. "And we might have to hit the 24 hour CVS on the way home. I definitely don't have make up wipes."

[leviscolwill]

ballroom extravaganza

pairing: jude bellingham x f1 driver!reader

summary: you always hated arguing with jude, but even more so when you're about to race monaco's streets (wc: 1,7k)

req: jude bellingham x f1 related f!reader ! (driver if u can or js a driver’s relative) where they argue before a match/race that doesn’t go really well + she crashes/dnf or he gets rlly hurt in a match

contents: jude is jealous, reader drives for mclaren w lando (sorry oscar my beloved </3), possible racing inconstancies (i can't drive to save my life), reader crashes (nothing too bad happens tho), gasly slander sorryyyy, language ??, quite angsty but happy (&fluffy) ending i swear

note: i didn't want to make either jude or reader 'the bad guy™' so i hope i didn't side with one more than the other writing the argument part :| i had so much fun writing it, so i hope you enjoy reading it (lmk by rb and giving feedback !!). finally, thank you for requesting anon,, i hope you like it 🫶

now playing: ballroom extravaganza by dpr ian (moodswings in to order)

"i'm just saying, i don't like the way he looked at you when he said that"

"you're being ridiculous jude, he's my teammate and i've known him for years."

jude had always been the jealous type, and you never had any problem with this, until now. he tried to tell you how lando was flirting with you when that's really just how he communicated. sure, he was kinda flirty at times, but he knew you were in a relationship and never crossed any lines with you. but jealousy seemed to get the best of your boyfriend in that moment.

"that's not the point y/n, i'm a man and i know what he meant when he said he'll take you to this 'perfect seaside italian restaurant if your boyfriend won't'. and you just stood there laughing." his voice was louder now, and you hated it whenever jude screamed, especially when those screams were directed at you.

"you're delusional... he didn't imply anything with that, he was only joking." you tried to reason your boyfriend.

"i still don't like it, i'm not asking you to never talk to him again, just make it clear you're-"

"but he knows that jude! i talk about you all the time, let's be serious for a second, come on." you laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation you were in, 45 minutes before the monaco grand prix fighting with your boyfriend in your driver room, it was probably the last thing you should be doing on a track where your focus was the most important thing.

you were always grateful whenever jude made time to see you racing because you knew how packed his schedule was. but right now, he was the last person you needed to see given the circumstances.

"jude, please just leave, i'm sick of fighting."

"i'm not leaving, we're having this conversation whether you like it or not." he said in a calmer tone, but it was too late, the damage was done.

"well, you're in my room right now and i want you out. i need to focus and you're not exactly helping right now."

"but we need to talk it out, i don't want you to go while we're fighting." you would have sworn his voice broke a bit when he ended his sentence.

"maybe you shouldn't have picked a fight with me then! maybe you shouldn't be here at all actually..." you practically whisper the last part and you immediately regret the words that came out of your mouth, knowing well you didn't mean them.

"okay then..." jude quickly gets up and you can't help but look at your feet, you can almost feel the sad look on his face.

"i love you."

you wanted to say it back but he closed the door with a loud bang before you could mutter any sound.

the only thing jude left behind was the faint smell of his cologne for you to think about what just happened and not focus on your race at all.

deep breaths. deep breaths were what you needed, you tried to shift your focus on your start, how you needed to get away from sainz, given how close he was to you. whenever your mind drifted off to the argument you had with jude, you found another thing to focus on before the race. the formation lap would start in a couple minutes, your focus needed to be on monaco's streets for at least an hour and a half, then you'll handle the rest later with jude, you always did.

the formation lap started and everything went perfectly well, you just had to wait for the red lights to turn off and you'll be gone, no more thinking, or overthinking.

"it's lights out and away we go in the streets of monaco."

perfect start, now you just had to race like you knew how to for 78 laps. nothing you couldn't do.

the first 46 laps went perfectly, you managed to overtake carlos' ferrari and pierre's alpine. everything went well, then you thought about jude, you knew he was probably still mad at you but you still hoped he was watching the race, waiting for you with papaya-coloured headphones. as your thoughts kept going you were about to get to the trickiest part of the circuit, mirabeau.

as your focus shifted back to your race, you forgot the most important thing, the biggest danger on track is the other drivers.

your brain barely had time to register the bright blue alpine trying to overtake you when there was clearly no space. next thing you knew, your head hit the cockpit. before you hit the wall at god knows what speed, you thought about how you didn't tell jude you loved him back, and how you hoped he was still aware of how much he meant to you in that moment.

pitch black, no sound at all, you couldn't feel anything for about thirty seconds because of the shock.

then everything came back. you felt the urge to move your legs around, they moved. perfect. then you felt like your position was unusual, you came to a conclusion on your own, your car was on its side. you didn't even get to think about getting out because you felt a horrible pain in your head, where it was hit you assumed.

and lastly, you saw the medics making sure you were okay, you moved your hand for them to understand the message. you were okay, they helped you out of the car, saying you would be taken to the infirmary.

you couldn't stop smiling, you felt terrible about the race and it was probably the biggest crash you ever experienced but everything was well, your family and friends saw you get out of the car safely, and you'd be able to tell jude you loved him. everything was well.

you had to answer the medics questions that made you feel like a 4-year-old: "what's your name ? do you know which day of the week it is ?" you knew it was for safety reasons but you absolutely hated it.

jude opened the door in pure jude fashion, loudly. you almost stopped waiting for him at that point but he was here finally.

he didn't even talk to you, words weren't needed. he just held you really tight even though you were still on the, very uncomfortable, infirmary bed. you felt his arms that were holding onto you shake as he kissed your hair.

"you have no idea how fucking terrified i was y/n." while jude had been to a fair few races with you, he'd never seen any big crashes, let alone involving you. yes, you could only imagine how scary that must have been for him, feeling powerless over the situation, you knew it all too well. you felt that way when jude was injured and you were absolutely helpless, of course you never wished for your boyfriend to ever feel that way, but here you were.

"i love you." you felt like it was the first thing you should say right now. "so so so much. i'm sorry for not saying it earlier." jude looked at you as tears started to form in your eyes, he quickly wiped them away and kissed away the sudden wave of sadness surging through you.

"and i'm sorry for getting mad at you, i shouldn't even have told you about it before the race, it was-"

jude was cut short when someone knocked and opened the door quickly after. pierre came in with a sorry look on his face, you heard he dnf after he damaged his car. poor thing.

"y/n, are you okay? i'm sorry about-" he started rambling with a french accent.

"i'm fine don't worry, just... can we talk about it later? you can come to our motorhome, they make great coffee there i swear." you tried to joke to lighten up the atmosphere, but it was still as tense as before.

if looks could kill, gasly would have died right here the way your boyfriend eyed him in silence, his gaze following the driver on his way out.

"what a fucking dickhead. how is he driving a whole f1 car? even i would do a better job than him i swear..." your boyfriend's pettiness amused you, even more so knowing that boy couldn't ride a bike without scaring the life out of you.

his features visibly changed and you knew he wanted to talk your argument out, as you were both calmer about the situation. but he didn't get the chance to speak a word before lando opened the door.

"what did that french hooligan do to my favourite teammate? that was a barbarian try at overtaking really." you laughed at your teammate being dramatic, as always.

"i'm fine, i think gasly needs prescription glasses though, i don't know where he saw the space there but i'm okay."

once again, you felt jude's eyes burning holes in lando's skull as he went silent, he quickly took the hint and left.

you couldn't help but burst out laughing at jude when it was just you two in the room.

"you need to stop glaring at people like that."

"i just don't like him." you took his hand as he looked at you, his look much softer than the one he gave pierre and lando.

"i only want you. alright? it doesn't matter how lando views me, whether what you think is true. he will never be you." you told him stroking your thumb on the back of his hand.

"i know that, i was just mad at how he acted with you. i'm sorry about that. i trust you, 100%. i just don't like how comfortable he was making these comments y'know."

"i get that, i'll make my boundaries clear with him, okay? let's not fight over silly things like that anymore."

jude softly grabbed your jaw and kissed you, you could tell you both needed this talk, and this kiss, to clear the air.

you pull out of the kiss first, suddenly feeling the urge to annoy him.

"you know... you look good when you're jealous, i might try that more often..." jude faked a serious face.

"if attention was what you wanted, you just had to ask love." he joked as you playfully hit his arm.

"just no more leaving without saying 'i love you' alright?" he asks before quickly kissing your forehead.

"never again."

[writerofsorts]

Moment of Suspicion

(image creds: to the owner)

pairing: jason dilaurentis x female reader.

summary: 2x03 "my name is trouble" episode imagine/rewrite.

warnings: none.

*read previous part here!

—————

A week later, [Y/N] came to an empty home from school. After grabbing a snack, she decided to do some reading before starting her homework.

Just as she finished up a chapter, her phone rang from next to her on her bed. When she saw the caller was Spencer, she frowned in worry. Placing the bookmark on the recent page, she closed the book before answering her phone.

"Hey, Spence," she greeted, placing her book on the nightstand before sitting up on the bed again. "Everything okay?"

"Hey, [y/n/n]. Yeah, everything's fine!" Spencer answered rather enthusiastically, which made [Y/N]'s brows furrow.

"Alright, Spence, spill," she said in a playful stern voice and heard Spencer sigh on the other end.

"I may have called you to ask a favor," the brunette answered slowly.

"Sure, what is it?" asked [Y/N].

"Toby's working for Jason and I'm really worried," Spencer explained. "Can you check on him for me, please?"

"Wait, since when did Toby start working for Jason?" [Y/N] questioned, surprised.

"Since this afternoon," Spencer replied.

"You don't sound too happy about it," [Y/N] said.

"How can I be?" Spencer sighed. "For all we know, Jason could be hiding Ian, protecting him, in that creepy house."

"Spence," [Y/N] sighed this time. "I still don't think Jason would want to help his sister's murderer."

"Then, how do you explain the shadow I saw in his house yesterday?" Spencer challenged. "[y/n/n], I was right outside talking to him when I saw someone move upstairs. And, he told me he lived alone. He was clearly lying."

[Y/N] remained silent, processing Spencer's words. She still didn't believe Jason could be helping Ian hide.

However, she did find Jason's sudden return to Rosewood pretty strange. It was true that he didn't owe anyone explanation; yet, his cold demeanor towards her friends confused her because she had thought he had changed after working on Ali's memorial with them.

"Hello? Earth to [y/n/n]?" Spencer interrupted her from her thoughts.

"Sorry, I'm here," [Y/N] replied, shaking her head, hoping to remove her suspicious thoughts regarding Jason. "But, yeah, I'll go check on him."

"Thanks so much, [y/n/n], I owe you one," Spencer breathed out.

"No problem," smiled [Y/N]. "But, I have to ask you something."

"Sure," Spencer replied.

"You literally live right next door to Jason," [Y/N] spoke. "Why not just peak and make sure Toby's okay?"

"I tried," Spencer sighed out. "But, I couldn't see anything."

"It's okay," [Y/N] chuckled. "Alright, I'll check on your defenseless boyfriend and update you soon."

"You're very funny, you know that?" Spencer deadpanned.

"Sorry, I just had to," [Y/N] giggled. "Don't worry too much, alright? I'm sure Toby's okay."

"I'll try," Spencer replied. "Thanks again, [y/n/n]."

"Of course, talk to you later," [Y/N] answered and the two said their goodbyes before hanging up.

…

Once [Y/N] got near the DiLaurentis house, she noticed a shirtless and sweaty Toby first, who seemed to be hard at work with a shovel in his hands. With another few steps, she noticed Jason who was dressed in a tight blue t-shirt and faded denim jeans as he placed some heavy bags in a wheelbarrow.

She took a deep breath in to calm her racing heart as she walked closer to the two men. Her steps must've been quiet because neither Toby nor Jason took notice of her, lost in their work.

"Hello," she greeted, causing the two men to look up at her in surprise.

"Hello, [Y/N]," Jason greeted her back with a smile, standing straight as Toby did the same.

"Hey, [y/n/n], what are you doing here?" Toby asked, resting his hands on top of the shovel.

"A little birdie told me that you got a job so I figured I'd stop by and say congratulations," she replied, hoping her breathy voice didn't give away how nervous she was -- especially with Jason's gaze on her.

"Is that little birdie's name Spencer?" Toby asked, smiling mischievously.

"Of course, not," [Y/N] said, a little too fast for her liking. "Haven't you heard? My friends and I are spending some time apart. Doctor's orders."

"I just saw you guys together recently," Jason replied before Toby could and [Y/N] looked at him. She knew he was talking about the time he caught the girls sneaking out at night a couple of days ago.

[Y/N] looked back at Toby, who had a Cheshire cat grin on his face.

"I wonder if that was before or after the doctor's orders," he commented.

"It- it was before," [Y/N] replied slowly and shifted to look at Jason when she noticed Toby didn't believe her words.

"It's alright, I won't tell anyone," Jason chuckled, holding up his hands. A few moments later, he cleared his throat before asking, "I'm gonna grab a drink. Do you guys want something?"

"I'm okay," Toby replied just as [Y/N] said, "No, thank you."

Jason gave her a smile in return before turning to walk inside the house.

"Alright, [y/n/n], what are you really doing here?" Toby asked quietly once Jason had disappeared inside the house.

[Y/N] sighed and walked closer to Toby, glancing at the closed door of the DiLaurentis house once.

"Spencer sent me," she admitted, making sure to keep her voice as quiet as Toby.

"I had a feeling," Toby sighed.

"She's really worried," [Y/N] said.

"Why is she so scared about me working for Jason?" Toby asked in genuine confusion. "I mean, he's been nothing but nice to me so far."

"She thinks he's hiding Ian," [Y/N] whispered, taking another glance at the shut door.

"That's insane!" Toby said a little loudly when [Y/N] shushed him.

"I don't know what goes through your girlfriend's brain," [Y/N] shrugged playfully.

"What do you think?" Toby asked her suddenly.

"Sorry?" [Y/N] frowned.

"Do you think Jason's suspicious too?" Toby questioned her and [Y/N] dropped her gaze from his for a moment.

"He hasn't really given me a reason to be suspicious about him so far," she finally said, looking up at Toby, who nodded at her in understanding.

Before Toby could reply to her, Jason walked out of the house, carrying out a trash bag with him.

"I would invite you guys in but the place is kind of crazy," he said once he was closer to Toby and [Y/N].

He threw the bag to the side when it opened and several bloodied gauze fell out of it.

[Y/N] stiffened in her spot and her eyes widened at the sight. She looked at Toby, who looked at her, concerned. She had a feeling Toby might've been reconsidering their conversation and to be honest, so was she.

"Uh, I cut myself," Jason explained with an awkward chuckle, rubbing his palms in his jeans.

"Hope you're okay now," [Y/N] said meekly once she was able to get some words out.

"Yeah, it was just a small cut," Jason replied and [Y/N] nodded.

"Well, I should get going now," she said, slowly backing out of the DiLaurentis yard. "It was nice seeing you two. Good night."

"Good night, [Y/N]," Jason answered.

"Thanks for stopping by, [y/n/n]," Toby told her with a smile. "Text me when you get home, okay?"

"Will do," [Y/N] smiled back at him and gave one last wave to Jason before turning around and making her way towards her home.

While walking, she sent a quick text to Spencer, letting the latter know that Toby was okay. She decided to keep the suspicious-bloodied-gauze from Jason's trash to herself as she knew sharing this with Spencer would make her friend go on a dangerous hunt to know what was up with Jason.

—————

[anouchard]

hi! i think you're cool! i wanted to ask how you got into voice acting? it seems really interesting to me but i have no clue how to get into it.

Hi! Thank you! I try.

Basically:

• Went to drama school. Loved trying accents and reading passages aloud (always have).

• Went into lockdown.

• Friend from uni introduced me to Magnus (I'd also started Critical Role).

• Came out of lockdown. Did a couple of sessions of VA at drama school. Fell in love and decided I wanted to give VA work a go.

• Heard the name of my improv teacher in the credits for Magnus (hey, Ian). Messaged him saying "how?". He said "e-mail them". He backed me from day dot and gave so much good advice.

• E-mailed RQ. Graduated (summer 2021). Bought a Blue Yeti. Tested it using "test, test, test, one, two, three ...".

• Started applying for and getting unpaid VA gigs. Got my first paid one NYE 2021.

• Auditioned for jobs (got rejected for the most part, but got the odd job or two) for 1.5 years (was also doing TIE and film stuff, as well as working three day jobs and putting together a one-woman show).

• Auditioned for Gwen on a whim.

• Went on a weekend away. Considered letting acting take a back-seat as I wasn't getting anything.

• Three days later: was offered the role of Gwen.

It was a very specific and personal journey, which wouldn't have happened had people not backed me, had I not sent e-mails, and had I not terrified myself with how badly I wanted to do this.

My main advice overall, though? Just try it. Keep an eye on social media for casting calls, message people to be put on their casting databases, and get some material recorded. After that a lot of it's luck (wishing you plenty of the good variety!).

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

hi! sorry if you've answered this already, i tried to search your blog and didn't find much, but we all know the tumblr search function is...uh...but i'd be deeply curious to hear your thoughts about Stephenie Meyer's "The Host," specifically re: treatment of the issue of souls' colonization and possession of other species...and obviously, since i'm asking you, an animorphs blog, this, my curiosity is definitely coming from a place of comparison to animorphs, but that doesn't have to be your focus!

from the posts tumblr's search algorithm did grant me, i gather you see it as wanda unlearning the colonizer's propaganda stance she takes at the start of the story, which i agree with!

but i guess every time i read it, i really can't help but feel...unsatisfied? with the way it actually engages with the horrors and colonization of it all?

sort of like, okay, The Host is this one very individual YA romance story in a sci-fi setting, which is obviously different from a heavily-Star-Trek-inspired middle-grade series about guerrilla warfare and is going to grapple with these issues differently...but still! i don't leave feeling satisfied with how it engages with consent of "host" bodies the souls are in, and i don't feel satisfied with how it engages with the souls' systemic behavior!!! but i can't really put my finger on why, and i just...was curious, i guess, whether this was something you had thoughts about.

(full disclosure: i'm asking you specifically because one of my HUGE points of existential dread on my first adulthood reread of The Host was how Jodi never wakes up, and her boyfriend just starts implied-dating the soul who's in her body? or how kids who are infested from birth are just...gone, and they were like "well sweet we can just put Wanda in there, this is a perfect solution!" and that I think hit me so hard in comparison with having read Eleutherophobia--which is, by the way, a masterwork of fanfiction that wrecked me, overwrote canon a little bit in my brain, and I think fundamentally changed how I see the possibilities of writing and narration, so, you know. thank you for that!)

(also like, i know there's different worldbuilding where it's implied most hosts just...go away...but do they actually? because Mel and the Seeker's host are still there, which kind of implies to me that it's more of a problem than the souls want to admit?! and even outside humans, all the memories, and compulsions toward certain behaviors are still there! what makes a person in this universe of Meyer's?! it's kind of fundamentally horrifying?!)

apologies for this extremely long ask, haha, and i hope you're doing well, love your blog, your writing, and all your thoughts!

Oh my god, ALL OF THIS. I thoroughly enjoy the first 98% of The Host. It's a romance novel about consent! Where the characters have to struggle to resolve the plot in a way that gets the permission of everyone in the love quadrangle to boink everyone else, and spends over 500 pages doing exactly that! It's anti-imperialist as fuck! It's got an amazing supporting cast, like every Stephenie Meyer novel! The imagery is unparalleled in its richness and coolness, because Stephenie Meyer! I've written fan fiction about it! I have an extremely normal relationship with Kyle O'Shea!

And then Sunny. And then Wanda's unnamed second human host.

I think that Meyer, either because of romance genre conventions or pressure from publishers, felt she had to write a happy ending. But the book does such a good job of setting up an unresolvable moral dilemma — either Wanda gets to be with Ian, or she does the right thing by giving Melanie's body back — that there is no path to a happy ending. If Ian did as Wanda asked and sent her in a jar to some other planet, romance fans would feel cheated. If Doc did as Melanie asked and let Wanda stay in her body, then the book's anticolonial message would be for nothing.

But resolving it through PARASITING A KID IN A VEGETATIVE STATE? What if Doc makes Wanda a nice robot body? What if Wanda stays in a jar, but Ian finds a way to join her in the jar? What if she and Melanie set up a time share? Uuuuuugggggghhhhh. The Host was THIS CLOSE to being the best anticolonial novel ever written, and then falls on its face inches from the finish line.

Which, aside, is the reason I don't think Animorphs would ever work with a happy ending. "Happy" for the protagonists would never be morally okay in the bigger story.

[cococharm]

Just found your blog I’m so excited! Finally someone that writes for dpr!!!! Can I request something with dpr Ian. Whatever you want really maybe something cozy and cute ? -love Vivi

Shaping Love

Pairing: boyfriend!DPR Ian x reader Genre: fluff, romance, slice of life Warnings: established relationship Characters: 3320 Summary: After a long day, Christian and Y/n decide to go on a pottery date. AN: Thank you so much for requesting this, I hope you enjoy reading this. It’s my first time writing so I hope it meets your standards as I'm not confident in writing. (I rewrote this 4 times)

I glanced at Christian as we ventured into the pottery studio, excitement bubbling in my chest. The fragrance of clay and the peaceful murmur of the wheel occupied the room.

The instructor welcomed us with a warm smile, directing us to our stations. Christian looked around with childlike wonder, his eyes lighting up as he took in the tools and materials. I couldn't help but smile at his energy, feeling a surge of love for him.

We settled in front of our wheels after donning our aprons. The instructor gave us a brief demonstration, her hands moving skillfully to shape the clay. I watched, captivated by the transformation from a lump of clay to a lovely, delicate pot.

“Ready to give it a try?’’ Christian asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

I nodded, putting my hands on the wet clay. As the wheel began turning, Christian sat close to me, his hands cautiously working on his piece. We exchanged glances and laughed silently.

From the get-go, my attempts were awkward, the clay wobbled and collapsed under my touch. Christian chuckled next to me, his laugh a comforting sound. He was also struggling, his pot looking more like a bowl than a pot, but he was having fun and that's all that mattered.

He came closer and said, “Let me help you.” his hands covered mine, guiding my movement. Together, we coaxed the clay into a steadier structure, our hands working in a state of harmony.

The feeling of his hands over mine, strong yet gentle, sent a thrill through me. We were shaping the clay, and as it were, molding a piece of our relationship. The wheel spun smoothly, and the clay began to respond to our touch, rising and forming a simple but elegant shape.

“You're a natural,” Christian teased, his breath warm against my cheek.

“Only because you're helping me,” I replied, leaning into him.

As the instructor strolled by, she gestured approvingly at our progress. “You two make a great team,” She remarked.

Christian grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We do, don't we?”

We worked on our pieces for a while longer, lost in the rhythmic motion and the tactile pleasure of the clay under our hands. Eventually, we both had something resembling pots, albeit a bit wobbly and imperfect.

“Not bad for our first try,” Christian said, inspecting his creation with a critical eye.

“I think they’re perfect,” I said softly, admiring the unique quirks of our pieces. “Very much like us.”

Christian gave me a tender look as he turned to face me. “I liked that. Imperfectly perfect.”

We carefully placed our pots on the drying racks, our hands canvassed in clay but our hearts full of warmth. The instructor offered to fire them for us, and we thanked her, already looking forward to seeing the finished products.

As we cleaned up, Christian reached out and took my hand, his fingers intertwined with mine. “I’m grateful that you’ve agreed to join me today,” he said, his voice earnest. “This was… special.”

I squeezed his hand, having a flood of affection toward this man who always found new ways to make our time meaningful. “It was perfect. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

The evening sun cast a golden glow on the streets as we left the studio hand in hand. The memory of our pottery date would be another cherished moment in the gallery of our love, a testament to our beauty of creating and growing together.

[nightwriter357]

Smosh Summer Games:ships part 8

Thank you so much for all the support guys. After this one there's 2-3 parts left and I'm so excited for you to read it and hear you opinions on it!! Hope you guys like this one!

Part 8: Why is everybody afraid of love, LOVE.

Waking up next to him still felt bittersweet. This is temporary, you reminded yourself. Soon, you’d be waking up alone again, the warmth of his body just a distant memory.

His grip tightened, almost like he could read your thoughts, pulling you a little closer. You stirred and turned to face him, only to find his eyes already on you, half-lidded but awake, studying you.

“Were you watching me sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, though there was something softer in his expression. “Caught me,” he said, voice low. “Hard to look away.”

“Smooth.” You smiled, despite yourself. He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, the kiss soft at first but deepening, almost like he was trying to hold onto every second.

When you finally pulled away, you could feel the weight of the moment between you.

“So... last night really was the last time, huh?” You tried to keep it casual, but your voice wavered slightly.

Damien blinked, his lips parted like he was about to say something, but you cut in before he could respond. “All of this is gonna be over soon,” you said, tracing a finger down his chest, playful but tinged with the uncertainty of what came next.

He sighed, pulling you even closer, his breath warm against your hair. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I just... don’t want to stop.”

You nudged him playfully. “Then don’t, I'll give you a minute longer.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. “Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe,” you grinned, feeling a little lighter.

He pulled you back into his arms, the hug lingering a little too long, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to break it. It felt like you both knew that when you did, the illusion would shatter. You thought about asking him if he felt the same way—if this was more than just a fling to him—but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you settled for breaking the moment with a nudge. “We should probably head up before someone comes looking for us. Can’t have them questioning why we're always sneaking of”

He groaned, reluctantly letting go. “Yeah, I guess. But if they ask, I'm blaming you.”

“Fair,” you laughed, rolling out of bed with a grin. “Come on, let’s go.”

As you both got dressed and headed up to meet the others, you couldn't shake the feeling of his lingering touches or the unspoken words between you. By the time you reached the group, you pushed the thoughts aside, deciding for now to just enjoy his company.

When you arrived, the others were already gathered, except for Courtney and Shayne, who were nowhere to be seen. You caught a few curious glances from the others, but nobody said anything—yet. They seemed far to invested in their own conversation.

Arasha smirked. "I didn't dominate; I was just... exceptionally prepared."

Angela, raising a fork in her hand, chimed in. "If by 'exceptionally prepared' you mean psychic, then sure."

Arasha raised her mug in silent agreement, her face unreadable. "I'm having a ball, though. Doesn't matter who wins."

Spencer feigned disappointment. "A ball? Really?"

Arasha didn't miss a beat. "Sorry didn't meen to appropriate you culture. A ball is plenty, who needs two anyway?"

Spencer blinked, mock-offended. "Hey, you're expelled for that."

As the group joked around, you couldn't shake the thoughts of this morning. Each glance from Damien seemed to carry more weight than the laughter around you. Are you ever going to be able to not be distracted by him?

Angela snickered. "Is that even something a judge can do?"

"It's usually up to management," Trevor added, nodding sagely.

Olivia leaned in, whispering far too loudly, "Management? So, Rhett and Link?"

Trevor furrowed his brows. "It would be Ian and Anthony?"

She lowered her voic  leaning closer. "Oh, right! That explains why he's been hanging around."

Anthony shook his head with a grin. "You literally whispered that TO me."

Damien chuckled beside you, his hand brushing yours under the table, sparking that familiar warmth between you two. You couldn't help but glance his way, that bittersweet feeling creeping back in.

Chanse playfully nudged Arasha. "We have been trapped on this ship for way to long. We need to meet people, dance, have sex."

Your eyes met Damiens as you tried to supress a smile.

Tommy piped up, wiggling his eyebrows. "So... who do we think is the last person here that got laid?"

Angela laughed, setting her cup down with a bang. "Well, Shayne and Courtney are missing... so I guess it's safe to assume it's at least one of them!"

Everyone chuckled, nodding in agreement. 

Tommy glanced around, leaning forward. "Okay, but who's gonna be the next person to have sex?"

Arasha didn't hesitate, locking eyes with you. "Y/n."

You froze, choking on your coffee. Damien, who had just taken a sip of his drink, nearly spit it out. "Uh, no. Not me. Like how would I even do that?"

You felt your cheeks heat as the group exchanged knowing glances. "Seriously, not me," you echoed, feeling the weight of Arasha's smirk from across the table.

"Oh, really?" she asked, her voice as smooth as ever.

For a second, you swore her gaze shifted to Damien, then back to you. But before you could react, the conversation kept going, leaving you and Damien awkwardly glancing at each other.

Arasha's lips curled into a small, mischievous smile. "But if we were stuck here, Angela would you kiss Amanda?

"No way," Angela scoffed.

Arasha smirked. "But what if you're choking and need mouth-to-mouth?"

"And what if you're doing mouth-to-mouth and you need choking?" Tommy added with a wink.

Amanda, unfazed, leaned back in her chair, a mischievous grin on her face. "I would," she quipped, winking at the group.

Angela eyes looked as is they were going to pop out of their sockets, while the rest of the table erupted in laughter, Amanda elbowed her playfully. 

You smiled along still puzzled by the moment that had just passed. It wasn't what Arasha said, though- that definitely lingered, it was the way she said it. Like she knew something you didn't. 

"Well, at least we know Damien wouldn't be hooking up with anyone," Arasha said with a sly grin. "You know how he is—he's gotta actually like the person first."

Your heart jumped at that, stealing a glance at Damien. What does that mean?

Damien didn't look at anyone else but you, his expression softening. "Yeah... I'm not into meaningless things." His voice was quiet but firm, each word carrying a weight that made your breath hitch.

Tommy, oblivious, chuckled. "No random flings, huh?"

Damien's gaze never wavered from yours. "You could say that," he said slowly, his voice carrying weight. The implication hung in the air, and your chest tightened, trying to read between the lines.

The intensity of his words sent your thoughts spiraling. He means me... doesn't he? It was too much to process, the uncertainty, the possibility. You needed space.

"I, uh, need to... get some air," you blurted, standing quickly as you excused yourself from the table.

You barely registered their responses as you walked away, your heart pounding in your chest. You had to talk to Courtney. Now. As you left them at the dining table you could hear Angela saying, "but she went downstairs? is she getting air inside?

 You weren't sure if barging into the room to talk about this was a great idea—especially with Shayne there. You had told Courtney about you and Damien hooking up, but this? This was a whole different level of confusion. Still, you couldn't keep it bottled up anymore. Talking about this felt... awkward, but you needed to figure out what was happening. 

You burst into the room, barely giving Courtney and Shayne time to process your frantic energy. They both sat on the bed, chatting before you interrupted.

"I need to talk to you... about Damien," you blurted, breathless.

Courtney raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Shayne.

"Oh, so it's finally happening," Shayne said, smirking.

You blinked. "Wait, what? You knew?"

"Of course," he replied, sitting back. "I've known for a while."

You blinked rapidly, confused. "How? I only just told Courtney!"

Shayne glanced between you and Courtney, his smirk turning into confusion. "You told her?"

Courtney stifled a laugh, sensing where this might be heading. Shayne didn't pick up on it.

"I mean, we already told her that," he continued, clearly thinking you were on the same page.

You threw your hands up, bewildered. "Wait, wait... hold on. How could you know? I never talked to you about... Damien and me."

Shayne grinned, still oblivious. "Come on, he told me WAY before he told you."

You stared at Shayne, dumbfounded. "Wait, how could you know before me? That literally makes no sense. What, did Damien give you like... a rundown of all of it before it happened?"

Shayne, still unaware, gave a confused chuckle. "Well, yeah, obviously he told me about it before you."

Your face twisted in disbelief. "BEFORE?! What do you mean 'before'? I'm pretty sure I was there every time. I would have known BEFORE you?!""

Courtney's eyes widened, "Wait everytime? It happned more than once!?"

You blushed, your voice low. “a.. few times.”

Shayne raised an eyebrow, still not catching on. "Uh, can  ithappen more than once?"

You stared at him, completely lost. "What? Yes, what do you mean, ofcourse if can happen more than once? It's not like you guys have only had sex once?" You looked over at Courtney."

Courtney stifled a laugh as Shayne blinked in bewilderment. "Wait, WHAT?! You guys had sex?"

Courtney burst into laughter, clutching her sides. “Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed!”

"That IS what we are talking about?!" you exclaimed, rubbing your temples.

Shayne ran his hands through his hair, looking utterly flustered. "Wait, that’s what you’ve been talking about this whole time?!  - So your saying he told you that he's inlove with you and then you had sex?!"

"Yes" You froze mid-sentence. "Wait... WHAT? In love with me?! I'm just talking about the fact that we had sex!"

Shayne looked like he was processing way too much at once. "Hold up. So Damien, who has been in love with you for years, finally hooks up with you... and you thought it was a fling?"

You blinked, trying to make sense of everything. "Oh my god. He likes me? Like, actually likes me? I didn't know he was in love with me! I thought it was just... something that happened."

Shayne let out a half-laugh, half-groan, shaking his head. "Oh my god, this whole time... How did you not see it?"

Your eyes widened.  Shayne facepalmed as you started to ramble. "He likes me? Why? How? When? Oh my god—he's liked me this whole time?"

Courtney snorted, wiping away tears from laughing. "This is such a mess."

"I like him too," you muttered, your brain short-circuiting from the revelation. "I... I need to talk to him."

Shayne groaned. "You better, because I need to lie down after this.."

Courtney had a wide smile on her face, "Oh my god, this is going to be so good."

You dart out of the room, practically skidding around the corner as you spot Damien near the door to your cabin. Your breath’s still catching up, but you launch into words anyway.

“Damien!” you pant, rushing over. “We—we get along, right? Really well?

He blinks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I know.. we do. What’s up?”

You take a deep breath, trying to slow your racing thoughts. “Okay, good, because I want us to still get along when we get back, even after… you know, everything that’s happened.”

“Uh-huh…” he responds, clearly not following where this is going.

“And now that we know all of that, there’s… also a lot of stuff we don’t know! Or, I mean, stuff you don’t know, or that I know but you don’t know—yet!” You’re practically vibrating with energy.

Damien's eyebrows scrunch together, trying to piece together what you're saying. “Wait, what? I mean, I think we know eachother very well.”

“Yes! Exactly!” You pause, realizing how close you’re getting. “Well, not exactly. I mean, yes, but—wait, no, I mean—ugh, I don’t know how to say it!”

Damien’s brow furrows, his confusion deepening. “Waht are you trying to say?”

 You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. “I mean, I..

Just as you’re about to blurt it all out, Spencer pops up between you two, practically bouncing with excitement. “Hey, lovers! Time for the game!”

You gape at Spencer as he throws his arms around both of you. “Let’s go!” He pulls you both away before you can get another word out. You glance back at Damien, who’s still looking mildly puzzled, but you’re already being whisked away.

Your chance slips away as Spencer drags you off, and all you can think is: Great timing, Spencer. Great timing.

[gallawitchxx]

hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

- - - - -

#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

[spenceragnewfics]

THE INTERN | Chapter One

Spencer Agnew x Younger!Intern!Reader

TW: None

Word Count: 1.9k

Description: Y/N has been a fan of Smosh since they could remember. Now about to enter their senior year of college, they get an opportunity to be an intern at the Smosh Office and their first day has arrived.

Every new job comes with stress. You never know what is going to happen. You could have awful co-workers, creepy or mean bosses, and horrible workloads pushed onto you by lazy co-workers, the list is infinite. 

The stress comes even more when it’s something that could become your first job in the real world. Internships are a major stepping stone in any college kid’s career, it’s the start of being over with college and being a person in society.

That’s all that is racing through Y/N’s head as they look at the studio in front of them. Many people would consider them lucky with their internship. You see, Y/N is a long-time fan of Smosh, a very popular YouTube channel, and was somehow able to get an internship with the company for the summer.

They didn’t know exactly where and who they would be working with, except for knowing that their main job would be helping with social media. Looking at their phone, it shows that they still have ten minutes until they should be there but the anxiety was killing them too much to be any later.

Taking a deep breath, they grip onto the bag on their shoulder and walk to the front door. Pushing the button, they wait until a voice comes over the speaker, “Hi, how can I help you?” They lean down to be face-level with the camera. “Umm, I-I-I’m Y/N L/N. I’m the new intern.” Their voice comes out nervous, hoping they didn’t get the days confused or anything. They read the email what felt like a million times to make sure they were right.

“Yes! Alright, come on in! I’ll meet you at the door.” They hear the door unlock and push it open. Walking into the cool space, the heat from the outside slowly starts to melt from them. Looking around, the office looks much cooler in person. A lot of it is familiar but some things are new or haven’t been shown in videos.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you!” A gentle voice says, pulling them from their daydream to look at the woman in front of them. The short Filipino woman standing in front of her is smiling kindly, “I’m Selina. Welcome to Smosh.” The woman sticks her hand out for Y/N to shake.

“I’m Y/N, which you already knew, and I know who you are. I’ve been a fan of the channel for a long time. That sounds creepy though, I’m so sorry.” They say while shaking her hand, thankfully the woman has a good sense of humor and is laughing. “It’s not creepy at all. I knew it would come with being in some videos. It’s always cool to meet fans. This must be like a dream for you.”

“Yeah, honestly, the whole process felt like a major dream. I can’t believe I’m here. I had my friends dump cold water on me when I got the email about me getting the internship. It was dumb but helped make sure it was real.” They confess as they play with their hands. Nerves still being the main thing Y/N is feeling.

“I can tell you're nervous. Don’t be. I promise, this place is very chill and the people are amazing. As long as you are willing to work, you’ll fit in well here.” Selina says, comforting the nervous mess that is in front of her. “Thank you, so where do I go?” They ask after taking a deep breath.

“Well, I will give you a tour, and then when we get done with that we will go to the conference room and you will meet some of the people you’ll be working with and some of the higher-ups. That does include Ian and Anthony.” Y/N perks up a little, their mood becoming more optimistic by the second because if everyone is like Selina, then this will be the best time ever.

They follow Selina as she takes them around the office. It’s very empty because it’s a shooting week so most of the office is helping with filming stuff. She got to see all the different pods and meet some of the office-focused staff like Emily, Josh, Peter, and Marcus. 

Once the tour is over, the two head back to the front so Y/N can go to the conference room. “And that over there is the conference room. That’s where we do most of our big meetings and important stuff. That concludes the tour, if you have any questions please don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Thank you so much, Selina. I will keep that in mind.” Y/N says, slightly laughing as the two walk to the conference room. “Now this is where I must leave you. I am very excited to be working with you.” She says, giving Y/N a comforting squeeze on the arm before walking away.

Turning to the door, they can see a few people in the conference room. All people They recognize. Tommy, Alé, and Zoe are the only ones in there so far. Taking a breath, they open the door with a kind smile, “Hello, I’m Y/N L/N. It’s nice to meet you.” They say as they walk in, catching the attention of the room.

“Oh, you scared me! I didn’t expect you already, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Zoe.” Says the blonde woman, walking over to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, as well.” They say as they walk to the table. “I’m Alé, welcome to Smosh. You impressed us with your interviews and work.” The CEO says and it makes their heart soar.

“That means a lot. Thank you.” Alé gives them a kind smile before they turn to Tommy. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you fellow social media person,” he says, a little hint of amusement in his voice. “It’s nice to meet you as well. I’m so excited to be here, honestly. This is a dream.”

“Okay, you don’t have to butt kiss anymore. You’re already in.” He jokes, making Y/N laugh. “It shouldn’t be too much longer until the rest are here. I think they’re finishing a shoot.” Alé says and Y/N sits down. They look around, not knowing where to sit. “I won’t bite, I swear,” Tommy says, patting the seat next to him.

They sit next to him and put their bag on the table. Pulling out their laptop and tablet, Y/N opens up the important stuff that holds their digital work, video ideas that her advisor said could come in handy, and some examples of videos she’s worked on for her classes.

A few minutes pass with the groups sharing small talk until the door opens. Looking over, Y/N feels nervous all over again as Ian and Anthony walk into the room with Erin D. walking in behind them. “So sorry, we’re late. The rest are coming in soon.” Anthony says before turning to Y/N.

Their eyes widen when he looks at them, not believing this is real again. “Well hello there, you must be Y/N. I’m Anthony.” He says, walking over with his hand stretched out. “I know, I’ve been a fan for a while. Thank you again for this, it’s a dream come true.” They say as they shake his hand. Ian chuckles while walking over, “We’re glad to have someone so talented on our team. Your work is amazing.” He says, shaking their hand as well.

“That means a lot. Y’all’s videos got me through years and years of homework and projects.” They say, laughing a bit. “Well, we’re glad to have helped,” Anthony says as the door opens again.

This time Shayne and Courtney walk in and behind them is someone who makes her heart race for a different reason. Her breath halts when Spencer walks into the room, dressed in a jean jacket, button-down, rolled jeans, and boots. His curly hair was held back by a cap on his head. 

The three sit down together, across from Y/N and Tommy. “Okay, everyone is here. Thank you all for coming. Today we are welcoming a new addition to our office for the summer. Y/N L/N is coming to us from across the country and is currently in their senior year of college. Welcome, Y/N.” Alé says and the room claps.

Tommy motions for them to stand up, “Uh, hi. I didn’t expect to say anything but I’m Y/N, if that’s not obvious. I’m a social media management and multi-media production major. I’m a little nervous being so far from home but excited to be here for the summer.” They say, a shy smile on their face as they look around the room.

Their eyes stop on Spencer who is looking at them with a soft expression. The kind he has when he’s listening to people, the same one they’ve seen in many videos. “It’s very exciting to meet you, Y/N. Welcome to the team.” Courtney says, a kind smile on their face.

“Yeah, I’m excited to see what you can bring to the games channel,” Spencer says, keeping his eyes on them as they sit down. “Yes, thank you for bringing that up Spencer. Y/N, we have looked at the stuff you’ve done and from what you’ve told us plus input from your recommendations. You’ll be mainly helping with the gaming channel.” Alé says.

“Really? That’s so cool.” Y/N says, a smile bright on their face. “Yeah, so you will work with Tommy and me mostly to get things done,” Spencer says and they nod. “Okay, I think that’s all we have. This was just a meeting for you to get to know a few people, mostly the ones you will be working under.” Zoe says.

“Okay, sounds great.” Y/N says, an optimistic smile bright on their face. Everyone stands up, those who already met Y/N leave while Shayne, Courtney, and Spencer stay behind.

“So, Y/N, what have you done at college besides your degree stuff?” Courtney asks, wanting to get to know the newbie more. “Well, I am a part of my school’s esports team. We’re still kind of new but have done pretty well. I also was on the university paper but I stopped so I could do my internship.” They explain.

“That sounds super cool, you must be a good gamer to get on an esports team.” Shayne acknowledges. “I try, it’s not something I do all the time. Mostly for fun and I kinda joined because of my ex but that’s a long story.” 

“Ah, the things we do for love.” Courtney reminisces, “I think you will fit in great here. I know Trevor will be happy to have someone close to his age.” Spencer jokes. “I’m super excited, this is honestly a dream. I’m not even sure I’m awake right now.” Y/N confesses.

“I think I know how we can break that. Since it’s your first day, you can sit back and watch how things go then we’ll throw you into the deep end tomorrow.” Spencer says, his eyes never leaving Y/N. “Ooo, that sounds scary. Fun, but scary. I like it.” They say, perking up and putting their bag on their shoulder.

Courtney laughs as they wrap their arm around them, “You are gonna be perfect here.” They say as they all walk out of the conference room.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [6] - Drinks

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Rumors can spread fast.

Word Count: 3500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Well, that night's argument hadn't stayed private as you knew it would not, and it had a hilarious consequence.

Usually, the underworld kept its secrets. The family business, money, alliances, they were all kept from outsiders and everyone who was involved in it was advised the same thing; never ever say anything to anyone unless you want to get killed.

That rule however, did not exactly apply to romance or the rumors of it.

So in the following days, almost everyone who was in the business knew about your very loud rejection of Bucky's marriage proposal, and the mere mention of it was enough to shock everyone. Bucky was the golden heir turned boss, he was basically the prince of the city while you two were growing up, and you couldn't think of one occasion where he got rejected. As if trying to show everyone that he couldn't care less about that rejection, he had spent the rest of the week being seen with a different girl at the clubs and taking them home but it still did nothing to stop the chatter.

Which would have been quite entertaining for you, if your father hadn't also heard about it and asked you to visit him at the company.

You huffed out a breath as the elevator doors opened and you stepped out to the hallway before making your way down the hall. You could probably find your way in this skyscraper with your eyes closed, you had spent nearly your whole childhood playing here so you didn't even stop by the receptionist before approaching the glass door, seeing your father behind his desk, with Ian sitting on the couch. You heaved a sigh, then opened the door to step inside.

“Daddy?”

“Y/N sweetheart,” he said and got up to kiss your cheek. “Welcome.”

“Hi,” you said. “Ian.”

“Y/N.”

“Sit down, sit down!” your father said. “Are we keeping you from your plans?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you sat down on the armchair across from his desk.

“Not really,” you said. “Me and Becca and Sarah are all going to this new club tonight, but that's it.”

Ian hummed. “Which one?”

“You're not invited,” you said calmly and Ian shot you a glare, then held up his hands.

“Don't worry, some of us have actual jobs rather than having fun.”

“Enough you two,” your father said. “Y/N my dear, I won't keep you long. I just wanted to ask you about Bucky.”

Your head shot up and you leaned back, trying to keep your expression completely nonchalant.

“About Bucky?”

“Please, everyone is talking about it,” Ian said without lifting his glances off his phone as he typed a text. “Did he really propose?”

“Ian.”

“Uncle, a possible relationship between him and her is more than just romance, you know that.”

“She can hear you,” you said, glaring at him and Ian rolled his eyes.

“Y/N—”

“I said enough,” your father said. “Ian, leave the room.”

You tried to repress the smile on your face as Ian let out a breath, then pushed himself off of the couch to walk out of the office. You gave your father a bright smile but he only shot you a disapproving look.

“Must you two snark at each other all the time?” he asked. “We're family.”

“The fact that he's family is the only reason why I haven't shot him yet,” you deadpanned as your father motioned at his assistant for two coffees, and you crossed your legs.

“So?” he asked. “You and Bucky?”

“There's nothing going on between us.”

“But he proposed?”

You paused for a moment, then cleared your throat.

“Not exactly,” you said. “It was a hypothetical argument really. Bucky is convinced he's quite the catch, I was just bringing him down to the real world.”

“A hypothetical argument.” he repeated and you nodded.

“Mm hm.”

“And you want to keep it hypothetical?”

You raised your brows. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You two grew up together,” he said with a sigh. “I'll be honest, I'm nowhere near ready to see you get married, but Bucky knows the business, he's powerful enough to protect you—”

“I can protect myself daddy,” you cut him off. “You made sure of it.”

Your father ran a hand over his face and you tilted your head.

“You think it’s a good idea.”

He paused for a moment. “Well, it goes without saying that your opinion matters more here.”

“Well yes because thankfully we’re not in the 18th century anymore,” you commented. “But tell me anyway.”

“Hypothetically speaking, that kind of marriage would prove to be beneficial—”

“To all the psychiatrists in the city.”

“Y/N.”

“Sorry,” you said with a grin as the assistant brought your coffees and you thanked him. “Go on.”

“Would it be without issues?” your father asked. “Of course not.”

“Me making myself a widow could prove to be an issue yeah.”

“It would change the balance in the city, bringing the two families together…” your father trailed off. “Ian has his doubts about it but—”

“Ian doesn’t like it?” you asked with a huff of a laughter. “If you wanted to sell the idea to me, you should’ve led with that daddy.”

“But overall,” your father continued as if you didn’t cut him off again. “He agrees it could be good for the family and the business.”

You clicked your tongue, then reached out to grab your coffee cup.

“I’m not in the business,” you pointed out, bitterness seeping into your voice. “You made sure of that also.”

That made your father hesitate and he heaved a sigh.

“Y/N, sweetheart…”

“Is that all?” you forced yourself to ask and your father smiled slightly.

“Does he love you?” he asked back and you rolled your eyes.

“Not at all,” you said. “Which is a good thing if you ask me. I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth.”

Your father held up his hands, gesturing surrender.

“If you say so,” he said and you took another sip of your coffee, then put it on the small coffee table and stood up from your chair.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Mm hm,” he said, letting you kiss his cheek. “And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Your bodyguards are coming with you to that club.”

You let out an annoyed groan. “Becca will have her bodyguards already—”

“No,” he said, pointing at you. “We talked about this before, and you have already beene attacked once.”

“The guy is dead though.”

“We still don’t know who he was working for,” your father said. “In any case, it’s not up for discussion.”

You huffed out.

“Fine, fine…” you murmured and walked out of the office to see Ian leaning against the wall, still busy with his phone.

“So?” he said. “Should I go pick a suit for the wedding?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you said with a fake smile and he let out a dry laugh.

“You know,” he said. “If Barnes actually wants to marry you, he must be more stupid than I thought. Poor guy.”

You clicked your tongue.

“Ian I’d love to stay here and do this, but I actually have a life outside this building, friends who are not on my payroll and such, you know?” You pointed back at the office with your thumb. “But you can go back in now and pretend your opinions matter.”

With that, you walked away from him to the elevator, not even sparing him another glance.

                                                 *

 “The love of Becca’s life” as Becca called her turned out to be a nice girl named Leila whom you decided would be your friend after spending about five minutes with her. Ethan was running late -some last minute issue at the company- but he said he would be there in half an hour, so you figured you could start drinking with Becca and Leila beforehand.

“I mean listen, if you want it go for it but all my friends who got back together with their exes soon remembered why they broke up in the first place,” Leila said as you sucked on the straw of your cocktail, then shook your head.

“We barely count as exes, and it wasn’t a bad break up,” you said. “And it was back at college, everyone is an idiot in college times.”

“I know I was,” Becca said and Leila grinned.

“Me too,” she said as her phone beeped, and she checked it, then raised her brows and held up the phone at Becca.

“Aw, she’s not coming.”

You tilted your head. “Who?”

“My friend,” Leila said. “That’s a shame, she was very excited.”

“To come to the club?”

“That and to possibly see her brother,” Leila pointed at Becca with an apologetic smile and Becca made a face.

“Ew!”

“What’s going on?” you asked and Leila shrugged her shoulders.

“She and Becca’s brother had a thing like three years ago apparently?” she said. “I’d say small city but it’s not, it’s weird.”

“Kind of the same circle but not really,” Becca said and you scrunched up your nose.

“Ah.”

“I mean you should have heard the way she was talking about him,” Leila said with a laugh. “I’d tell you but Becca needs to cover her ears.”

“I do not want to be traumatized thank you,” Becca said. “I already go to therapy once a week—Sarah!”

Someone pressed a kiss on your cheek and you turned to smile brightly at Sarah, then hugged her sideways when she sat next to you.

“You’re here!”

“Only because I promised you,” she said. “I’ll have one drink and go home.”

“I still take that as a win—Sarah, this is Leila,” you introduced them. “Leila, this is Sarah, our best friend.”

“Whom we can barely see because she’s literally saving lives,” Becca said with a proud smile and Sarah waved a hand in the air.

“Don’t. It’s very nice to meet you,” she told Leila, then turned to me. “What is this I hear about Bucky proposing to you? Are you two actually getting married?”

Leila’s eyes widened.

“Oh shit,” she said. “I’m so sorry Y/N, if I knew about you and him, I wouldn’t bring up my friend and him having…a thing earlier.”

“What? No!” you said in a rush. “It’s totally fine.”

“Is it?”

“Your friend could be here and the only thing I’d ask her is if Bucky put a mirror between them in bed so that he could fulfill his lifelong dream of—”

“Y/N!”

“It’s a valid theory that I have, and I’m genuinely curious!” you defended yourself as Leila started laughing.

“Oh God…” she said. “I apologize either way.”

“You really shouldn’t—your friend slept with him, who hasn’t?” you asked while Sarah motioned for the waitress, then ordered her drink. “I mean not me I have principles, but you get what I mean.”

“But he asked you to marry him?” Leila asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Ours would be a unity of minds,” you said solemnly while Becca played with her hair.

“Unity of two braincells, more like it.”

“And we’re not together,” you added and Leila stole a glance at Becca as if she was confused, and Becca mouthed ‘later’ while you tilted your head at Sarah.

“Who did you hear it from by the way?”

“Sam told me,” she said as the waitress brought her a drink. “He’s also very entertained by that whole thing.”

“We all are,” Becca said and your phone vibrated in your hand, Ethan’s name flashing across the screen. You looked around, then stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” you said and made your way down the stairs, then passed the dance floor and stepped outside with your bodyguards following you.

“Y/N!” you heard Ethan’s voice and you turned your head, then smiled at him as the bouncer immediately stepped aside.

“Miss Y/N, he didn’t tell us he was your friend.”

“Oh no worries,” you said as Ethan approached you.

“Hey,” he said, kissing your cheek. “You look amazing.”

“Aw thank you, so do you!” you said, then grabbed his wrist to pull him along as you walked back into the club.

“They’re not letting anyone in,” Ethan told you, making you shoot him a small smile.

“Just give my name the next time and they’ll let you pass,” you told him and he let out a whistle.

“Just how far does your reach go?”

“Very far,” you said with a wink, then led him up the stairs before walking into the VIP room. You quickly introduced Ian to the girls, and took your seat, Ethan sitting right next to you.

“You were my doctor!” Ethan told Sarah. “The uh…the other night.”

“I was,” Sarah said. “Feeling better I hope?”

“Much better,” Ethan said and ordered a beer to the waitress by the door. “Thank you again by the way.”

“Not a problem,” Sarah said and Becca smiled at him.

“So Ethan,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you. Y/N says you’re a data analyst?”

“I am,” Ethan nodded. “I just moved to the city, and Y/N has been nice enough to show me around.”

“Do you like it here so far?”

“People are exceptionally rude,” he answered with a grin. “My neighbor looked at me like I’d grown two heads when I greeted him the other day.”

“I don’t think I know any of my neighbors,” Leila mused and before you could comment on it, a familiar voice reached inside the room.

“No Sam but I’m just saying—” Bucky stopped by the entrance the moment he caught the sight of you and he raised his brows.

“Hey,” he said after a beat, his lips curling into a smirk. “Mind if we join you?”

“Jesus…” Becca heaved a sigh and turned to Leila. “Do you wanna dance?”

“Sure!”

“Great, let’s go,” she said as she stood up and left the room with Leila following her. Sam and Bucky entered the room, a girl following Bucky right behind him, and you could see they were holding hands. You tried not to roll your eyes and smiled at Sam instead.

“Hey there.”

“It’s been a while,” he said as he squeezed at your shoulder, then sat next to Sarah. Bucky took a seat, and the girl sat right next to him, still not letting go of his hand.

“Look at that, you’re here too,” Bucky told Ethan. “Let’s hope tonight ends better for you than your other date huh?”

You held onto Ethan’s arm, leaning your head on his shoulder without saying anything and Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“Fingers crossed for that,” Ethan said. “But in any case, my awesome doctor is here so I’m prepared if it doesn’t.”

Sarah chuckled and Bucky leaned back on the couch.

“Sam, this is Emmett—”

“Ethan,” you and Ethan corrected him at the same time and Bucky’s smile widened.

“My bad,” he said. “He’s Y/N’s… friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ethan told Sam while you played with the straw in your cocktail, keeping your glances on the girl.

“And you are?”

“Allison,” she said and you exchanged glances with Sarah who shook her head at you as if telling you not to do what you were about to, but you turned to Allison.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. “Excuse my manners, it’s just that we don’t often see Bucky spending time with women vertically, so it took me a minute to shake off the shock.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you while Sam pursed his lips, trying to keep a straight face.

“But look at you Buck!” you told him. “You’re improving yourself.”

“At least one of us is,” Bucky stated, making you glare at him. Sam cleared his throat, shifting his weight.

“Ethan just moved to the city,” Sarah said in an attempt to change the subject and Ethan nodded fervently.

“Yeah it’s been less than a month, I’m pretty new here.”

“And he says people are rude, including his neighbors,” Sarah said and Sam chuckled.

“Let me guess, you grew up in a small town?”

“That obvious?” Ethan asked while you and Bucky glared at each other, neither of you averting your glances. Allison frowned slightly.

“Is everything okay?”  

“Great.”

“Peachy.” Both you and Bucky said at the same time and the waitress walked inside with drinks. Bucky took his glass of whiskey, then took a sip while Ethan sat up straighter.

“I’m just saying, where I grew up, people liked helping others and making friends.”

“You grew up in Narnia?”

“Okay I know how it sounds,” Ethan said with a laugh. “But I mean I guess it’s what I’m used to. I want to go back eventually but…”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, grinning. “Look at that Charm. He wants to move back to a small town.”

 “It’s a future plan, after decades probably,” Ethan added in a rush. “It’s just so peaceful there—”

“And Charm loves peaceful,” Bucky said. “She eventually wants to just leave this all behind and go live in a cute cottage or something, away from the family business.”

You gritted your teeth, putting your cocktail glass down and Ethan looked between you two while Sarah ran a hand over her face.

“You’d fit right in too,” Bucky told you. “I hear people in small towns never let anything go and can hold grudges for years.”

 “You on the other hand wouldn’t fit in at all,” you shot back. “Ethan says people are nice there so I doubt they tolerate anyone who’s an arrogant asshole.”

“There it is,” Sam murmured. “They lasted longer than I thought.”

Ethan blinked a couple of times. “Uh, how about we all just calm down—”

“They won’t,” Sarah said helpfully and Sam heaved a sigh.

“I knew I should’ve left with Steve.”

 “You really can’t wrap your mind around the fact that people can change, can you?” Bucky asked as you leaned forward, glaring daggers at him.

“Oh I can wrap my mind around that just fine; people can change, you however—” you started but your phone started vibrating on the table so you grabbed it, seeing your father’s caller ID flash across the screen.

“I’ll be back,” you said and pushed yourself off the couch, then made your way out of the club, your bodyguards following you. You took a couple of steps away from the building so that the music wouldn’t be as loud, then answered the phone.

“Daddy?”

“Y/N sweetheart,” he said. “You didn’t text me when you got there.”

“Oh I forgot!” you said, leaning back against the wall. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “You and Becca are having fun?”

“Mm hm,” you said. “At least I was until Bucky showed up.”

“Bucky is there too?” he asked. “That’s good.”

You rolled your eyes. “Daddy…”

The amusement in his voice was clear; “I’m just saying.”

“I’m going to hang up now,” you told him and he chuckled.

“Be very careful alright? And don’t stay until the dawn.”

“We’ll see about that, love you!” you said and hung up before he could argue. You pushed yourself off the wall but as soon as you turned, your eyes fell on Bucky and you let out a groan.

“Jesus Christ, what is it this time?” you asked. “Let me guess, have my babies or something?”

Bucky shot you an almost reprimanding look.

“If you insist,” he said, making you scoff before you saw his driver stopping the car in front of you both and he opened the door for him.

“You’re leaving?” you asked and Bucky’s head shot up, a look of surprise crossing his handsome features.

“Did you—me and Sam are meeting Steve, something came up but do you want to come with?”

“Absolutely not,” you said quickly. “It was just a question.”

Bucky paused for a moment and cleared his throat.

“So now that you got your revenge, are you happy?”

“My revenge?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “What, I broke your heart almost ten years ago—”

“That’s kind of an exaggeration.”

“And now everyone knows you turned my proposal down.”

“Also kind of an exaggeration to call that nonsense a proposal,” you pointed out and he held up his hands, mocking surrender.

“So when will you get rid of him?” he asked and you pulled your brows together.

“Ethan?” you asked. “What makes you think I want to?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a smile.

“Because he will bore you,” he said. “And as much as you like to think otherwise, you don’t do boredom.”

“Oh right, because you know so much about me,” you stated, sarcasm laced in your tone. “Sure.”

Bucky’s piercing blue eyes held your gaze for a moment, making your heart skip a beat before he took a deep breath, as if trying to pull himself together.

“Let me know when you’re done with the whole poems and roses bullshit and want actual power,” he told you as he walked to his car. “Ready when you are, Charm.”  

The driver closed his door and you glared at the car as it drove away, then rolled your shoulders back.

“In your dreams buddy,” you grumbled to yourself, then flipped the phone in your hand and made your way back into the club.

Chapter 7

[magnifythesun]

ianthony prompt: Anthony competing for attention for an oblivious Ian vs a protective cast over their papa ian hehe

heehee this one is cute, thanks for the prompt!!

(post writing note: trying to tread these character dynamics yet keep it feeling realistic is such a fun challenge! I hope I succeeded! this ended up being way more about the aftermath of a situation like this than examples of it happening lol but i hope you enjoy anyway)

When Anthony returned to Smosh, his first goal was to speedrun as many types of new videos on Smosh Pit and Games as possible. Try Not to Laugh, 2 Truths 1 Lie, Reading Reddit Stories, on and on the list went. His schedule was packed. Yet even during the chaos, Anthony started to notice a pattern.

When it was just him and the cast without Ian during a shoot, everything felt surprisingly comfortable. The big ensemble cast ones too, like the slapping video, great vibes all around (bit of a painful cheek though). They were all meshing so well, so quickly, and Anthony was eternally grateful that they were welcoming him with open arms. There was just one thing.

When a video was just him, Ian, and a couple other cast members, he was getting the strangest feeling. Not that they didn't want him there, he was pretty sure. That was the feeling he'd been afraid he'd get when he first came back. Rather, he got the feeling that they were constantly trying to pull attention away from him. Well, not the attention of the viewers. Just Ian's attention.

Anthony knew that he and Ian could get a little wrapped up in themselves sometimes. He couldn't really help it; with their long history together, they had a lot of inside jokes and an acute sense of what joke would break the other immediately. So they would share a glance and suddenly be laughing, giggling over some stupid joke like a couple of teenagers again, and it would be as if there were no other people in the room.

And each time, promptly, one of the other people there would interrupt, saying Ian's name, asking him a sudden question or pointing out something else so that Ian would look over there. Sometimes they'd even physically move Ian away, subtly of course. At first Anthony hardly noticed, but then it kept happening. And then he realized that often, it was accompanied by an almost pointed look at him by whoever was doing it.

Sometimes, they would get tag-teamed. For example, during a video of a light-hearted Mario Party competition, he and Ian were starting to 'yes, and' each other into oblivion, grinning and carrying on over some joke from a ten-year-old video, when suddenly Angela was pulling Ian's arm and getting him to react to something on the screen while Chanse tapped on Anthony's shoulder to show him a trick on the controller. Before Anthony knew it, somehow Angela had swapped spots with Ian on the couch. A little off-kilter, Anthony just bantered with Chanse for the rest of the video instead. To be fair, Chanse had a very similar sense of humor to Ian, so it actually went very well. Still, Anthony just couldn't tell why stuff like this kept happening.

He felt a little confused, and from that was a vague sense of hurt. Had he done something wrong? Ian never seemed to notice, so Anthony tried to push the whole thing to the back of his mind. Surely he was just reading too much into it.

On another video, Anthony, Ian, Arasha, and Courtney were facing off in Everybody 1, 2, Switch. When they went to pick teams, Anthony reached out a hand, ready to pull Ian to his side of the room, when Courtney suddenly popped up beside him, snagging his arm and raising it to the sky in victory.

"Anthony's my partner," They said gleefully, shooting a glance at Arasha, who was herding Ian to her side of the room.

"Heck yeah, dad and son team," Ian said, a little grin on his face as they high-fived. He shot a playful glare at Courtney and Anthony. "You're going down!"

"Dickbiscuit!" Arasha chimed in, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

"Gotta give them their father-son time, Anthony!" Courtney said, rather pointedly, and Anthony got that feeling again. Like there was a plot against him, but he wasn't sure why. It left a sour feeling in his stomach, and he felt bad about it. Anthony definitely didn't mind being on a team with Courtney instead of Ian, but why did it feel like she and Arasha didn't want him to be on a team with Ian?

It was time. He was at a point in his life where he'd rather just talk about something instead of letting the poisonous thoughts rot inside him. Right after they wrapped the video, he walked over to Courtney.

"Hey, could I talk to you over there?" Anthony asked quietly, trying to make sure Ian couldn't hear.

Courtney gave him an inquisitive look. "Yeah sure!" They headed to the little hallway behind the set walls. "What's up?"

Anthony shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Well, uh. Well, first of all, I may be totally misreading this."

Even as he spoke, he could tell he probably wasn't. Courtney's eyes had sharpened with understanding, and a slightly guilty yet defiant look was coming over her face.

"I've just been noticing—" He paused, thinking how best to say it. "Well, nothing specific, I don't think, but I can't help but feel like..." He took a quick breath and just got it over with. "Sometimes in these smaller videos with Ian, it feels like you guys don't really want Ian to talk to me?" He glanced at Courtney, stomach sinking as he continued, the worst fear coming to his tongue. "Or maybe you guys don't want me there?"

Courtney didn't look defiant at all anymore, now more gut-punched in a way that made Anthony feel terrible. Could he really have been misreading it all so badly?

"Or, maybe not!" He put his hands out placatingly. "I'm so sorry, I think I was maybe reading too much into things?"

"Oh god, well, no, um," Courtney stammered. "Look, I'm sorry too. You haven't been misreading."

Anthony's stomach dropped. They didn't want him here?

Courtney must have seen his expression and she reached out to grab his arm reassuringly. "Oh my god, not about not wanting you here. We're all really happy you're back, Anthony. This has been amazing."

The emotional whiplash was really starting to get to him. "Oh. Well, that's good!" He smiled weakly.

"We've just been," She paused thoughtfully, "A little protective over Ian, I think. There's an element of, you know, what if you decide this isn't for you after all, and leave again." She looked down, and continued quietly. "I think it'd wreck him, honestly."

Anthony's heart seized and he took in a shaky breath. "I can promise you," He said firmly. "That won't happen. He put a hand on their arm too, squeezing lightly to try and emphasize how serious he was. "This is what I want to be doing, full-stop. And running this whole thing with Ian means more to me than, than anything in the world."

Courtney smiled at him, a shaky, slightly teary thing. "I think, deep-down, despite our fears, we could see that. It's obvious every time you look at him."

Anthony dropped his arm and dipped his head, a little embarrassed. "Well, I can't help but be excited about it, you know?"

Courtney laughed, "I'm sure. There is one other aspect to the whole thing you've been sensing though."

Anthony looked back up apprehensively.

"With you around, he doesn't do the bits he's built up with everyone else as much!" She laughed again, clearly more at herself this time. "It's silly, but we're all a bit jealous!"

"Oh. Oh!" Anthony didn't really know what to say. He raised his hands up guiltily and said, "Whoops."

Courtney covered her mouth to try to laugh more quietly. They were still only separated by the wall of the set from the crew, and presumably, Ian.

Anthony started laughing too, rather relieved about the whole thing. He'd been so worried that there was some really big grievance the whole cast been hiding, an anvil dangling, ready to drop on his head. "It's just like you said, right?" Anthony said as he caught his breath. "Gotta give them their father-son time!"

"Exactly!" Courtney beamed at him.

Anthony smiled, but he felt compelled to continue. "Look, I just want to reiterate. About the leaving thing."

"Yeah?" Courtney said.

"I just," There was a dragging pain in his chest like the words were being pulled out of him. "I love him, you know?"

He'd said it before to Ian, that he loved him, best friend to best friend. But there was something about saying it now, to Courtney, secretly behind this set wall like this. It was haunting almost, like a specter sneaking up behind him to tilt his world permanently on its axis. He wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling. It was often associated with something he needed to work out in therapy.

He shook it off, took a breath. "I never want to hurt him like that again. He means so much to me. I won't let us fall apart like that again."

Courtney tilted her head slightly, narrowed eyes studying his. His breath felt caught in his chest. A moment, then, "Woah." Her expression brightened, suddenly mischievous.

Anthony blinked at her. "What?"

They grinned, "No, no, nothing, haha!" They had that funny wild look in their eyes that usually only came out for the cameras.

"What?" Anthony asked again, a slightly unnerved smile taking over his face.

Courtney shook her head. "No, um, you know? I think this changes things! Sorry about everyone, haha, we're just— well, you know, he's our guy, our 'Smosh single dad,' 'the dad who stepped up,' our 'single working mother,' whatever! We were all just a bit protective of him, but hey look!" She threw her hands out like she was pitching a deal. "I'll pass the message along, that you're, well, uh. That you, um. That there's nothing to worry about here! Just leave some Ian for the rest of us, yeah?"

Courtney started to back away, looking like they were going to bolt and Anthony was so confused. "Sorry about that by the way? I didn't realize I was stealing him," Anthony said.

"No you, well—" Courtney stopped. "Anthony, you do know that whenever you're there, Ian's like, fixated on you, yeah?"

Anthony had not realized that and he was not quite sure why his chest felt all at once like he had just performed a long, far too strenuous yoga session. He kept looking at her as if an explanation would be forthcoming, but Courtney was just looking back at him with wide eyes.

In this moment that felt like it resided somewhere on the spectrum of Wild West duels, Ian came around the corner.

"Oh hey," He said, and then frowned at them when they both jumped. "What are you two doing behind the set?"

"Hey Ian!" Courtney said brightly, and Anthony could hear that hidden relief underneath. "Great to talk with you, Anthony! See you later!"

Ian watched them leave and then turned back to him, suspiciously.

"Are you two plotting some kind of video?" Ian raised his hand to his chin, thinking. "Like, a prank video on me I'm not supposed to know about or something?"

That would be a great idea, Anthony thought a little deliriously. "I don't know, Ian, I guess you'll have to find out."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "I'll have you know I'm great at getting revenge."

"Oh, should I beware?" Anthony teased, the tight feeling in his chest easing up.

Ian scoffed. "Beware all right. I'll get Arasha on my side and then it'll be all over for you and Courtney."

Anthony grinned and walked over to him, slinging an arm over Ian's shoulders to guide them both out from behind the set. "You know, I keep hearing about Arasha's scheme prowess. Wanna show me whatever video that comes from?"

"Oh god, it's a whole series of videos," Ian said, already pulling out his phone. "Brace yourself, it's a wild ride."