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chimivx · 10 days ago

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home;run -> fem!reader x mlb!mingyu, mlb!vernon, mlb!dk

College didn't work out, so you're stuck with the next best thing. Living with your superstar brother, traveling with his championship winning team, haunted by your past and heavily influenced by your present.

wc; {part three} 7.1k warnings; 18+, sexual content, alcohol consumption/abuse, bad influences around her, manipulation, her name gets taken advantage of in public media, if i missed anything please let me know!! notes; peese n lurv. <3

[thirteen<3]: where are youuu

The message was sent after the photo. Shirtless, a towel hanging off his hips, every inch of his chest, his hips, and his sculpted shoulders were on display. Tapping the back of your head on the wall of the hotel hall three times, you sighed and frowned. Daya would enjoy this, maybe you should send it to her. Then again, if you did, the photo would be on the cover of every tabloid and magazine by tomorrow morning. Between her and Halle, one of them was the weasel you wished you had the energy to figure out, but there were bigger matters at hand.

Swiping out of your messages you reluctantly tap on Instagram, your manicured finger hitting the search button just as slow. Slipping your bottom lip between your teeth you type his name. Chwe. He was the first and only account to show up with a blue check, all of the others had ridiculous handles of his name and different numbers strung together to represent him in some way. He had fan accounts already. It’d been one day and he already had people making pages for him.

Granted, at Nasara he’d had a couple, some fanboys from when he played on the Knights hoping he’d get handed over to their favorite team, which he did not. In one day he’d exploded, though, it’s probably been longer than a day since this news would be common public knowledge to anyone who paid attention to baseball and not the bottom of a bottle.

The profile pictures of the accounts were of him in red, his photo taken for the team the day he signed his contract. God, he’s signed his contract already. It was the first and only post on his feed, all the other photos gone. The photo of you and him was gone, the one taken in the bathroom of the Conoscenza library on the Nasara campus, the image still clear as day in your head. He was standing in the middle of the floor in front of the wide mirror on the beige stoned wall and you were in front of the camera leaning toward the glass, both of you making the worst face known to man.

You wandered in after him without a care, midstream, which made him laugh, the sound bouncing around the tall walls. Shouting toward you, shooing you off, sarcastically scolding you for following him inside the mens room, you answered him with a shrug and proceeded to wrap your arms around his chest while asking him if he wanted you to hold it for him. Pouting at his no, he let you zip his jeans instead, the happy smile lighting up your lips making him laugh all over again.

Your arms wrapped back around his chest, him dragging you along to the sink, then toward the door where you tried to plant your feet into the tile, moaning and groaning about not wanting to go back out to do homework. He’d shot you a look, grabbed your hands and maneuvered you off of him, mumbling something about the sounds you had made and that if you didn’t stop people would think you were hooking up in here.

He never learned.

You moaned and groaned louder, chin tipping backward for extra dramatics to which he lunged forward and tried to press his fingers to your lips. Catching them with your teeth, he had clenched his own, his eyes widening, his laughter maniacal triggering your own. Letting him go, your hands having somehow latched onto his hoodie at some point, you had turned to check your appearance in the mirror and that’s when he whipped out his phone.

“Don’t, I look guh-ross,” you mocked your sorority president's attitude.

“You’re always beautiful,” he mumbled, watching you through the phone camera.

“Even like this?”

He laughed at the face you made, then copied it.

It went up on his Instagram later that night while you were slumped over his shoulder on the leather couch in his fraternity's living room, and it stayed there for a year. Considering this month made that moment several, several months back. A year since that little unspoken thing went from a spark to a flame, months before you snuffed it out.

The weight settled in your stomach. The guilt.

Now his profile had half a million followers. Five hundred thousand people followed him, watched him. The post pinned to the top of his profile, the only post, him signing his contract, shaking the manager and coaches hands, smiling wider than ever while he held up his first Lions jersey with Chwe stitched above the red number seven. The series of photos at the signing ended with a photo of him and his mom, the woman an inch or so shorter than him, holding onto him with a matching smile. His mom who believed in him just enough to send him to school all on her own. His words.

You should’ve been there, at the signing, at the sealing of the deal of his dreams. For the two and a half years you knew him this had been his ultimate dream, the big leagues, it’s what he worked tirelessly, entirely too hard for. He pushed himself harder than you’ve ever seen, and you grew up with the best pitcher in baseball. Too many practices would end with him lying limp over a bleacher, arms slung over his forehead, or him squatting down on the field, shirt drenched with his sweat, sucking in breaths, telling himself not to get sick. Between the two of you that seemed to be the type of moment you shared most. You could use both hands to count. You’d crack open a Gatorade and pass it back and forth.

“J- Isla?” DK’s voice traveled down the hall, startling you, your phone slipping from your hands into your lap. Whipping your head to the right he was headed toward you, his partner in crime beside him, both of them in sweats and different t-shirts. Their hair was messy, him and Woozi’s, and their cheeks were still rosy from the practice.

Scrambling to your feet, shoving your phone into the pocket of your jeans, you placed a hand onto the wallpaper and steadied yourself. His gaze was completely unreadable, everything about him making you feel uneasy. Uncomfortable, but because you knew you did something wrong. Woozi whispered something to him, the two exchanging words, only your brother looking at you. Silence accompanied them when they passed by you though, Woozi bobbing his head with the smallest smile.

“Hey, Moonie,” he said, his voice like butter. Lips pressed together tight, he continued on to the door next to the one your brother stood at, the one you sat beside, and shot you a wink before disappearing into it, but not before he muttered, “See you at dinner,” to DK.

Fiddling with the room key he nodded to the catcher and pulled down on the handle, shoving his door open, holding it from the inside, waiting for you to follow him in. Hesitating only a few seconds, sucking in a harsh breath, you barreled after him, his head nodding once in confirmation that he was right, you were going to follow him inside.

But what came after, he didn’t expect.

“Since when does Vernon play for the Lions?”

DK kicked off his sneakers by the door, his brows furrowing above his bright eyes. Avoiding your frantic glare and the way you spoke with your hands after they tore through your hair, he pulled off his practice shirt and slipped into a new one, a fresh one from his open suitcase on the floor by the end of his made up bed. Wandering about his room, filling glasses of water, one for him and one for you because you haven’t shut up, he finds a seat on the edge of the armrest of the couch shoved against a wall and holds the glass out toward you.

“You must’ve known he was traded, didn’t you? And you didn’t tell me, why? Is this some sort of punishment ‘cause of Mingyu? I mean, what the hell is going on, DK. I never thought I would see this boy ever again in my life and on the very first day of us being here, he’s here?! When did they even get him, when did they bring him here? Bring him up? He was supposed to have a whole other year before something like this happened, how the hell is this happening?”

You paced the floor. You flattened your hair, and fluffed it up, then flattened it again. DK watched you, his eyes traveling back and forth as you wound circles over the carpet around his bed. It was until you crossed into the smaller kitchen of his suite onto the tile that he cleared his throat and whirled you around with it.

With a sarcastic smile he looked up at you from the couch. “Isla?”

Hands clamped to your cheeks, you said, “Yeah?”

He blinked twice. “What are you talking about?”

You took a step toward him. “Vernon,” you whispered, and he didn’t move. Sighing heavily, you said, “Hansol Vernon Chwe? The scrawny little boy you guys had on first base today?” You held up a hand above your head. “About this tall, the prettiest eyes, the goofiest laugh, the best…” You cut yourself short.

“It’s his first season with us, he’s going to be starting for Seungcheol, but he doesn’t know that yet. Coach scouted him, or so the story goes, but he was hand picked really. Since last summer we knew we were getting him.”

Your heart sank. “You… You knew you were getting him? Since last summer?” DK nodded, sipping his water. The glass he once offered to you now sat on the wooden end table beside him. Flashes of the last few months you spent with him resurfaced, each one mimicking the one in the hall.

“Isla, why the questions?”

Clenching your hands into fists you took a step toward him. “This is why his coaches treated him the way they did. He thought it was ‘cause he wasn’t getting any better.” DK’s eyes narrowed, flickering once to your stance, the angry feelings visibly manifesting. “You know how sick they made him? What they did to his confidence? And it was all so you guys could snatch him up, keeping this big secret while he wasted away, trained alone away from his own team. He thought he was losing it.”

“Why have I never once heard you speak of him before this?”

Because you weren’t ever supposed to see him again.

“Isla, first of all, do you know what you did to me today?” He lifted a hand gently, as if one wave of his fingers would press pause on the chaos that was you. “I worded that wrong,” he breathed, taking his hand to his chin, “Do you know what happened today, because of something you didn’t tell me?” Frozen in place, his hand waving worked, you could only look at him and hope the baby sister eyes would evade you of any and all punishment. “I had to find out through Soonyoung, the biggest mouth on the team, that you and Mingyu are in a relationship.” The words slapped you across the face. “Every story says that you confirmed it, and then, I had to learn that Mingyu had no idea you were going to do something like this either.”

You whispered, “It just came out of me.”

DK laughed, keeping it within himself. “I know it did. I thought to myself, maybe this was an accident ‘cause I know my sister would’ve said something to me about it first. You know, we’re kind of trying to have this whole trust thing going on ‘cause she admitted to me a couple months ago that she was struggling, that she wanted help, and she confided in me, but now that she’s got this boy she’s pulling away from me.” He took a breath, one that refused to reach the pit of his stomach. “Either she’s making her decision and I can’t help her anymore, or it’s a goddamn cry for help.”

“The boy himself doesn’t even speak to me, so it’s not like I can go through him to figure out what’s going through your head, Jagi,” he spoke softly now, his voice doing a complete one eighty. “We’ve talked about this, you said it was no more than… just fun with Mingyu, but now it’s so much more. You’re in a relationship, one that a ton of people are involved in, it’s not just the two of you, you know this. The team’s going to get you involved, the girls are going to get you involved, it’s going to be this big huge thing now.”

“I am not one of them,” you whispered, and he smiled.

“But, now you are.”

“I’m not going to let that happen to me, I am going to change what it means to be one of them, I’m going to shift the stereotype.”

DK thinned his lips and searched his brain for the right words to say. “Jagiya, I love you, but you are the stereotype.” You scoffed, and his magic hand raised. “What have you been doing since New Years?”

Tilting your head side to side, you said, “Hanging out with Mingyu.”

DK nodded. “And, what do you do when you hang out with Mingyu?”

“We go out, and drink, and take pictures, and we talk to… everyone.”

He hummed, bobbing his head. “That’s right, you do,” he said. “You answer a lot of questions about Mingyu when the girlies at the bar ask you about him?” You nodded. “Right, and what is everyone associating you with right now?”

“Mingyu,” you whispered, looking down at your feet. Your brother stood up, slid the glass in his hands onto a counter and held open his arms. “I don’t wanna be a WAG.” Your voice shook and he nodded, wrapping his arms around you as you walked into them, grabbing onto his t-shirt.

“I know you don’t,” he said, rubbing his hands in circles on your back. “That’s why I want you to talk to me about these things. We can fix this, surely his eight million followers won’t care one bit.” Breathing into his shoulder you swallowed the urge to cry and remembered your own follower count from peeking at it in the hallway. You were just over a million. Plenty of people who so wouldn’t care about your relationship, not even a little bit. You could feel your phone buzzing in your pocket. Either it was Mingyu or more headlines going berserk. “You’re more than this, Isla, I want you to know that. You don’t need him to complete you. You’re already whole, and you’re so full of love, I just don’t think you know where to put it.”

“I loved him,” you muttered into his shoulder.

DK’s hands came to a stop. “What’d you say?”

Lifting your chin, a stray tear slipping down your left cheek, you whispered, “I loved him.”

“He’s your boyfriend, I assumed you did, otherwise-”

“Vernon.” Your voice trembled. DK’s brows plummeted. “I loved Vernon.”

“Oh,” he breathed, taking his hands to your shoulders where he adjusted your shirt and smoothed your hair. “Loved?” His head cocked to the side. “As in… past tense? When did you…” He blinked, looking at you. “What?”

“Where’d you get him from, Deeks?”

He brushed the tear from your cheek and the thoughts clicked all at once. “Nasara Uni… Oh.”

Rolling your eyes you half laughed. “Oh.”

Bright white light poured onto the field of green, the grass in prime fabulous shape in the September weather. Wrapping your arms around yourself, trekking up the hill toward the diamond, you tugged at the sleeves of the grey zip up you swam in in an attempt to keep yourself warm in the night air. Having left your phone behind in your bedroom on the second floor of the ITZ house tucked beneath your pillow beside four unopened shooters Yeji gave to you that morning, you decided to take Vernon up on his invitation to come to his practice, again.

He’s really only brought it up once. Ages ago. He no longer had to ask, you just appeared.

The baby pink cushioned Adidas slides on your feet brought your heavy bones and aching joints up the pavement and over the stretch of grass, dropping you off at the fence of the outfield. For a Monday night after nine the field was empty, except for him and his coach. The two were placed strategically on the bases, Vernon at first and his coach at home. A baseball thrown back and forth while they spoke smacked into their gloves, the leather hit by an eighty mile per hour force, the sound echoing in the still air.

Leaning over the fence on your arms, resting your chin on the sleeves usually worn by the boy on the field, you watched him perfect each throw, shift his body around, then do it all over again. From behind first, to the left of the base, toward the right. He’d run backward, eyes on the ball in the sky as his coach popped it up and studied his stance as he barreled back. That one he almost missed, having to dive behind himself, landing on one foot as he spun around and whirled the ball back to home plate laughing at himself. He glanced your way while he caught his breath, walking in a small circle to try to rest for a moment.

Lifting a hand to give him a wave, he held his glove in the air and smiled before he jogged over to his coach, a tall bronze skinned man with a crew cut. He glanced to you momentarily, the buff man in all black, then the two exchanged words and Vernon turned toward the bench and waved you over.

It hadn’t been a good day. It actually hadn’t been a good month, and you wanted to pack it all away, drown it out somehow, but when you met through the fence, chain link separating you, he pressed his nose to it and scrunched his brows together. He was sweaty, his brown curls stuck to his forehead and his neck. Pink lived in his cheeks, cascading across his nose below his watery eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice hoarse, tired. It tickled your skin.

Hooking your fingers into the wirey squares on the fence, you ignored his question. “How long have you been out here?”

“Almost three hours, why?” Each breath rolled through him like his subconscious was the very thing keeping him alive, standing on his feet. Glaring at his coach who messed with some of the equipment on the field, you audibly sighed. “It’s fine, I want to be here.”

“It’s not,” you whispered, looking up at him. Shadows of the metal between you danced over both your skin, the two of you pressing yourselves against it the longer you stood here. “You were out here all weekend, V, you said you weren’t doing this today.”

He pulled his lips between his teeth, his big eyes squinting at you. “This is the only time I get to see you now.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, glancing between your bodies and the fence separating you. “Yeji doesn’t make exceptions. She won’t take money, she’s only comfy handing it out, I guess.”

Vernon huffed a laugh, his eyes closing for a second. “Have you said anything to anyone yet? Ryujin? Tori?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” you whispered, looking up at him. Catching onto the tired in your eyes, the weight in your bones, the stress in your tone, Vernon shoved a hand through the metal wire and slid it below your chin, making sure you kept your eyes on him.

“What’d she put there now?” he asked, his voice hushed. The way your brows crinkled and your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to shake your head was answer enough. “She’s a bitch, Iya.”

“It works,” your voice wanted to crack, “She knows what to do, and it works. I know what she’s doing and I can’t do anything to stop it.” Lips trembling, Vernon drug his thumb along the bottom.

“You can,” he said. “I know you can.” Taking your hands around his, holding onto his calloused fingers with yours, you rested your lips to his knuckles and listened to him say things you didn’t find true in the slightest. “You’re bigger than what she’s doing to you, you have more power than she’ll ever have, that’s why she’s doing this kind of shit. You didn’t do it today, right?” You nodded. “Right, see?”

“I feel like shit,” you mumbled, and he leaned his head all around.

“Yeah, well, you’d feel worse if you drank.”

“It makes it all go away,” you whispered. “Nothing matters, I don’t care about anything, I don’t care about my life, all the shit…”

Vernon shifted on his feet, tightening his fingers around your hands. “What about me?” You met his eyes, his monotonous steady gaze not giving a single thing away that might be living his head. His feelings showed everywhere else, when it was just the two of you, when he was sharing a moment with you, but not when there were watchful eyes. Not when he was asking you questions and didn’t want his expression to persuade you one way or another. It was too good, his poker face, and it drove you crazy.

Knowing that the obnoxious laughter, the silly faces, the random thought bubbles, the occasional seventeen second dance party when a song was stuck in his head and he sang it aloud, it was all for you. Just for you. Otherwise, no one knew what went on in his mind, his brain that thought too many thoughts at once. Thoughts you’d hear at three o’clock in the morning over the phone or in your ear over the blasting music on a couch in a dimly lit room.

You knew things about him no one else did, not even his mom or his best friend he grew up with back at home, and he knew things about you, things you’ve shared with no one. What it was like to grow up with the brother you had, the grief you felt for resenting it all, how you longed to be more than just his little sister. Vernon wanted to make it to the big leagues, but he was terrified. Living a small town life his only experience outside of his tiny world was Nasara itself, and even then, so far he’s only had two years of this taste of life. He worried for his mom home alone, he worried for his future and what would happen if he never got the call, if he never made it up. The MLB was plan A, it was plan B, plan C, plan D, and so on. He had to make it. For himself, and for her.

“You’re…” Pausing, you shook his hand a bit and nodded in tiny. “You’re… good.”

A smirk found his lips. “I’m good.”

“Yeah,” you smiled at him, trying to hide it. “I guess.”

His eyebrows shot up on his forehead, his curls still stuck there. “Oh, you guess?”

The smallest laugh came out of you, easing his heart. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Hansol?” the coach called from across the field, the muscle man now standing on the pitcher's mound.

Squeezing his eyes shut, cringing at the name, making you laugh all over again, Vernon smiled at you and took a deep breath. “Quick,” he whispered, wiggling his fingers around, “You’re freakishly strong, crush every bone in my hand, please, I beg of you.” He spoke frantically, bouncing on his knees a few times.

With wide eyes you held onto his fingers and pressed your lips to them behind a smile. “Oh, yeah, sure, you want to be here, okay.”

A sneaky laugh, one low in chest, filled the air between you. “I do, lemme go, come sit behind home, I have to bat for a little and then I’m free. Come be the best heckler you can be.”

“She’s not even listening to me,” Mingyu said, the entire end of the table you sat at erupting with laughter. Hoshi, with an arm slung around Daya, leaned toward your boyfriend and shoved his shoulder, the man barely budging.

The restaurant, one that served tiny steaks and expensive margaritas, was entirely too dark. Everyone was engulfed in shadows, the hot hazy air simply adding to the suffocating tightness of the deep brown walls and the crowded tables. Most of the space was occupied by the Lions out for a team dinner to kick off the first day of spring training. At a long table stretching along the back of the restaurant sat the starting line up, the stars and their lovers, if they had them.

DK, Woozi and his girlfriend, Melody, Seungkwan, and Joshua, the Lions center fielder, they all took up one end of the table that bled down into Seungcheol and Talia across from Jun and Jihyo, which trickled into Minghao and Halle, Daya and Hoshi, and you and Mingyu.

Vernon sat at the bar at the moment with two other players. He’d been sitting there for about ten minutes sipping on a drink you couldn’t identify. The glass he held was short, wide, grown up. Dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, some things never change, a silver chain hung around his neck, one he never takes off. His hair had been washed, the curls fresh and alive, bouncing when he smiled and spoke to the men he sat with.

He arrived after you, walking in with the other shortstop and second basemen, finding comfort in them you hoped. Anxiety ate you up from the inside out once you were seated at the table. As much as you wanted him to sit here, wanted to see him, wanted to speak to him, you couldn’t stomach it. So you opted for the next best thing. Sitting in the corner with Mingyu and your friends, his friends, against the wall so you could keep tabs on him throughout the night.

Moving from the other table across the room some of the other players took up, he found this spot at the bar and now that everyone was on their second or third glass, the conversations flowed with ease, Vernon seemingly able to talk with all of them like he’s known them for ages.

Of course he’d be able to do that.

He’s here to play baseball, with them, this team, he’s talking to his teammates. Why would that be hard?

Conversation moved around you. Daya and Halle giggled along as the boys spoke, Mingyu’s voice taking up most of the time, most of the air, probably why it was so hot in here. Not a word computed in your brain. The girls laughed, the boys discussed whatever it was they were into at the moment, and you stared at Vernon.

He leaned against the bar with ease. He spoke to people with patience. He smiled at the bartender and said please and thank you, you know he did, he didn’t demand things unlike Mingyu who held his finger up at the waiter and pointed to his empty glass without missing a beat in the chatter.

“She’s in dreamland,” Halle said, pulling you from your thoughts, making you twist in your seat to face them all. “Hi, princess, welcome back.”

“You okay?” Mingyu asked with a smile, brushing his hand over your bare shoulder. In a strappy tank and denim mini skirt, with how hot the air was you wished you were naked. Your hair was twisted back into a bun on the back of your head, strategically messy, soft strands falling down to hang with the hoops in your ears.

“Don’t tell me you’re still hungover, Isla,” Daya rolled her eyes, her chin in her hand. Pointing her gaze at your half empty drink she smiled. “Finish it,” she said, then elbowed Hoshi in the chest.

Mingyu grabbed your glass and sat back in his chair with a flash of his smile toward Daya, the two laughing together. Handing it to you, he said, “Come on,” his voice low, just for you, “They wanna go to Cheers after this, start now, that way you feel good when we get there.”

Wrapping your fingers around the cold glass full of ice and a pink tinted liquid, barely remembering what you ordered to drink, something with cute lemonade or something, you put the straw between your lips and sucked it down, your eyes wandering back over to Vernon at the bar.

“What’s Cheers?” you asked.

Mingyu snickered. “One of the bars we went to last night, you don’t remember it?” You shot him a glare. “That’s okay, baby. You’ll get to see it again, we’ll have fun.”

“There you go, party girl,” Daya cheered when your straw pulled air. Her eyes were sharp. “Another? I’ll get the server.”

Mingyu cocked his chin toward her. “Another.”

Setting the glass down on the table, the attention left you, finally, and the conversation turned back to the practice they had today and what they’d have to endure tomorrow after a night of drinking. Shifting in your chair, the hot air pressing against you now that you weren’t holding onto a glass full of ice, you peeled your thighs apart and sighed. Glancing around the table, everyones tipsy expressions accented by the flickering light of the candles on the table, not one of them paying attention to you, you decided to focus back on Vernon. But, he was gone.

The bar had gone vacant, no one but the bartender behind it polishing glasses or straightening bottles of liquor. Every murmur of every voice in the room invaded your ears, you couldn’t get a clear thought across. He must’ve gotten up while you were finishing your drink, or trying to talk to the people you were sitting with. Each breath you took was the least bit refreshing, the stuffy air clogging your chest instead of clearing it of the weight you didn’t notice before.

Placing a hand to your chest, over your heart, between your ribs, you tried another and found that it made your fingers tremble. Darting your eyes around for the server, for your next drink, he wasn’t anywhere in sight. That would take this away, it’d solve everything like it had been for the last year. You’d be comfortable enough to sit here, you wouldn’t feel this pull on your heart, you could latch onto Mingyu, and you wouldn’t think about Vernon.

Vernon who hasn’t looked at you since the baseball field this afternoon. Vernon who hasn’t tried to talk to you. Vernon who seemed to be ignoring every move you made, if he was putting in that much effort, if he even cared anymore, for god sake you put on his favorite skirt, one that you knew drove him insane.

You could feel eyes on you from tables around you. Sitting around with a bunch of superstars you didn’t expect any less. The story of you and Mingyu broke earlier today, of course people were going to look at the way he touched you, the way you spoke to each other, the way you sat frozen in your chair while he laughed with his friends and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt so his golden skin could peek out and Daya could stare at it.

Pictures had to have been taken. People liked to do that. Sitting here around a table with friends and in your case family, outsiders, whether they be fans or strangers interested in your drama instead of their own, they liked to take photos, they felt the need to snap sneaky pictures of your private moments and post them online. For clout, for reposts, for attention, you weren’t sure. Boundaries were broken. DK had stories on stories to tell of what it was like having your most private moments taken from you to be shared with the world. Like you weren’t worthy of a moment's peace, even ten minutes to yourself. Someone had to call out your name, someone had to take a photo, someone had to prove to the people in their life that they spotted you, spotted Mingyu, spotted your brother… And for what?

You were having an internal panic attack in the middle of this restaurant and nobody cared. The photos were taken, the whispers were shared. With each turnover of the tables came even more. You weren’t a person, you were a landmark. They didn’t care that you couldn’t feel your fingers, that you longed for privacy, to eat a normal dinner out for just once in your life.

“Isla.” Mingyu slid a hand over your thigh and squeezed it. Bad move. Swatting him away, you pushed your chair backward and glared at him and his wide eyes. A round of quiet ‘Ooh’s’ circled your end of the table. You could’ve screamed, but the tears found your eyes first. “Are you okay? I just wanted to-”

Not waiting around for him to finish his lament, you left the table behind and hurried around the restaurant for the bathroom, not giving anyone the time of day on your way there. Tables whispered about you, eyes watched you, both judging and excitedly. You could see the timeline now, the social media feeds. People were posting about where you were, because they always did. Once they realized your brother and your boyfriend were here too they’d post again, or vice versa.

Heavy wooden doors side by side marked with signs determining which bathroom you belonged to pulled you into the one on the right. The bright white light blinded you, but the air calmed every sense in your body, cooling you down, grounding you.

Pulling your phone from your back pocket you opened up your messages and scrolled. It made you sick, the length in which you had to scroll to find the thread. With a twinge between your lungs and lurch of your gut, you typed.

[you]: I don’t know what to do please don’t hate me

It took several seconds to build up the courage to send the message.

Then, it rang in an instant. The name at the top eases you into a comforting deep breath.

“Hello?” You answered with your voice shaking, your volume low, not knowing what to expect from the other line.

“Jagiya?!” Her voice, loud and cracking, made you laugh breathlessly. “Moon Isla?” Are you being held captive against your will? I’ve tried contacting you for months and this is how you come back to me?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“NO!” Her shout startled you. “Don’t apologize to me, or, you know what, yes, apologize to me, but also, what the fuck?!”

“Ryujin,” you started, steadying your breath, “I should’ve talked to you. I’m sorry. It’s just… So much happened so fast, and then I was pissed off over Nasara and Yeji, and DK didn’t want me involved with it anymore so we kinda cut it all out.”

“Isla,” Ryujin said quietly. “Yeji got expelled.”

Chills ran over your skin. “What? They did it? Who did it? Did they find out?”

“Did who find out what?”

“Nevermind, tell me everything.”

And she did. She let you know that about a week and a half after you disappeared Yeji was expelled, her grand scheme to become ITZ’s best president had been found out, her reign of terror over the girls in the house, specifically Aurora, was all finally over. One of the girls you called your closest friend, she was president now, Aurora was president. Two semesters ago, while you and your sisters daydreamed over the new house members and what roles would be assigned to who, you all wished the new president would be Aurora.

“So, if I did end up deciding to come back I would’ve been under Aurora and not Yeji,” you said.

“Right,” Ryujin answered. “Isla we talk about you everyday, I hope you know you’re missed.”

For two years the girls at ITZ were all you had. Hearing that they still talk about you, keep you alive in a house that attempted to bring you some sort of peace, it melted your heart as much as it made it ache. Not seeing Ryujin for as long as you haven’t seen Vernon, it hurts. She was your best friend, your roommate, your safeplace, your sexuality exploration teacher. Where Vernon couldn’t fill in the blanks, Ryujin could, and she would. She had your back, and now, standing here on the phone with her after months of not speaking, you knew she always would.

“I’m not coming back,” you said, and she sighed, already knowing that answer. “I think I really need DK right now.”

“Understood,” she said. The door to the bathroom swung open and a girl around your age with a ponytail wandered inside. She knew who you were, she did a shitty job at hiding it. “You could come visit though.”

“You could come visit too,” you said, turning to face the mirrors over the sink. “D- My brother said you guys could all come out, when we’re back home maybe, he’s actually mentioned it a lot. I think he, uh, yeah, he wants to meet you all.”

“I’d love that.” You could hear her smile. “We’d love that, seriously. I think we plan on coming up to Iloa sooner than later anyway, sometime in like… A month or so, I think, Aurora and Tori they said they have…”

“Tickets to Vernon’s opening day game?” Finishing the thought for her, the way she sighed and groaned had you shaking your head. “Happening in a month and a week at the Lions stadium in Iloa? Yeah, I’ll be there too, go figure.” She started to speak but you cut her off. “Hey, by the way, did you know that he hates my guts? Did you know that he won’t even look at me? Did you know that he was even here? With us? Playing on my brother's team? Of course you all know that, I’m the stupid one who wanted to take time to heal, and look where that got me. I have no friends, I hate my boyfriend, and the one I want hates me.”

A toilet flushed from one of the stalls. Your heart lodged up into your throat. The bathroom wasn’t huge, it was quite small. The girl heard every word you said.

“Isla,” Ryujin sighed heavily. You could see the way she moved just now, rubbing a hand along her chin with her lips parted and her brows pulled together. “Listen, I can’t say anything to make you feel better about it, I mean, you broke his heart, what do you-”

The stall unlocked and all of the panic you felt from before settled back into you. “Rio, I gotta go,” you breathed hurriedly and hung up on her, fleeing from the bathroom as fast as you humanly could, as fast as the heavy wooden doors would allow you to.

Maybe she’d keep her mouth shut, the girl in the bathroom.

Or, maybe she’d be like all the others and your relationship would be over in world record time.

Either way, you wanted it all to be gone. A drink would be waiting at your table, you’d go to the bar after Mingyu and his friends were ready, and it would all be gone.

Stepping into the dark restaurant, eyes adjusting to the very low yellow light, in the corridor of the bathroom the universe kicked you in the ass, spit on your shoes and laughed in your face.

Vernon stepped out of the mens room at the same exact time, the two of you bumping right into one another as you both seemed to want to hurry back to your respective groups waiting for you.

“Whoa,” he said with the start of a smile, but it wiped away when he realized it was you. You were speechless. You didn’t think you’d ever be so close to him again. “Sorry,” he mumbled with a small nod, then turned away.

“Vernon!” You called after him without your own brain's permission, his name slipping out of your lips feeling illegal.

He half turned around, looked right at you and waved his hand. “No.”

You begged your feet not to follow him. They did anyway. “V, wait, please.” He didn’t say anything, he kept his focus forward with his hands in his pockets. “Can we talk, I need to talk to you, I can explain-”

He turned around stoic as ever, you almost bumped into his chest. His gaze dropped down your figure once. “I spent so much time wondering if you were going to be here.” Hanging onto every word you searched his eyes for hints, for feelings, for anything, but he gave you nothing. “I knew you were with DK, this whole time, of course you were going to be here. I had so much to say to you. Did you even read any of the messages I sent you at the end of last year?” He paused, he waited, and he got the answer he wanted. “Didn’t think so. The rumors started with him and I knew to stop trying.” He started to walk through the restaurant again. You stopped him before he got out to the busier side.

“Wait, I did read them,” you said, nodding your head fast. No change in his expression. “I read them, and I wanted to talk to you, but I just, I…”

“You what?” He shook his head. “You came home to the guy you liked since you were sixteen?”

“No! I just-”

“Save it, I’ve read the stories, Isla.”

Lifting your hands you wanted to grab onto him, wanted to cling to his shoulders and fall to the ground and beg. He watched the thought process in real time, looking down to your hands, watching how your fingers clenched into fists before you crossed them across your chest.

“That’s not it, Vernon, it’s not.” Within a breath you sighed and fluttered your eyes shut.

“I loved you,” he said quietly, and your eyes shot open.

“Loved?” you whispered, “As in… past tense?”

He shook his head and waved his hand again, letting his eyes draw over you once more before he turned around, but not before he said, “Just, please, don’t waste your breath.”

home;run masterlist | talk to me | ao3

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