#There's room in our driveway for three cars total without blocking almost every car in

[banannabethchase]

Ah yes emailing the HOA to ask them, "Why can't I park my own goddamn car in front of my own goddamn house when parking in the driveway would block not only my husband's way but also the neighbor's, who I share a driveway with but who also just had a newborn and needs access to both cars at any given time?"

[poisonedapples]

Patton’s Home For Traumatized Kids - Chapter Five

Bad Memories Don’t Erase

Chapter Summary: Roman tags along with Logan and Virgil to hang out at their friend’s house.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Story Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, stealing, and one inappropriate joke

Word Count: 4,008

Taglist: @shade-romeo, @grayson-22, @pixelated-pineapple, @acrobaticcatfeline, @astrozei, @edupunkn00b, @princey-7258, @eternalmoonlight19, @remy-the-lemon-berry, @look-ma-im-on-tv, @mariniacipher, @bigwendymonster, @nonbinary-octopus

Notes: This chapter’s a little short, but the next one is gonna be really long, so hopefully that makes up for it

On Sunday the next day, Patton finally took Roman to buy his gym clothes. Roman was trying to hide a goofy smile while sitting in the back seat, desperate to not get his hopes up while also ecstatic his plan was working so far. He was going to have Patton stay in the car while Roman shopped for clothes! This had never worked on his dad before!

By the time Patton finally parked the car in the parking lot of the store, Roman’s chest felt weighted from his anxiety, waiting to see Patton’s final verdict. So long as he didn’t change his mind now, then Roman was in the clear. He hoped to be in the clear.

“Alright, kiddo,” Roman’s heart stopped as Patton pulled out his wallet and gave him some money. “Forty dollars should be more than enough for some pairs of gym pants and shirts. Give me back all the change when you come back, okay?”

“I will! Promise!” Roman wanted to jump for joy. It was working!

“Text me when you’re checking out so you don’t surprise me, and if you see something else you might want, just text me before you buy it so I know. Tell me if you have any issues, okay?”

“Okay!”

Patton smiled. “Go on then, kiddo.”

Roman practically leaped out the door to skip his way to the front entrance of the clothing store, two twenty dollar bills crumbled in his pocket. He got away with it! No parents staring him down while he changed outfits!

Roman walked into the store and tried to hide the skip in his step. With no parents to watch him, he could buy what he actually wanted to wear, no tight pants and scoop neck shirts. No, Roman wanted to look like his real goal. His goal of being a blob of cloth that vaguely resembled a human.

Granted, he’d mostly gotten there. His aunt replaced all of his wardrobe, so his current clothes were a lot more comfortable to wear even if they weren’t very fashionable. Mostly bright colored t-shirts and pants, maybe some shorts if they were able to reach down far enough. Maybe once he was more comfortable with himself he could actually test out more styles, but for now, oversized clothes were all he could handle.

Roman’s walk sped up slightly when his eyes landed on the men’s athletic section. He had to be quick with this, he didn’t want Patton getting impatient and coming in to check on him. Roman looked through the shorts and shirt sizes, easily finding a size up for a couple shirts while heavily struggling on the shorts. Roman groaned. It was always the shorts that caused the issue, they were always too high up. What if he was sitting down and the pant leg rode up too far? No, Roman refused to get something like that willingly.

Roman took all the athletic shorts that could fit him and held them up in front of his legs. Most of them only made it to his lower thigh, but he managed to find two shorts that made it to right below his knee. Roman smiled and bounced on his toes, grabbed his items and rushed to find a dressing room. Once he did, he rushed into the first empty area he saw and locked the door. The mirrors on the walls and gaps in the door made it hard for him to change comfortably, so instead Roman tried to press himself against the very corner of the room when he was changing.

Between the six shirts and two pants Roman found, he was pretty happy with most of his choices. Thankfully, the long shorts looked fine, so Roman hung them up on a hook with a sign over it saying I’m buying this! and considered it a success. However, when it got time to look at the shirts, only three of them were good enough for purchase. The white one he grabbed was practically see-through, and the other two had a scratchy inside material that Roman couldn’t stand, so they got put on the reject hook while the other three passed the test. 

For a rushed shopping visit, Roman was pretty pleased with his choices. Two shorts might not be enough for five days worth of classes, but maybe Roman could keep one pair in his locker until it started to stink. Which might be a little gross, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Roman exited the dressing room and put his rejected shirts on a rack outside, carrying his other items to the checkout area. Before he got in line, he looked at all the price tags and added them up in his head best he could. The shirts were about six dollars each, and the shorts were a little over five after tax. Which means, adding up the extra cents, he’d have to pay twenty nine dollars for the clothes in total. Considering Patton gave him forty dollars, this was plenty.

Roman hesitated for a second. He stuffed his hand into his pocket to feel the money in the palm of his hand while he thought about his options. If he told Patton the truth, Roman would give him eleven dollars and there would be no issues. Patton might let him do this again next time they go shopping, too. But also…Roman had no backup plan. He was stuck with Patton with nowhere to go if things went wrong.

His aunt told him that Roman could always go back to her house if a guardian was abusing him, and he had every intention to take her up on that offer the second the opportunity arose. But even if Roman walked to her house on foot, he had no money for food during that trip. She lived so far away from him now, there was no way to get to safety without a dollar to his name. But if he stole some from Patton, then Roman could have a serious issue on his hands.

Roman slowly walked up to the check out area and handed the teenage worker the clothes. As she scanned all the items with a satisfying beep, Roman felt himself getting antsy. There’s no guarantee Patton will let me do this again. I’ve already gotten away with so much, and the more time I spend around him, the more danger I’m in. But if Patton notices I stole from him, he could be furious. Is there even a right answer here?

“Twenty nine dollars and thirty two cents.” The cashier said cheerfully. Roman handed her the money and she put it in the register, then handed Roman a bunch of coins, two five dollar bills, and a one dollar. She smiled. “Would you like a receipt?”

“Uh, no thank you.”

When the receipt printed, the cashier tore it out and threw it in the trash behind her. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Roman squeaked, rushing away from the register to stare at the money. Apparently they ran out of ten dollar bills, because the money was split perfectly for taking without it being obvious. Roman considered this a sign to take his chance. He put a five dollar bill and a quarter in his left pocket and shoved the rest in his right. It wasn’t much, but he could build it up. This was only the beginning.

Roman walked out of the store and tried to act normal instead of anxious. Worst case scenario, he’d say he forgot to bring out the rest and give Patton the other bills. Giving away the quarter also would be too obvious, but he could get away with stealing that at least. When he made it to Patton's car, Roman opened the back seat and tossed his clothes next to him.

“Hey, kiddo!” Patton greeted, “Got any extra cash to give me?”

“Uh, yeah, here.” Roman dug into his right pocket to grab half the money and handed it to him. Patton put the coins in his pocket and put the two bills in his wallet. He didn’t seem to consider how much Roman gave him, instead he started backing out of the driveway and got distracted while reversing. Roman let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He felt the five dollars still stored in his pocket. He got away with it. For now.

***

“We’re home!” Patton announced as he and Roman stepped inside. Logan and Virgil were both lying on the couch, and Logan perked up from his spot.

“Wonderful. We wanted to ask both of you a question.” Logan said.

Patton seemed intrigued. “What question?”

“Can we go to Janus’ house, Pat?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, of course, kiddos! Do you know when you might be back?”

Virgil thought about it. “Probably at six before dinner.”

“Perfect! Just text me if that changes so I don’t worry, okay?”

“We will.” Logan reassured, “And Roman, would you like to come with us?”

Roman tilted his head to the side. “Me? I don’t even know who Janice is.”

Virgil sunk into the couch more. “Friend of ours. Has a snake, talks a lot about philosophy and books. Acts like a tired underaged wine aunt.”

“Right, well, still. Isn’t it a little strange for me to tag along to a stranger's house?” Roman pointed out.

“Janus wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.” Logan said. “Of course, you don’t have to, we simply figured you would like the invitation so you’re not the only one left out.”

Roman’s eyes widened when Logan said that. Wait, shit, if Logan and Virgil are going to this girl’s house, then Roman will be here. Alone. With Patton. Until six in the afternoon.

Roman’s mood change was almost instant. “Well then, perhaps I should go! Make new friends and establish bonds, or whatever!”

Virgil smirked. “Sweet. It’s a short walk, just a block away. Just let us grab our shoes and we can head out.”

“I’ll tell Janus we’ll be bringing a third party.”

Roman let out a breath of relief. As Virgil and Logan grabbed whatever they needed, Roman set his new bag of clothes in his room next to his backpack. He’d have to remember to put some boxers in there before tomorrow morning, too.

Roman felt the five dollars in his pocket again. He took the money and hid it deep in his backpack in a hidden pocket he hoped wasn’t too easy to find. Satisfied with that for now, Roman stepped back outside of his room and waited for the others.

Once everyone was situated, Virgil called out to let Patton know they were leaving the house and then closed the door. Logan and Virgil did most of the talking as they walked while Roman just listened, following behind them and letting the two lead the way.

“Oh, and Roman,” Logan suddenly said during a point of silence, “Another one of our friends may also show up later at Janus’ house. He said he might be coming, so we’ll see.”

Roman shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Alright.”

No one said anything else after that on the walk. After a while, Virgil and Logan stopped in front of a house and started walking up the driveway to the front door. As Virgil knocked on the door, Roman stood awkwardly off to the side until someone answered.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open, showing a teenage kid with a large birthmark under his left eye. He rested his elbow on the top of the black and yellow cane next to him and smirked. Was he the brother, perhaps?

“I’ve been expecting you.” He said menacingly.

“‘Sup, fucker.” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, Janus.”

Wait, what? Against his better judgment, Roman forced himself to stand in front of Logan to face Janus. “Wait, your name is Janice?” He asked.

Janus put his hand on his face. “Janus. It’s Janus. J-a-n-u-s, not the old lady name Janice.”

Roman felt his face grow hot. “…Oh. Well, uh…”

Janus rolled his eyes and held the door open wider. “Just come inside.”

Virgil was the first to step in, with Logan following after while Roman hesitated. He made an awful first impression, maybe he should just walk around the block for a while instead-

“Come on, my arm is tired.” Janus coaxed. Roman felt too awkward to walk away, so he instead sucked it up and stepped inside the house with everyone else.

The house was quite nice. The walls were painted dark and the carpet was red, but it looked nice in a Victorian era kind of way. On the living room coffee table were piles of fabric and a sewing machine, seemingly making something that looked like a suit. Janus took the cane he was holding and threw it onto the couch. Well, apparently it was just a part of the outfit.

Virgil motioned to all the fabric on the table. “Fuck are you making now, dude?”

“I’m making the refined villain look of my dreams.”

“Nice. When do you think you’ll finish it?”

“Possibly tomorrow. I’ll start on it again after school.”

“Do you make your own clothes?” Roman asked, hoping to distract himself from his previous embarrassment.

Janus smiled slightly. “Less clothes, more costumes. Mostly for myself, but sometimes I make them for the high school’s theater when I’m feeling generous.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!”

“Wanna see Janus’ costume closet?” Virgil asked.

Roman shrugged. “If he wants me to.”

“Oh yeah, just talk about me like I’m not here.” Janus rolled his eyes and motioned for everyone to follow him. He had a downstairs family room with a closet off to the side. Once everyone was downstairs, Janus opened it and let Roman look inside.

“…Woah.” Roman looked at all the costumes, astonished and full of wonder. A lot of them were very extravagant, like they were specifically designed for a dramatic person, so Roman felt a calling toward them. He took a few of them off their hangers to look at; roaring twenties inspired suits and a black dresses with fancy gold finishes. Roman ran his hand on the fabric like they were fancy relics.

“They are quite high-quality.” Logan said, “Costume design is certainly one of Janus’ greatest skills.”

“I can see that.” Roman whispered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Don’t make his ego bigger than it already is.”

“Oh no, please do continue, I’m designed to be the center of attention.” Janus smirked.

Roman laughed and put the costumes back on the rack. It seemed like him and Janus were pretty similar in personality, just on opposite ends of the spectrum. Both dramatic artists, except one likes to add that with tons of sarcasm. He could see them getting along quite easily.

“Also, Janus,” Virgil said while looking at his phone, “Rat bastard says he’s coming over. He’ll be here in ten.”

“Ugh, fine. I was getting used to the silence.” Janus sighed.

“…Who’s rat bastard?” Roman asked.

“Friend of ours.” Virgil replied, “You’ll meet him in a bit. He’s a rat bastard. Smells vaguely of cheese.”

“…Attractive.”

“You get used to it.” Janus shrugged. He then smirked at Roman like he got an idea. “Would you like to see my snake?”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Yes!”

Janus led them all upstairs to his bedroom, Roman following last in the line so he could keep Janus’ door cracked open. As he stepped inside, he noticed a very large cage on the wall to his right. It was very long with lots of wood decorations spread across the container, with a fluorescent lightbulb above it. Roman looked around in the enclosure to try and spot the snake.

Before he could find it, Janus opened the top and stuck his hand in the cage. The snake climbed up his hand onto his arm, and as Janus stuck him out for Roman to see, Roman jumped back.

Janus rolled his eyes. “He’s a corn snake, he’s not known for hurting people.”

Roman still looked at it from a distance. The snake was large enough that Janus had to hold him with both hands, as well as being a mesmerizing yellow color. Roman never had a friend with a pet snake before. “…What’s his name?”

“Lawrence.”

“Nerd.” Virgil called out.

Logan smiled. “I think it is a wonderful name. Lawrence Kohlberg developed the theory on moral development, the very basis for ethical behavior.”

“Nerds.”

“You’re very mature, Virgil.”

Roman ignored them. “I think he’s cool. How old is he?”

“About five. I’ve had him for a while now.”

A buzz came from Virgil’s phone, making him check it and read the message. “Rat bastard says he’s outside your door.” He announced.

Janus didn’t seem rushed. “He can get in on his own.”

Roman laughed, and Janus set Lawrence back in his enclosure so he could bask underneath the heat lamp. Roman still watched his movements from inside the cage. “I wish I had a pet.”

“Patton would get you a dog in seconds if you asked.” Logan suggested.

Roman shook his head. “It’s fine, I won’t ask.” He didn’t really know what kind of pet he even wanted, and besides, it’s not like he’d be able to keep it once he leaves Patton’s house. There was no point.

Suddenly, a loud stomping came from the stairs outside Janus’ bedroom. Roman yelped and ran to hide behind Janus in the corner of the room, but the others didn’t react. 

Roman sputtered. “What the-”

Before Roman could finish, a large bang came as someone kicked open the door and let it smack into the wall.

“I’m back by unpopular demand!”

“Hello, Remus.”

Roman completely froze up at the sound of that name. He turned around to look at the person that just busted down Janus’ bedroom door, a kid with messy hair and peach fuzz for a mustache, ripped jeans in the summer with a cast boot on his right foot.

Roman felt himself choke on air as he processed what was in front of him.

“Slugs are goopy like jello! So jello is made of slugs, duh!”

“Remus, that’s gross! No one would make food out of slugs!”

“What’s up, fuckers!” Remus announced. “I’m back from the pits of hell! Also known as the emergency room.”

Roman didn’t say anything, only stared at him in disbelief. Remus’ voice was a lot different now. He’d hit puberty, so the pitch had dropped a lot from what Roman was used to. A tuft of his hair was white, also. Roman couldn’t tell if it was dye or a condition.

That piece of hair and Remus’ mustache were the only things that made them both look apart now.

“What actually happened?” Logan asked. “You never told us specifics.”

“I broke my foot sucking too much-”

“Remus.” Janus warned.

“Fine, fine. I tripped trying to run up some steps and my fall didn’t look badass at all. Don’t tell people that though. If anyone asks, I broke it running from the cops.”

Janus nodded and smirked. “Noted.”

“We brought a third foster brother, also.” Virgil noted. Roman stopped breathing.

“Oh, really? Shit, I fuckin missed everything!” Roman looked in the corner trying to avoid Remus noticing him, but it was never that easy. “Why hello, welcome to our humble- …Oh, fuck.”

Remus tilted his head to make eye contact with Roman, and the surprise on Remus’ face was something Roman would never forget. He seemed genuinely baffled, like nothing in the world would have prepared him for what he saw. Roman wanted to cry.

I wanted to leave behind these people.

“…Roman?” Remus finally said, “Dude, holy fuck, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Wait,” Virgil staggered, “You know each other already?”

“He’s my fucking cousin!” Remus exclaimed. “Come on, look at us, we’re only a little related but we look like twins!”

Logan turned to Roman. “Is this true?”

Roman could feel the tears ready to burst. His throat was scratchy, but he tried to talk anyway. “…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, Princey, don’t be shy!” Remus teased. “We used to be best friends, let everyone believe we were twins until our moms called our shit out. Absolute bastard children- …wait. Wait a fucking second.”

“What is it?” Janus asked.

Remus turned to Virgil and Logan with a shocked and confused face. “…You said he’s your foster brother?”

Logan nodded. “That is correct.”

Remus turned to Roman, seemingly at a loss for words. “…Dude, the fuck? What happened?”

Roman looked at the floor, gripping onto his arm so hard it’d be a miracle if there weren’t marks later. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I mean, I know I haven’t seen you since your mom fucked off to Neverland, but what happened to your dad? He’s still alive and shit isn’t he? The hell happened?”

“I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it!” Roman seethed, grinding his teeth together as he practically growled out that sentence.

Virgil flinched violently. “Roman-”

“Whatever!” Roman pushed Remus off to the side and kicked the door fully open, storming his way down the stairs despite the sounds of people yelling for him to come back. Roman stomped out the front door and took a sprint for it down the block, not caring if he had to be alone with Patton, so long as he wasn’t here.

“I bet you would eat a slug!”

“No I wouldn’t! Liar!”

“Boys, boys!” Roman’s mother laughed, crouching down to meet their eye level from their place sitting in the grass. “No eating slugs. Be nice to the bugs or we’ll go back inside.”

“Yeah, Remus!”

Remus huffed. “I’m not doing anything!”

“Not yet!”

Roman’s mother laughed again. “I’m going to help Uncle André with dinner. But I better not hear a fight, okay?”

“Okay!” Roman promised, watching as his mom went back inside his uncle’s house into the kitchen. Roman and Remus continued to play in the grass by looking at bugs and telling stories to each other, making Roman smile more than he has in a long time. He always loved going to Remus’ house. His dad never came with them, so he and his mom were always happier.

“How come we never go to your house?” Remus eventually asked after a few minutes of playing. Roman stuck his tongue out.

“‘Cause our house is tiny and the backyard isn’t as cool.”

“Still! When you come over, you never bring Uncle Theo!”

“Good!” Roman defended, “Dad’s boring so he doesn't getta come!”

“I like him! He’s fun and nice and always brings chocolate!”

“He’s awful!” Roman covered his mouth after he blurted that out. Remus gave him a look.

“He’s not awful!”

Roman looked over to the glass sliding door. His mom was in there, he could see her, but she couldn’t hear him. Maybe he could get away with it. He could tell Remus a secret and his mom would never find out.

Roman hesitantly took his hands away from his mouth. His tone grew to be a lot softer. “…He is, though.”

Remus tilted his head to the side like a dog. “What makes him awful?”

“…Promise not to tell anyone?”

Remus leaned in closer. “Uh huh!”

“No one at all, ever?”

“Triple quadruple promise!”

Roman looked back at his mom. She wasn’t paying attention to him, seemingly talking to his uncle and pouring juice into cups. Roman hesitated for a moment. “…My dad-”

“Boys! Dinner’s ready!” Roman’s mom called out, making Roman jump almost a foot in the air. Both of them got off of the grass to walk inside, but before they did, Remus turned to Roman again.

“Your dad what?”

“…Nevermind.” He missed his chance. Remus would never find out, and Roman never told anyone for another five years.

Roman ran faster down the street at the memory, fighting back the tears in his eyes. It was fine. Roman was fine.

He never wanted to talk to Remus again.

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 03

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 9.2k [3/6]

notes: this will likely be my last update of this fic until the new year, because i have two (2!!!) other fics that i’m planning to post in december, including another jungoo one, so! please look forward to those, and enjoy this chapter in the meantime! 

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink: a recurring yet warranted warning, me absolutely fucking up everything about korea’s geography probably, semi-public? fingering???, jungkook....... shall we say, rocks the boat, there is one (1) dick pic but no one’s complaining

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

Monday - 11:27am

Kim Taehyung added you to the group: the great escape!!!!!! 🏝🚗💨

[11:27am] Taehyung: let’s gooooooooooo!!

[11:27am] Jisoo: ???

[11:28am] Lisa: go where?

[11:28am] Taehyung: parks lake house this weekend! we’re going on vacation!

[11:28am] You: hold up tae, we haven’t even asked our parents if we can have the house yet

[11:29am] Chimchim: oh yeah lmao

[11:29am] Chimchim: u wanna go ask noona??

[11:29am] You: nope

[11:30am] Chimchim: ugh, fine

[11:30am] Chimchim: u big baby

[11: 31am] You: 🙄

[11: 37am] Chimchim: they said yes!

[11:38am] Taehyung: LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

[11:38am] Minho: sweet 👍

[11:38am] Taemin: tight

[11:39am] Jungkook: dope

[11:40AM] Jisoo: you’re all idiots 🙄

Tuesday - 2:34pm

[2:34pm] Chimchim: i’ve secured the van

[2:34pm] Chimchim: for the trip i mean

[2:35pm] Taehyung: noice

[2:35pm] You: 10 people aren’t gonna fit in mom’s van, chim

[2:37pm] Jungkook: i can drive too

[2:37pm] Chimchim: 👍👍

[2:37pm] Chimchim: see? nothing to worry about

[2:38pm] Jungkook: yeah noona, nothing to worry about. nothing at all.

Wednesday - 9:49pm

[9:49pm] Taehyung: oh my god we need FOOD

[9:49pm] Lisa: you’re just realizing that now?

[9:50pm] Taehyung: shut up

[9:50pm] Taehyung: i have a cooler

[9:51pm] Lisa: and ice?

[9:51pm] Taehyung: ………… i will buy some ice

[9:52pm] You: there’s a grocery store on the way up that we always used to go to, we can stock up there

[9:52pm] Taehyung: 👍

[9:54pm] You: you also better remember to bring your own towels. and more than one change of clothing

[9:54pm] Taehyung: 👍👍

[9:55pm] Chimchim: yes, mom

///

The day of the trip finds you standing in the foyer, rifling through your purse to make sure you have all the essentials. Off in the distance, you can hear Jimin sprinting around frantically, catching the briefest glimpse of his ruffled blond hair before he disappears again into the depths of the house.

“Chim, I swear to god. Why didn’t you pack earlier?”

“I did!” your brother whines, poking his head out from the living room where his suitcase is lying wide open, belongings scattered in every direction. “It’s just that—oh, fuck. Do you have my toothbrush?”

“Why would I have your toothbrush?” you deadpan.

He ignores you, and not two seconds later, he lets out an excited shout. “Never mind! I found it!”

You sigh and rub your temples. The trip hasn’t even begun, yet you’re already feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “I’m going outside,” you call to your brother, who grunts in acknowledgement. Opening up the front door, you drag your suitcase out onto the sun-drenched porch, relishing the welcome breeze that caresses your cheeks and whispers through your hair.

The rare moment of peace is broken almost immediately by the rumble of a starting engine—the sound shuddery and wavering before it finally evens out into a steady, mechanical purr. It’s coming from nearby, and your gaze immediately travels to the neighboring driveway where a beat-up sedan sits, torn between exasperation and amusement when you see Jungkook waving at you from the driver’s seat.

“I’m coming to pick you up!” he calls through the open window, and you hold back your laughter as he reverses out of his driveway, rolls ten feet down the street, and pulls into yours.

“Was that really necessary?” you ask once he’s parked.

“Of course it was,” he replies, hopping out to grab your suitcase. You watch as he pops the trunk and loads it inside, and blanch when you realize what that means.

“Wait a second. Am I riding with you?”

Some emotion flashes across his face, but he wipes it away before you can identify it. “Would that be so terrible?”

It’s been one week since Taehyung’s party, and Jisoo’s warning still rings loud and clear in your brain. Still, you feign nonchalance and tamp down the uptick in your heart rate, offering him a shrug. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

He grunts. An awkward silence settles over you as he adjusts your suitcase in the trunk beside his, and you distract yourself by fiddling with your purse strap until he slams the lid closed.

“So…” you start after a few seconds. “Are we picking anyone else up?”

“Yugyeom,” Jungkook replies, opening up the driver’s side door and climbing in. Hesitantly, you make your way over to the other side of the car, wondering if there’s any way you can avoid sitting in the passenger seat without looking like a total weirdo.

“Oh! Jungkook’s here already?” Jimin exits the house at last, lugging his suitcase and a smaller backpack. He shoves both into the backseat of your mother’s van before coming over, frowning when he sees you hovering near the trunk. “Why are you just standing there?”

You make a face at him. “We’re waiting for you, dumbass. Who’s riding with you?”

“Tae, Minho, and Taemin,” your brother replies. “Didn’t you see the group chat this morning?”

“I muted it days ago,” you admit. “You guys were annoying as hell.” Then another thought strikes you, your brain belatedly registering the names Jimin listed. “Wait, what about the girls? Aren’t they coming?”

Your brother rolls his eyes. “Jisoo’s working as a camp counselor this summer, and Lisa has other vacation plans. Maybe if you hadn’t muted the chat, you’d have known that.”

He has a point, though you aren’t about to admit that. You’re also wise enough not to inquire about the third member of the trio, remembering Jisoo’s revelation at the party. It’s no surprise that Chaeyoung isn’t joining you for the weekend—you’d want to avoid extended periods of time with your ex-boyfriend too. At the thought, your gaze reluctantly flits back over to the ex in question, who raises an expectant brow when he catches your eye.

“Ready?” he calls out the open window.

No, you want to say. But Jimin has already clambered into the van and slammed the door shut, and Jungkook’s car is blocking the van in the driveway so you suck in a deep breath and slide into the passenger seat beside your dark-haired neighbor.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Jungkook nods and throws the car into reverse. One hand splays across the wheel while the other comes up to rest on the back of your seat, and your breath hitches when he cranes around to check his blind spots, his face suddenly too close for comfort.

He’s playing with you, you tell yourself firmly, leaning back until your back’s pressed against the door and you can safely breathe again. Chaeyoung. Think about what he did to Chaeyoung.

“Hey, I made a roadtrip mix,” Jungkook pipes up all of a sudden. He grabs his phone from where it’s resting on the dashboard, tapping at the screen until the first strains of a melody filter through the car speakers. “It should last us the whole way.”

You perk up when you recognize the tune. “Oh! I love this song.”

Jungkook watches out of the corner of his eye as you bob your head to the beat, before smiling down at his lap. “Yeah. I know.”

///

Yugyeom lives on the other side of town, in a sprawling, winding neighborhood that sends your brain—and your phone’s GPS—into a complete and total tailspin. “Wait, wait—hang on. I think you missed a turn. You must have.”

Jungkook’s face crumples in confusion as he slows the car to a crawl, drawing a few irritated honks from the cars behind you. “There weren’t any streets back there, though.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, twisting in your seat to get a better look. “The directions said to take a right in… oh, fuck, hang on. We’re not even on a digitized road anymore, apparently.”

Jungkook heaves a sigh, but when you glance up at him, he’s wearing a grin. “Come on, Noona. You’re supposed to be my navigator. I’m depending on you.”

“I only know how to get us to the lake house, not Yugyeom’s,” you sniff defensively. “This is way beyond my pay grade.”

Jungkook chortles and reaches out, extending an open palm. “Can I see your phone for a sec?” You nod, handing it over, and he clicks his tongue as he turns it upside-down—rotating it a full three hundred and sixty degrees before returning it. “We might be lost,” he declares.

“Gee, you don’t say.”

He chuckles again. Picking up his own phone, he swipes a thumb across the screen before handing the unlocked device over. “Here, call Yugyeom. Put him on speaker, yeah?”

You hum in acknowledgement and scroll down in his contacts until you find the other boy’s name, clicking it open. A photo fills the screen as it rings—clearly a group photo from the way it’s cropped, zoomed in on Yugyeom and the ridiculous face he’s making.

“Is this from graduation?” you ask curiously.

Jungkook blinks and tears his gaze away from the windshield. “Huh?”

“Yugyeom’s contact photo,” you clarify, tilting the phone screen so he can see. “He’s got robes on.”

“Oh.” He looks away again, cheeks flushing. “Yeah. It’s lame, I know.”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that. I think it’s nice.”

Jungkook doesn’t get a chance to respond, but it’s impossible to miss the grin that crinkles his face and settles there. There’s a staticky hum as the line connects, and then Yugyeom’s voice is filling the vehicle, sounding as if he’s just rolled out of bed.

“Whaddaya want?”

“We can’t find your fucking house, man,” Jungkook says bluntly, turning onto a street that you’ve driven down at least three times by this point. “Where do you live?”

On the other end of the line, Yugyeom sighs. “Okay, okay. What street are you guys on?”

That gives Jungkook pause. “Uhh, Cedar Street? Oak Avenue? It has a tree name.”

“Neither of those streets exist, dude.”

“Birch Boulevard!” you exclaim. “We’re on Birch Boulevard. I saw the sign a while back.”

“Ah, okay. You’re close, then. Do you see a sign for Linden Lane?”

You glance around until you alight on a signpost. “Yeah.”

“Turn right onto it. Then take the first left, go past the cul-de-sac, and another left. Do not pass Go, and do not collect two-hundred dollars. I’m the fifth house on the right.”

He ends the call before you can ask him to repeat the directions, and you send Jungkook a helpless look. “Did you get all of that?”

“Besides the overused Monopoly joke?” Jungkook asks.. “Yeah, I got it. Right, left, left. Fifth house. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get there.”

And true to his word, you arrive at the house three minutes later. Yugyeom is standing on the front step with rumpled hair and a duffel bag at his feet, and you snort when he throws open the car door and flops across the entirety of the backseat.

“Rough morning?”

“Stayed up late packing,” he says by way of explanation, his eyes already beginning to drift shut. Jungkook immediately turns the music up, and you giggle when Yugyeom shoots upright at the bassline that’s now shaking the entire vehicle. “I’m up, I’m up! Jeez, man.”

Jungkook just sends him an innocent grin in the rearview mirror. You turn the volume back down to a reasonable level as Yugyeom directs Jungkook onto the best route to take out of the neighborhood, and it isn’t long before you’re merging onto the highway that leads toward the coast.

You’re just beginning to get comfortable, staring out the window at the passing cityscape, when your leg vibrates with an incoming text notification. Glancing down, you see that Jungkook’s phone has slipped between your thigh and the seat, the screen lit with a new message.

[10:21am] Minho: gonna be at the store in 10

“Minho says they’ll be at the grocery store in ten minutes,” you relay to your companions. “We have a little longer to go. Probably another half hour or so.”

“We wouldn’t be so far behind if Yugyeom didn’t live in a fucking labyrinth,” Jungkook remarks, but a glance at the young man in the backseat reveals that he’s drifted off despite your earlier stunt. Rolling his eyes, he turns to you. “Can you text him back, Noona?”

You nod and hold out his phone so he can unlock it with his thumb. “Hey,” you say once you’ve hit send on the message. “Do you have a contact photo for me?”

Jungkook stiffens slightly, his gaze skittering between you and the road. “Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess I do. But it’s nothing, really. It’s kinda lame. But you… you can look at it if you want.”

Curiosity piqued, you scroll down until you find your name, tapping on the image beside it. The photo is from several years ago, during a family trip to the lake house with the Jeons. You are no older than fifteen, your arm slung around a fourteen-year-old Jungkook as the two of you stand knee-deep in the lake, wearing swimsuits and bright smiles. In the background, you can just barely make out a blurry Jimin mid-splash.

“I remember this,” you murmur, zooming in on your smiling faces. “That was a fun summer.”

“Junghyun was grumpy the whole time,” Jungkook recalls with a laugh. “But we had a good time, didn’t we? We practically lived in the lake that entire week.”

“Or that old canoe.” You grin, taking one last look at the photo before locking his phone and handing it back to him. “Remember? We’d always row out too far, and our parents would scream for us to come back before we fell in and drowned.”

Jungkook snickers. “As if I’d ever let you drown. I’m a great swimmer.”

“Are you saying I’m not?”

He backpedals immediately, realizing his mistake. “Hey, don’t twist my words. I said nothing of the sort.”

“That’s what I thought.” Giggling, you turn to look out the window, propping your chin in your palm as you watch the scenery flash past. “And I want that photo, by the way. Send it to me?”

“As soon as we get to the store,” Jungkook promises. “Speaking of which, we’re getting close. Keep an eye out for the exit for me?”

“Deal.”

///

Jimin and the others are waiting in the parking lot when you arrive, perched on and around the van as they watch Jungkook expertly maneuver the car into a neighboring parking space. “Took you long enough,” your brother says once the engine is cut, hopping off the hood and landing lightly on both feet.

“We’re here now, aren’t we?” you snark as you join the others hovering near the grocery store entrance. Jimin makes a face at you, and you stick your tongue out in response. After a quick huddle—wherein you form a very haphazard game plan—everyone disperses. Jimin grabs a shopping cart and heads inside with Taehyung and Minho, the latter of whom is trying to clamber his way into the cart to hitch a ride.

Sighing, you grab a shopping cart of your own and scan the interior of the store for the produce section. They’ve rearranged the aisles since you were last here, but you quickly find what you’re looking for and begin picking your way over when Jungkook materializes at your side.

“So, what are you thinking for food?” he asks, nudging you away so he can push the cart in your stead.

You allow him to take over, gesturing toward your destination. “I know my brother,” you tell him dryly. “He’s going to buy meat and completely forget about everything else. And I don’t trust any of you to buy a single fruit or vegetable.”

“I like fruit and vegetables,” Jungkook defends.

“You like everything,” you correct, flashing him a teasing grin before leading him into the produce section.

Grocery shopping with Jungkook turns out to be surprisingly pleasant—comfortable, even. He proves adept at finding the ripest fruits and greenest vegetables, and when you ask him to find some apples, he trots off immediately and returns with a handful of sweet potatoes in addition to your requested fruit.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do with those?”

Jungkook feigns offense, slapping a hand to his heart. “That’s cold, Noona. Don’t you think I can cook?”

“I’ve never seen you cook in my life,” you respond. “How am I supposed to know if you can or not?”

“I can,” he promises. “And I’ll prove it too, if you let me.”

You get the feeling he’s not just talking about cooking anymore, but he doesn’t give you a chance to answer. Dropping the apples and potatoes into the cart, he flashes you a crooked little smile before turning toward a display of cabbages, leaving you to wonder at what exactly is going through his head.

///

It’s nearly one in the afternoon when you arrive at your family’s lake house. The last stretch of the drive takes you through the forest along a winding, narrow road, but Jungkook is a capable driver and you know the way well enough to warn him about any upcoming hairpin turns. Piling out of the car, the three of you make quick work of putting the food safely into the refrigerator. By the time you’re finished, Jimin and the others have arrived as well, lugging their belongings inside and setting them inside the entryway.

“So who’s sleeping where?” Taehyung asks, glancing around the house. It’s modestly sized, with a living area on one side and a combined dining room and kitchen on the other. Three bedrooms and a bathroom branch off of the hallway between them, ending in a back door that leads out to the lake. Through the window, you can see the water glimmering in the sunlight, hazy and golden.

“We’ll have to share,” Jimin says. “ If Noona takes one room, that leaves two bedrooms and the pullout couch for the rest of us.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Rock, paper, scissors?” he suggests, drawing a chorus of groans.

“I always lose!” Jimin complains. “And Taemin cheats!”

“Do not!”

Laughing at the indignant expression on your brother’s face, you decide to leave them to it and head to your bedroom with your luggage in tow. The room is just as you remember it, with a bed tucked against one wall and a dresser on the opposite. There are three doors in total—one that you just entered through, and another that opens into a small closet. The third leads to a bathroom—shared with the bedroom on the other side of the wall that usually belongs to Jimin. Vaguely, you wonder who will be sleeping there tonight, before setting your suitcase on the bed and unzipping it.

“Fuck!”

You jump at the sudden shout, poking your head out into the hallway to see what’s causing all the commotion. Yugyeom is kneeling on the floor with his head down, a crestfallen Taemin standing beside him. Meanwhile, Taehyung and Minho look supremely pleased with themselves, and you see why when they grab their bags and practically skip to the master bedroom across the hall, collapsing onto the king-sized bed.

“Have fun on the couch, losers!” Jimin singsongs, grabbing Jungkook by the wrist and dragging him into their newly won bedroom on your side of the hallway. “Lake in fifteen minutes, so get changed! Last one there’s in charge of dinner!”

The door slams shut behind him, and you roll your eyes before turning back to your opened suitcase and pulling out a book. There’s a perfectly shaded spot beneath one of the trees along the water, and you fully intend to capitalize on the last few hours of daylight before the sun begins to set.

Minho is the only one outside when you exit the house, standing on the dock in a pair of green swim trunks. He waves at you cheerily before cannonballing into the lake, and you squeak as the resulting splash sends water splattering across the front of your shirt.

“Sorry!” he calls when he resurfaces, shaking his hair out like a wet dog.

You wave off his apology with a laugh, settling down onto the soft grass at the base of your chosen tree and opening up your book. The other boys trickle out of the house one by one, but you barely notice. It isn’t until a triumphant shout pierces the air that you finally glance up to see what’s causing all the commotion, your gaze immediately landing on Taehyung standing on the back steps of the house.

“Trust me,” he says, unbothered by his apparent tardiness. “You don’t want me to make dinner.”

Minho pulls a face and straightens up from where he’d been floating on his back. “You know, he kinda has a point there.”

Murmurs of agreement all around. Taehyung gives Jimin a smug smile, who scowls from where he’s sitting at the end of the dock, his bare feet dangling over the edge. “So what now? Do we have to play rock, paper, scissors again?”

“Nah, I’ll do it.”

Every head whips around to face Jungkook, yours included. He’s standing a short ways from where you’re sitting—his approach so quiet that you hadn’t even heard him arrive. The last time you checked, he’d been diving off the dock with Minho and Yugyeom, water pooling in his collarbones and dripping down the ridges of his taut abdomen each time he resurfaced.

Not that you’d been looking, of course.

“Really?” Jimin looks aghast at his best friend’s declaration. “You can cook?”

Jungkook scoffs in disbelief and plops down beside you, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Why does everyone in your family seem surprised by that?” he asks, his lip jutting out in a petulant frown. “Do I seem like someone who can’t cook?”

“Yes,” you tell him honestly, marking your page and letting the book fall shut. “Don’t take it personally, though. Men only learn how to cook in college when they have to start fending for themselves. And sometimes, not even then.”

The noise that leaves Jungkook’s mouth can best be described as disgruntled, but he doesn’t press any further. Instead, he peers over your shoulder to get a look at the cover of your book, mouthing the title to himself before glancing at you. “Haven’t I seen you reading this before?”

“Probably,” you admit. “It’s an old favorite.”

He hums, slouching back against the tree again, and when you look over, you see that both his eyes have fallen shut. With his mouth parted and his dark lashes resting on his cheeks, he looks years younger than he is—and so much more like the Jungkook you used to know.

“Tired?” you whisper.

“Long drive,” Jungkook whispers back, his head already beginning to loll. “Lemme sleep, Noona.”

Smiling to yourself, you return to your book and leave him to rest.

///

“So, what are you even planning to make?” Jimin asks, swinging his legs. He’s seated atop the kitchen counter, taking up the majority of what precious little space there is to begin with, and Jungkook sighs deeply as he’s forced to dodge around him yet again to peer into the refrigerator.

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t think you even know yet,” Taemin pipes up from the doorway. The other boys are in the living room playing Mario Kart, but Taemin and Jimin have selflessly pulled themselves away from the game to help their friend in the kitchen—or so they say. As far as you’re concerned, they’ve been nothing but a nuisance thus far, but you don’t voice that particular thought aloud.

“Ramen doesn’t count as making dinner,” Jimin points out snidely when Jungkook pauses too long next to the box of ramen packs. “Anyone can boil water. And you don’t get to add an egg and call it fancy, like you usually do.”

“My ramen is delicious, excuse you,” Jungkook retorts, pointing a spatula at him. “And that’s not even what I’m making, so fuck off.”

Jimin shrugs, but shuts his mouth nonetheless. You take the opportunity to throw some pork belly at him, the meat wrapped neatly in paper and tied off with twine. “Here,” you tell him. “You could at least make yourself useful and start grilling the meat.”

“Okay, mom,” your brother grumbles under his breath, hopping off the counter. He and Taemin head out to the back porch where the grill sits, and you join Jungkook at the stove where he’s staring thoughtfully at an empty pan.

“Try twisting the dial. I’ve heard that helps.”

Jungkook snaps out of his daze and turns to you. “Huh?”

“The stove. It won’t light itself, you know.”

Chuckling, Jungkook twists the dial as instructed, adding a drizzle of oil to the pan. As it heats up, he turns and selects a knife from the cutlery drawer. The sweet potatoes he’d insisted on purchasing are already washed and peeled, and you watch as he begins to slice them, your gaze automatically flitting down to his exposed forearms, his muscles flexing with every movement.

“Hey, Noona? Can you do me a favor?”

You blink, tearing your gaze from the branching veins lining his arms. “What?”

Jungkook, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice your distracted state. “Can you put the rice in the microwave?” he asks, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Why?” you tease. “Are you still scared?”

“Of course not,” he retorts, but you don’t miss the wary look that flashes across his face when you plop the rice inside and go to punch in the cook time.

The remainder of the cooking goes smoothly. Jimin and Taemin return with the grilled meat, and Jungkook rebuffs your offer to set the table, leaving his position at the stove to lay plates and utensils down on the table himself. “I’m just about done, anyway,” he tells you, gesturing at the plate of glazed sweet potatoes on the counter. “Sit down and relax, Noona.”

“Fine,” you relent, taking a seat. Jimin takes the chair beside you, and Taemin plops down on his other side. Jungkook sits down just to your left once he’s finished laying out the food, and for a brief, insane moment, you almost think that he’s going to repeat what he’d done at his graduation dinner. But the dark-haired young man remains on his best behavior, keeping his hands to himself under the table, and you aren’t sure whether you’re grateful or disappointed.

The meal flies by in a flurry of laughter and conversation. Jungkook discovers that his glazed sweet potatoes have adhered to the plate, and sends everyone into hysterics when he promptly starts spinning it around like a steering wheel.

It’s a good night. And at the end of it, you go to bed warm and content, with a belly full of food and a smile on your face.

///

You awaken to the sound of chirping songbirds and gentle waves lapping at the shore the next morning, thoroughly rejuvenated after an undisturbed night’s sleep. Stretching your arms overhead, you yawn and bask in the comfort of your bed for a few more moments before getting up and heading to the bathroom, thankful that you don’t have to fight anyone for sink occupancy. The toilet seat is even down, which comes as a welcome surprise, all things considered.

Before long, you are back in your bedroom, rifling through the contents of your suitcase. Belatedly, you realize that you’ve packed only one swimsuit—and a bikini, at that. Cheeks warming, you pull the two pieces out, holding them up against your body. Has it always been this small? You don’t remember. All you know is that Jungkook has two fully functional eyes, and there’s no way that he won’t be looking at every inch of skin you choose to expose.

In the end, you settle on wearing the bikini beneath a flowy, floral kimono-style robe, tied at the waist to form a makeshift dress. The ensemble reaches just past your knees and is sheer enough to still show skin, but you no longer feel as self-conscious going out into the view of your companions and that’s a victory as far as you’re concerned. Checking your reflection one last time, you adjust your sash before opening the bedroom door and heading down the hall for some breakfast.

Unsurprisingly, the kitchen is empty when you walk in, tiptoeing past a still slumbering Taemin and Yugyeom on the pullout couch. You savor the quiet as you start up the old coffeemaker, pulling a mug from the cabinet and rinsing it out to get rid of any lingering dust. The weather app on your phone promises that it’ll be a clear, cloudless day, and a glance out the window confirms it. Silently, you debate whether or not to crack a window.

Your musings are interrupted by the arrival of Taehyung, his brown hair sticking up at all angles. Blearily, he trundles to the fridge and grabs the orange juice, seemingly two seconds away from chugging it straight from the carton before you clear your throat and push a clean glass toward him. You think you hear him mumble a thank you.

As the morning wears on, the others slowly begin to trickle in. Breakfast is a disorganized affair that leaves bread crumbs all over the counter, and nearly causes a fight when everyone seems to want their eggs cooked a different way.

“Look, if you wanted your egg soft-boiled, you should’ve made it yourself!” Jimin grouches to Taehyung, the t-shirt over his head muffling his words. Everyone else is already in the water, splashing about, but you’re seated on the end of the dock with your brother and Taehyung, who looks thoroughly unfazed behind his tinted sunglasses.

“Maybe if I knew how to soft boil an egg, I would have.”

“Google exists,” Jimin says, finally freeing himself from the shirt and tossing it aside.

Taehyung nods sagely. “Exactly. So why didn’t you use it?”

Jimin is beginning to look positively murderous, so when Minho swims over and taps your submerged ankle, you are beyond grateful for the distraction. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Are you gonna swim, or are you gonna sit onshore the whole time?” Minho asks, raking his wet bangs out of his eyes. “The water’s not even cold, so get in here.”

Pointedly, you wiggle your toes. “Feels pretty cold to me.”

“Okay, fine. It’s cold.” Minho grins. “But you get used to it.”

You sigh at his easy admission. “All men do is lie. How am I supposed to believe you?”

He raises a brow. “Do I need to pull you in and dunk you under?”

“I will kick you if you even try,” you tell him, standing up and shrugging off your robe. An audible hush falls as the gauzy material pools around your ankles—Jungkook stops wrestling with Yugyeom and trying to dunk him underwater, and Taemin pauses mid-splash, his hair drenched and dripping.

It’s Minho who breaks the silence first, letting loose a low whistle of appreciation. “Damn, {Name}.”

Jimin grabs a shoe from the pile on the dock and chucks it at him, hard. “Dude, that’s my fucking sister!”

“Ow! What the fuck, man, that’s my shoe!”

“Quit ogling my sister!”

“I’m not!” Minho yells, just as Jimin chucks the other shoe and hits him square in the mouth. “Okay, I’m not anymore. Sorry, okay?”

Once he’s sufficiently sure that Jimin is done attacking him, Minho turns to you. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you reassure him. “Honestly, it was kinda good for my self-esteem. And I don’t need you defending my honor, or whatever it is you think you’re doing,” you add, glancing over at your disgruntled brother.

“Men are pigs,” Jimin sniffs. “I won’t apologize.”

You ruffle his hair good-naturedly. “I know, Chim. You’re right.” Then your smile turns mischievous. “I won’t apologize for what I’m about to do, either.”

And then you grab him by the arm and drag him into the lake, the cold water submerging you in an instant and stealing the breath out of your lungs. You’re both gasping by the time you resurface, blinking water out of your eyes, and you squeal when Jimin takes the opportunity to splash you again.

Hours pass—the sun rising higher overhead. Around noon, Taehyung disappears inside the house and returns with an assortment of snacks and sandwich fixings, ushering everyone over for an impromptu lunch on the dock. You dip your feet into the water as you munch on a bag of chips, and Jungkook plops down beside you with a juice box in one hand and a ham sandwich in the other.

“Wanna go for a ride in the canoe after lunch?” he asks, jabbing a thumb back in the direction of the house. “I found it in the garage.”

You laugh. “Really? I thought for sure we got rid of that thing. Are you sure it hasn’t sprung a leak?”

Jungkook’s face crinkles into a grin. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, huh?”

You grin back and raise your cup, the lemonade inside swishing around. “I’ll hang on to this, just in case I need to start bailing water out.”

Lunchtime winds down gradually. Jungkook polishes off his sandwich and trots off to fetch the canoe, waving off your offers to help before disappearing around the corner of the house. You watch him return a few minutes later from your seat on the end of the dock, resting your weight back on your hands and swirling your pruney toes in the water. He’s stripped off the loose white tee he’d donned during lunch, his golden skin cast in shadow by the canoe perched across his bare shoulders, and your gaze trails from his bulging biceps down to the ridges of his abdomen. The muscles flex with every step he takes, and you hastily take another sip of lemonade in an effort to combat the sudden dryness in your throat.

With a grunt, Jungkook comes to a stop at your elbow, heaving the boat into the water. The impact sends ripples across the lake and the butterflies in your belly into a frenzy, and you nearly fall off the dock when Jungkook touches your shoulder gently.

“Ready to go, Noona?”

You nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Jungkook holds the boat steady with one hand while offering you the other, and you gratefully grasp it as you step off the dock. The canoe rocks dangerously when Jungkook clambers in after you, but quickly steadies when he picks up an oar and jabs at the dock to push off into the lake. The glimmering expanse of blue water stretches before you, and you relax as you let your fingers dangle off the side of the boat, watching ripples form beneath your fingertips.

“I can help row,” you say after a few moments, casting a glance over at Jungkook. He’s settled into a rhythm now, the veins and tendons in his arm flexing with each movement, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he’s sitting.

“You—” Jungkook says, fixing you with a playful stare, “—just enjoy the ride, yeah?”

Shaking your head, you smile and turn back around to admire the view. Sunlight reflects off the rippling water, lending a golden iridescence to the glittering blue depths. In the distance, the opposite shoreline rises up, crowned with rocky outcrops and majestic dark green pines.

With a start, you realize how far away you’ve gotten from the other boys. The shouts and laughter from the house are quickly fading into the background, and you nervously turn to look at Jungkook as he rows you even further.

“God, my dad would freak if he saw us right now,” you remark, trying to diffuse the sudden tension that’s settled. “I mean, we don’t even have life jackets. He’d lose his mind.”

Jungkook hums. He stops rowing, his hands stilling on the oars, and you’re just about to ask him what’s wrong when a warm hand glides up your thigh.

“You think you could maybe stop talking about your dad, princess?” Then he smirks. “Unless you’re into the whole daddy kink thing, because I’d be down to explore that at some point if you want—“

“Jungkook!” you hiss, scandalized.

“Yes?” the young man in question hums, his face the picture of innocence. It’s hard to muster up your vocabulary when he’s looking up at you with those wide doe eyes, but you somehow manage to prevail over your malfunctioning brain.

“We’re in public!” you whisper, glancing back at the shore where your brother and his friends have started an impromptu game of water polo.

Jungkook smirks crookedly at you. “Guess you better not scream too loud, then.”

And then, before you can open your mouth to protest—before you can even try to call his bluff—he’s slipped his hand into your bikini bottoms and found his way to your clit. Your entire body spasms when he presses into it experimentally, and the resulting snicker that escapes him is nothing short of infuriating.

“Careful,” he coos, laying his free hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing nonsensical circles into the soft skin. “Don’t wanna rock the boat, now.”

Then he returns his attention to your clit, pinching the nub just to watch you jolt in his grasp and soothing you with a gentle kiss to the knee afterward. Your skin warms beneath the plush of his lips, and the pleased smile that curves them is all the warning you get before he sheathes a single finger in your clenching core. “Jungkook—” you gasp, shoving uselessly at his bare shoulders, but you can’t keep the edge of desire out of your voice. You can’t hide the growing wetness between your legs either—wetness that he most certainly feels as he slips another finger inside, pumping into you with ease.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes trained on the way you clench around him. “So pretty like this. So pretty, getting fucked by my fingers. I could do this all day.”

“We—we don’t have all day,” you whisper. The last syllable dissolves into a moan as Jungkook eases a third finger into your cunt, and you scrabble to ground yourself when he picks up his leisurely pace. One hand settles on the edge of the boat, your fingernails digging into the wood, while the other finds Jungkook’s bicep. His arm flexes beneath your grip with each snap of his wrist, and you keen when he crooks his fingers just right and sends stars skittering across your vision.

He knows that you’re getting close. You can tell from the growing furrow between his brows and the hard set of his jaw, and you can tell that he won’t stop until he gets you off. Concentration etches across his face, and you gasp when his thumb finds your clit again.

“Oh, fuck, Jungkook—”

“That’s it,” he rasps, digging deeper and thumbing roughly across your bundle of nerves. “Cum for me.”

And you do. With one final flick of his wrist, Jungkook sends you hurtling over the edge that he’s so effortlessly built, a cresting wave of pleasure overtaking your body and spreading through your veins. Your leg kicks out instinctively, rocking the canoe dangerously in the water, but Jungkook catches you by the ankle with his free hand and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. He shifts his weight until you’re steadied once more, and only then does he ease his fingers out of you, raising them to his mouth to lick them clean.

“Think we can sneak away so I can fuck you properly?” he asks.

Your cheeks heat up at the lewd display, warming even more when his words register in your muddled brain. “Oh my god, Jungkook.”

“That’s exactly what you’ll be saying when I really get my hands on you,” Jungkook agrees. Flashing you a mischievous grin, he drops his hand over the edge of the boat, letting the turquoise water wash away any lingering fluids. “What do you think? The backseat of my car isn’t half bad…”

“I will literally push you into this lake,” you tell him, trying and failing to hide a disbelieving laugh. “Why are you such a perv?”

“You like it,” Jungkook defends immediately. “‘Sides,” he adds, casting a wary glance at the shore where Jimin and the others are still fully engrossed in their game, “I wanna kiss you while I fuck you. It’s not as good like this.”

At that, something dangerously close to affection blooms in your belly, winding its curious tendrils around your heart. Swallowing the feeling down, you pick up one of the oars instead, handing it over to him before hefting the other. “Come on,” you murmur. “They’re gonna get suspicious if we’re gone too long.”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah. Probably.”

And then he raises the oar you just handed him, lifting it until the paddle covers both of your faces, and boldly plants a firm kiss on your mouth.

“I’ll row us back,” he declares casually when he pulls away, as if he hasn’t just stolen all the oxygen from your lungs. As if your lips aren’t burning where he’s kissed you, your cheeks hot beneath his gentle exhalations. As if you aren’t positively thrumming with the desire to pull him back in, and maybe take him up on his offer to fuck you in the backseat of his beat-up sedan.

“Yeah,” you say instead, your voice hoarse. “Let’s go.”

///

What few remaining hours of daylight you have, you decide to spend inside. Jungkook gets roped into the water polo match as soon as the two of you return to shore, and you take the opportunity to slip into the house and clean yourself up. Safely locked away in the bathroom, you strip off your damp bikini bottoms and toss them in the sink. The top follows, and you give both a quick wash, doing your best to ignore the remaining slick from your orgasm that stubbornly coats the material.

Once everything is washed and hanging up to dry, you step into the shower. Warm water soaks your hair and slides down your back, and you tilt your head back to let the spray wash your worries away, relishing in the rare moment of peace and quiet.

By the time you’ve toweled off and gotten dressed, you can hear the boys beginning to traipse back into the house. From what you can make out, they’re making dinner plans, and you poke your head out curiously when Jimin mentions you by name.

“What are you saying about me?” you ask, narrowing your eyes accusingly at your brother.

Jimin whirls around, his cherubic face a perfect picture of innocence. “Nothing! I was just talking about your fried rice and how good it is…”

“You’re trying to get me to make you dinner,” you sigh. “I knew it.”

“No, we’ll help!” your brother promises. “I swear, as soon as I get out of the shower, I’ll chop all the vegetables.”

“Sure you will,” you snort, brushing past him and heading for the kitchen.

Much to your surprise, the kitchen is already occupied when you arrive. Jungkook and Yugyeom are at the counter—the former poised with a knife at the ready, about to slice into an onion. The latter is digging through the cabinets, and both turn at the sound of your footsteps.

“Hey,” Yugyeom says. “You probably know where the bottle opener is, right?”

You nod. “Left of the sink, second drawer down.” Then you turn your attention to Jungkook, peering curiously over his shoulder. “What’s the onion for?”

“Dinner,” he replies, flashing you a crooked little smile. “We’re making fried rice, aren’t we?”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest and races to catch up, thumping erratically against your ribcage. It’s hard to ignore the warmth blossoming in your belly—near impossible to ignore the butterflies that have made a home there—but you somehow manage to school your expression into something passably neutral and busy yourself with the other vegetables on the counter. “I see Jimin got to you, too. Is the other cutting board clean?”

Jungkook nods, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the dish rack. “Washed it last night, yeah. It’s all yours, Noona.”

You hum and skirt around Yugyeom to grab the clean board and another knife. Chopping vegetables goes a lot faster with two people, and Yugyeom does his part by cracking open two bottles of beer and plunking one down next to each of you before opening a third for himself. “Hydrate,” he orders, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and taking a sip.

It doesn’t take long to finish making dinner. As promised, Jimin joins you as soon as he’s out of the shower, plucking the knife out of your hand and nudging you aside so he can finish cutting the vegetables. You fire up the stove and drizzle some oil into a pan, and smile when Taehyung brings you the container of leftover rice and a large serving bowl.

“You know what we should do?” Minho asks as you’re all sitting down to eat. Yugyeom’s opened more beers, and Jimin’s brought out the wine as well. Jungkook is spooning out fried rice for everyone, and you accept the bowl he hands you with a murmur of thanks before looking at Minho expectantly.

“What should we do?”

“Go to the beach,” he replies, tilting the remainder of his beer back into his mouth. “It’s only an hour away, isn’t it?”

“Closer to half an hour without traffic,” Jimin corrects. “But, yeah, we should go. That would be fun.”

By the time dinner is finished, you’ve finalized plans to drive down to the beach in the morning. “Remember, we’re leaving at ten,” you tell Jimin, elbowing him in the ribs. “That means you have to wake up before ten.”

“I know!” your brother whines, rubbing the spot where you elbowed him with a grimace. “Jeez, Noona. I’m good at waking up. It’s Jungkook and Tae you have to worry about.”

“Says the punk who takes hour-long showers,” you snark. “What are you gonna do when you have to pay your own water bills, huh?”

“Shower at your place,” he replies smugly. “You can’t turn me away. I’m your brother.”

“Please, that’s exactly why I can turn you away, you little mooch.”

“You love me!”

“Really? You wanna test that theory?”

The remainder of the evening passes in a blur of booze and board games, unearthed from the closet in the hall. Despite your collective agreement to go to bed early, it’s past midnight when you finally bid everyone goodnight and crawl underneath your covers. Shutting your eyes, you will your brain to settle and your limbs to relax, and you’re on the verge of drifting off when your phone suddenly buzzes. Lazily, you roll over and snatch the device off the nightstand, taking in the late hour before your eyes flit down to the new notification and go wide.

[1:02am] Jungkook: IMG_497

You freeze, thumb hovering just above the message. Even when your screen goes dark again, you can’t erase the sight of his name lighting up your phone, the attachment sitting there like a taunt. You shouldn’t open it. You can’t open it.

But curiosity gnaws at your belly, fraying the edges of your resolve. Slowly, you wake the screen, watching as Jungkook’s name fills it once more. You hesitate, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth.

And then your phone buzzes again, several times in quick succession.

[1:04am] Jungkook: i miss you, noona

[1:04am] Jungkook: miss your pretty face

[1:04am] Jungkook: miss how tight your pussy felt around my fingers

You drop the device as if scorched. It takes several moments to gather your wits again, but when you do, pick up your phone, clicking on his name and scrolling up to the attachment. In the darkness of your bedroom, you watch with bated breath as it downloads.

“Fuck.”

The expletive slips past your lips, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Jungkook stares out at you from the photograph illuminating your screen, his eyes hooded and his lips curled into a devious smirk. He’s in the shared bathroom between your bedrooms, and even though it’s dark inside, the flash of his camera is just enough to illuminate the distinctive palm tree patterned shower curtain behind him.

But, you aren’t focused on that.

No, your focus is zeroed in on the foreground of the photo, where you can perfectly make out the head of Jungkook’s cock, sticky and leaking copiously from between his fingers.

“Fuck,” you repeat, louder this time.

And as if reading your mind, another text flashes onto your screen.

[1:07am] Jungkook: wish your pretty little pussy was stretched around my cock right now, princess

You aren’t sure what possesses you to send the response you do, but your thumbs are moving before the more rational side of your brain can catch up and stop you.

[1:07am] You: why don’t you come over and make it happen then?

You’ve only just hit send when the bathroom door swings open, revealing Jungkook standing there in nothing but sweatpants. His face is illuminated in the stark white light shining from his screen, his eyes dark and his smirk even darker. Every movement drips with intent, from the way his lips quirk upward to the way he saunters over to join you on your bed, dropping his phone somewhere amongst the rumpled sheets. The room goes dark.

And then…

“Hey, princess.”

His lips are at your ear, hot breath caressing your cheeks and sending shivers down the length of your spine. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he joins you, a hand finding your bare thigh before sliding up to grasp your hip. Only an oversized t-shirt and a thin pair of cotton panties shield you from his roving fingers, and you can tell from the pleased curve of his mouth that he isn’t going to let either stand in his way. One hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, dancing along your ribcage, and you let out a breathy gasp when he trails up and skims along the soft skin just below the swell of your breasts.

“Been thinking about you all night, you know,” Jungkook whispers, pushing up your shirt and peppering kisses along every inch of newly revealed flesh. “Been thinking about how pretty you looked, cumming around my fingers, and how much prettier you’d look cumming around my cock.”

Your shirt is long forgotten by this point, tugged overhead and thrown carelessly over his shoulder. Jungkook hauls you closer, slotting himself between your spread legs, and you shiver when he presses the pad of his thumb against your clothed clit, the material uncomfortably damp as it clings to your folds.

“Jungkook—” His name escapes you in an airy whisper. “Please.”

Even in the darkness, you can see the satisfied, self-assured tilt of his lips. “Such a good girl for me,” he croons, leaning down to press a kiss to your waiting mouth. His free hand comes up to cup your cheek while the other remains between your legs, and you gasp sharply when he digs his thumb a little harder against your clit, circling the sensitive bud.

Jungkook seizes upon the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, licking into your mouth with unrestrained ardor. Your panties are peeled away, the cottony material disappearing right alongside the pressure of his thumb, and the inadvertent whine that escapes you has him chuckling darkly in his throat.

“What is it, princess?” Jungkook rasps, his voice dipping several pitches. “You have to tell me what you want, remember?”

You clutch at his wrist weakly, tugging it back between your legs until he finally indulges you and resumes his lazy revolutions around your clit. “Want you,” you whisper. “Want you inside me.”

Jungkook lets out a pleased hum, rewarding you with a single finger that he slips into your sopping entrance, your juices aiding the smooth glide as he curls it up in search of the spot that’ll have you seeing stars. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” you agree shakily. “But it looks like you are, so why don’t you let me help you out?”

Jungkook chuckles softly, his lips ghosting across the swell of your cheek. “Oh, yeah? And how exactly do you plan on helping me?”

Slowly, you reach down, letting your fingers graze the sizable bulge in his sweatpants. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? Me, stretched around your cock?”

A low groan escapes him when you give him a firm stroke, your fingers barely meeting around his length. “On your back,” he commands hoarsely, nudging you backward until you’re nestled into your pillows. Freeing his erection from the confines of his sweatpants, he settles comfortably between your spread legs, the mattress groaning in protest at the shift in weight.

“Wait,” you whisper, grabbing his wrist. “Did you hear that?”

His face scrunches in confusion. “Hear what?” he asks, as if he’s never heard that particular string of words before. “Are you sure it wasn’t just—”

He stops mid-sentence, and you both hear it again—the unmistakable creaking of bedsprings from next door. “Shit!” you hiss, scrambling back on the mattress until you’re nearly pressed against the headboard. “Oh, god. That’s Jimin. He’s going to kill you if he finds you in here—”

On the other side of the wall, the door to the shared bathroom opens, the light flickering on and illuminating the crack beneath your door. You hear your brother cursing sleepily under his breath as the toilet lid clatters open, and nearly shove Jungkook off the bed in your haste to get him out of your room.

“You have to go,” you whisper frantically, herding him toward the door that leads out into the hall.

Jungkook hurriedly pulls his pants back over his hips, and you can practically see him willing his erection to go away. “What am I supposed to say if he asks?”

“I don’t know! Pretend you were going for a glass of water or something!”

With a final push, you shove him out of your bedroom, leaning against the door with a relieved sigh when it clicks shut behind him. You hear Jungkook shuffle off just as Jimin flushes, and cast a prayer up to any deities that may exist as you listen to him wash his hands. And it seems your prayers are answered, as quiet descends over the house once more. Off in the distance, you think you hear Minho snoring.

Letting out another sigh, you return to bed, crawling beneath the covers and getting comfortable. And when sleep finally takes you, you dream of Jeon Jungkook.

[st-crylo]

Rebound

Part 9

A/N: Sorry again that it took so long to get this part out! Hopefully you guys will like the slice of drama I threw in there. Thanks so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!!

Warning: Swearing, minor angst

Word Count: 4.7K

Tagging: @haylaansmi @nankstasty @thomasscresswell @maybe-your-left

Masterlist

The next day, you decided you weren’t going to bring up Hux again unless that’s what Kylo wanted. So, you spent your day deciding whether or not to panic about dinner with the Solo’s. You had decided to panic.

Yes, you and Kylo were good friends once, and you had spent a lot of time there when you were younger, but you were older now, and both you and Kylo were phenomenally different people. Would they still like you? On top of that, since Rey was going to be there as well, you had to be worried about every single move you made. It would be easier to convince Kylo’s parents that the two of you were actually dating, but Rey was a different story. If you didn’t play your cards right in front of her, she was going to be able to see past you like cellophane. Hopefully, you could pull it off.

The whole day was spent with you pacing your room, or being on your phone as a distraction, until Kylo called. Once he did, you quickly got dressed into a nice blouse and jeans, deciding not to be too fancy. When you got outside, you were glad that you’d decided that. Kylo, like usual, was wearing a black shirt and black jeans, his leather jacket adding the only bit of color, with a K.O.R. patch on the chest pocket. You wondered if you’d ever get a jacket like that, too. 

In the driveway, Kylo gave you a hug as Mr. and Mrs. Skywalker stepped out of the house. Once Kylo let go, Mrs. Skywalker walked over to you, arms open before pulling you into an embrace.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, (y/n). Just so you know, Leia makes absolutely wonderful food. I know it’s been a few years, but just in case you forgot,” she said before letting go of you, holding your hands in hers as she looked you up and down. Her eyes were filled with brightness, but there was a playful look behind them as well. She was certainly still young at heart.

“Well, we’ll be taking Kylo’s car, so you kids can hop in the back,” Mr. Skywalker said, holding up Kylo’s keys. Kylo laughed from behind you, and you had to try your hardest to keep the smile from your face.

“Anakin, don’t be ridiculous. We can just take the sedan,” Mrs. Skywalker started.

“Oh no, I paid for this car, the least my favorite grandson can do is let me drive it,” Mr. Skywalker said with a grin before climbing in the car. Mrs. Skywalker opened the passenger door, and Kylo moved the seat forward so you two could climb in the back. You felt sorry for Kylo, since his legs would undoubtedly have to fold in like paper. He let you get in first though, insisting that he’d better be able to gauge how much room he was gonna have if you were already in the car. Once he had climbed in the backseat, it was an extremely tight fit, the length of Kylo’s legs practically causing him to lean against you. 

The whole ride to dinner, you were filled with anxiety. There was so much pressure to convince so many people that you were in a relationship, it was making your heart pound. Luckily, Kylo was occasionally rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, which was helping to keep you from fully freaking out. You tried to look out the window to quell your nerves, but it didn’t help that you were pulling into the same rich neighborhood that you’d been in for Jordan’s party. Though the memories from the party warmed a part of you, thinking about the fun you’d had, you couldn’t help but be even more intimidated by the fact that Kylo’s family had money, even though you’d never know it, looking at the way his grandparents lived. 

Pulling up to the house, you had to keep your jaw from dropping. When you were younger, Kylo and his parents had lived in a smaller, quainter house. You knew that his parents were successful, so you don’t know why you expected them to still live in that house, but you definitely weren’t expecting the magnificence of the house in front of you. It was a colonial house, white columns holding up the overhang of the triangular roof. The shutters were a crimson red that stood out against the russet color of the brick that made up the outside of the house. The lawn was perfectly taken care of, with beds of dahlias and chrysanthemums in full bloom, colors of pink and orange adding to the feel of fall. The path leading up to the house from the driveway was cobblestone, and it had a very old-timey feel to it. You weren’t surprised that Kylo would rather live with his grandparents.

You noticed as Mr. Skywalker pulled further into the driveway that there were already three cars parked. The third car you recognized, because you’d ridden in it with Rey plenty of times. The fact that they were already here didn’t help your nerves either. When the car came to a stop behind the familiar green car, you let out a breath before waiting patiently to be let out of the car.

“Anakin, that was ridiculously cramped for those two. Kylo practically squished poor (y/n),” Mrs. Skywalker said as she straightened out her dress, standing beside Kylo as he waited for you to step out of the car. Once you did, Kylo fixed the passenger seat back and closed the door. 

“Oh, come on Padme, they don’t mind.” Mr. Skywalker said as he winked at Kylo, who tried to hide a laugh, though he was unsuccessful. His grandmother gave the two of them dirty looks before linking your arm with hers and marching up to the house.

“Men,” she said with exasperation. “Thankfully, they aren’t our only company for tonight.” Soon, the two of you were at the front door, Kylo and Mr. Skywalker pulling up the rear. You wished you were beside Kylo instead, as your heart pounded within your chest. You worried everyone could hear it as Mrs. Skywalker reached to open the door. She was, however, beat to it. The door swung open and revealed Kylo’s mom, her short stature standing in the door frame, and her eyes twinkling as she smiled at you.

“Oh, (y/n), it’s been too long! Come in!” She took you from her own mother’s arms and brought you into the house, Kylo walking past his grandparents to catch up to you.

“Mom, I’ll show her around the house,” Kylo said, taking a hold of you and bringing you towards him. You almost tripped, but Kylo caught you in a very discreet way, helping you straighten up.

“Oh, alright dear. Don’t forget to say hi to Rey, her and your Uncle Luke are in the living room,” she said before giving Kylo a hug. You guessed that he hadn’t been around recently with how long the hug lasted, and you almost felt as if you were intruding on a moment. Soon, though, she let go of Kylo, letting him lead you to the stairway in the middle of the foyer before catching up with her parents. Once you and Kylo had ascended the stairs, and were out of sight from the adults, you heard them turn silent for a while before hearing Mr. Skywalker speak.

“He just needs a break, Leia. Sometimes, young boys like him do.”

You could almost feel Kylo roll his eyes as he took your hand, leading you to a room at the end of the hall. Once inside, you knew it was his room.

The walls were navy blue, covered with posters of different bands. All of his furniture was dark as well, looking as if it was all made of ebony, but you knew it was only the way the wood was stained. The sheets on his bed were black, and looked undisturbed, as if they’d been made up in expectation, but hadn’t been used yet. The curtains that were hung over the window were also navy blue, blocking out a lot of the light from the sunset. The room would’ve been totally dark if not for the light having been turned on. As you stood in front of the closed door, examining the room, Kylo practically threw himself onto the bed, laying the wrong direction on the bed, and staring at the ceiling.

“I wish they’d stop that,” his deep voice said, breaking the silence. You let out a sigh as you walked over, sitting down on the bed next to him. “Every time I leave the room, they talk about me.”

You sat beside him in silence, unsure whether or not to speak, and what you would say if you did. Sometimes, silence was better, more comforting. You felt that this was probably one of those times, but you still wanted to comfort Kylo, so you reached out and took his hand in yours.

It wasn’t a romantic gesture, rather a silent way of communicating that you were listening. However, your small action seemed to put a crack in the dam of Kylo’s emotions.

“It’s so frustrating. They want me to be this perfect kid, to get all A’s and get into a good college. They want me to fit into the mold that society wants me to fit into, but I just can’t. I’m not that person, I’m not that respectable, well-brought up kid, but I don’t want them to think it’s their fault. I just wish they would listen to me, listen to what I feel or have to say, but they never do.”

He rambled on like that for a few minutes, and as you looked over at him, you noticed that his eyes were beginning to tear up. With a sigh, you laid down beside him, placing your head on his chest, and wrapping your arms around his waist. Kylo responded by wrapping his arm around your shoulder, letting out his own sigh before falling into a comfortable silence.

You could tell that his room was probably a place of great discomfort for him. He didn’t have to explain why, you simply knew that there were memories associated with this room that made him feel vulnerable, and though it was a strange thing to be thankful for, you were glad he’d let you into this part of himself that was hidden from everyone else. You suspected he really didn’t have anyone to vent his frustrations to, so you were sure that just having someone listen was better than anything he’d ever received. 

Without warning, the door was flung open, causing you to jump up off of Kylo. There was a scoff from the doorway, where Rey stood, a disgusted look in her eyes. 

“I don’t even want to know what the two of you were doing,” she said.

“Has anyone ever in your life told you to fuck off?” Kylo said, without moving from his position on the bed. You instantly felt uncomfortable, caught between them.

“Only you, asshole. Dinner’s ready,” Rey said before walking off, leaving the door wide open. With a sigh, Kylo sat up, running a hand through his unruly black hair before standing up. You did the same, and followed him out of the room and down to the dining room. 

The dining room was as opulent as the entire house, the walls a lovely and deep red with white crown moulding. The table sat in the center, long enough to just fit everyone here tonight. At the head of the table was Mr. Skywalker. To his right, Mrs. Skywalker was seated next to him, talking enthusiastically to her son, your teacher Mr. Skywalker. Beside him, Rey was seated, having just gotten settled from being told to retrieve the two of you. At the other end of the table, Mr. Solo sat, with Mrs. Solo sitting to his right, beside Rey. There were two seats between Mrs. Skywalker and Mr. Solo saved for the two of you, with full plates already placed. 

As you approached the table, Kylo walked a little ahead of you, pulling out the seat closest to his father for you. You took the seat, understanding that Kylo didn’t want to sit next to his dad. As soon as you were settled, Kylo sat down beside his grandmother. 

“So, (y/n), how have you been? It’s been a while since we’ve seen you,” Mrs. Solo said as you started biting into your food.

“Pretty well, Mrs. Solo. Enjoying senior year so far,” you answered.

“Oh please dear, call me Leia. Now, how long have you and Ben been dating?” she asked. You looked to Kylo, who seemed to be doing the math in his head.

“Almost two months, I’m pretty sure,” you said. Kylo simply nodded in agreement.

“That’s wonderful! I always hoped the two of you would date some day! You were always very patient with Ben back then, I’m sure you still are,” she said before taking another bite of her food, waiting for your reply.

“Well, he is a bit of a handful, but I keep him in line.”

“Good, that’s just what he needs,” came Mr. Solo’s voice. You could almost feel Kylo roll his eyes.

“Let’s not talk like that tonight,” Mrs. Skywalker said before taking a sip of her wine. “We’re here for you two to meet this lovely girl, or rather, reintroduce yourselves. So, are the two of you planning to go to homecoming?” 

“We weren’t really wanting to go to the football game, but we’re going to the dance with a few friends. (y/n)’s mom wants to take pictures at their place before we go, though,” Kylo responded.

“We were supposed to be taking pictures at Poe’s place,” Rey said under her breath, just loud enough for people to hear.

“I’m sorry, Rey, did you say something?” Kylo said with a smirk, staring his cousin down. She looked up at him, a terrifying fire in her eyes, but a calm expression on her face. Her lips turned upwards into a smile, one so obviously fake, it could’ve been made of plastic.

“I don’t have a problem at all, Ben,” she responded. Kylo furrowed his brows, but didn’t respond. You could already tell that either something was going to go terribly wrong, or it would be pretty close. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re going, Ben! You haven’t been to homecoming before,” Leia added before taking another bite of the food in front of her.

“Well, for once, I’ve found someone worth going with,” Kylo said, looking at you. You knew he was just saying it to appease his parents and hold up the facade, but you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at his words. 

The whole table finished their meal, and soon, Leia was pulling out a pie she had made for dessert. So far, Kylo and Rey had gone one without incident, and you were ready to breathe a breath of fresh air in relief, at least, until Mr. Solo said something that opened a can of worms.

“(y/n), you seem to be having a pretty good influence on Ben. This is the longest he’s gone without getting into some kind of trouble,” he said. You could feel Kylo clench his fist from beside you, but you placed a hand over his and simply smiled at Mr. Solo. 

“I certainly hope so,” you said before taking a bite from the piece of cherry pie you’d been given.

“Or maybe he just hasn’t been a bad influence on her yet,” Rey said, a little louder this time.

“Rey,” her father said from beside her.

For a moment, Kylo was silent as he glared at Rey, and you knew this would be a bloodbath. Watching, you waited for Kylo to say something, but desperately hoping he wouldn’t.

“Can I not breathe without you being such an obtuse bitch about me?” Kylo said finally, his voice ringing through the room, fists clenched at his side.

“Ben!” Leia said incredulously. Everyone else simply watched in awe, mouths agape.

“Kind of hard when you keep proving me right,” Rey yelled back, standing from the table and glaring right back. 

“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Kylo yelled, also standing. In your mind, you were going through a roller coaster of emotions. You were embarrassed, as this was your first dinner with Kylo’s parents, and Rey and Kylo were now choosing to argue, but you were also angry that Rey had antagonized him, and that Kylo had fallen for the obvious bait. 

“For starters, you took away my best friend!” 

You looked up at Rey, shocked and angry. You were absolutely speechless. Luckily, Kylo expressed what was on your mind.

“We were friends before you even met her! You met her through me! Is it so awful that maybe we can be happy together?”

Deciding you’d had enough, you stood as well, taking Kylo’s hand and pulling him away from the altercation. Kylo was happy to follow you, his breaths coming out in huffs as he tried to keep himself from losing it. You looked back at Rey for a second, who looked dejected and hurt, but you really couldn’t find it in you to care. 

Kylo, once having broken eye contact with Rey, headed for the front door, opting to cool off in the fall evening air. Once the two of you were outside, Kylo headed for a bench in the garden, sitting down and resting his elbows on his knees as he put his face in his hands, black hair poking out in between his fingers. You were silent as you sat beside him, but you had to admit you were pretty angry yourself. It was ridiculous that Rey felt that only one of them could have you, and you hated feeling like some toy they were being forced to share. 

“I’m sorry,” Kylo said after a few moments of silence, causing you to let out a sigh. 

“I would say it’s fine, but I think we both know it isn’t. You had to know she was antagonizing you,” you responded, looking at him as he raised his head from his hands.

“Yeah, I did. I always fall for it, though. She knows exactly what to say to piss me off.” Kylo let out a sigh before running a hand through his hair. “Besides, it wasn’t fair of either of us to bring you into the argument.”

“Technically, talking about me started the argument,” you offered, taking one of his hands and holding it in yours. Kylo laced his fingers with yours, his large hands dwarfing yours, but the feeling of it being extremely comforting. “Eventually, she’ll come around.”

“Yeah, when we’ve ‘broken up.’ C’mon, she’ll never be happy while we’re together,” Kylo said, looking off into the distance.

“She probably won’t even be satisfied then, because I’ll be damned if I’m losing you as a friend again,” you said. Kylo turned to look at you, a small smile on his face. 

After a few minutes, Mr. and Mrs. Skywalker came out of the house, talking to Leia before heading towards the two of you. They both seemed to have disappointed looks on their faces, but you knew that Mr. Skywalker’s would hurt Kylo the most. As much as Kylo didn’t want to admit it, he still looked up to his grandfather.

“Are you kids ready to go?” the old man said to the two of you. You both nodded in response. “Alright, well let’s get in the car. Kylo, you need to at least text your mother and tell her you’re sorry.” Straight to the point.

Kylo rubbed the nape of his neck as he stood, not making eye contact with his grandfather. “Yes sir,” was all he said before heading towards the car. 

***

After the dinner, Rey made it a point to make sure she avoided eye contact with you. As much as you wished you were fine with it, it still hurt, especially since she thought Kylo had stolen you away from her. Thinking about that only made you angry though, and so you sought the friendship of Kylo’s friends, or rather, your new friends.

The week before homecoming was busy and full of excitement. With spirit week in full swing, it was nice to watch everyone dress up for each of the days, ending on Friday with Mos Eisley spirit day. You decided to opt out of the festivities this year, but Sami had gone all out. Each day she was in a more eccentric costume than the next, which was very different from her usual aesthetic. It was extraordinarily amusing on Friday when she was covered in red and gold for the school colors. 

“Wow, I never knew you had this kind of school spirit,” Kylo had mused at lunch that day. Sami stuck out her tongue at him.

“Sorry I didn’t want to be a stick in the mud for senior year. Besides, it’s a good week! I turned in my application for the Coruscant Institute of Art!” she replied before taking a bite out of her cafeteria chicken strip.

“Wow, congrats! I hope you get in!” you said, leaning against Kylo’s shoulder, decidedly not hungry at the moment. 

“Me too! Mom’s on board and everything, so if I get in, that’s where I’m going!” She said excitedly.

“That’s so great, Sami!” Alan said.

“At least you know what you want to do. I’ve got no fucking clue,” Kylo said with a sigh. 

“Why don’t you write? Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted to do?” Phasma said from the other side of Alan.

“You write?” you asked, looking up at Kylo. He was blushing slightly, but was obviously trying to hide it.

“Yeah, a little. I mostly journal, but I’ve wanted to write books for a long time,” he said, scratching the nape of his neck. 

“I think you should do that, then. I bet you’d be a great writer.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, across the table, Sami had pulled out her phone, sending a message to Phasma.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were actually dating.

Yeah, no kidding, was Phasma’s reply. 

At the end of the day, the homecoming plans were set into motion. It had been decided on Tuesday that Phasma and Sami were going to stay the night with you Friday night so that you could all get ready for the dance together, and so that everyone would be there for pictures before heading for the school. It was exciting for you, considering it would be your first sleepover with your new friends.

“Alright, Kylo, I’m gonna follow you, so don’t drive too crazy,” Phasma said as the four of you stepped out of the front school doors.

“Trust me, there’s no way I can with all the traffic going into our neighborhood. Can’t believe you guys all get to spend the night together and leave little ole me wondering what you’re up to all night,” Kylo said with a fake pout, causing you to playfully shove him away.

“My mom would kill me if I brought you in the house, much less my room. We’ll call you in the middle of the night to keep you entertained,” you said. Kylo laughed as Phasma and Sami split off, heading for Phasma’s car. Like usual, you tossed your stuff into the car while Kylo discreetly lit a cigarette before climbing into the car himself. Once he did so, he rolled the window down and exhaled, the cloud of smoke flying away on the wind.

“Hope you ladies have fun tonight,” Kylo said as he backed out of his parking spot. 

“I hope so, too. It’s the first time since the summer that I’ve had a sleepover,” you responded, a pang in your chest as you thought about the last time you, Rey, and Rose all had a sleepover at Rose’s place. It was sad to think that it would probably be the last time you would ever have fun with Rey like that. 

“Well, I’m sure the three of you will have a great time,” Kylo assured before taking another drag. 

Like usual, the traffic to get out of the school was awful, but soon Kylo was pulling into your neighborhood, Phasma and Sami close behind. Kylo, naturally, pulled into the driveway when he arrived at his grandparents’ place. Phasma parked in the cul-de-sac, on the spot of the curb between your house and the Skywalker house. Soon, you were climbing out of the mustang, making sure to grab your backpack too, and waving a goodbye to Kylo before walking over to Phasma and Sami, who were climbing out of the car. You looked back at Kylo once more, who was finishing up his cigarette, making eye contact with him. He winked at you and you simply shook your head before leading Phasma and Sami to your house. 

Once inside, you were practically bombarded by your mother, who was desperate to learn all about the new friends you’d made. Though Phasma was dressed in her normal all-black androgynous attire, Sami’s spirit wear made your mom a lot more open to talking to both of them. You almost wondered if Sami had thought that through. 

“Well, I’ll order you ladies a pizza! If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask!” your mom said with a smile as the three of you headed up the stairs. 

“Thank you so much, Mrs. (y/l/n)!” Sami replied before turning around and following you into your room. Once in your room, everyone dropped their things, and you let out a sigh as you plopped onto the bed. 

“Is she always like that?” Phasma asked once Sami had closed the door behind her. 

“No. She just started being like that after what happened with Shawn. She’s just glad I’m hanging out with people again, even if they aren’t my old friends,” you responded, flipping over to lay on your stomach and pulling out your phone, scrolling through instagram. 

“Speaking of your old friends, neither of you said how dinner went,” Sami said, taking the seat at your desk. She looked out the window, surveying the cul-de-sac. 

“Practically a disaster,” you said with a sigh. “Rey antagonized Kylo, and Kylo fell for it. Then, Rey had the nerve to say Kylo ‘stole’ me from her.” Phasma scoffed, sitting on your bed now as well.

“That’s gross. If either of them were open to the idea, you could be friends with both,” Phasma added.

“I know. It’s just the fact that Rey can’t stand the fact that I would date Kylo. It would be easier if she knew we’re just friends, but she doesn’t.”

“Are you really just friends, though?” Sami asked, causing a stunned silence to fall over you. You could feel your face heating up against your will, and you couldn’t hide the shock that had hit you, like a freight train going through the middle of nowhere. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, hoping that Sami had some other thoughts in mind, and not what you felt she was going to say.

“I mean, without prompting, the two of you act like a couple anyways. Is there any way that you might have feelings for Kylo?” Sami asked, turning your desk chair to face you. 

“No! I mean, he’s one of my best friends, I can trust him with anything, but I don’t feel anything romantic for him,” you insisted, feeling an intense heat under the stares of your two friends. After a few seconds, Sami simply shrugged, deciding to drop the subject.

“As long as you’re sure,” she said before reaching to turn on your TV. You turned on Netflix and started a show, but as you sat there watching, your mind couldn’t help but wander. 

Was it possible that you did have feelings for Kylo? No, you couldn’t possibly, he was like a brother to you. Of course, any time he looked at you a certain way, your heart did flutter, and you couldn’t deny that you liked the way it felt when you held his hand, or when he kissed your cheek. No, you didn’t have any feelings for him, and even if you did, there was no way he had feelings for you. 

[avaantares]

My New Ventilated Social-Distancing Movie Theatre

(or, how I bought a 2020-proof social life for less than $100)

So the USA is (still) a hot mess in terms of pandemic response. Because both my father and I are at increased risk for complications from COVID-19, and my sister and I have to work together in person to run our workshops, my entire family has been in a state of self-quarantine for six months straight (with no end in sight). But it’s hard being in constant isolation, so the four households that comprise my local family have been doing weekly outdoor gatherings -- with plenty of hand sanitizer and safely-spaced tables -- so we can see each other and socialize at a distance. However, that’s only feasible when the weather cooperates.

I’ve also really missed watching movies with friends, which prior to the pandemic had been a regular activity. I have a 70-year-old tripod screen I inherited from my grandfather and a projector I use for running panels at conventions, so we’ve watched occasional DVDs outdoors, but we could only do that on evenings without wind (which could tear the brittle screen) or rain (which would damage the projector), and we have to be careful not to have the sound too loud because it might disturb the neighbors.

A couple weeks ago, when our city delayed reopening again due to rising COVID-19 case numbers, I decided to convert half of my garage into an outdoor movie theatre. It turned out pretty well, and it only cost about what I would spend on movie tickets in an average year (and since I’m not going to any movies in 2020, it’s pretty much a wash). I’m sharing the details in case it gives anyone else ideas for making a health-conscious social hangout!

Obviously YMMV, and in areas with higher case numbers (hi, FL & AZ), this still might be too much contact. Be safe and follow official recommendations to prevent viral spread, folks!

The Space

Before I settled on the garage, I considered building a movie space under a tent canopy (nixed because they’re almost impossible to anchor through Midwest storm winds) or carport kit (too expensive and high-maintenance for me), so there are definitely other options depending on where you live, your typical weather, and what space you have available!

My garage has an unusual layout that allows for better-than-average ventilation. When it was first built, it was a 2 1/2-car garage with the doors facing the street and windows on the side. About 40 years later, the owners decided to move the driveway to the other side of the house, so they built a second garage attached to the drive-door side and knocked out an end wall to put in a new overhead door. This means that by square footage, the garage could hold four cars, but the way the drive doors are situated, it’s a divided two-car garage with a bunch of extra space at the far end. The two sides are connected by one of the original overhead doors, which means that three of the four walls have openings that allow for air movement. (More on that below.)

Normally there’s a car in each side of the garage, but I decided I was willing to park outside all summer for the sake of having a social life. Over the course of a week, I emptied and thoroughly cleaned the half of the garage that has the windows.

Air Flow

Constant fresh air flow is critical to flushing aerosolized particles that can spread the virus, so in order to make a safe indoor space, I had to simulate outdoor air movement. I opened all three overhead doors and both windows, then placed several fans to draw air through the building: One in each window, one along the side wall, and a box fan in the connecting door between the two sides of the garage to pull more air in from the outside. To make sure air was actually moving through the building and not just circulating within it, I turned on all the fans while I was sweeping the (very dusty) floor and walls, and adjusted the fan angles until the dust blew straight out the overhead door, rather hanging in the air or gathering in the corners. (Experts recommend that to prevent virus transmission, indoor spaces should have 100% air turnover every 10 minutes; obviously I have no way of testing that in a garage, but there is a constant light breeze through the building and stuff seems to be blowing out, so I feel pretty good about it.)

Projection Setup

I already had the projector and DVD player (I took the one out of my living room, since I usually just watch DVDs on my game console anyway), but I wanted a larger wall-mounted screen, since my grandfather’s 1950s screen was designed for showing vacation slides in a living room, not wide-screen films. Hanging fabric screens are very cheap, but I opted for a 120″ retractable screen so it would stay clean in the dusty garage. I also have an old set of monitor speakers that provide nice stereo sound.

Seating

The beauty of setting up in a garage is that it’s basically outdoors, so you can use lawn furniture or bean bags or old chairs you pulled out of someone’s trash (I do this regularly; it’s how I got my entire patio set). Measuring out at least 6 feet between each table and staggering their positions so nobody was directly downwind of another table, I set up all the card tables and folding tables I owned, and put a pair of chairs by each one so that couples from the same household could share a table but not be in close contact with any other groups. I put my largest folding table (which was also salvaged from the trash -- seriously, it’s the best way to get stuff!) against the wall right by the open door to serve as a snack table, so it’s on the opposite wall from the seating and nobody would be breathing on the food. I covered all the tables with decorative heavy-duty vinyl tablecloths (mostly for sanitation purposes, because those tables have been sitting out in my garage and I know I’ve had raccoons and opossums out there -- not to mention the colony of bats that lives in the loft off the back of the garage).

This setup can seat up to eight people, and even provides a place for serving food. (I put pump bottles of hand sanitizer on each table and on the food table, and people wear face masks when they’re loading up their plates, so there’s minimal contamination risk there.)

Total Cost

My out-of-pocket cost for this whole project was only about $83, though that’s because I already had a lot of stuff lying around. Here’s a more complete breakdown:

Fans: I already owned the box fan ($25 new) and a couple other fans that I’d picked up super cheap at garage sales ($5 or so), because my house is old and the HVAC is not very efficient. The only new fan I bought for this project was a refurbished air circulator from Amazon ($14), because I needed a small but high-velocity fan to fit in a window.

Projection setup: The only new thing I bought was the screen, which was $65 including shipping (though non-retractable fabric screens start around $10-15, so if you’re on a budget you can get one very cheap). I bought the projector used on eBay about eight years ago. I think I paid around $40 for it then, but prices have come down since; I’ve seen discount projectors for as low as $20. The DVD player is a cheapo region free model, which I got a decade ago for maybe $30. The speakers were secondhand; I’ve also used an old set of external PC speakers ($10 from Goodwill) when running video off my laptop, and they worked well enough in the indoor space.

Seating: Almost all the outdoor furniture I own came from other people’s trash, so I didn’t pay anything for it! Any kind of seating or tables will work, though. I did invest about $4 for new tablecloths, which I got on seasonal clearance.

Bonus Perks

I’ve discovered that the garage walls block a LOT of light and sound unless you’re standing directly outside the drive doors, so we can watch movies for half the night or stay up late chatting and we aren’t disturbing the neighbors! We couldn’t run movies out on the patio late at night because the sound would carry to neighboring houses.

Also, when we’re watching a film in the evening, we get to watch my bats fly through the garage on their way to and from dinner! (Which might be an annoyance to the bats if we were out there all the time, but we try to keep our volume low and we’re only out there about once a week, so I don’t think we’re disturbing them too much.) Bats are protected in my state, as some of the native species are critically endangered, and we try to encourage nesting as they’re essential to pest insect control. I love watching them fly around!

The setup also works well for video games. A local friend and I had been playing online, late at night because it was the only time we could get enough bandwidth to maintain connection (the ISP in my area is not super reliable), but now we can sit on opposite sides of the garage and play local co-op with no lag:

So, in summary, my “movie theatre” is by no means a luxurious setup, but it was cheap :) and it’s a great way for my small pandemic social bubble to get together and chat, have a movie night, or play games without risking being in a closed room together.

[heywritersblock]

perfect: S.M

shawn doesn’t like being called perfect and absolutely doesn’t like letting his best friend down.

a story involving a reluctant photographer, an even more reluctant model and a healthy dose of a praise kink.

~7000 words

the buzz of the student bar around you was loud; it was pretty packed but you didn’t expect anything else for a friday night. you were waiting at the bar to collect your round of drinks and when the bartender finally finished up, you took the tray and carefully made your way back to the large table your group of friends had occupied in the corner of the bar. there were far too many of you to fit around a single table, so you’d dragged two together, chairs haphazardly positioned around.

navigating your way through the crowded bar wasn’t the easiest of tasks, and there was some near misses when a group boys who had had far too much to drink almost stumbled into the tray of drinks, but you finally made it back. your roommate helpfully cleared room on the table for you to slam down the tray with a relieved sigh. being the mother hen of the group, you diligently call the names of your friendship group to hand their drinks to them.

“jay? here’s yours. em? here you go, babe. and last but by no means least - shawn? here you go! god, i was so sure i messed up that order, the guy behind the bar asked me to reorder like three times.”

a chorus of thank yous echo around the table as you drop down in your seat, slinging your small purse around the back of your chair for safe keeping. conversations are quickly returned to but you feel a small tap on your right thigh as you take a sip of your drink. you raise your eyebrow in a question as you place your drink back down on the table in front of you.

“i told you i’d help you with the drinks,” shawn says quietly.

“and i told you, i’m a big girl; i can carry drinks on my own,” you retort.

large, brown eyes stare back into yours - challenging almost – but you’re determined that you’re not going to be the first to look away. this has always been a game between you and him. you’ve known shawn since you were kids – about eleven and twelve respectively – when he transferred to your school. he was (and still is) yours and your twin brother’s best friend despite him being in the grade below you both. shawn spent most of his childhood since he moved at your house due to his parents working long, tiring shifts and to be honest, he became part of the furniture.

your parents used to joke that shawn had definitely been here in a previous life; he was far too sensible, too wise and too perfect to not have been. they used to say that he’d learned all of the perfect traits to have in his last lives here and he’d kept them, discounting the imperfect ones and leaving them behind. that was the only way they could explain his level of pure perfection.

you, though? you described him as more of a chameleon. he had the uncanny ability to blend in to whatever surroundings he was in - despite his tall, dark figure and renaissance painting like handsomeness – and be whoever he needed to be to make a person happy. you’d told him this one night, back in the summer a couple of years ago where he’d quickly shook your comment off as a falsity, but you’d watched him far too carefully over the years. you knew what you’d seen; you knew what he was doing.

“you know, you don’t have to be perfect at everything in life, S,” you’d said.

he shrugged, turning his head away from yours as you sit on the dewy grass in your back yard. you needed to make sure he understood, that he knew how important it was for him to know that. you repeated yourself until he looked directly at you, tears flooding his eyes.

“i’m serious, S. you’re everything we want without trying. you don’t have to try and be whoever you think we need, you just have to be yourself,” you’d emphasised. you repeated this over and over, until shawn’s shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. “you’re so special as you are; keep being yourself. we’re so lucky to have you in our lives, please just keep being you.” you were so careful not to use that dreaded word ‘perfect’, despite it being the truth. he was truly perfect to you.

you’d both fallen asleep that night on the grass with shawn’s head laying in the crook of your neck, one of his legs laying over both of yours and his clammy hands gripping desperately at your sweatshirt as you cradled his head, giving him the comfort he so urgently needed.

your brother had rudely awoken you far too early the next morning by slamming the back door loudly. poor, innocent shawn was utterly mortified, trying to smooth out the creases he’d made in your sweatshirt before realising that his hands were all over your torso. he snatched his hands from your hips and stomach altogether like you’d burned him and leaped to his feet. he reached down to offer you his hand to help you up (ever the gentleman, even when he’s flushed an embarrassed red) and then refused to meet your eyes for weeks afterwards.

your brother never let either of you forget about it, but the two of you had never spoken of it again. it bothered you for a while; shawn was so good at giving everyone else exactly what they needed but even though it was clear you wanted to speak about his reaction to your honesty, he didn’t give in to you. it upset you for a while, but then you realised that the only person shawn was truly shawn with was you.

things started to go back to normal after you recognised this; after you stopped pushing him to discuss what happened. the childish teasing resumed, but with a new heat behind it as you grew up. at one point, your twin let slip to you that shawn was totally gone for you but you brushed him off. how could someone like shawn want you?

years later, the day before you and your brother left for college, shawn walked up to your bedroom as usual. he’d already helped your brother pack up his last few things at first – he was of course more unorganised than you – and then shawn had come to help you finish up. he’d made quiet small talk with you as he taped up your last few boxes, both of you ignoring the tension flooding the room. you resolutely disregarded it each time you were left alone together, not willing to admit to yourself what exactly that tension meant.

“what time’s your flight?” he asked.

“eleven thirty five. the van is coming to pick these boxes up in a couple of hours but we need to set off to the airport in the next fifteen minutes. H’s flight is at ten forty so i need to get a move on. i can’t believe i’m not going to see him for four months until break. i can’t believe i’m not going to see you for that long either. shit, this is going to suck, isn’t it?”

“for me? yeah. for you? nah, you won’t even think of us, you’ll be having too much fun.”

“of course i’ll think of you, S. every day,” you replied honestly.

he helped you pack the last box and then he methodically taped it shut. he was leaning against your door frame as you grabbed your backpack, ready to dash to the car where your family were waiting for you to go to the airport and start your college lives.

he stopped you at the door to your room, grasped your hand and held it tightly between his own. he brushed his thumb up and down your hand several times, mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to say something but failing. eventually, he spoke.

“you know i love you, right?” he asked, red blush scattered on his cheeks but this time, his gaze remained stuck on yours. he wasn’t hiding anymore.

“back at you,” you reply with an awkward smile. you’re friends, of course he loves you, just like he loves your brother.

he shook his head sadly, defeated, but still kept his eye contact with you. “ok.” you slipped your hand out of his and brushed past him to get downstairs.

he waved you both off at the end of your driveway and all you could think about throughout your flight was the intense burn of his heated gaze.

from that moment on, shawn never dropped eye contact with you. it was almost as if he didn’t want you to forget that moment where he’d been totally, completely honest with you. like he was trying to convey to you that what he said would always be the truth.

you’re both older now, both graduated from college, living and working in the same city. it’s a small world, right?

that’s how you’ve come to find yourself in a staring contest with the walking god that is your childhood friend turned 6’2” block of delicious muscle. he matches your perfectly raised eyebrow and sends you a winning smirk as your eyes automatically drift to his mouth when he licks his lips. you roll your eyes at him and reach to sip your drink, purposefully ignoring his smug smile still pointing directly at you. he wins that round, but your game will continue. it always does.

“y/n? did you hear what we said?” your roommate asks, impatiently waving her hand in front of your face. “you two were doing your weird staring thing again.”

your cheeks flush pink as you notice your group of friends around the table all looking your way. the small smiles on their faces let you know that yes, they definitely saw your staring contest and yes, they definitely don’t believe you when you say there’s no feelings there at all. you hide your embarrassment at being caught by shooting withering glares across the table (they’re used to it and send you knowing grins) before returning your attention to your poor roommate sat on the other side of you.

“sorry, what were you saying? i was distracted,” you say.

her annoyed face quickly falls and she smirks, replying, “oh honey, we could all see you were distracted,” sliding her eyes towards shawn who’s picking your glass up and placing it on the coaster at the side of it. he wipes the ring of condensation its left on the table up with a napkin. you ignore how that action being so utterly shawn makes your heart miss a beat.

“what’s up?” you ask quickly, trying to remove her attention from him back to you before he notices.

“em was just saying that she needs some photo editorials for her final graphic design project. all of her designs are finished, so this is the last part for her.”

“oh, that’s awesome to hear that they’re all finished! congrats, girl!” you say, clinking your glass to hers in cheers.

“yeah, i’m kind of freaking out though. the portfolio is due in next week and the photographers they’ve assigned to us are all booked out. i’m afraid i’ve left it too late,” she explains quietly. you wince for her when you see the stress in her eyes.

your roommate quickly dives back in, taking control of the situation. “so obviously, we were thinking, ‘hey! if only one of our best friends in the whole entire world was a photography major who could swoop in and save poor em’s ass so she can get her project in on time’?” she stares at you with wide green eyes, as if she was performing some sort of mind control on you.

“babe, chill with the telepathy - of course i’ll help you out, em!” you agree happily. “what’s the vibe?”

she cheers in excitement, thanking you profusely before eventually explaining, “so we’ve had to create a magazine editorial with a piece about modern romance. my piece is about lust; you know that animalistic want when you finally get that one person that you’ve always secretly wanted? i was kind of imagining like, one model sort of staring into the camera, then the reader feels like they’re the one who’s on the other end of the relationship? i mean, i don’t know. it was just an idea,” she says.

your heart swells with fondness for em – she’s so talented and so passionate but so, so unsure of herself. she almost reminds you of a female shawn. at this realisation, you find yourself speaking before your brain can really catch up (a habit of yours, you remind yourself.)

“count me in. i love that idea. the pictures we could get could be so raw, like we’re really making the viewer feel something. i’ll try my best for you, babe,” you agree.

she leaps up to hug you with a squeal, startling the others round the table who have separated off into their separate conversations. she’s hugging you so tightly that when she finally lets go, your balance wobbles a little. shawn’s hand on the small of your back steadies you as he guides you back to your seat. you send him a small smile in thanks and he nods back, rubbing your lower back with his thumb once, twice and then removing it to rest on his thigh before rejoining his conversation.

you feel warm inside at em’s gratefulness and you’re happy to be helping out a friend. savouring that content feeling, you stand up and quietly excuse yourself to the bathroom for a moment, smiling when another of your friends stand up to join you.

you’ve only been gone for a few moments, but when you’re returning to the table, you can see your remaining group of friends are all leaned in closely, everyone’s focus landing on shawn. his cheeks are patchy with his blush and he’s rubbing the back of his neck with his large hand, carved bicep flexing with clear unease. as you pass by the group of drunk students again, you hear a loud cheer from your friends. shawn’s smiling now – he’s always happy when he’s pleased other people.

you lower yourself onto your chair with a drop and state with your usual lack of tact, “what are you bothering my best boy with now?”

your face turns to one of genuine confusion when you see glances being shared around the table as if to say ‘who’s telling her?’ you turn your head slowly to the side to see shawn definitively not looking at you, eyes glued to a dint in the table that his long fingers are pressing against in discomfort.

your roommate sighs out a deep breath and states honestly, “we’re just cheering for your best boy here because he’s begrudgingly agreed to help out em, too.”

you tear your eyes back to him and the tell tale flush has flamed up again, blotching over his neck and cheeks.

“oh?” you ask, waiting for someone to give you more information.

when no-one divulges anymore, you nudge shawn’s knee with yours. he meets your eyes and the staring competition begins again. your eyebrow raises in question and he mirrors you. a small closed mouth smile begins to spread across his lips – he loves being the sole focus of your attention in these staring competitions but if you want to know more, you’re going to have to lose. you huff out a petulant sigh and whine, “shawn! tell me!”

his blinding grin is what makes you give in to the loss – the contrast of his white teeth and his flushed red cheeks is too much to not catch a glimpse of – and he huffs out a giggle that he’s won again. “what have they forced you to agree to?” you ask.

“they were just saying that em needed help with her final project. i figured that you’d all made me feel so welcome in the last couple of months since i moved here that it was kind of the least i could do,” he explains quietly.

your eyebrows furrow a little in response to what he’s saying and you redirect your gaze to em. “ok, he’s super sweet for agreeing – as we all already know – but he’s not a photographer. you know that right?”

she looks sheepishly at your roommate and realisation begins to dawn on you. your heart beat quickens and you sit back fully in your chair as she coughs twice and then says, “yeah, um. i’ve not asked him to be a photographer. i’ve – well – i’ve asked him to be a model?”

“my model?” you ask directly. you feel shawn stiffen a little in his seat at the side of you.

em seems to have frozen over with awkwardness but your darling roommate seems to think this is the best thing to ever happen to her. “yes, babe. your model! we couldn’t think of a better partnership – your sheer talent and his devastating good looks? em’s going to ace this project!” she looks smug and you know exactly why.  

“girl, this is going to be a little awkward, don’t you think? i’ve known shawn since we were kids. this photo shoot is about lust and want and need – i need a model who is completely neutral to me to really act this out.”

you both ignore shawn’s gulp and muttered, “it’s about what now?”

“why would it be awkward?” your roommate asks with another smug smirk swiped across her face.  she leans in closer to whisper out of earshot of the others. “you’ve told me countless times about how you have absolutely no feelings for each other. if you’re telling the truth, you’ll do it,” she challenges. it’s not quite as powerful as shawn’s staring competition, but you never back down from a contest.

you take in a deep breath and then announce to the table, “ok, cool. we’ll do it. right, shawn?”

he’s looking wide eyed at you but he nods his agreement – he knows not to battle you when you’ve got your determined eyes on. the table seems happy that they’ve won and they turn their attention to jay’s story about a guy at work and the mop from the broom closet, but shawn leans in to your side. his face is a breath away from yours as he softly explains that they absolutely didn’t tell him what the photo shoot was about and they definitely didn’t mention that you’d be the one taking the pictures.

you can’t trust yourself with words right now so you take a large sip of your drink and shrug your shoulders at him. you categorically ignore the rapid pulsing of your heart and the clammy feel to your hands and chant to yourself it’ll be fine. we can do this. it’s ok. when shawn’s thigh nudges against yours later that night, you have to repeat that mantra to yourself with a little more force.

“are you sure this is the outfit she wanted me to wear?” shawn calls from behind the closed wooden door of your bathroom.

you’re distracted, fiddling with the settings on your camera so you eventually call back, “yeah, dude. that’s the bag she sent for you. why? what’s wro-“ you freeze.

oh. shawn steps sheepishly out of your bathroom door and onto your wooden floorboards. they creak under his weight and he stands stock still, head down and eyes on his bare toes that are flexing uncomfortably on the hard floor. your eyes sweep over him from feet to head and your mouth goes dry, heart beat picking up in your chest. oh.

his legs are clad in a pair of light wash jeans that you need to ask em where she bought them from because jesus, they fit so well in all the right places. they sit low on his hips, the band of his white calvins peeking deliciously over the top of the waistband. your eyes pan upwards even further, your hands gripping tighter and tighter on your camera when you see his bare torso and chest, abs and other muscles you wouldn’t be able to name rippling in the soft golden glow from your window and lights. you open your mouth to offer him some reassuring words, to say something but you can’t quite manage that simple movement.

he quietly whispers, “y/n?” to break you out of your reverie. you swing around on the stool you’re sat on in front of the window to fiddle with a wire connecting to your lights, just to give yourself some time to pull your shit together. you can do this. it’s for em. the quicker you do this, the quicker he can put a shirt on that magnificent body and the quicker you can ignore these thoughts that don’t seem to stop infiltrating your brain at the moment.

you cough just to break the silence and spin back around, smiling when you see that shawn still hasn’t shifted from his spot in front of your bathroom door. his hands are tucked into his front pockets and he looks desperate for you to tell him that this is fine. this is normal and you’ve done this lots of times before. you’ve never been as good as you hoped at not giving into him.

“you look great! it’s the vibe remember. so get your beautifully sculpted ass over here so i can check my lighting,” you say. keep it light, keep it teasing. that’s familiar territory.

his devastating grin takes over his face and he looks so grateful, more confident in himself now. he bounds over to where you are and stops stock still in front of you.

“where do you want me?” he asks, and your eyes flutter closed involuntarily.

“um, if you could just stand a little to your left – yep. there, that’s perfect. i’ll just grab a couple of test shots – find your angles and stuff – and then we’ll go from there. ok?” cool. you sounded professional and not at all like you can’t stop thinking what it would be like to run your hands down the front of his chest, leaving tiny red possessive marks on his skin to show that he’s yours.

he interrupts your thoughts with an appeasing, “of course!” and steps into the position you’d instructed him to.

you bring your camera up to your face and automatically feel calmer, like there’s some sort of barrier between him and you. he diligently follows your quiet instructions – “look out of the window, ok great, now look straight. perfect.”

you quickly click through the pictures on the viewfinder and a pleased smile involuntarily floods across your face. “these are going to be sick. em’s gonna owe us so hard,” you say.

he moves to the side of you, hands back in his pockets and leans in close next to you. he has to bend down from his gigantic height to see over your shoulder. his face is right next to yours and when you inhale, you can smell the distinct scent of shawn. you turn to see that he’s wearing a matching grin on his face, clearly pleased with how the testers have turned out.

“y/n, you’re super talented. those are awesome,” he breathes out.

the praise he’s giving you makes your pulse speed up again and you feel your face growing warmer. you push your wheely stool back to alter your position slightly and he steps back in front of you, awaiting your next instruction.

“it’s easier when you’ve got a model like you,” you say quietly, honestly. he shakes his head, trying his best to brush off the praise and something in you clicks. no. he needs to know how great he is and you need to be the one to tell him. you’re also desperate to see more of that pink flush bloom on his cheeks.

“ok, as much as i adore cute, humble shawn, you’re going to need to ramp it up a notch. remember – the brief from em was lust, want, need. ok? i’m going to start shooting so let’s see what you’ve got,” you say, picking up your camera again and trying to calm your jittering knee.

shawn looks a little lost but tries his best to pose for the camera. he’s lifting up his arm to rest on his head, tensing his muscles and your skin feels as though it’s burning as you look through the view finder and click, click, click. how can this man be real? you’re sure he’s been sculpted out of marble; there’s no other way a human can be that defined.

“am i doing ok?” he mumbles, suddenly unsure of himself after you’ve gone quiet, giving yourself the permission to drink in your model that you’ve never quite allowed yourself before. instinct strikes and you know you can push him harder; you owe it to him and to em to get the best out of your model.

“you’re doing great, S.” his pink glow returns to his cheeks immediately. that flush drives you insane. “i want to try something, ok? i want you to picture someone you’ve always wanted; someone you’ve always been desperate to have, been desperate to feel. that moment just before you get your hands on them? i want you to picture that; close your eyes and put yourself in that moment. when you open your eyes again, look at the camera as if its the girl you’re imagining,” you instruct. he nods his head and closes his eyes obediently, taking a couple of moments to follow your orders.

you study him as his fanned out eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as his mouth parts a little, tongue swiping over his bottom lip before perfect white teeth takes its place. his long fingers twitch on his thigh as if he’s holding himself back from reaching out to touch and the muscles in his abs clench and relax. shit, there’s no point in trying to trick yourself - you’d love to be in that picture he’s imagining. the girl in that fantasy has no idea of how lucky she is. you can’t resist but take a few snaps of him.

you’re not prepared for the look that’s overtaken him when his big brown eyes slowly open. he’s focused; he’s looking directly at the camera you’re still holding in front of your face and his eyes are almost turning black. he blinks at you as if he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do and you realise you’re going to have to talk him through this.

“ok, move back a little towards the door. walk forwards towards me – eyes on the camera at all times – you’re almost ready to touch, but not quite yet,” you tease, thrills shooting inside of you as you see his tongue wet his plump bottom lip again. “that’s it, S. your eyes are giving me everything, that’s awesome.” his flush returns at your praise. you realise that this really is a thing for him and you want to see how far you can push it.

feeling a little braver, you keep your voice low and say, “remember S, she’s been waiting for this as long as you have. show yourself off, show her what she’s been waiting for all this time.”

his calloused hand starts at his collarbone, and then moves surprisingly delicately down the centre of his chest. his blown pupils are covered by the half close of his eyes and his mouth gasps open quietly at the feel of his own hands.

drunk on how much faith he has in you, how willing he is to follow your instructions, you continue, “use your other hand too. imagine where she’d want to touch the most. where have you let her have teases of? when you’ve stretched your arms up and she’s glimpsed that patch of skin above your waistband.” he immediately complies, any shakes of nervousness seemingly disappeared as his solid hand knows exactly where it’s heading. his eyes have totally closed now, acting out pleasure perfectly. your camera is constantly clicking and you know this is going to be one of the best photo shoots you’ve ever taken part in.

“camera,” you mumble, too intensely invested in what’s playing out in front of you to form a full sentence currently.

his eyes flutter open to look directly at your camera and your pulse rate has never been as fast. shit, he is perfect and you wish he knew it. your mouth betrays you by speaking, “shit, you’re perfect, S. this is incredible.”

never breaking his eye contact, he whispers back, “don’t say that. you know i hate that.”

he pulls his head down to face the floor and then glances up at the camera from beneath those luscious eyelashes, hand carding through his thick curls as you say from behind your camera, “no, fuck off. you need to hear it. you’re so hard on yourself and i get that you don’t like the pressure of the label, but what i’m seeing through this camera right now? it’s fucking perfection.” his patchy blush spreads further down his neck and his hand rushes to cover it. it drives you wild to see how your words can affect him.

“shit,” you whisper through the camera, always keeping that comforting barrier between the two of you. “turn around. go closer to that window and look over your shoulder,” you instruct.

he acquiesces immediately, padding the couple of paces over to the window in bare feet. you gasp as you see the golden hour lighting hitting him perfectly and you wheel your stool to be right next to him, shooting from below.

he’s about to ask what to do next when you mutter, “don’t move.” your blood spikes when he freezes immediately. “relax your brows, part your mouth a little – fuck, that’s it. perfect, S,” you whisper. his head drops back at your words and you’re close enough to hear his shuddering intake of breath.

“what shall i do? please tell me, please, i want to do so well for you,” he whispers, eyes still closed and facing into the setting sun.

your stomach feels as it’s about to fall through your body and you close your eyes for a second, grasping desperately onto the last strings of self control in you - he’s less than a foot in front of you, shirtless, giving into everything you ask him to do. you remind yourself you have to stay focused get this job done.

“you’re doing so good, S. so perfect. put your hands against the wooden strip. imagine you’re holding on, trying your best not to pounce on her. this is the only way you can control yourself. got it, perfect. look at the camera, shit, yes, shawn. so good, so, so good.” he’s peering over his own bulging arm with hooded eyes at the lens, the sun illuminating his features in a golden glow but not touching the dark black of his eyes. a curl falls in front of his face and you capture it before he pushes it back.

he sucks in a shallow breath each time you tell him how great he is, how lucky you are to have him as your model, how stunning he looks in the light. he pauses each time you stop speaking, looking at you rather than the camera to await your next instruction. it’s like he’s powered by your voice, and it’s your job as a photographer to give your model exactly what he needs.

“fuck, whoever you’re imagining is so lucky, S. she has no idea what she’s missing.” his head drops forward with a breath, hand tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. his beautiful face might be obscured but the shot is still breath taking.

“she’ll think she’s dreaming when she finally gets to be with you, S. she’ll run her hands up and down your washboard abs until she can’t take any more. her tiny hands will cling onto your back and she’ll be thanking her lucky stars that she’s going to be with you. shit, hold it there – that’s it,” he’s scraping his fingers down his chest, catching on one nipple and leaving a trail of three delicious nail marks against his perfect porcelain skin. “d’you want her to mark you up, S? you’d ask her so nicely, S, so of course she would. she’d do anything for you,” you’re interrupted by an almost silent moan escaping his lips. ordinarily, you wouldn’t have noticed but you’re so in tune with him that there’s no ignoring it. your whole body throbs to the same pulse of your heart.

before he can notice you’ve stopped speaking and clam up, you continue, shocked by how low your voice is right now, camera still keeping up its continuous shutter noise despite your lack of focus on that right now. “it’s what you deserve, S. someone who’ll give you every part of them, someone who’ll give you exactly what you want. someone who’ll make you feel so goo-“

“stop. please stop. fuck,” he breathes out, flushed face hidden behind his arm again. his knuckles are white, gripped onto the wooden strip on the window sill so hard you can see the defined muscles in his arm flexing.

you lower the camera down to rest on your thigh – shit, you’ve overstepped the mark. you’ve pushed it too far; you’ve failed your at job to make your model comfortable enough around you to give you everything of them and you’ve completely ruined your friendship. embarrassed and ashamed, you daren’t lift up your head so you keep staring down at your camera, fiddling with the settings nervously as you nervously say, “sorry. i’m sorry, so so sorry. we can just-“

“fuck, y/n. please, just. please,” he pleads with you. you don’t know what he wants from you but shit, you’d do anything right now.

“what do you need me to do? shall i just lea-“

“just fucking stop talking. your voice is so sexy, i can’t take it. i just need a second, holy shit.”

you’re frozen in your seat, trying desperately to digest the information that he’s confessed to you and you grasp the courage to look up and refocus your gaze on him. his face is still hidden but you can see his chest moving up and down as he tries to take deep, calming breaths. your eyes travel further down his body and scan over his unmistakeable bulge in his jeans. fuck. you feel lightheaded as you breathe out a loud sigh, your eyes falling closed. you shuffle on your stool to try and rid yourself of that undeniable ache between your legs but you hear him mutter, “jesus christ,” under his breath as you do.

you peel your eyes open to see him openly staring at you, head finally pulled up to its usual position. he looks almost animalistic, and from the roll of his eyes in the back of his head when he finally gets a good look at you, you’d imagine you look pretty similar.

“fuck, i’m so sorry. i uh- i thought i’d have better self control than this,” he whispers, huffing out a laugh.

you giggle with him and immediately try to reassure him, “i’d tell you that it’s not the first time someone’s got hard on a shoot but i’m sure you’d want the names and contact details of who they were so you could kick their asses so…” you trail off, relieved when he laughs again, louder this time and finally ungrips his hands from that poor frame of your window.

“yeah, probably best to keep that to yourself right now,” he says, glancing down to his pants and shaking his head to himself. silence settles in the room and despite the situation, it’s not awkward, not now. you desperately try to keep your gaze anywhere in the room but him, but it’s remarkably difficult to not focus on something so tempting stood in front of you.

he breaks the silence by confessing, body still tilted towards the window and not you, “i nearly pulled out of this so many times, you know?” you look up at his eyes but before you can respond, he says, “yeah. i was running over and over in my mind what could happen and there were two options i kept coming back to.”

“was this one of them?” you ask openly.

he smirks to himself, “what? that i’d embarrass myself to shit by getting hard because of my best friend’s voice? ha, no. even i couldn’t imagine something like that would happen.”

your cheeks flush with his honesty and you cross your legs without thought, eyes falling briefly closed at the relief it gives that delicious ache. “fuck, you’re not helping,” he laughs, running his hand through his hair desperately.

“sorry, sorry. just, if it makes you feel better? you’re definitely not the only one affected. i’m just lucky i can hide it a little better,” you say with a grin and a pointed glance towards the bulge that’s still not disappeared.

he laughs again, loudly this time and it’s a laugh you recognise. it warms your already liquid insides with fondness. “what were the options then? the ones that almost made you quit?”

“you really want to know?” he asks, waiting for you to nod your head in approval. “one – i’d get here and be so overwhelmed by this and by you that i’d freak. i’d run out of the fucking door and you’d never let me live it down. i’d let you down and poor em – i’d ruin her project. i was so scared of that, y/n.”

you pout your bottom lip at hearing him and respond before he can continue, “stop, you could never let anyone down. stop being so hard on yourself, S.”

he lets out a sarcastic, “too late for that one,” which sends you into a fit of blushing giggles.

“ok, option two then?” you prompt.

“fuck, i tried so hard not to think about option two. this was the one that only came to me at night when i was weak but i had to push it straight out of my head.” you sit up straighter on your stool, lips parted as you wait to hear what he’s about to say. “option two was that yeah, i lost all self control, but you did too. i kept thinking about your dark eyes and how you’d be telling me what to do with that fucking voice, y/n, that’s why i nearly lost it then. i just needed you to shut the fuck up before i pounced on you – i hope you didn’t think i was rude.”

your mouth is as dry as the desert, and your limbs feel heavy with want. you lift up your hand to pinch your short clad thigh to check if you were dreaming – much to shawn’s amusement when he notices – and breathe out the air you were holding in when no, you’re absolutely awake and this is absolutely happening.  

“say something, y/n.”

“fuck, i wish you hadn’t told me to stop talki-“

your confession is halted as the front door to your apartment slams shut.

“guys? it’s me! are you done? i couldn’t wait to see these photos, i hope you don’t mind!” em calls through the hallway. you can hear her kicking off her high top shoes and throwing her purse onto the kitchen table.

looks of panic flood over both of your faces and you grab shawn’s hand, pulling him across your bedroom and shoving him into the bathroom attached with a hand on his chest. em’s moving further towards your room but before you shut the bathroom door on shawn to protect him from em seeing his situation, you notice shawn’s hand gripped in yours and his eyes fixed on your other hand on his chest.

you lightly drag your nails a centimetre down his chest and his black eyes fly up to meet yours. he squeezes the hand he’s holding when you remove your other hand from his chest. he rubs his thumb back and forth several times, dark eyes staring into your soul. you’re instantly transported back to all of those years ago before you left for college. his eyes boring into yours are telling you that what he said all of those years ago? it’s still true.

he’s about to speak but you stop him by whispering, “later.” you reluctantly withdraw your hand from his, before slamming the door in his face just in time.

your bedroom door swings open behind you to reveal em, excited look on her face dropping when she sees the room is empty apart from you.

“oh what? he didn’t bottle did he? or i’m calling him up right now to get his ass here immedi-“

“hey, fuck you! i’m in here!” shawn interrupts jokingly from behind the door.

you smile at em innocently and explain, “we’ve just finished. i think you’ll be pretty pleased with them babe. come see, i’d say they’re pretty perfect.”

i saw shawn live in concert on wednesday and i am in love. this happens to be the result of that (sorry)

inspired by 99 percent mine by sally thorne!

disclaimer: not a photographer, please be kind!

[grell-writes-stuff]

I finished chapter 28 and I’m posting it here because I did so many bad things

Tag List: @fenfaerie @arieswriting

I spent the week avoiding my phone as much as possible, and immediately deleting any notifications that popped up from that group chat. To keep it all confined to that forbidden, digital space, I tried to distance myself from the guys at school. Kelley had a lot to say about that yesterday.

“Do I have to bribe you into doing stuff?”

“Using what?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe I just need to start smacking you with a newspaper until you do the thing that I want you to do.”

“You said we’re not hitting people.”

“I said you aren’t hitting people. I have free rein to do whatever is best for your health, and, at this point, I’m thinking of getting a little spray bottle–”

“Seriously?”

“You’re like a misbehaving cat, and I’m training you to stay off the kitchen table.”

She let up when I told her what my plans were for today.

At around six, I receive the “Here” text from Cole as his Cherokee rolls into our driveway behind – avoidance – something that I decide not to think about. Not today. For the sake of getting through this jam session and keeping it a good day, I can’t let myself focus on anything except drumming. That’s it. Nothing else.

That’s also why I slip my headphones in before leaving the house. I don’t have any music playing, but it keeps the ride to West Hills quiet – with the exception of Cole’s screamo. I say a polite “hey” to him and Matt, but that’s about it.

In approximately fifteen minutes, we’re pulling into the Mechis’ driveway next to a sleek, black Lexus that I refuse to look at. I don’t notice it, or the person walking from it to the entrance to the garage. I wedge a broom through the handle, because I refuse to open that door in my mind and let the memory of the screaming match ruin this day. Frankly, I’m determined to block out her shrill voice in whatever way I can. I fight against the ever-present urge to give myself tinnitus.

The three of us get out of Cole’s car, and I hang back for a moment as they grab their guitars. Together, we enter the garage, and I tug out my earbuds.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, but that’s tough when my windpipe is constricted.

It’s such a familiar place. It used to be comforting, but now it feels tainted and hollow. The old, duct-taped couches that are falling apart seem like dusty relics of some long-forgotten past for which I am the sole historian. The boxes of Full Stop. merch lying around feel like clutter now instead of a celebration and achievement, like some ancient memorabilia that no one will ever purchase, not even the most dedicated collectors. The band binder is still just hanging on by a thread, but it feels like it’s already exploded and setlists and notes are paper shrapnel raining down from the sky. My drum kit feels like a foreign technology that I don’t understand. This room is infested with age. It’s an abandoned ghost town, and I feel haunted.

As we enter, Bryson greets me. Cole and Matt say hi back, but I’m still finding it hard to make words, so I just nod and try to put my attention elsewhere. I try to remember the workings of my setup. I’ve been visualizing the placement of cymbals, and toms, and the kickdrum while I’ve been recovering. I know where everything is. I can figure out how I’d once played music on this strange contraption again. Maybe someday it’ll feel the same.

I head to one of the sofas as Matt and Cole go about tuning their instruments.

And I ignore the screeches that she calls vocal warmups. In fact, I do everything within my power to forget her presence all together.

“Okay,” Bryson interrupts after a few minutes have passed. In that time, I’d listened to the twangs of the guitar and bass, and not her shrieks into the microphone. “I guess we can start.”

Since we don’t have a gig lined up, and this is just an unofficial jam session for something like fun, there’s a difference in his tone. It’s not as desperate. That’s probably a good thing. He’s not stressed, and there’s less pressure on us to be perfect. We’ll be far from it. The walking boot on my leg acts as a constant reminder of that fact as I rise and move over to my kit.

“We’ll probably be a bit rusty,” he elaborates. “But everyone just try your best. We don’t have to sound filled-out. Just let us know if you need a break, Scott.” He gestures to my leg, to the boot.

I nod. There was no hope of us sounding full anyway, and I haven’t tried drumming with a cast ever, but I doubt it will help my limb coordination and timing, and it probably won’t feel too great after a while, so I’ll definitely be off. And we’re painfully lacking in guitars, but I force that thought out of my mind.

I don’t purposefully bump into her shoulder as I pass. It’s easier to pretend she’s not there – that she’s not even furniture – rather than acknowledging her as an obstacle.

“All right. So, Scott?” Bryson says to grab my attention. Once I’m sat on my stool behind my setup, I look at him. It’s tough to define what’s in his expression, but his words are rather transparent. I didn’t text him back at all the past few days and he knows that was a deliberate choice. “We all picked songs this week that we want to run today, and, after that, we’ll focus on originals, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Cole wants to run Ocean Avenue – so we’ll start there – and Selena picked Told You So.”

Of course it’s a Paramore song. Of course it is.

“Matt chose You Think You Know It All by Red As Dusk. What’s your pick?”

It takes me a second longer than normal to peruse my mental music library because now it’s shrunk in size, and so many songs have been filed away and are now off-limits. Kelley’s suggestions are background noise as I search the stacks. Purge the excess negative energy. Purge the anger. Hitting my sticks against my drums will help, but only if I can find a way to throw everything that I possibly can into it. It’s a good thing that I’m battling rage because those tracks are the safe ones now, and anything rebellious will do.

“The Anthem – Good Charlotte.”

Bryson gives me a brief nod, but that’s ruined immediately. Every hair on my body seems to rise in defense.

“Um, I don’t know that one!” It’s her sharp voice speaking, and I shove my earplugs in to filter out some of the volume and annoyance. “I would have learned it if you’d picked sooner.”

“Sucks to be you!” It slips out of me, and I realize that means I’ve broken my vow for the day, and now Selena’s materialized in the garage, and my glare lands on her, which she matches with one of her own. In my peripheral, the rest of the guys look like they’re getting ready to break up the resulting physical fistfight that seems to be inevitable.

But that will get me in trouble in some way. I know it for a fact. I’ve already reacted, so retreating is tough, but I grapple for a way to deescalate.

“I’ll fucking sing it then. Why does it even need lyrics anyway? It just needs to be cynical and loud.” My fingers clamp around my sticks, the tools that will help me feel better and prevent me from punching her square in her contoured cheek.

“You just want Vikki to come in here and yell at us again, don’t you?” Bryson asks, deadpan, probably so Selena doesn’t have a chance to retaliate.

“Yes,” says Cole.

“Oh, my God,” he sighs. “Really, Cole?”

“Dude, I can’t be the only one who’s told you that your sister is hot.”

“She’s hot,” Matt agrees.

“See? Verdict’s in: she’s hot.”

“Why am I friends with you?” That knocks the desperation back into his tone, and it almost feels like a normal detour from practicing. Like we have a gig soon, but we’re all screwing around, and Bryson’s the only one with a sense of urgency and deadlines. I almost make myself savour it. “Can we just start the song? Please? Just play the fucking song?”

At that, Cole shrugs slightly, and his gaze sweeps over us to find confirmation. I signal back, my limbs still humming with everything I had to repress a second ago. They’re vibrating with the need to get it out, and I feel ready to drum to release it all before it boils my blood. She injected the steam into my veins and it wants out.

When everyone’s ready, Cole’s guitar plays the chugging, palm-muted intro to Ocean Avenue. Finally, my sticks hit and my foot stomps the kickdrum’s pedal. Matt’s bass fills it out a little bit, but we still sound empty. We’ve played this track before, but it doesn’t sound anything like it used to when it came out of our instruments. Selena’s unstable voice wails without a care, and I try to block it out and focus on my drumming so I don’t sound so off even though I totally am.

My limb coordination is flawed because the boot is throwing off my time-keeping and I haven’t put my formerly-sprained wrist to much work until now. I knew that I wouldn’t be perfect, but it’s bugging me nevertheless. My brain is telling me that it shouldn’t be like this. As a whole, we should sound better. My limbs shouldn’t feel so stiff as if I were a marble statue, as if I’m turning to stone. I hope for a second where I get the chance to shake it off, except–

Except my throat has a tight knot in it, and it hastily, heavily drops down into my chest. It’s so sudden and strange, but I feel something stirring and then curdling within me, rising up and bubbling through every artery before solidifying into a heavy, black mass that weighs down my arms. I remember a moment too late that I should be breathing, and I only accomplish that because I haven’t been taking in air and it already feels like my lungs have been set on fire after being filled with concrete, so it’s tough to shove into my subconscious. My eyes are stinging so bad that I can’t see my sticks where they rest in my shaking hands. The knot launches itself up from my chest and I feel like I have to gag. My pulmonary function fails and I become as empty as the music that falls silent.

Not all at once. It dies off in pieces, but I stop first, right at the start of the chorus. Then, everyone else cuts off too. The sticks slip through my loose fingers, but I barely hear them hit the hard floor with a soft clatter because a song is echoing in my mind now, and it’s not Ocean Avenue.

But it’s close. Too close. Ahead of me, I see blurs.

But also, an endless horizon of blue.

“Scott?”

Bryson’s voice penetrates my earplugs, but it still sounds twenty-thousand feet away from me. My mouth feels like it’s been filled with sand, and my stomach hurts, and everything is blocked by the firm, congealed sludge living inside of me. My hands are caught up in earthquakes, and I hear my hollow attempts to breathe as something between gasps and augmenting sobs.

I suddenly feel his hand on my shoulder and I don’t know how because his touch is light and everything is hot and numb.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a distorted voice.

No. I’m not. I’m not okay, but I can’t speak to lie and say that I’m fine, or to, for once, tell the truth. My mind is not a blank whiteboard. Instead, someone has written lyrics on it in permanent marker, and now the words are tormenting me along with dark chords, and a frantic, panicking drum beat that’s pounding against my skull.

“What’s wrong, Scott?” One of them questions me. I can’t even tell which one of them it is anymore. Matt, I think. Maybe.

I want to throw up. Or I need to. Or I just need to take in air. Any fucking air at all. Before everything finally shuts down, I have to get it out. Quavering. Quiet.

“Yellowcard.”

There’s some silence. Or it would be, but my ears are ringing, and my cheeks feel wet. After a few hundred, frenzied heartbeats, Bryson stiffens beside me, which I know because the hand that’s on my shoulder is attached to a body that I feel go rigid. His voice mingles with the deafening tone and my tears, and I hate how horrified and sorry it sounds. How lost and guilt-ridden it is.

“I was playing Lights And Sounds when they jumped…”

It’s not even the same fucking song! So what?! I’m just never going to be able to listen to Yellowcard again?! Because now they are tainted with tragedy and I’ll always remember in some crevice of my mind that that stupid song was playing, and I can almost feel our arms locked, and the salty breeze as it all rushes up ahead of us–

“Shit, man. I-I’m sorry.” I hear Cole say, and I hate the way that it sounds too because he shouldn’t have to apologize. “I didn’t know–”

I can’t even tell him to stop because I won’t be able to make any words, and I can’t breathe. Nothing’s going in and reaching my burning lungs even though I’m gasping for it. It’s not his fault, but those words stop on my tongue. It isn’t Cole’s fault. He doesn’t have to say sorry. He was in the water. He couldn’t have heard it. It’s not Cole’s fault. It’s not Matt’s fault. It’s not Bryson’s fault.

Because maybe it’s mine. We did it together, and one of us tripped, and what if it was me? Maybe if we hadn’t jumped at the same time, things would be different. He would be here, and this would be a practice for a gig instead of a failed jam session, and his guitar would have filled out Full Stop. and we would feel like Full Stop., and I wouldn’t be breaking down over a fucking Yellowcard song! But it’s too late now, and it’s all my fault.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fuck it! Move!”

Such a loud voice that slices through my earplugs like a razor blade and splits the air with the shrill metal sound of an axe hammering down. If I wasn’t shaking so terribly, I’d flinch at it because it hurts, but it also makes every trembling muscle inside of me tense painfully.

It’s sudden, but Bryson’s hand withdraws quick, and my vision finally goes dark, and then talons dig into my flesh and sear it, and I’m yanked up violently to the sounds of muffled protests surrounding us. My own laboured, raspy, wailing gasps rise above the guys as I try to bring in anything at all, but it turns out to just be another futile attempt because there’s not enough air in the atmosphere to keep me alive.

My skin burns where fingernails dig in and inflict agony like they’re steel nails instead, and I don’t know how I stumble when my legs have turned to rubber, and my feet feel weighted down. I could crumble and snap and break at any moment like a building ready to topple. All the retentions are groaning, the supports failing, and I’m about to fall, and I can’t fucking breathe!

There are bewildered and demanding words coming from the dark blurs around me, and I try to blink the water away, but it’s coming too fast. Only one forceful voice has the volume to rise above, and it’s almost clear, and so close to me, and shoving me harshly as if the sound itself has become a physical entity, and it’s so damn annoying. It pushes and pulls me, and I’m running out of the strength to fight it because everything I have left is trying to suppress the bile gathering in my stomach and threatening my useless esophagus.

Then everything is bright, like the sun on that horrible, unsuspecting day. I’d say I feel blinded by it, but I didn’t see anything before anyway. There’s more forced stumbling and a muddling of voices and sounds. Another rises over them, so loud, and shrill, yet it can never hit the notes it sets out to despite always trying to rise at the end of every line.

“Get in,” it demands.

“Selena, what the fuck are you doing?!” Bryson. I think it’s Bryson. It sounds kind of like Bryson, but so far away.

I think there’s a response, but I’m trapped in a fishbowl and everything is half muted. I’m sitting, and all I hear before someone else speaks is a loud slam right beside me. Then there’s something that sounds like angry arguing, but I can’t make it out because my thundering heartbeat and broken lungs are trying to kill me. Another harsh slam, then a jingle, sputter, and hum, and then the whole world lurches forward.

And my gut lurches forward and upwards again, and that forces the blackness clouding my eyes to dissolve into dizzy, sparkling fragments. I barely have the air to heave, but I manage to start gagging, rocking forward in my leather seat, and then her voice shrieks:

“Don’t you fucking dare puke in my car!”

I’m in Selena Walton’s stupid, expensive Lexus. There’s that small, sane part of me clinging to the thought that blowing chunks inside of her Lexus is a bigger fuck you to her than smearing Vaseline on the door handle, but it’s microscopic because the acidic needles of the bile are pricking the base of my empty windpipe, and it’s so fucking hot in here, and no matter how much blinking I do everything is blurry, and those lyrics are stuck in my mind.

“But make it loud, cause nobody’s there.”

Nobody’s there.

He’s not there. He’s not here. One. I’m alone in the chapel with a monument to destruction, the end of an era. Two. Together, we jump. Three. My leg feels like it’s been severed. Four. My head has exploded. Five. I shatter into pieces. Six. I’m gripping the porcelain sides of a bathroom sink to keep from falling. Seven. In the nightmares, I’m falling. Falling, falling, falling. Eight. I’m suffocated by the emptiness of a black abyss and closed-in walls of my bedroom without him in it. Nine. The futon is in couch mode. And that’s not ever going to change again. Ten. There’s not enough air, but I can’t seem to drown. Eleven. We hit the ledge over half-way down a thirty-foot fall, and it was all my fault. He’s gone, and I should have gone with him, but I didn’t and he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone – You’re never going to get rid of me, Morgan – and why can’t I fucking breathe–

And then something unimaginable happens.

It’s fast, unpredictable, and unprompted, and my boiled blood becomes lava because the second I realize what’s going on, I am furious.

Her arm smacks into and lays across my chest and pushes me back harshly against the seat, pinning me. She’s leaned over the console in the middle with her other hand still stretched to hold the wheel, but I only notice that after the fact, and it’s still not the most terrifying thing. My tear-blinded eyes go wide, and probably vault out of my skull like a cartoon because this is a new kind of unwelcome proximity.

Her lips are on my lips. She kisses me with her greasy, scalding, obnoxious, red mouth and suddenly my trembling limbs freeze in place. The world pauses for a second – or it feels like it except she’s also fucking driving in West Hills, which is just as uneven and winding as Woodland Hills and Bryson’s street is no exception, and her fucking foot must be pressing the accelerator to the floor.

But I am less focused on fearing for my life and more focused on the fact that I have now kissed Selena fucking Walton.

“What the FUCK?!”

[dariuspuckermannyc]

Atlantic City || JARIUS

Jesse hit the final note of the song, one of his favourite Sondheim songs, and then turned the volume down on the radio, looking over at Darius in the drivers seat as they turned off from the freeway to the Atlantic City Expressway, signaling they'd be there in about 15-20 minutes, depending on traffic. He laughed, shaking his head, "thanks for humouring me with music control, babe. Best part of any road trip." He winked at him, and then looked out at the window as the city started to come into view. In the day it looked much like any other city, but he knew just from what people had said, that Atlantic City truly came to life at night. "I can't wait to see all the hard work you've been putting in."

One of the many things Darius enjoyed about Jesse to the fullest was to get the chance to hear him sing, and if that happened to be only for him to hear, like at that moment, with the two of them in the car, the wind barely audible over Jesse's amazing voice, so when he was done and thanked him for giving him music control on the trip to Atlantic City, he could only smile at him. "You know I enjoy our one to one concerts, babe. Don't worry." Darius was also excited to show Jesse what they had done so far, a work that had made him be away from Jesse for a lot of days at the time. "Your opinion is important to me, not to mention you're the main act on the night we open." He winked at him and chuckled, the car now driving under the arch that marked the entrance to the city, also known as the 'Las Vegas of the East'.

@jessestjamesnyc

Jesse laughed, "I know... I'm preparing my set list already. Though I know you have final say. I'll go more modern and less Broadway, I promise. Maybe a Queen song or two? Whatever you want me to sing babe." He knew he had told Darius before that he'd never been to Atlantic City, so everything that was appearing in front of their eyes was a new sight to him, especially once they reached the casino strip. "Are you looking on track to open when you'd planned?"

Darius smiled brightly and nodded. "I love it when you get to sing Queen songs! With all due respect to Freddie Mercury, whose voice can compare to none, you are the one who does it the best, and even give it your own special touch." He looked at him and winked, then continued to drive ahead. The sun would be done in a short while, so the casinos and hotels were already starting to show their flashing lights. "Tell you truth, we're running a bit on a tight schedule as of right now, but I'm confident that we'll bue ready in time. I made sure to hire the best contractors in the business, so that was one headache less." He chuckled, then took the exit to the right, where the hotels right next to the beach line were, and after a five minute longer drive they finally arrived. "We're here" he announced with a smile as he turned the engine off.

Jesse stared incredulously at Darius, and then burst out laughing which he couldn't stop for a few minutes, before wheezing and catching his breath, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry." He cleared his throat, "I mean, I'm flattered but I don't think anybody does Queen better than Freddie, not even me." He leaned over the console and pressed a quick kiss to Darius' cheek, before leaning back in his seat again, "but I appreciate you saying that." When they arrived Jesse unclicked his seatbelt and looked out of the window and up at the building next to him. He reached for the handle of the car door, opening it so he could step outside. He turned to look at Darius, and the beach behind him, "you've redone the front gardens, haven't you? They look different to the first photos you showed me... way better."

After they both shut the doors Darius clicked on the alarm control he had in his hand, the car now locked and secured, then he walked around the car and held onto Jesse's hand. "I did. Call me crazy, but palm trees seemed more like Florida, and we're definitely not there. I preferred a normal front garden that wouldn't distract your sight so much. Those palm trees almost blocked the whole main entrance!" He chuckled, then kissed his hand. "I'm glad you like it too. Now let's go inside to check the rest, come on!" Like an excited kid, he tugged Jesse along as he started walking, his long legs moving fast enough so that it seemed like he was towing the other man behind him, then as they made down the driveway that led to where the main entrance was he waved at some of the workers that were still there, of course al of them knowing who Darius was. "We have a three shift team of people, for a total of 18 hours a day work. Other than helping getting this done with in time, it helped creating a lot of work for local people, which was good, you know?" They walked through the main entrance, the lobby where the main desk was, marble floors at their feet and luxurious couches and sits all around to welcome people as they went in. "Down to the right the elevators which take you to the rooms, which we get to later-" He wiggled his brows at him and chuckled. "- and also that way takes you to the pool and gym area. Let's go see the casino, come on!"

Jesse couldn't help but smile at how happy and excited Darius was, in the moment. It scared him, because he knew that his job was in New York and now Darius' job would be in Atlantic City... but he was sure they'd make it work. He whistled softly when they walked in the main entrance, "fuck... babe, this looks amazing. It really screams luxury." He looked at him and smiled, giving his hand a squeeze, "okay. Lead the way."

Darius smiled, happy that Jesse also liked what they had done so far, then nodded and they both walked into the casino area hand in hand, the sound of drills and hammers still sounding in the background, but the main hall was already there standing with all the lights on, and it had nothing to envy any hotel in Vegas, which was where he had originally gotten the idea from obviously. "There are two levels for the casino, and they are games and everything you may want from one on each level, and also there is a bar on each one, plus the tables to simply sit on the upper level, from which you can look down on all of this." There were scupltures almost on every corner, even a small fountain in the middle of the big main lobby. "So? What'd you think so far, babe?" he said and pecked his lips quickly.

Jesse looked around and shook his head with a smile on his face, before turning to face Darius, wrapping his arms around his waist. "What do I think? I think you've done an amazing job... seriously, babe, I knew you were talented but I didn't know what to expect. I don't think I could have ever expected this though. It looks gorgeous. You're going to have customers flooding the place." He leaned in and kissed him deeply.

Darius blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Really? I'm glad you think so, Jesse. I mean... I only had the idea, and also did some drawings of what I wanted, how I wanted it to be, but all the people here did all the work. I mostly did all the bossing around." He chuckled, then hummed softly against his lips, his arms going around Jesse's shoulders and holding him close. When they pulled back he bumped Jesse's nose with his and smiled. "Having you here, being able to share this with you makes it all more perfect."

Jesse laughed when Darius said that, and then shrugged, "maybe so... but without your ideas, it wouldn't have been this, right? You still implemented it all. Besides, you're cute when you're bossy, so I'm sure the workers didn't mind too much." He smiled against Darius' lips. "Well, you know I love to see your hard work paying off, so I'm glad to be here, babe."

Darius smiled against Jesse's lips and nodded. "I suppose you're right. Let's call it team work then, huh?" He held him closer, their foreheads now resting together. "I wouldn't want to share this with any other. Only you-" He pulled back just a bit and smiled. "Let me show you the rooms! They're already done and ready to be used, so all that's left is finishing the area down here." He held onto Jesse's hand and tugged him to where the elevators were, pulling his own personalized card from the pocket to hail for it. They stepped inside when the doors open, an exquisite antoque decor inside the lift, completed with seats on the further end and mirrors on every side from top to bottom, then every three floors they would step aside and Darius showed him one of the rooms. Singles, doubles, triples and quadruples, all equiped and ready, then he finally took him to the top floor, which is where his card came in handy on the control panel of the elevator. The doors opened when they got there and he did a soft 'ta daaa' sound as he walked ahead of him, taking them both inside the penthouse that covered all of the top and higher level of the hotel. "Welcome to our Atlantic City home, babe."

When Darius said the rooms were already done and ready to be used, the corner of Jesse's mouth twitched up in a smirk, already thinking of all the uses they could get out of them. He let Darius pull on his hand to the elevators and then throughout the short guided tour of the various types of rooms that would be on offer, making compliments as they went. They'd been furnished perfectly to fit the age and history of the hotel, without feeling dated or musty. When they stepped out onto the penthouse, he whistled softly under his breath, "... holy shit. This is beautiful. Look at the view!" He made his way quickly to the window, pointing it out, forgetting that of course Darius had seen the view plenty, he was sure. "Wait," he turned to look at him, his brow creases, "our Atlantic City home... this room isn't for customers?"

Darius smiled brightly when he saw Jesse taking in the view of the ocean that of course he had seen dozens of times now, and he was glad he liked it as much as he did, then it turned into a grin when he saw the look on his face, and he walked up to him and put his arms around his waist as he looked down into his eyes. "Nope. This is my penthouse. Our penthouse. What better place to live than where I work? Makes the driving to work unnecessary, right?" He winked at him and chuckled.

Jesse leaned into Darius' touch when his arms went around him, shaking his head but with a smile on his face. "You're something else, Darius..." He chuckled and kissed his lips briefly, "something good, don't worry." He turned to look at the view and smiled, "I can't believe you kept the best for us. Plus, right at the top has got to mean it's more private, right?" He turned and smirked at him.

Darius giggled. "I always dreamed of having something like this, so why not going all the way, if I have the money to do it? I'll always thanks Louis for that Christmas bonus he once gave me... It was practically the base for all of this." He grinned. "This one penthouse, yes, I did it for us. Initially, I was just going to get a suite, but that was back before I met you, or before we got together. And yes..." He pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together. "Very private. And also soundproof, because we both know just how loud you are." He winked at him and chuckled.

Jesse slapped Darius on the shoulder playfully and shook his head, "lies and slander. Or maybe it's not... I'm a stage actor after all, have to be loud." He returned the wink, and looked around, "is there a bedroom for the boys here too?" It already felt so natural to refer to Gabriel and Isaac in that way, even though they both only had a weekend with them, it was still nice when those weekends aligned, and even more to picture spending a week away with them... though maybe avoiding the casino parts while they were too young.

Darius grinned and diped his head down to Jesse's neck, his lips nipping playfully on the spot of skin there. "Uh huh..." he hummed against the skin, then giggled. "Oh yeah, all about those amazing vocal chords of yours, huh?" He leaned back up and giggled before he nodded. "Yes, there is! Come on-" he said, pulling on his hand as he led him through the living room, then down the hallway until he pushed the door open. "One thing though... It isn't furnished yet. I didn't want to do that without your input in it, since it'd be also for your child. But look!" He walked in to where the big window was, tall enough for the children not to reach to it, and it had the same beautiful view the balcony had. "Pretty view, right?" he said, almost bouncing on the spot like a giddy child.

Jesse laughed and followed Darius as he lead him down the hallway, noticing the impeccable finishes along the way. He really had hired some fantastic contractors. When Darius said it wasn't furnished because he wanted his input, he couldn't help but smile widely. It was still an odd concept for him to grasp, that he had a son. And that Darius also had a son, and when the four of them were together, it really felt like a family... it was scary, that it felt like that so soon, but it did. "It's gorgeous," he said, looking out the window with a smile, "they're going to love it. Gabriel especially now, but Isaac too when he gets older." He leaned his head against Darius shoulder and enjoyed the moment before tilting his head to look up at him, with a slight smirk, "... when you say unfurnished... is that just this room? Because I would really love to see our bedroom."

Darius leaned his head back on Jesse's, loving the fact he had liked the room, and the whole place so far. He pulled his head back and looked back at him, also grinning. "Well, not really. Come and see." He pulled his hand and led him into the master bedroom, holding the door open for Jesse to enter. "It only has the bed, and the cabinet drawer. I needed somewhere to place all my stuff in while I was here working. Bt the rest of it, we can do it together too."

Jesse smirked as Darius opened the door and spoke. Their hands were still linked as the door shut behind them and he pulled Darius in the direction of the bed. "Babe, I promise you - there was only one piece of furniture I was interested in seeing in here right now." Their legs hit the edge of the bed and they toppled onto it, Jesse falling on top of Darius and looking down at him with a grin, "what do you say... should we christen it?"

Still reeling from the fact that Jesse had fully given the okay for their new place, Darius was practically bouncing on the spot, his face shining with a bright smile as he looked around; but the moment Jesse started moving him to the bed his smile turned to a sly grin, especially when they fell on the bed and his body was covering Jesse's completely. "I'd say that's the coolest idea ever... But just so we're clear, when have we ever needed a bed when we 'christen' anything?" He chuckled, then leaned his head down and kissed him deeply, leaving no room for a reply, or even a breath, at least for the moment. 

It was, without a doubt, the best way to end the tour. 

END SCENE.

[delos-mio]

Partners- AU Frat Logan- Part 11

A/N: It’s here! To say ‘sorry’, this chapter is 3k words (previous parts being around 1.7k). Also, anything family/backstory related is pure headcanon and I do not claim to know what the truth is. But if Westworld writers won’t give me anything to work with, then fuck it, it’s up to me! Hope you enjoy!

The early morning light woke the two of you almost at the same time. Logan lazily yawned and draped his long leg over yours, locking you in tight. You thought for a moment that you’d like to stay like this forever, just wrapped up with him in the back of his car in the middle of nature. Nothing could get to you here; there was nothing that seemed pressing or bothersome when he was next to you, just starting to stir.

“Morning babe,” he said, his voice full of gravel and sleep.

“Hi,” you whispered back, nuzzling close into the crook of his neck. This made him laugh a little and rest his head on top of yours.

“You got plans for today?”

“No, not really. I usually go to karaoke with Sam Saturday nights, but that’s about it,” you replied with a smile, adjusting so you were propped up on his chest, your fingers lightly trailing in the small patch of hair in the middle.

“Well…I usually stop by my parent’s house, say hi to Jules and all that. They live like 10 minutes from here,” he paused and considered his next question. “Would you want to come with me?” It caught you totally off guard. You hadn’t for a moment considered that Logan would really want to let you into his world. All mention of his family prior to this moment had been cut short. He could sense your confusion and was quick to follow up. “You don’t have to if you don’t want. I can drop you off…”

“Of course I want to come!” you finally reply. “I’m gonna look a little over dressed though,” you laughed, gesturing to the nicely folded dress you had from the night before.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m sure I can steal some of Jules’ clothes for you,” he smiled before popping the trunk open so you could crawl out. You stood and quickly slipped back into last night’s dress, Logan never taking his eyes off you. The gaze coming from him still made you a little nervous, sending butterflies in flight in your stomach. Once you had fished a hair tie from your bag and thrown your hair in a high bun, the two of you set off again.

As you were drawing closer, at least you assumed you were getting closer, the houses kept getting larger. You’d driven through this suburb a time or two, always marveling at the old mansions lining the streets. Every one was meticulously maintained and looked like the inside pages of Home and Garden. But Logan had turned down a small side street, one you were sure you’d never seen in your life. At the end of the drive was a large, wrought iron gate with a key pad to the left, which Logan quickly punched a set of numbers into. There were only a few homes on this private drive, but they were somehow even more breathtaking than the ones leading up to the ones scattered here.

“I uhh…I didn’t even know these houses existed,” you admitted, finally peeling your eyes away from the window and over to Logan who was rubbing at his eye.

“That’s the idea,” he replied simply, pulling into a long driveway at the end of the cul-de-sac. He parked in front of a four-stall garage and walked over to let you out of the car. Truthfully, you’d never seen a more beautiful home in your life. It was clear it had been here for years, so while it was massive, it still had and old charm about it. Logan watched as you drank in all the little details, leaning casually on the hood of his car. “It’s been our families for three generations. My great-grandfather, Orson Beal, had lot of the stones shipped over from our ancestor’s home in England. At least, that’s the story that’s been passed down.” He walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, “We can go inside if you want.”

You nodded your head and followed behind him as he pushed the large oak door open. Whatever picture you had painted in your mind was immediately outdone by what you saw. Logan was just casually throwing his keys and wallet down, not bothering to see if you were following when he started making his way up the marble stairs. He called out a couple times for his mom and sister to no response. Once he realized he was only hearing one set of footsteps, he turned around to give you a crooked look.

“You coming?” he called down, snapping you out of your reverie.

“Yeah, yeah I just…” you stammered as you shuffled to catch up with him, “It’s just super nice in here. Beautiful.”

“I’d prefer something a little more modern, but it’s alright I guess,” he shrugged as you made your way down the hall. It’s alright I guess; it occurred to you then that this was just normal life for him. This was his base standard of living. You shook the thought from your head and followed him into a large room you assumed was his. “Wait here a second, I’ll be right back,” he said before placing a small kiss on your forehead and walking out. You paced around the room, looking at the rather generic art on the walls. None of Logan’s personal things appeared to be here anymore, save for a few trophies and books. Logan appeared a moment later with a pair of shorts and a white v-neck tee.

“Thanks, Lo,” you smiled as he handed the garments over. “Where can I change?” He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows.

“Right here,” he said as he pointed to the middle of the room, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “Or is your boyfriend not allowed to see you without clothes on?” You blushed and slowly unzipped the side of your dress, letting it drop around your ankles. Logan drank in every inch of your skin, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. “Get over here,” he commanded softly, inching his finger at you.

You slowly made your way over, carefully straddling your legs over Logan’s lap. He let his hands softly ghost over your thighs, making their way up to the small of your back and squeezing softly. In an instant, his lips were on yours, hungry and full of lust. Your tongues battled between you as your breathing became more labored. Logan moaned into your mouth when you began to nip at the soft skin of his neck, placing hot kisses over the spots you’d just bitten.

“God, I wanna fuck you on that balcony so bad,” he growled as your hips sank down lower onto his growing length. You smiled into his skin and nodded your head in submission. He had just moved to lift the two of you off the bed, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist when his bedroom door clicked open.

“JESUS CHRIST!” a high-pitched voice yelled. Logan was quick to set you down and block your body with his. You were sure you were the deepest shade of red, but you couldn’t help but peek around his shoulder at who had walked in. She was very small- short with the same espresso colored hair as Logan. Her had was dramatically covering her eyes in horror. Great, his sister had seen you half naked and you hadn’t even shaken her hand yet.

“What the fuck, Jules! You don’t fucking knock anymore?” Logan yelled.

“Well at least I wasn’t mom!” she spat back.

“Or dad,” Logan joked. This made her laugh and all appeared to be forgiven between them. “Now get out!” You heard her huff and the door shut once again. “Y/N I am so sorry…” he began as he turned to face you.

“Oh god she already hates me, doesn’t she?” you asked as you quickly pulled the shirt over your head and shimmied into the shorts you were sure were going to cut off your circulation before the day was over.

“Nah,” he laughed, walking towards the door. “I’m sure she thinks it’s funny, don’t ya, Jules!” he shouted at the door before whipping it open. Sure enough, there she was, intently listening through the crack.

“Funny, yeah. But traumatizing,” she chirped, pushing him out of the way. “I’m Juliet,” she smiled, offering her extended hand.

“Y/N,” you mumbled almost to yourself, still embarrassed she’d seen you for the first time in just a bra and thong.

“How long have you guys been here?” she asked Logan as the two of them walked out of the room, you following close behind.

“Not long enough to do what I wanted,” he joked, turning his head over his shoulder to wink at you. When he turned back, he whispered something in Juliet’s ear which made her shake her head no. She then whispered something back, standing on her tip toes to reach up to his ear. You were really wishing you had any idea what they were chatting about as you descended the stairs once again, this time heading down a long, open hallway which led to the massive kitchen. There was a woman leaning on the island, chattering away on her phone. But once Logan had entered the room, a wide smile appeared on her face, her dark eyes crinkling at the outside corners.

“Logan is here, I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon…ok…love you too,” she rushed through as she locked her phone and trotted over to Logan, throwing her arms around his neck. “Hi sweetheart! Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be here so early.” She finally let him go, only now seeing that he was not the only visitor in her home. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry dear, I didn’t see you there.”

“Mom, this is my girlfriend Y/N” Logan introduced, placing his hand on the small or your back to usher you forward.

“Girlfriend?!” his mother and Juliet asked at the same time.

“Goddamn, don’t sound so surprised,” he huffed.

“Language, Logan,” his mother chided. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just…been a while since we’ve met a girlfriend of Logan’s.”

“No, no worries. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Beal,” you smiled, waving a small wave at the two women.

“Please, call me Susan,” she smiled, her confusion finally settling. “Can I get you anything to drink, dear?”

---

The rest of the afternoon was spent on the garden patio, drinking liquor from top shelves you’d never dared to ask the price of. For as much money as you knew this family had, Juliet and Susan were very down to earth and personable. Juliet was quick witted with a sharp tongue; she was an equal to Logan when it came to sass and arrogance. She was much funnier than he was, however- something you could tell made Logan envious. Susan was demure and kind hearted. She loved to listen intently to her children’s stories and seemed to delight in just being a mother. She was sure to ask you personal questions and really take in the responses you gave. You were thankful for her gentleness as your stomach had been on edge with nerves since this morning when Logan first asked you to come over.

Dinner time had rolled around and a new sound was filling your ears- the purr of an engine and lifting of a garage door. Juliet and Susan headed inside to start getting ready for the next meal. This must have meant his father was home, a thought that made you slightly uneasy.

“Why are you so tense, babe?” Logan cooed as you sat stiffly next to him.

“Probably because this is the first time I’m meeting your family and now your father is here and I’ve never heard you say anything positive about him.” You let out a sigh before looking back at him. He was giving you that smug look you both loved and hated all at the same time. “What Logan?!”

“Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re worked up,” he smiled. You rolled your eyes as he gently squeezed your thigh. “He’ll like you. He tends to like women better than men.” This was not reassuring to you at all, but you still followed Logan inside where a tall man with the same dark hair as Logan, only with salt and pepper sides, stood speaking with Susan.

“You must be Y/N. Vincent Beal,” he stated, offering his hand out to shake. His voice was cool and deep; it was evident introducing himself was something he did often.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Beal,” you replied softly, trying to win him over with a smile. You weren’t sure how well that was working.

“Mr. Beal! I like the sound of that,” he smirked, turning on his heel to enter the dining room where dinner had been set out. You let out a breath and looked over at Logan who had a strange expression on his face. It was concerned and almost a twinge sad. He reached down to squeeze your hand and took a seat next to you at the long wooden table.

“So Y/N, where are you from?” his father began right as you had shoved a fork full of salad in your mouth. You quickly tried to chew and swallow before answering him.

“I uh, I’ve lived here all my life, sir,” you smiled, looking over at Logan out of the corner of your eye. He was gazing at you, leaned back as far as possible in his seat.

“How nice. So-” His father began talking about some work-related issues with Logan and his sister, speaking with absolute authority. You nodded along as he spoke, but your attention was on Logan’s hand which had made its way on your thigh under the tablecloth. He silently popped the button of your shorts undone and pushed down the zipper, slowly moving his fingers toward the edge of your underwear.

“Y/N?” His father was looking right at you. Shit. What had he just said? Something about his job? School? Vegetables?! Panic was setting in and you could feel Logan loving every moment of it.

“Mhmm!” You decided it was safer to just agree with whatever it was he said. He gave you a smile and began asking Juliet about some school related business, allowing you to finally let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You shot a look at Logan, warning him he was entering dangerous territory. All he did was wink back at you.

As the conversation became more lively, Logan continued on his mission, gently pushing your underwear to the side with his index and middle finger. He ran a long finger up your folds, gently flicking at your clit. You dropped your fork loudly on your plate, momentarily shifting the attention on you. Once everyone had gone back to their conversations, he made his way down to your entrance, gliding two fingers inside you.

“Mmm, so good!” he exclaimed as he took a bite of the chicken had been placed in front of him. You glared at him out of the corner of your eye. That same shit eating grin was all over his face, so pleased with his performance in the game he was playing.

“I’m glad you like it, dear,” his mother said smiling a sweet smile at him.

“Oh, I love it. Don’t you, babe?” He asked, turning to finally look at your face.

“It’s great,” you said through gritted teeth. He continued to pump in and out, steadily increasing his pace before passing his thumb back over your clit, making you squirm in your seat. You looked over to him, begging him with your eyes to stop before you came. But instead, he nodded only slightly, encouraging you to ride out your high here in their dining room. A few more moments and you were coming undone under the table, careful to bite down on your lip and stifle any noises that typically would be coming from you right about now. Slowly, he removed his fingers from you and refastened the button on your shorts. He then placed them in his mouth, casually sucking your juices from his long fingers

“What are you studying, Y/N?” Vincent asked abruptly.

“Art. I actually just had a show last night. Logan was th…”

“How do you plan to make money with that degree?” he interrupted.

“I…I guess I’m not sure yet. I really like making prints and I think I’m pretty good at it,” you shrugged. The high of your orgasm was already being killed.

“Have you considered switching programs?” he asked taking a large swallow of bourbon.

“Vince…” Susan said in a hushed, but embarrassed tone. You looked down at your plate, but caught sight of Logan’s grip tightening around his fork. This did not go unnoticed by his father as well.

“If you have something to say, boy, go ahead and say it,” he almost mocked. Logan said nothing, but pushed his chair out from the table, throwing his napkin down on his plate.

“We’re leaving,” he said definitively, looking over to you for a response. You were sure your face turned crimson red as every pair of eyes was on you, waiting for your reaction. Slowly, you also pushed away from the table, sadly looking at Susan and Juliet, who looked equally as embarrassed. Every noise- the scraping of your chair, the clang of silverware being set down- sounded like it was pounding directly in your ear. Logan took your hand and shot his father one last look.

“You’re looking at me like you want me to apologize and ask you to stay,” Vincent said before taking another drink. “You know that’s not going to happen.” With that, Logan pulled you from the dining room, out the front door, and chirped his car unlocked.

[achingchest]

it was july. he was my first love. he was all sunshine. he could do no wrong. i idolized him as if he were a god. i would have brought down every star in the sky for him and none of them would have compared to his shine. i wrote his name in hearts on my journal pages. i thought i got it right on the first try. i thought i was going to spend the rest of my life with this guy. i was 16 and i didn’t know what rejection felt like. the only thing i could feel was love. but 6 months later, in january, we broke up. we broke up and i know i shouldn’t have cared, but everybody was whispering about it in the school hallways: he got a blowjob from the girl in his math class and maybe she wasn’t any prettier than me but she wasn’t any uglier. it was 3 weeks after we ended. it wasn’t fucking right. he was the worst person alive. so i went up to him. i screamed and cried and blew up his text messages; i spent whole days in bed and cursed his name to my ceiling tiles. one night, when things hurt really bad, i told tumblr he was worthless and he read it. i said i was always going to deserve somebody better because i was going to college and he wasn’t. i didn’t believe it; i just wanted to hurt him. i think i broke something in him. he blocked me on everything - text, facebook - i was gone. gone from his life because my pain was too much to bear and i took it out on him. his mom and sister terrorized me on social media about it, made facebook statuses about me being ugly and having my nose in the air. i guess i deserved it but it still hurt. and it only got worse from there. i was so mad at him for blocking me. i was so angry, i swear i felt my bones break every day. how dare he leave me and not be there to pick up the pieces. so i hacked into his facebook (okay, he gave me the password when we were still together) and changed his “interested in” to men. i thought i was really funny. i remember it so clearly: i couldn’t stop laughing. and laughing. and laughing. this was before i knew i had borderline personality disorder, characterized by switching between idealization and disgust for a person. extreme fear of abandonment. super strong emotions you can’t control. unsure of who you are. lashing out, lashing out, lashing out. feelings of worthlessness. severe depression you feel will never get better. antisocial behavior. then mania. mania. mania.days went on. his girlfriend and him broke up and he found his way back into my life. i’m not sure how it even happened. it was the summer before senior year. we’d hook up in the back of his car - it still wasn’t sex but i gave him my first blowjob. i was 17 and prude and that meant something to me. he’d take me home in his car after. i thought he was so cool. i thought i was so cool. we were doing this behind everyone’s back; nobody knew. i felt so much love in my heart for him. i started idolizing him again, thinking about how great he was as a friend. he used to shove himself so far down my throat, one day i threw up. come to think of it, that might have been the last time that summer we hooked up. one day he stopped answering me and i didn’t know why until we both ended up at some high school party. there was this girl who kept coming up to me - she must’ve not known we had dated - kept saying, “this guy keeps trying with me.” she was talking about my ex, i mean. i asked her if she liked him and she said, “i have a boyfriend.” a couple weeks later, i found out they did hook up. what kind of people fuck girls with boyfriends? scumbags, that’s what i thought. i had no respect for him. none. he started flying through girls like he was a car and they were highways. but he wasn’t hooking up with me. i was judging him so harshly. i hated him. i hated them. i hated that he chose so many people over me. i hated that it was all about sex. i hated that i was 17 and not ready to give it up. i hated that i had nobody. i hated it so much. he started trying to hook up with my friends. i couldn’t fucking breathe. how could he fucking do this to me? why did he have to go out of his way to try to hurt me? in january, i found somebody new. i hated my ex’s guts. i hated him so fucking much. i lost my virginity to someone who wasn’t him. i felt powerful without him. i fell in love again. or i thought it was love - looking back on it, i’m not so sure. it was over by august. it was over and i cried a lot and stalked his facebook page and found him with another girl and my ex texted me. i remember i was driving in my car on the way to the beach and i got that text. i was heartbroken. i brushed it off. a few months later, i ended up at my second ex’s birthday party. i was hanging out with his friends and started drinking. they were going to this party. i couldn’t drive home so i had to come. my ex flipped out. i remember hiding myself in the back room and bawling so much, i couldn’t see straight. i had to get out of there. my first ex drove some people there and saw me. he texted me, “didn’t expect to see you at that party.” i told him how miserable it was. he came and picked me up. how totally nice of him, i thought. on the way home, we stopped in his friend’s driveway. i had tears all over my face and alcohol in my stomach but he still tried to kiss me. i pulled away. i said no. clear as day. n-o. the words left my lips, i swear of it. i laid on top of him. i thought we were cuddling. but he tried to kiss me again. i remember i didn’t shave and i was so fucking embarrassed when he pulled my pants down and started touching me. but i didn’t stop him. i sucked it up and kissed him back. somebody wanted me. somebody wanted me. this was october. we kept talking. we even started having sex. on the second to last day of december, i asked him what we were. “are we dating?” i asked. “do you want to?” he asked me back. i remember wishing this went some different way. i wish he asked me. i wish he wanted me so bad, he couldn’t live without dating me. i think he just dated me because i wanted it. suddenly it was next september and i was starting my first semester at college. i broke up with him because i developed a crush on some guy in my dorm and he held my hand. i didn’t even want to be with him anymore, but the next day, we were back together. this is about the time i realized how completely addicted i was to him. that this wasn’t love anymore. this was complete, utter addiction. it became december. our one year anniversary. i mentioned his mistakes to him all of the time. i didn’t realize i was being abusive and manipulative; all i knew was that i still thought about all of the girls he chose over me. i couldn’t control my emotions. i still thought about how he was only dating me because i asked him what we were. i used to ask him such personal questions, made him give me the names of everybody he’s ever slept with and then bitched at him for every one of them. we weren’t even dating. how could i have judged him? all i knew was that it hurt. it hurt so bad, my chest felt like it was on fire some days. i fell asleep crying a lot. but i loved him. i did. i loved him more than anything. i just wanted him to feel as badly as i did. so every day, i tried to bring him down with me. misery sure does love fucking company. he cried in my arms a lot of days. he must’ve apologized a thousand times. the minute the tears hit his cheeks, i pretended nothing happened. “it’s okay,” i’d coo. “i love you i love you i love you.” days went by and i finally started forgetting. i stopped crying all of the time. i thought things were going good for us. that summer, we’d hang out at his best friend’s house all of the time. i lost all of my friends. i spent all of my time with him. every moment i could. my parents got so mad at me for it. they hated me sleeping over his house in general, said that’s not something people our age should be doing, shamed his parents for letting me do it. i got in screaming matches with them all of the time. almost every time i talked to them. they kept asking me what he was doing about college. he had a good job for years but left because of anxiety. he was going from job to job at that point and not making any money. that was around the time his brother started stealing money out of my purse when we were sleeping or in the shower. he started going in and out of jail. my ex thought his family was falling apart. when he was at his lowest, he started living with his best friend. and he cheated on me. three times. with his best friend’s sister. the one i spent all of my time with. but i didn’t know that then. she and him got in a stupid argument one day when she was drinking and i stepped in. she screamed at me, told me to get out of her house, said, “well, i fucked him. three times!” i shoved her, spilled tequila all over the floor. my ex couldn’t stop crying. he told me she was crazy. he told me to stop fighting with her. the next day, i bought his friend carpet cleaner. he kept talking about how ridiculous we were being. i didn’t know it then but it was because he knew. he even texted my ex once and told him to stop fucking his sister. my ex, even to him, said, “what are you talking about?” his sister moved away and i forgot that night ever happened. february came. my birthday month. i was turning 21. but two weeks before it, we broke up. my ex told me the stress was strangling him. he couldn’t give me what i deserved. i begged him to keep the label on our relationship. i was afraid of what he’d do. i was afraid of what i’d do when i was lonely. he told me i never fucking trust him. a few days later, i saw him kissing another girl’s cheek on instagram. i didn’t understand. how could someone just blatantly lie to you like that? what did she have that i didn’t? he started seeing her weeks before we broke up. she didn’t know. i told her everything and she told me it made her cry. she told me she liked him so goddamn much. meanwhile, he was my entire life. i asked his best friend’s sister more about him cheating on me with her. she told me everything. i found out the first time he cheated on me was when i was having a mental breakdown and he wouldn’t answer me. i found out he tried to sleep with her months before it happened but she wouldn’t because she was in a relationship. i called him immediately. told him he was the scum of the earth. he blocked me on everything. i was so fucking heartbroken, i didn’t sleep or eat for weeks. i wanted to kill myself every single day. i was getting high before class. i was getting high after class. i was getting high all of the time. a couple weeks later, i got my first pap smear. the nurse told me to come in for my results; she wouldn’t tell me over the phone. to say i was freaked out was an understatement. i had an abnormal pap, she said. hpv. my ex and i never used condoms. i trusted him, you know? i never thought he’d cheat on me. hands shaking of anger and sadness, i texted my ex’s girlfriend to warn her. i couldn’t even tell my ex because he still had me blocked. the only way you know you have hpv is through a pap and she wasn’t 21 yet (the age they make you get them), she was 18. so she wouldn’t know for another 3 years if she had it. there’s no test for guys at all. she thanked me. she was so, so pretty. so pretty and NICE. i tried not to break something. the sadness lasted months, but by may, i learned how to get by without him. i was seeing a therapist. i stopped looking at his social media accounts. i was so proud of myself. in the summer, i started hooking up with another guy. i didn’t like him, but he later admitted that he liked me. when i said i wasn’t into him like that and i didn’t want to hook up with him anymore and asked if we could be friends, he said no. he said he had enough friends. basically told me i was no good unless i was hooking up with him. i relapsed of sorts and checked up on my ex. he was posting all kinds of sad stuff. him and his girlfriend broke up. she cheated on him. i found out i wasn’t blocked on facebook anymore and made the biggest mistake of my life and reached out to him. i still loved him. i didn’t want to see him so upset. i wanted to help him. my mental state was stable for once. i thought i was in the place in my life where we could be friends. he thanked me for reaching out, posted “now i don’t want to stop talking” on his tumblr account. days went by. i got drunk at a bar with my coworkers and started asking my boss about his divorce. my other coworker told me before his wife was his wife, she cheated on him. so he cheated on her back. and now they’re married and that’s that. i went home and messaged my ex, asking him for an explanation for why he did everything he did to me. he blocked me again. i was fucking livid. i reached out to him! i cared and he didn’t. i was drunk and crying, having a mental breakdown on my bedroom floor, tweeting from his account (this time i really hacked into it, i figured out his password months ago) about how he doesn’t know one fucking thing about mental health. how you can’t just shut people out. how i want to kill myself. he unblocked me to yell at me for tweeting on his account. we talked about it and forgave each other. he never told me why he cheated on me. he never wanted to talk about it. it hurt him too much, he said. he felt so guilty. one night, i got drunk and asked him if he wanted to hook up. the next day we were having sex on my parents’ bed when they weren’t home. by october, we were seeing each other again. he was coming over to my dorm when my roommates weren’t around. they found out. i told them it’s okay, he’s better now. we’ll be better this time. i love him. it’s worth it. i told myself everything he did to me was my fault because i couldn’t stop bringing up his past mistakes. he said he liked the girl he chose over me because she was more forgiving. i stopped bringing up his mistakes and let it eat at me instead. but everything was perfect. i thought we were getting back together again. but then reality set in and i realized my friends would never allow that. my parents would never allow it. i would lose everyone. so i hooked up with him one last time and said goodbye to him. we were still friends. new years came. he was out drinking in the same side of town as me. he didn’t tell me. i was drunk and mad he didn’t even care enough to say hi. how dare he. right? (okay, as usual, i exaggerated.) he wasn’t answering my texts so i called him. he was drunk off his ass, said all his friends left him. so i went to find him. his friends didn’t know we had been seeing each other. they tried to keep me away from him. i wasn’t going to do anything but check on him. i was so mad because i was being a good friend and they weren’t and they wouldn’t let me see him. i screamed at them so loud, i got stopped by a police officer who made me go the opposite way as them. my ex ran. i called him four times. he finally answered, said he was with a cop getting arrested for public drunkenness. i asked him why the hell he answered the phone. i texted his ex and asked her if she’s seen him lately. i have no idea why. i have no idea what came over me, what i was thinking. she said she saw him last month. said she gave him a haircut, but he would’ve hooked up with her if she said yes. he came over to my dorm the day after that. he told me he didn’t talk to her anymore. i was so mad. i was so fucking mad, i got my parents to pick me up from the bar and screamed the whole ride home. “i knew you were still talking to him,” my dad seethed. i said it didn’t fucking matter, i just needed to see him. i told my parents i was going to drive my car drunk. they locked it in the garage. i begged them to take me to his house. they wouldn’t so i started walking. i got someone to take me. it was 4:30 a.m. by now. i called him, said i was outside. he let me in, took me up to his room. i told him to take his glasses off and i punched him in the face. i said, “fuck you. i’m blocking you on everything.“ then i walked away for what felt like the last time. his brother messaged me on facebook and told me to stay the fuck away from his house. i didn’t block him on everything. i texted him the next day and apologized. i was still talking to his ex; she was telling me not to talk to him anymore. at one point, she told me to stop texting her because he was with her. i was heartbroken. i thought she was on my side. she was yelling about him with me last night. but i lost him and she didn’t. she said she could be friends with both of us. i said that’s not how this works. that was the first day i cut myself. i carved out a razor and cut all over my lower legs so nobody could see. (thankfully it wasn’t short season.) i told everyone i was happy. i was finally free of him. but i just felt so fucking guilty. so fucking sad. so hopeless and shitty and mad. i cut myself a few more times after that, but stopped when i found someone new in march. i slept with him on our first date. he never noticed the scars. my ex tried to talk to me a few times but i ignored all of his texts, laughed with my new guy about him, said he was still obsessed with me even though i punched him, said didn’t he see? i wanted nothing to do with him. that guy and i never dated seriously. i had a bpd freak-out at school and had to leave class because of a small fight we had. he called me a psycho. told me he was blocking me on everything and he did. i asked my ex if we could meet up. i was fucking up in school again, crying in the middle of class. i was cutting again, my hips this time because summer was coming. i couldn’t stand being alone. this is when i finally went to my physiatrist and asked him about bpd. he gave me an anti-psychotic. a few weeks later, i started hooking up with my ex again. without words, we decided that this time, we weren’t getting back together. this was just sex. for months, we hooked up. may. june. july. august. september. october. november. on and off. skipping months but always coming back. nobody knew. i didn’t even tell my closest friends. i didn’t think i would get attached again, but i was on this anti-psychotic and didn’t really have emotions. when i went off of it, they came back full force. i realized this wasn’t healthy. i realized i was thinking about the past every day. i realized this has always been the most toxic fucking relationship and i couldn’t leave. i started making excuses for why i couldn’t hook up. he kept texting me and texting me and texting me. i couldn’t breathe. i will be 23 in february. in january, i said goodbye. i said we can’t be friends. never again. never again.

THIS IS THE LAST THING I WILL WRITE ABOUT YOU

[reekierevelator]

The Last Word

a short story

Going to visit my sister Honesty on the other side of town I sat on the bus daydreaming about what my life could have been like if hadn’t lost so much schooling through illness. I’d been doing quite well up till then.  

I was so full of confidence and playfulness then that friends shortened Felicity to Fizz. I’d been a happy-go-lucky girl, game for anything, full of joie de vivre and always looking for new experiences. I sometimes wondered how many times mum and dad had apologised to neighbours for me stealing their apples or playing games that involved running through their flower beds shrieking at the top of my voice. I was so full of life.

And good at schoolwork too. In the last year of Primary School Mrs Carmichael, the teacher, confided in me ‘Felicity, we expect great things of you’. She was sure I’d do very well at High School and have a great career. It hadn’t worked out like that.

Half way through first year I became ill.  My mind sort of went blank.  The doctor tried various things but nothing seemed to work.  After a few months I gradually recovered, but I wasn’t the same. The life had gone out of me. I felt a big piece of my brain had been mislaid.

Of course since then, despite poor concentration and weak exam results, I made it to College, and eventually got a decent job in human relations with an engineering company. I had various boyfriends and several close relationships, but somehow something always stopped me from getting married.

I missed my bus stop and had to walk back through some neighbouring streets I hadn’t seen since childhood.  Ambling on through a smart street of bungalows I noticed one in the distance with a fully loaded skip parked in the driveway. I remembered it as the house where Aunt Lydia and Uncle Francis lived.  Something about it made me feel uneasy, my palms sweating. They weren’t really my aunt and uncle, just great friends of our parents, so that was what we children were encouraged to call them.  I knew Lydia had died some years ago, not long after my own parents had passed away. I guessed Francis must be in his seventies by now. It was unlikely at that age that he had decided to rebuild the house from the inside out and concluded he too had gone. New owners were probably going for a total refurbishment. And when I got closer I saw the post standing in the overgrown front garden, the sign pinned to it announcing ‘For Sale’.

Everything was in the skip, almost the complete contents of the house. Lydia and Francis had never had children. I vaguely remembered Francis having a brother, a younger man who lived in Cornwall. He had visited once when I was small, our family attending a little party for him at Lydia and Francis’s. I supposed the house had been inherited by him or his children. I stared at all the junk piled high in the skip, disgusted to recognise lots of things that charity shops would have been glad to receive. As well as furniture, all sorts of tools, pictures, and ornaments had been tossed in willy-nilly. I glimpsed the eye of a large, porcelain, russet coloured dog staring back at me and a bolt of electricity ran up my spine.  

My sister still lived in the flat where we were brought up, one of eight flats comprising a nondescript concrete block whose exterior looked shabbier every time I saw it. But Honesty kept the flat as neat and tidy as herself. Though small, the flat seemed more spacious with only her living there. In the past my parents, Honesty, me, and my brother James had all squeezed in.

Honesty had always been a straightforward woman. She called a spade a spade, avoided prevarication and euphemism, and had little time for fancy clothes or fancy words. Her mental resilience compensated for the fact that physically she had always been the weakling of the family. She had angina, and had repeatedly endured pneumonia and bronchitis. But though she regularly contracted illnesses, rather than succumb to them, or to the pity they evoked, she confronted them bravely. She was frank about her position and expected others to behave exactly the same.

We sat on my parents’ solid old armchairs, still with their antimacassars, and chatted over tea and biscuits. Honesty wore a honey coloured cardigan over a prim white blouse with black slacks and plain shoes. She confirmed my guesswork, except Francis was not dead, only gone to live in some eventide home.

Apparently he had granted a nephew in Cornwall financial power of attorney and the nephew had immediately decided to sell the bungalow to cover the expenses of his new accommodation. The room in the eventide home didn’t allow for items to be transferred from the bungalow so he had simply called in a house clearance firm, told them to junk everything, and put the vacant house on the market. Honesty talked a little about Francis and Lydia.

‘Aunt Lydia was lovely; always so keen to see us.  In some ways we were substitutes for the children she never had.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘I suppose we were.’ Lydia had often carried out babysitting duties when mum and dad had a night out. She was good company, playing games with us and reading us stories.

‘There were those joint family get-togethers for birthdays and anniversary celebrations. And we always got together for a day over Christmas.  They were good fun, especially when I wasn’t feeling too strong.’

‘Yes, I remember those parties Honesty.  With all the big meals and fancy cakes we couldn’t afford at home.’

‘And do you remember all the outings, the trips they took us on?’

‘Oh yes, all dressed up in our Sunday best. Sometimes they’d take us to the seaside, out into the countryside, to funfairs, or to play centres.’

‘That’s right. You had such a lovely powder blue dress, being that bit older. It made such a change from your usual patched dungarees. And they would buy us presents, things that mum and dad could never waste money on, like that giant teddy bear Francis once gave me. Or the real silver bracelet he got for you. And remember the big toy cars he used to buy for James. Lots of things we’d never have had at the time without them.’

‘Yes, I the outings were interesting,’ I added tentatively. But somehow a chill ran through me. I gave a little shiver.

‘Are you cold?’ Honesty asked. She got up to turn on her gas fire and doing so said ‘Lydia talked to us about all sorts of interesting things, didn’t she, like the new films she’d seen, dances she’d gone to, and books and late night television programmes. In many ways she introduced us to the grown up world.’

‘Yes’, I agreed, as Honesty plopped herself down on the armchair again, ‘I remember knowing about all those things made us feel very grown up.’ But in saying it I felt strangely anything but adult.

‘Well, truth be told Felicity, no point wallowing in nostalgia, being too loyal to a past seen through rose-tinted spectacles. You’ll no doubt recall how Francis would bore us, rambling on about mind-numbing politics and football…’

‘And then he’d try to pull funny faces and crack silly jokes.’

‘Yes, those jokes. They weren’t the ones he’d tell when our parents were around. Looking back on it they were often unsuitable for children, very sexist, off-colour.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Of course you do Felicity. There was something not quite pleasant about Francis.’

I gave another involuntary shiver and said ‘Well, it was good of them volunteering to take us out. Mum and dad must have been struggling with the three of us.’

‘Well, being a few years younger, me and James were probably more manageable.  But you, you were a real livewire, quite a handful for them. Yes,’ Honesty continued, ‘maybe that was why they sometimes just took you out on your own, leaving mum and dad to manage us littler ones. Even when Lydia was ill, Francis would still sometimes come to take you out. James resented you getting all the fun and attention. Myself, I wasn’t jealous. Somehow I wasn’t so keen on Uncle Francis.’

I remembered when Lydia became ill. I didn’t really understand what was wrong with her. She was in hospital for a long time and I went with my mum, taking bunches of flowers and Lucozade.  But it was true, Francis had still been keen to take me out. Mum said it helped Uncle Francis to have a bit of a distraction at weekends while Lydia was still being treated in hospital.

I’d drifted off in my thoughts and was brought up sharply when Honesty reminded me ‘It was soon after that that you got ill yourself, wasn’t it Felicity?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘In bed for weeks.  I couldn’t visit Aunt Lydia any more.’

‘She came out of hospital long before you got better, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, long before I got better,’ I reluctantly confirmed.

I was silent for a moment and Honesty’s expression became serious. She leaned forward to peer into my face.

‘What you mean is you never really did get better, did you?’ Honesty never shied away from stating things directly. ‘You were never quite the same girl after that illness. Our exciting big sister Fizz turned into a quiet and subdued young lady. Your school-work went downhill. Your report cards said you didn’t, or you couldn’t, concentrate.’

There was a stone lodged in my stomach and try as I might I couldn’t dislodge it. I couldn’t prevent my eyes from watering. And then Honesty said ‘Surely you can tell me, Felicity, something’s obviously bothering you. Whatever it is, I’m sure you you’d be better getting it off your chest.’

My breathing became shorter as the thick black fog at the back of my mind began to lift. The pretty blue dress scrunched up and my eyes fixed on those of the russet coloured porcelain dog, the ornament staring at me from the bookshelf.  Though I’d tried to protect myself, and everyone else, from it all those years the words were suddenly tumbling out, a torrent released at last. Those outings with Francis without Lydia had preyed on my mind for such a long time. He would drive back early from outings, then take me to his home for lemonade and biscuits.  Then one day he said he’d show me some new games to play. And after it happened I felt so ill and couldn’t bear to go there again.

Honesty wrapped me in her sensible arms and comforted me. ‘My God, I’m so sorry Felicity. Somehow I knew something had happened, something had changed you. But it was all put down to a mystery illness, an unknown virus.’

Eventually, much later, Honesty called a taxi to take me home. All the way back in the taxi and far into the night that day with Francis played and replayed in my mind like a rabid dog feeding at will.

It was a week later that my brother James called me.  He’d been trying to call Honesty and got no reply. He lived in Manchester and after trying several more times he called me.  I went round and she didn’t answer the door. I called the police. They found her sitting in an armchair. Her heart had given out. Sudden cardiac arrest they said. I was devastated.

It was only a day or two after that that I got the strange phone call.

‘Hello Felicity, you probably don’t remember me, it’s Kenver Angwin. We met once or twice a long time ago when I came up to Edinburgh with my parents to visit Uncle Francis.’

‘Ah, so it must be you who’s selling Francis’s bungalow?’

‘That’s right. I was very sorry to hear about your sister, Honesty’

‘Thanks, it’s left me in pieces.  And your uncle, he’s in a care home now?’

‘That’s right. I never really knew him. Got him a room in a nice place by the seaside. That’s why I’m calling.  It’s the funeral.’

‘The funeral?’

‘Francis heard about it. He intends to come. I’ve booked him a taxi. He says he was very close to your family, a big friend of your mum and dad. He wanted me to take him but it’s not worth me travelling all the way from Cornwall. I thought you could look out for him, make sure he gets back alright?’

‘Yes, ok,’ I replied automatically.

‘I don’t suppose the funeral will take too long anyway, will it?’

‘It’ll be a simple affair Kenver. Honesty didn’t like a lot of fuss. Plain living and plain speaking – that was her mantra. It’s already organised. I’ve briefed a celebrant. He knows all about the main events in Honesty’s life. But he’d still like me to add a few words myself. I have to say I’ve been a bit too shaken to think about it. I don’t really have much idea what I can add.’

‘Yes, alright,’ he replied brusquely, having quickly lost interest. ‘Let me know time and place and I’ll pass it on.’

‘Warriston Crematorium, Thursday the 12th, 11am,’ I said, concisely as possible, and he ended the call.

On the morning of Honesty’s funeral I woke up drenched in sweat having tossed and turned all night. Nightmares in which I was pursued through graveyards at dead of night by blood-dripping vampires and a zombie in a powder blue dress had seemed so real my body was scratched where I’d been desperately searching for my phone to call for help.  No help had been forthcoming.  And then a russet coloured dog with bared fangs and piercing eyes had pinned me down. His claws were about to rip my flesh. The noise that woke me had been my own screaming.  It took a lot of deep breaths before my heart rate steadied, only for it to rise again as I contemplated the funeral, the funeral at which I had to ‘say a few words’ about Honesty, but still hadn’t managed to prepare anything.

Eventually I arose and dared to look in the mirror. With no make-up I was confronted by a rather gaunt and haggard face, that of a grieving, prematurely middle-aged woman. I sagged under the challenge of wrinkles and more grey hairs.

But before dying, Honesty had managed to release a pressure valve in my brain. Things that had been squashed down, forced out of sight for so long, had risen up and been allowed to take shape again. Francis had indeed been a big friendly giant of my early childhood.  And Lydia’s illness – I understood when my mother had explained years later about endometriosis and complications such as renal cell carcinoma that can occur with hysterectomies.  And I was finally coming to a full understanding of my own illness.  In that first year at High School I couldn’t comprehend what had gone wrong with Lydia, just as my own mum and dad couldn’t really understand what was wrong with me. They had initially imagined maybe chicken pox or the ‘flu, then some mysterious virus. Later the doctor guessed it was something, maybe somehow coming out in sympathy with Lydia and her serious illness.  And when mum noticed I was no longer my old effervescent little self she surmised I was simply growing up, changing from a wild harum-scarum child into a more sensibly subdued and self-aware teenager. And my dad put the lack of concentration on schoolwork down to ‘teenage hormones’. He occasionally asked if there was anything wrong, but I couldn’t bear to trespass of adult friendships, didn’t really understand enough to explain anything, and just wanted to forget. When I had recovered enough I focused more on spending time with, and talking to, other local girls my own age.  

But I still couldn’t help seeing Francis and Lydia sometimes. Francis always tried to be very nice to me, bringing me lovely presents for my birthday and Christmas. I had considered it all dead and buried, all pressed into a tiny corner of my mind and forgotten. But the eulogy? I had been unable to set pen to paper. A valedictory address for Honesty was proving too hard to countenance any flummery, hypocrisy, or secrecy. Whenever I started to think about it my last visit with Honesty took over all my thoughts; a fury would suddenly burst out again.

So on the morning of the funeral, in my black suit, black handbag over my arm, hair dyed, face powdered and lipsticked, I sat beside James in the back seat of the black limousine and confessed the whole story to him too. It was a terrible shock for him. He was aghast. His face grew ashen and his lips drew so tight I feared he had murder on his mind.

He said ‘You’ve been so stoic, sis, way too stoic, you’ve borne this burden on your own for far too many years. You were only a child. You were exploited. I didn’t know, but I’m bloody well going to do something about it now!’

And he would have too.  But I took out my mobile phone and made a call. And by the time our slow limousine reached the crematorium I’d convinced him that such a reaction was pointless. I reminded him that we were there to celebrate Honesty’s life, not to commit a crime. ‘And anyway’, I said, ‘Honesty lived a life of straight talking. She despised people who had to resort to violence because they couldn’t bring themselves to fully express what they thought in plain words. Most importantly she never doubted the truth of what I told her. I think that’s how I have to honour her memory now.’

Much as I dreaded giving pain to any grieving neighbours or to Francis’s distant relations, maybe even becoming seen as some kind of pariah amongst those who would refuse to believe me, I now knew what I had to do. Speaking well of the old people was all very nice but it wasn’t always honest.  It’s better to be as candid about the living as the dead.’

It was a reasonably conventional funeral with conventional songs and prayers. The celebrant gave Honesty’s fully detailed life story and then suddenly it was my turn.

‘Honesty’s sister will now offer a few more personal comments on our dear departed friend and loved-one’, intoned the celebrant.

From the front pew I moved slowly up to the lectern and turned to face the scattered congregation of solemn faces, but the only one I saw was Honesty’s ghostly face looking up at me, firm and expectantly.

‘Honesty’s major gift to us all was a willingness to see things as they are and to help others do the same, boldly and unflinchingly.  She approached her own health issues candidly and unsentimentally. She carried that attitude into all aspects of her life.  Through Honesty I’ve been able to confront my own demons in a frank and unadorned fashion.’

In a pew at the back of the chapel I saw an aged ‘Uncle’ Francis leering up at me.

‘When I was a child I knew a friend of my father’s as Uncle Francis. He’s here today. That’s him with the long black coat and tartan scarf in the pew at the back.’ I raised my arm and pointed him out.

Heads turned quizzically and Francis shrank down into the pew, pretending to stare into a hymn book. My parents liked him. But there’s an evil side to Francis. In the past he’s done horrible things to me, and possibly others. I’m not seeking revenge. I’m seeking a frank acknowledgement of what was done and how it affected my life and the lives of others. I’m seeking an openness and awareness in society about the perpetrators of such things. People who look normal but really aren’t.’

There was consternation and audible gasps from the congregation.

Then I added my coup de grâce.

Addressing him directly, I said ‘Francis, your nephew wanted me to look out for you. I have. I will. You’ll find two policemen waiting for you outside this chapel. There’s no hiding place any more - not for you, and for me neither.  I have finally been released from my mental prison. My pain is being laid to rest. But you, your pain hasn’t started yet. You’re finally going to get what you truly deserve.’

[ecotone99]

[SF] Hum

This is how the world ends, not with a bang, but with a hum.

Alexis woke up to another migraine headache. She was becoming worried that something else might be going on, something more serious. She would get migraines periodically, but this one had been persistent for days now.

Her boyfriend Brian walked into the bathroom as she was taking some medicine for her headache.

“I think I need one of those too,” he said, taking the bottle from her and dropping a pill in his hand.

“You’re getting a migraine too?” she asked.

“God, I hope not,” he replied. “I can just feel a headache coming. Maybe we have a cold front coming through.”

Alexis’ headache had been going on for too long for it to be related to the weather, but she wasn’t mentally able to debate it.

They kissed each other and went their separate ways to work.

The day was hard for her. Her migraine was making it hard to concentrate and by the early afternoon, she told her boss she needed to head home early.

When Brian arrived home, he was surprised to see her car in the driveway. He was usually the first one home.

“Alexis?” he called out as he crossed the threshold. No answer.

He dropped his computer bag when he saw her lying unconscious on the kitchen floor, and ran to her.

“Alexis!” he cried out.

He tried to call 911, but kept getting a busy signal.

Not willing to sit there waiting on the call to go through, he scooped her up and carried her to his car. Once she was safely strapped in the back seat, he drove off towards the hospital.

The hospital was in total chaos. Cars where parked on curbs, and a platoon of nurses and doctors were moving quickly to gather up as many of the newly arriving patients as fast as they could.

Brian lifted Alexis out of the car and carried her to the hospital entrance.

“Help me! My wife collapsed!” he cried out, attracting the attention of a male nurse.

“This way,” The nurse told him.

As Brian followed the nurse, he asked, “What’s going on?”

“People have been complaining of headaches now for a couple of days, but those headaches have grown into migraines, and many are starting to collapse,” the nurse said, weaving through the crowd. “We don’t know what’s causing it, but we’re trying to find a solution as quickly as we can.”

He led Brian to an empty bed.

“Lay her here,” the nurse said. “I’ll get a doctor here as fast as I can.”

***

A few hours later, Brian exited the insanely crazy hospital, feeling like he had been stabbed in the heart.

The doctors had done the best they could, but in the end, Alexis slipped away. They were never able to give him a reasonable explanation, and it seemed to be happening to everyone.

Brian rubbed his temple. He could hear a constant hum, and he could feel his headache quickly building.

‘Maybe I’ll be seeing you sooner, rather than later, Alexis’ he thought.

He gave one last look back at the hospital, and knowing there was nothing they could do, he walked away.

***

Professor Donald Williams of the Science Institute held out his sonic measuring device as he walked the halls of the crowded hospital.

He was picking up the same resonating hum that seemed to be everywhere, and the level was constant.

He had hoped the signal would get stronger or weaker as he walked around, giving him an idea of where the source of the signal could be coming from.

Once he was sure he wasn’t going to find any answers at the hospital, he left and drove back to his lab.

He had already deduced that the hum was the cause of all the headaches people were experiencing. A few days before, he had detected the signal, though he couldn’t determine where it was coming from.

When he started seeing his peers around him complaining of headaches, he quickly connected the two, and then tried to find a way to block the signal.

He had informed the hospitals of what he had found, but without a solution, there was nothing any of them could do.

He had started with ear plugs, noise cancelling headphones, and even tried standing in a sound-proof room, but to no avail.

He tried to find the frequency so that he could use an opposite sound wave in an attempt to cancel out the signal, but he wasn’t able to pinpoint the exact frequency.

Though he wasn’t sure where the signal was coming from, one thing he was sure of, was that it was getting stronger, and the stronger it got, the more people it would affect.

He rubbed his hands through his hair, and then gently rubbed his temples.

‘Oh, great,’ he thought. ‘Now it’s happening to me.’

As the day gave way to night, he took aspirin as he continued to work. Anything he could do to keep the headache at bay. He knew the stronger the pain that was invading his head got, the harder it would be to concentrate.

Early in the morning, his phone rang.

“Dr. Williams,” he answered.

“Donald,” his friend and colleague Dr. Tom Burton started. “We’ve found the source of the signal.”

“What?” Donald said. “That’s great, Tom! How do we shut it off?”

“We don’t,” Tom replied.

“What do you mean, we don’t?” Donald asked.

“I mean, it’s out of our reach,” Tom replied.

Donald was confused.

“It’s coming from space,” Tom clarified.

Three hours later, Donald arrived at the university where Tom was a lab professor.

Upon his arrival, they shook hands and Tom lead him to the lab where they had been able to locate the direction the signal was coming from.

“We’re still scanning space to isolate the area from which the signal is coming from, but so far, we haven’t seen anything of note,” Tom explained.

He led Donald to a large machine with a number of displays. Almost all of them where showing the sine waves of the signal that was causing everyone to hear a hum and have headaches.

“The reason we haven’t been able to isolate the frequency, is because it’s being transmitted across all the known frequencies,” Tom explained.

“The signal is very advanced, and we haven’t been able to find a solution on how to stop it,” he continued. “Many of my lab techs are dealing with headaches, and a few have not been able to continue.

“I’ve started to pull as many personnel from other departments to replace them, but as of this morning, only a half dozen of us have yet to experience any headaches. Everyone who has been experiencing the headaches have complained of hearing a constant hum. We can only assume it’s the signal, but every effort to block the signal hasn’t worked.

“The only thing we know for sure is that the signal is getting stronger and that it’s affecting the entire planet. No country is safe, and every scientist in the world is working on a solution.

“As the signal gets stronger, more begin to hear the hum and begin getting headaches. Those that have already been hearing the hum and have headaches, complain that it gets much worse, turning into full-blown migraines.

“Those with migraines don’t last long, as they all end up going to the hospital to seek help, but we have yet to have anyone return.

“Our only hope is, as the signal gets stronger, we can then isolate the source, and that will help us focus our efforts to block the signal, or even signal back, hoping whoever is sending it will stop.”

“Can’t we send a message in the direction we know it’s coming from?” Donald asked.

“We already did,” Tom replied. “But there has been no response. Our hope for now, is that as the signal becomes stronger, the better we’ll be able to find a way to block it.

“Of course, as time goes by, the headaches will only make it more difficult to concentrate, and eventually work at all.”

They both understood the gravity of the situation, and quickly resumed work in the desperate hope of finding a solution.

They both worked through the night, but by morning, Donald was unable to focus, and could only do minimal tasks.

He knew that going to the hospital to seek treatment wouldn’t help, so he decided the best course of action was to keep working until the end.

The end came at three in the afternoon.

Tom, who now had the makings of a pretty bad headache himself, could only spare a few moments to mourn his friend, and then it was back to work.

Tom was in constant contact with scientist from around the world, all working toward the common goal of locating the source of the code, and a way to block it, but as time passed with no new answers, their numbers began to dwindle.

Tom worked tirelessly, as he watched one by one of his colleagues collapse and die shortly thereafter.

His own headaches were getting worse, and he knew he didn’t have much longer.

‘I just wish I could get rid of this stupid hum for just a few minutes,’ he begged to no one in particular.

Taking a short break, he walked down the hall to the break room to grab some coffee. Because of the migraine, he was no longer able to sleep. All he could do was mainline coffee to keep himself as alert as possible.

There were several televisions on and all of them were running reports on the number of deaths the signal was causing.

They droned on about what the governments were working on, possible leads scientists were pursuing, and how much longer they expected the planet to survive.

Apparently, the constant hum was also affecting all the animals, and they were dying off as quickly as their human compatriots.

Tom sipped his coffee, hoping something someone would say would give a clue as to what was happening.

As he stood up to leave, before him stood a humanoid creature staring back at him.

‘Oh God, I’m losing my mind,’ he thought, keeping his gaze on the alien before him.

It looked like it was trying to communicate with him, but all he could hear was that constant hum that was beginning to block out all other sounds.

Tom used hand gestures to convey that he had no idea what the alien was trying to tell him. He felt slightly amused at the thought that he might be actually only talking to himself.

‘I’m about to die, and this is what my mind has defaulted to?’ he asked himself.

He carried on the confusing conversation, when suddenly, the hum grew enormously louder, causing him to drop to one knee in pain.

The alien approached him with a look of wanting to help, but Tom felt like his head was about to explode.

The world around him was becoming increasingly blurry, and with a final shot of pain, his world went black.

***

T’noch snapped his head back as his connection with the human was severed. He shook his head slowly. He couldn’t understand why he was having so much trouble keeping a connection to the creatures that inhabited the planet they were slowly approaching.

He turned around to face his captain and report in his own language.

“Sir, I’ve just lost another connection to another one of those creatures,” he said. “I don’t understand what the issue could be. We have not encountered this issue with any other planet we have visited.

“I began reaching out a cycle ago, and as we have gotten closer, I have been able to make contact with many of them, but after only moments of opening communications with them, the connection is severed, and I’m forced to start over.

“What are your orders?”

The captain looked at him as he contemplated their next move.

“Didn’t you say your connections were becoming easier and more frequent as we neared the planet?” the captain asked.

“Yes, sir,” T’noch replied. “I am able to connect to a being much faster, but the connection never last.”

The Captain nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “While we prefer to announce our arrival ahead of time, so they can better prepare themselves for our arrival, we may have to arrive unexpected and hope for the best.

“Continue your attempts until we arrive. Increase power if you need to.”

“Yes sir,” T’noch replied.

One cycle later, they arrived at the planet they had been attempting to communicate with through a telepathic connection.

“Sir,” T’noch started. “This is strange, but I’m not reading any lifeforms on the planet.”

The Captain stood up in surprise.

“Explain!” he demanded.

“Every living creature on the planet appears to be dead,” T’noch explained.

“The cause?” the Captain asked.

“Unknown, sir,” T’noch answered. “All I can tell is that it happened recently. That may explain why I have not been able to communicate with any of them in half a cycle.”

“Continue the scans,” the Captain instructed. “Once we are sure it wasn’t a virus, or poses a threat to us, we’ll land on the planet for further investigation. In the meantime, begin transmitting to the next planet on our charts. Once we complete our investigation here, we’ll continue on to them.”

“Yes, sir,” T’noch replied.

***

Two cycles later, T’noch reported from the surface back up to the Captain.

“Sir,” he began. “I’m afraid I’ve discovered the cause of their extinction.”

“What was the cause?” the Captain asked.

“I’m afraid it was us,” T’noch replied. “Apparently, their minds were not able to accept the telepathic link, and instead overwhelmed their minds. I’m afraid we inadvertently caused their extinction.”

The Captain, overwhelmed with remorse, shut of communications with T’noch and lowered his head into his hands, and asked, “What have we done?”

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