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skeltnwrites · 5 months ago

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At Least It’s Not the End of the World ♡

After protecting the kids from demodogs and sentient tunnel vines with Steve, a weekend babysitting Holly Wheeler together is supposed to be simple. That is until feelings neither of you expected start to make things way more complicated.

gn!reader, takes place in between seasons two and three, people who fight monsters together to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff 16k

── .✦

It doesn’t take long to remember why Holly is your favorite Wheeler. She’s patient and sweet, amazingly level-headed for a preschooler, and her manners could put some adults to shame. Compared to her siblings, Holly’s a little sweetheart. And a mama’s girl through and through, clinging to Mrs. Wheeler more often than not.

Like now, she wriggles in her mom’s lap, scrunched over a coloring book at the dinner table. She squints at her box of crayons and purses her lips— choosing colors is hard when you’re five. She hasn’t said a peep since you arrived, but in the foyer, she greeted you with a clumsy wave and a sheepish smile.

“It would be Friday afternoon to Monday morning,” Mrs. Wheeler explains, stirring a glass of lemonade with a curly straw. “I’d ask Nance but she’s having a girl's weekend.”

You glance at Steve. You know girl’s weekend is code for spending the night with Jonathan Byers. But if he knows it too, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t so much as bat an eye at her words. In fact, he’s relaxed under Mrs. Wheeler’s gaze. He’s sitting in a chair he’s sat in dozens of times before, talking to a woman he sees more frequently than his own mother.

You don’t know her as well as he does, but you aren’t strangers by any means.

“And Mike, well, he’s not old enough to watch her for that long. But he’ll be staying over at Joyce’s so you don’t have to worry about him,” she pauses to sip her drink. “I’d pay you, of course. I don’t know what your schedules look like— I know you’re probably busy with the new job, Steve— but I figured since it’s a few days, I’d offer it to you both.”

Steve flashes an honest smile and leans forward. “Are you kidding? I’d hang with this squirt for free. I’m actually off this weekend so it works out.”

Mrs. Wheeler beams, eyes springing to yours.

“Yeah, I could help too,” you shrug. You also happen to be free this weekend and the extra cash would be nice.

“Great! You both are so lovely. Oh, I was so worried, I kept telling Ted– well, it doesn’t matter now.” Her bracelets clink and clash as she reaches across the table to cover your hand with hers. “You’ll have to keep an eye on these two. She becomes quite the riot when her Stevie comes over.”

Steve chuckles and raises his hands in defense. “She owes me a rematch at Candyland so I can’t promise anything.”

Mrs. Wheeler’s fingers retract from yours, landing on the end of Holly’s pigtail. “She’s really missed having you over. Asks about you still.”

Holly ducks her nose into her paper, pink traveling up her ears.

“Is that right?” Steve teases. “I’ll have to swing by more often.”

“Please. You’re welcome anytime, Steve. Whether Nancy’s here or not.” Her attention drifts to you. “And the same goes for you. Mike won’t stop talking about that comic book you gave him.”

A smug grin surfaces. Out of all of the kids, Mike is a tough one to please.

“I’ve never been away from Holly for so long. But I trust you guys.” Mrs. Wheeler pecks Holly’s crown to hide a wobbly smile, her sentence spilling out in a breathy string of words.

She really does trust you both. It would take another set of hands to count the number of times either you or Steve had driven her kids home safely. This is just different. She loves all of her kids equally, but Holly’s her baby.

Holly’s eyes cast up at her mention, bright as a sunlit gem.

Mrs. Wheeler smooths her daughter’s sleeves down her shoulders. “But Holly’s a good girl. Right, Hollybear?”

She turns to bury a toothy smile in her mother’s shirt.

Mrs. Wheeler is meticulous as she presents each and every detail of Holly’s routine. From car seat safety to emergency contacts to allergies, she covers every question you might have before you have it.

Steve’s a good listener but he’s cursed with a very short attention span. Mrs. Wheeler lost him somewhere around Holly’s sudden aversion to mac and cheese, but she doesn’t seem to notice. You’ll fill in the gaps for him later.

This won’t be the first time you’ve babysat with Steve. Dustin roped you both into hunting his pet lizard-turned-alien which very quickly escalated to protecting four children from not one, but several, vicious aliens. Safe to say you two are experienced enough to handle one kid for a couple of nights.

You haven’t seen Steve much since then. It’s summer now. The demodogs and sentient tunnel vines feel much more like a dream than something that actually happened to you these days. Steve works at the Scoops in Starcourt, or so you’ve heard several times– Dustin only reminds you about every time you see him. But despite being as close to death as you’ve ever been beside Steve, visiting him at work feels strangely wrong. Like crossing a line that neither of you ever drew.

You would not consider Steve Harrington your friend. You’re friendly, as you might be with a neighbor or coworker, but you don’t talk much outside of world-ending, portal-to-another-dimension kind of events. He’s family in a weird sort of way, bound by the shared trauma and unspoken loyalty— like someone you only see at family reunions, familiar enough to care about but still a stranger in most ways. High school was a long blur and your circle of friends couldn’t have been farther from his. So you don’t know Steve, not really. But of what little pieces of him you have come to know in the last year, he’s not half bad at babysitting.

ᯓ★

On Friday afternoon, you park your car beside Steve’s shiny BMW in the Wheeler’s driveway. You take the house key that had been slipped from Mrs. Wheeler’s key ring to yours and unlock the front door. And you find that inside, it’s completely silent. Holly’s quiet as a mouse but she’s still a kid and kids make noise.

Your bag drops onto the floor beside Steve’s shoes as you toe off your own. When the kitchen and living room turn up empty you jog upstairs. Alarm sinks in on the last step where you still hear nothing. No shouting, no laughing, no crying, no nothing.

There’s a large window in the hall upstairs, dividing Nancy’s room from Mike's and Holly’s. In your panic, you miss the suspicious lumps in the drapes that frame it.

As you brush by, Steve rips the curtain across the rod and shouts, “Ha! Gotch– Oh.”

Your entire body jerks, fear cinching every nerve. “Christ! Steve!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

Your nostrils flare with hot air as you shove him, “You scared me!”

His open palms hover in between your chests, unsure how to help. “I thought you were Holly. Sorry.” He gives you an apologetic once-over before a breathy chuckle escapes.

“It’s not funny. All the shit we’ve been through. God.” He’s lucky you didn’t punch him. A part of you still wants to.

“Mommy says that’s not a nice word,” Holly says from behind you.

You turn, shoulders sagging in relief. “I didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.”

“Stevie, I was supposed to find you,” she whines incredulously, hands planted on her hips.

“We can go again. I’ll find a new spot.”

Her frown mends as quickly as it appeared and she skips back to her room to count.

“Sorry,” Steve reminds you. “Help me find a spot to hide?”

Soft eyes, a softer smile. It’s hard to stay mad when he looks at you like that. “Okay.”

Twenty seconds isn’t very long to hide. Especially when Holly counts as fast as she does and when you spend half of your time standing in the hall. So you end up crouched in the corner of Mike’s closet, Steve arched over you, trying his hardest not to crush your toes.

“Jesus. Does this kid even wash his clothes?” Steve whisper-shouts. “It smells like something died in here.” His palm snaps to the wall behind your head, the flesh of his arm warming your ear.

“You actually couldn’t have picked a worse place. Oh my God.” You press the neckline of your shirt over your nose. Steve’s wearing enough cologne to drown out the stench of dirty socks, though it’s choking you all the same.

“We had like three seconds. I panicked!”

You’re glaring at him but only a fraction of light filters in from underneath the door so you’d guess he doesn't see.

The closet is the first place Holly checks when she barges into Mike’s room, but you’ve never been happier to be caught so fast.

“My turn!” She glows in victory, pigtails swishing like yellow ribbons as she shouts.

Steve huffs. “Let’s take a break. We’ve been playing for like an hour.”

“Can we play tag?”

“In a little while. I’m tired.” He pinches her neck playfully until she squirms out of reach. “How’d you have all that energy?”

She shrugs with her whole body. “I dunno. I’m a kid.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat. When your eyes flit to Steve you find him already smiling at you.

“What about something a little more chill,” you suggest. “We could color?”

“Bracelets?”

“You want to make some?”

She nods, “I can’t reach them. The beads are on top of my closet.”

“I’ll get ‘em,” Steve offers. “Come show me where.”

You fan out her multitude of craft containers across the kitchen table. Beads, charms, strings, all neatly filed away. She pops open a lid and plunks down across from you. Steve takes the seat at the end in between.

“What color bracelet are you gonna make?” you ask, raking through the rainbow of options.

“Umm, yellow. No– green!”

“Nice. Here’s a cute little frog charm. Want that?”

“Mmmm. No, thank you.”

“I’ll take it,” Steve says, stretching his hand toward you.

You drop it in the center of his palm where it clinks against a handful of blue beads. They’re pretty and vibrant like the sea. A flicker of an idea pulls you to grab your own handful.

Holly slides four beads onto a string, two lime green and two baby pink. She drags the other end up and they all slip off, bouncing in separate directions across the table. You smack one before it dives onto the floor and Steve catches another two mid-air.

“Can you help me tie it?” Holly asks from under her chair, searching for the fourth.

“Sure.” Steve swaps his bracelet for hers, triple knotting one end. “I like these colors.”

She resurfaces with a grin, voice lilting as she speaks, “Do you like purple?”

“Yeah, purple’s okay. Do you?”

She nods, pinching a lilac gem and examining it.

You slip into a peaceful rhythm. The bead bin rattles as Steve digs his fingers in. He murmurs something about sparkles as he shuffles. Every now and then, you peek up at him. And each time, you find that he’s fully absorbed in this, rubbing his chin or poking his tongue out in concentration. You’d even bet he’s having fun.

“Can you tie it on me,” Holly asks when she finishes.

Steve takes her hand gently, fingers engulfing her tinier ones. “This good?” He tugs the strings across each other at her permission, sealing it with an extra knot for good measure.

Holly starts a second one as you finish your first. You hold it up triumphantly for them to see– red and blue beads between every white pearl.

“Very patriotic,” Steve teases.

“It’s for you. For scoops. These are the colors right?”

He softens, eyes rounding like brown buttons. “Wait, really? Thank you. Wow.” He inspects it fondly where you release it in his palm. “Will you tie it?” His arm shoots over to your side of the table.

You feel his gaze shift from the bracelet to your face as you lace it. And you pretend that it doesn’t make your cheeks burn.

“You don’t have to wear it to Scoops if you don’t want to,” you mumble, releasing his wrist.

“What? Of course, I’m wearing it. No one’s ever made me a bracelet before.”

Your lips bend up into your cheeks as he leans back in his seat. He twists and turns his arm, looking it over again with a similar expression. “Now, it was supposed to be a surprise, but since I’m almost done, I actually made this for you.” He scoops up the piece he’s been working on and waves it in front of you.

You cock an eyebrow and smirk. “You sure you didn’t just decide that since I gave you one.”

“I didn’t! I was planning this the whole time! Right Holly, didn’t I say that?”

“No?”

“Holly, come on now.” He elbows her arm. “Supposed to back me up.”

“But you didn’t,” she giggles.

“Holly doesn’t lie, Steve.”

“Okay, I didn’t say it. But I thought it. I was gonna give it to you I swear.” He jams another couple of beads on his string. “See! Look, it has your favorite color on there.”

“It has every color on there.”

“One of which is your favorite.”

You roll your eyes as he takes your wrist. His hands are warmer than yours, softer than you expect too. He stills as your palm flips face up. A jagged, fleshy ridge runs from the bottom of your pinky to the meat of your thumb. Steve was there when you got the scar. He’s never said it, but you know he blames himself for it. A demodog had you pinned in that damned junkyard school bus so Steve pushed you out of the way but you caught yourself on a broken window.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

His head dips in a silent nod. He isn’t sure whether to believe you or not. Either way, he feels sorry still.

His bracelet is a statement piece for sure. It truly has every color under the sun and a random assortment of charms and shells. But it’s sweet that he gave it to you. Even if he totally did not plan to do so at first.

He makes a second bracelet for Holly with purple string and butterfly pendants. Holly gives her next one to him as thanks, then begins on a third for you.

Steve stands from the table. “I’m hungry. Grilled cheese okay for dinner Holly?” She nods as do you when he asks you the same.

Your focus drifts between him and the necklace you’re starting for Holly. He coasts around the kitchen naturally, like you imagine he would in his own house. But it’s a bizarre sight. Steve Harrington cooking you food, in the Wheeler’s kitchen out of all places.

And he’s about as good as a chef as you expect him to be. He’s clumsy and uncertain, even dropping a spatula on the floor with an, “Oh, shi–ugar…” But he kindly refuses to accept any help or advice when you offer.

He eventually swings around the kitchen island, brimming with pride, one plate in each hand. They’re set in the space you’ve cleared and you quickly see that the sandwiches have been cut adorably into stars. You just as quickly see– and smell– how burnt they are. They aren’t black, they’re edible for sure. But Holly’s five, and polite as she is, most kids would never willingly eat this.

So you aren’t surprised when she looks at it in disgust, borderline horror.

“Look, it’s a star,” Steve beams, oblivious.

Your chest aches with the desire to laugh and an equal pang of sympathy.

Holly shakes her head, visibly toning down her expression for his sake. “Can I have something else?”

“It’s good! I promise, just try it.”

She slowly shakes no again.

“Steve,” a peel of laughter escapes your lips. “It’s burnt.”

He scoffs. “It’s not that burnt.”

Your mouth twitches in a funny little line and your eyes leap between him and the plate. “It’s pretty burnt, Steve.”

After a moment of silence, he sighs and picks both plates back up.

“Wait,” you shout, “I’ll still eat mine! Mine isn’t that bad. You did a good job!”

He sulks at you. “You’re just saying that. I’ll make new ones.”

“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll eat this one. I don’t mind.”

He plants the plate in your grabby hands and spins back toward the stove.

Round two is much better, still star-shaped, and a few shades lighter. Holly thanks him more than once while eating it without you even asking her to. If only Nancy and Mike were as precious as her. And Steve eats the first attempt, now cold, and admits that it tastes, “slightly burnt.”

You take the empty plates to the sink to wash while Steve and Holly lug the jewelry kits back upstairs. You meet them in Holly’s room after. They’re playing house, Steve the dad, and Holly the mom, with four babydolls for children. She appoints you to be the neighbor when you join.

You knock on her bedpost, pretending it’s her front door. “Holly, in one hour you’re gonna take a bath.”

Her head pops out from under the blanket. “Can we watch a movie before bed?”

“Sure, but we have to do bath now if you wanna watch the whole thing.”

“Okay!” She kicks the sheets away, jumping off the bed in a race to the bathroom. Steve winces as she steps on his hand.

“Do you need help?” he asks, sprawled across the bed, socked feet hanging over the edge.

“No, I got it. You can rest in peace now,” you joke, halfway through the door.

Holly is self-sufficient enough to bathe herself so all you have to do is supervise. You find a matching polka dot set of pajamas in her dresser and a towel under the bathroom sink. And she gets dry and dressed all by herself, Miss Independent.

“So there’s The Little Mermaid, E.T., Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory…” Steve trails off, kneeling in front of the entertainment center.

Holly hands him a VHS tape, “This one?”

“Ooh, good pick.” Steve feeds the tape into the player and rewinds it.

You pat the couch cushion beside yours as Holly skips over. Steve hits the light before flopping into the recliner with a satisfied groan. The Jungle Book glows to life on the TV, casting an indigo wash over each of your faces. Holly curls into herself, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them.

“Here,” Steve chucks a blanket from the basket at his side.

“Thanks.” You scoop it off the floor where it missed the couch and billow it out over you and Holly. “Don’t fall asleep, Harrington.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve folds one leg over the other and crosses his arms, eyes glued to the screen. He reminds you of Mr. Wheeler sitting in his recliner like that. It’s alarming how attractive you find it. He’s not even doing anything worth staring at. You force your eyes back on the TV.

The credits scroll up the screen for a whole minute before you realize the movie has ended. You aren’t asleep but you aren’t totally awake either. Steve’s not far off by the looks of it and Holly, on the other hand, was out like a light halfway through. Her head presses into your upper arm, her hand scrunched in the blanket on your thigh. The weight is nice, making it all the harder to pick yourself up and get her to bed.

But thankfully Steve’s there to help. He twists in his chair until his back clicks, smiling when he catches sight of you and Holly. “I’ll carry her up,” he whispers.

You gently work Holly’s stubborn fingers from the blanket as Steve stands. He pushes the rest of the fabric into your lap before bending to scoop Holly up.

“Be right back,” he says, starting toward the stairs.

You tug the blanket higher, seeking lost comfort in its folds, though it doesn’t compare to the warmth Holly provided.

Steve pads back down not a minute later. He stops on the last step, hanging over the railing. “You awake?”

“Barely,” you mumble.

Steve plods up to the front door to check the locks. He orbits into the kitchen and then back around to the living room to turn the TV off. He’s being the responsible one. You aren’t sure why this surprises you.

“Come on,” he opens his hand toward you.

Your arm snakes out from under the blanket, and he lifts you effortlessly. You’ve seen how strong he is, how he fights, but it still surprises you.

“I was gonna suggest another movie but I don’t think either of us’ll make it.”

You catch a yawn from Steve. “I know. I’m so tired. It’s not even late.”

He hums from behind you on the stairs. “Yeah. Who knew this’d be so exhausting.” He’s only being slightly sarcastic. There’s an obvious truth to what he implied, but at the same time, it is so much harder than you realized it would be.

You stop at the landing, sluggishly turning to face Steve. “Well, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight.”

You splinter into opposite ends of the hall. Steve let you have Nancy’s room for obvious reasons, though he wasn’t thrilled about crashing in Mike’s bed. He’s probably better off on the couch after seeing the kid’s closet.

You change into cozier clothes and untuck Nancy’s quilt. Like with Steve, you and Nancy aren’t really friends. It’s strange being in her room, settling into her bed. And it’s almost stranger that Steve is sleeping across the hall. Yet, there’s an odd comfort in it— being surrounded by people who went through the same thing you did.

ᯓ★

There’s thumping in the hall– footsteps, too light to be Steve’s. You fight the urge to go back to sleep. Holly needs a babysitter. But it’s not an easy feat, not when you’re swaddled like a baby in blankets much softer than the ones you have at home. You’re warm and it’s so quiet it feels like a gift; that is, until you remind yourself that kids and quiet don’t usually go hand and hand. She could be answering the door to a stranger, scaling the counters, setting the kitchen on fire, the possibilities are endless.

You force your heavy eyes open and flinch as a much brighter pair come into focus.

Holly bends over you with this innocent endearment you cannot possibly be mad to be woken by. “Told you, Stevie,” she says.

“No, you woke ‘em up, goofball.” Steve lingers at the foot of the bed in a pair of striped pajama pants and a faded Olympics tee. You’ve never seen him in pajamas before, or anything quite like it.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and rub your eyes for a better look.

“Sorry,” he supplies. His voice is still raspy with sleep and his oh-so-perfect hair shoots up in wild peaks. The sight makes your chest buzz. “She said you had to get up to.”

You redirect your attention to Holly, pinching the neckline of your shirt back over your shoulder as you sit up.

“Can we have eggs?” she asks you.

“Sure.”

She traps her lip between her two frontmost baby teeth. “Five?”

“Five eggs!” Steve chides. “Just for you?”

She turns to nod at him, smile blooming.

He wears the same joy, ruffling her already unruly bed-head. “What are you a linebacker?”

She giggles, clueless as to what he’s talking about.

“Let’s start with two and if you’re still hungry you can have more,” you compromise.

You are undeniably a better cook than Steve, but the bar is low after yesterday. You serve scrambled eggs and unburnt toast. Holly looks at her plate like she hasn’t been fed a day in her life and she shovels spoonfuls of it in her mouth like it’s her last meal.

Steve watches her with an anxious frown. “Smaller bites, Holl.”

She nods but doesn’t exactly slow her pace. Steve chases your eyes, knocking your ankle with his when you don’t look. He gives you that funny face parents make. Help me out.

You shrug. “It’s just eggs. Babies eat eggs.”

He cycles through several emotions—frustration that you won’t back him up, disbelief that babies eat eggs, and a lingering fear that she might choke. But he stops himself from asking all the what-ifs, he trusts you.

Holly swallows half of her glass of chocolate milk in one go. Steve looks mildly horrified.

“My God. She’s like a little human vacuum,” he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

You snort into your glass. If Holly heard him, she’s too preoccupied to care.

After breakfast, Steve sets her up in front of the TV to watch cartoons while you clear the table. He disappears into the basement in search of a board game but comes back with some deflated, plastic thing.

“What happened to the board game?” you ask. “What even is that?”

“It’s a kiddie pool. Let’s go outside. It’s nice out.”

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“Me neither. Just wear that.”

You wrinkle your nose down at your pajamas. “Go see if she wants to.”

He smiles, retreating back into the living room. Shortly after, he shouts, “She said yes!” Footsteps pound up the stairs, followed by a second shout, “Don’t run!”

Mrs. Wheeler calls the house phone and is pleased to hear your good report. She reminds you several times to apply sunscreen to Holly’s ears and that there’s an extra can in the upstairs bathroom. You wrangle Holly over to put her on and promise to call back before bedtime when she refuses to hang up.

You sift through your bag, changing into the closest thing to swimwear. Steve takes forever in the bathroom, which doesn’t surprise you one bit. He comes out in a crisp white tee, way too expensive-looking for a pool day, and a pair of red gym shorts.

“What are you, the lifeguard?” you joke.

His hands snap to his hips. “Uhh, I’ll have you know I’ve been a certified lifeguard for two years, so yeah, actually.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past him for the extra can of sunscreen. “Are you ready? Holly’s waiting.”

“Yeah. Let me go blow up the pool. I’ll be outside.”

You fix your hair in the mirror and tuck a few towels under your arm before heading downstairs. Holly’s already outside, criss-crossed in a big lawn chair and watching Steve with incredible boredom. He stands barefoot in the grass, the deflated pool pressed against his chest. He pulls away from the air valve when he notices you, quickly capping it with his thumb.

“You okay?” you ask, laughing lightly.

He nods, red-cheeked and breathless. “Think there’s a hole in it. Been blowin’ for like five minutes.”

“Huh,” you drop the towels and take one end of the limp plastic. “Try again.”

He funnels more air inside, it dispurses evenly underneath your palm. You don’t hear any air wheezing out so you turn it over for further inspection.

“Oh, Steve. Here, look.”

He pops his mouth off and follows your pointer finger. A second valve at the bottom, unhinged and releasing his hard work steadily.

“Oh, you’re kidding me. Why’d they put one under there?”

You shrug, plugging it back up. “Holly, let’s get some sunscreen on so your mom doesn’t kill us.”

Holly hops off the chair and skips to your side. You mist her skin in several layers, lathering a generous amount over her ears. When you move onto yourself, she grabs her basket of toys and climbs into the dry inflatable. Steve retrieves the hose and releases a cool stream into the pool, splashing Holly’s feet.

She squeals and scoots back. “Cold!”

Steve’s thumb eclipses the opening so the water bursts out in wide a fan. He trains it at Holly, spraying her until she’s soaked and screaming.

He’s giggling in a way you’ve never heard. Genuine, open-mouthed reels of laughter. You hate to admit it, but it’s really cute. So infectious you can’t help but join.

He glances back for your reaction, pleasantly satisfied. And your smile incites a great idea. He swings the hose around, aiming it straight at you.

“Steve!” Your arms shoot out to block the attack but it’s no use.

“What?” he says, the epitome of innocence.

Your eyes narrow but a smirk prevails. “Oh, you–”

Holly tackles the back of his thigh with a scream. Steve stumbles forward and the hose slips from his grasp.

You lunge for it before he even realizes what happened. And by the time he does, he’s already drenched. “Payback!” You laugh maniacally as he combs his hair out of his eyes.

He’s laughing too, bent at the waist, still shaking his surprise. But only until he catches your gaze– then comes the glint of something playful, almost daring.

Steve barrels straight through the spray like a bull. He chokes your fingers over the nozzle, bending and bending the line until the water pours straight down your head.

Holly dashes behind you to wrangle the wiggly tail of the hose, squealing at every layer of mist she catches.

You and Steve wrestle with it, his hand on your hip, yours pushing his shoulder. He’s gentle but still strong. And his touch sears through the cold water, your skin tingling in his wake.

The second he sticks the end down the back of your shirt you scream. “Okay, okay! I surrender!”

He crimps the hose with one hand, smirking deviously.

“I surrender,” you repeat, heaving through your laughter.

Holly drops her end of the hose, backing up one slow step at a time.

“Truce?”

“Truce,” you nod, stepping up cautiously to shake his hand.

He accepts your hand, using it to yank you closer and blast you again. You chase and dodge and tackle each other under the blazing sun until your legs feel like jelly. But the game eventually slows as exhaustion creeps in.

You and Steve collapse in the lawn chairs while Holly lays belly-down in the pool. Water sloshes over the rim onto your toes as she kicks, a brief reprieve from the sticky heat. You're relaxed, but your mind wanders. You keep hoping the Wheelers won’t notice the sudden increase in their water bill.

“Dustin talks about you all the time.”

You tear your eyes away from Holly, blinking back into reality as you face Steve. “What?”

“Dustin, he talks about you all the time. Kid loves you.”

“Oh. He’s a sweet kid. Talks about you too. Keeps telling me to come see you at Scoops.”

Steve chuckles, more of a half-hearted puff of amusement than a real one.

“Which, I’m sorry I haven’t, by the way,” you confess.

His eyebrows jump, lips parting in soft surprise. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. He’s just being Dustin.”

You press a blade of grass flat under your heel, as if the right words might sprout from the dirt. “I dunno. I mean, don’t you think it’s kinda weird that we don’t like talk? After everything?”

The words bounce around Steve’s head for a minute. He fixates on your choice of weird. Weird, like bad? Weird like you want to talk? He can’t decide. And he’s afraid if he opens his mouth, the wrong words will tumble out.

But he tries anyway, “Honestly, I thought you didn’t want to be friends. You were just so… distant after.”

You rub the length of your arm, lips creasing into a frown. “Sorry, I was just. I don’t even know. Rattled, I guess.”

“Yeah, rabid dogs with faces that split open and try to eat you tend to have that effect.”

Your frown melts, little by little.

“But we should’ve been there for you more. It was a hard time for everybody.”

His apology echoes in your mind, the ache like a weight on your chest.

“You could visit if you wanted to. At scoops. I could get you ice cream for free.”

But the ache doesn’t stand a chance against the way he makes you feel.

“Okay.” Your cheeks round with a sincere smile. “I’d like that.”

He turns his head, as if to hide, but you still catch an echo of your own expression. Your eyes flicker across the contours of his profile, following the graceful line from his ear to his collar, before drifting over the sculpted shape of his arms and the long expanse of his thighs. Steve Harrington is objectively attractive. This isn’t the first time you’ve thought so. But it is the first time that fact makes your head spin.

Maybe it’s the heat. The sun feels like it's roasting you alive, and Steve’s attractiveness certainly isn't helping. You’re feeling strange, thinking crazy things– the kind of thoughts that only come when you’re on the verge of heat stroke certainly.

You stand abruptly and the grass sways underneath your feet. But you get your bearings before anyone notices. “Holly, can I come sit in the pool?”

Her eyes pop up, grin distorted underneath the water. She props her elbow up and rests her cheek in the palm of her hand. “What’s the password?”

“Umm, can you give me a hint?”

A high-pitched hum. “Okay. She’s my favorite character.”

“Uhh, Barbie?”

“Nooo.”

“Strawberry Shortcake?”

“Nooo.”

“Hello Kitty?”

“You’re really bad at this,” she giggles. It would be really cute if you weren’t possibly dying right now.

“It’s Care Bears,” Steve interjects, snapping his fingers. “Uhh, the yellow one. Umm, Funshine!”

“Yes!” Holly glows like the sun on Funshine herself. “Stevie can come in.”

Steve stands but he doesn’t get in. “Come on, Holl. It’s hot.”

“There’s a new password.”

“Okay, okay. Can I have another hint?” you ask.

Her tongue curls out to lick the sweat off her lip. “My favorite color.”

“Purple?”

“Yes,” she nods and sits up. “But I really like yellow and blue and pink too.”

You sink into the water, unsure if there was ever a wrong answer. It’s shallow and lukewarm, barely grazing the tops of your thighs, but it’s enough to cool the sun off your skin. Steve follows, and the space tightens awkwardly— the inflatable wasn’t built for three. His knee brushes yours while Holly’s toes nudge your foot, but neither of them seems to mind.

You cup water up to your cheeks and pour it down your arms.

“Better?” Steve asks, a droll little pinch to his features.

He’s staring at you which is definitely not helping but you nod anyway.

“Why don’t we move to the shade?” He stands before you or Holly agrees, offering his hand to pull you up.

She races Steve to the nearest tree, though he doesn't stand much of a chance dragging the pool behind him. He refills it with fresh water and encourages Holly to splash you gently while he runs inside to make lunch. By the time he returns, you’re feeling much more yourself.

“Bon Appétit,” Steve announces, lowering himself slowly onto a towel. He carries three animal-shaped plates stocked with fruit and PB&Js, one in each hand, another balanced on his forearm.

Holly scrambles out of the water, plopping onto the other end of his towel. You get out too, shaking a second one out to lay beside theirs.

“Lion or hippo?” he asks Holly.

She hums for a long time, inspecting each plate meticulously before pointing to the lion.

“Good choice.” He sets the plate in front of her crossed legs and passes you the hippo. Steve takes the polar bear for himself, which notably only has half a sandwich.

“Where’s the other half?” you ask.

He takes a large bite, pressing his hand to his mouth to reply, “Ran out of bread.”

“Here.” You rip one of your halves in half.

“Thanks,” he says, syllables tangling as he chews.

Holly watches the interaction fondly before pulling apart her own sandwich. It splits in a jagged line, mostly crust on one half. But happily, she thrusts the bigger piece toward Steve, jelly dribbling down her little fist.

He tilts his head, a growing smile mirroring yours. “You eat it. I have enough now.”

She crinkles her nose. “You eat it!”

“No, you!” He squeezes her slim bicep. “You need to get big and strong.”

“What about you?”

“I’m already big and strong.”

She considers this, giving him an obvious once-over that makes you laugh. “Trade?”

“Okay, trade.” Steve chuckles, exchanging one of his halves for hers. He licks a stripe across his knuckle where her sticky fingers brushed his. It’s as innocent as the gesture can be but something about it has your cheeks burning in a way the sun couldn’t.

Conversation tapers off, replaced with an easy quiet. Your stomach is satisfied with the food, but it’s your heart that feels the most nourished, steeped in the comfort of good company. You hadn’t expected to enjoy hanging out with Steve or Holly this much.

Holly slouches into your arm, stretching her legs across the grass like a bridge between the towels. Her heels push into the pudge of Steve’s thigh, the faintest smirk crossing her lips.

He squeezes her ankle until it darts away.

Gradually, she presses again and in turn, he squeezes, but this time he doesn’t let go. She squeals as he drags her down your side. But all hell breaks loose when he starts tickling the bottom of her foot.

She shrieks, thrashing and squirming against his hold, giggling in between gasps. “Ste–vie!” she cries.

Her laugh is too pure of a sound to be real, Steve thinks. His resolve crumbles, grip faltering. And Holly’s heel slams smack into his jaw. Steve winces, bending away to cradle his cheek.

You straighten up. “You okay? Let me see.”

Holly’s legs go limp in the grass, her shoulders tense in your lap.

Steve’s hand slackens unveiling a red splotch not much darker than his sunburnt cheeks. He meets your eyes with a dismissive shake, “It’s okay.”

You believe him. It doesn’t look nearly awful enough to make your concern stick. And his face has been through worse. Billy Hargrove painting his fists red with Steve’s blood is one of the things you remember most about that night.

His attention dips down to Holly. She sniffles, eyes glistening in the sunlight with a frown nearly reaching her chin.

“It’s okay. I’m okay, Holl.”

Holly putters, whimpers drowning the edges of her words. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay! I promise! It doesn’t even hurt,” he reassures, cupping her kneecap.

You tug her off the ground and she sinks into your arms naturally. Hot tears pave a path down your neck only to dissolve in the fabric of your shirt. You coax her sobs out, one back rub at a time.

Steve waits until she settles with this pitiful look on his face. “I know you didn’t mean to Hollybear. Just an accident. Hmm?”

She nods against your chin.

He strokes the back of her arm, fingers grazing yours where they work. “Please don’t cry.”

Holly sniffles.

“You know what might help me feel better?” She lifts a sweaty cheek off your chest as Steve opens his arms. “A hug.”

She pushes out of your hands into his. He holds her tight, providing one loving squeeze after another.

This is not how you pictured Steve to be under normal babysitting circumstances. A voice like sweet honey, eyes warm like the sun. He’s very soft, and so undeniably kind. And not just to Holly, but also you.

Steve hooks the spare towel closer, draping it across her back. “Lean back,” he tells her.

She avoids his gaze as she does, tears melting away under his touch.

“You know what I think?” He cinches the towel at her collar like a cloak.

She hums.

“I think we should have popsicles for dessert.”

Holly meets his eyes then, excitement glimmering underneath the droop of lingering guilt.

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” she admits meekly.

A smirk thins his lips. “I dunno though. What if we get a tummy ache?” He pokes her belly through the towel. “Maybe it’s not–”

“No– I want one!”

“I dunnooo,” he sings.

“Please, Stevie! You already said.”

“How bad do you want it? Like this much?” He pinches his fingers together, leaving the slightest gap between them.

“No, no!” She shakes her head, casting her arms out as far as they’ll go. “This much!”

He sighs loudly, shoulders sagging for the dramatic touch. “Okay.”

Holly’s arms curl around his neck as he stands. He’s more than happy to carry her, but the added weight makes him groan.

You trail behind automatically, half enjoying the show and just as excited for a treat. Steve pins the back door open with his foot, returning a smile you hadn’t realized you were sharing. Your cheeks are starting to protest, sore with overwhelming happiness.

“What color do you want?”

“Pink! Pink!” Holly shouts in his ear, loud enough to make you wince. But Steve doesn’t react in the slightest to her volume. You’d all taken a piece of the Upside Down with you after El sealed it up. And just when you seemed to forget it, you’d be reminded in the form of scars, nightmares, headaches, and in Steve’s case, hearing loss.

He opens the freezer, Holly propped on his hip. She’s far too big to be carried like that comfortably but he does it anyway.

“Pink for Holly. Red for Steve.” He leans back to find your face. “For you?”

You purse your lips, “Surprise me.”

Steve stows Holly on the countertop so he can snip the plastic tips. She receives her popsicle first, then you, and finally Steve.

“Matching,” Holly observes as you sit beside them on the couch.

Steve crosses his popsicle over your identically red one when you raise an eyebrow. “Look at that,” he says.

She hums, gnawing on the plastic wrapper. Steve pushes the ice up for her and thumbs away the dribble at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t seem to notice, but it catches you off guard. Steve’s such a natural at this you almost can’t believe he’s an only child.

You turn the TV on to an episode of Care Bears as Holly slumps into Steve’s chest, slurping the last of her slush loudly.

“Sleepy?” you ask when she kneads her eyes.

“No.”

You chuckle, combing her frizz back. “Okay.”

“You know, it’s okay if you are sleepy,” Steve mentions, equally amused.

“I know. I’m not.” Her tone is casual, a portrait of nonchalance, despite the yawn that slips out afterward.

You and Steve exchange a look of mutual fondness.

“I’m pretty tired,” Steve declares, reclining into the cushions with a fake yawn. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

Holly twists against him to watch. It doesn’t take long for her little fingers to poke and prod his lashline.

He peels one eye open, playfully cocking an eyebrow.

She giggles and pinches the skin closed.

You’re trapped between nervously supervising she doesn’t poke his eye out and leaving to get a baby wipe for her hands which you imagine are very sticky with popsicle juice. Either way, you’ll be surprised if Steve doesn’t have pink eye by morning.

“I’m sleeping,” he whines and headbutts her palm gently.

“Nooo,” she whines back, wedging her hand across his mouth. Delirium is setting in, a nap is imminent.

Steve opens his eyes, giddy just the same. “Okay. You got me.”

Holly frees his mouth to swipe a streak of red from his chin. Her tongue pokes out in prime concentration.

A staggered laugh of disbelief is shaken from Steve’s chest. He hadn’t expected Holly to be difficult, but she’s been nothing short of delightful. She’s sweeter than Mike and Nancy combined and smarter than he thought kids her age could be. For a self-indulgent second, he hopes that his kids will turn out something like her.

Holly reels back around to lay on her side, eyelids sagging with an inevitable heaviness. Steve draws the towel up to her chin, fixing his palm to her back. You watch her drift off, eyes slipping up every so often.

When you’re positive she’s out, you cautiously dislodge the popsicle wrapper from her fingers. Steve passes his as you stand.

One of the many hard things about kids is all the cleaning. Holly’s as neat as a five-year-old gets, and still, every moment of peace is an opportunity spent putting things back where they belong. You head outside to tip the pool over and collect stray towels and toys that didn’t make it back in.

By the time you return, Steve’s passed out, mouth ajar, head craned back against the couch. It’s not a particularly attractive expression– he’d probably be embarrassed to wake to your staring– but you can’t find anything other than endearment in yourself.

You shower and change into fresh clothes and end up on the opposite couch to watch TV. But Care Bears isn’t all that entertaining anymore so you rest your eyes for just a second.

A second turns to several and when you reopen your eyes you discover the clock is two hours ahead of where it was before.

The silence is only comforting for a fleeting moment before anxiety creeps in. Your eyes flick from the TV, now powered off, to the other couch where Steve and Holly are not where you left them. Nor are they in the dining room, kitchen, basement, or backyard. You take the stairs two steps at a time and nearly trip over a blanket strewn across the banister when Holly screams.

You’d have kicked her door off the hinges if it came to it but are thankful it’s already open. Holly is perfectly safe, bent over the remnants of what you assume was a pillow fort.

You release a breath caught in your throat and sag against the doorframe. Steve offers an apologetic smile when he notices.

Holly glances over but quickly returns to their game. “You’ve destroyed my kingdom!” she shouts, drilling a finger into Steve’s chest. “Off with your head!”

You’re too stunned to laugh, but a noise of confusion skips out. Steve gawks at Holly in pretend despair, scrubbing any seeping amusement off his lips with the back of his hand. He’s dressed in sweats, Holly in a princess dress. But more importantly, his face has been caked in makeup and his hair twisted into two fluffy knots.

“You!” Holly yells with a scowl aimed at you. “Hold him down!”

Steve pleads at your ankles, pressing his forehead to the carpet in prayer. It takes every ounce of you not to break character and laugh. There’s something so surreal about Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, in sparkly eyeshadow, kneeling before a little girl to beg for his life. It’s hilarious as it is heartwarming.

“If I may propose a suggestion!” You counter, equally dramatic. “A trade! For this silly man’s life, we will help rebuild your kingdom twice as big! Princess I–”

“Queen!”

Steve snorts but she must miss it.

“My apologies. Queen Holly, I can assure you this new Kingdom will have all of the finest luxuries that royalty like yourself might desire.”

She takes a second to process the big words. “Fine!” She sneers, diving onto her mattress which is absent of all its sheets and blankets. “Chop! Chop!”

You bite your lip, chasing the fervent smile away. Steve gets right to work, sorting pillows from most to least sturdy. You steal another chair from Nancy’s desk and help Steve double-knot the roof to it. It’s no mansion, but it is long enough for Steve to lie down in, which is a job well done in your book. Especially when you’re under strict supervision and listening to a thread of loud critiques.

You lift the door flap for Holly to crawl through. “Your quarters, Your Grace.”

She glances over her shoulder with a wicked, but mostly adorable, expression. “My name is not Grace! It’s Holly! Queen Holly to you!”

The explanation dies on your tongue because how can you possibly argue with that? You’re just grateful to still have your head.

After the grand tour, Queen Holly disappears into one of the tent’s offshoots with a handful of stuffed animals she's referring to as her royal guards.

Steve scoots closer, whispering behind his hand, “I think we need to stage a coup.”

You lean into his good ear, affection spilling off your tone, “I didn’t know she could be so mean.”

“Me neither! She must be hanging out with Mike.”

“Must be.” You grin for what feels like the millionth time today.

You’re sitting knee to knee, close enough to catch the heat of Steve’s breath on your cheek. You drag the pad of your finger across his cheekbone where teal eyeshadow has been caked on in several layers. “I like this,” you compliment.

I kinda forgot she put that on.” He ducks his head bashfully, peeking up through his eyelashes. “Do I look pretty?”

“The prettiest.”

He receives it as teasing, but it’s true, you do think Steve is pretty. A strong nose, kind eyes, and sure, maybe the hair. But now that you’re inches apart, you notice twin smile lines, a series of freckles down his cheek, and a faded scar across his forehead. You linger there more than anywhere else, under the guise of judging Holly’s makeup job, of course.

But the silence twists into something less comfortable with each passing second. A brief twitch of emotion flickers across Steve’s face, gone before you can name it. “So… pizza for dinner?” he blurts out.

Before you’ve processed what happened, Holly shouts, “Cheese please!”

Steve splinters from your gaze, calling back, “Yes, My Queen.”

Dinner is pleasantly easy. The pizza’s delivered and paper plates save you from the hassle of dishes after. You eat at the kitchen table, sharing stories and smiles, strangely like a family.

And after dinner, Holly has a bath; and after bath, Steve whisks her off to bed. You’re left to your own devices for once, a benevolent bout of peace, but still, you can’t seem to relax.

The spray of the bathroom light paves the hall leading to Holly’s room. You tiptoe up to the door and peek inside.

Steve’s on the floor, slouched against the side of the bed cradling Holly to his chest. He flinches as your shadow veers across the moonlit wall.

“Sorry,” you whisper, dropping onto your knees beside them.

Holly picks her head up, tear tracks shimmering as she turns. Her lip wobbles through a whimper.

You soften like wax near a flame, eyes flitting to Steve who looks equally at a loss.

She curls her knees into his tummy in a way that probably hurts. The poor thing dissolves into fresh tears, spilling out faster than Steve can chase away.

“Holls, it’s okay, honey. Me and Stevie are here, okay?”

She strains to speak through a chain of gasps, “I want my Mommy!”

“I know, I know. She’ll be back before you know it, I promise,” you steer sweat-slick hair behind her ear.

“I want her now.”

“We’ve got ya, Holl,” Steve chimes in.

“We’re right here.”

“No– Mommy!”

It goes like this for a while, soothing reassurances met with unyielding resolve. Holly’s not one to be stubborn for no reason. She’s so exhausted and upset it breaks your heart. You try reading and music and back rubs but there seems to be no end to her sobbing.

Steve strokes her ankle where it’s now tucked underneath her in your lap. He looks exhausted– hair draped over his forehead like a claw, extra weight embedded in each of his eyelids. You’re both at your breaking point. “You wanna sleep with me tonight Hollybear?” he says in a tone gentler than you’ve ever heard.

“No. Mommy,” she persists.

“You can sleep with her when she gets back. But tonight you get to have a sleepover with Steve. Or you can even sleep with me in Nancy’s bed, okay?”

Red-rimmed eyes flick between you and Steve. Neither option is as good as Mom.

“Both,” Holly whines.

“Wanna lay with both of us?”

She nods. “In the middle.”

“Okay,” you turn to Steve. “We can do that.” Your words are colored like a question but he’s already nodding his answer.

He shovels Holly from your lap, cheek pressing into hers in an unspoken exchange of relief. “Alright, munchkin. Let’s go steal Nancy’s big bed. Sound good?”

She hums her approval into his ear.

Steve pokes Nancy’s door open with his foot, swinging around to the tucked side of the bed. You crawl across your end as Holly slides off his chest. She molds herself against your shoulder, tugging Steve closer when he settles.

“Goodnight, Hollybear,” he says.

She steals your hand from underneath the comforter, then his where it lies on the sheet. Your knuckles brush Steve’s where they are stapled to her chest. “Goodnight,” she sighs.

Steve strokes up and down the back of her hand, his touch a quiet catalyst. She’s asleep in mere minutes, snoring softly, fingers limp against yours.

Steve nudges your hand where it’s already pressed to his, whispering when you turn, “Am I crazy that I find all of this kinda fun?”

You shake your head, a smile working its way across your lips. “Guess that would make me crazy too.”

“I know I always complain about driving those little shits around but Holly’s actually really fun to babysit.”

“Yeah, she is. At least it’s not the end of the world this time, right?”

“Yeah, that probably helps, huh?” Amusement ebbs into a sigh. “I’m kinda dreading going home, to be honest.”

“Why don’t we put Mike in a wig? Kidnap Holly for ourselves.”

He snorts into his pillow. “Oh, yeah. That’ll work. ‘Yeah, I dunno Mrs. Wheeler, she had a crazy growth spurt while you were gone.’”

“We’d take good care of her.”

“We would,” he nods. “You’re really good with her.”

“So are you. Kinda surprised me actually.”

“Really? Cause Dustin tells me weekly I’d make a good mother.”

“Yeah, but they’re different. Older. And don’t get me wrong, you’re great with them and they love hanging out with you. Holly’s just little. You’re so much gentler with her, and like, you always seem to know what to do.”

“For the record, I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Me neither. I don't know what Mrs. Wheeler was thinking asking us to do this.”

Intertwined laughter fades, but something else— something similar— lingers. An almost tangible buzz of energy, as if the silence itself is alive with unspoken words. You entertain the idea that the feeling’s not exclusive to just you. That Steve hears the same jitter in his pulse and feels the same flutter against his ribs. That you aren’t alone to be feeling such a way.

“Is it–”

“Are we–”

“Sorry, you go,” he jabbers out.

The words trickle back down your throat, too thick to cross your tongue again. “You can probably go now,” you decide.

His gaze jumps to Holly’s chest where his hand is still coupled with one of hers.

“If you want,” you amend. “You don’t have to.”

“You don't mind? If I stayed?”

You shake your head.

“Just worried she’ll wake up if I move.”

You try to flatten your excitement as you reply, “You can stay.”

His gaze swims with yours across Nancy's room, skimming over the cluttered dresser, the desk strewn with books and pens, to the shuttered closet doors.

“Sorry about– you know– I heard Nancy… dumped you,” you say, immediately regretting the awkward phrasing.

“Harsh,” he squints and casts you a bittersweet grin. “But true.”

“Is it… weird? To be in here?”

“A little. But not as much as I thought it would be. Hell of a lot better than Mike’s room.”

You hum, watching the gentle shift in his brows.

“Is it weird for you?”

“Me?” you ask. “In what way?”

“You and Nance. You don’t always see eye to eye.”

“I mean, yeah. When our decisions involve risking our lives– or the kids– she’s pretty damn impulsive. And she can be real stubborn and selfish sometimes too. But I dunno, I still love her. She’s been sort of like a sister since everything started. I think that’s why we argue.”

“What does that make me? Your brother?”

You roll your eyes. “No, you’re the stray dog we adopted.”

“Okay. That’s just mean.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Your laugh laps out louder than you intend, but Holly remains still. “I dunno who you’d be. The love interest?”

“I can work with that, sexy love interest–”

You scoff. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harrington.”

“Okay, okay. But love interest because…”

“Cause you dated Nance.”

“Oh,” he exhales.

“You don’t agree? Should we go back to stray dog?”

“Oh, shut up. I’m going to bed.” Steve rolls onto his side with a sigh.

“Keep your snoring to a minimum, please.”

He grumbles, narrowing his eyes at your smirk. “I don’t snore.”

“You do. I could hear it from here last night.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” you argue. “It definitely wasn’t Holly.”

“Whatever. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Only when your eyes are closed does his smile finally emerge. It’s silly how quickly you can pull it out of him. It throws him for a loop every time. But with you at his side, maybe he’ll dream of happier things for once. Either way, it’s easier to fall asleep, just knowing you’re there falling asleep too.

ᯓ★

“Shhhh!”

“No, you shhhh,” a lighter voice giggles.

“Holly,” Steve scolds, mirth buttering his tone. You know he’s smiling by the sound alone.

Holly’s laughter triples in volume but then is abruptly muffled.

“Ew– did you just lick me?”

And this all just sounds way too cute to miss out on. You pry your lashes apart, still sticky with sleep, and flip on your side to face them.

They freeze, eyes widening adorably in sync. Steve is reclined against the headboard, an arm bent behind his neck. Holly is sprawled halfway across his tummy, toes tickling your side.

“Sorry,” he offers like you’d be mad. But how could you possibly be anything but enamored waking up to their giggly little voices? If you could be woken up like this every day, you would.

You shake your head, scratching underneath your eyes. The walls are bathed in muted colors, waiting to be warmed by the sunrise. It’s still early.

Holly rolls off of Steve onto the floor and barrels out of the room.

“Where are you going?” he shouts.

“Potty!”

Steve turns to you, eyes roving across your bedhead for an embarrassingly long amount of time. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“Did she kick you last night?”

You rake your fingers through your hair, quickly moving them to your lips to stifle a yawn. “Not that I remember.”

“Oh, you’d remember. Trust me. She was on top of me the whole night.” He’s smiling like an idiot. He couldn’t sound annoyed about it if he tried.

“Aww, she loves you,” you coo.

“Yeah,” he agrees, pink dusting his cheeks, “I can’t wait to do this.”

“Hmm?”

“Settle down. Have a family. I wasn’t, like, a hundred percent sure before, but I am now.”

“You’ll be a good dad.”

He beams at you like he’s just won the lottery. “You think?”

“For sure.” And he really would. You’re sure of it after last night.

He opens his mouth to speak but your stomach cuts him off with an obnoxious growl. “Hungry?” Steve chuckles.

“Shut up.” You swipe your pillow and smack him.

He smacks you back, pulling it to his chest before you can steal it. “Wanna go out for breakfast?”

Your brain short circuits. You forget you’re babysitting and not just laying in bed with Steve Harrington for fun. He is not asking you on a date like your heart assumes.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. For sure,” you sputter out, heat licking up the back of your neck.

“I’ll go see what she wants,” he slides onto the floor and shakes his legs awake.

Steve’s tall, even sluggishly slumped over. But even more so as he stretches– arms rising with his shirt, revealing a fraction of golden skin above his waistband. A long, lazy moan climbs out of his chest.

You push the comforter off before you burst into flames.

Holly determines she wants IHOP because they put chocolate chips and sprinkles on the pancakes. Steve supplies her with an outfit and wrestles her hair into pigtails with bows to match her skirt. It’s surprisingly coordinated and admittedly cute, but maybe you’re wrong to be so surprised– he knows his way around a comb and a closet.

“Can I get pancakes?” she asks Steve, perched on the bottom step of the stairs.

He’s cross-legged on the floor, hunched over to lace her sneakers. “I already told you yes, silly goose.”

“Can I get extra sprinkles?”

“Uhh, does your mom let you?”

She thinks about it before answering. “Yes, I think so.”

“Sure, then.” He grins, clapping her tied shoes together before standing.

You shoulder Holly’s bag, stuffed with books and toys and a jacket in case it rains, courtesy of Steve who insisted she might need it. “Ready?” you ask him.

Steve races Holly to the car while you lock up. Mrs. Wheeler installed Holly’s car seat in Steve’s beamer before she left but you’ve yet to use it.

“It’s too tight,” Holly whines from the car, loud enough to hear from the top of the driveway.

“I know, ‘m working on it,” Steve assures, working his fingers under the straps. “Just gotta figure it out.”

“Hurry!”

“I’m hurrying, Holl. Give me a sec’.”

You open the passenger door and peek around the headrest to view her. The belts are buckled but not tight enough to spark concern. “He’s going as fast as he can, Holly. Be patient.”

She squirms under his hands, exhaling sharply. And like her, Steve’s frustration mounts, jaw tightening, brow furrowing. His fingers keep slipping and he’s not totally sure which button or strap is for loosening.

You swing around to Holly’s door and cup Steve’s shoulder. “Let me try.”

He knocks his head on the roof as he pulls out.

You wince, “Okay?”

He softens as you reach for his neck, though your fingers never land. Still, the tender look you offer is enough to cure any bumps or bruises he might’ve gotten.

It’s an unfortunate amount of trial and error before Holly is fastened in properly. Steve cranks the AC on full blast when you finally settle into your seats and circles through radio stations after he backs out. He finds the kid’s station, playing a Muppet’s song that Steve apparently knows every word to. He sings unapologetically loud, a stupid grin sewn to his face.

When you arrive, Holly happily holds your hand through the parking lot, still clutching tightly as you wait to be seated. She climbs onto your lap to make room on the waiting bench for a woman looking ready to pop out a baby any minute. Steve stands at your other side, arm braced behind your neck.

“How old is she?” the woman asks you fondly.

“She’s five,” you return her smile, bouncing your knee. “Right, Holly?”

Holly twists to hide in your neck, nodding.

“She’s very cute,” she says with such love you already believe her baby is in good hands. “Your sister?” Her eyes flick from yours to Steve who is mostly oblivious to the conversation.

“No, just babysitting.”

“Oh, well, you’ll make good parents one day.”

The comment renders you speechless. It’s not that you hadn’t considered children before, but you hadn’t pictured them with Steve. With his smile, his eyes, his nose. It’s that this woman who doesn’t even know you imagined it before you had. You blink at her stupidly through a forced smile.

Steve squeezes your shoulder, ripping you from your thoughts. “You okay? Table’s ready.”

You get seated in a booth overlooking the parking lot.

Holly bends across Steve’s lap to point through the window. “I see our car!”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

Holly’s face contorts with confusion. “Her? Your car’s a girl?”

“Yep–”

The waitress swings over with a handful of menus and a hasty introduction. Steve already knows what he wants and he places Holly’s order after his, making sure to clarify the extra sprinkles when she calls his name repeatedly to remind him. As soon as you decide, the waitress bustles off with the pair of menus to another table.

Holly slides her paper menu closer, examining each activity.

Steve picks open the box of crayons, revealing a stingy three– red, green, and blue. “You know, for a multi-million dollar company, you’d think they could afford more than three crayons.”

“And more staff,” you add, eyes tailing another waitress zipping from one table to another.

Holly points at herself, Steve, and then you, counting, “One, two three. Three crayons for three people.”

“Yeah, good point,” Steve pats her thigh. “Always the optimist.”

“Op-ta-nist?”

“Op-ta-mist,” he clarifies.

She snags the green crayon and presses it to the paper. “What’s that?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth. “Well, it’s like– it’s when you– you’re happy a lot. Grass is always greener on the other side, you know?”

Steve lost her at the metaphor but she’s too focused on staying inside the lines to care about the definition of optimist anymore.

“You got there eventually. Sort of,” you tease.

His foot stabs your ankle under the table. “Shut up.”

Steve lets Holly win every single round of tic-tac-toe while showering her with praise, convincing her she's a tactical mastermind. You can’t quite tell if she’s onto him, but she’s too busy grinning to say otherwise.

The waitress plants your and Steve’s plates on the table first, reaching behind to scoop Holly’s off her tray next. “And, chocolate chip pancakes with extra sprinkles for the little one.”

“Thank you,” you manage to say before she leaves to tend to another table flagging her down. “Holly, want syrup?”

“Yes, please.”

You pour a spiral of maple syrup over Holly’s pancakes. The amount of sugar on her plate might qualify it more as candy than breakfast. And she’s ogling the food like it’ll grow legs and run away.

“Steve, will you cut them up for her?”

He nods, swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs and trading his fork for a knife. As soon as he slides her meal back over, Holly ravages the pancakes, spooning another bite in her mouth before she’s swallowed the last.

The waitress whisks by with drink refills, joy driving her to a smile at the sight of Holly and her half-empty plate.

“I swear we feed her at home,” Steve chuckles through his own joke. What a dad thing to say. “Can we get some more napkins?”

And it’s like he knows what’s going to happen. Holly stretches across the table for the syrup bottle, drawing back with an open-mouthed grimace.

“Uh-oh.” She presses her chin to her chest. There’s a patch of syrup turning the hem of her pink shirt brown.

“What?” Steve throws a pigtail behind her shoulder so he can see. “Oh. It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Holly explains.

“I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s sticky.”

“It’ll wash off.” Steve dunks a clean napkin in his cup of water and dabs it across the stain.

“It’s too cold,” she complains, pinching the fabric away from her skin.

“Sorry. It’ll dry. Have to get the syrup out, though.”

You deliver another wad of napkins to Steve’s hand. He pushes them against her belly, soaking up any excess water. His patience never frays.

Holly looks up, worry etched into her voice, “Will it stain?”

“I dunno,” you supply truthfully. “We’ll throw it in the wash when we get home.”

Steve pays the bill with the cash the Wheelers left and scrapes his wallet for change, stacking two quarters on the table when he finds them. “Since you’ve been such a good listener. There’s a sticker machine up front,” he tells Holly.

Steve might as well have slapped a ticket to Disney World on the table. Holly literally jumps for joy, right out of her seat. She buys a random Lisa Frank sticker and pockets the second coin for her piggy bank.

It’s Steve’s idea to go to the playground afterward. The park is teeming with life, the kind of chaos that only a weekend morning can bring. Swings creak under the weight of eager kids, and the monkey bars have their own traffic jam. Parents wrap the playground like a barricade, their chatter drowned out by laughter and shouts. But the heat presses down ruthlessly, making every step feel like you’re wading through a sauna.

Holly tears away from Steve’s hand as soon as her shoes hit the mulch, rejoicing in her newfound freedom with a little skip. She races up a set of stairs to wait for a turn on the tallest slide.

“Should’ve brought sunscreen,” Steve says, eyes following Holly down the slide. She flashes you both a prideful smile from the bottom.

“She’ll survive. We won’t stay long. It’s too hot.” You pull your shirt out to fan your chest, dabbing the sweat beading at your sternum.

“Careful!” he shouts as she hops from one platform to the next. She continues to bounce along the path, one wobbly leap at a time. A particularly long jump has Steve cringing. He’s trying really hard not to be overanxious and it’s as sweet as it is amusing.

He side-eyes your grin with an opposing frown. You don’t even have to say anything for him to know you’re teasing him. “What?”

You shrug, smile doubling. “You.”

“What about me?”

“You’re just funny.”

“My concern is funny to you?” he accuses.

“She’s fine, Steve.”

He makes a noise of disagreement, arms crossed and a hip popped out dramatically far. You see why Dustin teases him for being motherly.

Holly struggles with the monkey bars. She makes it halfway across before her arms start to shake and her hands slip. Steve lunges forward as he watches her plummet to the ground. But before he can swoop in, Holly pops up, dusts the dirt from her skirt with a nonchalant shrug, and marches on, completely unfazed.

“See. She’s fine,” you reassure.

“Whatever,” Steve grumbles, strolling away to sulk in private.

He makes a slow lap around the playground, hands planted firmly on his hips, casting a critical eye over the chaos. Meanwhile, you snag a spot on a bench, where most parents are engrossed in magazines or gossip, blissfully detached. You watch Steve get roped into playing a monster, though you can tell he secretly loves it.

It doesn’t take long for him to start stomping around, roaring and growling, chasing the kids as they shriek and scatter. And when they finally tire him out, he collapses beside you, his shirt clinging to his sweaty back, and his breath coming in ragged bursts.

“I told her five more minutes,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the bench behind you. His curls shine honeycomb gold in the spray of sunlight and his skin echoes the warmth of desert sand, softened pink like the blush of sunset. He looks strikingly gorgeous sprawled out beside you.

Holly trots over not much later, alarmingly upset.

You sit up, urgently shaking Steve’s thigh to grab his attention. “What happened, honey?”

“I– I was,” she sucks in a staggered breath, “I was climbing the stairs and– and a boy, he pushed me.” Twin rivulets of tears are unleashed with a blink, converging at the curve of her chin.

You scan her from head to toe. Nothing looks broken or bloody. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she strains.

You drag her into your chest, pressing a loving cheek to her ear. “Did it scare you?”

She nods, hiccuping into your neck.

“I’m sorry, Holly. That wasn’t nice at all.”

Steve’s gaze shifts between Holly and the playground to search for guilty suspects. He finds none, thankfully, though he’s still itching to wring out whatever parent it is not watching their kid– which is unfortunately most of them.

“Let me see,” he coaxes Holly over for his own checkup. He picks a piece of mulch from her hair and flicks off another stamped into her calf. “Think you’ll make it? Should we call an ambulance?”

She doesn’t smile at his joke like you hope.

“Ready to go home?” you ask.

She sniffs into her sleeve. “Yeah.”

“Alright.” Steve hoists her up as he stands. Holly's long legs wrap around his waist, feet swaying against his thighs as he walks.

Holly naps on the way home, not by choice but by sheer exhaustion. She convinces herself she didn’t actually fall asleep when she wakes up in the driveway, swearing, “I just closed my eyes.”

But it’s quickly apparent that twenty minutes was not enough. She cries because her leftover pizza for lunch is cold in the middle and again when she rubs the sauce in her eye. You turn on a movie, hoping to induce another nap, but The Aristocats is just too good to sleep through. Thankfully, her grumpiness wanes into a more manageable pout, her arms uncrossing to snuggle closer to you on the couch.

When the movie ends, she slinks up, her departure leaving your lap cold. After a long-winded debate about what to do, you all finally agree on playing a board game. Steve steers Holly downstairs to pick one out and she returns with a rekindled excitement, dropping the game Twister at your feet.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with Twister, but you were expecting something easier. Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders. So you let Steve and Holly go first. The round ends in a heap of tangled limbs and giggles, a winner unclear. But Holly wins the match against you, admittedly fair and square. And it’s all fun and games until she insists you and Steve must compete.

“Ehh, Holly. My arms are tired,” you reason.

“But I wanna be the referee too,” she whines. “Pleaseee!”

Steve shrugs at you, a playful little curve to his lips. If you say no, that makes only you the bad guy. And you just can’t bring yourself to break Holly’s heart over something so simple.

“Okay,” you sigh, ignoring the nervous tick in your chest.

Holly pushes you by the hips onto the mat to stand opposite Steve. She gets situated on the floor and excitedly flicks the spinner, calling, “Left foot. Blue!”

You each step toward a blue dot. Easy.

“Right foot on green.”

Right foot, green. You’re shoulder to shoulder now, hips angled toward his.

“Right hand… yellow!”

“Here we go,” you mumble, bending down to reach yellow. “Okay.”

Steve chuckles and follows suit, free hand hovering awkwardly behind your shoulder.

You twist your head until you can’t, just to see the stupid look on his face. “You know, your long legs really give you an unfair advantage here.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he chides, hot breath fanning the back of your already hot neck.

“Don’t speak so soon, Harrington. You’re the one who’s gonna lose.”

“Right hand, red,” Holly announces.

You lean back toward red, headbutting Steve’s side so you don’t fall. He curls into position next, swaying until his back pocket is inches from your nose.

“Oh my God, Steve. Get your butt out of my face!” You’d shove him if you had an extra hand.

Holly giggles in that contagious way kids laugh, automatically pulling one from Steve.

“Don’t make me laugh. If I go down, so are you,” he reminds you.

“Umm, left foot green,” Holly says.

Steve groans dramatically, whining. “What! Holly, that’s impossible. Spin again.”

She cackles, reminiscent of Queen Holly. “Nope, you have to! That’s the rules!”

And somehow, you both make it to green without knocking each other over. But you’re getting distracted– Steve’s hand has brushed your calf three times now and his shirt is loose, hanging off his chest in a way that gives you a clear view of his tummy. This might as well be sabotage. You tear your eyes away. You must focus. You didn’t care much for winning before, but something about Steve brings out your competitive side.

“Right hand, green.”

You bow your knee until it’s wedged uncomfortably into your ribcage so you can reach the green. Your thighs quickly begin to ache. You won’t last much longer in this position. Especially not when Steve arches over you like a human bridge, the zipper of his jeans tickling your back where your shirt has scrunched up.

He shakes his hair out of the way so he can see you, albeit upside down. His smile stretches wide, radiating pure, unfiltered joy. He’s having the time of his life, and admittedly, so are you.

Your elbow juts out, nearly giving under the weight of his gaze alone. But you snap it back in place and practically beg Holly, “Spin.”

“Left foot blue!”

You and Steve lunge for the same blue circle. His sock slides against the tarp, leg extending much farther than he’s prepared for. His arm buckles, chest slamming down against your back. Your elbows give out immediately under the force of his weight, jaw slamming into the floor.

“Shit, sorry! You okay?”

A burst of laughter tumbles out of your mouth before you can answer. But maybe it’s an answer in itself. Your chin stings but you're fine. Better than fine, even.

As soon as Steve scrambles off of you, you flip onto your back. His eyes trickle down you in assessment, eyebrows knitting together, mouth twitching like it can’t decide whether to frown or smile.

“I’m okay,” you manage, smiley and breathless.

“Did you hit your face?”

“Just my chin.”

He reaches for your face with hesitant fingers. “Sorry.”

You shake your head, bolstering his wrist as he cups your chin. “I definitely won.”

And just like that, all his worry washes away. He pries your hand from his wrist, wrenching you up to sit. “Technically, you hit the floor first.”

You glance over to Holly for her professional referee’s opinion but find she’s no longer there. “Where’s–”

“I found it!” she yells from the upstairs. What exactly she found, you’ve no idea. But she comes stomping down the stairs not a minute later with a little box in her hands. Bandaids, you realize, as she dumps the contents on the twister mat beside you. “They’re Hello Kitty,” she says, stripping the paper backing off of one.

You let her little fingers stamp it to the curve of your chin. It’s not bleeding, nor does it really hurt that bad, but the gesture is sweet enough to melt your heart. “Thank you, Holly. You’re so gentle. You should be a candy striper.”

“I don’t think I’m old enough.”

“When you’re older then.”

Steve decides Twister is far too dangerous to keep playing, but Holly demands a game of Mouse Trap so it works out. Steve wins, despite you and Holly’s strategic alliance halfway through. And by then, she’s asked about dinner twice so you shelve the rest of the games and head up to the kitchen to decide together.

Holly hums into the freezer, “Chicken nuggets… pizza rolls– oh! Eggos, can we have Eggos?”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, peering over her, “Why don’t we cook something? We could have a fancy dinner. Like a dinner party.”

“Can we dress up?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, flipping a pack of ground beef over.

“Pasta?” you call from the pantry.

“Ooh, yeah. Let’s do that.”

Holly sprints upstairs for a costume, much more interested in the party than the dinner. You pull a box of noodles and an unopened jar of sauce from the shelf while Steve grabs a pot from the cabinet and sticks it under the faucet.

“Careful. Stove’s on,” you announce, flicking the dial on high.

Steve backs up from the sink slowly, water sloshing over the side of the pot when he bumps the table.

“Steve,” you chuckle, pulling a dish towel from the oven handle, “It doesn’t need to be that full.”

“No?”

“No, dump like, half of that out.”

He nods, pouring some out and depositing the rest over the stove. “I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never made pasta before.”

“Yeah, I could’ve guessed,” you quip, elbowing his side with the box of noodles in hand. “Pour these in?”

He takes the box and gives it a good shake. “How much?”

“Maybe half? Little more?”

He tips it over the water, snapping it back up when much more than half slides out. “Oops.”

“It’s okay.” You chuck a few stray pieces from the counter into the pot. “Everyone’s getting seconds tonight. What do you like in your pasta?”

“Sauce?”

The laugh fizzles out in your throat as you realize he’s not making a joke. “Besides sauce. Cheese? Meat? Spices?”

“Oh, uhh, I’m not sure.” Steve scratches the back of his neck, hand retracting to fidget with the hem of his shirt. He’s antsy, clearly nervous. Maybe embarrassed of his cooking knowledge, or rather, lack of it. Or perhaps afraid the pasta will end up something like the first set of grilled cheeses.

“We’ll keep it simple then. Holly probably won’t like it too fancy anyway.”

Steve nervously watches the water bubble, foam climbing up the sides. “Do you like garlic bread? Saw some in the freezer.”

You fish the box out and line a pan with three pieces. And with bread in the oven and the pasta starting to boil, you hop on the counter to wait.

“How long does it take?” Steve asks.

“Not long.”

You open the drawer beside your legs and find a big wooden spoon. Lucky guess. “Here. Stir.”

His eyes follow the ladle, stirring with steady hands. It’s a peaceful quiet, his focus unusually soft. Not the urgent, fate of his life kind of determination you’re used to seeing.

When it’s ready, you pinch the spoon’s neck, fingertips sweeping his for the half a second before he lets go. “Now we strain the water. Then we can add the sauce.”

You find a strainer and plant it in the sink while Steve carries the pot over and pours. He sets it back on the stove, per your orders, and offers a hand when you struggle with the sauce lid.

He pins the jar against his chest, knuckles straining white in several attempts to twist the cap. But it pops off after a good shake, spraying sauce across your cheek, and spinning to the floor like a frisbee.

Steve freezes, gawking at your face with a stupid smile.

“Steve!” You scoop up a dish towel and smack his arm.

He throws his hands up and turns a shoulder to you. “I didn’t mean to,” he snickers.

“Don’t laugh! I’ll pour that whole jar over your head.”

He doesn’t buy your threat one bit, still laughing as he sets the jar down and steals the towel from your hands. “I’ll get it. Sit still.”

You summon the most menacing glare you can manage while suppressing a smile. He presses the towel to your cheek, thumb gliding across your skin as he wipes the sauce in one languid motion. His eyes flick down to your lips and you’re positive you aren’t imagining it.

But you’re sweating and your stomach is churning and– “The pasta!” You ram into Steve’s shoulder trying to get by, rushing to turn the stove temperature down.

Steve whisks up behind you to see the food. “Is it burnt?”

“No, no. It should be fine.” You scrape the ladle under the bottom layer of noodles. “Pass me the sauce?”

You avoid his eyes as you take it. Was he going to kiss you? Maybe just thinking about it? Or perhaps there was just sauce near your mouth and you’re spiraling over absolutely nothing.

You toss the food in sauce and divide it into three plates silently.

“Holly! Food’s ready,” Steve shouts as he fixes the table with napkins and silverware.

She clambers down the steps in a tutu and a cardigan that you’re pretty sure is Nancy’s. Her smile drops. “Where are your clothes?”

Steve looks down at his sweats. “Holly, I think we’ll just–”

“Please, Stevie. It’s a dinner party, remember?”

His eyes dart to you, though you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “One sec.”

He swings back into the kitchen wearing a tweed suit jacket, a silky, black one draped over his arm. His is a few sizes too big, shoulder pads drooping down his biceps, and the sleeves swallowing his hands. He pushes the fabric up his elbows to hand you the other jacket. “For you.”

“Thanks,” you deadpan. It comes off less sarcastic than you aim for.

Holly and Steve adopt similar grins as you slip the jacket on. “You look dashing,” she compliments.

“Very,” Steve agrees, taking a seat beside you.

You spend the rest of dinner internally debating whether he’s flirting or just indulging in Holly’s playful antics. The uncertainty makes your stomach flip, and suddenly you aren’t so hungry anymore.

After the dinner party concludes, it’s Holly’s suggestion to go for a walk. She wheels her bike out of the garage, fitted with a set of training wheels and a handlebar bursting with tinsel. A yawn rolls off her tongue as she launches down the driveway. It raises your hopes for a smoother bedtime tonight.

Even as the horizon melts into the Earth, the summer heat clings like a heavy hand. Trees project long shadows along the road, eating what’s left of the sunlight. Bugs buzz and birds chirp, but a sleepy stillness is ubiquitous.

“What?” you ask suddenly, whipping your head to face Steve. He’s drenched in gold, pale wisps of hair riding the breeze as he strolls.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re staring at me. I feel it.”

“I wasn’t,” he assures.

You blink at him. You can’t decide whether to be annoyed at such an obvious lie or embarrassed by the truth.

He jogs ahead before you’ve come up with something to say. Halfway to Holly, he shouts, “Come on, slowpoke!”

It only takes one loop around the block for the heat to catch up. Holly complains incessantly about her helmet strap being too tight even after Steve fixes it and you’re itchy from sweat and mosquito bites. Steve’s, well, he might be the only content one. Happy even, guiding you home with a subtle bend to his lips and a soft glow tinting his cheeks.

Holly whines about having to take a bath, and while you might negotiate it another night, you can see the damp line down her back. But like you suspect, all grievances are forgotten the second she gets in. She likes playing in the bath, even if she forgets it. It’s where she keeps her mermaid Barbie and her collection of rubber ducks, coincidentally all named Bob.

And while bath time might tend to feel like more of a chore as a babysitter, tonight is different. It’s your last night at the Wheelers, and while that’s not new information, it is startlingly sad. You aren’t irritated when she splashes water in your eye or when she leaves a trail of it down the hall for you to clean. You can’t be, not when you know you’ll miss it.

Steve helps you tuck Holly into Nancy’s bed. After pinky swearing that you’ll both return at your own bedtime, she drifts off easily. You’re thankful, of course, but a piece of you secretly hoped to be needed longer.

“Must’ve been tired,” Steve whispers, pushing slowly off the bed. “You okay?”

You nod, tearing your eyes from Holly to meet Steve’s. “Kinda sad.” You shrug, murmuring, “Stupid.”

“It’s not.” He cups your shoulder and runs a warm hand up and down your arm. “Come on.”

You take his hand and let him lead you across the hall and down the stairs. He pulls you onto the couch so you land pressed into the same cushion he’s on. “Y’know, babysitting Holly’s a breeze compared to the usual shitheads. We don’t have to worry about her taking my car keys or fighting interdimensional monsters or summoning a gate to hell,” he says.

A soft laugh parts your lips. “Think Holly will put in a good word for us with her parents?”

“You kidding? She loves us. Especially me,” he jokes. “Hate to break it to you but I’m definitely her favorite.”

“No, you are not. Shut up.”

He catches your fist mid-punch, cradling your hand like it’s made of wet sand. His thumb crosses each divot between your fingers, stroking up and down your knuckle slowly. “I’m sure they’ll ask us to babysit her again at some point.”

You hum in agreement.

“Besides, we could expand our horizons. There’s like a million other children in Hawkins that need babysitting.”

Your smile spills into your cheeks. “We?”

“Yeah, I think we make a pretty damn good team. Don’t you?”

“I do, but… we don’t have to limit our interactions to just babysitting, you know?”

“What are you thinking? Dinner and a movie? Next weekend?” His eyes flick from your fingers to your face– to each eye, sweeping down the center of your nose, stopping right at your lips.

You turn away in an attempt to soothe your heart as it pounds up to your ears. “Smooth, Harrington.”

He reels you back in gently by the arm, confidence shining through his smile.“What? Did I read this wrong?” He knows he didn’t, he’s teasing you.

“No,” you mumble, “You didn’t.”

He leans in to whisper, “Can I kiss you then?”

You nod, pushing into the soft press of his lips with your own. He’s not hesitant, nor is he harsh. Steve knows how to kiss, that much is clear. He trades your hand for your cheek, gently tilting your face to the side as he pulls away.

Your eyes flutter open to a doting gaze. One that travels down the lines and slopes of your neck like they’re made of candy. Steve plants a second kiss on your lips, though fleeting in comparison to the first. But he plants several more to make up for it, working his way in a Z down your cheek, across your jaw, and back down your neck. They’re quick, ticklish little pecks of affection. A sweetness if you ever knew it.

“Steve,” you admonish, though giggles betray your tone. The hands that frame his face glide gently down to his throat, your thumbs meeting at his Adam's apple. “We’re babysitting.”

“I know,” he says, kissing your lips for a third time. “Just had to get a few extra in there. For all the times I thought about kissing you this weekend.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?” He laughs, bubbly like you’ve surprised him. “It’s true. I thought about it all weekend.”

You don’t know why you ask– why you even thought of it at a time like this– but you question him, “What about Nance?”

“What about her?”

“You don’t…” you trail off, afraid to even speak the possibility into existence.

“We’re done. We have been. For a lot longer than I was willing to admit,” he admits honestly.

“Yeah, but do you–”

“I don’t. Still have feelings for her. Not like that, anyway.”

You meet his eyes, feeling a strange blend of emotions you can’t quite name.

“If you don’t believe me, you’ll just have to let me prove it to you,” he holds your gaze, warm with a sincerity that makes it hard to doubt him.

“I believe you.”

You let Steve kiss you several more times on that couch. He’s patient, deliberate, and more kind than you ever imagined he’d be. It’s hard to understand why Nancy would ever let someone like that go.

ᯓ★

On Monday morning, you blink awake first, the comforting weight of a hand that’s not yours across your hip and another, much lighter one, at your belly. You turn over slowly, finding Steve and Holly wrapped around each other like ivy on trellis. You don’t imagine many people look this pretty asleep. The comb of long lashes kissing the soft flush in his cheeks. The golden lather of sunrise in each wild swoop of hair. The way his lips part for a sigh cuter than you knew one could be.

He mumbles something unintelligible, sleep talk perhaps.

You whisper back anyway, “What?”

Steve sighs, smearing his cheek against the pillow. “Being a creeper.”

“Me?”

“Mhmm.” One eye slowly unbinds itself from sleep. Steve adores the tight-lipped smile on your face, broad with an infatuation he forgot could be aimed at him. His hand twitches at your side.

“You just look so pretty when you sleep,” you admit. Is it too soon to say such things?

His eye closes as he smiles, nosing into Holly’s hair, selfishly keeping it to himself. You reach across her body to find it, swiping a loving finger across his lips when you do.

You stay in bed for as long as Holly will allow– which is not very long after she wakes up– but you don’t mind. You watch fondly as Steve helps her brush her teeth and as she helps Steve toast and butter the Eggos. Like Steve, Holly’s a good kid. They’re both helpers at heart.

And you’re sure to remind Mrs. Wheeler of that when she rings the house to let you know they’re almost home. Holly’s excitement quickly dwindles into sadness the moment she realizes you won’t be staying. But she uses it to bargain one final game of hide and seek before you go.

“Come on.” Steve drags you by the wrist, bustling upstairs to the bathroom. He throws the shower curtain aside and jumps in, offering his hand to help you after. You sit scrunched together, knee to knee on the porcelain floor, giggling like children.

“Shhh,” you squeeze his kneecap. “You’re gonna get us found.”

He jostles your shoulder, mouth agape. “You’re the one who’s laughing!”

“No,” you insist, though the light in your eyes suggests otherwise. Curiosity sparks and the irrepressible urge to act on it wins. You lean in for a kiss, confirming that’s all it takes to shut Steve up.

He tastes like maple syrup, loving with his lips as much as his hands. He pulls back for breath and returns for another peck, pressing into the corner of your mouth where your smile keeps drawing higher and higher.

“Hard to kiss you when you're smiling.”

“Can’t help it,” you defend. “Never been so happy.”

He softens like warm icing, a sweet and gooey mess in your arms. But the shake of the front door closing stiffens him.

“Mommy!” you hear quickly after.

Steve scrambles up and over the lip of the tub, tugging you out with him. You follow him downstairs where Mrs. Wheeler swings Holly in her arms like she’s much smaller than she really is. Mr. Wheeler steers a suitcase silently through the entryway.

“Did you have so much fun?” she asks Holly, peppering kisses across her temple. “Ohh, I missed you!”

Holly revels in the affection overload, bending backward to giggle at you and Steve.

Mrs. Wheeler grins. “How was she?”

“Great, as always,” Steve assures. His cheeks are flushed, his hair mussed— though you could chalk that up to bedhead, not the aftermath of your short-lived makeout session.

You nod, adding, “We went swimming and to the park and–”

“IHOP!” Holly yells. “I got pancakes with chocolate chips and extra sprinkles!”

“Did you? Sounds like you had a lot of fun.” Mrs. Wheeler plants Holly on her feet. “Can you give hugs? Say thank you for being such good babysitters?”

Holly launches herself at Steve. He sends you a smirk over her shoulder, rocking her side to side in his embrace. You can just hear him say, I told you so.

But she offers the same enthusiasm and more for you, dragging you onto the floor for a proper goodbye hug. “I don’t want you to go,” she pouts in your ear.

“We’ll come back. We can have playdates?”

“Can’t you just live in Nancy’s room? She’s never here anyway.”

You can’t help but laugh. “I wish I could,” you admit honestly.

She reluctantly loosens her grip on your shirt when you peel away.

Mrs. Wheeler sees you and Steve off with a warm smile. Holly darts through her mother’s legs for one final hug on the porch. You wave goodbye, the moment slipping into something bittersweet before Steve bumps his shoulder into yours, a playful grin softening the farewell.

You dawdle up to your car, wringing your hands together when you reach the door. “So.”

“So,” he parrots.

“This weekend, right?”

His smirk blooms into a full smile. “Friday? Pick you up at seven?”

“Okay,” you nod.

“Okay,” he chuckles, clipping a hand around your jaw and leaning in.

You turn away so the kiss skips across the softest stretch of your cheek. “Steve.”

His eyes never leave your face as he assures you, “They’re not looking.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Holly waves at you through the living room window, a smile as wide as her face. Steve’s hand falls down to his side and he takes a platonic step back. You both return her goodbye, but Holly stays, her little hand pressed to the glass.

“Think she’ll tell?” Steve asks, not an ounce of worry in his tone.

You shrug, tugging him back in by the waist for a proper kiss. “I guess it wouldn't be the end of the world.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #holly wheeler #stranger things fic #stranger things #skeltnwrites #eotw

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

the girl next door 8

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Your head is throbbing. The hangover of your night of crying greets you like a drumbeat. You cradle your skull and shudder, roused only by a clink from the kitchen. You grumble and sit up, blearily checking the clock beside your bed. The digital numbers stamp your vision. It’s too early for your mom to be up. You can’t even remember the last time she was awake before you.

You know she won’t be happy about having to make her own coffee. You get up, clumsy steps carrying you to the door as you rub your temples. You go out into the hall, your tee shirt caught in the top of your striped linen sleep shorts.

You squeak as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. It’s not your mom. You’re so surprised, you can’t move. You drop your hands, hugging yourself as you stare at Steve’s back, his broad shoulders stretching the leopard print of your mother’s robe. The insinuation of the piece of clothing, makes you choke.

He glances over his shoulder before you can flee. His gray hair is slightly mussed and you can see his boxers poking out past the short hem of the robe. You sway on your feet.

“Good morning, sweetie. Want some coffee?” He asks, sleep dragging in his voice, “pot just finished brewing.”

“Oh, um... I’ll make my own.”

“More than enough,” he insists as he takes out another mug from the cupboard. His familiarity with the place makes you squirm.

“Erm,” you bite your lip.

“Here,” he turns to you with a mug. “You like sugar? Milk?”

“Black,” you answer as he nears.

You accept the cup as he holds it out. His lack of shame makes you even more uncomfortable. You are an adult. It isn’t that absurd that your mom would have... needs. It’s just not something you know much about. Nor had you ever really thought about her finding someone like this. She only ever griped about your father and every other man she knew.

“Wow, I would’ve thought you had a sweet tooth,” he remarks.

You shake your head, “thanks.”

You turn to escape with the comfort of the coffee. He hums as if disappointed but you let the sound fade behind you. You close your bedroom door and quickly cross the room, as if to get as far from him as possible.

You just weren’t prepared. You’re still reeling from the night before and your bout of tears. Ugh. You’re just stupid. You get so swept up in stupid emotions and then you mope around. You sip the coffee and set the cup down.

You look down at your bare legs and cross them, pulling subconsciously on your tee shirt. Oh gosh. You’d been walking around in front of him like this.

You grab the cup again. You focus on finishing it, on letting the temperature sooth you. You hear your mother’s voice but it’s distant and indiscernible. When you empty the mug, you go to your bed and sprawl out. You’ll probably just stay in here all day; out of the way, alone. Not much you can do with a headache.

You close your eyes and drift into a shallow half-sleep. You can feel the day brighten outside the window and hear the chirping birds but your room is shrouded in fog. A knock breaks through your stupour. You groan and roll onto your side.

The door opens and you lift your head to look at your mom.

“You’re not staying in your bed all day,” she stomps into the room, “get up. Go for a walk or something.”

“A walk?” You sit up, head wobbly.

“I don’t care where but you need to get out of this house,” she snarls, her lip quivering. You won’t ask if she’s used her inhaler, she’s already worked up, “get out of my way.”

You blink and nod. You stand up and go to your dresser. She huffs, “and don’t make a whole thing when you leave. Just go.”

You pull out a pair of thin pants as she slams the door behind her. You frown and change, quickly making yourself tolerably presentable. You don’t know that even if your clothes were nicer or your face prettier, that you would ever feel acceptable.

You take a book and go into the hallway as quietly as you can. The smell of maple makes your stomach growl. You glance down toward the kitchen and stay close to the wall. You creep down to the entryway and slip your feet into your shoes.

“Hey, off to somewhere?” Steve startles you as he peeks out of the kitchen, a spatula in hand.

“Um,” you look back and forth.

“She’s just going for her morning walk,” your mother chirps as she appears from behind him, “aren’t you, honey?”

You nod stiffly. Morning walk? You can’t remember the last time you walked past the end of the avenue.

“Oh, I wish I’d known. I’d love to come with. Maybe explore the neighbourhood,” Steve says, “what about breakfast? You wanna eat first?”

You look at your mom. She grimaces. You shake your head.

“Not hungry. Thanks.”

“Hm, alright,” he frowns, disappointed, “I’ll put some aside for you. Maybe another day.”

He goes back into the kitchen and your mom mouth’s one word, ‘go’.

You do as she says and you leave. You clutch your book tightly as you come down the front steps and try to figure out what to do. There’s a bench near the park you can sit on and read. A chapter will take a while and you should try to spend more time outside.

Your eyes narrow against the sunshine. Your head still hurts and your now your stomach is clenching violently. Just the smell of food had you ravenous. Well, there’s be cold pancakes waiting for your return at least.

You find the bench. It’s not where you remembered. It wasn’t by the entrance but further inside. Still, it’s early and there’s no one there.

You sit and watch the birds for a while before you open the book. A few squirrels skitter by, chasing each other’s tails, and you smile. You like being outside. You just don’t enjoy the people outside.

You put your head down and start the chapter. You can’t really remember what happened in the last one. It’s been a while since you were able to focus enough to read a book cover to cover.

As the morning light shifts, a woman and two children appear at the park entrance. The follow the path to the play place and you watch from afar. Soon, several other kids arrive to join the fun. Their parents stand around the parameter in pairs and clusters, chatting as they watch the younger crowd. You should find somewhere else.

You stand and notice someone walking toward you. You watch Marge as she approaches, and another woman, you think her name is Callie. You smile at them nervously. Are they mad? You don’t have kids, why are you sitting there?

“Good morning,” Marge chimes in a sing song voice, “you’re up bright and early.”

“Morning,” you murmur and peer between the blondes.

“And how’s your mother?” Callie asks with an edge.

“Okay,” you swallow dryly, hugging the book to your chest.

“Mm, great, that’s great. Your lawn looks much better,” Marge praises.

You nod and slant your mouth.

“You’re so lucky to have such a helpful new neighbour,” Marge smirks, “he seems so nice.”

You just stare back at her. You don’t know what she wants you to say. Sorry? Should you have done it yourself? You were going to but the mower broke.

“What’s his name?” Callie asks.

You frown.

“You can tell us,” Marge steps closer, “really? We’re just curious. We want to welcome him to the neighbourhood. I made him lasagna and I wanna know what to call him when I show up.”

You feel your chest locking up. They remind you of the girls in highschool who would take your lunch tray. You chew your lip until it’s raw.

“We know he’s been talking to your mother. And you. It’s a small neighbourhood, hon,” Callie chirps, “just tell us his name.”

You push your shoulders up and sidestep away from them. The bench presses to your knees as you retreat. They turn on you, following with hands on their hips.

“Don’t run away, hon. We’re neighbours--”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I gotta go home.”

Marge sighs and Callie blows a raspberry, “boo,” the former says, “fine, run home to mommy.”

You turn away and barely keep from doing just that. You don’t know why they care but you wouldn’t guess anything good. They have wanted you and your mom out of the suburb for as long as you’ve been through. Maybe they think Steve would be a perfect ally in their crusade.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #au #silverfox au #the girl next door #mcu #marvel #captain america

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gumballavocadoharry · 7 months ago

Text

First comes love, then comes marriage; Jack Chambers:

*This is a time jump where Susan and Roger are adults and Jack and Alice are older of course. Some angst and mentions of depression, abandonment and loneliness. *

For @howling-wolf9/, it was her idea and request!!!! I want to give her a special thank you for being so patient and kind through all of this- I know you waited a long time for this imagine and I'm so lucky to have you as my number one fan and I hope I can be as half as an amazing one to you as you've been to me. Listening to my PM rants of my story ideas and keeping them confidential. You're amazing and you deserve the world! Much love to this gal!!!!!

The wedding of Susan and Sean! RSVP your attendance!

The French lace against the edges of the paper were the first thing that caught Alice's eye. How beautifully it was decorated in its neat prim type design. Its beauty resonated with Alice as a sign. A sign of the blossoming love that had been festering between her daughter and her fiancé for over a year. She had possibly expected this- hoped secretly that they would decide to join a union in the flesh of marriage. It brimmed her eyes with tears, some spilling against her soft cheek and dripping onto the head of her yellow sundress.

"Honey?" Jack quietly followed into the room; eyebrows deeply furrowed. "What's wrong?" Alice sniffed and turned the letter towards Jack's direction. "She's getting married, Jack.... our little Susan... my little girl's getting married." Scanning carefully through the letter, a smile slowly appeared over Jack's mouth. "Oh my gosh! Time sure does fly...." Jack licked his lips. "When is the wedding due?"

Alice scanned the letter. "In two months." Jack kept the smile on his face. He needed it. It hid something he didn't want anyone to know. How could it be time already? He thought. How could she have grown so fast? Wrapping his arm around his wife, a carapace covered over Jack like a filling in a tooth. A chinch seeped through Jack- slowly, but surely. It was official. Susan was getting married and two months. And Jack would need to be there. He knew he would.

***************************

Snapped from their dinner, the phone blared through the living room. "Hello?" Alice answered.

"Hi Mom, did you hear about Susan's wedding?"

"I did!" Alice's smile had grown twice within size. "Can you believe it! Your sister is getting married! I'm still in shock..."

"I know.... Sean's a really nice guy. Him and Susan are a really good couple." Alice beamed. "They are. I wonder what she wants us to do.... or what her dress will look like!" Jack watched his giddy wife from the table. Shuffling his meatloaf back and forth against his plate- mixing it in his mashed potatoes a bit.

"Oh yes, I'll have to see if Susan needs any help with the planning- Oh! Her gown and veil!" Alice's smile beamed from ear to ear. Alice glanced over to Jack before getting back to her conversation. "Oh- okay- here I have to go now, something's overflowing in the pot... okay, talk to you later. Bye."

Jack, so deeply invested in his thoughts, didn't even feel the gentle touch of Alice's hand smoothing over his. "Jack... you, okay?" Jack forced himself to look up from his plate. "Oh yeah, I guess I was just..."

"Thinking about Susan and Sean?" Jack flattened his lips. "She hasn't even known him that long." Alice tilted her head to the side. "Jack... they've been dating for over a year now. We met him before a few times and he's a very nice young man." Jack sat up from the table, walking to the bar area for a glass of scotch with dinner. He kept silent for a while, making Alice gain this wobbly feeling through the craw of her intestine. "Jack...." Said so quietly, that even the wind couldn't make it out. Alice fiddled with the strands of hair that was swooshed over her shoulders.

"You know.... maybe if we went down there and saw how they were preparing for the wedding, maybe it would remind of how much you liked Sean?"

"I never said I liked Sean- I thought he was nice- but anyone could be nice." Alice rolled her eyes and sighed. "Jack. Come on... this is a happy occasion. And you have to cheer up soon- Susan is probably going to ask you to walk her down the aisle." Jack turned around to see Alice turned back to the table, finishing her dinner. She didn't make eye contact with Jack until he came back to the table and spoke again. "Of course I'll walk her down the aisle, if that's what you're insinuating......" Cutting into his meatloaf, Jack looked up again into the tip of Alice's forehead. "I'm happy for her... that's all."

Alice met Jack's eyes for a brief moment before turning back down to her dinner. "Good."

The evening stayed silent that entire night until bed.

***************************************

The clock read 3:09. Jack's eyes were still open- untouched without so much as a single strain that could only appear through genuine tiredness. Instead, Jack's mind could only focus on the rambling polaroids of him and Susan together. A piece of Jack hated himself for such selfish desires to keep Susan webbed up in this lace knit net for his security, while the other sympathized with him as just wanting to spend a little more time with his daughter. But this was more than just simple time together.

Jack- for all of Susan's young life- was her hero. The only man she could depend on for support. Jack would take her into his arms and sing her to sleep. He could make boo boos disappear with one kiss. Jack would take a three-year-old Susan out for milkshakes at the local diner, while Alice stayed home with a nursing Roger. He was the first person she ran to when big people were mean or when tears spilled from her eyes after a bee sting or when a picture, she drew became ruined. Jack could almost picture how it felt to have his arms wrapped around her smooth skin, his nose pressed up to her temple, trying to soothe an upset Susan. And the more Susan grew, the more Jack would try to foster those times. But, as time held it, she grew away from them. Packing inside her Pasadena condo, Jack could only helplessly let Susan walk away.

Hearing the soft snoozing of Alice's breaths, Jack quietly exited out the bed and tip toed into Susan's old bedroom. The walls were still peach, and the windowpanes and door jams were still popcorn white. The room still has this sultry smell of fresh flowers and mused honey. Susan wore this amber and sunflower perfume in her late teens and the room still carried a twinge of that scent. It sent a shred of happiness through Jack. A piece of this closure like she was still here. The closet was empty- it had sat empty for a while- but still carried the presence of Susan in some way. The faded memory of her favorite peach and lavender cardigan that she wore in the spring, and her dark maroon sweater for the falls and her bright sunny tank top for the summer. They all still sat together inside her closet, lank and together like symbols of her past.

The thought of Sean pinged through Jack's brain for minute, before he echoed it out with his own domineering desires. He didn't want to think of Sean, not now. So, he didn't. Instead, he left Susan's bedroom and joined Alice back in their bed.

************************************************

Jack woke up to the dim blue sky- more clouds hovering in it that usual. He rolled to Alice's side, where it was empty and already made up. She had left a note on his nightstand:

Jack, I went out to grab a few things for Susan to help her with the wedding. Me and Roger will be at her place to celebrate with her. I hope you can join us!

Alice.

Jack felt this twinge of anger peer inside him. Like Alice was deliberately leaving him out of one of the most important milestones of their child's life. It made Jack pounce from the bed and throw on his clothes for the day. Making up the bed again, Jack ran out to the diner for breakfast, before speeding down to Susan's apartment. Pulling in, he saw a black chevy bel air: Alice's car. The twinge grew bigger, but Jack bit into it to collect it- contain it within himself. Jack's legs felt wobbly like Jello. Carefully watching his step up each step, Jack finally made it to Susan's front door, where after a knock, she appeared. "Dad!" She invited him into her arms with such warmth and tenderness, even Jack had to let himself melt into them.

Coming into her cozy home, Alice's face came into view and then Roger's. Then Sean's. Jack bit his tongue like a reflex flinch- the same as if a fly landed on your arm. "Jack... it's nice to see you here- what a nice surprise!" Jack's smile was tight. He kept his focus on Alice for a moment before turning to Roger, who came to hug him. Jack let himself sink into the scent of his well missed son. Squeezing him a little tighter, it was forever since Jack was able to let his body press against his and erode a deep wedge of affection into him. Pulling away with this soppy smile across his face, Roger let his own curl up to his cheeks, giving the same toothy ornery grin he always did. It eased the swirling tension that seemed to hover over everyone.

Sean, wrapped his arm around Susan's midriff, making her flush with love and warmth, looking back into her lover's eyes that held this light of twinkles inside them. Jack caught this, and let his smile settle a bit.

"Well, now since everyone's here, let's celebrate!" Susan exclaimed.

The room was soon filled with chatter from Roger and Sean talking, to Susan and Alice discussing plans for the wedding- Susan detailing how Sean proposed on the rooftop of a private restaurant in Los Angeles, while the sunset skirted under the buildings. A squeal came from Alice, reminding her of when Jack proposed. It was on the cliffside coast of Malibu. During their picnic, Jack couldn't hold back the impending question he had stored inside him for as long as he knew Alice. Jack remembered it well- it always brought a smile to his face every time he thought about it.

Jack stood in the distance, taking in only the crust of Susan and Alice's conversation. A jaded glance was made over to Sean's direction. He eyed Jack up and down; confident smirk and laxed body tone. He had Susan wrapped around all five fingers and Jack knew it. And it hollowed him. It made fury rush through him like the cold feel of an icy touch. Jack let the fringes of the room singe.

Sean- light brown hair with swishy bangs, gray eyes with specks of light blue, deep dimpled smile and a subtle clef planted in the middle of his cheek.

A slight furrow pecked through his forehead. Jack kept biting his anger down- planted somewhere deep into him. Sean made his way to Susan, wrapping a protective arm around her waist like a sash. A thick irk swam through Jack in his bloodstream. It pierced through the layers of flesh he built up inside for this very moment and was now fragile against it. Seeing a man kiss his daughter's neck so passionately, sent this shiver through Jack. It bubbled and boiled until it became this puny ache that made his lip quiver, and his eyes become stung with watery vision.

But nonetheless, he along with Alice still managed to muster out a "Congratulations!" to the happy couple, leaving their home once evening rolled around. Jack and Alice drove their cars home, Jack's in front of Alice's- something he was happy with. The solitude sauntering through the car, leaving Jack to settle whatever was on his mind in the privacy of his car.

Tears slowly trickled- quietly and neatly- down his cheeks, leaving a sticky wet trail behind. Jack wiped his eyes, forcing himself to see where he was going. Pulling into the driveway, Alice's car pulled up next to him a few minutes later. Jack tried to plaster on the same smile he wore at the little gathering but couldn't. Like his muscles were too weak, his smile was recharging, and his serotonin just didn't exist. Jack watched Alice enter the house. She didn't knock on the window like he had hoped. Jack knew he would have to pull himself out this one.

*************************************

Dinner was pizza delivered to the home. Alice was too exhausted to cook and maybe she just didn't want to. Not for Jack.

But it was after hours, where Jack was sitting up in his chair, sipping his scotch and questioning himself. Sean never asked for his blessing, but he didn't need to. He could easily swing Susan away to a Las Vegas chapel or courthouse and marry her there without him even sensing it. And it stung. It hit hard into Jack's body more than he wanted it to. He wanted to be happy for Susan and he was... he wanted to like Sean....and he did.

It was just buried underneath something this time. But he did really like Sean. And Sean liked him.

But it was those years spent with Susan, knowing her personality like the back of his hand. Her being his princess and him being her big papa bear that would run in and growl at anyone harming his cub. Susan would never know the agony he felt that first year of her life, behind the glass window of the NICU, praying for his baby to be healthy again. She would never know those nights he prayed for a baby at all as a young man, striving to make his dream of a family life come true.

Jack seen it all. First breaths, first steps, first words, first period, first dates... now this. Marriage. Sean would now bear the responsibility of caring for Susan- honoring her and making sure she was safe a cherished. The man she would give her life to, the man who would protect her and who she would wrap her arms around like a savior. Sean would become Susan's world, and she would become his. They would collide with each other and let their bond be sealed like thick cement in the pavement. And it disturbed Jack a bit.

He would no longer need to light her world to see it glow. Sean would hang the sun and moon for Susan and that would be the end of it. Jack would no longer exist as Susan's beaming ray- just a mere spark of the past and all that it held.

And Jack... for one reason or another, would still be living in it.

Jack shot back to the one thought that still weighed on his mind like rocks. Sean never asked permission. He didn't need it.... he wanted Susan and Susan wanted him, and that was all there was to be said about that. And Jack- whether he liked it or not- had to accept it.

But he silently made a choice still.... to keep his own answer of whether he found it acceptable for Susan to marry Sean. It was tightly reigned on his tongue; undisturbed and quiet, Jack kept it folded on the shelf in the back of his mind like he had to. But it was still there, and Jack would never let it get washed away.

****************************************

It was the end of the month, and wedding plans were still ringing through the air. It seemed to be everywhere: on TV, in newspapers and books, on billboards, Jack just couldn't get away from it! Alice on the other hand enjoyed it. Wanting to see her daughter dressed in all white and walk down the aisle on her special day was more than she could ask for and everything she hoped for.

Not wanting to needle Susan or stress her more than life was already; Alice took a side position in helping Susan plan her wedding. Roger and Sean would go and pick out suits and suggested honeymoon spots to surprise Susan with. Jack, he would give thumbs ups and happy cheery smiles, while everything seemed to swirl around him like tornado wind.

Jack didn't want to be selfish. Covering his defensiveness like the way criminals covered their tracks, Jack weighed his emotions down beneath his gut and let his logic talk for him.

It was a challenge though. Susan- being so busy with her own life- would unintentionally blow Jack off for ice cream dates or small little lunches together. "She's just so busy, Jack... maybe she'll go the next time." Alice reassured her husband. Jack always held to those 'next times.' But they never came. He wanted them too though. But instead, Jack tried to suck the value from them- pretend as if they were trifling little things that would never matter anyway.

But they seeped into Jack's brain in other ways. Every Sunday evening was a tradition of scotch or bourbon with Susan's baby pictures on his lap. Susan still carried the image of a helpless infant in her- at least to Jack. So fragile like a China doll, still this little baby doll that would grasp her little fingers around his. How much she depended on her parent's gentle touches and their attentive affection. Still that gurgling little baby in his arms, Jack couldn't shake the memory. Sean would sweep Susan away without so much as a thought to how Susan's parents might take it.

Flying her off to the other side of the pacific, away from the protective zone of her family. Sean- could never protect her the way Jack could. He would let her fall hard onto the rocky pavement and slam against the grated cracks. He would swoop her away- away from everything Susan knew and loved, whisk her into the misadventure land of nothing and throw her away once he had his fill. Jack became sure of this. Sean would never be good enough for Susan. Courting was one thing, marrying was another. And neither Sean, nor Susan were ready for it. A gasp of hope shot through Jack. This sense of being able to maybe stop time for a moment, gave him back his adrenaline. Closing the book, finishing his scotch, Jack at up from his chair and tip toed upstairs; small smile lingering over his face.

******************************************

Alice layed in bed, barely even moving once Jack's body dipped the mattress. Her stare was blind and frozen on her nightstand. Jack's body pressed against her back, making her edge a little over, leaving a small gap in between them.

A slight furrow arched over Alice's forehead. A small wrinkle begins to grow there, starting since the first dinner on when she found out about Susan's wedding.

Jack- assumed he needed to be 'happy' to keep from bearing the brunt of the social disgrace if his selfishness grew out of control- something he assumed being the case as to why his wife would be sore with him. But to Alice it was more than that. It punctured something deep inside like a needle. Reminding her of what had played out through their marriage and their parenting for years; Jack's parenting, that was.

On the day Susan became sick with meningitis, Jack latched into being an overbearing cloak to Susan- hovering over her like a gloomy cloud on a sunny day. Alice knew that this approach would only cause more harm, more pain. She understood just how much pain could be saturated from this type of overreaction.

She knew Jack loved the children to death. She never made a problem of it. But with every milestone of the kid's lives, where Jack would make a fuss from something unalarming, it rang through Alice in a particular way. Similarly in the way it appeared for her with Jennifer Lowe. Alice wept for her friend for days upon the news. Untimely and unfair she thought. But every fiber of anger that wasn't drenched in sadness was thrown at Jennifer's parents. It was their fault, and they deserved what happened.

And every overreaction from Jack just reminded her about those events leading up to day Jennifer went away.

But now it their daughter's wedding, and Jack couldn't even be happy about that. It always laced with his selfishness and his sorrows- no one else like they didn't exist. And it became too much. Alice's anger had cooled, but her reservations on the matter hadn't. So, the little sliver of space that layed between them, would have to remain until Susan was safely married to the man she loved and there would be nothing Jack could do about it.

Shutting her eyes quietly, Alice adjusted herself in the bed and pulled the covers over her, taking one last glance at the clock that read 2:09.

***************************************

Sean's apartment- located by the seaside on the other side of town. The beige color exterior and the French styled staircase was the first thing that captured Jack's eye. A French vela decor, lingering all around Sean's place, a fresh smell of amber and lavender with a twinge of sunflower. Susan was here, and Jack knew it.

"Could I make you a drink Mr. Chambers?" Jack smiled. "No thanks..." Taking a seat on Sean's suggestion, Jack picked his brain for the words he wanted to come out. "So, how's wedding plans going?" Sean shrugged. "It's.... well... exhausting at times- but Roger has been a huge help in picking out honeymoon spots and matching up what suits would like good for the groomsmen. He's so nice about it- taking time off his work just to help out."

Pride gushed inside of Jack. Roger was a good boy, always wanting to help people. "Yeah, he's very sweet." Jack became serious. "Are you both planning on moving after the wedding?" Sean raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, like are you planning on being in California once you and Susan marry?" "Well... me and Susan have been discussing it and we were thinking about either maybe Napa Valley or possibly more up North like Maine or Chicago. But it's not decided yet."

A twinge pecked Jack inside. "I know, Susan loves California so much- Pasadena is the perfect spot for her. Her chef job is one her main passions." Sean smiled.

"Yeah, she's a wonderful cook. Susan said that she would love to cook in a big city like New York or somewhere like that one day. I know she works at one of the finest restaurants in the city right now, but she told me that was always something she wanted to do."

Would she even be able to keep that job or anyone that makes her happy? Jack thought. "Yeah... Susan's worked so hard to be where she is now, and I'm so proud of her for really sticking to it. Chef jobs can be so harsh, the pressure is demanding and from what Susan's told me, the boss is always yelling at someone."

Sean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, she told me that one time when we were eating somewhere about this girl who was let go on her first day for messing something up. It's tough." Sean took a small sip from his drink before a smile peered across his face. "When we get married, Susan said that maybe she would open up a restaurant. She would use her skills as a chef and get the place off the ground with that, and she'd make her money that way. I thought it was really nice and told her that if she'd ever wanted to, I'd support her... it would be nice."

"I know Susan's has so much on her plate right now....in fact, I was actually concerned whether Susan was ready for marriage or not. I still don't believe she always knows what she wants sometimes." Jack smiled, but there was no causality about it. Jack meant what he said, and Sean squirmed a bit in his chair. An uncomfortable spice now fell into the air and Sean could only give a tight pinched smile. Susan- filling him in on the type of Father Jack was, made Sean fully understand exactly why Jack even came over to his place from the beginning. He wanted to believe it to be because he needed time to fully adjust to the news. But he hadn't adjusted.

And Sean begins to feel a prick of anger slither through him. Jack felt it. He knew what he did and so without hesitation, excused himself from Sean's apartment.

*****************************************

Later that afternoon, Jack returned home. Alice was in the kitchen finishing up the dishes. seemingly slamming some of the plates a little harshly against in the dish rack. "Hey babe..." Alice glances behind her to meet Jack's figure before turning back to the sink. "Hey."

Coming closer, Jack furrowed his eyebrows. "What's wrong?" Alice took a deep breath. "Jack.... did you stop by Sean's apartment today?"

"Yeah?"

Alice turned around, gloves dripping of the suds and water. "Why?"

"Well, I just wanted to know if Sean needed any help with the wedding, that's all."

"Jack... Susan called me. She told me that Sean called her and told her what happened with you and him. 'Sometimes I don't think she knows what she wants'." Alice mocked. "It's none of your business about their plans for marriage! You had no right going over and questioning Sean like that- and you owe him an apology!"

"No! I have every right to know what this boy plans to do with my daughter!"

"He's not a boy Jack! He's a grown man- an adult and so is Susan. You should treat her that way. She doesn't need you poking around just because you can't accept that's capable of making her own choices!"

"Of course she needs me, I'm her father! She's going to always need me, Alice!"

"Well, then she doesn't want you! She doesn't want you trying to always pick her up after every little fall."

"Alice, Susan is my daughter-"

"She's my daughter too, but you don't see me smothering her like that! Jack, I was angry at you before- I still am- because the minute Susan announced her engagement to Sean, you couldn't even be happy for her! It was all about you and your worrying and your having to say goodbye or whatever- but that's your job! That's what comes with being a parent, learning to let go! Because if you can't, then Susan will! And that might mean she won't want to see us or be around us because of that! It's not always about how you feel Jack and I'll be dammed if Susan cuts me off too because you can't stop being selfish even for one SECOND!"

Jack stood back. "All I'm trying to do is protect Susan, that's all! And you know that....." Jack kept a solid stare on Alice.

Alice took a deep breath in. "Whatever your intentions are.... that has everything to do with you. And only you. You know what's right and what's wrong Jack- and without blowing my words out of context- I don't feel the same way. So, whatever the reason you do, do everyone a favor- keep it yourself and just stay out of Susan and Seans wedding plans. Bite your tongue until all of this is over and you can do what you wish with that."

Alice put the last dish into the dish rack, before snapping off her gloves and walked past Jack to the stairs.

Jack was left alone with only the sound of the sink draining over the downstairs.

**********************************************

Jack drove down alongside the coast to Susan's apartment. Taking in the sand washed blue sky and tan acres of sand that seemed smooth like butter.

Jack had to make this right. Susan would understand. She had just called Alice, so maybe there was a window for conversation. Maybe Susan would be able to see his point of view and how much he was just trying to protect her.

Pulling into the parking lot of her condo, Jack readied himself. He came up with every reason her could justify to himself. Slamming the car door, it was Susan who spotted him from the window and was already waiting for her father at the front door.

"Hi," Susan opened the door wide and suddenly, taking Jack off his guard for a moment. A slight wrinkle stood on her forehead, lips set still and sternly. "Hi... Susan...." She shook her head. "You went to Sean's apartment?" Her frown becoming deeper.

"Susan I-"

"You badgered him! You try to convince him not to marry me?!"

"No! Of course not! I was trying to make sure he would let you be happy."

"Like you do?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

Susan tilted her head. "You go to Sean's apartment, you start trying to get him to spill if he'll let me work, or what type of future he wants us to have- our private business! You should never have done that, Dad! You know Sean- you've met him, and you still don't want to trust him. You can't trust me- you have to still be there holding my had for everything!" Tears waved through Susan's eyes. Biting her lip, she continued to stare into Jack's eyes.

"Susan... sweetheart- I'm your father, I just wanted to make sure you were okay! I just want to protect you." He raised his eyebrows. Susan's soppy feeble look turned into a furrowed crossed one. Tightening her lips and clutching her fist into tight cuffing balls, the green in Susan's eyes became vivid and her pupils small and sharp.

"I'm not a little girl, Dad. I'm a grown woman, Sean is a grown man-"

"I know,"

"You don't know- or you don't care! So... I want you to stay away for a while. Me and Sean are planning the wedding- I'm stressed out enough as it is, I don't need this on my plate. Please just go..." Susan went back inside and locked her door. Jack felt like the door slammed against his face- or more like he was slammed against the door himself. Stepping off the balcony, Jack walked down the stairs and got into his car. Sniffling, Jack turned the key in the ignition and left the lot, letting Susan's apartment disappear out of the rearview.

Tears trickled down Jack's cheeks. A piece of his heart chipped. A swirling feeling fell over him like an umbrella. It drove home with him, even though his thick glass pane vision of tears. Something soured Jack's stomach- something inside his gut that ate away at him, told him how much he screwed up. And he believed it.

Pulling into the driveway, Jack took an extra five minutes alone to himself. Alice saw from the window- but like before- didn't take notice. The curtain barely flinched, and Jack sat alone in the drenching silence of what he had just done.

**********************************

Just as Susan preferred, Jack stayed away from her, Sean and even kept a distance between him and Alice for a time. Roger had flown back here to California for a time to prepare for Susan and Sean's upcoming wedding. Jack still prepped his tuxedo, his corsage and tie. Silently preparing for the occasion, Alice went around him in beelines, refusing to discus the wedding or anything to do with it to Jack. The chipped broken piece still remained hollow in Jack, but he bandaged it.

The wedding was right around the corner, and Jack didn't want to jeopardize himself to be anything like a distraction or a problem. So, he would discreetly take his suit to the dry cleaners, Alice would see him dragging it through the house, but never said a word about it. She pretended she didn't notice and would either sip her coffee or turn back to whatever she was reading. But it was still ironed and pressed neatly when Jack couldn't tend to it because of work. The flower was still sprouting from his pocket, and it still had that fresh scent to it. Alice would tend to it just as discreetly as Jack would.

Jack knew this, but it still never made conversation. But now the day of the wedding was here.

Jack- dressed in his suit- accompanied Alice to the chapel. The rooms were crowded and overflowing with family from both sides. Sean had three siblings, Roger was taking pictures and stood as one of Sean's groomsmen and Jack and Alice could only remember or pinpoint certain faces of their families in the crowd. "Alice!" Melony threw her arms around her sister, while their parents stood watch behind them. As Alice and Melony caught up, Jack excused himself and went to find Roger. "Hey Bud!" Roger turned and a smile fell over his face. "Hi Dad." Jack wrapped his arms around Roger and held him tightly enough where his cologne could whiff into Roger's nostrils. "Isn't this exciting? Your sister's getting married!"

Roger giggled. "I know, her and Sean really do love each other. And he's such a great guy. I hope they're really happy together." Jack tightened his smile. Roger looked back at his camera and politely excused himself. Jack let the distance of Roger sink in more than he wanted. It had been almost two years since he'd last seen him after that one March. It was something he never liked to think about but couldn't ignore it. It followed him like a shadow and harassed him sometimes like a stalker. A lump grew in his throat everytime he saw Roger's face- everytime Roger's face could be pictured with those moments and everything he said to his father. Jack didn't want to believe Roger meant it.... but it never changed.

And as the he saw the back of Roger's head disappear into the rush of the crowd, it was proof that Roger hadn't changed what he meant, and Jack still had to accept that.

****************************************

Jack checked every room, until he finally found Alice and Susan together in her dressing room. A big beautiful white ballgown with a bellowing veil that swished as if it were a natural part of Susan's hair, kept Jack in awe. "You look so beautiful!" Alice and Susan turned around to see Jack with tight smiles over their face. "Oh, hey Dad......thanks." Alice looked at Susan, sensibility swimming through her eyes. "Oh Susan....." was all she could say. Jack kept a tweeness smile over his face. Susan gripped her bouquet of white flowers and let the deep smile cross over her cheeks, protruding her dimples. "Susan, are you ready?" She nodded. Glancing to Jack she bit her lip. "Mom... could you give us a moment?" Alice kissed Susan's cheek and then left the room, but not before rubbing a hand over Jack's shoulder.

"Dad..." Jack looked down and then up again. "Susan....." He swallowed. "I am so sorry for the way I treated you, and Sean and your marriage. I had no right to just come in between you and him like that and..... I am very sorry."

Susan looked down. She came closer. "Dad... I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to say that you should just stay away from me or Sean... I was just angry, and I was stressed bec-"

"It's okay, I understand. And you were not wrong to say that. Truth is... this was something new for me. But I guess because since the idea of you being with someone who would now be responsible for your happiness and be your first priority in life, scared me. Me and you took care of you for almost your entire life- it wasn't easy to let you go into the city of Pasadena, and it was definitely not easy to give you a way to another man. But.... I was still wrong. I overstepped my place not only as your father, but as another adult- another person. And I respect you, Susan. I love you and I love Sean. I know I still see you as a little girl sometimes, but it's no excuse. And I guess I just have to remind myself of that." Jack came closer, letting a smile form. "You go to your wedding. You're going to be a good wife. You'll be a good mother, you're an amazing daughter and chef already.... I know you'll be amazing at this too. I love you."

"I love you too Dad." Susan let Jack engulf her into a hug. A long hug, lasting until the organ started. Pulling away, Susan hooked her arm into Jack's. "Ready?"

"Ready."

The pair walked down the aisle to the slow sound of the organ. Big smiles were spread over Susan and Jack's faces. The audience of family and friends all stared at the bride and her father, until they reached the altar. As the preacher introduced the couple. Susan and Sean shared their vows to each other and the crowd of emotions. Alice wiped the tears from her eyes as did Jack. Roger hadn't shaken the smile from his face from the moment he saw Susan appear in her Cinderella dress. A stray tear was quickly wiped from his eyes. As the last words of Sean's vows were spoken, so were 'I dos.'

"I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe. You may now seal your vows with a kiss." Sean and Susan leaned in and kissed each other passionately as the crowd cheered. Susan and Sean run down from the altar and through the pathway between the seats. The crowd followed them into the community center where the reception began.

******************************

As the car was ready, Susan and Sean gathered around Susan's family. "We're headed to Tampa," Sean winked to Roger, who winked back.

Alice threw her arms around Susan, as she cried into her silky hair. "We love you sweetheart.... be a good wife.... take care of each other, okay?" Susan nodded against Alice's neck. She pressed several kisses to her daughter's cheeks before letting her go. Alice clutched her tissue while watching Roger say goodbye. "Name your son after me," Susan laughed before pulling out of the hug from Roger. "Kidding, kidding!" Roger kissed his sister's cheek before stepping aside and allowing Jack to hug Susan.

"Goodbye baby girl.... I love you... I'll miss you." He cried into Susan's hair. And Susan finally cried, ushering a family hug. Sean was mingled into it by Roger. "Take care of her, Sean... okay?"

"I will." He smiled with a nod.

As the newlyweds drove away to their honeymoon, Jack, Alice and Roger looked on at the car that sped off into the glistening sunset. Jack let tears fall from his face freely as he stared well into the sunset, even after the car was long gone. The broken piece had been mended. It was sealed with a fresh new coat of pride and overwhelming warmth.

Jack knew it would take some time, but he would never reject the idea of his daughter being Susan Wolfe, with the love of her life.

Taking one last look into the sun, Jack smiled happily to himself before walking back to join the rest of his family.

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aishangotome · 3 months ago

Text

Main Story Chapter 13 Card: Osborn - The 400 Blows* (四百击) | Light and Night 光與夜之戀

<The 400 Blows> is a reference to a classic French film that follows along a boy who faces one difficult situation after another. He is surrounded by inconsiderate adults and has neglectful parents, then gets into trouble with the law and authority figures while in pursuit of a better life.

CW: Insinuation of sexual abuse, hints of suicidal ideation and attempts, child abuse.

Episode 3

♡———♡

14 Years Ago. Early Spring.

It was at that moment that I finally understood what it meant to be abandoned.

Growing up, I was always a step behind others in many things. Like losing my first tooth. Because it happened six months later than most kids, I once thought that wobbly tooth would stay in my mouth forever.

One night, I dreamt that I had become Old Man Chen from South Street. For as long as I could remember, he had been sitting on the street begging. He had a set of yellowed, crooked teeth, and whenever he opened his mouth, a foul smell of traditional Chinese medicine would waft out, causing children to throw rocks at him.

I never did that. Firstly, because I felt sorry for him, and secondly, whenever we reached South Street, my parents would always take a detour. Old Man Chen's sleeve hung empty beneath his shoulder. People said he had lost his arm in a car accident. I suddenly remembered them saying that before that, Old Man Chen used to be a butcher at the market.

Old Man Chen's life before he became a "monster" must have been impressive, but it was as fleeting as a passing rain shower. In the blink of an eye, his family had all left him. Gradually, he became a fixture on the street, like an old tree rooted in place. More often than not, he appeared in adults' admonishments to their children.

I quickly woke up. That dream was terrifyingly real, and for a long time afterwards, I was afraid to see Old Man Chen.

Until I became him. Or rather, my family also left me in the blink of an eye.

I don't know if it was fate playing a cruel joke on me, or if he had subtly hinted at my destined path long ago, but at that time, I didn't understand.

I remember that spring arrived late that year. Even in March, the wind was still bitterly cold. When my mother opened the door, ants were diligently carrying away the rock sugar I had crushed. Her tears, which had been flowing incessantly since my father's passing, finally stopped—she had been crying about the unprecedented betrayal she had suffered—but on that day, she unexpectedly smiled. She gently picked me up and said she was taking me somewhere.

She didn't say a word the entire way, not until we were standing in the shadow of a towering mansion. She told me that from now on, I would live here, that this would be better for me than staying with her. And that she would be leaving for a while. As she said these things, she looked heartbroken, yet also relieved.

Before I could respond, she turned and left, her steps resolute, without another glance back at me.

To leave, I thought, according to the dictionary, it means to part with a person or a place.

A tall, thin man led me into the mansion. He looked at me with disdain and said that this was my new home. He addressed me as "Young Master." I think it was at that moment that I truly understood what it meant to be abandoned.

I couldn't bear to dwell on the true meaning of it, so I desperately tried to run away. My mother couldn't have gone far, I thought. If I ran fast enough, I could catch up to her. But the man stopped me. I begged them to let me go, but no one listened. This place was huge. I searched for an exit, running in circles countless times until I was exhausted.

I crouched in a corner, crying and crying until I had no more tears left. Many people passed by, and they all covered their noses, just like I did when I saw Old Man Chen. Panic welled up inside me, and I lifted my arm, sniffing it anxiously, but I couldn't smell anything.

But those disgusted looks followed me for many years. It was then that I suddenly wondered if maybe Old Man Chen didn't actually have a bad smell, if we had all misjudged him. Fear started to creep in. The living room seemed to grow larger and larger, while I shrank, until I was as small as a grain of rice. I was terrified that one day, I would become the Old Man Chen of this place.

This fear made it feel like time had stopped, until I saw that boy. He didn't seem much older than me, but his eyes held a weariness that surpassed anyone I had ever met. "Want some water?" he asked.

I followed him into a room. I was thirsty and drank several cups. He didn't say anything, just sat beside me. The lights were off, the only illumination coming from the TV screen, where an old cartoon I had never seen before was playing.

A drought ravaged the land. The villainous Dragon King refused to release any rain and ordered his yaksha to kidnap children from the shore. The protagonist, Nezha, bravely fought back, using his magic ring to kill the yaksha, then slaying the Dragon King's son, who came to the yaksha's aid.

The boy with the fire-tipped spear soared through the sky above the sea. Gradually, the spear transformed, turning into a gleaming butcher knife. I saw Old Man Chen wielding that knife, his eyes blazing. He glared and swung the blade at those who had harmed him, blood dripping from its edge.

The magical sash stirred the vast East Sea, and I couldn't help but mimic his movements. Watching him overcome every obstacle, refusing to back down, even when he cut off his own flesh to repay his parents, my hair stood on end. I was filled with rage, yet I also felt a sense of exhilaration, something profound and sacred surging within me.

I couldn't describe it then, but I vaguely felt that it was "hatred." I heard it say, I want to be like him. I have to be like him.

The cartoon ended, and the room fell silent. The boy lowered his head, the parts of a mechanical watch clinking in his hands. He seemed to have long grown accustomed to this silence. I knew I could never be like that. "Thank you for the water," I said loudly, "I'm leaving."

The boy finished assembling the last part and looked down at something. "You can't leave," he said.

Following his gaze, I saw the watch loosely wrapped around my wrist. It was the only sound in the room now.

His eyes seemed to yearn for that watch. So I asked him if he wanted it, but he shook his head, his expression unreadable, like an adult's.

Suddenly, I saw a glimpse of my father in him.

I took the watch apart and removed the movement. He accepted it, his serious expression making me feel like it was a heart that had just been ripped from my own chest.

The previously silent watch face started to move, and the one that had been moving fell silent.

He studied it for a moment, then stood up and opened a door. I eagerly ran towards the light, glancing back at him. Why did I feel like he was envious, and a little bit hopeful? I couldn't help but ask, "Are you coming too?" But he simply shook his head and quickly closed the door, as if his momentary lapse had been a sin.

I must have been mistaken. Why would he envy me? My father had suddenly passed away, and my mother had silently sent me away. What was there to envy? But I desperately wanted to go home. Good or bad, I just wanted to be with her, like before.

But what greeted me was an empty, grey shell. All the furniture was gone. The house felt like hell. I tried to lure my old friends back with rock sugar, but it sat untouched on the windowsill. The red marriage certificate was still in the drawer, a futile testament to a past that no longer existed.

Anger and sorrow overwhelmed me. It took me a long time to recover, to finally accept that she really didn't want me anymore.

That was the true meaning of "leaving." It meant "no longer wanted."

I saw Old Man Chen again, beckoning me, making space beside him. He grinned, his teeth falling out one by one. I touched my bleeding mouth, my head spinning. I looked down at my palm and saw a baby tooth.

The only friend I had in the world was also gone.

I wandered off in a daze. Strangely, I didn't feel particularly sad. I couldn't even cry. I just didn't know what to do anymore. As I walked, I thought, I don't know anyone in this world anymore. If I disappear, no one will even notice.

The sky was dark. Without realizing it, I arrived at South Street.

Two people were crowding the spot where Old Man Chen usually sat. As I approached, I saw that they were holding him down, stealing the coins from his bowl.

I don't remember what went through my mind at that moment. The only thought I had was that as long as Old Man Chen lived, I lived. If he died, then I was truly dead.

I transformed into a small stone by the roadside and, with all my might, rushed towards them.

The wind howled, the swirling leaves forming a green ribbon that wrapped around me. I remembered that boy with the sword, and for a fleeting moment, I felt like I was standing at the shore, the waves crashing against me, and I raised my head and shouted, I return my body to you!

I desperately looked forward to the moment of release. At least it would prove that in the end, before the world could abandon me, I had severed ties with it first.

10 Years Ago. Midsummer.

One day, he'll abandon me too.

It had been four years since Ye Chuan and I started living together.

A mother and son recently moved into our neighborhood, and the whispers about me started up again. They said I was an orphan, a bastard no one wanted; they said my parents abandoned me because I was an unruly child.

I never paid attention to those disdainful and malicious looks, they couldn't hurt me. I knew it was them who were in the wrong, not me. But still, before going to bed, I would always find myself dwelling on those words, thinking about those people, then hating myself for doing so.

Didn't I already decide to sever all ties with them? I would think, to have nothing to do with them anymore? But why did I still dream about them? Was it because those years we spent together were happy? I thought that even strangers, hearing my story, would condemn them as failures, unfit to be parents. In short, their leaving was a blessing, and if one day news came of their misfortune, it would be well-deserved. I shouldn't miss them.

So whenever I dreamt of them, I would wake up filled with self-loathing, hating myself for being so conflicted. I couldn't talk to anyone about it, because morally, I was supposed to hate them. I found myself becoming more and more withdrawn, increasingly lonely. I wanted to find a place where I could completely hide, or a place where I wouldn't be afraid to expose everything. One day, I would leave this place and find that haven of freedom.

So when Ye Chuan asked me to call him "Dad," I stubbornly refused, continuing to address him by his name.

Subconsciously, I had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before he abandoned me too. There was no need to force myself to please him out of fear of being discarded, and I also understood that if I didn't, he would never love me. I repeatedly told him that if he changed his mind one day, he should just kick me out. I didn't want to come home from school and find an empty house.

For those four years, I waited every day for that day to come—until I entered middle school.

I never let Ye Chuan interfere in any school matters, and he diligently played the role of an invisible guardian. Even if I caused a huge mess, he wouldn't show up. It was an indescribable kind of freedom. The more they scolded me for being an unruly, parentless child, the happier I felt. It was as if I was finally free from the constraints of this world.

Whenever I sat on the school wall, watching the transition from dusk to night, that urge from years ago, that desire to wander the streets with nowhere to go, to end it all, would come back to me. But I had overcome it.

And it was there that I heard a piano melody. It was hurried and chaotic, and listening to it for too long brought a suffocating feeling.

I couldn't help but walk towards it. It was coming from the school's music room. The door was slightly ajar. I peered inside. Even after all these years, I can still clearly recall that scene. From where I stood, I had a clear view of the open piano, the principal sitting on the bench, and the girl in the school uniform in his lap.

The music reached a crescendo, providing cover for the girl's muffled sobs. Suddenly, I remembered the whispers I had overheard in class that morning—"the music room game"—the boys always covered their mouths when they said those words, their smiles lewd. I finally understood. So this was the music room game.

My throat tightened, and I quickly went outside, the urge to retch rising within me. Even though it had been a long time since I last thought of Old Man Chen, I was suddenly transported back to that night. He had become a corpse, his face covered in festering frostbite. Those two people had said that he was already dead when they arrived, that he had frozen to death.

I grabbed his empty sleeve, like holding onto two ropes, and dragged him towards the hospital entrance. Thankfully, it wasn't far. As I left, I couldn't help but look back. Two drag marks trailed on the ground from beneath Old Man Chen's shoulders, like his missing arm, or two black ribbons. And as I watched, those ribbons seemed to rise and wrap tightly around the principal's neck, so tightly that they turned red, then dripped onto the ground.

I told the teacher about it, but he just looked at me with an unsettlingly calm expression and said it was just tutoring. It wasn't until I had been standing in the office for an entire day that I suddenly realized this place was rotten to the core.

You guys can rot, but I'll never back down, I thought.

That night, I made up my mind. I grabbed the wooden toy gun Ye Chuan had made for me and took out all the wooden pellets inside. It was surprisingly heavy, almost like a real gun.

I climbed over the school wall. Gripping the gun in my hand, I walked faster and faster. Waves crashed against the windows, and I felt like I was about to become a traitor, using my own flesh and blood to extract the dragon's tendons, to set things right, to separate right from wrong, before finally ending it all.

"Don't move!" I yelled, raising the gun, my other hand pointing towards his desk. "Write down all your crimes."

He believed the threat of the gun and agreed without any resistance. Fear made him seem weak, and I suddenly had the illusion that maybe he was just confused, that he would repent and change his ways. I hesitantly lowered the gun, and blood gushed from the back of my hand. It had been a premeditated attack, and behind the blade, I saw a satisfied smirk.

I was paying the price for my soft-heartedness. Pinned to the ground, I couldn't help but feel a surge of bitter amusement. While the other person only wanted to kill me, I was still sincerely considering the possibility of forgiveness.

My back ached from being stepped on, but the pain sharpened my senses. If there was one regret, it was this: I wouldn't kill myself. I would raise my sword again and defeat him.

10 Years Ago. Late Autumn.

If I had another chance, I definitely wouldn't bring a wooden gun.

Ye Chuan: Osborn!

Ye Chuan: How's your hand? Does it hurt? What did the doctor say? Oh my, how did it get so badly injured...?

Ye Chuan: Who bullied you? Tell me, was it that classmate again? Last time, his father promised me he would discipline his kid, but he's bullying you again, isn't he?

Ye Chuan: This is going too far! I'm going to settle the score with him tonight.

Osborn: ...There's no need. Why are you here?

Ye Chuan: You're still being stubborn with me, huh? There's blood seeping through the bandages!

Ye Chuan: Don't worry about the money. I just went to the bank. We'll get whatever treatment is necessary. We can't let it cause any lasting problems, especially if it affects your ability to eat or write.

Ye Chuan: Come on, let's go find the doctor.

Osborn: I said there's no need. Didn't I tell you not to get involved in anything at school?

Ye Chuan: I promised not to interfere in your school affairs, but now you're injured. You're my... Anyway, I have to take care of you!

School Staff: Principal, Osborn's guardian is here.

Principal Xu: You're Osborn's guardian?

Ye Chuan: I am, I am... Hello.

Ye Chuan: You must be Principal Xu. I rushed over as soon as you called to tell me about the incident with Osborn.

Ye Chuan: The injury on my child's hand is quite serious. He must have been bullied by his classmates. There are a few troublemakers in his class who always pick on him. The school needs to thoroughly investigate this and not wrongly accuse our child!

Ye Chuan: It takes two to tango. You can't always blame our child for these things!

School Staff: Sir, you might not be fully aware of the situation. We called you in today because this isn't simply a matter of a disagreement between classmates.

School Staff: Student Osborn brought a homemade weapon to school and intentionally injured someone in the principal's office.

Ye Chuan: Teacher, Principal Xu, although this child might seem impulsive, he's actually very kind. He wouldn't even hurt an ant, he definitely wouldn't intentionally injure anyone!

School Staff: Please, take a look at this weapon.

Ye Chuan: This... this gun, it's mine, it has nothing to do with him! I didn't hide it properly. I left it on the table. It's my fault, my fault!

Ye Chuan: And it's made of wood! It can't really hurt anyone!

Ye Chuan: Osborn, what happened? Why did you take this to school?

Ye Chuan: Tell me! If you don't tell me, how can I defend you?

Osborn: I was just going to punish a bad person.

Osborn: It was him, he did indecent things to the girls—

Ye Chuan: What did you say?!

School Staff: Even now, he's still making things up, showing no remorse. How do you expect the school to handle a child like this?

School Staff: It's fortunate it was just a wooden gun today. If the principal had been seriously injured, we wouldn't be having this discussion.

School Staff: This matter has gone beyond the scope of our school's jurisdiction. The school board has decided to send student Osborn to juvenile detention. Whether he can return to school afterwards is still up for debate.

Ye Chuan: Juvenile detention?!

Ye Chuan: There must be some misunderstanding! The school needs to investigate this thoroughly! You can't wrongly accuse a good child!

Ye Chuan: He wouldn't lie. I know my child best. Shouldn't we at least listen to his side of the story?

School Staff: Are you saying that our esteemed school is bullying a student?

School Staff: Firstly, our school is one of the top schools in the city. No school would groundlessly slander a student.

School Staff: This is the medical report from the hospital, and Principal Xu's arm is injured. Are you saying we fabricated all this?

Principal Xu: Xiao Liu, Osborn's guardian is just worried about his child.

Ye Chuan: That's not what I meant... Principal Xu, I apologize, I sincerely apologize.

Ye Chuan: This is for the medical expenses. If it's not enough, I'll find a way to get more. Please, you must accept it.

Principal Xu: There's no need for compensation. As an educator, I also bear responsibility for this incident. It truly pains me.

Principal Xu: A school should be a place for teaching and guidance, but we teachers aren't omnipotent. When faced with situations we can't handle, we have to send students to more suitable institutions for discipline.

Principal Xu: The school board has already made its decision on this matter.

Principal Xu: This is for the student's own good, as well as for the sake of the parents and society. I hope you understand.

Ye Chuan: Principal Xu, if he goes to juvenile detention, his life will be ruined!

Ye Chuan: I beg you, please have mercy, give him another chance. I'll make sure to discipline him when we get home!

Ye Chuan: You little brat, come here!

Ye Chuan: Principal Xu, Osborn knows he was wrong. Please give him another chance.

Osborn: I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?

Ye Chuan: You— Principal Xu, please excuse his stubbornness.

Ye Chuan: Osborn, just say you're sorry, okay?

Osborn: Apologize? Fine.

Osborn: I was wrong. If I had another chance, I definitely wouldn't bring a wooden gun.

Ye Chuan: Shut up!

Principal Xu: You see? He still shows no remorse. Perhaps receiving disciplinary action will be beneficial for him.

Ye Chuan: Principal, I beg you—

Ye Chuan: It's my fault, it's all my fault. I'm Osborn's father, and I failed to raise him properly. I'll apologize on his behalf. I'm sorry.

Osborn: Ye Chuan!

Osborn: ...Why are you kneeling before this kind of person?

Ye Chuan: Principal Xu, I—

Principal Xu: There's no need for further discussion. As a parent, you needn't worry too much. Many children undergo a complete transformation after spending time there. This might be good for Osborn.

Principal Xu: I have a meeting to attend. I'll take my leave now.

Ye Chuan: Why do you refuse to apologize? If you had just apologized, you might not have to go to juvenile detention! Do you even know what kind of place that is?!

Ye Chuan: There must be another way to prevent this... I'll think of something...

Osborn: So you don't believe me either, do you?

Ye Chuan: Osborn... you little brat...

9 Years Ago. End of Spring.

Why did you come to get me?

Guard: You're free to go.

Osborn: I know.

Ye Chuan: Osborn! I'm here!

Osborn: ...Ye Chuan?

Ye Chuan: What's with that expression? Don't you recognize me anymore?

Osborn: Why are you here?

Ye Chuan: To take you home, of course.

Ye Chuan: What are you waiting for? Give me your things, I'll carry them. And why aren't you wearing warmer clothes in this weather?

Ye Chuan: Here, put this on, don't catch a cold.

Osborn: I'm fine, I can—

Ye Chuan: Just give them to me! You never used to be so polite with me.

Ye Chuan: Let me get a good look at you. You've gotten taller, your hair's longer... but why are you so thin?

Ye Chuan: I've been watching the news about juvenile detention centers. They said they don't feed you properly and that there are people who beat you up. Are you hurt?

Osborn: No.

Ye Chuan: I'm worried, let me see.

Osborn: I'm really fine. They couldn't beat me.

Ye Chuan: You little...

Ye Chuan: It's still early. How about we go get a good meal? There's a new lamb restaurant that opened in the south of the city, I'm sure you'll love it.

Ye Chuan: And you need a haircut, your hair's getting in your eyes. We'll get you some new clothes in a few days too, and some new shoes...

Ye Chuan: Why aren't you saying anything? Getting all deep and mysterious now, huh?

Osborn: You haven't stopped talking, what am I supposed to say?

Ye Chuan: Right, right.

Ye Chuan & Osborn: You—

Ye Chuan: You go first.

Osborn: Why did you come to get me?

Ye Chuan: Didn't you already ask that?

Ye Chuan: We got a new computer at home. You've always wanted one, right? Come back and teach me how to use it. I've been wanting to play those card games, and Minesweeper, for ages.

Osborn: You don't even know how to play Minesweeper?

Ye Chuan: Who said I don't? I've played a few times at Old Wang's next door. But I keep hitting the mines, every time! It's weird.

Osborn: That's because you're bad at it.

Ye Chuan: You little brat! That's because you won't teach me, making me lose face in front of Old Wang.

Ye Chuan: So we have a deal, right?

Osborn: What did you want to tell me?

Ye Chuan: Brat... I'm sorry.

Osborn: Why are you apologizing?

Ye Chuan: Before... I wronged you. I didn't even try to understand what happened, I just forced you to apologize to them.

Ye Chuan: I thought I was doing it for your own good, guiding you down the right path. I... I wasn't a good father.

Osborn: ......

Ye Chuan: You— you won't forbid me from saying "father," right?

Osborn: Even if I did, you'd still say it.

Ye Chuan: True.

Osborn: But don't mention it next time.

Ye Chuan: Okay, okay. It feels awkward for me anyway. Let's just be brothers.

Ye Chuan: Before coming here, I was so afraid you wouldn't come back with me.

Ye Chuan: I'm relieved now.

Ye Chuan: Hey, you know what? That girl you saved transferred schools. Before she left, she came to see you, asked me to thank you.

Ye Chuan: That's when I realized... I have such an amazing son— I mean, brother.

Ye Chuan: It's all about empathy now, isn't it? And I was thinking, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't have done any better than you.

Osborn: You're just realizing that now?

Ye Chuan: You brat, not modest at all.

Ye Chuan: It might be too late now, but I still want to tell you, I always believed you.

Osborn: Then why did you make me apologize?

Ye Chuan: Maybe I was being selfish.

Ye Chuan: Selfishly thinking that only by apologizing could we end the matter and prevent you from suffering in juvenile detention. I didn't consider your feelings at all.

Ye Chuan: And I didn't think that if I had supported you, maybe if things had blown up, those people wouldn't be able to do those bad things anymore.

Ye Chuan: I have to learn from you in that regard.

Osborn: Okay, that's enough. I'm not used to you saying so many nice things.

Ye Chuan: Are you tired from walking? We should have taken a taxi.

Osborn: I'm fine, it's not that far.

Osborn: Did you walk here too?

Ye Chuan: I arrived last night. Got the time wrong, thought it was in the evening.

Osborn: You didn't sleep at all?

Ye Chuan: Sleep? How could I sleep? I was too excited about taking you home today.

Osborn: Don't you find it embarrassing? Me being in juvenile detention. Isn't that usually considered shameful?

Ye Chuan: Don't be ridiculous!

Osborn: Ow! Be gentle!

Ye Chuan: It's supposed to hurt! Embarrassing? What I said before was clearly wasted on you.

Ye Chuan: We're almost home. I bought you a new set of bedding. It's super comfy.

Osborn: Aren't we going to the lamb restaurant in the south of the city?

Ye Chuan: Not today. We're eating at home tonight.

Osborn: Why are you being so stingy?

Ye Chuan: How am I being stingy? I even have chicken soup simmering on the stove. Oh, my memory! We'll definitely go to the lamb restaurant tomorrow...

8 Years Ago. Early Summer.

It had been a while since Osborn left juvenile detention, but he never forgot that man.

He stood across the street, watching the endless stream of people coming and going through the school gates.

Nothing about this school had changed. The teachers still turned a blind eye, Principal Xu still strutted around smugly, and none of the students dared to challenge the school's authority.

The "music room game" continued. Osborn clenched his fists, struggling to suppress the destructive urges surging within him.

Evil intertwined with power couldn't be defeated by justice alone. He had learned that lesson the hard way.

His phone suddenly buzzed.

SMS: Brother Xiao, I took care of that thing you asked me to do. I smashed all the windows at Principal Xu's house. He's on his way back now.

Osborn put away his phone and immediately climbed over the school wall, heading towards the music room to install the hidden camera he had prepared.

After finishing that task, he entered the teaching building and waited in a blind spot in the corridor for the witness who had betrayed him last time.

The moment their eyes met, panic flashed across the witness's face, and he turned to run. Osborn grabbed him by the collar and forcefully dragged him into a nearby storage room.

Osborn: Why did you lie?!

Boy: I didn't! I really didn't see anything! I would never slander Principal Xu!

He was still making excuses, his fear-contorted face a ridiculous sight. Osborn couldn't help but land a few punches.

Osborn: You deserve this.

He let go, and the boy crumpled to the dusty ground before scrambling away in fear.

Having settled that, Osborn hid in a secluded corner, waiting for Principal Xu, who had gone home to deal with the trouble he had caused, to return.

The faint sound of students reciting lessons drifted from afar, as if from another world.

Dusk gradually fell, and Osborn waited until a girl and Principal Xu entered the music room, then waited until darkness enveloped the sky.

In the darkness, the doors lining the hallway looked like cold, upright tombstones.

Osborn imagined blood trickling from those tombstones. Drip, drip.

He listened to the faint sobs, his fists clenched tightly.

Not long after, a video appeared on the computers of the school board members. A girl's trembling back was facing the camera, while Principal Xu's lewd behavior was on full display.

Osborn read the news in the local paper about Principal Xu's dismissal. He closed the newspaper and let out a long breath.

Looking up, he saw a clear, cloudless sky.

However, just a few weeks later, Principal Xu reappeared at the school. It turned out that he had only resigned superficially, and after the incident blew over, he returned to the school to take on another important position.

Staring at the blurry photo on his old phone's screen, Osborn felt a surge of nausea, as if seeing a bloodstained tombstone once more. Intense rage consumed him, overwhelming his reason.

He grabbed a wooden stick and waited for the principal on a small path in the school parking lot.

Principal Xu: You... Osborn? What do you want? Here for revenge?

The repulsive man shed his pretense of kindness, his eyes filled with disdain and mockery.

Principal Xu: Don't you remember how your father begged me? Or did you not spend enough time in juvenile detention—

The tightly wound tension within Osborn snapped. The whoosh of the wooden stick cut through the man's smug voice, replaced by a cry of pain.

Osborn: Scum like you don't deserve to mention his name.

Principal Xu: I shouldn't have let you off the hook last time!

The enraged man swung at Osborn's wrist. A child's strength was no match for an adult's. Osborn cried out in pain, but he still didn't summon his flames.

His reason told him that this man, despite his wickedness, was still just an ordinary human. Having lost his weapon, Osborn completely abandoned all defense, using all his strength to kick the principal repeatedly.

The man's face contorted in pain, and Osborn was also covered in bruises, barely able to stand, yet he laughed.

Osborn: You deserve this.

Security guards, alerted by the commotion, rushed over and subdued him once more. This time, he didn't see Ye Chuan.

The long three months became another cycle, and Osborn found himself back in that juvenile detention center.

But when he reached the end of those three months, he realized that he wasn't going to be released this time.

Osborn: Where are you taking me?

No one answered him. The windowless van transported Osborn to an unfamiliar place.

He looked up at the sign hanging above the entrance.

Osborn: Yuda Academy.

The name wasn't unfamiliar. He had once seen their advertisement in a newspaper Ye Chuan subscribed to – "We accept troubled youth. We'll return an obedient child to you."

Suddenly, understanding dawned on him.

Ye Chuan had abandoned him after all.

Just like everyone else who had been in his life.

Well, this is fine too, he thought silently.

From now on, I can do whatever I want. No one can stop me anymore.

As a new student, Osborn was assigned to the last row in the classroom. The room was eerily quiet, the high walls blocking out all sunlight. There were moments when Osborn felt like everyone else here was already dead.

But this quiet was soon shattered.

Teacher: You still can't memorize such a simple thing? How can you be so stupid?!

Teacher: Scum like you are a waste of resources, not even as good as a sewer rat!

The insults escalated, and the girl in the front row lowered her head, her body trembling, but she didn't dare say a word.

Osborn frowned, pushing his desk back as he stood up.

Osborn: She just made a few mistakes reciting it, do you have to be so harsh?

The classroom fell silent for a moment, and Osborn saw fear in the eyes of his classmates. The teacher's face twisted with rage, and he stormed over, slapping Osborn hard across the face.

Osborn stumbled, and before he could react, he was kicked to the ground, a torrent of blows raining down on him.

Teacher: Who said you could speak?! Don't you know anything about respecting your teachers?

Osborn clutched his stomach, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth, his body aching.

It wasn't until he was curled up on the floor, his back bent in pain, unable to move, that the teacher finally stopped.

Teacher: Do you know you were wrong now?

Osborn: I did nothing wrong.

The moment he spoke, he was pulled up by his hair, his eyes meeting a chilling smile.

Teacher: It seems I need to teach you the rules here.

Osborn was dragged by several tall teachers into a dark room. Two iron beds lined the walls, their sheets stained with a dark red that wouldn't wash out.

He was forcefully pushed onto one of the beds, and electrodes were attached to his head and chest. When the current was turned on, Osborn's uncontrolled screams filled the room.

The electric shocks were like needles, piercing his brain. The intense pain made his mind go blank for a moment.

Teacher: Are you wrong now?

Osborn: I-I did nothing wrong...

Teacher: Again.

Half an hour later, he was dumped in the washroom like a ragdoll. The icy water rose to his chest, slowly stealing his body heat.

There was no light, no sound in the darkness.

For a moment, Osborn felt like a lifeless corpse.

He saw a white light, a vision of the amusement park from long ago. The warm sunlight, the cheerful atmosphere...

When food was brought in, Osborn shook his head, refusing to eat.

But in the next instant, his jaw was forced open, and the disgusting liquid food was poured down his throat.

Here, he didn't deserve the right to say "no."

The day he was released from confinement, the bright sunlight was blinding, blurring his vision.

He walked past the sports field, where a class was being scolded by their teacher. They hung their heads like soulless puppets, their fear and obedience reminiscent of slaves.

Every morning, everyone was forced to loudly "reflect" and "repent" for their mistakes, with sincerity and a smile.

His roommate, Ji Xi, who had been here for six months, was called up before him.

Ji Xi: I was wrong. I shouldn't have been deceived into joining that online club.

Ji Xi: I shouldn't have thought about ending my own life. Life is a gift from my parents.

Ji Xi: I'm useless. I've failed to live up to my parents' and society's expectations.

Ji Xi: If it weren't for this academy, I would never have realized my mistakes.

Ji Xi: I'm grateful for the teachers' guidance. I'll study hard and repay my parents.

When it was Osborn's turn, he numbly looked at the recording camera.

Why did Ye Chuan send me here? he wondered, Because he still had hope for me, or because he was completely disappointed? Why didn't he just abandon me directly?

Is this the kind of person he wants me to become?

But he couldn't see Ye Chuan, couldn't find the answers.

Only late at night, lying alone in bed, did he feel a brief respite. He would often dream of falling from a tall building, his body as light as a feather.

After waking up, he would climb to the edge of the roof and look at the indelible rust-red stain on the concrete below, a silent accusation.

All I have to do is jump, and I can escape it all.

Would anyone grieve for me? Would anyone care if I died? He wondered listlessly.

Osborn: The person who cares most would probably be that Principal Xu.

Osborn gave a self-deprecating chuckle, but the thought made him step back from the edge.

He had to stay alive until those people were punished.

After the daily brainwashing "lessons," there were also demanding chores. That night, when Osborn wearily returned to his room, he found Ji Xi cutting his wrist with a broken toothbrush handle.

There were several marks on his wrist, some just oozing blood, others deep and gaping.

Osborn watched Ji Xi's twisted expression, a strange mix of laughter and tears, with an almost detached indifference. But when he raised his hand to cut again, Osborn snatched the bloody toothbrush handle away.

Ji Xi: What are you doing? Give it back!

Osborn: Calm down.

Ji Xi: Are you going to report me to the teachers?

Osborn: No.

Ji Xi: Then why are you saving me?

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice filled with anger as he questioned Osborn. But Osborn knew he was just scared.

Afraid of continuing to live here, afraid of facing the outside world, afraid of living, and afraid that no one would truly save him.

Osborn: You still want to live.

Hearing his words, Ji Xi covered his face with his hands, tears seeping through his fingers.

Ji Xi: I don't know... Is it more painful to die, or to keep living?

Osborn: I don't know either.

Perhaps humans were born to swing on the pendulum of pain, surrounded by walls with no escape in sight.

Osborn turned away, and a blue flame ignited in his palm, incinerating the broken toothbrush and its bloodstains.

Ji Xi stared at him in shock, then finally swallowed with difficulty, his voice returning.

Ji Xi: What... what was that?

Osborn glanced at him coldly and sat back down on his bed, not bothering to answer.

Ji Xi hesitated, then pulled down his collar, revealing a gruesome scar on his chest.

Ji Xi: I can exchange my biggest secret with you.

Ji Xi: I joined... a club online.

Ji Xi: We all agreed on a time and place... to help each other... end our lives.

He seemed unable to continue, and Osborn understood. They must have lost their nerve, and that was how Ji Xi ended up here, sent to the academy.

Osborn looked at Ji Xi. He knew this was the only thing he could offer. After a moment's hesitation, he finally spoke.

Osborn: That was my ability. I can control fire.

Ji Xi: Ability? Is it... magic? Could you always do that?

Osborn: Yes.

Ji Xi: Then why don't you use it to escape? They would be scared if they saw it.

Osborn: Scare them, and then I can leave?

Osborn: No way. They'll just become crueler.

Osborn leaned against his bed, watching Ji Xi's dejected expression. They had exchanged their deepest secrets. From this moment on, they were co-conspirators.

Late that night, Ji Xi led Osborn to a remote corner of the academy.

The walls were covered in moss and mildew. Ji Xi stepped on the rusty wire mesh and pushed a ceiling tile aside, revealing a forgotten ventilation shaft.

Ji Xi: An upperclassman showed me this place. No one else knows about it.

Osborn followed him into the duct. It led to a small, attic-like space. The narrow walls were covered in dust, but the floor was surprisingly clean, as if it was regularly swept.

A large window faced the silent night sky, where a crescent moon hung, casting its gentle, yet indifferent, light upon them.

Ji Xi: Whenever I feel suffocated, I come here to look at the sky.

Ji Xi: If I ever see a blue moon, it means I'll be lucky.

Ji Xi sat on the floor, gazing at the moon with a hopeful expression.

Osborn: Why?

Ji Xi: Because the upperclassman who showed me this place was taken home by his parents the day after seeing a blue moon. That's what he told me before he left.

Ji Xi: So I'll definitely wait for it.

Ji Xi: My parents must still love me, right? They're just... just disappointed in me for now.

Tears glistened in Ji Xi's eyes. Osborn looked at him, an inexplicable sadness in his heart. He suddenly remembered a book he read a long time ago, a book that mentioned two moons in the sky.

Osborn: Is there really such a thing as a blue moon?

Ji Xi: I've never seen one either, but I believe there must be.

Ji Xi: We'll see it.

Just then, the entrance panel shifted slightly.

Osborn: Someone's coming.

Osborn immediately shielded Ji Xi, and they both stared warily at the entrance.

A young man crawled in. He looked to be in his late twenties and wore a blue lab coat.

Osborn didn't recognize him. And unlike the usual violent teachers, this man seemed gentle and scholarly.

The man looked at them, his expression not angry or accusatory, simply surprised.

Young Man: Are you students at the academy?

Osborn didn't answer, simply asking in return:

Osborn: Are you a teacher here?

Young Man: No, I work in the laboratory.

There was a separate building on the other side of the sports field. It was called the "laboratory," but none of the students knew what kind of experiments were conducted there, nor had they ever seen the people who worked there.

Young Man: I was just passing by and noticed that this ceiling panel looked a bit strange, so I came up to check.

Young Man: What are you two doing hiding here?

He still didn't receive an answer. Seeing the wary look in Osborn's eyes, the young man smiled.

Young Man: I'm not a bad guy... Forget it, wait here for a moment.

He went back through the entrance, then quickly returned, carrying a bag. He opened it, revealing some packaged food and drinks.

Young Man: I was going to have this for a late-night snack. Want some?

He opened two packages of bread and offered them. It was plain bread with no enticing aroma, yet Osborn could hear himself swallowing.

Osborn: You really work in the laboratory?

Zhou Weicheng: Of course. My name is Zhou Weicheng. I'm a researcher on the "Eclipse Project."

Zhou Weicheng: You probably don't know how incredible this project is. In the future, it will definitely change the world!

He spoke with pride, but Osborn scoffed.

Osborn: What kind of groundbreaking research could possibly be conducted in this kind of place?

Zhou Weicheng: This kind of place? Do you have a problem with the academy?

Zhou Weicheng: The laboratory is just affiliated with the academy.

Zhou Weicheng: But I know the person in charge here. If you have any complaints, I can pass them along.

Osborn eyed Zhou Weicheng cautiously. He didn't seem to be lying.

Osborn: You really don't know anything?

He told Zhou Weicheng everything that had happened at the academy, his expression growing more and more shocked.

Zhou Weicheng: They really did that to you?!

Ji Xi, beside him, pulled up his sleeve, revealing his arm covered in red welts from being beaten with a ruler. Some were already scarred, while others were still swollen and red.

Zhou Weicheng: I never knew about this...

Zhou Weicheng: I'll go talk to the person in charge of the academy and find out what's going on!

Osborn knew there wasn't much hope, but perhaps it was the genuine indignation in the young man's eyes, or perhaps it was because he had nothing else to hold onto, but he decided to trust Zhou Weicheng for now.

The three of them sat by the window under the crescent moon, sharing the stale, cold bread.

The next day, Zhou Weicheng returned. He said he had already spoken to the person in charge, who claimed that the abuse must have been the teachers acting on their own accord, and that they would investigate thoroughly.

The third day, the investigation was still ongoing. The fourth day, the fifth... Zhou Weicheng came every day, waiting with them.

In the end, they couldn't even say for sure what they were waiting for. A miracle? Or to finally give up? It seemed fate was reminding them in this way that, for most of life, our efforts are futile.

Zhou Weicheng: Have you thought about what you want to do in the future?

Zhou Weicheng: Like me, for example. I want to become a great scientist, to contribute to the progress of the world.

Ji Xi: I want to go home.

Ji Xi: And after I get back, I'm going to disband that club, then go pay my respects to the friend who passed away.

Ji Xi: I heard he has a younger brother. I'll help take care of him.

Zhou Weicheng: What about you, Osborn?

Osborn: I want to be a villain.

Osborn gazed intently at the moon, a fire burning in his eyes.

Osborn: I want to personally witness all those evildoers receive the punishment they deserve.

Zhou Weicheng: Then why don't you become a police officer, upholding justice?

Osborn: Good people are restricted by many things, but villains aren't.

Osborn: If I could, I wouldn't want kindness or compassion at all. They'll only destroy me.

Zhou Weicheng: You can't think like that. Good will always triumph over evil.

Zhou Weicheng: The investigation results will be out in a few days. You'll all be able to go home soon.

His eyes seemed to shine in the moonlight, and Osborn saw something that might be called "hope" in them.

A sudden urge to reciprocate that hope welled up within Osborn.

Osborn: Dr. Zhou, what kind of research did you say you were doing?

Zhou Weicheng: Separating the human body from the soul. Why?

Osborn: Can you... do me a favor?

That night, Ji Xi went back first. He didn't know what Osborn and Zhou Weicheng were planning, but he had a feeling that something miraculous was about to happen.

Of course, miracles weren't always beautiful. They could also be ugly or painful. This kind of miracle wasn't about wishes or anything good, it was just about survival.

After that day, he felt like Osborn had changed, but he couldn't quite say how.

The labor at the academy intensified, and Ji Xi's health deteriorated, even leading to him collapsing several times. After repeated punishments, he was practically bedridden.

Osborn felt anxious. But just then, they suddenly received good news.

Teacher: Ji Xi, your parents are coming to take you home tonight.

Ji Xi: Cough, cough Really?! That's great!

Ji Xi struggled to sit up in his iron bed, his eyes wide with disbelief and joy.

After the teacher left, he leaned weakly against the headboard and gave Osborn a childlike smile of contentment.

Ji Xi: I finally saw the blue moon...

Ji Xi: Osborn, we'll definitely see each other again outside.

Osborn: Yeah. When I get out, I'll come find you.

Ji Xi left the academy that night. Osborn didn't get to see his parents, only watched his receding figure as he was helped away, a nagging unease growing within him.

And just like that, both Zhou Weicheng and Ji Xi disappeared from his life.

Life at the academy seemed to drag on endlessly. It was a muggy day, and the teachers were even more irritable than usual.

That night, the pain from the punishments made it impossible for Osborn to sleep. He tossed and turned, and his hand brushed against a small piece of paper hidden in the folds of the blanket. A line of text was written on it: "I'll be waiting for you at the old place."

The handwriting was familiar. It was Zhou Weicheng. He had been gone for so long, why was he suddenly back?

At midnight, Osborn got up and went to their secret hideout under the moonlit window.

He found Zhou Weicheng there. After all this time, he had become emaciated. He sat on the floor, staring blankly out the window, his eyes vacant, a completely different person.

Osborn: What happened to you?

Zhou Weicheng: Osborn! Thank goodness, you're still alive! I thought you were also...

Zhou Weicheng: Only I was unaware. This place truly is a living hell!

Zhou Weicheng grabbed Osborn's hand tightly, his words tumbling out incoherently, tears streaming down his face.

Zhou Weicheng: I've inadvertently caused the deaths of so many people... You have to run, get out of here...

Osborn frowned, a sense of foreboding washing over him.

Osborn: What happened?

Zhou Weicheng: I discovered... You... The students here, you're all test subjects for the Eclipse Project.

Zhou Weicheng: The food you eat, the teachers' punishments... it's all part of their plan to filter and modify you!

Zhou Weicheng: Those who fail the modifications are eliminated!

Osborn: Wh-what do you mean...

Zhou Weicheng: I saw Ji Xi in the laboratory. He's been disposed of!

Disposed of? Did that mean... dead?

Osborn's fists clenched tightly.

He remembered Ji Xi's joyful expression before leaving, their promise to meet again outside.

Zhou Weicheng: I've already disrupted their equipment. You have to take this chance to escape. This is our last chance!

Osborn: You think I'll believe you again?

Zhou Weicheng: I'm telling the truth! They're planning to dispose of most of the inferior test subjects and transfer the rest.

Zhou Weicheng: You have to leave now!

Test subjects. In his eyes, was Ji Xi's death simply a failed experiment?

Osborn: You bastard!

An overwhelming wave of anger and sadness, like a spark, ignited his blood after a long period of suppression. Osborn threw a punch, hitting Zhou Weicheng squarely in the face.

Blood trickled from Zhou Weicheng's lips, his eyes red-rimmed, his expression a mixture of pain and despair.

Zhou Weicheng: It's all my fault. I know an apology isn't enough. I'll try my best to atone for it.

Zhou Weicheng: I can't destroy this place, but at least... I can help you escape.

Osborn threw another punch.

Osborn: What about Ji Xi? What about the other students?

Just then, a piercing alarm suddenly blared, quickly followed by a cacophony of shouts and footsteps.

Osborn glared at Zhou Weicheng, ready to strike again, but this time, his wrist was caught.

Zhou Weicheng looked utterly defeated, but his eyes held a sincere and profound sadness, and a desperate plea.

Zhou Weicheng: Just go. I have to get the other five people I rescued from the laboratory out of here.

After a tense standoff, Osborn finally stopped.

The entire academy's power system had been disabled, and everyone was busy dealing with the emergency. Amidst the chaos, no one noticed a lone figure escaping.

Osborn followed the route Zhou Weicheng pointed out, using his fire to melt through the rusty wire mesh and escape the prison that had tormented him.

He ran with all his might, towards his long-awaited freedom.

He didn't stop until he was far away, surrounded by the quiet stillness of the wilderness, where only the wind could be heard. He turned to look back at the academy.

And in the sky behind him, a blue moon hung.

6 Years Ago. Early Autumn.

Early in the morning, everyone on the road to the hospital was in a hurry.

Xiao Yi pulled his collar up further, blocking the chilly autumn wind. Among the crowd, he spotted a familiar figure.

Osborn: Dr. He.

The elderly doctor, walking ahead of him, turned around and greeted him with a smile.

Their lives had changed drastically since Ye Chuan was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

If it weren't for Dr. He helping them find a specialist and occasionally waiving some of their medical expenses, their lives would be even more difficult.

When Osborn returned home after collecting their medication, Ye Chuan was in the kitchen, washing dishes. He would sometimes help with chores when he was feeling well.

Osborn stood at the doorway, watching him. Ye Chuan's movements were slow. He would wash the same bowl over and over before finally realizing it was already clean.

He spent a long time washing the few dishes left from breakfast. Ye Chuan dried his hands, then turned around and saw Osborn. A smile spread across his face.

Ye Chuan: Brat, why are you standing there so quietly? Is it a school holiday today?

Osborn: Yeah. School sports day, we get half a day off.

Ye Chuan: I'm sure you won first place in several events, right? I'll make some chicken soup tonight to replenish your energy.

He picked up an empty bowl, then suddenly paused, turning it upside down and shaking it.

Ye Chuan: Strange, where did the ginger I just put in go?

He looked at Osborn with a confused expression, and Osborn was suddenly reminded of himself as a child, seeking help.

Osborn: The weather's nice outside. Want to go for a walk?

Ye Chuan thought for a moment, then took off his apron, hung it on the door, and nodded.

It had been a long time since he had been willing to go out. He mostly just stayed at home, sitting on that old, sunken sofa all day long.

In his mind, Osborn was still that little boy wandering the streets. He always worried that when he came home, Osborn wouldn't be there.

The weather outside was lovely, the sky clear and vast. Ye Chuan seemed more energetic too.

Ye Chuan: Where are we going?

On the bus, Ye Chuan curiously pressed his face against the window, gazing at the scenery, as if something was calling to him.

If it weren't for his grey hair, his actions and expressions would have been childlike.

Osborn: We're going to the park. Don't you enjoy watching people play chess there?

Osborn straightened Ye Chuan's collar. Now, it felt like their roles had completely reversed. He had become the parent, and Ye Chuan, the child.

Ye Chuan used to love bringing him to this park too.

He would stand behind a few old men playing chess, happily offering unsolicited advice, seemingly no different from before.

Watching Ye Chuan like this, Osborn was reminded of the time when he first escaped from the academy.

He had initially assumed that Ye Chuan was the one who sent him to that hellhole.

But when he knocked on the door, filled with resentment and a flicker of hope, he was met with an unfamiliar gaze.

Ye Chuan: Who are you? You look familiar...

It was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing his hope.

That afternoon, Osborn packed all his belongings into a small backpack, just as he had arrived.

The small greyhound toy on the bedside table was clean and tidy. It seemed to be looking at Osborn with pity, a sight that stung.

With nowhere to go, Osborn could only seek temporary refuge at the cheapest internet café he could find.

He wandered the streets during the day and slept in the stuffy internet café at night, the line between reality and illusion blurring.

A few nights later, Osborn, who was sleeping unsteadily at a computer desk, was woken by a commotion. He opened his eyes, his mind still trapped in the abyss of a falling dream.

Boy at the Next Computer: Hurry up and leave, the cops are here! Don't get caught!

The "neighbor" beside him gave him a kind warning, and Osborn, his reaction delayed, finally snapped out of it, just as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

His mind still foggy, he reached for his backpack, but his wrist was suddenly grabbed.

He looked up in a daze and, to his surprise, saw Ye Chuan, his collar up, a cap pulled low over his eyes.

Osborn: What are you doing here?

Ye Chuan: I'll explain later, let's go.

Before the police reached the second floor, Ye Chuan had already pulled him out through a hidden back exit.

Osborn was fully awake now. "Thank you," he said, and was about to turn and leave when Ye Chuan grabbed his backpack.

Ye Chuan: Osborn, will you come home with me? I'm worried about you.

Ye Chuan: Before... they said I was sick, that I would sometimes forget things.

Osborn froze, his eyes widening as he looked at Ye Chuan's weary face. He seemed much older than Osborn remembered.

A wave of confusion washed over him. He realized he could no longer recall what Ye Chuan used to look like. It was as if someone had stolen his memories, and stolen time from Ye Chuan.

Osborn: Why did you send me there?

Ye Chuan: I didn't know they would send you away. The detention center said you kept refusing to see me.

Ye Chuan: I thought you heard that I went to beg the school again, so you didn't want to see me.

The answer was far simpler than he had imagined. But after finally obtaining the answer to this question that had been plaguing him, Osborn didn't feel any sense of relief.

His throat tightened, his voice hoarse.

Osborn: What's wrong with you? What illness do you have?

Ye Chuan: It's nothing, it's not serious.

Ye Chuan's gaze darted around evasively. This time, Osborn didn't back down. He dragged him to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with an unexpected illness—Alzheimer's.

The doctor explained that there were many possible causes: genetics, other underlying illnesses, and even social and environmental factors.

Osborn had never met his biological family, and Ye Chuan's previous clean bill of health ruled out the second possibility.

Osborn realized that he was the cause.

Ye Chuan's memory began to deteriorate, his cognitive and judgment abilities declining. His mood constantly fluctuated between apathy and agitation, and sometimes, he couldn't even recognize his own home.

Their lives became more and more difficult. Ye Chuan had always done odd jobs, never had a stable career, so he had no social security or savings to speak of.

Ye Chuan: I saw a job posting for a security guard at a residential complex. I could try that.

Back at home, Ye Chuan rambled about the information he had gathered, searching for a presentable outfit for the interview. He didn't seem to realize that he was getting old.

Osborn could only take the suit jacket from his hands and place his medication in front of him.

Osborn: You should take it easy, just rest at home.

Osborn: Take your medicine first.

Ye Chuan: Medicine? What medicine?! I'm not sick!

Ye Chuan suddenly flew into a rage, throwing the clothes hanger to the ground and reaching for a glass on the table.

Osborn was used to this by now. He quickly moved the glass and the medicine out of reach.

Ye Chuan: Who are you? What are you doing in my house?

Osborn: I'm Osborn.

Ye Chuan: No, you're not Osborn. Where is he?

His eyes were unfamiliar and guarded, like a cold blade, silently inflicting wounds.

Osborn: I'm Osborn.

He patiently repeated those words over and over, like a parent teaching a child to speak.

Ye Chuan's condition fluctuated. There were days when Osborn felt exhausted. But when their neighbor suggested sending Ye Chuan to a nursing home, he refused without hesitation.

Osborn: I'm his son, I should take care of him.

At night, lying in bed, Osborn didn't dare sleep too deeply. Even in his dreams, he had to remain alert for any sounds from the next room.

During those moments, it felt like his senses were floating, detached from reality.

Many years later, while sailing at sea, he would often jolt awake just as he was about to fall asleep, suddenly remembering those nights when the world was eerily silent.

One night, Ye Chuan somehow wandered onto the balcony and almost fell. After that, Osborn placed a small bed in his room and they shared the same space.

In his half-awake state, he would hear Ye Chuan tossing and turning, coughing.

Osborn would force his eyes open, making sure he was still safely in bed, before relaxing back into sleep.

During the day, he would ask their neighbor to look after Ye Chuan while he rushed between school, the construction site, and his night job at a nightclub on evenings when Ye Chuan was feeling relatively well.

Homeroom Teacher: Osborn! Why are you sleeping again?!

A book landed squarely on Osborn's back. He rubbed his sore spine, realizing that he had dozed off again.

Homeroom Teacher: Several teachers have already reported that you've been sleeping in class! What are you doing all night?!

Facing the teacher's stern expression, Osborn gripped the book and smirked.

Osborn: Your aim needs practice, teach. Watch and learn. Like this.

He effortlessly tossed the book back onto the teacher's desk.

Homeroom Teacher: Get out and stand in the hallway!

Osborn didn't say anything and walked out of the classroom, ignoring the curious and disdainful stares of his classmates.

A few days later, when Osborn arrived at school, he found himself the center of attention. People were whispering and pointing.

As he entered the classroom, the class monitor, who usually disapproved of his behavior, greeted him with unexpected warmth. Osborn noticed a red donation box on the teacher's desk.

Class Monitor: Osborn, we learned about your family situation. Why did you hide such a difficult situation from us?

The class monitor's eyes were red-rimmed as he offered his concern. The homeroom teacher also looked at Osborn with sympathy, pulling him towards the front of the classroom.

Homeroom Teacher: Osborn was adopted by his foster father, who is now seriously ill.

Homeroom Teacher: He's the sole provider for his family.

Homeroom Teacher: He has to take care of his foster father and work part-time after school. His life is very difficult, so we should all help him, shouldn't we?

They applauded enthusiastically, they donated generously. They were moved to tears.

For a moment, Osborn felt like he was back at the academy, confessing his "crimes."

He had nowhere to hide, his pain and struggles laid bare, like a tragic silent film.

That day, Osborn had no idea how he managed to endure until school ended and he returned home. During dinner, he lost his temper with Ye Chuan for the first time.

Osborn: Why are you sick like this?!

He shouted, then saw the confusion in Ye Chuan's eyes. He was holding his chopsticks. He didn't understand, but his aged eyes were filled with sadness and guilt.

Osborn: I'm sorry...

Ye Chuan: I'm sorry...

They both spoke the words simultaneously. Osborn felt a surge of sadness and threw his arms around Ye Chuan.

He desperately needed money, not pity.

Osborn held a business card, thinking all night. It was from the man he had stopped from committing suicide at the nightclub, a man who was drowning in debt from gambling.

Osborn knew how to drive. It was a skill that seemed to come naturally to him. At the nightclub, he often helped valet cars or drive drunk customers home to earn some extra cash.

At dawn, he took his altered ID and, following the address on the card, went to a racing club and told them he was willing to participate in their races.

That was how he met Merodach, the owner of the racing club, the one who would later introduce him to the Long Day bounty hunting guild.

Merodach: Racing is gambling with your life. Aren't you afraid, kid?

Osborn: There's nothing to be afraid of.

Merodach: Why do you want to race? At your age, you should be in school.

Osborn: I need money. A lot of money.

Merodach: What if I told you there's another way to earn a lot of money, but it's even more dangerous than racing? Would you do it?

Osborn: Yes.

Osborn and the man looked at each other, their gazes steady. The man stubbed out his cigarette and smiled.

Merodach: Not bad. Take him to sign the agreement.

The "agreement" was a life-or-death contract.

And so, Osborn began his racing career. He was more reckless, more determined, and more terrifying than anyone else.

The wind whipped past him as he sped around the track, brushing against death itself. The wind was so strong it made it hard to breathe, but he felt like this world, which he had struggled against for seventeen years, could no longer defeat him. At least this time, they were evenly matched.

The burden he had carried for so long finally felt lighter. He imagined himself as a dove, or a wave, effortlessly soaring through the sky on the wind.

Everything he had done, from childhood to now, was to escape this place.

The world was a wasteland, but he could venture out, search for a better view, even if it was just a fleeting glimpse.

He even thought that, once he earned enough money, he could buy better medicine, and maybe Ye Chuan would gradually recover. And when that happened, he would take him away from here. The world was vast, there had to be a place for them.

But as if it were some kind of law, fate always offered a taste of sweetness before a sudden downfall. Ye Chuan's condition abruptly worsened.

Osborn resolutely clipped his own wings, tethering himself to this land.

Ye Chuan's memory deteriorated further, as if he were trapped in a maze of the past, unable to find his way out. Most of the time, he required constant care.

These days dragged on and on, and the end of their journey seemed to stretch before them with agonizing clarity.

Occasionally, Osborn would look at that annoying class monitor and feel a pang of envy.

One night, Ye Chuan lay sleeping in the bed beside him. Only during these moments was he truly at peace, offering them both a brief respite.

Osborn rubbed his shoulders. Suddenly, a thought arose in his mind: If Ye Chuan were gone, wouldn't it be a release for both of them?

A dim night light illuminated the bedroom. A car passed by outside, its headlights momentarily flooding the room with light.

Osborn abruptly woke from his thoughts, a wave of disgust washing over him. He couldn't believe such a dark thought had crossed his mind.

But the thought took root, growing clearer, like a tempting fruit, beckoning a lost traveler.

He desperately tried to recall the past, the days when he and Ye Chuan had only each other, hoping those memories of warmth could dispel this horrifying notion.

For several days, Osborn's mind was in a haze. While taking Ye Chuan to the market, he turned around and realized that the man who had been following him was gone.

He frantically searched, but there was no sign of Ye Chuan—he was lost, just like that fleeting thought.

In that split second, he felt a sense of relief, but it was quickly replaced by an overwhelming panic.

His breath hitched, as if the world he had been desperately trying to hold together was about to collapse.

Osborn: Ye Chuan! Ye Chuan! Where are you? Ye Chuan!

Osborn pushed through the crowd, frantically searching. He saw the market exit, the dazzling sunlight pouring in. If he walked through that exit, he could finally grasp the freedom he had been chasing for so long, the freedom that had always eluded him.

His steps faltered. He glanced at that brightly lit exit, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Finally, he found Ye Chuan.

He was sitting by a fish tank, drenched and miserable, clutching a fish in his hand, refusing to let go.

Osborn's eyes reddened as he walked towards him, crouching beside him like a child finally finding his way home.

Osborn: What are you doing here?

Ye Chuan turned to look at him, seemingly mistaking him for the stall owner, a friendly smile on his face.

Ye Chuan: I want to buy this fish. It's my son's favorite.

Osborn: Okay, let's buy it.

Ye Chuan: Hey, you look familiar...

Ye Chuan suddenly frowned, a confused and troubled expression on his face.

Ye Chuan: You look like my son, but he's not this old...

As he rambled, a faint smile touched Osborn's lips. He reached out and took Ye Chuan's dirty hand in his.

Osborn: ...Dad.

He held on tight. Their clasped hands were like a fragile thread, connecting two unrelated souls.

He finally understood. His yearning for freedom stemmed from a lack of attachments.

And now, he was willing to trade some of that freedom for a different kind.

Osborn: Let's go. Let's go home.

PHONE CALL

You (SMS): Osborn, are you there?

Osborn: What's up?

You: Nothing, nothing. I'm surprised you called so directly.

Osborn: Take a look at the time.

You: Hmm... 10:43 p.m.

Osborn: I'm already a bit worried since I can't be with you because of this out-of-town training.

Osborn: And then I get a message from you this late, how can I not be anxious?

You: That's true, but I was actually planning to call you, so this works out perfectly!

Osborn: Yeah, it seems we're becoming more and more in sync.

Osborn: Let me guess, you just got off work?

You: Yep, I'm in a taxi on my way home.

You: I was a bit scared taking a taxi alone, so I wanted to call you.

Osborn: I understand. What's your license plate number? No need to say it, just send it to me.

You: Let me see... Sent!

Osborn: Got it. Are you wearing headphones?

You: Yes, why?

Osborn: Take one out so you can be aware of your surroundings.

You: Oh, right, good point!

Osborn: If I had known you were working overtime, I would have asked Wen Wan to pick you up.

You: It's fine, I didn't want to bother anyone. And besides, chatting with you like this is nice.

You: Even though we're not together, hearing your voice makes it feel like you're here with me.

Osborn: Not for me. Hearing your voice makes me miss you even more. I wish I could see you right now.

You: Hmm... don't tell me you're already thinking about coming back early?

Osborn: Wow, you can read my mind now.

You: Heh heh, no being impulsive, okay? Even if you're the great Osborn, you still need to focus on training.

You: It's not that I don't have faith in your skills, it's just that more practice means more safety on the track.

Osborn: Okay, okay, you're the boss. I wouldn't dare disobey.

You: Well, as long as you understand what I mean.

Osborn: Where are you now?

You: I just got out of the taxi, almost home!

Osborn: That's good. Before you go in, check the delivery shelf by the door.

You: Huh...? Wow, it's a lemon tart! When did you order this?

Osborn: When you first got in the taxi.

Osborn: After eating the lemon tart, you'll definitely have sweet dreams tonight.

TEXT MESSAGE

You: Osborn, have you heard of "emo?" Osborn: You mean the rock music genre? Or the slang term? Osborn: If it's the slang, I've heard the guys on the team mention it. Osborn: I think it means feeling down or depressed. You: Wait, "emo" is a rock music genre? Osborn: Looks like I've found a gap in your internet knowledge. Osborn: The slang "emo" seems to have originated from emo rock music. Osborn: But I'm more familiar with the music genre. You: Hmm... Actually, I get emo quite often, especially late at night. Osborn: That's normal. Osborn: Some say that darkness makes it easier to lose control of your emotions, so you're more prone to feeling emo. Osborn: It's nighttime now. Let me guess, is there a certain silly goose feeling emo? You: Yeah... I watched a romance movie this afternoon, and it hit me hard, I guess. I miss you a lot. Osborn (Voice MSG): Right now, open your music player and pick any song that's longer than three minutes. Osborn (Voice MSG): After you finish listening to that song, I promise I'll appear before you.

- TIMELINE POST

Osborn: My favorite band is performing in Guangqi next month.

You: I already know! I even bought tickets. Praise me!

Osborn's Reply: Oh? You're actually faster than me this time. Then you can be "Speedy Cat" for a day.

Light and Night Masterlist

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midnighteroticasworld · 3 months ago

Text

It’s so hot in here daddy

All parties are consenting adults aged above 18

Jason was drugged out of his mind. His head kept wobbling backwards, limp as his dad, Kenny basically dragged him out of the dentist’s dark office that was getting warmer by the minute. The usually silent dentist’s office has grown a little louder as few nurses were assisting some of their patients who were sitting in the sweltering heat.

Half supporting, half carrying his son, Kenny walked past the empty receptionist desk as the main dentist, Dr. Khan stood next to a few men who he assumed to be electricians checking out the massive electrical panel which for some reason was placed by the waiting room of the dentist.

“Sorry again Mr, Richardson! I will see you next Friday!” shouted the dentist, his face full of guilt and sweat staining the front of his shirt.

Kenny could only half smile. On a different day he would have shown him his pearly whites, even flirted a little with the 6 ft 2 bearded hunk of a dentist but his arm was straining with the weight of his son who at this point had given up walking and just clung to his body.

Kenny looked at his son in his half drugged and half conscious state, what a day for a blackout at the dentist, that too just as the boy was about to get his tooth extraction done. The lights had gone out just a few minutes or so after Jason was administered whatever the drugs the dentists give for these procedures. Dr. Khan had apparently barely propped his son’s mouth open when the blackout happened. Under the emergency light he had elected to not get through with the procedure after all. Kenny had to wait for some time for Jason to regain some consciousness before heading home.

Despite turning 19 just a mere weeks ago Jason was terrified of the whole tooth extraction thing. It took his dad basically begging him paired with unbearable headaches to finally get him to agree to this wisdom tooth extraction thing. Kenny was slightly pissed that his son would take this as some sort of sign and not want to go through with the procedure the next time. His son was a nuisance at times.

“Dad…daddy” Jason mumbled as Kenny rubbed his pocket fronts for his car keys.

“Yes Jace,” he said, opening the passenger side door to let his boy in. It wasn’t rare for his son to refer to him as daddy. He only does so once in a while.

The boy gave his dad the geekiest small eliciting a short sprout of laughter from his dad.

“Boy you’re high as a kite aren’t cha?”

“Yes, sir!” he saluted then wobbled his way onto his seat.

Kenny looked at his son, piercing gray eyes, hair a dark ebony with curls, tight toned but slim body, slightly shorter than himself. He knew his boy was a hot specimen but he had the civility to never say it out loud on the account of him being his own blood and flesh. But his mind was a lawless land and no one could police his thoughts.

As he put Jason down on the car seat, and reached over to buckle the seatbelt, Kenny felt fingers cupping the bulge in the front of his pants. He froze. His face flushed as he grabbed Jason’s wrist when the boy mumbled “daddy you’re so big,” before breaking into a laugh that can only be described as drugged mischief. Kenny pushed his son away and closed the car door.

“What was that?” he asked himself.

Drugs. Probably the drugs. He repeated to himself before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

“Hmmm it is so hot!” Jason moaned.

“What?” Kenny looked at his son who had unbuttoned his shirt down to his chest, beads of sweat visibly rolling down his neck.

“ le..let the AC kick in” He put the car AC on high and drove the car out of the parking lot of the dentist’s office.

The dentist’s office wasn’t that far away from where they lived. Barely a 10 minute drive but Kenny was getting nervous. His son kept mumbling, moaning and stretching, audibly making sure his dad knew that the car was ‘hot’ inside. It wasn’t.

“What is it Jace?” he asked while pointing the car AC towards his son.

“It’s so hot in here daddy,” the boy wriggled more in his seat.

It took Kenny a moment to realize that his son was shirtless in his seat. All the buttons off the shirt now lay crumpled in the backseat. He was speechless. Jason was smooth and hairless apart from a few sprouts of hair that made their way from his belly button to the front of his jeans. His body was now much developed with his abs more defined under his thin skin. He wasn’t muscular nor was he skinny. His body had the air of someone lean who had just begun to visit the gym, his muscles still in the early stage of development. The early morning beach side running has given his skin a tanned glow which made him look more Latin or Greek with his dark curls hanging down to his thick eyebrows.

“Liking what you see daddy?”

Kenny coughed. His eyes now back on the road. “Jesus, Jason! Put your shirt back on!” he grumbled as he turned another junction nearing their house.

Jason only smiled at his dad. His head wobbled to the side landing on his dad’s shoulder. He steadied himself.

“It’s hot in here daddy!”

“Jace the AC is on and stop calling me daddy!” Kenny stepped onto the accelerator.

“But I always call you daddy!” his hand now on his dad’s tight.

“Jeez what has gotten into?” a slight panic spread within Kenny. His son’s warm fingers on his thighs were threatening to make his bulge grow. His cock was already semi-hard and oozing precum in his underwear, he could tell.

Jason whimpered, wriggling in his seat once again.

Kenny looked over at his son but before he could say much Jason had dragged his jeans along with his white undies to his ankle. His son was now seated bare naked, legs wide open, his jeans and underpants falling off his socked shoeless feet. He sighed loudly and slid down his seat, his hard cock now fully visible to Kenny.

“Do you like what you see daddy?

Kenny, horrified, looked around the car for people as he drove the car even faster. His heart was thumping out of his chest, his own cock threatening to burst out of his slacks.

“Jason what the fuck is wrong with you? Put your pants on now!”

“But I am so hot daddy and hard,” Jason whispered the last part into his dad’s ears. He had undone his seat belt and had his hand on Kenny’s chest, fully naked and his leaking cock head touching the gear shift.

Kenny has sweat running down his face. He was terrified that someone would see him and his son who now seems to be possessed by a hypersexual spirit. At the same time Kenny was also terrified of how much he wanted to look at his son’s naked frame, examine his hairless chest, fuzzy thighs, tight little ass and his majestic leaking cock. He was terrified of how turned on he was at the thought of wanting to touch his son, feel his body against his.

He steers the car into the driveway of their home and still panicked, looks around the car for his neighbors. In the meantime Jason had already slid a leg past the gear stick and had sat on top of his dad’s lap, face to face, smiling at him.

“Jace what is up with you?” Kenny asked more gently, his hands without realizing running up down his son’s thighs that were spread across his lap.

“So hot, I am in so much heat daddy,” he whispered before placing a sloppy wet kiss on his dad's lips. Kenny’s eyes rolled back and the sensation of being kissed so sloppy and naively. His hips gently rocked, pressing his bulge against his son’s nakedness, his hands gripping his son’s thighs enough to leave red marks on them.

As if the realization just sunk in he pushed his son away roughly, Jason still biting into his dad’s lower lips. His face had gone dark and Jason grew smaller at the way his dad looked at him now.

"i.. i am sorry dad. I thought it would be funny," Jason backpedaled out of the situation, knowing he had pushed it all too far.

Kenny just looked at him, his eyes angry but inquisitive.

He grabbed Jason by the arms and asked him, " you are not fucking high are you?"

Jason's eyes widedned, his lips quivered for a moment and the stupidty of his actions under the guise of 'being drugged' was embarrassing enough but now being found out for it was worse. He wanted to crumble into a ball and hide under the leg room.

"I am asking you a question, are you high or not?" Kenny's voice was stern.

"No.. no, daddy. Dad."

"So you were fucking with me," Kenny almost growled.

Jason was looking away, so afraid, so sahamed to look back.

"I like answers when I ask a question," Kenny spoke, his voice serious, signs of anger in the words echoing in Jason's head.

He tried to pull himself away from his dad’s lap only for Kenny to grab him harder by his hips making the boy yelp.

Kenny threw the driver’s car door open and in one sweep motion rose from the seat with the boy slumped on one side of his shoulder. Jason in fear protested only to be silenced with a growl from his dad. Stark naked and being carried by his dad like a toy, he grew embarrassed and red. But somehow his cock remained hard. The humiliation, his naked body exposed so openly, his dad’s rough arm around his hip and butt, he felt both disoriented and extremely horny.

Kenny proceeded to carry the silenced limp boy into the house and threw him like a rag roll onto the living room couch.

“Ow!” looking at the anger on his dad’s face clearly visible, Jason remained silent after that.

“What the fuck is wrong you?!” Kenny was livid. His words went wild. His voice kept rising and rising and rising towards his son who was still stark naked, covering his cock and balls with his hands right now.

“When did you become such a whore!”

This line particularly hit Jason differently. He knew his dad would soon come down and feel bad for saying that. But he didn’t want him to do that. He wanted his dad to keep going, keep degrading him. It confused him how much he liked being called a whore by his dad, his hard cock spurting shots of clear precum between his hands.

Jason looked up at his dad, his face was still red and eyes almost dark in anger but he couldn’t help but notice the burgeoning bulge in front of his khaki slacks. His dad was hard and by the looks of it his dad was packing a big one. Jason’s cock was fully erect and looking at his dad’s bulge Jason bit his lips unconsciously. He wanted his dad’s thick cock. He wanted it at the entrance of his hole, rubbing it, teasing it, slipping into deeper parts of him. His hand lowered slowly and found its way to his pink asshole, his middle finger slowly caressing it. A shiver went up his body and he gasped out loud.

“Jason! Jesus, what is up with you?? If its not the drugs than why are you doing this shit. "

Jason just smirked. He noticed his old man adjusting his bulge. He knew his dad wanted this as much as he wanted it himself. He sat up on the couch on his knees, his thighs wide open, he played with the foreskin of his hardening cock before laying back to expose his asshole to his dad.

Kenny stopped, he was red in anger but he stood frozen watching his son teasing his hole with a finger, moaning loudly.

“Oh daddy…”

He couldn’t move. He wouldn’t move. His eyes glued to his son’s open and inviting asshole. It has been so long for him, seeing a tight hole that wanted him, that begged to be fucked by him.

“Shit shit shit. He is your son. What the fuck are you doing?”

Internally he screamed. He rushed to the couch, wanting to fling his son from off the chair by his arm but stopped. His face, the boy’s face was all sultry and slutty, he did know what or why it happened but he let go.

He placed his hand over his son’s hand that was rubbing the boy’s hole. His fingers running down touching the boy’s entrance making him gasp and moan.

“Oh daddy… yes please.”

Kenny took over. His calloused rough fingers gently caressing the soft entrance, earning more whimpering from his son. He knew all about pleasuring other men, their sweet spots, their pleasure nerves, the motions that make men cum with barely any fucking. But he didn’t want that now. He wanted to fuck him son, no matter how wrong it is.

Kenny looked down at his son, him. Looking up at him, eyes big and awaiting. Kenny lifted his hand to mouth, his middle and ring fingers, he sucked them wet while Jason watched. He then lowered his fingers down to Jason's mouth who eagerly took into his own mouth and sucked them like he was starved, addicted.

Kenny's cock was hard, pulsing. He knew he was leaking precum into his boxers. How could he not watch his son suckle on his fingers, taking them down to his throat and remain soft?

He pulled out his fingers. Jason with his glistening lips open, looking at his dad with anticipation.

He undid his belt with his other hand and let his hard thick cock out. It sprung out, thick and a drop of precum falling to the floor. Jason's eyes widened further, a moan escaping his lips. Kenny can swear he saw his son, hips moving involuntarily, like he was humping the air. What a whore.

“Suck daddy’s dick baby,” he said, his dick twitching. He couldn’t believe what he was saying. Jason didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately took his dad’s dick into his mouth, his lips clasping softly around the hard shaft, making Kenny groan. His knees almost buckled but he steadied himself. His fingers combing through his son’s hair, grabbing them as hips started moving back and forth, fucking his son’s mouth.

His other hand, his wet fingers made their way down his son’s hole, pressing it, making Jason moan onto his dick.

“Fuck. When did you become such a whore?”

Jason looked up, with his mouth around the cock, lips wet and pink.

Kenny grunted and thrusted hard into his son’s mouth, making him choke and gag. He pulled out his cock, his dick wet with his son’s saliva and his own precum. He got on his knees and pulled his son closer by his chin and pressed his lips on his. Jason was still dazed, his lips were as hungry and desperate as his dad’s. They were kissing each as if in heat, their dicks protruding, twitching, leaking precum as their kiss deepened. When Kenny let go of his son’s face, both were gasping for air, but unwilling to wait to breathe. Jason pulled his dad into his lips again, kissing and moaning while Kenny’s rough hands gripped Jason’s ass hard and spread them open.

“Turn around and show your ass to daddy,” he grunted again. He couldn't wait for Jason to turn around. He grabbed his son by his torso and threw him around, his biceps under his shirt, squeezing against Jason’s lean frame.

He spread his son’s ass cheeks apart and stared at his pink hole. “Fuck.” He breathed under his breath.

And he pounced in. His tongue pushing against his son’s hole, stubbled jaw pressed between the cheeks. Jason whimpered. His legs gave away, but Kenny held him up, pushing with the tip of his tongue into his son who was a moaning tearful mess.

“Daddy, fuck…. Oh daddy..”’ Jason shivered under his dad’s assault on his hole.

He ate his hole. Tongue deep inside his son, his rough finger grabbing Jason's balls. He tugged at him, eliciting more whimpers from Jason who now had his face pressed against the couch, moaning into it.

Kenny came up for air, him kissing and licking his son’s ass cheeks before slapping them red. He doesn’t know what has taken over him. His son whimpers and it makes him harder, his dick twitch faster and think of his son as a faggot that needs to be fucked.

Faggot.

What a fucking whimpering faggot?

Another slap lands on his land making Jason whimper out louder, his red face turning to look at Kenny, lips biting, begging for more yet unable to endure what’s given.

From his son’s ass he travelled down, tongue licking his boy’s taint and then balls. He took them entirely into his mouth and started sucking them. Jason was groaning, his hips pushing his crotch against his dad, wanting more stimulation, driven mad with lust.

Kenny then engulfed his son's cock, taking it deep into his mouth and sucking on it hard. Jason whimpered, toes curling in pleasure.

"Daddy... I'm gonna cum!" he panted, hips bucking wildly.

Kenny pulled away with a smirk, "Oh, you're not," he said before spanking Jason's ass cheek hard.

"Fuck! Please, Daddy," Jason begged as his hips continued to move in search of that elusive release. His cock bobbed in the air, desperate for any kind of contact.

Kenny pushed him down by his thighs, leaving his rock-hard cock exposed and untouched. The teasing was driving Jason insane with need. He whimpered and squirmed. His father slapped him again, this time on the other cheek before inserting a finger into him without warning. The sudden intrusion made him gasp but soon turned into moans of pleasure as Kenny finger-fucked him mercilessly while stroking his cock at the same time. His foreskin opening up and his pink wet cockhead pushing out during each thrust.

Kenny's eyes gleamed with hunger, his fingers stretching, opening up his son's hole, preparing him for his dick.

"Daddy, please," Jason's voice was a desperate whine, his need palpable in the charged air between them.

Kenny's smirk widened, as he positioned himself between his son's quivering thighs. The blunt thick head of his cock nudged against the slick entrance, teasing, waiting to relieve Jason of his need to be filled, used, fucked.

With a slow, pressuring push, Kenny breached the ring of muscle, watching as his son's body opened up to him. Jason's breath hitched, a moan slipped from his lips as he was filled in a way that only his father could provide. Kenny's hands gripped Jason's hips, holding him steady as he slid deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully embedded within his son's tightness

Kenny hasn’t fucked a hole like this in a while, so tight, so warm. He starts mentally comparing to the pocket pussies he keeps at the dresser next to his bed. Even the tight chinese silicone toy that he bought from a dubious chinese website does not match up to this. His son has a tight warm hole that is made to fuck. Kenny knows this wouldn’t last. He couldn’t last long. So he thrusts himself as deeply as possible, his breath catching at his throat feeling the full grip of his son on his cock. He kissed his son’s back, his forehead resting on Jason’s shoulder, he gently bit him there making him moan. He realized he was moaning too. He pulled himself back, his son’s grip on his penis still tight and suctioning him, begging him to thrust back. So that is what he did, he thrust back, balls deep into his boy.

Why does it feel so fucking good to fuck him. His arms, big and hairy, tied around Jason’s frame at the chest and he started pounding his son. He was fast, rushed, an animal in heat but he was deep. He didn’t leave his thrusts shallow. He wanted to feel his son pull him in and refuse to let go. Kenny was buck naked too by now, all of his body pressing against Jason, skin to skin.

Kenny pushed his fingers into his boy’s mouth. He felt his tongue

He knew his boy loved the rough sensation on his lips.

“How does it feel baby, is daddy fucking you good?” he mumbled to words as his thrusts were growing rapidly, their bodies vibrating with each moment of contact.

Jason was lost in pleasure and pain, he was half moaning and half breathing, little gasps of pleasure let to exalted moans when his dad pounded into him. It felt so good.

“Yes daddy, ohh it feels so fucking good,” he sounded as he was sobbing but he was so high in pleasure he didn’t know how he said anything at all.

Kenny looked at his son's face, the boy had his eyes rolling back, his tongue sticking out, totally lost in the pleasure of the moment. Jason’s hard cock was slapping between his stomach and his tummy each thrust, spraying his pre cum all over his torso. The cock heads were red and about ready to blow.

He couldn't believe how he was breeding his son right now. His cock was inside his boy, pounding him, slick with precum and spit, gliding in and out of his pink puckered hole that was being stretched out now. He was being such a good boy for daddy though. Taking daddy’s big cock like a champ. Kenny’s hands found their way to Jason’s nipples, pinching them, making him scream and back up against his dad’s thrust harder.

Faggot. Kenny thought.

His hands were now on his son’s neck, applying pressure enough to make the boy choke a little bit. Jason’s eyes were rolling back, his mouth was agape, lips bruised red and wet with drool. He was moaning so loudly and it drove Kenny crazy. He was so close, his own hole puckering, tights taking over as starts drilling into his son. The sound of his balls slapping his son’s taint fills the living room.

“Cum.. in … me… daddy.. Yessss!”

He felt his son’s hole tighten in spasms making him moan louder than Jason was moaning. His son was shooting warm cum onto the couch that was absorbing it, making a stain grow dark on the cloth. Kenny’s body and hips took over, his muscles tensed up, making him thrust into Jason harder, while his legs and arms shook, grasping at his son who was collapsing against the couch.

‘Yes Jace, yes Jace, yes baby boy, fuckkk”

He spurt warm loads of cum into his son’s hole. His hips pushed against Jason, his balls tights, and shaft still pushing his daddy cum into his son, it was Kenny’s turn to whimper and grunt against his son’s back. He couldn’t catch his breath, his dick just felt so good that he felt like he was dying, electricity running through his body, feeling warm against this man, slim and fitting between his arms. His beautiful sexy faggot of a son.

Kenny leaving trails of kisses on Jason’s back slowly pulled his cock out, which was released with a small pop. Warm cum came leaking, dripping down Jason’s balls and softening cock. He was still moaning a little, his lips still open, wet, pink and waiting to be loved.

Fuckk….

He leaned in and kissed his son. Tender, soft, gentle. He didn’t know how he was going to deal with this yet. But fuck, he loved him too much to not hold him tight right now.

“Thank you daddy,” Jason whispered, before dozing out into snores on his father’s arms.

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Hope you liked this story. This one apparently is too spicy for patreon lol. I still have other stories on patreon for free so do check it out🫶

#gay #gay smut indie #gay story #smut #gay bulge #gay couple #gay butt #queer #homosexual #homoerotic #mxm #daddy’s wh0re

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