#and have been writing this for an hour

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[daily-snufkin]

🌿 DAY 5

The sky is grey, it looks like a storm is coming.

[captaindibbzy]

Ok so I have a lot of opinions about this.

You can break this down in to a few categories. The first, what is Art and the second what is AI, third does that give you a right to it?

The first part is incredibly complicated to define and wrap your head around, but litterally anything can be art because art doesn't have to mean nice, or pleasant, or kind, or anything else. Art simply exists because we say it does, and sometimes that's gobshite and induces permeant psychic damage. This can stretch from highly realistic oil paintings to pissing in the snow, and the walk you take from one to the other.

Leading on from that, when it comes to curating Art does the fact something is art give it the right to exist? Is art alone reason enough? That's a complicated answer for most people but gets worse very fast. Does art made in hate have a right? Does art that creates damage have a right? Does art need to be good to have a right? All complex stuff.

Second, what is AI? Now we call it artificial intelligence but a better term for it is applied statistics. It looks at millions of pictures and determine that statistically based on this parameters this is what should probably go here. Ultimately it's a game if averages. This is why AI art tends to add weird water marks to things, cause the data tells it statistically if you are making art this goes here; why? Cause that's what everyone else does. Like writing, statistically the next word should be this, and in art statistically the colour that goes here should be this.

So what are the rights involved?

First is copyright. Someone has the right to their work. It is their work and they can decide what is done with it. They can sell that right, give it away, let it expire, share it with the world, but the copyright of something lies with the creator at creation and it is an active choice about what to do with it after that.

Extended to this is the copyright of the work made by the AI. Does it belong to the person who prompted it, or does it belong to the person who made the tool? Does it belong to the company who owns the tool? What rights did you sign away to use the tool to make the picture?

Second, the right to satire and fair use, "transformative" works This is the right to take something and use it to make something of your own. This has laws around it, about monetisation and what counts as plagiarism and what counts as fair use. This can get very complicated: the difference between collage and the death of your academic career.

Third, not in law but in society, is what we are doing fair? Is it fair to take this from someone and use it without their permission, just because it is legal to do so?

All of this is untested in a court of law so the legality of it is essentially legal until proven otherwise.

As for the fairness of it, people who have their work stolen to make these algorithms have made their opinions known about it. They do not like it and would like you to stop doing it. They do not want their art taken and used like this.

So is AI a valid form of expression? I don't think so, not in my personal opinion.

I can tell you it is art, but that is a meaningless title and does not lend it virtue.

I can tell you it is not intelligence, only average. It will only ever be average. It is all it can be.

I can tell you the people who's art was stolen to make it don't want you to do it. They do not want their art to be used like this.

There's a longer essay in here on the desire for aesthetically pleasing passive consumerism in art and the Instagram effect, effortless beauty, but I won't go in to that. There's a lot to say about AI that I haven't said here. People will be writing thesis about this for decades.

My personal opinion is using AI makes you a dick, but you are in fact perfectly entitled to be a dick if you want to be. People are also entitled to think the art is worthless, harmful, cruel, degrading, and silly.

The other day i was talking with my girlfriend about the use of AI in art. I as an artist myself believe that as long as there's transparency and honesty on the fact that IT'S AI, people shouldn't be judged for using it to express their own feelings.

There's multiple reasons why someone who likes expressing with art may use ai; maybe a disability, bad coordination, or even just not "being good" at art.

so i wanted to ask tumblr, mostly because I'm bored and i wanna see the opinions on this. Of course feel free to reblog and comment!

again, pls feel free and encouraged to comment and reblog!!

[eightspringdays]

I've been crying the whole DAY. Look back is literally an ode to someone who loves to create, who works their ass off to improve at it and sometimes it just doesn't matter because they are still going to be people that will be better than you and then you think you don't love that much anyway, so why care to keep doing it at the end? You enjoy it better as an spectator, without all the trouble that comes with doing it yourself

Until you remember WHY you started loving in the first place, why despite the fact it takes time, it's stressful, makes you angry, makes you sad or even if people tells you that you should be doing something else... at the end, still makes you happy, still makes you find people who love the same thing as you and you made them happy too, still makes you feel that you can do something that comes from you and no one else can because it's You.

And if you worked so hard for it once, it was for a reason, and sometimes you just forget what it was, but doesn't mean it isn't there anymore. Because the past you, the now you and the future you, come from the same place and it deserves to be happy, and that's unique and it is something worth working for

[marcell-arts]

taking a short break from writing to draw my rook and her little murder of crows <3

---

you can read Rookie on ao3

[varilien]

pine barrens by jakey THEEE existential personhood horrors song ever.... applies to the stans uncomfortably well tbh (╥﹏╥)

Palestine: Funds | Action | eSims | Info Sudan Resources | Congo Resources | Lebanese Red Cross

[ganondoodle]

(OC Lore and design time!)

(it got longer again ... sorry ... idk how to make things short, i just need to talk, but i guess if you can read the written stuff in the pic thats the barest bare bones of what i wrote here)

i was asked what new lore story stuff i had thought about that made me sad which i mentioned a bit ago, and while that is too hard to explain given all the missing context i thought i could at least talk about lore having to do with it :D

so, (Lord) Eadrya is one of my fav OCs (big blue lad, here a rough sketch in humanoid form) they are both one of if not THE most powerful demon alive and the most battle trained;

at the mid point of the story the demon world gets invaded by the celestials (the angel inspired things i talked about in the previous lore post with Xaror) and Shargon, as the king, should be their first and only frontline, but at this point his life is only being sustained by maschinery after being mortally wounded, he cannot fight (he realizes what is going on, rips himself off the maschinery to get at least his youngest child to safety, barely managing it before dying- the guardian, the demons god, takes over his body to attempt to fight against the celestials but cant keep itself alive long enough since its host is already dead) Eadrya takes the role of the frontline fighter (despite being very full of themselves and aggressive they care about their 'job' of protecting their own, also giving them the chance to show off just how strong they are); the fight was going well for them all things considered, but when the guardian activates it drains the power of all elemental lords (which Eadrya is one of, and since they have the most strength it also takes the most from them), so much so that they lose the fight and suffer deadly wounds (the worst being a spear through the chest made of a material that grows hard, root-like formations when in contact with demonic blood like a fungus but worse, also stopping any self healing processes) after the guardian falls apart it creates a huge shockwave of energy that stuns every living thing within a certain distance and possibly more-

Eadrya (in true demon form, so like a blue whale in size at least) was likely taken through an active gateway to the human world in a large tidal wave also created by the guardians fall; they wash up in the harbor of a small secluded village, the head of which is 'lady 13'; although never having seen a demon before and everyone being afraid (largely thinking its a strange hurt animal, only she suspected otherwise), they still gather all villagers to pull out the celestial spear, which is diffcult and brutal given that its already taken root, but the village lacked both knowledge and means to help any other way- doing so damaged their heart which is how they were able to collect samples of all three demonic blood types ('normal' -red like humans-, energy -essentially purely magic- and heartblood -highly concentrated energy only found within the heart of a demon and the only one to contain genetic material) (this is the start of Eadryas character arc, having to deal with the fact that their world is likely destroyed, them failing what they didnt think they could fail, having lost a battle so badly (even if not really their fault) for the first time and not knowing if literally anyone else has survived .. also being now stuck in the human world, which they dont like)

Lady 13 (placeholder name? stands for experiment 13) is a human that was tricked by demon hunters to enroll into a series of experiments trying to create hybrids of demons and humans, which they hoped would be powerful and easily controllable tools for their endeavours, though the two are inherently not compatible, they tried grafting body parts of demons on humans to make them compatible- all experiments failed except for her, more or less, though she never got to see the hybrid she carried and was then told it had died too, they threw her out believing she wouldnt survive much longer either and all such experiments were cancelled due to the high cost of human life, research material (demons are still rare) and upkeep with no successful results Lady 13 survived though (perhaps even via the pirates picking her up?) and she ended up living in said small village far away, hiding her half demonic body, though most know there soemthing 'wrong' with her (her being this tall when it doesnt fit the rest for one), only few know the full extent; she enjoys the life she has now, perhaps on the more poor side but safer and more loved than ever before; she largely lead the efforts to try and help Eadrya when they ended up in the harbor, though there wasnt that much anyone could do it was still enough- they leave immediately after waking up, but return after really having nowhere to go and struggling to deal with everything that has happened; over time (probably years) they start to open up towards the people there (though not .. very much) enough to get rather close with Lady 13 too- she actually falls madly in love but after Eadrya (extremely aro/ace) rejects all her attempts quite clearly she respects their boundaries

However, after hearing news of potential demon sightings Eadrya decides to leave in hopes of not being the last demon left after all; Lady 13 then decides to reveal her secret to them (though hearing and seeing what lengths hunters would go to for their experiments makes them absolutely seething with rage- she insists on not being out for revenge) and asks if they would be willing to donate a small amount of heartblood; shes always wanted to be a mother but is now incompatible with humans too- through things she picked up back at the experiments facillity, hers and her doctors research she is sure that is all that is needed, she dares to ask since she does not know when, if ever, she will meet another demon, much less one she could actually trust enough for this though Eadrya hesitates (why would she want to go through the same thing again that didnt work and threatened her life, if it does work, do they want to be involved with any of this? what if hunters find out it worked after all?) but after her ensuring that they would have no part in it other than giving up a little blood and would not be considered a parent in any way, nor made responsible for anything that might happen to her, but considering it all in the end they agree to it

only for her to reveal shes had a small bottle of it already, along with multiple samples of the other types, which she collected when Eadrya was bleeding out into the harbor not knowing if they will survive, though not wanting to make use of it without their consent either way (they are actuallly rather touched by this)

alot later the main group returns here and it turns out to have worked (though she is unable to walk/bedridden for a long while bc it did alot of damage to her body, which can heal since its demons parts, but only really slowly bc she does not have a full functioning system and no demonic blood of her own -she uses the other samples for the healing process-) though its a little awkward to explain, especially considering that 13.1 took alot after Eadrya xD (their theory as to why it worked so "well" that time is that even though the sample was already taken, them giving their consent for it still made it less likely to be rejected; demons dont need partners to have offspring, and all can do it, they just have to decide to- so them agreeing to it, even though its long been outside their body, still had an effect on the blood sample)

[dragon-ashes1485]

Maglor: Elrond where is Elros?

Elrond: theoretically, if he was hungry and I gave him some berries to eat and that theoretically made him sick, would you theoretically tell me off?

Maedhros, shouting in the distance: MAGLOR SOMEONE BROKE THE ANGRY ONE.

Elros, between coughs: I thought you knew your plants Elrond?!

Maglor, pinching the bridge of his nose: Valar save me.

[deoidesign]

Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

[felix-krain]

I am very sane and normal :D

[crsssie]

MORE JAIME SMUT PLEASE YOUR LAST ONE WAS SO GOOD 🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

pretty. - jaime reyes x reader (nsfw warning)

"Jaime, darling, ah—" Your fingers dig into Jaime's scalp as he licks at you, lower face a mess of your slick and sweat, his eyes half-lidded as he continues to eat you out, staring at you, eyes soft.

"Hm?"

The vibrations cause you to jolt slightly, oversensitive from the previous orgasms, legs shaking slightly as he blinks at you, doe-eyed.

"'s too much." You mumble, running your hand through his hair.

Jaime detaches himself from you, string of your slick on his lips, a pout on his face. "one more, please? mi vida? Just one more."

You whimper, shaking your head lightly.

"One more, please?" He drums his fingers against your upper thigh, pout pulling further down.

You grimace.

"Please?" He bats his lashes at you.

"Will you fuck me after it?"

"Of course, mi vida. Anything you ask for." He smiles.

"Last one." You mumble. "N then you fuck me, alright?"

"Yes, yes," Jaime hums, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "anything for you."

your final orgasm crashes down on you in waves, your toes curling and mouth hanging open as it hits you, and your moan is like music to Jaime's ears. He watches as you come down from the high, grinning from ear to ear. Only he's seen you like this. Only he gets to. That thought makes him happy on its own.

reblogs are appreciated (˵ •̀ ؂ < ˵ ) ✧

[brainrotcharacters]

The one where Wade and Logan remind me of Achilles and Patroclus

Because what the fuck do you mean "Do I know you, bub?" Bitch I'm going to spay you

You would recognize him by touch alone. By smell.

You would know him blind by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth.

You would know him in death at the end of the world.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY TWO

in which eddie is honest. for real, this time.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, discussion of/allusions to smut from last chapter, angst, not edited (what's new though), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.1k+

→ a/n: welp. this... yeah, this is a lot. i truly hope it's worth it. in the waiting, anticipation, and length. if it isn't... my bad. i'm sorry in advance. also, please note, pov change only applies to the memory.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

22:00 ──────────────ㅇ─ 24:00

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

—

HOUR TWENTY TWO – 1:00 PM

You can’t speak. It’s as if you’re frozen; every muscle, including your tongue, has gone rigid. Every racing thought escapes just beyond your reach. Every single one of the last twenty two hours pound behind your rib cage, and you think you might just faint. Right here, right now. The blood rushes your ears as your body goes ice cold, and even the railing cutting into your palm seems to drift away from you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t even try to deny it. He knows you heard what he said – he can’t take it back. It’s written plainly on his face that if he could, he would swallow back down those disastrous words. He’d grab that destruction four letter word right out of the air, no doubt, and set it aflame. He’d blow away the ash if he could guarantee you would have never heard it.

But he can’t. You heard him. 

I’ve loved you for so long. 

Everything is heavy. The air, your limbs, your godforsaken tongue. 

“Say something,” he suddenly begs. You’ve never seen Eddie look so desperate, eyes wet and voice cracking, “Anything.” 

You want to answer him. Your bones ache with the need – the need to reply, the need to question, the need to do anything but stare at him with what he must surely mistake for horror.

Were you horrified? Were you?

You don’t know. 

It’s why you can’t answer him. 

“I-” he starts up again, breaking down even further right before your eyes. You want to reach out, to coddle him, to tell him it’s fine. But it’s not fine. 

You don’t even get the chance to ruminate on just how not fine it is, or that heat beginning to come to a boil in the pit of your stomach, because the sound of one of the neighbors exiting out onto their own balcony interrupts the infinitely delicate moment. 

“Hey there, Eds-” You don’t know what actually interrupts the gruff man that steps out, who exudes familiarity with Eddie until he takes in the scene before him. 

Eddie, completely fucking naked. You, with only a shirt on. If it weren’t for the moment at hand and the trembling emotions coming to fruition inside of you, you’d probably find it comical. You’d probably find a way to join in the old man’s single guffaw before the two of you meet each other’s gaze and become aware of what exactly is happening.

But it’s not funny. You’re both fucking naked — physically and emotionally — and it’s not funny.

You’re mortified as both of you are scrambling across the balcony, a whirlwind of discarded clothes fisted and nearly tripping over each other to shove back into Eddie’s living room. That embarrassment now trickles down into the start of a boil, everything in you becoming red-hot from how flustered you’ve become and the way you can’t have a second to just process it all. 

When you turn to face Eddie once the sliding door has slammed shut, his cheeks are the brightest pink imaginable. 

“What the fuck,” you whisper out, trying to steady your breathing, trying to take it all in. 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your adrenaline is almost making you sick. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he catches your whisper amongst your stoic silence and seems to forget the moment that his neighbor had just shattered, voice clear as day as he pulls his curtains shut. You swear you catch the old man still staring, still laughing, and you’re just grateful that you’re not the one completely nude, “I had no idea Mr. Jenkins would come outside, usually none of those fuckers see the light of day before sundow-”

“Your neighbor just saw us naked,” you almost scream. You want to shout, want to throw everything in sight. You crave to flip that coffee table in the center of the room and throw a fit that outdoes even the most petulant of toddlers.

“I know, I-“

“If you say sorry again, I’m walking back out there,” you take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm you’re shaking body, “And I’m throwing myself off the fucking balcony.”

Maybe you’ll be able to laugh about it in five years. A year, even. Hell, a month or as soon as next week. But you can’t right now; all you want to do is cry.

Some random man just saw you naked. Eddie apparently fucking loves you. 

It might be the sleep deprivation and it might be the fact that it feels like the Universe is laughing in your face at every turn right now. Whatever higher power exists seems to be waiting around every corner for the chance to kick you repeatedly as you stumble to this finish line. And you can’t fucking take it.

So you give in. You give in to that childish need to stomp your feet and scream until you’re blue in your lips.

“I just- Fuck!” Eddie jumps a bit at your exclamation, he’s still naked, “I can’t catch a break! I can’t catch a fucking break. First, I’m showing up here, and I’m stuck with you for twenty four hours. I’m stuck with the man I hate for a whole fucking day,” you’re full on pacing, not caring how ridiculous this scene would appear to anyone. Your hands wave erratically in the space around you, and all Eddie can do is stare, tense with wide eyes, “And I cry in front of you, have full breakdowns in front of you. I listen to you remind me over and over how much you truly despise only to now suddenly find out that, hey! I actually love you! And do I get to process that? No. Because now, some fucking old man that lives next door to you has seen my goddamn vag-“ 

Eddie’s entire demeanor collapses. “Oh, so now I’m back to being the man you hate?” 

You pause your ranting, realizing what you’ve said. 

You’re just angry. You should have thought before you spoke, before you opened your mouth and began to spew your venom, because you can see the way the words have struck Eddie. Not your intention.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“But you said that,” he flatly argues back. 

Your stomach twists.

“I’m just-“ your tongue is back to being heavy as the two of you face one another. Feet apart, worlds apart. “I’m fucking embarrassed, Eddie.” 

“You think I’m not?” he scowls, and you try to tell your racing heart it’s a good sign. But it’s not. You almost preferred his walls dividing the two of you, “Shit fucking happens. We got caught — we fucking dirty talked about getting caught! Big fucking deal! Karmic justice or whatever bullshit people spew. It doesn’t mean I’m going to- It doesn’t change-“ he’s stuttering now, matching that exasperation that had you pacing just moments before. He huffs, a hand reaching up and dragging his bangs upward, harsh at the root as he finally drops his hands in his own defeat, palms slapping his sides, “Everything changes. You said that, not me. You said everything changes, and all it takes is a little bit of fucking embarrassment to go back on your word?” 

He’s still fucking naked. You still can’t think.

“I’m not having this conversation with you naked,” you whisper, almost in disbelief as you shake your head, “I’m- Put your fucking clothes on. Please.” 

“Put my clothes on?” he scoffs, taking a step closer to you, “Put my clothes on? Do you mean the same clothes you just insisted I take off not even ten minutes ago?” 

“We were having sex!” you yell. You’re sure if the old man is no longer on his balcony, he can hear you through the walls. Hell, even if he is still outside, it’s likely he hears the screaming match beginning, “Why- Why are you turning this on me right now? You just said you fucking love me! The least of our issues right now is me telling you to get fucking dressed!” 

“Why are you lashing out at me right now?” Eddie’s voice is louder than yours, something more broken inside of it, “I-“

“Clothes,” you grit out, avoiding his eyes as you start to yank your panties on violently, “Now.” 

You can still feel him. His essence is dripping between your thighs. And you don’t find any sense of enjoyment in it, you don’t savor that quick-fading warmth nor the reminder of the pleasure he’d just brought you. It just reminds you of the words he had said all while not even looking you in the eyes. He couldn’t even face you as he had admitted it. 

One thing at a time, you try to remind yourself. One fucking thing at a time. 

Eddie’s own redressing is another sight that maybe, hopefully, one day you’ll look back on and laugh at. But right now, it can’t spark any amusement in you. Not as all your emotions slam back into you at full force.

You’re embarrassed. You’re confused. You’re angry.

“Happy?” he spits out once his boxers are on, shirt tugged back on so hard over his head that his curls frizz up.

“No,” your eyes are burning, and you feel it again. All those desperate emotions. Like a wild animal inside of you has begun to claw at your insides, making you bleed from the inside out. 

Eddie loves you — and he has, for a long time, apparently.  

Eddie’s neighbor has seen you naked. Saw your full bottom half exposed.

You’ve managed to hurt Eddie’s feelings, again.

Eddie fucking loves you and never thought to mention it. He has for a long time.

All your tempered strings snap, that wild and stricken thing inside of you finally cutting loose.

You don’t know what you’re angry at. You’re angry at him, and yet you’re not. You’re angry at the situation, and yet you’re not. You are bitter from words withheld and you are sour from every moment that paves the road that brought you two to this very moment.

You’re just angry.

“What did you mean?” the question comes out sharply enough to make his own defiant anger fade ever so slightly as he physically flinches, “I- I need to know what the Hell you meant, Eddie.” 

Anger is metallic on your tongue. It seeps from your skin, floods the air, only further dampens everything already so heavy. 

The longer he doesn’t answer you, the more smothering the entirety of the apartment becomes.

“Just tell me. Make it make sense, because right now?” you pause for a deep and shaky breath. Your eyesight is blurry now. Eyes red rimmed with tears that will surely sear your cheeks if they find the nerve to be shed, “Right now, I don’t get it. Over and over and over again, you have reminded me that you hate me. Prior to tonight, it was safe to assume that scorning my existence was one of your favorite pastimes. And I know, I get it — everything has changed. But- But-“ 

How can anything change if you weren’t honest to begin with? 

Did anything change for him? While you were discovering and tending to sore feelings that had been festering for a while but had never seen the light of day, was he only nursing an old wound? 

“But what?” his voice drops low. His entire demeanor has dropped, cowering down before you. His head dips down, his shoulders droop with prepared rejection, you watch the man before you, the man you had just let defile you and the man you had just worshiped on your goddamn knees, turn to dust.

A shaky gasp. Wobbly knees. The blood rushes through your ears again, flushing out any noise except the two of you breathing out of sync. His deep breaths, accepting and welcoming a rejection he was so sure he was receiving. Your shallow breaths, panting and rapid and trying to just get everything to slow the fuck down.

You were right. Once the tears shed, they burn a trail of Hellish fury right down the center of each cheek. “When I say everything has changed between us, what does that mean to you?” 

He’s undressing an old wound, an open slash that seems to be unable to form a scab. You’re pressing on bruises, aching parts of you that had purpled from his neglect long ago. It’s clear as day now — the difference.

You no longer care about the embarrassment of being caught.

“What do you want it to mean?” 

“Don’t do that,” the tears fall faster now. You can’t even begin to dig into this chasm of emotions. Are you angry at him? Are you disappointed by the circumstances? Do you love him? “I want an answer — I need your answer. You promised me your honesty, so give me it. Now.” 

His eyes meet yours, and your entire world seems to fold into itself, “It… doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t change much.” 

Everything has only changed for you. 

“So it means nothing, then? You have me at your disposal, you have me on my fucking knees for you, you tell me you fucking love me, and it all means nothing?” 

You’re twisting his words and you know it. But you can’t help it, can’t stop it. 

“I never said that!” his voice is no longer low and quiet. Sudden worry creases beside his eyes as his mouth goes slack in shock, “I never said it meant nothing.” 

“But it doesn’t mean much, right?” You hate your wet cheeks. You hate the way everything in you is somehow slow-breaking, yet suddenly shattering. An unnerving juxtaposition that is drowning you and sending you reeling over and over again, “It doesn’t change much, right? Because when I said that, Eddie, I meant it – everything fucking changed for me. It wasn’t- It’s not- This isn’t just some throwaway thing to me. Not even a day ago, I thought I had to hate you with everything I had. I thought I had to hate you.”

And I don’t. Not even a little bit. Even right now, when I should. 

“Is that what you think I’m saying?” his voice is low where your voice has risen, his face calm where yours has gone stormy. 

Where you’re on fire, he’s treading still waters. The opposite dilemma that has always existed, and the one you had the nerve to see as poetic. But water meeting flames is never poetic. It never ends well. You should have seen that coming from a mile away.

“What am I supposed to think?” you also quiet your tone to match his. You wonder if the neighbors really had heard a thing. You almost hope they had, that this argument is affecting someone else’s day the way it’s affecting you, “You’re standing here, and you’re telling me it doesn’t mean much, and-“

“It doesn’t change much,” he corrects, and you’re now the one flinching at the crack in his voice. “Not for me. Not when I-“

Not when I’ve loved you for so long.

He can’t even finish his own sentence.

“So what does it change?” you throw your hands out in exasperation, “If it doesn’t change much, what has it changed?” 

There it is again — his silence, your anger. 

“Is it not enough to just know it changes something?” 

If you were stupid, you’d take his tone as pleading. You’d mistake it for begging. But you can’t. For all your fury, you can’t believe that he’s actually stooped so low as to beg for you, especially after what he’s just said. Time and time again, you had repeatedly cracked yourself wide open for him, and he’d managed to rip your heart right out of your chest with such a simply yet damning statement. The most casually cruel bit of honesty he had offered you yet tonight: that nothing changes.

“We’re back to square one,” you choke out in realization, “I- Fuck. This entire time, you weren’t honest with me.” 

He opens his mouth quickly, and for a second you believe he’ll offer an explanation that can soothe over the ache. He’ll come up with an excuse that you can buy, he’ll explain himself in a way that proves you wrong, and the sweet oblivious bliss can return. 

“No,” he says instead after careful consideration, “I wasn’t honest with you.” 

Your tears are running rampant as you only nod slowly, pressing your lips together in defeat, “Awesome. Great,” you reach up, sniffling as you swipe at your nose, still silently quiet but no longer awarding him with any display of your rage, of your hurt, of anything but your acceptance, “No, really, that’s- Cool. Nothing changes. I get it.” 

I’ve loved you for so long. 

It didn’t make sense, but you don’t have it in you to dissect it any further. He had loved you the entire time, and still set out to make you bleed. His grand admission doesn’t change a single fucking thing. 

You don’t say another word as you grab your pair of jeans up into your fist, being sure to move slowly and not in the haste every nerve in your body calls for. You need to leave – you need out of this apartment, and you need to never see Eddie Munson again. It wouldn’t be a far leap from what your friends already deal with. If the friendships take blows of damage from it, so be it-

“Where are you going?” he asks, standing stiller than a statue as he watches you.

You grab your bag, “I’m leaving. The deal’s off. Or- I don’t know. Tell them the bet’s off-”

“The bet is not off-”

“It is,” you turn to him, absolutely frozen in your resolution, “It really, really is. You can even fucking lie to them if you want, I don’t care. Figure out a way to get the money but I don’t want it. I’m done.” 

“So that’s it?” he scoffs in disbelief. When you pull on your jeans, when you sling your bag back over your shoulder and begin to walk to the counter where your phone was left, he realizes that it’s really happening. He realizes you’re truly done, “No questions? I just told you I wasn’t fucking honest, and you’re just going to walk away, not even demand I tell the tru-”

“I’m tired of pulling the truth from you,” you finally move with some of the aggression you felt, hand smacking the counter beside your phone, “If you care so much, if you love me, I shouldn’t have to beg until my knees bleed for you to actually be honest with me,” you take your phone, shoving it into your back pocket before you look at him, “I can’t keep doing this. You were always right. They’re your friends. Congratulations, you got what you always said you wanted. You won’t have to deal with me anymore – consider this a farewell from your life. I’ll make sure no one invites you to my fucking funeral.” 

You assume he grabs you due to your cruel reference to his insult from the very beginning of the night, that he’s going to fight you for that bit of your oddly calm speech. But when his hands wrap around your bicep, and you face him with those silent tears still racing, what comes out of his mouth stuns you. 

“I’ll be honest,” he is pleading, he is begging, “Stay, and I’ll tell you everything. I don’t even fucking care about the bet — we can call off, everyone else can go to Hell. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the bet, I just-” he pauses, and you watch the desperation building taller and taller within him, “Stay and let me explain.”

You should tell him no. You should tell him to go to Hell. If you stay and hear him out, it will only end in pain for you. You should leave.

Instead, your bag begins to slip off your shoulder. 

“You have ten minutes,” you whisper as his hand finally releases its grip, “Explain.”

—

SIX MONTHS EARLIER - EDDIE’S POV

If he were smart, Eddie would’ve kept his word.

He’d told them he wasn’t showing up. He’d told them he had work (not a complete lie), and that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He just hadn’t felt like drinking anymore — not since two weeks prior, when he’d gotten black out drunk while hanging out with Nancy, throwing his own personal pity party. 

Pathetic.

It wasn’t just that killer headache that had been haunting Eddie since that night. It was much more than that; it was solid and palpable regret. He’d thrown back too many beers, mixed it with some sort of wine coolers that Nancy offered him once he started to feel the buzz. All it took was just a bit too much alcohol in his system, and suddenly, his rant that Nancy had agreed to indulge him in became so much more. One moment, he was just complaining about you. And the next, he was rambling, letting less harsh words slip between the complaints, more compliments than things he wanted you to change. One wine cooler in, and he was no longer complaining about the way everyone had been fawning over you after a full six months of friendship, but instead the way that your sad eyes and pouting lips following him around a room was cosmically unfair. 

He didn’t remember much of the rest of the night, and he was glad when Nancy had given him a pitiful look over the cups of coffee she offered. 

He’d told her. He knew he’d admitted his stupid, annoying, despicable crush on you to her. Probably whined about the way you and Harrington had clearly had something going on. Definitely spoke too much about how badly he wanted to experience your gentle hand in his calloused one, or to feel your arms wrap around his neck in greeting rather than daggers from your glare every time he entered a room. Hell, he’s sure there was a good thirty minute period amongst the fuzzy memories where he’d sat on the edge of tears as he continued to mumble about how he wasn’t good enough for you.

Nancy Wheeler, his best friend, finally knew. Six fucking months of keeping it under wraps, and Eddie Munson had finally slipped up.

And she clearly hasn’t forgotten as Eddie had prayed she would every single night as she’s the one to answer his knocks on Steve’s door, grinning with the hidden knowledge.

She’d texted him with one last plea for him to show up. Insisted everyone was here. Went so far as to make him a list, and made sure to add your name at the end. It had been phrased like an afterthought on the screen, but he knew her too well. He knew Nancy purposefully mentioned you.

“Munson! Finally! It took you long enough,” she squeals, clearly already halfway to drunk before she quiets down, “And you said you weren’t coming. Wonder what, or who, changed your mind.” 

“Fuck off.” 

It had been a bad day. Work, classes, a phone call with Wayne that had just left Eddie disheartened and terribly homesick. It was selfish, but the thought of seeing you in passing tonight, even if you did seem to dislike him just as he had intended, made it all a bit more bearable. 

Coming home. Seeing you felt like coming home, even if you’d slammed the front door on his face.

He follows Nancy down the hall, a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as ever. He shouldn’t have even wanted to see you. The last time he had seen you, you’d been out for blood, blatantly ruining a date he’d managed to bag with Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, who never gave him the time of day in high school. Chrissy, who was clearly set on using him as a rebound during yet another break from Jason. Chrissy, who’s only flaw wasn't just the fact that she wasn’t you.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle greets Eddie the moment he enters the living room. He’s lounging on the couch, Jonathan to his right and a space where Nancy clearly had occupied now empty. 

Eddie nods, still feeling the week weighing him down. No sight of you yet, “Hey, man.” 

He just wanted to see you. One glimpse, preferably before you’ve caught sight of him, and he’d be fine. He’d learned to live with those fleeting moments the last six months, he could keep it up for just a bit longer.

He’d get over you eventually. Even if it killed him.

He had to give his plan time to work. So far, he’d done well, easily offering you a cold shoulder and nothing more after that first night. It wasn’t easy — he doesn’t think anyone would find the task of being cool towards someone as radiant as you easy — but he’d done it. Brick by brick, his wall of invincibility was standing tall and strong between you two. It was safer this way, he had to remind himself. It was better to run off of brief glances of your smiles and laughter never directed at him than to risk anything more. He’d only disappoint you, or you’d magically disappoint him, and it would end in bloodshed. Someone like you, someone so good and kind and easy to gravitate towards, would leave Eddie broken beyond damage. 

You didn’t go for guys like Eddie. Steve had made that clear since day one.

Eddie takes the loveseat as Nancy returns to Jonathan’s side. He tries to make it subtle, the way he twists his head to glance around the room as he removes his jacket, eyes roaming until he finds you. In the kitchen, with Steve and Robin, tense back telling him you’d already noticed his arrival.

So much for seeing you smile.

He tries to keep up with the conversation going on. Argyle and Jonathan are having some sort of debate about aliens, nothing short of heated and passionate, and he’d normally be jumping in without hesitation. But his eyes can’t stop flickering to the kitchen and each time, he can see you downing even more alcohol. He knows you don’t like him, but did you hate him that much?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Nancy leans over to whisper as Jonathan grows in volume about another branch of a conspiracy theory.

“Just tired,” he flatly replies. He’s suddenly itching to get his hands onto some alcohol of his own. Fuck the lessons he should’ve learned a few weeks ago. Fuck his regret in confiding in Nancy.

“Was work rough?”

He hums pathetically in response, eyes glued to the kitchen still. To you.

Nancy’s eyes finally follow his focus, “Have you… I don’t know, ever tried just talking to her?”

He snaps from his daze at that, head turning quickly to Nancy, “I talk to her all the time.” 

“You do not.”

“I do too.”

“Never nicely,” she points out, narrowing her eyes, “You’re like a little boy on the playground, tugging on her pigtails until she figures it ou-“ 

“I don’t want her to figure it out,” he cuts off the assumption, eyes widening in horror at the thought, “Christ, Nance. I thought I made that clear when I ended up shitfaced on your couch.” 

Nancy softens. She can see what’s happening here, see every dampening thought that weighs Eddie down. He might not remember his drunken rambles, but she does. 

“The only thing you made clear is what a spectacular ass you’re making out of yourself,” her words hold no bite, only truth, “Who cares what Steve said that night? He was drunk.” 

“So was I,” Eddie’s eyes are back on you, palms running up his outer thighs until he curls them to fists by his hips, “I was drunk when I talked to you about her. Forget about it.” 

Surprisingly, his stubborn best friend leaves it be. Puts the pointless argument to rest.

Eddie’s feelings can’t rest, though. 

Every night, he tells himself it’ll all go away. The distance will make his heart grow harder, and he’ll eventually be able to wash himself of you one of these days. And every night, all the feelings you’ve sprouted inside of him only teem their way higher, up into his throat and choking him with every last breath before he falls asleep. He can’t forget those first few weeks, the way you seemed to think his coldness was a phase. You’d tried so desperately to seek him out at every function, sparked so many failed conversations with him that left him to burn. Every smile you’d offered him during that time, he’d taken for granted.

Even last week, when you’d interrupted his date, he’d let himself relish in the memory of your attention. Pathetic. 

Had you been jealous? Had you just been spiteful, finally giving him a taste of his own medicine? He couldn’t decide, wouldn’t let himself linger on the reasoning. But he’d remembered your touch, could still feel it scarring his skin wherever your palm of fingertips had rested as you’d scared off Chrissy. He’d even hesitated in the shower that night, pausing for a moment before washing over the shoulder you’d gripped when you’d first approached their table and embarrassed him without care. 

He deserved your spite. 

And he deserves to have to overhear the conversation you’re currently having in the kitchen. You’re going on and on about all the men you’ve had dates with, detailing out every one night stand for Steve and Robin who listen with eager ears.

It makes his stomach churn and twist sharply. Each new man you bring to your roster makes his throat burn with jealousy, plain and simple. And he knows it written all over his face when Nancy leans over and puts a hand on his knee, giving him a concerned look. 

Even the change of topic between Argyle and Jonathan on goddamn Bigfoot can’t overtake the sharp cut of your bragging. 

“I’ve never seen your eyes so green, Eddie.” 

He’s about to snipe back that his eyes are brown, and be unnecessarily cruel from his sour mood, when he realizes what she means.

“I’m not jealous,” he lies through his teeth.

“You very much are.” 

He doesn’t have it in him to bicker back and forth about this again. Not about you, and not with Nancy, “What does it matter? Like I said, me and her? Never gonna happen.”

He had said that. He remembers that, at least, from his drunken confession. He’s sure he reiterated that point several times once he’d made it past the point of coherency. 

“She’s lying,” Nancy casually whispers, pulling her hand back, “She- Us girls talk, you know? Just… she’s lying.” 

“I went on a date with Chrissy. It doesn’t matter.” 

And she has no clue how fucking hung up on her I am. She’ll never know if I have anything to do with it.

“You can keep saying that,” Nancy glances, making sure their other two friends on the couch are still too deep in conversation to listen in, “But we both know that’s not true.” 

Unsurprising. Even if Nancy hadn’t listened to him cry that night about all his miserable yearning, all his unrequited feelings born out of a mess he got himself into, she would have known. Eddie has tried to guard himself when it comes to you, but there’s some times his leashed affection can’t help but seep out. 

Whenever you stumble on sidewalks beside him, his arms and hands are the first to fly out. Whenever the group has gone out to bars altogether, he watches you like a hawk, almost daring the men surrounding you to disrespect you. Whenever your birthday came around, he’d bought that damn gift card to his favorite coffee shop, all because he saw you frequent it twice. Although, to be fair, he’d made Harrington be the messenger there. He wouldn’t have been able to look you in your eye, wouldn’t have been able to put up the bitter persona on a day that should be special to you. He didn’t want to ruin your birthday, so he’d simply sat on the sidelines. Let everyone else go out and celebrate with you. Let everyone else pour enough affection into your cup, even when he wishes his own could have been the final drops to cause it to overfill. 

He had to tread carefully. It’d be too easy — to let himself pour out all these silly feelings and meaningless attraction. One wrong move, and he’d cause his own undoing. His own destruction. It doesn’t matter if it would be by your hand; he’d only have himself to blame at the end of the day.

He’s lost in thought, still itching for a drink, when Nancy is suddenly standing over him. “We’re going out for a smoke, you in?” 

He shakes his head numbly. His mind is far away now, getting lost in all that he’s done wrong, all that he can’t have. 

He’s homesick. He’s watched the way you’ve interacted with Robin and Steve the entire night, and he’s goddamn homesick for a home that he’ll never hold the keys to. 

“You sure, man?” Argyle asks him, wiggling his brows, “I brought the good shit.” 

Numbing his mind with drugs. It’s tempting.

“I’m good,” he reaffirms, still speaking in monotone. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a brave face, too focused on his heavy chest and that miserable pit in his gut still. 

And everyone leaves. He’s sure there’s something poetic for his stormy mind to pick up on there, as he watches his friends gather without him and exit to the outside, but he’s more focused on a miniscule detail.

You’re not with them.

Meaning you’re still in the kitchen.

And God, he really should know better. He should stay planted in his seat and he should sit in his misery until they all return. Only trouble can come from not doing so. But then his body moves to its own accord, fueled by something wickedly cruel and terribly homesick as he grabs one of the bottles of beer off the coffee table. It’s Nancy’s, he’s sure of it. Her lipstick stains the opposite side of the rim he takes a swig from. The beer has long since gone lukewarm, but beggars can’t be choosers. He clears his throat as the bitter lingers on his tongue.

He should know better.

But he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t as he enters the kitchen. You’re on your phone as he stands in the doorway, and there’s no time to hide what you’d been glancing over.

A dating app.

You spin to face him, and he imagines a world where your eyes land on him and light up. Something akin to that first night, to those first few weeks. Where you look at him with purpose, and he sees relief flood your irises rather than irritation or fear. 

No such luck. He only has himself to blame.

He can’t think of anything else to say, so like an idiot, he gestures vaguely with the bottle of beer towards your phone, “Those apps fucking suck.” 

That jealousy is still gnawing at him. Hateful, painful, reckless. 

You look down at your phone for a second, and click to exit whatever messages you’d been on. And then you look back up at him.

“You’ve used them in the past?” you question him, but he’s still stuck on all the recounts of your escapades he’d overheard tonight. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. All he sees when he closes his eyes is you, with other men. You, looking at someone else with purpose, relieved eyes awarded to someone more worthy.

He’s lucky he can choke out a short, “Nope,” and make it not sound strangled. 

“Okay,” your attention returns to your phone screen, and Eddie’s returns to his internal battle.

He’s jealous. So goddamn jealous it’s insufferable. It’s not your fault – he chose to push you away, he chose to lash out like a child for his own sanity and his own safety. You’d ruin him; you’ve already ruined him without even trying. If he gave up on the act, on this carefully thought out plan, he’d be beyond leftover rubble of a man. He’d be gone beyond recognition, reduced to ash and smoke. A nameless, forgotten whisper of dust that people would only point to and say, see? Look at that. That’s what becomes of you when you never learn. 

He’s pined enough in his lifetime after girls like you. Girls who were too good for him. He’d done it with Chrissy, and it was still causing him nothing but trouble. 

That burden didn’t hang over Chrissy, or over you. It was all Eddie’s own fault. Neither of you could help that he wasn’t good enough; it wasn’t either of your jobs to fix him or lower your standards for him. You’d even been kind, you’d even nearly fallen into that trap. 

It was for the better. All of it was for the better this way. 

And yet the jealousy remains. The anger still thrives between his ribs, and begs for release. 

“Why are you even still on them?” he should think over his words more carefully as they begin to roll off his tongues. He knows he’s in the wrong before he even continues, “I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.” 

Each word is sharpened so intentionally, glinting from raking against that anger inside of him. You don’t deserve their prick. Really, he should just be comforting you the way the others do – how Robin surely was, how Steve must be. 

But it’s part of the plan. So he tampers down the jealousy and he feeds into the anger, lets it consume him. Because making you hate him is easier than letting you like him. It’s easier to watch the one you can’t have sneer at you like the enemy than let them smile at you like you’re just a friend. 

“I-” you falter in your words, and he decides to straighten his back, takes a deep breath as he slips the mask on effortlessly. He hates how easy it’s become. He hates how quickly he turns everything with you into a fight, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.” 

Sometimes, it’s like a game. And he can pretend that your hatred, your distaste, is also all a facade. Like the both of you are two sides of the same coin. A playful banter rather than an actual argument between two people who can’t even call themselves friends. When he looks at it like that, blinded by his delusion, it makes the ache dull. Sends it away for a few fleeting seconds, convinces himself he really can carry on this way. 

“You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all, tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the boy count you’ve got there, player,” he forces a grin as he leans on the counter, watching his words get under your skin exactly as he had intended. 

You’re cute like this. Clearly drunk, getting flustered. He revels in the way your face physically scrunches in annoyance, the way he can watch you gear up to fight fire with fire. A sick, twisted game of cat and mouse that always can entertain him in the moment and haunt him at night. 

“You’re bluffing. You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

He wonders, for a second, if you’d caught him staring at any point. He wonders if you’d even care.

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying.” 

You cross your arms, and he can’t help but watch the way they push your chest up. He can’t help but ponder on how much better it would all feel if this were really playful banter. 

He has to refrain from physically shaking the thought from his mind. 

It’s for the better. 

He narrows his eyes, he grips onto the anger again, that hidden jealousy. He should know better. He should stop it. The words even feel heavy on his tongue, terribly forced. Because his anger isn’t at you. 

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” and oh, how ironic, for the liar to be calling out someone’s little white lies, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up,” the words come out a bit easier when imagines the barrel of the gun pointed at himself, as if he were speaking so casually cruelly into a mirror rather than at you, “Everyone strikes ou-”

He’s clearly struck a nerve. And it aches, but he reminds himself that that���s the point. That’s his goal.

 “I’m pathetic? Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.” 

He wasn’t trying to avoid you. He was trying to avoid Nancy after his entire drunken confession fiasco. 

“I did!” he continues to lie. Even with no one to show for, he piles up his lies high. Buries himself beneath them, beneath his pathetic act and worthless reasons. It’s probably for the best that you had assumed that he was avoiding you. 

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.” 

The act cracks for a moment as he freezes. Why did you know about his apartment’s pet policy? 

“How do you know that?”

It can’t be because you care, or even get curious about him. He’s done everything in his power to cause the exact opposite, to make you be repulsed by him and to run the other way if you can help it. 

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” He doesn’t even react to the roll of your eyes, unable to get riled up as he usually would at that. It clicks for him; it makes sense, because Nancy had stormed down his door not even a day later, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

Eddie does feel guilty about that. He doesn’t mean for his own self-destructive behavior to leach out to his friends, or even you. His goal has always been to make it so that when he’s not around, he’s not even an afterthought to you. But selfishly, part of him preens at the idea of you being reminded of him, of you thinking of him when he’s not in the room with you. It’s a conundrum. It’s almost deadlier than his other option. 

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” he grumbles like a damn child, almost pouting in his guilt. There’s another selfish sliver of him that’s also upset at that – upset at the fact everyone else gets to bloom with your friendship and positive attention, but not him. Once again, it’s his own doing. He really shouldn’t be angry at you about it. 

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.” 

Times like these make him want to give it all up. He has to physically tense his body, tick his jaw and bite his tongue to avoid throwing the entire act to the side. He wants nothing more than to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, scream that sometimes it is your fault. But you don’t know it – you can’t read his mind, see past his intentions. 

You don’t know what Steve had so generously reminded him of that very first night. 

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice is devoid of all emotion despite the storm brewing inside of him. He can’t even blame it on alcohol – he wishes he could, but his tolerance to beer can handle the single sip he’s taken. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around his body, trying to protect that terrible vulnerability only he’s aware of. When your position mirrors his, he wonders for a moment if you’re also feeling it. 

But you’ve been drinking. This entire conversation, every emotion, can be blamed on that. You’re luckier than Eddie. 

“I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment.” 

He lets a reaction at his own irony slip through for a brief second, eyebrows furrowing as the voice inside him screams hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!

He wishes he could pretend to be oblivious to why he can’t stop bringing Steve up, but he knows better. He can bury the jealousy alive, but it still bites all the same. 

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going? We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?” 

We aren’t exactly friends. 

He should relish that confirmation that his plan is working, that you truly don’t see him as a friend, but it just fucking stings. He swallows hard physically, as if it can help him swallow down the truth any better, but it does nothing for him. The truth only continues to choke him up. His tongue has momentarily frozen over in his mouth as he tries to push past the painful reminder and wrap up this conversation. He feels it, that sharp burn of an unattended wound, and he realizes at the wrong moment that whether or not he keeps you at an arm's length, bloodshed will always occur. 

At least this way, he tells himself it’s protecting himself. This way, the knife isn’t pointed at his own heart. 

“You’re right. We aren’t friends,” the words are poison on his tongue. They taste of dirt and rust, like a grave that screams to be dug up but he has no shovel. He’d tossed it once he’d sealed the tomb, like a fool, “But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?” 

At least he wasn’t lying to you for a brief moment. Nance had told him. He’d throw you that bone, at least. 

“Well-” and with your own pause, you seemingly return the favor. You’re handing him yet another opportunity on a silver platter; exposing an insecurity that he should let live and let die, but he won’t for the sake of the wall he has bled to put up between you two, “You say that as if Nancy and I aren’t friends.” 

“Are you?” 

He’ll regret that taunt for the rest of his days. Two simple words, and he’s damned himself. The conversation that follows, about Instagram and followers and social standards of friendship, doesn’t even matter to him. It’s just a routine. Constant knives, clashing swords of words, lie after lie piling up with the bile in his throat as he shoots for kills. He hands over reason after reason for you to resent him, and makes sure that each punch lands. Ignores the ache, the one billowing in his knuckles as if each subtle insult he tosses your way doesn’t bruise his innards all the same way. By the end of the back and forth, it should be enough, for both of you. He’s accomplished the same thing he always sets out to do with every conversation: he pisses you off, putting another inch in that stretch between you two. 

But then you turn your back on him. And he deserves it. God, he deserves it. But he’s still full of bad ideas tonight, the awfulness of the last few days still suffocating him, and so he makes another decision to regret. He walks up behind you.

You open your phone, and he sees it. You’re on the dating app again, and the screen flashes with the face of your latest contender. 

He knows that face. He schools his face to remain even, but he fucking knows that face. 

The bartender at his local haunt. The only other person besides Nancy who had ever seen Eddie so miserable over you. He had been drinking alone that night, and the whiskey had him pouring out his guts to the poor guy. Slurred words of the girl who had slipped between his fingers, of the one who got away, of you. 

And that same bartender had been the one to sympathize with Eddie, claiming he understood. That he knew that feeling – dating around and doing anything in your power to get the girl you truly want off your mind. He said he had one of his own. He’d told Eddie that his pain-riddled speeches helped him make up his mind, that he was going to go after the girl he really wanted, that Eddie should do the same. 

Was this bartender your ex-boyfriend? Had the two of them been discussing the exact same girl?

Bad decisions. Over, and over, and over. It all comes to a rise within Eddie – not just the anger, but the jealousy and the hurt and the goddamn envy of the man on the screen. He hates the bartender, he hates himself, he hates the world at this point.

He tells himself he should add you to that list. But he doesn’t. He can’t. 

And it all spirals out of control before he can prove that to himself. Words grow sharper, small kindles of tension between the two of you finally explode to full blown flames, and he’s suddenly saying things he doesn’t mean. Things he’ll linger on for the days and weeks, the months to come. 

“You’re so dense, you never realize that you’re not wanted, Not by those assholes, not here-” 

He’s mid-lie, one finger on the trigger of the gun he assumed was aimed at his own chest, when it finally happens. A snap within both of you. Timed perfectly with the glass that shatters against the wall beside his head. 

Eddie learns two things that night. 

One, half of his plan worked. He’s succeeded. You hated Eddie Munson’s guts, and instead of him being content in his success, he’s sick to his stomach. It doesn’t bandage the wound inside of him, doesn’t pack away cotton nor cauterize the bleeding. It only worsens it. Widens it, impossibly so. He swears shards of that broken glass fly right into his unsuspecting chest, even if Nancy doesn’t find a trace on him when she comes back inside to see the aftermath. You hate him, he’s proven his point. He has proven himself to be the worst possible version of himself, the most unlovable man he had always seen in the mirror now residing in him staunchly enough that every single one of his friends sees it. 

He’d done it. He’d diminished any chance he had ever held of being friends with you. And he thought that, without a doubt, that meant he’d diminished any disastrous chance of letting you close enough to risk the chance of any more of his feelings getting involved. He thought it would have meant that he’d done it – he’d protected himself, and in some sick twisted way you, from inevitable bloodshed. 

But blood had still been shed. Even if his friends were only cleaning up broken glass in the kitchen, he could still see the stain of red across the floor and walls from you and him. He was bleeding out for you, but he had just driven the knife in deep enough that you would never return the feeling. There was no world where you would be bleeding out for him, only because of him. 

The second revelation comes a bit later in the night.

Closer to midnight, hours after the fight, when Eddie finds himself alone as per usual. He stumbles to his usual bar, thankful for the late hours, fully prepared to get so fucking wasted he can’t remember his own name. He’d wish to not remember your face, especially when he had spewed such hateful intent your way, but he knows there’s not a single brand or amount of whiskey out there that can cleanse him of that. Your name is just another ghost to add to the lineup. You’ll haunt him until his dying day. And he deserves that. 

But then, when he walks into the bar, he sees the bartender. 

The same man who had stood you up just the night before. The same man Eddie simply couldn’t understand. He was clearly on a date, a nice girl sat at the table across from him, laughing at every word he said. Eddie remembers their conversation, although a bit hazy. 

“I think you’re onto something, man. Some girls are just… irreplaceable. I’ve got a girl like that of my own – prettiest eyes you’ll ever see, a smile that could cure cancer – and… you know what? I think we should both go for it. Give up on the girls who could never compare.” 

He wants to vomit. The bastard had even poured a round of shots on the house, had fucking cheered with Eddie before throwing back the alcohol with him in the promise of moving onto the girls who matter. 

He had said cheers to discarding you. Brushing off you. To you being one of the girls who could never compare. 

Eddie’s vision goes red, and he knows half of the blame falls on himself. He’d been the reason this asshole stood you up. He had already been the reason for your pain tonight before he’d even said a word to you. His self hatred has never burned so deeply, so viciously.

But you can’t punch yourself. And so instead, Eddie doesn’t hold back when he approaches the table and lands his right knuckles right on the bastard’s cheek bone. Even goes in for a second punch. He would have gotten in a third punch, but the bartender hits back. Not as hard as Eddie, fists fueled by self-defense rather than ravaging guilt and crippling self-hatred, but enough to get deter him until security could gather both men up.

It’s in the alleyway that he has his second revelation. At the hands of the man who had just hurt you. It was like looking in a mirror. Eddie nearly does finally vomit as he leans against the brickwall, security a few paces away, ready to file a police report. But then, the bastard still manages to somehow be better than Eddie, throwing up a hand to stop them from dialing for the cops. 

“Don’t,” is all he says, leveling a stare when Eddie’s eyes fill with tears.

“Really?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow, pushing his luck. He needs someone to punish him. He needs to be thrown in a cell for the night, to be treated as the degenerate he truly was, “I just rearranged your fucking face and-”

“Why’d you punch me?” the bartender spits out some blood, nose crooked, “You- You’re a fucking regular, dude. How’d I piss in your cheerios?” 

Eddie’s feeling vulnerable. All his actual feelings boiling and burning in the back of his throat, begging to be released. He doesn’t need a drop of whiskey this time to be honest. 

“The girl,” Eddie rasps, tears threatening to spill as he pictures your face again, “I told you about the girl. The one no one else compared to.” 

The bartender’s eyes widen, “Jesus, fuc- are you telling me that we were talking about the same fucking girl? I- Vanessa told me she wasn’t seeing anyone else, I can’t believe she fucking lie-”

“Not her,” Fuck Vanessa, Eddie thinks bitterly, almost laughing. He has no right to say his next words, but he does, and they cause a pain worse than even the most nightmarish hangovers he’s ever experienced, “My girl is the one you stood up for her.”

You weren’t his girl. You never would be his girl. 

The bartender only looks more confused, and Eddie’s anger flares a bit more at the thought of him talking to more girls beyond you. The man before him had had everything Eddie wanted: he had had you. And just like Eddie, he had fucked it all up. It was easy to misdirect his anger in the moment. 

He says your name out loud, a searing iron in his throat that makes it come out garbled and strangled. Some recognition falls upon the man’s face. 

“Oh… her.” 

Eddie doesn’t hold back, “Her? That’s all you have to fucking say? You stood her up, you fucking- Jesus Christ, go burn in Hell,” He’s being irrational. He doesn’t care, “Call the cops on me. Tell them to let me rot in a fucking cell. I deserve it – but so do you. That girl… that… her. She’s one in a fucking million, she’s a thousand times better than whatever girl you have waiting on you inside, and you couldn’t see that. You’re a goddamn dick.” 

No one makes the move for the call. The bartender just shakes his head again, being far too patient. Eddie opens his mouth, ready to scream now as he demands they punish him. Make him pay for his crimes. Not just the punches, but everything he had broken tonight.

He broke you tonight. He deserves to burn in Hell far more than the man before him. 

“I knew you were in love with her, but-”

Eddie cuts him off, “I’m not in love with her.”

He hates the look he receives. It’s the same pity that Nancy now looks at him with. That same hidden judgment, like everyone else knows something that he doesn’t. 

“You may hate to hear it,” the bartender is choosing his words very carefully as he swipes in a contrasting carelessness at the blood pouring out of one of his nostrils, “But you don’t throw punches like that for a girl you’re not in love with. So I suggest you mind your business, and if she is as valuable as you keep going on about, you tell her rather than punching the dude he just serves you fucking alcohol.” 

He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see you anymore. The image of you is clear as day, even with his eyes open. You, broken and vulnerable and full of hatred for him. Just as he had intended. 

Success tastes metallic and bitter. Eddie finally empties what little he had in his stomach onto that concrete alleyway.

He doesn’t leave the wall. Not when the bartender goes back inside with one of the bar’s bouncers, not when the remaining bouncer eyes him and nervously steps forward, not when they return with a paper declaring him banned from the bar. 

He can’t move. All he sees is you. He hasn’t drank more than that one pitiful swig of beer at Steve’s, but he feels like his world has gone incoherent all the same. 

He fucked up. 

He crinkles that piece of paper harshly once he’s properly left alone in the alleyway, angry enough that it tears a bit from his force. It doesn’t phase him; he didn’t intend on returning anyways. He carries it with him the entire way home, regardless, rolls it between his palms until it’s gone soft with the sweat of his hands. 

It’s for the better. He fucked up, but it’s for the better. 

He tosses the wadded ball into the trash when he gets home. Goes through the numb motions of taking off his shoes, tossing his jacket on the counter rather than the hook he’d put up for it, and leaves his bike’s keys beside it. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth but never once glancing up in the mirror. As a matter of fact, he avoided every single reflective surface in his apartment that night. 

He still sees your face, broken and teary, as he turns off his bedroom light and lays on his mattress that night. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats it to himself, reminds himself over and over, the mantra of it being for the better doesn’t work. It can’t break through. All because of a pathetic revelation.

Eddie learns that night that he is, in fact, in love with you. And it doesn’t matter, because you hate his fucking guts, just as he had intended. 

—

You don’t make a single move once Eddie breathlessly finishes his explanation. Not even to breathe. 

He’s been in love with you since that night at Steve’s. 

You’d known that he had punched the bartender that night. You’d known that he had been banned from his usual bar that night. But you hadn’t known the entire truth. You couldn’t have ever imagined it, ever pieced it together, until now. 

And you don’t know if that speaks more on you and how dense you’ve been this entire time, or on Eddie and how dishonest he’s been this entire time. 

“God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

It suddenly makes sense. At a sickening and sudden pace, it clicks into place. 

“Eddie, I-” 

“Don’t,” he stops you, looking you directly in your eyes. You nearly shrink under his attention. Your fury is gone; you just feel empty, “You… You don’t need to say it back. You don’t need to say anything – the bet’s off. I’m not being honest to stop you from leaving,” he admits, every single wall crumbling at both of your feet, “I’m just being honest because you deserve it. I should have told you that night. I should- I actually should have never done any of this. Any of it.” 

You remember the girl you once were. In a bar, surrounded by strangers and new friends, with tunnel vision for the boy in front of you. You remember that feeling of coming home, the way you ached for him to let you in and had been fooled for one night that it was possible. 

A year later, and he was letting you in, too late. 

“Why?” your voice cracks. You should just pick up your bag and go, but you can’t. Not until you stick the final stitches into the wound, seal up this hurt once and for all. For you and for Eddie. “Why would you… Why would you do that? Why would you set out to make me hate you?” 

“Because I didn’t deserve you,” he says it like a simple fact, like it doesn’t shatter you apart, “Because I knew if I didn’t create the rift and kept letting you in, I’d fall in love with you. At first, I thought I needed you to hate me to prevent it. Figured you’d be stronger than me about it. If I made you hate me, I was… Honestly, I was saving myself. I’d tell myself it was about saving you, but it wasn’t. I was being fucking selfish.”

You nod silently, swallowing down tears. Tears for what could have been, tears for what you still want so badly that it aches. 

“All because of Steve making…” you trail off, head trying to wrap around all the honesty he had just presented you with, “Making some off-handed, drunk comment.” 

It was Eddie’s turn to silently nod. To swallow hard and flutter his eyes shut so you couldn’t see the hurt lit within them. 

“You said you hated me,” you’re thinking out loud more than you’re properly speaking to him at this point, voice broken and soft, hands fighting the urge to reach out for him. Even after it all. Every reminder of what he had done for you, and now having the pitiful reason behind it all, still couldn’t break what had formed here tonight. Everything has still changed for you, “When I said everything changes, I meant the hate – I didn’t want to hate you anymore.” 

“I know,” he bites his lip, as if he’s trying to hold back any careless words. Words that might hurt you, but not for the same reasons as they used to, “That’s why… not much has changed. I never hated you. God knows I wanted to. I told myself I had to hate you, because if I didn’t hate you, I’d love you. And I couldn’t do that again – I couldn’t handle falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. I knew I wouldn’t survive loving you when you’d never love me back. It wouldn’t be fair… to either of us.” 

“But you did it anyway,” you almost laugh at the awfulness of it all, terribly irony stacking up between you, “You fell in love with me, you said it yourself. You… you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects, eyes now wide open, “I love you. It’s not- It’s not some feeling in the past tense. You should still hate me, because I still love you.” 

He’s right, you finally realize. You should hate him for all of this. 

“And all of this counted on the first part of your plan working,” he has to take a step closer, whether it be subconscious or due to how low your voice has dropped. The physical distance erased aches. Splinters each of your bones and all of your emotions, “Which you never even asked me if it worked, even now. You just assumed.” 

He takes a deep, brave breath before he quietly asks you, “Did it work?”

You both already know the answer now, “No.”

But it changes nothing. You know that, he knows that. It’s just as he said – the point of saying it out loud no longer has anything to do with repairing what’s been damaged just tonight. You’re both being honest only because you both deserve it. You both deserve to finally close this tomb. 

You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to close it, though. Not truly. Not properly. 

“I can’t stay,” you whisper, “I still… I still need to leave.” 

Especially now. 

“I know you do,” he responds. He’s gentle, understanding. 

It doesn’t stop the tear you see break from his lower lashes. He doesn’t draw any attention to it, doesn’t so much as move to clear it from his cheek. As if he’s scared if he does, you’ll notice it if you hadn’t already.

“The bet’s still off,” you continue, unable to meet his gaze as you pick up your bag once more. 

“I know it is.” 

He doesn’t try to stop you this time. And part of you, this time, wishes he would have as you slip back out the front door of apartment 2C and let the door shut with a quiet click behind you.

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[dindjarindiaries]

The End of Love

summary: After losing Hunter to both his inhibitor chip and the Empire on Bracca, you and the squad stop at nothing to bring the real him back.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: angst, panic attack, injuries & blood, canon-typical violence, mind control, hurt/comfort

rating: T

word count: 9.780k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

His golden brown eyes had never looked so empty, nor so haunted. You stood and stared at him, breathless and frozen in place. He could snap out of it. He had to.

Rex had to be wrong. He had to be.

But then Hunter raised his blaster at you. You could only shake your head at him. Any of the protests you wanted to make were lodged in your throat.

You were wrong, because Rex had to be right. There was no way that Hunter, your Hunter, would ever point his blaster at you.

You couldn’t muster the strength to grab your own weapon, even though you were the last one standing between Hunter and Omega. She had at least listened to your instructions to flee and hide, but you didn’t know how much more time you could buy her. You couldn’t fight him. You wouldn’t.

Hunter’s blaster shook in his grasp. You weren’t sure why, but it devastated you all the same. You held your hands up in surrender, your own body trembling as you swallowed past the lump in your throat. You could only manage a whisper. That was still enough for Hunter and his enhanced senses to hear.

“Please.”

But you had already lost him. He pulled the trigger, you ducked down to try to avoid the shot…

And you sat up in your makeshift bed, gasping for air.

Your hand flew to your shoulder. It was no longer bandaged, thanks to the bacta treatments, but the texture of the forming scar could still be felt underneath your fingertips. You closed your eyes and attempted to catch your breath, but you were failing.

Because this wasn’t just a nightmare you experienced while you slept. This was a nightmare you were forced to live every single day.

“Sunny?”

Omega sounded as if she was underwater as her tired voice spoke to you. She was blurred by the tears trapped within your vision. You tried to reach out for her to assure her that you were okay, but the motion was scrambled in your own panic and devastation. Omega held your hand and wrapped the other around your arm.

Omega’s voice rose to a volume loud enough for the others to hear her. “Echo, help!” You pressed the heel of your free hand to one of your eyes as your body started to rack with frantic sobs. “It’s Sunny!”

It only took a few more desperate breaths for Echo to show up. Then there was a hand running soothing circles over your back, and a calming voice attempting to ground you back to your cruel reality. “Okay, Sunny. Tell me five things you can see.”

You worked your throat to speak around the pitiful sobs that tore through it. “Hunter…”

“Not inside your head.” Echo gave your back a gentle pat. “Out here. Open your eyes and tell me what you see.”

You obeyed, fighting the panic that seized your very heart as you did so. “I see Omega.” The young girl smiled at you, a gesture that was obvious even through the blurriness of your tears. “The weapons station. Hyperspace.” You looked down. “The blanket.” You wanted to cry for a completely different reason when you spotted the fifth thing sitting right in your lap, no doubt the work of Omega. “And… Lula.”

“Good.” Echo nodded in your periphery. “Now give me four things you can touch.”

You gave Omega’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Omega.” Your free hand lowered to your lap, just as your gaze had. “The blanket. Lula.” You searched for something else nearby, but came up empty—until Echo offered you his hand. “You.”

“That’s it.” Echo’s smile was evident in his voice. “You’re making great progress. You know what’s next.”

You nodded, because this exact process had become routine in the weeks after Bracca. “I can hear your voice, the hyperspace vibrations, and…” you strained for one more, “Wrecker’s snoring.”

Omega giggled. That at least got you to crack a smile.

Echo also chuckled. “What else?”

“I smell leather and a bunch of other confusing, gross smells that this squad can’t get rid of for some reason.”

That got even heartier laughter out of both Echo and Omega. “Damn right, Sunny.” He patted your back again. “One more.”

You glanced at your nearby canteen. “I could taste water if I drank from that.”

Echo bobbed his head. “Sure, I’ll take it.”

With your vision now clear and your chest rising and falling in normal breaths, you looked between Echo and Omega, who were equal parts relieved and sympathetic. You hung your head in defeat as you exhaled a heavy breath. “Thank you both. Again.”

“You don’t have to thank us.” Omega sounded just like Hunter as she offered reassurance. She squeezed your hand. “We’ll always help you.”

You lifted your head back up and caught Echo gesturing with his head towards Omega. “What she said.”

You shook your head, the weight on your shoulders causing them to deflate. Your eyes fell closed and your voice grew smaller. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

“It won’t be much longer at all.” Your eyes shot open at Echo’s words. He awaited your stare with a small smile. “We found him.”

You blinked at him, your jaw dropping in pure disbelief. You had lost count of the amount of days it had been ever since Bracca, but each one had felt like a lifetime in its own right. You had been so ready to give up completely. “Really?”

“Really?” Omega repeated your word with more enthusiasm.

Echo nodded. “Really.”

His confirmation opened up an endless stream of words and wonders from within you. “Where is he? Has he gone far? Is he alone?”

Echo set his hand over yours again. “He’s on Kaller.” Your eyes widened at that. “He must be looking for the Padawan he saved back when we first got the order.” Echo exhaled and looked away from your gaze. “Tech said Crosshair’s not with him.”

Your lips tightened at that. You had all been hoping that you could get them together and bring them both home.

“Where’s Crosshair?” Omega sounded hopeful, clearly still elated by the idea of Hunter being found. You had certainly been taking Hunter’s absence the hardest, but Omega was just behind you in that regard.

“We’re still not sure. Because he’s been placed in high command, he’s harder to track.”

You let go of Omega’s and Echo’s hands and held Lula instead, hugging the tooka doll closer to your chest. “Are we heading there now?”

Echo nodded again. “We are.”

You frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve woken me up.”

Echo softened and tilted his head at you. “Because, Sunny, you need all the rest you can get right now.”

You handed Lula off to Omega and prepared to stand. “Well, now I’m awake.” You stretched. “Let’s start planning.”

Echo sighed, though the fond smile on his lips proved it was far from being one of annoyance. “Yeah, we had a feeling you’d say that.” He started to stand with you and turned his head over his shoulder. “Tech, time to wake up Wrecker.”

“Affirmative.” Tech sounded just as alert as Echo was. You huffed to yourself; they had clearly been spending their watch shift locating Hunter, and then starting a plan. You might have had the most special connection to Hunter, but you were far from the only person who wanted him back, desperately.

Not just wanted, though. Needed.

“I’m coming to help, too.” Omega’s mind was made up, and the chin she lifted at both you and Echo proved it. The two of you shared a look before you both nodded at her.

You, Echo, and Omega all headed to the hold, where Tech and a half-awake Wrecker were awaiting you. Tech and Wrecker remained seated where they were, while Echo stood by Tech’s chair and Omega leaned against Wrecker’s. You paced the floor, your arms crossed and your teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

“Our current inference is that Hunter has been assigned a miniscule squad.” Tech wasted no time getting right to it. “Despite this, it would be wisest to prepare for more numbers.”

“Exactly.” Echo was just as focused as you were, now. “Especially if we think they’re looking for a Jedi.”

“I will land the ship just outside the perimeter of the clearing where we last fought on Kaller.” Tech typed on his datapad, no doubt making note of the plans as a backup—or for his own research. “I advise splitting into teams.”

“I agree.” Echo nodded in Wrecker and Omega’s direction. “Tech, Wrecker, and Omega, you should all stick together and act as a distraction. We need to keep Omega away from Hunter for now. Sunny…” he paused and let his gaze flicker over to you, “we’ll go after him.”

You froze in place, the image of Hunter standing across from you on Bracca yet again haunting your mind. You were torn; you wanted nothing more than to see him again, even if he was still trying to kill or capture you, but you couldn’t forget the hesitation you had the last time you were forced to face him.

Ultimately, you let out a soft, defeated sigh. “I’m not sure if I can, Echo.”

Echo’s brow furrowed in determination. “If any of us can get through to him, it’s you.” Echo offered you a nod. “You can do this.”

Your haunted mind replayed that moment on Bracca, but this time, it focused in on Hunter’s shaking blaster. You couldn’t help but think, or maybe hope, that the trembling was indicative of him trying to fight the chip. If it was, then it proved Echo’s words to be true. You could have a chance of getting through to him.

And that was a chance you had no choice but to take.

You steadied yourself with another breath before you nodded. “Okay.” You resumed your pacing, even as you continued. “So, let’s say you and I succeed, Echo, and we get Hunter. What next? Do we go back to Bracca?”

Tech lifted a finger. “It is either the Jedi cruiser on Bracca or Kamino.” He adjusted his goggles as his brow rose. “Though Kamino is not much of an option, given our present… unfavorability with the Empire and the regs.”

“It has to be Bracca.” Echo was set on it. “We just have to make sure he stays unconscious until then.”

You tightened your jaw and gripped your upper arms tighter. The thought of keeping Hunter unconscious, no matter his current state of mind, was unsettling. You didn’t want him hurt.

That was what had made this situation so difficult for you in the first place. You knew Hunter, and you knew how he would feel the second he realized what had happened and what he, or at least his body, had done.

That was going to hurt him more than any physical wound ever could.

You stopped your pacing and faced the group. “That’s it, then?”

Echo and Tech shared a look before nodding. Echo provided the verbal confirmation. “That’s it.”

“Wait.” Wrecker’s voice betrayed his confusion, as did the furrow between his brows. “Who’s going to get Hunter?”

Tech frowned. “Echo and Sunny. We have already reviewed this.” He huffed and looked back at his datapad. “Perhaps if you paid attention.”

“I’m still wakin’ up!” Wrecker stretched out his arms. “It could be the middle of the night for all we know.”

Tech tilted his head. “On which planet, exactly?”

Echo sighed. “That’s enough of that.” He leveled both Tech and Wrecker with stern looks before walking over to you. He set his hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We need to get ready. We should be dropping out of hyperspace soon.”

You lifted your brow. “We were that close?”

The corner of Echo’s mouth rose in a smile. “We were.”

You let out another steady exhale as the shock of all these quick developments began to sink in. Echo, recognizing this, took a step back as you gestured with your head towards the weapons station. “I’m gonna take some time to prepare.”

Echo nodded in understanding. “Take as long as you need, Sunny.”

You offered him a small smile of your own before you headed back towards your makeshift bed. Once you got there, you reached forward to pull the blanket off the item you kept hidden in the corner, close to the place where you rested your head every night to sleep.

It was Hunter’s helmet, the only piece of himself he had left behind on Bracca.

You held it between your hands and set it on your lap, with your legs crossed and folded underneath you. The empty visor stared back at you, familiar and comforting enough to make the corners of your lips twitch upwards. You lifted the helmet as you lowered your forehead, allowing the two to meet as your eyes fluttered closed.

You had found him, and you weren’t going to leave without him. You weren’t sure whether it was the stars, the Force, or the gods responsible for this chance, but you didn’t hesitate to thank them all. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Are you nervous?”

Omega’s voice made you jump as you opened your eyes and lowered Hunter’s helmet back to your lap. She wore a sheepish smile as she sat across from you.

“I think we’ll get him this time.” Omega’s innocent eyes bore into yours, as if she was silently begging you for reassurance. “Do you?”

You had always vowed to be nothing but honest with Omega, mostly because she could sense a lie better than anyone else you had ever known, and you were able to do the same now. “I do.”

You handed Hunter’s helmet to her. Omega took it, her gaze giving it a once-over as her chest inflated with a soft inhale. She then hugged the helmet against herself, closing her eyes just as you had before. “I can’t wait for him to be home.”

You maneuvered yourself to Omega’s side and set your hand upon her back. “Me too.” She leaned into you, and you rested your head against hers. “And he may not be thinking about it yet because of that chip, but I’m sure he can’t wait to be back, either.”

Omega reopened her eyes and looked up at you. “Are you gonna tell him?”

You blinked at her. “Tell him what?” Your chest flared with panic at her knowing more than you wanted her to.

Instead, Omega’s gaze gestured to your shoulder. “About your scar.”

You twisted your lips. “I have a feeling he’ll already know.”

Omega’s expression fell. “You mean… you think Hunter will remember everything he’s doing?”

You gave her a solemn look. “Do you remember when Rex told us about the chips at Cid’s?” You paused, giving Omega time to recall the memory. Once she nodded, you went on. “He said it wasn’t something that could be controlled. He would’ve only known that if he experienced it for himself, and remembered it all.”

Omega’s sweet eyes searched yours before she lowered her focus to the helmet in her lap. She hugged it just a bit tighter and let out a worried sigh. “He’ll be so upset.”

You offered her an encouraging smile. “But at least he’ll have us.” Omega’s gaze flickered back up to yours. “We can help him through it.”

Omega returned your smile and nodded once more to agree with you. She rested her head against you again, and you assumed the same position as before. The two of you sat together with Hunter’s helmet in peaceful silence until the Marauder jolted out of hyperspace.

Echo poked his head inside Omega’s makeshift room. “We’re here.”

Your stomach fluttered with a confusing mixture of anxiety and excitement as you acknowledged him with a nod. You focused back on Omega as you held her face between your hands. “Ready?”

Omega set her jaw as her kind gaze hardened with determination. You started to smile at the traces of Hunter you saw within her. “Ready.”

Your smile widened before you bent down to give her forehead a kiss. You then eased Hunter’s helmet from her lap and put it back in its spot, though it would hopefully soon return to its proper place. Omega led the way back to the hold and the cockpit, where the rest of the squad had already gathered.

You braced your hands upon the back of Echo’s chair as you watched the atmosphere of Kaller grow closer. Everyone was holding a collective breath at the anticipation of the battle to come. There was an unspoken yet universally understood and agreed upon truth; you weren’t leaving without Hunter.

Even if that meant you didn’t leave at all.

Wrecker was the one who broke the tense silence. “Hunter’s done a lot for us.” He looked around the squad, his expression more serious than you had ever seen it. “The least we can do for him now is bring him home and save him from that chip.”

Everyone else started to nod in agreement. You, on the other hand, walked away from your place at Echo’s chair and gave Wrecker an embrace you both needed. He held you there for a few long moments, his gloved hand patting your back every once in a while. When you pulled away from each other, Wrecker set his hands on your shoulders and smiled.

He repeated Echo’s words from before. “You can do this, Sunny.”

You returned his smile and straightened your shoulders. “Thanks, Wrecker.”

You all took your seats as Tech lowered the Marauder to Kaller’s surface. Your heart leapt into your throat when you flew over an Imperial shuttle. You had half a mind to tell Tech to destroy it for fear of Hunter getting away again, but you bit your tongue. Hunter would know you were here, no doubt, but he wouldn’t run with a whole squad backing him up this time.

Once the ship was grounded and powered down, the squad rose to their feet. You triple checked all of your gear as the boys did the same. Omega had her bow and her comm, and she stuck close to Wrecker and Tech. Echo glanced at you before he spoke to the group.

“They already know we’re here.” Echo slid his helmet on as he continued. “We’ll stick together until Hunter leads them to us. That’s when we’ll split up. We’ll want to draw as many of their forces away from Hunter as possible.”

You steadied yourself with deep breaths as you nodded at him. Now that you were here, it was beginning to feel more real—and your nervousness was growing. The mere idea of facing Hunter and his activated chip again made your stomach tie into sickening knots.

Echo held up his blaster and gestured with his helmet to the open hatch. “Let’s head out.”

Echo continued to lead the way, weaving the group around the snow-covered trees until you reached the clearing from that fateful day when the war ended. You froze there for a moment, recalling the pure horror in Hunter’s voice when he realized what was happening. If only he knew then what was happening now, that the Empire had dragged him into it.

You swallowed hard and pushed on.

You descended the downward slope on the other side of the clearing and entered the density of the surrounding wood again. It was a lot harder to know when to stop without Hunter on your side. He certainly would’ve been able to hear them and sense their location by now.

Echo held up his scomp, a substitution for a fist. The squad stopped, and you began to look around your surroundings in a careful circle—but you didn’t see anyone. Your heart was racing inside your tightened chest, and each fogged-up breath you took sounded louder and louder in your roaring ears.

“So, you decided to come to me first.”

Hunter.

Your knees nearly gave out at the sound of his voice. It was even lower than usual, evidence of the way the chip was corrupting him. All of your heads snapped towards the source of the sound, and you watched as he emerged from the trees.

Hunter had painted his armor entirely black, and he had been issued a helmet with a green visor, just like Crosshair’s. Those were the only noticeable differences, until he paused and lifted the helmet from his head.

Your heart pounded even more violently against your chest as you caught sight of him. He had exchanged his red bandana for a simple black that matched the rest of his armor, and rather than letting his hair flow behind him, he had tied it back, aside from the usual small pieces that framed his face. The most notable difference, however, was still his dark gaze.

It was completely empty, and it was just as haunting as you had remembered it to be—especially once it locked with your own.

“We’re here for you,” Wrecker corrected him. “We’re gonna bring you home, Sarge.”

Hunter’s gaze flickered over to Wrecker as he huffed, his jaw circling and his brow furrowing. “I don’t think so.”

He lifted his free hand and waved two fingers, drawing his Imperial forces out of the shadows. Thankfully, as you observed them all, you realized Tech’s initial thoughts were true; he only had a smaller squad with him.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Hunter set his helmet back over his head. “Not this time.”

Echo held his blaster tighter. “Yeah, and neither are you.”

Hunter’s fingers fluttered at his side before he gave the command. “Fire!”

You saw what he was reaching for. You leapt forward to lower Echo’s hand, causing it to just narrowly avoid being hit with the blade Hunter had thrown to disarm him. Meanwhile, as the blaster fire started to rain down upon you, Wrecker and Tech focused on shielding Omega and leading more of Hunter’s forces away. You took Echo and hid behind the cover of a tree.

After checking that your blaster was set to stun, you leaned out and fired in Hunter’s direction. He ducked behind a nearby tree, hiding from your shots. You took the opportunity to hop over to the trunk beside Echo’s, letting each of you have your own space.

“Go after them,” you heard Hunter instruct his troopers. He gestured with his helmet in Wrecker, Tech, and Omega’s direction. “The rest of you are with me. We’re going after those two.”

Echo tilted his helmet at you. “Told you, Sunny.” He chuckled and lifted his blaster. “Even with the chip, he can’t resist you.”

You rolled your eyes, and despite the severity of the moment and the anxious trembling that threatened to overtake your entire body, the corners of your lips turned up in an amused smile. “Let’s make sure we get him far away from the others.”

Echo nodded to agree with you. This time, you led the way, diving between the trees to avoid any of the blaster fire that was aimed in your direction. Echo was just behind you the entire time, and every once in a while, he shot off some stuns of his own.

You went far enough for the sounds of Wrecker, Tech, and Omega’s pursuers to disappear. Only at that point did you speak up to Echo through your panting breaths. “What now?”

Echo got a few more shots off before answering. “I have a theory to test.” He caught up to your side and nodded. “I’m gonna split off and see if he sends them after me.”

Your eyes widened. “You think Hunter will go after me alone?”

“Like I said.” Echo dodged a blaster bolt and hid behind a tree trunk. “I’m testing a theory!” He tapped his helmet. “We’ll comm if it doesn’t work!”

You inhaled before ultimately nodding at him. Echo patted you on the shoulder before he split off to the right, drawing their fire as he wove through the trees. You continued to the left and tried not to worry about him, or yourself. There was a high possibility that one of you could end up being the focus of all their firepower.

But deep down, you knew Echo was right, because you had seen it somehow inside Hunter’s empty gaze. There was a part of him that couldn’t keep himself from focusing on, and ultimately pursuing, you—and you could only hope it was the good part of him.

You heard the crunch of a branch from close behind you, and you didn’t have a chance to turn your head over your shoulder to see who it was. The same blade from before was whizzing through the air, thrown at just the right angle to catch the material of your shirt and pin you to the nearest tree trunk. Only one person could have an aim that precise.

You holstered your blaster to focus on pulling yourself free from the blade. Hunter was closing the distance quickly, and you weren’t waiting around to find out what he would do next. You cried out with effort as you managed to tear the blade from the bark. Instantly, you threw it back in his direction, missing on purpose so that it solely served as a distraction. It hit the bark of the tree across from you, and Hunter pulled it free without missing a beat as he barreled towards you.

You stumbled back and grabbed your blaster, holding it with both hands as you prepared to pull the trigger and stun him. Hunter stepped close enough to knock the weapon from your hands, though your sidestep kept him from getting any other hits in. You blocked each one of his blows, suddenly grateful for the long, grueling training sessions that he would do with you back during the war. You refused to go on offense, instead doing whatever you could to keep him from hurting you—for his own sake.

But being forced backwards wasn’t a stable way to fight. You soon tripped over a fallen branch, and that gave Hunter a window to kick your middle. You lost your breath the moment your back connected with a tree trunk, and in a flash, Hunter was upon you. His blade was at your throat, and his knee was pressed between your legs, keeping you in place.

Your eyes went wide, especially as Hunter took the liberty of removing his own helmet with his free hand. Your chest rose and fell in quick breaths, but all you could focus on was him. There had to be a piece of him left in his gaze, but all you could see was darkness, the same darkness that had been plaguing your nightmares ever since Bracca.

He shouldn’t have been hesitating to slit your throat, yet he was. The edge of his blade was kissing your skin, flirting with the very real possibility of swift death, but he wouldn’t make that final move.

The real him was still in there.

“Hunter.” Your voice was softer and calmer than you expected it to be, nothing more than an intimate whisper of his name. His brow was still furrowed, but you could see a muscle in his jaw flex. You swallowed hard, feeling the blade bob on your throat, and went on. “H.”

Hunter blinked at you. His brow softened for a split second, but then the knit returned with even more ferocity than before. “Don’t call me that.” His voice was a sneer. “Traitor.”

You remained soft, even if every single survival instinct inside you was screaming to tense up and fight for your life. “Come home, H.” You repeated the only thing you could say to him on Bracca. “Please.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes, but you couldn’t be fooled. The blade had started to tremble slightly against your skin, and just as Echo had worked on his theory before, you started to work on your own.

“I’m sorry.” You let the genuine, raw truths spill from your tongue as you shook your head. “I shouldn’t have waited until now to say this, because you deserved to hear this truth from me a long time ago.”

Hunter growled and tightened his grasp on the hilt of his blade. “Don’t.”

You ignored him. “I love you.” Your vision started to go blurry as tears pooled at your waterline. Your lips were trembling just as much as Hunter’s blade was. “I’ve loved you for a long time, but I wasn’t brave enough to say it. Not until I had to face a reality where I had lost you.”

Hunter blinked, his brow relaxing again as he absorbed your words. The shaking of the blade worsened, but he still didn’t lower it. Even your blurry vision could still make out the small, golden flecks that began to faintly illuminate his gaze. A piece of him was here with you now, and he was fighting to be here.

“I love you, H.” You dared to lift a hand to his tattooed cheek, your thumb tracing the outline of it as you did so. Your voice lowered back to a hushed whisper. “Let me bring you home. Please.”

Hunter’s gaze searched yours. Most of it was still dark, but that growing light was unmistakable, as was the trembling weapon against your throat—and the tear that fell from his eye. You caught it on your thumb.

He needed one last push to give himself completely over to you, if only for a moment, and you were going to take your opportunity to provide it.

Your free hand caught his wrist and moved it just enough to let you lean forward, sealing your lips over his. The hand on his cheek snaked back to the nape of his neck, securing him in place against you. Hunter hesitated to respond, but the moment your fingertips threaded into the hair that was secured at the back of his head, he gave in.

The blade fell from his hand and clattered to the ground as he instead focused on holding you against him. You were hit with a confusing mixture of emotions, with relief and pure love reigning above all the others, but there was also a strong trace of guilt—because as much as you wanted this, you couldn’t forget the reason why you were doing it.

And as you pushed your tongue through his parted lips, you drew his blaster from his holster, switching it stun and pulling the trigger against his armored chest.

Hunter froze, the shock of the stun running through him. You didn’t break away from him just yet, instead continuing to hold the back of his neck as you whispered your apology against his lips. “I’m sorry.”

When his knees gave out, you went with him, supporting him the best you could to ease his descent to the ground. It was only then, when you had his head cradled in your lap, that you realized how damp your cheeks had become from your own tears.

Your actions were numb as you kept one hand on his face and used the other to lift your comlink to your lips. “I got him.” Your voice shook, though you tried to project as much strength into it as you could muster. “I’m gonna need some help to—.”

“I’m on my way.” It was Wrecker who answered with protective decisiveness. The words brought a small smile back to your lips.

“So am I.” Echo sounded slightly out of breath, no doubt preoccupied with eliminating the threats that had trailed him. “I’ll be there in a minute or two.”

“Omega and I are en route to the ship,” Tech added. “I will bring it closer to facilitate a more expedient exit.”

You listened to their voices as you hung your comlink back on your belt and reached for your blaster in the snow. You then disarmed Hunter of his weapons and kept them tucked into other places on your belt. Keeping your blaster drawn, you held it at the ready, though it was trembling in your hand similarly to the way it had trembled in his on Bracca.

But this time, he wasn’t getting away. He was finally coming home.

Still, your shoulders weighed heavy with guilt at the things you had to do to him, and the fact he could potentially see your love confession as nothing more than a calculated tactic to get through to him. Nothing would devastate you more than him doubting the truth, especially when you had meant every single word of it.

You continued to repeat an apology to him as your free hand cupped the side of his face. Your gaze ran along the lines of his relaxed expression until they led you back to his hair. You took a deep breath and reached back to free it from its restraint, marking the first official step in bringing back the man who was trapped within his own, traitorous body.

You were so focused on Hunter that you didn’t even hear Echo’s approach. He was suddenly kneeling on Hunter’s other side, his blaster holstered and his hands lifting his helmet from his head. He wore the same expression that he did when he helped you through your nightmare-induced panic attacks.

“You did it, Sunny.” Echo’s voice was softer than you had ever heard it, and he reached forward to rest his hand over the one that was clutching your blaster. He lowered the weapon for you and nodded. “Just like I said.” The corner of his mouth rose in an amused grin. “I knew my theory would work.”

You huffed and raised an eyebrow. “You sound like Tech.”

Echo chuckled and shrugged. “Yeah, this entire squad’s starting to rub off on me, I guess.” He put his helmet back on as you holstered your weapon. “Let’s try to get him up.”

You nodded and reached for Hunter’s arm, waiting until Echo was ready to hoist him up. You set his arm over your shoulders and pushed up until you and Echo were back on your feet. Hunter’s limp head hung between you, and his boots dragged over the snow as you and Echo headed back to the clearing. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from externally reacting to the sight of Hunter like this, but even that couldn’t prevent Echo from knowing you as any good family member would.

“He’ll be thanking you for this once the chip’s out.” Echo’s visor glanced in your direction. “You know that, right?”

You closed your eyes and exhaled a steady breath. “It’s more than stunning him and dragging him around, Echo. It’s…” You paused, uncertain if you could even bring your fears to words.

“And like I said, he’ll thank you for it.” Echo remained firm in his reassurance. “Whatever it is that broke through to him.”

Your shoulders fell in defeat, but before Echo could question you about it, Wrecker burst through the trees. “There… you… are!” He was out of breath as he reached forward to take his brother’s limp body from you and Echo. “You guys… went far.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, that was the idea.” You smiled as Wrecker tossed Hunter over his shoulder, and once he was settled, you hugged Wrecker on his open side. “Thank you for coming.”

Wrecker held your shoulder with his free hand and echoed Omega’s words from earlier that morning. “You don’t have to thank me.” He secured his hold on Hunter and nodded. “Now let’s bring ‘im home.”

You grinned wider at that. The more members of the squad that you saw, the better you began to feel about it all. Your guilt still loomed like a shadow over your mind and your heart, but this family was a light that began to illuminate your darkest corners.

Echo and Wrecker stood close to both sides of you, keeping you in the warmth of their realms as the three of you made your way back to the clearing. The Marauder was waiting there for you, just as Tech had promised. Omega was waiting on the steps that had been lowered from the hatch, and as soon as the three of you stepped out of the surrounding wood, she gasped and ran forward.

“You did it!” Omega was smiling as she closed the distance to your group. You fully expected her to go to Wrecker and Hunter first, but instead, she went right up to you. Omega threw her arms around you and let the side of her face smush against your middle. “I knew you could do it, Sunny.”

You were too choked up to respond with your words, so you settled for holding her back just as tightly. Her pure love was a healing balm for your very soul. You hoped she knew that—and somehow, you knew that she did.

“Let’s keep celebrating inside the ship.” Echo was gentle with his directive as Omega stepped away from you. “We should get going so we can make it before he wakes up.” Echo nodded towards Hunter on Wrecker’s shoulder.

Your gaze fell to your feet. You didn’t like remembering that it was you who had put him in such a state.

Omega held your hand, drawing your attention back to her. Her eyes were wide with a sympathy that was genuine rather than pitiful. She kept her hand in yours the entire way back to the ship, only letting go once you were settling yourself next to where Wrecker had eased Hunter down onto the floor of the ship.

Hunter’s upper half rested upon the interior hull, his head and shoulders slouching under the weight of his unconsciousness. Either Wrecker or Echo had already taken care of restraining his wrists, in the event that he woke up and tried to fight. You steadied yourself with a breath and closed your eyes as you exhaled. It would all be over soon.

When you reopened your eyes, you caught Echo’s gaze from across the ship. Wrecker had taken Omega to the cockpit to witness the takeoff back to Bracca. Echo made his approach and knelt down in front of you and Hunter.

“If he wakes up,” you warned him in a low yet honest voice, “I won’t be able to do it again, Echo.”

“I understand.” Echo set a hand on your shoulder. “And you won’t have to.” He gestured back to the chairs behind him. “We’ll be right here, ready to do it for you.”

You smiled in the best show of gratitude you could muster. Echo squeezed your shoulder before he stood back up and returned to his chair. As soon as the hull at your back began to hum with the familiar sensation of hyperspace, Wrecker, Tech, and Omega were all joining you, too. Omega sat at Hunter’s other side, her head resting against his arm, while Wrecker and Tech stayed at the ready by Echo.

After a drawn-out stretch of silence, with tension thick enough to have been cut by your blade if you tried, Tech dared to speak—which hardly surprised anyone. “I must ask, Sunny.” He adjusted his goggles before going on. “How exactly did you succeed in… apprehending him?”

Wrecker swatted Tech’s shoulder hard enough to make him grunt in both surprise and pain. “You actually don’t have to ask that!”

“On the contrary,” Tech narrowed his eyes as his hand rubbed his sore shoulder, “this could be vital information should we run into another individual whose inhibitor chip is active.” He inhaled a gentle breath before going on. “Such as Crosshair.”

You ran your thumb over your forehead and sighed. “What I did won’t work on Crosshair.” You gained the faith to look up, just to see the entire squad staring back at you. Even Omega had lifted her head from Hunter’s arm. You steadied your shoulders and returned their eager gazes. “It won’t work on anyone.”

Tech raised an eyebrow. “Well, clearly…” He gestured towards Hunter.

You mumbled, “Anyone except Hunter.”

The ship fell silent before Tech yet again spoke up. “Ah.” His furrowed brow relaxed as his gaze cut away from you. “I see.”

Wrecker gave Tech’s shoulder another nudge. “I told ya’ you didn’t have to ask.”

“All that matters is that Sunny did it.” Echo finally entered the conversation with a voice of reason. “The next thing we have to focus on is getting to Bracca and removing Hunter’s chip.” Echo’s gaze caught yours. “Not the ‘why’ or the ‘how’ behind what’s already been done.”

Your lips stretched up in a small smile as you mouthed a silent Thank you to him. While you usually wouldn’t mind Tech pressing for information, this situation was more delicate than any other. You were having a hard enough time coming to terms with what you had to do to get through to Hunter.

Even if it had worked.

Echo kept Tech and Wrecker busy by discussing plans for getting to the Jedi cruiser on Bracca as fast as possible. You should have been participating in the discussion yourself, but you instead took the opportunity to wallow in your own self-pity, and to come up with things you would say if Hunter woke and immediately questioned everything you had said to him.

It was in the midst of this that you hear Omega’s hushed voice from Hunter’s other side. “You shouldn’t feel guilty about it.”

Your eyes widened as your head slowly turned in her direction. Omega’s brown gaze was piercing, but not in an uncomfortable way, as it flickered over your own expression. Even at her young age, she exuded a wisdom and a peace that was difficult to bring to words.

“He would have done the same to bring you back.” Omega nodded and gestured to the rest of the squad. “We all would.”

You let out a breathy chuckle and shook your head. “I’m not sure about that.”

Omega began to wear an amused smile. “You mean the kissing, and the ‘I love—.’”

“Shhh!” You held a finger to your lips and cut your gaze at the boys. They were still talking amongst themselves, completely unaware about whatever you and Omega were discussing. You narrowed your eyes at Omega. “How did you know that?”

Omega giggled and shrugged. “I guessed.” She snapped her fingers and pointed them at you like a blaster. “And I was right.”

You returned her smile, but only for a moment. It faded as your worries, and the overall heavy weight of the entire situation, settled over you once again. You closed your eyes and let out a long exhale. “It worked, Omega, but if I’m being honest?” You reopened your eyes to look at her. “I don’t know if I should’ve done it.”

Omega’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

You couldn’t meet her gaze as you instead studied the lines of Hunter’s face beside your own. He could always calm you down, even if he wasn’t awake to do it. “Because I don’t want him to think I didn’t mean it.”

Omega blinked once, then twice. She reached her hand over Hunter to quietly ask for yours. You accepted her small hand in your grasp, which left your entwined hands on Hunter’s armored thigh. Her stare never left yours as she went on. “Did you say it with your brain, Sunny,” she tapped the side of her head with her free hand, “or your heart?” She lowered her palm against her chest.

You took a gentle breath before answering. “My heart.”

Omega offered a small smile and a quick squeeze of her hand. “Then he’ll know the truth.” She raised an eyebrow. “I think he already knew.”

You narrowed your eyes at her again. “Why would you think that?”

Omega gave you a knowing look. “Everybody knows, Sunny.” She looked at the boys again, and your gaze followed hers. Their heads all whipped in different directions, as if they had just barely avoided being caught staring directly at you.

You huffed and shook your head. “Yeah, I guess it’s hard to hide feelings around here.”

“The mission was to bring him back, Sunny.” Omega’s voice was nothing but warmth as she went on. “And you did.” Her eyes welled with sudden emotion, but using her strength that had always amazed you, she kept it held back. “Thank you.”

You immediately softened, the strain of her voice pulling you full-force out of your self-pity as you instead opened yourself up to her. Omega stood just enough to move from Hunter’s side to yours, her arms wrapping tight around you. You held her back and leaned your head against hers, your eyes closing as you recognized this exact scene.

It was the perfect reversal of your journey to Kaller.

You and Omega stayed like that until the Marauder exited hyperspace. You were immediately shot with a new wave of adrenaline at the thought of having Hunter back so soon. Though he had physically been here, you all were painfully aware that it wasn't really him, not until that chip was out of his head. You were going to do everything you could to make sure that happened.

Once Tech had landed the ship as close to the Jedi cruiser as he could, you all geared up again and prepared for the trek. Wrecker yet again took care of Hunter, who was somehow still unconscious, as the rest of you led the way and made the path as easy for him as possible. An unsettling wave of déjà vu settled inside you, but you tapped into your buzzing adrenaline instead.

Tech stared at his datapad as he led the group inside the Jedi cruiser. Thankfully, you had already learned all its traps the last time, and Tech had—of course—made note of them. Since the others had still taken the time to remove their chips the last time you were here, Tech was also familiar with the process, too. Everything would be expedited.

Which meant you would be facing Hunter again, your Hunter, before you could really begin to process it. That excited you and scared you more than you thought possible.

As you arrived at the infirmary and Tech began to dial up the machine again, you began to run at least a thousand possibilities about what would happen the moment he woke in his right mind again. Rather than dwelling on yourself as you had for the majority of the trip here, you focused on Hunter alone. You had to have a plan for how you would help him through his own guilt of what he had done, because it would indubiously be there.

Wrecker set Hunter down and prepared him to be operated on. You steadied yourself with a breath and made your way over to his side. Gently, you lifted a hand to his bandana and slid it off, making room for the machine to do its work. As you brought your hand back towards yourself, you let your fingertips linger on the warmth of his skin along his defined and tattooed cheekbone.

After this moment, you would no longer have to see him as a stranger. Hopefully.

You held onto the bandana and looked at Tech, who was clearly waiting on you. You nodded. “Go ahead.”

Tech returned your nod and lowered his gaze to the controls. His fingers flew across them before the machine whirred to life and eased Hunter inside. You watched, your gaze glued to the sight, until Hunter’s body stopped again.

Tech spoke into the tense silence. “The process should only require a few standard minutes.” It was no doubt his attempt at reassurance, due to the fact you had all seen before how long this process took. “Though I am uncertain how long it will be before he wakes.”

Echo, who had his arms crossed Tech’s side, was the next to speak up. “Well, we’re not going anywhere until he does.”

You nodded before glancing over your shoulder at Wrecker and Omega. He had his hands on Omega’s shoulders as she stood in front of him and stared endlessly in Hunter’s direction.

You looked around and found one of the chairs you all had utilized the last time you were here, and you pulled it right up to Hunter’s side. Looking at Omega once again, you tapped the back of the chair, inviting her to sit in it. She smiled and stepped forward, letting Wrecker’s hands fall from her shoulders as she hopped onto it.

It was exactly where she had been for the others’ chip removals, and you wanted this one to feel just as normal for her—even if it was anything but.

Meanwhile, you and Wrecker both walked back towards Tech and Echo. Everyone remained quiet with anticipation, though the unspoken sentiment of hope shined brighter than the light that poured from the working machine. Hunter’s absence had been difficult on all of you, and at last, that trying time was coming to an end. In the waiting, all you could do was fumble with the material of his bandana in your hand.

Your heart leapt into your throat the moment the machine finished. Hunter’s body slowly slid back to where it had started, his expression displaying a different kind of serene than it had before, though that may have just been you fooling yourself. You stepped forward to slip his bandana back on, minding the bandage that had already attached itself to the side of his head. You knew he would want it back on when he woke.

But before you could even finish pulling your hands away, one of your wrists was suddenly grasped by a delicate touch. You let out a soft gasp and could only stand there, blinking in surprise with your jaw dropped, as Hunter’s dark eyes fluttered open.

Only they weren’t dark anymore. They were a sweet, golden brown again, sparkling more and more the longer he looked upon you.

Omega’s gasp at your side was much louder than yours had been. It drew you and Hunter apart as you both looked over at her, seeing the uncontainable joy and relief written all over her smiling face. “Hunter?” Her utterance of his name was strained with the same emotions you had seen on her expression.

Hunter chuckled, the sound breathy as he pushed himself to sit up. “Hey, kid.”

Omega couldn’t contain herself, and you couldn’t blame her. She all but leapt from the chair into his arms, holding onto him even more tightly than she had held you before. Hunter grunted in surprise, but the sound morphed into sweet laughter as he held her back. You pressed a hand against your warm chest and tried to take it all in.

The relief. The admiration. The overwhelming love…

Your eyes were watering before you could help it. All your fears from before returned and created a confusing mixture with the overjoyed emotions that had already been devouring you whole. You were drowning in a sea of dark devastation and breathless relief; he was right here, finally back to his true self, but you weren’t sure what he would think about how it had happened.

You stepped back, making room for Hunter to approach his brothers once he was done with Omega. But when Hunter patted her back to gently ease her away from him, he only had eyes for you, and they met your gaze with a stare so powerful that you truly did lose whatever air was left inside your lungs.

Hunter stood and closed the distance over to you. You were ready to fall into his arms the moment he opened them up to you, his gloved hand holding the back of your head and inviting you to bury yourself into him. You obliged, your soft cries muffled by his armor. He was holding you in a way he never had, certainly not in front of anyone else.

He waited, his other hand running over your back in soothing strokes, until you had mostly composed yourself. Only then did he ease his hand off your head and encourage you to look at him. 

You both said the same thing at the same time. “I’m sorry.”

Hunter furrowed his brow, his brown gaze studying yours as he lifted a hand to your cheek. “What are you apologizing for?”

You sniffed, your gaze falling to his chestplate as you gently pressed your hands upon it. Your voice was quiet and uncharacteristically timid as you spoke. “I shouldn’t have waited until then to say what I said.”

Hunter’s expression flashed with understanding, but you were surprised to see the corners of his mouth rising in a small smile. “You’re right.” His words made your heart drop until he caught it, using the same gentleness as the grasp he had taken on your chin to tilt your head back up at him. “You shouldn’t have had to wait, because I should have said it a long time ago.”

You blinked at him, your disbelief overwhelming every rational part of your mind. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

Hunter’s grin only widened as his gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips. “We are.” He brought himself closer, the closest he had ever come to you with the others around, and whispered the words upon your lips. “I love you, too.”

Then, he kissed you. It wasn’t much, not with everyone’s attention on you, but it was just enough to prove that his words were anything but a simple reassurance to put you at ease. It was the wholehearted truth, one that was so easy to believe with him showing it to you by finally loving you out loud in the open for those he cared the most about to witness.

And your heart was a melted puddle in his hands, ready for him to do whatever he wished with it—because you knew it would be safe there.

When he pulled away, your gazes lingered the way you wished your lips could, the corners of your stinging mouth finally lifting the same way his had.

Unsurprisingly, it was Tech who broke the silence. “So that is the reason why your method would solely work on Hunter.”

You burst out into laughter, which only intensified as Hunter leveled his brother with a quizzical look. He wasn’t able to question it before Wrecker finally gave up on his restraint and practically barreled over to Hunter. “Welcome home, Sarge!” He cheered the words as he hugged Hunter tight enough to make him audibly gasp for air.

Hunter’s voice was a wheeze that he could only get out once Wrecker had set him down. “It’s good to be back.”

He maintained a warm smile as Echo and Tech approached him with warm handshakes and pats on the shoulder. Hunter’s expression, however, started to fall as his gaze did the very same.

“I’m sorry about everything that happened, and that you had to come after me like that.” His stare returned to you. “It was impossible to control, as much as I tried.”

Your hand mindlessly brushed over the scarred part of your shoulder. “We know.”

But that mindless action had accidentally drawn Hunter’s attention straight to the healed wound. He frowned as he walked back over to you, his gloved hand covering yours as he looked upon the scar. You couldn’t have written mortification more clearly over his face even if the word itself replaced the skull that was tattooed there.

“It’s okay.” Your voice was soft as you gently turned his cheek and set his stare back on your own. “Like you said, you couldn’t control it. I know that.” You nodded at the rest of the squad. “We all do.”

Hunter’s jaw circled. “Still.” His voice was much lower than before. You softened even more as you ran your thumb over his cheek. He took a deep breath and nodded at you. “I’ll never hurt you again. I promise.”

You smiled at him. “You never even hurt me the first time.” Your gaze flickered over to the bandage that hid underneath his bandana. “That wasn’t you. I saw the blaster shaking. I know you were trying to fight it the best you could.”

Hunter closed his eyes in defeat, a heavy exhale falling from his lips. You leaned forward to press a kiss against his cheek, which encouraged him to look up at you again. “I couldn’t fight it.” His face morphed into determination as he went on. “And I’m far from the only one who was affected by it.”

Hunter stepped back from you, inviting a patient Omega to his side as he did so. She was eager to take her place there, her arms wrapping around his waist as he set a gloved hand on her back. The sight alone warmed your body like the sunlight.

“Tech, I assume you’ve already found the most optimal route back here?”

Tech nodded. “That is precisely how I got us here this time around.”

Hunter returned his nod and set his shoulders. “Good, because we’re not done with this place yet.” He spoke with a decisiveness that made it clear he wouldn’t ever be moving on the matter. “It’s time to bring Crosshair home.”

You beamed at him, as did the rest of the squad. If you could find and bring back Hunter, then it was possible to do the same for Crosshair, too, no matter how long it had been. Hunter’s gaze found yours as he offered you a warm, loving smile that you had no choice but to return.

This time, you wouldn’t be doing it without him. He was back, as sure of himself as ever, and he wasn’t backing down on anything anymore—not on finding Crosshair, and certainly not on the way you two felt about each other. Those days of dancing around each other were over.

This nightmare would be hard to forget, but maybe it really did have a bright side after all, because it had set you inside a dream you never thought possible.

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