#and me feeling like i have to stay in there or be abused. i feel the same way with my ex- if i dont act like ive been in the box they put | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vxsellie · 1 day ago

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‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦

summary. reaping day. something ellie is rather indifferent towards, wanting only to return back to the warm embrace of nature. meanwhile you're the complete opposite, today being one that'll determine your fate, as well as your placement in your family. this chapter follows the alternate experiences that the two of you go through.

content warnings. depictions of dead animals, domestic abuse, implications of slavery (avoxes). if you see anything else that i missed, pls let me know!

total wc. 10,815

notes!! she's here!!! chapter one of this beauty!!! i've proofread this at least fifty times and i'm still not happy with it, but! here's the reminder that this fic is formatted and meant for ao3, not tumblr (hence why it's so goddamn long). anyway, i advise you read it there rather than here for that reason. it's updated sooner and i actually make sure that it's intelligible. the link is right here ↓

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

11:46 AM;

DISTRICT SEVEN.

“Again?” Ellie’s groggy cavil is muffled against the crook of Cat’s neck. Her freckled face is buried into the warmth of the woman’s bare skin, chasing the comfort her proximity provides.

Cat huffs an airy laugh, her fingers absentmindedly running along an auburn scalp. “We’ve gone over this.”

“Yeah, but,” Ellie props up on her elbows to frown at her, “You went last year.”

“It’s a good thing if they’re asking me to attend again, Ellie.” Cat reminds her as she’s done at least fifty times by now. Despite her dwindling patience, Cat’s eyes are filled with naught but fondness as they clash with a pair of viridescent irises. Ellie continues to frown at her, adamant in her show of defiance. Cat continues to fiddle with her choppy hair as she speaks. “The Capitol is extremely picky with their stylists. It’s an honor to work for them, not to mention being chosen by them.”

Ellie has to swallow back the words that crawl up her throat and threaten to spill. Words of which vocalize her personal repugnance for the Capitol. She and Cat have gotten into plenty of fights regarding this topic and she refuses to cause another — especially considering the news she’s been trying to avoid facing all morning.

“I won’t see you for, like, a month.” Ellie grumbles before flopping back down onto Cat’s chest. She turns her head so her ear is pressed against her ribs, the gentle thudding of Cat’s heartbeat almost soothing enough to distract her from the world that envelops them.

Their bare bodies are pressed flush together as Ellie continues to listen to the repetition of her palpitating organ. She can feel Cat’s fingers toying with her hair, the soft caresses providing a sense of calamity. Her chest rises and falls, Ellie’s head shifting alongside each breath she takes. The intimacy it takes for to be near someone in this way — especially for Ellie — is oftentimes overlooked and seen only as crude or lustrous. However, in this case, they’re simply enjoying one another’s presence. Nothing vulgar about it.

Oh how Ellie wishes she could stay like this forever. In this little oasis of solace she’s founded for herself. Waking with Cat in her bed whilst morning sunlight filters through the window and casts golden hues over hardwood flooring. It’s nigh impossible to imagine that in only a few hours they’ll be separated for an indefinite epoch as Cat is escorted off to the Capitol while Ellie remains here.

She shuts her eyes, arms tightening around Cat’s waist as she wishes to cherish what little time she has left with her. Cat doesn’t dare cease playing with her hair, delicate fingers toying with the strands.

Comfortability, domesticity, safety. That’s what Ellie feels when she’s near Cat — like nothing in the whole world could reach her. Like they’ve left the horrors of their District and are now floating through the cosmos all alone. Just the two of them. Though she knows better than to voice that to Cat, having found out the hard way that she doesn’t feel the same.

What they have is impermanent, said Cat when Ellie questioned her on fidelity, it has to be, she’d said. Even now, Ellie is unsure what that was supposed to mean. But she didn’t pry any further, for fear of damaging the fragility of what relationship, or lack thereof, they’d formed. Ever since, Ellie has learned to keep her feelings locked away in a hidden corner of her mind, making sure they never come forth to have the dust blown away.

“Ellie!”

They both jolt to attention as the bedroom door flies open, doorknob slamming against the thick wooden wall behind it. Ellie sits up and narrows her eyes at the perpetrator, only to roll them once she comes to realize who it is.

“What do you want, Riley?” Ellie grumbles, flopping back against Cat as Riley enters the room.

“I want to know why you’re still in bed.” Riley responds, stepping over the clothes on the floor with an upturned lip. Half of them are Cat’s from the night prior. Riley seems to instantly realize this, likely because she’s known Ellie well enough to know that she doesn’t wear Capitol-made dresses. Riley puts her hands on her hips, frowning at her best friend who remains cuddled up against her– Cat. “The Reaping is today and you’re still in bed.”

“It’s in two hours.” Ellie is quick to point out.

“I don’t care if it’s in twenty hours, you’re getting out of bed.” She says, picking up Ellie’s discarded clothes from the floor and tossing them at her. They land where her legs are tangled with Cat’s underneath the thin plaid blanket that’s draped lazily atop them. Riley begins to walk out of the room with a pointed expression before calling over her shoulder, “Oh. And these are Marlene’s orders, by the way.” Then she shuts the door.

Ellie sighs heavily, not yet ready to get up. If anything, she cozies even closer against Cat’s bare chest as she once again listens to the comforting thumps of her heart.

“God, she’s so demanding.” Cat scoffs. “I don’t understand how you put up with her.”

“I barely can.” She responds, causing Cat’s eyes to widen at the unexpected concurrence. “But she’s taken care of me since I was a baby, I owe it to her.”

Cat’s initial shock instantly dissipates. “I don’t mean Marlene, Ellie. I’m talking about Riley.”

Ellie sighs once more, her lips thinning. She knows that Cat and Riley don’t exactly get along. Well. Okay, that’s a major understatement. They literally despise each other. In every aspect that Cat admires the Capitol, Riley loathes it. They butt heads all the time, only ever speaking when it’s absolutely necessary and, even then, it oftentimes ends up in fighting. Ellie tries her hardest to keep them as far apart as possible, hating when they speak ill of the other.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” She mutters, having to force herself to sit up. The plaid blanket falls from her shoulders, pooling around her waist. The cool air chills her and goosebumps instantly begin to adorn her fair skin. She quickly reaches to the foot of the bed to grab the clothes Riley had tossed her way. Cat remains in bed as Ellie stands to get dressed, pulling on a frayed hoodie and worn jeans. “I just don’t want to have to choose between you two, that’s all.”

As she laces her shoes, it’s hard not to take notice of Cat’s lack of response. Ellie lifts her head to see the frown that’s plastered onto her features, the sight of it causing her to sigh. She walks over to the bed, shoes lightly padding across the old wooden floor. She leans one hand on the mattress beside Cat’s head, her other coming up to lift her jaw. She presses a kiss to her lips.

“You know where I keep the key.” Ellie whispers, pulling back only slightly as her hand remains on Cat’s chin. “You can get back to sleep and leave whenever you want, yeah? You need rest.”

Cat nods, “Okay.”

With one final kiss goodbye, Ellie leaves. On her way out the door, she grabs her backpack from under her desk, swinging it over her shoulder before shutting the door gently behind her. Not yet ready to part ways with Cat, she stands in the hall for a few long minutes, using this time to straighten out her thoughts.

After the Reaping, Cat will be gone for an indefinite duration as the stylists are taken to the Training Center alongside the two tributes. Not to mention, if the opportunity is provided, she knows Cat wouldn’t hesitate to stay to live in the Capitol forever. And everyone knows how much they love her there. It’s truly a matter of time before she’s promoted to a full-time Capitolite. The mere thought sends a chill down her spine.

Ellie heaves a sigh, mentally cursing anything and everything that relates to their fucked up government before she turns to walk down the hall. Her shoes thud against the floor as she attempts to calm herself, the repetition of her stride mocking that of Cat’s heartbeat. Nigh tauntingly.

Turning a corner, she spots Riley standing in the kitchen. Her back is facing her as she peers out the window at the passerbyers that straggle down the street. District seven isn’t usually this busy, most citizens at work by now. But it’s Reaping Day and therefore one of the few days of the year that everyone gets off work. Parents cater to their kids, teens get into mischief with their friends, pets are walked through the neighborhood. Though, regardless of how one’s morning is spent, everyone will be amassed in town square by two o’clock. If not, they’re to be imprisoned.

Ellie slows her movements, footsteps now inaudible before she jumps out at Riley, causing the other girl to shriek. She nearly drops the glass in her hands as she whips around to scowl at Ellie. “You scared me!” She reprimands her, frowning.

“Yeah,” Ellie laughs, “That was the whole point?”

Riley rolls her eyes at this. “Whatever.”

She leans forward to set the glass back on the counter, a light clink sounding throughout the space as she does so. Ellie had expected it to be a glass of water or some other form of drink. Instead, it’s a vase holding an array of flowers that Ellie has built the habit of collecting on their daily outings. At first, it annoyed Riley the way Ellie would stop whatever she was doing to pick a flower and stuff it between the pages of her journal. It would interrupt the flow of their expedition. Though, with time, she’s grown used to it and even finds herself taking notice of pretty flowers in Ellie’s absence.

“Are you finally ready to go?” Riley asks, turning back around to face her friend with her eyebrows raised. Ellie gestures down to herself — dressed and obviously ready. Riley chuckles, rolling her eyes fondly before brushing past her.

The two of them exit the small wooden home and begin their journey toward the treeline. Four buildings down, they pass Riley’s house. After graduation, they’d chosen this neighborhood due to its proximity to the woods and the fact that two houses were simultaneously for sale closeby. And here they are, three years later, still fleeing to the foliage every morning.

The low hum of conversation isn’t foreign to District seven, but it’s rather uncommon way out here. To get this type of commotion, you’d usually have to be closer to town where the markets are. That’s where most people spend their time, trading supplies. The circumstances aren’t nearly as dire as in District twelve, but they’re certainly not as wealthy as the Capitol. Starving to death here is rare, but not at all impossible.

“So,” Riley speaks up after a few minutes of comfortable silence before turning to Ellie with a regaled expression, “You’re sleeping with Cat again?”

“I never stopped sleeping with her.” Ellie says pointedly.

What she doesn’t say is, It’s just grown more common as you’ve grown more distant from me.

She sighs. “I’m not gonna give you shit for it because you already know how I feel about her. But I want to know, is she going to be a stylist again in this year's Games?”

“Ugh,” Ellie groans, “You know I’m not allowed to go around telling people. She’s technically not even supposed to tell me. We could be arrested for disclosing information about the Games prior to their airing. We could be made into Avox for it. And, I don’t know about you, but I quite like my tongue.”

“Yeah, so does Cat.” Riley adds with a disgusted expression.

Ellie laughs, slapping her in the arm. “Gross!”

“What’s gross is walking in on your best friend naked on top of some Capitolite.” She grumbles.

“We weren’t even doing anything!”

“Yeah, luckily!” She replies with a laugh before another repulsive thought dawns on her. “Oh, and you didn’t even lock the door!”

To that, Ellie has no excuse. “Well– Okay yeah, fine. That’s definitely on me.”

Riley grins at her victoriously as they continue down the sidewalk. The air is practically buzzing with activity. With naught else to occupy their time, the people of the lumber District naturally swarm toward the woods. It’s in their blood. Even more so for Ellie and Riley, who spend their mornings in the woods even when they should technically be applying for jobs.

Yeah, the two of them have received that lecture from Marlene more times than anyone could count — that they’re adults and should therefore be forming some sort of a career path before they’re rendered undesirably old to any future employers. But, unbeknownst to Marlene, the two of them do have a job. Perhaps not a formal one, but it’s enough to keep the bills paid and water running. And, to a pair of girls in their early twenties, that’s more than they could ask for.

See, Riley and Ellie have built a routine. One where they awake at dawn, meet up at Ellie’s house for breakfast, then walk to the woods and spend the following few hours there. They cut trees, chop wood, hunt animals, etc. Then, at noon, they head toward what’s known as the Hob — basically a black market for those desperate enough to trade their hard earned quarry for a bit of cash. It’s located inside an abandoned paper mill, packed full with hundreds of buyers meandering about the derelict space. Every District has their own version of a Hob, well, perhaps not the richer Districts, but twelve is sure to have a huge one that would make seven’s dull in comparison. That thought alone is enough to ease Ellie’s conscience whenever she feels guilty for the illegality behind her line of work. If any of the Peacekeepers in her District found out about the Hob, all participants are sure to be hanged or, at bare minimum, given a whipping — both of which would be public as to make an example of the persecutors. To imagine Ellie hanging from a noose or tied to a pole whilst everyone else watched, while Marlene watched? It makes her stomach churn. So, habitually, she simply ignores the lack of validity to her actions. Plus, there's no malice to her intentions. She’s just a young woman who wants to put food on the table. Is that so much to ask for? She thinks not.

Anyway. Riley and Ellie basically run that place. Everyone knows them there, recognizing the two women the instant they enter the mill. They always have the good shit — perfectly chopped wood alongside undamaged game — and are willing to be paid less than others because they tend to have a higher quantity and manage to amass a large sum in spite of their lowered payment. However, seeing as everyone is off work today, it’s rather awkward to see the people of the Hob out on the streets. Because they all know better than to acknowledge the illegal trading they participate in religiously.

Ellie walks silently beside Riley, the unspoken tension in the air doubling in size whenever they recognize someone. The Peacekeepers are large in aggregate today as well, managing to make this impossibly more nerve wracking. The town square is packed full with Capitolites who are setting up for the Reaping, hence everyone now on this side of the District as they look for something to busy themselves with. And, as said before, the woods are evidently everyone’s collective first choice.

“You nervous?” Riley asks as they enter the woods, the familiar scent of pine and dirt wafting toward them. The air is chilly, yet not unbearably so. It’s a nice medium that Ellie finds herself enjoying. She turns, raising a brow in inquiry. Riley digresses, “For the Reaping.”

She shrugs, “Not really. The Hunger Games are morbid, yeah, but they’re a fact of life. If I get Reaped, what good will it do to have worried about it that morning? I feel that fate is predetermined. Whatever happens, you can’t change it so you might as well live regularly until it’s foisted upon you.”

“Um, wow?” Riley gives her a peculiar look. “Since when did you get all philosophical?”

Ellie huffs a laugh, “I’m just saying.”

“I agree that the Games are morbid.” Riley shakes her head with a sigh, dry leaves crunching under their feet as they trek further into the woods. “But why should we have to live in fear while those in the Capitol live in ignorant bliss? It’s immoral and dehumanizing.”

Ellie agrees with her, of course, though she finds herself glancing over their shoulder fretfully before turning to frown at her friend. “Be quiet, Riley. Peacekeepers are fucking everywhere today.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She huffs. “But I mean it.”

“Yes, I know you mean it.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “And I mean it when I say I don’t want to see you punished for your brutal honesty. Truly, it’ll be the death of you.”

Riley laughs before they fall into another comfortable silence.

Despite the wordlessness being one of easement, it’s foreign to them both. As of late, Riley has been progressively growing more and more distant, causing an awkward rift between the pair. They still go about their usual routines each day and share moments of fond laughter, but it’s different. Only a few months ago, there’d not be a single second of silence as the two would oftentimes end up talking over the other in a coveted rush to share random information. Even after a day’s work had finished, they’d frequently wind up at one of their houses for the night — watching television, feasting on game, or just sharing the space. It got to the point where it was more rare to be without the other than with them.

But now, Ellie feels as though they spend more time in silence than in conversation. Take present for example. Had this happened in July, one of them would undoubtedly be rambling on about something. Though, as it turns out, that’s not currently the case.

Ellie has yet to bring it up to Riley, fearing she’ll say something she’s not ready to hear. She hasn’t even a guess in her mind what could have brought this upon them, but whatever it is, it’s drastic. Hence why she’s recently been hanging around Cat more often, using the woman to both distract herself from her childlike friendship issues as well as make herself feel better. Because Cat always knows how to comfort Ellie, even when she’s not entirely aware of what the problem is.

They continue to walk through the woods, their footsteps nigh inaudible as they’ve grown skilled at adapting to nature. After a few minutes of trekking through the foliage, Riley stops and turns around expectantly. Ellie instantly removes her backpack and crouches to the ground as she sifts through it. She pulls out an axe — which barely even fits inside the bag — and passes it to Riley, who takes it gratefully. Ellie then hands the bag to Riley, who positions it on her back with a few shoulder shrugs.

Where they stopped wasn’t randomized, though. Not entirely. Because, a few yards away is a fallen tree, hollowed out in the center to create a tunnel-like log. They walk over to it, Riley tossing the axe back and forth between her hands. Ellie crouches down and reaches into the log, feeling around the dampened bark until her fingers brush against the coveted items. She pulls out a bow and quiver, adding them to her newly emptied shoulders.

See, they can’t exactly be caught carrying weapons through the District or the Peacekeepers will know they’re hunting illegally. So, as an alternative, they hide the weapons deep in the woods where nobody else would think to look. Fairly smart on their part, Ellie thinks.

“So,” Ellie muses as they begin walking through the woods once more, “This morning, you said you woke me under Marlene’s orders. What exactly did she say?”

“I talked to her last night.” She explains, swinging the axe back and forth. Had Ellie not done this with her a million times before, she’d likely be fearing for her life. But that axe is quite literally an extension of Riley’s arm, moving as though it’s a part of her. It's, admittedly, rather impressive. “She told me to make sure you’re awake at least an hour prior to the Reaping.”

“Ugh, she doesn’t trust me to do anything.”

“Can you blame her?” She laughs. “You were nearly late to the Reaping last year. Had you arrived less than five minutes after you had, the Peacekeepers would have placed you under arrest.”

“I think my timing was impeccable.” Ellie argues, pointing her chin up in an act of superiority.

As she does, something in the trees catches her eye and she suddenly stops in her tracks, Riley quick to do the same. She nocks an arrow, the head instantly pointed in the direction of the movement. After a few seconds of tense silence, a squirrel chitters before ignorantly traipsing across the branch. She releases the arrow and it lands right in its eye, so as not to damage the meat. It hits the ground with a thud. Ellie grins widely as she walks to retrieve the corpse as well as the arrow.

“Talk about timing.” Riley whistles, following close behind.

“What did I say?” She responds, positioning the squirrel to hang from her belt. “Impeccable.”

“Yeah, maybe in terms of your aim, but not in your vigilance.” Riley points out.

“Whatever.” Ellie waves her hand to dismiss the accusation. “Shut up and go chop your wood.”

Riley laughs but obliges, turning to leave the scene. Ellie can’t even listen to her footsteps depart, as she’s rather adept at masking their boistry. But she can tell when she’s gone, though, because the atmosphere alters — shifting from one shared between lifelong friends to one of solitude in the middle of nowhere. And yet, despite the latter being far less preferred by many, Ellie relishes in it. The lack of eyes on her is comforting rather than eerie.

She treks through the trees until she finds a slightly elevated patch of land, allowing her to look down on the forest below her — though, only by a couple feet. But any altitude is better than nothing. She crouches behind a bush and nocks a second arrow, waiting for something to pass by.

Ellie manages to shoot a few more squirrels and a couple of rabbits throughout the following hour they spend in the woods. She then lets out a three-note whistle as she stands to her feet. She’s brushing off her jeans when the same whistles tune is repeated back to her a few hundred yards to the East. Riley.

They’d come up with this tactic a few years back, where once one of them had finished up for the day, they let out a whistle to let the other know of their completion. Then, if the sound reaches the other, they’ll return it.

They split up like this because Ellie requires quiet in order to hunt whereas Riley tends to make quite a bit of ruckus during her wood-chopping. Ellie’s still gathering her things when a twig snaps a few feet away. She doesn't need to look up to know who it is.

“What’d you catch?” Riley asks as she approaches her from behind.

“Nothing good.” She admits. “Just squirrels and rabbits.”

“That’s not bad, though.”

“Yeah, animals are so scarce today due to all the people’s proximity to the treeline. I could sometimes catch the sound of their talking. Even from way out here.” Ellie says as she finishes packing up and turns to face Riley, who’s holding an armful of chopped wood. “Here, turn around.”

Without question, Riley does. Ellie unzips the bag and holds out a hand for a piece of wood. Riley passes it back to her and she loads the wood one-by-one into the pack. She then adds the axe and zips it — well, partially. A few inches of the handle remains sticking out, though it’s doubtful anyone will question the contents of the bag. Not when so much is going on today.

They head back to the mouth of the woods, making sure to return the bow and quiver into the hollowed log on their way by. In minutes, they’re emerging from the trees and walking back through the streets, which appear to have grown even busier in their absence. They’d walked in silence the entire way.

“Welp.” Riley says once they’ve reached Ellie’s porch and she’s returned the bag — which has tripled in weight with the addition of the axe and wood. “See you at the Reaping?”

She sighs dramatically, “I guess so. Not like I want to go anyway.”

“Marlene would fucking kill you.” Riley laughs and Ellie joins in, imagining the enraged expression on Marlene’s face had she not shown up. She couldn't get away with it regardless, though. Riley was right when she said the Peacekeepers would either imprison or hang her. It’s happened to someone before — an old man ripped from his home and put in an icy cold cell for the rest of his short life. He’d apparently used the excuse of saying he was in a wheelchair, but that wasn't enough for the District’s law enforcement as they claimed he could easily be wheeled to the square. So, yeah, maybe the jokes of Ellie not showing up shouldn’t be pondered on but so much.

Once Riley has left, Ellie grabs her key from the top of a nearby windowsill. She notices that it’d moved a few inches to the left. Cat. She unlocks the door and enters her home, almost screaming to see the silhouette of a woman standing in her kitchen. Though she quickly regains normalcy when she recognizes the person’s frame.

“Fuck, Marlene.” She curses, putting a hand to her chest as she — as subtly as possible — slips the bag from her shoulders and places it on the floor next to the door. “You scared me.”

Marlene is wearing a dress, a nice one. The neck is in a deep V shape that shows off her collarbones and shoulders. The sleeves come to her elbows, the skirt to her mid-calves. It’s a soft maroon color, complimenting her dark skin and brown eyes beautifully. Ellie would accolade her for it had she not known it was for the Reaping and thereby the Capitol. However, being aware of that fact rather mars the beauty of her accentuated appearance.

Marlene turns to face her with a frown, “What were you two doing?”

“Seriously?” Ellie groans, walking over to grab a glass cup from the cabinet over Marlene’s head, having to shift around her to do so. “I was hanging out with my best friend before we witness two people being shipped off to die. Do I truly have to walk you step-by-step through everything I do?”

“Yes.” She begins filling the cup with faucet water, Marlene looming like a shadow over her shoulder. When Ellie doesn’t respond, she frowns. “Whatever. I don’t even care what you guys were doing, I just seek the consolation of knowing it was safe.”

“I’m an adult, Marlene. When will you–”

“Was it safe, Ellie?” She repeats, tone growing more agitated.

“Yes.” She replies, the lie coming easy to her now. After all this time of being untruthful, it’s nearly second nature to withhold the truth from her mother-figure whenever she’s pestered on this recurring topic. She has a great poker face, too.

She raises her brows as she takes a sip from her glass, peering at her from over the rim.

“Was it legal?” She questions and Ellie nearly spits out her water. Marlene scoffs at her reaction. “Okay, so I got my answer.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t need to!” She crosses her arms and gives Ellie that disapproving mom expression that could make anybody feel remorse. Ellie places her glass on the counter and holds her gaze, trying her hardest not to falter under it. “I assume you saw how many Peacekeepers are here, Ellie.”

“I’d be an idiot to not notice them.” She grumbles defiantly, sounding far more childlike than she’d care to admit. Marlene always manages to bring this side out of her — a scorned child who has no choice but to agree with everything she says. Despite how hard she tries to be mature and release herself from Marlene’s iron fist, it’s so far been proven impossible.

“So what were you thinking? I don’t care for the details of what you guys go out doing everyday so long as it’s legal.” She says. “You know that. It’s one of my only rules for you.”

The acknowledgement of their daily repetition is enough for Ellie to stiffen, not having realised Marlene even noticed their outings. However, now that she’s thinking of it, it makes sense. They've been doing this same routine for three years now. You’d have to be a fool to not notice. And Marlene is no fool.

“I know, I just–”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, cutting Ellie off with a sigh. “Just go wash up. I don’t want you smelling like a dead animal for the Reaping.”

The closeness in her comparison of the miasma to a corpse is nigh to laughable. Except it’s not. Because Marlene is unnerving. She cares for Ellie more than anything, yes, but she’s absolutely terrifying in her vehement need to protect her.

But Ellie is an adult now. She doesn’t need protection.

Despite this, she follows her orders and trudges off to the bathroom, making sure to scoop up her backpack on her way down the hall.

She discards the bag of wood and lays the dead squirrel and rabbit corpses out on her bedroom floor. Normally, she’d place them in the kitchen to ready them for gutting but that’s, clearly, not a viable option. If Marlene were to see the quarry from their expedition, she’d absolutely lose her head. First, she’d force Ellie and Riley to get a job, and likely a boring one. She’d forbid them from using the forest for income. And, in those two short acts of discipline, Ellie’s life would be over. The woods are her home; her place of solace. Without it, who is she?

She then heads into the bathroom and takes a bath, scrubbing all the dirt and grime from her skin before redressing into something a bit more fancy — though it’s definitely not Capitol material as everyone else typically aims for. She’s simply wearing a nicer pair of jeans and a flannel. The collar and buttons make it fancy. Kinda.

When she returns to the kitchen, she’s still drying her hair with the towel. Marlene looks her up and down and frowns, though she says nothing.

See, if one is Reaped today, they’re taken to the Capitol. As such, they’re traditionally expected to wear their nicest clothes to the Reaping, just in case their name is drawn. But Ellie cares naught to make any lasting impressions on the Capitol, so she doesn’t give a shit what she wears. The sole reason she’s wearing even a button up is to please Marlene enough so she’s not forced into something else.

Because, when she was fourteen, she tried to wear a t-shirt to the Reaping and was instantly reprimanded. As punishment, she had to wear something Marlene picked out. Needless to say, never again will she do that. Even now Riley laughs at her for the outfit, though Marlene insists it was the most distinguished Ellie had ever looked. She begs to differ.

“Okay, you ready?” Marlene asks.

Ellie shrugs, “Yeah.”

They head down to the square, the entirety of District seven doing the same. The waves of people grow larger and larger the closer they get to the square until it’s practically a tsunami of them. Once they reach their destination, they pause and turn to each other. Marlene looks down at Ellie, a glint of something unreadable behind her gaze, almost as though she wishes to say something to her prior to parting ways. But instead of voicing whatever it is that’s weighing on her, she just pats her shoulder and walks away.

The crowd is sorted by generation. Everyone between the ages of twelve and fifty are required to be within the crowd as their names are among those able to be Reaped. The younger kids are positioned closest to the stage whilst the older crowd is near the back. Ellie stands with her age group, picking at the peeling skin around her nails as she awaits the ceremony’s exordium.

The stage before them has been added purely for the Reaping, as it’s not usually present. Atop it resides a podium, a table with a bowl of tiny slips of papers, and three chairs at the back of the stage — one for the District’s mayor, one for the escort, and one for the mentor of this year’s tributes. Camera crews are perched like buzzards atop the neighboring buildings, readying themselves to document the coming show. Each District is going through the exact same procedure. Tonight, each footage will be broadcasted across all televisions in the country.

About twenty more minutes pass, the square growing supplementarily crowded with each passing second. When the clock strikes twelve, three people are in their corresponding chairs. Ellie hadn’t even noticed their arrival.

The mayor, whose name she doesn’t know despite having heard it repeated throughout her entire life, sits in the far right chair, his jaw set as he overlooks the citizens. The District escort resides in the center chair, a Capitol woman with bright blue hair and a smile that’s so pearly white that it’s almost inhuman — Ellie doesn’t know her name either. The only person whose name she’s sure of is the man sitting in the left chair. That’s Joel Miller. The victor of the 56th Games. Word is, he’s not a pleasant man. Though, Ellie supposes no sane victor would be. Returning from a murderous arena after all other twenty-three tributes have fallen must be the emptiest feeling known to man. She has a deep respect for Joel, despite never having properly met him.

The mayor steps up to the podium and begins reading off his script. The story of how their country came to be. Ellie tunes it out, instead glancing around the crowd for Cat. It takes her an embarrassingly long time before she remembers that she’s absent from the ceremony due to her being the District seven stylist this year. Ellie turns back to the stage just as the escort steps up to the podium.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Says she. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

The slogan has grown old and worn out by now, everyone having heard it an indefinite quantity of times. Ellie wouldn’t be surprised if she mumbles it in her sleep.

Once more, she finds herself tuning out the rest of the woman’s speech. Despite her lack of listening not resulting in anything beneficial, it makes her feel better. Like she’s showing the Capitol that they don’t control her. Not like the Capitol gives a fuck if one measley twenty-one year old is tuning out the speeches. But whatever. It makes her feel ameliorated and that’s all that matters.

“Here we go.” The escort says before diving her hand into the bowl of names. The glass sphere is packed full with slips of paper, each one reading a citizen’s name. The entire square is holding their breath as they await the name. The entire country is — as every District is being Reaped at the same time. The woman pulls a slip of paper from the bowl and reads it aloud with a grin. “Riley Abel.”

Ellie’s heart drops to her stomach, body frozen in place as the name is spoken. The world feels far away as she watches Riley walk up the stage and stand beside the escort. Riley’s chin is held high, her eyes dullened; they lack the vibrancy that Ellie adores so much. She’s the epitome of strength, standing on that stage as she’s set to be broadcasted across the entire country.

Ellie knows that expression though. Riley isn’t sad or mourning. She’s pissed.

Fuck. She should have done something. But it all happened so fast. And now the escort’s hand is diving right back into the bowl for a second tribute.

“Aaaand,” She sing-songs before lifting her head joyously, “Ellie Williams.”

11:46 AM;

DISTRICT 4.

“Again.” Your mother’s tone is sharp as a dagger as she thumps the end of her cane against tiled flooring, demanding more, more, more from you. Her voice is tinny, filed through an intercom overhead. To your left is a one-way mirror that scales the entire 20ft wall, through which she pedantically watches your every movement. Though you’re unable to see her, she sees you. And that fact in itself is enough to make you vigilent.

Sweat coats your skin as you reposition yourself, squaring your shoulders and planting your feet in preparation. Your expression is hardened, purposefully so under your mother’s gaze. Her scrupulousness is nigh to tangible, made palpable by the heavy weight on your shoulders, the stiffness in your muscles, the tell-tale feel of her eyes scanning you.

Then, in a flash of flickering blue, holographic opponents begin to charge at you. These humanoid figures are translucent in visibility, but their hits land just as genuinely in spite of their pellucidity. You’ve been fighting them all morning — another cause of the fatigue in your bones.

A few sessions prior, you’d been permitted the use of weapons. Your mother had instructed you to train with each one interchangeably. She wished to see which you were best and worst at — which ended up being throwing daggers and a trident, respectively. The daggers allow you close-combat, which you’re rather skilled at, as a product of these training sessions, whereas the trident’s weight is off balanced and leaves you fumbling with it for a few seconds prior to use. She soon grew bored with the weapons, though, and instructed you to fight bare handedly. Just to be sure you can.

There are currently three holograms presented to you — one with a burly build, one with a dainty build, and one that resides between the two.

The muscular opponent is the first to strike, swinging a right hook toward your jaw. You dodge it, ducking easily under its arm. Whilst straightening back up, the smaller figure grabs you by the hair. Your head is yanked backward. You whip around, snatching the figure by the wrist and throwing its body over your head onto the floor. It lands with a hard thud before you bring the heel of your boot down onto its throat. With a light puff of air, the hologram disintegrates.

One down, two left.

Without a moment’s pause, you spin around to face the other two diaphanous forms. The intermediate combatant surges forward, arm reeled back in preparation for a punch. You swerve out of its way, the figure staggering forward as it misses you by a mere three inches. You kick it in the back of the legs, sending the hologram on its knees. You’re positioned behind it, pulling it into a headlock.

The sounds it makes is eerily human as it coughs and sputters, blue fingers grasping with desperation at your forearm. You’re used to this though, the cruel personification behind these lifeless things. You snap its neck with a deafening crack. It disappears.

Two down, one left.

When you turn around, the burly one is already behind you. It’s at least three times your size, but you’re undeterred. You stand upright and ready your fists.

With a grunt, it charges toward you. You sidestep, but it anticipates this and turns in unison. You back away, putting yourself out of reach, your arms coming up to block your face. It swings and you duck subsequently. While crouched, you grab its left calf and pull, lifting the leg uncomfortably high. The oversized figure hops awkwardly on its right limb. You then hook your foot behind the ankle of the remaining leg it’s balancing on, sending it plummeting toward the ground.

You’re quick to position yourself atop it, straddling the hologram’s chest. It thrashes beneath you, squirming around like a trapped insect. It’s only a matter of time before it throws you aside due to uneven weight advantages. But you had surprised it and therefore withhold the ascendancy. So, while you still have the upper hand, you lift your leg and drive your knees into its neck. With a gag, the hologram vanishes.

Done.

Your chest aches with exertion, lungs fighting for air as you pant. As such, you remain with your knees on the black matted floor in an attempt to catch your breath. You’ve been killing these things on repeat for the past three hours, your mother having woken you at seven in the morning to train.

Frayed hair clings to dampened skin as sweat traces lines down your face. It drips from your chin onto the floor beneath you. Your pants and tank top are soaked, causing you to feel gross and sticky. You yearn for a shower.

You oftentimes have to remind yourself that your mother means well, that she’s pushing you so hard because she cares. But, at times like these — where your body is on the verge of collapse — you find yourself questioning her morality.

“You’re getting slow.” Comes her voice through the speaker system, as though on cue with your thoughts. A tap of her cane against the floor is heard prior to that singular word you dread so vehemently.

“Again.”

It's truly no shock that you’re growing amble considering how long you’ve been at it. But to protest your mother’s orders would be a death wish. You’re still catching your breath as you push yourself to your feet, fully expecting another hoard of holograms to appear.

Though, in their stead, a spear materializes before you. It’s equally as holographic as the figures you’re fighting, blue and crackling, but it kills them just as viable as you would.

As you lean over to pick it up, something kicks you hard in the base of your back. The force of impact sends you to the floor. Your elbows take the brunt of your fall, causing you to feel rather grateful for the mat. Still in a heap, you whip to face the perpetrator. A hologram; a singular female figure with a lean build.

You should’ve known better than to let your guard down.

You glance at the spear concurrently, the weapon lying at a perfect distance between you two. Without vacillation, you hurriedly crawl toward it. The figure notices and kicks you hard in the face, its shoe slamming into the bridge of your nose. You land hard on your back as a wave of pain shoots through you, warm liquid tracing down your face.

By the time you regain your sense, the hologram is thrusting the stolen weapon toward you. You roll out of its way, though the blade manages to slice your bicep. With a reverberated thud, the spearhead burrows into the mat where your head had just been.

You push to your feet, tugging the spear out of the cushioned floor. Now armed, you turn to the hologram. It doesn’t have a face but if it did, you’re sure it’d be glaring at you. The two of you circle one another like vultures, the hologram waiting for you to attack whilst you wait for the perfect angle. Then, once you’re positioned to your liking, you strike. You throw the spear at the diaphanous form.

The blade whizzes through the air too fast for it to dodge, too fast for anyone to dodge. Your aim is undeniably precise as the point wedges right between your opponents eyes. With that, it disintegrates alongside the spear.

Even once the combatant has elapsed, you remain in that position — chest heaving, brows furrows, fists balled. A metallic taste fills your mouth as your nose continues to bleed down your face, getting past your lips. Your bicep mocks it, crimson tracing down your arm.

You await your mother’s reprimand via the intercom. Instead, you hear the door click open and her cane tap against the floor with every other step. She remains in the doorway, not wishing to enter the abhorrent room. She stands expectantly until you walk up to her.

“Your fatigue impairs your ability to fight.” She tuts, wrinkled lip upturned in distaste. You don’t respond, lowering your head as you wordlessly accept her criticism. “Had you been in the arena and those figures sentient, you’d likely have been long gone. Debility is no excuse for inadequacy. L/ns don’t lose.”

You nod, knowing better than to defend yourself.

She goes through each of your performances, telling you how every one was worse than the last. A few times, she mentions your brother, comparing the two of you in a way that makes your chest cave. Ruben wouldn’t have gotten his arm cut, Ruben wouldn’t have had his hair pulled, Ruben wouldn’t have hesitated when she added a child hologram into the mix.

Once she’s had her fill of castigation, she waves a hand to dismiss you.

Your first course of action is to shower. Since your mother woke you so early, you were unable to change or eat prior to training. You enter the bathroom, peeling your sweaty clothes from your skin before stepping into the cool water. Your presence tints the liquid pink with blood as your arm and face stain its cleanliness.

You stand in the shower for a long time, relishing in the feel of the water as you allow your mind to roam. Though, despite how hard you try not to think of it, your thoughts continuously lapse back to your mother’s ceaseless mentions of your brother, her favored child.

See, Ruben won the 67th Hunger Games when he was only thirteen years old, becoming a legend in the Capitol and the light of your parents’ lives. He is the Capitol’s favorite victor, deemed the most attractive man in the country. Anyone would die to get a moment of his time, of his attention. People who the Capitol favor, idolize, and center their entire lives around are known as a ‘Capitol Diamond’. And Ruben is the shiniest of them all.

Your father won his Games two years prior to Ruben when you were only six, so you never knew him all that well. The memories you do have of him are rather bitter, invoking flashes of flailing fists and deafening shouts. Though, acting as a warm blanket to the chill of your father’s acerbity, Ruben appears in your memories like a deity. He’d cover your ears when your parents’ shouting bounced off the marble walls; he’d argue with your father whenever he’d hit you for breaking something trivial; he’d always take your side, even if you did technically break that vase. As a child, Ruben was an angel sent from above. But, now that you’re older, you know better than to deem him as such.

Anyway. Ruben and your father’s triumphs earned them both irrevocable places in the Capitol as diamonds as well as homes in District four’s Victor’s Village — leaving you and your mother to live alone in the house of which you were raised. In fact, your entire lineage is among the victors, aunts and uncles and cousins all diamonds of the Capitol and residents of the village. Well, most of them. Some of your relatives moved to higher Districts after their Games, seeking as much proximity to the Capitol as possible.

A L/n has never lost the Games, not in the entire seventy-three years they’ve been running. The mere thought of someone in your family failing to prevail is something unprecedented.

You step out of the shower and wrap yourself into a towel, grabbing a suture kit from the cabinet under the sink. You pop it open and sit on the closed toilet seat before threading the needle. You’ve stitched yourself up plenty of times, the damned holograms annoyingly good at what they’re made to do — challenge you.

By the time you’ve finished and your bicep is newly adorned in neat stitching, it’s one o’clock. You only have a short bit of time before the Reaping. As you put the kit back into the cabinet, a second thought dawns on you.

Fuck! You think, eyes widening almost comically. Mister Alden will be here in ten minutes.

You tighten your towel around your body before padding down the hall to your bedroom. It’s overlarge, making you feel small. The walls are white with golden mouldings, the floors are made of marble tiles. To some, your family’s mansion would be a dream come true. Though, to you, it feels more like a prison than a home. It has ever since your brother left.

Your mother had an Avox lay your Reaping outfit out on your bed. It’s blue — as most clothing made for District Four is. It’s made of a deep navy satin, jewels embedded into the fabric. It’s absolutely gorgeous and you hate it.

Though, your personal thoughts on clothing matter naught. You once tried arguing with your mother on how extravagant your clothes were, saying it was ridiculous when people in lower Districts struggle for food. That comment earned you a week with minimal food. She said that if you pitied the peasants so greatly, she’d gladly treat you like one, claiming empathy to be far more valuable than sympathy. You’d never made another comment on your clothes again after that.

Though, you both knew her anger was rooted far deeper than your mere clothing preference. It was rooted in the underlying criticism you’d made in regards to the governing of your country — the unfair hierarchy of Districts. You never made a political comment after that, either. Not aloud anyway.

You pull the dress on, something symbolic always laced within the act of holding your tongue.

Each curve and stitch is made specifically for your body, fitting perfectly. Trading fish in this gown will make for an odd sight, but you haven’t a choice. Mister Alden should be here any minute and the Reaping begins in less than an hour; multitasking is your only option.

The halls are just as pristine as your bedroom, walls decorated with fine art and the tile floor kept sparkling. Thanks to the unpaid Avoxes — which are former criminals whose punishments are to be made into servants for the Capitol. You live in the Districts, but your family is so cherished by Capitolites that you’re permitted to have an abundance of your own servants. Despite the fact that your mansion is tended to by over twenty Avoxes, you’ve never spoken to a single one. Not due to your own ignorance, but because their tongues are removed and they’re unable to speak.

One of them holds the door open for you on your journey out to the docks. You thank him shortly, though he doesn’t respond.

Your house is beachfront, back porch providing a wooden path down to your own private piling dock. It’s unnecessarily fancy for your mother to inherit — who just happened to marry into a wealthy family — and you, who hasn’t even become a victor yet. And, if you’re never Reaped, you’ll have never deserved an ounce of what’s been given to you.

The path to the dock is a downward slope. Your house is built on a rocky cliff, hence the path’s existence. You hike your dress up as you rush down the wooden trail, though as soon as you do, you hear your mother’s past lectures ring through your head. “Never above the ankles!” She’d once said, slapping your hand with a stick to force you to drop the dress. Instinctively, you lower it.

You walk down to the dock, happy to see that it’s empty, Mister Alden not having yet arrived. Though, once you’ve reached the end of it, you hear the low hum of his boat’s motor putting through the salty water. He coasts up to the wooden structure. You reach out to catch him as the motor comes to a halt.

His boat is small, just big enough for one man to fit in. It’s made of metal with only one seat at the helm, situated beside the tilling outboard.

Your family has bought from mister Alden all your life. When you were a kid and it was Ruben’s job to retrieve the fish, you would traipse behind him. You’d hobble behind him, small legs having to run in order to keep up with your elder brother's long gait. Then, once at the dock, you were rendered useless. You’d peer over mister Alden’s boat, nosily searching his belongings. You watched as Ruben would speak to mister Alden shortly, pay him graciously, hoist the net of seafood over his shoulder, then head back inside. Due to this, mister Alden watched you grow more than your own father had. And even though his presence is short and biweekly, you know the old man rather well.

Well enough to know that he has three grandkids and the oldest of them is a twelve year old girl whose first ever Reaping is today.

“Oh, what a lovely outfit.” He smiles, crows feet creasing. He remains seated as you moor the boat to the cleats. The metal is so hot from endless days spent in the sun that it burns your hands at the touch. You don’t dare wince, knowing how fast mister Alden would rush to your aid. You’re sure he has enough on his plate what with his granddaughter. “I can carry the fish inside, if you’d like. Wouldn’t want you staining such a stunning dress.”

“It’s okay.” You’re quick to assure him, offering your hand to help him out of the boat once it’s tied off. He takes it, the man nigh senile in his old age. His hand shakes slightly as he steps onto the dock. “I can get the fish, mister Alden, I don’t mind.”

He smiles kindly, “You remind me so much of your brother.”

You don’t respond. You know he’s only saying that out of kindness, he has to be. Your mother ceaselessly reminds you of how different the two of you are. You try to ignore the comment as you lean over the boat to pull the huge net of fish from the creased hull. They’re blue in color, almost mimicking that of your dress, though their scales shine silver in the sunlight.

“Did you ever hear the story of Ruben’s first Reaping?” Mister Alden asks as you drop the net onto the dock, pausing to converse with him for a while despite knowing it’s a bad idea with your lack of time. “He only attended two Reapings, that poor boy. But his first one, I’ll never forget. It was the first time I met your mother, too, the nasty woman. He was out here retrieving fish, as our exchanges always seem to fall on Reaping Day. He was only twelve, but so determined to carry the fish all on his own. I offered my help at least a hundred times, to which he refused each one. He was strong, though, for his size. He managed to carry them all the way to the porch before the net caught on a twig and the fish fell all the way back down the pathway. Every single one.”

Your eyes widen. You recall this, though the memory is rather blurry to you as you were only seven at the time. That, and also because most of your memories with Ruben are tainted, not to be trusted in your bias.

“What’d my mother do?” You ask, unable to help your childlike curiosity from rearing its head.

“Well,” He chuckles, though it lacks any sense of humor. “She wasn't happy, that’s for sure. Ruben instantly began to cry when he saw the effects of his mistake. I tried to assure him that it was okay and I could always deliver more fish, but he said that’s not why he was sad. He wasn’t mourning the loss of the fish. Instead, he was terrified of what your mother would do to him.” Mister Alden shakes his head, grey brows turned in an expression of dispirit. “No child that small should fear his own parent so vehemently.”

You frown. In every aspect where your mother lacks morality, mister Alden has a myriad of it. The old man is practically overflowing with sympathy at all times. He’d always treated you and Ruben as his own, offering comfort whenever you seek it and kind words whenever you forget they even exist.

Just as he’s about to continue his story, your mother’s voice is heard. It’s shrill as she shouts your name. Chills trace down your spine at the sound. Mister Alden gives you a pitying expression before you pass him a small pouch of coins for payment, lift the net over your shoulder, and begin the trek back up to your porch. The sound of his motor starting up carries through the air as you approach your mother.

She’s wearing a baby blue dress, just as fancy as yours — if not more. Her usual wooden cane has been swapped out for a fancier golden one. Her hair is done up in a neat braid, gold heeled shoes adorning her wrinkled feet.

She shoots you a scowl before entering the house, dropping the door on you despite knowing you’re carrying a huge weight of seafood. It slams into your side, the corner of it landing on your stitched bicep. You wince, struggling for only a moment before an Avox rushes to your aid and holds it wide for you. You don’t dare thank her in front of your mother.

You enter the kitchen, placing the bag of fish onto the marble counter.

“We have less than twenty minutes before the Reaping!” She spits, rage evident in her tone as she watches you set it down. “Your feet are dirty and bare, your hair is matted, and you reek of fish!”

“I didn’t—” You begin, though you’re quick to stop yourself, remembering her order of not speaking unless asked to do so.

A sharp pain shoots through your cheek as she slaps you across the face for having spoken out of turn. You lower your head, mouth now sealed shut. She turns to give orders to the Avoxes — instructing two of them to put your hair up, one to put your shoes on, and three to gut and clean the fish prior to your return from the Reaping.

They’re quick to do so, rushing around to oblige.

You’re directed to a stool, two servants doing your hair into some intricate design whilst another crouches in front of you to slip on your shoes. They’re a pair of silver heels that match the jewels on your dress. In record time, the other two complete the updo, holding out a hand mirror for you to examine the design. Two thin braids wrap around the crown of your head, a neat bun resting at the nape of your neck. It’s beautiful considering how little time they had.

“I love it.” You whisper, quiet enough only they can hear it.

Your mother approaches you, thankfully not having heard your words of thanks. She circles around you, looking at the hairdo before she tuts, “It’ll do.”

The journey to the town square is only a few minutes. Though, as you walk beside your mother in deafening silence, it feels like an eternity. Everyone knows who the two of you are, the entirety of the Capitol fond of your family lineage. Their eyes are wide as they watch you and your mother pass through the streets. See, due to your partnership with mister Alden and your large quantity of Avoxes, neither of you ever leave the house unless it’s mandatory, which only adds to the peoples’ astonishment. Not to mention your unnecessarily extravagant clothing. Most people are only wearing plain gowns or linen shirts whereas you two look like you’re about to meet a monarch. It’s humiliating.

Your mother loves the attention, basking in it. You, on the other hand, feel as though it’s rather embarrassing.

You reach the square and part ways with her, wordlessly joining your respective age groups.

Your shoulders are set and your chin is raised as you know everyone is staring. Their gazes feel like spiders crawling all over your body. You fucking hate it, the prestige. Especially since you didn’t do anything to deserve it. You were just born into the family. To you, nothing makes you any different from the people living in the hovels of your District. Even in other Districts. The only thing that separates you from a starving child in Twelve is chance.

Mayor Marriott steps up to the podium and she tells the story of your country’s origin. You already know it by heart, having been taught by your father to memorize it at a young age. Her hair is platinum blonde, younger than most District mayors, though she’s just as strict. Her father was the mayor before her, causing her to take over the career. You oftentimes wonder if she hates lineage inheritance just as much as you do. You doubt it.

Following her speech comes the District escort. You know her by name, you know everyone in the Capitol by name. That’s Alice Reymond. Her hair is bigger than her head, her eyes adorned by lashes longer than her fingers. Capitolites are fucking weird, looking more like disfigured abstract pieces than human beings.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Exclaims Alice Reymond. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

She goes on to tell a speech on how much of an honor it is to serve as this District’s escort. Though every escort says that, you’re sure she means it more so than any others. Escorts are paid based on how many victors their District is able to produce. And, what with your family’s abundance of them, you’re sure she’s swimming in more cash than even District One’s escort is. However, more importantly, the bragging rights must be immeasurable.

Behind the podium of which she stands, mayor Marriott watches with a piercing gaze. Her blue eyes are intimidatingly sharp as she overlooks the crown. Though, the man sitting in the mentor’s chair has a gaze even sharper than she.

Ruben. Your brother.

He’s tasked with training and keeping the tributes alive each year. He’s rather good at it. And, even when he fails, nobody blames him. How could they when he’s so perfect? You tune out Alice Reymond’s speech, taking in the sight of your brother after having not seen him in years. The closest you’ve gotten to talking to him is watching interviews on the television.

His features are almost a perfect copy of yours — the same nose shape, same hair and eye color, same lips. But he’s got a certain look to him that erases any sort of similarities you two happen to share. A certain Capitolistic look. His eyes are highlighted with golden eyeliner, all the wrinkles in his face surgically removed. The brother you’d cherished all those years ago no longer exists. In his place sits the shell of a man. A Capitolite and thereby not your brother.

“Here we go!” Alice Reymond grins, yanking your thoughts back to the Reaping. She then begins digging her inhumanly long fingers through the bowl of names. She pulls out a slip of paper and smiles widely before calling it out. “Remy Wilson!”

The crowd murmurs lowly, looking around for the owner of the name. A pause. Nobody steps forward. Then, two Peacekeepers suddenly storm into the crowd and rip a little boy from his parents. The boy, Remy, is frozen in place, unmoving. The Peacekeepers pull him up to the stage. He’s crying, as he stands on the elevated space, trembling under the gazes of the District. Of the country.

He can’t be older than twelve. His cheeks are rounded, his big brown eyes even rounder. His skin is pale with a rosy nose, his wavy hair is an ashy brown that forms a messy crown of innocence around his head. Ruben is watching the boy closely, likely examining whether or not he’ll survive the arena. The answer is obvious, though. This child won’t be making it out.

“And for our second tribute,” Continues Alice Reymond. She pulls another paper from the bowl, her eyes widening slightly as she reads it. A great, pearly smile splits across her face before her spider-like eyes land on you. Your heart sinks.

You already know what she’s going to say when she calls out your name.

[post] notes!! While dual POV will be in this story, this is the only time I'll be showing two perspectives of the same event. This chapter followed Ellie and the reader both experiencing the reaping. It was needed for the plot but grew repetitive at the end, I promise this is the only time that'll happen 🤞 Also, this was a shit ton of exposition & I apologize for that, but the backstory of both characters are very needed. You def needed to see Ellie's relationship w everyone around her as well as have explanatory bg with the reader's family and everything. Also x2, I hope the amount of dialogue in Ellie's pov made up for the lack thereof in the reader's pov. I hate reading huge paragraphs of straight monologue so I try to refrain from writing it, but sometimes it's unavoidable (bc reader literally has nobody to talk to) Anyway, hope you enjoyed!!

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genderqueerdykes · 19 hours ago

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I was reading through your replies to the lesbian who was explaining why they hated cis men, and I found you replies really insightful and well put. I've often had trouble articulating *why* man hating queer people is so frustrating and upsetting to me. I'd also love to add another point from my percpective to the conversation:

I've almost exclusively been sexually assaulted by women. The only time a man has ever done something that could be considered sexual assault to me was a situation I wouldn't consider sexual assault (more just, he did things in sex that I wasn't into and didn't like, felt more of a case of 'having bad, poorly communicated sex/kink' than anything else). I've also been told by people that I was quote unquote "lucky" for being sexually assaulted/harassed by a girl in my dorm room when I was fifteen (maybe sixteen? bad at time) because it wasn't a man. The worst transphobia, abuse and harassment I've been through has been from women. My ex was femme enby who was kinda man hating and they fucked me up badly. I still love women, as a queer sapphic who adores the people in my life rn women are still wonderful, but they aren't safer than men. In several ways I actually feel safer stuck alone in a room or at a bus stop at night with a man than a women. The fact people make spaces that are supposed to be queer but deeply hostile to men is so infurating bc they act like everyone has a right to 'be cautious of men because of bad experiences' and make spaces less open to queer men but no one would ever say that about my bad experiences with women. (and no I'm not usually in women's only spaces, the reason I've never been SAed by a man is not bc I'm not around men, I'm around men plenty)

Feel free to not answer ask if its too much, have a lovely day and thank you for talking about intersex issues, about the way gender essentialism and fear of men hurts people. I appreciate your blog greatly.

i really appreciate you sending this, thank you. i really cannot stop myself from talking about how man hating is fucking everything up because this experience is so important and it's being completely erased

i'm sorry you've gone through all of that. that's a lot to deal with, and it's an experience that doesn't deserve to be erased. pushing the thought that women are inherently safe to be around puts women who are assholes into a situation they're allowed to be mean as fuck to everyone else because "oh i'm traumatized from patriarchy". we all are. you're not special.

i have also been abused by women as well. my mom, sister, other family members, friends and exes have all abused me. i talk about it a lot, but one of the worst times in my life is when i lived in a queer punk house. i really thought it would be accepting, i thought i had found my people. there were a lot of trans girls who lived and stayed there and i got to know a lot of them because they found me cute.

whenever they would find out i'm also a trans man as well as genderqueer, these girls would clamor over each other to misgender me. i was ridiculed for not having a penis, being told that that's what makes a man a man. these girls would also brag about how they hated twinks, gay and bisexual men. they were proud to hate men, even the queer ones around them. there were so many pieces of trans art and things like estrogen bottles everywhere, but nothing transmasculine at all. even though transmascs showed up there often

it sucks that other queer people can sometimes be one of the most transphobic people you know. people have to start caring about how this affects people. women are not inherently safe to be around. men aren't inherently going to hurt you. we have to grow up past this mindset

#asks #answers #antimasculism #man hating

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lucid-loves · 3 days ago

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First Light ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 8

Pairing: bodyguard!Ghost x princess!reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, physical abuse by parents, opposites attract, forbidden love, slow burn, fluff, attraction and sexual tension, reader POV and ghost POV, minors DNI

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After receiving death threats from a mysterious terrorist organization, your royal parents make a decision to reach out to the United States for help. Specifically, they want the US to send a bodyguard to protect their precious princess. When the 141 is called upon to investigate, Ghost is the one assigned to protect you. With your lack of experiences outside of your royal life and his experience with nothing but deadly, worldly affairs, opposites attract.

Chapter Synopsis: You’re in the hands of the enemy, but you have been a smart princess. Knowing that help was coming for you soon, you stayed smart and extend compassion. With your responsibility and persuasion, it buys Ghost some time to try to save you.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8

“Target secured. Whenever you’re ready, boss.” A lackey spoke into a phone as his partner tightened the ropes on your wrists even further. The side of your face was turning a painful shade of black and blue, an ache becoming more noticeable as your numbness faded.

You grimaced as the rope burned against your skin. You haven't put up much of a physical fight since they first hit you. You knew that you could never overpower them when it came to strength. In moments like these, you had to rely on your smarts. This included waiting for the proper times to speak.

Your mind flashes images of Ghost every now and then. The blood. The limp body. You killed him and you knew it. You didn’t deny it. It was your fault that this happened and you were going to take full responsibility for it.

Grieving will wait.

“How is she?” The lackey grunted, eyeing you over as you sat up straight and proper.

“Well behaved. Not a peep.” His partner responded quite happily. They were satisfied with your compliance for now. They hoped that you would remain that way.

“Very good. Our little birdie has learned when to shut up. Soon, she will learn when to sing.” They joked, slinging an arm around each other’s shoulders and leaving the room.

Alone and in the dark, you tried to take a look around as best as you could. When your eyes adjusted more, you could make out small details about the room you were in. Cold, worn bricks lined the walls. The floorboards were old and creaky with each step. There was a smell of smoky, stale gunpowder hanging loosely in the air.

Somehow, it all felt very familiar. Like you’ve seen these sets of bricks before long ago. There was something ancient about them. Historical. Though, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Besides the familiarity anomaly you felt, there was nothing remarkable about the dark room. You could have been anywhere unless a revelation came to you.

There was a shadow crossing over the light at the bottom of the locked door. Heavy footsteps that commanded authority. Purpose. When your door opened, you squinted from the sudden intrusion of light.

A young gentleman stepped forward. Someone you didn’t know. Despite his young age, his soldiers followed his orders, bringing him a chair to sit across from you. He took a slow seat, groaning as we rested his bones. “Hard labor is what ages a person. Not time. You are lucky to have your youth, Princess.”

You kept your mouth shut and your gaze straight. It didn’t feel like the right time to speak yet. And if it was, then you could rectify your mistake.

The boss waved over a soldier who then gave him a cigarette. The other lit it for him. The foul tobacco stench already made you want to cough your lungs out. He took a long pull, held it, and then blew it out calmly to the side. He acted as if he was in a cigar bar with how he leaned back and crossed his legs over. “We have been looking for you, Princess. You were a tough bird to catch. Those shadows of yours didn’t make it easy either.”

He took another pull and clicked his tongue. “Let’s see what our bird knows. You must know something if you suddenly have Special Forces at your side. So, what do you think of us?”

You waited a few seconds before speaking, carefully choosing your words as if this were a game of chess. “You are a resistance aiming to take control of the country. The easiest way to do that is to take me as a bargaining chip against the king and queen.”

“So you do know what’s going on. Good. Anything else?”

“. . . The murals around the capital aren’t just resistance tags. They are works of art meant to inspire. What are you offering the people that we aren’t?” You tested the waters, demonstrating your artistic and analytical prowess as a studious descendent of royalty. If they think they could out-intelligence you on that front, they would be mistaken.

A brow was raised from your question, a slight curve of his lips turning up. “Smart little birdie. Color me impressed. And here I thought you would be a spoiled brat given the amount of parties that seem to be thrown in your name.”

“You must know that Stuoca is one of the few countries in the world that serves under a monarch. It’s about time we join the modern democracy era, but we will do it right. Distribute the wealth amongst the poor, allow accessible healthcare to all, require real checks and balances, that fair nature.” He elaborated, finishing off his cigarette before snuffing it out under his boot.

You let out an involuntary giggle, hardly believing what this man thinks he could do on his own. “You’re a modern Robin Hood.”

“But this is our French Revolution. It’s not hard to convince people about our cause when they are down on their luck. Tell me, Princess, what have you done to help these people? You seem to understand our needs, but have done nothing for us.”

At that, the light left your eyes and you lowered your head. “I. . . I have done nothing and have remained ignorant to the true hardships of the streets. You are not wrong about my inactions. . . I am sorry, but I am not entitled to forgiveness.”

There was a heavy silence in the room. The boss couldn’t believe that you admitted it. He expected an argument. A defense. For you to beg at the very least for your life despite what you said. But you didn’t. You didn’t shift blame, cry, or argue. He continued to wait for it, yet it never came.

As much terror as he caused for you and your family and wanted to continue said terrors, he knew that this wasn’t exactly right. This wasn’t at all what he imagined the princess to be. “Do you expect me to spare your life because of a simple apology?”

“No, I don’t.” You expressed with resolution. The cards you were dealt with when you were born were a good hand. You never had to worry about where your next meal came from. You never had to worry about having no clothes on your back. Everything was done for you, even if it wasn’t what you wanted.

“The freedom of choice was never mine, but it was better than having no choice of scraps. There are no excuses.” You picked your head up to stare right into the boss’s eyes.

The boss chuckled and shook his head before motioning for his men to untie you. Your honesty and accountability has gained his trust for now. It was safe to let you be less restricted. You sighed at the relieving pressure on your wrists. Rubbing them gently, you alleviated some of the rope burn.

“You are more genuine than I thought you would be, Princess. That, or you just know how to sing well. What melody shall you play for me next?”

“Any visuals of the Princess yet?” Ghost asked through his earpiece once again, the fifth time within a ten minute span. Soap was tempted to cut him off to stop the nagging, but he knew he did it because he was worried. Everyone was. The moment you were called in missing, everyone kicked it into high gear to find you.

Discovery of multiple armories scattered throughout the capital belonging to the group already put them on high alert for a terrorist uprising. Now that they had you, it wasn’t a question of if they would pull the trigger but when.

“We are scouring every corner of the country for her, Lieutenant. We will find her.” Prince reassured, hoping that this one would finally stick to that thick skull of Ghost’s. His constant pestering was starting to get on even his nerves.

“Entering the palace now.” Ghost responded curtly, gun in hand and tactical vest secured. The palace guards backed off as he stormed his way through the halls, his steps thunderous echoes in the marble corridors. The door to the old war room was slammed open, causing the king and queen to jump from their seats.

“Lieutenant! Please tell me you have found our daughter. . .” The king sadly begged, shaking like a leaf as Ghost walked closer. Meanwhile, the queen looked oddly indifferent, though Ghost chalked it up to traumatic dissociation.

“Negative. We are doing everything we can to get her back. We. . . I won’t stop until she’s safe and sound.” Ghost promised, something he didn’t normally do for any civilian that he ends up meeting. It was dangerous to make promises like that to people since he couldn’t guarantee results.

With this one, he will.

“Any contact yet?” Ghost pressed, hoping that their alternative plan could proceed since no one has been able to spot you anywhere. If the organization got their hands on you, it was only a matter of time until they would call to bargain you. He was jumping for the chance to trace that call that would lead him right to you.

The queen shook her head. “We haven’t heard anything since she has been gone.”

Ghost hummed in thought to himself. It was a little strange that no one had called yet. They could be waiting until the heat dies down since Special Forces were all over the streets. Or, they could be held up for a different reason.

Something caused Ghost to itch. Something that nagged at him during his drive to the nearest hangar in the countryside. There was still a question of how the group found your location despite being well hidden. The two of you didn’t have contact with the outside world save for the hidden emergency phone. No one should have known that you moved locations, let alone to the deep country.

Unless someone leaked that information, of course. Ghost had a hunch that this person was also dictating the calls to the palace as well.

“I want every single phone in this room, pronto. If there’s a call, we will hear it here.” Ghost suddenly ordered the staff. Without hesitation, they all scattered to collect the phones strewn across the palace.

“But Lieutenant, there are already guards manning each phone in each room! Don’t you think this would be a waste of time?” The queen spoke up, gesturing to the chaos that was now staff scrambling to follow Ghost’s orders.

Ghost took a large step forward to tower over your mother, his eyes menacing behind his skull balaclava that was still stained with his blood, albeit dried. Her eyes widened and she shrunk into herself. Good. Ghost wanted to scare her. “Don’t want you to miss a call. That’s all.”

It only took a few minutes with the staff working together on the task. The large table that was once used to strategize war was now covered in all the phones available in the palace. Ghost even ordered everyone to turn in their cell phones. While they waited, he contacted his team to see if there were any updates. “Any luck, Captain?”

“Not much. Our suspects are good at keeping their mouths shut. We will keep trying to gather more information on our end, but we may just have to be patient.” Captain Price sighed, feeling frustrated with a lack of progress as well. In the back of everyone’s mind, there was a terrifying thought that involved you being so severely hurt, traumatized, or even dead. Ghost didn’t want to think about it, but it was hard not to the longer he waited.

“Copy that.” Ghost simply responded, pushing down his fear as best he could. He directed new orders for palace staff. No one was to leave the war room. Unless it was an emergency, then everyone was under his watch. No one argued with his command, much of the staff not wanting to get on his bad side, but also because they missed their beloved princess too.

After an hour, a phone finally rang. Ghost’s hands gut reaction was to pick it up, however, that may compromise their plans. Instead, he directed the king to pick it up while everyone remained quiet. With shaking hands, your father answered the call and put your kidnappers on speaker. “Y-Yes?”

“Dad?” You answered, surprised that he didn’t formally introduce himself over the phone like he usually did whenever someone called the palace. You knew that your parents would probably be manning the phone given your disappearance, yet somehow you still expected the common manners they have always been adamant about maintaining.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard so much fear in your father’s voice before either.

“Y/n! Please tell me you’re alright. . .” Your father began weeping, the sound of your voice alone filling him with so much relief. Ghost also felt himself let go of a heavy breath.

“I’m alright for the most part. We have some important business to discuss first and foremost. I have been speaking with this organization and I have come to the realization that they aren’t bad people. I want you to give them a pardon for their deeds.” You tried to explain calmly and sternly.

Everyone in the room looked at each other in disbelief. You wanted to give them a pass for what they have done?! Was this Stockholm Syndrome?! Ghost almost didn’t think this was real life, he was that shocked. The king scrambled to give a proper response. “I-I don’t understand. They’ve hurt you, yes? They want to overthrow our country! How could you want to protect them?!”

You couldn’t hide the disappointment in your voice. “They want real democracy, better healthcare, and universal basic income. These are people that struggle in making ends meet while we sit in a palace that is gaudy and useless at its best. How is that fair?”

This time, your mother chimed in, an edge to her voice that was as sharp as a knife. “If they really want those things, maybe they should have worked harder and followed the law!”

“That’s rich coming from someone that married into royalty.” You spat back, for the first time standing up for yourself with your whole chest.

She gasped as if you just slapped her across the cheek. Ghost finally took it upon himself to speak into the phone. “Princess. . .”

Your breath stopped and your eyes widened. Before you knew it, tears began to well up in your eyes. You began to choke up as you heard the voice that you thought you would never hear again. “Simon. . . Is that you?”

“It’s me, Princess. You ain’t getting rid of me that easily. Do you really think these people aren’t dangerous?” He gently questioned, not wanting to betray your trust. If anything, if you could prove your confidence to him, he will have your back.

You gave a genuine, tearful laugh, still reeling from the fact that your bodyguard was alive. It didn’t stop you from giving a resolute answer. “History is doomed to repeat itself if we don’t learn from our mistakes. A country’s greatness depends on its people. I can not blame these people for fighting for a better life. I want to help them.”

Your words sunk in, resonating with nearly everyone within the room. Maids that have been taking care of you since you were a baby were beginning to cry, proud of the woman you have grown to be. Guards lowered their heads in respect, remembering the reasons why they took jobs at the palace in the first place; to support their own people.

“. . . If that is what you want to do, then I am with you. It is your parents that you may still need to convince.” Ghost supported, already prepping contact with his team to arrange a negotiation in his head.

There was a moment of silence from your parents as they thought over your plans. Finally, your father gave a short chuckle, pride in each breath. “I would be a fool to not let my child unite a nation like the Princess she was born to be. Consider them all pardoned and welcomed to the palace for negotiations.”

On your end, you had the world’s brightest smile on your face. The boss and his soldiers behind you couldn’t help but crack their own as well. They never imagined that things would end up like this. Yet, this new opportunity was more than welcomed. It was much better than bloodshed.

As Ghost radioed his team, the group led you out of the dismal room only to find yourself in a place you have long forgotten. You weren’t far at all from the palace. In fact, you were in the underground of it, lost to time among old barrels of gunpowder and damp air. You had once wandered into this part of the castle long ago. To your knowledge, there was an extensive passageway to the sewer system here. It must have been how the group managed to stay so well hidden and infiltrate the party.

You didn’t need the boss to lead you out. You knew exactly where to go. When you opened the door leading upstairs to the kitchen, you took a deep, refreshing breath. Your heart felt lighter than it had in years. Knowing that Ghost was okay made it even more so.

As staff was let out of the war room, the doors opened wide to give Ghost a clear view into all of the major hallways. As soon as he saw you, his heart leapt from him. Seeing the bruise on your face that you pardoned, it lit an angry fire in his belly. Yet, the feeling of overwhelming love and pride smothered it as you seemed more alive than ever.

Once your eyes met his, you broke out into a sprint, wanting to be in his strong arms as quickly as possible. Your heartbeat matched your pace. Decorum be damned. He met you part of the way, his feet bringing him forward in long strides until you crashed into his chest. Wrapping your arms around him tight and feeling that he was doing the same, you began to cry. “I thought I lost you. . .”

“I thought I had lost you too. . . Never again, Princess.” He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet, comforting scent that he had grown to love.

For a moment, it was just the two of you in the entire world. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him, afraid that if you did, then he would have been a real ghost to you. The world kept spinning, though. Slowly, you released each other, allowing Simon to witness your rivers of tears in all their glory. He carefully wiped them away with his thumbs, wishing that he was able to kiss them away for you instead.

“My princess. . .” He exhaled, watching you lean your cheek into his palm.

Staring into his ocean eyes, feeling his caress on your cheek and around your waist, it seemed as good a time as any to tell him how you really felt. “Simon, I-”

A deafening bang ripped through the moment. A gunshot cut off your confession. It seemed to all happen in slow motion. Your eyes widening. Blood blossoming stains against your blouse. A sharp pain in your back that rapidly increased in horrific fire. Your legs giving out. Ghost catching you before you could hit the floor.

Behind your bleeding body stood the culprit, annoyance clear as day on their face. “I was planning on letting them kill you. You did always make things more difficult than they need to be, dear.”

With a quick draw at the speed of sound, Ghost pulled out his own pistol and fired a killing shot into your mother. He didn’t care if he was the queen. He didn’t care that it was your mother. To him, she was evil to be eradicated. And it was as soon as the light left her eyes, but at what cost?

The both of you couldn’t even hear the screams around from staff as you were forcibly pulled into each other’s worlds, now the scariest moment of your lives. “Princess! Y/n! Stay with me! Please, focus on me!”

The pressure he put on your wound made you wince and whimper. Your vision began to blur black. Still, you put in the effort to try to comfort him. “Y. . . You aren’t getting rid of me. . . that easily. . .”

You didn’t hear his response as you lost the fight for consciousness.

#ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley x you #simon riley fanfic

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stargazedwinchester · 1 day ago

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Last Night's Mascara ♡ Dean

Summary: You lose your boyfriend, Dean, to a demonic possession that has replaced his soul.

Word Count: 1,433

Warnings: Physical abuse, some counts of swearing

If that's not something you want to read, please keep scrolling!

This one took a little longer, I had just under 2 weeks off of work and enjoyed it a bit too much and I procrastinated a bit too much, therefore I'm posting this late bc I wanted to stay on schedule xoxox

Inspo by last night's mascara - Griff

Sunday morning. You lay your head on your pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Thirteen nights you had slept alone.

Thirteen nights without Dean.

Thirteen nights you had prayed to God by your bedside, begging him to bring Dean back. Nothing worked.

You force yourself up and out of bed, padding down toward the bathroom. Flicking the light on, you glance at yourself in the mirror whilst reaching over to turn the shower on. You peel off your pyjamas, leaving them in a puddle on the floor. While the shower was warming up, you squeeze some toothpaste onto your toothbrush and brush your teeth. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you notice your usually bright, youthful features are now dull and lifeless.

Dean was your happiness. His silly, guileless demeanour was what made him your perfect match. You had faced challenges together before and believed you could overcome this one, too.

How naïve you were!

Spitting the toothpaste out, you rinse your mouth out and run the water so the remnants go down the drain. You turn the tap off and hop into the shower.

“You’re never around anymore, Dean! How do you think that makes me feel?” You spat, an amused look forms on his face. He runs his hand through his gelled hair, looking at you with dead eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck you find funny-”

“Don’t speak to me like that.” He hushes, and your eyebrows furrow in rage. “Don’t speak to you like that? Like what? Like I don’t want to try and sort things out between us? Like none of this actually matters?” you row, throwing your hands up in defeat. Dean sighs. Every second he wasted not talking to you made you more irate. At this point, you assumed it would be impossible to feel this upset with the man you’re supposed to love.

You knew Dean hadn’t been right within himself for quite a while; he had been out a lot more, belligerent in helping you and his brother on hunts, coming across way less affectionate than usual. This left you bewildered and lost. It wasn’t like Dean to be so… cold. He abandoned everything he loved for… nothing. You always felt like it wasn’t completely his fault, but seeing the way he is, it’s hard to think otherwise.

“Talk to me, Dean! Say fucking something!” You walk toward him, who’s facing away from you. Confidence runs through your blood as you stride across the cold floorboards. “Please, Dean,” you exasperate, your throat closing in. You place your hand on his shoulder. He aggressively shoves your hand off, he twists around and fires you across the room. You yelp as your back whips around the bottom of the metal staircase. You’re winded, but that didn’t stop you from getting right back up. “I told you,” Dean snaps, keeping his stalwart, defunct stare on you. He takes a deep breath.

“I told you,” he repeats. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” He raises his voice, booming across the bunker. It feels like the walls vibrated with fear. You storm up to him and he pushes you away, knocking you back onto the floor. “I don’t love you!” He bellows, and you scurry toward the closest wall to stick yourself too. You’re terrified, terrified of what Dean is capable of doing. You’re frozen in place watching him bluster toward you.

He pulls you up so you’re practically glued to the wall behind you, your glare never left his as his pupils dilate. The perfect shade of green that once resides was no longer there.

“I don’t fucking love you, Y/N. I never have. The fact that you feel like you have to try and fix everything? It doesn’t work. It’ll never work. You will never, ever find someone that’ll love you. Purely and effortlessly. This,” he pauses and motions between you both. “This was nothing but for show. You’re a beautiful girl, but I fucking hate you. Quite frankly, you’re worthless. Pathetic.” He smiles intentionally, and those words puncture at your heart like a million shards of glass. You’re unsure of what to do as his awfully strong grasp lets go of you. Your feet touch the ground and you’re still staring at him. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw.

“Get out of my face.” He brushes you off, turning away from you. Dean pauses. He turns and slaps you across the face. You inhale sharply, your bottom lip wobbling but holding in tears. Even though you’re hurting right now, your body and heart have a rush of adrenaline. As Dean turns away, you force him to turn back around to you. You punch him in the cheekbone, causing him to stagger. He attempts to alter himself and reach for you, but you shove him backwards. “Don’t you fucking DARE do that again, Winchester! Who the fuck do you think you are?!” you scream, and he just looks at you. He looks at you as if you’re crazy. “Put your fucking hands on me again and watch what happens, you stupid bastard! Get the fuck out of here! Now!” You shriek, now your voice echoes throughout the bunker. Dean looks surprised as he steps away from you. That same, sinister smirk appears on his face again as he walks toward the stairway.

“I’m not done with you.” He voices just above a whisper. He leaves the bunker and you in silence. You take a shaky breath as you evaluate what has just happened.

Tears roll down your face. A weird comfort from the light, but scorching taps from the waterfall cascading down your back. The water trickles down the drain, mocking you by telling you that you can wash your worries away. A bubble arises in your throat that you can’t control. Your bottled up emotions have finally decided to spill out. You let out a sob, your hands reaching up to your mouth. You don’t want Sam to hear you. Your whole body shakes. You turn around and face the water, letting it fall down your face, hoping that it drowns out the sound of your cries. Desperate and vulnerable cries.

As you step out of the shower, you reach for a towel to wrap around yourself and walk out the door. You make your way to your bedroom and get dressed.

The bright Texan sun beams down, and you pull your sunglasses down over your eyes. You have finally arrived at the church, 46 miles out from the bunker. Despite deserted roads, the entire trip still took almost two hours. Walking down the broken cobblestone path, you push the wooden door open. It squeaks weakly as you step inside onto the floorboards.

There’s no one here, and the door slams behind you. You flinch. You walk toward the altar that’s standing in the centre of the church. Warm colors from the stained glass windows behind the altar reflect onto the rickety floorboards, showing images of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. You kneel down in front of the altar, fixating on the floor. For days, you prayed for the return of the old Dean. You’re stuck on what to say, so you sit for a minute. You assumed Cas would be able to hear your prayers every night, but it felt as if no one could help you. Cas was MIA and Sam’s out of town. You’re completely and utterly alone.

You concentrate as you pray to the shrine in front of you.

“God, if you can hear me, I pray for your divine intervention. To free Dean from the demon’s control and bring back the man we all miss dearly. Please bring my Dean home. I’m begging for something, anything. Please. Amen.”

You sit there for a little while, hoping that the message had actually been heard. You reminisce on how you and Dean used to be, how joyous life felt before he decided to practically give his own life away for the Mark of Cain. You take a deep breath before standing up. You turn around and you’re met with a tall man in a beige trench coat.

“I heard your prayer, Y/N.” He says, gazing down at you with care. Your eyes meet Cas’ and you can’t help but burst into tears. He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you attentively and he allows you to feel every emotion you’ve needed to let out. You feel very grateful for Cas’s help, even if it is as minimal as a hug. God knows you've needed it.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #supernatural x reader #supernatural x y/n #spn x reader #spn x y/n

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camcat1320 · 8 hours ago

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I feel like a component is missing in this analysis. Azula has many mental health issues stemmed from narcissistic abuse and abandonment. Therefore, she will not act in a typical manner. It's never stated in the show but some people theorize she might have schizophrenia and/or borderline personality disorder. I have a friend with BPD who sees themself in Azula. However, having a mental health disorder is not an excuse, rather it's a reason. Azula doesn't get a pass for her bad deeds, she must be held accountable and own up to her mistakes. But this isn't possible unless she does the necessary work, ergo her redemption arc.

Let's look at those that have abandoned her, whether real or imagined, rational or irrational; Lu Ten, Iroh, her grandfather, her mother, Zuko, Mai, Ty Lee, and her father. Her circles of influence became smaller and smaller until all that remained was her father. Then he pigeon-holed her into the position of Firelord, leaving her behind. All of this could've caused her to develop a disorganized attachment style characterized as unpredictable, intense push and pull. Zuko might have an anxious attachment style due to his mother's disappearance and his father's conditional "love". He is highly emotional and seeks validation when we meet him but over time, he does the work and he heals his inner wounds.

I interpret Azula as only acting in a way that Ozai would approve. Why did Azula even go to Zuko's bedroom to tell him that "dad's going to kill you". If she wanted him gone, she could've just kept her mouth shut. Zuko would've been out of the picture, her mother would still be there, and she would be next in line for the throne. She had everything to gain from not telling. But she did. And to top it off, she said "maybe a nice Earth Kingdom family will adopt you." She doesn't want her brother to die. She offered a solution to his problem. Yes, she acted mean and condescending but it is all an act. If she shows genuine care, that is considered weakness and Ozai does not tolerate weakness.

Now the part about lying about Zuko killing the Avatar. I agree that it was Azula hedging her bets. Again, though, she had everything to gain with simply arresting Zuko. With Zuko in prison, she'd be the next firelord, no question. Why is she going against her own interests? We learn later that mirror Ursa says that Azula uses fear to control her friends. She could've been using fear to control Zuko. She wants Zuko to be in her life, but she needs something to hold him there, some blackmail against him that'll make him stay. She lies about Zuko killing the avatar, letting him restore his honor and earning their father's love, the things Zuko wanted the most. If it were that the avatar is alive, everything that Zuko wanted will be taken from him in an instant. Azula uses Zuko's fear to control him, to keep him close, believing it was a slim chance he'd betray her given the high stakes. But she was wrong. She says "I'm about to celebrate becoming an only child!" But behind the mask, she could be silently screaming, "You left me!"

There's a lot about Azula we don't know and we are making assumptions based on what little we got of her. However, imagine if there was a Book 4 like the head writer was planning from the beginning? We see Azula reveal more about her past and see her be challenged, letting her character grow. I think it would've been a beautiful redemption arc, giving hope to those that can relate to Azula and show that it is possible to find happiness.

what bugs me about azula redemption discourse is the fact that people genuinely think azula lied that zuko killed the avatar to show she cares for him. if she cared about him, she wouldve had the courtesy to warn him instead of blindsinding him during the meeting. That just added to his anxiety and while her fears of what ozai would do if her if she disappointed him are validated by ozai's actions, that gives her no right at all to knowingly put her own brother in the position. she literally said, "you can't treat me like zuko!" in the finale, which says a lot about how aware she was of how zuko was treated, and the fact that she recognized that that's not how she would like to be treated.

Oh yeah, this is a pretty wide-spread problem in the atla fandom in general but I notice a lot of it in specific azula-stanning (and usually zuko-hating) corners, where it's like 'Azula never even really did anything bad and how dare people call her one of Zuko's abusers for sibling rivalry stuff' as if gleefully crowing to your brother that your father is going to kill him or watching with a smirk of satisfaction as your father brutalizes him is all just 'normal sibling rivalry stuff'. Nevermind what came later, like actually trying to kill him.

So we end up with this kind of discourse that relies on making up a bunch of stuff that honestly doesn't make sense nor fit in with what we do know of these characters and the situation, but because they can do enough mental gymnastics to make her out to be The Real Victim Here then anyone who doesn't agree just hates abuse victims or whatever.

The fact is, at its most charitable interpretation, Azula was bare minimum hedging her bets. Because this scene:

comes before Zuko's meeting with Ozai, where we hear this:

And then, as if that weren't enough, we have Azula herself admitting it:

I feel like a lot of Azula stans who insist she was just trying to help Zuko, that she cared for him and was just trying to help him return home with honor, missed this part of the conversation, or just conveniently forget about it when it comes to defending their fave. But while Azula initially claims she did it to help Zuko out of the goodness of her heart, she comes right out herself and says she doubts Zuko's conviction about the Avatar's death, and she doesn't want any blowback to fall on her if and when the Avatar eventually resurfaces.

She was, at bare minimum, covering her own ass, with little regard for how it would ultimately affect her brother (for whom she has little care or concern, according to how we see their relationship playing out). Lines like you can't treat me like Zuko help to highlight this, because while, yes, they are both victims of the same abusive parent, Azula also became an active agent in Zuko's abuse, and the realization that to their abuser they are both just as disposable even after everything she did for him within that framework is a huge part of what led to her complete psychological breakdown in the finale.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #princess azula #atla azula #azula avatar

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petalkitshadow · 1 day ago

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Talking about: Darkstar!

So, the most recent chapter revealed some important info about Darkstar's backstory, info that I've been sitting on for a while and have many thoughts about. Now that the chapter's been out for a few days I want to discuss it a bit, my thought process on the matter and such! warning: it's long, so i put it under a cut

TW FOR: non-graphic discussions of (fictional) sexual assault and recovery from it

(and of course, spoilers for the new chapter)

PkS has a few "key scenes" that were the first things I came up with when conceptualizing the story, and imagining how I would present it. One of these was, of course, the battle with mapleshade, but a second one that's now escaped from containment is this last chapter, Petalpaw discovering that Darkstar's son, Perchshine, was born from sexual assault. I imagine some may have already picked up on it, from how Darkstar behaved, and her specific discomfort with Reedshine's kitting. I was nervous about including it, for sure. It's a very heavy topic, and I want to do it justice, and offer Darkstar the nuance and humanity she deserves as a victim.

So why include it? it's a bit of a roundabout tale... when doing my early drafts, I was amidst a listen of Yellowfang's Secret audiobook. Lizardstripe's story really stuck out to me. Warrior cats has, a few times, made it so a she-cat gets pregnant by surprise. Occasionally, the she-cat might be dismayed about it. but in time, they all come to love being a mother. Lizardstripe doesn't follow that. She's the one cat in warriors who has kits and doesn't want them. Now, since it's a kid's book series, i don't think children reading it would question her situation much, and i think the authors were likely betting on this being the case. But reading it as an adult... it really gives some unsettling implications.

Lizardstripe's situation isn't delved into very deeply. It's mostly set dressing for how Brokenstar became so evil. but it really stuck with me, as a reader. Warriors is a world with no birth control. The idea that a cat could be stuck with a pregnancy against their will was just... so horrifying to me. legitimately something I've had nightmares about! though I understand it's a children's book series so the topic of pregnancy and how one gets pregnant is very much glossed over, i still felt unsettled, and a bit disappointed with how Lizardstripe was portrayed. She was a woman who didn't want kids, so obviously she's physically abusive, evil, ambitious, reprehensible, one of the worst people in the series. But all i could think was... Why did no one help her? There's a scene where she seems like she's making a cry for help to Hollyflower, and is ignored, her fears glossed over, and she is told "suck it up, you'll learn to love being a mother". and how did she even get into that situation? was she, too, a victim of assault? I doubt that was the author's intention, nor do I consider that my headcanon/interpretation for her, but is still a way you could interpret her. which just sat with me, and really made me feel icky. Petalkit's shadow (and all my warriors headcanons, writings, etc) is a lot about changing things I find unsatisfactory or frustrating about the books. so, I wanted to try and create some kind of response to Lizardstripe, while also writing through my own emotions and fears, to create a story i found compelling.

Thus, my idea for Darkstar was created. I wanted to approach this concept I saw in Lizardstripe, but from a more sympathetic angle. What would happen, how would a cat in this society feel, if they were made to go through something so horrible? Darkstar has been put in an awful situation... she really has no good choices. Her belief is that any kit in RiverClan is entitled to the safety and community they have to offer - we saw that when she allowed Petalkit to stay. Making an exception for her son, even if she was forced to bear him, would go against her principles. And sending him away, where would he go? To another clan? where he may have to unknowingly fight against his mother? To a stranger outside the clans, where Darkstar has no idea if he'll be safe? and Perchshine himself, is in a horrible position, too. Obviously, he would have questions about why his mother can't look at him, why she ignores him, why she refuses to spend time with him. But what is Darkstar to say? what is any cat to say? you can't really explain it to a child. So Perchshine had to live a life feeling unwanted, seeking attention from anybody who would give it to him, leading him to be so negatively influenced by Appledusk. meanwhile, Darkstar feels eating, aching guilt over something that isn't her fault.

She has every right to not want to be Perchshine's mother. she didn't want him. she was assaulted. he shouldn't be her responsibility. But again, she really has no good choices. That summarizes her character, i think. she is never given an easy solution. every choice she makes will always hurt somebody. she usually picks the option that will hurt herself. but When Appledusk's affair is revealed, she sends Mapleshade away. she's just a few months off an extremely traumatic experience. she confesses herself, she almost felt jealousy, that starclan would take mapleshade's kits instead of hers, when Mapleshade loved her own so fiercely. and she could see the tension between maple, reed, and apple. she knew if maple stayed, there would be more problems. problems she simply didn't have the emotional bandwith for. she put perchkit first by having him stay in the clan, even though he would be a reminder of what happened to her. she didn't step down or run away from her leadership. she continued supporting her clan and putting the others first. so I think, in that moment, she decided for once to put herself first. she sent mapleshade away. and she paid for it dearly, when she loses reedshine, her first apprentice, and one of her closest friends.

Darkstar's story up until now has been very tragic. But I don't want that to be all there is to her. The first side of this concept, of course, is "wow, this is really fucked up and depressing". but I want there to be another side to it. Darkstar endured this terrible thing, and has a lot of hurt inside of her. But in the end, she's still alive. She can heal, and she can move on. no matter what her life is still worth living, and she has cats who care about her and want to help her. I think this duality always makes a really compelling character for me. It's motivating, for me, to imagine that no matter how much you have suffered, no matter how terrible things seem, you can always keep going. (It's a sentiment I've had to remind myself many times in my life - sure, maybe giving up is easier. but your life is worth living, even when it's difficult) Alongside the cautionary tale about anger destroying you, this would probably be the other thesis of Petalkit's Shadow. Keep going, you will make it out alive. and one day, it won't hurt so much anymore. so as the story has reached this tipping point, I'm excited to move forward, and start showing this other side of Darkstar, where her recovery continues, and she is able to re-embrace the things and the people she loves!

Anyways, I've just had a lot of thoughts in my head, and wanted to finally be able to share them since the chapter got published. Thanks so much for reading everyone, i really appreciate it! <3

#talk #very very long under cut #darkstar

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purpleheartskies · 1 day ago

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In my post Johnny, Robby, and the "family" (s6 part 2), I talked about Johnny still not being ready to fulfill the needs of his biological kids. I said the following:

Johnny is not codependent in his relationship with Robby, so Robby doesn't get the open "love" and "caring" that Miguel and Carmen get from Johnny.

Johnny is incapable of healthy relationships. He's caught between two extremes: He's codependent with the Diazs, while he neglects and abuses Robby. These relationships also aren't independent of each other. Johnny is still choosing Miguel/Diazs over Robby, as part 2 continues to show.

In s6e10, when Chozen said to Daniel and Johnny that Sam and Robby need their senseis and need their fathers, Johnny's expression was one of worry or self-reflection.

Johnny keeps failing to be there for Robby as he needs.

In fact, Johnny's not ready for this baby plot device either. When Carmen said that she's [the baby's] so lucky to have him as a dad, he had the same reaction.

This was just a few hours after Miguel had called Robby "messed up" because of Johnny's behavior. Carmen and Miguel are aware of Johnny's flaws, yet never encourage him to get better.

It's also important to mention that Devon is already set up as the "daughter" that Johnny will choose over his own.

I came across this post, and it reminded me of Robby’s story with Johnny and these two moments:

"I want... I wanna be a father to you. I really do. I try to protect you. I try to be there for you. I just suck at it. I really suck at it. But I want to so bad... I love you too Robby." --- Johnny in s4e8 Like Robby had said in s5e4, some of his and Johnny's issues are too big to solve.

People say the family is all "bad writing", but the family is actually realistically written. The whole point is that the family itself is "bad". It's dysfunctional and unhealthy. Johnny hasn't grown, and he won't as long as he stays in his codependent relationships with the Diazs and doesn't actually get the help and healing he needs.

Like I said in that other post:

The writers have made this Johnny-Robby-Diaz situation an "either/or" situation this whole time, and this situation is meant to cause Robby more trauma. They literally set up Johnny's decision in s1e4 as a "do over". All of Johnny and Miguel's heartfelt conversations about their own relationship are in the context of Johnny's failures with Robby, Miguel's belief in his entitlement of Johnny over Robby's, and Johnny using Miguel to feel better about his own failures with Robby. In s5, Johnny talked about the baby only in terms of Johnny's failures with Robby. Robby is treated in the writing as not a member of this "family", which given the circumstances in which he was forced into it, is telling.

I wonder what will happen between Johnny and Robby now. Like I said, I'd always believed that Johnny and Robby only would be endgame, but after part 2, I'm wondering if Johnny and Robby are meant to be endgame at all. Regardless, there is no setup that genuinely includes Robby in Johnny's "do-over" "family". Given all the setup, no ending for Johnny and Robby's relationship will be satisfying. I just hope that, by the end of the story, Robby is no longer stuck in this abusive situation.

Overall, I get people being upset about the story. I am too. But, I also see so much nuance in the story that I wonder where all this will lead.

(As always, please don't comment or reblog with dismissive comments about the nuance in the story. The nuance is part of the story, and the story is exploring important topics like trauma, bullying, neglect, and dysfunctional relationships. I'm aware of the part 3 leaks, but I'm also aware that people shut down conversations about other theories for the leaks that can also be possible. I’m just going to stick to analyzing canon here.)

#cobra kai is robby's story #robby keene

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dungeefox · 1 day ago

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Love's Encore — H.J.S

Love has a profound impact on a person. It can either shatter you or transform you into something even more beautiful. I made the mistake of falling in love; I fell for Hong Joshua.

pairing: joshua x oc

genre: ANGST, fluff

wc: 12k+

warnings: toxic/abusive boyfriend (NOT JOSHUA), implied sex (no actual smut)

a/n: comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated ��💖

Love has a profound impact on a person. It can either shatter you or transform you into something even more beautiful. I made the mistake of falling in love; I fell for Hong Joshua.

With him, there was never a dull moment. Being by his side made the world seem vibrant and alive. He had this remarkable talent for making even the simplest things stand out.

Perhaps it was his smile, his laughter, or maybe it was the way he helped me embrace joy in the present moment.

Now, I find myself hopelessly gazing at the ghost of my lover. All the features that captivated me are gone. His face is now expressionless and dull, devoid of that cherished smile I held close to my heart. He feels empty, and in turn, so do I. Our room, once warm and brimming with passion, has turned cold and lifeless.

Joshua leans against the bedroom doorframe, his arms crossed as if to shield himself from the moment. Meanwhile, I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to say what I already know is coming.

I feel exposed and weak, like a prey that has received its final blow, barely clinging to life. I silently plead for him to break the suffocating silence.

Love often makes you oblivious. It blinds you to your past self. But I loved myself with him—didn’t he love himself with me too?

I was naive; I should have seen that Joshua wanted to end things. I should have noticed his increasing silence. The laughter had faded, and the jokes were gone. His love for playful pranks disappeared, along with the texts I secretly adored throughout the day and the spontaneous gifts or flowers.

He became like static, a shadow of his former affectionate self. How did I miss that he hadn’t touched me in ages? My rose-colored glasses led me to attribute his behavior to work stress, and I didn’t even think to ask.

Finally, he gathered the courage to speak. The intake of his breath sliced through the heavy tension in the room. My heart thundered, pounding against my ribs so fiercely that I feared they might crack.

“Let’s break up.”

There it was—a love that had once been so innocent, now turned sour and cynical.

𓂃۶ৎ

That night, I went to bed without shedding a tear. I had anticipated being on my knees, pleading for him to stay, expecting to sacrifice my dignity for another chance. But instead, I found myself calm, allowing him to walk away. As the door clicked shut, I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the emptiness within me envelop me.

I propped myself up, feeling sore and weighed down. I opened the curtains to let the sunlight in, welcoming its warmth on my skin. My hand brushed against the empty sheets as I clutched the fabric tightly.

Was my body shutting down? I think I might be in shock.

I feel numb. Life continues to move forward. I’m still breathing, and despite my heart aching, it still beats. My life didn’t end last night simply because I was left behind. I can only wonder what he might be thinking. I should despise him, yet all I can ask is whether he is happy. He probably doesn’t care about my feelings right now; he might even be content.

I let myself sink back onto the mattress, my hair fanned out across the silk pillows. So many memories were created in this bed. I can recall everything, including the moment we first met. That's the nature of break-ups; it feels as if there’s a rewind button that allows you to revisit and analyze where things went wrong. I close my eyes and let the memories wash over me, each one vivid and clear.

𓂃۶ৎ

We met during twilight. It was springtime, the weather just right—not too hot and not too cold. The atmosphere was perfect. Seoul buzzed with both tourists and locals. After studying for what felt like ages, I craved some fresh air. So, I chose to visit my favorite bookstore to grab a newly released title that had just hit the shelves.

As I stepped into the store, the delightful aroma of books and coffee enveloped me. Each visit brought a sense of calm; this place was my sanctuary.

“You’re looking good,” the clerk, Jun, told me. “Did you do something different with your hair?” He asks, raising a brow.

Shaking my head, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I haven’t. But, thank you for the compliment, Jun.” Adding to the comedic effect, I winked at him. He chuckled.

Then, like a light bulb lit up over his head, he lifts a finger and beckons for me to come over. When I walk too slowly, he hurries me to move faster. “You see over there?” He points to the far shelf in the right corner of the store. I hum. “We just got the newest copy from your favourite author. It’s the only one, though, so I’d hurry before anyone else takes it.”

A radiant smile spread across my face. I was so thrilled that I instinctively pulled Jun into a quick hug before darting over to the shelf. Fortunately, the area was empty, which was great news because it seemed like this book was destined to be mine.

Little did I realize how mistaken I was.

My hand reached out for the book, and I had a solid grip on it. However, I soon discovered that someone else was holding on as well. We both tugged at the same moment, but I was determined and refused to release my hold. Clearly, I had gotten to it first, so this other person needed to let go.

I sigh in exasperation. “Excuse me?” I hear a voice call. A male, and to be honest, he had quite a lovely voice. We stop our little game of tug-of-war.

“Yes?” The mystery person laughs in a low, breathy tone. “If you let the book go, I swear I won’t run away or anything. I want to make a deal.”

I found it peculiar that someone would be eager to negotiate over a book; it didn't seem that significant. Yet, for some reason, I went along with it. As I made my way to one end of the aisle, I noticed the footsteps of this stranger following me. I have a tendency to keep my gaze fixed on my feet while walking.

When I finally looked up, I was taken aback by the sight of a striking stranger. He was impeccably dressed, sporting a cream-colored long coat, chocolate brown trousers, and a baby blue turtleneck. His ashy brown hair was quite charming, and he wore the most adorable round glasses.

Snapping me from my slight trance, he asks, “This is the book you wanted, right?” I nodded dumbly. I felt like I couldn’t properly formulate any words right now, so I didn’t want to look like an idiot and stutter in front of him.

The male smiles and scrunches his nose. About that deal, how about you read it first,” He takes my hand with his free one and places the book in it. “But, when you’re done reading it, you call me so we can exchange. Deal?”

I tilt my head to the side. “Wouldn’t there be another copy by the time I’m done, though?”

He bobs his shoulders. “It’s a limited edition.”

“Oh.” I blush in embarrassment. I thought he was actually trying to make a pass at me. Not that I’d complain, he’s very handsome. I nod and stick out my hand. “Give me your phone so I can give you my number.”

We exchange devices, writing each other’s contacts down.

Joshua. That’s his name. It’s a nice one.

“Well...” I pause, reading his name again. “Joshua. I’ll read this and you’ll be getting a call from me in about two days.” I do an ‘OK’ motion with my fingers. Without saying anything else to him, I turned on my heel, and I was about to pay for the book. That was until I was stopped in my tracks when Joshua called for my name unsurely.

“Do you want a coffee?” Joshua asks, his thumb jutting towards the café in the back. “If you’re paying for our book, I feel like I should get you something.”

Our book.

I hesitantly bit my lip as I glanced at the clock; it was 6:14 p.m., and I knew I should head back home. I still had more studying to tackle and a paper to begin. On top of that, who knows if my roommate might come searching for me?

My lips twist to the side, and I can tell by the look on Joshua’s face that he’s waiting for my answer. Whatever.

“Sure,” I shrug. It wouldn’t kill anyone. I’ll only be away for a few hours. I smile, and the man in front of me mirrors my expression. “I really like iced matcha,” I add.

He raised an eyebrow. “Iced matcha? Hmm, I would have thought someone like you would prefer something as cute as a strawberry Frappuccino.”

“Oh really?” I retorted, folding my arms across my chest. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re cute.”

I blinked, quickly turning my face away to hide the blush creeping onto my cheeks. “W-well, perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to judge.” Ugh. I can’t believe I stuttered.

Joshua cocks his head to the empty chairs and tables. “Then we should find us a spot where we can get to know each other more.”

Quite flushed and embarrassed, I walked past him and chose a table where we could see a view of everything outside. From this spot, you could see the people travel back and forth like clockwork. Small children, couples, old people, young people. Any and everybody was in my view, and I seemed to like it more than any landscape.

“What’s on your mind?” Joshua sets my drink in front of me. “You have this certain look on your face,” he observes, analyzing my face further.

I shake my head. “Just enjoying the view outside.”

Joshua leans to catch a glimpse of the crowd beyond the glass. He scrunches his face. “But all you can really see is just people....” he points out, as if it’s obvious. It makes sense that he would say that, most people prefer a clear view of skyscrapers without any distractions.

“I appreciate the variety of people outside. That’s all,” I reply, wrapping my lips around my straw to take a sip of the sweet, cold drink. Joshua rests his chin in the palm of his hand, watching me intently. I swallow and ask, “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” he replies, a grin spreading across his lips. “You’re just very...interesting.”

I clear my throat, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the attention. He must think I’m strange. “In what way?”

Taking a long sip from his drink, he says, “I admire the way you think.” My cheeks flush, and I quickly change the topic to avoid further embarrassment. “How old are you?”

With a playful smirk, Joshua leans in closer. “How old do I look?”

I furrow my brows, honestly assessing him. He doesn’t seem much older than me, but his attire suggests otherwise. “Twenty-five?” I guess.

The guy bursts into laughter, quite loud. “You’re too kind. I’m actually twenty-seven.” Shit. He’s significantly older than I am, so there's no chance he would take me seriously. “And you?”

“Twenty-two,” I reply softly, my focus shifting as I chew on my straw. My gaze drifts to Joshua when I realize he hasn’t responded. I was right.

What catches me off guard is the gentle smile that appears on his face. “I don’t see anything wrong with that. For me, age doesn't matter.” Suddenly, he waves his hands and adds quickly, “I mean that in the least creepy way possible.”

I laugh lightly. “No need to worry. I thought you might treat me differently once you learned my age.”

“I’m having too much fun to feel any differently.”

A flutter of butterflies fills my stomach. His relaxed compliments are making the atmosphere feel more charged than it actually is. “Do you have the time, love?” Joshua asks, prompting me to check my phone. It’s exactly 7 PM, and I share this with him. It's surprising how quickly those forty-five minutes have passed.

It happened without either of us truly realizing it. Still, I enjoyed how effortlessly our conversation flowed. I’d hate to resort to clichés and claim it’s love at first sight, but this is certainly the first time I’ve found myself attracted to someone right from our initial meeting.

“You don’t mind that I keep you for a bit longer?’ I shake my head, and with a breezy smile, I tell him, “I’ve got no other plans, so I don’t see why not.”

𓂃۶ৎ

That was one of the most memorable first dates I’ve ever experienced. I’m not even sure we can truly label it as our first date, but it marked the start of something special between us. We spent the entire night until closing time getting to know each other. Reflecting on it now, I realize what drew me to him so quickly was his playful flirtation. I hadn’t even considered asking him out; my plan was to text him after finishing my novel, and then we would go our separate ways. However, Joshua took the initiative, and from that night forward, we frequently texted and called each other.

During those late-night conversations, I found myself grinning like a fool, sharing thoughts on whatever popped into our heads. Joshua had a way of making reality feel like a dream, and that was his greatest charm.

—

The second official meeting between us occurred during my roommate Soonyoung's birthday party. A few boys he collaborated with on a project were invited, along with some additional friends. I believe I had crossed paths with a few of them on campus once or twice. Since it was a small gathering, decorating our apartment was quite manageable. Drinks were set out in charming little cups, and food was displayed on the counter.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, startling Soonyoung, who was in the bathroom. “Could you get that?” he called, still busy getting ready. He frowned when I laughed at his appearance, but instead of reprimanding me, he simply grumbled.

“Just go get the damn door.” With a string of curse words muttered under his breath, the knocks continued. “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” I flung the door open, and a line of boys entered, greeting me as they stepped into our cozy home. However, the last boy who walked in was someone I recognized all too well.

At first, I didn’t recognize him, but as I took a closer look, I realized it was Joshua. “Didn’t your mother teach you that staring is impolite, love?” he teased, winking at me, making my breath hitch. “Good thing I don’t mind.” He extended his hand for me to take, which I did with a hint of hesitation. Pulling me deeper into the house, he kicked the door shut with his heel. “Let’s go.”

Joshua looked completely different from the last time I saw him. He was no longer the slender young man I had met at the bookstore; instead, he exuded a more alluring vibe. His hair was tousled and stylishly messy. He donned an orange plaid checkered flannel shirt, which reflected his warm personality, along with some denim boyfriend jeans.

To top it off, he wore a beaded necklace. Meanwhile, I had just thrown on whatever I could find in my closet.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers in my ear as he leans over to grab drinks for us both.

I was taken aback. Can this guy really read minds? “Here,” he says, handing me a red solo cup while he swiftly downs his drink. Soonyoung prides himself on being a bit of a mixologist, so I have no clue what he’s brewed up in this batch of liquor he prepared for our guests. I can only imagine he went all out since it’s his birthday celebration.

As Joshua gulped down the drink, his face contorted in disgust, and he even shouted at the unpleasant flavor. It was quite entertaining, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his animated reaction. He tilted his chin toward me, likely curious about why I hadn’t taken a sip yet.

“I’m not really into drinking; I’m perfectly fine with a soda.” I chuckle nervously, setting the drink down. Joshua gazes at me with an unreadable expression, and I suddenly feel a pang of guilt. He must think I’m lame. “S-sorry.”

He exhales softly, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Just wait here for a sec, okay?” Before I can respond, Joshua disappears through the door. He’s gone for about five minutes, and I’m left wondering where he went. When he returns, he’s holding a can of coke and turns the can toward me.

“You said you prefer a soda, right?”

“I would have settled for water; you didn’t need to do that.” I reach into my pocket for my wallet. “Let me pay you back.”

When I offer him some cash, he silently declines and pushes the fizzy drink into my hands. “Thanks,” I murmur quietly.

I expect Joshua to join his friends, but he merely purses his lips and furrows his brow.

“What’s wrong? You must think I’m pretty lame, huh?”

He furrows his brows even more. “Because you don’t want to drink?” When I look away without answering, he realizes he’s gotten his response.

Joshua chuckles. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says lightly. “You know what you like and don’t like. I think it’s really cool that you’re not giving in to the pressure of what everyone else is doing.”

My cheeks flush at his words. “You should tell that to the other friends I have in uni.” I laugh, trying to ease the awkwardness I’ve created.

Joshua rolls his eyes, grabbing an empty cup and the coke from me. He pours the drink into the cup and returns it once it’s filled. “You don’t have to listen to them. After all, you’re your own person, princess.” I look at Joshua with newfound admiration. He’s as intelligent as he is fun-loving, and I find myself envious. I’ve always wanted to be that adventurous, but I’ve always been more of a bookworm who prefers staying in.

“So what if you like soda instead of vodka? That’s just who you are. Don’t let anyone, not even yourself, make you feel uncool because of trends.” I lick my lips and nod in agreement.

“Hyung!” A guy named Chan calls from across the room, arms wrapped around a girl named Jiah (I think that’s her name; we only met briefly).

Chan waves Joshua over to the group of friends he arrived with. “Come on, you’ve been over there all night!”

Joshua squints at him but doesn’t respond. He turns to me, an apologetic look on his face. “It’s okay,” I urge him playfully. “Go join your friends.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, but what surprises me is what he does next.

Before he leaves, he presses a quick kiss to my forehead. I might be reading too much into it, but the fluttering sensation in my stomach doesn’t fade. Soon, most of the partygoers are swaying from the alcohol and laughing loudly at things that probably aren’t that funny.

About four more people join us; they’re classmates of Soonyoung’s with whom he’s become close. Soonyoung and I are in the same university, but we’re actually two years apart in age. Even though he’s my senior, I see him more like a brother.

With music playing and people dancing, Mingyu and a girl named Harin are partners, looking amusing with their dancing. Joshua has everyone laughing with his ridiculous moves.

While I do what I usually do, I stay back and watch everyone enjoy themselves. It’s not that I don’t want to join in; I just prefer observing. I guess I’m a bit of a wallflower.

“You’re not much of a party person, are you?” Joshua sits down next to me on another bar stool.

I shrug. “It’s nice to get out sometimes. I just struggle with interacting.” I mentally chastise myself; I probably sound so dull right now. “I-I mean, I’m having a good time. I’m just really awkward, as you can tell.”

Joshua doesn’t seem put off by my words; in fact, he looks like he’s trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re so cute.”

I groan and look him up and down. “You’re way cuter.”

In that moment, a newfound bravery changes everything. It feels like I’ve let Joshua into my little bubble. He raises an eyebrow and leans closer. “I can show you just how cute you are, but I’ll save that for later.”

I release a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I want to ask what he means, but I think I get it. Joshua leans back slightly, resting his elbow on the bar and taking his gaze off me. “How was the book? Have you finished it?” he asks, shifting the subject.

“Mhmm,” I hum. “I have it in my room.” I clear my throat, squeezing my eyes shut as I prepare to say something bold. “Y-you can come have it once the party is over.”

“I’d love to.” He replies. Most guys would have other intentions if invited into my room, but Joshua seems different. “I think everyone’s ready to head out anyway.”

He’s right. Only a few of us remain, and Soonyoung is passed out drunk on the couch.

“Let me help Soonyoung to bed, and then we can go.” Joshua nods, and I hurry to help my friend up. He whines at the disturbance and rolls his head onto my shoulder.

I do my best to place him on his bed. “Where are you going?” he mumbles sleepily, eyes still closed.

“To bed. Sleep well and happy birthday, love you lots, tiger.” I whisper, setting a tablet of Advil and a glass of water on his bedside table. Soonyoung chuckles softly, getting comfortable as he burrows deeper under his blankets. “Love you too, kid,” he slurs before drifting back to sleep.

I exit his room quietly, finding Joshua already holding his keys and coat. “Ready, babe?”

I sigh. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

We step quietly into my room. I switch on the bedside lamp and cringe at the clothes strewn across the floor and bed. I wish I had cleaned up more. Who could blame me? I never expected a hot guy to be standing in my space.

“Sorry about the mess.” I open my nightstand drawer to fetch the book. “Here, it’s really good. You have to tell me your thoughts on it.” Joshua examines the book and nods in approval. After that, I walk him back to the front door to say goodbye.

There’s a pause filled with a tension I can only describe as pressure. We simply stare at each other, waiting—waiting for what exactly?

“Goodnight, Joshua,” I whisper.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he replies. The low, raspy tone of his voice makes me bite my bottom lip. At that moment, his gaze flickers from my lips to my eyes.

Joshua doesn’t leave; instead, he closes the distance between us, reducing the space until there’s barely any left. I swallow, bracing myself for what’s about to unfold.

“Tell me to stop,” Joshua pleads, but I can hear in his voice that he hopes I won’t.

With only a few centimetres separating our lips, I say, “I don’t want you to.” Joshua cradles my cheek gently as he leans in to kiss me.

𓂃۶ৎ

That was my very first kiss.

Joshua was the one who played a significant role in many of my first experiences. While it may seem silly to wear one of his shirts right now, it feels surprisingly comforting.

As I brush my teeth to prepare for the day, I absentmindedly play with the silver number four on my necklace. For the first time since Joshua left, a single tear escapes, quickly followed by many others, leaving me in a state of hysteria. I rinse my mouth and take a seat on the closed toilet, allowing myself to weep.

This feels great; I really needed this release. I had to let out everything I was holding in. My throat was on fire, and I was aware that my eyes would be swollen, but it didn’t matter to me.

I fisted the trinket, wanting to keep it close. It would probably cause so much more pain than what I’m already in, but if it meant that I would remember him, then it’s worth it.

𓂃۶ৎ

“And for you, sweetheart, here’s a little gift from me.” Joshua stands behind me, adorned in the present he chose for me. It was a beautiful, shimmering gold necklace, 4 inches long, featuring a delicate heart charm.

“Do you like it?” He gently kisses my cheek, a sweet gesture that warms my heart.

“I love it so much, Joshua, thank you.” He smiles that pretty smile I had grown to like more through the months we’ve spent together, dare I say love. Joshua nestles his nose into my neck, inhaling my perfume and nipping the skin.

“I received it since our meeting in April, the fourth month.” I turn to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he pulls me closer by holding my lower back. Standing on my toes, I steal a kiss from him. Joshua had chosen to go all out for my birthday. I had mentioned that I didn’t want much; we had just returned from a lavish dinner that he had treated me to.

“I…” I hold back, fearing that if I utter those words, he might run away.

“Go ahead, say it, baby.” He encourages, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Please.” I was diving deep into my feelings. Although he hadn't formally asked me to be his girlfriend yet, it didn't seem important at the moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too and you drive me so fucking crazy.” His breaths are blowing on my lips. I don’t wait to connect our lips. Joshua holds my thighs and I jump, my legs tangling fervently around his waist. In a moment my back makes contact with the bed. He’s hovering over me, the both of us emitting noises I’ve never heard before. I push his lips apart using this access to slip my tongue into his mouth. My tongue brushes the roof of his mouth earning a moan from him.

I whine when Joshua pulls away. Both of us are panting, and our pupils dilated. “Will you..” Joshua’s chest is heaving, and I can feel his breath hitting my neck. “be my girlfriend?”

I cradle the sides of his face and kiss the apple of his cheek, his nose, then finally plant a kiss to his swollen lips once more. “You didn't even have to ask.”

𓂃۶ৎ

Not only did I become his girlfriend that night two years ago, but I also gave myself to him completely. It was everything I had dreamed of and more. He was affectionate and truly exceptional. Joshua made love to me with the utmost tenderness.

As I gazed into the mirror, a hiccup escaped my lips. At that moment, my phone buzzed; it was a text from my ex.

6:08PM | Josh: I’ll be over tomorrow to get my things

I respond swiftly with a simple, “Okay,” and close the message, unable to tolerate his emotionless reply even in text form.

Biting my thumb, I scroll through my contacts until I find Soonyoung’s number. I call him, and by the third ring, he answers.

“Hello?”

“Soonyoung…” My voice clearly reveals that I've been crying, and he can tell I'm not fooling anyone.

“Hey, hey kid, what’s wrong?” he asks, his tone filled with genuine concern.

Like a dam that breaks, so do my whimpers. I compose myself enough to tell him. “Joshua broke up with me last night,” I take in a huge breath, “C-can you come over please?”

All he does is sigh. “That asshole. I’m coming, don’t do anything crazy.”

It wasn't long before he arrived at my house. His frantic knocking suggested he was quite worried. I shuffled my way to the front door, dragging my feet. As soon as I opened it, Soonyoung enveloped me in a warm embrace. He guided me to the couch and gently squeezed my shoulders before rushing off to my kitchen.

A moment later, Soonyoung returned with two beers in hand, placing one in front of me while cracking open the other for himself.

“So,” He pauses to take a sip. “When do you want me to kill him?” As the older one between us, Soonyoung has looked after me like an older brother or father figure. His protective nature brings the faintest smile to my face. However, I quickly recall the reason for his presence, and tears begin to well up once more.

I shake my head, allowing my tears to fall onto my palm. I shrug and say, “He left me.” There isn’t much more to add.

It’s quite straightforward: Joshua left me.

“That’s it?!” Soonyoung exclaims, his eyes wide and his face contorted in disbelief. I nod, watching as his expression softens, likely realizing that it’s better not to raise his voice right now. He seems more upset than I am, and I can understand why; I would feel the same if I were in his position.

With a sigh, my friend rubs his temples. “What exactly did he say? Were you two arguing for a while?”

I find myself pondering that question too. I’m unsure why Joshua abruptly wanted to break up. To me, everything seemed fine; I loved him, and I believed he loved me in return. Clearly, I was mistaken.

“He just said we should break up,” I reply, my throat feeling scratchy and dry like sandpaper. Taking a deep breath, I rest my forehead in my hands. “And I just let him go.” I exhale, feeling my throat tighten. “We weren’t fighting; everything was fine between us. Or so I thought.”

“Jesus...” Soonyoung mutters in horror, opening his arms for me. He rubs my back and lets me sob on his shoulder, not caring that I was wetting his blouse. His cheek is on top of my head as he whispers that everything will be okay, and that he was stupid for letting someone like me go. “Oh kid,” he calls for me gently, pulling away and wiping the tears from my cheeks.

I sniffle. “I’m so stupid, right?”

The look in his eyes is something like pity or maybe it was sympathy. “No, no, I know you loved him,” he starts, and hearing him say that makes my heart clench. I did love him, and I still do love him.

“And I know that you shared a lot of things with him.” It was true, aside from being my boyfriend, Joshua was my best friend. “You didn’t let him go, so don’t blame yourself. It was him. He’s stupid. He didn’t have the balls to look back and see what he’s leaving behind.”

“I guess.” My tone was dry and monotonous.

Soonyoung takes me back into his arms like a father would, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

I made a mistake. While I may not have died last night, two years of my life certainly did. And that part of me simply walked out the door.

𓂃۶ৎ

I rarely run, but right now, it feels necessary. I need to clear my mind. Being surrounded by pictures and memories is driving me crazy, and I have to escape it. My phone buzzes, but I choose to ignore it and start my run.

The weather outside reflects my mood perfectly. It’s dark, overcast, and there’s even a light drizzle. Yet, it feels invigorating, and despite my sweat causing my clothes to cling to me, I don’t mind. With each step I take, I release all my pent-up frustrations.

My boyfriend left me without any explanation, like a ghost that simply vanished. I think I’ve entered the anger phase of grief.

Was I not enough for him? Did I fail to make him happy? What did I do wrong?

I can’t run any longer; my lungs feel as if they’re burning, and this path is unfamiliar to me. I gasp for breath, the cold air mixing with my body’s heat. As I pause, emotions I had suppressed—fear, pain, and anger—rise to the surface. I release it all with a piercing scream, crouching down on my knees and wailing uncontrollably.

Did I care about the curious glances from other runners? Not at all. All I wanted was to return to my apartment and collapse into sleep. Rather than running home, I chose to walk, taking my time.

However, when I finally stepped into my apartment, I was met with the last thing I expected.

“I-I thought you were coming tomorrow?” The fear in my voice was unmistakable. My heart raced, feeling as if it might explode from pounding so fiercely. As I gazed at the back of my boyfriend—now my ex—I swallowed hard and fought to blink away the pounding headache that was creeping in.

He was holding something but placed it down and turned to face me. It's hard to believe that just a day apart has left us feeling like complete strangers. Building relationships takes years, yet it only takes a moment to shatter one.

I study him closely. He looks fine; there are no dark circles under his eyes, and he doesn’t appear to have been crying—he seems entirely normal. In fact, he looks annoyed to find himself in the same space as me. I had no clue he would be here, so his anger seems unwarranted.

“I texted you.” He gestures toward my bag as he speaks. For a brief moment, I relish the sound of his voice; it's still sweet like honey, yet now it feels cold and devoid of emotion. It's a bittersweet experience, but at least it's him. Joshua clears his throat and rolls his eyes. “Did you hear me?”

I must’ve been staring off into space. I shake my head. “Sorry. W-what did you say?”

This time, he lets out a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. “You know what?” Joshua says with a sense of defeat, lowering his hands to his sides. “I’ll just come back tomorrow.” He grabs the box containing a few shirts and pictures, brushing past me. I refuse to let him slip away again.

I grasp his arm, halting his departure. I’m taken aback that he doesn’t shake me off.

“P-please don’t go,” I beg, our backs turned to each other. A heavy silence hangs in the air.

“Please, don’t leave me, Joshua.” I bite the inside of my cheek, struggling against the stinging sensation that wells up behind my eyes. I’m not sure what I truly anticipated, but I never imagined I would hear Joshua say something so cold as, “Let me go.”

His words carried a double meaning. It was a plea to release him physically and to finally let go of him. Both were unbearable for me, yet I did it for his sake.

Gradually, I loosened my grip, and in an instant, he was gone.

𓂃۶ৎ

Time indeed has a way of healing. A year and a half after my well-known breakup with Joshua, I pushed myself to move forward. Deep down, I didn’t want to accept it, but it was clear that Joshua no longer cared for me, and it was time to stop wasting my energy on him. While I don’t harbor the same level of hatred as Soonyoung does, I can’t deny that I still have some lingering affection for him.

I was quite young when I first met Joshua, which is why that initial heartbreak was so difficult. Now that I have matured, I’ve encountered better men, including my current boyfriend. Many women are drawn to him, and I completely understand why. He’s attractive, tall, and strong—truly the ideal partner.

“Hajoon,” I called out to my boyfriend while swirling my coffee with the mixer. The guy across from me, absorbed in his phone, replied with a grunt. I tossed the stirrer aside and let out a sigh.

“You said we could go to dinner tonight.”

In terms of looks, my boyfriend is perfect, but personality-wise, he tends to be a bit lazy. Despite his flaws, he treats me well, and I appreciate him for that.

He shrugged. “Yeah, but you need to cover the bill this time.”

I let out a groan. “I covered the bill last time...and the times before that.” I rolled my eyes in annoyance. Hajoon scoffed, stashing his phone away and sitting up straight. “I’ll take care of it next time. So, are we going or not?” he challenged.

Not wanting to escalate the situation, I took a sip of my coffee and replied, “It’s okay, we can do something else tomorrow or maybe this weekend. I’m swamped with work, and Soonyoung wants to hang out.” I flashed him my best smile, but it only earned me another eye roll.

Just as the tension between us grew, Hajoon’s phone rang, and he quickly answered it.

“Yes, hyung?” I want to avoid giving the impression that I'm eavesdropping, so I keep myself occupied by scrolling through social media. Nothing really grabs my attention until I come across a photo of an old high school friend, posing under my ex's arm.

So, he has moved on as well?

I shouldn't feel hurt by this, but it brings a bittersweet smile to my face. This girl has had a crush on Joshua ever since I introduced them.

𓂃۶ৎ

“Come on, Aerin, you know I don't do that.” I emphasize once again that Aerin wants me to go clubbing, which is far from my scene—I really don’t enjoy it at all.

She whines, pulling at my arm. “Don’t be such a downer!” She playfully swats my arm. “You’re killing the vibe! We’re twenty-two; we’re meant to have a good time!” I choose to ignore her, adjusting my bag higher on my shoulder and picking up my pace.

"We should go on a double date! I can invite this Vernon, and you can bring your boyfriend!" I might have been reading too much into it, but it seemed like she was more thrilled about the idea of me bringing Joshua along.

That makes sense; he's quite popular and well-liked. However, I can't help but feel that Aerin might have a bit of a crush on him. Scrunching my nose in thought, I let out a sigh and reluctantly pulled out my phone to text Joshua. "Alright," I mutter. It took him less than two minutes to respond, and to my dismay, he said yes.

Aerin waits anxiously, especially when she notices my gloomy expression. “He said he’d love to come."

“Yes!” She leaps in excitement, earning a puzzled glance from me. She then jumps onto my back, wrapping her arms around me tightly. “This is going to be so much fun! Go home and change into something pretty! I’ll see you later; I need to get ready!”

I realize it’s too late to back out with an excuse about feeling unwell, but Aerin wouldn’t hear of it. I followed her advice and headed home, where Joshua also arrived to help me choose the best outfits.

It’s on the third outfit that Joshua smirks, turning my cheeks into a flaming red, and takes my hips, pinning them against his.

“This looks perfect,” He pressed a hot kiss to the sweet spot under my ear. It makes my knees buckle, and I lean onto him for support. Joshua blows cool air onto the spot, holding me steady. “My girl is the prettiest girl on earth.” He states proudly.

Feeling troubled in different ways, I sulk. My boyfriend raises an eyebrow and asks, "What’s bothering you?" I find myself overanalyzing the situation, wondering if Aerin really has feelings for this Vernon guy and is simply thrilled for me. After all, she has always encouraged me to date. Still, I can’t shake off how at ease she seems around him.

I shake my head and reply, “Don’t worry about it.” I brush it off.

He pats my bum, glaring at me for an answer. I try to stare back with the same intensity as him, but I cower and confess.

“I think Aerin has a crush on you,” I whisper, fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt.

To my surprise, he bursts into a hearty laugh that sends my heart racing. “Doll, you can’t be serious?”

When he notices my pout and sees that I'm not joking, his laughter gradually diminishes. He nudges me playfully, saying, “Baby, there’s just no way.”

“Feelings aren’t something people can control, Joshua,” I sigh. “She’s beautiful, and who knows what could happen if she decides to flirt with you? You’re mine, and she should keep her distance.”

“Oh, baby,” he says, lifting my chin and gently caressing my lower back while chuckling. “I only have eyes for you, and yes, I’m yours. Besides, Vernon, you, and probably Soonyoung would never let me get away if I make a move on her or anyone else in that matter.”

He’s right. Soonyoung would probably rip him limb from limb. He also knows how much Vernon likes Aerin. Joshua and I both agree that they’d make a pretty cute couple. “You’re such a handsome guy, I can’t help but feel afraid.” I admit, burying my face into his hard chest.

The beat of his heart comforts me, and I feel calm listening to it. “I thought I made it very clear that my girl is the prettiest in the world, did I not?”

“What if I’m not your girl anymore?” I cock my head to the side, waiting for his answer.

With a lopsided boyish grin, he answers, “You’ll always be my girl. I’d stay single forever even if for some reason we aren’t together.” He kisses my forehead, “But, that’ll never happen, you’re too perfect.”

Joshua nibbles at my jawline. I rub his chest, mostly for him to stop, but also enjoying the feeling he gives me. So, really, I don’t want him to stop.

“Joshua,” I breathe. “We’ll never leave if you don’t stop.” Joshua meets my eyes with a lustful gaze, which makes my heart rev in my chest. I gulp, knowing what this look means. He doesn’t say anything but kisses me, hugging me flush against his body. These weren’t the normal kisses. These were hot and heavy, passionate and wanting. The moment my boyfriend threw me on the bed and climbed over me, I was done for.

Neither Joshua nor I went to the club that night or saw Aerin, but instead stayed with each other, not getting any sleep until the early morning hours.

𓂃۶ৎ

“What are you smiling at?” Hajoon inquires, sipping from his straw. “I noticed you were a bit lost in thought after ending your call.”

I must have drifted off into old memories. One thing is certain: Joshua was deceitful, and Aerin had achieved her goal. I shrug my shoulders, saying, “Just reminiscing.”

My phone buzzes twice, revealing a text from Soonyoung, asking for assistance with settling into his new home. “Hajoon, I need to head out,” I say as I tuck my phone away.

“I’ll catch you at the apartment. Are you sure you’ll be okay leaving?” He glances back at his phone, seeming indifferent.

“Yeah,” I reassure him. I rise from my seat and plant a quick kiss on his soft lips to say goodbye.

Although Hajoon and I don’t live together, I spend most of my time at his place. Soonyoung and I need to sort out a few things before I can head to Hajoon’s apartment and spend the rest of the weekend resting. As I drive, my bluetooth notifies me that my mother is calling.

“Hi, Mom.” I greet when I press the button on my steering wheel.

Her voice comes softly when she asks, “Are you driving?”

I hum. “I am,” I pause for a moment, concentrating on switching lanes. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m okay, I sure would like to see my daughter every once in a while, though." She scolds. Even though I can’t see her, I can almost feel her stare. “But,” She sighs, chuckling a bit. “It’s good to hear from you. How have you been?”

I breathe deeply. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

I rub my temples when I come to a stop light. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

For the most part, I’m okay. Soonyoung and I began working together on designing web pages together and it’s been going well, I love my job. I’m in a stable relationship, I think. What’s there that isn’t fine?

“Just a little stressed, something came up at work.”

There is silence on the other line. “That’s it?”

My mother was always stubborn when it came to issues I may have. In a way, it reminded me of someone I used to know, I chuckle. “I swear I’m okay, Mom.”

She mutters, “Just be strong, everything happens for a reason.” I’ve pulled up to Soonyoung’s driveway and for a moment, I just sit there, letting my mother’s words replay. I worked hard to move along, to forget Joshua, but I can’t forget my first love.

Especially when he left me without a reason. If everything happens for a reason, why couldn’t I get one?

“Mom, I need go, I’ll visit you soon. Okay?”

“Alright, I love you honey.”

We bid our final farewells before hanging up. I slung my purse over my shoulder and walked straight to Soonyoung’s door, knocking a bit loudly due to how noisy it is inside. A boy I recognize as Seokmin, opens the door with a friendly smile. I return one back, or at least I try to.

“Hi. Is Soonyoung home?” Seokmin’s face flashes in surprise and he puts his palm to his forehead.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” He wonders. I raise my eyebrow, waiting for him to go on. Whatever Soonyoung was trying to tell me, I was surely not informed. “He said to hold off on whatever it was you two were supposed to do.”

I nod, trying to hide the irritated expression on my face. I think Seokmin could tell how annoyed I am due to the way I clenched my fist. I love Soonyoung like a brother, but that boy is so unorganized.

“Tell him to call me when he’s ready.” Seokmin smiles uneasily, but agrees with my request. “I’ll make sure to. Drive safely!”

I text Hajoon to tell him that I’ll be at the apartment waiting for him, and much to my luck, traffic isn’t bad at all. I type in the passcode and walk in, taking off my shoes and hanging my purse on the coat rack. I pad my way into the kitchen, only to be surprised when I see dishes in the sink.

That’s odd, this morning the sink was totally clear, and Hajoon has been with me all day. I shouldn’t work myself up, it’s probably nothing, I must’ve left those in there by accident. There isn’t anything for me to really do, so I decide to start cleaning up the mess Hajoon or I must’ve left behind before we left for work earlier today.

There’s a blanket on the couch, one that I know for sure Hajoon doesn’t use, and the smell coming off of it doesn’t smell anything like a woman’s perfume.

“Wait a minute,” I bite on my thumb, Hajoon has a roommate that recently moved in! I was close to going crazy. I fold the blanket, but I can’t shake the familiar scent. It doesn’t smell like Hajoon, it smells like....Never mind.

Once I've finished tidying up, I slip into Hajoon's room, getting cozy in his bed and wrapping myself in his comforters. Even after starting my new relationship with Hajoon, I often feel alone.

With Joshua, I was always in his presence, even if it was just for a quick nap. He was there for me. Hajoon, however, isn't the type to openly express his feelings or be overly affectionate. I appreciate a certain level of clinginess and the reassurance of knowing how someone feels about me. I can’t say Joshua was always transparent with his emotions; he had a talent for concealing things right up until the very end. I let out a frustrated sigh, rolling over and tangling my hair in the pillows.

Why am I thinking about him now? I'm at my boyfriend's house; I should be focused on him, not my ex... the one I'm still struggling to move on from. I suppose it’s true what they say: you never truly get over your first love.

If only I were prepared for the genuine heartache that realization brings. I envy those who marry and start families with their first loves; it feels like a dream to me. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined a long-term future with Joshua. I pictured countless experiences we could have shared that I can't envision with Hajoon.

“Hajoon?”

That voice. No, it can’t be.

I want to get up and see who it is, but my body feels heavy and unresponsive. “Hajoon?” The voice calls out again. I hear footsteps approaching the bedroom, my heart racing and my eyes squeezed shut. Hajoon’s roommate doesn’t enter the room, probably realizing he's not here.

I’m not sure why I feel so anxious; it’s not a crime for Hajoon to have a girl in his room, but the identity of that voice is what makes me uneasy.

Joshua can’t possibly be here; there’s no way that was him.

𓂃۶ৎ

“Babe?” A raspy voice calls out to me. I feel soft kisses being placed on my cheeks, slowly making their way down my neck. Struggling to open my eyes, I glance at the clock.

It’s 2 AM; I must have drifted off. Hajoon is straddling me, leaning down to kiss me more. I'm really not in the mood, and he knows it when I gently push him away.

He lets out an annoyed sigh, tossing himself to the side and wiping his face. I sit up and rub my eyes, slurring, “I’m going to get some water,” as I stand and shuffle toward the kitchen. I flinch at the sight of the lights already on and a figure standing at the opposite counter. Now fully awake, I can't see their face, but I know exactly who it is.

“J-Joshua?”

Upon hearing his name called, he turns around, momentarily looking stunned. However, just like the day he departed, his face soon becomes expressionless. The familiar wave of anxiety washes over me, and I momentarily forget the purpose of my visit. Should I go? Should I say something? What is the right move?

No, I occupy the same space as he does; I shouldn’t leave. I’m supposed to be over him—at least, that’s what I’m convincing myself of. The encounter feels like two strangers meeting for the first time, filled with awkwardness.

I grab the pitcher of water from the fridge and pour it, the sound of water splashing into the cup becoming the only noise between us. The aroma of the ramen he’s cooking fills the air, and I chuckle softly to myself; that was always one of his favorite late-night snacks.

He clears his throat. “So, you’re with Hajoon now?” he asks, turning off the stove and reaching for a pair of chopsticks from the drawer. I can sense his gaze on me. “Yeah,” I reply, taking a slow sip of my water and leaning against the counter. “And you’re with Aerin?”

He scoffs dismissively. “Not a chance.”

I frown; I saw that Instagram picture—what's the point of lying?

“But what about that Instagram picture?”

Joshua looks at me for a moment longer before bursting into laughter, as if I’ve just said something utterly absurd. “That? I was at her wedding. She married Vernon.”

“Oh.” I feel like an idiot. I totally misunderstood the situation.

He rolls his eyes and says, “I already told you I don’t like her.”

I had no idea he would choose to stay single after our breakup. He could have pursued anyone he wanted—someone much better than me, someone prettier, someone with a charisma that would have perfectly complemented his personality. So why had he remained alone all this time while seeming content? Why did I have to endure the pain and face the man who shattered my heart, who acted as if he hadn’t caused me so much grief?

Despite not receiving any answers about why he left, I finally have an opportunity to ask. At first, I remain silent, my lips feeling sealed shut. I struggle to find the courage to pose the question that has been haunting me. Taking a sharp breath, I grip the counter tightly to steady myself. This is my moment.

“W-why did you...” My throat tightens as I speak. Confrontation has never been my strong suit, and he knows it. “Why did you...leave?” I sound so weak and pitiful, and I despise that feeling. I hate being this vulnerable around him. I've moved on; I should be strong and furious. Why can’t I feel anger towards him?

“You never gave me any reason…”

Joshua pauses, looking as though he’s weighing whether to share his thoughts. As I observe him, I’m struck by how much he has changed. He smirks and steps closer.

He cocks his eyebrow, “You really want to know?” I remain silent, yet the expression in my eyes reveals my desperation and urgency. Leaning in closer to my ear, he whispers, “You were dragging me down.”

He has become so skilled at making me cry, which is quite ironic since he always said he couldn't stand to see me in tears. I feel my hand shaking and I ball them into fists. I clench my teeth up until the point where they feel like they’re going to crack. And suddenly, I let it all go. I blink slowly, accepting the fresh wounds he’s given me with grace.

For the first time since I’ve known Joshua, I put him at a loss of words.

“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much, Joshua.”

𓂃۶ৎ

I hurried to Soonyoung's place as soon as I got up. I dashed out of the apartment, giving my boyfriend a quick kiss and promising to call him later. I informed Soonyoung that I needed to see him urgently, and without hesitation, he invited me over.

I knocked on the door a bit too eagerly, and as soon as he opened it, I rushed in and plopped down on the couch.

“What made you wake me up at 9 in the morning AND on a Saturday?” he asked, his eyes flashing with irritation. Mornings aren’t his strong suit, and if I don’t clarify quickly, I might get in trouble.

“I went to Hajoon’s place last night, and I woke up in the middle of the night. When I made my way to the kitchen, his new roommate was there—"

He yelps, his lips twitching in anger, “That’s what you wanted to tell me?!”

“I-it was Joshua. Joshua is his roommate.” I admit quietly.

His expression softened at that moment. He remained silent, so I continued. “I’m not sure what happened. One minute we were quiet, and the next, I blurted out why he ended things with me, and he…”

“He what?” He settled down beside me, gripping my knee tightly, unable to sit still due to the tension.

“Come on!” he urged, shaking me gently. I let out a sigh. “He told me I was holding him back. At first, I was furious, but then I felt calm. I told him I hated him and walked away.” I buried my face in my hands, feeling quite embarrassed as I reflected on it.

It was a complete lie; I don't actually hate him. I was simply reacting to my emotions in the heat of the moment.

When I said that, Joshua appeared genuinely shocked. I’m not sure what that means, but he seemed hurt.

Soonyoung shakes his head and says, "You deserve so much better than him."

He bites his lip and his knee is bouncing. He’s mad, very mad. “I didn’t think it was possible for me to want to kill him even more than I already wanted to before.’’

“I’ll be alright, tiger. Don’t go get him.” I assured him, smiling, hoping it would calm him down.

He turns to me with an unsure look on her face. “You sure? I know where to hide the body.”

I found myself laughing for the first time in ages. “I appreciate your loyalty, but this is a battle I need to fight on my own.” Soonyoung sighed and wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“You’re incredibly strong. After everything he’s put you through, you’ve emerged even stronger.”

“I owe that to you. Without your support, I don’t know how I would have managed.” He waved his hand dismissively. Soonyoung isn’t one to accept compliments easily; he dislikes being praised. But I genuinely mean it—he’s been my best friend through this breakup.

It’s Saturday, and I know Soonyoung will want to return to bed, so I embrace him one last time and let him know I’m heading out.

He sees me to the door, and I drive back to Hajoon’s apartment. Unlocking the door, I notice food on the counter with a sticky note attached.

“You weren’t here, so I left this in case you didn’t eat while you were out.”

I can tell it’s not Hajoon’s handwriting, and I’m puzzled as to why Joshua would go through the trouble of cooking for me, especially after last night. I decide to ignore the food; I’m not very hungry.

It seems my boyfriend left shortly after I did because when I snuggle up in our bed, he’s not there. Unable to fall back asleep, I occupy myself by playing games on my phone and mindlessly scrolling through social media.

I have no plans for the day, and I’m uncertain about Hajoon’s whereabouts.

Nature calls, and it appears Joshua and I still share the habit of wanting the same things at the same time.

Our interaction was awkward. All I wanted was to use the bathroom. As I reached for the door, he did the same. His hand brushed against mine but withdrew almost immediately upon contact.

“Sorry,” I mutter, stepping aside for him to go first.

He gestures toward the bathroom, “You can go.” He avoids my gaze, scratching the back of his neck and sighing frequently.

I despise this. Why did we have to cross paths again? He has changed so much. Am I truly the reason for such a significant transformation in him?

I shake my head. “I’ll just wait.” I pivot and leave. Being near him still makes my heart race as it did when we were together.

This time, it’s painful; each breath I took felt effortless before, and I felt at ease. Nothing has shifted within me; I still feel as empty as he left me the first time. I know everything about him, yet I feel so far away, as if I’m viewing him through a glass window.

These brief encounters with Joshua are unavoidable, especially since I partially live with his roommate. If I’m not seeing him, reminders of him linger in my own apartment.

“Um...” Joshua knocks on the door awkwardly. It’s another day where Hajoon is off working and I’m alone. Well, not completely. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for Joshua to speak.

He clears his throat, “Do you want some food? I have leftovers from the other night in the fridge?” I stare at him, and stare, and stare some more until I fix my mouth to ask, “Why are you doing this Joshua?”

He frowns. “Doing what?”

I close my laptop, shifting on the bed where my legs are crossed, “This,” I point between us. “Being nice, why are you doing this?”

Joshua rolls his eyes and digs his hands in his pockets, “What? I can’t be decent to you?” He asks, his tone condescending.

“Oh I’m sorry.” I laugh, too sweetly. “I didn’t know you were so considerate. Let me know where that Joshua was when he left me.”

That’s what did it. Joshua was getting angry, he bit his lip and I could see his cheeks beginning to turn red. I couldn’t control myself, I felt like I had to get this all out. So I did.

“Where was that Joshua when I was alone and mending a broken heart, huh? Where was he? He wasn’t there! You weren’t there!” I hardly raise my voice and Joshua is shocked.

“Oh that’s right!” I angrily wipe tears from my cheeks. “He said I was holding him down!” I laugh hollowly, the ache in my chest constricting my breathing “He never loved me to begin with.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” Joshua snapped. His eyes were cold and glazed with vexation. So this is what it looks like to see Joshua at the end of his patience.

“I...I did everything to remember how I was before I met you. I was different, I spent all my time with you.” Hearing this makes my lip quiver. Joshua sounds so desperate, like he’s pleading for something.

If it’s my forgiveness, he can forget it.

“Being with you made me forget myself. But I loved you, so much to the point where that turned me into something I wasn’t.”

My lips twitched, but I can't bring myself to speak. I wanted to yell more, to ask if that was my fault, but now I was more exhausted than anything.

“You’re with another man anyway. Shouldn’t you have forgotten about me already?” Joshua breathes.

I get off my bed and walk towards Joshua slowly. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but my hand slaps him clean across his cheek. His head is turned from the impact and he hasn’t turned to face me yet.

Now I know what to say.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t throw you away, you were always better than me, you should know better than anyone else on how to do that.” I shove past him, making him lose his footing and stumble a bit.

“Even when he doesn’t treat you right?”

“What?”

He chuckles mockingly. “You’d rather be in a relationship where you’re unhappy than alone?”

I want to turn around and tell him off even more. What’s the point of it though?

“Hajoon doesn’t treat me right, but he’s never lied to me like you did. And he actually fucking communicates.” I take in a shaky breath. Joshua surely knows how to make me reach my breaking point.

“What happens between my boyfriend and I is between us. You already made your choice.”

𓂃۶ৎ

“Do you want to go out tonight?” I sigh. “I’m tired Hajoon... Can we watch a movie or something?”

Ever since that argument with Joshua, I’ve been drained. I haven’t been talking much to anyone lately and I know that I’m going to tell Soonyoung soon enough. I won’t be able to let Hajoon know, that would only cause more problems.

Hajoon clenches his jaw, running his hands through his hair and storms off the couch. I chase after him, stopping him before he opens the door to leave.

“Wait, Hajoon, let’s talk–” He shoves me off of him, a bit too forcefully. His expressions soften, but his frustration returns.

“I’m going out.” He puts it plainly.

I stomp my foot, grabbing his attention. Even though Hajoo is a lot taller than me, I didn’t feel intimidated. “Let’s talk about this, why are you running away?”

“Are you serious?” Hajoon narrows his eyes. “You’re a fucking bore! You never want to do anything! You don’t want to go clubbing, you don’t want to go out to eat! We haven’t had sex in weeks!”

“And I assume you’re going to do all of that once you step out that door?” I challenged, stepping closer to him. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but all of a sudden I’m keeping my ground.

As if to add fuel to the fire, Hajoon smiles sarcastically. “Yes.”

I scoff. “You’re an asshole.”

He roars angrily, a stinging pain coming across my face. “In my house, you speak to me with respect! Do you understand?” I’m too much in shock to answer and the side of my face feels like it’s burning.

The door slams and I flinch. I stand for a little longer, cradling my face. I slide down the wall weeping quietly to myself.

I must’ve sat there for thirty minutes wallowing like that before someone unlocked the door. I’m scared it would be Hajoon, but instead, it was Joshua.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart, what happened?” He crouches in front of me, moving my hair from my face gently. I try to swat his hands away, but he holds my wrists, inspecting my face to see a bright red mark that would bruise for the next few days.

“Fuck.” Joshua curses the sudden force in his tone surprising me. He notices my reaction and lifts my arm over his shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.’ Joshua lifts me, balancing me by resting his hand against my stomach. “I’m going to kill that fucker, I swear.” He sits me on the bar stool and runs off to the room Hajoon and I shared. He comes back with my phone and shoes in hand. Joshua wears

My shoes for me and holds my phone, taking me out of the apartment and downstairs to the parking garage.

“I can buckle my seatbelt, Joshua.” I mutter, taking the strap away from him and clicking it in place. Joshua looks worried, his eyes are darting from my eyes to the mark on my cheek. “I’m really tired.”

“Right.” He says hastily, starting the car and driving off. The good thing is I don’t have to give him any directions, since he already knows the way. Once we’re at the complex, he helps me out of the car, but I insist that I can walk on my own.

It’s been a while since I’ve been to my own place, and it’s hard to think right now. Joshua moves me to the side and punches the code in. He remembers.

“I’ll call Soonyoung and leave–“

“Please don’t.” I hold onto his shoulder. The first time I asked him to do this, he told me to get off of him. Now, he’s letting me hug onto him and cry on his shoulder.

“Don’t go again, Joshua. Please? I don’t think I can take it, if you walk away from me again.”

It’s unfamiliar, him wrapping his arms tightly around my middle like this. He tries to hush me and calm me down, but even as we’re curled up together as I try to fall asleep, I just can’t come to stop crying. He presses his lips against my forehead and I rub my thumb on the apple of his cheek. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know, baby, I know…” Joshua tucks the crown of my head under his chin. He uses his free hand to draw random shapes on my back. It calms me, every time I blink I feel it becoming harder to stay awake. “I’m here now, just rest okay?”

It’s almost too good to be true.

I want to ask if this is real, but that would ruin it. Even if I’m imagining this, at least he’s here with me again.

𓂃۶ৎ

I woke up by myself, feeling a wave of panic wash over me until I caught the sound of voices drifting from the kitchen.

“You don’t deserve her, Joshua.” I recognized Soonyoung's voice; that icy tone was meant solely for Joshua.

Joshua let out a sigh. “I’m aware of that, Soonyoung.”

“Then just leave.”

“She… she asked me to stay.”

A heavy silence followed.

“You’re an asshole, do you even realize how much damage you’ve caused her?” He scoffs. “She was so broken because of you, Joshua.”

“I know that, Soonyoung.”

“Did you even love her?”

At this point, I’ve slipped out of the room and into the hallway where they can't spot me. I realize it’s wrong to eavesdrop, but hearing the truth seems worth it.

“I loved her,” he exclaimed, his voice rising. Joshua then coughs and continues in a softer tone, “I still do.”

“Sure,” Soonyoung responds, clearly skeptical of Joshua’s declaration. Meanwhile, I stand there, eyes wide, focused on his back.

He still loves me?

“Is that the reason you ended things with her for no fucking reason?”

“I made a sacrifice; I was beginning to change so much. Change scares me... I felt lost and didn’t know how to handle it. I realize now it was foolish of me, but I realize now it was too late.”

“Sounds like you were saving your own ass.” Soonyoung sneers.

Before this turns into anything too ugly, I step out quietly, gathering both of their attention.

“Joshua,” I curl a hair behind my ear. “Can I talk to you?”

I gave a single nod to Soonyoung, signaling that I was alright.

He takes this as his cue to exit, but not without casting one last scowl at Joshua. Joshua trails behind me as we return to the room, where we sit facing each other on the bed.

This bed holds so much history between us.

“I'm sorry for hitting you the other day. That was… completely out of line,” I say softly. As I look at him now, I notice his hair is tousled and there are slight bags under his eyes. He appears anxious and troubled; this is a new side of Joshua that I’ve never encountered before.

He shakes his head, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “I deserved it. I’m sure you’ve wanted to do that for quite a while.”

There’s a moment of silence. Despite my own pain, I don’t want him to feel hurt too. While most women might seek revenge, I realize I’m still quite different from the others.

“I’m sorry for bringing you down.”

Another pause. We drink in each other’s appearance, reminding ourselves of one another.

“No, baby, please. Don’t say that. I was a coward. None of this was your fault. I...I can’t even begin to apologize to you for how much I’ve put you through.” He hangs his head, “I should’ve never left you like that. I should've come back.”

I gently run my fingers through his hair, recalling how this has always soothed him, and I can see it still does. He leans further into my touch, causing my heart to flutter.

“You came back, Josh,” I say softly.

He raises his head, and our eyes connect once more. A faint smile appears on his face, but he looks weary. “Can I—can I ask you something?”

I nod my head. “Anything.”

I should have realized by now that Joshua is constantly full of surprises. He follows his own path, disregarding rules and the expectations of others. I'm not accustomed to this, and I doubt I ever will be. This time, I think he truly caught me off guard when he asked, “Can we try again?”

𓂃۶ৎ

a/n: was supposed to be posted on Joshua's birthday, but i didn't finish on time hshshs

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