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trippinsorrows · 2 months ago

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looking through your eyes + twenty nine

authors note: it's all coming together...

cw/tw: fluff, angst, suspense, discussion regarding sexual assault and incest

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

cast + masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 8k

There’s a calm that befalls Solana and Roman following her discharge from the hospital. A welcomed respite from the chaos that’s consumed the both of them in the past couple of weeks.

A space of peace and appreciation following the scariest of things.

Solana was truly convinced that she was going to lose her babies, a loss so catastrophic, she’s not certain what recovery from said catastrophe would look like.

What that would mean for herself and her marriage.

But, it was avoided. A horrific scare, at best. A scare that somehow helped husband and wife have much needed, long overdue conversations. Even the argument between them that preceded the scare. Though she regrets that it ever reached that point, there’s a part of her that is happy it occurred. It allowed for the demolition of a budding wall of mistrust between them.

Demolition that was a must for their marriage to continue to grow and strengthen.

And, it will.

Because she loves this man and what they’ve built too much to watch it all fall apart.

They owe each other that much.

Most importantly, for their girls.

The day Solana is released is spent almost entirely with her laying in bed with Roman, the two of them embracing both each other and the solitude and comfort found in once another. A necessary thing, given all that transpired.

But also, something that Roman largely attributes to the doctor’s orders that she take the next couple weeks “easy.”

That seems to be something, however, that her husband has taken perhaps a bit too literally.

He doesn’t want her doing anything outside of showering and using the bathroom. Dulce needs to go outside? He handles it. They need to eat something? He reaches out to his private chef and has meals delivered. She wants some air? He sits with her out on their balcony.

Thoughtful and kind is his dedication to making sure she follows the doctor’s orders both for herself and the pregnancy, but it’s also….a lot.

It’s why she tries to make her “great escape” while he’s napping. They both were, but she woke up to find him still asleep, providing her the out she needed.

Solana makes it downstairs and into the kitchen, is even able to settle on the dish she wants to make for them, a small smile of satisfaction on her face as she relishes in her victory.

“What are you doing up?"

Damn.

Solana turns around to find her scowling husband standing before her with his arms crossed.

“Baby,” she smiles nervously. “You’re up.”

His expression is unwavering. “Yeah, and you shouldn’t be.”

Sighing, she walks over to him. “Roman….” Solana moves her hands up down his broad chest, trying her best to help him understand this in the simplest of terms. “I’m on pelvic rest. Not bed rest. They’re—they’re different, baby.”

“Close enough,” he shrugs. Solana’s shoulders slump as does the small smile that was on her face. “In bed.”

“Ro,” she whines. “I was in the bed in the hospital. I’ve been in bed since we got home. I’m tired of being in the bed. I need to move around.”

“Didn’t you go to the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“Then you moved around.”

She closes her eyes. “Roman.”

“It’s bad enough your ass was picking up and holding Dulce. She weighs more than your weight restrictions.”

Solana’s eyes widens. “She’s five pounds, Roman.”

“Exactly. Anything five and over is too much.”

With another heavy sigh, Solana goes for a different approach. “Roman?”

“Yes?”

A warm smile, soft voice, and pleading eyes. “I love you. I love you so much, but I think….I think you’re being a little too much.”

He looks absolutely baffled. "I’m following the doctor’s orders.”

Solana makes a sound, head nodding side to side to depict her not outright agreeing with his statement. “That’s….debatable.”

Roman rolls his eyes and pulls his phone out his back pocket. “Since we’re on the subject, I made a list of some of the things we need to change while you’re pregnant.”

Somehow, someway, Solana already knows this list is just going to be another continuation of his extreme overprotectiveness. “Oh?” Roman unlocks the phone and navigates to something, handing it to her to reveal a list in the notes app. Solana is more surprised by the length of said list than anything. Her finger keeps moving to scroll. “Ro, how—how long is this?”

He shrugs. “It was while you were sleeping at the hospital. I was bored and had the time.”

Solana stops when she catches wind of one of the suggestions being ‘no cooking for the twins.’

That most definitely has nothing to do with the pregnancy.

With a gentle smile, she places the phone on the counter and moves her hands up his chest, asking in a soft voice, “Roman, how are you?”

A fair, valid question, because the past few weeks have been a bit of a storm for both of them, but in the middle of said storm she cannot and will not forget the presence and impact of his grief.

He looks visibly taken back by her changing of topics but eventually moves his hand down to hers, guiding them into the living room where he sits down on the sofa and carefully pulls her down next to him.

She starts to ask him another question when he reaches for the coffee table where a stack of papers are spread.

Her stomach twists. She knows exactly what said papers are.

Roman is the one surprising her this time when he hands them to her, sharing, “I want you to read it.”

Naturally, she’s shaking her head, refusing to accept it. “Roman, no. Fetu left it for you.”

“And I want to share it with you,” he pushes back, offering, “it’s easier for you to read it than it is for me….for to me to explain.”

That, she most definitely understands. It’s a large reason why she wants to have him read her letter from her mom.

It truly is easier that way.

Still, Solana has to ask one more time. “Are—are you sure?”

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in his voice nor on his face. “Yes.”

Another deep breath as she finally accepts the letter, taking a second before allowing her eyes to take in the words from beyond this world.

Roman,

My sweet, big eared boy.

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. Go figure.

I imagine you’re upset and sad, and that’s okay. It’s like I’ve always told you, you have feelings, and it’s okay to have them.

But, I’m also going to tell you something I haven’t told you in years, you have a big heart, Roman. A good heart, and it’s never made you weak. It’s always been your greatest strength.

But, I know they tried their best to strip you of that, and Roman, in many ways. they did. By keeping me from you for so many years. Rikishi’s big ass knew I would work my damn hardest to help you keep your humanity, because you are so much more than what they tried to turn you into.

You are not an unfeeling killer. You are a young man who lost so much as a young boy. Who was always expected to be perfect. That’s why I tried so hard to just encourage you to be a kid, to be human, to recognize it’s okay to have feelings.

Now, for the truth.

Roman, I’m tired.

I’ve been tired for the past few years. Especially since the diagnosis. The thought of dying and not remembering my family, remembering you, is something I can’t accept.

I want to leave on my terms, with the love and all the memories I have for you, for Ava, for this life I’ve been blessed to live.

But, I’ve held on this long because my prayer has always been the same. That my days would be extended long enough to make sure you’d be okay once I’ve passed. Because I’ve never wanted to leave you alone.

And now I don’t have to, because you have Solana.

She is the one I’ve been praying for. The one to make sure I don’t have to leave you alone in this cold world.

She’s your soulmate, Roman. In every sense of the word. You must stay with her, no matter what. Do not push her away. You need her just as much as she needs you. You’re especially going to need her when I’m gone.

But not just her.

Roman, I am going to ask something of you that I know you’re not going to like, but I really don’t care, because it’s what you need.

You need to establish a relationship with your brother. I know that’s always been a sensitive subject for you, no thanks to that mother of yours, but true family is everything. We were not meant to be alone in this world.

You need more than just Solana.

We lost so much, yes, but with Matteo, there is hope. I know there is a lot of pain and hurt and rejection there, but both of you were victims of the politics in this life we live.

You need Solana, but you need your brother, too.

It is my dying wish that you try to form some kind of relationship with him.

I am leaving you something in return though. There is a key included in this envelope. I'm sure your perceptive ass has seen it already. In the GREEN trunk in my closet, NOT the blue one, trust me—you don’t wanna know what’s in there—you’ll find a stack of letters I wrote to you all those years we were separated. And beyond. Life lessons. Silly shit. Reflecting on good times. All of the things. Something you’ll always have from me.

This is actually my last letter I will write to you, and it’s to say goodbye.

Roman, know that I am sad to go. Sad that I will not be around to meet your children, but I have no doubt you will be an amazing father. You and Solana will break the cycle of generational dysfunction from before you.

As I said, I am tired. It is time for me to rest, and I can finally do so knowing that you will continue to be just as loved, if not more, as I have always loved you.

You may have been Nakoa and Viviana’s son, but you’ve always been and always will be my boy.

Love,

Fetu

By the time Solana finishes reading, her eyes are teary and her mind is all over the place. She looks over at her quiet husband. “Roman….”

As with her letter from her mom, there is so much to process. Fetu wanting to die. Her leaving behind an abundance of letters for Roman, so he’ll always have a part of her. The part about Matteo, which is, arguably, the most shocking section for her.

She thought Roman and the man resembled each other in an almost uncanny way, but she could have never guessed that they were brothers.

So, not only does she have a brother she didn’t know about, but Roman has one he does and has known about but doesn’t claim?

He must be reading her face well, because he immediately moves into explaining that part in particular. “I’m sorry I lied to you about who Matteo is, but…..” He starts, looking off, clearly uncomfortable with this discussion but most likely knowing it needs to happen. “That’s hard for me. My mother…..our mother never tried to hide the fact that he was the son she wanted. That he…..he was the one she loved.”

Solana’s chest tightens as she moves closer to him, placing the letter down on the coffee table and holding onto his arm. “Roman, I’m—I’m sure your mom loved you in her own way.”

He still doesn’t look at her as he calmly counters, “she loved what she thought I could do for her one day.” Solana’s confusion is short-lived as he offers further explanation. “My mother loved Matteo’s father, but he was a commoner and Turkish, so it was forbidden. But, she didn’t care, and they maintained this secret relationship that ended in a pregnancy.” Matteo. “They got found out, so my mother’s father had him tortured and killed. And my mother’s punishment was to be sent off to America and married off to my father, who she never loved.”

Solana tightens her hold on Roman’s arm, asking, “and Matteo?”

He sits up, still not looking at her but reclining further back into the sofa. “He stayed in Italy and was raised by distant relatives.” She can see the way his jaw clenches and feel the tension building in his big body. “She wanted me to eventually be the one to kill my grandfather. To make him pay for what he did to her, who he took from her. It’s why she pushed me so hard to be….what I’ve become.” He finally turns to her, turmoil and conflict written all over his face. “She loved that I could one day be her key to revenge.”

The more Solana learns about Roman’s past and his upbringing, the more and more sense he makes. She realized this a while ago, but once again, she’s seeing just how stacked the cards were against him.

Leaning against him, she kisses his shoulder, murmuring, “baby, I’m so sorry.”

It’s a minute before he says anything. “Matteo hasn’t….he’s never actually done anything to warrant my dislike or distrust, but acknowledging him as my brother is….hard for me.”

She can see that, and she has a good guess at to why. Because Matteo had the one thing she’d suspect Roman wanted at one point in his life, especially as a child.

His mother’s love.

With a heavy sigh, she does her best to be respectful of his boundaries while also honoring Fetu’s final wishes. “Fetu….she knew you well, Ro.” He swallows, hand moving to her knee. “And I think…..I think she was right to encourage you to develop a relationship with Matteo.” He looks toward her, Solana going to clarify. “In your own timing, of course, but I do—I do think you should at least try.”

The eye contact is short-lived, as he looks away, Solana opting to give him a bit of a respite. She moves her hand atop his, sharing, “we should go get the trunk tomorrow.” His gaze falls on her once more. “Those letters she left you….they need to be here. In our home. With you.”

Specifically in the library he created just for her. A shared space. Their space.

Roman doesn’t say anything, just nods, clearly still feeling a myriad of emotions. She just moves even closer to him, continuing to hold onto him, mumbling an “I love you” followed up with and, “we’re going to get through this.”

Because, they will.

She’s going to make sure of it.

Because she loves him too much for them not to.

Because, as Fetu said, they’re soulmates.

————

It takes some convincing, but Solana is eventually able to talk her husband into an outing. An essential one, given it’s a grocery trip, but a trip, nonetheless.

She can tell it’d be beneficial for him to get out the house.

Upon arriving, Solana thought the parking lot was pretty empty outside of a few black SUV’s that she recognizes to be Bloodline. Security. However, it’s not until they’re actually inside the grocery that she realizes how much of a ghost town the place really is.

As Roman pulls out the cart for her, Solana asks, “where is everyone?”

To which he answers so simply, “I had it closed off for us.” She accepts the cart, placing her purse down in the kid’s seat. “Bloodline only.”

Ahh. That would definitely explain it. “Roman, was that—was that really necessary?”

“Sure was.” He doesn’t even need to think about her question.

Sighing, she tries from a different angle. “I–I go grocery shopping all the time without it being shut down.” With her security detail, of course, but that’s always been more than enough to help her get there and back without issue.

“That was before.” He doesn’t need to add on the noun, the pregnancy component. “This is now.” She sighs and begins to lead the way, as he adds, “besides, you know I don’t like being around people.” Rolling her eyes, a small smile falls on her face when he’s behind her, arms around her waist, face nuzzled in the side of her neck, “except for one….”

“I’ve noticed,” she giggles, stealing a kiss on his cheek before redirecting them. “Okay, come on.” Solana digs in her purse and pulls out her phone, unlocking it and opening the notes app where she completed her grocery list shortly before they left the house. Handing him the phone, she instructs, “read these off for me, so we don’t forget anything.”

Back at her side, a scowl falls on his face as he uses his finger to scroll through said list. “Solana, how much food are you getting?”

Solana turns to him, one hand on her hip. “Ro, do you have any idea how much you eat?” And, of course, he looks at her with his brow lifted, evoking a blush from her. “You know what I mean.” Clearing her throat, she explains, “between you, Jimmy, and Jey—”

“Don’t worry about them,” he interrupts, expression and voice hardening. “They don’t need to be over at the house anymore. At least, not for a while.”

Solana frowns, extending her hand to stop them from walking. Turning to him, she asks straight up, “Ro, what’s going on between ya’ll?” Before he can protest, she reminds, “we promised we were going to be honest with each other.”

He’s quiet, Solana seeing her reminder stir something in him. With a reluctant sigh, he responds, “when I confronted Rikishi for how he acted with you, they were there, and it….it was ugly.”

“How ugly?”

Forever perceptive with her husband and all his tell-tales, Solana doesn’t miss the anger—and hurt—that flashes in his eyes. “Jey and Solo took his dad’s side. Jimmy seemed more unbiased, but that’s still his brother. And Jey and I still haven’t been….fine….since your party.”

She winces. A hurtful reminder of that awful turn in events. “Roman, I really am sorry for that. If I had known things were bad between Jey and Sami—”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sol.” Roman sighs, mouth shifting as he continues to share, “my relationship with Jey…..it’s complicated. It always has been.”

Solana chews on her bottom lip. “I know….I know he challenged you a lot when you guys were younger, that—that he challenged you for the ula fala at some point.” Roman looks, understandably, surprised by her knowledge. He doesn’t inquire as to how she knows, however, just continues to listen. “I know the twins get on your nerves a lot, but I also know you do value them, so it’s a bit hard for me to see….to see you all like this.”

Because, it is. Because for all the times she’s seen her husband get annoyed with his cousins, she’s also overheard and witnessed normal, friendly interactions. The three of them discussing sports, talking about their shared love of football, and even reflecting on experiences from when they were kids.

It hasn’t all been bad, which is why she’s partially appalled to see where they are right now.

In a small voice, she adds with a slight shrug, “I guess I thought….thought your relationship was stronger than that.”

“So did I.” It pains Solana to hear the sadness brewing underneath the surface level neutrality in that response.

Holding onto his arm, she offers an encouraging smile, “you’ll all figure it out.”

There’s a spark of maybe hope that fades into that typical indifference. “It doesn’t matter.” She sighs, as he moves his hand to her stomach. “I don’t need them. I have you, and I’ll have them.”

“Of course, you will.” Always. “But, baby, your friends can’t just be your wife and kids.”

“Why not?” His look of distaste at the word ‘friends’ makes her chuckle. He can be so damn stubborn. “I don’t like anybody else.”

“I’m aware,” she frowns. “What about a cl—”

“No.”

The frown deepens. Of course. Solana reaches for the pack of tortillas, tossing two in the basket. “Ro, you didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

“Does it involve me being around people?”

An obvious answer but one she provides him, nonetheless.“Well, yes.”

“Then, I’m not interested.”

Rolling her eyes, she begins to push the cart again, prompting him to follow her. “I was going to say a photography club—”

“No.”

“Ro, you love photography.” Not to mention he’s exceptionally good. Having seen not only the shots he’s taken of her as well as sitting on his lap watching him edit, Solana can see the relaxation and enjoyment it brings him. Building upon it could be helpful.

If only he could see it that way. His dismissal is swift and to the point. “Yeah, and I hate people.”

She rubs her temples. As much as she loves this man, he can be so damn petulant. “Ro, the point—the point is to be more social. To....to make more friends.”

He's never looked so horrified and disgusted. “You say you worry about my blood pressure, but you out here trying to get me to interact with people that I hate?"

“Roman, you don’t even know them.”

“And?”

Deciding to take a risk, a big risk, a leap even, Solana is only able to get out. "What about Mat—"

"No."

Just like that. No consideration. No hesitation. Just immediately rejection.

She can't say she's surpsied.

Stopping the cart once more, she stands in front of him. “Roman….” She moves her hands to his chest, voice lowering and softening. “You know what Fetu said…..” Solana is very much aware as to the way his expression easily shifts from something hardened to something solemn. “It was…..it was her wish that you form a relationship with Matteo.” Roman looks away, prompting her to gently tug on his hoodie. “He’s your brother, Roman.”

As expected, he backs away from her, swiftly dismissing, “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Ro—”

“We can. Just….not right now, alright?” There’s believability in his voice and expression. Solana nods, understanding the importance of timing as well as him being in a place to be more receptive. Not to mention she understands entirely the difficulty he’s facing.

Cause she’s dealing with the same thing.

They continue to move through the aisles, but instead of Roman simply reading off and allowing her to grab said items, he, of course, handles both tasks, thus delegating his wife to simply pushing the basket.

The reason?

“Too much movement for you.”

Rubbing her temples, Solana finds herself unable to take it anymore when he reaches for the six pack of yogurt before she can. Looking up at him as they walk, she vents. “Roman, I love you, but this is getting ridiculous. They’re groceries, not—”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Solana looks away from her husband in favor of whatever he’s now looking at with disgust.

“Matteo.”

Because, sure enough, there stands her husband’s older, half brother next to a beautiful woman with a deep complexion, soft features and black box braids that cascade down her back. She’s also pushing the basket as the two of them now stand across from Solana and Roman.

Matteo’s facial expression is neutral as he acknowledges her, “Solana.” His gaze then shifts to Roman, to whom he gives a small nod. “Roman.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Roman!” Solana whispers harshly, tugging on Roman’s hoodie sleeve.

Matteo scoffs. “I could ask you the same.”

“Matteo!” The other woman scolds, shaking her head and focusing on Solana with a kind smile. “Solana? Roman’s wife, correct?” She walks over, extending her hand. “I’m Afia. Matteo’s wife.”

For some reason, Solana didn’t even think about the fact that Matteo could have a whole wife. Let alone a wife who’s in the states with him while he works.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Solana greets, accepting the handshake. She then gestures to her still scowling husband. “We were just getting some groceries.”

“Same,” Afia chuckles, also motioning to her husband who’s also scowling at Roman. Solana has a hard time not thinking about how much they resemble each other in this moment. “This one hates when we’re interrupted.”

“How you think we feel?”

Solana sighs. “Roman, please.” Her husband can be so damn petty sometimes.

“Trust me, when the guards said Bloodline only, I was thinking it would just be your wife, not you,” Matteo suddenly comments, partially glaring at Roman. For a second, Solana is taken back by his demeanor. The last time she encountered him, he was a lot more approachable and gregarious. However, she quickly reminds herself of what Afia just told her.

“This one hates when we’re interrupted.”

It seems Roman and his brother have more in common than just looks. They both hate having one-on-one time with their wives disturbed.

Afia then asks, “Do you shop here a lot?”

Solana nods. "I do."

“Oh, good.” Afia shakes her head, pulling out her phone and moving closer to share her screen. “I’m Nigerian, so I make a lot of Nigerian food, but I’m having a hard time finding some of the ingredients.”

Solana shakes her head, explaining, “some things are arranged kinda weird around here. What are you looking for? I’m sure I can help.”

Afia makes a face. Filled with appreciation. “That would be wonderful.” She scrolls a bit, Solana gasping when she sees the photo of the food.

“That looks delicious,” Solana smiles, hand naturally moving to her stomach.

Afia returns the smile. “It is. It’s called Afang soup.” She gestures to her husband with a light chuckle. “This one doesn’t really care for soup, but the kids love it.”

Matteo continues to scowl, partially defending himself. “Soup does nothing to abate my appetite.”

Solana giggles, also pointing to Roman. “He doesn’t really like soup that much either.”

And like his brother, Roman argues, “because I end up being hungry again an hour later.”

Solana opts not to comment on her husband and instead focuses on something that Afia said. “You….you guys have kids?”

Her smile could light up all of New York and then some. Hitting the side of the phone to lock it and then unlock it reveals Afia's lock screen photo which depicts three, smiling young faces. Two boys, obviously twins, no more than 5 and a little girl who can’t be more than two.

Solana gasps, briefly overcome with emotion. Roman has a niece and two nephews.

A family.

“They’re beautiful,” she comments, trying her best not to cause too much of a scene, not only because of where they stand but because of the two men who are only a few feet away.

But maybe, just maybe, she could find time outside of a random run-in to talk with Afia. To have a sit-down and figure out if they can maybe work together to build a relationship between their husbands.

Work together as sister-in-laws.

Clearing her throat, Solana pulls out her phone, starting to ask, “can I get your num—”

“Oh, hey!”

Four sets of eyes fall on the newest person to walk in on this impromptu meeting, Afia looking skeptical, Roman and Matteo irritated, and only Solana to reciprocate the kind introduction.

“Sami,” she smiles. “Good to see you.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Matteo gestures to Sami but directs his question toward Roman.

Roman, who is running his hand over his face, answers in a low voice, “a pain in my fucking ass.” Raising the volume, he asks with all the irritation, “Sami, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Solana rolls her eyes, as Sami stammers with a response, “just picking up some groceries, TC.” Roman scowls, mouthing ‘TC’ with all the confusion as Sami says with a chuckle, "surprising my wife tonight by cooking dinner for her.”

Afia gasps. “What a sweet thing to do.” She playfully cuts her eyes at her husband. “Did you hear that, my love? He’s cooking for his wife.”

“And?” Matteo is unimpressed. “I’m supposed to take advice from a homeless man?”

Solana jumps in, not wanting Sami to feel bad, though she’s partially stunned at just how much Roman and his brother are like.

“What are you making?” She asks. This is the first time she's seen the man since her welcome home party, and while a part of her feels a bit guilty about unintentionally putting him in that situation. There's just a kind aura about Sami that makes her want to bypass any awkwardness that conversation could bring and proceed with the pleasantries.

“Shawarma,” he answers with a proud smile.

Solana's jaw drops. “Really? I’ve always wanted to make that.”

“Me too,” Afia gasps. “Do you have a recipe you’d be willing to share?” She then offers her hand, “I’m Afia, by the way. Matteo's wife.”

Sami’s grin widens, accepting the handshake and offering his name as well. “Sami Zayn. Super nice to meet you.” He crosses his arms, offering, “You bet I do. A lot of them, actually, if you guys are interested.”

“Sami, I didn’t know you cooked like that.” Because, for some reason, Solana can’t picture the man before her knowing his way around a kitchen. Looks truly can be deceiving, though.

“I surely do,” he says it with so much pride. “I’m Syrian, so a lot of the food I make is Middle Eastern.”

Afia makes a sound of almost awe. “Oh, I love Middle Eastern food, but making some of those meals is always a bit of a challenge.”

Solana nods, agreeing, “especially with finding some of the ingredients.”

Sami makes a face, asking, “have either of you been to the international food market on 54th and Granite?”

Afia shakes her head, explaining, “my family and I are here….short-term, so we haven’t been a lot of places, to be honest.”

Solana tries to not think too much about the fact that her time to work with Afia to help Roman and Matteo may be limited. She just continues to focus on the conversation at hand. “And I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

Sami makes a sound, head temporarily thrown back. “You two absolutely have to go. I’ll be honest, I get most of poultry from there.” He leans forward, whispering almost. “A lot more lean. Less fat to cut.”

“Really?”

“Yup!”

He then offers, “you know I would be more than happy to escort you both. I mean, my uncle Louis works there, so you could get the family discount as well.”

Afia giggles softly. “That is so sweet of you.”

“I would love that so much,” Solana chimes, directing her comment to the both of them, “we should exchange recipes or something. I’m half Mexican, so I make a lot of Mexican food.”

Sami places his hand over his stomach. “You two are making me hungry already.”

As the three exchange laughter, Roma finds himself unable to stand patient and quiet as his suddenly social butterfly of a wife trades pleasantries with a woman she just met and fucking Sami.

“Sol—”

“Roman,” Solana practically whines briefly, informing in a more assertive voice, “I’m talking.”

And as she turns her attention from her husband and back to the conversation at hand, an equally annoyed Matteo attempts to get his wife’s attention as well.

“Fia—”

Afia, however, waves him off, muttering something in Italian as she too proceeds to be dismissive.

Matteo is the first to say it, the other three completely immersed in their culinary conversations. “I don’t fucking like him.”

Roman looks over at the other man, not exactly disagreeing but also not wanting to engage with him, either.

There’s a brief moment of silence that overcomes them, one that Matteo is the one to break.

“How are you doing?”

More forced social interaction. Even worse, a valid but irritating question. That doesn’t mean Roman has to answer it. Directly, at least.

Rolling his shoulders, he answers in a gruff voice, “fine until you and your damn wife interrupted us.”

Matteo makes a sound and rolls his eyes. “Trust me, it wasn’t intentional.”

And on some level, Roman knows this. Understands this. But, it's the combination of the letter, Solana being slightly on him about Matteo, fucking Matteo standing a few feet away from him that feels like too much.

Way too much.

Roman clears his throat and makes a comment about needing to make a call.

He doesn't really need to.

He just needs to get away, needs to not have to deal with this right now.

Or ever, preferably.

Though no longer an option.

If only.

————

After exchanging contact information, Solana is finally pulled away by her husband, who cites them being away from their dog too long as a reason to finish shopping so that they can leave.

An excuse that makes her smile, but an effective one, nonetheless.

The two arrive home, and Solan is able to fix dinner for herself and Roman, the two sharing a meal together, Dulce begging for scraps, Roman eventually relenting not to the human food but some fancy dog snacks that apparently Jimmy started feeding Dulce.

There's even brief conversation about the unexpected run-in. One that goes better than expected.

It’s a nice calm before a potential storm.

Because a few hours later, Solana is sitting in the middle of their bed, letter in hand when Roman walks out of the bathroom, freshly showered and clean. Right away, his eyes settle on the papers, expression softening.

“Solana, we don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do,” she interrupts, voice light but firm. “We said we’d start being honest with each other. You let me read Fetu’s letter. It’s only fair I let you read this. I—I want—I need you to.”

Her words seem to alleviate the sense of unease he feels at potentially “invading” her privacy. But, there is no privacy in this situation, because not only have the contents changed her life, in so many ways.

It’s about to change their lives in many ways.

Roman moves to sit on the side of the bed, Solana handing the letter to him, only asking, “can you not read it aloud?”

He nods, accepting them and the request. “Of course.”

She can only offer him a small smile before she watches him unfold the letter and begin to read, starting off the longest patch of time she’s ever experienced. It’s like the sound of big ticking playing and taunting her, seconds stretching into minutes that feel like hours.

So many of the initial thoughts and feelings return, and before she realizes it, her eyes are watering.

“Holy shit….” is Roman’s only comment as he finishes his read, Solana chuckling bitterly.

“That—that’s what I said,” she whispers, eyes closing. “He wasn’t my father.” The lump in the back of her throat thickens as she murmurs, “Paloma is…..she’s my grandmother.”

Roman looks off at the wall, eyes slightly wide as he shakes his head. “That’s why your mother always talked about that place. Because it was where her family was.”

“Where my family is,” she corrects, pushing back some of her hair, eyes misting all over. “I have a family.”

Roman looks at her, dots continuing to connect, “shit, that means Bayley is your cousin, right?” She nods with a small, sad smile as he looks away, muttering, “fucking Santos Escobar is your damn cousin, of course.” Catching himself, Roman apologizes, “I’m sorry.”

Her smile grows a tad bit. “It’s okay.” She appreciates the brief break from heavy emotions, albeit short, as his expression shifts into something serious.

Lifting the letter, he asks in the most sincere way, “what do you make of all of this?”

“Which part?” She asks more herself than him, rolling her still misting eyes. “I—I don’t know. It’s…it’s so much to take in, but….and this is the part I hate, I feel…..I feel angry with her.”

Roman asks in a quiet voice, “with your mom?”

Solana nods and looks away. Silence followed by an almost whispered, “I need to tell you something.” Solana is focused on the dresser instead of her husband whose eyes she can feel burning into her. “But, I never—I never want you to ask me about it again after today, because I’ve never—I’ve never told anyone, and I don’t want…..I don’t want to tell anyone or—or process it in therapy. I’ve—I’ve always to pretend it never happened. I wanted…..I wanted to die with this secret.”

Roman swallows, clearly sensing the building emotion. “Solana, you don’t—”

“He tried to rape me.”

Solana is forever grateful for not seeing the expression on her husband’s face when the words leave her mouth, because the horrified nature of his tone combined with what she’s about to share, is hard enough. “What?”

Head down, eyes closed, she starts recalling the deepest of her darkest secrets. “I was—I was sixteen, and—and Wes wasn’t home. I don’t know….I don’t know where he was, but it—it wouldn’t have made a difference either way.” Because, it truly wouldn’t have. “My d—” Solana catches herself, offering the more appropriate correction, especially given what she now knows. “Xavier came home drunk as hell. It had to have been close to 2 in the morning. I always….I always tried to stay out of his way, especially when he was drinking. And usually, if I was out of sight, I was out of mind. But….but that night, he—he came in my room.”

“Solana—”

“He started….he started rambling about things that didn’t make sense, and he—” She blows out a deep breath, pulling at the material of her shirt. “He started to call me a whore and a slut and accused me of sleeping around, which is why he said he needed to check me.” Solana wipes at her eyes, hugging herself as she whispers out, “and he did, but after, he tried—” Another pause, followed by a quiet, murmured, “he couldn’t get an erection, and I think he was too embarrassed by it, which is why he didn’t beat me. He just…..he just left.”

Roman's voice is saturated with sympathy. “Solana….”

“That next morning was the first time I tried to kill myself.” A vacant stare and hollow voice accompany the recalling of a night of attempted, horrific, unspeakable horrors. “Because….because I’d rather be dead than have another man hurt me like that.” Finally, Solana turns to look at her husband, a mixture of so many emotions, the strongest being a rage she knows she’s can’t fully comprehend.

Rage directed toward the man whose life he took methodically, slowly, and in every painful way known to man, but none of that would and will ever be enough to justify what he did.

Especially now that Roman knows this part of her story.

“I went through hell in that house because of her,” Solana finally allows herself to voice the truth she’s been sitting on since reading the letter. Finally frees the thoughts that she feels partially ashamed at having, though justified at feeling. “Because she wanted a daughter.”

Roman reaches out to cup her face, clearly wanting to help comfort her. “Baby—”

“She knew how he was, Roman. Knew what he was capable of, but she still kept me with her and let—my brother, who she didn’t tell me about, go with my real father, who she also didn’t tell me about.” She speaks from the heart, hurt and anger dipping from her words. She gestures to the letter, continuing to finally break down, “and then she puts in a fucking letter that I find at almost 30 years-old, and I’m supposed to just be okay with all this?”

“Solana—”

“I hate her!”

Silence.

A sniffle. A gasp. A sob.

Solana breaks down crying, face in her now wet palms. She’s instantly offered a slice of comfort when Roman’s strong arms wrap around her, holding her as he kisses her temple and tries to console her.

It helps. It’s comforting, but doesn’t negate the fact that the one person she never thought she could hate or have any ill will towards has now become part of the mountain of suffering she’s endured in her life.

A cruel twist of fate, indeed.

————

Solo’s foot taps against the floor one too many times, evoking a chuckle and comment from his perceptive father.

“Patience, son.”

Solo cuts his eyes at the older man, while stopping the foot tapping. Sitting forward, he states the obvious. “They’re late.”

This is a given, obvious by the lack of bodies present in vacant, waiting chairs.

“Good things come to those who wait, my boy.”

Solo scoffs, tone sharp as he asserts, “I’ve waited long enough.”

Rikishi smiles. “Agreed.”

And as if being summoned, the door opens and in enters the Elders, one by one, each taking a seat. As protocol, Solo stands and bows his head, properly acknowledging those who came before him.

Aleki wears a bored expression. “Well?” He motions with his hand. “Why have you requested an audience with us?”

Rikishi sits forward and shares a look with his son before going over the script he’s had memorized for years. “My brothers. I asked you to meet with me and my son, Solo, today regarding some significant concerns we have about the Bloodline.”

Solo specifies, “about Roman Reigns.”

Something flashes in Aleki’s eyes before he grants permission. “Go on.”

Rikishi gives a deep, heavy, fake sigh. “As much as it pains me to say this, as I love him as if he were my own, it deeply troubles me what may happen to the Bloodline and all we’ve built if he continues to sit at the Head of The Table.”

Sione, another Elder, speaks up, “that is a bold statement to make, Rikishi.”

Solo’s father doesn’t disagree. “It is.” A firm expression, followed by, “but a true one, nonetheless.” He sits forward in his chair, continuing, “make no mistake. None of us can take away what Nakoa’s boy has done for the Bloodline, how far he’s advanced us, but I fear Roman’s previous dedication has been….compromised.”

Another Elder asks, voice sharp and to the point. “Compromised how?”

Rikishi looks over at his son, giving him the nod to take over. Just as they rehearsed.

Ready and determined, Solo’s voice is strong as he asserts, “Roman Reigns has become so distracted and consumed by his love for his wife that it’s blinded his judgment. A wife who still hasn’t produced an heir yet seems to think she is above our ways and laws.”

“It’s true,” Rikishi adds. “Why, just the other day, I was trying to help her understand the importance of an heir, and she slapped me and told me to remember my place.”

Aleki sits forward. “What?” Anger flashes in his brown eyes and fills his aged face. “Does she not know it is forbidden to strike and speak in such way to an Elder?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rikishi calmly counters. “Because Roman justified her behavior and even attacked me, choking me, threatening to kill me just for speaking to her.”

Gasps and shocked expressions around the table as Solo fills the silence with additional information. “And that shooting a couple months ago? Solana wasn’t the target. Roman was. He was shot, but he was shot because he took the bullet for her.”

Sione gasps, narrowed gaze to Rikishi. “You told us—”

“He told ya’ll what Roman told him to tell ya’ll, and he threatened to kill him, to kill all of us, if we told the truth.” Solo answers, gaze hardening. “Roman uses and abuses his power and title to justify his and his wife’s actions that go against not only our rules and traditions, but the Bloodline as a whole.” Voice unwavering, Solo surveys the room and lifts his chin. “He is no longer fit to wear the ula fala.”

Silence

Aleki clears his throat, voice deceptively calm. “These are strong accusations you two make.”

“They can only be accusations if untrue, but I assure you, everything we’ve said is true,” Rikishi places his hand over his heart. “My son, Jey, is even willing to come and testify to what he’s seen, even more than what Solo and I have shared today.”

At that, it takes everything in Solo to not look over at his father with surprise. That wasn’t part of what they discussed. Last he heard, Jey was still on the fence when approached with the idea of talking to the Elders about Roman being removed as the Tribal Chief.

And Jimmy was straight up against it.

But despite this unexpected piece, Solo manages to remain focused on the task at hand.

“And I hate to bring this up, but brothers…..even if Roman’s wife was to provide an heir, Roman is Afakasi. His wife is Black and Mexican. What true Samoan blood will run through that child’s vein?” Rikishi challenges, shaking his head. “I fear Nakoa’s taking an outsider as a wife may have strengthened us at the time, but now, it will lead to our erasure.”

Another Elder points out, “we have decided to give Roman until the end of the year to—”

“That won’t work,” Solo reiterates. “You all don’t understand. Roman is not the man he used to be. His obsession with his wife is limitless. He’ll kill every single person in this room before he allows anyone to interfere with his marriage. He is dangerous. And not just to our enemies anymore.” Solo's voice darkens once more as they arrive at the climax of said script. “There’s only one way we can fix this problem.”

Another blanket of silence that extends longer than the last episode.

Aleki is quieter than before, tone chilly, “what exactly are you two proposing?”

Rikishi is the one to announce the ultimate goal, the key to making his longtime plan come to fruition. “Roman Reigns needs to be eliminated.” He surveys the face of his brothers, asserting, “We either kill him or he kills us. There is no other way.”

He then turns to Solo, hand on his shoulder, “and in his place, my son, Solo, who, at one point, served as Roman’s personal enforcer. Before Roman delegated him to being that wife of his bodyguard.” He then adds, for good measure, “Solo, who also already has four sons who are already in training to serve the Bloodline.”

More silence as someone brings up a prior, similar incident. “Rikishi, didn’t one of your sons already attempt to take the ula fala from Reings?”

“I’m not my brother,” Solo reminds, gaze around the room. “Jey failed. I won’t.”

Something appears in Aleki’s eyes, similar to excitement. He clears his throat, announcing, “you know we have protocols and traditions in situations like this, none of which are being proposed, thus we cannot approve such a coup.”

“We don’t need you to,” Rikishi informs. “We will only need you to approve and bless Solo wearing the ula fala and being our new Tribal Chief when the time comes.”

More silence. This lasting the longest before the older men share looks of unspoken conversation amongst themselves, eventually standing as Aleki shares, “we will take your…request into consideration.”

Solo bows while Rikishi simply nods. “Thank you, my brothers.”

Not another word is shared until the room is emptied of the majority of the Elders, leaving just father and son.

Solo is quick to sigh, running his hand over his face. “I don’t think it went well.”

Rikishi, however, simply smiles. “It went perfect.” Seeing the confusion on his son’s face, he explains, “Roman has shot himself in the foot with his disrespect over the years towards the Elders. They’re just as eager for that son of a bitch to be put down as we are.” He places a hand on Solo’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, my boy. By the end of the year, it will be you who sits at the Head of the Table.”

At that, Solo looks up, proud and determined. “Thank you, tamā.”

And once again, fate is on their side, cards continuing to fall right in place. Rikishi pulls out his ringing phone, smirking when he sees who the requested video is from. He instructs Solo to cast it to the flat screen TV mounted on the wall, said screen filling with a now familiar face.

“Well?” Luca’s deep, accented voice is thick with irritation and impatience. “How did it go?”

“Just as we needed it too,” Rikishi is the one to answer. “I have very little doubt that they will in any way object to Solo’s ascension.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Luca Rossi is many things: cold, unfeeling, ruthless and so many more. All of which are reflected in the disgust in his voice. “The only thing I care about is Roman Reigns head on a fucking platter, so that I can have my rightful place as Capo di tutti capi.”

A smug Solo doesn’t hesitate to point out, “wasn’t he just in Italy? Why didn’t you make the killshot then?”

Luca growls something in Italian. “Because you people failed to inform me of his visit, as was our agreement. Not to mention that damn Dwayne worked hard to get him in and out.” The mutual disdain for the Tribal Chief and Capo’s second-in-command is certainly a shared thing among the three men. “And let us not forget I have been working for months here to create unrest to draw him out. You said he would come shortly after his wedding.”

“Things changed,” Rikishi shrugs, recognizing there is a hint of truth to what the man is saying. “It doesn’t matter though. The time is finally nearing.”

Luca's expression and voice are filled with skepticism. “Are Dwayne and Matteo still there?”

Solo, partially confused, is the one to answer. “Yeah. Why?”

Luca curses quietly. “Be careful with them. They both hold undying loyalty to my cousin. Neither should be underestimated, especially Matteo. He is just as brutal and sadistic as his brother. He just hides behind that charismatic personality. So is Dwayne. Not to mention the wild card the opo will play.”

Rikishi frowns. “Opo?”

“Matteo’s wife.” Luca scowls. “A former master assassin with a kill count that could probably rival any of your best men. Her codename was Opo, and that bitch has taken out the best of the best. Retired when she fell in love with an assignment.”

Solo puts two and two together, guessing aloud. “Matteo?”

Luca nods, eyes traveling elsewhere as he plays out different scenarios. “You seem sure of this plan, but know this, you’re in for one hell of a fight should Dwayne, Matteo, and even the opo decide to stand with Roman.”

The words go in one ear and out the other for both the father and son duo. They’ve worked too hard and too long to not be fully prepared to go to war, should it reach that point. They didn’t create the alliances and recruit the participants they did for no reason.

Luca’s eyes twinkle with mischief and disdain. “And as a friendly reminder, the minute my cousin takes his last breath, this background partnership as well as the alliance between the Bloodline and the Cosa Nostra is over with.” He sneers, vowing, “our people will never be on the same side again.”

Solo scoffs, gaze just as dark as Luca’s eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And with that, the screen goes blank. Solo doesn’t hesitate to murmur, “fucking hate him.”

“So do I, but he’s served a purpose,” is Rikishi’s only comment as the two walk out of the room, eventually exiting the building and entering the limo waiting for them.

Across the seat, a hard set of brown eyes land on them. “Well?”

Rikishi smirks, buckling his seatbelt and answering with a proud smile, “it’s all going to plan.” He and Solo share knowing smirks, before he asks in a hardened voice, “is it ready?”

Nia’s smile is sinister and malicious as she lifts the phone. Tapping on the screen, “Solana’s” voice fills the car.

“Brandi? It’s me, Solana. I need you to meet me at the library this afternoon. Bring Emma, too. I can’t say why, but you just have to trust me. Please! I think you guys are in danger. I’ll be waiting for you.”

As the audio ends, Rikishi laughs, proudly. “Excellent.” Looking out the window, he says mostly to himself, “Finally, the last of Nakoa’s bloodline will be gone for good.” An evil, pleased smile falls upon his rotund face. “I can finally finish what I started almost 30 years ago.”

#roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #arisnotebook

244 notes · View notes

jinnie-ret · 10 months ago

Text

cigarette duet

poly!stray kids x ninth member!reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: smoking, mentions of rehab, mentions of recovery

word count: 3k

summary: you get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. how will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

requested: @ihrtlix

It has been a while since I've written! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get around to the requests for this event but I'm getting back into the swing of things! Hope you enjoy! Please don't take offense to any opinions presented in this imagine. Enjoy! And if you want to be tagged in anything I write please lemme know! <3

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MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Perhaps you had smoked one too many cigarettes last night. Waking up the next morning after battling your stresses with the addictive feed of nicotine, your throat felt dry, hoarse, scratchy even.

"Baby, are you sure you're not sick?" Felix fussed, placing his hand delicately on your forehead to gain an idea of your temperature. "I mean, you don't feel hot, but maybe you're coming down with something?"

"I'm fine, love, just need some water," you kiss his hand that was pulling away from your face, offering a reassuring smile after clearing your throat.

And in your mind, that was enough. You didn't notice the little things that your boyfriends did however.

"Binnie, what are you doing? You look like a perv haha," Hyunjin giggled at the sight of Changbin rummaging through the laundry basket and sniffing your hoodie.

"Ssshhh, keep it down. And plus, it's not being pervy, people in relationships do it all the time. It's comforting smelling each other's clothing," Changbin righteously pointed out to his boyfriend, puffing his chest before adding, "well, normally it is..." he sighed.

"Woah that's mean, you can't say our girlfriend smells," Hyunjin pushed Changbin's shoulder, laughing again but with wide eyes this time round.

"No, no, you've got the wrong idea anyways. I think... I think Y/N's been smoking. I can smell it on her hoodie," Changbin sighed, tossing the white hoodie of yours back into the washing basket that was full to the brim. He was about to continue his spiel of conspiracies until he jumped when your arms wrapped around behind him.

"Aw, babe, are you doing the washing? Thank god for that, I was worried it would never get done," you squeezed him tightly once more before kissing him on the cheek and continuing your venture into the kitchen, Felix trailing behind you.

"I think she's getting sick, I'm gonna see if we have any meds in the cupboard, or some throat sweets at least," Felix pouted as he walked past his two boyfriends, Hyunjin ruffling his hair on the way.

Changbin threw a meaningful look at Hyunjin, alarms going off in his head because it only added more fuel to the blazing fire of thoughts in his head.

"Look, we don't know that she is smoking for sure. Maybe she's just been around some friends that are?" Hyunjin whispers hurriedly, yet this caught Seungmin's attention, and his ears too.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Seungmin casually stood between the two, grabbing laundry detergent and capsules from the cupboard to act natural yet because practical at the same time.

"I'll explain later, to all of you. I'm just a bit concerned," Changbin sighed, rubbing his hand across his face before actually making a start on the chore at hand.

It was an escape for you, much like it was for other people who smoked cigarettes. And plus, you hadn't been doing it for long. You thought what could the harm be when you didn't do it a lot? Plus, it was handy that none of your boyfriends batted an eyelid in the studio when you said you wanted to go outside for some air. In fact, it gave the opportunity for Changbin to lay out his thoughts to the rest of your boyfriends who hadn't yet heard his observations.

"Y/N... I don't think she'd do that, I can't picture it," Jeongin shook his head, shaking his hands in confusion because the picture being painted in front of them seemed very unlikely and it wasn't a nice one to think of.

"And she knows it's too risky. First of all we're idols. I hate to say it but we have to think about that first in situations like these. Even when we're drinking we've got to be careful. If you're right about this, Binnie, then..." Chan groaned, leaning back into his seat with a huff.

"But she did just go out 'for some air'," Han added on, brows furrowed as he thought what Changbin was saying was quite plausible.

"Ok. We'll go check then," Minho shrugged as he stood.

"What?" Felix too stood up.

"We can't sit here and keep worrying. Let's go check and see for ourselves. If we're wrong... And I hope we are... Then it's fine," Minho grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket, scanning around the room for his boyfriends' reactions.

"And if we're not wrong, then what?" Hyunjin voiced his concerns.

"Let's just hope we're not," Chan was first to walk out the door, the rest of Stray Kids following along after him like ducklings and their mother. Apart from this time it wasn't the cute, adorable scene you'd hope for, especially because they could smell the smoke and see your lax figure as soon as they rounded the corner to the back of the building.

"No. Y/N you've got to be kidding me!" Chan snatched the cigarette out of your hand and immediately stomped it out.

"Chan I-" you fumbled on your words, eyes wide as you had all eight of your lovers stood in front of you. And the way they looked at you made you stomach twist into knots you were sure you'd never felt.

Disappointment. Anger. Concern. Indifference.

"Let's talk about this inside," Changbin wrapped an arm around your shoulder as he spoke quietly to you.

Your heart was racing faster. They were going to think the worst. But you had a way out of this. It wasn't even that bad. Sure, over the past month maybe you'd have been spending more money on packs of cigarettes, yet on the inside you felt as if there were worse things you could be doing to yourself.

"Sit," Minho bluntly said, face unreadable, tone void of emotion.

And so you did.

"We'll just have a conversation about this, nice and calm, ok?" Felix nudged Chan in particular with his leg.

It seemed however that it wasn't a conversation, but more of an intervention. A heated one, at that.

"I can't be nice and calm, Lix! Our girlfriend is destroying her body, and for what?" Chan's voice rose ever so slightly, hands squeezing the arms of the chair he was tensely sat in.

"It's just a cigarette," you feebly replied. That backbone of yours was slowly wearing away the more and more anger you felt radiating off of your partners.

"Don't be ridiculous," Seungmin scoffed, "think of the damage it's doing. Think about your career."

"It's more than just the odd cigarette, right?" Changbin prodded, wanting answers to the millions of questions he had. After all, he was the first one to notice how you gradually stopped voicing your concerns to him but still sometimes had the habits that showed your anxiety.

"Well, yes, but-" you began but were cut off.

"No buts. That's... It's, you're hurting yourself, hurting your lungs. Why are you doing this, baby?" Jeongin took your hand in his, concern not the only thing glistening in his eyes, which broke your heart.

"It's just a nice distraction, that's all. It won't go on forever, I'll just stop when I want to," you shrug your shoulders, squeezing his hand to show you meant what you said.

"It's not that easy. Nicotine. It's addictive. You think you can just stop like that?" Hyunjin frowned, shaking his head.

"I know I can," you firmly said, urging them with your voice to trust you.

"I don't know what planet you're living on," Chan shook his head.

"Channie..." Felix bit his lip, feeling torn. On one hand he didn't want your boyfriend to be so tough with you, but he also disagreed with the choices you made, the ones you were making.

"No I'm sorry but Y/N, babe, you've made one of the stupidest choices you could make! Seungminnie is right, Jeongin too. It's damaging for your body, let alone your career. You keep this up, you're not going to be able to sing as well as before. And then it'll get to the point where you can't breathe as well anymore," Chan ranted, fiddling with the bracelets adorning his wrist as he didn't take his eyes away from yours, not once.

"I just told you it's not going to go that far!" your face contorted to one of disbelief.

"That's out of your control," Minho sternly redirected your attention to him.

"Wow. It's like you don't even trust me. I'm not some kid. I can make my own decisions. So what if I'm doing this for a little bit of stress relief? For a bit of fun. It helps me," your voice almost turns to pleading, wanting them to hear you out, hear your reasoning.

"It hurts you, baby. And when it hurts you, it hurts us as well," Han bit his lip after shakily speaking up. He didn't like this situation, not one bit.

"I'm not doing it to hurt you. I'd never do that," your voice wobbled, throat feeling as if it was closing up from the sob that was lodged down there.

"Too late. I mean just look," Chan emptied your handbag, empty packets of cigarettes and some not, falling out onto the floor of the studio.

"Y/N, that's a lot," Hyunjin gasped, clutching a hand on his chest.

"It's not. It's not that bad..." you denied as you knelt on the floor and tidied up the mess.

"You're in complete denial," Seungmin rolled his eyes.

"I'm not! I'm well aware of my actions thank you very much!" you shouted suddenly, causing everyone to freeze at the volume you had just reached.

The guilt set in. It was never meant to go this far. It was just meant to be for stress relief. Something to distract you from the aches and pains, physical and mental. It wasn't long until you'd be performing a special fanmeeting and relearning old choreographies and a cover had you feeling like you were being worked down to the bone. Even iconic dances like God's Menu were hard to remember, and you felt like you had no chance. No choice. It was like it fell into your lap so easily.

The first time you had stood outside to catch some air, it was for that genuine reason. And you weren't alone. You didn't know if the person worked at your company, if you knew them, whatever. But their hand offering you something that could bring you temporary bliss was a solution you were grateful for. Only now, you were seeing that it was short term.

"You need help. Seriously..." Chan spat, grabbing his backpack and storming out of the studio.

"Find a way to end this, Y/Nnie," Felix mumbled, stroking your hair gently before following Chan out with a rush.

"You're all just going to go?" your voice cracked. Were they leaving you now?

"We just need some time," Changbin sighed. And then he was gone too.

"You're leaving me?" you sniffled, standing up to face your boyfriends that were still in the room.

"Not like that, baby. We're just giving you time to think about how you can stop this, ok?" Han stroked your face as he made sure you knew this wasn't the end. And then he left too, Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin leaving too.

All alone. Perhaps it was what you deserved. You relied on the cigarettes more than your boyfriends. And they were all you had left for the moment. That was when it sank in. You had to make a change. You had to stop this habit form taking over your life, from pushing away the people you love most, and from taking your life away.

•••

"She's sorting herself out at least... that's got to be commendable."

"I guess so. Let's just hope it doesn't get out that a JYP idol is at rehab for smoking."

"It won't. And she's doing well from what I've heard..."

This was the only time Han was grateful for the staff gossiping. Immediately, he felt calmer. Considering the boys had spent the last few days blowing up your phone and worrying where you went, it was an oddly relieving feeling hearing you were at rehab. They had tried asking JYP himself, asking the manager of the company where you were but all they said was that you were safe.

"I know where she is!" Han bursted through the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him as he panted out of breath.

"Woah, woah, ok, deep breaths, let's sit down," Chan, with the darkest circles around his eyes yet, gently sat Han down on the sofa. He felt awful. He thought he had driven you away from them all. From the group. From the relationship. And that had been eating him up inside. It was a wonder he could act so calm with the news of you going into rehab.

"Rehab? For smoking? I didn't even know that was a thing," Seungmin hummed in thought, his arms crossed.

"I didn't either, but I overheard the staff. They say she's doing well. It's a good thing, right?" Han's eyes stared through the souls of everyone gathered in the lounge, begging for some sort of confirmation that things would get better.

"I mean, at least we're a bit more in the know then our own fans about why our girlfriend is on hiatus," Changbin brushed his fluffy, dark hair out of his eye.

"Can't we go and see her?" Felix wondered, lifting his head up from where it rested on Minho's shoulder.

"We shouldn't," Minho quietly sighed.

"Why not?" Jeongin quickly turned to him, mouth parted in shock that he didn't want to see Y/N.

"No, he's right. She's gone there for a reason. To get better. It's what we all said to her, isn't it? We'll see her soon. And when we do... It'll all be better," Chan helped everyone see sense. He was right. You had listened to them. You went and got help and were solving the problem. If they suddenly ambushed you and got in the way of that... You'd be back to square one.

•••

Today was the day, you were finally going back to the boys. You spent a good 3 weeks at rehab, and had been advised on some good coping mechanisms to take your mind off of smoking and how to create some healthier habits. You had shown good progress and it was deemed acceptable for you to leave and spend time back with your loved ones. And you couldn't lie, you were incredibly nervous. You had dropped a text without reading the spam that littered the groupchat, notifying your boyfriends what time you'd be returning, but after that you once again did not read anything else that was sent.

"Oh my baby, I've missed you so much," Han was the first one at the door, pressing kisses all over your face as he took you into his arms, holding you lightly.

"I've missed you too," you cried immediately, despite the weight off your shoulders.

"You're good now, right, darling?" Seungmin softly tugged you away from Han, both of his hands cupping your face whilst his thumbs wiped away your tears.

"I'm better," you nod through tears, Seungmin pressing a kiss to your head and giving space for your other boyfriends to soothe you and reunite with you. It had only been three weeks, yes, but 21 days had never felt so long.

"I'm proud of you, come here," Changbin scooped you into his arms and lifted you slightly, making you giggle before your feet touched the ground once more.

"Thank you... I'm sorry. I didn't realise what I had done... How far it went, you know?" you began, looking down at the floor as Hyunjin came and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his long arms securing you to him.

"We're just happy to see you here, honey, healthier," he whispered into your ear soothingly.

"And please talk to us in future. We had time to think after that, moment, and we know you were doing it as an escape. But we're here for you," Jeongin pecked you on the lips, your heads pressed against each other for a moment before he too moved away.

"Always, we're always here," Felix reiterated what Jeongin preached, and kisses you as well, noses rubbing against each other as he moved away, a cute expression on his face.

"Come here," Minho opened his arms, and you reluctantly left Hyunjin's arms only to be happy again in the warmth of your other boyfriend's embrace.

"Thank you for waiting, all of you," you swayed with him in his hug, until you pulled away and it was only Chan left.

He stood a few metres away, back to you, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

"Channie... babe," you sighed, tugging his hand to turn him and face you. His words had hurt you the most but it was also a huge wake up call. "Please, look at me, I'm not mad. I'm so grateful."

"I was too harsh with you," he bit his lip, hard, not wanting to let any tears escape.

"I needed it. Look at me now, I'm here, I'm better, and I've got habits I can stick to instead. Ones that won't hurt me. And they won't hurt you guys either," you looked up at him, one hand running through the hair at the nape of his neck and the other cupping his face.

"I'm so glad you're back... We were worried... Lost without you," Chan admitted, staring up at the ceiling before kissing you deeply, expressing all the emotions he had held back whilst you were gone.

"It's all good now. Plus, you should all be proud of me-"

"We are proud of you, baby," Jeongin cut you off stroking your hair.

"Well, be even prouder because I know how to bake an amazing carrot cake if I say so myself," you laughed, sharing a new skill that had occupied your stress and been taught whilst you were away.

"You can bake with me now! Oh my gosh! It's a miracle!" Felix cheered, tugging you into the kitchen as the other boys chuckled from behind you both.

"I didn't think you meant this very second!"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kailee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

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spookyserenades · 11 months ago

Text

Trouvaille - Chapter Fifteen (M)

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 21.3k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

HI HI HI! Thank you all for your patience for this update while I was recovering from my cold! I'm excited to share this chapter, it's jam-packed with emotion, some uncomfortable confrontation, fluff, and of course, some more depraved smut LOL. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you again for everyone wishing me a speedy recovery and your unwavering support. (also pls excuse any typos fdskafdjf) Love from Dana 💜

As an additional warning/reminder, for the smut: the scene is explicit, and is only intended to be read by those over the age of 18. Please practice safe sex, and readers please have discretion!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“I know you’re mad at me, but you know why I had to break that up, right?” Yoongi watched Y/N though slitted eyes as she poured a rather large glass of white wine for herself, scoffing.

Ignoring him, she took a swig of the chilled wine and turned on her heels, returning to the stove to stir the onion she was in the middle of sauteing. Even she could feel her irritation and anger coming off of herself in vicious waves, perhaps stirring the thyme into her mixture of onion, celery, and carrot with too much aggression.

“Y/N, come on. The silent treatment is really childish,” Yoongi’s deep voice had an edge of grit to it, Y/N snorting humorlessly.

The sounds of the leopard hybrid storming over to her side filled her ringing ears, and when he gently grasped her wrist to pry the wooden spoon from her grip, she spun around to face him, gritting her teeth when he turned off the stove.

“Childish? That’s rich,” Y/N eyed the way Yoongi’s spotted tail was flicking back and forth in agitation, hating having to argue with him at all. “You can’t just prevent me from talking to the others, Yoongi.”

A muscle pulsing in his jaw, Yoongi took a deep breath while pushing his hair out of his face, taking a better hold of Y/N’s hand and squeezing it once.

“I get why that’s how you probably see it, but that’s not what that was,” Yoongi replied evenly, appearing to exercise his unending patience.

“Okay, then explain! You know I’ve been trying to talk to Tae for days! Now he’ll probably never want to open up again,” Y/N had hysteria welling up in her, unable to decide if she was jealous of the way Yoongi always seemed to be so calm and collected.

“Yes, I know, sweetheart,” Yoongi’s jaw tensed again, thumb brushing over her wrist bone. “But not like that. He’s never been that drunk, at least since we’ve known him. I was trying to prevent him from doing something he might regret once sobering up.”

Y/N blinked, reading the sincerity on his face, her shoulders relaxing down a couple of inches.

“You know, the kid’s kind of grown on me in the last few months. I know that he’d be humiliated if things escalated further, that’s why I intervened. Besides, I didn’t want him to put you in a tight spot. I’m aware of how much you care about him,” Yoongi continued, the pinch between his brows loosening up when Y/N seemed to cool off.

“Sorry…” Y/N murmured, suddenly embarrassed that she was so quick to lose her temper on Yoongi.

“Nothing to apologize for. Just don’t clam up on me like that, and we’ll be good,” Yoongi softened, lifting her hand to his mouth to place a kiss on the back of it. “Let him sober up, sleep it off. Talk to him in the morning.”

Cheeks burning, she nodded, Yoongi letting go of her and swiping her wine glass, taking a sip with a purr. He took up the task of stirring the base ingredients of the tortellini soup Y/N was making for dinner, Y/N sighing and leaning up to stamp a kiss on his jaw, his still-damp hair tickling the tip of her nose.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have wanted things to escalate like that… thank you, my angel,” Y/N hummed, reaching up to give one of his ears a scratch, his posture stiffening then dissolving into shivers as her fingers stroked through the short fur.

“You’re gonna take advantage of that weakness all the time from now on, aren’t you,” Yoongi’s voice was feathery, Y/N chuckling and mercifully releasing his ear. “Chop up that fennel, we’ll add it to the soup to bulk it up.”

Stealing her wineglass back, Y/N did just that, glad that her and Yoongi didn’t have to have an explosive argument over jealousy. However, as her knife sliced down into the bulb of fennel, her thoughts turned to Taehyung– reeking of booze, cornering her to a wall, unfamiliar flames in his eyes. She knew that the next morning, Taehyung would probably be avoidant and perhaps even embarrassed, and pinning him down to talk to him would be no easy feat. She had no doubt that the Kodiak hybrid wouldn’t be present for dinner, which heightened her concern– all that booze and no food didn’t add up to a hangover-less morning.

“I’ll bring him up some of this later, in a thermos. Don’t worry,” Yoongi once again read her mind, Y/N using the flat of her knife to slide the sliced fennel into the Dutch oven the leopard hybrid was standing over. “He’s definitely passed out, at the moment.”

Nodding, she gave Yoongi a pat on the back, getting to work on prepping some of the other ingredients for dinner. The silence was amicable, comfortable, so the sound of the slider door scraping open had her squeaking in surprise, nearly dropping the loaf of garlic bread she was putting into the oven.

“If you don’t get out of my face, fox, I’m going to take my Zippo to your running sneakers,” Jeongguk’s gruff voice bounced off the walls of the kitchen, brushing snowflakes off of the shoulders of his leather jacket.

“What? I just asked if you had feeling in your antlers,” Hoseok defended himself, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin as he returned from his evening run. “You don’t have to be so accusatory all the time.”

Y/N stifled a laugh, looking over her shoulder to take a better glance at the spectacle, Jeongguk scoffing sharply as he hung his jacket on the coat rack by the door. Apparently, it had begun to snow outside, both his and Hoseok’s hair dusted with powdery clumps of it.

“And you don’t have to be such a nosy, irritating son of a bitch all the time, but sometimes we’re just created a certain way,” Jeongguk replied, Hoseok frowning as he caught a bottle of water Yoongi was tossing his way.

“Forget it, I’ll just Google it later,” Hoseok muttered, collapsing heavily into the breakfast nook, his ears drooping. “Cold as shit outside, by the way. Y/N, you’re sure we can’t move to Florida?”

“What’s with you and Florida, Foxy? Got a secret past there or something?” Yoongi inquired, wiping his hands on a dishtowel after bringing the soup to a simmer.

“Not particularly. It’s just warm and pretty there all the time. Didn’t you mention February can be even colder than January up here, Y/N?” Hoseok expertly dodged Yoongi’s line of questioning, redirecting his attention to Y/N.

“Sometimes. Judging by all the snow we’ve been getting lately, it’s looking that way,” Y/N admitted, still put off by the idea of living through Floridian summers. “I guess I’ll have to look into booking a trip to Disney a bit more seriously.”

“Ugh,” Jeongguk was disgusted, usually the one to turn his nose up at a Disney movie Seokjin or Hoseok would put on during movie night. “At least they sling excessive booze there, so I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, we can drink around the world in EPCOT,” Y/N put a finger to her lips, trying to calculate how much park tickets, souvenirs, a villa, and transport would run her– she shuddered at the figure she came up with roughly. To boot, the three hybrids in the room stared at her blankly, like she started spontaneously speaking French. “It’s a park in the resort. You know what, I’ll tell you all about it if I can scrape up the funds for a trip in the fall or whatever.”

The slider was pulled open again, this time bringing Jimin and Namjoon in from the cold, Jimin with only sock-clad feet, his muddied boots stowed beneath a covered section of the patio to prevent tracking mess into the house. Namjoon had a stack of thick books tucked under one of his arms, his denim-sherpa jacket damp with snow, nodding once at Y/N before heading off in the direction of his bedroom, likely to deposit the materials. Ever since she gave the wolf hybrid the information about their upcoming consultation, he had been burning the midnight oil tearing through all of the books he had in order to prepare himself.

“Hey, Jimin, how are the babies?” Y/N inquired about the animals, tuning out Jeongguk and Hoseok still bickering about his antlers, and whether or not they had feeling in them– secretly, Y/N was curious, too. “Oh shit– are you bleeding?”

Y/N dropped the knife she was using to shave parmesan slices for the soup with alarm, eyes bugging out of her head noticing the blood on his wrist. She flew over to him at lightning speed, hands outstretched to examine the damage. Jimin exhaled slowly, handing over his forearm, Y/N’s face settling into a deep frown.

“I’m alright, now, Y/N. It was just Bandit up to his old tricks when I went to give the chickens their supper,” Jimin’s voice had amusement coloring it, a half-smile on his face when Y/N dragged him to the island to dab a paper towel over the minor wound.

“That cocksucking rooster. We should just sell it,” Hoseok squawked from his spot on the breakfast bar, looking up from the noisy Tik Tok he was playing aloud. “I think it’s evil.”

Jimin rolled his eyes at the comment, one of his sandy ears twitching, before he placed his hand over Y/N’s tenderly.

“It’s just a nip. I’ll go disinfect it and come right back,” Jimin assured her, Y/N’s stubbornness coming to a head.

“Let me help,” Y/N tailed the coyote hybrid, reminded of the time he tended to her injury, and wanting to give a little bit back. “Bandit… appropriately named. Or perhaps Lucifer would have suited him better.”

Jimin snorted, letting Y/N grab a hold of the thick corduroy button-down he had over his tee shirt, dragging her down the hall and into his bedroom. The room, as always, had a sereneness to it. Dark blue colors, neat and tidy, and smelling like calming lavender and the crisp outdoors.

“Okay, sit,” Y/N took control, pushing Jimin onto his bed by his biceps, his tail slightly thumping against his mattress as determination set the shape of her mouth. Making haste for his bathroom, she was easily able to locate his basic first-aid kit, one she had in every en-suite in the house under the sink, dragging it out to the awaiting coyote hybrid.

Sitting beside him, Y/N held out her palm expectantly, Jimin placing his forearm into her grasp with a gentle sigh of resignation. Wincing at the torn skin, Y/N quickly loaded up a cotton square with alcohol, dabbing at the site gingerly. Jimin, to his credit, didn’t wince or flinch away, simply studying her actions with his lip tucked between his teeth.

“Sorry, it probably stings,” Y/N mumbled, reaching for the soothing ointment in the kit blindly, applying it on the bite.

“‘S alright,” Jimin shook his head, his hand curling into a fist before his digits relaxed, Y/N wondering if it was an attempt to get past the pain. “It’ll probably be healed up by the morning.”

Humming, Y/N smoothed a Hello Kitty bandaid over his skin, recalling how quickly hybrids recovered from injury.

“I’m sure something like that happened from time to time when you worked on the ranch,” Y/N mused, reluctant to let go of the coyote hybrid just yet.

“Yeah, perks of the job,” Jimin chuckled, making no move to peel himself away from her as well, Y/N feeling the brush of his tail against her lower back. “Thank you for patching me up. Beats my buddies telling me to rub dirt in it or threatening to kiss it better.”

Blinking at that tidbit of information, Y/N watched Jimin’s eyes go far away, a tiny smile on his full lips. Without thinking, and while he was distracted, Y/N ducked, pressing her puckered lips to the pink bandage. All she heard was a sharp, quiet, gasped intake of breath, Jimin’s strong forearm going limp in her palm as soon as she kissed him.

“A kiss is better than dirt, no?” Y/N straightened back up, finally letting his arm go and pushing that pesky strand of honey hair over his forehead back to join the rest of his slicked-back locks.

Jimin was stunned, effectively pulled out of his reminiscing, his butterscotch eyes wide as he stared down at her. In the distance, she heard Hoseok hollering about dinner being ready, Jimin’s downturned ears twitching, Y/N leaping from her spot and motioning for Jimin to follow. She was halfway through the door when Jimin replied, though she didn’t end up catching what he said.

“Much better.”

The next morning, a Sunday, would have typically been lazy and domestic. Usually, her and her hybrids went about their own business; watching movies, playing board games, and attending to their hobbies. However, that particular Sunday morning, Y/N had left Jimin in charge of making sure no one got into petty arguments, and was carefully ascending the stairs with a plate of hot, greasy breakfast food.

Much like Yoongi had predicted, Taehyung had not joined the rest of them for dinner, which nobody else saw as odd. Taehyung was still rather introverted and not so keen on befriending anyone besides Yoongi, and the others were of course happy to ignore him. The Kodiak hybrid hadn’t hauled himself downstairs for the Sunday morning fry up, and Y/N figured it was as good of a time as any to get their uncomfortable conversation out of the way.

Reaching his bedroom door, Y/N balanced the plate of food on her forearm, a large glass of water in her grip, and used her free hand to knock on his door as quietly as she could. She heard a gruff groan in response, Y/N rolling her eyes and making her way inside the room, shutting the door behind her.

The room was dark, all of the drapes pulled shut a little haphazardly, and Taehyung was slumped on his bed, his arm dangling over the side of the mattress and one of his cheeks squished on a pillow. His wild curly hair was matted and sticking up in several directions, and as Y/N held back a giggle when he moaned again, his eyebrows knit together and his nostrils flared.

“Morning,” Y/N whispered, placing the plate of food on his dresser, putting a lid over the fried eggs, mountain of toast, and breakfast sausages so they wouldn’t get cold. Though she uttered the greeting only above a breath, Taehyung groaned, pretty much planked on his front on top of his quilt. “Oh, honey…”

Fishing around in her pocket, she pulled out a packet of Advil tablets, crouching down in front of him and offering both the medication and the chilled glass of water, one of his carmine eyes cracking open slightly.

After a beat, Y/N watched the hybrid sluggishly turn onto his side, propped up on an elbow, his lips chapped as they parted slightly. Moving at glacial speed, Taehyung refused to meet Y/N’s eyes as he accepted both the pills and the glass, eagerly taking the medication and sucking down half the glass of water.

“Bit too much to drink last night, huh?” Y/N began, planting her ass on the ground and wrapping her arms around her knees. Taehyung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed the Advil capsules, Y/N following the movement with rapt interest. “I brought you some breakfast. It’ll soak up some of that gin. You should take it easy today, Tae, I can bring up my laptop and you can do a little photo editing in bed or something.”

Taehyung sat up more fully, although the movement was clunky and lacked the typical brawn and speed that he usually operated at. Clutching his forehead, one of Taehyung’s sharpened incisors bit down on his lower lip so harshly he drew a bead of blood to the surface of the flesh. Sighing, Y/N got to her knees, reaching up and back for the plate of food, placing it on his bed in front of him. The Kodiak hybrid’s complexion turned a touch green, a large hand slapping across his mouth and nose, and Y/N swore she heard a guttural gag from the back of his throat. She’d been there.

“I know the smell is probably making you nauseous, but you’ll feel better if you eat. I promise,” Y/N encouraged, Taehyung’s round ears pressed flat against his skull, an animalistic grumble vibrating his chest. “I… wanna talk to you, Tae.”

Appearing to catch him off guard as he poked at one of the fried eggs with his fork, Taehyung blinked at her, his expression blank. Y/N suspected, judging by the vacant expression, that he might have blacked out the previous night and couldn’t remember anything that happened; including but not limited to him pushing her against a wall and letting Yoongi spoon-feed him tortellini soup (or so her leopard hybrid had revealed to her over her morning coffee).

“Do you remember anything about last night?”

“No… No, I don’t,” Taehyung set his fork down promptly, unease turning down the corners of his mouth. “Did I do something wrong?”

Y/N shook her head immediately, though she knew that Yoongi– and the others, if they knew, would beg to differ. Unfortunately, the silent denial did nothing to make Taehyung’s alarm go away.

“You definitely drank way over your limit, but you didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing I’ve ever done that drunk, anyways,” Y/N picked at the fringe on his rug, mind going to the memory of drunkenly pushing Yoongi against a wall and demanding his phone number. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. I haven’t managed to corner you until now.”

“What did I do?” Taehyung ignored her latter statement, stiffening when Y/N leaned forward, plucking up a piece of toast and raising it to his lips with a cocked eyebrow. If he didn’t get any food into his system, he’d feel like garbage the rest of the day, hybrid healing skills or not.

“You seemed angry with me. I came home, you were listening to some jazz on Youtube in the parlor, and you had finished about half a bottle of gin. With no chasers,” Y/N only began speaking when Taehyung reluctantly took a bite of the toast, chewing robotically and staring at his hands tangled in his lap. “I think you were trying to tell me something, but Yoongi interrupted before you could say anything… and then you ran up here.”

Taehyung was quiet, his dark eyebrows pulled together as Y/N fed him toast, apparently lost in thought. While disheveled and still dressed in his cargo pants and hoodie from yesterday, Taehyung was nothing short of effortlessly handsome, even if Y/N could smell gin on his breath.

“Angry with you?” Taehyung mumbled, tongue flicking out to catch some jam on the corner of his mouth. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright, Tae. Keep eating,” Y/N encouraged, placing the fork back into his hand. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of this anecdote, but people often say that drunk words are sober thoughts. If there’s something on your mind, I want you to be able to talk to me about it. I care about you a lot, and miss having you around all the time. I don’t like… the distance.”

Y/N surprised herself by being so honest, stopping just short of spilling her guts and revealing her feelings for her elusive Kodiak hybrid. As she spoke, Taehyung made it about halfway through an egg before he pushed the plate away on top of his quilt, a frown on his face but the guarded look in his eyes softening exponentially. Looking down at her through his eyelashes, Taehyung heaved a great sigh, head tipping backwards and collapsing on his pillow.

“I’ve been acting immaturely, huh?” Taehyung breathed, his forearm draped over his eyes as he chuckled humorlessly, seemingly talking to himself more than anything else. “There’s no use in avoiding you, anyways. Stubborn and persistent.”

“So, you were purposefully avoiding me. Wanna tell me why? Does it have to do with… Yoongi and I?” Y/N probed, nearly whispering the last question. The corner of Taehyung’s mouth quirked up into a sardonic smirk. “Okay, I’m guessing that’s what it is.”

“I just,” Taehyung peeled his arm off of his face, sitting up and joining Y/N on the floor, pushing curls out of his eyes with annoyance. “Like Jimin. Wish you just told me.”

Y/N swallowed, looking down at her lap, shame filling her. Taehyung returned to his breakfast, munching on another piece of toast, leaning against his bed. She could hear him taking sniffs of the air delicately, probably smelling the emotions coming off of her, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how he sat several inches away, rather than pressed up against her like normal.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N’s voice was scratchy, picking at the rug once more. “You’re right, I should have told you.”

“That night, when I told you about how I ended up here, you said you trusted me. I trust you,” Taehyung admitted, Y/N slouching so low in response, she felt like she was curling in on herself. “I meant what I said, and I know you did too. But I couldn’t understand why you felt like you needed to hide your feelings for Yoongi from me.”

Not wanting to cry in front of the hybrid, pride somehow welling up in her and mingling with her shame, she willed her lip to stop wobbling, peeking at Taehyung out of the corner of her eye. While difficult to hear, Y/N could tell it took a great deal of courage for Taehyung to confess that to her.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up to any of you. I felt like everyone was finally getting comfortable here, and I was worried about disturbing the peace. Of course, I managed to do that anyways,” Y/N stared out of one of Taehyung’s windows, keeping her vision on the horizon so tears wouldn’t spill down her cheeks. “I trust you, of course. It wasn’t about me not trusting you, but trying to protect everyone’s… peace, I suppose. Comfort.”

“You can’t protect us from everything, Y/N,” Taehyung told her softly, Y/N all too aware of that truth. “There are going to be times where shit gets rough or uncomfortable, but we’ve all been through tough situations before. We can handle the truth, even if you think we can’t.”

Y/N was stunned by Taehyung’s sage advice, even if he was scolding her slightly. Nodding, she swallowed thickly, Taehyung reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder heavily. The contact had her spine going rigid, as Taehyung hadn’t so much as glanced at her recently, let alone give her a friendly touch.

“Is he… treating you well?” Taehyung’s low voice was barely audible, even right in her ear. The question made her cheeks burn, heart racing. Whatever she was expecting him to say next, it wasn’t that.

“Um, yes, of course,” Y/N mumbled awkwardly, twiddling her thumbs. “He loves me, too.”

“I know,” Taehyung removed his hand from her shoulder, getting to his feet and beginning to rummage through his dresser. “He’s loved you from the start.”

Gawking at Taehyung, looking at him from head to toe while his back was turned, Y/N was at a loss for words. Taehyung spun on his heels, offering a broad palm to help her up, a change of clothes tucked under his other arm. With a shaky grip, she took it, trying to catch eye contact, but the Kodiak hybrid avoided it.

“Tae…” Y/N began, feeling like the conversation wasn’t quite over, and she refused to let go of his hand even when he tried to pull away. “We–”

“Thank you for breakfast, you were right, it made me feel better. I’m going to shower, though,” Taehyung cut her off, squeezing her hand tightly before releasing it. “I’ll come down after… I’ll quit hiding, so stop worrying about me, please.”

“Oh, Tae–!” Y/N wasn’t fast enough, Taehyung’s hybrid strength and speed apparently returning to him, and he disappeared into his bathroom with a click of a lock, leaving her reeling in his bedroom, her palm tingling from his touch still.

Absently, she collected Taehyung’s half-eaten breakfast, and when she heard the shower turn on, it prompted her to leave the room, wondering if anything was accomplished by that conversation, if he truly would stop avoiding her, and how he knew about Yoongi’s feelings for so long. Humming sadly, she set her destination to the kitchen, thoughts still occupied with the flash of hurt in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Are you sure you know how to drive this thing, wolf?” Jeongguk shouted from the booth in the back of the old van, Y/N cringing in the passenger seat beside Namjoon, who had very sharply turned onto a side street. “Judas priest, try not to hit the curb.”

“Be quiet,” Namjoon barked back, pushing the pair of glasses he was wearing up his nose bridge. Y/N had gotten him blue light glasses so he wouldn’t burn his retinas while he was crouched over her laptop researching for hours on end. “You can’t even drive in general, so can it.”

Giggling into her palm, Y/N admired her wolf hybrid while he glanced at the GPS on his phone. His silver hair was parted and swept back neatly, and was wearing Y/N’s favorite sweater he owned, a cream cable-knit scoop neck. She tried her best to not ogle him too much, but the sight of his strong, tanned hands wrapped around the steering wheel and perched on the gear shift had her slightly squirming in her seat.

“Are we almost there?” Jeongguk, in fact, did not shut up, the sound of his thumb flicking a lighter making Namjoon’s bitten ear twitch.

“Excited, sweets?” Y/N tossed over her shoulder, adjusting the hem of her plaid skirt, Jeongguk snorting, though Y/N caught him twirling a pen between his fingers and tapping his foot eagerly. Jeongguk had also gone out of his way to look nice that afternoon, opting for a loose charcoal button-down and normal dress pants rather than his usual casual gothic attire.

“Please,” Jeongguk muttered, his voice muffled by the cigarette pursed between his lips. Y/N felt her mouth water, the elk hybrid’s hair beginning to grow in a way that made him look like a 50’s style greaser, complete with the shiny gel. “The possibility of interacting with paranoid humans all afternoon isn’t exactly enthralling.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N focused back on the road in front of her, not taking Jeongguk seriously at all. Jeongguk talked a big game, and certainly appeared intimidating with his glare, tattoos, and piercings, but deep down he was just as passionate about his interest in the paranormal as Namjoon was.

“You guys will get your first paycheck by the end of the week, isn’t that awesome? I mean, if we can wrap up the investigation and cleansing by then,” Y/N changed the subject, rolling her window down (manually, with a crank) to filter out Jeongguk’s cigarette smoke, Namjoon grumbling about the frigid temperature.

“Are you sure it’s legal for us to get paid?” Jeongguk asked incredulously.

“Uh, good question,” Y/N admitted, watching Namjoon’s hands tense around the steering wheel. “One for Ben.”

“Says we’ll be there in three minutes,” Namjoon pointed to the GPS, Y/N leaning forward in her seat to get a good look at the suburban street they were driving down.

It was just an average looking neighborhood in Newton, about twenty minutes from their own home, the houses sleepy Victorians and sidewalks studded with ancient trees. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, even when Namjoon parked his van outside of a little blue house shrouded by great oak trees.

“Is this it?” Y/N leaned across her armrest to check out the front of the building, squeaking out an apology when Namjoon jerked in his seat from the proximity, her cheek smacking into his chest. “Shit, sorry Joonie.”

“No, it’s the post office. Why else would he park here?” Jeongguk flicked the back of her head, Y/N flinching when one of his icy silver rings made her scalp smart. “Let’s go, we’re late.”

Muttering, Y/N massaged the back of her head, hearing the elk hybrid rummage around behind her for his bag, Namjoon unfastening his seatbelt with an apologetic grimace. Ever since she had scolded the wolf hybrid for speeding, he began going under the speed limits. The man was never really one for gray areas, moving from one extreme to another.

Pulling her coat closer around her body, Y/N jumped out of the old van, clutching her notebook to her chest and expelling a deep breath. While Namjoon locked up, she tucked the dangling wires to his Walkman deeper into his bookbag, snorting softly at the excited twitch to his tail.

Once in front of the door to the home, Y/N rang the doorbell, feeling the delicious heat of her two hybrids behind her like a solid wall. She hadn’t been that excited for an event in a while, even though it involved the unknown and people in trouble– the chance to spend one-on-one time with Namjoon and Jeongguk had her bouncing on her toes while she waited for the door to open.

Moments later, the heavy door creaked open, a thin, short woman appearing in the darkened threshold, a screen storm door separating her from the three lingering on her porch. The woman took in the sight in front of her with darting eyes, which had purplish circles beneath them, her hair a bit unkempt and hands shaking as she placed one of them on the handle to the storm door.

“Are you… Y/N?” The woman asked, her voice small, scratchy, and weary.

“Yes, are you Ms. Sanders? I work for Judy, I’m taking over her home consultations. She sent me all of the information you gave her about the situation in your home,” Y/N hoped that the woman would invite them in soon, the wind was biting and she could sense Jeongguk’s impatience without having to look at him.

“Please, come in,” Ms. Sanders– Erika, Y/N remembered her first name from the packet– pushed the remaining barrier between the outside and the apparently haunted house aside, Y/N promptly stepped into the house once the woman moved. “Also, please excuse the mess. I haven’t had much time to, um, clean up, lately.”

Namjoon shut the door behind him once everyone was inside, Y/N sneaking a peek at him sniffing the air with a thoughtful expression, Jeongguk looking awkward and unconfident, for once. Contrary to what Erika said about the state of her home, things seemed tidy, eerily so, and in the small den that they were led to, nothing seemed out of place, just lonely.

“I’d like to introduce you to my two hybrids, they’re here to help, as well. This is Namjoon, he’s very knowledgeable about all things paranormal, actually, all things in general,” Y/N gestured to her wolf hybrid, who exuded the confidence that Jeongguk seemed to be lacking. “And this is Jeongguk. He’s worked with a paranormal investigative group and has years of experience. Both of them successfully helped me rid my own home of an entity.”

“Y-yes, Judy mentioned that she’d be sending a team here for me,” Erika eyed the two hybrids standing behind Y/N like bodyguards, Y/N comforted by both of their contrasting scents in an unfamiliar place; floral honey and leathery smoke. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get anyone anything to drink?”

Y/N shook her head, the two hybrids following suit, sitting on her either side on the lumpy sofa in the living room. Y/N had to admit, there was a hair-raising, peculiar feel to the energy in the home, one that set her teeth on edge. Definitely different from the way it felt in her own house, Y/N could tell Jeongguk could sense it too, his dark eyes narrowed as he scanned the room.

“So, Ms. Sanders–”

“Please, just Erika is fine,” she sat on the sofa across from Y/N and her two hybrids, her frame sagging tiredly. The woman watched Namjoon methodically place his Walkman onto the coffee table, feeding a blank tape into the device. “Should I get the kids?”

“Actually, we were thinking that getting your explanation of what’s been going on first would be best. That way we can compare each family member’s experience to one another,” Y/N held her hands up, Erika halting her movements to rise from her seat, definitely a little bit jittery.

“Would it be okay to tape the interviews so I can review them later?” Namjoon addressed the young mother suddenly, his fingertip hovering over the record button and ears forward and alert.

“I’d let you film and broadcast on national television if it gave you an edge over whatever has been tormenting my family,” Erika insisted, Namjoon raising a brow but pressing down on the record button anyways, angling the device closer to the woman so the microphone would better pick up her voice. “So, where should I start?”

“How about when you first noticed things were becoming out of the ordinary. Nothing is too insignificant, so speak freely,” Y/N encouraged, Jeongguk leaning backwards on the couch beside her, ankle over knee, his journal opened up to a fresh page.

“Well, we moved here a little over a year ago. From Colorado. I separated from my husband and the kids and I needed somewhere safe to stay, far away… he’s an alcoholic, you see. My family is from Massachusetts, so I wanted to be near my folks god forbid my ex ever tried to come and find us…” Erika’s eyes became glazed over, Y/N trying not to react to her hybrids shifting and coiling in alert when a thump-thump-thump came from a wall behind the young mother, who apparently didn’t notice or was all too used to the sound. “Everything was normal, at first. The first six months here were perfect, idyllic, even.”

“When did that start to change?” Jeongguk spoke up for the first time, the tip of his pen tapping his lower lip. Erika glanced at Jeongguk, pulled from her reverie, and her expression became sharpened as if icy water was dumped over her head.

“It happened gradually. My son, Thomas, is non-verbal, but he started having nightmares eight months ago. He’d come into my room and climb into my bed, shaking. While he’s non-verbal, he’s always been quite independent and brave, so this struck me as odd– especially when the nightmares became a nightly thing. Unfortunately, I don’t know what his nightmares are about, because he’s refused to even write anything down about them, but I know they terrify him. That was the first instance of strange events, and he still has them almost every night.”

Y/N nodded, the sounds of Jeongguk hastily scribbling his notes down on the linen page of his notebook, and the crackling of the Walkman, filling the sad silence of the home. Y/N was reminded of her own nightmares that came with the haunting she experienced; the creature that chased her in her sleep, and the fear that crept down the notches of her spine had Namjoon scooching an inch closer to her subconsciously.

“After that, my Jules… She's always been a sort of flower child. But ever so slowly, that bubbliness has gone away, she’s been more introverted, edgy. I thought maybe it was just because she’s entering her teenage years, but she’s made some new friends at school. Ones that I’m not sure have the best influence on her.”

“How do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, wondering if there was some kind of entity Namjoon had learned about that was summoned when one makes shitty friends.

“They’re older than her, and whenever she hangs out with that group of kids, she’s out all hours of the night, ignoring her curfew,” Erika sighed, tearing her eyes from Jeongguk and shaking her head. “I’m not usually like this, I mean, my brother was goth growing up, so I’m more than used to the culture. But these kids are bad news, I know it. They’re less about music, politics, and fashion and more about teenage riot. Property destruction, drinking on the train tracks. Jules was never like that, so her sudden change in personality concerned me.”

“So, your daughter made a couple of friends who turned out to be punks, and her whole personality changed?” Jeongguk confirmed, though his usual condescending tone was absent. In fact, Y/N was very impressed by how much the elk hybrid reined in his attitude.

“I know what that sounds like, like I simply don’t care for her friends. But the more she hangs out with them, the darker her personality becomes,” Erika’s voice went rather quiet, now refusing to look towards Jeongguk at all.

“Sometimes, what ends up happening in a haunting involving children, particularly young teens, their moods are influenced heavily by whatever has attached itself to the teen’s home or even the teen themselves. There’s a chance that your daughter acting out, especially in a way that you disapprove of to provoke a reaction, is not due to her new friends, but instead, it’s something above her control entirely.”

Namjoon’s insight had Y/N blinking in surprise. Instantly, she felt a little sheepish about that shock, as she knew he had been doing extra research for the past several days– not to mention his lifetime of knowledge he was already sitting on– but it was impressive to hear him relay information like that. Y/N recalled how Seokjin had mentioned Namjoon was different in group settings outside of the home, more vocal. Perhaps that’s what her wolf hybrid was like at the book club, take-charge and confident. Y/N thought that Jeongguk would be more like that, but she was equally surprised by the elk hybrid’s quiet observations.

“So, you think the… ghost, or whatever, is what’s causing Jules to behave so differently?” Erika chewed on her lip, the thump-thump-thump sound returning, this time overhead, Y/N trying her best not to react. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeongguk jot something down urgently. “I mean, she won’t even talk to me. I don’t even know if she’d be willing to talk to you.”

With that, Jeongguk sat forward, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling the fabric up over his forearms. Raising an eyebrow at him, Jeongguk’s eyes flickered playfully in her direction, sticking his pen behind his ear.

“Is there any chance Julie’s friends look like me?” Jeongguk drawled, again, without any judgment, miraculously. Erika appeared embarrassed, nodding slightly.

“I–I mean, without antlers, of course b-but I didn’t mean to insinuate–”

“It’s alright, Ms. Sanders,” Jeongguk held up his tattooed hand indifferently, rising to his feet. “Julie might be more willing to open up to someone who shares a similar… aesthetic. The wolf, here, is too granola-crunchy, and Y/N certainly has more questions for you.”

Namjoon growled lightly beside Y/N, staring at the elk hybrid resentfully. To her wolf hybrid’s dismay, she was once again agreeing with Jeongguk.

“You think she’d be…? I mean, if you can get anything from her, please, try. I just want to know if she’s, um, as scared as we are. Her brother and I. If she’s seen things like us,” Erika, too, stood, her movements wobbly and frail. “I can show you to her room, ask if she’s up to meeting you. She knows that I’m having this consultation, anyways.”

“Ms. Sanders, Y/N and I are going to take a quick walk around the property while you and Jeongguk speak with Julie. When you return, I’d like to ask you about specific instances of activity,” Namjoon hooked a large hand around Y/N’s elbow, manhandling her to a stance, pausing the tape recording. Without even glancing his way, Jeongguk caught the Walkman Namjoon sent hurtling towards his head, the two of them having an unspoken plan already, apparently.

The young mother nodded, ushering Jeongguk up the narrow staircase to the second level of the home, Y/N spluttering as Namjoon dragged her outside, his grip strong as always, but tender and steadying. Heart racing, she grit her teeth at the nasty wind chill that greeted them once they were on the lawn, and naturally, Y/N clung as close as she could to Namjoon’s side without him growing uncomfortable.

“Why are we–?” Y/N began, Namjoon leading her to his van, letting go of her elbow once he yanked open the passenger seat, rummaging through his disorganized glovebox. “Joon.”

“Hold on, Y/N,” Namjoon mumbled, barely noticing that she was stuck to his back like a jetpack to shield from the bitter cold, teeth beginning to chatter. “I have an idea.”

Finally, he turned, his burnt honey eyes the only whisper of warmth amongst the gray of the sky, holding an array of objects in his arms; what appeared to be two, long, L-shaped pipes, a spool of red fabric ribbon, and a couple of packets, by the looks of it.

“Whatcha got there?” Y/N snorted, loving how much Namjoon was getting into the whole situation.

“Here,” Namjoon ignored her question, shifting everything but the little packets into one arm, taking one of her wrists, and aggressively shaking the pouches with a concentrated expression.

In the palm of her gloved hand, Namjoon placed a hand warmer in the center of it, promptly manipulating her wrist into the pocket of her coat, and repeating the same process with the other hand. Stunned, she stared at her wolf hybrid and registered the out-of-character action like she was a third party looking on, and Y/N wondered if the pink hue of his human ears blossomed because of the wind or bashfulness.

“Have you ever heard of dowsing rods, or people using them during paranormal investigations?” Namjoon asked after clearing his throat, turning again to lock up his van and break eye contact.

“Um, vaguely. I might have seen them use them on Ghost Adventures,” Y/N managed to choke back, the hand warmers keeping her fingertips toasty in her pockets. “Is that what those poles are?”

“Yeah. I figured we could just take a quick walk around the house with these, and we can mark areas that show any sort of reaction with the ribbon tied around a tree. While I handle the rods, you can try and read the energy beside me,” Namjoon motioned for her to follow him back up the driveway, thoughtfully reading her skeptical reaction. “I know you’ve been working on your energy readings lately, Y/N. You can do it, I believe in you.”

It was Y/N’s turn to be bashful upon hearing those words from her wolf hybrid. Namjoon’s approval was something that was hard-won, so the encouragement and praise had her floating straight up into the clouds. With those words, she thought she could probably scale a mountain if he was by her side.

Without hesitation, she trailed after Namjoon, curiously watching him shift the metal rods in his hands, and when they reached the side of the house where a large window looked into the living room, the wolf hybrid paused. Shivering, Y/N felt unease well up in her gut, the sensation of one thousand ancient eyes on her causing her skin to crawl. There was definitely something there, lingering around that window, perhaps in the brush, and judging by the movements of the rods in Namjoon’s hands and the frown on his face, he was coming to the same conclusion.

Saying nothing, Y/N simply sticking close to Namjoon as they made a slow circle around the yard, she concentrated on opening herself up to the energies of the backyard as much as she could, without risking attachment or harm. Namjoon was right, her practice was paying off, because she was starting to get a better sense of the types of entities that were lingering in the yard alone.

“Okay, get anything?” Namjoon asked, once they had landed back to the side of the building they first began canvassing, using his sharp teeth to tear a strip of red ribbon from the spool he was holding. “This window here seems to be the hotspot, but the house feels like it’s almost shrouded in something…”

“I think we’re dealing with more than one entity here,” Y/N admitted quietly, while Namjoon tied a knot around a little sapling under the window. “I felt a few different energies. Only one, in this particular spot, made me uncomfortable. Like I’m being watched. The others felt more organic, human.”

“And that’s just out here,” Namjoon added, but it sounded like he was talking mostly to himself. “Come on, let’s head back in. Jeongguk is done talking to the girl already.”

Absently, Namjoon reached backwards, one of his hands still adjusting the ribbon on the sapling, his fingers wiggling as he searched for Y/N’s grip. Mouth dropping open, she automatically slid her gloved hand into his, listening to his chest rumble as the residual heat from the hand warmers melted into his chilled skin. Never one to deny Namjoon his rare moments of actively seeking out any sort of affection, Y/N soaked in the moment as best she could.

“You still have that list of questions to ask?” Namjoon held her hand tightly as she walked up the ice-slick concrete steps into the house, so she wouldn’t slip.

“Uh-huh. We’ll probably be able to wrap up the consultation afterwards, schedule the investigation. With the energy I’ve felt so far, I think it’s best we get in here as soon as we can to clear it out.”

Back inside, Namjoon let her go, and the first thing Y/N registered was the teenage girl that was now sitting in the living room, beside Jeongguk, her hands tangled in her lap. Exchanging a sideways glance with Namjoon, she hurried into the room, taking a seat next to Erika and her son, Thomas, who had also chosen to join the consultation. Y/N noticed that the young boy was holding onto a plastic toy robot tightly, like someone was going to take it away from him.

“Tommy, this is Y/N, she’s going to help us,” Erika smoothed a hand down her son’s back, the kid blinking at Y/N in acknowledgement, similar dark circles under his eyes that mirrored his mother’s. Her heart broke, in consequence. “That’s the wolf hybrid I was telling you about, too, honey. Namjoon is his name. Tommy loves wolves.”

Tommy, indeed, was staring at Namjoon with stars in his eyes, squirming in his seat, Erika affording all of them a tender smile for the first time Y/N and her two hybrids had stepped foot into the home. Namjoon, embarrassed, sat on Jeongguk’s free side, offering Tommy a little wave, one of his sharp incisors biting down on his plush lower lip.

“Alright, kiddo, she’s probably got a few questions for you. She’s cool,” Jeongguk set Namjoon’s Walkman back onto the coffee table, Y/N’s eyebrows shooting into her hairline as the elk hybrid used the nickname he usually saved for her on the teenager that only seemed to be at ease because of the burly hybrid beside her.

Getting a good look at Julie, Y/N felt herself take a step backwards in time, the girl looking quite a bit like she did as a teenager; dark eyeliner, graphic band tee, chipped nail polish and holes in the knees of her skinny jeans. Julie regarded Y/N carefully, only after shooting a doubtful look at Jeongguk, then a resentful one at her mother, the girl’s dark eyes narrowing a tad.

“She’s how you described her,” was all Julie said, the corner of her mouth curling up in amusement as Y/N tried not to clench her fists– leave it to Jeongguk to offer up a sarcastic caricature.

“Hey, Julie, nice to meet you,” Y/N ignored Jeongguk’s smug, shit-eating grin, clearly pleased with himself that he was able to get Julie to be comfortable around them. “I do have a few more questions before we go ahead and plan the investigation. Which, when the three of us do conduct the investigation, you and your family will be safe and sound staying at a nearby hotel.”

“You’re not planning on instigating angry spirits, like those quacks on TV, are you?” Julie crossed her arms across her chest with a scowl, several brightly colored rubber bracelets around her wrists. Namjoon was busying himself with straightening out spare blank tapes on the table– he was always a little bit awkward around children.

“No way. That’s all Hollywood, anyways,” Y/N resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at Jeongguk, who was biting down on his fist to prevent laughing, which Y/N found both unprofessional and annoying as a gnat in her ear. “We just want to help get rid of whatever is bothering you. I’m sure Jeongguk told you a little bit about what was hanging around our house a few months ago… we were able to banish it permanently. I, and I’m positive my teammates as well, have no interest in provoking spirits for any kind of viral recognition.”

Y/N tasted the word “teammates” on her tongue like a saccharine hard candy, after all, it was the first time she was using it in reference to the sort of operation she had created with Namjoon and Jeongguk. Neither of them seemed to notice the significance, but both of them sobered with her words, nodding in agreement. Jokes aside, the situation was serious, and helping the family was top priority– thirst for knowledge and experience aside. Julie seemed to relax in response to Y/N’s promise, and without further ado, Y/N waited for Namjoon to start up the tape again, and she launched into her list of questions.

“Has the spirit ever shown itself physically to any of you?”

On the way back home from the Sanders’ residence, Y/N felt her frame sagging into the worn leather seat beside Namjoon, the tense of the house energy dissolving the further Namjoon drove from the address. She was ready for a hot bath and some mindless television, having more than enough of the paranormal for one day. A bit loopy, Y/N focused on the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, the shape of it a cartoon flying saucer.

“So the mother has seen a shadow in the hall at night, usually when she gets off from work. Then we had the kid point at the window, which Y/N mentioned feeling like an entity watches the family from there–”

“Jeongguk, you can take notes silently,” Namjoon sighed, probably sensing how exhausted Y/N was, even over the folk tape he was playing quietly and Y/N’s attempts to stay awake by pinching her thigh periodically.

“Fuck off,” Jeongguk muttered, but lapsed into silence anyways. Y/N stole a look at him over her shoulder, and he was lazily propped up on his side in the booth, a pen cap sticking out of his mouth while he scanned his notes.

Namjoon had cleaned up the van in preparation for their journey to the Sanders’, stacking his books neatly and moving most of them up to the loft where the mattress was, considering it was not being used. He even brought in a few blankets and pillows to make things a little more comfortable, one of the throws currently over her lap. Y/N, as well, added her own touch to the van– upon the wolf hybrid’s insistence– and taped little battery-operated fairy lights around the ceiling of the vehicle. In the short few days the three of them made the van ready for longer trips, Y/N had grown quite fond of spending time in there, and her and Hoseok had coined it the “mystery van”.

“Joonie?” Y/N spoke suddenly, her voice definitely weary but catching the wolf hybrid’s attention nonetheless, his ears perking up cutely even with his eyes still trained on the road.

“Mmm?” Namjoon pushed his glasses up his nose again, turning down the radio.

“How did you get this van?” Y/N dared to ask. She hadn’t done much prying into Namjoon’s past, heeding the advice in her wolf hybrid guidebook to let him present information when he’s ready, but since he had softened up so much, she figured asking wouldn’t do too much harm.

“It was given to me,” Namjoon replied cryptically, though Y/N was pleased enough that he actually answered her to not pout about how little that was revealed. “Shortly before you adopted me. In Wyoming.”

“Did you teach yourself how to drive?” Y/N figured she might as well go along with it if Namjoon was okay with that line of questioning, and didn’t seem peeved she was being curious.

“No, someone taught me,” Namjoon’s lips were twisted up in amusement, casting a brief look in her direction. “Some things can’t be learned from books.”

“Ah, I see,” Y/N didn’t want to push her luck, wiggling further into her seat to get comfortable. She had about one thousand follow-up questions, but she had all the time in the world to get answers from Namjoon.

“I lived alone most of my life, in the woods, abandoned cabins. I never liked to stay in one place, mostly because I avoided running into humans… I came across this van deep in Yellowstone park one night in the spring a few years back, the awning was out, and an old woman was sitting in a lawn chair in front of a campfire. I’m not sure how she managed to spot me, but she did,” Namjoon shocked Y/N by actually launching into a story, her mouth agape and even Jeongguk’s furious notetaking had ceased. “I hadn’t had a real meal in… well, ever. She offered me some dinner. At that point in my life, I didn’t trust humans as far as I could throw them. But I could smell her sincerity.”

Y/N had no idea what to say in response. An innocent question turned into a whole lot of background on her wolf hybrid, and she didn’t know whether to begin recording him or stay statue-still.

“Her name was Joan. Most of the stuff in here is hers, she had quite an interest in UFOs and ‘mythical’ creatures. Over the next few weeks, I’d check in on her… she was quite old, and by herself, and I suppose having access to real food was tempting to me as well. I’d listen to her prattle on about things she’s seen in the woods, I’d share things that I had experienced in the wilderness over the years,” Namjoon continued, turning the windshield wipers on when a flurry of snow began to fall. “After a few weeks, I trusted her enough to take her up on the driving lessons, joining her on her trips to town for provisions. I didn’t live with her, but I’d spend time there every few days.”

“Did you steal an old lady’s camper van?” Jeongguk exclaimed from the backseat, a throaty growl coming from Namjoon in consequence.

“No, you asshole. There were a couple of weeks where I’d go to the van, but she wasn’t there. It was confusing, like she had just vanished, but I wasn’t so attached to her that I was overly concerned. While she was old, she was still a decent hiker. I guessed she had just taken a tent and gone for a little trip,” Namjoon turned off the highway, taking the ramp that would bring them back into their town.

“I was wrong. The last time I went to check on her, the van door was open, but there was someone else inside. Thinking it was an intruder, I took a look inside, but I recognized the younger woman from pictures Joan had, it was her daughter. Her daughter told me that Joan had checked herself into the hospital following up on her heart condition, but it was too late. She died within three days of being in the hospital, heart failure,” Namjoon frowned, ears flattening to his skull. “The daughter said Joan mentioned me. Wanted me to have the van. The daughter had no use for it, anyways… She was just collecting some photos. She said I could have it, gave me the keys, and I never saw her again. It was convenient, so I just started living in here.”

Ears ringing, Y/N couldn’t believe how much she had gotten from Namjoon with just a few questions, and she felt somewhat guilty that she hadn’t tried to get closer to him in that way, blindly following advice from a stupid guidebook. That aside, her heart swelled a few sizes; if Namjoon felt comfortable enough to share all of that with her and Jeongguk, he had really come a long way since his initial adoption.

“I’m sorry about Joan,” was the first thing Y/N could think of as any sort of coherent reply, putting her hand over Namjoon’s that was resting on the gear shift and squeezing. “She must have liked you quite a bit to leave you this van.”

“I suppose,” Namjoon agreed, letting Y/N keep her hand on top of his, navigating his way through the town square. “She probably just preferred someone keeping all of her stuff safe after she died.”

“What made you want to come all the way to New England?” Jeongguk’s voice was suddenly right beside Y/N’s ear, making her flinch and push his shoulder. He was squatting between her and Namjoon, staring out the windshield with boredom, and a piece of gelled hair sticking to his forehead. The elk hybrid ignored Y/N’s pleas to sit down for safety, much to her chagrin.

“History,” Namjoon shrugged, shutting off the GPS once the familiar streets of their suburb were in view. “I wanted to see what a city was like. New York City seemed too big, and Boston is certainly historical. Plus, I had never seen the ocean before.”

“Weren’t you originally from Los Angeles, Jeongguk?” Y/N changed the subject, emotions welling up in her. As time went on, it was clearer and clearer to her that she and her seven hybrids, by some cosmic intervention, were destined to be together, considering they had come from all over the country at the same time.

“Yeah. Shithole,” Jeongguk rolled his eyes, using a wrist to smack a fresh pack of cigarettes against. Before she could ask him what he meant, Namjoon pulled into the driveway, the sky turning lavender as the sun disappeared over the bare willow trees. “I’m starving. Want a drink.”

Jeongguk straightened up, snatched his notebook from the booth he left it on, and with a flick of his lighter, was jumping out of the van and into the snow.

“Guess he had enough of us,” Namjoon remarked, unfastening his seatbelt and stretching his arms upwards, his shoulders popping with the movement. Snorting, Y/N shook out her stiff legs, folding the blanket over her lap and gathering her tote bag.

“He’s bratty when he’s hungry,” Y/N smirked, waiting for the wolf hybrid to lock up the van before heading to the house. “Maybe I should order pizza tonight, unless Yoongi made something already.”

Namjoon sniffed the air, shaking his head.

“No, nothing’s cooking. Just the fire in the living room is going,” Namjoon matched his stride with Y/N, his tapes and Walkman tucked under his arm. “Order pizza, I can tell you’re tired. The energy work must have taken a bit out of you.”

Preening under Namjoon’s observation, she stared at the snow-dusted grass, feeling closer to him than ever.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to take a bath before dinner. Put some cleansing herbs and salt in the water just to make sure nothing from the Sanders’ house is clinging to me,” Y/N watched Namjoon unlock the front door with the house key he kept in his pocket, her own hands reaching up to dust snow collecting on his shoulders.

“Good idea,” Namjoon let Y/N into the house first, Y/N sighing at the cozy heat and ambient lighting. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Huh?” Y/N spun on her heel, gawking at the wolf hybrid, who was blushing.

“For including us in these investigations,” Namjoon said simply, a faint dimple appearing on his cheek.

“Oh,” Y/N blinked, pausing in front of Namjoon’s bedroom door. “I don’t think I would, or could do it without you two.”

Namjoon’s ears were a vibrant shade of red by now, and with that final comment, he ducked his head, mumbling something about reviewing the tapes before dinner. She let him disappear into his bedroom, and in a sort of daze, Y/N found her way to her own room, opening up her notes app to find the pizza order document with a grin.

February had finally rolled around, and as Hoseok and Y/N both dreaded, it was colder than January. At the very least, the sun was staying up later and later, to her relief, but there had never been so much snow in recent years. She was up to her ears in shoveling the walkways, scraping ice off of the cars, and making sure there was plenty of salt and gravel on the well-walked areas of her yard. That particular afternoon, the first Tuesday of the month, Alice happened to have a day off from the newspaper, and offered to swing by for a bit to catch up.

“Where is everyone?” Alice accepted a hot chocolate from Y/N, sitting in the breakfast nook, glancing at the noticeably hybrid-free kitchen.

“Taehyung officially got his driver’s license recently, he took himself, Yoongi and Hoseok up to the rec center to sign up for the spring activities. Jimin’s out with the horses, Jeongguk and Namjoon I think are in the van researching some equipment we need to order for the investigation in a couple of weeks,” Y/N slid into the booth beside her friend, blowing the steam from her own hot chocolate. “Seokjin got roped into joining Hoseok. He pretty much got dragged out of here.”

“So what you’re saying is, no one will hear us if we talk shit?” Alice grinned, Y/N already knowing what direction the conversation was going to take before Alice said another word. “Spill. You have a glow, so things must have worked out with Yoongi.”

“Between him and I? Yeah,” Y/N grew a bit shy, even if Alice knew pretty much everything about her already. Except for the fact that she had fallen for all of the hybrids, not just Yoongi, and that fact was something she was ready to share with her best friend once and for all. “Some of the others? Not so much.”

“Oh no. Tell me,” Alice scooched closer to Y/N, her arm slung around her shoulders comfortingly.

“Basically, the rest of them caught Yoongi and I in the kitchen in a… compromising position, and that’s how they found out about us,” Y/N grimaced, Alice gasping.

“No way. You weren’t fucking in here–”

“Christ almighty Jesus! No,” Y/N squawked, blood pooling in her cheeks. “We were just kissing. I’m not that much of an adrenaline junkie!”

“Okay, I was gonna say, Y/N. Way to go,” Alice snorted, taking a merry sip of her hot chocolate. “So I’m guessing a handful of them weren’t stoked about walking in on that.”

“Actually, the ones I thought were going to be weird about it were totally fine,” Y/N chewed her lip thoughtfully, aware that Alice wasn’t too familiar with the nuances of each hybrid’s personality. “Jimin and Taehyung were really disappointed that I felt I couldn’t confide in them. Jimin has forgiven me, but Taehyung still seems a little off, even if he insists he’s cool with it. He asked me recently if Yoongi was ‘treating me well’.”

“Damn. He sounds jealous,” Alice leaned back with a wag of her eyebrows. “What I know about hybrids, especially the types you’ve adopted, they can get hella territorial. Maybe it's his instincts screaming at him to protect you.”

“Could be,” Y/N muttered, her cheeks getting even hotter at the thought. “Then there’s Seokjin. He hasn’t addressed it at all, it’s like he’s pretending it’s not even happening. He used to be the clingiest, but now it’s rare he’ll initiate any kind of physical contact at all.”

“Again, babe. Sounds like jealousy. I remember Seokjin, he stuck to you like a starfish and looked at you like you hung the moon. He’s probably in denial,” Alice frowned, watching Y/N’s expression become stormy. “What’s wrong? You have that look on your face like you’ve left something out.”

“Alice, it’s not just Yoongi I’ve fallen in love with,” Y/N rubbed her temples, deciding to just bite the bullet already. “It’s all of them.”

There was a beat of solemn silence, and Y/N could almost smell the wheels in her best friend’s head turning. Alice tightened her hold around Y/N’s shoulders, the smell of her caramel perfume wrapping her up in a deeper hug.

“I had a feeling,” Alice admitted quietly, squeezing Y/N once again. “That’s why you feel guilty that those three are keeping their distance.”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N felt the hot chocolate go sour in her stomach, though she should have known that Alice had caught on by now. Y/N wasn’t exactly subtle with her heart-eyes around the boys, even with others present. “I talked to Ben about it. I know it’s high school for me to say, but I’m so uncomfortable with the idea of confessing to any of them myself. The possibility of rejection is scary, of course, but seeing how much the boat was rocked when they found out about Yoongi and I…”

“I don’t have to tell you this, babe, but this isn’t something you can run from forever. I think all you can do is take it one step at a time… if you were to sit everyone down at once and admit your feelings to the six of them in one breath, I have a suspicion not a lot of them will take that confession seriously,” Alice mused slowly, Y/N already holding the same opinion. The last thing she wanted was to lump every confession into one sort of sit-down conference, for some reason, the potential scenario came off as cheap and rushed, to her.

“I just. I don’t even know who to start with. Maybe one of the boys that aren’t avoiding me like the plague,” Y/N said miserably.

“You know, there’s a chance one of them may come to you,” Alice encouraged, wanting to cheer up her friend. “You never know. Yoongi felt the same, maybe a few of the others have feelings for you, too.”

Perking up a little bit, Y/N let herself believe that for a few moments, imagining how nice it would be to be past all of the drama and confrontation, and simply living in love and harmony with all of her boys– like a storybook. Unfortunately, Y/N existed in reality and not between the pages of a children’s book, and she shook away the vision dancing around in her head quickly.

“I suppose we’ll see… Yoongi and I are still navigating how we act around the others, anyways. It’s a little tricky,” Y/N changed the subject slightly, knowing that Alice would be interested in some of the spicier things that had been going on in her life, rather than the tangled and complicated.

“I’m sure. If my man was half as sexy as your Yoongi, you’d need a crowbar to pry me off of him at any given moment,” Alice deadpanned, Y/N choking on a sip of her drink, Alice’s throaty laugh filling the empty kitchen. “How does that work, by the way? I mean, with hybrid hearing… have you guys even…?”

“Uh… yeah, we have,” Y/N shrunk down in her seat, embarrassed. “The music room is soundproof.”

“Y/N, you naughty girl! Wait, so like. Is that going to become like the Red Room like in 50 Shades? Like, you’re only going to fuck in there?” Alice, true to herself, brought some humor into the situation, Y/N giggling despite herself.

“I mean, no, I don’t think so,” Y/N managed through laughter, relieved to have some time with her friend and talk about such things. “As hot as it was… I mean we’re probably going to end up sleeping together in a bed at some point. I think it’s futile to pretend we’re not going to be intimate, the others aren’t stupid. I suppose I’ll just have to keep my sound level in check.”

“Okay, so clearly he doesn’t suck in bed, if that’s your response,” Alice teased, poking Y/N in the cheek. “Lucky lady. You do deserve it though, after all those years of The Great Dry Spell.”

“He’s perfect,” was all Y/N responded with, trying not to let her eyes glaze over with the memories of their tryst in the music room. “God. I’m sweating. Let’s talk about something else before I start chewing on the table.”

“I have an idea,” Alice straightened up after several moments of the girls laughing at Y/N’s fluster, taking up one of Y/N’s hands with mischief in her eyes. “Before you shoot it down, think about A) how fun it would be, and B), the potential amazing rewards.”

Making a motion for her to spit it out, Y/N braced herself for something ridiculous.

“You’d do this in small doses, of course– the fact that some of them seem to be jealous is evident. Why not tease them a little? Give Yoongi a kiss here and there in front of them, bat your eyelashes… I’m not saying be a menace with the PDA, but I think well timed PDA might coax one of them into slipping. I know you, if you had more of an idea that one of them had romantic feelings for you, you’d feel better about confessing. Just a thought.”

Y/N mulled that over while draining the rest of her mug, furrowing her eyebrows. That was the exact kind of scheme her, Alice, and Laura would pull when they were teenagers with their high school crushes, and usually, it worked like a charm. Now, however, Y/N felt a little funny about it.

“I don’t know… wouldn’t that be manipulative? Wouldn’t I be using Yoongi?”

“Y/N. Do you seriously think your leopard male hybrid who is in love with you would be upset that you kiss him in front of others? Hello? They’re all about possession. You’re not manipulating, either. Just think of it as a gentle kick in the ass for the others to sort out how they feel,” Alice rolled her eyes, Y/N regretfully realizing her friend was right.

“I’ll think about it. If it blows up in my face, though–”

“If it blows up in your face, I’ll take responsibility. It won’t though,” Alice collected the empty mugs, standing from the breakfast nook. “Alright, babe. We need to catch up on some Below Deck, and I want some dirty details about your man.”

Snorting, Y/N nodded, ready to have a couple of hours to gossip and watch trash reality with a girlfriend. She felt lighter, truly, that she told Alice how she felt about all of the hybrids, and was grateful that Alice not only offered her advice from a different point of view, but made her smile, too. As Alice dragged her to the parlor, Y/N wondered who she was in her past life to not only deserve her boys, but her friends, as well.

“Come on, Y/N, try it!” Hoseok attempted to grab Y/N by the ankle, his russet tail wagging happily as he teasingly pressed the ‘on’ button to his Hypervolt. “You’re being a wuss.”

“Hoseok. I have tried it. Last time you pressed that against the back of my neck without me knowing, I thought I was having a stroke,” Y/N was able to wrestle her ankle free from her fox hybrid’s grip, her ass sore from sitting on the rough surface of the rec center’s indoor track. “I’m not the one about to run a mile. Focus on your own calves.”

“Oh, please, just a couple of seconds,” Hoseok was too quick for her to evade his grabby hands for long, his strong, nimble hands clasping around her ankle again with a cheeky grin.

“Ho-seok,” Y/N groaned as soon as the vibrating tool dug into the meat of her calf, and regretfully, she was eating her words– after a few days of being on her feet at work, the sensation was delicious. “F-focus, honey. It’s the first meet of the season.”

“Yeah, so? You’re the only one who came. Even Jinnie abandoned me, reading his stupid books,” Hoseok ignored her plea to focus on his warm-up stretches, moving the Hypervolt further up her calf, Y/N praying she wouldn’t melt into a puddle of moans and groans at the sensation.

“They’re r-reading a Murakami book this w-week. Hoseok, stop!” Y/N weakly pushed his hands away, pouting at him. “It’s like almost 1,000 pages. He wasn’t doing it to spite you.”

“He could have read it here!” Hoseok countered, though obediently put his Hypervolt back into his gym bag and began to stretch out his quads in front of her. “Whatever. I’m only doing one event tonight, we'll be outta here in like an hour or so.”

“What do you want for dinner? We’ll pick up something on the way home,” Y/N pulled Hoseok’s number from his gym bag, shifting forward on her knees so she could pin it to his jersey tank.

“Chinese. I want a bucket of fried rice,” Hoseok replied without hesitation, Y/N making sure his mahogany waves were suitably held back by the sweatband around his forehead.

“That can be arranged,” Y/N agreed, squeaking in surprise when one of the announcers reminded the mile runners that they had ten minutes before they had to be at the starting line, Hoseok perking up. “Couple of questions for you?”

“Darling?” Hoseok cocked his head, nose twitching in her direction.

“Your birthday is this month. What would you like to do, my social butterfly? Wanna throw a party, or go somewhere specific? A club, a bar?”

Any trace of sly humor disappeared from Hoseok’s face in a flash, astonishment replacing it, before he ever-so-elegantly recovered, a neutral expression taking over.

“That’s a lot to think about. It’s still a little ways away, can I think about it?” Hoseok responded carefully, his hands coming up to rub his lean biceps.

“Think about it as long as you need. Unless you actually want to go to a club, I’ll have to book that ASAP,” Y/N leaned back on her palms, praying that his event would go by quickly so her ass wouldn’t be scraped up any further by sitting on the rough concrete. “Gift ideas, too. You like clothes, but you have a bunch of those already… we could go to a sports game? Or we could go to a music festival, I know you’ve been interested in that. There’s one next month here in Boston, I heard The Foo Fighters are headlining one of the days.”

“Y/N, that’s a lot to give a guy to think about before he has to perform athletically,” Hoseok whined, but Y/N could see embarrassment plain as day in his mocha eyes. “I’ll let you know, alright? Whatever you do for my birthday will be more than enough, though, without a doubt.”

Mouth open to reply, Y/N was cut off by a whistle blowing, Hoseok nimbly hopping to his feet, his cheeky, gorgeous grin back in place. He looked like a young god in his uniform, full of life and vigor, one that governed over the sun and daylight. Before she could speak, Hoseok used his hybrid swiftness to bend forward, pressing a light kiss to Y/N’s forehead at lightning speed.

“Wish me luck, my darling! Order some egg rolls for Jinnie while you’re at it, too, alright?” Hoseok winked, whistled his trademark, and jogged off towards the starting line, leaving Y/N wooden and staring after him.

Of course, Hoseok ended up winning– he had a streak, at that point, and was considered the star of the team, especially for his particular event. It was a shame, truly, that the rest of her hybrids didn’t want to be there to support the fox hybrid– but Y/N supposed with the near-weekly meets, it interfered with their own interests and hobbies. Besides, Y/N never missed a track meet, a basketball game, or a photography expo. Hell, if there were oral reports during her mother’s book club, she’d be there an hour in advance to hear whatever Seokjin and Namjoon had to say about a book she had never read.

The next day, Wednesday, Y/N was beat from work, after Judy had her totally rearrange the store’s inventory for the spring. There was enough leftover Chinese food for her and the hybrids to pick at for dinner over a marathon of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and by the time she dragged herself to bed, her eyes were nearly crossed. The only thing that prevented her from drooling into her pillow immediately was the sound of her phone chiming on her nightstand, Y/N grumbling and blindly reaching for it, tapping on the text notification.

Yoongi 👼🏻: can’t sleep : (

Y/N: sorry, angel 😭 something wrong? Need some tea?

Yoongi 👼🏻: no, just u

Yoongi 👼🏻: come up, stay with me?

Suddenly wide awake, Y/N sat up in bed like she was electrocuted, her heart hammering in her chest. Bunching her quilt up in her fists, she was torn– there was nothing she wanted more than to sleep with Yoongi, but she dreaded the thought of sneaking out of his room in the morning and stumbling into Seokjin, Taehyung, or Jeongguk on the second floor.

“Fuck it. We’re going with Alice’s plan,” Y/N muttered to herself, and as if on autopilot, she made her way to the second floor miraculously without turning on any lights.

Yoongi’s door was ajar, and it appeared that he was the only one still awake, lamplight only coming from his room, fortunately. Promptly, she slipped inside, chest rumbling in satisfaction when Yoongi’s scent filled her senses powerfully.

“That was fast for a little human,” Yoongi emerged from his bathroom, Y/N trying not to drool out of the side of her mouth with his bare chest on display. His sweats were slung low on his narrow hips, spotted tail curled around one of his legs, and Y/N suddenly felt exposed in her own tank-and-shorts pajama set.

“Do you want me to stay or not,” Y/N hissed, hands on her hips. Yoongi rolled his eyes, tongue poking into his cheek. The leopard hybrid shuffled over to his bed, dramatically collapsing onto it, his arms behind his head with a smirk. “Are you trying to smize your way out of a smartass remark?”

Y/N swallowed, her throat completely parched, dragging her eyes over his strong arms; the veins mapping his forearms, the pink tint to his bent elbows, the dark hair of his armpits. Briefly, Y/N internally cursed Yoongi for making her so whipped for him, she was attracted to armpits.

“Is it working? Smells like it is,” Yoongi lifted a brow, tongue swiping over his lower lip and a free hand reaching up to fiddle with the silver chain around his neck. “Come here.”

“Yoongi. We’re just sleeping. You have a game tomorrow,” Y/N warned, though she lowered her knees to his mattress, crawling up the length of if so she could lay beside him. “Don’t seduce me.”

“Speak for yourself,” Yoongi accused, his eyes darkening as he watched her climb to his side. “Miss you.”

Y/N hummed, rolling onto her side, sticking her face into Yoongi’s neck, breathing in his cologne. Automatically, Yoongi began to purr, using one of his hands to grasp onto Y/N’s thigh, hooking it over his body. Her skin tingled where he touched her, especially when he began to trace shapes over her thigh, just below the hem of her shorts.

“Miss you too,” Y/N mumbled into his neck, planting a gentle kiss on the tender skin, Yoongi shivering beneath her. Already, her eyes felt heavy, tangled up with her lover, his soothing purrs like a sweet lullaby. “Turn off the light. Early morning.”

Grunting, Yoongi yanked on the chain to his lamp, plunging the room into darkness, Y/N sighing happily when he pulled his quilt up over the two of them. Y/N rested her palm over Yoongi’s heart, the steady beats of it beneath her touch comforting.

“Love you, baby,” Y/N whispered into the darkness, Yoongi’s tail wrapping around her waist, and she could tell he was already slipping into unconsciousness by the way he murmured the same sentiment back, slurred and heavy.

The next morning, Y/N pretty much had to push Yoongi off of her, his body on top of hers, cheek squished against her chest, his twitching ears tickling under her chin. He groaned and complained when she rubbed his back to wake him, and Y/N fought the urge to simply fall back asleep with him on top of her.

“Come on, you big kitty, gotta have some breakfast before the game,” Y/N wheezed as she managed to roll him onto his side, his long hair sticking up in the back. His eyes were still shut as he stumbled out of bed, making Y/N snort into her palm. Usually, Yoongi was one of the first hybrids up in the morning, but Y/N had never seen him before his first cup of coffee. “I’ll make something for you while you get ready.”

Yoongi frowned, not wanting to part with her yet, but she left his room with a grin as he shrugged on his jersey with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. No one else appeared to be up yet, all of the bedroom doors on the second floor still shut, so Y/N was able to tip-toe down the creaky staircase without a confrontation.

After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, Y/N was writing a brief note to tell the others where her and Yoongi were that morning, they were off to the rec center, Y/N letting Yoongi drive there. The weather was cold and damp, but at least there wasn’t any snow coming down from the sky on their drive in, but Y/N barely felt the chill with Yoongi’s hand on her knee while he drove.

It wasn’t her first time in the rec center’s indoor gym, the floors buffed to a blinding shine and wooden bleachers surrounding the court, but because it was a new season, she felt like it was a different place. Once Y/N tied up Yoongi’s hair and pressed a kiss to his cheek, he was off to warm up with his teammates, and Y/N found a spot on the bleachers to watch the game. One eye on her leopard hybrid, she fumbled for her phone, which was buzzing away in her pocket. It was a notification of a reminder– in three days time, Valentine’s day, was the cooking class with Seokjin. Smiling a bit wistfully, she screenshotted the reminder, sending it to Seokjin over text.

Y/N: excited for our class!!

Seokjinnie 🌸: me too ≽^•⩊•^≼

Y/N: cute emoji omg! Is that supposed to be u?

Seokjinnie 🌸: ᡣ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶𐭩 ♡

Y/N flinched when Yoongi’s coach blew her whistle aggressively, promptly setting down her phone and getting ready to watch Yoongi play. He dropped into total concentration, listening to his coach with his lip tucked between his teeth, before getting into position and watching the coaches to a coin flip. She was getting lost in checking him out when she was rudely interrupted by someone saying his name– several feet from beside her.

“Number 54? Yeah, his name is Yoongi,” a high-pitched, girlish voice declared to her friend, and Y/N knew that she was gawking at them, but she wanted to know how she knew her leopard hybrid’s name. “Isn’t he hot?”

Y/N grit her teeth, realizing the two girls were actually hybrids, dressed in tennis skirts and both with canine sets of ears. Y/N recognized the uniforms they were wearing, belonging to the rec center’s tennis team, which means it was likely that they had seen Yoongi around before. Instantly, jealousy bloomed in her gut, and she had to tear her eyes from the two of them, fidgeting in her seat. She was pretty sure neither of the girls had noticed her staring at them, but she didn’t want to get caught, so she chose to discreetly eavesdrop instead.

“He’s super hot. Like a rockstar or something,” the second girl, the one with darker hair, agreed. “I heard he’s like the best player on the team.”

“For sure, that’s what Trixie said. She used to watch the basketball team practices last season just to see him play.”

Now, Y/N was absolutely positive she was filling the gym with the acrid scent of jealousy, but if the girls noticed, neither of them even looked in her direction. Y/N wasn’t stupid or blind, she knew how gorgeous and talented Yoongi was, but it was never fun to hear others fawn over one’s boyfriend. Gripping the bleachers tightly, Y/N tuned the hybrid girls out, focusing on Yoongi, who had already stolen possession of the ball.

Luckily, the game became a nail-biter, enough to distract her from the girls beside her. Y/N’s throat was hoarse from hollering Yoongi’s name, and she managed to get a pretty decent video of him scoring– by the end of the game, Y/N could barely speak, but Yoongi’s team had won. Before she could launch herself onto the court to give him a hug, he was pulled away by his teammates, who were thumping him on his back and pushing him towards the locker room. This made Y/N pout, but she knew that Yoongi would want to take a shower before they hit the road, so she busied herself on the phone, ignoring the giggles of the two hybrids beside her.

Hoseok 🦊: heads up, darling

Hoseok 🦊: we’re all heading out, taking the car. Errands to run!

Y/N: errands???

Hoseok 🦊: ye, ghostbusters need some equipment. Jinnie wanted to make something for dinner so gotta go to the store. The bear needs to pick up his photos while we’re there, and we’re dragging Jimin along so he can spend time with beings that AREN’T horses

Y/N: okay, thanks for letting me know foxy

Y/N: have fun, be safe, and think about plans for your birthday, pls!

Hoseok 🦊: i’ll make a list :3

“Ready to go?” Yoongi approached her, his hair damp and his gym bag slung over his shoulder, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty room. When he was in front of her, a smirk on his face, the two girl hybrids stopped whispering, and Y/N knew that they were checking him out, and she didn’t like that one bit.

Pocketing her phone, she recalled her earlier jealousy, and apparently catching him off-guard, Y/N launched forward, jumping up into his arms with an oof coming from the back of his throat. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Y/N held him tightly, hiding her face in his neck.

“Whoa, I didn’t win the NBA finals,” Yoongi chuckled, using one arm around her lower back to keep her supported, his chest vibrating with purrs. “Sweetheart–”

She cut him off, cupping his face urgently, descending her lips on his in a powerful kiss. He made a feline noise of surprise, his mouth parting, and Y/N took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, trying to inject every ounce of passion she had into it. After a split second, Yoongi recovered, kissing her back, his arm tightening its hold on her. Not wanting to draw it out too much, her jealousy melting into sheepishness, she broke away with one last peck to his lower lip, Yoongi’s eyes full of surprise and delight.

“What was that for?” Yoongi asked, breathlessly, Y/N giggling like a schoolgirl as he lowered her back to the ground.

“What? I can’t kiss my man?” Y/N replied, parroting his sarcastic remark he had once made in front of Taehyung. Yoongi blinked, stunned out of a response, Y/N tucking a lock of hair behind his ear before tangling one of her hands with his. “Let’s go home, angel.”

Y/N didn’t even look at the two girls that were gaping at the pair of them, but she knew that they were so caught off guard, they forgot to “congratulate number 54 when he comes out of the locker room”. Smugly, she left the gym with Yoongi on her arm, and she realized once they got to the car: Yoongi didn’t even notice those two girls, his attention had been on her completely.

“Where’s the other car?” Yoongi frowned, pulling into the driveway carefully, never once letting go of Y/N’s hand.

“Hoseok took it out with everyone to run some errands. On the bright side, I don’t think either of us will have to cook dinner, Seokjin wants to make something tonight,” Y/N hopped out of the car, suddenly struck by the fact that the two of them were alone, which had her pulse speeding up.

“Ah. Giving us space,” Yoongi read her mind, chuckling. She stuck her tongue out at him while his back was turned, dragging his gym bag out of the backseat, and ditched him in the driveway to unlock the front door.

Y/N headed straight for the kitchen for a glass of water, lamenting the fact that it was still too early for a glass of wine. Bouncing around in her skull were not only images of Yoongi jogging up and down the court, commanding the respect and admiration of his teammates, but the sounds of the two hybrid girls gushing over him. Embarrassingly, Y/N felt her jealousy return, hardly noticing Yoongi in the foyer as she stomped up the stairs, scooping up his gym bag as she went. She thought perhaps doing something as mundane and mind-numbing as a load of laundry would help her get a grip.

Grumbling, she tossed Yoongi’s sweaty uniform into the wash along with Hoseok’s, adding a few more articles of the boy’s clothes from the mountain of dirty laundry in the corner of the little room. Eyes glazed over as she tossed laundry beads into the machine, she stared at the little chart taped to the wall, the one that she and Seokjin had created so laundry duty was tackled by a different housemate every day.

“What’s the matter?” Yoongi startled her in the doorway to the laundry room, making her whack a knee against the dryer with a cry.

“Nothing,” Y/N composed an innocent expression on her face, folding a pair of Jimin’s jeans and stacking them on the shelf.

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s voice had a warning tone to it, Y/N cursing the hybrid ability to sniff out deceit. “You were fine just a second ago.”

“Why don’t you just take a whiff and guess,” Y/N grouched, Yoongi’s hazel eyes flashing. Without another word, Yoongi was pulling Y/N out of the laundry room with a tsk and a finger hooked in the pocket of her leggings.

“Fine,” Yoongi growled, pushing her against the wall in the hallway, pressing a knee between her legs and keeping her pinned with a hand flat on her hip. His face was in the crook of her neck, Y/N growing stiff as she felt his eyelashes brush her skin. “Ticked off. Insecure.”

Heart falling to her ass, Y/N squirmed against the wall, trying to get away from the leopard hybrid, humiliated beyond belief. Served her right for challenging a predatory male hybrid, in hindsight.

“Oh. Jealous,” Yoongi froze, drawing away from her throat, staring Y/N dead in the eye. “Why are you jealous, baby?”

Swallowing, Y/N shook her head, desperate to deny the accusation, but it was too late. She couldn’t weasel her way out of that situation, not with him pinning her down. Heart pounding in her chest, she shook her head.

“It’s nothing, Yoongi. Just forget it, I’m being stupid,” Y/N attempted to diffuse the situation, furious with herself that she had potentially spoiled the rare alone time that the two of them had.

“Is this about those girls sitting next to you at the game?” Yoongi asked incredulously, Y/N’s eyes widening a fraction. “Uh-huh. That’s a yes.”

“It’s dumb, but I can’t help it,” Y/N broke down with a whine, already feeling pitiful enough. “They were talking about how hot you are and how you’re the best player… ugh, it just triggered me I guess, you’re mine and I–”

Her words were stuffed back down her throat, because Yoongi’s mouth was on hers, hot and desperate, the force of the kiss causing her head to bump into the wall behind her. The hand that was on her hip moved, a forefinger and thumb pinching her chin to keep her in place, Yoongi already licking into her mouth with borderline abandon. Wide eyes slipping shut, Y/N released a ragged moan, her hands scrabbling to get a grip on his hoodie. Cocking his head, Yoongi bit down harshly on her lower lip, pressing his hips into Y/N’s before breaking away, his chest heaving.

“How could you think,” Yoongi began, interrupting himself by giving her another swift kiss, his eyes lidded. “That I’d even look at anyone but you?”

Y/N couldn’t respond; she was too distracted by Yoongi’s hand under her shirt, tracking a path up her abdomen, and his plush lips suckling the skin under her jaw. Gasping, she let go of his hoodie, hands pressing to the wall behind her, heat flooding through her system.

“If anyone should be jealous, it’s the other poor fucks who live with us,” Yoongi added roughly, bending to get a hold of her thighs, hoisting Y/N up into his arms, using his sharp incisors to nip at her collarbone. “They haven’t heard the noises you can make, haven’t tasted you…”

Y/N felt her head spinning as Yoongi carried her down the hallway, fisting a chunk of his long, inky hair tightly, the sound of Yoongi kicking his bedroom door open making her go limp in his arms.

Y/N yelped when Yoongi let her go, all but tossing her onto his bed, standing before her like a predator stalking its prey. In a wild turn of events, they both became possessed by lust, Y/N already feeling her core throb against the material of her underwear. Yoongi had a filthy mouth, she was already aware of that, but when he used it against her– she swore nothing was sexier.

“Don’t you know how I feel about you?” Yoongi rid himself of his hoodie, tossing it carelessly to the floor, swinging a knee over the mattress to cage Y/N beneath him. Y/N could only stare up at her beautiful leopard hybrid, his ears twitching with agitation, his silver chain dangling in front of her face. “Hmm? Love?”

“Y-yoongi,” Y/N breathed, overwhelmed. She reached up for him, hooking her hands around his neck, reveling in the quiet groan he made when she brought him down for a kiss, this one sweeter, more full of meaning, than the desperate lip-lock in the hallway.

“There’s my girl,” Yoongi murmured between kisses, probably smelling the love and affection she had for him rolling off of her in waves. Seizing the moment while he was lax above her, Y/N’s hands shot out, landing on his chest, sending the leopard hybrid sideways and onto his back, Y/N straddling his lap with a doped-up grin. “Fuck.”

Snickering, Y/N squirmed on his lap, watching his eyes roll back into his skull, his hands still on her outer thighs. Y/N couldn’t believe that she was as turned on as she was, trailing her fingertips over the smooth skin of Yoongi’s flushed chest, and further, she felt satisfaction fill her with the hardness she felt beneath her hips. Yoongi’s breath caught as one of her thumbs brushed over a nipple, his pupils dilating with pure want. Unable to help herself, she ducked down, mouthing at his chest, and experimentally, she grazed her lips over his nipple, Yoongi’s hips bucking up into hers with the action.

“Baby,” Yoongi’s voice came out strained, his hands squeezing her thighs painfully, one of them moving to tug on the back of her shirt, Y/N busy kissing a trail down his sternum.

“Yoongi,” Y/N returned, tracing the lines of his toned obliques, teeth scraping against his left pec.

Getting the hint once Yoongi yanked at her shirt once more, his other hand bruising the skin of her thigh, Y/N sat up, crossing her arms and pulling the material off of her torso, tossing it aside. She wasn’t exactly expecting to be in that position with Yoongi that afternoon, so regretfully, she was wearing a simple black bra, but Yoongi appreciated it with widened eyes nonetheless.

“Kiss me,” Yoongi requested, breathlessly, his hands trailing from her thighs to her bare waist, eyes nearly emerald with how much they had darkened. Not daring to disobey, Y/N fell forward, whimpering at the sensation of their torsos pressed together, cupping his jaw and giving him the kiss he asked for.

Not knowing where Yoongi ended and she began, she felt their legs tangling, Yoongi’s rough, jean-clad hips scraping against the soft material of her leggings, which were truthfully starting to become a little damp. Yoongi kissed the breath from her lungs, his tongue sensually rolling against hers, his purring chest pressed right up against hers.

“God, I–” Yoongi ground out, his form tensing beneath her when Y/N traced her tongue up the side of his neck, the taste of his sweat sweet on her tongue. “Fuck. Fuckin’ love you.”

“Love you more,” Y/N countered, directly in his ear, nipping at the shell of it, shuddering when his hands slid up her back, fingertips wiggling beneath the strap of her bra. With that statement, Yoongi grunted sharply, and before Y/N’s brain could process it, the world turned upside-down, the wind knocked from her lungs as she found herself underneath Yoongi again.

“None of that,” Yoongi smirked at her bewilderment, using a large hand to press over her mouth, his free hand ghosting over the center of her chest. A primal sort of glint took over his feline eyes, Y/N automatically opening her mouth to respond. Unfortunately, Yoongi was a step ahead of her. “Uh-uh.”

Y/N’s lips were pried open, two of Yoongi’s long, slender fingers pressing against her tongue. Two could play at that game, Y/N thought, her tongue swirling around the digits, hollowing out her cheeks. Frowning, Yoongi watched her expression grow coy, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Smart mouth, should keep it filled,” Yoongi muttered acidically, pressing the pads of his fingertips more harshly into Y/N’s tongue, a tiny gagging sound coming from the back of her throat, making the tips of her ears burn. “Let’s get this off, huh, sweetheart?”

Unable to respond with his fingers stuffed in her mouth, Y/N watched helplessly as Yoongi slid a hand behind her back, unclasping her bra and pulling it off with a dark chuckle. One day, Y/N would learn not to provoke a hybrid, but honestly, the consequences didn’t seem to be so bad.

Finally pulling his saliva-slickened fingers from her mouth, Yoongi helped Y/N out of her bra, absently pushing the garment to the side so he could get a good look at her chest, a hand resting over her throat, feeling her pulse flutter erratically. Desperately, she was trying to pull him back down to her mouth with tugs to his belt loops, but Yoongi ignored her silent plea, both hands cupping her chest. Y/N arched into his touch with a soft cry, bringing his face down to kiss between her breasts, and in retaliation for earlier, used the rough pads of his thumbs to outline circles over her nipples.

“Hnngh,” Y/N winced, so sensitive his gentle touch was almost painful, Yoongi humming as he toyed with her chest, kneading the soft flesh in his hands, pinching one of her buds between his fingertips and pulling, rewarded by a heavy moan from Y/N. “Oh, b-babyy–”

Growing frustrated with the remaining barriers between himself and Y/N, Yoongi’s touch migrated to the waistband of Y/N’s leggings, using his strength to strip the article of clothing from her body, nearly passing out once he realized she wasn’t wearing panties beneath, her entire body bare beneath him.

“What are you doing to me,” Yoongi groaned, his jeans starting to choke the life out of his cock, and not in a good way. “Shit…”

“Need… n-need you,” was all Y/N could hiccup, completely exposed for him, but not feeling a single semblance of embarrassment about that. Tail curling behind him in mesmerizing shapes, Y/N gripped at his solid biceps pleafully.

“Needy thing,” Yoongi commented, sloppily kissing over the swell of her breast, enjoying the sounds of her helpless mewls. “God, I can smell you.”

Clumsily, Y/N tugged the zipper of Yoongi’s jeans down, yanking the fabric halfway down his legs, her breath coming out in pants as Yoongi laved his tongue over her nipple indulgently, hardly noticing she was trying to strip him. Gasping when he took the bud into his mouth, sucking and scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh, Y/N felt her thighs get tacky with moisture, impossibly turned on and wanting.

“Please, Yoongi, please. Fuck me,” Y/N wasn’t above begging at that point, far past the point of no return, Yoongi distractedly shucking off his jeans and slotting himself between Y/N’s parted legs. The weight of his hips against her bare core had her clenching around nothing, and she arched upwards to seek out the hardness in his boxers eagerly for any kind of friction.

Yoongi simply hummed at her request, releasing her nipple with a lewd pop, one of his hands tracing over her hip bone before he mercifully ghosted his digits over her dewy sex, a low hiss coming from the back of his throat when he realized how wet she was.

“Always so fuckin’ wet,” Yoongi teased, batting her hand away when she reached for his wrist, a drenched forefinger swiping through her folds. “All for me?”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N canted her hips upwards, chasing his touch, whining thinly when he just missed grazing her clit. “Please. Want you, want you inside of m-me.”

“Wanna taste you first,” Yoongi smirked devilishly, Y/N beginning to protest, just wanting to feel him, but he moved too quickly, and all Y/N could do was sink her hands into his long tresses, his face now eye-level with her cunt. “All of this, and I’ve hardly done anything.”

Too caught up at staring at his fucked-out expression, Y/N didn’t have time to feel embarrassed, Yoongi using his strong grip to maneuver her legs over his shoulders, making himself comfortable between her legs. Whether or not he noticed that her thighs were coated in her slick was beyond Y/N, and due to the position he had manhandled her into, she couldn’t close her legs to hide the evidence of her overwhelming arousal.

Transfixed, Yoongi’s touch returned to her pussy, biting his lip when more wetness leaked out of her when his thumb brushed over her clit. She was so sensitive, responsive, tiny cries of pure want filling his ears, and it drove him absolutely crazy, paired with the scent of her lust. Wasting no more time, he locked eyes, her pupils blown out, eyebrows pinched, and kissed right above the hood of her clit, chuckling when her hips jerked in consequence. With a deft lick, Yoongi dragged his tongue through her folds, feeling Y/N’s legs shaking over his shoulders, a wail leaving her throat.

Y/N couldn’t help her spine from contorting off the mattress, yanking on Yoongi’s hair sharply, a muffled grunt coming from his lips as he wrapped them around her clit, humming lightly and making Y/N see stars. It was almost too much to bear, Yoongi’s sinful tongue dipping into her entrance, his forearm keeping her hips pinned down. Alarmingly, Y/N felt herself already hurtling towards her release, Yoongi’s mouth on her paired with the unbroken eye contact had her stomach tightening quickly.

“Yoongi,” Y/N whined, pressing herself into his face desperately, cheeks on fire when he raised an eyebrow, using the flat of his tongue to collect all of the wetness that had gathered between her legs, the erotic visual making her eyes roll shut. “Ah!”

Yoongi paused, assessing the mess he made of her, using a free hand to stroke through her folds, Y/N begging for more, for anything, and Yoongi didn’t want to tease her too much, so with one last breathy please, Yoongi sunk a finger into her cunt. Cursing at the tightness, he curled his finger, attempting to open her up a little bit, a second digit joining the first, Y/N writhing in his grip.

“Squeezin’ me, baby, are you gonna cum already?” Yoongi taunted, feeling her clamp down onto his fingers even tighter, her lip bitten raw as she cried out his name. “That’s it, honey.”

“Yoongi, want you,” Y/N managed to gasp, gripping the wrist that was between her legs, halting his movements. “Please, now, want you.”

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you?” Yoongi asked softly, pulling his fingers from her cunt, sliding the coated digits into his mouth, his free hand moving to the hemline of his boxers, Y/N’s eyes immediately dropping to the bulge beneath the fabric, her mouth watering. “Turn over.”

Blinking, Y/N shakily scooched up the bed, rolling onto her front, hearing Yoongi shuffle forward on his knees, his boxers tossed on the floor, Y/N turning her head slightly to get a good look at him, his sharp teeth prodding at his fleshy lower lip. Sighing blissfully when his hands caressed her hips gently, she squealed when he dragged them up, using his other hand to reach for a pillow, placing it underneath her, arranging her limbs so she was resting comfortably. Cheeks burning, she felt the pillow beneath her hips and lower abdomen, her ass on display as she arched her spine, leaning on her forearms.

“Look at you, waiting so patiently,” Yoongi’s touch returned, his palms landing heavily on her ass, making her shudder and keen, opening her mouth to tell him to hurry up. Before she could, however, Yoongi spoke again. “Ready, baby?”

“Please,” Y/N wiggled her hips, hoping to tempt him into picking up the pace, feeling sweat slip down her spine. She sounded wrecked, eager, and Yoongi groaned, holding the base of his cock in one hand, the other squeezing one of her cheeks.

Shaky breath rounding out into a moan, she felt him press against her weeping sex, running the tip through her folds teasingly, his own breaths coming out in labored pants, slowly losing control as he ground against her. Gripping Yoongi’s sheets for dear life, she huffed in annoyance at his teasing, feeling wetness dribble down the inside of her thighs in anticipation. After what felt like minutes, Yoongi stopped messing around, lining himself up, using a palm splayed across Y/N’s lower back as leverage and finally pushed in, only an inch or two, Y/N instantly clenching down on him with a broken whimper.

“Holy fuck,” Yoongi grunted, moving as slowly as he could, and when his pelvis was flush with her ass, he weakly collapsed on top of her, bracing a hand beside her head. Y/N felt her walls fluttering around his generous length and girth frantically, the position she was in making him feel like he was in her guts, and she was hardly aware of the pathetic sounds spilling from her mouth. “This pussy…”

“F-full,” Y/N stuttered, Yoongi’s breath on the back of her neck as he let her get used to the feeling, grazing his teeth along the junction of her shoulder and throat. “Hnngh–”

“Yeah? Stuffed full of me?” Yoongi’s voice was dark, dulcet, and in her ear, and Yoongi was all Y/N could feel– pressed against her back, scent clinging to the sheets, cock buried in her pussy. “Fuck. Stop clenching.”

“C-can’t help it,” Y/N replied, Yoongi wrapping his hand around her waist, giving his hips an experimental roll, Y/N choking on an intake of air with the movement. “Oh, d-don’t stop–”

Moaning into her neck, Yoongi snapped his hips forward, setting a strong, almost punishing pace right away, unable to hold back, and wanting to fuck the jealousy out of her. Yoongi was always more fond of showing, rather than telling, anyways.

“I’m yours,” Yoongi mumbled into the skin over her shoulder blade, sucking a bruise into the flesh, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh filling his bedroom, Y/N’s voice scratchy from the constant mewls leaving her mouth. “Got that?”

“Nn– ah! Oh,” Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, the support from the pillow beneath her adding even more pressure to the way he was pounding into her, even the fabric of the pillowcase adding friction against her clit in the most delicious way. “Mine!”

“That’s right,” Yoongi peeled himself from her back, adjusting his position so he could fuck into her with greater strength, gathering up the hair along the nape of her neck and wrapping it around his wrist. “All for you, baby. Say my name.”

“Yoongi, oh my g– fuck, gonna cum soon,” Y/N wailed, the way he was tugging her hair back making her scalp smart, but between the pain and the pleasure, Y/N was nearly careening off the edge of sanity. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Yoongi spat through his teeth, not letting up on the pace one bit, kneading the flesh of her asscheek. “You’ve already got my cock, you need more?”

Contrary to his taunts, Yoongi gave her more, reaching underneath, using a forefinger to rub circles around her clit, Y/N’s vision going white as she came without warning, clamping down on Yoongi so hard he swore colorfully, hips stuttering against her ass as she writhed from beneath him. He let go of her hair, kissing down the length of her spine, helping her through her orgasm as best he could while keeping up the swift pace of his thrusts.

“Can you take a bit more, love?” Yoongi soothed a hand down her back, her body shivering with the aftershocks of her orgasm, nodding dazedly as she pressed her ass backwards into Yoongi. “Come here, roll over. Wanna see your face.”

Y/N was boneless, but Yoongi helped her flip over, tossing the pillow to the side. She whined when his cock slipped from her, but Yoongi was quick to remedy that, pushing back in as soon as her limp arms looped around his neck. Groaning at the new angle, Yoongi kept his thrusts slow, punctuated by a light grind to the spongy tissue of her G-spot, Y/N dissolving into a complete mess. The mood turned sensual, Yoongi leaning down to press his lips to hers, and even if Y/N wasn’t a hybrid, she could sense his love for her by the way he held the side of her face tenderly. Tucking hair behind his ear, Y/N crossed her ankles behind his back, feeling the way his cock throbbed inside of her– he must have been getting close.

“Come, Yoongi,” Y/N pressed her forehead to her lover’s, raking her nails down his chest lightly. “Wanna feel you come for me.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi gasped, Y/N feeling her gut tighten once again when he hit a sweet spot inside of her, and after two more strokes, she was coming again, gasping and moaning into the leopard hybrid’s mouth. “I–”

Without warning, Yoongi stilled, his mouth on her collarbone, teeth sinking into the flesh, heightening the bliss of her orgasm. She felt him spilling inside of her, sweet, filthy nothings falling from his lips as he came, tongue swiping over the bite he had given her absently. Hazy from the scenting, she let Yoongi roll the two of them onto their sides, his cock still nestled between her walls, the leopard hybrid cleaning up the wound on her neck in a way that was more primal, feline, than ever, his chest rumbling with loud purrs.

Limbs like jelly, Y/N closed her eyes, melting into Yoongi’s sheets as his tongue dragged over her neck lazily, the post-fuck and post-scenting haze having her so lax, she hardly noticed the mixture of their releases rolling down her thighs. She didn’t have enough energy to say anything, simply clinging to him like a baby kangaroo, fingers gliding along his sweat-dampened back.

“Still jealous?” Yoongi broke the content silence, tracing shapes along her ribcage lovingly, his purrs unbroken and strong.

“No,” Y/N replied meekly, hiding her face in his collarbones, suddenly embarrassed she entertained any feelings of envy at all.

“I know, can’t smell it anymore,” Yoongi snickered, Y/N rolling her eyes at the fact that he was back to his sarcastic, deadpan self. “Guess I just had to fuck it out of you.”

“You’re so vulgar,” Y/N lightly shoved his chest away, wincing when she felt him pull out of her, and the sensation of his cum dribbling out of her. “I never would have thought.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Yoongi retorted, kissing her forehead gently, his lips bent upwards in a tiny smile. “Wanna get cleaned up?”

“Mmm,” Y/N groaned noncommittally, knowing that walking would probably be an issue. “Not really.”

“I can carry you,” Yoongi’s laughter grew in volume, clearly enjoying that he had completely ruined her, squeezing the meat of her ass in one hand playfully.

“Fine,” Y/N pouted, not ready to break free from their post-coital bliss, but knowing that it would probably be wise to bathe and attempt to look normal before the other hybrids came home.

Yoongi carried her bridal-style into his bathroom, and Y/N leaned on his shoulder while the water heated up, enjoying his warmth and presence. Once in the shower, the leopard hybrid supported her, her back to his chest as the hot water beat down on their skin. Hooking his chin over her shoulder, his wet hair tickling her cheek, Y/N gripped the forearms he had wrapped around her middle, sighing.

“I love you,” Yoongi said quietly, planting a kiss on the bite he had given her.

Turning in his arms, Y/N chose to respond by leaning up, brushing her lips against his softly, hands winding around his neck as steam filled the shower.

“Hope you didn’t fill up too much on the toffee,” Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, making sure the parking ticket for the garage she parked in was stuffed in her wallet.

“I didn’t! I skipped lunch, too,” Seokjin was hurrying out of the car, glancing around the parking garage curiously, correcting his stride to match Y/N’s, pulling his wool coat tightly around his body.

“Aw, you didn’t have to do that. You must be starving,” Y/N pouted, her fingertips twitching to hold his hand. It was Valentine’s Day, and most of the day had passed by uneventfully, but that evening, she and Seokjin traveled into the city for the cooking lesson.

“I just didn’t know how much we’d end up cooking, wanted to be prepared to stuff my face!” Seokjin joked, a merry smile on his face. After she had given him his Valentine that morning, it seemed that goofy, fond Seokjin was back, and he could finally smile at her with it actually reaching his eyes. Progress was progress, she supposed.

“I think we’re making three courses,” Y/N grinned as Seokjin pulled the door to the mall for her. He looked gorgeous, as always, in black slacks and a powder blue button down, his wavy hair swept off his forehead. “Three courses, three different wine tastings. I’m excited!”

Seokjin’s sleek black tail flicked behind him, sticking close to Y/N’s side as they navigated through Copley Place, and when she felt him growing nervous with the amount of people clogging up the narrow aisles of Eataly, she hooked her hand around his elbow, pulling him into her side for comfort.

Fortunately for Seokjin, the actual classroom where they were going to cook in was spacious, at the back of the market, and there were only a few other pairs of people taking the class with them. Seokjin appeared to be the only hybrid, however, and naturally every pair of eyes in the room was on him as he draped his coat on the rack by the door, his ears fluttering excitedly as he noticed the station that had a card with Y/N’s last name printed on it.

The instructor appeared to be an older Italian man, one with a thick accent and golden skin, greeting everybody happily. To Y/N’s relief, the instructor didn’t greet Seokjin any differently than anyone else, simply handing the jaguar hybrid two red-and-white striped aprons for them to wear.

“Today, we’ll be learning about the cuisine of Rome, and cooking some of my favorite dishes from all over Italy,” the man began once all of the students were in their aprons and standing eagerly behind their stations. Y/N noticed that most of the people in the class were older, perhaps married, couples, with one pair of college students in the back of the room. “We’ll be making a bruschetta, linguine alle vongole, and saltimbocca for our three courses, all paired with a lovely wine.”

Seokjin was nearly shaking with excitement beside her, checking out all of the dials on the stovetop, the raw ingredients in front of them, and the array of kitchen tools available for their use. He paid rapt attention to the man explaining the origins of the dishes they were going to prepare, his ears perked up. Once the little history lesson was over, the instructor walked them through the steps to make fresh pasta for the vongole, and she and Seokjin exchanged smug smirks– they both already knew how to make fresh pasta, and while some of the other couples were struggling to assemble the dough, her’s and Seokjin’s was plastic wrapped and chilling in the mini fridge already. Seokjin positively preened under the praise of the instructor, his neck turning red, and Y/N snorted and shook her head as she sliced through some tomatoes for the bruschetta topping.

Meanwhile, Seokjin handled the veal steaks for the saltimbocca, using a mallet to pound the meat to a certain thinness, and the first round of wine came around, the glass they were to nurse while they cooked. Here and there, Seokjin would crack a joke or two, corny as ever, but they made her choke on her wine and laughter.

“When asked about his cooking skills, the sage replied, ‘I’m herbally gifted’,” Seokjin held up a sage leaf he was using toothpicks to attaching to the veal steaks, waving it in front of Y/N’s face with a goofy grin.

“Jin, stop, I’m gonna pee my pants,” Y/N whispered, cheeks sore from smiling so much. It had been a while since she spent such quality time with Seokjin, and she realized how much she missed him, with a painful twang of her heart.

Seokjin’s grin only grew wider, hand reaching up to ruffle Y/N’s hair affectionately, one of the first times he actually touched her since finding out about her and Yoongi. Delighted, Y/N took a happy sip of wine, getting back to work on the sauce for the vongole.

Once everything was cooked, chairs were brought out, along with the fruity pinot grigio to be paired with the bruschetta, all while the instructor answered questions about Italian cuisine, and told stories about his childhood in Rome.

“This is so good,” Seokjin sighed, munching on a piece of bruschetta, his orange eyes wide as he tasted all of the flavors. “We get the recipes after, right?”

“Yep! We can make this whole meal again for the others. I think Hoseok would really enjoy this, too,” Y/N clinked glasses with the older woman from the station behind her, Seokjin’s cheeks beginning to color with the alcohol, already.

“This is so much fun, Y/N. We should do this again,” Seokjin suddenly became serious, glancing around the room, before his eyes softened and he made eye contact with her again.

“Absolutely. I’ve missed spending time with you,” Y/N replied without hesitancy, Seokjin’s neck turning red again when she admitted that.

Looking away, their interaction was interrupted by the instructor telling them to finish off the sauce for the vongole, and Seokjin drained his wine glass urgently before hopping to his feet to turn on the burner.

After two more glasses of wine and two delicious entrees the two of them cooked, her and her jaguar hybrid were loopily weaving their way through the market with a packet of recipes, a bottle of wine Seokjin liked the most, and free Italian cookies in their arms. Seokjin, bolder now that he was tipsy, insisted on holding the bag with all of the items, and finally, he offered her a hand as they walked through the mall.

“Want to go for a little walk before we head back to the car?” Y/N asked, threading her fingers through his, Seokjin staring down at her through his eyelashes with that thoughtful expression she had seen on his face only once or twice before. Truthfully, she both wanted to spend a bit more alone time with Seokjin, and she felt like some cool nighttime air would sober her up enough to drive home confidently.

“Okay,” Seokjin squeezed her hand, following her down the escalator to the street outside of the mall, the sky already dark and the city lights keeping the streets illuminated.

Not too many people were out, everyone seemed to be having their romantic Valentine’s Day dinners in the multiple restaurants studding the sidewalks, and it was much too cold for a leisurely stroll for most people. Tummy full, she stuck close to Seokjin, who radiated heat like a furnace, and Y/N was grateful for the slight buzz from the wine that was keeping her warm as well. The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence, only broken once or twice when Seokjin would ask her about a restaurant they would stroll by.

“Thank you for tonight,” Seokjin spoke out of the blue, letting Y/N hook her arm around his in an attempt to steal some of his body heat.

“You don’t have to thank me, honey, it was for your birthday!” Y/N insisted, reaching up to flick the dangling earrings that were threaded through his left earlobe– another birthday present from her. “I should thank you for letting me use the other ticket. I learned so much, got to hang out with you for a while, ate yummy food…”

Y/N paused, feeling cold and wet hit her forehead, stopping in front of an old church, the lights from inside making the colored stained glass glow and cast pretty hues over the sidewalk. Looking up, she made a soft noise of exclamation, clumps of snow falling from the sky. Letting go of Seokjin temporarily, she did a twirl, head craned skyways, admiring the way the snowflakes floated gently through the air. She didn’t realize Seokjin was repeating her name until his hand was on her shoulder, his lip tucked between his teeth.

“Ah, we can head back now. You’re probably freezing, huh?” Y/N held her hand out for him again, but this time, he didn’t take it.

“Y/N, I have something I want to tell you, but I’m not sure how you’ll take it,” Seokjin looked from her flushed face to the windows of the church, shades of blue, green, and red highlighting his features. A ball forming in the pit of her stomach, she dropped her outstretched hand, nervous about the seriousness of his tone, his whole voice going down a pitch.

“It’s okay, tell me,” Y/N, while nervous, was curious as well, freezing when Seokjin released a breathy exhale, gathering up her hands in one of his, the contact appearing to ease his nerves.

“I– I know you, um. You’re with Yoongi, you love him,” Seokjin swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Wine churning in her gut, she nodded, taken aback that that was the night he chose to first address the relationship. “And I’m happy for you, I am, Yoongi too. But…”

“It makes you uncomfortable?” Y/N murmured, heart beating painfully in her chest. Seokjin bit his lip again, shaking his head, but conflict flashed in his eyes.

“No. I mean, somewhat, yes,” Seokjin sucked his teeth, tugging her closer into his proximity.

“Is there a specific reason why, Seokjinnie?” Y/N would be heartbroken if Seokjin would push her away after such a wonderful night spent together, but she would deal with it if it came to that.

“I’m,” Seokjin swallowed thickly again, before squaring his shoulders with his ears flat to his head, lowering his face closer to Y/N’s like he was about to tell her a secret. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @lilacdreams-00 @dreamerwasfound @ninjacups @osakis-gf @itwillbealways-d @xthefuckerysquaredx @momowantscats @molshole @gooooomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime12 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @7evensin @lilmxchis @00ihatesnaku @neverthefirstchoice @missyoueverysingleday @cathy-1997 @prybts @doublebunv

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chimcess · 4 months ago

Text

The Swimmer || ksj

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader Other tags: Doctor!Seokjin, Swim Coach! Reader, Disabled! Reader, Ex alcoholic!Jimin, Ex alcoholic!Reader, Ex. Drug addict!Reader, AA! AU Genre: Recovering Addict! AU, Strangers to lovers! AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Eventual Fluff, Mutual Pining Word Count: 31.4k+ Synopsis: Tormented by the shadows of her past, Y/N turns to AA meetings to navigate her fiancé's death and her battle with addiction. When a new doctor arrives in her small hometown, no one anticipates that he would also attend the meetings. What’s even more surprising is his growing fascination with one of the town's most notorious residents. Warnings: Talks of past drug use, talks of past alcohol abuse, discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), Reader has significant major depression and anxiety, Reader has a prosthetic leg, Talks of a bad car accident, Talks of drunk driving, Small town leads to gossips and rumors, Jin is a suffer in silence type, ANGST, Mentions of toxic relationships (not between MC and Jin), Side character death (not in story), descriptive talks about drugs, discussions of relapses, violence, near-death experiences (in and out of the story), almost drowning, Strong language, kissing, intense make out, Talks of prosthetics and disabilities, Reader has not come to terms with being an amputee, Bitterness, Guilt, Huge insecurities, Jin and MC are working towards getting better A/N: Look at me, revamping an old post. What a shocker. I want to say that this story does not glorify drug abuse or alcoholism, but rather seeks to reduce stigma around addiction. I acknowledge the complexities of addiction and the potential for recovery, expressing hope that you, the reader, will appreciate the effort and care put into this little world of mine. While the piece includes medical and swimming terminology based on research, I can admit to possible inaccuracies as I am not a doctor. Thanks for reading!

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The building loomed like a forgotten giant, sagging under the weight of time and secrets long buried. Its once-proud bricks were now crumbling, more like brittle bones than a foundation holding anything solid. Moss crept over the edges, a dark, damp rot that gave the place an air of sickness, as though something malignant had taken root deep within the walls. The overgrown grass at the door whispered softly, as if urging it to stay shut forever, locking away whatever haunted the inside. But this place was as familiar to Y/N as the back of her hand—she had spent too many nights under its decaying roof.

Sherry and Brad were already inside; their cars parked haphazardly in the lot, scattered like discarded remnants of their own struggles. Mandy had called Y/N earlier, her voice tight with that nervous excitement she got when something new was brewing. She’d mentioned a new member joining tonight, but his name had slipped through Y/N’s mind like smoke—something foreign-sounding, exotic maybe. But it didn’t matter. Newcomers came and went. They all gathered in this rotting building for the same reason: to escape the demons that clung to them, whether from drugs, alcohol, or, in Y/N’s case, a potent mix of both.

As Y/N trudged toward the entrance, she noticed Yoongi pulling into the lot. His car was as worn-out as his spirit, but Yoongi had always been a constant, a steady presence born of shared scars. They didn’t need to exchange many words—just a glance, a nod. That was the kind of friend Yoongi was. He’d been through hell—once a college basketball star, a shoulder injury had derailed his future, sending him down a dark path of painkillers and heroin. But Yoongi had clawed his way out. Six years sober now, he was trying his best for his little girl. In a town haunted by broken dreams, Yoongi understood better than anyone.

Y/N waited for him by the door, and they exchanged a wordless hello, a ritual as familiar as breathing. Neither of them were much for small talk, and if Yoongi didn’t like her, Y/N knew he would’ve told her by now—he was blunt like that. Their shared misfortunes had forged an unspoken bond. His ruined shoulder, her ruined leg—two sides of the same broken coin.

“Heard about the new guy?” Yoongi asked as they settled into their usual seats, his voice low, cautious, like he was testing the air.

The scent of coffee wafted over from the back of the room. Sherry and Brad were likely brewing it strong, the kind of brew that could wake the dead. That earthy, rich aroma tugged at something deep inside Y/N, stirring memories of simpler times. She could’ve used something stronger—something that burned on the way down.

“Yeah, Mandy called. Didn’t say much,” Y/N muttered, her eyes flicking toward the door.

“He’s some kind of doctor. Works at Children’s Hospital.”

“A pediatrician?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Pulmonologist,” came a sudden voice from across the room, making Y/N flinch. Namjoon’s booming voice sliced through the quiet like a blade, startling both her and Yoongi.

“What the hell, Namjoon?” Y/N shot back, her heart racing from the sudden noise.

Yoongi gave Namjoon a mock glare, clutching his chest. “Jesus, man. You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Namjoon laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He was a bundle of energy, all nervous ticks and enthusiasm, and it still surprised Y/N that he was a recovering addict. He didn’t look like someone who had faced the darkness. If anything, he was the light in a room full of shadows.

“Pul-mo-what?” Yoongi asked, frowning.

“Lung doctor. He’s from New York,” Namjoon explained, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “And he’s Korean, too!”

“No shit?” Yoongi’s face broke into a rare, wide grin, his gums showing—a glimpse of the man he had been before everything fell apart.

The weight of Namjoon’s words settled between them. For Yoongi, it wasn’t just about someone new joining the group—it was about a connection to something he’d lost long ago. His roots in South Korea ran deep, and he hadn’t seen his family in years. His last conversation with them had ended in harsh words, a wound too deep to heal. When he’d told them about becoming a father, their disappointment had nearly crushed him.

“Coffee’s ready,” Brad called from the back.

Normally, Yoongi would have jumped up to get them both a cup, but tonight he just shook his head. Y/N noticed the dark circles under his eyes and felt a flicker of concern.

“I’m cutting back,” Yoongi muttered. “Mai’s been watching me drink coffee and saying she wants to be like me. Tamla’s not happy.”

“How much are you drinking?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Three pots a day,” Yoongi grumbled.

“Holy shit,” Namjoon gasped. “And I thought Y/N had a problem.”

“Go to hell,” Y/N shot back, rising to her feet. “I’ll get my own damn coffee.”

As Y/N made her way to the small, claustrophobic coffee nook, she heard the door creak open behind her. A hush fell over the room, and she could feel the weight of attention shift. The new guy had arrived. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was something different; the air was charged with an unfamiliar energy.

Y/N glanced back. The man stood at the door, tall and composed, his presence somehow brighter than the dim room around him. His rust-colored hair, slicked back, gave him a quiet, authoritative air, and the way he moved—graceful and sure—made Y/N’s pulse quicken.

“Y/N, come meet Dr. Kim!” Namjoon called, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

Y/N’s throat tightened as she stepped forward, coffee forgotten. Dr.Kim’s honey-brown eyes met hers, warm and filled with something she couldn’t quite place. Her heart lurched, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

“Hello, you’re the new guy?” Y/N’s voice barely rose above a whisper, her hands suddenly clammy.

“Dr. Seokjin Kim,” He replied, his voice smooth, almost melodic. There was something genuine in his tone, something real that cut through the facade this place often carried.

“Y/N. I hope you like it here,” she mumbled, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks as Seokjin’s gaze lingered on hers for just a second too long.

Jin’s smile widened, and Y/N felt a strange sensation, as though she were floating, untethered, momentarily free from the weight she always carried.

"Y/N, get this," Taehyung said, throwing an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close with his wide grin. "Jin’s from Vegas."

"I grew up in Vegas, but I was born in South Korea," Jin corrected softly. His tone was shy, almost apologetic, as if the attention was an uncomfortable weight pressing down on him.

"And he went to Harvard for medical school," Amanda chimed in, her voice filled with awe, eyes gleaming like she was announcing the arrival of a celebrity.

Jin shifted uneasily under their scrutiny, running a hand through his hair, his cheeks flushing pink. It was clear he wasn’t used to being the center of attention. Y/N could feel a strange kinship forming, the shared discomfort of being picked apart under curious eyes. She felt an instinctive urge to protect him, though she barely knew him.

"That’s... nice. Good for you," Y/N mumbled, shrugging off Taehyung’s arm. "But can we get the meeting started? We’re here to talk about feelings, not résumés. Save that for the end of the month."

Yoongi chuckled beside her, and Jin gave a weak smile, but the rest of the group groaned, their silent annoyance hanging in the air. Y/N wanted to disappear, to vanish into the cracks of the old, decaying building. The weight of her accident and everything it had taken from her hung over her like a storm cloud, suffocating and relentless. She was wearing a dress tonight, a fabric that felt like it clung too tightly to her, a constant reminder of the leg she no longer had and the life she had lost.

As Brad began the meeting, Y/N could feel the stares lingering on her, eyes that seemed to burn holes into her already fragile skin. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to lose herself in the familiar rhythm of the group’s stories, the rise and fall of voices recounting their struggles and triumphs. They were here to heal, but tonight felt different. Jin’s presence stirred something in her, a vulnerability she wasn’t prepared to face.

"Alright, who wants to share?" Brad’s deep voice rumbled through the room, pulling Y/N back to the present.

"Hi, my name is Namjoon," a voice spoke up. It trembled slightly at the edges, though it was steady enough. "And I’m an addict."

"Hi, Namjoon," came the automatic chorus in response, the voices forming a fragile lifeline in the dimly lit room.

Namjoon hesitated, the silence stretching as he gathered his thoughts. "This week was okay. I didn’t have any bad days, but sleep’s still hard to come by. Work’s kept me busy, though." He glanced over at Jin, the newcomer, before continuing. "I work at the shipyard, fixing boats."

He shifted in his seat, a flicker of hope crossing his face. "I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. Maybe having something to take care of will help with the loneliness, you know? Keep me from getting too bored."

Sherry leaned forward, her smile as warm as the summer sun. "I think that’s a great idea, Joon. Remember how much Jimin’s sugar gliders helped him?"

Laughter rippled through the room, a brief, welcome break from the tension. Jimin’s bizarre love for his tiny pets had always been a source of amusement for the group. Eleven months sober now, Jimin walked the line between chaos and control, always dangerously close to the edge, yet never quite falling over.

"I’ll help you find a dog," Jimin offered eagerly, leaning forward. "I guess I’ll go next. Hi, my name’s Jimin, and I’m an alcoholic."

"Hi, Jimin," the group echoed, falling into the familiar rhythm of routine.

The meeting continued, voices rising and falling like waves, each one sharing a snippet of their rebuilt lives, piece by fragile piece. Taehyung talked about his latest fasting challenge, Amanda beamed about a raise at her job, and Yoongi—who rarely spoke up—couldn’t hide his excitement about his daughter Mai’s upcoming dance recital. Little Mai, with her boundless energy and love for tap dancing, had become the bright spot in Yoongi’s shadowed life.

Then Jin spoke, his voice cutting through the room like a gentle breeze. "Hi, my name is Jin, and I’m an alcoholic."

"Hi, Jin," the group responded.

"My week’s been... well, it’s been a big one," Jin said with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Moving here from New York, starting a new job... I’m excited to be here, though. I brought my cat, Serendipity, with me—she’s my emotional support animal, and she’s helped me a lot. I just finished my residency, and now I’m working at Children’s Hospital."

His words were calm and measured, but underneath them, there was something else—an eagerness, or perhaps a desire to fit in, to be understood. Brad nodded, acknowledging Jin’s story with the same quiet respect he gave to everyone.

"Good to have you, Jin," Brad said, his gaze then shifting to Y/N.

Her stomach twisted into knots. She hated this part. "Hi, my name’s Y/N, and I’m an addict."

"Hi, Y/N," the group responded, voices softer now, as though they sensed the weight of what was to come.

Y/N took a breath, but the words caught in her throat. "I had a good week until yesterday. It’s… it’s still hard being around the pool." Her voice wavered, memories flashing behind her eyes—the sound of laughter, the cheers when Jungkook beat her old swimming record. "Jungkook broke my record. I was happy for him, really. But when I hugged him, it felt like everything was crashing down. Like… like I’d lost it all over again. I’m never going to be in that pool again, and it just hurt."

Sherry’s voice broke the silence, soft and soothing. "It’s okay to feel that way, honey."

"No, it’s not," Y/N snapped, the tears burning at the corners of her eyes. "It’s been almost four years since the accident, and I still feel stuck."

"Now," Brad’s firm voice cut through the room, pulling her back from the edge. "Everyone processes things differently. You’re not ready, but you’re getting there. These things take time, Y/N. Your whole world flipped upside down in just a few hours; no one expects that to go away overnight."

"You’d be surprised," she muttered bitterly, the sharp taste of resentment creeping into her voice.

Brad didn’t flinch. His steady gaze didn’t waver. "They don’t have to live your life. You do. They get to judge without being in your shoes. You lost Hoseok, your leg, and your career in one night. That’s a lot to process on your own."

Yoongi’s hand landed gently on her shoulder, grounding her. His warmth anchored her in the storm of her emotions. "Be kinder to yourself," he said softly.

Sherry nodded, her gaze full of concern, like a soft light cutting through the fog. "Exactly. Give yourself some grace."

Y/N gave a small nod, but the words rang hollow in her ears. They were right, but that didn’t make it easier. The room felt too close, the walls pressing in as everyone’s eyes seemed to rest on her. She glanced at Jin, who was watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite place—sadness, maybe? Or confusion? Whatever it was, it made her feel exposed, raw, as if she’d shared too much. Her stomach twisted with the sudden urge to flee.

The bitterness inside her flared, and she shot Jin a sharp glare, frustration spilling out before she could stop herself. He blinked, startled, but didn’t say anything, just kept watching her, like he was trying to understand the storm inside her.

This week had been hell. Today was worse. She needed to leave.

The whisper of alcohol, usually faint, was louder than ever, curling around her thoughts like a familiar seduction. It was always there, lurking in the background, but today it gnawed at her, a sharp hunger she couldn’t shake. She drank more these days than she popped pills, telling herself it was better because it wasn’t illegal. Not yet, anyway. She shook her head, disgusted with herself, but the urge wouldn’t leave.

Hoseok wouldn’t approve. His name echoed in her mind like a ghost, his memory cutting through the haze of her thoughts. She clenched her fists, fighting the surge of emotion that rose up, threatening to overwhelm her.

“See you all next week!” Sherry’s cheerful voice jolted her back to reality, pulling her out of the spiral of her thoughts.

Y/N stood quickly, eager to escape the room and the suffocating air that seemed to cling to her. Yoongi and Namjoon called after her, inviting her to grab burgers with them and Dr. Kim. She waved them off with a half-hearted smile, her refusal polite but firm. She didn’t have it in her tonight—no appetite for food, or for company, especially not with Jin. The meeting had left her frayed, her nerves worn thin. She needed to be alone.

Unlocking her car, she heard laughter behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw them—Yoongi, Namjoon, Jin, Jimin, and Taehyung—walking toward the parking lot, carefree and laughing like they didn’t have a worry in the world. She felt a pang of relief for having opted out. Jimin and Taehyung together were a chaotic duo, and she didn’t have the energy for their antics tonight.

She opened the hatchback of her car and tossed her bag inside, wincing at the mess. Papers, receipts, and fast-food bags cluttered the back, a disaster she knew she should clean. But the truth was, she wouldn’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Just as she was about to climb into the car, she heard a sound—laughter, sweet and light, cutting through the gray like a burst of sunshine. She turned and saw Jin laughing, his head thrown back, eyes crinkling with joy. His smile was wide, and for the briefest moment, Y/N felt her lips twitch, the weight in her chest lightening just a fraction. His laughter was infectious, warm, and genuine, like a ray of light piercing through the storm.

But it didn’t last. Her smile faded as quickly as it had come, the cold weight of memory crashing back down on her. Jin didn’t have a dimple. Hoseok did. Right next to his lip, a small indentation that deepened when he smiled—a smile that had once lit up her entire world.

Y/N slammed the hatchback shut, the sharp sound echoing in the parking lot. The fleeting warmth drained from her, replaced by the familiar heaviness of loss. She climbed into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. She drove off, unaware that a pair of eyes had been watching her the whole time, oblivious to the storm raging inside her as she disappeared into the night.

"Let’s go, guys!" Y/N yelled, the sharp blast of her whistle cutting through the humid air like a warning siren. The pool hall fell silent, the chaotic energy of twelve boys immediately snuffed out as they turned to face her, wide-eyed and ready. Moments before, they’d been a whirlpool of laughter, splashing and teasing each other during the break, but now they stood at attention. She had given them a short water break after warm-ups, but now it was time to push them through a grueling 2800-yard workout that would leave them gasping for air. They'd already swum 800 yards just warming up—what she had planned next was going to test their limits.

Jungkook stood out, grinning at her with that infectious smile of his, so bright it seemed to light up the dimly lit pool hall. Y/N smiled back, but the warmth of it was bittersweet. An ache stirred in her chest as she watched him. She wished she could be like him again, young and full of energy, where the water was freedom and not a reminder of everything she had lost. Pushing away the weight settling over her, she cleared her throat and forced her focus back to the task at hand.

"Alright, we’ve got a 1600 main set. Between each rep, we’ll switch out with easy breast and backstrokes. Got it?"

"Crystal!" the boys shouted, their voices bouncing off the tiles in an eager echo.

"Good. Starting with a 4x100 with a 15-second rest. First 25 is butterfly, then 3x100 with a 10-second rest. First 25 butterfly again. Got it?"

Nods all around, some of the boys already bracing themselves for the challenge.

"Next, we’ve got a 2x100 with a 5-second rest. First 25?"

"But-ter-fly!" Jungkook called out, his excitement palpable.

"Exactly, Jeon. And we’ll wrap it up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy."

The boys lined up at the edge of the pool, ready to dive in. Y/N braced herself, waiting for Oliver Beck to inevitably raise his hand. He always had questions about the practice set, thanks to his ADHD, and she didn’t mind. He was a talented swimmer, and she knew that with a little patience, he could be something great.

"Coach?" Beck called out.

"Yeah, Beck?"

"What’s the cooldown?"

Y/N glanced at her meticulously crafted practice sheet. "4x100, alternating free, back, breast, with frees by 100s."

"Got it! Thanks!"

"Never a problem, Beck. Now get in position."

The practice flowed smoothly after that. The steady rhythm of the swimmers cutting through the water became a kind of music, one that soothed Y/N, though it didn’t quite erase the ache clinging to her. Watching her students thrive was both a source of pride and pain. Especially Jungkook. He had a natural talent that reminded her of herself at his age—so full of potential, so confident. The way he attacked the water, his strokes powerful and sure, made her heart swell. But it also reminded her of everything she’d lost.

As the boys wrapped up their cooldowns, Y/N’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Erica, a nurse from the hospital where Jin worked. They were throwing a welcome party for him at Spotty’s, the local bar—an odd choice for a recovering addict, but typical for this town. Jin had politely declined, so they’d moved the party to the high school gym instead. Tamla had called Y/N, too, inviting her to come. She was glad Tamla and Yoongi wouldn’t be attending Spotty’s—it would have been too much, too soon for them, given Yoongi's sobriety.

After practice, Y/N set the time for Monday’s session and headed toward the gym. The parking lot was already full, the sea of cars stretching out in front of her. A familiar shiver crept up her spine. She wouldn’t stay long—crowds always suffocated her, and in this small town, everyone remembered her past. The stares, the whispers, they still haunted her. She was no longer Y/N, the swimming star. She was Y/N, the addict who’d lost everything.

Outside the gym, Taehyung stood with Amanda, their gazes meeting hers with a shared understanding. They were the town’s outcasts, bound together by their mistakes. Y/N had always been the one they blamed for Hoseok’s death, while Taehyung and Amanda were just “the wrong crowd” from high school who had spiraled into drugs. She was surprised to see them there.

"The pool’s cleared out if you guys want to escape for a bit," Y/N called, trying to lighten the mood.

They nodded, grateful, as they made their way toward the water. It had become a quiet ritual for them after the chaos, a place to breathe.

Inside the gym, Yoongi and Tamla were laughing with a couple Y/N hadn’t met before. New neighbors, probably. News traveled fast in Loch Keen, so they likely knew all about her before she even had the chance to introduce herself. The "drunk, pill-head coach who lost a leg in the Loch" was the story everyone loved to tell. With their group was Hoseok's mother, Dr.Eun-Jae Jung. Y/N quickly turned away, hopeful that the older woman had not noticed her.

Eun-Jae was kind but she looked far too much like her son, and it ripped Y/N's heart out to speak with her.

“What’s shakin’, baby?” Jimin’s voice pulled Y/N from her thoughts as he squeezed her shoulder, his presence warm and grounding.

She hadn’t realized how lost she’d been, standing in the doorway, mind drifting. Relief washed over her. Jimin was the buffer she needed, his humor always keeping her afloat.

"Wrapped up practice when Tami called. She invited me."

"That was sweet of her."

"Did you hear they wanted to go to Spotty’s?"

Jimin let out a loud, infectious laugh. "Bring the alcoholic to the bar—genius move."

"You know this town is full of geniuses," Y/N quipped, grinning as Jimin nudged her playfully with his elbow.

“Geniuses with their heads so far up their asses—oh, good evening, Mr. Stanley.”

Victor Stanley, Jimin’s boss and a man Y/N had always admired, approached them. To Jimin, he was a source of discomfort, but to Y/N, he was a lifeline. When she’d hit rock bottom, he’d offered her shelter and a hot meal. He was one of the few who saw her as more than her mistakes.

"Jimin," Stanley greeted curtly before turning to Y/N, his expression softening. He pulled her into a hug. "Good to see you, kid. How’s work?"

"Bittersweet," Y/N replied, the truth slipping out before she could stop herself. Her hand moved automatically to adjust Stanley’s popped collar. Little things like that always drove her crazy.

"It’ll get better," Stanley said, his voice filled with the kind of quiet confidence Y/N had always admired. "I told you they have that physical therapy place in Esther—"

“I know, Pops,” Y/N interrupted, her voice tight as she scanned the room, searching for an escape. “Where’s Erica?”

Vincent Stanley chuckled, his warm, fatherly laugh doing nothing to ease the knot tightening in her chest. "By the food, of course. You know her." He gestured toward the buffet table, and Y/N forced a laugh, already pulling Jimin toward the exit, throwing a quick wave over her shoulder.

"I’ve never met someone less subtle in my life," Jimin muttered as Y/N finally let go of his arm.

"Baby."

"What’s wrong with talking to him?"

"Just not ready for that yet."

Jimin nodded, his eyes lighting up as Erica came into view. She was stunning, her skin porcelain with freckles that danced in the soft light, her hazel eyes shifting between ocean blue and deep green. Her hair, pulled into a messy bun, framed her face with ashy blonde curls. It was obvious that Jimin was smitten, and Y/N could see Erica playing into it, their unspoken attraction simmering in the air.

"Go ahead," Y/N sighed, giving him a gentle nudge toward Erica.

"Love you," he said with a grin, patting her head before striding toward Erica, whose smile brightened at his approach.

Y/N watched them for a moment before turning away, a familiar pang of loneliness settling deep in her chest. Everyone seemed wrapped up in their own little worlds of happiness. She used to be part of that. But now, she was always the one dancing alone at these town gatherings. Her gaze drifted to Yoongi and Tamla, deep in conversation with Dr. Kim. She quickly looked away, blending into the crowd. Seeing Tamla always brought too much back—she looked too much like Hoseok. And tonight, he was already heavy on Y/N’s mind.

She considered slipping over to join Taehyung and Amanda by the pool but quickly thought better of it. Amanda would have a fit if Y/N interrupted her time with Taehyung. "Stop stealing my mojo, man. I’m so close to getting in his pants," she’d always joke. They both knew it was far from true, but it never stopped Amanda from saying it.

Y/N’s eyes found little Mai, a whirlwind of energy and joy, playing with the other kids in the late afternoon sun. Her laughter echoed through the yard, reminding Y/N so much of Yoongi that she couldn’t help but smile. She decided against interrupting; Mai had taken a long time to warm up to anyone after everything she’d been through, and Y/N wasn’t about to risk stunting that progress. If things continued as they were, poor Tamla would be stuck with two antisocial recluses for the rest of her days—Yoongi and Mai, forever joined in their quiet, stubborn ways. Y/N chuckled at the thought, imagining Tamla bribing Yoongi with takeout just to get him out of the house.

A light tap on her shoulder pulled Y/N from her thoughts. She turned, surprised to find Dr. Kim standing there. His presence was both unexpected and, in that moment, unwanted.

"Oh," Y/N stammered, "Dr. Kim."

"I just noticed you standing here and thought I’d say hi," Jin said, his smile warm and genuine.

"Sorry I didn’t say it first. Hi," Y/N replied, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck, feeling the heat rise in her face.

She hadn’t felt flustered around a man since Hoseok. Jin was polished—his hair slicked back, his glasses perched just so, and his crisp white coat draped over his neatly pressed clothes. He looked too put together, too good for this small, broken-down town. The voice in her head whispered harsh reminders: Too good for you.

"No worries," Jin said, his kindness disarming. "I heard you coach the swim team here."

"Yeah," Y/N said, cringing at how lame she sounded.

"That’s so cool! I figured you coached, but I thought it would be somewhere else. Not here."

His eyes briefly flicked to her prosthetic, and Y/N felt her cheeks burn. She had grown used to these moments, the glances, the unspoken questions. She fought the urge to lash out, reminding herself that Jin was new—he didn’t know the whispers and judgments that painted her as the town’s one-legged crazy woman. She had Hoseok’s father to thank for even getting this job after she’d cleaned up her life.

"Principal Jung was kind enough to give me the job after I got sober," Y/N explained, trying to steady her voice. "The swim team went a year without a coach. Jungkook, the captain, tried to keep it together, but they couldn’t compete. I’ve been coaching for two years now, and we’ve won nationals both times."

"That’s really impressive," Jin said, a genuine spark of excitement in his voice. "Were you a swimmer?"

"Yeah. I used to be," Y/N admitted, her voice almost cracking. "But I got sober about three years ago and haven’t been in the pool since. Don’t think I ever will again."

Jin nodded, his expression softening as he understood. "How long ago did it happen?"

"Four, almost five years ago. Bad car accident."

Jin’s eyes fell, and he ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, which didn’t move an inch. "I didn’t know. Some of the nurses mentioned it, but I didn’t want to bring it up."

Y/N shrugged. "No need to apologize. This town gossips like it’s a sport. Everyone knows everything."

"News travels fast, huh?" Jin chuckled, taking a sip from his cup.

"Welcome to the Loch," Y/N said sarcastically, punctuating her words with exaggerated jazz hands. It was ridiculous, but Jin laughed, and for the first time that night, Y/N found herself smiling—really smiling. His laughter was contagious, warm, and genuine, and it felt good to share in it.

"Coach! Doc!"

The moment shattered. Namjoon’s voice boomed from across the yard, cutting through the comfortable atmosphere like a wrecking ball. Y/N turned to see him strutting toward them in a loud Hawaiian shirt, glasses perched on his nose, though she knew full well he didn’t need them.

"Joon," Jin greeted cheerfully, raising his cup.

"You," Y/N deadpanned, crossing her arms, the corner of her mouth twitching. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Clothes," Namjoon replied, pulling her into a tight, crushing hug.

She didn’t hug him back.

“It’s good to see you, man.” Jin and Namjoon embraced in a quick hug, the easy camaraderie between them instantly pushing Y/N further into the background. As they launched into animated conversation about Jin’s new job at the hospital, Y/N could feel her comfort slipping away, like sand through her fingers. She wasn’t good in these situations. Namjoon was the life of the party, and Jin was now fully absorbed in his energetic presence. Y/N, on the other hand, felt like a fading echo.

She took a step back, quietly slipping into the crowd, her eyes scanning for Tamla and Yoongi. She had to call it a night soon, but she wanted to see Mai one last time before disappearing. These gatherings were harder than they used to be, especially without Hoseok. His absence loomed large, a shadow over every conversation, every laugh that should have been his. Hoseok had been the light at gatherings like this, turning mundane moments into something vibrant and alive. Without him, Y/N felt lost, adrift in a sea of familiar faces, all reminders of the life that had been ripped away.

Finally, she spotted Yoongi and Mai near the buffet table, lost in a moment of pure joy. Yoongi’s gummy smile lit up his whole face as he played with his daughter, her laughter infectious. Y/N rarely saw him so animated, and it warmed her to witness how far he’d come. He could have left when Tamla told him about the pregnancy—most would have, and he knew it. But he’d stayed, and he’d fought to be a better man.

“I wanted to get sober for Mai,” he had confessed to Y/N one evening, his voice raw with emotion. “I fell in love with Tamla during those 90 days, started getting excited about being a father. But I knew I needed to get sober for myself if I was gonna keep it up. And now? I’ve never been happier.”

Watching him now, it was impossible to doubt him. The way he gently caressed Mai’s head, laughing as she squealed about unicorn cupcakes, made Y/N’s heart ache in the best way. He handed Mai three cupcakes, though two would likely go home untouched. Tamla would probably have something to say about the sugar, but for now, it was all laughter and love. Y/N stood on the edge of their world, feeling a quiet, bittersweet longing for that kind of warmth and happiness—something she’d lost and feared she might never find again.

“There you are!” Tamla’s voice rang out, bright and full of warmth, cutting through the haze of Y/N’s thoughts. She turned to see Tamla approaching, arms open for a hug. Y/N melted into the embrace, the comfort of it grounding her.

“Sorry about that,” Y/N said, pulling back with a smile. “I saw you talking to Dr. Jung and that new couple and didn’t want to deal with it.”

Tamla chuckled. “I figured.”

Tamla was stunning. Her skin, deep and polished like mahogany, glowed under the soft evening light. She had recently buzzed her once long hair, and the bold change only accentuated her striking beauty. She moved with a quiet confidence that silenced judgment before it even began. Yoongi was utterly smitten, and Y/N couldn’t blame him.

“I hear Jungkook’s killing it in the pool,” Tamla said, her tone brightening.

“Yeah, the kid’s a beast,” Y/N replied, a surge of pride swelling in her chest. She had watched him grow, helped shape him into the swimmer he was now. “Better than me, probably.”

“I bet his parents are proud. You taking the boys to state this year?”

“Of course,” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. Before she could say anything else, a high-pitched squeal interrupted them.

“Mommy!” Mai ran up, her face smeared with frosting, a portrait of joy.

Tamla quickly switched into mom mode, wiping frosting from her daughter’s face as Y/N stepped back, letting herself fade into the background once again. This time, it didn’t sting as much. She thought about how much she’d cherish having a little one like Mai. A warmth bloomed in her chest at the thought, but it was quickly followed by the cold reminder of everything she’d lost.

Yoongi caught her eye and gave her a small wave, a silent hello. Y/N smiled back before deciding to make her exit. She leaned down, hugging Mai, who squeezed her tight and giggled, filling Y/N with a fleeting sense of warmth. It was time to go. The weight of the gathering had become too much, and she needed to escape the suffocating memories.

As Y/N made her way toward her car, her mind buzzed with thoughts. She needed to stop spiraling. Maybe Kitchen Nightmares or the new season of The Great British Baking Show would help clear her head. Anything to drown out the noise in her mind. She fished her keys from her back pocket, always keeping a spare on her lanyard. She quickly texted Amanda, letting her know she was locking up the pool, and then spotted her little Fit in the lot.

But as she got closer, her stomach dropped. Someone had parked way too close to her driver’s side door.

"Who the hell parked like this?" she muttered to herself, her voice sharp in the stillness of the empty parking lot.

Brenda Richards. Of course, it had to be her. In a town full of entitled people, she was the reigning queen. Her parking wasn’t just careless—it was a bold declaration of superiority, a reminder that rules didn’t apply to her. And there it was, right in front of Y/N—her car crammed so close to Y/N’s Fit, it was as if Brenda had parked blindfolded. The audacity of it set Y/N’s teeth on edge.

“Everything okay?” A voice cut through her rising irritation.

Y/N turned to see Dr. Kim standing nearby, concern flickering across his face. She sighed, the tension in her chest refusing to dissipate.

“It’s fine,” she muttered. “Just Brenda.”

“Mrs. Richards?” he asked, stepping closer to survey the narrow space between their cars. He let out a low whistle.

“Yeah, she can’t park for shit, and now I can’t get out,” Y/N grumbled, leaning against the back of her car, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on her. “I bought a Fit to avoid crap like this, but apparently, even that wasn’t small enough for her. It’s like she parks with her eyes closed.”

Jin chuckled, a soft, warm sound that momentarily eased the knot in Y/N’s stomach. “I could help you back out if you want. I’m pretty sure you can make it.”

“I know I can,” she said, frustration slipping into her voice. “It’s the getting in part that’s the problem.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely curious. For a moment, Y/N felt a flicker of hope, like maybe he had a solution.

“There’s always the passenger side,” he suggested lightly.

Y/N paused, considering the offer. He didn’t realize just how cramped her car was. Climbing over the center console would mean removing her prosthetic, and she wasn’t about to do that in the middle of the parking lot. “I can’t climb over like that anymore,” she admitted, keeping her tone neutral. “The space is too tight, and I’d have to take my leg off.”

Jin’s expression shifted, and Y/N could see the faint flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. “Oh... I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, waving it off. “You’ve got all your limbs. Can’t expect you to know what it’s like being an amputee.”

She popped the trunk and sat on the edge, letting her legs dangle. Her prosthetic swung slightly beneath her, a constant, tangible reminder of the life she used to have. The new limb was top-of-the-line, a sleek upgrade from her last one, but it still felt foreign to her. She glanced down at her sneakers—ugly, sensible Sketchers. Heels were a thing of the past.

“I’ll back it out for you,” Jin offered, his voice cutting through her thoughts.

“You sure?” Y/N asked, surprised by his kindness. Most people wouldn’t offer to help a stranger, especially not in a situation like this.

“Yeah, no big deal,” he said, taking the keys from her. “I’ve been thinking about getting a Honda Fit myself. Heard the gas mileage is great.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she handed him the keys. “It’s a nice change from a Jeep,” she admitted, feeling a bit of the tension drain away.

“I drive a Lexus,” Jin said with a grin as he opened the passenger door. “But she’s old.”

Y/N moved aside, watching as Jin crawled awkwardly into her small car. She chuckled to herself as he struggled to maneuver his way into the driver’s seat, bumping his head in the process. It reminded her of something Hoseok would have found hilarious, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the absurdity.

Jin cursed softly as he finally got situated, and Y/N burst into laughter, the sound surprising her. It felt good to let go, even just for a second.

Jin laughed along with her, his voice echoing inside the car, warming the cold evening air. A few moments later, he had backed her car out smoothly and climbed out, beaming.

“I like it,” he said, handing her the keys. “You’re good to go, little lady.”

“Thanks, Dr. Kim,” Y/N said, giving him a small wave as she climbed back into her car. They exchanged an awkward smile before she pulled out of the lot.

Jin was cute, with a kindness in his eyes that made him seem a little less untouchable than she had first thought. But his smile—that was the thing. It made it hard for her to look at him for too long. He seemed too good, too perfect for a place like Loch Keen. And Y/N knew better than to trust perfection. No one came to this town without skeletons of their own.

As she drove home, the quiet of the road felt suffocating. Since the accident, Y/N had learned to be a defensive driver. No radio, no distractions—just the hum of the engine and the blast of the AC to keep her company. She focused on the road, careful, always aware. After all, she had lost everything once in a crash.

Pulling into her driveway, Y/N narrowly avoided a cat lounging in the middle of the road. She honked, the sound slicing through the still air like a knife. The engine died as she parked, and her eyes fell on the cupholder.

There, nestled where her keys had been, was a phone. Not hers—this one was sleeker, fancier.

Shit. Jin’s phone.

He must have dropped it while climbing through her car. Guilt gnawed at her. After everything he had done to help her, she had driven off with his phone. She immediately called Namjoon to explain, and ten minutes later, he was knocking on her door.

But Jin wasn’t with him.

Disappointment hit her like a cold splash of water, and she hated herself for it. Of course Jin wouldn’t come himself. He was new in town, careful about his reputation, and she wasn’t worth the trouble of a late-night errand. She shook off the thought, pushing down the misplaced hope that had bubbled up—a hope for something familiar, something like what she had with Hoseok.

Namjoon handed her a quick smile, took the phone, and left. Y/N shut the door and felt the night fold in on itself, heavy and familiar. She took a cold shower, the chill biting through her skin, then crawled into bed. The routine was a comfort, the predictability of it soothing the chaos in her mind.

Like clockwork.

It wasn’t until the following Monday that Y/N saw Jin again. This time, he was in scrubs, the baby blue fabric striking against his skin. Y/N lingered in her car longer than she should have, watching him disappear into the building. The nervous energy swirling inside her was almost unbearable. There was something about him that didn’t sit right—an attraction she couldn’t control, as if it was some dark secret clawing its way to the surface. She didn’t want to think of him as pretty, but she couldn’t help it. There was a quiet intensity about Jin, a confidence that whispered of danger, and it made Y/N uneasy in a way she couldn’t explain.

As soon as Y/N stepped inside, Amanda was on her, grabbing her arm without a word and dragging her down the hall before she could catch her breath. Y/N pretended to be annoyed, but inside, she was grateful. Another awkward moment with Jin was the last thing she needed. Amanda looked rattled, her quick pace and the tension in her grip betraying her anxiety. This wasn’t like Amanda, and Y/N could tell that something big was about to spill out. When they finally stopped in the restroom, Amanda’s composed facade cracked.

“You know I can’t walk that fast, Mandy,” Y/N said, rubbing her aching thigh. Her voice came out sharper than intended, but Amanda barely noticed.

“I’m sorry,” Amanda replied, breathless, her voice tight with emotion. The tension clung to her like a second skin. “Tae is taking Willow out this Saturday.”

“What?” Y/N blinked, her brain scrambling to process the words.

Everything started to make sense. Amanda had been in love with Taehyung for years. They’d hooked up a few times, but nothing had ever really solidified. And now, to hear he was going out with someone else—Willow Hart of all people—was like a punch to the gut.

“He told Jimin, who told me. She came into the body shop on Thursday, and they hit it off. They’re having dinner at that burger place on Maple.”

“Wait, wait, wait—Taehyung is going out with Willow Hart? The girl who got him arrested?”

“Yes.” Amanda’s voice cracked, barely holding it together.

“I thought she moved away for good.”

“Erica told me she just got her master’s but couldn’t find a job. She’s going to teach calculus at the high school next year and is working at Spotty’s in the meantime.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, though it was a bitter, disbelieving sound. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Willow was trouble, always had been. Blonde hair, blue eyes—yeah, she was pretty—but she was the one who’d ratted Taehyung out for smoking behind the school, getting him expelled and arrested. Amanda was the one who understood him, had been through hell with him. But even Y/N knew their relationship was a mess—fueled by lust, trauma bonding, and all the wrong things. Part of her was relieved Taehyung was moving on. Maybe Amanda should too.

“I wish I was,” Amanda sighed, her shoulders sagging as the weight of it all pressed down on her.

“Fuck him,” Y/N said, pulling Amanda into a tight hug. “Don’t let this get you down, okay?”

And just like that, Amanda broke. Her body trembled with sobs as she clung to Y/N like she was drowning. Anger flared up inside Y/N, her fists balling up with the desire to punch Taehyung for putting Amanda through this. She had always known this would end badly. But the more she thought about it, the more she understood. Taehyung wasn’t the villain here. He and Amanda were better friends than anything else, and her dependency on him weighed on him, constantly reminding him of his past mistakes. It was a no-win situation.

“Why doesn’t he like me?” Amanda cried, gripping Y/N like she was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Who cares if he doesn’t like you? I like you.”

They stayed huddled in the restroom for what felt like an eternity, Amanda holding on tight as Y/N kept her close. By the time they rejoined the group, Amanda was a wreck, but Y/N stayed by her side, sitting with her instead of letting her gravitate toward her usual spot next to Taehyung. No one asked questions. They could see how much Amanda was struggling, how she was leaning on Y/N for support. For the rest of the meeting, Amanda held Y/N’s hand, gripping it tightly like a lifeline, and Y/N never let go. She knew Amanda needed her strength tonight.

As the meeting wrapped up, Brad caught Y/N’s eye, his expression questioning.

“She okay?” he mouthed.

Y/N nodded, giving him a reassuring look. Amanda stretched, then quickly left the room, eager to be alone. Y/N squeezed her hand one last time before letting her go. She wasn’t worried about Amanda falling back into old habits. Amanda had come too far for that. It had been over a year since she and Taehyung had been involved, and Amanda had grown stronger without him. She didn’t see it yet, but everyone else did—Taehyung included. She was better off without him dragging her down.

“Is Mandy okay?” Taehyung’s voice broke through Y/N’s thoughts, and she turned to find him standing there, concern etched across his face.

“Yeah, just overwhelmed,” Y/N replied, her voice cool, brushing him off. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.

“Thanks for taking care of her,” Taehyung said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve always been such a good friend to her.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Y/N said, her voice hard. “Don’t thank me.”

The words came out harsher than she intended, but she didn’t care. Amanda had asked her to keep things calm for now, and Y/N wasn’t going to stir up drama on her behalf. Amanda would confront Taehyung when she was ready, and Y/N wasn’t about to get in the middle of it. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what Taehyung saw in Willow, and whether this thing between them would last. Maybe Willow had changed since high school, and maybe she hadn’t. Either way, Y/N wasn’t going to let the drama from years ago ruin her friend’s chance at happiness.

Even if she still had her doubts.

Y/N wanted to go back and apologize. The guilt gnawed at her, sinking its claws in deep, dragging her thoughts down into a spiraling mess. But before she could take a single step, a voice cut through the fog, sharp and sudden.

"Y/N!"

She looked up to see Jin waving at her from across the parking lot, his smile so bright it made her stomach churn. It was a smile that dug up something buried deep, something she thought she’d left behind. Part of her wanted to keep walking, to keep her distance. But she couldn’t. That damn politeness won out, so she stopped, frozen in place, feet rooted to the asphalt. Before she knew it, Taehyung and the rest of her problems faded into the background.

Jin jogged over, his smile still beaming, his cheeks a little pink. “Hey! I just wanted to thank you again for getting my phone back to me. I always misplace things.”

Y/N’s defenses softened despite herself. There was something about his awkwardness, his genuine embarrassment, that made it hard to stay distant. “It’s really no big deal,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “I felt bad for driving off with your stuff.”

Jin hesitated, shuffling his feet slightly, glancing at her, then down at the ground. “How does dinner sound?”

Her heart stuttered. This is bad. Very bad. She knew herself—once her interest in him was out there, it would all unravel. She wasn’t good at hiding her feelings, and that scared the hell out of her. Jin was too good, too polished. He deserved someone whole, not someone still haunted by the past, still chained to a promise she couldn’t break. Someone like him belonged with a Beyoncé, not a woman who spent her nights reliving the moment her life shattered.

Y/N forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No.”

Jin’s face fell, just for a second, the disappointment clear before he quickly covered it with a forced laugh. “Ah, well, worth a shot, right?”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, the weight of it pressing down hard. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” she said, hating how raw her voice sounded. “It’s just… it wouldn’t be fair. To either of us.” She could see the pain in his eyes, even though he was trying so hard to play it off. “We don’t really know each other. And this town… it watches me like a hawk, waiting for me to screw up. You don’t want to get tangled up in that. Trust me.”

Jin’s smile faltered, but he didn’t interrupt. He just listened, patiently, letting her spill it all out.

“And if I’m being honest,” Y/N continued, her voice barely above a whisper now, “I’m not ready for a date. It’s been eight years… and the last person I was with was my fiancé. I haven’t thought about moving on, and the idea of it makes me feel… guilty. Like I’m betraying him.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and thick, like a confession she hadn’t meant to make. She rubbed the ring on her finger absentmindedly, the metal cold and familiar. It was a promise she hadn’t broken. Couldn’t break.

Jin’s face softened, and instead of pulling away, he looked at her with something deeper than sympathy. Understanding.

“What if it’s just two friends grabbing a bite?” he asked softly, his voice like a warm breeze cutting through the chill. There was something in his eyes—something kind, gentle—but not pity.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. Had she misread him this whole time?

“So… you weren’t asking me out?”

“Oh, I was,” Jin said with a small chuckle, his smile still there but less intense now. “But you’re right. We don’t know each other that well yet. And if you’re not ready, that’s okay. I still like spending time with you, and I’d love to grab dinner. As friends.”

She searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all she saw was that same disarming warmth. “No ulterior motives?”

“None,” he said, his smile softening. “I just want to get to know you better. No pressure.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing toward her car across the parking lot. Her hands felt clammy, nerves buzzing just under the surface. But his offer didn’t seem dangerous anymore—it felt safe, a small escape from the weight she carried. And maybe that’s what she needed.

“Okay,” she finally said, feeling the knot in her chest loosen a little. “Follow me. We can grab steak and eggs at Bronco’s.”

Jin’s grin spread wide, dazzling in its brightness, and for a second, something fluttered in the pit of Y/N’s stomach. He was a charmer, no doubt about it, and part of her wished she’d had the strength to say no. But the other part—the selfish part—was thrilled.

For a little while, at least, Jin Kim would be hers.

Jin was a gentleman in every sense, the kind of guy who opened doors, let Y/N speak first, and never tried to overpower the conversation. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a tension bubbling beneath the surface, something unspoken, lingering like a bad smell in a small room. Bronco’s had good food, sure, but Y/N knew the locals would have a field day seeing her here with the new doctor. It had been ages since she’d dared to eat out in town, and sitting across from Jin, of all people, was like handing them fresh gossip on a silver platter. She could already feel the whispers crawling over her skin, like a bad itch she couldn’t scratch.

In the short time they'd been sitting there, she’d learned a few things about Jin. For one, he loved his sweet tea so sugary it was practically syrup. The man was dumping Splenda into his glass like it was some kind of race. It made her smile, despite the quiet dread in her stomach. His mother must’ve spoiled him with sugar, because that sweet tooth didn’t belong to a grown man. And then there was his food: steak, mid-rare, eggs runny—over-easy or sunny-side up. Hoseok had been the exact opposite, always ordering his steak cooked into oblivion and his eggs scrambled so hard they were practically rubber. Hoseok never liked sweet tea either, always pushing it aside for a glass of orange juice, bitter and sharp, like him.

Y/N cursed herself for thinking about Hoseok again. He slipped into her thoughts like a thief in the night, breaking in when she least expected it. She could never shake him, even when she tried.

“People are staring at us,” Jin whispered, sinking lower in his seat, his eyes darting nervously around the diner, like a deer sensing trouble.

Y/N glanced past him and immediately locked eyes with Fred Coops, the sheriff. He looked away the moment their gazes met, like a kid caught peeking through a keyhole. Y/N let out a small scoff, shaking her head. Fred was on her list, right up there with Brenda, the queen of gossip in Loch Keen. He’d been the one who found her and Hoseok that night, and since then, he’d arrested her three more times.

“You’re having dinner with the town junkie, Dr. Kim. People are bound to stare,” Y/N muttered, taking a long, bitter sip of her coffee. “Just ignore Coops. He’s a piece of work.”

Jin raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he a cop?”

“Yeah. First person to hit me, actually. Well, besides Declan.” Y/N gave a humorless smile. “We went to high school together. One time, during a game of Just Dance, he knocked me over—accidentally, of course. I was still in my wheelchair back then. Taehyung had relapsed, and I wasn’t much better, getting deep into the bottle. We were at Spotty’s, completely wrecked. I started a fight with Brenda’s son, Eric. Coops shows up, and honestly, it’s all a blur after that. Tae got in his face, things got heated, and the next thing I know, Coops is pushing my chair toward his cruiser. Then he just… dumps me out. Face-first on the concrete. They went at it, and Coops accidentally kicked me in the face. Gave me a black eye. No charges, though. But let’s just say it didn’t make him any more popular.”

Jin’s eyes went wide, disbelief written all over his face. “He kicked you? And he still has his badge?”

“Yep. Small-town politics. They don’t like him much, but they like me even less.”

Jin frowned, stirring his tea slowly. “I can’t imagine living in a place like that. Where everyone knows your business.”

Y/N chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Start imagining. Loch Keen’s got no room for secrets.”

Silence fell between them again, but this time it wasn’t as heavy. Y/N watched as Jin’s thoughts seemed to swirl behind his dark eyes, the way his brow furrowed in concentration. For a moment, he looked just like Jungkook when he was deep in thought, that same endearing pout tugging at his lips. Something inside her stirred, a fleeting urge to smooth away the worry lines on his forehead, to chase away the shadows in his expression.

Their waitress, Taylor, arrived with their food, setting the plates down with practiced ease before slipping away again without a word. She was one of the few in town who knew when to keep her nose out of other people’s business. Y/N appreciated that, especially now. In Loch Keen, that kind of discretion was a rare gift.

“Can I ask you something?” Jin said quietly, his fork pressing into the yolk of his egg, watching as the golden liquid bled out across the plate like a slow spill of sunlight.

Y/N looked up, mid-chew, and nodded. “Sure.”

“How did your addiction start?”

The question landed like a punch, heavy and unexpected, knocking the air from her lungs. Y/N set her fork down, feeling the weight of it, like her story had claws, digging into her chest. Jin’s gaze was steady, open, and for some reason, she felt she could tell him the truth, unvarnished and raw.

“I got into a car accident on Highway 32,” she started, her voice low and brittle. “I was drunk, coming back from a party at Edith University. Hoseok was supposed to pick me up. I was too far gone to drive, so I planned to crash at his place for the weekend.” She swallowed, the memories flooding back in waves, cold and unforgiving.

“We got hit by an 18-wheeler. The driver had fallen asleep at the wheel, ran a red light. Hoseok died on impact. I barely survived.”

The diner’s hum seemed to dim as she spoke, the clatter of dishes and low murmur of conversations fading into background noise. Y/N’s voice wavered, but she pressed on, feeling the words tear their way out of her.

“My leg… it was crushed, pinned between the car and the light pole. They couldn’t save it, but they managed to keep my knee. I lost everything that night—Hoseok, my leg, my swimming career, my future. And my parents… well, they never forgave me. They loved him more than they ever loved me. I spent weeks in the hospital, mostly alone.”

Her voice trembled as she recounted the long days of isolation. “Mandy and Taehyung would visit, but Jimin was in Esther, getting clean, and the others… they weren’t around. Everyone was too busy grieving Hoseok. I was just… there. It didn’t take long before I started drinking to fill the silence. And then the pills. It was easy—too easy. No one noticed, not until it became their problem. By then, it was too late. My parents left town to escape the memories, and the only one who seemed to care was Victor Stanley.”

She trailed off, the silence between them thick, heavy like the weight of years lost to the bottle, to painkillers that dulled everything she didn’t want to feel. Jin’s face softened as he absorbed her words, his shock giving way to a deep, quiet empathy.

“I’m sorry,” Jin said, his voice gentle, like he was afraid to push too hard, to break her with the wrong word. “You didn’t deserve that. None of it.”

Y/N gave him a small, bitter smile. “What you deserve and what you get in life are two very different things.”

They sat in silence after that, the weight of her story hanging in the air between them. Jin seemed like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening and closing a few times, but the words didn’t come. Y/N forced herself to focus on her food, pushing the memories back into the dark corners of her mind where they belonged. But they clung to her, like shadows she couldn’t shake.

When the bill came, Y/N paid without thinking, feeling the pull of exhaustion creeping in. They walked out together into the cool night, the parking lot illuminated by the harsh glow of streetlights. Jin lingered by his car as Y/N started to walk toward hers, but his voice stopped her.

“Y/N!”

She turned, seeing him standing there, an almost hesitant look on his face.

“I wrote my number down on the receipt,” he said, his voice softer now, a little unsure. “If you feel… weird tonight, just call me. I know that was heavy, and I didn’t mean to—"

Y/N gave him a smile, feeling a strange warmth bloom in her chest. Of course, he noticed. He had been paying attention all along, probably more than she realized. She was never good at hiding her emotions, and Jin seemed to see right through her.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I’m glad you asked. I’d rather you hear it from me than from anyone else. And whenever you’re ready, you can do the same. I’m here to listen.”

Jin smiled, a small but genuine smile, and for the first time that night, Y/N felt her heart flip in her chest. There was something in his gaze, something kind and safe, that made her feel just a little bit lighter.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Jin.”

As Y/N climbed into her car, she felt a strange sense of calm settle over her. Maybe it was the fact that someone had listened, really listened, without judgment. Maybe it was knowing that, for the first time in a long time, someone understood.

She drove home with Jin’s number tucked away in her pocket.

Y/N pulled into the parking lot, wedged tightly between Jimin’s hulking truck and the crumbling asphalt. Her usual spot felt smaller than usual, as though it were closing in on her. When she swung open the door, her knee banged against the edge, pain shooting through her leg like a cruel reminder of how nothing ever went smoothly. She glanced around, searching for Jin’s white sedan—his car was always easy to spot in the sea of faded paint jobs and rusting metal. But today, it was missing. The absence gnawed at her, and though she tried to shrug it off, the knot in her stomach tightened. He was probably just running late. Still, she had been looking forward to seeing him all day, her nerves buzzing, the anticipation simmering beneath the surface. It would settle, she told herself, once he walked through the door.

Inside, the air was thick, heavy with a tension that seemed to cling to every surface. Taehyung sat by himself, his expression dark and brooding, a storm cloud waiting to break. Mandy had taken a seat next to Yoongi on Y/N’s side of the room, breaking the unspoken seating arrangement they all adhered to. Y/N caught Namjoon’s gaze across the room; his brow was furrowed in confusion, reflecting her own. Something was wrong. And deep down, she had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what it was.

Y/N settled into her usual chair, the wood creaking beneath her like an old warning. Yoongi glanced at her, his usual air of detachment replaced with a tension that tugged at his features. The silent bickering between Taehyung and Mandy was like a low-grade infection, simmering beneath the surface, infecting everyone in the room.

For once, Y/N found herself siding with Mandy. Taehyung had dragged her through emotional hell for years, toying with her while she clung to whatever fragile hope remained. They had crossed lines that shouldn’t have been crossed, and now everyone was left to deal with the fallout of their latest drama.

“Hope everyone’s having a good night,” Sherry’s voice broke the silence as she took her place at the front. Her smile flickered, struggling to stay lit like a candle about to be snuffed out.

“Looks like we’re missing someone,” Brad added as he settled into his chair beside her. His voice was casual, but the curiosity was evident.

Y/N’s stomach clenched as her eyes scanned the room again. No Jin. Just an empty chair and a suffocating absence that felt like it was sucking the air from her lungs. Her heart thudded, heavy and anxious. Missing a meeting was never a good sign. It was a crack in the carefully constructed walls they all relied on to keep themselves together. Worry gnawed at her.

“Probably busy at the hospital,” Brad shrugged, dismissing Jin’s absence with a wave of his hand before launching into the meeting, like it was just another routine Tuesday. But to Y/N, it wasn’t. Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Where was Jin?

Namjoon’s update about his new dog, Yeontan, a tiny Pomeranian that radiated joy, brought a few chuckles, and Jimin’s story about adopting a cat to combat loneliness almost lifted the mood. But Y/N barely heard any of it. Her worry for Jin drowned everything out, an unease that crept up her spine and settled in her chest.

“Hi, my name’s Taehyung, and I’m an addict.”

“Hi, Taehyung,” the group echoed back, though Mandy sat rigid, arms crossed, her hurt and anger visible like armor.

“I had a date on Saturday. It went well,” Taehyung continued, his voice uncertain, his eyes flickering toward Y/N.

“How did it make you feel?” Brad asked, offering a gentle smile, but the weight in the room was thick, almost suffocating.

“It felt... great,” Taehyung said, forcing a laugh, but there was a hint of embarrassment underneath. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much.”

“Nice, Tae,” Sherry chimed in, but her enthusiasm felt off, like she was trying too hard to gloss over the deeper issues simmering just beneath the surface.

Then it was Y/N’s turn. She sighed, feeling the pressure of everyone’s gaze on her, a spotlight she didn’t want.

“Hi, my name’s Y/N. I’m an addict.”

“Hi, Y/N,” came the familiar response.

“Well,” she began, her voice quieter than she meant, “I’ve been doing better than usual.”

“Anything new?” Sherry asked, her tone casual, but there was an edge to her words that immediately set off alarms in Y/N’s mind.

What did she know? Y/N’s life was a strict routine, predictable to the point of monotony. The only thing outside her usual schedule had been that dinner with Jin. But was that really “something new”?

“Did you hear something?” Y/N asked, stretching her arms overhead in a show of nonchalance, though her heart was pounding.

“Brenda heard from Sheriff Coop’s wife that you were out with Dr. Kim,” Sherry admitted, her cheeks flushing.

“We had dinner after the meeting last week. And?” Y/N shot back, her voice sharp, defensive.

“People are saying you two looked pretty close,” Jimin chimed in, a smirk curling on his lips, the gleam in his eyes that of a cat that had just found a fresh bowl of cream.

A flash of irritation flared up inside Y/N. “People also said you had herpes when you had that cold sore.”

Yoongi barely managed to choke back a laugh, Namjoon’s deep laughter echoed in the room, and even Jimin had to hide a grin.

“Enough,” Sherry interjected, laughter bubbling up from her despite herself. “I’m just happy to see you branching out again. It’s been a while since you’ve made new friends.”

Y/N shrugged, her heart not in the conversation. “I guess.”

But the truth was, her thoughts weren’t with the group. They were elsewhere, racing ahead, searching for answers. Where was Jin? Why hadn’t he shown up? The worry gnawed at her, digging deeper with every passing minute, the empty chair beside her feeling heavier and heavier as the meeting dragged on.

Mandy stayed silent, and Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that her friend’s quiet demeanor was masking a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Anxiety thrummed in Y/N’s veins, a low and constant hum, as her mind flickered to Jin. Had she misread him? Was he unraveling, spiraling somewhere she couldn’t reach?

Before she could make sense of it all, Amanda shot up from her seat, her emotions exploding out of her like a thunderstorm. The meeting wasn’t over, but she was already halfway to the door. Y/N called after her, voice sharp with concern, but Amanda didn’t even slow down. The door slammed behind her, leaving a hollow silence in its wake.

The room felt stifling, the stillness almost unbearable.

“She’s so melodramatic,” Namjoon muttered, crossing his arms with an exasperated sigh, his lips curving into a pout.

“She’s hurting right now,” Y/N snapped, more defensive than she’d intended. People forgot that underneath Amanda’s theatrics was real pain, raw and sharp, not just some show for the rest of them to gawk at.

Y/N stood, her eyes scanning the parking lot through the window, searching for Amanda. But there was nothing. No sign of her. The knot in Y/N’s stomach tightened. She fumbled for her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found Mandy’s number, but when she dialed, the only response was the cold, empty ring of a call going unanswered.

Her hands shook as she tried again. Six times. Still nothing. Desperate, she fired off a quick text to Erica, hoping she might know where Amanda had gone.

Y/N: Bad meeting. Mandy’s torn up about Tae and won’t take my calls.

The minutes stretched on, each one ticking by with an agonizing slowness, until her phone finally buzzed in her hand.

Erica: I’ll swing by her place after work.

Erica: You and Doc, huh?

Y/N groaned under her breath. “No!” she thought. The last thing she needed was for her friendship with Jin to blow up into something more, feeding the ever-hungry gossip mill that thrived in Loch Keen.

Y/N: Just friends, babe.

Erica: More for me.

Y/N smirked at Erica’s teasing, but beneath that small smile was a gnawing unease. Had Jin avoided the meeting because of her? That question ate at her until she remembered the receipt still tucked away in her car’s cupholder, Jin’s number scrawled in messy, hurried handwriting. It felt like a lifeline in the midst of her uncertainty, a thin thread connecting them.

Without thinking twice, she dialed the number. Each ring echoed in the stillness of the car, the sound growing louder, almost accusing, like the ticking of a clock marking the passage of time she wasn’t sure she should spend.

It’s just a check-in, she reminded herself. Just one AA friend checking on another. No big deal.

“Hello?” Jin’s voice came through, thick with fatigue, like he’d just woken up from a nap he didn’t want to leave behind.

“Hey, Dr. Kim,” Y/N stammered, her nerves getting the better of her. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to steady. “It’s Y/N… from AA.”

There was a pause, then his tone softened, lightening with a spark of recognition and something warmer. “Y/N! Hey, yeah. What’s up?”

“I just noticed you weren’t at the meeting tonight and wanted to check in, see how you’re doing.” The words felt flimsy, a half-truth dressed up as concern. She had missed him—missed seeing him—and the worry that had built up inside her needed an outlet.

“Got stuck at the hospital,” Jin said, a heavy sigh in his voice. “New patients, and I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone make it to meetings. Honestly, when I’m off, all I do is sleep.”

Y/N hummed, a wave of embarrassment creeping up her spine. Of course, Jin had real obligations. It wasn’t like she was the center of his world, no matter how much she had been preoccupied with him. Still, the fact that he wasn’t there had unsettled her in a way she didn’t want to admit.

“No worries. Sorry for bothering you,” she said, resting her forehead against the steering wheel, the coolness of the metal soothing the heat rising in her cheeks.

“You’re not bothering me,” Jin replied, his voice softening, a hint of a laugh brightening the tone. “Actually, I’m glad you called. I was dragging my feet about driving home.”

“Well, glad I could help motivate you… to shower,” Y/N joked, a smile tugging at her lips as the tension between them eased just a bit.

“Ah, no shower tonight. But at least now I feel ready for the drive.” Jin’s laughter spilled through the phone, warm and infectious.

Y/N chuckled, her anxiety loosening its grip, replaced by the lightness of their exchange. “Happy to be of service.”

She glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had gotten. As much as she wanted to keep talking, she knew she needed to let him go, let them both call it a night.

“I’ll let you go now,” Y/N said, her voice softer, reluctant to hang up.

“Be safe,” Jin replied, the warmth in his voice wrapping around her like a gentle embrace.

“You too,” she murmured, her chest feeling lighter, like something heavy had finally lifted.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Jin.”

As Y/N hung up and slid the phone into her lap, a quiet sense of peace settled over her. She turned the key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life beneath her. As she drove out of the parking lot, the world didn’t seem as heavy as it had before. The worry that had followed her all night faded, leaving only the echo of Jin’s voice, a steady reminder that maybe—just maybe—things were going to be okay.

Three weeks had slipped through Y/N’s fingers since Jin had last shown up at an AA meeting. Everyone knew the hospital had its claws in him—Erica had told Jimin that Dr. Kim was drowning in new patients, struggling ever since Dr. Greyson’s sudden retirement. The old doctor had been the bedrock of the town, reliable as the tide, and now, with him gone, Jin was left to fill the shoes of a man who had become a legend. It gnawed at Y/N to think of him buried under all that weight. He hadn’t had a night off in weeks, and she could only imagine how that pressure was grinding him down.

Saturday nights were becoming a war zone in Y/N’s mind. Boredom was an old enemy, creeping in like smoke, choking her with every passing hour. But instead of falling into old habits—into a bottle or a pit of tears—she found herself at the pool hall, the quiet slosh of water offering a kind of uneasy comfort. The night was still, the kind of stillness that presses in around you, heavy and suffocating. Her phone sat on a nearby chair, playing soft music, a soundtrack to the echoing thoughts that circled in her head.

She let her leg dangle in the water, the coolness soothing her skin, but then came that dark, creeping thought—If I jumped in, I’d sink like a stone. No one would find her until Monday, when the janitor would come in and see her floating face down. The image flashed through her mind, sharp as a knife, and she fought it back, barely.

Victor’s suggestion of physical therapy in Esther buzzed in her brain like an angry wasp, but the idea of failing at the one thing she had left—her hope for recovery—made her stomach churn with dread. It was cowardice, and she knew it. But facing that truth? That was a whole different beast.

It looks like a limb torn off,

Or altogether just taken apart.

We’re reeling through an endless fall.

We are the ever-living ghost of what once was.

The lyrics of Band of Horses floated over her, Hoseok’s favorite band. Their music had been the backdrop of every road trip, every lazy afternoon. She could still hear him singing “Infinite Arms” on their first anniversary, his voice cracking as he laughed, dimples deepening with every note. Eighteen and wild, with no idea how short their time would be.

The memory hit her like a slap, and suddenly, she was laughing, then sobbing, the tears coming so fast she couldn’t stop them. The emptiness, the constant hollow feeling that gnawed at her, it all came flooding back, stronger than ever. Would it ever go away? She wanted to believe that one day she wouldn’t wake up with Hoseok’s name burning in her throat, but that day seemed as far away as the moon.

She stared at the deep blue water, the thought creeping back: No one would find me until Monday…

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

Her phone’s ringtone ripped through the silence, jarring her out of the pit she’d been sinking into. She dragged herself over to the chair, fumbling for her phone as she hopped awkwardly, legless but functional.

“Hello?” she answered, not bothering to check the caller ID.

“Y/N? Where the hell are you?” Tamla’s voice crackled through the phone, filled with panic.

“The pool,” Y/N replied, confused. “What’s going on?”

“Alone? Are you crazy?” Tamla’s voice rose, sharp with urgency. Y/N could hear her shouting something to Yoongi. “She’s at the pool!”

“Tami, what’s happening?” Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, a sick dread clawing at her insides.

“It’s Mai. She’s coughing up blood again. We’re in the ER.” Yoongi’s voice rumbled in the background, his calm breaking under the pressure. “It looks like pneumonia. Yoongi’s coming to get you.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped, her peace shattered in an instant. The weight of everything—the hospital, Jin, Hoseok, and now little Mai—it was all pressing down on her like a boulder.

Yoongi’s car screeched to a halt outside the pool in what felt like no time at all. She hopped into the passenger seat, her leg aching with every movement as she struggled to get situated.

“Where’s your leg?” Yoongi asked, his eyes flicking over to her with concern as she buckled in.

“It hurt too much to try and put it on,” Y/N muttered, tossing the prosthetic into the backseat before settling into the passenger side.

Yoongi’s eyes flicked over to her, concern tugging at his brow. “Your chair’s still at our place,” he said, shifting the car into gear. The engine grumbled as they sped off into the dark night, the quiet hum of the road doing little to untangle the knot of dread that had coiled tight in Y/N’s stomach.

Mai’s diagnosis had been like a storm cloud settling over them all, dark and suffocating. The lupus had wormed its way into their lives slowly, like an unwelcome guest creeping into every corner. After a string of lung infections last year, it had become a constant shadow they couldn’t shake. Tamla had been the first to spot the swelling in Mai’s tiny joints, her mother’s instincts pricking at the signs that something wasn’t right. Yoongi had brought it up at the hospital, and the doctor’s grim expression had thickened the air, each word adding weight. They always said the chances of a transplant were slim, but the possibility hung over them like a specter, impossible to ignore.

Now, with Mai back in the hospital, it felt like the ground beneath them was slipping. Panic gnawed at Y/N, unraveling the thin threads of hope they had desperately clung to.

The hospital waiting room was a study in tension when Yoongi and Y/N arrived. Amanda held Tamla close, whispering quiet reassurances that seemed too small for the storm raging inside them. Jimin paced near the window, his restless energy barely contained. Taehyung prowled like a caged animal, his expression tight with worry, while Sherry and Brad murmured softly with Namjoon. The weight on Namjoon’s shoulders was visible in every stiff movement, his eyes betraying a turmoil far deeper than his calm demeanor. He loved Mai fiercely, with a protectiveness that came from the bond they had forged long ago. For Namjoon, who had no children of his own, Mai was everything.

Tamla’s voice broke the room’s silence when she spotted them, her cry cracking like a dam bursting. Yoongi rushed to her, pulling her into a fierce embrace, while Y/N maneuvered her chair closer, her heart heavy with the same fear gnawing at them all.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, taking Sherry’s hand, her gaze searching for something—anything—in Namjoon’s eyes that might reassure her. But his expression mirrored her own dread. This wasn’t just another flare-up; this felt different, darker. The thought of losing Mai twisted inside Y/N like a knife.

Namjoon leaned against Y/N, his voice soft. “Why are you in the chair?”

“I wasn’t wearing my leg when Yoongi came. It hurt too much to put it on,” she said, running her fingers through his hair, hoping to offer some comfort. “She’s gonna be okay, Joon.”

“I know.” His words were steady, but the tremble in his eyes told the real story.

Brad rested a hand on Y/N’s arm, the unspoken solidarity between them clear. They understood their roles all too well—being the pillars while carrying their own burdens. Yoongi had to be with Tamla, and Y/N knew her time to support him would come later. Right now, it was about being there for Mai, for Tamla, and for each other.

“What’s going on, baby?” Yoongi’s voice was gentle but urgent as he held Tamla close, his eyes searching hers.

“They said her antibody levels are low,” Tamla whispered, her voice trembling with barely contained fear. “They’re moving her to the ICU. They want to do a bone marrow biopsy, but I waited for you before going in.”

“That’s okay, baby,” Yoongi replied, his voice steadying her like an anchor in a storm.

Their love had always been a strange paradox—fierce and quiet, wild yet grounded. Tamla’s vibrant spirit had drawn Yoongi in, but it was his quiet strength that kept them steady. Y/N had seen their connection, knew it ran deeper than anyone realized. In moments like these, Yoongi’s vulnerability became visible, his need to protect Tamla evident in every word and every gesture.

A silent question passed between Yoongi and Y/N as they exchanged glances.

Staying?

Yes.

As Yoongi and Tamla left for the ICU, Y/N settled back into the waiting room. Time stretched, distorted by the tension, until Brad and Sherry quietly excused themselves, citing work in the morning. Amanda left soon after, ushering a bleary-eyed Taehyung home. That left Y/N, Namjoon, and Jimin, who had slipped out to shower and change, leaving Y/N alone with Namjoon and their shared silence.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen to her?” Namjoon’s voice was barely audible, his gaze fixed on the floor, as if afraid to face the reality of his question.

Y/N hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Well... the infection could lead to sepsis. That’s probably the worst-case scenario.”

Namjoon’s head snapped up, fear flashing in his eyes. “Do you know how fatal that is?”

“Not off the top of my head,” Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“About forty-eight percent,” a voice cut in, and Y/N turned to see Jin standing there, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. His normally sharp features were softened by fatigue, his dark eyes rimmed with sleepless nights. And yet, even like this, he was striking—a tired beauty that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “But she should be fine,” he added, his tone meant to reassure, though it couldn’t erase the fear.

“Hey,” Y/N said, her voice softer now.

“Hey,” Jin replied, a small, tired smile on his lips.

Namjoon stood, and the two men embraced briefly, their quiet connection clear. Y/N looked away, giving them their moment.

“I’m going for a smoke,” Namjoon muttered after a beat, his voice thick with the weight of his thoughts.

“Be safe,” Y/N said, her hand tracing a comforting line across the back of his as he passed. Physical touch had always been Namjoon’s way of staying grounded, of keeping the worst thoughts at bay.

With Namjoon gone, Jin took the empty seat beside Y/N. The air between them felt charged, heavy with words that hadn’t been spoken. It had only been a few weeks since they’d last seen each other, but it felt longer. That night had left Y/N with a strange, confusing ache she hadn’t been able to shake.

“How’d you know about sepsis?” Jin asked lightly, trying to cut through the thick atmosphere.

“Got warned about it all the time,” Y/N said, her voice flat.

Her response caught Jin off guard, and a flicker of guilt passed through her. He had been trying to lighten the mood, and she had shot him down without even realizing it.

“I finally get a night off, and Mai ends up here,” Jin said, a hint of frustration coloring his words.

Y/N nodded. “It’s hard, not being able to do anything. I’ve just been sitting with them, trying to be there while the doctors come and go.”

The silence between them deepened, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

“I’m happy to see you,” Jin said finally, his smile breaking through the tension like a small light in the dark.

“I’m glad to see you too,” Y/N admitted, warmth blooming in her chest.

For a moment, she was caught up in him, her heart beating a little faster, but reality pulled her back. She let out a soft laugh.

“You should go home, Dr. Kim. You’ve been working yourself into the ground. You need rest.”

“Don’t ‘Dr. Kim’ me, Y/N,” Jin chuckled, his voice teasing.

Y/N couldn’t help but smirk. “Just did,” she shot back, though she tried to keep her grin hidden. “Seriously, you look exhausted.”

Jin sighed deeply, his weariness settling in his features. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, feeling the weight of her own emotions pressing down on her. “Yes,” she lied, her voice betraying none of the turmoil inside. Mai was hurting, and Y/N felt utterly helpless. There was no way she could go see her, not in this state. They all knew the unspoken rule—only Yoongi and Tamla could visit, to minimize the risk of infection. Yoongi, as always, would bury himself in work soon enough, seeking solace in routine. Tamla wouldn’t be able to focus on anything until she knew her daughter was safe.

“Me either,” Jin finally admitted, his voice heavy, his exhaustion matching her own.

“What’s happening right now?” Y/N asked, her voice softer, afraid of the answer.

“She’ll be sick for a few days,” Jin explained, his words slow, deliberate. “The biopsy’s already been sent to the lab. It’s a waiting game now.”

As he spoke, Jin reached out, running his fingers through Y/N’s hair, his touch gentle, almost absentminded. The sensation made her freeze, her breath catching in her throat. The world around her seemed to blur, narrowing until all she could focus on was the warmth of his hand against her scalp. A simple touch to the knee was one thing—a passive gesture of comfort. But this? This was something different. Something intimate. She knew she should pull away, set a boundary, but instead, she leaned into it, her body betraying her, craving the connection.

A soft hum of appreciation escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“Careful, Jin,” she murmured, half-joking, her eyes slipping closed as she relaxed into his touch. “I might ‘accidentally’ roll over your toes.”

He chuckled, a warm, quiet sound. “Please have dinner with me again,” he said, his voice low as his hands found their way to the nape of her neck. A shiver ran down her spine, the simple touch sending sparks through her.

“When?” she breathed, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Friday night. We can drive to Esther.”

A smile spread across her face, warmth blooming inside her, pushing aside the dark clouds that had hung over her since they arrived at the hospital.

“I’m usually resting my leg then,” she teased lightly, the tension in her shoulders loosening. “I might be in my ‘Hot Wheels.’”

“I’d be honored to escort you anywhere we go,” Jin replied, his voice filled with an earnestness that made her heart flutter. There was no playfulness now, just a quiet sincerity that left her breathless.

The moment wrapped around them like a blanket, soft and warm, pushing the chaos of the hospital into the background, if only for a brief while. And for that fleeting moment, Y/N let herself dream—let herself imagine what could be. The possibility of happiness, the idea that maybe, just maybe, there was a future where things didn’t feel so heavy. Where she wasn’t always running from her past. And with Jin beside her, it didn’t seem so impossible.

For the first time in what felt like ages, she allowed herself to believe in that hope.

It was one of those nights again—another sleepless Saturday where the shadows stretched far too long, and the past felt like it was creeping up behind Y/N, whispering its secrets into her ear. Names like ghosts haunted her: Hoseok, Mai, Amanda. They played on repeat in her mind, a relentless rhythm of worry that kept her restless, unable to sit still. So she came here, to the edge of the pool, chasing the silence that might calm her down.

The water shimmered under the moonlight, calm and inviting, as though it wanted her to slip in, disappear beneath its surface. She dipped her foot into the cool water, feeling the relief spread through her leg, easing some of the tension that had built up inside her like coiled wire. But beneath the physical release, there was still a chill, a deep, gnawing ache that never quite went away—like an old scar that never stopped hurting. How strange, she thought, to fear the water now, a place that had once been her sanctuary.

Music drifted softly from her phone, a quiet soundtrack to the chaos in her mind. Mai was stable now, the doctors had said, recovering slowly, but bed rest was mandatory. Yoongi and Tamla had talked about homeschooling her again, an understandable decision, but one that hurt like hell. Just as Mai had started to make friends, to fit into the rhythm of school, she was being pulled away again, back into the isolation of her sickness. Y/N knew too well the weight of that loneliness, the way it sank its claws into you and refused to let go.

"Waiting on an angel," she muttered, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. Ben Harper’s voice floated on the air, stirring memories of better times. She and Hoseok had played Welcome to the Cruel World on repeat during their road trip to Seattle the summer before college. Neither of them could sing worth a damn, but that hadn’t stopped them from howling the lyrics into the wind, their voices loud and carefree. Those nights in the backseat of his car, sticky with sweat, laughing until they couldn’t breathe—they’d been kids then, untouched by the world’s cruelty. Now, those memories felt like a distant dream, something warm and fleeting she could barely hold on to.

She glanced back at the water, still and clear under the glow of the moon. Her leg swung lazily, disturbing the surface, ripples spreading outward. The faint scent of chlorine lingered in the air, familiar and comforting, reminding her of days when swimming had been her escape. When she could push her body to the limit and forget everything else. Leaning back on her hands, Y/N let the music wash over her, a gentle lullaby that softened the edges of her thoughts.

“So speak kind to a stranger,” the lyrics hummed. “‘Cause you’ll never know, it just might be an angel come.”

Her voice cracked as she sang along, swaying slightly with the rhythm, lost in the memory of a time when things felt simpler. She thought back to her swim meet at College Park. Hoseok had driven up with her parents to watch her compete, and she had led her team to victory. The crowd had exploded into cheers, feet stomping in the bleachers as her teammates surrounded her, pulling her into a tight huddle. She had cried that day, tears of disbelief streaming down her face as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably.

Declan had been there too, his eyes meeting hers for just a moment—a quiet connection that needed no words—before he made room for her in the circle. Jessica and Dinah had cried too, and Shay had tried to give a speech, though no one really listened. But it was Declan’s steady presence beside her that had grounded her in that moment. For those few minutes, she felt invincible, like nothing could touch them.

Coach Guy had patted her on the back, pride beaming from him, but it had all shattered when Declan’s mother had rushed in, her voice a high-pitched note of praise. “You did so well, Marie!” she’d said, oblivious to the way Declan had flinched, his mask of a smile slipping just for a second.

It had been before Declan had come out to his parents. Y/N had seen that flicker of pain in his eyes, the one he worked so hard to hide. She’d wanted to say something, but before she could, Hoseok had found her, his arms wrapping around her in that way only he could, holding her together. "You were like a bullet out there, Nemo!" he’d laughed, ruffling her hair.

She hadn’t responded, just pressed closer to him, letting his warmth melt away her anxiety. Hoseok always knew how to make her feel like she was the center of the universe, like nothing else mattered. Later, on the bus ride home, they’d shared a pair of headphones, letting Ben Harper lull them into sleep as the stars blinked into the night sky.

Hoseok had loved watching her swim, even though he was terrified of the water. He’d show up to practice with his bright yellow life jacket and a pool noodle, looking ridiculous but acting like he wasn’t scared at all. It had made her laugh every time.

“Stop laughing,” he’d whined, crossing his arms in mock indignation.

“You just look so cute, Hoseok.”

“I’m taking this off,” he’d muttered, pouting as he stormed off to toss his life jacket into the supply closet by the pool.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open. The supply closet.

Her heart began to race as the memory resurfaced, clear as day. That closet hadn’t been touched in years, forgotten when the school built new locker rooms for the team. She hadn’t thought about it since then, but now she could picture it—dust settling on everything inside, relics of a time she had left behind.

There was no way… but she had to know.

Y/N dried off her stump, balancing the familiar weight of anxiety and nostalgia, and made her way toward the old supply closet. If anything of Hoseok’s was still in there, it would be like finding a piece of him again, something tangible to hold onto amidst the drifting memories. She pushed the creaky door open, the sound echoing through the stillness like a ghostly whisper.

Inside, darkness swallowed her. Dust motes danced in the faint shaft of light as she scanned the room. A few old backpacks lay scattered, relics of a forgotten past. Declan’s checkered bag caught her eye—the one from sophomore year that he swore had vanished into the abyss of forgotten things. Next to it, a fanny pack stood out. Taehyung’s ridiculous obsession with those had always been a source of mockery among them, but they had stopped seeing them around the time Mandy entered his life.

"Those dirty rats," she muttered to herself with a smirk, pulling out her phone to snap a quick picture of the two bags. She hit send.

Declan answered on the third ring, his voice deeper than she remembered. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Y/N said, crouching down to sift through more of the mess. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much. Dean and I grabbed drinks earlier,” Declan replied, amusement creeping into his tone.

She chuckled. “You and the brother-in-law bonding over beard growth again?”

“Oh, don’t ask. It’s weird,” he laughed.

“How’s Pam? My best friend-in-law holding up?”

“She’s good. Work’s been keeping her busy.” Then, suddenly, Declan burst out laughing. “Holy shit, that bag’s still in there?”

“Yeah, man,” Y/N grinned, the absurdity of it all sinking in. “Right next to a fanny pack. Any guesses whose?”

Declan groaned. “How did those even end up in there?”

“Coach was terrible about locking up,” she said, laughter bubbling up, a welcome release from the tension that had been twisting inside her. The years had slipped by too quickly. Ever since Declan moved to Maine, they hadn’t kept in touch like they used to, and Y/N found herself missing the simplicity of those days.

"How are things with Tae and Mandy?" Declan asked, his tone turning more serious. He didn’t need to say more; they both knew the endless drama that followed that pair.

Y/N sighed. “Tae’s trying to move on, and Mandy… well, she’s not too happy about it.”

“Sounds like the same old song and dance.”

“It is,” Y/N admitted, but there was a weight to her voice. “Except this time feels different. Tae went out with someone else. You remember Willow Hart?”

“No fucking way.”

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s weird. But she’s different now, or at least, she seems like it.”

Declan laughed, disbelief lacing his tone. “I’ve heard that before. At least it’s progress. I’m so done hearing about their back-and-forth.”

“Yeah, me too,” Y/N said softly. “Tae and I haven’t talked in a while. I miss him. Miss Mandy too.”

A beat of silence passed between them, the weight of all the years and miles between them settling in.

“Erica called the other day,” Declan said, his voice lighter now. “Spilled all the gossip on you.”

Y/N groaned. Leave it to Erica to exaggerate everything. She and Jin had only had dinner together, maybe a hug goodnight, but nothing more. Yet, in a town like theirs, expectations loomed large over everything.

“It was just dinner,” Y/N protested, rolling her eyes.

“‘Just dinner,’ huh? After how many years of being single?”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“Liar.”

She sighed, digging deeper into the closet, hoping to find Hoseok’s life vest. Maybe it would offer her some comfort, something to anchor her in the pool. But the bigger question gnawed at her: What would Hoseok think of Jin? Would he approve? She had no answers, just an echo of her own uncertainties bouncing back at her.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Dee,” she admitted, the heaviness in her chest pressing down harder. “I like him, but I feel guilty. What about Hoseok? How can I just move on?”

Declan’s sigh came through the line, a sound both soothing and understanding. He always knew how to be the rock she needed.

“What about him?” Declan asked gently, but his tone had a mischievous edge to it that threw her off.

“What? You think I should just forget about him? My whole life has revolved around Hoseok. How am I supposed to be okay with dating someone else?”

“Would Hoseok want you to waste your life away?” Declan’s question was a blunt one, but it hit her square in the chest.

Y/N went quiet, her throat tightening. Declan knew how to cut through the noise in her head.

“Alright, then,” Declan continued, “would Hoseok like this new guy?”

“Yes,” Y/N answered quickly, without hesitation. Jin was the kind of person Hoseok would have welcomed into their circle with open arms.

“Would he want you to be happy?”

“Of course,” she whispered, the weight of that truth sinking in.

It was never about what Hoseok would want—she knew, deep down, that he’d want her to move on, to be happy. But it was her own guilt, her own fear that held her back, like chains she couldn’t break. Jin was different. He was warm, understanding, and made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years. But even though Hoseok was gone, his presence still lingered, like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

“Go out and have fun, okay?” Declan’s voice broke the silence, light and teasing. “You deserve it.”

“I’ll try,” Y/N promised, though her heart was still tangled in knots.

“I’ve gotta go. Whit’s home, and she looks stressed.”

“Alright, Dee. Talk soon.”

“Love you, Nemo.”

“Love you too, Crush,” she replied, her voice soft as she hung up, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips.

And then, there it was. The bright yellow life jacket, tucked away in the corner of the closet, dusty but unmistakable. Hoseok’s. The red buckles had faded to a dull navy, but it was still his. A pool noodle lay beside it, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. How fitting it was to find this now, in the midst of all her uncertainty. Maybe it was time to face the water again, to let herself float.

She snapped the life jacket on, the fabric snug and comforting, and grabbed the pool noodle before heading back to the water. Hoseok would’ve laughed seeing her in this getup, after all the teasing she’d dished out about his fear of swimming.

Y/N slipped off her prosthetic leg, letting it clatter softly to the side as she eased herself into the cool embrace of the pool. The water slid up her skin like an old friend, familiar yet distant, a mix of comfort and tension that churned in her gut. She gripped the pool’s edge, the chill seeping into her bones, and a laugh bubbled up unbidden. Absurd. She was really doing it—back in the water after all this time.

Kicking her legs gently, she fought the strange sensation of imbalance. The water swirled around her in rhythmic waves, each pull and push a reminder of how far she’d drifted from the girl who used to own these waters. Fatigue hit sooner than she expected, muscles burning in ways running never triggered. She had forgotten how swimming woke up parts of her that had been dormant for years, and now every breath felt heavy, each stroke dragging her further into a whirlpool of memories.

Her hands clung to the pool noodle, frustration rising with every kick. The weight of her past bore down on her, relentless. The girl who once glided effortlessly through the water felt like a ghost, unreachable.

"Come on, Nemo!" Hoseok’s voice drifted through her mind, clear as day, full of that same teasing encouragement he always had.

“What?” Y/N gasped, breathless, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead.

"You were two seconds late, as usual," he said, that playful tone making it sound like no big deal. But it was to her. It always had been.

“Fuck,” she muttered, forcing the goggles back down, diving beneath the surface. But everything felt wrong. Heavier. Slower. If only he could see her now. Would he still tease? Would he still be proud?

Panic rose in her chest, swirling with the water around her. She kicked harder, trying to shake the frustration. What had she been thinking, coming back here? What did she hope to find?

"Why are you so upset?" Hoseok’s voice again, soft, like it always was when he was trying to calm her down.

Tears welled in her eyes, stinging as they mixed with the chlorine. She clung to the memory of him, wrapping herself in the familiar safety of his sweatshirt, the way he used to hold her. "I lost," she whispered, the confession ripping out of her like a wave crashing against the shore.

"We all lose sometimes," he’d told her once, stroking her hair like it would make everything better.

"Not me," she had whispered, her voice trembling. "I’ve never been a loser."

"You still aren’t," he had said, his words a lifeline pulling her back from the edge. "You’re still the coolest person in the world, Y/N."

The memory anchored her, and she kicked again, trying to find that rhythm she used to own. But everything felt unbalanced, her left side foreign, like a piece of herself had gone missing. She adjusted, shifting her body, trying different strokes, but nothing felt right.

But something inside her stirred, something old and familiar—determination. She wasn’t finished yet. She wouldn’t leave until she figured this out, until she reclaimed that part of herself that she thought was lost.

With a sudden burst of energy, Y/N kicked harder, pushing her stub out of the water higher than she thought possible. It was awkward, sure, but it worked. She could feel it—the water moving around her, finally working with her. She kicked again, harder this time, each movement more confident, and for the first time in years, she felt herself gliding forward, cutting through the water with purpose.

"Y/N?" Dr. Jung’s voice shattered the fragile peace, pulling her back to reality. The front door to her house creaked open, and Dr. Jung stepped out in her robe, eyes wide, concern etched into her face.

Y/N sat slumped on the front step, barely upright, the fog of twenty Xanax dulling everything around her. How she’d ended up here, at Dr. Jung’s house, was a mystery even to her. The haze of her own making had swallowed her whole.

"Oh, honey," Dr. Jung’s voice was thick with pain as she knelt beside her, placing a warm hand on Y/N’s shoulder. But the touch felt distant, like she was miles away.

“It’s cold out. I’ll call Victor to pick you up,” Dr. Jung said softly, the concern in her voice palpable.

"No," Y/N slurred, her words dragging through the fog like dead weight.

"Come inside, then," Dr. Jung urged, her voice firm but gentle.

Y/N looked up at her, eyes glassy, and before she could stop herself, the question escaped her lips. "Why can’t I be happy?"

"Hoseok would hate to see you like this," Dr. Jung murmured, cupping Y/N’s face, forcing her to meet her eyes. "He would want you to be happy. Your happiness meant more to him than anything. It means more to all of us."

The truth twisted deep inside Y/N, cutting her like a knife. Hoseok had always wanted her to be happy. So why couldn’t she let herself be?

With a burst of desperation, Y/N kicked herself to the edge of the pool, a scream tearing from her throat as she hauled herself out onto the cold tiles. She collapsed, breath ragged, tears streaming down her face.

"I did it," she whispered, her voice raw. "Hobi, I fucking did it."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N could almost hear his laughter, see the pride in his eyes. He would have been there beside her, holding her close, telling her how strong she was.

"Your happiness meant more to him than anything."

A small flicker of hope sparked inside her, the tiniest flame, but enough to keep her going. For the first time in ages, Y/N felt something new—excitement. For Friday. For whatever was next.

Y/N slid the liner on, then the second liner—a ritual she had come to despise but had perfected out of necessity. The layers helped keep her prosthetic socket from shifting, but today, it felt like torture. The dry skin and scabs that dotted her stump were tiny landmines, each brush of fabric from her dress igniting fresh pain. She’d planned to roll out in her chair tonight, to give her leg more time to heal, but the ache in her heart outweighed the physical pain. She forced herself into the prosthetic, driven by the insecurities that whispered louder than any sense of reason. What would people think of Jin if he was seen with her? The question haunted her.

Standing before the mirror, she surveyed her reflection, searching for some spark of confidence. Her hair was slightly more styled than usual, and the makeup she’d applied was heavier than her everyday look, but the effort showed. She looked... pretty. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she took in the white shirt dress she’d dug out of her closet—a relic from before the accident, before everything had changed. It was a dress she had once planned to wear when visiting Hoseok’s parents, simple yet elegant, falling just below her knee. The fabric still held its charm, and she felt a flicker of satisfaction.

Her leg throbbed with the reminder of her choice, but at least she had a reason to wear heeled boots—something she hadn’t done in what felt like forever. She rummaged through her closet, the sight of each pair of shoes tugging her back to who she used to be. Before the accident, she had been the girl who never left the house without looking polished. Heels had been her armor, a way to feel whole in a world that often felt too jagged and unforgiving. Now, as she slipped on a pair of nude heeled boots that fit her prosthetic, she felt a faint flicker of that old fire reignite.

Her phone chimed, interrupting her thoughts. It was the group chat with Tamla, Amanda, and Erica.

Tami: Have fun! Mai’s okay.

Y/N: I will.

Erica: Yeah, Dr. Kim’s yummy.

Y/N laughed at Erica’s typical over-the-top enthusiasm, a flood of emojis accompanying her message. Even on a Friday night, working as an RN in the urology department, Erica always found time to keep the conversation alive. It was one of the things Y/N loved about her—Erica was always the first to check in, always laughing, always bringing Tamla coffee on their days off. Y/N wished they could meet up more often.

Tami: I second that.

Y/N: How do I look?

Y/N sent a quick photo—a simple mirror shot, her legs crossed, a slight angle to her hip. She didn’t smile in pictures anymore; it felt like a betrayal of the reality she lived. She knew Erica would gush over it, but she hadn’t expected much from Mandy, who had been quiet since Mai’s hospitalization. Tamla’s usual energy was muted, too, with Mai still recovering.

Tami: You look cute. Love the jacket.

Erica: Sexy. Get laid, bitch!

Tami: Erica!

Y/N: I’m muting the chat.

Erica: I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything ;)

Tami: Also muting. D-I-S-G-U-S-T-I-N-G!

Heat flooded Y/N’s cheeks as she read the messages. It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone. Hoseok had been her last, and after him, she hadn’t felt the urge. Her disability made the idea of intimacy feel daunting. Even being naked with herself was hard enough; the thought of being vulnerable with someone like Jin, with his perfect looks and easy confidence, was overwhelming. Yet there was something about him, a safety he exuded, that made her entertain the thought, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Her phone buzzed again, breaking through her reverie.

Dr. Kim: I’m outside :)

Y/N: Coming!

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gave herself one last look in the mirror. She looked good. She felt good. She was about to go on a date with Jin Kim—a kind, handsome doctor who wanted to spend time with her. For the first time in a long while, Y/N allowed herself to smile, the tension in her chest easing slightly as she whispered a quiet word of encouragement to her reflection. She locked up her house, stepped outside, and slid into Jin’s pristine white Lexus, a mixture of excitement and trepidation bubbling up as she embraced whatever the night had in store.

Jin loved jazz. The soft strains of Eartha Kitt and Etta James filled the car, weaving through the quiet like a soothing balm, each note a gentle reminder of the shared moment between them. Y/N watched as Jin’s fingers fidgeted in his lap, betraying the nervous energy simmering just beneath his calm surface. She remembered how he’d been when they first met, that same anxious buzz radiating from him. She wanted to reach out, to close the gap between them, but the distance felt too vast, an unbridgeable chasm. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Jin looked stunning tonight, effortlessly handsome in a way that made Y/N’s heart flutter. Just being out with someone as gorgeous as him was enough to send a thrill through her, even if the night ended with nothing more than a deepening of their friendship. His hair was slicked back, every strand perfectly in place, and the scent of cedarwood clung to the air between them, warm and comforting. Dressed in all black, his shirt hugged his chest, revealing a physique more toned than Y/N had expected. She tried to tear her gaze away from the tantalizing hint of skin peeking through the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

"You look nice, by the way," Jin said, his voice a low hum that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"So do you," she replied, turning her gaze to the window to hide her blush. For a brief moment, she felt like a teenager again, caught up in the excitement of it all.

“So,” Jin started, his voice suddenly bright with enthusiasm, “I looked around Esther and picked a place I thought seemed the most interesting.”

“Let me guess—Fuego Dragon?” Y/N asked, teasingly.

“No, actually,” Jin laughed, a deep, rich sound that made Y/N’s heart skip. “That place looked like bad news.”

“You’d feel like you were dying before we even got home,” she quipped, amused by the brief look of disgust that flickered across his face. “One time, Taehyung—”

“I can already imagine,” Jin interrupted with a dismissive wave, still laughing. “We’re going to a café instead.”

“Ross’or Rising Shine?” Y/N guessed.

“First one.”

“Good choice,” she smiled, meeting his eyes briefly, feeling the spark of excitement build between them. “The food’s better there.”

Like their first outing, Jin was the perfect gentleman. They ordered coffee and pastries and found a table near the large windows at the back of the café. The evening was calm, warm, and comforting in a way that felt natural and easy. Jin had wanted to wait by the counter, but when he spotted an old friend working the register, he took the opportunity to step away from the weight of his usual responsibilities, if only for a few minutes.

“So, how do you know him?” Jin asked, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit Y/N had noticed more often now.

“Jackson?” Y/N nodded. “We went to college together.”

“What college did you attend?” His eyes lit up with genuine curiosity, eager to learn more about her.

It struck Y/N then how little they truly knew about each other, and the realization gnawed at her. She didn’t want to seem pushy, but her interest in Jin had blossomed into something more than just casual curiosity.

“Edith University. It’s just a couple of blocks from here. Jackson’s been working at this café since junior year.”

“When did you graduate?”

“Last year,” Y/N replied, catching sight of Jackson’s girlfriend, Chloe, across the room. She waved at her. “The accident was during my senior year. I was 21, and after that… well, you know the rest. Hoseok’s dad is the principal at the high school, and they needed a coach for the swim team. So, I got my instructional certification and retook all my CPR classes.”

“What’s your degree in?” Jin leaned forward, resting his head on his hand, his attention fully on her.

“Athletic training. I started off in sports medicine, had a full ride on the swim team. But after the accident, hospitals and doctor’s offices started to make me uncomfortable, so I changed paths and finished with the credits I could salvage.”

“Understandable,” Jin smiled. “I was studying biomedical engineering, pre-med at Loyola, before heading to Harvard for med school.”

Before Y/N could reply, Jackson approached their table with a broad smile. “Y/N! You look great. It’s nice to see you. You don’t come out to Esther much anymore.”

Y/N blushed, suddenly feeling bashful. “I’m around, mostly for doctor’s appointments. I just don’t stop anywhere else.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger,” Jackson teased, winking playfully. “You know I’m always in need of rescue.”

Y/N laughed, feeling the tension in her chest ease. “I’ll stop by more often, I promise.”

As Jackson returned to Chloe, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. The night felt easier now, lighter. Jin smiled at her, his warm gaze meeting hers across the table, and Y/N allowed herself to relax fully into the moment.

Y/N realized with a sudden jolt that she’d never called Jackson. The thought hit her like a flash of lightning across a clear sky, sharp and unavoidable. Guilt gnawed at her, a creeping reminder of all the times he had reached out after Hoseok’s passing, only to be met with silence. Jackson had always been there, a constant presence checking in when she shut herself away, but she’d never made the effort to return the favor. Maybe it was time to change that. She promised herself she’d call him later, perhaps suggest a jog or, even better, a swim. He’d be thrilled to hear about her recent breakthrough in the pool—she hadn’t told anyone yet, and Jackson would be the first to understand.

“He’s nice,” Jin’s voice cut through her swirling thoughts, his tone soft but certain.

“Yeah, Jack’s cool,” Y/N replied, keeping her voice steady as she finished the last bite of her pastry.

They lingered over their coffee, the conversation flowing easily. Jin shared stories about his younger brother, Jihyun, who was studying political science. His family, a mix of working-class grit and unexpected luxury, sounded almost too distant from the world Y/N knew. His mother owned a restaurant on the Las Vegas Strip, and his father dealt cards in a high-end casino, enabling them to live a life without financial worries. Jin had grown up in a sprawling mansion, a place that always felt too large for just four people, and his father had recently spent an absurd amount of money turning their backyard into a tropical oasis, complete with a waterfall.

It felt so far removed from Y/N’s reality, yet she found herself laughing at his stories, charmed by the way Jin painted his childhood with humor and self-awareness. There was something about him—something easy, disarming—that made her forget, even for a moment, the weight of everything she carried.

“So now you’re terrified of clowns?” Y/N teased as she slipped her jacket back on.

“When they pie you in front of your crush—one thousand percent,” Jin responded, the light in his eyes catching hers.

Y/N smiled, but the familiar burn in her leg flared up as she shifted her weight. She had pushed herself too far tonight, but she wasn’t ready to admit that. Not yet. The last thing she wanted was for Jin to notice. She wanted to savor this moment with him, without the reminder of her condition pulling her back into reality. Even though he had told her that her wheelchair wouldn’t bother him, tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight, she just wanted to feel normal, even if only for a little while.

“Are you okay?” Jin’s voice broke through her thoughts, concern softening his features as his hand grazed her arm.

The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her, grounding her momentarily. She forced a smile, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied, her voice calm despite the throbbing pain in her leg.

“You’re limping,” Jin observed, his brows knitting together.

Y/N cursed herself inwardly. Of course, he’d noticed. There was no hiding it. “Oh, yeah,” she tried to shrug it off. “I’m just a bit tired.”

Jin didn’t look convinced, and for a second, it seemed like he was going to press her. But instead, he let it go. Y/N knew he didn’t believe her, but he gave her the space to pretend, to hold on to her pride. She appreciated that more than he could know.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, his voice gentle but laced with concern.

Y/N’s friends would’ve grilled her by now, insisting she sit down or take a break. But Jin hesitated, choosing not to push her. It was one of the things she liked about him—he knew when to let things be.

“Yeah,” she replied, the lie slipping out easily. “I’m usually asleep by now.”

Jin smiled again, that dazzling smile that seemed to light up his whole face, and Y/N felt a pang in her chest. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the act, but she wasn’t ready to break the illusion just yet.

“How about a walk by the Loch?” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Sure, that sounds nice,” Y/N lied once more, knowing full well the cooler air near the water would only make her discomfort worse. But the thought of walking with him, of sharing that quiet moment, was enough to push her through the pain.

The walk was brief. Ross’or wasn’t far from the dock, but Y/N knew a shortcut through the woods, a hidden path that led to one of the most beautiful parts of Loch Keen. The marshy edges and still waters had a quiet charm, framed by the towering trees that cradled the shoreline. In the summer, the place would come alive with fireflies, turning the night into a scene from a dream. But even now, with the air crisp and the sky dark, the place felt magical, intimate in a way that made Y/N feel safe walking beside Jin.

As they strolled, Y/N tried to focus on the warmth of his presence, the sound of his voice, rather than the growing ache in her leg. She didn’t want her disability to define this moment, didn’t want it to steal away the simplicity of their evening. For once, she just wanted to feel like she was in control.

The water lay calm that night, the rhythmic chirping of crickets filling the air in a way that Tamla always despised but Y/N found soothing. It was a melody, familiar, a reminder of summer nights spent outdoors, where the darkness wrapped around everything like a comforting blanket. She remembered how Taehyung had once been sprayed by a skunk during high school, and the image of his horrified face brought a fleeting smile to her lips. Stealing a glance at Jin, she saw him standing by the water, calm and at ease, unaffected by the sounds of the night. It was a relief to lose herself in the moment, to forget the constant undercurrent of guilt and fear that clung to her whenever he was around.

Y/N liked him. She wanted to keep looking at him, to freeze this moment in time and never let it end.

“Can we get closer to the water?” Jin asked, his eyes still fixed on the Loch, as if drawn to the mystery of its dark, rippling surface.

“Yeah,” she replied, scanning for a bench, feeling a quiet thrill at the thought of being nearer to him. When she spotted one, she pointed. “There’s something over there,” she said, and relief flooded through her as they moved toward it.

The world around them never really stopped. The water seemed still, but now and then, a fish would leap, shattering the surface with a quick, sharp splash, reminding her that life was always in motion. The frogs’ croaks ebbed and flowed in the background, joining the symphony of crickets and owls, filling the night with sound. Jin stood beside her, his eyes drinking in the view, and she let herself get lost in it too.

The moonlight danced on the water, casting shimmering silver trails across the Loch’s surface, giving it a breath of its own. The Loch was alive, and Y/N could feel its heartbeat beneath the gentle waves, stirring up memories of summers long past. She could almost hear the echoes of laughter carried by the wind, laughter that belonged to her, Hoseok, Mandy, and Taehyung. Those nights had felt endless, with nothing ahead of them but possibility. She remembered swinging from the old rope swing that Declan had tied to the tallest tree, their shouts mingling with the cries of the birds overhead.

“Kiss me,” Hoseok had whined, clinging to her like a shipwrecked sailor holding onto driftwood.

“Let me go,” she had laughed, half-heartedly pushing him away, but neither of them really wanted to break apart.

“Kiss me first,” he’d teased, leaning in and nipping playfully at her ear.

“Hoseok!” she’d squealed, her shoulder rising defensively as she squirmed in his arms, both of them caught up in the warmth of the moment.

His laughter had been rich, a sound she could still hear if she closed her eyes. Their eyes had met then, a moment suspended in time. “Come here,” she had sighed, pretending to be exasperated. “I’ll give you a kiss, you big baby.”

The memory brought a bittersweet smile to her lips, like tasting wine that had long since soured. She would give anything to go back to their senior year, to a time when she and Hoseok were untouchable. Before the fights, before the silence, before he’d vanished from her life, leaving behind a void so deep, she wasn’t sure she’d ever crawl out of it. The weight of grief settled over her like a lead blanket, cold and heavy. No one would find me until Monday.

That thought slithered through her mind, chilling her to the bone, a whisper of the darkness she still battled. She knew she should see her therapist again, find a way to claw her way back to something resembling normalcy. But the idea of facing people, of hearing their whispers and feeling their pitying stares, twisted her stomach into knots. Loch Keen, once a place of freedom, felt more like a cage now. The water that had once been her refuge felt like a prison.

But then she turned, catching Jin’s gaze, and in that instant, she realized how wrong she had been. She didn’t hate the water. She missed it—missed it with every aching fiber of her being. The Loch held her past, her most cherished memories, and now, it held something else—Jin. He was becoming her favorite part of the present.

“I was in a frat during undergrad,” Jin said suddenly, breaking the silence that hung between them.

“Yeah?” Y/N smiled, intrigued. “I’ve been to a few frat parties in my day. Which one?”

“Beta Tau Sigma,” he said, his gaze drifting back to the shimmering water. “That’s when my drinking got out of hand.”

“In the frat?” Her voice lowered, barely more than a whisper, as the weight of his confession settled in the cool night air.

“Yeah. It’s like an unspoken rule—drinking and partying like there’s no tomorrow. My dad was in the same frat, back in his day. Loyola and Harvard—his alma maters, and mine. It was either med school or law school for me. He’s a lawyer, so I chose medicine, but honestly... I didn’t really have a choice.”

“You didn’t want to be a doctor?” she asked, edging closer, sensing the depth of what he was revealing.

“No. Everything in my life was planned for me. My parents are first-generation immigrants, and they wanted to give me and my brother the life they didn’t have. I understand that, but... it backfired. I was sheltered, clueless when I got to campus.” He paused, his voice tightening. “My dad and I had a huge fight when I told him I wanted to switch to graphic design. He disowned me, told me I was throwing my life away. So, I rebelled. Drinking, smoking, partying—anything to feel like I had control. But I kept my grades up, for my mom’s sake. Those last two years... they’re a blur of booze and drugs.”

“When did you quit?” Her voice was small, hesitant, afraid to disturb the rawness of the moment.

“A year after I graduated. I was applying to med schools, but I was a mess. My dad found me in my apartment one night, completely wrecked. He got me into rehab. Six months later, I was sober, barely hanging on, but I got into Harvard Med. Been clean since.”

Silence fell between them again, the once soothing sound of the water now thick and suffocating. Y/N wanted to reach out, to tell him something that would make the weight of his confession easier to bear, but she feared breaking the delicate connection between them. Jin had opened a door, and Y/N wasn’t sure what lay behind it.

“Are you and your family okay now?” she asked softly, her voice barely louder than the night itself.

“Yeah, we’re better.”

“And... are you okay now?”

Y/N turned to him, her heart racing. Jin didn’t meet her eyes right away, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. She hesitated, unsure if she should reach out, unsure if he needed her to. But something in the air, something in the space between them, urged her forward.

She placed her hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. He looked up at her, surprise flickering in his eyes.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she said softly, her thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “I get it. My parents and I... we don’t talk. I know it’s hard.”

Before she could pull her hand away, Jin’s grip tightened, holding her in place. He leaned in closer, drawing her toward him.

“I’ve never been better,” he whispered, his voice low, and then, in a heartbeat, he kissed her.

His lips were chapped from the cold, and Y/N tasted the lingering bitterness of coffee mixed with something deeper, something that hummed through her like electricity. It was perfect. His mouth moved with a quiet insistence, a careful, deliberate rhythm that pulled her in, his tongue teasing the edge of her lips like a secret invitation. She gave in, melting into the kiss, and suddenly the world around her shifted. Loch Keen, with all its eerie beauty, seemed to disappear, swallowed by the warmth of his breath and the heat rising between them. Nothing mattered anymore—not the water, not the chill in the air. Only Jin.

She wanted him. She wanted this.

“Take this off,” Jin murmured when they finally pulled apart, his fingers tracing the edge of her prosthetic with the kind of gentleness that almost broke her.

“No,” she whispered, her hands fisting the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to the moment. If she let go, she feared it might all vanish, just another fleeting dream.

“But you’re in pain,” he said softly, his voice threaded with concern, his gaze searching hers.

“Please,” she breathed, her voice small, raw. “Just kiss me. Just a little longer.”

Jin didn’t hesitate. “Okay,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers again, sealing her in the warmth of him. His breath mingled with hers, and the world around them faded, the trees, the water, the night itself melting into shadows. Nothing else existed. Only his hands, his lips, his steady heartbeat against hers, and in that moment, she felt herself drift into a space where time didn’t matter, where the weight of the past couldn’t touch her, and the future was a faraway thing.

Just him. Just now. Just this.

Y/N took a deep breath, the kind that filled her lungs but never quite reached her gut, and turned toward Jin. He stood outside the school, a beacon of warmth and familiarity amidst the storm brewing in her chest. His offer to pick her up, to drive her to work, should have eased the tension inside her, but instead, it twisted deeper. Anxiety gnawed at her like a persistent rat, especially after Jungkook’s careless comment at practice.

“Mrs. Jeon saw you two in Edith!” he’d laughed, and Y/N had felt the dread settle in. Gossip was already swirling, carried on the wind like dead leaves in the fall. The Jeons were notorious for sticking their noses where they didn’t belong, and Jungkook had a way of letting things slip that should’ve stayed hidden.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted, dropping her gaze to her trembling hands.

Jin sighed softly, his warm hand slipping over hers, anchoring her. She squeezed his thumb tightly, holding on to the comfort he offered, his skin a balm to the storm within her.

“Me too,” he confessed, though his voice was calm, steady. “But I’d rather show you off than run away.”

“Show me off?” She raised an eyebrow, unable to hide the skepticism in her voice.

“Really,” he said, conviction in his tone. His certainty brought a reluctant smile to her lips, and for a moment, the knot in her chest loosened.

“You’re not embarrassed about what people are saying?” she asked, though part of her already knew the answer.

“Absolutely not,” Jin said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d give you a lap dance in the 7-Eleven if it’d make them stop talking. But they’ll gossip whether I shake my ass or buy you a taquito.”

The image of Jin—her Jin—twerking in a gas station flashed in her mind, and she burst out laughing. He had the hips for it, sure, but the thought of him dancing like that was absurd and hilarious.

“That’s like a scene from Magic Mike,” she gasped, still laughing.

A mischievous grin spread across Jin’s face. “How much for the Cheetos and water?” he asked, playing along.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You watched XXL?”

“I’ve seen the first one too,” he said with a smirk.

They laughed together, their voices mingling with the cool evening air. And just like that, her nerves began to fade. Jin was right—why should she care what people thought when they were both clearly enjoying each other’s company? Why let the town’s whispers drown out the simple joy of sharing silly moments?

But before the laughter could die down completely, a sharp knock on the car window startled them both. They turned to see Yoongi, doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely stand. Y/N opened the door and swatted at his leg, pretending to be mad.

“You scared the hell out of me, you jerk!”

Yoongi’s laughter echoed through the parking lot as Y/N stormed off, but she could still hear him laughing behind her as she walked away. Jin caught up to her, bumping her shoulder playfully. She nudged him back, a grin spreading across her face, the warmth between them undeniable.

“Y/N!”

The shout sliced through the evening air, and she turned to see Taehyung sprinting toward them, urgency in every step. Her heart sank at the sight of his expression—something was wrong. She left Jin’s side and moved quickly toward Taehyung, anxiety knotting her stomach.

“I’ll see you inside,” she called over her shoulder to Jin, her pace quickening.

“Wait up!” Taehyung grabbed her wrist, pulling her into a quieter corner, his voice low but tight with tension.

Something was wrong. Y/N could feel it in the way the air seemed to thicken around them. These conversations only happened when a storm was brewing—either Amanda was in trouble, or Taehyung was struggling again. His usual calm was gone, replaced with a jittery anxiety that made her pulse race.

“Promise me you’ll keep this between us,” he said, his voice serious, his eyes scanning their surroundings as if someone might be listening.

“Promise,” she replied, though unease settled deep in her bones.

He stopped pacing, extending his pinky toward her. She linked hers with his, the gesture a silent oath, but it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Declan said you talked yesterday,” Taehyung began, his voice strained.

“Yeah, I called him. I was at the pool, found his old backpack, and we ended up chatting.”

“Yeah, well... he called me this morning. Said you mentioned missing me.”

“Tae, what’s going on?” Y/N asked, cutting through the small talk, her anxiety clawing its way to the surface.

Taehyung, usually so steady, looked shaken. “Amanda’s missing.”

“What?” The word hit her like a blow to the gut. Amanda? Gone? It didn’t make sense. Amanda didn’t just vanish. That was more like something Taehyung would do. She started pacing now, her heart hammering in her chest, dread creeping up her spine.

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.

“She relapsed last week.”

“Last week?” Y/N’s voice rose in disbelief, anger flaring inside her. “And you’re just now telling me?”

“She swore she’d kill herself if I told anyone!” Taehyung’s voice cracked, heavy with guilt. “You know how she gets when she’s using, Y/N. I couldn’t risk it.”

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down even as a storm of emotions churned within her. He was right. Amanda would do anything to keep her secrets buried deep, and Y/N knew all too well the lengths she’d go to protect herself. She nodded, trying to swallow the rising panic.

“I get it,” she whispered, rubbing her temples, feeling the weight of Taehyung’s confession settle over her like a heavy blanket. Amanda’s struggles were now hers to bear, too.

"Why aren’t we telling anyone?" Y/N asked, her voice edged with a rising panic. The weight of the situation was tightening around her like a noose, squeezing the air from her chest.

"Because I want to bring her home safely," Taehyung replied, his voice tight but controlled, like he was barely holding himself together. "If Sherry finds out, she’ll call the cops, and Mandy’s been buying meth from Holt. I talked to all our guys—she’s been looking for spice."

Meth and spice. Both roads led straight to hell. The thought of Amanda caught in that downward spiral again made Y/N's stomach twist into knots. The idea of cops being involved only made it worse—cops brought questions, chaos, and judgment. They wouldn’t care about helping Amanda. They’d chew her up and spit her out, leaving her worse off than before. Taehyung knew that, and so did Y/N. Neither of them wanted to see Amanda destroyed by the same system that was supposed to help her.

"I’ll call some people," Y/N said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She stared at the ground, mind spinning as she tried to map out a plan. The weight of what they were doing pressed heavily on her shoulders, but she had to stay focused. Amanda needed them.

"Holt said she’s not far, but she’s definitely out of it," Taehyung added, his voice filled with a quiet desperation.

"What did she relapse on?" Y/N asked, though she already had a sinking feeling she knew.

"I found her drunk in my living room, crying," Taehyung said, his tone hollow, the words hanging between them like a death sentence.

Typical Amanda—reaching for the bottle when things got too heavy. Y/N’s heart ached for her, but she knew better than to let pity slow her down. She’d have to reach out to Fern, their dealer in Edith. Fern usually handled Adderall and crack, but she’d supplied spice to Mandy before. Gabriel might know something too, but Y/N dismissed that idea quickly—Taehyung wouldn’t want him involved.

"Where is she?" Taehyung’s voice cracked, raw and pleading. His usual calm was gone, replaced by a fear that gnawed at him from the inside out.

The love Taehyung still had for Amanda was painfully clear. Despite the growing distance, the arguments, and everything that had frayed their friendship over the years, it was still there—an unshakable bond that pulsed with every breath he took. Y/N could feel it in his voice, in the way he was barely keeping it together. Guilt clawed at her from the inside, sharp and relentless. She’d been so wrapped up in her own life, in her growing feelings for Jin, that she’d let her friendship with Taehyung slip. Their last real conversation felt like a distant memory, buried under months of neglect.

Without thinking, Y/N wrapped her arms around Taehyung, pulling him close. Her guilt bled into the embrace, her tears soaking into his shoulder as she whispered, "I’m sorry."

"It’s not your fault," Taehyung mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "We always put you in the middle."

"No," Y/N shook her head, holding him tighter. "I should’ve been there more."

"I’m sorry for ruining your night with McDreamy," Taehyung muttered, managing a weak smile through his tears.

"You never ruin my night, Tae," Y/N said, her voice filled with the weight of the truth.

They stood there, clinging to each other like they were the last two people left in the world. The missed phone calls, the distance that had grown between them—it all seemed to melt away. In that moment, Y/N realized just how much she had missed him, how much she had needed this connection. The guilt she’d carried for months slipped away, replaced by the warmth of their shared grief and love.

Then, with impeccable timing, Taehyung sneezed, sending a spray into her hair.

"Gross," Y/N groaned, pulling away slightly but not enough to let go.

"Sorry," Taehyung mumbled, looking sheepish as he wiped his face. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in her chest loosening just a little. Crying always left her with a pounding headache, and she could already feel it building behind her eyes, but right now, she didn’t care.

Wait. The meeting.

The realization hit both of them at the same time. Without another word, they bolted for the door, cursing themselves as they ran. They burst into the room twenty minutes late, earning a sharp glare from Sherry that felt like a slap. Her reprimand stung, but after the initial bite, the meeting settled into its usual rhythm. Y/N sank into her seat next to Taehyung, the weight on her shoulders easing slightly.

For now, they were okay. The fragile truce of their friendship had been restored, and that was enough. Jin, ever observant, didn’t pry. He gave her the space she needed, the quiet understanding that she wasn’t ready to talk.

As the meeting droned on, Amanda’s absence hung in the air like a thick, suffocating fog, pressing down on Y/N's chest. The urge to speak, to spill the worries swirling in her mind, gnawed at her insides like a trapped animal. But Jin, ever so gentle, steered the conversation toward lighter topics, his voice a welcome reprieve from the tension. His unexpected confession—his secret obsession with the Magic Mike movies—pulled a reluctant smile from her, a momentary break in the storm of her thoughts.

When the meeting finally ended, Jin promised to pick her up bright and early the next morning, leaving Y/N with a faint flicker of hope, a light in the darkness.

Jungkook was off today. There was no other way to describe it. The sharp precision that usually defined him, the fierce focus that made him a standout swimmer, had dulled into something sluggish and unfocused. Every stroke seemed half-hearted, his movements faltering like a flickering lightbulb on the verge of burning out. Y/N could feel it—the heaviness that clung to him like a fog, thick and suffocating, as though something had pulled him into a dark abyss. Her star swimmer was drifting, and if she didn’t do something soon, he would sink deeper into whatever had him trapped.

“Come on, Jeon! Pick it up!” Y/N’s voice sliced through the pool’s echoing silence like a whip. Normally, her sharp tone would ignite something in him, but today, it only seemed to make things worse. Her words fell into the water like stones, rippling out, but doing little to stir him from his sluggish state.

Oliver was floundering, worse than usual, and Jeremy Cohen—fast but sloppy—was tearing through the water with a form that would have made any swim coach cringe. It felt as if the entire team had been thrown off balance, each swimmer's mistakes building on the next, a disastrous symphony of chaos. Y/N clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to shout, to yank Jungkook out of the water and shake some sense into him. He wasn’t just off today—he was adrift, lost. And watching him like this was infuriating.

With a sharp blow of her whistle, Y/N called it. “Alright, we’re done. Get dressed and get out.” Her voice was hard, biting. “Jeon, I need to see you when you’re done. And the rest of you,” she shot a glare across the pool, “get your act together before Wednesday’s meet, or we’re doing a 400 IM.”

The team grumbled but moved to comply, the promise of a grueling Individual Medley enough to spur them into action.

A few minutes later, Jungkook shuffled into Y/N’s office, his shoulders slumped under the weight of whatever burden he was carrying. The office was a small space, smelling faintly of chlorine and memories. Photos of Y/N’s high school swim days dotted the walls, along with dusty trophies and sobriety coins that bore witness to the battles she’d fought and won. It was a refuge of sorts, a place of familiarity and comfort. But today, the tension inside the room was thick, almost suffocating.

Jungkook sat across from her, and Y/N took a moment to study him. He looked... lost. The cocky swagger, the confidence that usually radiated from him, was nowhere to be found. Instead, he was a shadow of himself, and it unsettled her in a way she hadn’t expected. She needed to get through to him, to figure out what was dragging him under.

“What’s going on, Jeon?” she asked, her tone softer than it had been poolside, hoping to coax him out of the dark place he’d retreated to.

“Just an off day, coach,” Jungkook mumbled, but there was something in his voice—something tight and fragile—that told her it was more than that.

“Want to talk about it?” Y/N offered, leaning forward slightly. She wasn’t just his coach—she cared about him. She wanted him to know that.

Jungkook hesitated, his gaze dropping to his lap. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “I didn’t get into San Diego.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Y/N felt the weight of them sink into her. San Diego. The University of California at San Diego had been Jungkook’s dream, the goal he had been chasing for as long as she could remember. It was legendary—the swim team, the prestige. She understood the sting of rejection all too well. Back when she’d applied to colleges, she had eyed the same school but had chosen Edith to stay close to Hoseok. She regretted that decision sometimes, but it had been hers to make. Jungkook, though—he had his heart set on San Diego.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said quietly, meeting his eyes. “I know how much you wanted that.”

Jungkook sniffled, his shoulders trembling slightly. “I don’t know what to do now,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “San Diego was all I ever wanted.”

Y/N took a deep breath, the weight of his disappointment settling over the room like a dark cloud. She couldn’t let him think this was the end. Jungkook was too good, too talented to let one rejection break him.

“Don’t say that,” she said firmly. “You applied to so many other schools. Stanford, Yale, Princeton. Rollins has a great program. Bentley State is solid, too. And the University of California’s main campus? Their swim team is even better than San Diego’s.”

Jungkook nodded, but the fight had drained out of him. He gathered his things slowly, his movements mechanical. Y/N watched him go, her chest tight with a mixture of frustration and concern. She hoped—prayed—that she had gotten through to him, that she had planted a small seed of hope. But as he walked out of her office, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t done enough.

As Y/N settled back into her chair, a ding from her phone interrupted her thoughts.

Jin: Heard from Jungkook’s dad that he got a letter from UC?

Y/N: Yeah... bad news.

Jin: Damn. Is he okay?

Y/N: Not at all. I think I made it worse.

Jin: Doubt that. Just let him cool down and soak it all in. He should be getting more letters soon.

Jin: He’s too talented not to.

Their small exchanges were always the highlight of her day, threads of connection amidst the chaos of their separate lives. Twice a day, sometimes more, they’d text each other. Seeing Jin during the week was nearly impossible, and after 70-hour shifts, he was often too drained to meet up on his rare days off. It had been two months since they’d spent more than thirty minutes together—neither one putting a label on their relationship. Not quite just friends, not officially dating, but Y/N was content with the slow burn.

Jin: I have three days off starting tonight.

Jin: And I’m not on call...

A smile crept across her face at the sight of his message. He was just so damn cute.

Jin: Dinner at my place?

Y/N: Will there be strippers?

Jin: I may or may not have a copy of Magic Mike.

She laughed aloud, but before she could type a response, another ping followed.

Jin: I’ll get takeout.

Y/N: You had me at Big Dick Richie.

Jin: But Mike has the magic.

Y/N: “How much for the Cheetos and water?”

Jin: ...Touché.

The weight of the day started to lift, replaced by the familiar warmth that Jin always managed to bring.

Later, Y/N sat at her small desk, the dim light barely fighting off the darkness that pooled in the corners of her office. The papers scattered in front of her—reports, updates, schedules—merged into an incomprehensible blur, the lines between numbers and words dissolving under her fatigue. The air conditioner droned on, a steady, hypnotic hum that only deepened the isolation settling around her. She sighed, pushing her hair back and rubbing her tired eyes, feeling the weight of the day sink in—heavy, unrelenting.

But tonight was different. There was a spark of something at the end of this long, grueling tunnel. A shiver of anticipation crawled through her veins, a welcome jolt that stirred her from the haze. She was going to see Jin after work. The thought of him lit her up, warming her from the inside out. His laugh, the way his eyes crinkled with that boyish charm—it made her stomach flip, the kind of excitement that felt almost electric. For a fleeting moment, the exhaustion faded into the background, replaced by the thrill of their evening ahead.

And then, out of nowhere, a loud clang split the silence like a gunshot.

Y/N’s heart lurched, her body going rigid as the sound echoed through the office. It came from outside—near the pool. A place that should have been empty. Unease twisted its way up her spine like an icy finger tracing her nerves. Slowly, cautiously, she rose from her chair, listening for anything more. Nothing. Just the hum of the AC, eerily out of place now.

Her hand hesitated on the doorknob. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but something about the air felt wrong. Thick, almost suffocating. As she stepped into the pool room, her eyes swept the dimly lit space, every shadow feeling alive, heavy with threat.

At first, it seemed empty. But no—there, by the water's edge, stood a figure.

Amanda.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse kicking up a notch. Amanda was a wreck—hair matted and wild, clothes hanging loosely on her frame. She held a giant bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, her grip so tight Y/N thought she might shatter it. The other hand hovered over her stomach, where her shirt gaped open, revealing a gruesome landscape of cuts—deep, crisscrossing wounds that bled freely, soaking the fabric in dark patches of crimson. The scent of alcohol mixed with the metallic tang of blood in the air, thick and choking.

This wasn’t Amanda. Not the Amanda Y/N had known. This was something else, something broken and twisted. A shell, teetering on the edge of madness.

"You seem happy," Amanda slurred, her voice slicing through the stillness like a razor.

Y/N froze. Every instinct screamed at her to back away, to run. But she couldn’t. Not when Amanda was like this, bleeding and lost. The fear in her gut twisted tighter, but she forced herself to keep calm, to steady her voice.

“Mandy... what are you doing here?” she asked, each word careful, measured. “We’ve been looking for you—me and Tae. We were worried.”

Relapses weren’t new, but Amanda had always been a wild card, unpredictable. Y/N remembered the last time she’d seen her like this—during that drug-fueled party, Amanda had gone ballistic, nearly taking Taehyung’s head off in a rage, while Yoongi had to physically hold her back from stabbing Namjoon. That memory flashed in her mind now, vivid and sharp, a horror reel playing on repeat.

Amanda’s gaze fixed on Y/N, her eyes vacant but her body tensed, like a coiled spring. The grip on the bottle tightened, her knuckles white. She swayed on her feet, and Y/N’s stomach dropped.

This was about to go very, very wrong.

“Amanda, put the bottle down,” Y/N said, her voice low, soothing. She took a step forward, careful, like she was approaching a cornered animal.

But Amanda’s eyes had gone dark, distant. Whatever part of her that Y/N knew was buried deep, locked away beneath layers of torment and alcohol.

"You seem happy," Amanda said again, and this time, her voice was sharper, bitter. A cruel smile twisted her lips, her words dripping with venom.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, every instinct screaming for her to get out. But she couldn’t. Not with Amanda in this state, not with the fresh blood seeping from her wounds. Still, something told Y/N that no amount of calm words or soft gestures could pull her friend back from this.

Amanda took a step closer, her fingers twitching around the neck of the bottle. "Why do you get to be happy? Why does he get to make you smile while I’m bleeding out?!"

Y/N didn’t move. Couldn’t. The world seemed to slow, her mind racing, calculating the distance between her and the door, between her and the bottle that could shatter her skull in an instant.

Amanda took a step forward, her grip tightening on the bottle. Y/N felt the dread knotting tighter around her chest, like a fist squeezing the air from her lungs. Her pulse quickened, each thud a countdown, marking the seconds until everything exploded.

“Why doesn’t he love me?” Amanda’s voice was a low, venomous hiss, thick with bitterness. The words dripped like acid, each one burning deeper into the fragile thread of their friendship.

“Tae loves you, Mandy,” Y/N managed to say, her voice cracking with the weight of the lie. She wanted to believe the words, wanted them to soothe the raw fury in Amanda’s eyes, but even as they left her mouth, they felt hollow.

Amanda’s face twisted, her features contorting into something almost feral. Before Y/N could even register what was happening, Amanda hurled the bottle. Time seemed to slow, the glass spinning through the air, glinting in the dim light like a deadly promise. Y/N barely had time to duck before it smashed against the wall behind her, shards raining down like confetti.

Her leg gave out as she hit the cold concrete, pain shooting through her stump. Sweat poured from her, pooling in the socket liner, making it impossible to gain traction. The tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, blurring the edges of her vision—fear, pain, and panic swirling in a chaotic storm inside her head. She was vulnerable, too vulnerable.

“How dare you?” Amanda’s voice was a scream now, a raw, animalistic sound that tore through the room. Her face was flushed, crimson creeping up her neck like a living thing, a fury that had been simmering for far too long. “After everything I’ve done for you, and you take his side?”

Y/N gasped, dragging herself backward, her fingers scraping against the cold, unforgiving floor. Her leg throbbed with each pulse of her heart, fear pumping through her veins like a second, pounding heartbeat.

“Stop, Amanda—please.” Her voice was a rasp, weak, pleading. She could feel the desperation in every syllable, but she had no choice now. Amanda was beyond reasoning.

Amanda’s eyes gleamed with a sick sort of satisfaction as she lunged, her hand closing around Y/N’s good leg with terrifying strength. “You must be fucking him too,” she spat, venom dripping from her lips as she dragged Y/N closer, her nails biting into Y/N’s skin like claws. “How long have you been screwing Taehyung, huh? Slut!”

The slap came out of nowhere, the sting of it like fire across Y/N’s cheek. Her vision blurred, the tears welling up, hot and fast. Amanda loomed over her, her face twisted into a mask of fury and betrayal, the scent of alcohol thick on her breath, clinging to the air like something foul.

“No wonder your parents hate you,” Amanda sneered, her words cutting deep, sharp and cruel, digging into the softest parts of Y/N’s soul. “You’re nothing but a needy, worthless bitch.”

Y/N cried out, her breath hitching, chest heaving as panic seized her throat, making it feel like every breath was razor-sharp, slicing her from the inside out.

“Mandy, I would never—” Y/N’s voice broke, cracking under the weight of everything, as she reached out, desperate to reach the friend she once knew, to pull Amanda out of this dark, spiraling abyss.

But the moment Y/N’s hand brushed Amanda’s, something snapped. The last flicker of humanity vanished from Amanda’s eyes. Her grip tightened like iron, and before Y/N could react, she was being dragged toward the pool. The cold water shimmered under the fluorescent lights, a silent, gaping mouth waiting to swallow her whole.

“Liar!” Amanda shrieked, her voice a shrill, manic echo bouncing off the tiled walls. With a brutal, almost inhuman strength, she lifted Y/N into the air and hurled her into the water.

The cold hit like a punch to the gut, the icy water closing over Y/N’s head in an instant, pulling her down, down, into its dark, unforgiving depths. Panic clawed at her, every instinct screaming for her to kick, to swim, but the weight of her prosthetic dragged her under, pulling her deeper into the abyss.

Her chest burned, the need for air overwhelming as she thrashed, desperate for the surface. She broke through with a gasp, water streaming down her face as she gulped for breath. But then came the second splash. Amanda had followed her in.

Her heart raced, hammering in her chest as she kicked harder, fighting to reach the side of the pool. The chlorine stung her eyes, blurring her vision, but the edge was there—just a few feet away, so close. She clawed her way forward, her good leg pumping with everything she had left.

Her fingers grazed the slick, cool tile of the ledge. She was almost free. So close.

But then Amanda’s arms wrapped around her waist, dragging her back into the water. Y/N screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the pool as she struggled, panic surging through her veins like ice.

“If I can’t have him, you can’t either,” Amanda growled, her voice a low, venomous snarl as her nails dug into Y/N’s skin, leaving deep, painful scratches.

In a burst of desperation, Y/N’s fist connected with Amanda’s face, the impact enough to loosen her grip. Seizing her chance, Y/N kicked hard, pulling herself out of the pool, gasping for air, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest.

She was free. For now.

Behind her, Amanda’s voice echoed, raw and enraged, “After everything I’ve done, and you take his side?!”

Y/N didn’t wait. She scrambled across the cold, slick floor, dragging herself toward her office, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The door was so close. So close.

She slammed it shut, her body trembling as she locked it, her fingers fumbling as she shoved her chair under the knob, praying it would hold. Outside, Amanda’s fists pounded against the wood, her screams growing louder, more erratic with each passing second.

Y/N grabbed her phone, her hands shaking so violently she nearly dropped it. She tried calling Jin—nothing. No answer. Panic blurred her vision, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she dialed again, her mind spinning, knowing he wouldn’t pick up. He was working. He couldn’t help her now.

The door rattled under another violent bang. Amanda’s voice was no longer human, devolving into a guttural snarl, her words a garbled mess of rage and betrayal.

Y/N’s only thought now was survive.

With trembling hands, Y/N dialed Taehyung, her fingers barely managing to press the numbers through the haze of panic. He picked up on the second ring, his voice calm, unaware of the nightmare she was trapped in.

“Hello?”

“Tae!” Y/N’s voice cracked, her breath catching in her throat as she glanced toward the door. Amanda’s relentless pounding felt like it was shaking the very walls, each blow making Y/N’s fear spike. “Help me! Please!”

Immediately, Taehyung’s voice changed, sharpened with concern. “Y/N? What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m at the school,” she gasped, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “It’s Amanda—she’s lost it. She thinks we’re sleeping together. She tried to drown me in the pool.”

On the other end of the line, there was a brief pause, the kind of silence that signaled Taehyung was processing the full horror of what she had just said. Then, in the background, she heard him yell, “Namjoon! Call the police. Now!”

The urgency in his voice broke through the fog clouding Y/N’s mind. Namjoon must have been with him, and the fact that Taehyung didn’t hesitate to rope him in brought her a small, fleeting sense of comfort.

"She’s going to break in," Y/N whispered, her heart pounding in her chest as the doorframe groaned under another vicious blow from Amanda. Each impact felt like it reverberated in her bones, the wood beginning to splinter under the force.

“Stay with me, Y/N. Just breathe. I’m on my way,” Taehyung said, his voice steady, but she could hear the urgency threaded through it. “We’ll get through this.”

Behind his words, Y/N caught a snippet of Namjoon’s voice, low but unmistakable, talking fast. She could picture him now, his expression tense as he spoke into his phone, likely coordinating with the police. The knowledge that they were already acting, already working to save her, kept Y/N tethered to the present, even as Amanda’s rage grew louder, more violent.

Another crash, louder than before, sent a tremor through Y/N’s body. She flinched as the door splintered further, Amanda’s deranged growl slipping through the cracks like some kind of feral beast. “She’s going to kill me,” Y/N whimpered, her voice barely above a breath, her whole body trembling.

“You just need to hold on a little longer,” Taehyung urged, his voice tight. “Namjoon’s talking to the police right now. They’re on their way. Just hold on.”

Y/N pressed her back against the wall, pulling her legs up as she tried to make herself as small as possible. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to focus on Taehyung’s voice, to ignore the horror unfolding just feet away. But the sound of Amanda’s fists, pounding the door with inhuman strength, drowned everything out. The door wouldn’t hold for much longer.

Then, abruptly, the pounding stopped.

The silence that followed was more terrifying than the noise. It pressed down on her, thick and suffocating, as her mind spun in wild, panicked circles. Had Amanda found another way in? Was she just outside, waiting to strike?

Then, faintly, the sound of boots thundered down the hallway. Relief surged through Y/N, her heart still racing but now for a different reason. The police.

"Y/N, they’re coming in!" Taehyung’s voice cut through the silence just as the door gave way with a violent crack, splintering the frame. Two officers rushed in, their guns drawn, the intensity of the moment washing over Y/N like a wave.

Amanda stood in the doorway, wild-eyed and frenzied, her hand still clutching the bottle of Jack Daniels like a weapon. Her face twisted into a grotesque snarl as her eyes darted between Y/N and the officers, a guttural growl rising from her throat.

“Drop the bottle!” one of the officers shouted, stepping in front of Y/N, shielding her from the danger. “You’re under arrest!”

For a second, Amanda’s eyes flickered with hesitation, as if some part of her recognized how far she had fallen. But then, the rage took over, and with a scream, she lunged. The officers moved swiftly, tackling her to the ground as the bottle shattered, glass and whiskey skittering across the floor.

Y/N watched, trembling, her chest heaving with uneven breaths as the scene unfolded in front of her. The weight of fear began to lift, replaced by a dull, hollow numbness. In the background, Namjoon’s voice could still be heard, directing the police from his end, ensuring they reached her in time.

One of the officers knelt beside her, his voice gentle despite the chaos. “Are you hurt?”

Y/N blinked, her mind slow to catch up with everything that had just happened. “I—I don’t know,” she stammered, the pain in her leg and the bruises on her body now making themselves known as the adrenaline drained away.

“Stay with me,” the officer urged softly. “Help is on the way.”

She nodded, her vision blurred by exhaustion and shock. Somewhere in the background, she could hear Taehyung’s voice still on the line, faint but persistent, pulling her back from the edge of panic.

“Y/N, are you okay?” His voice broke through the fog in her mind, and for the first time in what felt like hours, she managed to focus.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice weak but steady enough.

“We’re right outside,” Taehyung said, his relief palpable. “Jin will be here soon. Yoongi called Tami.”

As the officers secured Amanda in handcuffs and led her away, Y/N felt the storm inside her finally begin to calm. Namjoon had called for help. Taehyung had come through for her. She had made it through the worst of it.

And whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone.

Y/N took a ragged breath, the sharp tang of antiseptic biting at her nose as she blinked away the last remnants of tears. Ted, the paramedic with a calm demeanor and the kind of smile meant to put anyone at ease, finished wrapping her leg in gauze. The bandages stuck to her skin, a second layer, tight and foreign, as if they were the only thing holding her together. “We’re going to take you to the hospital for a full checkup,” Ted said, his voice level but with an edge of urgency. “We’ll head out in about five minutes. Just let me know if you start feeling off, alright?”

The chaos of the night was still buzzing around her, a swarm of concerned faces and hurried whispers. Everyone from their group had shown up, except Jin, who was still stuck at the hospital. She hadn’t had the chance to call him, but Namjoon had spoken with him. Jin was on his way. That thought gave her a small flicker of comfort. Taehyung had been her rock the entire time, clinging to her in the ambulance, his eyes wet with unshed tears, his fear raw and palpable.

Amanda was gone now, already hauled away, but the weight of the night clung to the air like smoke after a fire. Taehyung had explained what had happened, his voice thick with guilt. Amanda had smoked a laced blunt, one of those toxic cocktails that twisted the mind, yanked reason out from under you, and let the darkness creep in. He’d stayed with her as she unraveled, gently turning down her advances when she tried to pull him in. He made sure she was safe until she finally passed out, but when morning came, she was gone. And Taehyung was left scrambling, calling everyone he could think of, desperate for a sign of her. Mark had finally let it slip—Amanda was lost in a fog of spice and delusion, the kind that dragged people into frenzies, into the kind of madness that left them shattered. Y/N could feel the heaviness of it, draping over her like a shroud.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Taehyung whispered again, his voice barely holding together.

“It’s not your fault,” Y/N murmured, sinking deeper into his embrace, craving some kind of warmth amidst the cold chaos.

He looked wrecked, his face drawn tight, eyes hollow. Watching Amanda being restrained and taken away had gutted him. She had fought so hard to stay clean, and now this. Y/N’s body trembled with exhaustion, her throat raw from screaming, but she didn’t hate Amanda. She pitied her. The thought of seeing her again filled Y/N with a cold dread, but there was still some small part of her that wanted Amanda to know she wasn’t alone. Taehyung had promised he’d be there when Amanda clawed her way back from this darkness, and Y/N believed him. Their bond was complicated, tangled in ways she didn’t fully understand. But Y/N couldn’t help but worry about how this would affect Taehyung’s already fragile relationship with Willow.

The ambulance buzzed with the energy of her friends, each one stepping forward to check on her, their faces creased with worry. Namjoon was a mess, tears streaking down his face as he pulled Y/N into a tight hug, his sadness soaking into her. Jimin stood close by, looking just as wrecked, while Erica’s voice echoed in Y/N’s head, frantic and hurried—five missed calls lighting up her phone since Tamla had dropped the news in their group chat. If Mai hadn’t been laid out with the flu, she would’ve been here too, hovering like a protective shadow. Their presence wrapped around her like a thick blanket, grounding her in the middle of the chaos, making her feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone in all of this.

Y/N’s gaze drifted and caught on Yoongi. His eyes were dark, filled with a storm of grief as he spoke quietly with the police about Amanda. Y/N knew their conversation wasn’t over. There would be a moment later, some time when they could both sit in the heaviness of everything that had happened. Yoongi’s sorrow mirrored her own, a shared weight that was both comforting and unbearable. Seeing the devastation carved into his features made her heart twist painfully. She was certain she looked like a ghost, bruised and battered, bad enough to make even him tear up.

Then, through the fog of exhaustion and noise, a frantic voice cut through. Jin.

Relief flooded through her chest as Taehyung released her and called out for him. Jin rushed to her side, his face a mixture of fear and love. His cheeks were streaked with dried tears, and the sight of him, worn down by worry, made Y/N’s heart ache. He’d been crying too.

“Are you hurt?” Jin asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes sweeping over her as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

“Just some scrapes and a busted lip,” Y/N replied, knowing she’d need a full checkup at the hospital. There was no escaping that.

“She tried to drown you?” Jin’s voice trembled, his disbelief palpable as if his mind was struggling to wrap itself around the horror of what had happened.

Y/N nodded, watching as his lip quivered, and suddenly, the dam broke. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms, and that was all it took for Y/N to finally let go. The sobs came hard and fast, racking her body as she buried her face in his shoulder. The tears felt endless, the release something she hadn’t known she needed until now. She didn’t care about the mess—about the snot dripping from her nose or the raw sounds coming from her throat. All she cared about was this moment of connection, of knowing she wasn’t alone in this.

She had fought harder than she ever thought she could, driven by a fear she didn’t fully understand. The fear of losing Jin forever. The future was a blur, uncertain and fogged by the aftermath of the night, but right then, in that moment, she felt sure of one thing—they were meant for something deeper, something bigger than she had imagined. The guilt that had pressed down on her for so long began to unravel, thread by thread.

She lifted her head, meeting Jin’s gaze, and without thinking, she kissed him. She needed to feel him, to banish the lingering shadows of fear that had taken root in her mind. He kissed her back, his lips warm and familiar, sparking a small flicker of hope in the middle of the chaos. They only pulled apart when the need for air became too much.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Jin whispered, nodding at the EMT who was waiting for him to step aside so Y/N could get onto the gurney. “I’ll get your leg from Namjoon and follow the ambulance, okay?”

“Okay,” Y/N said, her voice soft, but her hand clung to his, not wanting to let go just yet. “I’m in this. I want you to know that.”

Jin smiled, leaning down to press one more kiss against her lips, this one gentle and reassuring. “We can talk more later, alright?”

As the sirens wailed in the distance, Y/N clung to the belief that no matter how dark the night had been, she would find her way back to the light—back to him.

Two Years Later

Y/N slammed the trunk shut with a hard, satisfying thud, dusting her hands off as if shaking off the weight of the world. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, heavy and relentless, but beneath the weariness, there was something else—an electric hum just under the surface, a thrill that shot through her veins like a live wire. In two days, she would be in Yucaipa, California. In two days, she would stand on the edge of something that had haunted her dreams for years—the Paralympics. The thought made her smile, her chest tightening with a giddy, almost reckless anticipation. Win or lose, she would forever carry that title: Olympian. It was more than a goal; it was a mark that would stay with her forever.

“Babe! Erica’s on the phone!” Jin’s voice called from the house, slicing through the quiet. He waved her phone like a flag, his grin wide and full of pride, as if the call was something they’d both been waiting for.

“Coming!” she shouted back, her voice lighter than it had been in weeks.

Jogging inside, she planted a quick kiss on his lips, the warmth of him lingering against her skin as she snatched the phone. He gave her a playful swat on the backside, drawing a sharp, playful glare from her, one they’d done a hundred times before.

“I’m gonna give Felix the house keys,” Jin said, already moving toward the back door, his grin still in place.

“Okay,” she replied, her focus shifting to the phone, its screen glowing like a portal to the outside world, the normal world.

“Hey, Erica!” she greeted, her voice bright with anticipation as she answered.

“Hey, baby!” Erica’s voice came through, joyful, like a burst of sunlight after a storm. Her face appeared on the screen, radiant, her skin gleaming with that dewy sheen that only pregnancy could bring. The baby bump she proudly displayed had grown, now a full five months along, pulsing with life beneath the surface. Time had slipped by faster than Y/N could grasp—it felt like just yesterday that Erica had told her the news.

Beside her, Jimin’s face popped into view, grinning from ear to ear, his energy infectious. “We miss you!” he shouted, his enthusiasm spilling through the screen like a beacon of brightness.

“We miss you too, Jimin,” Y/N replied, her heart swelling at the sight of them both, her friends, so far away but still tethered to her in a way that grounded her.

The months since the attack at school had passed in a blur, leaving scars both visible and hidden. Y/N had walked away with nothing more than a minor concussion and a collection of bruises and scrapes. But Amanda… Amanda had fallen hard. She had been dragged off to court-mandated rehab while Y/N had thrown herself back into the one place that felt safe: the water. Swimming had always been her anchor, and she needed it now more than ever. They had spoken a few times after the incident, but then one day, Amanda had vanished—disappeared into the fog of her rehabilitation, leaving no trace, no words. Not even Taehyung, who had been closer to her than anyone, could reach her. After six months of trying, Taehyung had finally let go, starting fresh in a new house, a new life. He had a dog now, a symbol of his new beginnings.

“I’m so proud of you,” Taehyung had told her once, his voice tinged with both pride and the bitter aftertaste of loss. He had found his way through the darkness, but the scars of the past lingered in his eyes.

Jin had been her constant. He’d wrapped her up in his arms after everything that had happened, pulling her close as if the world could never hurt her again. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he had whispered, his words thick with the weight of everything left unspoken. He’d been the rock she needed, holding her up when everything else felt like it might crumble.

“You’re stronger than ever,” he had told her more than once, his voice firm and unwavering. And she had believed him, because she had no other choice. She had clawed her way back to the surface, back to the pool, to the only thing that made her feel whole again. That first dive into the water after the attack had been like breathing for the first time.

Jin had been there at every single meet, his cheers loud and unrelenting, his obnoxious signs waving proudly in the crowd, a beacon of support she could always count on. Whether she won or lost didn’t matter to him—he was always there, his presence like a lighthouse guiding her through the storm.

And now, standing on the brink of Yucaipa, on the edge of her dream, Y/N knew that no matter what happened in the water, she wouldn’t be doing it alone. She had fought her way back, through pain, fear, and uncertainty, and the people who mattered most were right there with her, pushing her forward, cheering her on.

As she felt the anticipation surge in her veins, Y/N knew she was ready. Ready to dive in. Ready to face whatever waited for her beneath the surface.

"Y/N, Tami and Yoongi are in Missouri," Erica said, pulling Y/N back from her thoughts and into the present moment. "I called them before you, and they asked us to pass it along."

"Wish we were coming," Jimin chimed in, his tone light and teasing. "But someone is pregnant and prone to throwing up."

"Wow," Erica shot back, drawing out the word with playful sarcasm.

"I love you," Jimin countered, his voice dripping with charm.

"Jerk," she retorted, but the warmth beneath her words was unmistakable.

"Still here," Y/N added with a smile, watching their banter fondly. She was glad they had found happiness together. It had started when Jimin asked Erica out a couple of months after Amanda left, and it was a joy to see them thrive in their new relationship, even if Jimin’s boundless enthusiasm sometimes bordered on excessive.

“Did Vic really drive down with Tamla?” Y/N asked, curious about the latest gossip.

Erica sighed dramatically. "Yes, my dad is really coming to watch you swim. And he brought the home movie camera with him."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know who’s worse, him or Jin.”

“At least everyone will know you’re loved,” Jimin interjected with a grin.

“Who’s that?” a voice asked off-camera.

“Y/N!” Erica replied, and Y/N instantly recognized Namjoon’s voice. A grin spread across her face.

"Y/N!" Namjoon exclaimed, taking the phone from Erica and walking away from the camera, her protests fading into the background.

"When are you leaving?" he asked, his expression serious yet filled with warmth.

"Tonight. I just finished loading everything into the car. Jin’s giving our neighbor a key to feed Serendipity, and my team’s bus leaves at five. So, we’re heading out soon."

“Keep me posted,” Namjoon said, his voice a mix of excitement and concern. “I told Tamla to FaceTime me when you start.”

“Glad to know you’re there in spirit, Joon,” Y/N replied with a soft chuckle.

“Give me my phone!” Erica’s voice cut in as she playfully slapped Namjoon on the back, trying to reclaim her device, but he was like a stubborn boulder, refusing to budge.

“He’s so... ugh!” Erica groaned, exasperation evident in her tone.

Y/N laughed, her heart swelling with affection for them all. She missed them, but she felt grateful for everything she had. Leaving Loch Keen had been the best decision of her life. Her friends, scattered across different corners of the country, were still with her. The bond they shared was unbreakable, no matter the distance.

And to think, there was a time she thought she’d never smile again.

The front door creaked open, and Jin poked his head inside. It was time. Y/N nodded, her heart racing with the thrill of anticipation, before turning back to say her goodbyes.

“Hey, guys,” she said, trying to balance excitement with the bittersweet weight of leaving.

“What’s up, Gup?” Erica responded, her playful tone infectious.

“Shut up, rat! She’s talking!” Jimin added with a laugh, their banter never getting old.

Y/N smiled. “I have to go,” she said, the words heavier with emotion than she expected.

“Aww, well, good luck, okay?” Erica’s eyes softened.

“Good luck, Y/N!” Jimin yelled enthusiastically. “Kick ass!”

“Text me when you get to the hotel,” Namjoon said, his tone serious but comforting.

“Love you,” Erica added, her smile as bright as ever.

“Love you, too,” Y/N replied, her heart full of warmth.

After a few more exchanges, Y/N finally hung up, a bittersweet tingle lingering in her chest. Jin stood by the door, waiting for her, his hand on the light switch. She sighed, nodding as she stepped outside, the cool evening air filling her lungs with promise. Anticipation thrummed through her body.

Jin started the car, the engine coming to life with a low hum. He glanced over at her and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that grounded her, steadying the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in her mind. His presence always did that—anchoring her when the world seemed too big.

He buckled his seatbelt and turned on his Spotify playlist, familiar melodies filling the car. Y/N smiled, sinking into the moment as she settled in for the long drive.

"Remember what we talked about?" Jin asked, glancing at her with a mixture of seriousness and affection.

“I’m a winner no matter what,” Y/N replied, the mantra firmly embedded in her mind.

“And?” he prompted with a playful smirk.

“If I lose, that’s okay. But I won’t lose because I’m the shit.”

Jin laughed, his smile lighting up the car’s dim interior. “That’s my gold medalist.”

He reached for her hand, placing it on his thigh like he always did, knowing it brought her comfort. His thumb rubbed soft circles against her palm, a small gesture that made Y/N’s heart swell with love.

“I love you,” she whispered, feeling the depth of her emotions spilling over.

“I love you, too,” Jin replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

Y/N’s phone buzzed, pulling her from the quiet moment. She glanced down to see a text from Hoseok’s mother, a brief message that filled her with warmth. They had reconciled before she left Loch Keen, and while their relationship was still tentative, it was far more healing than she had anticipated.

Eun-Jae Jung: Keep swimming, Gup. Proud of you.

Y/N smiled, fingers brushing the ring hanging around her neck—a simple, small reminder of the past. A part of her that she carried with her, like an invisible thread tying her to everything she had overcome.

I’m happy, Hoseok. So unbelievably happy, she thought, her heart light as the car sped down the road, carrying her toward her dreams.

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starlightshore · 2 months ago

Note

Do you have any songs that you think fit Winning Hats, to get me in the Mood while I read it?

You know, funnily enough, I've been meaning to make a playlist for the Winning Hat AU, so thank you for the extra push to do so!

first half is more intense music while the second half is bittersweet recovery. I'm still adjusting the songs (I'm so picky!)

as for what i actually listen to: typically Nelward (full discography), The Paper Chase's Now You are One of Us album, and Lemon Demon's Spirit Phone

so like, high-energy indie music and then Paper Chase for that Lovley Edge when I wanna feel dark

#in stars and time #isat spoilers #2hats spoilers #winning hat au #place your bets on winning hats #gore #blood #death #ask to tag

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from-the-clouds · 2 years ago

Text

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xiv

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | chapter summary: The final chapter pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 9.2k (I love being insane) chapter warnings: SMUT (18+only) - unprotected sex. Insecurity/Jealousy. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, blood and injuries. Alcohol & Marijuana use. Fluff. Bisexual reader (happy pride ya'll!). As always please dm for more specifics. a/n: This could probs use another round of proofreading but it would've delayed this even longer sooooo.... Here we go! I feel pretty emo right now and I might make a more in-depth post about my thoughts at a later date bc I just finished writing this in a hot daze so I can't put all my thoughts coherently together. But I just wanna say thank you to everyone who supported and gave love to this story. This is by far the most popular fic I've ever written, and I don't really know how? Or what I did to deserve all the love but I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. Thank you for sticking with me through all the angst and delayed updates and everything. I'll never forget you and I'll never forget Joel x Reader!! Thank you so much, I hope the finale lives up to your expectations! ❤️

**I DO NOT HAVE A TAGLIST. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

I’m not the kind of man who tends to socialize I seem to lean on old familiar ways….

-May 16, 2024-

“Are you sure you’re okay if I leave you here alone?”

Ethan’s voice jolts you out of a daze, and you blink your eyes open, realizing that you’d dozed off while sitting upright in a patio chair, the cheesy romance novel you’d been reading still lying open on your lap. Turning to look over your shoulder, you find him standing with one foot on the deck, and one foot still inside, cut in half by the sliding glass door.

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and nod. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

Ethan studies you carefully, like he’s not entirely convinced. He’s been hesitant to leave you alone unless it’s absolutely necessary – only stepping away from the house to go on patrol shifts and to bring home meals from the mess hall. Recovery has made you feel like a burden to him – to all your friends in the community, really. Everyone….well, almost everyone, has been supportive, but you’ve never been comfortable being openly vulnerable.

Unfortunately, it’s too hard to deny the pain that you’ve been in since the accident, the trouble you have getting around, the exhaustion that clings no matter how many long naps and twelve-hour nights of sleep you get. According to the doctors, being so tired is just part of recovery – rest is important, but the concoction of pain medication you’ve been prescribed only makes your drowsiness and confusion worse. It had been a big deal that tonight you’d mustered the energy to drag yourself outside to sit in the fresh air.

“I’m fine,” you assure Ethan, once again. “Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not really a date,” he says, almost a little too quickly. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Right,” you say, matter-of-factly. “Do I know who this person is?”

Ethan looks at his feet. “You remember the day this shit happened?” he asks, gesturing towards you. “Before you left on patrol, the girl that said hi to me? It’s her. Her name is Alex.”

“Oh?” you tilt your head, give him a small smile. “She was cute. How’d you ask her out?”

“Well,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck. “I may have…uh, gotten some advice.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?” you’re able to muster up a small smile.

“I would’ve, I just…..” he shakes his head. “It seemed stupid…with everything you have going on.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say, feeling a wave of guilt. Even though he’s the one looking after you, you haven’t spoken to him much about anything going on in his life. In fact, you haven’t really spoken to anyone in a long time, beyond thank you’s and blanket statements like I’m doing better. You feel disconnected, and more lonely than ever. If you ever get enough energy to leave your house, you expect most of the people in the community to have forgotten you exist. “Who’d you ask?”

“Uhm….” Ethan runs a hand through his long dark hair, shifts his weight. “….I’ve been assigned on patrol with Joel Miller a lot lately….so….”

You almost laugh when he uses Joel’s full name. Joel has been such a huge part of your life – sometimes the hero, sometimes the villain – that you don’t need to hear his last name to know who Ethan’s talking about. You could know a thousand Joel’s, and he’d still be the first person that came to mind. But Joel is still a sore subject, and Ethan knows it, which is why you suspect he’s avoided telling you this in the first place. You feel your eyebrows knit together, only able to let out an unenthused. “Oh.”

“I just, you know….he’s a guy. And it sounds like you even liked him at one point so….he must know something, right?”

“That was a long time ago,” you say quickly, regardless of the fact that he’s right.

It’s probably not fair to blame Joel for everything that has happened to you. You know this, deep down. But you’ve been so helpless and isolated since you’ve woken up in that hospital bed that you’re desperate to find someone to hold accountable. And Joel hadn’t visited you in the hospital once. By this point, he’s abandoned you so many times that your resentment feels justified, even if your current state is not directly his fault. Because it was you, after all, who had walked into the path of those men, too angry to think clearly, too weak to take them down alone. The only person you can blame is yourself, and you really don’t want to.

“Did he tell you to take her out on patrol, make her cry, and almost get her killed?”

Ethan clicks his tongue, looks down, almost ashamed. “No. He did not.”

“You should be careful with Joel,” you warn.

“I was…” Ethan says. “But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he’s actually alright.”

“So you’re friends with him now,” you state, hoping he refutes. But instead, he looks up at you, frowns, and lifts his chin.

“What happened to you was horrible. It shouldn’t have happened. And yeah, maybe you think he’s the reason you almost died…. I don’t know the specifics so you can believe whatever you want. But I know that he’s the reason you’re still alive.” Ethan’s voice breaks, and you feel tears brimming your eyes before he continues. “He brought you back here, he donated his blood, he-”

“What?” you cut him off.

“What do you mean, what?” Ethan asks. “He was the only person there who had your blood type. You would’ve died if he didn’t. They didn’t tell you this?”

“Whatever it took to make him feel less guilty, sounds like,” you say, dismissively.

Something hot burns in your veins, something that must have always been there since you woke up, but you’re only feeling it now. It’s unsettling, Joel being a part of you that way. Your lives had already seemed intertwined enough already. But now, he’s inescapable.

“Well, he stayed by your side every night while you were asleep. Fuck, I mean, he was probably there just as often as I was. He made sure I ate, and slept and showered and… and he never once asked for anything in return. He cares about you as much as I do, clearly, so I don’t think it’s wrong to think he’s a good guy….”

You must not care about me that much, you want to say, but you stop yourself. Because it’s not true, and you’d only be saying it to hurt him. You have nothing to defend yourself with, no way to convince him otherwise, and so you just stare at him until he shakes his head and slips back inside.

Ethan is stubborn, he always has been. And it’s a special kind of stubbornness, fueled by anger – so common in most of the young people you meet these days. You understand why they’re all like this. When you’re robbed of your childhood – you get stuck there….waiting….. Like someday you’ll have a chance to do it all over again, regardless of how obvious it is that you won’t.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-May 25, 2024-

Things get better, albeit slowly. You begin to wean off the pain medication, which makes you more alert. It’s still difficult to leave your house, but you can move around it more easily, and you don’t spend all your days sleeping. Luckily, you aren’t as stir-crazy as you’d been expecting.

One afternoon, Ellie Williams shows up on your doorstep with a bag full of groceries.

“Maria wanted me to bring these to you,” she says when you open the door. “She told me to tell you she’ll be over tomorrow, but she wanted me to give you these to tide you over.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you for bringing them to me,” you try to take the bag from her hands, but she steps back just a little, like she’s unsure if you should be carrying anything. You let your hands drop to your sides. “Would you like to come in?”

Ellie hesitates for a split second, adjusting the bag in her arms, and then nods. “Sure.”

Stepping to the side, you allow her into the home. Because of how warm it is outside, you’ve opened all the windows to let the breeze through.

“Sorry for the mess,” you say, Ellie following you into the living room. There are stacks of books and pill bottles with instructions scattered on your countertop. You haven’t swept the floors in awhile and all the hard surfaces are covered in a thin layer of dust. It’s not really that bad, but you don’t have the energy or strength to be on your feet for long – let alone to clean the house.

“I don’t mind,” Ellie says. “It’s not even that bad. I don’t know why older people worry about leaving your house messy and shit….no offense.”

“There was a time it used to matter,” you tell her. “And I see where you’re coming from, but my thing is – if you’re going to live somewhere, you should do what you can to make yourself feel comfortable.”

Ellie purses her lips, as if you’ve made a good point but she doesn’t know how to answer. Instead, you continue. “Can I get you anything? Water?”

“No, I’m okay,” she puts the bag on your kitchen counter.

“You can sit if you’d like,” you tell her. “I just need a moment to put these away.”

When you walk into your living room a few minutes later, she’s hovering near your record player, looking through the vinyls. The turntable was already in the house when you’d arrived years ago, but it was buried in the closet and broken. Ethan had managed to fix it after a little troubleshooting and scavenging for parts. Now, you both were always looking for records to bring home, and had amassed quite the eclectic collection – jazz, funk, hip-hop, and everything in between.

“Wow,” Ellie says, running her fingers along the shelved records. “You found all these?”

“Some of them were already here. But yeah. Ethan and I are always on the lookout on patrol. I can play you something. What do you like?”

“Eighties, I think,” she says. “But…I also haven’t heard as much.”

“Well here,” you thumb through the records, pull out a worn copy of Speaking In Tongues. “How about some Talking Heads?”

You pass the record over to her, and she stares at you blankly. It’s only then that you realize — she’s never used a record player before. There’s a familiar pang of sadness before you show her how.

“Are you feeling better?” Ellie eyes you wearily once the music starts, and you settle onto the couch, feeling a little worn out after being on your feet.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m older now, so it seems like healing takes a lot more time.”

Ellie nods, then bobs her head to the music a little. “This is better than most of the stuff Joel likes.”

“Oh yeah,” you smirk, and instinctually, you recall his enthusiasm for all things old-school country. “I remember that,” you say softly.

With so much time on your hands lately, you’ve found yourself thinking of Joel a lot, reminiscing on the time you’d spent with him and Sarah. What Ethan had told you about him staying by your side was definitely making you reconsider your assessment of him, even if you were still hesitant. It was probably a trap to think you’d ever be able to feel those things with him again, but if remembering them brought you comfort, you weren’t going to resist it.

“You’re more than welcome to come over to listen anytime,” you offer, and she nods excitedly.

Ellie stays for longer than you expect. You talk a fair bit. She tells you about what she’s learning in school – but mostly how ‘fucking useless’ it is. She wanders around your living room and pokes through your stuff without asking, but you don’t think to stop her – you just answer her questions and let her be curious.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, and she excuses herself to go home, insisting that Joel will ‘fucking kill her’ if she’s out too late. Even though you’re exhausted after entertaining her for a few hours, you find it feels nice. Being on house arrest, essentially, had left your starved for connection outside Maria and Ethan.

You see her out the door before returning to your refrigerator to look for something to eat. Ethan will be back from patrol any minute, so it may be nice to make him something even if you have almost no energy.

But when there’s another knock on your front door, you’re shocked to see who you find staring on your porch.

Joel.

You almost forget to speak at the sight of him. It’s been weeks since your accident and he might as well have moved away from Jackson since you hadn’t seen him at all.

“Hey,” you say, tentatively, taking him in. He seems preoccupied – cheeks flushed, hair rumpled, and out of breath, like he had run all the way to get here.

“Have you seen Ellie?” he asks, not even greeting you in return. “I’ve looked everywhere and I-

“You just missed her,” you cut him off, not because you’re trying to dismiss him, but because he's clearly distressed. “I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way over.”

Joel sighs, eyes closing in relief. “Thank God.” For a second, you glimpse the frazzled and overworked father you used to know. “She stayed out too late, had me worried sick.”

“She’s fine,” you say. “Although she did say you might kill her if she didn’t get home soon.”

Joel gives you an almost imperceptible smile, but seems mostly irritated by Ellie’s suggestion. “I would do no such thing.” He shakes his head and takes two steps backwards. “Thank you. Didn’t mean to be a bother.”

Your mind floats to a memory of Joel on your front porch, late getting home from work and looking for Sarah, and you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness and longing for a simpler time, a surge of affection.

Joel is halfway down your front porch steps when you speak again. “You aren’t bothering me.”

He pauses, turns to look over his shoulder. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, and you step outside, letting the door fall shut behind you and remaining huddled against the siding, and he turns to face you fully, sighing. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, actually….”

“Oh…really?” you can’t keep the surprise from your voice, and he notices.

“Yeah,” Joel rubs his fingers together, a nervous habit of his you know all too well. “Yeah. I- well, I wanted to apologize to you.”

You’re so startled by the words you can’t answer right away. But the split second of hesitation causes Joel to continue, looking to fill the empty space.

“I’ve been waiting to find the right thing to say….but it doesn’t seem like that’ll ever happen. I’m not even sure I know where to start.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage, still taken aback. The only thing that doesn’t surprise you about his admission is the sincerity. You could say a lot of things about Joel, but he isn’t a liar. He always tells the truth. Maybe it’s why he pulled away from you to begin with. It’s easier than the alternative – spending time with you, which would force him to be honest. For how much you’ve changed, you’d probably do the same.

But the thing with Joel is that you’re exhausted. You’re tired of the back and forth, of the push and pull, of the constant struggle to hold your care over each other's head, hoping the other will break first. Maybe this is a fresh start.

You step closer to him, and you see him study the way you move. Of course, you’re trying to look strong, but he can surely sense the weakness. He’d always been good at that, better than any of the others. Your hand comes to rest on the porch railing for support.

But…..

There’s that voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you this is a mistake. The one that reminds of the pain you’ve often earned through vulnerability. It likes to think it’s served you, protected you, and it has. But it’s not always right.

“I suppose I owe you an apology, too,” you say. “At the very least I should thank you for what you did.”

Joel shakes his head, dismissively, but looks to where your hand rests on the porch railing, looks back up to you as he reaches out. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

His hand clasps over yours, and to anyone else, this might be nothing. It’s so innocent, unassuming. But the effect it has on you is palpable. He squeezes once, and you flip your hand over, squeezing his back, giving him a gentle smile. “I am too.”

Joel’s eyes fill with a warmth you haven’t seen in twenty years, and your stomach flutters, your heart races. A part of yourself that you’d considered long dead seems to rouse.“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I told Ellie we’d go to the mess hall together,” Joel says. “Otherwise I would.”

You blink once, and Joel sees it, immediately continuing on. “But maybe Ellie and I can come another time, join you and Ethan?”

“Yeah. He’d like that,” you say. “That might be nice.” ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-June 20, 2024-

You think that at the end of a long winter, bears must hate coming out of hibernation.

It must suck. They spend months sleeping, doing almost nothing, and then suddenly they’re forced to function again – to hunt, to eat, to roam, to survive and socialize. You imagine there has to be a learning curve, a desire to crawl back into their den and never leave again.

Or maybe you could be wrong, and they love it. And you’re just a wimp who hates feeling uncomfortable.

All you know is that you’re huddled in the back corner of the Tipsy Bison, nursing a whiskey – and it’s the last place you want to be.

You’re overwhelmed.

And despite the fact that you regularly used to attend community events, it’s been so long since you've been out in Jackson that you feel like you don’t belong. To some extent, you’ve always felt this – too hardened by the outside world to fully assimilate, especially when the town throws dances. But in the past, you at least attempted to convince yourself otherwise.

Two weeks back, the doctors had cleared you to go about your daily activities as normal – within reason, of course – but you hadn’t exactly jumped at the opportunity. Tonight, Ethan had accused you of becoming ‘antisocial’ and ‘reclusive’. You had agreed to attend – but only to beat those allegations. So far, you are definitely not.

You scan the crowd, taking in the people spinning around the dance floor. Some of the women are wearing dresses. You can’t help but feel a little envious of how easily they’re able to perform femininity, which is something you’d given up on a while ago. It hadn’t exactly served you before arriving in Jackson, and you predict it would be humiliating to start trying now. After all the things you’d experienced, you were left marred with scars and wrinkles, stretch marks and loose skin. Since then, you’ve remained loyal to the combination of men’s denim and tank tops with flannel-button downs overtop.

It doesn’t always stop the men in the community from descending like vultures. You might be the last pick – there are plenty others who are younger and prettier – but you’re still an option. Bea, your old partner, had always theorized that some men were particularly drawn to sapphic women, that it was ‘the ultimate challenge’. Maybe there is some truth to her theory, but you like men….sometimes. So there is always a part of you that yearns for their validation, for as many times as you tell yourself you don’t want it. But it never feels good to get it after you’ve watched them exhaust all their other options.

It’s pathetic, but it makes you think of Joel. He and Ellie had been over to yours and Ethans last week for a nice dinner, and you had tried to gauge whether there was any romantic connection between you still. Occasionally, you’d caught him looking at you with a wistful smile, but he could have been lost in thought. It’s not like you needed that from him or anything, but it might be useful information. After all this time, Joel is still so handsome, and probably has an impressive selection of potential partners here in Jackson – women of all ages. You hope he’s not here tonight – you can’t see much besides the dance floor at this point – because the thought of him cozied up to anyone here, combined with the acrid taste of the drink in your hand, makes you want to gag.

You take another look around the room. Eugene, your partner in crime – quite literally – is walking towards you, which helps quell your spiraling mind . If you talk to him, say hello to Tommy and Maria, maybe Ethan will see the effort you’re making and you can sneak out without having to deal with anyone. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s worth a shot. The sooner you can get home tonight, the better.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel can’t stop staring.

He knows it’s impolite. He knows that he’s not being subtle. He knows that if any other person in this bar followed his eyeline, they’d pick up on what he was doing in an instant. But every minute he doesn’t get called out for it, he becomes more and more emboldened.

It’s the first dance he’s ever been to in Jackson, and the only reason he’s here is to placate Ellie and Tommy. But even they have abandoned him in favor of better companions – his brother is deep in conversation with Maria, sitting across from him in a booth, and Ellie is out on the dance floor dancing with one of her new friends, Dina.

Joel just can’t help himself. He still feels guilty for what he’s done, but he can’t shake the feeling of a soft hand clasped within his own – the first time he’d felt any semblance of hope since arriving here. Tommy and Maria had already slyly let him know about all the women who were interested, but he couldn’t bring himself to entertain their advances. There’s only one he wants, and she won’t even look in his direction.

When he’d first noticed you, you were whispering with Eugene on the opposite side of the dance floor. According to Tommy, you spend a fair bit of your time with the old man, which Joel initially thought to mean that you had some sort of entanglement. At first, Joel thought that couldn’t be possible. But you were deep in focus as you listened to Eugene’s words, nodding and leaning in closer and closer, and Joel thinks Tommy might be right. He wants to understand what you see in this man – tall and unkempt, covered in tattoos with long, graying hair and a beard to match. But Joel catches himself in his judgment, he’s probably just as unappealing – not just because of how he’s aged, but because of how horrible he’s been to you in general.

The next time Joel sees you, you’re at the bar, chatting with a man who Maria had introduced him to not long ago, a resident who is new in town. Joel had been too busy focusing on the fact that he’d been in Jackson long enough to not be its newest resident that he couldn’t remember his name. He wishes he had, so he could keep tabs on him. Of course, he can’t blame the man for being drawn to you – Joel knows very well that you’re hard to miss in a crowd.

Still, Joel bristles when you both step away from the bar, and the man’s hand lands just above your sacrum. He actually finds himself tensing up, resisting the urge to intervene, because it’d likely only make you angry. Plus, maybe you are interested. That question is answered quickly when you reach behind your to clasp the man's hand and place it back at his side. Where it belongs, he thinks.

“Joel!”

He snaps his attention to what’s in front of him – interrupted, and probably for good measure, lest he get himself too worked up. Ethan approaches with a girl his age, her arm linked through his. Joel stands to greet them.

The terse understanding between himself and Ethan while you were still in the hospital had somehow turned into a friendship, especially after they’d begun getting paired up on patrol. Ethan reaches out for Joel’s hand to dap him up, slinging an arm briefly over his shoulder.

“How’s it going, kid?”

“Good, good,” Ethan nods, pulling back, and gestures to the girl next to him. “Joel, this is Alex.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Ethan’s told me all about you.”

“Really?” Joel asks, feeling a little bewildered.

“Only good things,” Alex says quickly, as if she senses his apprehension. Ethan puts his arm around her waist. Joel recalls a few weeks back when he’d asked for advice on how to ask out a girl. Joel hadn’t pried at the time, but now he seems to understand, and is surprised by the swell of pride he feels. “Ethan says you’re a fucking badass,”she giggles after she swears.

Joel looks over at Ethan. “I don’t know about that.”

He shrugs, changes the subject. “Since when do you come to these things?” Ethan asks.

“Ellie dragged me out,” Joel answers.

“I did the same with my aunt,” Ethan chuckles. “But now I can’t find her, and I’m pretty sure she’s escaped.”

“Oh, is she here?” Joel plays dumb, like he hasn’t been aware of exactly where you have been all night. “I haven’t seen her.”

“I think she was with Eugene earlier,” Alex has to stand on her toes to speak into Ethan’s ear. Joel watches Ethan’s nose wrinkle.

“Do you know Eugene at all?” Ethan turns to Joel. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on there, but she won’t say anything.”

Joel wishes that he had more information. “Tommy says they seem close.”

“I know that,” Ethan says. “I wish she would just be honest with me. It’s not like I would be mad. Whatever,” he shakes his head. “We can talk about it another time. I just want to find her so I can introduce her to Alex.”

“We should say hi to Tommy and Maria first,” Alex says, and Ethan nods in agreement before saying goodbye to him. Joel claps a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he moves past him, and Alex gives him a shy smile in acknowledgement.

Focusing back on the crowd, Joel realizes that you’ve vanished in the short span of his last interaction. Maybe you’d rejected that guy, and then he’d retaliated. Maybe you’d gone home with Eugene. Joel shakes his hand. It’s none of his business. He doesn’t need to get involved. It’s not his job to look after you, regardless of how much better he feels when he does. Old instincts. He can’t help himself.

He settles on watching Ellie and Dina spin each other around on the dance floor. Eventually, Tommy and Maria, then Ethan and Alex all trickle out of the booth to go get another round or head to dance. Joel stands to release the booth to someone who actually needs it – and is left in the corner, nursing a nearly empty beer that’s now flat and warm. He looks towards his family and friends, but for some reason, he still feels alone.

Joel isn’t sure how long he stands sulking, but he starts when someone approaches from behind.

“Having fun?”

You’re a pace or two back, one thumb hooked through a belt loop, a whiskey in your opposite hand. Joel looks back at the crowd a moment, then at the ground. “No.”

“Neither am I,” you commiserate, stepping alongside him.

Joel considers offering that Ethan was looking for you, but selfishly does not want to give you a reason to leave, so he stays quiet. You observe the dance floor like he is, smiling slightly at the sight of Ethan and Alex dancing. The flannel you’re wearing over a gray tank hangs loosely off one shoulder, and Joel wants to reach out and touch the exposed skin. You take your last sip of whiskey, bring a finger to swipe under your bottom lip, and Joel wishes he knew what you might taste like right now. He scolds himself for fantasizing.

You don’t speak either, and you stand in silence for a while, until you eventually pop your hip, shifting closer to him. Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re already standing so close that your arm gets pressed up against his. Neither of you acknowledge the contact, but Joel is acutely aware of how your skin burns hot against his own. He feels comforted by the affection, even if it’s unintentional.

“Want to leave?” Joel asks, and can hardly believe that the words came out of his mouth, even if he wanted them to.

You look over at him, not bothering to hide your surprise, but your expression evens out quickly, and you give him a single nod. “Yeah.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel’s still not convinced this is real. It feels too much like a dream, the weather outside is so pleasantly warm it feels like he’s floating as you walk down the street. He had never expected you to agree to leave with him, and now he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say.

The greater distance you put between yourselves and the bar, the quieter the town is. Most of Jackson’s residents are at the dance, save for the guards at the front gate and the handful of people that had been mingling just outside.

He heads in the general direction of the neighborhood, even though he lives on a different street.

“What are we supposed to do now?” you wonder out loud, and you sound a little incredulous, like you’re equally as shocked to find yourself beside him. The question carries a bit more weight than it would have coming from anyone else.

Joel contemplates. He’s not sure what he wants from you – there are a lot of things, actually – but he doesn’t know if he really deserves any of them. For now, your companionship is more than enough.

“You’re welcome to come back to mine,” he offers. “But if you’re looking to keep drinking, all the booze is back at the bar.”

“I’m good.” You shake your head like you’re uninterested, but look over at him with a sparkle in your eye. “I have something better….”

You reach into the pocket of your flannel and produce a rolled joint between two fingers, looking over your shoulder. “Those dances are usually terrible, so I always come prepared.”

Joel can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, and the sheepish grin he gets in return makes his cheeks feel warm. “Where’d you even get that?”

“You’ve never been on patrol with Eugene, have you?” you ask. “He has a place just out of town where he grows it. I’ve been helping him since we first got paired up, and in exchange, I get to sample the supply.”

Of course. Joel would’ve never imagined that was the reason you were so close with Eugene, but it suddenly makes incredible sense. He shakes his head in a combination of relief and amusement. “You really haven’t changed.”

“Oh, I’m sure I have,” you answer, smiling to yourself and looking at the ground. “But of course I haven’t shaken all my bad habits.”

“That’s not true,” Joel mutters.

“Well, you haven’t changed either, for as much as you’ve tried to convince me,” you nudge him gently, offering him the joint. “What do you think?”

Joel plucks it from between your fingers and puts it between his lips. “I think I have a lighter at home.”

“Sounds perfect.”

In the front hallway of his house, you slip out of your tennis shoes, shuffling behind him in your socks, pausing occasionally to study some of the doodles that Ellie had drawn and hung on the walls – it wasn’t exactly a priority to decorate these days, but they certainly livened up the place. He knows how much Ellie likes you, despite the fact that she doesn’t gush, but the odd comment here and there says as much. Joel remembers how difficult it had been to keep Sarah away, and Ellie now is no different. He doesn’t seem to be able to help himself, either.

You sit next to Joel on his wicker couch, curling your feet up under you as he lights the joint and study him while he takes the first few puffs. He does it without thinking. That’s how soft Jackson has made him. Normally, he’d be too stressed about being out of his wits. But he can’t see how hypervigilance has served him since settling down. He feels safe here, and somehow especially because he’s with you.

When he passes the joint your way, you look at him wistfully. “Old times,” you say with a grin.

Joel nods as he exhales, coughing. “Old times.”

“Oh yeah,” you say, as if you just remembered something. “You can’t tell Ethan about this. He doesn’t know, and he will give me shit about it. I need him to take me seriously.”

Joel shakes his head. “Well, you know, it sounds like he and Tommy both think you and Eugene are together.”

“What?” your head jerks forward in shock, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, no. Do people think that?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel wants to mention how he had seen you whispering to each other at the bar earlier, but then realizes it’d give a bit too much away. “That’s what they think.”

“Well....historically speaking I might’ve liked older men…. but not that old.”

Joel purses his lips. “You’ve lived here awhile, huh?” When you nod, he continues. “Has no one caught your eye?”

“Uhm….not really. But….” you trail off, looking into Joel’s backyard. “To be completely honest, I don't think about that much these days. I guess I feel like I have a lot to be grateful for. I don’t want to push it.”

Joel understands, and nods pensively.

“What about you?” you ask.

“I guess I feel the same.”

That causes you to smile a little bit, look over at him. “I bet you already know this. But the women here would line up down the block for you.”

Joel can’t help but roll his eyes, though he wonders if you would, too. Even if you did like him, that didn’t seem like your style.

“I’m serious. I’ve heard the things they whisper behind your back. All their fantasies about you are pretty creative...”

“Fantasies?” He grimaces. He imagines none of them know anything about who he really is. You’re the closest thing, and all he’s done is hurt you. “I’m sure you were quick to set them straight.”

“I don’t say anything,” you say, then continue on, a little quieter, looking at him from under your lashes. “I like to keep you to myself.”

Joel isn’t sure how to respond to that. You have every right to tell all of them that you were once together, and all the ways he’s hurt you since. Yet for some reason, you’ve chosen to protect him.

“So….all this time….” you wonder. “You had to have been with other people, right?”

Joel doesn’t think to hold back. “I had a partner for a long time. Tess. First, it was all business, I helped her smuggle things in and out of the Boston QZ…and then, I don’t know….we got along, we trusted each other and…” Joel trails off, hoping you’d put together the rest before he has to go into too much detail. “She was real fuckin’ tough. Scared me a little at first. You would’ve liked her.”

“Well, we already have one thing in common. What happened?”

“She’s the whole reason I ended up out here….with Ellie,” Joel explains. “But I lost her a little over a year ago.”

He hopes you don’t ask how. Maybe someday he’d be willing to go into detail, but talking about it generally is hard enough as it is. But fortunately, you seem to pick up on his hesitance. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you say softly.

He shakes his head. “I was an asshole. To her. I should've....after Sarah died I didn’t want to get attached, so I kept her at arms length and I... I wished I hadn’t in the end. It only made things worse.”

“Yeah,” you nod, look down. “I’ve made that mistake before.”

Joel doesn’t want to linger any longer on the memory. “What about you? Were you with anyone?”

“Uhm, yeah,” you fidget, looking uncomfortable. “I had a partner….for like ten years."

Ten years? He had been with Tess for more, but something about that information feels jarring. He’s shocked Tommy never told him this. Did Tommy even know? Suddenly, it dawns on Joel everything that could’ve happened to you since you’ve been apart. Entire lifetimes. And he’d said such horrible things when you’d fought. He remembers your face when he’d told you that you didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. Maybe you had. He’d been so cruel and inconsiderate just because he was uncomfortable.

His throat feels tight, almost scared to learn anymore. “What…what was his name?”

“Well, Bea….was her name.”

Joel is sure he doesn't hide the shock well. “Sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I did either. Well, I sort of did, but I was too young I think when I first realized to make any sense of it, but…. I met her and…yeah,” then, you smirk. “I mean, I went to an all-girls school and I had a really bad relationship with my dad so…it definitely makes sense. ”

Joel considers this, smiles along with you. “But anyways. Her and I met shortly after my brother died and it was kind of the same. We kept each other alive, things developed from there. We ended up getting involved with this group who lived in the middle of nowhere. That’s a whole other story, but…” you wave your hand. “I loved her, and I lost her right before Ethan and I got here.”

Joel sees all the pain in your eyes, and wishes he could say something to take it all away. He knows he can’t. You look back out into the woods in his backyard, take a deep breath, and reach back towards the joint that you had put out not long before, lighting it again. Joel gets the sense that both of you had done the most amount of sharing possible for the time being.

“Look at us,” you take another drag before passing it over. “Old times.”

“Old times,” he repeats, a smile working its way onto his face.

“This used to be my favorite thing to do with you.”

“It was nice,” Joel agrees….hesitates before continuing. “But I can think of some things I liked better.” He gives you a knowing look, and you roll your eyes, laughing easily at his joke. It feels so good to make you laugh, to see you smile. Why had he spent so much time resisting?

“Touche.”

What happens next spills out of Joel so quickly he doesn’t think to stop it. “I tried to look for you….after all this happened. I didn’t have Sarah anymore, and I thought maybe….I don’t know. It was the only thing that kept me going for a while.”

“I did too,” you confess. “But…I was with Vincent and Ethan, and I felt like I couldn’t leave them alone for something that might just be…. I always hoped you both made it. And I’m so sorry she’s gone. I really did love her.”

“I know you did,” Joel reaches out to take your hand. “I know. And I shouldn’t have said those things I did. I’m still not sure why you’ve been so patient with me.”

“Hmm,” you shift so that you’re closer to him. “You waited around for me back then. It’s only fair that I’d wait around for you now. I want you in my life. I don’t care what that looks like. But it’s too hard to forget about a person that you loved.”

Joel wants as much from you as you’re willing to give, and he can’t tear his gaze away from you. But he wants you to see him, all of him, before he takes it.

“I’ve let a lot of people down. I’ve done a lot of h-horrible things,” his voice cracks, and tears well in his eyes.

“I have, too, you know? Those things still live with me. But I think what matters is who we are now,” you reach out, fingertips brushing the scar on his temple, and Joel swears that even if you don’t know the story behind it, you can see right through him. “And I know who you are.”

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.”

“You won’t,” you say. “No more than anyone else has. And if it makes you feel better…when people hurt me, I’ve gotten pretty good at hurting them back.”

“If I do, I’d hope you would.”

“I will. I promise,” your thumb strokes his cheek, marveling at him. “I would suggest a blood oath or something but….I heard we kind of already did that…”

He’s given you every warning, every barrier, and you’re still here. He can’t believe it, and he doesn’t think he can hold back any longer. “Come here.”

He kisses you. He wishes that he could be slow and tender and gentle like he used to be – and certainly he’s still capable, but he realizes that he’s been depriving himself of something he wanted for so long, and can’t seem to control himself.

Your hands land on the side of his face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Maybe you’re somewhat taken aback by his urgency, you hum against his lips, but you don’t resist at all. Joel maneuvers you so you’re straddling his thighs, and he grips your hips, your ass, coasts his hands up your side. Your lips part in a moan, and he slips his tongue into your mouth.

For a while, he stays there, savors the taste of you, whiskey and smoke still lingering on your lips. His hands cup your jaw, feel your body, grip and squeeze and stroke and you let him, continue to let him. He tries everything, wondering if you’ll tell him to stop, if you’ll decide you’ve had too much, but you don’t. Then again, he should know by now that you’re a woman who knows what she wants. He just finds it’s hard to believe that he’s the thing you want.

You break away from him, just a little, and Joel presses his nose to your neck, kisses your pulse point.

“Should we go upstairs?” your voice is raspy and breathless. “Will Ellie be home soon?”

“Probably not for a while. We can be quick.”

“Hopefully not too quick,” you raise your eyebrows. Joel can’t help but laugh a little. He relishes in the way your hands rake up and down his arms, exploring him, touching him. Of course he wants you, but even just this would be enough. He’d be content with less, he hadn’t realized how starved of affection he’d been.

You’re able to pry yourselves off one another to make it up the stairs, and Joel guides you with a hand to the small of your back. When you get to his bedroom, he opens the door, but stops you before you go inside.

“Hold on,” Joel mutters, winding one arm around your waist, the other behind your knee.

“Joel, what-no, you’ll–” he pulls you into his arms.

“Do you really think I’m not strong enough?”

“I didn’t say that,” you chuckle as he carries you over the threshold and into the bedroom, breath puffing against him before he lays you down on the bed.

When he hovers over you, your fingers wind into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. He savors every sweet sigh he’s able to pull from you, hands cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips. You’re so pliant and open beneath his body, it makes it easier to not feel guilty about what he’s doing. He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty, you’ve said as much, but it might take some time before the feeling will die completely. Hopefully, he has enough time with you to see it off completely.

Clothes are removed quickly, intentionally, as you both bare more and more of yourself to each other. And while he wishes he could’ve been there to see the ways in which your body has changed, you’re still as beautiful as ever.

Joel, however, is hesitant to give himself away completely. When you tug at the hem of his shirt, he hesitates.

“I don’t know if-” he pauses. “If you want to see all that.”

“Joel,” you stare at him knowingly, kneeling across from him as he stands at the edge of the bed. “I do.”

So he releases your hand, and lets you pull it over his head. Carefully, you study him, his body littered with scars. He knows he’s not as in shape as you remember. These days, he hardly can look at himself in the mirror after a shower. He expects you to be disgusted, or at least see it flit across your face before you compose yourself, but you don’t. Your fingertips drag through the smattering of hair on his chest and down his torso, tracing several prominent scars – each one with a story – but you linger on the one at his abdomen, frowning.

He sees the question on your face, but you don’t ask it. Instead, you return to press yourself against him. “I’m so glad you’re still here….”

You kiss him, then, and Joel can only kiss you back.

Joel isn’t the only one with battle scars. Some of them he feels are his fault, but you seem less self-concious about them, which gives him a surprising amount of confidence. Maybe it’s just a reality of what happens when you make it this long.

When you’re finally bare beneath him, he admires how you look, stretched out and waiting, chest heaving and shivering with anticipation. He slides his hand between your legs – feels you already wet and warm, sinking two fingers inside. Your walls flutter around the intrusion, back arcing off the bed when you sigh out his name. Joel.

He’d forgotten how nice it felt to hear that.

Joel is already thinking about what he’d like to do to you next time. He’d be more careful, more patient. He’d bury his face between your thighs to see if you tasted as good as he remembers, he’d let your fingers curl into his hair. But right now you both seem desperate for the same thing.

He pumps his cock a few times with his hand, he can’t remember the last time he’d been this hard – the last time he’s wanted anyone this badly. Even with Tess, it had always felt like the both of them were hurrying to scratch an itch, her eyes would wander like she was thinking of other people, and maybe he was, too.

Joel lines himself up with your slick cunt, teases you a little, and you roll your body down to meet him, gasping when his blunt head slides in – just a little.

He can’t hold back. You practically suck him in, so tight and hot around him he finds it immediately overwhelming, but he doesn’t even think to pull out. Only when he’s fully seated inside you, and given you a chance to adjust, does he start to move.

It’s euphoric. You’re both older now, more mature, but he still remembers all the things you liked, even if it takes a moment for him to find the spot inside you that makes you cry out, legs wrapping around his hips.

Unlike before, you don’t bother trying to hide from him. You kiss him, hold him, touch him, look him in the eyes, tell him how good he feels – you don’t hold back. Joel relishes every word you say, clings to the praise and gives it back. Your lashes flutter when he tells you how pretty you look.

He can think of nothing else other than bringing you pleasure, can tell you’re getting close when you begin to rut against him, and he reaches down to let the pads of his fingers slide over your clit.

When you come, you whine his name, lock your lips with his own and he swallows your moans. The feeling of you so impossibly tight and wet and pulsing and squeezing him so tightly has him following closely after.

His head is still buried in the crook of your neck when you speak again. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

The second Joel pulls out, he starts missing how close he felt to you. But you fix that by rolling over onto your stomach, curling up at his side, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach.

“Joel. Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

He’s far from it. But he’s starting to think if you say it enough, maybe he’ll start to believe it. He turns his head to kiss you gently, slowly. “So are you.”

“We can do this again, right?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we can.”

“Good,” you settle back against him, and very slowly, he dozes off with you right beside him. He doesn’t want to sleep alone again, and luckily, he doesn’t have to.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-December 4th, 2026-

When you return home from patrol, you find Joel in his living room – boots off and socked feet propped on the arm of the couch. You don’t notice his eyes are closed, that he’s asleep, until you get closer, see the book he’d been reading resting on his chest as he snores lightly. You can’t help but feel for him – he’s probably exhausted from constant patrols, so he must be tired.

But mostly, you’re just overwhelmed by the love you feel for him, catching him in a quiet moment of vulnerability. Hesitantly, you reach out and squeeze his foot. It’s gentle and tender enough that he blinks his eyes open and looks around, taking in his surroundings, rather than jolting awake like he often does. When he sees you on the opposite end of the couch, he melts back into the pillow he’s propped against.

“Hey, stud,” you lean against the arm of the couch.

“Hey,�� Joel answers, voice still gruff with sleep. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just got in.”

“Hmm,” Joel closes his eyes again, folds his hands across his stomach.

“You’re wearing the glasses I got you,” you point out. They’re simple. Rectangular black frames. You’d found them on patrol, and brought them home after Joel had been complaining that he could barely see when he read before bed. But he’d tried them on and insisted he hated the way they looked, so you’d ended up using them most of the time.

“They do work,” he grumbles, like he’s ashamed to admit it. “But I still think they look stupid.”

“You look like a sexy librarian,” Joel rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s suppressing a grin. There’s always a bit of defiance about him, he can’t fully admit how you get him so flustered even after you’ve spent so much time together. You press your thumb into the arch of his foot and he groans. “That feel good?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“Whatcha reading?” You gesture towards the book.

“Some book about the moon landing,” Joel lifts it off of his chest, where it lay face down and open, looks at the back cover. “For Ellie.”

“How sweet.”

“It’s a little dry,” he deadpans. “But she likes this stuff.”

You shift your massage to his other foot. Joel stretches, his arms lifting above his head, the shirt he’s wearing rides up just so, so you see a sliver of his lower belly before it disappears again, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Are you tired?” you ask.

“Always,” he says through a yawn.

“Me too,” you yawn along with him, since they’re contagious. He pulls the glasses from their perch on the bridge of his nose and shuts the book, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him. You take your hands off his feet and he sits up a little straighter, holding out his hand.

“Come ‘ere,” he says, and you do.

He grunts as you settle into his arms, head nestled against his chest, sprawling out almost on top of him, the only way you both can fit like this on the couch.

“You’re so warm,” you say softly, letting him wrap his arms around you.

“You’re cold. Your hands are freezing,” he holds them in his own.

“It’s cold out.”

“Don’t know why you left today.”

“Obligations. Patrol.”

“Fuck that.”

You laugh into his chest, pausing for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I think we might be boring.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, we don’t really leave the house. We spend all day reading. And we’re old.”

“We’re not that old.”

“But we’re getting up there.”

“Sure, but…” Joel trails off.

“Everything’s so quiet, so calm.”

“I think that’s what most people would describe as content.”

“Are you content?” you ask, lifting your head to look him in the eyes.

“I’m happy,” he says softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. “Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then don’t worry about the rest.”

“Okay,” you settle back against your husband's chest, feel his lips brush your forehead.

His fingers search absentmindedly for the ring on your finger he’d found while clearing out a pawn shop not too long ago. The one he wore looked nothing like your own. But the marriage had been long overdue, and neither of you cared what the rings actually looked like.

Nowadays, you split your time between his place with Ellie, and your own with Ethan, but end up in his bed every night. At this point, you don’t think you could sleep without him.

Years ago, another lifetime, you’d had a conversation underneath a sky full of stars. You’d told him that for you, good things had never lasted. Joel had made a promise.

This will.

It took time. There was a lot of pain. But in the end, he had told you the truth.

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valleydean · 5 months ago

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Chapter 17 [Read Here]

CHAMPION Part III of Heavyweight a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) read from the beginning | playlist

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1933. Dean Winchester, the number one contender, trains to become the next Heavyweight Champion of the World, and this time he won't let anything get in his way. Title holder Castiel Novak has second thoughts about retiring, especially when someone from his past arrives in New York and asks for his help. Meanwhile, a new contender rises to fame and threatens to complicate both of Dean and Cas' ambitions - and their relationship.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

Dean strolled into the ICU with a box filled with Italian pastries in one hand and a white paper bag in the other. The ward was the same as ever: the frequent announcements over the speakers paging a doctor to a particular room, employees rushing around, nurses guiding slow-walking patients along the hallway for their daily exercise, and all the other intricacies Dean had become accustomed to over the last week.

He smiled and greeted some of the familiar faces, staff and patients alike, as he walked. Some of the newer faces gawked at him, a second away from asking for an autograph. Dean winked at one of the gaping kids as he passed by.

“Billie. How’s my favorite nurse?” Dean schmoozed when he approached the ward’s nurses’ station.

Nurse Billie barely glanced up at him from her paperwork. “You ask all the other nurses that, too,” she said, unimpressed.

“But do I make sure the bake shop puts in the sprinkle cookies the other nurses like? Huh?” he asked while placing the box on the counter.

She looked up at him fully, her expression still mostly neutral but also vaguely annoyed. All the same, she took the box and set it before her.

Dean slapped the counter as he slid away, sure that Billie would distribute the assorted pastries to the other nurses, like she’d done every day for the past week. “Enjoy.”

He walked in the direction of Cas’ private room toward the end of the hall, the best and biggest one money could pay for. On the way, he spotted Nurse Tessa walking in the opposite direction, her nose in a chart.

“Hey,” he called, stepping in her path. He lifted up the paper bag. “One cannoli from yours truly.”

Tessa smiled, accepting the bag. “You’re gonna make me fat.”

“Just a thanks for all your hard work,” he told her. Nodding to Cas’ room, he added, “‘Course, I’m gonna have to bring you two a day after he wakes up. Trust me, he’s not gonna be too pleasant to deal with.”

Tessa breathed out a small laugh.

Dean’s smile flickered despite how much he tried to keep it plastered on his face. Maybe she hadn’t known it, but he’d been fishing—hoping and praying she’d tell him that Cas was awake and everything was fine.

But she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything.

Voice smaller, he asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Same as yesterday,” she said, her tone gentler. She must have seen the way Dean’s face fell, because she reminded him, “That’s not a bad thing, Dean. He’s healing well.”

A bitter smile twisted Dean’s face. “That you can tell.”

She gave him a tender look, touching his shoulder, before walking off. Dean stood still for a second, trying to brace himself against the tidal wave of emotion threatening to swell over him and trap him in its undertow. If he let that happen, he just knew he’d let himself drown.

He opened the door to Cas’ room and closed it again behind him, dropping the cheerful act he’d been putting on for the public.

The room smelled sweet and floral with how many bouquets of flowers were in vases on every surface. The orderlies did a good job at taking away the decaying ones, but it seemed like more fresh flowers were delivered every day. The same was true for greeting cards and handwritten letters from fans all over the world wishing Cas a speedy recovery. Dean had stopped reading them days ago and started tossing them into the discarded pile of envelopes on the windowsill.

A few of Jack’s drawings were around, closer to the bed. He brought a new one pretty much every day when he visited after school.

Crowley’s assistant had sent over a basket full of fruit and chocolates, as if that would somehow make up for the fact that her boss was partly the reason Cas was in the hospital in the first place.

Michael, Gabriel, and Balthazar visited most days. Anna had come twice, both times with Dean watching her like a hawk. Sam and Eileen had accompanied Dean for his visits a few times, always bringing Maura with them. Sam never said it was because he didn’t want Dean to be alone, and Dean appreciated that it went unspoken.

About a thousand people had sent gift baskets and casseroles to the house. Dean had started turning them away, because how many damn chicken casseroles could a person choke down?

And then there were the paparazzi. They followed him pretty much everywhere. Even now, they were camped outside the hospital. Dean had to call the police once or twice to get them away from the house. The damn vultures were looking for all the information they could get about Cas, and about what plans there were for the future of his career.

Balthazar had issued a statement days ago that, until Cas was fully recovered, all plans for the announcement they were supposed to make had been put on hold. The NBA didn’t make any comments either, and Dean sure as shit wasn’t going to talk, no matter how often the reporters asked him if he was going to make a bid for the belt “now that the way is clear.”

For the past week, Dean had barely left the house except to go to the gym or visit Cas. Whenever anybody asked, he said it was to avoid the paparazzi. But he wasn’t just hiding from them. He was hiding from everyone. From their sympathetic looks, somber and quiet, as if Cas was already dead.

Most of all, he was hiding from his own thoughts. The ones that said Cas was never going to wake up. The ones that cringed every time the phone rang and he was sure it’d be the doctor telling him Cas was dead. The ones that told him Cas had left him because he’d thought boxing was more important than their life together, and this time, Dean would never get him back. The ones that told him to start making funeral arrangements.

Those thoughts were a lot harder to hide from as he lay awake at night and looked at Cas’ empty side of the bed. Or when he looked at the mess Cas had left in their dresser drawers because he always expected Dean to fold the clothes back up. When he was brushing his teeth and saw Cas’ toothbrush and razor and aftershave.

Dean tried to banish all of those thoughts now as he approached Cas’ bed. Since Cas had first been checked in, some of his stitches and bandages had been removed. The patch over his eye was gone, showing off the stitches on his eyelid and the angry, puffy redness around them. Most of his bruises had run their course from deep blacks and purples to sickly greens and yellows. Some were completely faded, but others were more stubborn.

His facial hair had grown in, and Tessa had told him they needed a few more cuts on his jaw to heal before they could shave him. But at least some of the color had returned to his face. His breath wasn’t wheezy anymore, either.

“Morning, babe,” Dean said, leaning over him to press a kiss to his hairline. As he did, Cas’ ring, which Dean had put on a leather cord around his neck, slipped out from beneath his collar. Dean left it out and sat in his usual chair next to the bed.

He placed his hand on top of Cas’, still bandaged.

“Jo was over last night. She says hi,” Dean said, because Tessa had told him that talking to Cas would help. Dean didn’t know if that was true, but it couldn’t hurt—and it made him feel a little saner.

For the first time, he wondered if Tessa had meant it would help Cas or it would help him. But he guessed it didn’t matter.

Dean would keep talking, even though sometimes, he didn’t have anything to say. He just rambled and hoped that Cas would wake up and tell him to shut the fuck up.

“The dance hall she’s working at is having a week of jazz performers next month. She said Billie Holiday’s supposed to headline one night. We should go to that. It’ll be fun.”

If Cas was awake by then.

Dean dragged in a breath, hearing it rattle inside his chest. He pushed a smile.

“Anyway… Jack tell you about the new book he’s reading for school?”

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #dean winchester #dean #castiel #cas #my writing #my post #heavyweight

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echoingbirdsofprey · 2 months ago

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Delicate (Jake's Version)

15 - Jake's Resolve

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!) Chapter rated R

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of dark and mature themes including capture, physical, psychological and pharmacological torture. Reader discretion is advised. Do Not read if you feel it may be detrimental to your mental health.

A/N: Jake might be hallucinating a little and Sam goes to chat with someone who will be instrumental in Jake's recovery...should he come home.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891

Playlist

Jake was about done with this torture bullshit. It was for the birds.

They were giving him pain meds, making him feel all sorts of good, and then they would let it fade, and let him go a day or maybe it was hours without, he still wasn’t keeping track. Jake was delirious during the time that he didn’t have the pain medication. The tingling and numbness would radiate up his arms and then settle at his wrists. His shoulder felt like it was being torn out of the socket and his collarbone and the muscles around it hurt like hell from being stretched continuously. Every once in a while, Jake would let out a loud howl of pain, when it became too unbearable, as it would come in waves when he was without pain medication, which would then prompt his captors to come in and pull him down and lay him on the cold concrete floor. It felt good, the coolness of the ground against his skin, which felt feverishly hot. He was probably going to get pneumonia or something.

They’d let him down at one point, and he fell to his knees and vomited on the floor in front of him almost immediately. Just to add to the humiliation, the man who seemed to be the leader took Jake by his hair and wiped his face through his own puke, which only served to make Jake feel even more sick.

He stunk. His sweat was crusted on his shirt, the salt burning his skin. Bile had dried on his face. He had a gnarly beard and a metallic taste in his mouth that lingered. His whole body hurt. His skin felt dry and papery. His brain was foggy and he felt himself drift in and out of consciousness continuously. He was only wide awake when they shoved water and food down his throat. They hadn’t taken him down to go to the bathroom so he’d peed all over the front of his pants. He hadn’t shit at all because everything just came back up.

Jake wondered if this was what dying felt like. Was this what Iceman had felt like at the end? Helpless and alone? Surely not to this degree, but mentally...maybe. Jake tried to keep his mind going back to Sam over and over but the bad part of that was when he did, he got hard. There was nothing he could do for that so he just had to suffer. He tried his best to just shut his brain off completely.

Jake's resolve was fading.

🛩🛩🛩

Sam needed to talk to someone. Someone that understood what might happen when Jake came home. If he did.

Margie was one of Sam’s oldest friends. They’d gone to middle school together and Sam always kept in touch when she moved away and Margie stayed in San Diego, Tierrasanta to be exact. Margie met Ryker, her husband, in the military. Ryker was an Air Force pilot, who’s plane had been shot down in Afghanistan. He had been taken prisoner and tortured for several months. He survived and when he came home he needed someone to look after him and help him get around. Enter Margie.

Margie trained military and police K9s for a living. As part of Ryker’s healing, she taught him everything he knew about it and now they have a training and breeding operation, still for military and police dogs, but also for veterans who need an outlet and even for families who want protection dogs. Margie couldn’t have children, so the dogs were always enough and Ryker, while he had wanted kids at one point, had decided that Margie and the pups were exactly what he needed. With his medical history, he didn’t feel like raising a child, even if they adopted, was a good idea.

When Sam headed up the stairs and into the house she was first greeted by a beautiful dark brown dog with pointed black ears and black paws. She wagged her tail, knowing Sam well and remembering her.

“Hi Hanna, sweet girl.” Sam said, kneeling to allow the dog to rub against her. She scratched the dog’s neck and back and Margie appeared, her first instinct was to hug Sam tight. She had spoken to Margie on the phone and had briefly told her what was going on with Jake. Margie guided Sam into the kitchen where Ryker sat. He was a large man with a dark reddish brown beard and piercing mahogany eyes. He looked like a brick shit house, muscles bulging from everywhere.

“I’m sorry to hear about your fiance, Sammy.” He said, his voice ocean deep. She smiled weakly and Margie offered her a seat. “How can we help?”

“I don’t know...I just know that if he comes home...” Her voice broke and Margie hugged her from behind.

“When...gotta think positive, hun.” Ryker interjected and Sam swallowed hard.

“When...when he comes home...I’m sure he won’t be the same.” She said and Ryker nodded.

“He will be angry. He will have no confidence. He will be broken. That's what can happen with this job...I'm sorry it happened to him. I went through something similar. But if he’s half the man you told Margie...he’ll want to get better for you, sweets. You have to believe in him.” Ryker explained, knowing exactly how Jake would feel, as he'd been through a similar experience.

“I know he won’t give up. I just can't lose him...” Tears had begun to well in Sam's eyes and Margie hugged her, then she headed off into another room. Ryker reached across the table and touched Sam's hand.

“Hun, he's gonna need someone to talk to and that should be you, but sometimes us dudes don't wanna talk about the nitty gritty of war with our ladies...we don't wanna hurt you with the imagery of it...so when he's ready bring him to me and I'll talk to him about the really bad shit.” Ryker said, glancing around for Margie. He clearly wondered where she’d gone. He knew what she was doing but he didn’t know why it was taking her so long.

“I want him to be able to tell me that stuff...” Sam said softly, feeling as though that sentiment meant Jake didn’t trust her, when she knew he did.

“And I'm sure he will...down the line...but he's not gonna wanna terrify you. It can be pretty gruesome, Sammy...” Ryker said, squeezing her hand.

“My dad...” She said and then Ryker interjected swiftly.

“Told you some things, but never everything.” He said and Sam nodded.

“Yeah...” She said, agreeing that there were probably plenty of things that Ice had kept from her, to protect her.

“That’s how your Jake is gonna be...he won’t want to tell you all the real bad shit. There’s still a couple missions I never told Margie about because they were too horrifying, even for me to re-live now, even though I’ve come to terms with everything that happened to me.” He affirmed, and Sam glanced at him with furrowed brows. She winced slightly, thinking of what Jake could be going through right now. In all honesty, she couldn’t imagine it. She couldn’t imagine him being tortured, being beaten half to death. She couldn’t imagine him taking that kind of abuse. But then again, if he wanted to stay alive and come home, maybe it was what he had to do.

Margie brought two puppies in from another room and placed one in Sam’s arms. The other she held and the little puppy gnawed on her fingers gently. Sam tilted her head, wondering why Margie had done this.

“I know what helped me get better...I know what’ll help Jake get better...we wanna give you these two puppies. And I know they’ll suggest he sees a therapist or talks to someone who works with veterans and POWs. He can come every week and bring the puppies. It’ll be the best outlet for him. And it’ll only be better for you because if he can get better, he’ll be back up in a plane or he’ll be teaching others to fly and you’ll want something at home that can protect you just as well as Jake when he’s deployed.” Ryker explained and Sam's eyes went wide as she hugged the squirming puppy.

“Oh my god, no, Margie, Ryker, I can’t just take them. I’ll pay you. This is part of your business.” Sam said, shaking her head and glancing down at the puppy. She was a pretty black coated pup, and dainty, but she seemed fiesty nonetheless.

“It’s no problem. We donate a few puppies a year to veterans or departments looking for dogs. We wanted to donate these two to you...and also think of them as a wedding present too.” Margie said, handing her the other puppy. He settled into Sam’s arms quietly.

“God...this is so generous...you guys are amazing. I don’t know what Jake will say, but I know he gets along with Rocco, and you know how Rocco is.” Sam said, thinking of how Rocco liked Jake from the start. That was rare for Rocco, as he didn’t trust any strangers. He barely let Nat come into the house sometimes.

“Bring Rocco too if you want. We can teach him some fun tricks.” Ryker said with a smile.

“I absolutely will. Thank you, again. I’ll keep you updated on Jake.” Sam said and she got ready to depart, feeling a little more at ease with everything. Now she had something to focus on other than worrying about whether or not Jake was coming home. She needed to focus on work and the puppies, and maintaining a belief that Jake would come home and that he’d be okay in time. She knew he wouldn’t be okay now, but with time, he would.

Sam left with the puppies in tow. They were both black Malinois puppies, not a common color for the breed, but Ryker and Margie didn’t breed for color. Margie bred for personality, athletic ability and willingness to work. They needed to be ultimately loyal to their handler and protect the families they lived with. The puppies walked nicely by Sam’s side, one on either, and she debated taking them back to Jake and Javy’s first, or home to get Rocco, or straight to the pet store.

She decided to get Rocco first. She didn’t want to leave him out and she figured a good place to introduce him to the puppies would be on neutral territory, even though Rocco was great with other dogs. He was mostly her dog after all even though he lived at home while she’d been at college. She had been so sad that she couldn’t take him, but happy when she came home to the little guy.

When she arrived back at the house, there was a stillness that filled the air. An emptiness that she hated. No one was home. Her mother was out with her brother and sister at after school activities, so she always left Rocco to roam the house by himself. He had the whole place to himself too, but he mostly occupied the couch and his bed by the front window or the one by the back door. That was where the sun came in.

Entering the house, she took the puppies out to the backyard immediately and set them free so they could do their business. Rocco followed dutifully, barking a few times at them, but not throwing forth much effort to bother the pups. He was just two years old so he still had a bit of a playful attitude, but he was also a very mature dog himself. He watched them from the deck, at Sam’s feet. He wagged his tail as they came closer, wiggling his long body back and forth. Sam knelt down to run her hand over the little red dog’s back and he glanced up at her with a whine.

“These are your new brother and sister. The boy is called Ballast and the girl is called Muster. And don’t worry, you’re still the favorite, buddy.” she said and Rocco whimpered and then headed down the stairs to have a run with the pups, who happily obliged.

🛩🛩🛩

They had the reconnaissance they needed. A week or so had passed, and they’d received more videos of Jake in captivity. They’d had to watch as his captors broke his ribs, as they knocked him unconscious with the butt of a rifle, and as they stripped him of his flight suit, leaving him in his boxer briefs and his nasty, no longer white t-shirt.

“I can’t watch this shit anymore. When are we leaving?” Bradley turned to Maverick, who was assessing the last video feed. Part of their recon had to be centered on how poor Jake’s condition was. He was obviously run down, definitely dehydrated, and most likely sick or on the verge of getting sick. His body was taxed, beyond G-force and harsh conditions. They would need to be careful when transporting him. They also weren't aware of his mental state.

They were going in with Marines and Nat, Bob, Payback, Fanboy, Omaha, and Fritz would fly air support with a rescue helicopter. Maverick, Bradley, and Coyote would be in the chopper with the Marines and a medic. They were more extra hands to move Jake more than anything as they only had training with a pistol and hand-to-hand combat. Halo, Harvard, and Yale would stay on the carrier as back-up support. The medic was bringing a back board to put him on, surmising he wouldn't be able to walk. From the videos, they believed Jake had lost a significant amount of weight, and he had several broken bones, so moving him anywhere and quickly was going to be difficult.

Everyone headed to their stations, the helicopter waiting on deck for Bradley, Javy, and Mav. As they boarded, Nat and Bob headed over to wish them luck and they did the same for them. Bradley checked his pistol quickly and he gave a look to Mav that said he meant business.

“I don't like that look, Rooster.” Mav yelled over the sound of the rotors whirring.

“It's the only one I've got, Mav.” He yelled back and Maverick smiled wider at him and patted him on the shoulder as he also checked his pistol.

🛩🛩🛩

Jake groaned in agony, the muscles in his shoulders aching, feeling very much like they were being ripped from the bones. He continually reassessed his injuries, trying to settle in his thoughts. Breathing was laborious with his broken ribs. Every time his lungs expanded, stabbing pain shot through his mid-section, so he tried his best to take smaller breaths. His wrists were raw from the cuffs, beginning to bleed now up by his palms.

He hung his head, the smell of vomit, blood, and sweat thick in his nostrils. He'd become accustomed to it now. His captors had left him alone now for several days...maybe...at least Jake thought it was several days. There was very little light that came in through the place he was being held. Everything was grey and stone like, cold and unforgiving. The last time he had water was...a while ago...and the last food he'd had came back up almost as soon as it hit the top of his stomach. He was dizzy, and keeping his eyes shut was the only thing helping the massive headache he had. His head felt like it was being split in two, right down the middle. Dehydration looked fucking terrible on him. His thoughts, despite it all, continuously centered on one thing.

Sam .

You're more beautiful than an afterburner at night.

You've made me the man that I should've always been, in the short time we've been together.

I would die for you...but...I can’t do that because I have to live for you. I need to live for you.

If you only knew this hell I'm going through, it might terrify you. God, if you only knew how much I fucking miss you.

Maybe you do know...maybe you have this telepathic line to my thoughts and you know exactly what I'm thinking. You know exactly how much I want to be with you right now. How fucking terrible I feel. I feel like this is all my fault.

Can't think like that, Jake. Gotta stay positive. They will come find you. They will. They will. Bradley promised. Mav promised. Nat promised. They will find you.

God, Samantha, I miss you.

Miss everything about you. You're beautiful smile and the way you speak, so fucking sure of yourself. Those pretty brown waves that fall over your shoulders, or across your back when you're laying in bed. Fuck...I love every damn bit of you.

I love kissing your neck. I love the way you kiss me back. I miss the way you run your fingers through my hair. Ugh it feels so good. I love how you look at me when I fuck you...God do I miss being inside you. You're the best I've ever had, baby girl. The absolute best.

And I fucking miss you so much.

Jake felt the sting of tears and he blinked a few times, as his head pounded harder. Not only was he crying from the pain but he was crying from how badly he missed Sam. He just wished he was home with her, cuddling under the sheets, the ocean breeze coming in through the balcony door, the smell of the salty air refreshing and calming.

The feel of her soft and warm skin beneath his rough, calloused palms...

Suddenly, there was commotion somewhere beyond his location. He heard gunshots and grunting, the sounds of struggle and screaming in a foreign language. Jake's heart sped up and his jaw clenched tight as he moved his head to look at the door where his captors normally entered.

There in the doorway, stood a man, in black tactical gear, pointing a rifle into the room. Behind him, a familiar face.

“Rooster, what the fuck took you so long? I'm dyin’ here.” Jake rasped, his own voice barely recognizable through the exhaustion and dryness present in his vocal chords. The man in tactical gear radioed back to what Jake presumed was the boat. He heard more fighting and gunfire and then everything ceased. A medic appeared and with him, Maverick and Coyote to help pull Jake from his restraints.

“Area secure. Target found, alive. Bringing him home.” The man said, pushing Rooster through the door. “Better hurry, they'll know we're coming in t-minus two minutes and they'll be pretty pissed we didn't bring any uranium to exchange.”

#jake seresin x oc #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun hangman #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #glen powell

27 notes · View notes

kylobith · 10 months ago

Text

Little Town Tails

Chapter 5: The First Butterflies

Summary: Halsin and Tav are given the chance to know each other a little bit better.

Ship/Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Tav

Trope: Modern AU, Meet-cute, Little countryside town, Cosy

Word count: 5,647

Read it on Ao3 here

Listen to the dedicated playlist on Spotify here

Emerald Grove goes through its first week as smoothly as a cog with the winds in its sails. Halsin welcomes a variety of animals in his consultation room for reasons as diverse as the species he has seen. From a routine checkup to heavier surgeries, every animal receives care and devotion in his practice, either from him or Karlach, who never skips on the chance to give the pets a good cuddle before they leave. A few of them need to remain under observation overnight, especially for older patients whose state requires closer monitoring. Before going home at the end of each shift, the tiefling makes sure to spend some quality time with the animals, giving them enough cuddles and kisses to last a lifetime, not hesitating to stay for an extra unpaid hour. Luckily, Halsin has found himself so grateful to have such a dedicated assistant that he does not hesitate to pay her for what they affectionately name ‘cuddle time’.

If anything, Karlach has only improved in her work. Fewer mistakes have been made when logging in patient information or appointments, and Halsin trusts her enough to make new patient files for those who desire to make him their pets’ designated veterinarian. She is a fast learner, constantly working on welcoming anxious owners in the best way possible, offering treats to the pets and sweets to the humans, always slipping one or two extra to the tiny ones.

Astarion’s work is just as qualitative. Halsin cleared the guest room in his own home so the vampire could sew in peace with a proper workspace and in a way that the noise will not disturb or frighten the animals. As promised, he enjoys quite a lot of freedom when choosing fabrics and patterns, and his first shirts were already given away to freshly operated pets in recovery. As far as they are aware, no problems with the shirts have been reported and, in fact, many owners and their children seemed to have felt more in control of the situation by being offered a choice in silly and cute patterns for the recovery shirts.

On Friday morning, everybody is busy with their own task at Emerald Grove. The faint whirring of the sewing machine can be heard through the ceiling, but not so much that it becomes a bother or that it startles you. Every so often, the floorboards crack when Astarion moves around the room to fetch new fabric, patterns or his equipment. Downstairs, playing Led Zeppelin through the speakers, Karlach hums along to the tunes while managing incoming emails or putting away the delivered kibble Halsin ordered on Wednesday.

In his office, Halsin reads the files of his afternoon patients once their previous veterinarians have transferred them over to him. While reading the medical history of a rat struggling with chronic severe itching to see what treatments have already been attempted, he hears his work phone ping. Startled by the sound, he chugs the cold tea he has forgotten, so focused he has been on the record. He grabs the telephone and unlocks it, seeing that a text message has come in.

‘Good morning Doctor Silverbough, would it be possible to make a medical report for Beaky’s injury? The lawyer from the APO advised me to get one to add more weight to the lawsuit against Mr Bongle. I hope that’s not too much trouble! Thank you in advance.’

Halsin smiles from ear to ear as he realises that it is from Tav. Without thinking, he puts the phone down and opens a new document on his computer to type in the medical report. He adds all the information he can cram into it, even seemingly minor details to be safe, and joins the X-rays taken of Beaky’s paw before and after surgery to the file. Once all is done, he takes his phone again to answer her.

‘Good morning Miss Ashguard, this is no problem at all, I am glad that you are asking and I am just as happy to provide for Beaky’s well-being. To which email address should I send it? Doctor Silverbough.’

Swiping his thumb down, he consults missed notifications and skips some of them. But right as he is about to open an important email, the phone vibrates. Tav answered already.

‘Would it be possible to print out two copies? I don’t have a printer and it seems that the lawyer is a bit old-fashioned. I will be in Heawick today, I can just pick them up.’

Feeling an odd tingle in his fingertips, Halsin smiles at the screen. On the computer, he sets out to print three copies of the file to be safe, then types in an answer.

‘They will be waiting for you in my office, then. Come by at any time. I can also put them aside for another day if you do not find the time to come, should that happen. Doctor Silverbough.’

Then, he hears the little doorbell and puts his phone in his pocket. Time for his duty.

Later on, when all morning consultations are done and the printed medical reports are sorted on his desk, Halsin peeks outside the window. For once, it is quite sunny and warm outside, even for an early spring day. He decides to take his lunch break outside. As he puts his jacket over his scrubs, he lets Karlach know that she can close the practice for half an hour, and that she and Astarion can use the spare key should they wish to fetch something to eat in town. Then, carrying his old cotton sandwich bag, he goes out.

The small park has never looked prettier than on this fine day. As he sits on a sunlit bench, fondly watching the ducks quacking around in the pond, he enjoys his lunch on his own. His phones are silenced for this half hour, his only music is the singing of the birds over his head, although the occasional car disrupts the otherwise harmonious setting. Even when he is done eating, he rests his elbows on the backrest and tilts his head back, welcoming the warmth kissing his traits.

The rustle of plastic bags pulls him out of his reverie. He cracks an eye open and sees Melly, the baker’s mother, dressed in her infamous duck cardigan and carrying her groceries. Out of politeness, Halsin stands up and smiles at the elderly lady.

‘Good afternoon, Melly,’ he greets her warmly. ‘Isn’t it nice to see the sun again after so much rain?’

‘Halsin! What a surprise!’ the woman beams. ‘Oh, quite pleasant, indeed! How has your week been, dear? Everything alright at the practice?’

He invites her to sit down on the bench next to him, gracefully taking the bags from her and holding her hand so she can lower herself onto the small seat. What an unpractical design. They set the bags between them and begin to chat merrily. He tells her about employing Astarion for pet shirts, and Melly is nothing but intrigued to hear about it. He omits the vampire’s legal issues, of course, not wishing to breach confidentiality in the way that the lawyer seems to have done to help his cases.

‘Now this sounds like quite the week, dear!’ she says while rummaging through one of the bags. She takes out a box of chocolate biscuits and opens it, before pointing it at him. ‘Would you like to share?’

‘Oh, no, thank you Melly. I am trying to watch out. The renovations and the opening completely threw off my eating habits. I want to get back to healthy eating.’

‘Oh, dearie, the occasional snack has never hurt anybody. You should treat yourself from time to time. Still no?’

Halsin chuckles and hesitates for a second before reaching into the box to catch a biscuit. As she does so too, she clinks her cookie against his, as though she is toasting. They laugh and savour the treat in silence, watching the ducks and their bring new twigs towards the little floating nesting box that the town hall had built for them.

‘There should be ducklings about soon, I believe,’ he says enthusiastically.

‘You really do love ducks, Halsin, don’t you?’

There is no hint of judgment in Melly’s voice. Merely affection, as always. Ever since he moved to Heawick, she has given him unconditional support, despite her having no particular reason to do so. At first, it was curiosity that brought her out of the bakery to inquire about the works done to what was once a woodworker’s shop. After a lovely chat during which he invited her in for tea and she brought some pastries, she seemed to have taken a liking to him and never hesitated to watch him work from the bakery and bring him food if she noticed that he had not taken a break in a long time.

Despite his advanced age, Melly is the coddling grandmother he never had. Whenever he sees her, while feeling the urge to be courteous and mannered, he cannot help but feel some childlike joy ignite within him. If anything, she is one of the reasons why he has felt like home from the moment he set foot in Heawick.

‘Mh?’

Feeling the old lady nudge him playfully, he realises that he was lost in thought. He jolts and chuckles.

‘Oh, sorry. Yes, I love ducks. And bears. They are my absolute favourites.’

‘That is good to know. And that explains the little duck on your reception counter.’

Halsin laughs again and sees that Melly is trying to stand up. He rises to his feet and helps her up, then picks up her groceries from the bench.

‘Let me carry them for you,’ he offers.

‘Oh, no, no, son, don’t you bother. You have to go back to work! Besides, I’m stronger than you think for my age.’

She takes the bags from him and pretends to be lifting weights just to make him smile.

‘Well, it seems that you are happy with your week, Halsin, it warms my heart to see it,’ she chimes with a pinch of his cheek. I’ve already heard from Arfer that he was most satisfied with your methods and Clawdia was quite jolly afterwards herself!’

‘That is all that matters to me.’

‘In this case, you should head back. I will see bring you and your two colleagues some treats on Monday. Ta-ta!’

‘Bye, Melly!’

While he waves at her, he takes a step away and feels that his foot is crushing another under its weight and his shoulder knocks into someone’s chest. As the other person yelps and nearly loses balance, he quickly catches them. Embarrassment dusts his cheeks with rosy hues, which only deepen when his gaze meets a pair of beautiful turquoise eyes. His breath catches in his throat instantly. His heart races. If not already holding her by the arms, his palms would grow clammy.

‘Miss Ashguard!’ he blurts out breathlessly. ‘Oh, I apologise, I did not look where I was going. Did I hurt you?’

Tav’s face illuminates in a heartbeat as she recognises him.

‘Oh, hi, Doctor Silverbough! I wasn’t looking either, I’m sorry. But no, no, you didn’t hurt me. Are you alright?’

‘Oh, yes, yes.’

They stare into each other’s eyes for a split second, before clearing their throats and letting go of one another. Halsin scratches the back of his neck.

‘How is Beaky?’

‘He’s doing great! Recovering like a champ, I must say. I’m really glad that you took care of him. You did great.’

‘Thank you. And it was a pleasure.’

Tav tucks a lock of her fiery hair behind her pointy ear and points towards the path she is coming from.

‘Were you heading back to the practice?’

‘Indeed.’

‘May I walk with you?’

‘Of course! I have the files ready on my desk, you can already take them with you.’

‘Brilliant!’

As they walk out of the park side by side, Tav admires the town with her hands buried in her pockets.

‘Beaky’s already going outdoors again, by the way,’ she says, ‘I hope that it’s alright for his recovery. He just couldn’t stay put anymore if I left him indoors.’

‘Was it this bad?’ he inquires with an amused laugh, seizing the opportunity to take in her beauty, although he refuses to admit it, even to himself.

‘Oh, horrible! He kept horsing around, breaking stuff because he just didn’t feel comfortable inside. He almost knocked down my dad’s ashes. Now that would’ve been hell to clean from the rug.’

Halsin snaps his head around in concern. He observes her expression, which remains oddly calm after mentioning her father in such a nonchalant way.

‘I am sorry for your loss.’

‘Mh? Oh. That’s okay. I’m used to his absence by now, I suppose. Besides, he’d rather have me laugh about it than cry whenever I talk about him.’ ‘Were you two close?’

‘When I was younger we were,’ she says, burying her hands in her pockets. ‘But towards the end, we were constantly bickering about my career. He just didn’t approve of it. Not even a revelation in his last hours or anything. He hated it until the end.’

They reach the practice and enter. Karlach’s eyes illuminate with a blend of excitement and mischief as she recognises Tav and notices the fleeting glance she gives Halsin. The two women wave at each other and Halsin shows her to his office. On the desk is a stack of three coloured files of the same size. He picks them up and hands them over to her.

‘Beaky’s medical report. I made you three copies to be safe.’

‘Thank you so much,’ she chimes, taking them and briefly skimming the report. ‘That should be of great help.’

Halsin offers him a warm grin. Oddly, he is not eager for her to leave just yet. They may not have talked for long, but he feels the same tingles in his fingertips as he did when she texted him earlier this morning. What in the hells are they?

As she smiles bashfully at him and turns towards the door, his heart races and his mind nearly short-circuits. He wants to speak with her just a bit longer. Has he been a good host? Probably not. Why would he want to ask her to stay? Foolish. Stupid.

‘Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?’ he blurts out before he can stop himself, causing her to halt and peer over her shoulder at him. He suddenly wishes that he could disappear on the spot. Melt into a puddle. Deflate like a balloon and fly out the window. Catch fire. Anything. Why does he feel so giddy when she is around? He does not know her, neither she does him.

When she blinks while considering his offer, he wants to tell her that he is joking but he knows that he is not. He clears his throat and decides to play it smoothly.

‘I also have coffee and water, if that is more to your taste.’

Tav shrugs and grins. Such a beautiful sight.

‘Tea sounds heavenly.’

‘Right. Um. Have a seat,’ he says, pulling out his desk chair, the most comfortable he has ever sat on. ‘What kind? I can make you mint tea with honey.’

‘Like when I felt dizzy?’ she recollects, tilting her head in the most adorable way. ‘I would love that. It was delicious.’

Halsin nods and disappears into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Just like the first time he met Tav, he takes a moment to take deep breaths to calm his maddening heart. He cannot believe that he is losing his composure like a teenager experiencing puppy love. He is supposed to be professional and serious. This practice has been on his mind for nearly twenty years and he has finally fulfilled his dream. Is he going to throw it all away from the start by developing a crush on a pet’s owner? The first one to have ever walked in his practice, on top of that?

He cannot let this happen. Whatever this is, he must rationalise the situation. First of all, he knows next to nothing about her. Second, she is obviously younger than him, she would be better off with people her age. Third, he is being immature and he should perhaps take Karlach’s advice and sign up on one of these dating apps or sign up to a whittling or wildlife photography club in his free time. He would be meeting other people there. Other women. More appropriate relationship could occur there.

There. His heart is finally quiet. But the boiling kettle is not, yet he nearly misses its signal that the water is ready. He hastily prepares two cups of tea and brings them over to his office.

He finds Tav reading the report while gently swinging from side to side on his desk chair. When she hears his footsteps, she looks up and closes the files, putting them away for safety, should she accidentally spill her cup.

‘Thank you!’

Halsin smiles and sits in front of her on the stool that originally stood in his guestroom but swapped for the chair so Astarion can work comfortably. The clinking of her spoon against her cup as she stirs the honey while holding the branch of mint soothes him. His office often feels much too lonely, and finally having someone visit him there that is not Karlach or Astarion feels rather special to him.

‘So,’ he starts, trying to break the awkward silence, ‘you mentioned earlier that your father disapproved of your career. What awful path is it that you chose for him to be so against it?’

Tav chuckles and takes a first sip of the tea, grimacing as she burns her tongue.

‘I compose radio and commercial jingles.’

‘That is quite interesting, actually! Anything I might have heard?’

‘Probably not, unless you listen to the radio. The commercials aren’t broadcast widely, they’re mostly local.’

‘Do you like what you do, then?’

She shrugs and dares to take another sip, which finally comes easier to her. Just like him, she wraps her hands around the cup to savour its heat and takes a second to smell the mouth-watering blend of minty freshness and the heartwarming sweetness of the honey.

‘I do, but I wish I could aim higher. Ah, at least my schedule gives me enough free time to discover the region. Sometimes I can go for months without commissions, so I do need to find temporary jobs to survive. At least my dad taught me how to be a good moneysaver.’

‘That is important. I hope you will manage to sign bigger contracts, eventually.’

‘So do I,’ she grins. ‘Anyway. May I ask you when you settled down in Heawick? I can tell you’re not from here from your accent. It’s not too obvious, but there’s a hint of one. Are you from… the east?’

Halsin laughs softly and the tingles resume. Godsdammit. How dare she pay attention to the way he speaks?

‘I am! I arrived about six months ago. I bought the house upstairs and I am renting the office space for the practice. I find it somewhat silly that they came separately, but it is working so far. But I am hoping to buy it by next year, provided that all works well.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember the two being separate.’

‘How did you know?’

Tav drinks half of her cup, sighing contentedly as the drink flows down her throat.

‘I actually made an offer for the house. I made it to the final list, but it seems that your case was stronger than mine.’

He widens his eyes in surprise. The unreasonable voice in his brain whispers to him that it is fate bringing them together, but its resisting rival reminds him of the list he made in his mind earlier. He does not know her. She is younger. Dating apps.

Hiding his reaction as best he can, he takes a sip and

‘I apologise, had I known…’

‘Oh, no, not at all! I’m glad you got it. Everyone’s so happy that the practice opened, you know? That was the talk in Combury for the whole week!’

Blushing at the idea that the idea he has been cultivating for years brought such joy to the community he has been meaning to serve and help. He cannot deny that the sole knowledge of it is bringing him to the highest highs. Within the first week, he has already achieved what he assumed would take months to establish. Yet trust is easily given within and across these towns, it seems. It is much different from where he comes from.

There, despite towns being as small and close to one another, few people reached such levels of altruism and compassion as he has experienced in Heawick. Where he grew up, too many members within the same circles turned on one another over the pettiest quibbles. That was precisely why his parents preferred to take him and retire into a tightly-knit community, closer to nature.

His love for animals and the environment stems from this peculiar upbringing. Reverting to a simpler way of life, Halsin was raised surrounded by the same familiar faces who took turns in caring for him whenever something came in the way. Whenever his mother or father became ill, there was always somebody jumping in to help with chores or with feeding him. If anybody encountered a problem in their life, the community strove to tend to them as best they could until the person finally jumped over the obstacle.

Meditation in the forest was commonplace as well, and he quickly learnt to care for the animals that inhabited it. Despite being homeschooled and isolated from the rest of civilisation, he often snuck out to study in libraries and research things that he had never heard about when among his folks.

Indeed, not everything about it was as idyllic as it may sound. If a member decided to leave and pursue other interests or another lifestyle, they were shunned and became the object of much gossip. If the person had children, then they could no longer come in contact with the children of the community, no matter how well they got along. Many ties were severed abruptly in his youth as more parents realised how this concept that, while coming from good intentions, had turned rotten and corrupt.

As soon as he was old enough to gain independence, Halsin fought to leave the community. While ‘civilisation’ in itself never particularly attracted him, he believed that there would be something in-between this seemingly carefree group and the bustling, polluted city. And he found it in little towns such as Heawick. Ever since he left his family, never to speak to them again, he stuck to smaller populations, which always brought him comfort from their numbers alone.

Adapting was decidedly difficult at first, but once he found a way to fend for himself with the support of charities and organisations meant to help people like him, living in the semi-civilised world began to feel natural. He received a proper education to fill in the gaps in his general and specialised knowledge, and he was eventually able to study to become a veterinarian. And it was during his studies already that the idea of opening his own practice to connect people and serve them sprouted.

Now, it has blossomed. And what a blossom it is!

Halsin finishes his tea and leans against the table beside him, gazing at Tav.

‘Why Combury, then? Since you wanted to settle in Heawick, why did you not look for other houses?’

‘The house on Birch Lane wasn’t on sale yet, so there weren’t any other options in Heawick itself. And… I don’t know, I really wanted to live by a forest, so Combury was the other logical choice. Now I’m renting my house, which is on the forest’s edge like yours, and I own a patch of field behind it because of Beaky.’

‘Does your landlord agree about Beaky living on the property?’

‘I didn’t tell him. That’s why I try to keep Beaky on the field as much as possible. He’s happier there anyway.’

He tilts his head in disapproval.

‘You should tell him. It is a bad idea to keep it from him. I would not want you to be in trouble because of your kindness towards Beaky. Perhaps you can compromise on certain things. Just… Do not leave them in the dark.’

‘I know, I will. I just don’t know what to tell him,’ she admits, drinking the rest of her cup. She then glances at her wristwatch and stands up. ‘I’m afraid I must go, I’ve got an appointment shortly.’

While Halsin stands up and gathers the cups, she grabs the copies of the medical report and slips them inside her bag. He escorts her back to the reception, even forgetting to take the empty teacups at all, so eager is he to spend every second with her. When they find themselves near Karlach’s desk, unknowingly piquing her curiosity again, Tav rummages through her bag.

‘How much do I owe you for the report and the copies?’

The question takes him aback. Perhaps he is supposed to charge her even a small fee for making him work on Beaky’s case again, but honestly, he does not have the heart to it. After all, if this lawsuit can help with granting her compensation for the strife caused by Mr Bongle while showing that the court cares about wild animals as much as it does pets, then he can only be glad to have participated.

‘Nothing at all,’ he says warmly. ‘It was my pleasure.’

‘Doctor Silverbough, you’ve worked on this file and used precious ink and paper so I could have everything. Please, tell me how much I owe you. It’s only fair.’

Halsin gently places his hands around hers as she pulls her wallet out of the back. Unbeknownst to him, Tav is a blushing mess when he does it. It only lasts a split second, yet it is enough to turn her assurance into bashfulness and to nearly create an explosion as Karlach suppresses the urge to scream ‘I told you so’.

‘I insist. Beaky’s well-being and his safety are worth much more to me than money. I assure you.’

Tav sighs, but a smirk curves her rosy lips. She takes out a note equivalent to a hundred gold coins and slips it into the tip jar on Karlach’s desk. Both the veterinarian and his assistant stare with wide eyes as she does so, not having anticipated her gesture, let alone the amount that she put in.

Before he can react at all, Tav takes his hand and gives it a firm shake, adding to his sheepishness.

‘Thank you again for your help, Doctor Silverbough.’

Halsin sighs as though he has been holding his breath for a thousand years. Still shaken up by her donation, his handshake is not as firm as he means it to be, and he wonders whether she would take it as an insult. Probably not. The people in his region would, though.

‘Thank you for… Well. The donation. Thank you.’

Tav chuckles and shakes his hand again, and this time, he does not disappoint.

‘Have a good week-end, Doctor Silverbough.’

‘You too, Miss Ashguard.’

‘Goodbye, Miss Cliffgate!’

Karlach, quite speechless from the scene she has just witnessed, waves at her with a smile. She cannot help but boil inside as she suppresses the flaming hot urge to gossip about Halsin’s crush on Tav with Astarion.

Once Tav has left, Halsin is still facing the door, quite dumbfounded. He then hears a hardly dissimulated squeal as Karlach stomps her feet on the floor and drums her fingers on her desk.

‘Doc, do I get to tell you “I told you so” or not yet?’

He peers over his shoulder at her, raising an eyebrow.

‘Sorry?’

‘You have the ninth-layer-of-the-hells-hots for Miss Ashguard! Look at you, Doc! What was that about? Her touching your hand? Shaking it twice?!’

‘You are reading too much into things, Karlach.’

Halsin attempted to distract himself from the allegation by taking a distracted look at his agenda and checking the time. The tiefling elbows him playfully and pokes her own nose.

‘I’ve got a flair for romance, doc. Who do you think played matchmaker with Astarion? He’s married now!’

‘Miss Ashguard is the owner of an animal who happened to be treated and operated here. Our relations are purely professional. I have a code of honour.’

‘But you’re dying to breach it. I can sense it.’

Growing frustrated by the situation more than by Karlach, he rolls his eyes and prepares the consultation room for the rat with recurring skin rashes. The rest of the days goes by as smoothly as the rest of the week, and there comes the time for the team to close up shop for the week-end. Astarion joins them, carrying his sewing machine and a bundle of pet shirts of all sizes he gives to Halsin. Once he has taken a brief look and approved of them, he brings them over to the small storage room and sorts them into several boxes according to species and size.

While the vampire fetches the rest of his personal equipment and brings them downstairs, Karlach squeals as she gazes out the glass door. Halsin frowns and comes by her side to observe what is going on. Coming out of an indigo car is a man about ten years younger than him with brown and grey hair combed back yet maintaining a carefully tousled appearance. His purple shirt is unbuttoned at the top, revealing some of his chest hair and a peculiar symbol tattooed into his skin. In his hand wearing a simple golden band, he carries a thick bouquet of red roses.

Astarion, hating when he is left out of gossip, comes to look with them and lets out a groan.

‘Ugh, he should know by now that I hate flowers. What a silly gift!’

Halsin rolls his eyes with a smile and unlocks the door as the man approaches. He holds out his hand to him.

‘Hello, you must be Mr Dekarios-Ancúnin!’

Gale chuckles and shakes his hand firmly, acknowledging Karlach with a bright grin and a wink.

‘Just Dekarios, actually. I’m afraid that only one of us was allowed to change his name, and Astarion insisted,’ he responds with his usual charming demeanour. ‘You must be Doctor Silverbough.’

‘Halsin is fine. Please, come on in.’

‘Then Gale is fine too! Thank you.’

Upon seeing Astarion, who is forcing a smile despite hating the fact that he is being given flowers, Gale beams with pride and affection unlike anything Halsin has ever witnessed before.

��Hello, my love!’ he chimes, going towards his husband to kiss him. ‘This is for you, for completing your first week without being fired!’

He laughs merrily, before slipping his hand into the vampire’s.

‘Jokes aside, I’m so extraordinarily proud of you, Astarion. Really. So I thought that maybe we could celebrate it tonight?’

‘Mh. Thanks,’ Astarion replies curtly at first. Thankfully, his grimace does not last as he notices the sincerity in his husband’s gaze. He returns the kiss and nuzzles the other man’s nose. ‘Fine.’

‘Great! I already have something planned.’

‘Ugh, this better be a hot bath with candles and wine.’

Gale simply winks, yet this is enough for Astarion to smile giddily. The teacher picks up the sewing equipment to help his husband carry it to the car. Everybody goes their own way, the couple to their car, Karlach to her motorcycle, and Halsin upstairs to his home.

After this busy day, Halsin takes a warm shower and only puts some underwear on before dragging his feet, clad in bear-shaped slippers, towards the couch. He lies down on it and covers himself with his favourite plaid, before switching the television on. He zaps from channel to channel until he finds a documentary on the ocean’s wildlife. He makes himself comfortable and takes a moment to finally relax after work, doing something he truly loves.

That is, until his work phone pings.

He sighs and picks it up from the coffee table to check the notification. His face instantly illuminates as he sees Tav’s name on the screen.

‘Thank you again for the reports! You’re truly an angel! I forgot to ask you something earlier, I was wondering if you’d accept to be Beaky’s designated vet? Like people have their own GP?’

Without the need to think, his thumbs type his answer.

‘It was my pleasure, Miss Ashguard. I usually do not do this, but Beaky was an exemplary patient, so why not? I will create the patient file over the week-end, so you have nothing to worry about. Enjoy your evening. Doctor Silverbough.’

He runs a hand across his face and places the phone beside him on the blanket to divert his attention back to the documentary, which is now showing footage of a shoal of fish swimming in a set pattern. Nothing short of mesmerising.

When the ringtone plays again, he instantly check his screen with an impressive reflex.

‘Thank you! Apparently, that’s the only thing I’m able to say to you, haha! Enjoy your week-end, doctor, see you next week!’

Next week? Huh. Beaky’s appointment is not before two weeks. Ah, for now, it does not matter. He will see her then. If he gets to see her in the week to come, he will be just as glad.

The prospect alone releases butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

Taglist: @emmanuellececchi @cakenpiewhyohmy @reignydeys

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hauntedhokage · 1 year ago

Text

PART 07: Aftershock

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: Following an eventful night; the day after spent in the hospital ends up equally as eventful, only for a different reason.

[series masterlist] | {ao3} | [tumblr masterlist] | {ko-fi} | [spotify playlist]

The hospital wing where heroes were allowed to rest and recover peacefully was too quiet for your tastes, but you knew you’d be overwhelmed if you were sitting in the waiting area with the general public. Any concern you had about not waiting for someone to get you was squashed when you’d heard that Red Riot, Dynamite, and Deku were all having various injuries treated - you’d have been waiting for them all day if you’d stayed out on the streets.

You’d already been home - actually to Eijirou and Bakugou’s - took a quick shower, and gathered fresh clothes for the two men. They each kept a go bag in the coat closet by the front door, which made it easy to get what you needed after getting yourself cleaned up before getting back to where they were. The nurse had told you that they both overexerted their bodies and their quirks, so they’d be sleeping for a while and not leaving until the afternoon at the earliest. Which was fine; you weren’t working today after almost falling from a helicopter that had clearly skipped a couple safety checks, so you’d be able to bounce between their two rooms and make sure they weren’t too bored.

Or at least try to bounce into Bakugou’s until it got weird.

You hear him fussing as a nurse leaves the room looking stressed, and you stop the door from closing so you could talk to him for a minute and let him have his stuff. Maybe knowing that he had pants and casual clothes ready would help him relax and not create a revolving door of nurses until they asked Midoriya to act as his nurse. You know it had happened before, since he was probably the most difficult patient this hospital had ever seen, and was likely to happen again.

“Uh, hey,” you greet, leaning in the doorframe and taking in the sight of the number one hero looking…very pathetic.

He looked less than thrilled to be there, the metal braces keeping him there enough to remind you that he was notorious for just unhooking himself from all of the IV’s and monitors and just jumping out the window to escape while still wearing the hospital’s clothing. He’d done that during your third date with Eijirou, surprising you both during a scary movie when he’d basically thrown the door open in time with the slasher on the screen.

“Get me the hell out of here!”

“Can’t do that,” you point out, letting the door close behind you as you walk further into the room. “I’m a reporter, not a doctor, and I don’t have the keys.”

“I’m gonna stop letting Kirishima bring you home.” The counter is half hearted, but you feel better when he relaxes into the bed as you stop at his bedside and put his go bag on the chair beside his bed. “How is he?”

“A bit better than you, I think, but still not great. The nurse said there were a few broken ribs, some burns and cuts, but he’ll be okay. He wasn’t awake when I was here earlier, so I’m not sure how he’s feeling exactly.” He relaxes more at the information, and you know it’ll kill them both to be stuck here but apart. You’d need to talk to a nurse about one of them getting moved to the other’s room, since they’d feel better if they could see the other in recovery. Bakugou being a bit more cooperative with Eijirou in the room would definitely be a selling point that you’ll emphasize to get them to see the situation your way.

“I’m about the same. Broken ankle, too.”

“From catching me, I’m sure.”

“And I’d do it again.”

“It’s your job to do it again, Bakugou.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why.”

“For him, then?”

“For you, brat.” He’s not looking at you, but being strapped down means that he can’t turn away from you and his redness of his face was not because he was upset. Bakugou was outwardly angry, he wouldn’t be speaking so softly if he was mad. “I’m not good at this shit, but I don’t hate you. Never have.”

“Then why-”

“Kacchan! You’re awake!”

“Pipe down, nerd!” The instant scolding doesn’t phase Izuku, the number two hero greeting you with a hug before carefully checking you for injuries while rambling about your fall and how incredible it was to see Bakugou catch you. There were questions, too, and you try your best to answer before he can ask another (but are only half successful) until eventually you have to cut him off and get out of there.

“I promise that I’m alright, but I should go check in on Eijirou. It’s really good to see that you’re okay, Izuku.” With that, you’re excusing yourself from the room - hoping to not have to answer any more questions until Izuku settles down a bit.

You catch a nurse in passing, taking the time to ask if they’d be able to move the guys into the same room while explaining that they’ll be able to keep each other entertained if they were close - something that has her assuring you that she’d do what she could to make that happen. It was in the hospital’s best interest that Bakugou was kept entertained during his mandatory stay, and clearly she understood that just as well as you did that keeping the number one hero pacified as long as they could was best for the entire building. Then you’re turning into your boyfriend’s room, carefully shutting the door to avoid making any noise that would disrupt him.

He’s still sleeping, which was a moderate relief for you as you sat down in the chair at his bedside. His face is relaxed, only a couple bandages on his face and neck from whatever combat he’d experienced during the night. His hands were in rough shape, and you knew his torso would be heavily bandaged to protect those broken ribs. That was how you knew without a doubt he’d overused his quirk, eventually he couldn’t keep his body hard enough to truly deflect whatever was being thrown at him in a fight.

“I was faking it,” he whispers, startling you easily and you have to remind yourself that you can’t hit him while he’s injured like this even if he’s got that stupid grin on his face. “The last nurse was really chatty, babe, knew she’d never leave if she knew I was awake.”

“She’s going to get you and Bakugou in the same room, so be nice,” you whisper back, but give his hand a squeeze when he continues to grin at you. “He’s gonna be okay, by the way.”

“You already saw him?”

“I went back to your place to get your bags, and he was awake when I went in to drop his bag off. Cuts and burns, a couple broken ribs, and a broken ankle. Izuku is with him now.”

“Good,” Eijirou breathes, leaning back into the bed while keeping his eyes on you. “I’m so thankful that he was able to catch you.”

“You saw that?”

“News camera was broadcasting to the electronics store I was near. Saw you fall and saw him catch you, scariest couple of seconds of my life - and I’ve almost died a couple times.”

“Yeah, it was pretty scary. But I’m okay, a couple bruises from hitting Bakugou so hard in the catch but I’ll take that over being scraped off the pavement.”

“Never getting in a helicopter again, I’m sure.”

“Absolutely not. Ayame wants a memorial shrine so bad, she can do the aerials from now on.” The joke lands, and you follow when a gentle tug of your arm requests that you move closer. You feel better being closer to him, seated on the edge of his bed and able to feel his body heat beside yours. A reminder that he was alive, he was still here and so were you.

“I heard that the world’s more beautiful, gorgeous, news lady was on the ground helping with search and rescue.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t keep working, after all.” Your reason has him humming, his hand settling on your shoulder to gently pull you back to lie beside him in the bed. The smile on his face is very proud, and that has your chest warm with your own pride at your actions. It wasn’t that you needed to prove anything to anybody, you were just doing what needed to be done. “People needed help, and I was around.”

“And you say you aren’t that cool,” he teases, and you roll your eyes but let him lean in to get a kiss from you. “How long do we have to stay here, do you know?”

“Depends. You both seriously extended your bodies and your quirks beyond simple exhaustion. If you’re cooperative and promise to rest, hopefully this afternoon. If you’re not, I’m not sure.”

“I’ll be the most cooperative man so I can go home and snuggle with my babygirls.”

“Your bed isn’t big enough for all three of us.”

“Bakugou’s is, and I’m sure he’d be okay with us all snuggling after you fell from a helicopter, I got stabbed, and whatever else happened to him.”

“You got stabbed?” That was news to you, and the look on his face says enough about the fact that he wasn’t intending on telling you that he’d been stabbed. To be expected, but that doesn’t quell the disappointment you feel that he was going to keep that from you. Typical hero.

“Oops?”

“Kirishima Eijirou you can’t just leave that out!”

#alp #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou imagine #kirishima x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo imagine #kiribaku #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic

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mxnsterbabe · 2 years ago

Text

Male Minotaur/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 2,004 Tags & Warnings: mentions of injuries Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist | Link to Request

When Dimitris is injured on the job, he has to stay home and heal. Luckily for him, he has a doting wife who is more than happy to care for him.

As you slowly opened your eyes, you found yourself waking up to another day, your seventh morning since Dimitris, your beloved husband, had been injured on the job. The sunlight filtering through the curtains painted a warm glow on the bedroom walls, casting a comforting light over Dimitris' massive form as he lay asleep beside you. You studied his serene face for a moment before leaning in to plant a tender kiss on his rough, furry cheek. He stirred ever so slightly but remained asleep, his breathing steady and deep.

Stretching your limbs, you sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. As you stood up, you couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for Dimitris, who was still recovering from his injuries. You knew he was resilient, but the thought of him in pain made your heart ache. Determined to help, you made your way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the two of you.

The floorboards creaked softly under your feet as you shuffled to the kitchen, still half-asleep. As was your routine, you reached for the small speaker on the countertop and turned it on, allowing the soft, soothing melodies of your favourite playlist to fill the air. The familiar tunes brought a sense of comfort and relaxation, a perfect companion for your early morning routine.

You hummed along with the music as you opened the refrigerator, scanning the contents for the ingredients needed to make Dimitris' favourite breakfast. You decided on a hearty meal of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a heaping side of fruit.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee brewing in the background, as you cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them together with a fork. The sizzle of bacon cooking in the pan was music to your ears, accompanied by the gentle strumming of the guitar from the song playing in the background. Your movements were methodical and graceful, a well-practiced dance that you had performed countless times before.

As the eggs cooked, you thought about the five years you had spent with Dimitris. From the moment you met him, you knew that he was your soulmate, and your love for him had only grown stronger since. Despite the differences in your backgrounds and the challenges that came with being married to a minotaur, you had built a life together that you were proud of.

You plated the food and poured two cups of coffee, taking extra care to ensure that everything was perfect. As you did so, you found yourself smiling at the thought of Dimitris enjoying the meal you had prepared for him. You knew that your support was essential to his recovery, and you were determined to provide him with everything he needed. He would have done the same for you.

With breakfast ready, you balanced the plates and cups in your hands, making your way back to the bedroom where Dimitris lay sleeping. The soft music continued to play in the background, filtering through to the quiet bedroom.

As you settled onto the bed, you saw that Dimitris had begun to stir. His piercing blue eyes fluttered open, and he greeted you with a warm, appreciative smile. Setting the tray of food down on the bedside table, you leaned in to kiss him again. The feel of his soft, warm mouth meeting yours was as exhilarating as it had been when you first fell in love.

"How are you feeling this morning, love?" you asked, concern lacing your voice as you brushed a stray lock of hair away from his eyes.

Dimitris let out a soft sigh, but his smile never faded. "I'm not going to lie. I'm not used to sitting around like this. It's been a while since I've felt so... helpless."

You reached for his large, calloused hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know it's hard for you, Dimitris, but you need to rest and recover. You're strong, and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

He smiled at your reassuring words, his massive hand engulfing yours as he gave it a gentle squeeze in return. "Thanks. I know I can always count on you to keep me grounded."

You smiled back, your heart swelling with love for this incredible creature who had captured your heart so completely. "That's what I'm here for. Now, let's enjoy this breakfast I made for you."

Dimitris chuckled softly, the deep rumble of his laughter sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "You always know how to spoil me, don't you?"

You grinned, lifting the tray onto his lap so that he could enjoy the meal you had prepared. As the two of you ate, you chatted about anything and everything that came to mind. Honestly, while you were upset that he was hurt, you enjoyed the chance to be with him. His work as a police officer always kept him so busy, it was a rare treat to spend mornings with him like this.

Eventually, talk turned to Dimitris’ recovery. You didn’t put off asking about it, exactly, but you knew it was a sensitive topic. Still, you liked staying updated.

"So, how has the physiotherapy been going?" you inquired gently, trying not to push too hard but wanting to ensure he was on top of his recovery.

He grimaced slightly, taking a moment to swallow a bite of his eggs. "It's not my favourite thing. It's uncomfortable and frustrating, but it’s necessary."

You nodded, offering him an understanding smile. "I know it's tough, but it’ll be worth it in the long run."

Dimitris looked into your eyes, his expression softening. "I know it can't be easy dealing with me being all mopey. You know how much I appreciate everything, don’t you?"

You chuckled and nodded, reaching out to touch his arm. "Dimitris, I'm just grateful that you're recovering. I'd do anything for you, you know that. We'll get through this together."

He smiled warmly, the affection in his gaze making your heart flutter. “I couldn't ask for a better partner in all of this."

As you finished your breakfast and cleared the dishes, Dimitris expressed his gratitude once again for your unwavering support. You offered him a bright grin and leaned down to ghost your lips across his.

“I love you,” you mumbled against the kiss.

“I love you too.”

Once breakfast was finished, you suggested that both of you spend some time on the balcony, enjoying the warm sunlight and the fresh air. Dimitris hesitated for a moment, then agreed, knowing that a change of scenery would do him good.

"It sounds good," he said with a smile. "I could use some fresh air."

You could see the determination in his eyes as he prepared to get up, even though it was evident that the process was challenging for him. His sprained ankle was far from the worst of it - he’d slipped a disc in his back too, and he was covered in dark, nasty bruises beneath his thick fur.

You stood by his side, ready to offer your support as he carefully shifted his massive frame to the edge of the bed. His size and weight made the task daunting, but you were determined to help him.

"Take it easy, Dimitris. I'm right here to help," you reassured him.

Placing one hand on his back and the other under his arm, you gently guided him as he pushed himself up, taking care not to put too much pressure on his strained ankle. Once Dimitris was on his feet, you encouraged him to stretch his leg a little before venturing to the balcony.

"Let's do some gentle stretches before we head outside," you suggested.

You held onto him as he slowly bent his knee and flexed his foot, wincing slightly at the discomfort but determined to push through it. You offered words of encouragement and praised his efforts, letting him know how proud you were of his progress.

"You're doing great, love. Just a few more stretches."

With the stretching exercises complete, you carefully assisted Dimitris in navigating the short distance to the balcony, your heart swelling with pride as you watched him take those slow, lumbering steps.

"Almost there, Dimitris. The sun feels amazing today."

Stepping onto the balcony, you both took a moment to bask in the glorious sunshine, its warm embrace enveloping you like a comforting hug. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with the occasional fluffy white cloud drifting lazily by. Birds flitted about, their cheerful songs creating a beautiful song.

You helped Dimitris settle into a comfortable chair, propping his injured ankle on a cushioned footstool to alleviate any strain. You then cuddled in beside him, your hands intertwined, as you both soaked in the peaceful atmosphere.

"It's so beautiful out here," you remarked, taking in the sights and sounds of nature.

Dimitris nodded in agreement. "It really is. I can’t wait for a real summer."

As you leaned closer to Dimitris, resting your head on his broad shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, he wrapped an arm around you. He drew you nearer, and you were happy to lean into his embrace.

As you both sat there, listening to the birds singing their joyful melodies, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to share this moment with Dimitris. The two of you cuddled together, enjoying each other's company in the gentle embrace of the morning sun.

You cosied into Dimitris' side, his thick black fur providing warmth and comfort that enveloped you like a soft blanket. The heat radiating from his body chased away any lingering chill from the morning air, and you felt safe and protected in his strong arms.

Dimitris seemed to enjoy the closeness as well, his chest rumbling with contentment as his large hand came to rest on your arm. His claws, though formidable and sharp, grazed gently across your skin, tracing delicate patterns that sent shivers of delight down your spine.

"You know, I could get used to mornings like this," he murmured, his warm breath tickling your ear.

You smiled, nestling even closer to him. "So could I, love."

The two of you continued to relax on the balcony, the sounds of the bustling world below fading into the background as you focused on the beauty of nature and the warmth of each other's presence. The sunlight cast a golden glow on your entwined forms, a testament to the love that had only grown stronger over the years.

Over the years, your love had only grown stronger, and in moments like these, it seemed as if nothing could ever come between you and Dimitris. The soothing sounds of nature and the warmth of your husband's presence began to lull you into a state of drowsiness. Your eyelids grew heavy, and you felt yourself starting to drift off once more.

As you nestled closer to Dimitris, seeking the reassuring comfort of his embrace, he seemed to sense your growing fatigue. With a gentle smile, he adjusted his hold on you, making sure you were securely cradled against his broad chest.

"Feeling sleepy, love?" he asked softly, his voice a tender rumble that only served to deepen your drowsiness.

"Mmm," you murmured, too drowsy to form a coherent response. "Just so cosy and warm here with you."

Dimitris chuckled softly, planting a tender kiss on the top of your head. "Sleep, love. I've got you."

With those comforting words, you allowed yourself to fully relax into Dimitris' embrace. The soft sounds of the birds and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze served as a soothing lullaby, while the warmth of Dimitris' fur enveloped you like a cocoon.

As you drifted off to sleep, held securely in Dimitris' loving arms, you knew that no matter what challenges life threw your way, you would always find solace and strength in each other's love.

#exophilia fiction #exophilia #monster x reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #tag: mxf #tag: male monster #tag: female reader #tag: minotaur #tag: sfw

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trippinsorrows · 2 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty seven

authors note: none.

cw/tw: angst, threats of violence, csa survivor being triggered

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 13k

Solana gasps when the familiar scent of her husband’s cologne, strong yet subtle, invades her nostrils conjoined with the welcoming embrace of his strong arms around her body. Naturally, she turns around from the counter where she was putting away dishes, a small smile on her face as he rests his hands on the small of her back.

However, her grin dims a bit when she sees he’s fully dressed. “You’re leaving already?”

Roman nods, explaining, “I need to get back on track. The sooner, the better.”

His words, logically, make sense. But, they do nothing to abate her nerves. “What if you worked from home?” She then proposes in an almost selling manner. “I called off today anyway, so I’ll be here in case you need something.”

Something being a euphemism for the word anything. In the few days that have passed since the funeral, Solana has continued to stay with and watch her husband like a hawk. Ready to support him in any way that he needs, the memory of him breaking down in front of her, holding her while he cried into her stomach, something she will never forget.

Something he desperately needed.

And something he hasn’t outright spoken about. She gets it. Understands how both major and uncomfortable that had to have been for him. Emotions are tricky and confusing, and for someone who’s used to pushing them away, feeling them all at once can be….an experience.

His thick brows furrow slightly, as he asks the million dollar question. “Why’d you call off?”

Shit.

A couple of reasons.

Beyond just the obvious of wanting to be physically present and available for him.

One, while her husband was in their home gym, trying to work off some of his still heavy emotions, she sat near the toilet for almost twenty minutes, vomiting twice and afraid of a third occurrence, hence her not leaving. Second, Solana still feels not the best—morning sickness attacking her with all the rage the past two days. Three, she has the appointment today.

And none of these things can be said to the man before her who looks understandably confused.

So, she goes with a not entirely untrue answer but not the full truth either. “Didn’t really feel up to it today.” Her fingers scrunch the soft material of his shirt. “Besides, I didn’t want to leave you alone….”

And that is not a lie. Solana has tried her best to keep reminding herself that she can’t be with her husband 24/7, but given how they have been together practically 24/7 for over a week straight, it’s kind of hard not to want that to continue.

She’s anxious at the thought of not being nearby in case he needs something.

In case he needs her.

Roman shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.” There’s a hint of concern etched in his handsome features as he asks, “are you sure you’re okay?” Solana does her best to remain with a neutral expression even as his shifts into something of a frown. “Feel like you’ve been sick a lot lately...”

“Stress,” she answers. Again, technically not a lie. “It’s just been…..a lot recently.” But then, she feels bad because she sees that he feels bad. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I just need to make sure you’re….okay enough.”

Because wanting him to be good is a ridiculous expectation. Not with what he’s just been through. She knows better than anyone how recovery from a major loss like that can take some time.

A lot of time.

Roman’s still looking at her unconvinced. Like….like there’s something he’s not saying.

Or asking.

And, it’s unnerving, because sitting on a pile of secrets is always stressful enough. Adding in her overtly protective and possibly suspicious husband is even more unsettling and not anything she can tolerate right now.

“I’ll come see you at lunch then,” she suggests, partially wanting to actually check on him mid-day but also needing them to get off this subject.

It seems to work, as he objects, “you don’t have to do that, Sol.”

“But, I want to,” she counters, lifting her palm to his cheek. “You’ve helped me get to the point where I’m okay….now it’s my turn.”

Solana is unsure what okay will look like for Roman, because everyone’s definition is different. But, whatever it is, whatever it requires, she’s willing and ready to walk with him, right by his side, the entire time.

Roman leans down and kisses her forehead, muttering, “come with me.” He straightens back up and goes to grab her hand, explaining, “I want to show you something.”

Solana nods and allows him to walk them out the kitchen and past the living room where she sees Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed. Roman guides them up the steps and into their bedroom only for her to gasp, turning to him with a small smile. “Roman? What is all of this?”

This referring to the more than several set of small to medium black, luxury shopping bags with a foreign word written in calligraphy sitting on the dresser. Moving closer, another gasp when she realizes they’re almost all filled with various sized jewelry boxes.

“When did you even….” She trails off, grabbing a random box and opening it, mouth dropping at the stunning diamond necklace. “Roman, this is beautiful.” Because it is, and she’s certain every other piece he’s apparently purchased for her is just as stunning.

He’s moved over towards her, arms crossed as he explains, “it’s handmade Italian jewelry. I wasn’t sure exactly what you’d like best, so I just got it all.” He says it so casually, Solana’s eyes widening at the thought of how much all of this could have cost.

“How much did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismisses, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “You’re worth it all.”

His words warm her heart and make those butterflies form as her eyes land on something else. Carefully closing the box and placing it back inside the bag, she’s quick with grabbing the beautiful brown leathered book. “You got me journals!” It’s said with such elation, almost childlike, evoking a chuckle from Roman. The smile on her face widening as she runs her hand over the soft cover. Opening said journal, an engravement on the inside of the front cover catches her attention. It’s written in what she would guess is Italian.

Italian jewelry. Italian leather, most likely. Putting two and two together would indicate these are gifts he got her while he was away in Italy. A realization that makes her heart flutter. He was there on business yet still made time for her.

Always thinking of her.

Moved and now especially curious about the words she cannot read for herself, Solana asks, “what does it say?”

And without even reading it, Roman speaks in Italian, moving his hand to gently cup her face as he translates in a quiet voice, “you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Her heart swells, eyes shutting momentarily to bask in the moment. Love is such a beautiful, sacred thing, treasured and coveted. Something she’s found, so deeply and heavenly, with him.

Always with him.

And it’s in that moment, as she leans up and kisses him, reciprocating her vow of love, that it hits her.

Solana knows exactly what tattoo she wants to get for her husband.

————

The minute the backdoor is opened and Roman slides in the SUV, he’s met with Dwayne’s hulking frame, phone glued to his ear.

“I don’t fucking care if it’s impossible. Make it possible,” he barks. Roman chuckles. His cousins’s temper can rival his at times, and this aggression and irritation that fills the SUV makes it a bit easier for him to drift from sorrow to business.

Emotions have always been…..weird for him. Something he’s always possessed but worked tirelessly to push away and suppress, only to ever really reveal and express around one woman before Solana.

Fetu.

She was always his safe space. His anchor. His safety.

Her being gone isn’t something that’s computed, that’s truly set in, that he’s accepted. Or, maybe he has. Maybe it was that crushing realization that not only is she gone but that he didn’t even get to see or speak to her one last time that made him break down in his wife’s arms.

Years.

It’s been years since Roman has cried. Not since the day of the funerals where he refused to leave the gravesite of his deceased family. Where he cried and apologized profusely for hours for not being able to save them.

For failing them and not being strong enough to do so.

That….that was the last day he’d allowed himself to shed a tear.

Until now.

It was both a strange, liberating experience. One he never wants to experience again but also…..needs.

Two opposing forces that make little sense and account for a shit ton of cognitive dissonance.

The only thing that does make sense is his wife.

Solana.

That is the one thing, the one person he needs. Now more than ever.

And she’s been nothing but his rock throughout this whole thing. Even when he tried to push her away and ice her out, she stayed. Supported him. Helped him. Cared for him. Loved him.

He wasn’t lying when he told her he couldn’t have made it through this without her.

He couldn’t.

At all.

And as nice as being with her, not having to think or focus on anything but himself and all of his heavy ass emotions has been, it couldn’t last forever.

Because as much as he still feels not okay, he’s gotta pull it together.

One way or another.

“Yeah….that’s what I fucking thought,” Dwayne snaps, pulling Roman from his thoughts, before snatching the phone from his ear and smashing the red end button. “Fucking incompetent pieces of shit.”

“Do I want to know?” Roman asks, even though he really wants to substitute want with need. Right now, essential information and problems is all he wants to tackle this day. It’s bad enough his Wise Man is out sick.

Paul is usually the buffer and filter for all the bullshit, something Roman truly has little patience for on most days, even more on a day like today.

“Naw.” Dwayne shakes his head. “I got it.” He turns to his cousin as Roman signals for the driver to start driving. “How you doing?”

A dumbass question in Roman’s mind, but he doesn’t say as such. “Fine.” He’s not, but as easy as Dwayne can be to talk to sometimes, if Roman is going to talk to someone about feelings and shit, it’s going to be his wife.

And, well, her.

Maybe.

“Bullshit,” Dwayne calls him out, lightly shoving his shoulder. “But, getting back into the swing of things might be helpful for you. You like yelling at people.”

“I shouldn’t have to though,” is the easy counter. “People should just do their fucking job.”

Dwayne gestures to his phone. “That’s what I just told this dumbass.” Roman snickers and shakes his head as his older cousin clears his throat and suddenly asks, “that wife of yours talk to you?”

Roman easily hides the way his shoulders tense at being asked about Solana. “About?”

Dwayne’s expression shifts into something a bit more serious, and this isn’t lost upon Roman. “About what went down with Rikishi?”

“Yes.” The answer to that is easy and simple. Solana did technically tell him something happened between her and his older cousin, but she did not say specifics. And he knows that was for a reason. “Now tell me what really happened.”

————

The conference room is already filled with the expected persons by the time Roman and Dwayne arrive. All but two chairs are occupied as Jimmy, Jey, Solo, Rikishi, and Matteo wait with various expressions. The sons and father seem to be engaged in quiet conversation while Matteo keeps to himself, preoccupied with the phone in his hand.

That dynamic is about all that Roman can make out as he marches right into said conference room, Dwayne not too far behind. The men are barely able to finish standing when Roman marches right over to Rikishi’s chair, grabbing him by his collar, snatching him out the chair and shoving him against the nearest wall.

Roman is somewhat cognizant of the voices of shock and protest around him, but it doesn’t make a single fucking difference.

He’s seeing red.

Muscled forearm barred against Rikishi’s fat neck, he finds joy in the way the older man’s eyes are bulging and the almost desperate way his chubby fingers try to push him away. “If you ever in your fucking life raise your hand to her again, I’ll kill you! You understand me!” Roman relishes in the absolute fear emanating from the man before him. Good. “Don’t you ever fucking disrespect my wife!”

By now, Roman is a bit more cognizant to the hands grasping at him, trying to pull him away from his target.

“Ayo, Uce, what the hell you doing!” Jimmy’s voice makes it past the thick wall of anger that fills and consumes Roman as he thinks about this fucker having to audacity to try to hit his wife.

Over Roman’s dead fucking body will anyone disrespect Solana. Especially his family.

“Get the hell off him!” Roman is finally “pulled” away from a now gasping, coughing Rikishi. It’s truly Roman’s decision to let go, because ain’t no way in hell not a man in that room could stop him from killing this son of a bitch right now if he wanted to.

And a part of him does. He really does. But, it’s hard to tell how much of that desire is fueled by his grief vs logic.

But, it’s when Roman realizes both Jey and Solo are standing in front of a reddened face Rikishi, while Jimmy tends to his dad, that he really gets pissed the fuck off. They have the audacity to look like they’re ready to jump him. “What ya’ll about to do, huh?” Roman challenges, ready for whatever. As he always is. “Ya’ll ain’t about to do shit!”

And maybe, just maybe, they are. Doesn’t matter. He’ll kick both their asses and make their daddy watch.

Jimmy then moves over after helping Rikishi to his feet. “Roman, what the hell are you even talking about?”

Chin jutted in Rikishi’s direction, his answer is cold and direct. “Ask him.”

Another harsh cough followed by an unexpected answer as he moves to the side, no longer completely obscured by the protective wall of two of his sons. “She hit me first. Did she tell you that?”

At that answer, both Jey and Jimmy look slightly taken back. Solo just continues to glare at Roman, who’s tempted to knock him out for that disrespect alone.

“She did,” Dwayne suddenly chimes, him and Matteo simply watching the scene unfold without a hint of interference. For now. “But, this was only after you made fun of her being abused and basically told her she was useless because she hasn’t produced an heir yet.” Just hearing it again has Roman’s eyes closing and hand fisting at his side. Rage. “Regardless, you know the rules. We don’t put our fucking hands on women.” And then an almost knowing comment/question. “Or have you forgotten?”

It’s a simple question, but it feels like there’s a story there. The way anger flashes in Rikishi’s face and eyes, something similar to what’s painted on his twins faces. Roman, however, is redirected from wondering if there was more to said comment by Jimmy and Jey switching their focus back to their dad.

“Dad, did you really do that?” Jimmy is the one to ask, shaking his head. “Tell me you ain’t say that shit.”

Rikishi doesn’t hesitate to defend himself. “The girl was out of line.”

“Aye,” Jimmy is the one to cut him off. “Her name is Solana, alright?”

“Just let him talk,” Jey interrupts. “Two sides to every story.”

“Not when it’s a man trying to hit a woman,” Jimmy counters. “Making fun of her trauma and shit.”

Jey is also not backing down. “Look, we weren’t there, alright?”

“But, I was, and I saw exactly what went down,” Dwayne reminds, crossing his arms.

“And if I may,” Matteo suddenly enters the conversation, Jey only looking more irritated than before. “Under no circumstance should a man try to hit a woman. Ever.”

Jey doesn’t hesitate to try to put Matteo in his place. “Aye, look, this don’t involve you, alright. This Bloodline business.”

“I suggest you lower your voice.” Matteo’s own voice takes on an icy tone as he so chillingly threatens, “I’d hate to have to spill your blood in front of your family. On this otherwise lovely day, too. A shame.”

Matteo’s very real threat only further incenses Jey. “I know you not fucking threatening me.” He steps forward, Solo reaching to restrain his older brother. “Man, I’ll knock your ass out!”

Matteo smiles. “I look forward to seeing you try.”

Jey points to Roman, “you better get your fucking boy, Roman.”

Roman couldn’t care too much about that. “Tell your fucking dad to keep his hands off my wife.”

“Man, you overreacting! He ain’t even touch her!”

Roman growls, “just because you don’t give a fuck about your bitch of a wife—”

“What the hell you just say?” At that, Jey’s very paltry sense of resolve breaks. “I told you, you not gon’ keep disrespecting my wife, or we gon have problems!”

Roman goes to move toward Jey, never ever scared when both Matteo and Dwayne go to restrain him. “If you gon do something, do it!” It takes a great amount of strength from both men to hold back an irate, borderline unhinged Roman. “I’ll whoop you and your daddy’s ass, and if Solo keeps looking at me like he’s lost his goddamn mind, I’ll kick his ass too!”

“That’s enough!” Jimmy finally cuts in, also going to restrain Jey, standing between an almost standoff. Rikishi, Solo, and Jey vs Roman, Dwayne, and Matteo. “Everybody just needs to calm down!”

“Your anger is misplaced, Uce.” Rikishi sounds, Dwayne still holding onto Roman’s arm while Matteo has loosened his grip in favor of focusing on the other three, waiting to see if they’ll do something. “Especially considering I was the one who tried to plead on your behalf just this morning,” he taunts almost, as if trying to get under Roman's skin even further.

And, it partially works.

Roman doesn’t need anyone to do shit for him.

“Plead for what?” Dwayne is the one to ask, recognizing verbalizations are a much better alternative to the physical melee that’s on the horizon if de-escalation doesn’t start. And fast.

Rikishi straightens up, adjusting his tie, almost as if he’s trying to act like his life didn’t just end suddenly and violently. “The Elders have grown tired of waiting for the Tribal Chief to produce an heir.” Dwayne tightens his grip ever so slightly, feeling Roman try to inch away from him. “You and your wife are to conceive by the end of the year….or else.”

It’s almost an instant thing, several sets of eyes all on Roman, most of which trying to anticipate and navigate his next move.

Meanwhile, Roman’s mouth shifts, his nose snarled as he finds himself shouting, Dwayne again having to hold him back from lunging. “Or else what!”

Rikishi’s voice is eerily calm as he answers in an even voice, “they will make you divorce Solana and take a new wife of their choosing this time.”

————

There’s an emptiness she feels sitting in the patient room, waiting for the nurse to walk in. Roman’s absence is noticeable and heavy, and she hates it. Hates that this is yet another thing that she has to keep from him.

That she’s chosen to keep from him, because at this point, these are choices she’s making.

She chose to not tell him about her potentially being pregnant. Chose to not tell him once the pregnancy was confirmed. And chose to still not tell him even as she sits at her first OB-GYN appointment.

And yes, all of that may be for good reasons, for her wanting to protect and be mindful of where he is mentally and emotionally.

Still, it doesn’t negate the fact that it sucks.

And that it hurts.

It hurts a lot.

Following a small knock and opening of the door, Solana looks up from her lap and wipes away at her blurry gaze, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s just walked in. “Hello.”

She’s young, probably close to Solana’s age, her scrubs revealing a slim, lithe figure. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders and frames her features nicely. She’s a stunning woman.

A woman, however, who fails to reciprocate Solana’s kind gesture. Not right away, at least. Awkwardly clearing her throat, she greets, “Mrs. Reigns. I didn’t—they didn’t tell me it was you…..give me just one minute?” The nurse doesn’t wait for a reply, just leaves a confused Solana sitting in the patient room wondering just what the hell is going on.

She’s just about ready to step out into the hallway when the nurse returns, quietly closing the door behind her. “I’m so sorry.”

Solana has to ask, nails nervously tapping against the bed. “Is….is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she answers. Quickly. Too quickly. “Shit, no.” Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she walks over to Solana and offers one of the wildest introductions ever. “My name is Sasha, and I know you don’t know me, and I’m probably crazy as hell for even telling you this, but I—I used to sleep with your husband.”

Solana’s shoulders slump at the same time her chest tightens. “W–what?”

Sasha’s eyes go wide as she shakes her head and explains. “It’s been months. Like not since the beginning of this year, but I—I was one of the ones…..” She presses her fingers to her temples. “God, this is so messed up. I’m so sorry to do this to you. I tried to see if another nurse could handle you, but everyone is busy and…..fuck.”

Fuck is most definitely the right world. Of all the places. Of all the nurses. Solana just so happens to get the one nurse who used to be one of her husband’s fuck buddies.

Go fucking figure.

“I haven’t spoken or done anything with him in months. I swear.” She then lifts her left hand to show off a beautiful engagement ring. “Funnily enough, this is actually my last week working here. My fiance—long story— and I are from the same town, and he just got a job back home, so we’re moving next week.” She adds in a bitter tone, “kinda wish it was this week now.”

With the absence of Solana’s voice, Sasha proceeds to fill the silence. “Mrs. Reigns, I really am sorry. I know I had no business still sleeping with your husband after you two got married, but we’d been….intimate on and off for years, and he was just someone—”

“Please,” Solana finally speaks, voice low and soft. “Please don’t. I—I get it.”

Because with the shock worn off and the discomfort waning, as irritating as this is, it doesn’t necessarily matter.

This Sasha woman was Roman’s past. Solana knows that she’s his present and future, so from that logic, what reason does she have to be upset?

At least with Sasha.

She does, however, have a reason to be nervous.

Hand naturally falling to her stomach, she says in a much more desperate voice than she’d like, “you can’t tell anyone—”

“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes widen once more as she shakes her head. “Outing the Tribal Chief’s wife’s pregnancy is a sure way for me to go missing, and I’d actually like to make it down the aisle.” Sasha visibly tenses, suddenly asking in a lowered voice. “Wait, is he he—”

“No.” That’s it. That’s the only answer Solana can bring herself to give. And it seems enough, Sasha nodding before the two settle into an awkward silence.

“Is it okay if…..if we get started?”

Solana nods, still a bit boggled by the whole situation but recognizing that it’s not the priority.

“Of course,” she agrees.

All things considered, Sasha is the epitome of professionalism. She asks her questions, takes down the information given to her, draws Solana’s blood and directs her to the bathroom where the pregnant woman gives a urine sample, all while maintaining a calm, friendly disposition.

There’s nothing, surprisingly, awkward about it.

And that’s appreciated. Shocking, too, given who she is and who she was to Roman.

It’s only when she’s wrapping up her portion that she clears her throat again. “I hope this doesn’t come across as an inappropriate question and feel free to tell me to mind my damn business, but can I ask why Roman isn’t here?”

Solana is tempted, almost ready to take Sasha up on her suggestion to tell her to mind her own damn business, but there’s something so genuine about her question. A sadness in her voice and sympathetic look in her eyes. It seems to come from a place of genuine concern.

Solana finds herself answering honestly. “He doesn’t know yet.”

Sasha makes an ‘O’ with her mouth. “I’m sorry. I should have never asked. It’s just….with how much he must care about you—”

“What makes you say that?” Solana knows the words to be true. Knows that Roman cares about her. Loves her. But how and why the woman in front of her knows this is what makes her slightly suspicious.

Sasha sighs, answering almost nervously, “a man like Roman Reigns doesn’t just cut off his entire roster of women in exchange for one if she doesn’t mean something to him.” She shrugs, adding on, “and I mean, look at what he did to Sam’s uppity ass.”

If not for the confusion, Solana would maybe chuckled a bit. She’s not heard one good thing about Sam from a single person. Not one. “What do you mean?”

“Girl, you didn’t hear?” Sasha sucks her teeth, smiling a bit. “He had Nia whoop her ass. Well deserved, in my opinion.”

Solana gasps. “What?”

“Yup,” Sasha pops the ‘p.’ “Had her break that bitch jaw.”

Solana sits there stunned, briefly struggling to understand the reasons why only for it to come to her so easily.

The night of the fight.

Sam’s cruel words to her in the bathroom.

Solana told Roman. Roman said he’d handle it.

Clearly, that was how it was handled.

“You be careful with that one though,” Sasha advises, expression shifting to something a bit serious. “She was always delusional believing Roman was gonna marry her ass. And a couple weeks ago, I saw her drunk in a bar lamenting about how much she hates you and can’t wait to—her words, not mine—give you exactly what you deserve.”

The words should bother her. Maybe even trigger a sense of concern. Solana recognizes that would be a normal reaction, especially given the world that they live in. However, concern and even fear are not the emotions that rise at Sasha’s information.

Anger.

Anger is the only thing she feels.

Solana isn’t the same woman Sam cornered in the bathroom and talked down to.

She’s changed. Grown. Is better in so many ways and stronger in so many more.

So, Sam can try some shit if she wants to.

Solana is ready this time.

“I’m not scared of her,” is all she says, hand falling protectively to her stomach.

“I can see that,” Sasha says with a small smile, tapping on the screen a couple more times. “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Dr. Sharmell will take over the rest.” She pauses. “Like I said, this is my last week here, so Alexa or Jakara will probably be your nurse moving forward, but I just wanna say congratulations. You seem like you’re gonna be a great mom.”

Eyes watering, Solana can only mumble a quiet, heartfelt, “thank you.”

Sasha doesn’t say anything else before walking out the room, leaving Solana alone for not even five minutes before there’s a knock on the door followed by an entrance.

“Mrs. Reigns?” An African-American woman with smooth brown skin, a wrinkle free complexion and pearly whites. Her smile is amenable and her disposition warm. She walks over, extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Sharmell. I’ll be your OB-GYN. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Solana can only reciprocate the smile and gesture, shaking the older woman’s hand. “Thank you. It’s—it’s nice to meet you too. You….you can call me Solana.”

She looks a bit taken back but nods. “Solana, it is.” Moving over to the screen, she double checks a couple things that Sasha had already asked. Asks a couple more questions, mostly regarding if there’s been any concerns regarding the pregnancy thus far. The answer is no.

Solana prays it stays that way.

“Okay, well, I see you had a pap smear at the beginning of the year, so I won’t do one of those again. The labs I ordered are standard procedure just to make sure your levels are good, and from what I can see based off your hCG levels, it does look like this is a multiples pregnancy.” Solana has no major reaction to this, as it was already hinted/told to her by Dr. Michaels. “But, let’s do an ultrasound and double check, okay?” She gives Solana a look that’s of a questioning nature, like she wants to make sure this is an okay trajectory.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she answers in a quiet voice.

However, it’s when Dr. Sharmell starts to move the machine around that Solana notices something that zaps the comfort and calmness she was experiencing up until his point. “Wait, is that—do we have to do a transvaginal ultrasound?”

Just saying it aloud makes her stomach twist in all of the wrong ways.

Dr. Sharmell nods. “Based upon the date of your last menstrual cycle, you should be right at 10 weeks, and internal ultrasounds are best practices for pregnant women still in their first trimester.” Solana’s discomfort must be written all over her face, prompting the older woman to ask, “are you okay?”

Sniffling, Solana wipes at her now tearing eyes. “I’m sorry, I just—” She takes a deep breath, reluctantly sharing, “I was raped as a child and…..I just….things down there…..”

And this is why Solana would give anything to have Roman here with her, because she knows his presence, holding his hand, having him here reassuring her that she’s safe would help her be able to tolerate the exam.

But, he’s not here, and the thought of being penetrated, even if for medical reasons, is something that has her heart racing and anxiety spiking.

Dr. Sharmell is nothing but sympathetic as her face morphs into something almost solemn. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She shakes her head. “I can do a pelvic one instead. It may not show everything, but it’ll show enough for now. Okay?”

Solana can only nod and close her eyes as Dr.Sharmell shifts gears, handing her a sheet to cover up her lower half. Solana then proceeds to raise up the hospital gown to expose her belly. The gel is cool, a nice, chilling sensation to help settle her nerves. But, it’s when the doctor makes a sound that she opens her eyes and shifts her focus to the screen.

“I was right.” She shoots Solana a small, comforting smile. “Twins.” Eyes continuing to water, Solana looks in awe as Dr. Sharmell points to the screen. “This is Baby A.” Her finger travels around as does the transducer roaming her belly. “And this is Baby B.”

So early on in her pregnancy, it’s hard to make out anything significant like arms, legs, and a head, because none of those have developed just yet. However, none of that matters, because they’re still her babies.

Her children.

Confirmation that they’re alive, growing, and healthy.

It makes the tears spill over, the emotionality of it all overwhelming her in a sense.

He should be here.

Roman should be here, experiencing this with her.

But he’s not.

And all she can seem to think about is how this is wrong.

All so wrong.

————

It’s not a good time to be doing this.

Not in the slightest. Roman knows this, has the wherewithal to see and know that he’s not in the best place to even try to be open to something he doesn’t even want to be doing in the first place.

But, he also knows that he needs to. That he needs to do this. Whether he wants to or not.

It’s not about him.

It’s about her.

It’s about doing what’s best for their marriage, and truthfully, if she can find it in her to do it, then so can he.

Marriage…..

Roman’s fist forms at his side as he rolls his shoulders while trying to settle the anger growing again at Rikishi’s words he has no doubt came directly from the Elders.

There’s also lingering feelings towards Jey and Solo, toward their disrespectful, borderline challenging behavior. Unacceptable on all fronts, thus he regrets nothing except maybe not reminding them both why they answer to him and call him Tribal Chief.

However, that’s minimal compared to Rikishi and his actions both today and toward Solana.

But, while a part of him wants to believe that the son of a bitch was just trying to fuck with him with his statement about the Elders, a result of his anger and pride at being attacked, the logical part of Roman knows that’s not the case.

He knows Rikishi isn’t lying about that much.

It makes sense. Roman sensed there was some shit they were planning before Fetu had passed. Sensed that they were up to something, and this is clearly it.

It’s not going to happen though.

It’s one thing for Roman to reconsider ending his marriage to Solana for her own safety. It’s another for those prehistoric fuckers to try to tell him he needs to end his marriage to her.

Over his dead fucking body will that ever happen.

Roman will kill them all before he lets them take her from him.

Murder is obviously the last resort. Maybe. But as of right now, he hasn’t got another plan. A less violent way to handle this, but he’ll figure it out.

He always does.

Even though the solution is rather simple, something that is very much a possibility now that their marriage has been consummated.

Many times.

Many….many times.

And in full transparency…..Roman had started to wonder. Her sickness. The fatigue. The vomiting.

Started to wonder if maybe, just maybe…..

And then he pushed it away. Has pushed it away, because stress would also explain all of that as well. But beyond that, he knows that if it was that, Solana would have said something.

And, she hasn’t, thus it’s not even worth thinking about further.

So, until then, he’ll come up with a plan.

But, not right now.

Now he’s got a whole other issue he’s sort of—not really—ready to tackle.

Because Roman’s already paper thin patience is waning by the second every time he glances at the clock on his phone to see another minute pass. Three. She’s three minutes late. And for some people, that would be insignificant, but not for Roman. Because every minute of the day is precious for him, spoken and accounted for with tasks to be completed.

So every minute wasted waiting on her is deducted from the total time he has in a day to get everything done, thus, he’s already got one strike against this woman before ever even meeting her.

Thankfully, a text from Solana manages to briefly pull him from his growing frustration and temptation to just leave.

Solana: You’re not getting back until late, right?

Roman: Yes.

Roman: Why? You alright?

Solana: Yes. It’s just Bayley and Naomi are “making” me go with them to dinner tonight, but I don’t want to not be there when you get home….

Roman: Solana, go. I’ll be fine.

Because he will. Emotionally, he still feels…..not great, but he doesn’t feel as numb and overwhelmed as he’s been the past few days. Even beyond that, his wife has been by his side this entire time, putting her own life on hold to focus and cater to him. And he’s grateful. Immensely. But, she needs to also focus on herself.

His feelings about Bayley and Naomi are still…..not the best, but he knows what they mean to Solana, and she needs this.

So, he wants her to have it.

Solana: Are you sure?

Roman: Positive

“Well, shit.”

Roman looks up from his phone, instantly irritated because why the fuck is someone talking to him when he’s trying to text his wife?

And he’s even more annoyed at the sight of the red headed woman wearing jeans, boots, and a white short sleeved shirt that shows off the tattooed sleeve on her right arm. Bag over shoulder, cup of coffee in one hand, and keys in the other, she scoffs. “Yeah…..Gail wasn’t kidding when she said she had a challenging referral for me.”

But, it’s when she speaks again that his scowl drops. Roman asks, “you the therapist?”

She shrugs, answering, “that’s what my clinical license says.” Turning away from him, she prompts, “come on. Sorry I’m late. People don’t know how to fucking drive.”

There’s a lot to process in this moment. The lateness. The almost unprofessional attire. The profanity.

What in the hell did Gail sign him up for?

Nevertheless, Roman follows this woman into the office once she unlocks and opens the door. And again, another culture shock. His wife’s therapist office is the traditional cool tones, plants hanging near the window, some mental health shit on the wall and whatnot. And this….person still has that, but there’s nothing neutral and traditional about her setup. The sofa is red, a kaleidoscope of colors plastered everywhere from the rug to the pillows to even the tye-dye curtains that are pulled back with a bright green tie. And it’s the framed poster on the wall above the computer that reads, “feelings are weird and uncomfortable and shit’ that makes him chuckle.

One thing he can give her is that it’s nice to not have that…..therapy shit shoved down his throat.

Not when he’s already extremely uncomfortable with this whole thing.

“Make yourself at therapy home,” she encourages, going to hang her bag on the hook behind the now closed door. Roman sits down, still on edge but feeling less annoyed. “Name’s Lita, by the way. Not sure if Gayle mentioned it.”

“She didn’t,” he answers, watching how she walks over and plops down in her chair, grabbing her coffee off the desk where she’d placed it while getting the room set up.

“Well, it is,” she shrugs. Taking a sip, she then informs, “I’ll call you Roman.”

Instantly, the irritation is reappearing. “Did I say you could call me by my first name?”

Lita gives him a look, asking in an even voice, “do you seriously expect me to call you My Tribal Chief?” She chuckles at her almost mocking tone, mumbling before snagging another sip. “That’s not happening.”

Roman finds himself asking, both rhetorically and literally, “what the hell kind of therapist are you?”

Because while his only experience with this profession has been through Solana, through Gail and even Stratus, the differences are stark. These women are day compared to Lita’s night.

“The kind who works with people. Not titles.” Reaching to place her coffee on the small table beside her, she explains. “The Tribal Chief is what you are. It’s not who you are. Who you are is Roman Reigns, and that’s who I’m interested in working with.” She gestures around her room. “In this space, you’re just a person, and something tells me that’s not a space you get to be in a lot in your life.”

He’s quiet. For a couple of reasons. The main one being that he’s having a bit of a hard time finding a point of disagreement. Her delivery is absurd, borderline disrespectful, but it’s not….it’s not entirely wrong.

“So how’s this shit supposed to work?” He asks, allowing himself to lean back on the sofa, muscular arms crossed over one another.

Lita shrugs once more. “However you want it to work.” And before he can push back on her vague ass answer, she supplies, “my approach is I don’t make you do anything. I help you get to a point where you want to do things.”

“Like?”

“Actually work on and process shit.”

“That’s probably not gonna happen.”

Lita chuckles, standing up and walking over to her desk. Roman watches her pull open a drawer where she grabs a notebook and pen. She then walks back over and reaches said items to him. “Here. Take these.”

Roman looks at her with disinterest but still accepts said items. “Alright, I want you to write down why you’re here right now. I’m not gonna see it, not gonna read it, not even gonna keep it. That’s for you. I just want you to be honest with yourself and preferably me, but we’ll get you there.”

Roman looks slightly confused but still understanding of what she’s asked of him. Lita grabs her coffee and falls back into the chair. “Get to writing.”

A scowl reappears. This demanding shit is gonna have to most definitely be addressed.

Roman doesn’t get demanded.

Even though he most definitely finds himself writing shit down.

Control my anger/blackouts (around my wife—I don’t care about anyone else)

And that’s it.

“Done.”

Lita lifts a brow. “Seriously?”

“What?”

She scoffs, “you head the two biggest criminal organizations in the world and only need less than a minute to list things you want to work on?” She shakes her head, directing,“try again.”

Roman is irritated. This smart mouth of hers is getting old. “I don’t need—”

“I said try again,” Lita says in an almost softer voice. “Remember, be honest with yourself.”

There’s something both triggering and eye-opening about that latter statement. Honesty is something Roman has always valued, but when it’s directed toward and about himself, there seems to be difficulty.

Solana….she’s helped a lot with that, and he’d probably feel less hesitant and more forthcoming if it was her he was talking to, but as great a support system his wife is for him, he knows he can’t put it all on her.

The same way, deep down, he knows he can’t continue to bottle shit up like he’s been doing.

Roman swallows before starting to list without thinking, refusing to allow his brain to interfere with what weighs his heart down when he strips back all the thick layers of protection.

Feeling guilty about Fetu’s death

Feeling guilty about my family’s murders

Feeling guilty about surviving

Feeling guilty about Solana’s attempt

Feelings towards my mom

Feelings about fatherhood someday

Not feeling good enough for Solana

Feeling like I have to be perfect to be loved

Being codependent with Solana

Matteo

Other shit

Roman can list it, but that’s it. Talking about or even thinking about what he wrote down is just….it’s too much right now.

“Done,” he mutters, taking it upon himself to fold up said paper that he stuffs in his pocket.

“Good.” Lita nods. Standing up once more, she moves over to a bin near the bookshelf, pulling out a red, familiar box. “Now let’s play a game.”

“A game?” Roman is disgusted all over again when she walks over, holding the biggest box of fucking Uno he’s ever seen. “Do I look like a child?”

“Technically, there’s a child in all of us,” she counters. Roman watches her pull the massive stack of cards out of the box. “Now this is actually feelings Uno.”

“Feelings Uno?” It keeps getting worse. So much worse. “What the hell is that?”

Rolling her eyes while she expertly manages to shuffle through the giant cards, Lita explains, “Red is anger. Blue is sadness. Yellow is joy. And Green is a free for all, meaning you get to decide whatever emotion you want it to be on your turn. You play a card and then talk about whatever emotion goes with the card color.” The steps are clear and to the point, but Roman is still struggling with the fact that this woman seriously wants to play a whole ass game with him. “Considering it’s only our first session, I’ll take it easy on you. You only have to answer when you play a red card.” She smirks, equally distributing cards to the both of them. “Something tells me anger won’t be too difficult for you to talk about.”

She’s not….not entirely wrong.

Roman asks while looking over at his colorful cards. “You stack?” Playing a game is truly preferred than talking about….feelings and shit.

“You trying to talk about several different upsetting events at once?” She asks, laughing a little when he rolls his eyes. “No. No stacking. This time.” Leaning over, she plops the first card down for their pile. “And to show you I can sometimes be one of those overly nice therapists, I’ll go first.” Roman watches her lay down a matching red card, sharing so casually, “well, I felt angry as hell when I came home from school when I was thirteen and found out my abusive, piece of shit dad had not only offed himself but took my mom and little brother with him.”

Silence. Almost everything about this woman in the less than twenty minutes that he’s known her has been unexpected, but that has to take the cake. The casualty in her voice is a stark contest to the weight of the confession. It has him partially stumped, cause what the fuck does one say to that?

He goes with the only thing he knows and can think to say in the moment. “Why the hell would you tell me that?”

There’s a bit of a shift in her countenance. Her voice softens as she explains, “it’s important you know when we’re working together and I say that I understand life can be a shitshow, I’m not talking about fucking Starbucks messing up my order.”

He doesn’t comment on her disclosure nor her follow up comment. He just lays down his own red card, sharing, “felt angry at my mom when she told me one time that my half brother was the son she wanted, not me.”

Lita makes a sound. “Parents are just wonderful, aren’t they?”

Roman says nothing, the two of them easily falling into this space of sharing and not really elaborating. Just putting it out there, building some strange form of rapport that feels almost natural to him.

And it’s through this process that Gail’s comment regarding this whole therapy thing returns to him. “I have someone in mind who will either be a perfect fit for you or the worst referral I’ve ever provided.”

And strangely enough, Roman is leaning toward the former of those two paths.

————

Solana has always felt deeply aligned with the saying, “if it ain’t one thing, it’s another.” Always felt that perfectly described many of her life experiences. It’s something that’s waned drastically since being married to Roman but has still popped up from time to time.

And sadly, this is one of those times.

Because now not only is she sitting on a letter given to her by Roman’s late aunt that she requested only be given to him when the time was “right,” a pregnancy that now her husband’s ex fuck buddy knows about before him, but now another letter addressed to Solana.

From her mother.

A letter Solana has never seen before today when she was trying to reorganize her library/art room after Roman canceled their lunch date, citing being unable to escape meetings.

She believes him, of course. It’s just that it would have been preferred to this.

Yet one more thing for her to work through.

In all actuality, it should be easy for Solana to just open the damn letter. Read it and get it over with. But the weight of it, the amount of pages she can feel through the envelope, and the fact that it’s in a separate letter instead of a journal, has her concerned.

Solana’s mom always wrote to her in journals, so the fact that this is not in a journal…..it has her worried.

Which is why it remains untouched, laid out on the bathroom counter with Fetu’s letter along with the sonogram photo she received just earlier today. Both pulled from their respective hiding spots in her art room/home library.

Solana is trying to figure all this out while doing her makeup for dinner. A nice, necessary distraction as she spends a little extra time covering up the bruise. The darkness and hyperpigmentation have gone down tremendously, which she’s immensely grateful for. Especially given the fact that Roman hasn’t commented on it in a while. She knows he sees it, can see the slight cringe he still does at the sight, but his guilt seems to have dwindled moderately, which is deeply appreciated.

Even if it’s because he’s battling a different type of grief now. And it’s staring at the envelope from Fetu that Solana allows herself to really think about if the right time is now. It would be so easy to just give it to him, to not have to have that weight on her shoulders. And maybe she should have done it sooner, done it during his week of depression and dissociation.

But, she was just so worried that it could somehow make things worse. That it was too soon.

And, it still feels too soon. Solana isn’t entirely sure what the right time is…..but, it doesn’t feel like now.

Maybe….maybe in another week or so. Besides, Fetu trusted her to give Roman the letter, so the older woman must have trusted her judgment….right?

What is and has been the right time for some time now, however, is this pregnancy. Solana can’t keep hiding this from him. He deserves to know. He always deserved to know, and while her intentions were always good, that doesn’t negate the fact that she’s in the wrong.

She needs to tell him.

And, she will.

Tonight.

It still doesn’t sit right with her to spring this on him while he’s still trying to process such a massive loss. But, it’s even more not right to tell his doctor, to attend these appointments, to be ten weeks along, almost three months along and him still be in the dark.

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t deserve that.

And as if on cue, her phone dings with a text from the man of the hour himself.

Roman: I love you

Such simple words that put the biggest, deepest smile on her face. She is quick to respond with reciprocation.

Solana: I love you, too. ❤️

Solana: Everything alright?

She taps her nails against the phone screen, staring at the three dots as he types.

Roman: Yeah.

Roman: Just wanted to say it.

And a sigh of awe leaves her, imagining him saying as such instead of texting it. A softness in his voice and gaze reserved only for her.

Solana: Well, I’ll never get tired of hearing it. ☺️

Solana: I’m getting ready to head out.

Roman: Okay. Text me when you get there.

Solana: Will do.

Feeling slightly better at having some sense of direction moving forward as well as an unexpected, sweet exchange with her husband, Solana sends a text to Bayley and Naomi to let them know she’s on her way. Eyes glued to the phone, she isn’t paying much or enough attention to the fact that two items slide off the counter and onto the floor as she grabs a single envelope.

Bautista serves as her guard again, not that she has any issue with that. Solo is fine, has been fine, for the most part, since his apology at the gala, but Bautista….there’s something different about him.

Despite his intimidating, frightening presence, there’s a warmth in the older man that vastly contrasts Solo’s coldness. Not to mention his sage words regarding just who she is and the power that title gives her has truly been groundbreaking. It’s something she plans to never forget.

The drive leans on the side of shorter rather than longer, Solana walking into the restaurant, being escorted to the back where Bayley and Naomi wait. As soon as their eyes are on her, they’re standing up, each pulling her in for hugs.

“We’ve been so worried about you,” Naomi whispers in her ear, followed by Bayley’s hug as she straight up asks, “Solana, what the hell has been going on?”

But, it’s only after the waitress comes, takes their orders, and she texts Roman that she’s arrived that the words start to spill out.

A heavy sigh leaves the mouth of the Tribal Chief’s wife as she sits down in the chair, placing her purse in the other empty chair. A quick glance to the left reveals Bautista sitting at a nearby table. Not too close but close enough where he could act if something were to go down.

“I know….I know I’ve been distant.” Distant seems like not a strong enough word, but it’s the best she’s got in this moment. “And, I’m sorry that I’ve been worrying ya’ll. That wasn’t my intention. There’s just been a lot going on.”

“Like what?” Naomi presses. “Solana, we don’t want to overstep, but the last time we’ve seen you was at training where you had a black eye. That was over two weeks ago with intermittent contact since. You’ve gotta give us something here.”

And Solana knows this. Knows that both of the women sitting across from her only mean well. From day one, they’ve been nothing but kind and supportive. Have only sought to help her as she reclaimed her voice and her life.

She owes them that much.

“I’m gonna tell you guys something, but you can’t say anything to anyone. Not a soul.” She focuses on Naomi. “Not even Jimmy.”

Bayley nods immediately. “Of course.”

Naomi seems a bit reluctant. “I don’t like keeping things from my husband,” she admits. And Solana can’t and won’t fault her for that. “But, I can see this is important to you, so you have my word. I won’t say a thing.”

And Solana trusts it.

Trusts them.

Closing her eyes, she starts to answer, “Roman had…..he had a nightmare the night of his fight with Drew. Drew said something to him, and it messed with his head. I won’t say what. It’s not my place.” Because it isn’t. Nor is it relevant to the conversation at hand. “It was a bad nightmare, and I was trying to wake him up and when I finally did, he woke up swinging and accidentally hit me. He had no idea what he was doing, and he felt awful afterwards. He even…..he even compared himself to my dad and brother.”

The shocked expressions on their faces match the disgust Solana feels at Roman even being in the same sentence as those two men, let alone the same category.

“So yes, he did technically hit me, but it wasn’t intentional.” Solana finds herself adding, “and that’s why I got so upset, because for all that Roman is and can be, I was frustrated that you guys believed he could ever do something like that to me.”

“You’re right,” Bayley sighs, shaking her head. “I think we just saw the black eye and assumed it was because of what happened with Drew…..” She stops herself, correcting. “It was wrong though, and I’m sorry.”

“We both are,” Naomi agrees. “But, not for worrying about you.”

“Never that,” Bayley chuckles, lifting up her phone with a small smirk. “You’ve had the newbies hitting us up nonstop wondering if we’ve heard from you.”

“Girl, got us all in a group chat and everything called SOSlana.” Naomi proves this by pulling up her phone and sharing her screen where Solana can sure enough see the name of the group chat.

It makes her laugh. A much needed thing. “I know I need to catch up with them too, but ya’ll deserved to speak with me first.” Cause as amazing as Melina, Cam, and Mickie have been, Bayley and Naomi were there first.

The loyalty goes a lot deeper.

“Maybe we can reschedule the girls trip for all of us. Like in two weeks?” Bayley suggests. A glance at Naomi provides a nod of agreement. “Solana?”

Hesitation. On one hand, she’d like to say yes, but on the other, she just doesn’t know. Because something tells her when she tells Roman about the pregnancy tonight, he’s about to be a hell of a lot stricter regarding her outings. And she understands it fully. Understands why her being the pregnant wife of the Tribal Chief means a different layer of protectiveness.

“Let me run it by Roman first,” she finally answers. “He’s….he’s going through something right now, and I need to be there for him.” Not a lie. The absolute truth.

“Yeah, Jimmy’s been acting kind of off too. I think something’s going on with the Bloodline.” She shakes her head and transitions into elaboration. “Just earlier today, I overheard him arguing with his brothers and dad.”

“Which brothers?” Bayley beats Solana to the punch by asking a very valid question.

“Jey and Solo,” Naomi answers. Solana does her best to maintain a neutral expression, but it’s hard. There’s something almost unsettling about that, though she can’t put her finger on the why. “It didn’t go well. They all ended up basically marching out the house, slamming my doors and everything.”

Curious, Solana can’t stop herself from asking, “did Jimmy tell you what the argument was about?”

A pause. A noticeable pause. “Not really. I’m sure they’ll get it together though.” As Naomi takes a sip of her champagne, Solana does her best not to look or think too deeply about the obvious deflection.

To be fair, Solana is firm about her boundaries regarding certain things discussed between herself and her husband.

Why can’t Naomi get the same grace?

Solana is grateful for the arrival of the food, appreciative of the diversion of topics, because Naomi is certainly right. Something is most definitely going on with the Bloodline. A major loss that’s mostly impacted Roman but Jimmy and Jey as well, most likely.

But, Solana can’t and won’t comment on that.

Providing her girls with some insight regarding a bit of what’s been going on is a nice distraction for Solana. Laughter is always good for the soul, and being around her sisters never ceases to bring about a healthy amount of that.

The merriment makes it hard for her to not imagine what their reaction will be to finding out she’s pregnant. The way they’ll absolutely gloat and squeal, especially when they learn that she’s having twins. The baby shower that they’ll plan is destined to be one for the ages.

And she looks forward to it all.

But first….. first she must talk to her husband.

It’s about an hour into dinner when Solana feels her bladder screaming at her to be emptied. “I’ll be right back,” she excuses herself, taking her purse with her for good measure. Mouthing bathroom to Bautista, Solana makes her way to the back, pleased to see that the stalls are all empty.

There’s such a weird relief at no longer having that pressured feeling, expelling her bladder like she didn’t use the bathroom shortly before leaving the house.

Frequent urination.

It’s one of the symptoms Dr. Sharmell mentioned she might start seeing soon at this point in her pregnancy.

She wasn’t wrong.

Flushing the toilet and walking over to the sink, Solana attempts to toss her purse on the counter only for it to go tumbling to the floor, some of the contents falling out. Cursing quietly, she washes her hands first before bending down to stuff the items back in her bag, grateful her phone wasn’t one of the tumbled objects. However, it’s something else that manages to capture her full attention.

The envelope with her name written on the outside.

Slow hands reach for it, trembling fingers tracing over her name so beautifully signed, her mother’s penmanship something worthy of all the jealousy. But, jealousy isn’t what Solana is feeling in this moment.

Curiosity is.

A growing feeling gnawing at her that whatever is contained within this envelope needs to be unveiled and read. Needs to be freed after so many years of confinement. And, it makes no sense how Solana went from avoiding doing such a thing to readying to do it in the public restroom at a restaurant.

She knows it’s not the best decision, that it’s bound to make her emotional, make her cry.

And yet…..the right timing.

Roman is grieving and about to find out that he’s a father. There’s so many layered, complex emotions in that alone that she’s truly lost as to how he’s supposed to manage that and helping her sort through whatever emotions will follow the reading of this letter. It also seems unfair to put that on him when he’s dealing with so much.

But Bayley and Naomi…..they could. They could be her sources of support. They’ve been wanting to be said sources, and maybe, just maybe, it’s time to take them up on that offer.

Solana releases a deep, shaky breath while rising to her feet, taking her purse off the floor with her. Walking over to the door, she turns the lock and moves back over to the counter. Leaning back against the counter, Solana takes one more efficient breath before still trembling fingers carefully pry open the letter. Solana unfolds several sheets of paper.

And she begins to read.

My Dearest Solana,

If you are reading this letter, then I am no longer living. I wish with everything in me that is not the case, and everything will go according to plan, so that what I am about to write will be told to you from my lips instead of read from this letter.

But, I cannot be naive. I must be realistic and prepare for all outcomes.

Solana, what I am about to tell you is going to be difficult, and you may never forgive me, may even hate me, but please know I never ever intended to hurt you, my sweet girl.

I was 23 years old when I met “Xavier Miller”. He claimed to be in Mexico on sabbatical from work. Said he was a “businessman.” I believed him. I believed everything he told me. All the false hopes he put in my head about bringing me to America and helping me get into medical school so I could become a doctor. Believed him when he said once we got settled, he’d pay for my parents to get passports so that they could visit. I believed it all. He was charming and handsome and kind, and I wanted so deeply to be in love that I fell for it all.

After three months of us knowing each other, he proposed. I said yes. My parents did not agree. They believed we were rushing things. They were right, but I was too naive. I listened to my heart and only my heart. I fell in love with this man who promised me the world, promised to always love and take care of me.

I spoke very little English, but he promised to help me learn once we moved to the States. He was adamant about me coming to America with him, said it would open up more doors, specifically helping me achieve my dream of being a doctor.

And, I was determined, so I married him and came to America.

The decision will forever haunt me.

Our first night as “husband” and “wife” was the first time he raped and beat me. I woke up the next morning bruised and bloody. It was only then I saw the real him for the first time. He told me I would never see my family again, and if I ever tried to contact them or leave him, he would kill me. That same morning is when he informed me of who he really was.

A mafia man.

And right then and there, I knew my life was over.

I will not further traumatize you with details. But, it was...horrific.

I thought once I gave him a son, which is what he eventually told me he what wanted from the very beginning—a “stupid woman” he could “control” and “breed”--- that he would lessen his cruelty. And, he did, to some extent.

He allowed me to start volunteering at the hospital, which was truly only because he wanted me away from Wes. He said I would make him “soft.” The same hurtful thing he says about you.

But, this ended up changing my life, because it was through volunteering that I met someone. His name was Darnell, and he was a medical student doing clinical rotations. Again, I do not wish to sully you with the details, so I will just say it.

I started an affair with Darnell, and I regret nothing, Solana. He was the first man I ever really loved who showed me what it meant to truly be loved by a man. It was dangerous for both of us, and I tried to break it off, tried to tell him what could happen if we were ever caught, but he didn’t care. He wanted to help me find a way out, because he loved me, and I loved him.

But then everything changed when I found out I was pregnant. Initially, I was distraught. Xavier was still raping me, trying to get me pregnant, and the thought of having his child again sickened me.

But, when I went to my appointment and learned how far along I was, I realized that the time I conceived was when Xavier was away on a business trip.

He wasn’t the father.

Darnell was.

And, I was so happy, so overjoyed, my love. You have no idea.

Throughout the pregnancy, Darnell and I tried to come up with plans. Tried to figure out a way we could escape. Me, Him, Wes, and our babies.

I was pregnant with twins.

But, the closer the time came, the more fearful I became that even if we somehow escaped, Xavier would find us and kill us all. He always threatened to kill me if I tried to take Wes from him.

So the plan changed to one that broke my heart and Darnell’s, but we agreed it was the safest thing for us to do. We were able to have some of the hospital staff assist us with this plan, which made a world of difference.

It truly did.

When I gave birth to you, I gave birth to your twin brother as well. A brother who Darnell took, while I kept you. And, I told Xavier, who did not come to the hospital until the next day, that my boy didn’t make it.

He was livid. So angry that he forced the hospital to give me a hysterectomy.

He said I would not “fail” him again.

The plan was for me to wait until you were older, at least one, and then we would try to make the move, but what I didn’t expect was for Xavier’s cruelty towards me to increase. He became significantly worse to the point where it was impossible for me to do anything without him knowing. He refused to allow me to volunteer at the hospital, which cut me off from all the people who were going to help me reunite with Darnell and my other child.

And instead made my life even more of a living hell, but now he was subjecting you to the same treatment.

He always blamed you for the “death” of your brother. That’s why he’s always hated and resented you. Because you “lived” and the boy “did not.” He never wanted daughters. Only sons.

Solana, I know this is a lot. I know that I am putting so much on you, and I am so sorry, my love. There is just so much you need and deserve to know, and I just have to make sure you know one way or another.

It was selfish of me to keep you. I should have let Darnell take the both of you, but I always wanted a daughter. Wanted to have a piece of him with me as well. But, my selfishness subjected you to all kinds of horror, and I’m so so sorry, mija.

But, Darnell is your father. And, you have a twin brother. And if all goes to plan tomorrow, you, me, Wes, your real father and your other brother will finally be able to be a family. You’ll have the family you always deserved but I deprived you from.

And words cannot express how sorry I am, my sweet Sol. Because the fact of the matter is that I was being selfish. It was selfish and wrong of me to not let you go with your father, to keep you in an abusive household with an abusive man.

It was wrong, and I am sorry.

But…

In the event something goes wrong, I just needed you to know the truth. Because if something happens to me, I need to make sure you at least know where you really come from.

And that’s not Nina Miller and Xavier Miller.

It’s Darnell Adams and Alma Escobar.

My name is not Nina.

It’s Alma.

Alma Escobar.

Xavier made me change my identity when I came here to avoid my family finding me. And, it worked, because Xavier also lied about his name when we first met. He made it up. It was all a part of his plan to get me in America and make me his slave.

It’s why my family was probably never able to find me. They were looking up one name that never existed and another name that would never exist again.

But, that brings me to my next part.

My mother’s name is Paloma Escobar, and my father’s name is Ricardo Escobar. I have two uncles: Bernardo and Tomas.

If I have the chance and this plan works, I will finally take you and your brothers to Isla Mujeres to meet your family. You deserve that much and so much more.

Again, this is so so much to drop on you, mija, but I don’t have much time.

Solana, that is why I have always called you “my Sol.” Because phonetically, Sol sounds like “soul,” which is what my real name really means. YOU are my soul and an extension of myself, just infinitely better.

Never forget, my amazing girl, that you are smart and beautiful and kind and have such a pure soul. You must never forget any of that.

And one day, you are going to grow into a beautiful young woman, find a kind young man who loves and treats you the way you deserve, and you will be an amazing mother.

And that, my love, will be your happy ending.

I pray to God that I will live to see all of this, be around for all of it, but if I am not, know that I loved you infinitely in this life and will continue to love you infinitely in the next.

Forever your Hummingbird,

Alma

Breathing.

A simple, easy thing that’s suddenly impossible for Solana. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t compute any of what she’s just read. Only one sentence of so many shell-shocking revelations circulates in her head, thudding against her consciousness.

Xavier wasn’t her father.

He wasn’t her father.

There’s so many things embedded and included in this confession of sorts, but that’s the one thing Solana can’t seem to pull away from.

The man who was responsible for the murder of her mother and her attempted murder was not her real father.

The man who was responsible for her rape was not her real father.

The man who almost beat her to death and threatened to finish the job was not her real father.

The man who she so desperately wanted to love her like fathers should love daughters but never could. And not just because he was incapable of love. No. It was because he wasn’t her real father.

Solana almost stumbles to the ground, one hand going behind her to hold onto the counter to keep her upright.

This….this was a mistake.

She should have never read this letter.

Ever.

Feeling on the verge of a panic attack, she releases the papers and places a hand over her chest, closing her eyes, and working to regulate herself. She manages to pull from the coping skills learned in therapy as she tries to find some anchor of sorts to keep her grounded instead of drowning in the panic that threatens to overtake her.

Too much.

It’s just too much to process.

Too much to sit on.

She just can’t.

Solana is sniffling, silent tears running down her face as she places her other free hand on her belly. She can’t fall apart. Not right now. Not like this. And not with the babies growing in her belly.

They need her to pull it together. To be strong.

Needing a reminder of sorts, she digs through her purse with wobbly hands for the photo that depicts the two tiny lives growing inside of her.

There’s only one problem.

The sonogram photo isn’t in her purse.

Solana’s glossy eyes scan the floor to see if she somehow missed it, only for that to come back a deadend given the emptiness of the pristine tile.

Solana frantically digs through her purse once more realizing the photo isn’t the only thing missing.

So is Fetu’s letter.

And now yet another massive weight is dropped onto her chest with the terrifying realization of what she’s done.

“Oh no….” Trembling hands fold back up the sheets and stuff them back into the envelope that she shoves in her bag. Solana’s legs can’t move fast enough as she unlocks and rips the door open, making her way over to that table where Bayley and Naomi are laughing.

It’s when their gaze lands on her, however, that the laughter dies down. “Solana, what’s—”

“I have to go,” she interrupts, unable and partially uninterested in offering the truth as to why. Because she can’t. She can barely fucking think straight right now, let alone try to explain the magnitude of what just happened.

What could happen if she doesn’t get home.

Fast.

Bayley is the one to push. “Wait, Solana, you can’t just—”

“Please,” she begs, eyes watering. “It’s….it’s Roman. I have to get home.” Not a lie, just an answer that probably insinuates a severity that does not equate to the actuality of the situation. Or, maybe it does. “I’ll….I’ll explain later, but I have to go now.”

Naomi and Bayley share a look, clearly not liking this sudden shift in energy, and Solana can’t blame them. However, she can’t focus on that right now. Not when her world has just been turned upside down.

“Okay,” Naomi concedes with a sigh, “but at least text us when you get home.”

“I will.” That much Solana can promise. Hopefully. “Thank you.” Both women only answer with a nod as Solana gestures to Bautista. “Come on.”

Wordlessly, he gets up and leads her out of the restaurant.

Solana is a nervous wreck the entire drive home. Knee bouncing, heart racing, intermittent tears. This is not how she expected this day to go. It’s almost too unbelievable to be true.

There’s too many things for her to sit on and sift through. Her pregnancy. Fetu dying. Her mother’s letter. Now this?

Solana wipes at her eyes. It’s just all too much. And the fact that trying to call Roman only led to the phone ringing two times before going straight to voicemail only makes things infinitely worse.

Roman has never sent her to voicemail before.

The drive to the mansion is really only a matter of fifteen minutes, but it feels so much longer. Torturously longer.

The SUV is barely in park before she’s whipping the door open and running towards the house, heels in one hand because she can’t have any sort of interference.

“Roman!” She calls out his name the minute she steps foot inside of their home only to be met with silence.

And for that brief second, there’s relief. A respite from all the heaviness as she rushes up the stairs, ready to grab the letter and photo off the bathroom counter to hide them again before he gets home.

Before he finds out the two major secrets she’s been sitting on without her being able to tell him herself.

But, that’s a short lived fantasy, one that’s killed the moment she’s standing in the doorway of their master bedroom.

“No….”

Solana drops her shoes at the sight of her husband sitting on the side of their bed, facing the door, papers in hand, a now opened envelope beside him along with a photo.

The sonogram.

Her heart breaks.

“Roman, I—”

“Solana.”

Never.

Never has she heard her name leave his mouth with such anger and disgust. The same anger and disgust that’s written all over his handsome face as he asks, point, blank, period, “what the hell is going on?”

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