#but maybe she still gets wasted on the anniversary of her mother's death and maybe her birthdays too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littleaxebad · 2 years ago

Text

The Golden Hits

It is very late and I should be in bed but I do this for you...

If you thought I couldn't get any more cringe, you were wrong. In light of the fact that House of Ashes anniversary is coming up, I wanted to write something similar to my first HoA fanfiction, but instead of Jalim and colours, its Daric and Tom Jones.

As always, this is for @the-girl-who-flies and all of the other lovely people who have let this unlikely couple into their hearts.

[Mostly angst, light smut]

Happy HoAnniversary <3

xxx

Green, Green Grass of Home

Eric couldn’t go back to the way things were. His own apartment felt oppressive and foreign. In the deep of night his skin would tingle and itch, and he would wake up chasing ghosts. Pins and needles stung his hands through all his waking hours and his heart would hammer in this chest at the softest noise he couldn’t place. He would walk into his office each day, sit behind his desk and stare, waiting for a level of calm to settle before he could begin his day. Anxiety, the doctors told him, a completely reasonable response to experiencing war. Of course he couldn’t say what really had him by the throat, but they gave him pills to help him sleep regardless. Rachel had stayed behind, in the dust and augmented daylight of Iraq. Kay had stayed with her, which Eric had told himself he could not begrudge, and Kolchek was gone - Europe, maybe. None of it really mattered, as long as they could all deal with their trauma in whatever way worked best, it didn’t matter where they were - they were all joined by their experience.

But Eric still felt incredibly alone.

I’m Coming Home

Eric’s apartment was tiny. The entryway had a three pronged coat hook that had only ever seen one coat. The kitchen appeared suddenly on the right, in fake semblance of a small room, but in reality it was only cut off from the living room by a high counter and a pillar. One chair up to the counter, one chest of drawers in the tiny bedroom, a double bed shoved against the far wall. One pathetic window lit up the living room - but enough space in the bathroom for a washing machine. It was Eric’s home, his sanctuary, his retreat. A place where he could shuffle around in his own personal dark cloud, stare out the window at the setting sun, or sit on his bed, running his fingers back and forth along the rough fabric of a worn green beret.

Only the shadows spoke to him here, and they spoke in words of loneliness.

(It Looks Like) I’ll Never Fall In Love Again

“Have you eaten anything this week?” “I eat, Rachel. You’re not my mother.” “Sorry, let me rephrase that - have you eaten anything that you cooked - not bought or blitzed in the microwave.” “Technically speaking, you don’t blitz noodles in the microwave.” “That’s really fucking mature, Eric. Your brain is too valuable for you to let your body waste away.” Eric remembered, once upon a time, that a compliment from Rachel could send his heart soaring. Now, it just drove home how far away she was. “Can we talk about something else?” “Othman has left the country.” “Jason’s friend?” “Something like that. Followed his kid.” Eric’s eyes drop from a spot on the wall to his feet as he shifts from left to right. “What about Dar?” “Basri?” There’s a pregnant pause, “I’m sorry Eric, I don’t know.”

Needles in his hands. His heart hammering again.

Not Responsible

Eric went to sleep that night hoping to high heaven that Dar was alright. The last time he’d seen the man, Dar had been walking away from him into the desert. Eric knew, in the quiet, logical part of his brain, that if Othman was OK that should mean that Dar was too. How could one get away but not the other? But the louder, irrational part of his brain, screamed that Dar was dead - that he had been called a traitor and done in to save his honour. These painful thoughts, that came with waves of guilt, had not stopped Eric from trying to learn Arabic - maybe it would be in death they’d meet again, but at least he’d be able to say hello.

The darkness pressed in and Eric thrashed his leg impotently. He hated feeling like he wasn’t in control of his own body.

Help Yourself

Eric felt as though he had no choice but to throw himself into his work. CAELUS had been taken from him, but he was still a prominent member of the airforce, and his brain still worked exactly the way it had worked before (if you didn’t take into account all of the nightmares and anxiety and unexplainable feelings for a man who was probably dead). And without a project to focus on, Eric was free to allow his colleagues to take advantage of him. But it helped - if his mind was filled with calculations and measurements and formulas, the little whispering voices were forced to the back. But he had worked for himself for so long, with only Clarice in his ear - sometimes for days on end she was the only other person he saw - that sometimes he felt the bile rise up in the back of his throat and he had to force himself out of situations before he snapped and raged.

I am Eric King, he thought, I am smarter than you could ever hope to be.

What’s New Pussycat?

“Eric?”

Rachel’s voice had trailed off at the other end of the phone as Eric hastily wrote down a calculation that had risen up in his mind. He wasn’t interested in the war, he wasn’t interested in having any more nightmares, he couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be completely still. But still, something in her voice drew him back.

“Hmm?”

“I know you haven’t heard a goddamn thing I’ve said, because I started talking about Nick and you had nothing shitty to say.” “I’m happy for you.” “No you’re not. But that’s far beyond the point, and can’t say I particularly care. I just thought you’d want to know that someone matching Basri’s description was seen at an airport in Turkey…Eric? Eric, are you listening to me?” A tactile fog had begun to fill Eric’s ears, pushing in on his skull and swallowing Rachel’s voice. But Dar was dead, he was dead and gone and Eric had moved on. Rachel was wrong. She was wrong.

The green beret still smelt of sand.

Love Me Tonight

Perhaps Rachel had felt responsible somehow, letting Eric drag himself home with his head hung, CAELUS ripped from him, guilt pressing impossibly heavy hands down on his shoulders. Death stained her hands with blood too - none of them were innocent; none of them were guilty. But it was not unusual for Eric to martyr himself on a cross of his own creation. Or perhaps Rachel was curious to see what the Iraqi Captain was doing. Suspicion was part of her job, after all. There was no denying putting them together would make things easier for her, killing two birds with one stone, as it were. If she could keep eyes on Barsi, if she could nudge him in the right direction, Eric wouldn’t be so fucking lonely, wouldn’t feel so fucking guilty, would have a reason to eat something other than fucking packet ramen.

Easier said than done, but she was Rachel King: Queen Bitch. And she’d survived things worse than bureaucracy.

It’s Not Unusual

Eric dreamt of Dar; of the fear of leaving him behind in endless catacombs; of the screams of the man in the throes of death. He woke up in a bind of electricity, breath caught in his throat. He stumbled out of bed, temporarily confused by his own imbalance, and dropped heavily to the floor. There he stayed, cheek pressed against the hardwood patterned linoleum tiles. The cold infiltrated his mind, calmed his breathing, steadied his shaking limbs. He stayed still for long moments, confused and unable to recall his dream. With his good leg, Eric kicked the chest of drawers, knocking the green beret to the floor. He buried his face in the fabric, running his fingers along the stitching, counting in squares of four. Eventually the nightmares had to subside, his therapist had told him he was making great progress.

Grey light filtered in through the flimsy curtains. Eric got up and began to get ready for work.

Funny Familiar Forgotten Feelings

Dar’s face was more drawn than Eric remembered - thinner, with darker circles around the eyes. His hair showed grey patches around the temples. He looked unfed and he looked tired. He looked almost like a ghost. He stood on the stoop, bag in hand, haggard from travel, probably Rachel’s doing, how else would he have found me, I must be dreaming I must be dreaming I must be… “Eric?” An awkward pause. “Would you like to come in?” Eric moved to the side as much as he was able. His body felt useless and numb. How long had it been - weeks? Months? It felt like a lifetime. Eric didn’t offer to take Dar’s coat, or his bag. Dar discarded them himself. Eric was barely able to wander around after the Iraqi, mumbling when prompted. “Yes, it’s quite small… very small… this is the kitchen… well, you see… it’s just for me, after all… no, I don’t have a bath…” Once Dar had made an opinionated tour of the apartment, he helped himself to the couch. “It wasn’t easy, was it?” Eric didn’t know how to properly articulate himself. His Arabic felt embarrassingly inadequate. “Yes.” “Do you want to talk about it?” Dar looked over his shoulder at Eric, who was standing in between the bedroom and the kitchen, wringing his tingly hands. There was an immense sadness in Dar’s eyes - the kind of sadness that can only come from giving up everything you’ve ever known for the sake of self preservation. Eric’s feet walked him over to the couch to sit down next to his guest.

The coat hook felt the weight of a second coat for the first time.

Detroit City

Eric wasn’t really sure where to take Dar. Everything seemed tacky and tasteless. American food was bland, it’s entertained stock-standard, it’s people were either snobby or nosey with no in between. The traffic was loud, the air was choked, and the ugly stares were so apparent Eric felt like he couldn’t even take Dar to the grocery store. But the other man was stubborn and inquisitive: the exact opposite to Eric in every way. He loved the large cars, laughed at the people, and absolutely hated the food. The Iraqi’s presence didn’t fix everything, of course. It was difficult to squash the two grown men into a double bed, but there was no question of Eric sending Dar away. He hadn’t asked, but he wasn’t certain Dar was here in the strictest legal sense. Eric still had nightmares, woke up in the same state of disconnect - but now there was someone with him, not particularly comforting, but grounding. The guilt had lessened, but it would never truely go away. Eric had not realised he was carrying around the guilt of believing Dar was dead - the guilt of deciding it was easier that way. What would Rachel say - that he always had to have it the worst.

This did not feel like ‘the worst’ to him.

With These Hands

Dar could cook. Eric tried to hide his surprise; just because he couldn’t cook, didn’t mean that no man could. Eric unfortunately wasn’t in the Fortune 500, but he made enough to buy Dar the spices and ingredients he needed to fill their tiny apartment with the most amazing smells. Sometimes Eric would help - but not every day. Most nights he came home exhausted - this was no different from before Dar, but there had seemed no point in acknowledging his own body. Take out, noodles, a frozen meal. Those were the things that waited at home for him. A bit of TV. A shower. Bed. But now he found himself kneading dough and mixing sauces and trying things he had never even heard of before. Sometimes Dar would cook something from scratch, or sometimes he would take “an offensive American dish” and make it acceptable.

It was a Sunday when Dar taught him how to make bread. Eric had to take a cold shower afterwards and he had no idea why.

A Minute of Your Time

“You work too much.” Dar was never fluffy with his words. It was unlike him to march around a subject, in either English or Arabic. Eric sometimes found it abrasive, but not abrasive like sandpaper, more like a rough towel. “I have to feed both of us.” “I could work.” “Oh?” Eric didn’t mean the enunciation to sound as sarcastic as it did. “The market.” Dar didn’t speak as though it were below him; to go from a Captain in the Republican Guard to selling spices to white women who couldn’t even pronounce them. To him, there was nothing dishonourable about earning a living. There was nothing degrading about self-sufficiency. ‘But I would miss coming home to your cooking,’ Eric wanted to say. Instead he said, “I think that sounds great.”

He didn’t have a monopoly on Dar’s time, no matter how much he wished he did.

Without Love

The apartment always felt oppressively lonely when Eric got home first. But the darkness didn’t make his hands shake and the silence didn’t make his heart pound. He would stand in the kitchen and roll up his sleeves and try to imagine what Dar would do… what Dar would want to eat when he got home. “When did I become so domestic?” Eric asked himself, looking into the fridge for inspiration. Dar never criticised his cooking - he offered pointers as though Eric had submitted a school report. It wasn’t condescending, but it was undeniable that Dar enjoyed it a little bit. This night, of all nights, Eric had attempted spaghetti. The vegetables were a bit too roughly chopped and the pasta was ‘all dented’. Eric rested his hand on his chin and watched Dar looked pleased with himself. Leaning over to kiss the other man seemed so natural, like a flower turning its face to the sun. Fingers in Eric’s hair pulled him closer.

Who put this table in the way?

Delilah

Dar’s weight was pressing Eric down into the mattress, their hearts thumping together, skin hot and slick to the touch. Dar’s lips were on his neck, marking it; claiming him. Intertwined fingers above Eric’s head, his free hand kneading idle patterns into Dar’s soft skin. A palm traced a wide line down his torso, stopping just short of release - Eric moaned into the kiss, pushing them together harder, beyond caring that his body was begging, pinpricks of pleasure travelling down his spine. There was a chuckle; a warm breeze against the base of Eric’s skull. “I thought about you, always.” Eric couldn’t find his words to respond. He nudged their faces closer, trying to communicate with the rhythm of his pulse. “Eager.” It wasn’t a question. Dar moved his hands down to Eric’s hips, aligning them, the best he knew how, to grind their pleasure together. Their tongues found each other in the confusion, Eric biting down on Dar’s lower lip, trying to trap the sounds that were threatening to escape from him. There was no space between them, no whisper of air to seperate their bodies. Eric felt possessed, and would have sold his soul if only God would let him live for this man.

“Forgive me,” Eric whispered, as his orgasm flooded his body with ice, “I just can’t take anymore.”

#house of ashes #Eric king #dar basri #daric #hoa #fanfiction

17 notes · View notes

mikimagines · 3 years ago

Text

within summer blooms. (which taunt you.)

nagito k. / fem ghost! reader.

tags: angst, no happy ending, right person wrong time, major character death, hurt no comfort (kinda).

writting is not checked: we die like ghost! reader.

(reader is the former ultimate gardener, yes…it’s important to the story.)

small inspirations from animes you might know! (or not.) ; tbhk (mitsuba/kou and…tsukasa) and madoka magica. …mostly tbhk.

this was requested by @adelia-chan ! ☆ thank you!

—

nagito always had horrible luck.

no matter where he went, it would end in ways that nobody has seen before. it was a shame to be unlucky, but with the ways of luck, things never change, not even for the victims of despair…

yet, trapped inside of hope’s peak academy was a strange yet non surprising way he got trapped. summer break was coming sooner than expected, so most students rush to do something to celebrate on their finale exams; college exams. leaving lesser students to do all of the cleaning, which nagito was one of them. . .

and when nagito was finishing up his duties it was only him left, and everyone always forgets about him so the school was left to close for the afternoon. it was stupidly his luck, that left him in this way and staying over night might get him in trouble, so finding a way to get out would be the most important.

and to his disappointment, every door was sealed shut. not even with any of his tricks it wouldn’t work. although he did remember when he did knock down a door accidentally, due to his luck. so the student council has to make all of the doors: “nagito-proof” it makes him a weridly thankful that they could name something out of something he did.

which during his entire rant, on how thankful he is to be part of such a delight indeed, a ghost, who was actually in the middle of going to her (old) garden saw the pale-haired boy infront of the door.

you weren’t really into the fact that he was rambling into something, you just had to make sure he was ok. yet, you forgot that people have known to be afraid of ghost…which you are.

“hey, are you ok?” you replied to the boys, thoughts of respect.

and yet, you were scared.

if he gets scared like the people, who you simply need to know if that they remember correctly that it was you, their friend.

…

and if they don’t, it wouldn’t end that much well for you. especially with the stupidly naive deal you made to see everyone again, family, friends. it was your only chance, so taking it would be a final way to say goodbye.

correct?

—

it was a silent pause into nagitos thoughts. it was extremely his bad luck knowing that he is stuck inside his school, know with a ghost who is in front of him, with concern in their eyes.

“hey…hey! are you ok? the more you stare at me the more my flowers are going to wilt!” you snarled at the boy, not knowing what to do.

it was only a few minutes anyways and he finally spoke even with all the questions his head.

seeing ghosts face to face are a thing that nobody has truly seen.

yet to him, he has seen one. not only is that “unlucky.” it is truly lucky. maybe he can learn more about death more. he’s not afraid of it, maybe.

you facepalm at the boy, currently you were going to get to your garden, and now your stuck with a person who isn’t even afraid of you.

he was just shocked. your smirked for a little, taking that way, since nagito has wasted 30 minutes of your time. it would be better to do the same, yes?

and to your shock as well, he agreed to you taking him to your “garden”, unlike any other average student, example: your very own friend, they think your “garden” is truly where you are going to drag them into the same fate as you.

so they leave…well run away from you, leaving you alone, once again. is this just your loneliness, maybe just a eternal curse you will have until you truly pass on.

and for nagito, he just…agrees like a lost puppy dog that wants to know everything about you. this is a rare time that nagito has now seen in his life. which was you, a finally seen not as a scary illusion from guilt. but as a new friend.

ah, you couldn’t think that much about him, it was only your first time seeing him, and you barely had any time.

being the anniversary of your death soon and soon enough the time you truly have to go, any finally rest for another life.

finally, you went to your small garden. it was blooming more than normal, as the suns blesses with its shine and “love.” it was a easy job. it was your garden obviously, a place full of memories, a place where you could be happy with everyone.

and with nagito with you and him listening to every word your saying, it gives you happy memories. the things you truly wanted to do one last time with everyone, wouldn’t it just be so great?

“hmm…are these roses?” nagito asked during your rambling while watering your bonsai.

you put down your watering can and got ready to ramble about the flowers and the meaning of them.

until you saw nagitos bleeding finger, and was getting on your precious daisy’s, which wasn’t exceptional to you as you scolded the laughing man like a mother.

time passed fastly after that, faster than you can imagine, also you promised to get him out of the school so he can get to his apartment before his classmates start a search party.

yes, even if the barely care for him. it was still needed. no matter what. you sighed, once more you took him to the opened door from a security’s guard (which you accidentally scared.)

and waved goodbye.

—

after that fateful afternoon it was a shock to see nagito stay a little more while at the school, most thought he was up to something big, while the class just took it off as him finally getting “a touch of grass” — hiyoko.

also you both actually introduced yourselves, although you were seemingly confused on how he’s the ultimate “luck” he didn’t seem that much lucky to you. and for you, introducing yourself as the (former) ultimate gardener was easy to figure out due to context clues.

it was slightly embarrassingly, only for you… yet nagito just clapped it off as you still being a symbol of hope.

ah, anyways…

—

it’s been about 2 weeks since the fateful day you meant with nagito. (and more importantly, the day you have to go soon.)

he was almost like a close friend, honestly. every time after-school he would come and visit you and your garden and even learned much about how plants have meanings.

yet, you were on the clock. you had been trying for months just to actually get your friends to remember you, yet it didn’t work. all you did was hurt your friends more and more with just being a ghost.

why?

because of guilt.

once someone goes, you can’t see them again, nor can’t say your true feelings or even be with them, not even a hug or a laugh.

they just, disappear. and so with you being a ghost, they think it’s their mind taunting them for not saying goodbye.

or the feeling of self guilt; like it’s their fault.

yet for nagito, he’s just so confusing never scared of anything and you know much about him even when he shows his true personality.

and yet, harm can come in many ways. horrible ways that you can’t say it. you can feel it. so why not just say your true feelings?

…

it’s that easy! right…?

—

exorcists are dangerous to ghosts.

they bring harm and fear to the ghosts and with no mercy in some ways. which brings terror and puts the ghost in ways that they are not ready to say goodbye yet;

or truly pass on,yet some are kind and want to help the ghosts. but flowers aren’t truly that perfect. no matter how kind they look.

take a example, roses. they look pretty, and yet so dangerous that it would harm the ones who dare to touch it.

it was actually the same with you and the ultimate exorcist. as she has had complaints about you in the past, an extremely confused ghost.

yet she gave you time to truly say goodbye to your friends, and of course you accepted the final days you can see everyone and try to talk to friends and family.

most would see this as a blessing, yet to your friends they truly thought you were just there to give them more grief to your death.

(they didn’t know it was truly you, so it gives them a point or two. but they are actually a little stupid..so take off a point.)

and that stupid exorcist, she knows. she knew that you were going to fail anyways and is a entire master at gaslighting you.

and today, you weren’t going to fail. one more time, just one more time!

but you failed.

again, and again.

no matter how hard or how kind you look. it never works. even when nagito tries to calm you down and even tried to talk to them, they would just find him even more scary to the experiences of seeing you.

and today.

the final day you can try to talk to them.

you failed.

you…failed.

like shattered glass, it was giving you more despair, and it gets more shattered everytime until the sunlight, the memories taunt you.

the car crash, the everything.

why…how.

it was just all over your mind, no one was their to be with you anymore, since nagito went home for the day, which will be the last day he will truly see you.

…

why?

I’ll recommend asking the exorcist.

—

note: this will be a little, uncomfortable(?) and it’s not that important to the story at least. so if it does, please skip.

it was truly a painful experience.

you couldn’t do anything about it, because she was just too fast.

all you could do was scream for no one, the exorcist had you by the heart. it was unavoidable. you couldn’t say your true feelings yet, you couldn’t say anything.

maybe, if you weren’t such a idiot and went to the flower shop that day. maybe this wouldn’t happened. maybe, you could of confessed your true feelings to nagito.

but it was way to late, way to late. like the day another person confessed to your crush the day you were going to confess and they accept the other persons confession.

they have a life together, and all you can do was sit back to watch, you could never have a happy life or do regular teenagers things anymore.

you were a ghost, after all. so maybe, it should be your turn to go. forever.

those were the words that came out of your head and the exorcists mouth while taunting you.

and yet,, soon enough.

you were finally going to rest. (not) peacefully.

the exorcist smirked at the work she has done, and left. hopefully you can finally rest.

it was only fate.

after all.

a fate, you can truly. never change, which will taunt you all the way to your final grave.

—

nagito was worried, he hasn’t seen you in a while. not in the garden or the koi pond. you just, left.

he thought for a second: we’re you truly sick of him? I mean, he does ramble a lot and he does say a lot of stupid things.

but you always listened, so why would you leave? he had so many questions that had to be answered. maybe it was his luck? or maybe just him? he has no clue.

his top priority is to find you, I mean who else is going to show him your garden and ramble about all of the flowers you have and their meaning.

he had to figure out quickly, although. maybe your old friends or maybe that exorcist you were scared of said has something to say.

he was just truly, worried. so he had to figure out, quickly. in the name of hope! (and flowers.)

—

one by one, your friends talked about you, how you were just, a sweetheart. even if you were so tough with them. you had your ways of making friends especially in that one garden you had.

the way you died was…messy to say the least, from nagitos research of you most of your friends looked near to crying.

it was a painful way to go, any you were just looking for something so innocent.

roses.

from the garden shop. but to your horrible luck, you got ran over badly by a speeding cars. (nearby people even said you looked both ways.)

and your death was something that they couldn’t change at all. it still gives them pain to that day, especially because you had a closed casket…

after the entire exchange was over, they were pretty worried out on how some random guy from a nearby class asked them such random questions.

yet nagito moved on. to that ultimate exorcist.

—

it was a small yet big talk for him, not only because the exorcist just said that they killed you, the exorcist just treated it like a simple case of a average ghost.

I would say it pissed him off, but he’s always just so calm, putting his true personality would lead to things like him being put out of school (again.)

but for you, you were truly just gone.

not a person nor a ghost.

just a concept they never existed. like, never existed, only the things you loved and liked were still their.

you truly just disappeared, you couldn’t even say anything yet for him, not even he could say anything for you as well.

—

all he can do is just stare at that one bonsai tree you have to him, it was actually your “confession” he was just too confused.

and once again, I think he would just feel deep, sadness. not that he could see you or hear you talk about plants and koi fish again.

but that you couldn’t say your true feelings.

—

nagito always has bad luck. it was something, he couldn’t stop and once again.

he has lost someone important again.

—

extra:

you gave nagito a small bonsai tree, it was truly your favorite in the entire world. you always had it with you and was your first priority. but, you gave it to nagito, it always gave you good luck when you were alive.

maybe it will give good luck to him, he deserves it more than you.

he did ask why it has roses with it.

you just laughed at him, maybe it could be something like to remember you by. if you ever go. of course.

—

authors note:

I apologize for things like not being accurate to the nagito’s character or maybe it being too boring??? I mean this took me about a hour or two.

you guys own me a reroll account/hj

- mod mikan.

#danganronpa imagines #danganronpa imagine #danganrompa angst #nagito imagines #nagito komeada x reader #nagito komaeda #nagito x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa 2 #nagito komaeda angst #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa 2 x reader #goodbye despair #danganronpa goodbye despair

113 notes · View notes

winterdragoon · 3 years ago

Note

What is your biggest regret?

I wasn't expecting someone to ever ask me something on this blog. Every second I regret something new! It's hard to narrow down. I don't actually think I've lived so reckless that I've actually got to regret a lot of actually terrible things. When I was 10 or 11 or maybe even 12 living in the middle-of-no-where Canada, one of my friends was a black girl (the only black family in the town). Someone else said she had dirt on her face or something, and I don't know what joke I was trying to make but I said it was all over, and she understandably took that as me making some sort of racist comment and she was very hurt by it and we never really talked again. I never really knew what to do about it 'cuz I felt awkward so I didn't say anything and have always felt bad for making her feel that way. I was reading my art book a few years ago from those classes with her and she left lots of silly little comments which kinda reminded me we were even friends 'cuz I guess I just forgot. Around 15 years old I started having knee pains, and my doctor was a clown who was completely wrong about what was wrong with me and what I should do, but I just trusted him and have further fucked up my knees beyond repair, so I regret listening to that dude. When I was 18 I moved to be near my best friend/someone I liked, it didn't work out and I had to move back. I regret leaving even though I guess life has kinda worked out regardless, but I really hated life and took a lot of it out on her after I moved away. Called her stupid for not liking me, and stuff. Very shameful stuff, and i stopped talkin to her for basically a decade. I actually just visited her last week to see her for the first time in 12 years but I hate and regret that I ended a friendship 'cuz I was a stupid little incel baby bitch. I bought this house at 23 and it's just so fucking expensive and I feel like I have no freedom because I'm chained to this mortgage. I've been grindin'! but damn it's still so far away. I should be fine but for the first several years I felt horrible. 26 I was offered a management job at a small store in a town 3 hours away. I didn't take it 'cuz I was scared to work for the guy who I'd be working with, plus I own this house so I thought that would be a hassle to figure out. I also thought I'd just get promoted soon here in the city. Still hasn't happened, and the guy I didn't want to work for has been off for years with a back injury. Think about it all the time, could be living the dream in a resort town right on the edge of the Rockies. Lots of other things, but those are the big ones I can think of at the moment. I regret wasting thousands of hours of my life making sub-par GIFs, I regret making metaldragoon to divide my account because now winterdragoon feels useless, I regret every time I open my mouth, I regret every time I don't, I regret not buying bigger shoes when I was younger so now my toes are fucked, I regret not trying out boxing when I was younger 'cuz I think I woulda been pretty good at it and now I'm too old to get punched in the head, I regret moving away from my friend on the one-year anniversary of her mother's death, I regret telling some girl at work that I liked her and I still have to see her weekly for like 10 years now, I don't know what else I regret but yeah.

4 notes · View notes

ruzek-halstead · 3 years ago

Text

keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)

julie doesn't expect one of the worst days of her life to lead to the best.

an alternate universe where julie is a talented tattoo artist, battling her demons and luke occasionally helps out at a flower shop because recording a demo isn't cheap. their meeting isn't the most glamorous, but it's one for the books.

masterlist || ao3

It’s only when she turns her head to the side and her curls follow, that he notices the black outline of a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. It’s unbelievably simple and void of any colour, but Luke finds it suits her. Her arm reaches out as she playfully hits the shoulder of someone she’s with and Luke catches more of the ink on her skin. He spots the dahlia first, and her reaction at the flower shop when he thought they didn’t have any makes a lot more sense; it must have a deep meaning to her.

The urge he feels to know everything and anything about her overwhelms him.

The moment Julie's alarm clock starts ringing that rainy Wednesday morning, she knows it can only go further downhill from there.

She has been dreading this day for the entire month, and now that it's finally here, she isn't sure how to feel. She knows how she feels; her insides are turning themselves inside out and the pinch at the front of her forehead signals the start of a headache that will most likely be there for the remainder of the day.

It's only seven-thirty in the morning and her phone is already flooding with messages. They're mostly from her dad, reminding her what today is. It isn't as if she needs a reminder; this day will stick with her for as long as she walks this earth. Other messages are from her Tía Victoria, a bit more aggressive, trying to ensure Julie's presence later tonight.

Julie understands it's all in good faith; she knows that. It doesn't help lessen the pain though.

She's has never found it anything less than difficult to visit her mother's grave. The image of Rose being lowered in her coffin will forever stay burned in Julie's mind, and that was all she could picture whenever she went back. However, the standing tradition was that they all would visit her mother's grave on the anniversary of her death.

Julie visited on the first anniversary. She was only able to stay the entirety of four minutes before she ran to the nearest trashcan to empty out her insides.

She stopped by the second year but couldn't find the strength to leave the car.

By the third year, the mere thought of visiting the cemetery was enough to send Julie into a whirlwind of panic attacks; they were so debilitating that she couldn't even leave her apartment.

At the fourth anniversary, Julie simply opted to not go. Her father was disappointed, her Tía was angry (even though she tried to hide it) and her brother said nothing at all.

Today marks the fifth anniversary of Rose's death, and once again, she's expected to show up. Even if the pain is just as fresh as the day it happened, the expectation is that she'll show up anyway with flowers and say something nice and meaningful.

Julie doesn't have anything nice or meaningful to say because she's still so angry that something like this even happened in the first place. She doesn't see why she has to hide her anger, why she has to hide it for the sake of her family. It should be okay that she's still grieving; it isn't something you just get over.

Julie clears the messages from her phone without responding. She has work to get to, and she can't be anymore distracted than she already is. She jumps in for a quick shower, not bothering to style her hair since it was a dreary, rainy day anyway. She chooses a pair of black ripped jeans, a matching black cropped band t-shirt and her red and black plaid shirt to complete the outfit. Grabbing an apple for the road, she picks up her army green jacket, an umbrella and quickly weaves through the crowds of people on the street until she reaches her destination.

The 'OPEN' sign is still turned off, but she spots lights flickering in the back. Balancing her umbrella and the apple she shoved in her mouth due to lack of hands, she uses her key to let herself in.

Willie is already in the back, setting up his station for a full day of appointments. Somehow people were always willing to get pricked with a needle, no matter how much it hurt.

Their other co-workers, Flynn and Carrie haven't arrived yet.

Julie is grateful for that. After working with these people for so many years, they know a lot about her and most of them were even there when her mother's health severely started deteriorating out of nowhere.

They know exactly what today is.

She doesn't want to be coddled in the way she knows they'll want to.

Luckily, she doesn't have to worry about that with Willie. He somehow just understands exactly what everyone needs, no words necessary.

"Morning Jules," he murmurs, motioning behind him to the break room. "I set the coffee a bit ago. Can you check on that?"

Julie, ever grateful for the distraction, drops her things at her station and rushes into the break room. Coffee is a must every morning, and it's best to always have a fresh pot. You never know when you'll need a fix. After so many years of working together, they've all memorized each other's coffee orders and so, Julie takes it upon herself to prepare everyone's coffee.

It's mostly for a distraction. But every time she thinks of things as distractions, it only reminds her of what she's trying to distract herself from. It's a lose-lose situation.

"Good morning Julie!"

Julie turns to glance over her shoulder at where Carrie is walking in, hooking her jacket on the coat rack and shaking out the raindrops from her loose waves. She immediately dives for her coffee, taking a deep gulp with a sigh of pleasure.

Her blue eyes meet Julie's surprised brown ones. Carrie merely sends her a small smile and doesn't say anything else. Julie sends one back.

"Is Nick coming in today?" Julie asks, turning back to the four coffees.

Nick is their apprentice, currently working with Carrie. He doesn't come in everyday and Julie doesn't want to waste a perfectly good coffee if he isn't coming in.

"No, not today. He gets days off. Anyone know what those are?"

Julie lets out a snort. She spots the pleased smile on Carrie's lips from the corner of her eye. She understands her co-workers are trying to make this day as pain-free as possible and she really appreciates it.

"Jules, your phone's going off again!" Willie yells from the other room. Julie frowns, knowing exactly who it is and what it's for. She glances at her watch, noting it's time to open. She grabs her coffee along with Willie's and drops it off along the way.

Julie once again presses decline, silences it, and shoves it into one of her drawers. She ignores the somewhat knowing look from Willie; she knows he won't say anything.

She can feel it in the aggressive manner of her movements; she's just so frustrated. She's frustrated with her emotions and what she's feeling. A part of her thinks she should be over it by now, so she wouldn't have to suffer through this every year. But she knows that's ridiculous; this kind of pain doesn't just disappear overnight. She's also frustrated with her family. They don't seem to care about what she's feeling and instead solely on what they want her to do.

But then, she's also frustrated with herself.

Why is it so difficult for her to visit her mother? Maybe it would be therapeutic and bring Julie some closure. She knows this, but her body rejects the idea at every attempt.

It's frustrating all around and Julie can feel herself growing sour as the day goes on.

Julie never pictured herself going into tattooing. To be perfectly honest, blood used to freak the hell out of her and in large quantities, it still does. But she always had an interest in drawing. It started with little doodles on the corners of her notebooks, then when she was gifted her first proper drawing pad, she filled it up within days. It was the one thing that brought her joy, so she decided to make something out of it.

Tattooing was still never on her radar. It wasn't until Julie met up with some of her cousins at a family get together that the idea was proposed. After that, Julie furthered her education on drawing and applied for an apprenticeship with an experienced tattoo artist. She wanted to see if it was the right profession for her, and she was amazed by how much she loved it.

Her mentor thought she was adorable at first. She was so tiny, and so bare of any tattoos, but when she started showcasing her talent, both knew this was the right place for Julie. She stayed there for a few months and eventually started venturing elsewhere. That's when she discovered Willie and his tattoo parlour Powerhouse.

He's absolutely the chillest boss Julie has ever encountered. He cares that you do your job and you do it properly. She also met some pretty amazing coworkers along the way, so it was quite possibly one of the best decisions she ever made.

Sitting in the break room during a gap in appointments, Julie idly stares at the ink littering her forearms. She never saw the appeal to ink her skin before her mom passed away. After that, she was desperate to keep her memory alive, and as close to her as possible.

The black outline of a dahlia on her wrist reminds Julie of her mother's favourite flower; she always made sure to have them in the house, even if they were out of season. There was a flower shop nearby that always managed to get them in, and coincidentally, it ended up being the shop across the street from where she worked now. Julie is familiar with the elderly lady who owned the shop, Beverly; she's the absolute sweetest, and continued to get dahlias even after Rose had passed away.

Julie likes to keep some in her apartment as well, so she continues stopping by.

She kept adding designs to her skin as time went on.

Her style is mostly black ink, thin lines. She understands most people get tattoos without a specific meaning behind it, as getting a tattoo is already meaningful enough. But Julie has always been dead set on having all her tattoos mean something to her.

She has her mother's signature on the underside of her other wrist. This one, Carlos and she got together. It's the only time Carlos ever let her come close to him with a needle, even though she has begged him multiple times.

Julie also has a black butterfly on the back of her shoulder. She loves butterflies and everything they represent; rebirth, change, hope, transformation, everything she wishes she could do.

She has a few more littering the skin on her arms, all personal designs, and all done by her ridiculously talented co-workers; Julie wouldn't trust anyone else.

Julie's day has dragged on, and she's still dodging calls from her family. It hurt, deep down in her chest that she's ignoring them, but it hurt so much more thinking about her mom and where she is.

When her phone rings again as she's cleaning up her station after the last client of the evening, Julie moves to decline the call. She stops short when she notices the screensaver is a dorky photo she took of Carlos many years ago; it's her brother calling, and he hasn't bothered to do so in quite a while.

Julie, with hesitation, decides to pick up the phone anyway. She hasn't talked to her brother in months, and she can't decline his call; it would hurt too much.

"Julie," he greets, seemingly surprised she even picked up; he knows what she's like on his particular day. It's like a breath of fresh air hearing his voice, and it makes Julie feel even worse for ignoring her father and Tía's calls earlier.

"Hey Carlos," Julie replies softly. "How are you?

It's a dumb question, but it was instinct more than anything else.

"I'm okay, considering," Carlos responds honestly, and Julie's heart nearly bursts from how much it hurts. To know her little brother is hurting and she has been avoiding him like the plague, it makes her feel like a terrible sister. And that wouldn't be far from the truth, considering how MIA she has been with her entire family. "Are you coming tonight?"

Julie inhales sharply. It's easier to just decline calls to let them know she isn't coming rather than actually having to tell them. "I'm sorry Carlos, I don't think I can make it tonight."

There's an ominous silence from the other end. They both know Julie's full of shit.

"Okay," he replies solemnly. "I just —" When Julie hears what she thinks is a quiet sob, her eyes immediately well up with tears. For a second, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room and she can't figure out how to breathe. "I would really like it if you came. I need you."

Carlos is so obviously in pain and Julie doesn't have it in her to deny it anymore. She's in pain too, but it isn't just about her.

"I'll be there," Julie tells him, voice breaking on the last word. "I'm just finishing work, but I'll meet you all there."

"Thanks Jules," he thanks her, but honestly, there's no need. "I love you."

Julie hastily wipes at the tears that have escaped. "I love you too. See you soon."

Julie immediately ends the phone call and ducks her head into her arms to silence the sobs wracking her body.

God, it hurt so much.

Everything hurt.

Julie only allows herself to fall apart for a single minute. After that, she composes herself and wipes away her tears. She had promised Beverly she would stop by today, as she always sent Julie some dahlias on the anniversary of her mother's death. She figures she may as well bring them to her mother's grave; her father would appreciate it.

Julie hastily grabs her jacket from the back and storms to the front door. Her co-workers are still in, so she mumbles a quick goodbye but doesn't stay long enough to receive any questions. In her rush, she forgets to grab her umbrella and of course, it's still raining out.

She growls in frustration under her breath. She isn't usually an angry person, but today she's completely out of it.

The flower shop is only across the street, so she quickly makes a run for it and ducks into the shop.

Julie is expecting to see Beverly behind the counter, so she's unpleasantly surprised to see a floppy-haired, sleeveless man sitting behind it instead. She was truly hoping to see Beverly; she always made Julie feel better, especially on days like this.

So, she can't exactly explain the overwhelming feeling of rage that overtakes her.

Luke is sitting behind the counter on a stool, pencil between his lips, brows furrowed together as he reviews his latest lyrics. His head is bopping up and down as he murmurs the words from the notebook splayed on his lap.

He's been in a bit of a rut lately and everything he seems to write makes him want to bang his head against the wall.

The flower shop is quiet and slow, and it's the perfect place for Luke to write out his latest song ideas. They are still three songs short for the demo album they're currently recording and Luke is on a bit of a time crunch. It's a miracle they found a studio willing to let them record their demo album at all, but that's the price of knowing people (or Reggie knowing people; he meets a lot of random people).

Unfortunately, recording a demo doesn't pay much, so Luke helps out in the flower shop occasionally. Beverly is a family friend of his mom's and she's more than happy to have Luke help out so she can spend some more time with her grandkids.

When he hears the bell of the door go off, signalling there's a new customer, he glances up, pencil dropping into his lap. Her back is to him so he can only spot her unruly curls and army green jacket littered with raindrops.

He watches her silently; it isn't like he's trying to be creepy or anything, but usually he can tell by their expressions if they need his help or not. When she turns in his direction to glance at the row of flowers, he offers a friendly smile.

Luke is momentarily distracted by her effortless beauty, but his brows furrow at the obvious distress written on her features. Her eyes are slightly rimmed red, and he doesn't want to make any assumptions, but coupled with her rosy nose, it seems as if she has been crying. There's a pinch in her brow, and Luke can't tell if she's angry or just severely upset.

Neither are his specialty, and truth be told, he figures he'll only make things worse if he tries to talk to her. But she looks so sad, and it is technically his job. How horribly could he mess this up?

With hesitation, he slips out from behind the counter and approaches her cautiously, bouncing on his heels.

"Hey!" Luke greets, his right hand automatically reaching towards the back of his head to scratch his scalp. He has been told it's his nervous tick, though he can't really help it at this point. His voice sounds so loud in the quiet shop; only the sounds of buzzing from the coolers can be heard. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Julie is still gazing over the flowers, growing irritated that there are no dahlias in sight. She spares a single look at his curious expression. His green eyes are searching her face, and she can only imagine how terrible she looks right now. His gaze is oddly intense and Julie breaks away like she's been burned.

Shaking her head to break out of her reverie, she looks back at the flowers. "I'm looking for dahlias."

"Oh!" Luke frowns, even more so when Julie doesn't make further eye contact. "Sorry, we don't have any in stock right now. Not the season."

Luke has dealt with crabby customers before, normally upset because they don't have what they're looking for. He's used to that, and he has a pretty upbeat demeanour that helps him whenever he has to talk down customers. And though Julie looks upset, he doesn't expect her to snap the way she does.

She turns to face him with such ferocity that the ends of her jacket flap against his thigh. There’s a wild gleam in her eye as it twitches. “What?” Though the single word is packed with animosity and venom, Luke spots the hint of desperation beneath. “That’s not possible. This place always has dahlias! They have to be here somewhere!" Her voice lowers into a soft whine when she says, "I need them."

Julie’s eyes flood with tears the more she speaks, and though she realizes he probably has no idea that Beverly always makes sure there are dahlias for her, she can’t help but let her frustrations out somewhere. Plus, she doesn't know him, so it's fine, right?

At the prospect of Julie bursting into tears right there and then in front of him, Luke jumps right into panic mode.

If Beverly’s shop receives a terrible review because of him, she will absolutely have his head.

(Beverly is a sweet lady but the sass.)

“Uh — hold on, just give me a second,” Luke stutters, reaching his hand out as if to comfort her. Julie’s eyes drop down to his hand and he snaps it back and tangles it into the back of his head with a sheepish smile. He’s always been very touch-oriented; it’s a problem sometimes, especially with people he doesn’t know very well. He just can't help it; if he sees someone in pain and suffering, he'll want jump in and help. However, it seems like the only way to help this particular distraught customer is to find some dahlias. “Hey, okay — listen, why don’t I check in the back? I could definitely be wrong.”

Julie’s eyes meet his and he becomes increasingly aware that she’s about ready to lose her bearings and cry right there in front of him. It makes his heart turn in his chest, and he doesn’t even know her that well. He takes a step back to head to the cooler but his hesitation is at an all-time high; Julie looks so ready to explode and it rubs him the wrong way to leave her on her own.

But he figures it’ll be for the best if he can find the dahlias, so he awkwardly steps back to enter the cooler. The cooler is relatively empty, only vases with long-stemmed roses, some ready-to-go arrangements and a few orders waiting to be picked up. He walks through the cooler quickly, checking any crevice for hidden dahlias. It’s only when he spots a bouquet of dahlias with baby’s breath, neatly wrapped in cellophane that he stops in his tracks. There’s a note attached and Luke recognizes Beverly’s loopy hand-writing.

A pretty, curly-haired brunette will be by to pick these up later. No charge. Please be nice, Luke.

Luke nearly snorts at the addition of the note, but quickly realizes it was probably added because of the brunette’s emotional state that he just witnessed. He would otherwise argue he’s a very kind person.

(He isn’t usually wrong about what they have in stock either, but it seems today is a day for firsts.)

Luke grabs the bouquet and gently brings it back out. Luckily, the brunette hasn’t burst into tears; in fact, she seems more composed than earlier (he can’t help but think that maybe it was because his bothersome presence was gone).

“Ah — I’m sorry about that,” Luke apologizes, holding out the bouquet. He realizes the note Beverly left is still stuck onto the cellophane when he catches Julie’s eyes very obviously reading it. He awkwardly snatches the note back and shoves it into his pocket, but when he notices the right side of her lip quirk into a small smirk, he can’t help but feel a swell of pride. “Turns out Bev had this ready for you in the back.”

Julie accepts the bouquet, glancing up to send him a small, thankful smile. She recognizes she was quite snappy with him, and truthfully, he handled it considerably well as opposed to how he could have. But she also knows she isn’t mad at him and he didn’t deserve to be her punching bag today. Whoever he is.

Julie doesn’t recognize him, but he seems to know Beverly just as well as she does. He has a decently cute smile and Julie seems to be drawn to his mannerisms; the way he constantly scratches the back of his scalp or bites his lip when he’s awaiting replies.

She only notices that she’s been staring at him for the last few seconds when he clears his throat and his hand dives towards the back of his neck. She would be embarrassed if this wasn’t already one of the worst days of her life; it truly can’t get any worse.

Instead, she pulls out her wallet with her free hand, but Luke shakes his head. She saw the note that said no charge, but she had been a nightmare, it was the least she could do. “No charge,” Luke murmurs, eyes latching to the delicately wrapped dahlias. “Boss’s orders.”

Julie forces another smile onto her lips. “Thank you,” she says. She debates saying anything else, maybe apologizing but she’s already running late and she doesn’t want her family to think she’s bailing on them again.

So, she turns to leave. Immediately, dread starts pooling at the bottom of her belly and she just knows getting to the cemetery will be one of the hardest things she'll have to face.

At watching her leave after a painfully obvious fake smile, Luke hesitates. He’s a curious person, and he doesn’t like to see people hurt. He always needs to make things better; it's part of who he is. So, he bites his lip and launches forward, blurting loudly, “Are you alright?”

Julie nearly snorts because she most definitely is not alright and that much is obvious, but it’s nice of him to ask anyway. She stops in her tracks and turns to him with soft eyes. “I’m not, but thank you anyway,” she replies honestly.

Her eyes drop down to search for a name tag, but he doesn’t have one. She then remembers the name scribbled on the note at the same time he supplies, “Luke.”

“Thank you anyway, Luke,” Julie repeats. Her eyes quickly roam over his features once again. She hadn’t noticed his sleeveless tank was an old band t-shirt, but at this close range, she could tell it had been purposely ripped and destroyed. The shirt, coupled with his distressed denim pants and outdated jean-chain gives her serious 90s vibes. She decides she likes it.

Luke nods in response, folding his lips in an awkward smile. Her warm brown eyes are softer now as they gaze at him and for some reason, he can feel his heartbeat start to pick up. She turns to walk away again and this time he doesn’t interrupt.

He would absolutely deny that he was creeping on her (he just happened to be looking in that direction) but he watches as she ducks into the tattoo parlour across the street. He finds it a bit odd; it seems like a weird place to go after a flower shop, especially given how upset she looked.

One thing he does know: it seems as if Beverly is quite familiar with this mysterious brunette, and he would be lying if he said he doesn't want to know more about her.

It's a fair assumption to say Luke’s life is a tad bit complicated at the moment.

His band, Sunset Curve, was graced with the amazing opportunity to record their demo in a borrowed studio. It was a truly unbelievable experience, and Luke was eating up every second. But as the resident songwriter, it was up to him to make sure they had enough original songs to even record.

It’s no secret that Luke has been having trouble in the inspiration department.

The lyrics just weren’t flowing to him like they usually did. He wasn’t really sure of the reason; he originally just assumed writer’s block. But then a certain event occurred and he started to see everything in a different light.

It sounds ridiculous, he knows that.

He doesn’t even know her name.

But her effortless beauty compelled him, and there was something about the sadness in her eyes that drew him in. There were many things about their encounter that were completely out of the ordinary. Her vulnerability and obvious desperation drove his curiosities wild and even though he’d only been in her presence for a few minutes, he was itching to know more.

So, he isn’t the least bit surprised when he starts adding words to his notebook as potential lyrics start spilling out of him.

Specifically, he focuses on her emotions and the obvious distress she seemed to be feeling. It’s out of the realm of his usual type of song, and maybe it isn’t something he’d pitch for the band, but a smile comes to his lips as he thinks of these passages just for himself.

she closed the door

she hides behind a face nobody knows

she feels her skin touch the floor

she wants to fight

but her eyes are tired, nobody’s on her side

she wants to feel like she did before

she looks into her mirror

wishing someone could hear her, so loud

It's definitely not his usual, but her presence in his life gets the ball rolling.

He needs to know more.

Luke finds himself a week later back in Beverly’s flower shop, this time with her by his side. They receive deliveries on Thursday evenings, so Luke usually stops in to help. He hadn’t gotten a chance to pick up another shift since he met the mysterious brunette last week due to back-to-back sessions at the studio, but this was finally his opportunity.

He hasn’t found the right opportunity to ask; he isn’t even sure what to say, but apparently his actions are a bit more obvious than he's intending them to be.

“Am I about to get robbed?”

At Beverly’s odd, but capturing question, Luke turns to her with furrowed brows. She’s sitting behind the counter, checking off their invoices one by one. He’s unloading boxes into the cooler, albeit slower than necessary. He’s a tad bit distracted by the glass windows.

“What?” He mumbles, stopping for a moment to focus on her words. He wipes a hint of sweat off his brow. For someone with a high level of stamina due to the countless hours on stage, he's quite embarrassed at how out of shape he seems to be from a few boxes.

Beverly peeks up at him over the rim of her glasses. “Well, you keep looking out the window, almost as if one of your dorky bandmates is about to run in and break into my register."

Luke snorts at the mention of his dorky bandmates; she definitely isn't wrong. But that isn't the reason why he continues to glance out the window.

“No. It’s just — that girl from last week, with the dahlias. Uh — what’s her name?”

Beverly's smirk is evident and he nearly shies away from the knowing look in her eye. “You didn’t ask for her name?”

His eyes roll back at the obvious judgment in her tone and he wants to laugh, but she's already beat him to it. “I was kind of distracted trying to make sure she didn't cry at the sight of my face."

"Right, I could've warned you about that."

Luke's eyes latch onto her smirk. "You could've."

“She’s a sweet girl,” Beverly sighed, filing another completed invoice. “She’s had a hard life, sad story, really.”

That certainly piqued Luke’s interest.

“What happened?”

But he should’ve figured Beverly wasn’t going to make it that easy for him.

“Not my story to tell,” she says simply. “But I can tell you her name is Julie and she works at the tattoo parlour across the street.”

Realization dawns on Luke at once. He saw her ducking into the parlour after buying flowers but he never imagined she actually worked there. It didn’t seem like her thing, but he should know better than anyone not to judge a book by its cover.

“Are you going to go talk to her?”

At Beverly’s absurd suggestion, he scoffs. “What? No. I was just curious; I don’t even know her.”

Beverly rolls her eyes. “How is it possible that the male species have gotten even stupider since my time?”

Luke drops his jaw in offence, but she's already slid her glasses back on and started studying the next invoice.

Did the thought of casually dropping by the tattoo parlour cross his mind? Yes, of course. But he doesn't want to do that. He isn't used to that. He's never the one that had to chase; it sounds stupid, especially because he hardly knows her, but sometimes there's just a feeling. A feeling that might not make any sense at all, but it's there and it's impossible to ignore.

Luke did his best to ignore the feeling, but only a mere week later, he would find that it wasn't that easy.

"Alright, boys. You all understand how important tonight is, right?"

Alex rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time, as if Luke hasn't drilled the thought into their minds a million times by now. Ever since they secured this gig, it was all Luke could talk about. They each knew how important it was. Yes, their demo was currently in the making but one amazing performance in front of some killer producers, and their demo may not even be necessary to get signed.

It's exciting and anxious as hell.

"I know, I know," Luke sighs, running his hands nervously through his hair. He can't stay still and he can't stop moving or his anxiety will eat him alive. "I'm just so nervous."

Reggie nods his head from the snack table. They each have their own ways of dealing with pre-stage jitters and nerves; Reggie's happens to be stress-eating, and his food of choice? Hot dogs. How he manages to not upchuck everything when onstage is a question they've all asked themselves multiple times.

"I get it dude," he says through a mouthful. "But we're going to rock this like we always do. It'll be awesome."

Reggie's words are comforting but they do little to ease Luke's nerves. This is a big deal for him, for all of them. After so many years of following their passions and trying to accomplish their dreams, a real chance is finally awaiting them just outside these doors.

It's enough to make him nearly puke twice before he makes it on stage, and it only frustrates him further because he never gets this panicky.

He works himself up before he takes the final plunge and finds his way to the one place in the world he's ever felt truly comfortable; centre-stage in front of a microphone with his guitar slung around his neck.

The lights are bright, but he's used to it. His connection to the crowd is instant; that's never been a problem for Luke. He reaches the crowd in the way he sings passionately, surrendering every emotion each song elicits.

He's trying not to think too much; he doesn't want to get too far into his head because he does his best work musically when he isn't thinking, only feeling the music coursing through his veins. He can easily spot the producers in the corporate pantsuits sitting in the far back corner and his eyes try to avoid them as best as possible.

He focuses on the music, on his boys and on giving the performance of a lifetime.

Luke is so focused, he momentarily misses the sight of his flower shop mystery girl smack-dab in the middle of the crowd. His eyes immediately snap back, catching her polite smile as she nods her head along with the music. Though she isn't jumping along like some fans in the front row, she is offering some acknowledgement that she's enjoying his music.

And he isn't sure why, but it sends a fire through his chest that animates him for the rest of the show.

They don't take any breaks during the set; their dedication is endless.

Luke can physically feel how animated the club is, how unbelievably well their show is going. He shouldn't be surprised but the nerves were too much for him earlier. By the time they're winding down for their last performance of the night, Luke doesn't want it to end.

But he's also perfectly aware of the incredibly important people sitting near the back and he knows he has to face them eventually.

They end their stellar performance with their favourite song to perform, so near and dear to their hearts, and also energetic as hell, Now or Never. It's the perfect oath to live their lives to the fullest, as Luke and the boys try to do every day. Today is no different; an opportunity came knocking and Luke plans to take full advantage.

When Luke finally makes his way off stage, everything seems to happen in slow motion.

He can idly feel Alex pulling on his tank and Reggie wrapping an arm around his shoulders, messing up his sweaty hair even more than it already was.

Even when a woman wearing a salmon coloured pantsuit sneaks into their makeshift dressing room to have a quick word, he feels like he's frozen in time, watching from outside his body.

Alex does all the talking (mostly nervous rambling) but the lady, who later introduces herself as Lucy Fields, happens to think it's adorably hilarious.

She tells them she absolutely loved their performance and sees some real, authentic potential; they're young, have a defined sound and a clear talent for writing their own music. Lucy hands them her card, asks for a phone number for reference and promises to call.

When Reggie confusedly asks what this means, Lucy offers them a small smirk.

"I'm going to set up a meeting with my boss. If he likes what he sees, maybe you guys will be signing some paperwork." At their obvious disbelief, she continues, "You guys will definitely be signing some paperwork."

The silence that follows is palpable, but understandable.

Luke hasn't been able to utter a single word since getting off stage, which is highly unusual for him. This news doesn't help his predicament. Reggie starts coughing violently when he chokes on his water, and Alex is nearly about to drop to the ground because what even is air anymore?

Lucy isn't really sure what reaction she would get, but she isn't expecting complete silence. This is rectified when three, fully-grown man-children launch themselves at her, thanking profusely; Reggie even goes so far to plant a sloppy kiss on her forehead.

"We are so sorry," Alex apologizes breathlessly, yanking Reggie back towards his side. "We've just been wait — this is really huge for us."

But Lucy is laughing, so they know they haven't totally ruined their opportunity before it's even begun. "It's alright, boys. This is exciting, I get it. I'll be in touch," she promises before leaving the way she came in.

It's only fitting that the boys can't find any words for a solid five minutes. How does one sum this up into words? Luke certainly can't; in fact, he's pretty certain his brain is short-circuiting because his mind is completely blank.

"What the actual hell?" Alex mutters, quite literally sitting down on the floor where he stood. "Did that just happen? Am I dreaming?"

In response, Reggie whacks Alex on the back of the head; the blonde whines in pain. "Not dreaming," Reggie replies positively. He turns to Luke, nodding, "Dude, you haven't said a word. You good?"

"I don't know what to say," Luke finally says. "This is fucking wild. I mean — I knew it was a possibility, I know this is what we were hoping for but, it's actually happening."

Alex shoots Luke a toothy grin, eyes involuntarily watering with happy tears. "It's finally happening," he repeats. He braces himself when Reggie suddenly launches himself onto him, then groans when Luke hops on as well, laughing heartily.

"It's finally happening!"

It's only when he's distracted, laughing with his brothers on what is quite possibly one of the best days of his life that he remembers just exactly who is currently outside. Untangling himself, he scrambles off the dog pile and nervously tries to fix his messy hair.

"Shit, I have to go."

Alex furrows his eyebrows. "What? Where?"

"We have to celebrate!" Reggie pouts, grunting when Alex pushes him off.

Luke is busy rummaging through all their belongings, looking for some breath mints or even gum. Alex peeks at his actions with curiosity. "What are you — Lucas Patterson! Who is the girl?"

"Shh!" Luke fires back. He isn't totally sure why he does, because it isn't like she can hear them, but it's automatic. "It's the flower shop girl, Julie. I saw her in the crowd."

Reggie shares an incredibly suggestive look with Alex, and Luke can't help but roll his eyes. He finally locates his emergency pack of breath mints and pops three into his mouth. "The tattoo artist? Oh, dude, get your ass out there."

"Good luck Luke! Don't mess it up!" Alex yells after him.

Luke slams the door shut behind him and chuckles; he really should get some new friends. But if things go as expected at this meeting, he'll be stuck with them for life.

He is keenly aware of the fact that Julie might not even be around anymore. It's more than probable, but Luke hopes luck is on his side tonight.

After all, he owes her somewhat of a thank you.

He was in a musical rut before she stormed into his flower shop and nearly bit his head off. He can't explain it, but their encounter sparked something within him and he found himself writing more lyrics than he could keep up with.

Plus, she seemed to recognize him when they made brief eye contact, so it couldn't be a bad idea, right?

(Tell that to his palms that are obsessively sweating as his bright eyes rake through the hoards of people looking for her.)

Luke finds her relatively quickly; she's perched a top of a stool directly in front of the bar. Even though he can only see her back, he recognizes the cascade of curls down her back.

Maybe luck is on his side.

He can’t even put into words how good it looks on her, and maybe that’s a little shallow of him to think, but he’s truly floored by her appearance.

He knew she was beautiful when he saw her that first time, but seeing this side of her, this personal side of her; she’s simply gorgeous and he can’t wait to tell her.

He takes a deep breath and fixes his shirt; it's old and ratty and ripped, but it hasn't failed him yet. He has absolutely no idea what he even plans on saying; he never has to think about it, it usually just comes to him.

Luke slides in next to her, flagging down the bartender immediately.

He really needs a drink.

“Rum and coke, please.”

The tone of his voice must render familiar because Julie pivots on her stool with curious eyes and a lazy smile.

“Well, if it isn’t flower shop boy.”

In another world, he might’ve been offended that the only memorable thing about him was that he worked in a flower shop (he would argue his devilishly good looks or sparkling eyes were absolutely unforgettable). But with one look at her tilted head and amused eyes, he's just glad she remembers him at all.

“In the flesh,” he replies, tongue pressed against his teeth to keep from smiling too excitedly. “Though I do think I proved myself on stage; rockstar is a much more badass nickname."

Julie’s eyes twinkle mischievously as she clicks her tongue before pulling the straw of her drink between her lips. Luke’s eyes immediately follow absentmindedly. “I don’t know,” she drawls with a hint of sarcasm, “I think flowers suit you somehow.”

He wouldn't normally associate himself with flowers.

He's all about ripped jeans and band tees; bottomless coffee pots and dark splashes of colour. Flowers don't normally come to mind, but for some reason, the thought that she does associate him with flowers brings a smile to his lip. Clearly flowers mean a lot to her, if the dahlia tattoo is anything to go by.

It also isn't the wildest thought; he does occasionally work in a flower shop, after all.

The bartender slides his drink across the counter and Luke digs into his back pocket for his wallet. His emerald eyes glance at Julie's nearly empty glass and he leans forward to ask for a refill before throwing a few bills onto the counter.

Julie's eyes glance at the new drink and she shoots a shy smile in his direction.

He doesn't know her very well, but from what he's seen, shy doesn't really seem to fit her.

"You're in a band."

It almost seems like a question, but it very obviously isn't. Luke still feels the need to reply.

"Yeah. We do alright," he replies, hiding a chuckle.

If there is one thing that Luke Patterson is one-hundred percent certain of is that Sunset Curve rocks. Record deal or not, he knows it and he'll never give it up.

However, it doesn't seem like he'll have to and the thought brings a smile to his lips.

"You guys are more than alright!" Julie's face brightens as she turns to speak more animatedly. "I have to be honest, I wasn't really for going out tonight, but I was pleasantly surprised."

"Pleasantly surprised because you saw a familiar face or —?"

Julie's head tilts again and his eyes absentmindedly trace her jaw. "Pleasantly surprised because you guys were good and I was having fun." As an afterthought, she smirks and adds, "Plus, the drummer was cute."

Luke's smile immediately drops and he returns his focus to his drink with a pout. "He's unavailable," he mutters grumpily.

But then she laughs and with one quick glance at her amused expression, it's clear she's only messing with him.

"I like your ink," he says with a nod. "Are they your designs?"

At the comment, Julie's eyebrows rise beneath her curls. "They are, yeah," she replies with a hint of confusion in her voice.

"Beverly told me you work at the tattoo parlour across the street," Luke explains with a shrug of his shoulders.

While Luke doesn't realize the gravity of his words, Julie is filled with a rush of excitement. Clearly, he's been talking about her or at least thinking about her. It's especially surprising considering how their first meeting actually went.

But the truth is, she's thought about him too.

It was hard not to, given his kind smile and friendly nature. Though she was stressed at the time, she couldn't help but think back afterwards. She was of the type to think about things constantly, even after it was all said and done. Awkward encounters, stupid things she's said, you name it.

So, nearly crying in front of a cute stranger definitely made the list.

"You talked about me?" Julie asks, revelling in the quick bloom of red that spreads across Luke's cheeks.

Though he's blushing, he seems completely at ease. "I actually asked about you," he admits, taking another large gulp of his glass. He senses the burn of the alcohol passing through his system. "I was curious."

Julie nods, stirring her glass with the black straw. "Not curious enough to stop by?"

This time, his eyebrows rose in surprise. "I would've stood out too much."

At this, Julie's dark eyes roam over Luke's bare arms, subtlety forgotten. She's surprised she even held out this long, given how loose his shirt is. The cutoff sleeves droop low on his sides and she has a decently clear view of his chest at the angle he's sitting. Her eyes automatically snap back up to his face where he's smirking through another sip from his glass.

His arms are still glistening with sweat, but they're bare of any ink.

"I mean, we can always change that," Julie suggests. She hasn't taken notice of how her body has absentmindedly leaned closer to him, but Luke has. If his racing pulse is anything to go by, he's definitely noticed.

Luke lets out a breathy chuckle, gaze dropping to appreciate the tattoos littering her caramel skin (don't even get him started on what her tattoos are doing to him). "Needles and I don't get along too well and I'm sure as hell not about to cry in front of you before we've even had a first date."

Julie's eyes widen at his forwardness and Luke's breath catches in his throat.

But only seconds later, a pleased smile spreads across Julie's mouth slowly and his gaze automatically drops.

"We can change that too."

Luke has mysteriously forgotten how to breathe, but luckily, Julie is making all the first moves. She pulls her phone out of her purse, unlocks it and brings up a new contact page. She hands him the phone with bright, hopeful eyes and he can only take the phone numbly because he's pretty sure his brain is starting to shutdown.

He doesn't ever freeze up. He doesn't panic when it comes to girls.

In any other scenario, he would had had her number minutes ago.

But this. This is different.

It feels odd for him not to be in control but he's weirdly okay with it? He can't explain it, but he'll sure as hell enjoy it.

Julie glances over her shoulder towards the door as Luke finishes up with her phone. He hands it back to her, expertly making sure their fingers brush as she takes it back (see? His game isn't completely gone).

"I have to go," Julie explains, and is that a breathy tone Luke detects? "My friends are waiting, but it was nice to see you again, Luke." Her eyes seem to go blank for a moment and she shakes her head. "Oh — my name is Julie, by the way. Julie Molina."

A grin blooms across his lips. He already knew her name, but he isn't trying to freak her out with that information. "It's nice to see you again, Julie."

Julie slides off her stool and tucks a few wayward curls behind her ear.

Luke knows he shouldn't, but his gaze roams over her figure. But she did oogle his biceps, so they were even, right?

"By the way," he mumbles and curses his mouth that moves faster than his brain. He's up and out of his seat before he notices. "This might be totally out of place for me to say, but I hope you're doing alright. You know — from that day and all."

He's wincing, preparing himself for when she tells him to go to hell or where he can shove his sentiments, but she surprises him. He shouldn't be surprised because she seems full of surprises, but he still is.

It had only been a week since the fifth anniversary of Rose's death but the wound is still just as fresh. She appreciated when he asked her if she was okay back then, and she appreciated it just as much now.

It's quite comical. She actively avoided her co-workers and friends just so they wouldn't ask her if she was okay, because clearly she wasn't. But she didn't mind a complete stranger asking her; in fact, she welcomed and appreciated it.

Obviously Luke wants to know what had her so upset that day. And it wasn't just that day; he can see the sadness that follows as soon as he mentions it now. It's clearly something she struggles with everyday and that kills him. He wants to know how he can help, how he can make it go away.

Hopefully, he'll get that chance one day, but for now, he's still waiting on that first date.

Julie's sad eyes sweep across his crestfallen features and she steps forward. Her delicate hand presses down on his shoulder to bring him closer and she gently presses her lips to the apple of his cheek. She lingers, because she can and even though he just played an entire set under hot, gleaming lights, he still smells amazing.

"I'm doing better, thank you," Julie murmurs, stepping back. Her eyes roam Luke's face; his blown pupils, lips parted in surprise. "I'll message you," she promises, taking a few steps back towards her friends who are staring very obviously.

She has all the power; he doesn't even have her number. But he's alright with it.

It was small and it felt like nothing, but hearing that she was doing better made his heart flutter.

Luke realizes with a start that she's waiting on a final reply from him before she turns around and joins her friends. So, he offers her a smile and watches in mild horror as his arm comes up through its own volition to grace her with a goofy wave.

But she merely laughs before turning back to her friends.

Luke decides he wants to hear that sound as often as possible.

All in all, his night turned out pretty successful. He can't wait to go tell his boys.

To say that Luke, Reggie and Alex weren't glued to Alex's phone for the entire next week would be the biggest lie of any of their lives.

Alex had given his number to producer Lucy Fields; she promised to call and now they were waiting hand and foot. They each know there's a chance she may not call at all and any opportunity they thought they got, disappears forever. But they were all choosing to be optimistic.

The anxiety is overwhelming.

Luke thought pre-gig was bad, but post-gig is so much worse.

He has to keep himself busy or he'll go insane. So, he focuses on his writing and offers to take a few more shifts at Beverly's.

And he has no ulterior motive to pick up some more shifts. None at all.

It isn't like he can hide it from Beverly anyway. Not when he has his nose pressed to the glass window every hour to stare at the tattoo parlour across the street.

"Good Lord," Beverly mutters after the fifth hour. "If you don't get over there within the next five minutes, I'm firing you."

Luke whips around to face her, hiding his laughter. "You wouldn't."

"Honey, watch me."

Luke chuckles, detaching himself from the window. He's being extra, he knows. But it's mostly because Beverly's sighs and reactions are priceless. He doesn't need to stare through a window to get a date; not when he's already gotten it.

"No need, Bev," he sasses, grabbing some window cleaner (it's the least he can do). "I'm going out with her later today."

Beverly's eyebrows rise so high, they disappear under her hair. She looks so surprised, Luke wants to laugh. "How did you manage that?"

"Saw her at my last gig," he shrugs, hiding a smile. "You know how charming I am, Bev, it was only a matter of time."

Beverly rolls her blue eyes. "Do you need to leave early to change into a date-worthy outfit?"

Luke glances down at his outfit; his signature black ripped jeans, a distressed white band t-shirt and his plaid jacket hanging across the counter. It's normal Luke attire so he isn't sure what brought on the question. "I was just going to wear this?"

Beverly stares at him for a moment before folding her lips to hide a smirk. "Well, you may as well show her what she's getting."

Clearly Beverly woke up today on attack mode.

Earlier this morning, Julie shot Luke a quick text message. They had been texting ever since the day after Luke's gig, but they were solely feeling each other out, and hadn't made any concrete plans. But it had been a week now, and Julie figured it was time.

Luke awoke to a simple text message from Julie, asking if he wanted to grab a coffee after she was done work. It was the best wakeup call, better than a splash of water across his face. He promised to meet her outside of work since he'd be helping out today too and now he was counting down the minutes.

Coffee was a good start.

It's simple, close to their comfort zones and who doesn't love coffee?

Luke still hasn't heard from Lucy so he's grateful for any distraction.

When the time came, he grabs his jacket, places a sloppy kiss on Beverly's cheek and crosses the street with a grin on his features. He leans against one of the light posts, waiting diligently.

When a man with jet black hair piled on top of his head exits, he hears him yell, "Night Jules! Don't forget to lock up!" He makes brief eye contact with Luke and he seems to recognize him from his gig the other night. He nods his head at Luke, glancing back at Julie before walking off.

Luke swears he watches him smirk before he walks away.

But then Julie exits the building and all focus is immediately on her and only her.

She's once again wearing that army green jacket from their first meeting and when she turns to face him, he realizes she's wearing a distressed denim black mini-skirt. She's also wearing a black crop-top and matching black converse. All he wants to think is if all tattoo artists have a black only dress code, but his brain is currently short-circuiting at all the soft skin he wasn't expecting to see.

It's only when he spots the tattoo located on her upper thigh that he realizes he might have to hold onto the light post for support.

"Hey!" Julie greets with the softest smile. She turns around again to lock the front door and Luke lets out an embarrassing puff of air. Get your shit together, Luke, he thinks to himself. "It's nice to see you again."

Julie debates for a moment if she should hug him but ultimately decides against it. He already seems a little pale, so she opts to nod her head in the direction of the coffee shop.

"How are you?" The words Luke has been chanting in his brain finally make it out past his lips, and he turns to gouge her reaction. His hands are stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans as they walk. The itch to hold her hand is strong but, not yet.

Julie nods her head, smiling. That's always a good sign. "It was a good week. Really busy." She eyes his covered arms. "You sure you don't want some ink?"

"Pretty sure we decided after the first date only."

Julie's intrigued eyes turn to him, amusement lighting them up. "Right. I think we did."

Luke stops to open the door to the coffee shop and waits for Julie to enter before he goes in after her. It's surprisingly not busy, considering the usual post-work buzz, but he likes it better like this. It's a full service shop and by the time Luke and Julie take a seat and pull off their jackets, a friendly waitress is already waiting to take their order.

His gaze is automatically drawn to her displayed tattoos and he nearly forgets to relay his order to the waitress.

"Hey, so, before we get into the first date small talk, I just want to be completely transparent with you."

Luke's smile dims just a smidge. It isn't the greatest way to start a conversation, but he's obviously going to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"That day we first met," Julie takes a full breath, actively avoiding eye contact. She doesn't have to tell him this, but she feels as if he deserves to know. "It wasn't my finest hour. I don't normally snap at employees who are just doing their job, I promise."

Luke nods in accordance.

"That day happened to be the fifth anniversary of the death of my mom."

All the colour from Luke's face drains. He planned to let her finish speaking before he said anything, but he just had to jump in with an, "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Julie replies with a sad smile. "I've never been good at dealing with that day and I haven't been able to visit her grave properly ever since but my family was hounding me to visit, and she loves dahlias —" Julie's eyes glaze over, so caught up in her own thoughts. "She loved dahlias and I always try to keep some in the house. Beverly helps with that. I just wanted you to know it was an off-day for me, but I do have some baggage I don't totally know how to handle and I think it's fair you know that before you get overly invested."

Oh, but he already is.

Instead of saying something right away, Luke places his hand on the table, palm up. An invitation if she wants it.

"You didn't have to tell me any of that, but I appreciate it," Luke says softly. His pulse quickens when she intertwines their fingers together. "That's not enough to scare me off. If you don't want to move this forward, that's okay, I understand. But it won't be on my account."

Julie solely stares at their intertwined hands before a smile breaks out onto her features.

As if on cue, their waitress appears with their drinks and they begrudgingly let go of each other.

Now that the hard stuff was out in the open, conversation flows comfortably. Julie is having the time of her life, nearly laughing at every other word that comes out of Luke's mouth. He revels in it; making her laugh is the highlight of his days.

Over an hour passes by and they hardly even notice. They're too busy engrossed in each other. Eventually they decide to take a walk; the conversation is too good to stop, but sitting was becoming exhausting.

It's only when Luke's phone buzzes in his pocket that he realizes how much time has passed. He doesn't reach for his phone because that's rude, but it continues to vibrate incessantly and he has no choice.

He quickly apologizes to Julie, who waves him off.

Luke pulls off to the side and Julie busies herself with checking her own phone. The many vibrations are coming from their Sunset Curve group chat, namely from Alex. Luke's heartbeat picks up before he even opens the messages. His eyes scan the screen quickly. Alex's messages are nearly incoherent, a jumble of words and random letters but Luke quickly understands.

ADFAGDJFSHFNG SFFSVVBAAKG

THEY GOOGLEBS US

WE SIGNGG CONTRATS TOMORROWS

They googled us.

We sign a contract tomorrow.

Luke doesn't mean to stop breathing, but he does. He only dials back into planet Earth when Julie gently touches a hand to his arm. "Luke? Are you okay?" She pulls him closer to the wall.

"I —" He doesn't even know how to explain it. His jaw can't seem to close. "We, um — we met with a producer after our gig. She said she was going to talk to her boss and then call us."

Julie's face immediately lights up.

"That was Alex," Luke continues numbly. "They said they googled us. They want us to sign a contract tomorrow."

Julie's jaw drops in solidarity. "A contract? Like a record deal?"

Luke's neck snaps up to look at her, a smile breaking out over his features.

Holy fucking shit, it's really happening.

"Luke! Congratulations!" Julie immediately launches herself into his arms, boundaries be damned. Luke doesn't mind a single bit, arching his back to lift her off her feet.

He's so happy; he throws all caution out to the wind.

"I've wanted to kiss you since I saw you in the crowd of my show."

Julie's arms lower and her lips split in shock.

The hesitation in her eyes only lasts for a moment.

"I think I have too."

It's all the acknowledgment he needs before he sneaks a hand to cradle her cheek. The sun is slowly setting, but the rays are hitting her cheeks just right. Her dark eyes drop to his lips before they fan closed across her cheeks. Luke sucks in a deep breath, then gently presses his lips against hers, slotting his lips perfectly in between.

It's short, simple, sweet and chaste.

Luke isn't trying to overdo it on their first date. He wasn't even planning on kissing her today, to be perfectly honest. But inspiration and opportunity struck, and he couldn't help himself.

He's pleasantly surprised when Julie secures his head with both hands and surges forward to capture his lips once again. This kiss is nothing like the first; Julie is completely in control, and when her tongue slips into his mouth, chaste isn't really the word he'd use to describe it.

His eyes are easily hooded when she pulls away with a smirk.

And she believed he wasn't invested yet?

"Thought you deserved a proper congratulations. It's not everyday you score a record deal."

Luke swallows harshly, hand crawling into the hair on the back of his head. "Appreciate that," he coughs out.

God, he really needs to learn to be much smoother around her.

As much as Julie enjoys his company and would like to spend even more time with him, this is a special moment for him and it wasn't her he should be with.

Julie lets her hand slide down his arm, squeezing his wrist gently. "I had fun today. But I think you should go be with your band."

An excited grin spreads across his face as he leans down and presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek; Julie can only giggle. "Thank you!" He excitedly taps her nose before starting to run away. He turns momentarily and shouts, "I'll call you!" Then he runs off, leaving Julie laughing.

Julie doesn't expect one of the worst days of her life to lead to the best.

But it does.

Luke is infectious. He invades her life so easily and he fits, regardless of the differences.

He understands her baggage and he gives her the time and space necessary to heal. She learns his triggers and recognizes when he needs her and when he needs space. They're respectful of each other's boundaries and it's what makes their relationship work.

Luke surprises her every day.

Sometimes he'll crawl into bed late at night, when Julie has already snoozed off from a long day at work. He'll do his best not to wake her but he misses her all day and can't wait to tell her he wrote a new song. About her. Because all his songs are about her.

When he finds himself in a writing mood, Julie will sit next to him, binging the latest tv show or playing BuzzFeed quizzes on her phone. It doesn't matter what she does, he just needs her there next to him as his inspiration. Sometimes her presence is a distraction more than anything and he'll throw his songbook to the side, pressing his lips to her neck as she loses herself in a fit of giggles.

She's there when their first album is officially released. She's there at their first official show under the new label. She's always cheering him on backstage, his good luck charm.

When they go on their first official tour, she can't attend because she can't leave her work for that long (not that he would want her to anyway, he understands how much she loves her job). It's the first time they're apart for that long, and it hurts but they're mature about it. Instead, they fill the time with late-night phone calls and FaceTime sessions. When he surprises her at home a day early, she nearly throws the bowl she wiping down at his face, then hurriedly jumps into his awaiting arms.

And it isn't often, but sometimes they fight. They're both especially opinionated and like to get in the last word. When it comes to each other, it can sometimes get heated and often they may say something they don't actually mean. Julie loves to sneak out onto the balcony after a fight; the breeze helps her cool down and look at things with more clarity. Luke can't stand the thought of Julie being angry with him, so it never took long before he followed her out onto the balcony. She would quickly crawl into his inviting lap, they would apologize to each other and talk about things more rationally. Sometimes, all it took was the cold breeze and Luke's soft lips against Julie's temple to calm them down.

It's the relationship they've both always dreamed about but never thought they could actually have.

Sure, Luke's fame sometimes comes with a price, but their love for each other trumps everything else.

He eventually allows Julie to ink his skin like she's expressed so many times she would love to do. He gets a matching Sunset Curve tattoo on his bicep with Alex and Reggie; it's simple, just their logo. He trusts Julie and only Julie to do it; he doesn't need anyone witnessing his pain and she's already too far gone to leave him solely because he nearly passes out from a tattoo.

(She also distracts him with soft kisses and no one else could do that.)

When he walks by a jewellery store one day and the pull is too strong to ignore, he knows with one-hundred percent certainty that this is the path he wants to take.

And when he drops to one knee at the most inconvenient of times because she found the velvet box hidden at the bottom of his sock drawer, his plans for a fancy proposal escape his mind immediately. Her hands fly to cover the gasp escaping her mouth, eyes clouding with tears.

Her answer is yes, always yes.

And every year when the anniversary of Rose's death comes around, Luke looks to Julie for guidance on what she needs. It takes time and strength, but with Luke's help, she's able to visit her mother's grave, drop off some dahlias and tell Luke all about the goddess that used to be her mother.

He often wishes he got the chance to meet her because he knows he would have loved her. Every time he visits Rose's grave, he silently promises to love and honour her daughter for as long as he lives. He hopes that's enough to help her soul continue to rest in peace.

At every visit, Julie would wrap her arm around Luke's and lean her head against his shoulder.

He never realizes it originally, but Julie believes her mom is responsible for their meeting, and she makes sure to thank her every visit.

"Thank you, mom," she murmurs quietly. "Thank you for bringing Luke to me."

44 notes · View notes

primasveraas-writing · 4 years ago

Text

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 1

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

1. Bahryn

The cold is, perhaps, worse than the searing pain in Kallus’ leg. At this point, the numbness is a welcome sensation. Alexsandr cannot feel his fingers or his toes, and he hopes that the chill will spread to his leg soon enough.

He glances towards the transponder, still blinking faithfully, and exhales, watching the plume of air swirl in the wind before him.

It’s been- an hour- two? since the Ghost arrived to save Garazeb. Kallus looks to the spot in the snow where the ship had landed, but flurries have already covered the indentation. Good. Perhaps, then, the Empire will have no clue that he was trapped here with another, that he’s only made it this far because of the mercy of a rebel.

A traitorous thought sends a shiver down his spine- maybe if he were wiser, he would have taken Zeb’s offer to go with the Lasat and his crew.

No. Kallus wraps his arms tighter around himself, nesting the meteorite against his chest, pressing it against his pounding heart. He has no doubt that the rebels would treat their prisoners more kindly than the Empire- but Alexsandr is still their enemy. He has chased them across the galaxy promising their demise, has tortured one of them. The singular act of neglecting opportunities to murder Garazeb Orrelios when his back was turned is not enough to grant him forgiveness. Stars know that the Empire- that Kallus himself- would not show Zeb any mercy for saving Kallus were their positions reversed.

Kallus shudders involuntarily, leaning against the alcove. The tip of his nose is exposed to the wind, which is the most miserable part of this experience. He wonders how long it takes for frostbite to set in, then considers how he would move forward if his nose froze off. Or, even, if he lost his leg, first to the break then to the freezing cold.

Despite himself, he snorts. The ISB would likely give little concern to his injuries. Perhaps it would even be better if he were mechanically enhanced. He could be stronger, faster, less puny and breakable. This, of course, is more optimal than Agent Kallus with a limp, Agent Kallus who needs time to recover and heal. Just cut the damn thing off and move on. Maximum efficiency, minimal time and cost.

Maybe that’s why it’s taken so long for the Empire to rescue him. Maybe that’s why they may not come at all. One man isn’t worth the fuel, the effort it takes to track a foreign signal to some remote moon.

Would it be better to die here, a man so faithful to the Empire that he wastes away waiting for them to save him? Or to spend the rest of his life a prisoner of the Rebels, hated by his captors but at the very least, alive?

He seems to have made that decision long ago, when he was just a boy, not yet a man. A cadet, not an officer. He made the same choice again and again since then. To serve the Empire, to give his life to the cause long before it ever killed him.

This is what his loyalty has earned him. A broken leg and slow death, alone after rejecting the mercy of his sworn enemy.

There are worse ways to die. Less honorable ones, slower, more torturous ones. Lonelier ones, unkinder ones, because at least Zeb was there, in the beginning. He could have perished because of that beast in the cavern, he thinks, and chuckles at the memory of their near escape.

If the Empire does not come, Zeb will be the only one who understands Kallus’ fate. When Kallus disappears, when he is not there to try and foil the rebels again and again, Zeb will realize that the Empire never cared to pick up their agent, that the fool who rejected Zeb’s offer died alone on the ice moon. He doubts the Lasat would share this information with anyone else, and he dismisses the notion that Zeb would ever go back to check, to see if Kallus’ remains lay beneath the snow.

His mother would not be surprised, Kallus thinks dryly. Alexsandr Kallus, missing in action. Declared dead however many months later. It is the fate he knows she expected for him, ever since he announced his plans to serve Imperial Intelligence. His father extended approval with a small nod, but his mother had stared at him, lips pursed, and said nothing. Kallus doesn’t remember when he talked to her last. Perhaps her birthday or anniversary, half a cycle ago. He hadn’t answered her call on his own birthday. A new insurgent cell had popped up, and he spent the entire rotation arranging a task force to address the threat.

They are all going about their expected roles, then. Kallus, dying in service to the cause, the Empire, allowing his death as to not divert from more important matters, and his mother, mourning quietly and quickly because her only child was not strong enough to survive.

He hates surprises, so it is just as well. There’s nothing wrong with something steady and predictable, even if that includes a slow, stupid death alone on a moon nobody in the galaxy cares about.

Kallus sighs, closing his eyes and leaning back against the rock. The wind howls, louder than ever before, and another chill rips through him. He presses his eyes shut, but he cannot make himself any more compact, cannot shelter himself from the climate. He’s tired, aching- he will sleep, for now, he decides. Someone will rescue him and he will wake, or he will go quietly in his sleep.

The exhaustion fogs his mind, depriving him of sense and reason. As he nods off, he imagines a warmth next to him, the strong frame of a Lasat leaning against him. It is the only comfort he can fathom, but it brings him peace in his last seconds of consciousness.

The mechanical whir of a ship disturbs him. Kallus blinks his eyes open with some difficulty- there are snowflakes in his hair and on his eyelashes, sticking them together. He can’t feel anything, which is mostly a relief.

His first comprehensible thought is that the Ghost has come back for him. This conclusion makes the most sense, but as his vision focuses, he realizes that the ship is too large to be the little rebel freighter.

He straightens, suddenly at attention. The Empire is here for him. With some difficulty, he stands, staggering to his feet unsteadily. A fresh wave of pain spikes in his leg but he grits his teeth, tucking the meteorite under his arm, dragging himself forward and into sight.

Two Stormtroopers are making their way towards him- regular troopers, not Snowtroopers, their armor hardly discernible against the snow. They spot him quickly enough, but Kallus does little to acknowledge this, biting down hard on his lip and forcing a neutral expression.

“Sir,” one of them says. “Is there anyone else with you?”

“No,” Kallus bites out, trying not to let his teeth chatter. He pushes past the two troopers without looking at them, making his way up the ramp. Each step is agony, but he forces himself to put weight on the broken leg.

“Do you need medical treatment, sir?”

Damn. He must be limping. Kallus pauses for a fraction of a second, then continues as if he never heard anything. He finds a seat in a lonely corner of the shuttle and remains there in silence. He hears the pilot confirm they’ve made contact, that they’ve rescued Agent Kallus, and the shuttle takes off.

Thawing out is miserable. His leg sears with pain, his fingers throb, yet Kallus stares straight ahead, each second passing in silence. He’s the first to depart when the shuttle arrives on the cruiser, again without a word of thanks to his rescuers.

The trek back to his quarters is slow and agonizing. It’s as if he’s invisible, aside from the occasional bow of the head or sir muttered lowly as he passes his subordinates. Even Konstantine doesn’t care so much as to look up from his datapad. Nor should he. The detour is over; the inconvenience addressed.

He makes it back to his small room, unable to help his limp as he staggers through the door. Even when he’s alone, Kallus maintains his composure until he’s sitting, the meteorite placed safely on the shelf behind him. It’s then he lets out a short gasp of pain, reaching towards the splint on his leg.

His hands are shaking- the pain is blinding, and his vision wavers. Any numbness and adrenaline are gone, and he has lost all barriers between him and the pain. Kallus groans, ripping the splint off messily. It comes off in pieces, first the makeshift bandage unraveling, then the brace clatters to the floor. He chokes back a sob as he brushes against the broken bone and fresh hurt spikes through him.

He debates how to proceed- he cannot now go to the infirmary and be whispered about more. In his quarters, he has meager medical supplies, in addition to those he just arrived with. At beginning of the night shift, perhaps he will be able to retrieve more- get some bacta, make a neater splint.

Kallus starts now by ripping away his pants, grasping the fabric firmly, and tearing it in two. From there, he sheds his armor, casting it aside on the cot. He stands slowly, leaning heavily against the wall and staggers forward, but his leg gives after the first step.

On his hands and good knee, Kallus drags himself forward, pulling himself towards the refresher. It is arduous and subhuman, but there is no weight on his leg and this relief alone is worth the crawl.

It is in this position that he dry-swallows the pain medication, that he washes off the blood and grime. As the water pours over him, stinging the wound, he lets the shameful tears fall, disguised by the fall of the shower. He can think of little more than the agony erupting in every fiber of his being, and he is more tired than ever more.

But the medication- of which he took far more than the advised dose- does its job. Kallus can stand, mostly, an hour later, when the makeshift splint is redone under a fresh uniform. Scuffling in the hall signifies the change to night guard, and once the noise fades away, Kallus steals away to the medbay, taking the least populated route he can think of.

Only a few meddroids are there, all of which he dismisses. He rummages through the drawers of supplies on his own, grabbing what he can and stuffing it into pockets.

The bacta will bide him. The injury will heal, in time. And tomorrow, Agent Kallus will resume his duties, loyal and at the service of the Empire once more.

#kallus #agent kallus #alexsandr kallus #kalluzeb #hot kallus #star wars rebels #swr #sw rebels #swr fanfiction #swr fanfic #the honorable ones #kallus fanfic #kalluzeb fanfic #kalluzeb fanfiction #kallus x zeb #zeb orrelios #and in darkness i stand

104 notes · View notes

claybefree · 3 years ago

Text

Seeing as it's the twentieth anniversary, I guess I should post this again

September Third, Two Thousand and Nine

For years whenever anyone asked me when my son Henry was born I’d start to say September instead of August 25, 2001. Sunday he had his eighth birthday party at his mother’s house, and I stayed here. Most of his mother’s friends don’t care for me much. The feeling is mutual. Tonight coming home from work I started stitching what I’m about to write together in my mind and suddenly got very afraid. I thought for a moment that I was about to go get drunk, which might very likely be death for somebody like me. I was sure I was going to change direction of the truck, that I’d drive the same route I always did back then, that I would stand by the register and stare at the bottle in my hand without really knowing I where I was. I think it has to do with the weather finally changing and perhaps that Henry’s mom and I are no longer together. I sat on the porch of my little house and called a friend and told him all this. He listened and after a while I felt better, which is exactly how these things should go. When we decided we were done he told me I should go in and write all this down.

I worked on through that whole day. Most everybody else on the job had stopped and listened to each of the radios on the different floors or cried. The asshole Turks I was framing a bathroom for wouldn’t let me quit. They had tile to run. I found it made me feel better to keep going anyway. The laborers cussed me when I asked them to move so that I could use the table saw, a natural gathering spot on any job. They seemed to think I was calloused or hard-hearted and it was because I was from Tennessee. It just now occurred to me that maybe they were right.

That afternoon, when it was determined safe to walk across the bridges, most of the job, the other carpenters and trades-people, wandered home to Brooklyn or Queens. Me and the two left to close everything up had it different as we lived in Jersey. Anthony, the boss, was big and red-haired, red faced and lived in Hoboken. Duane was in charge of demolition and waste, was a little shorter and darker, and lived in Secaucus or maybe somewhere west of that I think. They squared off on each other frequently. It always reminded me of two walruses going at it on a beach.

Whenever we went out to the bar afterwards Anthony would have a Bud tall boy in each hand at all times, the waitress would come up with four for him whenever we sat down. On the job we liked to yell at each other, I once told him I was doing him a favor by giving him such an easy target, and he never missed an occasion to oblige me. Duane was a single dad, dark haired with deep sunken yet kind eyes that always seemed to have bags under them. One of the black laborers told him once he was the most Uncle Fester looking motherfucker he had ever seen. I tended to agree.

We locked the job up at four I think, humped it across the park through the smoke to the A-train. There was smoke forming a mist around the trees of central park that day. There were no flower children loitering at Yoko’s “Imagine” monument to barge through. Our thinking was to get downtown to the Path train. We had no idea that two of the stations had been destroyed. It didn’t matter, we were underground fifteen minutes before Anthony vetoed the idea. People were running wild through the stations, on the trains, everything was panic and Oh Fuck and Anthony had no intention of being underground. He had a funny look on his face that I couldn’t figure out. It wouldn't occur to me until later that the big man was very afraid.

In the years since I have always wondered why people have reacted so strongly from that day. Later we would go to war because of a something that happened one day in New York City and this has always seemed really strange to me. I guess what I mean is that I was there and never wanted to kill anybody because of it. Most of the time I just thought it was very strange and sad and mostly just very interesting. I only remember ever crying about it twice. The first time was a few months afterward, I had quit Anthony to stay home with Henry. Part of our routine was to watch Sesame Street. One day in the winter there was a skit where Elmo got very scared because of some smoke and noise that was never identified. I suppose in this case it was a nameless fear. A New York City fireman came on screen and hugged him, told him it was okay to be scared, Elmo, and that everything would be alright. I remember little red furry Elmo hugged the fireman tight. I held Henry in my lap and cried into his fine blonde hair.

It was the fireman that did it. I still get upset when I think about the firemen. I have had a lot of trouble with cops in different times in my life, but I never had a problem with any fireman I ever encountered, drunk or otherwise. They seem to me to be a different animal entirely.

Anthony, Duane and me ran into two firemen on the deck of the cruise boat that carried us across to Weehawken. They came in and collapsed on the painted metal floor, shedding boots and letting their helmets roll away. Some people applauded weakly, others asked questions, they just stared at us and said nothing. It didn’t occur to me until much later they were probably the only ones from their station who lived. Other men that for years they worked with, ate and fought with, got drunk with were dead. There was a bar I frequented in Jersey City a few blocks from our house where a couple of weeks later I saw three firemen in dress uniforms. One was between his partner on a stool and the third who was older and may have been a captain. The captain was clearly upset, swaggering and poking the other two in the chest. Everybody else was trying hard not to pay attention to what seemed about to develop into a fight. I think later I saw the old man leaning against the bar and weeping openly, he must have been sixty at least.

I got drunk in this bar Sept. 10th while my wife and kid slept back home. She’d start nursing and pass out with him and I’d head out to roam. The thing I liked about this place was the Sinatra on the jukebox, so that night I loaded it up and sat at the bar listening. I think it was the first time I’d ever heard “Summer Wind.” The tattooed brunette tending bar must have thought it was cute because she serenaded me, singing along with a couple of the songs. There was another man with a mustache further down the line who was putting the blast on her and didn’t seem to like me much so I got the fuck out early. By “early” I mean I didn’t close the place.

I won’t tell you what we saw on the boat ride across the Hudson, you’ve seen it already. We unloaded at Weehawken and everyone, thousands of high end refugees really, started walking south towards Hoboken where we had been told there were buses waiting to take us home. I noticed that even wearing boots, the three of us walked faster than the others. We were construction workers living and working around Manhattan and we were very good at walking. I remember being comforted by walking with them. Hundreds of buses lined the streets of Hoboken and the three of us walked the length of that town. Anthony broke off about halfway to head home. A couple of weeks later I showed up having laid out drunk for two days and told him I had come for my tools. He looked at me and didn’t say a word. He mailed me my check. I haven’t seen the man since.

Duane and me trudged the rest of Hoboken together. I heard that not soon after I left he was let go to cut costs and that not long after that he got into a bad time with a prostitute on rt. 1 & 9. The smoke in Hoboken was thicker than in the city and the fumes from streets filled with idling buses finally got my hangover to officially kick in. I told Duane about how I’d had “Summer Wind” playing as background music in my head all day. He laughed and began singing the song, each line perfectly. We got through the crowd easily, after hours of walking together we had finally hit a stride together. We were marching, really. There was the giant blue sky of the day broken intermittently by smoke and there was the roar of diesel noise and Hoboken and Duane singing Summer Wind to me; some punk kid from Tennessee who had no business being there.

The only other incident I remember having to cry because of some assholes who decided to fly planes into tall buildings was coming across the Manhattan bridge one night after carrying my sister-in-law home to Park Slope. She would come over most nights to hang out with the baby, and around eleven or so and in various states of sobriety I’d be asked to drive her back home. I never hated the terrorists for invoking a War of Terror, I hated them for causing enough terror that it fucked the roads up. Shit got closed for what seemed no fucking reason whatsoever. One day coming back from the pediatrician’s office, Henry got stuck howling in his car seat for four hours because the Holland Tunnel was handling too much traffic and we were too afraid to take him out of it because of the cops everywhere. My sister-in-law and I spent a lot of time in the Saturn together on the nights I drove her home. I can’t remember what we talked about, probably everything. I haven't spoken to my sister-in-law since I moved out last summer.

This particular night the Brooklyn Bridge was only operating east-bound into Brooklyn so after I dropped her off I was diverted back across the Manhattan Bridge in order to get back into the city and eventually home. The Manhattan Bridge back then was still under renovation and I guess has always been the ugly, cross-eyed cousin of the Brooklyn Bridge. I got stuck on it, moving slower than shit, and staring at trash and old faded plywood encasing the little bit of wrought iron and Neo-Classical elements that were left up by the arch. Off to the left t seemed as though the entirety of Downtown was illuminated from the work lights that were set up down by Ground Zero. Downtown glowed with lights that were set up to look for people that weren’t there anymore. The DJ on WFMU that night was playing a super slowed down cover of the B-52’s Song for a Future Generation. If you’ve heard it, you’ve probably laughed, it’s a ridiculously chirpy pop song. I’ve always loved it. The lyrics go a little like this:

Wanna be the ruler of the galaxy

Wanna be the king of the universe

Let`s meet and have a baby now

In between each stanza, the different members give spoken-word tidbits of information about themselves. For example Ricky, the original guitarist, was a Pisces and “loved computers and hot tamales.“ Ricky also died from AIDS back in 1985 when people still had no idea what the disease was.

The version I heard that night had slowed the tempo to that of a blues song. The dip-shit ironic hipster that sang it reflected this. Stuck on the bridge it felt as though I was listening to a lament. What reduced me to tears, smoking Winstons in my little Saturn station wagon, was the feeling that whatever was left of innocence had recently been or was about to be brutally murdered by pig-face, ignorant men. Wanna be the first lady of infinity. Wanna be the nicest guy on earth. Let's meet and have a baby now.

14 notes · View notes

hei-ch0u · 4 years ago

Text

Oh boy. Here goes... Shingeki no Kyojin Final chapter (139) thoughts and analysis ✰

Well, where do I even begin to accumulate my thoughts on the final chapter of Shingeki no Kyojin? Even after some time to reflect and read the chapter many times, over and over - I’m still going to struggle to form this analysis. But, alas I shall try my best despite this.

I appreciate anyone who takes the time to read this and understand my own views of the final chapter. Proceed with caution - ⚠️ spoilers ahead ⚠️

This chapter and ending overall has left me with a love/hate relationship with the overall tale in full. I’d even go as far as saying it has tainted my view slightly of the entire series in one way or another and I will never look at it the same way I did - as much as I wish I could. My reasoning for the love/hate relationship I have will come, but, I want to start off by saying that despite it’s ending I will always appreciate this story and Isayama for his work, even if I myself don’t approve of his steering towards the ending.

It is just like I said in my theory, the thing we all need to recognise with this story is that the characters we love and have cherished, were never going to get exactly what they desired and if anything this chapter is a clear indication of that fact. It has been a story that was paved for a bitter, somewhat ‘bittersweet’ ending (yes, I hoped it wouldn’t be in the form of ‘that’, but it was). It is just as Mikasa said - “The world is cruel and merciless, but it is also beautiful”. This tale became the typical embodiment of humanity and how ruthless it can be.

Again, like I said in my theory, it was heavily foreshadowed that Eren was playing devil’s advocate and might have to sacrifice his freedom in this life to save the ones who meant the most to him. We heard hints in OST’s such as My War, Red Swan, Vogel Im Kafig, among others…

“Angel playing disguise with Devil’s face”

“I’ll cry for you in a dream”

“All of my kingdom, for your return, I’d let it burn!”

“Spread your wings, which are dreaded in blood”

“And eternity as you, fly to heaven”

“Like a fallen angel”

“Looking down from above I feel awful”

“Every living being dies someday, whether we are ready to die or not”

“Is that the angel who flew down from the twilight sky?”

“Is that the devil who crawled out from the crevice?”

“Tears, anger, compassion, cruelty, peace, chaos, faith, betrayal.”

It was foreshadowed, all of those things in the last example is humanity in a nutshell. The use of birds to symbolise the dead was shown on multiple occasions. Hell, even in the Levi ova, his friends are shown as 2 birds above him as he continues forward. It didn’t shock me that Eren’s soul was represented or “reincarnated” in the form of a bird - simply because birds are the most free creatures on our planet, they can fly over land, sea and maintain the air around them. Realistically, we should’ve analysed the birds presence more (it was even implied in the opening trailer for season 4. Falco awoke to a bird flying above him, we saw the bird present many times in even past seasons and don’t get me started on how many times it was present in the manga). Our Angel was Eren. He was a fallen angel - a slave to the story and what it means to be human, to feel deeply and make sacrifices. He was never a monster, just a pawn in a wicked game.

For a split moment of initial shock, I let the “judging a book by its cover” ideal kick in. After calming down and having access to proper translations, again I can’t say I love this ending or hate it - it has the bittersweet notion that was intended, but it was also lukewarm. It is not perfect by any means, there are some plot holes and loose ends that could have been tied up by extension. However, Isayama maybe intended for it to remain open for interpretation. Something of which, I’ll reveal what I personally took from the ending.

One thing I am surely certain of, is that I can hold my hands above my head and say this chapter 100% embodied my love for my favourite character - Eren Jaeger. He had such a tragic outcome, he did it all for his friends and loved ones. He was never free, not in life and partially not in death. He was a broken child, in a broken world with a broken fate of shouldering mass amounts of responsibility with no idea of how to change or control the past, present and future. To witness your best friend talking of all the things he was going to see, yet knowing you wouldn’t be there to see it yourself. To know the girl who was there for him forever and always, could never be his to cherish. He had no freedom to do so. To live the life he wanted to, he would have died anyway. If he had ran off with Mikasa, he would have damned his friends. The life he wanted was not feasible, therefore he chose to sacrifice his desires so his friends could live long lives, unlike the one he was damned to. He was a character who was torn along all sides of the coin. Torn between his desires, his duty and his self - all while experiencing memories from all angles. He was not a monster or a psychopath and I won’t let others spit on his name due to their lack of analysis and empathy. He is human. He is allowed to feel. He isn’t pathetic for wanting to live, for wanting to be with his friends or the girl he loves. He is 19. Can you really say you wouldn’t feel the same? It is natural to be frustrated at your life being ripped from under your feet at such a young age. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Look at his face in paths when he talks with Armin, he is devastated and he had no solution.

However, I do believe he will be reunited with his friends once more. After all, the scouts were reunited in death, so why shouldn’t he? His friends will not live in vain, his sacrifice will mean something. They will live their life to the fullest and find peace in life and then in death - they have Eren to thank for that. Another misconception I want to pick out of the fandom is that they did not condone genocide, they did not thank Eren for ridding the population of 80%. Armin states it as an “error”. What they did do, was acknowledge Eren’s sacrifice for them to live and that they understood it’s not what he wanted himself, but that due to unseen forces. - did he really have a choice? It is not by any means perfect, but it gives them freedom to live out with the walls - was this not Eren’s dream? To be free, not confined within the walls by Titans. He did exterminate all titans, that is one goal Eren Jaeger accomplished. We don’t know the full extent of the power of the attack titan or the founding titan, this is one of the open plot holes. Eren himself explains this, he himself has no clue and his head is a mess - is it any shock that his head is a mess? People would go crazy over less. He was a pawn in a story with no happy ending. At least not for him.

Even in the bird reincarnation theory, I hope he is happy and free. Free to roam the skies, perch upon the tallest mountains, titter along the grass banks of the world and watch over his comrades, his friends, the ones he loves deeply… The tragic protagonist I will always remember. (Especially as one who was done so dirty by his author)

There was so many routes this manga could have taken, fan theories proved this and I do think the ending could have been executed better. We were not getting a happy ending, it is not happy by all means. Those characters left have to live in the aftermath, aware of their friends sacrifice and all he had to put himself through for them to live the lives they themselves desired. My favourite quote will always be:

“Don’t pity the dead. Pity the living”

Mikasa lost her family in more ways than one, she has to live a life where she didn’t get the one person she desired more than anything, but I believe she will move on and Eren will be by her side the entire time until they are reunited in death. Levi is the same, he lost everyone and whoever his love may have been - Erwin, Hanji, Petra (who knows). Either way, he didn’t have those loved ones around in the end. But, he no longer has to fight for survival and can spend the remainder of his time resting until the day in the future he can be reunited with his comrades, friends and even kick Eren a big one, ruffle his hair, tell him its okay and tell him all the things he wanted to tell him like he said. Armin lost his best friend, he held the burden above his head that he himself killed Eren and not Mikasa. However, he has an abundance of friends, he has Annie and he can travel the world like he desired - like Mikasa, he will have Eren by his side for the remainder of his time.

Jean can meet the woman of his dreams and have the children like he desired, knowing that even in their silly quarrels - Eren was loyal to him always. Connie can have his mother back, his family and move on. Reiner can live, not die like he once desired and live on knowing of Eren’s sacrifice, that he wasn’t a monster himself. He is free from the curse, as is Annie, Pieck and Falco. The warriors have their families back. Gabi and Falco can be together unlike their comparisons, sad, but fitting. They are in Paradis, a place we never expected them to be in the end, advocating for change alongside Onyakapon looking after their elder, Levi, alongside them. On Eren’s death anniversary, it is implied they all return to his grave to be together, none of them are alone like we initially thought. Mikasa is not alone in Paradis since it is implied that Levi, Onyankapon, Gabi, Falco, Historia even… still live amidst the walls - I think it would be wasteful to assume such a strong character secludes herself after the love of her life’s death. She does not have to love another man, she can choose to live her life for herself, a long one alongside her friends. This manga has never necessarily needed to have love stories, they are implied, but not needed. For life itself is the embodiment of their freedom.

This above is the rosy way of looking at it and it’s what I personally will take from it. I overall think it is terrible writing and use of dialogue - there’s no denying it. I myself as a writer and artist would have done it differently. Isayama has created a manga with a tragic story that reveals the raw, tainted feeling of what it’s like to be human. We all want things, we all have desires…but we don’t always get them, no matter how hard we try, some will slip from our grasps. That is life, no matter the universe. Yes. But, I do think in ways Isayama did taint and obliterate Eren as a character. This I am disappointed in. It is a typical author ideal of damning his protagonist and the sad thing about being a stories protagonist - you risk being ruined due to being written so complex initially that the author loses sight of how to conclude your arc respectfully. I believe from what we have been shown, he would not have accepted his death that easily and would fight for another way. Although, I cannot blame him as I myself would have felt defeated, suicidal and depressed at learning everything he did after his contact with Historia at such a young age. Remember, how you are brought up in an already cruel world is key - he didn’t stand a chance. But alas, I still feel he would’ve fought. This Eren is not the Eren we saw the majority of the manga, but then again he did change and I feel so sorry that the Titan power had that effect on him.

This is the character development true Eren stans are enraged with. TATAKAE! Fight the attack titan, fight the founding titan, fight against your cruel fate - don’t succumb to defeat. There is always another way. I don’t accept this version of Eren, due to the development we saw built by Isayama of his character, I can’t. It leaves so many gaps among other plot reveals. I don’t see what was accomplished. Eren’s being, his life, was a ploy to keep the other characters we care about alive, but at what cost ? If I was Eren’s friend, I would go forward like he wanted me to, but I could never forget the burden he bared and what he had to go through and what he did to achieve that outcome for me. I would forever be sad. I would be living in a world much like this one, lacking in peace and serenity and above all is that not what we all desire in one way or another? He did not necessarily know the Dina titan would go for his mother, but he had to direct it away from Bertholdt since in the timeline it was not his time to die. Always remember the theory of time, one thing changed, drastically changes the outcome. He did not want civilians or people within Paradis to die, it became collateral damage and no one would be able to fight for some time because of the 80% notion. He gave them time to live, time to change things to the best of their abilities and experience all they possibly could. They became the ‘heroes’, but again, at what cost?

Now, to the plot holes and answers I feel needed to be present for the story to knit together in a better way. This will be less “paragraph” based and more pointed, since…well these things were not explained. Majority of potential foreshadowing was swept under the rug like it meant nothing to bring about the lukewarm feeling I was talking about.

The alien like hallucigenia, what exactly was its purpose? It’s reason for being? It disappeared and ceased to exist. No mention of how it came to be. Even Ymir just vanished. Everything ceased to exist and Eren himself couldn’t understand Ymir’s reasoning other than being able to witness love. This seemed to be cop out on Isayama’s part.

Historia’s pregnancy was heavily implied and emphasised on within the manga, making readers think it meant something (when a creator zones in on these things, its usually for further plot reveal) Her character development was destroyed and she deserved better. She sidelined herself and stayed away till the final moment where it is implied she and Armin will become the negotiators of a new world, all while housing tyrants (Jaegerists). Again a further implication of Shonen manga and its poor interpretation of women.

The conclusion to Ymir and Eren’s particular character arcs was shocking and this can’t be dismissed. We needed both their sides of things to explain more. It lacked real conclusion and didn’t match up to past events or character development. This chapter should have purely been an Eren POV with the ending moments of how the scouts moved on. Of course this couldn’t have been done in 1 chapter, hence the recognition that this manga needed ‘more’ and it wasn’t enough to tie it all together. Another flaw in Isayama’s writing and continuity.

The Ackermans? Don’t get me started. My theory again will entail my rage about this one. Did the Ackerman power cease to exist like the titan curse? What is their origin story? To imply the Ackerman blood concept in all its parallels and foreshadowing to not even have the 2 remaining characters from said bloodline talk about their shared experience in thorough detail is such an abysmal hole in plot. Especially with it being heavily emphasised throughout the entire manga.

I barely saw any signs of Eren being in love with Mikasa? If this was the case, then it should have been shown in the manga and emphasised like isayama did with many other things that eventually had no meaning. I always viewed their relationship as very toxic to both sides and needed amending. So for Eren to suddenly turn round and say he doesn’t want her to be with another man....I find this a very bad continuation and completely disregards how Eren has been the past 138 chapters. Why was it so hard for him to say these things even before he made contact with historia and unravelled it all? Was it the power of the attack titan preventing him?.... (below)

The attack titan and founding titan, explain how it works. Why does Eren himself not fully understand yet he embodies them? Why could he not have flipped the switch? Why could he not ask for help? Explanation is needed.

All the time loop links diminished to nothing other than Eren’s past, present and future…yet its implied in many characters even in their childhoods mentions of things they could not be aware of. How can it merely be coincidence?

I wholeheartedly believe that this was not the initial ending of Shingeki no Kyojin, specifically because I and a few others I’ve seen noticed the shift in the story around 10 or so chapters ago. It seemed to be going in the route of a few particular fan theories and then suddenly (quite drastically I’ll add) shifted into this ending. I can only theorise that Isayama changed his original ending along the way to please editors and readers in different ways. In interviews past, he has completely contradicted things he has said about the manga and its ending with what he has produced in the final chapter. When you look at it from a marketing point of view as a selling point, if Isayama had killed certain characters like “Levi” for example or left the ending dark as it possibly could have been (something I wouldn’t have put past yams to do) it would be bad from a marketing point given the likes of Levi is the targeted favourite of the series (even with being a side character) and editors would heavily warn him of this.

People are saying that it’s Isayama’s story and editors won’t have influence - you’d be heavily surprised how much the editing team can have influence, especially when a story of this magnitude becomes so popular. I do think in ways, Isayama gave up. As an artist even myself, its very abundantly clear when a fellow creative loses drive and how the concept of something becoming popular can influence you to become bored and look for a way out. Hence, the clear signs of the story coming out as rushed, its all there, the loss of continuity, the holes in plot and even though Isayama’s art can be inconsistently coherent - some parts of the past few chapters weren’t at the full potential we saw previously. We watched him get better to suddenly somehow revert? That to me seems like a creator who had just had enough and maybe in the end chose to veer off his original plan.

Alas! As I said, I will always love Shingeki no Kyojin despite its ending and loose ties, it holds a place in my heart and has been a favourite of mine since my school days. Being an adult now In her 20’s and experiencing the many troubles of what its like to be human and a creative can sympathise with the struggles and stress Isayama would have been under all these years as his manga gradually became the phenomenon it is now. As it is our favourite characters time to rest and move on, it is his also. Although the story is not where I and many others hoped it would go, I still thank him massively for giving me characters like Eren Jaeger, Levi Ackerman, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert… the list goes on. Thank you for embodying why Eren was my first and last favourite character. Goodbye Shingeki no Kyojin.

#snk 139 #aot 139 #I've put a read more so proceed with caution #eren jaeger #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #armin arlert #if i tag all of them itll go on and on #snk final chapter #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk manga #snk analysis #snk theory

46 notes · View notes

thelittlestcheshire · 3 years ago

Text

Self Para 008: I Don’t Pretend to Know the Challenges You’re Facing Word Count: 2024 words When: July 2020, in the early hours of July 19th during Ches’s birthday trip Note: I decided I’m going to queue up and post one of the old self paras I never posted, Feel free to skip it, since it’s a past event and stuff. TWs: Rape (mentioned / discussed), Anxiety Attacks, Alcoholism / Drinking, Hangovers, Vomitting, Death, suicide (not exactly but there’s a definite apathy towards the idea of death this as well so better safe than sorry), murder (her mother)

There was a loud thud as a purse landed on the suite’s floor as Ches stumbled through the front door. She knew she shouldn’t have gone to galaxy edge before closing for drinks, but she was desperate to feel good. Yet, no matter how much she drank today, she didn’t feel the happiness that tended to run through her veins. She felt worse and worse. Even the sight of the balloons in the living room from Emmett and his girlfriend didn’t bring any sort of joy.

It was her fault her mother died; she should have been here instead of Ches. And the more gifts she received, the more she thought back to why her mother was dead. If she hadn’t gone to get gifts for Jonah... it felt like the room was spinning as the thought came back. Wait, no, the room was definitely spinning.

“Hey Ches, sorry I needed to- fuck.” Zander had just come out from the living room, likely taking her up on his offer to hide, but his attempt to avoid people is forgotten by the time he reaches her. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” There were two of him by the time he wraps an arm around her to support her. “It’s been a long night.” He starts to lead her to her bedroom, and it’s hard to keep her feet under her as they walk. But he saves her from crashing to the floor and manages to get her on the bed.

“It wasn’t a night.” She slurs at him as she rests her head against her pillow. “Sky and I, you know. Club 33.” She knew the look on his faces even through the intoxicated haze. She knew he wasn’t happy about this. “I’m okay.” She informs him, starting to sit up. The room begins to move again, and for a moment, she feels like she might just be sick. She moves quickly, barely making it to the toilet before she vomits. Zander quickly behind her to hold back her hair. “See, fine.” She gets out weakly as she flushes the toilet.

“Definitely not fine.” He disagrees as he smooths out her hair. “I’m staying with you tonight, at least until you feel better.” It’s obvious she had no say in the matter, and she doesn’t waste the energy to protest. She slowly gets up, nearly falling face-first as she attempts to reach the bathroom sink to brush her teeth. He’s there in an instant to keep her from tumbling. Perhaps he had a point. She accepts the assistance as she brushes her teeth and doesn’t fight him as he leads her back to the bed and messes with all her pillows to ensure she’s propped up on her side.

“I hate you.”

The words just slip off her tongue. Not how she genuinely felt in the slightest. Zander doesn’t seem to take offense. However, he just runs his fingers through her hair. “I know, I know. I’m the worst. Time for you to sleep.” He whispers back to her. She frowns, but she shuts her eyes, anyway. She’s not sure how long it takes: perhaps it’s minutes, maybe it was hours, but eventually she falls asleep.

—

Opening her eyes felt like literally crawling out of a grave when she finally does wake up, the only light shining was from a phone beside her. “Turn that damn thing off. It hurts,” Ches grumbles, the man beside her laying on top of her blankets complies. “What time is it anyway?”

“4 am, give or take.”

Zander’s answer only causes her to groan as she fixes her pillows the way she likes them. “Shit. No wonder I feel like I was run over by a freight train.” She continues to adjust her pillows, settling into a comfortable spot as she rolls over onto her back.

“No, I think that’s thanks to Club 33.” Zander gives her a pointed look. How did he even know she’d gone drinking there? That she had a membership at all for that matter. “I could pay for the entirety of my college tuition with how much you’ve spent on this trip. Couldn’t I?” There was something about his tone that feels off, that despite his words, it wasn’t the Disneyland trip he was frustrated with at the moment. “You’re spiraling again. The fancy trip, the mass text about Leo, the drinking. Fuck, everything that’s occurred since you came back to Luxor. Spring break, prom, open house. What’s going on?” Of course, he’d notice things weren’t right. Her luck couldn’t get any worse, could it?

“It’s the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death.” The excuse slides off her tongue quickly. But even in the dark, she could make out the look on his face. He knew she was lying, and yet she didn’t change her tune. She couldn’t. After what happened with Lucy, she wasn’t going to tell anyone about that ever again. “Zander, that’s all there is to everything. Drop it.”

He opens his mouth as if he had something to say, but he quickly shuts up. After a few seconds where it looks like he’s not going to push, she takes a breath. But her relief is short-lived when he finally speaks. “Has anyone ever mentioned you crinkle your nose when you lie?”

“I do not!” She protests immediately. Did she really have such an obvious tell? “I’m not lying. That’s really all there is to it. Please.” The word sounds like a plea, and as she hears it, she can’t help but dread him picking up on it. She didn’t need to give him more to question when he was already treading into territory she couldn’t stand to think about. How could she discuss it again? She barely got through it with Lucy.

“Okay, I just have one more question then. Why is your father spending so much money on you lately? Taking the entire school to Disneyland, a suite just for you to hide in, him showing up to graduation. Your Club 33 membership cost could be a household’s entire annual salary, There has to be a reason he’s tossing money at you so aggressively.”

The question causes her blood to run cold. What was she supposed to say? That his father suddenly saw the error of his ways became invested in her life. The lie didn’t even seem plausible, let alone believable. The entire truth hurt too much to think about; she didn’t want to get into the reasons. The best she could offer was the truth, without any details. “He feels guilty.”

“About your mom?” Zander’s voice is so soft, and as the slight hint of guilt starts to leak into it, she can feel her heart starting to break. He was too good to her, too safe, and he doesn’t even hesitate as she moves closer to him on the bed and tries to crawl into his arms. As she starts to sob, he just accepts that right now she needed someone to hold her. “I’m sorry, Chessie. I-”

“It’s not about maman, Zan. When I was home I had to attend his dinner parties, and his VP, he-” She can’t even finish getting the words out as she starts to sob, as the panic sets in and she clings tighter to him. The thought of that evening made her wish she could carve off her skin as if it’d erase the memories of that night from her mind. The more she remembers, the harder it feels to gasp for air, and the faster she breathes as her eyes rapidly search for the nearest escape route.

“Ches, hey. It’s okay, you’re okay.” His voice is gentle as he starts stroking her hair again. For a moment, she goes completely still as she tries to remind herself this was Zander. “You’re safe, I promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.” She focuses on the sound of his voice as he tries to comfort her, and slowly, but surely, oxygen is easier to catch. The fear was still lingering; the urge to flee and never look back was overwhelming. “You don’t have to say anything, okay.”

“Look where not saying anything got me, Zander.” She snaps at him, the words just coming out suddenly. “He fucking raped me, and I have to- no, I’m expected to just stay quiet and move past it. Sometimes I’m not sure if the money is because my dad is upset it happened or to keep my mouth shut. You know, he was the one who made me drop the charges.” She still could remember that talk with her father. She could shut her eyes and picture it as if it was five minutes ago still, her father pacing around the living room in their penthouse looking almost as disheveled as he had at her mother’s funeral, practically begging her to let him handle this behind closed doors because he didn’t think she’d survive a trial. “Said he thought I’d kill myself if we went to trials, he handled it behind the scenes.”

“It’s out of love, either way, I think,” Zander says gently as if he’s not sure he’s supposed to speak at all. Honestly, Ches isn’t sure she wants him to talk either. The last time she’d discussed it, she hadn’t felt any better. In ways, she felt worse - guilty for burdening Lucy with something so heavy she couldn’t explain to anyone else.

“I know.”

The words are hard for her to get out, even if it’s the truth. She knew that her father loved her, even when it sometimes felt like he didn’t care nearly enough. Perhaps, in its own fucked up way, this was his way of showing he cared. Her father’s actions weren’t out of ill intent.

“I’m sorry that you’re going through this, you had a horrible year.” He wasn’t wrong about that, the more she thought about it, the more she realized seventeen had truly sucked. “But, you can’t destroy yourself in your attempts to cope. I can’t figure out how you got back without hurting yourself. That’s an issue.”

“It’s not a deal-breaker.” As Ches continues to calm down slowly, the realization she’s trembling begins to dawn on her. “I don’t care if I die, you know.”

“Well I do. Lucy and Avery do, and Elliot would be devastated, so that’s not an option, for starters. So this shit needs to stop.” Zander’s voice is firm, almost like when Logan had no other choice but to scold them. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but this isn’t the answer, Hailey.”

For a brief moment, she considers saying something about her first name, but she doesn’t. She was too drained to fight with him over it. The use could be tolerated for one night. “You can’t tell anyone, Zander. The only person who knows is Lucy.” She says instead as she pulls herself out of his arms to lay in bed again.

“And your therapist?”

“Doesn’t know anything either.” She shuts her eyes as she says the word. Of course, she didn’t go to her therapist about this; it felt too painful to revisit, too heavy to bring words to at times. “Just promise me, Zander.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She can feel him moving on the bed beside her to start to get up as he says the words, her arm quickly reaching out to stop him. “But, I think you need to talk to your therapist. And-”

“Okay.” She agrees. “But, can you stay? I don’t want- I can’t be alone right now. Please?” The boy stops trying to move at her confession, the admittance she needed someone there. “I think being alone is a bad idea, and I don’t think I can ask Elli to-”

“I’ll stay, as long you need me to.”

She doesn’t say anything as she moves her arm back to her side of the bed. For a moment, she wonders if he’ll question it, but soon the only noise is the sound of his phone unlocking as the two settle into a comfortable silence.

#you know i adore queue #all of my heroes died all alone ( musings )#a hundred thrown out speeches i almost said to you ( self paras )#events ( ches's birthday 2020 )#rape tw #vomiting tw #vomit tw #anxiety tw #anxiety attack tw #alcoholism tw #alcohol tw #drinking tw #all you cool people better leave now 'cause it's about to happen ( balo | zander )#death tw #suicide tw #murder tw

8 notes · View notes

jalapeno-princess · 4 years ago

Text

Broken-Hearted Girl

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 8.7K

Summary: After a petty argument escalates into Mark saying some things he didn’t mean, the two of you end up breaking up on your third anniversary. For the rest of the week, you find solace in your family and you learn how to live with a broken heart.

A/N: I don’t even remember how I stumbled upon this song but after listening to and falling in love with one of their other songs “Friend’s Don’t” by Maddie and Tae, I already knew I was going to like this one also. I recommend you listen to it while reading this imagine, the song really does tug on your heartstrings. I’ve been extremely busy for the last few weeks and so I wanted to put a hold on writing (even if just for a few days) but I’ve actually been staying up till the wee hours of the morning (I feel as if I might have insomnia but who knows) and I actually had a really bad mental breakdown earlier, so I needed something to help calm me down and take my mind off of my negative thoughts. Writing is my favorite escape from how cruel this world can be sometimes (although, my writing is literal shit haha) (and i really don’t care for how I ended this and I’m actually kind of unimpressed with this story) but I hope you guys enjoy it! (I have never been in a relationship before so I haven’t experienced the pain of a heartbreak (and I’m sure knowing my sensitive ass I would actually die)

Hey, mama, how do you get a red-wine stain Out of your favorite dress? Black mascara off a pillow case Cure a one-too-many headache Mama, can I come and maybe stay a few days? This weekend or next And hey, how do you get a red-wine stain Out of your favorite dress?

How does he sleep at night? Mama, the nerve of this guy To leave me so easy Am I gonna be alright? I wanna kick myself for fallin' so hard Mama, can you die from a broken heart?

This was not how tonight was supposed to end. Usually, anniversaries were meant to be extremely romantic. They were meant to celebrate the amount of time you’ve been in a relationship with your significant other and to relish in the love that you had for one another; yet here you were, storming out of your boyfriend—well, now ex-boyfriend’s truck towards your apartment with tears streaming down your face.

You were too focused on getting inside and just collapsing to the ground that you couldn’t even remember how the night ended so terribly. Just a few hours ago, Mark picked you up with the intentions on surprising you for your third anniversary together.

The two of you practically couldn’t even keep your eyes, let alone your hands off of each other to the point where Mark was just going to say fuck it and show you just how much he loved you and how happy he was to be able to call you the love of his life with his head between your thighs. However, things didn’t go as planned.

In fact, you had a hard time processing that he told you he planned on spending the rest of his life with you just a few moments before the argument broke out. As soon as you unlocked the door and stumbled inside, you immediately sank to your knees and let out the most heartbreaking cry you didn’t think you were capable of. Not once in your life did you ever cry as much as you were right now.

Sure, you’ve lost a few loved ones, failed a couple of very important tests here and there and sometimes you and Mark would watch some of the saddest movies every now and then but nothing ever hurt you as much as Mark’s last words did.

My life would’ve been so much easier if you weren’t in it.

Each word felt like a stab in your gut. At the time, you knew you said some things that you didn’t mean and that you were sure had a negative effect on him; but nothing you said was even half as bad as hearing him practically say he regrets your entire relationship.

It made you overthink the last three years of being with him. Mark was in more or less words, the perfect boyfriend. He was quite the gentleman; he always held doors open for you, pushed you on the inside whenever you’d be walking on sidewalks, pulled out chairs for you, always asked how your day was going and if you were eating all your meals on time.

He knew your coffee order by heart, he’d buy you cute little things he would see that he thought you would like and he even made you a few playlists of songs that reminded him of you. He took care of you as if you were the most delicate little dandelion; but that didn’t mean he wasn’t rough or dominant behind closed doors.

Mark knew you like the back of his hand. Three years would do that to someone; he knew each and every mole, freckle, beauty and birthmark on your body. He was well aware of the scar on your knee that was shaped like Texas and how you got it from playing football with your cousins. If perfect was a person, it would be him.

Everyone who knew of him wanted to be his friend. Mark was a social butterfly; he had a tendency to be friendly and kind to whoever he encountered. His golden heart, extremely kind and generous personality was got you to fall in love with him; on top of his indescribable good looks and charismatic charm. After knowing each other for over seven years, you’ve grown accustomed to having Mark in your life.

Even before the two of you started dating, he was there for almost every milestone in your life. He was there when you got accepted in to the college of your dreams, he was there when you got an internship with a company you’ve been wanting for a long time, he was there for your first time getting drunk at the young age of 16 and he was the one to rub your back as you threw up the following morning.

With that being said, he was also there during some of the darkest times in your life. When your grandmother passed away from cancer, it felt as if your entire world fell apart. She was your best friend and you were completely devastated as soon as your mom called you and told you the news of her passing. Mark was at baseball practice around the time that you were heading to the hospital, but once he heard of what happened, he wasted no time in making his way to where you were and pulled you in to his chest the moment his eyes landed on your frail figure.

It took months of grieving, crying over her absence and Mark constantly whispering sweet words of comfort for you to come to terms with her death and you were entirely grateful that you had someone so patient and understanding as Mark was to be there for you during such a traumatic time. What was going to happen now when he was the reason why you were so distraught?

Losing your grandmother was extremely painful and even after all these years, you weren’t completely over her death. However, knowing that man you loved more than life itself no longer wanted anything to do with you was a different kind of pain. Although there were a few times in your relationship that you and Mark would disagree, not once did a fight escalate this badly before.

Your relationship was one that everyone around you seemed to envy. Everyone and their mothers knew just how much Mark loved you and it was obvious by your words and actions that you felt the exact same way. His mom always used to tell you that your love was one for the ages; you both cared for one another in ways that only people who were genuinely in love could experience. For two people who’ve been in a relationship for as long as you and Mark have, you were still in the so called “honeymoon stage” where you constantly had to be around each other even if all you did was laze around all day doing nearly nothing.

Just being in his presence always made you feel so at ease; so serene. Home wasn’t necessarily a place you lived in or just a roof above your head. Home wasn’t just a place that gave you shelter; home was where you felt the safest, the most comfortable and home was where you were happiest. For the last seven years, Mark Tuan was your home and now, you were homeless. You always felt so protected and loved whenever you were around him and you hated every moment spent away from him.

The more time you spent crying on the floor, the more you came to the realization that tonight’s events actually happened and Mark was no longer your person. Although neither of you actually called it quits, you knew by the tone of his voice and in his facial expression that it was over. Even if he were to come back to you within the week begging you for forgiveness, you don’t think you could ever forget how his words screwed you up mentally and physically.

When you decided that you had cried all the tears you had in your body and that you were wasting your time crying over someone who couldn’t give less of a shit about you, you got up from your spot right in front of the door and slowly sauntered off in to the kitchen. Anyone who knew you were aware of the fact that you hated alcohol.

You weren’t a heavy drinker, and you were sure it’s because you spent your teenage years getting high and wasted to the point where it was no longer fun to do now that it was legal. The bottle of red wine that was in the back of your cupboard was a gift from Mark’s friend Jackson for your birthday a couple of months ago and you didn’t want to seem rude by not accepting it since you didn’t care for red wine or just wine in general.

But now, you were extremely grateful for his choice in gifts and you made it your responsibility to finish the entire bottle in one sitting before you went to sleep. That’s if you could even find it in yourself to even go to bed. Your mind was filled with thoughts of Mark and what he was doing right now; if he regretted what he said, if he knew you were currently suffering and beating yourself up about the argument.

How could the two of you go from being seconds away to ripping each other’s clothes off, to you drinking imported red wine straight from the bottle to take your mind off of your broken heart? As you continued to drink the wine, it was in that moment of sitting on your kitchen floor and banging your head on your refrigerator that you noticed your front door had a dent in it. You wouldn’t be surprised if you were to go up to it and see that you broke it by how hard you slammed it out of anger, but at this point you didn’t even care.

Your mind, your heart and your body were so numb that nothing else seemed to matter and if anything, the door represented your mental state and your relationship. Seeing as how you were the definition of a light weight, it didn’t take you long to completely knock out on the hard tile. Although that last sentence continued to replay over and over; taunting you as a painful reminder that you were living your actual nightmare, it was the fact that he gave up on you so easily as if you meant nothing to him that really killed you.

Was he planning to breakup with you and used this argument to actually go along with it? How long ago did he decide he no longer wanted to be with you? Everything seemed to be going so good for the two of you; so when did he decide he had enough of your relationship? You weren’t surprised when you woke up the next morning with an extremely painful migraine and a crook in your neck.

This is why you despised any type of alcohol and never understood why Mark and his friends constantly went out to bars whenever they hung out. However, you felt as if this was going to be your way to ease the pain and knowing that alone made you want to cry again. After taking a few moments to process what you were going to do for the rest of the day, you got up to take some pain killers and to look at your current state to see how much of a mess you probably were.

Almost half an hour later, you found the strength to get up and walked to your bathroom. Your head was throbbing and your bones ached from sleeping on the floor, but nothing hurt even half as much as your heart did. As soon as you saw your reflection, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. You looked horrible. Your hair looked like a bird’s nest; tangled and all over the place. You had mascara stained on your cheeks, your eyes were puffy and if you weren’t so numb, you would’ve screamed at the wine stain in the dress you were wearing; your favorite dress to be exact.

Mark bought you that dress a couple of months ago because he knew it would look good on you and he was right. The first time you wore it, it didn’t stay on for too long. It was your favorite dress for many reasons; not only did your boyfriend buy it for you, but as someone who was extremely insecure with her body, no matter how many times Mark would make it known how much he loved your body and thought you were the most beautiful and sexiest woman to exist, the dress made you feel beautiful.

You wore this dress with so much confident but now, it was stained with a deep maroon color right around the chest area and it was a brief representation of the hell you were going through. Like the fool that you were, the fool who was madly in love with the person you wished you could hate right now, you checked your phone to see if he tried to get in touch with you at all and you felt your stomach sink when you saw nothing.

No texts, no calls, no voicemails, no “I’m sorry, I made a mistake”, no “I love you” or “I miss you.” Couples went through breakups all the time so why did you feel pathetic for something you weren’t at fault for? The rest of the week felt like you were dreaming the same nightmare over and over again. You could still see the anger and rage in his eyes when he told you that you were annoying and that he wasted his night with you when he could’ve gone out with his friends. You were sure there was a chance he was with them right now and you didn’t care at all.

If he was so quick to let you go without a care in the world, you weren’t going to allow yourself to cry over him no matter how much you wanted to. But you were only human. Three years may not be considered “a long relationship” and you were still kind of young to get married and settle down but you knew Mark was the man you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life with. The two of you talked about your futures on multiple occasions and every time Mark would talk about his plans, you were in each one.

On the fifth day, you came to terms with the idea that it was really over. You tried lying to yourself by thinking that he was going to come back and that he just needed some time to calm down, but you gave up on that idea entirely knowing how Mark could be. Two things about the older boy that you could do without was his pride and how stubborn he could be.

He tried his best not to show you those sides of him because he didn’t want you thinking negatively of him or being afraid of him; however there were occasions where he would get in to it with one of his friends because he always had to have the last word. With that being said, you knew Mark wasn’t going to give in. He wasn’t going to initiate reconciling with you even if that’s what he wanted because that’s just who he was.

A week away from work was what you needed to really try and get yourself together again. It wasn’t until your mom called asking how you were doing and if you and Mark wanted to stop by for dinner that you realized you weren’t okay nor were you ready to go out and put on a fake smile while pretending nothing was wrong. When your mom called you, you let her go to voicemail multiple times.

Although your mom was your best friend and you probably needed someone to be there to comfort you during your heartbreak, you weren’t ready for pity or sympathy. The only person you needed was Jack Daniels. You hated what you had become in less than a weak and you hated that you allowed Mark to have this effect on you. It was only natural for you to be responding to your breakup in this way; you were only human. But you were now a pathetic alcoholic who was wasting her time crying over a man who was no longer in her life.

Three shots of vodka, two beers and one shot of tequila later and you absentmindedly left a lengthy voicemail to your mom, telling her exactly what happened all the while begging her to let you stay at your parent’s house for a couple of days. Maybe even weeks. Deep down, you knew you needed to be around people no matter how much you enjoyed being alone because your mind always found away to think about Mark.

You told her how Mark yanked out your heart and stepped on it repeatedly. You told her about getting drunk every single day for the last week, how much you hated him for what he was putting you through and how you hated that you were letting such a stupid boy control your emotions. You also asked her if your dad could come over on one of his days off to take a look at your door. She didn’t take long to respond back to you nor were you surprised when you heard her knocking on your door while she quickly pulled you in to her embrace once you opened it.

“Oh yeah sweetheart, you really broke your poor door. Come here baby, mama’s got you.”

She helped you bring your bags to the car and the two of you stayed in silence the entire ride to your parent’s house. You had a feeling she had a few questions she wanted to ask you and that there was a couple of things she wanted to say but you were glad that the only noise in her car was the sound of the air conditioner. You weren’t ready for any kind of human interaction or a conversation you knew would drive you even more crazy.

All you wanted was for your mom to rock you back and forth like how she used to when you were younger and tell you that everything was going to be okay even if you lost all hope on it being so. When she pulled up to the garage, she told you to stay put so that she could help you get out of your car and you felt like such a child. Out of all your siblings, you were the closest one to your mom and even if you were an adult living on your own with a full time job and everything, you were always going to be her little girl.

Seeing your child cry was always painful for a mother, but because the reason behind your sadness was something out of her control, she felt like she couldn’t do anything but console you and get you whatever you needed to try and make you feel better. Once you made it inside of the house, she led you to your old bedroom and let you get settled in so that she could prepare you something to eat. You didn’t have the heart to tell her you weren’t all that hungry; you haven’t had much of an appetite in the last week and you were sure she noticed your sudden weight loss.

A part of you wanted to ask her to forget about it, especially because being in your old room brought back so many memories of Mark and how he would sneak in on school nights and how the two of you would stay up talking about anything your hearts desired. Being alone wasn’t something you’d think you’d ever get used to, especially because Mark was like your shadow. Wherever you went, Mark followed and unlike most people who would probably complain about his clinginess, you enjoyed it profusely.

Knowing that Mark always craved your presence and needed to be around you to maintain his sanity made your heart flutter. This has been the longest you had to be without him and every day felt like an entire month. It’s as if time went by frustratingly slow because the universe was aware of your heartbreak and wanted to make you suffer for whatever reason you were unsure of.

Taking a look around your old bedroom, you could feel your chest grow heavy when you saw the few pictures you had of you and Mark from when you were growing up and tears were soon building up at your eyes. The two of you looked so happy together; you were just a couple of kids who dreamt about so many wonderful things that life had to offer. Little did either of you know that one day, you would fall in love with one another before you could even comprehend the meaning behind that silly four letter word.

You silently cursed to yourself for getting all worked up again; you came to your parent’s house as a way to heal on your own and to surround yourself with people who love you and care about your well-being. You just needed to have some kind of support system or else you’d drive yourself crazy back at your apartment thinking about what you could’ve done to have prevented the breakup from happening. The gentle knock on your door took you by surprise and you almost ended up dropping the frame.

She released a long sigh before she walked over toward you and took the picture from out of your hands. The last thing your mom wanted to do was to make you even more upset by saying something to trigger you or cause you to overthink. But she couldn’t handle seeing you so broken; so defeated especially because you were an actual ray of sunshine. Your smile alone could light up an entire room and your personality was so bright and bubbly, people enjoyed your company because of your enthusiasm.

As much as your mom liked Mark to the point where she would secretly plan out your future wedding with his mom whenever they’d go out to lunch together, she wanted to find him and make him regret what he did to her baby girl. She was shocked to say the least when she got your voicemail and at first, she couldn’t even understand what you were saying because your speech was so slurred and she couldn’t hear a word you were saying through your tears. Mark made it known to his surroundings that you were his entire world and all he cared about was making sure you were well taken cared of and that you were happy, healthy and got everything you deserved. You were so agitated just by seeing his photo and you wanted to scream.

He was probably already over the entire thing and although it killed you to think like this, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was already looking for someone new. Why else would he have left you so easily? There must’ve been someone on the side but who were you kidding? That man planned an entire night out for you; to celebrate your life together. Your mind came up with all these different reasons for the breakup so you could get some closure but you weren’t stupid. You knew Mark loved you, you just couldn’t find a reason why he would tell you he regrets your relationship and wishes he never met you.

You despised yourself for trusting Mark with your entire being; for allowing him to see each and every part of you. The good, the bad, the ugly. You hated that he was the only man you’ve ever loved with your entire physical, mental and spiritual being. You were upset with yourself for falling so hard for him and giving him the control to do such a thing to your heart. The feeling of being in your mom’s arms again after moving out almost two years ago was extremely comforting and very calming.

She ran her fingers through your hair and continued to stay silent and waited until you stopped crying completely before telling you exactly what was on her mind. After your sobs slowly died down, she tapped on your forehead to get your attention.

“Sweetheart, have I ever told you the story of when your father left me back when we were in college?”

You shook your head in disagreement but widened your eyes in shock at her revelation. From what you were told, your parents were college sweethearts. Your dad fell in love with her when one of their mutual friends asked him to pick her up from work once and he was extremely grateful that their car was in the shop at that time or else he would have never met his soulmate.

They’ve been together for over twenty years and not once have you heard this story, but now you were heavily interested. You always loved hearing stories about your parents relationship; it gave you high hopes for your own relationship and since you were going through a breakup right now, you could only hope the story would lift up your spirits.

“We were together for only three months at the time and it was the first relationship I had where I genuinely cared for him. He was so kind, so flirtatious and used the cheesiest pickup lines to make me laugh. I knew he was going to be someone special in my life. Unfortunately, at the time your dad was the only one in his group of friends that was in a relationship. They told him that being in a relationship was “lame” and that he was still so young to be wasting his time being tied down to one girl. He tried to defend and fight for our relationship, but his friends continued to pester him over it, so he broke up with me. I was devastated, I cried for hours on end and couldn’t eat anything. But he showed up only three days later with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a bucket of fried chicken. He told me he loved me and refused to be without me. It was quire romantic if you ask me.”

You giggled at the idea of your dad asking your mom to take him back with some Popeyes. You were upset to hear that your dad’s friends coerced him in to breaking up with her. However, you were happy to hear that it didn’t take too long for him to realize your mom was it for him.

“He’ll be back y/n. I know he will. That boy—he loves you. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, I can tell in his actions and with the way he looks at you that he’s head over heels in love with you. His mom also mentioned it a couple times; he’s—what is that word kids your age use these days? Whipped for you? She said he has stars in his eyes whenever you come up in conversation. It’s serious when a boy talks about you to his momma. One day when the two of you are married with a family of your own, you’ll look back on this little bump in the road and laugh—“

“Please don’t say that. You didn’t see the way he looked at me when he told me all of those hurtful things. It didn’t even feel like he was my boyfriend, it was as if I was looking at a stranger. It makes me wonder, did he ever really love me if he had no problem leaving me?”

“I’m serious y/n. I don’t know what things were said that night or how things ended up the way they did, but when it’s real, when it’s love, you just know. He probably looks just as bad and if not worse than you do. I know it hurts. Breakups are rough, especially because it’s obvious you and Mark were made for one another. But what have I always told you? If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, then it’s yours forever and if it doesn’t, well baby, it just simply wasn’t meant to be. He was probably just in the heat of the moment and said some things he probably didn’t mean. I’m sure he’s regretting this entire thing. Mark’s a smart boy; if he knows what’s best for him, he’ll be yours again in no time. Until then, get out of this funk y/n. There’s so many wonderful things in the world to do and to be grateful for. Do you really want to look back on your twenties and regret wasting your time crying over a boy when you could be doing so many different activities and go on so many adventures?”

You released a frustrated sigh and shook your head again. She was right. You were tired of crying and drinking so much. There was only so much alcohol your body could handle and it wasn’t worth all the hangovers.

“Maybe we should tell your dad what happened so he can mess around with him a little bit and teach him a lesson.”

The idea and the way your mom said it made you let out a genuine laugh. Your parents were always so protective over you and it was probably because you were so kind-hearted that people tended to take advantage of how polite you could be. However, even if she meant it as a joke, you were nervous at what your dad would do if he found out about what Mark said to you and how the breakup was slowly killing you. You were a daddy’s girl and your dad never failed to do anything to make you smile; even if it meant scaring your ex-boyfriend which you knew you didn’t want him doing.

Your mom stayed with you for a few hours until it was timed for her to make dinner and you ended up falling asleep because of how mentally exhausted you were. No matter how much your mom loved it whenever you stayed over, she didn’t want you to get used to running away from your problems and hiding when things got too difficult. She wanted you to learn to live without him on your own. Your mom knew that you were going to be okay. Maybe not right now, but one day you would heal from this entire situation and realize that your breakup was a learning experience.

Plus, you had to return back to work sooner or later or you would lose your job completely. A cloud of sadness came once your dad pulled up to your apartment complex and they offered to walk you to your door but you weren’t sure if you’d allow them to leave if they did. They both pulled you in for hugs as they said their goodbyes and you actually cried as you watched them drive away. Why did life have to be so complicated? You were so unhappy to the point where you thought you would actually die from a broken heart.

The aspect of dying from a broken heart was extremely devastating; you’ve heard about it on multiple occasions. It was normal for people to be so sad, so distraught and have no energy or motivation to do anything. They wouldn’t eat, sleep and only spend most of their days crying out what was left of their hearts. You didn’t think going through a breakup would cause this much damage to you and your well-being; but contrary to what your mom told you, Mark wasn’t just any boy. He was the owner of your heart and you understood that he could torment you like this because you allowed him to.

You stopped by the mailbox to see if you got anything before heading up to your apartment. When your parents were driving you back to your place, you decided that you would actually get up and do something today. Whether it was tidying up your place from how messy it had become from your one too many drunken stupors, or going to the cleaners to get that wine stain out of your dress. As you began to approach your unit, you noticed there was something sitting right in front of your door.

The closer you got, you realized that it wasn’t just something, it was someone. Your heart felt as if it was about to jump out of your chest when you realized exactly who the person was slumped up against the wall. It was exactly a week since your fight and you weren’t sure if it was what your mom had said about your love and how beautiful it was, or because you were miserable without him but you wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and beg him to come back to you.

You expected to be angry if you were to see him again because of all the trauma you suffered through; yet seeing him tugged on your heartstrings and it was as if you pushed the entirety of the last week to the back of your mind. When Mark heard footsteps coming towards him and he looked up to see who it was, he had to hold himself back from running towards you. Your mom was right, just like she normally was.

This week was one of the worst weeks of his entire life. He was suffering without you. He never hated himself more than he did when he said all those things and he hated himself even more for not running after you as soon as those spiteful words fell from his mouth. You were the best thing that has ever happened to him, and if things were to end up differently that night, he would’ve been able to show you exactly what you meant to him in more ways than one.

He wanted to call you, to text you and to tell you how stupid he was and how he didn’t mean a single word that he said to you but words were never his forte. Nor did he want to give up his pride even if it meant preventing this last week from ever happening. It was all his fault, or so he kept telling himself and he couldn’t go one more day without you in his life. It was too much for his heart to withstand.

He was going to do everything in his power to get you to forgive him, even if it meant having to stay away from you for a little while longer for you to completely heal from this experience. As soon as he drove away from your apartment that night, he knew he fucked up and accidentally punched a hole in his wall out of anger. He was so selfish; so insensitive and didn’t think that his harsh words would have any negative effect on you.

After hearing your little jabs at him, he wanted to hit you where it hurt the most but if he knew then what he knew now, he would’ve kept his mouth shut and just dropped you home so that you both could calm down and not say everything you both said to one another. You let out a deep breath and tried to prepare your heart to hear why he was there and to be ready to fight if the situation called for it.

“Hey.”

You looked up at him and you could feel tears brimming at your eyelids. He looked so tired and you knew for a fact that he must’ve cried with how his eyes practically mirrored the puffiness of yours. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent and his face looked smaller than it already was. It made you cringe; Mark was never one to portray himself as someone weak or someone who had feelings and emoted whenever something was up with him. If he had a problem, he’d deal with it on his own and this was no different.

Good. He deserved to have suffered as much as you did.

“Hi. How long have you been here for?” He shrugged before scratching the back of his head; something he normally did when he felt like he was in the wrong or whenever he was embarrassed and you took it as the former.

“Um—since Wednesday I think.”

Your eyes widened in shock at his answer. Wednesday? So that means he was sitting outside of your apartment for the last three days?

“Wait, you’ve been here for three days? Are you crazy? Mark, you could’ve gotten sick! It’s cold out here! And what about food? Have you even been eating? You look so malnourished, why would you—“

“You and I both know why. I fucked up. Big time. It took me a while to think about it at this perspective because I was just so mad and I wanted to blame you for the way things ended that night but I came to the conclusion that this was my fault. I’m the one who fucked up something so amazing, so beautiful and so perfect because I was a fucking asshole y/n and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

In order to prevent wandering eyes of your neighbors, you opened the door and motioned for him to walk inside so that the two of you could have your privacy.

“Shit y/n, what happened to your door? You have to practically force it open—“

“You don’t want to know. My dad is supposed to come over this weekend to try and fix it. I think the hinges must’ve came out or something. Can I get you something to eat? Drink?”

He shook his head and you could see in your peripheral vision that he was hesitatingly reaching out for your hand, probably in attempts to bring you to the couch so he could continue the conversation from where the two of you began from but he just walked over to the living room and took a seat. You wanted to hear everything he had to say and you were going to make it a point to let him know what this breakup did to you.

His focus was on the multiple empty bottles of alcohol sitting on your coffee table and because he was well aware of how much you hated alcohol, it was apparent that you must’ve had it really rough if you felt the need to turn to alcohol for solace. When he felt like he was ready to talk, he turned around to face you and released an exasperated sigh.

“I’m sorry it took so long to come here—oh, these are for you. I actually had to go back to the store because the first two bouquets actually died probably because they weren’t being watered and I bought your favorite cookies—but I got hungry so there’s only three left.”

He handed you the beautiful bouquet of sunflowers and you giggled at the sight of only three cookies in a big container but it made you smile nonetheless.

How romantic.

You politely thanked him and placed both of the gifts down on the table before speaking up.

“You should’ve called me, I wouldn’t allow you to have waited out here for me. Are you crazy Mark? What if something happened to you—“

“Then so be it. I’d probably deserve it. Fuck, you don’t understand how much of a mess I was without you and how much I’ve been suffering because the image of your pained face would not leave my mind once this entire weekend. I had a feeling you weren’t home when you weren’t answering the door but then again, you could’ve looked through the peephole and decided you wanted nothing to do with me and I wouldn’t have blamed you. The old lady next door was kind enough to offer me some food here and there but I’m sure she probably thought I was a thief or something when she first saw me. I should’ve called but you and I both know why I didn’t. I kinda wanted to give you your space because I’m sure what I said probably got under your skin. I ruined our special day and I’m sorry if I broke your heart—with the way you’re looking at me I’m sure I hurt you pretty badly huh.”

You looked up at him with a melancholic look in your eyes; that had to be the understatement of the year. If you didn’t have your family around to help you take your mind off of your failed relationship, you were sure you would have ended up in the hospital sooner or later.

“You broke me Mark. You made me feel like I was worthless. You made me think there was someone else or that you fell out of love with me and I genuinely wanted to die. Pathetic right? I just—I didn’t know how to function without you and waking up every morning felt like a chore. At some points I felt like I couldn’t even breathe. I’ve heard heartbreaks caused by breakups were an unfathomable pain that are impossible to bounce back from and some people even die from a broken heart I just never would’ve thought it would happen to me. Especially because we were so happy; so in love and I would have never thought one stupid, meaningless argument could cause us to separate. You made it seem like leaving me was so easy and hearing that you wished that we never dated in the first place is what truly fucked me over. I became a fucking alcoholic because of you—I blamed the entire breakup on myself even if I didn’t say anything that I knew would inflict any sort of pain to you because the idea of hurting you hurts me. It’s sad to know you don’t feel that way.”

“That’s where you’re wrong y/n. I regretted everything that I said as soon as I said them but the damage was already done. Please believe me when I say this, I didn’t mean a fucking word. That was just the anger and the irritation talking for me. My life before you always felt so empty, and once you came in to it, you made everything so much better. You filled my life with color and made my heart soar by just the mere thought of you. I could never regret you or our relationship; you’re all I could ever want or need in this hell forsaken world. You know the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you—“

“BUT YOU DID MARK.”

You didn’t mean to yell, but it was all the built up emotions you’ve been holding in that finally released itself and you knew you wouldn’t be able to forget the way he shivered at your tone. Not once in the many years of knowing you did Mark ever see you so mad. You were always such a shy and introverted person; he didn’t think you were capable of such an intonation. He hated that he was the reason for your hostility and he was afraid that it was too late. It may have only been a week, but what you went through was enough to change your warm-hearted personality in to a cold and aggressive one.

“Nothing will ever change the fact that you gave up on us—on me. If you knew there was a chance that your words would affect me the way that they did, then you wouldn’t have said anything at all; but you said it all without hesitation like you did mean it. I was coming to accept our breakup for what it was. Sure I was hoping you would come back; hell this is the closest I ever felt to God because I found myself praying every single day for him to show me a sign. For him to heal me and make it known that I would be okay. I’d be lying if I said I’m not the least bit content that you’re here but—I really don’t know what to make of that.”

To your surprise, he made his way toward you and reached for your hands. As intimidated he was by how you were acting towards him, he knew he had to grow some balls and man up, or he would lose you forever and the tiny box that was in his pocket would no longer have any use.

“I don’t know what to say or do that would explain how sorry I am and how much I wish I could go back in time and prevent any of this from happening. I don’t know how to stop you from hurting, and to get you to forgive me—I‘ll do anything to fix this y/n. Please—tell me what to do. I can’t—I can’t lose you. Tell me you don’t love me, and then I’ll—I’ll—fuck, there’s no way I can let you go. Please baby—you asked God for a sign and I came here tonight to try and fix my mistakes. That has to mean something right?”

Hearing him sound so desperate, so willing to do whatever you wanted him to in order to bring your relationship back to what it was made you feel so many emotions. As much as you wanted him to give you some time to think, you knew you’d take him back. It was going to take some time to forgive him, and to get his words out of your mind completely, but Mark was everything you ever wanted for the rest of your life.

Why were you going to continue suffering on your own and staying away from him when all you wanted was to have him back in your life? You cupped his cheek softly with your palm and placed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Feeling him smile against your lips sent a fire through your veins; Mark’s kisses always had quite the effect on you. His lips were so pink and so pretty and you loved every single moment that they were pressed against yours.

“You can start by paying for my dry cleaning. I got a huge wine stain on the dress I was wearing because I got drunk.” He giggled in to your neck before placing a chaste kiss there.

“Done. You silly girl. God, I missed you so much baby. I also think I have something that could win me some brownie points but I hope tonight ends the way last week should have.”

The question of what he was referring to was at the tip of your tongue, but before you could emit anything, he was now kneeling on the ground right in front of you and pulled out a red box. Your heart began to race on a you put two and two together; he was going to propose to you.

“I know, this is probably not how you wanted this to happen and I promise you I had different ways in mind on doing this—but after losing you, I realized that it didn’t matter how, where or when I would ask you to spend the rest of your life with me; all that matters is that I did. I was actually planning on proposing you at the beach once we were finished eating, but I chickened out like the coward that I am. And I guess I was irritated with myself and took it out on you that night and I know I said it so many times, but I will continue apologizing until I make up for all the pain I’ve put you through. I’m sorry y/n. I don’t deserve you—I don’t deserve being able to do this right now but this last week without you made me realize that I can’t live if I have to do it without you.”

He grazed your wrist with his thumb and you were sure he did that to calm down his nerves, but it was so cute. You loved seeing him so flustered and so nervous and you loved knowing that you were the reason behind his now shy demeanor.

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can remember. Every time I would drop you back home once we hung out back in high school, I felt this emptiness in my chest. Then I realized how much I loved hearing you laugh knowing that I was the reason behind it. I loved spending time with you and being around you. I loved the feeling I got whenever we were together. You and I can literally do nothing but I’m my happiest when I’m with you and that’s when I realized you were more than just a friend to me. These last few years with you have made me the happiest man alive. You mean everything to me baby—I wish I would’ve told you this sooner so we wouldn’t have wasted time apart but I’ll make up for it the rest of my life—if you let me of course. I’ll take good care of you my love. I’ll continue to love you and give you the world on a silver platter. Y/n, will you do me the greatest honor and marry me?”

You were sure if someone else were in your shoes, they probably would’ve said no right off the bat. Heartbreak really did change a person. It made your whole aspect on life change for the worse and you knew you weren’t the same person you were a week ago. But you’ve dreamt about this situation on many accounts. There were times where you’d sleep over Mark’s place and you’d stay up looking at him in admiration and thinking about what your future together would look like.

Sure, you would have preferred this surprise before all the unfortunate events that happened, but you were excited and speechless nonetheless. You sank to your knees and sat down on his lap; bringing your hands up to his face and pulling his lips up to yours. You couldn’t help the snicker that fell from the back of your throat when you felt a tear fall from his eyes on to your cheek. His hands were tight on your waist as he deepened the kiss, licking and sucking on your lips before all but gently shoving his tongue in between your teeth. When you felt his excitement pressing against your core, you pulled away and ignored the choked out whine that fell from his lips as you placed your forehead against his.

“Yes. I would love to marry you Mark. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Thank you for coming back to me love.”

The way he was looking up at you pulled on your heartstrings; you couldn’t wait to tell your mom of the news. You knew she would probably hit you with “I told you so” but she would also be extremely happy for you. He abruptly stood up and took you with him, wrapping your thighs around his waist. You knew exactly what his plans were as he made his way to your room and you were excited to say the least at what he was going to do with you.

Once the two of you entered the bedroom, he didn’t waste anytime throwing you on to the bed and attacking your face with kisses as he ran his hands along your body; needing to touch you everywhere. Right as he began dragging his fingers along your clothed heat, he gripped at your chin and made sure you were making direct eye contact with him.

“You know, since your door is already broken, I don’t see any problem in breaking your bed also—ow! What? You’re going to be my wife one day soon, so it’s only natural for me to want to fuck the living shit out of you in celebration of our engagement—I’m actually starting to reconsider this whole marriage thing. Give me back that ring, I’m gonna go sell it and buy me the PS5–“

“You wouldn’t dare Tuan, I’ll end you—“

“Just shut up and let me love you damnit.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter that came after his little complaint. You still had yet to process that Mark was currently on top of you, ready to make love to you and to show you just how much he missed you. He playfully poked your cheek to break you out of your trance and squeezed your butt as a force of habit.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“I’m just really happy, that’s all.”

He gave you his signature cheeky grin and left a long, sloppy kiss on your lips.

“Good. That makes the two of us, and that’s the only emotion you’re going to feel now that you’re stuck with me. Now, let’s make up for lost time shall we?”

Can you ask daddy if he's got time To come and look at my front door? It got slammed last night And now it don't close right And just promise that you won't tell him everything And keep that pistol in the drawer Mama, please don't say I'm gonna laugh about this someday You didn't see the way he drove away

How does he sleep at night? Mama, the nerve of this guy To leave me so easy Am I gonna be alright? I wanna kick myself for fallin' so hard Mama, can you die from a broken heart? Oh, a broken heart

Can your knees give out from prayin' so hard? (Prayin' so hard) Can you go blind from cryin' in the dark? (In the dark) Was it ever really real If he don't feel like I feel?

How does he sleep at night? Mama, the nerve of this guy To leave me so easy Am I gonna be alright?

How does he sleep at night? Mama, the nerve of this guy To leave me so easy Am I gonna be alright? I wanna kick myself for fallin' so hard Mama, can you die from a broken heart? A broken heart

#got7 imagines #got7 #mark tuan #got7 mark #mark tuan imagines

78 notes · View notes