#but something that i learned about snakes is that they have a fuckload of personality for animals who are so built for not moving much so

[ruthlesslistener]

have u ever had that thing where your ball python sits likes it's dead. Idk how to describe it, they're curled up in their hide like normal except they just LOOK dead. Like they have their head limp and crooked, or they're less of a tight curl and almost look like their sides are gonna fall over. My guy does it everytime he sheds and it still scares the shit out of me 5 years later. I know shedding can't be comfortable but can we be less dramatic abt it

No??? Most dramatic I've gotten from them is Toast striking at me when he was in shed (though he missed and then never did it again). Most of the time I just get a hiss from him. I think your little guy is just really really uncomfortable when he sheds and is being all dramatic about it.

(If you ever manage to snap a pic of him doing it tho pls show me, I want to see this snakely 'woe is me' pose for myself)

[threeletterslife]

04 | Illegirl

→ previous | next

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol�� cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity again, mentions of depression and physical abuse, mentions of sharing a bed (because jimin is freaky) & pretty bad pms-ing

→ wordcount: 7.4k

You walk into Jimin's classroom, as usual, setting down your backpack as you prepare to wait for a couple of hours for your teacher to finish grading tests.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says as you sit down at your desk. He grins happily at you. "I actually finished grading everything for once, so I was thinking we could go and grab something to drink. It's my treat since I feel bad for always making you wait after school for me."

"Really?" you say, excited. "Then can we go to that new coffee shop? Wattbucks was it? It's a bit far from here, but I hope that's fine."

You had purposely suggested a place far away from your school, afraid of any of your peers seeing you grab a drink with your teacher. That would surely raise some suspicion to gossipy, hormonal teenagers.

Jimin nods to your relief. "Yeah, I think it was called Wattbucks. Let's go, I could use a good latte."

"I'm gonna totally tease Jin. He's always wanted to learn latte art," you laugh as you get up from your seat and swing your backpack over your shoulder.

Your friend laughs as he opens the classroom door for you to get out first. "I'm not surprised. That cousin of yours loves anything food-related. I think that's where you got it, Y/N the hog."

You slap his shoulder.

After spending more time picking a drink than you spend taking your math tests, you finally decide on a cute aesthetic one that claims to come with a heart latte art.

"I'll have the same as her," Jimin tells the barista.

"Copycat," you murmur as your teacher pays for the drinks.

"Am not," Jimin murmurs back as both of you choose a nice, warm seat in the corner of the cafe. "I wanted the heart-shaped latte too! You just ordered first."

You roll your eyes dramatically. "Fine, fine," you sigh as you adjust your seat on the plush cushion set beneath you. "This place is so nice."

"Does Jin not take you out often?" Jimin asks as he stretches back comfortably. "I should take you to WattDonald's sometime—it has a nicer interior design."

"No, he insists eating at home is much healthier or some shit," you sigh, then you frown, processing the other half of Jimin's words. "Wait, are you telling me you literally judge cafes by their interior design?" you ask.

"Why not?"

"I don't know... because you go to cafes to eat? Not see?" you say sarcastically.

Jimin laughs. "If you're going to eat, might as well eat someplace nice, right?"

You snort. "I'm no queen. I can eat in a dumpster and still be happy that I'm eating," you remark.

"Y/N the hog," Jimin whispers, grinning mischievously at you.

"Hey!" you shout, slamming your hands on the table.

Jimin only laughs. "Calm down!" he says between his laughter. "I was joking!"

You're still seething when a waitress practically skips over and hands you and Jimin your matching drinks.

Immediately you forget your dispute with Jimin as your eyes turn wide in wonder. "Oh, it's so pretty!" you coo at the drink. The cream-colored coffee cup to the elegant heart etched into the foam—it was all so beautiful.

Jimin nods, admiring his drink as well.

"Jin's going to die when I send him a picture of this!" you say as you fish out your phone and start to snap pictures of the rather photogenic cup of latte.

It doesn't take long before Jimin starts to photobomb, making silly faces in the background of your aesthetic pictures. "Jimin!" you whine. "Jokes on you, I'm sending the ugliest picture of you with the latte to Jin!"

Jimin shrugs. "As long as Jin doesn't post it, I'm fine."

"I'll tell him to," you say, evilly.

"My best friend wouldn't betray me like that."

"My favorite cousin wouldn't betray me like either," you say. "He'll post it!"

You quickly text Jin the picture.

You look up from your phone to see Jimin talking to the waitress.

"Yes! We've been dating for three years now," Jimin says, suddenly putting an arm around you.

"Wha—" you say, shocked out of your mind. Was he drunk again? But drunk from a latte? Was that even scientifically possible?

"Thank you so much for offering us a free couple's mini cake," Jimin tells the waiter, squeezing your shoulder.

OhhhHhhHh. You catch on. You want that complimentary cake.

You nod. "Three years strong!" you giggle.

"Oh, how adorable!" the waitress squeals, "I'll get you two the cake! Would you like a photo afterward? Even your lattes match!"

"Yes please," you say. "My cousin would want to see a picture of us."

Jimin nods, catching on. "Jin, that rascal. I've always told him to find a girl of his own."

The waitress laughs. "Oh, how adorable!" she repeats, "I'll get the mini cake!" And with that, she disappears into the kitchen.

You start to laugh. "Jimin, what the hell?"

"What? Free food!" his whispers in your ear.

You forget his arm was around you until he takes it away, the warm imprint still hovering over you.

The waitress comes back in a flash, holding a small, aesthetically pleasing cake. She places it smack in the middle of the table, as Jimin snakes his arm around your waist to play couple again.

You hand the waitress your phone, which she gladly takes. "Keep posing!" she says as she starts to snap photos repeatedly.

You and Jimin rotate from smiling to silly faces to pouty faces, but the waitress just won't stop with the pictures. Finally, she pauses, putting your phone down a bit.

"Only your faces look different, move your bodies!" she urges. "Kiss! It'll look adorable!"

You and Jimin give each other looks.

Oh shit.

"Oh no, we're completely fine," Jimin says as you nod in agreement.

The waitress scrunches her eyebrows. "A couple, huh?" she says. That's when it occurs to you that now you two are a suspicious couple.

Okay, but since when did couples have to kiss on demand??

"Let's just do it for the picture, Jimin," you say.

Jimin whirls on you, giving you a panicked look, but he quickly replaces it with a smile, nodding. "Okay Y/N, whatever you say."

"Adorable!" the waitress squeals.

You're starting to think this woman is the most annoying person ever.

With a bit of hesitation, you and Jimin turn to each other, Jimin cupping your face with his warm hands as you naturally sling your arms around his shoulders. He doesn't even look nervous as he habitually licks his full lips. You, on the other hand, knew you are beet red and you look a bit nervous as you both lean into each other, lips inching closer and closer. This just reminds you of the first time you'd kissed your teacher...

No, Y/N!

You almost feel bad, wondering if Jimin actually thought you'd kiss him. With only an inch to spare before your lips would meet, you jump back, laughing.

"Jiminie!" you whine. "Your breath stinks!"

"It does not!" Jimin shouts defensively before realizing your save. "Okay fine, I forgot my mint today."

The waitress laughs. "Even more adorable!" she says, not even suspecting a thing. "I took a picture of you two just about to kiss though!"

"Let me guess," you say. "It's adorable."

The annoying waitress nods. "How'd you guess?" she says as she happily hands back your phone.

"I had a hunch," you reply.

"Okay, well, I'll leave you two to finish up your adorable date!" the waitress sings as she practically skips away.

You turn to Jimin. "That's a fuckload of trouble you almost got us in, Jiminie," you say.

Your teacher laughs. "The save of the century brought to you by Y/N," he jokes. "God, I almost thought we had to reenact that time I was dru—"

"Oh shut up," you say, nudging Jimin, feeling your face turn red. "That was not appropriate."

"Whatever," Jimin chuckles. "Now what are you going to do with those couple photos we just took?" he teases. "Blackmail me?"

You perk up. "Wow, that's actually a good idea," you tease back. "I'll keep them—you know, for memories."

"Good idea."

"And maybe send them to Jin."

"Goddammit," you breathe as you stand helplessly outside your house. Jimin had just dropped you off and you were pretty sure he had driven away by now. You were screwed. Being your dumb self, you had forgotten your house keys and now you were locked out of the house. "Shit," you breathe. "This is just swell."

"Everything all right?" a familiar voice calls from behind. You whirl around, surprised to see Jimin watching you from his car.

"What are you still doing here?" you ask, frowning slightly as you start to walk up to your teacher's car.

"I always watch until you're inside your house," Jimin says, "just in case something were to happen. I thought you knew."

"Uh, no," you say, your brows creasing.

"Well, now you do." Jimin shrugs, quickly changing the topic. "Now what's the problem?"

You sigh, rolling your eyes at yourself. "Being the dumbass that I am, I locked myself out of my house."

Jimin chuckles, his eyes scrunching up cutely as usual. "Wow, I can't believe you're my best student. Get in the car, I guess you can stay at my house."

You freeze. "Uh, you sure?" you say. "Won't I bother you or something?"

But it was more like: Holy fuck am I really going to consider staying over at my teacher's house?? These days, other girls in your grade were busy staying over at guys' houses that were in their age range doing who knows what. You? Not so much.

"Nah, you won't be a bother," Jimin says surely. "It's always nice to have company."

As genuine as your friend sounds, you're still a bit skeptical. After all, it is your teacher's house... Mentally, you thank God that it's Friday. You don't want to imagine the awkwardness if you went to school the next day in the same clothes as before, all the while pulling up in Jimin's car. You shudder slightly at the thought.

But you also kinda have no choice.

"Okay... then," you say hesitantly as Jimin smiles and reaches over to open the car door for you. You clumsily climb back into his car. "Thanks, uh, I guess."

It feels a bit weird at first to step foot into Jimin's house. It's rather larger than you've imagined a teacher's house to be, but you can still tell that it's a cozy place.

"Make yourself at home," Jimin says, gesturing towards his commodious abode. "You can take the bed later, I'll sleep on the couch."

You nod. "Uh, yeah, thanks."

Goddammit. Is it just me or is this fucking awkward?

"Hey, do you usually cook?" you ask, hoping to brush off some awkwardness.

"Not really. I get takeout," Jimin answers. "But I think I have ramen somewhere if you don't wanna go out."

"Ooh, yes!" you say, never a girl to pass up ramen, or food in general. "It's just that... I don't really know how to cook it. When Jin said I can't cook for shit, he meant it," you confide, shrugging.

Jimin shrugs too. "Me neither. But how hard can it be?"

Your jaw drops. "Maybe we should get takeout then. I don't want to burn your house down or something," you say as Jimin makes his way to his spacy kitchen.

"Nah," your teacher answers as he rummages through his kitchen cabinets and fishes out two packs of ramen. "Like I said, how hard can it be?" Instinctively, Jimin rips both packs open, takes out the important contents and tosses the bags away.

"Shouldn't we use the directions you just trashed?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest and frowning.

"It's fine, Y/N," Jimin says, waving his hand. "It's just ramen, how hard can it be?" Your teacher pulls out a large pot and fills it three-quarters with water. "Do you think this is enough?"

You squint at the water sloshing again the pot, scrutinizing the amount. "I dunno. Maybe you should put a bit more just in case. More doesn't hurt, right?"

"Right." Jimin fills the pot with water to the brim. "I think this is alright."

You nod. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I've seen Jin boil the water first."

"Do you know how long he boils it?" Jimin asks as he places the pot on the stove and turns it on in one swift move.

"Not really... But I remember he told me once you need bubbles in the water," you reply as you examine the water carefully.

"Like this?" Jimin asks as he cautiously points at minuscule bubbles forming around the ring of the pot.

You squint. "Those are some tiny-ass bubbles. But they're bubbles nonetheless," you say, chuckling slightly.

"See? I told you. This is easy," Jimin chuckles. "And fast," he adds. "Now we add in the ramen."

"Yup," you say. "Logically, we should let it cook for a while."

"So... thirty minutes?"

"Exactly what I was thinking."

But thirty minutes later, something didn't look quite right.

"Um, Jimin, is the water supposed to spill out from the sides?" you inquire, tapping your teacher's shoulder.

"No, shit, Y/N!" Jimin screams, as he dashes over to the overflowing pot and starts an attempt to turn the fire off. However, that was definitely not a good idea, especially since the steaming water was pouring down on the sides of the pot. "Ah, fuck!" your teacher shouts. "That's hot!" Jimin waves his red hand away.

"God, Jimin, you okay?" you shriek as you rush over and get a rag to safely turn the stove off.

"Yeah. Yeah," Jimin brushes your question off, covering his hurt hand with his good one.

"Get some ice," you say as you try to fan away the smoke that was now making its way up to the smoke detectors. "Ah, shit," you say, just as the fire alarm goes off.

Jimin, icing his bright red hand falls to the floor in frustration as the annoying alarm makes an atrocious racket.

Fuck my life.

"Don't just sit there! Help me open the windows!" you scream at your teacher as you jump around the house, opening every window and every door you spy. Soon, Jimin's sprinting around with you, helping you with the task.

Several minutes later, the blasted fire alarm stops beeping. You and Jimin collapse on the floor side by side, breathing hard and looking dazed.

"We are never cooking again," you sigh, rubbing your forehead. "How's your hand?" you ask your teacher, looking over at him.

"Nothing that'll scar," Jimin says, rubbing ice on his hand. "God, I didn't know cooking ramen would actually be hard. I'm sorry."

You laugh. "No hard feelings. It wasn't your fault."

"Technically, it's a good thing all of this happened because I think I bought that ramen a decade ago," Jimin chuckles. "Things could've been worse if we ate that."

"You what?!"

Jimin laughs heartily. "It was all back when I thought I was going to cook for myself," he explains shortly. He suddenly turns to you, grinning. "So... for dinner, I was thinking Plan B. Pizza?"

"Pizza," you agree, smiling.

Munching on pizza slices and drinking diet coke, you and Jimin were sitting on the living room sofa, sharing small stories with each other.

"My parents totally did not want me to be a teacher," Jimin says. "I graduated from one of the top three colleges so they thought it was a waste for me to teach a bunch of teenagers."

"Should I be offended?" you chuckle. "But you seem to really like math and teaching in general. I think your job fits you."

Jimin grins at you. "Really?"

"Mhm. Besides, you have a perfect life, don't you? Parents, friends, best friends..."

Jimin raises his eyebrows. "And you don't? Good grades, caring cousin, amazing teacher..." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Perfect life," he purrs.

But you don't laugh and instead shake your head. "No, you don't understand," you bite out. Maybe a bit harshly—which you hadn't intended.

Jimin looks at you, startled from your sudden change in tone. "Woah, there, sorry," he quickly apologizes.

His sincerity immediately makes you feel bad and you sigh, shaking your head. "No, you shouldn't be apologizing," you say. "I... I just get extra moody when it comes to this."

"But aren't you always moody?" Jimin pokes fun at you as you shove him to the side. "Sorry, sorry!" Jimin squeaks as you shove him again. But as soon as he gains his straight posture back and looks over at you, you can tell he became serious. "Hey, Y/N, if you need to vent to me, I'm here to listen," he says.

You raise your eyebrows. "Who says I need to vent?"

"Your mood swings tell me everything." Jimin shrugs.

"You—"

"Y/N, I'm here to listen, not judge. You can trust me," Jimin interrupts, his voice convincingly soothing.

Goddammit, Jimin.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "Can I trust you?"

"You need me to trust you," Jimin answers. "Besides, hasn't anyone told you it's healthy to vent?"

You let out a rather aggressive sigh. "Fine."

"I'll be a great listener, I promise!" your teacher says as he snuggles into his couch, looking expectantly at you.

"Uh," you say, unsure of where to start. "Okay, lemme think, the school lunch is just plain nasty, students need to stop smoking in the bathroom and teachers need to stop giving tests on the same fucking day," you finish proudly.

Jimin laughs. "No way."

"No way, what?"

"You're so not moody because of those dumb reasons," your teacher accuses.

You frown. "And how would you know?"

"C'mon, those reasons are just stupid, Y/N!" Jimin laughs. "You've always been the worst at making up excuses. What's the real deal?"

You groan. "I'm so embarrassed," you mutter. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start wherever's comfortable," your teacher says in a coaxing voice. "No need to be embarrassed. I won't judge, I promise."

"I dunno, Jimin," you say.

"Have you told Jin your problem?" Jimin asks.

"Well, of course. He's literally involved in it," you say.

"And does Jin judge you for your problems?" Jimin inquires.

"Well, no—"

"Then I'll obviously do the same," your teacher answers. "I'll be another person in your life that will care to listen. Now, continue."

You slowly digest his words, taking in each meaning. Then, you hesitantly nod. "I guess... my problem isn't really much about school," you confess. "I think I use the school to distract myself from my problems." You pause, turning your head to look at Jimin, his face inches away from yours.

He stares back at you, his wide, chocolate eyes softening. His eyes tell you to continue.

"Um," you mutter. "Jin's the only good family I have at the moment," you say slowly, choosing your words wisely in your head. You pause again, looking towards your teacher but he's silent, his full attention on you and your story, so you continue.

You sigh deeply. "Maybe several years ago I had a lot of friends," you say. "I remember I was pretty damn popular too..." you trail off. "And honestly, I was really happy in the beginning, you know, being the center of attention and all... but I guess things changed and I realized... I-I was too different from my friends." You awkwardly shift your position on the couch and pause, choosing your next words carefully. "My friends were close to their families."

Jimin shifts up, crossing his legs and leaning forward to listen more intently. You take that as a sign to continue on once more.

"I guess I never really had a family, as cliche as that sounds. I mean, I had a mom and a dad, but what's the use of having them if they neglect me?" you say slowly. "I was never told that I was loved... I was misunderstood, misjudged. I dunno, this sounds so dumb and non-original," you sigh.

"Hey," Jimin says softly. "No problem you have is dumb. No problem is cliché." He puts a soft hand over yours; and it's not a gesture to seduce you, no, it's the complete opposite—it's a calming gesture, a supportive one, telling you to trust him with your past.

You nod gratefully. "You know, I've always hated the way young adult novels always portrayed family problems. They do it just so they hide the worst part of it—the yelling, the name-calling... Then the protagonist always meets the guy that seems to solve all of her problems and totally end up romanticizing pain and depression..." you trail off and take a deep breath. "Anyways, back then, I didn't even have anyone to vent to. I didn't have Jin, or you. I could never get my friends to understand either. Besides, when I'd tell them about how my mom would verbally abuse me, or when my dad would physically abuse me, they'd compare my pain with their little first world problems."

Jimin rubs small circles on your hand. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

You shrug, giving your teacher a weak smile. "I'm okay now, I promise. But back then I obviously wasn't. I remember one of my so-called friends complaining about how their mother didn't buy them the white wattPhone X and got them the black one instead or some kind of shit right after I poured my heart out about my family situation. And I dunno, something about people not seeming to care about me and my struggles just made me build up my own stress and anxiety," you explain. "I think I wasn't doing so mentally well back then."

It's then when you realize you're worked up. Your breathing was abnormally quick and your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you couldn't help but cover your eyes with your hands. "I'm not going to fucking cry," you mutter into your hands.

"You can cry, I won't judge," Jimin assures you.

And that was all it took for you for your tears to start flowing out of your eyes.

"I was never good enough for anyone! But especially my parents. One single mistake, you know, maybe second place in Science Olympiad would cause them to bring out a train of other failures I've had in my life. I'd work my ass off every day, but it would never be enough. And as I got older, I decided to fight for what I thought was right, so I'd talk back to them. But of course, when that happened they'd start ranting about how ungrateful I am. Sometimes I felt like I was more important to them for the letter grade I produce than the actual human being that I am," you whisper the last part. "I always felt like I could disappear into thin air and no one would miss me."

You feel a warm hand pat your back reassuringly. That lets you know you can continue. "I remember my parents talking about a rich aunt and uncle. So that one day I was so fed up with myself, I left the house with nothing and found myself at their doorstep."

Jimin starts to rub soft circles on your back and you lean into his touch, feeling so cared for, despite what you encountered in your past.

"My aunt and uncle were really skeptical about me staying at their house. It wasn't like my parents died or anything. It was just me, begging to stay because I didn't like my own parents. I'm pretty sure they would've driven me back to my house if Jin hadn't intervened. I distinctly remember that time," you say. "Jin, their only child, arguing for me to stay."

"That sounds like him," Jimin comments and you nod. "So does it get better after that?"

"Barely," you reply. "My parents found out pretty soon that I was living with my aunt and uncle. God, you have no idea how mad they got. Actually, it was more like infuriated and enraged. They told me I was a pathetic parasite always fishing for the best like I was some gold digger."

"I'm so sorry," Jimin whispers, taking your hand again. You nod your head, silently thanking him for his support.

"But it did get better. I made strong bonds with Jin," you say. "It's just that it became clear that I was just a nuisance to the family. Money was being spent on me, time was being used on me... I just felt guilty all the time. So I left or tried to leave. Jin stopped me and offered to run away with me. Apparently, he wanted to live his own life and write his own future," you say. "Our parents still don't know where we are and we're not letting them find us anytime soon."

"Are they not looking?" Jimin asks.

"I dunno and I honestly don't even care," you answer. "Jin and I made sure we moved far away enough."

Jimin nods. "Good."

You smile at your friend's support. "You know, Jin's a lot like you."

"Really?"

"His parents wanted him to continue his father's business like any rich son would, but Jin wanted to work in the theater department. He followed his passion and guided me here," you say. "Kinda what you're doing."

"Exactly what I'm doing." Jimin smiles, patting your hand before letting go. "Well, that was some life story."

"I try not to dramatize it." You shrug. "So did it work?"

"Eh..." Jimin says, "I'm trying to hold back my tears." He wipes away nonexistent tears with a silly grin on his face.

You roll your eyes. "Such a goof."

Jimin shrugs, suddenly becoming scarily serious. "Y/N... so it's because of your past that you have... er, trust issues?"

You flinch. "Possibly."

Jimin gives you a look.

"Okay, fine, yes. You caught me. I don't wanna make fake friends as I made in the past—even though family problems pushed me down, not having friends to support me kept me down. Jin and you are the only people that I've ever fully trusted."

Jimin nods. "Hey, I understand. I know how you feel."

You raise your eyebrows. "You do? Don't you have 50 million friends?" you ask.

"Well, out of the 50 million, guess how many I actually trust," he says, leaning back and taking a sip of his coke. Jimin scrunches his nose. "Ew, this thing isn't even fizzy anymore."

You giggle, rolling your eyes slightly. "I'm guessing you trust seven," you say. "It's a lucky number."

"Nope, one," Jimin replies. "Your cousin."

"Are you trying to tell me—"

"That true good friends take time and work to find?" Yes," Jimin says.

"No, that's not what I was gonna say," you giggle. "I was saying, are you trying to tell me that you don't trust me?"

Your friend laughs. "Oh c'mon, Y/N," he says. "Spare a man. Of course, I trust you."

"Good because I didn't just tell you my whole private life story for you to tell me that you don't trust me," you say, taking a sip of your unfizzy diet coke.

Jimin laughs again. "I trust you, okay? You're like a best friend to me," he says, as he stretches and gets up from his couch. "It's getting late and we need to pick up my other best friend from the airport nice and early tomorrow. We should get to sleep."

You beam at his words and stand up too. "Mhm."

"I'll show you up to my room," Jimin says as he gestures you over to the stairs of his house. That's when you realize, oh fuck, I'll be sleeping in my teacher's bed.

It's weird how sometimes Jimin can be your friend but your teacher at the same time.

"You can borrow one of my shirts to wear to sleep in you want," Jimin says as both of you walk into his rather spacious room. Your friend walks to his closet and pulls out a long, black t-shirt. He tosses it to you and you grab it instinctively.

"Thanks," you say. "Are you sure you don't want me to take the couch? It was comfy."

"Are you saying you don't want the bed?" Jimin asks sarcastically.

"I mean, no, a bed's nice but—"

"Are you saying we should share—"

You smack Jimin's back. "That was—"

"Not appropriate, I know, I know," Jimin interrupts you as he laughs. "You gotta learn to take a joke, though."

"Not if the joke is borderline sexual," you seethe. "Not if the listener is your student."

"Aw, c'mon Y/N, you're only my student in school," Jimin protests. "You're my friend outside of school."

You sigh. "Fine, then," you mutter as you start to push Jimin out of his room. "Get out, I'm gonna change."

"Okay, okay," Jimin laughs. "Goodnight, Miss Yoon."

"Goodbye, Jiminie," you tease as you shut the door on Jimin's laughing face.

You sigh as you snuggle up into Jimin's warm, velvety covers. They smelled like him: fresh, clean and masculine. You still can't seem to believe how amazing your friend is—he's almost too good to be true. Even after you spilled out your deepest secrets, he treats you just the same, he doesn't pity you, he doesn't think he's better than you in any way. It secures you so much to be around someone like Park Jimin.

You're so lucky to have him.

"Y/N!" you hear some high-pitched voice screaming in your ear.

"Shut up, I'm awake!" you scream back, ironically keeping your eyes closed as you turn over and smash the soft pillow over your head.

"You don't look awake," the voice teases. "C'mon, we have to go in a few minutes to get Jin or we'll be late!"

You groan as you slowly rise up, only to see your teacher sitting on your—his bed, staring right at you.

"Wait, fuck!" you shriek as you quickly pull up the covers to hide your body. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to come in unannounced into a lady's bedroom?"

Jimin cocks his head. "For your information, this is my bedroom," he chuckles.

"Oh my god, Jimin," you groan. "Get out! I'm not wearing anything under the shirt!"

Well, shit, Y/N. That was a bit too much information.

You can see your teacher's ears turn red as he quickly stands up. "Oh, right. I totally forgot... Sorry," he says hastily as he practically sprints out of the room.

You roll your eyes as you climb out of Jimin's bed, stretching. You had slept so well—maybe it was the sweet, masculine smell of the covers or the high-end quality of the bed. You hadn't known your teacher was so loaded.

Walking over to where you had neatly folded your clothes last night, you scrunch your nose, picking up your white t-shirt. "Pizza grease stains," you mutter. "I am a messy eater."

I guess it won't hurt to wear Jimin's t-shirt to the airport right? It just looks like a t-shirt dress anyway.

You quickly take your bra to the bathroom, putting in on, then washed your face and attempted to comb your hair with your fingers. By the time you're downstairs, Jimin is all dressed as well, most likely having taken his clothes out of his closet when you had been sleeping.

"I've never seen you wear a dress before," Jimin teases as you roll your eyes.

"I got grease stains on my other shirt," you reply. "I had no choice. It's okay if I borrow this for a day, right?"

Jimin laughs. "Yeah, no problem. You look good in it, anyway."

Flushing at his casual comment, you absentmindedly nod as you walk towards the front door. "Uh, we should go get Jin now," you say.

"Hold up, no breakfast?" Jimin asks as he holds an apple out for you.

"Oh, thanks," you say as you take the apple gratefully. "You're not eating?" you ask as both of you make your way out of the house and into Jimin's car.

"Well... my fridge isn't exactly stocked," your teacher says, placing his hands on the steering wheel. "I usually eat out all the time so that's the only thing I had in the fridge."

Again, Jimin is loaded.

"How do you even afford to eat out all the time?" you blurt out.

Jimin shrugs. "Parents."

"Ah, right," you say quickly.

You let your teacher drive to the airport in silence as you awkwardly try to eat the apple as quietly as you can. But remembering your manners after a few minutes, you offer an uneaten side of your apple to your teacher.

"I'd thought you'd never ask," Jimin chuckles as you hold the apple in front of him and he bites in.

"Oh, sorry," you say, flushing slightly at the proximity between your teacher's plump lips and your innocent hand. "Do you want the apple? I'm not that hungry anymore."

"Yes you are," Jimin scoffs. "Don't you lie, Y/N, Jin tells me about the huge breakfast you always eat before school. Breakfast is important for you."

"What does Jin not tell you?" you cry, throwing up your hands, careful not to fling the apple to the back of the car.

Jimin chuckles. "He tells me everything about you—it's obvious he cares for you a lot."

"Yeah..." you say. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough for him," you confess. "I mean, the only times I actually take care of him is when he gets drunk. Other than that, he's basically my mom."

"He's the perfect cousin," Jimin comments, smiling. "In a way, you're really lucky, Y/N."

You bite into the apple. "I am. I have Jin and you," you say, grinning.

"Aw, my heart," Jimin says, dramatically placing a small hand on his chest.

"Two hands on the wheel!" you shriek. "I want to live to see my cousin!"

Jimin just laughs, gripping the steering wheel with two hands as you had instructed. "Y/N, relax, we're almost there anyway."

"Hmph."

"So, how much do you want to bet Jin takes us out to eat when we meet him?"

"MY BABIES!" Jin screams as he runs towards you and Jimin, his suitcase flying behind him.

"God, how embarrassing," you mutter, catching the weird glances people were throwing your way.

"YOU GUYS SURVIVED!" Jin shrieks as he rams into you and your teacher, pulling both of you into a tight hug.

"Not for long if you keep hugging us like this," Jimin says, his voice strained as Jin squeezes all three of you together.

"Sorry, sorry," Jin apologizes as he loosens the hug. "I was just so happy to see you two... alive."

"What, you thought we were going to die?" you ask as you pull away from the hug, crossing your arms.

"No, I thought only you were going to die," Jin answers. "That's why I didn't let you alone. You've never really been on your own, you know?"

"He demanded I got your back 24/7," Jimin says. "Did I do a good job?"

"A bit too literally," you tease, rolling your eyes.

"He even took you shopping, huh?" Jin asks, eyeing your—er Jimin's t-shirt.

"What? No," you say, tugging the long, black top down. "It's not mine," you quickly say, lowering your head in sudden embarrassment.

Jin's eyebrows raise. "Well, then, looks like Y/N spent a night at your house, didn't she?" your cousin turns to ask your teacher.

Unlike your flushed self, Jimin looks rather calm. "Y/N spectacularly lost her house key yesterday so she slept over at my place."

"The shirt?" Jin questions. You flinch in your place, feeling guilty for no reason at all.

"Y/N's a messy eater, you know that. She got pizza grease on her shirt so she borrowed mine," Jimin explains. "Is your interrogation over, buddy?"

Jin's serious face is replaced with a goofy one. "Of course!" he laughs. "Agh, you two are too cute," Jin declares as he swings each arm around the both of you. "Now, I'm going to take you out to eat."

You shoot Jimin a knowing look and he laughs, eyes becoming beautiful crescent moons. You can't help but laugh too.

It's yet again another weekend you, Jin and Jimin are spending together. You're relaxed on your couch as Jin sits right next to you while Jimin is sprawled on the floor, scrolling through his phone.

"Y/N, Jimin," Jin says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "So... as you know, my drama team is doing incredibly well these days. We, um... won state so we have to go to nationals."

"That's great!" you say as you jump up.

"Dang, Jin, congrats!" Jimin says as he starts to get up into a sitting position.

"Yeah, well... but that means I have to leave soon to get to nationals," Jin explains. "I'm sorry guys."

Your face falls slightly but you force a quick smile. "But you've always wanted your team to win these competitions!"

"Yeah but being apart from you guys makes me feel..."

"Empty?" you ask.

"Lonely?" Jimin inquires.

"Ugly," Jin says with a 'duh' tone.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I dunno. Something about being with you guys makes me feel full, you know? Like I'm my best self. I feel perfect," Jin explains. "When I'm not with you two, I kinda feel... insecure? Ugly?"

"Aww, bro," Jimin says, standing up to sit next to Jin on the couch.

"We'll miss you," you say, resting your head on Jin's shoulder. "Can you do us one teensy favor though?" you plead.

"Anything for my two favorite people," Jin says as he softly kisses your forehead, making you smile.

"So, we almost burned down Jimin's house last time trying to cook ramen..." you start. You don't even get to finish because Jin is already hysterically laughing, the familiar windshield wiper laughter filling the commodious living room. Your cousin wipes a tear away from his eyes, calming himself down with a few deep breaths.

"You're telling me... neither of you read the directions to cook ramen?" Jin cries, chuckling.

"Well... I would've, but someone trashed them," you say, eyeing Jimin accusingly.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N, don't blame me," Jimin whines, his lips pulling out into a full-blown pout.

You pretend not to be affected by the cuteness, rolling your eyes. "I didn't say it was you," you say. "I only implied."

"Same thing," Jimin mutters.

"And that is why you're a math teacher, not an English teacher," you reply.

Jin laughs. "Oh, you guys are so cute when you fight."

You and Jimin both shoot your cousin glares, making him raise his hands up in defense. "I was joking!" he exclaims. "You know what? Instead of just sitting around here and doing nothing, let's hang out productively."

"Productive? What's that?" you joke as you slump into your couch.

"I think I should teach you guys how to make ramen," Jin sighs.

"Oh, yes please," Jimin says. "I would like to keep my house from burning to the ground again."

"What do you mean, 'again' " you ask, rolling your eyes. "Last time I checked, we ran around like madmen opening all the goddamn windows to get the smoke out."

"Language, baby cousin," Jin chuckles. "You two really need to stop arguing if you don't want to look like a married couple."

Jimin pouts. "I totally would if Y/N would stop trying to one-up me with her arguments."

"I wouldn't have to one-up you if your arguments were solid," you spit back.

"Okay, okay!" Jin cries, throwing up his arms. "Let's just get up and cook before I have to hear you babies fight again!"

"I am not a baby!" you whine, annoyed. "I am not your goddamn baby cousin. I'm fucking 17 years old and I am so sick of you calling me a baby!" you burst. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much! I fucking swear if anyone calls me a little child again, I will... I will... uh, skin them alive!" you declare, hands fisting in sudden anger.

Jimin and Jin stare at you in shock.

"Y/N... honey, do you want to blow off some steam?" Jin asks softly as he steps slowly towards you.

"No!" you shout, then you rethink. "Yes," you say. Quickly scurrying away, you slam the door to your room shut.

"God, I've never seen her so worked up," Jimin says as soon as your presence is gone. "She actually looked like she wanted to skin us alive."

"Y/N gets moody at her time of the month." Jin shrugs as he walks toward the kitchen. "Believe it or not, that kind of behavior is normal."

"Oh, so she's not lying about her period this time?" Jimin chuckles. "She always uses it as some sort of excuse."

Jin laughs. "I've heard... but no, Y/N just lets out all the stress she gets from studying when she's on her period. I think it's a girl thing, I don't know. I just let her be."

Jimin nods. "I'll keep that in mind... So, I guess you'll just have to teach me how to make ramen."

Jin smiles. "Sure thing, bro."

You're on your bed, dying from the pain of cramps as you sort of regret the loud outburst you had in front of your teacher. You groan as you slam your face into the pillow. "Y/N, you are a stupid bitch," you tell yourself.

Sometimes, with the pain of cramps, you get embarrassingly moody and forget to control your temper. The pain should lessen though... you've just taken a painkiller. You sigh as you sit up from your bed, attempting to fix your loose sweats and messy hair. You're craving ice cream.

Almost like you're on some secret spy mission, you creak open your bedroom door and silently creep out into the kitchen. You're skillfully avoiding all of the floorboards that you know that will squeak, paying close attention to the ground.

"Ah, if it isn't but Y/N," Jimin says in his silky voice, making you jump. Your teacher smiles at you as he sets down a pot of hot ramen. "Are you hungry?"

You flush furiously, hoping he had forgotten your tantrum. "Kinda," you whisper, looking down at your feet as you make your way to the freezer.

"Mint chocolate ice cream?" Jin asks you as you nod, taking out your favorite tub. "Don't eat too much of it, Y/N. Do you want a heat pack?"

You nod, still red from humiliation as you face the two people you had just shouted at a while ago. Making your way to the couch, you sit down as Jin hands you a heat pack. "Thanks," you mutter as you start to eat huge spoonsful from your tub of ice cream.

Jimin carefully sits down next to you, almost looking at you fearfully, as if you'd bite him—which was pretty possible if you were on your period. He sets down the pot of ramen on the table in front of you as he looks expectantly at you. "I made ramen," he says, poking your cheek.

A giggle escapes your lips at your teacher's actions.

Okay, what the fuck, Y/N. Did you just... giggle?

But then again, anything is possible when you're on your goddamn period.

"And if I say so myself, this is the best ramen you'll probably ever eat, so eat up," your teacher says proudly.

Jin rolls his eyes. "95% of that ramen is my work," he mutters. "But I think Jimin is pretty solid to cook for you now."

You smile. What were you going to do without these two men in your life? They took your bitching, listened to your troubles and were still hell-bent on being by your side and making you feel better.

"I can't wait to try it," you laugh as you tug the pot of ramen closer to you. "Thanks, guys, I owe you."

—previous | next

—masterlist

[dcbicki]

“You’re Gonna See it Someday; It’s Affection Always”

Fandom: Veep Characters: Dan Egan, Amy Brookheimer Pairing: Dan/Amy Rating: T (use of mature language) In which Amy’s pregnant, and Dan already has a plan mapped out for them.

He’s a fucking snake with the eyes of a hawk. Of course he’s up to something. She knows him, better than anybody else probably ever has, ever could.

“And now you’re gonna eat.” He reaches down, picks up a rounded bowl. “Eating for two now, Amy.”

She’s seriously gonna stab him with a fucking spoon.

----

He’s thought long and hard about this. Well, that’s to say he thought of it, considered it for like twenty minutes, and then made up his mind.

He didn’t even need to consider it– not really, not hard at least. It all just seemed rather obvious, now that the cards were in place and the inevitable was no longer deniable.

He knocks once, twice, knows she’ll answer despite it being so late at night because she’s Amy, and she just will.

Dan bounces up in his heels, waits for the wooden door to Room 206 to open and its guest to greet him. He frowns. She’s probably wearing that awful fucking granny nigh- “What?”

Nope. She’s still wearing that dress that looks like a long blouse. It still stops at her knees, still shows off traces of her bra underneath. Oh.

“What?”

“What?” Amy scowls, eyes drawn tight and lips thin. Her body is hard, tense. Fuck. “You knocked on my door, Dan.”

Right. “Can I come in?”

There’s no ‘please’, not even a hint of one coming soon. There are no cherries on top of this, no sprinkles to garnish their massive fuck-up.

“No. And you’ve got one minute to say whatever bullshit you’ve been reciting in your head before I scream.”

She wouldn’t. He’s sure of it.

“Well, aren’t you a fucking delight?” Maybe sarcasm wasn’t really the right idea to start things off, he judges based on the look she gives him. Whatever. “You really want me to let everyone on the floor know of our little sexcapade, Amy?”

“Goodbye, Dan.”

The door doesn’t shut because he pushes a hand up flat against it, and she removes her own, backing down against her will. She still glares up at him, though. She can still look like she hates him, at least.

“You could’ve told me you weren’t on the pill.”

On second thought, maybe blaming her isn’t gonna go down too well either.

Fuck him, and fuck his finger-pointing.

“Yeah, well, you could’ve used a condom.”

One hand curled around the doorway to her room, he sighs, slight aggravation showing in his tone (because she’s not letting him in, because she’s blaming him), “I was told-”

“A low sperm count doesn’t mean no mean sperm count at all, you fucking dildo.”

Dan smirks at that (because he’s an ass, after all), and he leans in closer, “More like a vibrator, angel.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Besides,” he shrugs, still towers over her even though she refuses to let him into the room, “You weren’t bitching about the lack of condom when you were riding my dick.”

“You told me not to worry, and because I was as drunk as a freshman sorority girl lying face down in an back ally, I didn’t worry.”

He drank more than she did that night, and they both know it.

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep up with me.” He’d been six drinks in, and she’d been five. So close. Damn him.

“You were the one who kept buying me drinks.”

“And yet I wasn’t the only one completely trashed at the end of the night.”

“Fuck you.”

“Can I come in?”

“No. Go back to your room. Go fuck an unsuspecting twenty year old. I don’t care.” She wants to close the door, to slam it in his face so hard his fucking nose bleeds, bruises, breaks.

He won’t budge though, and he’s practically already inside at this point anyway.

He’s asking out of common courtesy, which is almost funny considering Dan is one of the rudest people she knows. He’s fake, too, though.

It’s ironic, because common courtesy was the sole reason she decided to tell him. She didn’t tell him because she wanted to, because she needed him or his money or his help. It was the right thing to do – to tell him of his impending fatherhood, if he wanted it – try as she might to fight it.

“I don’t want to fight, Amy.”

It’s not good for the-

“Well, if you’d have used the brain that the Wizard of fucking Oz gave you at birth, then we wouldn’t have anything to fight about in the first place.”

He kind of wants to tell her that they always find ways of arguing anyway, that there is always just something there as a source of heated conversation between them, a raw nerve left uncovered. He almost wants to remind her of how they once clashed over a flavours of fucking frozen yoghurt. He’s not blind. He knows how they operate, how and why and just how well they work together.

But he doesn’t – doesn’t mention their ever-present, ever-lingering need for eye-drawing disputes – because he knows it’ll only make matters worse. And they’re already in pretty fucking rough shape as it is.

We don’t have to fight now, Amy. We need to talk about this.

He’d tell her this if he wasn’t such a coward, if he wasn’t just two steps away from becoming a full-fledged sociopath, one who craved her attention and cherished her scoldings. It’s that five percent part of him needs to feel loved (so people say), he reckons.

He’d tell her this, but only if their deliciously twisted Machiavellian souls weren’t so damn twisted. He’d tell her this, but he kind of likes it when she hates him.

“Best put on those ruby slippers then, Dorothy. It’s gonna be a long fucking road ahead.”

Campaign trailing and tightrope walking and hormone-fucking-controlled screaming matches. All this until they become parents. All this until the emerald-tinted goggles wear off and all they’re left with is a fucking baby and a fuckload of diapers.

Fuck the wizard, and fuck that analogy.

“Can you leave?” Her lips purse, and he somehow knows that she wants to add a simple ‘Please?’ on the end of that. But she won’t. They don’t do manners. They don’t do nice.

Shoulders raised high and body hunched, her spine is probably fucking screaming out for help. He’s never understood how her spine hasn’t tensed up so much that it shatters into fucking pieces, but he’s always admired it from afar, from too close.

“No.”

No, because you said you pregnant with my fucking kid, so, I don’t know, we should probably talk about it. Maybe? Huh? No? Well, tough shit, Brookheimer.

Dan lifts a brow, in that sharp way he does when he’s testing her, messing with her. Except he isn’t really messing now, but his face has never quite mastered the art of expressing anything other than boyish overconfidence or sheer disgust, so he just looks like a fucking prick instead. Nothing new there then, Amy thinks.

“Why?”

Because we need-

“I ordered room service and told them to bring it here.” He shrugs, nonchalant, ignores the icy blue daggers her eyes bore into him.

Amy lets a moment pass before she speaks again, just watching as he ventures further into her room, not even asking for her approval now. He tosses that stupid beige coat down on the chair beside the dresser, sits down in said chair with one leg crossed over the other at the knee. And he’s grinning. Fucking asshole.

“What did you order?”

She didn’t dare eat enough at dinner, too distracted by his constant nudging and staring. They hadn’t spoken to each other all night; well, of anything other than Selina or her baby that is the White House, that is. They didn’t talk about what was really at the back of both of their minds, pushing its way to the forefront as only their evil fucking spawn could.

“Cravings kicking in already?” He’s messing now, and they both know it.

“Fuck you.” She ignores his look, utterly despises the smug smile – no, smirk – he keeps plastered on his face. She sits on the bed, phone still clutched in her hands. Ring, goddamn it. Fucking ring. “It’s a surprise,” she hears him say, all proud and sounding much like his usual self it’s truly disgusting.

Fuck him and his voice. Fuck him and personality. Fuck him and his shitty genes. Fuck, him.

“You know I can just call someone to come and drag you out of here, right?” She’s not lying, but he knows she’s bluffing. Her hands are sweating, the backs of her knees hot against the bed’s blanket. Is it abso-fucking-lutely vital that he keep staring at her like that?

He taps one hand against the armrest of the shitty chair he’s sat in, sighs in a way that lets her know he doesn’t give a single flying fuck about her threat. “Feel free, Ames.”

“You could at least wipe that shitty grin off your face.” Amy offers, flicking blonde hair behind the shoulder when it starts to stick against her neck, all warm and sweaty. Maybe she’s not pregnant, maybe she’s menopausal already and having a hot flash. Her doctor would disagree.

Just as I thought. You’re pregnant. Congrats, Miss Brookheimer. Would you like to call anyone?

She’d thought about it, about calling him then and there, about letting him know straight away. Hell, she’d thought about dialing his number and just handing the phone over to her doctor to let him learn the wonderful news from someone else.

Hello? Mr Egan? Congratulations are in order. You’re going to be a father.

She’d internally debated all options before making her decision. She’d considered every alternative available to her before making up her mind. She’s getting older, and time is moving faster, and she’s changed (somewhat) as a person.

Fuck.

It’s winter for fuck’s sake, why is her room so hot? Fucking heating.

“You don’t have to be involved. I’m not gonna hunt you down for fucking child support.” She’s a working woman with a job – undetermined, uncertain, unspecified as of yet. She can be a single mother if she has to be.

And she can picture him working alongside her all day everyday, purposely ignoring her pregnancy, and then intentionally avoiding all mention of the kid she’d surely talk about every once in a while. He’d be good at pretending, she knows.

If she told him to go, he’d walk. Quite happily, she thinks.

“You can get the fuck out.”

Of your room? Of your life?

Constantly circling each other’s orbit, casually dancing around an endgame. Maybe they had just been in denial of the inevitable.

“I think I’ll stay right here, thanks.”

His tone contradicts his meaning. He’s smug, but he’s serious.

I’m staying. I’m here. This could work for us. This could for me.

This is a golden opportunity, and not just for him. Maybe it’s a blessing disguised as a fucking embryo, all devil horns and shit-eating smiles.

There’s a knock on the door before he can get another word out, suggest something she’ll either love or loathe. Dan hops up to answer the door, brushing past her legs with the coolest of drafts. She, despite herself, likes it.

“Room service.”

The door swings open, revealing a short white guy dressed in a low rent khaki-coloured uniform. He looks as though someone just killed his family pet, and Dan barely acknowledges him. Poor fucker.

He grabs the handle of the cart – the whole thing, not just a tray – and wheels it into the room before letting go of the truck to pull out some already-counted cash from his back pocket to tip him, “Thanks, buddy.”

Door slamming shut, he spins back around to come face to face with Amy, only a couple of steps away from him, eyes squinting in distrust. He smiles – that motherfucker – and makes a note of her phone lying on the bed. Finally.

“What kind of game are you playing?”

“Why do you assume I’m playing a game?” He has a new job, his own fucking business for Christ’s sake. He is settled… kind of. He’s a grown adult who fucks people and fucks with people as a favourite past-time. “Jesus Christ, am I not allowed to order food for the mother of my child?”

She feels something twist into a knot in her stomach at that, and it rises to burn in her throat. Bile. Vomit.

Don’t ever fucking say that again. Please. Jesus.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner.”

“You kept staring at me, and I had shit to do.”

“And because I was staring I know you weren’t eating.”

She chooses to ignore the slight hint of concern he’s showing. He’s a fucking snake with the eyes of a hawk. Of course he’s up to something.

She knows him, better than anybody else probably ever has, ever could.

“And now you’re gonna eat.” He reaches down, picks up a rounded bowl. “Eating for two now, Amy.”

She’s seriously gonna stab him with a fucking spoon.

The motherfucker ordered what looks like one of everything, and she would thank him if he wasn’t just so naturally, perfectly, plainly sketchy.

“It’s your fault, by the way.” She’s not claiming responsibility for their latest fuck-up, “You were the one who said you couldn’t get your fucking swimmers to the finish line.”

He holds up both hands, blamelessly, “Then I guess you’re just an extra special swimming pool.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later I’ll let you.”

Can she kill him with a spoon? Can they legalize spoon-killing? Fuck, she’ll settle for spooning his eyes if she has to.

Eyes narrowing, Amy finally gives in. Not for his sake, but because she’s hungry as fuck and there are like twenty dishes in front of her. Screw him, him and his tall, towering ass.

“Fine.” Those cravings aren’t going to kick in for some time, she knows, but she’s desperately craving something sweet. And that bowl full of caramel – is that fucking salted caramel? – ice cream looks near orgasmic.

Dan smirks, so much wider than before that it almost resembles a true smile, when she snatches the white bowl containing the dessert from his hands and sits back down on the mattress, completely ignoring the flashing notifications on her phone.

They can get to work tomorrow. Selina and her attention-seeking ass can wait. Nothing’s going to change because Amy ignored a couple messages. Well…

“Good?”

She’d toss the bowl at him if she wasn’t so damn hungry. So instead she just nods and raises a brow, challenging him, “Join me?”

He brushes off her invitation, making his way back over to the uncomfortable chair by the dresser, “You told your mom?”

Why, because you wanna fuck her too, and claim vagina-rights to all three Brookheimer women?

It takes everything she has in her to bite her tongue, to stop herself from saying this. Fuck him, and fuck her sister.

“She does love me.” He speaks more to himself than to her, and Amy scowls, lowering the pot down into her lap. It’s cold through the material of her dress, and she’s grateful.

The metal spoon clangs against the side of the bowl when she lets it slip from fingers, and she’s somewhat surprised when Dan leans forward and grabs it from her hands. Why the hell are his hands so warm? He’s supposed to radiate frost, not heat.

“My dad fucking hates you.”

“Your dad would hate anyone who touched you. Not just me.” He’s softening the blow to his ego, she notes. Asshole.

“He liked Buddy.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.”

He’s not entirely wrong. Damn him.

“Whatever.”

There’s another bowl being placed into her lap then, and his hands remain cupped around the porcelain until she reaches for it. He retracts, carefully avoiding her touch.

“Are you trying to make me fat so you can add that to your list of reasons to bail? That’s low, Dan. Even for you.” Her tone is mocking, and he knows it. So he grins, because he knows her better than anybody.

“If I was gonna bail, I wouldn’t be making sure you were looked after.” It sounds deeper than he means it to be, he reckons, “Amy, if I was gonna abandon you…,” Dan pauses, glances down at her stomach for only the shortest of seconds, “or it… I wouldn’t be in here.”

Shit. He gulps, almost sighs until she cuts him off.

Eyes closed, she breathes through her nose, does that thing where her neck strains and her body tenses, “You can’t abandon someone unless you were ever there for them in the first place.”

“Well, I’m fuckin’ here, aren’t I?”

You getting worked up there, Danny? Gary would grin like a toddler on a sugar rush and Jonah would come out with some shitty joke that only he would ever find funny. Selina would tell him to sort out his goddamn sour puss and get on with it.

His lips are drawn thin, brown eyes wide, throat tight.

“Why the fuck are you in here?” She wants to shout, but it’s late and Leon fucking West is in the room next to hers. Then again, that twice-flushed turd’s probably got a glass pressed up against the wall right now anyway, eavesdropping on a conversation she’d rather not be having.

He’s a bastard – a heartless one, he knows – but he’s not a fucking deadbeat.

Fuck, his dad’s a deadbeat and his mom’s a saint, but that never stopped him from becoming Satan’s whore in male form. But that didn’t mean he wanted to follow suit.

(And her family’s no picnic either. He doubts she wants to turn out like either one of her parents.)

(And he definitely – oddly, he knows – doesn’t want her to end up like her sister, all unfathered kids and fried aspirations.)

(She’s not just some random woman that he fucked.)

(She’s smart, and his equal.)

(She’s fucking Amy.)

So we jump together. Butch and Sundance.

If she’s in this for the long haul then he will be, too. If she’s keeping this baby (his baby), then he’s keeping her close by. If she’s ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he’ll join her.

No point in beating a dead horse when it’s already done and buried. No point in delaying the inevitable any longer, pushing fate past its due date.

They fucked, and now they’re fucked.

We jump together.

(She’s Amy, for fuck’s sake.)

“Because you’re gonna fuckin’ marry me.”