#caffeine was a bad call today | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forlix · 1 year ago

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile.

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES. From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

2K notes · View notes

punkshort · 10 months ago

Text

somewhere to run | 6. the confession

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel finds out the truth and convinces you to press charges.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, PTSD type symptoms, mutual pining, domestic violence and SA (discussed after the fact), mental and physical abuse, detailed conversations about DV and SA (I didn't get too descriptive about the SA but I do use the R word a couple times) please let me know if I missed anything because there is a lot going on here

WC: 9K

A/N: as the title implies, we are going to get more details about what happened to reader in this one so once again, please heed the warnings and don't read if you think it will be triggering for you. I tried not to be too graphic.

Series Masterlist

Joel could hardly sleep that night. Instead of going to the station, he headed home so he could be with Sarah. She wondered why he got home so early from his date, but he dodged the question and the two of them worked together in silence - Sarah on her homework, Joel on his incident report. When she asked him why he was working from home, he just shook his head and said something came up. She was a smart girl. She knew something was bothering him, but she didn't push it and he was grateful.

He tossed and turned all night, his mind reeling while he looked at his phone every few minutes. He checked the volume, he made sure do not disturb was off, wondering if you would reach out, but you never did. Maybe it wasn't unusual for Patrick to not come home. Or maybe you heard what happened and you were mad at Joel. That worried him the most. The fear that his actions might have destroyed what fragile relationship he had left with you ate him up as he stared blankly at his ceiling.

Morning came too quickly and too slowly all at once. He rubbed his tired eyes as he dragged himself into the bathroom. When he leaned forward to turn the water on, he was met with a sharp pain in his chest. He glanced down, rubbing the area tenderly and realized a large bruise was forming from his fight the night before. He winced when he pressed on a particularly sensitive spot and tried his best to avoid the area during his shower.

After he dropped Sarah off at school, he headed into work, his heart beginning to beat faster the closer he got to the station. He had no doubt in his mind the whole town knew what happened last night, but he was too tired and too overwhelmed to care about their curious questions and senseless gossip.

When he walked in, he breezed right past Helen's desk with a curt nod, doing his best to avoid all eye contact until he was within the safety of his office. He booted up his ancient computer and waited, his thumb rubbing mindlessly against his lower lip as he stared out his window.

He would go to the diner today. He already decided he had to see you. The radio silence was killing him and he needed to make sure you were okay. He was embarrassed about the Facebook messages, even more so that you weren't the one to read them, but Patrick was right. They were not innocent. The words held more weight than they appeared, but he had to come to terms with the fact that you were not his, and then maybe with some closure, he would be able to move on.

The morning dragged on slowly. Bobby caught him at the coffee maker, already working on his third cup, depending solely on the caffeine to help keep him going.

"Hey, boss. You look like shit, but not as bad as him," Bobby said, pouring himself more coffee and jutting his chin to the back of the building where the holding cells were located.

"Feel like shit," Joel mumbled, leaning against the counter and taking a sip from his mug.

"Think you broke his nose," Bobby added, finally looking up at him. "Called the doc but turns out he's real busy this mornin', won't be able to come by til after hours. Such a damn shame," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Joel understood what he was saying without him having to say it. The people in this town looked out for one another and didn't take kindly to a stranger hurting one of their own. They were leaving Patrick to deal with his injuries longer than necessary.

"I don't think I broke anythin', he did that all on his own chargin' into that table," Joel said, but Bobby shook his head.

"Not the way he tells it," he replied with a chuckle. "You'd think you nearly killed him, the way he's been whinin' back there."

"No doubt lookin' for a lawsuit," Joel said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry, boss. You got a bar full'a witnesses. Hank already offered to give a statement and he was probably the only sober one there."

"Yeah, good. Thanks," Joel replied, pushing off the counter to head back to his office, trying to ignore the sideways glances of the men watching him from the bullpen. He shook his mouse and grimaced when he saw an email from the mayor looking to set up a meeting with him that week to discuss the incident. He knew he did nothing wrong, but the more attention this brought him, the worse he felt. Eventually, all of that talk would make its way back to you and Sarah, the truth most likely getting distorted along the way. He made a mental note to have a talk with his daughter that night as he slowly typed out a response to the mayor.

He swore he would try to get some actual work done, but he ended up spending more time staring out the window or at his phone, watching the minutes tick by til it was lunchtime and he could see you. Maybe he could pull you aside and talk to you in private. Maybe he could fix this.

The moment the clock read a reasonable hour, he jumped up from his seat and snatched his blazer from the coat hook, rolling his shoulders as he walked and put it on, then stifling a grunt when he felt a muscle in his chest pull from the effort.

He kept his head down as he walked down the street towards the diner, only glancing up once when he passed the pizza place. Your curtains were still drawn, no lights on that he could see, no sign of life.

A few people called out to him as he passed, but all he could muster was a tight smile and quick wave, not in the mood to get wrapped up into any conversations.

When he swung the door open, his eyes immediately went to the counter, searching you out but only finding Betty. Before he had a chance to look around the dining room, he heard María greet him.

"Where the hell were you last week?"

"I was here Friday," he muttered, looking around and avoiding her eyes.

"Yeah, with Nikki. Heard some stuff about that-"

"Is she here?" Joel asked, finally dragging his gaze to meet Maria's. She frowned and shook her head.

"No, she called in sick," Maria said, watching him carefully. "Joel, what's going on with you two? People are saying stuff about you and her husband, and-"

"She's sick?" Joel repeated, panic beginning to bubble to the surface. Maria nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah, people get sick, Joel. Hey! Where are you going?"

Joel didn't reply, he just hurried out the doors, nearly knocking down a middle aged couple as they were about to walk inside. He mumbled an apology as he jogged down the street towards your place.

Something was wrong.

Your eye cracked open when you heard the doorbell, the heavy thudding in your head making you immediately nauseous. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, rolling back under the covers. Maybe if you were quiet, Patrick would think you were at work and he would leave. But the bell kept ringing, the sound pinging around in your brain making the headache you already had so much worse.

When he began pounding on the door and shouting from the street, you dragged yourself out of bed and wrapped yourself in a thin robe. You knew your body couldn't take much more, but letting him in would be better than allowing him to make a scene in front of the whole town, so you forced your feet forward, still limping from the day before.

You had to pause in the doorway to catch your breath as you clutched your side, wincing in pain as you tried to gingerly walk down the steps, but you were taking too long and he just kept pounding and shouting and the all noise was making you sick.

"Stop," you called out weakly, not convinced he would even hear you, but miraculously he did because the noise finally ceased, and you sighed a small breath of relief.

Shakily, you reached out to grip the doorknob, your fingers fumbling with the locks until you finally managed to twist the brass handle, opening the door just a sliver, worried people walking by would see your face. Then, unexpectedly, you heard Joel's voice instead of Patrick's say your name softly and before you could peer around the door, you went to quickly shut it with no success. His hand gripped the door tightly, but you held firm, hiding behind the wood.

"You shouldn't be here," you told him, your voice weak and broken.

"I know you're mad at me but I gotta talk to you 'bout what happened," he said from the other side. "Please let me in."

Unbeknownst to you both, you were talking about two different things.

"If he finds you here... no, you have to leave," you said, pushing the door again, but he didn't budge.

"Patrick?" he questioned, sounding confused.

"Yes, Patrick," you rasped, getting dizzy from exerting so much energy in your weakened state. "Please just go."

"He's in jail, did - no one told you?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice down.

"Jail?" you repeated, and your grip on the door loosened in surprise. Joel felt it and took the opportunity to open it further. You stepped back quickly, wrapping the robe around you tighter and trying to fidget with your hair to hide the marks, but you knew it was pointless the moment you saw his face after closing the door behind him.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, his jaw dropping as his eyes slowly raked over your face, neck and arms. Your lip was swollen and cut, the scab breaking open and beginning to weep the more you spoke. Your cheekbone had a light purple bruise blooming under your skin, as did your jaw. There was a small gash near your hairline and what looked like scratch marks down your neck, leading past your collar bone and below your robe. When you shakily brought your hands up to cover your face in shame, he saw the dark bruises on your wrists.

"Oh my god," he whispered, unable to bring his voice any louder. When he reached out, you flinched away and he felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.

"You should go," you said quietly, your eyes pinned to the ground.

"I can't," he said in utter disbelief. "I can't... why didn't you call me?"

You looked like you were about to reply but decided against it and instead still kept your gaze averted.

"C'mon, lemme take you upstairs and get a look at you," he said, reaching out again, but you stumbled backwards, nearly falling onto the steps.

"Please don't touch me," you told him, holding up a hand, and he nodded.

"Okay, I won't touch you," he said, trying to remain calm while his heart was breaking. "Let's just go upstairs, alright?"

Reluctantly, you agreed and slowly ascended the steps, Joel following dutifully behind. He ushered you over to the couch, making sure you were seated before he went to your bathroom, rummaging around in your medicine cabinet while you sat there, your face buried in your palms and trying not to cry.

He came back into the living room, trying not to make you feel worse by hiding his reaction, but it was hard. He swallowed and dropped his eyes to the assortment of first aid items in his hands.

"Did you take anything for the pain?" he asked, his voice thick, his throat tight.

"Not today, no," you admitted softly. He nodded and shook out two white pills from a bottle and handed them to you before getting you some water. While safely in the kitchen where you couldn't see him, he let out a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. How could this happen? How didn't he see it? He should have checked on you earlier. He never should have fucking let you leave with Patrick yesterday. Guilt racked his brain as he exhaled slowly and went back to you in the living room.

"Here," he said, handing you the bottle of water. You took it and popped the pills in your mouth, wincing as you swallowed them down.

He sat down on the couch next to you but was sure to give you your space as he picked up the antiseptic and some gauze.

"Will you let me?" he asked, holding up the items in his hand. You paused and looked at them, then him. His eyes were wide and soft and shiny with unshed tears. Slowly, you nodded and watched as he twisted off the cap and put some of the antiseptic on the gauze, first pressing it gently against the gash on your forehead, then making a fresh one for your lip.

At first, he dabbed at the cut gently, ghosting over your skin as if he were afraid. But then he brought his other hand up to caress your chin, his fingers feather-like and so careful that it made your eyes flutter shut, his touch unlike anything you were used to. When you finally opened your eyes again, his hands were gone and he was staring at you, the look in his eyes morphing from sadness to one you were much more familiar with.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," he said menacingly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Don't," you said, shaking your head, but his eyes darkened and his jaw was set.

"Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart? I could've done somethin'. I could've-"

"What? What could you have done, Joel? I've heard it all before," you told him, your lip trembling. "I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. And it never works. Nothing ever changes and it just gets worse."

Joel shook his head, still not understanding.

"I'm a cop, I coulda protected you. There's laws in place for this kinda thing."

"I've gone to the cops, Joel! More than once! And they all told me the same shit!" you exclaimed, getting worked up now. "Then I go home, and magically my statement goes missing, or my medical exam report, and I'm in worse shape than before because guess what? It makes him really fucking mad when his buddies on the force find out what he does to his wife at home."

Joel's lips parted as he watched your chest heave for breath, the energy quickly draining from your frail body.

"I... I'm so sorry," was all he could say. He couldn't blame you for not trusting anyone, especially him, now that he finally knew the truth. Everything was starting to make sense. His guilt was pulling him down and he felt like he was drowning in it. So many things he should have done. Should have seen. He should have helped you but instead he trotted Nikki in front of you to make you feel even worse.

"I can really help you, though. I ain't like that," he said, scooting a little closer to you.

"I've heard that before, too," you said sadly, dropping your gaze to the ground. "There's no getting out of this. I thought by running I could try to start over, but it's clear now he will never let me go." You closed your eyes as two tears fell down your cheeks. You wiped them away angrily, hating yourself for being so weak all the time.

Joel felt his chest squeeze, his heart breaking as he watched you fall apart. He needed to do something. He couldn't let you down. You needed to get out of this, or else it could cost you your life.

"Look at me," he said, waiting until your tears slowed and you forced your eyes open. "I promise I'll help you. I fuckin' promise you, alright? You ain't in Pennsylvania, I ain't his buddy, and I will do whatever I gotta do to keep you safe."

You searched his face, eyes all wide and your heart sliced open, lying on the table between you. You've been let down so many times, it was so hard to tell when anyone was being truthful anymore, but you couldn't deny what you felt for him. And what he felt for you. You knew something was there, something real and honest and pure. He wouldn't have any reason to lie to you at this point, so after a moment, you nodded.

"Okay," you whispered, and you could see the relief flood his face.

He sat back on the couch and rubbed his chin in thought, staring at the TV screen across from him that wasn't even on while the gears in his tired head worked overtime.

"Alright," he finally said, slapping his knees and standing up from the couch. "First things first: you gotta get to a doctor."

You immediately recoiled and shook your head.

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, but you have to. I gotta..." he trailed off and chewed the inside of his cheek before pushing onward. "I gotta have a doctor take pictures."

Your face instantly crumpled and you buried your face in your hands once again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, getting down on one knee to be eye level with you. "But in order for this to work, they gotta record evidence, okay?"

"Joel, I can't," you whimpered, your face still covered, but he nodded and caressed the side of your head with his palm.

"Yes, you can. I'll be right there, okay? Unless you don't want me there, but I'll go with you if you want. Or I'll wait outside the door. Whatever you need, I'll do it. I'm gonna get you outta this."

You sniffled and finally dropped your hands to your lap, your gaze finding his.

"This is the last time, I promise you," he said, staring deep into your eyes. "I'll never let him near you again."

You thought his words over for a moment, the two of you sitting in silence, looking at the other. One trying to earn trust, the other trying to give it. Finally, you closed your eyes and nodded, giving your consent for what was to come.

"Okay," Joel said softly, dropping his hand from your face and standing up to pull out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm lookin' up the number of a doctor I trust. She's a woman, too. She's real nice and sensitive. I've used her for a couple cases in the past," he said, finding the number and dialing it, bringing the phone up to his ear. Cases. You couldn't help but feel like just another victim the way he said it, even though he didn't mean it that way. You listened as he spoke to her over the phone in a hushed tone, not giving too much of your information away but insisting it was an urgent matter. When he hung up, he turned to you with a weak smile.

"She can see you this afternoon."

"Oh," you said, glancing down at your appearance. You weren't expecting to leave the house that day and you weren't sure what to do.

"It's okay," he said, sitting down next to you again and resting his hand on your knee. "I'll take you through the backdoor of her office, no one'll see you. She'll be fast."

You nodded and looked up at him.

"Maybe I should shower," you said. He paused and shifted his gaze away.

"You, uh," he cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers. He knew this would come up, one way or another. "I don't mean to get into too much detail, but if he..." Joel trailed off, finding it difficult to finish his sentence. "If he did more than hit you, you shouldn't shower," he finally choked out, unable to look you in the eye.

You froze, finally understanding what he meant. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall, his neck tensing, his nostrils flaring, as he waited for your response.

"I won't shower, then," you finally said, your voice strained.

His eyes slid shut and he dropped his chin to his chest. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pinched the bridge of his nose while he tried to steady his breathing.

"I'll just go change," you mumbled, standing up while he nodded, still trying to breathe.

He did his best to collect himself while you were out of the room, but he could feel himself spiraling. What was he doing when it happened? Was he watching a movie with Sarah? Was he eating dinner? Was he getting ready for his fucking date with Nikki?

He could feel the tears welling up but he quickly wiped them away. You needed him to be strong. You needed someone to help you, to take care of you. He couldn't afford to be weak right now. He would let himself feel it later, when he was all alone at home and Sarah was asleep. When nobody needed him and he could just let the guilt and shame and sorrow wash over him.

"Jesus, Joel," Carol muttered as she left the exam room. Joel jumped up from his seat, anxiously waiting for it to be over. He rubbed his palms against his pants, trying to wipe the sweat away. She sighed and looked up at him, taking off her glasses.

"So?"

"So?" she repeated, shaking her head. "So, I have your evidence."

Joel nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"She's been through a lot," Carol said softly, walking him down to her office for privacy. She closed the door but he didn't sit down.

"She's gonna be lookin' for me," he explained, jutting his thumb over his shoulder.

"I'll be quick," she said, sitting down at her desk with a sigh. "There was significant scarring and healed bones, detailing years of abuse, and definitely evidence of some most recently."

"Yeah, I imagine anyone can see that by just lookin' at her face," he replied, but she shook her head.

"I didn't mean her face."

Joel felt his breath get caught in his throat.

"Right," he finally said, his voice cracking.

"She said her husband is a cop?" Carol asked, flipping open a yellow file on her desk. Joel nodded.

"Got him in lockup right now for swingin' on me at Hank's," he explained.

Carol's eyes glanced up at his and she quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I heard something about that," she said, lacing her fingers together and looking at him closely. "Can I give you some advice, Joel?"

He shifted his weight, not sure where she was going with it, but nodded anyway.

"Don't take her statement yourself. Have someone else do it, alright?"

"Why?" he asked quickly, and she gave him a knowing look.

"Because it'll be gruesome, and you're too involved."

Joel frowned.

"Too-"

"Don't care what you've got going on with her, I'm just giving you some friendly advice. Let someone else do it," she said, her eyes softening. "Besides, you got into it with her husband last night. You don't want some hot shot lawyer tossing out her testimony in court because he can link together some personal relationship between you two."

Joel considered her words for a moment and reluctantly nodded. She was right. He was having a hard time keeping things separate, and he appreciated the clarity. He couldn't fuck this up for you. Not now.

"Anythin' else?"

She leaned back in her chair and shook her head.

"You'll have my report in the morning," she said. He nodded, thanking her again for seeing you on such short notice before exiting the room. He turned the corner just as you were opening the exam room door clutching a worn hoodie around yourself and looking around frantically before your eyes fell on him and you visibly relaxed.

"Hey, sorry. You alright?" he asked, his hands gently coming up to your shoulders to guide you towards the back exit. You gulped and nodded.

"Wasn't so bad," you said.

"Good. You did the right thing," he said as he held open the door for you and led you back to his truck.

Once you were comfortably seated and Joel merged back into traffic, you shot him a sideways glance and asked him the question that had been weighing on your mind since he came over that morning.

"Joel?"

"Hm?" he said, twisting his head to the side to change lanes.

"Why is Patrick in jail?"

Joel's grip on the steering wheel tightened and there was an uncomfortable pause before he sighed.

"He came at me last night. We happened to both be at a bar at the same time, he was drunk and swung on me."

"What?!" you exclaimed, twisting around in your seat to look at him.

"I thought you knew since he didn't come home last night. Thought you were avoidin' me by callin' off work," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"No, I had no idea. He hasn't been staying at my apartment, he has a motel room somewhere," you said, peering at his face, then dropping your gaze to his hands where you could see now his knuckles were a little red.

"Are you okay?" you asked after a beat, and he scoffed.

"Am I okay?" he repeated with a shake of his head. He looked at you in shock, the corner of his mouth turning up into a half smirk. "I'm fine. Can't believe you'd be worried 'bout me after what you went through."

"Of course I worry about you," you said softly, and he felt his heart melt. Why did you have to be so sweet? After everything you've been through, after everyone in your life has let you down, you were still so fucking sweet.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't. He couldn't put that kind of stress on you. It would be selfish to tell you how much he thinks about you, how much he wished you were his, how he hasn't been able to get you out of his head since the moment he laid eyes on you. No, that would be wrong. It wasn't the right time, so he swallowed the words back from the tip of his tongue and focused on the road.

"What's next?" you asked him as he walked you up to your front door. Mercifully, the weather was threatening to downpour so the streets were quiet.

"Well, next you'll have to come down to the station and give your statement so we can formally press additional charges," he said, knowing you wouldn't want to hear it but he was surprised when you simply nodded your head.

"Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow?" he offered, and you nodded again as you unlocked your door.

"I'll have to call off work or come by after," you told him, stepping inside and turning to look at him.

"Listen, 'bout that," Joel began, and you frowned. "I gotta tell Tommy."

"No!" you cried, your eyes going wide with worry, but he shushed you and shook his head.

"I gotta tell him so he can keep an eye on things, alright? I won't be able to keep him in lockup for much longer and I can't be with you all the time to protect you, d'you understand?"

"Joel..." you whimpered, burying your face in your hands. He had to physically restrain himself from pulling you into his arms. He fucking hated seeing you like this.

"We can file a restraining order tomorrow but a piece of paper won't necessarily keep him away, and I can't risk it," Joel explained, his heart breaking for you.

"Okay," you sniffled, finally coming to terms with it. If you were going to do this, you had to trust him.

"Okay," Joel repeated. "Tommy served in the Army, he knows what he's doin', I promise. I'll tell him to keep it quiet, alright?"

"Yeah," you whispered, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand.

"And no more walkin' back from work in the dark. Take your car or get a ride. If I can, I'll drive you - " Joel pulled out his phone to look at his calendar, but you stopped him.

"I can manage, but thank you."

You looked at one another for a moment, both of you unsure what else to say. You were thankful for what he was doing but you weren't sure you had the words to properly express your gratitude. Everything you wanted to say felt so small, so insignificant. So instead of attempting to cobble together some sentence that wouldn't do your feelings justice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face against his warm chest. He quickly brought his arms up around you in return, gently placing his hands on your head and back as he held you carefully against him, as if he was worried you would break. He was absolutely certain you could feel how hard his heart was thumping in his chest, but he didn't care. He just wanted to feel you, to hold you, to keep you safe.

"It's gonna be okay," he told you, his voice heavy, and he felt you nod against him before pulling back, his chest suddenly feeling so empty.

"Thank you," you whispered, then spared him one more glance before heading inside, the door clicking shut softly behind you.

Later that evening, after you had forced yourself to eat some soup and drink some water, you were settling in on your couch when you heard a soft knock at your door. You muted your TV and strained your ears to listen. It didn't sound like a familiar knock, not one filled with anger or urgency. You glanced down at your phone, wondering if Joel had sent you a text that you missed, but nothing was there.

Hesitantly, you made your way down the steps. Your fingers brushed the doorknob, but before you opened it, you spoke through the door.

"Who's there?"

"It's me," Maria's voice drifted through the wood, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You unlocked the door and met her eyes. She tried to hold back the wince upon seeing your face, but you still caught it.

"Heard you might need some help," she said, holding up a small plastic bag. You frowned, confused, until she tilted it open for you to look inside. There, you found a variety of makeup bottles and powders in shades that looked pretty close to your skin tone.

You opened the door and let her in. You could tell you were able to take the stairs a little quicker than the morning, and you hoped that meant you were healing because you really couldn't afford to miss more time at work.

"Cute place," she said, glancing around before following you into your living room.

"Thanks," you murmured, turning the volume back on the TV as she settled into the couch next to you.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, motioning towards the bag. "Joel called and told Tommy what happened... I'm so sorry, I wish you would've called us, we could've helped you."

"Thanks," you said with a shrug. "I guess I'm just used to dealing with it on my own."

"Well if you're ever scared of staying alone, we have a spare bedroom, so please don't hesitate to ask."

You gave her a small smile, hoping she could tell how grateful you were. With the exception of one cousin back home, nobody had tried to stand up for you before. Not even your own parents. The whole concept was so foreign to you, you weren't sure how to respond.

Maria seemed to sense this and she changed the subject, leaning forward to sift through the contents of the drugstore bag, pulling out item after item and holding it up against your arm to decide which shade would work best. She spent the next hour helping you cover your cuts and bruises, and by the time you were done, you didn't look half bad.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she packed up her things and shoved her sneakers back on.

"A little less sore," you admitted. "I should be able to work tomorrow."

"Why don't you take one more day? Joel said you're going down to the station tomorrow, it might take more out of you than you expect."

You thought it over for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. Money was a concern, but you could wait one more day, and maybe you could pick up an extra shift over the weekend.

You thanked her as she headed down the steps and she reminded you again to call her and Tommy if you ever needed anything, and you promised you would.

When you were finally on your own again, you sat in silence, thinking about these people who barely knew you, who you essentially lied to, banding together to help you out. It was unlike anything you were used to, and you were beginning to think you may have finally found your home.

The next morning, you paced around your living room, anxiously nibbling at your nails as you waited for Joel to ring the bell. He had insisted on picking you up. He said he could swing by after he dropped Sarah off at school, that it wouldn't be a problem and he passed by your apartment anyway. You didn't understand why he was so insistent: the walk was less than ten minutes, but you didn't feel like arguing.

You were checking your makeup job in the mirror for the fifth time when the bell rang. With a deep sigh, you pulled on your sneakers, slung your purse over your shoulder and headed down the steps. When you opened the door, he was standing with his back to you under a brown blazer and his arms crossed, trying to appear casual for anybody who might be walking by, but when he heard you step through the door he swiveled around quickly.

"Good morning," you said to him with a small smile after you were sure the door was locked tight.

"Mornin'. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," you said as he led you to his truck parked a little ways down the street.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know," you said again, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.

"I know," was all he said before opening the passenger door for you and giving you a hand to step up into the cab.

The quick ride to the station was quiet, only the hum from his radio filling the air as your fingers fidgeted in your lap. When he parked the truck and you made a move to open the door, he held a hand out.

"Wait a minute, I gotta talk to you before we go in there."

You dropped your hand to your lap and looked at him expectantly.

"I can't take your statement today, I'm gonna have another officer do it," he said, his words rushed like he knew you wouldn't take the news well. And you didn't.

"What?!" you cried out softly, anxiety already creeping up and squeezing your chest.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he said, taking a deep breath and glancing out the windshield before looking back at you. "There's a conflict of interest. Patrick assaulted me, and if I go and take your statement, it won't look good to a judge."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

"It'll be okay. I'll be right there the whole time. Right on the other side of the glass, okay? I promise, I won't leave."

He watched you for a minute, waiting for you to say something, and when you didn't he began to question himself.

"Unless you don't want me to hear, I don't have to-"

"No, I'd prefer you be there," you said quickly.

He nodded and took a deep breath in.

"I asked a female officer to do it. Her name's Beth. She's real nice, she's dealt with... situations like this in the past."

"Okay," you said softly, reaching for the handle, but once again he stopped you.

"One more thing. I gotta cut him loose tomorrow."

You squeezed your eyes shut. You knew this would happen, but it didn't stop you from feeling the overwhelming sense of dread that crept up your spine.

"It'll be fine. I'll file the restraining order today. If he comes within fifty feet of you, he's goin' right back to jail, okay?" he said, his hand coming up to rest assuringly on your knee.

"Okay," you whispered, finally opening your eyes to look at him.

"You can do this. I know you can."

You had to hold back the tears that sprung up when his words hit your ears. Nobody has ever believed in you, listened to you, took care of you the way he did, and he hardly even knew you. People who have been in your life for years, your own family didn't encourage you the way Joel did. On one hand, it was depressing to realize it took this long for someone to give a shit, but on the other hand, you were so, so relieved someone finally did.

As Joel led you into the station, he kept his head held high, ignoring the glances shot your way and you did your best to do the same. You followed him towards the back, and you hesitated a brief moment before entering the interrogation room, pushing all the bad memories to the back of your mind and focusing on the present.

You needed to put an end to this, once and for all.

You were doing okay. It was half an hour into giving your statement to Beth, and Joel was right. She seemed very kind and patient, and you relaxed after speaking with her for just a few minutes. Or maybe it was because you knew Joel was just a few feet away, watching from the other side of the glass, just like he promised. Whatever it was, you were doing better than you expected.

You had gotten through the bullet points of your history with Patrick. You had detailed how you met after you graduated from high school, how he had just gotten back from basic training with the Marines and was applying to join the Philadelphia police department. You explained how at first, things were great. He was loving and kind, for the most part, but you had been inexperienced and didn't recognize the red flags when you saw them. Like when he got overly possessive at house parties, and especially so when he started drinking. At first, you had thought it was sweet, but then he started getting a little rough. You explained at the time, he would apologize the next day and promise not to do it again, but a few weeks later, he would inevitably go back on his word. The cycle repeated itself over and over for a year, until he proposed one night in front of your entire family, and you had felt pressured to say yes. You had hoped it was just nerves, that eventually you would be excited about marrying him, but it never came. He had rushed you into planning the ceremony and you were only engaged for a few short months. And again, you fooled yourself into thinking everything was just happening so fast, that it was so stressful planning a wedding and that one day, you would be happy.

You couldn't remember the argument that caused him to first hit you. To really hit you, enough to leave a nasty bruise, but you remembered the shock, and you remembered the pain and the fear. And once again, he had apologized the following day, and you forgave him. Because you were weak and scared and confused.

"Did anybody in your life notice?" Beth asked, her eyes filled with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"I hid it at first, but eventually, yes, people noticed," you admitted, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt.

"Did they offer to help you?"

"My cousin," you said, looking down at your hands. "She helped me... she helped me find a clinic so I wouldn't get pregnant."

"Did Patrick know you were on birth control?" Beth asked gently while scratching away with her pen on paper.

"No, I didn't think he would like that."

"Why not?"

"He's made comments to me in the past about wanting a big family, and I was afraid to tell him no. I was afraid he would hurt our children, too," you said, still staring down at your hands.

"Has he raped you?" Beth asked bluntly, and you visibly balked.

"Oh, um," you faltered, the word for whatever reason sending shockwaves through you. You knew the answer, but you just hated admitting it.

"Yes," you finally said, your voice cracking, so you cleared your throat and took a sip of water.

"I'm sorry," Beth said quietly, catching your gaze and giving you a sympathetic look. "I won't ask too much today, but you need to know if this goes to trial, a judge will ask for a lot more detail. You can get a lawyer and they will help walk you through it when the time comes." She reached out across the table to place her hand on top of yours, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles. You nodded, wordlessly telling her to keep going.

"When did it start?"

"Right after we got married, I think."

"How often?" she asked, pulling her hand back so she could focus on writing.

"A few times a week, I guess? I mean, I don't know what counts. A lot of the times I wouldn't be in the mood and he would pressure me, other times were more... deliberate." You swallowed and glanced quickly at the mirror behind Beth, suddenly regretting asking Joel to listen.

"Did you tell your parents?" Beth asked, glancing up at you.

"I told my mom, yes."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me it was a wife's duty to... be available to her husband. She didn't think it was rape." You spit the last word out like it was poison on your tongue. Beth winced but tried to hide it by looking down at her notes.

"And when would he hit you?"

"It varied. Most of the time it was when he was drunk or high. He promised me all the time he would get help, but he never stuck with it."

"Did you ever have to go to the hospital?"

"Yes. A few times. He's broken my arm twice, fractured my hip, and I've had a few concussions. On one occasion, he strangled me until I lost consciousness. I had to be admitted for a bruised trachea." You absentmindedly rubbed your arm and neck as you spoke, your fingers gliding over the old wounds.

"And you've gone to the police before?" she asked.

"Yes, a couple times, but -" you could feel your resolve breaking, and you bit your lower lip to keep it from trembling. "But he always did something to make it go away, and then he would get really mad. One time when I went to file a complaint, he had a cop friend of his lock me in a room just like this one for a whole day. To teach me a lesson." You twirled your finger around the sparse room, tears glistening in your eyes. "They didn't let me out, I couldn't use the bathroom, I didn't have anything to eat or drink. I was all alone."

You stopped talking and tucked your chin against your chest, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. You wiped a shaky palm against your cheek, drying the tears that fell before you looked back up.

"There were times he would be gone for two or three days at a time and come back, all strung out and crazy... those were the times, the times I went to the police, that I ended up in the hospital. So I stopped asking cops for help."

She nodded as she wrote, giving you a minute to collect yourself before her next question. You glanced up at the mirror again and wondered what Joel was thinking. Did he leave? Or was he still there? You almost hoped he had left. You were feeling too vulnerable as it was, but the thought of him looking at you with pity after this was over made your stomach turn.

"I've done this before," you said suddenly, pulling her attention off the page. "And it always ends up the same. Please tell me this will be different."

"It will be different," she said immediately, her jaw set. She put her pen down on her pad and laced her fingers together. "I'm so sorry the justice system as failed you so tremendously, but we will do everything we can for you now that you're here."

You nodded and wiped more of your tears away before she handed you a box of tissues from a small cabinet in the corner of the room. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you met her gaze once again.

"What else?"

"I think that's enough for today," she said, flipping the pages closed on her legal pad. "We got your doctor's report this morning, and combined with this statement we will start the process of formally pressing charges. After that, if he pleads not guilty, it will go before a judge. But let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Okay," you said quietly, gathering your purse and following her out of the room. Your eyes immediately drifted around the hallway and then the bullpen, searching for Joel, but he was nowhere to be found. You frowned as Beth led you towards the front lobby, prepared to walk home, when you heard his voice call your name just as you were opening the door.

"I'll take you home," he said. His face looked hardened and his eyes looked distant.

"You don't have to," you began, but he just shook his head and gingerly cupped your elbow, directing you out the door and into the parking lot.

The ride back was silent. He didn't even have the radio on. You glanced out your window nervously, trying not to read too much into it, but when he dropped you off with barely a comforting word or any acknowledgement of what you confessed, you were convinced your greatest fear had come true. Now that he knew it all, now that he finally heard the truth, he couldn't look at you the same.

You were glad Maria had the foresight to tell you to stay home that day. You were mentally exhausted. Rehashing everything and then Joel's reaction put you in an awful mood. By 4pm, after lounging around watching mindless television and checking your phone constantly for any sign of life from Joel, you decided to just make yourself an early dinner, take a shower and then go to bed early.

As you were stepping out of the shower, the water finally turned off and all of the day's makeup covering your wounds down the drain, you heard your doorbell ringing incessantly. Repeatedly. Urgently.

A jolt of dread shot down your spine, but you remembered Joel said Patrick wouldn't be let out until tomorrow. But what if he got out early? What if he made a phone call and Joel was forced to release him?

Wrapped in a robe, your hair dripping down and soaking the thin material, you jogged to the living room and checked your phone. Surely, if Patrick was released, Joel would have warned you, but you didn't have any missed calls or texts. Then the pounding on the door started, making you jump out of your skin.

Slowly, you crept down the stairs, your hand gripping the doorknob tightly, your fingers hovering over the lock.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," you heard Joel's voice say from the other side, and your eyes widened in shock. You glanced down at your robe, little streaks and drops of wetness trailing down the shiny material.

"Uh, can you -"

"Please open up, people are startin' to look at me like I'm crazy."

With a sigh, you unlocked the door and stepped back, clutching your robe tightly against your chest. Joel squeezed inside and shut the door quickly behind him before turning around, his eyes raking quickly up and down your body before looking you in the eye.

"You were in the shower."

"Yeah," you said, glancing around anxiously before looking up the stairs. "Did you want to come up or something?" He just nodded slowly, his eyes flitting down once again as you led him up the steps.

"I got worried, I was ringin' the bell but I guess you couldn't hear it," he explained, taking off his shoes and shrugging off his blazer.

"What were you worried about? He's still in jail, right?" you asked, handing him some water before sitting down on the couch.

"Yeah, I just... I shouldn'tve left you alone earlier. I shoulda stayed." He stood there, a glass of water in his hand, the other rubbing over his mouth nervously.

You stared at one another for a moment, both trying to figure the other one out. He was breathing faster than normal, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his white button down shirt.

"Why are you here, Joel?" you finally asked, your heart starting to beat faster. "Because if it's out of pity, I don't want it."

"It's not -" he cut himself off and shifted his weight before setting the water down. "It's not pity." He took two steps and sunk down into your couch, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, trying to figure out what to say.

"It's not fair," he finally said quietly. So quietly, you almost didn't hear him. "Everything that's happened. It's not fuckin' fair."

You scrunched your nose, confused, as you looked at him still staring down at the floor. You were about to open your mouth and ask him what he meant when he spoke again.

"I never shoulda let you leave with him that day. Somethin' felt off, I felt it in my gut-" he sat back to press his hand against his stomach for emphasis. "But I let you go. And he -"

He couldn't finish his sentence, his throat closing up as he fought to blink the tears away.

"It's not your fault, Joel," you told him, resting a hand on his broad shoulder but he stood up quickly to pace around the room.

"I'll never let it happen again," he muttered. "Never gonna let him near you again. I'll fuckin' kill him if I have to, he's never comin' here again." His voice was rising as he spoke, his breath coming in short stutters as he rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers, eyes wide and crazed as the panic seized him.

So it wasn't pity. It was guilt that brought him to you.

"Joel, calm down," you said, standing up to reach out to him, but he kept pacing.

"Oh fuck, I'm never gonna forgive myself," he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"You didn't do this to me, he did," you assured him, trying to get him to stop moving. "You're helping me, Joel. You're the only one who ever really tried to help me. There's nothing to forgive."

He finally paused and glanced at you, his breath a little shallow as the panic began to subside.

"I'm gonna get you outta this, I promise," he said, his voice sounding more steady.

"I know," you replied, nodding your head.

He took a deep breath in through his nose and tore his eyes away from you to glance at his watch.

"I better go," he said regrettably, looking back up at you again.

"Okay," you said, following him to the door and leaning against the wall as he put his shoes back on.

"D'you need anythin'? Did you eat? I can -"

"I ate, I'm fine," you told him with a small smile. "Thank you, though."

"Alright," he said after a moment, then forced himself to open the door. Before he stepped through, he looked back at you over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm working dinner tomorrow," you told him, suddenly feeling crestfallen you wouldn't see him for lunch.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he repeated, more firm this time. You slowly nodded and wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping he couldn't see through your robe.

You listened sadly as his heavy footsteps descended the stairs and the door shut softly behind him. You knew him well enough at this point that he would have turned the lock on the knob before he left but you still wanted to peek down the steps to check. Your eyes widened when, to your surprise, he was still standing there at the bottom of your stairs, his back leaning up against the door. His eyes flicked up to meet yours when he noticed movement, and you saw Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he spoke.

"I can't leave."

You looked at one another for a long moment, your heart slamming in your chest, knowing what this meant. You were sick and tired of always trying to do the right thing. Where did it get you? How could you even fool yourself into thinking you had any obligation to Patrick anymore? Joel knew everything now. He knew what he was doing, so you said the words that were on the tip of your tongue. The words that you knew would open the door for something both of you wanted so desperately, you could taste it.

"Then stay."

Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77@nandan11@anoverwhelmingdin@fandomscollide@survivingandenduring@honeyedmiller@pedropascalsbbg@southernbe@pedrosfanny@gobaaby-blog-blog @eloquentdreamer @yomiyasxx @mrsparknuts@missladym1981@spacedoutdaydreamer @cosmic006533-blog @prettyinpunk85@maried01 @sunnyskyapplepie @sawymredfox@gobaaby-blog-blog@stevie75@mxtokko@sleepylunarwolf@lizzie-cakes@laurrrra@annieispunk@here4thedilfs @navystandardheatingoilcap @slugz-writes-shit@devilbat@ashleyfilm@scp116@tragerlover@iveseenstrangerthings50 @yvonneeeee @brittmb115@lulawantmula@abbysgirlll@ro-nahime-things

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller x reader #sheriff!joel #STR fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal

1K notes · View notes

onlyswan · 4 months ago

Text

dreamboat | jjk (2)

summary: aboard the dreamboat, jungkook finds himself drawn to a beautiful stranger who appears to be drowning in melancholy. weeks later, he sees her face on the other side of the aquarium at his apartment building’s lobby. he soon learns that it’s not fate’s grand romantic plans that brought you back to his life. / (alt.) / a shipwreck and a dreamboat form an unusual bond in an aquarium.

non!idoljk x f!reader (jk is a business major who works at the amusement park ; oc works at the call center) / strangers to lovers / fluff, angst, suggestive / chapter wc: 15.9k / total fic wc: 30.8k

warnings/content (for full fic): is it an onlyswan fic if nobody cries? ; smoking ; making out ; mention of nude art ; mention of flashing ; panic attack ; a ghost cameo lol ; s*x scandal ; abuse of authority ; harrassment ; jk throws a punch once ; oc drives a motorbike without a helmet once ; vminjin + yeontan cameos :3 ; tae and jk are the same age tho

<- part one (wc: 14.9k) | spotify playlist (open to song recs <3)

note: yaaay full fic is out 🥹💕 i’ve been so attached to these two for the past month i’m gonna miss them sm :( reblogs and feedback are appreciated i’d love to hear your thoughts 🥺 p.s. it does get pretty heavy so pls take care of urself while reading 🫂 hugs and kisses

—

jungkook lets out a big yawn, removing his glasses so he can wipe off the sleepy tears from his eyes. his phone pings with new text messages and he peers down at the table to read them.

01:18am

stop texting.

why are you still awake? you have that big presentation tomorrow.

you need your brain functioning at full capacity so you can answer the prof’s questions.

he types out his response.

01:20am

i want to sleep too but i’m not yet done practicing 🥲

if you’re on a mission to make him fall hopelessly in love, it would be safe to say that you’re succeeding. instead of being a distraction, here you are showing concern for his health and motivating him about his studies. he’s not used to having this kind of dynamic with the people he likes. usually he’d be stubborn and stay on his phone, but he puts it down so he can refocus on his slides. he’s excited to do his presentation well and gush about it with you at the end of the day.

twenty minutes later, a rapping at the door disrupts his concentration.

“he better not be drunk.” he grumbles on his way to the door.

no one else would disturb him at this time but taehyung.

but it’s not taehyung.

it’s you.

“i didn’t wake you, did i?”

“no, no- i was still-” he takes a glimpse at his messy desk. “practicing for the presentation… uhm, i thought you were at work?”

“we don’t have work today.”

you nonchalantly bring out a glass full of green goop from your back, encouraging him to take it.

“here, drink this.”

he stares at it in bewilderment as he slowly accepts it. “what’s this?”

“bedtime smoothie.”

you sense his disgust and foreboding.

“there’s bananas and cherry juice in there.”

that knowledge emboldens him to take a sip. he licks off the mustache it leaves on top of his lips. “hmm, not bad!”

“i told you so.” you send him a tight-lipped smile which disappears in two seconds. “do you want some help practicing?”

“oh, that’s right.” his eyes widen. “you’re good at speaking!”

he steps aside so you can pass through the narrow entrance.

“please come in.”

jungkook is compelled to make himself clear. he hasn’t invested on a shelf. never found the time. his room may look like a mess to an outsider’s eyes but he has an organized system and he’s incredibly resourceful.

“jungkook… you can’t live like this.”

is it that bad?

his jaw slacks when you pick up a plastic bag on the floor and begin throwing in the scattered empty cans and bottles of caffeine on and around his desk, including the one he hasn’t finished drinking yet. that— he won’t win defending.

“you’ll die at this rate.” you rebuke him calmly. “do you even drink water?”

“of course i do!” he proceeds to drink the smoothie you made for him. “but you drink a lot of coffee too.”

“not anymore,” you head to his fridge after dumping the plastic bag in the trash. “i’m already adjusted to my job… i’m taking these.”

you bring out the two remaining cans of energy drinks and stuff them into the pocket of your hoodie.

“you can’t just take them!”

you ignore his protest. “is the smoothie good? you like it, right?”

his shoulders deflate in defeat. he takes another gulp and swallows, nodding happily. “i like it.”

“then i’ll make you an energy-boosting one when you need it. i received fruit baskets at work. they’d only go bad if i try to eat everything alone.”

“sounds like a sweet deal,” he grins.

he’s definitely not complaining. the artificial flavoring of the energy drinks pale in comparison to the real thing.

“okay, let’s get started then.” you pad over to his desk.

you hand him his laptop which is displaying his powerpoint before making yourself comfortable on his chair.

he stands infront of you awkwardly. “we’re really doing this?”

“we are,” you reply curtly, sinking further into the chair. it’s a pretty big chair, even for him. it’s endearing to see you play around with it. “are you nervous? you can’t be nervous.”

“i’m not,” he lies. “i’m a professional!”

you have no idea that you make him more nervous than having forty other people in the same room.

he sighs. “hold this for me then.”

you take the glass into your hands, sipping a little. he clears his throat and pretends that didn’t affect him at all.

“okay, let’s start… good mor-”

“wait-” you shake your head, demandingly waving your hand to the right. “wrong slide.”

—

“where are you? i thought you were going to help me with my project?”

jimin, a friend he met through a school organization two years ago, begins coughing dramatically over the phone. “jungkook, i’m sorry. i’m feeling under the weather.”

jungkook grimaces, stopping on his tracks to berate him. “hyung, i can hear the dj music!”

“ah, yes…” he can practically hear the wheels in jimin’s brain turn. “actually, i’m about to leave the club! since i’m not feeling so well.”

“wow,” he huffs out a laugh. “you’re really terrible.”

“i’m serious! let’s reschedule tomorrow. i’ll buy you dinner so we can catch up too.”

“fine,” he blows a loud breath.

“i love you, jungkook-ah.” jimin proclaims with exaggerated affection.

he makes a noise of disgust. “you’re really drunk.”

“oh, why aren’t you saying it back?” jimin angrily questions him.

“maybe i will, after you buy me food.”

“okay,” jimin cackles. “i’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“okay, goodbye.”

he drops the call, still uncertain whether jimin was lying or not. either way, he gets a free meal and he no longer feels the need to complain.

he shrugs and continues his journey home.

that is until he inhales the unmistakable scent of smoke from the alleyway.

again, it could be anybody, but there’s a peculiar feeling that won’t let him move forward. deja vú is what they call it. it is often described as bittersweet, but jungkook is nervous. scared even.

he doesn’t want his gut feeling to be right.

he knows what your sobs sound like, their effect on him and his heart that is awfully weak when it comes to you, but he wants to be wrong so badly.

right then and there, jungkook faces a dilemma.

those who hide do not want to be found.

he has the choice to keep walking, pretend that he was never here. that it doesn’t hurt him to walk away. he can do what he failed to do the first time and not jump in to interpret your crying as a cry for help.

he stands there like a fool waiting for the stars to spell out the correct answer for him to read.

unfortunately for him, life doesn’t work that way and there isn’t even one to wish upon.

you flicked his forehead and erased his memories. if he makes the same mistake twice, then maybe he can use that as an excuse to lessen the burden of regret.

—

you flinch and lift your head in fear when something bumps against your knee, but that fear soon morphs into an entirely new fear when you perceive the person sitting infront of you.

your bloodshot eyes make out jungkook’s features in the dim light.

you’re no stranger to that look. you know what you look like. the cigarette tastes terrible, it doesn’t smell better with liquor either. there are teardrops on the ground and your sobs are caught in your throat and they come out as hiccups. you wouldn’t even dare to call yourself a mess, because scattered pieces of a broken whole float on the surface and sometimes miraculously wash ashore. you’re at the rock bottom being eaten alive and you’re not going anywhere else.

“just walk away,” you croak out, pushing him away with the hand not holding the cigarette.

he doesn’t budge. you don’t know if it’s because you’re too weak or he’s too strong.

“i can’t leave you like this.”

“you can,” you argue.

“you don’t have to be alone. i’m here.”

he holds your arms, coaxing you to recognize the sincerity in his eyes. those wide doe eyes, always shining when you reflect on their irises. you wish they could stay that way forever. you wish you could be at peace with that.

“you can confide in me. you can use me. whatever you need to feel better. ____, please.”

“you can’t help me.” you bluntly assert. before he begins begging. before he says more swoon-worthy words that would break down the walls you’ve built. “i appreciate the thought, but nothing you can do will make this better.”

god knows that you’re yearning to hear them, but you still don’t know how much of it you can trust.

“maybe i can!” he interjects. desperately. his grip on you tightens a little. it steadies your body as your mind and heart fall apart, but you feel suffocated.

“jungkook, i don’t want to fight right now.”

“if you just let me try, ____. i’m here for you. i swear i won’t pass judgement or-”

“you can’t! okay? you can’t!” you break down, uncontrollable sobs making your words less coherent. “you’re just wasting your time!”

with every morsel of strength you have left, you force yourself to stand up. an unnamed object clatters on the ground and you shove jungkook to the ground without meaning to.

a combination of hurt and shock flashes across his face. you become racked with guilt.

however, this is what you wanted. this is for the best. you’re supposed to live a quiet life and not get too close with anyone, but you don’t cause a person this type of pain, and you don’t feel this guilty about it, if your hearts were never intertwined.

you should be the one to walk away.

every step you take to escape from him is heavy. you’re confused by the contradictions between your mind and heart and the last thing you need right now is confusing. what else can you do but run?

jungkook wraps his arms around you from behind, stopping you on your tracks.

“what are you doing?”

the world stops for a little while.

“let g- let me go!”

you struggle out of his embrace, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed he let you go so easily.

“you think a hug’s going to make me feel better and fix my life? are you that naive…? wow, i envy you. if it was that easy, i wouldn’t be at this fucking dumpster with you!”

maybe you’re even angry that he did, pounding away at his chest with rigid fists to break his heart too. your throat is painful and rough from screaming but the thought of losing your voice doesn’t occur to you. apparently, you don’t care that you’re burning your lungs either. the world may very well end at this moment because that’s what it feels like. you have nothing left to lose but this vessel— and this vessel is heavy, worn-out, and incurable.

you’re an overflowing sink of adrenaline rush, shaking and tearing apart at the seams.

“i never would’ve ruined my hair with this- this stupid color. i wouldn’t be getting cursed at by bigoted strangers because they hate my accent…”

your forehead collapses on jungkook’s chest. a string of sobs follow the words that were forcefully uttered against your better judgment. you would’ve been fine after a smoke and a good cry, not processing anything so you can settle with being numb instead of jaded.

“i’d still be studying. i’d become a doctor. i wouldn’t give a fuck about fishes and what they can and can’t eat.”

—

for the first time, your laugh stabs him in the chest instead of making his heart flutter.

“i’d be living a good life not being bombarded by someone who-” you hit his chest with every word spoken with gritted teeth. “wants to be the fucking hero. i don’t need you!”

there’s no way. you don’t mean that. you’re just angry. jungkook convinces himself in his head as he openly takes the hits. he did say you could confide in him—use him—and you’re doing it right now. he just didn’t know he’d have to grow thicker skin on the spot to be what you need.

your icy glare pierces through him and renders him motionless.

“you can’t do anything, so please, don’t feel bad for me.” you sneer. “it’s making me feel bad for you.”

—

you’ve stormed off and jungkook stays right where you left him, wiping away his tears. the last time he cried was when his ex-girlfriend broke up with him. that was over a year ago, it only dawns on him now.

you’ve been the only person in his mind since that one sunny june day.

where he stands, the autumn winds are getting colder and the winter is fast approaching.

just as fast your lives were weaved into a blooming wildflower did it also begin to wither.

jungkook does want to save you, but he doesn’t want to be a hero. after all the time you’ve spent together, do you sincerely see him as someone who values self-interest most of all? the truth did come out, the snide truth, a bitter pill he can’t swallow. you don’t want to be here. he can’t save you. it can’t be possible when he’s part of the picture you can’t stomach to look at.

“hyung,” he tries to be strong but his voice wavers, echoing the wretched state of him. “are you still at the club?”

“i’ll turn on my location.” jimin responds without question, which jungkook is thankful for. “call me when you’re near. be safe, got it?”

“yes, hyung,” he ends the call.

he inhales sharply, hoping that would alleviate the weight on his chest and allow him to move his feet. the heavy smell of burnt chemicals still hangs in the air. even after everything, he’s envious of the discarded stick of drug on the ground for having touched your lips.

jungkook turns to leave, but is interrupted by a small object caught underneath his shoe. he picks it up for inspection— a blue lighter hand painted with a goldfish.

he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

—

you woke up with a pounding headache, burdened with immense regret you assume. you deserve it. you don’t remember the exact words you said but you only scream when you don’t know what you’re talking about. you pushed away the only person who cared enough to sit with you in the dark. the line between right and wrong is blurring. you don’t know what you’re doing with your life anymore, if you’re doing anything so that it could be heading somewhere.

you thought life couldn’t possibly get worse, but here you are anxiously nibbling at your nails as you wait for a man to reply to your texts because you’re scared of losing him.

08:25am

jungkook i'm sorry about what happened last night i never meant to act that way and hurt you. i was out of my mind

i know you really care about me and i'm grateful for that

please forgive me

09:13am

[attached image]

you gaze wistfully into the aquarium. the fishes swim around with considerably more energy after their breakfast, and it drives you to wonder if jungkook fed them dinner. last night was the first night you received no messages from jungkook, not even an image alone.

“i think i fucked it up with your dad.”

you spot dahlia, and clementine, and coral, and tangerine… blissfully unaware of you drowning in misery.

accordingly, the wildcard emerges from the shipwreck. it swims to you, the glass acting as the barrier that prevents it from kissing your nose.

it doesn’t do this to jungkook, so you like to think that you’re special. you feel guilty that you failed to treat it the same.

“poor thing,” you hang your head in shame, sniffling. “we haven’t even named you yet.”

—

you learned from the new security guard on the night shift that jungkook requested for her to take over feeding for the meantime. three more days pass without any sign or trace of him, and yet you still send him your good morning pictures and you hang out at the lobby waiting for him to come home.

he has to come home soon.

he still lives here… right?

11:47pm

how long will you ignore me?

where are you? i'll come to you

please, let’s talk

you jolt on your seat when your phone vibrates with a ping!

12:01am

jungkook:

meet me at the rooftop

you are charged with joy and relief as much as confusion.

there’s… a rooftop?

—

you stand at the door staring at jungkook’s back, gathering all courage to face him despite your shame eating away at you.

“i didn’t know tenants were allowed here.”

“we’re not,”

he looks back at you, and surprisingly enough, his charming smile melts away your anxiety. you can’t tell if that’s a good thing or bad thing. it’s not right for you to fall in love.

“why are you still standing there?” he chuckles. he sits on a low table with his legs crossed, feet tucked beneath his thighs. he pats the space next to him. “here, sit.”

with a nod, you close the door behind you. you sit beside him, but with considerable distance, like the first time you sat next to each other.

“the view is quite nice.”

in consideration of the time, you didn’t expect so many lights. they look like shining stars from where you are, only that you can actually reach for them if you try. you even spot a ferris wheel. although, you’re not certain if it’s from the amusement park jungkook works at.

“it is, isn’t it?”

“do you go up here often?”

“not since the aquarium became our spot.”

our spot.

you smile to yourself, eyes falling on your lap as you mindlessly fiddle with your fingers.

“i’m sorry… for what happened.” you pause to swallow the lump in your throat, breathing shakily.

as ever, it’s difficult to apologize to someone and agree that there are dispensable parts of you. you’re scared that you might cry again infront of him. it never ends well.

“i-i was having a bad day, and i didn’t want to drag you down with me. but i got overwhelmed by my emotions and i said words i didn’t mean. you didn’t deserve that. i’m sorry.”

“hey, i understand.” he replies kindly. “it’s also my fault.”

“no, it’s not.” you jump in, not being able to stand him taking blame. “you’re a really good person, jungkook.”

he shakes his head. “i should’ve backed off when you told me to leave.”

“but i do like being with you.”

“and you mean that?”

he gazes at you with those endearing doe eyes. you look somewhere else to quell the funny feeling in your heart.

“of course i do.”

jungkook crosses the distance between you, teasingly bumping his shoulder against yours. “i like being with you too.”

just an hour ago you thought you’d lost him, now he’s here effortlessly making you laugh. perhaps you do take life too seriously, submissive to fear. you weren’t always like this. you wish you could unlearn the new way that you function.

“so do you forgive me or should i grovel more?”

“i forgive you.” he rolls his eyes. “i’m not that mean.”

“apparently i’m the mean one between us.”

“you are,” he chuckles, leaning back and balancing himself with his hands anchored behind on the table.

for some sick reason, this new position of his leaves you hot and bothered. thankfully, you’ve mastered the art of maintaining a calm demeanor. albeit, it’s not always that you use it for this reason.

“you seriously hurt my feelings back there, you know that?”

“i’m so sorry. i’m really, really sorry.” you apologize more expressively within the more comfortable space the both of you created. “…when is your birthday?”

his forehead wrinkles in confusion at the random question. “why?”

“you’re my friend.” you point out. “we should know these things at least.”

“it’s on september one.”

“what?!”

he blinks innocently. “what?”

“it’s already november!” you point out, taken aback by the fact that you totally missed it. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“you were busy with work. besides, it wasn’t a big deal. i just had beer and meat with my friends.” he shrugs, brushing it off. “when’s yours?”

you rise on your feet, dust off your bottom, and begin marching towards the door.

“where are you going…? yah, ____!”

“i need to do something.” you vaguely inform him, waving your hand. “stay there! wait for me!”

—

“what’s taking so long?” jungkook thinks out loud, scratching his head.

it’s been fifteen minutes since you left. you couldn’t have forgotten about him already, could you? that might hurt him worse than when you were screaming and punching his chest. he slept over at taehyung’s dorm for a few nights, hoping to find some peace and clarity within a different space, but he was pretty much ready to forgive you when you texted him to apologize, then followed it up with a photo of coral eating. however, taehyung went on and on about his wounded pride, and maybe he did want to see you grovel and feel that he is at some level of importance to you.

he perks up when the door opens and your head pops out of nowhere, peeking. when did you put on a cap and face mask? did you go out? anyway, you’re so cute, he gushes to himself.

“close your eyes!”

“why would i do that?”

“just do it!” you demand with an angry pout.

“okay, okay- fine!” he surrenders. “i’m closing them now.”

“no peeking. i see your eyelashes moving.”

“how do you even see from there?!”

he hears your scoff and the clicking of your shoes as you walk. “you’re not sleek, you know?”

a series of rustling. a mystery object placed on the table. he gets a whiff of your perfume, powdery and fruity sweet, the next second, you’re tying a silk scarf over his eyes.

“what’s happening?” he laughs nervously.

he knows that is not what’s happening, but the impure thoughts enter his mind anyway.

“i need a minute.”

you sit beside him, your knee bumping against his. he hears more movements take place.

“can i remove it now?”

“i said a minute.”

he frowns impatiently. “a minute has passed though.”

“no, it hasn’t.” you counter. “now hush and cover your ears.”

“cover my ears?” he repeats to make sure he heard you correctly.

“yes!”

“why?” he whines. “what is this about?”

“just do it, please?” you plead with him sweetly, covering his ears with your hands as if to demonstrate.

and since he’s already too deep into this, he obeys your third instruction. he puts his hands over yours, and then you slip away, leaving him covering his ears the way that you wanted.

“okay, you can look now!”

jungkook removes the scarf over his eyes, and discovers a sight so beautiful, he wants to cry that he can’t permanently capture it in a polaroid.

this is the first time he’s seeing you in this light, the warm orange glow of birthday candles that paints you spellbinding golden. you’re beaming at him, with a rare smile that reaches your eyes, as you hold up a round chocolate cake topped by fresh strawberries.

just when he thought it was impossible to fall in love with you harder, you begin singing the happy birthday song. instead of clapping, you sway your body ever so slowly and gracefully. what is arguably considered the jolliest song on earth, you transform into a soft lullaby— the kind that flies you to the night sky and tucks you into bed on the moon, gathers the fluffy clouds and handcrafts them into pillows and a blanket. your voice is light and delicate, sweet as candy. it is an instrument on its own and you do not need anything else. he never knew you were a good singer.

“happy birthday, dear jungkook~ happy birthday to you…”

this is his best birthday yet, and it’s not even his actual birthday.

jungkook is stupidly and hopelessly in love with you.

he welcomes doom, hangs its coat, and pours it a hot cup of tea.

“i hope you like chocolate. i fought someone for this.” you shyly confess with a laugh. “turns out there’s not many bakeries open at midnight.”

he is speechless.

his gaze falls on your lap for a moment, where lies an opened plastic clamshell container, two strawberries too small compared to the ones decorating the cake. on the table, a fruit knife sits on top of the cake box.

you even decorated the bare sides of the cake with half strawberries. he doesn’t think he has seen someone do that yet.

“i- i like it so much.” he stutters. “you made the cake so pretty.”

“thank you!” you beam at the compliment. “okay, time to make a wish.”

he panics a little. he doesn’t know if it’s only a personal or perhaps a universal thing, but he tends to feel pressured when he has to make a birthday wish. he always wants a lot of things.

“five candles means ‘i’m sorry and happy birthday’ by the way.”

but there is five candles, so maybe he is free to be greedy this time.

he slowly flutters his eyes shut, and he takes his time to think. after whispering his wish to the universe, he blows out all of the candles.

“what did you wish for?”

there is five candles, but he only wished for one thing.

“if i tell you…” he begins, transfixed eyes tracing down to your lips. “will you make it come true?”

they part slightly as your chest begins to heave, cranberry stained and inviting.

he yearns, he craves. he doesn’t want to live with regrets, haunted by the what if’s. all or nothing. you deserve his all. he surrenders everything to your court for the touch of your lips.

are you thinking what he’s thinking? do you feel the way he does?

tell him he’s not the only one losing his mind. please.

and when your eyes lock, there is a palpable electricity none of you can deny.

“it’s for your birthday. you don’t have to ask.”

again, the best birthday ever.

without another word, he crosses the short distance, pressing his lips against yours.

there is no fireworks like in the movies and fairytales. instead, he gets flashes of memories in his mind. all those awkward and comfortable moments, stolen glances, blushing and stuttering, captured images, sleepless nights, tears shed. even the bitter memories inserted make this kiss much sweeter. it’s infinitely better than he could’ve ever imagined.

he removes his hand tenderly cupping your cheek, also the other that is anchored on the table, blindly searching until he successfully engulfs your delicate hands in his. he holds them, and the board carrying the cake, tightly.

when you smile against his lips, so does he. you give him a firm peck, so hot that he almost falters on his seat, before breaking away.

“let’s put this aside first.” you giggle, guiding your restless hands to set it down on the table. “you have chocolate all over your hand.”

jungkook can hear you, but he’s not listening. he immediately goes for your lips again, and ends up sorely disappointed when you dodge him.

“whoa, wait. you’ll smear chocolate on my face-”

“you said i don’t have to ask.” he argues.

you narrow your eyes at him.

he hurries with a solution. “i’ll keep my hands behind my back.” and true to his words, he acts as if his hands have been cuffed.

“that works,” you shrug.

he is to blame for his nasty torture when you drag yourself closer to him, draping your legs over his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck.

you’re practically sitting on his lap and he can’t touch you with his dirty hands. ridiculous.

there is the urge to complain, then lost and forgotten after you seal his lips with yours. he is the luckiest man on earth tonight.

—

“will you stay the night?”

jungkook’s cheeks are beginning to ache, but he can’t stop smiling for the life of him. how could he not? you’re lying on his bed, and this time you’re both under the covers. it can’t be more perfect than this, the way you’re mirroring each other. he’s admiring your face and you haven’t averted your eyes from his either.

at this moment, it feels like nothing else in the world matters.

“if i’m being honest, i’m still scared of the ghost.”

“is he bothering you again?” he quirks an eyebrow, prepared to brawl with a bothersome spirit. he is suddenly aware that the lamp is the only source of light in the apartment. “do we turn on another light?”

“no,“ you chuckle at his reaction. “but he appeared in my dream once after that.”

“what about me?”

“you?” you send him a puzzled look.

he grins toothily. “do i appear in your dreams?”

that earns him a sarcastic roll of the eyes.

“why is it suddenly about you?”

“i’m helping you get your mind off the ghost!”

“can we just… i don’t know…” you avoid his intense gaze, chewing on your bottom lip. “cuddle?”

this is real, right? he isn’t hallucinating?

he already made out with you until the two of you couldn’t breathe. surely, cuddling is nothing compared to that… but he has pined for you for months. going from zero to a hundred is giving him emotional motion sickness. like a rollercoaster, but arguably more dangerous. and he shamelessly lives for that.

“oh, so you got mad at me last week for hugging you but now you want to cuddle?” he mocks humorously.

“change is the only constant in life.” you say as a matter of fact.

and jungkook isn’t very fond of that knowledge, but if it led you to his arms tonight, then he can try to make peace with it.

he spreads his arms, and you push yourself close with an arm over his waist, until you’re properly hugging him and he has your body cocooned with his.

he breathes out a sigh. this is heaven.

“so? have you dreamt of me?”

you make a noise of protest, cheek squished against his chest.

“come on, humor me.” he coaxes you into revelation. “it’s my birthday.”

“…we went on a ferris wheel once.“

“really? were we on a date?”

“i don’t remember.”

“what were we doing?” he continues poking.

“i don’t remember.”

“that’s it?” he grumbles. “you must remember something else.”

you giggle. “it was a long time ago, jungkook.”

“and you didn’t dream of me again after that?”

“stop,” you draw back just enough to see his face. “we have more important things to discuss.”

jungkook gulps nervously.

more important things like what? the meaning of that kiss…? um, kisses? the label of your relationship? are you really bringing it up right away like this? he imagined he would be the one to do it.

“there’s one fish left without a name.”

oh… his face falls.

“have you thought of one?”

“i have, but…” you jut out your bottom lip. “don’t we decide together?”

beneath the stoic demeanor you parade around wearing, he realizes that you’re just like everybody else, craving to be held and to spend quality time with someone who makes you feel special.

he doesn’t hold back on kissing you.

“we will!” he pinches your cheek, which brings out your smile. “i’ll tell you what i think.”

“that goldfish actually reminds me of you.”

“really?”

you nod eagerly.

“how so?”

“the both of you,” you giggle. “always follow me around.”

his jaw falls slack, not expecting to be called out like that. you’re having fun with the fact that he’s wrapped around your finger, huh?

“so you want to name it after me?”

“something like that, but let’s make your name sound cute.”

you hum as the gears in your brain turn. on the other hand, jungkook is not thinking at all, he’s memorizing your face. maybe it’s an artist’s sickness aggravated when faced with the apple of their eye.

“jung… kook…” you take a long pause, lips left in the shape ‘O’ due to the pronunciation of his name. “kook…?”

“you know, i do get called jungkookie sometimes.”

“jungkookie…?” you slowly repeat the nickname.

seconds later, your face lights up.

“then how about kookie? cookie but with-” you draw the letter into the thin air using your index finger. “a ‘k’?”

jungkook is relieved that you instantly put two and two together. he didn’t want to be the one to suggest it. honestly, rather than a cute vibe, he’s going for the manly vibe.

“it sounds so cute. what do you think?”

“i think so too!”

as long as it makes you look this happy, he’d accept any name that you come up with.

“okay, it’s official.” you return to cuddling up to him. “i can sleep peacefully from now on.”

was that bothering you? you truly do care for them. he thinks you might care more than he does.

“let’s sleep…”

before closing his eyes, he plants an affectionate kiss on top of your head. the truth is he doesn’t want to sleep. if it was up to him, this moment would stretch into forever. as you slip into unconsciousness, he tries his damn hardest to resist it. he yawns, wipes his sleepy tears dry on the pillowcase, caresses your hair and forces his hand to move again when it falls on the bed.

“jungkook?”

he hears your voice in its tiniest form yet.

you’re still awake?

he barely is anymore.

“mhmm?”

“i really am,” he feels a light tug at the back of his shirt, your weak hand forming a closed fist. “sorry.”

—

jungkook wakes up at 5am with his stomach grumbling for food. your positions shifted throughout the night and he lies there cuddling you from behind, spending five minutes or so dwelling on regrets. he pictures the cake in the fridge, still in pristine condition, and how different it could’ve been if he didn’t stop himself after three stolen strawberries.

after that, he thinks about breakfast. rolled omelette would be amazing right now. he just stocked up on side dishes too. only problem is he forgot to buy eggs.

who goes to the supermarket and somehow manages to miss the whole egg section?

jeon jungkook, apparently.

a challenge arises: getting out of bed without waking you up. he isn’t a novice, but he isn’t exactly an expert either. he figures it’s just based on luck, and he’s… very unlucky.

he manages to slip out the arm you’re using as a pillow, replacing it with a real one hoping that you wouldn’t notice the difference in your sleep. a second later and you’re already stretching out your limbs.

“where are you going?” you utter raspily, swollen eyes from sleep peering at him.

“out- to buy eggs for breakfast.” he replies in a low voice.

you start to harshly rub off the sleep from your eyes.

“i’ll go with you.”

“there’s no need.” he strokes your hair gently. “sleep more.”

you shake your head stubbornly. “i need to buy something too.”

you drag yourself off of the bed before he can stop you. from your toes down to the heel, you slightly stumble when your feet touch the ground.

“i’ll brush my teeth.”

—

once you and jungkook step out of the building, you both find that it’s still before sunrise, but the street lamps are already turned off. everything under the sky is washed with a shade of blue. it feels almost illegal to be here with no other souls walking the streets, but you can breathe a little easier, and you’re warm because jungkook is holding your hand inside the pocket of his jacket.

what was supposed to be a stolen glance turns into an enamored gaze.

“you look pretty.”

“so do you,” the two corners of your mouth lift into a quick, shy smile.

“yah, jungkook!”

that’s taehyung’s voice.

his best friend approaches from the opposite direction, a pomeranian on a leash waddling and wagging its tail beside him. despite the distance, jungkook can already see his smirk poking fun at him.

count on him to disrupt a perfectly romantic and peaceful moment.

as soon as they meet halfway, jungkook shows him a grimace.

“what are you doing here?”

“to return your camera,” he waves the silver film camera, its strap wrapped around his wrist. “i’m taking tannie on a walk so i decided i’d bring it over.”

“okay, give it and go on your way.”

jungkook snatches it from him, wearing the camera around his wrist as the rightful owner.

when taehyung finally sets his sight on you, jungkook’s fear of embarrassment instantly kicks in. if he says something stupid, he swears to god— he lets go of your hand in favor of putting his arm around your shoulder, gently tugging you closer to him.

“you must be ____!” taehyung snaps his fingers when he, at last, recalls your name, which jungkook knows he’s grown tired of hearing. “nice to meet you! i’m taehyung.”

“ah, yes…”

jungkook senses your awkwardness. he presses his lips into a thin line, sending his best friend a threatening glare that screams ‘i know i’m a hypocrite, but don’t embarrass me.’

“it’s nice to meet you too.” you offer him a polite bow.

“yeontan seems to like you a lot.” taehyung laughs, gesturing at his dog who is nuzzling its face against your shin.

jungkook also smiles in endearment. that’s another animal drawn to you for some unknown reason. he can’t say he’s surprised.

“does he bite?” you cautiously ask.

“no, he’s nice. you can pet him.”

you nod, bending down to gingerly scratch yeontan’s fluffy ears. “hello, yeontan.” you quietly greet him with a voice so sweet.

“honestly, ____ looks familiar to me. have we met before?”

“must be when she rode the dreamboat before.”

“i don’t think that’s it though?” taehyung tilts his head, still racking his memories for your face. “i think i saw her more recently, but maybe not with pink hair.”

you stiffen beside jungkook, knees going weak out of the blue. you straighten up, but you keep your head slightly bowed down, hair falling over your face.

“that’s impossible. maybe it was someone who looks like her.”

“ah, maybe,”

taehyung rubs the back of his neck, giving in to the theory.

“alright then, tannie is getting hyper.” he snorts at his pet trying to run away but is held back by its leash. “see you around, ____! i’ll see you at work, bro!”

“sorry about that.” jungkook intertwines your fingers again. “let’s go.”

he moves forward, and you get left behind.

“____?”

his concern grows when he observes your despondent body language.

“are you okay?”

“huh? oh- i’m okay.”

you snap out of it, but as you walk to the convenience store together, jungkook gets the impression that something is weighing on your mind.

—

jungkook watches you move around the store through the viewfinder of his camera, zooming in on your face when you whip your head around. it fails to capture the countless packs of lozenges you’re hugging to your chest.

“miss ____, who are you buying so many candies for?”

you blink down at them before innocently staring back at the camera. “they’re for my co-workers. it’s flu season so many of them are getting sick.”

—

with the sun returning to reign over the vast sky, the shade of blue has been replaced by an orange hue. the two of you walk back to your apartment building in silence. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, if it’s his fault or not, but your mood changed after your encounter with taehyung.

you’ve decided you want some space and jungkook respects that. the entire time, he thinks about how his hand feels empty without yours. is he being paranoid? he feels like he’s already woken up from a dream too good to be true, crafted out of his greatest fantasies, and he’s going to be thrust into a nightmare— learning that none of it was real. this endless push and pull with you, he’s grown to be somewhat ill at ease in your presence.

he wants it to go away.

he moves closer, content with the mere brush of the back of your fingers against his, but that small pleasure is robbed from him when you pull your hand away.

“let’s stop here.”

the decisive tone of your voice instantly fills him with dread.

you turn to face him, and he searches your eyes for any trace of emotion. sadness, or fear, or even humor… but he gets nothing.

“let’s stop seeing and texting each other.”

and he’s scared most of all when you’re impossible to read. just when he thought he had managed to slither past your walls, he is met by larger and stronger ones with welded spikes.

“what are you talking about?”

“i don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

you said it like it’s nothing. like you haven’t consumed his every thought since he saw you crying and you broke his heart without him knowing your name. like you haven’t been breaking his heart over and over again and he still can’t bring himself to detach from you.

“what is this joke? it’s not really funny.”

but he laughs anyway, or else he’d start crying, and you’d want him less.

“just forget all about me.”

his muscles tense. even now, he doesn’t know if he’s angry, but he is lost and it hurts so much, and he doesn’t know how else to express it without appearing weak.

“you think that’s something i can just do overnight?”

“what makes it so hard?” you raise your voice. the venom stings without the bite. “you don’t even know me that well!”

“then what was last night even about?” he hisses, hands balling into fists. “did you do that just to fuck with my feelings? am i just a game to you? what the fuck is your problem, ____?”

“you told me to use you to make myself feel better!”

it completely catches him off guard when you stomp your feet and produce guttural screams— it borders on a childish tantrum— you damage your throat in doing so, voice coming out high-pitched and scratched up.

his jaw clenches, straining to hold back his tears. the sun has risen and you’ve come to your senses. he regrets opening his eyes and acknowledging the morning.

“it didn’t work— is that what you’re saying? is that why you’re throwing me away?”

he doesn’t get a verbal answer, but your glassy-eyed stare and labored breathing have answered enough.

“wow, that hurts…” he chuckles sarcastically. “yah, seriously- i have to give it to you. i’m shocked… you’re good. you’re a good actor.”

he uses his middle finger to wipe the corners of his eyes, acting as though they are tears of amusement.

“you know, out of everyone i liked… you have to be the most cruel.”

jungkook’s pride has never been this crushed. he feels utterly infuriated and humiliated. yet another exchange of ‘i should have listened’ and ‘i told you so’ between him and his best friend. he’s also sick and tired of his heart leading him to the opposite direction of the love he deserves.

“i hope you find some other lunatic who would let you use them too. have a good life.”

this time around, he walks away, and he would like to think that he did it on his own terms.

—

jungkook loses his appetite after that. he informs his manager that he won’t be able to go to work because he’s feeling under the weather, then he drags himself back to bed.

your scent has clung to the pillowcase, the sheets…

it’s unbearable.

despite his lack of energy, he forces himself to set up the extra bed on the floor. he expected himself to have difficulty falling asleep, but the amalgamation of physical and emotional exhaustion pulls him down under.

he wakes up again in the afternoon. he ignores the cake in the fridge, instead snacking on yogurt and crackers while watching a movie on his computer. he takes a long shower after and buries himself in assignments until dinner time rolls in.

by this time, he assumes taehyung has blabbed about what he saw this morning. his friends must think he’s out here relishing in the honeymoon phase. how he wishes it was true.

he has that whole carton of eggs but he doesn’t have it in him to cook anymore. maybe it’s best that he surrounds himself with people, disrupt his depressing thoughts with loud chatter, and so he makes plans to go to the street market.

“wait!”

he sprints to the elevator, managing to slip his arm between the doors before they close entirely.

under different circumstances, this would’ve been fate instead of bad luck.

—

you stand your ground as jungkook enters the elevator, not sparing him a glance. just like you wanted, he also treats you with indifference. it’s hard to breathe in an enclosed space with him now that he hates you.

two girls from the eleventh floor enter; they stand infront of you and jungkook.

“did you find the video?” the girl infront of you, with the blonde hair, asks impatiently.

“wait- i’m looking for it.” her friend, you assume, replies as she is focused on aggressively scrolling and tapping on her phone screen.

“having a sex scandal with your professor? wow, that’s really something. how does that even happen?”

your blood runs cold.

from that statement alone, you can make an educated guess on what exactly they are talking about, but your brain tries to reject the thought. there are many scandals going around these days. maybe they’re talking about somebody else. you hope they are. does that make you a bad person?

“that’s not confirmed, though. the guy’s face doesn’t show in the video… oh, i found it!”

she presents her phone screen to the blonde-haired girl, and you feel as though gallons of ice have been dumped over your head. through the gap between their arms, you get a good view of your face. of the video you were forced to watch so you could acknowledge your sin… the video that not only damaged your reputation but stripped you away of everything. your dignity, your dreams, your people, the essence of your being.

you don’t need to look to know that beside you, jungkook is also secretly watching.

you’re trapped.

“this was really popular at snu but it suddenly got spread outside. my cousin who studies there said the girl’s parents are like- super rich- and they tried to bribe the university, but she still got kicked out. i think her name is ____?”

you bow your head to hide your face, vision gradually going blurry. strangers drop your name so casually to tell the shortest life story known to man. they discard the majority of the parts, retain and distort what entertains them, and in the end, they decide who you are.

you knew it was going to happen eventually, but this isn’t how you wanted jungkook to learn.

you didn’t want to be here for it.

“wow, she’s going at it.”

a scandalized gasp.

“no wonder men are going crazy over this. even the quality is-”

“insane, right?!” the storyteller whisper-shouts.

“but… what if she doesn’t know she’s being recorded? getting kicked out sounds a bit unfair, no?”

“no, no- she even holds the camera when they switch positions. watch!”

you can’t. you can’t take it anymore. you turn away, squeezing your eyes shut in extreme anguish.

you don’t realize that you’re shaking until jungkook holds your hand tightly, it’s almost crushing.

“ah, what are you doing?! turn it off! turn it off! it’s too disgusting from this angle!”

you look at him in shock, for a split moment you forgot he was there. his features have softened; so does your heart.

although you can’t exactly figure out how he’s feeling, you’d take anything that isn’t disgust.

the elevator reaches the ground floor.

as the girls take their leave, you also attempt to step out— but jungkook doesn’t let you. he grips your hand tighter and he presses the button of your apartment floor.

“why did you- i need to go to work…” you meant to chastise him, but your voice comes out small.

“stay a little bit. it’s still early.” he speaks to you softly, wiping off the beads of cold sweat on your forehead.

when did that happen?

“no, i need to-”

you feel dizzy; the walls are closing in on you. the turning of your stomach is bordering on intolerable. you lurch, pushing him away as you clamp a hand over your mouth and gag uncontrollably. you’ve had to experience this humiliation in school hallways, public spaces… in front of your friends, your parents; in the dean’s office. this is the first time your body is having this type of reaction; you feel physically sick, like your body is shutting down.

he rubs your back as an effort to alleviate your ails. “are you okay?”

you could answer, but what’s the point? you’re breaking down in front of him again. you’re no longer the mystifying neighbor he obviously yet secretly cherishes. he has discovered the missing puzzle piece you could never bury even if you died trying.

“did you enjoy it?”

“what?”

you wish he would stop looking at you with those big, sparkly eyes. at this moment, they’re making you feel small.

“the video. was it fun watching it too?”

the silence is suffocating.

he utters your name. he doesn’t know what to say; you don’t know what you want to hear either.

“it doesn’t change the way i see you.”

“bullshit,” you spit out— a knee-jerk reaction.

“look, i-i don’t know what happened but this isn’t right. you don’t deserve this. you can sue ever- wait! ____!”

the elevator opens and he chases after you, effectively blocking your path.

he has officially wore you down.

“it’s not me,” you declare near to tears instead of pushing him away. “it’s not me, jungkook. i d-don’t know how they- they did it. i know it looks so real but it’s not me. i swear-”

and as an act of desperation, after months of having given up on proving it’s all some sort of well-orchestrated deception, your hands come up to the buttons of your blouse.

“it’s not my body.”

“no no no- you don’t have to do this! this isn’t right!” jungkook freaks out and binds your wrists with his hands, unwillingly using his strength on you when you fight back. he anxiously glances at the camera monitoring the hallway. “stop, stop-”

“i just need one person to believe me.”

“i believe you, okay?” he captures your wrists in one hand, the other tenderly caresses your cheek. “i believe you. i promise.”

he cradles your head on his shoulder, hugging you so tightly it almost feels like you’re one person.

“when the girl said you might not even know you were being recorded… the terrible thoughts i had- like what if he…”

it’s too much alone in his head. he can’t bring himself to say it into the universe.

“but you didn’t get hurt, right? nothing like that happened? it’s not even real.” he sniffles, holding you tighter as if that is still possible. “that’s a relief… i mean- this, this is bad, what happened to you is. but i was scared.”

you remain there, dumbstruck and motionless. the line between standing and letting jungkook carry your weight has blurred.

you wish he would never let you go.

—

jungkook brings you to his apartment, sits you down in the kitchen, and takes out his birthday cake from fridge. he conveniently finds two pairs of chopsticks in a plastic bag on the table and offers you one, which you accept without thinking. you think he understands that you don’t want to talk about it but you can’t be alone right now either.

chocolate is supposed to help raise one’s spirit, doesn’t it?

well, it tastes delicious, and jungkook is with you. you feel a little less shitty.

he can’t sit still, though.

he cracks open the eggs he bought this morning into a bowl and starts chopping up vegetables to be mixed into it. all the while you sit and watch in silence. no, in peace. the rhythmic tapping of the knife against the chopping board is like music to your ears. even the sound of the oil crackling as he pours the beaten eggs into the frying pan.

you abandon the endorphin-inducing treat on the table. you saunter over to jungkook in search of something else more associated with love, sneaking your arms around his torso. a tidal wave of relief washes over you. this feels more like resting, and you can’t believe you’re saying this, better than drugs. as it turns out, you’ve been homesick for a body you haven’t touched. a hug can’t fix your life, but it may convince you that it’s possible to survive an unfixable life.

however, the key difference between jungkook and nicotine is that you can’t simply have jungkook because you want to.

what he has unleashed upon you is greed.

“i’m sorry,” the more you apologize, the easier it becomes, but you’re also growing sick of it. “i didn’t mean what i said. i was scared of your reaction when you find out so i pushed you away… i keep taking you for granted. i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay, i understand.” he rubs your forearm comfortingly. “just don’t do it again… it really hurt.”

“i like you too.” you confess like you’re running out of time.

you no longer have room for apprehension. you can’t gamble with your chances once more when there’s not much left.

“i wasn’t playing with your feelings. up until earlier, i thought i’d never be able to let you know, so i’m doing it now. i like you.”

a chill runs along your spine. it feels immensely intimate— how jungkook slowly takes a hold of your hand and guides it to his soft lips, pressing a long kiss to your skin.

“i like you too, a lot.” his laughter makes his body vibrate, waking up the slumbering butterflies in your stomach. “incase i haven’t made it obvious enough.”

—

“will you stay?”

you nod your head as you joyfully munch on your fresh homemade meal. “they’re already forcing me to use my vacation days anyway.”

he makes a noise of surprise. “you’ve never missed work?”

you shake your head no.

“rude clients aside, i like what i do. it helps me keep my mind off…” you wave the radish-bearing chopsticks. “things.”

he only nods, ruffling your hair affectionately. “you should eat well, okay?”

“you too!”

you feed him a big bite of your omelette, and then rice, and then kimchi.

it results in stuffed cheeks and aggressive chewing, but you look especially happy watching him eat. jungkook assumes that it’s just how you express your affection, and it’s euphoria to be at the receiving end.

—

you found your way back to where you were last night— jungkook’s warm bed. comfy pajamas and tangled limbs. everything went to shit after you left, so if you were to get stuck here forever, he wouldn’t disapprove.

he listens to you talk as half of his mind is preoccupied by innocently kissing every inch of the exposed skin of your face and neck.

“i’m going to the salon tomorrow.”

he inwardly groans against your neck when your fingers card through his silky yet messy hair, twisting and tugging.

“what color should i color my hair? red? orange? brown?”

“red sounds really great?” he draws back in excitement. “but i’m going to miss your pink hair. how did you maintain it for so long?”

“i only chose it because it doesn’t look good on me.”

“that’s ridiculous!” he exclaims.

you snort. “i thought if it doesn’t fit me then it would seriously change the way i look.”

“then you were very wrong. it fits you so well.” he passionately insists that you see yourself from his point-of-view.

“you’re ridiculous.”

you don’t believe him, but he still earns himself a kiss on the lips.

“have you ever thought of getting a lip piercing?”

“why?” he fails to hide his smug grin. “would it look good on me?”

“mhmm, i imagine so.”

you lazily trace his lips with your thumb. it’s suddenly making him dizzy.

“should i get it then?”

“nope,” you reply with finality. “too many girls would fantasize about kissing you.”

he bursts out laughing. “isn’t that too much of a stretch?”

“i’m a girl! i’d know!”

“so you’re the jealous type, huh?” he cockily quirks an eyebrow.

“i’m not,” you scoff.

“possessive?”

“maybe,” you shrug.

“cool,” he chuckles. “you want to keep kissing?”

you don’t answer and instead you meet his lips halfway with a tug at the collar of his shirt. you’re an amazing kisser; his brain goes haywire once you tilt your head and you kiss him deeper, tongue sneaking in for a taste. he doesn’t want to kiss anyone else again.

as the tension escalates into something hotter, your wandering hand manages to slip under his shirt, teasing and caressing his skin. fuck, he feels like he’s running a fever. however, when your fingers begin tracing and teasing the waistband of his calvin klein boxers, much as it feels heavenly and stirs something feral deep within him, he has to pull away.

not too fast.

he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. he’s afraid you’re not thinking straight.

“are you free this weekend?” he asks as he catches his breath, tongue swiping over his swollen lips.

“saturday night,” you reply with a drunk smile.

“since you granted my birthday wish, shall we make your ferris wheel dream come true?”

your smile fades away a little. “where you work?”

he nods, but he senses your hesitation. “but we can go to a different one, if you’d like.”

as your silence stretches, he also begins to regret having asked you in the first place. after what happened only hours ago, you must not want to go out in public and risk reliving that experience.

“…doesn’t it bother you that your friends may have seen the video already?”

at that moment, taehyung’s voice rings in his ears.

‘honestly, ____ looks familiar to me. have we met before?’

his heart breaks upon the sight of genuine fear swimming in your eyes. he dips his head to press a kiss on your forehead, and he hugs you tight. and tighter. he doesn’t pray much, or ask big questions, but he despises it when bad things happen to good people. he wants to protect you, but how?

“i’d tell them the truth. i’d fight for your case.”

“but what if they don’t believe you…?”

—

a deafening crash resonates in the break room as taehyung’s body slams against the lockers before collapsing on the floor.

“ah, seriously! i said it’s not her!”

“what the fuck, dude?!” taehyung yelps as he sits up, putting a hand over his assaulted cheek. he’s more offended than hurt if he’s being honest.

as it turns out, it does bother jungkook.

taehyung’s phone landed a few feet away from him. the video is still going, and unlike the people in the elevator, he didn’t have the courtesy to keep it muted. obscene moans and sounds of skin slapping repeatedly play from the speakers at a low volume.

“it’s so clear, look! how can it not be her?!”

“it’s edited! it’s ai, you fucking idiot!” jungkook scowls at him.

he picks up the phone, teeth gritted in anger as he exits the video and discovers that it’s posted at an adult website. the view count has reached five digits and the comment section is flooded. he knows this isn’t the only place it’s posted. hell, other people could have it downloaded. although it’s not your body, it’s still you being violated and lusted after. he feels sick to his stomach.

“you should’ve said that from the start!”

he looks away for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, hard, hoping that would erase the explicit images and thumbnails from his memory. after gathering himself together, his eyes zero in on the report button.

he clicks ‘submit’ before he crumbles, weakly sitting down on the chair.

taehyung rushes to his phone that was tossed carelessly on the table. “ah shit- the screen is cracked!”

if this is how he feels, then he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.

he stares at the floor, eyes unfocused. the world goes on and his back remains hunched over as he struggles to make sense of what he should do.

—

when you were called over to the human resource department, you didn’t exactly prepare yourself to watch your alleged sex scandal on a 21.5-inch computer monitor. the light from the screen reflects on your skin. you have to harshly claw at the skin of your knee to stop it from anxiously bouncing; you force yourself not to also gag when the you on the screen chokes and gags.

“was this reported to you,” you swallow the lump in your throat, shifting your stare to the man in suit and tie. “or did you find it on your own?”

“miss ____,” he leans in on the table, clasping his hands together. the golden band around his finger shines under the dim lighting of his office. “do you even understand the kind of trouble you’re in?”

“am i being fired?”

“but you don’t have to be.” he bares his teeth as if he’s delivering good news. you long to destroy his face and his condescension with your bare hands. “i believe we can agree on an arrangement.”

“what do you mean…?” you ask carefully, grasping the tiny bit of hope that what you have in mind isn’t what he meant.

“i think you know what i mean. you’re smart.”

your heart drops to your stomach when he side-eyes the screen.

“do you expect me to beg for my job and do the same things i did in the video?”

“why?” his tone then becomes threatening. you begin to hear your heartbeat thumping loud in your chest. “you won’t do it?”

but if you allow yourself to be intimidated and treated less than a human being worthy of dignity and respect, then you may never be able to forgive yourself.

your sharp eyes and your cutting words make up for its trembles.

“you’re right, i’m smart. i know you don’t have enough grounds to fire me. you seriously think you can manipulate me this easy?” you contemptuously push over his name plate, the bronze metal tumbling and clashing with the wooden desk. “you’re not qualified for this job.”

your dismissal of his authority bruises his ego. he holds you in a hostile glare.

“if i were you, i would stop talking. right now.”

“or what?” you challenge him. “you’ll hit me…? what would your wife think when she hears about this conversation?”

his face is contorted with anger and frustration, but he is visibly holding himself back from doing something else that would damage his career.

“i plan on suing the people who are responsible for this. i’d appreciate it if-” you gesture at the monitor. “you can delete your copy too. i’ll clean my table and leave.”

“you have a real attitude problem, you know that? you need your eyes opened to the reality of life.” the alarms in your head starts blaring when he slowly gets up from his seat. “i think i know what i need to do to fix it.”

“don’t you dare touch me.” you grit your teeth, tears welling in your eyes as he circles his desk. “i will kill you.”

he squats on the floor beside you, wearing a mocking grin. you want to move away, but the chair is too small, and you’re determined to show him that you have no fear.

“you’ll kill me?”

he grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back, and a scream is ripped out from your throat. the pain is mind-numbing; if he does it long enough, your guess is that you’d surely faint. he forces your head to the direction of the monitor.

“who you should be killing is the man who put you in this situation.”

you close your eyes. you try not to let him get under your skin, but the tears rolling down your cheeks are your self-made traitors.

you have. in your head. a million times. is it truly a man? is he even alone?

as you tiredly re-open your eyes, you unleash the pepper spray you’ve been holding under your thigh and begin spraying it all over his face. when he collapses on the floor, screaming and clawing at his own skin, your hand also falls limp over the armrest. you take a deep breath, blinking at the mess you made with heavy eyelids.

does it hurt that much or is he simply dramatic?

you’d stay and enjoy his demise, but you decide he’s not worth your time.

“____, come back here!”

“oh-” you freeze on your tracks.

you pull the lace of your company id over your head, hurling it at his face. he rolls over with an agonized groan.

“i quit!”

you unlock the door, dry your tears, and walk out of his office with your chin held high.

—

you stand at jungkook’s door, staring down at your shoes. you’ve been contemplating on whether you should knock or not. you want nothing more but to crawl into his arms, but a part of you is holding back. is it right to drag him into your world? you’d hate it if he becomes infected by your sadness. it broke you to pieces when he cried because he thought you were hurt. what would his reaction be if finds out what happened tonight?

“____!”

jungkook approaches with a plastic bag from a 24/7 restaurant nearby. judging by his tousled hair, he must’ve just woken up from a long nap. and you think to yourself—he’s so handsome—as he walks over to you and you scramble to collect yourself.

“have you been waiting long? sorry, i had to buy dinner.”

“i just got here.” you deny.

“is that so?” he stops infront of you, eyeing your outfit. “is everything alright? you’re home from work so early.”

“i went home.” you force a smile. “i’m not feeling so well.”

it takes everything in you not to cry when he starts stroking your hair with the gentlest hand.

“what’s wrong…?” he frowns. he worriedly presses the back of his hand on your forehead, then your neck. “you are a bit hot.”

“i think i just need some more sleep.” you dismiss the topic quickly, throwing your arms around his neck for the hug you’ve been yearning for since you walked out of that office.

his free arm wraps around waist, pulling you taut against him. he doesn’t ask you anything. like you, he closes his eyes, and he nuzzles his cheek against you, not taking any second for granted.

—

you spend the remaining days before saturday locked up in your apartment, withholding the fact that you quit your job from jungkook. with work gone and social media apps wiped out from your phone, there’s not much to do. just like always, you feed the fishes and converse throughout the day over the phone. they eat less and less as the weather gets colder. you bring up the growing size of the fishes and he agrees that they should be moved into a bigger tank soon. he sends you photos of him bored in class and you send him photos of you in bed. every second that passes by, you feel guilty for holding on to him until the very end.

you greet him with a radiant smile, opening the door just enough for him to see your face. you can tell that he styled his hair, sprayed on more perfume than usual. he looks absolutely dashing. it almost makes you mad.

“are you ready?”

you can feel the crushing weight of everything that hides behind the door. your clothes, your shoes, your self-care, your stacks of medical textbooks… your entire life packed in boxes and bags.

jungkook was right. out of everyone he liked, you must be the most cruel.

—

he doesn’t take you to his workplace, and instead brings you to their largest competitor. the amusement park is swarmed by locals and tourists alike, waiting for the firework show to commence. you hide your face with a thick scarf wrapped around your neck. you’ve been waiting, freezing, in line for over an hour, but you don’t mind it at all. it only means more time spent with jungkook.

you take turns in biting on the pretzel he bought to get rid of your boredom, happy and content in your shared bubble among the hundreds of voices within the vicinity conversing all at once. you become the other half of those lovey-dovey couples people cringe at in public. every now and then you and jungkook mimic a stranger’s voice, or the instrumental music from the nearby rides, and you laugh until your tummies ache. he hugs you to warm you up and you reward him with a kiss on the cheek.

“your hair looks even prettier in person.” jungkook compliments you with stars in his eyes.

“thank you! it turned out better than i expected. i’m really happy about it.” you gush, confidence renewed. you eat the last piece of the pretzel happily. “red or pink?”

“okay, red does suit you better,” he admits. “but i still think you were also beautiful in pink.”

“since you’re always saying that, i’m starting to believe it.”

“you should, because it’s true.”

“have i ever told you that you’re handsome?”

he shakes his head with a half-amused, half-sheepish smile.

“well, you’re very handsome,” you declare playfully, but you believe it a hundred percent.

“thank you,” he bursts into a fit of giggles, and it delivers you a special kind of joy— making him happy.

“lemonade?” he offers you the drink he’s holding.

you slot the straw between your lips, taking a few sips. your eyes widen in surprise, also delight. “it’s hot?”

“it’s good, right? i feel so warm.”

he sips on the drink himself. at the same moment, the line begins to move.

“oh! it’s our turn!”

he grabs a secure hold of your hand, not allowing a slither of chance of you slipping away from him. you give out your tickets, and the remains of them returned, one of them jungkook takes and the other, you slide into the pocket of your shoulder bag.

“oh, it’s too high-”

your nervous pondering is interrupted by a yelp, thanks to jungkook effortlessly lifting you into the moving cabin with his hands on your hips. with a boyish grin, he jumps in after you.

—

he curiously watches you set up your phone on the parallel side of your shared seat, you and him filmed by the front camera and displayed on the screen. he chooses not to say anything, but he is pleasantly surprised that you are the first one who initiated on recording this memory.

once you fix it into the perfect angle, you return and sit beside him with a hint of satisfaction painted on your expression. but as soon as the the cabin quakes mildly, it morphs into nervousness.

“it’s okay, it’s normal.” he strokes the back of your head, reassuring you. “are you afraid of heights?”

you scoot closer to him, and he forgets how to breathe for a moment when you innocently lay your hand just above his knee. “i try not to be.”

“i was going to suggest the rollercoaster next, but maybe not.”

once again, the cabin moves, causing a whimper to emit from your throat. your nails begin to dig into his thigh, their sharpness dulled by his denim pants.

“anything but that- i have bad memories with the rollercoaster.”

“maybe i should sit on the other side to balance ourselves bett-”

“stay!” you quickly pull him back down, resulting to another shake. “in my dream, we sit next to each other.”

“oh,” his lips shape into a smirk. “anything else i should know about?”

“you had your arm around me.” you bat your eyelashes.

he does as you request, hugging you to his side.

“like this?”

you shake your head with a sound of disagreement, moving his hand from your arm down to the curve of your waist.

“you suddenly remember everything.” he remarks with a teasing squeeze of your flesh.

you sheepishly smile, shrugging. “eh, i remember this much.”

he loves moments like this— when your innocence rises to the surface and allows him a glimpse of your purest parts. they completely contradict everything your brain leads you to think is for your protection. you don’t want to be alone, and you do want to be held.

amidst his bittersweet musing, the night sky begins to be lit up by a sequence of launched explosives, shooting off glowing embers that descend slowly through the air.

he jolts on his seat and clings to you as a result.

“ah, that scared me!” he whines in annoyance.

you spare his scaredy-cat moment a short giggle. you barely pay him any mind; you didn’t even look at him. jungkook decides to watch the fireworks from your wonder-filled eyes. the colors soar across your irises— he can’t really differentiate the silver and the gold; there’s also blue and green; a lot of red.

his view from here is one-of-a-kind. he temporarily mistakes you for a painting. brings out his phone. snaps photos of you like one instinctively does in an art gallery.

the mortification only sets in when your eyes meet the camera and upon realizing, you give him your dazzling smile.

“you should watch the fireworks too.” you scold him lightheartedly, redirecting his hands outside. “they’re amazing.”

and he obeys you.

for a short while.

you catch him longingly gazing at you sooner the second time around. he likes that he doesn’t need to look away anymore because his feelings are already out in the open, and most importantly, reciprocated. he catches your eyes flicker to his lips. he swears this is the most romantic scene of his life. will anything ever come close? you cup his cheek in your delicate hand, bringing your plush lips to his. he wonders how many times you also hesitated to kiss him before. how long would it take before he has kissed you more times than he didn’t?

—

jungkook is glued to his phone, walking at a slower pace behind while you search the spacious parking lot for your motorbike.

the wicked reality he stole you from momentarily waves at him as a reminder that ignoring it doesn’t make it disappear. a notification from a fan that says they found a clip of your video on another social media platform and reported it there too. a notification containing the link. he clicks on the app and finds that his latest video has reached almost half a million views.

technology has gone too far. how is there no law for this yet??? someone's life is ruined

what is this. you've totally ruined the video for me

jungkook!! when are you going live again?

everyone stop spreading the video around!!!!!!!!!! report it if you see it!!!!

but how come you suddenly made a ten min vid talking against ai so passionately? do you know this girl personally?? haha

lol? he already talked about ai in a live before. his follower would know that he knows a lot about editing and technology too. hes using his knowledge for good. stop assuming

it was obvious from the start ㅠㅠ the expressions look a bit unnatural. this is unsettling.... i feel so bad for her

um .. am i the only one who doesn't know about this

you're better off not knowing 😭

it's gone viral recently

how? it's all over my feed

his temples throb with a threat of an incoming headache. he can only hope and pray that he didn’t do more harm than good… and by some miracle you don’t find out about this, at least not before he is prepared to see you mad at him again. sharply inhaling, he swipes out of the comment section and tucks his phone back into his small crossbody bag.

“wait for me!”

he jogs to catch up to you, hurling himself to your back. you are both nearly knocked over if not for him throwing his strong arms around you.

“you’re so hyper. are you a puppy?” you groan. “go put your helmet on.”

“this hurts my pride. i said i’m not wearing it again!”

he is, once again, left with no choice when you forcefully shove your only helmet over his head.

“calm down, nothing bad will happen anyway.”

“this feels so wrong.” he continues complaining. “everyone i know owns an extra, just so you know.”

“well, i never planned on riding with a passenger.” you pull down the visor, sealing the deal. “hold on tight, okay?”

—

how often do you see a man on the road sitting at the back of an expensive motorbike that his cool girlfriend drives? jungkook wishes someone could take a photo and send it to him as a memento because being that man is pretty darn fun. except for the part that you’re not wearing a helmet and he’s also freaking out in the back of his mind, especially when the vehicle tilts even at the slightest.

but yeah, fun.

until the rain starts to come down and he ends up numb from the freezing cold.

your driving speed decreases. you move farther into the center of the lane to avoid the slippery paint on asphalt.

“jungkook, remove my glasses.” you instruct him urgently.

“okay!” his arm freezes in the air. “wait, where do i put it?”

“fuck, anywhere. over my head!”

—

owing it to your driving experience and extreme carefulness of your passenger, you park at your designated parking space safely. by the time you do so, the rain has become a downpour.

“run!” you shout as you both begin to brave it.

for the record, jungkook tried.

his shoe slides against the wet and slippery ground and a startled scream leaves his mouth as it all happens too fast. he lands on his butt, but loses balance again and ends up completely lying down in the middle of the parking lot.

“jungkook!”

alongside the fierce raindrops, your frantic footsteps bringing you to jungkook contest in creating loud splashes. you get down on your knees, forcibly shaking his frame with yet another call of his name.

“are you okay? where are you hurt?!”

garnering no response, you resort to giving his face weak slaps.

“stand up. this isn’t funny.”

his ears catch you blowing out a sigh, layered underneath is the most adorable growl he has ever heard— reminds him of a tiger cub. there is the lightest trace of smile on his lips as you carry his head over to your lap with utmost gentleness.

“jungkook!”

you wipe his rain-soaked face with your rain-soaked hands as if it would do something. he dies of laughter inside.

“are you being serious right now?!”

he slowly cracks one eye open, and then the other, greeting you with the most gleeful giggle. he’s so stupidly happy it’s almost painful. chest-restricting. doesn’t help much when you hit his chest, rightfully so, and he laughs harder.

“ugh, you’re so annoying!”

his upper body tumbles over again to the wet ground when you return to your feet. the view from here is not that bad. he is losing half his mind from the cold and his eyes are blurry from the rain. it presents itself as the perfect opportunity to say something cheesy about going to heaven, but would an angel nudge him with their foot and say “stand up. we’re totally going to get sick now, you jerk!” before running away?

in jungkook’s defense, he checked the weather forecast this morning. it’s painfully clear to him now that they lied. the two of you are dripping all over the floor mat in front of the building’s entrance doors. there is no other choice but to wring your clothes here to minimize the trail of mess you will leave behind when you go up to your units.

you’re squeezing out the water from your hair. he is left with a white t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin as he does the same with his sweater.

the earthy and distinct smell of the rain clings to the air, and therefore, everything.

“jungkook,”

“yes?” he cranes his head to your direction and your eyes connect.

“don’t get sick.”

“i won’t! i’m healthy. i only get sick once a year.” he boasts with a grin.

given the length difference, jungkook’s method is messier than yours— he shakes the water out of his hair like a puppy.

“okay, rude-” you chide at him, flinching away from the shower.

“oh i’m sorry!”

didn’t think about that, he winces.

“aquarium after showering?”

—

“worms make me queasy.” you make a noise of disgust as you dispose of your plastic gloves.

“but clem loves them.”

“true,” you return beside jungkook, who is watching your five beloved swimmers with pure fascination. “but not as much as coral does.”

“sometimes i wonder if they’re getting tired of seeing our faces everyday.”

“i hope not,” you frown.

after all, they’ve taken over a considerable chunk of your daily life for the past half year. you worried more about their meals than your own. you hated it when clementine and dahlia would get scared and hide from you at the beginning. you worked hard to gain their trust. how long will it take for them to forget you? contrary to the three-second memory span myth, you read that they can keep memories for weeks, some claim months, at least five, or even years.

“yeah, probably not because they associate us with food.” he chuckles.

“that’s true.”

he straightens up and drops himself on the couch. while you’re alone, you take your time to prepare your heart.

you try your hardest to look at every little detail of each fish, anything you haven’t seen before. you always loved the way their tail and fins glide and flow as they swim, reminiscent of long hair blowing with the wind. when they play about the shipwreck, it feels you’re being healed. something broken can still be a source of joy.

“i had a wonderful time, by the way.” you turn to jungkook, making your way to where he is. “thank you for tonight.”

“me too. i was so happy.”

he squeezes you to his side, dipping to press a kiss to your temple. you never understood people who preferred forehead kisses until you met jungkook. a kiss on the lips meant being wanted, and maybe that was everything to you.

“but i’m buying the extra helmet myself tomorrow.”

“you don’t have to do that!”

while he laughs, you force a smile.

there’s no point. there will be no next time.

“no but thank you for everything, really… my life has been a living nightmare but- but i felt like a person again when i was with you.”

you take a pause, willing yourself not to cry. you need to tell him everything you haven’t said so you can live with less regrets.

“you’re such a kind person. i’m sorry that i always lashed out on you too. just because i was hurting doesn’t make it right to hurt you.”

“why are you talking like that?” he questions you suspiciously. he masks his nervousness with a tone of humor. “it sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

because you are…

you’ve never been good at goodbyes. the original plan was to leave in the middle of the night without letting him know, leaving a note was an option. either way you know that you will hurt him, and as an admitted coward, you didn’t want to witness that.

but in the future, when you reminisce about him, you don’t want to be overcome with guilt. and when he reminisces about you, you don’t want memories of you to be tainted with bitter resentment. you hope that when either one of you sheds tears, the pain of loss eventually becomes gratitude for what you had momentarily.

and so, you take a deep breath.

“i need to tell you something.”

he stares back into your eyes without saying anything. in the duration of that silence, jungkook is able to interpret and predict where your shared story is heading.

“you’re leaving…”

the end.

you never considered that hearing him say it would hurt much more than telling him yourself.

“when?”

“my flight is in six hours. i’m so sorry.”

you nearly break down into the tears, but you harshly chew on your bottom lip. you can’t cry, not in front of him. you don’t have the right.

“my parents, they finally forgave me… i can continue studying with their help. but no one wants to accept me here anymore, i tried, everywhere… so i’m going back with them to milan.”

“where they work…” he says meekly. he remembers you mentioning it in passing.

“can’t you postpone?” he tries to spark up even a smallest crumb of hope. he places his hand over yours, squeezing lightly. “even just for a day?”

you shake your head, unable to look him in the eyes, but you flip your hand over so you can hold his. and you do. tightly. and when it doesn’t feel enough, you use both hands and you clasp him in between.

the silence in between is suffocating.

“when will you come back?”

“i don’t know.”

“i can wait-”

“no, you can’t.” you interrupt, looking at him decisively. “you shouldn’t.”

with hardened features, he challenges your stare. you’re not scared or intimidated. he’s not angry. he’s just…

“that’s not for you to decide.”

fighting for you.

you’d be a hypocrite if you said that you wished he wouldn’t.

“jungkook, please, don’t.”

you throw your arms around his neck, hugging him so he won’t be able to see your face and decipher your thoughts. deep inside, with logic thrown outside the window, where all you can see and feel and touch is him, you wish that he would beg and convince you to stay.

“you’d only waste your time doing that. you’ll meet someone else…”

those words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. possessive, he jokingly described you once.

“don’t say that.” he interjects.

“you deserve to be happy, jungkook. there is so much more to life.”

“i knew- i-i had a feeling you would leave soon. i just didn’t know when.”

a tear drips from your eyelash; you hug him tighter and wipe it off on his shoulder.

“i wish i could’ve done more.” he utters regretfully. “to help you. and comfort you. you endured everything on your own…”

“you believed me and you stayed with me. you did more than everybody else.”

taking away the science of it, it’s common knowledge that a hug has wondrous healing effects. it’s one of those things that we naturally learn through experience, feeling. the hormone and neurotransmitter oxytocin can affect how we feel and respond to pain. studies say that it kicks in for hugs that last at least six to twenty seconds.

“will you be okay there?” he whispers. he’s gently stroking the expanse of your back and it feels like getting tucked into bed.

by now, you’ve been hugging jungkook for over twenty seconds, and you realize that the time is irrelevant. perhaps what they are referring to are the hugs you wouldn’t mind staying in forever.

“i’m scared,” you confess. “but i’ll be okay.”

a glimpse at the aquarium and enters a silly, gutwrenching thought.

“you know… maybe in another life,” you peek fondly into a future that may very well never exist. “we’re old and married, and we have a big pond instead of an aquarium.”

jungkook draws back and stares you down with his tearful eyes.

you clear your throat, face going warm with regret. “sorry-”

“you’re impossible-” he mutters before leaning in to kiss you.

you’re frozen at first, mind going blank, until he’s kissing you deeper, gripping your waist tighter, with intense emotions you’ve never felt him express before, and you are forced to remember that this kiss is a goodbye.

your hands around his neck fall over his shoulders, and you grant him the power to let you fall into the abyss where nothing else exists but the two of you.

you stop worrying about the time ticking.

you do not think about pulling away.

he is the one who breaks the kiss and your heart is broken.

his gaze is heaving with longing as does his aching chest. “why can’t it be in this life?”

you think this is when the gravity of the situation comes crashing down on you. jungkook is once in a lifetime. he is the person you will dedicate a memoir to when you reach the point in life where the only thing left to do is to look back. revealing the closet full of skeletons of who you were and who you will never become. he will be the subject of your what if’s, the other main character of the alternate version of your life story. the cynics will clamor, your time together was too short for it to have meant something, ignorant of the most lamentable grief— and you will envy them for it.

the corners of your mouth are lifted into a wistful smile. “fate made us meet at the wrong time, when i’m the wrong person for us.”

—

when you arrive at your apartment, you are deprived of the privacy to break down. your brother and your family driver, mister lee, have only begun hauling your bags and boxes. you try to ignore their presence, head straight to the bathroom, but as always, your brother doesn’t allow you peace.

“are you seriously bringing your motorbike too?”

you take a deep breath to compose yourself, but you still end up gritting your teeth. “it’s mine.”

“it’s too expensive to have it shipped-”

“shut up, you’re not the one paying for it.”

you turn on your heel, but you become rooted into place when you hear jungkook’s name.

“that boy you were with- jungkook, is it?”

you face with him a look of suspicion, eyebrows furrowing. “why do you care?”

he casually leans against the kitchen cabinet, hands tucked into his jeans’ pockets. “he must genuinely like you a lot to make that video. the tide has turned because of him.”

“wh-what are you saying?” you sputter. “what video?”

he narrows his eyes at you. “you don’t know what i’m talking about?”

“are you fucking with me again?”

“yeah- okay, nevermind.” he dismisses the topic, straightening up to pick up one of the boxes that will be carried to his car.

“moon!” you irritatedly shout his name, throwing the first thing that your hand touches. the comb hits his back before falling on the floor with a smack. “what is it?!”

“god, ___! it’s nothing! forget about it!” he barks, going straight for the front door with two boxes stacked in his arms. “go and make sure you didn’t forget to pack anything. i don’t need you nagging me when a package gets lost on its way to milan.”

you’re obviously having a hard time. can’t he go a little gentler on you?

“and cover your face.”

“does it matter? i’m already leav-”

“dad asked for it— not me. just do it, ____.”

you weakly slump back against the wall. you have no fight left in you today. you’d like to commend yourself for making it this far, surviving the worst of the worst and having the courage to come out of the tunnel, but you fail to make the distinction between being strong and becoming jaded.

“ma’am-” mister lee offers you a handkerchief. “i found it in one of the drawers. did you mean to leave it behind?”

you shake your head, and with a cold, shaky hand, you take it from his open palm.

once the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, there is no more stopping them.

as a sign of respect to you, he also leaves the room.

you choke back a sob, clutching to your chest— the handkerchief you were never sure if you were given or you stole.

—

jungkook’s tears glimmer from the lighter’s dancing flame. after several clicks, he manages to light up the cigarette. he isn’t innocent–after all he’s already an adult—but it’s a habit he makes an effort to avoid. surely, he can give himself a pass today, though. he’s heartbroken, and he feels pathetic enough hanging out in the alleyway you frequented.

he blankly stares at the lighter you believe you lost due to your carelessness. thinking back to your words from earlier, he’s furious at how calm you appeared. it was an easy decision— leaving him behind.

the rain has stopped, but raindrops collected by the roof still trickle to the ground and clang against metal pipes.

with trembling lips, he exhales the smoke— a sob threatens to be ripped from his throat and he roughly covers his mouth to stop it.

what could possibly be the lesson he’s supposed to learn from this pain?

he didn’t know where else to go. at his apartment, he’d feel you leave. at the lobby, he’d see you leave. he’d go far, but he doesn’t want to be too far. until the very end, he is at your disposal.

you could’ve been the one. no, he desperately wanted you to be the one. if you had stayed, he would’ve loved you as often as he breathed— but your paths intertwined only to be unraveled.

some sadistic tool, fate is. what was the point of finding you again?

a passerby’s fleeting shadow blocks all sources of light casted over jungkook’s secret place.

you wear your only carry-on, a duffle bag, around your body.

you cross the street with unhurried steps.

as you climb into your getaway car, jungkook flicks off the ash from the cigarette held between his fore and middle fingers.

the tires roll over the wet asphalt, leaving behind a hissing echo. your brother’s car follows suit.

thirty-five, thirty-six… jungkook anxiously counts the vehicles he hears driving away.

was one of them you?

…are you gone?

#jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook one shot #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts reaction

364 notes · View notes

rishiguro · 7 months ago

Text

you don’t think that you have ever felt as much relief as you did when you finally stepped inside your home.

with a loud thud your bag fell to the floor, right before you somehow managed to stumble into your bedroom, falling face-first into the mattress. the weight of the day finally truly sank into your bones, making your entire body ache. all you wanted to do was close your eyes and fall asleep, forgetting the day even happened.

all had been too much today.

you barely managed to get yourself out of bed in the morning after a terrible night of (or lack of) sleep and you still don’t really know how you made it to your place of work, much less made it through the day in the first place. everything was loud and bright, you were running on caffeine only and everything seemed to go wrong today. your performance was questionable at best and you couldn’t help but overthink each one of your steps.

and if that wasn’t bad enough already, the whole day you were jittery until after a few hours you noticed just how much you were shaking and how fast your heart was actually racing.

and then all you wanted to do was cry.

SUNA meanwhile had absolutely no idea what was going on when he entered your home with the key you gave him a few months ago, mindlessly taking his shoes off and messily throwing them away.

he called out for you when he noticed your bag laying right by the door. when he didn’t hear you call back to him, he furrowed his eyebrows, making his way into various rooms of your place, trying to find you. he grew slightly worried when he didn’t see you in your kitchen, living room or in the hall, but a part of him figured you might be purposely hiding from him, trying to scare him.

with a smirk on his face he decided to play along, carrying himself with light footsteps over to your bedroom door and carefully watching for a sign that you might be waiting somewhere to jump out.

when he reached your door, his hand slowly moved to the handle, pressing it down gently. taking a peek inside, he leaned forward.

you hadn’t noticed the door opening a few centimeters, much less the head peeking through it, with your head still lying flat on your bed, pillows practically pressed against your eyes to avoid sound coming through as much as possible.

suna would find it endearing if he didn’t grow so worried seeing you like this.

pressing his lips into a thin line, he decided to carefully step inside, practically sneaking towards you.

“baby?” you jerked up startled, looking around with wide, slightly puffy eyes, before you actually noticed him sitting next to you.

“fuck,” you groaned, “don’t scare me like that” you let your head fall back into the mattress.

he chuckled as you scooted over and ultimately laid down next to you. “sorry” he opened his arms and you immediately cuddled into him, resting your head on his chest. “what happened?” he asked after a few seconds of silence.

you however only shook your head, hiding your face in the fabric of his sweatshirt. “don’t want to talk about it?” you shook your head again.

so in response, he only tightened his hold on you, bending his neck in an uncomfortable way to press a kiss on your temple. “that’s okay. we can talk later”

the two of you continued to lie there in silence, simply finding comfort in each other’s presence and warmth. you listened to his calm heartbeat with closed eyes and enjoyed how suna’s hand slid up and down your back.

“it’s alright. i got you,” he muttered softly, “i’m not letting you go”

you still felt bad. but laying in his arms, you felt a little better.

660 notes · View notes

sleepymccoy · 2 months ago

Text

I have some general anxiety about going to supermarkets aimed at specific cultures because the intended clientele is not lil white me and the staff often don't speak english and I feel inappropriate. But not once has this been true, and I've always enjoyed my visit. Anyway, that's a preface so you can appreciate how brave I am

My colleague recently made me lahpet which is a Burmese salad including pickled tea leaves, dried beans mix, and tomatoes. I loved it and wanted more. I live in a densely Chinese area and thought one of the many supermarkets might have something Burmese, so I brought the empty jar to every store.

Many don't speak english, but that's fine. I had a jar! All interactions basically went like this;

None of them knew Burmese so couldn't even tell me if they had something similar

I gave up and bought it online. Also had a hard time with that cos they don't deliver to apartments (got the vibe that it's just the shop owners son doing deliveries and he couldn't be fucked going upstairs. Valid). But I persevered and got three jars! And the dried beans mix I needed. Way too many dried beans, I totally misjudged the size of the bag being sold

I used one to show my friends this salad. They didn't go as insane over it as I did. I gave another jar to my dad who did go appropriately insane. He said he liked it, then five min later interrupted to say he really liked it, then after dinner spent time with me going through the ingredients and trying to figure out if he can pickle tea leaves himself. Booyah.

Regardless, this left me with one jar which I swiftly finished. So I'm on the hunt again and the online store stresses me out now cos they don't like apartments

I found a Burmese supermarket a few suburbs away and a twenty min walk from the station. Fucking worth it, it's added two hours to my commute home but I want these jars so much. I enjoyed the stroll. It rained a bit, so I saw a couple rainbows

In the store I was, again, immediately stressed. I went down an aisle and back again and found nothing. I found other pickled things! But not my tea leaves! I did not want this trip to be in vain, it was long and I had a shit day at work. I was really only doing it today cos the days a write off as a bad day so I may as well run an annoying errand

Anyway I pulled up the website and showed the lady at the counter a photo of the jar and she pointed me to them immediately. I returned like fifteen seconds later with four jars and she was already on a phone call with someone. I love workers rights. You're awesome, lady.

So I say four and hold four fingers up and pass her one jar. She scans and sets the price right. She then interrupts whoever's talking on the phone to ask me, "How you know this?"

So I quickly explained that my colleague made me the salad and I loved it. She pointed back at the aisle and said, "the beans, you need beans." So I was like "I have so many beans, I bought too many, I just need the pickled leaves." And she was already waving her hand at me in disinterest so I stopped talking and paid lol.

It was a long haul home. I passed and remember to take a photo of my favourite art installation, the tower of coffee cups in a pole.

There's no starbucks in my suburb so one of these at least has taken a long trip to get here. So did I today, my feet are sore

Anyway, I have four jars of miraculous pickled tea leaves. If you can figure out how to buy these ingredients I recommend it to serve alongside very fatty meals like lasagne or sausage cos it cuts through nicely. I also take a serving to work every day because the tea leaves are caffeinated so I'm skipping the second coffee

I love lahpet

#lahpet #burmese food #food mention

211 notes · View notes

theoldsports · 11 months ago

Text

Mirror

Coriolanus Snow x Reader. 6.1k words.

18+ some smut, but it’s dicey. dubcon, biting, fingering, nudity, nonconsensual touch, drugs/alcohol? rehab discussion briefly, threats of violence, the shower, struggle against media, one reference to a line from scripture, possessiveness, manipulation. it’s dark. prolonged exposure to it is bad for you.

longest one yet! chronologically follows Married 1+2 in the TRUCULENT series fairly rapidly. i really learned to love this one. upon editing, this story became way more about gaslighting and headfucking someone good and hard into relying on you. special thank you to @heavqn for beta-ing and ridiculous amounts of support and ideas. a lot of our pre-editing convos made this make much more sense to me. + votes are in: next installment/current WIP will be the wedding.

CLICK FOR MORE! CAN BE READ AS SERIES OR STANDALONE

The hand against her shoulder shook her for a moment, then much faster. The shaking lasted seconds or even minutes before [Y/N] pried her eyes open. Everything in the bedroom looked too real, too clear. Coriolanus stood above her. His hand had been doing the shaking. He looked like he had just returned from a run due to his clothes and sweat-stained hair. His hair had grown back more beautifully than before. [Y/N] remembered seeing him when she saw him in the stacks of Philosophy books at the library right after he had returned from Twelve. It was jarring. She had always fancied him a pretty boy even if she loathed him throughout their childhood. He was much different upon his return.

Coriolanus pulled himself up out of the comfort of their bed almost every morning, far too early, to go for a run. [Y/N] didn’t know how she would endure a lifetime of his too chipper morning behavior once they were married. Coming down after a night on morphling was hard and still, she did it over and over again. Coriolanus knew he couldn’t stand in the way of a little fun, but he wouldn’t allow it in their home, so [Y/N] had become involved in using it socially when it was available to her.

“Great. You look like a bum.” Coriolanus said, noting the dark and sunken crescents under her eyes.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. You look like a bum.”

“I’m not a bum.” [Y/N] replied tiredly. She rubbed her eyes.

Last night, [Y/N] had gone out dancing with some of her friends. It was not a bachelorette party in so many words, but it filled the same purpose. It was also a stretch to call the people she went out with friends in so many words, but they filled the same purpose. [Y/N] hadn’t felt that she had people other than Coriolanus for sometime now. She had gotten very drunk and very high the night before, resulting in frustration from Coriolanus when she returned home. He always waited up by the front door when she was gone so long. Coriolanus did not like it when she wasn’t home with him. She would make it up to him somehow— she always did.

“Come on, up with you.” Coriolanus commanded. He sat on the edge of the bed and pushed her up to a sitting position. His voice was harsh, but his touch was soft. [Y/N] adored Coriolanus’ careful, yet guiding touches. Unless his dick was in her, he only touched her with care like she was a porcelain figurine.

“Why all the rush?” [Y/N] yawned.

“You don’t remember?” Coriolanus sighed. He was upset in that pompous way of his. He rubbed his creased forehead. “Seriously, [Y/N]. I ask so little of you and you can’t even behave well enough to remember that we have an interview in…” he checked his watch. “Three hours.” Coriolanus said. It was false that he asked so little of [Y/N]. Sometimes, he asked too much.

An hour exclusive on Lucky Flickerman’s daytime chatter joint. Shit. That woke [Y/N] up. “That’s today!” She exclaimed. That was the only caffeine she needed to wake her up. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Coryo. I didn’t think—“

“No. No Coryo. No, you didn’t think,” Coriolanus said. He needn’t elaborate. “Shower. We’ve got to beat downtown traffic.”

[Y/N] swore Coriolanus scheduled things like this at the worst possible times just to make her look worse than him.

She pushed her shaky legs off the bed. As soon as she stood, [Y/N] felt like she was going to fall. Perceptively, Coriolanus stood and placed his ever-vigilant hand on her lower back to steady her. “You’re a mess.” He said flatly. [Y/N] could tell that Coriolanus felt damp from his run. It crossed her mind that Coriolanus drank bitter coffee, did his work on time, smoked very little and went on a run daily. [Y/N] regularly got too high to see straight and cried when she didn’t get her way. Some pair they were.

“‘M not.” she protested messily. She didn’t want to admit that Coriolanus was right.

Coriolanus huffed indignantly, but did not reply otherwise. He walked her to the bathroom like marching a child to the naughty step. [Y/N] was set down on the low counter-top. “I’m concerned you’re going to slip and give yourself a black-eye,” Coriolanus said. “I don’t want people to think I hurt you.” He pulled his track jacket off and dropped it on the floor and reached over to take her short magenta teddy off. She felt desperately bare in front of Coriolanus as she was striped mechanically like a child’s doll. The teddy she wore was one of her favorites, with the delicate lace on the bust. She appreciated that Coriolanus was equally as delicate as the lace when handling it. He must have remembered how much [Y/N] liked it. Coriolanus remembered everything.

[Y/N] was simply impressed she had gotten herself into pajamas after last night at all.

“You’re going to ruin yourself if you keep doing this, you know.” Coriolanus said, starting the shower water.

“So you keep telling me,” [Y/N] shivered due to her bareness against the bathroom tile. “I’m sorry.”

Coriolanus deflected with a shake of his head. He turned to her. Coriolanus was obviously thinking about speaking as the water heated up. Hot water whenever desired was Coriolanus’ number one favorite thing about rebuilding the Snow fortune. That’s why he took his showers too hot; to prove that he could. The thought gave him the confidence to speak. “Do I make you feel so ill that you have to run around and treat yourself like this? Did I do something?” The insecurity of that question made [Y/N] raise an eyebrow. Sometimes when she looked at Coriolanus and realized he was still a boy in many regards. Twenty-three wasn’t very old at all. His frontal lobe wasn’t even finished developing. His primary desire was to be enough for himself, for her, and for everyone else too. [Y/N] feared that he worried he hadn’t figured that out yet. The girl was far from figuring that out herself as well. She rarely saw vulnerability slip through the cracks in the finished marble exterior that built Coriolanus Snow. But who knew if what he said was a true feeling of his or not.

“No,” [Y/N] said. She looked down at her manicured toes. “I did this before we were, y’know… You’ve seen me at house parties since the Academy. You know it’s not you.”

“It has to stop,” Coriolanus started, dashing that fear from his mind. [Y/N] permitting a discussion without blocking him out unpowered him to share his concerns. “It worries me when you’re out late with who knows who. With so many people seeing you. It’s not just part of an act, it’s bad for you.” He said, but what he meant to say was it’s bad for me.

“I knew you had jealousy problems, Coriolanus, but being worried you can’t personally compete with your girl’s partying habits is… hilarious.” [Y/N] attempted a joke. She saw the vein in Coriolanus’ neck throb. His eyes got cold when his vulnerability, no matter how shallow, was met with rejection.

“Get in the shower.”

[Y/N] cast her eyes down, took off her panties and did what she was told.

“It’s so hot!” She all but screamed.

[Y/N] let the water scald her skin. She didn’t want to complain at his trying to help her. “You’ll deal with it,” Coriolanus said, sliding the shower door shut behind the both of them. [Y/N] hadn’t even noticed him undressing, but here they were. They had never been in the shower together before. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the circumstances were. “For the record, I don’t have a ‘jealousy problem.’” He said after a moment of allowing [Y/N] hair to get damp enough to shampoo.

“Really?” [Y/N] bit back, reaching clumsily for her shampoo bottle with slippery fingers.

“Really. Jealousy isn’t a problem when you understand what’s rightfully yours,” Coriolanus said. Normally, she blocked Coriolanus out when he spoke like that. Maybe it was physical proximity or toxic prolonged exposure to Coriolanus, but that made her blush red in the face. Ignoring it, [Y/N]’s fingers closed around her pink and brown shampoo bottle, but Coriolanus snatched it out of her fingers effortlessly. “Let me. I want to be sure it gets done,” He muttered with a passive aggressive edge. That attitude seemed like a put-on to [Y/N]. She wondered if he wanted an excuse to be close to her. She made those up sometimes to be close to him. Maybe she was just flattering herself. Coriolanus squeezed some shampoo into his palm and set the bottle down on the shower ledge. “Who were you out with anyway?”

“Um… Some of the girls. Lysistrata. Oh, Clem. Some others.” [Y/N] braced a hand against the damp wall to steady her feet on the slippery ground.

“Clemensia?” Coriolanus asked, sliding his fingers into her hair, careful as ever. It felt newly intimate in a way that Coriolanus typically avoided with her.

“Who else?”

“I see. You know she’s—“

“I know you don’t like her.” [Y/N] said. Coriolanus was silent.

“I don’t like when you go out without me. I just worry.” He finally said.

“I’m sure you do.”

It was silent between them. Coriolanus worked the shampoo into her hair easily. A man known for his rough intensity being gentle with anything was a surprise to her.

“Did you see anyone else?” He asked nonchalantly.

[Y/N] sighed. Even casual conversation turned to interrogation. She wasn’t sure if he meant it, or if it was all he knew how to do. “Do you mean… Was I photographed behaving in some unsightly way? I dunno. I probably was. I wasn’t unfaithful, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Stop.” Coriolanus said, leaving no room for further argument.

It was quiet again. “Thank you for washing my hair. That’s, uh, it’s very kind.”

“Don’t mention it.” He replied, coaxing [Y/N] back under the water to rinse out the suds. His long fingers combed back through her hair over and over again. [Y/N], soapy, turned around and stared at Coriolanus’ wet face and hair. Even when appearing like a drowned animal, his imposing figure was statuesque.

[Y/N] leaned up and kissed him quickly. “I’m sorry I forgot about the interview,” she whispered, barely louder than the shower water. She apologized more than he did, but he responded well to knowing someone other than him was in the wrong. “Do I really look like shit?”

Coriolanus sighed, more familiarly this time. He loved when she needed him. He would insult her all day long if it meant he got to give her more validation later on. “No,” he slipped a hand under her breast and gave it a squeeze, his thumb danced across her nipple. “No, you don’t,” His other hand wormed its way across her cheek to brush away that disgusting makeup residue from the night prior. “You just needed a little polish. Let’s finish up. Go get dressed. Coffee’s on in the kitchen.”

“You poison it?”

Coriolanus frowned exasperatedly. He reached the hand cupping her breast around to her ass and gave it a hard, wet smack. “You bitch.” He smirked.

Sins almost all forgiven.

—

Every time [Y/N] was in a car with Coriolanus, it felt like a coaching session. Hand on her thigh with, don’t say this, say that instead, let me speak first, don’t embarrass me.

No point in elaborating on the most familiar part of their normal day-to-day since it really was habit at this point. [Y/N] always ached to snap back at him after these times. One day, don’t embarrass me was going to hit so hard that she did.

When they got out of the car a few blocks from their destination, [Y/N] had dawned her bright purple sunglasses. Coriolanus hated them and had tried on multiple occasions to buy her new ones to no avail. The daylight was still too bright for her tired eyes, so they were going to be worn on the walk to Capitol News.

After half a block (and so close to a news building), they were swamped by people clicking away at them. It made the bright sun burn hotter. Coriolanus’ white blonde hair and intimidating stature was much too easy to pick out in a crowd for their sunglasses and long jackets to disguise much.

Right now, besides Games news, they were the hottest topic of discussion in the Capitol. Their engagement party had been wild, [Y/N] was typically wild, and Coriolanus was characteristically unwild. It made for good TV.

Coriolanus leaned in to whisper something. [Y/N] couldn’t hear it. All she could do was smile and tell any reporters with microphones ‘no thank you,’ or ‘you’ll have to watch Lucky’s to answer for that.’ Coriolanus merely smiled a smile that was not his smile and said ‘not now folks, we’ll be late,’ or ‘don’t worry about them, Darling.’

[Y/N] was leashed by Coriolanus’ hand on the back of her neck as he guided her through crowds. He had two dressbags of clothes for the show tossed effortlessly over his shoulder as they walked. They were a newsroom’s wetdream. She was exuberant and he was magnetic. And they were both trouble. Power, wealth, youth, stability and status. Everyone liked to watch them at their best and loved to watch them at their worst.

“How do you put up with it, Mr. Snow!” A bland-looking man with a microphone called.

“How was the party last night, [Y/N]!” Called another. They always called [Y/N] by her first name because, frankly, she was fairly certain they didn’t know her maiden name and technically she wasn’t Mrs. Snow yet either. Coriolanus’ grip on her tightened at the question.

She smirked at how the power of her own name took away power from her family and their name; the thing they desperately wanted a morsel of.

Considering a future where she inevitably became Mrs. Snow, she thought about how her lifetime of indiscretions would be tied to Coriolanus forever. She smirked wider at their folie a deux.

[Y/N] felt like a doll again, being pushed by Coriolanus like that. She didn’t hate it entirely, though. She liked it when he manhandled her a little. It helped with all the noise that surrounded them these days to be able to turn her brain off and let Coriolanus handle it for her. She would never admit it, but being a good doll for Coriolanus for the foreseeable future didn’t seem too bad. Her stomach churned wicked for thinking that. It made her antsy to not have an exciting retort in front of reporters. [Y/N] usually did, but her head ached too much this morning. Instead, she looked helplessly up at Coriolanus. He glanced down at her, an eyebrow raised. “Overwhelmed?” He asked quietly, but not too quietly. [Y/N] nodded. “Don’t worry, my dear. We’re almost there.” Coriolanus said like a good husband should. [Y/N] thought about how he was rarely such a good husband when other people weren’t looking. Then why had he seemed to care so much that morning? She must’ve been mistaken about one part or the other.

[Y/N] leaned up and kissed him for in part for his kindness. The crowd aww’d. Kisses were a good way to distract a man. Any man, receiving or watching. Coriolanus’ hand slipped down from her neck to the back of her waist. Her fingers went into the soft hair at the bottom of his neck. She felt him inhale sharply. She knew he hated that. “What was that for?” Coriolanus asked when he pulled away, referring to the kiss.

“Wanted to make sure you were real. None of this feels real.” [Y/N] laughed dizzily. It was true, but she felt stupid saying it. She had spent a lot of time feeling stupid recently and this morning was no exception. The hangover and the whirlwind of voices and flashes had emptied her brain completely. Coriolanus leaned in to whisper in her ear again. This time she caught what he said:

“Stop this. We’ve ten steps until we’re in the building. I’ve told you not to touch my hair.”

He pulled away from her and put on his brilliant, effortless smirk that rich boys his age always had. Coriolanus yanked [Y/N] the remaining distance into the news building.

As soon as they entered, they were whisked away to dress for that afternoon’s broadcast. [Y/N] was dropped into a beautician’s chair to make her face look like someone else’s. She groaned at the duty she held.

Makeup brushes and blowdryers and curling irons and spray bottles of who knows what clouded [Y/N] of vision.

She wished Coriolanus was in her immediate vicinity so she could glance over him and laugh cruelly about how stupid all this is. He was always good for a laugh at the expense of things like this.

“Honey, who does your hair on the regular? I suggest you switch to someone else.” The obscene-looking woman pulling her hair back asked.

[Y/N] laughed, but said nothing. [Y/N] wanted to strangle her.

Not long after that, [Y/N] was pulled up to her feet and forced into a dress that she at least knew she liked. Tight around the waist and thighs, capping off at the knees. It was higher necked, but was so tight that it left little to the imagination. She knew Coriolanus would get frustrated with a fluffy dress, so she picked one that would make his eyes bug out instead. It was off-white with a delicate floral pattern outlined in a brighter white.

[Y/N] looked great. She knew this as she admired the contrasting bulk of the shoulders and flowing sleeves with the clinging exposure of her curves everywhere else. She didn’t exactly look like herself, though. Especially with her hair and makeup done so precisely. She wasn’t precise, she was messy. Precise didn’t suit her.

[Y/N] wondered if the her that stared back in the full-body mirror was the real her now. Messy her was gone. A Capitol wife remained. A doll.

She slid her black ankle-breaking heels on and shook the thought away as she entered the sound stage.

[Y/N] always forgot how noble Coriolanus was capable of looking, considering he was distinctly the opposite. She stared at him. Mauve coat, black trousers, crisp white undershirt, white tie, white rose. Clearly, he had let someone touch his hair. Even if it was a stylist.

Coriolanus gestured for her to walk over to where he stood and Lucky sat. It was difficult to walk with the dress clinging around her knees and the height of her heels. Her short, intentional steps felt demeaning. Most things in her life felt vaguely demeaning, but she kept turning a purposeful blind eye. The stage lights were too bright. Coriolanus’ teeth were too white for the amount of throats he’d ripped out.

Capitol magic.

“Hello Darling. You look lovely.” Coriolanus said as she approached. He took his hand in her and kissed it. Coriolanus’ eyes never looked up at hers because they were too busy looking at how her body fit the dress.

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied neutrally. “Hi Lucky. Green’s really your color.” [Y/N] lied. Lucky’s green, wintery tux was vile and everyone with eyes and a modicum of taste would see that.

Coriolanus coughed into his shoulder to cover a scoff. He wrapped a strong arm around [Y/N]’s waist.

“Thank you, [Y/N]! Good to see you, pleasantries, pleasantries, yada yada. Shall I call you [Y/N]…? Mrs. Snow… The network doesn’t really know what the hell to do with you.” Lucky beamed from his chair.

“Oh, uh… I’m not really Mrs. Snow yet. It’s not necessary. My first name will do. I’m not picky, though.”

She felt Coriolanus deflate a little beside her as he dropped her waist and folded himself into the gaudy patterned armchair the network provided. [Y/N] felt a sting of guilt. Maybe she should have let him carry on with the Mrs. Snow thing. Coriolanus would have to get over it. “Sure thing, hon. Anyway, go ahead. Take your seat. Some of these questions are tacky, tacky, tacky, but do your best and humor us. Panem wants to know the real you.” Lucky beamed.

“I’m sure they do.” They don’t. And they won’t.

“You kids really are… Wow, lovely to share the stage with. You make me look old and sad comparatively, damn,” Lucky joked. “It’s been a good while since I’ve had the pleasure of sitting alongside Coriolanus like this. You were a child then. Crazy, the passage of time.” He continued.

“Lucky, it’s always an honor.” Coriolanus said. Coriolanus hated Lucky. [Y/N] marveled at his ability to lie so gracefully.

A group of production folks stepped out of the shadows to give them bottled water and let them know the show was about to begin. The studio audience poured in through side doors.

[Y/N] quickly leaned over to Coriolanus. “I thought this was a pre-tape.” She whispered frantically.

“You didn’t remember this interview existed three hours ago. You’ll deal with it.” He replied, with a note of his own panic he was unable to squash.

Fifteen minutes of seating and then a live camera inches away from [Y/N]’s face. “Well, we really thank you for having us on your show, Lucky.” She smiled. The audience analyzed them like vultures. This was the most wicked game designed for them, but Coriolanus didn’t lose. [Y/N] would have to be perfect.

“Of course! Always a pleasure, [Y/N]. Let’s get to some of these questions on my handy little list of questions, huh?” A few shallow questions about what designers they were wearing, what their morning routine was like to look so gorgeous, Coriolanus leaning over to hold [Y/N]’s hand across their chairs (the audience sighed lovingly). Coriolanus curls, stubborn as he was, fell out of the hold of the hairspray like they always did. She smirked and reached up with her left hand to push them out of his eyes. Oh, he hated that. [Y/N] could tell. Lovely.

“Oh, look at that ring,” Lucky said. “The ring we’ve all been talking about. Let’s get a closeup on that rock,” the camera pushed in to [Y/N]’s hand obediently. A large ruby mounted on a white gold band. She had been assured it was real. [Y/N]’s other jewelry, silver, sat patina-ing in a wooden box because of it.“Beautiful. Must’ve cost you a pretty penny, Coriolanus.”

“Yes, Coryo, how much did it cost?” [Y/N] asked. Coriolanus shifted in his seat. Money was not a thing Coriolanus discussed.

“A bit.” He replied stiffly. [Y/N] grinned.

“Uh, you both are mighty famous for that ring. I suppose it’s time to discuss that crazy engagement party. I was there to witness the whole thing firsthand, of course.”

The Snows-to-be nodded.

“These questions can get uncomfortable, but I’m sure you’ll answer all the same. So, your relationship seems… Alarmingly happy today for two people debating splitting over infidelity at the celebration of their engagement.”

“Please, we only debate it when I’m drunk, Lucky.” [Y/N] said much to the audiences joy. They laughed heartily.

“Which is too often, if you want my opinion.” Another laugh from the audience for Coriolanus, never one for being outdone. She knew, in his mind, she deserved that.

“Rehabilitation is always an opinion.” Lucky joked darkly, not knowing what to say.

“Being wild is fun, though, isn’t it? I’m not from privilege and grace as much as my fiancé. He’s always been elegant. I’m learning; I have a good teacher. But you only get your youth once. You would know, I’m sure, Lucky. When someone loves you as much as Coriolanus loves me… He always forgives my mistakes. He’s too good me. He’s patient.” [Y/N] said. He was patient, but it came out in the way that he played the long game. His impulses along the way were markedly less patient. Coriolanus squeezed her hand tightly as a warning.

Lucky smiled bitterly. “Well, I’m sure he’ll learn to keep you on a shorter leash eventually. Actually, I hear you were out last night as well.”

Fuck.

“Yes, bachelorette party, you see.”

“The studio’s telling me,” Lucky clutched his earpiece. “They have some photos from your last wild night as an unwed woman.”

“Oh. Is that so…? Haha,” [Y/N] said. Coriolanus squeeze her hand until her own knuckles were white. Neither one of them had a clue what they were about to throw up on that screen. Coriolanus inhaled shakily, but maintained neutrality. “Can’t be worse than the sides you saw of us a few months back at the—“

It was worse.

The dress was short, but Coriolanus had known that when she stopped into his office to tell him she was going out. He had responded with a “That? Really? Okay…” with quiet anger that the dress wasn’t being worn for him.

Then there was the dreaded miniature morphling vile empty between her fingers. It was obvious she was trying to talk with her friends under the flashing lights. They were all wearing similar fare. Six or seven drunk, high young women pictured together wasn’t that bad, even for some of the old school Capitol prudes.

None was more damning than the strange man’s hand planted firmly on [Y/N]’s ass. His smile was too wide. The [Y/N]’s in the picture’s grimace at the stranger over her shoulder was uncomfortable. It screamed DON’T-TOUCH-ME. She looked like she was telling him to stop, but her eyes were wide and her lips were pulled into a frown. The subtext implied by the woman in the photo was Coriolanus is going to kill me. She sighed. The crowd gasped. Coriolanus inhaled sharply.

[Y/N] had said her behavior the night before was inherently not unfaithful. Coriolanus didn’t feel the need to not believe her since she was the one who brought it up. The apples of Coriolanus cheeks grew red with rage. The stranger’s smile was too big. He knew he was touching Coriolanus Snow’s fiancée. He knew was taking advantage of a helpless girl and her friends. He knew he was defacing someone else’s property.

Coriolanus Snow was going to find this man and ruin his life.

[Y/N], humiliated, looked over at Coriolanus. She had a hazy memory of telling some guy to “knock it off” the night before. Truly, she did remember this, but of course, she hadn’t thought this would be a big deal. This was a part of her life she had had to deal with since she was a young woman. This man’s action was undesired, but not unexpected. Taking in the photo and the look on his fiancée’s face as she shook her head slowly at him was enough for Coriolanus to determine that this touch was unwanted. [Y/N] looked guilty, but she had little reason to be. He hated seeing that look on her face in a situation he didn’t create.

[Y/N]’s only crime was going out without Coriolanus. She knew he hated when she did that. If he had been there, he would’ve handled the situation there and then. She was never going out alone again. She needed him. Right now, he was going to be the man she needed.

“Take that off the screen.” Coriolanus said firmly to Lucky.

“Well, first, let’s have—“ Lucky tried.

“I don’t think you heard me. I said take it down,” Coriolanus continued. He turned to the cameras and those behind them. “Now.”

Coriolanus watched a young woman at a screen immediately buckle at his demand and begin scrambling to pull the image. The show’s graphic was returned to the monitor. “Thank you,” Coriolanus said in the woman’s direction. [Y/N] stared at the floor, beet-red. She was trying not to cry, but what would it matter if she did? Coriolanus knew too well the meaning of her tell-tale sniffle and avoidant eye contact. He turned back to Lucky. “I think that was extremely rude of you and your production group to put up an image, without consent, of my fiancée getting touched without consent. It’s apparent to me from looking at that photo that my fiancée did not welcome that touch. Would you agree?”

“Possibly, but since the engagement party—“

“I think you forget I trust [Y/N]. Are you the one marrying her?”

“… No. But hey, this is my show, kid. Let’s get back on track with—“

Coriolanus knew better than most people that what was said and done on live television was as good as forever. He would use that to his advantage. Nobody came for Coriolanus’ belongings and left with the hand that tried to snatch them.

“I’m not finished,” Coriolanus snapped. [Y/N] reached for Coriolanus’ hand again to signal that that’s enough, dear. He took it and looked over at her. He was angry; normal person righteous angry. Not manic, not cold. That was a new face. Coriolanus had so many pretend faces that clipped on and off. [Y/N] had previously thought she had seen them all. “Were you wanting that touch, Princess? Did you know him?” He asked [Y/N]. She shook her head with her eyes damp and downcast. “As I implied, you don’t know us. Don’t ever embarrass my fiancée like that,” or me, [Y/N] assumed his subtext as he spoke. “Whoever this moron in the picture is has another thing coming. What kind of self-respecting news network aims to humiliate guests for something they couldn’t help?” Coriolanus said. [Y/N]’s heart raced. He cared. Maybe it was for selfish reasons, but his support mattered. No one else was going to do it.

Sometimes he was absent, yes, but Coriolanus always came through when [Y/N] needed him. She was grateful that he wasn’t angry with her, even if that part came later in private. She was grateful for now that his way of easing his own pain eased hers too. She could get used to that. [Y/N] let out tears of temporary relief and reached for the box of tissues on the round table between guests and host.

Coriolanus stared Lucky down and settled himself further back in his seat with a sigh. “Next question?” The blonde man said.

—

The ride home was nearly silent. [Y/N] had started crying the second she sat down in the car. Coriolanus hadn’t say anything, but he kept his hand in hers the whole time. He didn’t even fight to let go when his palm got sweaty. [Y/N] pulled his hand close to her chest. She had done nothing wrong, yet she felt that everything was her fault. She had failed Coriolanus. This media wreck wasn’t just a game for photographers and journalists, this one embarrassed her genuinely. This one embarrassed Coriolanus and she was constantly told she was not supposed to do that. Don’t embarrass me rang against every corner in her brain.

The car stopped in front of their building. Coriolanus, as he always seemed to, opened her car door before the driver could get out. Coriolanus thanked the driver and put an arm around [Y/N] and led her up the stairs to their townhouse. The door closed behind them. Coriolanus locked the deadbolt with a heavy clunk. Safe from eyes that watched every failure with glee. They could be people again.

“I’m sorry, Coriolanus,” [Y/N] said, mascara down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know him. Really, I didn’t. I told you this morning. I—I didn’t know him.” She backed herself protectively towards the couch and away from Coriolanus in learned preemptive panic.

“I know,” Coriolanus said. “Nobody but me gets to touch you like that. I know you’re smart enough to understand that. I cannot fathom how another man thinks he can do that to you and get away with it.”

“That’s… That’s been happening my whole adult life, you can’t magically make that—“

“I don’t think you understand, Darling. I can. I don’t want to know that anyone has ever touched you like that. I swear on my mother’s grave. I will fucking murder them.” His winter blue eyes could vaporize a perpetrator on the spot.

“Coriolanus, that’s extreme.”

“Not to me. Not when you’re involved.”

“You can’t hurt people that looked at me funny. It’s hardly a crime.”

“Isn’t their some old line about not coveting another man’s wife?”

“…Yes. You have a future. You can’t interrupt your opportunities because some shithead—“

“It won’t interrupt anything. Wouldn’t it make you feel better to know that a creep like that was off the streets?”

“…Yes.”

“Well, then we agree. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

[Y/N] blushed and looked down. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t be. I’m not angry with you about this. I know I can trust you. I do. You know I do. I don’t worry about that. I cannot trust other people around you, especially when you use that filthy drug,” Coriolanus said. He extend a hand to [Y/N] as he approached like he would approaching a scared animal. That hand went slowly to [Y/N]’s waist. Coriolanus pulled her in closer so they were chest to chest. “You are not going out without me to some party like that ever again. Disrespecting you like that means disrespecting me, too. I won’t stand for either.”

“I—“

Coriolanus was going to get what he wanted all along: [Y/N] alone with him always. How could she need anyone else? Everyone out there wanted to hurt her, touch her, make her feel bad about herself. Not Coriolanus. Perhaps, he should be thanking that man instead of cutting his fingers off one at a time. “No. Let me keep you safe. That’s all this is. I want you safe. I’m to be your husband. That’s my job. Won’t you let me do my job, [Y/N]?” He said too calmly. His blue eyes stared deep into hers. Coriolanus had a fantastic talent for telling someone something and letting them think it was a question; letting them think it was their idea— letting them they had a choice.

He was right. He did make her feel safe. Holding on to her like this made her melt. In Coriolanus’ arms, [Y/N] felt secure. He was moody, but Coriolanus was frustratingly reliable. He wanted to make himself the bedrock of [Y/N]’s life. She had no choice but to allow him that. [Y/N] breathed out and he felt her breath fan out across his face. “Let me take care of you. I won’t let that happen to you anymore. I promise.” Coriolanus muttered.

He tipped his mouth slowly into her neck and hungrily sucked at the place below her ear. A gasp caught in [Y/N]’s throat at the surprise sensation. Her knees wobbled and her dress and shoes didn’t make it any better. She put her arms around his neck for support. “Coriolanus…” she whispered. Coriolanus loved the vibration in her throat beneath his lips.

Helplessly, [Y/N] tipped her head back to give her fiancé what he wanted. Coriolanus had sucked a few hickeys on her neck and chest before, sure. Never before had he bitten her. This time, he bit her hard enough to bruise and scab. It was harder to cover an indent with makeup than a simple bruise. If she were to go out even to the grocery store, other men had to understand that [Y/N] was off the market. If an engagement ring wouldn’t do it, this would. Coriolanus bit her with such force that the tears started to well again.

The position they were in felt like a dance. His hands on her waist, hers on his neck, their bodies flush together. [Y/N] fell deeper into the black hole of Coriolanus Snow. This must have been on purpose. He knew she loved to dance with him and made it a weapon. Damn him. She would always say yes to a dance, wouldn’t she? Wasn’t this whole relationship just a fucked up dance?

The man reached one hand down and pulled up [Y/N]’s dress as much as he could get it up and tore it the rest of the way. [Y/N] could swear she had been torn out of a third of her clothing recently. Coriolanus pushed her panties to the side and pushed his fingers into her. It would have hurt if she hadn’t been so wet to begin with. She bobbled on her heels. Once Coriolanus has pumped himself fingertip to hand in and out of her a handful of times, [Y/N] was holding herself up entirely by his neck and shoulders and the fingers that impaled her tenderly. Coriolanus had complete control over the situation. The only thing left for her to do was moan and she didn’t hold back.

Coriolanus was unrelenting. He marked a disturbing black and blue column on her throat the way he liked. Slowly, the pair rocked back and forth from foot to foot, as Coriolanus nipped, fucked and sucked. A fucked-up slow dance to the song of the traffic on the other side of the window.