#conversations • comfortable silence is so overrated.

[kiszjuli]

LOVE BET .ᐟ

✸ bestfriend!jisung x fem!reader | genre. fluff | w.c. 2.5k | ♡

↳ synopsis. you and your bestfriend jokingly make a bet that whoever doesn't get a valentine has to pay for dinner at you guys' favorite restaurant, which is quite expensive. as valentine's day approaches, you both realize that you don't exactly like the idea of the other person going out with someone..

↳playlist. love - keyshia cole. lucky girl - red velvet. affection - between friends. like we just met - nct dream. better than gold - nct dream. off my face - justin bieber.

it was currently february 1st, meaning all of the bright pink and red decorations were already decorated around your campus. you found yourself in the, abnormally loud and chaotic cafeteria, you were waiting at your designated seats for your best friend, jisung, and as you waited you looked around. Glancing from the pink flyers to the red heart shaped balloons, and everything else in between. jisung plopped down with a sigh in front of you. "it looks like cupid threw up in here," you muttered, opening your pack of cookies. jisung's lips quirked up into a boyish grin as he settled in his seat. "what, jelous of all the love in the air?"

"it's not that," you said offering him a cookie, which he gladly took. "it's just...valentine's day is so overrated. why spend one single day to prove your love when you could just like─not suck the rest of the year?"

laughing, jisung spoke again. "god, you're such a romantic, no wonder you're still single," rolling your eyes you glare at him. "you're one to talk. when was the last time you tried to talk to someone you like?"

jisung's face flushed a little. "hey, i talk to people!"

"not what i asked," you say flatly, then lean across the table. "name one person you've flirted with in...the past year," you say thinking for a second.

as if really trying to think, he furrows his brows and looks at the table. "exactly," you laugh. "alright, how about you then? i don't remember hearing about you having a valentine," he raised a brow, challenging you back and sitting up in his seat.

your confidence wavered a little, but didn't let it show, "oh please, i could get asked out if i wanted to,"

"oh yeah? could you?"

you reached for a fry on your tray and threw it at him. he tried to block the fry, it falling to his lap as he laughed at you. "i'm just saying," he shrugged. "all this big talk, yet you're in the same boat as me,"

a smirk spreads across your face, as you get an idea. "fine, you know what? how about, whoever doesn't get themselves a valentine, has to buy the other dinner at our favorite restaurant. deal?"

this time it was jisung’s turn to falter a little. “are you seriously betting on this?”

you shrugged. “why not? scared of losing?” you teased.

those words were all it took for his competitive side to kick and and he straighted up once again. “fine. you’re on.” he reached out his his hand and you took it firmly. “prepare to lose park jisung,” you smiled your gaze locked on his. “i’m about to eat so much pasta,”

he smirked, his hand lingering in yours for a second longer than necessary. “we’ll see about that.”

little did the both of you know, that stupid little bet was about to change everything.

—

it’s a quiet afternoon, after school. you and jisung were hanging out at your favorite café. the place was a little busy with people, but you are just enjoying the usual, comfortable silence. that is, until a guy from one of your classes walks in. you notice him immediately. he was a generally friendly guy, always talking to everyone. he notices you and walks over to your table.

“hey!” he says, making his way over. “what’s up? haven’t seen you around lately.”

you stand to greet him, talking easily as you always do. you’re genuinely enjoying the conversation. he was funny, charming, and always has something interesting to say—never really an awkward pause. you laugh at a joke he tells, and just for a second, you forget jisung is even there.

jisung, however, hasn’t missed a thing.

he watches from his seat, his grip on his cup tightening just slightly. the way you and the guy are laughing, how easily you two got along. it was too comfortable. jisung tries to focus on his phone, but his eyes keep flicking back to you. there’s something in the way the guy looks at you, a little too interested, and jisung feels a pang in his chest. trying to brush it off, he settles with the fact that it’s because you might be winning the bet; for now.

jisung was trying to focus on his phone, scrolling through something meaningless, but the smile on your face. the way you leaned in a little closer to the guy as you talked. it was starting to bother him more than he’d like to admit. it’s dumb, he knows it’s dumb, but he can’t help the flicker of frustration in his stomach. you’re supposed to be just friends. but suddenly, the idea of someone else being interested in you feels… wrong.

he feels like he can ignore him and focus on his phone until the guy laughs again—louder this time, with a hand on your shoulder. he feels his blood start to simmer.

“so, uh, i was thinking about going to see a movie this weekend. wanna go?” the guy asks, his tone light, like it’s no big deal.

you smile, looking a little surprised. “oh, uh, sure! sounds fun.”

jisung’s fingers tighten around his phone, his knuckles almost turning white. the guy’s eyes flicker over to him, then back to you, and jisung doesn’t miss the way the guy raises an eyebrow, sizing him up. it’s a subtle look, but it makes jisung’s jaw clench. he new what the guy was doing, and so did he.

the guy turns to leave, his attention shifting away from you, but before he walks off, he looks back one last time. “see you later, yeah?”

“yeah, definitely!” you call after him, still smiling.

as soon as the guy walks away, jisung can’t hold it in anymore. he stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor louder than usual. “i’m gonna get some air,” he mutters, as he begins to step away.

you glance at him, a little startled. “wha-? jisung, what’s wrong?”

he shakes his head, brushing you off. “nothing. just need some air.”

before you can say anything else, he’s walking out of the café, leaving you behind. you stare after him, confused and a little concerned. what was that about?

you sigh and lean back in your chair, a little unsure of what just happened. you know jisung, and you know that wasn’t just about needing air. you weren’t even doing anything to provoke him. but something about the way he left makes you feel like maybe he’s… bothered.

you pull your phone out, sending him a quick message:

hey, u good?

a few moments later, he replies.

yeah, i’m fine,

but you can tell something’s off. you don’t press him right now, but the conversation with the guy you just had lingers in your mind. was it just your imagination, or did jisung seem…jealous?

—

the following day, you seem to ironically have a similar experience.

you walk into the library after second period, expecting to find jisung buried in his usual corner, headphones in and his nose buried in a textbook. but instead, you stop in your tracks when you see him sitting at a table with a girl from your class, one you’ve seen around but don’t really know. she’s leaning over his shoulder, pointing at a page in her notebook, and jisung is explaining something, his hand moving across the page to help her with the assignment.

hesitating for a moment, not wanting to interrupt, something in your chest tightens when you see how naturally they’re talking, how comfortable she looks in his presence. she was pretty close to him, her shoulder brushing his as she leans in. it feels like your heart sinks a little, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

the way jisung is smiling, the way he’s so focused on her… it’s the same way he looked when he helped you with schoolwork, but this time, it’s different. this time, there’s something more, something you hadn’t expected. the sight stings, even though you know it shouldn’t. it’s not like you have any claim over him, and he’s probably just being a good friend, but the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach won’t go away.

you stand there for a moment, not sure what to do. a small part of you wants to walk away, pretend you didn’t see it, but another part of you, feels like you’ve been punched in the chest. you had no idea why.

just like jisung had felt the day before when you laughed with that guy at the café, you feel that same pang of jealousy now. and it’s so much more than you were expecting. maybe you understood his reaction a little more now.

after what feels like an eternity, you turn around and walk out of the library before you can let any of those feelings show. you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, that you have no reason to feel this way, but the image of jisung laughing with her sticks in your mind, making it impossible to shake the feeling.

—

it was now valentine’s day, and when you got the text from jisung asking to come over and talk, you assume it’s about the bet. about how he didn’t find the valentine he kept claiming he find. and you would tell him the same, that you were both valentine-less. you figured you’d laugh about it and go about your days. everything would go back to normal and you wouldn’t have to see him around talking to other girls and feeling that awful sting in the pit of your stomach.

but as he arrives to your place, the look on his face making you nervous. he sits on your couch and you follow him, cradling your legs to yourself as you sat.

the soft hum of the city outside the window barely audible as you sit together in the living room. despite the seemingly comfortable silence between you two, there’s something else in the air—a tension neither of you has been able to shake for days.

jisung’s, hands fidget in his lap, his eyes darting around the room like he’s searching for something, trying to find the right words. you could tell he’s been holding something back, and it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the way he keeps glancing at you, like he’s trying to figure out how to speak what’s been on his mind for so long.

“hey,” you say softly, breaking the silence, “is everything okay?”

he glances at you, but his gaze is distant—like he’s caught between saying something and not saying anything at all. you wait for him to respond, the anticipation weighing heavily in the room.

“i’ve been thinking a lot,” he begins, his voice quieter than usual, which spikes your curiosity. he exhales slowly. “about everything… with the bet, with us. and i’ve realized something. something i think i’ve been running from for a really long time.”

you sit up a little, your heart beating faster as you focus entirely on him. his tone was serious, the vulnerability in his voice making your chest tighten with both concern and curiosity.

“i’ve been… avoiding it,” jisung continues, his words coming out in a rush. “for years. i kept telling myself it wasn’t anything. that we were just friends. that it didn’t mean anything. but the truth is, i’ve been denying it for so long because I was scared... of what would happen if i admitted it. if i admitted that i’ve felt something more for you than just… friendship.”

your breath nearly catches in your throat. the words are unexpected, and yet, they make your heart race. you swallow, unsure of what to say, but jisung keeps going.

“i thought if i ignored it long enough, it would go away,” he admits, his eyes locked on yours now, raw and open. “but it never did. and i realized that i couldn’t keep pretending. i couldn’t keep pretending that i didn’t feel something for you. i don’t want to see you with anyone else. i don’t want to watch you go out with someone and not be the one standing next to you.” his lock onto yours.

you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you’re not sure whether to be shocked or relieved that he’s finally saying this. all the years of hints, all the quiet moments between you two, all of it makes sense now.

“i’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but i was too afraid,” he confesses, his voice breaking slightly. “i that it would ruin everything. that maybe you wouldn’t feel the same way, or worse—that it would destroy our friendship. but i can’t keep denying it. i’m… in love with you, y/n. and have been for so long, and i can’t pretend i’m okay with the idea of you being with anyone else.”

for a moment, you’re speechless, processing the weight of his words. years of feelings, years of quiet longing—suddenly all of it is out in the open, and it feels both overwhelming and relieving at the same time.

you swallow, your voice barely above a whisper as you look at him. “jisung… i never wanted anyone else. i don’t think i ever did. i’ve been scared too. scared of ruining what we had, scared that you wouldn’t feel the same. but… i feel the same way.”

his eyes widen at your confession, and something in him shifts. like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. his shoulders slump, a sense of relief settling over him.

“really?” he asks, as if he can’t believe you’re saying it too.

you nod, voice steadier now. “i never wanted to go out with anyone else. but i was too scared to risk what we had. i didn’t know how to tell you i… felt the same. i wanted to be with you, but i couldn’t say it.”

jisung ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he’s held too long. his expression softens, and he moves closer, hand gently touching yours, hesitant but tender.

“so… we’re both idiots then, huh?” he says with a nervous laugh, the humor light but relieved. “all this time… and we were both too scared to admit it.”

you laugh, the tension breaking. “yeah. but i think we’re finally getting it right.”

his smile is genuine, the softest you’ve ever seen. “so…will you be my valentine?”

you squeeze his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “well… only because i don’t have anyone else that asked,” and maybe, just maybe, i’ll let you take me out on a real date. not because of a stupid bet, but because i want to be with you.”

his eyes light up and he chuckles at your words. he smiles softly, cheeks a little rosy. “that sounds perfect.”

and just like that, all the hesitation, all the silent feelings, fade away. you’re both free from the weight of denial, starting something new. together.

and in your book, you still won’t the bet. you knew you weren’t gonna pay for the dinner from the start, and you were right. you also got the best valentine, and soon boyfriend, anyone scouts ever ask for.

—

⁀➷⊹ ࣪ ˖~ THE LA LA LOVE SERIES .ᐟ

taggies(open) ↳ @kittydollzz @huffnpufffck @completelyjae @lovesuhng @nae-vm @ayibdorrt @chocoriki @yomaman @yukisroom97

(i’m sorry this one’s a little late you guys)

[xhoess]

pls can you write an happy ending angst with nicholas chavez where reader and him discuss mariage and having children in general and reader shuts down the subjects saying mariage is overrated and meaningless and she hates children and doesn’t want any. so they starts debating/ fighting and he’s flabbergasted bc they don’t have at all the same vision of life and during few days it’s very cold/tensed between them especially him bc he told her that he wanted her to be the mother of their children. but at the end she ends up telling him why she is afraid to have PPD since she had a long depression and there more risks to have post partum depression if you had been depressed, to become a bad mom like her narcissistic mom …

(Yes omg I immediately started when I saw this🥲🥲)

"Facing Fears, Finding Love"

Nicholas chavez x fem reader

Summary: When Nicholas Chavez shares his dreams of marriage and children, you shut him down, leading to a tense argument. Days of distance follow until you confess your fears of postpartum depression and becoming a bad mother due to your past struggles. Nicholas, understanding and supportive, reassures you with unconditional love. Together, you begin to rebuild trust, facing the future with renewed hope and mutual understanding.

Words: 7.6 K

The air was thick with tension, the comfortable silence that had enveloped your cozy living room now feeling stifling. The soft glow of the table lamp cast gentle shadows over Nicholas's features, but the warmth was rapidly giving way to something far colder. He sat perched on the edge of the couch, a half-empty cup of tea cradled between his hands. His gaze had shifted from the window to you, and you sensed that something in him had changed since your blunt words had cut through the evening.

His enthusiasm had been infectious just moments earlier as he excitedly shared his visions of a future filled with laughter and children. You could remember the way his eyes sparkled, how his voice had held such a soothing cadence as he painted dreamlike scenarios of family vacations, birthday parties, and the cozy chaos of everyday life. The dreams that had built up effortlessly in his imagination had felt almost tangible, revived by the warmth of your shared space.

But then you shattered that moment. You could still hear the harshness of your own voice as you declared, "Marriage is overrated and meaningless," and then coolly added, "I hate kids. I don’t want any." The sting of your words hung between you, suspended like a bitter fog that neither of you knew how to dissipate.

Nicholas's expression shifted from one of hope to confusion, and finally to pain. His brows knitted together, as if trying to piece together the fragments of the conversation, and you saw the light in his eyes dim. "Why didn’t you say something before?" he asked, his voice a tight whisper, the tremor in it revealing the depth of his shock.

You opened your mouth, intending to reply, but the words caught in your throat. "I... I didn’t think it mattered," you stuttered, the pit in your stomach tightening as you tried to pick apart your jumbled thoughts.

Nicholas shook his head, his deep-set eyes searching yours for an answer you were not ready to give. "It does matter! You make it sound like all my dreams are foolish. I always thought you’d be the mother of my children!" He stood up abruptly, his movement punctuating the tension that crackled in the room. The chair he had been perched on scraped against the floor, a sound sharp enough to increase your heartbeat.

"I didn’t realize you had those dreams," you argued, defensiveness creeping into your voice. "Why would you assume that I would fill that role? Just because we’re together doesn't mean we want the same future."

Nicholas's face crumpled at your words, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he would crumble under the weight of your lack of understanding. "Because I thought we were building a life together," he shot back, the hurt evident in his tone. "I can’t believe you never mentioned this before. I always shared my dreams with you, and I believed you were sharing yours too. Was it all a lie?"

Your heart raced, and the sense of being cornered filled you with an urge to flee. "It’s not a lie!" you exclaimed, desperate to have him understand. "I just... I never thought you meant it so seriously. You know how I feel about kids, and you always seemed so... sure."

"But those were my hopes!" Nicholas’s voice rose, filled with bewildered frustration. "And you made me feel like I was the only one on this path. I thought we were on the same page—working toward a future together. Now I find out you’ve been harboring these feelings in secret!"

"Do you think I want this?" you replied, anger rising from a place you hadn’t known existed. "Do you think it’s easy for me to admit this? I didn’t want to disappoint you!" The words were out before you could snatch them back, biting into the already frayed fabric of the evening.

Nicholas paused, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath, the realization washing over him as he processed your admission. "You must’ve known I would want to know," he said quietly, the hurt lying heavy in each syllable.

“I thought it could work,” you said, your voice betraying the edge of desperation. “I thought I could learn to want those things. But I can’t. I don’t want them.” The finality in your voice echoed around the room, but the truth collided with the storm brewing within you—a twisted mix of anger, sadness, and guilt.

Nicholas took a deep breath, visibly deflating. "I don’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want," he said, the warmth of his usual tone replaced by resigned coldness. "But I thought we were building a life together. I thought you were on board with this."

A painful silence descended, so thick you could nearly touch it. The more you tried to dismiss your internal storm, the louder it grew, shrieking that you could lose him, that this could be the turning point of everything you shared.

Nicholas stepped back then, retreating from your presence as if he needed physical space away from the wall he felt was being built between you. "I just... I need some air," he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. And with that, he walked away, leaving the conversation unresolved, like an unfinished melody that echoed in the empty silence.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, a ghost of guilt weaving its strands through your being. You wanted to go after him, to take back your words, but instead, you remained motionless, staring into the distance, the shadow of what had just transpired pressing down on you like an anchor.

The weight of your convictions pressed heavily against your chest, but so too did the fear of what might happen next. Would he really walk away? Would this moment linger? You felt trapped between the walls of your own design, and you couldn't decide which was more terrifying: the thought of losing Nicholas or the dread of confronting the real emotions behind your aversion to his dreams.

Breathing low and shaky, you sank onto the edge of the couch, the faint sound of Nicholas’s footsteps fading into the night. You were left alone, surrounded by silence, filled with a torrent of unresolved emotions swirling deeper in the recesses of your heart.

You spent the next few days drifting through your routine like a ghost. Each morning greeted you with the same tightness in your chest, a constant reminder of the cavernous rift that had opened between you and Nicholas. You felt it as you brewed your coffee, the familiar sound of the kettle boiling echoing in your small kitchen, yet it felt so foreign without Nicholas’s laughter or his gentle teasing about your obsessive coffee-making rituals. The silence was heavy, suffocating.

Nicholas had retreated into himself, a stark shift from the exuberant man who had spent countless evenings talking about dreams and plans. Now, sitting on the couch, you watched him scroll through his phone whenever he was nearby, his eyes dull, the corners of his mouth pressed into a thin line. He seemed a million miles away, lost in thoughts you couldn't penetrate. Each glance in his direction felt like a glimpse into an impenetrable fortress—one that had been built overnight after that fateful evening.

As you prepared your meals, the routine felt strangely haunting. You would plate two servings, only to find yourself taking the food to the table in silence. The atmosphere was heavy with unspokenness, punctuated only by the clattering of utensils. Nicholas would sit opposite you, often looking down at his food, as if it was the most fascinating spectacle in the world. After a few awkward bites, he would excuse himself, muttering something about an early start the following day. You would watch him go, the door swinging shut like the final nail in the coffin of your conversation.

In the evenings, you found yourself gravitating toward the living room window, staring out at the street below, watching people pass by with their laughter and carefree chatter. Your heart ached as you thought of how easy it had once been for you and Nicholas to share such moments, laughing and dreaming about the future. Now, memories felt like daggers, cutting deeper with each recollection of his face lighting up while talking about a family.

You tried to reach out, to bridge the distance, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, words got stuck in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many unexpressed fears that loomed over you like dark clouds. You didn’t want to unpack them in front of Nicholas, especially after how he had looked at you in shock. Instead, you chose solitary evenings, curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book, pretending to be engrossed in stories that danced around you but never quite touched your heart.

Occasionally, you’d catch Nicholas’s eye, and in those brief moments, your heart would flutter with hope. Maybe he’d reach out, maybe he’d say something… But each time, he just looked away, as if he were afraid to delve into that abyss of unexpressed thoughts. It reminded you of the time a friend had brought an injured bird to your doorstep. You both stared at it, sympathizing with its struggle, but when it came to the actual act of helping, you froze. Both of you had chosen to leave it alone, believing it was better that way.

One evening, as golden twilight faded into cool dusk, things grew unbearable. The silence felt like a living entity, twisting around you both like vines, choking the air. You found yourself standing by the window, tracing patterns on the glass with your fingers, when Nicholas’s voice cut through the stillness, soft but laden with weight.

“Are you just going to keep shutting me out?” he asked, his tone edged with pain.

You turned slowly, locking eyes with him. There was a vulnerability there that made your heart ache. Memories surged, unbidden—moments of joy, laughter, and warmth—and it shattered something inside you. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words cowered, retreating back into the shadows of your mind.

Nicholas stepped closer, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans as if they were the only anchor he had left. “We can’t keep doing this,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t look at me the way you used to. I feel like I’m losing you.”

His admission cut deeply, the truth of his words reverberating within you. You wanted to scream that you were still there, still the person who loved him fiercely, but the fear of unveiling your struggles kept your tongue tied. Instead, you bit your lip, the taste of dread pooling in your stomach.

“I’m...fine,” you said, the lie tasting bitter on your lips as you looked away.

“Fine? You think this is fine? You closed yourself off after that night, and I am left here, feeling like some kind of stranger. I just want to understand,” he urged, his voice thickening with emotion.

His frustration hung thick in the air, and you felt an overwhelming urge to run, to hide away from the truth that loomed behind your eyes—the fear, the apprehension—a tangled web of hurt that you were still unraveling.

“Just leave me alone,” you finally managed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. It was a defense mechanism, your voice detached and flat, concealing the tempest inside.

Nicholas’s face fell, eyes wide with hurt. “Why are you pushing me away?” he asked, his voice cracking. “I can’t make sense of any of this! I thought we were in this together!”

His words stung, and you stood there, feeling the distance grow wider, casting long shadows in the light of the fading day. “You wouldn’t understand,” you whispered, the admission barely escaping your lips.

With that, he turned and walked away, the weight of his footsteps reverberating through the quiet of the house. You could hear the sound of the door shutting behind him, blunt and final, and you were left standing alone in that echoing silence, the guilt rising inside you like a relentless tide.

As the minutes turned to hours, you sat on the edge of the couch, your head spinning with confusion. You were filled with guilt for not sharing your fears, yet terrified of how he would react if you did. As darkness enveloped the room, so did the realization that the love you cherished felt like it was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

In the emptiness, you found yourself wavering in that fragile silence, torn between the love you had for Nicholas and the walls you had built to shield yourself from the storm raging within. As night deepened, and shadows crept along the walls, you sat encased in loneliness, wondering if the silence between you could ever be broken.

You had counted the hours, but when you were finally able to measure the silence in days, it felt like a weight pressing against your chest. The quiet hung in your apartment like an uncomfortable guest who had overstayed their welcome. The remnants of heated words still echoed in your mind, taunting you as you passed through rooms once filled with laughter and conversation. You thought about reaching out to Nicholas, but each time you opened your mouth to speak, words crumbled in your throat, frail and weak.

The living room, once a sanctuary of warmth, had become a battleground adorned with remnants of the life you shared—the cozy blanket on the couch, the coffee mug still resting on the side table from a time before the argument erupted. Now, even the soft tremble of the air felt altered—thick, stifling. Nicholas had barely spoken since that fateful night, his eyes betraying a hurt that cut deeper with each glance as he withdrew further into himself.

You were busy preparing dinner—an unremarkable pasta dish—when you heard the sound of keys jiggling in the lock. Nicholas entered the house, and the mere act of him crossing the threshold somehow intensified the suffocating silence. You turned your back to him, focusing on the bubbling pot as if it could distract you from the gravity of the moment.

“Hey,” Nicholas said softly, his voice barely rising above the sound of water boiling, but you felt the tremor in it as if the ground beneath you was shifting. You willed your heart to slow, taking a deep breath, bracing yourself for the waves of anxiety that threatened to pull you under.

“Hey,” you managed to murmur without turning around. There was a heaviness in the air between you, a chasm of unspoken words stretching wide. You sensed him lingering in the doorway, unsure of how to breach the wall that had crashed down between you.

After an interminable moment, he finally stepped forward. “I can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “I can’t stand this silence.” His words wrapped around you, both a lifeline and a knife. “You feel so far away. Why have you shut me out?”

His vulnerability struck you. The warmth of his breath brushed against your neck, and despite the tension, a part of you longed to lean into him, to bridge that unbearable distance. But fear held you back, chaining you in place. You turned to face him, and the sight of his pained expression tugged at something deep inside.

“I don't know where to start,” you finally confessed, your voice wavering. “It’s just...everything has changed so quickly.”

Nicholas stepped closer, his eyes glimmering with concern. “You’re not making sense. I don’t understand what’s going on in your head, but it hurts to feel like you don’t want to share that with me.”

His words cut deeper than any shattering argument. You felt exposed and raw, and yet, in his gaze, you saw the remnants of the love you once felt so confident about. “You want to build a life together, Nicholas,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, but the tremor was there no matter how hard you fought against it. “You want a family, and I...I don’t want that. Not now, not ever.”

“What do you mean?” he questioned, his voice deepening with disbelief. “You never told me this. I always thought—” The weight of his words hung heavy, full of memories and dreams you once shared. He paused, swallowing hard as he looked away, as if seeking some kind of answer in the shadows of the room.

“You always thought I’d be the mother of your children,” you echoed, the bitterness you felt welling at the back of your throat. “So did I. But things don’t always turn out the way we plan, do they?”

His expression twisted with a mixture of hurt and confusion. “Why do you feel the need to shut me out? This isn't just about you. This is about us. Don’t you see how much you’ve changed and how much I care?”

“I just can’t think about that now!” you exclaimed, feeling the bubbling turmoil spilling over. “Life is messy. It's scary, Nicholas! I’m terrified, and I don’t want to repeat the mistakes that were made with me. I don’t even want—”

“Then what do you want?” he pressed, his frustration mounting, but his eyes softened, a glimmer of fear sparking behind them. “Tell me what you want. Do you want to be with me? Can we talk about this?”

“I don’t...” You hesitated, the internal battle raging loudly in your mind. You wanted to collapse into his arms and cry until there was nothing left, but each time you attempted to find the words, your throat constricted, as if afraid of the truth spilling out. The thought of his disappointment crushed you further, and the rawness of your own feelings cut deeply.

With a defeated breath, he whispered, “You know how much I love you, right? You’re my everything. I just always thought… I thought we were on the same path.” He looked down, and you could see the shadows of his dreams fading behind the weight of your words.

Panic clawed at your chest. You’d never intended to destroy the future he envisioned, but here you were, standing among jagged edges and broken pieces of trust.

“I thought you’d be the one to help me build a family,” he murmured, barely audible, his voice thick with emotion. You saw the hurt in his expression, and somewhere in that pain, you felt the truth of your own: you were losing him.

With that realization clawing at your heart, he turned away, moving toward the door again, each step reverberating with a heavy finality. “I need some air,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t do this right now.”

In that moment, as you watched him walk away, the silence between you felt unbearable. You fell back against the cold counter, wrapped in a cocoon of guilt—but your mind spun in chaos, unable to clarify the thoughts clamoring for attention. You were afraid of losing him, yet still lost in your own shadows.

And between you and Nicholas, the door closed, sealing away all the words that now felt too heavy to utter.

The air in the room was heavy, thick with anticipation and unsaid words. You stood at the window, staring out at the dimming sky, the fragments of dusk spilling hues of orange and purple across the horizon. Each fleeting moment echoed your racing heartbeat, the silent battle raging within. Nicholas sat across the room, observing you with an intensity that made your heart clench. How had things escalated so quickly? One moment, you were weaving dreams of a future together, and the next, you'd shattered all that with a single sentence.

"Marriage is overrated and meaningless," you had said, and in return, you'd seen the light dim in Nicholas's eyes, the shock and hurt etched across his features like an unwelcome painting. Now, silence loomed around you, oppressive and thick, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

You turned away from the window, taking a step towards him, your feet heavy with uncertainty. Nicholas's expression remained guarded, a portrait of hurt and confusion, as if he were still trying to shield himself from the blow you'd dealt. But you couldn’t maintain the façade of indifference any longer. The truth clawed at your insides, begging for release.

"Nicholas," you began, your voice trembling. "I—"

He lifted his hand to silence you gently. “Please, just let me speak.”

So you fell silent again, heart racing as you waited for him to find the right words. He took a deep breath, and you could see the struggle behind his calm exterior.

“You shut me out, and I—” he hesitated, a shudder of emotion flitting across his face. “I thought you were my partner, but suddenly, I feel like I don’t even know you.”

You felt a swift pang of guilt. How could you expect him to understand? The words you wanted to speak slid around inside your mind like fish in a bucket, eluding you—but the truth was surfacing, rising, clawing its way out as you felt the weight of these hidden fears.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was quieter now, softened by the weight of his pain. “I thought we were on the same page. I pictured us having a family together, sharing our lives… You never mentioned this.”

“I was afraid,” you confessed, the small admission at the tip of your tongue suddenly relieving. “Afraid of what you’d think of me.”

“Of what? You can tell me anything. I’m here, I love you,” he said, his voice almost pleading, and in his eyes, you saw the glimmer of hope, the raw sincerity of someone who was struggling to piece this puzzle together.

“I don’t want to be a failure,” you said, the words tumbling from your lips before you could catch them. You could see Nicholas’s confusion deepen, but you pressed onward, feeling the dam within you begin to crack. “I grew up watching my mother, who was supposed to be my protector, but she was… twisted. Emotional scars… they don’t heal easily, and I’m terrified of becoming her.”

Nicholas remained silent, his eyes widening with concern. The deeper you delved, the closer you felt to that dark recess of your past—unprocessed memories of chaos and confusion. “You know I struggled with depression,” you admitted, your throat tightening, “and I’ve read how that increases the risk of postpartum depression. It’s terrifying.”

As his expression shifted from confusion to understanding, you felt an odd sense of relief. “I don’t want to bring kids into this world and hurt them the way she hurt me. What if I can’t control it? What if I can’t be what they need?”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you felt vulnerable, yet somehow lighter. Nicholas remained quiet, absorbing the weight of your fears, filtering through the chaos you shared.

“Please, say something.” You could hardly bear the silence. The truth of your feelings had surfaced, and now, you needed him to meet you there.

“That makes sense,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wish I’d known sooner. But I’m here, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I love you for you, and I want what makes you happy. We can face this together.”

His words reached out to you, digging around the rawness you felt and slowly stitching it back together. The flutter of panic that had threatened to consume you began to ease, though the scars remained, raw but acknowledged.

“I want you to know that you're not destined to repeat any cycle,” he said softly, closing the space between you, his hands reaching for yours. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this.”

Tears streamed quietly down your face as you felt an unexpected warmth envelop you. The release of your fears had opened a door, one you’d thought was locked forever. You took a shaky breath, touched by his understanding, and nodded in silent appreciation.

“You’ll be an amazing mother if that’s what you choose, and I know that,” he continued, voice steady, “but I want you to choose it for the right reasons—not because of fear dictating your decisions.”

His touch felt like home, and you leaned into him, finally free to be vulnerable, shedding the layers you had clutched onto for so long. You didn’t realize how much you craved this connection until it enveloped you.

“What a relief,” you murmured against his shoulder, and you felt him relax against you.

As the two of you stood there, bound by shared secrets and the promises of understanding, it became clear that while the future may still remain uncertain, you had taken the first brave step in facing it together. Yet, deep down, you knew the path was still long, unfurling ahead of you like the dimming light of the outside world.

But for now, you were not alone. The chapter was still unwritten, but a flicker of hope danced softly in the shadows.

You sit across from Nicholas, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of your confession still hovering in the air like a thick fog. Tears glimmer in your eyes, but the raw honesty you’ve just shared brings to life an entirely different kind of fear—fear of his reaction. The silence between you feels heavy, as if the world has paused, awaiting his response. You can barely breathe, the anticipation hanging like an unspoken promise.

Nicholas shifts in his seat, his expression unchanging for a moment that feels like an eternity. He looks deeply into your eyes, searching not just for what you’ve voiced, but for all the fears and insecurities that still linger unspoken. His brow furrows as his mind processes the layers of your confession, the vulnerability laid bare between you.

Finally, he exhales softly, the breath escaping him like a gentle wave retreating back into the ocean. “I…I had no idea,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry you felt you had to carry this alone.” His tone is tender, and you can sense the sincerity woven through his words.

You blink, trying to hold back more tears. The empathy in his voice warms your heart, yet guilt creeps in, gnawing at you for the burdens you've placed on him without sharing. You have kept this hidden for so long, convinced that being strong meant being silent. In his gaze, you see not just the hurt, but an earnest desire to understand.

“I wish you had told me sooner,” Nicholas continues, his expression softening as he brushes a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize. “But I understand why it was difficult for you.” There’s a longing in his voice, an ache for connection, and you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

“I was scared you would leave,” you admit, the words spilling out. “I thought if I could just pretend, maybe it wouldn't become a problem.” You feel exposed, both terrified and relieved as you unearth the truth. “I didn’t want to disappoint you… or lose you.”

Nicholas reaches across the table, his hand finding yours, warm and grounding. He squeezes gently, breaking through the walls of tension that once surrounded you both. “You could never disappoint me. I love you too much for that,” he assures you, his voice calm and steady, a lighthouse guiding you through the stormy sea. “This is a journey we can take together, however long it needs to be.”

His words ebb the tide of your fears, and you watch as a soft resolve spreads across his features. “You’re not alone, and you don’t have to go through this by yourself,” he continues, his grip tightening reassuringly. “We’ll figure this out, step by step, together.”

Your heart swells, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you, but doubt still lingers like a shadow at the back of your mind. “But what if I can’t overcome this?” you ask, your voice trembling as uncertainty floods in once more. “What if…I’m really not meant to be a mother?”

Nicholas’s gaze intensifies, a fierce protection enveloping his eyes. “That’s not true,” he says firmly. “You’re not your mother. You’re stronger than that, and I know you can break the cycle.” His voice is a balm, soothing the wounds you've carried for so long. “We can learn. We can seek help if you need it. You could even talk to a therapist with me… whatever you need.”

His willingness to tread into those uncharted waters with you ignites a spark of hope, yet your heart weighs heavy as a sense of fragility looms between you. “You really mean that?” you ask, your voice a whisper, almost fearfully fragile.

“Absolutely,” he nods, his tone reassuringly steady. “The love I have for you isn’t conditional on motherhood or marriage. It's about us, our connection, our partnership. And I’m not going anywhere.” He looks deep into your eyes, his resolve unwavering. “We’ll face whatever comes, together.”

The intensity of his promise warms your chest, pouring light into the dark corners of your fear. Nicholas’s breath mingles with yours as the distance that once felt insurmountable begins to fade with every reassuring word. You feel something shift in your heart, like the first thaw of spring after a long winter.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you lean in closer, until your foreheads almost touch. The warmth of his presence envelopes you, easing the tension that has knotted your heart for days. You take in the tangible sense of togetherness, feeling more at ease than you’ve felt in a long time.

But as you search his eyes, uncertainty lingers still—a flicker of concern reflecting back at you. “You know, even if we decide to have kids one day, it will take time for me to be ready—if I ever truly am. I don’t want you to wait for something that may never happen,” you confess, your heart aching with vulnerability.

Nicholas pauses for a moment, the weight of your words settling between you like a soft blanket. “I’d rather wait for you than rush into a decision that doesn’t feel right,” he responds, his voice filled with patience and understanding. The kindness in his eyes tells you that he truly means it, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you begin to believe that maybe you could share this journey of self-discovery together.

As the two of you sit in silence, the noise of the outside world fades into the background. In that stillness, you realize that the road ahead may not be easy, but holding onto each other through it offers a kind of comfort you’ve never truly experienced before. Nicholas’s presence feels like home, and with that thought, you draw a breath deep into your lungs.

The chapter ends with Nicholas pulling you into a comforting embrace. Lost in his warmth, the realization washes over you: although fear still lingers, it no longer feels insurmountable. Together, you can navigate the unknown, one step at a time.

The air felt different between you and Nicholas in the days following your heartfelt confession. The emotional storm that had raged in your hearts for what felt like an eternity was finally beginning to calm, but the residue of tension lingered like a faint, stubborn smell—too subtle to pinpoint, yet always there. You could almost see the invisible threads tethering you two together, slowly being rewoven, one earnest conversation at a time.

Nicholas had become a constant presence beside you, both a pillar of support and a gentle nudge urging you to confront your fears. The warmth of his hand on your shoulder, the soft, understanding glances he tossed your way when you faltered, made you feel safer. The distance had shrunk, but trust was a fragile thing, one that required careful nurturing.

It started on a Monday evening. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden hue through the small kitchen window and wrapping you both in a soft glow. You were in the midst of organizing the clutter on the counter—a resurrected pile of bills and unwritten grocery lists that had become a silent witness to your distraction over the past few weeks. Nicholas stood nearby, stirring a pot of simple pasta, the unmistakable aroma of simmering garlic wafting through the air.

“Hey,” he called softly, breaking the silence that had become comfortable in its own right. “What do you think about planning a little getaway this weekend? Just you and me. Somewhere quiet.”

You turned toward him, the rhythm of your thoughts disrupted. “A getaway? Like… a vacation?” The notion stirred a note of excitement within you that had long been dormant. The idea of distancing yourselves from the daily grind—of seeking solace together—sparked a flicker of hope.

Nicholas nodded, his expression earnest. “Someplace where we can talk, be open. I think we both need a little time to breathe, to focus on each other.”

Feeling a rare swell of emotion, you put down the bill you had been sorting through. “You really think it would help?” There was a hint of disbelief in your voice, as if you had almost forgotten the two of you could enjoy simple pleasures together amidst the chaos of your emotions.

“Absolutely. Just you and me. And maybe some nature, fresh air, and absolutely no distractions,” he replied, a knowing smile stretching on his face. “We can figure things out together. No pressure.”

You glanced at the pot of pasta simmering away; the steam rising was almost hypnotic. But between each soft putter of the boiling water, you felt the pull of uncertainty—a reminder of the fears that still loomed, like shadows in the background. “What if we focus so much on talking that we end up pushing each other away again?” The doubt slipped out before you could rein it in.

Nicholas sighed softly, placing the wooden spoon down on the counter. He turned to face you fully, allowing the playful banter to fade into the realm of sincerity that had become your new norm. “It’s part of healing, isn’t it? We can’t avoid the tough conversations forever.”

Looking into his eyes, which sparkled not just with love but also with a determination to work through this together, you could see how deeply this mattered to him. Your insecurities waged war inside you, and still, the thought of turning away from that possibility sent a wave of panic crashing through.

“Okay,” you agreed, your voice steadying with resolve. “Let’s do it. A weekend away sounds perfect.” A tentative smile grazed your lips, igniting a glimmer of excitement. Perhaps this was the step you both needed.

As the week rolled by, the anticipation of your weekend getaway began to thaw the lingering frost in your relationship. Each night, you and Nicholas shared small glimpses of normalcy—watching your favorite shows, cooking together, and sometimes, just sitting side by side in silence, the once-painful quiet now a source of comfort.

The more open your conversations became, the more you began to reflect on what had once driven a wedge between you. You realized how easy it had been to retreat into yourself, a learned reaction rooted in your past disappointments. With Nicholas, though, you found safety in honesty—a revelation that came like a dawn after a long, dark night.

On Friday evening, you guys piled into the car with a playful mix of excitement and nervous energy. The road stretched before you like an unwritten story, your destination a small cabin nestled in the woods, just far enough away from bustling city life for you to truly escape. As you drove, Nicholas took your hand, intertwining your fingers—a simple gesture that sent warmth coursing through you.

“Just you and me,” he repeated, glancing at you with a soft smile that spoke volumes. The trees gradually transformed from a blur to individual silhouettes with each passing mile—stories waiting to be told, mysteries to unravel.

When you finally arrived, the cabin stood sturdily against the backdrop of towering pines and a rapidly darkening sky. It felt like a hidden treasure, a safe harbor from the storms that had threatened to destroy everything you held dear. Stepping inside, the scent of cedar enveloped you, mingled with a crackling fire that flickered warmly in the stone fireplace.

As you settled into the space, the initial thrill of the getaway settled into a tender stillness. You sat on the couch, the warmth of the fire playing along the walls as Nicholas draped an arm around you. “Here’s to new beginnings,” he toasted, raising an imaginary glass. Laughter bubbled from your lips—an echo of familiarity, the joy somewhat striking in its discomfort after the recent storm.

The evening unfurled like a blanket, soft, reassuring. Comforted by the gentle sounds of the wilderness outside, you found the courage to engage in small talk that danced around deeper fears. “I’ve been thinking about therapy,” you admitted quietly as you both watched the flames flicker.

“Really? I think that’s a great idea,” Nicholas said, his voice encouraging as he leaned closer. “And I’d love to go with you. I want to be part of your journey in any way I can.”

His words resonated like a soothing lullaby, and for the first time in ages, you didn’t feel the walls closing in. The conversation turned to lighter topics—memories, holiday plans, and silly dreams. And amid the laughter, you realized that rebuilding trust didn’t just stem from big declarations—it thrived in the everyday moments, the tenderness shared in glances and gestures.

As the night deepened, ultimately it became clear: fear and love could coexist, but it was how you navigated the waters between them that defined your journey. Slowly, you began to understand that while you didn’t have all the answers, the effort to communicate was your most significant step forward.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting warm hues of orange and pink across the sprawling beach. Waves lapped softly at the shoreline, their rhythmic cadence soothing the remnants of tension that had once gripped your heart. You walked along the sands, hand in hand with Nicholas, each step feeling lighter than the last. It was a picturesque scene—one that felt vibrant and alive—much like the renewed connection you both shared.

“How perfect is this?” Nicholas broke the silence, glancing at you with a smile that lit up his face. His eyes sparkled with the same warmth as the setting sun, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“It is,” you replied, letting the gentle breeze ruffle your hair. It was moments like this that reminded you how far you’d come. The ocean stretched endlessly before you, mirroring the vast possibilities of the future laid out ahead.

Nicholas paused, pulling you closer as you walked. His presence felt reassuring, grounding. You had spent countless sleepless nights processing your fears, the weight of your mother’s shadow looming large. Yet here you were, finally facing those insecurities, hand in hand with someone who promised to navigate the unknown by your side.

“Can you believe how much has changed since our fight?” Nicholas asked, his tone hinting at disbelief, yet filled with hope.

You could hardly believe it yourself. The storm that had once threatened to capsize your relationship now felt like a distant memory—something you had survived together, anchored in honesty and understanding.

“What we talked about… it’s not gone, but it doesn’t feel as terrifying anymore,” you confessed. “I think facing it head-on made it easier to breathe.”

Nicholas nodded thoughtfully, his fingers tightening around yours. “I’m just glad we’re both willing to talk about it. Can you imagine how different things would be if we didn’t have that conversation?”

You shuddered at the thought. The idea of burying your fears, of risking silence over honesty, felt suffocating. “I know I was scared to share my feelings before,” you began, looking up at him. “But your reaction…it changed everything for me.”

His eyes softened at your words. “I’m always here for you. It’s just a matter of finding the right way to open up. I wanted to be supportive but didn’t know how. I never want you to feel like your fears make you less deserving of love.”

There was a richness to his voice that filled you with warmth. Nicholas had done more than express his love—he had actively opened the door to healing. Knowing that he was here to buoy you through those moments of despair allowed you to cultivate hope.

With the sun now sinking lower, the sky was ablaze with color—blues and violets mixing with the fading gold of the day. You settled down on a nearby blanket laid out earlier, creating a cozy spot to watch the world’s beauty unfold. Nicholas joined you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, his presence an anchor in a world that often felt chaotic.

“What if we made it a tradition?” he suggested, gazing out at the water, which glistened in the dimming light like thousands of diamonds scattered across the surface. “Coming here, whenever we need a reset. Just you and me.”

You smiled at the thought, imagining countless sunsets shared together, a space ever filled with laughter and honesty. “I love that idea. It’s like a reminder that we can always come back to each other.”

Nicholas turned to face you, his expression earnest. “And we’ll continue to talk, to share. About everything. There’s no shame in discussing our fears. Sometimes they’ll deepen but others, like with kids… it’s no longer just a ‘what-if’ if we approach it together. It’s just a matter of time.”

The thought made your heart race, fluttering with both excitement and lingering fear. “I want that, but it terrifies me still.”

It’s okay to feel that way,” he assured you, his gaze steady. “What’s important is that we’re growing together. We won’t rush anything—but we both know facing that chapter when we’re ready, together, is what counts.”

That sense of mutual understanding allowed a certain relief to wash over you. Navigating the future felt less like a solitary journey through treacherous waters and more like a gentle drift under the stars, together in a small boat.

“I never thought I would feel this way,” you admitted softly. “About children, about us. That I could come to terms with my past while looking forward to what’s ahead, no matter what it looks like.”

Nicholas smiled, his warmth radiating through you as his thumb gently stroked your arm. “You’re not destined to repeat your mother’s mistakes. You’re stronger than you realize. Whatever route we take, I promise to be alongside you. You’ll never be alone in this.”

The final flush of sunlight dipped below the horizon, the twilight wrapping you both in a cocoon of soft shadows. You leaned your head against Nicholas’s shoulder, comforted by his promise and knowing that trust had been rebuilt through vulnerability.

“Let’s make plans,” you said suddenly, a surge of bravery rising within you. “Not just about kids but about us. Let’s talk about where we see our lives heading—the little things we can do to nurture our love.”

Nicholas’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “Absolutely. Maybe we can start with that cooking class you mentioned or exploring some new trails for hiking?”

“Or finding a place together!” you proposed, a giddy anticipation bubbling inside.

The possibilities felt endless, a blank canvas primed for new experiences. In that moment, everything shifted—the uncertainty you once feared began to fade, replacing it with eagerness and hope.

As you both made tentative plans for the future, a sense of exhilaration enveloped you. You grasped his hand tighter, feeling the warmth of connection both profound and palpable.

You realized, perhaps for the first time, that the future was not just a timeline filled with uncertainties; it was a landscape you would cultivate together, day by day, moment by moment.

Nicholas pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as the last traces of daylight disappeared. Together, you stared out into the darkening sea, where the stars began to twinkle overhead. No longer on the precipice of fear, you knew deep within that you would face whatever came—together, always.

In that tranquil embrace, you felt a swell of gratitude wash over you. For love. For trust. For new beginnings. As the waves rolled in softly beneath the starlit sky, you held onto hope tightly and realized:

Your journey was only just beginning.

[solsticehymns]

even my phone misses your call: green light part 2

We haven't spoke since you went away / Comfortable silence is so overrated / Why won't you ever say what you want to say? / Even my phone misses your call, by the way

summary: part two to Green Light. james calls you late at night. neither of you says what you really want to—until you finally do.

wc: 711

The apartment is quiet. Not peaceful—just lonely. A half-drunk cup of tea sits on the table, gone cold. The hum of the fridge blends with the buzz of the streetlamp outside, blinking in slow pulses through the sheer curtains.

You should be asleep. But instead, you’re curled on the couch, blanket pulled tight, fingers curled around your phone like it might answer questions you haven’t dared to ask.

And then— Bzz.

His name lights up the screen, illuminating the room in that familiar glow that makes your chest ache.

You freeze, staring.

You shouldn’t answer. You know you shouldn’t. There are a hundred reasons not to.

But your thumb moves before your brain can catch up, like your body already made the decision for you.

You press the phone to your ear.

"…hello?"

There’s a pause. Static. Breathing. Somewhere, muffled, music thuds through the line—bass-heavy, disjointed. You can hear the low swell of voices, laughter rising and falling like waves against the shore.

Then:

“You answered,” James says, like it physically knocks the wind out of him. He sounds surprised. Relieved. Slightly slurred.

You don’t reply. You’re afraid your voice might crack. Afraid that if you speak, your walls might splinter.

Your heart is already pounding. Your fingers tremble beneath the blanket.

“I didn’t think you would,” he continues, soft and dazed. “Merlin, I—I don’t even know why I called. Or, no, I do. I do, I just… fuck, I’m drunk. Sorry. I just needed to hear your voice. Just for a second.”

You press your hand to your chest like it might still the ache there. You had needed to hear his voice, too.

Another beat of silence.

“This girl came up to me tonight,” he says, rushing now, like the words might vanish if he doesn’t say them fast enough. “She had your hair. I thought, maybe your smile, too. And for a second, I—fuck, I thought I could pretend. Like if I squinted hard enough, I wouldn’t feel like I was choking on missing you.”

He laughs, sharp and humorless. “She said something—I don’t even remember what—and I realized it wasn’t your voice. Wasn’t your laugh. Her eyes were wrong. Too green. Or maybe too empty. I don’t know.”

A beat. Then, quieter:

“No. She didn’t look like you at all. Not really. No one does.”

Your throat tightens. You stare at the ceiling, blinking hard.

You want to tell him to stop, and to keep going. To come home, and to stay away.

Instead, you let the silence stretch. You hold your breath and then let it out slowly, quietly, so he doesn’t hear how close you are to breaking.

“I just want you back,” he says, almost a whisper now.

You close your eyes. You’ve imagined him saying this a thousand times. None of them ever sounded like this.

“Can we do that? Can we go back? Before all the fights, before the silence, before I ruined it? I’d do it all differently. I swear. Just… tell me how. Tell me what to say, I’ll say it. I’ll do anything.”

You still haven’t spoken.

He goes quiet. The line buzzes gently. In the background, the music swells—a song you almost recognize, something you used to hum under your breath while washing dishes. It fades beneath more voices, crowding and inconsequential, like laughter in a dream you used to know by heart.

You close your eyes. Breathe in deep. Your room smells like lavender and old tea and something else—grief, maybe. Regret.

You think of all the things you could say. All the versions of this conversation you've played out in your head. You sift through them carefully, like glass in your hands, trying to choose the words that won't cut too deep.

Finally, your voice comes, quiet but steady:

“There was a bloke, approached me at the market yesterday.”

James makes a sound—surprised you’re speaking, maybe—but you press on.

“He was nice. Polite. Asked about the peaches in my cart.”

A breath. A pause.

“He had blue eyes. Bright blue.”

Another silence, heavier this time. You know he’s listening.

"They were... cold. Yours never were.”

You pause, your breath trembling just enough to make you bite it back.

“I miss that,” you admit. “I miss you.”

☀️🌻 masterlist

[coolgrl111]

love is overrated

patrick x reader

The two of you lay sprawled across the couch, the faint glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm light over the room. Your head rests comfortably on Patrick’s firm stomach, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a familiar rhythm beneath you. His hand absentmindedly strokes your hair as you both settle into a shared silence.

“Did you see Art and Tashi today?” you ask, a soft laugh escaping your lips, breaking the quiet. “Jesus Christ.”

Patrick chuckles in response, his body rumbling beneath you, the sound low and comforting. You can’t help but smile at the shared amusement.

“They're so gross!” you continue, shaking your head slightly. “Like, I’m happy for them, don’t get me wrong, but they make me sick.”

Patrick’s hand pauses for a moment, then resumes its gentle caress. His agreement is unspoken, but the easy way he laughs along with you is enough. There's a peacefulness to this moment, a sense that neither of you needs to fill the space with too many words.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a beat before gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes, your head still nestled against him. “Can you even imagine acting like that?” you ask softly, the question lingering between you. “I don’t think any man could make me act like that.”

He shifts slightly beneath you, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns in your hair, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, thoughtful second. There’s something unspoken in the air—something neither of you are quite ready to confront, but it hovers just on the edge of awareness, waiting for the right moment to be acknowledged.

Patrick doesn’t say anything immediately, but his hand on your head speaks volumes. His presence is steady, reassuring, but there’s a tension in the quiet that suggests the conversation isn't quite over, that there's more than just laughter and casual musings lying beneath your words.

————

The living room felt like a memory, warm and worn, the light dimmed by the fading evening. The once playful chatter between you and Patrick had settled into something quieter, deeper—an unspoken connection neither of you wanted to define. It had been months since that afternoon spent laughing about Art and Tashi, months of you and Patrick spending more time together, slipping effortlessly into each other’s lives.

But tonight, something felt different.

You were sitting on the floor now, leaning back against the couch, Patrick’s legs stretched out on either side of you as he sat behind, his presence as familiar as the space you shared. The TV played softly in the background, though neither of you were paying attention. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of a moment neither of you had spoken about pressing in around you both.

“So,” Patrick began, his voice softer than usual, a little rougher at the edges. “Are we going to pretend we’re still just friends, or are we finally going to talk about it?”

Your heart skipped, even though you’d half-expected the question to come sooner or later. You stared ahead, not quite ready to turn around and meet his gaze. The sound of the TV buzzed like static in the background, a distant hum that made the silence between you feel louder.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. You could feel his presence leaning in closer, the familiar warmth of him now carrying a kind of urgency that wasn’t there before.

Patrick sighed lightly, his breath brushing the back of your neck. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted. His hands, usually so casual and unbothered when they touched you, now rested deliberately on your shoulders, gentle but sure. “About us.”

Your chest tightened at the words. They hung in the air between you like a tether, something binding you to a truth you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to confront. For months, you’d let the playful banter and late-night conversations keep you afloat, but now… now everything was different.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glance back at him. His face was earnest, his green eyes steady, searching yours for an answer. And in that moment, the laughter and easy companionship you had always shared felt distant—replaced by something far more complicated.

“Do you remember what I said that day? About Art and Tashi?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Patrick’s brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “That you could never imagine acting like that with someone.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quiet. “I lied.”

His breath hitched, just for a second, and you could feel the weight of those unspoken moments between you. The way his hand would linger on your arm a little too long, or the way you’d find yourself watching him, waiting for him to notice you in a way that wasn’t just friendly.

Patrick let out a shaky laugh, the sound more surprised than amused. “I figured,” he said, his hands still on your shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly, almost as if he were anchoring himself. “I don’t think I could ever act like that with anyone either. Except you.”

You turned around fully this time, kneeling between his legs, your faces inches apart. The air between you felt electric, like the entire room was holding its breath.

You didn’t need to say anything more. There was no need to analyze every moment that had brought you to this point, or to go back to all the times you’d both skirted around the inevitable. You knew it. He knew it. And now, there was no going back.

Patrick’s hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch light but deliberate. For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable but undeniably tender.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered, almost as if speaking the thought aloud made it real.

“You won’t,” you said, surprising yourself with the certainty in your voice. And then, before either of you could second-guess, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen for a long time.

It wasn’t rushed or intense, but slow, almost cautious—like you were both testing the waters of something you’d both been afraid to ruin. But as soon as it happened, everything else fell away. The laughter, the teasing, even the conversations about Art and Tashi seemed distant now, irrelevant.

When you pulled away, Patrick rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “So… what now?”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers still lightly touching the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words honest but not uncertain. “But I think we’ll figure it out.”

Patrick grinned, his eyes fluttering open, looking at you with the same affection and ease that had always been there—only now, there was something more behind it.

“We always do,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence, as though everything that had happened between you up until this point had been leading to this.

And for the first time in a long while, you believed him.

[lilbittymonster]

Year of the OT3 - April

Read on AO3

Rating: G

Relationship: WoL/Estinien

3.5k, spoilers for; Stormblood MSQ, Stormblood DRG questline, Stormblood normal raids, Endwalker MSQ

~

Now that she's back in the atmosphere

With drops of Jupiter in her hair

She acts like summer and walks like rain

Reminds me that there's time to change

~

Estinien hadn’t realised just how used to her presence he had gotten during their stay in the Holy See. Nor did he anticipate just how much her absence would affect him. All it took was a single conversation in her presence for the loneliness he hadn’t known he was carrying to come crashing down on him. It had been so easy to fall into step alongside her in battle once again. And now, trailing behind her through Reunion, seeing how she was greeted by smiles and waves, children running up to her as she knelt to speak with them at level, seeing how open and relaxed she was in a crowd compared to being shuttered and stoic in Ishgard…

It was like she was an entirely new person.

“They look at you as though you’re royalty,” he commented as the young girl ran back to her mother.

“I am.”

He blinked. “Beg you pardon?”

“For now, at least,” she added quickly, which clarified nothing.

“And how are you temporarily royalty, Kitali?” he asked in bewilderment.

She sighed, and he got the distinct impression there was much she was not going to tell him.

“Through a long series of choices that were made,” she said wearily, “I won the yearly competition that decides which tribe shall lead the Azim Steppe.”

“And so now you’re leader of...the entirety of the plain?” he asked with a sweeping gesture past the walls of Reunion.

“Leader? No. Figurehead at most. I’m using this time as an excuse to learn more about the families my parents left behind.” She paused. “It’s been nice,” she added softly.

They continued to meander through the markets, Estinien following her lead. Rich spices reached his nose and he began looking for their source.

“And will you stay here?” he asked cautiously.

“Fuck no,” she snorted. “I’m not cut out for politics.”

He chuckled at that. She pulled him towards an open stall with a woman behind it selling small round dumplings of some sort. Kitali greeted her in the same language he’d been hearing all around them, and the woman responded brightly in kind. He shuffled on his feet uncertainly as they talked, and eventually the woman packaged some dumplings in wicker baskets, handing them over. She adamantly refused to take Kitali’s coin with a stubborn smile on her face. Going by Kitali’s tone and the faint forced understanding from her Echo, this was a routine with them. Picking up the stacked baskets, Kitali motioned with her head for him to follow.

“C’mon, I know a good vantage point.”

~

But tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded And that heaven is overrated?

~

“So what happened after you left?” Kitali asked after a comfortable silence. “Besides getting new armour.”

A knot of guilt settled in his stomach at the question. He averted his eyes, speaking instead to his hands.

“I went back to Ferndale,” he said quietly. “Told everyone I had finally brought them justice. Visited several more graves along the way. After that I wandered the countryside. It felt...good, to see it as it simply was, and not as another potential battlefield.” He paused. “Eventually I went back to Azys Lla.”

“I saw,” she said.

He turned to look over at her, and found none of the expected anger in her eyes.

“Did your Echo tell you that?”

“Well, yes, but the graves would have even if it didn’t. I can’t think of anyone else who would’ve gone to the trouble.”

He didn’t know whether it was a depressing thought or not.

“After that was when I went to find Ratatoskr’s final resting place,” he continued. “And that’s where Hraesvelgr found me, and that’s where this came from,” he said, tapping his breastplate. “Blessed by Ratatoskr herself, so he told me. I’m still not entirely sure I deserve it, given…”

He let the unspoken fall between them. Kitali made a noise of understanding.

“Even so, who am I to argue with an elder wyrm?” he joked. “Seeing as my old armour is no longer fit for use. And I’ve been wandering ever since, going wherever the winds take me.”

“Decided to take my advice, did you?” she asked smugly.

He sighed, though he couldn’t completely hide a smile. “Yes, I did. You could at least pretend not to be so pleased with yourself.”

Her smile just widened.

“And?”

“And you were right,” he said easily. “There was much I did not know of the world. And there still is more to learn.”

She hummed in agreement, looking out over the town. He followed her gaze out over the grasslands, farther off to the looming stone structure rising up out of a lake in the distance. The sun was sinking behind the mountains and taking the last of its golden rays with it, leaving the night to chase it with blues and purples. As the stars began to make their appearance he sat back on a hand. A full stomach, a fuller purse having succeeded in taking care of the dragon problem, good company at his side…

He couldn’t remember when last he had felt so light.

“It suits you,” she said, her expression softening into something more genuine. “Wandering. You look happier.”

“Same could be said for you, this...temporary royalty,” he returned. “You were never this open and relaxed in Ishgard.”

A shadow flickered across her face, and he worried that he’d poked at a sore spot.

“No, not until much later,” she said evasively. “Not until the Reconstruction was finished.”

“What reconstruction?”

“Of all the damaged parts of Ishgard, particularly the residential areas. You’d hardly recognise it now. New houses, open markets, public bath houses, open to everyone regardless of birth.”

“So Aymeric has achieved his dream, then,” he said softly. Would that he had stayed to witness it.

“Most of it, yeah. You should see it sometime. When you next find yourself in Coerthas.”

“Perhaps I will.”

~

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star– One without a permanent scar? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

~

The tea house was bustling with people as Estinien sat at one of the tables, Orn Khai sprawling on the wood next to the half finished tray of sashimi. Patrons would motion to the snoozing dragonet with hushed excitement as they walked past. Some would even wish Estinien good fortune, which he accepted with a tilt of his cup. The evening was passing in relative ease when he heard the sounds of heavily accented Eorzean common from downstairs, made all the more conspicuous when paired with more familiar Coerthan and Gridanian accents.

The source of the noise travelled up the stairs as a ragtag group of hyur and elezen made their way to a larger table nearby. They wore no colours of allegiance but from the anecdotes he could pick up, he surmised they were soldiers. Passively he let the noise of their conversation filter into the rest of the background as he picked up another roll of salmon and rice delicately with the tips of his fingers.

Orn Khai stirred at the noise of the group as they got into their cups, stretching out along the table. Estinien batted at his wing as it veered dangerously close to his own bottle of sake.

“They sound like the men of Ishgard,” Orn Khai commented. “Should we greet them?”

“No. They’re likely just tourists, and have given me no reason to interrupt their meal.”

“Hmph. Not a very welcoming attitude. How are we to earn our keep with the hostelry if you can’t be bothered to greet patrons?”

“If you feel so inclined, far be it from me to stop you,” Estinien said with a wave of his cup.

“Perhaps I shall.” And with a flap of his wings, the dragonet sailed easily across the tower to alight on the table, to the surprised shouts of the travellers.

Estinien hid his snort of amusement at the singular “Fury take me” that rose from the group in a sip of sake, sighing in contentment at his brief solitude. Orn Khai’s cheerful voice could be heard amongst the laughs of the men, though they were too far for him to hear their exact words. On one of his glances to mind the dragonet, one of the elezen caught his eye and raised his glass in a toast. Estinien raised his in return with a polite smile, taking another mouthful of the rice wine. Not long after, Orn Khai returned on a soft whoosh of air, landing delicately on the table.

“Well?” Estinien asked.

“You were right about them being tourists,” he said. “They made friends with some of the Domans on the fields of battle, and were invited to see Kugane.”

Estinien grunted around another bite of fish.

“They were wondering if they’d run into the Lord Commander with his wife here, now that the fighting is over. So I said to them that if they did, they should come and pay a visit here!”

Estinien paused with his cup halfway to his lips at the word “wife”. A knot of...something was churning in his stomach. It wasn’t anger, no, he’d never begrudge Aymeric for finally finding happiness. But…

He took another, larger, sip of sake to try and wash whatever this feeling was down.

“And one of them said that no, they’d go to Doma first,” Orn Khai chattered on, oblivious, “since that’s where she grew up. And I said I knew someone who grew up in Doma as well. Turns out we were both talking about Kitali!”

The implications caught up to him in a rush. He set down the ceramic cup deliberately so as not to crack it.

Kitali hadn’t mentioned anything about her and Aymeric courting...had she? Estinien wracked his memories of that conversation above the yurts of Reunion for any hint from her, but could think of none. Perhaps she felt it prudent not to tell him, for reasons unknown to him. The churning feeling in his gut did not lessen.

“You look ill,” Orn Khai said in concern. “Is there aught wrong with the food?”

Estinien shook his head. He was still reeling, the memory of Aymeric taking her from his arms on the fields of Ghimlyt surfacing in a new light.

“Nay. I’m simply surprised to learn of the life of my oldest friend from tavern gossip half a star away, is all.”

What is this feeling?

“Oh. I’m sure she meant to tell you at some point, since you’re friends with the Lord Commander.”

“Aye, I am.”

Ah. There it is.

“Do you think they’re a good match?”

Homesickness.

“I can think of no one better.”

~

Now that she's back from that soul vacation Tracing her way through the constellation

She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo Reminds me that there's room to grow

~

He was paying for his meal when a child ran by, heedless of the crowd around him, towards the southeast exit of the keep. A flash of concern crossed his mind, swiftly replaced with the knowledge that the guards are more than capable of keeping the inhabitants safe on their own. As he meandered his way back to the Seventh Heaven he noticed that a small but steady trickle of people were all headed the same way. He turned to follow, idly eating his sandwich, and the crowd’s destination soon became apparent.

A group of people were all ringed around a bit of ground down by the lake cheering. Not wanting to shove his way forward, he simply leapt to the top of the nearest hunk of scrapped airship and perched. Below, on the widest stretch of gentle slope, were Kitali and Thancred locked in combat. The crowd extended to wrap all the way around them to make an impromptu arena. Even from his perch he could hear the ringing of metal on metal as their blades met over and over in a dance.

After several near misses and fancy footwork, Thancred managed to catch her by the arm and knock a blade from her hand, seizing the opening and stopping just short of her throat. A loud cheer went up from the crowd, and Estinien saw more than a few bags of coin being exchanged between onlookers. Thancred handed back her dagger, and they repositioned themselves for another round. With a move so quick he missed it, Kitali lunged for Thancred and the dance began anew.

After five more rounds, Kitali knocked Thancred flat on his back. Dramatically, he lifted his hands into the air, dropping both his blades with a clatter to the ground, sitting back up on his hands. She walked over to him and held out her arm to help him to his feet, and that seemed to be the conclusion of their sparring. Thancred’s head tilted up towards him, and Kitali’s gaze followed, her tail flicking in greeting. Thancred released her arm and said something Estinien couldn’t hear before blending in with the dispersing crowd. Kitali pivoted and alighted on the hunk of scrap next to him, her touch barely making the metal quiver.

“Enjoy the show?” she asked.

“Aye, I did. I had no idea you and Thancred had trained together.”

“Eh. Different disciplines, similar styles, with some overlap in teachers. We like keeping each other sharp.”

“Hm. I’m surprised you didn’t use that vanishing trick on him.”

“Well, that would hardly be fair.”

Estinien looked at her sidelong. “Oh, but using it on me is?”

She just shrugged.

“You’re far less fragile than he is. I don’t ever have to worry about actually hurting you.”

He didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. He gave a noncommittal grunt and turned his attention out over the shoreline. The lake’s waters were placid in the midday sun, reflecting almost as blue as the crystals protruding from the surrounding stone. The wreckage of the Agrius cut a stark shape against the horizon with the bones of Midgardsormr still locked in eternal struggle wrapped around the husk. Once he might’ve taken pleasure in seeing such a wyrm laid low, but now all the sight inspired in him was a small and quiet grief.

Kitali leaned against his arm as he had the thought, and he shifted his leg to bump her knee gently with his.

“He’s been quiet lately,” she said.

“Hm?”

“Midgardsormr. He’s been quiet lately,” she repeated.

“What do you mean?”

She lifted her head and tilted it at him in confusion before a look of realisation crossed her face.

“You weren’t there for any of it, were you,” she said, mostly to herself. She shook her head. “Well, to make a very long story short, he saved my life several months ago and is sleeping off the effort.”

His head spun at the various implications of that single sentence. Fury’s frozen tits, how much of her did he still not know? Rather than press the issue now, he resolved to ask her later on. Or perhaps Alphinaud.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he said instead, “seeing as he’s already survived worse.”

That got a small laugh out of her.

“Yeah, I suppose so.” She shifted in place. “I should go change into something more comfortable. I’ll see you around?”

“Aye, I’ll still be here.”

She flashed him a smile before taking into the air back towards the keep. He turned his focus back to the dragon in the lake, the sudden absence of warmth at his side sending a twinge through his chest.

~ But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day And head back to the Milky Way?

~

The dawn was barely breaking over the horizon as Estinien walked down the steps of the harbour. A cup of steaming Hannish coffee from the Last Stand warmed his fingers. Though it was no substitute for the real thing, properly brewed over hot sands, with the limited faculties here in Sharlayan it was still delicious. He sat, idly watching the few dock hands still milling about in the pale morning light.

The water rippled slightly, the movement catching his eye, before a familiar head of pale pink hair emerged from the water like some sort of sea creature, dark scaled horns soon following. Kitali continued up the stairs, dripping seawater, as though she were coming up from a morning stroll. She wrung out her hair as she emerged up onto the steps. As she tilted her head, he caught her eye, and with a flick of her tail she changed course to veer towards him.

“You’re up early,” she said casually.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged. “Spending the nights in the harbour now, are you?”

She sat next down to him. The smell of salt water wafted off her skin, and the scent of it mingled with the taste of the coffee on his tongue.

“It’s quiet down there.”

“Mm. Suppose we should enjoy the quiet while we can.”

She heaved a weary sigh. “We should.”

“How many times have you solved one conflict or another now?”

She groaned and wiped a hand down her face.

“Too fucking many,” she grumbled. “Once this Final Days shit is taken care of, that’s it for me. The Scions and the Alliance can find someone else to fix all their problems.”

He chuckled at her fervor.

“And what then, for the Warrior of Light?”

“I retire. Go home to my husband. Travel the star again.” She looked wistfully out at the open ocean. “There’s still so much left to see, I can’t possibly be bored of it yet.”

He hummed in agreement.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Will you stay with the Scions when all this is over?”

He rolled the cup between his hands in thought.

“I honestly have no clue. They don’t seem to want for muscle, and I certainly am not one to offer them any scholarly insights. Pay’s not bad, though.”

“You could come with me,” Kitali offered.

He looked over at her, and she met his gaze with a quiet plea. A flicker of something warm bloomed in his chest at the thought of them, free as the wind, crossing the star together again.

“Where would we go?”

She shrugged. “Anywhere. Pick a direction, see what happens. I won’t make you go back to the Holy See if you don’t want to,” she added.

He huffed a laugh. “I appreciate it.”

“Not like we have to worry about it anytime soon.” Her unspoken if we even survive was understood.

“No, we won’t. But who knows what the future will hold.”

~

And tell me, did Venus blow your mind? Was it everything you wanted to find? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

~

He woke slowly to the sound of birds outside the window. Eyes still closed, he burrowed his face into the crook of Kitali’s shoulder. He tried to commit to memory the feel of her all along where they were still pressed close, his arms wrapped securely around her, his leg encased in her tail. Her breathing was shallow and even against him as he pressed gentle kisses along her shoulder blade.

He didn’t know how long they lay entwined until Kitali inhaled deeply, shifting slightly in his arms. Her tail constricted slightly and he gave another kiss to her shoulder.

“You awake?” he whispered against her skin.

She let out a soft mumble, twisting to lay on her back, before exhaling and drifting off once more. He lightly traced the patterns of her scales where the morning sun splashed across them. In dreams, her expression was relaxed of her customary scowl, her eyelashes catching the faint rays of light as they lay delicately across her cheeks. She was mesmerising in the simplicity. By all the gods that remained, he was so incredibly blessed to witness her like this.

“You are thinking so loudly,” Kitali murmured, tugging gently at a lock of his hair.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb your slumber by uttering them out loud.”

“Well, they woke me anyways.”

He kissed her temple in apology, pulling himself closer to wrap around her.

“Not the worst way to be woken,” she continued sleepily, “hearing you sing my praises.”

Another kiss. “Waking up next to you like this is proof that miracles exist.”

“A bit lofty this early in the day to be talking about miracles, isn’t it?”

“I humbly disagree.”

She giggled and shifted closer.

“D’you have to be anywhere today?”

He raised his head slightly to look out the window. The angle of the sun was still shallow enough to remain in bed for a while longer.

“Not for another bell or so. For now, I’m all yours.”

Kitali rolled to face him fully and pulled him down into a kiss.

[dioslesbianwife]

🐐 here! Can we get a (trans masc) teenage vampire!reader that became mute due to an accident (a visible scar on their neck) with joefoes? I think Kira would appreciate their quiet personality

hii 🐐, absolutely! i hope you enjoy- here are the headcannons :p

Dio

Dio finds your resilience impressive. "To endure hardship and rise stronger is the mark of greatness, child."

He respects your quiet demeanor, interpreting it as stoic confidence rather than weakness.

If you're comfortable, he enjoys it if you teach him hand gestures or communicate with him through writing.

Vampire solidarity: he offers to help train you in honing your powers. "Speech is overrated when raw strength speaks louder."

Kars

Initially intrigued by the scar, seeing it as a mark of survival.

"To thrive despite such a loss... remarkable."

Kars admires resourcefulness and efficiency, so he appreciates the way you find non-verbal ways to communicate.

Very quick at learning sign language or whatever mode of communication you use most.

Esidisi

Very protective and gentle with you. "You’ve been through a great deal, haven't you?"

He talks enough for both of you, so your quiet nature balances his personality.

If anyone stares at your scar or treats you differently, Esidisi will make a scene to shut them down.

Encourages your vampire abilities, saying you have potential despite your challenges.

Wamuu

Deeply respects your survival despite the accident. "A true warrior endures and finds strength in adversity."

Wamuu never treats your muteness as a hindrance. He's surprisingly good at understanding your body language without you needing to do anything extra.

He admires your conviction and determination, offering to train you physically if you wish to develop more vampire skills.

Kira

Absolutely appreciates your quiet demeanor. "Ah, how peaceful it is to have company without the incessant need for chatter."

He's genuinely curious about your introspective side since you don’t waste words needlessly.

Kira finds your visible neck scar strangely interesting, though he keeps his fascination to himself.

If anyone makes you uncomfortable, Kira will easily ensure they don’t bother you again.

Diavolo

Fascinated by your survival story and respects your silence.

"It speaks to your resolve."

Diavolo views your muteness as symbolic of control- that even without a voice you can get things done.

He appreciates that you never pry into his secrets, seeing you as trustworthy.

Doppio

At first flustered, unsure how to communicate effectively. "Ah, do I just... talk, or...?"

Nervous but tries his best, often over explaining himself until he realizes you're fine with it.

Once he gets comfortable, he becomes surprisingly adept at reading your expressions and gestures.

Doppio appreciates your calming presence, finding it soothing when he’s stressed.

Enrico Pucci

Takes your muteness as a test of God’s will, believing you are stronger for enduring it.

"God sees your strength, even if your voice has been taken."

Pucci respects your perseverance and communicates with you patiently.

He encourages you to focus on your vampiric gifts, claiming they’re a divine compensation for what you've lost.

Funny Valentine

Respects your resilience and quiet nature. "Yours is a noble strength, forged through suffering."

He takes your condition seriously and ensures you're never excluded from conversations.

Valentine speaks in a measured tone, always giving you space to respond however you choose.

Diego Brando

Initially curious about the scar but doesn’t press you for details.

"Tough kid, aren’t you?"

Diego respects strength and survival instincts, so he admires your ability to adapt.

He makes an effort to learn how you prefer to communicate, finding it surprisingly easy once he gets the hang of it.

Tooru

Teasing at first: "Cat got your tongue?"

When he learns about your accident, he dials down the jokes and genuinely respects you for surviving such trauma.

He finds your vampire abilities fascinating and often remarks that your silence adds a mysterious charm.

"People probably think you're the coolest person in the room without saying a word."

[includedisco]

FadelStyle Short One-shot 2

Title: Knocked up (By Reality)

Characters: Fadel, Style

Pairing: Fadel/Style

Fandom: The Heart Killers

Tags: Fluff, Post canon, Established relationship, POV alternating, Domestic fluff, The fic is literally Style trying to convince Fadel to get him pregnant, Domestic boyfriends, pregnancy discussion, Sex talk, Implied/referenced sex, Flirting

warnings: none

Word Count: 778

Summary: Style just wants to get pregnant, okay? If only Fadel would cooperate

or

Style just wants Fadel to understand that if they try hard enough, one of them can get pregnant

“I mean if we tried hard enough-”

“Stop it!” Fadel cuts off the rest of whatever Style wants to say. 

“-we can do it.” Style continues like he hasn’t just been interrupted. He is casually seated on the countertop in Fadel’s kitchen, absently swinging his legs while watching Fadel wash vegetables at the sink.  

“You can’t get pregnant.” Fadel gently reminds his boyfriend, briefly glancing at him.  

Style pouts, “You’re supposed to support my dreams. That’s what good boyfriends do.”

A faint, amused smile plays at the corners of Fadel’s lips. “I’m far from good boyfriend material. You’ve known that about me from the start.”

“Are you just saying that to discourage me from wanting your babies? It won’t work.” 

Fadel finishing his work at the sink, the sound of running water ceasing as he turns off the tap. After drying his hands, he takes a few steps towards his boyfriend and steps between his parted knees, wrapping his arms around Style’s soft and small waist that’s peeking out from under his crop top.

“Why do you want to get pregnant so bad?” Fadel interrogates

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“You want to carry our child?”

“What? No.” Style refutes quickly and vehemently, visibly surprising Fadel

“What then?” Fadel asks with a furrowed eyebrow and slightly tilted head, eyes wide with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“Pregnancy glow would look amazing on me. I mean, I look this good now, so imagine how irresistible I’ll be in these streets.”

Fadel shakes his head with a grin, unable to supress his amusement at the ridiculousness of this entire conversation. Fadel’s hands slide up from Style’s waist to delicately cup his face. He kisses Style on the lips, intending to stop him from saying any more nonsense.

Style’s hands instinctively rest on Fadel’s waist as he tips his head back, deepening the kiss.

As they pull apart, Style wraps his arms around Fadel’s neck, saying, “Shall we get me pregnant on this kitchen counter or shall we go somewhere more comfortable? I’m actually not that picky. I might look soft and princess-y, but I’m quite hard. Note the pun there.” Style gives his boyfriend a salacious smile and a wink.

 “We’re not having sex in my kitchen and stop talking about babies. You’re a boy.” Fadel’s eyebrows knit together, lips pressed into a thin line, and eyes narrowed with disapproval.

 “My determination is bigger than my limitations. If we add your determination to mine, I really think we can get this done.”

Fadel can’t help but chuckle, despite himself. “That’s not how that works.”

“Biology is overrated.”

“Biology is a fact.”

“So, no?” Style asks with a crestfallen look on his face.

Fadel almost feels bad about disappointing Style even though the entire thing is ridiculous to begin with, but he shakes his head. “No.” he gently kisses Style’s forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before moving to his pouting lips. The kiss is soft, something Fadel hopes will console his boyfriend.

Silence.

“Then let me get you pregnant.” Style suggests

Fadel lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as his eyes soften with a sense of defeat. Slowly, he reaches for Style’s forearms, gently sliding them away from his neck. With a final, weary glance, Fadel steps away announcing that he’s going to get some ingredients from the pantry.

Style jumps off the counter and follows Fadel into the pantry while still talking.

“How about this? You keep doing what you do in bed and I’ll do the rest.”

Fadel shakes his head because what the fuck is wrong with his boyfriend. “What does that mean?”

Style ignores the question and goes on to rant about the next thing. “For starters, we need a strategy. I looked up the best sex positions for baby-making. I know that you hate missionary but we have to put it back on the table.”

Fadel stops abruptly, style almost ramming into him. “Enough! Say one more word about getting pregnant and I’ll throw you out of my kitchen.”

Style obeys for all the 10 seconds it lasts before he suddenly says, “After we already had hot sex in a storeroom in the past, you expect me to believe you came in here for ingredients?” Style smirks. “Admit it, you think it’s hot that I want you to get me pregnant. You want to do it in here, don’t you?”

Fadel groans in torment, the sound echoing through the room.

Style laughs out loud. At this point he’s just fucking with his boyfriend and he loves every second of it. Getting his grumpy boyfriend flustered and annoyed is so easy and it’s fun.

-End-

If you enjoyed this story, here is my AO3

Thank you for reading☺️

[fanficsfic]

ROMANCE IS BORING

Wilbur x Y/n

You and Wilbur have been called a lot of things

“Are you two dating?”

“No, seriously, just admit it.”

“Best friends? Yeah, right.”

“I ship it.”

The words follow you both like some weird third wheel. Strangers see the way he grins when you speak, the way you shove him for being annoying, the way you both can finish each other’s sentences—and immediately, they assume: romance. That there must be some deep, unspoken, repressed love story building between you.

You and Wilbur laugh about it every time.

It’s 1 AM when he texts you:

Wilbur [1:03 AM]: they think we’re married now. help.

You [1:04 AM]: tell them the divorce is pending. I want the toaster.

Wilbur [1:05 AM]: you can have the toaster. I’m taking the houseplants.

You meet the next day at the corner store for snacks and mild chaos. He’s already loitering outside when you arrive, leaning against the glass window like a movie poster reject, sunglasses on despite the cloudy weather.

“You look like a washed-up indie artist trying to stay relevant,” you tell him.

He grins. “Perfect. That’s my brand.”

You flip him off before walking inside.

In your friend group, you and Wilbur are the “ship bait.” Quackity refuses to stop calling you “lovebirds” and Tommy keeps fake-gagging every time one of you touches the other, even if it’s just you tossing a controller at Wilbur’s head.

The truth is: you and Wilbur are two people who found peace in being entirely yourselves together. No pressure. No flirting. Just chaos, sarcasm, comfort, and the kind of closeness that feels like home without ever being romantic.

You’ve both said it a million times.

“Romance is boring,” Wilbur had said once, mid-cheeto-crunch, eyes on a terrible movie.

You nodded, socking him with a pillow. “And overrated.”

“I’d rather play Smash Bros and argue about cereal.”

“Exactly.”

Later, back at his place, you’re lounging on his floor while he rummages through his records. There’s something weirdly peaceful about these moments—sitting in silence, half-talking, half-existing.

“I got asked again if we’re a thing,” Wilbur mutters, dropping a stack of vinyls on the floor next to you.

You raise a brow. “Did you say we’re actually sworn enemies in a soul-binding blood pact?”

“No, I said we’re two ships that pass in the night.”

You snort. “What, like ghost ships?”

“I said I’m a pleasure cruise,” he smirks. “And you’re like a… fishing trawler.”

“I what?”

“Return less empty, nothing at all.”

“You’re the worst.”

“But poetic,” he says, dramatically placing his hand on his chest.

You throw a Funyun at his face.

You’re both weird. You know that. But it works.

There’s something sacred about falling asleep mid-conversation and waking up to him pouting in his sleep, still half-yawning when you’re already grabbing cereal. It’s that strange comfort of knowing someone so well that you don’t have to try. No games, no flirting, no drama—just… existing.

Sometimes, people don’t get it.

Your mom once asked if you were ever going to “tell him how you feel.”

You had blinked. “I do tell him how I feel. Yesterday I told him he was a sentient patch of moss with bad posture.”

She wasn’t impressed.

But Wilbur had laughed so hard he choked on his sandwich.

At 3 AM, Wilbur calls you. He does this sometimes, especially when his brain won’t shut off. You always answer, even if all you say is “what now.”

Tonight, he just says: “You awake?”

“No,” you say. “You’re dreaming me.”

“I think I might be dying.”

“What now?”

“I had a bad burrito.”

“Then suffer. I warned you about that place.”

“Y’know, if I die from this, tell the world we were platonic soulmates.”

“I’ll burn your flannels in your honor.”

“Thanks.”

You lie there in silence for a bit, just listening to him breathe through the phone. Then—

“I could do the whole love thing, y’know,” he says suddenly. “If I wanted.”

You pause. “But you don’t.”

“Exactly.” He laughs softly. “Still, there are things I could do. If I was half prepared to. Just to prove how boring it is.”

You smile into the dark. “We’re already proving it.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low. “Romance is boring. But this? This is good.”

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to.

It’s not about romance. Not even close.

It’s about staying up too late screaming about whether beans on toast is a real meal. It’s about sharing headphones and not speaking. It’s about the way he flicks your forehead instead of saying he cares. About you stealing his hoodie not for the scent, but because yours is in the wash.

It’s stupid in the best way.

He’s your person. Not romantically. Not sexually. Just… entirely. In a way that no one seems to get, but you both do.

You live in that space. Two oddball ships that drift in the same waters, anchored to each other for no other reason than it just makes sense.

And when people ask, you just say:

“No, we’re not dating.”

Then Wilbur leans in and says with a smirk, “We’re just destroying the myth of romance one chaotic moment at a time.”

They usually don’t ask again.

ROMANCE IS BORING!

[satans-lil-d3mon]

1 / 45 for the movie thing

1. what is your favorite film of all time?

The notebook

2. what movie do you wish you could unwatch?

Nothing that I can think about

3. favorite film genre?

Horror & romance

4. name a movie you put on to laugh to

Step brothers

5. name a movie you put on to cry to

The fault in our stars

6. do you prefer movie theaters or your couch?

My couch

7. name a movie you’re emotionally attached to?

The notebook

8. what’s your comfort film?

I have a few, saw is one of them

9. guilty pleasure movie?

The hills have eyes

10. most recent movie you saw in theaters?

It’s been a while, I think the last Halloween movie was the last movie I saw in theaters

11. a genre you just can’t stand

Musicals, gets on my nerves.

12. subtitles or no subtitles?

No subtitles they distract me

13. do you have a favorite film in another language?

Bon cop, bad cop

14. do you like watching movies alone or with friends?

Both

15. do you like to talk during movies? or silence?

Silence. Can make a few comments like “omg” “I can’t believe it” stuff like that but don’t try to have a conversation with me during a movie

16. favorite book to film adaptation?

IT

17. favorite actress

Winona Ryder

18. favorite actor

Robert Englund

19. name a movie so bad it’s good

See no evil (2006)

20. animated or live-action?

Animated

21. favorite animated film?

Coraline

22. have you ever watched a horror film so scary you had to turn the movie off or walk out of the theater?

Sadly no

23. there’s a 3D option for a film, are you watching in 3D?

Sure

24. do sequels always ruin originals?

Not always

25. how many physical movies do you own?

Hundreds. Maybe like 500

26. which movie made you think the most about life?

I can’t think of any

27. are you enjoying the remaking of old films or do we need to get creative and do something new?

I enjoy some although getting creative and so something new would be good too

28. have you ever been to a midnight showing?

Didn’t even know that was a thing because it isn’t where I live.

29. are animated movies just for kids?

No

30. are you looking forward to any upcoming releases?

Black phone 2, I know what you did last summer, the conjuring, M3GAN 2.0, final destination, the strangers, saw, (of the top of my head)

31. do you remember the first movie you saw in theaters?

No definitely not I was young

32. are snacks a must or a distraction?

Eh I’m not much of a snacker

33. do you get invested in the film award shows?

No

34. which film is the most visually beautiful?

I honestly can’t think of one right now

35. favorite movie snack? (if any)

None

36. which movie star would you want to meet?

I can’t pick just one

37. do you ever watch documentaries?

Yes!

38. in your opinion what is the most overrated movie?

Lord of the rings

39. in your opinion what is the most underrated movie?

Wrong turn

40. a film you think everyone should see at least once?

The shinning

41. name three movies you consider “classics”

Halloween, a nightmare on elm street, child’s play

42. show me a pic of your favorite movie poster

43. which movie do you quote the most?

A nightmare on elm street

44. do you like to watch the same movie more than once?

Yes

45. how many times have you watched your favorite movie (roughly, ik it’s hard to count)

Idk maybe like 700 times 🤷‍♀️

[lobotomycult]

I love you

But if there is one thing I hate more, it's surface-level conversations. When there's so much to say, there are so many things to talk about. Comfortable silence is so overrated. And it's worse when you have had countless invaluable conversations. The wavelength with no impedance. Where is it?

[petrichoresque]

people listen

People watching? That's overrated. There's something special about people watching, but even more so when you people listen. I wonder why we don't hear this phrase more often, to people listen. After all, we often say not to judge a book by its cover, so shouldn't we listen more to what people have to say?

"Be curious, not judgmental."

I was in the lift just the other day, and I overheard a conversation. A fairly mundane conversation between father and daughter, but somehow it struck a chord somewhere in me.

I get emotional at the slightest of things these days.

Hospitals see the most genuine tears, and airports the most genuine goodbyes. Cab drivers hear the most, but perhaps lifts hear the most casual, but genuine conversations.

One day on a warm, breezy Wednesday afternoon, I hope I will be able to sit along the streets of Italy in a cafe and people listen.

Of romantic sweet nothings young couples whisper to each other and the laughter of children, and the comfortable silence between two who have endured life's hardships through the test of time together. I always think there is beauty in the words uttered from those who have lived generations, but even more so in their meaningful silence. 

That which cannot be bought but by time itself, is valuable beyond measure.

[borathae]

Girls do you have a dating advice? I'm coming here because I like that this space doesn't cater to overrated stupid gender roles.

I like this guy on my campus and I felt he might too so ended up asking him out for a coffee! He agreed very enthusiastically and chose a lovely café. I felt very comfortable with him but I'm not sure if he considered it a a coffee with a friend. He did share that he's an introvert and he doesn't go out much because he's sober now and that he's shy. He said he wished the coffee meetup was longer he did text me to stay warm and kept the conversation going for a few days after sharing little updates about his day, telling me twice that he really enjoyed talking to me and thought I was smart. Then silence. I reached out, he was very sweet again and we texted briefly. Then silence again for a week.

My question is should I ask him out again or do I wait for him to reciprocate this ? I'm willing to try if it's shyness but I don't want to be the girl that thinks this is something that it isn't. I truly don't mind his shyness but I'm scared he's just being polite and sweet to an acquaintance and that's it.

as an introvert myself who rarely texts back right away, this could just be him being an introvert. After a full day of living in an extrovert ruled world, it can get pretty tiring for us and answering people's texts is sometimes already too much mental work to do even if we really care about the person. also, once we do have free time and time to noone but ourselves, we don't wanna ruin the healing time by making mental space for other humans even if it's just texts, so we'll just tell ourselves "I'll get to that later, I gotta have me time rn". so yeah that could be why there is long pauses in between texting. it's probs not you but him recharging his batteries.

straight men don't tell an acquaintance that they wanted the meetup to be longer and that they enjoyed the talk. bro all my male straight friends are the driest motherfuckers ever despite genuinely caring for our friendship. Most men don't say stuff like that and he's just an acquaintance for now. There's even less reason for him to be that lovey dovey with you other than that he wants to give you romantic hints.

you were strangers (sort of) before you asked him and he agreed enthusiatically. you weren't friends just agreeing on a lil friend date in a local café, you guys were strangers who met up with the goal of getting to know each other better. which also brings me back to point two. he didn't really know you before your meet up, he didn't have any sort of unspoken friendship friendliness rule of "tell your friends you liked the hangout" to follow.

Yes ask him out. we've long stopped waiting for men to make the first move. if you wanna see him again, do it. he'll probably appreciate it because of his shyness.

if it doesn't work out, hell you experienced life and made fucking stories to tell later. you won't die from it and will only come out more mature.

if it works out, congrats you just gave yourself a chance to a (potentially) happy romance. enjoy it.

Sorry if my advice sucked, I think I'm still not back to my full potential. If anyone of you wants to leave advice as well, do so hahaha cause I think mine was very mediocre. i also wanna say that dude idk i think i'm still too sad about what happened to really think clearly. sorry if all my answers were shit, it's because i still feel like shit from bangtan leaving.

[03jyh23]

🌷⌇the night finding our way back part 11; a choi jongho mini-series

ex-boyfriend! idol! jongho x ex-girlfriend! single-mom! reader

│ series masterlist│ next │

│synopsis: five years have passed since jongho last saw you. your lives have taken drastically different paths, with jongho achieving fame and you focusing on raising your daughter, nari, in quiet anonymity. when jongho discovers he has a daughter, he's determined to be a part of her life.

│genre: a slice of life, romance, fluff, some angst

│trigger warnings: mild alcohol consumption, romantic/intimate situations (non-explicit), mild suggestive content, adult language

│words: 5.7 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi, my lovely people! this chapter takes a different turn from the previous ones, offering a more playful and lighthearted moment in our story. after all the emotional intensity we've experienced, i wanted to give you something sweet and fun right before we reach the end. hope you enjoyed this slightly different side of our characters! thank you for reading and staying with me through this journey! your support means everything. see you in the next chapter! oh, it's not proofread so im sorry for any errors :(

as always,

love, mon ♡

│taglist: │ @seventeenthingsblr │@DALSUWAHA │

│ @ateez-atiny380 │ @yoonshiiu │ @sndeoki │ @bomi-ja │

│ @vixensss │ @all-fandoms-rise │ @finnydraws │

│ @jonghosbrainrot │ @ateezswonderland │ @stayatinykatsy

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│ if you wish to be tagged let me know here! ♡

The night had grown quite late by the time Hongjoong insisted on giving you a ride home, following what had unexpectedly evolved into quite the festive gathering. The streetlights cast long shadows through the car windows as Hongjoong navigated the quiet streets. You watched the familiar buildings pass by, each one bringing you closer to home. You found yourself reflecting on how long it had been since you'd allowed yourself to truly unwind like this - the easy laughter, the flowing conversation, the comfortable atmosphere that made time slip away unnoticed. But tonight felt different, special even, like a weight had finally lifted from your shoulders. You could feel yourself relaxing, truly relaxing, knowing that Jongho and Nari were building their relationship, that your daughter finally knew the truth about Jongho's identity. The guys had surprised you completely - instead of the awkward, formal interaction you'd been dreading, they had welcomed you with open arms and genuine warmth. Their natural friendliness and humor had made you feel less like an outsider being cautiously accepted and more like you'd somehow stumbled into a gathering of old friends you'd simply forgotten you had.

"So..." Hongjoong's voice broke through the comfortable silence, a playful lilt in his tone. "How are you really doing with all of this? You know, the whole Jongho situation?"

You couldn't help but giggle, the pleasant buzz from the evening's drinks making everything seem lighter, funnier somehow. "Oh my god, you sound just like one of those TV show therapists!" You mimicked a serious expression, pushing imaginary glasses up your nose. "'And how does that make you feeeeeel?'"

Hongjoong burst out laughing, shaking his head. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation here!"

"Serious is overrated," you sang, watching the streetlights blur past. "But if you must know..." You paused dramatically, making Hongjoong glance at you expectantly. "I have absolutely no fucking idea what I'm doing!"

"That's... surprisingly honest," Hongjoong chuckled.

"I know, right?" You grinned, feeling giddy. "But here's the thing - and don't you dare tell anyone I said this - I think I might still be a teensy bit in love with him." You emphasized 'teensy' by pinching your fingers together, then immediately burst into giggles.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain his composure but failing miserably as your laughter proved contagious. "A 'teensy' bit?"

"Okay, okay," you waved your hands dramatically. "Maybe a lot bit. But shhh, it's a secret!" You pressed a finger to your lips and made an exaggerated 'shushing' sound that sent both of you into another fit of laughter.

"You're something else when you're drunk, you know that?" Hongjoong managed between chuckles, turning onto your street.

"I'm delightful always," you declared with mock indignation. "It's just that right now everything feels... possible? Like maybe happy endings aren't just in fairy tales?" You suddenly gasped. "Oh no, I'm getting sappy! Quick, tell a joke!"

Hongjoong couldn't contain his amusement anymore. "You're absolutely ridiculous," he said fondly, "But for what it's worth, I think those happy endings might not be as far-fetched as you think."

"Now who's being sappy?" you teased, making him roll his eyes even as he continued grinning.

"God, you know what?" you sighed dreamily, slumping against the car window, your cheeks flushed from the evening's drinks. "Jongho got so impossibly, unreasonably hot. Like, have you seen his arms lately? Those perfectly sculpted muscles that peek through his fitted shirts should be considered dangerous weapons! The way they flex when he's just casually reaching for something... It's completely unfair to the rest of humanity!"

"Okay, maybe we should change the subject-" Hongjoong tried to interrupt, but you were too caught up in your revelation to notice.

"And don't even get me started on his thighs! Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been with anyone? Years! YEARS, Hongjoong!" you declared dramatically, throwing your hands up in frustration. "And here he comes, walking back into my life looking like some kind of Greek god, giving me those intense looks with those gorgeous eyes of his... It should be illegal! There should be laws against looking that good after all this time!"

"I really don't need to hear this about my bandmate-" Hongjoong protested weakly, fighting back laughter at your animated state.

"But seriously, have you seem his thighs in those jeans a few days ago? The way they just... UGH! And I just want him to grab me and-"

"NOPE!" Hongjoong practically shouted, reaching over to clamp a hand over your mouth while trying to keep the car steady.

"No, but listen!" you persisted, pulling his hand away from your mouth. "Have you seen the way he carries Nari? Those strong arms just lifting her up like she weighs nothing, being all fatherly and protective... And then he'll catch my eye and give me that soft smile that makes my knees weak and I just-"

"You are definitely going to regret this conversation tomorrow," Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

"I can't even finish that thought because it just makes me feel all..." you trailed off with a dreamy sigh, fanning yourself dramatically. "Is it getting hot in here? I think it's getting hot in here."

"Alright, time to get you inside before you say anything else I'll need therapy to unhear," he laughed, putting the car in park.

"Oh? We're already home?" you asked, surprised as you peered out the window at your familiar building.

"That's what happens when you spend the whole ride waxing poetic about Jongho's... physical attributes," Hongjoong teased, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Listen, I'm just saying," you drawled, gesturing expressively with your finger weaving unsteady patterns in the air, "As a single mom who hasn't had time for dating in forever, you have no idea what it's like. I bet you're out there living your best life, going to fancy industry parties, probably have people throwing themselves at you begging you to fuck th—" you continued, your words becoming increasingly slurred as you attempted to make your point with increasingly dramatic hand movements.

"Y/N!" Hongjoong interrupted, his expression a mix of mortification and barely contained amusement. "Oh my god, I can't believe you're saying all this. Exactly how many glasses of wine did you have at dinner?" His voice carried equal parts concern and entertainment at your uninhibited state.

You responded with a series of uncontrollable giggles, your coordination clearly compromised as your fingers fumbled clumsily with the seatbelt buckle, missing the release button entirely several times while muttering something incomprehensible under your breath. "Alright, I'm going," you declared with exaggerated dignity, attempting to push open the car door but somehow managing to pull on the window control instead. "Oh. That's not... wait, why isn't this... ah, there it is!" You finally located the correct handle, swinging the door open with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm.

Hongjoong quickly jumped out of the driver's seat, rushing around to your side of the car as you swayed precariously on your feet. "Whoa, careful there!" he exclaimed, catching your elbow just as you started to tip sideways. "Let's get you inside in one piece, shall we?"

"My hero!" you proclaimed with an exaggerated flutter of your eyelashes, swaying dramatically as Hongjoong supported your wobbly progress toward the building entrance.

"Just doing my duty as a responsible friend," he chuckled warmly, carefully guiding you up the steps while ensuring you didn't take an unexpected detour. "And making sure Jongho doesn't kill me if anything happens to you. He'd never let me hear the end of it."

"Aww, he's so protective," you sighed dreamily, your fingers fumbling with your keys in an elaborate choreography of misses. "Have I mentioned how incredibly, absolutely, positively hot that protective side of his is?"

"Only about a dozen times in the last hour," Hongjoong muttered with fond exasperation, gently extracting the keys from your uncoordinated grasp. "Here, let me help with that before you accidentally try to unlock your door with your credit card."

"I am perfectly capable of using my own keys!" you protested with the utmost conviction, nearly pirouetting over your own feet as you made this passionate declaration. "See? I'll show you! I am a key-using expert of the highest caliber!"

You triumphantly thrust your hand into the air, brandishing what you believed to be your key ring with the confidence of a symphony conductor, only to realize you were wielding your phone like a magical wand. "Oh. When did that happen? The keys have clearly learned to shape-shift. Very sneaky of them."

Hongjoong's laughter bubbled over, rich and genuine. "Just let me help, okay? Before you convince yourself your lip gloss is actually the garage door opener."

"Fine," you conceded with an exaggerated pout worthy of a theatrical performance. "But only because you're being so nice about it. And don't you dare tell Jongho about any of this! This is top-secret, classified, confidential... what's another word for secret?"

Hongjoong glanced at you with a mixture of amusement and growing concern. "You do know Jongho's at your place with Nari right now, don't you?"

"Oh shit," you breathed, your eyes widening to comical proportions. "Oh no, no, no... This is not part of the plan. The plan was to be sophisticated and elegant and..." Hongjoong couldn't help but laugh at your increasingly panicked expression, watching as the realization slowly dawned across your features. "Oh my god, I'm so drunk," you groaned, pressing your hands against your flaming cheeks as if trying to physically hold your dignity in place. "But I'll be fine! Totally fine. Completely and utterly fine!"

"I'm telling you," you continued with newfound determination, stumbling slightly as Hongjoong guided you through the building's entrance, "I'm going to walk in there and be all... all dignified and stuff. Like a queen. Or maybe a duchess. Do duchesses wobble?"

Hongjoong let out an undignified snort. "Sure you are. And I'm secretly a unicorn."

"No, really! Watch this!" You straightened up with the determination of an Olympic athlete, attempting to walk in what you believed to be a perfectly straight line down the hallway but instead executing a gentle curve to the left that would make geometry teachers weep. "I am grace personified! Poetry in motion! The very essence of... of... what's that word for when you're really good at walking?"

"Finally," Hongjoong sighed in relief as the elevator doors opened. He guided you inside, pressing the button for your floor while you leaned against the wall for support.

"I need to be... what's the word? Sophisticated! Yes, that's it. I am a sophisticated, responsible mother who absolutely, positively, definitely does not spend any time whatsoever thinking about her daughter's father's muscles. Or his shoulders. Or the way his t-shirts fit just right when he's... No! Bad brain! Stop that!"

"Maybe save the thigh appreciation for when you're more... coherent?" Hongjoong suggested, leading you down the hallway to your apartment.

"You're right, you're right," you nodded with such vigor that the world decided to do a spin, forcing you to grab the wall for support. "Do you think Jongho will be able to tell I'm drunk? I can be sneaky. Like a ninja. A very sophisticated ninja."

Hongjoong paused at your door, giving you a look that could only be described as 'are you actually serious right now?' "Y/N, a blind person could tell you're drunk right now. From three blocks away. In a soundproof room."

"I'm not drunk!" you protested with the righteous indignation of someone who was very much drunk, punctuating your declaration with a perfectly timed hiccup. "I'm just... experiencing an enhanced state of... of... consciousness expansion? No, that's not it. Alternative sobriety? Enhanced gravitational awareness?" You waved your hand in elaborate patterns through the air, as if trying to pluck the proper words from the cosmos itself.

Just then, the door to your apartment swung open to reveal Jongho standing there with an amused smirk playing across his features. "Enhanced state, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as you felt your cheeks flush an even deeper shade of crimson. Hongjoong cleared his throat, making a valiant but ultimately failed attempt to suppress his laughter at your mortified expression.

"I am completely and totally fine," you declared with all the dignity you could muster while the floor seemed to be engaging in some sort of gentle wave motion beneath your feet. "Just experiencing some temporary... spatial recalibration. It's very scientific." Your attempt at a graceful entrance was somewhat undermined when you promptly stumbled directly into Jongho's chest, his strong hands instinctively reaching out to catch you with practiced ease. "Hi!" you chirped brightly, gazing up at him with what you hoped was a casual smile but probably looked more like a lovestruck grin. The solid warmth of his chest against your palms and the steady pressure of his hands on your waist were doing absolutely nothing to help clear your wine-addled thoughts.

"Someone had a good time at dinner," he observed, his voice carrying notes of amusement mixed with something deeper, something that made your stomach do little flips that had nothing to do with the wine.

"The BEST time," you emphasized with enthusiastic hand gestures, still making no effort whatsoever to extract yourself from his supportive grip. "They had so many wines. SO many. And they were all very... winey. Like, really good at being wine. Is that a thing? It should be a thing."

"And this," Hongjoong announced with barely contained glee, backing away toward freedom, "is where I make my strategic retreat. Have fun dealing with... all of this." He gestured vaguely in your direction with a flourish before giving Jongho a sympathetic pat on the shoulder that clearly said, 'Good luck, you're going to need it.'

"Traitor!" you called after him, your voice echoing dramatically down the hallway along with his answering laughter. "Some friend you are, abandoning me in my hour of... of... what's that thing when you really need something?"

"Need?" Jongho supplied helpfully, still maintaining his steady hold on you as he somehow managed to kick the door closed without letting you topple over.

"You, Mister Choi," you declared with the gravity of someone making a profound scientific discovery, punctuating each word with a gentle poke to his chest, "are very smart. And strong. Have I mentioned how strong you are?" Your eyes widened comically as you realized what you'd just said, dissolving into a fresh fit of giggles that you tried to muffle against his shoulder.

Jongho's chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, the sound warming you more effectively than any amount of wine as he carefully guided you toward the couch. "Maybe we should get you some water and have you sit down for a bit," he suggested, his hands maintaining their gentle but firm pressure on your shoulders. The combination of his proximity and your alcohol-diminished inhibitions was making it increasingly difficult to remember all the reasons why you shouldn't be telling him exactly how devastatingly attractive you found him.

"You know what?" you announced with the air of someone about to share a vital piece of information, tilting your head back to look up at him. "You have really nice shoulders. Like, really, really nice. The kind of shoulders that make a girl want to..." you trailed off, your hands making vague grabbing motions in the air that would have made a mime proud.

"And how much exactly did you have to drink tonight?" Jongho asked, his valiant attempt at maintaining a straight face crumbling around the edges as he steadied you for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Enough to finally tell you that your whole..." you made a grand sweeping gesture encompassing his entire form, nearly taking out a lamp in the process, "...everything is very distracting. Has anyone ever told you that you're unfairly attractive? Because you are. It's very inconsiderate of you, honestly. There should be laws about this sort of thing."

Jongho's ears turned an adorable shade of pink, but his smile only grew wider, softer somehow. "Maybe we should revisit this conversation when you're sober," he suggested gently, guiding you to sit on the couch with the careful attention of someone handling a particularly wobbly piece of fine china.

"Nooo," you whined, latching onto his arm like a particularly determined octopus. "You're just going to be all responsible and professional again tomorrow, and I'll have to go back to pretending I don't notice how ridiculously good you look in those stupid fitted shirts of yours. Do you know how hard that is? It's very hard. Very, very hard."

"And don't even get me started on your arms," you continued, poking his bicep with an accusing finger as if it had personally offended you. "Do you know what they do to a person? Because I do. I know exactly what they do, and it's very... it's very... arm-y."

Jongho caught your poking finger in his hand, his expression a fascinating mix of amusement and something warmer, something that made your heart skip several beats. "Maybe you should tell me," he teased, his voice carrying a hint of challenge that sent shivers down your spine.

"Oh, I could tell you so many things." You leaned closer, emboldened by the wine and the way his eyes seemed to darken at your proximity. "Like how distracting it is when you roll up your sleeves, or when-"

"Mommy?" a small voice called softly from the bedroom, the innocent sound cutting through your wine-induced haze like a bucket of ice water. The simple word instantly cleared your foggy mind, replacing the warmth of attraction with sharp, sobering clarity as you sat on the couch beside Jongho.

"Oh god," you whispered, practically leaping to the other end of the couch as though burned, your heart hammering in your chest as reality came crashing back. "Nari's still awake?"

Jongho reacted with lightning-quick composure, smoothly adjusting his position to create a respectable distance between you as the sound of tiny footsteps approached the room. "She was asleep just a few minutes ago, must have woken up from all our talking," he explained in carefully measured tones, his voice barely above a whisper, just as Nari appeared in her flower-patterned pajamas, her small fists rubbing drowsily at her eyes.

"Baby, what are you doing up?" you managed to say with impressive steadiness, fighting against the lingering effects of the wine that made the room tilt and sway. Your thoughts raced as you desperately hoped your daughter wouldn't notice how flushed your cheeks were or how disheveled you must look.

Nari shuffled toward the couch with that endearing sleepy wobble that small children have, her eyes heavy with interrupted dreams. "I heard laughing..." she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Princess, Mommy and I were just having a little chat, but it's very late now." Jongho stepped in with practiced ease, his voice gentle as he rose from the couch and lowered himself to her eye level. "Can I help you back to bed?" The natural way he handled the situation, seamlessly transitioning from your heated moment to caring father figure, made your heart clench with an emotion you weren't ready to name.

Nari's eyes darted between you and Jongho, concern evident even through her sleepy haze. "Is Mommy okay? She looks funny."

"Mommy's just a little tired from dinner with the uncles," Jongho explained, his voice warm and reassuring as he extended his hand toward her. "Let's get you tucked in, and tomorrow morning, she'll feel much better." The tenderness in his tone made your chest ache with longing and gratitude.

You caught Jongho's eye as he led Nari away, mouthing a silent but heartfelt 'thank you,' overwhelmed with appreciation for his quick thinking and smooth intervention. As their footsteps grew fainter down the hallway, you sagged deeper into the couch cushions, letting out a long groan while pressing your palms against your eyes, trying to will away both the spinning sensation and the memory of how close you'd been to kissing him.

A few minutes later, Jongho returned to the room, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and fond exasperation as he leaned against the doorframe. "Well, the first baby is safely back in dreamland," he announced with a knowing smirk, crossing his arms across his chest in a way that definitely didn't make your heart skip. "Now it's time to take care of the big baby."

"Are you calling me a baby?" you protested with an exaggerated pout, stumbling slightly as you tried to cross your arms. "Because I'll have you know I am a very mature and sophisticated..." you trailed off as an ill-timed hiccup interrupted your declaration, "...person."

"Whatever you say," Jongho chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling with barely contained mirth as he gently took your elbow. "Come on, let's get you some water. Can you walk to the kitchen?"

"Of course I can walk," you declared confidently, though your steps were anything but steady as he guided you.

Once in the kitchen, he carefully positioned you against the counter, his hands lingering on your waist to ensure you stayed upright. "Stay right here," he instructed, his voice a mix of amusement and concern. "And try not to fall over while I get your water."

"No, I don't want water," you whined, gripping the counter edge as the room did a gentle spin. Your eyes followed him as he moved to the sink, unable to help yourself from admiring his profile. "I want to tell you about how pretty your eyes are when you smile." Jongho turned back to you with that exact devastating smile you'd just mentioned, making your heart flutter.

"Here," he said firmly, pressing the glass of water into your hands, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent tingles up your arm. "Drink this, and maybe we can talk more about my eyes later."

"Or you could just kiss me," you murmured, the wine making your voice husky and your usual hesitation nonexistent. Your eyes traced the contours of his lips, lingering on the subtle curve of his mouth as he held you steady against the kitchen counter, his proximity making your head spin more than any amount of alcohol could. Jongho's breath caught audibly in his throat, his fingers flexing unconsciously where they gripped your waist, the pressure just firm enough to send shivers down your spine. For a long moment, the air between you crackled with an almost electric tension. Then, with a deliberateness that made your heart race, he slowly began to lean in. When his lips finally met yours, it was with a gentleness that made your knees weak. The kiss was tentative at first, exploratory, like he was giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you let out a soft sigh against his mouth, your fingers finding purchase in the fabric of his shirt, desperately pulling him closer. Something in him seemed to break at that small sound - the kiss transformed, becoming deeper, more intense, charged with years of suppressed longing. His hands slid up the curve of your back, fingers threading through your hair as he pressed you more firmly against the counter, the solid warmth of his body making you dizzy with want.

But then, as quickly as the moment had ignited, Jongho wrenched himself away, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "Wait," he rasped, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. "We can't... we shouldn't do this. Not like this."

"Why not?" you whimpered, your hands still clutching at his shirt, trying to draw him back to you, missing his warmth already.

"Because you're drunk," he said, his tone firm despite the obvious desire still burning in his eyes, making them dark and intense. "And I... god, I want this - want you - too much to let it happen this way. You deserve better than some rushed, drunken makeout session in your kitchen that you might not even remember clearly tomorrow."

"Jongho..." you purred, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. The wine had completely demolished your filter, leaving your desires bare and unrestrained. "I've thought about this... about us... so many times..."

Jongho's jaw clenched visibly, his hands gripping your waist a fraction tighter. "Y/N," he warned, his voice strained. "You're making this very difficult."

"You're kind of adorable when you're being responsible," you giggled, swaying forward to rest your forehead against his chest. "But fine, have it your way. I'll be good." The words came out more suggestive than you'd intended, and you felt Jongho's sharp intake of breath.

He shifted slightly, maintaining a respectful distance while still keeping you steady. "Let's get you to bed," he said softly, his voice gentle but leaving no room for argument.

Letting out a small sigh of defeat, you let him guide you toward your bed, your steps still slightly unsteady. "You're no fun," you mumbled, even as your eyelids grew heavier with each step. "But you're still pretty..."

Jongho smiled fondly as he guided you toward the bathroom instead, his warm hand steady against the small of your back. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter - even through your wine-induced haze, you could see the tender concern in his eyes, mixed with something deeper that made your breath catch.

"Let's get you cleaned up first," he said softly, his voice warm and gentle as he steadied you with one hand while reaching for your toothbrush with the other.

"You're being very... what's the word?" you mumbled as he carefully put toothpaste on your brush, your body swaying slightly into his solid presence. The bathroom lights seemed to spin a little, but his firm grip kept you grounded. "Nurturing? Is that it? Like a big, strong, handsome nurse," you giggled, leaning back against his chest for support.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through you where your back pressed against him. "Someone has to take care of you," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear as he passed you the toothbrush. His hands lingered on your shoulders, thumbs drawing small, comforting circles that made you feel safe. As you brushed your teeth, still swaying slightly, you caught his eye in the mirror. The way he watched you, with that mix of amusement and affection, made your chest tight with emotion. His reflection showed everything you'd been too afraid to see before - the way his eyes softened when they met yours, how his protective stance betrayed more than just friendly concern.

"Are you gonna stay?" you asked around a mouthful of toothpaste, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, your voice small and hopeful. Jongho reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingertips lingered against your cheek for just a moment, sending sparks of electricity down your spine.

"I never planned to leave in the first place," he assured you, "Someone needs to make sure you drink water and take painkillers in the morning. Besides," he added, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror, "there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."

You shuffled into your bedroom, leaning slightly against Jongho's steady presence as he carefully guided you to sit on the edge of your bed. His movements were deliberate and gentle, ensuring you remained balanced despite your slightly unsteady state. With remarkable foresight and consideration, he made his way to your dresser, retrieving your pajamas and holding them out to you with one hand while the other dramatically covered his eyes, his fingers splayed in an exaggerated gesture that made you smile.

"No peeking," you giggled, swaying slightly even while seated, your hand reaching out to steady yourself against the mattress. "Such a gentleman..."

"I'll turn around," he said firmly, though you could hear the barely contained smile in his voice, "Just let me know when you're done changing, okay?"

"But what if I need help?" you teased, watching with delight as the tips of his ears turned a delicate shade of pink, the blush creeping down his neck. "These buttons can be so tricky..."

"Y/N..." His voice carried a warning tone, though it was impossible to miss the undercurrent of affection and obvious amusement in his words. "You're making this whole 'being responsible' thing incredibly challenging, you know that?"

"Fine, fine," you conceded with an exaggerated sigh, waving your hand dismissively. "Turn around then, Mr. Proper," you mock-pouted, watching as he obediently spun to face the wall. As you managed to change into your pajamas with surprisingly minimal stumbling, you couldn't help but notice how Jongho kept his word, standing perfectly still with his back turned, his shoulders tense with the effort of maintaining composure. You had to admit, his steadfast determination to be proper and gentlemanly was endearing, even if your wine-influenced mind desperately wanted to test those carefully constructed boundaries. With a mischievous grin spreading across your face, you waited until he was fully turned around, completely unsuspecting, before carefully unhooking your bra under your shirt. In one fluid motion that was far more coordinated than you expected given your current state, you managed to pull it free from your sleeve and, with surprisingly good aim, tossed it directly at him, watching with gleeful satisfaction as it landed perfectly draped across his broad shoulder.

"Oops," you giggled with exaggerated innocence, trying and failing to suppress your laughter. "How did that get there? Must have slipped..."

Jongho froze completely, his shoulders tensing visibly beneath his hoodie. You could practically see him counting slowly to ten in his head, his fingers flexing at his sides before he carefully, deliberately reached up and removed the garment without turning his head even slightly, holding it out behind him with two fingers. "Y/N..." his voice was delightfully strained but unmistakably amused, a combination that made you want to test his resolve even further. "You're absolutely impossible, you know that?"

"I prefer the term 'delightfully challenging,'" you quipped back, finally pulling your pajama top on and smoothing it down. "Okay, I'm decent now. More or less. Probably more less than more, but who's counting?"

He turned back around slowly, cautiously, as if expecting another piece of clothing to come flying his way. A soft smile played at his lips despite his obvious attempt to maintain his composure, and when his eyes met yours, they were warm and tender, yet still carrying that hint of careful restraint that had characterized the entire evening.

"Let's get you tucked in," he said gently, moving to help you under the covers, his hands steady and sure.

"Can you... Stay with me?" you asked softly, your voice suddenly sleepy, all the previous playfulness melting into vulnerable honesty. "Just to cuddle? I promise I'll behave this time... mostly."

Jongho hesitated for a moment, his expression softening visibly as he looked down at you. "Alright," he conceded with a gentle smile that made your heart skip. "But you need to actually sleep, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, watching as he pulled off his hoodie with careful movements, leaving him in his soft, oversized t-shirt and comfortable sweatpants. The bed dipped slightly under his weight as he slipped under the covers beside you, and you immediately gravitated toward his warmth like a moth to flame. Your head found its perfect resting place on his chest, the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat more soothing than any lullaby could ever be. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand resting securely on your back while the other began to stroke your hair with such tender care that you felt yourself melting into his embrace.

"Comfortable?" he murmured softly, his voice rumbling pleasantly in his chest beneath your ear, the vibrations sending waves of contentment through your entire body.

"Mmhmm," you hummed contentedly, already feeling the gentle pull of sleep starting to cloud your consciousness. "You're so warm... and safe... like my own personal guardian angel..."

The last thing you registered before drifting off into peaceful slumber was the gentle, almost reverent press of his lips against your forehead and his whispered "Sweet dreams," the words carrying more tenderness than you'd ever heard before.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

[ihateoc]

Sleepless Nights

(word count: 1,898) (sleepless mercenary)

Laying on his back, Shadow stares at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. The apartment is too clean, too quiet compared to the countless dirty hideouts and ragged safe houses he had hidden in before. He remembers days when sleep wasn't a luxury but an enemy. Falling into slumber could have meant waking up dead. 

He recalls one specific instance during training when his handler, a brutal man who went by the alias Z, deprived him of sleep for three straight days until the former mercenary's vision blurred, his legs buckling underneath him. Sleep deprivation meant pushing past limits and crawling through pain, lessons that stayed with him even after escaping from under Z’s thumb. 

Groaning softly, he turns over onto his side in bed, glancing at the digital clock beside it, the time reading as past 3am, "Fuck," He mutters under his breath. 

 This isn’t supposed to feel like home. Not yet anyway. He had spent so many nights just lying around waiting for something or someone. And now what was he expected to do? Just wait here as time slips by unnoticed? 

He heaves a sigh, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and exiting his room in favor of the kitchen for a glass of water. Or whiskey. He would decide when he got there. The sound of him rummaging through the cabinets without any discretion wakes up his roommate who enters the room sleepily, wearing his pajamas. 

"Ugh, Shadow, it's like 3am. What are you doing?" Bennett asks before yawning into his hand. 

"Couldn't sleep," Shadow replies, shrugging his lanky shoulders as he pours himself a glass of whiskey. He needed something to numb the silence that was clawing into him. 

Bennett rubs his eyes tiredly and sits down across from Shadow on one of the stools around the kitchen island, "And you think alcohol is going to help?" 

The former mercenary wasn't sure if Bennett's disheveled appearance or dry sarcasm reminded him more of Ren. But either way, he couldn't suppress an annoying smirk at the thought.  

His roommate stands up from his seat, "I'll make some tea. Pour that back in the bottle. You shouldn't be drinking this late at night," He scolds him, similar to that of a mother, before digging around in the cabinets and putting a kettle on the stove. 

Shadow rolls his eyes but obeys, pouring the liquor back into the bottle with a sly grin, "Alright, mom," He drawls sarcastically, earning an annoyed glare from Bennett. 

An odd sort of comfort settled over him as he watched Bennett prepare tea. The normalcy feels foreign yet intriguing to Shadow, after all, how many times had he wished for moments like these amidst chaos and bloodshed? 

When the drink is ready, Bennett pours them into two cups, adding extra sugar to Shadow's since he knows just how he likes it and sliding it over to him when he sits down in a stool on the other side of the kitchen island with his own glass, "This should help you sleep." 

Shadow wraps his fingers around the warm mug, staring at the sweetened tea, "Maybe I don't want to sleep," He commented vaguely before taking a sip. 

Despite his sarcasm and cocky demeanor, Shadow couldn’t deny that this display of kindness was making him feel something. An unfamiliar warmth spreads within him. It isn't unpleasant but simply new. It's unsettling yet strangely reassuring. He isn't ready to fully let his guard down yet. He had worked too hard to allow himself to become attached to anyone and everyone. 

Bennett furrows his brows in confusion as he prods the other man, "Why not?" 

"Sleep is... Overrated," The former mercenary states, looking his roommate straight in the eye while taking another drink of his tea.  

It's easier to avoid explaining that sleep often felt like a trap, forcing him to relive everything he's been working so hard to forget. He decides then and there not to dwell on it further. This conversation has already ventured too far into personal territory for his liking. Sleep means dreaming. And dreaming means facing his past when he's most vulnerable. He decides he better keep this conversation casual rather than let Bennett see more than he needs to. 

"Oh. Yeah, I know what you mean," Bennett begins, as he looks down, gazing into his mug wistfully, sheepishly admitting, "It's hard being alone." 

"It is?" Shadow asks, trying hard to keep his voice impassive. However, that one statement stirs a turmoil of thought inside him, some he had preferred to avoid. He realizes that he can't remember ever not being alone and the notion of potentially sharing solitude with someone like Bennett was... Complicated to say the least. 

Maybe they were more alike than Shadow cared to admit. 

After a moment of lingering silence, the curly-haired boy looks up from his cup of tea as he asks a question that had been eating at him for some time now, "Hey Shadow, I have to ask... You weren't the one who killed our mom, are you?" 

The question hits Shadow like a physical blow, knocking the breath out of his lungs. For a second, his eyes widen in shock before he manages to compose himself. 

"No." 

It was the honest truth and he feels oddly relieved that Bennett had asked. He takes another sip from his mug as if it could wash away the bitter aftertaste those words left behind. Gyro wouldn't have dared to waste Shadow on such insignificant jobs back then. He wonders why Ren never asked, pondering whether she thinks he did it. He swallows hard at the thought. 

"Yeah, I figured. I was just curious," Bennett seems to believe him, resolving not to delve into the topic any deeper as a deafening silence wraps around them. 

Shadow nods, averting his gaze from Bennett's green eyes. The tension lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating. He doesn't know how to respond other than with a simple acknowledgement, "Yeah," He mutters softly. The quiet that follows stretches between them like an unspoken understanding. 

After a pregnant pause, Bennett speaks up in an attempt to lighten the mood, "I read your copy of the English version of Pride and Prejudice. It was really good." 

The dark-haired man blinks in surprise, momentarily taken aback. He wasn't expecting Bennett to mention his favorite book, nonetheless, read it. Hell, if it means they can switch from talking about murder contracts to romance novels then fuck it. This might not be such a bad night after all. 

"Yeah?" He asks with a smirk playing on his lips, "Austen knew how to write women. Stubborn and beautiful. Like your sister." 

The comparison is apt. Ren certainly shares some similarities with Austen's heroines, independent, headstrong and alluring enigmatic. 

"Yeah, that explains your obsession with her," Bennett remarks with a teasing grin, "But I really liked it." 

Shadow's smirk widens into a mischievous grin, his eyes glinting with playful defiance, "Obsession? Nah, just an appreciation for someone who knows how to handle a dagger and my heart," He swallows down the rest of the tea in his cup, enjoying the banter and slight shift in atmosphere. 

As Shadow yawns aloud clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, Bennett points out, "You should try and sleep again." 

"As you wish, mother," The former mercenary replies with an impish smirk, before pushing himself up from the stool.  

His body feels heavier than it had when he first entered the kitchen and maybe he could actually fall asleep now. Bidding his roommate goodnight, he retreats back into his room, hoping that this familiar sense of peace would follow him into sleep as well. Maybe that tea had worked after all?  

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he passed out, his body finally relaxing completely. When he wakes up the next day, he feels groggy and out of it. With a groan, he reaches out, swiping his phone off of his bedside table, eyes widening when he reads the time displayed on his home screen. 

2pm. He had slept for ten hours straight. To say he was in shock was an understatement.  

"What the fuck?" Shadow mutters drowsily, rubbing his eyes incredulously. He hasn't slept this long... Well, ever. He slowly sits up in bed, stretching and trying to shake off the remnants of fatigue that stubbornly clings to him.  

Did Bennett's tea have some magic properties or something? He found himself wondering. Or maybe...  

Was he poisoned? 

His maroon eyes darken at the thought. He was given poison resistance training when he was a kid of course, but he couldn't come up with any other explanation for his long slumber. He throws himself out of bed, rushing to the kitchen where he finds Bennett and grabs him by the shoulders. 

"Dammit, Bennett!" Shadow barks suddenly, shaking the other man lightly by the shoulders, "What did you put in that fucking tea?" 

His training had prepared him for a lot of things but getting drugged by an ally was not one of them. He felt betrayed. He hadn't trusted anyone with his food and/or drink for as long as he could remember. Bennett better have a good explanation for him. 

Bennett holds back a chuckle before a full-fledged laugh erupts from his lips, "Calm down, Shadow. I just gave you some Benadryl." 

Shadow scowls, obviously not amused by the situation, "Bena-what? The fuck is that?" He glares at the curly-haired man, annoyed, yet curious at the same time. 

"Shadow, relax," Bennett begins as he reassures him in a calm tone of voice, "It's a medicine for allergies that makes you sleepy. I just added a little bit to your tea." 

"Could've fucking warned me," Shadow grumbles petulantly, releasing his hold on Bennett and crossing his arms over his chest. He feels somewhat relieved knowing it wasn't anything dangerous but he was still pissed about being drugged without a warning. 

Allies messing with his drinks, what's next? Ren smothering him with a pillow in his sleep. That's why he trusted no one. But he had to admit that extra ten hours of sleep felt amazing. 

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry," Bennett concedes before flashing him a sly grin, "But it worked, didn't it?" 

A sigh escapes from Shadows lips as he reluctantly nods his head, begrudgingly admitting, "Yeah, fine it worked." 

He shoots Bennett a death glare, not quite ready to let go of his annoyance yet, but there was also a hint of amusement in his eyes now. Ren's just going to love hearing about this, isn't she? 

"Now you'll have even more energy to be annoying. It's a good thing," Bennett points out as he turns around and returns to what he was doing before Shadow had interrupted him. 

Shadow smirks, rolling his eyes playfully, "Oh, you bet, Benny," He counters casually as he makes his way to get a glass of water.  

He was back in form and feeling unusually refreshed. He decides that he's going to make sure this extra boost comes with its own benefits for his roommate. After all, the more he annoys Bennett, the less likely he'll be to ever think about pulling another stunt like that, though he had to admit that he felt semi-grateful. 

So, this is what normal people feel like? He could get used to this. 

[mcteofuentes]

Wow, looking at everyone here makes me feel severely under-dressed. It was a struggle to find anything that had some sparkle in it, but I think we managed pretty well. How's your night so far? Are you missing the kid or are you glad that you've had one night away? @cagenewman

[mcteofuentes]

Goes to show that when you take a few moments of your day to help clean up a little bit, it can make a whole difference! I know that I haven't seen much trash since. Well, before the whole bear situation at the campsites this past week. That was bad, but at least no one really got hurt, yeah? Just hope the bears don't get in trouble for eating any human food. I know some need to be put down if they find anything that is from humans. But both weeks were fun. What was your favorite of Nature Week? I kind of liked going to Lavender Lane with my daughter. She loved the butterflies.

Yeah, I hear you! I took a walk out by the docks the other day during my break at the gallery, and I don't remember them ever really looking that clean, you know? No garbage laying all over, nothing floating in the water, it was really nice. I hope we can keep it up for a while. I did some beach combing that I was pretty proud of, to be honest -- lots of garbage that people must have left behind last summer that kinda got buried. How 'bout you?