#especially since i have not done THAT much portrait before and always in natural light settings only

[poetryofyouth]

hhnggg i just imagined a photoshoot concept, sth like "true" eroticism, 1800s clothing with all these layers so no or barely any skin shown, hands gripping fabric, eyes hungrily yearning for what is underneath, i want to make the viewers actually feel sth just seeing someone's ankles. if i can ever pull sth like that off i will die happy.

[cannolicorgi]

2022 Art Recap

 base by @/sabattons on twitter

more under!

My favorite recent character desgins

my outfit designs for my persona

original design for my cat demon oc, Amalthea

wanderer’s troupe outfit for tighnari

my wonderland x teyvat designs so far! I especially love Paimon’s, Scaramouche’s, Kaeya’s, and Venti’s! Honestly just crop off the last line and they’d all be bangers (I don’t hate the last line, it just needs work to be how I envision)

an idol MC character

designs for a manga project

an ocean goddess design for a possible future project (I literally dreamed her and then like 3 weeks later Columbina’s outfit was revealed it was so hard not to scream)

a one off sea monster design!!

Genshin adeptus oc! (the topmost is her most recent changes, though I’m still working on her)

a school/work uniform wip for an old oc

What do I want to improve on?

I want to work harder on my comic ideas! I want to finish my scripts and start drawing right away. I’ve been working on concepts for so long, but haven’t really put my heart into actually getting the hard parts done. I want to work hard so “ Himeko-chan is Haunted by 100,000 spirits  = I . I = “ and possibly even “Aether in Wonderland” will be out during 2023.

I want to spend more time with my ocs. I really do love genshin, but I miss drawing my ocs. Leaving my ocs behind has also left me with less friends, and I want to reconnect with my fellow oc designers and writers. I love my ocs, and as silly as it sounds, those characters have helped me through a lot.

I want to get better at drawing full compositions. I have so many ideas that I feel like I cannot express correctly because my background skills are lacking compared to my character skills. I also want to get better at posing. While I am much better at posing then I am backgrounds, I feel I often do not apply what I know to my for funsies portrait paintings and have a hard time with adding a natural background to my poses.

I want to get better at colors and lighting. I love Yoontrsh’s art so much! Her gradients and color combinations in lighting are so beautiful, and it makes even her sketches look so much better. I think I’m pretty good at this, but I want to be even better!

What am I working on right now?

Sumeru x Caracal oc

A sumeru alchemist oc

Thoma x Amber. I love them so much but I paused this drawing because it was just getting so frustrating. My thumbnail just looks so good but I’m not at all happy with my skin rendering or the entirety of Thoma. It drives me mad

The Balance Between Who I Was Before. I started this the day Scaramouche’s redesign came out, but I got so frustrated with the poses. Which sucks because everything I am happy with is killer!

nothing much to say about this one. I don’t actually think I’ll finish it since it was more about just getting the pose, skin, and hair on paper, which I’ve already accomplished.

a complex Ningguang painting, she exudes so much elegance I always use her as my subject when I want to draw elegant China.

I’ve really been working on my music a lot this December, but I still have so many plans for my visual arts. Haha, I wrote these 2 days ago and I’ve already made so much progress I had to update it.

Thank you for your support. I’m so happy I can share what I love doing with other people, and that I have this space to record my progress and ramble about my art goals.

[rhenuvee]

Just Lost (George Weasley x reader)

Request:  hhii could i request a scenario with george weasley and his girlfriend talking about something really passionately and george just gets really lost in her eyes and says something like "God i want to marry you right now" extra cute and fluffy, thankyou so much stay safe and healty <3 

Hey thank you so much for sending a request! I hope you are safe and healthy as well, and sorry for taking so long with this.

A/N: No, I do not know if Alicia Angelina or Katie have been to an amusement park before.

-------------------------------------------------

It was an exhausting week for you and everyone at Hogwarts. The OWLs were just around the corner, and with the teachers finishing lessons so quickly, it was hard to keep up and absorb as much information.

Currently you were in the common room getting a headache at all your textbooks and papers sprawled out on the low table, huffing as you couldn’t even know where to begin.

“Studying?” asked a girl who made out to be Angelina Johnson who made her way towards the seat next to you.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what my name is.” you joked lightly. Alicia and Katie came over as well.

“Need help studying, (y/n)?” asked Katie.

“Don’t you guys need to study too?”

“We can study together!” suggested Alicia.

You spent a few minutes of organizing your notes, the four of you finally got a start of studying for the exams. It was gonna be a long week. You were deep in thought when suddenly some familiarly loud voice entered from the portrait hole.

“GOOOOOOOD EVENING LADIES!!!” announced Fred and George with their arms comically wide open. Several other students made faces, either scoffing at making so much noise or snorting for being embarrassing. You happened to fit into the first group.

“George, Fred, shut up will you?” you said partially joking. The girls giggled, making you give them a look for laughing for their loud remark.

“Sorry darling, just wanted to make sure you know when I’m in the same room as you.” said George plopping down on the couch next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Oh believe me, I know.” you retorted, smiling when you could see your boyfriend chuckle himself in the corner of your eye. 

“Ew studying? Count me out.” said Fred putting his hands up in surrender and jogging to his dorm as if to escape.

“So what were you two up to?” Katie asked George. You still focused on your paper, but letting your free hand hold his as you listened to the conversation.

“No good probably.” you replied. George perked up at your statement immediately and pinched your nose. You giggled and pulled away from his grip.

“Actually-” he said, sitting up a lot straighter. “I’ll have you girls know, I’m always on my best behaviour.”

“Right...” said Angelina shaking her head. 

“Did this best behaviour have anything to do with Ron and spiders?” you asked, knowing your boyfriend too well. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

“And if it does?” he quipped, curious of what direction you’d take it in.

“Then, that means my boyfriend is normal.” you said kissing his cheek lightly. George and Fred (surprisingly) did not prank Ron today, but despite that he wouldn’t waste an opportunity to play around with you.

“Then I one hundred percent pranked Ron with a toy spider.” he said proudly. You chuckled at this, the girls shaking their heads at each other also knowing George wouldn’t do any less.

“Anyway, how was your day love?” George asked.

“It was alright, but this week’s gonna be full of books and my hand is probably gonna fall off from writing.” you sighed.

“Well, I don’t wanna bother you then...” he said. Your heart throbbed, you knew you had to study but you wanted him to stay. Your boyfriend’s support- even if it meant making cheesy remarks was all you wanted. But as you were about to tell him to stay, it seems like he already had that in mind.

“... with that being said-” George reposition his whole six foot self on the couch so that his head rested in your lap. You thought it was quite silly that George’s legs had to squeeze in so much so he could fit and be comfortable.

You rolled you eyes and ran your hands through his hair, which looked even more fiery red due to the light of the fireplace.

“Goodnight then Georgie.” you said sweetly.

“‘Night darling.” he said closing his eyes. 

Throughout the evening you managed to get a decent amount of studying done. You also took breaks with the girls talking about things like rethinking your life choices such as why you decided to take potions and torture yourself.

“When this year is over, I can’t wait for the summer holidays.” said Angelina with a relaxed sigh in her tone. 

“We should totally hangout together sometime.” you suggested, while writing the last of the lesson’s notes. 

“Where should we go?”

“Maybe the beach? It would be so fun eating ice cream and swimming.” said Alicia. The three of you nodded with words of agreement. You could only imagine the things you could do relishing in the sunlight with your friends.

“We should go to Angie’s house, she has a nice couch.” said Katie. Angelina playfully slapped her arm and rolled her eyes. You and Alicia lauged- it was a running joke that ever since Katie went to Angelina’s once, that her couch was apparently very comfortable.

“Or the amusement park? It might be a long drive but it would be so much fun.” you suggested. 

“The amusement park? I’ve never been to one before.” said Alicia sheepishly. The rest of you gasped dramatically and yelled ALICIA as if to say “oh my god.” You didn’t notice that it happened to wake up your sleepy boyfriend who’s head was still on your lap.

“The amu- what now?”

“GEORGE- you scared me.” you said clutching your chest and looking down where his sleepy eyes were slowly opening. 

“Sorry darling.” he said sweetly, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. You sighed in content, how lucky were you to be with George.

“So what’s this about an amoo-whatever park?” he asked, still resting in your lap.

If this was looked at from a distance, you, Angelina and Katie would look like maniacs, talking your arses off about amusement parks as Alicia shrunk into her seat looking both horrified but amazed.

“Hello? George are you listening to me?”

To George though, you never looked more pretty. 

When you started dating, George always loved hearing you talk since you were naturally more quiet before warming up to him. He loved the reactions you made when he said something that he definitely wouldn’t say in front of his mom, and especially the smile from when he made you happy. Seeing you so passionate and excited about something felt really special to George. 

You couldn’t remember what you were in the middle of talking about, whether it was about funnel cake or the roller coasters. 

“God, I want to marry you right now.” 

Your mouth dropped, along with the other girls’. You couldn’t help the furious blush coating your cheeks as you relished in what your boyfriend just said. It wasn’t until a few seconds later he seemed to realize what he said.

“Well what are you waiting for lover boy?” interrupted Fred who burst out from his dorm again. George groaned, blushing himself. The girls cooed at how cute you two were being.

“George...” you said covering your blush with your hand. 

“Oh Merlin... I didn’t- I mean I did but...” George stumbled over his words as he got up from his sleeping position and rested his head down on your shoulder as if to scold himself for blurting that out.

“I just got so lost in your eyes.” he said blushing and smiling apologetically.

“Yeah or maybe you’re just lost in general.” you said trying to get rid of the red. The girls giggled.

“Ah, young love...- all of us better be the bridesmaids.” teased Alicia.

“You- oh quiet you guys, we’re not talking about that. ANYWAY, FUNNEL CAKE!” you announced as George naturally clung onto you by wrapping his arms around you. The girls and you continued the conversation, until George whispered something in your ear, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make your heart swell.

“After all this, I definitely plan to marry you... 

“...And we can go to that a-museum-mint park thing.”

[shingia]

✗ HQ BOYS DOING YOUR MAKEUP

-> this random idea popped in my head recently and i thought it was pretty cute so here it is ( ͡❛ ‿ ͡❛)

-> general plot : basically, you broke your arm and need them to do your makeup for you 

-> suna, akaashi, tsukishima, semi, bokuto, kenma

— SUNA

• he’s living his youtuber fantasy, let’s be honest here

• and by that i mean that he records every step of the process. he also does this thing where he shows the products to the camera with his hand behind to make the lens focus

• i’m pretty sure he would sit you up on the counter and make you wrap your legs around him to keep him close (bye i’m evaporating)

• getting your eyeliner right on the first try is a huge flex for him. getting it even on both eyes is an even bigger one

• and he brings this up every time you’re mad at him

• « ok yeah i forgot to make dinner. but that eyeliner from last week tho… »

• most definitely has a playlist playing in the background, and you get to choose the songs because you don’t have anything else to do

• he only realizes how much he enjoyed doing this after many hours, and he probably ends up asking you to do it again at like 1am or something

• and if you accept, watch him go above and beyond to do better than the last time, because this time he is committed

• even if he knows you’re not going anywhere btw, he doesn’t really care he just wants to take a few pictures of you before you take it off and go to bed

• (he made her promise not to say anything but he definitely asked his sister for advice just because he wanted to impress you)

• oh and, he puts too much lip gloss on purpose, because he obviously has a good idea to take half of it off :)

— AKAASHI

• obviously he immediately accepts - with your arm in a cast, you could ask him anything and he’d do it in the blink of an eye

• he insists on watching a youtube tutorial because he’s not confident enough to do it without any guidance, and he follows it diligently from a to z

• he’s probably the slowest of all but that’s just because he’s scared of messing up

• and also because he thinks you look really pretty when your face is so relaxed, he can’t help but give it a few kisses every now and then

• after every stroke of the brush, he takes a step back just to make sure that it still looks good - and it does

• he also starts humming at some point, and he would be very pleasantly surprised if you started humming with him

• he refuses to use the eyelash curler because he thinks it’s absolutely terrifying (i have to agree with him)

• however, he asks a lot of questions about the rest of the products because he’s genuinely interested and wants to learn new things

• but tbh i don’t think he would be completely clueless, for him the basics of makeup is just general knowledge

• he also keeps a few samples of your products in his bag in case you need to do touch-ups during the day

• also he cleans the brushes when he’s done <33 what a king

• and he definitely offers to do your hair afterwards since he knows you’re struggling with it too

— TSUKISHIMA

• « not doing that, no way. ask someone else » is his first reaction. but it’s just because he knows he’s going to be terrible at it

• but he accepts after a few minutes of negotiation (because he wants you to stop whining)

• so you drag him to your bedroom and sit between his legs by the window to have a better light ; honestly, it’s ideal work conditions

• surprisingly enough, he does a very good job with eyeshadow. which means that his confidence is now through the roof

• but it all goes back down in a second when he gets started on the eyeliner

• he tries to avoid this step by telling you that you would look much better without - but you really really want to see him try, so he has no choice but to give it a chance

• it looks awful

• he gets it right after his fifth try tho, but your eyes are very irritated

• because he put so much effort into this eyeliner wing, he spends the rest of the day making sure that you won’t rub your eyes and ruin his work

• although he will never admit it, he thinks it’s actually a pretty fun thing to do and he wouldn’t mind doing it again

• but he would rather do it on a day where you don’t have anything planned, because he could start making out with you without hearing that « we don’t have time for that »

— SEMI

• oh it’s definitely not the first time, he’s already pretty experimented

• which means that you don’t have to check on everything that he does, just let him do his thing and you won’t be disappointed

• he probably asks you to show him your outfit so that he can do a makeup with matching colors <3

• there’s one thing that drives him absolutely crazy, and it’s dark red lipstick. so brace yourself because he will put it on you no matter what

• oh and, remember that tongue thing he does before his serves ? yeah well he does that when he’s applying the lipstick as well

• i think he would eventually want to try bolder makeup looks, and if you’re too shy to wear them outside, he would !hype!you!up! until you change your mind

• if i’m being honest : your makeup has probably never looked this good

• it’s pretty frequent that he ends up putting on some eyeliner on himself, and he wears tf out of it

• since he can get pretty protective, he’s usually not a big fan of other people praising you. but he won’t mind if someone ever compliments your makeup

• but what semi loves more than makeup itself is that he gets to take a very good look at your face from every possible angle

• and he loves to discover new things about you, like a hidden mole next to your ear or a dimple under your lips for example

• honestly he knows your face so well that he could probably draw a realistic portrait of you without looking at any reference picture

— BOKUTO

• really really excited about it, and also honored to know that you trust him enough to do that !

• so get ready to spend the next thirty minutes sat on the bathroom floor surrounded by literally every product you own, because bokuto is very curious about a lot of things

• he is so frustrated to see all the different eyeshadow colors and not getting to use them all

• so he’ll probably ask to do your makeup another time just because he’s really intrigued by ‘this sparkly purple shade’

• he’s also very interested in touching all the different textures of your products, so he tries them all on the back of his hand (which looks like a mess by the end)

• he has a hard time finding the angle he’s most comfortable with so he probably moves a lot

• one second he’s sat in front of you, the next he’s behind your back and tilting your face up

• i think he would definitely squish your cheeks with one hand while putting lipstick on with the other

• he also needs constant approval on his work so he keeps a mirror within reach and waits for you to confirm that it looks good every now and then

• you might have to lie to him on his first tries tho, because he’s definitely not a natural (but that’s ok, he’ll get better)

• however, he is always proud of his work and shows you off 10x more than usual for the rest of the day

• and he gets really sad when you take it off in the evening (cue sad puppy eyes)

— KENMA

• if kenma’s going to do your makeup, he’s going to do it right

• both sat on your bed, he’s holding your head still with one hand on your cheek. and don’t you dare sneeze, smile or breath too loud : he needs to focus

• he is so concentrated that he even sticks the tip of his tongue out, and he has a frown on his face the whole time, like a painter working on a million-dollar canvas

• especially for mascara, he’s so scared to poke you in the eye that he requires absolute immobility

• and yes, he will get mad at you if you start to laugh or move too much, i mean come on he’s trying to do serious work here!

• but he just looks really cute when he’s so focused <3 you can’t help it

• however, he goes back to being his laid-back self as soon as he’s done. and he spends a lot of time staring at you for the rest of the day because he’s lowkey proud of the result

• also, don’t let him do your makeup in his bedroom, because the light coming from his setup is probably terrible - so you’ll have to drag him out i’m sorry

• he might lay you down on the couch and straddle you so that he can rest his elbows when he leans forward to reach your face

• oh and : seeing you wear « his » makeup and his clothes simultaneously drives him absolutely crazy

@toworuu @catwithangerissues

[chasingpj]

𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫

pairing: leo valdez x child of iris!reader

requested?: yes!

translation: full of color

warnings: uhh, mentions of mental health and ?? maybe some typos lmao

category: headcanons, fluff, best friends to lovers

pre-relationship

though, leo saw you around camp often, you caught interest in him before he caught interest in you

i mean, he literally couldn't miss you because your outfits were always bright, whether it was a combination of colors or monochromatic

you and your siblings actually look like a rainbow threw up on you guys, and it's honestly iconic

no one at camp can not notice the children of iris, especially when they're in a herd

one day, you were sitting alone at a picnic table near the lake, and you found yourself drawing him in your sketchbook

you sketched a portrait of him while he spoke to piper at a table nearby

you've always found the floppy curls and how his brightest smiles always look a little manic to be adorable

when you sketched his portrait in your notebook, you didn’t intend for him ever to see it

until a couple of weeks later in the arts and crafts center, leo passed by and caught sight of a new project you were working on

he stopped in his tracks to compliment your drawing

since you were nowhere near done with it, you couldn’t admire the piece as much as he was

but his enthusiasm was so endearing

he politely asked if he could see more, and you didn’t hesitate to slide over your sketchbook

he noticed a lot of your drawings were scenery and people at camp; especially your siblings

he stumbled across a detailed sketch of a woman and her child sitting in a bus

“wow… who’s this?”

“oh, I don’t know. It was just a little girl I saw on the train with her mother.”

“so you just drew her?”

you never realized how weird your habit of drawing random people was until he had asked

you giggled nervously, quick to explain yourself, “I tend to draw people or things that I find beautiful. I wanted to capture how calm and happy she was with her child ‘cause at the time, I was stressed and angry. Watching and drawing her made me calm.”

leo nodded, a faint smile on his lips before looking back down at the drawing. “that’s really cool,” he complimented, and you shifted in your seat, suddenly shy.

And then it hit you

you were so willing to show leo all your works that you had completely forgotten that his portrait was in that book

your pulse thumped loud in your ears, mind racing to figure out a way to take away your sketchbook before he could see it

you ended up spending so long thinking of what to do that he arrived on the page in no time

right before he could see the drawing in its entirety, you slammed the book closed and snatched it

leo’s startled expression turned into a mischievous smirk

“was that me?”

you froze in your place; a squeaky sound escaped your throat in your embarrassment

leo’s brown eyes sparkled as he leaned into you, your gaze fixed on his, “y/n, you think I’m beautiful?”

AHHHH!

^^ that was you in your head btw

leo laughed, amused at your attempt to deny it

“then why did you snatch it away?” he raises an eyebrow before reaching over quickly to grab the sketchbook back

you didn't pull it out of his reach fast enough, leo getting a grip on one side

the two of you pull it back and forth, leo laughing at you as you continued to deny what he saw

though you were incredibly embarrassed, you couldn't contain the laughter bubbling in your chest

gods, of course, this would happen to me, you thought

he got it out of your grip, and you sighed in defeat, watching him flip to the page of him and piper

he was quiet, studying the picture for a second before giving you that playful smirk

“you think I’m beautiful?” he asked again

you playfully rolled your eyes, “it was more piper than you.”

your tone was sarcastic, only fueling leo’s banter with you

“oh really?” he chuckled to himself, “but i’m the only one colored in.”

you were silent at his observation before scoffing, “whatever.”

leo only laughed as you take the book away from him

“don’t you have somewhere to be, fire boy?” you asked and nudged his shoulder

the glint in your eyes made him smile, and he shrugged, “i guess i do. i'll see you around."

you nodded, too shy to do anything else, and he walked off

after that, leo took it upon himself to talk to you every day

leo teased you about the drawing all the time, and he found the way you would play along to be funny

before you both fell in love, you were close friends

you had such an optimistic point of view about life, and it was pretty contagious

somehow when leo was in the dumps about something, you always knew what to say

you were just so easy to talk to, and because of this, your friendship just grew naturally

your first kiss was towards the end of summer

leo invited you to hang out with him in bunker nine at, specifically, 6 pm

you teasingly asked if it was a date, and you remember the way he tensed up a bit

with a mumble, he asked, "what if it is?"

from the tone in his voice, you knew he wasn’t joking

in fact, his tone was hesitant, a part of him was expecting you to reject him

then the heavy pit in his stomach turned light when you smiled and said, "then I'm down."

the grin leo gave you made your heart flutter like crazy

your first date consisted of eating snacks and watching a movie on one of those portable DVD players

You picked up on the tension between you and him, and noticed the opportunities for a kiss kept passing

it was until Leo walked you to your cabin that night did you have a moment of boldness and asked, "so are you going to kiss me or?"

leo's eyes widen in surprise before his face broke out in the familiar smirk he gives when he flirts with you

you rolled your eyes playfully and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into you

your first kiss was sweet and soft; a little awkward

his hands hovered over your sides for a second, not sure what to do with them until he decided to rest them on your waist

it was the perfect way to mark the beginning of your relationship

relationship

since you guys are both broke teenagers, you got creative with date nights

you came up with the idea of paint splattering with him

you guys got canvases, covered the walls and floors with plastic to make sure you didn't dirty them

then you filled water balloons with paint and just threw them

despite you guys singing and dancing around in the midst of it, the canvases came out so good

and to commemorate the beginning of your relationship, you hung them up side by side in bunker nine, and when you guys get a place together, you hang them up in the hallway of your apartment

leo is a huge gift giver; as i’ve said before in my “how he shows he loves you” headcanons

he’s made you a lot of things; canvases, jewelry, little trinkets with scrap metal

one of your favorite gifts from him is a suncatcher with rainbow quartz

you fell in love with it and when you move in together, you make sure to hang it up in the kitchen with the bunch of other suncatchers that he’s made you

i love the idea that you would attempt to bring more color in his wardrobe

a lot of his clothes are muted in color; you don’t mind it but you were interested to see what he’d look like in a colorful outfit like yours

To say the least, he was not that enthusiastic and maybe, you shouldn’t have put him in a monochromatic orange outfit but… you still thought he looked cute

leo thought he looked like a traffic cone though so it didn’t stick

it’s okay because you like him the way he is anyways

another thing is that you guys are super supportive of each other and leo loves just how you manage to lift his mood

once leo was having a bad mental health week

you guys were sitting under a tree, looking out at the water

his head laid on your shoulder and small sniffles came from the other

it hurt to see him like this and you wished you could do more to make him feel better

then you had the greatest idea to make a rainbow for him

so you did

leo was so stunned when he saw the rainbow form over the lake

he looked at you surprised and when you admitted to making the rainbow for him, the emotion on his face was indescribable

and then you laughed and held him when he started crying because he said it was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him

another time, you insisted that meditation would be good for him

he literally sat down for like 3 minutes with his eyes closed before he was itching to get up and do something

even when he was sitting down, he was still bouncing his legs and fidgeting

so that fell through too but you still helped him in other ways and he’s so grateful for your optimism and bubbly personality

leo always says that you bring color to everything; literally and figuratively

one of the things you bring color to is his life

and he’s constantly reminding you of this; that his world just feels brighter now that you’re around

and it’s literal too

since you painted the walls of bunker nine a bright orange

he asked you why orange, and you told him because orange encourages productivity, creativity, and most importantly, optimism

it may have also reminded you of the orange outfit you put him into

anyways, you told him that it hurt you to see him get down in the dumps, and you insisted there was no way he could be sad in a bright orange room

needless to say, you were kinda right

masterlists taglist: @nct127bee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @cartocns @slytherclaw-kitten @idk-bye-no @percysbluehairbrush @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @drayshadow @ashookykooky @anything-forourmoony @loverstyless @yelenabel0vaswife @ohmydamgods @jordannfields @amy-writes-blog @muted-mayham @dreamerball @earthtokace @thehighladyofday @lala-llama123 @tootsdoll @slytherindaughterofposeidon0 @black-rose-29 @somekidnamedkai @possiblylostchasecousin @hamdehlesmis @cami05sworld @does-anyone-hear-me @sol-the-salmon

if your username is bolded that means i can’t tag you ! you probably have your visibility settings on!

[maswritingblog]

Unexpected - an Oberyn Martell oneshot

Summary: After spending one night with Prince Oberyn Martell, Cecilia returned to her father’s castle with every intention of pretending she hadn’t had the best night of her life. That is until she discovers she is with child, just in time for Oberyn Martell to pay her family a visit.

Warnings: None, really. Just a feeling a worthlessness, pregnancy if you are triggered by that.

{A/N: I got the idea for this from a dream I had, figured I should write it out. It is VERY long, I apologize. This could also potentially become a series if people want it to.}

It had been a bad idea, of course it had. On the list of bad decisions she’d made in her life, this one may have just beat them all. But she had been mistreated her entire life, made to feel like she was nothing and would always be nothing…and he had treated her like she was something so precious. Gods, she had felt so much better in his presence for one night than she had felt with her family her entire life.

But it had only been one night, and she had returned to being nothing the next morning, her little secret tucked away in her mind to think about only when she was in her chambers late at night.

Secrets found a way of coming to light, though, and hers decided it would make itself known in such a cruel fashion.

She had thought she could put it behind her, go back to living a meaningless life as if it had only been a fantasy, but then she realized she had missed two of her cycles. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with a child, or how she would even manage; her family would surely use this as more reason to torment her. Worst of all, they probably wouldn’t even attempt to marry her off to save her honor because she just wasn’t worth it.

Her already insignificant name would mean even less once it got out.

So, she hid it away, just like that night, and for another missed cycle it seemed like a decent plan, but she knew there would come a time when she would not be able to hide it anymore. She needed to do something, needed to help herself the way no one else would help her.

She planned to run away to a place where no one knew her. At least if she was on her own, she could lie and say her husband had perished and left her to raise the child alone; on her own she could attempt to save her reputation.

The morning of the day she planned to leave, he arrived.

Her father had announced as they were breaking their fast that they would be hosting the Prince of Dorne and some of his people as they passed through on their way back home. She had nearly choked on her food when she heard.

She had never thought about seeing him again, never imagined that was a possibility. The racing of her heart was not enough for her to give up on her plan of escape, however, she would never assume a prince would want anything to do with a child he had sired one night in a city that had not been either of their own.

There was to be a feast in honor of the prince’s arrival, she would simply slip out while her family was distracted.

~~~~~~~

That evening, the festivities had begun. She had already packed a small bag of only the things she thought she could not live without and stashed it somewhere close to the servants’ entrance; she would wait until the right moment and slip out through the many passageways she had played in as a child. She knew the castle like the back of her hand, it would be easy.

She had not expected how seeing him again would make her feel. As she stood with her family waiting to greet the prince and those traveling with him, her heart was pounding in her chest. When she spotted him, walking forward with a beautiful woman on his arm, she felt her knees might buckle.

Oberyn was still as handsome as he had been that night, more beautiful than anything that deserved to be within the walls of a home she had grown to hate so much. Her father was first to greet him, but she could hardly hear the words he was saying with the rushing in her ears. It wasn’t until her father began to present her sisters that she focused.

As he introduced the oldest, Rosalia, and the middle child, Emilia, he boasted about each of their talents in whichever hobbies they had taken up as Oberyn simply nodded in acknowledgment from where he stood.

“And, finally, my youngest, Cecilia.”

Her father didn’t brag on any of her accomplishments, though she had just as many as her sisters, and it didn’t surprise her in the least.

The prince’s deep, brown eyes, eyes she could remember above her so clearly, were on hers, and if he remembered her, he did not indicate it in any way. His expression flickered briefly at her father’s lack of words following her name, and the lips she knew too well parted.

“I’m sure this one has talents of her own, as well.” He said simply, that accent washing over her.

She hoped he wouldn’t notice her blush, but naturally he did.

“We have prepared your rooms, as well as a feast for this evening.” Her father ignored the comment.

Oberyn nodded. “Ellaria and I should like to settle in after a long journey, but a feast sounds wonderful.”

Servants were ushered forward to lead them away, and Cecilia tried not to think too much about how his eyes lingered on hers as he moved passed her, Ellaria’s eyes also studying her curiously.

She wondered if she knew about that night.

~~~~~~~

The festivities were in full swing, and Cecilia found herself nervous. She watched people dancing from her seat at the end of the table, far away from her father and their royal guests, and waited for her moment.

She hoped nobody would notice, that she could escape before she had to look Oberyn in the eyes again. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to do it if he approached her.

The time came once her sisters were asked to dance by two men from a neighboring family that had come for the feast. With the two older women away from the table, it was acceptable for her to stand as well. She moved slowly, skirting around people in the room until she reached the doors.

The final glance she took wasn’t hesitance to leave this place, she had left it a long time ago, but to make sure there were no eyes on her. As usual, she was forgotten by everyone.

At least that’s what she believed.

The hallway was dark, the torches not having been lit yet since everyone was in the great hall. She didn’t need light to find her way, though.

There was a large portrait hanging on the wall that looked like an ordinary painting of one of her three times great-grandfather, but behind it was a passageway that had been used long ago for allowing servants to navigate the castle easier. It hadn’t been used for that purpose in many years, but she had found herself in it several times.

Before she could so much as slide the portrait aside, a voice stopped her.

“I thought you might save me a dance.”

She stiffened, heart suddenly racing in her chest at his voice. It had haunted her dreams in the best way for many moons. She faced him, knowing this would either delay her escape or stop it all together.

“Your Highness.” She addressed him, dropping into a curtsy quickly.

Even in the hallway only lit by moonlight, he was beautiful.

He stepped forward, a playful smirk on his lips. “I thought I told you to call me Oberyn?” he mused. “Your Highness is so formal, especially for someone who has known me so closely.”

Gods, he must know what his voice did to her, there was no way he didn’t.

Cecilia took a steadying breath. “I did not think you would remember someone like me. I thought it best to pretend formalities were still necessary.”

He was still moving towards her slowly, eyes raking her frame in a way that almost made her shiver.

When he reached her, his hand lifted to brush her hair off her shoulder, the tips of his fingers ghosting against the skin of her neck and setting her on fire. “How could I forget someone like you?”

He said ‘someone’ differently than she did. She did not put much value in it, while he seemed to make the one word seem like everything.

“Will you join me for a dance?” He asked, those haunting eyes flickering over her face before locking on hers.

Her father would certainly love to see his least favorite child dancing with a prince instead of her older sisters, he would be most displeased with her. If only he knew how she had done much more than dance when she had met him, that she carried the proof of that inside her.

As much as she longed to show her family up by dancing with him, she knew she couldn’t if she wanted to leave. Fortunately, she had spent her entire life saying just the right words to placate those around her, to keep them happy enough to leave her be.

“I would love to,” she told him with a small smile. “I just need a moment alone, away from all the noise.”

Unfortunately, he had more to say. “Your father has spent the entire night trying to push your sisters on a prince, and yet he has not said a word of his youngest.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead offering him a small smile. She was sure it didn’t meet her eyes. “My father would never wish to push me on anyone, least of all a prince.”

Oberyn frowned, brows furrowing at her words. He looked confused, even a bit concerned, and he glanced back towards the great hall for a moment before his eyes were on her again. “And why is that?”

Cecilia shrugged one shoulder, trying to fight back the sudden nausea; whether it had anything to do with her condition or with the thought that she had just exposed her father’s hatred towards her to Oberyn wasn’t clear.

“Ask him yourself and I am sure he would have plenty to say about it.” She replied quietly, feeling small even under his warm gaze.

He seemed to notice her change in mood, the frown on his face deepening with worry, and he opened his mouth to speak. “Cecilia—"

She needed to leave, she didn’t have much time and her window was closing. She interrupted him, even though it would be improper in any other setting. “I would very much like to dance with you, Your Highness. Would you wait for me in the great hall?”

Though he had more to say, and still appeared concern about her words, he seemed to understand she wished to be alone. And maybe he sensed something else, because his hand slipped into hers and he brought her knuckles up to brush his lips against them.

“I will wait all night if I have to.” He told her softly, accent lilting and warm eyes caressing the features of her face once more before he backed away. His eyes stayed on hers a moment longer, and then he turned and disappeared back into the party.

She moved quickly, slipping through the opening behind the portrait and letting it fall back into place behind her, a tear slipping down her face as she realized she would never see his beautiful face again.

~~~~~~~

Many moons later, Cecilia was settled into a village a long journey by sea from her own home. She found herself happier around the people in the village than she had ever been at home, and they treated her better than she probably deserved.

The story she had spun, of a husband who had passed and left her with nothing more than the child growing in her womb, was believed by everyone she had told it to. The elderly man and woman she lived next to took good care of her, doting on her the way she had always dreamed her family would. The only thing she hated was the looks her swollen stomach received from those around her, the pity for a woman alone with child. She was close to having the baby, it would only be two more moons if her calculations were correct.

One day, she was returning from the river with a wooden basket of linens when her neighbor approached. The elderly woman gripped her arm firmly, leaning in close to whisper to her.

“There’s a man in your home.” She told her, causing Cecilia’s heart to drop. “I offered him tea at our home while he waited, but he insisted. He seems awfully important.”

Her first thought was that it was her father. While he would not care she was gone, he might care about the way her disappearance had no doubt tarnished his reputation. If he had come to collect her, she was not sure what she would do. Or what he would do when he saw she was with child.

She thanked the woman and waited until she disappeared into her home before she looked down at her stomach. Her dress was a little loose, but not loose enough to hide the roundness there. She held the basket in front of her and hoped it would be enough to conceal it.

But when she entered the house, she was surprised to find it was not her father who had come for her.

Her shock at seeing a prince of all people sitting on the old furniture that he been gifted to her by her neighbors was almost enough to make her drop the basket, but the idea of him knowing was enough for her to tighten her grip.

“Your H-Highness?” she choked out. “What are you doing here?”

Oberyn motioned for the guard that stood on the other side of the room to leave them. Once the man had stepped outside, Oberyn’s eyes were on her. “I waited for our dance, but you never came back.”

She felt only a slight hint of shame. “Is that why you are here? To dance?”

He stood from the dusty lounge and stepped towards her. “I am here because I heard some rumors that concerned me.”

Cecilia gripped the basket tighter.

“The servants at your father’s castle have a hard time keeping their mouths from running. Ellaria heard something quite interesting about you.”

He was stepping closer, and she moved backwards for every step until her back hit the wall and she felt trapped. He knew, how could he know? How could anyone back home have known?

“Your handmaid mentioned that you had not had your cycles in several months. That you had returned from your trip to a neighboring country with something more than what you were supposed to.”

Gods. Why had she not thought of that? She should have pricked her finger and smeared blood on her sheets to hide it. How had she been so stupid? And now what? Would he be angry at her? Would he want to hide her away so nobody would know of his indiscretions?

Her throat was tight, she could not even bring herself to respond, not even to try and deny it.

“If that is true, then you have taken something very important to me, and hidden it away.”

Important?

He was in front of her now, and he reached forward to grasp the basket, pulling it from her arms despite her reluctance to release it. As he placed it on the floor, his eyes were trained on her stomach, where his suspicions had been confirmed. His face didn’t appear to be angry, but perhaps he was just good at hiding his emotions.

“Did you know that night? Is that why you left?” he finally asked, eyes meeting hers once more.

She blinked her burning eyes, a couple of tears dropping down her cheeks as she swallowed. “Yes.”

He studied her for a long while, his face remaining the same as it had been when he had begun speaking. Finally, his hands raised towards her face, causing her to flinch hard. He froze.

“I would not harm you.” He assured her, eyes softening before he brushed the tears off her face gently and cupped her face in his hands. “Why did you run?”

His gentleness was startling and unexpected. “My-My father, he would have been angry. He would have hid me away in some far tower, at least if I hid myself away I could be free.”

Oberyn’s thumb brushed the apple of her cheek before his hands dropped from her face. “I am sorry you had to leave your home because of me. Why did you not tell me that night that you were with child?”

She swallowed, and found her face felt cold and lonely without his hands there. “You are a prince and I am…nobody important. I did not want to ruin your reputation. And I did not think you would care.” She said honestly.

There was a small grin on his face. “You do not know much about me, do you?” he wondered in amusement, turning to wander back to the lounge, although he did not sit. “In Dorne, bastards are cherished as much as those who are born within wedlock. In fact, I have eight bastard daughters of my own, and I love them each very dearly.”

Cecilia tried not to show her shock too much, for fear he might mistake it for something else. Eight daughters? And he genuinely loved them and cared for them? Raised them and acknowledged them as his own? Maybe she had been really wrong about her idea of him.

“I would like for you to come back to Dorne with me.” Oberyn continued.

She finally found her voice. “Y-You want me to go to Dorne?”

He nodded. “I will care for you and the child. A new baby would be very welcome, my youngest is already on her fifth name day.”

“Y-You want me to go to Dorne?” she repeated, still in shock.

Oberyn offered her a gentle smile, returning to stand in front of her and taking her hands in his. His eyes were warm and welcoming. “I would never force you to join me, but believe me when I say that I would very much like to know you. And to know our child.”

It wasn’t what she was expecting when she had found him in her home. She expected anger, expected him to disown the child immediately and never wish to see her again. She did not expect him to clearly love the child so much already, to want them in his life.

She stopped thinking about it and nodded. “O-Okay. I’ll go to Dorne with you.”

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 04

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

A/N: ahhh yes romance is in the air lads. I hope you like this new part!!! I’m having so much fun writing this series for you guys :) LOVE YOUUUUU

As always, a HUGE shoutout to my beautiful friend Rachel @bulletproofbirdy​ for her assistance with this fic. I love you sm and I hope you especially like what I’ve done with the place >:)

It’s been a few days.

Nothing of substance has happened since the night you kissed Yoongi by the river other than a clear shift in your relationship with him.  

He doesn’t treat you differently in front of the patrons at the market nor does he spare more than a glance your way when you’re delivering bread.

But every night, without fail: you meet by the river.

You speak about things that seem too heavy for the daylight: war, peace, hope, loss...

He listens to your thoughts and offers many of his own but the night always ends with his lips on yours.  

His hands moving across your body as if he’s trying to learn every inch of you.

Whilst you’d happily have him against a tree or down on the mushy floor of the riverbed, Yoongi always stops things before they go to far.

He whispers promises of a night without boundaries in a place you both can call your own.

He tells you that when the time is right, he will give you everything you deserve and more.  

You agree with him despite the desire that rages in your body.

You know it’s best to wait until things are more concrete between the two of you.  

So you part ways every time and spend the rest of the night longing for one another until sleep finally offers you momentary peace.

Until the dreams begin...

Today however, you are concerned with someone else’s dreams.

Namely, your dear friend, your original confident, the smartest gal in the world: Rachel.

After your first rendezvous with Yoongi, you had rushed over to her home and spent the better half of the night gushing about the kiss.

Of course, she had been over the moon for you and the two of you had jumped around her living room like a bunch of excited schoolgirls.  

However, towards the end of the conversation, particularly when Jungkook’s name was brought up she had grown slightly somber.

Although their interaction had been brief, the chemistry was palpable and as much you had faith in your friend’s abilities, you didn’t foresee her making a move on him.  

So- you have decided to take matters into your own hands.  

With a basket full of fresh bread, you walk down the dirt path towards their camp to begin the initial phase of your plan.  

It was unlike the members to be absent from the fields surrounding their tents but, you presume it’s because training had concluded for the day.

You expected to see Namjoon out on their bench cribbling in his journal but, there is no one to be found.

There is a bit of anxiety that comes over you as thoughts creep in of the day that this area truly is abandoned.

The day Yoongi and his battalion move on.

Deep in your gut, dread begins to grow but you force yourself to take a deep breath and focus on the objective at hand.  

You tug the bell to signal your arrival expecting Seokjin’s boisterous presence to greet you but, instead you hear a bit of shuffling before a hand slips out between the cloth to tug open the entrance.

Immediately, your heart ignites in a fit within your chest at the sight before you.

Yoongi stands there, body completely rid of his normal attire, with only a pair of tight-fitting long johns adorning his figure.

His hair is out of his usual updo and pushed away from his face, long platinum tendrils cascading down his strong chest.

“Oh- hi...” You cough as the tone of your voice is audibly strained.

He smirks, his eyes lighting up as he sees you, “Good evening. Delivery?”

A jagged nod comes from you as you extend the basket towards him, “Yes. Here you go, I added some-”

Yoongi’s lips are on yours then, interrupting your sentence, one of his hands taking the basket whilst his other hand settles on your cheek.

As usual, his lips eliminate any thought in your head unrelated to him, your body going slightly limp beneath his touch.

He lingers for a moment before pulling away, his brown eyes sparkling with satisfaction.  

“This color is beautiful on you.” He murmurs nodding to your dress and pecking your lips once more, “did you make this?”

You smile, licking the taste of him off your lips, “Thank you. My mom made it for me last spring.”

He grins, “She’s very talented.” He lifts the basket, “This is a wonderful thing to wake up to, my men are going to destroy it.”

You giggle, raising your brows, “Late night?”

“Very. We were out until sunrise.” He explains, “Much of our training is nocturnal and the forests around here allowed us to teach the new recruits some important skills; we all slept a little later than I anticipated...” He chuckles sheepishly, glancing behind him before his eyes fall upon you once more, “It’s nice seeing you in the daylight.”

You giggle, “Is it? That’s a relief, I feared that maybe the moonlight and the beauty of the river was what kept you coming back every night...”

Yoongi’s lips twitch as he adjusts the basket on his arm, “I think you know very well what keeps me coming back.”

Before you can offer another flirtatious quip, a ball of fluffy black hair shoves its way through the opening of the tent.  

It’s Jungkook and he looks as though he hasn’t been awake for more than 30 seconds.

“Hyung- is the bread...” He mumbles sleepily before his eyes widen as they spot you, “Oh- I’m sorry...” He bows his head, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Good uh...” He squints up at the sky, his lips pouted slightly, “Good evening Y/N.”

You bow your head, offering a smile, “Good evening. You didn’t interrupt at all, I was actually looking to speak with you when you have time. I know you’ve just woken up so, I can come back later...”

Jungkook’s cheeks heat up involuntarily as he steps behind Yoongi a little more, “Alone?”

Yoongi eyes you curiously, “What do you want with the boy?”

He chuckles at his younger brother who looks both intrigued and frightened all at once.

“We don't have to be alone.” You assure him, a bit of laughter leaving your lips, “It’s about my friend-”

“Rachel?” He assumes, wide-eyed, “Is she ok?”

You smirk knowingly, “She is. I was actually going to inquire whether or not you were interested in her but, I think I have my answer.”

“Ah- “ Yoongi interjects, looking at you pointedly, “You’re here to play matchmaker for my little brother?” He looks amused, his deep gaze boring into your own as he speaks again, “Don’t you have your hands full with another endeavor?”

The depth in his tone sends a bit of electricity up your spine and, you’re thankful that Jungkook doesn’t pick up on the bit of suggestion in his voice.  

He’s hung up on your reply and aching to know more.

So timidly he says, “Is she- maybe...interested in me?”

Averting your gaze away from Yoongi, you nod towards Jungkook, “I have a feeling she’s more than interested. However, she is incredibly stubborn and refuses to acknowledge the way you look at her. So naturally-” You gesture to yourself fluidly, “I decided to come here and ask you myself.”

“Naturally.” Yoongi agrees, his lips twitching, “Well, I don’t want to intrude on your plan so-”

As he tries to retreat back into the tent, you stop him with a raised hand, “Actually. I need your help after I speak with Jungkook so, don’t go far.”

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head, “You’re aware that I oversee a battalion of 20,000 men, correct?”

With a shrug, you gesture for Jungkook to come closer before throwing an incredulous look Yoongi’s way, “Romance waits for no one...”

“Neither does war.” He retorts with a smirk.

"In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.” You remind him, quoting a famous war strategist, “It won’t take long anyhow, plenty of time to return to your post, General.”

Jungkook, who has been zoning out for the last minute or so raises his brows at your tone, his lips parting in curiosity and glancing towards Yoongi.  

He doesn’t hear people quarrel with Yoongi often, even if they are joking so, hearing you speak so candidly to him causes him to wonder just how close the two of you have gotten.

If Yoongi is impressed by your knowledge, he doesn’t show it. But what he does do is raise his brows whilst his teeth secure themselves to his bottom lip.

“Make it quick.” He insists sharply despite the excitement dancing through his gaze.

Before you have the opportunity to respond, he disappears behind the curtain, leaving you alone with Jungkook.

“Hyung must really like you...” He observes softly, pursing his lips, “He isn’t the type to joke around with new people.”

Stifling a smirk, you shrug and gesture to the bench in front of their tent, “That’s a shame. Your hyung has quite the sense of humor. Now- I know you don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll make this quick.” You begin as the two of you sit, “Normally I’d like to approach a situation like this with a bit more class but to be frank, you won’t be in town long and after the way I saw you looking at Rachel, I don’t think you’ll mind my intervention.”

Jungkook blushes, his fingers coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, “Ke-Keep your voice down, I don’t want my hyungs to hear about this...” He pleads, “They’ll tease me relentlessly.”

You allow yourself the grin now, admiring how shy he is but you concede not wanting to embarrass him.

“Do you not want them to know you’re courting someone?”

He shakes his head, “No I just don’t want them to know until I speak with her first. I know you say she’s interested but- I'd still like to hear it from her.  My hyungs will pester me about it constantly and if she ends up rejecting me, I don’t really want to be reminded about it.”

“I understand.” You concede, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m sure I’ve never seen her behave this way around a man before. It’s unlikely she will reject you...”

“Still-” He insists, the color on his cheeks deepening, “it's possible. I never assume people’s opinions of me.”

It’s very odd, you think, here is this fine specimen before you: handsome, experienced, talented, respected and yet- he doesn’t seem to see himself that way.

Sounds a lot like someone else you know...

“That’s probably best.” You smile, warming up to him rather quickly, “You are interested in her though, aren’t you?”

He bites his bottom lip in thought before nodding, a bit of shyness in his eyes, “I am yes. Though I’m not totally sure how you figured it out based on our limited interaction. I’ve only spoken to her once- and I made a fool of myself.”

You giggle, “Yes but, you saw her for the first time in the plaza, didn’t you? She stopped you right in your tracks.”

His toffee orbs widen, “How did you-?"

A smirk comes over your mouth as you once again shrug at his question, “My job requires me to be very observant.” You reply, “People often say more with their movements than their words.”

“Hey!” He grins, showing off his perfect teeth, “I think that too! Well- that's something Yoongi-hyung taught me. I’m trying to get better at it but, I find it harder to observe people I don’t know. Strangers make me nervous...”

His sudden warmth makes you happy as you didn’t really expect him to be this bubbly but, you’re happy he’s comfortable with you given your intentions behind this conversation.  

If he’s courting your friend, he’s courting you too.

“You could have fooled me.” You retort, “I saw the way you handled the clan leader...when I came by your tent, I was anticipating on meeting someone very different.”

Jungkook chuckles, “I get that a lot. I rarely live up to people’s expectations of me- I think that’s one of my strong suits. Aside from my brute strength obviously.”  

“Yes of course, we mustn't forget about that...” You concede, laughing lightly along with him, “So back to Rachel then- you plan on courting her yes?”

He shifts on the bench, his tan fingers coming up to adjust his peasant blouse, shyness returning to his features, “I would love to. She-” He pauses, looking away from you, his eyes deepening in thought, “Aish...she really is something isn't she?”

At his question, you smirk and allow warmth to fill your chest, “Now where have I heard that before.” You muse allowed, “I could facilitate a meeting between the two of you? Although- I will likely have to tell a teensy white lie because, if I warn her that you wish to meet with her- she would probably combust on the spot. Also, I doubt she would believe me...”

He smirks fondly, nibbling on the inside of his cheek before his brows furrow, “Why wouldn’t she believe you? She must know how desirable she is right?”  

“Certainly not. She has no idea. Which is why I finally decided to take matters into my own hands.” You explain, propping your chin on the palm of your hand, “Rachel is a brilliant woman. She could easily run a small country if the opportunity was presented to her but, she has no concept of how wonderful she is.”

Jungkook pouts his lips, “I was certain she knew. How could someone that beautiful not understand their own beauty?”

You raise your brows, “Do you recognize yourself as desirable?”

He snickers, “Don’t be silly. I might be a suitable partner because of my status as a warrior but, I don’t think there is much else I have to offer. That’s what has me so worried...what if you’re wrong about her desire for me?”

With an incredulous look, you shake your head in disbelief, “The two of you amaze me. You’re so brilliant and yet- so foolish at the same time. I assure you; you have plenty to offer. The women in this village nearly faint every time you pass- quite frankly, you are incredibly handsome with an unusual amount of talent and-”

Jungkook is smirking, pleased with your response as he interrupts you, “I thought you were interested in my hyung Y/N-” He teases and snickers as you roll your eyes.

“That is neither here nor there.” You insist, “The point is, the courtship is worth pursuing because I believe it will go well. So I came here to suggest a plan...”

“What is your plan dear matchmaker?” He chuckles, folding his hands and resting them on the table.

“My plannnn is-” You draw out the word before leaning in closely and divulging your ideas.

You are elated when he agrees and feel slightly giddy at the thought of your dear friend meeting up with the potential love of her life.

Romance certainly is in the air.  

The plan is set in motion after a few more moments of talking and the conversation ends with Jungkook eagerly rushing back to his tent to prepare.

Feeling satisfied with your healthy dose of meddling, you brush your dress off and start towards the exit of the camp.  

However, the deep voice of your suitor stops you in your tracks, sending butterflies directly into your stomach.

“Leaving without a goodbye?” Yoongi calls softly, departing from his tent.

You turn with a smile on your face to see him fully dressed in his training attire: fitted black pants and a matching tunic, his sword strapped faithfully to his hip.

“I figured I caused enough havoc amongst your battalion today. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you’d be dressed and I didn’t want to disturb you.” You explain, your hands sliding down to play with the fabric of your dress.

“If havoc is putting a ridiculous smile on my brothers face than please feel free to wreak havoc anytime you wish. I have dreaded the day where I’d have to convince him to go after his potential partner and you’ve gone and lifted that responsibility from me.” He explains, stepping towards you a bit more “He says his meeting with her tomorrow evening?”

“If all goes well.” You reply, your face heating up in light of his presence, “My plans usually play out successfully.”

“I have no doubts about that.” He chuckles, his feline gaze glancing behind you momentarily before returning back to your face, “Will I be seeing you tonight?”

Pretending to toy with the idea, you narrow your eyes and place a finger on your chin, “I suppose its possible, if you aren’t too busy with your duties here...”

“My duties?” He places a hand on his chest, stepping closer to you once again, “If anyone were to be tied up with their duties, I imagine it would be you. Being a full-time apothecary is enough but, now you’ve gone and taken up matchmaking as well.” Yoongi’s eyes glint as he stares at you, “You never have to concern yourself with whether or not I’ll have time for you...”

You resist the urge to throw yourself at him, frustrated by the effect he has on you.

“Then I suppose you will see me then.”

He grins, “Good.”

For a few seconds, the two of you stew in silence before the need to kiss him becomes too much to bear and you take the steps necessary to wrap your arms behind his neck and place your lips against him.

You can hear his sharp intake of breath as you do, his hands securing themselves at the base of your back.  

The movements of the kiss escalate quickly, and you find yourself forgetting that you’re stood in the middle of a military camp, where anyone could walk out and see you both canoodling in the courtyard.

Yoongi seems to realize this too as he pulls away with heavy breath and hesitation all over his face.

“My my my...” He murmurs, shaking his head, “You really have no regard for my well-being do you?”

His light scolding causes you to giggle which in turn breaks the disapproving expression on his face.

“I’m trying to improve your well-being actually.” You insist, your fingers toying with the tendrils of hair at the back of his head, a dreamy smile on your mouth.

He raises his brows, “Oh? How do you figure that?”

Before you can reply, the rustling coming from behind Yoongi pulls you out of your conversation.

The rest of his battalion have seemingly woken up and are beginning to flock to the courtyard in preparation for their training.  

Glancing behind him, Yoongi sighs before turning back to you reluctantly, “Tonight?”

You offer him a smile and step back out of his grip, “Tonight.”

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it before heading off to his men.

Tonight now seemed a century away despite the fact that the sun was already heading off towards the horizon.  

-The next day-

Your night with Yoongi followed the similar structure that it usually does.  

Deeping meaningful conversation, playful banter, difficult questions and well, a healthy dose of unresolved lust.  

He asserts the end to your displays of affection every time, offering the same words of comfort.

You’re fine with this of course.

You’d never want him to do anything he didn’t want to do, and you’d certainly want the first time you were intimate to be special.

However, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling dejected.

It’s not because Yoongi says it’s not the right time or that he doesn’t think the two of you were ready.

You respect him and his choices completely and would never attempt to coerce him beyond his initial responses but...

You are beginning to feel alone in your desire for him.  

For you, there has never been another to ignite such a powerful response within you.

You’ve never wanted anyone so badly.

It makes you feel insane and yet, here he is, so calm in his demeanor and easily able to refuse any opportunity to sate your hunger for one another.  

It’s very silly, you think, he is clearly interested in you.

He makes that very obvious.

And yet, you can’t help but feel confusion.  

He wouldn’t be in your village for much longer and soon enough you’d have to say goodbye for a length of time you’d rather not assign numerical value you to.

You wish you understood his intentions more and at the same time, you wish you were able to quell your desire for him.  

You did feel alone in that way.

Yoongi was an incredible, multi-faceted man with seemingly thousands of years’ worth of knowledge behind his eyes. He was open and yet so secretive all at once and because of that, you couldn’t understand why he behaved this way.

The two of you would intentionally rile each other up only for him to put a stop to things every time.

But it’s almost as if this was part of his plans with you all along.  

And you just couldn’t understand why.

So naturally, you end up running to the person who always keeps you grounded for advice: Rachel.

Although, after your conversation with Jungkook yesterday, you have multiple reasons for paying your friend a visit.

“He stopped things again before they went too far and-“ You sigh, looking down at her hands that secure a warm mug of tea, “I feel a little strange about it. I’m starting to feel like maybe he doesn’t desire me the way I desire him...”

Rachel is sat across from you on her sofa as she usually is, her legs tucked up on the cushion.  

She takes a sip of her tea before her brows furrow in disagreement as she shakes her head, “I sincerely doubt that. He was very, um...excited wasn’t he?”

He was, you think, and he usually is but that only adds to your confusion.

“I don’t know...” You groan, “...he says he is but- he keeps saying it’s not the right time. I’m worried I may be too lustful towards him; I’m wondering if it’s off putting.”

“He does not seem the type to play games. If he says it’s not the right time...he must have a right time in mind?” She suggests before looking at you pointedly, “And I don’t believe you are being lustful. Even if you were, what’s wrong with that”

Nothing.

Nothing is wrong with being lustful as long as you are being respectful which you can honestly say you are but, the insecurity you’re feeling is contributing to a bit of shame within you.

“I’ve never wanted anyone this way, I feel like I’m going mad. He seems so calm and collected and yet- here I am, flustered and confused. I’m used to having a handle on my emotions I guess and I wish I knew how he was able to keep himself so composed.” You ponder the end of her question, “There is nothing wrong with being lustful. I just don’t know if he feels the same if it’s so easy for him to control himself around me...”

Rachel nods along, her bright eyes listening intently before she pauses to think, “You know, you have to remember he is a ten-year veteran and the leader of the most elite military force in our country. He has so much control and discipline applied to himself in all areas, I can’t imagine he would be able to easily relinquish that control. Especially with someone he has so much affection for. I am certain it is not easy, merely well-practiced”

She has a point but then again, she usually does.  

You bite your lip, turning your attention to the fabric of the chair, picking at it, “You’re right. I suppose I’m being a little immature about this...I should just be more patient.”

It’s decided in your mind that you should move on to the other reason you came to visit her this evening: a deceitful conversation with a much happier ending.

“By the way, what are you doing this evening?”

She’s stood up now and striding over to the kitchen, rubbing your arm as she passes you, “You are not immature at all! I’m confident your general is worth the patience.” She assures you with a wink before she thinks to herself once again, “I don’t have anything in particular planned, why do you ask?”

You giggle at her wink and follow her with your eyes as she heads over to make herself another cup of tea, “I have a favor to ask you- that goes beyond our mutual agreement to keep each other sane.”

Rachel snickers and shakes her head, “I don’t know if there is much hope for our sanity but what do you need?”

You smile but it doesn’t totally reach your eyes, your mind annoyingly still occupied elsewhere, “You make a good point.” You concede before brightening your expression intentionally, “I had a customer today that inquired about the type of material the village school covers for children ages 3-5. They are considering enrolling their child this year and wanted to speak with a teacher. I was hoping you would be able to meet with them? I told them to stop by the school and speak with someone but I was hoping that someone could be you because you’re so experienced.”

Rachel brightens at the mention of a new student “Oh really? I would be happy to meet with them! At that it’s primarily playing games, reading stories and singing songs but I have a lovely little bunch of students that age already!” She cheers, clapping in front of her chest, excitedly.

Her joy is infectious, and you can’t help but grin despite your knowledge that she would certainly not be receiving a new student; you almost wish that she was though.  

“Great! Well they should be around right before sundown. I gave them your classroom number and a bit of background on you and the school.”

“Oh my goodness! That’s not far off...well I have to bring in the dried flowers for tomorrow’s art lesson anyway...oh and where did I put the new wax pencils. Did you see where I put them?” Rachel abandons her cup of tea on the counter and begins puttering around in the baskets on her kitchen table, completely distracted.  

You spot what she’s looking for and hold up set of pencils setting on the end table, “They’re right here..” You call, turning in the chair to hand them to her, “I would wear that blue dress of yours too, it’s very complimentary.” With this suggestion, you can’t help the glint in your eyes that shines through the bit of sadness still present there, “Well- thank you for your words of wisdom. I’m probably going to take a break from the river tonight, so I’ll be home if you need me for anything. I have no doubt that tonight will go wonderfully though...”

“Oh there they are!” She chirps, taking them from you before looking down at her current outfit, “I suppose I should change, I certainly look a bit of a mess...” She pauses then to look you, noticing the glimpse of sadness in your eyes. “Don’t hold yourself back from love, Y/N. Your general is certainly just as passionate about you. I would bet all the gold in the kingdom on it!”

The excitement and certainty in her tone is almost enough to pull you out of your funk but, the stubborn naysayer in your head has different plans.  

“No you don’t, you look wonderful! I just love the blue one on you.” You insist, before crossing your arms and slumping back against the chair, “I am not holding back, I’m just- trying to be reasonable I suppose. His passion is clearly controlled, and I guess I should work on controlling mine as well...” You explain matter of factly with a pout on your lips.

Rachel matches your pose as she steps around the chair to look directly at you, unconvinced, “Mmhmm. Perfectly reasonable.” She drawls sarcastically before chuckling when you attempt to kick your foot at her.  

“I am!” You assert, trying to hold back a smile, “I’m just some silly little girl fawning over the man of my dreams while he gets to CALMLY walk away like us canoodling against a tree doesn’t affect him- and I feel foolish for desiring him so much when he’s able to do so.”

Rachel lets out a cackle your display of frustration. “You are NOT a silly little girl. A silly grown woman? Maybe," She giggles, “but I am CERTAIN he wouldn’t have to address this “right time” so often if he didn’t desire you. Do what makes you feel powerful! But don’t play games with the poor Tiger’s heart needlessly...from what you have said he is a much gentler man than we’ve given him credit for. “Though,” She tilts her head, her hand coming up to fuss with her hair,  “you certainly shouldn’t seek advice from me. I spent the day with paste in my hair without realizing.”

Your pout deepens, “I would never play with his heart... I’m going insane with desire over here and he gets to be all collected like ‘when the right time comes- I promise you it will be worth the wait’ and oh look at me, I’m extremely handsome and I can just kiss passionately for minutes on end without going further...” You grumble haphazardly before you hesitate slightly, “Well I’m not sure what him being handsome has to do with it but you get my point.” A smile threatens your features even more when she mentions her hair, “Paste is all the rage darling, you are simply fashion forward. Besides- I have a feeling this uh- new student of yours will look out for you.”  

Rachel hugs herself as she laughs at your little outburst, “It has EVERYTHING to do with it! You know it does-” She accuses playfully, “I do get your point though. I’m certain you will meet again...and say what’s on your mind! You are much better at that than I am anyway.” Rachel’s face is full of hesitation then, shaking her head, “Most of my students “look out for me” by piling dandelions on my desk and leaving goopy handprints on my clothes...I hope this new student is sweet.”

A smirk plays on your lips then, dropping your other topic of conversation, “I’m sure they will be, their parents seemed nice enough...”

”Oh really?!? Do you know anything about them? Should I bring anything along? Are you sure they want to see me? Should I get going?!” She babbles excitedly, glancing towards her front door.

Her eagerness serves as your cue to head out, your stomach brewing with hunger, nerves and excitement.

You couldn’t wait to hear how tonight will go for her.

“It is almost sundown so I suppose I should get going...” You concedes with a sigh before offering her a genuine smile, patting her shoulder as you head towards the door, “Just bring your lovely self, they are very eager to meet you.”

“Okay, if you’re certain!” Rachel smiles, gathering a collection of dried flowers into a basket before heading for the door with you, “If you change your mind and go to the river after all YOU HAD BETTER TELL ME!”

“You look amazing-” You promise as you step past her through the doorway, “I have a feeling you’ll have more to tell me the next time we meet but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Rachel looks confused for a moment before merely shrugging it off, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek, “Okay then, I’m off! I love you ok? Hang in there...”

You embrace her shortly unable to help the growth in your smile, “I love you too. I wanna hear about the meeting tomorrow ok?”

She agrees happily, already bounding off towards the schoolhouse, a basket of flowers in her hand.

Despite the uncertainty you may feel about your own romantic life, you are filled with joy at the thought of your dear friend starting a fairytale of her own.  

Even though she has absolutely no idea...

---------------------------------------

Rachel arrives at the schoolhouse just before sundown, using her master key to unlock the heavy oak door of the main entrance before heading off to her classroom.  

The windows surrounding the exterior of the schoolyard allow for the different hues of the sunset to stream in thorough the glass, providing a beautiful stroll down the hallway.

Rachel feels optimistic as she opens up the door, immediately setting the basket of flowers on a nearby desk and lighting the various lanterns around the room.  

The sun would be up for another half an hour or so but, Rachel was unsure as to how long this meeting would go so a little extra light wouldn’t hurt.

Since she doesn’t have a concrete time of arrival, she decides to busy herself with a bit of prep work and light cleaning for the next school day. She figures that if a parent were to walk in on her likes this, it might add to their overall impression of the school.  

A teacher’s work is never done.

After roughly 40 minutes or so, Rachel is beginning to worry that this parent potentially changed their mind. That is until, a light knock sounds on the outside of her door.

“Come in!” She calls brightly, standing up from behind her desk.

She has no expectations for what her visitor might look like as she honestly hadn’t even considered it since you asked her this favor. However, the man who walks in through her door most certainly is not who she would have ever expected.

Because the man who just walked in, is Jungkook.

Tall, strong, doe-eyed, shaggy haired, WARRIOR Jungkook...

The terror cub himself has now found his way inside her classroom.  

And she is both terribly confused and terribly excited all at once.

“Good evening,” She chokes out, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress, “Forgive me but- you're not the person I’m meant to meet with are you? Did you see any folks outside, looking a bit lost perhaps?”

Jungkook looks terrified but he steps inside nonetheless, one of his hands positioned awkwardly behind his back.

“Uh- Hi, I mean- Good evening mam...” He bows before her, “Um...” He shuffles forward a bit, his eyes scanning the room for a moment, “Heretheseareforyou.” Jungkook rushes out, shoving a bouquet of fresh daisies onto one of the empty desks, his eyes averting Rachel’s very confused expression, “I am the person you’re meant to meet actually...”

Rachel gasps to herself as she spots the daisies, her heart immediately picking up in her chest, “Oh! Oh goodness thank you, that’s very kind of you...” She smiles, her hands seemingly frozen in place at the front of her dress, “I’m- I’m so confused I apologize. Do you have children?”

He shakes his head, his floppy black hair following the motions. He is dressed in a pair of tan linen pants and a rather tight-fitting white peasant blouse, the golden expanse of his chest on full display, his feet tucked into a pair of leather boots. Rachel does her best to ignore how good he looks but, he makes it very difficult.

“No I don’t.” He answers, cringing slightly at the juvenile nature of this situation, “You know Y/N right?”

Rachel giggles, the sound a little higher pitched than usual, “I do yes. We’ve been friends since we were children...”

“Heh yeah, sorry I knew that but uh- so Y/N...” He begins, his hands coming up to assist in his explanation, “She paid me a visit earlier and suggested that...welll- She suggested that I pay you a visit.”

“Oh well- is everything alright? Are you in need of my assistance?” She inquires softly, her face decorated with concern.

Jungkook’s chest is filled with warmth at the sight of her unease, feeling very lucky to be the object of her concern.

“Everything’s ok I just- I wasn’t sure how to go about speaking with you.” He hesitates, feeling a bit of discomfort as he tries to find a way to explain his presence here, “I know you’re a very busy woman and I wasn’t even sure if you’d even want to speak with me which- by the way, if you’re uncomfortable with my presence, please let me know. I don’t want to be a bother...”

Rachel shakes her head instantly, her hands coming up to stop him from continuing that train of thought, “No- no not all! I mean-” She clears her throat, “You aren't a bother at all, I would love to speak with you. Although, forgive me- I'm a little confused as to what you’d like to speak about. Is it the school? Are you interested in meeting with the students?”

Jungkook grins softly and shakes his head, “No mam. I mean- I wouldn’t be opposed to meeting with them but, I am more interested in meeting with you...”

She gulps, her eyes widening a bit as she places a hand to her chest, “Me?”

He bites his lip and Rachel swears she sees a sparkle in his eyes as he steps closer to her.

“Yes mam. I uh-” His throat bobs with his own uncomfortable swallow as he shoves his hand in the pocket of his pants, pulling out a piece of crumbled parchment, “ I have travelled many miles. I have seen the mountains, the ocean and the forest. I have seen the sun in east and the moon in the west. I have seen the royal palace and all the riches it contains. I have seen all a man would need to see in his lifetime and yet, I have never felt complete until my eyes fell upon your face.”  

Comically, Rachel’s mouth has fallen open, her face colored with shock.  

Her heart seemingly freezes in her chest as Jungkook’s nervous gaze leaves the parchment and gazes up towards her.

“I wrote this when I was 17.” He begins sheepishly, “I promised myself that I would read it for the woman who captured my heart...”

Rachel inhales shakily, a slight sting in her eyes as emotion overcomes her.

“But you just read it to me...”

He chuckles warmly, his hand tucking a bit of hair behind his ear, “I did.”

“Am I-?” She begins but Jungkook cuts her off, stepping towards her a bit more.

“I know it’s a bit much isn’t it? I’ve never been very good with subtly and with my departure looming in the background, I couldn’t help but confess to you while I still had time. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and your existence makes me warm. I haven’t felt warmth like this before and I- I guess I just wanted to see if I had a chance at courting you...”

Rachel finally closes her mouth for a moment only to cover it with her hand.  

She’s in complete disbelief that this is happening, but she responds nevertheless as best as she can.

“You- you have more than chance, you have a million chances I- oh wow, I feel a little faint goodness gracious...” She sighs, fanning herself as she leans against her desk, “I don’t understand...”

He rushes over to her then, a look of concern on his face, “Are you alright? Do you need some water or something?”

She shakes her head, letting out a shaky breath at the close proximity between them, immediately noticing the way he smells like amber and rosemary.

It warm, just like he is.

“I’m ok, I just-” She looks up at him, “I honestly cannot believe you feel this way about me. I’m just a schoolteacher, I probably have paste in my hair...and you’re a warrior I- I'm confused.”

Jungkook snickers, tilting his head to the side as he spots the bit of paste still clinging to the end of her hair. With gentle fingers, he reaches out and extracts the bit of dried gunk from her hair, discarding it on the desk, “You are not ‘just’ anything. You are bright and warm. Your duty lies with educating the children and I believe that to be far nobler than what I do. Please don’t sell yourself short, especially not on my account.”

Subconsciously, they seem to lean into one another, Rachel’s nerves dissipating slightly, “So then, you said you wish to court me yes? How- how do you intend we do this?”

He purses his lips, “Well,” He tilts his head to the side, “I would love to have dinner with you. I know that there aren’t many eateries in the village but-”

“I can cook for us!” She chirps happily cause his grin to broaden, “I know a spot we can eat, it’s really beautiful and it’s private for the most part.”

Jungkook is bursting with fondness, nodding eagerly at her suggestion before turning around to grab the flowers, “That sounds wonderful. Are you available tomorrow, same time?”

“Yes! I mean-” She clears her throat as the volume of her voice escapes her, “Yes, yes I’m free. I can meet you at the plaza?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll meet you anywhere you’d like...” He nods and haphazardly pushes the flowers in her direction, “Here, I picked these for you. I’ll pick more tomorrow as well- do you have a favorite? I hope daisies were alright...I’m not familiar with the flora around here.”

She smiles brightly, accepting the flowers graciously, securing them to your chest, “These are perfect! I love wildflowers, really anything that grows along the east part of the river...” She muses thoughtfully, “Daisies are some of my favorites as well. I’m sure Y/N told you that though...” She giggles but Jungkook shakes his head.

“She didn’t actually. I suppose it was just a lucky guess.” He smiles before stepping back slightly, fiddling with his hands now that they are empty, “So tomorrow then?”

With another rapid nod she responds, “Yes, tomorrow.”

“Great! Well uh-” He hesitates, glancing longingly towards her lips before extending his hand, “May I?”

With a harsh swallow and a shaky hand, she obliges, sticking her hand out towards his.

As if she were made of glass, Jungkook carefully raises her hand to his lips before placing a chaste kiss over the ridges of her knuckles, “Until tomorrow...”

“Until tomorrow.” She squeaks, covering her mouth once more.

He bows his head, offering another devastating grin before leaving the classroom.

With a hefty sigh, Rachel stares at the door in disbelief.

“It seems as though my dear friend isn’t an apothecary but a criminal mastermind...” She muses to herself, her cheeks on fire as she giggles to herself, “Huh, you think you know people.”

-------------------------

You decided shortly after your meeting with Rachel that you would in fact be going to the river because, regardless of your uncertainty: you still wanted to see Yoongi.  

“Something is troubling you...” He notes the moment he steps out from behind the trees, dressed down in a pair of black pants and a longer gray linen robe to ward of the slight chill in the air.

“What makes you say that?” You challenge with a grin, your heart fluttering as soon as you see him, “I’m just hoping my plan is playing out as I’d hoped...”

“Ah-” He lifts a finger, “I recall you saying that your plans play out relatively well. Also, you and I both know that my brother and your friend are smitten over one another so- I find it hard to believe your thinking so hard about a clear victory.”

You bite your lip, unsure of what to say next as Yoongi has so clearly seen right through you.  

“We don’t get much time together; it would be a waste to spend it discussing the internal monologue going on inside my head.” You joke, stepping towards him.

He clicks his tongue, “Now see- that is where you’re wrong. It was your internal monologue and your resulting opinions that drew me to visit you in the first place. The other talents your lips have are merely a bonus.” He smirks but his eyes hold some degree of concern, “I want to know what’s on your mind Y/N...no matter how insignificant you may find it.”

Yoongi’s sincerity draws you out of your shell, your heart picking up slightly at the thought of discussing your feelings.

“It’s silly...” You warn him causing him to chuckle.

“Good, I could use a bit of silliness after today.” He promises with a grin but his laughter dissipates as he notices even the slightest bit of distress on your face, “Your thoughts aren’t silly Y/N, at least not to me. I’d really like to hear what you’re thinking.”

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you take a deep breath and muster up the courage to be honest with him, “What are your intentions with me?”

He tilts his head, stepping closer to you after your question, face decorated with curiosity, “Which intentions are you referring to?”

You feel yourself growing nervous under his gaze but, you stay strong anyway and push through, “All of them- I suppose. It’s just that, I’m having difficulty...I’m-”

The hesitation in your features concerns Yoongi and he can’t help but quell the distance between you, taking your hands gently in his own.

“My girl- what's troubling you like this? Have I upset you?”

He’s tilting his head, trying to find your gaze as you look down at where your hands are connected.

His question causes you to look up at him, lips parted as you shake your head.

“No, no of course not.” You assure him, entwining your fingers with his, “I just- oh I promise you it’s going to sound silly...”

Yoongi chuckles incredulously, gently shaking your hands in his grip, “Y/N, darling please tell me what’s on your mind. I promise you I won’t find think it’s silly.”

Your heart sings at the pet name he gives you, taking a momentary break from it’s uneven rhythm, “I’ve just been wondering why you haven’t...well, why we haven’t- why we haven’t been intimate.”

Yoongi’s chest tightens with realization, his grip on your hands tightening ever so slightly before taking a deep breath, “There is nothing silly about that at all.” He assures you with a gentle smile, his eyes shifting from your hands to your face and back again whilst he tries to come up with a response, “It’s a perfectly normal thing to be curious about, especially considering how often we kiss. To be quite honest, my reasoning is probably what will end up sounding silly to you...”

“I don’t think it will, I just want to understand where your head is at because,” You sigh, looking into his eyes, “sometimes I feel alone in how much I desire you and I thought maybe if I got an idea where your head is at, I could understand why you always stop things before they go too far.”

At this, Yoongi raises his brows, “You think you’re alone in the desire to take me to bed?” He confirms, his voice deepening, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, “And here I thought you were clever...”

With a pout to your lips, you playfully tug your hands out of his grip causing him to chuckle before capturing them once again, “I am clever! Clever people get confused all the time, besides you just said this was a perfectly normal thing to be curious about.”

He laughs still and nods, guiding your hands up to his shoulders, “Yes I did. However, I was referring to you wondering why we haven’t gone to bed together yet, not you wondering whether or not I wanted to take you to bed. That IS silly...”

“It’s not though...” You insist, a shiver running down your spine as he slides his freed hands around your waist, “You always seem so composed. We’ll have been kissing for what feels like forever and then- you stop us. Which is ok of course but, I just don’t fully understand why.”

He hums thoughtfully with a smirk still on his lips as he pulls you closer to him, “My composure is an illusion Y/N. My job requires me to have complete control all of the time, especially in the face of an enemy...”

Scoffing, your pout deepens at the end of his sentence, “Oh so I'm your enemy now? Gee Yoongi, I’m so glad I decided to share this with you- I feel much better now.”

Yoongi laughs heartily at your sarcasm before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You are an enemy to my composure darling- you are just refusing to realize that.”

His kiss causes your heart to sing with satisfaction, despite the fact that you are trying very hard to focus on pouting.

“Even if that were true...I still feel silly for how much I desire you.”

He quells the playfulness between the two of you then, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek, “You are not silly, and you are not alone. My entire world has shifted because of you. I think you’d be shocked if you knew how much you occupied my thoughts.” He assures you, placing another kiss on your forehead, “However, that isn’t the answer to your question is it? You’re wondering why we haven’t gone to bed together despite how much we desire each other.”  

“Yes.” You murmur, leaning against his hand, “If you have any insight on this general, please provide a briefing...”

He smirks fondly, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “You really have no idea how much I want you. I don’t think I could possibly explain it. Because of that, I want to wait until I can give you everything I have. Right now I- I simply can’t.” He admits, a bit of sadness now in his tone, “I want to wait until I have a proper villa, until I don’t have to worry about leaving at dawn to continue training, until I can stay underneath the sheets with you, until I can spend hours pleasing you- without the threat of war in the back of my mind. You deserve a man with no distractions, right now- I'm just not that man yet.”

His explanation makes perfect sense and you feel a bit of guilt for ever wondering how he felt about you in the first place but before you’re able to comment on his words, he speaks again.

“But please- please don’t think that means I don’t desire you.” He whispers, smiling softly whilst he places yet another kiss to your forehead. Letting his lips linger there, he sighs hopelessly, “One day, when I am finally free of my duties- I will spend days memorizing your skin with my lips...” He begins kissing his way down the bridge of your nose, puckering his lips gently as he does. He bypasses your lips however and uses his hand to tilt your head to the side, give him access to your neck, “I will memorize every bump,” He kisses your skin, “every curve,” Kiss “every line,” Kiss “every scar,” Kiss “every spot that gives you pleasure.” He inhales softly through his nose when he hears you gasp, your hands tightening on his shoulders, “Will you wait for me darling? Will you wait until I can give you my soul? My heart is already yours, I just need a little bit longer....”

You’re already nodding, certain with your response despite how much his presence is currently affecting you, “I’d wait for you forever, General Min.”

You can feel him grin against your neck, “I only need six months...” He chuckles, his laughter increasing as you playfully smack his back. “Then I’m yours forever.”

At his amendment, you smile and kiss the side of his head, “Forever sounds nice.”

Yoongi sighs, sliding his hands across your back to pull you into his embrace, “Forever it is then.”  

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 13

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language, allusion to NSFW content

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Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

Drop of a hat she's as willing as Playful as a pussy cat Then momentarily out of action Temporarily out of gas To absolutely drive you wild, wild She's out to get you

~ Queen - Killer Queen ~

After Lizzie had left on that day back in August, Orion hadn’t been sure whether her words would follow action and there would actually be a next time, nor had he been entirely sure he wanted there to be one.

Not because the night he had spent with Lizzie hadn’t been fantastic, or either of them was feeling uncomfortable with it; but she had been his close friend and colleague for so many years now and Orion valued her presence in his life deeply. Changing a pattern that worked smoothly seldomly proved to be a good idea.

He had been glad nothing seemed to have changed between them when they saw each other next; Lizzie had acted just the same as always, focused on their music, laughing with him during breaks, maybe a little flirtatious, but then again, that was just her way.

Orion���s resolve to consider the fling with her done and dusted lasted about a week. He had walked her home from the dinner they’d had with the rest of the band; when they’d reached her flat in Chelsea, she’d waited in the door to the house, looking back at him over her shoulder with an amused expression.

“What now? Are you coming or not?”

He had to admit, the second time round, this time with their senses all together, the sex had been even better than the first time. His concerns about what it might do to their friendship were melting away with every kiss Lizzie left on his body, setting his skin aflame and shutting off his mind with that deliciously wicked smile of hers.

When they’d found themselves in his flat for a third time, he felt the need to stop her wandering hands while he still could.

“Wait a minute, we should really talk about what we’re doing here.”

Lizzie looked up at him incredulously, her fingers hooking on the seam of his trousers, her fingernails grazing his sensitive skin. “What, right now?”

Orion tried to ignore his urgent wish for her to continue where she’d left off and sat up. “Yes, right now.”

“Fine,” she answered briefly and removed her hands from his body, but not without running her hand over him one last time, sending a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t deny how much his body yearned for her but he pushed the heat inside his chest aside and forced his thoughts to focus on what was on his mind.

“If we want this to continue we need to talk about where it’s going,” he managed to say a lot calmer than he felt as he watched Lizzie slowly taking in his undressed body, a salacious smirk on her lips.

“I can perfectly tell you where this is going right now,” she chuckled but Orion didn’t let himself get distracted.

“I’m serious, Liz. As fun as this is, we’re actively breaking the rules here. We are part of a greater thing; the whole unity that is Equinox is more important than every one of us on our own. I don’t want to do anything that could harm the band.”

With a sigh, Lizzie sat up straighter, her expression serious. “Neither of us would ever do anything to put the band at risk. This here is not a relationship, Orion; we can stop this any time.”

She shuffled closer to him on the bed and put a hand on his arm. Her smile was now nothing but warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, this is just fun, no strings attached.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, however. “Things like this end in disaster more often than not.“

“If it makes you feel better, let’s make a deal,” Lizzie suggested. “We’ll do this as long as it’s fun and we both want it. In the case that things change for either one of us, we’ll just stop and go back to how things were before. How does that sound?”

Orion sighed deeply. “Do you really think it will work just like that?”

“Just like that,” she smiled, her hand wandering from his arm onto his chest, giving him a slight push so he fell over on his back.

“You’re thinking too much,” she purred as her lips trailed down his chest and over his stomach, coming to rest where hands had let off earlier. “Let me help you relax.”

And just like that, what had begun as a simple drunk one-night stand had developed into something that wasn’t just a friendship, but was far from a relationship either.

Even when their tour had started, they hadn’t stopped meeting in the dead of the night, the risk of being discovered adding an additional thrill, which Orion would have never guessed he’d find himself enjoying. Working off the adrenaline a successful show set off in their bodies soon became his favourite way of winding down. It wasn’t long before he’d actually started showing signs of impatience - something that used to be completely foreign to him - when Lizzie took her time before leaving the backstage area, joking around with Skye or Charlie, deliberately teasing him.

The curves of her body became as familiar to Orion as the neck of his guitar, and he knew exactly how to play both to coax the sweetest sounds from them. Lizzie began to learn every story behind his many tattoos, her fingers tracing the delicate lines as he told her all about them.

The harmony that had existed between them from the get go solidified, unexpected but not unsurprising; it felt like a natural extension to their friendship, raising their connection and understanding to a higher level.

Now, almost ten months since their first night together, he couldn’t even remember what it had been like before.

Orion was violently broken out of his musings by Skye snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.

“Earth calling Orion, you still with us, mate?”

She eyed him critically as his eyes snapped back into focus. “What’ve you been daydreaming about?”

He slowly pulled her hand away from his face. “I have been reminded of something and indulged in the call of the past for a moment,” he answered serenely.

“The way you’re looking it must have been a good memory,” Lizzie said innocently. Her eyes were sparkling as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking about.

He inclined his head, hoping his face wouldn’t give him away. “A favourite.”

Skye shrugged. “Whatever, let’s get those damn pictures taken and get outta here, I’m hungry. You’d better focus on the job.” She stopped, looking thoroughly bewildered. “Can’t believe I need to say this to you of all people.”

Still shaking her head, she grabbed Lizzie by the arm and pulled her towards the set that had been prepared on the far side of the room. The photographer was already instructing Merula on where to stand, Everett looking on from the sidelines.

It took them ages to get all of the pictures Rita’s magazine wanted done. After all of them had their portraits taken, they continued with group shots in various combinations.

When it was the girls’ turn, Orion joined Everett on the sides. The mood between the two guitarists had improved a little since Everett felt he got the recognition he deserved, but still, the atmosphere lacked the carefree camaraderie of the past. Orion struggled to find something to talk about with him these days, not wanting to provoke any of Everett’s bad moods.

As it turned out, their frontman had no desire to talk to him anyway. He was watching Skye, Lizzie and Merula pose in front of the camera intently. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a small grin forming on his face.

“You can say what you want, but our girls are quite a sight to see, aren’t they?”

Orion didn’t answer, only raising his eyebrows slightly. Everett took his silence as a sign to go on. “I mean, look at them.” His grin widened, taking on a wolfish touch. “Look at Lizzie, for fuck’s sake. Shame she’s always running ‘round all plain and simple, what a waste.”

Orion had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Beauty comes from the inside, from embracing our nature as it is and carrying it to the outside. Lizzie is in tune with herself and that is showing. The way she prefers to keep it simple doesn’t dim her light, it enhances it.”

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to her glammed up like that, is all I’m saying,” Everett snorted.

Orion wasn’t surprised by Everett’s take on things, but he was astounded at how much his words were grating on him. Everett had been a flirt for as long as Orion could remember, but he had never objectified women the way he did these days. Ever since they had started their way to the top, the pressure they were constantly feeling had steadily increased. Everett was treating the girls admiring him just the same as he did anything else taking his mind off things; as a meaningless, replaceable means to an end.

He didn’t like hearing Everett talk about anyone like that, but especially not Lizzie.

However, Orion couldn’t deny that he had a point. As per usual, Andre had worked his magic on her for the shoot, creating a maximum effect with simple but well chosen measures. Lizzie’s light brown hair fell around her face in a heap of messy curls, her dark makeup accentuating her blue eyes.

The shiny leather leggings she was wearing were clinging tightly to her legs that were elongated by a pair of black heeled boots. A loose black shirt with the familiar logo of the Rolling Stones gave her the effortlessly nonchalant vibe that was so inherently her. She had tied it in a knot at the sides to shorten it, showing just the tiniest bit of her belly.

Yes, as much as he hated to admit it, Everett was right; Lizzie was a sight to see. Their eyes met briefly as Merula and Lizzie switched positions. Orion could see the smirk starting to form on her lips, like it always did when she caught him watching her.

She quickly regained control over her expression, flipping her hair out of her face and concentrating again. But her attention kept wandering back to him, a mischievous glitter in her eyes that Orion knew all too well.

When it was time for pictures of the whole group, he and Everett joined the girls in front of the camera again. To get a more compact looking picture of them all together, the photographer wanted him and Everett to sit on one of the sofas they had used for the interview, the girls grouped behind them, all trying their best to look as casual as possible.

Orion was sitting directly in front of Lizzie; he almost jumped when he suddenly felt her hand on his back, hidden from the others by her body that was very close to his. Her fingers tiptoed higher up until they found the exposed skin of his neck. Her nails were grazing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind at the unexpected sensation. Orion could feel the intense energy radiating off her and had to fight the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of her expression.

Looking at her camera, the photographer, a beautiful young woman in a blue headscarf, frowned and shook her head. “This doesn’t look right yet. I’m missing the energy, the spirit of your connection.

She contemplated for a moment before her fine features lit up. “I know; Merula, could you sit between the guys? The other girls, one on each arm of the sofa, please.”

They changed as she had asked them to, Skye perching on the back of the sofa next to Everett and Lizzie now sitting closer to Orion than before. But still, their photographer wasn’t satisfied.

“Lizzie, could you lean in a little?”

“Sure,” Lizzie smiled innocently, leaning closer to Orion until their bodies were almost touching. He could smell her perfume and the sharp scent of hairspray. When he felt her hand on his back yet again, conveniently out of sight of the camera, he shifted his position a little, ever so slightly leaning into her touch.

Encouraged by him playing along, the corners of her mouth twitched, masked by a little tilt of her head for the camera. Her hand traveled down his spine to the base of his shirt where she lost no time to slip it underneath the seam, her cool fingers brushing across the bare skin of his back.

Orion exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh at the light sensation of her fingertips. Lizzie knew that he was ticklish in that particular spot. She was trying to play him, testing his control over himself, just as she had done after their first show in London.

He couldn’t believe the risk she was taking; touching him like that in a dark nightclub under a table was one thing, but during a photoshoot, with all eyes on them? He’d never thought she would be so bold.

Her ridiculous recklessness was intriguing, however; just like everything about Lizzie it was playing with fire and the reward of being close to a blazing flame never came without danger.

A movement at the edge of his vision drew Orion’s attention away from her touch. His eyes flicked over to the other side of the sofa and he thought he could see Skye looking over to them. His heart suddenly racing, Orion leaned against the back of the sofa, effectively forcing Lizzie to withdraw her hand.

He glanced over to Skye again, but she was looking straight at the camera, her moody rockstar expression edged onto her face. She paid him or Lizzie no mind whatsoever, and for a moment Orion wondered whether that frown on her face had been nothing but a trick of his mind.

[deejadabbles]

Crimson Portrait (Seto Kaiba x Reader)

So as I said in my drabble a couple days ago, I’m wanting to write some short fics to get back into the swing of things and I wanted to gift said drabbles to some mutual I adore. Next on my list is @ohyema​ the top Vampire and Yugioh enthusiast on this site! I’m sure you’ve all seen her amazing art floating around already, but in case not please check out her stuff (and reblog the heck outta it!), the way she colors her pieces and adds dramatic flair is something I aspire to tbh <3 

For this fic I decided to spread my proverbial wings and write Seto for a change (don’t get used to this though, Kaiba fans, I’m still not a Kaiba stan lol) and I hope you enjoy our dark, mysterious blood thirsty, CEO ;)

You gulped, eyes traveling up the metal and glass of the building as though counting each towering floor would make it any less intimidating. It wasn’t just the size, of course, it was the marble path spread out in front of the entry, it was the literal red carpet on the other side of doors- it was the gold etching and suited man around said doors! You found yourself clutching the portfolio case under your arm even tighter to your chest. Subtle lights brightened the edges of the building, though you were sure they were meant to make it shine like a beacon of wealth at night, rather than give it any cheer or levity. 

This was by far the fanciest place you had ever been and the doorman casting a glance at you made you tug at your clothes for probably the seventeenth time since heading here. The outfit was fine, you reminded yourself; professional, but simple. Nothing that would impede your movements and work, all while still being close enough to your true fashion to offer you some self assurance. And you needed every ounce of self assurance possible right now.

After taking in a long, deep breath and straightening your posture, you started for the door. Despite the high chance that he was suspicious of you, the doorman pulled on the finely crafted handle and allowed you entry with a polite bow, nothing less. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to acknowledge him, but you returned the silent respect automatically. Then again, it didn’t really matter if you broke etiquette, you weren’t the high-class that lived here anyway.

The lobby was just as fancy as the outside. Your shoes clicked on more marble floors, and rich colored walls wearing frames of fine art surrounded you. There was a large wooden desk to one side, and the receptionist behind it clocked you as a non-resident, because she instantly greeted you with a “can I help you, miss?”

“Um- yes! Yes, I’m here to visit Mr. Seto Kaiba?” you followed the claim with your name and silently praying that was all you needed. The only way you were getting passed the front desk was if Kaiba (or his assistant) left your name with the attendant.

With a polite smile plastered on her face, she nodded and typed something quick on a computer obscured by the large backing of the desk. “Ah yes, Mr. Kaiba is expecting you. Please take the center elevator, he’s on floor 40.”

She waved her hand to the other side of the lobby, where three elevators with doors as clean and reflective as new mirrors stood. You gave her a quick thank you before following her instructions. The inside of the elevators were just as polished, the metallic sides reflecting your image. 

As the floors passed by, you checked to make sure the journey here hadn’t ruffled your appearance any, tucking hairs back into place, swiping your hand over the pristine portfolio briefcase, tugging at your hems yet again. You almost jumped when the elevator dinged, announcing your arrival at the top floor. You waited a few heart beats, long enough to start worrying you had the wrong floor- until it finally slid open.

The apartment was dimly lit, all the ceiling lights set to a dull, intimate glow one might see in a fancy bar. Then a different wave of nerves overcome you, hopefully this guy didn’t have the wrong idea of what service you were providing. 

“Are you going to come in, or continue wasting my time?”

You did jump that time, especially with how impatient the deep rumble of a voice sounded. With hurried steps you entered the apartment and ventured down the short hallway, following the voice. The hallway quickly opened into an expansive room, a couch, coffee table, TV, and desk on one side, and a kitchen, breakfast bar, dining table, and wet bar on the other. On the living room side, where the desk’s back sat, there was a large floor-to-ceiling window, the curtains pulled back to reveal the spiderweb of city lights and life beyond. 

Of course, what really drew your attention was the man standing in front of the window.

He hadn’t turned from the view to look at you let alone greet you, hands tucked in his pockets as he watched the pulsing city life. He wore a white suit, with a blue button-up shirt and a dark blue tie, making for nice, clean lines for your portrait. Seto Kaiba. A household name in most countries, the secretive CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world who’s fame for innovation was only matched by his notorious hermit tendencies. He appeared on magazines often enough, but many pointed out that they were likely deliberate presentations to the world. Deliberate to alleviate rumors because, besides them, neither Kaiba nor his younger brother were ever seen out in public and even rather rarely in their own corporate buildings.

You weren’t exactly someone who bought into that celebrity gossip, but it was still rather surreal seeing him in person like this.

“You can set up on the other side of the desk,” he started, still not turning from the window. “This is the background I want, I expect you to be able to handle it considering the portraits on your online portfolio.”

You tried not to gulp, “Of course, but it may take me an extra session or two to get the details.”

“As long as it’s done before I return to Domino,” he answered in a drawl, then, finally turned to face you. He placed a slender hand on the back of the leather desk chair, and you quickly made yourself busy with setting up. 

You felt that nerve-wracking, almost burning sensation of eyes watching you, and you could just imagine the icy blue of the eyes, remembering how Kaiba’s gaze always pierced through the magazine covers and into the viewer. Instead of thinking of how hawk-like he was watching you, you focused on how challenging and fun it will be to capture that quality in your painting.

Once your blank canvas was set up and your tools were spread out, ready for use, you finally locked eyes with the man. “I’m ready when you are, Mr. Kaiba, please take whatever pose you feel most comfortable with.” You had to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine, especially when he held your gaze for a moment more before finally shifting his stance.

After some verbal redirecting so his pose looked the best and got the key parts of the cityscape behind him, you actually got started on the canvas. Tokyo Tower stood like a sentinel behind him, making for nice framing, and he was a natural at posing, of course choosing one that was strong and commanding to the onlookers. 

It was quiet as you worked, he wasn’t playing any music, nor offering any chitchat. It was only then that you realized just how alone you two were in the penthouse, didn’t rich dudes like him have platoons of bodyguards?

Within the free seconds you had between maping your piece, your mind wandered back to the rumors surrounding the Kaiba family and their reclusiveness. Tales of Kaiba insisting on specially tinted windows for all his buildings and never being seen in the light of day led to some interesting ones. Mostly conspiracies about him being the secret illegitimate son of royalty, and inheriting hemophilia from said parentage. Now, noting how pale he looked against the background of vibrant city lights, you could slightly understand buying into that rumor. 

Not only that, but, the more glances you took while working, the more you noticed just how...sickly the man looked. His cheeks were a bit sunken, made worse by the dark circles under his eyes And on top of that, there was a sore redness around his eyes that was seeming to get worse every time you peered passed your canvas. None of his magazine pictures ever showcased these...unwell qualities. He must just be tired, you decided, being a CEO likely didn’t allow for much sleep, and here he was posing for a portrait late at night.   

You were just finishing up his outline when you decided attempt conversation. If he didn’t like it he would just tell you to shut up, after all.

“I was actually pretty surprised when you hired me, most people don’t bother with traditional portraits any more.”

There was awhile of silence, where Kaiba’s eyes flickered towards you before staring off to the other side of the room again. Your were just taking the mental note not to try a conversation again, when-

“It was my brother’s idea. I always look ahead, and cut out traditions and old ways that no longer serve me. But, he made the point that there are some classics still worth something. Besides, improving things like canvas portraits with modern settings was appealing.”

You found yourself smiling and nodding along, “Yeah, I really like the idea of having the city in the background, it’ll make for a really unique piece!” 

After picking your next brush, you peered over to refresh your mental image of the scene, only to find him staring at you again. His expression was rather indecipherable, and though his eyes were almost hooded the rest of his features were as blank as an empty page. Your heart was practically beating in your ears as you stayed transfixed in his gaze, which you swore were actually hued in red now, instead of solid icy blue.

A sound similar to a squeak, and you finally broke the contact to flick your gaze down to the hand resting on the back of the desk chair. His fingers were a sickly white, seeming to have no blood in them as his nails dug into the leather with a grip so strong he might be on the verge of puncturing the fabric.

Feeling that nervous heat again you quickly averted your gaze back to the canvas, even going as far as to shuffle behind it just slightly as though you could hide.

That didn’t help, much like when you were setting up, you could feel his gaze burning into you. Maybe he was offended, upset that you stared back at him, but he had no right to judge considering he was staring first! Seriously what was with this guy?

You weren’t sure how much time passed after that, it felt like an eternity but you were sure it wasn’t much longer than a half hour or so. You only stole glances at him when you absolutely felt like you had to refresh your mental image of the scene before giving another stroke of the brush. You avoided any eye contact even then and managed to skim over his face only once, during which you noted any previous color in his cheeks had vanished completely, but that was beside the point. You were just telling your brain to stop conjuring up theory’s on why he looked so sick and biting your tongue to keep from asking if he was alright when-

“We’re done for the night, you can continue tomorrow.”

If the sudden dismissal wasn’t enough to snap your attention back to him, the heavy breath within the words was. Your eyes snapped up to Kaiba and before you even registered his movement you were jumping from a harsh thud! He had removed his hand from the chair so swiftly that it spun and thudded into the desk with enough force to crack furniture of a lesser quality. 

Now Kaiba was pacing around his desk, gaunt jaw clenched so tight he might very well chip a tooth. Not wanting to argue with someone who apparently had the mood swings of an angst-ridden teen, you planned to start packing up without a word. However, just as he passed the coffee table, Kaiba took in a sharp breath and doubled over so fast he barely caught himself on the glass top.

Empathy won in a heartbeat and before you could reconsider you were by his side saying a frantic, “Are you okay? Mr. Kaiba you look sick, should I call a-?”

The concerned questions died in your throat and so too did a scream when something too red and too luminous to be eyes flashed up at you. The next moment something was wrapping around the prison that held your words and scream. The third moment your back was slammed none too gently into a wall you could have sworn was half a room away and a body colder than any you had felt before was pressing into you.

Eyes wide, body held still with fear, all you could do was take in a few shallow breaths as Kaiba’s mouth hovered over your neck. One heart thundering in your ears, two heartbeats, three-

But nothing happened. 

The hand pressing into your clavicle hadn’t tightened, and the mouth hovering dangerously close had not moved in for the kill (proverbial or otherwise), rather, Kaiba’s body seemed to be as frozen as yours.

Or at least you thought it was. A moment later you finally registered that Kaiba was shaking. Not violently by any means, hell, it was barely notable, but he was definitely shaking, as if he was trying to keep sickly shivers from wracking his body. His other hand moved up to grip your upper arm then, and his fingers were tight but not quite painful as he held you there.

“I shouldn’t have kept our appointment.”

The words were so shocking to your reeling mind that you almost didn’t register them. They were said lowly, in something akin to a growl or rumble.

“I should have told you to get out the moment I-”

Something on the other side of the condo sounded, a ding you had heard when first arriving on the floor, and not a second later footsteps were thundering.

“Seto!”

The youthful voice almost snapped you back to your sense enough to move, maybe even break free of his hold, but in that same moment  you felt something sharp graze the skin of your neck as Kaiba’s face turned to meet the newcomer.

Thankfully your recovered control wasn’t needed, as the moment Kaiba locked sites on the newcomer, he released his hold on you. In a fearful blink as you recovered your balance, you saw Kaiba make his way across the room faster than any human possible could.

That’s when you saw who had intervened; Mokuba Kaiba, the youth of the Kaiba empire. He was looking pale and worried, looking between his brother and you as Seto snatching something out of his hands. 

You caught the sight of something encasing red as Seto tore the package open, but he halted long enough to growl another command, “You need to leave, now.”

Your legs were finally able to move again, when you caught site of something that confirmed the impossible theories running though your head: sharp, pearly fangs were flashing between Seto’s lips.

[matildashoney]

Loving You’s the Antidote: Chapter Ten

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou​, @goldenfeelin​, @detroitkiwis​, @wherearethewatermelons​, @cock-a-doodely-doo

talk to me about it! feedback is greatly appreciated!

this chapter contains themes of anxiety. please read with caution.

good luck with this one, angels. x

Harry hasn’t spoken much the entire flight, only with exceptions of thanking the flight attendants for their courtesy and asking if Amelie wanted water or something to eat. His lips were tucked in a straight line, pursed tightly, the worry line in his forehead etched into his brows. His green eyes were a muted colour, one earphone dangling from the mess of curls on his head. He kept looking over to Amelie, waiting for her to say something, to yell at him, to scold him, to even whisper. He missed her voice when she was talking to him. She always has a different voice with him – no matter which emotion she was feeling more – and it is his favourite sound in the whole world. Her voice is sweet and smooth like honey, twinges of her mother’s accent when a word would nearly slip into another language and the twang that her father gave to his children. Amelie’s voice is melodic, hanging on every syllable and enunciating in a way that Harry could listen to her speak forever.

Harry just wants to hear Amelie speak to him.

Amelie is hidden behind sweatpants and a sweatshirt, neither matching in their colour scheme, Harry’s old Greenbay Packers hoodie clinging to her torso, the sleeves still slightly loose after nearly a year of washing and drying. Her hair is tied into a bun, stray baby hairs falling to the nape of her neck and her forehead, the saltwater clinging to the peach tone that is slowly fading into a deeper brunette with her roots. Amelie and Gemma were meant to dye their hair together when she went to London after St. Bart’s, but that’s not in the itinerary anymore.

Harry reaches for her hand, his heart breaking when Amelie unclips her seatbelt and shakes him away, standing to her feet and staring at him with the hardest glare that she could muster without tears.

“Can you just,” she mutters, her voice trailing at the end of the sentence, taking a deep breath and hiding her face away from his as she angrily wipes a tear from her cheek.

“Can you talk to me? Baby, I don’t understand,” Harry whispers, dropping his hand disappointingly to his thigh and extending his legs slightly to try and prolong his time with her.

“Don’t,” Amelie sterns, stepping over his legs and pausing when his hand grasps her waist lightly, steadying her to avoid falling as a flight attendant walks behind her swiftly and without caution, nearly causing her to trip into her. Her eyes soften when he releases her, suddenly wishing that he would demand her to speak to him. Her mind and heart were conflicted, because as much as she wanted to be angry and yell and express all of the negative emotions swimming in her chest, Harry is the love of her life and the idea of him hurting makes her stomach turn.

“Ames,” he whispers, squeezing her hand, his heart breaking at the feeling of the sweat in her palms and the shakiness in her fingertips. He wants to comfort her, to soothe her. “Amelie, please.”

“I,” she breathes shakily, taking her hand and turning on her heel, her words barely above a whisper. “I need a minute.”

Harry stares sadly as Amelie walks swiftly down the walkway, locking herself in the toilet faster than he could turn around and say a word. His thoughts go over every single event that occurred since Christmas, since the day before when he flew home without her. He thinks about the kiss they shared in the car when she arrived a few days later. He thinks about all of the words they shared and the wishes they whispered between kisses beneath a mistletoe Harry sneakily hid above his bed, the way they made love, and everything felt alright.

His hands rub his cheeks harshly, his eyes stinging with tears as he thinks about their holiday and what could’ve gone wrong, what he could’ve done better. All Harry wants is Amelie.

And feeling her slipping is surely destroying him.

~

Harry could feel that something was different.

Amelie hadn’t mentioned anything, neither had Phoebe when Harry texted her asking if Amelie was alright and if something happened at Christmas that he didn’t know about. Her attitude around him was a bit different, more reserved, and it reminded him of how she was at the beginning of their relationship a year ago before she opened up and got comfortable. Boxing Day was wonderful, celebrating the day with her, making lazy love in his bed, sharing presents and having a stuffing meal with his parents and their family and friends.

And then Harry told her who would be on the yacht. Only two days before they were set to go on it and celebrate New Year’s Eve. Her reaction was less than ideal, a forced smile and a peck to the cheek and an excuse to go and reach for her phone and go to her bath early. Harry could tell that Amelie was on the phone with Phoebe, giving short responses and only asking vague questions to spare his own interest.

He wasn’t too sure what she was telling Amelie, but he didn’t think much of it. Phoebe and Harry were friends, weren’t they? There wouldn’t be, shouldn’t be, anything to worry about. He brushed off his own anxiety about their conversation and mulled about his business to ready himself for bed, but as soon as she stepped outside the ensuite in a towel and walked into the wardrobe to get dressed, Harry knew something was wrong.

Amelie was more comfortable around Harry than ever before, walking out of the bathroom naked and opting to either steal a shirt from his laundry or sleep naked on the warmer days, showering with him, talking with him about the ideas in her head for a new exhibit and the possibility of taking a few naked portraits to paint for something for herself.

But, in that very moment, as Amelie turned her face away from his and dressed in the most loose-fitting pyjamas that she could find in her half of the closet, Harry knew something was wrong.

And the days following weren’t any better, even when Harry tried to ask. He wasn’t asking in the right ways, of course, but what was the right way? How was he supposed to know? He would ask if everything was alright at dinner, or if she wanted to talk about anything before bed. She always gave the same half-hearted smile, a kiss to his cheek, and reassurance that she was alright. And Harry believed her.

Until the yacht, that is.

Harry never really understood what Amelie meant by the way people would never assume they were together, they were dating, especially based on their looks alone. He never thought much of it because everyone close and important to them knew and respected their relationship. He never had to defend himself to anyone.

Until the third day.

All day, Kendall was hanging on him, clinging to his arms, taking pictures with him. Kris snapped a few of them, encouraging the poses and the flirting and the way Harry naturally listened to the requests. Until there was one that made even him uncomfortable. Her lips much too close to his even though it was an ‘innocent kiss on the cheek’ and immediately his hands were up, and he was excusing himself.

Amelie walked away as soon as Kendall started clinging to Harry, and there was this sick feeling in her stomach – the anxiety – that was making her think about all the times she saw Jack in a similar situation, from afar acting a similar way. Logically, Amelie knew that Harry would never behave in the same way Jack did, treat her as poorly, cheat on her, tell her that she’s replaceable, that she isn’t worthy. He wouldn’t ever do that, because he loves her.

Harry loves Amelie. Right?

He found her staring at the stars, sketching mindlessly on a blanket in the quietest part of the boat. He laid down next to her, kissing her shoulder, staring at the perfect replica of how the stars and the moon look above them. He complimented her work, a heavy feeling on his chest when she simply nods and hums in appreciation. That’s the first night she doesn’t let him touch her, shying against from his wandering hands with an excuse of exhaustion and a chaste kiss to his lips.

Only coming out for breakfast, she says that she got an offer to do a few pieces for an Up and Coming Artists exhibition in Beverly Hills and is going to be staying on the boat, taking in the sun and sketching for when they go back. Harry looks at her quizzically, confused as to why she hadn’t told him when they woke up, when they shared an innocent shower together, on their way to breakfast. He murmurs his congratulations with a forced smile and a kiss on her temple, but there is something in his chest that is telling him something is wrong.

Harry peeks into their room around two, walking in with a drink and a glass of water for Amelie to have. “Come get some sunshine with us, baby,” he says, sitting beside her on the inserted loveseat in the bay window and kissing her temple, trying to ignore how her body tenses with his touch.

“Think I’m just going to take a nap,” she reasons, hiding a fake yawn behind her palm and setting her pencil and her sketchbook on the bedside table.

“Can stay if you want me to,” Harry offers, his hand on her knee and his eyes soft under the dim light of the suite. “Can do something other than a nap if you want.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Amelie sighs, forcing a smile and pulling her body away from his reach.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Ames?”

“I’m fine, baby.”

Harry’s heart twinges at the name, the sound so familiar and so comforting yet feeling so off coming from her lips in that very moment. “Alright,” he sighs, leaning forward and kissing her lips lightly. “Love you.”

Amelie mumbles something under her breath, almost mistakable for simply a sigh. Harry leaves shortly after she settles under the covers, bringing the curtains down and making the room as dark as possible for the midday sun. Harry excuses Amelie for being tired with his parents, assuring them that everything was alright despite their questioning stare.

Everyone else seemed to forget she wasn’t around.

That’s when Harry noticed even more so what Amelie was talking about, and there was a pang in his chest filled with guilt. He mentioned Amelie in every other sentence, and yet, only his mother was the one that seemed to engage in the conversation. Did people think they wouldn’t last? How could anyone not realise her bright hair and shining smile and the sweetest laugh was missing from the conversation? He felt a bit angry at that and walked to another part of the boat to lay on a chair, needing to be alone with his thoughts and his emotions and settle down. He would talk to Amelie about it, later, apologise for not noticing sooner and promise to be better about it.

His thoughts were interrupted when Kendall asked to see the exhibition pictures, coming up seemingly out of nowhere and laying on the chair connected to his. Complaining about not being able to see, she tossed the towel over them, her fingertips scrolling through the pictures, asking ignorant questions that Harry wants to ignore. Had he been this dense about art before, too?

His thoughts must have been so deep in his head when he pulled the towel away from them that he didn’t notice his girlfriend standing dumbfounded at the walkway, her lips pursed together in a tight line and a numbness washing over her emotions. His jaw dropped, knowing how badly that must’ve looked to her, how this is not the first time she’s been through something similar and all the anxiety and the thoughts must be rippling through, the depression slowly resurfacing.

Amelie walked away much more calmly than she anticipated. Maybe it’s because she’s older, she doesn’t feel the need to make a scene as much. Maybe it’s because she’s embarrassed, embarrassed to think that she ever believed all that Harry told her in a year as opposed to what Jack told her for three.

Harry could replace her. Jack was right. There was no one more easily replaceable that Amelie, herself.

He nearly runs over a staff member on the way off the boat and to the hotel, sputtering apologies and shoving his sunglasses on his nose to hide himself away, his heart sinking when he sees her staring out the window with her legs to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. He spilt apologies and attempts to justify what happened and what she saw, how it was completely misconstrued. Amelie stayed quiet, nodding and humming when necessary, her thoughts circling around his explanation and to the anxiety beginning to overwhelm every emotion and every breath that sits inside her. He brushes his fingers through her hair as she stares out the window, not breathing a word.

Harry could see it happening, the impending spiral, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He wakes up from his mid-afternoon nap the next day to their suitcases clattering against the makeshift wardrobe, a string of profanities leaving her lips in a yelp of pain. His body shoots out of bed, his knuckles rubbing at his eyes, his lips parting in a yawn as he tries to speak. “Ames, what are you doing?”

“Going home,” she spits, not daring to turn around and face the half-asleep man beneath the sheets, the one that she loves more than anything and can’t picture her life without. Her voice is bitter and cold to hear, but it’s the only way she can speak without breaking into sobs. “Can come if you want, I really don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Hey,” Harry sighs, swinging his legs around the bed and padding over to her, gently prying her hands away from suitcase. His heart drops when she shakes him away and starts tossing her clothes messily into her open case. “Tell me what’s gotten into you.”

“I really don’t fucking want to, Harry.”

“Mon ange–”

“Don’t whip out the French and think I’m going to want to talk to you,” Amelie says harshly, tears spilling over her eyes and onto her cheeks and a frustrated grunt leaving her lips as she falls to her knees on the carpet. Her whole chest is caved in with her shaky breaths, her arms tucked tightly against her ribs to control her shaking.

“Amelie Fay,” Harry breathes, his hand taking her wrist, lightly tugging, “look at me.” He doesn’t let go of her hand as she stands, her broken posture making their height difference more apparent than ever as Harry looks down at her. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“Do you really not fucking get it?”

“Get what?” he sighs exasperatedly, his shoulder slumping in defeat as she shakes away his touch and attempts to brush a stray hair away from her forehead. “Not really sure I get anything. Know you’re anxious, right now, and you won’t tell me why. Know that you saw what you saw yesterday, and you didn’t tell me how you felt about it. Know that you get anxiety about meeting new people but what happened in August? Talked about it and then we were good. I apologised for what you saw yesterday, but it wasn’t what you think. That’s all I can say is sorry.” He isn’t really sure what else to say. He is confused as to why Amelie won’t talk to him, why she won’t open up. “Don’t really get the difference between talking then and now.”

“You’re an asshole,” she mutters, brushing her fingers through her hair and tugging at the root, stepping over the suitcase and walking away to gain some distance. Harry can see how much she’s shaking by the way her knees are tied together.

“Maybe,” Harry admits, nodding and tucking a hair tie between his teeth while he gathers the hair at the nape of his neck, tying it in a bun on his head. “Maybe I just don’t fucking get it. Explain it to me. Make me understand.”

“Do you not see that people don’t see us together? Because you only act that way around your family, and your close friends, Harry. Never the people that are going to talk about it.” Harry can see how hurt Amelie is by the words she’s saying, by the truth held behind every syllable and the way she has to stare at his chest or his knees, avoiding his eyes altogether. Confrontation was never Amelie’s forte, and having to do it in an unfamiliar environment made her want to be sick. “Can’t even look at you, right now.”

“Well, I’m not walking away, so look at me.” Harry’s words are stern in comparison to how unsteady and shaky he feels inside. He feels as though all of his bones are limp, all of his muscles disintegrated and all the emotions that made him feel strong and capable have fallen to his feet and out of reach. He can feel this beginning to end, and not in a way that he wants. “I don’t get why you’re being like this. Ames, we’ve been together for nearly a year,” he confesses, his words not thought out before tumbling from his lips. He should know why Amelie is feeling this way, he does know. He isn’t thinking. That’s the problem. “Tell me why I would want anyone fucking else. Make it make sense to me.”

“Get your head out of your ass, Harry,” Amelie groans, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the way his arms are crossed in front of his chest. Harry either stood in that pose or with his hands on his hips when he’s angry. Her nostrils flare as she scoffs at the idea. “This isn’t about you.”

“Then, what is it about?”

Amelie waits a moment, thinking carefully of her words and taking a deep breath. All of the thoughts in her head are suddenly clear as she steps towards him, her arms folded in front of her chest like his and mocking his stance. “You don’t think about me,” she says firmly, confident in the words that she’s speaking into the air, as much as they break her heart into pieces, “when it comes to people that are in a different world from me. Get it, you know, I don’t fit in with your friends, I’m not the stereotypical person that you hang out with based on my looks. I’m not good enough to be with you. Knew that from the get-go.” Amelie blinks rapidly, forcing herself to stay hard on the exterior and not shed a tear. “Didn’t think it’d wind up with someone throwing themselves at you in front of me, though.” Harry’s eyes well up, closing his parted lips and tucking his chin to his chest. “Thought it was different with us, you know? Thought that all those times you said it was me that is good enough for you and that everything he said was wrong, that you meant it. Thought that you really wanted me.”

Neither Harry nor Amelie dares to utter Jack’s name, anymore.

“I did mean it,” Harry whispers, tears welling in his eyes and his heart shattering into a million pieces in his chest. He can feel the splinters of the arteries and ventricles against his ribs, ripping at his muscles as the pieces of his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. “I do mean it.”

“Harry, I saw the way you were interacting and talking to everyone.” Her eyes fall to her feet, her cheeks tinged a shade of red that splotches whenever she begins to cry. Harry knows that his heart is over when a tear falls down her cheek. “Have to be so much more careful and on guard with me. Don’t even look happy when you talk to me anymore. Comfortable, that’s all we are. That’s not fair,” she hiccups, sniffling and wiping the tear away with her sweatshirt sleeve. “Not fair to either of us, really.”

“Doll.”

“Don’t, Harry. I just want to go home. Don’t feel like you have to come. Don’t want to ruin your holiday.”

“Only a holiday because you’re here,” Harry says softly, his hands wiping away the tears on his cheeks as Amelie turns away, her eyes staring down at the intimidatingly empty suitcase. They always helped each other pack and unpack, and now she would have to do so alone. “Can you wait like, fifteen minutes? Don’t go anywhere without me.” Amelie nods silently, not wanting to see the ounce of hope glimmer in the emerald eyes that draw her in. “I’ll figure out how to get us home, today.”

Angrily wiping the tears from her eyes and leaning down to start putting her clothing away, she nods, not daring to meet Harry’s intense stare. Amelie thought about making a scene, screaming at the top of her lungs that Harry is an asshole and she hates him and never wants to see him, again. Maybe, she’ll even say she doesn’t love him, just to twist the knife.

That wasn’t something Amelie could do though, because while, yes, Harry can be an asshole sometimes, she doesn’t hate him and, more than anything, she wants to see him every single second of every day for the rest of her life. And, fuck, would she be lying if she said she doesn’t love him with her whole heart.

Harry bypasses anyone that gets in his way, walking straight to his mother and stepfather’s room with tears in his eyes, silently praying that they would have the answer to his question. He knocks three times, Robin’s voice ushering Harry to enter and their eyes wide with concern as his hair is tied into a messy knot on his head and his eyes are red with tears.

“Don’t know what I did wrong and now she wants to go home and she’s acting really weird and I’m worried. Amelie is worrying me. Think she’s going to leave me,” Harry speeds, all of his words jumbled together and his thoughts overwhelming and bringing him to tears. “Don’t think she’s going to talk to me ever again when we go home.”

“Harry,” Anne says softly, standing from her chair in the corner of the room and leaving her teacup on the plate, walking over to her son standing distressed in the middle of their room, “what are you talking about? You live together. This is just an argument. It happens.”

“No, Mum,” Harry sniffles, knuckling his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. “Didn’t,” he hiccups, tears streaming down his cheeks, “Didn’t defend our relationship to people, let other people take pictures all over me, barely showed her any love like she should have felt. And I made her feel like Jack did.”

That sentence breaks Harry apart.

“Honey, I’m sure that’s not true,” Anne sighs, wrapping him in a hug and embracing the boy that is much too tall to be cradled into his mother, like this. Harry needs the hug, though, and she would never deny him, nor his sister, that.

“But it is, Mum, because she said that she thought she was wanted by me and that there isn’t any happiness when we speak to each other. That’s exactly how she used to feel with Jack.”

“Harry,” she soothes, rubbing his back calmingly and gently prying him away from her embrace, her hands holding his shoulders to properly look into his eyes and speak, “it’s some communication issues. That’s fixable.”

“Not with her anxiety, Mum,” Harry argues, knowing his girlfriend, the love of his life, better than he’s ever known, anyone. He takes a deep breath, all of his thoughts ready to be rushed into one sentence. “She’s going to cut me out. Promised herself she’d never go through this, again. Said she’d cut ties with anyone that made her feel that way.” He takes a moment to breathe, tears falling down his cheeks, “I made Amelie feel that way.”

“Have to talk to her, Harry,” Robin says, scratching his fingertips over his beard lightly. “Don’t think you apply to that rule, you know? Different when you love someone. Jack didn’t love her; he did things maliciously. You love Amelie and didn’t try to hurt her.”

“But whatever I did,” Harry hiccups, stepping away from his mother and leaning against the dresser in the corner, his arms folded in front of his chest, “I hurt her. I said things that weren’t thoughtful.” His hands rub his face in frustration. “Made her feel like I don’t want her. How can I ever come back from that?”

“Have to talk and assure her that you do,” Robin tells him, sighing and heaving a breath as he stands from the bed and walks over to him. “Harry, you know Amelie better than anyone – you know what’s best.” His hand holds Harry’s shoulder, forcing him to meet his stare. “If she’s really not feeling well, then you two can fly home tomorrow when we dock for the rest of the trip. Have to have a serious conversation, though.”

Amelie is asleep and curled into one of Harry’s sweaters by the time he stalks back to the room.

“Can I lay with you?”

Amelie nods silently, graciously accepting his arms around her and allowing her eyes to flutter shut with the feeling of his lips on the back of her neck sweetly.

“Know that you want to go back to California, and we need to talk,” Harry whispers, his lips touching her skin and savouring the way her curls fall in his face. “Booked a flight for tomorrow for us to get the hell out of here and go home.” Her hands hold his tighter around her waist, making sure that he won’t let go. “Let me hold you, tonight, please.”

Amelie sucks in a deep breath and brushes a stray tear away from her cheeks, rolling around and tucking further into Harry’s chest, his hands holding her tightly and breathing in the saltwater clinging to her hair.

Harry’s eyes are shut, and he is nearly asleep when Amelie’s fingertips trail up his chest, her thumbs tracing along his jaw and her lips sponging light kisses on his cheek. His hand squeezes her hips, encouraging her to continue, his head rolling against the pillow to give her more room. He can feel the tension in the air, the way all of their thoughts and words are being held in the base of the throat to avoid ruining this moment.

“Love me,” Amelie whispers, moulding her lips with his and coaxing his body to lay above hers. Her movements are slow and steady, almost as if she was memorising how each kiss, each touch, each breath feels against her for the last time. “Don’t think about it, just love me.”

But how can Harry not think about it? His chest is tight because he knows that something is coming, something he is going to hate. He can feel the unspoken words on his tongue, the anger in his chest, the hurt in his emotions.

“I do, I do love you.” He interlocks their fingers and quietly, passionately makes love to her beneath the covers, professing his love to her in kisses and touches and moans. He can taste the vulnerability, the things left unsaid. He feels as though this is the only way he can know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. Harry hates that.

Harry squeezes her hands, kissing her deeply and professing his love in the only way he knows. He takes her in his arms, holding her, feeling the tacky skin against his and the panted breaths on his cheeks, not mentioning the tears in his neck. Amelie shuts her eyes, pretending that if she falls asleep all of the negative thoughts and emotions in her head will disappear.

All they want is to pretend like they’re okay, even if it’s just while they sleep.

And in the morning, Harry woke up without her. Her suitcase was in the corner of the room, a note saying that she’s gone to have breakfast with his parents to say goodbye. Goodbye sounds so final in her note, it makes his stomach turn. Harry puts on his bravest face, his fakest smile, and walks out, joining the group for breakfast and playing into Amelie’s lie that she wasn’t feeling too well and had some work to get done, and they would be going home to help her feel better. Anne didn’t mention that Harry went to them in a panic, and by Harry’s stern stares, she doesn’t dare to think he mentioned it either.

Harry insists on carrying her luggage and being the proper gentleman, he should have been from the day they walked onto the boat, but he couldn’t take back what he didn’t do. He knows that Amelie is anxious, and there is a slight relief of pressure when she lets him hold her hand through security and the escort to their plane, her head on his chest, her hood pulled above her wet hair.

That was it. Five days of bliss turned into two days of disaster. Harry’s world turned upside down.

And he wasn’t too sure how to fix it.

~

Harry’s heart sinks when Amelie walks quietly to their seats, her hand touching his shoulder to tell him that his legs need to move to accompany her and his hands settle in his lap. Her eyes are red-rimmed and there are tears lingering on her eyelashes, her lips plump and reddened with biting into the flesh to mask her crying.

“Got you some water.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, forcing a smile as she takes the water from his hands and twists the cap open, taking a long sip and setting the bottle in her bag before leaning against the seat, her eyes squeezing shut. “Need to sleep for the rest of the flight before m’brain implodes.”

“Migraine?”

Amelie nods, tears welling in her eyes as the pain echoes through her. Harry opens his arms, grateful that she nods and lifts the armrest, tucking her arms around his waist and cuddling into his chest. His kiss lingers on her forehead, his fingers gently scratching the nape of her neck and cuddling her closely into his warmth, into his embrace around her. Her breathing is slower, her lips parted with pants as she falls asleep easily in his arms.

Harry can feel the tension disappearing as Amelie drifts asleep, yet he knows that whatever’s to come at home is only going to be worse.

/ / /

Comfortable silence is fucking overrated. That’s how Harry feels, right now.

Harry feels that there is no such thing, especially when it can be felt in his bones as his heart is ripping through his chest, leaving scars and tears along the way, that his girlfriend is going to tell him that she’s leaving and doesn’t want to be with him anymore. His love, the love of his life is silent, disappearing before his eyes, and there is nothing, no way to prevent it.

Comfortable silence is meant for the moments in the early morning as the sun is rising and birds are chirping and he’s made love to his girl and they’re falling asleep together, once more. Comfortable silence is meant for the moments where she’s sketching the beach as they lay in his boot at their favourite lookout point, Malibu’s prettiest beaches laid out before them. Comfortable silence is meant for the moments where she’s cuddled into his chest, watching their favourite programmes or reading her favourite books, only speaking to read a quote or a specific line that strikes her.

Comfortable silence is not meant for the quiet moments before your heart is broken.

“Think,” Amelie stutters, running her fingers through her hair and pushing her fringe out of her eyes, the curls that Harry loves tied into a messy knot at the base of her neck and a light sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead from anxiety. “Think we need to take a break. Have a bit of space for a while.”

“No,” Harry says, frustratedly setting his head in his hands, his elbows digging into his thighs. He won’t look Amelie in the face. Her eyes are glossy and dim of their colour and staring into her eyes will make him break down into tears. Her features are cold and seemingly heartless as if all the love she’s ever had for him has disappeared. Maybe that’s what makes this hurt more.

Harry will never not love her.

“Harry,” she sighs, biting at the inside of her cheek and taking a hesitant step towards him. His hand immediately moves away from his face to stop her, shaking his head and returning his stare to his feet.

“Amelie, don’t. I’m well aware that I fucked up and I hurt you, but please don’t fucking say that to me,” he spits, his voice cut with a rasp and the thickness in his accent, the swears burning the tension in the air with a wave of vulnerable anger.

“Harry,” Amelie breathes, her nails digging into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped indents in her skin. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her skin tinging pink with her rising blood pressure. Her mind is overwhelmed with thoughts and reactions and dizziness that makes her believe she might pass out, “listen to me.”

“I really don’t fucking want to when you’re breaking up with me,” Harry says, pinching his bottom lip between his fingertips and taking a deep breath with his next thought. “Do you want to date other people? Is that it? God, please don’t fucking tell me that either.”

“Quit swearing at me and listen to me.”

Harry’s eyes meet her stare, the intensity in her voice, the anger, the volume a height he’s never heard her speak before. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, her fingertip digging into her temple and trying to relieve the headache. Harry wanted to kiss the pout off her lips. “Don’t want to hear it.” He shakes the thoughts out of his head, away from his mind. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me.”

“Can you stop being so fucking thick-headed?” she groans, throwing her arms in the air in frustration and rolling her head against her neck, her nostrils flaring as she inhales a deep breath. “God, Harry, you don’t get it.”

“No, Amelie, I really don’t.”

“Can’t handle everything that’s going on in my head with you breathing down my neck,” Amelie says, controlling her temperament and her anxiety, the queasiness sitting in the base of her throat, her head swirling.

“Oh, so sorry ‘m caring about you, then,” Harry sneered, the sarcasm dripping in each syllable and the anger visible in the striking vein in his forehead. Amelie could have sworn that he was beginning to hate her. “How insensitive of me.”

How could you think Harry wouldn’t hate you after this?

“For fuck’s sake, Harry,” she shouts, her body slinking against the dresser and hitting her head against the wooden frame, her knees tucked to her chest. “Get over yourself for a minute.”

Harry shuts his mouth, not daring to say another word. Harry has never seen Amelie this angry, especially not with him.

“’m trying to understand something,” she mumbles, her glossy eyes cast to the ceiling, a betraying tear slipping down her cheek. “Why the hell is it okay for you to get jealous when someone flirts with me, but as soon as I’m upset over someone literally throwing themselves on you, I’m the fucking problem? Like, make that make sense to me, Harry.”

“Don’t care when people flirt with you as much as you think.” Harry is lying through his teeth. His greatest flaw is his jealousy. Maybe not the greatest considering admitting that he’s wrong is his least favourite thing to do, but it certainly is a weakness.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Fine, I get fucking jealous. Tell me something I don’t already know,” Harry retorts, sighing heavily and knocking his head against his neck, his ability to control his anger wearing all too thin.

“Harry, you don’t think about anyone but you, sometimes, and I’m fucking tired of it,” she snaps, the sentence cutting through him like the sharpest knife, tearing at his stomach and his heart and the emotional control that was rooted in his chest. Her heart was begging her to not hurt him, but her brain was screaming to make him feel the way she does. “Did you think about how I would feel if I saw you – which fucking happened – laying like that? Did you think about how I would feel listening to everyone talk about your relationship with her when I was sitting right beside you? Did you ever even fucking think of me?”

“God, I think about you all the time! You take up all the space in my head. There isn’t one thought that isn’t wrapped around you,” he yells, his voice overpowering hers and making her sink deeper into her knees. Harry’s heart falls into his stomach seeing her shy away from him. “Can’t understand how you’re so insecure about it all the damn time,” he says, shaking his head and standing, holding his hand out to her and frowning when she refuses to touch him. He drops his hand, walking away and spitting out before he could properly think, “Could go out any fucking time of day and girls would throw themselves at me to fuck me.” His mouth snaps shut at the comment, turning on his heel and walking to her, the anger still digging in his veins and making his apology come out in the worst way possible. “Doesn’t mean I fucking do it.”

“Get the fuck away from me.” Her voice is broken and distraught as she stands on her feet, her height not nearly reaching Harry’s but her hands angrily pushing him away from her. “Girls throw themselves at you?” she snickers, carding her fingers through her hair and pushing it away from her eyes. Her blood is boiling so much that the tears in her eyes have evaporated. “Good, you arrogant son of a bitch, I’m glad that they do. Go get one.”

“Fine,” Harry spits, his jaw tense and his eyes widening at Amelie walks to the bedroom door that was shut and locked when they walked in with their suitcases earlier that morning. “Maybe I fucking will.”

“Don’t let the door fucking hit you on the way out.” Her hand yanks the knob, nearly turning it loose. Her eyes portray the hurt, the betrayal, the pain. Harry swears that wouldn’t recognise her, wouldn’t recognise the anger and the hate in her eyes. “Don’t come back either.”

You hate me. I’ve made you hate me.

Harry masks his upset in the harshest tone he can muster, blinking away tears in his eyes. “Don’t think I will.”

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw and staring at the bedroom door. His stomps are heavy into the corridor, his feet moving against the stairwell fast and his hand swinging the front door open and slamming it behind him. He wouldn’t look back. Harry was more than able to get into his car, drive to the nearest bar, and meeting a girl to simply fuck wherever they wanted, wherever they could. Quick and fast. Means nothing. Forget about Amelie. Forget it.

That’s what he needed to do, isn’t it?

Harry gets into his car, turning on the engine and speeding out of the drive, his vision blurring and eyes welling with tears as swerves into a parking space and turn the engine, his hand slamming against the steering wheel as sobs wrack through his body. His thoughts running over every horrible thing he said, his heart broken and tearing through his ribs, scratching and making his entire chest burn with guilt and shame. Thinking about forgetting Amelie would include forgetting everything.

Harry would be forced to forget the kisses, the touches, the love. He would be forced to forget the conversations in a language he learnt for her, the secrets they shared together that belonged to them and only them. Forgetting the lovemaking and the way his hands and his lips knew Amelie’s body like a map, like their intimacy, their connected moments were a treasure.

Cheating on Amelie would ruin everything. Harry couldn’t do that.

Harry turns the engine, cranking his steering wheel and driving home, the highway made through rush hour and taking much longer than he wanted to get there, to get to her. He is expecting Amelie to be gone, to have packed her bags in the thirty minutes he’s been out, to pretend that Harry never existed in her life and move on. His chest heaves in the slightest relief when her car is unmoved in the drive, yet he knows that Jenny or Fay could have gathered her. He stalks to the front door, his knuckles turning white around the doorknob, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to force the oncoming tears at bay, his thoughts scattered and unable to fully make sense.

His shoes stay at the platform of the stairwell, his hand holding onto the bannister and his feet trudging up the stairs as he makes his way to the bedroom. He can see that the light is on, but there he has very little faith that she will be inside. His hand pushes the door open, his eyes welling with tears when he notices the suitcases on the carpet and clothes being tossed inside messily. Harry swears that he’s never seen Amelie so angry, and it breaks him to know that he’s the reason why.

You can’t fix this. You can’t make this better. You’ve ruined this. You’ve ruined the best thing to ever happen to you.

Amelie’s voice is dripping in sarcasm and bitterness, her voice travelling around the bedroom as she forces her favourite sweatshirts – not his, his is in the laundry bin near what is her side of the bed, she must not want it anymore – into the deepest part of the suitcase. “Oh, what’s wrong? No one wanted to be part responsible for you cheating on your girlfriend?”

Harry closes the door, taking a step towards her and making the conscious decision to sit on the chest behind her. Amelie ordered it online a few months ago, saying that they would keep all their memory albums in there and one day it would be filled to the brim. He doesn’t anticipate that being the case, anymore. “Amelie, I was just showing her pictures of the exhibit. Had my towel over our faces because the sun was too bright, and we couldn’t see.”

“Don’t want to hear you say things that you don’t mean, Harry.”

“Fucking swear on m’life, Ames. I’d never cheat on you.”

Amelie tears too hard at her lip, swearing and angrily standing on her feet, tears staining her cheeks as she stares at Harry, disappointment in her eyes. “And what if I don’t believe you? Felt pretty confident in your ability to tell me that you could walk outside and have someone to go fuck in your car or wherever you decide to fucking do it.” Harry stands up, meeting her halfway and standing directly in front of her. “Go,” she shouts, pushing angrily at his chest and staring at the way he refuses to move, a tear falling down his cheek. “Go fuck someone, Harry. See if I fucking care.” Amelie gulps, heaving a shaky breath as her index finger pushes into his chest, “You won’t be the first person to hurt me and I bet you won’t be the fucking last.”

“Amelie,” Harry whispers, his hands lightly holding onto her shoulders, his mouth curving into a pout and his eyes squeezing shut, tears falling down his cheeks. “Amelie Fay.”

“Don’t use my whole fucking name,” she says, her hands shaking so roughly that her sweatshirt sleeve – one that’s marked with the pipe drawing – isn’t able to wipe away her tears. “You know what? Maybe I’ll go fuck someone else. How’s that sound? I’ll go fuck someone else and forget all about you.” Hiccups sound through the air as Amelie struggles to breathe. “Maybe that’s what I’ll fucking do.”

“Hey, Ames,” Harry sighs, taking her hands in his, holding her wrists tightly and bringing her hands to his chest, “look at me.”

“Fuck you, Harry.”

“Amelie, I made you that promise a year ago that I would never cheat on you, and I intend on keeping it.” Harry brings Amelie’s hands closer to his mouth, wanting to kiss her fingertips, her knuckles, her wrists, her arms, every inch that makes her. “Didn’t and wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“And what if I don’t believe you, Harry?”

“Deserve it, I do. I deserve that,” Harry breathes, nodding and kissing each fingertip. “Can’t change what I did,” he whispers, kissing the back of her hands and her wrists. “Have to do all that I can to make you trust me, again.”

“Tell me what you would’ve done if that was me,” she hiccups, tears stinging her eyes, her chest too tight to gain a breath. “Tell me what you would do if I fucked someone else.”

This can’t be happening. Harry is going to leave. Harry isn’t going to be your boyfriend anymore. You’re going to be alone. This is what Jack wanted. This is what he is waiting for. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You can’t go back to Jack. You can’t. Harry can’t leave. This can’t be happening.

“But I didn’t–”

“Tell me.”

“Feel sick to m’stomach,” he confesses, his eyes squeezing shut to try and erase the image of anyone touching her. “Find whoever it was and break their hand for touching you.” His words are barely above a whisper. “Get m’self in a lot of trouble, I reckon.”

“Can you imagine having a fucking horrible day and then walking outside, needing the comfort of your girlfriend, to see her wrapped up in someone’s arms, a towel was thrown over them, not able to see what the fuck they’re doing? How would that make you feel?” Amelie mutters, unable to muster a voice loud enough, strong enough to yell. Her energy is gone. All of her will to make this better is gone. Harry’s lost from her.

“Not very fucking good,” Harry murmurs, gently raising her sleeve, goosebumps prickling her skin, his lips sponging wet kisses along her arms, salty tears on his cheeks. His heart craves her touch. He needs to be kissing her. His mind is a mess, too many thoughts and feelings in his head, all unfiltered and tearing him apart.

Tell me how to make this better. I want to make it better. Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave.

“What would you do in that situation? Tell me.”

“Be angry,” he whispers, planting his lips on her neck and delicately kissing her skin, soaking in the way that – even in her anger – her head tilts and makes space for him to leave his mark. “Take that fucking towel off of you and demand an explanation.”

“Tell me what I did,” she breathes, her fingertips curling around the collar of his sweatshirt. As much as Harry has hurt and angered her, her heart is longing for his lips on her.

Make it better. Fix this. Do something to make me want to stay. Do something to show me that we’ll be okay.

“Nothing.”

Harry gently grabs Amelie’s cheeks, kissing her deeply and squeezing his eyes shut, savouring in the way her tongue so effortlessly moves with his and their lips are perfectly aligned, her taste tingling his senses and sparking emotions that made his skin itch to be one with hers. All Harry wants is to love her. “Don’t kiss me.”

Amelie’s words are a betrayal on everything she really wants. His fingers tangle in her hair, pulling the curls out and having her scent wash over him. His breaths are hot against her lips, barely pulling away from her kiss to speak, “Baby, kiss me and make it better. Can make it better, I know it. I’ll fix this. Please.”

“Can’t. No,” Amelie hiccups, a fresh set of tears falling down her cheeks as her hands push Harry away, shaking away the grasp on her wrists. “Promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”

Harry’s voice is unsteady, shaking with every syllable. He is losing the love of his life. Amelie is already gone. “Didn’t cheat on you, I swear on my life. This is all a big misunderstanding. Please don’t leave me.”

“Maybe it is a misunderstanding,” she sighs, rubbing her hands over her face and trying to ignore the burning sensation in her lips, the one that makes her want to kiss him. Harry takes a step towards her, his shoulders slumping as she takes a step away. “But you can’t take back what you said, Harry. Told me that it wasn’t that big of a deal that they were talking about your past relationships, that you were taking pictures the way you were. Hate to break it to you, but just because Jack isn’t around physically doesn’t mean that all the things that were said to me aren’t in my head all the damn time.” Harry notices Amelie’s bottom lip quivering, and every single part of him wants to take her in his arms and comfort her, soothe the ache in her chest that he is the reason for. “Think about it all the time how I’m not good enough for you, how it’s so clear that I don’t deserve a love like the one you’ve shown me.” Her breathing is shaky and passing through parted lips in pants, and Harry is sure that she’s going to give herself an asthma attack at any moment. “But this, Harry, this broke me. Can’t you see that?”

Harry is silent for a minute, trying to gather all of his thoughts and have something to say, something that is worthy of forgiveness. “Can see it, I can. I fucked up. I’m so sorry,” he musters, his teeth biting into his cheek nervously, his eyes blinking away tears as Amelie turns on her heel and makes her way to the bedroom door. Harry quickly follows behind her, their feet light against the wooden stairs, his hand reaching out and grabbing her wrist as they reach the platform and lightly tugging her to look at him. “I love you, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Need to get out for a little while.”

“Are you,” Harry whispers, releasing her wrist and scratching the nape of his neck. “Are you coming back?”

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“Don’t do anything stupid. Please. Don’t be reckless.” Harry’s thoughts are everywhere and anywhere and the thought of losing her because she was crying or upset and driving recklessly makes him want to be sick. “Call me if you need me. I love you.”

Amelie nods, pursing her lips together in a tight line and rubbing the tears on her cheeks with her sweatshirt sleeve. Harry is behind her on the stairs, his eyes welling with tears as she grabs her keys and rushes out the door. Her teeth chatter as soon as the wind hits her cheeks, the January air crisp and much colder than anticipated for California. Her engine turns over, her hands tossing her phone and her wallet onto the passenger seat, her mind taking her to the place where she promised she would never go to again.

Jack doesn’t recognise her new car. His fingers nurse a cigarette, the smoke blowing from between his lips. His oblivion is only slightly comforting, as it doesn’t take away from the way his eyes refuse to tear away from the tinted windows and the navy colour of her car. He was always intrigued to understand what he shouldn’t have, and that interested Amelie at first until it was her that he couldn’t have.

Christ, Amelie, what the fuck are you doing here? Do you want something to happen? Are you fucking insane?

Amelie’s body shakes with sobs, nails digging into her thighs and her forehead leaning against the steering wheel, her head pounding with a migraine and her vision blurring with tears. Her life is falling apart at the seams, all of her emotions shattered and destroyed in a matter of days. All that she had, all that she knew is gone. Her love, the love of her life, the one that she wants to spend forever with, disappearing before her very eyes. Harry wouldn’t want her after this, as much as it was said so.

I’m not strong enough for this. I can’t do this. I don’t want this.

Her cheeks bleed with the tiny rips her teeth gnash into her skin, her fingertips digging into her eyes, her nose running, her blood pressure is high – too high – and her consciousness is drifting.  Amelie’s mind sets into a panic, her fingertips rushing to lock her doors and moving to recline her seat all the way back, her eyes squeezing shut as her fingertips rollover pressure points, trying to draw the queasiness away and her thoughts to sort enough to drive home.

Harry would help you if you were home. Harry wouldn’t let you get like this. That’s what he was trying to avoid. He just wants to talk.

And for the thirty minutes that Amelie is laying down, strictly focusing on her breathing, trying to regain the strength to drive home, willing her migraine to dissipate and the fog in her brain to clear, her mind is replaying Harry saying “I love you” as she walked out the door.

Harry is calling, Amelie can hear her phone vibrating on the ground. Her migraine is slowly fading, the darkness surrounding her making it much easier to calm down. Her eyes stare up at the moon, wondering why at this time all of the stars are failing to align. Her hands grapple for her phone and her wallet, tucking the wallet in the centre console and opening her screen, there are four missed calls and seven text messages. Clicking on the voicemail, Harry’s voice rings through the radio, the engine turned over and ready to be driven home.

“Hey, uh, it’s me. Know that you needed to get out, and ’m sorry for bothering you,” Harry begins, his voice shaky and nervous. “Come home, Ames. I, um, I want to talk this out.” His anxiety is heard in the rasp clutching every syllable. “Think that we can get over this, you know? ‘s hard, we say things we don’t mean, but that doesn’t mean to have to say goodbye.” Harry is sniffling, now. “Please don’t go to Jack. Don’t do that.” He coughs to mask a choked out sob. “Come home. Fuck, I meant to say please. Je t’aime. I love you, I’m sorry. Please come back.”

Amelie clicks on the second message.

Harry’s voice is a bit softer, more tender. “Ames, I’m worried. Call me back. At least tell me if you’re alright.”

Third message.

His voice is harsh and etched in the thickest accent Amelie has ever heard. “Amelie, I’m going to come and find you if you don’t call me back soon.”

Fourth message.

“Amelie, please, baby.” Harry is crying. His voice is barely above a whisper and his nose is slightly stuffed as he takes a deep breath in. “Please be okay. I need you. Please.”

All the way home, Amelie is thinking about Harry saying that she’s needed, that he needs her. Her heart is entirely his. All of her, every thought, every breath, every painting, every idea, includes him, his love, the way his support has changed how Amelie thinks. Her mind can’t tear away from the insecurities, though, the way all of what Jack has once said to her clings to her thoughts and her doubts when Harry even slightly behaves in a way that she isn’t used to. Amelie is more than aware that therapy takes time and having to admit to Harry that she needs time to find a way to love herself before they can be together makes her want to break, once more.

Fuck, I love him. I love him so much. I can’t go through this. I can’t have him hate me.

Harry is sitting at the dining table, staring at his phone when Amelie walks inside, throwing everything onto the table beside the door and tossing her trainers messily in the closet. He immediately stands, rushing over and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, bringing her into a hug and tucking his face in her hair, breathing her in, tears wetting her scalp as he squeezes her.

“Hi,” Amelie whispers against his chest.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, kissing her temple and laying his forehead against her head, his fingers carding through her hair. “Fuck, you’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

“Almost passed out in the car, and I had to lie down.”

Harry pulls away, staring at her intently, taking in the flushed cheeks and sweat beading at her forehead, her lips slightly parted and chapped from heavy breaths. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if something worse happened. “Amelie, you should’ve called me.”

Amelie gulps, licking her lips and blinking slowly, “My phone fell on the ground and I couldn’t reach it.”

“Gon’a get you a warm flannel and some water,” Harry says, kissing her temple once more and walking into the kitchen to fill her water bottle from the cabinet, handing her the light pink flask and nodding towards the stairs. “Do you need help getting up the stairs?”

“Can walk, it’s fine.”

Harry nods respectively, walking carefully behind her with a hand on her back to steady her, her legs slightly wobbly as she holds on to the bannister. He quietly shuts the bedroom door behind them, walking straight into the bathroom and running the warm water over a washcloth, wringing out the excess and taking a breath. His eyes blink away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, walking into the bedroom and sighing at the sight of his girlfriend – if he could still call her that – sitting with her legs hanging over the side of the bed.

“Think we should talk,” she whispers, exhaustion in her eyes, her fingertips tracing over the tattoos on her thighs.

“Can talk in the morning, you need to rest,” Harry says, shutting the light and setting the cloth in her hands, his fingertips brushing her fringe away from her forehead. His thumb presses into the button of the lamp on her bedside table, drawing the curtains closed and readying the bedroom for the night. Harry is silently hoping that he’ll be able to fall asleep with Amelie once more before she leaves him.

Amelie grabs his hand, standing on her feet and setting the towel on the wooden table. “Harry.”

“Amelie, I–”

“Know that you love me,” Amelie says, her heart breaking as Harry’s eyes begin to well with tears, his hand held over hers on his chest. “Know that, I do. Have to give me time, though. Can’t love you the way you deserve if ‘m not okay, if ‘m not loving myself.” Her thumb brushes the tears from his cheek. “Unintentionally, we’re hurting each other by not talking, especially me, and we’re just using words to hurt each other. That’s not something I want for you, Harry. That’s not something I want for either of us.”

“Need you to tell me what you want, what you need from me,” Harry sighs, tears staining his cheeks and his tongue trying to wet his chapped lips. “Tell me how to fix this.”

“Have to forgive each other, Harry. Our words, our argument was cruel. That wasn’t fair to either of us,” she whispers, her thumbs soft against his dry skin. “Think we need a few weeks apart, that’s all. Like you’re on tour or I’m doing a mural. That’s all you have to think of it as.”

“But it’s not,” he breathes, his hand gently moving her wrist away from his face, “we’re in the same city, the same house, Ames.”

“I’m going to stay with Mama and Papa and Phoebe for a week or two,” Amelie reasons, shying away from Harry as he denies her touch. Her fear of being rejected by him is overwhelming her senses. “This way we have that space.”

“Don’t have a studio at your parent’s house, and that’ll drive you insane.” Harry knows Amelie better than he knows himself. His heart couldn’t stand to see her break without having her art and her space to breathe. “Can you just stay here? Have me bring some things into the guest room and leave in the morning and come back late at night, I don’t care.”

“But, where will you go?”

His nails scratch at his head, his chin tucked against his chest and his knuckles rubbing at his eyes to rid the tears. “Don’t know, I’ll make myself busy during the day.”

“Don’t want you to think ‘m a horrible person for this, Harry,” she whispers, her fingertips beginning to pull at her lips, the slightly metallic taste of blood on her lips causing her to swear.

“Hey, hey,” Harry sighs, gently prying her hands away from her face and bringing her into his chest. His arms wrap around her shoulders, tucking her arms around his waist and preventing her from subconsciously hurting herself more. “Don’t do that, you’re okay.”

“’m sorry.”

Harry gently rubs her back, his nose tucked into her hair as she cries into his chest, her breathing shaky and panted against his chest. His heart breaks for his love, wishing desperately he could take her pain away, take away all that was done to her, all that he did to her. “’s okay, angel. ‘ve got you.”

“’s all m’fault.”

“’m guilty, too,” Harry sighs, fingertips brushing through her curls and holding her tighter in his warmth. “Don’t blame yourself for everything. This isn’t all your fault. Not like we’re breaking up, yeah? Couple weeks to take some time to breathe and get ourselves together, and then we’ll come back and talk.”

Harry’s hand releases her hair, laying in the centre of her back and soothingly rubbing her spine, Amelie’s eyes meeting his. “Can you stay with me, tonight?”

“Don’t know how good of an idea that is, Ames,” he breathes, tucking a strand of hair away from her forehead and behind her ear, “for either of us.” His chest heaves with a breath, his mind and heart conflicted with what he wants. “Like you said, we were just so cruel to each other.”

“Harry,” she whispers, tears spilling over and her fingertips clutching his hips.

“Don’t cry, please. I’m here,” Harry sighs, his thumbs wiping the tears from her cheeks, his lips touching her forehead and her cheeks. “I’ll stay. Don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t go out and fall in love with someone else, okay? Need you to come back to me.”

“Couldn’t and wouldn’t dream of it, mon ange.” Harry gently brings her chin up, his eyes meeting hers, his lips hesitantly pressing to hers to emphasise his statement. “’s you and me, that’s it.”

“Don’t hate me, please.”

“Could never hate you,” Harry assures, brushing the hair away from her neck and lightly kissing her jaw.

“Kiss me,” Amelie whispers, squeezing his hips and mending their lips together. Her eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, her lips slightly rough and dry compared to the gentle feeling of his. His hands grip under her thighs, delicately laying her on the bed and slanting his lips on hers, peeling their clothing slowly and tossing it onto the carpet.

“Never wanted to make you sad,” Harry whispers against her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Know that,” she sighs, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him, silencing his words to hide away the tears that were waiting to fall down her cheeks. “Don’t talk. Make love to me, that’s all.”

“Have to know that I love you.”

“I do, I know.”

Harry and Amelie make love under the tangled sheets of their once shared bed, tears shed, and arms held tightly around each other, quiet whimpers and moans sharing the love and sadness and emotions pouring through them.

Harry clutches Amelie’s naked body against his chest, his fingertips carding through her knotted curls and his lips touching her hairline. “Are we going to talk?”

“Mean, we’re still living together,” she breathes, her fingertips tracing over the birdcage on his ribs. Her throat is dry, the feeling of every emotion rushing through her brain and her migraine beginning to resurface. “Expect us to.”

“And I’ll be there for the exhibition,” Harry says reassuringly, the darkness lingering over their bedroom intimidating to the heartache that is panging their chests.

“Know you will.”

His words are pleading, his fingertips tucking under her chin and bringing her to meet his stare. His heart is so broken. “Can I do anything to change your mind? Anything.”

“Harry,” Amelie sighs, shaking her head and delicately kissing his jaw. Her body sinks further into his embrace, her eyes closing and her hand splaying over the expanse of his back.

“Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime davantage.”

Harry stares at the ceiling, his arm wound tightly around his love. His mind is racing, too many thoughts overwhelming him and too many emotions circulating through, taking his breath away and making his heart feel small in the pit of his stomach, his ribs caved in and puncturing holes in his lungs. His cheeks wet with tears, his hand wiping at the betrayal and falling to where her arm is draped over his waist. Harry’s never noticed before, but Amelie always seems smaller when they’re tucked in bed together when there is the rare opportunity to cuddle her when her hair is falling over her face and her lips are parted between breaths. He soaks it in, all of the upset, all of the tears. His heart clings to the hope that they’ll find their way back, they’ll forgive each other, and they’ll love each other unconditionally forever. That’s all Harry wants: forever.

Harry stares at the beautiful, broken-hearted woman in his arms, the one that he’s fallen so madly in love with, and silently prays to whoever is listening that they’ll make their way back to each other soon.

/ / /

Harry marks another day on his calendar in the guest room and his heart sinks at the sight – two weeks taking ‘time’ from Amelie. He took nearly everything from his office and set it on the desk in the makeshift bedroom for himself. He couldn’t bear being next door to the studio and not going in to steal kisses or have lunch with her or teasingly swipe paint on her nose or her arms.

Her conversations with him are barely anything to remember. Quick check-ins and asking about dinner plans in the mornings as she makes her tea and he grabs his coffee. Maybe the occasional question about who would go to the shops and buy their groceries – usually her for the sake of not being noticed – and making a list of whatever they’ve run out of. Harry wants to ask when she thinks they can speak again, having an adult conversation about what to do with their relationship. His heart is heavy, knowing that his best friend barely speaks to him, and doesn’t really want to. He knows that Amelie has been having nightmares, again, and there have been a few nights where they’ve had a quiet conversation as he soothes her. She never brings it up in the morning, though. Harry wants Amelie to talk to him, even if it’s to say that she’s thinking because that would mean that there’s an opportunity to make it better.

More than anything, it’s painfully obvious that Harry and Amelie really do miss each other, even if they won’t admit it.

Jenny gave Harry an earful at her kitchen counter, his head in his hands, despair etched into his features. There wasn’t anyone to turn to that knew Amelie quite like Jenny did, and Harry knew that she would be honest with him, even though it would surely hurt.

Opening her front door, Jenny rolled her eyes and nudged Harry inside, waddling into her kitchen and taking a seat on the dining chair, her ankles swollen, and her lips wrapped around the straw of her water. You know, if I wasn’t pregnant, I would beat your ass for the pictures I saw.

I know, Harry said, tying his hair into a knot and frowning. It’s really not what it looked like, but I don’t blame you for being mad.

Amelie hasn’t told me anything, she sighed, running her fingers over her bump and leaning her cheek in the palm of her hand. Need you to tell me what happened, and we can try to see the best way to get her to open up, again. Obviously, it’s a good sign if she didn’t call me and ask her to help her leave.

Thinking about Amelie leaving makes Harry shudder. Okay. And Harry tells her everything. All of the harsh words that were said to each other, the leaving, the kisses. He leaves out that they had sex – she can piece that together on her own. He talks about how they’ve barely spoken. I miss her so much. I didn’t think I could ever feel this way. It’s the fucking worst. His eyes refuse to meet Jenny’s because of the disappointment that she feels is lingering over his head, the tension in the air.

This happened to Dan and me, she says, and you’re lucky that Amelie is nicer than I am because I kicked him out of the house for a week. One of his exes started coming around and he’s a boy and didn’t see that she was trying to get in the way. Told him that he needed to decide what he wanted.

Obviously, it worked out for you, though, Harry sighs, I don’t think Amelie wants me anymore, even though she’s all I want.

Maybe you should try to prove that to her, then. Living in the same house and avoiding each other clearly doesn’t do the trick.

And Harry takes Jenny’s advice to heart.

Calling the only person that he knows will have the advice to give him about Amelie, the drive to Pasadena takes much longer than the typical thirty minutes. Harry’s thoughts are racing, and his heartbeat is erratic as the freshly painted house and the flowers and the brick walkway comes into sight. Fay’s car is outside, Harry’s pulling up beside it. His phone vibrates in his pocket, Amelie’s contact showing on his screen, a message saying that she’s going to buy more canvasses and spray paint and to not wait on her for dinner. His heart sinks at that, knowing he wouldn’t see her at all that night.

His thumb pressed into the doorbell, his heart sinking when her younger sister answers the door, the twisted expression on her face and the way her head shakes at the sight of him making him want to shrivel into the floor and melt away. Her eyes could pass for daggers, and Harry swears she’s twisting the knife to make the nerves in his stomach worse.

Her and Amelie surely know how to kill with their stares.

“Hey, Pheebs,” Harry breathes, his hands shoved in his pockets nervously, “is your mum home yet?”

“Yeah,” Phoebe says hastily, the hostile tone a vast change in comparison to how they normally interact. “Why are you here?”

“Pheebs–”

“Don’t call me that anymore,” she interrupts, tears welling in her eyes at the thought. Harry was her friend, yes. But Amelie was her sister, her blood, her best friend.

“Phoebe,” Harry begins, his voice trailing as she turns away, Fay swiftly shuffling into view. “Hi, Fay.”

“Hi, Harry,” Fay welcomes, greeting him with a motherly hug and rushing him inside, the January air crisp and chilling his cheeks a bright red. “Calm the cold shoulder, Phoebe. There’s much more to the story than what a magazine decides to tell you. Clearly, Harry’s here for a reason. Don’t make him feel worse.”

Phoebe nods complacently, turning on her heel and stalking up to her bedroom, giving Harry one last look at the top of the staircase before slamming her door shut. Her feelings were conflicted. All Phoebe wanted was to see Amelie happy, and she is happy with Harry, evidently unhappy without, and there was no way to have a happy medium.

“Come inside the kitchen. Get you some tea and warm you up.” Harry follows Fay into the kitchen, standing quietly in the corner and rocking on his heels as she readies a kettle and paces about the island. “Oh, don’t be shy, now. Come sit.”

Harry fiddles his thumbs, smiling shyly at Fay across the counter and staring at the barstool that his girlfriend - he wouldn’t stop calling her that - painted. He never felt uncomfortable coming to their house, rather slightly uneasy with the thought that they could very well be mad at him for all that he’s done. He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before saying a word.

He isn’t entirely sure on how he should ask his girlfriend’s mother for advice on how to bring her back to him. Because, at the end of the day, Fay was Amelie’s mother, Fay would support Amelie. They didn’t owe him anything.

“How are you doing?” Fay asks sweetly, leaning over the counter and casting her eyes over the solemn boy sitting at her kitchen counter. Phoebe answered the door with a disgusted look on her face, and she knew that couldn’t have been easy to take. “Are you eating? Sleeping well? Had your mum text me the other day to check-in.”

“I’m alright, I suppose,” Harry answers honestly, not daring to stare into the eyes that are scarily matching to Amelie’s. “It’s weird. We’re living in the same house, eating meals together, bringing each other coffee from our favourite place, but we’re not together – still in the break, or whatever it is. It’s like we avoid the topic altogether. Ames brushes me off every time I try to bring it up.”

“Know this can’t be easy on you, Harry. It’s clear how much you love her. But this can’t be easy on Amelie, either. She loves you. More than she’s ever loved, anyone. And that includes us,” Fay giggles, patting her hands on the counter and moving towards the whistling kettle. “Harry, what happened on the holiday was an honest mistake. It’s hard, learning all the signs of when someone’s mental health is staggering and trying to remember all the triggers, I’ll say that. But, if you’re going to be in a relationship with someone that does suffer from a mental disorder, you have to be willing to try a bit more. Know that you are, and it’s not just you – Luca and I had to learn, too – that’s just a blanket thought.”

Harry nods understandingly, pursing his lips and encouraging her to continue.

“Know that you both said things you don’t mean. Not sure what you said to her on the boat to make her want to come home, and that’s none of my business, nor is it anyone else’s, but you need to understand that someone with anxiety will cling to those words, especially when there are experiences in their past that give them insecurity about relationships.” Fay sets a cup of tea in front of Harry, milk and sugar accompanied shortly after. He doesn’t like tea, but the kindness that he is being shown in this moment is more than he deserves, and he’ll drink whatever is put in front of him. “Amelie needs breaks sometimes. Allows her to clear her mind and remember what’s important. It’s been that way since she was thirteen. But, Harry, you need to know that you are important to her, likely the most important.”

Harry’s eyes sting with tears at the statement. “I want to be enough for her. I want her to forgive me.”

“Forgiveness isn’t about you. Forgiveness is about the person acknowledging that they were hurt and are ready to move on, to accept that the person may or may not love who they are,” Fay says, the way in which her words pour out in wisdom and clarity only emphasising her ability as an author. “Knowing if that person is wanted in their life is the way they know.” Her lips purse together for a moment. “You and Amelie have to forgive each other. Quite easy to tell that you love each other for who you are, but sometimes you have to wait it out.”

“How do I know if Amelie isn’t going to want me anymore? Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Don’t think you’d be living together, spending time together, sleeping together,” Fay says knowingly, “if she didn’t want to forgive you.”

Harry scratches his neck, rolling his head around his shoulders and sucking in a breath. “I’ve been taking pictures of the moon every night since we got home. Maybe I can do something with that. Kind of showing that ‘m thinking about her, all the time, and thinking about us since it’s our thing.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea. And that’ll spark some inspiration for her to paint, too.”

“Thank you,” he nods, pinching his bottom lip together and sighing. Harry stands from the barstool that once belonged to Amelie, grateful as Fay walks around the island and wraps him in a motherly hug.

“You’re going to be okay. Things just take time.”

Harry smiles, sighing and beginning to walk towards the front door. His heeled boots click against the wooden floorboards, her younger sister waiting at the edge of the stairs, her arms folded in front of her chest and her lips tucked inside her mouth. Harry could see the resemblance between Phoebe and Amelie, especially in their faces when they’re angry. He smiles at her, opening the front door and thanking her mother once again for speaking to him. Her father is walking up the drive, smiling sadly and patting his shoulder as they greet each other quietly. Harry is disappointed in himself, in the way that the relationship he made with her family is slowly disappearing before his eyes. He felt welcomed, he felt like Harry. He isn’t sure he would ever find that with anyone else.

His head turns over his shoulder as a hand plants on the hood of his car, prompting him to shut the door and turn to face whoever is preventing him from leaving. Phoebe is standing against the car, a stern glance telling Harry that what she has to say is going to be serious and should not be taken lightly.

“I’m pissed at you.”

“I know, I’m pissed at me, too.”

“Can tell when things are bad, you know? Cherry called me when you told her who was going on the boat with you, and I’m sure I didn’t make the situation any better by giving my opinions, but what else was I supposed to do?” she exasperates, her arms folding in front of her chest angrily as he tucks his hands in his pockets. “Don’t even bring up how shit the photos make you look, Harry.”

“Know they do,” Harry sighs, his hand brushing his hair away from his face and returning it to the open pocket. “Talked to your sister about it, but you know. Everything is kinda a mess, right now.”

“Do you love my sister? Like, actually love her,” Phoebe wonders, the harsh stare in her eyes softening as Harry’s eyes gloss over.

“More than anything. More than anything ever in m’whole life.”

“Don’t let her think you don’t, then.”

Harry nods, swallowing the sob sitting in his throat, getting into his car and turning on the engine. He drives away slowly, taking in the words that were said to him, scratching at his forehead and tugging on his curls, anger boiling his blood as he passes the café and stares. His drive home is longer than necessary, but Harry needed the time to think. He needed space to breathe. He grabs dinner from a café near their house that she loves, sulking when Amelie’s car is yet to be seen in the garage. Her text said that she wouldn’t be back until late, but that didn’t stop Harry from hoping he would see her.

He writes a quick note on the countertop where she leaves her wallet – so she never misplaces it and can’t leave without panicking – telling her that he bought dinner and it’s in the microwave. He sighs, the emptiness of their house intimidating to his emotions. His makeshift bedroom is cramped with anything he might need, trying his hardest to avoid being around her when she wouldn’t speak. His collection of polaroids are in a box on the bedside table, his hands grappling for the photographs and the camera and bringing them upstairs.

His side is unmade, the duvet tossed and the sheets messy, and his heart sinks. He lays the pictures out on the dresser near the bed, a sticky note set on the side, the white camera held in his hands as he made his way onto the balcony to scope out the stars. He lights his phone’s flashlight for a better image, taking the picture of the moon and waiting for it to develop to add to the pile.

He waits a moment to write anything, trying to think through the quotes sorted through his brain and find one that would be something special, that would mean something to her. He’s read nearly thirty books in the year he’s known her, all taking the time on the road when he wasn’t recording or writing or sleeping. He felt smarter, more impressive.

Harry’s memory of Virginia Woolf’s, The Waves, comes to mind, the quote about the stars seeming perfect to accompany the images. His handwriting is neat on the yellow note, scripting the quote and thinking about the signing, almost scared to say that he loves her.

His chest heaves as he leaves the bedroom. closing the curtains and the lights for her, his footsteps light on the stairs as he makes his way to the guest room, the creaking of the garage alerting him that she was home. He doesn’t want to bother her, knowing that her day must’ve been tiring, and he takes himself into the room, making his night routine action and stepping into the bathroom.

Amelie walks into the kitchen, her lips curving into an involuntary smile as she sets her wallet down and takes in the note that was left for her.

Dinner in the microwave, it’s from Café Habana. Hope you had a good day. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Harry x

Harry could be heard singing in the shower, making Amelie smile wider. Her hands pull the sandwich out of the microwave, her mouth watering at the sight. Her stomach growls, reminding her that she hasn’t eaten anything all day. She tends to forget to eat on the worst days, her mind going through a million thoughts and never calming to ease into the daily necessities. Amelie eats the sandwich all too fast for her liking, savouring the taste and filling her water to bring with her upstairs.

Her heart is heavy hearing the shower cut and Harry’s voice quiet, his singing always comforting on the nights she couldn’t sleep. Her nightmares are back, and they’re happening every other day. She wants to ask Harry to sleep with her, to protect her from bad dreams. Her hands gently close the door, never locking it in case he decided to take matters into his own hands and come to their bed.

Her hands peel the uncomfortable clothing off her skin, inhaling the scent of Harry’s sweatshirt she tugged from his side of the wardrobe and slipping it over her torso, naked from the waist down. Her fingertips take off her rings, her lips parting and her eyes glossing over as she sees the seventeen polaroid photographs of the moon on the counter, all dated and lights perfect for her to replicate in a painting.

Her hands clasps over her heart, the genuine thought behind such a simple gesture meaning so much to her, to them. Harry was her moon, and always would be.

“There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me'.”

Hope this is some inspiration. Harry x

All Amelie can think about it how much she wants to run down the stairs and kiss him. Harry is her inspiration.

/ / /

Harry’s ear twitches at the knocking on the bedroom door. His guitar is in his lap, strumming a melody that’s been sitting in his head, one about his girlfriend and their time apart and the sadness that’s been coursing through him over the near three weeks that it’s been like this. It’s Amelie knocking, Harry knows this. Her hesitancy gave her away; she always gets nervous to go to him when he seems slightly preoccupied. He doesn’t want to know how many times someone told her that she was bothering them. He would always drop everything to be there for her. Call it a weakness or being smitten, Harry could never find it in him to act any other way.

“Hey,” Amelie says, hands tucked in the pocket on her sweatshirt – the one she got at the concert a few months back – and her eyes staring at her feet anxiously.

“Come closer to me; it’s not like I’ll bite you.” Her mouth twitches into a smirk as they share a knowing smile, her knee settling on the mattress as her foot stays planted on the ground, her body much closer to his than she might have anticipated. “Hi,” Harry smiles, setting his guitar on the platform and turning to face her. “You okay?”

“Need some help with the exhibition pieces, if you don’t mind.” Her hair is a fresh shade of peach, her fringe a bit shorter in the front, her hazel eyes bright in the corners with a highlight he’s never seen before. Her hair is curled at the ends, still long and flowing down her back, and Harry wants to twirl it around his ring covered fingers. “Could you help me load ‘em in my car?”

“Course.” His feet slip into the trainers next to his bed, standing up and ushering his hand towards the door, waiting for her to walk out first.

All of her pieces for the exhibition are against the foyer wall, and Harry wants to sit with her and talk about them all before they have to leave. His eyes take in the bags under her eyes and the slight flush to her cheeks and decide against it. He hands her the tinier canvas, a greyscale sketch of a hand holding onto someone’s shoulder, and there is a slight hiccup in his heartbeat at the sight. His hands clutch onto two much larger pieces – one, a coloured version of the sketch from the second night on the holiday; two, the lookout point in Malibu that they always go to on their picnics.

Harry waits beside the car as Amelie unlocks the doors, opening the boot and the backseat to set everything separately and ensure that they wouldn’t be damaged along the way. “Doin’ alright?”

“I’m alright.”

Harry knows Amelie is lying. “Have you been sleeping?” His questions come out more as a statement, a way to talk about what’s going on. Knowing that she wasn’t talking to Jenny or Phoebe, and she certainly wasn’t speaking to him, who was she speaking to? Amelie needed someone to talk to, to share what was overwhelming her and work through the emotions. Harry wishes she would talk to him. “At all?”

“By the way you’re asking I’m assuming you know the answer,” she sighs, scratching her head as her eyes flutter for a moment, the tiredness overwhelming her today more than usual. All of this would pass eventually. Flowers. Blooming. All that she told herself to try and feel better. “It’s fine, Harry. I’m okay.” Today it feels like shit, though.

Haven’t slept for more than three hours a night for almost three weeks. Sure, you’re okay.

“Can talk to me, you know,” Harry softens, leaning against the doorframe at the guest bedroom and squeezing her hand. He could laugh at how ridiculous this entire scene appeared to anyone without any idea of their situation, appearing as a movie, the scene where they were saying goodbye at the end of a date and she was anxious about kissing him. If only.  “’m your best friend.”

Disregarding all her anxiety and hesitation, Amelie walks towards Harry, snaking her arms around his waist and sinking into his warmth, into the embrace that comforted her on the worst days. “Know that.” Her voice is muffled by his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his chin on the crown of her head. “Thank you.”

Harry squeezes Amelie tightly, his lips in her hair and his fingertips lightly curling around her hair. He can’t help it, it’s his favourite thing to do. “Come on, I’ll get dressed and then I can help bring this to the venue.”

Her face continues to stay tucked into his chest, her arms holding his waist tighter to not let go. Maybe she needed this hug more than she thought. “Don’t want to interrupt you if you’re busy.”

It doesn’t take much effort to read between the lines – at least he’s gained that from this ‘time’. Had this been a few weeks ago, he likely would have ignored the comment altogether and brushed it away as her not needing him. “Never too busy for you.” Kissing her forehead, Amelie reluctantly releases him from her grasp, taking a step back and folding her arms in front of her chest, closing off from him. Harry grabbed her hand, squeezing it and making her loosen, “Come on, I know you’re going to change to go to this venue. I’ll change, and we’ll be on our merry way.”

Amelie hides the smile tugging at her lips behind her hand, rolling her eyes and walking out of the bedroom and making her way into the washroom, her two pressed shirts for the introductions – today – and the event – in two days – pressed and ready to go. Her pantsuit is hanging with the blouse, and there is a swirl of butterflies in her stomach as she thinks about the day she bought it – the way Harry wouldn’t stop making obnoxious jokes outside the fitting room, the way the old woman stared at his crude remark about how fit her ass looked in the trousers, how he dramatically drew the strap of her lacy bra against her shoulders and earned a smack upside the head when it hit her skin. Harry gripped her waist and pulled her into a kiss, telling her to hurry so they could leave. Her heart was a swirl of emotions, filled to the brim with love and she was sure that it could never get better than that.

And it would be an outright lie if Amelie tried to say that that’s not what she wants and needs, right now.

Harry calls her name in the foyer to tell her that he’s ready, his eyebrows quirking upward as she walks out of the washroom and pulls her favourite boots on her feet. He holds his hand out for her to take, guiding her onto her feet and nudging her out the door. He turns on their playlist quietly, noticing her shaking hands and grabbing it, interlocking their fingers and squeezing her hand to soothe her. His directions are counting on the drive only being ten minutes, but with traffic, he’s sure they’re going to be sitting there much longer.  

“Harry?”

His eyes light up at the sound of his name. “Hm.”

Amelie gulps, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip anxiously, the words clawing at her throat. “Do you hate me?”

If you do, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I won’t be able to handle it.

Harry turns to her, astounded by the question. “For what, Ames?”

“Our ‘time’,” she sighs, slightly frustrated that she even has to elaborate. Having to say it felt so foreign on her tongue, so uncomfortable.

“Could never hate you, Amelie,” Harry says soundly, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles and his hand cranking the wheel to turn onto the highway. “Know we’ll be together.” He shrugs his shoulders, taking a moment before continuing. “If I have to wait for it, that’s fine. I’ll wait.”

“Going to therapy, again,” Amelie mumbles, wiping away the blood on her bottom lip with her thumb. “Went back a little before Christmas.”

“Oh my god,” Harry excited, kissing her hand and turning to face her at a stoplight, “that’s incredible.” His smile is so wide that his dimple is nearly making a permanent crease in his cheek. “You never told me you were doing that.”

“Didn’t tell anyone except Mama,” she explains, heaving a deep breath and releasing the tightness in her chest. “Needed to get everything in my head together.” Her voice goes quiet, softer than the sound of the music. “It was getting to be too much.”

Harry pulls into the closest parking space, backing in to give space to haul in the paintings. He shifts the gear, turning to face her before saying anything. “Know that it’s hard for you,” he acknowledges, squeezing her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Couldn’t be prouder of you, though. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Amelie frowns when he releases her hand, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning the engine. Her hand grips his forearm before getting out of the car, her voice shy and timid. “Harry.”

“Yeah?” Harry stares at her so intensely, there is a feeling in her chest making her want to hide. He squeezes her thigh encouragingly, smiling when her tongue licks over her lips and chest moves with a breath to gain strength.

“Would you wait for me?”

He doesn’t entirely understand what she means. “’m going to help you bring these in.”

“No, no,” Amelie sighs, “I mean.” Her voice trails into the silence, all of the anxiety-ridden words caught in her throat, stuck on her tongue. “Would you wait for me? To get better, I mean.”

“Amelie, I’d wait a lifetime for you,” Harry says assuredly, shaking his head at the thought of ever leaving. He could never love anyone that way he loves her. “You’re worth every second of waiting.”

And Amelie can feel it, the butterflies in her tummy and the way her heart is beating so heavily against her chest, the emotions all swirling through her mind. Her eyes prickle with tears and there is an urge to break into a smile and kiss Harry so deeply that they lose their breath.

Harry doesn’t wait for her to say anything, kissing her temple and opening the boot, giving her a minute to calm down. He knows Amelie better than anyone ever has.

“Alright, let’s bring these in,” Harry says as soon as Amelie walks around the car, handing her the smallest canvas and tucking the larger ones under his arms, smiling brightly as the curator claps at her arrival.

“Amelie! How nice to see you,” the young woman chirps, she is trying to assess the situation, a printed smile on her lips. “Is this your assistant?”

“Ha,” Amelie snorts, the brightest smile Harry has seen on her lips set into her features, her cheeks flushed with the comment. “This is my boyfriend, Harry.”

“Think that title makes me an assistant by nature, angel,” Harry says, earning a laugh from the young woman. He smirks as Amelie rolls her eyes dramatically when the woman walks ahead, kissing her hairline and squeezing her tightly, his heart warm in his chest as she grips his hand and interlocks their fingers, following the gallery direction through the venue and showing where her paintings would be displayed in the upcoming days.

Harry is listening to all the instructions and the greetings that the gallery is offering to the artists when his phone vibrates in his pocket, a confused look on his face when it vibrates, again. His lips press to her ear, quietly whispering that he’d be right back, not ignoring the way her skin prickles with goosebumps at the contact.

His mouth curves into a grin at the messages, knowing full well the intent behind them. They would spend hours together, working and likely arguing – because the likelihood of them agreeing on everything was slim to none – and bantering back and forth as they used to. Harry needed that, needed to feel that comfort. He needed to know that there was still something between them, that they hadn’t lost it along the way. Because he loved Amelie, and he needed her to love him, too.

Need help with the nursery while Dan is at the station.

You up to be bossed around by a pregnant lady, tomorrow?

His heart warms as she turns and smiles at him, her hand set over her stomach to tell him that they needed to get lunch before going home. Amelie absolutely hated eating at art events. Always complaining that they only have foods that are too fancy and never filling. He would always agree, and they would find a niche spot near the venue to indulge in before going home. And that’s what they would do, today. He would spend as much time with her as she wanted. Everything was falling into place. Everything was going to be okay.

Harry needed to believe so.

/ / /

Harry carries a bouquet of chrysanthemums to the front door, Amelie following closely behind him and smacking his shoulder playfully as she teases him for having a brown nose. He ruffles her curls, earning a warning look and poke to the chest. All morning they were teasing each other how they used to, how they loved to.

Jenny swung the door open, her eight-month belly very much in the way of nearly everything. Harry was going to be needed more than anything, Dan involved in production week and the crib coming unassembled – although she insisted that they ordered it already assembled – they needed their assistance. Harry kisses her cheek, walking deeper inside their house and setting the flowers on the table, leaving Amelie and Jenny to have their moment – as they always do – and make himself useful in walking to the nursery.

“How are you? You look good,” Jenny says, shutting the door and walking into the kitchen to grab her water. “Things going okay?”

“Think so,” Amelie says, shrugging her shoulders and picking at the stems on the bouquet. “Have the exhibition tomorrow and he’s coming.”

“Have you told him about, you know.”

“Um, not yet,” Amelie whispers. “Think I’m going to when we go to lunch, later. Things are going well, and I don’t want to lie.”

“Don’t stress too much, I know that’s not going to pass through that head of yours, but I really do think that you’ll be okay. Tell me if Harry’s being an asshole, though, and I will show up, eight months pregnant, and have some words. Can’t really beat his ass like this,” she giggles, squeezing her hand and nodding her head towards the nursery. “Let’s get in there before he starts making executive decisions.”

Amelie laughs, shaking her head and walking into the nursery, Harry already piecing together the crib and twisting the screwdriver, slowly bringing the two wooden structures to their intended form. Her eyes lay over the expanse of his back, his hair tied into a knot and away from his neck. Her thoughts are too much to hear what Jenny says to him, Harry having to elbow her thigh to grab her attention.

“Gon’a stare at me the whole time we’re doing this? Kinda need your help. Can stare at me all you want at home.”

Amelie’s cheeks turn bright red with the comment, “Va te faire foutre.” Her knee nudges his back, a yelp leaving her lips as his arm wraps around her thigh and pulls her into him, her hands planted on his shoulders for support.

“Don’t need to swear just because I’m right,” Harry smirks, kissing the inside of her thigh and carrying about setting the crib.

“Could cut the sexual tension in here with a knife,” Jenny snorts, turning around and grabbing the tiny paint cans that they bought to paint the walls. “Do me a favour and don’t do anything in my children’s room.”

“Can’t make any promises with this one,” Harry smirks, grabbing the paintbrush being held near his face. “Try me, doll.”

“Alright,” Jenny giggles, clicking her tongue and shaking her head at their banter. “Harry, let me know when you’re done with the cribs and I’ll come and tell you where to put them. Have to get the twins’ clothes out of the laundry.”

Harry nods understandingly, a smirk toying at his lips as Amelie is pries open the paint containers and begins sketching out the meadow for the wall. His hands work at the same pace as her, their best friend settled in the corner folding laundry and leaning against the wall. He enjoyed the occasional teasing, Amelie taking her thumb and sticking it in the paint to wipe across his cheek when he teases her for the way her tongue pokes between her lips when she’s focused. Jenny grumbles at their flirting, only spurring Harry to want to do so more. He loved the moment, only belonging to them.

“Think the crib should go along this wall, J,” Amelie says, wiping her hands on the smock she brought with her in the car and wiping tugging on her hair to tighten the tie, ignoring the way acrylic paint is suddenly on her skin.

Harry turns to her, reaching out his hands and helping Jenny stand. “Don’t we want the pregnant woman to tell us that?”

“Harry, you’re about to get a foot up your ass, at any minute.”

“Know I wouldn’t mind that from you, love.”

“You two are so annoying.” Jenny hides her smile behind her phone, taking a picture of the wall to send to Dan and imagining where to set the cribs. “Think Amelie is right.”

“Ha,” Amelie smirks, squeaking as Harry’s arms wrap around her waist and set her in the hallway outside the nursery. “Put me down, Harry!”

“Not until you apologise for being mean,” Harry says, trying desperately to hide the smile on his face.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll be finishing the job without you, then.” Harry moves to walk away, his head turned over his shoulder when Amelie grabs his wrist. “Have something to say?”

“Can we still get lunch after we’re done?” Amelie smiles, knowing well enough by now that Harry never means what he says when it has something to do with leaving without her.

“You’re so annoying,” Harry grumbles, taking her hand and tugging her behind him into the nursery to finish their job. “Thanks for asking me on a date, by the way.”

Amelie stands silently at the door, taking a deep breath and wiping her palms against her jeans. Asking Harry to go to lunch never really registered as a date in her mind; their dates were always private and, in their house, their garden, their bedroom. “Never said it was a date.”

Oh, what I would give to go on a date with you, right now, Harry Styles.

There is a tension in the air that they haven’t felt in a while, a spark lingering between them that is longing to be tested.

Harry smirks, shrugging his shoulders and leaning down to close the paint covers. “You didn’t have to.”

~

The Beachwood Café is relatively empty in the area that they’re settled in. Harry has a coffee and a muffin, Amelie nursing a tea and a chocolate croissant. They’re sitting opposite each other, Harry’s eyes set on her as they talk mindlessly about dinner and their families and their ideas for the weekend. Harry mentioned Malibu and a picnic.

Amelie’s conversation with Jenny is lingering in her mind, and there is a dryness in her throat that is begging to be relieved by simply telling him. Harry might be angry – he should be angry with her – and that would be the consequence that she has to suffer through. Harry can tell that she needs to say something, but he doesn’t want to push her, because there is something in his stomach telling him that he doesn’t really want to know.

Her fingertips trace around the rim of the mug, the tea burning her throat and lingering in her chest. That’s the clear feeling of her anxiety, in this moment. “Can I tell you something?”

Here we go.

“Hm.”

It’s probably about Jack. She probably went to him. She’s probably going back to him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This can’t be how we end. Things were going so well. They were going well, right?

“Drove to the café the night we fought,” she whispers, cheeks flushed with shame and guilt and fear. “Didn’t even really know I was doing it. Got there and parked and realised Jack was outside and started panicking and locked my doors and that’s why I almost passed out.” Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you talk to him?” Harry asks, his fingertips ripping the wrapping around the muffin. He knew this was coming, yet there was still an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Please tell me you didn’t talk to him. Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me for him.

“Couldn’t even get out of the car,” she says, “I had a panic attack.”

“Did you want to?”

Say no. Say no. Say no.

“Don’t think so,” Amelie sighs, scratching at her head and trying to explain her emotions in the most logical way. Anxiety wasn’t necessarily rational. Her actions were surely a portrayal of that. “Got angry with you and just wanted to leave. That’s where I wound up.”

Harry’s voice gets quiet, his eyes stinging with tears at the thought of what he has to say. “Is this what it’ll be like every time we argue? Going back to him?”

Her heart falls to pit of her stomach, nausea and uneasiness sitting in her chest, the oxygen barely reaching her lungs. “No, I swear.” Her swear is the only words that have come out of her mouth steadily. “I didn’t know how to get to the beach lookout in Malibu that we go to and my mind immediately went there.” Her voice gets quiet, again. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Did Jack see you?”

“Don’t think so,” she breathes, wiping away her tears that are freely falling down her cheeks and leaning her cheek into her hand. “My windows are tinted. No one can see inside.”

Harry’s head lifts from his food. “Is that why you’re having nightmares?”

“How’d you know?” she whispers, pursing her lips together, her thoughts racing with fear as her eyes meet his. His eyes are glossy, a sign that he’s about to cry, too.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Can hear you,” Harry sniffles, his fingers pushing his hair away from his face. “I’ve come in a few times to calm you down.”

“Understand if you hate me, now.”

“Come here,” Harry sighs, opening his arms and pressing a kiss to her cheek as she settles hesitantly on his thigh, his hands wrapped around her waist. “I don’t hate you, Amelie. I don’t think I ever could.” His tone is a tone Amelie has never heard before, and the silkiness of his voice could surely put her to sleep. “’m just upset that you went there, and it made you sick. Don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened and there wasn’t a way to find you or get to you. Not to mention that Jack could’ve seen you or something.” Harry shudders at the thought. “He’s not going to like it very much if I ever see him, again.”

“Harry, I swear to you I won’t go there, again.”

“Alright,” Harry smiles, kissing her jaw and patting the empty spot next to him, sliding the tea and croissant to her. “Come on, we’re going to exactly who we tease at restaurants and sit in the same booth.”

For a few minutes, Harry and Amelie sit there, basking in the sunlight in their private corner near the window, and eat their food, occasionally stealing a bite from one another. They’re silent, but comfortable, trying to soak in all that was said in their conversation and the heavy promise that was made. Harry believes Amelie, that’s certain, but there is brewing anger in his veins that makes him want to punch Jack straight in the jaw.

“Heard you on the phone with Jeff the other day,” Amelie says, breaking their silence and turning to stare. “Have anything new with a contract or something?”

“Columbia wants to sign me,” Harry nods, a smile tugging at his lips as Amelie instinctively grabs his cheeks and chastely kisses him.

Let me kiss your lips, Ames.

“Oh my god, Harry,” she grins, squeezing his arm and mindlessly kissing his shoulder. “That’s insane.”

“’m supposed to have dinner and talk about it tomorrow night. Can we have a celebratory lunch? Can reschedule if not.”

“No, that’s fine. I think I’m supposed to see Mylie and Talia soon. I’ll text them and see what they’re up to.”

“Okay.”

Once it’s gone quiet, Harry takes the opportunity to drink his coffee, settling in their seats, taking the moment to absorb everything that’s happening. And the way his cheek is tingling from her kiss.

“Um,” Amelie hums, smiling as Harry wipes the crumbs away from her mouth. “I was thinking.”

“You tend to do that a lot.”

Amelie giggles, nudging her shoulder against his and moving the plate to the opposite side of the table, not daring to meet his stare. “Think we should talk about you moving back into our room, soon.”

“Want that?”

“Mhm,” she hums nervously, wiping her hands on the napkin. “Maybe it can be done in the next few days. All the transitioning and that, as soon as the madness is over.”

“I’d like that,” Harry grins, gently taking her chin in his hand and making her eyes meet his. “A whole fucking lot, actually.”

“Me too.”

And, at that moment, there was no one else in the world. Just Harry and Amelie, and the tiny speckle of hope that sat between them.

/ / /

Harry can feel himself drifting asleep every few minutes.

Amelie grabbed takeout on their way home, neither really caring to cook or clean any dishes with the work they put in decorating the nursery with her best friend. Taking their dinner to the living room, Harry nudged her closer as they talked about the exhibition and who would be there, the signing with the label and what that would mean with touring – she never minded him being away, she understood more than anyone he’s ever met – and about his plan to go to England towards the end of February. Harry asked Amelie to go, and with her cheek resting on his shoulder, her hands tucked around his forearm as his hand splays across her thighs, she nodded silently and hummed in agreement.

Harry blinks a few times, his hands gently rubbing Amelie’s knee and kissing her hairline, contemplating how likely it would be for her to wake if he lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs. He was well aware that she wasn’t sleeping properly and knowing that being with him comforted her that much made him want to stay cuddled on the couch for as long as they possibly could.

His thumb gently rubs her cheek, frowning when her lips jut into a pout and she curls in tighter against him. “Helping Jenny really tired us out, huh?” Harry whispers, his lips touching her temple sweetly. “Viens, mon ange, on va te mettre au lit.”

“Mais, bébé,” Amelie mumbles into his shoulder, hiding her face in his neck and willing herself to fall back asleep. She felt safest in his arms, slept best beside him, “je ne suis pas fatiguée.”

“Have a long day tomorrow, Ames,” he sighs, squeezing her thigh and brushing her hair away from her face. “Have to be up and out of here at nine.” His hand gently takes the blanket away, tossing it messily to the opposite end of the couch. “Want me to carry you?”

“No, it’s alright,” she yawns, rubbing her hands over her eyes and dozily standing up, grateful to his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her upright. “Are you coming with me in the morning?”

“Mhm,” Harry smiles, walking around her and beginning to turn all the lights and bolt the doors. She waits for him at the stairs, nodding towards the bedroom and waiting to have him walk behind her. He nods, acknowledging her silent request and laying his hand on her back, supporting her as they trudge up their stairs to their once shared bedroom. “Told you I’d never miss an exhibition.”

Amelie waits at their bedroom door, turning around and facing Harry, her tired eyes tracing over the features that she loves. He was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep, and there was an incessant nagging in her mind telling her to bring him to sleep with her. “Thought that was only when we were, like,” she trails, her heart going elsewhere as his hand leaves her back and settles at his side.

Come back. Come back.

Harry stares at her, tucking his lips into his mouth and thinking carefully about her reaction to his response. “Amelie, you’re my best friend,” he says earnestly, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as he continues, “I wouldn’t miss it. No matter what.”

“Figured you’d say that. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” Amelie kisses his cheek, taking him slightly by surprise. “That’s for, well, everything. Especially for the polaroids. Makes me happy you still think of me when you see the moon. I’ll always see us in the stars, you know?”

Harry doesn’t realise that he’s doing it, turning his head and grabbing Amelie’s lips, their mouths moulding onto each other in a blink. Her lips are soft and delicate, the tinge of strawberry that Harry is so used to making his heart warm. Her body is leaning on her toes for height, her hands around his neck not nearly enough to make their heights the same. Amelie wanted to have her nose bumping against his, her teeth pulling at his bottom lip and her tongue tasting his cupid’s bow, the fever of their kiss more than anything they’ve ever felt before.

Harry slowly coasts his hand along Amelie’s figure, squeezing the curves that he adores and making home at the back of her thighs, silently praying that she’s not given up her comfortability with him. Her hands hold his shoulders, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as he hoists her around his waist, holding her back and her bum, squeezing her to him. His lips are plump with colour and hot to the touch, their passion unspoken in the way that their oxygen is dismissed and the only thing they can seemingly do is have their lips on each other, making up for the weeks that have passed without a single touch.

Harry was more than used to going weeks without a touch, without a kiss, but there was something about living with the person that you want to be touching and kissing and not being able to that makes it seem all the more torturous. Making themselves comfortable on the duvet they’ve made love on more times than they could count, their privacy enforced with the closed door and silences phones, their hands skirt along each other’s bodies as if they’ve never explored the territory. Amelie yanks Harry’s shirt above his head, throwing the material somewhere below them. His skin is hot with her hands running over it, a whimper leaving his lips as her fingertips toy with the waistband of his shorts. His hands grab hers hurriedly, interlocking their fingers and holding their arms above her head, his lips slanting over hers and bringing her into a kiss that makes her break away to take a breath.

“Don’t leave me, tonight.” Amelie’s eyes are wide and bright under the moonlight, the stars casting a fluorescent glow over her skin, her freckles are beginning to lighten on her cheeks and her baby pink hair is splayed over their pillows.

Harry swears he’s never seen Amelie look so beautiful.

“Not like ‘m going too far, angel,” Harry breathes, his thumb tucking a hair behind her ear and breathing in the scent that lingers from her, his knees straddling her hips. All at once, he is much too aware of this position that they’ve been in far too many times before. “Going into m’room and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her thighs wrap around his waist, holding him to her and making sure that he wouldn’t leave. Harry leaving would break her heart. “Harry, that’s not your room. This is.”

“Not right now, it isn’t.”

“Baby,” she whispers, her thumb drawing a line from his jaw to his lips, her mouth peppering light kisses on his cheek, “don’t go.”

“Alright,” he sighs, sinking further into her touch, his hand gently holding her wrist and kissing her palm sweetly. He subtly wishes that he had more self-control, more willpower with her, but he simply didn’t. He loves her too much. “Go on, budge over.”

Harry reluctantly moves from his stance over her, walking around the frame and plugging their phones in to make sure that their alarms are set, and they would be up and out of the house in time to make it to the exhibition early like Amelie preferred. His heart clenched knowing that, at this time tomorrow, he would be in the guest room on the opposite end of the house, sleeping alone. His eyes met hers with a shy smile, his fingers tucking into his shorts and staring at her for permission, a simple nod and a smile telling him that he would be okay to sleep in his briefs. He turns the light off, huffing as he sinks into the warmth of their bed, her arms immediately wrapping around his waist.

Harry enjoyed being the little spoon as much as Amelie loved being the big spoon, their best compromise, and there was a comfort knowing that they would fall asleep that way for the first time in weeks. Amelie felt safe around him, in his arms, her cheek pressed to his back and breathing him in, his hand holding hers as sleep overwhelms her.

Until the clock strikes 04:37, Harry is sleeping soundly with Amelie presumably behind him. He wakes up to whimpers and heavy breathing, hands scratching at the duvet and her legs tense. His eyes widen and take in the sight, his hand running over her cheek as her body shakes and he knows she’s having a nightmare. His heart shatters in her chest, his fists rubbing at his eyes and his fingertips gently trailing over her cheeks, quiet hushes trying to wake her.

“Ames,” Harry whispers, kissing her temple and gently squeezing her shoulders to wake her, “wake up, baby.” His biggest fear is scaring her when she wakes up, startling her and making her shove him out of the room. His thumb flicks on the light, his eyes never leaving her. “Amelie.” His eyes are soft as Amelie blinks rapidly, trying to accommodate to the light and her heavy breathing and the thoughts swirling in her head. Her hands reach out for him, her arms circling around his shoulders and bringing him to her chest, needing his weight on her to ground her. “I’ve got you. It’s just us. You’re okay.”

“Nightmare,” Amelie says, her fingers tucked into fists as she holds onto him tightly. Harry steadies his body weight on his knees, his arm holding her waist and his fingertips combing through her hair soothingly. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Harry reaches towards the duvet and yanks it over their bodies, readjusting his figure and laying completely flat on Amelie’s chest. He knows that the feeling is safe, the feeling over his body entirely over hers, weighted and secure. Her fingers brush through the curls clinging to his forehead, tiny baby hairs falling out of the bun tied messily on his head. “Feeling better? Need to talk about it?”

“Felt you beside me and then my brain went everywhere,” she whispers, her eyes squeezing shut as his lips touch her jaw comfortingly, her eyes scared to meet his. “Hate having them.”

“Can always ask me to come back earlier than a few days, Ames. Doesn’t have to be that long.”

Amelie meets Harry’s intense stare, his lips pressed together in a straight line. Her heart lurches in her throat, tears welling in her eyes. “Come back.”

Harry nods, smiling shyly, pressing his lips to her cheek. His throat releases a grunt as he lays on his back, pulling her into his arms and squeezing his embrace around her, securing her in his hold and touching his mouth to her hairline, kissing her sweetly. “I’m here. You’ve got me.”

“Haven’t talked in weeks,” she murmurs, her arms holding his hips and slotting her thighs between his. “Miss you.”

“Can talk more, tomorrow, okay? Have a big day, and you need to rest.” His fingers brush through her hair the way she loves, his hand holding hers around his waist securely. “Miss you, too. More than you know.” Harry wants more than anything to talk to Amelie, right now, but that would be unfair to her.

“Didn’t think it would go this far.”

“Think what would go this far, Ames,” Harry repeats, his voice barely above a whisper as Amelie’s breaths pant against his chest, her cheek against his heart, listening to the soothing beat. “’s okay to talk to me, baby.”

“Didn’t think it’d take me more than two weeks to,” Amelie whispers, her words barely registering in Harry’s brain, “to figure out what ‘m ready for.”

Before Harry could even ask what exactly she meant, Amelie’s breathing was steady, her hands lightly splayed over his chest, and her mind had drifted to sleep, leaving Harry to sit with his thoughts until the morning.

~

Amelie and Harry collectively agree to ignore the first three alarms.

Amelie’s fingers are holding his arm over her waist, hand clasped around his wrist, her nose nudged into his neck, his face pressed into her hair. Harry’s body heat paired with the heavier comforter for the winter is causing them to sweat, yet neither really mind. His words are garbled into her hair, his hand tightening around her waist as she reaches for her phone and turns off the alarm, groaning at the time. Harry always sets the alarms three hours early, giving them enough time to love on each other and kiss and quietly talk under the covers before they’re getting on their way, yet today, neither one says a word. It’s like that for nearly an hour, until Amelie can’t take the silence and they decide it’s time to move.

And everything is strangely quiet as Amelie readies herself for the exhibition.

Her body is clad in a navy pantsuit, a white blouse clinging to her chest, her favourite platform boots on her feet. Everything felt very her. Harry took a shower and got ready in minutes, leaving her to have time to soother her anxiety as she always does. He hasn’t spoken to her though. Giving the tea he makes her every morning to her in the bathroom, he simply nodded and kissed her hair, and the silence was making her uneasy.

Harry is sitting at the edge of their bed, his fingertips drumming against his thighs nervously and she curls her hair. “Ames,” Harry says, trying to capture her attention. Amelie turns around, muttering a swear in French as she nearly burns her hand. “I think,” he breathes, “I want to talk about what you said, last night.”

Amelie’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion and Harry knows that she doesn’t remember.

“Guess it was as you were falling asleep again, but you said something about not knowing it’d take you more than two weeks to know what you’re ready for. Are you not ready to be with me? Get back to how we were, I guess is what I’m saying.” All of Harry’s words are said in a rush, and Amelie is barely able to comprehend what he’s saying.

“That’s not–”

“Feel like ‘m running into a wall, here, Ames,” he breathes, his hands splayed over his knees. “Gave you space for three weeks. Only talked to you when you talked to me. Came with you to set the exhibit and all, we talked like normal adults. Called me your boyfriend to everyone. Did the nursery for Jenny together. Gon’a wind up being a Godmother and Godfather, for Christ’s sake, and we don’t even speak about us.” His voice is shaky, and his eyes are welling with tears, and Amelie wants to walk over and kiss him before a tear can fall down his cheek. “Moving back into our room and almost having sex together, last night. Got through a nightmare. Kissing you, like that, I.” One tear falls before Harry can catch it. “Need to know if you want me, Ames. Can’t keep doing this.” Another tear. “Because I want you. I want you so badly,” Harry whispers, his voice choking on his words as a cry wracks through him. “And I’m so sorry what all that I said, for what I did. I wish I could take it back. This is killing me.”

And then he feels it, the feeling that makes his heart race and his lungs tighten and his stomach twist with butterflies.

Amelie’s mouth on Harry’s, kissing him passionately and deeply and heavily, her lips silky and sweet against his, her fingers carding through his curls and holding his face to her, Harry’s hands immediately finding home on her waist. His breath is lost amongst her touches, his lips parted and his tongue tasting the mint that lingers in every hasty kiss. All of his thoughts are encompassed by her – who she is, why she would ever want to be his, her support and her encouragement for him, how much he wants her. Harry’s thoughts circle around how much he wants Amelie forever. Her teeth gently nip at his bottom lip as his mouth pulls away, a whimper etched into his soul as his hand holds her neck and brings her even closer to him, his lips fully immersed in her.

Harry’s jaw is loose under her touch, her thumbs rubbing his skin. His hands gently coax her to straddle his waist, his back lying flat against their mattress, his hair splayed messily beneath him. Her lips are intoxicating, the way they fit so perfectly on his, feel so heavenly, taste so sweet. He never wants to part from her. He wants her tongue to run across his lip and their kisses to be messy and their moans to be a bit too loud and heavy for an early morning. He wants to feel all the love Amelie has for him in her kiss. Harry wants to share all of his love for her in his. He wants to stay in the moment, to never leave, to have his mouth on her and silent professions of their love in the air. He wants to live in this, the moments that are only them, and be where no one could ever come between them again. Harry just wants her.

And they kiss for what feels like an eternity.

“Didn’t know it’d take longer than two weeks for me to know that this isn’t what I want. Don’t want to be apart from you,” Amelie whispers against his cheek, kissing him lightly. “All that we have to face, whatever it is.” A kiss to his jaw. “Think we can talk about this. Have to forgive each other. Know we can do this.”

“Do you mean that? Don’t lie to me, Ames,” Harry whispers, his adam’s apple bobbing in this throat as she kisses his chin. “That would be cruel.”

“Harry,” she says, “tomorrow, when the exhibition is over, and we have time, we’ll talk.”

“I love you.”

Amelie can feel the words stuck in the back of her throat, itching to come out and mend the brokenness etched between her and Harry. Her hands cup his cheeks, gently bringing his face to her and making her lips meet his, kissing him sweetly and squeezing her eyes as his fingertips trace over her cheeks, savouring the moment that is solely theirs. “To Jupiter and Pluto and the moon, around the stars, and all the way back to wherever you are.”

Harry knows Amelie hasn’t said the words but repeating that back to him is more than enough, for now.

/ / /

Harry runs his fingers through his hair, adjusting the shirt clinging to his torso, his boots on his feet and squeaking noisily against the hardwood floor as he walks through the corridors, his heart sinking as he notices a singular dinner prepared on the counter. He doesn’t see Amelie in the kitchen, his lips pulled between his teeth as he steps further into the room. His breath hitches in his throat as Amelie walks into the kitchen unaware of his presence, her chest bare to her favourite – and Harry’s – lace bra and a pair of cuffed denim jeans. One of her favourite blouses, the ones that twist in the middle and fall a bit deeper in the cleavage is in her hands, likely because it had to be ironed from the laundry. Harry smiles shyly, happy that Amelie isn’t rushing to hide her body away, to run away from him.

Maybe, that’s a good sign. Harry needs to believe it is.

“Jeff picking you up for your meeting?” Amelie wonders, her eyes set on the knot that she is trying to tie in the front of her shirt. Harry nods, admiring her as her lips purse together in thought as she stands in front of the mirror, unsure on her decision. “Is this too much? Too, you know,” she says, gesturing towards her breasts and the way her chest is nearly spilling out of the material.

Harry wiggles uncomfortably in his seat; his jeans much too tight against his groin. Had things been different, Harry would be dragging Amelie up the stairs and insisting that their plans for the night be cancelled. His heart sinks at the thought. “Going out, hm? Going to a club or summat?”

“Guess so,” she shrugs, taking a gulp and wiping her hands on her ripped jeans. “Talia and Mylie want me to go out with them. Think their boyfriends are coming, but I’m not sure.”

“Can come with you, if you want me to. Get you out of going out if you’re feeling anxious.” Harry’s suggestion is rushed from his tongue, his palms rubbing against his face in annoyance at how desperate he has become for Amelie’s attention. “’s not a set meeting, you know. ‘s a meal more than anything. Only an overview of what we’re going to talk about in two weeks.”

“Go and have that meeting, it’s okay. That’s important and I’ll be okay. Besides, Harry, it’s about Columbia.” Amelie turns towards Harry, her favourite platformed boots clinging to her feet. Harry smiles knowingly because even with the platforms Amelie is still significantly shorter than him. “Does this look okay? Doesn’t look like I’m trying to put myself in a position where people will talk to me?”

“Hate to break it to you, angel,” he smirks, his fingertip dragging along the rim of a water glass sitting on the marble countertop, “but men are going to talk to you either way because you’re beautiful.”

Her tongue clicks as she rolls her eyes, shaking her head and walking further into the kitchen to grab her water and take a sip from her straw, leaning over the counter and holding her arms together, Harry’s eyes fell from her loose curls to her chest nearly falling out of her top.

Harry could almost see himself leaving kissed purple bruises along the valley between her breasts, stopping right at the moon and working his way back to Amelie’s neck, suckling more of her skin and proclaiming how much he loves her.

“Earth to Harry.”

Harry’s eyes meet hers and his heart drops, taking in the concern etched in her features. His heart was screaming for him to ask her to come, to be his date and say that he would cut the meeting short, that they could celebrate her exhibition pieces together as they always do and they could finally talk, yet the words were lodged in his throat. “Hm.”

“Is it okay, you know, if I call you?” Amelie sounds nervous, her fingertips toying with her metal straw and a heavy breath making her chest shake. “Not unless absolutely necessary, but you know, in case of anything.”

Harry is well aware of what she means. Anything always has something to do with the person they hate most in the world, and his ability to seemingly show at the worst times. Amelie knows that she can always call, but there is something sweet in the validation that makes her feel warm inside. “Always, angel.”

Amelie nervously approaches Harry, her eyes trained on his movements as he swivels in the barstool and opens his thighs to accommodate her, her fingertips running over the collar of his patterned shirt and adjusting it. “Don’t let anything Jeff says, scare you away from thinking you don’t deserve to be at Sony, okay? No one deserves this deal more than you.”

“I adore you, Ames,” Harry says, the words spilling from his lips without thinking, his heart pounding outrageously fast in his chest as he nervously awaits her reaction.

Harry swears that he’s dreaming when Amelie grabs his cheeks, kissing him deeply, his hands making a home at her waist and her fingertips holding his collar. His hands slowly inch lower, coasting under her bum, seeing how open she is with him – fully prepared to rip his hands away if she even makes a sound of discontent – and when she moans into him, his heart swells against his chest and he is putty in her hands. Amelie leans further into his touch, nearly sitting on his thighs with how close her body is to his, her fingers moving from his shirt to his hair and tugging as he loves. Harry squeezes her hips, moaning into her mouth and smirking as she whispers, “I adore you, too.” Her confession is besotted with his kiss and his touch, her mind nearly unaware of the words tumbling from her lips without remorse.

His throat utters a groan as his phone vibrates behind her, his eyes squeezing shut as her lips pull away, her thumb brushing over his flesh to wipe the chapstick. He hasn’t kissed her like that – a proper kiss, as he would say – in so long, he almost asks her to leave the tint as a reminder. He grabs his phone, answering Jeffrey’s call and holding the speaker out for them to hear.

“On my way, H,” he says brokenly through the speaker. “Don’t be moping around when I get there.”

“Hi, Jeff,” Amelie smiles, folding her arms in front of her chest and turning around in Harry’s grasp, his arm around her waist and her head leaning on his shoulder. “He’ll be out. Don’t worry.” Amelie ends the call before Jeff could respond with another joking dig at his demeanour of the last two weeks and Harry grins. “Don’t smirk at me like that. ‘m just doing ‘im a favour, you’ve been walking around with a frown for weeks.”

Harry blushes, his dimple aching his cheeks and his hands slowly making a home on Amelie’s waist, turning her around in his arms and tightening his thighs around her to hold her in place. His chest tightens at the thought of her leaving him, especially when they’ve made such progress in the last few days. “Bisous, s’il vous plait.”

Amelie kisses his cheek sweetly, rubbing the chapstick into his skin. His arm is tight around her waist, holding her to him and being reluctant to have her leave. Amelie knew that Harry would be clingy the days after they have a talk about where to go with their relationship, especially when she told him that she needs him – not that she really minds the clinginess. Harry needs to go with Jeff, tonight, though. “Don’t be an asshole and ditch that important meeting when Jeff is already on his way.”

“Can come when I’m finished,” Harry offers, his fingertips inching beneath the silk material of her top and rubbing the skin chaffed by the wiring on her ribs. “Can get smashed on tequila and dance and take you home with me.”

“Considering that we live together, it’d make sense that you take me home,” she giggles, carding her fingers through his hair and brushing the curls away from his face. His eyes are bright under the fading sunlight, and there is a swell against her chest as he leans into her touch.

“’m serious,” he says, squeezing her hips and pecking a kiss to her bare shoulder. Harry reluctantly releases Amelie from his grasp, the breath knocking out of his lungs as she tucks into his chest and wraps her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly, his arms slinging over her shoulders and embracing her, his nose nudged into her hair as he kisses her head. “Text me when you want me to come. I’ll be right there.”

“Alright,” Amelie breathes, sucking in a deep breath, overwhelmed by his scent and his embrace and the kiss that is lingering on her head. “Harry?”

“Hm,” Harry hums, grumbling as she squeezes his hips to have his attention, to have his eyes meet hers.

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t have this, okay?” she whispers, her thumb and forefinger holding his chin, his face hovering over hers, their mouths too close to touching, the swell of his lips too enticing for her eyes not to flicker to.

“I won’t,” Harry affirms, muttering a profanity under his breath and pushing his mouth to hers. His lips are gentle, kissing her sweetly and thinking about saying the words that are lingering in the air. “I adore you.”

Until they aren’t lingering anymore.

Harry said it, and Amelie is staring at him as though it was said for the very first time without any cause, and Harry is fully thinking she isn’t going to say it back.

“I adore you, too.”

Until she does.

His hands grab her cheeks and give her the happiest kiss that he’s felt in more than a long time, his smile breaking apart their lips as he presses his pink flesh to hers over and over again until she’s giggling and pushing at his chest. His hand grabs her wrist and playfully drags her to the door with him, his hand holding the back of her head and kissing a hard peck to her cheek and her lips before walking outside. He turns over his shoulder to wave, his fingers making the peace sign as they always do and a smirk on his lips as she makes one back, shaking her head and turning on her heel and making her way deeper into their home as he gets into his friend’s car for the evening.

“Look who decided to leave the house,” Jeff teases, smacking his hand on the centre console and taking a swift look at his bright appearance, “and with a smile on your face.”

“Fuck off,” Harry says, hiding his smirk in the palm of his hand. His eyes travel to his phone in between his thighs, the vibrations of a text message coming through on his skin. His smile is bright, his dimple indenting his cheek and his fingertip sliding across the screen to stare at the message from ‘Mon Ange’.

Make a killer fucking deal, baby. x

Harry’s heart warms, the overwhelming emotions sitting in his throat. His thumbs type a reply faster than he likely should have, locking his phone before Jeffrey could peer over and take a look.

Always for you. x

Only the quiet hum of the radio is playing, Harry’s attention focused outside the window and disappearing away from his friend and his phone. “You okay? Look better than you did the last time I saw you,” Jeff says lightly, doing his best to gauge Harry’s mood.

“Going through some shit,” Harry confesses, shrugging as he cards his fingers through his hair. “’m good, now, though; that’s what counts. Today was a good day.”

“Are you really?” Jeff stares at Harry as the car pulls into a space and into park, the door unlocking and their hands reaching for the handles to get outside and into the restaurant. “How’s everything with Ames? You two alright?”

“Think so,” Harry says confidently, nodding as his lips purse together in a tight line. “Think we will be.”

“Don’t know what happened between you,” Jeff whispers, stepping away and to the podium at the front of the restaurant and checking into the reservation to be hidden away, his eyes meeting Harry’s as they begin walking towards the back, “but whatever it is, you’ll be okay.”

“Hope you’re right about that,” Harry hums, quietly thanking the hostess and taking a seat opposite Jeff. “Okay,” he breathes, setting his hands on the table and leaning forward with a smile on his face, his mind replaying the words his love said before he left. “Let’s talk Columbia.”

Columbia is sharing an interest in a five-year contract – albums, tours, music videos. Harry would have reign over the sounds and the artistry, working with his favourite producers and writers and all that encompasses creating an album he loves. His mind is overwhelmed with the idea, with the offer, because more than anything, Harry wants to make music. Music is his life, his love. His relationship has inspired so many lyrics and melodies already, and he wants nothing more than to share the love he has for her in the best way he knows how. Harry says that he’s going to take a day or two to think about, although he already has his answer.

Afterwards, Harry and Amelie share a few messages back and forth talking about the night and her dinner with Mylie and Talia and their boyfriends and where they’re headed for the evening – Amelie doesn’t know the bar – and that they’ll call when they’re nearly there for him to meet.

One hour. Two hours. Three hours.

That’s how long Harry waits at home without a text message. That’s how long Harry waits for Amelie to text him and tell him to come to meet with her and her friends for the night. He was dressed and ready to go, waiting at the kitchen counter, paying too much attention to the vibrations coming from his phone and the light that would appear with every notification. He wants to text her and ask, to make a friendly reminder of his offer.

That’s too pushy, Harry. Let her warm up to you, again. Calm down.

His eyes meet the bright clock on their microwave and Harry scolds himself for thinking that Amelie would text him on only the third day they’ve started talking and really easing into each other, again. He sighs, standing from his barstool and sticking his phone in his pocket, turning the lights in the kitchen and hallway off and making his way through the foyer to get to their bedroom.

Maybe things weren’t going as well as Harry thought they were.

~

Harry sucked in a breath, his hand tucked into his briefs and making his heartbeat race. He was tired of this routine. He missed the closeness of being with her, the feeling of her skin on his, the slow kisses and the thick burn that coursed through his veins. He desperately tries to not think of her, to not think of the way she used to clutch his shoulders and squeeze her legs tighter around his hips, bringing him as physically close as she possibly could.

His mind is running rampant, overwhelming and drawing his attention away from the slickness of his hand and the slow tugging that is encouraging him to a release. His lungs can’t catch his breath, a heaviness on his chest that is making him anxious, that is making him near tears.

He laid there, spent, in a panic. His chest was tight, and something felt wrong. He only felt this way once before, the time when Amelie missed her flight, and the thought of why he is feeling so sick makes him want to vomit. He rubs his face in his palms, his fingertips digging into his eyes as he stares at the alarm clock sitting next to the bed. Harry knew that they were going out, likely making her come home late and slightly tipsy, Amelie told him earlier in the evening before Jeff picked him up for dinner. He didn’t want to call and irritate her, mistaking her agreement to call if she was in trouble with an agreement to call and have him be her date for the evening. He was finally getting somewhere, and he didn’t want her to be upset with him. He heaves a breath, leaning against his headboard and flicking on his light.

He shouldn’t be worried. He shouldn’t. Amelie promised him. Amelie promised she would come back to him. They promised each other they wouldn’t do anything. Amelie wouldn’t break a promise. Not a promise to him, at least. Right?

He takes a book from his nightstand. He picked it up a week ago at a bookstore that she would have loved. He bought the French version. He thought that reading a translated text might help him learn more, especially considering Amelie wasn’t making herself around to teach him. His eyes scan the page, unable to settle the feeling in his stomach.

He reaches for his phone, his eyes widening as her picture brightens his screen and the vibrations echo on his palm. He answers faster than he can bring the phone to ear, his heart falling to the pit of his stomach when he hears her crying.

“Harry?” Amelie hiccups, her throat tight and tears falling down her cheeks. His voice is rasped and worried as if the air was knocked out of his lungs the moment she called.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” Harry never stopped using the name. He couldn’t – it was her. His stomach twists with the sound of her wheezed breaths. “Baby, talk to me.”

“’m havin’ an anxiety attack and ‘m scared,” she mutters, her breathing shaky as she walks outside and beneath a light, her phone tight against her cheek. “Need to come home, Harry. I need you.”

[noir0neko]

Crime and Creation | m

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 15.5k

Summary: The Crow Club. One of the University of Ketterdam’s secret societies aimed at recruiting the finest students who want a taste of more than just lectures. Meet Kaz, the founder and president, whose self-made millions come from his dealings on Wall Street. Nina, a girl who is aching for more than the fortune and husband her family has laid out for her. Inej, whose observant nature and ability to be invisible makes her the perfect spy. Jesper, a childhood friend of Kaz’s who can’t resist getting into a little trouble joined by his boyfriend, Wylan, son of the University dean. And Cataleya, an Upper West side journalism major who has a special way with words. When Kaz finds out the Crow Club’s dealings have been infiltrated by an unknown rival, his crew enlists the help of outsiders to ruin reputations, throw lavish parties, and do what the New York City Crows do best: heist. Until something goes very wrong.��

Characters: Cataleya (OC), Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Alina Starkov, Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Aleksander Morosova and honorable Leoni mention.

Warnings: Death. Highly detailed emotion and inner thoughts that have memories of parental abuse and self harm, nothing very detailed. Mentions of murder, drugs, and illegal activity. General debauchery and scheming. Some romance, mostly implied, light kissing, fondling, and the use of expletives.

A/N: You do not need to have read any of the books in this world to understand this fic! I spent so much time and poured my heart and soul into this story and the development of my original character and building these characters into a new, modern world. Please read it and give me your thoughts! This piece was written for the @grishaversebigbang. Also, check out the art work made for my fic by these amazing artists: @corpsecro, @nantosuelta-art, @discountscoobygang, @lady-ekatherina-de-mika and @mikanviola! It is such an honor to be a part of something like this and I had so much fun! I encourage anyone and everyone to read the Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone series by Leigh Bardugo! It’ll be on Netflix soon!

I used to love cats. 

Until one showed up dead on my window sill. 

I’m still not sure how it got there. Perhaps it climbed the fire escape and lept from the metal railing onto the ledge. But once the animal had the orange pollen and poisonous petals of the lilies sticking out of my window in its mouth, it was only a matter of time before it died. I had the good sense to keep my crying quiet, at eleven years old, so that my father would not stumble in to yell or push the cat hundreds of feet to the street below. I did not know he was already gone. That I was alone.

I hid the orange tabby in my backpack and went to bury her in the backyard garden the next chance I got. 

But when I used my small children’s shovel to dig into the earth, soft from the recent rain, it wasn’t what I went to bury that changed my life. But what was already buried there. And right then, with my cheeks stained with tears and hands shaking with anger, I swore to never stop hunting. To never stop chasing the people who ruined me. 

That was one promise I kept. 

I haven’t kept many others. 

Sitting in the foyer with the rest of the Crows, wind coming in from the autumn afternoon and the scent of freshly made waffles mixing with dusty books, I don’t know if I can keep this one either. Kaz looks at me pointedly, waiting for me to answer. I glance at all of them, Nina, Inej, Jesper, and Wylan. It is rare that anyone outright refuses Kaz on anything, especially not with his position or to risk the weight of his disapproval. Nina once told Kaz to go to Hell and she paid for it with two weeks of silence and banishment from the Crow Library until she relented to do her assignment. 

Jesper clears his throat, trying to relieve the awkward vibe getting thicker with each passing moment of silence. I can’t help but allow a small smile to reach my lips, grateful for him trying to save me from the tension that I could slice with a knife. Swallowing and meeting Kaz’s dark eyes, I sigh. 

“Fine,” I relent. “I’m in.” 

The strain dissolves from the space and the other Crows break into smiles and start to chatter. Relaxing back in my chair, I watch Inej spring up and take her place next to Kaz, her lithe frame complimenting his perfectly. Kaz moves around his large oak desk, gaze fixated on something in the distance. Definitely scheming face. Best to wait it out until he speaks first.

The Crow Library is lit with the afternoon sunlight, warming the leather of our chairs and illuminating the dust gathering along the rows of books. Shelves line the walls beneath the window, behind Kaz’s study area, and underneath the stairwell, which leads to an upstairs reading room and parlor area. Nobody has bothered to read any of the books, weathered and dusted with age, but they lend the room an air of sophistication and a homey comforting smell. Kaz’s desk is littered with papers, the dark wood barely visible beneath the jumble of stock investment deals, new heists, and class assignments waiting to be done. On the front face of the desk, a large crow is carved into the surface, black and red paint covering the indentations in the wood. 

Inej puts a tender hand on Kaz’s forearm, her lips moving quickly and silently, as if whispering to him. Inej has her hair down today, an unusual occurrence from her braided coil, and the dark strands spill like silky oil over her shoulders and her waist. She must have come from the studio, sweat still gleaming on her brow and black leotard disappearing beneath dark navy leggings. Her lithe frame seems to be floating, always so modest and reserved, yet her brown eyes are intuitive and unrelenting as she studies Kaz. She has been with him since the founding of the Crow Club, never missing a beat between helping him, chastising him, watching out for him, and caring for herself all the same. It’s no wonder she’s been able to double major in both Global History and Ballet, two completely different worlds, but complimenting each other perfectly for Inej. 

And Kaz. What an interesting man he’s proven to be. 

Business major. Self made millionaire. First student to be admitted into the University of Ketterdam - UOK for short, without a full high school education. A man full of mysteries. 

Jesper moves to perch himself on the arm of Wylan’s chair and adjusts his Queen shirt, the old black leather groaning under his weight. Jesper says something quietly to his boyfriend before running a hand through Wylan’s curly red hair and kissing his pale pert nose. Jesper has his hair buzzed short to his scalp, dark arms lean with muscle and legs long, his jeans riding up at the ankles to reveal bright yellow socks and black high tops. Wylan releases a wide smile, looking up at Jesper with untamed admiration. Wylan has on a pair of pressed dark wash jeans, his collared shirt maroon red with small white dots, accentuating his bright hair and pale skin. 

It just reminds me of blood. 

They are quite a pair. Wylan, being the son of the University dean and Jesper, one of the most intelligent and talented students in the Economics department. He is studying Game Theory, an extremely intense and complicated subject full of strategy, confidence, and risk: coincidentally Jesper’s three favorite words. 

Wylan, much to his father’s chagrin, is an Art History student with a hidden passion for chemistry and physics. I often find him gazing at the long since forgotten portraits on the walls of the Crow Library upstairs, reminiscing of a different time, of discovery and excitement. Of different people with different secrets. Wylan usually seems lost in thought, often internally reflecting rather than being outwardly vocal like the rest of the Crows. He is another mystery, especially because of the tenuous relationship he has with his father. 

Jesper’s brown skin glimmers in the sun, inclining his eyebrows in mischief before taking a toffee from the bowl next to him and flinging it across Wylan’s chair to Nina. 

Her tongue flicks out as it hits her arm, thick lips smirking before unwrapping the plastic wrapper and popping the candy in her mouth. Nina is one of the only Crows who was forced into attending the University of Ketterdam. Her parents, with her father being an extremely rich and powerful Russian politician and her mother, an aristocratic woman supposedly descending from ancient Russian royalty, had been raising Nina to marry a high ranking Scandinavian commander since she was eleven. The marriage was supposed to secure better relations between the two nations, as well as provide Nina with a life of security, wealth, and status for her and her children. All her parents want for her. 

In true Nina fashion, this is unacceptable. 

Her family said the marriage could wait if she wanted to go to school and get a degree, which may better serve her husband and their families prestige in the future. Seeing no other viable option, especially because she did not want to marry a “white haired barbarian” as she called her husband-to-be, she enrolled in a prestigious university as far away from Russia as she could get. Despite her parents beliefs that she is a culinary student - “because a good wife knows how to cook”, according to her parents, Nina has been studying Performing Arts and Theatre. A perfect major to fit her personality and her beauty, with her tall, curvy frame and piercing green eyes. Today, she is wearing an olive bodysuit, the neck low cutting and her legs hugged by a pair of black flare jeans. Casual and entrancing. Her style seems to change depending on her mood, from modest foreigner to vivacious party girl to preppy student. New each day. 

“We will need others,” Kaz mumbles to Inej, furrowing his dark eyebrows in thought. 

I have only been with the Crows for a few months, but I already know how unusual that is. Kaz rarely asks for help, especially from those outside of the Crow Club. But whatever he has planned seems to be a lot more serious than the other jobs, more personal than merely ousting insider trading, or infiltrating various museums and mansions, or spying on the Upper East and West Side elite to gain intel and use it to our advantage. 

Each of us has a unique purpose to Kaz. His investments. And while it has been easier to see where the others’ talents fit in, I am still baffled by my own. I adjust the sleeves of my lavender shirt, the ruffled material smooth on my shoulders. 

I had known the Crow Club existed before I set foot on campus. As a journalism major, secrets have always intrigued me. Not just the secrets. The challenge of uncovering them, of working from the inside to reveal some of the deepest and darkest parts of humanity. I had always heard whispers of the club amongst the Upper West side elite, whispers about Kaz Brekker and his Crows. Always watching. Always ready to catch you red-handed. But I didn’t even need to go out of my way to find the Crow Club.

Kaz found me first. Called me an asset. He and Inej invited me to join starting the summer before my second term. I have surprised myself by warming up to the rest of the Crows so quickly, even the ones who aren’t active members and are just extra recruits for Kaz to call if he needs them. We all mean something here, we all have a purpose, more than what the world is trying to force upon us.  

A family. Especially since most of ours are broken or nonexistent. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Kaz snaps to attention and we follow suit, like trained soldiers, eager for him to share whatever small slice of his plan that he decides to. His crisp suit is pure black, a small crow brooch pinned to his lapel. The shaved hair on the side of his head is beginning to grow out, the top slicked back with a deep, oaky smelling gel. He always looks like he is dressed for a business meeting, even when it’s just us. Inej always muses that there is an irony to it, but how, I don’t know. I suppose everything is business to Kaz. 

“Okay,” he begins, voice gruff and deep. “This is what we’ll do.” 

----

Nina and I weave our way through the busy streets, blessing the cool wind as it kisses our faces in the dying summer heat. Her hair is down, the sun illuminating the many shades of brown running through the waves and her dress is high on her thighs, the red cotton fabric hugging the curves of her waist. Being in America has done wonders for Nina, brightened her complexion, improved her spirit, and turned her from a wafer-thin girl to a full-bodied, thick thighed woman. Everywhere she goes, people stare. She is otherworldly, like a saint on Earth. 

“Where did Kaz send us this time?” Nina complains, sucking the dripping strawberry ice cream from her fingers before chucking the cone into a nearby trash. 

“He didn’t,” I grin, dodging a guy with suspicious looking flyers on the sidewalk. “He gave us his card and very vague instructions to find a wardrobe for the event.” 

Nina’s eyes sparkle, cleaning off the rest of her fingers before she entwines her elbow in mine. New York City seems to breathe with our every step, the wind moving, the heat unfurling, and the trees swaying. Taxis and cars whiz by on the avenue, the honking of horns and the laughter of tourists crossing into Central Park filling the air. Everything about New York is alive, even the concrete holds stories it’s waiting to tell. 

“Then let’s go down Fifth,” Nina begins, mischief in her tone. “I know a few places.” 

“I bet you do,” I flash her a smile, crossing the street so we walk parallel to the park. 

We trek down the street, stopping into a macaron shop in the Plaza Hotel to get a bright blue bag full of sweets for us to eat on our journey. Nina and I are bouncing on our heels, excited to have a day to ourselves, away from the Crow Club and the University and being responsible for buying dresses for not only ourselves, but for Inej, Alina, and Zoya, as well. 

Kaz had three extra students brought in for this assignment, all a part of the secret network of Crows that don’t sit in regular meetings. First is Alina, who has an international reputation for rebuilding schools and orphanages across the world since she was thirteen, and who has been a Crow since her first step onto campus. She transferred here as a graduate student from some extremely prestigious school in California to complete her PhD and teaching credentials. Every time I have seen Alina, she has been so kind and so helpful, always eager to teach, serve, and build in any way she can. It’s beyond me why she wants to be a part of these operations. Maybe every good girl has a naughty streak. 

Zoya, on the other hand, seems like the opposite of Alina. A close friend, confidant, and suspected girlfriend, of another one of Kaz’s network of Crows, Zoya is an overly intelligent, intimidating, and obscenely beautiful law student. Her hair is always smooth, a jet black slate against her back and her eyes are always piercing, judging and observing in their ice blue. Her skin always looks perfectly tanned, a deep brown that makes the pink of her lips more enticing. Her grades are pristine, her ability to argue is unparalleled, and if there were ever a force to be reckoned with, it is her. It’s a lot more obvious to understand why she agreed to join the Crows, for the prestige, the knowledge, the power. But truly puzzling, is her relationship with Nikolai. 

Nikolai, or Nik, as I like to call him, is one of the best - and funniest, Crows. Clever, self-deprecating, friendly, handsome, the list goes on. His blonde hair is a shaggy mop of artsy goodness, his skin is creamy, his style completely unmatched and his wealth bottomless. Nik and Kaz are always butting heads; most of the time it’s the only comedic relief the Crow Club has when they’re together. Nik met Zoya during undergrad, in a political science course, where apparently their discussions were lively enough to earn them A’s and lengthy enough to last entire class sessions. Nik has one of those family names that are revered in every elite social circle, making him an obvious addition for Kaz’s team and from what I have gleaned from Nik, he decided to join the Crows to give him something interesting to do besides follow in his father’s footsteps. I wish I wanted to be a Crow out of boredom. 

“God,” Nina groans, shoving her phone back into her five thousand dollar purse. “If I get one more message from my parents asking if I’ve heard from that white-haired, rule-following, stick-up-his-ass, Scandinavian inbred, I am going to drown my phone in the Hudson River.” 

“Wow,” I clap for her, avoiding the incredulous gapes of tourists at her language. “So many adjectives and I don’t even think you’ve ever said his name.”

A man opens up the glass doors to Bergdorf Goodman’s, where cool air and white marble greet us. Immediately, we drift to the dress racks, combing through all of the latest trends.

“Matthias,” she almost growls. “His letters are so proper, telling me that he has heard of my exemplary womanly skills from my parents. That he would delight to see my drawings and sewing and hear me play the piano. It’s ridiculous. I don’t do any of those things by choice.” 

I stifle a laugh. “He seems very… traditional.” 

“Seems?” She throws her hands up, shoving a silk dress back onto the rack with too much force. “He is the definition of the word! And worst of all, he’s attractive! He has snow white hair and is built like one of those huge wrestler guys that people watch on TV.” 

“Why is that a problem?” 

“Because his complete lack of competence makes him a barbarian! A man who thinks the perfect wife is silent and docile. He’s going to have another thing coming when I show up.” 

“He comes from old money in an old country,” I begin, wondering whether I need to tread lightly. “Don’t you think he’s just taught to think that way?” 

She sighs, holding up a stunning evergreen gown against her figure. “I know he is. That’s what’s even worse. I know that everyone where he is from has been taught those values. So even if he came to love me, to understand me, no one on the outside would. His station, his reputation, his fortune, all of it is dependent on how I perform. How I reflect him.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I muse, holding out another red silk dress for her. 

“Money isn’t fair.” 

I blink, surprised at her words. Money is just an object. It has no preference, no deference, no opinions. But I guess the idea of money is more important and tangible than the paper itself. Money has value and expectations beyond the faces staring back at you from the press. It expects manners, it breeds tradition and hierarchy and perfect wives who aren’t allowed to make any. I wonder if Nina will end up bending to those wills, to the one’s she has been raised to. America is such a different place, but I guess money everywhere is the same. It controls you. 

“This.” 

I turn around, face breaking out into a huge smile at the dress Nina is holding. It is a deep purple, with sheer shoulder sleeves and a deep plunging neckline covered in diamond flowers. The waist is cinched, belted by more glittering gems, before it falls and flows in layers of purple silk and satin to the floor, flowers and vines curling around the skirt. Nina’s hair and eyes and skin would look angelic in the dress. I nod fervently, unable to cap my smile as she waves over an employee to open the dressing room. 

While in the dressing rooms, Nina and I talk through the divider. 

“Where was Wylan off to earlier?” I ask, taking off my clothes and folding them neatly on the small leather bench. “He never really seems to be around these days.” 

“Yeah,” Nina says, with a grunt. “He’s been trying to rekindle his relationship with his father, studying a lot. You know, the usual dysfunctional family stuff.” 

I laugh. “My family wasn’t dysfunctional in that way.” 

“I would say you were lucky,” Nina begins and I can hear her zipper up as mine does. “But I know you weren’t.” 

At the same time, we step out of the dressing room, identical smiles breaking open our faces before we clasp our hands together and squeal with happiness. The dresses look perfect, we look perfect, everything looks perfect. 

And now we just have to find dresses for Alina and Zoya. 

With these price tags, Kaz is going to regret lending us his credit card. 

----

“Something Kaz Brekker doesn’t know how to do,” I tease a few days later,“drive.” 

He shoots me a healthy side glare, uncurling his fingers from around the steering wheel. The sun is shining through the left side of the car, illuminating his high cheeks and arched brow bones with dazzling light. If Kaz weren’t so… him, I’m confident he would have made an amazing Calvin Klein model. Especially because his lips are always relaxed in a bit of a natural pout and his resting stance is so relaxed, yet also confident. He is striking. 

And he doesn’t belong to me. Nor do I think he ever will. 

Despite their claims and attempts to put distance between their relationship, it has become common knowledge in the Crow Club that Kaz and Inej are a package deal. And it doesn’t take a trained Journalism major to read between those lines. It is blindingly obvious in the subtle ways she touches him, the way his gaze softens when he looks at her. She is the ice to his fire, and when needed, he is the same for her. A complimentary pair in every way, even if it seems unlikely on the surface. 

“Okay,” I begin, gesturing to the automatic gears between us. I explain what each of the letters stand for, instructing him to move the clutch into reverse and slowly ease up on the brake. With a bit of a jerk, Kaz obeys, turning the wheel to back us out of the spot in the empty parking lot. It had taken a bit of a road trip to find this place outside of the city. I had driven Kaz and myself into New Jersey, where the early morning dawn had just begun to crest, giving our driving lessons an advantage. Kaz had immediately, and somewhat reluctantly, urged me to teach him, claiming we would need it for this assignment. Inej had pushed him along with the conversation, rolling her eyes at how his own pride blocked up his request. 

“Now go back into drive,” I say, lurching forward when he does and pushes his foot down too forcefully on the gas pedal. He turns in circles around the empty lot, taking care to avoid the lamp posts. On every straight away, Kaz seems to hit the gas with a little more force, graceful turns giving way to concussion-inducing races. It seems he has the turning part down, but the lurching and jerking of the car would get him pulled over quickly. 

And although Kaz will no doubt be having a new fake I.D. made by one of our extra Crows, the risk of involving a police officer is not one any of us want to take. 

“Slow down there, Nascar.” I laugh.

He eases up, taking his time to get used to the ebb and flow of the vehicle. Where he got the car is beyond me, but I am also beyond questioning Kaz’s ability to secure random and often, complicated, objects for our heists. He has become my biggest puzzle, my biggest mystery to solve. And if it hasn’t been one hell of an adventure trying to figure him out. Observing him and listening and learning his subtle tells when he is angry or pleased or scheming. Lately, though, it feels as if the obsession for uncovering his truths have blossomed into something else, something that makes my heart race a little faster and my palms sweat. Something I haven’t been able to control. And how I hate not being in control. 

“Turn out onto the street,” I instruct, forcing myself to speak and get out of my own head. 

He obliges, the car absorbing the bumps in the curb as Kaz makes a graceful right turn. His black gloves glide smoothly along the steering wheel, the sleeve of his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his pale wrist. My mind begins to wander again, to whether or not Inej has touched them, if she has held his wrists down as she gracefully slid on top of him. I wonder if she has kissed him, if he whispers her secrets to her like some sort of sexy spy pillow talk. 

“Cataleya,” Kaz is saying, the four syllables of my name like chimes from his mouth. 

“Sorry,” I shake my head, swallowing and casting him a glance. “What?” 

“Where are we going?” He repeats, monotone and bored. 

His driving has already gotten smoother, his feet steady on the brake and gas as I tell him to pull onto the dirt on the side of the two-lane road and turn around. There are still no cars out here at this hour, an Amtrak just beginning its morning route on a station in the distance. I can see the outline of the city beyond the valley, half blocked by trees and tall grass. The skyscrapers are haloed by the rising sun, like a safe haven calling me back home. 

“Who taught you to drive?” Kaz says, his raspy voice surprisingly light. 

“A friend I had growing up,” I reply, surprised.

“That’s a nice friend,” he comments, voice taking on an edge I don’t understand. 

I snort. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have any family to do it.”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel ever so slightly and if I weren’t observant I probably would have missed it. The way he tenses up. The way his jaw clenches and the car begins to move a bit faster as his foot locks onto the gas. “Me either.” 

“I found my mother dead.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. Kaz’s gaze shifts a bit, but he keeps his focus on the road as I continue. “I went to bury a dead cat in my mother’s old garden. We never touched it, my father never tended to it, or let me, after he said she left us. But when I went out to the garden and began to dig, I lost track of time, I dug far deeper than I intended. My father wasn’t home, I wanted to be there, in that garden, and away from him if he came home, for as long as possible. I didn’t realize how far I had dug until,” I swallow, inhaling and turning to Kaz. “Until a hand began to form beneath the dirt, and then an arm, and I saw the wedding ring, the bruises, the blue of her dress…” 

Kaz’s lips part, the only admission of emotion he gives. 

“The coroner said she had been dead for four months. Four months,” my voice broke, splintered on the fragments of my memories. “That she had been beaten and buried there. They couldn’t… couldn’t prove it was my father. He had money, lots of it. And he paid a lot of people to keep quiet.” 

“Is that why you love journalism?” Kaz asks, slowing the car to ready his turn back into the empty lot. “Exposing them? Making them pay with more than their blood money and with plain blood?”

I inhale, lips curling back in more of a snarl than a smile. “Everyone I knew. Everyone I knew who was involved. I have made them pay. In some form.” I throw Kaz a true smile, a devilish gleam in my eyes. “Although I suppose you already know that. It’s why Inej noticed me in the first place.” 

“One of the many reasons,” Kaz replies, words back to being clipped, tight. 

With a smooth arc of the steering wheel, Kaz turns the car into the same spot as before, hitting a little too hard on the brake before coming to a stop. My hair moves in front of my face at the jolt, a blessed curtain separating me from him. I can feel him thinking, churning over my words, assessing me. 

Kaz hardly seems fazed as I peek at him around my hair. His dark eyes are far away, his gloved hands slack on the wheel. I still myself, hearing the purr of the car engine, hearing Kaz’s breathing, shallow and uneven, as he goes into the place he so rarely dives. His eyes are almost glazed, like he’s been drinking, completely lost in his own thoughts. I know some of his story already. From Nina. From Jesper. From my research. 

“Your brother,” I murmur, soft and low. 

His hands tighten on the wheel until they are bone white, staring straight ahead at the tree lined landscape. “Jordie,” he pushes through his teeth. “His name was Jordie.” 

My spine straightens. Kaz has never said anything about his brother, and has never allowed any of the Crows besides Inej into his life in this way. And I wonder how far he has even let her in. I swallow, questioning if I should press or let it be. I am just about to get out and switch places with him to take us back into the city, when he opens his mouth and to my bewilderment, continues to speak. 

“My parents were mixed up in some bad stuff before we came here. We lived in the countryside, with a bit of land and no one around us for miles. My brother was older than me, only by four years, but enough to know how to keep me from looking where I shouldn’t. From keeping me happy and sheltered.” A muscle flickers in Kaz’s jaw, his pale skin going ashier with each word, “I didn’t know what was happening when they came. The thugs my parents had been hopping between towns, cities, and states to avoid for over a decade. Jordie took me, the remaining cash from the safe, that my father had stolen, and fled to New York City. He hoped we would be invisible among so many people.” 

I don’t know I am holding my breath until I release it, low and shaky. Kaz is silent again, staring off, flexing and unflexing his fingers against the steering wheel, like a silent reminder that he is here. 

“Are they alive?” I ask, voice so silent it’s almost nothing. 

“I don’t know,” Kaz admits. “But we never heard from them. I’ve never heard. So I can only assume not. And I don’t think I would want to see them if they were.”  

“And Jordie…?” I venture, terrified to hear more, but also terrified he’ll clam up. I am desperate for more. Desperate to know him. 

“We weren’t safe here. They found us. Or, found Jordie. While I was gone.” Every single syllable from his lips are forced and painful, laced with self loathing and regret. Survivor's guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but Jordie had sent me away. On an errand down in Brooklyn. He knew we were trapped, and wanted me to live, if he couldn’t. If Jordie could convince them he was alone and I had been shipped somewhere else... ” He breathes in and out, slowly and deeply, focusing on some point in the distance. “They ruled it as a suicide. He had cut his own throat, only his DNA on the knife, only his blood… I don’t know if he did it before they came. Or if they staged it. The not knowing. The guessing. That’s what makes it worse.” 

“So you look for control in other places.” I say. “In the market. In investment. In the Crows. I do the same thing.” 

“The Crows stand for the same thing you do, Cataleya.” Kaz says, looking at me with an intense stare. “Exposure. We want things to be different. We want people to pay, truly pay, for what they have done. Instead of buying silence. Buying lies. We want the truth. Only the truth.” 

His words pierce me, his black hair stark against his forehead, shaved sides longer than he normally keeps them. His eyebrows are set in a hard determined line, lips closed, and jaw locked in determination. I know he made those people pay, the ones who took his brother from him. I can see it on his face. 

“How did you survive?” I begin, “without him?”

Kaz licked his lips and let out a low chuckle. “Our money was gone. But we knew some people. Kids we met on the street. They made me a fake to get into bars with; I was barely sixteen by that time, but I looked older. Rougher. I had a skill for counting cards and made a small fortune quickly by playing in run down joints and eventually, working my way into larger, more expensive establishments. It was hard, I lived and breathed revenge, for Jordie. I wanted to have him back. To have something that was mine. I built up a small fortune, studied the market, and began investing. By the time I applied to the University of Ketterdam it didn’t matter that I only had my GED and no family, my self-made fortune was enough.” 

“But why here?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion. “Why school at all?” 

Kaz continues to look at me, eyes blazing. “Because we had a dream. Jordie and I. We had a dream that we would never forget what happened. That we had to run. And that when we were older, more settled, we would build something here. In New York City, something that would last. Something with a legacy. Like Crows, Jordie had said, symbolizing death but themselves being alive. We were dealt bad luck and would bestow it on others who deserve it.” 

“Thus, The Crow Club,” I finish his sentence, gaze roaming his face. “A secret society at one of the world’s best universities that would have a legacy. Have prestige. Have a family.” 

“Something that is mine,” Kaz’s lips part, wet from his tongue. 

“Yes, yours.” I echo. 

We are both silent for a few moments. Weighing our words. Our truths. Even the trees outside seem to stop in the wind, leaves quiet and branches unwavering. Kaz has opened up in a way I have never seen before. Never expected. He has been through so much. So much like me. Dealt with death. Loss. Life. We aren’t so different. None of the Crows are. 

“What about the others?” 

“Those aren’t my stories to tell,” Kaz responds, voice returning to its detached state.

I nod, once, accepting. I know a few of them already. Nina. Wylan. The new recruits. But Inej and Jesper are mysteries. Complete and whole geniuses shrouded in questions. I don’t like questions. Especially ones I can’t answer. 

“How did you survive? With him?” Kaz’s voice rings again, reflecting my earlier question. His words are too big for the small car, inhaling deeply through my nose as a small smile graces my lips. His long fingers move the shift into reverse to back out of the spot to drive us back to the city himself. The true test of his skill on the Manhattan streets.  

“That friend. The one who taught me how to drive,” I reply, a bit of wistful nostalgia filling my tone. “He helped me. Took care of me. Looked after me.” 

“Past tense?” He inquires, feet smooth as he presses on the gas pedal. 

“We are still friends,” I say. “I think. Things are just… different.” 

“Different. That’s an understatement.” He replies, voice drenched with irony. “Everything is different, isn’t it, depending on how you look at it.”

I nod and laugh, giving him a compliment on how swiftly he picked up driving before we settle into a comfortable silence. Crows. Allies. Friends. If we can call ourselves that. 

I hope we can. 

----

Today, I am supposed to meet the enemy. 

Kaz told me yesterday he set up a rendezvous at one of the campus coffee spots and that there would be someone waiting for me there. Someone he wouldn’t name. Someone that I am supposed to gather information from. Someone who thinks we are on a date. 

I had almost hit him when he pulled up his phone to show me the fake dating profile that was made for me. Pictures of me smiling, laughing, most of them pictures I didn’t even remember taking, all glowed brightly at me, accentuated by a bio that said I liked my men tall, dark, and tortured. 

How cliche. 

“Nina made it,” Kaz had shrugged then returned his phone back to his pocket. 

“And you would be surprised by how many matches you made,” Inej’s voice was laced with humor, lilting into the room without a trace. 

“She’ll walk you over,” Kaz said, gesturing around the room to her unknown location. “Like any dutiful girl would for her best friend about to go on a date from an app. Then, you’ll just need to proceed as normal. Ask him about his life, his job, his degree, his connection to UOK. All the basics. The main concern is reading him out for a vibe, his family has had a lot of influence in some shady shit and he’s from another society here.”

So that’s what this was about? Some sour deals that probably put Kaz out of some easy money and a rival society that was challenging Kaz’s position in the control of campus secrets and his standing legacy? I don’t feel like that is the whole story, but that’s all that Kaz was willing to give me at the time. 

And he hadn’t said anything this afternoon when I had gone into the Crow Library to meet Inej. He acted like nothing ever happened, like he hadn’t revealed some of his darkest secrets to me. Like we hadn’t shared a moment of… something. He barely looked at me from his desk, hair rumpled and face flushed from stress, in my tight long sleeve dress and tights, combat boots laced up around my ankles in case this random guy got the wrong idea. 

The air outside had turned to autumn, giving us an unusually cold and windy day. I was puttering around and trying to think of something to say to Kaz, when Inej came down the staircase with silent feet, dressed in a pair of black leggings and a cream knit sweater. Her hair had been mused in the back and her face also looked a bit red. I had almost laughed, looking between her flushed state and Kaz’s slightly red cheeks, before giving Inej a knowing quirk of my eyebrows. 

And now, outside of the library and alone, walking across the cobblestoned campus paths with autumn leaves falling around us, I turn to her. “Do I even want to know?” 

“It’s college,” she replies, so quiet it’s almost to herself. “Things happen.” 

“Things don’t just happen with Kaz Brekker.” 

She looks at me, face breaking out into a blinding smile that splits her beautifully baked face. “They do when he’s in a rather… compromising position.” 

“Inej!” I release the laugh I’ve been holding, the now pulled back coil of her hair showing off the reddened tips of her ears. Since I have known of Inej, she has always been rather modest. Sure of herself in a quiet way. The kind of confidence that doesn’t need reassurance or shields. Inej herself is a shield, a force of silent secrets she keeps hidden beneath the unsuspecting lithe of her dancer’s frame. 

We take a right turn down one of the main campus paths, small walkways opening up into a large courtyard. Students mill about, sitting on statues, kissing underneath the garden archways, reading books on their way into classes. The University of Ketterdam has always been such an eclectic place, not only because of its location in New York City, but because of its campus. Lush, green, beautiful. An ode to history and architecture and modernity all the same. The programs here are some of the best in the world and while tuition isn’t cheap, the value of a Ketterdam degree is worth it. 

“Is it bad that I kind of do want to know though?” I begin, not even sure what I’m saying. 

“No,” Inej says, voice thoughtful and not defensive in any way. This is why I love Inej. So honest and unafraid. “I think everyone wants to know about Kaz. Everyone wants to be the hero that solves the mystery or the lover that turns a prince from darkness.” She pauses, looking around at the students, seeming lost in thought. Her dark eyebrows crease together, as if in thought or sadness. “Some people just can’t be saved.” 

I can tell she’s referring to Kaz. But I’m not sure if I agree. I think everyone can be saved. I think darkness lives in everyone and all a person needs is a bit of light to show them through. People weren’t born into darkness, or evil, they were made that way. Through that, they could be unmade. And Inej has enough light and strength in one of her hands to see any person through the blackest of tunnels. I think of what Kaz had said to me, in the car, about his story, about his desire for revenge. For retribution. Maybe I want to believe we can be saved from the darkness because I want to be saved. Because like calls to like. And there is a deep chasm within Kaz that sings to me. 

Inej moves her head to look at me, a full and unabashed gaze that somehow makes me uncomfortable. Like she can see straight to my soul. Like she can see every lie I have told or every promise I have broken or every secret I have kept. Like she can see my desires and my shame and my longing for things I can’t have.

“But we love them anyway, don’t we?” She finishes, giving me a contemplative look. 

I think of the people I love, the people I did love, when there were still people in my life that were capable of receiving such a thing; people who were dark and painful and I still loved them anyway. Love can be such a blinding thing. Blinding and binding. 

“Yeah,” I echo, her reflective tone rubbing off onto my voice. “We do.” 

The both of us descend into silence as we continue to walk across the quad. I begin to feel my stomach turn, my palms sweat. No matter how many times I have done this, not dates, but encounter new people, this feeling returns. Every time I have to meet someone new, report on something, present something for a class, I would feel anxiety grip my insides and twist. When I was younger, that anxiety was terrifying, it made me cower, it made me scared. But as I got older, I began to use it and cling to it. I began to form it into an entity that gave me courage instead of taking it, something that would ground me to myself and propel me into my fears. 

Inej begins, “Kaz texted and said he’s outside. Reading. Good luck.” Then she’s gone.

Steadying my breath, the smell of coffee hits my nostrils as I round the library steps to the small path beside it. The coffee shop is nestled into the side of the huge, brick building, almost like a tumor sprouting from the side. Inej has completely disappeared, only leaving the familiar scent of herbs in her wake. She is supposed to be going up the library steps to find a good vantage point from one of the many windows facing the coffee shop on the building’s side. Students move around through the cafe windows, in and out of the doors, little bell ringing to signal both arrival and departure. 

But I am not paying attention to any of them. 

Because there is a boy. A man. Sitting at one of the tables outside, his long legs stretched underneath the opposite chair, wearing a pair of leather sneakers. His long fingers are thumbing through a novel, covers worn and pages yellow with age. He can feel someone there, looking, sitting up and turning in that little metal chair to see who. To see me. 

It’s Alek. 

I blanch, mouth going dry and jaw slackening. I know him. I more than know him. I- 

“Cataleya,” his voice is pure night, laced and dripping with stars. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, not even phased. Not that I have ever seen him look surprised. I flash back to that day in the garden, to his hands on my face, wiping my tears, to his arms around me, murmuring condolences, to the face that I could see through my blurred tears. Dark hair, pale skin, beautifully big gray eyes. I had barely known him, barely seen him despite our houses being right next door, despite our windows being on opposite sides of the alley and me being able to spy on him when his curtains were parted at night. 

“Aleksander?” I stand a little straighter, gathering my shock and shoving it deep down. 

He smiles, standing up from the chair on the patio of the coffee shop. He is so tall, taller than I remember. His dark jeans are fitted against his legs and the black long sleeve button down he is wearing shows off a large portion of his impeccable chest. I don’t remember when the last time I saw him was, but I definitely don’t recall feeling the pulsing and intense heat that flashes through my body when I look at him. I suddenly feel naked. And stupid. 

Is Kaz trying to kill me?

Swallowing thickly, I scan the windows on the side of the library for Inej, wondering if she has already found a perch to play spy. The sun reflects off of each glass surface in the afternoon light, making it impossible to see through any of them. Blowing a breath through my lips, I attempt to quell the storm brewing and churning in my stomach. 

“What a wonderful surprise this is,” Alek starts. 

I catch the edge in his voice, the way the tone lilts at the end. A tell of how much this encounter is not a surprise. For him anyway. But I smile, I nod and I watch as he fluidly closes the distance between us and takes me in his arms. 

I hate how I exhale. 

How my whole body relaxes. 

I hate how good it feels. 

Like coming home. 

He smells like winter and barren tree branches, like snow and absence of light. Like a dark night wrapping me in its embrace and taking away the pain that days bring. Peaceful and mysterious all the same. Just as I remember it. Just as I remember him. 

“Since when did you start wearing all black?” I joke as he pulls away, gesturing to his outfit. “Are you some kind of darkling now?” 

He gives me a blinding grin, chuckling under his breath. 

“Something like that.” 

He gestures us back over to the table and I sit across from him, back rigid and legs crossed. I feel like a mannequin, still and stoic, despite the intense pounding of my heart and rush of blood through my veins. 

“How have you been?” He asks, leaning back in his chair with an amused look on his face. “I must say I was very surprised when your profile popped up Tinder.” 

I clench my jaw, working my teeth against each other. “Yeah, so was I.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Alek studies me, eyes unabashedly roaming from my face to my chest to my waist, to my legs visible on the side of the table. I swallow, trying to clear the unfamiliar lump in my throat before I speak. 

“But I’m good. Great, even. But I didn’t even know you are here. That you went here in the first place.” 

“It’s a temporary thing,” Alek responds. 

“Temporary?” I push. 

“I’m just getting a business credential for the semester,” he says, airy and dismissive. 

I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he can feel the suspicion and annoyance radiating from my look. He drums his fingers on the table, weighing my stare with a measured, even gaze that infuriates me further. I always hated when he did this when we were kids. Always challenging me. Always trying to get me to back down. Luckily, our time apart has sharpened my detective skills and my comfort with confrontation. 

Alek sighs, blinking slowly. “Fine. I’m here because of you.” 

My jaw slackens. 

Because of me? 

“I missed you,” he whispers, in a rare display of vulnerability and affection, before reaching across the table to take my hand. 

Fire lashes up my wrist and arm, chills spreading in its wake. His touch is electrifying me, his skin like a hot branding iron pushing into me with delicious pain. Alek’s jaw is set, the hard lines on his chin lined with stubble. I want to take his face in my hands and kiss him. I want to feel him against me and get lost in the impossibly deep gray ocean of his eyes. 

“Where were you then?” I venture, pushing down the pressing anxiety. 

“I had a lot to deal with after my dad died,” he responds, voice detached and noncommittal. “I’m really sorry I let our relationship fall away, but I didn’t want to drag you down into my grief. You’ve always had enough on your plate.” 

“You helped me through grief.” My tone steadies. “I wanted to help you.” 

He huffs, “I didn’t want your help.” 

The words are like a slap in the face, pulling my hand from his with a start. His dad’s death had been very abrupt and unexpected, launching Alek into a world of unknown wealth and property and an accumulation of other assets he wasn’t even aware his father had. His death was ruled under suspicious circumstances, but no leads were ever found for a murderer or any other sort of foul play. And with Alek’s mother long gone to cancer, he found himself newly eighteen and alone in the world. Except he wasn’t alone. He always had me. 

Alek releases a breath, eyes softening as he leans back in his chair, aware of the mistake in his harsh words. He pushes a hand through his hair, the dark waves parting for his hand like a saint in the sea. 

“I don’t mean it like that. I wanted you to be there, Cataleya. But some things you have to do on your own, you know? I had so much to figure out and sort through and… it was overwhelming.” 

I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Alek was never the kind of guy to ask for help, especially not from people he is close to. He always did things alone, always felt weak for not building his own empire, his own legacy, his own destiny, without anyone else. But two years, I haven’t heard from him in two years and now here he is. In front of me. Asking for some sort of forgiveness. Is there anything to forgive? The pit in my stomach says yes. But my throbbing heart and other throbbing parts of me say no. 

“I missed you, too.” 

A small smile blossoms across his face, the sight beautiful and stupefying. 

“I can’t help but notice you walked here with Inej Ghafa,” he starts and my alert senses begin to tingle. “Isn’t she a part of Kaz Brekker’s Crow Club?” 

“How do you know about that?” I ask before I can help myself.

“Anyone who is anyone knows about Kaz,” he responds, almost spitting his name. 

“Okay…” I begin, unease settling into my stomach like a stone. “But why do you?” 

“He has something I need.” 

The stone becomes a boulder. 

“Are you-” I stop, then start again. “You’re the one that this is for.” 

“If by “this”, you mean whatever scheme he is planning to trap me in, then yes.”

“But why? How do you even know him? Don’t you know who he is and what he does? What are you thinking going against Kaz?” I ask urgently, struggling to keep my voice low. 

He pins me to the chair with a dead look. “He has debts he needs to pay.” 

“You’re going vague again?” I shake my head, irritated with his bipolar intensity then flippancy. “You need to back down. Or you’re going to end up hurt.” 

A smirk tugs at his full lips, “Your lack of faith in me is really inspiring, Cataleya.” 

“It’s not that,” I retort, exasperated, crossing my arms. “Kaz is really powerful. With more networks and connections than you know. If you don’t stop whatever crusade you have on him, you’re the one that’s going to end up indebted.” 

He laughs this time, a full and deep laugh that surprises me. “Has he really dug his talons that deep in you? That you’ve forgotten how wide my own connections spread? How cunning I can be?” 

“We haven’t spoken in two years,” I respond, pettily. “I don’t know you at all anymore.” 

He leans forward, eyes incredibly dark and face serious. “You know that’s not true.”

I hold his stare, raising my eyebrows, feeling satisfied that I made my point. Alek reaches across the table and places his palm up on it in invitation. I can see the veins of his inner wrist, with dark ink snaking across the blue and disappearing under his shirt sleeve. He didn’t have any tattoos when I last talked to him. My fingers itch to push back the fabric and see them. His secrets. Like Kaz’s, they are so plain on his skin yet hidden through metaphors and signs. 

Licking my lips, I push out a breath and put my hand atop his, feeling his eyes follow mine to where the ink is displayed. Without saying anything, he pushes the sleeve of his shirt up his forearm, stopping at the inner crook of his elbow. 

Inhaling and holding, I blink at the constellation on the inside of his forearm. A night sky, swirling with black and dead space, with creatures in between zombies and ghosts with huge demon wings flying through it. There is a ship at the base of his wrist, a small stern gliding through dark sand, a tiny speck compared to the massive size of the creatures flying above it. It is dark and torturing and incredibly impassioned. I let the pads of my fingers drift softly up Alek’s arm, watching goosebumps form on his skin. 

“What are they?” I ask. 

“They’re called volcra,” Alek says. “Beings that live in darkness and are afraid of light. They feed on those who come into their path, who are unable to see or defend themselves in the black sea of sand.” 

“It’s so… intense.” I search for the right word to describe it, coming up short. 

“I want to remind myself to not be afraid of light. Of happiness. That the things that I may think make me weak, really make me strong. I need to find more light, to find my light. I have been full of darkness for a long time, Cataelya. I’ve lived in a thousand moments of it.” 

I tilt my head, fingers pressed into the inside of his elbow and looking up at him through my lashes. His eyes are trained to the spot where our skin is meeting, his lips parted and eyebrows furrowed a bit in the middle. I resist the urge to flatten it with my thumb, letting the wind and the sound of other students fill the silence between us. 

“You were the only light in my life for a long time,” I say to him, tracing the volcra’s deformed bodies with my index finger. “I had nothing. I had no one. You pulled me from that nothingness. From the darkness. And held me in your arms. Brought me up to somewhere better. Where I can hope. Where I can not only see light, but make my own. That is invaluable to me.” 

He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Can you help me, then? Can you bring me back my light, too?” 

My breathing stalls. I know what he’s asking from me. I know it’s more than just offering a flashlight through the tunnel. I know it’s more complicated than I can currently imagine. Alek stands up, coming around the table to kneel in front of my chair. Some students stare, wondering if they’re about to witness a proposal. I ignore them, keeping my eyes trained on Alek’s imploring gaze. I know in this moment, I will give him the world, the moon, and all of its stars. I will give him all of my sun and then some, I will summon everything I have to fill the darkest parts of him. 

He takes my face in his hands, palms impossibly soft on my cheeks. Subtly, slowly, I nod, watching his face break a part into a smile. Without pausing, Alek leans forward and kisses me. His lips are smooth and plush, completely stunning me into inaction as he runs his fingers along the sides of my throat. I sigh into his mouth, body realizing what is happening just as he is pulling away. Parting my lips, I stupidly sit in my chair as he gets up in one flowing movement.

Alek looks down at me with a smile. “I hope to see you soon then, Cataleya.” 

Just like that, he scoops up his book and walks away. Gone as quickly as he appeared. 

----

The room is completely aglow with light, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles lit around the room. Everything has a soft, burnt hue, like the room is on fire from below and the blaze is lighting the space. It must be the size of the University of Ketterdam quad, with hundreds of people talking, dancing, eating, and drinking. I recognize some students and faculty, but most are a blur of unfamiliar gowns and tuxedos. 

“They know how to throw a party,” Nik says appreciatively. 

“If they didn’t, no one would take them seriously.” Zoya retorts, leaving Nik’s side without so much as a glance to drift into the crowd. The smell of honey and sweet drinks spreads through the room, long tables lining either wall stacked with a massive spread. 

“That’s where I’ll be,” whispers Nina. 

I smile at her, gathering my dress in my hands and descending the few flat stairs to the main rooms. The floor is a beautiful tile, mosaics and colors that I can’t decipher flowing from the entry way beneath the mass of bodies. There is something magical about it all, something historic, like stepping into a time machine. The walls are lined with thick tapestries, with small halls leading into different areas of grandeur. I shouldn’t be surprised that wealth like this still exists, but every time I see it, I am. 

Scanning the space, I see Alek from across the ballroom, near one of the food tables, his gaze drifting across my body before a smile forms on his lips. He is wearing an all black suit, lapels crisp and smooth, with a single blood rose pinned above his heart. It mimics the read of my dress, the stain of my lips, the seduction in his eyes. He cocks his head slightly, dark hair falling over one of his beautifully arched eyebrows. 

I hold his stare, letting the bubbling pit of fire burn deeply in my stomach. The pit that forms when he looks at me, seated low and hot. The pit that would cackle and seethe if he would touch me, if his pale hands would settle on my hips and his lips would touch the shell of my ear, whispering sweet nothings and dirty everythings into my ear. Snaking my tongue between my lips, I watch as Aleksander tracks the motion, his posture straightening ever so slightly. 

And then Kaz is there. In my line of vision. 

The fire sputters out, replaced by something else. Something that grips my lungs and forces my heart to beat faster. His suit is a deep navy, bringing out the smooth pearl of his skin and accenting the night of his hair. He looks like a shooting star, dark and light at the same time. I wonder who picked it out for him, or if he selected it himself. I can’t imagine Kaz in a tailor’s shop, trying on suits and drinking bourbon with the upper elites with him. 

But then again, maybe I can. He is a business man after all. And great at faking it. 

Kaz catches my stare, tipping his head up in greeting before disappearing into the crowd. Nina and Nik dissolve from my side as well, going to observe and mingle before the drama begins. Alina is the only one left next to me, her golden dress sparkling in the chandelier light. She turns to me and sets her hand on my arm gingerly, sun earrings dangling from her ears. 

“Be careful,” she whispers. “He’s not who you think he is.” 

I open my mouth, about to ask her what she means before her hand is gone, and so is she. I watch her move into a group of people, hugging a man in a dark gray tuxedo from behind before giving him a kiss. Must be Mal. I don’t feel right, especially after what Alina said to me. I feel like something is amiss, but I don’t know what. 

I spot Kaz again, whispering something to Inej along the back wall. Her dark eyes drift to me, cementing the feeling in place. 

Alone, I cross the space to Alek. I had seen him twice since our fateful coffee date and both times had been very formal and full of business. Full of me trying to help him get his light back. Through some sort of grand scheme, it seems. One that required me to also recruit Nik, Alina, and Zoya to help Alek while seeming like they are helping Kaz. Sort of like a double agent, except I don’t know which side I want to be standing on at the end. 

“How are you?” Alek asks, tone casual to an untrained ear, but clipped enough for me to hear the true question behind his words. 

“Something’s wrong,” I respond under my breath before I loudly declare my happiness.

He lets his gaze linger on my face for a moment, schooling his features into neutrality. 

“Can you handle it?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admit, dropping my fake smile. “I might need help.” 

Vague enough, but he clearly gets the message, rolling his shoulders before giving me a dazzling grin. Alek reaches a long arm to stop the waiter passing by, grabbing two flutes of sparkling gold champagne and extending one to me. As if this is only our second time meeting. As if we both happened here by incident and he is looking to get lucky.

“I could never refuse such a beautiful woman.” 

I return his smile, throwing back the entire drink for some liquid courage. It tastes sweet and fizzy against my tongue, a faint acidity coating the roof of my mouth. Alek takes a long and thoughtful sip of his own champagne, much more graceful than me and folds my arm into the crook of his elbow. He begins to lead me from the ballroom, towards the Crow’s meeting spot. I look behind my shoulder, searching for their familiar faces. But all I see is Nina, already watching, her eyes focused intently on the joining of my arm with Alek’s while she pretends to listen to Nik, whose lips are moving with passionate fervor. Her mouth parts ever so slightly as she catches my eye. 

“Careful,” Alek mutters, forcing me to turn my head back in front of me. 

Dread and fear coil in my gut. I have never seen Nina look that way. I have never seen her look at me and not see me. I still don’t spot any of the other Crows at their reported positions around the room, where they were supposed to stay until I could get Alek alone and before I could lead Kaz to Alek and they could duel it out and I could decide who to side with then.

 I swallow, mind racing, trying to calm myself by believing that there’s a reason for their absence. 

 Alek seems to sense my trepidation, holding my arm a bit tighter as we meander from the crowded room into a near empty hallway. 

“Something’s wrong,” I repeat, trying to unravel everything quickly. Too quickly. 

Kaz, pushing everyone into this heist with such force. The others, more quiet than usual, less pressing for Kaz to give them details. Kaz, letting me teach him to drive, letting himself be vulnerable for me. Inej, barely talking to me a week into our plan. Nina, completely open and honest and warm until she saw me with Alek. Jesper, less happy than usual, less enthusiastic, more solemn and quiet, often excusing himself when I came into the room. And Wylan, always seeming to be off rekindling his relationship with his father. 

I didn’t need to help them with appearances at all. 

When fear arrives, something is about to happen. 

“It’s a trap,” I breathe, clenching my jaw and letting my stomach pit out inside of me. 

“I know,” Alek replies, cool and distant. 

My blood turns to ice. “What do you mean, “I know”?” 

He doesn’t respond, turning right down the hallway that leads to a back patio exit, and not to the left, to that private seating area where the Crows were supposed to be waiting. Alek increases his pace ever so slightly, giving me a glazed and lusted look when people come out of the rooms to pass us by, too high or drunk or exhausted to care. 

I try to stamp down the panic in my bones. How could I be so stupid? How could I get so caught up playing both sides that I didn’t see what was right in front of me? This is not the part where things are supposed to go wrong. I am supposed to get to choose. I am supposed to see them interact, gauge my feelings, myself, my words, and decide which side I want to be on. If I want to be a Raven or a Crow. If I want to be crime or creation. Of course, Alek is one step ahead. And so is Kaz. 

“We need to be more casual, less uptight,” Alek states as he pushes through the glass doors leading into the large mansion courtyard at the end of the corridor. “If any of them are watching, they’ll hurry things along if they sense we’re onto them.” 

“I think they already know,” I swallow, the night air turning cold and bitter. We hover on the cramped patio for a moment, not descending the small set of stone stairs into the gardens beyond. I can hear voices from inside, music drifting about, people laughing and heavy breathing from behind bushes. I wish I could have gone to this party with no other intentions than for fun. 

Maybe in a different life.  

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Alek shrugs. 

And then I am up against the thin black railing behind me, Alek’s hands settling into the curve of my hips. I can feel his warmth through the satin of my dress, bleeding fire into my skin, my heart, my core. He licks his lips and pushes me tighter against him. Our bodies are flush in all of the right places; hard and soft in all of the right places. 

“Kiss me, Cataleya,” he baits me, voice low and raspy. 

He doesn’t have to say it twice. 

I surge forward, his lips plush and velvet against mine. He smells like winter, like snow and frosty tree branches and endless starry nights. I grew up with this smell, revelled in it, fell in love with it. His dark hair brushes against my forehead, the strands so soft and gentle in a way I had never known Alek to be. He is always pushing, moving, plotting. 

He reminds me of Kaz in that way. 

Kaz. 

Alek’s tongue slips along mine, sparks flying and thundering in my ears. Haven’t I wanted him like this for so long? Haven’t I imagined what this would feel like since our first kiss, being barely a peck? Haven’t I dreamed that he would want me? That he would have me in the way I desired? 

So why is this falling so flat now? 

Kaz. 

The voice reverberates through me, like a Crow picking from a dead body, peeling flesh from bone until I am stripped bare. My head begins to pound, a dull ache in the base of my skull. Alek runs his fingers up my bare arms, drawing goosebumps in his wake until I am shivering beneath him. 

“Cataleya,” he murmurs, deep and throaty. 

The old feeling returns, the burning desire, the expectant eyes. The little girl waiting for her master to approve. The little girl waiting for someone bigger, someone better, to grab her hand and drag her from the dirt. I feel ridiculous for not being able to squash it down, to tamper it. I don’t know if that feeling would ever die. The feeling of dependence. Of unworthiness. 

Alek seems as if he’s about to say something, but his head whips to the side. I follow the movement, the stone of dread in my stomach sinking deeper when I realize the courtyard has gone quiet around us. Not a single sound from behind the bushes, not a giggle or a whisper or a moan. Too quiet. The sound of death. 

The headache threatens to split my brain a part, eyes blurring as I watch Alek attempt to stumble down the stairs. He gets one step in before a figure blocks his path. My breathing becomes laborious, squinting through black spots clouding my vision before I can see who it is. 

Wylan. 

His suit is a forest green, dark velvet tailored for his tall lanky frame. The color perfectly offsets the ruddiness of his hair and his shoes are a deep brown leather, squeaky clean and new. Leave it to Kaz to outfit all of the Crows with his endless bank account. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says, face truly betraying some measure of regret. 

The pieces click together, like a lock sliding into place. 

He hasn’t been working with his father all these weeks. He has been working on something else entirely. Something that would take lots of time, lots of care, and lots of studying. When Nina said those things I thought she was talking about how he was mending the relationship with his father. She was not. And not just that, but his studies most likely required more than himself for success. Probably Leoni, the incredibly kind and intelligent biochemical engineering major who Kaz sometimes recruited for special missions that required more stealth, less blood. 

Wylan was studying poison. 

And we had ingested it from the champagne. 

----

My head is throbbing when I come to, the sound of a car engine roaring in my ears. I don’t know how I got here. All I remember is Alek, his hands on me, his warmth leaving me to spin me into the arms of someone else. The shaved hair, the deep brown eyes, the palor of his skin, the stability of his grip around my waist. Then Alek again, his lips on mine, my back against the wall.

 I force myself to swallow, trying to see anything through the blindfold at my eyes. I am still in my dress, the silk smooth on my skin, and I can feel the car coming to a stop as I struggle to find the strength to say something. 

My bones feel like liquid, muscles weak and shaking. But Alek had been the only one who offered me a drink, he had been the only one I trusted enough to gulp heartily. Wylan. I remember Wylan. Standing at the ledge of the stairs in the courtyard. Me and Alek. 

Poisoned. 

The car’s back door opens and I feel a rush of the cold night air as two gloved hands drag me by my feet from the vehicle and out onto the street. Dread coils in my stomach and my skin pricks with goosebumps, the cobble stones ripping at my exposed ankles and arms. After being dragged a few hundred feet, hissing at the burn of scapes and tearing on my skin from the uneven street, I am forced onto my knees.  I don’t feel right. Nothing feels right. Where is Kaz? 

As if in answer, the blindfold is yanked down my face from behind, my eyes blurring and struggling to adjust to the dark light of my surroundings. I am in an alley, wedged between two buildings built of collapsing brick. I can hear the faint whiz of cars, but in front of me is only a few hundred paces of the alleyway and then trees. I am not being brought here to talk. It’s too secluded. Too quiet. And the smell, bark and sap and something else… I clench my jaw. 

A shadow fills my periphery and I struggle to stay up on my knees as a figure takes shape in front of me. The navy suit, clean white shirt, the black leather gloves, the hard lines of his jaw and set of his eyes. I know why I am here. I know what this is. His stare is furious, rage and ice and merciless vengeful eyes boring into mine. 

He made the choice for me.

“Kaz,” I rasp, voice cracking and broken. 

He snarls at his name from my mouth, shoving me up into the nearest building. I stumble in my heels, his movements fast and forceful enough to drive my back into the wall with no problem. The rough edges of the brick dig into my back, clawing at my skin. This is nowhere near the last experience I had against a wall, with Alek. Caressing me, kissing me, igniting me. I try to stay calm. I try to think. But all I can see is Kaz’s face in front of me, burning with hatred and disdain as he rams me harder into the unforgiving bricks. 

I try to hold in my scream as a knife plunges into my side from one of the roofs above, deep and intense pain bursting through me. I don’t know who threw it, I don’t know how many of them are up there and how many stayed behind. I don’t know how long they’ve been in on it, I don’t know if Kaz has been aware the entire time. But I do know that now he knows, they all do. And that I won’t be leaving here alive. 

I can’t move enough to take the knife from my side, the hilt small, but the blade curved and lodged deep above the bone of my hip. Blood seeps through my dress, the red becoming impossibly darker, and the drip drip of the liquid pings against the stone street as it runs down my legs. It’s the only sound between us besides my ragged breathing, pained and desperate. 

“This was all a test of loyalty,” he says evenly. “You failed.”

And I would die for it. 

Kaz’s hands close around my throat, gaze steely and intent. I try not to panic, my jaw locking and lungs constricting with the pressure of his grip. The warmth of the blood continues spreading and soaking through my side, red and sticky and filling my nostrils with the scent of copper. I can already barely breathe, trying and failing to make it through the pain. It makes sense how loose Kaz’s lips had been with me, all the questions he had asked to try and taunt me, to reveal my relationship to Alek, how he let me teach him; he thought I would be a dead woman soon. And dead women don’t spill secrets. Or give lessons beyond the grave.

“We knew it was you all along,” Kaz says in my face, tone even as he chokes me. “Funny. You didn’t even know he was here until we flushed him out for you. Until we set up that date and watched you become the person we suspected you were. Until you crawled back to him and pretended he was the only light in the pit of darkness that’s been your life.” Kaz’s gloved fingers are hot against my pulse and his hair is falling down his forehead, sides freshly shaved. I can see every prick of stubble along his chin, see the muscles feathering in his jaw. I’ve never been this close to him before. Not even in the car. A day that felt so long ago. Like a lifetime. 

“Don’t you know why we scouted you in the first place? We knew he would try to ruin us from the inside out and use you to do it, it was only a matter of time. But that game can be played by both sides.” His voice is low, a snarl that roars in my ears, my side throbbing. “Nikolai, Alina, Zoya… you thought that you were bringing in new recruits to then turn against us. We had them first. They were always Crows, not one of Aleksander Morosova’s ravens. They have even more of a reason to want revenge on him than I do. And I’ll bet they’re being even less pleasant with him than I am with you right now.” 

A pit burns inside of me, low and feral, deepening with each of his words. 

“But even before that, I wanted you.” 

And I know, at the tenor of his voice, it’s not the kind of want that I would ever seek. At how his voice drops, so no one else can possibly hear, that I will not like what he is going to say. 

“I wanted you the moment I saw you and your father’s face in the news. When I heard what he did to your mother even though no one would believe he could have done it. I knew he did.” He is seething, spitting on me as he goes on. “I knew that he was capable of ordering violence. Of committing it and buying people’s silence. I could see it in his eyes, I could see it in the way he held you against him. Possessive and consuming.”

I have gone completely still, the very blood in my veins seeming to stop, the pulsing at my side ebbing into a dull ache. His words are in a bubble, trapped between our lips. Each syllable pops and rebuilds it, over and over. Trapping me, over and over. 

“I didn’t leave the day they came to kill Jordie.” He continues, “I thought something was wrong, for him to force me out the way he did. I hid on the roof of our building and climbed down the stairs of the fire escape a few hours later. Then I saw him. Your father. Positioning my brother’s body on our couch, I saw him take the bloodied knife and place it on the floor, beneath Jordie’s fingers. I watched as he cleaned off any fingerprints, stole away any evidence. He had no blood on him and by the two men that stumbled onto the street and disappeared down an alley, I knew he hadn’t done the actual act...

“But what’s worse? Following an order for murder or sanctioning it?” 

I feel tears slipping down my cheeks, dropping like flies on Kaz’s gloves. 

“I followed him. Learned everything I could. I learned that he had been involved with an underground drug operation for decades. That my parents had been in debt with them due to some bad decisions in my dad’s twenties. And that your father had been sent to collect or kill. To send a message to the other debtors. Little did your father know that the victims had two children, that they escaped. And that they would be coming for him.” 

The air around me turns infinitely colder, everything still and quiet except Kaz’s voice. 

“I watched you too.” He continues, fingers losing their grip a bit on my throat. “I watched to see who you would be. If we would indeed become enemies, as our parents were. I observed you grow with Morosova, how he controlled you, how he led you away all those years, how he kept you quiet and kept you in the dark so you would never find out the truth and be killed, like your mother was.” 

His words stab me deeper than the knife, my heart in ribbons. Hearing him confirm my darkest fears unleashes the worst parts of me, the parts I tried so hard to keep hidden. Terrified. Insecure. Silent. Obedient. The little girl with an abusive father and dead mother. I hadn’t been her in so long, but Kaz is stripping me down. Shredding me. 

 Kaz’s voice drops lower, as if he’s telling me a horrible secret. “He knew about it, Cataleya. Aleksander,” he purrs the name like a curse, “he knew everything. His father was one of the men your father ordered to kill Jordie. Who was a part of the team dispatched to eradicate those who didn’t pay, eradicate my parents. Your parents were working together, how fitting that you and Aleksander would, as well. Fate is funny that way.” 

The world shatters around me, broken and splintering into a million pieces. Alek knew. He sat there and listened to me while I cried about my mother, how I had desperately wanted his help to look into what happened. He had warned me to want anything was to give myself up. That the only way for me to find peace was to move forward and never look back. That if I continued to want for closure, I would never find it.

 “The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.” He had said, over and over. 

How ironically true that had become. 

Kaz isn’t done. He continues to pick at me, the Crow in him unable to stop, his dark eyes burning with hate. “Where your own father failed, Aleksander’s father succeeded. He remembered seeing pictures in my house, of me and of Jordie. He remembered that there were two boys. And when I killed him by placing a bomb under his car to be rigged as an oil problem, his son stepped into the role to finish what his father started. To silence me too. But he didn’t and for me, for Jordie, I swore I would destroy them, brick by brick.” 

My breathing is coming out in short rasps, eyes blurred with tears of anger and embarrassment and white hot pain. I have been played. So horribly. By everyone in my life. Lied to. By every single person I had known. Even Alek. Alek, who had been the one person I thought would save me. Would be the one in the end to stand by me, to see me, to understand me. But he didn’t. He never did. He used me. Just like my father did. To be a sweet, obedient girl. 

In the few months I had known Kaz, he has seen more of me than Alek ever did. 

All we ever wanted, me and Alek and Kaz, was to feel safe and be loved. But we never trusted anyone enough to be either. So we fought and resisted and pushed. Into darkness. 

A whistle sounds from above, quick and melodic. Inej. Signaling Kaz that he needs to hurry. That enough is enough. But I can see it in his eyes. The hardness. The black pits of revenge and hatred and loathing he feels when he looks at me. It would never be enough. This retribution that he savored for years will never last as long as he wishes it to. I want to wither away into nothing under his stare. Not enough. Not his. Never his. Never a Crow.

“I know you love him,” he whispers so none of the others lurking can hear. “I know he’s the one who saved you. But he used you, Cataleya. He controlled you. You could’ve been so much better, so much bigger. It’s a shame the apple never falls far from the tree.”

I wish it had been you to save me instead. I think, shoving the words down my constricted throat. Maybe if it were Kaz, all those years ago, then things wouldn’t have gotten so messed up. Then maybe I would have been more like Inej, graceful, strong, full of more purpose than what Alek gave me. Maybe I could have meant something. To someone. To the Crows. 

But Kaz didn’t find me. Alek did. Alek led me from the garden and held my hand. Alek stroked my hair and told me it would be okay. That I would be okay. Alek raised me to be unforgiving, to scheme and stab people in the back to fill the empty hole in my life. Control. Kaz had said. How he controlled me. How he deceived me. With love. Love. Fake. Love. Fake love. I want to cry or scream at all of them, shaking with rage. I have been a pawn this whole time. 

“We are all controlled by something.” I push out, my voice weak. 

I try to swallow and fail at the reapplied pressure of Kaz’s palms, drool and spit bubbling from my lips. The alley wall is hard against my back, the night sky black and endless above me. The smog cover is so thick I can’t see the stars, despite the bright spots beginning to dance in my vision. I feel something prick at my spine with the pressure of my position like a silent reminder, mind sharpening and resolve strengthening. Love or no love. I have to finish what I started. I have to complete my assignment. Even if it isn’t one from Kaz. 

Even if it is from a liar. 

Lies are all I have known. 

All I have to hold on to. 

I can’t be saved. From darkness. My own or from others. I have waded too deep, gone too far. I may not be a true Raven, but I am definitely not a Crow. No matter how much I wish I could be. No matter how much I came to appreciate them, to care for them, to trust them. 

Trust is the most dangerous weapon of all. 

Slipping my hands behind my back as if I am trying to scramble against the wall, I reach for the cool metal of the blade attached along the zipper of my dress, letting out a choking cry to cover the unsheathing of my knife. The movement burns my side, ripping open my wound further to pour more blood. It runs over Kaz’s dress shoes, stains my legs. I am losing it too quickly, too much of it ebbing from me at once. Kaz’s hands press harder to my throat, forcing me, willing me, begging me to die now that his speech is over. I know he doesn’t enjoy this. I know he doesn’t relish in murder. Neither do I. 

But love is love.

Control is control. 

And business is business. 

Kaz would agree on that. 

“If I’m going down, Kaz,” I begin, voice barely a whisper. “You’re coming with me.” 

Without wasting another second, I shove the tip of my knife deep between Kaz’s ribs, watching his face contort in pain and dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then furrow in agony. Almost immediately, I hear a scream tear from somewhere on the roofs above and feel a pang of sorrow course through me. Inej just watched me stab the love of her life. Inej, the strong, graceful warrior who had been through more than all of us. She had screamed. Wailed.

I hear her words echo around my brain. The autumn leaves. Her cream sweater. The weight of her stare. “Some people just can’t be saved. But we love them anyway.”  

My sight falters.

 Kaz’s grip on my neck loosens, then completely disappears as he stumbles back and I fall towards the concrete without him holding me in place. An arrow pierces my shoulder from above, Jesper no doubt. With that incredible skill for landing true. The impact pushes me forward into Kaz’s already falling body, his white tux shirt now stained with blood. 

The world spins, my head making hard contact with the street. 

“This action will have no echo.” The rough words leak from Kaz’s lips, voice faint and faraway. If I could cry now I would, remembering the meaning of those words that Inej had told me just days ago. We would repeat nothing now. No more harm. To ourselves or others. This is our repentance. Our forgiveness.

Kaz is close to me, for I can feel the warmth of his body and the slick of his blood as it mixes with mine and stains the concrete.

If someone told me nine years ago, when I buried that cat and found my mother buried instead, that this is where I would end up, I wonder how differently my life would have been. I wonder if I would have chosen a different path. One full of forgiveness and happiness. The one of creation instead of crime. Instead of revenge and retribution. The weight of those decisions hang over me like a cloak, protecting and exposing me at the same time. Using the last bits of my strength, I turn my head to the side to look at him. 

Kaz is on his back beside me, so close that I can reach out and touch him. Touch his hand that is limp with resignation, his side that is red with blood, his lips that are white with death. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Even as a small line of blood trickles from the corner of his lips and pings onto the stones. I let my eyes close, pretending the stars behind my eyelids belong to the sky and not to the Grim Reaper. Pretending the stars are his eyes.

We’ve all had hard lives. We’ve all taken on assignments that were too big for us. We’ve all done things we regretted and we all leaned on each other too much for our own good while leaning on no one at all. We all let the ghosts of our pasts haunt us into our future. Especially Kaz. And that’s the problem with trusting ghosts, in the end you become one. 

You become transparent, empty, without an echo. 

“No mourners.” I manage to mumble into the night. 

“No funerals.” A disembodied voice murmurs back, but I’m not sure who it belongs to. 

And then there is nothing but darkness. 

---

~Admin Eggplant

[theunknowncryptid]

Part Five - The Hogwarts Champion

Next

Masterlist

Yoongi x y/n

After a horrible prank, Slytherin, Min Yoongi, is entered into the Triwizard Tournament. Y/n, feeling responsible, decides it’s her personal mission to make sure he survives the ordeal

~        ~        ~

Yoongi turned off his phone in annoyance and pushed it away across the table. It was nearly half past nine and the library would be closing soon. A quick glance around told him that he was the only one remaining. Everyone else had filtered out to either catch up with their friends after summer vacation or study in their common rooms. Becoming more annoyed that he had wasted his precious studying time texting, Yoongi began to stack up the several books that he had spread across the table. The pile reached higher than his head once he had grabbed them all. Carefully, he maneuvered around the table and began to place the books back in their rightful spots on the shelves. Yoongi grumbled quietly to himself as he recalled his conversation from minutes before. 

Who does Y/n y/l/n think she is? 

He placed a book down harder than necessary, with a thud. Yoongi wasn’t about to share his life with some stranger. Especially an overly energetic, goofy stranger. He ripped away his hand just in time as he put down the Monster Book of Monsters and it snapped at him viciously. Yoongi moved further through the aisles of books, remembering this afternoon's potions lesson.

“Min Yoongi and Y/n y/l/n” Snape called out. Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his mind drawing a blank. Y/n? He thought. He looked around at the classroom, studying the faces of the Slytherins and Gryffindors. No one was moving and for a second Yoongi had the euphoric thought that he would be partnerless this term. He could happily work on his own and not be forced to make pointless small talk with a partner. His hopes were dashed quickly with the sound of a wooden stool scraping against the stone flooring. Yoongi turned and looked over his shoulder to find the source of the noise. A Gryffindor girl was gathering her books and shoving a cell phone into her pocket. She seemed slightly caught off guard at being called on and large eyes darted across her items to make sure she had everything before joining Yoongi.

“Sometime today, Miss y/l/n” Snape drawled out like a hiss. Y/n pulled her lips into soft line as her cheeks flushed pink. She hurried forward and took her place next to Yoongi. With her close proximity, Yoongi could now hear the phone in her robe pocket buzzing rapidly. Snape continued on with the partner assignments and the eyes that had been on Yoongi and Y/n found other interests. As she re-opened her books, Yoongi took the opportunity to look at the girl. Something about her bothered him. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun and pieces were falling out shielding parts of her face from Yoongi’s view. The parts that Yoongi could see were nothing extraordinary. Pale skin, pink lips, with natural makeup. She smelled faintly of vanilla and… Men’s cologne? 

Yoongi was still staring at Y/n when she looked up at him. He jolted and his attention was back on the lesson in a matter of seconds. Irritation and embarrassment flooded his system when she spoke.

“Hi” Yoongi only nodded slightly at her greeting.

He chose to ignore her for the rest of the lesson and since it was the first day and they didn’t have any partner work it was fairly easy. After an hour, the bell rang and Yoongi had forgotten the staring incident. He packed up his books and threw his bag over his shoulder, thankful that the end of the day had arrived. 

“Hey, Yoongi!” Yoongi turned back to his work table that he had been walking away from. Y/n stood there smiling. “Do you want to exchange phone numbers? You know- for class.” She asked. 

“Uh.. Sure.” He mumbled. Yoongi fumbled in his pockets for a scrap piece of parchment. He scratched his number onto the paper and passed it to Y/n.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/n chirped brightly. She exited the potions classroom with Yoongi staring dumbfounded after her.

Yoongi placed his last book on the shelf and turned back to collect his things from the library table. Remembering his encounter with the Gryffindor annoyed him again. Something about her set him off. Yoongi didn’t know if it was the constantly texting friends, the way she spoke, the half-smile that made her look like she was always daydreaming, or something else entirely. 

When she had texted him asking to meet up to work on the first assignment, Yoongi decided that it was inevitable and that sometimes life is working with people you don’t enjoy. But, then she dug further and started asking him personal questions. Yoongi can barely tolerate people he likes asking about him. So, to make the point clear, Yoongi snapped.

He pulled his remaining books into his bag and placed it over his shoulders. He gave a polite nod to a smiling Madam Pince as he exited the library into the abandoned hallway. Yoongi spent so much time in the library over the years and Madam Pince had become fond of him, offering book recommendations and the occasional homework help.

As he made his way down to the Slytherin common room, Yoongi gave a deep sigh and loosened his necktie. He started to become lost in thought again as he walked the familiar steps. Feelings of guilt started to prick in his brain. Jin had asked him specifically not to be rude to Y/n and that’s exactly what he had done. Apparently, the girl was some kind of fucking Mother Teresa and the Gryffindors were very protective of their princess. Yoongi supposed that he should feel guilty for upsetting Y/n, but he didn’t. He felt guilty for disappointing Jin. 

Yoongi was just 8 years old when he moved in with Jin and his family. His grandmother, who had cared for Yoongi up to that point, had died after a heart attack. They had lived together in the wizarding village of Appleby. It was just the two of them, but their household was busy and joyful because of the family next door. The Kim’s. Yoongi and Kim Seokjin became best friends at a young age and it was if their families melded to accommodate the boys. They would play in Min’s living room and then run across the property to swing on the Kim’s swing set. Jin’s parents and Yoongi’s grandmother would also come and go into each others houses as they pleased, sharing stories and playing cards on the porch. It was as close to perfect as life can be. But, when Yoongi’s grandmother died, no other family was willing to claim guardianship of Yoongi. So, Yoongi moved in with the Kim’s and they became his legal guardians. At first, Yoongi thought that this was the best case scenario and, hopefully, not much would have to change. As he got older, he learned differently. He knew the Kim’s loved him like another son, but he was a financial burden that was difficult to support. They didn’t have the money to move, so he and Jin had to share a room and Yoongi had to watch another family move into the home he had shared with his grandmother. 

Yoongi didn’t know what would have happened to him had he not moved in with the Kim’s, but he did know that he would have been without a family and alone. Yoongi owes everything he has to Jin and his family. 

That’s why disappointing Jin in anyway made Yoongi feel guilty beyond belief.

Once they got to Hogwarts, Yoongi was placed in Slytherin and Jin in Gryffindor. They still remained best friends (if not brothers), but Yoongi found it difficult to make his own friends. He tried, but always found himself putting up walls and creating a distance between any new friendships. Relationships came easy to Jin, though, and Yoongi managed to make his only other friend, Hoseok, through Jin. He counted himself lucky to have the friends that he did, but still, a lot of the time he felt lonely. As if he was disconnected from the world around him.

Being separated from everyone except Jin and Hoseok made Yoongi weary and suspicious of strangers reaching out to him. 

That’s probably why I’m such a dick

His thoughts traveled to Y/n again as he reached the Slytherin portrait and muttered the password. He didn’t bother to try and socialize in the common room and headed straight for the stairs that led to the boys dormitory. Yoongi knew he would have to apologize to Jin for his behavior toward Y/n and ran a hand over his face as he thought about what to say to both Gryffindors.

I’ll figure it out in the morning.

~ ~ ~

The silence in the Great Hall broke with the sound of muffled curses and light footsteps. The ceiling of the dark hall showed a cloudy night sky. The four tables belonging to the individual houses guided the way to the only source of light in the room. A large goblet filled with white-blue flames. The disruption to the stillness came in the form of two sixth year students moving as silently as they could into the hall. Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung. The pair were whispering to each other in harsh tones. 

“I’m just saying, if you were taking potions she wouldn’t be stuck with that dick.” Taehyung whispered. Now that they were in the Great Hall completely, the boys walked side-by-side towards the glowing goblet in front of the head table.

“I’m not switching back! I had to badger McGonagall all summer so I could join Dark Arts Studies.” Jungkook whispered back. Dark Arts Studies was a new, controversial class added to the Hogwarts curriculum a few years back. It was only available to select students joining the Auror and Medic career fields. Because of the low amount of students in the class, it combined Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin students. Taking the class made it impossible for Jungkook to attend Gryffindor potions with the rest of his year, so he attended with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. “Plus, the way things are now, we get to be potions partners!”

“I know.” Taehyung conceded. “I’m just worried about her being around that guy.” The pair reached the goblet and stood together for a moment, staring up at blue flames. Taehyung looked over at Jungkook in the firelight. His face was lit up with light blue and his jaw was set in locked determination. The flames that flicked out towards the pair reflected in the younger boys eyes. Watching it was hypnotizing.

“Taehyung?” Taehyung flinched back and realized that Jungkook was speaking to him. “I asked if you had the parchment?”

“Oh, yeah,” He said, pulling a slip of paper out of his sweatshirt pocket. A name could be clearly seen written on the parchment.

Min Yoongi

“Last chance to back out” Jungkook offered quietly, meeting Taehyung’s eyes. Taehyung shook his head. 

“No. It’s what he deserves.” Taehyung smiled slightly, as if it was all a big joke. “What’s the worst that could happen really?” Jungkook smirked and shrugged his shoulders. Taehyung held the slip of paper out to the younger boy and Jungkook placed the tip of his wand on the paper.

“Deligantur” Jungkook whispered. The paper seemed to shimmer and give a slight wave before settling just as it was before.

“Are you sure this will work?” Taehyung asked, turning to look at the large goblet in front of them.

“It should.” Jungkook assured. “Ready?” Taehyung nodded and, without hesitation, reached forward and dropped the slip of paper into the goblet. The fire burst upward, forcing Taehyung to take a step back. The flames changed from blue to blood red. Then, after a few seconds, the fire returned to its normal state of white-blue, low flames.

“Congratulations, Min Yoongi.” Muttered Jungkook. “You are the Hogwarts Champion.”

[quietkite]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐬 | 𝟏

The Wattpad Version ➼ Lovely Little Liars                                                                Table of Contents 

𝗟𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀

Trigger Warnings:

Offensive Language, Mention of Death

Draco

He couldn't bear to look.

Lucius Malfoy stood on a podium with restraints on both his arms and legs. A heavy metal brace rested on his neck with a multitude of locks unable to be unlocked with just a simple 'alohomora'.

His mother was next to him with an emotionless look on her face, but she knew how to control her emotions. Her hands were locked with her son's, squeezing it with a mixture of fear, anxiety and comfort.

He couldn't tell if she was giving or wanting the comfort.

Draco could have almost been unrecognisable. His overly light blonde hair was a mess. He wore an oversized light grey shirt with long, pushed up sleeves. He had navy jeans that were ironed but slightly crushed up. He could have been Potter if he wanted to.

There were fifty people in stands looking down from their high spots. Draco stood by his mother on the side of the cold, and open, cobblestone courtyard where his father stood silently on his podium in the middle of it all.

Then out of nowhere, memories flooded his head, bad memories. It worsened by the second and Draco felt that he might have blacked out.

But it was time.

A dementor floated airily toward his father. Draco saw the anguish in his father's eyes. The defeat. The dementor didn't immediately suck out his father's soul like how the process of the dementor's kiss would normally go. His father turned his head to see his wife and son one last time. But the anguish in his father's eyes turned into hatred as he looked at Draco. He was able to get one word out before the dementor took his soul.

"Faggot."

The dementor took less than a minute to take the man's soul as Lucius's soulless body was dragged away after falling forwards with an eerie hollow-sounding thud.

That was when the tears flooded out. Draco didn't know if he was crying over his father's soul being permanently stripped away forever or that his last words were about his complete hatred for him. His mother took her hand from his and rubbed his back trying to soothe him. Draco knew how much this broke his mother too.

When they reached the elevators, Draco had composed himself enough. No matter how much his family was hated now, he couldn't show the pain. The Malfoys shouldn't show any more emotions than they already had shown. Too much emotion that is showcased to the world, meant the more damage that could be done to you from the world.

Narcissa then swiftly apparated them back to the Malfoy Manor silently.

Once there, his mother immediately requested to be alone as she slowly, yet gracefully, walked to her quarters, her black high heels clicking as she walked.

Draco's trials had happened the week before. He was spared for being underage when he took the mark. Someone defended him but they wore their hood hiding their identity. When Lucius's punishment had completely finished Draco had a faint glimpse of his defender's vibrant, emerald green eyes and round looking glasses as the Wizengamot members filed out as his defender attended Lucius's soul detachment. The mysterious person was a bit shorter than average, had tanned skin and wore muggle-looking shoes called running shoes. Draco could have guessed they were no older than seventeen or sixteen.

Although Draco didn't understand how the stranger had to much evidence to prove his innocence.

But alas, the stranger wasn't able to prove him to be completely innocent. He still had the dark mark.

As Draco wasn't going to Azkaban yet, they put him on probation instead.

He couldn't cast any offensive spells and hardly any of the ministry-approved spells were helpful to him. The ministry then made it so if Draco were to leave his home he would only be allowed twelve hours per day.

A loud bang sounded at the door making Draco visibly jump. Quickly running towards the door in case it was the ministry, he opened the door to see a person slightly shorter than him with raven coloured hair styled in a short, black bob, immediately attacking him with a strong bear hug. Not far back was another with long, dark brown hair that had a natural purple tint, smiling.

It was Pansy and Astoria.

Pansy and Astoria could have been counted as two of his actual best friends.

Pansy was his first friend that was a girl ever. They weren't ever going to marry as their families were already close enough to be family. She had admitted to liking him in the sixth year while they were in their seventh. But she got over that quickly. But to him, Pansy was always like his sister. She helped him in his darkest times and vice versa. They were quite close. They loved each other as actual siblings would. He would do anything for her.

Astoria was a bit of a different case. The two were mutual friends at first thanks to one of his other friends being Daphne Greengrass, Astoria's older sister. When Draco was in his seventh year and she was in her fifth, they were told they'd be wed one year after Astoria graduated from Hogwarts. Because Daphne had died a month after the war when her health was terrible from a blood curse which resurfaced in her and a critical hit while fighting in the war it caused the entire Greengrass family go through much grief. They still grieved, because family is one of the hardest lose.

"Dray, darling!",Pansy cried out as Draco hugged her, shocked about her and Astoria's sudden,unexpected arrival.

"W-what are you two doing here?",Draco asked confusedly.

Pansy shot Astoria a look of confusion and worry. Astoria crept up closer towards the doorway.

"Did you not receive the letter?",Pansy replied with a clear sense of agitation and worry lining her voice.

"Maybe it would be better if we talked inside.",Astoria stated, pointing inside the manor.

Draco quickly looked backwards inside his house to see if his mother was still in her room before answering,"Of course, although we ran out of tea and won't be able to get anymore for a while without our house elves for the year."

Pansy gave a firm, but compassionate nod while Astoria gave him another smile.

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"I am so sorry we weren't there for you today, we—",Pansy started before Draco cut her off.

"It's okay. I'm fine now. But what is this about a letter?",Draco asked, quickly changing the subject.

Pansy eyed him, searching for clues to see how Draco wasn't fine at all, before answering Draco's question.

"I was in my Manor reading when an owl flew in with a letter. As you know our owls normally went straight to our parents unless it was a friend our parents approved of. But the stamp was none of the pureblood crests. It...it was from Hogwarts. They requested that we were to come to Hogwarts for a reunion and some news. And this was only sent to those in our year. But I-we, came here to ask if you were coming to the reunion."

Draco was shocked.

A reunion?

How come he was never owled?

"Do you know who else is coming? Slytherins I mean."

"Well, Goyle...he committed suicide after Crabbe died. Theo gave me a maybe though it was pretty unclear, Blaise hasn't answered any of mine or Astoria's owls. But I do know that I'm going, although Astoria is only in her sixth year meaning she can't go. That bitch, Millicent is dead thank Morgana. But I heard a rumour that Tracey was going to come after she was proven innocent by the ministry."

Draco stiffened at the thought of Tracey. None of his friends were ever fond of her and Millicent, for reasons nobody wanted to nor was ready to discuss.

"I will go only since you will be going and because Astoria cannot go with you. When did the letter say the reunion was?"

"In two days time I believe."

"Merlin. Okay, I will have to let mother know then. Have either of you two seen Theo or Blaise since the war?"

"I haven't seen the two but Pansy and I have only owled Theo once if that counts and his response was only one word. But we're not exactly sure if he will go to the reunion. And we haven't heard a word from Blaise since then. He just disappeared off the radar.",Astoria piped up. She was almost always with Pansy and always thought of her as second older sister. Especially since Daphne's death.

"How is your mother doing right now Dray? Je me sens comme un idiote de ne pas demander!"

"She's....fine...",Draco remarked doubtfully, looking backwards at the kilometre long hallway filled with the moving portraits of the past Malfoys.

"She's that bad? Merlin!",Pansy replied a gasp, shaking her head with pity.

Astoria discreetly nudged the young woman as she realised what time it was. At least half an hour had passed.

"Merde. Sorry to cut our time short Dray dear but I promised Astoria we'd go somewhere for a bit as she can't apparate on her own yet. Oh! Mcgonagall also stated that she wanted us there a day earlier. I can apparate us to the train station."

"It's completely fine. I should be available then. I'll have to let mother know now."

Astoria gave Draco a smile as Pansy gave him one last tight, warm hug before Pansy apparated the two young women to wherever they had made plans to go.

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When the two girls were gone Draco let out a heavy sigh.

He trudged to his paren— his mother's room to check on her. Lucius's death took quite a toll on her. He didn't know what could happen to her if he left her alone for only two days.

Draco opened the door as the only sound made was a squeak from the door opening. Narcissa laid in her bed upright with a tiny, dark green book in her hands, silently flipping the page, a small frown etched onto her face.

"Mother..?"

"D-Draco!",Narcissa jumped,"I didn't hear you come in! Did you need something? Is it already supper? I can make you some food if your—"

"No no mother. It's just that Pansy and Astoria came over a small while ago and informed me of something."

"Oh those two darlings, what was it that happened dear?"

"Er— They told me that all of the seventh years from last year were invited to a reunion. I have already confirmed with Pansy on my attendance to the meet. But was part of the ministry's prohibition not giving us our letters? I only just found out about the reunion from Pansy today. But more importantly, will you be okay alone? It should only last two days, but I'll have to leave tomorrow."

"I should be fine by myself Draco. I am not that weak to become dysfunctional over one man's death. Although I will contact my lawyer about the owls. You should go start packing. Your old school trunk is in your sixth closet."

Draco smiled at his mother, who's stance straightened up, as he left the door with a squeak when he closed the door slowly.

Once the door was closed completely, Draco walked quickly to his own room and slammed the door shut as he slid down the door, his long legs sprawled out

He took a long deep breathe as he smiled some tears falling down.

"I wonder if Potter will be there."

Table of Contents 

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[softly-savage-mint-yoongi]

Warning: mentions of suicide, but happiness too.

Right before I go to sleep on December 3rd on the East Coast of the US, I will try not to become ridden with unspoken words of things I want to say, and the anxiety of staying silent until tomorrow. So, here are my thoughts.

This post may appear sad or ambiguous but it is in fact a happy and thankful one. Right now, it is 1100 on Friday, December 4th in South Korea. It is Kim Seokjin's birthday.

95% of you do not know, and for years I have stayed relatively quiet or celebrated the monumental day alone and without touching on the details. While Yoongi may be my muse and namesake, let me be clear that I hold all members of BTS near and dear. However, my personal hidden gem is Kim Seokjin.

In 2018, I had many thoughts of suicide, or nearly worse, thoughts of the black, soundless and inescapable nothing that I am sure comes therafter. We won't touch on why because that isn't why I am writing this.

BTS has always been my serotonin boost. Watching their music videos, run episodes, or just anything where they're goofing off and being themselves, was always the light in my darkness. Hearing their voices just talking was calming. Jin, in particular, has and always will be the one who I feel has the most genuine love for Army (not to discredit how much the others love us, too!). He is the fake maknae, but he is the one you get an odd sense of wisdom and awareness from. Almost magical, as if he were in on the secrets of universe (think Magnus Bane without the theatrics). He is the one who I trust the most, and whose love I feel most completely. He is the one that made me start drawing portraits as well.

On August 9th, 2018, BTS ushered in the end of the Love Yourself series with his solo song, the affectionately nicknamed Jintro of the Love Yorself: Answer album, "Epiphany".

That was the day I realized I had fallen out of love with my life and my husband and the world. The black and white video seemed so natural to me and I cried the hardest I probably ever have in my life that day, I am not kidding. That kind of grief and anger and sadness and pain and... relief and adrenaline and courage. Everything about it was like a spell made just for me to break away from the life I had been living. With perfect clarity I remember that was the turning point, so I decided to change it and begin anew.

On October 6th, 2018, I took my best friend to Citi Field in New York City to watch BTS perform at such a historical stage of 40 thousand for the first time ever, completely sold out.

And then, when a black piano rose from beneath the stage and Jin played those first notes I was... everything all at once. I was the heat of the purple ocean and the sound of the piano and the beating heart of every person in that arena all at the same time. Tears streamed down my face listening to him sing it live and to hear Army singing the chorus right along with him was something I will never, ever forget. I have never felt more electrified and alive.

If I could have, cramped between a sea of purple bombs, I would have gotten on my knees and thanked him from the bottom of my very soul. To this day, I owe my life to Bangtan Sonyeondan, and I owe having the courage and strength to change it for the better to Kim Seokjin. So much so that on his birthday in 2018, I got a tattoo of his song, proudly and permanently and lovingly around my arm, right where I can see it and hear it in my head.

Two years later, I am still here because of them. Yes, I am here because of seven, but especially because of Kim Seokjin.

So on this day every year, I get down on my knees and I listen to Epiphany and I sob and I feel alive and I am thankful to him. I wish him nothing but happiness.

On this birthday in particular I will try to do something a bit more special, since he has asked to see what fans have prepared for him. Because, with the release of Abyss, which is beautiful, I can understand his sadness and I want nothing more than to do for him what he has done for me.

Truly, beautifully and lovingly, I wish you the very best on this birthday, our Jin. ❤

[letterboxd]

Under the Stars.

On the UK release of Harry Macqueen’s tender Supernova, the writer-director talks to Ella Kemp about timeless love stories, his favorite screen lovers and working with best buds Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci.

Love is patient and love is kind in Supernova, Harry Macqueen’s tender story of marriage, memory and maps. It’s an autumnal study of a mature, rock-solid love and the unfair illness that threatens to undo it. We’ve seen stories about gay lovers that end in tragedy before, but this one is different: a sense of security and trust infuses the final holiday of husbands Sam and Tusker, as they come to terms with Tusker’s recent diagnosis of early-onset dementia.

Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci play the couple—a pairing written in the stars, since the actors have been best friends for twenty years—who are traveling England in an RV, visiting places and people they have loved. Sam is a pianist, Tusker a star-gazing novelist. Together, they mine emotions that manifest in everyday care rather than grand, theatrical gestures. Julien describes Supernova as “a marvel of tiny moments that feel so real they register like bullet wounds,” while Lola feels the destabilizing power of these lovers. “I love love,” she writes, “but love is painful, beautiful, heart wrenching, frightening and forever.”

Supernova is the second feature from Macqueen as a writer and director after 2015’s Hinterland, in which he starred opposite Lori Campbell in a contemporary, rural tale of a companionship that spans decades. A London-trained actor, he made his debut in the under-seen Richard Linklater film, Me and Orson Welles. On Supernova, however, Macqueen remains firmly behind the camera.

The filmmaker opened up about the stars in the sky, the ones on our screens, intimacy, pride and more for his Life in Film questionnaire.

Harry Macqueen on location with Colin Firth for ‘Supernova’.

What do you think the connection is between stars—the celestial kind—and lovers? Harry Macqueen: Historically, we’ve always found the cosmos to be both perplexing and inspiring. I suppose there’s a kind of infinite beauty in space that is definitely related to love, and especially for a character like Tusker, who is contemplating his mortality. He’s looking up at the stars and thinking about what they mean, and what he means in that context, and it seemed like something that would be a natural thing to do if you were in that situation.

In terms of the other kind of stars—your incredible actors Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci—how did you find the right people to bring Sam and Tusker’s love to life? I think that what they do in the film is very surprising, in a way that’s beautiful and delicate. But it was also one of the easiest casting processes of any film, ever. Stanley was the first person we sent the script to and he read it very quickly and responded to it in the way that you hope that people will. We were really interested in one of the characters being not British—we felt there was something potentially quite stuffy about having two Brits bumbling around the countryside, so another culture would add a bit of a different energy to it.

Stanley loved the script and we got on really well. I really wanted, hopefully, to get two actors who knew each other and had a shared history for these intimate roles. And he said, “I don’t know whether you know, but my best mate is Colin, and I could get the script to him.” I obviously said yes and he said, “Okay, well, I already have, and he loves it and he wants to meet you.” So it was all a bit of a dream!

Let’s talk about the inception of the script. Supernova is obviously a story about love, but it’s about illness and death and mortality and all of these things, which feels significant in terms of it being a gay love story. A lot of queer love stories in cinema are tragic, but also are often very specifically reckless and youthful, and don’t really linger on this later chapter in life. How early did you know, then, that this film would be about two men? If you’re talking about early-onset dementia, you’re naturally talking about people in their fifties or sixties, so I knew that I was always going to tell a story about romantic love of some kind in that part of your life. I had done a lot of research around that, and I realized I had never worked with a same-sex couple. All the couples and families that I’d worked with, the central relationship had been a heterosexual one. So my initial reaction was to write that story, but then I countered that really quickly and wanted to challenge why that was my initial inkling.

I just thought, I’m writing about really universal themes—love and death and life and trust and companionship—and it seems to me that no one sexual orientation or gender has a monopoly on those things.

And you’re right, LGBTQ+ cinema over the years, quite often for very, very important and understandable reasons, has been about that period of flux, transitioning or coming out, the moment of becoming your true self at a certain time of life, when you’re usually quite young. And that is quite fraught, frantic and a bit grimy sometimes. So I was aware that there was a gap in cinema to present a love story about two people of the same sex who were in this stage of life. That romantic, mature love we don’t talk about very often.

The film also aspires to be the type of story in this type of community that I hope that I live in, even if perhaps I don’t—to tell a story in which the sexuality of the characters isn’t mentioned. It’s just accepted, embraced and loved. The sexuality of the characters doesn’t impact the story or inform anything, it’s just their lived experience in the world. I’m really proud that we did that, because I genuinely think, in its own tiny way, it’s a revelation.

Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci navigate love and illness in the Lake District.

This film, materially and aesthetically, is beautiful. The landscapes, the actors, Sam and Tusker’s knitwear. How did you navigate the balance between creating this very cozy world that also understands heartbreak and decay as potent things? What I want to try and do in films generally is wrap an audience up in an intimate world between two people, and hopefully allow the audience to fall in love with those people. That shared history they have meant that all of these things felt quite organic. They’ve got some money, but they’re in a camper van, they’re not loaded. They’re reasonably creatively successful, but they’re not famous, necessarily. They’re just two guys trying to live under quite extreme conditions.

The intimacy in the film is really, really important to me. What degree of romantic intimacy these characters have, how you film that, and how you plonk an audience in there. Because you don’t want to make a dirge—the film is life-affirming because they love each other so much, and because of that, it’s also devastating.

So that informs every choice you make stylistically. It’s quiet, and it’s patient, and it felt like exactly the right way to tell this story, to not intrude on this beautiful relationship, to not impose anything on it, to be very simple, really—which, as I’m sure you know, it’s not simple!

I know that kind of filmmaking is not to everyone’s taste, that avoidance of melodrama, that lightness of touch. I find it beautiful, but others probably don’t.

Gordon Warnecke and Daniel Day-Lewis in ‘My Beautiful Laundrette’ (1985).

Now, a few Life in Film questions. Who are your favorite gay lovers on-screen? Carol and Therese in Carol, Russell and Glen in Weekend, Marianne and Héloïse in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Johnny and Omar in My Beautiful Laundrette.

What is your favorite timeless love story? This is so difficult! Maybe Alice in the Cities, Wendy and Lucy or the Before... trilogy.

What is the best film about pride, the definition of which is very much open to interpretation? Jiro Dreams of Sushi—a brilliant film about having pride in your craft.

What should we watch after Supernova? I tend to be a bit controversial and say the couple from Amour by Michael Haneke. Or maybe Life of Brian, or a Studio Ghibli film—but definitely not Grave of the Fireflies.

What was the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? I’m not certain there is a specific one, but there are films you encounter all the time that make you want to be a filmmaker all over again. The two films that made me think it might actually be possible were Old Joy and Katalin Varga—they inspired me before I had any budget or experience. But it could also be any Yasujirō Ozu film, or Taste of Cherry by Abbas Kiarostami. All very inspiring in their own way.

Related content

Queer Love and Desire: a list by the Criterion Channel

The Pride of Sundance: 400 LGBTQ+ films to watch this June, curated by the Sundance Film Festival

101 Must-See Movies for Lesbians: Jenni Olson’s list (including Carol)

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

‘Supernova’ is in UK theaters now, and available to stream on Hulu, or rent/buy from other VOD services in the US.

[takingcourage]

Strangers on a Train

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 1,850

Note: No murderers or psychopaths here -- just some goofy fun with my favorite mind reader. It’s also woefully unpolished, so please forgive any mistakes that may appear. Real life has conspired against my writing efforts lately. 

This piece was written for day 16 of the July Choices Challenge (Journey). Thanks to @julychoiceschallenge​ for the prompt and @krishu213 for the request! : ) 

That woman looks kinda familiar. Is she on something I watched on TV lately?

Drawing a staccato breath, Arden raised a hand to her cheek to make sure the wig was still secured. The long wavy locks tickled her ear with the movement, but they remained in place. While her hand was raised, she pushed the horn rimmed glasses back up the bridge of her nose, pausing at the tip as her finger slid down. 

They'd left the house less than an hour ago. Had they already been discovered? Surely not yet. How pathetic.

She cast her eye in the direction of the voice, careful to train her focus on the shifting advertisements on the screen behind. The man she’d overheard was turned the opposite way, his own interest given fully to a blond woman making her way toward the stairs.

Phew. 

"Here," Jaime interrupted, passing the slick rectangle of paper into her palm.

"Thank you," Arden answered after a beat, hoping that the Southern drawl sounded more natural to other ears than it did to her own.

He raised a brow. Sure you wanna keep this up?

Arden's chin jutted forward a fraction of an inch as she skimmed information on the ticket once more. The journey was only fourteen hours long. Most of that time, they'd be sleeping. Once Cassidy picked them up from the station in the morning, they'd be back to their normal selves.

You're right. Stupid question, Jaime amended as he shuffled closer. 

She caught the sleeve of his jacket with a small smile. “I may not get any sleep. I have a mind to stay up and look out the window all night.” 

Jaime chuckled as he slipped his fingers between hers. “We’ll see. Once we start moving, you may be lulled to sleep.” 

“Maybe,” she wavered skeptically, glancing back down at the ticket in her other hand. Compared to the joy of traveling, sleep just didn’t seem very important. 

As was the case with so many of their schemes over the years, this whole situation had begun with such an innocent start. Jaime had been the one to suggest that they turn the trip for Chris and Meta's wedding into a weekend excursion. She'd latched onto the idea, especially after realizing how easy it would be to make the journey by train. 

From there, the plan had just sort of run away with her. The thought of reminiscing with her college friends had made her realize how much she’d changed in the years since she’d dropped out of school. Thinking about those changes led her to wonder what it would be like to assume another identity for a few hours.

Her persona had to be something fun -- something that would make her completely unrecognizable. Posing as an odor tester from Georgia was the perfect challenge to keep the trip interesting. She’d be able to shed the disguise well before the wedding festivities began, and none of the other passengers would ever be the wiser about having sat across the car from one of Northbridge’s rising celebrities. 

Sucking a small breath as she handed off her ticket and ID, she let it out again slowly when she was given approval without incident. It was a good thing her license picture was from so many years ago. Age and a haircut had done a lot to change her features in the meantime, leaving her with a portrait that looked as unlike her normal appearance as it did today’s variation. 

Smothering a giggle in her coat collar, Arden stepped up into the car and peered down its length. She shuffled forward in the narrow aisle, swinging her tote back in a gentle arc toward her stomach. It had been months since she’d been in a crowd of this size without feeling positive that someone would recognize her sooner or later. While she didn’t begrudge the loss of her anonymity, there was something novel about being an unknown entity again. 

A gasp broke through her thoughts, followed by a quiet curse that no one else heard. Impulse turned her head toward the middle-aged traveler behind her. 

It’s all down my shirt! I can’t believe I did that. I can’t show up at Pat’s tomorrow with tea stains!

"Oh, bless your heart,” Arden cried softly, meeting the man’s light blue eyes. “Do you reckon we can find some towels over yonder?” 

Jaime had already released her fingers and was making his way toward the nearest lavatory. His thoughts carried over his shoulder as he traveled. Good grief, Arden. You can pull off an accent and a wig, but you can't pass as eighty. 

She channeled her laughter into a sympathetic smile that was just a bit too high up on one side. Surveying the situation before her, she commented, “Oh, those lids ain’t worth a lick, are they? They’re just no good at all. Always leaking and making a mess.” 

The tea-stained passenger regarded her curiously before repeating his attempt to snap the lid back into place. “I’d have to agree,” he said finally, motioning to his saturated polo. 

“Here,” Jaime passed a small pile of paper towels over her shoulder. The man accepted them with a grateful nod and began dabbing at the affected fabric. 

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, sir!” Arden called as she followed her husband further down the car. 

“So much for keeping your head down,” Jaime mumbled, more to himself than to her as they settled into their seats. 

“What’s the point of doing this if I can’t interact with people? I want to see what the world is like through another perspective.” Straightening in her seat before her impassioned whisper could draw too much attention, she glanced up to smile at those who were still boarding. 

“You’re going to be doing this all night, aren’t you?” 

She tittered at his fond accusation and reached into the tote for her book. “Tomorrow too.”  

_____

“Hi, I’m Elizabeth.” 

Though she’d practiced giving her middle name, the syllables still seemed to clutter her tongue. Compared to what she was used to, it was much too long and unwieldy to feel natural. 

“Gina.” The young woman across the table smiled eagerly, though Arden could sense the tinge of discomfort as they slid into the opposite side of the booth. 

“Nice to meet you, Gina. I’m Jaime. Sure you don’t mind us joining you for dinner?” 

Her head started bobbing from side to side. “No! Not at all.” 

“Thanks.” Arden tilted the menu up to read the contents. “Is this your first time taking the train?”

Gina leaned forward to answer. “No, I use it to go home for most college breaks. It’s a little old fashioned, but I love it,” she admitted with a faint blush. “This is my first time going home since the start of the semester.” I hope my parents are getting along this time. 

Arden had to bite her cheek to avoid reacting to the stray thought. Brightening, she lowered her menu to look Gina full in the face. “Any tips for first-time travelers?”

They fell into easy conversation, trading thoughts on every topic from Gina’s school to Jaime’s latest projects around the city. Eventually, talk drifted to Arden’s assumed profession. Her delight at getting to show off her research mingled with the risk of making a misstep. 

“What’s your favorite smell?” Gina questioned with unfeigned interest.

“Hmm,” Arden pondered, settling the fork back onto her pile of rice pilaf. “My favorite category is woody scents.” 

Jaime nudged her with a discreet elbow as she elaborated. Is this Arden speaking or Elizabeth?

She warmed at the question, grateful she was sitting close enough to make out the traces of cedar and pine embedded in the denim of his jacket. But as appealing as her husband was, she wanted to know more about the young woman sitting across from them. 

“What did you say you were studying?”

“Molecular biology!” The woman’s thoughts started bouncing off one another like heating atoms. 

Arden couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since the last time someone had asked about it with genuine interest. She took another bite of her roasted chicken to show that Gina was free to continue talking. 

“I just submitted a proposal for my capstone. It’s about the...” she chattered excitedly, using words that threw Arden back to long afternoons of sitting through Chemistry 101. Even so, she was grateful when Jaime’s insightful series of questions kept Gina talking through the end of their meal. 

“I’ve got a ton of reading to get through this weekend,” she explained after their dishes had been cleared away, ”but it’s been so fun talking. See you for breakfast in the morning?” 

“Definitely,” Arden confirmed before the other woman returned to her seat.

“You make friends everywhere, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes at Jaime’s undertone and gathered her tote bag. “Like you have room to talk. You’re friends with everybody.” 

“Almost everybody,” he corrected. I’m pretty sure I still owe Alec Burdock a talking to. 

Try as she might, Arden couldn’t contain her laughter as she followed him out of the dining car. 

_____

Toothbrush in one hand, Arden used the other to raise a grateful wave toward the train attendant. “Thank you! Goodnight.” 

Snapping the sliding door shut behind her, she turned into the roomette to face Jaime. Already changed into his pajamas, he held out a hand to welcome her into the bed. 

“Are you Arden again?”

With a nod, she reached up to peel the wig away from her forehead. The fake hair hadn’t been uncomfortable, but it was still an incredible relief to strip away the excess layer and feel the cool air at her hairline. 

“Let me help,” Jaime offered as the back caught on the hair at her neck. His steady hands made short work of the tangle, and he passed her the full wig within moments. 

“Thanks.” She smoothed out the strands before placing it carefully on an overhead shelf. Lowering back to the mattress, she reached behind her to unzip the top of her dress. His fingers were there to replace her own within moments. “You’re very accommodating,” she praised while pulling the garment over her head. 

“Of course.” 

“And you were right about me sleeping,” she disclosed, tugging her pajama shorts up around her hips. “I’m exhausted.” 

Jaime simply nodded and welcomed her down onto the makeshift mattress after she turned out the light. She curled close, breathing a tranquil sigh when his arm encircled her waist. 

“Arden,” he breathed into her temple, hardly audible above the ambient sounds of the rails beneath them. "I'm glad you're you."

“Me too,” she whispered, her knuckles idly trailing the dusty line of stubble at his jaw. Snuggling into his side, she reflected on the day’s events. 

Tonight had been fun, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to the morning as well. Yet, the charms of her own life outweighed those of any other. She’d never trade it for anything.