#gym rubber tile flooring

[ashmitaenterprises]

The Best Gym Flooring in Gurgaon

Looking for the best quality Gym Flooring in Gurgaon, Noida, or Delhi? Look no further than Ashmita Enterprises. Our expert team manufactures durable and stylish flooring solutions, renowned for their long-lasting performance, reliability, shock absorption, cushioning, and safety features. Available in various thicknesses, designs, dimensions, and colors, our flooring meets the diverse needs of our clients. As one of the leading gym flooring manufacturers in Delhi, we ensure our products endure even the harshest conditions, helping us foster strong, lasting relationships with our customers. With a focus on strict quality control and incorporating client feedback, we continuously update and improve our offerings.

[unitedflooring]

How to Choose the Right Thickness for Your Gym Flooring?

Introduction

Choosing the right thickness for your gym flooring is crucial to creating a safe, comfortable, and functional workout environment. Whether you’re setting up a home gym, a professional fitness studio, or a multi-purpose sports facility, the thickness of your gym flooring can make a significant difference in performance and safety. Here’s a guide to help you navigate the various gym flooring options and find the best gym flooring for your needs.

Understanding Gym Flooring Options

When it comes to gym flooring, there are several materials to choose from, each offering different benefits in terms of thickness, durability, and impact absorption. Here are some common gym flooring options:

Rubber Flooring: Known for its durability and shock absorption, rubber flooring is a popular choice for both home and commercial gyms. It comes in various thicknesses, typically ranging from 1/4 inch to 1 inch, making it versatile for different types of workouts.

Foam Flooring: Foam mats are excellent for areas dedicated to yoga, Pilates, or stretching. They are softer and provide excellent cushioning, usually available in thicknesses from 3/8 inch to 3/4 inch.

Vinyl Flooring: Vinyl flooring offers a balance of durability and ease of maintenance. It’s often used in multipurpose areas where various activities take place. The thickness for vinyl flooring generally ranges from 2mm to 8mm.

Carpet Tiles: For a more comfortable and aesthetically pleasing option, carpet tiles are often used in cardio and weight areas. They usually come in thicknesses from 1/4 inch to 1/2 inch.

Best Gym Flooring: Thickness Considerations

Choosing the best gym flooring involves more than just picking a material. The thickness of the flooring plays a vital role in providing the right level of support and protection. Here’s how to determine the right thickness based on your gym’s activities:

Light Exercise and Cardio: For areas primarily used for cardio machines or light exercise, a thinner flooring option is typically sufficient. Rubber flooring or foam mats with a thickness of 1/4 inch to 3/8 inch can provide adequate support and cushioning.

Weightlifting and High-Impact Activities: If your gym will host weightlifting or high-impact exercises like CrossFit, you’ll need thicker flooring to absorb the shock and protect both the subfloor and the equipment. Rubber flooring with a thickness of at least 1/2 inch to 3/4 inch is recommended.

Multipurpose Areas: For spaces that will be used for a variety of activities, including yoga, aerobics, and martial arts, a medium thickness is ideal. Foam or rubber flooring with a thickness of 3/8 inch to 1/2 inch provides a good balance of comfort and durability.

Home Gyms: In a home gym, you might have a mix of equipment and activities. Consider rubber flooring with a thickness of 3/8 inch to 1/2 inch for versatility, ensuring it can handle both cardio equipment and weightlifting.

Additional Tips for Choosing the Right Thickness

Consider Foot Traffic: High-traffic areas may require thicker, more durable flooring to withstand constant use.

Evaluate Subfloor Condition: If the subfloor is uneven or prone to moisture, choose a thicker, moisture-resistant option like rubber to provide better stability and protection.

Budget: Thicker flooring options can be more expensive, so balance your budget with the need for durability and protection.

Conclusion

Choosing the right thickness for your gym flooring is essential for creating a safe, comfortable, and efficient workout environment. By understanding the various gym flooring options and considering the specific needs of your activities, you can select the best gym flooring that provides the right balance of support, durability, and comfort. Whether it’s for a home gym, a professional fitness center, or a multi-purpose facility, the right flooring thickness can make all the difference in enhancing your workout experience.

[shreeramrubberflooring]

Shree Ram - Highly durable rubber flooring tiles & rolls.

[acousticandflooring]

No:1 Rubber Flooring Suppliers in UAE: Top Surface UAE

Top Surface UAE is the No:1 Rubber flooring supplier in UAE and GCC. We provide high-quality products at low and affordable rates. We are the Rubber matting, Rubber tiles, and rubber rolls providers collaborating with the best cooperatives in the market. Providing high-quality products at affordable rates we provide the best services to the customers. Top Surface UAE supplies Rubber flooring in Saudi Arabia(KSA), Kuwait, Oman, Africa, and Bahrain.

High-quality Rubber rolls, Rubber Tiles, and Rubber matting: Top surface UAE

Rubber has become a staple material in various industries, especially when it comes to flooring solutions. In the UAE, one name stands out as a leader in providing high-quality rubber rolls, tiles, and matting – Top Surface UAE. Let's delve into the world of these versatile rubber surfaces that offer durability, safety, and aesthetic appeal.

At the core of Top Surface UAE's offerings are high-quality rubber rolls, tiles, and matting. These specialized flooring solutions are crafted to meet the demands of durability, safety, and comfort across diverse environments.

Rubber is revolutionizing flooring solutions, and in the UAE, Top Surface leads the way in providing high-quality rubber rolls, tiles, and matting. From industrial resilience to residential comfort, these rubber surfaces offer durability, safety, and easy maintenance. High-quality rubber rolls, tiles, and matting are specialized flooring solutions crafted for durability, safety, and comfort in various environments.

Why Top Surface Rubber Flooring is the Best in Dubai, UAE?

Top Surface Rubber Flooring stands out as the premier choice for quality flooring. Renowned for its exceptional durability and longevity, this flooring option is a testament to modern design and functionality. Its safety features, including slip-resistant surfaces, ensure a secure environment in high-traffic areas, making it an ideal choice for commercial spaces, residential settings, and industrial facilities alike. What sets Top Surface Rubber Flooring apart is not only its practical benefits but also its versatility in applications, offering a seamless blend of style and substance. As a trusted provider in the UAE, Top Surface's commitment to high-quality materials, innovative designs, and sustainable practices solidifies its position as the best choice for flooring in Dubai. From customer testimonials endorsing positive experiences to real-world applications showcasing its efficacy, Top Surface Rubber Flooring has earned its reputation as the go-to solution for those seeking a flooring option that transcends expectations. Explore the range of products from Top Surface UAE and elevate your spaces with flooring that combines durability, safety, and aesthetic appeal.

[iwillbe-healthy]

Multiuse - Traditional Home Gym Mid-sized elegant multiuse home gym photo

[very-crofty]

Gym - Contemporary Home Gym Example of a small, modern, multipurpose home gym with blue walls and a black floor.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Let Me Keep You Safe

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, mentions of child sexual abuse, flashbacks, panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, some explicit language Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: When Emily works a case that hits a little too close to home–a little too close to you–she has a hard time keeping her emotions in check. Takes place during S3.E5.

Your heart beat rapidly, desperately, as Emily pressed her lips into yours, hands roving over your body, the weight of her on top of you giving you just the right amount of resistance as you pushed your hips against her.

You moaned into her mouth and she grinned, grabbing your face and kissing you more, deeper, harder, until you could barely breathe.

You snaked one of your hands down the waistband of her shorts, and she grabbed your wrist.

"Nope," she said, smiling, snatching up both your hands and holding your wrists together with one of hers. "Not this time," she said, kissing each of your knuckles. "This time, I take care of you and you..." You gasped as she slammed your wrists above your head, pinning them in place. "You stay still for me."

The moment your hands hit the bed above your head, it was like you'd been transported to another dimension, into a nightmare. You blinked rapidly, looking around, the layers of the world around you like a Viewfinder caught between slides. Emily's room, then the elementary school gym equipment closet. You coughed, feeling bile rise in your throat. You could smell the stale sweat, the rubber of the basketballs, the Juicy Fruit in the gym coach's mouth as he leered over you. You felt the gym mat–such a poor barrier between you and the hard tile floor–at your back, the coach's rough hands, huge against your tiny wrists, pinning your hands in place above your head. He sat on your legs as you tried to squirm away, shaking, tears leaking down your face as he roughly pulled down your shorts.

"Stop!" you yelled. "Stopstopstopstop."

In one layer of your brain, you saw Emily release your hands immediately, sitting up and holding them away from you, a concerned look on her face.

You breathed heavily and sat up, pulling your knees to your chest.

"What's wrong?" Emily asked gently, looking you over frantically. "Did I hurt you?"

You covered your ears with your hands, rocking back and forth.

"Y/N," Emily prompted, growing more concerned by the second. "Talk to me."

Your head shot up, looking wildly about the room.

"I gotta go home," you said, still rocking.

"What!?"

"I have to leave," you insisted, hyperventilating. "I have to– I have to go. Right now. I have to go, I have to leave."

Emily placed a cautious hand on your shoulder. "I'm not gonna let you leave, Y/N. You're clearly not okay."

You grew more and more distressed, your breathing haphazard and tears forming in your eyes

"Shit!" you yelled, slamming your fist into your head.

Emily grabbed your hands tightly in hers, deeply alarmed.

"Hey!" Her voice was forceful, worried. "What the hell is going on!?"

You started to shake, and Emily noticed that your pupils had dilated wildly.

"I can't–" you stuttered. "I- I have to leave. I don't- I don't want you to– see."

There was a moment then that Emily would remember vividly for the rest of her life. It was the moment that she got it. The way you hugged your arms around your body. The way you recoiled from her touch, and covered your head protectively with your hands, nearly in a fetal position. She'd remember later the way her stomach sank, the way her heart felt as if it had burst open and bled out. It was the moment she realized that something bad had happened to you. Something violating, something awful, something so horrific it would never let you go.

She inched closer to you, careful not to touch you. "Is it a panic attack or a flashback?" she whispered.

"F-flashback," you answered, shaky. "I h-haven't had one in a l-long time."

"Okay," Emily nodded, her voice soft and kind. "What can I do to help you?"

You looked at her then, your eyes huge, a tear streaking down your face. "Can you j-just h-hold me? Really t-tight? It'll get w-worse. I just have to r-ride it– out. I'm s-sorry, Em. I–" Your voice cracked, and you turned away.

"Shh," Emily cooed, pulling you close, wrapping her arms tightly around you. She pressed your head into her chest, a gentle hand on the side of your face. "It's okay," she whispered, kissing the top of your head. "I'm right here, baby." She ran her fingers through your hair, the rhythm soothing you a bit. "I'm right here."

The worst moments of your life played in your mind as if from a 4D projector, surrounding you with the smells, the sights, the tactile disgust of his hands on you, his body against yours.

You screamed, but your voice was muffled, as if it was stuck in your throat and only the echo of a scream could get out. You grasped tufts of your hair, pulling tightly.

Emily took your hands and placed them gently under her arms, so that they were stuck in her tight grip around your body.

"It's not real anymore," she whispered, for you and for herself. "Y/N, I'm right here." Her voice broke, and she looked at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry, not right now. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Do you hear me? I love you. You're safe. You're safe with me."

After a few minutes, the horror film in your mind came to a close. Your body shook, spent from the adrenaline rush. Panic took an incredible toll on the body.

After a moment, you pulled away from Emily, burying your head in your hands. "I'm sorry, Em," you said, voice rough. "I'm so sorry."

Emily caressed the side of your face. "Honey, look at me."

"I can't," you whispered, your voice small, like a terrified child's. "We can break up if you want to. I'll understand."

Emily held your face in her hands, tilting her head down to meet your eyes. "Oh, honey, I don't want that at all. I love you. It's gonna be okay."

You let her run her thumb back and forth along your cheekbone for a few minutes, letting your heartbeat and breathing match the rhythm.

After a while, Emily ventured a question, one she was terrified to ask. "Was it something I did?" Her voice was so quiet you almost didn't hear her.

You exhaled deeply, taking her hand in yours and rubbing circles into her palm.

"The man who hurt me," you started, letting out a shaky breath. "When he held me down, he..." You hated to tell her, but she needed to know. She needed to know it all. "He pinned my hands above my head."

Emily pressed her hand over her mouth, a look of abject horror on her face.

"Y/N," she breathed, her face wracked with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I–" Her voice broke, and a few tears slid down her cheeks.

You were quick to reassure her. "It's okay," you said. "You didn't know. How would you have known?"

"Still," she said, her brows furrowed, dashing tears from under her eyes. "I should have asked first. I should have–"

"I probably would've told you to go for it," you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't think about it until..."

The silence between you was heavy, with your shame, with Emily's guilt and heartbreak.

Emily looked awful, like she'd never forgive herself. "Emily," you said, pressing your body into hers and wrapping your arms around her waist. "It's okay, I promise. I'm okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I hurt you," she whispered, beating herself up.

You placed your hands on your face, your arms, your chest, as if checking for injuries. "Mm, I don't feel hurt."

"You know what I mean."

You lay down in the bed, beckoning Emily to you. She reluctantly obliged, pulling you into her so that you were snuggled into the crook of her neck, her fingers tracing back and forth over your arm.

"I'm okay, Emily," you assured her.

"No, you're not." Her voice was still thick with sadness.

It was in your nature to be bright, to try and combat the dark things with laughter and beauty. You'd had so much darkness in your life, so much hurt, that the only way through it was to seek out the bright spots, to avoid the dark ones. But sometimes the dark spots couldn't be avoided.

"I'm not, but I am," you tried to explain, then sighed. "I'll call my therapist in the morning."

Emily pressed her lips into your temple, trailing her fingers through your hair. After a few minutes, your eyelids grew heavy.

"Em, I'm tired. We should go to bed."

"Shh," she cooed, pulling the blankets up around you and leaning to turn off the light. Her arms were tight around you, secure. "You go to sleep, baby. I just want to hold you for a while."

You woke up screaming that night. And the next night. And the next. It was taking a toll on your health–mental and physical. Emily hated it. She hated that you woke up terrified, woke up hurting, woke up with the knowledge that it wasn't just a dream. It had really happened. It became her sole mission at night to make sure that she was there for you when you woke up, ready to wrap you up in her arms, to press kisses to your face, to let you know that you were safe, that she had you, that she'd never let anyone hurt you.

Therapy would help, you said, but it'd probably take a while. When the BAU got called in on a child abduction later that week, she was relieved it was in the area. She knew she'd eventually have to leave you overnight, but she wasn't ready to, not yet.

If there was one thing Emily was good at, it was compartmentalizing, and that served her well in the field. She managed not to think about you for most of the day, focused instead on the little girl who'd gone missing in a mall.

That is, until they started to suspect that the girl had been sexually abused. Emily seethed under the surface, trying her best to remain calm and collected. She needed to be calm in order to do her job.

She was calm as they broke the uncle, drawing him out, luring him into confessing that he had, in fact, been molesting his niece.

She tried to stay calm as they approached the aunt, but she hit her limit when she realized that the aunt had known. The aunt had known and had prioritized her comfort, her ignorance, over that little girl's safety and innocence.

Emily felt herself growing angrier and angrier as she grilled the aunt. Time was running out for the girl. And, now, every time Emily thought of her, she saw you. She saw you hurt and scared and betrayed with no one to help you. And it made her livid.

"She trusted you!" Emily spat. "She trusted your family, she trusted your husband. You need to tell me where she is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the aunt lied, avoiding Emily's eyes.

Fuming, Emily grabbed the doll Morgan and Reid had brought from the girl's house, the doll she'd desecrated and broken and dirtied as a reflection of herself. It made Emily sick to look at it. It made her sick to know that you, too, at some level, still thought of yourself this way. Because of what someone took from you, did to you.

She shoved the doll in the aunt's face, nearly spitting with rage. "This is how Katie sees herself! Self-loathing. Dirty. Disgusting. That is what your husband made her feel!"

The aunt shook her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"Do you have any idea how terrified she must have been? How confused?! While you lay awake protecting an animal!" Emily railed, thinking of the nights you woke up screaming, shaking. The nights you ran to the toilet and vomited because you were that scared, that disgusted, even all these years later.

Morgan stood off to the side, watching, a concerned look on his face. Emily's impassioned questioning seemed to be working, but he could tell it wasn't just an interrogation tactic. Emily was losing control of her emotions. For now, it was working in their favor. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned.

"You robbed that little girl of her innocence!" Emily yelled, getting in the woman's face. "Are you gonna steal the rest of her life from her as well?!"

And with that, the aunt broke, revealing where she'd stashed her niece. Morgan sprinted out of the room, beckoning a team of paramedics to follow.

Emily, spent from her outburst, numbly handcuffed the aunt and led her to a waiting squad car.

Afterward, Morgan pulled her aside, making sure they were far enough away that no one else could hear their conversation.

"You alright, Prentiss?"

"Yeah," she replied tersely, looking at the ground.

"I don't mean to pry, but it feels like this one was personal for you."

Emily remembered suddenly that Morgan had been molested, too, and softened.

She met his eyes, and they just looked at each other for a moment.

"It's not me," Emily finally said.

Morgan waited, leaving her space to continue if she wanted to, and space for silence if she'd prefer that.

Emily briefly considered lying to Morgan, but he was her best friend and, honestly, she could use a friend in this with her. Especially one who'd understand like Morgan would.

"It's Y/N," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry." His voice was sincere, heartfelt. It was a simple thing to say, but sometimes the simplest things said the most.

"It's... come back up recently," Emily continued, trying to toe the line between confiding in Morgan but not violating your privacy. "I think she has PTSD."

Morgan placed a strong hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "It gets better," he said. "It takes a while, but it gets better."

Emily nodded, breathing deeply.

"You know I'm here if you need me," Morgan said. It was a statement, not a question.

"I know. Thanks."

When Emily came home that night, physically and emotionally exhausted, you were in bed reading, scared to go to sleep, as you always were these days.

Emily climbed into bed, kicking her shoes off behind her, and plastering her body to yours, holding you protectively, tightly, as if she'd never let you go.

"Did they find the girl?" you asked. "Was she okay?"

"She will be," Emily whispered.

"Are you okay?"

"I will be," Emily said, resting her head on yours. "Just... let me hold you. Please. Let me keep you safe."

You leaned in and let her, and you'd never felt safer in your life.

[chlorinecake]

PART 2: GHOST FACE YANDERE imagine

Ｂｌｏｏｄ Ｏｎ Ｉｃｅ | 얼음에 피 - a park sunghoon ff

⚡︎ cw: mentions of suicide, violence, character deaths, swearing, underage drinking, pregnancy/marriage themes, lgbtq+ themes, non-con scenes, heavy petting/kissing, ft. other kpop idols

⚡︎ summary: your unexpected pregnancy causes yandere!Sunghoon to grow unhealthily obsessed with you. the ex ghost face killer is then driven to dangerous extremes to ensure that you remain his (read part 1 and part 3)

⚡︎ wc: 13.6k (sorryyyy)

❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆now and then

Love always had a way of making Sunghoon Park go a little mad at times. Though, the young charmer with a deviant undercut was more of a threat to himself than anyone else around him. His obsessive tendencies led to him developing an obsession with the very thing he feared most: losing someone he loved.

Coupled with his compulsion to protect that love at all costs, Sunghoon ranked up an impressive kill count over the past three years.

Some may consider his inner world to be one of blind devotions, vanity, and false justices. Another might ask what’s so monstrous about fighting for love?

Everything, Sunghoon would warn you.

He lived day after day, feeling like a menace in love's never-ending nightmare, when all he ever wanted to be was the hero. He thought that if he killed just a little more, that maybe love would hurt a little less. But, to be honest, there was more to Sunghoon's violence than noble love. In a world of prey, murder granted him power, even amongst predators, a power that would drive him to dangerous extremes for the rest of his life.

Sunghoon discovered his true self in the very darkness that haunted him. The same darkness he would eventually find you in, hoping that someday, your light might consume him and grant him peace. Besides, you were the only 'good' he knew after his sister's passing.

It caught him off guard, his feelings for you.

Sunghoon grew fond of you beyond the fleeting satisfaction your body bestowed him by force, or during tearful fits after he'd just beaten you senselessly.

Oh, he thought you were such a pretty crier, it gave him a rush he wished to feel forever.

You were addicting, his new favorite drug.

꒷꒦ 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨…

The sound of school bells shattered your fragile sense of contentment, signaling for you and the rest of your disappointed peer's to attend the most detested class of the day: Physical education.

That day's roster consisted of a brutal dodgeball game, girl's versus boys. You weren't typically in the mood to have rubber balloons launched at your head, so you successfully escaped class under the lie that you were experiencing unbearable cramps. Mr. Peterson, your P.E teacher, handed you a hall pass, dismissing you from participation.

You made your way to the ladies restroom, located only a few steps from the gymnasium. Walking up to one of the bathroom sinks, you checked yourself out in the mirror, only to be met with the sound of hushed sobs, coming to a full stop upon the realization that someone else had entered the restroom.

"Hello?" Your voice echoed against the faded tile walls.

Hiccup.

The suppressed cry that slipped from her throat gave away her hiding spot. You paced down to the furthest bathroom stall, your gym sneakers squeaking with each step.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Are you alright in there?" You whispered, pressing your face flush against the obviously unlocked door.

"Please, just go away," the sullen voice begged you.

You sighed, "I hope you're not naked in there, because I'm coming in, anyway."

The sobs only heightened in response.

"Three," you began counting down, "two... one," you slung the heavy door open, revealing a teary eyed Wonyoung Park, sitting with her knees to her chest on the cold restroom floor, still in uniform.

You got on your knees to meet her before handing her a tissue.

"Thank you," she frowned, blowing her nose.

Your gaze swiveled around the gloomy stall, spotting a rectangular blue box stuffed in the trash can.

Reaching for it, Wonyoung gently swatted your hand, pulling your attention back to her.

"Please don't look at that," she pleaded, using her delicate fingers to dry her swollen eyes.

"Why're you crying?"

"It's really none of your business."

"Tell me or else I'm looking in the trash can."

She scoffed at your threat, crossing her arms again. "What's it to you anyway? We hardly know each other and now I'm supposed to give you life updates?"

"I'm just looking out for you, okay? It's a pretty big deal to find a girl crying in a school restroom with no explanation."

Wonyoung toyed with the beaded bracelet on her wrist, letting your words sink in before responding.

"Fine. I'll tell you why, but only if you share a secret in return."

“Seriously?” You asked both offended and surprised at the simple exchange.

“Yes, now start talking or I'll change my mind,” she giggled, nose still stuffy from her crying.

“Hmm,” you pondered, sitting crisscross applesauce as you struggled to think of something. Then it hit you.

“Well, it’s actually a secret about my friend, Kazuha, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, now go on," she directed eagerly, peering in closer as you started to speak.

“Okay, so, it all started with Jay's house party during freshman year. A simple game of truth or dare led to us having to kiss each other."

"On the lips?"

"Yes, but it was only a quick peck. The next day, she confessed her feelings for me, but I rejected her for the sake of our friendship.”

By now, you could hardly tell Wonyoung had been crying, as her white eyes widened with pure shock.

“Kazuha’s a lesbian?!”

“Shh! Keep it down,” you whispered, eliciting a fit of giggles from Wonyoung. “And no, she’s bisexual. That means she's interested in guys and girls."

Wonyoung stared at the ceiling in thought, “Y'know, now that I think about it, I do remember her peeking at me in the showers a few times.”

“Wonyoung!” You whisper-yelled.

“What? I didn’t mind or anything. I just thought it was a little strange.”

“I think you're forgetting something, missy," you said, reminding her of the deal you made earlier.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” she smiled before her restored countenance returned to the sad expression you found her with. She swiped the cardboard box from the trash can, placing it in your lap.

It was a pregnancy test.

No more words needed to be exchanged for you to know why she was crying, but she went on to explain anyways.

"Me and Jun-Hwan were together a few times, and... I... we used protection, but... just don't tell my brother. Please."

"You won't have to worry about me telling a single soul about this," you replied, shoving the box in your gym shorts pocket to throw away later.

Back then, you and Wonyoung didn't know each other well, but you divulged secrets you wouldn't have told anyone else, sharing a bond just close enough to be considered 'pending friends.' Your silly pinky promises to her have remained unbroken to this very day, cherishing her secrets as if they were your own. However, your connection with Wonyoung was short lived, as you would eventually betray her for Kaz and Mads.

➠ sunday -❆- present, one month after your abduction...

5:56am

The sound of your vomit clashing with the clear toilet water every morning became somewhat familiar for you and Sunghoon over the past few weeks. First, you felt the urge angrily twisting in your stomach. Then, your cheeks started to sting from the acidic saliva forming underneath your tongue. On bare knees with a hunched back, clinging to the toilet bowl with all your might, Sunghoon held your hair back, gravely concerned for your well being as you threw up for the nth time that morning.

It goes without saying that Sunghoon handled you harshly at times, but your escalating symptoms led him to believe that it was more than just some strange abuse response you developed.

You also began to experience backaches and tender breasts.

“I don’t like being rough with you when you’re already weak, ____, so stop fighting back when I want to play with you.”

Fatigue and intense abdominal cramps made each day under his ruling seem like a century.

“Remember that you’re here to suffer, ____. This pain is something you’ll have to endure for now.”

And then…

You missed your period.

Clutching unto your nearest hand as if never wanting to let go, Sunghoon sat on the edge of the bathtub beside you, anxiously waiting for whatever result dared to appear on the two pregnancy tests.

He picked with the dead skin that made up his nail bed, shallow breaths escaping his rigid body.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Sunghoon leaped at the sound of the alarm, reaching for the tests that rested dauntingly on the bathroom counter. Lifting the results to his eyes, his gaze softened at the sight of double positives, letting out a deep sigh.

"What is it, Sunghoon," you spoke softly, getting up from the tub to meet him. He set the tests on the counter again, turning to face you.

He took both of your trembling hands in his. "____," he began with a whisper, "I need you to listen to me when I say that I am never letting you go. Not with our child, and not without me."

Kissing the top of your head, he held you so impossibly close to him that you could hear his heart beating. “We must stick together now.”

And just like that, everything around you was suddenly changing, your foggy mind could hardly keep up. Sinking into his embrace, you felt both of your bodies simultaneously breaking and rebuilding themselves.

The news was heavy, but something about the idea of being a mother made you feel light.

➠ monday

6:27am

Despite how angry you made him at times, Sunghoon knew he had to tone down his hostility towards you. The potential baby’s health and safety became one of his top priorities, and he refused to risk it all on plain rage.

As far as your academic career was concerned, Sunghoon had clarified a while ago that your college plans were as good as forgotten.

Though, with a possible baby on the way, you were somewhat thankful for him making you drop out.

You and Sunghoon scheduled a doctor's appointment to have your pregnancy confirmed professionally before making any major changes. “So, you’re not worried about bringing me around people anymore?” You asked him, sitting with your legs crossed in the passengers seat of his car.

“I have no reason to be worried. You’ve learned better than to do or say anything stupid. Besides, I’ll be there the entire time. Now sit back and put your seatbelt on.”

You internally rolled your eyes, reaching for the seat belt before buckling it in.

Clink.

You pressed your body against the seat, reclining it backwards to relax your posture.

“Well, does that mean I can leave the basement more often now?”

He snickered to himself, shaking his head at your nonsense. The car rocked slightly as he drove past the stony trail.

“We’ll see what the doctor has to say about your condition. Then, I’ll decide from there.”

7:19am

It was still fairly early in the morning when you and Sunghoon arrived at the hospital. The parking lot was packed with cars and trucks positioned haphazardly in every which way. After finding a decent parking spot, you two made your way into the clinic, large sliding doors closing swiftly behind you.

Immediately, you were met with the sounds of the intercom, murmuring codes and directions from the ceiling speakers. Nurses dressed in pastel shrubs paced hastily up and down the hallways, greeting the two of you with simple yet friendly nods. “Good morning,” one of them would say, but you only waved back.

Eventually, Sunghoon's gaze fixed on the waiting room, guiding your steps as he held your hand. The row of chairs sat frail elderly citizens, runny-nosed children, and other eager patients waiting to be treated. You and Sunghoon found an idle loveseat located near a window next to the noisy air conditioner. You sat closely together, trying to absorb any warmth emitting from your shivering bodies. "How're you feeling?" He asked, toying with a loose thread hanging from your top.

"Nervous,” you admitted, avoiding eye contact with him.

"Don't be," Sunghoon whispered back to you.

That's when a tall man with round spectacles entered the waiting room, earning desperate looks from every person seated in the stuffy square.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Lee, but feel free to call me Heeseung."

Sunghoon left your side, standing up to meet the doctor before giving him a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Lee. My name is Sunghoon Park, and this is my girlfriend, ____."

'There's no way in hell he just called me his girlfriend,' you thought to yourself.

"It's a pleasure to treat you two today," he smiled while adjusted the glasses over his bottom nose, flipping through sheets of paperwork on his clipboard. "Let's see, you scheduled an appointment over the phone for an HCG blood test at 7:30 sharp... Okay! Everything looks great. You two can follow me to my office and I'll be with you shortly."

Heeseung started walking before either of you could respond, your legs mirroring his fast pace as he made his was around the maze of a hospital.

You were present physically, yet your mind was stuck on the image of Dr. Lee's face that stained your mind. He looked relatively young to be a doctor, with the attitude of a preschool teacher, full of glee and optimism. Your first impression of him was odd, though, at the same time, admirable.

Heeseung closed the office door behind you, directing with a simple hand gesture where you and Sunghoon could sit. He flicked on a light before taking a seat himself in a rolling chair, holding the clipboard and pen as if it was a color pallet and paintbrush.

"Okay, so I read something on your report about a previous drugstore pregnancy test?"

"Yes, she took two at home and they both came back positive."

"Awesome! Though, there's nothing wrong with wanting to be 100% sure, which is why we'll be sampling her urine today."

Oh, God.

"Estimate how long ago you suspected to be carrying."

"About two weeks ago,” Sunghoon answered.

"Mhm, and when was your last menstrual cycle?"

A temporary silence filled the room’s air.

"____?" Sunghoon rested a hand on your lap, snatching you from your thoughts.

"Erm, around 6 weeks ago. Sorry."

"It's alright, love. Appointments like this tend to be daunting for women your age. Anyways, if you are pregnant, a dating ultrasound is something you can look into. It helps us determine the precise size of an embryo, if that sounds interesting at all. From the sounds of it though, you're around 12 or so weeks."

Heeseung proceeded to fill the sheet of paper with neat cursive notes down, taking a sip from the Starbucks coffee that sat on his desk, the warm liquid slightly fogging up his glasses.

"Okay, so I have this fun little deer themed folder here, and this is where I'm going to store any notes or important information you provide. I’ll make a copy for myself so you can take this one with you when visiting other medical professionals. What sort of symptoms have you been experiencing, love?”

You looked up to the ceiling in thought, "Uhm, morning sickness has been a major one. I’ve also experienced some abdominal cramps."

"Hmm, I see. Ovary aches are entirely normal during the first weeks of pregnancy, and often follow a mother into her later months."

Simultaneously, your mind both appreciated and stressed over the information overload you were experiencing at this moment.

You understood that Dr. Lee was only trying to equip you with the best information and service possible, but you still couldn’t shake the nerves.

"How often are you and your partner intimate in the bedroom?"

Your heart sank at his question, the word “intimate” being quite far from what occurred between you and Sunghoon, and it rarely took place in a bedroom.

”I’m sorry, what?" Sunghoon asked, also in disbelief.

"How regularly do you and ____ have sex?"

You could feel yourself sweating now.

"Uh-”

"A few times a week,” Sunghoon answered for you again.

You felt so dirty after hearing him say that, it probably showed all over your face.

"And none of you have a history with STI’s or related diseases, correct?"

"Yes. I was her first and I got tested before we tried anything."

What a stupid lie.

Heeseung gathered the notes he made, tucking them into the deer folder. Returning to the clipboard, he flipped to a colorful page, looking up to meet your eyes.

"This is a mental health check sheet. I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and it’s imperative that you answer every single one honestly. Can you promise me that, Miss ____?"

You looked to Sunghoon for permission, and he nodded back to you. "Yes, Dr. Lee, I promise.”

"Awesome! On a scale from strongly agree to strongly disagree, you often experience feelings of anxiety."

"Strongly agree."

"Depression?"

"Agree."

"Calmness?"

"Somewhat disagree."

"Feelings of fear?"

"Strongly agree."

"Suicidal thoughts-"

"I think I've had enough of your silly questions!" Sunghoon interrupted, your body flinching at his sudden raise in vocal tone.

"I’m just proceeding with protocol, sir. I’m not trying to step on your anyone’s toes here. Nice shoes, by the way," the doctor joked, trying to lighten the mood, but Sunghoon wasn't having it.

"She's perfectly fine. Right, ____?” He asked, shaking your shoulder, “Aren't you happy?"

You felt your palms grow clammy, afraid of how Sunghoon might blow up on you for saying the wrong thing, so you kept quite.

"____, is your boyfriend making you feel uncomfortable?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Heeseung ignored him and continued counseling you, "It’s perfectly normal to feel anxious while answering such personal questions in front of your partner."

"Oh please," Sunghoon interjected.

Heeseung stood up from his rolling chair, standing a few inches above Sunghoon.

"Can you step out of the room for a bit? I’m trying to assess my patient and you're hindering the process. Considering my tight work schedule, I can’t afford to waste my time going back and forth with you."

"Sunghoon," you pleaded from your seat, giving his balled fist a gentle squeeze.

He responded by grabbing your wrist, dragging you from Dr. Lee's office.

"What," he spat harshly, tightening his lips as he pinned you to the now closed door.

"Your temper will only lead to trouble if you stay. I think its best that you step out for a bit while we finish."

His gaze fell to the floor as he considered your idea.

"Fine. I’ll be waiting for you in the car at the same parking spot. You have exactly thirty minutes to finish up with him, or else I’m gonna make sure you’re pregnant once we get back home, understood?” he asked in a low voice, sending shivers down your spine.

“I understand, Sunghoon,” you complied, afraid to meet his eyes.

He stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving you to sort things out with the doctor.

Considering your limited time frame, you rushed into Heeseung’s office, apologizing for Sunghoon’s behavior.

“How soon will results for a urinalysis come back?”

“Normally, no longer than five minutes,” he said, handing you an empty cup. “Take your time, love.”

The excitement you felt from knowing that peeing in a cup could save your ass was strange, yet enjoyable nonetheless. You returned the yellow sample to Dr. Lee, earning your third and final pregnancy confirmation within four minutes.

"Congratulations," Heeseung cheered, holding a bowl of colorful stickers for you to choose from. "I will be your general healthcare provider for the duration of your pregnancy unless any changes are made. I’m available during the week if you need anything, but expect to hear from me weekly,” he smiled as you fished through the stickers. “Don’t stress, just pick one intuitively.”

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes befofe pulling out an oddly shaped piece of paper. “A snowflake,” you beemed softly, taking in the glittery periwinkle accents that made up the image.

“It’s been twenty minutes, Miss ____. I’m afraid your boyfriend is waiting on you.”

Your smile faltered, “What did you just say?”

“I said I look forward to treating you again. Have a blessed day, now.”

“R-right, uhm, you too,” you waved, tucking the sticker into your pocket before traveling down a few elevators, making your way to the parking lot. You could see Sunghoon still sitting in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel as he awaited your return.

You sat beside him in the passenger’s seat, remembering to buckle up your seatbelt this time.

“How’d everything go?” He asked nonchalantly, immediately turning on the car ignition.

Pulling out of the parking spot, he made his way around the hospital, cruising down the interstate.

“I’m pregnant.”

➠ tuesday

6:53pm

The sound of Sunghoon's heavy footsteps from behind the basement door broke the little concentration you held while thinking. He unlocked the basement door and entered the still atmosphere, making his way over to where you were sitting. Placing a navy blue suede box on the table, he took a seat beside you.

“What’s this," you asked curiously, eyes trained on the dainty object.

“Just open it," he urged, fidgeting with his fingers.

He wasn't nervous. Was he?

You wasted no time reaching for the navy blue chest, flipping its golden latch open to reveal a shiny silver ring with the most dazzling violet stone at its center. Gold details encased the gem like protective roots of a tree.

You examined the ring further, noticing the name “Park” carved in hangul at its underside.

“Sunghoon-"

“It was my grandmother’s,” he began, stopping you mid sentence. He took the ring from your grasp and slid it down your wedding finger.

So many thoughts were running through your brain now. It was a tragedy how Sunghoon could switch from a complete monster to one of the most gentle creatures you've ever known during moments like this.

"It's beautiful," you admitted with a shaky voice.

He smiled. “You really think so?”

“Mhm,” you barely nodded, tears beginning to form in your eyes. You knew where Sunghoon was going with this, what he was going to ask you, and what your answer should be unless you wanted your tongue ripped from your throat. Sunghoon’s gesture likely arose for reason of you carrying his child. Though, you weren’t oblivious to his growing possessiveness of you. The crooked romance.

He took your hand in his and got on one knee, kissing your cold knuckles. He met your eyes, sporting a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read as you'd never seen his features so sickeningly soft.

“____, will you marry me?”

You fell to your knees at the question, even though you already knew it was coming. Meeting him on the ground, you fell into his arms, crying into the crook of his neck. The now familiar scent of him met your nostrils as your tears dampened his shirt.

Fuck, you could hardly pull yourself together.

Sunghoon smoothed the nerves of your back with the warmth of his hand, trying to calm you down. "Shh," he cooed, patting your head.

“I’m gonna need an answer soon, ____.”

Why wasn’t he forcing you into submission all of a sudden?

You broke from his embrace, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes. His hand was still busy running over your skin, trying his best to soothe you.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, you looked him earnestly in the face, taking what felt like the deepest breath of your life. You knew it was for the best. You knew you couldn't say 'no.'

“I’ll marry you, Sunghoon.”

The tension in his body disappeared out of relief. He took your chin in his hand, kissing you on the lips this time, eyes fluttering at the pure bliss your taste brought him.

“Thank you, ____,” he smiled softly, “I’ll try my hardest to make you love me.”

꒷꒦ 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨…

“She’s pretty for nothing with a personality denser than a brick,” Kazuha whispered, taking a bite of her burrito.

“Too bad her baby daddy’s six feet underground. I guess that means child support isn’t an option anymore,” Maddison added, feigning a pout.

“As if her spoiled rich ass would need it anyway,” Kazuha went on, wiping some sauce from the corner of her mouth.

“Wanna trade lunches? I’ve got tuna on wheat with French fries," you chirped in between the two gossiping girls.

“Hell no! I’m keeping my chicken wrap, girly. Enjoy your canned fish.”

“Oh God, here she comes,” Maddison said with a mischievous grin, eyeing Wonyoung as she walked through the cafeteria.

“Do you think her skirt is way too high or is it just her long as fuck giraffe legs?” Kazuha asked facetiously.

“I’m surprised she got past the school entrance with that on,” you observed, taking a sip from your water bottle.

“Hell, if I had a brother that looked like Sunghoon, I’d totally be down for incest,” Maddison shamelessly admitted.

“That was so random, get some help, chick,” you laughed, nudging her shoulder.

“Ugh, fuck, yes! Yes! Just like that, don’t stop. Mmm, feels so fucking good! Nghh, I’m gonna cum,” Kazuha performed with screwed eyebrows as Wonyoung sat down a few tables across from you and your friends. "Was that convincing enough, Wonnie?" Maddison poked, grabbing a handful of your fries before launching them in her direction. Salt remnants from the fried snack decorated Wonyoung’s coal black hair. She hid behind her bangs, terribly embarrassed from all the harassment. “Aww, looks like she’s shy with the lights on, ladies!”

Wonyoung got up from her seat with haste, walking towards the cafeteria exit as she carried the lunch tray with such a grip that her knuckles turned pink.

“Oh, you want us to meet you in the bathroom? Such a dirty girl,” Maddison cackled.

Those were some of the same sounds that kept Wonyoung awake at night.

“How’s your brother doing?” You asked, redirecting her attention on you.

“Why?” Maddison inquired back, sounding offended by your question.

“Dunno. Just thought I should ask.”

She took a deep breath before answering, “Max’s condition isn’t really improving yet, but the doctors are doing everything they can to help him get better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you and Kazuha said in unison.

“Don’t be. Being sorry is for homos, anyways.”

➠ monday -❆- present, one week later

9:30am

The hospital soon became a sweet place to you, an appreciated break from the basement you typically spent your days in.

Dr. Lee clarified the difficulties of distinguishing a baby’s gender as early as 13 weeks, but Sunghoon was desperate, scheduling you for a dating ultrasound.

Sunghoon wouldn't accompany you at the clinic today, due to academic obligations. In spite of his personal vendetta against you, he seemed genuinely serious about this new chapter in his life.

After stopping for breakfast at Café Royale, Sunghoon dropped you off at the hospital around 10 am, leaving for his first class of the day.

You made your way to the hospital’s fifth floor, greeting all of the friendly nurse faces that you'd grown to be more familiar with over the past week. There was a slight delay before Dr. Lee called you into his office.

"Good morning, Miss ____. Got any good rest last night," he asked, flipping through random sheets of paper on his famous clipboard.

"Morning, Heeseung. I don't work long shifts like you all week, so I really can't complain." Something about your comment made him smile.

"Oh, so I'm 'Heeseung' now? Or is that only when your boyfriend's not around?"

"Uh, it's not like that," you stammered.

"Relax, I was only teasing. You can take a seat on the metal bed for me and I'll be right with you," he said, rolling up his long sleeve turtleneck before slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves. "Alright, let's see what we have here," he began, sliding over in his rolling chair. He pulled your shirt over your stomach, massaging a clear gel against your lower abdomen.

"If I'm being honest, you seem nervous. Is everything okay, love?"

"Yeah, just a little anxious," you admitted, thinking about how desperately Sunghoon wanted a daughter, and the 50/50 chance he had at getting one.

"Well, I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about. Your recent blood work looks good, the baby glow is kicking in...you're in a good place, Miss ____."

"Ow," you winced at the pressure he applied to your stomach.

"Your baby bump is hardly noticeable, I'm surprised you felt anything, but discomfort is normal" he pointed out. "Everything feels great. He's gonna be a healthy fellow.”

“Or she," you blurted out.

"Of course. A little princess would bring all the more joy to you and Mr. Park's life... oh," he paused, running a finger over the scar above your navel.

“Was that from an impulsive high school belly button ring,” he laughed to himself, going to grab the x-ray handcamera. The memory of Sunghoon poking you with the knife reminisced in your mind. Shaking it off, you tried redirecting your mind on a different topic. “Not exactly,” you admitted, “I don’t think it’s best that you treat me anymore.”

Heeseung gave you an offended look through his glasses, temporarily retreating the x-ray from your stomach.

“What? Am I being too rough? I can be gentle, I swear! Or was it my dad jokes?”

You wanted to tell him the truth, tell him that Sunghoon was a psychopath who’d kill anyone he deemed a potential threat to his love. Deep down, you had feelings for Heeseung, and the sooner you cut off contact with him, the better. Not wanting to be responsible for taking away his smile, you came up with an excuse.

“I don’t wanna make anyone jealous.”

“Jealous? Who, Mr. Park? I mean, your boyfriend?”

The word 'boyfriend' floated around in your mind. What a horrendous word to describe your relationship with Sunghoon. You could hardly get over the fact that he was your fiancé.

A look waved over your features that led Heeseung to believe guess was right.

"Well, I'll finish up the ultrasound and give you a dvd copy of the footage for you and Sunghoon to watch at home."

"Home." All of this was becoming too much for you to handle right now.

“I know what it's like to deal with a paranoid partner, ____. I won’t persuade you to follow anything but your first mind.”

“Thank you for understanding, Heeseung,” you said as he ran the camera over your stomach, the mirrored TV showing the blurry scan of your uterus. "I'm just doing my job," he smiled, analyzing the screen with a finger. “It’s a girl,” he pointed as you tried to discern the image.

Pushing himself from the metal bed, he removed his gloves, grabbing two large disinfectant wipes from his desk, one for your stomach, and the other for the x-ray camera.

“I’ll send Mr. Park the credentials and office number of your new health provider after I sort some things out with another professional. You should expect to receive the necessary information by tomorrow evening.”

You took in all that he said, almost feeling like you made the wrong decision. Doctor visits wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable without Heeseung being there. Getting up from the metal bed, you tossed your purse over your shoulder, looking him in the eyes.

“I’ll see you next time,” you smiled, heading to the door. That was all it took for him to know that you didn’t actually want to stop seeing him.

“Oh, and ____?”

You turned, a happy smile displayed upon his face. He was so close to perfect, you could cry.

“It would make me, your baby, and the entire clinical staff exceedingly happy if you went home and ate a steak. Doctors orders and what not.”

A moment of silence filled the air before you laughed at his request, feelings a sense of joy dance in your stomach. A joy that Sunghoon tried so desperately to take from you.

"Alright, Dr. Lee. I won't let you down!" You replied, closing his office door.

Fabulous, now you have a crush on your doctor while secretly engaged to a ex ghost face killer who’s daughter you’re carrying.

➠ friday, a few days later

10:47pm

This was Sunghoon's very first time at a bar, and likely one of his last. Cosmetically, the establishment was a fan favorite, reeling in patrons on a hook of visual appeal. The menu offered a plethora of exciting drinks, ranging from vibrant fruity flavors to warm and creamy mixes. Still and all, the dreary atmosphere of the pub beckoned costumers in, lugging them into a depressive state that would linger til their hangover passed. For the lot of them, the aforementioned events would be relived again and again every Friday night after working a 9-5 job. They'd wash all their problems away with the help of a pricy drink and a few catchy songs before completely blacking out. Though, Sunghoon wasn't here for a half-decent time and cheap conversation. He was on a mission that involved a crowded environment with zero sober witnesses, a sharp knife, and the perfect victim: Maddison Dupont.

She was beautiful to say the least, with a radiant smile and cheekbones like a movie star.

Sunghoon remembered Maddison's hair being longer from when he last saw her at Wonyoung's funeral, but she cut it to her shoulders some time after, putting her natural brunette waves on full display. She wore a black leather jacker, black leather pants, and well, black leather booties. Sunghoon being the psychology major he was, had a habit of profiling people based off their appearance and body language.

'She's attractive and tall, wearing high boots with a short haircut. She wants to come off as intimidating, powerful, hence the natural makeup look. The all black get up likely alludes to hidden negative emotions, the parts of herself she wants to hide,' Sunghoon noted to himself, analyzing her from afar.

"I'll have a gin and tonic cocktail, with light ice this time," she said to the bartender, feigning an entitled persona.

"Hopefully you don't plan on ordering me around like this after my shift, Mads. You know I’m usually more dominant with women," the bartender replied, flashing her a smirk.

"Usually, huh? Is that an invitation?" She teased, using her tongue to seductively toy with a plastic straw, earning a shrug from the busy server as he prepared her cocktail.

"Depends."

She scoffed dramatically.

"Pfft. Why?"

"Because. From the looks of it, you use teeth," he replied, eyeing the way she nibbled at the tip of the straw.

"Oh c'mon! Don't be so vanilla-"

Screech.

Sunghoon pulled out a bar stool beside the talkative brunette, dragging it across the hard floor before taking a seat.

The bartender slid Maddison her drink, wiping the moisture from his hands before meeting Sunghoon's dark eyes. "Fresh face. Welcome in! What can I get for you tonight, sir?"

"Uhh, I'll start with a sample of your best whiskey and go from there," Sunghoon replied, glancing at the server's name tag: 'JAY PARK.'

"Hmm, we have the same last name," Sunghoon added, putting on a smile that Jay returned.

Maddison looked up from her cocktail, finally facing the mystery man who sat beside her. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the sight of him before a light bulb went off in her head.

"Oh. My. God. If it isn’t Sunghoon-fucking-Park live and in the flesh. Please tell me you remember who I am," she pouted hopefully in her naturally raspy voice.

Maddison was always a fast talker, her friendly smile and youthful nature often winning her a sense of popularity and close companionship. It’s one of the main reasons why Sunghoon was here tonight. Despite Kazuha’s venomous tendencies, Maddison was the head “mean girl” back when Wonyoung was in high school. The primary instigator and initiator of every wrongdoing that his little sister endured up until her passing. For Sunghoon, letting Maddison live after everything that happened wasn’t an option. He decided to retire his ghost face attire after Kazuha, as it was only gonna get in the way of fulfilling his mission smoothly. After talking to a few of her colleagues, it was easy to determine Maddison’s precise whereabouts on a typical Friday night like this.

"Yeah, you went to high school with my sister. I could never forget that."

"I- I don't even know where to start! Uhm, you can call me Mads," she smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. Her breath hitched at the mere contact with his skin, sending a rush of nerves through her stomach. Or maybe it was the shots from earlier starting to kick in?

"Wow, I never thought you could get more handsome! It’s crazy how time flies, you know? Gosh, I used to have the biggest crush on you back then. Wonyoung hated me for it.”

I’m sure that wasn’t the only thing she hated you for, he thought to himself.

“Wait- I’m being rude! How've you been these days? It's been forever!"

Jay rolled his eyes at Maddison's gawking, his cheerful serving demeanor faltering in the presence of Sunghoon. It was barely two minutes ago that she was seducing Jay with a straw of all things, and now, the chances of him and her hanging out later were slim to none. He placed the bottle of whiskey back in its respective place on the alcohol shelf behind him, handing Sunghoon a short glass of the sample he'd ordered.

"I've been good, thanks for asking. College is kicking my ass at the moment, but there's this one girl who's been keeping me company. A sweet distraction, if you will."

He lifted the cup to his lips, taking a thick sip of the bronze drink before letting the flavors meddle on his tongue. It was an aromatic blend with notes of French vanilla, cinnamon, and hazelnut.

"What do you think," Jay asked, searching Sunghoon's features for any clue.

"It's delicious! I'll let you know if I need anything else."

"Of course," Jay bowed before busying himself with other costumers. That was better than watching Maddison ogle over Sunghoon Park for the next hour.

She noted that Sunghoon mentioned another girl, so she toned down her excitement.

"So, are you in school, too?"

"Nope. I forfeited all my scholarships after Max passed. I just didn't have the drive to do it anymore. Not without my twin," she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat before continuing.

"Now I work at a call center during the week and every Sunday, I volunteer as a tour guide for the city.”

Sunghoon simply nodded in response, the memory of murdering Max reliving itself behind his dark eyes. He wondered if Maddison's screams would sound anything like Max's did. They both had pretty big mouths, after all.

"I get where you're coming from. Sorry for your loss, Max was a good guy," Sunghoon said, forcing an empathetic expression upon his face.

"No worries, hun. We both know what its like to lose someone we shared the biggest part of ourselves with. The person we loved most," she replied, picking up her drink and holding it in the air. "A toast. To staying strong and treading on after all of life’s fucked up happenings," she added, showcasing her striking blue eyes.

"To surviving! Cheers," Sunghoon smiled, returning the gesture.

Clink.

Their glass cups collided, taking the final sip of their drinks in unison.

Sunghoon placed the empty glass on the countertop, tucking a one hundred dollar bill under the coaster before getting up from his seat.

"I'm gonna head outside for a bit," he said, walking toward the bar exit, disappearing into the black of the night.

Maddison placed a twenty under her drink, glancing at the exit before getting up from her seat.

Jay reached over the counter and grabbed her hand, eagerly trying to get her attention now.

She turned to face him, giving him an impatient look.

"Mads, you're not gonna go anywhere with him, are you?"

"Oh, please. Don't be so jealous-"

"I'm not being jealous. I’m looking out for you," Jay clarified, his voice sounding more serious.

"Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Jay."

"Promise me, Maddison!" Jay half-yelled in desperation.

She sighed, leaning over the bar and looking him I the eyes.

"I promise," she smiled softly, kissing the birthmark on his neck, causing his grip on her hand to loosen before completely letting go.

"And thank you, Jay. For everything! The cocktail was lovely," she added, giving him a playful high five.

“Any time, Maddie. See you around,” he replied, trying to mask the growing blush on his cheeks with coolness.

“See ya,” she waved, heading out of the bar to meet Sunghoon.

It didn't take long for her to spot him, standing beside his shiny black car. The sound of her boots hitting the damp pavement echoed through the parking lot, gracing Sunghoon’s keen ears.

Bingo.

"Nice car," she complimented, running a hand through her brown locks. Sunghoon didn't respond, simply unlocking the car and getting in the driver’s seat. His window's were rolled down, compelling Maddison to go against the very thing Jay just asked her not to do. Peering at him from where she stood, she placed her hands on her hips, voicing her request.

"Would it be too much if I asked you to take me on a joyride?"

11:19pm

Sunghoon was getting used to chauffeuring around naive young women after hours. He happily obliged to Maddison's foolish petition, as we both know he had other plans for her tonight.

“You’re not some kind of serial killer, right?” Maddison asked, about three minutes into the ride.

"Would you chicken out if I said yes?" Sunghoon teased her, gripping onto the steering wheel.

"You're cheeky."

"And you're playing a dangerous game with your life, young lady."

“Tell me about it,” Maddison replied nonchalantly, digging into her jacket pocket before pulling out a tiny cardboard box.

Click.

A warm light flickered beside him.

Click.

The sound of a hot flame against a dry object hit his ears.

Sunghoon finally looked away from the road to find that the source of the clicking was coming from the purple pocket lighter Maddison held in her hand, desperately trying to light a fresh cigarette.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sunghoon asked in disgust.

“Roll down a window or something,” she replied without meeting his eyes, inhaling the hot fog before blowing it past her plump lips.

“I don’t care if you wanna punish your lungs for keeping you alive everyday! Just don’t smoke in my fucking car!” Sunghoon reprimanded her through gritted teeth. He didn’t mean to raise his voice at her, but the anger was starting to override his composure.

“Has anyone ever told you how hot you get when you’re bossy?” Maddison joked, giving his tense thigh a playful squeeze.

Oh, the way Jay would cry just to hear her say that.

She stared out the window again, her thick brown waves following her movements.

“Would it kill you to respect my vehicle?”

All she did was snicker in response, a clicking noise filling the air as she toyed with purple pocket lighter once again.

She took a moment to yawn, reclining her jaw before answering. “Hmm. Probably not, but I don’t really care to find out, anyways.”

Click.

The tip of the cigarette burned red as she focused intensely on the simple action of lighting it.

Sunghoon looked from the road, eyes burning with rage as she put the cigar between her dry lips, inhaling yet another puff of toxins into her body.

Stretching her neck up, she blew the smelly cloud against the ceiling, staining the roof of his car and fogging out the windows.

He snatched the hot stick from her grasp, her head springing up immediately, eyeing him lustfully. “So we’re getting handsy now, I see. How would your girl feel about thi-“

Sunghoon shoved the red hot end of the cigar into her neck, sizzling her pale skin to a burnt hue.

“Ahh! You crazy bastard,” she yelped in shock, using her arm to push him away from her, but he had already parked somewhere in the forest, exiting the car with a harsh slam of his door.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going,” she yelled out for him, stammering from the vehicle with unstable steps.

She was way more drunk than she would’ve liked to admit, explaining her strange change in behavior.

By now, Sunghoon was walking into his log cabin, waiting patiently at the kitchen dining table for her to come out looking for him.

A kitchen knife sat idly on his lap as he gripped its handle in his right hand.

Maddison observed the cabin before running in, following the trail of dirt his shoes left behind him. Whipping around the kitchen corner, she spotted him at the table, laughing at a thought in her head. “Are you gonna declare a thumb war or something,” she cackled, not sure as to why Sunghoon ran to the kitchen of all places. She went to touch her neck, flinching at the sore he burned on her, reminding her why she chased after him in the first place. All he did was sit and stare at her, maintaining deadly eye contact. Maddison was far from intimidated, walking towards him with a dumb smirk on her face.

“You’re a freak, y’know that Sunghoon?” She spat, shaking her head again. “An empty-hearted spoiled freak!” She landed a harsh sting across his cheek, her own hand hurting from the act. Her chest heaved, trying to catch her breath from the minor exertion of energy. Her lack of sobriety was really taking a toll on her physically.

Screech.

Sunghoon pushed himself away from the table, standing up a few inches over her with the knife in his hand.

She simply glared at the weapon, chuckling to herself again.

“Is that supposed to scare me, little boy?”

He tilted his head at her ignorance, mirroring the smirk that rest upon her features. Playing with the tip of the knife, Sunghoon closed the space between her and him to the point where they were only a mere kiss apart.

“Hmm. Probably not, but I don’t really care to find out, anyways.”

The knife cut through her stomach like butter as she hurled over his hand, widening her eyes at the intense pain. He shoved the knife even further, causing a weak whimper to fall from her mouth. Guttural coughs filled the atmosphere as blood trickling down his hands from how closely the blade impaled her. Sunghoon pouted facetiously at how pathetic she appeared in front of him.

Releasing herself from the blade, she senselessly tried to run away. Though, Sunghoon could keep up with her hindered pace just by walking.

“Get the hell away from me!!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, the cigarette and lighter falling from her jacket pocket.

She made her way outside to the front porch, taking a seat against the closest tree she could get to before her strength ran out. Sunghoon soon met her outside, holding a jug of gasoline in one hand, and her purple lighter in the other.

She looked up from the puddle of blood she was creating on the grass, shaking her head in misery at the sight of this deranged Sunghoon.

“Please, don’t do this to me,” she sobbed, black tear marks from her eyeliner staining her cheeks.

Splash.

The pungent odor of the gasoline burned her nostrils as the cold substance leaked from her head to her lap.

“Oh my God,” she sniffled, squirming under his dark shadow.

Click.

“Speaking of, maybe God can roll down a window for you. Or… something,” he shrugged, tossing the lighter onto her lap as flames engulfed her entire body, the sounds and smells of death disturbing the tranquil forest air.

“Hmm, turns out her and Max do have the same screams.”

Maddison died within a few minutes, but her body continued to burn for the next hour or two. Sunghoon would eventually bury her corpse that morning once it cooled down, only to wash away the scent of smoke, blood, and any other trace of her for the remainder of his day. Afterwards, he would figure out what to do about his smoke show of a car.

What a lovely way to spend one’s weekend off.

➠ sunday

“I saw Maddison at the bar the other night.”

Your heart jumped at the name of your friend from high school. She went totally radio silent after her brother passed away. You remember her giving up sports and even college because of how broken she was after everything. You couldn't help but wonder how her life was turning out so far.

“Really?" You inquired eagerly. "What'd she say? How is she?”

“Dead,” he smiled sinisterly before sitting behind you, caging you between his long legs as he massaged your scalp.

You could feel your hands start to shake with a mix of different emotions, none of which being positive.

He really did it again.

“You said you wouldn’t kill anymore people.”

“She was the last person on my hit list, ____, and you know I have my reasons. Just be lucky that your relatives are still in the picture.”

You wouldn't put it past Sunghoon to hurt your family. He was a cold blooded killer and murder was like second nature to him.

“It’ll never stop with you. You'll never stop hurting people. You can't."

“Relax your mind, princess, stress isn’t good for the baby.”

“Neither is a deranged psycho killer for a father who keeps mommy locked up in a basement for days at a time, but what do I know? At least parent career day's at school will be interesting,” you thought to yourself.

Ahhh!

Sunghoon balled a handful of your hair in one fist at each side of your head, aggressively tugging at the strands.

You just realized that you said that out loud.

He pulled tighter as you held in your groans, forcing choked whines to spill from your lips.

“S- Sunghoon! Let go!” You whimpered, reaching for his feral grip on your hair with desperate hands.

He twitched in his pants at the agonizing sounds you made. He never understood why he found a terrorized you so arousing.

You felt your bottom lift from the ground before plopping back down with a loud thud, your scalp stinging with hot pain. Surely you had a few bald spots now.

“Massage time’s over,” Sunghoon growled before finally releasing his tantalizing grip from your hair, only for him to pin your wrists to the cold wooden floor. The look in his eyes was enough to have you scared shitless.

“I’ll show you just how deranged I am.”

He flipped you on your stomach, pulling your hips towards his bulge. Linking his fingers at the waistband of your underwear, he pulled your bottoms down to your knees, followed by his own.

He pried your legs open, revealing a string of wetness coating your swollen lips. He almost drooled at the sight, lining his tip at your throbbing hole before shoving himself in. He started to pump you from behind, squelching noises filling the rooms humid air. Tears started to pour over your eyelids, hitting the cold floor like raindrops. Sunghoon wanted to savor every ripple that made up your heat, but his desire to come caused him to thrust at an extreme pace, wobbly moans escaping your mouth. Your face was now flesh against the flood, his rough palm pushing into your cheek as you bounced against his pelvis, swallowing his cock. He leaned down, sticking the middle and index finger of his free hand into your mouth.

“Suck it,” he ordered, and you did, parting your mouth for him as your warm saliva coated his fingers. “Harder than that, princess,” he encouraged you, tightening your lips around his digits. You were started to feel dizzy from all the different sensations.

“Fuck” he grunted, flipping you on your back before pumping into you again at the same pace. He traced a tear that fell down your cheek with his tongue, leaning closer to whisper in your ear.

“Kiss me,” he nearly begged, grabbing at your jaw. You shook your head beneath him, pleading with your eyes for all of this to stop.

Slap.

You winced at the sting, a choked sob slipping past your lips. He forced your lips open with his hand, spitting in your mouth before dominating your tongue with his own, a string of saliva webbing from your lips to his as he broke from the sloppy kiss. You whimpered at his act, vision becoming blurry from the tears clouding your eyes. You reached up a hand to cover your sobs, the sounds being too gruesome even for your own ears.

“Don’t be shy, baby, I wanna hear how badly you want this, how good I’m making you feel.”

Your started to feel numb from all of his thrusting, regretfully clenching around him.

“So fucking good, baby,” he cooed, moving his hand down to stimulate your throbbing clit. He maneuvered the pallets of his fingers in circular motions against your sensitive spot, causing you to moan loudly.

“Look at you? Losing your mind all over my cock,” he leaned down, biting into your shoulder. “Come for me, yeah?”

You cried at the sharpness, arching your back. He was beyond delusional.

“That’s not an answer, baby.”

“F- fuck, Sunghoon, I can't t-take this anymore, just shut up” you whimpered, tears wetting the back of your head.

He held your knees at an angle, grinding into you like his life depended on it. You could tell that he was close because of how his thrusts quickened. You dreaded that you could feel your own climax taking over you, as your body tensed up before you came all over his dick. Shortly after, he painted your walls with warm spurts of his pearly release. Slowing down his movements, he ran his palms over your legs, trying to ease your shaking from the overstimulation. He kissed your lips one last time before pulling out, readjusting your clothes first before fixing his own. He lay down beside you, cradling your exhausted body in his arms before drifting off to sleep.

➠ tuesday

You’ve been living with Sunghoon for the past three months, and he was never one to feed you according to nutritional values. You weren’t sure if it was a part of punishment or simply a lack of consideration, but your daily diet was limited to canned foods or broth. So when you told Sunghoon that Dr. Lee advised you to incorporate more steak into your diet, he wasn’t too fond of listening.

Instead, he’d get dressed in hunting apparel, losing himself for the next hour before bringing you a slab of mystery meat that he wouldn’t even eat with you. He’d just rest it on your plate with a drizzle of olive oil, and tell you to ‘eat up.’

“I appreciate your gesture, Sunghoon, but I can’t help to ask what you killed for this?”

Sometimes, talking to him was like walking on egg shells. He always wore the same blank face, so you never knew if your words would earn you a harsh slap or kiss on the lips. You tried your best to season every sentence you spoke to him with propriety and respect. It was one of the only ways you knew to protect yourself.

He’d conceal the growing mischief that wanted to show as a smile on his face, simply pacing around the kitchen with his hands behind his back.

“Only the forest’s finest for my mother with child,” he teased.

“Sunghoon,” you pressed, not being in the mood for his sarcasm.

“I’ll tell you once you finish it. All of it. Now hurry before it gets cold,” he warned, taking a seat across from you.

The kitchen fell silent as you used a fork and knife to divide the meat into small bites. The taste was gamey, and rather tough in texture, but you commended Sunghoon on seasoning it well.

He stared intently at your every movement as if anticipating something.

You were about half way done when he stood up from the table, walking towards the kitchen pantry.

Sunghoon grinned to himself, reaching his arm into the closet and pulling out a female’s dead body from behind the door.

“She’s a little past her expiration date, but I’m sure she tasted splendid nonetheless,” he quirked, flashing you a grin so devilish that his fangs showed.

You looked down at your plate and noticed a strand of wavy brown hair sticking from under the meat.

Oh my God.

“Maybe we could start selling “prime Maddison” at the market! Talk about a limited time offer!” Sunghoon laughed as if their was an audience. Meanwhile you were on the verge of vomitting.

Sunghoon was gripping Maddison’s corpse by a handful of her hair, a few of her once beautiful teeth missing from her swollen black gums. He punched her skull in the face, using the hair as a way to maneuver his newfound punching bag, chunks of decay flying from his knuckles. You assumed he got bored of that as he dropped her body, walking over to the windowsill before picking up a steaming pot.

“Bone appétit,” he chimed, pouring the contents of the hot pot into a small bowl for you. Human teeth were swimming in the mixture, with what appeared to be a few toes in there, too.

“Eat it!” Sunghoon ordered, beating on the table with death stained fists. Tears poured from your eyes like waterfalls as he screamed his lungs out, spit flying from his agressive commands.

Growing impatient, he walked around the table, grabbing you by the throat.

“I said eat it, you stupid bitch!”

You woke up heaving for air, your clothes clinging to your body from your night sweats. You looked around, but the room was so dark that you couldn’t see anything. “Sunghoon!” You called out for him, but to no avail. You were completely alone in the basement, like you always were, but a part of you desired comforting so desperately. You wanted him to hold you close and make you feel safe.

Though, it’s hard to feel safe in the arms of someone you’re deathly afraid of.

You felt the urge to cry creeping up on you, but you decided to lay back down instead, wincing as your sore scalp sunk into the pillow.

Thankfully, this was all just a very bad dream.

꒷꒦ 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨…

Sunghoon and his figure skating group wanted to take a camping trip during their break from training. The team coach promised to finance the rest of the trip if they raised $300 organically by the following week. Wonyoung offered to help by hosting a bake sale at her school. With her free-time after class, she visited the library in search for a French patisserie recipe book. Meanwhile, Sunghoon was at the grocery store, shopping for fresh fruit, overly expensive dark chocolate, and whatever other ingredients his sister outlined on the list. She paced through the book shelves, noticing a group of jocks huddled around a table. Tuning in an ear, she eavesdropped on their conversation, continuing to analyze the book catalogs.

“Bro, I think he got her pregnant,” she heard one of the boys whisper, stopping her dead in her tracks.

“I don’t even believe he’s slept with her before,” another guy added.

“Mhm, and why’s that?”

“First of all, Sunghoon would kill him, second of all, she’s a literal child.”

“Shit, I’d sleep with her in a heartbeat. Child or not, we can do it at the playground if that makes her more comfortable," Maddison's twin brother grinned slyly.

“Gross, Max, she’s like your cousin's age."

“Jun-Hwan said something about Wonyoung practicing her moans for him?”

“Yeah, probably while he was pumping her with his baby batter. I hope she knows that’s not how you make cupcakes.”

The boys burst into laughter, earning an aggravated look from one of the librarians.

“Sorry,” Max mouthed quietly.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be. I bet Sunghoon’s already writing you punks down on his “do not admit” list,” the one with glasses retorted, getting up from the table before leaving the obnoxious group.

Wonyoung was still listening from behind the book shelf, swallowing the lump in her throat that dared to flatten into tears. She tried reminding herself of what Sunghoon would tell her everyday.

“Ignore the rumors, don’t let them take away your smile, Wonyo.”

Though, these words sat in the back of her mind as she made her way over to the jocks table, unintentionally balling her fists.

“Who told you that?” She inquired with a clenched jaw, interrupting their perverted gossip session. They looked as if they’d seen a ghost at the sight of her, completely speechless as they simply stared back. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Oh my God, just spit it out!” She yelled, not trying to keep her voice down anymore.

“Jun-Hwan did,” one of them shyly admitted, not meeting her face out of shame.

Wonyoung went to find Jun-Hwan, hoping that he would deny sharing things about her and their breakup behind her back. She knew exactly where to find her ex-boyfriend after school. It was the same place they'd usually meet to fool around: an abandoned bunker near the bleachers because Jun-Hwan hated anything too cliché.

She crawled into the bunker, finding Jun-Hwan with his tongue down some girls throat. Wonyoung didn't recognize her, but from the looks of it, she was around her age. The horny youths disconnected their lips with a wet pop at the realization of Wonyoungs presence. The girl hid her face in Jun-Hwan's shoulder while he met Wonyoung's anxious features.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true, Wonnie?”

“That you told people about us? About me?”

“God, would you slow down with all the questions? I was kind of in the middle of something here," he spat, pointing a hand at the girl who straddled him.

“Please don’t make me ask you again, Jun.”

He let out an annoyed sigh, “Okay. Fine. Yes. I told people. I don’t get why you have a problem with that, though.”

“Jun, I asked you not to tell anyone about us.”

“Yeah, when we were together. But you wanted to break up, remember?”

“You know that decision wasn’t up to me. Why’re you being so cruel all of a sudden? You could at least pretend to care about my feelings.”

“Hey, Wonyoung? Fuck off, alright? I don’t have time for your juvenile high school bullshit. Now go finish making fruit tarts with your brother or something.”

The saddened girl adjusted the backpack strap over her shoulder, wiping away the moisture that fought to escape her eyes.

“Okay,” Wonyoung whispered. “I’ll see you around, Jun-Hwan. Sorry for bothering you.” She sniffled one last time before crawling out of the bunker and beelining back home.

➠ wednesday, present

9:04am

Sunghoon dropped you off at the hospital for another check-up right before class. He gave you $50 in bills of five to last you til he came back. Still shaken from last night's events, it took you ten minutes just to work up the courage to sign-in for your appointment with Dr. Lee.

"Right this way, Miss ____. Feel free to wait in the visitor's lounge until Dr. Lee gets back. It's rare that any of our patients have visitors, so you should feel more comfortable there," the friendly nurse smiled, completely aware of your fragile emotional state. You took heed to the nurse's advice, entering the visitors lounge before taking a seat at one of the tables. You were thankful for the dim lightening of the empty space as you felt an intense panic frazzle your senses. Holding your own hands in an attempt to comfort yourself, you tried redirecting your attention on controlling your breaths. Looking down, you noticed the darkening bruises on your wrists from Sunghoon's abuse, pulling down your sleeves to cover the marks.

"____?" A concerned voice called from behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder. Your body jumped at the feeling, immediately relaxing as you turned to meet Heeseung.

You were unaware of your own tears streaming down your cheeks until Heeseung reached out to capture the droplets with the back of his hand. That's when he noticed the scuffs on your cheek from Sunghoon forcing your face into the floor, dried-up blood poking through your exposed scalp.

"Oh my God, what happened to you?" He asked, kneeling down to meet your height in the chair.

Your lips quivered into a frown as you shook your head frantically, shutting your eyes tightly at the memory:

“I’ll show you just how deranged I am.”

Before you could realize it, Heeseung was already holding you in his arms as you wailed into his shoulder. He ran a hand down your back, trying to soothe your nerves.

"Sunghoon... h-he's a monster," you confessed, telling Heeseung everything in your moment of weakness. You told him about Wonyoung, Kazuha, and Maddison. You told him about the log cabin and the things Sunghoon did to you in private. You couldn't keep hiding your pain anymore.

“____," he began with a sorrowful expression, breaking from the hug, "it’s not too late to get rid of the baby.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in frustration, “Why the hell would you even suggest that? I have to keep her! She's my child!”

“He assaulted you, ____, and your child will have to live everyday of her life knowing that. I won't persuade you into making a decision, but either way, I will do everything in my ability to get you the help you need.”

Your gaze fell to the ground as you tried to process all of your options.

"Hey," Heeseung said, grabbing your chin to meet his face again.

"I need you to listen to me when I say that I can't just let you go. Not with Sunghoon, and not without a fight."

You stared into Heeseung's glistening eyes, kissing him in the heat of your emotions. He pulled back, looking at your desperate features before diving back in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. You used your weight to pin him on the ground, melting into his honey-like touch as he explored your nervous skin.

Something about this moment felt different from the dark affection you'd grown used to from Sunghoon.

Heeseung felt light, energizing your entire body from the outside in. His body was warm and smelled like lilac, a new yet welcoming scent. Snaking a hand under your shirt, he fondled with your breasts as you trailed your own hand down to his bulge, palming him gently. He moaned into your mouth before you broke from the kiss, already missing the heat of his tongue against yours.

Looking down at his frame, you took in his disheveled hair, wrinkled shirt, and flushed cheeks. Retreating your hand from his hardness, you were reminded of the silver band that rested upon your ring finger.

"What is it," Heeseung asked, still trying to steady his breathing.

"I... it's...," you stuttered in a quiet voice, "Sunghoon and I are engaged.” An empty feeling washed over you at the unfortunate reality.

“Y-you...what?”

“He asked me to marry him last week, and...I said yes.”

Your confession meddled in the air for a moment, before Heeseung swore to himself, guiding you off of his lap.

“Forgive me, ____. I should've listened when you said we should stop seeing each other,” he frowned, considering how unprofessional his actions were.

Standing up from the ground, he offered a hand to lift you from the floor.

"This isn't your fault, Heeseung," you said, fixing your tussled clothes.

"None of that matters, right now, love," he replied, readjusting the collar of his shirt. "You need to figure out what you want to do about your circumstances and quick. Before it's too late."

➠ three days later, thursday

9:47pm

Sunghoon came back to the cabin later than usual. Unlocking the basement door, he broke through the staleness, hanging his jacket over one of the chairs.

“Where’ve you been?” You inquired tepidly, tucking away the origami deer you were folding into the psychology book that supplied the paper you used.

“It’s Wonyo’s birthday today, so I visited her grave on my way back," he said, walking over to meet you on the bed. "I forgot to ask the other day. How was the doctor?”

“Fine," you simply replied.

Sunghoon shook his head in disappointment before snapping like a rubber band, pulling you from the bed and pushing you against the wall.

“Remember, ____, this isn’t a get out of hell free card just because you’re carrying my child,” he hissed in between your squirms, “I will not hesitate to kill the both of you if you continue to disrespect me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You raised your voice at him, struggling in his grip.

“You didn’t think I’d find out about you sliding second base with the cute older doctor? Huh?” He asked rhetorically, gripping at the neck of your nightgown and shaking you like a rag doll.

“Sunghoon, stop it!” You yelled this time, earning yourself a harsh slap across the face. You felt one of your teeth puncture your upper-lip from the force, a metallic taste filling your mouth.

“What’d you tell him? And don’t you dare fucking lie to me!”

Your eyes screwed shut in fear at the intensity of the situation.

Why did things always have to escalate to such extremes with him?

“TELL ME EVERYTHING!” He growled impatiently, grabbing you by the throat with veiny hands.

“The baby’s dead!”

Silence.

His grip around your neck loosened before tightening again, “Bullshit, you fucking whore!”

“I’m serious, Sunghoon,” your voice cracked, eyes burning red from the brief loss of air.

He stopped his ministrations, searching your face for any uncertainty, any clue that you were lying.

“Th-that can’t be true, ____,” he could hardly meet your eyes.

“We lost her, Sunghoon. She’s gone.”

“For the sake of my sanity, tell me you’re lying! Tell me this is all apart of your plan to escape me.”

“I’m not like you, Sunghoon."

“What're you saying,” he asked, legs feeling numb from the pure dread that tainted his blood.

“I’d never lie to you.”

He fell at his knees, pulling you down by the shoulders with him. Cradling you in his arms, he guided your head to his chest, weeping into your embrace. This was your first time seeing Sunghoon cry, his dark eyelashes soaked with tears, pouty lips falling victim to an acute trembling. If it wasn’t for his agressive heartbeat, you would’ve thought he was dying from the sounds he made. Though, to be honest, it’s like apart of him did die.

“This world just won’t let me have anything at all, will it?”

➠ friday

6:05am

“____? ____, wake up!” Sunghoon nudged your sleepy frame excitedly.

“What, what is it?” You answered with a groggy voice.

“I made you breakfast.” He said, handing you a banana.

You ignored the 'breakfast' he held in his hand, “Why?”

“I wanna go somewhere.”

“What’re you talking about? I’m stuck here, remember?”

“Just eat up so you can get dressed.”

All of this excitement was too much for you process so early in the morning. “Sunghoon, just tell me all of this is about.”

He took your hands in his, smiling wide enough for his dimples to show. “I’ll tell you after you eat and get dressed. I promise.”

You sighed. “Okay.”

Why was he acting nice all of a sudden?

7:10am

Sunghoon took you to a familiar looking spot in the woods, about forty-five minutes from his log cabin. By now, you had gotten used to being Sunghoon’s passenger princess, but you didn’t understand his reasons for wanting to take you somewhere. He parked his infamous black car along a brick trail, cutting the engine before exiting the vehicle.

“Follow me,” he smiled, leading you to a lover's picnic area. A large white sheet rested on the ground, grassy rocks holding down each corner. There was a woven basket with a bottle of wine and a few pieces of bread wrapped in knitted cloths. “Come. Sit!” He urged as you met him on the picnic mat. The sounds of morning wind rustling through tree leaves filled the air as you observed your surroundings.

“Okay, Sunghoon. I ate the monkey fuel, got dressed, and now we're here. Why?”

He chuckled at your odd sense of humor, closing the distance between you on the sheet.

“Look. I know this may sound crazy, but… I wanna try again.”

You wished you misheard him, feeing you heart skip a beat at his suggestion. “Excuse me?”

“I’m talking about a baby, ____. I want another chance.“

“Sunghoon-”

He interrupted your sentence by cupping your face in his hands. “I gave you a choice with the marriage, but this time I’m telling you.” His smile faltered into a dour expression, a greedy hand traveling up to the base of your thigh.

“I want this from you, and you’re going to give it to me.”

A nauseous sensation hit your stomach, feeling disgusted by his chronic insanity.

Grabbing a fist full of dirt, you stunned him in the eyes before taking off in the distance. At this point, you were quite seriously running for your life, a natural adrenaline carrying you across the rocky path at an intense speed.

“____!” Sunghoon called out, dusting the dirt from his eyes before chasing after you.

Your feet and heart pounded in unison with the same vigorous effort, ignoring the voice that told you to look back. You thought to hide somewhere and catch your breath, but you knew had to keep running.

You had to survive.

Following the same path that Sunghoon took to get you there, the sight of civilization encouraged you just enough to run for a few more minutes.

That’s when you spotted a red car parked near the public garden you passed on the way. You couldn’t run any longer or else your legs would give out of you, so you hid behind the seemingly vacant vehicle, only to hear the sounds of slow footsteps approaching you.

You shut your eyes, repeating a prayer to yourself over and over again.

“____," a familiar voice called out, "what’re you doing by my car? I-is everything alright?”

“Heeseung!" You yelped, jumping from your initial crouching position and subconsciously clinging to him. "You have to help me!"

“Hey, relax, alright,” he cooed, bracing your lack of balance with his hands.

“It’s Sunghoon,” you forced out in between heavy breaths, chunks of sweaty hair sticking to your forehead. “He wants another baby, and now he’s after me.”

Heeseung wasted no more time speaking before unlocking his car and hiding you on the backseat floor, getting in the driver’s seat himself.

That’s when Sunghoon came running out of the thick of the woods, still calling after you like a madman.

Observing the public garden, he rationalized with himself that you couldn’t have gotten too far beyond this area. From the outside, he appeared to have barley even broken a sweat, but his core burned with a bloodthirsty hellfire.

Narrowing his eyes, Sunghoon spotted Heeseung sitting idly in the red vehicle, parked with the window slightly rolled down.

“Hello, Mr. Park. Taking an evening jog?” Heeseung called casually at the sight of Sunghoon, trying to mask any obvious suspicion.

“More or less. It’s great to see you, Dr. Lee! How’ve you been?” Sunghoon inquired, feigning consideration.

“Good, thankfully. Though, I have work at the clinic today, so I should really get going,” he replied, rolling up the window before Sunghoon hit the tinted glass.

“Wait!” He pleaded, his inner emotions now reflecting on his sullen features.

Heeseung sighed dramatically, trying to convey urgency. “I’m really in a hurry here, Mr. Park, and I can’t risk being late.”

“Just tell me the truth,” Sunghoon tried.

“Did ____ actually lose the baby?”

Heeseung fell quiet for longer than Sunghoon appreciated, but he waited patiently for an answer. The kind-hearted man took his glasses off, folding them in half before setting them in the empty passengers seat. He met Sunghoon’s weakened eyes, feeling compelled to answer him honestly.

“____ didn’t lose the baby, Mr Park. She had an abortion.”

Pop.

The single thread holding back Sunghoon’s rage broke at the confession, lashing out in a kicking tantrum against Heeseung’s car. He wanted so desperately to see the crimson exterior dent from the force, but his depleting strength failed him. You could feel a new force pulsing from the front of the vehicle, rocking your body against the backseat floor. With balled fists, Sunghoon smashed the hood of Heeseung’s car, a string of curse words flying from his mouth like venomous wasps.

Heeseung fired the ignition, gripping his hands on the steering wheel. “Move out of the fucking way!” He warned, honking the horn a few times to scare him, but Sunghoon was hardly phased. He pulled out a gun, pointing it at Heeseung’s head from the behind the windshield, “Get the fuck out of the car. NOW!”

Heeseung was left with no other choice but to obey, abandoning the vehicle and getting on his knees before him.

“Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed before? I’m sure ____ told you all about it, didn’t she?” Sunghoon asked, pacing back and forth. “The only thing is, I’ve never murdered anyone with a gun before,” he smirked sinisterly, imagining the way Heeseung’s eye balls would burst from their sockets as the bullet penetrated his skull. The frightened doctor kept quiet, afraid that saying the wrong thing or anything at all might shorten his life. Sunghoon fiddled with the tip of the weapon, “You deserve this, anyway. Slutting it up with my fiancé, taking away my child, and daring to look me in the face with that phony fucking smile.”

Screech.

You hopped in the front seat of Heeseung’s car, putting it in reverse before making eye contact with Sunghoon, hitting him straight on.

Crash.

You weren’t sure if Sunghoon’s limp body was underneath or in front of the car, but the sight of Heeseung kicking the deadly weapon a few feet away let you know that everything was gonna be alright.

You ran to hug him out of relief, several emotions taking over you. The once uproarious atmosphere fell quiet, as neither of you could think of anything to say. And frankly, there wasn’t much left to say, anyway.

The ten minutes that passed by felt like hours before the ambulance arrived at the scene, police investigator’s barricading the park with yellow tape. Upon retrieving Sunghoon’s body, the emergency team announced him to be in a state of deep unconsciousness from the collision: a coma. You were granted special visitor privileges because you were his fiancé, but you couldn’t have cared less to stay informed on the status of his well-being. The idea of him being incapable of eating on his own or even speaking for the next weeks or few months granted you an indescribable feeling of light.

Though, this was far from your story’s end.

➠ monday, two months later…

You tried to live a normal life after everything that happened. Giving up on your college dream, you picked up work at a cafe until you got used to normal again. You and Heeseung remained close friends, as the two of you shared a pretty dark part of your lives together. He also helped you overcome the nightmares you suffered from.

It went without saying that Sunghoon passed away. The part of you that still cared about him even brought flowers to his grave, but you never attended his funeral. Honestly, you doubt that anyone even arranged one for him.

Time went on, and you fell in love with your new life, still carrying scars with you that not only reminded you of a painful journey, but one that you survived.

Ding.

That was the sound of the bakery’s entry bell, letting you know that a costumer had just walked in. “Welcome to Café Royale,” you announced cheerfully out of habit, wiping crumbs from the front counter before meeting the fresh face at the register. The man stood tall with silky platinum hair, stunning eyebrows, and a killer jawline.

“Hello! How may I treat you today, sir?”

“Hmm, I’ll have an iced vanilla latte, with a sample of your classic tiramisu, if you don’t mind,” he smiled, flashing his pointy fangs.

“Of course! That’ll be 3.95, please,” you said, taking the five dollar bill he handed you. One of your employees whipped up his order in the back, passing it to you in less than a minute. You placed the plastic cup of coffee and tiramisu sample on a wooden tray, handing it to the charming costumer.

“Enjoy,” you chirped with a smile, ignoring the rush of butterflies that ran through your stomach.

“Thank you,” he replied, taking the platter and walking off. You watched as his footsteps come to a halt, turning on a heel before meeting you at the counter again.

“Do I…” he began, titling his head to take in your profile, “have we met before?”

❅ Thank you for reading @chlorinecake ‘s “Blood On Ice” Part 2! Make sure to check out more fun reads on my enhypen bookshelf!

❅ You can read part one of this series here!! 🎂

✎ ᴀ/ɴ: in no way, shape, or form does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. i simply write for entertainment and creative purposes. thus, reader discretion is always advised.

taglist: @ashgonedash @nikilvr @ttokyoobv @yourmomscuntis2tighy @fightqueen @addictedtohobi @sltfohoon @lisaaannna @beomgyusonlywife @casualcloddeputyherring @calichuchies-blog @devqrasgirl @rhiannass @fanficfactoryfoxxx @lovelycassy

[yandere-paramour]

Chapter Seven

After breakfast you started to feel a little stronger. You had some food in your stomach, the cloudiness and pain in your head cleared, and your limbs felt a little easier to lift. You weren’t at 100%, but it was almost comparable.

You sat obediently in your chair as Atalanta took the plates to the sink. There was no point in trying to run right now. She had ears like a hawk, looking back with a watchful eye any time you even breathed a little too hard. Your legs were still wobbly, and you would never make it to the door. it wouldn’t be feasible.

“Now, Darling,” She came back, placing a hand on your head and gently smoothing down your hair, “I have the whole day to spend with you, my love. What would you like to do?

You wanted to escape, but you weren’t going to tell her that, so you just stayed quiet, pretending that the tiles on the floor were arranged in the most interesting pattern in the world.

A little frustrated by your lack of response, she knelt in front of you, putting one hand on your knee, gripping firmly. With the other hand, she used her fingertips to slowly tilt your chin up until you looked her in the eye.

“Darling, I know you’re still adjusting, but you cannot ignore me when I am speaking to you. It is rude and I won’t tolerate it,” She scolded you like you were an errant child, and your face burned.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Forgiven, Darling. Just remember for next time,” She strokes your cheek a few times and you resist the urge to lean into her touch for comfort after your chastisement, “How about I give you a tour? This is your new home, after all.”

A tour? You visibly perk up. Mapping out the layout of this blasted apartment will make it ten times easier if you ever need to hide or set a trap or whatever.

“Sure!” You say, trying to seem happy and excited.

Atalanta looks a little startled by your enthusiasm, but she quickly controls herself and smiles back, holding out her hand in a way that looks both effortless and well-practiced, “Lovely. If I may escort you?”

You appreciate her giving you the illusion of choice, but you know that unless you either want to fall or make her angry, you are going to have to take her hand. You take it, using her strength to pull yourself to your feet. She barely reacts; she seems to be much stronger than you thought, her muscles barely flex when pulling you up.

“Let’s start here then go upstairs. First up, the kitchen and dining room,” She laughs, showing you the rooms you both are in and can see.

It is a pitiful attempt at a joke, but the way she says it is both awkward and endearing. You crack a smile, and she lights up. She explains that her chef comes over in the early evenings to make dinner and prep things for breakfast, but she makes it a point to tell you that you are welcome to cook/make/bake anything you like, as long as you be careful. She does not want to see you hurt, she explains, and she would like even less to see you hungry.

You know what the living room looks like, and the next room is a small bathroom, so you spend little time on those. Down the lefthand hallway are two rooms across the hall from each other. Atalanta unlocks and opens the door to show you her training room. Every surface below six feet off the ground is padded. The walls have those blue squishy pads you’re used to seeing on the walls of high school gyms for wayward basketball players, and the floor is covered in those spongy pads you would usually associate with small children. When she leads you in, you like the way they squish and give under your toes.

“Is this your… gym?” You ask

“Of sorts. In the mornings before work, I like to come down here to exercise and practice martial arts.”

“You practice by yourself?” This could potentially be important information.

“Sometimes, but I have a trainer who comes a few mornings a week to spar with me. I can only practice kicks and punches on that for so long,” She gestures behind her to the rubber man-shaped dummy standing stoically in the corner, “I have a tackling dummy too but it’s not nearly as fun alone.”

“That’s… cool?” You stammer. Was that a threat?

“Come, we still have much to see. Do you like flowers?”

It is when she is ushering you out of the training room that you remember you haven’t seen the room across the hall yet. You reach for the doorknob and she catches your wrist in a firm grips. You tug away instinctually, but in your weakened state, she has you in a vice grip.

“Atalanta-” You start.

“If you truly want to see that room, I will show it to you, but it will not hold good memories. I prepared that room to be one of contemplation.

“C-Contemplation?” You must’ve looked a little scared because she softens her grip.

“When you misbehave, this room will be a form of minor punishment. You will be required to stay in here a number of hours corresponding to whatever infraction you committed. Knowing this, do you still want to see?”

You shake your head no, and she releases your wrist, pulling you close to her and wrapping her arms around you. You stay stiff, not wanting to relax into her.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Darling. It’s just going to be difficult to adjust these first few weeks,” She pats your head, “Come, let me show you the terrace. If it’s not too cold, we can stay out there a while.”

Atalanta was right; the terrace was lovely. It was divided into two areas, enclosed with white walls almost six feet high. If you stood on a chair, you maybe could’ve seen over them, but as you suspected, you were high up, at least 10 stories. One area was a sort of sitting area. Comfortable cushions rested on a wooden base, and multicolored flowers surrounded them, making a sort of cute nook to rest in. The other side was dedicated mostly to plants, bushes, and even small trees. It was a veritable garden up here, complete with small lamps strewn over the top of the wall. You guessed they would provide cute ambient lighting at night. 

Atalanta was amused by your shock, “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” You said in awe, “How much did this cost?”

She waved your query off, “Irrelevant. What matters is the beauty. I often come out here in the evenings to read and relax.”

“That sounds amazing,” You give her a genuine smile.

“I’ll have to take you out sometime. The flowers are switched out with seasonal varieties so they are always blooming. It remains pretty year-round. Like you.”

You blush, turning away from her, “L-Let’s go upstairs.

Upstairs is more predictable. There is your Atalanta’s master bedroom and bathroom, along with two other unused rooms. Atalanta’s office doubles as the library; it is a very large room with an entire wall being glass, letting in lots of natural light. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves cover the walls, and you even recognize a few titles. It seems Atalanta has kept every book she’s ever read since college. It is so comfortable and clean, everything in you screams to grab a book, sink down into one of the plush chairs, and read for the rest of the day.

Next door to the library is a medium-sized screening room. When you enter, you gasp. You thought only rich people in mega-mansions had their own movie theaters but clearly Atalanta does. The largest grey couch you’ve ever seen dwarfs the room, facing a large projector screen. There are beanbags in the corners, ready to be propped right in front of the movie.  A stack of folded blankets is in a basket by the couch.

“I do not get a lot of chances to watch movies, but sometimes I work at home and work in here,” She tells you, “What do you like to watch?”

You can barely think, “I-I’m not sure?”

“That’s okay. How about we relax and watch a movie after dinner tonight? I can have some sweets brought up if that would please you.”

Your eyes light up, “Sure!”

The rest of the day is spent rotating between Atalanta’s study, the terrace, and the bedroom. You still feel tired, and soon after reading for an hour or so in the study you begin complain that you feel sleepy. She walks you to the bedroom and puts you down for a nap; you close your eyes obediently, curling into the warm blankets. After 15 minutes, she evidently judges you to be asleep and leaves, heading somewhere else in the apartment.

You sit back up; now you can think in peace.

You cycle back through the tour in your mind, creating a map. If everything goes to plan, you will be able to slip out sometime tonight. Atalanta slept like a rock, and you tested it last night, starting with a small wiggle and working up to fully sitting up in bed. She only moved when you sat up, and even then she only rolled over. 

She promised a movie in the screening room tonight. If you could get her distracted by the movie, she would forget to give you the sleeping drug. She might even forget to turn on any security measures for the apartment. Once she fell asleep herself, you could inch yourself out of her hold, steal a pair of her shoes, and slip out the door. If you left in the very early hours of the morning, you’d have a large window of time before she even woke up, let alone tried to find you. 

Laying back down, you tried to conserve your energy. You truly were tired, and of your plan to be awake all night was ensuing, you would need as much rest as you could get.

[ashmitaenterprises]

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[courtforshort15]

Chapter 6

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 6,800

Summary:  It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger Warning: Death...it’s a little dark here, y’all. Be cautious if that’s something that might trigger you.

Chapter Index

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

The inside of the gym is just as old as the outside of the building, faded paint and cracked walls and all. There’s a scent of sweat and used rubber that hits your nose, heightening by warm, stale air that’s unfortunately stopped circulating, likely due to numerous ceiling fans that have stopped spinning and an old AC unit that does not appear to be running.

The gym isn’t really anything special, a dull interior filled with gray lockers, old punching bags, and a boxing ring that had clearly seen better days. It looks like the mat inside the ring, and the ropes surrounding it, might have been replaced a little more recently, but overall the whole building is filled with equipment that has experienced the normal wear and tear of a well-loved but almost forgotten gym.

Your brain struggles to imagine what the gym might have looked like in the glory days, filled with boxers and crowds and screaming coaches, each one hyped up during a training session or match, beads of sweat flying and money switching hands.

Drops and smears of blood are splayed across the concrete floor, and you can’t help the violent shutter that rolls up your spine when you realize they’re fresh, not just old tinted memories left behind by some individual taking a fist to their nose.

You still don't see Matt when you take another few steps in, eyes tracing over the gym in front of you as you narrow your eyes in confusion. But there’s a brief silence that rests between crash after crash in the city, and the quiet murmur of voices and a loud, hacking cough coming through the other side of a door in the far corner echoes throughout the space.  You know what a cough such as that means, the deep, rattling cough of someone who’s in pain and not bothering to hide it, and suddenly your feet are taking you across the gym before you've thought about it, cringing when you realize the drops of blood are headed in the same direction.

Walking around the random ceiling tiles and items that have been knocked over, it only takes you a few seconds before you’re in front of a door that says Office at eye level, the lettering bold and faded black. It’s pushed slightly open, just a few pieces of light sliding between the crack and into the gym, and your hands only hesitate for the amount of time it takes to gulp in a deep breath, terrified about what might be beyond the door.

With a racing heart behind ribs that feel like they’re about to shatter from the force, your bandaged hand pushes the door the rest of the way open, widening enough for you to look into a room that’s as equally dull a gray, your eyes flitting over the basic office furniture and additional lockers that rest against the far wall. The scent of the room hits you, something just as stale and old as the rest of the building, but your nose wrinkles when you realize that it’s almost completely covered by the smell of copper.

It only takes a second for you to turn your gaze downward, and you can’t help the way your eyes widen when you take in the sight before you, biting your lip and raising a hand to cover your mouth to help stifle a cry. 

Matt’s dark hair stands out against the gray walls and white tile of the floor, the color deep and the strands looking like silk, but his dark head still pales in comparison to the red that is seeping through the ruined fabric of an older man’s t-shirt, sluggishly dripping to the concrete with noiseless drops. Matt’s arm has been wrapped around the man’s shoulders, lifting him into a slightly elevated position as he rests back against Matt’s knee and ever so slightly in his lap, his eyes squeezed shut as he shivers.

The older man is holding a hand to a wound in his abdomen, a deep wince on his face and breathing harshly in the face of whatever pain is likely to be spreading through his nerves like a never-ending wildfire. His gray hair, stained with dust and God knows what else, lays plastered to his forehead with sweat, a small trickle of blood sliding down his face from a knick above his eyebrow. Matt's talking in low tones, something soothing that you can't quite hear from the ten foot distance, as his hand lifts to gently shove the other man's hand away so that he can place another old, ratty towel over a wound you can’t yet see.

The rag is soaked within ten seconds, and it causes your heart to lurch.

Your eyes catch the sight of a stack of clean gym rags on a shelf to your left, so with quick thinking, you grab all of them and make your way towards the man’s side on wobbly feet. In your haste, you don’t bother getting to the ground slowly or gently, simply throwing yourself down next to Matt, knees crashing harshly on the scuffed tile that seems out of place in the old office. You’ll have bruises later, dark blue and purple from the force of falling to your knees, but you won’t be surprised if there’s not an inch of you that’s not marked up by today’s events when all is said and eventually done.

Better an array of bruises than lying in a street, forgotten even once the chaos dies down.

Wordlessly, you take the soaked rag out of Matt’s hands and throw it a few feet away, immediately placing a clean rag onto what you think might be the source of the bleeding. His shirt is too wet with blood for you to really tell exactly where the wound is in his abdomen, but Matt helps you adjust the rag slightly, no doubt helping you put pressure in the correct place.

“What happened, Bill?” Matt asks quietly, almost tenderly, grabbing the other man's hand in his. The grip on Matt’s hand is far too loose in return, almost limp and bone white, though when the man glances up at him, they’re slightly warm with recognition. 

You swallow dryly when it suddenly hits you that Matt knows the man, that he’s not some stranger, that Matt has some sort of connection to this man, whether it be large or small. You bite your bottom lip to keep a mournful whine from clawing its way out, doing your best to not sully the sadness that is present on Matt’s face, heartbreakingly aware that this grief is far more his than it will ever be yours. 

When you’re able to gain some semblance of control, you dare to ask a question that you don’t think you want to know the answer to, mostly because you’re sure you already know what it’s going to be, and the thought of the finality hurts your chest. Your voice is as close to silence as it’s ever been, but you know he’ll have no trouble hearing it, the words extremely reluctant when they come out. “Matt, is he going to make–”

He shakes his head immediately as he cuts you off before you can finish your question, the motion jerky, mouth grim as he all but confirms that the man isn’t going to live beyond a few more minutes. You have to force down the bile that suddenly rises up your throat. 

Here, huddled in an old gym as the city shakes and groans in horror, this man’s story is about to end.

It’s not the time to cry.

It’s not the time to cry.

It’s not the time to cry.

Bill coughs, a small trail of blood staining his bottom lip, and you can’t bring yourself to turn away, not when someone needs a level of comfort in their last minutes. You swap the soaked rag with another clean one, hands shaking as you push pressure on the wound again. The man winces at your touch, twisting slightly away from the pain, and it’s almost enough to make you want to pull away, but you keep your hands on the wound, some part of you still hoping in vain that it might help. Matt’s hand settles over yours, his palm far cooler than the warmth of the blood that continues to seep out despite your efforts. The contrast makes you shiver.

“Got hit,” Bill finally manages to rasp out, voice sounding like his throat was made of nothing but razor sharp pieces of glass, shredding each syllable on its way out. He makes no indication that he heard your question or saw Matt’s answer. “One of those things caught–caught my side.”

“Where were you?” Matt questions softly, brow furrowed as the man looks up at him, gray eyes already glassy. 

“On my way here,” BIll replies with another loud cough, one that causes his chest to spasm, and you ease up on the pressure to allow the movement. “Up a block. I was…I was able to drag myself in here.”

A new rag is swapped for the one currently pressed into his side, and you try to ignore both the dwindling stack of clean ones, and the heap of soaked ones, the red cruel and angry against the white of the floor.

“How…” Bill starts, a loud moan breaking the quiet when you press a little harder than before, as if adding more pressure will save him. “How did you know…how did you know I was in here?”

Slowly, you open your mouth to reply with a stilted excuse, but Matt beats you with a subtle shake of his head. “We don’t need to worry about that, Bill. We’re just lucky we found you.”

The grin that suddenly twists itself on to Bill’s lips lacks humor. “Lucky,” he says bitterly, “nothing lucky about being o-outside when shit went sideways just because….just because I decided to take an early lunch.”

The frown that deepens on Matt’s face is so sad that it easily becomes one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to look at. It’s completely devastated, though he tries to hide it, likely for the sake of the man dying in his arms, but you can see the way he’s struggling to hold it together. You take one blood soaked hand off of Bill’s side and place it on his leg, squeezing lightly with whatever comfort you’re able to provide in the moment, before it returns to add more pressure on the wound.

“I’m not–I’m not gonna make it,” the man says, a tear sliding down his face, mixing with the trickle of blood that’s still staining his cheek. “I’m not gonna…”

“Don’t say that,” you whimper quietly, squeezing your eyes tightly, turning your head into your shoulder to hide the way your face twists in a level of sorrow you haven’t felt in years, but one that seems to be the consistent theme of today’s massacre. You don’t think Bill hears you as he doesn’t acknowledge the words that you say, but Matt does, and he leans into your shoulder, both seeking and giving the comfort that the two of you are able to provide to one another.

When you look back, Bill’s eyes are fluttering, as if he’s fighting to keep them open, the drag of death continuing its journey to pull him under. “I’m not gonna make it,” he repeats quietly, “am I?”

Matt’s shoulders hunch in on themselves as his face cracks again, lip trembling for a quick second before he takes in a deep breath. “No, Bill. I don’t think you are.”

The older man shudders a nod in his grasp, eyes rolling back slightly, chest expanding rapidly in a hitched gasp, one that sounds painful on its exhale. His hand, still weak and pale, latches onto Matt’s dress shirt as if needing the additional physical comfort in these last moments.

“You gotta do me a favor, Matt,” Bill rasps out suddenly, and for the first time, his eyes meet yours, widening as if he was too out of it before to realize that someone else was there with him. You do your best to offer a small smile, but you know you fail, dry lips refusing to stretch. Bill’s own mouth smiles sadly at yours before his eyes shift back up to the man at your side. 

“Anything,” Matt promises quietly.

“I got married,” he begins roughly, noting Matt’s small jilt of surprise at the revelation. “I got m-married two years ago. I need you to find her and tell her that I l-love her and that I’m s-sorry.”

Matt nods his head slowly, his breath hitching on a sudden gasp, hand squeezing Bill’s hand as the man’s speech begins to slur and stutter. “What’s her name?”

“Anne,” the other man replies with a shudder, wide eyes beginning to tear up again. His lips have lost their color, you notice with a shudder of your own, head dropping so that you can look away, just for a second, from the sadness that continues to pull at his face. “My Annie. My b-beautiful Annie. Annie Campbell. P-promise me you’ll find her.”

Matt can’t quite get the words out, so you respond instead once you’re able to look up again. “We promise,” you vow quietly, speaking for Matt who looks just shy of losing all composure, knuckles white from where they hold on to Bill’s shoulder. 

“And t-take care of your girl,” he coughs out, chin shifting as if nodding in your direction, and your jaw can’t help but drop slightly at the comment, even as Matt swallows with another nod of his head. “Get–get her out of here. Keep each other safe.”

You don’t even bother objecting to the assumption, simply releasing the pressure from his side and grabbing the hand that’s buried in Matt’s shirt, taking it in yours and holding tight. Bill sends a watery, strained smile your way, one that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I will,” Matt whispers softly, not bothering to correct him. “We’ll keep each other safe.”

Bill’s eyes continue to flutter, staying closed for longer periods of time, only opening with a deep gasp that shudders his frame. He doesn’t speak again, merely focuses on breathing, hand weak and beginning to slide out of your hold. Your eyes tear up, the image of him blurry on the floor in front of you, the heat of the tears temporarily fogging your glasses. You don’t bother wiping at them, knowing that once you start crying for real, you won’t be able to stop.

“It’s okay, Bill,” Matt murmurs as his hand tightens around Bill’s even as it trembles, and you watch as the man’s face starts to go slack, fading away in front of your eyes. “It’s ok to let go. We’ll be right here.”

“Not going anywhere,” you affirm softly, ignoring the tears that continue to streak down your cheeks. “We’ll stay with you.”

Bill’s eyes slide open and meet yours again, deep gray glossing over, and it doesn’t take a genius for you to realize that his vision is slipping away with every single second that passes by. The pleading in them has shrunk back, a sense of resignation taking its place, and it takes everything in you to not lose it, to not break down. Bill deserves someone who is calm and assuring during his last minutes of life, and Matt deserves to be the one to have someone else be the strong one in this situation, and so you hold the grief in, wishing to give these moments to them.

He lets out a shaky breath, the sound lacking the pain that had been filtering through with every inhale and exhale. His hand falls limp in Matt’s hand, his lips fall open, and where there should have been another gasp for air, there is none.

Gone.

Matt’s face crumbles, head bowing in grief. You remember his comment about being able to hear heartbeats, and it causes you a swift and burning sensation of heartache, knowing that he must be far more aware of the silence than you are. You’d been focused on Bill’s rising and falling chest, the gasping for breath and quiet moans of pain, but Matt’s been forced to hear three heartbeats dwindling down to two. 

A few tears slide down his face, followed by a quiet sniffle, and you imagine the sadness on his face matches yours, haunted by something so deep and so grief-stricken that it reminds you of the anguish that hadn’t left your features for months after your mother died. 

“He’s been the manager here for thirty years,” Matt whispers, head tilted down towards his blood-soaked hands, the red still the color of life that had poured from Bill. “He knew my dad. Helped me with my homework when I’d come in with my dad so he could train.”

It takes you far too long to recognize that what’s haunting Matt’s face are memories of a time long past, of moments in time when his father had been around and taken him to places where people knew him and cared for him, and the pain that’s swallowing him is one you’re all too familiar with. Shifting your eyes to the man that lays dead next to you, your heart twinges at the sight of his wrinkled skin already losing warmth with every second that passes by. You reach forward, hand trembling as you shut the man’s eyes, hating the vacant look that’s settled in them. 

“I’m so sorry, Matt,” you say quietly as you slowly sit back on your heels, turning your attention back to the man next to you, his shoulders slumped and defeated. Matt continues to sit at your side, silence settling over the room, such a shocking difference to the man who had been gasping in pain just minutes before while Matt held him in his lap. “I am so sorry. I don’t—I don’t even know what to say, or what to–”

“You don’t need to say anything,” he interrupts you softly, head lifting up in your direction, your reflection glinting in the black lenses of his glasses. “Just…just be here with me for a few minutes. Please?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” you tell him as you shift over a few inches, leaning into him. You lift your arm to wrap it around his shoulders, but he beats you to it, red hand trailing across your upper back before it lands on your shoulder and pulls you in closer. You wrap your arm around his waist instead, and it takes all of two seconds before his head is dropping to rest against yours, smooth skin and strands of silk brushing your face as he settles.

The two of you sit like that for what feels like hours but is likely only five minutes, leaning into each other, choosing to ignore the pool of blood that is still staining the ground you’re settled on. Neither of you move, not even as a loud crash shatters the silence from a few blocks away, instead focusing on the quiet shifting of air as your breathing syncs up with his. He doesn’t cry, not really, though there’s no mistaking the slight damp spot on your forehead and the hand that occasionally lifts to brush his cheek.

Your tears match his, silent and unheeded, nothing but the occasional sniffle and the faint smell of salt.

Matt finally stirs, lifting his head off of yours, and you immediately miss the light pressure that’s been removed as he begins to shift away. His warmth leaves you, and you’re left with a slight chill, one that makes its way through your body and down to your fingertips. His arm slides across your back as he lets go of your shoulders, hand trailing over your blouse in a way that’s almost soothing.

He stands up smoothly in one quick motion, his hand already reaching down and encouraging you to grab it so that he can pull you up. You take him up on his offer, knees stiff from kneeling on the concrete, and you’re standing upright in two seconds, wobbling into him before he helps you regain your balance. 

Leaning over to brush the dust and dirt off your pants, you watch as he grabs a clean cloth from a few feet away to wipe the blood off of his hands. He tosses you a clean one as well, and you catch it easily despite your perpetually shaking hands, scrubbing at the red that’s already begun drying on your skin. Matt’s tie that is wrapped around your hand is already soaked through with blood from the gash in your palm, so you focus on your other hand, wanting nothing more than to clean under your fingernails.

The bus that had burned in reds and yellows and oranges is forever seared into your head, the sight of scalded flesh and melting metal likely to leave you with vicious nightmares anytime you close your eyes, but it’s almost nothing compared to the feeling of blood seeping over your skin and into your clothing. Both were bound to leave you haunted for the rest of your life, but one was merely visual while the other was forever going to be etched into your skin, the remembered feeling of someone’s life literally sliding out onto your fingers.

When you finish scrubbing your hands as best as you can, you glance up to where Matt stands, now only a few feet away from you, his hands placed on his hips as he tilts his head in thought. 

“Should we–”

But before you can finish your question, the building suddenly rattles and groans, and you find yourself almost immediately shoved up against the lockers as Matt blocks you in, chest to yours as he raises his arms to protect your heads. The shaking doesn’t last long, though Matt stays close as you pant in his ear, your hands wrapped into what used to be his white dress shirt, the fabric covered in dust and dirt and blood, nothing but a brief montage of the horror of today.

When he finally steps back, your wide eyes flit across the room, taking in the few things that have been knocked to the ground off of the old, wooden desk that’s pressed up against the wall, and a ceiling tile that has fallen to the ground, leaving nothing behind but a dark wound against the white of the ceiling. All in all, the damage is minimal, the shaking nothing like what had happened at the bookstore.

“Is it–”

“It’s done, yeah,” Matt says in reply, accurately guessing your question and cutting you off with his answer. “Something crashed nearby, but the building itself is fine.”

The breath you release is shaky. “Okay.”

“We should get moving,” he tells you, hands back on his hips, head thrown back slightly as if studying the ceiling that seems as flimsy as it is sturdy. You can easily guess that the building isn’t as secure as you’d like it to be, far too fragile in its decades of existence, just a shell of what it might have been in its days of glory. But you suppose it’s lack of strength doesn’t really matter, seeing as how no building, new or old, can outrun or outmatch the force of the weapons that have been blasted at brick, concrete, and steel.

“Yeah, we should.” You wince as you shift your feet, shoes feeling more and more painful every time movement stops for a few minutes, but it doesn’t stop you from making your way to the door that opens into the gym, hand pushed out behind you for Matt to grasp on to. 

But instead of grabbing your hand and following behind you, Matt suddenly turns on his heel and walks into the corner on the far opposite side of the room, his steps quick and hurried.

“What are you doing?” you ask with a frown as you turn back around, hand still slightly outstretched from where you had offered it to him. It drops to your side as confusion seeps in, watching as he continues walking away. “We need to go.”

Matt doesn’t really acknowledge your words as he bends down to grab something, lips pulled into a thin line of concentration. He’s dipped down slightly behind the desk in the office so you’re not able to see what he’s picked up until he’s standing back up and placing a large laundry basket next to an old computer. It’s filled to the brim in clothing and other items, and the quizzical frown on your face remains as Matt begins digging through it.

“What are you doing?” you question again, repeating your words from just twenty seconds ago. You step closer to the desk as Matt continues to sort through the items almost manically, his movements rapid and still somehow practiced and concise.

“This is an old lost and found basket,” he says in response, brow furrowed as he tosses various t-shirts and sweatpants onto the desk without much care. “I think it has–aha!” He pulls out a matching pair of tennis shoes and slaps them loudly onto the wood of the desk.

Bewildered, your eyes drift back and forth between the pair of shoes and the grim look on his face, though his mouth tilts briefly in success. “What…why were you looking for these?”

 He pulls the right shoe into his hand and immediately begins undoing the ties before moving onto the left one. “You need to get rid of the heels,” he tells you as he pushes them towards you. “It’s not safe to be in those.”

Lips twisted in a grimace, you glance back down at the shoes. “But it’s…gross.”

Matt sighs loudly, a tear still faintly glistening on his cheek. “I know, but you’ll be much better off in these. We don’t–we don’t know how long this will last. This subway station may have collapsed, too, and we might need to keep moving for a while. I can’t…I just want to make sure you’re safe and that you can run if you need to.”

“How am I supposed to argue with that?” you ask rhetorically with a grumble as you reach forward to pick up the shoes. Luckily, they look to be about your size, if not a little small, but you suppose beggars can't be choosers in situations like this. The shoes look well-used, the black soles rubbed down and hot pink laces smudged with some dirt, but it seems like there’s little room to think about another solution.

Matt’s right. You’re not safe in the heels, not with the slower pace you’ve been forced to use in order to avoid crashing to the ground, not with the inability to run should something pop up in front of you. The tennis shoes will offer a steadier journey to the station, and it’s not necessarily smart to avoid taking the obvious solution that rests in front of you.

Besides, it’s not just your life at risk. He’s demonstrated by now that he’ll be with you every step of the way, despite whatever it may cost him, and you know you’ll never forgive yourself if anything happens to him while he’s saving you from a situation that could have been avoided.

Matt swings the office chair towards you, careful to avoid brushing against Bill’s foot in the process, and eases you down onto the seat. Without much further ado, you kick your heels off, letting them clack on to the concrete with a graceless fall. 

“Are there any–”

Matt places a pair of socks onto the desk near the left shoe, his wince matching your own. Wearing someone else’s shoes was one thing, but wearing their socks was another, and the look on his face suggests that feels the exact same way about it as you.

“....awesome,” you mumble. You take a deep breath before biting the bullet and yanking on one sock and then the other, lips pursed in thinly veiled disgust. Before you can reach for the shoe, Matt’s placing it gently into your hand. You whisper your thanks as you bend back down to slip it on and tie the laces.

Once the shoes are secured on your feet, toes cramped together in a space that is just slightly too small, you stand up. Matt turns his body so that he’s fully facing Bill, lips pressed into a frown that is nothing short of grief-stricken. Blood has seeped out around him slowly, the color vibrant in shade but dull in purpose. Matt slowly lowers his head before crossing up and down, left and right, hand shaking as it does so. Without a word, he motions for you to exit the room, walking closely behind.

The heat of outside feels overwhelming as you step back on to the street, the smell of smoke and dust laying around the city and encasing it in a haze. The warm air sticks to the sweat on your skin, even while your bones seem colder with every step, a shiver racking its way up your spine as you struggle to put the past ten minutes into a corner of your mind that you’ll work through later, once you have time to scream and rage and sob out all of the horror you’ve seen today.

Matt immediately takes off, crossing back across the street and continuing the journey north, and you swallow swiftly after him, feet still in pain from the shoes that are slightly too small and the blisters that had been rubbed raw, but your ability to move quickly has increased, the pesky heel of a shoe no longer holding you back and making you unsteady with every step. He walks in front of you, no longer extremely concerned about the thought of you losing your balance, though his movements still offer you a path through the rubble and debris littering the sidewalk.

He pauses occasionally, tilting his head this way and that as if listening for something far off in the distance, before continuing on, his pace quick and almost grueling. You don’t take it personally that he’s put a small bit of distance between the two of you; you simply take it as Matt trying to get far away from Fogwell’s as quickly as possible, and you certainly don’t blame him.

The city remains in a constant state of chaos, sirens and explosions and the firing of guns and otherworldly weapons assaulting your ears relentlessly. You can’t imagine how the sound must be hurting Matt’s ears, and every fraction of a wince you’ve seen on his face since you pulled him into the bookstore suddenly makes more sense, now knowing the sharp level of his hearing.

You’ve barely reached the top of the second block, Matt perhaps a few yards ahead of you, when another explosion roars just yards behind you, and the blast that echoes is deafening in your head and over your skin. There’s a rumbling behind you, the force increasing in speed, and you're only given a split second to realize what’s happening before you're knocked off your feet and crashing to the ground. 

Distantly, you hear Matt screaming your name as you fall, and the only thought you have is to cradle your head in your hands, attempting to provide an awful imitation of a helmet to keep your skull from landing on the concrete. As it is, you land with a devastating smack, your body sliding over cement, glass and rocks cutting through your blouse and digging into your skin. One of your forearms, in particular, takes the brunt of the landing, and you know without seeing that it’ll look like a horrible case of road rash, skin torn and red and bleeding.

The cry you let out is loud and completely involuntary, shredded with a pain you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. 

Matt, who had already been around the corner and escaped the force of the blast that had knocked you from behind, is already at your side before you can reorient yourself, hands tightly grasping your forearms and hauling you back to your feet, no time to waste should something be heading your way. His hands are gentle even while the muscle behind his movements are rough, and you can’t help the loud groan that slips through your lips.

His face hovers in front of yours, mouth parted in shock and fear as he speaks, words rushed as he pushes a hand into your hair and tilts your head up so that you’re staring straight up at him. The blast is still ringing in your ears, so you aren’t able to hear more than a few words of what he's saying, though you pick up on enough to know he's asking if you're okay. A cold shiver slides down your back, one that has you standing stiff in horror as your mind speeds up and you succeed in dragging yourself back inside your head. But the more you look up at him, his hand hovering over your cheek as the sound of his voice slowly comes back, the more you realize something is off, something is wrong. 

It’s just–

You can’t really….see him.

Eyes widen drastically as they leave his face, flitting across the city block that had been, just seconds early, a clear image to you, despite the layer of dusk and smoke that spreads through the New York City streets. Your head shifts this way and that, trying to find one thing, just one thing, that’s not fuzzy, and it’s with sheer terror that you finally understand that you can't really see anything. Nothing but blobs and blurs and faint splashes of color here and there. It’s not the haze of a possible head injury, or the loss of focus as eyes grow tired with exhaustion, it’s…worse.

Lifting your hands to your face, your fingertips land on your nose, and with a fresh wave of sheer dread you realize your glasses have disappeared from your face. A gasp rips itself from your mouth, and before you can think about it, you’re dropping back to the ground onto your hands and knees, literally crawling on broken glass as you search for your glasses. Your entire body aches with the movement, new scrapes and cuts and bruises hissing at you, but you’re somehow able to ignore it with your frantic search.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rushed and loud, trying to compensate for the way his voice is threatening to be washed out by booming sounds resonating through the streets of Manhattan. “What–what’s going on?”

“I can’t see,” you whisper with a panicked gasp, barely noticing the new slice on your pointer finger as you feel around the concrete. “I can’t see.”

Matt’s voice is as sharp as the glass that’s digging into your knees as he asks, “What?”

Your head whips up towards him, noticing that he’s moved to a crouch directly to your left, his head not too far from yours. “My glasses…they’re gone. I–I don’t know where they are. I can’t see.”

Biting back the tears that are threatening to fall, you continue feeling the ground around you, body turning so that you’re facing the opposite direction. You feel a second panic attack building, but you brutally shove it back down, knowing that now is not the time to flip out, despite the anxiety that fills your system relentlessly.

Your hands continue feeling around on the ground, and without thought, you crawl over to where you think you had landed. With growing frustration and dread, you fail to find them, distorted objects swimming in and out of your vision. You can’t…your eyes can’t focus on anything. Not without your glasses.

Before you can crawl another foot, a hand settles on to your back, causing you to immediately lift your head sharply. Matt has made his way to your side again, his form kneeling next to you, his face the only thing that seems partially clear to you, as close as it is.

“We need to keep moving,” he says quietly, though his voice is no less urgent than what it’s been since you entered the bookstore, already in hyperdrive as he struggled to put a plan together.

“But…I can’t find them,” you tell him, voice exceedingly vulnerable as your fear spikes again, claws shredding your skin as it fights to get out. It matches the way your entire body throbs with every hit and hurt you’ve taken today. “I still can’t find them.”

“You’re not going to find them, not where there’s already so much glass and debris everywhere.” His voice is incredibly gentle as he pushes a lock of hair behind your ear. “Even I can’t—” He cuts himself off before he finishes the statement, and you might have questioned him further about what he meant, but you are too preoccupied to try and guess.

“Matt,” you start, hating the desperation that has started seeping into your voice as you struggle to take a deep breath. “I…I can’t see further than a few feet ahead of me. I can barely see your face.”

His face is all too knowing, and it doesn't take a genius to quickly remember that he's perfectly, uniquely aware of the struggle you're currently facing. You briefly feel ashamed, knowing your trouble with your vision can be solved by finding your glasses, whereas his is a permanent loss. “We can't stay here, we need to leave."

Terror is still flaring. “But how are we supposed–”

His jaw tightens, determination flashing across his face. “Let me handle that, okay?” Matt stands abruptly, his hand shooting out in front of your face, no doubt meant for you to grasp. When you hesitate to take his hand, eyes still wildly searching the ground for the blue frames of your glasses, Matt murmurs your name, trying to draw your attention back to him. 

“Take my hand, sweetheart,” he says quietly, the words quiet but somehow the clearest thing you’ve heard all day. Your bottom lip trembles, giving in and ending your search with a mournful sigh, before you slide your hand into his. He effortlessly pulls you to a standing position by his side, though you stumble briefly as the new cuts in the left side of your body cause you to almost hunch over. 

“I still don’t understand though,” you say as you slowly right yourself, shakily brushing the glass off of your pants and ignoring the sting on your knee. “What are we supposed to do? I don't–"

All at once, Matt's hand is lifting towards his face and pulling his glasses away, pocketing them. Beautiful dark eyes sit in a face covered in dirt and small cuts from glass, and he's just close enough that you can pick up small flecks of green. You’re not able to look away, not able to miss a single second of the eyes that have been covered by black lenses since you first saw his face, a barrier now lifted between the two of you..

"I know this is scary," he says, eyes flitting over your face blindly. "Believe me, I know. But I have lived without my sight for almost twenty years and I can navigate Hell's Kitchen like the back of my hand without it. You’ve seen me today, seen the way I move. I promise I know where we’re going and I promise I’ll get us there."

You trust this man with your whole life, and you know without a doubt that he’s more than capable of doing what he says he can. But it doesn’t stop the way you shudder in fear, your lack of focused sight yet another piece of you becoming far too vulnerable on this particular, horrific Wednesday. 

How things have changed since you met him, offering guidance to a blind man in concern for his own vulnerability, only for him to now be the one offering a sense of safety.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” you finally say, voice wobbling slightly on a whimper. You take another deep breath and square your shoulders, face lifting to look at him directly. “Or I’ll find a way to kick your ass when this is all over.”

Matt lets out a loud bark of laughter despite the situation, shaking his head. “Noted and terms accepted.”

It takes a few minutes and another block and a half for you to realize that his face, while a little blurred, is still open and clear and beautiful, dark eyes shifting left and right as he pulls you along, black lenses on thin silver frames intentionally left in the pocket of his suit jacket.

For you, he’d chosen to keep them off.

[klairwritesthings]

Whumptober Day 2: Role Reveral

This is set in the wonderful @lumosinlove 's sweater weather universe. Go check out their incredible works!

If Sirius was being completely honest, he had completely lost track of how many times Remus had told him he was a horrible patient. And honestly? Sirius had always been inclined to agree.

Even before they were together, when he was still rehabbing his ankle, Remus hadn’t hesitated to call Sirius out on his bullshit. About the way he would gripe and complain about the pain, only to skip his nightly ice and elevation. Push himself too far, too fast. 

Then, when Fenrir broke his ribs, it had become clear just how horrible of a patient he really was. The pain had made him irritable, quick to push and snap and break. Remus had been a saint through it all, a steady presence in the storm of Sirius’ ever changing emotions. So yes, Sirius had agreed that he might just be the worst patient. But now, he was realizing how wrong he had been, because that award went to Remus. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me”. Remus’ head snapped around so fast Sirius was surprised it didn’t just keep on spinning. 

“Sirius! Hey!” Sirius narrowed his eyes at Remus’ fake grin. His fiancé was currently teetering dangerously on his crutches, attempting to carry a plate of saran wrapped leftovers without falling on his ass. “You hungry?” 

“No, but if you were, you should have called me.” Remus shrugged, which only further unbalanced him. 

“You were busy.”

“I really wasn’t”. Sirius actually had been pretty busy, spending most of the day running around trying to keep Remus from further injuring his dislocated knee. Except, Remus had said he was going to lay down for a bit, and Sirius thought it was safe to sneak into the home gym and get a quick workout in. Evidently not. 

“It’s just lunch, I’m completely capable of making lunch.” Sirius scoffed. 

“You’re not even capable of walking right now.”  The glare Remus turned on him was so harsh Sirius raised his hands in defeat.

“Okay, okay, désolé, you’re right. I know you can make lunch.” Remus narrowed his eyes, as if he was trying to suss out whether Sirius was mocking him. Then, he slowly began moving towards the counter. When Sirius didn’t stop him he continued, unwrapping the leftover thanksgiving Turkey. 

When Remus reached up to open the microwave that hung above the stove Sirius held his breath, watching closely for any wobbles in balance. The last thing Remus needed was to fall. However, he managed to successfully place the plate in the microwave and turn it on without incident. 

Remus turned, a gloating grin on his face. “See, told you I could make-” For a second Sirius didn’t understand what had happened.

One second Remus was basking in his small victory, the next he was all but collapsing onto the tiled floor. A loud squeak startled him out of his silence, a red rubber dog ball rolling innocently away from where Remus was now crumpled. 

Continue reading on ao3

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