#i went out without a rain coat or boots in the light rain at night in a poorly lit locale

[acespirit]

you don't understand tumblrinas I wasn't joking about juno steel I'm never joking about juno steel once again I lie there for an hour listening to and thinking about juno steel and again I am overtaken it is midnight thirty I put on my fire safe leather jacket I stand forlornly alone on empty bridges I clandestinely avoid cars and human interaction staring into the night sky in a place that should be full of life yet I am always alone and I AM STILL FEELING THINGS ABOUT JUNO MOTHERFUCKING STEEL--

[prettymuchteddy]

The Invitation

Summary: When Lord Gareth is invited to King Viserys' castle on the nearly desolate island of Dragonstone, he is not prepared to come face to face with the King's daughter, Rhaenyra. However, the longer he stays the more he becomes convinced something is odd about the Princess.

Read on AO3

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Alicent Hightower, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Original female characters

Warning: horror themes, vampires, mild blood, biting, blood drinking, polyamorous relationship, character death, and murder

Words: 3,744

A/N: I was inspired to write this after watching Van Helsing. So it has heavy Dracula vibes. Hope you enjoy it!

A knock came from the door.

The man outside hid underneath the arch of the looming structure. Rain poured down on his coat, soaking through. His boots were flooded by the onslaught of water. He released a shaky breath as he knocked again.

“Hello?” He called out; however, the storm was more powerful than his voice.

Yet, his plea seemingly worked when the mahogany doors creaked open. He stepped inside without a second thought.

The warmth of the castle enveloped his trembling figure. He straightened himself to look presentable. He fought against making a face when his drenched shoes squeaked when touching the dark carpet.

“Lord Gareth, I presume?” A voice asked.

The man lifted his head to find a woman standing a few feet from him. He was quick to notice her beauty. She was pale but not as pale as her white hair which had been tied back in a rigid braid. Her elegant long black dress dragged behind. Her light-colored eyes stared him down.

“Yes, I’m Lord Gareth, um I received an invitation from King Viserys…” His eyes wandered trying to find another soul in the castle.

“I can assure you; you’ve come to the right place. My father was the one who wrote you the letter.”

“Your father?” The man seemed confused.

“I’m Princess Rhaenyra.” She smiled.

“Oh.” He fixed his posture. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I was not aware.”

She waved a hand. “There’s no need for such formalities, Lord Gareth. My father is not here at the moment.”

“Pardon? King Viserys isn’t here?”

“No, he went on a hunting trip, but he’ll return in the morning.”

The man glanced at the door. “Forgive me for arriving so early.”

“Again there is no need to apologize. I can arrange a room for you.”

“That’s very generous of you, Your Highness, but I do not want to impose.”

“There’s a storm outside and it’s a long way down the hill again, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be a bother?”

“Of course not, we would love to have you.”

He picked up his bag. “Thank you, your highness.”

She smiled and reached out her hand for him to take. “Welcome to my house, my lord, I hope you find it to your liking. We here in Dragonstone are known for our hospitality. So much so people tend to never leave.”

The flight of stairs seemed to go on forever. Each step resulted in a small groan from the man as he climbed up. The castle’s massive size became clear when the ceiling rose to its curved arches. Dark chandeliers hung from the ceiling and how they had even placed them up there was its own mystery. A chill brushed by his neck the higher they went. He kept his calm, following her down a narrow path. The stone walls made it seem like a barricaded fortress rather than the elegant castle he had expected.

The princess turned down a hallway. Her steps were oddly silent against the wooden floorboards. He dragged his bag behind with a tired arm. His heavy feet stomped across the red carpet. Despite his noise, the princess did not utter a word, her relaxed and quiet presence was not interrupted in the least. She abruptly stopped in front of a door.

“This will be your room for the night.”

With a limp hand, he reached out and turned the handle. The door swung to reveal a plain room with a simple bed, nightstand, and cabinet drawer. It was painted in a dull beige color, and there was no piece of décor in sight. Even the floor lacked a carpet. This was it?

Gareth glanced back at the princess. He expected her to look inside the room and realize its conditions were lacking as well. Perhaps recognize that an error had been made.

She was serious however, there was no mistake.

“Get some rest, my lord. I’ll call you down for supper time soon enough.”

She left before he could respond.

He turned back to his room. “No better rooms in this place? I doubt it,” he muttered to himself.

Gareth closed the door behind him. He dropped his bag to the floor, letting it land with a thud. The exhaustion of the day’s journey was beginning to set, and the bed was looking tempting. His eyes were drooping from tiredness. He laid down on the bed, deciding to close his eyes for a little bit. Just as he was falling asleep, he could see a soft glow before succumbing to the darkness.

He awoke when he heard someone’s voice. It was as clear as the cool air he breathed. His eyes scanned the living quarters. The room was darker than before, but nothing was out of place. Only the sound of his own heartbeat rang through. No one was here, yet he swore something whispered in his ear.

Leaning down, he pulled up his boots from the floor.

A shuffle came from behind the door.

He froze.

In the small gap of the door, there was little light. Carefully he approached the door. His timid hand grabbed the handle and opened it to reveal nothing on the other side.

Within the corner of his eye, he saw something move. His gaze went down the long hall. The noise sounded again.

Gareth followed the noise down through the halls. He passed by the individual doors, leading to an open area. He realized he was in a large drawing room from the sofas and small tables. Seated at the head of one of these tables was a woman with dark hair. Her eyes flickered to him.

“Hello,” she spoke gently.

“Hello…” He paused. “Forgive me I wasn't aware there was someone here.”

“Well as you can see, I’m here.” She smiled.

He chuckled lightly. “Yes, clearly.”

She gestured toward the seat across from her. “Would you like to sit?”

He glanced back to the chair. “Yes, thank you.”

“How do you like to play?” She asked while setting down a stack of cards. “Any wagers?”

He glanced at her while she shuffled the deck. A necklace hung around her pale neck. Her smile was gentle and soft, just like the rest of her. She was beautiful beyond words. He relaxed his shoulders.

“Ten gold coins.”

“So, you’re a betting man then?” A voice said.

He flinched. From the corner of his eye, he saw another woman seated beside him. He whipped his head around.

Her hair was a fiery red, cascading down her shoulders. The deep blue eyes scanned the table, quickly finding a pile of cards already set. She grabbed them, bringing them close to her chest.

“You’ll be playing too?” The brunette asked out loud.

“Always,” a low voice answered.

Gareth turned to where another woman had sat beside him. Her fingers caressed the cards as she organized the deck she’d been dealt. Her dark brown eyes were like deep pools he felt he could almost jump into.

“Will you be placing anything to wager?” The brunette inquired to the others.

“No,” the redhead said promptly. “I’ve learned my lesson in the past.”

“I wouldn’t suggest gambling,” the most recent arrival mentioned. “It’s a terrible habit.”

“Old habits tend to be difficult to stop.”

She leaned closer. “Even when they’re terrible?”

“Terrible things tend to be the most exciting,” he flirted.

Her lips curled up in amusement. “How so?”

“Have you ever been to the North?”

“No, sadly never gotten the chance.”

“It’s a frigid wasteland with half-barbaric living conditions. Yet you can feel your blood pumping there as the harsh wind blows on her face. Makes you feel alive.”

She hummed in interest. “Have you gone to very many places?”

“Yes, and I’ve written of them too. I have quite a few books under my name.”

“I must read your work sometime, Lord Gareth.”

“I’d love to show you, lady…”

“-Alicent,” she finished for him. Her gaze went toward the other women present.

“Since you’re a guest Lord Gareth, would you like to set any rules?” The brunette asked.

He tore his attention away from Alicent and back to the cards. He only then realized he had no idea what they were playing.

“Need help?” The redhead whispered near his ear.

He was caught off guard by her sudden presence. She did not look like she cared as she leaned closer.

“Is there a specific way you like to play, lord Gareth?” She stood from her seat and positioned herself on the edge of his armrest. “We have our own way of doing things here on Dragonstone, but we’re always happy to amuse guests.”

The warmth ran to his face when her hands ghosted over his hair. He found it hard to look away from her. His throat was dry as she looked him up and down.

“Are you always this shy, Lord Gareth?”

He couldn’t find the words to speak. Her lip quirked up in amusement. He was not prepared to feel her lips on his neck. Good gods help him. Her soft breathing made his breath hitch.

Everything was becoming a hazy blur as the other women stood from their seats and approached. He swore his senses would have driven him mad if the door had not opened roughly.

The redhead suddenly jumped off him. He blinked a few times before remembering where he was. The embarrassment flooded his features within moments.

The princess was standing between him and the other women. “Dyanna, what have I told you about how we treat our guests?” She scolded the redhead.

Gareth straightened himself to try and save whatever dignity he had left.

“And Lenora, Alicent, you cannot simply enable what she does.”

They lowered their heads when the princess spoke to them. He figured they were probably servant girls. Still, he did find it odd that they all wore white dresses and had jewelry. Perhaps they were ladies-in-waiting instead.

“Lord Gareth,” the princess finally acknowledged him. “Supper is ready, please follow me.”

He did as she asked and walked behind her toward the dining room.

The table was already set when they walked inside. Two plates of food were waiting for them and wine filling the brim of two goblets. Princess Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table without a word. She calmly took her utensils and began cutting into her meat.

There was thick silence enveloping the dining room. The clacking of the silverware filled the dry atmosphere. He avoided looking directly at the princess.

“Lord Gareth,” she abruptly cut through the tension. “Forgive my ladies for their behavior. They simply got excited. We don’t get very many guests often.”

“It’s alright, Your Highness. I’m sure your ladies did not mean any harm.” He paused. “Have they served you long?”

“I’ve been with them for ages. With so much time together, you grow fond of each other.”

“It does help that Dragonstone is such a small island.”

She hummed to herself. “They say that home is where the heart is. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You wouldn’t consider traveling?”

“Oh, not anytime soon, though I did much in the past as did my father.”

“Truly?”

She nodded. “Tell me, Lord Gareth, do you tend to travel much?”

He lifted up his gaze. “Yes, I do.”

“How often are you away from home?”

He sighed. “Months at a time usually.”

“I’m sure your wife gets lonely without you around.”

“I’m not married, Your Highness, my wife passed on many years ago.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you at least have an heir waiting for you at home?”

He gave a short laugh. “Not really. I only have a daughter; nothing will pass to her.”

This seemed to grab the princess’ attention as her gaze was torn from her food. “You have a daughter? How old is she?”

“Ten and three.”

“She’s very young,” the princess muttered.

“Indeed. She spends her time with her maids and ladies.”

“Are you so sure? You do travel often.”

He gulped down the wine. “I imagine that’s what she does. I admit, I know very little of where her time is spent. But what man isn’t in the dark about what women think?”

“One must be around to understand,” she whispered.

“She’s used to it, I’ve traveled since she was a babe. Believe me, Your Highness, when you marry and have children, you’ll see for yourself.”

The princess’ eyes seemed to flicker oddly. He blinked a few times. The wine was surely getting to him.

“If I should be so lucky.”

She stood from her seat, neatly tucking her chair back into its original position. Her gaze returned to him.

“Would you like to tell me more as we wait for the desert? I can show you some of my father’s relics from his travels if you’d like.”

Gareth stood from his seat, slightly confused but willing to amuse the princess’ request.

The hall became narrow as they went downstairs. Whatever chill he felt before was amplified further by where they were headed. With little decorations, the stone structure was beginning to look more foreboding. The only things that he could find to dress the bare space were a few portraits hung along the sides.

He looked over at one painting of three people. He recognized the girl in the portrait as the princess despite how young she was. Her white hair was loose with a crown resting on top. Beside her was a man and a woman, both with the same pale hair. Gareth imagined them to be her parents. They stood in front of the drawing room he had come upon earlier, though the room was painted a different color there than it was now. The portrait had dust along the frame. He wondered why the king had chosen to let this part of the castle get like this. They had servants clearly.

“Did your father take the jewelry during his travels?” He asked.

“Pardon?” The princess’ face scrunched up slightly.

“I noticed that one of your ladies was wearing an older relic.”

Rhaenyra nodded carefully. “It is likely, in all honesty, I like to give them gifts often.”

“I believe you might be spoiling your servants too much, Your Highness,” he chuckled.

“How come?”

“The relic your lady Lenora, I think was her name, was wearing is over three hundred years old.”

Rhaenyra hummed in interest. “Truly?”

“Yes, during my travels I’ve gone to many castles both ruled by lords, and some left in ruins. One of them was Harrenhal. It used to be the seat of House Strong, but the family line went extinct more than three hundred years ago. Their sigil was a hand with the colors red, green, and blue. The necklace your lady wore had that same hand in the pendant and the gems were of the same house colors.”

“Huh. For a relic it seemed to be kept in very good condition, I would hardly know.”

Gareth smiled. “Well princess, not everything is like what it seems.”

The princess beamed. “Always fascinating to learn new things.”

He glanced outside through a window. The storm was growing worse as its howls shook the glass.

“Does King Viserys always go hunting so late in the night?”

“No, he hasn’t in many years.”

“Was today a special occasion?”

“When he left the castle, it was to celebrate the birth of his son.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“He’s not here. He’s with my mother. They’re resting downstairs. Would you like to meet them?”

Gareth tilted his head, slightly. Curiosity overtook him. He didn’t know the queen and prince were here. The king failed to mention them in the invitation he sent.

His feet guided him to where the princess moved. Confusion began to fill his mind when the lights dimmed the more they walked. A stillness gripped the castle. Princess Rhaenyra held the door open for him. He stepped inside of a dark area.

“Right up ahead,” she said.

His eyes narrowed in the shadows. He was cautious of where he stepped. It was completely quiet. A wall stood out to him as something shined when he got closer.

They were silver plaques placed on the stone. It had engravings written. Aemma Arryn 82 AC to 105 AC, Baelon Targaryen 105 AC to 105 AC.

His eyes followed the wall to where two crypts rested.

Gareth stepped backward. “I don’t…you said your father was celebrating.”

“He was…when he left.”

He looked over the years again. 105 AC. That was five hundred years ago.

Rhaenyra began pacing slowly along the cellar. “Usually there would have been more time, but I don’t like to keep my loves waiting too long.”

The man narrowed his eyes as if confused. “I don’t understand…Where’s King Viserys?”

Rhaenyra reared her head. A smile curled on her lips where sharp teeth pointed out. Those unusual violet eyes of her began glowing in the dark. “There is no King Viserys. There hasn’t been for many years. I am the Queen of this castle.”

His expression twisted in shock.

Rhaenyra paid no mind to it, however. “Enjoy your gift,” she said out loud.

The man’s brows furrowed. “What?”

He had little time to process her words as within seconds the three servant women were upon him. They grabbed his arms and pulled at his dress shirt, tearing it to shreds with the strength of wild animals. He tried to push them away, but they latched onto him with a ferocity he couldn’t understand. The redhead, Dyanna, dug her nails into his skin to bare his neck out. A scream ripped from his throat when her teeth pierced through his exposed neck.

“Don’t be shy now,” The princess mocked with a sweet voice. “Were you not eager before when my fiery Dyanna had her lips on your neck?”

He kicked at their hands on his limbs, but they were strong, inhumanly so. The brunette was quick to try to stop his resistance by biting into his shoulder blade. Her sharp teeth dragged against the bone underneath his skin. Another scream of anguish vibrated through the crypt.

“Or when my sweet Lenora invited you for a game under the cover of night? I believed a man like yourself to have more honor than to meet a maiden in the late hours.”

He grabbed at a lock of hair and pulled it, hoping it would be enough to get them away. A hiss came from one of them. He caught a glimpse of glowing blue irises with the white in the eyes being completely gone, replaced with a black emptiness. His hand which gripped at the hair was snatched at the wrist. A loud snap rang out. Gareth screamed as his wrist went limp to his side.

“No clever quips to say to my devoted Alicent? Did you think yourself on her level with your dull travels and flimsy writing?” The princess continued.

The fangs would not let him go. He squirmed in their hold but felt his strength leaving him. The pain was too much. His eyes closed one final time.

Alicent was the first to pull away. She let his limp arm fall onto the cold floor. Her fingers wiped the blood running down her throat, careful to make sure it did not land on her dress and stain it.

The corpse fell with a dull thud when the other two released their grip.

Lenora licked the blood off her lips, her dark brown hair cascading down her face. “You spoiled us this time.”

Dyanna wiped her hand of any droplets. “Yes, how very generous of you.” She raised a suspicious brow.

Rhaenyra gently lifted up her chin. A small smile on her features. “Am I not allowed to be kind to my own wives?”

Dyanna smirked. “I never said it wasn’t welcomed, only a surprise is all.”

Lenora looked over the corpse, a pout on her face. “Rhaenyra are you not hungry? You didn’t have a bite.”

“I’m alright. He was meant for you three.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am, though I’m touched you thought of me.”

“He didn’t put up that much of a fight,” Alicent nonchalantly. “Do you think he was exhausted already?”

“No, if anything he slept very soundly,” Dyanna scoffed. “I could hear him snoring all the way from my coffin.”

Lenora giggled. “Is that what that was? I thought it was one of the rats.”

“That’s an insult to the rats,” Dyanna mused.

“How did you get this one?” Alicent glanced at the body.

“You heard him, he loves to travel, so I imagined his interest would be piqued if the king of Dragonstone wrote him an invitation.” Rhaenyra looked at the dead man. “Turns out I was right.”

“Any relatives that may come looking for him?” Lenora inquired.

“None that will miss him very much,” Rhaenyra stated.

Dyanna wrapped her arms around Lenora’s waist. “I very nearly thought he would figure it out.” She eyed the brunette’s necklace. “He was rather perspective.”

Rhaenyra approached Lenora, gently caressing the jewelry adorning her neck. “He came close but not close enough, unfortunately for him.”

“You’d think with your little stunt in the drawing room, he’d realize something,” Alicent mused.

Rhaenyra turned to Dyanna. “About that, next time my love, be a bit more patient. We don’t need to get so aggressive so early.”

Dyanna smirked, showing off her fangs. “But you love it when I’m aggressive.”

Rhaenyra tilted her chin up, affectionally. “You know what I mean.”

Alicent felt the air shift, becoming warmer. “It’s almost morning.”

The princess smiled at her wives. “That’s enough excitement for one night. Let’s get some rest.”

Lenora and Dyanna were the first to begin heading toward their tombs. Alicent stayed behind scanning the corpse.

Rhaenyra noticed. “What is it, my love?”

“I was wondering how I should get rid of it. I don’t want it leaving a foul smell.”

“I appreciate your concern, Alicent, but I will take care of it.”

Her first bride sighed. “You understand we can handle things for you? Your kindness is not lost on me, but we can take care of you as well.”

“I know, and you already do take care of me.” Rhaenyra lifted up her chin softly. “Now get some rest.”

Alicent smiled. “Don’t take too long, we’ll be waiting for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[mamirhodessxox]

Too Sweet (Part 1)

Stalker Professor!Cody Rhodes Stalker fem!OC

Desc- Zoe is a 23 year old enrolled into University who is well known across campus fr participating in Ballet & even auditioning for one of the most important roles of the year, but she seems to be quite infatuated with her professor without realizing he is 100x more infatuated and obsessed with her, the two grow a bond and soon realize they would do whatever it takes just to be happily together forever.

Contents- Fluff, Angst, Smut in some chapters, Use of Alcohol & Marijuana, Arguments, Soft/hard Dom x Bimbo like pairing, Mutual Stalking, Murder, Violence, Gore Details, Kidnapping, inspired of off the show ‘You’ & ‘Black Swan’

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa @kabloswrld @claymoresofinfamy23 @cococodysleevlesshoodie

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

She was all he could ever think about, she was his perfect girl, she could do no wrong, she was always on time for lessons & homework, her essays were phenomenal, she was gorgeous, her dark brown eyes, her brunette hair that laid across her shoulders or flowed against her skin whenever she took a single step. Her voice smooth like honey, her smile as bright as the stars within the night sky, she was a ballet dancer & a perfect one at that. He was obsessed with her.

Zoe Caterina was the full of epitome of perfection to him, everything she did had such grace & class tied into it, she was his A+ girl, and he wouldn’t let anybody get in the way of that. No matter what.

Zoe was just obsessed with him as he was with her, His voice spoke in a delicate yet deep manner anytime he was teaching, his hand gliding over her arm sometimes when he went to her desk to examine her notes or whatever it was when she was enthralled into her homework.

The way he left sweet notes on the corner of her papers involve “I’m proud of you” “Good job sweetheart” “You did so good for me on this assignment.” She knew it wasn’t how he normally treated students, but that meant she was special, he found her special. She didn’t just want him, she needed him.

The way he entertained her flirting & even flirted back with her a little bit made her feel like she was melting slowly into a puddle, She needed him.

6:30 AM October 1st 2023, Connecticut

Zoe laid in her dorm that was shared with her bestfriend Alice who was staring down the T.V as the news repeated words of a murder scene that was being investigated on campus, Zoe huffed as she sat up on her bed “You think they’re gonna call today off?” Alice scoffed and ran her hand down her face before grabbing her coat “Fuck no. CTU Couldn’t give a single shit about this, I’m off to class anyways so that should answer your question.”

Zoe watched as Alice left the dorm leaving her by herself “Shit..” the brunette climbed her way out of bed and decided to wear something warm since fall had arrived & it was beginning to be a tad bit chilly.

Her only schedule for the day was to attend Mr Rhodes’ lesson for the day in Psychology which is what she was majoring in. After that she would then go to her daily ballet lesson she grew up taking per parents request. Zoe was a straight A student & made it clear to everyone that she would graduate and be a successful woman.

Zoe’s boots pattered against the semi damp concrete ground as a light rain came through, she inhaled the refreshing scent of rain & the fall weather all together and felt a wave of relaxation rush through her body before entering the lecture hall & making her way to class. She was always on time before everyone else so she could get the best seat in class for her comfortability, Mr Rhodes looked up from the assignments he was grading and watched as the young lady gently sat her bag down next to her seat as she unpacked everything she would need for today’s notes. He loved her organization.

“Aren’t you all snuggled up today” he called out towards her in a teasing manner as he examined the leggings she wore underneath her plaid skirt, she wore a fluffy brown sweater followed by her scarf & boots clearly showing she was quite cozy & warm, Zoe looked over at him & smiled shortly “Well It seemed chilly out, And I wanted to be as warm as possible.” She added before walking down the short steps to approach his desk “You seem dapper as usual” she stated while examining the suit he wore followed by reading glasses that sat perfectly against his black hair “Yeah well you know me sweetheart, I like to keep things classy.” He let a faint smirk appear on his face before watching her hum in response “Well you look good Mr Rhodes, I always thought the suits looked rather dashing on you.” He chuckled lightly at her compliment before nodding in agreement “Thank you doll, now go take a seat, get comfortable.”

She smiled politely and went back to sit down as other students scattered into the classroom, Zoe liked sitting alone, she liked having personal space & being able to listen thoroughly to what he was teaching without any distractions. However it was slowly becoming difficult for her despite the personal space.

She was currently auditioning for the main role within swan lake for a Ballet show & one of her classmates Nina was also auditioning for the tole, Nina was a competitive girl and this meant she would be making Zoe’s life hell for as long as she possibly could, whether it was in Ballet or for Mr Rhodes attention.

Zoe scrabbled down notes into her notebook as she listened and soaked in every word he spat out. Nina sat 3 rows behind her snickering into one of her friends’ ear “teachers pet.” The group all giggled and whispered causing Mr Rhodes to turn around in their direction and pull of his glasses “Nina is there something you’d like to share?” The girl froze “I- Wel- I was just-“ He raised an eyebrow and looked over at Zoe who was watching everything unfold before crossing his arms “You were just disrupting the lesson? Picking on another student for actually paying attention? I suggest you quiet down a bit before you make yourself seem more ignorant than you already are.”

Zoe smirked to herself before looking back down at her notes as she listened to him embarrass Nina in-front of everyone. After class she put everything away & was the last one to leave the room, Mr Rhodes placed a hand on her lower back & sighed “I’m sorry about that doll, Don’t let her distract you she’s just..bored” the girl smiled up at him & nodded her head in understanding “Y’know I never get distracted. I’m one of your top passing students.” She chirped back proudly as he chuckled and pat her lower back “you know, If you having nothing going on you can join me at Ballet, not actually join, join, but just..observe” she suggested softly while her hands lightly gripped at the ends of her skirt as he stood in silence for a bit & tried thinking, usually after this period he had 2 hours of free time, “I don’t see why not, I’d like to see your talents.” She smiled widely from ear to ear as she quickly started walking and had him follow behind her. As the two walked down the hallway laughing talking about whatever Nina stood in a corner grasping onto a pillar as she stared them down and glared directly at Zoe..

After a solid 20 minutes of walking the pair ended up in the Ballet Studio, Mr Rhodes sat in the observation section while Zoe adjusted her pointe shoes to her liking as she sat in her black leotard with her hair up, he watched as a guy approached her in completely slum like clothes clearly high out of his mind, “yooo, Mae’s been calling you, we’re all planning to sleepover at her place tonight since that whole murder scene shit from this morning is worrying her.” Zoe looked up at the guy causing Mr Rhodes to raise his eyebrow & watch the scene unfold as a wave of jealousy soured through him.

“Shit, I uh- I don’t know if I can Keith, I have to finish an essay by tonight, but tell her I’ll be safe yeah?” Keith..who the fuck names their kid Keith? Mr Rhodes thought before paying more attention “got it, man this shit is crazy you better be careful getting home, you never know who’s out there.” Zoe smiled as she nodded at his words, once he walked off her instructor made her and other girls get up and start stretching before the woman announced who would be the Prima Ballerina for Swan Lake. Nina walked into practice fashionably late & shoved her bag onto the ground while glaring down Zoe, she lined up with everyone and started stretching & noticed Mr Rhodes sitting & watching.

A surge of embarrassment drowned her for her current actions making her focus & act more properly and professional in hopes of impressing him the way Zoe does, but his eyes weren’t focused on Nina. They were focused on Zoe, the way he stared at her made Nina feel jealous & even angry. Something in her snapped, as the girls stood still for the announcement Mr Rhodes became slightly alarmed with the way Nina glared down at Zoe, The ballet instructor cleared her throat as she spoke out to her students “Since Satia is sick she will not be the Prima Ballerina of this Years Swan Lake, as some of you know we just finished auditions for this role but we have decided that our Prima Ballerina will be Zoe. She has shown great determi-“ Nina screamed out in frustration and turned towards Zoe and showed her so hard to the point where her ankle was sprained once she hit the floor “SHE DOESN’T EVEN DESERVE THAT FUCKING ROLE! SHE CAN’T EVE-“ The instructor turned and glared at the red head who was shouting in pure rage and envy “ENOUGH Nina!”

Everyone rushed towards Zoe as she held her ankle the instructor called out for anyone who was with Zoe to please come get her, Mr Rhodes sprinted out of the observation room & quickly came to her saving “I’m with her-“ Zoe stared up at her instructor with a stern look “I’m not giving up this role Mrs Venn, It’s only a swollen ankle I can do i-“ “Alright fine. Just be careful alright?” The instructor sighed as Keith also ran in the room to help the other man pick up Zoe “Nice suit man” Mr Rhodes furrowed his eyebrows & shook his head “Yeah thanks.” He held Zoe close to him bridal style as his free hand grabbed her bag that sat in a corner “let’s get you home yeah?” Nina sat as she was hysterical crying and shoving away her classmates as she watched him carry off Zoe.

The brunette gave him her address & eventually after walking with her in his arms they finally got to her dorm, he crouched lower so she could be able to unlock her door & come inside, He sat her down on the bed she pointed towards and sighed “You alright doll? Hows your ankle?” She sighed shrugging as she sat in her bed “I’m fine Mr Rho-“ “Cody. You can call me Cody outside of class.” Noted. “i’m fine Cody. It’s nothing but a small sprain, I’ll be better by tomorrow.” He smiled at her positivity “I don’t know how you do it sweetheart, keep things positive. I’ll handle Nina in class tomorrow morning.” Zoe smiled and suddenly got a thought “Hey un- I hope I’m not overstepping but I was wondering since you here..Can I get your number incase of an emergency? Y’know since all of this murder scene stuff & Nina going psycho..?” Cody smiled “It would be no problem at all sweetheart.” He dug in the back pocket of his pants and had her type in her phone number & sent her a quick test text. The girl smiled widely.

She needed him.

“I better start heading out beautiful, rest easy alright? If you can’t come to class tomorrow don’t even worry about it. I’ll mark you down as present for your perfect track record.” Zoe smiled at his kindness and nodded her head “Thank you Mr Rh-Cody, I appreciate it.” And with that Cody left her alone in the dorm room, the door shut behind him & she sat there thinking about what all happened today. Her mind surfaced back towards to Cody, His black hair, His voice, His strength proving carrying her was lighter than a feather. The way he spoke to her in a sweet manner ‘Sweetheart’ ‘Doll’, the way his fingers grazed her skin, the way he rushed over to her in a panic, she needed him. Zoe sighed out softly as she ran her fingers down her leotard down towards the depths of her thighs.

She needed him.

Manirhodessxox’s Masterlist

[raineynightswrld]

𖥻 Light my cigarette? 𖥨 🚬

greetings. welcome to my first blog ever :). im going to keep this short and simple, my name is raine and i haven’t seen much vito scaletta fanfics on here, so i decided to step up and share some silly imagine/one shot or whatever. not proofread, cliche trope and lazy ending !

overall warnings: reader is implied to be female, smoking, strangers to lovers, cliche moments, kissing, stealing, romantic tension, swearing, slight ooc, really really lazy ending 😭

setting and fandom: mafia 2, 1951.

It was a normal, rainy night in Empire Bay. The trees were rumbling, as droplets of water fell from the night sky at a slow rate while the moon shined its light on the streets of Small Italy. You’d be either insane in the head or in a rush if you were walking around with this weather going on, especially without an umbrella.

Speaking of people insane in the head, you unwillingly stepped in a big puddle, staining your brand new coat and shoes. You hissed in annoyance and took a step back, raising your arms and cursed under your breath: “Fucking hell… can’t even go somewhere without bad luck smudging my fucking asscheeks! Shit was expensive as fuck too.. goddammit.”

Not only did you stain some expensive clothing and pair of shoes, you also forgot your umbrella at home, making this situation even more worse. You just wanted the earth to split in two, gobble you up and never let go of you again. Your hair was wet, and mascara ran down your cheeks like a river. Your coat didn’t help in keeping your black button up blouse at least semi-dry semi-wet. I’m other words, you looked like shit and looked like you just jumped in a river. The rain wasn’t even heavy!

You were always known for having bad luck. Ever since you were a child, nothing went your way. Not even assignments you pulled all nighters on and knew the answers like the back of your hand. You couldn’t figure out how you didn’t die yet, guess something went right in your life at least once.

Grunting and eventually stomping your foot on the moist cemented floor beneath, you shook your head and began walking towards a nearby 24/7 store, not wanting to go back to whatever route you were taking to go to whatever place. You were late anyways.

Lightening up a cigarette, or, at least attempting to, you groan in annoyance and breathe in to not make a tantrum in the middle of the street at two in the morning. Eventually, you manage to light the thin and long cigarette up, the smell of chocolate and whipped cashmere smoke entered your nostrils, which seemed to have calmed you down a bit.

Opening the door to the medium sized convenience store, you inspected your surroundings, just to see no one was there. Might as well rob the store. Taking a big puff of the cigarette, you walk around the store, blowing the smoke out of your nose and mouth. You find yourself roaming the store endlessly.

Not like you had anything else to do. You were sure as hell you wouldn’t be stepping out until the rain outside stopped.

Eventually getting bored, you grab a new pack of cigarettes you wanted to try out for some time now. You squeeze the cigarette you had in your hand from outside with the tip of your boot, and decide to betray your initial thoughts, going outside through the back door of the store.

You thought you’d be alone - that no one would be there, but just you, your thoughts, and your soul. Startled by the man who was also smoking a cigarette, you take a step back and close your eyes for a bit, breathing in before quietly greeting him. He was a tad bit taller than you. If you weren’t wearing boots with heels, he’d probably be more taller.

Raising his eyebrow at the sudden change of somewhat quiet environment, the stranger eyed you, his brown eyes staring into yours. For a moment, none of you said anything, before the man in front of you broke eye contact and moved his head so he was facing the street, and not you. Were you that ugly? You internally cackled at the thought. Sure, he was attractive, with his gel slicked back hair and the mysterious clothing choice but hell — you weren’t THAT interested.

After a moment of awkward silence, the man takes a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke before finally breaking the quiet tension. "Nice night, huh? Or, at least for me.” he remarks, a faint smirk on his lips.

“Yeah.. I guess.” You didn’t even know you were holding your breath. Exhaling, you open the stolen pack of cigarettes and take one, before stuffing the pack into your coat’s pocket and grabbing your lighter.

You try to light it up, but to no avail, it fails. You try again, and again, and again. Nothing lights up. You sigh loudly, before rolling your eyes. You’re starting to get pissed off.

“Need some help?” The man asks.

“Mama told me to not ask help from strangers.” You smirked and raised an eyebrow, before huffing out a laugh from your somewhat dry throat, then nodding and getting closer to the stranger. He smelled really good. Cigarette and some perfume. “Light my cigarette?”

He first puts his cigarette in his mouth, holding it still as he takes his lighter from his coat’s pocket. Due to the poor lightning, you thought both of you had matching coats - except for the fact that yours was stained with wetness. You point your cigarette to his lighter’s tip, before it shined fire. After the cigarette finally got lit up, you pull back and take a puff.

“Vito.”

“Huh?”

“Name’s Vito. Thought you’d need my name to thank me, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” Your mascara stained cheeks flushed in embarrassment, before huffing out the smoke in another direction than Vito’s face. “Thank you, Vito, for the light.”

You genuinely smiled at him, before you two started to talk about life. Though you were the one who talked more about your job, your overall life.. your bad luck.

“Yeah.. that’s how I got my clothes all wet and dirty. I was actually thinking of going to meet my friends and all at a club but I was already running late and I obviously wouldn’t show up at a club looking like this. When I was walking to the club, I even forgot where I was walking to and just decided to ‘crash’ here.”

You sigh loudly as Vito nods. He already finished his cigarette and didn’t bother lighting up a new one. You, however, were on your second cigarette of the pack you stole. After a few moments of silence, you look at Vito, who was looking at you too.

Your hair was now pretty dry and styled way better. The mascara that ran itself down your cheeks was gone since Vito was kind enough to give you something to wipe the mascara off. The rain stopped a while ago and you just found yourself talking to him endlessly.

Taking one last blow of your cigarette, you flicked it away somewhere on the wet cement and sighed.

“I’m out of things to say.” You laugh and look away before gazing up at Vito, who was slightly smiling.

“That was a lot of stuff to take in.” He huffed out in a slightly raspy voice.

“So.”

“So?”

You blink, breaking the eye contact. There was silence followed, as you breathed in. Leaning in just a bit, you straightened your back a little, before Vito leaned in fully, breaking the tension. His rough lips met your soft ones, as you closed your eyes, placing your palms on his cheeks. Your thumb traced over the scar on his chin, as he held your waist just right. You pulled back for air and breathed in the satisfying post-rain smell. No words were needed. Just a look and another kiss. After another, which turned out sloppier than the other two. Obviously, you stopped at his place after.

Guess you didn’t always have bad luck.

[reality-exodus]

The Last Hours of a Herondale

Ch2 sparkles

Words:2k

Pairing: Matthew Fairchild x Fem!Herondale

I walked out on a fast pace without turning back or waiting for my brother's Parabatai. I was wearing my own coat now as I strolled down the alley to get on the bridge and find my way to the institute.

"He just worries you know" I heard, I could see Matthew walking behind me with the side of my eye, he was still holding his extravagant coat in hand. "And can you please stop rushing on my account I will get my alcohol, therefore I wish this was more scenic" Matthew joked. I admired the way he used his vocabulary always, sobber or not. I listened to his wish, my arms crossed across my torso, I was making this gesture to highlight my fury, although if I am being frank I was shivering to the freezing temperature of London.

"Didn't sincerely seemed like he was concerned about me, more like he did not have the mood to hear our father whine about his daughter to be wandering alone helpless in the streets of this horrific city, As if I am a damsel in distress." I barked, my nerves were still tense, I was too angry to concentrate on anything.

Matthew didn't reply immediately, he touched my shoulders carefully to place his coat on me, he observed my being cold. I tensed and reflexively turned to face him, shocked, not so much because of his gesture but with the fact that I felt as if I would see something. I always looked chill with my charisma therefore I was freaking out most of the time internally. "Do not worry, I know. It is not nice to watch another broken past." He assured me and I exhaled relieved lightly and placed my arms on the sleeves while he tied the belt around my waist gently.

"Its never the past that gets me unnerved. Even though I think I witness the worse of you every time you drink alcohol." I spoke and looked at him. I rarely seen his eyes so upclose. They were green, darker as if the reasons that got him drunk every day and night had shaded his eyes too.

"And what unnerves you?" He asked me. Despite the instability of his voice that seemed so familiar since he was more drunk than sober.

"When I see the future, I have only seen it a few times. Three to be honest." I spoke and looked elsewhere, I was scared to look for his comment or his eye contact, these were things I avoided speaking of, barely mentioned them to my parents. "I will get going it gets colder" I excused myself, expecting him into offering to escort me.

"I was leaving anyway, my beautiful bottle is right down this way." Matthew spoke and walked away from me. I smiled and started walking down the bridge.

The way there was peaceful and calming, I was gazing at the cloudy sky trying to make out at least a small, tiny star but the rain that started a few minutes ago was getting stronger. It felt nice, the droplets on the coat and on my hair made me colder but the feeling was refreshing as the wind blew as well. I placed my hand to the bottom of my chaotic braided bun and set it loose into the two braids and I started loosing them as well.

I was so peaceful and calm. Forgot about my fight with James, the vision of Polly, the demon splatter and the times I saw James disappear and Matthew almost lose his life. I opened the door and walked in unknown of the mess I was in. I hoped I wouldn't meet anyone. I only went inside Lucie's room, I hoped she would be awake. I knocked the door.

"Come in" her sweet voice sounded and poked my head in. "What happened to you? Where is James?" she asked, her voice sketched with concern as well as her expression, she stood up from her desk and approached me. We were the same height even though she was two years younger than me. Her hand got my wrist and pulled me inside her room. "If mama and papa see you, you'll scare them to death." She spoke.

"Nothing happened, we only killed a demon." I replied and threw my boots next to the door and walked to her mirror to witness myself the big deal. I, indeed looked horrible, my light brown hair were wet and filled with mud that made them stick together and my face had dirt as the rain spilled the light make up I wore. "James made it explode." I sighed.

"And why are you wearing Math's clothes?" she asked me. "You are shaking..." she noticed.

I smiled subconsciously as I took off the coat and let it fall on the ground. "He accompanied me up to a point on my way home and I was cold." I explained briefly as I started taking off the heavy and wet equipment. "Could I use your bathroom? I do not feel comfortable being on my own." I added with false hopes that she would not start the curiosity drill of questions.

"Why? What happened?" Lucie asked me as she assisted me, with great care to not trigger any seizure, to take off the rest of the equipment until I was with the underskirt.

"Nothing in particular." I spoke as I took her comb and started untangling the mass in my head trying to remove as much of mud as possible. I felt my sister's gaze upon my back and let out a sigh. She probably was the only person I was unable to keep secrets from. I was a pretty cold person therefore Lucie can read me, even though my pages are always blank. "Alright, I fought with James before I left. I was certainly right with my arguments. Perhaps, I was a bit harsh." I explained.

"Oh do not even worry, he won't remember it in the morning..." Lucie smiled lightly. "This is why you came here. To cover for him, so mom and dad won't know you returned alone?" her smile got bigger. She is such a sweet angel. When me and James fight she is more sad than we are. 'You are twins, you can't talk to each other like that, you are supposed to be two of a whole' she usually quotes and tries to stop our conflict which most of the time plays out into a best sarcastic comeback battle as we actually forgot what we fought about.

"You really think so?" I asked lightly and then walked into her bathroom as I started washing the mud from my face.

"Do you remember what you fought for?" asked Lucie and my smile disappeared lightly. "Well, since it is this serious, tell me about it." She encouraged me and I exhaled unwilling to so.

"Do not tell mama and papa... James started disappearing during the battle... It was a close call for me and Math, and especially for Math... After we killed it, we went at that stupid tavern they hang out... And I had a seizure with flashback. So we were kind of on edge both of us." I unriddle the events of the night as I filled the tub with water.

"I don't think you are worried that you spoke harsh to James. You are simply upset. Come on. Have your shower and I will get you some tea and then I can tell you about my book, so you take your mind off." Lucie giggled and I nodded with soft smile. I winked and nodded before she closed the door of the bathroom.

~

I came out of the tub and saw that my sister brought pajamas and underwear, freshly washed, they smelled vanilla and sandal wood. The clothes were mine. I wore them and walked out to the bed where I saw her laying with a book. "Feeling better?" she asked me and I nodded.

I climbed next to her on the bed and placed the book aside with a smile as she took her brush and removed the towel. Lucie began to brush my hair. I have curly and long hair, longer than hers, with the color of my father's while I had my mom's eyes, deep gray. The brush met a comb and she abruptly untangled it making me jump.

"I am careful, you know that" Lucie reassured me with a sweet smile, she knew I was anxious.

I didn't really felt when I fell asleep, I hugged Lucie's stuffed animal. Tomorrow would be a great day, the Carstairs would arrive. I was happy to see them, to see Daisy and Alastair again. I was probably the only one who found Alastair likeable but this didn't really matter, he didn't seem to care that much to converse with anyone. Us Herondales have a special place for the Carstairs family in our hearts. My father's parabatai was a Carstairs, uncle Jem became a silent brother under awful circumstances while he was on his death bed owing to a demons doings. I cannot imagine how my father was feeling back then, I do not have a parabatai like James has and like Lucie will soon have. I have a close relationship with Barbara and Anna Lightwood but none of them to a point to have such eternal and unbreakable bond.

Uncle Jem must be the only person I can talk to about the visions I see and not feel like a freak. The whole clave looks at me and my brother as if we are some kind of unexpressed danger against the Nephelim race. Even my mother and father are uncomfortable when we speak about it. Perhaps it is in my head. Uncle Jem always knows what to tell me to ease me and not make me feel... different from everyone else. Speaking of whom I had to summon him, I was obliged to report to him every single vision I had as well as the conditions it came under.

"Lina..." I heard in my sleep as I felt a soft shake. I turned around ignoring the voice and this is when the blanket was pulled violently from my figure. "Lina!"

"What!" I exclaimed disturbed and shot up.

"Get dressed we have to get breakfast the Carstairs will be here soon" Lucie spoke as she was literally jumping up and down on her mattress.

"Is James back?" I asked her.

"Yes he is." James replied and I turned my head to see our brother sitting in the arm chair on Lucies room, it was next to the pile of my dirty clothes.

"Oh Good morning" I greeted and sat up and leaned to the bedframe as I stared at him. The gash on his hand was fully healed and he looked well and rested.

"Oh Good morning to you too" He chimed therefore his expression was just like mine dead serious as we only stared at each other. I could sense Lucie darting her gaze between us.

"Now come on you two..." Lucie began when a ghost appeared in the middle of the room.

"Oh look at the two naughty Herondales following their father's footsteps once again. Stubborn as donkeys!" Jessamine floated in the room.

"Ah great, here were the commentary again." I spoke inside my teeth.

"Jealous much Lina? At least the ghost can form more ingenious sentences than you." James smiled at me. The revenge begun.

"At least the ghost has the intelligence to think before they speak nonsense." I smiled back, Lucie was saying we had the same facial features, even our teeth and expressional wrinkles were the same, everything except our eye-color. He had brown eyes, I had gray.

"At least the ghost has manners!" Jessamine whined at us. "Like father, they say..." she sighed and floated to the edge dramatically.

"Does she though?" James asked Jessamine and she turned her attention to him, her expression puzzled.

"You really do just barge in a room, that is really not lady like." I commented with a fake frown, my posture was suddenly fixed as I was remarking the good manners that my father always said were more important than anything else. She was the last Lovelace of her family name and now she was haunting my house.

"Uh Tessie really left your upbringing to Will didn't she?" Jessamine huffed in annoyance when my father opened the room.

"She indeed did, Jess. Aren't they adorably charming?" My father asked as he looked at us his eyes were smiling.

"So adorably charming that they get on my nerves almost as much as you do Herondale." Jessamine spoke up.

"Then I did a wonderful job." He smiled lightly and sat down on the bed next to me. "How did the hunt go? You must have returned late huh?" Will asked us. I could see his gaze searching for injuries or any sign that needed his attendance or an iratze.

"It went well actually. We found a Deumas demon" James spoke and then my father looked at me.

"And? What happened?" Will asked us, I could sense his enthusiasm.

"Well at first I was up the building watching Matthew and James. And they struggled a bit, so I thought I would step in." I smiled proudly and felt James' eyes on me.

"Yes, Lina stepped in and saved Math's ass..." James spoke and our mom stepped in.

"James! Language." She noticed and allowed him to keep going.

"She used the whip and injured it and lured it away from Math but then it cornered her and thankfully Thomas was there and assisted Lina." James continued and smiled at me.

"James recovered from the hit and he tried to kill it at first but then he had a gash on the hand during this attempt so me and Thomas kept it in line when my bright twin came slashed it and filled us with ichor and blood." I finished the story.

"And then we stayed at Devil's Tavern for a drink." James spoke up and looked at me.

"Or eight?" I lied with a giggle.

"Eight? Linette!" My mother exclaimed and made a move to touch my forehead and I pulled myself from the way.

"I am fine mom, I do not have temperature or something. I was only a bit dizzy and Luce offered to brew some lemon balm with anice to sooth my stomach." I exclaimed. They knew I was uncomfortable with physical contact.

"I was with her as well. And so were the boys its really not big deal, or the first time it happens" James tried to cover for me but he earned an almost infuriated gaze from our father.

"Well it isn't that bad..." Lucie intervened.

"Well I was celebrating the demon victory. And then I got entinced by the drunks around me?" I smiled and my father shook his head. "I know I am a girl and I shouldn't- ." I started off and then saw my parents exchange a look.

"Lina... It is not that. Honestly I couldn't care less what each one of those pretentious Clave members has to say about me, my wife, my children or my parabatai. Both me and your mother have been through the gossiping and it doesn't real phase us, it never did. We just want you to be safe." My father spoke and carefully took my hand I exhaled as I realized I was still wearing gloves.

"I don't see you preaching my twin about these. But anyway, I see your points and your concerns." I spoke and gave him a light smile and removed my hand. If you'll excuse me. I must get prepared for breakfast." I excused myself to go to my room. I didn't know how I felt and suddenly I wasn't in the mood of socializing either. Even if it was with the Carstairs.

[maccreadysbaby]

part i ; chapter i

❝ inescapable ❞

all chapters linked here

⚔︎

DALE WAS BURSTING WITH THE JOYS AND MERRIMENT OF LIFE. Children ran about the cobblestone streets, bellies full and energy abounding. The jingling of coins came and went from the shops that lined the roads, the entire city humming with a loud overlapping chatter -- people talking, laughing, living their lives to the fullest in a city rebuilt to splendor. Seven and a half decades had passed since their faithful city was rebuilt, and over triple that since the great dragon, Smaug, had left it in ruin. Now, the sun was shining on Dale once more, turning the stone streets gold, making the buildings that lifted high into the sky glow. It was peaceful, it was happy, it was plentiful. The evening sunlight streamed bright enough to grace the farthest buildings with its luminous golden rays -- even buildings like packed-to-the-gills pubs that sat right on the edge of the city, near to the docks, facing Lake-Town.

Beorn's Hollow was roaring with drunken laughter and shouts, as men from Dale, as well as travelers from the lands abroad, lifted the weight from their shoulders by filling themselves with stiff drink. A soft, jazzy tune wafted through the air, dancing and mixing with the smells of cigar smoke and fermented alcohol to make a toxic, tempting cocktail that, once swallowed up by it, few to none could escape. Not until the next morning, at least.

The interior of the building was almost completely coated in dark wood, tables and chairs smushed uncomfortably close together, but not as close together as the seemingly hundreds of bodies that were constantly moving around inside. The bar stood tall in the center, with never a seat open. The overbearing shouts of drunken merriment echoed out onto the blissful streets of Dale for the better half of every evening, drifting into the midnights and fading by morning. It was, to some, the happiest place in all the city.

But not tonight.

Tonight, an unfamiliar cold lay over the pub. And while most of the people inside were too busy drinking and socializing to notice, few did, and few left before the darkness of night fell over the building. Few turned around before they went through the door, with a sudden change of mind, of heart. Right ere midnight, pouring rain, accompanied by lightning, thunder, and a fierce wind rolled over Dale, plunging it into a cold, seldom silence.

Half after midnight, the large, wooden door to the pub swung open, hitting the wall behind with a loud bang and clatter of the decor hanging on it.

Standing in the doorway was a hooded figure, the light inside the pub too dim to illuminate their features. Lightning flashed and boomed outside, turning them into nothing more than a menacing black silhouette.

Little to none batted an eye besides a frazzled bartender who, without as much as an upward glance, shouted: "Oi! Careful with the door!" 

The hooded figure closed the door and scraped the mud off their boots, their head and gaze staying low as they moved. They, covered head to toe in a long, sopping wet brown cloak, seemed to disappear into the chaos of the pub, slinking through the crowd unnoticed until they were seated in one of the farthest, darkest tables. There they sat, alone, silent.

A waitress took a break from circling the pub like a wearied vulture to approach them, her dark eyes trailing about their appearance with a glimmer of suspicion. Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy updo on top of her head that sort of made her look like a strange flower. "And anything for you?"

The figure reached up with a gloved hand, and the waitress visibly stiffened as they tugged the hood of the cloak off their head.

"Oh, Adavera. It's you,"

Now visible for all the eyes in the room to see, the face beyond the dark cloak was not that of a suspicious man, or an exiled elf, but a young woman. Her eyes were like shards of crystal ice, cold and sharp, her brown hair the rich color of a beautiful woodland grove. Her face held the shine of youthfulness, her features petite yet striking, her posture and conduct holding years of experience far beyond her age. 

The waitress sighed lightly, the tenseness in her shoulders fading. "You want your usual?"

"If you'd be so kind. And two more, as well, for I will have visitors," Adavera replied, an small grin tugging upward at her lips, her fluttery falsetto a strange addition to the loud chorus of typical pub sounds. The coldness over the building seemed to warm at her smile, fade at her grin.

The waitress smiled, giving her a little bow, her blonde hair bouncing in its knot atop her head. "Very well."

Adavera turned her gaze down to the candle that sat, flame swaying at the center of the wooden table. Wax was dripping down the side and pooling against the tabletop, filling the crevices like water, like blood. Only a few of the waitress's footsteps met Adavera's ears before the woman turned around again. 

"Oh, and Adavera?"

Their gazes met.

"I'd be careful wearing dark cloaks over your head like that. Rumor has it there's a very dangerous man lurking around the cities. Some people might get the wrong idea from you, become suspicious," She explained softly. 

Adavera cocked a brow, leaning forward on her elbows. "What do you mean, dangerous?"

The waitress glanced around, to make sure none of the other inhabitants were listening, then took a few steps back over toward Adavera's seat. "I don't know for sure, but I've heard lots of talk about a mercenary. An assassin. A paid killer," She started, glancing around warily. "Every now and again someone will die — a clean slit to the throat, poison in a drink, an arrow to the chest, and no one can ever find the killer. He always leaves a symbol on his victims, a wolf, cut into their clothes, into a tree nearby, into the dirt. That's why they refer to him as The Ghost. Because no one's ever seen him before... or at least... no ones lived to tell it."

Adavera straightened uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, I'll be sure to keep my eyes open and my hood down from now on," She said, with a faintly uncomfortable smile. With an equally pained grin, the waitress took another small bow and disappeared back into the roaring crowd.

Adavera's eyes wandered over the room full of shouting people, her gaze lingering on a few of the daunting males in the room. A mercenary. A killer. A Ghost.

It was just as her eyes were drifting over the entry that the door flung open again, thudding against the wall behind it, just like it had when she entered.

"Oi! Watch the damn door!"

Again, the bartender couldn't trouble himself enough to look up, but Adavera paid enough attention for the both of them as a dark, cloaked figure entered from the storm, shutting the door and scraping their boots.

It was a tall person, hidden almost entirely from the rain by a dark cloak, bringing a wave of coldness with them. They rubbed their hands together to fight the winter chill as they moved like a cat through the crowd, going almost completely unnoticed. They moved further and further and further from the door until they were near to Adavera's table, and her eyes followed them closely.

All the way into the chair across from her.

Her hand slipped toward the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath her cloak, her gaze staying completely trained on the stranger's shadowed face. A silent moment passed before they, warily, reached up and tugged off their hood.

Beneath said hood was a pair of swampy green eyes, and some graying hair that Adavera knew all too well. The blank face of a man with nothing if not money and power -- aged by greed and grief and hardened to stone by his line of work.

"Sir Godwyn," She breathed, ducking her head slightly as a form of compliancy. Respect. Submission, toward her employer.

He looked around the pub warily, nose crinkling as though he was too high-class for the place, unclipping his brown cloak and letting it gather by his sides. Adavera watched his cold gaze as it moved, a physical drop in temperature following his pupils around the room.

"Are we waiting for the third member of our party?" She questioned lowly, and he only responded with a curt nod.

With that, the pair fell silent again, Adavera peering around the pub curiously. She watched men with weapons on their backs sit at the bar -- those were most likely wary travelers settling in Dale for the night. The men who came in with a weapon on their back tended to scan the room as though a wolf was lurking somewhere within.

Someone slid into the chair to the left of Adavera.

She hadn't heard or seen him come in.

Glancing over quickly, slightly startled, she took in the third cloaked figure. He was taller than her and Godwyn each by at least a foot, easy. Slowly, he let down the hood of his wet cloak.

Beneath it was an uncommon sight in cities of men like Dale -- the ageless and perfected face of an elf. His features were symmetrical and perfectly placed, as an elf's often were, his grayish-brown eyes, even in the pub, dancing with something that looked oddly like starlight. His hair, raven-dark and silky, cascaded down into his cloak, straight as a pin, tied back out of his face by a myriad of intricate braids and silver clasps.

His eyes full of starlight found hold on Adavera's, and he gave her a quick nod of greeting, which she returned readily.

"Nice of you to show, Cepheus. If not on your own time," Godwyn said lowly, as if Cepheus hadn't arrived mere minutes after himself, scratching at the gray scruff that was growing unevenly on his chin. His eyes kept darting around, to avoid meeting their gazes. "Tell me-"

The three of them glanced up at the waitress when she returned with three plates of dinner food and a trio of ales. Godwyn nodded thanks, and Adavera smiled faintly as the woman passed them the dishes. Her eyes seemed trained on Cepheus -- rightfully so, for no one ever saw an elf in Dale. She put an ale in front of each of them and, with a little bow and one last look at the resident pointy-ear, made a break for it.

Adavera looked down at her hefty plate of a pork chop, corn, and potatoes, then up at the others. Godwyn was staring at his food, blankly, and Cepheus already had his half-pint of ale in his hand, cringing down at the liquid like the waitress had poisoned it. Adavera would've made a joke about their fine elvish wine, had their boss not been sitting right across the table.

Godwyn grabbed his utensils and began to cut at his meat, nodding to himself as he caught the perfectly cooked innards of the pork chop. "Tell me, how was your trip to Erebor?"

Adavera picked up her fork and swirled the potatoes around, leaving small trails in it like a vegetable garden on a hill. She glanced over at Cepheus, and his eyes were already on her, fork in hand, and they stared, deciding who was to speak.

Adavera lost the staring contest to the two big stars the elf had on his face. "It went smoothly," She started near-inaudibly, clearing her throat, looking down at her plate and swirling her fork some more. "No hiccups, no witnesses, not a single suspicion thrown my way. All believe I am perfectly innocent."

"Watcher?" Godwyn's eyes flicked to Cepheus for assurance, and the elf nodded, once. 

"Yes, sir. The dwarves even insisted she take her leave afterwards so as to protect her from whatever lurks within, going as far as telling her to send a missive back when she arrived at Dale to convince them of her safety. They have long since closed their gates."

Godwyn put a bite of meat in his mouth, his green eyes lingering on the elf. "Speak to me pleasantries all you like, you know I will not believe the job is done until I receive a token."

With a quick shared glance between Adavera and Cepheus, the former reached into a bag she was concealing beneath her cloak, retracting her hand with a clipping of hair that had been cut by a knife from someone's head, ruddy and red, with a metal clasp still wrapped around it. She handed it across the table to her employer, who took it readily.

She stayed silent as he examined it, putting a small bite of potatoes in her mouth. She wasn't very hungry anymore.

"And did you leave your token?"

Adavera nodded subtly. "Used one of their forging furnaces to brand it into the dead dwarf's leather tunic. Everyone saw it."

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he nodded. "News of the dreaded dwarf's death has spread to Dale and Laketown. No one suspects a thing. Not from us, anyway," He spoke lowly. He reached into perhaps his own hidden bag and withdrew a large bundle of cloth from it. "Your payment, Ghost."  He whispered the last word with a hint of mirth on his lips.

He handed the large, tied up cloth across the table to Adavera, who readily ignored the nickname and took it instead. She pulled back one edge and peeked inside.

"The king's jewels," She breathed, watching the riches twinkle in the candlelight. "Was I hired by a member of the royal family of Dale?"

Godwyn's eyes trailed down to the cloth. "I will not reveal who hired you. You know this."

Adavera said nothing, and he pulled another bundle from his cloak. "And for the Watcher."

He handed Cepheus the bundle, which looked a little smaller than Adavera's, and the elf nodded once in thanks.

"I have another job for you," Godwyn said, leaning forward. He pulled a paper from inside of his cloak and slid it across the table, between Adavera and Cepheus so they could both see. It held a drawing of a man. He was not an ugly man, mind you -- he was rather well-groomed, with shoulder length hair and a warrior's stoic expression. At the top of the slip was written his name, at the bottom, a bounty of much larger a number than Adavera had expected. "This is Boromir, firstborn son of Denethor the II, heir to the seat of Gondor. And he has a very, very hefty price on his head."

Adavera examined the photograph, taking in his features and the details of his appearance, as did Cepheus. She had been to Gondor twice before, to Minas Tirith, on business. She remembered hearing his name floating around the streets. He was an esteemed warrior. 

"Who is it, that wishes the heir of Gondor to perish?" She spoke softly.

"I must not reveal that to you," Godwyn started, glaring coldly at her. "His whereabouts change frequently, though last I heard he was riding north, from Minas Tirith to Rivendell, with only his steed for company."

Adavera nodded absentmindedly, staring down at the little picture, engraving his appearance into her mind. 

"Perhaps the Ghost can intercept him before his lone journey ends," The man started quietly, and she looked up, their eyes meeting. "If he has arrived at Rivendell ere yourself, I expect no shortness of professionalism as you finish your job in the city. Not even from you, Watcher."

Godwyn gave Cepheus one of his signature glares. "I do realize your kin are within that city, and you must make nothing of it. Remember that it is your job not to be seen."

Cepheus nodded once again, but some of the starlight seemed to be dimming in his brownish irises.

Adavera tapped her fingertips against the tabletop. "Have you any idea how long he has been on the road? It may aid us in deciding if we should try to intercept him or continue hastily to Rivendell."

Godwyn shrugged, shoving a large bite of food in his mouth. "I received word right ere noon from a scout who saw him leaving Minas Tirith. Taking into consideration the time it would take for me to receive the message here in Dale, I suspect he has about a remaining two months journey ahead of him if he keeps at a steady pace. You should restock and leave ere sunrise, for if you ride through the nights, through Mirkwood and over the Misty Mountains, you may be able to catch him yet. Keep your tokens close, for I have many scouts on your path."

Adavera's hand trailed to the inside neckline of her cloak, which held a small wolf, embroidered in white — the mark of Godwyn's employees. The same one Cepheus had on the inside of his cloak, and their boss, as well. The same one Adavera left on every single target she killed. She met Godwyn's cold gaze again, but instead of speaking, she nodded, glancing down at the picture of the valiant warrior. Her eyes then trailed up to Cepheus, who looked up at her, and for a moment, they stared.

Cutting the heir of Gondor off before he could arrive at Rivendell. It wasn't the hardest job they'd ever had, but it wouldn't be the easiest. The slightest incorrect calculation could lead their timing astray and throw the whole thing off balance. Adavera wasn't sure who or why someone wanted Boromir, son of Gondor, dead, but she couldn't help the pang of pity that struck through her quickly, like lightning. Like it always did when she got a new job, when she examined various drawings of perfectly happy souls with unfathomable prices below their heads.

But, as always, she was painfully good at putting up a facade.

With an exhale, she pulled her hood up and stood, leaving her full plate of food and cup of drink on the table. She grabbed the slip of paper and tucked it away her bag. 

"Then I must get preparing. I give you my word-" She started, grabbing some money from her pouch and leaving it on the table for their food and drink. She looked up at her boss, then at Cepheus, a small grin flashing across her features. "-The son of Gondor shall die to no blade if it is not my own."

She was as silent leaving the pub as she was coming in.

⚔︎

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[ihopeineverloseyou19]

TRYING TO CHANGE (nobody said it had to be for the better)

We can never go back. I know that now. We can only go forward. We can find the love our heart long for, but not until we let go of grief about the love we lost long ago, when we were little and had not voice to speak the hearts longing’bell hooks: all about new vision.

Read it on Ao3

Words: 7.5k

Tw: Brief mention of sucided, death of loved ones, loneliness

You can let it go

You can throw a party full of everyone you know

You can start a family who will always show you love

Emily tightens her coat against herself while she walks through the busy stress of DC, the rain falling without mercy on her shoulders, it was not something that bothered her, not really, she pushed past all the people that were scurrying their way to their homes, some of them trying to not get themselves soaked by the rain. It was something that Emily had missed while she lived aboard, she had been so sick of that kind of warm air, the one that constantly stuck itself in her skin, she missed this type of weather. When it started pouring down and it didn't stop, a few thunders were making their way through the cloudy sky. 

Nothing but cars driving by were filling her ears, the occasional impatient drivers yelling, wanting to get home as soon as they could, the rain falling down their cars, the sound of the water droplets against the wet pavement, the rain drops that were slowly soaking her clothes. Emily wasn't worried, it was only water after all. The remains of snow in the pavement slowly melting, her boots would be drenched when she arrived, she was sure of it. 

The only lights she could notice apart from the lampost were the Christmas lights that were put out a couple of weeks ago, within a day they were lighted up, now with the holidays around the corner she can’t help but dwell on her last ones. Where she had truly felt happy with her parents, distant family, or the few people that could really attend to those dinners. The snowflakes above her shined, not many people stopped to admire the decorations, but she knew that in a moment everything she had lived for could stop, she preferred to take up little moments, store them, for when the hurt surpassed her like so many nights did.

There was nothing more than she desired, she loved this kind of winter, were more clothes were needed, where hot chocolate was back in the menu of all the coffee shops she went to, the sweet smell of it, always brought her back to the nights she spend with her father, at Christmas, how he overworked himself to the point of having everything perfectly decorated in their little apartment, while her mother was making her first interview, that later unknowingly would turn their lives upside down. Her life upside down.

An interview that would destroy her family. Her father would snuggle with her, watching a film, in black and white, those films that had no sound, he taught her how they could be entertaining. In the dark, with only her father by her side, she began to understand how words were not always necessary, how she could read the non verbal communication, that unknowingly would later in life help her to choose what she wanted to do with her life.

 She didn't understand how the movies could be interesting enough for her to sit still for two hours. Her father started to make up what the characters said, Emily followed after him and they waited, chocolate mugs in hand, a blanket over both of them, waiting until her mother came home, ecstatic for getting the job, a celebration, a chance to upward her mothers career. The little christmas tree shining in the other side of the living room, her letter already written for Santa. Her mother had promised to drop it to the postman that morning, but as usual she had forgotten. Her father had assured her that the letter would arrive, that she would have everything she desired, even if that was never the case. Perhaps she had always asked too much to Santa, something her old self considered easy, but wasn't, she just wanted her mother back. That was the first thing listed at the top of her list, followed by a variety of toys. Money was short, but he knew how to make the most insignificant thing beautiful. He had that kind of magic, for her, his father had been everything, a role model, until he wasn't.

Underneath all the happiness from that moment, there would be continuous fights, about arriving late, forgetting to pick her daughter up, not caring about them. Never caring about them. She thinks that maybe if her mother hadn’t gotten picked up for the position, that she selfishly would still have a family, parents who loved each other. But she wasn't sure if the latter was something that ever existed between them. 

Emily still, to this day, doesn't know how she managed to fool herself into thinking that both of her parents would show up, to something her therapist personally recommended her to do. Something that had to do with the death she had to fake, to bring her parents closure, explaining that she was there, alive, that she was well. She should have known that they would not care. She doesn't remember the last time either of them checked in with her. For them, an allowance of a certain quantity of money in her back account nearly every three months was perfectly okay. As if Strauss hadn't been the one personally calling her mother to update her as soon as she stepped into the BAU again.

Maybe it's the kind of love her father could not give her. That he found it easier to leave her with a parent that was absent. His father, Emily, believed had tried everything he could to make it work. She believed that her own mother was the one to blame for their messy divorce. But growing up made her see some grotesque things, she finally understood the hatred her mother had towards him. The sentiment both Prentiss women had shared towards him, something Emily was trying to change, she wanted to hear his side of his story.

 The pathetic excuses he would throw their way. Little lies and gifts that her little self believed them to be solely given by love. Not for the fact that he felt guilty. Guilty for a decision he had taken. How could she make him love her again? Did he in the first place?

Broken picture frames surrounding her younger self, after her father closed the door for the last time, he never came back, little pieces of glass in the floor of her bedroom when she found out what he had done, Emily destroyed the only family portrait the three of them together had, a Christman gift from her late grandmother, whom gave her the picture, because it was a day of remembrance, the day everything around her would change. 

He might be the one that destroyed her childhood, she can not really recall where it all went down, where did her parents started sleeping without waiting on one another, how their family breakfast every Saturday got canceled once and again, or the fact that her mother was never with them, always with some excuse in hand about her work. Always talking about work.

 Emily doesn’t really know if her parents divorce was the thing that stripped her whole, into uncertainties of who she was going to stay with. She doesn't know if their failed marriage was the reason that made her skin thicker. Perhaps there are the things, prizes or academic validations she failed to achieve, it could be that the reason Emily had felt most of her life unlovable by them. She doesn't know what made her father not want to spend holidays with her, when he knew she was alone.

She knows because everyone she has gotten to know in her life has had some sort of breaking point, life breaks people, even when they seem to pass it by, re-store the hurt back, ignore the way it aches constantly, putting more layers beneath so those around them don’t notice.

 Emily knows that once a child stops being looked up, childhood's ends, in that moment it’s when life starts tearing a person apart, it doesn’t start like a threat, but more like, small wounds that are invisible to others, maybe some blood, it will heal, it always does, not correctly, not like it once was, but slowly, new layers of skin to cover it, to make some space for the hurt that comes eventually. The kind of hurt that shakes anyone to their core, that’s when humans reach their breaking point. Emily thinks that sometimes it’s why people destroy themselves, it's a race that mostly nobody wins, not completely.

What a functional family for her is, how she never had that to begin with. Emily thinks that not having one shaped her in ways she would have never been if her parents gave more of themselves to her, but she partly understood why they couldn't, or didn’t want. Instead, she had moments, little fragments of happy times inside her mind, where she could feel loved by them, her father, after all, was the only parental figure she had remembered caring most for her. How Christmas without him was never the same again. 

The feeling of a sweet kiss against her checks just after her father finished reading her favorite childhood book ‘Sylvester and the magic pebble'. She remembers the smirk on her own face, the same movement that had stayed during her teenage years, when a kiss was placed she had to take the feeling of that lingering wet spot away, it had always been uncomfortable. Emily remembers back then how her father would react, but he got used to it. Some children didn't need that constant affection, little things were everything Emily had even needed, so when that affection disappeared, the books disappeared, because she was becoming older, that attachment was no longer needed, or so she thought, until she started at the BAU.

Her father had never been up to being a parent to her, he had been a father, a very good one, to his other kids, two little boys that were born shortly after he moved out. For her, he stopped being everything she adored when she was little. 

Emily never had a good father, not like Will, who moved from his hometown without having any plans, the only thing on his mind was that he must be where his offspring would be. Even if JJ didn't want to have anything beyond co-parenting with him. The reason he gave her was simple for him, ‘He was going to become a father. He could not ask for anything more’. 

Hotch, who tried his best to protect his family, but simply couldn't, the job got in the way, Aaron's marriage ended, Emily believes because she has to, that Hotch tried his best, as a colleague she understands, as a friend, she doesn't. Haley's death wasn't supposed to happen if he had taken another job offer, they don't blame him not as he blames himself. Jack was not supposed to stay half-orphan by four years old. But he was still after that a good dad, he managed to cut out his work hours, spend more time with him, maybe much more since Haley was around. She was sure that Haley would be proud of him, everyone on the team was. 

Even Michael, JJ's father, after his oldest daughter's death, he chose to let go of his own grief and focus on Jennifer, he focused on fixing his marriage with Sandy, trying to give JJ a childhood as healthy as they could after something so horrible had happened in their family. He succeeded in being a good father, Emily didn’t really know how she could have even thought her family was nothing but normal, when people like Will and Michael were there to prove her wrong.

Her mother was something else. Emily didn’t even know how to describe their relationship, or the lack of contact they had since she had been born, having her father around most of the time, she even had forgotten once that Elizabeth had lived with them at all. That she had another adult to call a parent. Another parent who failed to show up of every teacher-parent session or her theater recitals, those that her mother had nagged Emily to do when she was overseas, happy to oblige to her mothers desires, she begged her father to sing her up, in hopes that the little silly after school class when she started rehearsing to present it to the audiences, where her father the majority of time made it, alone, she had been completely naive if she thought it would bring her mother home more. It had not. She had hated dancing since then. 

The first person that came instantly without thinking, how should a mother be, was JJ. Her best friend who had always wanted a family. Jennifer made it true, maybe not in the most ideal circumstances, but Emily could see how much she and Will loved and cared about Henry, even if they didn’t try to stay together for their kid. She thinks that partly it was due to JJ’s desires in not to give her career up, relationships with their type of job were dangerous, even if her stomach turned around wherever her best friend smiled at her, which was very often. 

Emily knew that JJ didn’t want to end up like the women in her town. JJ told her once why she left. Why she didn’t want to stay in Pennsylvania surrounded by women who only lived for their husbands and children, devoted to them, without taking into consideration what they really wanted. 

Savannah with a hard career for herself she still chose to form a family, their baby was being everything her and Morgan desired, they were so happy. Emily had seen so many ultrasound pictures from Derek, the few he kept in his wallet. She could never imagine her father like that, with that kind of excitement for her.

 Emily wondered where she took all that time for herself to meet Derek, to decide to settle down with him, to form a family, time to love someone that was always risking his life. But the ER doctor could perfectly carry Morgan around. Savannah had something different from her own mother, she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, maybe it was the different career paths they used, but it would be too easy, to just blame the work without the person not being careless towards her own daughter. Perhaps her mother had never loved her. She must have been the problem.

Or Haley, Emily decided shortly after meeting her, that Jack was lucky to have a mother like her. He had been lucky. The short time they had together, the things they did would be something that she is sure Jack would cherish forever. Haley died protecting her family, hugged her son too tightly for the last time, and protected him one last time. She didn't deserve to go on like that. To miss how Jack grew up or how Hotch found someone else, peer pressured by Rossi because he knew, everyone of them knew that he was still not completely over her, could not really ever be. Her mother would not protect her as Haley fought for Jack. Emily was sure of that. 

Very few pictures taken, she could not fall back into photos to remember her childhood by, it must be why most of it it's in a blur, changing locations without even giving her the chance to situate herself, to be the person that she is, being cut down to the persona others could benefit themselves for her to be, that's how she fit in eventually, not by who she was, more likely by who her classmates wanted her to be. It was the easy way, she had to take it, there was no other choice, by the time she would have been comfortable enough they would have to move again, there was no reason as to why she ought to show her past classmates and neighborhood kids who she was.

 She doesn't remember him much, just when she was a little bit older, where homeworks turned into chores to do, green stickers in most of her works, when her class was assigned to do one of that family tree. Emily didn't remember she had a family, parental figures that failed to take care of her as she filled the page with people she barely saw. The young nanny she had at the time, taught her how to do it, how to stick each picture together, forming a perfect picture of what her family should have been, but wasn't. The Prentiss surname was nearly forgotten every time she had to turn in an assignment, because that was not where she felt like she belonged. 

When she was younger Emily didn't even bother to learn her parents phone numbers, why would she? It's not like they would have picked up. The lawyers, their divorce was their priority, not her, so the little times she had to go out of school, her driver was called, not her mother or father, they would never come for her.

There was really not any reason as to why she should be in the street right now, she had ran away from a packed bar, when she saw him not completely alone with someone at his side, her mother nowhere in sight. It was the shiver in her body that made her run. She could take the cold that was making its way through her tick coat, at least better than being in the same room as him. He looked so different from the last time that Emily saw him, he didn’t seem to be the same man that walked away from their home without looking back at her, no explanation as her mother ushered him out. He had already chosen what he wanted, and nearly had it completely when he left. Only some pictures were left, distant memories of birthdays, the few she had never with both parents present in the same room. 

“I just” Emily felt little drops in her face, she hoped that they weren’t tears, “I didn’t know where else to go” 

JJ didn’t really expect her in her front door, she noticed Emily’s nails bitten, but she brushed it off as stress from being back to the job, it was not like her best friend would tell her the whole truth, she never had in the first place. JJ opens her door wider, welcoming Emily inside, “Come in, I’ll make you something” 

A hot chocolate mug in hand, Emily finds herself wrapped around a soft blanket, JJ has lent her some clothes to sleep in, she knew, because JJ has always known, when she could use some company, when Emily needed to be with someone. The chocolate smell was making it hard to concentrate on what had made her come into JJ’s house in the first place, nearly colliding with happy memories about her childhood, nostalgia playing tricks on her youth again. JJ knew her, a hot chocolate had always made her talk, even when she didn’t want to. 

“It’s freezing outside” JJ grabs another blanket for herself, she had gone outside, to her balcony, taking a bottle of wine for herself, she had always been the kind of person who liked colder drinks, even in winter, “I’ll wait, take your time” 

“How’s Henry?” Toys were lined up to a little play mat there was not the somewhat jumble he had there, mostly police cards from Will she had seen in Henry's previous birthday's the little elephant pushing she had won him when she had accompanied them to the fair, seeing it at the top of his toys pile, it made her smile, Emily felt important for Henry considering that he has always have a special place in his heart for her.

"He has this week with his father" JJ sipped from her white wine, little sips, the alcohol entering her system, "Will is going to take him to a Christmas market in New Orleans, they promised to send me lot of pictures" Will had told her that it would be great for Henry, he would spend time with his mother and get to know a market he had grown into as a child, something traditional he explained when JJ asked about it. 

JJ understood it, she and Ros had gone out everyday leading to Christmas deciding which stand was better in their judgment (regarding the sweets and hot chocolates, they always finished in the same stand). She missed those times, when everything around Christmas time felt so magical and full of life, when the innocence of children was still untouched, believing in something that gave youth a meaning to hold onto as they grew. Even if it was not real, if it never had been. 

Henry, happily living with his parents apart, the two of them taking care of him, fighting for his well being, taking turns in creating new memories, together and apart, taking him to places, making him happy even if they are not together. Agreeing that Henry comes first, he always does, to every important decision, to every fight they had, JJ and Will had always put him first. Something that Emily had envied about the child. 

“I took my therapist's advice” JJ’s eyes widened, it was not every day that Emily listened to someone else making decisions about her private life, even less about her childhood or her parents failed marriage. It was not every day that Emily was completely honest with her. JJ knew about her parents Emily had blurted it out one night when they were talking about spending time with their families, Emily’s response had been vague for JJ and after a few drinks down the bar, JJ had learned little bits of her childhood, not everything. Just enough to understand it.

"They didn't show up?" JJ inquires, leaving her glass in her tea table, the one Emily helped her choose when she decided, after giving birth to Henry, that it wouldn't be fair for him to see her and Will living together.

"He did" Emily admits, the chocolate was no longer warm between her hands, she still had a little bit more of it to finish, "My father came, after years of ignoring my mother, he came" 

“Did he say something to upset you?” JJ leaned back into the couch, holding Emily’s hand. She didn’t know who Emily’s father was, but from what she had heard from Penelope, Emily’s sweet tooth came from him. 

“Not exactly” Emily drinks the rest of her chocolate and leaves it on the table. She changes her position, breaking her contact with JJ, pulling her feet upwards towards the couch, so she can lean and rest all the weight of her heavy body into JJ, who had her arms already opened for her to settle right in, “We didn’t talk because I couldn’t go inside the bar”

“It’s okay to feel paralyzed” JJ played with her hair, goosebumps appearing right where she touched her, like always Emily felt herself getting warm, the same feeling appearing deep in her stomach, she didn’t feel nauseous per se, it felt like something else, not quite love.

"Why can't I leave it like it was?" Emily questions dragging her feet into the end couch, "why do I have the need to reconnect with them?"

"Your parents thought they lost you" JJ acknowledges, there is it, the ache that had always been present as soon as she thought back to that time

"But I'm here aren't I?" Emily states chuckling sadly, "I've always been here and there has been complete radio silence from both their parts in all these years" 

JJ shakes her head, this conversation was getting slightly dangerous, for both of them, she knew what Emily wanted to ask her, “Your parents were there” She cautioned, Emily had her eyebrows frowned, as if she couldn’t entirely believe it, “They both came”

"How was it?" Emily tried to control her trembling voice, she didn't even know what they buried. She had gone there, with Penelope and Reid, only once, tackling another exercise her therapist ordered her to do. She doubted if she would ever come back.

Emily could barely look where her picture that once had been hanging by the wall seemed to catch her attention wherever she passed by, which, much to her discomfort, was daily. The empty space, which was lately painted blue for her return, was there as a reminder to her, that her picture had been there, that everyone she knew from work had been mourning her while she was in fact alive.

"A lot of people came" JJ stated, momentarily going back to that awful day, the dress she wore still was hanging in her closet, no matter how many urges she had of burning it to ashes, to destroy it, because it was not real, in her mind it was not real, "Morgan and later Spencer, where the ones who wanted to do the speech" She stopped herself, unsure if the last part should have been revealed, "Your father, he wanted to share some memories, of you, when you were a child"

"He did it" Emily chokes out, now what she was sure were tears, running slowly down her check, her make up would be smudged, but she didn't care, "And my mother?"

“Your mother stood in the front” That would not be a new information for her, after all that was how funerals worked, “But when we started with” JJ paused, why was she doing this to herself, to Emily, “When I started placing a red rose in your coffin she left” 

“She left” Emily repeated for herself, she really shouldn't be surprised, her mother didn’t never stay back to watch her auditions until they finished, it was always her phone ringing through the pitched black theater, how would she stay back to watch her own daughter's funeral? 

Even if it was not completely real, it should have been for them, her mother should have been crying, she should have been praying silently to have her back, just like Garcia told her, that her father did when most of them were leaving the place. Her father stood back, placing the last red rose, next to JJ. 

“Your father had a talk with her, when he noticed she was leaving” JJ admits, she knew that Emily’s father cared about her, “He could not make her stay, but he tried to stop her” There was the problem he never could get her to stay, not even when her mother switched her schedule to go to political parties, leaving her father and herself alone, celebrating her last birthday with him. It was what she was accustomed to, it didn’t matter much, did it?

“She left, just like that” Emily chokes the words out, her throat dry, “I have always been a problem for her, a burden in her mind” those words she believed them to be true, if not then she didn't really know where the hatred for her resided, "Maybe I wasn't what she wanted me to be"

"And what about you?" JJ inquired, covering their exposed cold hands with the blanket, she really should start thinking on starting with the central heating, that or not leaving the windows open so much time in the evenings, she had to talk with Will about it, when he comes to drop Henry and the both of them wait for her, "Are you everything you wanted to be?"

"Maybe" Emily drags her tongue between her lips, thinking about it, was she proud of herself? Of what she had become?

"I think you are" JJ stated, she was sure of it, her best friend had proved so many people wrong when they didn't want to give her a chance, "All the victims and kids you saved are alive because of you, Emily, because of how you think" 

"We all have the same job" Emily adds, she feels as slight slap into the middle of her wrist, she playfully gives it back to JJ, "We save people it's what we do"

"You beat Doyle" JJ says, she didn't want to take it out, if Emily didn't want to validate what she did from them, then she would have to hear it, "You saved us, knowing very well that it could cause your death, that it nearly causes you death"

"I wasn't even thinking" Emily admits, she remembers the first shot she fired, the rest was not important, "You guys were what made me want to fight him, he was insistent on taking everything I loved. I simply couldn't let him win"

"You did it" JJ reminded her she wants Emily to remember what she did, what she became, to remind herself how she started, who she is right now, in her apartment talking it out, something that years prior wouldn't even had happened, "even if I almost lost you"

"You didn't" Emily points out, it might be insignificant for her, that she is still alive, a selfish part of her would have preferred to have died in Boston that night, with no one more than Morgan there holding her hand, "You moved on from my fake death, Penelope moved on, even Reid and Rossi did" She doesn't mention Derek, she can't mention him, because he did find Doyle, but it was because he didn't want to believe it, he didn't want to fight his own grief, he chose to ignore it.

"I didn't" JJ acknowledges rapidly, if that's what Emily thought she was wrong, "We didn't, you don't think that Penelope still runs from her office to the bullpen because she doesn't want to stop looking at a blank blue space she had stared at for seven months?" She pauses, because she needs Emily to understand it, "Or how Spencer didn't go to the cinema, still doesn't go, because his favorite films are in another language"

"I didn't choose to do it" Emily stated, she didn't want to sound so harsh against JJ more so, knowing that Hotch and her were the ones who planned it, who kept her safe, away from everything that had the capacity to hurt her.

 She stands, takes the blanket off and goes to get herself a glass of cold water, her body shouldn't be burning so much. JJ was not the right person to point all that anger towards, he was already dead, so why did the tattoo that he gave her still ached so much?

"If you think that for a moment leaving you was an easy thing for me to do" JJ comments carrying both glass and cup to her kitchen sink, leaning against the cold metal, she wanted to understand how Emily felt, she had wanted for this kind of shield to appear since her best friend came back, "You are wrong" JJ adds, watching Emily walk around her living room, this time grabbing the last picture the three of them had taken that last time they were together. 

A picture that JJ has had in her state department desk while her recruitment passed. Taken moments later after knowing they couldn't do anything to stop it, Penelope and Emily pressed tightly against her, check to check as they tried to form what was almost similar to something happy, but she knew that if someone would look over the picture long enough, they would see Penelope's reddish eyes, Emily's own with tears falling by her check.

"Spencer's still mad at me" Emily leaves the glass of half full water on the now empty table, the framed picture in her other hand. She doesn't even remember someone taking that picture, she doesn't remember anyone of the team being strong enough to fragment that moment, to take it, she didn't even know it existed.

"He needs time" JJ answers, she had tried to talk to him about it, but the younger man was ignoring every type of text and calls that were directed from her, he was still angry for being kept in the dark about what was really happening, "What he has to understand" JJ stops, putting her hair into a quick bum, "what everyone needs to understand is that no one else but you were a priority, it was your own life on the line here"

"I was prepared to.." Emily stops, she drinks the rest of her water, as if it could drown what she really wanted to say but couldn't

"We knew that" JJ stated, "but we are family, we keep each other's backs, that's why we are here for" she grabbed Emily's hand, a finger going over her bitten nails,  destroyed cuticles, she should have noticed it sooner.

 JJ takes Emily back to the couch, their previous curled position completely forgotten now that they sit side by side, "I couldn't bear to lose you too" 

"They called you right?" Emily inquires, her mind settling down with all the new emotions that were crossing it, she felt overwhelmed, something her therapist had advised that it would happen when she was ready to accept what happened, when she accepted what her team members risked for her.

"They did" JJ said, she felt Emily relaxing against her round movements in her hands, "It was a little surprised learning all of that from you, what you did in the past"

Emily laughed, "Well, now I'm in the open there's nothing more that I hide", she rested her other hand on top of JJ's squeezing it lightly, "thank you for not giving up on me"

"In exchange that you do the same for me" JJ jokes, Emily nods instantly, because how could she not? JJ is the kind of person she had wished to have in her life

"You know" JJ added as she massaged Emily's back now, soft rubs against her jumper, "when my sister died I couldn't comprehend why the rest of the world could move on like nothing happened as soon as the funeral passed" 

"They knew her, maybe not as much as I did or my parents, but I just didn't understand why couldn't I move on like them" JJ stated, Emily relaxed into her touch, "Why do I have to still feel stuck wherever I'm reminded that once I had someone I would always look up to" 

"You are not over your own grief" Emily mutters comfortably resting down her head in JJ's shoulder,  she notices her best friend taking a sharp breath in, "There's a part of you that still thinks of her as you constantly grow"

“It’s been so long isn’t it" JJ pauses, quickly reminding herself how many years have passed, sometimes it still felt like it had been a recent occurrence, somedays the grief felt so fresh, "nearly elven years” JJ said finishing her wine, “When Ros died, everything around my family fell apart” Emily nods, she knew the feeling of helplessness when she saw something was about to break but was not capable of fixing, not by herself

“Then the fights started” JJ reminiscences, it always started small, the most insignificant detail, or how her mother still put four plates of food instead of three, the number they had been reduced into, how she hid not wanting to hear them fight, “I would go into her bedroom, grab her favorite sweater and lay there until they stopped, everything smelled like her”

“You once mentioned that she gifted you a necklace” JJ instantly grabs it, she twists it between her fingers, a nervous trait, she had placed the necklace when she was younger she had place it over and over in her sister's jewelry box, hoping that she would come back for giving it back to her, it was were it belonged. 

JJ takes a deep breath and grabs Emily’s hand tighter, she had only told this to Hotch, once, when Haley died, to give him some sort of peace that the memories would fade, not completely but enough so it did not hurt anymore, not as it used to, "She gave it to me before she..” She doesn’t have to elaborate, because Emily squeezes her hand, she got it. 

“It must have been special then, having a sister” Emily smiled at her, fingers interlocked as she catched JJ look to one of her favorite pictures, Roslyn and her in a ranch, it must have been where they grew up, surrounded by nature, Emily had always envied that, just growing up somewhere she felt safe, secure and mostly loved. 

"It was" JJ dried a tear that treated to fall, this night she didn't want to think about it, "I've always hoped that..that I would have more time" She needed more time, Roslyn had to have seen her graduate, grow up with her by her side, to show her what she did by herself, entering the FBI, changing her life entirely, leaving Pennsylvania, leaving a town that had too many ghost that tied her down, to learn to live on her own. Most of it she wished she could have seen her figuring out how it felt to fall in love with Emily.

"I would have liked meeting her" Emily admits squeezing JJs hand, she should have known how difficult was talking about it for her

"I didn't want the same thing happening to you" JJ admits, in what moment she thought letting all of this out would be the right thing to do, "You know you are loved right?"

"Even if Spencer is still mad at you, he cares” Jennifer places a kiss to her interlocked hands, before stretching her legs, standing up from her position, her body was getting cramped from staying so much time still, without movement, she wasn't accustomed to that, not when Henry was learning how to run properly, "Your father does too, he appeared wanting to talk again"

"If I" Emily stops herself, she wasn't entirely sure of her idea right now, but this talk with JJ helped "If I reschedule a meeting with my father, will you come with me?"

"Of course" JJ agrees without even thinking about it too much, it was Emily’s father, he had raised her, not like any adult would do, but he tried, "I love you" Jennifer places a kiss into Emily's left check, she did love her. Perhaps that wasn’t her whole truth, the real words she wanted to admit, the uncertainty of the situation was not allowing her to do so. 

 "I know" Emily nods and hopes that JJ understands it, that she understands her three squeezes to the back of her hand, a form of saying ‘I love you’ without any words needed. Without having to rip her chest open once again, that this time she could love wholly, not breaking her heart in the process, she doesn't know if it would be enough to take the chance.

“You didn’t pick up your cell” Emily mutters, she had noticed the familiar melody of JJ’s phone, it must have been around the time they were talking about her funeral. Something that still feels surreal for her, foreing to even think about it.

“It was probably my mom” JJ assures, her mother or father, depended on the day, they took turns on calling her every night since she left home, all through colleague, to the FBI, specially if they knew she was away on a case, or the first few nights they had come to help her with a newborn Henry, “She will call again tomorrow”  

“What do you want for dinner?” Emily’s neck snaps upwards from her beaten nails, looking directly to JJ, who somehow had walked the little distance into her kitchen, she had been so lost in thought about everything she had talked about with JJ, a fresh round of messages from an unknown number, still in her phone, a response that when she walked into JJ’s apartment was ready to be sent, but now she might have to think twice about it.

“I’m not hungry” Emily answer holding tightly to her phone, her eyes gazing previous sent messages, text that she didn’t read and calls she ignored while she walked towards JJ’s house

Emily finds a glass on milk placed in the table, in front of her JJ waiting, because she had always known that she had to drink even something as small as that glass to sleep, Emily couldn't really go to sleep with an empty stomach, and JJ had learned that the hard way, most of the years of friendship being formed in hotel rooms between some horrible cases had taught her not to let Emily go to sleep without having eaten or drunk anything at all. 

It was still raining outside, the soft sounds of rain hitting the glass of JJ’s balcony, she could appreciate them for the first time since she entered, drinking the milk slowly, her phone placed in the empty space of the couch, where JJ had been seated all afternoon.

“It’s going to be easier than you are thinking” Is what JJ promises her, taking the finished glass, while JJ cleans and dries it, she watches how Emily from the corner of her eye had dropped the big blanket over herself, waiting until she finished to go, to shut the lights off

Could it be that easy? Sharing her life, letting people in, Emily really doubts that, her father after all had been the only parents figure that has almost been constant, he had lost so many moments with her, but there is nothing they can do now to gain that time back, she can only go forward now, she can not keep on holding a childhood she never got to had so close to her, somehow now, it’s the time to let it go.

Emily waits to writes that message in the dark, what JJ does is completely unexpected, because she grabs a book instead of letting her surrounded by darkness, Emily takes the time to write what she wants to say to her father, perhaps an apology would do, but she knows that she can’t blame her work for it, it would stir up so many unwelcome memories they shared. JJ’s body close to her, warmth as her fingers brush over the phone screen, JJ reading her own book, trying not to look, trying to give her space. 

Is only when she leaves her phone that JJ shuts off her bedside lamp that she feels content to be where she is, that she feels happy about who she became, her father might have contributed, but it was her who made it. 

Emily really did think that having a family, some people that loved her was something untouchable, something to fantasize over, to keep to herself. With JJ, with the BAU, she regained somehow what she thought she didn’t deserve as a child. What she thought she couldn't have just because it was her, it was after all how she learned to grow.

“Goodnight” JJ, who lovingly placed a kiss to her forehead before she turned around, Emily didn’t respond, she had been with her eyes already closed, but she knew JJ would sense that she was still awake. JJ who has had so much patience with her, the cup of hot chocolate so she could calm down when she arrived, the blanket that she brought especially for her and had been intentionally been left in JJ’s house, the bed they prefer to share, specially on nights like this, when they almost break down one another. 

In times like this is where Emily feels safe and content of having JJ around and now that she knew she wasn’t going to go alone to another get-together with her father, that pressure deep in her chest had dissipated as her brain created new memories, the short conversation about her funeral, how it had a huge part into reorganizing how her childhood really was. How in such a short amount of time, of words used, her perspective towards her father could be changed.

She was not alone, she realized that as soon as she knocked on JJ’s door and her best friend had opened the door for her. Her best friend, who she had always felt some sort of invisible string tied to her, but that tonight it would be too hard to unpack, she already knew that JJ loved her, the same way JJ knew that she was loved in return.

Emily realized that these therapeutic assignments were part of her recovery, not to be the person she was before her funeral was officiated, but to become something better, a bigger version of herself. For now she might not have the tools for that, to change for the better, she knew that she had a long road ahead of herself to be okay again, to feel that sense of security alone in her apartment, even to try and have the same relationships she had when she went away. Nobody told her how hard it would be to change herself for the better, but she knew that sending that message was a step in the right direction, even if it felt wrong for her past self.

[potter-imagines]

Left Waiting at The Three Broomsticks (Fred Weasley x Read)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: Hi! I was wondering if I could have a Fred Weasley imagine where he pisses off his gf somehow and so she gives him the silent treatment and only talks to literally everyone (including George) but him so he gets all jealous and pouty lol. Eventually he gets her to start talking to him again and then it’s all fluff etc. Hopefully this wasn’t a confusing request! Thank you!! :)

Warning: Tiny bit of sexual content towards the end, little bit of swearing, kinda angst at the beginning ?? and a lil towards the end ?? I think that's all, a lot of fluff scattered about

Word Count: 9.5k (I am so sorry I got carried away)

Two hours. Y/n had spent two hours waiting for him. Two stupid hours on a Saturday night that she could have spent elsewhere making something productive of her day but no. The last two hours Y/n had been seated in a small booth in the corner of The Three Broomsticks waiting patiently for her boyfriend, Fred Weasley.

The thing that infuriated her the most was that it was his idea in the first place! Originally, the couple had planned a stay-in date in her dorm room for the night before, Friday, but other plans came up. Fred got tangled up in a prank with George that had landed him in detention with Snape for the night. Yes, it annoyed her but what could she do? It wasn’t like Snape would excuse Fred because she tells him they have a date. If anything, Snape would hold him back longer.

When Fred and George were finally dismissed, it was nearly eleven at night and Fred was sprinting down through the dungeons to the common room. Their arrangement was for eight and he was praying to anyone listening above that she was still awake, but not furious at him.

Skipping up the transporting stairs, Fred basically shouted the secret password at the Fat Lady making her narrow her eyes at him. She swung open, not without muttering about how rude he was, and Fred jumped inside. Ten or so students were scattered around the common room, chatting amongst themselves. Hermione, Ron and Harry sat around the couch near the grand fireplace. They sent Fred a wave, which he frantically returned. The golden trio watched in curiosity as Fred darted up the stairs of the girl’s dormitory.

Hermione looked back to the group and asked,

“Wonder what that’s about- he seemed in a hurry.”

“Heard him and George got detention. They put stink-bombs in the Slytherin common room! Heard it stained some of the furniture maroon!” Ron chuckled at his brother’s antics then resumed his debate with Harry over their thoughts on the Quidditch World Cup happening every four years. Harry tried to explain the concept of the Olympics to Ron, but Ron was too focused on how amazing it would be for the World Cup to happen each year. Hermione went back to her studies, blocking out the mindless bickering of the boys.

Above the common room, Fred Weasley was scurrying to his girlfriend’s dorm room. He hoped Angelina and Alicia were out so he could be alone with her. Their time spent together had been oddly less than usual the last few weeks. Fred had no change of heart- actually, he found himself falling more in love with her every day, but their final year at Hogwarts was creeping up from the woods and he was working on a dream career behind the scenes with George that was eating up his time with her. He had shared this idea with her before- but it was just an idea then. Fred and George planned on putting their dreams to action once they finished up the next year. He wanted her to come- George did as well, but he didn’t want to mention it until it was a reality.

Reaching his destination Fred took a second to compose himself. A thin line of sweat was forming near his forehead. This was the first chance he had to take a breather since detention ended. Fixing his dark robes Fred knocked against the door, quiet enough not to startle her but loud enough to hear.

“Y/n… Y/n… love, are you awake? It’s Fred-“

Abruptly, the heavy wooden door cracked open and a weary looking girl poked her head out into the quietness.

“Darling, did I wake you up? I’m so sorry.” Fred stepped forward and wrapped the girl in a tight embrace. Y/n’s head fell against his chest out of instincts. His arms fastened around her waist as he invited himself in the room, slowly walking her back.

“Here, go back to bed, love. You look exhausted.” Fred led the sluggish girl to her familiar bed. Throwing back the covers, he readjusted her pillows so there would be room for him to fit as well. Fred then walked back to Y/n and took her hand softly. Kissing the back of her hand, Fred helped Y/n get into bed then slipped in beside her. His arms snaked around her body without thought. The naturalness of holding her in his arms made Fred feel confident in his dreams of starting a future with her. All the tension in his body collapsed when she leaned into his frame. Fred held her close and kissed the side of her cheek lovingly.

“I’m sorry about detention tonight but I promise I’ll take you out Saturday, alright? We can have a date at Hogsmeade and spend the night together, does that sound nice?”

The sleepy witch gave a tired mumble and nodded her head. She was cuddled under a stack of blankets, wearing Fred’s sweatshirt which made him smile. He’d usually crack a joke at this and tease her but, she was already asleep when he looked back to her. Fred couldn’t help but stare at her for a while. There was never a moment that went by where Fred didn’t think of Y/n as anything other than beautiful but in these moments, she looked ethereal.

Moonlight poured in from the open window and splashed across her s/c cheeks. Her hair was sprawled against the white pillowcase. Fred smiled at the sound of her light snores. Fred wouldn’t leave until he was sure she was deep asleep. It was their thing. She hated going to bed without him there.

“Okay, I love you, Y/n. Get some sleep, angel.” Fred whispered.

He pecked her forehead, then kissed her lips gently. Removing the covers, Fred tucked them back into Y/n so she could keep warm. He closed the open window then tip toed out of the room. Instead of rejoining his friends, Fred decided to head to his room. He felt too guilty for missing out on their plans to go have his own fun. Anyways he did have a Potions paper coming up and if he was going to spend the day with you Saturday, he surely wouldn’t be doing any homework.

So, the plan was confirmed the next morning, Friday. Y/n ran into Fred on her way to breakfast and they discussed where they’d meet and a time. They ate breakfast together, walked to class, then headed in different directions when six rolled around. Fred had a Quidditch match and she had a group project, so they didn’t cross paths for the rest of the night. Even though he refused to admit it, Fred absolutely hated when Y/n missed one of his games. His favorite thing to do was search for her in the stands during each game and it made him sad not to see her smiling face standing out in the crowd. Y/n entered the common room around midnight and went straight for her bed. Gryffindor had lost so there wasn’t a single housemate sitting in the common room. She could only imagine how upset Fred must be, she’d be hearing about it tomorrow. Y/n giggled to herself at the recollection of Fred’s angry rants about his teammates to you in private. She basically crawled to her bed, dreaming about the handsome, goofy, witty twin that had captured her heart.

Which would bring us to Saturday night. Fred and Y/n had made specific plans; they were to meet at The Three Broomsticks at seven then hangout for a while and spend the rest of their night sneaking around the castle with the help of The Marauder’s Map. Fred had practice at six so he was planning on meeting up with the girl at the pub. Y/n expected him to be running late- it wouldn’t be Fred if he didn’t show up a good twenty minutes late.

Only Fred never showed up at seven thirty, not at eight, and by the time nine neared, he was still nowhere in sight. The Three Broomsticks would stay open for a few more hours but the thought of sitting there alone for any longer, jumping at the sound of the door every time it opened, it made Y/n feel less than sane.

Throwing a handful of coins on the table, Y/n thanked her server then exited through the front doors. The walk back to the castle wasn’t long but being with Fred made it a lot more amusing. He’d pick her flowers, give her piggy back rides, play games, race, and hold her hand the whole walk back.

This time, Y/n walked alone hugging the material of her raincoat to her chest. A light drizzle had been pouring on and off for most of the day. Earlier, it was perfectly bearable- hardly noticeable. Although the weather had only worsened as the night grew darker. Hard rain drops crashed against Y/n coat, cascading down her covered arms and bouncing to the wet ground. Her black boots were soaked. She could feel the water rising to her socks, one of her biggest hatreds. Wet socks.

The hood of her jacket only helped so much before the pelting raindrops started to seep to her hair. Typically, Y/n loved the rain. If Fred was here, they’d be dancing right now. But he wasn’t, she had no clue where he was and that was exactly what Y/n was headed to find out.

By the time Y/n made it back to the castle and up to the Gryffindor common room, it was past ten.

Much as Y/n had expected, the common room was lively with energy and conversations. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were all sitting in a circle with Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Seamus, and Dean. A dark bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy and Daisyroot Draught were being passed amongst them. Y/n watched as Fred leaned into his brother’s side, obviously tipsy and slurring his words while he practically shouted to their friends who were only sitting feet away.

His frame twitched with every small hiccup he let out. The whole group was smiling, they were happy. Y/n wondered to herself if Fred even noticed that she wasn’t there. She wondered if he liked it more when she wasn’t there, they were having fun and although the group was also her friends, no one was interested enough to invite her. Biting on the tender skin of her bottom lip, Y/n bundled her fist to her sides. The anger refused to simmer, only continued to boil. Her dripping clothes weren’t helpful to her sour mood.

It wasn’t the fault of her friends, no, but they were bound to get caught in the crossfires. Fred was the one who left her waiting for hours on end. Her chest was tight- livid yet sad all at once. It was an aggravating feel, unfamiliar. Y/n hated the suffocation entering her drying throat. More than anything she longed to handle situations like these in an aloof fashion. The last thing wanted was to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she couldn’t help it. Her head screamed ‘just go to bed, ignore him’ but her heart wanted to scream at him and let him know just how bad he had hurt her. Her breathing quickened, each inhale received a choppy exhale.

For the first time, Y/n decided not to join her friends or to even say a word to Fred about how he stood her up. She was sick of it- completely exhausted and drained from his lack of care and presences in their relationship the last few weeks. If he wanted her as bad as he claimed, he’d find a way to show it. And leaving her sitting alone in a noisy pub while he partied and drank with their friends, showed her the exact opposite of his words.

Diverting her leer from the inebriated group and studied the rest of the room, hearing voices near the sitting area. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were all staring at Y/n in mixed judgement. Harry, Ron and Neville looked concerned by the appearance of Y/n. Hermione on the other hand, she was absolutely flabbergasted, Y/n could see the pity written on her face. You had mentioned having a date night with Fred in Hogsmeade to the four the night before. Harry had invited Y/n to hangout with them and visit Hagrid, but she politely declined and informed them about the special night Fred had planned for them.

Harry and Hermione stood up at the same time ready to comfort the teary-eyed girl. They motioned her over but just as she started towards them, Angelina Johnson noticed her friend who had been absent for most of the night. Setting the bottle of brandy down, Angelina wobbled up to her feet and smiled giddily,

“Y/n! Come- come drink with us! I was wondering where you- why… why’re you all wet?”

As the words fell from her mouth, a crowd of eyes planted on Y/n. Her fists clenched, bone white knuckles visible, at her sides. Angelina scurried over to her friend and wrapped her in a tender hug. If the scenario had been different, she’d gladly join in the fun but there wasn’t an ounce in her body that desired a drink.

Y/n’s eyes found their way to the boy she had been longing for all night. Her lips quivered, the anger and sadness reaching it’s overpour. He looked so handsome, so happy, but it meant nothing to her.

Pulling back, Angelina squinted in confusion at Y/n. The lack of embrace given back had thrown her off. The group had been awaiting her arrival, no one was quite sure where she’d gone off to. Angelina scanned Y/n’s reddening face, noticing the emotions bubbling under the surface.

Moving away, the dark-skinned girl turned to her friends. No one else seemed to notice the offset of Y/n’s attitude.

“Angel, where have you been? I missed you!” Fred’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Quickly standing up, he held his hand out to his girlfriend. Y/n shot a dangerous look to his outreach, then up to his face. Usually she’d find his toothy grin and childlike state loveable but for obvious reasons, it made her irate.

Stepping back, Y/n sternly scowled at Fred,

“Missed me? You’re the one who left me waiting all goddamn night, Fred Weasley.”

A part of Y/n felt guilty for forcing her friends to witness their unpleasant exchange. George was now to his feet standing behind Fred, just as lost as the group he had been sitting with. Despite the alcohol running in his veins, George could sense an argument budding by the second.

“Not like any of you really seemed to care where I was.” Y/n kicked herself for this cold statement.

Her friends weren’t at fault- not in the slightest. But everyone was at risk of becoming a victim to her fiery wrath. In actuality, it did hurt her a little that no one had gone searching for her. It had been hours! Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the reactions of the group. George took his arm off Alicia and nudged his twin.

“What- I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, love. I think you should have a drink and loosen up-“

Y/n couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t take it anymore. Scrunching her face, she used every bit of strength to force her salty tears to hide at bay. Although her emotions screamed to be heard and saw right through her façade. Sweeping her hand across her cheek, Y/n caught the stray tears that rolled down her rosy cheeks. Huffing all her emotions out at once, Y/n shook Fred away from her and hurried towards her room.

Fred stood appearing dumbfounded. He could only gawk in perplexity. Blame it on the alcohol, but Fred’s mind was drawing a blank when surveying her words. For most of the night, he was the one thinking she was leaving him waiting. No one else had a clue as to where she’d gone off to, so he assumed she was in the library or wanted some space.

“You’re an idiot, Fred.” Hermione’s sharp voice cut through the thick air. The happiness and drunken laughter was extinct. The girl’s shared an exchange, all confused as to what just happened. The glass bottles didn’t help clear their judgement. Dean and Seamus took small sips from the Daisyroot Draught. The tension was unbearable, it felt wrong for their friends to be a part of it.

George set a hand on Fred’s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. Leaning forward, George whispered to his twin,

“I reckon it’s best if we turn it in for the night.” Fred gave a tug of protest. His intoxicated fought against him though he knew he did something wrong and needed to find Y/n. In spite of his desire to chase after the girl, George couldn’t let him do that. It was obvious Fred had forgotten something and Y/n was more than upset. Sending his brother up to drunkenly apologize to his hurting girlfriend for a reason he can’t even recall, that was a recipe for disaster and would only cause a bigger mess.

“Fred, you’re going to bed. You’re too drunk to talk to Y/n right now, okay? We’re going up the boy’s stairs, not the girls, okay? You two can talk in the morning, maybe you’ll remember where you fucked up tonight by then.”

Suddenly, Fred stop moving and let out a low groan,

“Oh shit… merlin’s sake, I fucked up, George. Oh my god- Hogsmeade… shit! I told her we’d meet at Hogsmeade and I forgot-“Fred whipped around in his discombobulated state. Everything clicked at once. Fred had been so concentrated on Quidditch that once practice had wrapped up, his exhausted body dragged him back to the common room out of muscle memory. It was his typical routine; Quidditch practice, head back to his dorm, shower, change, eat, work on some possible products with George, then hangout with his friends. How could he be so neglectful?

George sent his brother a comforting look then grabbed him by the shoulders, helping aid him up the winding staircase. It came as a shock to him that Fred had forgotten about their date. All he spoke about was Y/n, it was a rare occurrence for the couple to

“So that’s where she’s been all night?” George pushed open the door to their room, looking to his twin sternly. Fred had most of his weight piled on George, trying his hardest to remain upright. Lee had decided to stay back, allowing the brothers a chance to talk.

George helped his frantic twin in the dark room, then gave him a light push towards his bed. Fred plopped down, burying his face in the fluffy pillow. Pulling off his jumper, George threw the large maroon comforter over Fred’s tall frame while he wailed,

“I’m a terrible boyfriend. I planned the bloody date too! I left her-“

“How ‘bout you get some rest? You can find her in the morning and apologize to her and… hope for the best. It’ll give you more time to think of a way to make it up to her. You’re just a rambling mess right now.” The alcohol was not wearing George down. He had been on an adrenaline high since his second shot. This was the first moment of the night where he had stepped back. His tiresome hands rubbed against his face as he made his way to his bed and collapsed on it.

Fred was still moaning on, the sound of his drunken voice making it harder for George to fight back the urge to sleep,

“She’s gonna dump my sorry ass-“

“Go to bed, Fred. It’ll be okay.”

George let out a sigh of exhaustion. The twins had been best friends with Y/n since they were just children, new to Hogwarts and unfamiliar with the power of magic. It pained him to see his brother hurt, but it also hurt to see Y/n upset. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Turning his head, George let out a breathy chuckle at the sight of his twin passed out cold. The worry that dripped from his voice was now gone as he eased into his dreamland.

George wanted to scold him, knock him upside the head for skipping out on Y/n again. He cared a lot about her, she was basically a sister, a triplet to him. If Fred was gonna win her back, it wasn’t going to be easy, George knew this. Y/n was stubborn, and the twins had witnessed this first hand for years, it was a trait they loved, when not directed towards either of them.

As George’s head hit the pillow, all he could do was pray to Godrick that the morning would bring good news.

Sunday morning arrived much faster than Y/n had hoped. A bright, loud, light interrupted her sleep as the gears in her head started to turn. Her mind was groggy, the events of last night were foggy. Warm sunlight broke through the glass stained windows. Y/n wiped her eyes and slowly sat up. Her mouth was dry, screaming for a drink of water.

For a minute, she felt calm- happy almost. The room was half empty; Angelina’s bed was bare and Alicia laid in a star-fish position, a snore sounding from her mouth. The image made Y/n laugh.

Standing up, Y/n’s hands flew above her head as she stretched. She cracked her back, a morning ritual for the girl. Just as she reached for the knob of her dresser, a wave of recollection nearly knocked her off her feet.

Fred had stood her up, of course, how could she forget? The irritated skin under her eyes and nose suddenly made sense. Leaning against the wooden cabinet, Y/n huffed. It was times like these she wished she could crawl into bed and stay there for eternity. Nothing would get better though if she didn’t at least try to fix it.

As quick as the thought came, it had evaporated once more. Why did she have to be the one to put forth the effort to fix things? There was no use in fixing their relationship if Fred wasn’t willing to try too. More than try, Y/n thought. It took a piece of her when she came back to the castle just to see him drinking with their friends, not thinking a thought of her. She needed to see that he cared. His words held no value to her anymore, not until he could prove he meant what he said.

Y/n went through her morning routine like a snail, wanting to drag out her time. Eventually, she was fully dressed and ready for the day. She liked to take advantage of the days her school robes weren’t required. The cooling weather led her to a fuzzy black sweater, and light washed jeans. Sliding her delicate wand into her back pocket, Y/n exited the room and took the stairs down to the common room.

Approaching the bottom of the steps, Y/n could hear familiar voices exchanging hush words. She stepped into the room and was surprised to see the lack of students. The only ones present were sat one the long leather couch on the left half of the massive room. All of their gazes fell on Y/n.

Fred, George, Ron, Angelina, Harry and Hermione were all relaxing- well all of them except Fred. He on the other hand was frantic- disheveled. His knee bounced in anticipation. The clock was sneaking

“Oh, uh, hey Y/n!” Ron Weasley moved his hand side to side, waving to Y/n. The temptation to admire the handsome boy at his side leaped into her heart. Using every ounce of strength, Y/n trained her eyes on Ron, not allowing a single peek at Fred.

“Hey, Y/n/n!” The voice of Angelina brought a perk to Y/n’s head.

“Hi.” She greeted the younger Weasley and her close friend back, then headed for the portrait. Before she could make it half the distance, the tall figure of her boyfriend appeared.

“Angel, how did you sleep?” Fred was by her side in an instant. He was desperately trying to read her expression, testing the waters to see her mood. He had hardly slept, he spent most of the night thinking about this exact moment, when he’d have the chance to apologize and make it up to the girl he loved. “Can we please talk? I’m really sorry for last night, honestly, I am so so sorry, darling.”

Y/n stared at him, or rather, through him. It was like she didn’t see the tall wizard in front of her.

“I’m gonna go study, I’ll meet you with you guys later.”

“Y/n, love-“ His warm hand took hold of her of her own, an action she’d typically love. The familiar grasp sent a burst of comfort in her stomach, but she ignored it.

Wiggling out of his grip, the girl shot him a look of displeasure then rushed off. Hermione chased after her, no one else brave enough to step in. Besides, Hermione was one of her closest friends. Watching the younger girl follow after her roommate, Angelina walked after them. Fred stomped like a toddler having a tantrum as the portrait swung open then closed. He knew he had to do something- anything to get her to talk to him again, and that was his plan.

For a Sunday evening, the school library was relatively empty. A majority of the students occupying the tables were studying away for their O.W.L.S. The exams weren’t for another two months but hardly anyone dared to procrastinate until the last week before opening their books. The stress of the exams was enormous, but the students still had other classes to keep in mind.

Y/n Y/n/l and George Weasley were sitting across from on another at a study table. Three hefty textbooks were open as the two discussed their Potions paper. Y/n had been stuck on hers and George had yet to start so they decided to head to the library together and get it done.

Fred was usually right by their side, his hand wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders, but she neglected an invite for him. About an hour after their exchange in the common room, Y/n had apologized to each friend she had snapped on the night prior. They were understanding, clearly seeing where her frustrations had come for. They also felt bad as she was right, no one had even checked to see where she’d gone, and George especially felt terrible for not searching for his friend.

At least three hours had passed since the two Gryffindors started their study session. Y/n was sneaking up on her last two pages while George still had three left. They collaborated every few minutes, then returned to tranquil silence, scribbling away.

Y/n was in the middle of sharing her idea for the last section of her paper when George’s eyes brighten and he interrupted her,

“Fred, how nice of you to join us.”

Turning in her chair, Y/n found her boyfriend standing behind her with a nervous smile. She hated how perfect he looked, even in the poor lighting of the library. He still managed to make her breath hitch in the back of her throat.

“Hi, Y/n. You look beautiful as always.” Fred announced himself softly. George scoffed teasingly, muttering a ‘hello’ to himself to make up for his brother ignoring him. Freds words were genuine though didn’t make much of a difference. Y/n was still hurt and a compliment wasn’t going to mend that. She needed to feel it, to see him truly show that he cared- that she meant something to him. That she was deserving of his time. Sweet comments didn’t not add up to that feeling.

George closed his textbook, then glanced up at his twin,

“Should I leave?”

Before Fred could answer, Y/n slammed her hand on top of George’s Potions book. Wide eyed and frightened, the boy gaped in shock. Even Fred was taken aback by her unexpecting movement. Leering at her friend Y/n replied,

“No. I want you to stay, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

Fred’s heart dropped at her words. It was heartbreaking to have the girl of his dreams now shunning him- brushing him off with ease. It was driving him mad. All he wanted was for her to acknowledge him, give him a little hope that he can earn his way back in her heart. He loved her, every bit of him loved her.

All he wanted was to make it up to her for his mistakes the night before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she saw him sitting with their friends. She was miles exceeded hurt- more devastated at his negligence than hurt alone.

Maybe it was the fear of meeting the reality that losing Y/n was a possibility, but Fred experienced a new sort of emotion when his girlfriend asked for his brother to stay. Yes, they’re friends, all three of them are. Fred had to remind himself of this like a record on repeat. He couldn’t fight the envy off though.

It made his heart twist as she stared at George. Never did he think he’d be jealous of his own twin, but Fred was livid. The seething stream of covetousness overtook his veins. Fred wanted to be the one you ran to for comfort, not his brother. His entire life he had shared everything with George, Y/n was far too meaningful to Fred for her to be shared.

Now it does take two for a turn of events like that to happen. Fred knew, clear as day, that George had no romantic feelings for Y/n and she had none for George. This was true, but for some reason, it didn’t help tame Fred’s envy.

He knew causing a jealous scene would do no good for anyone, so Fred realigned his train of thought and asked,

“Could I steal you from that conversation, please love? I really need to apologize to you.”

Fred allowed his hands to reveal themselves from their previous position hiding behind his back. When he moved them, a full bouquet of colorful flowers and small green plants of different shapes and sizes. The flowers were a display of fuchsia, pink, orange, red, and yellow. They were beautiful, so beautiful, Y/n thought to herself. She couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past her lips.

Fred had gotten her flowers their first-year dating but since the last month or so, she hadn’t received many of his heartwarming gifts. It wasn’t the monocle value of a present but the thought and attention to care that captured Y/n’s heart. Fred had always been the best at creating meaningful gifts on a tight budget. Whether it was flowers he stole from school grounds, or necklaces he made out of stones she found around the Great Lake. He’d make her perfume- proving rather excellent in the Potions department. He also asked Molly to teach him how to knit in order to make Y/n a sweater. This of course delighted Molly over the moon.

George bit on the skin of his knuckles to keep for laughing at his brother. He recognized the flowers, as did Y/n. Fred had picked them from the garden outside the castle- something that had earned him a detention before. George decided not to comment on his observation, Fred was sure to murder him in his sleep if he put his apology in any jeopardy.

Fred extended the bouquet to his flustered girlfriend. He felt a sense of accomplishment while watching her reaction. It was small to most, but for as stubborn as she was, it was big in his eyes. The girl reached forward, accepting the gift with a tiny smile rising to her lips, one she didn’t force down.

For the first time since the night before, Y/n fully saw Fred. She peered directly at him silently. George glanced between the two, stuck between a dual. Without speaking, Fred took some steps forward and pulled the chair next to Y/n out. He slipped into the seat, the couple still staring at each other. Y/n studied his demeanor, he didn’t push her anymore, but he wouldn’t leave her side. Not that she would tell him but, she was happy he joined in. She didn’t want him to leave, she had missed being around him. Tearing herself away, Y/n focused herself back on the other twin.

“As I was saying, George…”

Fred drowned out the words but accepted the fact that Y/n didn’t reject him from sitting down. She also didn’t set the flowers down for the rest of their study session. The remained clutched in her hands, resting in her lap the whole time.

Monday night came in the blink of an eye. Classes had resumed and the castle was bustling in stress. When the end of the year neared, the time spent sitting through lectures was an eternity, while the weekends flew by. Fred had always hated summer break, actually, that’s not entirely true. His dismissive of break budded around the same time his relationship with Y/n became official.

Their first two years, she would spend the holiday back home in London with her family. She loved her family but once she experienced her first holiday at the Burrow, she never wanted to miss another. Her family was a bit distant, not the warm and welcoming pure-bloods like the Weasley’s, but not as cold as the Malfoy’s. Y/n’s family had no issues with her spending breaks at the Burrow, as long as she had Molly and Arthur Weasley’s approval. Molly insisted each time that there was no need for her to even ask to stay. They accepted her with open arms, ecstatic to see Fred had found such a lovely girl.

The end of the school term was coming up and Fred needed to fix things with Y/n before that happened. She planned to spend the break at his family’s home and he feared she’d take her agreement back if things weren’t improved between them. Spending almost two days stuck in the anger of his love was two days too many. Fred was going to fix this and he planned the best idea he could think of, good thing he had their friends happily available to help.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, while she was resting up from her illness Harry, Ron, Lee and George were helping Fred create his masterplan. Hermione helped in her own way by remaining near Y/n’s dorm, sitting in as the lookout. It gave her an excuse to get her school work done so she didn’t protest.

Alicia and Angelina stayed in the room. Once Y/n started to feel better, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, the girl’s altered Hermione who passed the news along to Harry as the chain continued until it reached Fred. At the confirmation, his plan was set into action. Ron was sent to retrieve the girl after Alicia and Angelina convinced her to get some food from the dining hall.

She walked through the common room then down the moving staircase, when her redheaded friend popped up. Ron scared the girl, making her stumble back, her hand placed over her chest.

“Y/n! I’m so glad I ran into you! No one has seen you all day- Angelina said you were feeling ill this morning.” Ron rambled at a fast pace. Y/n, still surprised by his sudden arrival, took a deep inhale, nodding to the boy,

“Yeah, I saw Madam Pomfrey this morning when classes started. I just had a stomach bug and she said I’d have to wait it out but the medicine she gave me seems to be doing the trick.” Y/n gave Ron a kind smile. Ron was two years younger than her but they had always been great friends. Y/n would travel to the Burrow as a guest of the twins during the holiday breaks, so Ron and her had spent a lot of time hanging out together. It was sweet of him to ask how she was doing, but he didn’t seem that her health was the reason for their conversation.

“That’s good to hear. You wouldn’t happen to be heading anywhere, are you?”

“Just to get some food. I’m starving-“ Ron nodded eagerly, cutting his friend off in the process.

“That’s great! I mean, not great, just… well… uh, follow me please!” Scrambling like a mess, Ron clasped his hand over Y/n’s wrist and abruptly dragged her down the stone corridor. She couldn’t find the words to question him and allowed Ron to lead the way. Her curiosity was far too big to ignore his odd request.

Ron carried on for another five minutes then took a sharp turn, heading for the courtyard. Two figures ran off around the side of the castle in the darkness. Y/n swore she recognized the pair as George and Lee. What were they up to? Snapping her head to the younger boy, Y/n waited for him to fill her in on why he had dragged her halfway across the castle to the freezing courtyard.

“Okay! We’re here- I’m just gonna… head out. See ya, Y/n!” Ron rushed his farewell then ran off towards the direction George and Lee had escaped to. What in the world is going on? Left by herself without any explanation, Y/n threw her hand up in annoyance.

“What?”

Alone in the cold, Y/n wrapped the opening of her fuzzy cardigan against her body, attempting to keep warm. Although warmth entered her vein as a pair of arms snaked around her waist, snatching her backwards into a firm surface. She gasped, thrown off by her attacker and tried to turn in retaliation, but their grasp was far too firm. The familiarity of the hold made her body ease up. As much time as the spent together, she could recognize his touch anywhere. Fred.

His touch released a swarm of butterflies through the girl. She could feel the anger washing away as she leaned her body into his chest, having pined for his arms for two too many days than she was accustomed to.

The tall Gryffindor held her tightly. Moving forward, Fred pressed his lips against the shell of Y/n’s ear. The heat of his breath causing her to shudder as he whispered,

“I’m so happy you came, darling.”

Y/n smirked, looking up at him. The concurrent willfulness of her nature could only carry on for so long until her headstrong demeanor crumbled. A pang of chagrin still grumbled in her stomach but the sight in front of her certainly was a runner in her change of heart.

Soaking in her surroundings, Y/n realized they were just a few hundred feet outside Hargid’s hut. This explained the garden full of massive orange pumpkins. In the middle of the path was a small gazebo decorated in fairy lights and sunflowers. A small table set for two was tucked inside. Small teacup white candles line the path, creating a runway of sorts. Another candle, larger and purple, sat flickering in the breeze in the center of the neat table.

Y/n stood motionless absorbing the creation her boyfriend made- all for her. Speechlessness was not common for Y/n so Fred undoubtably began to second guess if his efforts were good enough. His fears were stomped in a matter of moments when Y/n harshly yanked at the material of his collar and placed a brisk, short kiss to his lips. Fred was startled, losing the opportunity to kiss her back but Y/n didn’t want him to. It gave her a sense of control- they still had issues they needed to work out, but she loved him nonetheless. Besides, avoiding and staying mad at Fred forever? Impossible. In two days, Y/n had to stop herself a million different times from approaching Fred and sharing a laugh with him, or kissing him, or holding his hand and giving him a hug. She didn’t want to fight off the urge anymore- and Fred couldn’t handle the distance spaced between them. Thus, being the motivation for his grand, heartfelt, date.

“I’ll assume that means you like it. I won’t take all the credit- it was my idea, but our friends are the main reason I was able to pull this off. I feel really bad and… I need to do something special for you- I don’t do that enough lately. I forget sometimes to remind you how important you are in my life and how much I love you.” Fred sheepishly smiled, nervously awaiting her reaction.

The small table was set, a new bundle of crimson red roses placed on her seat. To the side of her plate was a small box with a beautifully wrapped ribbon tied to the top. Fred had a special way of showing his love and adoration for his girlfriend, but even this was new to her. Never before had he gone so over the top to prove his feelings to her.

Y/n lifted her hand and intertwined it with Fred’s, smiling up at him,

“It’s gorgeous, Freddie.” The bashful smile made Fred’s heart melt on sight. He had prepared himself for the repetitive rejection she had been sending, so when she whispered those sweet words, his chest tightened, and his pace stopped.

Fred almost fainted in shock at the sound of her voice. He squeezed her light hand and drew it back, forcing her body into his own. Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that fell from her lips. She missed his playful ways. With the foreheads pressed against each other, Fred grinned,

“I’ve missed your voice, love.”

Although his words made her heart take flight, the reality of her hurt was still roaming. Y/n detached herself from his grasp and rested her hand on the black metal table. Her fingertips fumbled with the white cloth, it served as a distraction only for a short period of time. Fred sent her a sorrowful look. Her shift in moods was confusing to him, he only wanted to make things better.

Y/n sighed and ran her hand through her h/c locks. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply then asked,

“Why don’t you have time for me anymore, Fred?” The question of the night- or rather month. His date was beautiful, absolutely stunning. As riveting as it was, it couldn’t erase the hurt she had been experiencing.

Fred shook his head frantically, dismissing the accusation. He knew why she would think that way, he understood. It wasn’t true, though. Actions speak louder than words and Fred despised the fact that recently, his feelings for Y/n weren’t lining up with his actions. His words could only do so much. But he also knew soon, things would be different. Missing the Hogsmeade date was his fault, and he paid for it. Two days might seem minute to most, but when you spend essentially everyday attached to someone’s hip, two days of them purposely ignoring you and speaking to every soul expect you, it can feel like a lifetime. He realized a few things in this time.

Fred remembered how fun it was to act as if he was still trying to win her over. Gifts, no matter their cost, always brought a gleam to her face which never failed to make Fred grin. However, it was much more entertaining when she wasn’t upset with him and would throw the flirtatious comments right back at him. He was also reminded of how lucky he was to be with Y/n. While she ignored him, Fred found himself envious of every living being Y/n spoke to, as they were not him. When he started engulfing himself in his plans for the joke shop, his effort in his relationship had decreased and this was something he vowed to never let happen again.

“I’ll always have time for you, darling. And if I don’t, I’ll make some. I truly am sorry about this weekend- you don’t deserve that.”

“It just seems like you’re distracted, like you don’t care anymore.” Y/n batted her reddening eyes, finally throwing her worries to the air.

“No, no, Y/n, not at all. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way, love. I’m a terrible excuse of a boyfriend, I never meant to create this mess. I love you so much.” Fred’s head bowed down. It tore him up to know the way his actions made her feel, the only girl he loved.

“I love you too, Freddie. I really do but I can’t feel alone in this relationship. I let our date Friday slide, even though I was annoyed, but Saturday night? I feel like it broke me. Just knowing you forgot about me-“ Y/n fought back the burning sensation in her eyes as the tears began to brim.

The anxiety blooming inside her was clear to Fred. Suppose that was the downside to dating your best friend, they can always tell when somethings wrong. Before a tear could hit the floor, he whisked her to the iron garden chair, then kneels before her, his hands holding her face as if it was a priceless, dainty piece of china.

“I didn’t forget about you, darling, that’s impossible to do. I’ve been… well I’ve been working on something with George for when we leave school next year. It’s real important to me and I wanted to share it with you but I was scared that it might not happen but… if I have your support and you with us, I know it’ll happen.”

“What’re you rambling on about, Fred?”

“Remember how I told you that George and I wanted to open a joke shop? Well, it’s happening… I think. We’re really close, we just gotta make it through next year then we’re free! We’ll have our own joke shop and get to sell our own products and start our future.”

A silence overtook the atmosphere. Y/n’s lips were stuck open in a small ‘o’ shape, eyes glued to the floor. Was he really going to leave her all alone next year? Would they have to break up? Surely, he wouldn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.

She was snapped from her own mind when her skin registered the touch of Fred’s lips as they traced her knuckles, kissing each finger as he did. His eyes then peered up to meet her own. She could tell he was serious by the feeling of his stare. Then he continued, making Y/n perk up,

“But none of that can happen without you… Y/n I want you to come with me. Move in with George and I, start a future with me. We want you to be a part of the shop. I want you there. You’re the only girl I want, for the rest of my life.”

Her once open mouth clamped shut in a swift motion. Ever since she met the twins, Y/n wanted a future with Fred. Everyone saw it as a childhood crush, but she always knew it was more. She never stopped loving him- never could. Even when his pranks took a step too far over the line. They always found their way back to each other and would work through it. Fights such as the most recent were rare- but Fred’s admission filled in a lot of empty spaces that had left Y/n sleepless for days. Finally, the crushing weight was lifted from her chest as she choked out a shaky breath.

Leaping forward from the chair, Y/n threw her body into her boyfriend’s body and clamped him in a koloa like hold. Fred chuckled in amusement, falling onto the near ground at her jump.

“Why do you have to be so lovable? I hate it. I should be angry with you, but I just love you too much. Besides, I think you did enough suffering.” She giggled as she pinched his round cheeks in her hands. Fred poked his tongue out at her and grabbed at her sides. Y/n swatted his hands away, giving him a stern glare saying, ‘don’t push it’.

Slowly, she leaned down and brushed her lips against Fred’s, smirking down at him. It was a change in roles. In their more adult situations, Fred was typically the one on top with Y/n pinned below him, but that’s a story for another time.

A small, almost whimper, sound came from Fred. He hated being teased- that was his job. Dragging out the moment, Y/n tugged on the skin of his bottom lip with her teeth, earning a groan of approval from Fred. She grazed over his mouth one last time before dipping her head down to meet his and interlocking their lips, still straddling his waist. Fred’s hips pushed towards her core out of instinct. Not ready to give in quite yet, Y/n lifted her body and shifted forward, entrapping Fred even more so in the heated kiss.

They parted for seconds to sneak a bit of air, then continued their needed make out. It had been a while since they proved their love to each other in this way. For the last month, it had been small kisses here and there when the couple had a chance to see each other. Y/n needed his touch- she needed him. Fred longed to have under him, pleasuring her. He desperately wanted to sink his head between her legs and really show her just how much he loved her.

The coldness of his fingertips hit Y/n’s skin as his fingers dug into the sides of her waist. As much as she longed to keep the exchange going, the last thing either of them needed was a detention.

Y/n plucked herself away, a small pout lining Fred’s lips. His hands remained tied up in her own, lying them on his stomach. The weight of his question seeped in like molasses. Opportunities like this presented themselves once in a lifetime, there was no way Y/n was going to let it slip by.

Rolling off his lap, Y/n plopped down on the ground to the side of Fred. Their heads turned simultaneously towards each other, Fred winking to Y/n.

This is what she wanted. To see him care for her, show his love. His attention. It was the one thing she had been striving for but now that the cat, or rather joke shop, was out of the bag, Fred didn’t feel the need to hide anything from her anymore and keep his work to himself. He was over the moon with excitement to have her join George and himself. It was everything he could hope for.

Coyly averting her peer, Y/n asked,

“Do you really mean it, Fred? You really want me to come with you and George?”

Kindly, Fred swiped his thumb under her chin and raised her head up so their eyes were level.

“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else in the world then with me.” The serenity in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. Y/n propped herself up to her elbows and brought Fred in a bone crushing hug. Heavy chuckles croaked from Fred as she smothered him lovingly. He managed to sneak in a tiny peck to her check and she hugged him. Placing her head on his shoulder, Y/n poked the side of Fred’s cheek, commenting,

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever, Fred, I love it!”

Throwing his arm around the elated girl, Fred just smirked.

“Duh, that’s kind the whole point of you moving in with me.” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone. The night was growing darker and the steady wind was escalating. In an hour, two if they were lucky, Filch would be surveying the grounds in search of students, mainly Fred and George, out past curfew. It was a sport to him, catching students breaking rules and getting to turn them in. It was part of his job, yes, but Y/n hated that he never took it easy on anything for the Gryffindors like he did the Slytherins. Fred looked at the scenery around them and remarked,

“Y’know, angel, as much as I’d love to spend the rest of the night laying with you in my arms, we can do that in my dorm room tonight… in an actual bed instead of dirt. I mean, we didn’t set up this whole thing for nothing! If I knew laying in the dirt would win you back, you should’ve told me!” His sarcastic words were received with a light slap.

“Smart ass.” Y/n rolled her eyes teasingly and started to sit up. Before she could get to her feet, a pair of hands planted themselves at her waist and lifted her. Fred had his moments, but he was always a gentleman to her. His teasing ways were comforting to Y/n, reminding her that they were good now, in comparison to the recent downfalls.

Fred helped Y/n to her seat, then jogged over to his own. He presented the girl with a cake he made for her. Hermione brought him to the kitchens and taught him how to make one. It took about three hours, he burnt the first, put too many eggs in the second, then forgot to add eggs to the third. Finally, on the fourth attempt, Fred created a passable cake. Hermione had no desire to spend any more time in the kitchen, so she quickly frosted it for him, not wanting him to ruin it this far in, then covered it and locked it in the fridge. Much to Y/n’s surprise, it was one of the best homemade cakes she’d ever had. Her teeth were practically chattering from the intense amount of sugar, but she had to keep in mind it was Fred who baked it.

After eating, Fred and Y/n took their sweet time strolling around the castle. Fred swung his hand back and forth, causing the same effect to Y/n’s. They laughed feverishly as Fred chased Y/n up the moving stairs as they raced to the common room. When they entered the room, they sprinted straight for Fred’s, still in a chase. Hermione, Ron, Harry, George, Angelina, and Lee all watched in amusement as the couple seemed to be reunited.

“Wonder if they’re back together. You guys think the date worked?”

Everyone shared glances at the obliviousness of Ron. There were times when social cues and context clues just didn’t exist to Ron. George scoffed at his little brother and shook his head. The rest of the group roared with laughter as Ron’s face scrunched in irritation.

“Not sure, Ron. Why don’t you go out to our room and ask them?” George smirked mischievously causing Ron to turn white as a ghost in realization. A faint ‘oh’, tumbled out of his lips and his eyes went wide.

Despite their assumption, up in the top room in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory, Fred Weasley laid snoring in his large mattress, still in his school robes. Squished against his chest by his arms, Y/n was sound asleep, similarly dressed. The two didn’t care what they looked like or who came in, as long as they were together, that’s all that mattered.

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Coming In From the Rain

Safe for work, a fluffy scenario I just had in my head. Cut for length. I thought this could easily go the way of Porphyria's Lover but I decided not to do that to y'all.

Soundtrack: Rain; Nobody Lives Without Love; Braille

Words: 1,161

Masterlist

***

The sky was a steely gray outside the kitchen window, clouds roiling. A sheet of rain traveled through the trees, about to hit Ambrose, and you couldn't help but relax at the sight of it.

You loved rain. The sound, the smell, the way it was always pleasantly warm this far south. You put down the sandwich you'd been in the process of making and cranked one of the windows open, letting the scent of damp soil fill the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, closing your eyes and letting every one of your muscles relax in response.

A jingling from the back door drew your attention, a noise you knew well at this point. You smiled and turned in time to see Jonesy come in, shaking herself off. She must have been exploring a ways out. She loved the outdoors, but she was a bit of a rain diva.

"Hey, baby girl." You held your hand out as she pranced to your side. "Eugh, you stinky."

You relaxed even further as she nudged her head under your hand. You smiled and scratched her between the eyes, then offered a piece of cheese from your sandwich. Her eyes lit up, and she grabbed it and brought it into the adjacent living room.

Just a light layer of garlic aioli—Bo still called it mayo—and your sandwich was done. Plate in one hand, sweet tea in the other, you joined Jonesy in the living room, settling down on the old sofa.

When you were finished your lunch, you sprawled out, closing your eyes and simply listening to the rain and the faint sound of the radio in the other room. You heard Jonesy yawn, then felt the sofa shift as she jumped up to curl into a ball between your knees. As your thoughts drifted, you pet her flank with your foot.

Bo was out today. You'd warned him it was going to rain. You knew he fucking hated the rain. He hadn't listened, though, insisted he needed some "peace and quiet" down at the garage—which usually just meant he was in an ass mood and needed alone time. At least he was learning to remove himself from situations that would make him lose his temper.

Thinking about him made you smile. He was vicious, a killer, and yet you woke up next to him every morning feeling energized. Like you were finally somebody. How fucked up was that? You knew it made you a terrible person, but you hardly cared.

Maybe you were broken. Maybe you didn't mind. Lord knew he was, too.

Jonesy's breath evened out against you, her head heavy against your knee. Your thoughts meandered—snatches like smoke, and then nothing at all as you drifted off, too.

You weren't sure how long you'd been sleeping when the sound of heavy boots on the front steps woke you. You sat up blearily, blinking to clear your eyes as the door swung open.

A blast of warm ozone and fresh air woke you up more fully. Bo stomped into the house, shaking off his boots. He was wearing a roomy fleece jacket over his Dickies, looking ridiculous. That was more of a Vincent look ... it must have been the only coat he could find.

When he noticed you, his shoulders sunk, and he blew out a puff of air. He looked like a grumpy little boy forced to come in from playing, standing there soaked to the bone. "S'rainin' out."

You couldn't help but smirk. "I can see that."

He loosed another frustrated breath, shrugging out of his fleece. "I need a towel."

That was his "polite" way of saying Make yourself useful and get me a towel. You slid off the couch, much to Jonesy's chagrin, and retrieved one from the laundry room.

He took it from you, rubbing it furiously over his hair. Momentarily, he paused, eyeing Jonesy. "Why the hell'd you let her get on the couch? She's all wet."

"I like snuggling with her." You looked back. "Jonesy, off."

Jonesy slid off the couch slowly and curled up on the rug, then sighed heavily, as if you had inconvenienced her greatly.

You turned back to Bo. "I told you it was gonna rain."

"Yeah, yeah." He wrinkled his nose at you, passing by and throwing the towel on the pool table. "You were right, I was wrong, I get it." With a sigh, he eased into a chair and began to unlace his boots.

You approached, gently brushing his hands away with your foot before kneeling to untie them for him.

His face twisted in frustration. "I can do it myself. I'm not a little kid."

"Okay." You sat back on your haunches. "Sorry."

After a moment, his brow smoothed, and he sat back with a sigh. "It's ... fine. Go ahead. If you wanna."

You reached forward again, undoing his laces and sliding his boots off, then standing to go set them near the heating vent. "It's gonna rain the rest of the day. You should stick around, take the afternoon off."

Bo paused for an extended moment. "Yeah."

"You wanna watch a movie or something?"

Another long pause. "I guess." This time, he sounded more skeptical. But his next request was tired, almost vulnerable: "Gimme a beer?"

You wandered over to the VHS collection near the TV, scanning the titles. You settled on an old tape of some Dukes of Hazard—stupid, but you knew it was a comfort show for him. You popped it in, then went to the fridge to get his beer.

By the time you came back, he was already sprawled on the couch just like you had been. You cracked the can of Bud open and handed it to him.

He took a sip, then wordlessly, expectantly gestured for you. You couldn't hide your smile as you crawled between his legs, laying yourself against his chest. He still smelled like the outdoors, as well as sweat and his deodorant, and you didn't mind the dampness of his shirt.

Other hand at the small of your back, he simply relaxed like that for a while, until eventually his eyes glazed over and he set the beer can aside. Every inch of him was pressed against you, but the last thing on either of your minds was sex.

He'd been all about it when you'd first gotten together—every night, whenever he could get his hands on you, trying to claim you as his. But you'd learned eventually that that was just as much a performance as anything else. He was extraordinary, but he was still human: overall, Bo was tired, and angry, and sometimes just needed a damn nap.

Eventually, his breathing evened out under you. You glanced up to see that he had drifted off. Affection swelled in your chest as you reached for him, running your fingers through his still-damp curls.

Monster. Asshole. Human. Breakable.

Broken.

[novelconcepts]

The night Dani sees Peter Quint, a blackout happens during the storm. The officers say that it's not safe to stay there in the middle of a storm and without a way to talk to the police if necessary. Hannah and the kids go to Owen's house. Jamie offers a ride, her little flat, clothes and a bath (since crazy Dani decided to run after Peter during the storm).

There's just one bed prompt. Maybe a small couch or chair.

They listen, which is frankly more than Dani expected when Hannah insisted on calling the police. She suspects it has less to do with the Peter Quint of it all, and more to do with the lightning strike, the cataclysm of rain, an old house plunged into deep black. No phone lines, the officers point out with weary expressions that say they are not certain Peter Quint is truly a danger--but Lord Wingrave is not without a certain amount of authority around these parts, and if any further tragedy should befall his niece and nephew, these men would find themselves overloaded on unpleasant paperwork and worse press. 

Bad reasons, Dani thinks with a scowl. They ought to have gone into this field to help people, not scoff at Hannah’s fear and Dani’s unease. They ought to be doing something, not simply waving them off the property for the night. It’s listening, sort of, but it isn’t hearing. 

She glances at Jamie as the officers speak--directly, she notes, to Owen, as though as the only man among them, he has defaulted to de facto lord of the manor. He looks uncomfortable, rubbing a hand through wet hair; Dani remembers him saying, I was born in Bly, wonders if he went to school with either of the men in slick uniform. 

Jamie doesn’t look uncomfortable. Jamie looks angry. There’s a fire burning in her Dani suspects never entirely went out after this afternoon’s rose debacle, one that might have been tempered if they’d been able to track Quint down outside. But he’s in the wind, the product of long legs and a better awareness of the terrain. Dani, giving chase into a fresh downpour before she could think better of her choices, is still itching at the memory of his long coat vanishing into the dark. 

She’d run into Jamie, instead--full-force, a bone-rattling collision that had sent them both tumbling into the sopping grass. It might have been funny, if not for the echo of Quint’s footfalls dying away.

“If he’s here?” Jamie asks now. “Quint. If he’s still here? What then?”

The officer in charge gives her a brief look, barely long enough to register detail. “If he’s here,” he says boredly, “all the better that you aren’t.”

Jamie grinds her jaw. She seems barely to be containing herself, resisting the impulse to explain in no uncertain terms that this is their home, this place Quint is intruding upon. Their home--Hannah and the kids and Dani, at least--where Quint would be trailing slimy fingers. The idea of that smirking face going through the bedrooms makes Dani shudder. It seems to press Jamie toward an unwise argument. 

Without thinking, Dani reaches out, lays a hand on her shoulder. Jamie’s hair is still dripping, her jacket sodden. Her eyes, catching on Dani’s face, widen a little, her teeth unclenching. 

“You have somewhere to go?” the head officer reiterates, glancing back toward the door as though dreaming of a warm car, a comfortable house far from the manor. Owen nods in Hannah’s direction. 

“Mum won’t mind. Can have a little sleepover.”

“Yes!” Flora perks up. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet, leaning against Miles’ side, but her whole face switches on like a lantern now. “A sleepover!”

“How’s about it, Miles?” Hannah taps him lightly on the head. “A little evening adventure.”

He looks uncertain, but when she ruffles his hair, a slow smile creeps across his face. Dani’s relieved to see it--she’s started to believe Miles is thirty-five in a ten-year-old frame, the weight of so much loss bearing him down like an anchor. He deserves a little fun. 

“And you,” Hannah adds, looking to Dani as if reading her mind. “What do you say to a night off?”

Dani blinks. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necess--”

“Chased a man into the storm,” Hannah interrupts. “Not a decision I’d approve of twice, but it was quite brave. And, forgive me dear, but you look like you could use a proper rest in the aftermath.”

That might be, Dani thinks absently, the nicest way of saying you look like shit I’ve ever heard. 

“I’ll just get cleaned up real quick,” she says, “and then I’ll be perfectly fine to--”

Hannah raises a hand. “I insist. Let Owen and I handle them for the evening.”

Dani opens and closes her mouth several times. What’s the alternative? Is Hannah expecting her to stay here? Here, in a house they’re all carefully not admitting feels much bigger in the dark, huddled around the glow of policeman flashlights? 

“Can crash at my place,” Jamie says, almost gruffly. “If you don't mind the company.”

Hannah looks unsurprised by this offer. Dani feels a little light-headed at the idea. 

“I--I’m all muddy.”

Jamie makes a show of looking down at her own clothes, caked in wet clods of grass, soaked nearly to the skin. She raises her eyebrows in Dani’s direction as if to say, Any more sterling arguments?

Dani has none.

Jamie doesn’t say a word as they load into her truck, Dani trying her best to shrink down to inhabit as limited a space as possible. Her legs ache with the effort of holding her feet aloft, her thighs pressed together to prevent staining the whole seat with grime. Jamie glances in her direction, pulling carefully out onto the road, and Dani could swear she’s trying not to smile.

“Know what I do for a living, don’t you?”

Dani nods. Jamie clears her throat.

“Then should go without saying you’re not the first to track mud into the truck. Relax.”

Embarrassed, Dani does as she’s bid. From the corner of her eye, she sees Jamie’s mouth twitch again--sees Jamie’s hands resting comfortably at ten and two, Jamie’s shoulders slightly rounded as though by holding her posture firm, she can punch a hole through the sheeting rain. She doesn’t seem nervous in the least to be driving through this mess with Dani huddled beside her. 

Jamie, Dani is starting to think, doesn’t get nervous.

Well, that makes one of us. 

She has nothing to be nervous about, is the thing. Chasing a strange man into a storm, racing after him with nothing but a fire poker and a hot protective impulse--that should have made her nervous. Should have scared the shit out of her. And it hadn’t. She’d felt bizarrely well-equipped for the decisions she was making, at the time. Peter Quint, she’d been certain, should have been the nervous one.

But now, sitting with wet hair and mussed clothes beside a woman she’s held barely three conversations with, Dani feels distinctly out of her element. No kids. No easy warmth of a carefully-sewn-together family opening its arms to let her in. Just a truck, rattling along a slick road on its way to a tiny town she’s never set foot in before.

And a woman with wet curls plastered to her forehead, stealing tiny glances at Dani like she’s not quite sure what to do with her.

“Flat’s small,” Jamie says, as if apologizing, as she parks outside a pub that looks older than any establishment in Dani’s hometown. “Don’t need much. But there are no screamin’ kids.”

Flora and Miles aren’t much for screaming without reason, but Dani thinks she takes Jamie’s point all the same. Quiet, Jamie is trying to say. Dani can properly rest here, Jamie is trying to say. Jamie doesn’t mind offering up her space.

“Ready?” The rain is still coming down in a torrent. Jamie’s hand is positioned at the doorhandle, Jamie’s posture strung tight. “Make a break for it on three. One--two--”

They run, damp clothes made soggy all over again, and Dani is surprised to hear herself make a whooping sound of joy as she splashes through puddles. Jamie, she thinks, could move faster--Jamie’s got a runner’s stamina when she puts her mind to it--but she’s jogging along at an easy pace, refusing to leave Dani behind. Her hand catches once on Dani’s sleeve, pulling her to the stairs behind the pub, guiding her up to a door at the top.

“Storms like these,” Jamie says when they’ve tumbled breathlessly into her home, “remind me of bein’ a kid. Sitting in school, hoping the power’d go so they’d send us home early.”

“Did it ever happen?” Dani wraps her arms around herself, trying not to shiver, trying not to drip too expansively across the scored floorboards. Jamie grins.

“Once. I was seven. Spent the whole day out in it anyway, caught the worst cold of my life. Best goddamn day a kid could want.” 

She looks so at home here, as Dani watches her pull off her boots, drape her jacket lazily over a chair, stride around turning on lights. At the manor, Jamie is casual enough, rarely inclined to rush or worry, but here, it’s instantly clear she knows every creak in the floor, every stubborn lightswitch, every inch of a domain that is entirely Jamie. 

A domain she has, for no reason at all, opened up to Dani tonight. The reality of it crashes home all at once, landing hard. Jamie barely knows her, and still is willing to give Dani a place to stay. Jamie barely knows her, and still is holding out a gray towel and a bundle of clothes, her smile crooked.

“Thought you might like to get out of those.”

A spike of warmth makes its way up Dani’s spine, settling somewhere around her ears. She crushes it down, forcing herself to accept the sweats and t-shirt with a grateful smile of her own.

“Thank you. Honestly, you didn’t have to do any of this--”

“The rain,” Jamie says easily, “is the fun part. The cold, not so much. Bath’s this way.”

Bathroom, Dani assumes she means--until Jamie gestures at the little tub, barely big enough for a woman her size. She looks marginally embarrassed for the first time, but it’s a resolute sort of embarrassment, as though Jamie has little patience for it. 

“Not much,” she says. “But still better than catching ill. Take however long you like.”

Dani watches her back out of the room, a tumble of unfamiliar emotions in her chest. Someone offering up everything--home, clothes, bathtub--without asking for something in return is strange. Someone doing that much and then leaving, peaceable as the turn of a new day, is unheard of. She hesitates, waiting at the closed door for signs that Jamie will change her mind--or knock, having thought of something else Dani might need--and nothing comes. This room has become, so long as Dani wants it, her space. Jamie will take it back only when Dani’s finished. 

Unwelcomely, she tries to imagine Eddie doing this very thing. Eddie, who only refrains from haunting her European adventures with postcard and phone call because he has no idea how to find her. Eddie, who would think the offer of clothes and a hot bath automatically come with other perks, and who would smile as he stepped in to collect like he couldn’t imagine her wanting to be left alone. 

She shakes her head. Eddie is gone, and she is here, and Jamie isn’t him. Is so unlike him, in fact, it’s hard to imagine them standing in the same room.

And why, some little part of her pipes slyly up, are you comparing them in the first place? 

She shivers, turning on the water, letting it run as hot as possible before sinking in. She leans her head back against a wadded-up washcloth, surveying the simplicity of the bathroom--single toothbrush, single cup for water, a minute assortment of hairbrush, hair ties, sunscreen. There is a dried rose framed beside the door, a small bunch of purple-and-white flowers she can’t name in a tiny windowsill vase. 

It’s all very discreet, all very Jamie. To look at it with this much freedom, to be trusted alone in a space that has belonged to no one else, makes her heart pound.

She’s only being nice. And so what? What does it matter? 

It matters. Even if she never says so, even if she never lets it out of her heart, Dani can’t deny that it matters. Like it mattered watching Jamie walk into the kitchen earlier this week, glancing at her with an easy raise of brows like she was thinking, Sure. You can stay. You’re one of us. 

Jamie, calling her Poppins, telling her she’s doing great, offering her flat without a second’s pause. None of it warranted. None of it asked for. All of it so incredibly welcome.

She stays in the bath until the shivers ease out, carefully soaping her hair with the little bottle of shampoo on the windowsill. A different scent and brand than her own, and as she’s rinsing clean, she realizes she will smell like Jamie now. If for only a night, her hair--and the clothes Jamie gently pressed into her hands--will hold just a little bit of the gardener’s influence. 

The warmth she’s beginning to attribute to Jamie sweeps through her again at the idea. That, and the awareness that these are Jamie’s things hugging her body. Jamie’s belongings, offered up like she feels not the least bit possessive about her living space. Sure. You can stay. You’re one of us. 

“Warm?” Jamie asks when she finally steps back out of the bathroom. Her hair is still wet, though she’s changed into a clean white shirt and sweatpants of her own. Dani nods, confused when Jamie grins. 

“What?”

“I think,” Jamie says placidly, “this is the first time I’ve seen you out of pastels. Suits you.”

Dani glances down. The threadbare black t-shirt bears a jagged white London Calling in peeling letters. She can’t help smiling.

“Maybe I’m a secret punk fan.”

“Are you?” Jamie sounds interested. Dani shakes her head.

“Sorry, no. Always open to learning, though.”

Here it is again: that funny, twisting feeling in her stomach that says she is at home with Jamie. That Jamie is easy and warm, despite the anger simmering somewhere deep down and a tendency toward cropping her sentences with swear words. That Jamie has opened her home to Dani only because Jamie has opened to her, on some level neither of them is entirely sure how to approach. 

“Thank you,” she says, because it’s easier than putting this feeling into words. “For all of this. You didn’t have to.”

Jamie shrugs. “Wanted to. You haven’t had an easy couple of days. Sometimes, a little quiet goes a long way.”

She’s seated on the arm of the couch, bare feet dangling an inch off the floor. Looking at her, Dani can’t entirely wrap her mind around the idea that she’s only known this woman for a couple of days. That she doesn’t, in fact, know much of anything about her at all. 

And still, when Jamie rises and begins arranging pillow and blanket on the couch, Dani’s stomach performs a backflip she’d never come close to feeling with Eddie.

“That’s really kind of you,” she says, the words a blind effort to distract from her trembling hands. “I really don’t need much, you don’t have to go to any trouble--”

Jamie glances over her shoulder. “No trouble. Bed’s just that way.”

Dani turns to look. Sure enough, behind a pulled-back curtain, she can just make out Jamie’s mattress and frame. “I--I mean, I won’t be bothering you, if that’s what you--”

“What?” Straightening, Jamie frowns. “No, I mean, it’s yours. Take it. I sleep on the couch half the goddamn time anyway, it’s no--”

“I am not,” Dani interrupts, “taking your bed, Jamie.”

Not since her last argument with Miles has she been engaged in such a standoff. Jamie, still holding a pillow, looks ready to chain herself to the couch. Dani, heady with the inescapable awareness of Jamie’s shampoo rinsed out of her own hair, can’t have that. It’s too much. Clothes and space and ride--all of that, she can accept. But foisting Jamie from her own bed?

“I’m not doing it,” she says. Her arms are folded, her mouth pulling into a smile she can’t for her life shake. “I’m told I'm very stubborn, so you might as well just let me have that couch now.”

“I--” For the first time all night, Jamie seems to be at a loss. “I’m--aiming for chivalry, here, Poppins.”

“You’ve been nothing less,” Dani assures her. “A white knight, really. But I’m afraid this is where I have to draw the line.”

“I sleep on it all the time.”

“So, it’s my turn.”

Jamie’s whole face seems on edge of some kind of collapse--though into laughter or upset, Dani can’t begin to guess. She has a brief flash of possibility, the two of them standing on either side of the couch all night, arguing well into daylight over who ought to take the proper night’s sleep.

“You’ve got kids to handle in the morning,” Jamie says reasonably, proving her point.

“You spent all day working in the sun,” Dani volleys in return. She thinks for a moment, then adds, “Also, I knocked you into a puddle earlier, and you didn’t get a nice warm bath.”

“Didn’t need one.” Jamie looks exasperated. “Poppins, come on. This doesn’t have to be a big bloody deal.”

It doesn’t, Dani agrees. It really doesn’t. All Jamie has to do is step out of the way, step behind that curtain, put herself to bed where she belongs.

Or, alternatively--

It’s coming out of her mouth before she can stop it. Before she can run through all the reasons not to suggest this very thing. Before she can pin down the butterflies having a dogfight in her stomach and make a decision based in good judgment. 

“Look, if you’re that committed to making me sleep in the bed, come join me.”

Jamie nearly drops the pillow. Her calm has utterly vacated the flat, leaving behind a woman who looks--if Dani isn’t much mistaken--much nearer to frantic than she’s ever seen Jamie before. Much nearer to the kind of nervous Dani had been on the ride over. 

“I,” she says. “That--I shouldn’t--”

“It’s the best compromise,” Dani says, trying to sound reasonable. Trying to sound as though the invitation to share Jamie’s bed isn’t making her entire body run with sudden electricity. “Neither of us is very big, I’m sure we can fit.”

“I’m--sure we can.” Jamie is grimacing. Jamie looks pained. If she had an elegant way out, Dani would take it back simply to erase that look from Jamie’s face, a look that says Jamie would rather sleep in her tiny bathtub than wherever Dani is. 

Elegant way out, she can’t find, and she’s tired. Tired, and buzzing with nerves, and somehow, the au pair wins out over all possible variants of Dani Clayton. “It isn’t that bad an idea,” she says, her voice steady. “I don’t even snore.”

This breaks something open between them. She can’t put her finger on just what it is, or why, but suddenly Jamie is laughing, and Dani is grinning, and she knows the stalemate is at its end. It’s been too long a night. There’s just no point.

“Here,” she adds, settling at the edge of the bed, watching Jamie switch off the lights and creep closer as though trying not to startle a skittish animal. “I’ll lay right on the edge, you won’t even have to know I’m here--”

“Don’t be silly,” Jamie says. She hesitates; Dani wonders if she’s giving a final chance for Dani to shoo her away, to choose a night spent alone after all. She thumps the bedspread with a flat palm, staring meaningfully at Jamie until the mattress sinks beneath the weight of au pair and gardener alike. 

“See?” she can’t stop herself saying. “We fit.”

Jamie stares at her, a lingering gaze Dani couldn’t decipher on her best day. She opts to ignore it, stretching out under the rumpled covers. Beside her, Jamie slides a hand beneath her head, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Not so bad,” Dani says, wishing she could shut up, wishing she could stop thinking--about Jamie’s head on the pillow beside her, about Jamie’s scent sunk into this pillow, about the indent of Jamie’s body in this old mattress where maybe no one else has ever lain. Jamie makes a low sound in her chest. 

“Long day.”

“So long.” Was it only this morning Dani was having a small panic attack, the strain of a new job on top of familiar guilt too heavy to bear? Was it only this afternoon she’d grabbed Jamie’s shoulder, pulled her back from storming off to skin Miles alive?

Was it really only this evening she’d stalked out after Peter Quint, crashed headlong into Jamie, listened to police officers warn them all away from the manor in a blackout?

Jamie clears her throat. Dani’s starting to think it’s a nervous habit--Jamie seems to do it only around her. Why on earth would I make her nervous? “Comfortable?” she asks the ceiling. Dani nods. 

In the dark, the bed seems smaller. The pillows are touching, the blankets bridging the brief gap between Jamie’s right leg and Dani’s left. In the dark, Jamie’s breath is audible, the smell of rain and shampoo and clean clothes twisting together into a single knot. 

In the dark, Dani thinks, they could be anyone. Not gardener and au pair, but anyone, bound by a single unpredictable night. 

She wonders if they should talk--about Peter Quint, about the tension of the evening, about the kids, or the roses, or any number of little odd moments around the manor. She wonders if Jamie expects her to ask questions--who Quint is, what he was to Rebecca Jessel, what he might be doing skulking around the house. 

She can’t quite find it in her. It’s too warm, too soft, the silence as inviting as the rustle of Jamie’s borrowed clothes against her skin. Laying in the dark, Jamie’s foot nearly touching her own, listening to the storm pound the windowpanes, Dani is breathing easier than she has in months. 

“I’m glad,” she says quietly, “you’re here.”

Jamie’s head rustles the pillowcase, turning to look at her. “Yeah?”

Dani smiles. “Yeah. I can’t explain it, but I feel...safer.” Something sharpens behind her ribcage, something that begs her to add, With Hannah, with Owen, with the kids, too. She doesn’t. It’s true, but it’s also not really what she means. 

“He doesn’t know where to find you,” Jamie says, and for a moment, Dani wonders how she could possibly be talking about Eddie. Then Jamie adds, “I hate that fucker. So does Owen. Everyone is safe tonight.”

Right. Peter Quint. Of course. “I’m glad,” Dani repeats. She feels the mattress shift as Jamie carefully settles in. “Jamie?”

“Mm?”

Too many things to say. Too many questions to ask. Too many of those butterflies winging around as Jamie’s elbow bumps her, as Jamie’s breath brushes her cheek. She shuts her eyes, the simple image of Jamie’s gaze inches away too much to handle. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, Poppins,” Jamie murmurs. And though Dani’s heart is racing, though her skin is hot, though the storm outside is brutal and Jamie’s bed is much smaller than she’d thought--she finds herself relaxing. Finds herself thoughtlessly shifting to a more comfortable position on her side. Finds herself, even, leaning in toward Jamie’s warmth as the sound of her breathing shallows. 

For the first time in what feels like years, Dani Clayton sleeps.

[yehet-me-up]

Reboot

Pairing: Jongdae/Chen x reader (female)

Word Count: 26,971 😬 read it in a mobile web browser if it crashes! 

Rating: (PG13) for swearing + sexy vibes (nothing more explicit than a kiss on the page though)

Summary: Chen’s Electronics is a mystery, both how the store came to be and the man running it. When you start working as a receptionist for the enigma that is Kim Jongdae, you’re determined to be the one who unravels the mystery. You’re prepared for anything, except for falling in love with Jongdae himself. 

Part eight of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

A/N: I’m SO delighted that Jongdae is getting his IRL happily ever after and I’m so excited to wrap up his fictional counterpart’s story today, so he can have his ending as well 💕

March 15th, 1997

Capitol Hill is in full swing, the promise of spring drawing the sleeping city from its winter hibernation. The silver dress you wear is far shorter than you're used to, but the denim jacket is big enough to properly cover your ass, which is something at least. In your platform boots, borrowed from your roommate Liz, you're almost tall enough to see over the busy street to Cal Anderson Park up ahead.

'Come on,' Liz says with an excited glint in her eye. 'The club's just on the far side of Boylston.'

You nod distantly, eyes wide as you try to take in all the people around you. After spending the last two years buried in a book in the UW library or at internships or in class it feels startling to realize how much youthful, passionate energy beats at the heart of the city so close to where you've been existing. Not that you never go out, but now that you’re approaching the end of your master’s degree you feel like a diver finally reaching the surface to draw breath. You’re ready to celebrate.

A door opens to your right and music surrounds you. An impassioned man sings about an even flow, accompanied by an aggressive drummer and what you can tell is skilled guitar playing. The people on the sidewalk beside you press in, screaming and cheering and trying to shove their way into a club. A faded sign above announces it as Moe's Bar.

Your roommate's hand finds yours and she pulls you out through an opening in the crowd.

Once you’re free again you laugh and brush your hair behind your ears. Dozens of other clubs and bars and late-night restaurants you pass are the same. Men with mohawks in every color of the rainbow. Women in combat boots with plaid jackets tied at their waists. A group of teenagers skateboard down Broadway, hollering into the night as they fly by, the clack of their wheels muffled by the lingering rain dampening the streets.

Everyone seems taken by the revelry. It would be so easy - to disappear into the thriving mass of people celebrating music and community and being alive. Now, with graduation so close you can finally taste it, you surrender to the sensation. Tilting your head back you look at the round full moon above, peeking out through the clouds, and give a joyful, if tentative, howl.

This makes your roommate turn and squeeze your hand. Liz smiles with pride. 'Now that's the spirit!' she says with a fist pump and howl of her own.

The nightclub is unassuming, especially amongst the neon and metal venues you passed to get here. Two simple brass lamps spotlight the enormous carved wooden doors. Bass thumps from within, the slight rattling of the doors is the only indication that life exists within. Shari’s reads the hanging sign.

Liz practically glows under the lights, a North star leading you into a whole new world.

After so many years of keeping your nose to the grindstone - success gained through effort rather than extraordinary intelligence; advanced classes, extra college courses during the summer, every extracurricular you could pack in before you cracked, a high school diploma by sixteen, bachelors by twenty and MBA by twenty two - you would follow her anywhere as long as it didn't involve studying or a business suit.

She guides you through the heavy wood door into a small entry room. A large man with so many piercings he'd have a terrible time at the security scanners at the airport checks your IDs. It's stayed in your wallet, practically untouched, since the official one came last year on your twenty-first birthday.

Finally inside the club you bite your lip to hide a wide, giddy smile of excitement. Bodies fill the dance floor, joyously swaying to the beat. A DJ booth rises from a far corner like Sauron’s tower in the Lord of the Rings. A man with dark hair that falls in his intense eyes runs the booth; a king commanding his loyal subjects.

Liz finds her group of friends from the mall she works at spread over two successive tables with circular cushioned benches behind them. Their names and faces blur together in the low lighting, but everyone is welcoming, offering you a smile or a shake of a hand. A cheerful blonde-haired man, who you swear says his name is Bacon, takes you and Liz’s coats and purses and adds them to an overflowing pile beside him.

Before you can even think of sitting down Liz guides you onto the dance floor. Normally you’re the one in control. The one with the plan. The group leader or the one who organized the debate team fundraiser/supply closet at work/networking mixer. But it’s… nice, not having to be the center of everything, keeping it together with your effort alone. 

She gives you a teasing smile as if she can read your thoughts and you roll your eyes with a laugh. ‘No overthinking this!’ she commands with a raised brow as you find a good spot.

As if I have any other way of thinking. ‘I promise nothing!’ you shrug and smile at her.

Your movements are slow at first, awkward, and you laugh to yourself with amusement. Self-deprecation has never been your poison. Along with an unshakeable drive to make something of yourself you've always had a healthy sense of self-esteem. Who cares if you aren't the best dancer?

You get into the swing after the second song and shake your ass with delight at the energy in the room and the incredible job the DJ is doing loosening you up. He’s remixing “Semi-Charmed Life” with an older techno hit you don’t recognize.

Before long Jongin, Liz’s crush and co-worker from the KOKO exercise studio, captures her attention and you end up dancing with Baekhyun (tragically not actually named Bacon) and a girl who calls herself Hitchcock. You recognize each other from a seminar last school year at UW and take a long break to catch each other up on your lives over shots at the table. 

She tells you about her dual jobs at Microsoft and the movie theater at the Exodus Mall. You fill her in on your thesis project and she offers to look over your resume as you plan to apply to a similar track at the tech giant after you graduate.

When Liz said she was forcing you from your obsessive, ahem dedicated, studying for your research paper you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t all of this. Reconnecting with a friend. A potential foot in the door at your dream job. Dancing so much that your back gets slick with sweat. Laughing with Liz so hard your stomach aches as Baekhyun attempts to breakdance, nearly falling backwards into no less than four people.

As if the night couldn’t get any better, something else catches your eye. Someone else - the DJ steps down from the booth on a break.

His black pants, white shirt, and tie would be overly formal and out of place in the nightclub, but his pushed-up sleeves reveal muscled forearms. The neon yellow sunglasses and loose piano pattern of the tie he wears make him look sexy, in an off-duty retro businessman kind of way. His face reveals none of his emotions as he slips off his shades, tucking them in his jacket pocket. But the corners of his lips tilt up with amusement as he scans the room.

Clearly he’s impressed with the atmosphere he’s created here tonight. As he should be, you think. You imagine for a moment what it would be like if he noticed you. If this was a meet-cute or the start of something. But his focus is on the bar now, not lingering on you or anyone else in the club. Dating for you was a rocky road and absolutely nothing like the way it looked in the John Hughes movies that were your guilty pleasure growing up.

Between your parents' support and your own innate thirst for success, you always felt like an outsider in terms of relationships. Extroverted and empathetic enough to make and maintain friendships, but boys were tougher. You could never figure out dating to your satisfaction in high school and you left when most of your peers were just finishing up Sophomore year.

In college there was hope. Studious and hardworking men with glasses and a love of Emily Dickinson and black coffee. Law school-bound guys who rowed crew and whose confidence was just on the right side of attractive instead of insufferable. John Cusack types with easy smiles and crates of vinyl they carefully collected, who performed at the Comedy Underground in hopes of ‘being discovered.’

It was both thrilling and irritating. You went after dating with almost as much determination as you did your school and career, set on experiencing everything possible.

But the English major wanted someone in a pastel dress and tights, who volunteered at an animal shelter and didn’t eviscerate him at Scrabble. The future lawyer was looking for his future trophy wife, to stand beside him at fancy dinners and fraternity mixers. And the Lloyd Dobler wannabe needed a muse, a beautiful and ethereal woman to be his object of longing, to laugh at his jokes and pass through life without worry about the future.

Not that you were jealous, or even bitter. Just because you weren’t what they were looking for wasn’t anything personal and you never took it like it was. The women they wanted existed and were wonderful in all their own ways. But it grated at you, how you always felt like a square peg in a round hole. Never being the right fit.

All your life you’d gotten used to knowing, and getting, what you wanted. It was insanely frustrating to not have found anything that stuck. Failure in any form made you frown, but thankfully romantic mishaps always took a backseat to school, friends, and your future, so it was easy to ignore. Until now.

The DJ passes close enough to you and Liz that you can see the echoes of dark circles under his eyes and the rich brown of his hair in the passing neon lights. For some reason that same intuition, that same hunger and drive that had propelled you to awards and scholarships and countless other successes, tells you to follow him. Whatever it is about him, your body and your desire react before your mind and conscious rational thought.

'I'll be back,' you yell to your roommate over the music. She nods and gives you a thumbs up as she's drawn into Jongin’s embrace once more.

Like a missile you weave through the crowd, target in sight. You watch as the DJ leans against the end of the bar, carefully positioning himself so he's at the end with no one behind him. You wonder if it's out of a dislike of people sneaking up on him or if he's a predator, sizing up the crowd.

With a casual hand he orders a drink from the bartender and surveys the crowd coolly. Too high on life to care too much, you take the seat two over from him, carefully avoiding eye contact, feigning nonchalance. ‘Self-possessed,’ that’s how your fifth grade teacher described you. Independent and old beyond your years. It always thrilled you, the praise and respect of adults. You wanted to earn more of it, to be seen as capable and mature.

But something about the man beside you makes you feel younger. Raw and playful in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever been before.

Admiring the cut of his jaw, you imagine kissing it. His hands on the bar are graceful, strong, befitting his profession. You want him and you want him to want you. The thought makes you inhale a deep breath, not even sure what that would mean. Adrenaline and delight fill your mind and you briefly fantasize about him holding you close on the dance floor like Jongin does to Liz. His hands on your hips and his mouth teasing your neck.

The bartender reappears on your side of the bar, his bald head gleaming in the lights of the club, and you snap back into reality. The flames tattooed across his knuckles shine as he slides a drink down the length of the bar, towards the DJ. An impulsive, reckless daring you've only ever felt before at debate tournaments makes you reach out and catch the glass of dark liquid before it can reach its desired recipient.

In one smooth motion you lift it to your lips and turn to meet the DJ's deep brown eyes. With a smirk you raise the glass. In two gulps you down the drink, the bourbon burning its way down your throat, reminding you how good it feels to be free, to be alive. 

To challenge someone who feels like a decent opponent.

He watches you, his eyes flaring with surprise before fading back to indifference. He looks like a tiger in a cage at the zoo, pacing in front of a glass divider. His fingers tap impatiently on the lacquered bartop and he tilts his head, watching as you lick the moisture from your lip, savoring the taste. You wonder if he'd be just as heady and strong on your tongue.

You have the feeling that with the slightest pressure in the right place and the glass would shatter, unleashing the beast within. The thought makes you clench your thighs together, a heat filling you that has nothing to do with the people pressing in on you trying to get the attention of the bartender.

The DJ seems just as self-contained as you are. A voice inside you whispers of unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects and you wonder which of you would cave first.

Before you can say anything, before you can even wipe the satisfied smile off your lips or ask his name or offer to pay for the drink, he drops a bill to the counter and slides off the stool. He pushes into the crowd, disappearing as if he'd never been there. As if he hardly noticed you.

But you didn't miss the interest, the arousal, the animal within him rising to your challenge. He slinks back up to the DJ booth and resumes his position of power, thirst unquenched.

You don't know his name, or anything about him. Aside from the fact that the way he looks at you feels so wrong it's right, and that his hands are the first ones you've ever wanted wrapped around your waist so badly you can feel it beating in your palms.

But you know one thing, as you rejoin your roommate on the dance floor, whatever has started between you and the enigmatic DJ isn't finished.

May 21st, 1997

You straighten your blazer, looking in the mirror to make sure your outfit is perfect. It’s not your first interview this week and it certainly won’t be the last, but it is the one you’re the most curious about.

The position as a receptionist and accountant for an electronics repair store isn’t exactly how you pictured your first job after getting your MBA, but the pay and the opportunity to work alongside the enigmatic tech genius Kim Jongdae is a chance you can’t pass up.

All that’s left is the graduation ceremony in June and then you’re free. Your final exams are done, your thesis is defended, and you’ve completed a thorough and perhaps slightly obsessive spreadsheet documenting all your connections who might have an in at your most desired companies. Now knee-deep in the process of interviewing for jobs it strikes you all of a sudden that this is what you’ve been working for… almost all your life.

The lighting in the bathroom of the mall is stark and a moment of uncertainty makes your knees weak.

Since your test results in elementary school came back top of the class it’s been the same refrain. Get good grades. Impress your teachers. Study and diversify your interests and push harder every year and eventually it will all pay off, right? You’re damn proud of what you’ve done, but now, here in the after, all you can think as you watch your own reflection is - now what?

Frowning, you wonder how many other applicants there are for this job. Anyone in the tech circle in Seattle knows about Jongdae. Rumors abound that he was set to be the next Bill Gates when an investment deal went south. Or that he was kicked out of Harvard for embarrassing his professors with his superior smarts. Someone in your Econ seminar once told you she’d heard that he was contracted by the NSA to spy on foreign hackers.

Whatever his history, he currently runs a computer and electronics repair store in a very unassuming mall in Capitol Hill. You want to stand out, and what better way to do so than the track down the mystery of Kim Jongdae, the prodigy turned hermit. You infuse your veins with confidence, knowing you can handle anything thrown at you. Or so you think.

The mall is quiet and peaceful in the mid-morning on a Wednesday. A couple of tables in the food court are filled with older men and women playing cards and board games. A group of moms walks past you talking about a storytime at the bookstore in the mall.

The slow and steady hum of activity in here is a far cry from where you thought you’d be working. Professors encouraged you to head to IBM or Oracle. With your skills, business sense, and intuitive ability to pick up each new trend in technology they told you that you would have your choice of opportunities.

But while you’re no stranger to hard work and a competitive work environment, the idea of clawing your way to the top of yet another group of high achievers just sounds… awful.

You long to travel, to finally see some of the exotic and culturally rich places you’ve stuck photos of to your fridge. You want to be able to actually go out on the weekends and see your friends. Whatever your future holds you want to finally enjoy your life outside of school and work, even if it’s only for a year.

You could always recognize the friends who were interning at Amazon because they looked like they’d come off a week of no sleep. Many of your fellow MBA graduates were flocking there, as the company finally went public earlier this month. But something just felt - off to you. Like a canary in a coal mine.

Purpose, fulfillment, financial security, and a challenging work environment? Yes.

Burnout, no free time, and living and breathing for ‘the company’? No, thank you.

At the salary Jongdae had advertised you could easily continue to afford the apartment you shared with your two roommates and work on paying off the remaining student loans your scholarships hadn’t covered. And you could hide away a small amount of your check every month for the trip to Amsterdam you’ve been planning for years.

The gentle music in the wide, bright lobby of the mall makes you sigh in relief. This job is a win-win and you’re more determined than ever to get it.

You finally see the shop. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it between the black and neon purple exterior of KMS Music and the narrow security office tucked behind the lively pizza restaurant. There’s a line winding its way in front of the music store and you assume it’s for an album release. Until you realize that the line is leading straight where you’re going and stop in your tracks.

Chen's Electronics. The mall is full of colors and bright shop fronts. But this is almost bleak in comparison, as though it's resisted the outright displays of joy and liveliness that seem to be at the heart of the mall. The sign is red neon against a black and steel facade. A simple poster hangs in one of the two wide windows that frame the door.

We do: - Hard Drive Repair - Internet Connectivity Issues - Computer virus protection - Turntables, record players, and other portable home audio systems - Radios - POS/credit card system repair (For stores in the Exodus Mall only)

We do not: - Sell computers or computer parts. Don't ask.

You raise a brow at the last note. The harsh exterior of the store and the brusque tone definitely match with what you've heard of Chen's Electronics - that the man who runs it is a computer genius, but that his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Perhaps that's why the job posting emphasized 'superior customer service skills.'

The line you join grows, others coming in behind you, and you wonder if Jongdae told everyone the same 10am time frame or if he staggered interviews throughout the day. As you wait the line slowly dwindles. A woman leaves crying a few minutes later, and you watch her go with surprise and attempt to peek into the store. You’re still too far back to see in, so you’re left to wait and wonder.

Finally you’re next, waiting just outside the store. A printed piece of paper is taped to the door. CLOSED FOR INTERVIEWS it says in big, bolded letters.

The tall man who was ahead of you in line isn’t visible at either of the two work stations set up inside the shop. There must be a back room of some kind. You take the moment to check out the space. The store is organized chaos. Rows of shelves line each of the two walls, full of equipment - computers in various states of disassembly, old transistor radios, a VHS player, a few turntables, and endless coiled stacks of cords interspersed.

The walls above them and the two walls behind the work stations, on either side of the hallway leading to the back, are blank. No advertisements or personalized touches to make the business seem welcoming. Just bland, empty beige walls. One desk has only a computer, keyboard, and mouse. The other is full of parts and tools that extend over the desk to not one, but two shelving units behind it. Like Jongdae was in the middle of a project and the interviews are a rude interruption.

A muffled angry shout comes from the back, behind the gray curtain hung up over the entrance to the rear of the store. The tall man moves it aside with a sneer as he charges across the floor. With a voice practically a growl he shoves open the door and you jolt back to avoid being hit.

He looks you up and down and shakes his head. ‘Good luck. You’ll need it.’

After a last straightening of your jacket you swallow and push through the door. It's quiet inside, almost reverent, as the door closes behind you. The fluorescent lighting overhead isn't the most welcoming and the tan carpet is terribly dated. No one comes to meet you. The man on the other side must be waiting, like a dragon in his lair.

Your hand closes over the strap of your purse and you hesitate at the curtain, not wanting to move forward without being invited. 'Hello?'

Footsteps come down the short hallway and a hand appears, moving the curtain out of the way to reveal a man. Your jaw almost drops. Oh, shit. It's not at all who you were expecting the famed Jongdae to be - a studious man with glasses and a bad tie.

No, this man is handsome in an aggressive way. His black hair is styled back in a neat wave. His high cheekbones and strong brows hold no humor or friendliness. Only the catlike upturn of his lips stands in rebellious contrast to his unwelcoming face.

This isn't the first time you've seen this face either, you realize, and it's like being run over by a train. He seems to connect the dots at the same moment and his eyes widen, eyebrows raising. It’s the DJ from the bar. The drink. The - oh, god.

He presses his mouth together, smothering his surprise and sitting down harshly in the chair at the crowded desk in the main room. 'What are you doing here?' He keeps his voice tightly contained, not minding in the least that the other potential job candidates are surely watching you both right now.

You give yourself a small shake and remember you're not here to hit on him. You're here for a job. 'I have an interview.'

Best case is ignoring the whole thing. It didn’t happen. Not here in the light of day. His poker face might be good, but yours is better. You keep your breathing even and hope that the racing of your heart isn’t making your cheeks red.

He tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips together in amusement. ‘Alright then.’ Turning to the side he stands and holds the curtain open, allowing you to pass by him into the small office behind.

Holding his focus, you pull out the chair in front of the desk and sit down. You place the resume and references on the table between you and fold your hands on your lap, waiting.

Jongdae takes his place opposite you as he slides the papers across the desk. His eyes dart faster than you can imagine anyone reading. He doesn’t seem flustered, but the tips of his ears are just slightly pink, his nose flaring a bit too much, and you realize he’s just as caught off guard as you are.

Finally, he finishes. 'I… don't think this is going to work.' He looks up, his hand resting on your paperwork on the desk. His face gives away nothing, but his eyes are wild and full of emotion you can’t decipher.

'Why is that?' You keep your voice steady, determined. He’s not going to dismiss you so quickly. Realizing the DJ and the tech wunderkind are one in the same has only heightened your desire to show him you’re the best person for the job.

Jongdae stares at you. This time, there's heat in his expression. You feel his eyes move over you, not taking in the professional attire, but clearly remembering the dress you wore from the club instead. 'I think you know why,' he says under his breath.

Clearing your throat you lean forward, drawn to him by some force you can't define. Like something is shoving you towards this job. 'I don't know what you mean. The posting was for an office manager and bookkeeper. I'm qualified in both and I have plenty of experience. Are you really going to decide I’m not a good fit without even asking me a single question?'

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, his composure faltering for an instant. 'Why do you want this position? You know nothing about me.'

He states it like a fact, not an opening for discussion, but you jump on it anyway. 'I know plenty.'

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when he narrows his eyes, raising a brow. 'I do my research, Mr. Kim. I’m top of my class at UW and I didn’t get there by accident. With such a small team I could get a far broader experience than I could being just another cog in the machine at Microsoft. I might not know you personally, but your reputation precedes you. I plan to excel in the tech industry. And to do that, I need to work with the best. Simple as that.'

'And I'm the best?' He leans back in his chair. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he drags a finger across his lips in appraisal.

His quick responses remind you of the competitive tennis you played growing up. The way it felt to thrive when paired with an equal opponent, someone who could match your speed and precision. Someone who gave as good as they got. How it made you better, sharpened your skills and reflexes up against someone who you couldn’t easily defeat.

'Are you trying to tell me you're not?' You cross your arms and look around, feigning surprise and curiosity. 'If you tell me who is, I'll happily go apply to be their office manager.'

He almost laughs in amusement. You can feel it. But he covers it as a cough instead and tilts his head to the side, sizing you up. 'And you know what this job entails?'

You repeat it easily from memory. 'Being the face of the business. Greeting walk-in customers. Helping them figure out if what they need is something we do. Conferring with you about pricing. Scheduling service appointments over the phone. Processing payments. Ordering supplies. Occasional advertising assistance. Other assorted duties as needed.'

'That about sums it up.'

In the charged silence you hear the muffled noises of the mall - children squealing with delight, orders being called out at the pizza restaurant next door, people talking - but it's all separated. You wonder if the distance is intentional. Many stores have roll up gates or at least have their doors propped open to draw in customers. But not Jongdae. It’s almost as though he’s actively trying to keep visitors out.

You favor boldness and decide to push him, what have you got to lose? 'So, when do I start?' Leaning forward, you give him a relaxed smile. ‘Unless you’d like to terrorize a few more applicants before you choose me? I’m happy to wait, Mr. Kim. But you can’t scare me away. And you don’t intimidate me.’

With equal decisiveness he cracks a lopsided grin and shakes his head, with both amusement and resignation. 'How's now for you?'

You give a passing thought to the other jobs, the ones you’d already interviewed for and the ones on your schedule over the coming days. They all go up in a whiff of smoke as you extend your hand across the table to shake Jongdae’s hand.

‘Now is perfect.’ His palm is warm against yours and you do your best not to react to the contact, but you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you.

Jongdae withdraws his hand quickly, and you note with pleasure that he seems a bit shaken as he stands. ‘I’ll be right back. You can leave your things here.’ He motions to the coat hooks on the wall by the door and the tall, thin bookshelf with a few cubby slots.

Aside from a black scarf and a few extra office supplies on two of the shelves the rest of the space is empty. You wonder what he isn't saying. 'What made you want help, all of a sudden?’ He pauses and turns back to you. ‘From what I can tell you've been in business for a few years. Why now?'

He sighs. 'I'm too busy to keep doing this by myself.'

'Ah. And you hate that, don't you?'

The ghost of a smile graces his lips. 'Yes.'

Jongdae disappears through the curtain. You follow him after putting your coat on a hook and your purse in one of the spotless cubbies. The rest of the space contains a few filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, and a small safe resting on a narrow table.

When you appear back into the hallway you see a door to the left that must lead out the back. And on the opposite side is an archway with a kitchen sink, a microwave, a small fridge, and a few cupboards inside, along with a small circular table. The table has only one chair. You smile to yourself. Clearly he's accustomed to doing everything by himself.

When you emerge the other applicants are dispersing as he peels the taped sign off the door, balling it up in his hands.

Jongdae gets you set up on the computer at the other desk. It’s a relatively simple customer management software and payment system, both of which you pick up in no time. He runs you through the pricing list, pulling a laminated form from the top drawer. His filing system for customer accounts is simple and alphabetized.

Neither of you speak about that night again, but oh, do you feel it - the electricity between you when he stands too close or you meet his eyes.

Until lunch he alternates between training you and assisting customers who come in every so often. It's all straightforward, nothing you haven't managed before, and by the afternoon you're already scheduling appointments in the large old-school appointment book he keeps open to the current week.

Despite the passion and intensity in the music he plays, he keeps an even keel throughout his day job. It's almost as if you went to sleep last night and somehow woke up as someone who's worked here for years. Before closing at 5:30 he remembers other things and hands you a packet on the way out. Tax forms, an employment agreement listing the salary and benefits, and a non-disclosure form. Most of it is standard, but you wonder what kind of secrets he needs to protect at an electronics store.

You gather your things and wait outside while he closes down the shop, turning off the lights as he goes. It’s still quite sunny outside and with a shock you realize that there’s nothing waiting for you, now that the work day is done. No papers to write or projects to finish or internship to head to. The idea makes you feel unexpectedly buoyant, and when Jongdae steps out to lock the doors you give him an easy smile.

He returns it, giving you a small one of his own in response. ‘So, I normally take Tuesdays off and keep the shop closed. Wednesdays are normally pretty slow. How does Thursday through Monday sound to you? I know today is Wednesday, so if you wanted to take tomorrow off instead that’s fine with me.’

‘I’m happy to come in tomorrow.’ You want to wince at the eagerness in your voice, but instead you stand firm, holding your purse in front of you with both hands.

Jongdae slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nods, looking at you for a long moment before speaking. ‘Sounds great, I’ll see you then.’

You nod at him too, turning back towards the department store to head out to your car. After a beat you look behind you and see he’s still watching. His gaze is unfocused on the floor before he shakes his head, seeming to come back to himself. He heads the opposite direction, towards the movie theater. In a few seconds he’s disappeared behind the pizza place, out of sight.

Jongdae takes the longer route home today. His apartment overlooking Lake Union is the one he grew up in, his grandfather’s place. When he passed away a year ago he left it to Jongdae and it never occurred to him to move. He walks along the water, breathing in the early summer air, wanting to laugh at himself. How long has it been since he let himself be impulsive? To act on instinct. To want something.

He’d settled into a routine these past few years, since everything changed after graduation. Working at the store. Reading. Playing Go and chess with his grandfather and the other older men that lived in the building. They’d go fishing out on the peninsula or to the local symphonies that his grandfather loved. Routine had saved him when his world fell apart once, but now, with his grandfather’s absence, he’s not sure how to pick up the pieces anymore.

The seagulls on the pier are loud today, hungrily gobbling up the bread and Ivar’s french fries tossed to them by the kids gathered around. They giggle and laugh, running to their parents for more offerings. Jongdae frowns for a moment, the sadness that he doesn’t often acknowledge creeping into his heart.

His parents were gone before he really even had a chance to know them. His father to lung cancer, from the awful smoking habit he picked up in the Navy. His mother moved back to Korea to be with her family, unable to cope being in the city without her husband. Jongdae didn’t blame her, but the distance grew and they drifted apart as he became an adult himself.

Jongdae’s father’s father settled here after World War Two, along with a few of his friends. From what he remembers there wasn’t a discussion about it after the funeral - if he’d stay or go back to Korea with his mother. One day when he was young he knew his father had passed. His mother left. And with two duffle bags slung over his shoulders and little Jongdae in his arms his grandfather had moved him into the apartment with the pretty view of the water. 

And that’s the way it was, ever since.

In school his friends might have joked that Jongdae was an old man himself. Doing the New York Times crossword puzzle on Sundays, getting his hair cut at the same hole-in-the-wall barber shop in Chinatown as his grandfather, and hanging out with more octogenarians than people his own age. But he loved his grandfather and the two of them were so close that he never stopped to question whether he should change to fit in with the rest of his classmates.

The only aberration came when he started DJ-ing at eighteen. The crowd he fell in with and the partying he did was short lived; they crashed and burned, went up in flames. Everything else faded as quickly as it had come, but the club scene was his escape and it stayed with him.

These days it feels like the only time he recognizes himself, now that his grandfather is gone, too. Until you walked into his store today, that is. You looked him dead in the eyes, unafraid. Just like the night all those weeks ago in the club when you came up to him, flirted with him and challenged him.

He doesn’t know how to move on with his life.

He doesn’t know what’s next.

But wanting you, inviting you into his life, is going to change everything. He knows it in his bones and for once change excites him, instead of frightens him.

June 18th, 1997

For an achingly slow two hours on Thursday the only sounds in the shop are your typing and Jongdae’s tools hitting the metallic insides of the radio he’s fixing. You should be processing yesterday's supply orders. Or cleaning up the books to get everything ready for the days' billing before you make a run to the bank.

But instead you watch in your periphery the way the muscle in Jongdae’s jaw moves when he's focusing. How his brows pull together and his lower lip sticks out slightly, making him look as though he's perpetually pouting. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in school. If he was always so... uptight. Or if he was freer, looser. Not that you’re the picture of ease yourself, but he seems to almost vibrate with tension.

You watch as he turns back to the computer, his fingers fly across the keyboard and you admire the absolute focus he shows toward the screen in front of him. The past few days he’s handled repairs and projects for businessmen and women, families, and two gentlemen in suits that screamed ‘government’ to you. He could be repairing a nuclear warhead in front of you and you imagine his expression would remain the same.

His standard white button-up shirt bunches around his biceps while he works. A mischievous part of you wonders what it would take to make his robotic exterior crack again. What it would take for him to show joy or anger or arousal. Emotion from him is a precious, rare thing and you want to grab them when they do show, holding them tightly as proof they exist.

You jolt, realizing the unintended destination your thoughts have arrived at. Arousal. Where did that come from? With a cough and a shake of your head you refocus on the financial statements in front of you.

If you hadn't seen him that night at the club you'd have wondered if he ever enjoyed himself. He wasn't smiling that night, but the music and the dancing and the palpable energy seemed to soften the hard lines of his face. You want to see more of that Jongdae, the one that feels so much closer to who he really is, underneath it all.

However he started in this business, in the tech scene, he works away at it as though it's his sole purpose in life. He's clearly talented enough to fix anything, code anything. You’d asked him last week how he knows what to do, as you looked into a complicated mess of wires sticking out of a broken CPU as though it were gibberish.

All he’d said, in a gruff voice, was that his grandfather liked to tinker and take things apart before putting them back together, to see how they worked, and that he’d picked up the habit.

'Why do you work by yourself?' The sound of your voice is much louder than intended, breaking the hush in the store. You want to swallow the words, unsure why you didn't stop them from escaping. Instead you bite the skin on the inside of your cheek and watch as he lifts his head to look at you.

Jongdae raises a brow. 'As opposed to?'

You stop typing and lean back in your chair. 'You could have worked for anyone, I bet. After you graduated college. I’ve heard a few of the rumors about you. It sounds like you could have done anything you wanted. What made you want to start your own business?'

He mirrors your pose. 'What makes you think I went to college?'

You blink. For so long your parents' idea of a prosperous life - good grades, extracurriculars, graduate from a top college, get a lucrative, secure job - had been so ingrained that it surprises you to imagine that someone like him didn't go to school. 'You didn't?'

He smiles, the dimple appearing briefly in his cheek. 'Alright, fine. Yes, I did. I went to M.I.T. and I, uhm, graduated at seventeen.'

'Seventeen?' The competitive drive that buried itself in your bones early on wants to prove itself to him, awed by the size of his intellect.

'With my PhD.' He winces. Just for a moment, but you catch it.

'Oh,' you say with a stunned laugh.

He goes back to work with a quick shake of his head and a sigh. 'Yeah, that right there is why I don't tell people.'

You’re surprised by his assumption that you’d view it as a bad or repulsive fact. 'It's amazing. You should be proud of it. Why would you want to keep that a secret?'

His lip pouts again and irrationally you think about what it would be like to kiss him. 'Because now you'll look at me differently. Like I'm some kind of freak of nature.'

'I don't think it makes you a freak.' Your answer is immediate and emphatic.

'Oh really?' He gives you a side-glance, keeping his tone neutral.

'No, it makes you a genius. And intelligence is never a bad thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.' It does nothing to help the attraction you feel for him. Rather than dousing the flames, it pours gasoline on them.

'Tell that to -' he stops himself, pressing his lips together. The bitterness in his voice makes you jerk back in your seat. ‘Nevermind. It was a long time ago. Forget I said anything.’

But you can fill in the gaps, no stranger to the judgement of others. 'Clearly you need better friends.'

He blinks, vulnerability filling his eyes. 'Like you?' His expression softens and he gives you a half-smile.

You blush, realizing what it must look like that you’re so passionate about defending him. 'Sorry, I didn't - all I mean is that it’s attractive.’ You curse yourself and cough delicately, trying to appear impartial. ‘An attractive quality. I just got my master’s and I thought I was advanced for my age. So I just meant to say… I get it. And you’re not a freak.’

The moment stretches out between you, the air in the space seeming to pause. The muted, reverent silence fills the distance once more. But this time it’s charged, tense. Waiting. He breathes in deeply, the shirt he wears stretching across his chest and yet again you long to touch him. For a beat his gaze drops to your lips and he swallows, opening his mouth to speak.

But he’s interrupted by the door opening. The ding of the motion sensor makes you both jolt, turning to see who it is. An older woman comes in carrying a heavy looking bag. She coughs and leans against the door to rest.

Jongdae bolts up from his desk, clearing his throat. 'Here, let me help with that.'

He bows to her with a warm smile, holding his hands out to take the bag. She nods and Jongdae slings the bag over his shoulder, wincing when it collides with his back. With a gentle arm around her back he helps her into the chair opposite his desk.

'Thank you, young man,' the woman says with a smile.

'Not at all,' Jongdae says, resuming his post on the stool. 'How can I help you today?'

You're certain your mouth has fallen open. To difficult customers he's brief, almost condescending, and for the nice ones he’s reserved and polite, but nothing like this. For over an hour he patiently connects the woman's computer to his power strip and walks her through how to use it. 

Again and again he shows her the links and how to work the web browser. Installs a complimentary virus protection program. Makes sure she can find the Solitaire application she loves. And only charges her $20.

But after she leaves the next customer is a businessman dressed in what looks to be a very expensive suit. Jongdae spends the laughably short visit practically sneering at the man. And he charges him at least twice what it says on the pricing list he gave you.

As soon as the door closes you release the laugh you’ve been holding in. 'You know, for someone who runs a business, you seem hell bent on driving some of your customers away.'

He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes. 'He was a moron. You don't buy the Rolls Royce of computers if you don't know how to drive it.'

'So the only exception here is kind old ladies?'

Jongdae barks out a laugh, meeting your gaze and looking younger than you’ve ever seen him. 'Exactly.'

June 28th, 1997

Moments after you walk out the door for lunch during a bustling Saturday it pings again, announcing yet another customer. This one is probably his scheduled twelve o’clock appointment, Jongade thinks as he looks distractedly at his watch.

He turns to greet them and his entire body recoils. 'What do you want?' Jongdae practically hisses, but he keeps his tone even with all his might.

Since you’ve taken over scheduling Jongdae hardly looks at his calendar anymore. If he’d known Julian Danforth was seeking his help he would have told him to fuck off. Unfortunately Jongdae’s hesitation in talking about his past means you could have no possible idea how much the man standing before him used to matter.

Julian strolls in with a computer in his arms and a smugness on his mouth that Jongdae wants to punch off. His sunglasses are perched on the top of his head and his khaki shorts have neatly pressed lines, clearly not done by the man himself, who drips with privilege.

He'd thought these feelings were long buried, but they roar in Jongdae’s chest. The friendships and the future he almost had are now scattered behind him like a trail of carnage, all the fault of this man. The burn of sadness and embarrassment that fills Jongdae’s stomach was supposed to be gone, relinquished to ashes. But seeing one of his former best friends again Jongdae feels like he's ten years old, stuck in a class with far older students. Young, inexperienced, an outcast.

‘Good afternoon to you as well, old friend.’ Ignoring the daggers Jongdae is staring at him, Julian steps forward, setting the computer down on the desk. 'Like I told the woman on the phone I'm having a problem with some computer virus.'

He says it like it’s a slimy, living thing that had crawled into his machine. Displeasure colors his expression; annoyed at the mere thought that his money and status don’t render him immune from such commonplace problems. ‘You know I don’t trust anyone else with my system.’

After what you did I should smash your computer open. Jongdae doesn't speak as plugs the machine into the power strip he rigged to his desk, not willing to risk what he’ll say.

It's a far more expensive model of computer than most of his clients bring in. Those who purchase such a high end version fall into two camps - enthusiasts like himself who know what they're getting, or the rich and famous who buy them as status symbols and have no clue how to work them. Julian, unfortunately, falls into the latter category.

The computer starts up and Jongdae’s mind goes into work mode, tuning out Julian. The virus has rendered it unusable, only a blur of symbols and lines of code flit across the screen. None of the normal exit keys brings up the desktop. Jongdae purses his lips and slides in the floppy disk he keeps beside his own monitor, an anti-virus he designed.

He leans into muscle memory as he runs through the start up and sets the program to do its job. With any luck the idiot just found some simple malware from some incredibly obvious email spam or downloaded a bug on a porn site. In all social and business sense Julian is a shark; he'd never have fallen for such an obvious scam in real life. But when it came to computers and technology he was hopeless, and thus Jongdae had come into his life years ago.

'How long have you been set up here?' Julian asks with a dismissive glance at the machines and equipment stacked on the shelves.

'Why do you care?' The question comes out harsher than he intends, but the emotion isn't entirely unearned.

Once upon a time he and Julian met in Seattle, after Jongdae was fresh out of M.I.T. and Julian had flunked out of yet another University. They were determined to build a business together. If he had more energy Jongdae would wear this store and his reputation proudly, built from no family connections or money, just his own intelligence and drive. After how thoroughly Julian severed Jongdae’s life he should rub his success in Julian’s face with pride.

Instead he ignores him, determined to move on.

The program finishes its run in rapid time, as though it knows how quickly Jongdae wants this moment to end. The virus dissipates and the desktop loads like normal. He's tempted for a second to indulge his curiosity to see what Julian has been up to. Last he knew Julian had gone to work at his father’s investment bank, dreams of standing on his own cowed by the reality of the world outside of his comfortable bubble. Without Jongdae there’s no way the business and the program held up to scrutiny. 

For a second Jongdae stares at the screen, remembering how good it had felt to have found his people. Tech nerds, hungry to build something that would change the world. Julian, who wanted to cast off his father’s legacy and strike out on his own. Julian’s girlfriend Marissa and her soft heart, who wanted to help people. Their friend Albert, with the plan. 

Once he knew them so well he hardly knew where he ended and they began. But now, all these years later, they’re strangers.

Jongdae looks up and watches Julian as he absently admires the collection of turntables on the wall behind the desk. He knows Julian well enough to know this might be an act of contrition, his way of bridging the gap he created to reach out the olive branch of friendship once more. But Jongdae’s curiosity already killed the cat once, spectacularly, and he has no desire to repeat the mistake.

He unplugs the machine and watches the screen go dark, shoving it with both hands across the polished wood surface towards Julian. 'There. It's fixed.'

For customers who are far more polite and far less acquainted with Jongdae he might have explained what caused the virus or recommended an anti-virus software or even shared best practices to avoid getting one in the future. But, for Julian, he'll do what he was hired for and nothing more.

Julian stands and clears his throat uncomfortably. 'How much do I owe you?' A hint of guilt as he pulls out his wallet.

The motion reminds Jongdae of vacations to Marissa's family home in the San Juans or partying with Julian, Albert, and the rest of them in Capitol Hill. When they turned on him it was like the sun went out. He managed to take his pride and his love of music and DJing and escape. Once Jongae rebuilt his life the doors to the past firmly closed.

Anger finally peeks through as he waves a dismissive arm at Julian. 'I don't want your money. Not spending a second longer in your company will be all the payment I need.' He stands as well. Their business today is done and he lets his memories of the past fall before him like ashes.

An awkward beat passes between them and finally Julian breaks eye contact. With a nod to the ground he pushes out the door and disappears, carrying his computer.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, folds his arms, annoyed at how his position and his continued presence here in Seattle occasionally brings him into contact with people like Julian. He should have moved, he thinks. Gone to Singapore or Berlin or London or New York. But for some reason, he stayed.

Through the front window he watches you laugh with your friends in the food court and smiles to himself, thinking of how you call him Scrooge. It should unnerve him, how quickly seeing you or speaking to you or simply thinking you makes his day better, more hopeful; chases away the shadows that linger in his mind when he's left alone for too long. No, left alone isn't the right word. When he isolates himself.

Jongdae doesn’t really know you, not yet. But already he wants to make all of your dreams come true, he wants to make them real. 

The thought is so sentimental and kind and soft that it brings him up short. He bites the inside of his lip and tries to fight the warm feeling in his chest as he watches you laugh. But as he resumes his work he acknowledges that maybe there was a reason he stayed in Seattle, after all.

The mall is packed during lunch; it’s one of the only days you and your roommates and Hitchcock all work together so you’ve christened it Saturday girl’s lunch time. But Baekhyun and Chanyeol of course crash in, as they always seem to. Loud and raucous and happy. Others from their wide circle of friends drop by to grab slices or to make plans for tonight.

Baekhyun sticks two straws in his nose and makes what are probably very scientifically inaccurate walrus noises. As you laugh so hard you almost snort you can’t help but feel like something is missing. Someone is missing. You look back to the shop, drawn to Jongdae as always.

He works away, resuming his repairs after chasing another customer away with his attitude. You sigh, watching the blonde preppy man carry away his enormous computer, muttering to himself. You rest your foot on the edge of your chair and drop your chin to your knee. From this angle, surrounded by the stark design of the store and the fluorescent lights from above, Jongdae looks like he’s trapped inside of a screen himself.

You bite your lip, debating. He’s made it clear that whatever happened between you at the club isn’t something he will discuss, or repeat. But friendship? Community? You work together five days a week and it wouldn’t kill him to get out of his enclosure once in a while. It’s done you good this month, to be out and about with people. Like you can finally breathe for the first time in a long time. And you decide that it’s high time Jongdae do the same.

Liz and Jane, your roommates, call you ‘determined.’ But they say it in a way that clearly means ‘like a homing missile,’ when you want something. Your nature has served you well; you can cut through the bullshit and figure people out almost instantly. It’s helped you both professionally and personally. Allowed you to know immediately which friendships would last, which ones were worth the effort.

Maybe it’s how Jongdae looks like an island, all alone in the shop. Maybe it’s the large Coke that infused you with far too much caffeine. Maybe it’s your insatiable curiosity. But you can’t keep watching him from afar, not when there’s something you can do about it.

‘I’ll be right back.’ Pulling on your denim jacket, you march over to the store. You lean inside the glass door, holding it open with your shoulder. ‘Hey, you.’

Jongdae looks up at you, confusion tugging his brows together, making him befuddled in the cutest way. You tell yourself to stop thinking of him like that, even if you want to.

He blinks and refocuses on you. ‘Back already?’

‘No, but we’ve got more than enough pizza. Why don’t you join us?’ You grin, making a show of looking around the empty office. ‘It’s finally slowed down, and you deserve a break.’

‘I’m on a deadline with this.’ He gestures to the modem that is scattered around him.

You fold your arms and lean against the door. ‘You can fix that in twenty minutes. I know you.’ He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. ‘And before you throw another excuse you should know I’m very persuasive when I want to be. I don’t think you have another option.’

Jongdae barks out a laugh, dropping the tools in his hand to the desk with a thud. ‘Determined to drag me from my lair, huh?’ He holds your gaze, his expression filling with something akin to heat. Finally he gives you a rueful smile. ‘You’re not going to give up on this, are you?’

You meet his eyes and raise a brow, smiling with satisfaction. ‘Nope. Absolutely not.’

The certainty on his face turns into sadness, so fast you can’t be sure it was really there. Then he closes off and he’s quiet, more so than normal. ‘It doesn’t come easily to me.’

Wondering what could have changed so quickly you step forward, letting the door close behind you. ‘What, pizza?’

It shakes you how desperately you want to know. To peel back his skull and see inside his brain, just to understand what makes him tick. His history and where his future is headed. That small voice inside you whispers that once you figure it out, it still won’t make you care less about him.

‘Friends.’ He says it on a gasp. Looking at the floor fixedly, avoiding your eyes, he seems haunted.

The silence surrounds you both and he finally meets your focus again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The pieces start to come together. He’s intelligent, preternaturally so, and so advanced in school you can’t imagine he’s had much experience with people his own age. And now that he’s in his mid-twenties he’s built himself a fortress. Close enough to the rest of the world, but distinctly separate.

Irrationally you want to reach across the space and wrap his hands in yours. Tug him into your growing group of friends and fix the ache in your chest his expression gives you. Not sympathy and certainly not pity, but some sensation that’s like butterflies in your stomach. But- he’s your boss. You’re not his keeper and you don’t think whatever dangerous emotion lives in you is what would help him.

He’s not yours and you don’t have the right to push, much that you want to.

‘Ah,’ you say. ‘I see. Well, more often than not we have Saturday pizza out there. The offer always stands. I’ll leave you be if you want to be alone, but just -’ you swallow and give him a tentative smile. ‘Just know that we’d be happy to have you join us. I’d be. Uhm. Happy if you joined us.’ It comes out in a rush and you groan.

With a shake of your head, an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, you wave at him and push back out the door into the noise of the mall.

It’s a shame you don’t turn back. Or no, he thinks, it’s better this way. Jongdae feels far too much for you to keep it contained behind his normally stony expression.

You seem like the kind of person who would take that moment of openness and pull on it, until he unravels in front of you. Fear tells him you would take everything and when you're gone he'd be even more alone than before, now that he knows what it's like with you here.

Looking out through the glass he watches you rejoin the lively group. Always he’s felt like a science experiment, or some kind of circus exhibit when he was growing up. If he didn’t have his grandfather’s steady support and gentle guidance he surely would have become even more isolated.

With a shake of his head, he attempts to refocus on the project at hand. For some reason it doesn't fill him up like he wants it to, his usual joy and satisfaction is missing when he picks up the screwdriver once more. This is where he thrives. Computers and the internet and coding.

To other people it's a labyrinth, impossible to figure out. A world and a language they can speak and learn with effort and intention and study. But to him it's always been as easy as breathing.

His grandfather took his skills from the military and parlayed them into a business as a prolific handyman. It was the world they shared. A place where Jongdae’s creativity and his intelligence could soar. Anything he wanted to build or make, he could. Coding a rudimentary game to pass the time after school, when he could hear the neighborhood kids playing soccer outside.

It took him many wonderful places that he wouldn't have been able to reach if he was, for lack of a better word, normal. As a child and even in school it was so easy to hide behind his grades and his projects and the pride and hope of the adults around him. But now, at twenty five, there’s nothing to keep him hidden anymore.

When lunch is over you return and join him with a nod. He hopes you don't regret asking. He nearly hopes you'll try again. Maybe next Saturday.

For how confident he feels in some spaces - DJing at Shari's, here in his ‘lair’ - at the thought of joining a group of friends he feels again like a nervous thirteen year old sitting in his first college course. Like everyone around him knew how to do things he couldn’t comprehend.

He keeps his thoughts and his feelings to himself; he’s already shared more than he planned. But you draw him back into conversation easily enough, asking about the afternoons orders to be picked up. You don't shy away from him or give him an angry offended air. Inexplicably you still look at him warmly, openly, and he wants more than he's dared to let himself want in a very, very long time.

July 11th, 1997

He doesn't normally leave the office at lunch, preferring to eat his meals in his back office alone, but today Jongdae braves the food court.

It’s a Friday not a Saturday, but it’s a start. He makes brief, yet friendly, conversation with Chanyeol at the pizza place. The taller man smiles at Jongdae, easily, as though he doesn’t second guess the action. He asks if Jongdae had caught the Mariner's game over the weekend and they talk about how Griffey might finally lead Seattle to a World Series this year.

For once he doesn't feel like going back to the office and burying his head in his work. Jongdae awkwardly pulls out a chair in the cluster of tables between the bookstore and the record store. As he takes a bite of his pizza he hears a familiar laugh. Turning around he sees you through the glass of the bookstore.

You speak to the woman who owns Greyhame Books, standing beside someone he thinks is possibly called Jane. It all seems so… easy for you. Tucking your hair behind your ear you lean against the counter, discussing the stack of books in front of you with your friends.

Jongdae gives a rare laugh to no one but himself.

When he imagined hiring an accountant and administrator for his flourishing business he thought he'd get someone older. A person with experience and a similar level of wanting to be left alone. They could ignore him and he could ignore them, delegating filing and payments and customer questions and not have to think about them again.

An employee was supposed to reclaim the silence and peace that his work used to bring. Technology is so much simpler and predictable than humans and he’d really prefer to cut other people out of the equation entirely.

But you are the opposite of simple, and you absolutely aren’t someone he can ignore. From the moment he recognized you he knew he had to hire you. With your intensity and your impressive resume and the way your mouth pulls to the side when you’re trying not to smirk.

He doesn't regret it. But he feels raw in a way he hasn't allowed himself to in years. Jongdae doesn't let people get close. Not anymore.

'Hey, Jongdae!'

With a pizza slice halfway to his mouth Jongdae spots Junmyeon approaching, waving, a large Starbucks drink in hand.  He wants to turn away and hide in his pizza. He isn't good at this - making friends. For months Junmyeon has asked him to join in their monthly networking events here at the mall, or asked him to get a drink at Flanagan’s after work to chat. Jongdae’s all out of excuses.

He imagines his life as a circuit board. There’s his life now - pieces and wires scattered around him - and there’s the life he could have. If he’s brave and if he tries. He imagines the pieces fitting together and what they might build. He wonders if you might fit in, if you’d want him or let him.

His knee is jiggling and he’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and waves back. ‘Hey Jun! Want to join me for a bit?’ Jun’s expression is surprised - the man doesn’t know how to keep back any of his emotions. ‘If you have time, I mean. No pressure.’ He stutters, pulse racing and cheeks reddening.

Jun grins and sits down opposite him. ‘Absolutely. About time! I thought you’d turn me down forever,’ he laughs. ‘Thanks again for helping me with that broken radio last month. You’re a pro. So, how’s business?’ He sips his coffee and waits patiently.

They can talk about business, something so easy? Jongdae wants to laugh with relief. Maybe he can do this after all.

Junmyeon is amused.

After ten minutes of talking shop with Jongdae he watches as you and Jane leave the bookstore next to their lunch spot. He’s owned a business two doors down from Jongdae for years, but he’s never seen him smile before. When you pass by it’s like someone flipped on a light switch. Jongdae has always been somewhat quiet, somewhat serious, except when he DJs. Now he sits straighter, his face softens, and his eyes fixate on yours like a magnet.

The two of you claim the other seats at the table, showing off the books you purchased. In between sips of his coffee Junmyeon balances his own flirtation with Jane and observing - okay, spying - on you and Jongdae.

He’s warmed by not just the caffeinated beverage. There’s a soft energy here- It’s a warm summer day and he’s discussing books, one of his all-time favorite topics. His mind whispers the words ‘double date’ and he smiles to himself for a moment before blinking.

“Are you alright?” Jane asks, gently resting her hand on Junmyeon’s wrist on the table.

He blushes and gives her a reassuring nod and asks if she’s read the Octavia Butler book on top of her stack yet. It’s an attempt at distraction and he knows it. But thankfully Jane’s eyes crinkle in the corners when she talks about the author, not pausing or seeming to notice the way he was fantasizing for a beat.

Across from him you and Jongdae are arguing about the merits of Isaac Asmiov. Jongdae is more articulate, more animated, more alive than he’s ever seen him. Gesturing emphatically and saying something about how robots are friends, not foes as you interrupt him by reminding him about Terminator. Neither of you seem to acknowledge the attraction between you. It’s been months since you started working at Chen’s, if Junmyeon remembers correctly.

In his periphery he sees Temptation, the chocolate store, and thinks of how Yixing and his girlfriend met on the job. One of his favorite poems mentions how love mirrors the lover; that everyone falls in love in a way akin to their personality. Yixing, passionate and insatiable and spontaneous, fell for Lavender in minutes and days. He saw what he wanted and after a slight pause to make sure it’s what Lav really wanted, he made the move.

Jongdae is nothing if not the complete opposite. Calculating and reserved and inscrutable.

His potential new friend is falling, if the lingering looks he gives you and the way he’s almost touched your shoulder not once but twice are any indication. But it’s a mystery to Junmyeon if, or when, Jongdae will ever make a move. You aren’t the same kind of romantic as Yixing’s girlfriend, someone playful and open with your emotions. You’re driven and witty and warm in your own way. Clearly you care for Jongdae, but in a quieter sense.

Junmyeon imagines this will be a marathon of love, not a sprint.

Eventually lunch hours end for all of you. There’s clients to see and paperwork to do and as he waves to you and Jane he wonders what will become of you and Jongdae. If you’ll stay as co-workers, always flirting and secretly wondering what might be. Or if either of you will push the other into action. The chess board is laid out, pieces waiting to be moved. It might just be his imagination, but Junmyeon hopes that one of you gets the game going.

He does also, perhaps, focus on you and Jongdae as a way to ignore how his own heart beats a bit faster around Jane. How he can’t stop staring at her dimple when she smiles or the head tilt she gives him when she’s really listening. Like he’s the only person in the world. No, he absolutely doesn’t think about Jane’s feet i n his lap as they both read on the couch in his living room. He doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss her or hold her hand. Absolutely not.

Instead he invites Jongdae to the monthly Settlers of Catan night he has with Minseok and some other folks from the mall. Much safer territory than wondering about his own love story and if still waters truly do run deep where he and Jane are concerned.

August 11th, 1997

On a surprisingly rainy yet unsurprisingly dead Monday morning Jongdae forces you away from your insistent attempts to organize his paperwork to the market a few streets over. The quiet bakery on the hill above Pike Place has a view of the misty Sound beyond. He sits close beside you, carefully keeping his knees away, lest he bump yours and you do the same, perhaps letting them linger a moment each time they collide.

It’s nice here, you notice suddenly, as you take the first sip of your coffee. The smell of dark roast and fresh almond scones. The breeze coming in through the open door. The soothing, distant sound of jazz from the overhead speaker. The pleasant warm lighting, far different than the aggressively bland fluorescent kind he chose for Chen's. Everything puts you at ease, wraps around you the way you wish Jongdae’s arms would.  

'This place reminds me of Amsterdam.' You smile, looking down into your cappuccino to avoid Jongdae’s eyes.

‘Have you ever been?’ he asks, voice softer than it normally is.

With a shake of your head you trace the edge of the teal and white ceramic cup in front of you. ‘No, but I’ve seen pictures. I used to love photo books growing up. Atlases and travel guides. It’s always been my favorite section of the library.’

He hums for a moment, considering. 'If you could go anywhere in the world, is that where you'd choose?'

Tucking your hair behind your ears you bite your lip to avoid grinning at him. He’s making you remember long-forgotten parts of yourself. Before school and work became the end point, the be-all end-all that your life was funnelled towards. Back when you imagined exploring every country on the planet. Taking photos and making memories. A long time ago, in the days before you realized how expensive it is to actually be a wanderlust-filled adventurer.

Finally you look at him. Something in his irises makes you swallow; an endless, nameless emotion that lives in him you can never seem to place. Elusive and frustrating and tempting all at once.

‘Yes,’ you admit. Voice dry and heart racing you look back to your coffee in avoidance. ‘It’s my dream to travel there. I’m a bit obsessed with it, really.’

'You? Obsessed?' Jongdae smirks, a boyish grin you want to cover with your own mouth.

You roll your eyes, tracing the handle of your mug. 'Hush. It's such a beautiful city with all the canals and the architecture and history, and the food is to die for. Every quaint European city fantasy in one. What about you, have you done much traveling?'

He shakes his head. ‘Not personally. But - my grandfather went everywhere in Europe, after the war.’ His admission is so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s as if your soul is waiting for every crack in the door to Jongdae you can find, and you don’t pass up the opportunity. ‘What was he like?’

It happens sometimes, when you’re working together. The times there’s no customers around and the mall gets empty and you can’t help but be aware of him. Against your skin and with your hands, eyes feasting on him when the rest of you is forbidden from doing so. In the moments when he isn’t putting on airs of being the tech mogul or the reclusive jerk or the awkward, secretly friendly nerd around Jun or Minseok.

Those times when Jongdae meets your eyes and you see the real him, beneath it all. Wanting and alone and scared. Your breath catches in your throat just as it does now and you long to ask him plainly if he feels the way you do. Being honest with your words and not just your jokes or looks out the corner of your eyes when you catch him watching you too.

But those feel too fragile, too dangerous to utter. So instead you ask him about his family, someone close enough to Jo ngdae’s heart to glimpse the core of him; like a sun during an eclipse you can only look for a moment, lest you get burned.

'My grandfather?’ Brows furrow, the corners of his cat-like lips tilting down for a moment. You nod gently, cupping your drink for something to occupy your hands.

Jongdae looks out at the water for a moment, his mouth tugging to the side as he ponders. ‘You know when you finally solve a puzzle you’ve been working on for ages? Hours of struggling to find the right combination and finally it’s all laid out, perfectly in alignment.’

You nod, trying not to smile and ruin the moment, but softened by him nonetheless. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

When his gaze lands on your hands he pauses, like he’s wondering if the two of you might fit in a similar way. But it’s gone before you can grasp onto the moment. Sadness colors his features then. Not the aching kind that gnaws away like a feral monster, leaving nothing in its wake, but the beautiful, bittersweet sadness of a love greater than grief.

His voice is thick when he next speaks. ‘My grandfather was that person for me. We just - fit. He understood me better than my parents did. More than any of my classmates or the few people I’ve ever gone out with. We didn’t even need to speak.’ Jongdae pauses and taps his fingers on the counter.

You give in and reach for his hand, not to hold it - not yet. But to cover it with your own for a moment of understanding, of comfort.

He smiles at you, the crease between his brows disappearing for a moment. ‘He was fifty one years older than me and he was my best friend.’

‘I’ll bet you miss him quite a lot?’ You realize how incredibly inadequate the sentiment is and shake your head, moving to withdraw your hand. ‘Sorry - that’s - of course you miss him.’

But Jongdae doesn’t let you retreat. With his free hand he holds yours in place. Warmth floods your body from the connection point and you’re unable to take your eyes off him. ‘It’s alright, I know what you mean.’ He traces your thumb with a barely there motion, seemingly without intending to. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ You ask, a bit breathless and unable to mind.

‘For always asking. For always listening.’ He says it simply, as though it’s a novel concept. Perhaps, given what you know of his life, who he is, not many people dare to ask. Or bother to listen.

Soon paperwork and customers and regular life draw you back to Chen’s Electronics. He doesn’t mention the way you reached for him and you don’t either. But when you go to leave that afternoon Jongdae holds out your jean jacket for you to slip on. And when you thank him he gives you the soft, secret grin you’ve learned he saves only for you.

On the way home you think that Amsterdam might be the most beautiful city you can imagine, but that it pales in comparison to a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Seattle, as long as Jongdae is seated beside you.

September 9th, 1997

The summer turns into fall and one Monday evening, seemingly without his noticing, Jongdae realizes that his appointment book is full to bursting.

On Tuesday night he's playing Settlers of Catan with Minseok, Bookworm, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon. They meet up in the food court after the mall closes at nine, second Tuesday of every month.

Wednesday he has lunch with Jun and some other business owners in the mall for their monthly networking/commiserating 'sesh' as Yixing calls it. That afternoon he's promised to help Minseok install the new upgrades to his store's database software that 'make him want to rip out his hair' in exchange for a few coveted LPs Jongdae's had his eyes on for a 70’s/grunge remix set at Shari's.

Thursday night there’s a L.A. Confidential screening at the theater that Baekhyun talked him into, after their argument about whether or not Russel Crowe could actually act or if he was just handsome.

Saturdays are pizza and raucous laughter to break up the busy weekends full of work and clients and deadlines, followed by long nights of DJ-ing and circling you as if you are a sun, drawing him in with the pull of your gravity. He’s merely a comet attracted by the force you give off and he’s not even upset at the realization.

Sehun, Jongin, and Yixing practically bribed him into joining their 'Sunday morning brunch and biceps' workout group, saying that they need a fourth and everyone else is normally sleeping off their hangovers or works the opening shift.

It’s other people’s names all over his schedule, but what he feels is you. Everywhere, all over him. He knows it’s you. Not intentionally, perhaps. But you opened a door for him with your ease and generosity. One Saturday pizza lunch and somehow he’s gotten to know more people in two months at the mall than he had in the years before combined.

You’d wave him off if he mentioned it or thanked you. With that adorable tilt of your head you would smirk and tell him that all he has to do is give people a chance. That they don’t bite.

Irrationally he wants to do things for you - not just as a friend but in the romantic sense - like buy you flowers or have you by his side at Thursday movie screenings or take you to Amsterdam, just to watch you bloom among the flowers. But that would be… crazy, right? He sits in his favorite armchair unable to focus on the book in front of him and runs agitated hands through his hair.

He’s not your boyfriend or your partner. He’s your boss or your co-worker and possibly your friend. Why does he think of holding your hand and walking along the canals of some foreign city every time you look in his direction?

Why does the once-comforting quiet of his apartment feel more and more empty when you’re not laying on the couch across from him, reading and teasing him? Why does he wake up and wish that someone besides himself filled his bed? Someone with your expressions and your joy and your stubborn insistence.

He briefly makes a mental note to ask Yixing how he ended up dating Lavender before suddenly tossing the book to the floor, standing with a groan.

‘What a ridiculous idea!’ he yells aloud to the empty apartment. Jongdae paces circles in the carpet of his living room and wonders if part of being in love is going slightly insane, if everyone who manages to do so finds the madness enjoyable or if love is simply folie à deux?

He looks at his calendar, spread open on his grandfather’s old, wooden desk and tries to comprehend how his life could be so different one year to the next. Like he’s grasping at straws or wisps of air. Aside from work and his grandfather and music, what did he have before? The occasional alumni event or guest lecture at his alma maters?

For a minute his chest feels too full to breathe, unable to let in anything more. Panic tugs at him for a second. It’s too much, all at once - too many people and too many events. Too many opportunities to mess up and these people? He can’t sever his life completely like he did from Julian and his friends. They're so connected to this space he's made his business in. What will happen when he inevitably falls out of favor with them?

He imagines himself shunned and the idea hurts worse than before. Back then he had chosen isolation; to have it thrust unwillingly upon him, unasked, is too much to comprehend.

Once he walked naively into friendship, believing it was easy and that it would last. That there was no rug that would be unceremoniously swept out from under him. But people change, faster than he can believe.

Jongdae sits on the floor, his pajama pants brushing his crossed legs, and forces himself to steady his breathing. These people are not his old friends at Microsoft, he reminds himself. Nor are they the kids in school who teased him, or his classmates in college who resented him or treated him like an annoyance.

Like he’s always practiced, he turns to facts to calm his mind. He’s safe - the apartment is his and he has plenty of money. Not just from his business but from his grandfather’s life insurance. If he wanted to leave - if he was forced to, he thinks he could do it. But something within him howls at the idea of leaving what he has now.

For the first time in ages he has ideas, plans, and dreams for what to do with his life. Now he has people he cares about, people who he trusts to be kind rather than fearing they’ll betray or leave him. You’re at the center of it, if you let him. Determination takes hold of him and doesn’t let go. After a few moments his panic subsides, washed away by the bright promise of a future he’s never dared to imagine before now. Before you.

September 13th, 1997

By the end of your second drink you contemplate being the one to risk it all and ask Jongdae out.

In the months you’ve worked together you stopped seeing him as a challenge and started viewing him instead as the push to your pull. The yang to your yin. The - you sip on your rum and coke and get lost in the tug of his brows and the set of his lips as he spins rather than finding another apt metaphor.

The first time you met him you knew there was something underneath his hard exterior, but you had no idea how correct you’d be proven. Somehow he walks the tightrope between being harsh and being softer than you thought possible. But rather than turn you off you find you’re drawn to his bewildering mix of wry humor, nerdy fixations, and raw emotion. It unlocks all the jagged parts of you that you try to keep so nicely pressed together.

For someone who has been deemed too much to handle finding a man who seems to do it with ease is staggering. He loves your bossy, charismatic nature and your ideas about new things to try at the store. He listens intently when you rattle off obscure facts about your favorite books and movies. He sees your dreams of traveling, of being part of community here, as a complement, not a detriment to your professional career.

A voice startles you. “So when are you going to jump his bones?” Baekhyun is the kind of puppy dog, glowing cheeks, wide-eyed endearing drunk you wish you could hate.

He waggles his brows at you and you snort, shoving him away with your shoulder. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

You weave your way around the perimeter of the dance floor, trying and failing to not fixate on Jongdae with every step.

“Come on. Admit it. You’ve got a thing for the DJ.” His mouth tugs into a smug grin and you groan. “And word on the street is he wants you too.”

“He’s my boss.” The last of your drink burns your throat and you belly up to the bar to order another. “Get real.”

Always a hoe for gossip, Baekhyun leans one elbow against the bar and drops his chin into his hand to watch you. Rather than speak and risk your wrath again he merely looks between you and Jongdae, waiting.

You pride yourself on not giving into temptation for all of ten seconds and then blurt out - “What are you doing?”

Baekhyun presses his lips together to suppress a grin. He raises a finger and holds it up. “You’ll see.”

The bartender is tied up with a group at the far end so you sigh and turn, resting your back against the bar top. With folded arms you observe the club. “We’re about to be abducted by aliens? Jongin’s going to breakdance? Minseok and Bookworm are -”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient. You two really are a match made in heaven.”

“Me and Jongdae?” If you weren’t already buzzed you’d deny it more. But the permission to speak openly about your feelings for the DJ is too tempting. “You think so?”

Before he can tease you again a motion up ahead catches your focus. Jongdae looks up without tilting his head. His eyes cut to the left, to the two overflowing booths that are filled with the usual crew from the Exodus Mall. With amusement you follow his eye line as he scans the dance floor, looking for something. He never breaks the movement of his hands, spinning the vinyl and working the controls.

Finally his focus lands on you and Baekhyun at the bar. Jongdae’s eyes widen and that unreadable expression settles on his features, no emotion escaping. Your heart picks up, cheeks heating with awareness. There’s nothing to do but hold his gaze for long seconds while the club pulses with life around you. Isolated and together, even across the room.

And then Baekhyun ruins it.

With a comically large wave he smiles at Jongdae. The motion breaks Jongdae’s focus and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his friend’s ridiculousness. A smile tugs at his lips and he gives you a look of commiseration and you laugh, reaching over to ruffle Baekhyun’s blonde hair.

The song changes and Jongdae finally looks away. A second later the bartender appears, asking you for your next order. Baekhyun waits patiently beside you, arms folded against the bar, his smugness a tangible thing in the air between you two.

You bite your lip and look at yourself in the mirror behind the bar, visible between the clear shelves of liqueurs and syrups. Could he feel the same way? Does Jongdae imagine holding you, kissing you, being with you the same way you do with him in your unguarded moments?

The two of you already do so much together - work five days a week. Meals alone or with friends. Nights here, separate but still united in the bubble of the dance club. It strikes you just how thin the line is between friends and coworkers and … something more. A four-letter sinful word that starts with L and implies dangerous things like hands touching hands followed by lips and skin and teeth. A different four-letter word full of softness and commitment that has no place being in your mind at the same time as Jongdae’s name.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder. “I told you,” Baek says sincerely. He disappears after waggling his damned eyebrows one more time and leaves you at the bar, wondering.

Half of you wants to confess to him out of genuine affection and desire for connection; you can’t escape the way he makes you long to be reckless and daring and bold and romantic in the kind of grand gesture sense that you’d have rolled your eyes at before you met him. The delicate balance makes your palms sweat and your glass shake slightly as you raise it to your lips. From nerves or excitement or a mix of the two.

You could make the first move, but the logical half of your mind wins out. Instead you swallow your drink in three gulps and head over to the DJ booth to talk to him and nothing more. Close enough to be comforted by his nearness but keeping your desire closeted behind your fear. Tonight that’s all you can manage.

Passing by Yixing and Lavender dancing is a reminder of all the good love can bring. Yixing’s hands holding her close, her arms folded around his neck and their foreheads together. Intimate words are shared that aren’t meant for your ears, even if you could hear them over the sound of the music.

But just beyond is Baekhyun and Hitch. She laughs and dances out of his way as he tries to tickle her. They’re obviously in love to anyone who watches, so why haven’t they admitted it and had a go at being together? Maybe it’s for the best, you wonder. If trying and failing and ruining what you have it worse than never trying at all.

Before you can wander too far down the road of doubt and consequences you remember how it felt to have Jongdae’s hand on top of yours. The thought of tomorrow and the days after disappear altogether when you feel Jongdae’s eyes on you once more, drawing you closer to him, whether he knows his effect on you or not. When you reach the booth you decide to stop thinking in general, and let yourself feel instead.

Saturday night and he's in his element. In the booth, far away from the rest of the crowd but still a part of it. Adrenaline in his veins. Music is Jongdae’s therapy. An alter ego much like the comic book characters he read about growing up. It's the skin he can put on when he's tired of being himself. A place where he can set down the baggage of his identity for a night and get lost in the beats.

He closes his eyes, savoring the pattern of the vinyl beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, he feels you. Of course you're here. He's never free from you, he thinks with a rueful smile. First you invaded this place, his escape and his temple. Then you wormed your way into his business as though you always belonged there. Now you're occupying his senses the way you occupy his thoughts at all hours.

For a beat he admires you, standing at the bar rolling your eyes while Baekhyun waves dramatically. He drinks you in with a last look at your fabulous legs before reluctantly turning back to switching out one album for the next. Lately you’ve taken to joining him for a bit while he spins and he hopes that once again you’ll come up to the booth tonight.

He's not a patient man, or a subtle one. If he wanted to be rid of you, you'd be gone. Severed with the kind of brutal finality he showed to anyone from his time after M.I.T. There are no second chances as far as he's concerned. But still, you remain. Infuriating, exhilarating. Never far from his consciousness.

'You look like you're having a good time!'

Sooner than expected your voice breaks his trance and he lifts his eyes to look at you. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he swallows harshly. He doesn't know how you do it - how you effortlessly change to match your surroundings.

One minute you're his office manager, polite and respectful and skilled. Already he sees the business taking shape, becoming more cohesive and smooth beneath your talented mind and heart. And your feisty insistence that he upgrade and finesse his marketing and finally finish putting together a website for Chen’s.

The next minute you're leaning over the edge of the booth, chest coming forward and revealing your neckline. The red is fitting on you. It brings out the natural flush in your cheeks and makes you look perpetually alive. He feels stagnant by comparison, a man of stone who remains unchanging while the world passes him by.

The tumble of hair across your shoulders and the delight in your eyes are so beautiful he wants to reach for you. To reach for more, be more than who he has been - afraid and alone. Bitterness lives in his heart, swatting away anyone who gets too close. But here you are, knocking once more on the door of his being.

He finds his voice, his hands thankfully moving on muscle memory as he drops in the next remix. 'It's good energy tonight,' he fumbles. 'I love this song.' You nod in agreement.

It’s easy, being with you. Together you talk about work and the music he plays and your group of friends. Chanyeol and Bijoux, who finally got together again after what seems like months of back and forth. Bets on how long Minseok will wait before he proposes to Bookworm, now that they’re an official item. Joking about Baekhyun and Hitch like always.

He shows off for you, just a little. Spins 'Scream' by Michael and Janet jackson with a bit more pizazz than usual. It strikes him as amusing how much he always hated being watched before this. Not that many people pay particular attention to him as a DJ, but he thinks he might like the way it feels to be watched by you.

He wants to watch you, too, for as long as you let him. He already can’t take his eyes off you. No matter how much that idea might terrify him. When he drops the next mix and the crowd cheers at ‘Tubthumping’ he gives you a rare broad smile and it's like being punched in the chest when you return it with an unexpectedly shy one of your own.

Jongdae almost invites you into the booth. He sees it as though it were one of the romantic comedies that are so popular right now. You would take your place in front of him. He'd get to rest his hand on top of yours, guiding your movements. Maybe as you got the hang of it he would slide them to hold your hips, keeping your back to his chest as his mouth finds your neck.

Liz invites you to dance and Jongdae wipes the probably awed look off his face with effort. He needs some cold water, immediately.

Friday September 19th

Jongdae is upset about something. It’s not so much that you now seem to be able to pick up his moods with ease, which is true, but the fact that he is nearly tearing his hair out. A piece of paper sits in front of him on the desk but it’s too far away for you to read.

By the time he groans for the fifth time you finally speak up. ‘Are you alright?’

His head jerks up and his eyes are tired when they meet yours. Not ‘it’s been a long week’ tired, but something sad in his expression that makes him look fragile and younger than his years.

For a moment he shakes his head. Then he picks up the paper and waves it in the air, opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession. The confusion on his normally self-assured face would be comical if it wasn’t such an obviously distressing situation. Finally he drops the paper and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

‘I just got word that they’re demolishing the apartment building I live in. I have to move by November 1st.’

Instantly you want to hug him or hold his hand. ‘Your grandfather’s apartment?’

Jongdae nods. ‘They’re tearing it down so they can put in some luxury condos. Yet another classic neighborhood about to be wiped out in the name of progress.’ He sighs, looking at the ceiling to compose himself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so-’

‘No, it’s -’ you start, unsure of your destination. ‘It’s an important place. And it’s your home. Don’t apologize for being pissed off about it.’

He nods, taken aback. ‘Exactly. It’s where I grew up. I’ve also never had to look for an apartment or move, either. So this will be dreadful.’

You bite the inside of your cheek. The offer to help practically leaps from your mouth and you hold it close for a moment, making sure you don’t rush into something that’s out of your depth. But as always your logic overrules your fear.

‘I could help, if you like?’ He’s just your boss slash co-worker. It’s innocent. It’s harmless, right? ‘I’ve moved so often with school and everything. I know my way around the city.’

In the ensuing pause Jongdae’s solemnity returns, his mouth and the lines of his face don’t give away any emotion. But, as always, he holds you in place with his expression. And his eyes have that fire within that he seems to only show to you. ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’

You nod, case closed. Turning back to your computer you lie to yourself further, pretending not to notice how his voice lowered. As though he knew you weren’t just offering for help with his living situation. But something more raw and painful that he isn’t prepared to hold on his own just yet.

For how picky you thought you were about apartments, Jongdae has you beat by a mile. Student housing accustomed you to wonky flooring and cramped kitchens and the charming yet ancient windows on many older Seattle homes. But his grandfather’s gorgeous pre-war unit had made Jongdae’s tastes quite particular.

On Tuesdays and on weekends you pulled up listings and showed Jongdae around the city by way of it’s apartments, condos, and houses. He enjoyed the nature surrounding Greenlake, the affordable houses north of UW in Ravenna, and the vibe of Ballard and Fremont. But he ruled anything north of 520 out quickly as ‘too far from the store.’ The luxury of walking to work on nicer days was something he wasn’t willing to part with.

The same unfortunately ruled out a townhouse in Alki that you had salivated over, a block from the beach. Pioneer Square had some great lofts that would have been perfect for a music-lover like Jongdae, but he vetoed those as well. Along with all the trendy industrial lofts near the stadiums, claiming he hated all the construction going on nearby.

It should have been frustrating, to spend endless hours watching him nix perfectly wonderful places. In Queen Anne he hated the hills. Westlake he disliked the mall. Madrona, Leschi, Montlake, Magnolia, and Lake Union all came close but still he shook his head and said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to landlord after landlord.

It should have driven you mad, but all it did was make you like him more.

Falling in love with Jongdae isn’t what you had planned. But from the first night you saw him at the club some part of you knew it was inevitable, the way the rain in autumn starts off as a light drizzle and before you know it becomes a torrential downpour, blanketing the city and saturating every exposed corner.

He always brought you coffee and insisted on buying breakfast or lunch. He always picked you up, right on time. Held doors and made sure he didn’t walk too fast and did the thing where his arm hovered over your back when the two of you were in crowded spaces. Not touching, but close enough you could feel him protecting you. On anyone else you would have absolutely hated that, but of course from him, you craved it.

Day after day you listened to music in his car as the two of you drove around little neighborhoods hoping to find something, complaining about how tight and ridiculous the parking situation always is. Joking about your friends or the news or the latest books you’re reading. They hardly felt like dates. No, they felt like something even more insidious. Like being in a relationship with him. Easy and warm and friendly and the kind of thing you could get used to.

But eventually it had to end, before it seemed like either of you were ready.

On a surprisingly warm Tuesday in October the two of you walk into a place that no one could object to. The building is in south Capitol Hill, close to Cal Anderson and only a fifteen or twenty minute walk from the mall. It’s designed in the classic Victorian style of the neighborhood, but was completed just three years ago. Small pane windows and a fireplace with a carved mantle and dark spires on the roof, all with brand new insulation and appliances.

Sunlight floods the corner unit on the top floor and you gasped as soon as the door opened. Jongdae stands beside you as the landlord goes over the details of the square footage and the building amenities, but neither of you are listening anymore.

‘What do you think?’ he asks softly. The five-story building sits on a slight hill and overlooks the rest of downtown, with a partial water view around the tall downtown skyscrapers.

‘I think it’s as close to perfect as you’re going to get.’

He moves closer and rests his palms on the window sill, looking around for a moment before turning his head to watch you. ‘Good.’

After a long pause Jongdae pushes off the windows and politely interrupts the landlord, who is currently opening every single cabinet in the kitchen and giving a detailed run down of his wife’s favorite tupperware, asking about the deposit. The way he phrased it along with the attentive way he waited for your approval makes you wonder if he wasn’t just picking this apartment for himself.

Imagining yourself there scares you. If he was seeking your opinion… surely he would be hoping you’d come over? Neither of you have spoken a word about the bizarre yet undeniable attraction you have, but that hardly forms the basis of a relationship. A boyfriend who wanted to be sure you liked his new place would be one thing, but your friend and co-worker who has never admitted to even liking you is quite another.

You lean against the edge of the window and run a finger along the ledge. A small part of you whispers that you’re supposed to be doing something else, eventually. You won’t work at Chen’s forever, but it wasn’t meant to be this hard to leave. It’s just a stop on the way to your final destination. So why do you want to get off the train altogether and make a home here?

Would it be so terrible, to be with him? It’s been a fantasy for so long that imagining real life with him makes you suck in a breath as though you’ve been punched in the gut. It could be a fresh start for you both. The end of one adventure and the beginning of a new one. You remind yourself that being in love doesn’t mean you can’t travel or change the world. Being with Jongdae would hopefully only encourage your dreams, not stifle them.

As they discuss deposit and applications and timelines for moving into the apartment you wander into the other rooms.

The bathroom has a large tub and dual sinks. You can only imagine what your expression must be like right now, given your swirling emotions, and avoid the mirror altogether. The second bedroom is more like a cozy office, narrow enough for a desk and a couch and perhaps some bookshelves. In the bedroom you hesitate at the doorway, reaching up to play with the pendant of your necklace.

Windows run along both sides, meeting in a corner. You think of plants lining the wide ledges and going to sleep with the setting westward sun and how short of a walk it would be to get breakfast from your favorite bagel shop that’s just a block away. It’s close to the mall and the club. It’s truly perfect.

As you watch cars pass and people walk by down below you space out, the image blurring and becoming Jongdae on a bed in this room, leaning back against the pillows with a book in his lap. Smiling at you and pulling you close since he knows you refuse to get up earlier than you have to on your days off.

Inexplicably you want to cry and you huff out a laugh, squeezing your eyes tightly only to find that they’re damp. It’s not anger that the vision inspires in you or even sadness. It’s frustration and amusement that war inside you as you think about how you fell in love with him without your consent. Rational thinking should have stopped this long ago, but all you can think as you stand there is how nice it is to be with him. And how you wouldn’t mind being with him for a long while.

The only thing that helps ease the tension in your chest is how he looks at you on the drive back to your place. You fill the time with discussions of moving trucks and hiring a company to help with the heavy lifting, but you’re both clearly distracted by other thoughts. He pulls his car up to your apartment and you try to avoid looking at him as you say goodbye, but he briefly rests his hand on your knee to get your attention.

Your hand stops in its motion to grab your bag and ends up nearly on top of his, but you make no movement to break the contact. ‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘I mean it.’ Jongdae turns his hand and holds yours, giving it a quick squeeze and looking like he never wants to let go.

October 12th, 1997

You’re eating cheesy bread at Barada with Hitch, but today she’s different - evasive and nervous in a strange way. 'So I - uhh. I have news,' she finally says. She sips her drink and looks at the table rather than at you. 'I don't know if I should tell you though.'

Pausing in your chewing you raise a brow. 'You can tell me anything, you know that.'

She awkwardly runs a hand along her neck. 'No I know. I just -' she huffs out a breath and blows her hair off her forehead..

'You and Baekhyun finally had sex and you're pregnant?' You smirk at her as she chokes on her soda. 'Come on, just spit it out.'

She waves and hand and very quickly says - 'There's a project manager position open in the gaming division. Some new big thing and they're looking for an upstart to head up operations.'

You frown and tear off another slide of bread, not understanding her odd behavior at all. 'Okay… and you're thinking what, thinking of applying?'

'No, you dork. I'm thinking you should apply.' She tilts her head like she assumed your reaction would be more immediate. 'You wanted me to keep an eye out for you, right? I didn't want to say anything since - '

'Since?' you ask, both afraid of what she'll say and dying to know. Terrified it will have to do with Jongdae and the swirling mess of feelings you have for him.

It’s her turn to be wry. 'Since you and Jongdae have been attached at the hip.'

'Really?' You stall, taking an enormous bite.

Hitch tosses a balled-up napkin at you. 'Yes. When I met you in college I thought 'there goes the most intense person I've ever met.’ And then I met Jongdae after he opened Chen’s and he gave you a run for your money.' She dusts off her hands. 'You both could be making millions someday. Taking over countries or saving the world or something. We all know it. I don't know, I didn’t want to mention this because together you guys seem happier. Softer? Something like that..'

'And you think me getting a job there would ruin that?' Her words mirror your fears exactly and your stomach drops.

'It's taken me years to get Jongdae to even look at me after I told him where I worked. He hates Microsoft. With good reason, from what you've implied. I'm sure you could make it work, but trust me when I say if you get swept up into that upper management spiral, we probably won't see you again.'

'I won't completely abandon you guys just because I get a new job.' But doubt whispers in your mind. The long hours and the endless meetings and the extra work to always be the best, to always be ahead. 'Okay fine, I see your point. I still have to try, right? I should at least apply.'

She rests her hand over yours where you have your napkin in a death grip on the table. 'You don't have to do anything, babe. We'll always be here for you even if you become a tech mogul overnight. But will it make you happy? Whatever comes next... do it for yourself, okay? Not just cause you think you should.'

You smile and hold her hand for a moment, wrinkling your nose. 'Thank you, Hitch. I needed that. What about you? You said you were going to apply for that transfer to the NYC office, are you still considering it?'

She blows out a deep breath and pulls her hand back, dropping her forehead to it for a moment. 'God, I don't know. My whole life is here. And I'd have to leave the theater.' She rests her chin on her palm and looks up at you with a dramatic frown. 'My friends are all here. My family. I love where I'm at, but I know that something eventually has to change.'

'Baekhyun?' You grin at her, wondering if the move might finally force them to admit their feelings.

Hitch straightens and looks across the food court to the movie theater. 'Yeah, something like that.' She gives you a dramatic waggle of her brow. 'Jongdae?'

You groan and fold your arms, sinking lower into your seat. Even your roommates ask about him now. Everyone can surely see how you light up around him. The way you gravitate towards the DJ booth on club nights like a moth to a flame. The way you draw him into conversations and brag about him. It should be forbidden territory, as untouchable and unreadable as he is. Not to mention he's your boss.

But worst of all he still hasn't said anything about it, nothing more than the occasional flirtatious comment or lingering look. Even after all your time together and the way he looked at you in the new apartment. For all you know he sees you as a very stubborn employee who happens to force your way into things.

You cover your face with your hands and sigh. 'Something like that.'

Hitchcock stands and takes your shared tray of dishes to the bus station with a throaty laugh. 'That's what I thought.'

November 1st, 1997

Jongdae is frantically packing up more of his bookshelf when the doorbell rings. He smiles on instinct. It's not something he can help anymore, not when he knows it's you on the other side. Right at nine in the morning, just when you promised the movers would be here. With a last look around his living room at the organized chaos he wipes his hands on his sweatpants and stands.

It surprised him how quickly you agreed to help with - well, everything, really.

When he told you about his move he didn’t expect anything would come of it. It's his problem, not yours. He didn't imagine for a moment you'd give the announcement more attention than a sympathetic word or two. But you stepped to his side. Put up with his grouchy persistence in believing that there's no place in the world, let alone in Seattle, that would be as amazing as this apartment. As it always seems with you, he found himself proven wrong.

You didn't let him wallow and guided him with your decisiveness through the checklist of everything he'd need to do. A few months ago he would have waved you off. Decided you were being bossy or nosy and turned down the help with a cold shoulder. 

But now he wants you around for everything and the thought makes him pause with his hand on the doorknob.

He made sure you like his new apartment too because - when he isn't expecting it he imagines you there. Not just as his co-worker or employee or even as his friend. As someone more permanent. Lasting. It's not that he needs you to run his life for him, he's perfectly capable of doing things on his own. It's just that he loves how you barge your way into his world and refuse to let him be alone.

Jongdae doesn't know how yet, but he wants to show you how he feels in return. It's like trying to run with a blindfold on, but he desperately hopes that he can figure out how to care about you in the way you deserve. Bringing you coffee and asking about your day and giving you all the freedom you want at work are a start, but they barely scratch the surface of how much he feels for you.

He's got one idea. A big one. An insane one, that you'll probably call him nuts for suggesting. If he ever gets up the nerve someday.

The buzzer sounds again and he shakes himself out of it. Finally he pulls it open and is greeted by your smiling face in the morning gray light. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in a long black shirt and faded overalls. He leans against the doorframe, wondering if he's ever seen anything more beautiful than you on his doorstep.

'So, I have a surprise,' you start. With a free hand you nervously brush your hair behind your ear. It's so unlike you that he immediately wonders if something is wrong.

'What is it?'

Before you can answer, noise in the parking lot draws his focus. His front door faces the open-air walkway that leads to the stairs down to the parking lot. He expected a moving truck and several buff men in logoed shirts. Instead it's a scrappy group of your friends - his friends now, he supposes - looking tired but ready to help.

Junmyeon and Jane drink coffee and pull furniture dollys and heavy blankets out of a Uhaul truck. Liz and Jongin are leaning against the cab of Sehun's car and laugh at him as he and Yixing sleep peacefully in the backseat. Chanyeol and his girlfriend are paused on the landing below making out, a tape gun in each of their hands. Another car catches a break in the flow of traffic and pulls into one of the guest spaces. Minseok and Bookworm step out and yawn, tying sweatshirts around their waists.

Jongdae repeats his question. Or at least he tries to, but emotion catches his throat and all he can do is stare at you with a mix of surprise and what he's sure is a very naked expression of affection.

'How did you do this?' he asks when he can finally breathe again.

You tilt your head and grin at him, pride making you radiant even in the dull mist of the morning. 'Is this okay?' For a moment you look worried, tucking your hands in the pockets of your overalls and taking a step back.

'I know I said I'd hire the movers, but I thought this might be better? I didn't think everyone would be here, especially after the Halloween party last night. Soo and Sunshine are working, but I think - wait,' you turn and yell down to the group in the lot. 'Has anyone heard from Baek and Hitch?'

Chanyeol reluctantly pulls away from his girlfriend and replies. 'Yeah, he messaged me at the ass-crack of dawn. He said he and Hitch are fine, but they won't be able to make it until later.'

With a curious look you thank Chanyeol and turn back to Jongdae. 'Okay, so almost everyone came.'

'It's because you're incredible,' he agrees, heart warm and in awe of you. Stepping back, he shoves the door stop in with his foot to prop it open and gestures for you to come in.

He doesn't get two steps before your hand finds his bicep, stopping him. 'No, I'm just absolutely amazing at organizing things,' you laugh. ‘But they didn't just come for me Jongdae, they came because they're your friends. They wanted to help.'

The intensity in your voice makes him pause. Like you're trying to say far more than your words. He gets lost for a moment in your beautiful eyes and swallows harshly. His past, the negative parts, haven't come up much - his failed first business, the trail of broken friendships he's left behind him, the ensuing guard he's had up since - but you've paid far more attention than he realized.

He doesn't miss the meaning behind your words, or the look in your eyes; what you're asking of him. To trust you, to trust them. To release his death grip on the walls he keeps up to protect himself. But no matter how determined you are he knows he has to be the one to dismantle them. His heart is nervous and he instead focuses on your hand on his arm.

For a beat he wants to kiss you, then and there with almost all of his and your friends just outside. Instead he lets his actions speak when his mouth isn't able to and pulls you into a hug. You freeze for a moment, stiff with surprise. But after a moment it melts away and you hold him back, wrapping your arms around his waist. His head spins when you rest your forehead against his shoulder, unable to process the fact that you’re in his arms in reality, not just his dreams.

'You're the most amazing person,' he murmurs against your hair.

The sound of loud voices and thumping of boots on stairs make him pull back. You give him another smile, warmer and softer this time. Something that's private for him only. 'I know.'

He barks out a laugh as Sehun and Jongin come in through the doorway. 'Let's do this!' Sehun calls, clapping his hands together.

'We promise we won't steal anything,' Jongin jokes, looking around Jongdae's place with obvious fascination.

Bijoux organizes the packing party while Chanyeol grabs Jongdae's keys so he and Sehun can take the first load of boxes over to the new place while Junmyeon, Jongin, and Jongdae load up the bigger furniture pieces into the Uhaul. Jongdae lets out a rusty laugh as Junmyeon dubs them ‘the J squad.’ You work around them, collecting all the random trinkets and knicknacks that have escaped other boxes.

He closed Chen’s today to hopefully knock this entire project out in one swoop. Ripping it off like a Bandaid. After the first big load everyone splits up into teams. Sehun and Yixing pack and load the rest of the boxes and smaller items into the cars. Jongin, who is absolutely not trusted around breakable items, goes with Junmyeon to return the Uhaul to the rental shop and pick up lunch and drinks for everyone with the cash Jongdae insisted they take. 

And Minseok leads everyone else on a cleaning checklist he’s created with military precision. It's been so long Jongdae doesn't even know if he has a damage deposit. His grandfather took excellent care of the place and he kept it up in his absence, so he hopes it's not too much work to tidy.

Yixing’s boombox keeps up a steady flow of music throughout the morning and lunch time. With everyone’s help, and of course with the added fuel from the pizza and beverages, things are just wrapping up at the old place. You stay behind with Jongdae to take a last look around and turn in the keys, forcing him to take a few photos in the space to remember it.

‘This is it, I guess,’ he says, holding out the key and laying it on the kitchen counter with a small metallic sound.

‘How do you feel?’ You lean your hip against the fridge and drink from a water bottle.

Sunset over Lake Union is his favorite time of day and it’s hard to stand the thought of missing out on a last one. It’s barely two in the afternoon and it’s hours until golden hour. Rather than lie he simply says the truth. ‘I wish I could see the sun go down one last time.’

You come and stand next to him, close enough he can smell the light scent of your perfume and see the flush of your chest from the day’s exertion. ‘We can wait.’

He thinks of everyone at his new place, unloading boxes. ‘But everyone-’

‘Jongdae,’ you start. ‘They’ll be fine. You know Sehun has probably fallen asleep on your couch already. Baek and Hitch and the openers from Barada will be heading over soon. Some people have to head out for closing shifts but it’s already been decided that we’re doing movie night and Chinese take out tonight at your new place.’

‘Oh really?’ He presses his lips together to try not to laugh.

‘I don’t think you have much of a choice,’ you tease. ‘Trust me, they’ll be fine for another few hours.’

‘Alright then,’ he says after a pause.

The two of you sit on the bare hardwood floors and talk until the sun finally sets, just before five pm. He doesn’t yell his feelings for you at full volume like he wishes he could. He doesn’t dance with you or kiss you slowly in the empty apartment, there’s far too many emotions in his heart today to try and cope with more. But after he locks up and leaves the keys behind he does take your hand to help you into the car. And he does hold it for far longer than necessary before pulling back to shut the door. 

It’s not much, but like his new apartment it’s the start of something.

November 3rd, 1997

You’ve got to tell Jongdae now, but nerves eat away at you and your resolve lessens minute by minute. Since the move he’s been warmer, more open, and you don’t want to ruin that. But you can’t keep this from him any longer.

Applying at Microsoft was supposed to be a long shot, a shot in the dark, or some other kind of shot that never meant to lead anywhere. But still it’s one you took and one that ended up paying off way faster and more successfully than you’d planned. After two interviews last week you sit with a job offer on your answering machine back home and a choice to make.

They need your decision by tomorrow and as Monday winds into early afternoon your deadline approaches. You bite your lip and vacillate wildly between thoughts. On the one hand this could be a good thing - if you’re no longer working at the same place, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from being together, right?

But what if Jongdae can’t see past his hurt and freaks out, assuming you’re leaving him like everyone else has? Or worse, what if he never cared about you that way at all?

Your stomach drops at the thought of walking out of here into your dream job, but feeling empty, leaving behind someone who has come to mean so much to you.

Your roommates Liz and Jane, Hitch, hell even Baekhyun weaseled the truth out of you at Shari’s on Saturday. Stone cold sober and still you let out everything to him sitting in your group’s favorite booth. About how you might in fact love Jongdae and how badly you want this opportunity, how utterly terrifying and exhilarating change can be simultaneously.

None of them told you to choose one way or the other. They didn’t say ‘take the job’ or ‘turn down the job,’ they all said that the decision is one only you can make and that they’d support you no matter what you picked. And maybe each time you cried a little and all of them were good enough friends to just hug you and not mention it.

But all of them told you one thing that now sits lodged in your throat. Whatever else happens, you both deserve to know. Jongdae deserves the truth about what you’re considering, and you deserve to finally know once and for all how he feels about you and what he wants.

After he locks the doors and starts cleaning up, you rise, holding your hands behind your back so tightly your knuckles are most assuredly white. ‘Hey, can we talk for a minute?’

Jongdae nods. ‘Of course. I’ve got something I wanted to discuss with you as well, actually. But you go first.’ He folds his arms and leans against his desk, giving you that affectionate close-lipped smile of his. You desperately hope what you’re about to say doesn’t wipe it off his face.

Not one to beat around the bush you dive in. ‘I applied for another job.’ The words sound blunt and harsh. You swallow and try again, hating how his brow furrows in confusion. ‘Not because I don’t like it here. But Hitch told me about an opening and it sounded - sounds perfect for what I want to do in the long run. It’s on the new gaming system division… at Microsoft.’

He doesn’t say anything for a long pause. Instead of meeting your eyes his have dropped to the ground and you wish you could reach out and touch him. Anything to make sure he hears you, understands you. But a whisper of fear makes you keep quiet, worrying the connection you had wasn’t meant to last, if something so trivial could break it.

‘I thought you were happy here,’ he says finally.

You hold your hands out in front of you, palms up in a gesture of entreaty. ‘I do, Jongdae. It’s not that at all. I thought this might - be good for us. If we’re not working together, then -’

When he finally looks up his gaze is distant, his mouth a thin line. The shutters have fallen over his face. ‘By going to work at the one place I despise?’

Anger makes your skin hot and you fold your arms as well, in defiance. ‘But you talk to Hitch and Baekhyun? They haven’t turned into the devil incarnate yet.’

He gives a quick, harsh shrug. ‘I like them both, sure. But being friends is one thing. This is quite another.’

It’s almost a declaration, yet so far from how you dreamed this moment might go. ‘What are you saying, Jongdae?’ You need to hear it. After so many weeks of trying you need him to at least do you the courtesy of speaking it out loud.

‘You know how I feel about you.’ There’s hope in his eyes. But it’s so buried amongst hurt and suspicion it’s not even close to reassuring. ‘I want you to stay. Here.’ With me, he doesn’t say, but you feel it.

Nothing drives you more up the wall than being told what to do. His words fall against your own shield and the plea within goes unnoticed. ‘Would you really shut me off if I took this job? Does hating them mean more than wanting what’s best for me?’ You finally step forward, reaching a hand for his arm.

‘I’ve supported you in everything,’ you start, unable to stop now that you’ve started. ‘In finding community here. In your move. Even in the business, who was the one who pushed you to keep growing? I don’t intend to stop being there for you, but I need you to support me in this. Please.’

He just watches you, not saying a word. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. People outside the glass doors go about their day, shopping or getting an early dinner, unaware of the standoff taking place merely feet from them. You wonder what it would take to make his guard truly ever come down.

With how quickly it snapped back into place you feel tired all the way down to your bones. Maybe it will never be enough, even if you did stay here forever.

‘I’ll pay out your PTO in these next two weeks,’ he says softly. ‘No need to come back into the office. If that works for you?’ His last statement is thrown on as a hasty addendum. Like he’d realized how harsh it sounded and he wanted to dull the sting. It’s a sliver of kindness, a glimpse at the man he almost allowed himself to be. But it’s not enough.

‘Fine with me.’ You move past him, into the supply room to grab your purse and jacket, proud of the way your voice doesn’t waver. Pausing in the hallway you turn to look back at him, still frozen against his desk. ‘I’m leaving this job, I’m not leaving you.’

He turns to look at you, running a hand through his hair and messing up the ends. ‘It will go the same way, I know it. In the end you’ll disappear too.’

‘Jongdae, I’m trying. I need you to at least meet me halfway.’

You don’t wait for his reply, if one was ever even going to come. Instead you continue down the small hallway and push out the back door into the mall. It’s only once you’re in your car that you remember he mentioned something he wanted to discuss. You wonder what it was, and if you’ll ever find out.

Jongdae stares after you for long seconds after you’re gone. He doesn’t hold out hope that you’ll come back, not after the way he treated you. Instead he feels stuck in place, like if he holds his breath and doesn’t exhale then the last five minutes didn’t happen.

But his lungs burn and his chest aches, and when he finally sighs it comes out ragged. He fumbles for the switch and the store descends into darkness. Shafts of light still come through, angled in from the glass ceiling of the mall’s concourse. Jongdae stands just outside of it, protected. With no one to see he sinks into his desk chair and drops his head into his hands.

The tears that clog his throat are at first unexpected, but as the minutes drag on he finally gives into them. He should have known they were coming all along. Not just from the moment you walked into his life, but from the day his grandfather died. From the day his father passed and his mother became a ghost rather than a permanent, tangible figure. 

From the day Julian took Jongdae’s designs and credited them as his own to the investors, cutting Jongdae out of not only the business they were building, but out of their group of friends as well.

Misery and hopelessness whisper against his skin and for long minutes he lets himself wallow. He knows it’s no one’s fault but his own that he ruined things with you. His grandfather taught him long ago that other’s actions are theirs, and that it’s what Jongdae does in response that is his responsibility. But he can’t deny that he indulges in thoughts of blaming the cruelty of life for making him so goddamn stubborn.

He swallows and leans back in his chair, feeling as though his body is made of hard, unyielding stone. Maybe it's better this way, he wonders, drumming his fingers on the wood desk before him. Perhaps he should let his worst fears dominate his life, believing that the risk is far greater than any potential reward that love or friendship could offer him.

Is it better to be alone, knowing that he’ll always be safe, free of anyone who might hurt him?

Jongdae groans. The voice inside him that whispers No sounds first like his grandfather, both encouraging and feisty at the thought of Jongdae giving up. Next it sounds like you. He knows you’d roll your eyes and call him grouchy, always thinking better of him than he does of himself. You’d tell him his bark is far worse than his bite and to get over himself already. At this thought, at any thought of you, really, he smiles.

Familiar voices make him look out into the mall. Sehun and Jongin walk by carrying sodas, rubbing their stomachs. He can imagine how they’re complaining about eating too much Barada pizza, as always. 

They pass by quickly but the image stays with him, of their friendship. Jongdae thinks of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s, how opposite and yet how similar they are. Baekhyun and Hitch, who are always teasing each other but who he knows would do anything at the drop of a hat.

He’s held himself back the past few months. First a reluctant observer. Then a tentative participant. The endless exhaustion of being careful, keeping his distance, catches up to Jongdae as he sits in that chair. If it weren’t for you maybe he’d never be brave enough to try again after how hard it was growing up. But if he is to be the kind of person, the kind of partner you deserve, now is the time to make the attempt.

It’s up to Jongdae to be the one to try, to reach out. He can’t let others find him anymore. For the first time in a long time Jongdae stands up and goes looking for a friend.

Junmyeon still has an hour before his store closes and he looks up at Jongdae as he walks in through the door of Guardians. ‘Hey, JD! How’s it going?’ If he notices that Jongdae’s been crying, he’s kind enough to not mention it.

‘Are you busy?’ Jongdae’s throat is raw but Jun has a young son, surely tears won’t bother him.

‘Not really, I’m just organizing some shipments going out tomorrow,’ Junmyeon answers. He sets down his pencil and rests his hands on the counter. A crease forms between his brows the longer he watches Jongdae. ‘Is everything alright?’

He wants to do this right, but all he can find are inelegant words. Junmyeon is as close as he has to a best friend at the moment, and he hopes he doesn’t inconvenience him. ‘Not really.’

Jun tilts his head and gestures to the door, picking up Jongdae’s unspoken request and running with it, just like he’d hoped he would. ‘I can close up shop a bit early. Want to talk in my office?’

Jongdae runs a hand over his face and nods. Grateful and relieved he manages a small laugh. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

After Jun locks the doors and flips the sign to closed he motions for Jongdae to follow him. The back room of Guardians is much warmer that at Chen’s Electronics, in style rather than temperature. Jongdae sits on a beige sofa that’s even more comfortable than it looks. The walls are filled with framed photos and art prints and various other pieces that give the space an art gallery vibe.

With a sigh Junmyeon tidies up the mess of papers and crayons and various cups with kid lids. ‘Sorry, Sungmin loves to draw but we haven’t quite nailed the clean up yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it on my behalf,’ Jongdae says sincerely. ‘I’m just grateful you’re willing to listen.’

The space has a narrow hallway leading to a back door and a closet that’s probably full of supplies, much like Jongdae’s store. Jun takes the cups to a small sink in the mini-kitchen in the corner. His brow lifts in confusion. ‘Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, right?’

Could it be that simple? No need to prove himself or do everything possible to impress Junmyeon, like he did with Julian. ‘Yeah, we are I suppose.’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to imply I don’t consider us friends, I just - well, have a few trust issues when it comes to that sort of thing.’

Junmyeon dries his hands on a dishtowel and blows his hair off his forehead with a huffed laugh. ‘We’ve all got a few issues, don’t we?’ He moves to the table and takes a seat, sliding a glass of water towards Jongdae and sipping from one of his own. ‘I’ve got the time. So quit stalling and tell me about yours.’

He sags into the couch and drinks from the glass. ‘Alright then.’

For once he doesn’t second guess himself or try to read the minutiae of Jun’s expressions to see if he’s annoying him or being too boring. Jongdae simply tells him the truth, trusting his friend to listen. 

He mentions his family and how hard it hit him when his grandfather passed. How strange and yet unbothered he is by the lack of relationship with his mother. The way he was teased growing up and how he was probably the only person in his Master’s program going through puberty. The fact that the mall is the first place he’s ever had friends his own age since childhood.

It’s satisfying to see how pissed off Jun gets when he tells him about Julian and all the bullshit he put Jongdae through. For a while there Jongdae had convinced himself that he was the one in the wrong, that there’d been something he’d done to earn his exile. That it was a deserved punishment. But his friend’s muttered curses remind him that true friends don’t normally backstab each other for money and notoriety.

And finally, he talks of you.

How much he values you at work and how sassy and insistent you were about bringing him into ‘the fold’ of their friend group. The ways in which he wants to be with you and care for you and all his worries of whether or not he’ll be any good at it, given his lack of experience. Junmyeon is neither surprised by his feelings for you nor willing to let him wallow.

‘I even brought prom tickets,’ Jongdae finishes with a groan. He pulls them from the pocket of his jeans and lets his arm fall to the couch cushion. ‘Me. At a prom.’ He almost snorts.

But Junmyeon just purses his lips. ‘Is that really such a stretch?’

Jongdae hums a noise of contemplation. ‘No. I guess not. All our friends are doing it.’ But before Jun can continue he shakes his head. ‘But I’ve messed this all up, so it doesn’t matter either way.’

Loneliness aches in his bones, his hands tired of not holding yours. Wishing he was enough, somehow, to keep you here and keep you warm; enough to make you stay, to make you happy.

Junmyeon raises a brow. ‘I think you’re missing the point entirely my friend. She told you what she needs. All you have to do is listen. She’s asking you to trust her. This job is something she’s worked for and she’s not leaving you for it. She’s just leaving the job. If you want to know you have to ask.’

He sighs deeply. ‘You’re right. But what if it all goes wrong? What if I try and it’s all for nothing in the end?’

Jun dips his chin to his chest, looking at the ground lost in thought. ‘That’s fair. I know a little of that myself, Jongdae. But all you can do is try. There’s sadly no guarantees here. I think you want to make it work and from what I know of her, she wants you as well. It’s time to make the big gesture. Or any kind of gesture, really.’

He groans and smiles, knowing his friend’s fondness for ‘I think you’re right.’ He even has an idea, two in fact. One that’s lived in the back of his mind for weeks and one that’s brewing right now. ‘Will you help me?’

‘Absolutely my friend.’ Jun claps him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

November 19th, 1997

It should have been wonderful news to you that it was a clean break at least. No mess, just walking out the door and leaving behind the man and the job in one fell swoop. But of course, it wasn’t.

Microsoft was delighted when you told them you could start ASAP, but honestly you did it to jump into work rather than spend your time missing Jongdae. Filling your schedule proves to be the easiest way to avoid thinking about what hurts. You still had your roommates and Hitch and everyone else to hang out with, even if you weren’t ready for any Saturday pizza lunches or Shari’s nights quite yet. Both brought you far too close to him to bear right now.

Liz and Jane and Hitch are wonderful and you’ve had not one but two sleepovers since ‘the Jongdae incident.’ If not for their friendship and constant presence you’re sure you would have walled up the hurt and hid it away, not one to normally speak about your pain openly. Not while it’s so fresh. 

Distantly you hope that Jongdae is okay and that he has someone to talk to. If he’s even hurting. 

For all you know he’s completely fine and unaffected by the entire thing. Maybe he’s already found a new office manager and has forgotten about you. But those are the kind of rude and painful thoughts that only come to you at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, when dreams of his hands and his voice and his smile keep you up.

Jongdae calls one Tuesday to ask you to swing by Chen’s to pick something up the next day and you’re suspicious. He wouldn’t say any more, just ‘please come by at six. I have something to give you and I’d like it to be in person.’

You put on your favorite black dress and blazer that make you feel both sexy and confident and head to the mall. If he’s just calling you to twist the knife in deeper, you’ve already decided to leave and not bother letting him hurt you more. But if he’s calling to reconcile… you shake your head, not willing to get your hopes up. Instead you park in your old space and fix your make up in the rearview mirror.

It delights you to see that your old desk is returned to its former state. Just the computer, keyboard, and mouse remain. No one’s personal possessions have taken over the space like yours used to. It shouldn’t make you so happy to see he hasn’t replaced you, but it does.

Jongdae sits at his desk. His hair is in its usual perfect wave but his white button down and slacks have been swapped today for a dark green sweater and tan chinos. He looks ridiculously handsome and you grit your teeth, wishing you could turn off your attraction to him with a switch inside your brain.

He looks up at your knock on the glass door. For a moment he simply stands, drinking you in. Then he moves, walking closer to unlock the door and let you in. 

‘Hi. How are you?’

You blink and try not to laugh. ‘How am I? Jongdae, how do you think I am?’

‘Right, sorry.’ He shakes his head. Carefully he looks you up and down, not bothering to hide his own attraction to you in his hungry gaze. With a swallow he remembers himself and grabs a cardboard banker’s box from in front of his desk. ‘Here. I didn’t want to come by and drop it off. It felt wrong.’

The box holds all the random photos and personal belongings you’d left in your desk, in your haste to leave. Postcards from Amsterdam and family photos and lotions and your favorite scarf you’d been missing. He steps back, resting against the corner of his desk and folding his arms. When you take it he doesn’t say anything, which is not what you’d hoped by any means, but silence is definitely less painful than you’d feared.

‘Well, it’s been an adventure,’ you manage. You lean against your desk and move the box under one arm, holding out a hand to him to shake. Ready to be done with this officially.

He doesn’t move. You can feel words held on the tip of his tongue. Months and months later you know how to read his tells. The tightness in his jaw and the widening of his eyes and how his hand grips the fabric of his sweater. But seconds tick on and still he says nothing. 

He should speak or you should leave. One of you should do something. Instead you’re frozen in time. Eventually your arm aches and you set the box down beside you. You could go first, but pride demands he be the one to confess, if there’s going to be any confessions tonight.

Neither of you caves; twin pillars of resolution, stubbornness, and desire. It’s a game the two of you could play for hours. The tension in the air pulls tighter than a violin. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, unabashedly. His lids grow heavy as he breathes deeply, close enough to smell your gardenia perfume, but just out of reach of being able to touch you.

So this is what it feels like to meet my match, you think, finally acknowledging just how deeply you want him. Enough nights had been spent imagining kissing him, being with him in far more intimate ways than just a holding of hands or a hug. You want more, but only if he wants you, too.

You'd always been told that you were too driven, too smart, too self-sufficient to attract a man. Even in your MBA program where ambition and intelligence were supposedly rewarded, it apparently made you too something to find a good man to date.

But now there’s one right in front of you, looking at you as if you’re the answer to Fermat’s Enigma; a rare and priceless gem he’d been hunting for all his life. But he doesn’t look at you as if you’re art to be admired, a prize to be won. The guard lifts steadily and when he looks at you now it’s as if you’re the kind of miracle he wants to sink his teeth, his tongue, and his fingers into.

Your cheeks grow warm and you’re sure you look just as amazed and turned on as he does. If you had to guess, you’d bet that the number of people who challenge him these days are few, and the number of people who attempt to see the man behind the curtain even fewer.

While everyone else in the world might just see a monolith of a man, a genius, a hardworking and brilliant anomaly, you see the passionate, warm heart that beats in his chest. You know that the tin man really does have feelings and needs, and your heart almost breaks when you realize he’s been searching for you just as fervently as you’ve been searching for someone like him.

The silence in the room is almost too fragile a thing to break. On one side of the moment is a spark of something, a chance to see if this connection is real and deep, or if this is just chemistry and biology combining into lust. If your mind has taken the small gestures of passion and kindness and friendship from him and built it up to be something more than the sum of its parts.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he breathes, voice catching in his throat. Releasing his folded arms he rests his palms on the edges of the desk.

‘I’ve missed you, too,’ you admit. Your hands curl in on themselves, trying to fight the way emotion and physical longing make it difficult to be in such a close proximity to him.

‘Okay, then.’ He breaks first, moving with purpose and striding to you in two steps, sliding his hands along your jaw with such softness that you gasp. 

And then, finally, you feel his lips on yours. You grasp his hips, hands freed and aching to touch him, to feel his hard body press against yours with surprising heat.

You meet him with equal passion, working your lips against his steady assault on your composure. For a solid minute you’re in awe that you could feel this much, that his lips and his hands could undo you so rapidly. That they could rebuild you into someone who belongs to him in such a short space of time, after weeks of endless doubt.

He groans against your lips in what feels like similar shock and surrender. Who would have thought that he would cave to your touch just as you did to his? How could someone so grumpy and strong-willed also be so open and vulnerable to this tentative thing between you.

But as he drops a hand and brings it to rest securely on the small of your back you realize there’s a name for this feeling.

You could call it fate. You could call it destiny. You could call it that damned four-letter word or you could call it Darwinism for all you care as his teeth bite gently into your lower lip.

You just know that nothing has ever felt as good and right as his hands claiming you for his own and the smell and heat of him wrapping themselves around you and burrowing their way into your heart.

A whine works its way from your throat as he licks along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. When you open your mouth to him, his tongue slides along your own and you almost lose your balance. With a giggle you could swear you’ve never made before in your life you let him guide you up onto the desk.

He steps between your legs instantly, gripping your hips and continuing his tasting of you. Heat and electricity race down your spine as you fist your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you until there’s no separation.

Banging on the glass doors and whistles come from out in the mall and you freeze. Instead of jerking back in shock and alarm like you’d expect him to, Jongdae confounds you once again. He pulls back slowly, opening his eyes and lifting his hands to gently cup your face. It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but in less than the time it takes to watch one episode of Friends he’s turned your world on its axis.

You and Jongdae smile at each other and both turn to wave at your group of friends, who are celebrating and clapping. Baekhyun eats from an enormous bag of popcorn, wearing his theater uniform. Jongin and Sehun take large handfuls and Hitch whoops with joy. Liz and Jane and Junmyeon are all smiling, and attempt to force some of the group away to give you privacy.

Jongdae’s hands flex on your waist. ‘I want to try. You’re everything I want, will you please give me the chance to be what you need?’ His voice is raspy and his lips are red and you can’t help but grin.

‘I just want you, okay?’ You fix his messed up hair with both hands and sigh with relief. ‘And for you to admit you like me.’

‘I far more than like you.’ Jongdae rolls his eyes and kisses you once more. ‘You just want me to say you’re right.’

With a laugh you ease yourself off your desk, standing close within his arms and bending to whisper in his ear. ‘I’m always right. I just love when you admit it.’

‘So,’ he starts with an amused quirk of an eyebrow. ‘Will you let me take you to dinner? Us, officially, on a date.’

Your chest feels as if it’s a balloon, expanding so rapidly it might burst. He looks so young and boyish and hopeful your heart feels like it turns to liquid gold. With a delighted grin you lean forward and press your lips to his again, unable to resist.

Joy swims in his irises as he holds you in his arms. He looks at you through his lashes, his lips tilting into lopsided smile. ‘Is that a yes, then?’

‘Yes,’ you answer. ‘Of course.’

‘How’s right now for you?’ He motions to the doors and your friends have finally been corralled to the side of the walkway, revealing an elaborately decorated table in the food court.

You gasp and grip his arm. Jun and Sehun hold the doors open and Jongdae escorts you out. A red tablecloth is spread out over the circular table. The chairs have added plush cushions and several candles have been lit. A bottle of wine and two glasses rest beside several plates of food. You recognize the pizza from Barada, the rest looks like a mix from the other restaurants in the food court. 

With high fives and hugs from your friends they finally leave you and Jongdae alone. Well, almost alone. It’s not a busy time at the mall, but there’s no way to avoid some of the customers turning to watch with amusement and curiosity as they pass by. You pay them no mind as Jongdae holds out your chair and helps you sit. 

The two of you fall back into conversation easy enough, aided by the enormous amount of food and how you no longer have to move your knees away when they bump under the table. Jongdae reaches for your hand and holds it, in full view. He stares at the joined digits with warmth before looking up at you. 

Doubt passes across his face, marring the beauty that contentment lends his features. ‘I don’t -’ he struggles. ‘I don’t know how to keep this much good in my life. I worry that I’m going to mess it up.’

Neither of you are the type to openly acknowledge such things. Merely the fact that he’s voicing his fears to you shows you he’s doing what he said - he’s trying, he wants to change. And truthfully so do you. 

‘I worried for the longest time that I’d be alone forever,’ you say softly. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who understood me or who could handle all my - well, you know how I am.’ 

Jongdae smiles then, lifting your joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to your skin. ‘I love who you are.’ 

Your eyes mist at that and you groan, trying to blink them back. ‘Good, because I love who you are too.’ With your free hand you reach for his, needing to hold both of them and all of him at once. Not wanting to give his overly-analytical mind a chance to override the fragile hope you’re both building tonight. ‘You know what to do when a computer overloads?’

He nods. ‘Of course. Often it’s just a simple matter of turning it off and on again.’

‘So,’ you say, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. ‘When we mess up or freak out or say the wrong thing, we’ll just start over again. As long as you want me and I want you, we’ll figure it out.’ 

Jongdae softens, his shoulders dropping and ease coming back into his eyes. ‘I didn’t know I was lagging until you jump started my life.’ He waggles his brows. It’s a gesture that’s all Baekhyun, and a pun so terrible that Junmyeon would be proud. You can’t help but laugh and squeeze his hands. 

‘I’ve got one more surprise,’ Jongdae says, reluctantly releasing one of your hands to pull two narrow slips of paper from his pocket. ‘Do you have any plans for Christmas?’ 

The tickets are in both your names. First class round trip from Seattle to Amsterdam. ‘Oh my - Jongdae, what is this? You and me in Amsterdam?’ 

‘I figured it was about time,’ he says with pride. 

You lean out of your chair and reach for him, tugging him closer to kiss him fully. Noise reaches you - clapping and cheering from the shops around the mall. When you look around you see Sehun and his girlfriend leaning out of Starlight Apparel. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo smiling and fist bumping as they work on closing up the shop. 

Hitch nudges Baekhyun from the theater booth and he jumps in excitement. And from Guardians Junmyeon leans on the counter, resting his chin in his hand, giving a thumbs up. 

You roll your eyes and wave. ‘We maybe should have gone somewhere outside the mall, huh?’

'No, I think this is perfect,’ Jongdae answers. He then covers your mouth with his and holds you so tight that it drowns out the chorus of cheering that echos around the space. 

[soyforramen]

If I'm not too late, for the writing prompts: 9 and/or 47, dealer's choice

·  “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

·  You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

Angst below, in an AU timeline...ish

 --

             It felt like a fire had lit up her lungs, the smoke crawling up her throat and choking her until her breath rasped out into the cold night air.  Behind her, Jughead stumbled, his breathing coming like tidal waves.  Betty spared a quick glance at him as she yanked at his arm and pointed to the ridge beyond.  

             “Just over there,” she lied.  

             It was becoming easier and easier to lie to him.

             On their way up the ridge her feet slipped in the muddy wet leaves.  Her knees hit the ground and her teeth rattled hard enough to see stars.  Jughead slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her up the rest of the hill, his breath erratic.

             It was another ten minutes until they finally reached Archie’s car, the only one in the Sweetwater parking lot.  Not many people went hiking at 4 a.m., let alone to go chase down a kidnapped ex.

             Thunder rolled above them, the vibrations lingering deep in her bones, and they leaned around the car.  Jughead’s hand were on his knees, his breath gasping and desperate. His wiped at the water trickling down his face and coughed hard.  Betty kneeled on the ground, hands grasping at the loose asphalt as she forced herself to focus on counting rather than what she’d encountered tonight.

             “What the hell was that for?” Jughead wheezed.

             Betty shook her head, still unable to talk through her sore throat.  She let out a slow breath – 1, 2, 3, 4 – and breathed in again.

             “Why’d you try and save me?” he yelled over the thunder.  A crack of lightening illuminated them and she was startled by the intensity in his eyes.

             “Did you want me to leave you back in there?” she shot back.  Stars colored her eyes as she tried to stand, and she listed to one side, grasping for the car to keep her balance.

             Jughead snarled and paced towards the far end of the parking lot, ignoring the pouring rain around them.  From his limp, Betty assumed he had a Charlie Horse.  Betty wanted to chide him about not taking care of his body, about his inability to treat it as something better than a dumpster for all his repressed feelings.  It wasn’t her place, though.  Not anymore.

             Besides, it seemed cruel to point out, especially after he’d been on the verge of being tortured –

             “I don’t need your help,” he said when he returned, his words still punctured by small gasps.  “I had everything covered.”

             She snorted and stood up to face him.  A chill ran through her as the wind picked up, but she diverted the movement into massaging at her damaged wrist.  Jughead, still as perceptive as ever, didn’t miss her wince. He reached towards her, his eyes fixed on her wrist.  Realizing what he was about to do, he stopped short and bent over to retie his shoe.  

             Even from this angle Betty could see how thin he was.

             “I’m sure you did,” she said.  Even as the adrenaline seeped out of her body she still couldn’t keep the acid from her voice.  “That great, big escape plan of yours was going swell, though I’m curious as to what you were planning after you got chained up in the basement and held to the wall with duct tape.  Or did I miss something when I broke in?”

             Half her words were covered up by an angry burst of thunder.  Perhaps it was for the best; they’d both been through a lot.  Or, perhaps it would have been better to put it all out there, fight out their anger until there was nothing left remaining.

             Jughead’s lip curled, and Betty knew he’d caught enough.

             Betty narrowed her eyes.  Despite everything, she still didn’t know whether to trust him. There had been too much time between them, too much space and anger and -  Not to mention his aliens and her serial killer.

             “You can’t drive stick with a broken wrist.”

             “It’s not broken,” she said petulantly, her lip pursed like Juniper’s when she didn’t get the last cookie.

             Knowing that he was right, she dug into her coat pocket, angry with Jughead and herself.  Another gust of wind blew through their wet cloths, and they huddled into the cab of the truck.  As the engine turned over, Jughead scrubbed at the window with his damp shirtsleeves, trying to break through the fog that had followed them.  The water streaked across, unable to change, and he gave up on the idea.  With a grunt, he shifted into drive and turned towards town.

             “Stupid,” he muttered, and Betty side-eyed him.  

             Her first instinct was that he was talking about her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping.  After everything she’d done tonight, and he still couldn’t think anyone could care for him.  Betty stared out of the window, her fingers pushing and prodding against the delicate skin on her wrist, revealing in the sharp jolts of pain and irritation. Eventually the pain cleared through her fog of anger and she realized he was likely talking to himself.

             “Just –“

             Jughead stopped, cursing under his breath.  They came to a blind curve, halfway under water, and he shifted to first gear.  As they crept along Betty’s eyes began to shut.  She could feel her muscles relaxing as the adrenaline wore off, and the only thing that kept her awake was the potholes in the road.  In the flashes of lightening above them, she could see Jughead’s jaw clenching as he worked to keep something in check.

             Fine, she thought idly as darkness consumed her. Let him be mad.  It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t want to be near her.

             She was startled awake when the engine stopped. In front of them was the Andrews’ home, normally bright and cheery, but in this light it was eerily still in the pouring rain.

             “He’s not home tonight,” Jughead said flatly.  “You can stay in his room.  Unless you want to go home.”

             Betty shook her head, trying not to let her fear overtake her.  The house was empty and would be for the next week.  They still hadn’t heard anything about Polly, and Alice had taken the twins upstate to try and get their mind off of it.  After tonight (any night, every night, ever since – she cut off that particular voice, struggling to keep that terrible week out of her head), the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone.  

             The thought sent a shudder through her and she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep the chill from sprinting down her back.

             Jughead nodded, still staring straight ahead.  He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and was now jangling them in his hand.  He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain, not seeming to care whether Betty followed him or not.  She scrambled out of the car, towards the front door and slipped in after him.

             She held her breath, waiting in the long stretch of dark, for the lights to turn on.   When they did, it was nothing more than Archie’s living room, still messy and smelling slightly of old clothing and pizza.  

             Jughead stalked towards the kitchen, his face set in an emotion she couldn’t discern anymore.  A gut feeling told her it was because she was a stranger here, one who was encroaching not only on his ‘investigation’ but also on his personal space.  

             “I’ll make coffee,” Jughead said gruffly.  “Take a shower or you’ll catch a cold.”

             The way he’d said it, matter-of-factly and without any emotion behind it, contrasted so sharply with the fact that he’d remembered. He remembered, and wanted to let her know he’d remembered that she was prone to get colds when it rained. These little things twisted the knife deeper into her back and she tried not to think about her last foray into this home.

             “Thanks,” Betty said softly.

             She barely glanced at the mirror when she stepped into the bathroom.  A thick cover of mud coated her lower half, while leaves had taken up residence in her hair.  Her wrist, still throbbing and sore, was a swollen bright red.  As bad as she might have looked, Betty revealed in the metaphorical duality of it all.  Long ago, she might have said she was a good person, untouched by the corruption of life. Now, though, she felt as dirty and broken as she  looked.

             Pity about the boots though.  Real suede apparently didn’t mix well with the more wild side of life.  Betty didn’t dare think about what it would cost to buy Veronica a new pair.

             The pipes groaned as the water warmed up.  Peeling off her clothes was a chore, the damp, clinging clothes didn’t want to cooperate.  The wet slap of them on the floor was a loud echo as she stepped into the shower.  

             The warm water was practically sinful after tonight. She let it cascade down her skin and shut her eyes to the world around her.  Every inch of her body felt sore and bruised.  She dreaded even thinking about how she’d feel tomorrow.

             A draft of cold air sent goosebumps along her skin and Betty stilled.  She trusted Jughead, of course, and yet…

             The door shut again, and she peered around the curtain to find a set of clothing on the counter.  Her heart stopped when she recognized a grey S from so long ago.  Reluctant to let it out of her sight, Betty pulled the shower curtain to.   He’d always had a bad habit of forming sentimental attachments to things, to items that had no right to such kindness.

             But to have kept that shirt all these years?  To have kept her shirt?  Surely not.  Surely her eyes, tired and sore from lack of sleep, had deceived her.

             The ghost of her guilt churned again, deeper this time. A sharp pain went through her stomach – of guilt?  regret? hope?

             Betty picked up the bar of soap in her uninjured hand and scrubbed at her skin, hot tears running cold against her cheeks.  Careless.  She was always so careless with everything worth while.  Archie’s hands ghosted across her skin, his lips, his whispers they both knew were lies.  She was only looking for an escape, not another well to get trapped in.  This time, though, she couldn’t think of a single way to escape.

             A sob broke from her lips, and then another, and another.  She shoved her fist against her mouth and curled up at the bottom of the tub.   It was all she could do to keep from breaking up.  A part of her, the one that saw reason, was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier tonight when she’d seen Jughead half-conscious with a red welt on his forehead.  His head lolled absently against a support beam.  His hands tightly bound with duct tape.  Tight enough they were turning purple.  Those stupid glasses lay at his feet only to reflect the beam of her flashlight onto the chains that bound him.

             Images, real and imagined, flashed before her eyes. The well.  TBK laughing above her.  Polly, bound and gagged in the back of a cab.  The twins, facedown in Sweetwater. Squeeky Fromme’s dead eyes staring up at the night sky, milky and flat.  Jughead’s hands –

             Betty shook her head, trying to shake the images away. No, that hadn’t happened, she chanted internally.  It’s not real.  

             Not this time.  

             Long after the water had run cold, Betty finally came back to herself.  Her movements were slow and forced; her head felt uselessly full of cotton.  With a groan, she stood up and gasped as pins and needles threw her back to the ground.  Unable to do anything, Betty turned off the water, gritting her teeth as she waited for the feeling to come back into her legs.  

             Into her life, even.

             Now, with only the steady drip of a leaky faucet to keep her company, Betty heard just how quiet it was in the house.  The wind blew outside, stronger than ever, but it seemed as if the house itself had gone into hibernation.  Jughead had likely gone to bed, she realized.  Or maybe he’d been smart enough to know he should see a doctor after all.

             Perhaps that would be best.  Then they could both pretend tonight had never happened and go back to the chilly detente they’d found themselves living in.  

             With an anticipatory wince, Betty hauled herself up and out of the tub.  As she reached for the towel, she realized that the shirt loudly proclaimed ‘El Royale Gym’ in bright red letters.  She scowled at the dancing rooster, ordering it to be something other than it was. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

             Roughly, she pulled the shirt over her head, her damp hair catching at the collar, and stepped into the gym shorts.  Why she put herself through this, why she tortured herself with something so impossible –

             “Coffee’s on the counter,” Jughead said when she stepped out.  His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

             At least some things never changed, she supposed. Even that, though, rang hollow after what they’d been through tonight.  

             Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for something to occupy herself with.  She sipped at it a moment, giving him the chance to say something.  Do something.  When he didn’t, she didn’t know whether she felt relief, or disappointment.

             It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that he finally spoke.

             “Just tell me why you did it,” he said.  

She hesitated, knowing that this was her own personal Maginot line. Crossing this would mean the end of one life, and the beginning of another strange reality, one where she would have no control.

“Why did you come after me?  Why didn’t you call Sheriff Keller, or Archie, or –“

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Betty said.  Her voice was no more than a soft sigh, but it was enough to bring about a sudden calmness.

The calm before the storm, she thought morbidly.  Whatever would happen now, whatever was said…

She waited, counting to a hundred.  When he didn’t say anything, she set the coffee down on a side table and went to Archie’s room, shutting the door softly behind her.

(Part 2 here)

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - The Sapling of His Labors

A Drifting Stars AU one-shot, in collaboration with @clownwry.

1st, 2nd, 4th.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford hummed an old tune to himself as he worked on dinner. Rather than sitting in front of a fire-pit in the middle of nature, butchering food to make it edible, he was blessed to be standing in a humble kitchen with a stove, cabinets, counters, and everything. The only thing he didn’t have was a fridge or freezer, but that was okay. Ford worked calmly and at his own pace as he chopped up the onion, blinking the burning feeling away, and he used his knife to scoop the diced pieces of onion into the hot skillet, and it sizzled and immediately smelled good.

Ford smiled as he added the green bell pepper, and other delicious things from the garden, and then he gave the veggies and herbs a stir with his hand-carved wooden spoon. Estimating that dinner would be ready soon, he walked across the kitchen, through the living room with a fireplace, two rocking chairs, and a large homemade three-way desk with two chairs, and to the front door. 

The top half of the dutch door was already open, so he leaned against the bottom half of the door to watch his little girl run around with other kids her age, playing tag. “Mabel, honey, dinner!” He called. “Will you please bring some water when you come?”

“Okay!” Mabel called back cheerfully, and Ford trusted her to end the game soon and say goodnight to her friends as he went back to dinner.

The veggies were cooking well, so Ford threw some of Mabel’s special homemade butter into another pan, let it melt, and then he carefully laid two filleted fish down to cook.

The bottom half of the dutch door opened and Mabel came in with a bucket of water from their well. She grinned at the sight of him and sat the bucket down to use a ladle to pour some water into wooden cups. “Ms. Mahogany asked about you again.”

“Oh?” Ford raised an eyebrow at her, his smile still present.

“Yeah, I told her how just last night you told me you were lonely and only wanted someone to hold at night…”

Ford barked a laugh that Mabel joined in with, but she continued as she set the table. “Then she said her son is still single if…”

“Mabel, please!” Ford guffawed with rosy cheeks as he flipped the fish. “I wish you would stop trying to set me up with everyone in town.”

“But I’m a great matchmaker!”

“I know you are. Why not focus on someone else’s love-life?” Ford suggested as he began to plate the veggies.

“I don’t really care about everyone else’s love-life.” Mabel said with a shrug as she sat.

Ford snorted as he platted the fish on top of the veggies, one plate slightly smaller than the other.

“Well, not nearly as much as I care about you.” Mabel elaborated, and smiled sweetly at her uncle as he turned to set the food at the table. “I just want you to be happy, Grunkle Ford.”

The old man was a bit surprised by this, but he smiled softly and said, “I am happy, darling.” He sat the plates and himself down where they belonged, then patted his lap. “Come here.”

The girl didn’t hesitate to crawl into his lap and let him hug her. “I’ve got you.”

“Yeah, but imagine how much happier you’d be if you had me and a partner!” Mabel said optimistically.

Ford chuckled and brushed her shoulder-length hair with his six fingers. “Sweetie, I’m much happier now than I ever thought I would be.”

Mabel grinned at him and hugged him around the neck, allowing Ford to squeeze her gently and hug her back.

A little while later they sat by the fireplace, Ford in his rocking chair, and Mabel by his socked feet, propping her back against his leg as she knitted away. Ford used to tease her and wonder why he even built her a rocking chair, but once she explained she felt more comfortable against him, he let it go. Maybe next time they go to the store, he should trade fish for fabric so he can build a couch.

The eldest read a book out-loud while Mabel knitted, their favorite thing to do in the evening, when all they had for light was the fireplace and lanterns and the stars, but there were no stars tonight. Rain peacefully trickled down outside. They left the dutch door open to enjoy the smells and sounds and cool air, not a hint of a storm in sight.

Ford was enjoying the book, but not nearly as much as he enjoyed looking down at his beautiful girl. The sounds of her needles clicking as she worked, the way her brown eyes twinkled, the blush on her round cheeks, the shine in her hair. Ford had no idea what in the Multiverse he did to deserve her… No, he didn’t deserve her, but he was still grateful for her, and beyond happy he somehow managed to give her a happy life.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was very excited, too excited to let his little girl sleep in too much. True that he purposely got up early to get the eggs, milk the cow, and let the sheep out for her, but he decided to surprise her earlier rather than later, so he made her some pancakes and eggs, squeezed her some fresh orange juice, put a pretty flower on the tray for decoration, and tucked the present wrapped in parchment and card under his arm.

A soft knock alerted Mabel of company, and her door opening and a warm voice fully woke her up. “Mabel, honey,”

She grinned and sat up in her bed. Ford had no regrets. All his hard work was worth it for that smile. “Happy Birthday.”

Mabel was absolutely delighted by the sweet surprise, but a bit disheartened when she saw no plate for her uncle. She raised an eyebrow suspiciously at him, still too used to his bad habit of skipping meals so she could eat. Well, he didn’t have to do that anymore. “Grunkle Ford, where’s your breakfast?”

Ford smiled and chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s all fixed and downstairs waiting for me.”

Mabel smiled again and said, “Why don’t you eat up here with me? Then I’ll open my present!”

Ford nodded. That seemed like an even better idea than eating separately. So Ford retrieved his mug of coffee and pancakes, and when he sat at the foot of Mabel’s bed, she opened the card. There was no glitter to decorate it with and the card wasn’t nearly as colorful as Mabel would have made it, but Ford still drew plenty of pretty pictures for her and wrote plenty of kind words, and more importantly, he made it just for her.

Mabel grinned and thanked him for the card, sitting by her nightstand and candle so she could see it every day, and then she tore into her present. She gasped happily and squealed at the gift. Mabel had seen Ford sew here and there, but she didn’t know this was what he was working on.

It was a large quilt. It had many different patches, some with colors, some with pictures of animals, one with a shooting star and one with a six-fingered hand. There were so many different patches that Mabel felt she could look and look without seeing every detail.

Ford rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I asked everyone in town if they had scraps of cloth. I wasn’t sure what to get you, but you deserve something nice, and…”

“Grunkle Ford, I love it!” And Mabel let her new quilt fall on her lap so she could hug him tightly around the waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll use it forever! I love you, thank you!”

Ford chuckled and hugged her back tightly. “Y-You’re welcome.”

It wasn’t much, but it was better than what he could have done for her before.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford ran as fast as he could. He didn’t care how sharply branches pricked his face or how many times he stubbed his toe on a rock or tree root. The screaming rang in his ears. Mabel needed him.

He was grateful to find Mabel up in a tree, safe, but not for long. At the base of the tree was a giant black bear, roaring and growling and scratching the tree. It wouldn’t be long until the bear decided to try to climb. Ford gritted his teeth and allowed instincts to take over, animal vs animal.

Ford threw a rock and it hit the bear on the neck, making it forget the human cub in the tree and turn to the adult to roar warningly. Then Ford shot his crossbow and it hit the bear right in the shoulder, close to the chest, but not quite enough to kill it, only to anger it. Mabel screamed for Ford to run away, to get away, but Ford stood his ground as the bear charged at him and he rolled out of the way just in time, then shot the bear again, this time hitting it’s back.

The bear turned and roared at Ford, and he was prepared to pull the knife out of his boot and do some real damage, tired of giving warnings that the bear wasn’t hearring. But then something made everyone freeze. A small wheezing roar. A squeak from a cub. The little baby black bear ran out from the bushes and to its mother, who nuzzled the cub with her nose and stood protectively. Ford lowered his crossbow and nodded. Mabel must have accidentally stumbled across the cub, must have gotten too close, and the mother was being overprotective.

The mother roared once more at the humans and ran off into the woods with her cub, taking the arrows lodge in her with her. Well, good. That’s what she gets for going near Ford’s niece. Speaking of…

Ford turned to the tree and looked up at the frightened girl. “Mabel, are you hurt?”

“N-No. I’m okay.” Mabel looked at the spot where the bears disappeared and bit her lip. “I… I didn’t even see the baby one…”

Ford smiled and nodded. “It’s alright. You’ll find parents are quite protective of their kids. Can you climb down?”

Mabel nodded and carefully made her way down the tree. When she was about halfway down, she leaped into Ford’s arms and they hugged each other tightly, the crossbow still in Ford’s hand.

“Oh, Mabel, I was so worried…”

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry…”

“Shh, hey, it’s alright. I’m not mad.”

“I thought you… I thought…” Mabel mumbled into his shoulder, her grip on his coat extremely tight.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” Ford muttered to her as he walked them home. “I’ve got you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford walked home from the ocean, smiling with the large net filled with fish on his back. Mabel was with the sheep, as usual, and smiled and waved when she saw his safe return. The leaves were changing colors and the air was getting more comfortable and crisp. Soon winter would be with them, and rather than fish for money, Ford planned to build music boxes and carve toys, a brilliant idea Mabel had when she noticed how he missed tinkering and building. He enjoyed fishing, but it wasn’t like the old lab work that made him proud.

The next day, like always, Ford walked home and saw Mabel among the sheep, but this time she was chatting with a boy her age. Ford had seen the boy before, Mabel labeling him as a friend, but the old man couldn’t help but wonder if he should be putting money away for a small wedding, a thought that made his blood boil and his heart swell at the same time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford gave the soup another stir before ladling it into a bowl. Poor Mabel sat on the newly built couch, wrapped in her quilt, close to the fire, her cheeks and nose cherry red and dark circles under her eyes as she sneezed and coughed. Ford wasn’t as worried for her as he normally would be; it was just a bad cold. She would be alright. 

Weirdly enough, Mabel’s brain had decided to call it quits and she was nothing more than a rag doll, barely interactive and aware of her surroundings, which was fine by Ford. He could take care of her and the house just fine. He smiled softly and sat next to her, holding out a spoonful of warm soup for her. “Here you are, my dear. This will make you feel better.”

Shakily Mabel ate the bite she was given, but it burned and made her cough roughly. Ford rubbed her back and stirred the soup to cool it down a little. “That's it, easy does it. There we go, I’m sorry, sweetie.”

The second time was the charm; Mabel was able to swallow a second spoonful of warm soup no problem. She actually made a weak smile, then muttered to Ford, “Thanks Daddy,” and coughed roughly into her quilt. She patiently waited for her next spoonful, unaware of what she had done to Ford.

She had said it so innocently, so quietly… Was it possible, that in her weakened state, Mabel thought she was back home with her father? Even though she seemed out of it, she did seem aware of where they were; a few minutes ago, when Ford was making the soup, she had asked if the sheep were put away. And she had thanked Ford for making the soup when he first started on dinner. So, maybe, there was a small possibility that Mabel knew exactly who she was talking to, and she articulated with a title that felt fitting to her.

Ford smiled with a bit lip and held out the spoon filled with soup for her. “Y-You’re welcome.”

He smiled sympathetically as she sniffed again, her poor sinuses turned against her. But then she sniffed again, louder, and Ford began to notice it sounded different…

He also began to notice he was sore. And lying down. And wrapped up, like he was tucked in for bed.

Ford was pulled from his dreams and was sluggishly half-awake, his eyes still closed, and he bought his body some time to gather some strength by paying attention to his blind surroundings.

He could hear and feel a fire going. He was lying in a sleeping bag on the ground, and he could tell there were other things keeping him warm and wrapped up. Some damp cloth was on his forehead. And he could hear crying.

Ford forced his eyes open slowly and he discovered someone had taken his glasses off. He forced himself to work with his blurry vision and he sat up a little, leaning on his arm for support in search of his niece. She sat a few feet away, in a tight bundle. If Ford had to guess, she was hugging her knees and hiding her face in her arms and knees. “Mabel…”

She lifted her head up quickly, but then hid her face again, looking away from him and wiping her face dry with the sleeves of her coat. 

“Hey, no,” Ford said softly, taking the damp cloth off his forehead. “None of that, you don’t ever have to hide anything from me. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“N-No,” Mabel cleared her throat and finally turned to look at him; he was a little disheartened to see her trying to smile and still hide what was bothering her. “I’m okay. H-How do you feel? Tea is almost ready.” And she scooted closer to the fire on her knees to check on the teapot.

Ford sighed tiredly, his lips tight to try to keep her from hearing it. “Mabel…”

“Oh, here!” Mabel reached into a pocket of her uncle’s backpack and pulled out his glasses for him. “I thought I’d better take them off you so your face wouldn’t hurt.”

Ford smiled and accepted the visual aid. “Ah, thank you.” He slipped his glasses on and more clues came to his senses.

They were in the middle of the desert. Well, not entirely in the middle, it looked like there was a jungle a few yards behind them. Ford had also been blanketed with sweaters for extra warmth in the cold desert night. Everything seemed well in order and normal, except when Ford looked at his poor little girl. Her hair was a mess, frizzled and… Ford recognized that hairstyle. His hair often looked like that after he grabbed at it too roughly and tried to pull his hair out. There were dark circles under her eyes, eyes that didn’t sparkle. That legitimately scared Ford.

“Mabel…”

“Good! Tea is ready.” Mabel turned away from him again, refusing to look at him as she pulled out a cup for her uncle and poured him some hot drink. “Here, it’ll make you feel better.”

Ford accepted the drink and sat up fully. “Thank you.” He sipped it and watched Mabel carefully. She didn’t pour herself a cup. Or bring out the water canteen for something else to drink. Instead she held her knees and watched the fire dance. He opened his mouth to ask her if she was alright, but she beat him to it.

“How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? H-How’s your neck?”

“My neck?” Ford touched his throat, a bit confused, and answered, “I feel fine. Nothing hurts. Why?”

“We were ambushed. You got shot. You… You had a bad fever and wouldn’t wake up.” Mabel, still refusing to look at him, held out a dart to him that had been lying on the sand. “Here. I thought you might wanna study it.”

Ford adjusted his glasses and held the dart. It was quite long, but very skinny, and it had a red bull point at the top, like a sewing needle, but Ford recognized the dart. “Interesting. These are Hummie darts. They’re sold through the dimensions, they’re very useful for bounty hunting. See, the top here is filled with poison, just enough to render the body useless and to also hypnotize the target in a deep, dream-filled sleep. Oftentimes the dreams are the victim’s happiest memories or goals, so they won’t try to wake up. It’s also very fascinating because the side-effects are next to none, this makes these darts ideal if you want to bring someone in for questioning or for next-to-perfect condition.”

But Mabel wasn’t listening. Her eyes were still on the fire, she was still holding her knees, but her mind was elsewhere. Ford watched her mournfully and tried to remember what had happened.

Oh. Right.

They were in a different dimension than this one. They had been laughing and playing in the woods, unaware of who they were attracting. By the time Ford hoisted a laughing girl on his shoulders, a dart barely missed him and it hit a tree, causing him to run while Mabel shot pop-rocks with her slingshot. Ford can now remember feeling a tiny prick by his neck. He had hoped Mabel had accidentally pinched or pulled some skin on his neck, but she was horrified to have let a dart get past her. Ford managed to stop running and put Mabel down safely, shaking his head and even slapping himself to try to stay awake and attentive, but just as he was sharing a plan with her, he fell on his knees and collapsed into the grass, the last thing he heard was Mabel’s desperate please to be okay. Not to stay awake, not to help, but to be okay.

Ford put the dart and his tea down on the ground. “Oh, Mabel… You were amazing. Absolutely amazing! You saved us. You saved my life.”

“M-Maybe if I hadn’t asked you to play with me…”

“They were relentless. I’m glad we had fun and played.”

Mabel held herself tighter and turned her head away so it was out of sight. That broke Ford’s heart. What he wouldn’t give for her to just look at him. Had he done something? Had he scared her? He had heard that while under the influence of the Hammie darts, the body is as useless as a ragdoll, but… Oh. Maybe that had scared her. Mabel had no way of knowing what the darts did, she had no idea what kind of poison they were filled with. Did she refuse to look at Ford because when she did all she saw was the shadow of a dead man?

“Mabel,” Ford croaked longingly, and he opened his arms. “Please come here.”

Mabel was trembling. She sniffed again and swallowed a sob down.

She was a Pines, after all. She was going to be stubborn. So Ford scooted himself and the sleeping bag and pile of sweaters. He carefully began to scoop her up, but she finally broke and turned and hugged him around the neck, sobbing into his shoulder and allowing him to hold her close and burrow her in his arms and sweaters and sleeping bag.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright now.” Ford petted her hair and closed his eyes, giving everything he had into making her feel better. “I’m okay, I swear. You did an incredible job.”

“I thought… I thought…” Mabel croaked and swallowed to try to communicate better. “Y-Your eyes… they rolled! Into… y-y-you looked d…” And she choked and sobbed and held him so tightly her fingers ached, but she didn’t care.

Now Ford had never heard of that side-effect before. “Oh, Mabel, honey…”

“I k-k-know you’re okay now… I know… but I th-th-thought I was g-gonna lose you!” Mabel cried out, her throat sounding like it was going to tear in half. 

“I’m sorry…” Ford cooed to her and adjusted her so she laid by his heart and he felt her hands. Holy Moses, she was so cold. “I’m so sorry. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I love my little starshine too much to be anywhere else.”

Mable hiccuped a weak giggle and she nuzzled her cheek against his chest. “I love you, too, D-Grunkle Ford.”

Yup. Ford wasn’t shedding tears alongside her. No. A raindrop must have fallen on his cheek. On a cloudless night. Yeah, that was it.

[braiawrites]

Lost & Found

Summary: Admittedly, taking in a strange stray cat is not the brightest idea one might have when one lives in a world of faeries and magic and mythical creatures straight out of old wives’ tales. But no one told this to Jude Duarte, and so taking in that cat is exactly what she does... || From this prompt by @newblood-freya

Genre: Soft, Feel Good Fic

Words: 1862

Rating: sfw

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER TWO

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

Send me an ask!

***

Admittedly, taking in a strange stray cat was not the brightest idea one might have had when one lived in a world of faeries and magic and mythical creatures straight out of old wives’ tales. 

But it had been cold and rain had been pouring down in sheets, and the poor scrap of a cat had been huddled in a pathetic little ball among the trees of the Milkwoods, its pelt growing soggy in the onslaught. 

And if that weren’t pitiful enough, dawn had been creeping ever closer, and—while darkness was dangerous in the human world—nighttime in Faerie was quiet and as generally peaceful as it could get in a land where a wrong turn might spell death-by-endless-dancing. Yes, in Faerie, the darkness meant safety, whilst daylight brought dangers from stories untold. 

Consequently, when Jude had stumbled across the sopping black cat—literally, tripped over the thing, as it had lain in the dimming shadows��she had made the somewhat-horrible decision to have mercy on it. She was, regrettably, only human, after all.

“You look as lost as I feel,” she had admitted, crouched before the little creature, hand outstretched. It was staring at her with dark amber eyes, crouched low amongst the wet grass.

“Come now,” she coaxed. “I won’t harm you, little one.”

The animal had sidled up to her, somehow managing to seem hesitant and haughty all at once, and she had scooped it up and held it to her chest, wrapping her coat around its shivering body. 

She ran the rest of the way home.

~ ~ ~

Jude wasn’t entirely sure how Madoc would react to her bringing a cat into his house—she had a vague fear that he might view it as a meal, and a brief image of the lizardlike guard who had taken the tip of her finger for a snack flashed through her mind. 

She couldn’t leave the poor thing in the stables, lest the stablehands find it and kick it out, or one of the larger, carnivorous mounts decide to gobble it up, and so she slipped in through a servant’s door, pausing for a moment beneath the light of a torch set into the wall to peek into the folds of her jacket at the warm, wet cat huddled against her chest. 

“Alright in there?” she asked it, and smiled as the glowing amber eyes blinked back. 

Carrying her boots so as not to track mud through the halls, Jude tiptoed up the stairs to her room. She ducked into a guest room once, when she heard voices down the hall, but most of the manor was asleep by this time. 

As she snuck through the corridors, she felt, for a moment, like a normal human girl in a normal human world, perhaps creeping in late from a party.

“Sometimes,” Jude breathed, turning in to her room and closing her door behind her, “it’s nice to just pretend, don’t you agree?” 

The cat mewed, its little voice creaky.

“Exactly. You get it.” She plunked the creature on her bed as she stripped her coat off and slung it over a chair. The cat jumped down. It had left a little wet patch on her blankets.

“You poor thing,” she exclaimed, “you're soaking!” 

Grabbing a towel from the bottom of her wardrobe, Jude sat on the floor and pulled the cat into her lap. It sat patiently as she rubbed at its ears and shoulders, running the towel over its long, thin body. It closed its eyes as she patted at its soft cheeks.

“Cats are funny, you know,” she remarked to it. It opened its amber eyes at the sound of her voice, looking up to meet her gaze. 

“So delicate,” she scratched the animal on it's fine jaw bone with a single finger, “and yet, if you were to fall out my window, you could walk away perfectly fine.” 

The cat gave what Jude could only interpret as an indignant squawk and dug its claws into the damp fabric of her leggings. 

“I'm not going to throw you out my window,” she laughed, stroking its soft head. “Don’t you worry your pretty little kitty mind.”

They sat quietly for a few moments, the only sounds Jude’s breathing and the cat’s rumbling purr as she stroked its drying pelt, until Jude began to shiver in her damp tunic.

The cat meowed, climbing off her lap and kneading its paws on her leg until she went to grab a dry nightgown, and then turning its back to her as she peeled her wet tunic over her head. 

What a strange cat, she thought as she shimmied out of her leggings. She smiled. They were already covered in cat hair. 

~ ~ ~

Being a human among faeries, Jude had to fight for each moment she spent on the Isles of Elfhame. She had long ago learned that knowledge, while dangerous, was also powerful, and she had made it a priority to know what she could about the goings on of the Faerie court. 

So, naturally, when the palace messenger had arrived with urgent news, Jude had taken it upon herself to learn what he knew. He’d refused to divulge anything to anyone except the General himself, and so Jude found herself crouching outside Madoc’s office, her ear pressed to the door as the messenger began to speak.

“What do you mean the prince is missing?” Madoc rumbled. His voice carried a level of concern that Jude could not believe was entirely sincere. 

“His Highness Prince Cardan has not been seen nor heard from in three days,” the messenger boy repeated. “High King Eldred wishes you to conduct a search.” 

Despite herself, Jude found she held a modicum of respect for the boy; she would have snapped something smart at Madoc’s senseless question, and probably would have received a threat in return.

She held her breath, listening for the Redcap’s next words.

“Where was he last seen?” Madoc sighed. “Or who spoke with him last? Do you have any useful information for me?”

“Only that he was last seen with a pixie girl during the Full Moon Revel four nights prior to this. The girl has been detained but she hasn’t spoken.”

Jude’s chest tightened at the thought of the insolent prince wandering off with some pixie. The girl had probably been tortured for information, although if it were up to her, Jude would have provided ample compensation to the girl for having spent any time alone with Cardan. 

Against all conscious efforts, the thought of the prince’s long, slender fingers sliding up her skin crept into her mind, accompanied by a picture of his face—his cruel mouth and his dark eyes—jeering down at her. Her stomach lurched and she wrestled the nauseating images from her mind.

Madoc’s armour clinked as he marched toward his door. 

Jude spun on her heel and ran. 

~ ~ ~

“Kitty, I’m back,” Jude called into the empty darkness of her room. She tried to pitch her voice softly, but her nerves were still frayed from the messenger’s news.

The cat slunk out from under her bed, a living shadow with bright eyes, and watched intently as she set two small bowls down for him against the wall. 

After dashing away from her foster father’s office, Jude had stopped by the kitchen to find some water and scraps of meat for her furry visitor. 

By the time she’d made it back to the relative safety of her room, the faerie boy had already left, as had Madoc. If he had caught any sign of her presence outside his door, he had either deemed it irrelevant or had decided he would deal with her later.

The cat mewed, stretching up to hook his claws into her leggings. He had devoured the meal. 

“Someone was hungry.” Jude gave a small laugh and scooped the feline up. During the few days he’d been with her, she’d discovered that she quite enjoyed his company. He was a friend she could confide in without worrying her secrets would get out, and more than that, he was a presence she could stand to be around.

Jude pulled off her boots and plopped cross legged onto her bed, cuddling the cat in her lap, stroking his silken fur. 

“Enjoyed dinner?” she asked him.

He said, “Mrrow,” and yawned in her face, showing off long, sharp fangs. 

“Oh, really? And how was your day?” she hummed, to which he grumbled in response. She liked to make idle conversation with the animal, as though she understood him.

“Well, my day was lovely, thank you for asking.” She thought for a moment. “But it was a bad kind of lovely. You know when you get a bruise and it hurts but you keep pressing on it because you like the pain? Like that, but opposite. Like the sun is making the clouds shimmer, and it’s beautiful, but those clouds are going to cause a flood. The sky is still lovely, but it’s the kind of lovely that hurts.”

The cat’s eyes were fixed on her, shining that bright amber as he stared in the way only cats could. It made her uncomfortable.

“No, I suppose I’m not making any sense, am I?” She pulled the cat onto her chest as she lay back, staring up into nothingness, and stroked his back. She pretended the deep rumble of his purr was the thunder of a summer storm, shaking the earth before bathing it in a warm rainfall.

“I’m worried,” she admitted at last, shattering the spell. “It’s been three nights since he’s been in class, and I wonder where he could have gotten to. Why he’s not coming—not that I care about him, specifically. I just like to keep an eye on what he does and the specific messes he decides to make.” 

The cat looked at her sidelong, his gleaming amber eyes pinning her with a look that she couldn’t quite place, although it was decidedly human. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scolded, although the cat, being a cat, did not heed her request.

She sighed. Outside her window, the sky began to lighten as dawn crept closer, the daytime sky stretching up to meet the stars through fog and wispy clouds. Her kitty snuggled into her, tucking his head beneath her chin.

“I wonder if maybe he’ll never come back,” she mused, watching as the first drops of rain tapped at the glass, sparkling in the lamplight. 

The cat purred, sounding as though he agreed, which Jude found unfathomably funny.

“I think you and I get along rather well,” she told him.

“Mrrmm,” the cat grumbled, patting at her face with soft paws. He turned his amber gaze on her and she smiled, scratching the cat behind his ear with one gentle finger. She felt warm and content, listening to his purr, feeling his small weight atop her chest as she breathed.

“Maybe,” she hummed, letting her eyes drift back to the rain outside, “we were meant to find each other.”

The cat’s rumbling purr echoed in the space of her room, and Jude felt like she was home.

***

A/N: Alternatively titled Catboy Cardan 2021 but I somehow I felt like that didn't fit the vibes... Anywhomst—thank you, lovely human, for reading my self-indulgent Jude Gets A Cat fic! It had no plot and I did not proofread it, but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!! If you have the time, I'd love if you reblogged and left a comment to let me know what you thought. Thank you again for reading, lovely, and I send my best wishes your way!

(PS: Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list!)

Tagging:  @stardustsroses @nahthanks @jurdanhell @my-one-true-l @thefolkofthefic @newblood-freya

[bvccy]

Tenderness and Ferocity | 3. The Dream and the Third Day

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Reader Fic Synopsis: The Winter Soldier is starting to make stupid mistakes in the field, which is Bucky's way of trying to wrest back control and sabotage his handlers. Hydra brings a new doctor to figure out what's wrong with him and fix it. As she spends time with him, she becomes fond of the Winter Soldier, and he becomes fond of her. Bucky has other ideas. Or, a fic in which the Winter Soldier is the good guy and Bucky is actually the bad guy. Warnings for this chapter: Angst, Smut, Noncon Word count: 2334 Read on AO3: [link] [Previous Chapter] [Fic Masterlist] [Next Chapter]

"Life in essence can only be sustained because of the discontinuity. Why else does one sleep? Not to rest, but above all to forget. [...] If one could prevent mankind from sleeping, I am convinced that a massacre without end would ensue; it would mean the end of history." — Emil Cioran

All the useless gadgets clattered, without clattering, to the floor. The exposed skin of her back shone against the pressing dark, under a light that wasn't there. Her arms stretched out in front of her to grab the table, to clench in little fists, to crawl away from him... He clasped both her wrists in one heavy hand while he held her by the hip with the other. The stranger looked unfamiliar and out of place, yet boyishly handsome, a lissome thoroughbred cut from pale stone.

He'd already yanked her shirt halfway down her back, leaving a delicate pair of peachy straps to cut into her shoulders as she tried to pull herself up and away. With his other hand, he raised the black flag of her skirt inch by hurried inch. Two flesh hands, pawing at her squirming silhouette.

Those legs that had teased him so were now buckled in a tangle of red lace, at once parted and constricted and leaving her fully victim to him. Above her he loomed, then leaned, slowly down to feel her warmth, his dark green shirt sticking against her back.

In a voice dry with disuse he taunted her to say that she wanted it, to beg for it, though he sounded utterly disinterested and his eyes — he couldn't actually see his eyes, but he could hear that same disuse and disinterest ringing in their glare. She whimpered underneath him but said nothing, insulted from both directions by his grimy touch and transparent insults.

"Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?" said the stranger — but not to him, nor to her — as he buried his face in her fragrant hair and his hips into hers and himself into her... But no relief came, nor satisfaction, and it felt like no matter how close he got to her, couldn't be further away.

He battered and battered and broke through, with great delight at just the effort, and he made tremors rise then relent in her tense legs. Her high heels tapped against the floor in a trembling rhythm that undercut her plaintive moans until he stopped, and settled inside her, and laughed against her shoulder in a harsh exhale. He taunted her over how she sounded, how she felt, how he felt in her.

The more she withdrew, the more aggressively he followed, always fighting her and pulling the fight out of her in honeydew dollops that had nowhere left to go but to seep and stain his nice trousers. Her shoulders went up in a useless attempt to hide, but he squeezed her wrists in warning and bit her shoulder, the nape of her neck, anywhere he could reach that would punish her until she learned to stay still.

"Oooh yesss, that's it... I hate you so much." he laughed in manic joy, eyes falling closed against her throat.

The hand that held her hip squeezed her closer, pressing her so desperately against him like he was trying to crawl up inside and never leave. She whined in pain, muffled by her arms and the table. The stranger cooed against her ear and teased against her hips, turned her inside out and back together, discordant with her mewls and wails as he clung to her and she unconsciously to him the more his galloping pace opened her up and brought her out to meet him.

He wasn't so much pleasing himself as punishing her, and only interrupted his focus to laugh or hiss at some new-discovered throbbing, a frisson to rub against, a frothy surrender that he worked hard to push through until she took it again.

"I'm gonna kill you," he snarled down at her. "I swear I'm gonna kill you..."

No amount of resistance could carry her through his punishing thrusts, and no surrender was enough, and it all went on and on until the threads holding her up started to unravel, leaving her a blushing rough and bloody shade that the stranger could claim as an extension of himself. He rubbed away the parts that weren't base and grimed up what was left. Only thoughtless sounds came out of her now as she struggled to fit him, and fit into him.

The stranger heaved hotly with the effort of holding still, feeling over and through her deliberately and seeking still more, pressing his body down to suppress her new, aching, wet shivers.

With a pain melting through her surrender, down, down into pleasure, she tried to plead with him and she moaned his name, his real name, but after the first flush of recognition he stopped caring because he knew he wouldn't remember it anyway and —

Wait, why wouldn't he remember it?

Eyes shot open only to be greeted by the cement ceiling of his cell. The Soldier sighed and turned his head, looking at the corner where the bulbous little camera was. He looked to the door and saw the parting screen still closed shut — he was awake too early. With a groan, he turned over in his cot and pressed the cold metal hand where he ached.

On their third session, after the guardsmen left, he stepped into the room to find a collection of strange equipment and wires on the table, and a mix of subtle scents coming from two wooden containers. She sat in her chair, waiting for him with a smile, her sleek legs crossed together tightly. She wasn't wearing her lab coat anymore.

"Good morning." she said as they closed the door. "Come on in, sit down. None of this stuff is going to hurt you, I promise."

Reluctantly, he obeyed, his boots sounding slow and heavy through the room as he made his way toward her. He let himself fall in the seat and rested his hands on his tense thighs.

"It's just a GSR monitor. I'll only strap these around your fingers, you won't feel a thing." She demonstrated by wrapping one around her finger, wiggling, holding it up for his doubtful eyes. He had no choice anyway, so he rested his right arm on the table. She took his hand and opened the palm up, holding it gently while her other hand went to a little tube and scooped up a salty-smelling goo.

"For conductivity." she explained as she rubbed it just barely in his tough skin. "Be grateful it's not an EEG, otherwise I'd have to rub this stuff into your scalp. You'd look like a punk that got lost in the rain." she laughed, but it died quickly as the Soldier frowned and shifted in his seat.

Then she took two of the straps and wrapped one around his index, another around his middle finger, and turned his palm back down. She clicked the machine on and it beeped in confirmation, beginning a reading of his skin and what was going on underneath.

In plain terms it was a rudimentary lie detector, meant to scan for stress and some primitive emotions. Maybe he knew that or he didn't, but she could tell she had to work him into it, calm him down before she could get an accurate reading of what moved him.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"You have a watch." he grunted, looking at the worn leather strap around her wrist.

"Yes, but do you know?" she smiled.

"0803 hours."

"Yes. Do you know where we are?"

"Headquarters Alpha 3."

"Good. Do you know what day of the week it is?"

"No."

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you have any dreams?"

"No." he said with a sardonic smile. The line on the monitor moved ever-so-slightly, but it could just be a reaction of their tiff about it the other day. Or, he was lying to her again.

They spent the rest of their session with him strapped up to it while she made use of a couple of boxes and the little things inside. With eyes closed, he had to guess what she placed between his fingers: a piece of velvet, silk, a pocket watch, a cufflink, a snow globe.

The edge that separated the Asset from whoever he was before was smudged only so slightly, by necessity, the way it was with all the other soldiers in the program — they could still talk, after all, and read and write, and still employ the complexities of hand-to-hand and armed combat, all things they learned in a past life and used now for Hydra's ends. What made her soldier the best was how sharp that edge was, how steady — until it wasn't.

He retained good coordination, if his finely drawn clock was anything to go by, a steadiness that an unbalanced brain would have found difficult. They had tried, with past soldiers, to split the two brain hemispheres physically, severing the membrane that bridged between them in an effort to isolate the old soldier from the new.

The right hemisphere housed contextual perception and feeling, while the left was honed and focused and precise. They even grew to slightly different sizes, in parts, even though the skull that covers them is evenly shaped. It remained in mainstream medicine a mystery, one that Hydra explored with relish.

But all that resulted from their experimental surgeries were monstrous malfunctions. As it turned out, the left hemisphere dominated most of the body even when separated, and Hydra's soldiers were left imprisoned in the right brain, at best controlling one arm and some eyesight.

Removing the whole left hemisphere also didn't yield any improvements, even after recalibrating what remained. There were even more extreme experiments suggested, but they were deemed too damaging to put the soldiers through, too harmful for staff morale, and too uncertain in their results.

It was clear that a successful subject had to keep all his faculties, all the useful memories in whatever form, while imposing the dominance of the right hemisphere over the left. In a way, the Soldier had been there all along, growing with the unwitting owner of that body, learning, judging for himself and reaching, inevitably, different conclusions.

There always was something slightly more sinister in the right hemisphere, which only emerged when it was freed from the left, or when the left was in a dream state and its control dropped. So it was clear which side Hydra drew its soldiers from, when it freed that part of them with their infernal brain-machines.

The wavering of that edge also explained why her Soldier had such excellent memory, remembering even obscure European countries well, but also their capitals, which Hydra never saw fit to teach him. And as she went through more little things that stood out against the strictures of their base and his missions, it emerged that, though steady, the line that separated her Soldier from someone else was kept at his convenience.

The man underneath was generously lending his memories of what fancy little cufflinks and snow globes felt like, just so the Soldier who had never seen them before could give the right answers. But what she needed to figure out was how much of the control was the Soldier's intention, and how much was unconscious reflex. If the man aimed to sabotage his missions, would the Soldier even know? Worse, if he wasn't aware of anyone else sharing his brain, could he really control him?

Would he want to?

For Hydra, her mission was simple: root out the part that dissents, make it submit. They were too focused on efficiency to know what they were truly asking for. They had no idea how bad it could get, or how good...

"That's enough for now. You can open your eyes while I get the next batch, we're almost done. This last bit is just some food tests."

"As long as it's not from the mess hall."

She was halfway to the sink, a small wooden crate in her hands, when she started laughing. "I promise it's not. So it's true what they say? Way to a man's heart..."

"Is through his rib cage."

Her laughter rang through again, but he kept his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the sound of her running her hands under the water, arranging things on a plate, and wiping her hands dry on the threadbare cloth that hung there.

"Close your eyes now." she spoke as she stepped closer from behind. The plate clinked as it met the metallic table, right by his hand, and he smelled and felt the heat of her as she stood right in front of him.

"I'll give you some things to taste, and you just tell me what they are. And they're all pretty soft. Alright? First one. Open..."

Something was nagging him from the back of his brain again, jeering at him for the childish position he was in, but he couldn't think of anything to feel ashamed over.

"Strawberry."

"Good. Now, swallow and... again..."

"Grapes."

"That's right. This next one is a bit, well... Just open and tell me."

He bit into a soft and shapeless thing that tasted like, if anything, a green paste. "I don't know what this is."

"Avocado. Maybe you've never had it before. Better make a wish, then."

"What?"

"Never mind. Open for me again..."

"Mint?"

"Yes, that's a mint leaf. It's perfectly safe, you can swallow. Now, this one will come in a spoon, so open wide." She let the cloying thing slip on his tongue and the taste spread in his mouth in a way that was familiar but unusual.

"Tastes like... roses."

"Yes, that's rose petal jam. If the Director only knew what I spent my funding on, spoiling you..." she giggled, but it died quickly as he kept frightfully still and his jaw tensed. From the corner of her eye she saw the GSR give an angry twitch.

"Right, one more and we're done. Open, and tell m—"

"Plums."

[emersonfreepress]

Which ros where makeup and what’s their go to style?

ohohoho yesss talk fashion to me ^ ^ p sure I passed on this question last year but w/e😅

make-up:

Kile likes smudgy kohl liner on occasion (i'm talkin proper grunge style; vaseline baby), but they don't go out enough to warrant bothering with it. Standing in front of a mirror and fiddling with their appearance makes them self-conscious anyway. Like they're turning into Gabe 😆

Jessie mostly saves make-up for events and parties but loves lip gloss too much to skip it, even at school. Prefers brown eyeliner!

Rupan/Rohan is pretty easy to spot with smudged, dark liner on (or remnants of it, depending on how the night before went) but just as easily seen without any makeup on; Rupan sometimes wears black lipstick.

Vivian wears makeup for parties and events but pretty visibly despises it.

Heidi regularly wears make-up before leaving home, but she's not against skipping it completely when the mood strikes her.

go-to styles (for fall, anyway!):

for clarity, I'm listing | general rules of their personal style; tops; top layers; bottoms; shoes; accessory

Gabe | big-name brands, pristine condition; Henley tees, basic tees; sweatshirt or windbreaker; shorts or blue jeans; sneakers or work boots; wristwatch

Kile | baggy, distressed; graphic tees, striped tees; thick flannel or an open collared shirt; jeans, hiking pants; either combat or hiking boots; chain necklace

Jack | casual and practical; nerdy graphic tees, old band shirts; hoodies or cardigans; blue jeans or loose chinos; Chucks or New Balances; his favorite baseball cap

Jessie | cheerful colors, comfy fabrics; Western shirts, commemorative t-shirts; cutesy knit sweaters, windbreakers; pleated skirts, blue jeans; chunky sneakers with beaded shoelaces, cowboy boots on occasion; fanny pack!

Rain | designer/couture everything, aesthetic and colors depend entirely on mood; spaghetti strap tanks, eclectic blouses; denim vests, bomber jackets; jumpers, leather pants; platform Mary Janes, platform Oxfords; choker

R | blacks mostly, repurposed, thrifted items; grungy band tees; denim or leather jackets; torn black jeans or dark blue jeans; well-loved combat boots, Vans for skating; patches, pins, studs, and/or permanent marker on anything sturdy enough

Rupan | denim mini skirts w/(normally torn) tights

Vi | primary colors; classic, funky sweaters; stripes and color block patterns; light denim jeans; boat shoes

Vivian | earthy tones, oranges, soft texture; loose, flowy button-downs, neutral or casual; corduroy and denim jackets; pleated dress slacks; mules; brown leather belt

Vincent | preppy brands, light colors; polos and Oxford button-downs; cable-knit varsity sweaters and sport coats; fitted chinos; brogues; complementary tie

The Emersons basically have their prep look and their can-I-be-me look.

Heidi | forest greens, luxury fabric; V-neck button down or a Raglan tee; pullover sweaters or light flannels; fitted mini skirt or distressed blue jeans; white Keds or Chucks; cross necklace

Curt | whites, pastels, hugs the right places; polo shirts or a tourist-y graphic tee; blazers or corduroy jackets; go-to-hell pants or blue jeans; boat shoes or Adidas; wooden bracelet

this took me so long to finish lol