#just yesterday i was only singing it in my mind and fucking bawling my eyes out

[seekmemystar]

desi aimee @vintagetee13

[god1ngs]

━‎ visitation

synopsis; a certain someone pays a visit

contains; major angst, arguing, one mention of vomit, swearing

day two + 1.6k wc

note; sorry this took so long! but here is day two :]

previous part ; seven days masterlist ; next part

   your rage fit from yesterday had calmed down, allowing you to be at peace once you awoke. the ache of your knuckles, red and scraped, had reminded you of it ─ the anger that coursed through your feelings, for not only your nation but yourself as well.

   the deal you made with dream hasn't, and won't, gone away. how you wished it was that easy. how you wished the contract would leave you alone. the nagging of his words, constantly on repeat in your head, made your everyday life harder and harder.

   knowing when you would die haunted you.

   it was the second day, you had noticed. you didn't want to get out of bed, didn't want to face the world that morning. however, life didn't quite work out in your favor. you sighed, dreading the hours that would follow once you got up.

   a banging at your door had been the push to get you out of bed. you frowned, almost ignoring the other before getting out of bed. you frowned, an anguishing weight being shoved on to your shoulders as you got up. you pushed open the door, revealing a familiar brunette.

   wilbur, who had been making his daily rounds around the crater that was his country, had decided to come check up on you. the state you were in yesterday had worried him, not allowing a peaceful night. he gave a small, yet weak all the time, smile. a hopeful flame ignited in the smile.

   "are you alright? i wanted to check on you." his thick british made you more hopeful of a greater future, one where you weren't threatened by the laws of the land. you have a sigh, nodding your head before apologizing for your outburst. wilbur, in his naturally good nature, waved you off with a smile.

   "don't worry about it, [name]. we all get mad sometimes. i'm just glad i found you before you hurt yourself more." the brunette said, placing a hand on your shoulder. wilbur was someone who always knew how to calm others down, someone who could pick a persons brain in a matter of moments.

   you leaned into the touch, one of the only comforting feelings you've had in days. dream's words came to your mind, making you shudder. wilbur, having noticed, spared you a glance. "are you cold?" he asked and, although you wanted to say no, you couldn't give any indication that you were scared.

   at your nod, wilbur stripped himself of his suit jacket, placing it over your shoulders. the man smiled at you, truly a gentleman. "it is a bit cold around here. you can keep my jacket until you find one for yourself, yeah?" he told you, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

   wilbur had always been kind like that, gentlemanly in his own sweet ways. the brunette had always acted like this around you, giving you his jacket whenever you were cold or shooting you a smile whenever you were sad. he was like your rock in hard times.

   he was one of your most trusted friends, you could even say you would trust him with your life.

   you and wilbur talked more, although the conversation was mostly him. dream's words still haunted you. they replayed in your mind like a broken record, scratchy and out of tune, yet terrifying all the same. you weren't ready to face death yet.

   you weren't ready to die.

   you still had so much to live for.

   and yet, fate worked in cruel ways.

   wilbur had noticed how weird you were acting. he had always been observant, coming with his natural person and his role as president. you weren't there, off in a distant world doing god knows what. he wasn't the one to be nosy, but he was curious as to what was on your mind.

   the birds chirped their melodious tune, a peaceful melody to interrupt the dreadful silence.

   explosions cut through the silence. loud and abrupt, the explosives at the entrance of l'manberg, already blown up beyond recognition, exploded. people came rushing out of their homes, scared and confused and tired. the war was still taking its toll on them.

   always making the grand entrance, stood dream. his smiley face mask, chipped at the edges from years of wear and tear, stared back tauntingly at the citizens; it mocked their fear. he didn't say anything for a moment, only staring. waiting and watching for someboy else to make the first move.

   "for fucks sake, dream," shouted tommy, irritated. "what do you want now!? you already blew up l'manberg and now you're doin' it even more!" the tangent he was about to go on was interrupted by wilbur placing a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. wilbur stepped up, appearing to not be afraid of stepping up to dream.

   "what do you want dream?" he asked coldly, eyes of steel narrowed at the other man. dream only snickered, his smirk obvious. he only came to taunt you all, to shove his win in l'manbergs face. the face that l'manberg wasn't free overjoyed him.

   "oh nothing," dream said in a sing song tone. "just wanted to come by to see one your people, wilbur." wilbur hadn't known what to reply, the response from dream confusing him. he opened his mouth to speak, yet you couldn't hear or decipher his words.

   dread washed over you. it enveloped you in its cold embrace, smothering you while you begged for it to stop. you almost wanted to plead, to plead dream to leave you alone. you swallowed harshly, nervous as dream scanned the crowd ─ presumably for you.

   maybe you could leave. if you slipped out quickly, no one would notice. you could leave so easily, without interfering with what was happening. although it would be a cowardice move. you blinked back your fears as you stood there, silently hoping he wasn't there to see you.

   the universe didn't seem to hear your pleas.

   dream had came up to you, grinning and glowing with glee. "[name]!" he exclaimed, the sadistic undertone clear in his words. "how've you been?" you could only stand there in shock, all eyes on you. your next few moments depended on this, for you could lose your life within a few minutes.

   your lack of an answer clearly displeased him, his grip on your shoulder increasing. you winced, hissing underneath your breath. "i've been okay." you stammered meekly, reluctant in answering his question. he only smiled wider, letting go of your shoulder.

   "good, good! i came to remind you of our little deal. remember what my words were, okay?" your blood ran dry at his words, and so did everyone else's judging by their reactions. dream only turned, saying goodbye to the citizens of l'manberg and being on his way.

   all eyes were still on you when he left. they didn't leave you even as you crumpled in on yourself, grasping at whatever warm skin you could find. shouting began quickly. tommy was shouting, yelling at you for what deal you had made with dream.

   you could see wilbur's shocked face. disappointment shone on his features, his creased brow in confusion making you want to vomit. he stopped tommy yelling, although only a short amount of time before it began again, while walking up to you. "you made a deal with dream? the villain?"

   you couldn't speak even if you wanted to. words wouldn't make it past your throat, you almost clawed them out. you only choked on them, eyes wide and panic filled. you were scared of losing your friends, as well as your life.

   telling them about the deal would be going against him, right?

   you nearly started sobbing. the reminder that you were around people who expected you to be strong stopped the urge. you sniffled, opening and closing your mouth to speak yet no words making it past. wilbur's disappointment strengthened.

   "[name], tell me what deal you made with dream." the firmness of wilbur's voice had been one you hadn't heard directed at you before. to tommy, and sometimes tubbo, but never you before. you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that voice came with. he put a hand on your shoulder, and the familiar comfort didn't come with it this time.

   "i can't, wilbur..." you choked out, the fear of power from dream outweighing any of your friendships. you couldn't bear your death coming earlier, as well as your friends having to watch it. tears steamed down your face, lip quivering and eyes fluttering. wilbur showed no pity. he wasn't the kind man who had offered his jacket before.

   "i'm sorry, [name], but until you tell us what deal you made with dream, you can't be here anymore."

   the words taunted you. they laughed and mocked and jeered you while you sobbed. you could only look up at wilbur, stammering out words you don't even know made sense or not. he apologized again and, with that, escorted you out of l'manberg.

   you cried as you left.

   you had no where to go. your home was l'manberg, and now you had been escorted out by your friend of years. you didn't know where else to go except the lake. the lake you had met dream only days ago, your own pathetic relfection staring back at you. your eyes were red and puffy, a significant indication you had been bawling.

   footsteps approached you, and much like that night only days ago, there dream stood.

   you flinched as he sat next to you. he hummed, leaning back on his palms, grass blades tickling his fingers. he looked up at the sky, the twinkling night stars. you sniffled. he let out a sigh, one of content and pleasure.

   "this is going to be the worst week of your life, and i'll make sure of it."

   he would keep his promise.

taglist, (open)

━‎ ‎ ‎@paradigmax ; @pachowpachowbucket ; @acatstalkingyou ; @angelicaschuyler-church ; @saucey-kneecapzz42020 ; @piano-boo ; @i-need-hugs ; @strawbrinkofdeath ; @halloweenpoison13 ; @boiled-onionrings ; @feverish-dove ; @ahmya-4 ; @queenwastaken

[guudak]

andante, andante

pairing: jungkook / oc genre + tags: college au, f2l, alcohol, pining word count: 7,522 The aftermath of your best friend singing that ABBA song, clumsily flirting with you and then drunkenly professing his love to you multiple times in the same night.

“Is he ok? Namjoon, what’s he doing?” 

“He’s severely hungover,” he explains to you, propping an arm on the windowsill. His hand gestures. “This is his remedy.” 

You look out the window again, overseeing the frat’s backyard, and down below at the deck - is the person you sought. The gales shake the trees, you can hear it howl, and not to mention the downpour of rain that had you soaked to the skin through your jeans between your sprint from the bus stop to here. You look back at Namjoon, disbelieved. “What, sitting in a hot tub outside in the middle of a hale storm?”

“Erm, well, not the storm bit. That was just unfortunate. Sitting meditatively in a hot tub though, yeah. He does that a lot, moreso when he has something on his mind.” He peeps a discreet eye at you while you claim a seat on the ledge. Your arms cross, huddling your oversized cardigan over yourself as you glance back at the mop of matted black hair on the deck. Jungkook is sitting very still, laying back, eyes closed and his neck craning upwards towards the gloomy sky. A breath of air expels from your nose when you imagine how cold the rain must be. 

“I really wanted to talk to him in person … I don’t know, do you think I should have waited a few days?” You turn to Namjoon who shakes his head. 

“It’s good you came here. I think it would have left him to assume the worst and overthink otherwise, and you know what he’s like - better to confront him sooner than later. He’s been in a kind of sad, mopey daze since this morning.”

Your lips purse together as you mull this over. “I don’t necessarily want to confront him about it now, not if he doesn’t want to yet. I just want to see him and … make sure he’s ok. Because you know, that … overthinking thing he does.”

The upward lift of Namjoon’s lips is soft, the same kind of softness that’s perceptible in his eyes. The look reminds you of Jungkook’s own gentle demeanour. “I think seeing you here will disorient him a litte, but I think deep down he’ll be relieved. ” 

He invites you to sit in the warmth of the lounge downstairs while you wait. The house of Beta Tau Sigma is cosy, and your favourite visits are always during the winter period when they’d decorate the interior, reminding you very much of the setting of a classic Christmas movie. Alas, however, it isn’t winter, and there are still strewn cups around and a broken lamp on the table in front of you; consequence of the party they hosted the previous night.

You’re surprised Jungkook remembers. He’d been so far-gone yesterday, yet you woke up this morning to four successive texts from him -

i’m sorry

im so so sorry.

can we talk

please

You’d thought over a tactful reply; taking into mind Jungkook: despite the calm, rational front he has - is emotional, an individual with a soul as sensitive as they come. You had to be careful with what you said, but soon after aborted all efforts when you’d found yourself backspacing each time. You prefer face-to-face conversation, and for something like this - you couldn’t possibly venture any other approach that would be befitting. For anyone else, perhaps. But Jungkook isn’t just someone else. He’s your best friend.

You check the text in reply that you’d left for him from two hours ago, which is still left unread.

 hi jungkook i’d love to talk

are u ok

Sleeping it over had dulled the shock from the night before, as hearing it from him had been a double whammy for both your head and heart. You hadn’t known what to think, hadn’t known what to say.

In his tastefully tipsy state he’d been very happy. The chirpy go-lucky sort of happy that made you coo. Tipsy Jungkook is sweet and endearing, more affectionate and made it his mission to pull you with him to the karaoke machine. You’d been friends with him long enough to know that he could sing. He’s a soft singer; has a voice that could be lullaby to late sleepy evenings, it’s one you’d heard snippets of because he did it without conscious thought; he hummed in the car, while waiting in line - one of his many mannerisms that makes clear when he’s in his head.

“ABBA? Good choice,” you’d commented, after he jabbed the numbers on the remote. He budged over so you could sit beside him on the armchair. So cramped and close that you moved to drape your leg over one of his, and he welcomed it. “Not their most popular song, but definitely one of their most soulful. That’s a good one, it’s one of my favourites,” and then he stilled. 

At the cease of his movements, you’d found your spine straightening just slightly, as if on guard, but for what you hadn’t been sure. You were about to ask him if he was ok, only to be taking the brunt of his bright puppy eyes that smile at you.

“Me too,” he’d said, with that characteristic gentleness shining in his orbs. 

A few hours later, he’d morphed from sweet boy-next-door with the angel voice to himbo football jock slash and quote “pussy-whisperer,” courtesy and words verbatim of Park Jimin, who vibed with Jock Jungkook like a long lost brother. 

The amount of girls that suddenly flocked to him and sat on his lap had you reeling in hysterics to the extent that you had to bury your face in Hoseok’s shoulder. Even when Jungkook’s on the football team, you’d never thought of him once as a jock. Didn’t they say all jocks are athletes, but not all athletes are jocks? He’d never lived up to the greasy college stereotype. Turned out maybe some alcohol was missing in the mix. Was this what you were missing? Who knew he had it in him?

“How many have you had, man?” Hoseok had asked, and Jungkook grinned, mouth lop-sided, before then thwacking him solidly on the back. 

“I’m good, thanks for asking, man.” 

“That wasn’t what I - ok,” Hoseok winced, clutching at his shoulder blade, and exchanging a bemused look at you. 

You were alert to the sliding gaze of Jungkook on you. He slid into the chair close beside you, and you propped your elbow onto the counter. Head resting in your palm, you’d anticipated it.

“Hey, cutie.”

And there it was.

Your mouth twitched during your attempt to stifle your laugh, but you were eager to play along. You straightened, not shy to look him direct in the eyes, even when his own wandered to your midriff. “Hey.”

A moment’s pause, before he let out a wistful sigh. 

“Holy shit, I love your boobs.”

Hoseok spat into his cup, a succession of coughs after.

“No, I’m just saying, from a non-biased, impersonal point of view …” He made a vague, rounded motion in the air with his hands, “- they’re really nice. I’m saying this objectively.”

“Objectively,” Hoseok wheezed. You aimed a calculated kick at his ankle.

“Thanks! They’re not much but they’re cute, I grew them all by myself.”

Jungkook hummed in acknowledgement, a critical eye on you and his head bobbing solemnly. “You did a good job.”

“Oh my God,” Hoseok was crying; head ducked, full-blown tears of laughter, ears pink and slapping the countertop. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Yours are pretty neat, too,” you told him. 

He looked down at the outline of his chest. “You think so? I’ve been working out but they could do with a bit more volume.” 

Hoseok was doubling over, desperate to leave but at the same time rooted to the spot, thumping his chest to stop himself from choking. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m gonna die if I stay any longer. See you, guys.”

He left, leaving you alone with Jungkook and a few others in the kitchen. “You alright?” you asked, and he nodded again, smiling tiredly and head lolling a little to the side.

“Did you like the song I sang for you earlier?” 

“You sang it for me? How sweet of you,” you cooed, cuddling up to his side. “You know, if you wanted to touch my boobs, if you asked I think I’d be ok with that.”

He seemed hesitant. “You’re bullshitting.” 

“Ok, maybe I am a little,” you chuckled, feeling the rumble resonating from his chest. 

“Seriously,” he murmured, and for a millisecond, you swore you detected the tone of the Jungkook - not this Jungkook who was a confident force, but the one you were most familiar with, “I think I’d -”

Jimin’s voice boomed above the stereo, “Jungkook! It’s your turn! Get your ass back here!”

A heavy sigh was drawn out from him as he slid his chair back. Though, he waited for you to lift your head from his chest before doing so. 

“See you.” He winked at you before following Jimin’s ongoing calls. Though, more of a wink and a half. He never could wink properly with just one eye, both had to be involved.

Then came the finale.

The most recent drunken Jungkook phase - one you’d never witnessed beforehand. If there was anything you could have concluded, it was that beyond his sober level-headed exterior, he must have a lot of pent up anger. Jungkook in drunken phase three transitioned between a three colour spectrum of moods and you’d barely caught up. 

Exhibit one -

“The ocean is so important!” he cried, literally cried as he began bumbling about blue whales and the sheer plastic in the ocean, morosed how the first piece of plastic ever produced still hadn’t decomposed. 

It was no help that Namjoon enthusiastically joined in - the fucking nerds, until Jungkook started bawling and knocked back the salt shaker on the countertop mistaking it for a shot of tequila. 

You’d panicked and dragged him to the nearest bathroom to wash it out of his eyes. The seconds that followed afterwards, was you rubbing his back while he sobbed and puked the hearty contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Exhibit two - 

“If any dude is giving you a hard time, chances are - you’re hotter than them. And on top of that, they made you cry, making you a better person than them!” he proclaimed. Once you’d helped him clean up, he’d bumped into Ola - a girl you recalled was in his media class, and was crying outside of the door of the bathroom you and Jungkook had been in. 

She’d sniffled her way through a story about a boy she’d been talking to for six months, and Jungkook was as revved up as his ocean speech while he pep-talked her about how heartless the guy was; that he gave good guys a bad rep; and that she simply deserved better. Of course, you’d agreed with him. It sounded all too familiar to something you’d said in the past, though who could blame him for adopting your mannerism of speech when he’d spent so much time with you?

Exhibit three -

“Hey, Chad! Why the fuck do you hate poor people?!”

You were mortified. “Jungkook! Literally, where did you get that conclusion from?!” 

“He plays lacrosse and owns a golf cart!”

You groaned, yanking at his arm away from Chad - captain of the boys’ lacrosse team, and who’d also fortunately passed out on the couch, otherwise Jungkook for sure would have had his face beat in. Though, you’d like to think that Jungkook would win, for sure, but you promised sober Jungkook that you’d take care of drunk Jungkook. 

So that was that. 

By now you’d contracted a stress-induced migraine, by which your own best friend was accountable for. And you thought - by God, did he have to deal with this every time you went to a party together while you’d run rampant? This had been an eye-opener, and you should definitely be considerate next time because drunk people were babies, and not in the cute way either.

And finally: exhibit four.

“Hey.” 

You endured all the pet names, had endured being called the Apple of his Eye, Angel Face, and his Compass Star, because flirty Jungkook had been throwing pet names around all night. You’d seen and heard it yourself. But nothing would have prepared you for what he’d say next. 

You glanced at him, just a second to look away from your phone screen. “Yeah?” 

His eyes drooped, form slouched, and head atop his folded arms on the countertop. It was just after midnight, and the kitchen was a quiet lull, besides you and Jungkook who were sitting together; and then there was Jimin and Taehyung, and Seokjin by the sink in their own private conversation … and whatever it was that Taehyung was doing. Admittedly you hadn’t been paying much heed nor did you endeavour to find out.

Body curling into himself; Jungkook looked so much smaller than when he stood to his full stature. 

“I’ve got it bad,” he mumbled, wistfully, “real bad. So bad - I’m doomed bad. End of the fucking world baaad.”

Your hands rubbed at his nape, tender fingers toying with the longer hairs there. He’d been growing it out, and he looked good. You tucked a tuft of hair behind his ear. “What makes you think that?” 

Again - the glossy puppy eyes that gazed up, contemplating you like you’d fallen from heaven. 

His smile was meek, as shy as the drawling voice that spoke, “I … I really think you’re my soulmate. I don’t like saying it too much but I … like, love love you, but we’re only best friends. Someday you’ll date for real - instead of flings, I’d have to accept it. I don’t think I’ll be ok, but I will be, jus’ will take time to get over you. Have done it a few times before. I’ll be ok.” 

Your hand stilled, fingers still tangled in his locks. 

Rendered motionless, like air had been punched out of you from the stomach, unable to bring yourself to salvage the words. Breathless, all you could bring yourself to do was to weakly call his name. 

He hadn’t heard you, and he yawned, leaning into your touch. His body trembled with his giggles. “One time, you were sooo drunk. You were so drunk, don’t think you remembered - blacked out. You flirted with me that whole evening. After that … after that I became obsessed with you forever.”

It was with a sinking stomach when you’d realised that you couldn’t recall that night at all. 

Gulping, you peered down at the mop of tangled hair on the countertop, wishing for nothing else but to properly see his face, but it was half-hidden where he’d snuggled into his arms. 

“Jungkook?” you whispered, gently moving away the hair that flopped over his eyes. “Jungkook?’

No reply. Just steady, heavy breathing.

No reply, because he’d fallen asleep.

It’s a splitting headache that rouses Jungkook from heavy sleep. One of those slumbers where he wakes up groggy, as if he hasn’t rested at all despite it being hours since. He tries to get up, but to no avail. His limbs are leaden heavy, and he collapses back onto his bed within seconds of mustering the strength to hoist himself up.

There are a series of knocks on the door but what’s the point of knocking when Jimin barges in anyway. He snickers seeing Jungkook: a sad, spectacular heap on the bed with a bitching hangover to boot.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” 

“Shut up,” Jungkook drawls, barely recognising the cadence of his own voice. He throws an arm over his face, brow tightening as he shuts his eyes to recall anything that happened hours prior, but even that’s too much of a Herculean effort that his brain isn’t willing to commit to at nine in the morning. Hangovers are not worth the night before for this - this is a different kind of hell. 

Jimin places a glass and a jug of water on his bedside table. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.” 

“Thanks,” he replies. He at least has enough strength to reach for the glass. When he sits up a hand goes instantly to knock against his temple, as if it would stop whatever invisible vice it is that’s squeezing and hammering at his brain from all directions. He notices Jimin’s narrowing scrutiny on him. 

“You remember anything from yesterday?”

“Honestly, not really. Just some bits here and there.” 

“Blacked out, huh.” If Jimin hesitated it’s only for a split second, he stuffs a hand into his hoodie pocket for his phone. “There’s something I wanna show you. Not sure if you’re gonna like it much.”

“Can’t be that bad,” he says, but Jimin proffers a look, and Jungkook frowns. “... Right?”

Jimin licks his teeth in a way that makes Jungkook’s stomach drop just slightly.

“Famous last words, bud,” is all he replies.

 /

The slide of the back doors from the kitchen is what jerks your head up, followed by the sound of feet pattering on tiles. Suddenly, there’s a rise of anxiousness. Until you drum into your head that, no , this is nothing for you to be anxious about. There are the natural nerves budding that stem from confrontation, and you think this may be it.

Towel around his shoulders and dampened hair swept back, Jungkook doesn’t notice you at first when he appears by the doorway. He walks, gazes ahead like his legs are functioning on autopilot - but when he does notice you, he could have skidded. The way he halts and how his body almost springs backwards into the kitchen as soon as he sees your form huddled on one end of the couch, and how Basil - the frat’s cat, is curled by your lap, peacefully asleep and indulging in the soft stroke of your knuckles on his head. 

His expression mirrors a man who wants so desperately to sink into the floorboards. Or to dash back into the hale storm and fully immerse himself head to toe into the hot tub’s waters and never surface again.

The first few seconds of silence is heavy. As if you’re both still trying to process the presence of the other. It’s an uncomfortable silence you’re not accustomed to when with Jungkook. He’s always leaned more to the quiet side of the spectrum; introverted, introspective. But silences had always been comfortable, even when you two clashed. 

You endeavour for eye contact but he’s suddenly so transfixed on a shadow upon the wood flooring. 

“Hey,” you begin, quietly, like the walls are listening in on you. It’s enough gentle encouragement for him to peer up. He hides his hangover well but the mirth, the glint; the starry eyedness that reflected in his orbs from the night before is absent, and no amount of hot tub therapy could conceal the physical and mental exhaustion. 

“Hey.” He sounds almost breathless, smothers the tremor in his voice with a cough. “You’re … you’re soaked.”

“So are you.” Your tone is apologetic, “Sorry I came on short notice, I messaged you but I don’t think you saw it.”

He winces. “Right - sorry. My phone died. Haven’t checked it since.”

You muster a small smile. “I thought as much.” 

Another breath. Another nervous lilt in his voice. “I’m sorry. Not just the phone thing but everything I said to you last night.” 

You sigh. “Don’t be. It’s just … I’m surprised you remember what you said.”

He takes a breath, bicep flexing when he rubs anxiously at his nape. “I don’t,” he admits. “Jimin told me. It’s in this video he took last night of Taehyung eating cake off the floor, you could hear my voice in the background.” 

“Ah. That explains it.” Your lips pursed. “Did you mean what you said?”

His eyes round and flash to yours. He chews his lip, throws a glance at his feet. “... Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Not just the alcohol talking?”

“No.”

You’re quiet, continuing to stroke Basil who’s still fast asleep beside you.

“Sor—“

“Stop apologising,” you snap. You didn’t mean to, but his shoulders tense, and it makes you wallow in guilt that only he out of everyone has been able to make you feel. You haven’t thought this through and now you’re here you’re saying all the wrong things and asking all the wrong questions. But you remember it’s him, and recollect yourself. “Jungkook - it’s just … it’s just a lot to unpack.” 

You peer up, his nod is slow, but he gets it.

He’s tired, you see it clear as day. See it in the trudge of his walk, the dim in his eyes, and neither of you talk on the way up. Not until you reach his room. 

Despite your protests, he insists you help yourself to his draws for a spare change of dry clothes. It’s with that thought when you realise you still have yet to return several shirts to him with the promise of them all being washed and folded; washed and folded they are, but you never have been great at remembering to give them back. Putting it into perspective - maybe it is a little weird. Weird for two people who fall under the label of best friends. But then again you borrowed clothes from your own roommates all the time to the point you sometimes forgot whose is whose. It isn’t weird. Right? 

While Jungkook goes for a brisk shower, you peel off your soaked clothes, hang them over a spot on his clothes rack. His room is mostly devoid of personal touch, though there are a few photos of his high school football days and some of him and his friends pinned to a board. Otherwise, he’s never had much interest for interior decoration, but he likes his room clean and uncluttered. 

There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later. “Are you …?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m done.”

The door cracks open, and Jungkook appears, adorned in another change of clothes. His hair is still damp, fluffed at the patches that have managed to dry and his cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, but he’s less rugged than earlier. Still tired, though. So tired that you don’t question it when he makes a beeline for his unmade bed and collapses face-first into his pillow. You perch on the edge, pulling his duvet over him. 

He wriggles closer to the wall, like he’s making more room for you to sit. You appreciate the gesture and shuffle closer. Outside, the wind still howls.

“You should dry your hair properly,” you murmur, fingers at the damp ends of his nape. 

“Yeah … prob’ly should,” he sighs, muffled where his mouth is buried in his pillow.

You came here to talk about yesterday night, but maybe it’s a conversation for another time. You out of everyone should know how strenuous it is to have a heart-to-heart while being victim to a hangover that gives you the same capacity as someone half-dead. 

You’re staring blankly at the wall, so occupied with the whistle of the winds, so lost in the strands between your fingertips - that when you peer down you’re met with half-open shining eyes, and a lazy blinking gaze directed upwards at your face.

“Yes?” 

“Nothing,” he murmurs, like clockwork, and buries half his face again into the plush of his pillow. It’s enough time for you to catch the shy tilt of his lips before they hid again. It’s almost ironic, how you’re the one next to him while he nurses a hangover when it’s always been the other way round. Here, he’s so vulnerable. Your mind wanders to the possibility - what if it was the other way around? An alternate universe where it was you who serenaded Jungkook with karaoke and confessed. 

In whatever reality, you imagine him to confront you in the way you did now. Perhaps approached it a little differently, would perhaps be a little gentler, but he would never give you the cold shoulder.

For now, you both pretend there’s been no drunken confession. Best friends, like how it’s always been, and you’ll discuss it all when the time comes.

At some point you’re lowering yourself next to him; your head on the same pillow, and your bodies beneath the same blanket. He’s warm. 

And it’s peaceful, as comfortable as it always has been. 

/ 

“Oh my God, where the hell’s your shirt? I haven’t seen you swim once so far,” you scoff, and Hoseok pulls a sour face.

“You’re talking big for being the one in the string bikini.”

You look at him in disbelief. “Yeah, but I actually used the pool?”

“Scooch over, babe.”

Your eyes roll skyward as he plops beside you on the loveseat. It’s another weekend, another frat, another party, another excuse for Hoseok to walk around without a shirt because there’s a pool. Correction: a further excuse for hoards of frat boys to walk around without a shirt, but at this point you’re desensitised to it.

The music booms, a dull vibration you feel through the ground. 

Kappa Omega is infamous for their extravagant parties (at least, as extravagant as college parties can go). Compared to others it’s vastly over-the-top, with most of the guys getting in through connections just like how their college applications got past admissions, but it is what it is. They’re not all bad people, they hold parties for fundraisers but sometimes it can’t be helped not to feel sour when you see what they blow their money on. The Kappa Omega mansion is so big that you’d spent a good portion of the beginning of the night lost.

“Lucky bastards,” Hoseok mutters. He’s said that several times this evening. He’s only here for the booze and the cheese tray. He pops open another beer, chucks the bottle opener onto the low table in front of him, besides the cheese tray he stole from the kitchen. “Which frat party was it again when you blacked out and dived into the pool fully clothed? I can’t remember anymore.” 

“We don’t talk about that, thanks,” you utter, wrapping your long cardigan tighter around your torso. “Have you by chance seen Jungkook around? I thought he’d be here by now.”

He looks up, mid-way from tipping back his beer. “Yeah, I saw him some time ago.”

“What, where?”

“Sat with some food by himself somewhere.” His arm gestures vaguely. “He looked a little sad. You know, in signature Jungkook fashion, you know how he gets sometimes.” 

Your form slumps. “Right,” you murmur. It’s been over two weeks since the last time you saw him. Not that it’s unprecedented. He has football among other commitments that strung him away for days and sometimes weeks at a time, and you had your own as well.

Be that as it may, somehow it feels like the both of you are drawing the whole thing out. Not purposely, but definitely unnecessarily. Neither of you brought it up in your messages to each other either, and it hit you recently that, well - you miss him. You’ve seen him around campus, but never for too long. Nothing more than fleeting sightings of him and his disheveled hair in a half-pony while he rushes to class after football practice; a hand usually holding onto a snack while the other held onto the strap of his half-open duffel bag, but you only had time to exchange a wave and a look that held promise of your next meeting. The fact remains that you miss your best friend, and it would kill you for your friendship to be awkward because of what happened. You had every intention to talk to him tonight in person, and no dallying or delays this time.

Hoseok’s eyes squint your way. “What’s going on between you guys, anyway. You guys a thing or what?”

You sigh, “That’s the thing, I have no idea yet.” 

“Yet.” His lips purse, contemplating you. “He really likes you, you know. So, like, go easy on him.”

Your eyes narrow. “How long have you known, then?”

“As if it was hard,” he scoffs, sitting back. “Guy wears his heart on his sleeve. You have to be thick as a brick not to notice.”

“Wow. Thanks,” you deadpan.

He stabs his fork into the blue cheese. “You know why him and Yerim broke up?” 

“Oh no,” you morose, frowning, “don’t tell me it was because of me. I talked to her after they broke it off and she said it wasn’t.”

“Not entirely. But I think she was bending the truth a little so that you wouldn’t berate Jungkook about it. She’s a cool girl, really nice and a good sport. Knew you two were close and accepted that like a champ. But -” and he pauses for emphasis. A pause which is seconds too long, and then finally he puts his fork down, clutches one of your hands in both of his, and waits for you until you’re hanging on to his every breath while he chews and swallows the remaining in his mouth. He resumes, brightly, “it’s not my story to tell. So you better go and find him.”

You shove him. Harder this time - enough that he topples over, and he cackles obnoxiously. 

“Prick,” you laugh, but rise to your feet. Your gaze spans the backyard, the pool. You spot a hot tub, but it’s filled with other students who are laughing and raucous. 

“Ok, I’m going,” you announce, glancing at Hoseok who’s still very much captivated by the cheese tray before him. It does look really good. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah, bye.”

 /

The problem with knowing so many people, and having the same friends as those people - is that in situations where you try to pull yourself away from yet another drinking game you’re taken by the elbow by someone else. Having all of your mutual friends congregated in one domain that is the Kappa Omega House has made your search for the ever-elusive Jeon Jungkook a grand Pain in the Ass. He’s like gold dust. You’ve texted him but you’ve yet to receive a reply.

“Hey, have you seen Jungkook?”

“I saw him at the front porch a few minutes ago?”

“... Seriously? I’ve literally just been there.”

You even scrambled over a balcony and leaped over a hedge when you tried to get away from Chad’s third invitation to join the game of chicken fight in the pool (a parkour stunt that you like to think would put Peter Parker to shame). You give yourself a quiet moment to catch your breath. 

It’s then you realise you’re in a part of the backyard you swear you haven’t been in before. You can presuppose why. It’s dimly lit, less people, and the boom of the stereo is still loud, but is more of a distant noise in comparison to the other parts of the house you’ve been in. Like what the hell, how big is this place? 

“Sooo, you’ve found him yet or what?”

You hear the voice before you see the face. 

Unbelievable. So you cross paths with shirtless Hoseok for the third time and yet haven’t so much as had a hair’s glimpse of Jungkook. 

“Nope,” you reply, quite miserably, hands stuffing into your cardigan’s large pockets. You feel for your phone. He still hasn’t seen your message. At this point you’re one teetering step away from letting go of the remaining wisps of your dignity and yell his name through a megaphone with a hope he'll come to you instead … you’ve probably done that while drunk before but you’re nowhere near tipsy now, and that’s besides the point. 

Behind you, Hoseok hums, quite serene. When you look back you see he’s lowered his back onto the grass, his eyelids shut.

Eyes scanning this part of the backyard, it’s a different ambience to the atmosphere by the pool. More relaxed. There are students either sat or lying on the grass in small groups, their conversations a low murmur with the occasional twinkling sound of someone’s laughter rising above it. There’s a slabbed stone pathway that leads further up the grass, which then disappears behind a tall row of hedges, and with that you find yourself on your feet again. 

“As much as it pains me to leave, there’s only so much of you I can take in one evening before I go crazy,” you tell Hoseok, who’s unbothered reply is no more than a lazy thumbs up from his spot on the grass.

It gets darker the further away you are from the house, but you’re led by the quiet warm-white glow of the lawn lights that highlight the path. It calms your mind to a lull that puts you at peace, something you desperately sought after your hopeless goose-chase just minutes prior. 

The waters of a hot tub glow blue up ahead. You skid to a stop when you come closer and see someone’s in there; shoulders immersed and their head just above the water’s surface. What’s the phrase? When you stop looking for something, it finds you? That’s probably not how it goes, but it doesn’t matter. After futile searching, hedge jumping and greasy frat boy dodging, you finally found him. Of course he’d be in a place like this.

His eyes are dazed, mesmerised by the ripples in the water that his smallest movements create. He hasn’t yet noticed you coming.

You pad closer. “... Jungkook?” and like a switch, his spine straightens, goes rigid as a ramrod at your voice. He’s blinking, head shaking side to side as if to snap himself out of the trance that clouds his head. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you exasperate.

He blinks. “You … you have?”

You scoff, amused at the way his brows knit. “Yeah,” you sigh, stopping so your forearms can lean on the sides of the tub. “May I join you?”

After a beat of hesitation - “Of course you can.” 

You shrug your long oversized cardigan off of your shoulders, and double check that your phone is still in the pocket before you chuck it in a heap on the bench. You secure your footing on the step, eyes intercepting his own. His Adam's apple bobs when the rest of your body comes into view, and you shiver at the breeze but warmth engulfs you the second you’re in contact with the bubbling water.  

“Feels good?” he asks, and you sigh contentedly, leaning back.

“Yeah.” If you really wanted to, you could fall asleep right here, right now. “What is it with you and hot tubs? Always knew you had a thing for them but never asked specifically why. Or does it just feel good?”

“Mainly that. The guys on my team use the excuse that it breaks up the lactic acid in your muscles after training, but it just feels good when you’re sore.” 

“Huh.” When you crack an eye open, he’s already looking at you. 

His lips purse. “Did you want to talk?” and when you nod he sighs, wearily. “I wanted to, honestly. But I … I guess I never felt ready to hear what you’re going to say.”

You frown. “What do you think I’m going to say?” 

“I don’t know. That you don’t feel that way about me, which I’m fine with. I was never meant to let it slip, but I ended up saying all the things I didn’t want you to hear yet. And while I was drunk, of all things.” 

You consider this, broach your tone carefully. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

His eyes avert to the water. “... Eventually. It would have been after graduation. No step three beyond telling you, no secret ploy to get you to fall in love with me, I only would have wanted you to know how I felt. I’d leave you alone and we’d finally move on with our lives. And what better timing than after graduation? But that’s not how it turned out, did it?” He laughs, but it’s with rueful discomfort.

“How long?”

He exhales. “A while.”

“I see.” You think hard for a second. “Even when you were with Yerim?”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, but you can tell he’s honest when he replies with, “Yeah. But I never pretended she was you.”

“Of course you didn’t, you’re not that type of person.”

At last, he does smile at that, and seeing the tilt of his mouth settles a warmth in your heart.

Part of you wants to ask what happened between him and Yerim, but you think perhaps it’s for the best you don’t know, at least now. It’s not your business nor his obligation to tell you.

Before you could dwell too much on your oncoming words, you continue barging forward or you’ll chicken out from what you’re going to say next.

“Jungkook,” you begin. “What if I said yes?”

A pause. 

“What do you mean?”

“If you asked me out, and I said yes.”

He’s so bewildered he looks as if he’s just been slapped. Suddenly, something more serious shadows his features. “You know I’d never want you to date me just because. I’m fine with rejection, seriously, I’ll get over it. But I don’t want you to settle for less than what you want. You deserve someone you want, and if I’m not that person, that’s fine. You deserve -”

“Last time I checked, you don’t get a say on what it is that I do and don’t deserve. Who I deserve is for me to decide, so stop cutting yourself so short because you’re more decent than most of the guys I know.”

He shifts, looks away. “So what are you saying?”

“Should we try it?”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“Then it doesn’t work out,” you say, simply.

“But then it’ll be awkward.”

“You telling me that you became obsessed with me after I flirted with you for one evening while I was drunk already made it awkward. Not like we have anything else to lose.”

A breath of air expels from his nose in a chuckle. “Oh, ouch.”

“Jungkook,” you sigh. “It’s so easy to be around you. If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out, but how are we supposed to know how it’s going to turn out if we don’t even give it a chance? It’s going to be awkward either way but we’ll figure it out. Like with all the other crap we’ve gone through. I’ve been with enough guys to know that guys like you come far and few between, I trust you enough to want to do this. You’re one of those few guys I know I can trust, alongside Hoseok. Even though he can be a real bitch sometimes.”

Jungkook doesn’t rebuke you, but he laughs. It’s a sound you’ve never been more relieved to hear. 

“So what do you think? I don’t want to force you into it. If you don’t want this, I’m fine with it. If you do, I’m fine with that too. Everything on my end is fine, so what about yours?”

If him confessing happened a year, or maybe two years earlier, you don’t think you would have confronted it in the way that you’d done now. You understand why Jungkook wanted to bide his time. You’re stubborn, fiery, and don’t think things through in the way that Jungkook does. If this happened two years ago, you can imagine you’d have yelled at him on impulse, asking him why, why he let it happen.

But there’s a very particular fondness you’ve honed for your best friend that has unfurled in the years of your friendship, to the point you couldn’t possibly imagine yourself putting blame on him for his feelings. It seems being friends with him has really mellowed you. While Hoseok is the friend you’re most similar to, your other pea-in-the-pod, Jungkook is the friend who balances you out. Someone so different to you, yet someone who still knows what makes you tick.

He’s a friend who doesn’t judge, but yet is always first to call you out whenever you’re out of line. A friend who waits until you’re inside of your dorm building before driving away. The type of guy who pays for dinner and doesn’t expect you to pay him back. A friend who makes sure you’re back home safely when you’re drunk, puts a glass of water next to you and watches over you to make sure you don’t choke on your vomit in your sleep.

Finally, after careful consideration, he nods. He nods, finally.

“So we’re doing this then.” You crack a smile, and he finds it difficult to suppress his own.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

With an unchanging temper, as still and as serene as waters below the turbulent surface - Jungkook is your anchor, he always has been. The anchor that tethers your feet to the earth when the elements threaten to topple you over.

In the blue glow, you shuffle closer forward on your knees. 

“Can I kiss you?” you murmur, and he chokes on his saliva, spluttering. You smile sheepishly. “Sorry it’s weird, you don’t have to let me if that’s going too fast. I just … I want to see what it feels like.” 

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

He mulls it over, but it doesn’t take much thinking. He stares at you, hard. But then you disrupt the stillness with a disarming smile, and unable to resist, he beckons you over. “Come here.”

It’s odd to straddle his lap at first. In the same way it is when you’re getting on a bike for the first time or any kind of first. He doesn’t make any first move, it’s you who he waits to initiate. 

The path of your fingers trail slowly upwards, until they’re splayed against his chest. They remain there, and you detect the quick pattering of his heart, the rise of his chest. His breaths are deep but they’re controlled, and he feels sturdy beneath you. 

Jungkook is stupid handsome, with the body to match. But that’s not what swells your heart. It’s not what pushes you to move further forward in his lap and finally press your mouth to the seam of his lips before you could think twice.

It’s how tenderly he gazes up at you. With the same sincerity and adoration he’d shown the night he’d confessed drunk. His eyes, an opening to his soul which is a whole other wonder. 

When was the last time someone looked at you like that? 

The kiss is soft. No sparks, no butterflies on your end - not yet, but somehow it still feels right. Like missing pieces that have finally fallen into place. Warmth and love spills from him. It saturates your body to the very tips of your ears, all the way down to your toes, like a slow, spreading glow. It feels good.

When shy pecks don’t become enough anymore, you get needy, touching and grasping for more of him. His palms press against your lower back, massaging the skin there, and eventually your mouth parts pliant for him. 

“Oh,” he croaks, his head leaning forward so his cheek brushes yours. You can’t see his eyes, and you attempt to move but he curtains the planes of his face with his hair. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, having to strain to catch his whisper. 

“I’m embarrassed.”

You chuckle, warmth spreading from the spot on your ear that his lips hover over. “How come?”

“Like, there are probably bricks softer than my dick right now. And … I really, really don’t wanna jizz my pants in a Kappa Omega hot tub. I would have hit my lowest point in life if I do.” 

“Oh my God.” You’re almost crying, shoulders shaking with how hard you’re laughing. 

“Please, I’m so serious right now. I’d never be able to redeem myself.”

“Would jizzing in an obscenely expensive hot tub be so bad?”

“Yes,” he emphasises. “Really bad, actually. Have you heard of that guy who ejaculated in a swimming pool and accidentally got twenty girls pregnant?”

“That sounds like fake news. There’s no way. Sperm aren’t homing torpedoes, Jungkook. They’d be unviable as soon as they’d be in the water. But if you want me to move back, I’ll move back.”

His face is taut, like he’s trying so hard. “Yes, please.” His eyes go stern, but there’s a nervous jitter you feel with the skin beneath your fingertips. “And just because I think it’s worth mentioning, I don’t think we should have sex straight away.” 

“Oh. Right. I see,” you deadpan.

It’s his turn to cackle at the dead-set, disappointed look on your face. “What’s with that?”

Your eyes roll. “You know I’m kidding.” You brush the hair out from his eyes. “Jungkook, will you wait for me?”

His expression softens, and he hoists you until you’re pressed impossibly closer.

“Of course I will. However long it needs to be.”

a/n: when jk says you flirted with me the whole night and i became obsessed w you forever, yea that was from b99

originally posted on ao3! thx for reading!!! <33 

[arse-crack-thistle]

physical touch

rwrb and the five love languages | part three

in which a young ellen and oscar make a life-altering decision

The sun boils Ellen Claremont and Oscar Diaz as they stand outside Marlene’s Diner. Even in December, the Texas heat shows no mercy. The parking lot is full of cars for the lunch rush, and as much as her manager hates it, Ellen had to take her fifteen now. Oscar is on his way home.

Seems like yesterday he and a bunch of his white-collared buddies popped into Marlene’s and sat down at a table in Ellen’s section, but it was eight months ago. She thought she was about to get catcalled and a two-penny tip, but instead she gave the table advice on how to help David Morwitz, an Austin democratic candidate for state representative, gain more votes among young people. And Oscar wouldn’t leave until he got her number—for political reasons of course. That is until she made out with him after a Young Texas Democrats rally and he discovered the blue bonnet tattoo on her lower back.

He was fresh out of law school, hoping to build his political resume so he could run for office one day, and she was just finishing up her second year, living on tips and volunteering where she could. And, like all young lovers, they spent the whole summer and fall talking about their hopes and fears, their darkest secrets and greatest dreams.

“The Supreme Court, eh? One of the justices?”

“No,” she told him, “I just want to argue a case there. Set precedent.”

He smiled, showing off that goddamn dimple on his cheek. “You could go farther—the highest point even.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’m looking to help the little guy, Diaz. I can do that anywhere.”

“Then why not the presidency?” When she scoffed, he said, “Fuck you, I’m serious. I’ve seen you in action, Claremont. The protest you organized for the clinic they shut down? You’re incredible.”

That moment hugs her as she struggles to let go of Oscar’s hands. They’re rough from the field work he did in high school but also calloused from his guitar. She spent months learning the lines on his hands; she can draw them from memory, as he can with the curves of her hips.

His flight leaves in two hours. Ellen will have to watch the blue sky for planes, imagining him soaring away with his Walkman playing a worn-out Latin tape. Maybe if Morwitz won, things could be different.

But they’re not. She’s still filling coffee cups and handing out “yes, ma’ams” and “yes, sirs” like they’re pocket change. And he’s still going back to California to join an immigration law firm.

“Claremont,” he starts, “I don’t know what to say. These past few months—”

“I know,” she says. Lord, do not let her bawl in front of this man���not like she hasn’t before when the anniversary of her mother’s death came around. But still, she’s got to leave him with the image of the take-no-shit, strawberry-blond fireball she is.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. God, she’ll never forget this man even if she tries. His curly black hair swoops over his eyebrows and behind his ears. His sleeves seem permanently rolled up, his tie loosened. Oscar somehow carries the lackadaisical Cali-boy in his smile and the strength against generational oppression in his eyes. The sorrow of goodbye shows in his drooping shoulders. Ellen knows she can set them straight with one kiss on the lips and a hand somewhere else.

Instead, she drops his hands and looks away.

“Ask me to stay,” Oscar says, reaching for her waist.

Ellen can’t bear to look into his warm, brown eyes and tell him to go. She puts her hands on his chest and feels his heart beating under them. His beautiful, fighting heart. “I won’t do that, Diaz. If the situation were reversed, I’d slap you for suggesting it.”

He pulls her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “The situation’s not reversed, Ellen. Ask me to stay.”

Lord, every time her first name rolls off his tongue electricity shoots down her back, and now it meets the lightning rod that is his hand on her tattoo. It takes everything in her not to jump him in this parking lot. Damn the cars driving past them. Damn the diner patrons watching through the windows. Damn the Bible-thumper preaching from the street corner. The world should stop for her goodbye to the man that shocks her too her very core with one touch.

“Oscar.”

“Ellen.”

His forehead presses into hers, and his hand meets the other on the small of her back. She can’t help but wrap her arms around his neck, like they’re about to sway to an overrated pop song at a high school dance. He smells like he always does: cheap cologne and sweat, and holding him—being held by him—feels like taking a wrong turn on the drive home just so you can finish your favorite song.

“You don’t want me to leave, right?” Oscar asks.

“No, but this is crazy. You can’t stay here. What would you do? What would we do?”

Favorite song—favorite person be damned, too. Hasn’t it crossed his mind that his life can’t just transfer to Texas? The campaign is over, and his family and career are back in California. He’s being stupid, and she’s letting him.

Touching him makes her irrational, so Ellen lets go and steps back. “I mean, Lord help us, Diaz! Have you even thought about this?”

“What’s there more to think about? I love you and you love me! We’ll figure out the rest.”

“Oh, do not give me that ‘love conquers all’ bullshit! You’re smarter than that!” she says.

Her fifteen has got to be over by now, but fuck it. Her manager can wait. She’ll stand her and scream at Oscar; she’s developed quite an affinity for it. God bless him.

“Maybe it does—”

“Bull-fucking-sh—”

“No!” He grabs her hands, and she doesn’t fight it. “With all the shit we’ve been through, can’t you see it’s brought us here? Right now, Claremont. You and me. We’ve got something; we want the same things. Let’s do it. Come on, Ellen, let���s just fucking do it!”

And he kisses her. It’s not desperate, but gentle and resolute. Her hands find the nape of his neck again, and she tangles her fingers in his soft curls. Sunflowers bloom in her belly. Oscar squeezes her hips in his hands. Sweet baby Jesus. She can’t let him go. She’ll have to kill him first.

He pulls away—only a centimeter or two—and says again, “Ask me to stay.”

Eight months of this shit. Eight months of diner banter and canvassing and takeout movie nights and fucking in his motel room or her tiny-ass apartment or one of their cars. Eight months of law school papers and screaming matches and tequila and talking for hours until one of them crashes and the other cuddles up to fall asleep. Eight months of hands—his and hers—intertwined like they’re holding the Earth together.

“Stay,” she whispers. A car blares its horn, so she barely hears herself say it. But she does.

“Stay with me, and we’ll change the fucking world.”

As stubborn as she is, so is he. They match in some weird way, and Ellen can’t remember the last time she found a person like that. Fucking Oscar Fucking Diaz. She’ll get on her knees for him or step on his neck if he asks nicely enough. She’ll spend hours critiquing his debate strategies or peering over his shoulder while he proofs one of her assignments. She’ll bake him peach cobbler or devour his mole and anything it touches. Oscar’ll play the guitar, and she’ll sing along.

“Good because I already accepted a job with Representative Acosta. He’s from 54.”

“Fuck you!” Frustrated, angry, and smiling, Ellen shoves his shoulders. “I know where he’s goddamn from! But what the hell were you pulling my leg that far for?”

He puts on that Diaz smirk and trails a finger down her hip. “Pretty legs though.”

“I’ll fry you up and serve you for dinner if you ain’t careful,” she deadpans.

“Promise?” Oh, good Lord.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Ellen grabs his jaw, rubs a finger over that fucking dimple, and pulls him to her lips.

“I do,” she says.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part two, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so yeah it’s fairly obvious that i have a hard time keeping to a schedule BUT i think this turned out very cute (even if it’s not actually set during valentine’s) and even if i go past v-day, which will probably happen, i’m determined to finish romance week! anyways, thanks for all of your support! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[fanfuckingfic]

You Move Like Real People Do

(Choreographer!Jimin x Ecologist!Namjoon x Singer!Reader)

Summary: Sometimes loving someone is just too easy. It just sinks into you so deeply or floats you away so high either way it shouldn't be hard to hold on to.

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: (Sappy fluff, polyamory, lots of talk about bog bodies, excessive amounts of admiration, the songs are literally Hozier’s and you should listen to them if you haven’t, oh my god this is so self indulgent)

A/N: I haven't written in like 3 years and I've never tried bullet fic style so please be nice :( also I love Hozier so much oh my god I literally just built a whole universe in my brain around his music + bangtan and I think Movement fits Jimin so well and LRPD is a sick song and Joon is a just weird nerd but anyway please enjoy and lemme know what you think! 

--------

Namjoon is an ecologist and Jimin is a choreographer and Y/n is a famous indie-rock blues singer/songwriter (literally just fucking Hozier because I love that man with every bit of my heart).

You and Joon are early risers and spend mornings sipping coffee and reading together on the couch while you wait for Jimin to get ready for the classes he teaches alongside being a choreographer so they can kiss him good morning and wish him a good day when he leaves.

You’re sure to put extra honey in his green tea to-go cup, and he kisses you both quickly on the cheek before scurrying out the door.

They both kind of fiddle around with their day cause Joon is a professor at the local university and only has classes twice a week and finished grading that last assignment yesterday.

So now he's watering his plants and terrariums in the greenhouse porch you all have and your sitting there fiddling with your guitar, messing around with some chords sometimes writing them down sometimes not.

Casually you ask Joon which student had the best paper.

“One student went out of their way to be a kiss ass if that counts.”

You ask how he means with a chuckle.

“Well you know how I've been writing a thesis about bog bodies and what-not?”

“Yes of course, love, you only remind me of the phenomenon every chance you have.” You look up at him with mock disdain. 

His eyebrows furrow, “I thought you liked talking about the bog bodies” He pouts and you honestly can't even try to deny it.

“I do, I think it's kind of beautiful- not like dead people that's shitty- but when you describe how the swamps and bogs preserve them and how they’re found.” You take in a deep breath mulling over your words for moment.

“You make things like that sound so beautiful, Joonie. Even if I don't get half the big sciencey words you say. It sorta sounds like people falling in love with something they shouldn't but doing it anyway.” You smile to yourself thinking of him talking to (mostly at) you.

Namjoon still gets flustered easily by your and Jimin's creative ways of declaring your love.

He hears Jimin's tinkling laugh in your music and his own words in your songs, sometimes he feels like he doesn't love you both back enough but you both are quick remind him that he doesn't show love through notes and twirls

He shows them through flowers he picks and the way he's always willing to interrupt himself to explain something when he sees confusion in either of your eyes, because he knows you want to but wont stop his train of thought, you both want to understand what he's babbling on about because you love him.

(And he looks so fuckin hot when he goes on his passionate rants about certain bacteria being the back bone for an entire ecosystem how could you not?)

He blushes and clears his throat.

You always find the beauty in everything, can turn just about anything into a love story, a poem.

He loves that about you and Jimin you're both so able to make the world more beautiful with your bodies and minds. You both love that he adds so much sustenance to that beauty. 

“You're right, bog bodies deserve love, just like any real person does. But a student wrote their paper on them and used me as a source in their reference page.” He huffs, still amused by the students' tenacity. 

“Any real person, huh? You gave them an A didn't you?” You absorb his words before deadpanning.

Namjoon doesn't answer and instead bends down to kiss your lips then your forehead before he goes back to being very interested in how his Venus fly trap is doing.

Some days when your writer's block is extra bad and you've been struggling to come up with lyrics that mean anything or chords to go with them, Jimin asks if you want to come with him to the studio.

He's just experimenting with some new choreography so it's just you two. 

He notices when you get into these slumps you can't quite reach your way out of and staying in the house all cooped up trying to get inspired by the same things you see everyday isn't going to help. 

It's a classical piece a dance company hired him to choreograph, wordless dancing was always his forte.

Feeling the music move through him and around him, throw him to and fro. He likes to feel like a tool of expression- like an instrument to be played. 

You watch him work and think and move, over and over again, something just slightly different each time just slightly closer to what he wants. 

He's breathless by the time he comes to sit next you against the back wall he saw you staring the whole time and loves how he can still make you and Joon speechless and swooning even after all the years together. 

“Sometimes I forget you're real, you know, when you dance.” You murmur head on your knees still in a daze after watching him.

Jimin quirks an eyebrow and smirks.

“The hell does that mean?” He simpers, knowing you're probably about to say something that will completely floor him and make him fall for you even harder. 

“You just stop looking real I guess, you look like if I reached out to touch you, you would still just be barley out of reach, like driving towards a rainbow or a mirage, ya know?” 

He quirks his head, not really understanding what you mean but trying to.

“You're just so good at using your body to show a concept you almost kind of become one. I don't know, mostly, I just feel like I'd chase you forever if you really were unreachable like that, I don't think I'd mind.” You shrug and reach for his hand to fiddle with. 

He exhales in surprise. He was absolutely right. Floored.

“Would you dance with me? Running after me doesn't sound as pretty as us dancing together forever.” He asks twisting you fingers with his.

“I don't think I'd have a choice not wanting to dance with you would be like not wanting to breathe.”

He sighs dramatically. “Babe! How am I supposed to be okay after you say shit like that? Huh?” He laughs and shoves your shoulder playfully.

You laugh and fall over pulling him with you. 

Namjoon comes by later with drinks from the cafe he knows Jimin loves and finds you both slow dancing in the middle of the empty studio.

You both pull him in between you and continue to sway back and forth. It's sweet and romantic and your drinks go cold before any of you are ready to let go of each other.

Your latest album was amazing and you're about to go on tour and you're nervous to be away from your guys for so long cause last time you went on tour you weren’t as famous and such didn't go to different countries to perform. 

You're gonna miss them terribly and they miss you twice as bad and they definitely bawl their eyes out when your tour bus is out of sight.

They tried really hard to keep up the smiles for you cause you deserve the success and the recognition without guilt or reservations but wow the house is so quiet without your absent-minded humming and strumming and no knew pieces of paper with potential lyrics scattered around the countertops. 

You all keep in touch of course- face-timing at least once a day with both or either of them and you ask them not to watch any recorded performances cause you don't want them to spoil it for when you come back and do your final home concert. 

Your reason being: you left two songs off the album you wanted to perform on tour.

So now it's your last concert before you get to sleep in the same bed as your loves again, they arrive early but you're still too busy with sound check and your drummer having boyfriend problems to get more than a hug and kiss to each of them. 

They don't mind though they know how concerts are for you. You love them- you get to give your fans a bit of your soul and they all give a bit right back. 

They meander through the crowd towards the front not too close though. Your manager tried to get them to stay backstage but they both wanted to get the full experience since they did as promised and had steered clear of any footage of the concert. 

When you walk out everyone lights up and the energy in the whole concert hall shifts.

You smile so bright and they're close enough they can see the surprise on your face when you look down into the crowd and see them. Your eyes soften and get a little misty but ever the professional you trudge on. 

Song after song you work the crowd into the comfort of your melodies and words have people screaming, crying and eating out of the palm of your hand so easily. 

You get to the end of your set, Namjoon and Jimin know- you'd asked them for help when planning the show. They knew which songs you were gonna sing and when but it didn't occur to them it seemed just a bit short until now when you're clearly your throat and asking for the house lights to be brought up just a bit. 

“The next two songs are love songs, I would sing about political injustice and grieving a metaphorical loss all day if I could-” the crowd hoots a few times with their chuckles and Namjoon and Jimin feel surprised grins growing on their faces.

“but I'm just too in love to not write a song or two.”

You strum a tune he’s only slightly familiar with, its something he’s heard you tweak for the past year or so.

“The lyrics of this one are a bit odd and terribly specific to a certain person so bare with me.” 

The auditorium murmurs a laugh again knowing your lyrics more often than not are. 

“I had a thought, dear, however scary

About that night, The bugs and the dirt

Why were you digging?

What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do”

The piano sounds and the haunting harmony from your back up singers makes Namjoon’s heart race. 

He knows what you're singing about, Jimin knows too he might not get it as well as Namjoon does right now- some of the things Joon talks about are just slightly too icky for him- but he does know that if he could dance about Joon’s brain he would. 

He smiles when Namjoon's hand squeezes his, his eyes unable to look away from you and the little story being told between you two right now. 

“I knew that look dear, eyes always seeking 

Was there in someone, that dug long ago

So I will not ask you, why you were creeping

In some sad way I already know

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you and neither would you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do”

Noli timere Namjoon hears the words being dragged and stretched in your vocals and his heart clenches.

“I could not ask you where you came from

I could not ask you, neither could you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We could just kiss like real people do”

Your voice tapers off and the strums slow as you open your eyes and hold his gaze meaningfully. 

Namjoon is left feeling like he's floating.

You wrote a song about something he cares about, you wrote him a song about one of his favorite things even if it is a very creepy weird thing.

You took all the thoughts he poured into your ears and made it something people could love just a little bit easier. He almost thought he couldn't love you more than he already did.

“This next one might be a bit less niche but if you've ever seen your lover dance you would know exactly what its about.” 

The heavy dip of bass vibrates their feet and a resounding clap comes to fill the air as the surprise and tears come his eyes. 

“I still watch you when you're groovin'

As if through water from the bottom of a pool

You're movin' without movin'

And when you move, I'm moved”

Jimin’s hand comes to his mouth and you smile mischievously into your mic.

“You are a call to motion

There, all of you a verb in perfect view

Like Jonah on the ocean

When you move, I'm moved

When you move I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be

When you move I could never define all that you are to me”

You look directly at him making sure he knows this is his song. 

“So move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally

Move me, baby

You are the rite of movement

Its reasonin' made lucid and cool

I know it's no improvement

When you move, I move”

Jimin laughs wetly at your joke. You’re wrong- he thinks- your body is absolutely and improvement of any situation. 

“You're less Polunin leapin'

Or Fred Astaire in sequence

Honey, you, you're Atlas in his sleepin'

And when you move, I'm moved

When you move I can recall somethin' that's gone from me

When you move, Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free

So move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally, move me, baby

So move me, baby, Like you've nothin' left to prove

And nothin' to lose, move me, baby

Ooh, ooh, ooh

Oh baby, oh baby

Move like grey skies

Move like a bird of paradise

Move like an odd sight come out at night”

The sudden crash of the band coming together to put music to your declaration makes goosebumps rise on Jimin's skin, Namjoon looks between you both and his heart melts softly in his chest. Just the admiration between you both enough to make him fall all over again.

“Move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally, move me, baby

So move me, baby

Like you've nothin' left to lose

And nothin' to prove, move me, baby

So move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally, move me, baby”

The calls and hums of you and your back up singers echo quietly before applause assaults their ears, the cheering nothing short of deafening. 

You bow and wave backing away from the mic for a few moments- taking in the last show you'll be doing for a while- before walking off stage.

Namjoon knows he should be pulling Jimin with him towards backstage so they can smother you with love properly but hey can't move Jimin has tears streaming down his face and Namjoon is too awestruck about you remembering him going on about the last words of a poet who had written about the bog bodies and how you always just cared so much about him and Jimin.

Eventually they do move through the leaving crowd towards security, the guards already aware of their faces escort them.

They knock on the green room door with your name next to it. 

It swings open so quickly they flinch back and the woman barreling into their arms throws them back at least a foot. 

“I missed you so much” you all but sob into their chests. Clinging tightly to their shirts.

They share a look over your head all too endeared with your clinginess having missed it terribly for the past months.

“We missed you too angel.” Jimin sighs into your hair, much closer to your head than Namjoon. 

Namjoon hums in agreement then sniffles making you both turn your faces up to look at him, Namjoon crying was a really rare thing well maybe in comparison with you and Jimin who will cry at an emotionally manipulative commercial without hesitation. 

You're both slightly shocked to see tear tracks on his adorably reddened face and him struggling to control his breathing.

“Ooh Joonie.” You coo then pull them both into the green room and start wiping at his cheeks. He sniffles again and it's absolutely precious.

“Y-you sang about b-bog bodies!” He sobs hauling you off your feet pushing the air out of your lungs. 

Jimin laughs and sniffs wiping at his now wet face too. 

“You guys liked them? They weren’t corny?” You wheeze as he sets you back down between them.

“Are you kidding?! You referenced Sergei Polunin, that's so corny, babe.” Jimin pets your cheek and kisses it tenderly. “Of course we loved them.”

“I'm gonna put my song in my thesis, its gonna open a whole flood gate for the romanticism of them.'' Namjoon says, mostly to himself, still shaky with tears.

Jimin pulls you both in for another hug and in a similar state to Namjoon says, “I’m gonna choreograph both of our songs. I’m dropping all my projects for it- right now.”

You laugh and shake your head before pulling back to take them both in again still not over how long it’d been since you got hold them. 

“You wanna go somewhere? Get a welcome home drink or meal or candle or something?” Jimin asks, putting your hair back into place as best he can. 

“That diner with the shakes on 5th is probably still open-” Namjoon starts but you shake your head.

“Can we just go home? I missed you so much.” They both nod with the softest smiles and each grip a hand.

Your tour bus dropped off most of your stuff at home earlier that day so Namjoon just takes your backpack and Jimin pulls your guitar over his shoulder. But not before asking with a smirk-

“Did you say Fred Astaire in sequins?”

--------

Thank you for reading <3 Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! It’ll lets me know if I should write more or not

[pxjiminsi]

PT.1 Bad Person

Chapter 5: pt 1 rom the Series: Before you go

Synopsis: Wanting to escape the unending criticism from your peers and parents about your life choices, you flew to L.A to figure out your life. On the same flight, you encounter an early debut, full of dreams, Bangtan Sonyeondan. Not knowing that that encounter will change your life forever.

Pairing: Jimin x reader, Taehyung x reader, Jin x OC, OT5 x reader platonic love

Fic Type: Slice of life au

Genre: !!ANGST ANGST!!

Warning: none :)

A/n: Thank you for patiently waiting! I’ve been busy in preparation for BE’s comeback! Stream Life goes On here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5q5mZbe3V8

You woke up tired. You opened your eyes determined to close it again after getting water for your aching throat. Checking your phone, 10:00 a.m. You have a pending interview at 1:00 p.m for an intern job at Soo Yun’s father’s firm. You don’t wanna go, but you know her dad placed an effort to get you that interview and you don’t want to live in Soo Yun’s house forever.

Dragging yourself out of bed to prepare for the interview was the hardest part, staring at the bathroom mirror still wearing your yellow sundress from last night. You look like Esther from the movie The Orphan with mascara and eyeliner all over your puffy face. You run the water from the tub, testing the temperature first, then taking off your dress and going in.

You bend your knees to your chest, replaying the event that took place last night. Embarrassed at how you made a scene at your friends’ dorm. Well, not really sure now if you can still call them friends by now. A lot of things were foggy since the realization of your break up came up late, you were in shock for about an hour when you realized that Jimin was driving you and Soo Yun back home. 

All you remember was how Jae broke up with you accusing you of cheating. You didn’t know what’s worse, If it was the actual cheating, or him accusing you without knowing that you cheated hours before he called. You also remember how Taehyung rushed to your side when he saw you crying, not sure how much he heard from the phone call. You’re never getting over how much tears and snot went in his sweater as you bawled your eyes out when he held you and how loud you were that the whole group rushed to where you were. 

Soo Yun knew exactly what happened upon seeing you and asked the group to book the both of you an Uber, but Jimin volunteered to drive you home as it’s already past 9:00 p.m. The entire car ride was quiet, no one dared to speak or ask you questions, Jimin didn’t even open the radio and he knew how much you love singing to tunes while on a road trip. You stare at the crowded streets of L.A, observing people. People laughing inside the restaurants, couples walking while holding hands, a father and his daughter on his shoulders. That’s one of the things you often do, observe people, and try to guess what emotions they are feeling at the exact moment you see them. 

You feel Jimin’s hand brushing yours when he stops at a traffic light and as much as you want to hold him too, your head is too fucked up to respond. You slowly pull yours and cross your arms. He pulls off the driveway, “Thank you” that’s the only thing you said before disappearing inside the house, not having the strength to look at him in the eyes and be more vulnerable than you already were. 

You went straight to your bedroom with Soo Yun trailing you, she lay beside you and said, “Jimin said to call him if you need anything or in the group chat. Everyone’s worried about you, I’m worried.” But you don’t say anything, you just stare at your best friend's pretty face wondering if you ruined her moment with Jin. “You didn’t ruin anything, don’t worry about it, we’re already texting since we left. He’s worried about you, you know. He said he’d been through somewhat the same thing.” Sometimes it’s unbelievable how effective your telepathy with each other is. 

“Soo yun, I feel weird,” you said staring at the ceiling. “Weird how?” she asked, positioning herself like you. “It hurts so much how Jae said those things to me, it’s true though. I did cheat on him, but he didn’t know that yet. The thing is, I cried mostly at the flashbacks that ran in my mind when he said that I deserved the hate I got from school. Not that he broke up with me. I mean, yeah that hurt, but I feel relief more than anything else.” Soo Yun just hums and nodded at you.

“Am I a bad person? I left Korea to try and find myself, and --” Soo Yun interrupted you. “You’re not a bad person, did you make a mistake? Yes. That doesn’t make you a bad person. That makes you human. The only thing that you can do now is to be a better person than you were today and yesterday.” You feel tears started forming again so you shut your eyes, eventually feeling the exhaustion you had the whole day, drifting off to sleep.

You put makeup on, continuously reminding yourself of what Soo Yun said last night. “I’m better, I’m going to be better, starting from this interview.” you take a deep breath admiring yourself in the mirror. You’re wearing your favorite maroon coordinated skirt and blazer with a white blouse inside. “Here’s the heels you want to borrow,” Soo Yun said, barging into your room. “Holy smokes, you looked like you didn’t experience hell last night.” she sits on your bed with her phone.

“Did you check the group chat already? They’re checking up on you earlier before they went to practice,” she asks. “No, not yet,” flashbacks yet again of your embarrassing breakdown flood your mind. “I feel like they think of me now as a drama queen. I’m especially mortified at seeing Tae, I held onto him like a child missing at the mall then finding their parents after the security announced it all over,” you scream at yourself in the mirror like it’s only dawning to you now.

“That's, uh, an offbeat analogy,” she said looking confused. You grab your phone on the nightstand as you browse your messages. Private messages from Jimin and Taehyung appeared as well as your group chat. A sense of relief took over your body once you saw the messages on the group chat. “I got to go, it’s already 11:45, L.A traffic is so unpredictable.” You said placing your phone inside your bag. 

While driving you straighten out your priorities. 

1. Ace this interview, you’re already 20. Either get this job or go back to Korea.

2. Reply to your messages, also return your dad’s phone call he’s been worried for days now. 

3. Talk to Jae. Tell him the truth, even though you broke up. He deserves to know the truth.

4. Talk to Jimin. Figure out what’s this and if whatever this is, is it worth it?

[ryik-the-writer]

Chapter 23 - Reflections pt. 2

[A03]

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story) Chapter 3: Day One Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress Chapter 7: Operation Spotless! Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1 Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2 Chapter 13: The Girl With Blue Eyes: Underground Chapter 14. Recovery Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more Chapter 15: Trapped Chapter 16: Filth Chapter 17: Fairydust pt. 1 Chapter 18: Fairydust pt. 2 Chapter 19: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 1 Chapter 20: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 2                                         Chapter 21:  The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3                                         Chapter 22: Reflections pt. 1

Blood.

He wanted blood.

He wanted to smear it on his walls. On his skin.

He wanted her blood.

Pan slammed the door of the police station as he barged through the street, the icy night air barely affecting him. His blood was boiling, threatening to ooze through his pores, to spill on the ground.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to fail. Peter Pan never fails.

Yet he had been dethroned in a matter of seconds, and all he had left was a dark, gnawing rage swimming through his bloodstream.

The pavement seemed to crumble under his feet as he stalked yet the exaggerated force did not ease his hatred.

Just ahead, town psychiatrist Archie Hopper was walking his Dalmatian, Pongo. The dog instantly sensed the approaching danger and forced his owner out of the way, the man fumbling for control as Pan stormed past them.

He would have thrown them through a shop window if they hadn’t moved.

“This wasn’t supposed to have happened! This shouldn’t have happened!”

But it did.

“It’s not my fault.”

Of course it’s not.

“It’s hers!”

Of course, of course…

“Everything would have been fine if she had just let me handle it!”

She won’t accept the truth.

He almost ripped the door off the hinges when he reached his apartment, but the quiet that greeted him when he entered caused him to stop in his tracks.

Not the quiet not the quiet not the quiet…

Like a savior, Pan’s cat rounded out of the kitchen, his heavy purring clearing away the darkness that threatened to swallow him.

Pan knelt and petted the cat with a shaky hand, his fingers grazing over the scars from years of trauma the animal sustained during his life on the street. If it weren’t for his blind eye and patches of missing fur, no one would ever suspect he had ever been abused. He was a whore for attention and would purr for anyone who would touch him. An absolute slut. Hardly the vicious creature Pan thought he was taking in.

Fluffy. Soft.

His neck is probably extremely breakable.

Pan paused as the thought went through his mind, his fingers digging into the cat’s neck to the point where he yowled in discomfort.

As adrenaline coursed through his veins, he calmly picked up the cat, the heavy creature squirming in his arms, and carried him into the bathroom, closing him in as he stared up in confusion.

As soon as he stepped away from the door, he grabbed a lamp from the side table—a gift, he recalled, from Felix when he first moved in—and hurled it across the room. The force of the plug being wretched from the wall nearly tore the socket from the wiring. The sound of the glass splattering on the wall sounded like a gunshot, and it smoked as it settled to the floor.

It wasn’t enough.

It was too quiet here.

Call August?

“I want to be alone!”

No you don’t.

He swerved into the kitchen and grabbed a frying pan hanging over the sink. Gripping it firmly, he began swinging it and hitting anything in sight.

His bookshelf was soon a pile of woodchips, his few trinkets broken plaster and glass on his living room floor.

When there was nothing left to destroy in the living room, he headed to the kitchen, throwing plates and glasses where ever he could. Then to his bedroom where he nearly put a whole in his wall flipping the mattress over. The corner knocked over a series of pictures he had on his dresser, a group photo of him, Felix and Tink crashing into the floor. Their smiling faces stared up at him, daring him to justify what he had done.

“It’s not my fault. I was trying to help you!” he screamed into the destruction.

Were you really?

He fell back against the wall as the light above him flickered, struggling not to blow out.

Sound familiar?

He stared at the light as the adrenaline slowly leaked from his veins, the pounding of a pissed off neighbor beating into his shoulder blades.

From the bathroom he could hear Fuzz freaking out, yowling in fear from the violence.

Pan’s hand fell to the floor, his skin breaking as his fingers swam through the layer of broken glass and dust, pausing only when they felt the familiar softness of inked paper.

He glared at the smudged headline and Wendy’s crinkled photo under the author’s section, his blood pressure rising as he glared at her candid smiling face.

Somehow he remembered that her eyes were green despite the gray photo.

This isn’t her fault, something much kinder him said.

But the voice was too quiet, and he crumbled up the photo between his oozing fingers.

He blinked and held his eyes close for only a moment, but when he opened the door the room was flooded with late morning light.

His back was throbbing and his fingertips were burning, the newspaper still clutched in his hand.

He pulled the dried blood-stained newspaper from his skin and grimaced at the stinging.

With a pacified huff he picked himself off the floor, tearing yesterday’s shirt off as he opened the bathroom door so that his cat could make a beeline for his food bowl.

Pan paid him no mind as he tossed his shirt in the bathtub and turned on the sink, letting the weak drops of water clot on his fingertips, the pinkish blood staining the sink.

He didn’t bother to give his reflection a look-over; he knew good and well that a bruised, bloodshot-eyed creature would be waiting for him in the glass.

Instead he went through his morning routine in an automatic daze, brushing his teeth and running a comb through his hair all without the reflective aid.

The only step away from his routine was the bandages he had to wrap around his fingers, the sticky strips of plastic squeezing his flesh too tight.  

He stepped over his broken living room to get to his closet and chose an outfit without concern for corresponding colors.

Finally, he addressed his howling cat and dumped a heap into his now-slightly damaged bowl. A wide gap ran down the side, nearly splitting the dish in two. The feline cared little to none as long as it would still hold food.

Pushing aside a heap of broken dishes with his shoe, he pulled half a gallon of milk out of his sparse refrigerator, blindly taking a large swig until the sour taste hit his senses. He nearly choked getting the curdles out through his nose, gasping for breath as the clumps oozed down the drain.

Eyes burning and throat constricting, he started gagging until a long trail of saliva joined the milk, punctuated by a weak shout from him. He slammed his bawled fist on the counter over and over again, wondering only for a moment if it would shatter if he continued.

But it didn’t, and as with all things, Pan had to move on.

He ran the water in the sink but didn’t bother to clean the mess.

After all, he needed something to look forward to during his week of fucking suspension.

Pan scoffed at the reminder, but kept his thoughts at bay to keep the hatred from boiling over again. He wouldn’t have an apartment left if he did.

After giving his mouth a good rinse, he began gathering his things and his helmet. He had no idea where he was going or even what he would do, but he knew after years of these meltdowns that the best thing to do is to keep moving. Eventually something would capture his attention, and he would be able to handle his current issue when he was a bit calmer.

The cool morning air bit at his cheeks as he trudged down the awakening Storybrooke streets. He frowned when he remembered how loud the streets of Scotland were during all hours of the day. Yelling at rude neighbors at night, shouting at the same ones at the crack of dawn. It was invigorating.

Now he wished there was a daily disaster or a fight between lovers spilling out of the windows, anything to fill in the nauseating peace around him. Even the birds were refusing to sing their songs, just to annoy him of course!

He glanced around his usual haunts, giving fiery glares at anyone who dared looked up at him. Word had probably gotten out about his suspension he was sure. He could feel it in the air, and see it at the way the townspeople were sneering at him.

That boy is finally getting what he deserves.

He always was a little troublemaker.

Things are going to be real quiet around here for a while.

Splinters of ice swam through Pan’s veins but he refused to show how anxious he was on the outside. He still ran this town no matter what happened. It was only a matter before things fell back into place.

Until then he was piss and needed a distraction.

He entered Granny’s without any real intention of getting anything, and it was far too early in the morning to pick a fight.

The townsfolk became recognizably quiet as he strolled up to the counter. Pan scoffed. Sheep.

Granny was staring at him over her crescent-shape glasses, one of her eyebrows arched in amusement.

“Heard you got into more trouble than usual,” she teased as she wiped a glass dry.

“Shut it,” Pan growled, the older woman taking very little offense to Pan’s gruffness.

“Heard that Wendy girl was right beside you,” Granny continued with a half smirk.

“Is there anything you haven’t heard?” Pan snarked. “Do you want to update me on the recipe on your latest batch of frozen lasagna?”

Granny’s smirk dropped in an instant. “Hey! We agreed that was a secret!”

“And I won’t hesitate to forget that promise if you don’t zip it, now may I please have some coffee?”

Granny didn’t stop glaring at him as she made his request. Feeling a bit more back in control, Pan gave her a plastic angel smile as she slid the sloshing mug to him before he frowned again.

The brew was tasteless but hot enough that it kept his nerves screaming, distracting him and keeping his thoughts steady.

Granny began a new task and the diner residents picked up their conversations once more.

“How’s Wendy?” Granny asked suddenly.

Pan spat into his cup, the bitter liquid coating his inner nostrils.

“The fuck…what?” he coughed, taking a wad of napkins across his mouth. “Why?”

Granny shrugged. “I saw you two walking together the other night,” she said. “Before…everything.”

“And?” Pan growled.

“I talked to Tink,” the restaurant owner said, her eyes not quite meeting his. “Wendy’s name came up a lot. She’s still very upset, but she said she messed up about something. ”

“Damn right she did,” Pan muttered. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt over this.

“I thought it was a bit strange that Wendy would write a story like that,” Granny said, giving him an all-knowing look. “She hardly seems like the type of person to drag someone through the dirt like that.”

Pan clenched his mug.  “You don’t know her.”

“And you do?”

Pan locked his jaw to keep from answering. He didn’t need this old bat analyzing whatever he had with Wendy. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to lay out his entire life with more than a dozen ears listening in.

He wordlessly pulled out some crumpled money—much less than was due for his barely touched cup of coffee—and exited the restaurant before he rammed the older woman’s head into the counter.

His whole body felt tight, his joints stiffening with each step he took until he hardened to a stop in front of the diner alley.

He hadn’t answered Granny’s question, he realized. How was Wendy?

Pissed, he thought with a weak scoff. He had done drug her into all of this for her benefit, yet she hadn’t seen that. Why couldn’t she see that?

Pan shook his head as leaned against the wall. Had this all gone according to plan—if Mother Superior hadn’t offed herself that is—Wendy might have seen it. She would have been acclaimed for her work and quickly figured out his role in it. Though there would have immediate consequences for the story, they wouldn’t have been nearly as intense. Tink could finally give the head nun the chewing out she deserved, and Wendy would be her hero.

In return for putting her on the spotlight, Wendy would be grateful to him, but it would have also established his sense of power. It would have kept her at a distance but also kept her close. A perfect balance. Just what he wanted.

But it hadn’t turned out that way, and now he had her, Tink, and the majority of the town glaring at him. It was starting to make him feel small. Powerless.

He had felt this way only once in his life, and once he was on top he swore he would never go back down.

But he felt unsure where to start clawing and now he had no one he could stand on to get back up.

He glanced off into the alley, the dark, small space seeming to stretch on forever. A nice place for monsters to live.

A better place for monsters to flee from.

And then in flash of a moment, he remembered the monster that had been creeping there.

Jekyll. Slinking in the dark looking for his blue-eyed victim.

His Belle.

The name made the air in his lungs shrivel up. Where was she now? Pan looked around as if she would still be there, curled up in the corner the same way she had been when Wendy found her. God he had barely thought of her since her rescue. What had happened to her?

His adrenaline began to soar as he thought of her, tried to pinpoint where she had been taken. Was she safe? Was she healthy? How the hell could he just push her aside?!

His flicker of light.

Belle.

I’m sorry Belle.

He shot from the alley and made a mad dash to the hospital where she surely must be. She had to be. She was waiting for him, right?

She wouldn’t abandon him. She swore that. She would help him untangle this web of darkness settled in his soul.

She had to. He was out of places to turn.

 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The hospital staff stared at him like he had just pulled himself from an accident, and it wasn’t until he caught sight of himself in a window that he saw why.

His hair was standing in multiple ends, having been unbrushed for several days. His eyes were dark and sunken in, bloodshot. He even had sprigs of facial hair threatening break through the surface of his face.

He looked like a freshly realized serial killer.

Belle would be scared to death if she saw him.

With a growl he moved to find the nearest restroom, easing close enough to a supply cart that he could snag a comb and a razor.

Locking himself in, he set to work to make himself somewhat presentable. He scrubbed his face until it stung, taking the razor to the fuzz sprouting on his features without care of how much it would burn later. He then set to work with his hair, wetting it and combing it over. Maybe Belle would recognize him better if he wore it the way he had years ago.

But he quickly discovered how absolutely ridiculous he looked with the comb-over. He looked like a choir boy! Like a boyish little prick!

He ruffled his hair furiously, his heart pounded. What if she was still terrified of him? What if she didn’t want to see him at all?

The light above the sink flickered, seeming to want to go out thanks to his indecisiveness. He could easily walk away, and Belle could continue to heal without ever knowing that he had attempted to darken her doorway.

But then what? He’d be back to filling his mind with nothingness. At least Belle could distract him, and possibly help him feel whole once more. She always had a way of doing so.

Glaring at his reflection, he combed his hair back into the boyish look. Better safe than sorry.

Now his clothes. They were clean enough, but more like something he’d wear during a night out. Frowning, he buttoned his shirt all the way up, and spent five minutes tucking it into his jeans in a way that looked decent.

His face was burning when he finally emerged from the bathroom. He felt tight, completely unlike himself. Hopefully it wouldn’t be for nothing.

Just as he was about to ask a nurse at the desk where Belle’s room was, a cart of flowers was pushed past him, making Pan realize that of course he should get Belle flowers.

He recalled how much she loved roses. Gold had a half-maintained garden at his home once, which—Pan recalled—suddenly became a full-time project shortly after Belle came into their lives.

Pan gritted his teeth as he snagged as small bouquet off the cart while the nurse was busy, hiding it as he got Belle’s information.

God, he’d been so stupid back then, to think Belle would ever had a relationship with a boy young enough to be her little brother. He wondered if she and Gold ever laughed about it, at his desperation for the love he had desperately needed.

That same boyish hope pulsed in the very back of his mind. Maybe things could be different now.

He scoffed as he got into the elevator. Like hell. Belle didn’t need his filth in her life. She deserved freedom, and open spaces and fresh air after all she went through.

Because of you.

Before the thought could sink in, he caught site of a very familiar irritating nest of blond curls.

“Wendy!” Pan gasped, not realizing that he had said her name out loud until she shot around, her wild eyes softening at the site of him .

Peter Pan—who just last night had nearly framed Wendy for murder, knocked out Dr. Whale, and betrayed a slew of people—was standing in his Sunday best with a bouquet of freshly pruned flowers clutched in his hand and utterly vulnerable before his female opponent.

“Hey.” Wendy greeted with a snort.

“Hi…” Pan returned, his skin prickling from being so exposed.

They stared at each other for a moment—each curious as to why they were both at he hospital in the first place—before Wendy sputtered and released a melodically laugh.

 Just a heads up, updating might be much slower than usual. I’m a journalist trying to get a job and once I do my focus is going to be primarily on that and working as many hours as possible so that I can afford my own place. I have a good idea of what’s next for this story but my mind’s been so clouded lately I’m having trouble concentrating. I don’t want writing to be a chore so I’m putting it to rest for a little.

However, I don’t know what the future’s going to be like, so I might have more time than I realize, so we’ll see.

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 47

We stood outside the Paddle Room after texting Sammy to let him know we’d arrived, waiting for him to give us the okay once he’d gotten everything in place for our entrance. The makeup Veronica had so artfully applied was gonzo, replaced with what amounted to a hack job in comparison, courtesy of yours truly. The bun had drooped considerably so I’d abandoned that as well, leaving my hair hanging in loose waves that brushed my collar bones. Tom and I kept glancing each other and shaking our heads in disbelief, then smiling, then frowning. We’d decided that we should use this opportunity to share our news, as a sonogram to determine how far along I actually was would happen as soon as I could get someone in LA to fit me into their schedule, at which point a leak would likely be inevitable…thus, it seemed to be a ‘better they hear it from us’ scenario. WHEN to share it was the question, and we were concerned that those closest to us might be offended they hadn’t been told first. Tom’s phone chirped, and we opened the doors to listen for our cue. The low tones of something classical I couldn’t quickly identify faded, followed by Sammy’s voice booming over the sound system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for…allow me to introduce, for the very first time…MR. AND MRS. HIDDLESTON!”

We’d requested La Roux’s ‘Tigerlily’ be played as we came in, starting at the first chorus, but instead, there was silence. Everyone was standing around the outer edge of the dance floor, facing us, but there was no applause, no congratulatory shouts…nothing. I turned to Sammy’s DJ station and noticed he wasn’t alone…next to him was Simon, microphone in hand, and I heard music start and he began to sing ‘Stand By Me’. After the first verse, the entire room joined in, and it wasn’t until they'd almost finished that I comprehended why they were doing it. Even though we’d practically just done a shoot for the media as a result of the Claudia debacle, it had completely slipped my mind. Honestly, yesterday felt like a lifetime ago from where I stood, but the sentiment was so beautiful and having the support of so many people, many of whom had either just met or barely knew me, fostered such a sense of belonging, of family…and so, of course, I fucking cried again. When I looked up at Tom he, too, was bawling, which made me feel that my tears were seemingly justifiable. Either that or we’d just morphed into a new phase of our existence, wherein if we were a band I’d christen us The Weepers. We’d play totally emo stuff, with songs like ‘Cry, Cry, Cry’ and ‘All Day Sob Song’. The applause began once the song ended, accompanied by whistles and cheers. Through my tears I raised my left eyebrow at Tom, and he responded with a shrug, then nodded as he darted over to Simon and snatched the microphone from his hand. He walked back to my side as he began to speak.

“Thank you all so much for that, and for being here with us. Maude and I are so very, very blessed to have you in our lives, and sharing this day, one which I wouldn’t have thought could possibly be more meaningful, more joyful, or more…more…” Watching him, I could tell he’d totally lost his train of thought, so I reached out and touched his hand lightly. He turned to look at me, and when I smiled, he smiled, and resumed. “Anyway. Since we’re all here in one place, gathered together in celebration, we’d like to share some news with you, if you don’t mind. Mrs. Hiddleston, would you like to do the honors?”

He handed me the mic, which left me no way out, and my eyes moved from one side of the room to the other, noting the varied expressions of our guests and imagining how they’d change in a matter of seconds. I swallowed, then cleared my throat.

“Well, this is totally out of line as far as decorum goes, probably, and it’s still really early in the game, but we wanted you to hear it from us before it leaks…so…” Another swallow, followed by a very long, deep breath. “I…I…uh…I’m…um…” Tom’s lips grazing my cheek, while a well-intentioned act, only served to make things worse. I met his gaze and mouthed the words ‘help me’, and the grin that lit up his face as he leaned down toward the microphone was both ridiculously sweet and disturbingly sexy.

“What my radiantly beautiful wife is attempting to tell you is that…” He paused, taking the mic from me as he stood upright. “She’s pregnant.”

A chorus of ‘oh my gods’, some peppered with profanity, rang out, as well as more ‘I knew its’ than I would have expected, two of which I recognized as Simon’s and Anne’s. We were quickly surrounded by well-wishers, Simon being the first to reach me, latching on to my forearms and literally jumping up and down with glee.

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!” He stopped jumping to embrace me, then leaned back to give me a once-over. “Luke told me you barfed yesterday, you thought you were going to barf on our way to get dressed, and then you barfed again in the grass and I was like wow, she’s been a little nutty lately, I wonder…”

He escaped a punch to the gut only because Anne shoved him aside side in order to place a hand on either side of my face and add her two cents. “I knew when you thanked me for praying.” I sighed, and she smiled widely. “I jest, my dear. I just…knew, as soon as I saw you. I can’t explain it, but I did. The throwing up after the ceremony was confirmation. I remember that feeling.”

I shook my head. “Soooo…am I the only one who, like, had no fucking clue? Because it’s starting to seem that way.”

Simon side-eyed me, lips pressed together tightly. “Are you trying to tell me you DIDN’T KNOW?” Haven’t you been tracking this minute by minute? How could you not know?”

“No, I’m not TRYING to tell you…I AM telling you. It didn’t even enter my mind as a possibility. Because I put April’s info on the May calendar and…”

He crossed his arms, an open-mouthed smirk upon his face, well aware that there was some piping hot tea about to be spilled. “Oh Maude, honey, this is too GOOD. If you had no idea…how did this whole finding out thing, you know, happen? And more importantly, WHEN?”

Next to me Diana, Emma, and Sarah had been congratulating Tom, but were now standing and listening, along with whomever else was within range of my voice. Tom was trying to suppress a grin and failing epically. I rolled my eyes.

“Weellll…my incredibly perceptive husband totally knew and…”

Tom interjected. “To be clear, I didn’t know. I suspected.”

I flipped him the bird, which elicited a deep chuckle. “He suspected. For quite some time, apparently. And after my most recent regurgitation spectacle, he decided to broach the subject, since, you know, I hadn’t. I was all NO WAY DUDE NOT POSSIBLE YOU ARE INCORRECT then I pulled out my phone and suddenly it WAS possible so we sent Melanie out to buy a test while we did photos and a test wound up being six tests and we couldn’t make ourselves wait until after the reception so we literally found out twenty minutes ago or something and here we are and please tell me I didn’t miss the pizza bagels because I’m starving and I NEED the pizza bagels.”

Simon took my hand and began to lead me to our table. “Out of the way, people. Ravenous pregnant lady coming through.”  Tom had followed and pulled out my chair for me, then pushed me in as I sat down. He ran off, and Simon sat down in the chair to my right, teary-eyed and smiling. “Well, I think you’ve outdone MY wedding, which is incredibly rude and I hate you for it. But seriously…I am so, so happy for you. Beyond happy. How far along are you, do you think?”

“Six or seven weeks? That’s just a guess…I’m going to see someone as soon as we get to LA to confirm, though.”

He counted on his fingers. “So you’re due mid-to-late February, then. Fuck me, we’re actually going to have babies together. I can’t. I need more booze for this. You stay here while I hit up the bar, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

As I waited, I glanced around the room, the decorations reminding me that I was sitting at the head table at my wedding reception. My ability to focus had been rendered to near zero, and I hoped I wouldn’t be left alone for too long lest I accidentally set something on fire or inadvertently destroy the universe. A plate of at least a dozen pizza bagels magically appeared on the tabletop before me, the bright silver band on the purveyor’s left hand spurring a stream-of consciousness recognition – this is my husband, who has brought me food, and we are having a baby. He sat in the seat to my left, and I turned to him, smiling, in all likelihood, as if I were a complete moron.

“Hi. I love you. You brought me pizza bagels. We’re having a baby.”

He grinned. “Hi yourself. I love you too. I did. Yes, we are. Have I mentioned lately that you’re alarmingly adorable?”

I shook my head as I snatched a bagel off the plate. “I don’t know. I’m like…” My snack-less left hand rose to ear-height, then flung up and outward with fingers extended as I mimed ‘mind blown/vacant’ as best I could. “None of this feels real. Maybe I need some coffee. Shit, can I still drink coffee? My condolences to all of you if I cannot. Also, I’ve been drinking it the entire time…is that bad? Good lord…I know nothing, Jon Snow. I need a tutor. Send in the moms.”

He grabbed my right wrist gently, guiding my hand to my mouth. “Eat, love. What you really need is fuel to burn.”

As long as I live, I’ll never forget that first bite of wedding-day pizza bagel. On a scale of one to Carnegie Deli Cheesecake, it was Spinal Tap crank it to eleven delicious. The rest were gone in just a few minutes, and as I opened my mouth to ask Tom if he’d go fetch me a few more along with an ice-cold soda, Sammy announced that everyone should proceed to their tables as dinner was about to be served. One by one the members of our wedding party stopped to congratulate us before they took their seats, and Diana paid me a visit before she joined her own table. She leaned down to embrace me, bursting into tears as she began to pat my back.

“The day I get to officially welcome my new daughter into the family, I’m blessed with the news that the family is expanding even further. What an incredible, wondrous thing…and how lucky we all are to have you, Maude.”  

I squeezed her tightly, crying as well. “Thank you, Diana. You’ve all welcomed me into the fold, and I’m so grateful for it. Thank you, again.”

The staff arrived, carrying trays of drinks, soup and salad. By the time they returned with the family-style main course I’d begun to feel more like myself, grounded and present as opposed to being off in la-la land. The initial conversation had revolved around our announcement, but gradually shifted to more everyday things…a bright spot of normalcy in a week filled with chaos. When I realized that it had been only yesterday morning that the Claudia story broke, and that the insanity was not far beyond thirty-six hours old, I felt like I’d been caught in a time-stretch because it seemed that the duration had to be vastly greater. I took my first bite of fettuccine Alfredo at that point, which rendered everything else moot, and the noise I made when the sauce hit my taste buds prompted Tom to slide his hand up my dress under the table, stopping just short of the danger zone when the sound of clinking glasses all around the room demanded that we kiss. Again. For like, the fifteenth time. I shifted forward, hoping to connect and get some quick hand action in, but the bastard pulled away, trailing his fingers slowly down my inner thigh as his tongue exited my mouth.

I pointed my fork in the air, at no one and everyone all at once, voicing my displeasure loudly. “If you all want the bride and groom to hang around past the cake cutting, you need to STOP. DOING. THAT.”

Robert shouted from two tables over. “A toast to Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston, whom I predict will wind up needing the third-row-seating SUV model in order to transport their brood in its entirety in the not-so-distant future. Or maybe a mini-van…and if that van’s a rockin’…”

Tom yelled back, with a bunch of other hooligans joining in. “Don’t come a knockin’!”

I leaned forward, head in my hands, but was soon disturbed by a tap on my shoulder. I turned and glanced up to discover Melanie, fulfiller of wishes great and small.

“Speaking of cake cutting…would you like to do that now, or should we wait a bit?”

The woman left no stone unturned, and I was touched by her thoughtfulness, taking into account that my digestive system was essentially an active volcano at this juncture, prone to erupt with little to no warning. Admittedly I was nearly full, but…cake. There’s always room for cake. Or any other food from the dessert category. As I imagined the sugary goodness that was buttercream frosting, I rose from my chair.

“Now, please and thank you. Cake. Yes.”

Tom had been engrossed in conversation with Luke, and my sudden movement startled him. He peered up at me, eyes wide. I leaned down, my nose nearly touching his.

“Caaaaaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkkkkkeeeeeeeeee.”

He laughed as he stood, placing a hand on my lower back as Melanie ushered us to the cake table, which had gone unnoticed in the whirlwind of our entrance. “You know I’m picturing that cartoon panel you’ve shown me right now, the stick-ish figure in the pink dress with the yellow hair?”

“Allie Brosh. Mmm hmm. The woman’s a comedic genius. Did I ever show you Simple Dog?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Really? My god, how could I be so negligent? Those are laugh until you can’t breathe hilarious. Next plane ride, that’s what we’re doing, m’kay? We can probably wade through her entire repository travelling back and forth to Australia over the next few months, and…holy fuck, look at the CAKE.”

It was exactly how I’d envisioned it, and as I examined the text on the spines and worked my way to the middle I was floored by the fact that Tom and I had not only combined our own stories, but as they’d merged we’d begun to write the very first chapter in the book of someone else’s life, a brand new someone else whose life had sparked into existence within…me. I looked to him, shaking my head.

“Dude, I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to this whole pregnant thing.”

He laughed. “Maybe you should give it more than a few hours to sink in?”

“Excellent advice. But still…it’s BANANAS.”

“Agreed. I must admit that I feel a bit like I’m on a movie set today, because this day has simply been too extraordinary to be reality. You always hear people pinpointing their wedding as one of the best days of their lives, but I couldn’t quite buy into it, and yet…as of now, it’s an indisputable fact. For me.”

I slipped an arm around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder. “Me too. It’s over-the-top schlocky and romantic, but I am SO here for it. Which I will vehemently deny if questioned. Just so you know.” I poked him in the ribs with my free hand. “You gonna cut that cake or what?”

Tom took the silver cake knife from its spot on the table, grabbed one of the white plates, then carved a slice from the left tier and handed it to me. That was my side, his was the right, and he cut himself a piece from there next. The room had gone quiet, all eyes on us, wondering if we’d play it safe or start a cake-smearing war. We each broke off a small piece of our slice with our fingers, and I concluded that the places I’d most enjoy smearing things on him were currently off limits, so simply feeding it to him would have to do. He opened his mouth like a baby bird, and as I placed the cake on his tongue I thought I’d chosen wisely until he curled it around my fingers, covering them with cake which he proceeded to lick off. Slowly, eyes locked on mine the entire time. I mouthed the words ‘you fucker’, then pulled my hand free.

He grinned at me as he licked his lips, then raised his hand and moved it toward my mouth, which I opened, intending to return the favor and make things worse by sucking on his fingers. The opportunity did not, however, arise, as he ‘dropped’ the piece of cake onto my cleavage and then…ate it off. When he finished and stood upright, I pointed down at my boobs.

“Hold up…I think you missed some.” Loud raucous laughter filled the space, and I broke off another piece of my slice and popped it into my mouth. The buttercream frosting was ludicrously tasty and caused an immediate sugar rush to course throughout my body. A member of the waitstaff handed Tom and I forks while others began dismantling the tiers so they could be cut and served to our guests. We ate our first slices standing, then helped ourselves to another and went back to eat them at our table. Coffee and tea were offered, but I was still unsure of the caffeine situation so I had water instead, which was precisely as lame as it sounds, but my brain had still been too addled to think to ask for milk or juice. As folks began to mill about, Luke stood up from his chair next to Tom and clinked his glass with his fork loudly. Sammy ran over to hand him a microphone, and Luke cleared his throat loudly, then began to speak.

“Hello everyone. I’m reasonably sure you all know who I am.” He paused amid lots of nods and soft chuckles. “Tom and I have been part of each other’s lives for almost a decade, both personally and professionally. He’s been, in both those arenas, an inspiration to me and his success has motivated me to work towards achieving my own goals. No matter what I’ve ever needed, he’s always been there, ready and willing to help in any way he possibly can. He’s a gifted performer, a humanitarian, incredibly witty, generous, loving, kind, and he possesses a wickedly delightful sense of humor. Within our business relationship, we don’t always see eye to eye, but we always try to value one another’s perspective. One year ago today, we were at an impasse with no solution in sight. I’d accompanied him to Kauai as he was due to begin a shoot and there happened to be a seminar taking place here that I’d been trying to fit into my schedule for a few years, and after attending I contacted the speaker because I thought perhaps she might be able to set Tom and I on the path to an equitable solution. To make a long story short, she did, she came to work with me and propelled Prosper to a level I might otherwise have never reached, and, most importantly, she’s made my best friend a very, very happy man.”

Simon clapped loudly. “That she has, my sister from another mister. She delights me endlessly.” He leaned forward and looked up at Luke around Tom and me. “OHHHH, you meant TOM. So sorry. Do go on.”

Luke rolled his eyes, shaking his head and smiling. “Anyway. Over the course of that day, one year ago, I watched two people falling in love, right in front of me. Two people who’d been made to be together, but had yet to cross paths. It was such a beautiful thing to behold…and here we are today, celebrating not only their marriage, but the beginning of their journey into parenthood. Please, do join me in a toast to two people I love very dearly, two people I am blessed to have in my life. To Maude and Tom!” He raised his glass, as did everyone else while echoing his words.

Simon was on his feet before Luke even sat down, waving to everyone with both hands. “Hi hi hi. So. I met Maude Gallagher in the living room of a gorgeous beach house here on the island, and I knew straight away that we were going to be the best of friends. Speaking of straight…if that’s what I happened to be, I would have beaten Tom to the punch and asked her to marry ME. The woman is a force of nature…she’s a genius, she’s hilarious, she’s snarky, she’s sarcastic, and she’ll gleefully verbally eviscerate anyone and everyone who stands in her way, the way of those she loves, or those she’s contractually obligated to represent.” The crowd laughed. “Now this bit, she won’t appreciate at all…she’s also giving, loving, thoughtful, empathetic, and…kind.”

I yelled, hands cupped around my mouth. “Shut the fuck UP, Simon. You’ll ruin my rep!” Another round of laughter ensued, continuing even as he started speaking again.

“We are kindred spirits. Our birthdays are one day apart, and we were born in the same year. You’re going to have to guess which one because I am NOT telling you. Anyway. I just love her to pieces, and I’m so grateful that she chose me to be her Person of Honor, and incredibly humbled that I was the one who came to mind when she was in need of someone to walk her down the aisle.” He’d begun to sniffle quietly. “I’m such a lucky, lucky man to have her…oh, and Tom! Tom! Beautiful, wonderful Tom! You’re doing AMAZING, sweetie. Both of them. I’m so lucky to have both of them in my life, to have their love…and they have mine, forever. Cheers, my friends, as you embark on this journey you’ve allowed me to share. May each day going forward bring you more joy than the one before. To Maude and Tom!”

After the applause concluded, Sammy announced that it was time for our first dance, and we took our place out on the floor, singing loudly to each other as ‘Adventure of a Lifetime’ played. A third of the way through people began to join us, and by the end everyone was singing and dancing like fools, which became the theme of the evening. When the festivities began to wind down and it was time for Tom and me to make our great escape, I was both exhausted and elated and unsure of which state would win out once we got back to the room. When he picked me up and carried me over the threshold, I knew it would be the former, and we both barely had enough energy to get ourselves undressed. He pulled back the covers and we flopped into bed, snuggling into spoon position, falling asleep with both our left hands resting on my lower belly, his on top of mine, fingers notched in an attempt to sate the overwhelming desire to connect with each other and the tiny miracle we’d made together.

****************************************

The entirety of Thursday had been spent lazing around and hanging out with friends and family, as most were heading out on Friday. Checkout time was eleven AM, and we both wanted to be present to extend our thanks and say goodbye. Tom had gotten up at eight-thirty in order to squeeze in a run, but my body said ‘bitch, stay down’, so after he kissed me goodbye and left the room I set my phone alarm for ten-fifteen on the off chance that he got caught up chatting and didn’t come upstairs to wake me. Going back to bed had always been one of my favorite things to do…it’s like the ultimate fuck off to the world and all the responsibilities it holds. Granted, I didn’t think I’d ever done it as well as Peter Gibbons in Office Space, but it always felt enormously satisfying. Today had been no exception, other than that I’d woken up at nine-thirty after dreaming I’d heard sirens. There hadn’t seemed to be any here in the real world, so I got up to pee and hoped I’d remain groggy enough to get at least another half-hour of sleep. Passing the dresser, I noticed that there were two keycards on top of it, Tom apparently having forgotten his. I sighed as I entered the bathroom.

“Yeah, that half-hour is so not happening. But, bright side – breakfast!”

As I was washing my hands, there it was…the knock of the keyless husband. I yelled that I’d be right there, then slipped on my robe. He hadn’t responded, which was unusual, but it was still on the early side, so perhaps he was just being considerate. Unlike me, loud shouty woman in room 203. I turned the handle downward and pulled the door open, smirking widely.

“Forgot your key again, did you? You’re going to have to make…”

The person waiting in the hallway was…not Tom. It was a woman with long, straight dark hair. She was very thin, much taller than me and wearing a UNICEF T-shirt with khaki hiking shorts and white Keds. As my focus shifted to her face, it dawned on me precisely who I was looking at...in spite of the dyed hair, there was no disguising those eyes and that perfect Cupid’s bow mouth. Claudia. In her left hand was a medium-sized gift bag, and in her right, a small semi-automatic pistol. I watched, time slowing down to something akin to frame-by-frame as that hand rose and the gun moved up and up until it was pointing at me. I heard a voice inside my head screaming ‘close the door, close the door’ but I was frozen in place, the thought ‘she’s going to shoot me now’ eclipsing all other internal messages, and then I heard a man’s voice yelling for her to drop her weapon. That broke the spell and I began to push the door shut, but she charged forward and slammed her body weight against it, knocking me back a bit, but I knew if I didn’t engage the lock this was all over…I was all over…so I pushed back with all the force I could muster, leading with my right shoulder, bare feet planted apart, toes digging into the carpet. Whichever emotion was propelling her was no match for the adrenaline of my own fight or flight response, nor the thirty pounds or more by which I outweighed her. I heard Sharon Carter in Civil War quoting Aunt Peggy, something that had brought me to tears in the theater, and in this horrific instant it gave me the momentum I needed to get the job done. No. YOU move. The door shut with a click, and as I heard a scream of frustration from the other side I fastened the bolt, and just as I stopped to catch my breath the sound of three shots fired in rapid succession followed by another single shot shortly thereafter made my ears ring. I waited for pain, looking down and expecting blood flowers to blossom in the white silk of my robe, and when none appeared I glanced up at the door there were three dents, but that was all…no holes in it, or in me. Steel. It was steel, and I almost collapsed in peals of hysterical laughter until I heard more voices calling for an ambulance, and that’s when I realized I had no idea where Tom was. That, as logic demanded, rolled over to ‘he should have been back by now…did she get to him first?’ and my vision dimmed, followed by a quick descent into unconsciousness.

Simon calling my name was the first thing I heard as I came to, and as my eyes fluttered open his fully-dilated pupils and panicked expression caused me to panic as well…I sat straight up from where I’d landed on the carpet, and he reached behind me to assist me as I sank back down, paralyzed by dizziness.

“Easy. Easy. Take it slow. You’re all right, I think you just fainted. It’s okay. The paramedics will be here soon to look you over.” I knew what he meant, and though I had no idea how much time had passed, his words comforted me…as did the fact that I didn’t feel anything abnormal going on down below, no cramping, no bleeding…nothing had changed. “I’m not certain how long you’ve been out for, but it took me ten minutes to argue my way through the fucking crime scene to get to you…”

I reached out my hand, and he took it in his own after placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. And then, once again, Tom’s absence was all encompassing and my words caught in my throat as I spoke, then finally burst out, my intonation wildly off kilter. “T..om. Whe…re…”

Simon’s face fell, expression darkening until he realized I’d zeroed in on his face with my gaze, at which point I could clearly see him trying to force the mask back in place. I sat up again, fueled once more by pure adrenaline, my voice my own again.

“Tell me. Just tell me, Simon. Don’t fucking sugarcoat it. Don’t lie. Just tell me.”

He swallowed hard. “Luke’s with him. I don’t have any updates on his condition other than he was still conscious when they arrived at the hospital. Two bullet wounds, right side of his chest.”

I could have never, ever envisioned hearing those words spoken about someone I loved. But, that’s likely how anyone who ever does hear such a thing feels…even those whose loved ones put themselves in harm’s way each and every day to keep others safe. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t, that I was mistaken, because it was too…too much, too awful, too terrifying…a cascade of emotions washed over me, and I began to wish that the earth would just open up and swallow me. A brief bout of déjà vu followed…I’d been here before, when Erik had died…and in that, I found my strength, because now, hope still remained. I latched on to the word ‘conscious’, made it my mantra, and rose from the floor just as the paramedics walked in, gurney in tow. The one in front was a young man, twenty-five at most, and while I figured he’d seen his share of awfulness, something had clearly disturbed him as he was white as a sheet. Behind him was a woman, early forties if I had to guess, slightly on the heavy side, her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that swung back and forth as she quickly shut the door behind her. I remembered there’d been four shots in total and that only three had hit the door, and the words were out of my mouth before I could even consider not speaking them.

“Did they shoot her? I hope they fucking shot her. I hope she’s dead. Is she dead? She should be so lucky…because if anything happens to my husband I’ll kill her myself, and…”

Simon stepped in front of me, shaking his head slowly, hands held up in front of him. “Please understand that she’s not herself right now…” Which was utter bullshit, because I’d meant those words, and he knew it, but it dawned on me that saying such a thing was decidedly unwise and I hopped aboard his train of lies, lowering my head and covering my face with my hands.

“I’m so sorry…” The woman came over and asked me to please sit on the bed so she could take my vitals, but I refused, and then signed a release indicating that I was refusing all treatment. Simon side-eyed me as they left the room, but I ignored him, instead rifling through my suitcase to pull out undergarments, shorts, and a T-shirt, then dressed right in the middle of the room. My Birkis were under the desk, and as I slipped them on Simon cleared his throat.

“Maude, don’t you think you should have…”

“No. I’m fine. I need a soda, but other than that…fine. I’ve had a miscarriage. I know what it feels like. All I can do is try to stay as calm as possible, and even with that…it’s beyond my control. But if I’m going to stay calm…I need to get to Tom.” I turned to face him. “In order to do that I’m going to have to get past whomever and whatever’s outside that door without incident. Is that a reasonable scenario, in your opinion? Or should I start tying the sheets together so you can lower me down from the balcony? Because getting arrested at this juncture is unacceptable.”

He stared at me, and I figured he might be having one of those ‘wow I thought I knew this person but fuck me not so much’ moments, but then the corners of his mouth turned up just the tiniest bit for a fraction of a second and I knew that even if it did come to sheet tying, he was there for it. The corners took a downturn and remained that way as he answered.

“Claudia’s dead. When I came through everything was still…still…there and I know what you said but it might make you uncomfortable if you see it because…” He paused, face contorting as he carefully considered his next words. “I can’t be positive, but it sure looked to me like she did herself in.”

I ran my fingers through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it, grabbed a Coke out of the fridge, picked up my bag, dropped the soda inside it, then slung it over my shoulder as I headed for the door. “Okay. We’re good then. I’ve got keys for our rental, but you should probably drive.” Saying ‘our’ almost stopped me in my tracks, but I took a deep breath and started to open the door but was held up by Simon grabbing my wrist.

“Are you sure you’re all right with seeing this?”

Shrugging, I opened the door the rest of the way to discover the hallway that had been, in my mind, a portal to a personal paradise, now resembled an episode of CSI: Kauai written by Uncle Steve. Claudia’s body lay prone on the carpet parallel to the walls, her back to the floor, lower half twisted so her knees were pointed in my direction, right arm extended with the gun half-on and half-off of the palm of her hand. Beneath her head was a pool of blood that extended more than a foot toward me and to my left in an oval shape, which, in conjunction with the splatter pattern on the far wall, helped me understand why Simon was under the impression that she’d killed herself. Her eyes were still open, fixed upon the ceiling, and in all of it I was numb until it occurred to me that what she’d done to herself she’d wanted to do to me but had failed, and had tried to do to Tom but had only partially succeeded. As far as I knew. And with that, I turned away and began to walk toward the stairwell, not even bothering to check to see if Simon was behind me. I’d barely made it six feet when a police officer ran past me on my left, then spun around and attempted to block my path.

“Ma’am, this is an active crime scene investigation. You need to return to your room…the front desk will call you when it’s okay to exit the premises.”

I said nothing, instead stepping sideways and around him, continuing to work my way towards the stairs even as he called after me.

“Ma’am, you need to stop right there. No one is allowed to enter or leave the premises at this time.”

After that, Simon called my name. I kept going. The officer shouted.

“MA’AM, I AM ORDERING YOU TO STOP. YOU NEED TO…”

Another voice, one I didn’t recognize. “Carlisle! That’s the wife! The friend came up here to get her. They’re both cleared to leave…Detective Frye’s orders!”

And on I went, registering that Officer Carlisle had fallen into step with me on my right but not giving a remote shit about it whatsoever. His voice was subdued and laced with concern, but I couldn’t tell if that concern was for me or for himself since he’d apparently fucked up quite thoroughly.

“Ma’am…Mrs. Hiddleston. I’m very sorry. I didn’t see you coming out of your room and I assumed…and let me be clear that this time that only makes an ass out of me, and a huge one. Your husband is at the Wilcox Medical Center, it’s about seven miles from here. Do you need transportation? We’ve got a car waiting…”

That gave me pause. I turned to him, my eyes narrowed. “Can you get me there faster than if I were on my own?”

He nodded. “Absolutely, ma’am. Or we can escort your vehicle if you want…lights, and sirens if we need to.”

I was unable to process whether or not I should be pleased or horrified, so I let it go and looked back at Simon, gesturing in his direction. “He’s coming with us. Your car. Thank you.”

Simon ran to meet us, and Officer Carlisle clicked the mic button on his radio. “This is Carlisle. Guests need a lift. Still good on the location?”

It was challenging to make out the reply, but I managed to pick up a ‘entrance well shielded’ and ‘the media’. We walked down the steps and as we entered the lobby the three hotel employees present started at me, mouths agape as if they’d seen a ghost. I elbowed Simon, who shook his head and whispered that he’d tell me later.

An undercover police cruiser was waiting outside for us…a black Dodge Charger, the kind with black rims and trim…and I knew I’d made the right choice. Carlisle apologized again as he held open the door for us to enter and introduced us to Officer Moran as we sat down, whom I hoped had a lead foot even heavier than mine. I fastened my seat belt, noting that screens had been placed between the entrance and the parking lot, and there were at least five squad cars and three undercover and/or government vehicles that I could see. As we pulled away I peered through the back window and caught sight of the parking lot, which was jam-packed with media trucks and curious on-lookers. When I glanced at Simon he was scrolling away on his phone, and he looked up at me, brow furrowing.

“Sorry, nothing to report…I was just…” The vehicle pulled onto the highway and both of us were pushed back into our seats as Officer Moran hit the gas and got rolling down the highway, lights flashing. “Guess I should probably tell you before we get to the hospital…you know, that thing I said I’d tell you later. There’s been some incorrect information circulating, probably because you have dark hair, and…well, some major outlets have been reporting that…”

“I’m dead?”

“Well, yes, but that hit while I was in the room with you. Initially, the story was that…it was…that you...you were the shooter.” He bit his lower lip. “I shouldn’t have told you until it was addressed. I’m sorry, this is outside my…”

I reached into my bag and searched around for my phone but came up empty, so I snatched his.

“Maude, come on, don’t do that to yourself…give it back…”

TMZ’s headline read ‘Honeymoon Horror – Maude Hiddleston dead at 38, kills self after shooting husband Tom Hiddleston on beach where the couple wed just two days earlier’, and finding out where it had happened, another place that I held sacred, that WE held sacred, threatened to break me. That was where we’d first spoken aloud how we felt about each other, where we’d acknowledged that while we had no fucking clue where we were going, nothing was going to stop us from taking the trip. I reminded myself it was just a place, and that it didn’t matter, that the only thing that DID matter was Tom. And if he was awake and aware at the hospital, I didn’t want him catching wind of this, be it via the sound from a distant TV or staff members chatting amongst themselves. So, I decided to do the thing that I always advised clients to do…put the truth out there, right from the horse’s mouth. Simon attempted to pry his phone from my right hand, but I slapped him away, then logged into Twitter. Staring at the blank space where I was supposed to type something short and informative made me realize that I…couldn’t. If it was written, if I shared it with the world, that would make it real…it would make all of this real, and in my heart, and my soul, I wanted it to never be real. I wanted to wake up in my bed back in the room right now to the sight of Tom’s face hovering over me, smiling as he trailed his fingers up and down my arm to rouse me from slumber, and for this to have all been a bad dream and nothing more. I licked my lips, nausea creeping up on me as my body prepared itself for its daily purge, and I dropped the phone on the bench seat and began to sob. Simon unbuckled his seat belt and slid over to me, folding me into his embrace gently, one hand stroking my hair.

“Oh honey…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s okay. He’s going to be okay, he is.”

My voice was ragged, muffled by the closeness of my lips to Simon’s chest. “He has to be. How am I supposed to do this without him, live this life? Raise this child? I can’t, Simon. I can’t. He’s everything. I don’t want to be here if he’s not, but I’ll have to stay because it’s not just me anymore…I just…I…” The words were gone, and all I could do was weep. Simon began rubbing my back.

“I know. I know. I’m here. It’s okay. You need to be calm, lovey. You’ll see him soon. We’re almost there…”

Officer Moran cleared his throat. “Med center is the next left. I radioed ahead, and they’ll bring you in through a side entrance instead of the ER. Detective Frye just announced there’ll be a press conference at eleven-thirty. That should take care of all the misinformation out there.”

As we pulled up to the building a sort of calm did, in fact, come over me. It didn’t prevent me from throwing up on the sidewalk as soon as Officer Moran opened my door, but I felt like I’d regained some control of the situation, as if the power balance had shifted in my direction just the tiniest bit now that even though we weren’t together, I was in the same place as Tom. We were escorted inside by two security guards, then taken down the hall to a private waiting area. Luke was intermittently visible through the partially-open vertical blinds, pacing back and forth. When we walked through the door, he ran to me and pulled me into his arms, which made me think the worst. I leaned back to examine his expression, and I must have looked like I was completely over the edge because he shook his head quickly and began to ramble.

“Oh good lord I’m a fucking idiot I’m sorry I was just so glad to see you because of the news reports and I knew they weren’t true but…” I just stared, silent, having noticed that he was wearing a greenish-blue V-neck scrub shirt. I gazed downward, and when I saw he was still wearing denim shorts, I knew he hadn’t put it on as a means of infection protection. I swallowed so hard it hurt, unable to look back up at him, and he released me in order to take my hands in his own, speaking softly and slowly, as if to a small child. “Maude, it’s all right. Let’s sit down together and talk. Come along with me to the couch.”

He led me across the room to the maroon leather sofa that was flanked by two maroon leather recliners, all opposite a set of maroon fabric-covered interconnected chairs. Maroon, maroon, maroon. Never was a fan. There was a blonde wood rectangular table in the middle of the room, with a landline phone in the center and various magazines placed strategically around the edges. They were neatly, perfectly arranged, and I got the feeling that most who wound up in this particular space had little appetite for whiling away their time with celebrity gossip or the hottest global vacation spots. There was a TV on one wall, but it was dark. And so was I, as I lowered myself in slow motion onto the sofa next to Luke. He was still holding both my hands, and I turned sideways to face him, the seat cushion creaking as Simon sank down behind me. Luke peered around me at him, nodded, then spoke…still slowly, still softly.

“Tom’s in surgery now. They took him in about ten minutes ago, and it will be a few hours before we have any additional information. We can leave it at that, or I can tell you what I already know about what’s happened…whatever you’re comfortable with, all right? Take some time, think it over…”

Much to their surprise, I actually did pause to consider my options, and decided to take things a step at a time. “Simon said he was shot twice in the chest and was still conscious when the ambulance got here. Let’s start with that…the extent of his injuries. Do you know?”

Luke nodded. “Two bullet wounds. One here…” He pointed to the top of his right pectoral muscle, near the center. “And one here.” He pointed lower, just underneath the muscle, but further to the right side. “He lost a lot of blood, and the paramedics suspected his right lung was collapsing. The on-call physician confirmed that, and by the time they prepped him for surgery it had collapsed fully and they were concerned that the left lung might have begun to collapse as well. He was still conscious when they moved him out of the emergency bay and into the operating room.”

“Okay.” I’d acquired enough second-hand knowledge over the years to fully fathom the seriousness of what I’d just heard, and I let go of Luke’s hands, shifted so my knees were facing forward, then leaned back into the cushions, eyes closed as I struggled to triage my thoughts and rein in my emotions. As I ran my tongue over my teeth, I couldn’t recall having brushed them, so that slipped into slot number one and my eyes flew open. “Do either of you have any gum or a mint or something? I forgot to brush my teeth.”

Simon placed a hand on my knee. “You should drink your soda first. And then you need something to eat. I’ll go see what I can find for you.” He rose and left the room, and I took the soda from my bag and cracked it open, taking several sips that I used as improvised mouthwash before swallowing. After a few more, I leaned forward and set the can on the table between a pile of Newsweek and Country Living magazines, the returned to my resting position. Triage wasn’t working…all I had was a war waging between ‘I need to know everything’ and ‘maybe ignorance is bliss’. I let the pot simmer for a while, watching the wall clock tick off fifteen minutes, but it didn’t require a detailed statistical analysis to predict what would rise to the top.

“Luke? I’m ready for the rest now.”

His voice firm, questioning. “You’re certain?”

“I am.”

A deep breath, followed by an exhale of tentative resolve. “All right. I…I’m not sure I can look…”

“It’s okay. I don’t think I can look at you, either.”

After a moment of silence, he began to speak, rambling as before. “I’d been up since before five because I needed to Skype with the office, and it was just after nine when I heard what I thought were firecrackers…which wasn’t exactly surprising considering the mischief makers who’d been here all week, so I essentially rolled my eyes at their foolishness and got back to work. About ten minutes later Simon and I were discussing what to order for breakfast when we heard noise out on the patio, like chairs moving, then pounding on the glass doors. We debated whether or not to open the blinds and see what was going on or just call security when I heard a male voice saying my name. It was barely audible, and it sounded strange, and of course I thought someone was playing a prank so I pushed the blinds aside and whipped open the slider ready to chastise the moron responsible and…and…” He paused for a solid ten seconds, then continued. “I didn’t see anyone at first, but then I looked down and there was Tom, on his hands and knees, and there was a trail of blood on the stone behind him and he was having a hard time talking. I knelt beside him and tried to help him shift to a sitting position but he tried to stand instead, so I helped him up. I could see where…I realized he’d been shot, and he grabbed my forearms and said you were next and that he needed to get to you before Claudia did. He took four steps through the doorway and into the room, but then he went back down on his knees, and his breathing was very quick but he wouldn’t stay down. He kept getting back up, and he kept saying he needed to get to you and all I knew was that he needed to stop moving, for fuck’s sake, and Simon and I tried to hold him and keep him still but then two police officers stormed in though the open door with their guns drawn and telling us to get our hands in the air. We did, and Tom got up again and shouted…I don’t know how…’UPSTAIRS. SHE’S HEADED UPSTAIRS. ROOM 203. GO. GO!’ As they turned and ran off he went back down on his knees, and we were trying to get his T-shirt off so we could maybe stop the bleeding when three ambulance workers came barreling inside with a gurney. We just, you know, tried to give them some room and they had to put him in restraints because he kept trying to get away. They finally had him all packaged and ready to go when we heard the shots from upstairs, and…and…the sound he made, I…I…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get it out of my head.”

And then, for the first time ever, I watched Luke fall completely and utterly apart right before my very eyes. When he tried to apologize, I reached for him, wrapping my arms around him as he leaned his head on my left shoulder and cried, his body shuddering with each breath he took between sobs. I rubbed his back, hoping to console him, to ease his pain even just a little bit, and in the process momentarily forgot about my own.

“I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. Thank you for helping him, and for being with him. He wasn’t alone, he was with someone he loves and…”

Luke’s head nearly caught my chin as he pulled up and away. “Maude, oh my god no, I’m the one who should be sorry. I should be comforting you, not the other way around.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I’m grateful you were there, if that makes sense.” I shifted back to my spot, numb again, and trying very, very hard to not allow what he’d just said to take form as a short film in my head. My spur-of-the moment choice for a distraction? Ask for more. “Did he know that I was okay? Before they took him in?”

“I wasn’t allowed in the back. The desk nurse had me fill out some basic paperwork when I got here, and I didn’t know anything else about his condition until they had me sign consent forms. Simon had texted me as soon as he’d reached you, so I asked the ER nurse who’d brought them out to me to please get word to Tom that you were fine, and that everything was okay because I didn’t want him...thinking… and…anyway, the ER nurse stopped back right before you got here to let me know he’d gotten the message through, and to fill me on how Tom was doing.”

Another thing for me to cling to…that Tom had known I was alive. And hopefully that was something to live for, a reason for him to fight, to hold on. When I put myself in his position, if I believed that he’d gone before me, that I’d lost him…it would be all too easy to give in and give up. The tears returned, and I got up and squatted down in front of Luke, taking his hands in mine. He stared, confused.

“Luke, I can’t even begin to explain what that means to me, and I can never thank you enough for doing it. But I’m going to say thank you anyway. So, thank you. Tom and I are so lucky to have you and Simon in our lives. It’s a huge relief, you know? On the way over, before I…knew…how things happened I was so afraid that he’d heard or seen the news reports and…”

He stood, pulling me up with him and embracing me again, and we remained that way, silent and still, until the door opened and Simon strode in with a push-cart of food, trays and utensils.

“Sit down, you two. Time for breakfast. And, no arguments. Especially from the pregnant lady. I had to turn on some serious charmalarma ding dong in order to get the kitchen staff to allow me to raid the place…we have waffles, scrambled eggs, toast, bagels, oatmeal…though I don’t know who in their right mind would actually want to eat that…Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Cheerios, cherry Jell-O, orange Jell-O, milk, chocolate milk, orange juice and grape juice. I even scored you a toothbrush and some toothpaste, Maude. So, who wants what? I’m Simon, and I’ll be your server this morning. Tips are encouraged but not required.”

It seemed strangely disrespectful to stop to eat in such a situation, and I wasn’t anywhere near hungry, but I knew I’d be far worse for wear if I didn’t consume some calories. I ate slowly, feeling as if my hands were moving through sludge…scrambled eggs came first, followed by toast, Fruit Loops and chocolate milk. Simon collected my tray when I was finished, and I stayed glued to my spot on the couch, eyes fixed on my hands as I ran my right index finger back and forth over my wedding band, then twisted it round and round over and over again. I could hear Simon and Luke talking quietly by the food cart, discussing the upcoming press conference and debating which one of them should leave the room if they decided to stream it on their phone as neither had earbuds with them. I looked up, my gaze shifting to where they were standing.

“You can watch it on the TV if you want. I don’t mind. None of it’s going to be news to me. At least I don’t think it will be. And if it is, it can’t be worse than what I’ve already heard, right?” I’d intended that last bit as a humor, but instead of smiling I started crying again. Simon began to walk toward me, but I waved him away. “Not necessary. I’m cool. I mean, I really have not the slightest fucking idea of what I’m supposed to do right now, and my emotions are like one of those automatic bingo ball things and it’s a mystery as to what’s going to pop out next, you know? But that’s kinda been me for the past month and change so it might not be situational. Anyway. Go ahead, put it on. Is it eleven-thirty already? That would be good, because I was pretty sure time had, like, stopped. If it freaks me out, I’ll ask you to turn it off.”

Seeing the Marriott as the backdrop for a press conference was bizarre, but that I was watching it and it was about me and Tom was some fucked-up Inception kind of shit. There were police, and some suits, whom I guessed were management or attorneys, and when a very tan man with light blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail dressed in a black blazer and jeans approached the podium I didn’t expect him to be Detective Frye. But unless he was fibbing when he introduced himself, that’s who he was. When he spoke, I noticed faint remnants of a Southern California accent.

“Good morning. I’m Detective Frye of the Kauai Police Department, and I’m here working with the officers from the Kapaa Substation. Be advised that we no longer have an active shooter situation here. The suspect has been pronounced dead at the scene. I’m aware that there’s been a great deal of misinformation presented by the media regarding this incident, and I’d like to give you some clarity and request that you remove any information that’s not factual from your publications and broadcasts effective immediately. Most importantly, the suspect has been identified as Claudia Heidrich of Los Angeles, California. From what we can piece together so far, she arrived at the hotel at approximately seven o’clock this morning and approached the desk clerk in or order to obtain Thomas and Maude Hiddleston’s room number. It was not provided for her at that time. She exited the premises, and the parking lot security footage shows her walking to and entering a red Subaru Forester, where she remained until Mr. Hiddleston exited the lobby at approximately eight forty AM and began to jog toward the beach. She then exited the vehicle and proceeded to walk in the same direction. We received a call reporting shots fired at approximately five minutes after nine, and the Kapaa officers arrived on scene six minutes later. The details surrounding Mr. Hiddleston’s shooting aren’t yet clear, but he sustained two gunshot wounds to the right chest and is currently undergoing emergency surgery at a local medical center. Security footage shows Ms. Heidrich returning to the hotel lobby at nine twenty, approaching the desk, then removing a .22 caliber automatic pistol from a gift bag and pointing it at the clerk. Additional footage tracks her as she ascends the stairs to the second floor, then walks down the hallway and knocks on the Hiddleston room door. The door is shown opening briefly, then beginning to close as Ms. Heidrich propels herself forward. At this time, two officers approached and instructed her to drop her weapon. She did not obey their command, and instead fired three shots into the door, paused, then turned the gun on herself. Mrs. Hiddleston was uninjured, though she was in an unconscious state when police entered the room. She regained consciousness with no intervention, refused medical treatment, and was transported to the medical center where Mr. Hiddleston is being treated. Updates will be provided when we have addition information. Hotel manager Leonard Schmaltz will take it from here.”

There were some questions shouted, but Detective Frye ignored them and disappeared off camera. As I watched a few blurbs scroll across the bottom, I remembered that Tom’s family existed. I practically leapt up off the couch.

“Luke. What about Diana? And Sarah? And Emma and James and…”

“They’re still here. Sarah and I have been texting…they were finally allowed to leave the hotel a few minutes ago, so they’ll be here soon. Is it all right if they wait with us?”

My brow furrowed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps they felt you might want privacy?”

I shook my head. “Yeah, no. Pretty sure I’d lose what’s left of my shit if I was alone.” He’d begun typing with his thumbs. “You can quote me on that. Also, anyone know where the closest restroom is?”

Simon nodded. “It’s right across the hall. Come on, I’ll take you.”

He held out his hand, and as much as part of me wanted to roll my eyes and tell him I wasn’t a child, majority ruled and I accepted his offer, albeit grudgingly. The restrooms were singles, and I considered inviting Simon inside but decided that was probably weird and left him standing in the hallway. I moved as quickly as possible, knowing it would be just my luck for someone to show up with word about Tom while I was taking a piss. As I was washing my hands I heard voices, and I flung the door open without bothering to dry off. Simon was across the hall, ushering Tom’s family into the waiting area. Tom’s family…they had become my family, too, but at that moment I felt strangely detached…which made me understand the whole wanting privacy thing. They were father, mother, sister…and I was wife. We had love for Tom in common, but I was odd man out, in a way. When you find a partner, it’s inevitable that your relationship with that person takes precedence over that of those established with your biological familial unit. I appreciated that they possessed respect for those invisible boundaries, but at the same time, I felt guilty, like I’d stolen him away. And then I wondered if they blamed me for this, for what Claudia had done. I had been the one, after all, that stood behind that podium and threatened her with financial ruin and incarceration while the entire world looked on. Not Tom. Me. I’d poked the bear again. And this time, she’d raged. And it was all my fault. How was I supposed to face them?

There were guards posted to either side of the waiting room, making escape impossible, so I went back into the bathroom, locked the door and sat down on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. When he woke up, if he woke up…would Tom blame me as well? How could I have been so thoughtless, blind and stupid? Why didn’t I just say fuck her, fuck the videos and let it ride? Tom was so personally invested in it all, he couldn’t have been expected to be rational about it in any capacity…and he’d trusted me to be just that, rational. Logical. Factual. Had I been? Or had something else motivated me…jealousy, maybe? Revenge? Anger? All of those things rolled into one? The sound of Simon’s voice disrupted my hate spiral.

“Maude? You all right?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?” He tried the door handle. “It’s locked. Can you let me in? Do you need a doctor?

“No.”

“Maude. Talk to me. Let me in.” I didn’t reply. “Maude. Open the door.”

“I’m fine.”

“Woman, you literally just said you aren’t all right, and now you’re fine? Don’t make me trudge my ass all around this hospital looking for someone with a key…”

I stood, unlocked the door, then sat back down. The handle jiggled, followed by the door opening outward. Simone came inside, closed and locked the door, then sat down across from me.

“Well, this is disgusting. Germ central station.” I just stared at him, at the line of his jaw set in anger. “You know you scared the fuck out of me, don’t you? Are you really okay?”

“Physically, yes.”

His face softened. “Well then…what’s going on inside your mind, honey?”

Shrugging, I leaned my head back on the wall and looked up at the ceiling. Dotted acoustic tiles, just like every other medical facility. “I can’t go in there. This is all my fault. They must hate me. I can’t face them.”

“Maude. The fuck are you talking about? How is this your fault? Where are you even getting that from?”

I shifted my gaze to meet his. “Simon. She did this because of what I said at the press conference. I threatened her with jail time and insurmountable debt. I demoed her life in the space of a few sentences, and she tried to take mine in return. And she may have succeeded in taking Tom’s. All because of me, because I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut. I fucked with her, and she came for us. Every bit of it, my fault. Every. Bit.” The shaking intensified, and Simon scuttled closer to me and placed his hands on my knees.

“Her actions belong to HER, Maude. Her alone. She made her own choices, every step of the way. You taking responsibility for those actions and choices allows her to become the victim…and she’s NOT. She WASN’T. You and Tom are the victims. End of story. You were just doing your job after she purposely broke the law to hurt you both. When that didn’t pan out, she tried to hurt you even more. She tried to KILL you. BOTH of you. How is that your fault?!”

Leaning forward, I rested my hands atop his. “Are you sure I was just doing my job? Are you sure I wasn’t trying to get even with the woman who wronged the man I love? Make her feel like he did, like the sky was falling, like there was no way out from under it all? Tit for tat, vengeance, manufactured karma…whatever you want to call it. Because I’ll tell you what, I’M not fucking sure. Not anymore. I think I fucked up, Simon. I think I crossed the personal/professional line. And it was the catalyst for this. What I did. MY. FAULT.”

Simon said nothing at first as he removed his right hand from my left knee and placed it gently on my lower belly, then whispered two words. Firmly. Separately. “Maude. Stop.”

I had forgotten. In all of it, I had forgotten that there was someone else in the room, someone who would be with me every second of every day until he or she emerged from what was supposed to be a peaceful cocoon and into the harsh but wonderous world. I burst into tears, and Simon slid beside me and pulled me into his lap, once again offering me sanctuary and serving as my voice of reason.

“You didn’t cross a line. And if you think you did…ask yourself this question. Would you have done that exact same thing for any of your clients in that situation? You don’t really have to ask it, though. Because I know the answer, and it’s yes. You’re the Credible Hulk. That’s why people HIRE YOU. Claudia…clearly, she had issues. But issues don’t justify being an evil fuck, and that’s what she was. It’s not only abnormal behavior, it’s inhuman. In this life, you can never really tell how far someone is willing to go until after the fact. That’s just the deal. You aren’t Miss Cleo. And hell, I’m sure there’s shit even she didn’t see coming. Didn’t she get hit by a truck or something?”

I hiccup-giggled in the middle of a sob. “That was awful. And no. Cancer.” His mouth opened and I knew what he was going to say next, so I interjected before he could even make a sound. “Son, just don’t.”

He sighed, then kissed the top of my head. “We should go now. And…this is a huge, traumatic thing. You’re going to have ups, and downs, and everything in between. Both of you will. But you’ll navigate it all together, and I’ll be there to do whatever you need me to. Focus on now, then one step at a time. That’s how we get where we’re going.” He stood up, then reached for my hands to help me rise. As soon as I was on my feet, I embraced him again.

“The sense of guilt is overwhelming, and I really don’t ever want to leave this room, but if I don’t leave the room I don’t see Tom, so…let’s get on with it. And, thank you.”

I released him, and he opened the door and we walked hand in hand into the waiting room, my guilt mostly assuaged by the depth of love and caring I felt as Sarah, Emma, James and Diana embraced me in turn. They’d seen the news, and while they hadn’t believed I was the shooter, they had feared I’d been shot and killed. We cried together, then waited together, and three hours later, shortly after I’d resigned myself to the fact that I was, in fact, dead and that this was purgatory…this waiting room where I’d remain for all eternity without Tom…the door opened and a woman in green scrubs walked through it. She was slightly built, but I could see the strength in her forearms as she reached up to remove her surgical cap. Light brown hair spilled downward, straight and shiny, the ends resting just above her collar bones, her dark brown eyes large and expressionless. I tried to discover even just the tiniest flicker of emotion that would tell me whether things had gone well or, not well, but failed miserably. Those dark eyes scanned the room until they came to rest on me, and I rose from my spot on the couch as she began to walk toward me. She held out her right hand.

“Mrs. Hiddleston, I’m Doctor Anya Salinas.” I wanted to return the gesture but found myself incapable of making my arm move. I was paralyzed with fear, both anxiously awaiting and dreading the words that would come next. The hand moved upward, eventually gently gripping my left bicep. “Your husband is out of surgery, and while we’re going to be watching him very closely over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, I see no reason why he shouldn’t recover fully from his injuries.”

Around me were cries of thank god and gasps of relief, and I could see in my peripheral vision hugging and kissing and back clapping as I sat back down on the couch, the black spots appearing before my eyes alerting me to the fact that I was probably going to pass the fuck out again. I leaned forward and put my head between my knees, and I could hear Dr. Salinas asking me if I was okay, but her voice sounded like it was coming from another room. I felt hands on my shoulders, and I lifted my head to find her face directly in front of mine. She’d squatted down in order to connect with me, her eyes attentive and very kind, and I realized this was the person who had just worked tirelessly for hours on end to save Tom’s life, the person who had given me back the other half of my very self, and given him the chance to be a father to our child. I sat up, still slightly dizzy, and placed my right hand on top of hers, which was still resting on my left shoulder.

“Dr. Salinas. Thank you. Thank you.” My tears this time were those of relief and gratefullness, and I knew no matter which additional words I spoke, they would never be quite enough so I repeated the two that seemed to convey things most simply one more time, my voice almost a whisper. “Thank you.”

She smiled softly, nodding. “He’s in recovery now. Before you see him…mainly before he’s awake, actually…there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you, if you’re up to it.”

Was I up to it? Who the fuck knew, but this human-turned-fainting-goat was willing to do whatever was necessary in order to get in that recovery room, even if it meant they’d need to schlep my ass there in a wheelchair. “Okay. That’s fine.”

“Okay.” She stood, and I did as well, surprised at how I towered over her. “Does walking and talking work for you, or should I clear the room so we have some privacy?”

“Walking, please.” I hadn’t been paying attention to anything that was going on around us, and that continued as I followed her to the door and out into the hallway. Her pace was slow, possibly because she was physically spent, but most likely for my benefit. She handed me a small container of orange juice, which she must have snagged off the cart on the way out of the waiting room.

“This should help with your blood sugar levels.” I thanked her, and again she nodded without saying ‘you’re welcome’, instead getting right down to business. “If at any time I’m making you uncomfortable, let me know. If you need to take a break, of if you need to sit down and rest, we can do that. Your husband is likely to remain unconscious for at least another forty-five minutes. I was the on-call surgeon today, and I was already here when he arrived…they always bring us in quickly for potential mass-casualty incidents. From what I’ve been told the paramedics had restrained him, but he broke free in the ER and tried to get away. They got him back under control, and as soon the ER doc examined him and diagnosed a pneumothorax we started getting things ready in the OR. Normally a sedative would have been administered, but since the need for surgery seemed imminent we wanted to avoid it if at all possible. Whoever sent the nurse back to us with word you were okay…that made all the difference.” She paused as we turned a corner. “Still with me?”

I nodded, sipping the juice through the absurdly tiny straw I’d pulled off the back of the box.

“There were no exit wounds, which meant the bullets needed to be located and removed and any damage repaired. We discovered that the cause of the collapsed lung wasn’t actually due to projectile penetration, which is what we expected to find, but instead a small tear that resulted from a rib broken upon impact as the bullet entered just below the pectoral muscle. Typically, it would take hours, sometimes even days, for a lung to collapse fully from a tear that size, but the intense level of physical activity Mr. Hiddleston experienced after being wounded escalated the process. We removed the damaged rib to avoid further injury, inflated both lungs fully using a chest tube, applied a doxycycline treatment to aid adhesion of the right lung to the chest wall, then removed the bullet and repaired damaged tissue. The wound just above the pectoral muscle had no muscle or tendon involvement, but a nick in the interior thoracic artery caused a significant amount of blood loss and necessitated the administration of two pints of donor blood. The chest tube will be in place for at least four days, and upon removal the incision will be stitched closed. There will be some scarring, of course, but the extent is always dependent upon genetic inheritance and immune response so I can’t really predict an outcome along those lines.”

Dr. Salinas stopped, and upon seeing that the door to our right read ‘Recovery Room A-1’ I took a step toward it. She shifted, placing a hand on my forearm to halt my progress. “Mrs. Hiddleston, most patients who experience a near double-lung collapse…well, let’s just say they don’t usually fare this well. I’m sure Mr. Hiddleston’s exceptional level of overall physical fitness is a significant factor, but…this is difficult for me to say, as a physician…I honestly can’t explain why he’s not in ICU right now. Not scientifically. His blood oxygen was so low he shouldn’t have been conscious, but his blood pressure leveled off at 80 over 50 and his heart rate remained steady the entire time, an even 55 BPM, and it never skipped a single beat. I’m going to be evaluating every step for quite some trying to find an answer, that’s a certainty. One more thing before we go inside…now, he knew prior to surgery that you were alive, but anesthesia can cause patients to temporarily lose memories of what happened immediately prior to being put under. This is a concern because if he regains consciousness and is still under the impression that you are not alive, he may react negatively and the potential for a re-collapse of the lung is very high at this stage. The nurse-anesthetist is inside, and he’ll help you…”

Her head cocked to one side, listening, and what began as quiet murmuring quickly turned to loud talking, and even though it was hoarse and muted by the door between us, there was no mistaking whom the voice belonged to. Tom. He’d cranked up the decibels to the the point that I could now clearly make out what he was saying.

“NO! Why am I here? I don’t want to be here. She’s gone. I told you to let me die. Why didn’t you let me die? I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE.”

I pulled away from Dr. Salinas, pushed the door inward and was at his bedside before her or the nurse-anesthetist could utter a single word. His eyes were wild, full of agony and despair, and he was attempting to sit up when I reached down and took his left hand in mine, squeezing hard. He yanked it away and began clawing at the nasal canula, so lost inside himself and left confused by the drugs they’d administered that he had not the faintest idea who I was. I leaned forward and grabbed him by the jaw, and when his eyes met mine I thought for sure he was going to hit me…but I refused to let go, instead using all the power I could channel to force him to look at me and nothing else. I saw anxiety, then rage, followed by bewilderment, shock and, finally, recognition. The fingers of his left hand grazed my wrist, and as they connected with my rings he glanced downward, then back up at me. His expression conveyed that he wanted to believe but couldn’t quite bring himself to trust in what he was experiencing…not completely. I released his jaw and brought his hand to my lips, kissing it softly, having difficulties of my own in regard to believing that this was genuine, that he was here, and that he was alive. His voice was little more than a whisper when he spoke, and his words made my soul ache for him.

“I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d lost both of you. It was the end. Of everything.” A pause, and when I saw his sorrow shift to panic as he said the word ‘both’ I shook my head and interjected, hoping to keep him calm. The word of the day…calm. Keep calm and carry on, in spite of the beast within who wanted nothing more than to kill Claudia over and over again for what she’d done, like Dormammu and Doctor Strange. I leaned in close to his face until our foreheads were touching.

“I’m here. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. We’re okay. It’s okay.” He began to cry, and I nuzzled his cheek. “I know you’re upset, and confused, and that shit is FUBAR right now, but I need you to try and relax, my love. Be still. You have to give your body a chance to heal, and the more relaxed you are, the faster that will happen. I’m here, I’m fine, the baby’s fine…and you’re going to be fine, too.”

He was at peace briefly, scarcely more than a minute or two passing before I felt him tense up again. “Maude. It’s not safe. She’ll come back. She won’t stop until…”

Pulling back from him, I followed his eyes as they darted back and forth, then reached out to grasp his chin again, though far more gently this time around. “We’re safe. She’s dead, Tom. Claudia’s dead.”

“She is? Are you sure?”

The scene from the hotel hallway invaded my inner space, and I nodded. “Saw it with my own two eyes. Trust me, she is NOT coming back. For me, for you, for anyone. Ever. Okay?”

“Okay.” A tear tracked downward from the outer corner of his left eye and landed on the sheet beneath his head. “I’m sorry you saw. But I’m glad she’s gone. I love you.”

“And I love you. Don’t be sorry. I’m glad too. Which seems to be my default setting when people die lately. What that says about me, I don’t know…that my moral compass is a roulette wheel, maybe?”

He smiled…a teeny, tiny, itty-bitty smile, and it was one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever had the good fortune to witness. Dr. Salinas witnessed it as well, from a distance, and realized we’d turned a corner. She joined me at Tom’s bedside to let him know she’d be checking in on him later in the day, and that Gerald, the nurse-anesthetist, would help him with some breathing exercises. We both thanked her, and I though I released Tom’s hand so I wasn’t in the way, I remained where I was while Gerald raised the head of the bed and had Tom breathe into a meter repeatedly until it reached an acceptable level. Once that was over and done with, we were advised that the staff was readying a private room and a team would be in to move Tom when it was good to go. Gerald showed me how to use the emergency call button, just in case, and then left us alone.  A minute later he was back, a Ziploc bag in hand that contained Tom’s phone, his iPod, and his wedding ring. He passed it off to me, smiled, then left without another word. Tom frowned.

“I didn’t want them to take that off. I think I may have raised a bit of a ruckus over it.”

I undid the slide zip and fished the ring out of the bag, hooking it on my right index finger. He lifted up his left hand, then rested it on the bed’s side guardrail, too exhausted to hold it aloft. Another tiny smile greeted me when my gaze met his.

“Will you put that back where it belongs for me, please?”

“You betcha.” I slipped it onto his ring finger, a soft sigh escaping him as he took hold of my hand.

“Much better. Thank you.”

His eyes closed, and I ran my thumb back and forth across his wrist, the constant beeping of monitoring equipment the only sound in the room, tethering me to the present, driving home what had happened and how our lives hand changed so quickly in the blink of an eye, and how lucky we’d been that the change was this and not something else.

“Maude.”

His voice startled me, so much so that I twitched with such violence that my feet nearly left the floor, which set alarm bells ringing in my head and caused me to assume something had gone terribly awry while I wasn’t paying attention.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Should I call someone?”

He squeezed my hand, now-open eyes full of concern. “I’m fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I smiled. “It’s okay. I’m, like, jangly. Sorry for overreacting.”

He smiled softly in return. “It’s okay. I’m sorry you’re jangly.”

My left eyebrow rose as my smile turned to a smirk. “Well, someone’s going for gold in the Apology Olympics.”

“Please allow me to apologize for my intensely competitive nature, Mrs. Hiddleston.” And with that, I knew he was fully here again, and though I’d been saying it to myself all morning and to him since he’d woken up, I finally believed…everything was going to be okay. The future, our future, was visible again. Not in a Miss Cleo way, but in a we’ll heal, we’ll move forward, we’ll get through this way. The only guarantee life comes with is that it eventually ends…but now wasn’t the time for that. Not for us. Not today. And I wondered if there was a way to express my gratitude for such a gift, the gift of time…and when I felt Tom’s fingers turning my wedding ring in circles as I had in the waiting room as I sat unsure of whether or not I’d ever see him alive again, the answer to my question was blatantly obvious. The answer was…live.

He bit his lip, his own left eyebrow far higher than the right, then spoke again. “This ceaseless beeping is driving me mad. I don’t suppose I could coax a song out of you as a distraction, could I?”

“No coaxing required.” I took his iPod out of the Ziploc, turned it on, then scrolled to find the song that had come to mind. I put one earbud in my my right ear, the other in his left and hit play – Deathcab For Cutie’s Soul Meets Body.

I want to live where soul meets body And let the sun wrap its arms around me and Bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing And feel Feel what it's like to be new

'Cause in my head there's a Greyhound station Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations So they may have a chance of finding a place where they're Far more suited than here

I cannot guess what we'll discover When we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels But I know our filthy hands can wash one another's And not one speck will remain

I do believe it's true That there are roads left in both of our shoes But if the silence takes you Then I hope it takes me too

So brown eyes I'll hold you near 'Cause you're the only song I want to hear A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere

We both wept quietly after I finished singing along, still holding hands, me leaning down and in so our cheeks touched. I wanted nothing more than to climb into his hospital bed and hold him, to feel him against me and hear his heart beating, to inhale the scent of his warm skin, and never, ever let him go. But this, this limited contact…it was what we had for the moment, and something I might have been permanently deprived of if things had gone differently, so it would do. It would absofuckingloutely do.

[nhupdates]

10-year journey: Niall Horan on going from singing in his bedroom to performing for millions

Niall Horan has spent a sizable chunk of the past 10 years as one-fifth of the world’s biggest boyband. Maybe you’ve heard of them. Now he’s finding his own way as a solo artist. My life is the polar opposite of what it was before. I live half and half between London and LA. Last year I think I spent less than six days in Ireland, which is nuts. I spent the first 16 years of my life there and now I can barely do a week. In the band, we’d play to thousands of screaming fans in some of the biggest venues in the world. Now everything’s more intimate; I just played Shepherd’s Bush [Empire]; brilliant venue, I could see every face in the room. It was magic. There was still screaming, mind. In London, people don’t really pay attention to me – in a good way. I’m not saying everyone should know who I am, but I go on the Tube, or walk down the street, absolutely no problem. I went to Chelsea vs Tottenham at Wembley, and got the Tube there with the Chelsea fans. Nothing. Londoners are in their own little world, aren’t they? I spend half my time in LA, but fuck being vegan. I’m far from that, although I’ll have a green juice every now and then. I’m not an ‘LA type’, that’s not me. The thing I miss most about home is Irish ignorance. My mum said to me yesterday, “The world we work in is not necessarily normal, and that’s why people are obsessed by celebrities.” Back home, a lot of people don’t get the references of people I’ve met, or places I’ve been. I miss the days when I didn’t know much more than what was in my hometown, and the innocence of that. No one blows smoke up my arse back home. All my schoolmates, friends from Ireland, I fall right back into that group, and I don’t feel like Famous Niall Horan. Sixteen of us went to New York for St Paddy’s day last year, dressed in green Irish suits and face paint. We looked like a load of dickheads, running around the place. It was such a good laugh. Nobody recognised me, nobody gave a shit. I try to do as much of that as I can. It keeps my head screwed on. Compared to One Direction, I feel like I am in a lot more control now. Obviously when there are less opinions flying around that is a good and bad thing. In the band, we wrote songs separately and then brought them to the group, and you’d get the harsh truth about that song from everyone. It was a little strange at the start, being by myself. Now I’m spending a lot more time in my own head, asking myself, “Is this song working or should I just chuck it?” In 1D, I was a lot quieter than the other boys. I’d maybe only answer a couple of questions here and there and let the others take the lead. Now, it’s all on me. Being in such a huge band feels like conquering Mount Everest. And I don’t know if I’ll scale something that height again. But I’ve made peace with that. Never ask an artist who a certain song is about. I get it all the time, and what they’re really wanting to know is who you’re shagging at any given time. That’s where it gets annoying. I want people to interpret my music, not assign real people to the lyrics. I was standing onstage on The Graham Norton Show and I remember thinking, “Where the fuck is everyone?” Performing alone, at first, took some getting used to. Playing the One Love Manchester concert was one of the most surreal days of my life. It was emotionally up and down. Backstage I was with Ariana Grande, and she was telling me stories of visiting the hospital, meeting families of the victims, and she was clearly really emotional about what was going to happen [during the concert]. It hit me that this was history being made, right before our eyes. Our generation’s Live 8. Everywhere I looked, people were dancing and having a good laugh. Then I played ‘This Town’, and the mood changed. I caught a girl’s eyes in the crowd and she was just bawling her eyes out. During Justin Bieber’s acoustic set, policemen were dancing with kids. I’d never seen anything like it. You can’t let a terror attack alter your way of thinking. The concert was the same day as Michael Carrick’s testimonial at Old Trafford. Seventy-five thousand people at Old Trafford, 200 yards down the road from this huge 50,000-strong crowd. This is the week after a terror attack. I walked through the crowd thinking, “These people aren’t scared. Something monstrous has happened, but they refuse to be scared by it.” That was really powerful to experience. I’d always get a kiss and a hug from Michelle Obama. We’d always play Washington on tour, and the Obamas would visit. They would come in these huge convoys with thick, bulletproof windows. I can’t imagine living like that, but they were lovely. Golf has a relaxing effect on me. I’ve always been quite a hyper person, but when I’m on a course I feel calm. You completely disconnect when you play – even a practice session can be long. Nobody could come near you, so me and Harry [Styles] would often play on tour when we wanted to get away from it all. You need to play a lot, though. Naturally I’ve been quite busy over the years. Niall’s single ‘Too Much To Ask’ is out now. His album Flicker is out on 20 October