#kind of but not really but I do mention it and use this timeline in it so I'm going to add this to the tag anyway lol

[zozo-01]

"humanity will never lose hope (but you're not that human anymore, are you?)"

Or: Finding out that you lover never changes, no matter which world you stand on in 12.4k words.

Oh my God, of course my first full fic in a year is over ten thousand words. Oh well, I love Phainon and I love Kevin, so that this as my love letter to both of my favourite Hoyo men.

Shout out to @baeshijima who I've been torturing with snippets for the last few months and @horrorscoupes and @gingerbreadmonsters who I have also been sending snippets to, except they have no idea what's going on. (Join the dark side please I beg.)

CW: Angst, Hurt/Kind of Comfort, Bittersweet Endings, Alternate Timeline, Not Canon Compliant, kevin kaslana haunting the reader for the rest of over, phainon is so clueless and in love, Unrequited love, more two people using each other to fill the void, Mentions of Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, we love self-deprication!, Marriage, Thoughts of Motherhood, Kevin's reader uses she/her pronouns, Phainon's reader uses they/them pronouns, Amphoreus has me aching for more, reader is the PE's Herrscher of the End, she Kiana'd the Herrscher and that's how she's still alive, Writing this before the ending of amphoreus so I could be very very right, or very very wrong

click here for the ao3 link!!!

It was just your luck that the lance that struck you out of the sky had separated you from your companions. Seriously, doesn't this planet know that it's common courtesy to radio in before you deem the flying object as a threat? This was not a good look for Amphoreus, and you shiver to think about how the rest of your trip will go. 

For once, you would appreciate it if the Express could take a nice vacation by the beach. Or in a metropolitan area. Literally, anything that doesn't have to include saving or dooming the world you're standing on. You'd like to think that you've had enough world-altering missions for a lifetime.

Stumbling out of the rubble of the train car, you take in your surroundings. Perhaps back in its heyday, Amphoreus must have been a gorgeous place, with marble statues littered across the land of the heroes that have long protected their home. It reminded you of the Ancient Greek ruins that you were obsessed with. It's strange, to see familiar sights on every planet you visited, yet being so far from home. You wonder if those ancient ruins survived the destruction you brought on.

(The Honkai never left behind survivors. Even those who lived to tell the tale had their souls ripped from them. You were no exception, but that didn't mean that you wouldn't take back what was rightfully yours. Your journey to heal from your past felt like a glacier. You hope that your current comrades— no, friends, could help you move on from your past.)

You wander around the temple, not sure of what to do next. Worry filled you for your companions, not because they weren't capable, but because of the collective stupidity that seemed to arise whenever young members of the train were trailblazing. In theory, March being back at the train and Dan Heng's rational self should be enough to keep them safe, but Stelle has become such a wildcard, you don't put anything past her. She and her bat were capable of putting the entire world at risk. You were surprised that no one had come up to you to arrest you because of something she did. 

At the end of the day, those two were your companions and it was best to put your trust in them. You just hope that they don't do anything stupid without you knowing. At least with you there, there would be an adult to make sound decisions. You chuckle to yourself, wondering when during your life you of all people decided to become the responsible one.

To be honest, you always felt odd about considering the younger Express members as peers. Because yes, you seem roughly the same age, with your youthful looks and durable limbs, always eager to seek out the next challenge. But if anyone looked into your eyes, really looked into your soul, they could see that time has ravaged you in ways no mortal should have gone through. Fifty thousand years is a long life to live for anyone, let alone a human. Yet you spent that time in isolation, your only company being the monster you swore you'd never become.

(You had only two reasons to endure. Your love for humanity and your love for him. The world survived, no thanks to you. He wasn't as lucky.)

Enough pondering, there were more pressing matters that you needed to take care of. Like finding Stelle and Dan Heng and figuring out how the hell to get out of here without causing too much trouble. 

You were careful to walk through the ruins of the land, flinching at the crumbling stone surrounding you. The lack of light didn't help either in finding out where to go. You were hoping that eventually, there would be some ruckus– loud whining from Stelle or maybe Dan Heng's dragon guiding you to the rest of your team. Unfortunately, no such sights or sounds have reached your senses. Or maybe it is fortunate that no chaos started. Yet.

Part of you wanted to use your powers to just fly up and track Dan Heng and Stelle. It would be so easy and would waste unnecessary time. Time that you could be spending on figuring out what the hell was the deal with Amphoreus and how to contact the Astral Express. You can almost hear Welt reminding you why that's a bad idea, not that you don't disagree with him.

"We don't know what effect your Herrscher powers could have in this place and it looks like this universe doesn't even know what the Honkai is. We don't want to start another eruption."

You sigh. What a shame. All the power in the world and you're relegated to using some watered-down version of it in the form of Aeons and their paths. You wouldn't have had it any other way.

Absolutely would you never dare to use your true powers in this relatively peaceful universe. There is lingering fear left in you over the events of your rebirth. You wish you could say that you didn't remember anything, that the evil sealed within you had granted you the mercy of losing consciousness when they took control. But destiny did not care that you didn't choose this fate, it punished you all the same.

The bodies of your friends, dare you call them family, carelessly slewed across the grey land. Hands that once held yours in dance with music in the air, could barely hold onto their weapons that they swore they'd use to save humanity. One by one, they fell like the brightest shooting stars until a garden of corpses surrounded you and your beloved. He was covered in blood, of his own and his friends, with burning anguish in his glacier eyes. You remember teasing him that red was never his colour. 

The ring on your finger was a cold reminder of his warmth. Your eyes tear up as the blue diamond reminds you of his eyes. 

You strengthen your resolve and wipe your tears. Enough about the past! What's done is done and all you can do is prevent it from happening again. He's not here anymore and there's no use crying about it right now. You made a promise to his descendant that not only will you live, but you will live long enough until the Honkai has been properly defeated and that your powers will not be passed down to you in the next cycle.

(You'll do your crying when you're alone in bed, pretending that his arms are wrapped around you. Oh, how you would sacrifice planets to bring him back if only to see him one last time. Hopefully, should you be granted another chance, your reunion will be less bloody. One could argue that you aren't at your best when you have your lover's lance piercing through you.)

Why is it that being on Amphoreus is causing these memories to flood your brain again? Perhaps it is because this is the first time since you joined the Express that you have been left alone in your thoughts. Ever since your self-imposed imprisonment, you detested the silence, having been left alone with your thoughts for far too long. It's part of the reason why you loved Stelle's presence. Never a dull moment with her and it was enough for you to push down whatever feelings would bubble up.

Very rarely did you wish that you were more Herrscher than human if only to get rid of those pesky feelings that leave you gasping for air. Disgusting.

Maybe the quiet is doing you some good, giving you the time and space to properly process your emotions instead of dismissing them for later. You let yourself indulge in the good memories, reminding yourself that your past wasn't entirely doom and gloom. That's what made the tragedies of your life all the more painful. The sleepovers you had with Elysia, the pointless yet invigorating debates with Su and the wheat fields you and Kevin would walk down as children.

(Wait a minute, you never knew Kevin as a kid. You had met him shortly after he joined Fire MOTH. And even so, both of you grew up in metropolitan areas with no farmland in sight.)

(These weren't your memories, so who did they belong to?)

Before you can think too hard over the maybe false memories, you hear the screams of children coming from the ruins ahead of you. Without thinking you rush ahead, your heroic instincts taking over.

You turn the corner and find a young boy and a young girl, with the boy standing in between her and the stone monster. He raised his flimsy sword to try and fight the monster off, with fear and resignation in his eyes. You knew that look all too well. Even if he doesn't make it out of here, he can make sure that this little girl can get to safety. Fat chance kid, there will be no more dying kids on your watch.

"Hey!" you yell at the stone creature to catch its attention. Thankfully, it was enough to take its attention off the kids and onto you. You don't feel any fear as it hulks over, its loud footsteps and towering figure doing nothing more than making you chuckle. Silly, silly monster. Didn't it know that it sealed its face by facing something more terrifying than itself?

You didn't think twice before throwing your sword towards it, following the sword to make sure it landed on its target. You use the handle of your weapon as a pushing-off point for a backflip, making sure its blade sinks as deep as it can into the monster. The monster crumbles back into the ground as you approach the two children, kneeling down to make yourself less threatening. 

"You kids alright?" you ask, eyes tracking their faces for any visible injuries. Luckily the children didn't suffer any severe injuries, the worst only being what you assume are going to be sore limbs from all the running they did today. Their nods of agreement quelled any lingering worry that you had. You add another mental note about the things you learned about Amphoreus so that you can somewhat communicate with the locals.

But before you can ask them why they were out here alone, the statues that you didn't notice earlier crumbled their hard shells to reveal the monsters within them. Now you're surrounded by five statue monsters and with two children to look after. On the bright side, these two might be easier to take care of than your fellow Trailblazers. 

"I don't have time for this," you mumble to yourself, pushing the children behind you. It was just your luck that you had to face off against enemies in this world, with no knowledge of what you were going up against and with no backup. (No, the little boy and his poor excuse of a sword do not count as backup in your books.) It mattered little though, you have gone up against the worst in the past and you will continue to encounter worse in the future.

More and more statues stalk closer towards you, with their clunky movements causing the children to quiver in fear, mumbling something about Nikador's wrath, whatever that meant. Part of you was considering using your natural powers to make quick work of the statues, already annoyed that you've wasted enough time here. Sure there are consequences if you accidentally triggered an eruption, but those can be dealt with later.

With a snap of your fingers, portals opened around you, orange in colour and slicing their way into this universe. Out came a lance for each creature and in a blink of an eye they crumbled before you, turning back into the stone they came from. That was one problem done thankfully, and if all of Amphoreus' enemies were that easy to deal with, then you should have no problem traversing the rest of the planet, if you could even consider it a planet. You just hope that you won't have to use any more of your powers.

You turn around to make sure the children you are protecting are okay, but instead of fear, you are met with excited expressions, like they hadn't almost died from a falling rock. The young girl started jumping and dancing around, while the boy pumped his fist in the air.

"That was so cool! The way you summon those flying lances and beat those titankins. You have to be a Chrysos heir– no a Demigod! Just like the ones mom used to tell us about!" The child went on about Titans and prophecies that you couldn't wrap your head around entirely. This is not what you meant when you had wanted a crash course on Amphoreus history.

"I'm… not a Chrysos Heir, just someone trying to find her way through this area." You didn't want to break this kid's delusion, but it would be better than trying to lie your way and break his heart later on.

(Come to think of it, why didn't they immediately single you out as someone beyond the stars? You clearly don't look or sound like you belong here, but these children were willing to believe that you were one of them. You were about to introduce yourself as a Trailblazer, but something told you that it would land you into major trouble later on. Besides, do these people even know of the Trailblaze? Let's not confuse them anymore.)

"Oh," the boy visibly deflated, but immediately perked back up. "But that doesn't matter, thank you for saving us!" The young boy and girl launched themselves at you to give you a hug. You didn't know what to do except give them an awkward pat on the back. Still, they endeared you enough to earn a small smile on your face.

"It's not a big deal," you said as you kneeled down. "As long as you two are safe, then that's all that matters. Where are your parents though?" You wonder what parents would be neglectful enough to leave their children in a monster-infested area in this eternally dark place.

You regret asking that question so casually though, as the young girl's eyes tear up and she lets out small sniffles. She puts her hand over her mouth to quiet herself, but it doesn't do much to muffle her cries. The boy on the other hand looked away to the distance and bit his lips, trying to keep it from quivering. You commend his attempt to put on a strong front in front of his sister, but you could see right through his facade.

"Our parents were killed by the Black Tide while we were trying to escape to Okhema," the young boy murmured, almost like if he said it quietly enough, he could somehow will them back to existence. It's a hope that you had before. 

You didn't know how to comfort them. Even before your exile, your military upbringing always made it difficult for you to comfort civilians. In your line of work, where death is so common it could be counted as a part of your squadron, all you could do was bury your feelings along with your comrade and pray that you won't have to bring home another corpse. And that was the best-case scenario, better than having to look into their infected eyes and do the honours for yourself.

(Elysia was always good at comforting people, and you miss having her presence to take over in situations like this. Even Kevin's awkward fumbling when it came to this was charming enough to make people laugh and make them feel better. Not you though. No one wants comfort from a monster.)

You shake your head. You're not a monster anymore and these kids need more comfort than you need pity.

"I'm sorry for your loss, but we have to keep going." You wipe the tears falling from their faces, letting them put the full weight of their heads into your hands. With a softer voice, you continue. "I know it's hard, but it's not safe here. We'll go to Okhema and figure out the rest there, okay?"

They nod their heads and you can see the resolve building itself in their eyes. The boy picked up his sword and raised it in the air with a triumphant cry.

"Yeah! We'll get to Okhema and make the Black Tide pay for taking our home!" he loudly declared. Without waiting for you or his sister, he strutted away in what you hope is in the direction of Okhema. Not that you would stand a better chance if they relied on you on where to go.

"I'm sorry about my brother," the girl sighed. "Once he gets something in his head, he doesn't stop until he makes it come true." This sounds like an issue she's been long aware of.

"It's okay," you say as you stand up with a smile. You hold your hand out to her for her to hold, and once she does, you both take off to follow the brother. "As long as you stand by his side, you two will be able to do anything."

"That's right!" she hollered out, jumping in place before holding onto your hand. Their bond endeared you, your heart always warming when you see family stick together. You wonder about your own family back home, before you were thrown into Fire MOTH. They had long since passed due to the Honkai, slightly your fault. But your new family, the Flame-Chasers, had effortlessly taken their place. For longer than some of these planets have been around when you think of family, you think of the twelve shining soldiers standing in front of you. Ready were they to die for humanity, and you wished you were given the blessing to join them. Not yet though, you still have old debts to pay and retribution to collect. 

Taking these kids to Okhma has given you two things. The first was company to stop you from slipping into your thoughts and musings. With how loud and talkative they were, there wasn't a silent moment left for you to fill.

The second was some of the answers to the questions you have about this world.

The most important thing you learn is the names of the two children you saved. The young boy introduced himself and Aris and his younger sister as Pallas. Both hailed from the distant lands of Castrum Kremnos but never got to visit their homeland, as it had been infected by the Black Tide many years ago. Their ancestors had moved the Janusopolis, which was deemed safer due to the protection of the Titan, Janus. However, even that mighty city fell, as you were walking on her ruins today.

They mention the Black Tide, an evil that apparently has been taking over the entirety of this world. Apparently, it infects every living thing it touches, turning its lifeforms into dark and twisted versions of themselves, hellbent on consuming and destroying everything in its path. Supposedly it has no master, acting with no drive except the sole desire of annihilation. (If there was a camera nearby, you would have stared into it, asking the audience if they thought this was funny to them.)

They spoke of the twelve Titans that ruled over Amphoreus, the miracles they brought on and the devout worship from its peoples. As Children of Castrum Kremnos, both Aris and Pallas worshiped the Strife Titan, Nikador. Aris especially was excited to tell their tales of war and battle and of honour and sacrifice. Pallas had to be the one to solemnly let you know that the Titan had been infected by the Black Tide in their eternal battle with it. Now all that remains is a mindless beast that attacks anything living.

Finally, they explained the Chrysos Heirs and Demigods, the thing they accused you of being. Apparently, there was a prophecy that there would be twelve Chrysos Heirs, beings of golden blood, who would assume the authority of the Titans and lead this nation to an era of eternal peace. 

The more and more they told you about the world that you crash-landed on, the more uncomfortable you were over how eerily similar your life was to this universe's destiny. You knew that parallel universes meant parallel timelines, and that your story would be remixed across dimensions. You remember how Acheron reacted to your presence and your solemn sigh when you found out that you didn't survive in her story either. But you're one crazy coincidence away from grabbing your Trailblazers and nopeing the fuck out of this planet. You do not need to be traumatized– or you suppose retraumatized.

(You come to the realization that in every universe, within every timeline, you do not get a happy ending. Your only regret is that it seems like you keep on dragging your lover into your doomed destiny. Misery does indeed love company.)

On the bright side, Aris and Pallas did answer some of your questions. That still didn't solve the issue of your missing companions. You only hope that they haven't gotten into any trouble. 

The marble gates on Okhema greet you and your mini companions, and relief courses through your veins because finally, something is going right. Aris even ran ahead in excitement, ready to take on his new home. But he didn't see the falling stone in his peripheral vision, his tunnel vision set on the crumbling gate. Luckily you did, jumping into the air to slice to rock before it could fall on the poor boy.

Of course, just your luck. Trouble had to find you first.

You were skeptical that Okhema was considered a safe haven when all you could see were those same stone monsters that you saved the children from. Titankin, you remember Aris calling them that. 

You push the two children behind you, eyes darting back and forth between the Titankin surrounding the three of you. You could see the guards past the hordes of statues, but you had a feeling that they wouldn't be able to get to you in time. No matter, you get cornered once, you get cornered a thousand times. 

Through the gaps of the stone wall closing in on you, you can see what you assume are Okheman guards trying to fight off the Titankin. You were just about to summon more of your lances, but before you could, you and the children were surrounded by a wall of red crystal.

You couldn't see through the solid red crystal, but you could hear the sounds of the Titankin crumbling back into the stone they came from. There was the sound of a man grunting, but it was so soft that you assumed that he wasn't exerting too much effort like these stone statues were nothing to him.

(Jealousy bubbled in you. That would be you had your powers not come with destructive consequences.)

A moment later, there was silence. The three of you stayed still with bated breath, eager to discover the result of the battle. One crack appeared in the crystal, followed by another. You throw yourself over the children to prevent them from the shards of the crumbling wall falling around you. 

You look up and in the distance stands the man who was responsible for this destruction.

Blond hair with red dyed tips, he had a tall stature with muscle and scars you could assume he only gained through constant battle. The fabric pooling around his lower body did nothing to hide the red markings on his chest, a warning for his enemies to stay away. But what captured you were his eyes. A deep red with a fire that you have only seen in one man, a very long time ago.

Kalpas…?

You dare not speak his name out loud, not wanting to make this more real than it already was. 

But it seemed like you weren't the only one staring at a ghost.

A look of recognition? Of longing? Of fear? You couldn't tell because it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. He only gave himself a split second of vulnerability before he reminded himself that he was a soldier and this was a battlefield. The only reunion either of you has time for is the one you will have with death. This was a sentiment you are all too familiar with.

"Lord Mydeimos!" Aris exclaimed. You trusted his judgement enough to give this man the barest amount of benefit of the doubt.

Mydeimos looked you up and down, taking note of your foreign clothing. His eyes singled out the golden ticket pendant you have, and you could only assume that he'd seen the ticket recently.

"Your comrades are on their way to Nikador at Marmoreal Palace," Mydeimos stated. You sighed with relief. Dan Heng and Stelle were alive and they had some sort of help with them. Still unnerved over the ghost standing in front of you, you looked back at the two kids standing behind you, your mind already set on your next steps.

"She can't fight Nikador! She's not an Heir," Pallas cried out, moving to stand in front of you. She was trying to stop you from what she believes is you throwing your life away. Her older brother joined her protest, saying how it would be better if Mydeimos went and fought Nikador himself.

"You'll look after the children?" you ask, but it is more of a command than a question. You made sure to reflect the light of the sun against your blade, making it visible and knowing what would happen to him if the children weren't safe.

He gave no response except for a quick nod, and that was enough for you, so long as he understood the consequences of his failure.

The children were in tears when you told them that you would go to Marmoreal Palace. They cry and plead for you to stay and have someone else deal with this, but you were never good at letting other people help you.

"I will be okay." You gave them a hug, trying to pour a little bit of relief into their bodies so they'd stop worrying. "Stay with Lord Mydeimos, he'll keep you safe," you ordered them both. You pull away from the hug and they nod, having learned that following your directions has kept them alive so far.

"This is not a goodbye. I will find you two again." This wasn't going to be another empty promise that you were going to break.

"You better come back to us!" Aris demanded, before running to hide behind the blond man, Pallas following closely behind him.

Before you could ask where the fuck Marmoreal Palace even was, a golden thread appeared out of nowhere, leading your eyes to a large building on the horizon. Well, that answered your question. 

Mydeimos may have mentioned something about Aglaea guiding your way, but you didn't care to stay and listen. Immediately, you run off to follow the golden thread, hoping that you'll be able to get there in time to save their asses once again.

But even at your top speed, it still took you time to run over to the Palace. Time that you used to absorb the fact that you just saw Kalpas again. It was one thing for you or Kevin or Elysia had counterparts across the universe, but Kalpas? It meant that there was a chance that the rest of the Flame-Chasers were alive. That you would see him again, even if it's not the man you fell in love with.

It was one thing to hear Acheron's story. This is going to be a whole trainwreck that you weren't emotionally prepared enough to deal with. But then again, how do you prepare to see the friends that you carelessly murdered? Were you ready to face your sins, Destroyer?

You don't know which outcome you hope for more. That your past would just leave you alone and die just like your world did. Or that you would see your friends again, albeit in a completely different scenario. You would do anything to see Kevin, yes, but only if it's your Kevin. The boy who would hold all your shopping bags in one hand just so that he can keep one hand free to hold you. The man who held you to his chest to stop you from ending your life prematurely. Who held you in your final moments.

That's who you want, not some cheap imitation that could never reach your man. No offence to this world's Kevin.

You hear the grunts inside the palace before you see the mechanical creature surrounded by the fountain and the same golden thread that guided you here. To be honest, the Titan didn't seem that impressive. Sure it's massive, but size never equals power and you know that one slash from your greatsword would be enough to finish it off.

(History may remember the Judgment of Shamash as Kevin's weapon, but you and the sword knew who was its true owner. He was just keeping it warm, sharp and ready for your return.)

Your greatsword feels like home in your hands, and you revel in her power coursing through your veins.

("She's just as beautiful and destructive as you are." An amused voice spoke up, followed by strong arms wrapping around your waist. A mop of white hair tickled the skin on your neck. You wish you could bottle this moment and experience it for an eternity.)

You could see your two companions, as well as a white-haired knight fighting against the Titan. You knew what your next action should be.

Without a chance to hesitate about your own decision, you charge forward toward the Titan, flames blazing behind you. They gave you enough speed and strength to slice Nikador in half. You don't see their dismembered body, but the thud on the ground gives you the impression that you won the fight.

It was strange that they went down so easily, but your worried thoughts were cut off by your gray-haired chaos machine jumping into your arms.

"You're alive!" Stelle held you up in her arms, squeezing the Herrscher core out of you. You could feel your lungs collapsing in your chest with the strength of her hug. It was only when Dan Heng came over to pry your favourite baseball player off of you that you could finally breathe.

"It's good to see you too," you say with fondness. Things are always lively when you have your fellow Astral Express members around, and you know your mission on Amphoreus was just about to get more interesting. "I trust that you have been keeping out of trouble." The guilty look on Dan Heng's face and the nervous chuckle from Stelle made you sigh. You wouldn't have your idiots act any other way.

"Well, we had help," Dan Heng explained. "We were lucky to meet some of the locals before fighting the Titankin." You're grateful that they were able to have more guidance than you did. Not that you weren't thankful for Aris and Pallas. You should probably check on them sooner than later.

"Please! We did most of the work anyways." Stelled crossed her arms, a pout on her face. She pointed to someone or something behind you with an accusatory point. "The only thing Phainon did was steal my bat and break Cloud Piercer!"

You sigh, already knowing that Stelle added her usual dramatic flair to what has happened. You make a note to ask Dan Heng for a more accurate recount of events. This poor Phainon didn't have to catch her backhanded comments, especially if he was keeping them safe.

You turn around to thank this white knight, but you can't get the words out once you see his face. 

Snow white hair. Piercing blue eyes. Even his clothes were a close replica of Kevin's. You almost didn't want him to speak, in fear that he also sounded like him. This was it, the one thing you feared. Knowing that there were alternate versions of your lover. A million lives that he can lead. A million heartbreaks waiting to happen.

It seems that this Kevin– Phainon had the same thoughts going through his head. But unlike you, his body couldn't hold the weight of his pain. He fell to his knees and it took everything in you to not hold him to your chest. The familiar words of comfort lay at the tips of your tongue, but they wouldn't be heard by the person who they were meant to, just a familiar stranger.

"Starlight..." his voice wobbled. Your soul left your body, leaving behind an aching heart at the sight of his watery eyes. Or maybe it was just your tears blurring your vision. Another memory you kept buried forced its way into your consciousness. 

("Starlight, really?" You raise your eyebrows at the cheesy name. "Can't you be a little less romantic?")

(His laugh or the heavenly trumpets filled the air. He took a string from your hoodie (that you were borrowing from him) and kissed it, his old habits never leaving him. Kevin knew he was able to touch you, the sub-zero temperature not affecting you. But ever the gentleman, he did everything he could to keep you safe. Really, that should have been your job.)

("Your eyes sparkle under the stars, and you are the only light who is keeping me tethered to this world." He let go of the drawstring and pulled you in for a kiss. You put your hands around his neck and swayed in his arms, overwhelmed by the rare peace your snowstorm brought you.)

("You're making it harder to pull away from you," you mumble against his lips. You had to go to a briefing for a solo mission in an hour, but you weren't ignorant of the double meaning of your words. You knew he was too smart to let it go over his head. With every Herrscher that fell, you could feel the Honkai tightening its grip around your soul. Despite everything you could do to fight it, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the Honkai took over and you reset the universe.)

(You had it drilled into your conscious that it would be better for you to die in some corner if only to buy this world some time.)

(He absolutely hated that sentiment, going borderline feral any time someone brought up that cursed plan. The one time that you had brought it up, you weren't allowed to leave his bed for a week, for fear that if he let you go, you would go to the void and he would have no choice but to follow you. You never want him dying on your behalf. Humanity needs its hero and you were not selfish enough to take that away from it.)

("So don't go," he growled, kissing you with more passion this time. He pulled you closer, chest firmly pressed up against yours. Even if he knew what was to come, you know that he would forsake any prophecy to keep you here.)

(This kiss was everything you wished you had time to tell each other. I love you. I want you. I miss you, even though you're standing in front of me. I'm scared. I don't know what's coming next. I wish things were different.)

(I love you. I love you. I love you.)

(For the longest time, you thought that this would be enough for you. That you could hold onto these memories to keep you warm.)

"Ms. (Y/N)..." 

Dan Heng's voice snapped you out of your trip down memory lane. You didn't even realize the golden-haired lady appearing right in front of you. 

You clear your throat and wipe the tears from your eyes. This was all getting too much for you, and you were desperate to break something to make you feel better. That didn't exclude you. But your team needed you to be on your best behaviour, even if it was just to have a steady leader to guide them through this mission.

"I'm fine, Dan Heng," you whispered to him. You knew he wasn't a fool to miss your shaky smile, but you were thankful that he had the tact to at least ask about it later.

"New allies of Okhema, welcome to Amphoreus." The golden-haired lady spoke up, her voice soothing your early stress and anxieties. It reminded you of how Aponia used to casually manipulate the Fire MOTH soldiers to stop harassing you, saying that it was only in her interest to have someone in power indebted to you. Looks like you were finally getting the chance to pay her back for everything she has done for you. 

"While this welcome banquet is far from elegant, it has helped to remove any misgivings we had," she— Aglaea, continued. You side-eyed Dan Heng and Stelle, hoping that her doubts were due to her own skepticism and not any actions taken by the two. "From this moment forth, you shall be treated as distinguished guests of the holy city and the Chrysos heirs."

'Nice to be welcomed from the start,' you thought to yourself.

There is something odd about her beautiful eyes, seeming unfocused. They look like they were looking through you rather than at you. The whispers from two trailblazers behind you confirmed that they picked up on that fact too. 

"Curious about my eyesight?" she asks, and you note her heightened perception. Typical of someone who is the alternate universe version of Aponia, and you make sure to tell the other two to keep your unflattering thoughts to yourself. Especially Stelle. Lord knows what's going to come out of her mouth.

She went on to explain how every Chrysos Heirs had an ability that was unique to each individual. How she doesn't rely on traditional sight to perceive the world around you. Perhaps it wasn't the exact same manipulation that Aponia was able to achieve, but it did make you feel wary of someone who can 'hear' conversation from across the city. 

There was something else about her eyes that you noticed. They were seemingly dead, with no emotion in them. But they still looked at you with a sad longing— it made you feel sick to your stomach. Can these people stop looking at you with pity? Do they not know of the disaster that you would bring to them? 

You tried to ignore the gaze Phainon was giving you, his icy eyes giving off heat that could only rival the sun.

"A manifestation of Nikador…" Phainon spoke up with disdain in his voice. You were so close to ripping his vocal cords out just to end your suffering. How dare he steal your lover's voice and force you to listen to it. An indignant and petty part of you hoped that he was suffering as much as you were. You had a feeling that he was. "Could it be that my trial has not arrived yet?" he asked, more to himself than to anyone else. 

"By following the threads of fate, you have begun to write the opening chapter of your story. How do you feel?" Aglaea countered his question with her own. 

"Truth be told, I don't feel any different," he answered. "I anticipated a greater challenge." You roll your eyes, of course, he would say that. Were all versions of Kevin so willing to take on the greatest challenge on their own?

You tune out the rest of their conversation, not really caring about the plans they had to counter the invasion. 

What? The plan was a success and there were few casualties. Back in your world, this was seen as a blessing. 

Besides, you need more time to process truly what the fuck is going on. You try not to, but you can't help but spare small glances towards Phainon. It aggravates you how truly and utterly similar he was to Kevin. He would always joke with you that it would always be you two in every universe, that his soul was tied to yours for eternity. Mei would pipe up with some smart and cynical comment about how technically every possibility exists under String Theory.

("Mei!" he whined, sending a glare to the poor girl. "I was trying to woo her!")

("You're such a dumbass," you said. It didn't stop you from smiling like a fool. "I'm already your partner, you don't need to woo me." You ruffle his hair and pinch his cheek. God, he was adorable— and he's yours. Just yours.)

("But I want to treat you right, starlight," he pouted, forehead resting on yours. "Want to be the man that is deserving of you." For him, you would relive every single awful and forced action the Honkai put you through for him.)

(Before you could say anything, a beach ball hit the back of your lover's head. He rubbed it and glared at the idiot who was dumb enough to ruin his moment with you.)

("You're a dead man Su!" he yelled, racing straight towards the scholar. You were scared that he was going to use his full might against the poor man. God. You love your man so fucking much.)

You scoffed, thanking the Lord that Welt wasn't on this mission. The old man would have suffered heart attack after heart attack for every new revelation.

Your amusement wasn't as quiet as you thought. 

"Is something funny?" Aglaea asks, raising her eyebrow towards. Oh fuck, it would be so embarrassing if you were the one who started the trouble.

"It was nothing, my lady." You clear your throat. "My mind tends to wander." The smile Phainon gave you didn't go over your head. Even Aglaea shook her head in amusement.

"Distinguished guests, since you have spared no effort in aiding the holy city, I will naturally take care of you as well." How sweet of her— oh, like hell you're going to take her offer her at face value. But still, you could use a little R&R. "I've woven many unforeseen events into the tapestry of fate, this is but one instance." Always the wildcard, never the intended. 

"Thank you for your hospitality, my lady." You bowed your head in appreciation. You glare at the other two the same way a mother would glare when her children forgot to thank someone. Thankfully you trained them well enough to pick up on your signal. You turn back to Aglaea. "Truly it was our pleasure to help out however we can."

"You can find me at Marmoreal Market after you've grown tired of listening to her tales," Phainon offers, but he hesitates to look you in your eyes. You didn't take any offence since you were struggling with the same thing. "In any case, I owe you my hospitality."

"We look forward to you treating us, Phainon." The softness in your voice wasn't intended, but it bled its way regardless of your best effort. "Just to warn you, this one will make a dent in your wealth if you treat us to food," you quip while pointing to Stelle, earning you a pinch and a pout from the baseballer.

He didn't say anything to respond, but he walked away with a wistful and painful smile on his face.

"Now then, where should we begin?" Aglaea said, and you don't miss the challenge in her voice.

After placing the Trailblaze Beacon down, Aglaea took you to the centre of Marmoreal Palace. You stand underneath the fountain listening to the spirit water tell the story of this land. Many of the details lined up with what Aris and Pallas had told you, but it filled in some of the gaps that they had left out. You hope that they have found a safe place for them to stay.

"The way up from here leads to a bath that the Council granted exclusively to the Chrysos Heirs," she explains as your group walks back to the waterfall. "I'm willing to make an exception, considering you're guests from beyond the sky…"

"But you have your traditions to maintain," you finish her thought with your arms crossed.

"Precisely," she confirms. Her eyes lingered on Stelle, clearly wanting her to go to the baths with her. But you think that she wouldn't do anything without your express permission. 

"Go up with her Stelle, me and Dan Heng will wait down here for you." You didn't take your eyes off of Aglaea with a clear intention in your eyes. If anything happened to her, you would tear Amphoreus up with your own bare hands. You found yourself giving out more threats than you have in past missions. You couldn't help it, this world is designed to aggravate you to no end.

These people may have the skin of your family, but they were still unknown threats to you. Not that it mattered. You killed your friends once, and you could do it again.

(Yes, princess, the voices spoke up in your head. Return to your roots. Return to the purpose of your existence.)

"You have a considerate partner." She gestures to the elevator platform. "Follow me." You watch the two go up and away to the private baths.

Not even a second goes by when Dan Heng voices his concerns.

"Are you alright?" he hesitantly asks. "Ever since you saw Phainon, you've been more distracted, and don't think I didn't see the threat in your eyes that you've been giving everyone."

"It's complicated," you sigh. The truth was going to come out eventually. "Do you remember how me and Welt were taken aback when we met Acheron?" You turn to look at him as you wait for his answer.

"I do, Welt said that she was like someone you met on your world," he answers.

"That's right." You bite your lip trying to find the words to say your next thought. "Being on Amphoreus… It's like that but so much worse," you confessed. "The people you've met were people I deeply cared about back home." You shudder at your own vulnerability, but you trust Dan Heng more than you feel the pain when bringing back these memories. You opened your mouth to try and explain your weird relationship with Phainon, but you couldn't will your mind turn its thoughts into sound.

"I see…" You didn't expect him to know how to respond, but he ponders for a response anyway. "Do you think your past might give us some insight into this world?"

"If it does, then I know that this world was fucked before we even stepped foot here," you scoff. The dark thought of killing your alternate self on this world, just so that you could prove that this and any planet with you on it was better off dead. 

Dan Heng puts a hand on your shoulder, and you smile at his awkward yet endearing attempt at comforting you. It kind of makes you wish March was here as well, her bubbly energy always giving you a sense of levity to any situation.

"I may not know your whole story, but me and Stelle will stand by you no matter what." If anyone knew what it was like to have a horrid past, it would be Dan Heng. The experience of being hated for something you never did was something you both shared, and it warms your heart that you have found people who will stand by your side no matter what. A luxury you weren't afforded often, but one you cherish all the same.

You nod your head with a smile, not trusting your voice to stop itself from breaking down into tears. It helps that Stelle was heading down to the two of you, another welcome distraction from the warring thoughts in your head.

Stelle starts to tell you what Aglaea had told her. Most of it was extra information added to the fairy tales that the children have told you. You had a feeling that this world was not aware of what lies beyond its firmament, but you didn't know it was something that was outright hidden from them. Whatever, their world, their rules. You have no intention to break them.

But one fact has surprised you, a pit falling in your stomach and your heart somehow aching more than it has been. 

"This is Amphoreus' Flame-Chase journey — a band of heroes dedicated to slaying the gods and reclaiming the twelve Coreflames for the world to start over anew."

The Flame-Chasers haunt you wherever you go. Your past digging its claws into your flesh. Your eternal punishment for the sins you have committed. You wonder if this version of you has realized their destiny, the burden they must carry to the end. 

"Hm, there's still a lot about this situation that we don't know." You cross your arms and look up to the private baths. "Why don't you two go and talk to some of the locals? Get a feel for the situation."

"And what will you do—" Dan Heng started to ask before Stelle cut him off.

"Oooooh, you're going to talk to Phainon! I saw the heart eyes you were giving him– Ow!" You're thankful that Dan Heng had the tact to elbow Stelle. You love her, but her mouth really had a way of getting into trouble.

"I want to check up on something." You hold both of their shoulders and plead with them. "Do not, under any circumstances, get into any trouble. I may not know Aglaea all that well, but she doesn't seem like the type to tolerate the slightest subordination." You shudder when you think of how Aponia would act when something didn't go her way.

"Don't you worry, I'll keep Dan Heng out of trouble!" Stelle yelled out before walking out of the baths. Dan Heng sighed and assured you that he would keep an eye on her, before following her.

You give yourself a second, trying to let your brain catch up with the last few hours or so. Your heart clenched and started beating erratically, panic and adrenaline flooding your system. This was getting too much for you to handle and you were one wrong encounter away from collapsing onto the floor in a catatonic state. But you couldn't give in to your fear, you have people depending on you. People who trust you to not let them down.

("Breathe, Starlight," he whispered into your ear. His cold arms kept you grounded amongst the field of corpses around you. "I got you, nothing is going to happen, I promise." He smiled and you almost believed him. But despite the heavens he tried to move and the hell he tried to raise, he was still mortal and you were his God. There was nothing he could do to change your fate.)

(Huh, there wasn't blood flowing from the corpses, but a weird orange energy. That wasn't exactly how you remembered how the battle went.)

You must have zoned out for quite a while because before you know it, you walk through the same streets you ran through to get to the battle. Despite the chaos that was occurring a couple of hours ago, everything seemed to go back to normal. The vendors went back to selling their produce, the lovers were walking through the streets with wistful smiles and the children were playing like they should.

"Ms. (Y/N)!" was the only warning you got before you almost collapsed under the two children you saved. 

"I'm glad that you're ok!" you smile as you bend down to give your two kids a hug. Joy replaced the earlier panic, happy that there was something good that happened during your time here. "I trust that Lord Mydeimos took good care of you?" 

Aris nodded while explaining how cool Lord Mydeimos – apparently he insists on just being called 'Mydei' – was, with his amazing strength and incredible knowledge on the battlefield. He tried, and failed, to recreate the fighting moves that Mydei used. 

"He said that if I practice enough, I can be an even better warrior than him!" 

"You still have quite a ways to go before you will reach Mydei's level."

Phainon's voice came out of nowhere, giving you a bit of a scare. He stood in front of the children, a smile on his face and hands on his hips. The children were happy to have another one of the Chrysos Heirs giving them attention. Phainon didn't seem to mind, laughing as the children took their turns treating him like a jungle gym.

You thought about having children, once upon a time. You'd crush those ideas before they could turn into something tangible, for fear that you would pass down your Herrscher curse to your children. Would this be what your life would be like if you weren't forced to bear the world's burden?

 "Aris! Pallas! It's time for dinner!" You look up to see an old woman calling out to the children. Thank goodness the children had someone in Okhema to take care of them. You weren't ready to become an impromptu mother to two kids, especially with your grown children to take care of.  

"Coming Grandma!" the kids respond, but they don't leave without almost knocking you over again with another hug. You make them promise again to stay out of trouble, and that you will always be there for them if they call out your name. 

"Those kids seem to like you." Phainon took his place next to you, eyes scanning Marmoreal Palace for any trouble that he may need to help with. He didn't look at you, and you don't think you have the heart to look at him.

"Oh you know, save a child's life and they feel indebted to you for eternity," you chuckle, trying to relieve your nerves and the awkward tension in the air. 

Neither of you know what to say. You could see Phainon opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the right words to say. Your own brain started to hurt with the amount of thinking you were doing, wanting to gather the answers you needed while protecting your own heart. There was only one way for this to end and that was in shared vulnerability. But you don't think you have it in you to be vulnerable in front of another man, even if he looks and sounds eerily like your dearly departed.

Luckily, Phainon was willing to bite the first bullet.

"Your ring is beautiful," he spoke up, eyes focusing on the blue gem around your neck. You instinctively hold it in your hand, finding relief in its biting cold. "The man who must have given it to you must have cared about you dearly."

"He did…" you trail off with a smile, letting yourself revel in the good memories without letting the bad ones taint what you have left of him. The cold from the gold brought you more comfort than you care to admit.

"If you don't mind me asking– and of course if you don't want to answer I completely understand–" Phainon goes on a tangent about not wanting to make you uncomfortable but that he was really curious. About what, he hasn't even told you yet. You put a hand on his shoulder, slowly and with hesitation, giving him enough time to pull away if he pleases to do so.

"It's alright, Phainon, just ask me what you wish to know," you reassure him with a smile.

"Were you married to someone back home?" His hands started fidgeting with his own ring finger like he was missing something there. (It just so happens that the ring you hold was an exact match for the one he was going to give his partner.)

It's the question many people ask you when they see the ring. Who's the lucky guy who captured your heart, many would ask. You'd always counter that you were the lucky one for having Kevin choose you. He was and forever will be the greatest thing that has happened to you, and you will carry that with you wherever you go. You may not have had the wedding of your dreams, but you were his. In sickness and health, till death do you part and a little bit beyond that. You don't need a legally signed paper to tell you what your soul already knows.

("Things are getting out of hand out there," he said as he knelt down to one knee. "I may not be able to give you everything that you deserve, but let me give you this one thing." He pulled the ring out of his pocket and your eyes started to blur with tears. "My heart, my love and my soul will forever belong to you. No matter where life takes you, I want you to remember that I will always be with you as long as you wear this ring." Ice started to form on his cheeks.)

("So, Starlight, my sun on a cold winter day, will you do the honours of marrying me? In this life or the next?)

(You never answered a question more quickly in your life.)

"That's hard to explain." How else can you explain that not even the day after, your closest friend and confidant revealed that she was also a Herrscher and that she sacrificed herself for future generations. How you lost your mind and became a force of destruction, ending all life in sight. That it took the combined power of all the living Flame-Chasers just to seal you away. That you spent the last fifty thousand years in exile only to be released with the death of your lover. 

Phainon has a bright heart, and it reminded you of Kevin's before the responsibilities as the Deliverance took its full toll on him. Who were you to reveal him to the true horrors of his fate before he was ready? So you tell him a sanitized version until he is ready to hear your whole story. Until you're able to recount your life as objectively as possible, without driving yourself mad with what-ifs.

"We didn't know how much time we had left, so he proposed to me with hopes that we'll get married once the threat to our world was over." A bitter side of you wished to demand more time, and you've come to just appreciate the time that you had. You continue with your story, "he was right. The day after the proposal, our entire world fell apart." You don't add the fact that you were to blame for its destruction.

If the Amphoreus version of you will play the same role that you did, then you wish to preserve their image in Phainon's mind for a little bit longer.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to bring up such awful memories." Phainon was so chivalrous, it made you want to shake him by the shoulders and tell him that it's okay if he doesn't appear heroic for two seconds. He better learn this lesson before he burns himself out.

"The thing is that in between the awful memories – and trust me, there were some shit times – there are memories that I will cherish until I die." Your first birthday party after the eruption you caused, the night Kevin confessed his feelings for you, the brief hope you had when you thought your powers were under your control. These are the memories that shine through the despair you felt. And now with the Astral Express, you can create new memories that will drown out the darkness that you carry.

"You learn how to continue to live despite everything," you smile softly as you turn to look at him. Phainon's eyes were wide and hanging off of every word that you were saying. Maybe to him, the words you were saying were the Gospel he would hold close to his heart, letting them imprint themselves onto his soul. Or maybe, he was blurring the lines between you and someone else. 

"Even when it hurts?" His voice stuttered, more broken than what you expected. His heart had already gone through unimaginable pain, you fear. Your instincts kicked in, wanting to shield him away from the world that had nothing but cruel plans for him.

You couldn't protect your Kevin, but you could at the very least protect Phainon.

(It's too late, for his fate was sealed thirty-three million, five hundred and fifty thousand, three hundred and thirty-six cycles ago. But with you here now, perhaps you can create enough disruption to end his suffering. You of all people should know what it's like to be locked away. You would do anything to prevent another from suffering the same fate.)

"You have people that rely on you, Phainon," you remind him. "For people like– for you, there is no break from your fate, as unfair as that sounds."

His shoulders slump and his lips start to pout. Clearly, this wasn't the answer that he wanted to hear, but you wouldn't want to lull him in a false sense of security. 

You continue to look at him, trying to see past the ghosts that haunt you. For all the similarities Phainon and Kevin share, there were some differences. Kevin carried himself with calculated confidence, always trying to seem like he was in control. He'd only confide with you in private that most of it was a ruse to psych himself into believing in the future. As time went on, he became even more of a recluse, and the rare smile he'd share on some occasions was all but gone.

Phainon on the other hand wore his heart on his sleeve. He smiled freely, he cared fiercely and he wasn't afraid to hide any of his emotions. You wish to keep him like this, happy that at least in one world, you were able to see your lover before disaster. 

You only met Kevin after he'd joined the Fire MOTH, and you didn't get to really know him until years after your deployment. You never got to meet the carefree version of him from Su or Mei's stories. 

"There was a boy and a girl that I knew, once upon a time." Your voice had piqued his attention and all traces of that sad, puppy expression had disappeared. You continue on with your story.

"The girl's fate was sealed from the moment she was born. A terrible darkness was sealed inside of her, and it was only a matter of time before it would take over her being." You take a deep breath before you continue. "We call these beings 'Herrschers'." How could a word mean nothing to one person, but chill you to your bones?

"But despite what her destiny had decreed, she did everything in her power to fight against the darkness. It was almost futile, but she held such a deep love for humanity that it fueled her desire to win." Would the bright-eyed rookie all those years ago be proud of who you are? Of all the damage you caused and tried to fix and undo?

"The boy on the other hand had all the choice in the world." You almost lose yourself in another memory, catching yourself before you do. "He could have lived his life in relative peace, but he chose to fight."

"Because he too had a deep love for humanity?" Phainon asked.

"You're not wrong, but not exactly. He gained a new reason when he fell in love with the girl." You look towards the Dawn Machine, the closest thing this planet has to a sun. "He promised to keep her safe from fate, to defy anything that stood in his way."

Before he stood on his knee to ask for your hand in marriage, he stood before you, vowing to keep you away from anything that would bring you harm, including yourself.

("Even when the Honkai makes you unrecognizable, I will always fight to find the woman I love within." A knight swearing to his princess, an oath written in blood and stardust. There was no one that would come in between him and you, the beautiful end. You make a silent oath to yourself to never let him have to choose between you or the world.)

"In the end, they both failed to achieve their goals. The darkness that she so desperately tried to conceal did exactly what she was afraid of." The distant screams and prayers have become white noise to you. "And the boy couldn't save her from her fate, and so he had to kill her. And her revival only could happen after the boy killed himself. " You were glad that your last sight was of Kevin's face. You only wish his eyes weren't blurred by his tears. You only wish that you were there to provide him the same comfort.

Phainon took a sharp breath, not expecting the story to end so bleakly. The light in his eyes started to dim and his hands were shaky at his side. If he thought you were going to give him hope that everything would be okay, then he was speaking to the wrong person. 

His voice is solemn, unlike the cheerful tone he had thus far. 

"Are all of our fates destined to be that bleak?" he asks with a woeful tone. You could tell he didn't want to accept such a notion, but sometimes there is simply nothing you could do except to welcome the inevitable.

That was not the lesson you wanted Phainon to leave with.

"Maybe yes, maybe no," you muse with a smile. From the corner of your eyes, Phainon tilts his head at your light tone. You continue on with the moral of your story. "If you ask the girl, she'd probably tell you that she doesn't regret a thing."

"What do you mean?" Phainon is skeptical but doesn't shut you down.

"She met the love of her life, had a great group of friends that she called family, and even if it was for a brief amount of time, she was able to help protect her home. Sure, she wishes things ended differently, but she's come to learn that that's how life goes sometimes." You didn't know when you became so optimistic, but it was leagues better than being miserable all the time.

You miss him. Desperately so with an ache in your soul. Sometimes you stay up in the middle of the night, feeling the faint connection between your heart and his. But you have since grown without him, and slowly, you were filling the void with new friends and new loves. Himeko's awful coffee. Welt's science jokes that no one gets but him. The trio and all the chaos that they get into.

You wish Kevin could see you now. He'd be crying to see the woman who's so haunted by her past being able to let go and find peace. It's a long process, and a very slow one, but the best time to start is today. 

Just as Phainon brings you hope that there could be a version of your story that has a happy ending, you hope that your story shows him that there is life beyond tragedy. That even the darkest times cannot stay forever. He just needs to persevere through all of it, and you know he will.

When you arrived on Amphoreus and learned of its peculiarity, you were scared that all the little healing that you had done was for nothing. 

Now? It was just a sign of how far you have come. That you weren't sobbing at the sight and sound of Phainon. Truthfully, you think that you have gained a new friend and you are thankful for that.

"That was… a beautiful story," he sniffles as wipes his tears. You didn't mean to make the poor man cry, but at least he was comfortable sharing his emotions with you.

You thank him and continue to gaze beyond the horizon, a sense of peace that you haven't felt in millennia overcoming you. The awkward energy gave away to two people basking in the painful reminders of what it means to be human. A human who feels too much and a monster who doesn't feel at all, or at least that is what you tell yourself. You were coming to terms that maybe you aren't the monster everyone thought you were.

"When I first saw you, I couldn't help but compare you to my partner," he confesses with shame. "I was so… furious that you were just standing there while they were gone." His fists clenched, not with anger but with determination. "But now I understand that you too have lost your lover, and that our pain is shared."

"However, I am sorry, I refuse to share our destiny." He stood with a fire in his eyes. "I will not lose Amphoreus or my partner to the Black Tide or any other threat that comes in the future."

Echoes of the past whispered in your ear. "Humanity will never lose hope for as long as they call me their hero, their Deliverer." 

"Good," you snark, and a little bit of your old self starts to bleed through. "I expect nothing less, Deliverer." 

He smiles and pounds his fist against his heart, another oath made to you. Hopefully, this one will be kept.

"I, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae,  swear to you that I will see the Flame-Chase to the end, and that I will grant Amphoreus the happy ending we all deserve," he said with conviction, the same that you have heard from over the years. The desire to save your home isn't exclusive to one dying world, and you can extend your desire to other people.

"Then Phainon of Aedes of Elysiae," you start as you place a fist against your own heart, "I, (Y/N) of the Trailblaze swear that I will help however I can save Amphoreus from the Black Tide, and bring you to the Era Nova." You will not let another dying world fall.

In his excitement, Phainon lunges towards you and gives you a hug. His arms wrapped your back and lifted you up in the air. Your surprised shriek let him know that while this hug wasn't unwelcome, a warning would have done you good.

With renewed vigour, you and Phainon continue to walk through Marmoreal Market, with him pointing out all the stalls and the stories behind each of them. You laugh at his dramatic recreation, completely enchanted by the way he carries himself. In another life, he would have made for a fine historian. 

It wasn't until you passed a funeral home that Phainon spoke up to ask you another question.

"Have you ever thought about death?" he asks with such innocent curiosity that it almost distracts you from the morbid question.

"Do you think I'm going to die soon?" you counter with a question of your own, happy with the panic you caused him. He stopped and turned around like a deer in headlights, and he let out another ramble to excuse himself.

"No! That is definitely not what I meant," he trembled in place, his hands waving around in surrender. "It's just that I've always thought about it – you know being a warrior, you never know when your time will come – and it's something I ask everyone. Though I understand if that seems odd, especially to an outsider. Please forgive me!" How he said that in one breath was a miracle. You need to calm him down before he bows– oh, there he goes. Bobbing his head up and down like he will be able to repent his sins.

"I haven't given it a lot of thought to be honest." Your voice snaps him out of repentance and gives you his utmost attention. "All I know is that I wish to be buried in a wedding dress," you smile. "He better have planned the biggest party for me." 

"If I were to die alongside you, I expect an invitation as well." That much was obvious, but you hope he survives longer than you do if only to enjoy the happy ending he rightfully deserves. You also don't want to face the wrath of Amphoreus you for taking their man away from them so soon.

You were not his. He is not yours. The eerie similarities don't make up for the history that you share with your respective lovers. But in the shared details of your story, you find comfort that there are people like you, who face trials and tribulations beyond human comprehension. But at the same time, different enough to avoid the same doom you had to go through.

This is supposed to be a romantic story after all.

Just when you thought that all could end well, Lady Triannon comes running towards you, crying out to yourself and Phainon.

"Snowy! Come quick! Aglaea is going to execute Grayie and Dan Heng!" You don't respond, just running after her to save your idiots from their own poor decision-making.

You didn't think your life would come to this, but like you said earlier, you wouldn't change it for a damn thing.

–

(Beyond Calamity's Gate, there is an emanator waiting for their lover to fulfill the prophecy to set them free. They could only hope that he would be able to stop them from destroying the land they have come to love, and become the hero he was meant to be.)

(In another universe, there stood a man on the moon who barely escaped Death's hands. A girl with your eyes told him that you were okay, just exploring beyond the stars. He thinks that you deserved it after the sacrifices you made, but that didn't stop his longing to be with you again. He will find you, just like he promised all those years ago.)

given that all of this was written before 3.4, forgive me for the hopefulish ending ;-; mayhaps i'll write this from phainon's pov one day hehehe

may phainon wanters be phainon havers in the year of our lord 2025!!!

[megumismyhusband]

you’ve always looked up to nagi.

back when you were just a wide eyed kid sweeping ash off your coat in rainy alleyways, you’d sneak copies of the morning paper from the butcher’s stand. every front page that bore his name had a circle around it. seishiro nagi cracks arson case in under three hours. detective nagi solves string of disappearances no one else would touch. you’d read them so many times they stayed burned behind your eyelids, reappearing in the haze of sleep or when the night shift dragged too long. he was brilliant. always just a few steps ahead. a soft-spoken, disheveled genius who couldn’t be bothered to comb his hair or tie his shoes but could find a missing person by staring at a map for five minutes.

that’s why you’re here. well. partly.

you’d worked hard. harder than anyone else in your unit. took all the cases no one wanted. talked your way into witness interviews, stayed up all night dusting glass for prints, memorized floorplans. you earned your name. and lately, you’ve been hearing that name more and more. some say you’re the next nagi, except less lazy. some don’t even mention him at all anymore.

and now you’ve been asked to work a case with him. a real collaboration. two detectives, one mystery, a high profile locked room murder with too many suspects and not enough time. it’s the kind of thing you would’ve dreamed about back when you were young. so imagine how you feel when you first meet him and find out he’s a lazy piece of shit.

he shows up to the crime scene half an hour late, dragging his feet like someone’s forcing him to walk. his coat is only halfway on. there’s a coffee stain on his shirt. he yawns through the introductions and leans against the doorway of the drawing room like he’s about to fall asleep standing up.

“hey,” he says. that’s it. no handshake. no nod. just hey.

“detective nagi,” you say, trying to sound like your lungs haven’t turned to ice. “i’ve read all your—”

“can you tell me what happened so i don’t have to read the file?” he interrupts, blinking at you like you’re the boring part of his dream.

you clench your jaw. give him the rundown. short, professional, clipped. he doesn’t write anything down. he doesn’t even pretend to be listening. just stares past your shoulder, then down at his own hand like he forgot it was attached to him.

“huh,” he says at the end of it. “sounds annoying.”

you think he’s going to follow that up with a question. or a theory. or anything. he doesn’t.

the other officers exchange looks. this isn’t new to them. but you? you’re spiraling. is this really him? the man who’s solved killings in a single night? the one who once found a body buried beneath a well just by the texture of the dirt? is this what he’s become?

you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. you’re the one with the sharp mind now. the one who doesn’t sleep, who gets results. he’s a relic. an old headline. and it doesn’t matter if he slumps in chairs or gets distracted by moths or starts eating licorice halfway through your suspect interview.

except it does matter. because even when he’s doing nothing, somehow he still gets it right. he’ll mumble something under his breath, and it’ll be the one detail you missed. he’ll ask a question that sounds stupid, but it’ll turn the whole case on its head. and you hate how fast your heart starts beating when that happens. like it used to when you saw his name in bold ink.

you admire him. you still do. but now it’s quiet. like a secret you keep in your coat pocket. you tell yourself it’s just curiosity. maybe pity. maybe professional interest.

it’s not. and every time he yawns through your theories or scratches his head and accidentally gives you the final piece of the puzzle, you feel it settling in your chest.

this is going to be a long case.

you end up in the study with him after hours. two cups of lukewarm tea between you. crime scene’s cleared out, but neither of you’s left. you’re sketching out timelines on a napkin and he’s lying sideways on the settee like he’s at home.

“you don’t have to be here,” you tell him. “i can finish the layout.”

“i’m bored,” he says, like that’s a perfectly reasonable excuse to insert himself into your perfectly structured logic map. “besides. you missed the bit where the maid took her break ten minutes early.”

you blink. “how do you know that?”

“she smoked. matches in the flowerpot outside. old ones and one fresh.” he shrugs. “people always hide them in the dumbest places.”

you stare at him. “you never mentioned that.”

“you didn’t ask.” he yawns. “you’re really intense, huh?”

you bristle. “i work hard.”

“i know,” he says, almost too casually. “it’s kind of interesting. haven’t seen someone work this hard since… well. ever, really.”

you try not to let that register. not out loud, anyway. “i grew up reading about your cases.”

he rolls onto his back, arms behind his head. “ew. don’t say it like that. makes me sound old.”

“you are old.”

he huffs, but you catch the small smirk he tries to hide under his sleeve.

the weird thing is… you kind of start liking talking to him. once you stop expecting him to act like a proper detective, it gets easier. he’s easy to talk to when he’s not being a pain. he doesn’t judge your theories. he doesn’t interrupt you unless he has something important to say. and when he does say something, it’s usually helpful. like, annoyingly helpful.

you start bringing extra pens and snacks. he starts showing up on time. not all the time. but enough to notice. one day he actually ties his shoes.

“you’re rubbing off on me,” he mutters, like it’s some kind of disease. “i stayed awake all of yesterday. didn’t even nap.”

you arch a brow. “want a medal?”

“yes. but also a nap.”

you roll your eyes. but you hand him the spare coffee anyway.

you don’t say it out loud, but there’s a rhythm now. you work better together than you’d expected. and maybe you don’t look at the papers anymore. maybe you don’t circle his name. maybe now you look up when yours is next to his.

maybe that means something.

tags: @kaidostwin @levihanmyotp @ohagiyoo @oorosiidinmotive @wonubby @xoxojisu @yvanilaa @sevarchive @thetwinkims

join taglist here!

[elliesbabygirl]

CHAPTER FIVE: VOYAGER.

SERIES SYNOPSIS: Midterms were crushing you-and so was she. Maybe she was the right person at the wrong time, or the wrong person at the right time. Either way, none of it mattered when she was next to you.

WARNINGS: 18+, alcohol + drug use, cheating, swearing, mentions of tattoos + body mods (piercings & tattoos), arguments, blood, partying, pining, sexual tension, eventual smut. slow burn with fluff and angst.

The story is told in a messed-up timeline with memory fragments, a gauge on the reader trying to pick at where it all went wrong with Ellie.

SUBMARINE; MASTERLIST.

It was quiet in Juni’s room—the kind of quiet that came after a storm, but before the damage has really settled.

The only light came from the bedside lamp, casting a warm haze across the space, soft enough to pretend like things weren’t falling apart, again.

You were lying on your side beneath her blanket, curled in tight with your knees drawn up, like maybe if you made yourself small enough, you wouldn’t feel so exposed, so raw.

Your hands were clenched in the fabric, gripping it like you could anchor yourself there, in this bed, in this room—anywhere but inside your own head.

Juni was behind you, one arm draped across your middle, and her other hand gently stroking through your hair.

She said nothing at first.

Just breathed slow and steady against the back of your shoulder, her body a quiet reassurance wrapped around yours.

Juni didn’t ask what happened.

She didn’t need to.

You had come through the door red-eyed, silent, the fight written all over your face—again.

The latest in a long line.

And when your face hit her pillow and your breathing started to shake, Juni didn’t ask questions.

She just pulled you in.

Her fingers moved through your hair with the kind of softness you hadn’t felt in days, weeks, and even months.

The kind of softness that didn’t ask you to perform or explain.

That didn’t want anything back.

When Juni finally spoke, it was so quiet you almost missed it.

“You keep tearing your face off for her.”

Your breath hitched.

And Juni’s voice stayed low, gentle but heavy.

“You’re that zombie,” she murmured. “From Night of the Undead Teenagers. The one that rips his face off… just to kiss his ex, just to feel something.”

Your shoulders tensed, just slightly.

The name of the movie dragged you back to a memory—your first date with Ellie.

Sitting next to her, thigh to thigh, trying not to overthink it as that ridiculous movie played.

Laughing when Ellie laughed, and recapping it to Juni hours later, giddy and glowing, saying;

“There’s this part where the zombie boyfriend totally tears his face off. Just to feel again, just to love her one more time.”

You said it like it meant something.

And now it did.

“I didn’t get it then,” Juni whispered, her forehead resting against the back of your neck. “But I do now.”

You didn’t speak, you couldn’t.

Your grip on the blanket tightened and your jaw clenched.

And still, her hand kept moving through your hair—slow, careful, like she was holding the pieces of you together.

“You do that every time,” Juni said. “You rip yourself open, and offer her everything. Hoping that this time she’ll finally hold it right, but Ellie never does.”

You made a sound.

Quiet and choked.

Then your breath came in sharp, shaky bursts, like you were trying to swallow back the truth but couldn’t keep it down.

“I think…” Juni’s voice cracked slightly, like she was scared to say it. “I think..tearing yourself apart feels easier than letting her go.”

“And I don't..blame you. ”

You pressed your face harder into the pillow.

And your body started to shake in sync with your heart.

You didn’t sob, you didn’t break loudly.

But you broke apart either way.

Your shoulders trembled, and your hands went limp.

And you let yourself cry into the dark and warmth that Juni was.

Someone who didn't ask you to hide.

Who didn't ask you to put your life on hold for her.

And her stupid selfishness that revolved around somebody else.

Author's note: heyyy…...how y'all doing. What do we think?? I know the timeline can feel a bit confusing but I am creating a timeline graph for each scene or event that happens in the fic TRUSTT. Also omg this series is so close to finishing and I'm scared....and i know it's a short chapter but it felt needed imo!

TAGLIST: @mayfldss @sewithinsouls-deactivated202506 @iadorefineshyt @safficoon @panic4sage @re1daway @bluminescent-moon @valeisaslut @bready101 @marleeeen111 @lunshimmer @hewsongf @idek4bands @lvlymicha @modernvenuss @snooopyinspace

LMK IF YOU WANT TO BE IN THE TAGLIST.

FYI. Some of you need to turn your tag permissions on!

[qinche-cvmslvt]

Forbidden

Content Warning: Manipulation, Heartbreak, Cheating, Betrayel, Emotional Outburst, Impulsive Behaviour. Fake Dating, Professor Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Principal Jenna, Exposure, Emotional Breakdown. Trust Violation and Emotional Fall out. Rumours, Gossip, Guilt and Gaslighting, Mentions of Administrative Negligence.

Tag List: @januke @kiss-the-universe @floofycookie @daddysyluslittlekitten @zozoparsnips @aneertawrites @ikesimpleton @mcdepressed290 @roselynviee @rorel1a @nchant6dkitty @aikonecrosis @harutogf

A/N: I’m sorry my lovelies… but this was bound to happen.

Chapter 14: The Plan

The auditorium was too bright, too loud, and too full of endings pretending to be beginnings. Graduation prep. That was the official excuse. The email had been all exclamation marks and excitement. Final ceremony rehearsal reminders, gown collection deadlines, and a speech submission deadline with the kind of urgency that felt more like a trap than an invitation but you weren’t thinking about speeches. Or gowns, or even the exact number of days left. You were thinking about fire and the man who had put it in your veins.

You sat near the middle, a clipboard balanced across your knees. Not because you were volunteering, though you told herself that’s why you’d shown up early, but because if you weren’t doing something, you might’ve drowned in the quiet.

The stage buzzed with the voice of Mrs Ellenor, the drama coordinator, who’d taken the microphone with all the enthusiasm of a Broadway understudy. “Caps and gowns will be distributed on the second Monday of next month,” she trilled. “And we still have open submissions for valedictorian speakers, so if you want to leave a mark, now’s your chance.”

A few students clapped but most didn’t. The projector screen behind her flicked through timelines, deadlines and reminders. Each one a neon sign screaming: Time is running out.

Two rows ahead of you, Xavier sat upright, a pen held loosely in one hand, his shoulders drawn tense beneath the casual blazer he wore like armor. He wasn’t watching the screen. Not really.

He’d turned just enough to keep you in the corner of his vision. Like he thought you didn’t notice but you did. You had all week. The way his voice had gone softer around you again. The way his jokes landed slower, edged with something waiting. The way he hadn’t asked again, about the dance, or camp. But the questions were still there. In every glance and every pause. You hadn’t spoken to Sylus since this morning. Not in person or in passing. Not even in a message. You had agreed, space at school, would keep you safe but it didn’t feel like space. It felt like punishment.

“Still breathing, cutie?”

The voice slid in beside you, velvet-smooth and drenched in mirth. Rafayel dropped into the seat next to yours like he’d been summoned by tension alone. He smelled like salt air and mischief. His sleeves were rolled, his collar popped open just enough to make it a problem.

“I was hoping the heat death of the universe would take me before this assembly did,” you muttered, flipping a page on your clipboard.

He chuckled. “Mmm. Morbid. Sexy.” He leaned in, lips ghosting near your ear. “Is that why you’re flushed? Existential dread?”

You glared sideways. “Shut up.”

“Could’ve sworn it was because you’ve been biting your lip for ten minutes straight,” he whispered. “Very distracting, by the way. Some of us are trying to focus on Ellenor’s theatrical genius.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. Rafayel’s presence was a shield in its own right, easy, noisy, and always just enough to keep the air from caving in.

Xavier turned then, just slightly, just enough to glance at you. Rafayel caught it and smiled wider while maintaining eye contact.

“Still watching?” he murmured under his breath. “He’s starting to crack, cutie. Thought I’d be the villain but he’s looking at you like he just found the twist in the story.”

Your stomach dropped. Because you didn’t want to hurt Xavier but you had. Even in silence. Even without meaning to. Your hand clenched the side of the clipboard. Rafayel noticed that, too.

“Don’t spiral,” he said quietly, voice stripped of mockery. “Just survive. Eyes forward. Smile when needed. And maybe…” He bumped your knee gently with his own. “Let yourself look happy once in a while. You deserve that.”

Your breath caught but you nodded.

The auditorium lights dimmed just slightly, low enough to mute the buzz of fluorescent harshness, but not so low it could hide anything. Not glances or tension and definitely not the moment Rafayel’s arm slid around your shoulders like it belonged there.

It was casual. Lazy and effortless but deliberate. You felt it before you even registered the movement, the warmth of him pressed along your side, the shift of his weight as he leaned in just a touch, fingers grazing the exposed curve of your upper arm.

“You look bored,” he murmured near your ear, lips tilted in a half-smirk only you could see. “Want me to fake a medical emergency?”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not with how close he was, not with the feel of his thumb drawing idle, slow circles at the slope of your shoulder, harmless to anyone watching. But under the surface? A move straight out of the playbook and they both knew who was watching.

Xavier sat two rows ahead. Stiff and silent. His shoulders squared too tightly, hands clenched in his lap, eyes staring a little too hard at the stage, like if he focused hard enough, maybe the weight of what he wasn’t willing to name would go away but it didn’t. You caught it in the way he shifted. The flicker of his head like he was about to turn around. Like the magnetic pull of you was getting harder to ignore.

Rafayel leaned in again, voice velvet-smooth. “He’s going to snap soon, you know.”

“Don’t,” you whispered back, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.

“Don’t what?” he asked, grinning now. “Don’t make it obvious? Or don’t enjoy it?”

You turned your face slightly, just enough to let your eyes flick toward him. He looked smug but underneath that smirk? Something sharper and protective. Like this wasn’t just a performance anymore. Like he knew the stakes and he wasn’t going to let you carry them alone.

“We’re not just playing anymore,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he replied. “But we’re still on stage. Might as well steal the scene.”

He leaned back, arm still draped around you with just the right mix of ease and intention. You didn’t shrug him off. You let him stay and two rows ahead, Xavier finally turned around. Just for a second. Long enough to see the way Rafayel grinned. Long enough to see the weight on your shoulder that wasn’t his. Long enough to feel the space between what he wanted and what he missed.

The assembly droned on. Something about gowns and speech drafts. Something about final grades and deadlines but all you could feel was heat. Not from Rafayel’s touch but from the danger of it all. From the way the plan was working too well. Because eyes were on you and the one pair that mattered most? They weren’t even in the room.

~

It started like all things dangerous do, quietly. A whispered comment exchanged in the hallway. A lingering glance that lasted just a moment too long. The way Rafayel’s arm had draped over your shoulder in that auditorium like you belonged to him, relaxed, unbothered, and intentional.

By lunch, the story had mutated.

“She’s dating Rafayel.”

“No, seriously. He kissed her after the assembly.”

“Didn’t you see them yesterday? They left together.”

“I heard they’ve been sneaking off after class.”

“She’s totally into bad boys.”

The girls in the locker room said it with raised brows and playful grins. The boys whispered it like it was a dare. Even the teachers, the ones who didn’t care enough to look closer, gave passing glances as if it made sense. As if it fit. Because of course it did. Rafayel was chaos in glitter and grins. He walked the halls like they belonged to him, flipped his tie over his shoulder like it was a scarf, and flirted with consequences like they were lovers he’d already conquered.

You’d been quiet lately. Withdrawn and distracted and now, suddenly, you were laughing again. Not in class, not near Sylus but around him. It didn’t take much for the school to decide what it wanted to believe.

You heard the whispers at your locker. Felt them crawl across your skin like static. A few girls smiled too sweetly. One boy winked and Rafayel? He just leaned against the wall beside you with that maddening grin and said nothing. He didn’t have to because every time he nudged your shoulder in the hallway. Every time he walked with you to class. Every time he smirked when someone stared, he fed the story. He performed it and you let him.

Because this was the plan. Because Sylus needed a shield. Because Rafayel had offered to be the flame but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. That it didn’t twist something inside you when a freshman girl passed you in the quad and whispered, not even trying to hide it. “God, they make such a hot couple.”

Rafayel didn’t blink. He leaned down, voice low near your ear, the same way he had that night on the dance floor. “You’re trending, cutie.”

You exhaled too slow and too tense.

“Don’t let it rattle you,” he added, softer now. “We wanted noise. This is the noise.”

You nodded but when you passed Sylus later in the corridor, nothing more than a glance exchanged, no touch, no pause, just a flicker of eyes, you saw it. He’d heard it too.

~

The corridor smelled like paint thinner and lavender. It was faint, clinging, and familiar. Rafayel followed it with a lazy sort of swagger, hands tucked into his blazer pockets, tie loose and swinging as he turned the corner by the old art wing.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not technically. The art building was half-abandoned this time of day, left to drying canvases and half-cleaned brushes, silent save for the hum of old lights and the occasional gust rattling the windowpanes but she had texted.

“Meet me after sixth, usual place.”

It was casual but it still made something warm flicker in his chest. He liked that about her, the way she never fussed, never begged. The way she touched him like she was doing him a favour, but whispered his name like it meant something. She made him feel chosen and Rafayel, for all his noise and teeth, had never been someone people chose for more than a laugh or a look.

He reached the last door, studio two and slowed. His boots scuffed quietly against the polished concrete. The scent of oils and turpentine clung heavier now, thick with something floral underneath.

He smiled, smoothed down his shirt, and reached for the handle. It was cracked open. He didn’t knock, he just pushed and the moment opened with sound. A breath and a laugh.

Not hers.

Not his.

The room was sunlit in shards, wide windows casting gold across the scattered stools and easels. The light hit her first. Her back to him, arms looped lazily around the neck of a boy who wasn’t Rafayel.

The boy was bigger and bulkier. Athletic in a way Rafayel never tried to be. He had one hand on her hip, the other buried in her hair, fingers tight enough to tug. Her lips were parted. Her mouth… occupied. Rafayel stopped dead in the doorway. The sound of his breath cut. He didn’t speak or shout. Didn’t even move. He just watched. Watched the slow, easy roll of her body into the kiss, the way she smiled into it. Like it was familiar and practiced. The kind of kiss that didn’t begin here. It had history and repetition.

The heat in his chest turned sour and heavy. Like something acid curling behind his ribs.

The sunlight, once golden, felt harsh and now brutal. Every colour in the room was too sharp. The peeling red of the lockers. The blue smudge of paint on the back of her hand. The pale, ink-stained shirt of the boy wrapped around her like a secret Rafayel was never meant to hear. He stepped back. One foot, then another. Quiet as a ghost swallowing his own scream.

The scent hit him again as he turned, the lavender, the oils and the betrayal baked into sunlight and sweat.

His stomach curled. He didn’t slam the door. He didn’t need to. They hadn’t even noticed him. Of course they hadn’t.

He walked and didn’t know where he was going, not at first. The campus blurred past in bursts of motion and colour. Students talking, bells ringing. A football slamming into a wall and someone cursing after it.

He didn’t hear any of it.

Just the memory. That laugh and that kiss. The way her hand had slid up the other boy’s chest, a move she did for him too. Used like a script someone else had memorized.

By the time he made it to the stone wall, he wasn’t walking anymore, he was drifting. You were already there. A grape between your fingers. Your brow furrowed like the world was manageable if you just focused hard enough. He sat beside you without asking. Slid down onto the stone like gravity had finally noticed him. Like the sky had gotten heavier and now it was his job to carry it in silence.

You glanced at him. “You okay?”

He looked straight ahead and smiled but the glitter was gone. You looked at him properly and froze. Not because he wasn’t smiling, he was. That same lazy tilt of the mouth. That same tousled hair, same scent of salt and spice and aftershave he definitely wasn’t supposed to be wearing. But his eyes…They were wrong.

The usual glimmer, that two-tone riot of pink and blue mischief was dimmed. Still bright, but not alive. The blue looked darker. The pink looked almost red. Like something had bled into them, staining the light.

You tilted your head. “Rafayel?”

He blinked slowly, then turned that crooked smile toward you.

“Hey, cutie.”

But it was muscle memory. A sound without soul and you felt it, truly felt it, in the way his gaze lingered on you just a second too long. Like he was searching for something in your face. A clue. A truth or maybe just a reason not to collapse right there on the stone.

You touched his arm. “Are you okay?” You asked again.

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you and for a moment, just one, you swore he was about to say something real. Something sharp. Something that would unravel you but instead, he grabbed a grape from your lunchbox and tossed it in the air. Caught it with his teeth. Chewed, swallowed and smiled again.

“Still sweet,” he said. “Lucky me.”

His arm rested behind you, not touching, but close. Close enough to make a statement and that’s when Xavier notices. He rounds the corner too fast, like momentum alone is driving him. His jaw clenched. Hands shoved deep into his pockets like they’re hiding something dangerous.

You see him first. See the storm in his eyes and your breath catches. Rafayel glances up and sees it too. That’s when he smiles. Not amused or smug. Sharp.

“Here we go,” he mutters under his breath, voice flat.

Xavier stops in front of them. His eyes flick from you to Rafayel’s body language.

“You think this is funny?” he asks, low and tight.

“What?” You whisper.

“This.” He gestures between you. “You and him.”

Rafayel doesn’t shift or flinch. “You’ll have to be more specific, mate. ‘Cause this could be flirting. Could be gossip. Could be a confession. Depends on what you’re hoping to catch me doing.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Xavier snaps. “People are talking.”

Rafayel shrugs. “Let them.”

Xavier turns to you and that’s what makes it worse. Because he doesn’t look angry. He looks confused and wounded.

“Is it true?” he asks. “You and him? This whole time?”

You open your mouth but can’t form any words. Because no, this wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. Rafayel lets out a soft, humorless laugh beside you.

“You’re still thinking it’s me?”

Xavier’s gaze snaps back to him and Rafayel stands. Not slow or lazy but deliberately.

“You’re smarter than that,” he says, quieter now. “Aren’t you?”

“What are you saying?” Xavier demands.

Rafayel steps closer, lowering his voice, just for him.

“I’m saying you’ve been barking up the wrong threat.” He tilts his head. The anger underneath his skin is pulsing now. “She was never hiding me, Xavier.”

A beat and then, “She was hiding him.”

He says it so calmly, so coldly, that it feels like the air drops ten degrees. Xavier goes still. Rafayel’s smile, what’s left of it, curves like a blade.

“You really think someone like me was the worst thing she could’ve done?”

He looks to you now. Not with rage. With something more final. Disgust. “Turns out I wasn’t the only one playing pretend.” He walks away whistling and the world breaks. Leaving you alone and Xavier was still staring at you. Not with rage but with quiet, dawning horror. Because now he knows

Your lungs seize. The second Rafayel’s footsteps fade down the path and out of sight, the silence descends like a noose, tight, merciless, and closing in.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Your throat is dry. Your palms are sweating. Your vision blurs around the edges, not from tears but panic. Thick, acidic panic crawling up your chest and settling in the base of your skull, where it throbs like a siren.

What the fuck was that? Rafayel… told him?!

That wasn’t flirtation. That wasn’t playful chaos. That was a grenade with the pin ripped out and dropped at your feet.

Xavier is staring at you like you’re something rotten. Like he’s just realized the girl he liked, the one he defended and worried about and offered his heart to, was never real. Or worse, was and he just didn’t see it.

“You,” he says, low and quiet. But it hits like a slap. “You let me think it was him.”

You can’t speak. Your mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears. Your thoughts spiral in broken, unfinished phrases, not like that, wasn’t supposed to, I didn’t mean to hurt—

“You let me look like a fucking idiot.”

The way he says it, it’s not loud. It doesn’t have to be. His disgust curdles every word.

“Xavier, please—”

“How long?” His voice cracks on it. “Was it at the dance? Before? Tell me, what was the moment you decided I was the joke?”

Your whole body trembles. “You’re not— You never were—”

“But you lied.” He cuts you off, voice rising now, barely reined in. “You lied, and you used me. You sat beside me in the library, let me hope. Let me think I mattered to you. And all that time… it was him.”

You can’t breathe. Your chest is too tight. Your legs feel hollow. The bile rising in your throat tastes like guilt and fear and the bitter metallic edge of being found out.

“You’re sleeping with him,” Xavier spits, voice curling in disgust. “Sylus. Your teacher. Jesus, I kept thinking it had to be Rafayel because at least that would’ve been fucked in a normal way. But this?”

His eyes flash, hurt and fury twisted into something dark. “He’s a grown man, and he’s touching you like—like you’re his equal.”

Tears finally fall because he’s right. About the fear, and about the risk. About everything you were pretending you could handle alone but you’re not ready to confess. Not out here. Not under his glare. Not when you can feel the rumour already taking root in his mind.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you whisper.

His jaw clenches. “But you let it.”

Your spine goes rigid and your breath trembles. You swallow hard because you’re not ready to hear this. To feel it sharpened in his voice like a blade. “I didn’t plan it. It wasn’t—” your voice cracks. “You think I wanted this to be messy? That I wanted to fall for someone I couldn’t have?”

Xavier’s nostrils flare. “Couldn’t have? He’s your teacher. You weren’t supposed to look at him like that, let alone—” He breaks off, disgust warping his features. “Don’t stand there and make it sound like love.”

Your hands shake at your sides, knuckles white. “It is love.”

He laughs, sharp and bitter, nothing like the boy who used to smile at you from across the library table. “Love doesn’t happen like that. Not between someone with power and someone too young to know better.”

“I do know better.” Your voice rises, cracking at the edges. “And he’s not controlling me. He’s not using me. This didn’t start with him coming after me. It started with us—falling. Slowly and we tried—we tried to stop.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” you breathe. “We didn’t.”

Xavier looks away, hands on his hips, eyes fixed on the pavement like if he stares hard enough, he can bury it all beneath the concrete. “He should’ve known better. You should’ve stopped.”

You take a step forward, voice softer now. “I’m not a victim, Xavier.”

His head snaps up, eyes flashing. “You’re not the one who’s gonna lose everything when this comes out.”

Silence slams between you. Cold and final. The truth stings, because it’s not wrong.

“Is that what you’re going to do?” You whisper, chest heaving. “Tell someone?”

He doesn’t answer. You move closer, desperation clawing through your ribs. “Please don’t. Please. You have every right to hate me, to be angry. But don’t… don’t destroy him.”

Xavier’s gaze hardens. “And what about the rules? What about the line he crossed?”

You voice trembles. “You don’t know him. Not like I do.”

“I don’t want to know him. I want to know why the girl I gave a damn about, why you, stood in front of me and chose to protect the man who took advantage of you.”

You flinch. The words hit bone-deep and then quiet and broken.

“Because I love him,” you say.

Xavier stares at you for a long time and something in his face shifts. Not forgiveness. Not even understanding. Just… resignation. Like he’s watching someone he once knew fade into someone he can’t recognize. When he speaks again, his voice is lower.

“Then I hope he’s worth it.”

He turns without another word and this time, you don’t try to stop him.

~

Principal Jenna’s office smelled like printer toner and false calm. Rafayel stepped inside without knocking, closing the door behind him with a soft, deliberate click.

Jenna glanced up from her desk, visibly unimpressed. “Rafayel. Is there a reason you’ve decided protocol doesn’t apply to you today?”

He smiled lazily, but tight. Like something inside him was just barely leashed.

“Protocol’s such a cute word for denial,” he said, tone light. “And you’ve been indulging in a lot of that lately, haven’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re here about your grades—”

“I’m here,” he cut in, “because I’m curious. About a file.”

She paused. “What file?”

Rafayel stepped forward, resting his fingertips on the edge of her desk. Not threatening or casual. Just calculated.

“A student filed a concern months ago. About… behavior between a teacher and another student. It was submitted. Documented. Then it vanished.”

Jenna blinked once. Slowly. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything,” Rafayel said, voice velvet-smooth. “I’m stating a fact. You shelved it. Didn’t investigate. Didn’t even ask questions.”

“Because it was hearsay,” she said, too quickly. “Unverified. No names, no dates—”

“But someone tried to tell you,” Rafayel interrupted softly. “And you didn’t listen.”

He let that hang. Long enough for her brain to start building connections. The ones he wasn’t making. Jenna’s fingers curled slightly on her desk.

“You know,” Rafayel added, gaze flicking toward the filing cabinet near her shoulder, “I always wondered what kind of things get buried in that drawer.”

She stiffened and he smiled again. More teeth this time.

“I guess the question is… if someone came forward now, with dates, names, maybe even proof… Would you still ignore it?”

Jenna’s face was unreadable but her silence screamed. Rafayel stepped back, letting her stew in it and just before he left, hand on the knob, he said quietly, calmly.

“Some wolves don’t bite unless they’re cornered, Jenna.”

He didn’t look back, didn’t have to. Because behind him, Jenna was already standing. Already reaching for the cabinet. Already assuming he meant them. Not knowing the storm she buried months ago might be his own.

The key slid into the filing cabinet’s lock, rusted and familiar. She opened the second drawer, reached to the back, and pulled out the old folder. Yellow tab. Bottom corner. Dust kissed her knuckles as she set it down.

The file opened like a wound and the first page was messy, barely-legible.

MEMO: Unauthorized Use of Art Block

Date: March 6th

Motion sensor data triggered between 10:08PM – 12:43AM

Keycard access logged but no timestamp recorded.

Reports of laughter, male and female, by maintenance staff.

Request for follow-up: denied. No formal investigation initiated.

She stared at the memo. Why didn’t I follow this up? Because it was late. Because she was tired. Because it was the art building. Senior students stayed late all the time to finish assignments and she had let it slide.

Jenna flipped to the next report. Labeled Senior Formal – Unverified Sighting.

Witness Report:

Observed Professor Sylus and unidentified female student in gymnasium after dance concluded. Time: approx. 11:52 PM.

Low lighting. No other staff present. Witness unable to confirm contact but noted proximity, hush-toned conversation, and lingering body language.

Quote from witness: “They weren’t just talking.”

Filed: no action. No name of student confirmed.

Her stomach twisted. She sat back in her chair, fingers pressed hard to her mouth as she thought about some chatter she heard recently. A student at the winter camp was seen wearing Professor Sylus’ hoodie. A female student.

Jenna pressed the folder closed like it might still be possible to forget what she’d seen but the pattern was obvious now.

Art block. Senior formal. Winter camp. Two different trails but only one led to the name she couldn’t ignore.

Sylus.

The silent teacher. The teacher who never cracked. Who never slipped. Until now.

Outside her office window, Rafayel leaned lazily against the far wall, spinning a pencil between his fingers. He wasn’t looking at her but he didn’t have to. He’d already played his move and Jenna? She was chasing the wrong wolf.

~

The hallway is a blur. A smear of white walls and grey floor and echoes of footsteps that don’t belong to you. You’re not walking, you’re surviving. Moving with the singular focus of someone who has nowhere else to go.

Rafayel detonated the plan. Xavier knows too much and now your heart’s in your throat, burning with every thud.

You reach Sylus’ office. You don’t knock. You can’t, because your hands won’t stop shaking. You open the door like a girl possessed and shut it behind you, spine pressed to the wood like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Sylus is there behind his desk. Reading something, half-turned, and calm. He looks up and he knows. He sees it instantly.

The moment his eyes meet yours, something cold flashes in them. Not anger or surprise. Just that deep, terrible awareness he only gets when the world shifts beneath his feet.

“Close the door,” he says.

“It’s closed,” you whisper.

Then he’s moving, calm, slow, and deliberate but by the time he rounds the desk, your voice cracks like a bone beneath weight.

“Xavier knows.”

That stops him. Just for a breath. Just a blink but the silence in the room becomes sharp.

“Say that again,” he says, low.

“Xavier knows,” you repeat, louder this time, voice breaking. “Rafayel said something, he said too much. I don’t know if he meant to, I don’t know if he meant to burn me, to burn us but Xavier knows. He knows, Sylus.”

He steps closer, slowly. Like you’re a bird with a broken wing and he can’t risk making it worse but you keep going, words unraveling fast and frantic.

“He said I let him look like a fucking idiot. He knows it’s not Rafayel. He knows it’s you and I—I didn’t mean for it to happen this way, I swear—”

“Sweetie.” His voice cuts through the spiral, calm but firm. One word. Your name.

You stop.

He reaches you. Doesn’t touch you yet. Just looks. Your chest is heaving, your lips are trembling and your eyes are haunted.

His voice is lower now, measured. “Did he threaten to report it?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t say. But he… he could. He will. He looked at me like I was—like I betrayed him.”

Something flares behind Sylus’ eyes then. Not fear but resolve and then he does touch you.

His hands come to your arms, firm and grounding. His jaw is tight. “Look at me.”

You do. Barely.

“If this blows up, it’s on me,” he says. “Not you. I was the one with the responsibility. I was the one who knew better.”

“No—” your voice snaps, raw. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to carry it alone. I chose this. I’m not some naive little girl who got swept up in something bigger. I knew. I knew it was risky. I knew it was wrong and I still—”

He silences you with a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone like a benediction.

“I know.”

You stare at each other. The space between you tight with everything you can’t afford to say.

Then softly, and bitterly you whisper, “We’re going to lose everything.��

Sylus leans in, forehead to yours and his breath fanning your lips.

“No,” he says. “We’ve already risked everything. Now we decide if it was worth it.”

His hands curl into your hair.

“And it was.”

.

.

.

[fandomsmadness]

TBHX episode 13 rant

Raving reviews this week, the return of the groan-worthy action cliffhangers, and a lot of appreciation for feminist themes.

Almost missed the title card in this one because I've gotten used to them being front and center. Anyway, spoilers below cut

Firstly, let me go and find my humble cap because after spending so long (along with most of the fandom) groaning and laughing in equal measure at a "loli" hero, now I feel like a goddamned jerk who really should've known better. This episode properly owned me and I will take that well deserved kick in the butt and apologize to Loli for every time I looked at that character PV and thought "huh she seems kinda shallow."

This theme has grabbed me by the hair and is refusing to let go. Such a strong hero motivation too. As someone who wasn't really expecting much out of the Loli arc, this hit me like a sledgehammer. So much to unpack, but in as brief terms as possible, two aspects I really love about how this theme relates to other worldbuilding aspects:

Queen and how she's serving as inspiration to all girls out there. This is why representation of any and all kinds matter

Trust value and how people's perceptions of you influence your own abilites, regardless of how skilled or strong you actually are (are we projecting into real life? Oh definitely)

But also, massive props to Luo Li for deciding to become a hero in her own (very cute very girly) terms and not deciding to be hyper macho when it was clear it's not her style, just because other people want to. This theme of people's perception of you affecting how they treat you? Personal attacks all around, I haven't felt this called out in ages.

It's also very telling, and again reflective of real life, that Luo Li needed to find another girl to really understand her because all the men (by which I mean, that one guy) want her help fulfilling their own visions. Side note: Men suck.

The only guy here who was not warranting my wrath was professor Luo, but even he is shown (like a lot of Asian men, tbh) to be very caring, engaged in, and involved at work while neglecting his own family. Still, at least he didn't grind Luo Li's dreams to the ground, I suppose.

I could gush about the patriarchy and feminist themes in this episode forever, but we move on, before this turns into an academic essay.

Second highlight: Creepy guy aka Ghostblade-is-that-you???

Ngl my first reaction was "Spiderman Noir? What are you doing here?"

Somehow, LHO made a creep look socially-awkward-in-a-kinda-cute-way and I am having mixed reactions to the fact that I'm even thinking this is kinda cute. Is it just me?

Anyway, if this is Ghostblade (and I really hope it is) then what is he doing? Watching over Nuonuo? Is this the daughter? Or is he protecting her for some reason because he knew about the DJ whoever and his musical atrocities?

Speaking of DJ Shindig (can I send flowers to whoever came up with that name) is this a hero gone rogue? I thought only Zero did that. Is this guy allied with Aether Labs/Spotlight org/fear?

Someone somewhere mentioned that despite the English sub (as usual) not being accurate, the Chinese names for Glimmer lab and Aether labs are the same, so.... the rise of Spotlight?

Overall, a fantastic episode because it was heavy on the worldbuilding and related themes, gave us a lot to think about in terms of Luo Li, feminism, timeline, trust value, and most importantly Spotlight, but also is a great introduction to her arc as a whole. And hey, it's still June, so happy pride again to all the lesbians who are screaming out there.

Also, she's so small. Not even 20? Adorable.

Other minor things:

Is it a sub issue or is this ep more heavy on the wording? Like I swear the language didn't get this flowery until now-

This suit cool. That's all

Lastly, fuck you guys

And three more weeks until we circle back to exactly what Big Johnnie was pissed off about over here, lest we forget

[localvillagecryptid]

Shen Yuan transmigrates into a powerful ice demon and just goes "Oh neat! Cool clothes and I don't have to worry about dying!" And kicks his feet up to chill. He doesn't recognize his name, so he assumes he's just some terribly irrelevant mob character who happens to be rich and strong and is just glad to run around PIDW without any consequences. He manages to gather that he's some widower with a young son, so he immediately assumes he's in the clear from potentially being an enemy of Binghe's. His son is so quiet, and demons aren't great with giving names, so he doesn't even know what to call the boy at first. It feels odd to ask him what his name is. He just does his best with raising him in a way that he can only hope isn't too noticeably different than the way the original goods did it.

His son is still very quiet, but as he grows, he and Shen Yuan become closer. The little prince is such a sweet boy! He makes Shen Yuan little arts and crafts and leaves them on his desk to find. Anything from flower crowns to vaguely menacing knicknacs made of the bones of small animals. He'd be more scared if his son didn't seem so expectant of praise for the work. A few of them definitely resembled cursed idols, but who was he to judge his little demon son? There aren't any child rearing manuals, but from his own PIDW knowledge, this seemed developmentally on-track for demon kids.

But apparently the original goods wasn't rich and strong without consequence, because he's hounded with political matters before long. They're flooding his office with letters, hounding him for meetings, begging him to manage affairs in his territory. He's coming into contact with all these other powerful demons and has to pretend he's even slightly aware of what they're talking about.

During one of these meetings, some guy mentions the heavenly emperor, and Shen Yuan's like, "oh??? Binghe's here??? Already???" And he's furiously reworking his timeline, but the other demons are like, "who tf is Binghe. We're talking about Tianlang-Jun" and internally he's like, "who tf is Tianlang-Jun". Some poking around later, and he realizes he's REALLY far off from Binghes rise. Man's not even born yet. Honestly it makes him relax even more. He uses the time to get to know Tianlang-Jun a bit, just because he's so curious about Binghe's father! A full true Heavenly Demon! Not as cool as Binghe, who has both heavenly demonic and human cultivation abilities, but still cool! He's also just curious about the kind of man his blorbo's father was.

For some reason, Tianlang-Jun already has a son??? Upon closer inspection, a nephew? The conclusion, of course, is that something must've happened to both of them for them to not even be mentioned in the book. Deeply unfortunate, but not Shen Yuan's problem. Or that's what he would say, but Tianlang-Jun is seemingly very fond of him now. Something about being fellow single dads? He keeps bringing Zhuzhi-Lang around and foisting him onto Shen Yuan for a "play date" with Shen Yuan's son. Zhuzhi-Lang is a good boy, and very quiet, but he's also visibly older than Shen Yuan's son. Like, by a lot. But Shen Yuan is no expert on demonic aging rates, so maybe half snake demons just... look like grown adults? At this point, it's more like Zhuzhi-Lang is babysitting Shen Yuan's son while Tianlang-Jun fucks off somewhere without him. How irresponsible! But Shen Yuan accepts the free labor.

Years pass, his son grows- he also ends up with ice powers, as well as a spatial ability, though if Shen Yuan is correct, that power is likely from a demon tribe slightly south from their territory. It sounds familiar, but there are tons of reused abilities in PIDW. Nothing odd here! Eventually his son starts taking on jobs that Shen Yuan never asked him to do, in an effort to prove himself to Shen Yuan and also help him out. So at some point he takes it upon himself to go to take something from some cultivators.

It's not until his son comes back with a sniveling Shang Qinghua in tow that Shen Yuan realizes he must be very, VERY off the mark on who his character is.

Linguang-Jun was not, in fact, supposed to raise the future Mobei-Jun to be a dutiful son (nephew) who lacked abandonment issues and had a habit of leaving offerings on his uncle's desk like a cat, but since he neither knew who Linguang-Jun was nor the fact that Mobei-Jun was supposed to get dropped in the human world to be hunted for sport as a child, this was exactly the kind of Mobei-Jun that he had. Shang Qinghua, aka the hack author of this goddamn novel, has the audacity to complain to Shen Yuan about how he raised Mobei-Jun too well. When Shang Qinghua groveled and wailed and begged for mercy, Mobei-Jun brought him to his uncle! Because he "had the final say" in whether or not Shang Qinghua could swear fealty to him! What the fuck!

Mobei-Jun accepts Shang Qinghua's fealty at his uncle's behest, and Shen Yuan uses this attachment as a way to keep track of the timeline, including when Su Xiyan will fall pregnant with Tianlang-Jun's baby. In the meantime, Shen Yuan uses his own friendship with Tianlang-Jun as a way to mark his progress as well. He's met her a few times since Tianlang-Jun keeps dropping Zhuzhi-Lang off so they can run off on their little dates, but it's too odd to ask either of them if he's gotten her pregnant yet, so Shen Yuan tries instead to drop hints to nudge Tianlang-Jun in the right direction.

Talking about the joys of fatherhood, how adorable babies are, how unfortunate it is that some species, like humans, have very short windows of their lives in which they can have kids, and can even miscarry... Tianlang-Jun seems to get it- or maybe he's giving the man too much credit, because suddenly Tianlang-Jun is offering Zhuzhi-Lang as a surrogate with the insistence that "as a half-snake, he's guaranteed to give you litters! Even with a few dud eggs, he'll definitely give you a nice batch!" And "the gestational periods are short too, so you can always try again! As a heavenly demon, he's also very hardy! Your kids will be healthy for sure!" Shen Yuan has to firmly and kindly decline, though that seems to oddly disappoint Zhuzhi-Lang, who has been standing off to the side the entire time. Good sir, stand up for yourself! You don't need to do everything your uncle says! Filial piety only goes so far!

Anyway it's not long after that Su Xiyan actually gets pregnant. He expects canon to unfold from there, based on Shang Qinghua's unused old notes- Tianlang-Jun getting put under the mountain, Su Xiyan getting captured and dying after giving birth, Zhuzhi-Lang getting stuck in snake form and trying to free his uncle- all very sad and very necessary for Binghe's rise to power. Except for some reason Su Xiyan is now at Linguang-Jun's doorstep?! With Mobei-Jun?! Son, why do you look so proud of yourself?!

Apparently Mobei-Jun, who continued to pick fights with human cultivators, habitually came across Su Xiyan and her martial siblings. Su Xiyan, recognizing him, always let him off lightly out of consideration for Linguang-Jun. She warned him that as long as none of his attacks were fatal, she would let him go: but that if he killed any of her martial siblings, he would either die at her hands or suffer in the Huan Hua water prison. In return, Mobei-Jun, who was basically a semi-regular figure at the sect now, noticed immediately that she had gone missing when he showed up at the sect one day and it was another older cultivator that crossed blades with him, instead of her. Fast forward, and he's busting her out of captivity, and dragging her to Shen Yuan after she tells him that Tianlang-Jun is in danger. Shen Yuan is gobsmacked. The Old Palace Master hasn't even called on the other sects yet! Su Xiyan was in captivity for less than a day! What the hell, Mobei-Jun?!

But he cannot scold his dear nephew, who is looking at him so expectantly for praise. Instead, he calls on Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang to let them know about Su Xiyan's whereabouts, and then calls on Airplane. This damn hack author deserves the burden of this dilemma too!

Really, it's too late to turn back now, so after shaking Airplane's shoulders aggressively enough, the man finally agrees to pull some strings at his sect. The Old Palace Master's request for aid is turned down, Tianlang-Jun and Su Xiyan are alive, and it's not long before the Old Palace Master unfortunately qi deviates while attempting to cultivate in seclusion. Su Xiyan gives birth safely to a baby boy, and the human and demonic realms are in an uproar when Tianlang-Jun announces their marriage, but there's really very little they can do about it.

On the bright side, the two realms never merge. Unfortunately, Tianlang-Jun and Su Xiyan getting together seemed to have started a bit of a trend, and now Mobei-Jun was asking Linguang-Jun for permission to court Shang Qinghua??? And other cultivators that he met at the wedding have been extending offers and invitations to Linguang-Jun???

Shen Yuan would like to retreat back to the northern mountains and never come back.

[byexbyez]

love me more | leon kennedy x f!reader

pairing: re4r!leon kennedy x f!reader

summary:

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

word count: 19k

warnings: 18+ towards the end, angst, yearning, marriage of convenience but there isn't a tangible convenience, strangers to spouses dynamic, grief/mourning, depictions of depression and low self-esteem, also trauma and anxiety, family issues, kinda touch-starved leon if you squint, domestic fluff if you try hard enough, non-linear and vague timeline, mentions of canon typical violence, alcohol and cigarette consumption, p in v smut, brief alternation of POVs, ada wong mention, suicidal thoughts, minor original character, minor character death, spoilers to the hunchback of notre dame, no use of y/n

notes: meant to post this on tumblr after i was done with it but that never happened so here, have it. took me 16 months to post it here lmao. english is not my first language. you have been warned. also beware of a whole lot of mitski and hozier references. enjoy!

➵ read on ao3.

PART I | PART II | PART III (finale)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

And I am the idiot with the painted face In the corner, taking up space But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved

Me and my husband We're doing better

—Me and My Husband, Mitski

It’s quiet. It has always been that way from the start. Your husband is late, which is not unusual. You sit in the somber light coming from your living room TV. You don’t like the overhead lights, which explains the abundance of lamps around the living room and bedroom in your home. Your husband found it strange that you never turned on the actual lights but it didn’t take him long to realize that you were right. Any kind of overhead light was annoying to him now. He blamed you for his headaches at work.

No matter how many times you told him that he could turn on the overhead lights he insisted that he did not like them anymore. “I like it like this,” he had said. “You’re right, it’s cozier this way.” His head was on your knee, his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful. You wanted to brush his hair away from his face and maybe scratch a bit as if he was a cat. But you didn’t, you had no idea what he would react like to such an intimate gesture. You turned your gaze away from his peaceful sleeping face to the TV you had been watching on low volume before he stepped through your home’s front door.

It was a fucking joke, really. Thinking twice, three times about touching the man that you call your husband.

You hear his keys jumble from the door. He didn’t tell you what time he would be home, so you didn’t prepare anything for dinner. It’s late anyways. You consider closing your eyes and resting your head on the back of the couch but it hasn’t been long since he told you he could tell when you were not sleeping. You thought about the number of times you pretended and he could tell. Embarrassing. Now that your secret was out, you had to greet him awkwardly.

He calls your name. “Are you asleep?” His voice very faint.

“No,” you answer while untucking your legs from under your butt. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He places the keys on the keyholder. “No lights?”

You reach to your side and turn on one lamp. “I didn’t realize the sun had set.”

“It’s past eleven.” Now that the lamp was on you could see his worried eyes. His five o’clock shadow prominent. “Did you eat anything?” he asks. You can’t tell if he hopes you did or not.

The moment you see the plastic bag in his hand, you shake your head no. Honestly, you were hungry because it had been hours since you ate a bowl of cereal as dinner.

He steps over your legs instead of pushing the coffee table away to make room for himself and plops next to you on the couch. “Brought Chinese,” he says and places the food bag on your lap instead of the coffee table. “You like their fried dumplings.”

You aren’t surprised that he remembers it. He was nice like that, maybe he thinks this is the least he can do. Soon after the wedding, he realized you did not enjoy cooking. It has never been a problem, he knew his way around the kitchen and knew of really good takeout places.  

“Thank you,” you say softly while leaning on the table to place the noodles and the dumplings. “Leon, did you drink?” you ask when you catch a whiff of him.

“Yeah, I’m a little tipsy.”

That explains his lax attitude. He has his arm around you across the back of the couch, he’s sitting close to you. It’s because he wants to eat, you say to yourself. And he’s a little tipsy.

“Did you have fun?” you ask when you separate your chopsticks.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he says, watching you separate his chopsticks for him. “I had a drink by myself.”

“Only one?” you chuckle.

“One or two,” He cocks his head to your direction and grabs the chopsticks from your fingers. His fingertips are warm.

Unlike you, his body always runs hot. You remember the comment he made when he held your hand and cupped one cheek, kissing you after you two had said “I do”. His breath was hot on the lower part of your face. You somehow felt him everywhere and nowhere at once. “It’s really hot, why are your hands cold?” he had whispered. It was unusually hot on the day you eloped. Leon had to dab his sweat away so often.

“I’m just nervous,” you had whispered back. The hand that he was not holding was trembling, surely, he could tell.

“No need to be.” That was what he said right before your first kiss. It was more of a short peck because he was a gentleman who didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

It was easier for him to say, he didn’t have anything to be nervous about. He looked really beautiful that day and it didn’t help your nerves one bit. You felt like you were committing a crime while signing your documents that sealed the fact that you were now married to Leon Kennedy. You wonder if he felt the same, knowing this marriage was not a real one.

You didn’t lie to anyone really, so why did it feel like you did? You never told anyone you were in love. You never told anyone this was legit. You just told your sister you were married and that Leon was a good man. She had shrieked over the phone, demanded that you quit joking. The moment she was convinced that you were not, she expected pictures of him. The only picture you had of him was from the day you eloped. He had taken your cold hand and placed it on his arm. His other hand on his stomach so he didn’t look awkward. You had raised your small bouquet of baby’s breath to your torso as well. You did not look as nervous as you thought when the photo came in the mail but Leon looked more handsome than you remembered. You emailed it to your sister.

It didn’t take long for her to respond. How the hell did you bag that man??? Do you have blackmail material against him?

We met at work, you replied shortly.

I thought you worked with dudes that are old as fuck.

We don’t work together. Met through a coworker.

Maybe I should change careers. I mean how hard can it be to train as a government agent???

You looked at the multiple question marks she sent after that. I’m telling your husband.

I showed him the picture and he agrees that he’s hot lol. He also would like to have you guys over.

So you both can ask him what he sees in me?

Hey, I’m only joking. We would really like you guys to come over. I want to meet my brother-in-law.

I’ll tell him but he’s very busy.

Sooo what does he do?

Like I said, he’s an agent. Mostly confidential work.

So you can’t tell me?

I really can’t.

You know what? It’s annoying that you can’t tell me what he does but I can understand. What I can’t understand is you getting married. Out of the blue. Without telling me.

That email left a bitter taste in your mouth. She could tell that it was not real. She knew that you were not easy to love. She knew it was impossible for you to get married. That’s why you stalled her invitation for nearly two years. You hadn’t even asked Leon because you did not know how he would react. He knew you had a sister across the country and that she was older than you but never asked about her for a while. You weren’t offended at his uninterest in your life. He didn’t have any reason to be interested in you.

He did say he was an orphan, that one time.

It all made sense after that, he didn’t like to talk about families. Maybe because he wasn’t used to belong. To belong to a family. Belong to someone. Think about them because he belongs to them and they belong to him.

All things considered, you thought Leon turned out more than okay. Closed off but very kind, gentle, understanding.

He leans forward and helps you split one dumpling into two with his chopsticks. His shoulder bumps yours and stays there because he refuses to let go of the back of the couch behind you. When you pull your sleeve over your fingers, he quickly eats one whole dumpling, leaving you with the smaller one that he helped you split and covers your hand with his.

“You cold?” He looks silly when he stuffs his face full of food.

“No.”

“Your hands are cold.” He doesn’t’ say like always but it’s there in his voice.

He doesn’t mind touching you when he’s in a good mood, mostly when he’s a little intoxicated like this. Usually, he’s not a touchy person. You’re glad he’s not, it reminds you that you definitely like him more than he likes you. He needs the little nudge of alcohol to let go of his inhibitions. He didn’t touch you until you gave him the green light on your birthday. He didn’t know what to get you as a gift so he got you yellow roses and the blandest birthday card known to man.

Happy Birthday, from Leon.

“It isn’t anything special, I know.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m not good at this stuff.”

But it was special, it was from him; with his emotionally constipated, probably unintended curt message. You knew deep down he had a big heart. He cared enough to stop on his way to get you these. You didn’t think much, because there were times when you didn’t need to think about this, you just reached and hugged him around his waist. “Thank you,” you whispered. “They smell really nice. We need to get a vase for them.”

He finally put his arms around you and you felt the stiffness of his shoulders on top of yours. It was six months into your married life.

Yellow roses. He saw you as a friend. You were okay with it, as long as it meant he was not pushing you away. You were not terrible by any means. Boring and awkward, definitely. But you made it clear to him that he could talk to you about what he wanted when he wanted. He was adamant that it went both ways. However, you genuinely don’t think anything going in your life is worth talking about. Hence, he’s the one who ends up talking most of the time.

He rubs your fingers to bring them warmth. The air of the living room feels awfully similar to that one time he surprised you and laid his head on your lap. That one time you wanted to play with his hair but didn’t. It was just like this. Quiet despite the TV’s low volume, comfortable as the light coming from the lamps was soft on the eyes, smelling of alcohol as he was a little drunk. Unsure as your hands were cold and was this what being friends meant?

Sometimes he craved the quiet. He worked and worked and worked. Voices everywhere. Danger constant. His only quiet was home, you suppose.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

“I ate cereal,” you answer him.

“Has no nutritional value whatsoever,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it’s just me being lazy.”

“I don’t think we have anything in the fridge, I don’t blame you.”

You both finish your food in silence, you pretend to watch the screen in front of you the whole time. You hug your knees to your chest when you’re done and he looks like he can fall asleep any minute.

“How was your day?” you ask to keep him awake. You don’t want him to sleep here and have his back and neck all sore tomorrow.

He rests his chin on his shoulder and gives you a funny look through his long lashes. “Same as always.”

You admit to yourself that you love him like this. He seems free, happy even.

You decide to be bold and tap your shoulder for him to lay his head on.  

He doesn’t seem to be thinking twice as he takes your offer and nuzzles his head on your shoulder. He’s taller and bigger than you, you suppose the position he’s in right now is not comfortable for him. He reaches back around the couch and the other hand crosses his abdomen, gripping your ankle that he is closest to. His thumb draws circles there and your brain short circuits. “How was yours?”

“My day? Nothing exciting. All paperwork.”

He hums as he squeezes your ankle, his hair tickling your nose and lips.

“You really need a shower, Leon.” You make up the courage to smooth down his blonde hair that is sticking up in every direction.

He hums again. “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Yes, mister.”

“I’m tired,” he groans but doesn’t seem tired enough as he pushes his head and messes up your balance on the couch. You have to hold on to the arm rest as he keeps nudging you with his head.

“You’ll feel gross in the morning if you don’t have a shower.”

“You have a point,” he says but does nothing to get up. Maybe it was a bad idea to offer him your shoulder and unknowingly, your ankle. He’s never acted like a kid like this before.

You get up and turn off the TV before you offer him both of your hands. “You’re not tipsy, you’re drunk. Now get up and wash yourself please.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Yes, you are. You headbutted me.”

He takes your hands and finally gets up. “I think I ran out of shampoo.”

“You can use mine. Brush your teeth while I go get it.” You pat his back.

There’s two bedrooms in the house, one is for guests but you’ve never had guests over since you’ve both moved into this apartment. Leon uses the “guest” room downstairs. He insisted that you take the bigger room. He’s more like a roommate than a spouse.

He’s shirtless in front of the sink, brushing his teeth like you told him to when you knock on his bathroom door and hand him your shampoo. He reads the fragrance and opens its cap to smell it.

“Well, you smell nice so I can’t complain,” he says, toothbrush still in his mouth, dribbling toothpaste everywhere.

You love him in moments like these. This is the moment the wife reaches and kisses the husband. Well, maybe after he’s done dribbling everywhere but you know how this moment should go about. He won’t be like this in the morning. You know very well that he is going to be sober and back to normal Leon. He won’t say anything about his drunk self because he knows you won’t as well.

“Don’t fall in the shower!” you shout as you go upstairs to your room.

“I’m not that drunk!”

The next morning, he sees you making coffee in the kitchen. It hasn’t been long since your schedule got aligned with his. He wonders how the hell you managed to adjust your sleeping hours to the point now you could wake up before him. He used to wake up before you because you often had late shifts.

“Morning,” he says as he smells the delicious coffee that you’re pouring into two mugs. He yawns, scratching an itch on his arm. He did not use to have a coffee machine back when he was living alone. You had brought it with you to this house and saved him from Starbucks’ morning rush hour.

You slide one of the mugs in front of him and give him a warm smile. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

He blows on the coffee before he takes a sip. “Much better now.” He clears his throat, his morning voice gruff. “I was thinking… We should commute together.”

“To work?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Where else?” he snorts. “What’s surprising? Why pay more for gas when we start work at the same time?”

“Wouldn’t that be…”

“It wouldn’t interfere with anything if you think about it. It’s stupid to take both cars to the same place.”

“I might work overtime,” you say and hug yourself.

He nods into his mug and seems like he wants to say more. “Then you can take your car. You’ve just started normal hours. Why are you eager to tire yourself out so quickly?”

So that we don’t have to be awkward around each other.

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

It is what you repeat to yourself over and over again. It was convenient to have slept with him. It didn’t have to be a big deal. You were lonely. You reckon he had to be, too. Because why else would he want to have sex with you? He did not love you or anything. You could only think of one thing when his face was buried in your neck. You still had his yellow roses. You had preserved them between your book pages.

As he was panting above you, hands grasping your hips with vigor, your thighs caging him in and burning, you felt like a rose stuck between thousands of words never read aloud. Yellow all over, sticking out like a sore thumb between words printed in the smallest font size possible, suffocating. Once belonged with other flowers but now settled down in a place where people thought you’d look pretty.

You hate the color yellow as much as you hate the word convenient. If not, more.

He sees you wince. He cannot guess the reason behind it is his choice of words. “What do you say?”

He is offering, you think. He still likes you enough to ask.

“Okay.”

“Good, we need to get groceries on the way back.”   

People don’t whisper much now that it’s been nearly two years since you two announced to your close work circle that you were married. There were a lot of surprised faces at first, thinking maybe Leon was joking or something. People didn’t know you very well. You were only close with Cathy.

“Perhaps we should wear rings,” said Leon once over dinner. “People don’t believe we’re married.”

“Is that a problem? What others think, I mean?”

He stared at your face while chewing, you couldn’t make out what he was thinking thanks to the dim light emanating from one of the lamps. “They think it’s a joke. Is it so bad that I want to be taken seriously for once? You wanted a wedding dress, I want a ring.”

“When do you want to get them?”

That led to you choosing matching rings with Leon. Simple gold bands. You make sure to wear them to work every day because if you don’t, you worry people will start to whisper again.

First it was, Leon’s not the type to get married, he’s taking the piss out of us, is it April fools today?

Then it turned into: Oh God, he’s serious, he says he got married last weekend.

Eloped? To whom?

He said her name but I don’t remember it, said she’s in archives now.

He’s married to an archivist? How on earth did they meet?

Probably in Donovan’s funeral, saw Hunnigan introducing them.

That wasn’t long ago!

I know, right?

You know some of them thought you had a one-night stand and got pregnant from him. The rumors subsided when that didn’t turn out to be true.

However, people were curious about why Ingrid Hunnigan would introduce an archivist to an agent. It didn’t take long for your name to become known because you had recently switched departments. You had been a systems analyst like Hunnigan, working with late Cathy Donovan. You’d switched to archives after her funeral.

People greeted you when they saw you. Leon’s wife, right?

Yes, but not really.

The first time Leon ever saw you was during agent Donovan’s funeral. He’d gotten back from Spain just a week ago. He did not know agent Donovan well but her name echoed in every corner. She was good at her job. Most of the time, nobody had an idea what she was up to.

“Leon, I want you to meet Cathy’s partner,” said Hunnigan, holding the shoulder of the woman standing next to her.

You stuck your hand out for him to shake and told him your name. It sounded disconsolate coming from your mouth, your own name. Your eyes were dazed, you kept your mouth in a thin line. You didn’t even look at him properly as if this was the hundredth occurrence today, Hunnigan introducing you to someone.

“I’ve heard a lot of great things about agent Donovan.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Right, she was great,” you said, your eyes straying elsewhere. It looked like Hunnigan’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing keeping you from crumbling down. You looked so small with your shoulders hunched forward. He cringed when he saw you rip out the flesh of the side of your thumb.

Hunnigan went on about Cathy Donovan’s accomplishments to him. You continued to pick at your thumb, him watching your side profile as you kept averting your gaze from people around you. You seemed to be dissociating hard.

“These two were inseparable. I tried asking Cathy to work with me on a small mission once and she praised her so much in turn, I had to suck it up and meet this woman myself as soon as possible,” said Hunnigan heatedly. “I’m such a big fan of Cathy’s, you see, I couldn’t be upset. I love seeing her work with the best.”

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you managed to say, a beat too late. “I need to use the restroom, be right back.”

Leon knew too well that losing someone was difficult, yet he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. He furrowed his brows the moment his hand made contact with your upper arm. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, he didn’t want to seem like he took pity on you.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

You made the effort to look him in the eye when it was obvious as day that you were having a hard time keeping your head up.

Your voice barely came out, “Thank you.”

Of course, you did not recognize him the second time he saw you. It was his late celebratory dinner for his mission in Spain. His coworkers had planned a small one, saying he deserved it. Once he was done with his food, he excused himself saying he wanted to get fresh air.

Not too far from the restaurant, you were sitting on a bench alone.

“Those things will kill you, y’know,” he said, eyes pointing to the cigarette you were smoking.

His unexpected voice caused you to jump in your seat. You quickly put the cigarette out by stomping it with your shoe. “I don’t usually… smoke.”

He dragged his feet while walking to sit down on the opposite end of the bench. “You didn’t have to put it out.” Though he thought you were very considerate by doing so.

“Congratulations, for the mission.”

“Thank you— name’s Leon, by the way.”

You stuck your chin out to the direction of the restaurant, “Or so I heard in there.”

“We actually met before. At the funeral.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t remember half the people I met there.”  

“No need to be sorry. You seemed out of it.”

“Yeah, we worked together for a long time, Cathy and I.”

“Look, I know it’s hard and anything I say probably won’t make any difference—”

“You don’t need to—” Your voice quite literally got stuck on your throat, you composed yourself by bringing the side of your fist to your mouth and coughed into it. “I’m trying to get better. I’m here today, which is a miracle in of itself. I know people think it’s probably good to talk about her but I’m just not in the mood, okay? Thank you for your understanding but I don’t need to be reminded, it happened not so long ago.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No, I know you mean well.” You started to sway your feet on the gravel. It was completely understandable for you to lash out but you seemed uneasy as soon as it was out of you. “Sorry, this is your happy day. I shouldn’t—”

“You realize how many times we said sorry to each other in this past minute?” he laughed. “Also, I lost a partner in Spain. I’m not that happy today.”

Your voice turning faint, seemingly regretting your flash of anger a moment ago, “You probably feel like you shouldn’t be happy.”

He nodded. “He helped me a lot but didn’t make it.” He saw your mouth open and stopped you there. “Don’t say you’re sorry. It loses its meaning when you say it too much.”

“Even if I mean it with my whole heart every time?”

“That means you’re sorry for a lot of things. It’s not healthy to carry that much weight on your shoulders.”

“Right, I’ll be like Quasimodo.” You hunched your shoulders even more forward. “Like the hunchback.”

“From the Disney movie?”

You giggled at his childishness. “Yeah, I heard there’s also a book about it.”

He looked at your squinted eyes and thought you deserved to be happy more.

As you two carried on your now meaningless conversation, he did not know that you were certain on resigning from your job and never turning back to it. You’d started to work on the archives that week, partly because your boss had foreseen you contemplating quitting all together and did not want to lose a highly valuable member such as yourself and partly because you had requested it.

At that point, you were absolutely aware of the fact that they feared you’d never turn back to your former position. And because Cathy didn’t have any plans of ever becoming alive, you also didn’t have any plans on returning. But you knew the reason behind them doing anything you asked was them giving you time to grieve. After that, the pressure would build even more and hopefully make you take your old place.

“It was Hunnigan’s idea,” you said to Leon after he asked you very kindly why you were here tonight. “Basically dragged me here. She thinks I should be around people more.”

“She’s right. I’m glad you came.”

Leon was cute, alright. That didn’t do him justice, actually. It was evident under the street light where the bench was that he worked out regularly. Biceps giving a hard time to his sleeves every time he moved, veins protruding on his forearms, his thighs looking like they’d help him carry ten people on his large back. And oh, his broader-than-the-horizon shoulders. An absolute unit of a man with cheekbones and jawline honed like a Greek statue. With his dark blonde hair falling on his face in that charming way and his oh so kind blue eyes, you knew he was out of your league.

His gentle aura making him seem like a Prince Charming or a white knight or whatever the fuck those Disney movies had.

You planned on never seeing anyone from work again, you had nothing to lose. And Cathy so would say to shoot your shot.

“I’m thinkin’ of getting a few drinks in me, want to tag along?”

“What do you have in mind?” He seemed interested, a good sign.

“You got any suggestions? And don’t say beer because I plan on getting wasted beyond recognition in like an hour.”

“Yeah, be careful. And don’t drink and drive.” The way he took a U-turn on his interest irritated you. You really thought he wouldn’t say no, you were getting along well, flirting even. “Did you come here with your car?”

“Yeah.” You tried to not sound upset. “I’m not a teenager. I’ll take a cab. Drinks will be on me.”

“Ah, thanks but I’ll have to refuse. They’ll probably wonder where I went. It’s my dinner, after all.” The polite smile he gave you was so infuriating.

You got up from the bench. He had the audacity to look you up and down after that. “Then please tell Hunnigan I’m sorry I left early, will you?”

“I will.” He fidgeted and crossed his arms. Oh God, you’d made him uncomfortable. It was just minutes ago he was sort of flirting with you. “Don’t drink too much.”

God, why did he have to be so annoying?

The next time you two met was at the closest pharmacist to work, few weeks after his dinner and your failed attempt to get him in your bed.  

“One box of aspirin, please.” Your head snapped up at that voice. Unmistakably, Leon. With his broad back facing you, he hadn’t seen you yet.

“What can I get you, miss?”

Leon stepped over to the side when they called to you, still not looking at you.

“Eyedrops, please.”

“Miss, are you alright?”

To that, he did a double-take. You’d looked disheveled to the point of worry. Eyes and nose a few shades redder than the rest of your face, eyebags puffy and makeup smudged. With your now extremely frizzy baby hairs doing anything but their job of framing your face, it was apparent that you’d been crying.

“Yes, it’s just an allergy.”

“Can I get you anything for that?”

“No, thank you. I already have meds for it.”

Leon thanked when they gave him his aspirin and turned to you. “Wait here, don’t go anywhere.” He quickly left the pharmacist.

Surprisingly, you did wait for him outside. Why? You had no idea. Frankly, you were hoping to cry more in your car.

Approximately five minutes later, he came to you jogging lightly. He thrusted a water bottle in your hand. “Where’s your medication?”

“What?”

“For your allergy?”

“Oh, um—” You couldn’t find a lie fast enough, usually you were not bad at lying but the way he appeared to be worrying about your well-being was baffling to say the least. “I don’t have it, I mean—” You pressed the water bottle to your stomach and held on to it for comfort. “I don’t have an allergy.”

It was his turn to be baffled. “Are you alright?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You don’t look like it.” He looked at you and around you as though checking to see any injury. “You should drink up.” He motioned to the bottle and watched you take a gulp.

“Thank you. Oh, you should, too,” You tried to give him the rest of the water while his stare questioned you. “For your aspirin.”

“I already took it. I’m supposed to take it with water?”

“Yes, Leon. Have you been taking them without water this whole time? Then why did you bring me water?”

“I didn’t know that! You looked dehydrated.”

“That’s not good for you. Now I’m worried about your stomach.”

His blue eyes shined like he came to a revelation. “That’s why my stomach burns when I take them?”

How are you this stupid, you suppressed saying, if you had known him well enough at that time, you definitely would. You forgot for a second that you were annoyed at him for rejecting you few weeks ago and find yourself flabbergasted at thinking that he is endearing, in a way.

You made small talk with him about his lunch break and he insisted on walking you to your car.

“Can I help you with anything?” he said sympathetically once you stood in front of your open car door. “You still look…”

Like a truck hit me, you wanted to complete his sentence.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. It just happens time to time.” You tried to make yourself presentable by adjusting your blouse and hair.

“It?”

“Sometimes I cry for no reason. It happens randomly, too, I don’t know when and where I’ll be crying most of the time. Like, I’ll be reading something, it doesn’t have to be sad, I mean— I was reading reports before I came here. Sometimes it gets too much, like now.”

“Will you be okay driving?”

“Yeah! Talking with you definitely helped.” His apprehensive gaze pierced through you. You actually felt like crying again, your chest feeling tight, eyes burning. You stood upright with the support of your car door. “I’ll be fine, Leon.”

“I’m choosing to believe you. Drive safe.” He shifted his weight on one of his legs and seemed ready to take off.

“Thank you. See you around?”

“You probably won’t for a while,” he said to the ground, soothing the itch on his calf with his other leg’s shin. He looked up and squinted his eyes against the sun. “I got assigned a mission. I don’t know for how long.”

“Oh, I’ll be at your celebratory dinner then, if I get an invitation.”

“Well, I don’t know how it will go. I’ll only invite you if you won’t talk for the whole dinner but flirt with me outside again.”

“You didn’t need to embarrass me like that,” you chuckled nervously. “I wouldn’t say I’m a push and pull kind of woman.”

“You can show me what kind of woman you are when I get back?”

“Very smooth, Leon.”

He seemed taken aback. “I’ll see you then.” Suddenly, he was distant again. This time you didn’t know what made him uneasy.

“Yeah… Be safe on your mission.”

He just nodded. You got in your car and gripped the steering wheel tightly until the sight of his leather jacket clad back disappeared. You hunched forward, shoved your forehead to the wheel and tried to take a deep breath. The crying spell didn’t go away as the tears burst down first and then the sobs jerked your entire body.

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

—Like Real People Do, Hozier

The inside of Leon’s car smells nice, he takes good care of it.

“I’m going to see my sister this weekend,” you say, averting your gaze from the way he steers the wheel with one hand. His other hand is on his knee, tapping away. The effect his toned arms have on you is humiliating.

“I think I can make it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have anything that day. I can go with you. It’s your mother’s death anniversary, right? I think it’s time I pay my respects.”

It’s these things he says that leave you puzzled. He’s incredibly thoughtful, no matter who he’s talking to. He very well could have his day off-work for himself, but he asks anyway.

“Do you actually want to meet my sister?”

“I do. I hope to make a good first impression.”

You think about it for a second and end up telling him. “I sent a picture of you to her back when we got married.”

“How’d you get a picture of me?” he asks, appalled. The only picture he has of himself besides the wedding one is on his badge.

“Our wedding picture, dummy. We have one, remember?”

“Oh, right, I forgot.” You can’t complain because you keep it in a dresser drawer in the envelope it came in. He was on duty again when it came and you’d showed it to him once he was home. The left corner of his lips had curled up and for a second, you thought you saw affection in his eyes. “It came out okay? I was sweating buckets, but you—" he’d said and pointed a finger to your face in the photo. “Your hands were ice cold, I nearly asked you to paste your hands to my forehead just so I could cool down.”

“We still have the picture, right?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s in my room. Why?”

“Can I have it?”

“Yeah, they sent two. Can I ask what you’re going to do with it?”

“Give it to the mafia or hire a hitman to go after you, what else?” He lets out a hollow laugh. You want to record the sound and have it forever play in your ears. “I want to frame it and put it on my desk. People usually have pictures of their spouses and children or even their dogs on their desks, no?”

Yes, you know. You have pictures with your best friend and sister on your own desk at work.

It’s his way of saying you mean something to him.

You call your sister’s name as soon as you see it. “Why do you have this picture here?”

She’s carrying the empty plates to the sink as you hold on to her fridge’s door handle.

She looks up to see you pointing at your wedding picture. It’s on her fridge. You don’t even display it in your own house.

“You printed it?”

“I did,” she says. “It’s a good picture.” Her house is littered with pictures of her and her husband on different vacations, of you and your mother and her together in some.

“You just met Leon today.”

“And I think he’s great. You’re happy with him. That’s all I could ask for.”

You were happy since he was in a good mood the entire ride coming here. It was long but you two had a smooth ride and he amused you with his corny jokes and stories. You tore small pieces of bagel and fed him when he said he was getting hungry. He was tired from driving the whole time, but of course he didn’t have it any other way and jestingly banned you from getting behind the wheel. He did make a good first impression like he promised, although he kept bobbing his cramped leg. He’s now in the backyard with your brother-in-law, chatting about football, probably.

Your sister gets your attention by giving you a side hug and rubbing your back. “You’re my only sister, of course I’m going to have a picture of your happiest day.”

You hug her back around her waist. She even had photos of your birth in the living room. Your mom in a hospital bed, one day-old baby you cradled in her arms, your father hugging your mother and looking down at you with adoration in his eyes. Did he know then, that he would never be there for you to look at you like that again?

“You remember dad, right?” you ask quietly. She was older and was able to tell stories about him to you. “How was he like? Before he left, I mean.”

“Like I told you, he loved us so much. I don’t know if it was the same case for my mom. She later told me she saw it coming, that he likely had another woman.”

“How did mom know?”

Your sister sighs and rest her head on top of yours. “She said she could just feel it. Said he felt distant. He used to come home late leading up to it, sometimes drunk. One day I woke up and he wasn’t home. Didn’t say anything, just abandoned us like that.”

There’s that sadness again, creeping up to your chest and placing a big rock there. You feel like you’re being crushed by it. Your mom had always been ambitious, had dreams for herself and her family, deserved so much more than what she got.

Leon’s laughing loudly in the backyard, your head whips to see the sight.

“Come on, go mingle with your husband. I got it from here,” says your sister and starts to place the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I’ll go get us some beer,” says your brother-in-law and gets up from his chair. The weather is amazing today, your sister had set up a nice meal outside. Leon was getting along with them well. What more could you ask for?

You find yourself alone with Leon when your brother-in-law goes inside the house. You sit next to him and he promptly puts his arm on the back of your chair.

“How’s your leg?” you ask him.

“My thighs are sore,” he groans. “Good thing we’re not driving back tonight.”

“Well, I wouldn’t let you anyways.” You put a hand on his knee and start to massage, hoping it will help his aching legs. You’re even bolder than a few days ago. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

“It hurts here,” he says and grabs your hand, placing it higher on his thigh. “You can put more pressure, I can hardly feel it.” His thigh is firm and thank God, your hands manage to stay stable. You ball your hands into fists and start to punch lightly where he wants. The meat of his thighs doesn’t even jiggle, reminding you that he’s mostly made of muscle.

You focus up on his knees. “I’ll drive us to the cemetery tomorrow.”

“I can—”

“No. You’re tired, Leon. I want to drive, don’t make me upset.”  

“Would you actually be upset if I—”

“Yes, very.” You pinch his thigh and that makes him press his lips together.

“They’re really nice, you know,” he means your sister and her husband. “I feel like an ass for not meeting them sooner.”

“You like them?” You raise an eyebrow.  

“I do.”

“So, any propositions?”

“Huh?”

“Got asked for a threesome yet?” you smirk.

“I’m sorry?” He’s horrified and you find it funny.

“After I sent the wedding picture to them, they both said you were hot. I just remembered it.”

“I’d rather not know that!”

“Relax, Kennedy. I’m just joking. They’re not gonna ask you that.”

He visibly relaxes and puts you in a headlock in a play-fight manner with the arm that was behind you. His nose and mouth pressed up against your hair, he says, “I’ll just tell them I’m a one-lady type of man if they ever do.” You consider biting his arm.

“Can the lovebirds look up here for a second?” chirps your sister. She has come with her camera outside. “It’s the golden hour.”

Leon adjusts his head to look towards the camera and relaxes his hold on you, arm dangling from your shoulder, other hand engulfs yours on his knee, rings clashing.  

“Aww,” your sister coos as she takes the photo. “I’ll send this to you.”

She doesn’t suspect a thing, probably because you’re not pretending anymore.

You splash your face with cold water after you’re done brushing your teeth in your sister’s guest room bathroom. Leon’s inside the room, splayed out on the bed, exhausted after today. It won’t be awkward, you say to yourself, hope to God your hands don’t start to tremble from anxiety.

Leon has taken off his t-shirt, bent one of his knees and put his hands behind his head. Not helping your case by looking irresistible. Even the tufts of hair under his arms are endearing to you.

“How are you holding up?” he asks once you sit on the bed next to him, back facing him. He knows you will visit Cathy too when you get back.

“I’m good, Leon.” You take off your ring and place it next to his on the bedside drawer. “Never been better, actually. I missed them.” You twist your upper body to face him. “Here,” you say as you place your newly washed cold damp hands on both sides of his face in attempts to cool him down.

He shivers, his shoulders going up slightly for a quick second. “That’s nice,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. You’re silent, in part because you’re speechless before his beauty, but you also would like to try to give him a little piece of serenity he needs.

“This used to be my mom’s room when she was living here.”

He hums softly and opens his eyes, his hands coming up to hold on to your bare arms, the skin between his eyebrows pinched.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, hands finding place on his broad shoulders.

He starts to rub your arms up and down, his hands stopping after a while to trace a strap of your tank top with his fingers. All of your worries about intimate gestures going out the window the moment you let his hands wander.

This is the tender domesticity that you’ve been longing for so badly, you want to thank him.

He scrunches his nose. “I wanted to kiss you, now I think it’ll be inappropriate.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your grip on his shoulders is now stronger, begging not to tremble. He feels lonely, he shouldn’t have come here. You have to swallow hard. “It won’t.”

His hand goes up to cup the back of your neck, he’s staring at your lips like he doesn’t wish for anything else. “C’mere.” He tugs at your hip to get the lower half of your body up on the bed. He drapes you halfway on his torso.

Once you’re situated to his liking and casting a shadow on his face, he brings you down ever so gently to his mouth, massaging your nape. He’s hot all over, his mouth, his breath on your face, his chest, the hand that’s splaying his fingers on the small of your back. With his soft lips moving lazily against yours, you’re quite literally bursting at the seams. The muffled sigh he drags across your mouth tempts you to press your entire body to his harder and sling your leg across his hips.

His kisses turn into open-mouthed ones and he tastes like minty toothpaste and sunlight on golden hour.

A small noise comes out of your throat, hands straying down to his bare chest and he has to cradle your face to stop. “We should sleep.” His Adam’s apple bobs enticingly. “I seriously don’t want to disrespect your mother’s ghost.”

A laugh escapes your lips as he hugs your head and buries it to his chest, his chin resting on top. “You’ll apologize to her tomorrow.”

It’s okay, you think when you feel the low timbre of his chuckle on his chest. We’re okay. We’re doing better.

There's no plan, there's no race to be run The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come I'll be your man if you got love to get done Sit in and watch the sunlight fade Honey, enjoy, it's gettin' late There's no plan, there's no hand on the rein

—No Plan, Hozier

The fourth time you saw Leon Kennedy was at a bar. You thought his coworkers were going to be there to see him after his mission but it was just you two.

He had emailed you a day before, saying he asked for your email address from Hunnigan, inviting you for drinks the next day and apologizing for letting you know this late.

“Where’s everyone? Am I early?” you asked, despite noticing the table he was sitting at was for two people.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sight of him. He looked tired. He had a bit of a stubble and his hair was tousled. “No, you’re right on time,” he said, getting up to pull your chair for you. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” you said, ridding yourself from your jacket. You actually put in the effort to look good that day. A nice outfit, a little bit more makeup, hair done.

As you sat down in front of him, a corner of his lips went up, “You look good.”

“The last time we spoke wasn’t my best moment.”

“How have you been?”

You placed your hands on the table and started to play with your fingers, anxious. “Since then? Better, I suppose. How about you? Your mission went well?”

“Depends on how you define well.”

“You’re still in one piece.”

“If only that was enough.” You didn’t get to see his disappointed expression for long when a server came up to your table and Leon quickly ordered a drink, asked what you wanted and waited with his hands together on the table.

Once the server was away, you slightly leaned towards him. “They should be grateful that they got their best agent back alright.” Although you couldn’t ask him any details about his mission, you knew he was a special agent that was good at this job.

“Hunnigan told me you’re in the archives.”

“Yeah, that happened months ago, before your dinner.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I—uh…” Your throat felt dry under his piercing stare. “I wasn’t needed there anymore. So I transferred.”

“Really? I heard it’s quite the opposite.”

“Oh, they’re talking about me?”

“Yes, seems like they really want you to work with agents again.”

“I know that,” you said and dug your fingernails to the corner of the table, his eyes following the motion.

“What do you mean?” he said, scratching his jaw. “You said you weren’t needed.”

“I felt like I wasn’t being useful. I tried to quit. They tried really hard to keep me there. Now, they’re constantly asking me to come back after everything.”

“They do know how to squeeze the last bit out of everyone,” he nodded. “Are you happy with where you are right now?”

“As in life?” You rolled your eyes thinking about it. “What does it look like?”

“I was worried the last time I saw you.” He sounded sincere.

“I know, I looked miserable.” Probably looked like the physical embodiment of a cry for help, too. “Can we not dwell on it, please? I’m better now. But now you—” You reach and tap on the middle of the table. “You look like you need to sleep for days.”

“That would be great,” he sighed.

You kept looking at the door but no one from work was coming in. “Why is no one coming, Leon?”

“They won’t, to be honest with you. I only invited you.”

Your back was then one with the chair. “Oh.”

“I should’ve let you know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind the quiet,” you smiled. And then you realized, he was doing the same thing you were doing, pushing anyone and anything away.

Him reaching out to you, this was his cry for help. Why you specifically, you didn’t know.

“You told me you lost a partner in Spain, were you close?”

To that, he dropped his chin and stared at his lap. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t know him. We met under strange circumstances and ended up helping each other. I got the impression that he regretted a lot of things but wanted to believe people could change.”

“I believe people can change, for the better or worse,” you mumbled.

Your server came with your drinks. Leon didn’t waste a second and downed nearly half of his drink. “You tried to quit?” he asked.

“I did. I thought it was time for a little stability in my life. This is as far as I can get to it,” you said and took a sip of your drink which was the same one as Leon. It was strong.

“Stability. That’s unlikely in this job,” he scoffed, fingers tapping at his glass.

“Do you see it as impossible, Leon?” You desperately hoped he would say no, you needed to hear from someone that it wasn’t just a pipe dream.  

He seemed to be thinking for a slow moment. “I guess, for some people, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“For you it would?” you inquired.

“I once thought I would marry my first girlfriend. I was like what? Twenty, twenty-one? I was really stupid and in love. If twenty-one-year-old Leon saw this, he would be devastated,” he said and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can find someone who would understand what I do. It’s not like I can tell them. They’d be in danger because of me. I can’t ask them to trust me blindly. I wouldn’t want them to.”

“If someone was willing to accept you as you are, do you think..?”

“Who in their right mind would?” he groaned in exasperation.

“I would. But my situation is different, I have an understanding of what you do. I also can’t be in any more danger than I already am.” There was a beat of silence after you said that. The drink was definitely too much for you, you were sure. Your ears were burning hot, one hand coming up to cool one down with your nervous cold fingers, your eyes roamed the whole place. You chugged the remaining of your drink and wiped your mouth.

“Whoa, slow down there,” he bolted and looked at your abashed face as if he was in a contemporary art museum, trying to understand what the artist meant with their absurd piece.

Feeling self-conscious, you fixed your hair and babbled out, “Why did you get into this line of work in the first place?”

His back straightened, shoulders rolling back. “I was… recruited.” You didn’t quite understand how but remained from prodding any further. “I was the best candidate for what they wanted. An orphan who didn’t have anything to lose.”

It really wasn’t going well for you. You wanted to bang your head against the table and avoid looking at him completely but after what he had revealed to you, you couldn’t be any ruder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

If Cathy were to hear about this, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Good job honey, that’s one way to woo a man. She would’ve said it in that sarcastic tone which she infamously was a master of.

“No, it’s fine,” said Leon. “You could do so much better than me, though.”

Have you seen yourself, you wanted to exclaim.

Your nostrils were wide, trying to sober you up by hogging as much oxygen as possible, you tried to remain calm, you were feral however. “Why do you keep putting yourself down, Leon? You know, you could’ve called your friends today and they would’ve come running to you. You’re a great person, they don’t give a damn about how successful your mission was. They’re happy that you’re back, that’s all. They are your friends, not the alcohol.”  

He was dead silent, staring at his glass with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m sorry for overstepping but I saw how they were trying to look out for you at the dinner. There wasn’t even a glass of wine there, celebration my ass. Everybody can tell you’re not fine. I don’t know you that well but even I can tell. What you’re doing to yourself isn’t healthy. It’s self-destructive.”

He wiped his forehead. “You’re the one to talk.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hunnigan’s always talking about how you’re running away every time you see her. She has to drag you everywhere. She’s being nice to you, you could try appreciating that, you know? And you’re clearly stuck up on something, are you trying to repent for your sins or what?” He quite literally disarmed you with his icy stare.

“I’m not Catholic,” you retorted.

“Well, would you look at that. We’re more similar than I thought.” The smirk he had on was sardonic, the furthest from being friendly. You felt an urge to get up and never look back.

“Wrong,” you said as you crossed your arms. “I don’t expect alcohol to solve my problems.”

“Yeah, you’d rather run away from them. And that isn’t going well for you, is it?” He finished his drink and motioned for the server for another. “Also, stop being a hypocrite.”

“Excuse you?” you said with seething anger.

“Are you not trying to ‘get wasted beyond recognition’ right now, as you put it?” he sneered and pointed out your empty glass.

“That was one time, I usually don’t drink. And I’m not planning on drinking more.”

“Oh, did I ruin your fun?”

“Stop that,” you said through your gritted teeth. “Stop being mean. I’m not your friend. You don’t have to push me away. I don’t know why you invited me here. I can just get up and go, leave you with whatever you have up your ass that’s making you act like this. I’m only asking you to stop putting yourself down so much and you’re being all defensive. You know what, I don’t deserve this.” You got up from your chair, grabbing your jacket and purse.

He stood up quickly and tried to follow you. “Sit down, Leon. Your drink is coming.” You didn’t give him any chance to reply and threw the amount of cash that covered your single glass of alcohol on the table.

The walk from the noiseless bar to the nearest bus stop was not pleasant, to say the least. The air was biting cold, hitting your warm cheeks and making you shiver.

Leon only lost sight of you because he stopped to tip the server generously. He fucked up big time, he knew that. It was going to be a pain in the ass if you already jumped in a cab but he had hope that no vacant cab was passing the area on a Friday night.

He was stupid to think this would go smoothly. The last time he saw you, he was concerned about you. The way you’d casually admitted you were not fine was echoing in his mind. He wanted to see if you’d be there by the time he was back from duty. He admitted he was scared for you, for that woman who seemed so small during the funeral, for that woman who had a meltdown in her car in the middle of the day, barely hanging on.

He wanted to tell you today that maybe you should quit. But you had already crossed that bridge.

Maybe you wanted to help people, too. At least at the beginning. Now you wanted peace and quiet, because your life has been anything but. Unlike you, he gave up on that a while ago. He wanted to regard your daring words— I would— as being drunk, he really did.

Ada would never admit she’d want something like that to him, to anyone. Ada didn’t want a stable life, she would never live at a place longer than a month, work with someone more than twice. Even after all of their encounters, Leon still didn’t know what her actual motives were. Raccoon City, Spain, his last mission.

It was pitiful, the way his breath would hitch every time he saw a dark-haired woman wearing red out of the corner of his eye. His heart would pound in his ears for a quick second before he’d realize he was mistaken. He would allow himself, for a brief moment, that maybe it was Ada, here to see him. However, she was never the one to be sentimental. Her every action had a tangible intention that Leon could never guess.

But Leon knew she cared. Enough to save him every goddamn time he needed saving. Enough to ask him to come with her. If he was twenty-one, he would’ve chosen to tail behind her, ready to follow her wherever. Except he had changed, he was not naive anymore. He’d like to think he made the right choice by separating their ways back in Spain. He didn’t know if he was going to be used again.

He also didn’t know what would become of them. Needless to say, he wasn’t going to abandon the mission and ride off into the sunset with Ada yet a part of him wondered about their alternate universe in which he chose to follow her. What would have happened if he just hopped onto that helicopter with her? Where would she have taken him? Was she planning on greeting him properly after all those years? Was he ready to forgive her after Raccoon City?

Perhaps she would have dropped him off somewhere, with a phone number or an address, leaving him confused yet again. Maybe he would’ve reached out, met her in a different circumstance where they didn’t have to constantly run away from trouble. Maybe she’d be living in a small flat and then she’d ask him to come over. Maybe he’d continue to visit her, make himself familiar with her small space.

Except that was not feasible at all, since she was a fleeting kind of woman, just like all the moments they shared. Not there to stay. And none of these would happen, it would always be a different hotel room, different city, barring him from being constant in her life.

A puppy love, he used to think. Young, naive, credulous love. No, he realized, it got older and bigger, sicker. It was time to put it down, put it out of its misery.

He sprinted to the bus station, his hunch was right, you were sitting there, arms folded on your chest, alone. You looked up the moment you heard his footsteps. He left a few steps between you two and braced himself by putting his palms on his knees.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his eyes were focused on your red nose. Probably from the cold, he convinced himself.

“What do you mean? You asked me to,” you grimaced.

“You said we’re not friends, so why did you come here?”

Your head turned opposite of Leon, resting your chin on your shoulder and hugging yourself tighter. “I wanted some company,” you grumbled, the collar of your jacket muffling your voice. “I think Hunnigan’s right and I might need it.”

“Sorry I’m not a decent one.” He took slow steps to sit next to you on the narrow bench of the bus stop, his shoulder grazing yours. That made you perk up at him.

“I’m sorry for the things I said earlier,” you said, holding his gaze.

“You said a lot of things.”

“Well, I’m sorry for all of them, I crossed a line.”

“Don’t be, I needed the scolding.”

“I didn’t mean to scold you.”

He knocked his knee to yours. “Do you always regret the things you say immediately after? I was an asshole, you got angry, rightfully so.”

“But I was the one who started it,” you pursed your lips.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re not kids.”

“I, uh, called a taxi, should be here in a few minutes,” you said after a minute of silence.

“Okay, tell me something in the meantime.”

“What do you want to hear?”

His thumb caressed his brow, he was contemplating. “Would you consider marrying me?”

“What?”

“Would you marry me? If I asked?”

“No, I heard you the first time.” Your eyes took in every inch of his face, searching for a sign, anything that might explain this. “Leon, are you drunk?” 

“No, I’m nowhere near drunk. It takes more than one drink for me to get buzzed.” He crossed his arms, imitating you. “Think about it, we can both try to live calm and stable.”

Your face was contorted in confusion, still for a slight pause. “People don’t marry out of spite, Leon. They marry out of love.”

“Who said anything about spite?”

“You’re clearly angry at something or someone.”

“I am not.”

“This life you are living right now… isn’t quite what you planned, is it? Some things didn’t go according to plan and now you’re here, trying to steer the reins again. And you’re angry.”

“What are you, my therapist?” This time his comeback didn’t sound as if it was meant to hurt you, but to make the air between you lighter. “I guess I do resent some things, doctor.”  

You went along with his enactment. “Admitting is a huge step Leon, I appreciate the honesty.”

“Now you be honest,” he said, bouncing his leg in impatience. “Are you in a relationship? Am I being creepy by cornering you like this?”

“I’m not and I don’t feel cornered. If I did, I’d just get up and go. You just saw.”

He nodded, his lips in a thin line. “Experienced firsthand how you run away from your problems and I don’t mean it figuratively.”

You chuckled. “You are not a problem in my life.”

“Not a friend either.”

Your smile dropped. “I don’t think we know each other that well.”

He hummed, looking far away. “That’s probably your cab.” He got up, shaking off dust from his jeans. “Take my number before you get in and let me know when you make it home safe.”

You gave him your number but didn’t get to write your name in his contacts as the cab drew near. “Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t need to run after me,” you said as you handed him his phone.

“We won’t dwell on it,” he winked as he opened the back door of the cab for you. “And think it over, okay?”

“What?”

“My proposal. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient.”

“Tell me one good thing that will be convenient.”

“Uh, okay. Here’s two for you,” he said and held up two fingers. “A better healthcare plan and tax benefits.”

You laughed and the driver seemed annoyed that you were still standing in front of the open door. “I should get going.”

“Text me when you get home,” he said when you finally got in the car.

You texted him again two weeks after his ridiculous proposal.

Hi, Leon. Do you remember what you asked me after the bar two weeks ago?

Hi. Yes I remember.

Were you being serious or should I pass it as tipsy nonsense?

There was no response from him for a few minutes and you had started biting your nails nervously.

I was being serious. I wasn’t tipsy.

You stared at his short text longer than it took him to reply. You had already made up your mind but it felt cheap telling him over a text. This was not the proper way of doing this. You also didn’t know how to convey this to him, so you resorted to a playful text.

Ask me properly and I’ll consider it.

I’ll ask you again properly over dinner next Friday? I know a good Italian place.

The next Friday, he kept his promise and said those four words in a fancy quiet Italian restaurant. You said yes.

“I have a request,” you said, swirling your wine before taking a sip. “I want a wedding dress, not like a gown or anything. Just a simple white dress.”

“Sure, I already have a suit that I can wear.”

Your heart tugged in your chest. The fact that you had to buy your wedding dress by yourself, no matter how simple you envisioned it to be, without Cathy by your side was making your ears ring, drowning out all the knife and fork clatter around you.

Here's my hand There's the itch But I'm not supposed to scratch

—Love Me More, Mitski

It’s four a.m. and you want to say you’ve actually seen it coming. Every time something good happens, its catastrophe follows eventually. Just like how Cathy’s mission was going so well until it wasn’t.

It’s four a.m. and the meal you’ve prepared for Leon has gone cold on the dining table. You thought he’d be hungry when he came back from mission, so you went out and bought ingredients, followed a recipe word for word, even made soup additionally just in case he didn’t feel like eating solid food after what his body’s been through. He said he’d be back at one a.m. and he hasn’t contacted you since. You’ve called and texted him numerous times but it was radio silence from him.

He had promised you, before you got married, that he would always let you know when he got back from a mission and he always did. He never once forgot because you were very serious about this, wanted to know as soon as possible that he was back safe.

It’s four a.m. and you feel like you’re going crazy, soaring into a heaving fit as each minute passes by.

The sound of his keys makes you clutch at your chest and before you even realize, your legs are walking you to the front door. He’s being quiet and you wait for him few steps behind the door. His steps are feather light, head bowed down to take off his shoes, he exhales a long breath as he places his backpack down.

He flinches when he sees your silhouette in the dark. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“You didn’t text me,” your voice breaks, your hands are clutching at the sides of your pajama shirt like it’s a lifeline.

“I forgot.”

Your tears threaten to fall down and you’re grateful that it’s dark and he can’t see. You bite down your lip strong enough to make it bleed. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine, you didn’t need to stay up.”

It’s not like you chose to, you physically couldn’t lie down or eat anything when your mind went all haywire, creating the worst possible scenarios it could think of.

“I, um, made dinner.” You point to the table. “But it’s gone cold, I can heat it up. Don’t know if it will taste any good, though. Did you have any chance to eat something? I mean, if you ate dinner, it’s been hours and you’re probably hungry—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I also made soup, so it’s easier on the stomach. You’re tired, right? Just eat some soup and then go to sleep. I’ll heat that up and there’s also tea in the pantry, supposed to help you sleep. Oh, I filled up the bathtub, I’ll go drain it, the water’s gone cold and you probably want to have a hot shower—”

He cuts you off again by blurting out your name. “Hey, hey, slow down.” His calloused hands come up to hold your shoulders and you let out a small whimper of surprise, your chin dropping to your chest. “I don’t want anything, I’ll just sleep.”

You shrug and escape from his hold, so he doesn’t ask you why you’re trembling like a leaf. “But shower…” you manage to make out and point to the direction of his room.

“Yes, I’ll drain the tub and shower, you go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” you say softly. He’s home, you repeat deliriously. He’s here, very much alive. The thought calms your nerves instantly.

He doesn’t turn on any of the lights while navigating his home in the dark. You crane your neck to watch his silhouette move to his room. He opts to turn on the bathroom light first. You listen to the water droplets as you put away the food you made for him in containers. He says something you can’t quite hear when he gets out of the shower.

“Did you say something, Leon?” you raise your voice slightly.

“Yeah, did you clean my room?”

“It was messy. Thought it’d be nice to see it tidy when you came back.”

He doesn’t reply right away and your head turns to his direction as if he can see you through the door.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to.”

You actually cleaned the whole house when he was away, not that he had the chance to see it.

You were aware from the very beginning that this was what you got yourself into. You and Leon never promised each other love. But why are you feeling like this now? Stupid question, really. Because things have changed, you’ve grown to love him and you’re afraid. You’re afraid that one day you’ll have to face the world without him by your side because he has become your anchor, holding you in place where you now call home. It’s nice having his warm hands on you, it’s nice coming home to him.

However, in moments like now it feels like you’re playing house, actors going their separate ways after the lights go out. It awfully feels like you’re standing in the middle of a dark stage, curtains closed so nobody can see what goes down behind the scenes.

You’re in front of his door, first aid kit in one hand, knocking. “Leon?” You know he’s not sleeping. He can’t sleep well after he comes back from his missions, his insomnia making it impossible for him.

The door cracks open and you slide past him before he can say anything, perching cross-legged on the side of his bed, placing the kit on your lap before propping his pillow against the bedpost so he can sit comfortably in front of you. “Let me have a look.” You pat on the bed. “And turn on the lamp, please.”

You can finally see him when he does. The first thing you see is the big purple bruise on his side because he’s only wearing his sweatpants. His hair is wet from the shower, hanging to his eyes, eyebags dark and prominent, one of his forearms is freshly bandaged. Despite all, he’s standing tall in front of you.

“They already patched me up,” he says, showing his bandage.

You take his hand and draw him near, making him sit on the bed with one leg dangling from the side. Half of his face is illuminated like this and you can see the cut on his jaw in its full glory. Your fingers begin to work quickly, cleaning the wound all the while he winces by closing his eyes. “Seems like they didn’t take a good look at you. What happened to your ribs?” you ask to distract him.

“Got kicked. They’re not broken.”

You put the band-aid on his jaw and search his eyes as they open. He blinks slowly at you, understanding that you want to hear more. “Hurts when I breathe but it should be gone in a few days, it’s not that bad.”

You take his unwrapped hand in yours, the skin of his knuckles is very red, it probably hurts when he flexes it. You grab the ice pack you remembered to bring with you and place it on top on his knuckles.

“Not there,” he mumbles. “Put in on my shoulder, it’s really sore.”

You place the pack on the shoulder he points. He tries to turn his head that way but his face contorts in pain and he gives up, exhaling a long sigh.

“Did you have them wrap it up?”

“No, can’t be bothered to rewrap it later.”

“That’s why you have me to do it for you,” you hum, adjusting the ice pack. You’re closer to him like this, able to smell his soap and shampoo from his body. You can make out the shape of his chapped lips and yours ache to kiss his pain away, except you are overheated with grievance.

His eyes bore into you, taking you in. There’s an unassuming hand on your bent knee, squeezing lightly. “Did I scare you?” he asks.

“You promised me,” you gripe to him, fumbling with your fingers on your lap after you place the first aid kit next to you. “You promised me that you’d let me know when you were back. Of course I was scared.”

His forehead falls onto your shoulder, damp strands of hair pressed to the side of your neck as the ice pack tumbles down his back onto the bed. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says breathily.

He’s only called you by your name all this time, so this is new. And stomach lurching. Your cheek knocks the side of his head with your startled reaction.

“I have no excuse,” he murmurs. His palm on your knee slides up, leaving a burning sensation as it goes along your thigh, bypassing your hips and finding place on the curve of your waist.

“It’s okay,” you squeak when you feel his thumb caressing your ribs through your t-shirt.

You don’t remember ever sitting down with him, drawing lines about the nature of your relationship, lines that both of you never meant to cross, because you didn’t. You didn’t discuss anything about boundaries because at the time you were getting married, you didn’t know him much. Both of you assumed that it would naturally develop, silent agreements to come.

It was manageable before, now it confuses you to the point of ripping hair from your own head. There were times where you didn’t think twice about giving him a friendly hug, a pat on the back, a reassuring squeeze to his knee but after getting into bed with him, every action was testing the waters.

It wasn’t even a bed; it was the couch in the living room where you had countless dinners and conversations, the heart of the home, if you will. It felt shameful afterwards as if it happened in an open space, because it was quick and devoid of any intimacy, but it was in the confines of your own quiet home still.

You want to go back to the time when you were friends, and not what this was supposed to be. You want to go back to the time when you didn’t know how it felt to have him like that, when you didn’t know his touch would be so tantalizing, his lips unbearably addicting, his warmth conquering.

Initially, you thought you’d cross any bridge regarding him when you came across it, but there weren’t any bridges around to reach him to begin with. You quickly realized that he had burned them before you, for everyone. So, you painstakingly built each and every one of them with your bare hands, desperate to get to him. And him shaking them felt immensely unfair, all your hard work threatened to fall.

Your hand on his chest pushes him away ever so slightly before his hand drops from your waist. He hisses softly yet the action hurts you more than it hurts him. He yields to your touch, back leaning on his propped-up pillow, waiting for you to gather the scatter of your thoughts patiently.

“Stop confusing me, Leon.”

“What do you mean?”

“What am I to you exactly?”

“You’re my wife,” he says. Obviously.

“So why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“We never guaranteed that it would.”

“Yeah, I know that. All this time I thought maybe we were doing better, now I don’t know Leon, you’re confusing me. Either stop giving me hope or just say it outright.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That I’m just a fuck buddy to you.”

His jaw ticks, lips curl in disdain. “How shallow do you think I am?”

“I know we never established any boundaries between each other but it’s gotten to a point where I don’t know how I should act around you.”

His face stays stagnant. “You can’t be serious. Your boundaries were set from the beginning. You never had a place for me in your heart.”

Time seems to stop for you in that dire moment, Leon’s blue eyes serving you a new wrench of dismay. “When did I give off that impression?”

“Our first anniversary,” he clarifies hoarsely. “We ate pizza on the couch, remember?”

You do, you even remember the Disney movie he had rented as a cheeky nod to time you two first flirted. The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“I always wonder why you said yes to my proposal in the first place,” he said after taking a bite from his pizza slice. It had been a year since getting married, Hunnigan was the one to point out to him. Apparently, she was proud of herself due to the fact that she was the one to introduce you two.

“I thought of Cathy and what she would’ve said to me,” you said, watching the animated Quasimodo sing his heart out to the town below him.

“What would she have said?”

“That it is ridiculous and maybe I should say yes.”

“So, you thought of what Cathy would’ve said to you getting married but not your family?”

You turned your head to him, ready to get vulnerable. “Cathy was family to me.”

“I didn’t know you two were that close.”

“Yeah, we met when we were roommates back in college. She urged me to change majors and follow her path.”

“To become an agent?”

“No, she was the one who always wanted to be a special agent. I didn’t know what to do at first but somehow ended up working alongside her.”

“What were you studying before?”

“I was studying to become a nurse. Kind of in my sister’s path, she’s a doctor.”

He scratched his nape, looking ashamed. “I believe I never asked that before, sorry about that.”

You elbowed his side after taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, you better be sorry for not knowing what your sister-in-law does for work.”

He rolled his eyes upon your teasing. “Were they supportive of you changing majors? Your family, I mean.”

“My family’s always been small. It’s just me and my mom and sister. Dad’s never been in the picture. He left when I was a few months old. My mom raised us herself. And yes, she would support anything I did. She loved Cathy because she would make me do things I’d never do myself.”

“Your mom sounds like a great person.”

“She was. She died four days before Cathy did.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he said, much more ashamed than before. You didn’t blame him, the first year of your marriage flew by really fast, with him on duty most of it. Forget sitting down like this to talk, you rarely got any chance to see him.

“Yeah, their deaths being so close fucked me up really bad. We were on mission. My mom was living with my sister then because she was sick. My sister didn’t tell me her condition was even worse than before.”

“Why?”

“Mom knew we were working on something big and begged my sister not to tell me. She thought she’d see me after I was done with the mission. I had a whole fight with my sister about it. I felt betrayed.”

“I think I would, too, in that situation.”

“I was so fucking unprofessional after that. I couldn’t keep on helping Cathy properly. And she—”

“It isn’t your fault.” He shook his head, meeting your gaze in the space between you two on the couch.

“I’m tired of hearing that,” you huffed.

“None of that is on you. It’s the truth.”

“It’s not. I knew the situation was going bad. Cathy tried to make me believe it was not. Somebody else had to be transferred to take my place instead. I insisted but I had to be taken out. That’s when we lost connection to her.”

“How did you know it was going bad?”

“I could tell from her voice. I know her better than I know myself. I failed to get her help. I should have never listened to her.”

“But you couldn’t do that, could you? She clearly gave you wrong intel. You can’t send back-up until—”

“I could’ve made it seem like she requested back-up. That would’ve saved her, exterminated the mission, but saved her. I’d have faced the consequences of my actions sooner or later. If I did that and saved her, she’d be mad at me for years but who cares as long as she’s safe and sound?”

“I get it. I’d also have someone mad at me if it meant they’d be safe.”

“In the end, she died for nothing. The cult she was infiltrating dispersed after they killed her, all fled to different countries. It’s harder to track them down now. They’re everywhere.”

“You follow through with it? It would be impossible to track down each mission.”

“Why do you think I’m in the archives? I have access to mission reports. They don’t think it is bioweapon related, so sometimes they let me see them.”

Esmeralda was dancing along people’s whistles, captivating every man in the square.

“You said Cathy died for nothing but you actually don’t want that to be true.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you said, “Obviously.”

“You’re loyal,” he remarked. “I’m sure she would’ve loved to see her mission completed. Do you ever think of working as an analyst again?”

“Nope.”

From his expression you could tell he wanted an explanation, so you gave him one, “I don’t want to see people get hurt anymore. It’s a dangerous job, you know it. Why are you asking me?”

“No offense, but then why did you agree to marry me knowing I do the same job? If you’re scared of losing someone this much—it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You sighed, having a hard time thinking where to even start. “You’re going to call me crazy.”

“I would never,” he said, half-jokingly.

“Okay, I really did think what Cathy would tell me to do. I always listened to her, the whole time we got to spend together. She told me what she wanted to do with her life, told me I looked depressed with what I was studying and maybe we should join an academy together. She was larger than life, lit up an entire room with her presence, never spoke ill of someone, liked to help people in any way she could. I’ve always been shy, so she went above and beyond to find me decent blind dates.”

“She sounds wonderful. She was also your matchmaker?”

“In a way, yes. Dragged me to parties with her so I could have some fun.” You gave Leon a smile, recalling Cathy and her antics in your mind, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Nothing sounds crazy so far,” he reassured you.

Finished with your pizza, you dusted off the crumbs into the box and lifted up your knees to sit cross-legged facing him. “I couldn’t keep someone interested in me for more than two dates.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he replied, his eyes traveling up and down.

“No, seriously. This one time, a guy left mid-date, told me he had a phone call, paid for the coffees and just left. I waited there for half an hour. It dawned on me when I couldn’t see his car outside. Didn’t call me after.”

Leon shrugged one shoulder. “His loss.”

You smacked his bicep playfully as a way of thanking him for his compliment. “I only went on these dates because Cathy thought it would be good for me. I had a few fights with my sister about Cathy and her influence on me. She thought I was like her puppet but I genuinely don’t think like that. I told you I knew Cathy like the back of my hand. It was the same for her. Never pushed me to do something I’d be uncomfortable with. Well, I’d feel awkward at times but it would be momentary, I’d learn so much in the long run.”

“That’s a very healthy way of looking at things. I’m still waiting for the part where you think I’d call you crazy.”

“I trusted her judgment because I knew she only wanted the best for me. She’d definitely try to set me up with you if we weren’t so busy all the time,” you said, lips curling into a roguish smile.

His eyebrows shot up, being brazen about it. “Oh, you’re saying I’d have her approval?”

Especially when you keep raking your hands through your hair like that, you wished to say. “Yes, you would.”

“Thank you, that means so much.”

“You didn’t even know her.”

“Well, she means so much to you, I feel honored that you think that way.”

A haze of grief washing over your heart, lungs expanding, you started, “I also… never mind.”

A comforting hand fell on you shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Now you have to say it, don’t leave me hangin'.”

“Here’s the crazy part,” you swallowed dryly. “Whenever I thought of my future, it was always with Cathy. I didn’t even think of getting married. I thought we’d retire together when the time came, she and Allison—her girlfriend—would live next to me. And if they ever had the chance, they’d marry and maybe have kids. I’d look after them like they were my own, be the best aunt. Isn’t it crazy, dreaming of looking after someone else’s kids and not yours? Sometimes I’d lay my head down and imagine myself in a little community, living next door to Cathy and her family, growing my own vegetable garden—though I don’t know the first thing about gardening but I’d learn! I would also grow pretty flowers and give them out to anyone who decided to come over. Go to the bakery in the morning, greet everyone on the way and grab my breakfast fresh out the oven. I’d get so fat! Eating baked goods every day, sounds like heaven to me.”

“Indeed.” With a fond smile on his face, he took of his hand from your shoulder and fully turned to you, bending one leg up on the cushions. “I don’t think I met an Allison at the funeral, was she there?”

“She was,” you said, remembering the painful conversation you had with her. “She arrived really early and left before anyone from work came.”

“What happened?” he asked, noticing you ripping skin off your fingers just like you had been doing during that day.

“I tried to talk to her. She told me I was a liar and walked out—” Leon interrupted your chain of thoughts by taking your hand, preventing you from damaging your fingers further. “I couldn’t keep my promise to her. It’s awful. I told her before the mission that it was going to be okay, we’d done this with Cathy many times and I’d make sure to keep her in one piece.”

Your other hand had a death grip on your knee, nails digging and leaving indents to keep yourself grounded. “They tortured Cathy while she was captive. She died because she refused to give them any information.”

Leon seemed like he didn’t want you to continue, placed your hand in his as though he was reading your palm and started to fidget with your gold wedding band on your ring finger. “Tell me more about that dream of yours. I bet you wouldn’t even install normal ceiling lights in your house. It’d just be little lamps everywhere.”

Giggling, you said, “Yeah! I’d be that auntie that collects little trinkets and displays them all around her house. I’d learn how to knit and make so many ugly sweaters for God knows anyone.”

“So, no partner living with you? Just you with your trinkets?”

“There’s so many types of love and I just didn’t see myself in a romantic one. It just happened that I never pictured myself alone. That’s it.”

His hands slipped away after your raw confession, broad back straightening, appearing tensed up. Yet again, you couldn’t make out what his expression meant.

Esmeralda was now singing a hymn, Quasimodo staring at her in admiration from the shadows.

“I talked so much today, now’s your turn. I feel embarrassed that you know my abysmal attempts at finding love. How about you, Leon? You got any embarrassing stories that you can tell?”

His answer was quick and mischievous, “Yeah, this one time this lady just got up and left me at the bar. In the middle of an argument.”

You pursed your lips and bumped on his knee on the cushions, restraining a laugh you know he’d get satisfaction out of. “Don’t piss me off, that wasn’t even a date.”

“I had a girlfriend when I was twenty-one, she broke up with me before I started working as a cop.”

“That’s so long ago and not that embarrassing if I’m being honest,” you sniffed at him.

“I already told you about how I thought I’d marry her. I really believed my first ever relationship would live to see its future.”

Offering him a new perspective, you explained, “Well, technically it did, it just wasn’t a bright one.”

“Pshh,” he scoffed, turning to the TV, stretching before bending his arms behind his head. “Wait—you’re telling me I’m the only long-term guy you had?”

His late light-bulb moment pulled a chuckle out of you. “Turning it back to me again, okay. No, I did date a guy for nearly one year. And before you ask, he said I worked too much and wasn’t fun.”

Leon’s face scrunching as if he just ate something sour, he blurted out, “Where do you find these types of guys? Did Cathy set you up with this asshole?”

“No, actually, I found him myself.”

“Is he the one who made you think you’re not fun to be around?”

You were left stumped, unable to think of any answer.

“What? If he is, I disagree with him.”

“You only say that because I go along with your corny jokes.”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason,” he chimed sarcastically.

Quasimodo was saving Esmeralda from the burning stake, the sign that the movie was about to end.

“Your dream,” he cleared his throat. “I could just picture it like a happy ending to a Disney movie. You know, they all have happy endings. Besides, I don’t think you’re insane for wanting a happy, peaceful life.”

“What’s insane about it is that I even imagined myself dying before Cathy. Getting buried before I got to bury her. I’ve never thought I’d live the day she wouldn’t, yet here I am… I wrote an entire script for the rest of my life in my mind, that’s why I spiraled down and down and down when it was not possible to play it out anymore. So, I stopped. It wasn’t healthy for me to continue obsessing over my ruined happy ending. I decided to live in the present. Write as I live on. Be more like Cathy, hopefully.”

There was little beer left in his can but he raised it anyway. “In the loving memory of Cathy Donovan, then.”

“I don’t have any drink left,” you gasped, lifting your can. “Cathy, I’m so sorry, you deserve the fruitiest of Martinis.” If Cathy was there, she would’ve laughed like a hyena, found it hysterical that you managed to call her fruity given the context.

After the honorary toast, Leon leaned back and intertwined his hands on his stomach, eyes fixed on the TV screen where Phoebus and Esmeralda were passionately kissing.

“The novel’s ending was not family friendly, I guess,” you mocked.

“I haven’t read it.”

 “If you’re planning on reading it, my lips are sealed.”

“Don’t know if I have the time. I don’t mind, tell me.”

“It’s painfully sad. Esmeralda gets hanged, Quasimodo pushes Frollo from the cathedral tower in grief and rage. That’s the moment he realizes he’s lost everyone he’s ever loved. He also refuses to let go of Esmeralda, starves himself holding on to her dead body in her grave. Years later, an excavation group finds their intertwined skeletons and when they try to separate them, Quasimodo’s bones crumble to dust.”

“Now that’s vile.”

Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart Baby, bang it up inside I'm not wearing my usual lipstick I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

Baby, though I've closed my eyes I know who you pretend I am I know who you pretend I am

—Washing Machine Heart, Mitski

“How would I know I’d end up here?” you ask him, voice shaking. “We didn’t promise each other anything, so I didn’t have any hope.”

You want nothing more than to ask him about the teddy bear keychain he has in desk drawer, why he holds onto it, ask whether you should be relieved that it no longer has a key attached to it.

There is that gut feeling, clawing at your churning stomach, that tells you he has someone. Someone else who knows him better than you, who is a better match to him, who makes him happier.

Someone he loves.

“But we had sex, it made me question everything and I’ve come to the conclusion that we were both lonely and weren’t thinking straight. You acted like it didn’t change anything, it almost made me go crazy. Please say something so I can finally understand, Leon,” you cry out.

“I don’t regret it,” he declares. “I don’t regret what we did. And I know how we started this marriage, I assumed it would always be the same after you told me your feelings.”  

“I admit I’m hard to be with.” Your head hangs to the side, brows furrowed. “It’s hard for me to trust someone as much as I trusted Cathy. I’m sorry it took two years for us to be candid with each other. I used to be laidback about who I slept around with before. Now, I don’t know, I think twice about how I should touch you, talk to you. I used to think romantic love was not for me, so I wasn’t worried when you proposed because you didn’t expect it. I thought it wasn’t for people like us.”

“But you are capable of love,” he emphasized. “I know you are. You’re so good to me all the time. You stay up all night worrying when I’m not home, cook food for me despite your hatred for it, remember the smallest things and help me out, talk to me when I can’t sleep. I can’t even repay you for any of it and you still continue to be good to me. See, you’re speaking in a way that’s making me think there’s a chance that you love me and I still can’t say it back.”

Your silent tears unsettle him, this is the first time you let him see you cry. He has heard it before, the soft sobs and small chokes at night when you didn’t know he was awake.

You sniffle, “I know you’re capable of it, too, Leon. If the reason you can’t say it back to me is what I think it is, you definitely are.”

You quickly wipe your tears with the back of your hand when he asks, “What do you mean?”

“There is someone, right? You love them.”

His silence speaks volumes and it becomes your acceptance.

“Don’t let this thing between us hamper it, okay? I’m fine with it. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to keep up the faithful husband act.”

“Jesus,” he howls. “Just how terrible do you think I am? This thing between us is our fucking marriage. Not some situationship. Although I can’t make you think otherwise because you refuse to. I’m only gonna say this once, okay? I respect you enough to not sleep around behind your back.”

“Thank you, Leon, but I’m saying it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” You take both of his hands, wanting to remember the feel of him. “You love someone else and it’s okay. You’re better off with them. Hopefully they’re better at love than I am.”

You take off your ring and place it in your palm, caressing it. “I know I probably shouldn’t be asking for this but I got so used to the weight of it on my finger. Can I have it as a keepsake?”

He grips your wrist tightly, grimacing. “What are you doing?”

“This is me letting you go.”

“No.” He shakes his head, voice thick. The way he places the ring on your finger again is a wretched overcompensation for not doing it before. You two didn’t have rings at the wedding and you were the one to place it on your own finger after purchasing them. “You’re running away,” he speaks in a hoarse croak. “Where will you go this time, hm?”

“I’ll resign and move close to my sister.”

His palms are cupping your jaw, fingertips in your hair. Him closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours is a way of saying I can love you if you give me time, I know I can.

“Stay,” he whispers, narrowing your whole world down to his warmth and you shudder from it. “Just tell me what you need.”

I need you to love me more, love enough to fill me up till there’s no crack left for me to write happy ever afters that will never come true. I need you to fill me full up, love enough to drown it out. Drown me out.

“Kiss me.”

“That I can do, honey.”

You know perfectly well that you’re selfish for wanting him like this. However, you yearn for the still of his hands on you, the irresistible feel of his skin on yours.

A kiss is placed on your temple, another one on your damp cheekbone, another on your jaw. Your eyes are closed the whole time he moves slow with his kisses. He grazes his nose beneath your ear, bringing you close to the brink of tears again. His hot breath is licking the other side of your face after, pecking the corner of your mouth.

“Scoot,” he says before gripping your waist and tipping you towards his torso. “My back is killing me like this.”

You’re afraid of hurting him with your weight but he insists, pulling you and placing you on his lap, getting you to straddle him, your thighs encasing his on either side. Your face a few inches above his, he tips his head back and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You can see a gash on his shoulder that disappears down his back which you didn’t notice before and you become aware once again that this isn’t the right moment to ask him for this.

“Leon—”

He can tell you’re about to get off him and he shuts you up by pulling you in a crushing kiss, pressing your chest to his with arms around your back so you won’t get away. “Stay here, don’t run away from me,” he says between labored breaths. His fingertips dance on your sides, making the hair on the back of your neck stand. He can probably feel your heart thumping crazy against his chest.

You caress the indent on his chin with your pointer finger, leaning down to kiss it. Leon lets out a delicious sigh, hands feeling up the sides of your thighs.

“Why did you kiss me at the wedding? There was no one to see,” you finally ask.

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the side trying to remember it. “The officiant was there. And the photographer.”

You nod and his lips are on yours again, tender this time. He opts to place quick kisses over and over again when he’s done being gentle. A chuckle escapes you when his nose bumps yours.

Fingers drifting under your shirt, he scratches your back up and down with his blunt nails. Any inch of skin he comes across, he kisses. Earlobe, jaw, neck, shoulder peeking through shirt. One hand splaying his fingers on your back, middle finger in line with your spine, right between your shoulder blades, the other one comes up front, lifting the front hem of your shirt. “Take this off.”

He doesn’t move the hand on your back when you’re taking it off, eyes dropping down to meet the new exposed skin. But you feel too naked, even though he’s wearing the same amount of clothes as you. You hug him around his neck, careful not to hurt him, bare chests pressed together.

He clasps the tops of your arms, biting the inside of one bicep.

“Ouch.” You retreat. “Why did you do that?”

“Let me see you.” He tips you backwards after his hand comes up to your nape, your butt slides on his lap, making you sit right on his crotch. He lets out a content hum, not embarrassed of his half hard erection. You cling to his biceps although his hand on the back of your neck is securing you in place.

A kiss is planted to the base of your throat and then to each collarbone. The hand on the front cups the underside of your breast, goosebumps rising on your skin. A wet kiss on the valley of your breasts, his breath cooling it. A low moan from you when he takes a stiff nipple in his hot mouth, finally giving it some attention. He twirls his tongue around it, teasing, before licking it right.

Your hips move involuntarily, rubbing against him through clothes all the while he sucks, kisses, grazes teeth. A jolt of electricity travels down to your core when he switches sides, underwear clinging to your sticky folds. You keen into him, pushing your chest out when he begins to suck a bruise under your breast. Your fingers dig into his scalp, tugging on his damp strands.

You discern his knitted brows and inclined back before tapping his shoulder. “Leon, stop.”

He halts the moment he hears you. The sight of a string of spit connecting his lips to your chest is obscene. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re hurting. You should lay down,” you say while standing up.

His eyes never leaving you, he gets off the bed as well. He seizes you under your arms, picking you up with ease. “See, honey? I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” He doesn’t let you protest and nips at your bottom lip before sloppily kissing you, tongue claiming every crevice of your mouth.

“No, put me down!” you wail, kicking your feet in the air.

“Okay, okay,” he grins, setting you down on the floor. Your heated cheeks amusing him, he takes your hand and places it on the waistband of his sweatpants. “This is the only thing you need to worry about.”

You decide to be daring and slide your hand down, palming him through layers of clothing. “Fuck,” he huffs, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours, big hands pawing at your backside, fondling your ass. Your hand slips past his briefs, touching him without any barriers.

“Oh, just like that,” he encourages you when you pick up a pace. His abs tightening, it doesn’t take long for him to fully get hard. “Ah, wait—”

“Hm?” You look up at him, just holding him in your palm.

“Need to get a condom, be right back.” He squeezes your ass one last time. “You better take everything off,” he teases before stepping away to get to the bathroom.

Second thoughts come rushing to your mind the time he’s undressing and grabbing a condom in the bathroom. Maybe, you shouldn’t do this. It’s only going to make it harder for the both of you. You admitted loving him and he wasn’t able to say it back. But he told you to stay, he needs you, wants what you’re able to give him. And you desperately need to give him all you have, mind and body, even if it means for a short time.

Because you know you will never be able to love like this again.

Your thoughts are interrupted when a packet of condom is thrown on the bed in front of you, hands gathering your hair on one shoulder to return messy kisses to your neck from the back.

Your back meets his pecs, his erection snug between your bare ass cheeks, you sigh softly when his fingers find their way to your clit, making your spine tingle. You hold on to his forearm, clawing at his veins as he gathers your wetness from your entrance, back to circling your bundle of nerves with now soaked fingers. His bandaged hand urges you to spread your legs more before finding place on your throat. He ruts his hips against your ass, breathing loudly while you whine out incoherent sounds.

He groans your name, drawing your attention up to his scrunched face. “You’re so good to me.”

“Leon,” you whimper as he drags two fingers all the way along your slit, pumping them inside. The way you stretch around his fingers distracts him from the rhythm of his hips, making him still. But you crave the friction, arch back your own hips to get him to move again. Your hand winds around and finds his aching hard dick, thumb stroking the precum all over his angry red tip. Your head rolls back over his shoulder and you want nothing more than to properly see.

“Leon, I’m close,” you moan and push his hand away. “I want to see you.”

“Anything you want, honey,” he pants in your ear, tip of his tongue tracing the shell of it.

You crawl to the middle of the bed, endowing him the sight of your glistening slit before laying down on your back, waiting for him to get on top of you. He parts your legs, taking a good look before smearing his tip on your folds, a mix of your wetness and his precum making it extra slippery.

“Please,” you manage to make out, one arm across your chest, another resting on his shoulder.

He rips your arm from your chest and pulls both your wrists above your head. “I said let me see you.”  

He doesn’t let you fuss, fucking up his cock against your clit, allowing himself the bare feel of you for a little while.

He kisses your pout away before retreating to roll the condom on. You hiss as his tip breaches your entrance, legs trying to close on instinct, but he’s laying between them. He gets you used to the feel of him inside before you nod for him to move, slowly at first. Once your back arches and your hips shift, he gets the message to piston his hips faster.

He searches for the right pace just by examining you, what your face does when he tries something new, how your back arches, by the sounds you make. Not too fast, not too slow, he eventually finds an angle you particularly like.

“Too good for me,” he chants whilst thrusting, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head. You notice the absence of his ring but you don’t worry about it because you know he leaves it on his desk when he’s away for a mission, not wanting to lose it.

Your legs hug him around his waist, heels pressing him into you deeper. “Yes, yes, yes…” You keep singing his name when you feel it building up inside.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he grunts, listening to the slaps of skin and your frantic cries of pleasure.

“Good ‘cause I’m so close.”

He takes that as a challenge, making sure you reach your high before him. He watches as you do, walls clenching down on his length, lips chasing his.

He’s cooing in your ear between your gasps, coaxing your bliss out of you. “I know, honey, I gotcha. You can let go.”

Your mouth opening in a silent moan as your orgasm ripples through you, hands trembling in his hold, legs trying to shut, your entire body quivering as you ride it out.

Irregular thrusts of his hips bouncing your breasts in front of him, he nestles his face between them, breathing in your scent. He noses the blossoming mark he left under there and moves slow, dragging it out as much as possible.

He sinks boneless on you, his weight feeling comforting rather than crushing. You embrace him as he softens out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He peels the condom off and lays on you for a while, head between your ribs, trying to catch his breath. You wipe away sweat from his temple, frowning.

“You’ll have to hop in the shower again.”

“Give me a few minutes,” he says, voice muffled and nasal. “And you’re coming with me, too.”

“Leon!” you shriek, playfully slapping his twitching bicep. “You shouldn’t tire yourself more.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I was gonna ask you to wash my back.”

After a few minutes, you drag him in the shower, helping him soap his back. He stands under the hot rain when you’re cleaning yourself with his body wash, eyes and hands wandering, groping here and there. You smack his naughty hands each time, can’t help but giggle. However, he’s tired and sleepy, so he’s only playing.

You offer to change his sheets but he insists on doing it in the morning and tugs your arm to your room, preferring to sleep in your clean sheets. He nearly falls asleep as you blow-dry your hair, waiting for you in the bed.

As soon as you’re snuggled up to him, he tucks you to his chest, chin on your forehead. Soft sighs tickle the crown of your hair.

“Can I ask you a question?” he murmurs, barely audible.

Your pointer finger stops drawing circles on his pectoral muscle. “Mhm?”

“After your mom and Cathy passed away, how did you survive? There has to be a reason.”

“I actually planned to end it all after both funerals. I told myself to just get past that week. It’ll all be over in a week. But there’s my sister. She came with me to help with Cathy’s funeral. Forced me to eat anything she could cook while I lived on autopilot. She was washing my hair in the sink when I realized I can’t leave her behind. It’s just not fair. She has a wonderful husband but a husband doesn’t mean forever— I mean, look at what my mother got. A deadbeat husband who left her with two little kids. My sister doesn’t have any kids. Worst case scenario, her husband leaves her and—”

He retracts abruptly to search your face, hand on your cheek to steer you to him. “So, you wrote a script again. With a sad ending.”

“My sister is my only family left. I don’t want her to live unhappily.”

“Hey, I’m your family, too. Why are you talking like I’m not here?” He presses a long, soothing kiss to your lips. His fingers tip your chin up. “Look at me. What do you have in that mind of yours? What kind of script do you have for us?”

You lie. “I don’t have one.”

He smiles. “Good. Because we’ll write one as we go on.”

(a/n: a very short part 2 will be posted here in a few days, keep an eye out for that. ty for reading!)

PART I | PART II | PART III (finale)

[biteyoubiteme]

cat got your tongue?

yeonjun x fem!reader

synopsis: you and yeonjun are both models.

warnings: 🔞!!! spit kink if you squint, no protection, creampie, dom!yeonjun, manhandling, bondage (uses his tie on readers wrists), fingering, oral (f!rec),mentions of cum eating prob forgot some sorry

wc: 2.7k me when I lie and say these will all be 1-2k

an: I do not think this is my best work I think I just struggle with dom!member and I apologize lol this wasnt really requested but was taken as such ily @apeachty this was sent before the event post but on the same day so im adding it to the tag anyways lol this is not proof read forgive me sweet angels ill fall on my sword for you.

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

You would have to spend over a month traveling together. Over a month of back and forth, car rides, flights, hotel rooms, runways, and photo shoots all while trying to deny dating rumors. The contract was easy enough, but the money earned was less impressive than the exposer. To be the face of a company for an entire season, tied to one of the biggest names in modeling history, not only the fashion house but the model himself who set trends and made people famous for one little interaction. It was a brand deal people dreamed of. 

The pen cleared the signature box faster than you ever thought you could sign your name. But then the nerves set in. It wasn't over doing your job, modeling, although hard, was now second nature. You worked well with almost every photographer you came across, following instructions without a fret, even when it came to runway you knew your walk was one companies begged to have on their sets. 

But it was him that left you questioning your abilities. He had been the only clause in the contract that made you second guess yourself. Yeonjun was well known not only in the modeling community itself but globally. His face was splashed across countless brands, ads, and billboards. You couldn't go a day without seeing him at least once on your timeline. Even at the grocery store, in line at the checkout, he looked back at you with his perfect pouty lips from the front of a magazine you could only dream of being on the cover of as often as he was. 

“You were specifically asked for,” your agent reminded you after you brought up the status difference. It wasn't as if you were not known, companies wanted you well enough that you wouldn't need the check from this single one month booking. It was the caliber at which he was held. “They want you and I wouldn't be the one to turn them away when this much press will be on you. Imagine the number of people calling to get one shoot in with you, he brings eyes,” 

It wasn't until your first photoshoot that you realized that he would be more of a pain in your ass than an inspiration. He was never mean, you would have to give him that. But it was his overwhelming kindness mixed with the teasing tone he always used on you that somehow pushed your buttons just right. It didn't help that the first time that you walked into the studio you were so shy, little smiles shared with your hands folded in front of you trying to wring out your anxiety. Yeonjun wasn't even on set yet, having shown up a few minutes later with his arms full of coffee, passing them out to each staff member, knowing them all by name. “It's nice to meet you finally. I didn't know what you would like but this is what I picked out for the little mouse,” 

“Little mouse?” it was the first thing you said to him, your head tilted just enough for him to take in the question and know the slip up of a nickname was going to stick especially when you couldn't get through the photoshoot without an apology. Shoulders stiff with his eyes on you, your nerves making you angry instead of anxious and it all had to do with the little grin set at the edge of yeonjun mouth. “I'll just step out,” and you hated how improved your film was from his absence, your heart calming down its rapt beading. 

Of course you got over it eventually, or at least the stiffness. You couldn't afford to be stiff when standing next to yeonjun who was naturally relaxed about everything. He would slink to his spot on set, lay his lazy gaze in your direction, and get all of his shots in the minimal amount of frames as if he was born to be in front of the camera. It was annoying. 

The two of you would be set up next to each other in hair and makeup, your bottom lip is finely brushed with the end of a glosses wand when he would lean on the back of your chair. His hands were always just hovering over your shoulders, never quite touching but enough to feel the heat from his palms, his head leaning next to yours looking back at you in the mirror, “You guys did such a good job, don't we just look like the perfect pair?” he would quirk an eyebrow at you, the two of you staring each other down while the staff agreed, but he was always waiting for your answer, “don't we little mouse?” 

“If you think so,” your response always made him chuckle as if you didn't see the way the media was talking about your contract together, as if you didn't feel the chemistry between the two of you. People were still talking about your first runway together, the closing of the show for one of the best collections put on display that week. 

The lead up was so chaotic, with dressing rooms stacked full of models and assistants, the floor a mess of people undressing and trying to make their quick changes as fast as they could before their names were called. Even yeonjun could feel the pressure in the room, the two of you in your designated corner stripping down back to back. 

The crowded space made everyone bump into each other. For the smallest second you were caught by the sight of him taking his shirt off, pulling it at the back of his collar showing the way his jeans hung so low on his hips that his happy trail was on display. You had turned, taking off your shirt, shoulder knocked by someone coming to do your hair, it made you stumble back into yeonjun, his hand right at the small of your back holding you upright as you fumbled with the zipper on your pants. “Careful,” he muttered, your heart in your ears as you kicked your shoes away from your space. 

The two of you were used to seeing each other in different versions of undress after all the photoshoots shared together. Comfortable enough now to be somewhat friends after all the car rides, the few interviews, and hours spent on a set together. It's what you accounted for as your key element to having such a good walk together on the runway. Every step matched, the energy vibrating off the two of you as if you had been a duo your whole life instead of just having been paired together less than a month ago. 

Even at the afterparty people swarmed you two, asking about your relationship as if they could sense the livewire of that conversation hanging around your heads. It was the first time you had ever seen him flustered enough to stutter over an answer. “I um- you never know,” 

The paparazzi loved the two of you, the crowd outside any event was packed full of them, their cameras following you around the city. The two of you always shared a car to your hotels, yeonjuns hand warm in yours leading you through the flash of every blinding light while you tried to shield your eyes. He would pull you in front of him when you finally reached the waiting car door, hand on your back gilding you in before climbing in after. 

Even shutting the door behind the two of you only muffled the sounds of their questions to a faint murmur. It isn't until the car pulls away from the venue that yeonjun speaks up. 

“You did well tonight, you looked…” 

“Good, I hope,” 

“You always look good, better than good, i was trying to come up with a different adjective,” it wasn't the first time he's complimented you, but it never stopped you from logging it away to giggle over it in private. “Sometimes I don't know what to say to you,” 

You chuckle, “I never took you as shy,” 

Strands of his hair hang in his eyes, head tilted just enough to catch what little light makes it in from the tinted windows, “no, not shy, just cautious,” 

“What, afraid you'll break me? Hurt my feelings? Or maybe my ego will get too big,” 

He lets out a soft breathy laugh, the sound taking up the space in the backseat. You loved the way his chuckles went down your spine, like a caress of his fingers on the skin you wished he touched. “You’d let me get close enough to break you?” 

“I don't think you could,” it's a light jab and yet it sets everything off kelter. The car ride charged with an energy you couldn't get back into its box. Now opened, the two of you looked back at each other as if you hadn't felt this pot simmering over. 

His eyes flickered down to your mouth, his tongue running over his bottom lip before he shrugged, “Okay,” he loved that you wanted to play this game with him, as if you hadn't always been slowly picking away at the short wall between you two. It was inevitable that you would end up pressed up against the mirrored walls in the elevator up to your hotel floor. 

He wasn't even going to do anything, he was going to let you go to your room while he mulled over your conversation, picturing exactly what he wanted to do to you. But then you leaned back against those mirrors, your body reflected around him as the doors slid closed behind him. Your eyes traced the line of him, lashes hooded just enough for you to look through, like a siren on the rocks, beckoning him closer. You didn't stop him when he cupped your jaw, thumb running over your bottom lip, nose dipping to yours. Even when he gave you enough time to pull away, lips ghosting over yours when he asked, “You'll be good for me, won't you?” 

Your answer is hummed right into his mouth when he kisses you, devouring you, pushing you into the corner giving you nowhere to go. His body is hot against yours, cageing you in as he kisses down your jaw, sloppy wet spots cooling in the air as he nips at your neck. “God, imagine them having to cover up all the marks I leave on you during tomorrow's shoot,” his hand is heavy on your hip, dragging down you cup your cunt over your jeans, “Everyone is going to know I fucking ruined this pussy for anyone but me,” 

Your whimper is eaten by the sound of the doors opening behind him, your tight grip on his shirt not loosening when he drags you out after him. He pushes you to his bed when you get past the threshold of his door. His slow walk to the nightstand to flick on the light gives you enough time to think about exactly what's happening. 

He loosens his tie, veiny hands curled around the fabric as he nods his chin in your direction, “Take your clothes off,” it was only a few hours ago when he saw you topless, and yet your fingers shake when you reach for your hem. “Don't be shy now little mouse, always all talk and no play,” 

The heat on your cheeks spreads to your ears at the nickname. Yeonjun takes to matching your state of undress by tossing his tie next to you before unbuttoning his shirt, the outline of him in his pants is mouthwatering. He watches the way you try to speak, hands twisting in the duvet not realizing he's come up so close to you before he's hooked his hand on your chin, tilting your head up before slipping his thumb into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue. He swirls the digit around, grinning at how willing you are to follow his command even without words, “one day ill fuck this pretty mouth, but for now, I need you on your hands and knees for me,” he shoves your face away, putting his slick finger in his mouth to taste you. 

Turning around and having him at your back is both chilling and exhilarating, not knowing when he's going to touch you until his hands are sliding up your back, unhooking your bra, and letting it fall off of you. He lets his hand press between your shoulder blades, pushing down hard enough for your arms to give way beneath you, the side of your face pressed into the sheets. “Every photoshoot I kept thinking about what it would be like to finally get you into my bed, I kept thinking about how I would finally fuck you, how exactly I could use your body,” 

His hands slide down your arms, tugging them behind you until you whimper, the silky material of his tie sliding along your fingers as he wraps up your wrists to keep you in place. “And every time I just came right back to thinking about putting you just like this, fucking you dumb; using you like my perfect little toy,” 

With one hand holding your tied wrists his other slips down to tease you over your soaked panties, fingers following the lines of your cunt like he was made to map you out by touch. You can't even form words and he hasn't done anything, your pathetic little whimpers pushing him further and further. “So quiet now, I wonder if it's because someone's scared I'll break her?” 

“Please,” it's so soft you don't think he's even heard you, but he's aching for every little sound. 

“Please what? What do you want me to do?” he pushes your panties aside, grinning at how wet you've gotten over so little. Your hips push back into his hand, his fingers slipping into you just enough to prep you for the stretch of taking him. 

“Fuck me, break me, anything-” he's so quick to press his cock into you that you're gasping losing all thoughts. His fingers had done little to let you grasp the sheer size of him, even all your slick couldn't help that pleasure mixed with pain as his tip kissed your cervix. 

He doesn't even hold off from moving, not once he's finally felt your warm gummy walls sucking him, so perfect he doesn't know how he will ever stop from coming back to you. He keeps one hand on your hip, fingers digging into your flesh, the other wrapped around the slack of his tie, tugging your arms and using them as leverage to keep his harsh pace as he fucks into your greedy cunt. 

You feel so full, so completely stuffed that you're a mess of incoherent moans mixing with the slapping sounds of your connecting bodies. Yeonjun is mesmerized by the way your ass ripples with each slap of his hips; mesmerized by the way his cock is disappearing in and out of you. “So fucking perfect,” he's grunting, “I'm going to fill up and then eat my little mouse out until she screams, kiss your pussy better after taking me so well, does that sound good?” 

“Yes, god yes!” Your voice is muffled by the way you are pressed into the mattress, arms slightly numb as he pummels himself into you, thrusts getting sloppier with the build up of his orgasm. He tells himself that he will pull out but then he's cumming, body shuddering as you clench around him, his rumbling moans following the steady pulse of his leaking cock. 

When he pulls out of you he watches the way the dribbling cream coats your puffy lips. Untying your hands he lets you roll onto your back, slotting himself between your legs and attaching his mouth to your swollen clit. Your fingers still gaining feeling fall to his hair, pulling on the strands and he brings your orgasm back to the surface. The obscene sounds coming from his fingers trying to match his previous pace makes him chuckle, the feeling of his laugh vibrating against your clit. It takes little work for you to tumble into your orgasm when he curls his fingers just right, your body following every command he lays down. 

His hand is covered in your combined cum when he's done with you, the stickiness capturing both of your attention before he shoves them into your waiting mouth.

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[grimmsbride]

KINGDOM HEARTS [ daisuke / reader ]

sneaking contraband on the tulpar was totally worth it, especially when you got to share it with the person you’ve been pining for.

tags / pre-crash | reader & daisuke are the same age & she is also swansea’s intern (original i know). | not connected to the past daisuke fics | heavy mentions of weed but more specifically weed pens. i know it’s not accurate to the timeline nor the job, but if you’re looking for complete accuracy in a smutfic i don’t know what to tell you | weed sex | sloppy oral sex | fingering | daisuke is heavily ooc. this is done purposely given he’s literally smoking. if that’s an issue i’m sorry | soft-dom daisuke | hes very mouthy & kind of desperate | mutual pining | coworkers to more?.. | unrealistic descriptions of weed & sex | etc

notes / given it was mentioned daisuke liked to party back home (and also drink) i thought him smoking was right up his alley. also i feel like with weed or alcohol he definitely isn’t as insecure? idk how to word it but yeah that was my thought process. as always please excuse any typos & grammar mistakes

You never thought you would be ontop of a freighter, dedicating time to listening to some old man drone about machinery whilst in the middle of space. But alas, here you were; inside a ship known as the Tulpar, under the watchful gaze of Pony Express. You should be thankful, not everyone has the same opportunities as you. Back home, you could name quite a few people that would kill for your position.

You couldn’t resist your reluctance, though. Leaving everything behind for several months was more stressful than people believed. A constant routine, consistently having to be proper given this wasn’t home— it was work. Not having your usual comforts of tv, the outside, hell even your vibrator.

At least you remembered the most important thing of all— your weed pen.

It wasn’t a hard task, as you were given the most natural hiding place above the waist; and you were able to sneak extra cartridges between your clothes. A full-proof plan, really. The only issue was finding places to smoke it.

You couldn’t always hole up in your room, duties called after all. So usually you took a few hits in the bathroom, using the excuse of steam to mask the smoke. Or other times you would take a quick hit when the living room was free; the blown up screen a perfect trance for your little high.

No one seemed the wiser, not even your fellow intern; Daisuke, someone you’ve grown to enjoy being around. Despite being the same age you simply weren’t so sure he would be into that type of thing. He looked far too.. innocent. Surely an annoying term to use for a grown man, but still— what else could you say?

Like any other day it was packed with chores, tasks stacking on-top of each other with no end in sight. You tried to be as friendly as possible, but with your secret craving and exhaustion playing at the back of your mind you were sure you came off a little snappy at times.

You would apologize later, possibly blaming it on the stuffy feeling of the ship or worse — your period.

Either way, much to your pleasure, the day had ended; leaving you in the comfort of your bedroom. Sitting on-top of the plush sheets you leaned over to sift through your nightstand, fingers soon coming into contact with a slender, metallic piece. You rose, bringing your pen with you and looking at the contraption with such love.

Your last piece of sanity. As dramatic as it seemed.

Routinely you brought the mouthpiece to your lips, forming around it and taking a slow hit whilst your thumb pressed against the button. Pulling it away, you allowed the smoke to sit— eyes closing to really take it in.

So focused on your relaxation you hadn’t even realized footsteps were approaching your bedroom until it was too late.

“Hey [Name] you wanna play this board game? Anya do—“ The door was opening before you could even respond, causing panic to rush towards your chest. In the midst you began to cough, throat straining as ugly wails escaped; struggling to catch your breath.

Through a blurry gaze, your eyes landed on the culprit of your chaos; spotting Daisuke glancing at you oddly for a moment.

“Are you uh… Do I smell weed?”

“No!”

You managed to let out, followed by wet gasps. Very, very convincing. Your attention turned to the water bottle on-top of your nightstand, snatching it quickly and taking a swig. The cool liquid soothed your throat just a bit, allowing you to relax from the attack.

Slowly you calmed down, taking a deep breath and releasing; all under the gaze of Daisuke, who sported a small grin.

“I know what weed smells like [Name]. And how weed coughs sound.”

You slowly set your water bottle back down, eyes taking the other in with a harsh squint. For a moment the two of you stared at each other silently before you sucked your teeth, letting out a whisper-yell of close the door!

Daisuke was quick to listen, shutting the door closed and crossing your bedroom in record time. He found a spot on the edge of your bed, watching in awe as you pulled a thin device from underneath your sheets. He giggled gently, as if already riding the cloud; leaning his head onto his shoulder.

“How did you even sneak that in?”

“I have my ways Daisuke.” You winked, attention turning to your beloved weed pen. It was a simple white color with a pink rim around the actual button. Small but deadly, given the amount that was inside the device. Plus it didn’t help you had switched cartridges recently.

Your focus then turned to the man, “Wanna hit?”

Daisuke’s eyebrows rose, a nervous laugh escaping him before nodding.

“Hell yeah.”

He leaned over, grasping the pen from your fingers delicately and glancing at it. The intern spun it between his fingers for a moment, gaze turning back to you the moment you spoke;

“You know how to take it, right? Don’t waste my weed.”

“Watch..,” Daisuke brought the piece up to his mouth, lips wrapping around it gently as his thumb pressed against the circular button. With ease he was breathing it in, pulling the pen back— holding the smoke for a moment, before releasing it.

“..— See? I know what I’m doing.”

He certainly does.. You thought to yourself, suddenly growing a bit hot. You sat up, legs crossing as you reached for your pen.

“I’m impressed, didn’t take you for a smoker.”

Daisuke shrugged, a lazy smile on his face as he laid across your bed. His elbow dug into the plush mattress, a soft cheek resting to his palm.

“I only did it recreationally, at parties and stuff.”

You hummed in response, slightly entertained by the reveal of such information. Daisuke had subtly mentioned before his activities but you didn’t always believe him. He just didn’t seem like the type. More like a little fawn desperate to gain the approval of his superior, not some party animal. But, looks were deceiving after all.

Especially when said fawn was hitting your pen way better than you did.

You pressed your lips to the pen, tapping it there for a moment before a question crept from your throat;

“You know any tricks?”

Daisuke pursed his lips a bit, slowly shaking his head. You were quick to smile, bringing your finger up.

“I know this one, watch.”

With that you were taking a hit, bringing the pen down to your lap. Daisuke focused on you, watching intently as you.. mouthed? He hadn’t a clue what you were attempting to do, nor was he sure you did either— given you suddenly pushed the smoke from your mouth, quick coughs escaping you.

The man was quick to laugh, grinning ear to ear as a flush of red spread across tanned skin. You struggled for breath, little tears threatening to spill as you held your finger back up.

“I got it, I got it!”

You were desperate to show off, even if it risked getting far too high. You lifted the pen back up, taking another strong hit before dropping it back to your lap. You started off strong, breathing the smoke in— struggling not to giggle when you heard Daisuke small sounds of encouragement.

Yet as strong as you started you failed all the same, doubling over to cough into your blankets; cheeks hot the moment you noticed Daisuke practically falling off your bed with laughter.

“How were you worried about me wasting it?”

“Shut up!” You huffed, though snorting. You could nearly curse yourself for not sharing your little secret sooner. As much as smoking was a delight, it was even better doing it with someone else. Especially someone as fun as Daisuke.

You slowly rose from your position, taking deep breaths to relax as you glanced at the man who was currently doing the same.

“Okay, so.. I don’t know a trick.”

Daisuke gave a really? expression, quickly raising his hands when you tossed a pillow in his direction. Pulling the plush item down to his lap with a playful huff, the man watched as you lifted the pen again.

“But.. I do know this one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

You gave a playful smile, “Shotgunning. You know, passing smoke back and forth.”

His shoulders seemed to straighten, sitting up tall and laying his hands onto the pillow in his lap. An unreadable expression crossed his features, hands crossing to allow his fingers to glide across his silver rings.

“I know what that is.”

Your eyebrow rose, though silently taking in the information. Whether a buzz of jealousy or excitement trickled down your spine, you will never known; as it was quickly washed away with warmth. One such sensation that collected at the pit of your stomach the moment Daisuke reached over for the pen.

“It’ll be better if I do it first.”

The man softly explained, to your puzzled expression. You slowly nodded in turn, watching as he brought the pen to his mouth. A single moment passed before he even took a hit, maybe allowing you time to back out. But you didn’t, watching intently as the man sucked in the smoke— eyes flicking to you with slightly puffed cheeks.

That was your cue. You shuffled from your spot at the head of your bed, coming close enough that your knees were practically touching. You pressed down on the bed to steady yourself, lips parting carefully. Daisuke drew closer, just a breaths away, yet lips not touching. His eyes glanced from your own to your lips, a soft grumble of disapproval rolling at the back of his throat.

Before you could think you felt his fingers tracing your chin, a thumb pressing against the space.

“Like this..” He said rather tight lipped, widening your mouth carefully. Once satisfied Daisuke blew the smoke from his mouth to your own, watching as the white cloud rolled in flowing tendrils, filling your senses the moment it made contact.

You sucked it in, shivering at the sensation and rather heated exchange. You’ve always imagined shotgunning to be rather.. intimate. You were sharing smoke with someone, after all. But, intimate just didn’t seem like a fitting word. At all. This was something beyond it, completely.

As the moment the smoke was touching your tongue, it was as if you could spot Daisuke’s thoughts sprawled across his forehead. Never mind the way those pretty, almond— slowly reddening eyes took you in far too intently.

You backed away a little, releasing a heavy breath straight from your chest. You glanced down before allowing your gaze to land upon the other intern, spotting his eyes already fixated upon you.

“You wanna go again?”

You tried not to nod so excitedly, but with the smoke clouding your focus and the absolute want running through your body— you were sure you looked like an idiotic bobble head. Daisuke either was too high to notice or decided against it anyway, as he was passing your pen back in record time, sitting up and watching.

You took the pen, mirroring his previous movements. Allowing the pen to fall in your lap after, you leaned a bit closer— just as Daisuke did the same. Only this time it was far too close. Your lips briefly touched, only for a moment almost unrecognizable. Yet, you both knew the other felt it.

You decided to ignore it. It meant nothing, right? Simply an accident bound to happen.

You parted your lips, a soft sound escaping as you blew the smoke into his mouth, watching Daisuke consume it eagerly. Sucking up each puffy white cloud under your watchful gaze, he allowed it to dance upon his tongue for a moment before blowing it right back into your mouth.

Just as he closed the distance between the two of you.

You groaned softly, eyes pinched closed as the high of the weed and his lips ran through your entire body. You felt it all the way from your head, to your toes; nerves on fire, as if ready to burst. You were quick to grab him, needing an anchor as the bold kiss quickly muddled your brain. Your fingers curled into his half-dyed hair, twirling soft tresses between the digits and tugging.

Daisuke whimpered right into your mouth, a sound that caused your legs to squeeze and eyebrows to furrow. You felt him moving for a moment before his hands were tracing your body; one finding your waist while the other gently grasped the back of your neck. There, with a tiny push, the man deepened the kiss— tugging you even closer by the waist.

Your arms stretched out, linking around his neck and meeting his eagerness wholeheartedly. You were pleasantly surprised by the sudden 180 of his personality. You especially didn’t take such a clueless, seemingly naive man to be such a good kisser.

But here you were, under his mercy— barely able to keep up with the sloppy lip locking. And with each squeeze of your waist, your mind was spiraling further and further. Again, you could only curse yourself for withholding the weed for this long.

“Wa..wanna touch you..” The words were pushed against your lips so messily you nearly hadn’t heard. Except, they fell from Daisuke’s mouth again; only this time not as muffled given he was pulling away from your lips. His forehead pressed against your own, alternating squeezes on your neck and waist, heavy breaths causing his chest to rise and fall.

“You wanna touch me?”

“So..so bad. I have for a while.” The words came out in drawl as if he was drunk rather than high, red eyes lifting from your lap to your own. “Please, let me?”

He was so desperate, Daisuke’s usual personality peeking through his high facade. The only thing missing was his hands clasped together and whimpers. It was a sight you enjoyed, devouring it greedily with your eyes.

Instead of speaking you slammed your lips back to his own, hands reaching to find his wrists. Once doing so you made his hands drag from your shoulders, down your tummy, hips, and thighs— back and forth, back and forth.. teasing him. It seemed to work as the kiss got even more desperate, his fingers twitching under your hold.

And the moment you released his wrists, Daisuke was all over you— only this time he had full control. The man made quick work of fitting his fingers underneath the shirt you wore, warm digits spanning across your soft stomach. They then rose, flinching the moment they came into contact with your naked breasts— yet eagerly grasping them; cold silver rings digging into your hot flesh.

You sighed into his mouth, grasping his arms and slowly lowering yourself onto your back, pulling him on-top of you. Little sparks of pleasure danced down your spine as he squeezed your breasts, pushing up your shirt to reveal your chest to the muddy air.

The two of you parted, a sticky string connecting your bottom lips together— which broke the moment his head lowered, lips finding a breast. A sloppy kiss was stamped right against your nipple, the swollen bud soon being enveloped by his warm mouth. You stifled a sweet moan, hands finding its place back in his hair, tugging as his tongue swept and circled your areola.

You felt spit trickle at the corner of his mouth from all the attention, sucks only becoming more ferocious as time passed. Caught up in the pleasure you hadn’t realized a hand was descending down your body, not until two fingers were tugging your pants enough that his hand fit through.

Daisuke’s fingers spread across your clothed cunt, finding the edge of your panties and tugging it to the side. There, he was free to spread you, revealing your sopping bud to his finger. He dragged his digit up and down for a moment before running little circles onto your clit.

“Dai..daisuke..—“ You whined softly, nails dragging against his scalp as your thighs twitched. “T—take my pants off, please!”

The man smiled right against your chest, though obliged and with your help, pushed your pants and underwear off your body and down to the bottom of the bed. Now free your legs were spreading easily, hissing as his thumb dragged across your clit whilst another digit circled your wet hole.

Daisuke lifted from your chest, watching with reddened eyes as his finger sunk in all the way to the knuckle. Your walls were warm, enveloping and sucking him in greedily. With each breath you were squeezing, making it just a bit hard for him to move. But, Daisuke didn’t plan to give up now, seeing as — with some effort — he was curling the finger, eyes flicking to your face the moment the prettiest moan fell from your lips.

“That felt good..?” The words fell out as a question more to himself rather than you and instead of waiting, the man repeated his action; only this time a little more confident. And once he received the reaction he was looking for — another breathy moan — Daisuke was more than happy to continue.

Your gasps quickly mixed in with the sounds of your wetness, spongy sounds that echoed with each push of his finger. Curling and fingering, you groaned the moment another digit crept, scissoring inside you. Your thighs were closing at this point, getting overwhelmed with pleasure. You’ve touched yourself while high and as fun as it was, this experience was completely different.

You were sensitive, every sensation on hundred with no chance of coming down. Daisuke’s only been playing with you for a moment and already you felt that familiar band deep in your stomach.

In the midst of your pleasure you hadn’t even realized your thighs were nearly shut until Daisuke quickly slid his free hand to your thigh, pushing and spreading you open.

“I wanna see.”

He said far too calmly, eyes flicking from your face and back to your pretty cunt. Daisuke couldn’t helped but be entranced, watching his fingers disappear and reappear, coated in your arousal. The man swore under his breath, nails dragging against your thigh. He wondered if.. you would let him get a taste? The thought alone nearly made him come in his pants, eating you out just seemed like the second best thing to sharing that weed with you.

Without thinking Daisuke’s face was lowering to your cunt, mouth parted as bated breath fanned against your slick slit. With no warning his tongue was stretching, licking at your bud— quickly glancing at your face for a reaction. He was pleased to see your glossy red eyes and swollen lips open as a pretty gasp escaped your throat. Your fingers tugged at his hair so desperately, back arching as the man’s tongue swiped against you once again— only dragging the thick muscle, allowing you to feel its entire length.

“Please, please..!” You hadn’t a clue why you were pleading, but it seemed Daisuke did— given he repeated that action once more, circling the tip of his tongue along your clit. Little tears threatened to spill from your eyes, hips lifting and grinding into his face; which only resulted in an encouraging squeeze on your thigh.

Moments of this intense pleasure passed before you were practically sitting up, struggling to stifle the harsh moan that escaped you. With a squeeze around his fingers you were coming undone, coating his face with your mess. Daisuke was far too happy to lap you up, cleaning you throughly and refusing to waste a single drop.

Eventually you had to push at his forehead to get him away, groaning as the sensitivity playing at your aching cunt. Reluctantly the man pulled away, pulling his fingers from within you and rubbing his hand across your thigh— soothing you.

“Hopefully you didn’t wake the others.” Daisuke hummed with a small grin, chuckling at the frown you sent his way. He moved to hover above you, leaning onto his forearm and planting a wet kiss to your lips. You mewled from your own taste; hands trailing to tickle the back of his neck.

“We should have done this a long time ago..”

You murmured softly, hearing his own grumble of approval. The kiss continued until you pulled away, hands trekking down to cover his cheeks.

“Daisuke.. as much as I want to continue.. I’m really, really hungry.”

Taking your words in for a moment, the man couldn’t help but release a short laugh, patting the side of your thigh as he sat up from his hovering.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

With that promise, Daisuke was adjusting his clothes before waltzing towards your bedroom door, opening and exiting — probably off to snatch something from the Tulpar’s kitchen.

You certainly hopped no one was awake to notice his red eyes and extremely wet face.

[areyouwell]

Nyctophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of the dark. Children or adults may have Nyctophobia if they are afraid to be left alone in darkness

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: None as of yet, but we'll get there ;)

Word count: 9.2k

A/N: RIGHT FUCKERS ITS TIME. i don't think i've written a fic this long in goddamn years but here we are. DEFO ooc Logan and also timeline what timeline? Kitty is older than the rest of the students cuz i love her and i said so. reader's mutation is currently shadow-walking but that'll develop as we go on so slay boots. also I have no concept of word limits sooooo 9k chapter let's fucking go

How long had it been? Six months? A year? Two years? Honestly, you couldn’t recall. It felt like it had been forever since ol’ Charlie had sent you travelling the continent. Sure, it had been your idea to try and find mutants before they experience the most traumatic event of their lives, but you didn’t think he’d send you, and certainly not immediately. Though you were glad he did, you didn’t think Scott would make as good an impression as you could.

But, now you were back. Thank fuck. You could finally rest your weary legs and put down your heavy-as-shit bag. And at least now you could work on developing your mutation. Shadow walking. Or at least, it is now. You thought that was the extent of what you could do, just disappear and reappear whenever and wherever there happened to be a shadow cast on the ground. Or on a wall. Or anywhere really. But, Xavier had gently suggested that, perhaps, those shadows could be manipulated one way or another. You wished to fuck you knew how because your bag was all but cutting right through your shoulder.

Your boots crunched against the gravel as you took a deep breath, making your way inside. It was nice to notice nothing had changed. The lawn was still neatly mowed, brickwork hadn’t aged a day. It smelt like comfort. It smelt like home. But before you could even knock on the door, at least being courteous enough not to slip through the shadows, the oak burst open and two unidentified arms had wrapped themselves around your neck in one of the most warming hugs you’d ever received, accompanied by a high pitch squeal.

You knew instantly who that would be. Brown hair spilled across her shoulders, smelling faintly of lavender. “Hey Kitty,” you grinned, dropping your bag to return her tight embrace. It truly did feel like forever.

“I’m so happy to see you it’s been years! We thought you were never coming back! Scott thought you’d died and Charles wasn’t telling us, Logan didn’t think you even existed and that we were all lying, Jean thought you’d just got sick of this place and dipped, it was carnage!” She rambled, her deep brown eyes sparkling slightly. You had to take a minute to actually comprehend what the fuck she was saying before your lips split into a broad smile.

“Well, I can tell you that I’m not dead, at least not yet, and I do very much exist and I am not sick of this place despite what Jean may think. And– wait who’s Logan?” Your brain had only just caught up with the fact that Kit had mentioned a name completely unfamiliar to you. Just how long had you been gone?

“Oh, right yeah. A new teacher,” Kitty kept one arm around your shoulder as she guided you back inside, stopping only when you realised your bag was still left discarded by the front door. “He uh, sorta took your position as PE and combat professor… sorry.” She looked genuinely apologetic, whilst internally, you couldn’t be more grateful. You always thought you weren’t ever cut out to teach, and whilst you sometimes enjoyed it, you were always too worried about the kids being hurt. 

“I’m hurt, a girl’s gone for a year or two and you replace her? What kind of school is this?” you cracked a smile, Kitty’s face morphing from remorse to relief. She really thought you’d be upset? You were touched. “Anyway, what time is it? Where is everyone? I thought classes stopped at–” You were cut off abruptly upon entering the lounge.

“Welcome back!” you covered your face at the chorus of voices, laughing behind your hands before clutching your heart dramatically. 

“Christ! You’ve all just knocked five years off my life!” you grinned, faces both familiar and unfamiliar laughing and smiling just to see you.

“They’ve been looking forward to this for days. Ever since rumour of your return started circulating, they’ve been pestering us nonstop for a date. Eventually, someone caved,” You didn’t need to see Scott’s eyes in order to know he was giving Kitty a pointed look behind his glasses. You looked back to see her looking sheepish.

“Yeah well… they can be really persuasive.” She shrugged, taking your bag off your shoulder and placing it out of the way. You sighed at the loss of weight, rolling your joint slightly. 

“It’s good to see you,” Scott pulled you in for a brief hug, clapping your back once before pulling back, letting the rest of your friends and pupils make their way over. You were consumed by various arms of embraces, questions about your travels, introductions to new students, reminiscing with old students. It was quite possibly the best moment you’d had since you left. But a face caught your eye at the back of the crowd. A young girl, with the same dark brown hair you remember, only now a streak of brilliant white framed her face.

You made your way over, shuffling through the crowd, clasping hands and shoulders with people you knew before finally getting to her.

“Hey you,” you smiled gently, remembering how timid and easy to scare she used to be. You were caught off guard completely by her sudden bright smile. 

“Hey.”

“How long’ve you been here? I didn’t actually think you’d listen to me to be brutally honest with you, thought you’d just shrug it off and continue your own path,” you were relieved to see she had listened to what you’d said two years ago. You’d urged her down this path, to find the school. You’d already known Charles would take her, it was just a matter of her taking herself here.

“Uh… about that…” you’d only seen a smile that sheepish on Kitty. You cocked a brow, head tilting to the side slightly before a hand on your shoulder caused you to whirl. But it was just Ororo. Clearly, your travels had affected you more than you originally thought. 

But Storm wasn’t looking at you, you could only see the back of her white hair as she frantically waved at someone through the crowd, beckoning them over.

“Logan!”

Ah, you guess that made sense now.

Whoever you’d expected to walk through the crowd, you threw that image out your mental window the moment you saw him. 

Now you understood why he taught combat and PE… he was fucking ripped. White t-shirt leaving nothing to the imagination. The facial hair was an interesting choice, but you couldn’t say it didn’t suit him. He was very… rugged lumberjack looking.

You placed a hand on your hip, brows raised in intrigue as he made his way over. You don’t think you’d ever seen a grumpier-looking man. 

“Logan, this is Phantom,” your eyes slid to Ororo as she used your mutant name. 

“Ah, so you do exist,” his voice seemed a perfect match for the rest of him, just as rough and rugged as the worn jeans he was wearing. You nodded, mouth quirking into a small smirk.

“Heard there was some debate over that, glad I could put it to rest,” you outstretched your hand for him to shake, something you were surprised he actually did, calloused palm encasing your own.

“Can ya blame me?” He asked with a raised brow, dropping your hand after a beat too long. Clearly unaccustomed to civility, judging from his appearance. 

“Guess not. You’re also the son-of-a-bitch that stole my position, right?” You asked, wanting to be a lot more serious than you actually were being, but for some reason, you couldn’t help grinning slightly. 

“Language!” Storm elbowed you slightly. Guess you’d forgotten how to behave around the kids too.

Logan held his hands up in surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t think you existed,” though he also seemed serious, you thought you could detect something that could be perceived as humour in his hazel eyes. You couldn’t keep up your poorly constructed façade anymore, waving your hand as if to physically clear the air between the two of you.

“I’m kidding, you can keep it. In all honesty, I was never really cut out for it.” You shrugged. “Besides, I’m–”

“She’s being super modest by the way, she rocked as that professor!” Kitty called from the other side of the room, somehow managing to listen to your conversation. You didn’t know how, since the entire welcome party was still chatting way, but you cast her a withering look nonetheless. 

“So I’ve heard,” Logan’s eyes slid from Kitty back to you as you scoffed.

“Though, of course, it was purely hypothetical, since I didn’t exist and all.” You teased, gesturing to your very much existing self. You silently triumphed over the fact you managed to drag a small smile out of him, realising that making this man pull any other expression other than irritation was something to be proud of. 

You hadn’t realised how completely caught up in the introduction you’d been before you noticed the girl still standing next to you, eyes flicking between you and Logan with a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. 

“Anyway,” you continued pointedly, “you were saying? So you didn’t come to find this place?” your head tilted again slightly in confusion. “How did you end up here?”

Rogue looked from you to Logan, who’s eyes were still trained on you. You looked between them. “Nope, still confused. How did…?” 

“Well, after you found me, I did carry on my own path, which led me to some shady bar where Logan found me,” she explained quietly.

“More you found me but sure.” He shrugged. You could tell there was some kind of bond between them, one you could recognise was only built through trauma. You’d heard a little of what happened with Eric through Charles’ telepathic link, but he always reassured you to continue what you were doing. But you often wondered what could have happened if you’d returned. 

“So, you brought her here?” You asked, trying to prompt the story forward. Honestly, you wanted to know how he’d succeeded where you’d failed. You could be incredibly persuasive when you wanted to be, but Rogue was stubborn on another level. 

“Me? Nah, didn’t know this place existed at that point.”

“Seems to be a common theme with you,” you couldn’t help the subtle teasing grin spreading across your face, nor your laugh as he rolled his eyes skyward.

“Never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Not whilst I’m still breathing,” you winked, before turning your attention back to Rogue and completely missing the way his features shuddered slightly. “So how’d you get here if tall, dark, and broody over here didn’t know about this?” 

“Tall, dark, and– what?” He asked, bewildered.

Ororo snorted in amusement, before stepping in. “That would be us. We’d been tracking another mutant, Sabretooth, and he just so happened to be tracking Logan, or so we thought at the time. We found Sabretooth, and these two at the same time. Brought them both back.” 

You nodded in understanding, now finally having got through the whole story. Well, maybe not the whole story, you knew there were details you definitely were missing, but at least you got the jist.

“I see. Glad it wasn’t my lack of persuasive skills then. Though I guess a life or death situation isn’t much better. How’s your mutation coming along?” you asked, only now noticing the black, elbow-length gloves she was wearing. Ah.

“Still hard to control, but I’m getting better at it!” She looked genuinely enthusiastic about her mutation, so much so that it almost brought a tear to your eye. When you’d met her two years ago, you didn’t know if she even wanted help. She’d been so lost in her despair and self-loathing that you didn’t think she had long left with the way her mental health was going. So to see her so happy, your throat closed up slightly.

“I’m glad, I really am. You deserve this, Rogue. All of this,” you gestured to the room around, to the friends she’d made, to the haven she’d found.

“Oh, my name’s Marie. Guess I didn’t tell you before.” She shrugged, and you had to laugh to stop yourself from crying. 

“Marie it is.” Her story touched your heart, and to see she managed to get her happy ending… fuck you were so close to crying. You had to change the subject before you broke down in front of these people. “Oh hey, is my room still the same? Wouldn’t mind freshening up a little, been a long journey.” Two birds with one stone. You could leave the situation and cry in your bathroom whilst taking a shower so you didn’t smell like the wrong end of a skunk. Perfect!

“Uh…” Storm started.

“About that…” Kitty continued, coming over to stand alongside Storm. You looked between them, before shooting a glance to Logan who seemed to be showing absolutely no remorse.

“Your bed’s real comfy, bub” he smirked, and you gaped.

“You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Language!” both Ororo and Kitty said at the same time, and you winced.

“Fuck, sorry. Shit! Argh!” you gave up, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m not letting any of you off the hook. This is betrayal at its finest! Giving him my position I can handle, but my damn room? That’s shocking behaviour from the both of you!” You pointed at them accusingly, shooting a glare to the man next to you who was doing nothing but lowly chuckling. You breathe out a sigh. You had the best room in the whole mansion. Or at least you did, before Muscles McGee stole it from you.

“Don’t blame those two” Jean placed a calming hand on your shoulder. “we didn’t have another room made up when these two arrived. It was supposed to be temporary, but–”

“The view was too nice to pass up on,” Logan interjected. You realised he probably thought it was his turn to tease you. You knew that view was nice, it was overlooking the entire grounds behind the school. And whilst you were going to sorely miss it, you weren’t so heartless that you’d take it back from him. Besides, in a weird way, you felt like you owed him. He found Marie, and whatever transpired between them, she seemed happier now. You guessed you maybe had him to thank for that.

“Yeah yeah, alright fine. I concede. Where am I then?” you asked Jean, who broke into a broad smile.

“You’re in the one above, still got the same view, don’t worry,” she elbowed you slightly. That wasn’t so bad actually. Same view, same side of the mansion, just one story up? You breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, you could do that.

“Good enough, I’m still mad about it though.” Your eyes narrowed at four of them, Logan included, before cracking your neck in preparation to take your bag all the way up the stairs.

Kitty clapped her hands excitedly, and you raised a brow in suspicion. “What’s got you so giddy?” you asked as she once again slid her arm across your shoulders, guiding you back towards the door. 

“Oh nothing, just glad you're home. It’s been kinda boring without you.” You laughed at that. With everything that’s been going on, you didn’t think any of them had time to be bored. But you appreciated the thought nonetheless. 

Eyeing your bag on the ground, there were times when you really wished your mutation involved some kind of super strength, because as happy as you were to be home and have a room just above your old one, you really didn’t want to lug that thing all the way up. And all the damn lights were on, so slipping up through the shadows was a no-go. You blew out a breath in preparation, rolling your shoulder once again, before you were stopped by a broad hand landing on your arm.

“I got it,” Logan’s voice weaved butterflies through your stomach. You hadn’t realised he was behind you before he was leaning down next to you and effortlessly slinging the bag over his own shoulder.

For the second time that afternoon, you gaped up at him, left almost speechless. 

“Super strength?” Was all you could say, hoping to Jesus he knew what you were asking. You watched his features morph from confusion to amusement as he shook his head slightly. 

“Nah, not quite.”

“Then how the fu–” you were reminded of the children present by a sharp elbow to the ribs from Kitty. “–uuun. How fun.” you gave up on your question, much to his mirth. The sight had your brain short-circuiting. You wouldn’t deny he was good-looking. You’d be fucking crazy to deny that. But there was something else hidden under all those knowing smirks and sharp glances. Something that you wouldn’t mind uncovering. 

Deciding that was a quest for another day, you turned abruptly on your heel, making your way to the staircase before once again stopping in your tracks. This was starting to get on your nerves a little. However, any irritation soon died as you finally saw Professor Xavier.

“Ah, I wondered whether the commotion was your return.”

You snorted a laugh. “No, you didn’t. You absolutely knew it was my return.” You quipped back, earning yourself a laugh from the man.

“As quick as ever. And I see you’ve met our Wolverine.” Charles nodded to Logan next to you, and you turned to him in bemusement. 

“Wolverine? Seriously?” you asked, laughing at his shrug. “Can’t think why…” your sarcastic jab paired with your pointed looks from his hair to his body brought another amused smirk from the man. 

“I thought you two would get along. Get yourself settled back in and meet me in my office and your earliest convenience.” You nodded back to Xavier, unable to take a moment to process what he meant when he said he thought you and Logan would get along before Kitty began dragging you towards the stairs.

“C’mon! You’re gonna love it!”You were slightly worried about what it was but followed her nonetheless.

Logan had to admit, he didn’t mind carrying your bag up four flights of stairs. It wasn’t the worst way to spend his afternoon. And as much as he wasn’t the kind of guy to stare at a woman’s ass, he wasn’t mad that he was behind you. 

Everything he’d been told about you had been proven correct. At least, everything he’d seen so far. Whether or not you could hold yourself in a fight was up for debate, but everything else, your wit, your charm, heartbreaking kindness, humour… it was all right there in front of him. 

Literally.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d had to bite back a smile or a laugh, stunned by the fact that you actually managed to break through and pull both from him. Even now, as you paused before the landing that lead to your old room and sighed wistfully, had had to stop himself grinning. And he was glad you turned back around quickly after throwing him a pointed glare over your shoulder because that was another smile he was struggling to rein in. Fuck, how did you do it? He’d only known you for half an hour and he’d displayed more expression than he had in his whole two years of being here. 

He was in huge trouble. 

The stairs finally flattened out to the top floor landing, Kitty still leading the way down the corridor until the final room. It was isolated, like his one floor below, and he guessed you must like it that way. Which he thought strange. The way you were with others, he hadn’t exactly pegged you for being someone who liked her space. But then again, he’d only known you for thirty minutes.

He had to remind himself of that. 

“Here we are!” Kitty grinned excitedly, stepping to the side to let you open the door yourself. Logan knew what you’d find behind the wood. He’d helped set it up after all. Some twisted guilt forced him into helping. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

You eyed Kitty suspiciously, before twisting the handle on the door, pushing slightly to reveal what she was so excited about. 

If Logan was being honest, your expression was worth all the consuming guilt he’d felt by taking your room. A smile of pure, unadulterated awe wiped all thought from his mind, your eyes were practically glowing.

“You… Kitty, you didn’t need to do this,” You looked back to the giddy girl and pulled her into a tight hug. Everything you remembered was here. Your posters, fairy lights, and every single plant you’d nourished and grown made your room look like a rainforest. The light in the ceiling had been covered by patterns to ensure there was always shadows cast somewhere, whether it be floor, wall, or ceiling. 

“It wasn’t just me! I employed help,” Kitty smiled, taking the liberties she knew she had to sit cross-legged on your bed. “And others offered to help.”

Logan held his breath as he felt your attention shift from Kitty to him, meeting your gaze of sheer wonder. 

“You helped?” you asked, taking your bag from his shoulder, though he was almost too caught up in your gaze to notice.

“Here an’ there…” he muttered, trying to calm himself by leaning against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest, attempting to escape your eyes by looking around your room. 

“Here and there? That’s such a lie! He’d heard about your mutation, the shadow-casting thing was his idea!” Kitty grinned excitedly, and you all but choked on the realisation. He did this for you. He didn’t even know you, and he did this for you. 

“Kitty, that’s en–oof!” Logan barely had time to react before your arms were around his neck, your chin resting on his shoulder. Your scent hit him like a truck, and it was nothing like how he’d imagine it. Not that he had imagined it…

“Thank you,” you whispered earnestly, and any guard he’d put up previously melted away. He didn’t exactly return your embrace, but his hands somehow found your waist as you pulled back, keeping your arms across his shoulders. “Maybe I can forgive you for stealing my old room now. Oh! And my job. And not believing I exist,” your grin held more mischief than he ever thought possible, but now you were back to teasing, he felt his thoughts return. 

“Anythin’ else?” He asked, mirroring your expression.

“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something,” was it Logan’s sudden and overactive imagination, or did your eyes just flicker to his lips?

Was it the sudden physical contact that made your body hum this way, or was it just the fact that he could bench-press three of you? You didn’t care, and somehow, you didn’t think he did either. 

Until very suddenly and very abruptly, you did care. You stepped out of his hands far too quickly for his liking, your arms falling back by your sides. Though you didn’t look like you regretted anything. 

“I really appreciate this, from both of you. And whoever else helped. This is… well it’s better than what I was imagining,” you gestured to the room around you. It truly was perfect for you. They’d really outdone themselves. He’d really outdone himself. And you couldn’t help the warmth that spread from the centre of your chest to your limbs. You wanted to know more about him. “What’s your mutation, by the way? You never said,” you asked before you could stop yourself, and Logan blinked in surprise.

Holding his fist up, he flexed the tendons holding his claws. He no longer winced when his knuckles split. No longer grimaced as he sliced through his own flesh, though watching your face did cause him to worry just a little. 

You held your silence for a moment, not really knowing what to say. That looked painful as fuck, but you felt that asking might make it worse. “I see…” was all you said, before it hit you. “Wolverine! I get it now. It made sense before but now it actually fits!” You exclaimed, chuckling at his confusion. 

“Whaddya mean it made sense before?” 

“Don’t think too much into it,” you winked again, and Logan swore his heart stopped. 

“Yeah, alright Phantom.” He cocked a brow at the playful narrow of your eyes before you melted into the shadows right in front of him. He’d been made aware of your mutation, having overheard Jean using both you and Kitty as examples of phasing mutants, but to actually see it for himself? He couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed. He glanced around the room, retracting his claws as he looked for where you could have gone. 

“Get it now?”

Logan whipped around to see you standing behind him, arms folded across your chest, a mischievous grin plastered across your features. 

You always felt a sense of freedom when you released yourself into the shadows, like holding yourself in this corporeal state was somewhat of an effort. But letting yourself be free, to move like liquid amongst the darkness, it was like refueling a beaten truck. 

Logan’s lips quirked into a smile as he nodded once. “Got it,” the silence lingered once again, some kind of charge energy crackled in the space between the two of you before he cleared his throat. “Kitty, we should– the fuck?” 

You popped your head to the side, peering around Logan to see the space on your bed Kitty used to be sitting in was now completely empty. “Guess she left,” you shrugged. “Or she never existed.” That earned you a flick to the forehead from Logan, and you laughed, batting away his hand. How long had it been since you’d felt this comfortable with someone this quickly? Either it had been years, or never. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he smiled, this time completely unrestrained. And fuck was he gorgeous. But you had to remember this was a man you’d just met. 

He had to remember this was a woman he’d just met.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll uh, see you later?” You didn’t mean for your voice to sound so hopeful at the end, but honestly? It was worth seeing him turn back to you with that same smirk you’d seen countless times already.

“Sure.” He said, before closing the door. 

You sat heavily on your bed, your head in your hands. “What the fuck?” 

Little did you know, Logan was having a similar reaction right outside your door, his back against the wood as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What. The. Fuck?”

Having almost drowned yourself in the shower, using that shampoo you’d missed so dearly on your travels, you’d changed clothes into something a lot more comfortable, a loose pair of sweats and a spaghetti strap tank top, before heading down to Xavier’s office where he’d just spent the last ten minutes explaining his plans to further your mutation. And to be completely honest with yourself, you hadn’t listened to half of it. 

“So, in short, your ability, whilst appearing similar to Kitty’s, is actually entirely different. Where Kitty phases through objects, you become those shadows. Your molecules break down completely, unlike Miss Pryde.” He finished his explanation slowly, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him you had no idea what he’d just said. Luckily, when conversing with a telepath, you didn’t have to.

Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead slightly. “You’ve always said you felt a strain on yourself whilst corporeal, yes?” He asked, and you breathed in relief. Finally, a question you could answer.

“Yeah, it’s like I’m holding water with my bare hands. Or something like that,” you nodded, looking at yourself slightly curiously. “So, I’m not like Kitty?” you clarified, looking back up the the professor, who shook his head. 

“I’m afraid not. We were mistaken before, simply assuming you were just another phasing mutant. But Jean ran some tests on your blood, and it was quite remarkable.” You’d almost forgotten the woman was in the room until she cleared her throat, her red hair pulled up in a tight ponytail. 

“I think you describe it perfectly. Your molecules are being held together, more or less, by string, or so to speak. Not real string, but I think you understand.” You nodded. You actually did understand, because that’s how you constantly felt. It was, however, incredibly unnerving. What would happen if that string frayed? Or worse, fucking snapped altogether? Sensing your distress, Charles covered your hand with his own.

“My dear, that’s why we brought you back. We’ve been incredibly lucky so far, and clearly, you have an innate ability to control the string. It’s led us to believe that your abilities don’t stop at shadow walking.” He looked at you with understanding as you took this all in. He’d mentioned to you previously that he thinks you could do more. 

“Shadow manipulation, right?” You asked though the question was rhetorical. You knew that’s where they were going with this. Charles glanced at Jean who nodded in confirmation. 

“Essentially, yes. We think you could pull shadows from an already existing cast and wield them to your heart’s content. In… theory.” She hesitated, and you blew out a breath.

“But in practice?”

“In practice… honestly we don’t know. It will be a learning curve for all of us, to be blunt.” You nodded a little numbly. You’d only just returned and already you were being bombarded with hard truths. 

Once again sensing your distress, Charles cleared his throat. “Well, I think we should continue this discussion tomorrow. You’ve had a long day and perhaps right now isn’t the best time to be entertaining new ideas.” He threw another look to Jean and she nodded again, standing from her seat.

You couldn’t agree more. This was a lot to take in. Especially since you’d become so comfortable with your mutation, believing that you were just another phaser like Kitty. But now, you were something else completely, something unknown. Even to yourself. It… scared you. And you didn’t scare easily. Worry? Sure. Impending sense of dread? Absolutely. Fear? Never.

“Right. Thanks, Professor. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow then.” You dipped your head goodbye, before leaving his office and closing the door behind you. Tea. You needed tea. Fuck you needed something stronger than tea, but since this was a goddamn school, alcohol was strictly prohibited. 

Fuck’s sake. 

Dragging a hand down the side of your face, you absently made your way to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. Muscle memory guided you to the drinks cupboard, moving aside the jar of decaff coffee to reveal your personal stash of teabags. Whilst primarily you were a coffee drinker, when it was this late in the evening, you tended to steer clear of the caffeine. You weren’t the best at sleeping to begin with, let alone when your mind and body were buzzing. 

You didn’t turn when you heard footsteps behind you, and the scrape of one of the chairs against the wooden floor, too focussed on rifling through the cupboard adjacent to the drinks one for our favourite mug. A gift from Kitty, she’d had custom-made for the print on the side to say ‘Phasers Forever!’. It made you a little sad to think about now. But, thankfully you found it, nestled right at the back next to the mug you’d gifted her. Also custom-made, but this just had the image of two hands with their little fingers linked. You’d made sure the gloves matched the ones you both wore in your suits. 

Dropping the teabag into the mug, you instantly savoured the scented steam as you poured the hot water, even the aroma calming your slightly frayed nerves. Wow, that meeting had seriously rattled you. Looping the string and tag over the lip of the mug, you turned back to the room, only to almost drop your freshly made drink in surprise.

Logan. Hair slightly damp, in a white v-neck tank, sat at the far end of the table, leaning back in the chair with a bottle of what you could have sworn was larger in his bear paw of a hand. That same fucking smirk pulled at his lips. 

“Phantom.” He raised his bottle in greeting. You wished you could match his energy, but honestly, you were drained from the day and the meeting. But you tried nonetheless.

“Wolvie.” You smiled back, though you could feel it didn’t reach your eyes. And clearly, he noticed too, expression shifting from self-assured confidence to slight concern.

“You alright?” Logan had only known you for less than a day, and he already knew he really didn’t like seeing you despondent. 

“Yeah, fine.” It almost pained him physically seeing your eyes remain dull with your liar’s smile. That was something else he realised in that split second. 

He really didn’t like you lying to him.

“Uh huh?” Fuck, he definitely knew you were hiding everything. How the fuck could he possibly tell that? He didn’t even know you! You sighed heavily, hoping it would help your next half-truth.

“I’m just tired. Long day, lots of emotions. Are you hungry? I’m starved and was gonna make pasta if you wanted some,” You tried your best to steer the conversation away from how you were feeling. Once again it wasn’t exactly a lie. You were starving, having not eaten since this morning, and it was now ten in the evening. 

Logan knew you turned away quickly so you didn’t have to see his suspicion. If you weren’t ready to talk about whatever was bothering you, he knew he shouldn’t push. But, to his surprise, he found himself wanting to know. He wanted to know what was up, and maybe, just maybe, he could make you feel better. It seemed doubtful, but it was worth a shot. “How was your meeting with Charles?”

Your shoulders tensed, spine straightening. Gotcha.

“Yeah, fine. Just easing me back into life here basically. Nothing earthshattering.” Now that was a flat out lie, and once again you refused to turn around as you brought the kettle over to the tap, filling it to the max line before placing it back on the stand and flicking the switch. You found it easier to lie when you were busy doing something else and making pasta seemed perfect. Crouching to one of the lower cupboards, you pulled out the pack of wholewheat, refusing to eat any of the sugary white bullshit. Unfortunately, the one downside of busying yourself so remarkably well was that you weren’t always paying attention to what was going on around you.

For example, Logan walking up behind you to take the packet from your hand and place it on the counter. You turned, realising he’d given you minimal space to move. He was so close you could smell the gel he used in the shower. Woodsy and smoky, like a forest cabin. He smelt fucking great, but to be honest, you were too busy trying to avoid eye contact to care.

“S’that why you look like your pet just died?” You knew he was trying to be teasing, trying to lighten the mood, trying to create a comfortable environment for you to open up in, but you didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. With a deep breath, you stepped to the side and out of his reach, opening the fridge to look for something to make a nice creamy sauce with.

“Look, Logan. I appreciate it, and what you’re trying to do, but at the same time, I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. So, and I mean this with the utmost respect, fucking drop it. I’m tired and I have genuinely had a long day, what more do you want me to say?”

Logan blinked. And blinked again for good measure. He wasn’t expecting you to be so sharp. He didn’t know why he wasn’t expecting it, but you really took him by surprise. That seemed to be all you were doing since the moment he met you. Though this one stung a little more than he cared to admit. “That might’ve been the nicest fuck off I’ve ever heard. But it was still a fuck off.” He shrugged. He knew deep down you were right. You didn’t know each other, and maybe was was expecting a little too much from a three-hour friendship. If he could even call it that. 

“I didn’t mean–” You turned back from the fridge just in time to watch his disappearing form leave through the door, hearing his footsteps recede back up the stairs. You cursed inwardly, hating yourself for how you handled the situation. Though, looking at the pasta on the counter, you had an idea as to how to fix some of this. 

It had been roughly half an hour since he’d left you in the kitchen, recognising you needed space, and in all honesty? Retreating to lick his own wounds. He didn’t know why he wanted you to open up so badly. It wasn’t like he had a long-lasting friendship with you. He met you today, for fuck’s sake. Only hours ago. Shit, this morning he still didn’t think you existed! Logan groaned at the memory of you shutting him down, wishing he’d handled the situation differently, and stopped prodding when he knew he should have. Fuck!

He’d just managed to resolve to come and talk to you, before there was a thump at his bedroom door, followed by another. That wasn’t any kind of fist knocking… 

With deliberate caution, Logan stood from his bed, shining claws sliding through his knuckles as he approached the door, only for his nerves to be calmed when a familiar scent wafted through the cracks in the door. He didn’t dare get his hopes up until he turned the handle, pulling the door open to reveal you, stood before him, two steaming plates of pasta held impressively in one hand, and two bottles of larger in the other, your foot raised to kick the door a third time. 

“Before you slam the door, I brought peace pesto pasta, homemade so you know it’s good.” You were honestly surprised he opened the door, though you eyed his claws cautiously. Who did he think it was?

Logan noticed your line of sight, retracting his claws to cross his arms, a brow raised. “Peace pesto pasta?”

You nodded. “Homemade, don’t forget.” Logan smiled slightly at the hope in your eyes. “And also beer so you physically can’t turn me down.” You raised the two bottles in your hand, and he sighed as if you were a nuisance. Unfortunately for him, that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Homemade peace pesto, beer, and…?” 

You stuck your tongue in your cheek. “An apology.” You reluctantly admitted, looking anywhere but his face. “Can I come in or are you gonna stare at me all evening? These aren’t the most balanced plates, been a while since I was a waitress so…” you mumbled in explanation, earning yourself a quizzical look.

“You were a waitress?”

“Yes and it was a long time ago but we can talk all about it if I can set these down somewhere they won’t fall on your feet,” you said hurriedly, borderline pleading with your eyes for him to let you in. It wasn’t as if he was about to say no, there was just something comical about the way you were managing to hold everything in your hands. 

With a click of his tongue, he gestured for you to enter with his head, closing the door behind you as you set one of the plates down on the window seat, rubbing the red skin of your arm where the hot plate had ever so slightly burned you. He instantly felt bad, crossing the room with the intention to take your arm to look at it before you stuck it into the shadow on the wall, removing it again to reveal your skin pristine again.

“It wasn’t that bad, just uncomfortable,” you shrugged, handing a plate and bottle to him. Logan shook his head at what he’d just seen, giving you a look of ‘fair enough’ before taking the plate and beer gratefully. How long had it been since someone cooked for him? Though you’d done it as a peace offering, it still warmed his heart slightly. That and the fact it smelt fucking divine. 

“I’m sorry…” you started, mindlessly poking your pasta around your plate with your fork after making yourself comfortable on his window seat. He guessed it used to be your window seat, but it still made him happy how comfortable you looked. “The Professor told me something in the meeting and… rattled me, that’s all,” you shrugged, popping a few pieces of green pasta into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. 

Logan decided to wait for you to continue, cracking open the bottle top of his beer with his teeth. Raising a brow as you looked over at him in slightly disturbed awe. 

“How did you not just break your jaw?” you asked, flabbergasted at his seemingly endless pool of abilities. 

“Not much can break it, considering my skeleton’s adamantium.” Logan was starting to like when you gaped at him in shock, admiring the way you jaw went completely slack, eyes wide. 

“Wait, how don't you– ohhhhh…” It had taken you a while to notice just how much the bed dipped when he sat down. No wonder he was so ripped, he had to be that strong in order to fucking walk around. “Any other secrets you're hiding?” You asked, before instantly regretting the question when his eyes met yours.

“You wanna talk about keeping secrets now?” He asked curtly.

“Walked into that one…”

“Yeah, you kinda did.” 

You sighed, fiddling with the bottle cap of your beer. Not to remove it, just to feel the sensation of the almost serrated edges helped to ground yourself. 

“You know about my mutation, the whole shadow-walking thing?” You asked, to which Logan responded with a nod, finally taking a bite of the pasta you’d made. Your heart swelled with pride as he paused, looking from the food to you with an impressed smile. “So, turns out, it’s nothing like Kitty’s. It’s not phasing like we originally thought, but something totally different.” You started to explain to an intensely listening Logan. “Kitty phases through things. I actually become the shadows I enter. Like, it’s not still my body but just in the shadow, my molecules break down to literally be the shadow,” you could tell he was trying to understand, his head tilting slightly to the side in a way you genuinely found cute. “It’s like, I’m holding water in my bare hands,” you started to demonstrate, placing your plate and bottle down beside you to cup your hands in front of you. “And this, this is my body. My corporeal body. But, when I dive into shadows, that body breaks down,” your cupped hands splayed apart, fingers spread to simulate a liquid splash. Logan nodded thoughtfully through mouthfuls of pasta. “How Jean explained it was that my molecules are held together with some kind of thread, and I control that thread, but it’s a constant strain… Like, I can feel my body being held together. And it just… I don’t know. It scared me I guess.”

The room fell into silence as you finished your explanation, Logan setting his somehow clean plate to the side, leaning his elbows against his spread knees, beer bottle clasped in both hands. “I uh, don’t really understand what’s scary bubs, sounds like this is an opportunity to develop it, right?” he asked, eyes searching your face for any sign you were reassured.

You sighed, the back of your head softly hitting the wall behind you. “Well apparently we’ve been lucky so far, and my control over this string or thread or whatever the fuck is stronger than they thought but… I don’t know, I guess what first went through my mind was what would happen if the thread snapped. Would I just stop being able to shadow walk or–”

“Would you stop altogether, and be able to do nothing but shadow walk,” Logan finished, realisation dawning on his gruff features. You nodded slightly, not wanting to speak anything into existence. 

“Exactly.” You whispered, staring into your borderline untouched pasta. You honestly didn’t know what to do, and you didn’t know what could be done. Surely, at this point, it was just a matter of time, right? The thought hit you like a lightning bolt. If it was just a matter of time, you just burdened this poor man, who you’d only met hours ago, with the knowledge that, eventually, you were likely just simply dissolve into nothing, cursed to live forever in the shadows of others. “Anyway, yeah, that’s why I had a face like, how did you put it? Like my pet just died,” You did your best to imitate his voice, hoping to shit it would lighten the mood of the room, but it only earned you a look of sympathy.

Fucking sympathy. You hated sympathy.

You’d come in here in the hopes to make things right with him and apologise for how you were earlier, but the one thing you really didn’t want, and never fucking wanted, was sympathy. You sighed heavily, preparing yourself for whatever ‘I’m so sorry this is happening speech’ he was clearly getting ready to spill. 

But for the umpteenth time in the short while you’d known him, Logan surprised you. Taking your bottle of beer from your side, he cracked the lid off with his teeth, the same as before, before handing it back to you. You, as stunned as you were, managed to take it from his hand, the soft skin of your fingertips brushing the backs of his own. You smiled in resignation, raising your bottle in some tragic excuse of a toast. ‘To the inevitable’ you wanted to say, but you physically bit your tongue before taking a long sip of the slightly bitter liquid.

“It won’t come to that,” you’d forgotten, in the period of silence, that you were waiting for him to say something. You tilted your head in confusion, and it honestly took all of Logan’s willpower not to launch into you and wrap you up in his arms. He really needed to pull himself together. “Look, I was pretty fuckin’ helpless when I came here. And I know you remember the state Marie was in. Neither of us thought we were worth savin’, but look at us now,” in complete honesty, Logan still didn’t think he was worth saving, but that was neither here nor there. “He’ll help ya. You’ll get this under control. And it ain’t all bad. He already said you had more control than he thought,” You could feel his eyes search your face as you closed yours. Maybe he was right. Charles had said you had more control over these strings than he thought. 

Logan was right. That was a good thing.

“Well, we’ll see tomorrow. That’s when we really start everything. We have another meeting before we’re straight into training, seeing if we can really develop this mutation before I cease to exist. No pressure right?” You half-joked, your lips quirking up into what you hoped was a smile. Or, at least, a lopsided one. 

Fuck he wanted to kiss you. Kiss you. When the hell was the last time he’d felt like this toward anyone? He hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in goddamn years, and here you were, a woman he didn’t even believe existed a few hours ago, waltzing into his life and making him feel things like wanting to fucking kiss you. 

“I uh… ya know I wanted to apologise too.”

Well, that caught you off guard. “Wh– wait what? Why? What for?” you couldn’t help firing off questions at speeds you didn’t know you were capable of, utter bafflement contorting your features. 

“You were right. I don’t know you. And you don’t know me.” Logan watched as your face transformed from confusion, to hurt, to acceptance. 

“Yeah…. I did say that didn’t I? I–”

“But,” he interrupted, stopping you mid-sentence. “That doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know ya…” Logan almost laughed aloud at how your eyes went comically wide. Did you know how cute you were? When you weren’t telling him to fuck off, that is.

“I– Uh, okay, sure… what d’ya wanna know?” you asked, hoping to fuck you didn’t sound ridiculous. If you didn’t, Logan didn’t seem to mind or care. 

“You can start of by tellin’ me how or where you learned to cook so well,” you scoffed loudly, rolling you eyes. “Nah I’m serious kid, that was fuckin’ great,” Logan leaned against the headboard, an arm positioned behind his head as you too made yourself comfortable again on the window seat, resting your elbow on your raised knee.

“Kid? Do you know how old I am?” you asked, smirking slightly. Though you were a little embarrassed, there was no way you’d show it. Kid? Did he seriously think you were that young? 

“Do you know how old I am?” he retorted, that same self-assured glint dancing in his eye. You peered at him in scrutiny, emphasising how hard you were looking at him by squinting intensely.

“I’d put you at around like, early thirties? Maybe mid? Am I hot or cold?” you asked, kinda hoping he was in the same sort of age bracket as you were. Not for any specific reason of course… just for… science.

Yeah. For science.

Though your heart deflated slightly at his bark of a laugh. “Not quite. Try mid to late hundred and thirties. Give or take a few years.” Once again you gaped at him, mouth wide open, jaw completely slack. He could get used to that sight. Dangerously used to it. “Take a picture bubs, it’ll last longer.”

“B-but… how–? Y–? Hundred and– what the fuck?” You couldn’t get over it. Though your mind was still reeling, you managed to recover quickly. “Why you don’t look a day over ninety. You’re in good shape for a fossil, though I was wondering why I was getting a lot of calls from museums recently… probably looking for their exhibit back,” you smirked wildly whilst Logan just stared at you, trying his fucking damnest not to let his disobedient lips quirk anywhere other than down. 

“Ya done?”

“I’ll probably think of some more. But, in all seriousness, how?” You asked, and Logan couldn’t detect anything other than genuine curiosity.

“Regenerative. I heal real quick, but that also keeps my body in good condition. Dunno exactly how old I am, but it’s around hundred and thirty,” he shrugged, and you whistled lowly. “So?” he prompted, and you looked up.

“So what?”

“How’dya make the pasta?” 

You snorted in amusement, before launching into an explanation about your brother and how he always had an interest in cooking and had taught you to cook simple things, like how to make a béchamel sauce, or how to make pesto from scratch. And if you weren’t so caught up in your storytelling, you would have noticed Logan drinking in every damn word like he was parched for conversation. Listening to you talk, the cadence of your voice, the way you pronounce every letter and the way you occasionally drop a letter, it was hypnotic. You didn’t have an abundance of energy, and whether that was simply because you were exhausted after the day you’d had, or if that was just who you were, he didn’t know. But honestly? He didn’t really care. 

As long as you kept talking, that was all that mattered. If he could take your mind off tomorrow, or your situation by letting you ramble about the smallest of things, he would. And he would pretend the whole time like he was doing this for you. And not because, at the end of everything, he liked listening to you. 

“Anyway, that’s how you tell the difference between a Thoroughbred and a Quarter Horse. And I will not make that mistake again.” You’d somehow weaved from topic to topic, the conversation ebbing and flowing for hours, you both taking turns in sharing random stories from your pasts, little anecdotes that gave context to who you both were as people now. And it was only thanks to the brief silence and the conveniently timed chime of the clock did you realise how late it was. Or rather, how early.

It was one in the fucking morning. How the hell did that happen? Your eyes slid back to Logan, who at some point had made himself comfortable on the opposite side of the window seat, and you watched as he had the same realisation. Holy shit.

“I should probably–”

“Look, you should–”

You both started to speak at the same time, before pausing to let the other talk first. It was gross and awkward and cringey but, for the life of you, you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

You stood, gathering your long abandoned, though now empty plate, and crossed the room to grab his from the bedside table. You heard Logan sigh heavily behind you in what you assumed was exhaustion. You couldn’t blame the man. You’d been talking for hours. 

Logan followed you to the door, holding it open for you as you stepped out into the hallway. You placed the crockery onto the floor, freeing your hands to wrap your arms around his neck in a similar embrace to the one before. Only this time, you felt his strong arms return your hug, wrapping you up tightly against his chest.

“Thank you. For letting me talk for hours. You don’t need to pretend you enjoyed it, by the way. But thank you all the same.” You stepped back, and Logan leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah well, you brought peace pesto and beer. How could I say no?” He quipped, and you chuckled lightly. He wasn’t about to admit he enjoyed your company far more than he should have done, and he sure as shit wasn’t about to admit he wasn’t pretending to like it. His eyes softened at your laugh in a way he’d stopped them from doing all evening. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

You peered up at him, a knowing spark dancing in your iris. You noticed. Of course, you’d noticed. That was almost exactly what you’d said to him earlier. The same hopeful lilt and all. 

“Sure.” Was all you said in return, before picking up the empty plates and bottles off the floor, and turning away to head back down the hallway. You refused to look back, worried that if you did, you’d run straight back to his room and never fucking leave.

But if you had. If you had just turned to look over your shoulder, you would have seen him leaning against the doorway still, eyes following you down the stairs, and lingering still, long after you’d disappeared.

Yeah… he was definitely in trouble.

[l0v-ly-c4t]

Movie Night - Daisuke x fem!reader

Summary: You and Daisuke have a scary movie night, but it turns out he's too scared to sleep alone + after care

Pairing: smut and fluff

T/w: smut, mentions of Anya, protected sex, full consensual sex, loss of virginity, whinny soft dom Daisuke

Wc: 3,3K

A/n: This is an AU where the shitty compan- I mean, Pony Express doesn't exist, so our boy Daisuki is on college living his best life as the lover I know he is.

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━━ ❝ It has been some time since you started crushing on Daisuke. You met him when you first arrived at this school. Being the new student is taught, and he knew it, that's why he made so much effort just so you could have friends and feel welcome. After that you guys became best friends.

Obviously, you always thought he was handsome, and kind, and funny, but something about him kept bringing you closer, leaving you in the situation you're right now: friend zone.

The worst part is that, no matter how much you try to show him that you like him, he's just too danm naive to get a hint! Urgh, this feeling is consuming you from the inside.

Little did you know that he thought of you in the exact same way you did of him. Well, not exactly "exact same way." He had his own little way.

It took him a while to realize his feelings. At first, he just thought of you as his prettiest friend. He would stare at you and be lost in your looks without knowing why. He would always try and be useful for you, being it by carrying something for you or paying you something to eat at the cafeteria. He wanted to be around you all the time, he would get bored and blue without you.

It is actually impressive how he didn't realize his feelings until very recently, when he saw you talking very closely with another boy. How to describe his feelings? It wasn't jealousy, it was more a sense of loss. He finally realized that being friends didn't mean that you would always be by his side. For that, he needed to be more than friends. THAT'S when he realized his feelings.

But then, he panicked. "What does it mean??? Do I... l-like her?" Silly little thoughts like this were frequently on his mind. Oh, if only he knew that you thought of him too...

You and Daisuke were chilling on your sofa, waiting for the other friend of yours, Anya, to show up. You had decided to make a little movie section in your house since you and Daisuke haven't been able to talk much with Anya. She's just really focused on getting her degree.

You were both on your phones. Daisuke is playing some silly mobile game, and you are just scrolling down your tumblr timeline, looking for something fun to pass the time. It was already 8 pm, and Anya hasn't given any news yet.

"Dude, she must be really busy. She didn't even send a message or something!" Daisuke says, his lips almost pouting like a disappointed kid. "Don't worry, she has a lot of work to do, we can hang out another time." You confort him.

"Yeah..." he answers. "Is just that I was so excited, I was like 'Let's watch a movie, yay, bom bom clap!!!' But now I'm just 'yeah, movies'" He emotes.

"What?"

He sights. "Nothing. Do you still want to watch a movie? Just the two of us?" He asks.

"Yes, it'll be fun! Let's watch something scary!" You give the idea. Daisuke instantly smiled at your words, thrilled to watch a super super horror movie with you.

You let him choose a movie, and after a while, deciding which one, you finally settled on a psychological horror movie. You sat by his side on the couch, eventually laying your head on his shoulders.

Daisuke didn't even notice, but he would probably have blushed if he wasn't so absorbed in the screen. If you didn't know him, you would say he was scared.

After about 2 hours later, the movie ended, and Daisuke was just too pale. "Daisuke U good? Are you scared?"

"Me? Scared? Pfff, c'mom y/n!!! I'm the thoughtest guy you know!" He said, playing it off. "U sure? I don't want you coming at my room at midnight"

"Don't worry, you'll get your well-deserved beauty sleep, and I won't bother you," he said. "Whatever you say gorgeous" you played.

You guys watched some other movies, one scarier than the previous one. I mean, scaring for him. You were just cool, but Daisuke was biting his nails and playing with his fingers the whole time. You didn't pay much attention at the beginning, but as time passed, you could literally see his nervousness.

Worried for your friend psychological state, you decide that you should both take a bath and go to sleep, even though Daisuke kept swearing he wasn't dirty enough for a bath and that he could sleep that way just fine.

Both of you cleaned up you decide is time to sleep, the clock already hitting 2am. "S-so, am I going to sleep here? In the couch? A-alone?" He asks.

"Why? Are you scared?" You tease him, resulting in him making an angry face to prove it to you that he wasn't scared. "What? Naah, I'm, like, totally fine." He says. Oh, how he regretted that later that night.

You were almost falling asleep when you heard a light knock on your room door. You got up and checked just to see Daisuke, with the puppiest eyes you had even seen on a man, standing in front of your door eith a pillow under his arm. "Daisuke," you called. "What are you doing?

"You were right, I'm scared. Can we sit and talk just so I can fall asleep?" Daisuke said, silently begging for you to let him in already. You invite him to sit on your bed, and you both stay there for a while, just chilling. You were almost falling asleep again when he started a conversation.

"So.." he said. "Are u seeing someone?"

"Why are you asking this so randomly?"

"I-i don't know, I'm just trying to break the ice ans start a conversation" he eyes you. Even though the only light comes from the moon past your windows, you can notice the little blush forming on his cheeks and top of his ears. You also blush at the sight.

"Sooo, are you seeing someone or not?" He asked again "no I'm not. What about you?" You look back at him. "No"

At that moment, being right there on your bed sitting and talking in the middle of the night. That was so good to Daisuke. He didn't know why, but just to know that you weren't seeing anyone got him full of happiness, his sleepless far gone now.

You eye him, his lips hard pressed together. This feeling is new to him. He doesn't know how to describe it. He just wants to kiss you, hug you, and be close to you. So close that your bodies become one. In a fearless act, he leans closer to you, his eyes asking for permission as your lips grow closer and closer.

When your lips touch is like heaven to him. You were coight off guard, but you followed his actions without thinking twice. The kiss is slow and passionate, and the chemistry is just right. In a slow move, he drags his hands along your arms and place them behind your neck, pulling you even closer. He couldn't believe in his own actions. He was actually kissing you!

While one of his hands is still behind your neck, caressing the hair and pulling you more and more to him, his other hand travels to your tight. He's so scared he moves in slow motion. What if you feel uncomfortable? What if you pull away from him? He's so scared, but he needs to touch you, or he'll drive himself crazy.

Your body grew hotter as you felt the warmth of his hand gently caressing your tight. A low sound scales his lips when you pull the kiss apart, leaving him with a red face and pouty lips. "Is this real?" You asked. Daisuke didn't reply, he was too embarrassed of himself to do so. It all happened so fast he didn't have the time to think straight about his actions.

The kiss was something you wished for a long time, and now that it was actually happening, you needed time to cope. To be honest, you have always imagined you and Daisuke together. You have always wished for him, craving for him silently. You wouldn't let this chance go to waste.

He stares at you with doe eyes, melting your heart. He looks so cute and so sexy at the same time that you actually feel dirty for having this kind of thought about him. Not knowing how to proceed, you both just stare at each other. For a moment, it feels like time has paused. For a moment, everything is about him and you, sitting on your bed with clumsy feelings and red lips.

"H-hey, so.. c-can we do more? Like... I want to kiss you more." Daisuke breaks the silence. You look at him, but it feels like you're looking straight to heaven. All you want to do is kiss him more. Not just that, you want him in a way you never wanted anyone before.

"S-soo... are you going to accept or... it's okay if you don't wanna, really!! A-actually, I don't even know why I'm asking, haha!" He fake laughs. His face became more redish and fluttered. He was about to pull completely away from you when you throw yourself on top of him.

You kiss him again, this time in a more needy and desperate way. You caught him off guard, but it didn't take long for him to respond to your kiss. Very gently you start to move, now sitting on his lap, never breaking the kiss as you do it.

He's overwhelmed. He can't say he never thought of you on his lap, but to actually have you there is a totally different level. He can feel himself getting harder as you get closer to him, pressing your body onto his.

Your hands go around his neck, hugging him while you press yourself on his chest. His arms hug you from your waist, caressing your back and sending you chills. He slowly lowers his hands until he reaches your butt, gently grabring it.

"Ahh, so hot" he says between kisses, making you shiver and readjust yourself on top of his laps. You start to grind on his lap, moving in a painfully slow rhythm. With his hands still on your butt you trail your kisses dawn his jawline.

He's lost in the feeling of your mouth in his neck, and just the thought of you leaving hickeys on him makes him even harder down there. How lucky was him for having a girl like you on top of him? He didn't know. He just knew he was lucky as hell.

"I-i need to tell you something.." Daisuke says. You make a signal for him to continue talking but never leaving his neck, your mouth glued to him like you need him to survive. "I'm- ah, I never... uhm, I-m a v-virgin" he finally says.

You stop the kisses, and he panics for a moment. You move back to look at him, his lips red and glimpse from the earlier kiss. You take your hand and put on his left cheek, caressing a little to bring comfort to him. "I-i'm a virgin too. Hehe" you say.

"So, like, do you want to stop here?"

"No- I mean... we c-could make it work. O-only if you want to, or course!!" You say, now being the shy one. Everything is new to you both, the feelings, the sensations, the craving, the desires: everything.

After a while, just admiring you, Daisuke comes back to kissing, not lasting long and going straight to your neck. Now, it was his turn to leave marks on you. The little noises tha scape your mouth almost making him cum right there.

The make-out is way out of control now, both of you kissing and praising each other as the clothes disappear one by one. At one point, you were only in your bra and panties sitting in front of him.

With his hand, he reaches to your arm, slowly making his way to your back. Your faces so close to each other you could count the moles in his face. "Can I take your bra off?" He asks. You nod, and he proceeds to do so.

He helps you take it out and throws it where the other clothes were thrown previously. He trails kisses down your bodies, starting from your neck and going all the way down to your clavicle. He worships you like you're the last drop of water in a desert, kissing and leaving hickeys everywhere he passes.

When he finally reaches for your boobs he can't help but stare. "Ahh, you're just so pretty~ I want you all for me," he says, looking at you.

In a bold movement, you push him down, forcing him to lay on his back while you crawl on him until you reach his lap again. For a moment, you stop what you are doing. "Wait, what about protection?"

"There in my pants, in the wallet, there is one we can use." he says. You get up quickly and gind the condom exactly where he said it was. "Do you always have this thing with you all the time? Why?" You ask coming back to him. You sit at the same position you were before.

"For moments like this." he answers, making you blush and smile a little. He smiles, too.

You look down at him, the volume in his boxes being extremely visible. "This looks painfull" you say as you help him take his boxes, leaving him full naked under you. "Oh, it is, c-can you help me?" He asks, his voice clearly more desperate than before.

You take of your last piece of clothing and open the condom. Stroking him a little before, you put it on his dick. "A-ah, that's... so tight.." he hisses. "I think you underestimated you size baby"

He blushes. "Hey, don't you think it would be less painfully if I was the one on top?" He asks

"Well, maybe... I'm not actually sure."

"Let's try then." He gets you on his arms and switches the position, now being on top. This view of you makes him feel like on cloud nine. The prettiest girl he'd ever seen all open and needy for him? Danm, he could cum just by the view of you like this.

Not being able to watch any longer, he positions himself and moves forward, his dick filling you inch by inch. The pain makes itself present, but it's not something you can't handle.

"Ah- ahh, you're so tight... shit" Daisuke says as he finally puts everything in. "Oh yes, ahh~ you're so hot, so tight, hmmm.. so fucking good"

He lay his body down, letting his weigh on top of you. You can hear his little moans in your ears as you try to get used to his length. "Danm Dai, I didn't know you were s-so big"

"S-stop it, if you talk like this I might already cum." He smiles. "A-ah, I can't believe I'm finally in you"

"I-i think.. you can move now.." You say, the pain now transformed into pleasure, making you crave for more and more of him.

He starts to push into you, the feeling consuming your senses. The extase is just too much. You actually feel like you could come right there already. "O-oh my god, ahh~"

"D-do you like it? Am I, ahh- am I doing g-good?" He asks. His voice filled with luxury, whispering right at your ear. "Y-yes, yes"

He slowly picks his pace, savoring and discovering your body. He wants to know every place you're sensible at, every move that makes you moan louder, he wants to kiss every corner of your body and make you feel so special that your would come just for him. Gosh, that's his greatest wish.

You were getting overstimulated, your clímax approaching so fast your moans started to go silent. Then, he suddenly stops. You look at him with a sad eye, a moan of protest leaving your mouth as you roll your eyes at the back of your skull.

"W-why'd you stop?"

"C-can we switch positions? Uhm, there's this one position I've always wanted to try.." he asks, his lips pouty like a little kid and his dick twitching inside you like a rock. You were in so much pleasure that you would accept anything this man asked you, so you instantly agreed.

He guides you how he wants, and you end up on all fours, with your chest glued on the bed and your ass up like a cat. He stands behind you, his eyes betraying him as he worships you. "Shit, you're so hot, you know that? Perfect, just perfect, ahh"

He positioned himself again, not sparing time for you to get used to him, going as fast as he can the moment he's inside you. He's crazy. So lost in the souce he can't make a proper sentence, he just yaps nonsense and moans desperately, seeking his hight just as he seeks your pleasure.

Your moans are like music to his ears. The more you moan, the more he knows he's good for you. "Aahhh, I don't think I'll- hmm, last any, uh longer" he moans.

He's now totally on top of you, his chest glues to your back while he leaves kisses, hickeys, and bites at your neck, making your pleasure ten times bigger. He's pushing as fast as he can, trying to make you feel as special as him.

"Ah, I-I'm gonna, ahh!" He screams. His movements become more erratic as he reaches his high. The condom becoming even more tight in his cock, now full of his liquids. You can feel his cock throb inside you, the feeling pushing you over the edge, making you both come at the same time.

The movements stop, and you just stay there trying to catch your breaths. After a while, he comes out of you and removes his condom. He lays down at your bed on his back, right by your side. You lay on your tummy and you look at each other.

"Did I do well? Was I good enough?" He asks.

"You were perfect, Dai" you reply. His eyes light, and he finally relaxes. You go closer and kiss his forehead, then his cheeks, then his nose, then you finally leave a peck at his lips. He looks at you with heart on his eyes. He's confident he's the happiest man in the world.

"So, are you seeing someone?" He asks. "Yes," you reply, "you."

After taking a bath, you both finally lay down to rest from your tiring movie night. He's hugging you from behind, leaving sugary kisses on your neck where the bruises start to appear. "Sorry I marked you, I went a little wild, hehe"

You turn to face him. "It's okay, Dai," you smile. He looks at you and throws a sad smile. You know him too danm well to recognize when something is off with him, and since he's just naturally honest, it's usually not hard to find out what it is that is bothering him.

"What happened?"

"Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Sure, go on," you reply.

"What's your favorite Pokémon?"

"Are you serious??" You ask. The sound of his laugher travellings straight to your heart.

"No, seriously now. Do you... happen to like me? Or something?" He plays with his fingers while looking down, just occasionally looking up to see your reaction. You don't even need to think before you answer him. "Yes, I do." You say.

When he was about to say something, you heard a ringtone, someone was calling you.

"It's Anya!"

"God, FINALLY!"

You accept the call. "Girl, you could have sent a message!" You sight. "It's okay, we understand. What I did all night? Ah, you know, casual things... cupcakes." Daisuke smiles by your side. "Okay, rest well, se ya!" You hang the call.

"Is my new nickname 'cupcake'?" He plays.

"Shut up."

F/n: Sorry if it looked like I was babying him, I just had this thought of him being a really sweet young guy. Also, sorry if it looked rushed, I am DEFINATLY NOT a professional, both in writing and in English. (Please tell me if I made a spelling mistake)

[mychapel-004]

I think the most interesting and under-explored part of gf canon is the formation of the blind eye and I'm tired of pretending it isn't: a long post

Because hear me out here, if we really take a look at the timing of the only concrete source we have (mcgucket's video diaries), it doesn't... line up at all?

The clear implication here is that he started making the diaries after the first portal incident on January 18th 1983, so this would be our "day one"

"For the past year I have been working as an assistant for a visiting researcher... But something went wrong. I decided to quit the project, but I lie awake each night, haunted by the thoughts of what I've done... Test subject one: Fiddleford."

But this makes no sense. We know from J3 that the memory gun was actually invented after a series of traumatic events with Ford, months before he left the project. Further, the timeline the video diaries set up of the blind eye show that he began to deteriorate and founded the blind eye on day 22, which would be February 9th, but in J3 the blind eye is already a full blown cult by then.

In addition, where is he in this video? we know from TBOB that he isn't on good terms with his wife after Christmas of 1982 and he likely didn't leave GF after the portal incident, but he was living with Ford up until this so where is this room? If he had somewhere else to stay, why only stay there now?

Now, realistically the answer here is that the lore was changed and slightly retconned between the writing of this episode and the publishing of the book (which alex discusses in some of the commentary for this episode when discussing fidd's character), but I think a more interesting theory to solve this contradiction can be found in the source material.

If we play this all completely straight, there are two options here, both involving Fiddleford lying in his diaries. this isn't entirely new to the series, unreliable narration is a big theme, especially in Journal 3 and TBOB. the only real explanations are that:

A) Fiddleford was lying about this being the first time he used the gun, meaning this video diary takes place after the portal incident.

B) Fiddleford was lying about leaving the project, and was filming these diaries while still working with Ford.

Now, either of them is plausible, but ultimately Fiddleford is a scientist. He has dedicated his life to engineering, and it seems to be his lifelong passion considering it's one of the only character traits that he continues to practice after losing his mind. Would a man who is this talented, this dedicated, really lie about testing results in a video diary he chose to make?

If he had used the gun before, any kind of result he is trying to observe would be ruined. It would be a pointless venture, since we know for a fact that by the time he leaves the project he has used the gun on himself, Ford and other civillians multiple times. It's a complete failure of the scientific method, and I don't think it makes sense for the character we know, the man who quadruple checks his own calculations just to be sure they're right.

However, the other explanation feels like something he might do. We know he invents the gun after the Gremloblin incident likely sometime in August, and seems to use it immediately as evidenced by J3, on both himself and Ford. We know from the audio commentary that for Fidd, the memory gun is very much an addiction, it's something that he uses to curb his anxiety and appear like a better partner, to try and keep himself together until the project is over. But ultimately, he's known something is wrong with the project for a long time, and Ford mentions his tendency towards self destructive anxiety when Fidd rips out his own hair after Ford reveals the tip of the weirdness iceberg to him.

All this to say, I think it's far more realistic for Fiddleford to lie about leaving the project rather than his results. He knows that something is wrong, that he should leave and be with his family, and on the other side of that we know that Bill is using this anxiety to whisper into Ford's ear that Fidd is unreliable and will leave. He's been through a severely traumatic event with the Gremloblin, trapped for days in his worst nightmares, to the point where he is prepared to cause himself potential brain damage to un-see it.

But despite all of it, he doesn't leave. He is determined to stay, maybe out of loyalty, maybe out of fear for Ford's safety, maybe he needs the money from the project for his family. He has a wife and son who need him and we know that he feels guilt for his treatment towards them, he even cites them as his sole reason for backing out of using the gun immediately before he does it anyway, and uses it on Ford to cover his mistakes up. Fiddleford is a man who is wracked by anxiety and shame and is such a bad way by this point that he is absolutely willing to self-destruct and lie to just get through this project.

I think he absolutely would start documenting his use of the memory gun, even if that meant lying that he had followed his instincts and left the project when he should have done. After all, he says himself that he wants to use this gun on a wider scale as a therapy tool, assuming the gun doesn't turn his brain to mush, surely the tapes of his initial testing will need to be peer-reviewed? He's presenting the reality he wishes was true, the one where he is brave and stands on his principles and doesn't fall into step beside Ford on his path to destruction.

So, where does this leave the timeline?

Finding exact dates is difficult, mostly because the only concrete numbers in J3 are few and far between, but we do have the dates of the tapes to go off as follows. This isn't concrete but it's a fun way to recontextualise the events of J3:

Day 1:

First usage of the gun, followed by it being used on Ford

Sometime after the Gremloblin incident, Fidd's arm is either healed or on the mend from the incident as his cast is gone, so likely towards the end of August.

Note on the cast: It could also be gone as a result of him removing it too early, he doesn't seem to take a lot of time to recover from the incident before he gets back to work in fear of disappointing Ford.

The room he is in is likely his bedroom in the Shack, or whatever location he initially uses to form the blind eye, maybe a room in the museum? The "probability of failure" graph in the back is the same one that he shows Ford the night before the Portal test, albeit a bigger version, meaning he has likely been tracking the output results for a while.

Day 5:

Still exhibiting postive results, no deterioration yet.

Day 22:

First signs of mental deterioration

First mention of the blind eye, Fidd draws the symbol onto a notebook but it is already scribbled in the background over a diagram of the portal. The blind eye symbol is first mentioned in J3, when Fidd hands it to the carny who becomes the eventual leader of the cult, so this diary likely takes place after he has begun using it on other people.

Official formation of the blind eye as a group to help people forget traumatic memories.

His room in the shack is in a state of disarray, his plants are dead and there are handprints in oil or ink on the walls. Notably, he seems to be connecting the idea of a single eye and the portal despite not being aware of Bill at this point, which I'll touch upon later.

The carnival is likely in September according to the timeline by @fordtato

Day 74:

Slight physical deterioration, more physical anxiety

It seems that Fidd has been regularly using the memory gun at this point, to erase even minorly distressing images from his head, and his anxiety has taken a nosedive. Likely explanation is that this diary is after the bunker, where he had another severely traumatic experience (kidnapped by a shapeshifter and reduced to mute from anxiety) and seemed to become obsessed with doomsday planning. During the bunker arc he also used the gun on multiple workmen and Ford once again.

Likely takes place in October/November

His room is a complete mess by now, with the walls covered in papers and "Help Me" scrawled on the walls.

At this point in J3, Ford has made his deal with Bill and is allowing him to possess his body whenever he pleases. Bill has also sucessfully driven a divide between the other two by making Ford doubt that Fidd will be able to make it to the end of the project, and Ford describes his frustration with him.

According to Ford, Fidd is just as agitated and nervous before the portal test as he was during the Gremloblin attack, and obsessively checks and rechecks his calculations, causing Ford to worry for his resolve.

In between this diary and the next are the stolen pages from J3 that are in TBOB, which give us slight insight into Fiddleford during this time but not much. We see that he tries multiple times to reach out to him the only way that Fidd knows how, through invention and creation, with the snowglobe and the six-fingered gloves. Ford, however, treats them carelessly as a result of his increased attention to his muse. At the same time, he tries to visit home but is kicked out by Emma-May after he forgets to get her a Christmas gift. This is played as an example of his connection with Ford, him remembering two gifts for the man and none for his wife, but if he really is suffering from his use of the gun at this time, the forgetfulness makes even more sense and his argument with his family means he doesn't have a support system outside of Ford who is paying all of his attention to the project. After this, Fiddleford is more reclusive than ever as he spends early January compiling a thesis for Ford to publish

Day 189

Physical deterioration is in full effect and he can't hide the result of his addiction any more, even just to keep up appearances.

His arm is broken, likely due to the car accident he mentions accidentally causing, but its the same arm he broke during the Gremloblin attack and could be a result of him taking his cast off too early for it to have healed right in the first place which could explain why he wears it for so long.

Significant mental decline as he has started exhibiting signs of brain damage or swelling (decreased vocabulary, forgetfulness, loss of motor functions) however, he is seemingly lucid enough to question if the memory gun is causing negative side effects.

There are actually bottles visible in the back of the room, possbly referencing the addiction metaphor being used here

This would take place after the portal test, likely late January. Ford is at the height of his paranoia, Fiddleford has left the shack and taken every trace of his research with him except his college picture with Ford, and the blind eye is a fully established and seemingly self-governing cult.

Day 273

At this point, Fidd has relocated to a motel and is seemingly completely mentally gone, ripping out his hair and developing his hunched posture. This likely takes place after the blind eye takes his memories, or he continues erasing them himself. It's possible that the blind eye continues visiting him and taking his memories even after he is ejected as a member, or at least until they forget who he is after using the gun on themselves too many times.

It appears to be snowing outside? Which doesn't line up with either the canon timeline or this timeline, so potentially the days on the video diaries could be incorrect assuming he isn't filming them every day, or has lost so much of his mind by this point that he isn't labelling them right and has lost track of time

The final two entries are a similar story, serving only to show us the end of his decline and him eventually becoming fully homeless, retreating to the junkyard he lives in for the next 28 years (jesus, he really deserved that mansion).

Ultimately though, this timeline asks a lot of interesting character questions.

Why did Ford not realise how bad Fiddleford's decline was becoming? Maybe a mix of circumstances, he was falling deeper into his worship of Bill at the time, to the extent that he was regularly being possessed and judging by the lack of journal entries at the time, very pre-occupied. We also know that Fidd used the gun on him at least twice in canon, and possibly used it more than we know in order to convince Ford he was okay.

If Fiddleford was erasing parts of Ford's memory, did Bill know? Personally, I feel that Bill was aware but knew that ultimately it would serve him. Fiddleford, without ever encountering Bill at this point, created the blind eye symbol which is eerily close to Bill's symbolism, how would he know that when we know Ford is possessive of his muse and doesn't share anything with Fidd about it? How does Ford have visions of Fidd in a red cloak without ever knowing that the cult and Fidd are directly connected? My thoughts are that Bill, who we know has erased Ford's memory himself before when he stole the journal pages we see in TBOB, was using most of this as fodder to drive a divide between the two, mentally creating associations in both of their minds so they stop trusting the other. Chess but with troubled gay men.

All in all I think Fiddleford's decline is such an interesting way to approach a theme of addiction, particularly a high-functioning addiction. If this really is how things played out, we know that throughout his use of the gun and even 30 years later when he is considered a write-off, the one thing he maintains is his engineering prowess and his smarts. It makes sense that even when actively using the gun and hiding it from Ford he would be able to keep up in terms of building the portal, especially when we know he secretly hired workers. It's also a great example of someone drawing others into their addiction, even if it was unintentional and he didn't believe they would be hurt in the long run.

I feel like sometimes there's a lil bit of a push to see Fidd as a naive or morally good character even through his mistakes and to demonise Ford in response, but ultimately both of them are very morally grey and have their own vices that they develop and grow from.

[bratbarzal]

The Secret of Us (LH43) 3/3

aka the sequel to let it happen

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

>PART ONE< / >PART TWO<

the pain of, the reign of, the flame of us

WC: 31k (I need therapy atp)

General Warnings: angst!!! did we expect any less for the final instalment of the epic highs and lows of this criminal situationship? (god bless the anon who sent me that line I think of it daily) cursing probably, inaccurate timeline of events regarding hockey and all but it's fiction just play along lmao, mentions of jack's injury, meddling friends, miscommunication final boss, hypocrisy final boss, jealousy and avoidance final boss and an ending 🙂

A/N: guys I wish I could put into words just how much joy writing this fic has given me, I have so much love and gratitude for the way you all responded to it. writing fic can sometimes be such a lonely and stressful experience in a weird way, especially something as long as this, and you guys turned it into this giant team effort and I felt like you were pushing me along the whole way!! this is such a corny a/n but I really love you all so much - thank you for being so kind to me, thank you for discussing every single element of this fic with me, thank you for loving (or hating lmao) the characters, and making them real enough in my head that they just flew onto the page. thank you to everyone who recommended this fic to anybody else, or who loved it so much that they went through everything else I've written and liked that too!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!! I hope this final part is loved as much as the rest, and I can't wait to talk to you guys about it!! my ask is always open for lih/tsou discourse!! these two will live with me for the rest of time lmao but I do now feel the need to run and hide because I'm terrified to post this actually so hope you like it lol

You can’t remember the last time you ever felt so lost in your life.

You’ve always been someone that finds your way - lands on your feet, figures things out - because you’ve had no other choice, before. Forced to be independent before you ever needed to be, you can usually work your way out of sticky situations with minimal scarring.

But Luke Hughes has somehow managed to crush you beyond recognition.

You thought things were finally going well, you were taking this monumental leap into something more, kissing him like you’ve been denying yourself for too long, and then all of a sudden you’re struggling to get your words out, letting him assume the worst of you and running with it, because what other option do you have now, knowing that he doesn’t want you back?

You’re a little caught of guard at the initial rejection, but the words that follow make you speechless, entirely, gaping open-mouthed like some dumb-struck idiot as he tells you that he’s moving on, and you only want him because you don’t want to lose him.

And you’re so consumed by this wave of renunciation that you can’t even fight him on it.

And then he’s gone.

The silence that follows Luke’s departure from the porch almost makes your ears pop - pressure building and building to the point of eruption inside your head, and you’re so caught up in your mind that you’re barely functioning otherwise.

It’s below freezing out, a cold wind whipping at your cheeks, and every breath you take feels rough and textured like you’re rubbing coarse sandpaper at your chest cavity - you really shouldn’t be out here, exposed to such harsh conditions, but what does that matter when you would be hurting anyway, no matter where you are.

You don’t even know how you got here.

One second you were running through the house with the best news of your life and only one person in mind to share it with, and the next you were out in the cold - key moments from the night playing in your head like some horror movie sequence. 

Ellie’s warning of, he’s gonna crush you when he starts seeing someone and you get left behind.

The way she’s been keeping it to herself that he already is seeing someone, or speaking to her, at least, whatever that entails - because, the two of you speak. You speak every day. 

Seeing Victoria with her hands on Luke, sinking her claws into him while he gave her one of those cute, toothy grins - the kind that made his eyes gleam and crinkle in the corners. 

And then, I don’t want to be with anybody but you tonight, I promise.

How can anybody possibly hear that and not want to kiss him?

Sure, it was some weird, territorial spur of jealousy that consumed you and forced you to take that final leap, but it’s not like you haven’t thought about doing it before. Sat on your bed watching Wall-E on your birthday, the plush he had bought you tucked into the crook of your elbow and your hand brushing repeatedly against his in the bowl of popcorn. Or when he’d snuck out of your house the morning after, only just managing to evade being caught by your sorority regime and holding you against him with a kiss to the side of your head as the two of you said your goodbyes on the porch.

Does it really matter what the final catalyst was if the finished result was what you’ve both been wanting this entire time? Plus, it’s not like he hasn’t encouraged those feelings before - Mr Tell me that the thought of me even talking to another girl makes your skin crawl.

But that’s the problem. You’re probably too used to acting impulsively with Luke - doing first, thinking later -  and he’s starting to realise it, too, growing tired of your stretched out resistance and finally throwing in the towel.

We both have to find a way to move on.

Maybe it’s not what you’ve both wanted the entire time.

Maybe Luke hasn’t wanted it for a while - has wanted to move on and find someone new. See someone else - speak to her, or whatever.

God, you feel pathetic. 

A feeling that worsens when Ethan finds you, teary eyed and shaking - too consumed by your own humiliation to feel just how cold it is outside until he shrugs a jacket over you, holds it closed in front of your torso and peers down at you with nothing but concern in his chocolate eyes.

His mouth moves, but all you hear is muffled noise alongside the sound of your racing heartbeat, and you try to read his lips, but it’s hard to see through the blur of tears. His hands start rubbing at your arms, and the friction brings everything back into focus, a little. The cold night air, the cologne rubbed into the collar of the jacket, the voice of the caring boy in front of you.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he mutters, “Let’s get you home.”

You nod wordlessly as you accept his help, a guiding arm around you that ushers you off the porch, helps you down the steps and pushes you gently to the edge of the yard until you’re walking side by side down the street. You sniffle, not even realising that you’re crying until you try to remedy the dryness in the corner of your lips and taste the salty tears that have fallen there, and you end up crying the whole walk, trying not to be obvious about it - arms wrapped around yourself and head dipped to watch your feet as they move along the sidewalk.

Ethan doesn’t try to talk it out of you, for once, which you’re grateful for, and he walks you all the way up to the front door, turning away without any prompt so you can fetch the key you hid under one of the plants before you left

“Thanks,” you mutter, once you’ve retrieved it, standing back up and watching as he spins back around. “For walking me back, sorry that I got upset and weird.”

“It’s alright,” he shrugs, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans to maintain some semblance of blood flow, the below freezing temperatures making it almost painful to breathe. “Lot of tears for a guy you’re not into, though.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, because what’s the use in denying it anymore. It hasn’t done you any favours this far. You fumble your key into the lock and shoulder the door open, leading him into the house with a silent invitation, thankful that he follows without any hesitation and seals the heat back in behind him. “Can I ask you something?”

“As long as it’s quick, I got a beer pong championship I need to retain, I’m on for a three-peat, kids in this town will be talking about it for years.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to hold you back from greatness,” you scoff, offering a lighthearted chuckle as you shrug off the jacket he had slung over your shoulders before. Luke’s jacket, you’re pretty sure, that in any other circumstances, you’d keep, but the smell of him is probably going to suffocate you if you inhale it any longer. You hold it out to Ethan, quirking a brow when he frowns down at the garment. “You’re off the hook, it was stupid anyway.”

“No, come on,” he prompts, “I was kidding.”

He blinks slowly at you, dark eyes warm and encouraging as he steps a little further into the foyer, leaning against one of the pillars by the door. He’s settled in, and he’s giving the kind of energy that it’s hard not to reciprocate - open and receptive to whatever it is that you want to talk about. 

“Do you guys talk about, like, girls and stuff?” You ask, brows creasing almost immediately at how dumb it sounds to even bring it up. God, you’re starting to hate what he’s turning you into. “I mean, like, if he was into somebody, would he tell you?”

His eyes go darker, somehow, amusement flashing through them as his lips quirk, and he can try all he wants, but it’s so obvious he’s biting back a smile. “He doesn’t have the track record for it since he moved away, no, but Luke’s a pretty private guy. Even when he was here, he was never really big on talking about that kind of stuff.”

“Oh.” You sigh, because great, you’ve just made an idiot out of yourself for no good reason - to Ethan, of all people, who’s been trying to eke information out of you all year. 

“Awful poker face, though,” he adds, “Like anybody could see from a mile off that he is into somebody.”

That doesn’t make you feel any better. If he isn’t talking to the boys about any girl he potentially is interested in, why would he tell you? Maybe you had been wrong, when Ellie brought up him speaking to somebody back in Jersey, maybe he wouldn’t have told you. Maybe he’s a pretty private guy, like Ethan said, and that privacy extends to you in the same way it does to the guys - where Luke keeps his cards close to his chest, just like he had back in summer, when the two of you were a thing. 

“Ellie told me that he was,” you lament, leaning on the pillar closest to Ethan’s, crossing your arms over your chest, “I didn’t believe her, I thought he’d tell me, but now I don’t know.”

“Is that what you’re upset about?” Ethan’s eyes narrow, “That he didn’t tell you?”

“I guess maybe he did,” You sigh, replaying his words over and over in your head. We both have to find a way to move on. I don’t know how long I’m supposed to wait for you to figure it out. It hadn’t been explicit, but the sentiment was there - like he was laying the foundations of something he’d be more ready to build onto at a later date.

Maybe this thing with Yasmin is early days, still. Maybe you put him so far off the idea of letting anyone else in on what could be a good thing - through fear of it all coming crumbling down, just like his relationship with you had done - that he won’t tell anybody until he knows for sure.

“I feel like an idiot.”

The idea of him letting go of his feelings just as you started to come to terms with your own hurts, but you can hardly be mad at him. He had been right - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that you weren’t willing to take things further again, and even though that was almost 6 months ago, now, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve withheld your feelings, since. You don’t even remember what you were trying to protect yourself from, because it can’t have been as bad as this.

“Maybe you should talk to him before he leaves again, tomorrow,” Ethan suggests, “I can try talk some sense into him if you want?”

“You’re good,” you decline, figuring you’ve done enough invading his privacy for the time being. You need to let him figure things out on his own, you think, instead of acting out of impulse and making everything explode in your face. “I’ll call him in the morning, thanks though.”

Ethan straightens up as he starts to get ready to leave, but just before you can say goodbye, he turns at the door. “He really cares about you, you know.” He tells you, “In case he didn’t tell you that, either. He can be an idiot, but he cares.”

“I know,” you breathe, smiling softly to try and reassure him - because if you do know one thing about Luke in this whole fiasco, it’s that he cares. Whether it’s too much, or not enough, you’re not sure, but it’s there, nonetheless. 

You thank him again, because you really are grateful that he walked you back, and that he was so willing to lend an ear to your stupid questions without making you feel entirely stupid for them, and grins back, boyish and sweet, before he leaves. 

The house is unsettlingly quiet - the rest of the girls either in bed or at the party - and you just want to go to bed, yourself to shut out the unbearable silence, but your room doesn’t provide the kind of escape you thought it might.

One of Luke’s sweatshirts is slung over the back of your desk chair, and even without it being there, you think you’d see him in every corner. He’s in your reflection in the bathroom, brushing his teeth by your side and nudging you out the way to spit the residue into the sink. He’s poking and prodding at your skincare on your vanity, reading the bottles and asking what they do. He’s sat at your desk, looking at your little calendar and telling you that you really need to take a break for yourself when he realises just how many spaces are filled in. And he’s in your bed, his scent in the sheets you’re yet to wash since he slept in here on your birthday - and even that isn’t giving you reprieve like it had the night before.

You can’t get to sleep at all.

And it’s probably morbid curiosity that will be the end of you, because as you lay in your bed, tossing and turning and trying to drown out your thoughts so that you can finally drift off - there’s some stupid, sabotaging part of you that thinks it’s a good idea to open up instagram. And then it seems reasonable to check Luke’s profile, knowing that he hardly ever posts, but heading straight to the accounts that he’s following.

You type her name before you can convince yourself how bad the idea is, watching as the results narrow down to just one with only a few letters, and you click straight through to the profile that remains.

It’s unassuming, initially. Her name is Yasmin Keating. Her bio suggests she’s a student, her location says North Carolina, and most of her feed is dedicated to her time spent decked in blue and white playing basketball at UNC. And she’s gorgeous. She’s athletic, and would probably understand all of his weird sports references more than you do, would probably understand his lifestyle, and the stress he’s under. She’s sociable, probably wouldn’t hide him away and make him feel like some dirty secret.

And one of her latest posts is tagged in New York, from a couple weeks ago. A carousel of photos, each as pretty as the last, and you hold your breath as you swipe through them for any sort of sighting of the curly brown hair you know too well.

The sighting doesn’t come, but as you scroll down a little, you find something just as bad. 

Liked by lhughes_06.

If you were hesitant to accept Ellie’s word for it, confused by Luke’s own reluctance to let you in, and Ethan’s shifty explanation of his best friend’s privacy, then this is the confirmation you need to finally accept the truth.

Luke is moving on.

And maybe you need to let him. 

When Luke wakes up the morning after, his head is pounding. There’s a relentless thud between his ears, and he swears his brain feels loose, like it’s rattling around his skull at even the slightest shake of his head.

He doesn’t think it’s a hangover - he’d had a few drinks, but not that many, and had ended up coming home a lot earlier than anticipated, his party spirit dampening as soon as you left, anyway. He’d fallen asleep with his phone in hand, staring at your message thread and trying to figure out if texting you would be a good idea, so maybe it’s staring at a screen for almost an hour that gave him such a headache, he thinks.

But all his usual remedies aren’t working.

He drinks a full bottle of water straight from the refrigerator, chugging the contents down until the plastic is squeezed to within an inch of its life in his hand, and manages to swallow down some Tylenol with it. He showers, letting the water spray directly onto his neck and shoulders to try and relieve the tension there, and spends a little longer than usual to try and wash the pain away. He even makes himself a decent breakfast to try line his stomach, but by the time 10am rolls around, he still feels like crap.

He is supposed to fly back to Jersey in the late afternoon, and as the hours tick on, there’s a panic that stirs within him - a feeling like he’s forgotten something, already, even though he doesn’t have to leave for a while. His bags were packed yesterday - he had figured he’d get ahead so that he isn’t stressing - and he doesn’t have to worry about returning a rental car, because he’s been driving his dad’s while they’re out of town and is supposed to leave it at the airport, anyway. He’s checked all the windows around the house, and the settings on the heater - there are no dishes in the sink, no clothes left in the washer or dryer, and it’s about as tidy as it was when he arrived last week. 

And it’s only when he checks his phone for what is probably the 20th time that he even realises he keeps doing it - realises what he thinks he’s missing.

You.

He probably would have been with you, if things didn’t blow up last night.

He’d have been at your house, or you’d have been at his, and you’d have kept him busy all the way up until the point he needs to leave. He’d have slept by your side, like he’s pathetically getting so used to doing, now, and would have woken up to your pretty eyes slowly blinking back at him. And he figures that’s why he felt off as soon as he opened his own, with the sun peering into his bedroom through the thin curtains, and the  slight chill that wracked through his body without yours to keep him warm.

You haven’t even text him - the last message on his phone being from Ethan, last night, after he’d dropped you off, one Luke had seen as he sat in the back of his Uber home, all desire to be around anybody swiftly drained as soon as you were gone. 

His hands start to shake the longer he thinks about it, and the more he remembers - pushing you away and watching you leave - and he can’t even rationalise it all, anymore. 

Summer might feel like a lifetime ago, but if that’s the case, then it’s a lifetime of Luke still wanting you. It’s months of trying to fan the flames of your affections, trying to keep the spark alive, despite all the ways you had told him it was long blown out. 

He knows. He’s always known that there was something left.

But he’s tired of being the only one who believes in it, anymore.

Jack doesn’t support him, his parents are none the wiser, his teammates barely have time for their own relationship dramas, let alone his, and the only person who had ever encouraged him to pursue more with you lives on the other side of the continent. 

But right now, the last remedy that comes to mind is a call with his oldest brother - one last ditch attempt to clear his mind before he flies back to Jersey and throws himself back into hockey for the last few months. 

He’s found himself calling Quinn much more while he’s been home alone for the past 10 days, with Jack busy with the tournament, and his parents busy watching them - he thinks there’s a common ground there, with Quinn, where he’s sort of detached to the point of novelty when it comes to Luke’s life. 

He offers a fresh perspective, gives unbiased advice - helps him make pancakes over FaceTime for the girl in his bed who isn’t his girlfriend, and doesn’t make snarky comments or push him to talk about it. 

And so he’s pressing on his contact before he can think better of it - waiting until Quinn’s face pops up on his screen, seemingly propped up while he makes himself a breakfast smoothie all the way over in Vancouver. 

“Lukey, what’s up?”

“Hey man, you got a minute?”

“Sure, let me just back away from the blender before I try to multitask and blitz my kitchen.”

He watches with a grateful smile as Quinn makes his way through his apartment, walking into the living room himself and throwing himself down onto the seat in the bay window.

“Surprised you found the time to call me, thought you’d be spending your morning at a certain sorority or something.” His older brother laughs as he lowers himself down onto the couch in his apartment, the view behind him that of a misty Vancouver, the sun barely seeping through the clouds.

It makes him feel a little closer, to see it - peering through the glass at the front of their parent’s house, himself, and looking up at familiar grey skies.

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Luke frowns, hating the way his gut twists guiltily at the vague memory of last night - of your elation turning into evasion, and the way he still thinks he can taste you if he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. “I don’t think she wants to see me right now.”

“What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I’m the problem?” 

“Are you not?”

“I don’t even know.” He groans, looking back on the evening with a lot more clarity than his beer-goggles had allowed him, before. “I sort of blew up at her last night about something, I had a couple drinks, and I think I was pretty harsh. She left the party early and we’d usually text by now, but I think she’s probably avoiding me.”

“You’re gonna have to quit being so vague if you want me to help you out, man.”

The look Quinn is giving is like the virtual version of a brotherly swat, a blank but bold stare at the screen that’s his own silent way of telling his little brother to just spit it out, already.

And Luke takes little convincing - despite all the months he’s held back from doing so. This is technically a boiling point, and keeping this whole thing between the two of you such a secret has done absolutely nothing to serve him, so far. He could really use the help, he thinks.

“We’re supposed to be friends.” Luke sighs, “Back in summer, we had a thing, like we were sort of, almost together,” he cringes as he says it, unable to think of a better way to lay it out. Sure, he’d spoken to Quinn a little about you, back then - had admitted to having a crush, at least, but he hadn’t shared much past that. And it’s different with his older brother, he thinks, on the other side of the continent, oblivious somewhat to Luke’s day to day, and just how much it probably involved you by now. He needs to explain it for it all to make any kind of sense. “Like we were hanging out together all the time, and sleeping together, and it sounds like a mess but it was perfect when it was just us.”

“Are you waiting for me to be shocked or something?” Quinn queries after a moment’s pause, quirking a brow with narrowed eyes pointed straight at the camera. “Because we all knew you were sort of, almost together, you couldn’t have been any more obvious about it if you tried. Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” Luke huffs out an elongated breath, the whole thing feeling like a waste of time, right about now. Keeping you hidden, abiding by your rules of saying nothing about whatever was going on between the two of you. What was the point in kissing you behind closed doors and rushing you back to your bedroom in the mornings if everybody knew, anyway? What could the two of you be, now, if you hadn’t held yourselves back? “I really fell for her, though. Hard. Like the worst hit I’ve ever taken in my life. And I fucked it all up by being stupid, and I said some pretty awful stuff about her that she overheard,” he winces, hating even looking back on that stupid conversation with Cole, not wanting to slip and indulge too much to his oldest brother about it through fear of valid judgement. “And it took her a while to let me back in, and she said that we’d only ever be friends, and obviously I want to be more, obviously I’m still in love with her, but she made it pretty clear we’d never cross that line again, and I can’t spend the rest of my life standing at the wrong end of a bridge I can’t cross, do you know what I mean?”

“No,” Quinn deadpans, “I’ve never heard anything so dumb in my life.”

“She kissed me, last night, Quinn,”

“Sounds horrific.”

“And I pushed her away,”

“Sounds idiotic.”

“You don’t get it,” Luke’s jaw tenses, glaring at his brother through the screen. “She only kissed me ‘cause she didn’t want me to kiss somebody else. She saw me with this girl she hates and I found her after, she was pretty upset.”

“Lukey boy,” Quinn chuckles, giving an amused, crooked smile on the other end of the call, “You’re so full of shit, the hot girl that you like kissed you, it’s hardly the end of the world.”

“Don’t be a dick, Q,” Luke scowls, trying to push past the flare of agitation that lights within him at his brother referring to you as the hot girl. Even he can see how hypocritical it is, but it’s instinct - he can’t exactly fight it.

“No, come on,” his older brother starts, straightening up where he’s seemingly reclining on the couch, a surefire sign that he’s about to give some sort of lecture. “You spend your whole summer obsessed with her, and God-knows how long before that, and you fuck up so monumentally that the girl doesn’t talk to you for like 6 weeks, and then by some miracle she lets you back in and you fuck it up again.”

“Jack said I should move on,” Luke huffs in response, some attempt at trying to rationalise how stupid he had been to push her away last night.

“Jack’s an idiot.”

“He said that she’s probably moving on, and he made out that it was all sort of one-sided, and you know how much him and Ellie talk, I figured it had to have come from somewhere-,”

“It came from him being an idiot,” He repeats, “And it must be contagious, because why would you not just talk to her instead of letting it all blow up like that?”

“I tried,” Luke whines, “We went to a game together last week, I asked her about dating and stuff,”

“And?”

Luke frowns as he tries to remember the crux of the conversation - you’d joked that you wouldn’t go to a hockey game on a date, that you hadn’t been going to games on dates, and it never really expanded further than that, his attempt too specific to the situation and not the wider issue. 

“I guess she said she wasn’t, but I probably wasn’t asking the right question.” He admits, blinking slowly as he tries to come up with any other reason why he had acted so irrationally the night before.

“So let me get this straight,” Quinn’s voice brings him back a little, shoulders stiffening in preparation of the verbal lashing he’s no-doubt about to receive. “You two spend a whole week together, like every waking second in her company when she’s not in class or with her friends, she spends valentines and her birthday with you, she tells you that she isn’t dating anybody else, she gets so upset about seeing you with somebody else that you find her almost in tears, and you somehow ignore all of the evidence that she is, in fact, into you, only to push her away because Jack implied she might have moved on?”

Well that sounds fucking stupid, Luke thinks. 

“But she-,”

“She what?” Quinn asks, raising an expectant brow. “She snuck you into her house all week, despite the fact we both know how strict those girls can be about having guys over? She spent every day doing things that were important to you, trying to learn about the things you like, hanging around your friends, coming to you when she was upset?”

“You don’t get it,” Luke huffs, regretting all the information he’d been sharing with his brother throughout the last week right about now - not realising the little parts would be pieced together and used against him like this. “She told me she only wanted to be friends, she told me multiple times, and she only ever wants more when she is upset, like I’m just there to comfort her, or something.”

It had been the same back in summer, initially - you only ever sought him out when you were agitated or emotional over something you wouldn’t talk to him about. You followed him up to his bathroom after seeing him with Victoria, you brought him upstairs to his room in the middle of a party after an argument with Jack - and he had been fine with it, at the time - encouraged it, even, trying to flare up your jealousy to prompt you to give in to him, taking whatever scraps of your affections you were willing to give - but this feels different. 

He can’t keep carrying on like this.

“Don’t you want to comfort her?”

“Of course I fucking want to comfort her,” he scoffs, because it isn’t about that. He loves you, he’ll always want to comfort you if you’re hurting or upset, but he can’t keep himself on stand by to be available to your methods of avoiding your problems only for you to keep pushing him away, otherwise. “But, I don’t know, there has to be a line, you know?” He sighs, “I have to put a line there before I fall any further and she pulls the rug from under me when she does start dating. Like she just saw me speaking to some girl she doesn’t like, and then she said she doesn’t want to see me with anyone else, but she still wants to be friends! I told her that we both need to move on, I don’t even know why, I don’t even think I want her to.”

“You need to talk to her, man,” Quinn frowns, “You need to tell her that.”

“That’s what last night was-,”

“No, last night was impulse,” he sighs back, “It was you after a few drinks, and both of your emotions at a high, and you blew up at her out of nowhere. Sure, she probably shouldn’t have kissed you, but you’ve got to give her a chance for her to think about what she wants instead of just telling her she needs to move on because she didn’t give you the right answer in the moment, Luke.”

You weren’t there, Luke wants to say, you don’t understand.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe an outsider’s perspective - someone like Quinn, who is fair and reasonable, who doesn’t let his loyalty to or protectiveness over his little brother cloud his judgement, who always understood the depths of his relationship with you before Luke could ever admit it to anybody - sees more than Luke could, himself.

“Go over, before you head to the airport,” Quinn says, his tone suggestive, but classically authoritative, “You don’t wanna leave it like that, trust me.”

“Yeah,” Luke breathes, “Thanks, man, sorry for dumping all of this on you.”

“It’s fine,” Quinn smiles back, crooked and familiar, bringing the kind of comfort Luke finds himself craving, sometimes, when his other brother is being a dick. “I’d rather you come to me than Jack, he just ends up making a bigger mess that I have to clean.”

Luke gives some attempt at a laugh that doesn’t quite seem right with how heavy everything else feels, and lets his brother carry on with his own morning routine with no more whining from him. 

He gets himself ready, loads his bag into the trunk, and makes sure everything is locked up and secure before setting off across town on a route he now knows like the back of his hand. He sits in the car, parked up across the street from your house, for 10 minutes - trying to think of how he can possibly clear everything up before he leaves - when he sees something that makes his breath catch.

You come out of the house, bundled in what looks like a bunch of layers and his sweatshirt on top, your backpack slung over your shoulder, and you’re smiling as you turn back to speak to someone following you out of the house. Even from as far away as Luke is, the sight of your smile calms something within him, but that calm quickly turns frigid as he takes notice of who is coming through the door behind you.

Ethan is wearing the same clothes as last night, his hair is shaggy and unkempt, and Luke recognises the kind of wry grin he’s flashing your way from back when the two of them lived together when he was in college. It’s the kind of smile that follows a phrase Luke can still hear in the back of his mind, as if it were last uttered to him yesterday, and not almost 2 years ago. I don’t kiss and tell.

And that swirl of panic comes back tenfold - fingers clenching against the wheel as he starts the car back up and drives off as quick as he can, not wanting to watch anymore of whatever scene that was between the two of you unfold. 

If he hadn’t regretted last night before, he sure does, now - because he understands you more than ever - 8 familiar words ringing around his skull like a siren sound. 

I don’t want to watch you move on, you had told him, pupils blown and lips swollen as you spoke, the surface of them still slick and pink from his bruising kiss. And being the idiot he is, he had encouraged you to do just that - had thought it would be what’s best for you both, what’s healthy and right.

But he doesn’t want to watch you move on, either.

And now it seems like he has no choice.

Trying to distract yourself from the fact that Luke is actively avoiding you is harder than you ever thought it would be.

You lived so much of your life before him that it really shouldn’t take a lot of effort to try and reignite some form of your old routine, but as the days pass by - and the conversation lulls, the texts dwindle into short responses, and the FaceTimes cease entirely - you think you might have forgotten what your world was ever like without him. 

You throw yourself back into your school work for a couple weeks, but it doesn’t really work the same as it used to, and you find yourself thinking about your future too much - about your grades, about NYU, about all the plans that involved him and now don’t seem as certain as they once did. You get back into the groove with your sorority responsibilities, spend a lot more time with your sisters, helping to plan the activities and events like you did a lot more last year, but you find yourself checking Luke’s game schedule more often than you should, trying to make sure nothing clashes even though he probably doesn’t care by now and he no doubt has Yasmin to support him instead of you.

And then you try to do things for yourself. You get back into your routine at the gym, you pick up swimming again and even volunteer on your one day off a week to teach a few lessons at the rec centre, thankful for those few hours you spend with a bunch of kids who just want to splash around and dive for the random items you throw into the deep end for them. 

You manage to find some semblance of balance, but he’s always in the back of your mind, and before you know it, weeks have passed - whatever spark you had left with Luke fading as they do - and the last text you have from him is from 5 days ago. You’d tried to lure him into a movie night, asking about his availability, and he’d said he would let you know. He never did. And that is what led you to tonight - going out to the movies instead of sitting on your bed and thinking Luke should be beside you, and you figured it was the safer option, going somewhere that you never went with him.

You even ran into Ethan while you were out - and where the initial sight of him might have previously made you a little nauseous just from the connection to Luke, the last few weeks have alleviated that, somewhat.

After Ethan had dropped you home that night of the party, you’d left your bedroom to find him hiding behind a corner at the top of the stairs while the rest of your sisters lingered around at the bottom. He had been wearing the same clothes from the night before, and was close enough to your friend Megan’s room to understand that he had spent the night there. And you know Megan well enough to know she probably kicked him out and left him to his own devices, too exhausted to try and sneak him out of the house, herself.

So you did the honours - you figure you’d gotten good at it with the amount of times you had snuck Luke in and out the week prior - and helped him navigate his way out without getting caught, leaving the house with him on your way to class. He’d offered to drive you as repayment, and you’d gladly accepted, and the two of you ended up speaking more often - finding comfort in the way you didn’t really have to hide from him, anymore. He’d seen a vulnerable part of you that you no longer had to cover up, and it had been nice to have someone else that you didn’t really have to pretend around.

The local IMAX was playing The Martian, one of your favourites - so what if it was something you watched with Luke all the way back in summer? And you’d just planned on watching the movie and going home, but bumping into Ethan had stretched out your plans a little. 

You’d both been hungry after the movie, despite the copious amounts of popcorn you ate and the giant soda you drank, and he suggested grabbing burgers. And then the burger place he drove out to was right beside an arcade, and he’d wandered in there first, really - you just followed - but you don’t regret it. 

You ended up having a lot of fun - the weightless kind, where Luke sort of slipped from the back of your mind. And it wasn’t even just Luke that slipped - it was the stress of school, of your finals coming up, of finding out your dad was going to be on vacation again when you were due to graduate, and you’d gotten into a fight with your mom about NYU and turning down the job you had lined up back in Chicago. It was all the things that you’d been bottling up now that you didn’t really have Luke to talk to, and forgetting them for even just one night was nice.

Ethan had dropped you home after the arcade, and left you at the side of the street in front of the sorority house with the stuffed animal you had won just for Ellie, because she’d seen the little duck in the back of the picture you sent to her of your whereabouts. 

And you’re just about to knock on her door when it swings open - Ellie’s eyes red and her cheeks puffy with fresh tears, alarm and panic in her features that immediately elicited the same in your own. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, heart seeming to thud to a dramatic stop as you watch her lips tremble and she ushers you into her bedroom.

“It’s Jack,” Ellie sniffles, “He got hurt, it’s pretty bad.”

“Oh, El,” you reach out to take her into your embrace, rubbing at her back as sobs wrack straight through her spine. “What happened?”

“He took a hit and went straight into the boards, I can’t bring myself to watch the replay, they’re saying on twitter that he passed out, and I can’t get a hold of anybody. Could you watch it for me? Could you tell me if he looks alright?” You hadn’t even realised there was a game on tonight - too consumed in your plans and your determination to have a night off from thinking about Luke to even check.

“Oh, I don’t-,” You break away, trying to think of how best to get out of it. You’re really not the best with injuries, and if it’s bad enough for her to be this upset, you have a feeling it’s going to make you feel sick. “Maybe I should ask Ethan to come over and watch it for you, I-,”

“Please?” She pleads, eyes round and welling with tears, a surefire way to get you to agree. “I just need someone to be honest with me.”

“Yeah,” You resign, holding out your hand for Ellie to give you her phone, seeing the video is already loaded once she’s unlocked it. “Yeah, alright.”

Ellie turns away with her hands covering her ears as you press play, and you watch as Jack skates toward the net, readying himself for the puck to be played towards him, not expecting the way he’s being approached from behind all of a sudden, and can’t bring himself to a stop before he’s colliding straight into the boards, the opposition player bumping straight into the back of him.

You try not to wince at the impact, at the way Jack’s body goes limp and he has to be turned over by the other player. You try to focus on the positives before you assemble your thoughts - he gets up, he can skate on his own, he isn’t bleeding anywhere - but it’s hard when you know him. 

It’s hard when, as much as you and Jack don’t really get along, you’re similar in more ways than you’d like to admit, and you know that seeing him express even the slightest bit of pain must mean he’s in absolute agony.

She said that she wants honesty, but you know Ellie - she doesn’t want to worry, you don’t want her to worry, not until she knows all the facts.

“He’s up, he’s skating off,” you tell her, glancing up and offering what you hope is a comforting smile, a slight twist of your lips that does little, probably, to hide your own concern. “I don’t think it’s the same shoulder he hurt last year.” You remember how much she stressed about that at the time - about his surgery, and the aftermath, and you’d been living with him back at the beginning of summer, enough to know which side he previously had in a sling, or which side he avoided doing much activity with in the earlier weeks. “It doesn’t look great, but at least he can take himself off the ice, right?”

Even from clips of the incident, you can tell how much it worries the people around him - players on the ice, fans in the stands, and you wonder for a second about Luke, about how it must feel to watch from the bench and have to carry on without knowing what’s happening. 

And now you’re worried about him. 

You hand Ellie’s phone back over, watching as she chews nervously at the inside of her cheek, spinning the device in her hand and fidgeting erratically.

“I’ll wait with you until we hear something,” you promise, placing a hand gently on her lap to try and stop her knee from bouncing. You hand the stuffed animal you’re still holding out to her, and she takes it with a limp smile that comes nowhere close to reaching her eyes. “I’ll get you a drink, do you want something warm to calm you down? I can make you a sleepy tea, if you want?”

Ellie nods, eyes glistening as she maintains that weak effort of a smile, and you smile back, an attempt at reassurance before you hand her phone back and head downstairs to the kitchen. You’re thankful it’s empty when you finally walk in, able to wait around while the water boils and try to calm yourself down. 

You know it’s selfish as soon as you start to think it - your best friend in pieces upstairs about her boyfriend being hurt - but all that flashes through your mind is Luke. That could have been Luke. How would you feel if Luke was hurt? How do you feel that he’s potentially, probably hurting now, even thought it isn’t him? How are you supposed to help him through this from so far away, with everything going on, afraid to even text him first, anymore? Would he even want you to?

 Your cellphone burns a hole in your back pocket, the urge to reach out is practically making your fingers itch, and you cast a glance to the clock that flashes on the little screen on the range. He’s probably back in his hotel, by now. Or he’s with Jack and the medical team. 

You could call him. Just so you’ve at least tried. Just so he knows you’re there if he needs you, and that the last few weeks of minimal contact mean nothing if there’s any potential of something happening to him.

Sitting around and dwelling on the fact that he hasn’t tried to call you is pathetic, you think. It’s self-centred and petty, and you need to be better than that. He deserves better than that.

So, as Ellie’s tea is brewing, you reach into your pocket, swipe at your phone with muscle memory and bring it up to your ear, waiting for the beep of his voicemail so that you can leave some sort of message, even if he probably won’t listen. 

“Hey,” his voice cuts at your spiralling thoughts, low and tired, more like a sigh than anything else, and your body straightens against the counter as you rush to respond.

“Hi,” you say, a weird flutter in your chest at the mere sound of his voice after so long. “I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

He doesn’t reply other than a little huff, and you’re sort of thankful for it - if he doesn’t reply, he can’t say something you don’t want to hear, like how he doesn’t want to hear from you.

“I just got back to the house and Ellie told me about Jack, I wanted to check on you.”

“Pretty late to be just getting back,” he murmurs, and you hear a little shuffling, like he’s moving around, before you hear the soft clasp of a door in the background. “You overstay your welcome at the library again?”

“No,” you breathe out a little laugh, leaning against the counter as you watch steam rise from the mug of tea sat on top. “I finally followed your advice, actually,” you tell him in the hopes that hearing that might perk him up just a little. “Ditched the books for a day, did a whole lot of not studying.”

For as long as you’ve been stressing about school, Luke has been trying to guide you towards some sort of balance - giving yourself a little grace to actually have a breather - and maybe your main stressor hadn’t been studying, this time, but he doesn’t need to hear that, right now. 

“Oh, really?” You can hear his smile through the phone, small but sure, and the sound of it eases a little of the anxiety swelling in the pits of your stomach. “You get up to anything cool?”

“Yeah, actually,” you stir at Ellie’s tea absentmindedly, hoping you’re offering some sort of distraction. “They were playing The Martian at the IMAX, I got all up close and personal with Matt Damon and his shitty potatoes.”

“Sounds like you had fun,” he snorts, and you’d like to think you can hear the soft semblance of a smile, even if his heart isn’t entirely in it.

“It was great, we went to go get burgers and play pinball after, which is why I’m so late home.” You sigh, only just starting to feel the exhaustion from it, hoping this sleepy tea does its wonders on Ellie so that you can both go to bed pretty quick. “I feel like I haven’t done anything fun like that all year.”

“Who’d you go with?”

“Just Ethan,” you scoop the teabag from the water and dispose of it, frowning as you realised you’ve somehow made this whole call about yourself, guilt seeping into your subconscious. “But enough about me, how’s everything with you? How’s Jack? Ellie said she hasn’t been able to reach him, which is why I thought you wouldn’t pick up.”

“Uh, they think they’re gonna send him back to Jersey,” Luke laments, “He’s gonna miss the game in Dallas, he’s convinced his season is over, so he’s pretty down right now. I think he’s about to give El a call and tell her.”

“What about you?” You bite your lip, hoping Ellie is occupied upstairs and you can stay on with Luke a little longer. This feels less charged than the last few times you’ve spoken - easier, despite the heavy topic - and you just want him to know that this sort of stuff is still on the cards. At least, you hope it is. “Can’t have been easy, watching him go down like that.”

“I’m fine.” The way he says it is short, obviously a lie, and you try to tell yourself not to take it personally. Luke never usually lies to you. Sometimes he doesn’t really talk about stuff, but he’s never hidden his feelings from you. But this isn’t the kind of thing the two of you have really had to navigate, before. Maybe it’s even the kind of thing he doesn’t want to navigate with you - maybe it’s something friends don’t navigate together. 

“You know you can talk to me if you’re not,” you assure him, in the hopes that he won’t shut you out. “I told Ellie I’d stay with her for a bit, but I can always call you after, even if you don’t want to talk, it’s been a while, I-,”

“I’m fine,” he repeats, even shorter this time, his tone clipped, and the silence that follows feels like it goes on forever. 

“Okay,” You croak after a moment, hesitance creeping up on you, again, all joviality from the previous conversation drained.

“I gotta go,”

“Luke, I-,” you don’t even know what you want to say, but there’s this voice inside that’s screaming to say something. To put up some sort of fight, to make sure he knows you want to be there for him. But this sudden reluctance is all consuming. It’s debilitating, even, and it overpowers that meek, unsure voice in a booming, unavoidable roar, that tells you he doesn’t want your help. He wants to move on, and you’re not letting him. And so all you can bring yourself to say, again, is “Okay,” like a whispered resignation. 

He mutters out some form of goodbye before he hangs, up, and you find yourself staring at the billowing steam rising from the mug of sleepy tea until a hand on your shoulder shakes you from your reverie.

“Was starting to think you’d knocked yourself out with this stuff,” Ellie huffs out a weak laugh as she steps up to the counter beside you, taking the mug by the handle and bringing it to her lips. You watch as she takes a sip, as the line of frustration between her brows smooths itself out, and her shoulders slump a little, relaxed and soothed. “Just spoke to Jack, he’s flying out to Jersey in the morning for further evaluation, said he’ll update me after.”

“Oh,” you shake yourself out of your own head, feigning ignorance as you cross your arms over your chest. You can’t tell her about your call with Luke, partly because you don’t know what Jack has told her to try and ease her worries, and partly because talking about Luke with Ellie fills you with unyielding dread every time, and it’s the last thing you need. “Does he have any idea what’s wrong?”

“Won’t know until tomorrow,” she sighs, “He thinks he’s gonna need surgery, though.”

“Shit,” you mutter.

“I think if that’s the case, I might ditch spring break and go spend it with him. Help him out while I can, you know?”

You nod, pressing your lips together. The two of you were booked on a trip to Cabo, your last spring break together as seniors, and a few of your sisters were going, too, so you won’t be on your own if she does have to ditch you. You can’t hold any resentment about it. 

You’d do the same, if it happened to Luke, you think. Not that he probably would want you to, anymore.

Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s right about boundaries, and blurred lines. Maybe you’re taking things too far.

“Of course,” you try to offer comfort, a reassuring smile that doesn’t feel as authentic as you’d like and a gentle pat to her shoulder, hoping you don’t reek of condescension.

Ellie chews at the corner of her bottom lip, like she wants to say something else, but nods, instead, diverting her gaze as she sips at her tea. “I’m here for you too, you know,” she says, after a few seconds, eyes peering up carefully to meet yours. “If you need me.”

“I’m not the one with the broken boyfriend,” you chuckle softly, thankful for the smile she gives back, a little of the tension eased from your shoulders. 

The fact that you’re the one with the breaking bond goes unspoken, but you can tell Ellie is thinking it - it’s why she offered, in the first place, more perceptive of your situation with Luke than you probably give her credit for.

But you don’t want her pity - you don’t deserve it. You made your own bed with Luke, and all you can really do now is lie in it. He doesn’t want you anymore - not in the same capacity he used to, not like summer, whenever he cast a heated glance your way, and you’d feel it all the way through to your bones. You don’t think you’ll ever go back to that, it’s too late to get that back. You need to give him the space he so clearly desires, and maybe the two of you can find your way back to something resembling the friendship you had before you monumentally fucked it all up.

And maybe Ellie can give you the perfect distraction to do just that - focusing on fixing your relationship with her instead of investing all your efforts on a guy that no longer wants you back.

Luke knows it’s a selfish thing to say, but Jack’s injury has been hard on him.

For the second year in a row, his brother has had to end his season early, at the most crucial, cut-throat point as the team battle to make it to the playoffs, and Luke has had to shoulder a lot of the aftermath on his own.

There’s media, who are constantly asking him about it, waiting to trip him up, make him share something he’s not supposed to, or say something he doesn’t want to, and every time there’s a camera or a microphone shoved into his face, he dreads the social media discourse that follows. 

There’s commentators and people in the league themselves, providing a constant reminder that the Devils are at some sort of disadvantage, and have to work twice as hard to make up for everyone that’s slowly succumbing to the brutality of the sport as they finally near the peak.

There’s coming home to an empty apartment while Jack’s away getting his surgery, and trying not to worry or overthink what he’s going through.

And then there’s Jack himself, when he returns - a grouchy, bitter mess of a person who can’t see the wood for the trees, can’t focus on anything other than where he’s stuck, watching his team persist in his absence and wishing more than anything in the world he can take someone’s place - that the misfortunes that keep finding him lose track, just once - even though he would never want anyone else to hurt like that. 

And trying to juggle accommodating his brother's situation with his own is rough. Back to back losses following Jack’s departure, increased pressure on Luke as he takes on more responsibility within the team, and if you throw all of that in with the loss of his own coping mechanisms, Luke has found himself in a rut.

He isn’t sleeping the best, and he’s distanced from everyone - too in his head about seeing you and Ethan together to reach out to either one of you where he usually would - and he’s losing himself as the weeks blur by, and it isn’t until Jack mentions that Ellie is around that he lets himself think about you - about everything that happened in his bye-week, about how he’s been a pretty shitty friend to you, since.

“It’s spring break,” Jack says as Luke comes home to find him up and dressed for what seems like the first time since he got back from his surgery - struggling to shrug into a jacket while he only really has use of one arm. “She came out to spend it with me, gonna go over to her rental and watch a movie, you’re coming too.”

“Dude, I’m exhausted,” Luke huffs, throwing his keys into the bowl by the door as he watches his brother glare back at him, “I just want to go to bed, you don’t need me around when you’re hanging out with your girlfriend, I really don’t want to be seeing all that.”

“Lucky for you, there’s nothing to see,” Jack scowls back, “Ellie brought hell-spawn over with her, that’s why she isn’t staying here. Need you to work your magic as you seem to be the only one of us she can tolerate and I’m not in the mood for her bullshit.”

You’re in Jersey?

“I thought they were going to Cabo?” Luke frowns, too in his head about the fact that you’re in Jersey without telling him that he doesn’t call Jack out on how stupid he sounds, stopping in place as he watches his brother shrug in response.

“Ellie wanted to come out and see me, I guess she followed.”

And before Luke knows it, he’s driving the two of them over to the condo the two of you have rented for the week, and Ellie is answering the door with a giant grin on her face, cooing at Jack as she ushers them inside. 

He’s looking around like a madman until she tells him you’re in the kitchen, and that you’re gonna need some help getting the snacks and drinks together - and despite it only being a few feet away, Luke feels breathless as he barges through the door, like he can’t calm down until he sees you in person.

Your back is to him when he enters, but the commotion he makes is enough to draw your attention, and your eyes are wide when they land on him, and not in the way that he usually likes.

Something about this whole situation makes him uneasy - the weeks of minimal contact, the lack of closure, the way you’re looking at him like you don’t know what to say. 

You’ve never not known what to say, not when it comes to him.

“Hi,” he offers, because it’s the easiest thing for you to respond to, and the rest of the problems between the two of you are his own fault, so he may as well be the one to start to fix them.

“Hey,” you give back, the microwave pinging behind you, and you turn back to retrieve the bags from in there before you transfer them to the side. “I didn’t realise you were coming.”

“I didn’t realise you’d be in town,” he frowns, “Last you told me you guys were going to Mexico, your big senior spring break trip.”

That had been last month, and he has been a little distant since he left Michigan, but if you’re around, he would want to know about it. He can’t fathom why you’d be in the same city and not even tell him that you’re around. 

He also can’t fathom why you’d give up something you’ve been looking forward to all year.

“Yeah, well, Ellie wanted to be here for Jack,” you shrug, busying yourself by emptying the popcorn out of the bag and into a few bigger bowls. He can’t remember ever having a conversation where you didn’t give him your full attention, and he feels a little nervous as he watches you focus on anything but him. “And I want to be here for Ellie, she shouldn’t have to miss out on her last spring break.”

“You couldn’t have told me?”

“Thought you’d be busy,” you reply, still not looking his way, “You’ve been busy most times I’ve tried to reach out the past few weeks.”

He wants to tell you that’s different, but it isn’t. He’s been avoiding you, and it’s obvious to the both of you that he’s been using the distance as the perfect excuse. He technically has been busy, but it’s no more than he was before that night in Michigan, and he managed to make time for you then. Sure, he’s been on the road, and there’s been a string of some pretty shitty games, but he’d had the same in January, too, and the two of you still kept up texting, at least.

“I mean, I’m playing like every other day this week,” he pouts, “But I’d still want to see you.”

He watches as your brows knit together, your movements coming to a halt as you stand in front of the counter, still not sparing him a glance. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplate a response, and he wants to give you the time to think of one - doesn’t want to rush you again into saying something you don’t entirely mean.

He might have ignored Quinn’s instruction to clear up this entire mess before he left Michigan, but the rest of that conversation has still been weighing on his mind - about how he had been impulsive, and unfair, and he hadn’t considered all the ways you showed him things, without necessarily telling him. 

“There is this art installation I wanted to visit,” you tell him, hesitantly meeting his eye, “We could go together, if you’re free at all?”

“As friends?” He asks, because he can’t help himself, watching as your eyebrows raise a little, like you’ve just been hit by an unexpected impact.

“Yeah,” you nod, although you don’t look entirely sure. “As friends.”

And he hates how he can’t even withhold the disappointed sigh he gives, your own shoulders slumping as you notice the reaction, and you retreat a little into your previous distance, eyes darting down until he can no longer see your irises. 

“Maybe we should do something else,” he mutters, trying to push down the immediate need to backtrack when you don’t even respond, “You could come to a game, or something? An installation sounds cool and all, but that’s the kind of thing you do on a date, and we’re supposed to be moving on, right?”

“Are you?” You ask, peering up at him, again, “Moving on?”

He nods before he even realises he’s doing it, but it’s too late to stop before you notice, and all he can think about is the day he came back to Jersey, when he’d seen you leave your house with Ethan. All he can think about is losing you, and for some stupid reason, he thinks this is the only way to stop that. “I’m trying,” he shrugs, like he isn’t actively saying the most insanely stupid lie he’s ever told, “It’s what we said we’d do.” And he only says that to make himself feel better, he thinks - that you were only ever following the rules that he laid out for you, because it helps him to be delusional like that.

“Oh, okay,” you breathe, stepping back with a pained attempt at a smile and dodging his gaze, again, even quieter in your acceptance of his rejection, and it sort of makes him panic. “Yeah, it was stupid, this was stupid, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he frowns, the way he so quickly needs to correct you when you try to shrug him off coming by instinct, now. And he doesn’t like where this is going, now - misses the way you used to just roll your eyes and call him an idiot when he’d act like this, choosing the wrong path at every turn. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you call yourself stupid, and he has to try to reassure you. “It’s not stupid, it’s cool, it sounds like it would be fun, it’s just-,”

“Not together,” you bite back, “I get it.”

He sighs out your name, regretful and apologetic, “That’s not-,”

“Are you guys almost done in here?” Ellie huffs as she shoulders her way into the kitchen, features curled into a soft scowl as she stomps toward the counter, and Luke bites down on his tongue, fighting the sudden urge to tell her to go away. Her and his brother both have the single worst timing he’s ever known in his life. “Jack won’t shut up about how hungry he is." 

“Yeah, sorry,” you mutter, “We’re ready.”

And Luke steps back to let the two of you carry some drinks and snacks through to the living room, holding the door open for the two of you and trying to meet your eye as you slip past, his chest aching all over when you don’t. He grabs whatever’s left and follows the two of you out, watching as you sink down into one of the smaller loveseats, 

Jack and Ellie are taking up most of the couch, so he walks straight over to the seat opposite yours, an entire coffee table separating the two of you where you’d usually sit together, and he tries not to think about the last time you watched a movie - your birthday, when you’d been squished up against his side in your bed, the Wall-E plush he got you smushed between you as you watched the film, itself. 

The last time things had felt easy - the last time any of it had felt right.

And then he’d gone and ruined it.

Jack tees up Good Will Hunting, huffing and puffing when the remote isn’t working like he wants it to but refusing to accept anyone’s help on the matter, and Luke busies himself with his phone while it starts, trying to sort some tickets for his next game so he doesn’t let you down on that front, either, and every time he peers over at you, he thinks the tension grows, somehow, your jaw set and your eyes focusing only on the screen. 

He dips in and out of the movie, waiting for an update so that he can hopefully set about bridging the gap between the two of you tonight, and he only tunes back in at random intervals.

He’s seen it before, it’s one of his favourites, and he probably could quote it back to front without assistance, but certain parts have a new meaning when he really hears them, this time. 

Especially when it comes to a certain monologue, the comforting voice of Robin Williams ringing throughout the room as his character sits beside Will in the park, watching the swans and realising just how short Will’s perspective on life is. 

“If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favourites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy.”

He tries not to glance your way, his jaw tight as he blinks slow, recollections of waking up by your side flashing in his mind like something out of a dream. A blissful peace he hasn’t quite experienced elsewhere, his eyes flitting around your features as you slept, trying to study every inch of your face to commit it to his memory, never knowing if each time he got to experience it that it might be the last.

“I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell.”

He thinks of all those times he sought you out for his own personal comfort - after back to back games that drained every ounce of his energy, long stretches away from the comfort of his own bed, the constant comparisons to his brothers, and how he’d always come up short - but he was always first, to you.

Even when the two of you were caught up in the in-between, whatever you were before - friends, or something more - he always felt like a priority to you. Always wanted you to feel like a priority to him.

“And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her be there forever, through anything.” 

The night of your birthday, the light in your eyes when he gave you those gifts, the soft but beautiful curve of your lips as you told him he was your best friend. The way you were worried he’d get tired of you, and he had promised that he wouldn’t. 

“You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much.”

He hopes with everything in him that this isn’t the same - that he isn’t losing you. That his own immaturity and impatience hasn’t ruined the best thing he ever had in his life.

Because he does love you. He’s loved you for a long time, now.

Since the night of his cousin’s wedding, he thinks, when you’d opened up to him for the first time. Back when you laid in his arms in the dead of the night, your head on his chest and his arms around your body, and it finally felt like you were equals. Like he could stop chasing you, like you’d stop running.

He’s never felt the way he feels with you about anybody else. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t think he possibly could.

He doesn’t know why he ever made out like he could move on. 

But he’s too familiar with saying things he regrets, now. It just keeps happening. Mouthing off to Cole back in summer, agreeing to be just friends in the fall, telling you that he can’t wait around for you at the end of winter, that he’s trying to move on. 

Quinn was right, that morning when he called - he keeps doing stupid stuff out of impulse. Keeps letting his emotions get the better of him, and not giving you a chance to figure things out for yourself. 

When he finds the courage to glance your way again, he just about catches you before you look away - a blink and you’ll miss it moment where he’s not even sure if he imagined it, but he keeps trying for the rest of the movie, a lot more focused on the ending than he previously was on his phone.  

He thinks when it ends, and the credits start to roll, he’ll be able to find a way to ease the tension - to get you alone and talk it out, but his stupid brother opens his stupid mouth, and things escalate before he can even make sense of what’s happening. 

“Stuff like that just doesn’t happen in real life,” Jack huffs, giving his thoughts on how Will chose to leave and go after Skylar, despite their mess of a relationship and how much he hurt her before, “These big love confessions, this whole corny, I gotta see about a girl, thing, why wouldn’t he just be honest about his feelings in the first place instead of trying to sabotage himself? Would save them a lot of trouble.”

You scoff from your own corner of the couch, and Luke’s eyes dart over just in time to catch the distinct roll of your eyes, barely even sparing a glance to Jack as you say, “That’s rich coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack winces as he straightens up, Ellie frowning from under his good arm as she follows suit, and Luke feels his own shoulders stiffen in anticipation of an argument - Jack’s been riled up to have one since he got injured, and you’re walking straight into a trap without knowing it.

But you can handle yourself, he thinks, especially when it comes to Jack. 

Only something in you deflates when he looks again, the usual tenacity dissolving right before his eyes, and he watches as your gaze softens, flicking between the couple at the opposite end of the couch. “Forget it, doesn’t matter,” you mutter, your jaw set and your attention diverted back to the screen as the credits roll. 

“That’s what I thought,” Jack grumbles back, accepting the swat Ellie gives to his good side to tell him to reign it in.

Luke doesn’t know why he stays silent, the urge to speak up for you is so strong it’s making his fingers twitch, but you sink into your place against the arm of the seat and fold your arms over yourself, like you’re giving up entirely. 

“I was just saying, he’s a smartass, he’s hard work and she isn’t cut out for it, it shouldn’t be such a struggle to get somebody to open up, their relationship probably wouldn’t last a month once the movie’s over, if she even lets him back in when he goes to California, that is.”

Luke can see as clear as anything that Jack’s only using the film to vent his own frustrations - that he’s angry, and he’s exhausted, and he’s upset at everybody and everything - but he only understands that because it’s his brother. Because he’s known him his whole life. Because he gets where he’s coming from as a player - and Luke thinks he would be the same, if his season came to an abrupt end when he was on such a high, and all he’d known for the past month was loss and pain. He’d be angry, he’d snap at people, try to get them to hurt just a little bit so that it means he’s not alone. And it’s shitty, but he gets it - if his words were spoken to hurt Luke, he’d probably just shoulder the blow.

But they aren’t.

They’re meant to hurt you.

And when Luke looks over, and you’re staring at the wall with a distant, glassy look in your eyes, your lips twisted to stop them trembling, and your arms wrapped around yourself so tight that your shoulders are all hunched up, he can’t really bite his tongue anymore.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” he spits, eyes narrowing as they focus in on his brother, “You’re hard work, and you’re lucky Ellie isn’t running for the hills,”

“Whoa,” Jack frowns back, lips pouting as he diverts his attention across the room, “Chill out, man, it’s just a movie, I’m just saying my thoughts on it.”

“No one asked for your thoughts on it,” Luke scowls, “You’re being a dick for no reason, you don’t always have to spout your opinion on every little thing like it’s fact and shut down anyone who tries to argue with it.”

He expects to have caught your attention, seeing you move out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t expect for you to push yourself up and leave the room entirely, your feet padding softly against the carpet until the sound of them disappears completely, and the door to the kitchen swings closed behind you. 

“Clearly touched a nerve,” Jack mumbles, and even Ellie pushes herself off of him, rolling her eyes until she storms off after you. 

Luke almost wishes she hadn’t - wishes that he could be the one to go and comfort you, but after your conversation in the kitchen, before, he’s not sure if that’s what you would want. 

And he knows it’s his fault for this wedge that’s between the two of you, after pushing you away and telling you to move on and getting all in his feelings about you potentially doing so, leaving Michigan before the two of you could actually talk about it and neglecting to patch up the now gaping hole in your relationship - but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

He doesn’t know how he can sit around and pretend like everything’s fine.

“You really can be an asshole, you know,” Luke snaps at his brother, using the situation as a cover for the way he wants someone to tell him the same - wants you to say it, for you to tell him that he’s dumb, and an idiot, and that he’s hurting you. He doesn’t want you avoiding eye contact and sitting on the other side of the room and coming to Jersey without even telling him. 

“It’s not that deep, Luke-,”

“Seriously?” He scoffs, standing from his own seat and glaring down at Jack, his good arm sprawled across the back of the couch like he’s trying his best to make himself bigger, like Luke can’t see straight through the facade. “I get that you’re having a shitty time of it right now, but you don’t have to take it out on everybody else. You asked me to come with you to try and keep things from blowing up, but all you do is make digs at her for no good reason. I don’t get why you can’t just be nice.”

“I asked you to come with me because I thought you two were friends,” Jack lowers his voice, mindful of the fact that there’s only a wall that separates you and Ellie from the two of them, and he’s obviously on the verge of being in his girlfriend’s bad books after his behaviour. “She was annoyed about something before we even started the movie, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what when she won’t even look your way, Luke. I’m sick of you blaming me for her pissy attitude and not just having it out with her.”

God, he wishes Jack would just butt out of his business, for once.

Why can’t there be a middle ground between his unrelenting cynicism and Quinn’s blind hope?

If there was just one distinct voice for him to listen to, one clear instruction for him to follow, then he’d be able to make sense of everything swirling around his brain. 

He thinks that voice would probably be yours, and he’s going to fall apart if you keep it from him much longer.

“I think you two should go,” Ellie’s voice carries softly over from where she’s come back out of the kitchen, “You have that appointment in the morning, Jack, and you have a game tomorrow,” her eyes are cautious as she casts her gaze toward Luke, raising a brow as if pleading for his help in getting his brother out of the way.

“Yeah,” he mutters, cursing himself for not being the one to go straight after you, instead.

Jack doesn’t put up much of a fight other than his usual huffing and puffing as Ellie helps him into his coat, and Luke gives the two of them a second to say their goodbyes as he stands to the side, keeping an eye on the door you’re yet to reappear through. He wants to give you space - knows that he shouldn’t follow you in there to corner you again, but if you peek your head out, maybe he’ll feel a little less anxious. Maybe then there’s hope.

“Could you let her know I got her a ticket for the game tomorrow?” He asks Ellie before he leaves, “I can get you one, too, a couple of the guys from Michigan are gonna be there, I’d love it if she came.”

“I’ll let her know, Luke,” Ellie’s smile is apologetic, but it just makes him feel worse, and he drives him and Jack back to their apartment in the most uncomfortable silence of his life, his jaw set so hard it aches when he’s home, and he storms straight to his room with a dramatic slam of his door.

He opens up your text thread as he lays awake for what feels like an hour, staring at the keyboard and willing some sort of explanation to come to his head as to why he’s such an idiot.

And that’s how he ends up falling asleep, phone still clutched on his hand, and no further clarification on what the hell is going to happen with the two of you.

When Ellie had told you last night about Luke’s invitation to his game, it had felt like a no brainer at the time that you’d skip this one out. 

You don’t really know how many more knock backs you can take from him after telling him about the installation - an exhibit you’d seen online months ago, that would only be in town for a limited time following its success in Europe, and Luke had been the only person in mind you’d have ever wanted to go with.

But he doesn’t want to go with you.

He wants you at a safe distance, with distinct boundaries, and while you’re grateful for his attempt to try and lessen the blow of his rejection, you think foregoing the game entirely is the safest distance you could possibly wedge between the two of you.

As friends? He’d asked, almost immediately, like he was rubbing your face in it - like the mere thought of you wanting to go as anything more wasn’t even worth entertaining, anymore. And agreeing had been your last attempt to save face, because the last thing you were gonna do was put your heart on the line with his dickhead brother only one room away. You’re not that much of an idiot.

Plus, Ellie has taken your place - and she said some of the guys from college would be there, anyway. He probably won’t even notice you’re not there, just like how he’s managed to pretty much ignore your existence since he left Michigan.

And you can enjoy your first night of peace during your spring break, the others so far consumed by Ellie - not that you mind, all that much, it’s been kind of nice for the two of you to be away from everything, even though you’re within dangerous proximity to her demon boyfriend.

The rental she found is nice, too - the kind of place you could see yourself living in when you move over this way - spacious but cozy, with a giant TV that you can’t wait to watch your heart-shredding movie marathon on.

You set the space up as soon as Ellie left for the game, blankets thrown onto the couch, an array of snacks on the table, My Best Friend’s Wedding on the screen, and you’re about to settle in when there’s a harsh knock at the door, shattering your illusion of peace in an instant.

You grumble the whole way to the door, making sure the chain is on before you open it - all too aware you’re on your own in a city you aren’t entirely familiar with, and it would be just your luck to be murdered, probably.

But when you open the door, you almost wish it was a masked killer.

Jack Hughes stands on the porch, eyes narrowing as you peer at him through the crack in the door, his hip popped impatiently and foot tapping against the floor. 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Are you gonna let me in?” he asks, raising a brow as he huffs out an irritable sigh, “Considering I’m paying for the place, I really shouldn’t have to ask.”

You frown as you move, unlatching the door and giving him enough room to pass you without the risk of bumping your shoulder and agitating his. “I didn’t know that,” you mumble, annoyed even more so now that Ellie had chosen not to tell you that. You suppose it’s your own fault for not asking, but she of all people knows how you are about others paying your way. “That you were paying, I’ll pay you back if it’s a problem.”

“It isn’t.” He rolls his eyes as he stands in the room you thought was actually nice before he arrived, and now you sort of hate it. 

“Alright, well you didn’t answer my question,” you glare, “Why are you here?”

“I’m supposed to be checking up on you,” he says, rounding the couch before he throws himself down onto it, kicking off his shoes before he swings his legs up. “Usually when I have a headache so bad I can’t leave the house, watching the TV is the last thing I’d be doing.”

“Yeah, well, some of us are built different,” you scowl, “I’m fine, you can go ahead and crawl back to whatever pit you came from, I’ll let Ellie know you fulfilled your supportive boyfriend duties for the month.”

“Can’t actually,” he shrugs his good shoulder, reaching forward and grabbing the remote from where you left it. “Game’s starting in ten minutes, I won’t make it back to my place in time so you’re stuck with me for the next few hours.”

“Great.”

“Plus, Ellie didn’t send me, Luke did.” 

You don’t exactly know how to feel about that. Jack couldn’t be more obvious in his distain for you, and you couldn’t have made it any clearer that you aren’t his biggest fan either, so why Luke would send him of all people instead of just texting you and asking if you’re alright, you don’t know. Especially after the movie last night - Jack is the last person on Earth you would want checking up on you.

“Sorry he wasted your time, then,” you sigh, “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“We both know you don’t have a headache,” Jack calls over his shoulder, “So you can give up the act. You’d really leave a guy in a sling on his own for hours? What if I need a drink?”

“That’s what your good arm’s for,” you smile, sardonically, a quick flash of sarcasm that drops as soon as Jack rolls his eyes, “So lucky that you have two.”

“Please?” He asks, uncharacteristically, the sudden shock of him actually being polite instead of demanding causing you to still, “I don’t like watching the games on my own, it makes me all tense, which makes everything hurt a whole lot more.”

And the sudden vulnerability from him seems to hypnotise you, huffing out a petulant fine and sitting as far away from him on the couch as you possibly can.

You’re leaning against one arm, and he’s leaning against the other, and the two of you sit through the build up and the first ten minutes in complete silence until he notices that you’re actually watching, unable to help himself from being a dick, apparently, and asking, “Do you even know what’s going on?”

“No, I just watch for the hot guys,” you scoff, “Thank god you’re not there to lower the average anymore.”

The genuine laugh he snorts out in response in unexpected, and you side eye him until you can feel his attention is completely diverted, the two of you settling back into the quiet until a play towards the end of the first period stuns the two of you.

Luke has the puck, and he’s going so fast you can barely focus, gliding in between the opposition seamlessly until he’s advancing on the net, and just as he’s about to shoot, a much bigger body slams into him, knocking him back until he collides with the boards and crumples over, and a sickening sense of deja vu creeps up on you so quick it makes you dizzy.

You watch the aftermath wide eyed, the whole thing blurring together as Luke takes himself off the ice, and disappears down the tunnel.

The game carries on, but you can’t move - you don’t even think you’ve blinked in a minute - and your mouth is still gaped open like an idiot, the inside of it drying so much that you feel it all the way down your throat.

“He’ll be alright,” you hear from the side of you, a hesitant, reassuring tone that you don’t think you’ve heard come from Jack, before. You turn your head to meet his eye, and his body is fully angled towards you, his gaze scrutinising and intense. “It’s just a knock, he’ll be back on after the intermission probably.”

“Reassuring coming from the guy who just had to have surgery after a knock.” You can’t help but snap back, little bite in your own inflection, but you ache from the tip of your tongue all the way down to your stomach. It didn’t look like just a knock - you’ve seen Luke take knocks before and never have to go off for medical attention - it looked way worse. And all they’re gonna do for the next 15 minutes is replay it over and over.

You feel sick.

“Lukey’s made of harder stuff,” Jack responds, the same relaxed lull to his voice. “That’s what my dad’s always said, anyway. Quinn would tell you the same, there’s something about him that always just bounces straight back, pisses me off a little sometimes, if I’m honest.”

You should probably know that better than anyone - for all the times you’ve pushed him away. But you’re starting to lose faith in that fact, a little. 

“I just don’t want him to be hurt.” You mutter, trying to swallow past the stinging at the back of your throat, gulp down the growing insecurity that maybe you’ve made him weaker, maybe, somehow, this too is your fault.

“My phone’ll probably go off during the break” Jack sits up a little straighter, gesturing out to his cell that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch. “They’ll text me as soon as they’re done taking a look at him. I promise they’d know by now already if it was anything serious. I’d have gotten a call, our medical team are seriously good, they can tell stuff like that in an instant.”

It might be the fact that you’re relying on Jack Hughes of all people for reassurance that forces the tears to start welling in your eyes, your view of him blurring a little - or maybe the fact that he’s actually wilfully giving the reassurance, but either way, you don’t really want him to see you cry.

You sit in an uncomfortable silence as you watch the rest of the period, fidgeting in your place on the couch and picking painfully at the skin beside your fingernails, and it’s only when the last few seconds tick down that you can see Jack shuffle himself in your peripheral, turning until he’s properly facing you again.

“You really care about him, huh?”

You try to blink away the remaining threat of tears before you turn, yourself, meeting Jack’s eye across the couch and trying to muster up some sort of strength to shrug off this awful feeling that you can’t shake. “I’m not the heartless bitch you think I am, Jack,” you denounce, “Of course I care about him.”

He narrows his eyes in a glare, and you can tell he’s biting his tongue, careful not to goad you into some disastrous argument that neither of you really want. Last night had no doubt scratched his itch to lash out at somebody, and you don’t really think you’ll manage a round two.

The two of you stay locked in a heated, silent exchange for a few extended seconds, his jaw tense and your teeth chewing at the corner of your mouth in anticipation.

“Do you love him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you sigh, like it’s instinctual at this point, and you wince, even, once the words come out. They feel wrong. They feel like a bare-faced lie. Like some foreign language you have no business even attempting to speak. “I’m hard work, you know that, he knows that, and I think I’m all out of chances to try and convince him otherwise.”

“He doesn’t think you’re hard work,” Jack replies, “Trust me, I’ve been trying to convince him of as much since last summer, and he refuses to listen.”

“He said it himself to Cole,” you huff, hating how quick the memory comes to the forefront of your mind, hearing him say those things about you like it was nothing, replaying them over and over in your head like they were everything. “I heard it, Ellie heard it, he said that I wasn’t the kind of girl that he would date, and that I wasn’t worth the hassle.”

“And I’m sure he told you after that he didn’t mean any of that,” Jack tries to defend, brows furrowing as he thinks of any way to get his point across. “People say stupid things in the heat of the moment, we know that better than anybody, you can’t seriously think he actually believes that stuff,”

“He had to have been thinking it for it to have been said in the heat of the moment, Jack, he didn’t pull all that stuff out of his ass. He always knew it wasn’t gonna work out.”

Jack sighs your name, his free hand rising to rub at his temple in exasperation, and you wait as he winces, your eyes darting to check for any uncomfortable movements with his shoulder - but it’s something else that’s bothering him. 

“I put those thoughts into his head.”

The concept isn’t surprising - you’ve always known Jack hadn’t liked you, always knew he was badmouthing you to whoever would listen, and snarking at you for the entire house to see. It’s what he’d done last night, using the movie as some sort of metaphor for just how fucked up you are, and everybody in the room could see it.

“I told him every opportunity I could get that you weren’t gonna work out, and that you were bad news, and you’d just mess him around until you got bored.” Jack admits, and again, you’re not shocked. He’d said as much to your face. You even thought you’d resolved this whole thing with him last summer, before everything went to shit, but he’s been off with you since then, so you have no doubt his sentiments have picked straight back up where they left off all those months ago. “And every time I did, he’d just tell me to go fuck myself. Still does. I tell him all the time you’re not good for him, and he just tells me I don’t know you. You’re like the only thing we fight about, and we live together for God’s sake, he’s messy as all hell and I don’t give him half as much grief about that as he gives me about being a dick to you.”

“You’re just proving my point,” you huff, “If I’m causing arguments between the two of you, I’m hardly the kind of person he should be keeping around.”

“He loves you too, you know,” Jack offers as rebuttal, raising a brow as if pushing you to fight back on the fact when you zero in on him. “He told Quinn when he was in Michigan. I got this huge lecture off of him about butting in on your business where I’m not wanted.”

You chew a little at the corner of your mouth, the sudden, inappropriate urge to laugh rising within you at the thought of Jack getting a telling off from his big brother. 

“I’ve been angry this whole time that he doesn’t talk to me about stuff when it comes to you, but I guess I’ve been giving him a good reason not to.”

And as much as you don’t get along with Jack, the thought of driving a wedge between them - between all of them - makes you feel like crap, so all you can do is carry on fighting him.

“He wants to move on,” you shrug, “And he said some pretty shitty stuff about me back in summer when Cole said he wanted to take me out, he doesn’t think as highly of me as he makes out.”

“You’re gonna sit there and tell me that if a girl came up to you and said they were gonna ask him out, you wouldn’t try and talk them out of it?” Like you didn’t storm off at the mere sight of him with Victoria at that party. Like you haven’t been spiralling for weeks over him liking some girl’s post on instagram. “That you wouldn’t feel like someone was trying to take something from you?”

Of course you’d feel that way, you think.

Luke Hughes might be the only person you’ve ever let all the way in, and if someone were to swoop in and snatch him from your clutches, you’d probably go insane.

You’d do anything you could to deter them - including using Luke’s flaws and self-doubts against him. You’d even stretch them to fit your agenda, exaggerating the depth of them to make sure you really put them off.

You’d tell them he can be really insecure - that he gets in his head about stuff, especially anything that can be considered a comparison to his brothers - and that sometimes it brings out something avoidant and petty within him. You’d tell them that he isn’t serious when he needs to be, and that, 9 times out of 10, he’s going to crack some awkward joke that doesn’t land and he doesn’t really know how to properly resolve tension. You’d tell them that he craves validation, and it can be a minefield sometimes to navigate his need for attention. 

You wouldn’t tell them that you love all those things - that he gives you this look when you stroke his ego that makes your heart stop, and that your sense of humour matches his like two perfectly placed pieces of a puzzle, and that he somehow manages to creep under your thick skin when you’re trying to stay mad or upset for no reason other than you think you need to. You wouldn’t tell them that he fills the exact same validation-void in yourself, and that the two of you balance each other out like two sides of the same coin.

And as much as the things he had said last summer crushed you - and for as many times as you’ve replayed them in your head over and over for the past several months since hearing them - you think you finally get it.

Jack Hughes is going to be the last person that you admit that to, though.

“We’re not each other’s property,” you protest weakly, instead.

“Oh don’t come at me with that bullshit,” he exasperates, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “I’m not saying he owned you, or that you own him, I’m saying the two of you put in way too much fucking work for someone else to reap the benefits of it.”

“You have a lot to say, all of a sudden, for someone who’s been trying to put him off of me for God-knows how long.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong about you.” He huffs, like it pains him to say it, “And maybe last night I was angry about something else entirely, and I took it out on you because I didn’t want to feel that way on my own.”

Oh.

If that’s as close to an apology as you’re gonna get, you don’t think you entirely mind it.

It makes sense, after all, you think. The two of you have always had this incessant need to rile the other up, and you were the easiest bait he had to make himself feel better.

If you’d had a month like Jack just had, you’d probably do the same.

“Why didn’t you go to the game?” He asks, and just as your lips part to respond, he adds, “And don’t insult me with the whole headache thing,” forcing you to press them back together. 

You sigh, weighing up in your mind if it’s even worth it to open up to Jack at this point. Sure, he’s making out like he finally sees your true intentions, but does it really matter anymore?

“He doesn’t want me there.”

“Of course he wants you there,” Jack frowns, features curling in confusion. “He got you a ticket, he invited you.”

“It was like a consolation thing,” You huff, thinking back on that conversation in the kitchen, where you’d mustered up the courage to cross some unspoken boundary, and he’d shut you down. “I wanted to do something else together, and he said it was too much, said we should be moving on. Blurring me into a crowd of thousands is the only alternative, apparently.”

Jack snorts out some muffled noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and you glare at him as you wait for him to clarify whatever the hell sort of response that was. “You’re both as annoying as each other, you know.”

“Whatever,” you pout, shuffling your body to turn away from him again as you fold your arms over your chest like a petulant child, “He wants to move on, so I’m giving him the space to do that. I’m done with it.”

You don’t know who you’re trying to convince, but you should know better than to think that would ever work on him.

“Right,” Jack snickers, “So done with it that you’re sat here almost crying at the thought of something happening to him.” You scowl, then, because what’s the point in trying to soften your reactions if he’s just going to be an asshole about it. “He’s fine, by the way,” he shakes his phone, then, giving a blurry glimpse of a message thread you can’t even read.

And you thought good news would have lessened the pressure in your chest, this pulsing, swelling feeling that grips at your heart like a vice at the thought of him being hurt - but it doesn’t really go down, at all.

Luke said he wanted to move on. He said he wanted to be friends, and that the two of you should stop blurring the lines.

So why is he sending one brother across the city to check up on you? And why is he telling the other that he loves you?

You weren’t entirely lying, before. 

You are done.

And the only way you think you can ease this pain now is to talk it out, with him, once and for all. 

Trying to talk to Luke is harder than you ever thought it could be.

Texting him seems out of the question, as stupid as that sounds, but when you open up your messages to try, you’re faced with weeks worth of one-word responses that put you straight off - the thought of him shutting you down one more time almost toppling you over the edge of insanity.

And you could call, but it fills you with the same sort of dread. The last time the two of you spoke on the phone had been when Jack was injured - when you’d offered to be there for him if he needed you and he’d sort of snapped at you.

And sure, emotions were high, but things haven’t really been the same since that conversation. They haven’t been the same since the kiss, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t really want the burden of all the blame on your shoulders for once.

There have been countless opportunities for the you to clear everything up, but there have been chances for him, too, and you’re starting to think that maybe the two of you are far too content to let each other suffer instead of actually communicating your feelings like adults.

And after you spend the whole day after the game you missed dwelling on that fact, you’re grateful for a little reprieve when you get a text from Ethan, in town to talk about his own career, who wants to go out for drinks to toast to everything - to spring break, to your NYU acceptance, his devils contract.

He drops a pin for a bar in Hoboken, and you and Ellie make your way down together, meeting up with him and a few of the other guys to celebrate, and it’s the first night in a while that you feel like you don’t need to stress about anything.

You manage to push Luke to the back of your mind for a while, sat in a booth beside Ethan as he shows you pictures of the apartment he went to look at a couple days ago, his plans to move over here coming a lot sooner than yours, but apparently the building have vacancies coming up in the fall, and the two of you talk about how weird it is that you’re gonna be close, again. 

You’re joking with him about his hookup with your sorority sister Megan, threatening to bring her over as your roommate and giggling into your hand through a drunken buzz, when the one person you’re trying to forget for a second appears out of nowhere, standing beside the booth as he looks down at the two of you with an unfamiliar sadness in his eyes. He looks a little run down, dressed in a hoody that stretches across his shoulders, and donning a baseball cap that’s probably supposed to keep his presence lowkey. 

“Lukey boy!” Ethan exclaims as he stands to greet him, the two of them doing that brotherly fist bump and hug that all guys do, “Thought you were too beat to come out!”

“Changed my mind,” he shrugs, eyes glancing back at you. “You mind if I sit?”

“Nope,” you shrug, nodding to the opposite side, where he slides in, and his knees knock against yours under the table.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Ethan tells him, winking over at you as he backs away, your eyes wide as you watch him retreat before you look back at Luke, the silence around you almost visible in animated ellipses that dot in the space between the two of you.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” He asks, tone surprisingly bitter as his eyes darken, and you feel your defences build despite them usually being so weak in his presence.

“We’ve always been friendly,” you frown, “Since when are you so rude? What happened to hello, how are you?”

“I don’t know, probably since you started avoiding me,” he juts out his bottom lip, leaning into the back of the booth and stretching his hands out on the surface, “Hard to stay nice when you come to town without telling me and send Ellie to a game I specifically invited you to.”

“You told me you didn’t want to hang out with me,” you scoff, uneasy with how quick this entire conversation is escalating. You’re a little tipsy, but there’s no excuse for how he’s so quick to snap at you. 

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” he huffs.

“No, I don’t know it, because you’ve been avoiding me too,” you bite back, “Why are you being such a dick all of a sudden?”

“You kissed me,” he leans forward onto his elbows, eyes dark under the shadow of the bill of his cap, and you feel a shudder run through you at the intensity behind his gaze, at the memory the mere mention of it invokes - combined with the rasp in his voice, it’s taking everything in you to fight the urge to do it again. “It was barely 3 weeks ago, and now you’re here, without telling me, and you won’t talk to me, and you’re all buddy-buddy with Ethan all of a sudden-,”

“You pushed me away,” you snap back, eyes narrowing to mirror his, “You told me I was making things harder for you, and that I should move on, and then you started avoiding my calls and sending one word responses to my texts, you don’t get to sit there and be an asshole to me just because I’m hanging out with somebody else.”

“So that’s what this is,” He points over to where Ethan is lingering at the bar, no doubt flashing those puppy-dog eyes to the girl behind it, a charming grin cast her way as you can see her blush from all the way across the room. ”This is you moving on?”

“Ethan and I are just friends,” you frown, watching as Luke’s jaw tenses in response, clenching at either side of his face in a way that would usually turn your mouth dry. “I’m not moving on, we aren’t dating.”

Luke’s eyes are stormy when they meet yours - strained and serious as he weighs up your response. “Neither were we.”

The next breath you take is sharp and jittery, gaze still fixed on his from across the table - and despite the proximity of your bodies, him leaning forward, and you just about doing the same, and the urge you had mere seconds ago to close the gap between you, you couldn’t feel any further apart. 

You see his hands shift in your peripheral, long fingers picking at the label on Ethan’s empty beer bottle before his gaze shifts down - guilty and withdrawn. You can’t look away, though - you need to properly look at him, you need to try and see some lifeline you can cling to, here.

He’d pushed you away back in Michigan. He’s been distant, since - too busy for calls, too avoidant for any attempt at a lengthy text conversation. He’s irritated, now - even if he won’t say as much - you can tell by the heavy set of his jaw, and the way his eyes narrow whenever Ethan is too close.

“What were we, then?” You ask before you can think better of it, before some internal part of you convinces yourself that his answer will only serve to hurt you. You’re not going to get anywhere by holding back, anymore.

He’d drank from that cup all those months ago back at that party. Never have I ever been in love. He’d looked you in the eyes as his lips pressed to the red plastic, and he’d watched and waited for you to respond. 

And everything that happened after that will never erase the memory of that heated look in his eyes - piercing straight through the flames in the middle of your circle of friends, burning into the very depths of your being and warming you just enough for the months that followed. 

All the talk about being only friends, of getting any other feelings out of your systems one last time and pretending to rinse them away - it was that night out in the yard of the hockey house that kept things alive, you think.

Knowing that somewhere down the line, despite everything you put each other through - despite the insecurity, and the jealousy, and the pain - he loved you, and he might possibly be the only guy who ever has. The only guy you ever want to.

“Friends,” He frowns as he continues to pick at the sticky paper, tearing the corner until it starts to peel, briefly glancing up to meet your eye as he asks, “That’s all we’ll ever be, right?”

You gulp, your own gaze dropping to the surface between you, eyes tracing the rings of condensation on the table left behind from the chilled bottles. 

“I don’t know if I’m good at being friends,” comes out somewhat instinctively, your brows furrowing as the circles your eyes were mapping seem to hypnotise you into unprompted vulnerability. “I’m having a hard time moving past what happened last summer, I think,” you admit, a rattling breath following, hesitant to do so but needing to get it out, to make him understand that none of this is easy for you - letting him go and moving on isn’t some minor thing he can simply suggest to make things better. It’s not possible. “I feel like it’s always in the back of my mind when I’m with you, like I can’t let it go.”

Spilling secrets by the fountain at the country club, kissing in his car when he’d pick you up from work, pulling over on some deserted side road where no one could see, splashing at him in the lake, the sun rays bouncing off the water and bringing out the sea-glass shade of his irises. Trying on stupid disguises in the thrift store at the mall together, his hands on your waist as you danced together at his cousin’s wedding, defending you to his brother whenever Jack tried to pick some stupid fight with you.

It all plays like flashes from a movie at every given opportunity - the second you give your mind a chance to wander, it travels straight back to those weeks spent in his company, to a time where you’d shared a connection so intense that it permanently altered some deep, previously untouchable part of you. 

“I thought that I could just push it down,” you sniffle, “I thought that being friends might help me forget, but I can’t, it just feels harder.”

He mutters your name, softer and quieter than before, but the intention is there to say something as a rebuttal, you can tell by his tone.

You don’t really have much fight left in you, though, not anymore.

“And you were right, back in Ann Arbor, it’s not fair to you.”

“That’s not what I meant-,”

“It is,” you resign, “I don’t know how to be your friend, I don’t know what I want anymore, and I can’t keep pretending and making everything worse for you when it would just be easier if we,”

“If we what?”

“Stopped.” You croak, every muscle in your throat working to resist the words from actually working their way up and coming out. “Whatever it is that we’re trying to be, or trying not to be. So that you can move on, like you want.”

You chance a quick glance up, vision blurred by a thick wall of tears, and meet his startled gaze.

“Is that what you want?” His voice shakes a little as he asks, breathy and reluctant - like he’s bracing himself for your own response to hurt.

It doesn’t really matter what you want, you think. You’ve long lost any right to fight for it - not when it comes to him. You had your chance in summer, to open up about all the things you were starting to feel, and you chose to push them down. You don’t even know why, anymore.

You really thought there would be something left to salvage of your relationship with Luke - something to cling to so that he couldn’t push you away, something that got the two of you back on track, especially after talking to his brother, last night - but now that you’re here, everything just feels wrong. It all feels like a stab in the dark, like you’re no longer familiar with the boundaries of what is or isn’t okay with him, and that leaves you feeling lost, again. Like even the slightest attempt to bridge the gap is one giant wasted effort.

And you know all too well where this feeling gets you - too afraid to put your heart on the line, you hide it away, lock it up and throw away the key so that no one can even attempt to get to it again. 

He doesn’t want to hang out one-on-one, away from the safety of using Ellie and Jack as a buffer. He doesn’t want to watch movies like you used to, or talk on the phone, or even be within 5 feet of you, it seems. He’s annoyed that you’re close to his other friends, he’s annoyed that you’re around at all, you think.

He doesn’t want you anymore - he shuts down every thought of being anything more, and he can talk all he wants about blurring lines and still being friends, but you know how this plays out. 

He wants to move on, he’s said so too many times now for you to discount it or try and find a work around. And when he moves on, and he finds some other girl, like Yasmin, or even Victoria, who doesn’t push him away, or make his life hard, or knows how to express her feelings without saying or doing the wrong thing, he’ll have no use for you. 

His brothers will like her, and he’ll show her off to his teammates, and their relationship will expand beyond a phone screen and the distant, foggy memory of something more. And it will be easy.

And he deserves that.

He deserves so much more than you’ve ever been able to give him. Maybe if you saw that sooner this whole thing wouldn’t be such a mess. Maybe if you’d been more accepting of your blossoming feelings in the summer, and you hadn’t been so insistent on maintaining control, everything wouldn’t have spiralled so far out of reach. 

Ellie might have seen your interest, Cole might have turned his attentions elsewhere, and Luke would never have said those things about you to try and deter him. And then these last few months would have been easier, too. Your walls would have long been knocked down, your defences weakened, and you’d have just let him in like you’ve always wanted to.

And Luke wouldn’t have gotten tired of trying, just like you predicted all those months ago.

“I think your brother was right, the other day, about the movie, and people being hard work. I want you be happy, Luke, and you said it yourself, I can’t make you wait around for me to figure shit out, you have enough going on without me making you feel like this.”

You feel a shift when you look at him again, a slump of his shoulders as he leans back into the booth - something like resigned acceptance - and you can’t help but be reminded of the exchange that started this whole ordeal.

Him on the other side of a booth in the restaurant at the country club, a hopeful gleam in his earthy irises and his chest puffed out in what you remember thinking seemed like a facade of arrogance, with something much gentler beneath the surface. Things had been much lighter then. Playful and easy. And you don’t think it’s been like that for a long time.

You did that, you think.

You sank into the dark, murky waters of your own insecurities and you dragged him straight down with you - and now it’s time to set him free.

The silence that follows your words is awkward, maybe for the first time ever with him, in a way that makes your skin itch with a prickly heat. You had been so intent on speaking to him, before, and now all you want to do is leave so that he can’t stretch this out, or leave so you don’t have to sit here and watch him not even try. You want to run. Scream. Cry, even. Do anything but wait around for him to agree.

“I’m sorry,” comes out croaky, and broken, and you blink out the tears that blur your vision, feeling them run their course the whole way down your cheeks until you swipe them away from your jaw.

“Me too.” 

You want to tell him he doesn’t have anything to apologise for. You want to tell him that you’re the problem, and that you shouldn’t have led him on for as long as you did - but you don’t really want to keep going in circles with this conversation.

You just want to go.

And you couldn’t be more thankful when Ethan comes back, oblivious to the tension between you and his best friend, pushing another bottle across the table and sliding into the opposite side of the booth, right next to Luke.

“So, Lukey, are you gonna let us in on all your favourite spots around here for when we’re both back in the fall?” He slings an arm over the back of the booth, falling naturally above Luke’s slumped figure, and you straighten up in your own seat.

“I’m gonna go find Ellie,” you say, shuffling out from your own side, smiling meekly when Ethan frowns at you, not even daring to look Luke’s way. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

And then you walk away, because that’s all that’s left to do - and when you find Ellie, she takes one look at you, and she knows.

Eyes welling with tears, lips trembling - a mirror image of the girl she found back in your shared room that afternoon of her party, back in the summer - and she ushers you out of the bar and holds your hand the whole way back to your rental, your head on her shoulder as you try not to sob in the back of a taxi. 

For all the times people in his life have called him an idiot, Luke has never felt as stupid as he feels right now.

Watching your teary eyes from across the table, able to do nothing but stare back at them, speechless and spineless as you finally throw in the towel, as you finally admit what you’ve been holding back this entire time.

That you can’t move past what happened in summer.

That this whole time, you’ve been trying to distract yourself from how much he hurt you, how much he fucked up, and all he’s ended up doing is hurting you again. 

I feel like it’s always in the back of my mind when I’m with you, you had said, like I can’t let it go.

Like he can never take back all the stupid shit he said to Cole when he was jealous and immature - like he still can’t handle those sort of emotions when he’s around you, and he lashes out when you don’t even deserve it, all because he can’t handle seeing you with anybody else. 

He doesn’t even know why he came at you so quick.

All he remembers is seeing a photo on an instagram story of the guys at the bar, of seeing you and Ellie crouched in the front, carefree, giant grins etched into your faces, and all of a sudden he was walking in.

And you were smiling so sweet, your nose scrunching up and your body shaking with laughter as you sat beside Ethan, absolutely no space between you in the booth, and he had felt something ugly consume him before he even had a chance to realise what was happening.

And now you’re gone, and his heart is pounding in his chest, and the sound of your soft voice uttering one final apology is echoing around his head.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asks from beside him, leaning forward until he appears out the corner of his eye, and Luke shakes himself out of the trance you put him under. 

He mutters your name, and Ethan’s head tilts in confusion until Luke asks, “Are you into her?”

“Into her?” Ethan’s eyes widen in alarm as he almost chokes on a sip of his beer. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, a pathetic attempt at nonchalance that he can tell doesn’t land as soon as he does it, “You looked close when I came in, and she said you went to the movies together the other week. Got food after, sounded like a date to me.”

“Interesting observation,” he scoffs, “Considering all you two do together is watch movies and eat.”

Luke frowns, especially when he looks over properly, and Ethan is smirking at him. He feels like he could throw up. “She’s my friend,” he says, although he supposes that’s not really true, anymore, but he’s sick of having to explain it to everybody. “I’ve told you like a million times.”

“Mine too,” he snickers, and Luke can feel his blood start to boil a little at the implication that your relationship with Ethan might at all be similar to your relationship with him. “She’s a cool girl.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, a nauseating sense of deja vu washing over him, soaking him to the bone in remorse.

She’s a really cool girl, Cole had said, back toward the end of summer, really funny.

He feels the same swirls of panic stirring in his chest, a stutter to his heart rate that has him holding his breath to try and correct it, somehow. 

“We’ve just been hanging out a little more the last few weeks, ever since I took her home,” and the mention of that night back in Michigan makes him feel worse - that swirling feeling evolving into something sinister, catastrophic, even. He’d upset you and you’d turned to Ethan for comfort - you’ve continued to turn to him, since. And Luke had really left you no choice but to do so, so upset at the thought of the two of you together that he shut you out, entirely. “I guess we got closer throughout this year, but it’s mostly been in a group, like at parties or whatever. She’s a lot different to how I thought she’d be, especially when it’s just her, we get along.”

“Yeah,” Luke breathes, monotonous and slow, because he can’t really muster much else.

He could probably cry, if he thinks too hard about it. Could probably break out in a sweat and hyperventilate, and all that’s stopping him is the nails digging into his palm to keep him grounded to reality.

He had you, he thinks, back on that porch outside the hockey house, and he let his own fragile ego get in the way, once again. Just like back in the summer, when he had you, and let this panic and jealousy consume him, turn him into something ugly and cruel, saying things he never meant, or never had any right to divulge.

“I think uhh,” his jaw feels tense as he speaks, like something in him doesn’t want to carry on, but he fights past it, “I think a lot of people have the wrong idea about her.”

“How do you mean?”

“People judge her based on what they think she’s like, but they don’t really get to know her.” He relaxes back into his seat, a little, trying to alleviate the growing tension in his spine. “I’d say she doesn’t really let them, but people don’t try hard enough. It’s like you said, she’s really cool.”

“Funny, too.” Ethan smiles a little, and the look in his eyes brings the essence of tears to Luke’s, almost.

“Really funny,” he agrees, pushing through the way his throat feels like it’s closing up, lips twisting up into some attempt at a smile. “Really quick, not even just telling jokes but like, she can just read every situation as it’s happening. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation where she hasn’t made me laugh, even if she’s trying to bite my head off or something or I’m not really in the mood to be laughing.”

Ethan nods along, like he could possibly understand what Luke means - but maybe he can, Luke worries. Maybe that’s what you’ve opened his eyes to, while the two of you have been growing closer this year with him being none-the-wiser to your budding relationship.

“And sure, she’s snappy, but she’s like,” he pauses, a breathy chuckle as he fights the swelling of his chest, now, too, “the most caring person I’ve ever met. You feel it, too, even when she is biting your head off or whatever, she’s doing it because she thinks it’s just as much fun for you as it is for her, and she just wants to keep you hooked. And sure, it takes a while for her to warm up, but when she does it’s like, I don’t even know, man, like her smile,” another pause, and Luke smiles a little more, himself, the upturn of his lips coming so naturally that he can’t tell he’s doing it until his field of vision narrows a little, “She has this smile that’s all slow and cute, and I swear it could thaw ice or something corny like that.”

“She’s got a cute smile,” Ethan agrees, but the way he’s looking at Luke makes him feel a little too seen, and so he straightens back up in his seat before he can sink any further. “Not sure it’s worth losing one of my closest friends over, though.”

“You wouldn’t,” Luke gulps, trying to swallow past the growing lump in his throat at the mere thought of you and Ethan together, a feeling that’s achingly reminiscent of how he felt about you and Cole - sick to his stomach. But this had been the problem before - thinking he has any sort of say over how you move forward with anyone that isn’t him. “I just want her to be happy, I know you’d look after her.”

He’d told you to move on. He’d told you he couldn’t wait around for you to figure things out. He’d shut you out, forced you to close yourself off to him, accused you of only wanting him when you think you’re losing him to someone else - and here he is, falling apart from the inside out, once again, at the mere thought of you with anybody else.

He’s a hypocrite, and he hates himself for it - he’s going to lose you because of it. Maybe he already has.

“You’re an idiot,” Ethan scoffs, mouth curving up at one side in amusement. “You’re seriously gonna sit there and say you want me to ask her out? You want me to date the girl you’re very clearly in love with because at least I’d look after her?”

“C’mon, E-,”

“Like she needs looking after?” Ethan’s dark eyes narrow as he levels Luke with an incredulous glare. “You know if she heard you, she’d beat your ass, right? Trying to auction her off like some sort of prize, are you insane? I swear to God, the two of you are borderline painful, you’re as bad as each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I honestly thought you were both just being oblivious, or something, but it’s like you’re actively trying to sabotage yourselves, you need to talk to each other, you need to tell each other how you feel.”

“I know that you slept with her,” Luke blurts out, eyes wide as Ethan’s face curls up in horror, “I saw you come out of the house with her the morning after the party,”

“Whoa-,”

“And it’s fine. Not that either of you need my permission,” Luke scoffs, “But I’m not blind, E, she was with you the night Jack got injured, too, she was smiling at you tonight like she hasn’t smiled at me in forever, I just want her to be happy, and if that’s not with me-,”

“I slept with Megan,” Ethan interrupts, “The night of that party, I dropped her off like you asked, I went back to the house, and I hit up Megan because we were hooking up for a while before she got all crazy on me. You remember her, right? The girl with the tattoo of her cat?”

“You were hooking up with a girl who had a tattoo of her cat?” Luke frowns, distracted momentarily until he realises what’s happening.

“She’s in the same sorority,” Ethan scoffs, “What you saw was her sneaking me out of the house because I got stuck upstairs and Megan wouldn’t help me.”

“But the movie, and the pinball,” Luke fades a little, brows furrowing as he tries to piece together whatever the hell he’s managed to fabricate between you and Ethen this entire time - weeks of avoiding you for nothing.

“We just bumped into each other at the IMAX, she seemed a little down, so we hung out after. Like friends do. Like you’d probably know, if you talked to her. You really thought that either of us would do that to you? That girl is crazy about you, Luke, she pretty much cried the whole walk home because you didn’t tell her you liked her.”

“She what?”

“Kept asking me if you’d said anything about being into anyone, she was being all cryptic and weird, I tried to imply you were into her, but clearly it didn’t help.”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head, muttering repeatedly as he remembers that night, remembers what Quinn had tried to tell him, remembers everything from the past 6 months, all at once. He runs two shaky hands through his hair, trying to squeeze at his skull to stop the influx of regret that’s starting to vibrate in there, incessant and relentless, like it will never go away. “I need to go after her.”

Luke pushes gently at his best friend, frowning when he doesn’t budge. 

“E, I need to apologise to her, I need to talk to her,”

“Tomorrow.” Ethan advises, “Her and Ellie knocked back like a whole margarita pitcher together, you don’t want to do this when she isn’t in the right state of mind.”

Wrong.

He wants to do it as soon as he physically can.

And he’ll do it on the hour every hour until you’re sober, he thinks. 

“Trust me,” Ethan pats at Luke’s leg, a brotherly gesture that does little to calm his nerves. “Take tonight to think about what you want to say, and say it tomorrow.”

Luke hates that he’s right - just like Quinn had been right all those weeks ago.

He can’t do this out of impulse.

He needs to do it right.

When Ellie knocks on your bedroom door the next morning, she’s merely a fuzzy blur through your puffy eyes, and you can barely muster a smile as she walks in with a cup of green tea and a slice of toast for you.

“Thanks, El,” you croak, voice thick with sleep, and maybe dry from the salty rim of the many cups you drank from last night - or the way you cried for maybe an hour until you eventually drifted off.

Ellie had been your literal shoulder to cry on when you got home, letting you sob and finally release months worth of pent-up frustrations as she listened, taking it all in while she stroked a gentle hand through your hair.

You told her everything - about halloween, and christmas, watching movies over FaceTime and spiralling over them alone in your room after he hung up. You told her about texts that made your knees go weak, and calls that lasted until the early hours of the morning, and sleeping in Luke’s arms when you finally saw him in person. You told her about the gifts, and opening up to Luke about your family, and kissing him on the porch back at the hockey house.

Then you told her about the aftermath. About distancing yourself from him to let him move on, about him distancing himself from you because you’re too much of a mess for him to make sense of, and then about that conversation in the bar - about finally letting him go.

She just let you air it all out until it exhausted you - tucked you into your bed where you sobbed into your pillow for a little longer, and promised to talk more in the morning.

And you suppose that’s what this is - breakfast in bed, a soft smile sent your way as she lowers the tray onto the sheets in front of you, muttering a short, you’re welcome, as she perches herself on the end of the bed.

The two of you make a little small talk as she watches you eat, concern in her eyes and hesitance in her posture, and you figure you must have freaked her out a little too much last night - probably still freaking her out, now your face still swollen from all the crying.

“I’m sorry about last night, El,” you sigh once you’ve swallowed your last bite of toast, pushing the plate away. “I feel like such an idiot, you get a free pass to say I told you so, or whatever.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” her lips twist, unsure and uncomfortable, as she shuffles against the footboard. “It wouldn’t be right after what I did.”

“What you did?” You frown, “What do you mean?”

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Ellie shrinks away a little, face scrunching in anticipation of some poor reaction, and all you can hear is the persistent thudding of your heartbeat - still reeling from last night, a little. “I was just trying to help.”

“Help with what?” You blink slow as you watch her, eyes drawn to the way her lips twist and turn, tugged between her teeth as she tries to work through whatever it is she wants to tell you.

“It was sort of Jack’s idea, initially,” she starts, “I mean, I guess I took it a little too far, but he’s the one who brought it up-,”

“Ellie-,” you warn, the anticipation of it all only making things worse.

“He thought if the two of you felt like you were losing each other to somebody else, you’d realise you actually wanted to be together, and you’d stop forcing the whole friend thing and make the next move.”

“I don’t understand-,”

“He said he tried doing the same thing last summer, when he was being an idiot about asking me out. He took some girl from the club on a date, picked someone that he knew you’d find out about, but I guess you never did, ‘cause you’d have told me about it and I’d still have a dent in my head from where it would have hit the roof.” The nervous chuckle she gives does very little to lighten the mood.

“Right,” you nod along, muttering out the affirmation despite the fact that you’d done the complete opposite. 

You never told her about Jack and Jessica, the girl from the club last summer - who you and Luke had spied on in the earlier days of your scheming. It was for her own good, though. You didn’t want to hurt her over something that clearly wasn’t worth her time. Jack was being an idiot, that much was obvious at the time - even without the context you now have that he was trying to get caught - and so you feel less bad about lying about the whole thing.

Although, your eye starts to twitch a little at just how ridiculous this whole thing has started to become.

“So he pushed Luke to date this Yasmin girl for the same reason?”

“Not exactly,” Ellie winces, “I think he tried to get him out of the house one time just to test the waters, but nothing ever came of it. And then Jack got busy with the tournament, and Luke came out to Michigan, and I felt like I had to take the reins a little.”

“Take the reins on what?”

Your tone must unintentionally reflect just how tired you are of this whole thing, because Ellie cowers a little, eyes glassy as she skirts around what it is that she wants to say.

“I need you to understand that I felt really bad about the whole Cole thing, okay?” She says, “And then ever since summer, you haven’t really been yourself, you know? Like you don’t wanna come out anymore, and you’re letting school get to you, and you don’t talk to me about stuff, even when I know that it’s bothering you,”

You look down, your own lips pressing together to try and ease the tension elsewhere in your jaw. 

You have been a little more reserved, but it’s not entirely because of how your summer ended. And it’s not like you weren’t coping, entirely - you just weren’t running to Ellie like you normally might have. 

Maybe it was unintentional, the way you had shut her out, even since the start of summer, but that doesn’t mean it would have affected her any less. Guilt starts to nip away at you from the inside out, her meek response heightened when you lifted your gaze back to watch her. 

“And I just thought maybe you needed someone to look out for you, to give you a little nudge in the right direction, I didn’t realise it would have made things worse.”

A nudge - just like the kind of nudge you and Luke were supposed to be giving her and Jack last year. 

You’re starting to get a headache with it all, the way you seem to have come full circle in the worst possible way - where the universe throws you Ellie and Jack of all people to try and gain some semblance of order to your life.

It’s tragic.

“What are you even saying?”

“There is no Yasmin,” she blurts out, “I made her up.”

You blink slow, feeling as your face slowly contorts with confusion - lips turning down, brows scrunching together, little creases forming in the side of your nose. “No,” you mumble, shaking your head as she stares, wide-eyed and panicked, back at you. “I saw her instagram. He liked her pictures.” 

“I’d imagine that was just some random girl he follows,” she shakes her head with a grimace, “Dumbass likes every post he sees on his feed, I think.”

You gape back at her, your eyes widened in shock and your heart racing in your chest, because what the fuck?

You’ve been pushing him away this whole time to move onto a girl who doesn’t even exist?

“And I know I should have told you sooner, but I got swept up with all of the Jack stuff, and I,” her lips tremble as she stares back at you, apologetic and regretful. “I didn’t realise how bad it got between the two of you. I didn’t know it would end up like this, I was just trying to make things better again.”

You stare down at the empty plate at the bottom of your bed, and all of a sudden you can feel every swallowed bite swirling around in the pit of your stomach. “I feel sick.” You slur out, pushing yourself up off the bed and stumbling towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind you as you fall down against it, and you can hear the soft patter of feet as Ellie follows behind.

“I’m sorry,” she cries through the wood, “I know that I should have known better than to interfere, but I just-,” she hiccups then, and you resent just how much it affects you, guilt and shame swirling around with the nausea. “I wanted my best friend back. You haven’t been the same since summer.”

And you sob, yourself, because you know that’s true.

You’d admitted it to Luke, last night, when you had told him you didn’t think you could ever get over it.

And now you’ve lost him.

You can’t even blame Ellie, either.

She had planted the seed, but you’d been the one to water it - constantly avoiding having to have a difficult conversation with him until everything boiled over, until it was too late.

You could have talked to him at the party, the night you kissed him. You could have told him there and then that you loved him, because you knew it as sure as anything, but you didn’t. You could have told him at any point since then, and you never did. Because you were scared, and insecure, and weak.

Ellie calls your name from inches behind you, soft and shaky, and the thought of ruining everything with her too is too much for you to handle. 

You need to get out of the bathroom, need to get out of the house, need to get away period. 

You just need space, and you know exactly where you’re going to find it.

Luke has never been more thankful for a day off in his life.

And he’s never been more proactive in one, either.

One of the biggest joys usually comes from turning off his alarm the night before. No morning skate, no practice, no training, no meetings, no game to prep for.

There’s just you, across town, thinking he doesn’t care enough about you to stop you giving everything the two of you have up.

So his alarm had stayed on, shrilling beside his head at 7am, and he shoots right out of bed, not even putting it on snooze for four times before he gets himself up.

He makes breakfast, eggs and avocados on toast, brain food as his mom might say, and starts to think about what he’s going to say to you - making notes on his phone like it’s some dumb presentation - until he feels satisfied that there’s enough of his heart in it to actually make an impact.

He’s done letting his emotions control him.

The two of you are going to figure this out, and it’s going to work out - he’s sure of it. He has to be. 

And just as he’s about to leave, Jack appears from his room, also dressed and ready to face the day, quirking his brow at the abnormal pep in his little brother’s step.

“What the hell’s got you so jumpy this early in the morning?” He asks.

“If I tell you, I don’t want to hear a lecture about it.” Luke huffs, because this is the last parade he would ever let his brother rain on, and he’s kind of worked himself up to the point of delusion. Jack just nods in response, and Luke can’t help the giddy smile that breaks out right before he says, “I gotta go see about a girl.”

Jack’s eyes widen, and Luke feels like he’s been punched in the gut when his lips quirk up, preparing himself for the blow of being laughed at by his own brother.

But what Jack says, instead, is even weirder.

“Let’s go then.”

And Luke practically stumbles over himself to get the two of them to his car, the weight of his brother’s approval pushing him further than he ever wanted to admit that it could, his entire body buzzing as he drives them over to the rental you and Ellie are staying in, and he tells Jack about his plan on the way.

He tells him how he’s gonna get you out of the house, gonna take you on a walk, somewhere, where the two of you can finally talk things out, and he’s gonna tell you how he feels. He’s gonna let you speak, gonna give you the time you need to figure things out - he’s gonna lay his heart on the line, and he’s gonna be a man and let you decide whatever it is you want to do with it.

You say you can’t get over the summer, but you don’t understand how much he regrets it, how much he loves you, how he’d never hurt you like that again. And if you turn around, and you don’t feel the same, then he can do whatever you want, but at least he’ll know he tried - at least you’ll know what you mean to him.

Jack gives him pointers, like he’s ever gonna take love advice from a guy who took like 3 years to ask his girlfriend out, but Luke just nods along with a smile on his face, too in his head with the hope that this could finally be it.

And that hope carries him all the way from one side of Jersey City to the other, airy and light, until he’s knocking on your door and waiting for you to finally open up for him - and all of it drains from him the second he sees Ellie’s teary fave on the other side. He’s too confused by the situation to notice when Jack brushes past him to comfort her, and he finds himself looking around for you again, that light, airy feeling growing heavier by the second.

“Calm down,” he hears Jack coo, “It’s alright, what happened?”

“We got into a fight,” she sniffles, “Or I don’t know, a disagreement, I guess. I was gonna give her a little room to breathe, so I went to my room, and then she left, and she’s not picking up her phone.”

Luke feels the colour drain from his face, a dizzying wash of panic flooding his system that causes his chest to swell. He reaches for his phone before he even realises what he’s doing, fingers knowing the way straight to your contact and pressing on it within seconds, the call reaching voicemail before he even lifts the device to his ear.

“It must be off,” he frowns, the swelling worsening with every second that passes. “She just left? She didn’t say where she was going?”

“She was pretty upset,” Ellie tells him, tears welling in her eyes as her face twists with guilt, “I really, uhm,” she runs a hand through her hair as she turns away from him, taking a few pacing steps to distance herself, “I really fucked things up, I think.”

“Fucked what up?” Luke asks, following by instinct to close the gap, trying to get her to look at him just to get a read on the severity of the situation. He’s witnessed a couple of your arguments with Ellie - mostly minor irritations that you come to him to talk you through, and it’s never been bad enough for you to get seriously upset over it. Not like this. And Luke has known Ellie for a long time, too - had seen all the ups and downs of her relationship with Jack before they ever got together. He’s never seen her like this, and dread pools in the pit of his stomach. “What happened?”

“I uh,” she takes in a trembling breath, staggered and shaky and doing little to make him feel any better as he hears it. “I thought I was helping. I thought she just needed a push, or something, like someone to guide her-,”

Luke can’t imagine a world where you would need guidance on anything. Headstrong and self-assured, he can’t picture what on Earth would make Ellie assume you would need her to push you.

“I swear, I thought I was doing the right thing. I wouldn’t have gotten involved, especially after summer, you know, I felt really bad, and I just wanted to try and fix it somehow, but she never tells me anything, so I didn’t realise she was kind of getting there on her own and I think I just made everything worse.”

The mention of summer makes him wince, Ellie’s words all merging together into one long, confusing blur of excuses that don’t quite make sense, but this has to be about him, somehow, he thinks - because you would have told him about anything else happening in your life, something else that might have happened in the summer. 

Ellie felt bad about the whole Cole thing - that much seems obvious. Lending her efforts to him asking you out, being the catalyst to the whole thing blowing apart from the inside, out. But how could she ever possibly fix that? Especially considering he was the master of his own downfall, in the end.

“What did you do?”

When Ellie’s eyes meet his, they’re flooded with remorse, round and watery and it does little to quell the panic continuing to rise within him.

“I told her you were seeing somebody else.”

Luke feels time stop, his heart coming to a screeching halt, and all thoughts wiped from his brain until all he can hear is your voice, soft and small and vulnerable as you tell him, “I don’t want to watch you move on.”

“I just thought she needed a wake up call, or something, like if she thought that there was the potential that you were moving on she might have finally realised that holding back this whole time was doing more harm than good, but I don’t know what happened, she just shut down, after-,”

“After what?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t know why, he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to both questions he poses Ellie’s way. “When did you tell her that?”

“Before the party back in Michigan,” she gulps, “Before you left.”

Luke stumbles back a little, hands finding purchase on the back of the couch, needing something to steady him, to ground him before he spirals out of control. 

“Jack told me that he’d been trying to get you to move on, that he took you out with the guys, that you were just flat out rejecting the idea of even speaking to somebody else, and I just thought-,”

“You knew about this?”

“No,” Ellie is quick to defend him, quick to take responsibility, for once, “Well, sort of, but he told me not to do it, and I didn’t tell him that I did, so he’s not to blame, here. I thought if I just said that you were moving on then she wouldn’t have believed me, so I made somebody up, but I guess you’re following some girl with the same name on instagram, and you liked a couple of her pictures, and last night she kept saying that you don’t want her anymore, that all she can think about is how much she loved you back then, but you don’t feel the same,”

I’m having a hard time moving past what happened last summer, I think

He thought you meant the Cole thing. He thought you meant you couldn’t look past his mistake. 

I feel like it’s always in the back of my mind when I’m with you, like I can’t let it go.

You weren’t talking about the bad stuff.

You were talking about the rest of it.

And now all Luke can hear in his head is little snippets of conversations from the past few weeks. I want to, which he now sees as an admission of your feelings when he had asked you to let him in. Are you moving on? After he had turned you down for that art installation, wedging an insurmountable gap between the two of you while you assumed he was seeing some other girl. He’s hard work and she isn’t cut out for it, and the way you so quickly gave up when it came to Jack’s stupid outburst.

All of that had been with idea of him already having moved on. 

All of that, and you still refused to do so, yourself.

Oh no.

“I was just trying to help, Luke, I swear, I just wanted to help her. She just lets things pass her all the time, for as long as I’ve known her, she gets all in her head, and she doesn’t let people in, and she was doing the same with you, and I just wanted her to take something for herself, I wanted her to win, I didn’t realise it would become this huge mess-,”

“Stop,” he huffs, because he can’t let her blame herself, not entirely - he made a mess of this, too. He’d jumped to conclusions, after the kiss. He hadn’t let you speak, hadn’t let you come to terms with what you were feeling. He’d misunderstood your intentions and jumped down your throat, and let his own hurt in the situation stomp all over yours. He hadn’t talked to you, despite all the times he had been urged to. 

“Where would she go?” He asks, trying to shake himself into action. “Does she have any other friends around here, did she mention anywhere to you that she might escape to?”

“No,” Ellie whines, “She only came here for the first time in October, the only places we mentioned were lunch spots, I don’t think she ran off in tears for a bagel. The only person I could think of was you, but you’re here.”

Luke wracks his brain through the last few conversations the two of you had - and all he hears is the multiple opportunities he had to clear everything up. The multiple attempts you made to bring things back to normal - to bridge the gap he had forced between the two of you.

Movie nights, coffee shops, the game the other night, the art installation.

The art installation.

“Did she bring her laptop?”

You can’t really pinpoint where your obsession with space started.

It’s probably somewhere between laying awake at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars your dad had stuck to your ceiling, and a field trip to the Henry Crown Space Center - and the two memories are probably a lot more linked than you care to think about, both providing distractions when you needed them the most in life, but you’ve never experienced anything like this.

You’d found out about this exhibit on TikTok of all places, putting the you in for you page to work when you first started seeing it on your feed, saving every video that came up. Destination Cosmos originated in Amsterdam from what you could find, and you’ve wanted to go for years. It feels like fate, almost, that it would be in New York for one week only while you’re just across the river for spring break, and missing out on it would have been your biggest regret since coming out here - which considering the events you’re actively trying to escape from, is probably saying a lot. 

Maybe if you’d have sold it a little better to Luke than just being an art installation, he might have come with you. Maybe if you’d done a lot of things differently, he might have come with you.

As you stand in the centre of the universe, projections of everything you’ve spent your whole life admiring only from afar, chasing something you still don’t understand, you feel smaller than you’ve ever felt in your life.

It’s overwhelming, almost, how lost you feel now.

On your own, in the middle of an exhibit you’ve been dreaming about for years, in a city you don’t really know, but are going to be moving to before you know it, with all other aspects of your life imploding in calamitous fashion around you. The way the images flash across the walls - stars, planets, nebulae, supernovae - make you feel like you barely even exist, and you hate it. 

You’ve never felt so alone, so afraid of what comes next, and all you want is for someone to reach out and shake you until you don’t feel it anymore.

And when somebody actually does, when the soft but familiar mutter of your name brings you out of your reverie, and a gentle grip forms around your wrist, you gasp, yanking your hand away like the touch burns.

You have to be dreaming, you think.

There’s no way you haven’t slipped into some sort of coma, or something.

Maybe you missed a low ceiling somewhere on your way into the exhibit, hit your head and knocked yourself out.

Because there’s no other explanation for how Luke Hughes could possibly be standing before you, in front of the most beautiful backdrop of glistening constellations, other than you imagining the whole thing.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, taking in his frantic form - chest heaving with rushed breaths and his baseball cap askew, probably from where he keeps taking it off to run his hands through his hair. 

“I uh-,” he pants, blinking slow as if you’re just about coming into focus. “I came to see about a girl.”

You blink back, brows pushing together as he takes another step, “What?”

“Good Will Hunting,” he clarifies, “Declarations of love, I know you hate them but I uhm-,” he frowns, cringes, even, like he’s thinking better of doing this already, and you wait with bated breath for him to string his thoughts together. “I’m doing this wrong, I think.”

“Luke-,”

“I was trying to think the whole way here of some sort of speech, like one giant combination of all the soppy, cheesy movie quotes you love so much. Y’know, like, uhh,” his bottom lip juts out as he takes a second, and all you can do is watch, “Like a megamix or something.”

“A megamix?”

“Yeah, like a little How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days, a pinch of Notting Hill, just this huge shit show of the corniest garbage you’ve ever heard in your life.”

“Sounds great.” You frown, a little lost on how he went from declarations of love to corny garbage in a matter of seconds. 

“Probably would be,” he nods as he takes another step, and you fight the urge to retreat, your feet staying firmly in place and your arms wrapping around yourself in some twisted protective stance. “But all I can think about is that one scene in When Harry Met Sally, y’know, when she’s all frizzy and crying on her bed, and he’s there to comfort her?”

“I don’t really remember,” you mutter, although you have a vague recollection. “I only watched it that one time and I was a little distracted.”

“I watched it 8 times.” He tells you, “Could probably talk you through the whole thing.”

“You don’t have to-,”

“So Sally’s just found out her ex is engaged,” he starts, anyway, and you don’t even have time to question why the hell he watched that movie 8 times. Once was enough to scar you for life. “And she’s like sobbing to Harry, and saying all these things about how she was just a transitional person, and she thinks something’s the matter with her, ‘cause her ex never wanted to marry her.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“She says, I’m difficult,” he mimics her voice, somewhat, a soft smile curving at his lips as he recalls the scene, “And Harry tells her, you’re challenging, and every time I watch it, I think of you.”

Ouch.

He must see the way your face drops, because he takes another step, and the distance between the two of you is so small now that you could conceivably touch without reaching - if he stopped making out like you’re a problem, that is. 

“‘Cause that’s when they kiss, right?” He asks, and you nod, hesitantly, because you sort of remember it a little better, now. “That’s when he realises how deep he’s into this thing with her, and how right he was that they could never be friends.”

“I guess so,” you pout, your chest clenching at the mere mention of your friendship - the one you had denounced only a day ago, and are still very freshly mourning the loss of. 

“And then I think about the other night, about what Jack said.”

You’ve already gone through this whole thing with Jack, you really don’t want to do it, again. Not here, not now, especially. “Luke-,”

“He shouldn’t have said any of that stuff to you, and he was being a world class dick, but he was sort of right,” he tells you, a crooked smile cementing itself into his features as he reaches out to tuck your hair behind your ear as it falls forward, leaving you to watch in confused silence as amusement flashes across his irises, despite the fact that it’s not remotely funny. “You are hard work.”

“Did you seriously come all the way out here and hunt me down just to tell me that?” You scoff, something within you switching as you unfold your arms and reach up to push his hand away. “That all I do is make your life hard, you don’t think I already know that?”

He grabs yours, instead, intertwining your fingers despite your resistance, and smiling even deeper. “When did I ever say I want things to be easy?” He challenges, his other hand rising to the opposite side of your face, cupping at your jaw and lifting your face until your eyes meet, “I love that you’re hard work.” And just as you scoff, just as you try to argue such a ridiculous statement, he continues. “It makes being with you and you letting me in all the more rewarding, like I earned it. I’d like to think that I did, too. I’d like to think we’ve come really far from where we started.”

You gulp down the urge to tell him you agree, still a little confused by this whole speech, where one second he’s comparing you to a sobbing emotional wreck, and the next he’s suggesting you’re sort of a nightmare. Still confused by how he found you in the first place, but it feels too late to ask, now.

“Ellie told me about Yasmin,” he says, and you swear the way your heart skips a beat is wishful thinking, your mind praying that the ground will just swallow you up. You were embarrassed enough without him knowing about it, too - that you got all in your feelings about some girl that never even existed, enough to end up ruining everything with him over what turned out to be nothing. “And Ethan told me about Michigan, about how you were upset that I didn’t tell you how I felt.”

What? You’d been upset he hadn’t told you about Yasmin, who you now know doesn’t exist, not-

Oh, Jesus Christ, you think, too embarrassed to even react. Ethan had been talking about you. 

Anybody could see from a mile off that he is into somebody.

“It doesn’t even matter-,”

“Don’t do that,” he pleads, desperation flashing across his eyes, stunning you a little into submission. “Please don’t do that, not about this.”

“Luke-,”

“I love you.” He says, voice sure and steady, a little louder than he’d been speaking before but you can’t really find it in yourself to care. “I’m in love with you. I don’t think I’ll ever not be in love with you. And there’s no Yasmin, there’s no Victoria, there is nobody else and there never will be. That’s what I came all the way out here to say.”

That’s a little better than whatever the hell he was saying about a megamix, you think. 

“That there’s only you.” He’s still sure, but quieter now, like a whisper that’s only meant for you to hear. “That I love you, and it matters.”

He’s giving you this heated look, like he can see every single cell of you - like he loves every single cell of you - eyes dark and intense, and you can’t look away, too entranced by whatever hold he now has over you - barely able to even form a cognitive thought, let alone voice one.

“I love that you’re weirdly nerdy about space,” he maintains a hold on your cheek, his touch soft but his presence solid, and uses his other hand to gesture around you, to the spectacle around you - to the vibrant projections of planets on walls that seem to extend light years right around of the two of you. “And that of all the places in New York you’d even want to go during your last spring break, this was the only place on your list. And despite that, somehow I’m the dorky loser out of the two of us.”

You feel your lips quirk up, still gazing up into his eyes, your own wide and watering as you watch him continue.

“I love that you never mind spending time with me, even if it’s just watching movies, or watching hockey, or eating, and you always know what food I like, even though you complain that I eat more than any human should. I love that I never feel too much for you, or too little, or too loud, or like I’m not saying enough. You call me an idiot all the time, sure, but you never make me feel like one.”

Everything around you turns into a blur, now, beyond trying to blink away your tears as they slowly start to trickle from your lower lashes, Luke’s thumb coming to swipe at your lip when one settles there, offering a soft smile that makes your heart melt in place - this warm, sticky sensation spreading between your ribs.

“And I love the way you look at me,” his voice is so soft that it makes you feel boneless, and you think if he didn’t have a hold on your face you might just dissolve into nothing, “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who actually sees me.”

You love that about him too, you think - the first tangible thought you can muster as he does his best to turn you into complete mush in the palm of his hand. 

“I love that you make the 600 miles between here and Michigan feel like nothing. Like I miss you all the time, but you always make it seem like you’re here, even when you’re not, as stupid as that sounds.”

It doesn’t sound stupid. Not at all. It’s crazy how much comfort Luke has given to you just through a phone screen for the past 5 months, like he’s been with you the whole time, all those worries about your relationship being too weak to withstand the distance that you had at the end of summer dissipating almost instantaneously.

“And I’m sorry I keep giving you reasons to think otherwise, but I’ve never felt this way about anybody before. I love you so much it makes me crazy, and it makes me do stupid things, and say shit that I don’t mean, but I mean this, I need you to know that, as insane as this whole thing is I’ll say it all again and louder if you need me to.”

Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, the trembling breaths you take to try and alleviate it providing very little relief, and Luke watches you with bated breath of his own, wincing a little in anticipation as he waits out some sort of response.

You reach up to the hand that rests on your cheek and peel it from your skin, fingers clasped around his palm and tugging it away carefully until you can bring it down. You step just a little closer - close enough that you’re looking up, close enough that you can place his hand against the rampant thudding in your chest, and hope that the proximity of him now helps calm you - helps build the kind of courage it takes to stand in front of the person you love and lay your heart on the line, like he just had.

“I love that your version of a declaration of love starts out as you calling it a corny garbage megamix,” you tell him, hesitant but hopeful, like you’re testing the waters, watching as his eyes start to well up too and relief wracks through him in a visible shudder. “And that you watch some movie 8 times on your own because it makes you think of me.”

He huffs out a breathy chuckle, the smile that takes over his face is unwavering and it spurs something courageous within you, fingers intertwining with those on his free hand and smiling straight back. 

“I love that every text you send me is a triple text,” you snort, “Like you couldn’t possibly just type out a paragraph, you have to send me every single thought as it passes through your brain. Like I’m the first person you want to come to about anything and everything, it makes me feel like you value me, it makes me feel good. And I love that you make everything lighter, and easier, and you never let me sit in my feelings, or let anybody make me feel bad.” You think of all the times he has defended you - to Jack, to yourself, even. He’d been so sure of you getting into your graduate program, more than you had ever been, and the stress around the whole thing seemed to dissolve whenever he was around. He’d backed you up when Jack went on his weird tirade at movie night, and has apparently been doing so the whole time Jack’s tried to sabotage things between the two of you. “Even if you do agree that I’m hard work.” Your lips twist in amusement as he dips his head a little, but you understand what he meant - where he was going with what he said. 

“I love that you make me second guess myself,” you tighten your hold on him a little, “And you make me think differently, think better. I don’t feel afraid or unsure when I’m with you, not about the real stuff.”

He tightens his hold, too, readjusts his fingers where you’re clutching at them until he can move your hands to your sides, pulling back until you’re touching, almost, chest to chest. 

“And if you asked me a year ago if I ever thought I’d want the boy I love to hunt me down in a dorky space exhibit, I’d have probably curled up and died from embarrassment at the thought,” you snort, “But I wanted to be here because it reminded me of you. Because you call me a dork, but you never make me feel like one, either. And because I used to want to feel like nothing when I thought of this stuff, but now I know that I don’t want to feel small, or insignificant, or unimportant,” you’re so close now that your voice is like a soft hum, stretching up on your toes and untangling your fingers from his for them to find purchase on his chest, helping you balance better. “I want to feel like I matter, and you’re the one who taught me that I do.”

You break eye contact only to watch the slow roll of a tear down his cheek, one he doesn’t even bother to wipe away, not afraid to show just how much it means to him for you to say all of that stuff back. 

“I love you, Luke,” you almost-whisper, but the lack of volume does little to lessen the meaning behind the words, and your eyes drift back up to meet his, “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.”

“Can’t believe you just outdid my own corny declaration of love.”

“Consider yourself megamixed.” 

“Shut up,” he laughs, the sound rumbling all the way from the depths of his chest and into your lips as he presses his own into them, fingers curling around the back of your waist as he pulls your body flush to his, and you think you see the swirling stars even when you close your eyes, a bright burst of colour consuming your brain until it’s all that you feel.

You kiss him without a single care in the world, forgetting that you’re in the middle of an exhibit, and that people might see, or stare, or think that you’re crazy. You love him, and you’re done hiding just how much.  He kisses you back the same, with intensity and intention, like he’s trying to cement all those wonderful words he said to you before into the core of your being. 

When you pull apart, slow enough that you barely separate at all, you watch as he smiles, swollen lips curved all the way up, the slight flash of teeth, cheeks balling up and his eyes creasing in the corners, and you feel your face mirror his, your noses pressed together and your hands still clutching at the shirt on his chest.

“Y’know,” he breathes, a slight rasp to his voice, “I was kind of right about one other thing.”

“What’s that?” You ask, backing away to give the two of you the slightest bit of breathing room. 

“This feels like the perfect place to take somebody on a date.”

Your smile deepens, somehow, big enough to ache a little, and when you rush and stumble out of sheer instinct to kiss him again, his hands are primed to catch you. 

And they don’t let you go for the whole 90 minutes you spend exploring the exhibit, where the two of you learn all new things about the universe and everything beyond it, and for the first time in a long time - the first time maybe ever - you let yourself believe that everything is going to be okay from here on out.

School might be hard, but you’ve worked almost the whole way through it with an end in sight, and a you’re building a life for yourself that you’ve never been so excited to live. 

Your parents might be shitty, and they might not show up when you need them, but you have other people who do. 

You have Ellie, who, for all her faults, has always been there to fall back on. She lets you spend the summer with her, with all intentions to have you stay the whole time, even if the two of you ended up elsewhere, and lets you impose on the holidays - shares all her traditions and never makes you feel like you don’t belong there. She cares so much about you that she goes a little crazy, but you think you’d rather have it that way than not at all.

You have Ethan, and you have Quinn, who both refused to fall for everybody else’s misconceptions of you - who encouraged Luke to persist when you gave him a million reasons to give up, and who were both in your corner without you ever even knowing about it.

And you maybe even slightly have Jack, who was just trying to look out for his little brother, like he’s so used to doing in all other aspects of Luke’s life, and who was willing to admit he was wrong despite how much you know it pained him to do so.

Everything in your life leading up to now might have jaded you a little, might have skewed your perception on what it meant to be loved, but you have Luke, now, to clear it all up. 

Luke, who is dorky, and unserious, and loud, and uncoordinated, and acts out of impulse sometimes in ways that hurt you, but cares about you too much to ever leave you behind. And that, yes, he’s someone who doesn’t leave, but he’s also someone who comes back - who keeps showing up for you despite you giving him a million reasons not to.

Luke, who persistently slips in through the cracks of your long-caged heart and cements himself a place so deep in there that you’ll never get him out - you won’t ever want to.

Luke, who you love, and who loves you back, and who tracks you down in the next state over with a bunch of ridiculous movie references and makes you regret ever telling him you were freaked out by declarations like that, because you’ve wasted far too much time now trying to convince yourself you were a cynic.

Luke, who told you all the way back at the beginning of summer exactly who he was - who he was always going to be, and you were just too stubborn to listen. 

Luke, who is, and always has been, inevitable.

When spring turns to summer, you find yourself back where it all started, your eyes fluttering open at the familiar sound of tyres rolling across the gravel driveway of the lake house, sun beaming harsh enough through the windshield that you have to squint against it, and your heart hammering in your chest.

It’s been a few weeks since you last saw Luke - when he’d surprised you at your graduation, and had helped you box up all your stuff back at the sorority, and the anticipation of a promise he’d muttered into your lips on your last night together has been the only thing keeping you going while you were back in Chicago with your mom.

The whole summer, he had promised when he invited you to stay, and I’ll even be your chauffeur again. 

The thought of coming back to the place you fell in love, with the boy you fell in love with, and getting to experience the beauty of it all through eyes that finally let you truly see it makes your heart do little somersaults in your chest - a feeling that’s only exacerbated when you climb out the car to see Luke sat on the stairs leading up to the front door, waiting for you.

You feel the weight of his crooked grin even from a short distance away, a warm, gooey sensation spreading throughout your entire body as you run straight for him, ditching Ellie to get out the car on her own time and leaping into his arms. 

You press frantic kisses wherever you can reach, and he holds you up so that you don’t fall, your legs wrapping securely around him as his glorious laughter rings out into the air around the two of you - your lips against his cheek, and his jaw, and his forehead, his nose, his eyes, even, and finally his mouth, where he matches your enthusiasm like he’s been waiting the whole time to do so. 

“You missed me, I take it.” He chuckles, lips moving against yours as the words fall between your lips, and you hum back, kissing him again as a response. 

“Get a room, that’s disgusting,” you hear the bitter scoff of Jack as he brushes past the two of you and heads straight for Ellie. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Luke mumbles as he carefully lowers you back down until your feet touch the ground, “I got us a room, I even put some things in there for you, do you wanna go see?“

“What about my bags?”

“Your bags can wait,” he smiles coyly as he grabs at your hand - tugging until you’re following him into the house, and up the stairs, a layout you could still follow with your eyes closed. The familiarity of it all makes your heart ache in the best way, a stupid, lovestruck grin taking over your face as he guides you towards his room - your room too, now, apparently, and holds the door open for you to walk in.

It’s pretty much exactly how you remember it, the big window looking out over the pool at the back, the lake in the distance, and a soft breeze causing the curtains to flutter gently. 

There’s the bed in the centre of the room, where you slept for the first time beside him, the same navy sheets, and you bet they still have the same soft linen smell to them, the same detergent kept in the laundry room downstairs. There’s the dresser to the side, where he once kissed you so stupid you never thought you’d think straight again. And the en-suite, where you first taken things a little too far with him, not that you regret any of that now.

The summer you’d spent so long trying to squash down is here now, larger than life, impossible to suppress or forget. And the boy beside you is the same. 

You can’t fight the smile as you turn to him, his eyes glinting back at you the same way they have ever since that day in the exhibit, a light in them that you don’t think will ever go out.

“What did you put in here for me?”

“Nothing, it was just an excuse to get you up here,” he chuckles, advancing on you before you even realise he’s doing it, hands sneaking around your waist until you’re pressed flush to his body, and he’s dipping his head to kiss you again. “But if you want to go shopping later, we can get you some stuff. Make it feel more like your room, too, add a feminine touch, or whatever.”

“A feminine touch?” You scoff, grabbing at his t-shirt and turning the two of you until you can push him down onto the bed. “You gonna let me paint the walls with rainbow sparkles?”

He scoffs, thighs tensing as you lower yourself onto them, straddling his hips and grabbing at his hands so that they can’t hold onto you like he wants. “If that’s what makes you happy,” he smiles up at you, dorky and adorable. 

“I’m happy,” you tell him, leaning in and kissing him slow, and sweet, unable to help when your lips curve up where they are pressed to his. “I will put one feminine thing on the list, although I don’t know anywhere around here that might sell them.”

“What’s that?”

“Pink fuzzy handcuffs,” you smirk, leveraging your hold on his wrists to lift his arms and press them back down into the bed, heart racing at the way he looks up at you - like you’re the entire universe. “So I can tie my pretty boyfriend to our bed.”

And then you lean forward again, pressing the curve of your lips back to his, revelling in the way his laughter ripples out into your mouth - swallowing it down until it swirls like petals in the depths of your stomach, cinematically swept up by a soft breeze, dancing and falling in slow motion.

“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.”

A/N: guys I could hardly warn you above for the cheesiest ending you'll ever read in your life without spoiling the whole thing, but if a guy professed his love to me at destination cosmos, I'd melt into a pile of water slime or something. this is honestly so wild, and probably repetitive, and might feel rushed and insane towards the end, but I feel like it needs to be, because these two are insane.

I hope you guys are happy with this lmao, I've had a lot of fun torturing you the past few months!! a lot of LIH callbacks in this final chapter, if you can pick them out ily, it really feels full circle, and like the right ending for both of them, so I'm praying you guys enjoy it as much as the rest!!

Ending this series is bittersweet, because I truly do adore these two idiots, they have a place in my heart forever, and if they have a place in yours, I would welcome any asks/conversations about them in the future!!

Again, thank you. I don't really know how to end this without being a blubbering mess at how much I love you all for getting me here!!! Being able to finish something like this, and be genuinely proud of it, isn't something I've ever done before I came on this site, and your support of my writing, whether it be LIH or OYS or anything else, brings me so much happiness I can't even describe it.

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 6

SUMMARY: A baby, a hearing, and an ultimate question

WORD COUNT: 12.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of pregnancy, vomit, abortion, blood, hospitals, medical emergencies, miscarriage, death, etc (MENTIONS not spoilers lol). Incorrect and vague descriptions of medical problems/systems. Use of YN/LN (your name/ last name). So much angst, as per usual. Also I fucked up the timeline again so we’re gonna pretend like Zandvoort/Monza/Baku is a triple header for storyline purposes thanksss

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky @makanirock05 @htpssgavi @lilypat @ameliaalvarez06 @scriptedinkbyxim @nefsburneracc @1-queenofpotatoes-1

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with me as I try to wrap up this story during finals <3 I hope the extra length and melodrama make up for it!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Oscar Piastri woke up to the feeling of you curled up in his arms—everything should have been perfect. 

The house, it its stillness, beckoned him back to sleep, where he could greet your resting form, your chest softly rising and falling as you breathed in and out, still firmly cozied in your dreams. He hadn’t seen you this peaceful in a while. 

Instead of giving into his want of rest, he watched you, the way your eyelids fluttered with the rapid movement beneath them. He wondered what you must be dreaming of. You never did remember your dreams. 

Right now, all he dreamt of was snuggling closer to you and letting the birdsong of the Australian winter morning take you both away from the painful reality of wakefulness. But he couldn’t be so lucky.

His phone was buzzing, obsessively, and he knew exactly who it was. 

Carefully, he peeled the covers off his sore form, taking caution not to wake you, before grabbing his phone and stepping into the hallway before pressing the call icon. 

“Hi, Mum,” he said, bracing for the incoming lecture.

“Good morning, Oscar,” Nicole responded, in a tone far too calm to be genuine. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” he said, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. 

“That’s good.” Silence rang over the line. 

“You can go ahead and ask, Mum, but none of it’s true,” Oscar said. He knew neither of you could run from the new reality of your reputation, but the least he could do was shield you from the initial awkwardness of the conversations that were bound to happen again and again.

“Really? That’s disappointing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought Lando might be treating YN better.”

“Mum—”

“Don’t,” she warned, her voice sharper than he’d ever heard it. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re lucky I’m not there. I don’t care what you do for a living, I am your mother and you’re never too grown for me to grab you by the ear and knock you upside your head.”

Oscar knew her words were empty, but the anger beneath them was very real. “Things have changed between us,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a lot better now, Mum. Lando was…it was nothing, really. They just want to destroy her reputation.”

Nicole hummed in response, clearly awake that her son wasn’t telling her the whole truth. “If things are so good, why haven’t I gotten a phone call in months? Two crashes and you can’t so much as call your own mother.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just been a lot, mum.”

She sighed, her voice hefty with an unfocused anger. “I know. I’m just worried about you, Oscar. And I’m worried about YN.”

“I am too,” he whispered, though you must still be asleep. “I’ll warn you, she’s… a bit of a wreck.”

“She never used to care about these kinds of things. What’s gotten into her?”

“It’s…complicated.” Oscar didn’t know how much to give, what to reveal and what to hold back.

“Oscar, I’m going to say something that’s hard to hear, but you both need to hear it.” He swallowed, listening intently to his mother on the other line. “This isn’t good for her. I don’t think…whatever you all have going on, is good for her.”

“But things are getting better—”

“Oscar,” his mother asserted, cutting him off. “You aren’t good for her.”

He was silent, his hands clammy against his phone.

Nicole continued, “I know you all love each other, but love isn’t enough. Her entire life, she’s been right there for you, but what does she have of her own?”

“She has me. She has us.”

“Son… you need to let her go.”

“She doesn’t want to go. She wants to be with me.”

“Well, of course she does. She doesn’t know anything else.”

His mother was right. Who was YN, without Oscar, without the Piastri family?

“You know how badly it would break her heart to hear you right now?”

“I told you this was going to be hard to hear.”

“Mum, she’s my best friend, she’s everything to me. I’m not leaving her. If she wants to leave, I won’t stop her, but I fully intend to stay by her side through all of this, to fix everything I messed up.”

Again, Nicole sighed. “It’s never that easy, son.”

“I know. I’m not choosing this because it’s easy, I’m choosing this because I love her and she’s worth it.”

“I’m not saying that either of those things aren’t true,” Nicole began, but Oscar wouldn’t let her continue.

“You really think I should leave her?” he said, his voice almost cracking.

“I just think she deserves better.”

“Then I’ll be better,” he said, a finality in his words. He could tell that his mother didn’t believe it. 

Nicole was forced to change the subject. “Hattie and I will be home later today,” she said. 

“I’ll see you then.”

When Oscar went back to the room, he prayed to God that you were still asleep, and therefore hadn’t heard any of the conversation that had just gone down. Thankfully, for once, his prayers were answered.

When he stepped into the room, he saw a sliver of light that had come to rest across your face, illuminating the surface of your skin. You were an angel in the flesh, curled up in the stitches of the old quilt, still sleeping to your heart's content. God knows you needed the rest.

Again, he carefully got back into the bed so as not to wake you, but you still stirred, instinctively reaching for him in your sleep. When your skin met his, you scooched up close to him, laying your head on his chest, and fell back into your deeper sleep.

He felt like his heart would burst. At this rate, he’d wake you up from the sound of his rapid heartbeat alone. Every day, it seemed, this feeling in his chest he couldn’t quite name grew bigger and bigger. It was something aside from love, which by now he couldn’t deny he felt for you, and had for a long time. 

But his mother’s words swirled around his head. He knew what she meant—it wasn’t really about you. Nicole had always loved you as if you were her own child, welcomed you into their home, and wanted the best for you. No, it was about him. She didn’t believe that he could be a better man.

And as you slept peacefully at his side and the initial anger subsided with your gentle breathing, he realized that he couldn’t blame his mother. After all, he hadn’t done much to prove otherwise. 

He could crash his car a million times, make gentle love to you every night, but what did it really mean, if at the end of the day, you still struggled, falling into restless sleep even when curled up next to him?

He brought his hand up to trace his fingertips up and down the surface of your arm. If it were up to him, you’d never struggle another day in your life. He was going to be better. He had to. 

He just hoped you’d stay by his side.

You fully woke up an hour or so later, and Oscar’s eyes traced your skin as you sat up and stretched, your palms to the sky, muscles straining underneath his old t-shirt you had donned in the middle of the night. He was enamoured with you, tracing your every movement as you stumbled out of bed and to the bathroom to brush your teeth and fix your hair. You weren’t gone long, though, and soon you got back under the covers and found your way back into his open arms, where he hummed as he traced circles into your bare skin.

“I don’t want to get out of bed today,” you said, a faint smile on your lips.

“Then don’t,” he replied, mumbling into the pillow, a testament to his own tiredness.

“I have eight billion emails to respond to.”

“It’s break—”

“And I’m the internet’s public enemy number one,” you snorted, your sarcasm unmissable. “You know they want us to have a meeting at MTC after break?”

“Us?”

“Yeah, your manager already scheduled it. Seems like the entire HR department will be there.”

“That’s a bit ridiculous,” Oscar said, opening his eyes fully to look at you across from him, though you anxiously stared at the ceiling. “All this for some internet drama?”

“It would be just internet drama if I wasn’t a Formula 1 employee. This is a professional misconduct hearing. I’m not allowed to fraternize with the drivers after hours,” you joked, moving closer to Oscar, scrunching your nose and pressing it to his in a gesture of intimacy. He smiled. 

“Well,” he laughed, not even taking the breath to make the joke. He didn’t need to; your closeness transcended words, though inevitably you’d have to clarify what had transpired between you two last night.

That realization hit you, and your smile faded. 

“Answer your emails, if you must,” Oscar said, shifting in the bed to get more comfortable, “and then come back to bed. We won’t have much time to just lay around and relax when Mum gets back, anyway.”

You took his advice, but sighed at the reality that kept dawning on you. You couldn’t ignore the emails, the inevitable conversations you’d need to have with Nicole and the rest of the family. 

But as you wrapped up your work, turned off your phone, and snuggled one last time next to Oscar under the old quilt, you could pretend, at least for a moment, that everything was alright. 

And it was. Oscar had put some random show on the television, but that was just background noise, your focus rather on the steady thumping heartbeat under Oscar’s chest, where you laid your head, and you both laid quietly in the half-sleep, drifting between dream and wake. 

You broke the soft silence. “When will Mum be home?”

Oscar turned over to glance at his old alarm clock on the nightstand. “A few hours, probably around dinner.”

You hummed. “Have you spoken to her about…?” Your voice trailed off.

Oscar bit his lip, remembering the conversation from the early morning. A soft anger still burned inside his chest. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I didn’t tell her much, though. Didn’t know how much you wanted me to say.”

“I don’t even know what to tell her. It’s all just…embarrassing.”

“You don’t have to tell her anything. We’re grown.”

“I guess,” you said, biting your own lip, deep in conflicted thought. “I’m just worried she’ll agree with what everyone else is saying. That I’m a…a whore, or something.”

“She’d never think that,” Oscar said, sitting up. “YN, she loves you like you’re her own.”

“Did she say anything about it, on the phone?”

Oscar took a beat, contemplating how much of the truth to tell. He cursed how you all always thought in sync. “No,” he said, deciding on a white lie. “She was more mad at me for hardly calling.”

You didn’t quite believe him, and he could tell. You knew you’d just have to hear it from her. 

But you pushed the thought out of your mind, choosing instead to take your place back in Oscar’s arms, drifting between sleep and wake, safely cocooned away from the world. 

Of course, the utopia was shattered when Nicole and Hattie arrived home.

Oscar could feel your anxiety from a mile away. When he heard the door open and you all shifted up in the bed, he pulled you closer to him, kissed your forehead, and said, “I’ll distract Mum. You’ll have to deal with Hattie on your own though.”

You laughed, though Hattie was the one person you really needed to see right now. 

When you met them at the door, you all exchanged hugs and pleasantries, and Oscar, true to his word, distracted his mother long enough for you to “help” Hattie lug her suitcase upstairs.

She thumped it on the floor and crawled onto her bed, sitting cross-legged, as you slumped into her corner beanbag, as if you all were still teenagers again.

“YN,” she laughed, “you look like shit. Is that why you haven’t been answering my texts?”

“Thanks, glad to see you too” you joked back, though you felt more lighthearted than you’d been in a while. “Really though, I swear, I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with a woman who doesn’t hate me. You don’t even know the half of it,” you said, nervously scratching the back of your neck.

“And I have the entire night off, so I expect to hear the all of it!” she said.

“I don’t know how much I should say…”

“YN. Be real.” You nervously chuckled, knowing that you couldn’t keep anything from her. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you everything, “ you said, then sighed. “But first I need to ask you the most embarrassing question I’ve ever had to ask anyone in my whole life. Do you still have that emergency plan B?”

Hattie laughed, thinking you were joking. “What, did you sneak Lando in last night?”

“Not Lando…” you said, giving her back a half-hearted laugh. 

“Wait, you’re serious?” she said, getting up to find the box and hand it to you. 

“Yes, unfortunately.”

Before she handed you the box, she tilted her head and raised a brow. “Wait, so who…?”

You grabbed the box anyway, and looked away from her. “Don’t make me say it,” you begged.

“What?”

“Who do you think I was here with last night?”

She looked perplexed for a second as you took the pill from the box and swallowed it, but her eyes widened when she finally realized. 

“I—you—my brother? Eugh!”

You playfully rolled your eyes, sipping your drink to get the taste of the pill out of your mouth. 

“I mean, Carlos Sainz is literally right there and you’re willingly sleeping with MY BROTHER?” 

“Hattie, hush!” you said, hearing Oscar and Nicole’s voices downstairs. 

“Do not let him baby trap you! Oh God, I’m too young to be an aunt. Wait, how long have you and Oscar been…?”

“It’s not like that—”

“Well apparently it is!” she whispered. 

“Look, I’ll tell you everything, but for now, just don’t say a word to anyone.”

“My lips are sealed,” she said, dragging her hand like a zipper along her mouth.

Your weeks at the Piastri family house flew by. Though you had been forced to tell Hattie at least some of the details, you were thankful that the rest of the family had donned a false amnesia to spare you some of the embarrassment. 

A problem remained, though. Your period was late.

A day or two, that was fine. Though it scared you to death, you knew your period tracker wasn’t perfect. It could be stress, or the effect of the pill, or a million other reasons you ran over in your head as you snuck into Oscar’s room at night, as if the entire house didn’t already know that something was going on between you two. 

But as the day turned into a week, and a week into two, you were losing your mind. The night before you all were set to leave for your flight to your mandatory disciplinary conduct hearing at the MTC, Nicole has taken it upon herself to insist on a “going away” dinner with the whole family. 

You didn’t want to go, but it was no use. 

Your stomach churned with nausea, from nervousness or…something else, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t stop the train of thoughts that kept running in your head. 

“Okay,” you said, spritzing yourself with perfume, “how do I look?”

Truthfully, you felt like garbage. You had donned a simple dress, and the question was more one of approval rather than admiration. Still, when Oscar looked up from his phone, his eyes widened. 

“Wow,” he said. “You look beautiful.”

“You don’t have to flatter me,” you said, fixing a stray strand of hair in the mirror. Oscar walked up behind you, placing his head on your shoulder, leaning into you and gazing at your reflections. 

“I’m not,” he said. “You really are beautiful.” You resisted the urge to make some self-deprecating comment, biting your tongue both literally and metaphorically. 

“Can I kiss you?” Oscar asked, his voice low. Since that fateful night in the house, all alone, your affection had been practically nonexistent, reserved for the secret sanctuary of the nighttime, as you skittered around the house in fear of judgement. 

You just hummed in response, unsure of what to say. Usually, Oscar’s touch felt like home to you, his warmth being the one thing you needed to ground you. But now, it felt like just a weight, bringing you down to Earth in the worst way.

He meekly kissed your cheek, sensing your discomfort, and pulled away so you could lean down and fasten your heels. When you rose, and your expression was still sour, he reached out, running his hands up and down your arms.

“You okay?” he asked, and you looked away. You nodded. “Just nervous,” you said, praying he’d buy it.

He did, for now. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll be there with you, and this’ll all be swept under the rug. People will forget about it and move on to the next stupid scandal.”

You gave him a flat smile in response. 

“Now, can I give you a real kiss?”

“Didn’t you just give me one?”

“Is that a no?”

Instinctually, your smile turned real, and you leaned forward, allowing him to give you, as he said, a real kiss. It was brief and safe, knowing that at any second, the sanctity of his room could be shattered.

But he didn’t care, instead wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. 

“Third time’s the charm?” he asked, his eyes full of a lovesickness enough to melt even the coldest heart.

“Your family is downstairs waiting for us. And you have my lipgloss on you.”

“I don’t care—”

“Are you all gonna take all day?” Hattie said, yelling from the hallway, and you scurried away, out of Oscar’s arms, grabbing your purse and making your way to the door. 

At the dinner, you found no reprieve. Despite Nicole’s best efforts at avoiding the subject, the air was thick with an unspoken awkwardness regarding the events that would transpire tomorrow. 

In between plates of pasta, a group of random girls had come up to the other side of the table, focused intently on Oscar.

“I’m sorry, are you Oscar Piastri? Can we get a picture?” 

“Erm…” he said, looking for a convenient way to say no. The girls glanced at you, and their expression immediately went cold, as they eyed you with a look of disgust. 

“We’re having a family dinner right now,” Nicole chimed in, “but it was lovely seeing you all, and Oscar appreciates all the support!”

You were thankful for the distraction, but wanted nothing more than to be out of there. 

Even back at the house, though, you couldn’t escape this embarrassment that ran deeper than your own bones. 

“Alright, everyone, time for a real send off,” Nicole joked, as you gathered in the kitchen for homemade desserts and, more importantly, a bottle of wine.

A glass of wine to drown your sorrows sounded wonderful. But you couldn’t, not knowing if… you couldn’t even bring yourself to imagine the word. You wanted to puke.

It’s too early to tell. There could be a million other reasons why. It was going to be okay. You repeated it again and again in your head, but you couldn’t believe it, not truly. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” you told Nicole as she poured you a glass. 

“Oh no, YN, this is the good stuff, you can’t refuse!”

“No, really, I’m—”

“C’mon, YN,” Oscar teased, playfully elbowing you in the side. 

“I… I should just get to bed, I’m not feeling well,” you said, excusing yourself and running upstairs before anyone could argue with you. 

“Something’s up with her,” Nicole said, sipping from her glass, glaring at Oscar over the rim. He swished the burgundy liquid in his glass, avoiding his mother’s eyes. 

“Don’t start,” he warned. “She’s just stressed. You know how she gets.”

You fell asleep in the guest bedroom, but snuck into Oscar’s room sometime in the darkness of night, where he was solidly sleeping, aided by enough wine that you could still smell it off of him. 

Curled up next to him on the edge of the bed, that night, you dreamt, and for once, you remembered it. 

You never were the type to remember your dreams, at least not in anything beyond fleeting moments that vanished when you woke. But tonight was different. 

You were in a bedroom, a condo in Monaco, the soft waves lapping outside the window as sunlight spilled in. You sat in a rocking chair in the corner of a nursery. Across the room, huddled over a pink crib, was Oscar. He leaned down, and with a heave picked up the small swaddle of blankets and held it in his strong arms. Your newborn daughter looked smaller than a button in the vastness of her father’s arms. 

“She’s tiny,” he said, his voice soft as the morning birdsong right out the window. He gazed at her with love the like of which you’d never seen, as he held and gently rocked his entire world in his arms, humming to her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead and she cooed, and you sat and rocked, quiet in the early morning. A tenseness filled the room.

“I don’t think I can do it,” he said. His gaze never shifted from the baby in his arms. “I can’t leave her.”

“We’ll be fine. We always are,” you said. 

“I know,” he whispered, his voice on the edge of tears. “But she’s so small. I don’t want to miss any more of this. You don’t get this time back.”

“I know,” you said, your own voice tinged with a sense of melancholy. 

The somber peace was broken by the screeching of a little boy, the spitting image of his father, roaring into the room with plastic dinosaurs in hand. He roared as he pivoted the dinosaur towards his sister, the middle child, who stumbled in after him. 

“Hush,” you said to the two children, “the baby is sleeping. Go tell your father goodbye.”

The boy dropped his dinosaurs and ran over to Oscar, hugging his leg. “Don’t go, papa!”

Oscar put the baby back in her crib and picked up his son, who rested his head against his father’s chest. “You know I don’t want to, kiddo.” 

“He has to go drive the race cars!” whispered your middle daughter. 

“That’s right,” he said, fluffing her hair. He put down his son, who was growing too big to be held for that long. The boy bounded with energy, jumping as he reached the floor, his father now kneeled before him. 

“I’ll drive the race cars!” he exclaimed. 

“Yeah?” Oscar said, his smile wide.

“Yeah, I’ll go like vroom, and—”

The baby was crying.

No. You were awake, and your alarm was going off. And as you groped in the dark for your phone, a sudden wave of sickness hit you. You had approximately 30 seconds to get to a bathroom before last night’s dinner would be on the floor. 

You hit your phone off the nightstand, ending the alarm while also making far too loud of a noise, and half-stumbled half-sprinted down the hall to get to the bathroom. Kneeling on the tile floor, you made it just in time to, quite literally, spill your guts. 

A hand pulled your hair back out of your face as you heaved, and when you were finally done, you saw Oscar sigh and sit on the edge of the bathtub. You were a wreck: your dream had brought forth unstoppable tears, and your stomach still rolled and flipped even as you slumped against the sink cabinet. 

“YN,” he said softly, “you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Just a little sick.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I just had a bad dream. I’m sorry I woke you up—”

“I was already half awake,” he said, cutting you off. “YN, you’ve stressed yourself out so much that you’re sick. Talk to me.”

“I promise, I’m fine—”

“YN,” he said, and you were finally forced to look at him. His hair, still messy from sleep, endeared you to him; you locked eyes with the same orbs that had, in your dreams, gazed lovingly upon your newborn daughter, and you lost all semblance of order.

He kneeled down next to you. “YN,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

“My period is late.” The room stood still. 

Oscar froze. “How late?”

“Two weeks.”

His internal voice could only say one word: Shit. But physically, he couldn’t say anything.

“Are you just gonna stare at me like I’m crazy, or…?” you asked, as Oscar’s mind was clearly elsewhere, lost in thought.

“It doesn’t make sense. You took the pill, right?”

“Of course.” you sniffled.

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure!”

“Then how could you be—”

“Because that shit isn’t 100% effective, Oscar!” you said, your voice low but harsh. Oscar, the unfortunate target of your anger, winced at your words. “You think I didn’t take it? Ask Hattie.”

“Hattie?”

“Where do you think I got the pill from?”

“My sister has plan B?” Oscar asked, his face contorting with disgust. 

“Really?” you asked, incredulous. “That’s what you’re concerned about right now? I’m… I could be…” Your voice trailed into a choked sob, as you couldn’t even get the words out.

“Hey, I’m sorry, look, it’s okay,” Oscar said, moving down to sit cross legged across from you.

“It’s not okay, Oscar,” you sobbed, as he reached out to hold you, and you were too weak to push him away.

“No, I promise, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll be okay,” he said, and you gave up, crying into his shoulder, the weight of too many bottled up tears. He ran his hand up and down your back as you tried, and failed, to pull yourself back together.

“What are we gonna do?” you whispered, your breath stabilizing in the comfort of his arms.

“We take it a day at a time. We go to the MTC, get this hearing over with, and then get you a test.”

“And if I’m…”

“If you’re pregnant,” he said, and you felt your stomach drop at the utterance of the word, “then we make it work.”

“No, no, we can’t do this. We cannot have a baby. I cannot have a baby with you.”

Oscar was hurt by your words, though you said them without thinking, too deep in your own panic. “Why not? What’s stopping us?”

“Are you serious? We’re too young, you’re a fucking Formula 1 driver, and I’m about to lose my job. I’d barely be able to provide for myself, let alone a baby.”

“YN, if you’re pregnant, you’ll never worry about having to provide for anyone ever again. I have more than enough money.”

“But you’d be gone all the time. And even if you weren’t, we’re… Oscar, we’re a mess! Hattie thinks you’re trying to baby trap me,” you snorted, your voice dripping with malice.

“Do you really believe that?” Oscar asked, his voice serious.

“No,” You sniffled. “It’s my own fault for sleeping with you when I’m not on birth control. I’m so fucking stupid.”

“None of that, YN. We both should have been more responsible. But I promise you, it will be okay.”

“If I am pregnant, I can’t keep it. Would you…be okay with that?”

Oscar looked at the floor, biting the inside of his cheek. “Honestly,” he began, “it’d break my heart. But I know it’s not my decision. And whatever you chose, I’d support you.”

A silence fell in the room. 

“I had a dream, just before I woke up. We had three kids. And they were perfect, but you were gone all the time. I don’t want that.”

You looked up at Oscar, the fluorescent lights hitting his eyes at the perfect angle to reveal the sheen of his own tears. 

“This dream… it was so real. And it terrified me.” You continued, “You’re so close to winning the championship, I can’t take that away from you.” 

“The championship is the last thing I care about right now,” he whispered. “We just need to take it step by step. First, we get on this flight. We get through the hearing. Then, before the next race, we get you to a doctor. Can we do that?”

“We can do that,” you echoed, though you felt incapable of anything besides crying on this bathroom floor. 

Oscar scooped you up in his arms again, gentler this time, as if his arms were the only thing keeping you whole. 

“We’re gonna be okay. Let’s go catch this flight, yeah?” he said, kissing you on your forehead.

And that’s what you did, taking a quick shower and readying yourself to be seen in the public eye again. You said a quiet goodbye to the Piastri family as you and Oscar made your way to the airport, where he refused to drop your hand despite your protests.

“Oscar, someone might see,” you whispered.

“I don’t care,” he said. “Let ‘em watch.”

Despite your instincts, you had checked social media earlier in the morning, only to find that the girls from the evening before at the restaurant had taken pictures of the entire family from across the building and sent them to the gossip pages. The comments were full of disparaging notes towards both you and Oscar, calling you every name under the sun. 

On the long, long flight to the UK, you couldn’t sleep, instead drifting in and out of some semi-conscious state that offered no real rest. 

When you landed, you felt like a zombie. You had only a few hours before you needed to be at the MTC. 

“You all have a good flight?” Zak Brown asked, those few hours later as he led you through the long, billowing halls of the MTC. You had made it, only just in time. Oscar’s words echoed in your mind—you just needed to get through it. 

“Yeah,” you said, giving a polite smile, lying through your teeth. Oscar had come before you, giving you a much needed nap, but it meant you were alone as you walked to meet your impending professional doom. 

Zak stopped in front of the door. “Look, YN, I’m so sorry we have to go through this, but it’s outside of my wheelhouse.”

“I understand,” you said. 

“Well, this isn’t just a formality. HR is on our asses about this. Of course, we’ll do everything in our power to let them know that you’re a good asset and that this is all a big misunderstanding. But before I open this door, I just want you to be ready.”

“Thank you, Zak,” you said, truly thankful that someone was looking out for you. “I’m ready, I’ll be okay.”

You weren’t ready, though. Zak opened the door, and you felt like you were going to puke all over again.

A line of stone faced, suit-clad human resource robot-people sat on one side of the room. On the other, a line of familiar faces. 

On the far side, Oscar, who you locked eyes with, his gaze pleading, I’m sorry. 

Next to him, Lando.

Next to him, Lily.

And then, the last open seat in the room, that had to be yours. 

You sighed, walked across the room, and took your seat.

“Oh, you must be YN LN, just on time,” one of the human resource people said—a woman, her hair in a perfect slick back bun, so polished and put together. “Let’s begin.”

You nodded.

“Well, thank you all for your time,” she began, “I know all of you have much more enjoyable things to be doing. We’re here today investigating allegations of professional misconduct that would violate the terms of YN’s contract. You all have been implicated in this as well.” 

You stared at the floor as she droned on. 

“Miss LN, I understand you’ve known everyone here for a while.”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“Oscar and I were childhood friends.”

“And what is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Piastri today?”

You stuttered internally. Technically, you were violating your contract by doing…whatever it was you were doing with Oscar.

“Um…” you hesitated.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he interjected, causing all heads to turn to the end of the table. You locked eyes with him. “She doesn't want to say it because she doesn’t want to get in trouble. But this is all on me, really—”

“Please refrain from interrupting, Mr. Piastri,” the woman said. “Is that correct?” she asked you, and you nodded. Of course, Oscar had never asked you to be his girlfriend. But what else could you be called?

“And what is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Norris?”

“There isn’t one,” you answered, too quickly for comfort. 

“So you’re just complete strangers?”

“No, I know him. But I don’t talk to him.”

“How long has this been the case?”

“Since May.”

“Why is that?”

“He was rude to me.” Your words cut through the tension of the moment. You looked your interviewer in the eye, as if to say, are you really asking me this?

“This moment of rudeness, did it happen within the context of your working duties?”

“No. It was at a restaurant in Monaco. I told you all of this in the written report. Is there anything else you need to know?” Your anger grew with each question.

“Miss LN, you are facing serious allegations—”

“Remind me of them.”

“Engaging in illicit meetings activities with Mr. Norris, and being in a longstanding affair with Mr. Piastri, both in violation of the privacy terms of your contract.”

“I told them, nothing of the sort happened,” you said, your voice strained with exasperation. “Oscar and I have been together since…well, off and on since April, and yes, that violates my contract, I guess, but there was no affair. And Lando and I met in Monaco outside of work twice, as friends. If you want to have my job over that, go ahead, I don’t care anymore. This is ridiculous, having an entire hearing over a few grainy pictures on Instagram? You’re wasting all our time, especially since I wrote everything I had to say in the report—” 

“Miss LN, perhaps you should leave the room while we conduct the rest of the hearing.”

You inhaled sharply and left the room, fighting the urge to slam the door behind you. In the hallway Zak waited, and he raised his eyebrows when he saw you exit, so angry and far before he expected you.

“Done already?” he asked.

“No,” you huffed. “But they’ve decided to not let me ask any questions at my own hearing, so they’ll be having it without me.”

Zak sighed, running a hand through his hair, and said, “Look, YN, I get that you’re frustrated. Hell, I’m frustrated too. This is a waste of everyone’s time. But what HR says, goes. Just gotta get through it.”

“I know,” you said, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. “But, are they even trying to find out who leaked all this? Did they read any of the evidence or look at any of the statements?”

“I think we all know who leaked this,” Zak said, and you raised your brow. What did he know? “I don’t know much about the investigation. But like I said earlier, I’m gonna do everything in my power to help.”

“Thank you,” you said, giving him a weak smile. 

You didn’t know how long you sat in that hallway, only half there mentally, waiting for the hearing to end, until finally, you heard the voice of the same woman beckoning you back into the room.

Again you entered, avoiding Oscar’s pitying glance, and sat back down next to Lily, whose gaze was glued to the floor. 

“Thank you for your…cooperation, Miss LN,” the woman said, through politely gritted teeth. “The committee has come to the decision that your employment will be suspended through the next 3 races.”

“I—”

The woman verbally barrelled over you, continuing, “This suspension will give us time to finalize our decision, at which point we will let you know whether we have decided to reinstate or permanently end your employment. Unless, of course, you want to resign, in which case we will accept a letter of resignation at any point.”

“You want me to quit?”

“That’s your decision to make,” the woman said. 

You bit your cheek, keeping quiet only for the hope of maybe getting your job back. 

As everyone filtered out of the room, you went ahead, walking as fast as your legs could carry you just to get out of the oppressive environment. Still, behind you, you could hear the scuffling of three pairs of legs, memories of a once unbreakable bond now fractured. 

“So,” Lily said, her voice low in an attempt to avoid you hearing, “You and YN are official now, huh?”

“Don’t,” Oscar said, looking ahead. He didn’t stop walking.

“How long has that been? Since before or after you lied to me?”

“Lily,” he warned, his voice sterner now, “Not today.”

“When, then? When are you going to admit that you’re a fucking liar?”

You turned back, the air in the hallway noticeable thicker with the tension of Lily’s words. Everyone has stopped walking. Oscar nodded to you, a sign to keep going, though you walked slower now, unable to escape Lily’s magnetizing fury. Oscar hurried, though. 

“All you do is run. Run to YN, run from hotel to hotel, run from your mother, run from Lando. You can only run from the truth for so long, Oscar.”

“Let’s go, Oscar,” you said, sensing his anger rising.

“Don’t act like you’re innocent,” she said, “You know you’re just his safe bet. When he finds something better, he’ll leave you too. But of course, you won’t leave, since apparently you’ve been at his beck and call your entire life—”

You finally made it out the doors, but Lily didn’t stop her tirade until Oscar slammed the door behind him and cut her off. 

“Listen,” he said, his voice angrier than you’d ever heard it. “I love YN more than I ever loved you. She’s my soulmate. And every day I curse myself for actually being faithful to you and wasting my time when I could have spent it with her. The only reason I ever was with you was because I was too much of a coward to be with her. Not anymore. Say whatever the fuck you want about me, I don’t care. But leave her out of this.”

“You’re evil,” Lily retorted, her voice shaking. 

“I’m evil? Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve done nothing but accuse me of things I didn’t do! And harassing YN when she’s pre—when, when she’s going through all this…”

“When she’s what?” Lily asked. 

“Oscar, let’s just go, please,” you begged.

“What did you say?” Lily questioned, though Oscar turned to leave.

“Pregnant,” Lando interjected. He had been forgotten in the background, lurking, listening. “That’s what you were gonna say, right?”

“You’re pregnant?” Lily asked, looking at you with horror in her eyes. 

“I—I’m not…” you protested, but your expression gave you away, and any reputations were in vain. 

“Oh my God,” Lily said, tears finding both of your eyes.

“Okay, we’re leaving,” Oscar said, grabbing your hand and nearly dragging you away and to his car, walking fast enough that neither Lily nor Lando could keep up.

It wasn’t until he was speeding away in his McLaren, you safely in the passenger side, that he spoke again.

“I… I know I massively fucked up.”

“Don’t,” you whispered. “I’m not mad. But I can’t right now.” 

Oscar conceded, remaining silent until you made it up to your hotel room and collapsed on the bed. 

He just sat next to you, gently rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

“Do you want me to tell you what happened in the hearing, while you were in the hall?” he asked.

“No,” you whispered as you sat up, tears now flowing without restraint. 

He wrapped you in his arms again, but even his embrace couldn’t fix it. “What can I do to make it better?” he asked.

“I just want to go home,” you sniffled. He wordlessly got out his phone and booked you both a flight back to Monaco in the morning.

The words came later in the night, in that familiar and safe space, his arm around you, your leg draped over his. 

“It just isn’t fair,” you said, your voice barely a whisper against his skin. “If they fire me… we’ll hardly see each other.”

“They can’t ban me from bringing you whenever I want.”

“It’s not the same, though,” you said. “Besides, I don’t want to be a kept woman.” 

He sighed in contentment. It was only wrapped in the presence of the other that either of you could release all the tension and rest in the quietness between you. 

“I’m sorry I…answered for you, at the beginning of the hearing,” Oscar said.

Oh, yeah. He had called you his…girlfriend. The thought had escaped your mind, but it came back with a vengeance now, a familiar wave of nausea and nervousness resting in your stomach. 

He continued, “I didn’t mean to…to force you into anything. I mean, I don’t even know where we’re at, like, between us, it just kinda—”

“You want me to be your girlfriend?” you asked, cutting him off. 

Oscar, not expecting your interjection, was silent for a moment. “Of course I do,” he answered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m the same person I was before, when you said you could never be with me.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I still make stupid mistakes, but this isn’t one of them. I mean, we live together. You fall asleep in my arms almost every night. I tell you my fears and my hopes and my dreams. Your childhood plushie is stowed away in my closet back home—”

“Mr. Koala?” you asked, a rare smile crossing your face. “I thought I lost him!”

“No,” Oscar laughed, “I stole him. Got jealous of all the attention you gave him.”

“When we were ten?” you asked.

“Yes. YN, it’s always been you. And I want it to stay that way.”

Despite all the fear that ran through your veins, for once, you believed him. You pushed it aside. You had to. 

“Okay,” you whispered, tracing circles into his bare skin beneath you. “Then…we’re together.”

The moment was simple, quiet, the room full of nothing but the soft rhythm of your breathing, and the unspoken understanding of what had just happened. It had been too long, in that back and forth, strangled by fear and guilt and shame. But it held no weight in the space between your warm bodies, away from the world, your little haven of each other. 

“But I want my koala back,” you said. 

And when you fell asleep that night, the world continued spinning, though in your little hotel room, everything had changed.

Even back home, the light in Monaco seemed different. Brighter, somehow. 

The sunlight was infectious as you and Oscar walked the narrow streets, hand in hand, no longer caring who saw. 

Of course, this came back to bite you when you glimpsed the familiar face of Lily across the street.

You both kept walking, not acknowledging the other, though once she passed, you leaned over to whisper to Oscar, “What’s she doing in Monaco?”

“Shit, yeah,” he replied, “she mentioned it in the hearing. Orientation for a new company.”

You sighed, not angry at her, but more flustered and ashamed. Oscar tightened his grip, squeezing your hand, an unspoken reassurance.

But her image haunted you as you made your way back to your apartment.

“We should get a bigger place,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“I like it here,” you replied, opening the door to the balcony. “I like the view.” You walked out and leaned over the railing, basking in the light. Oscar followed you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, resting his head in the space between your neck and shoulder. “Clingy much?” you teased.

“I’m not gonna see you for nearly a month,” he mumbled. 

“We’ll live,” you said, though you cracked a small smile. It felt nice to know you’d be missed. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“I’m sure.” He huffed in mock annoyance at you. 

Days before, you had booked a doctor’s appointment for after Oscar returned from the triple header, unable to get one any sooner. The store-bought tests you had secured, sneaking in the middle of the night to a corner store to avoid any wandering eyes, had gone unopened. You were too scared, though now, it had been an undeniable amount of time; either you were pregnant, or something was very wrong. 

But you’d have to wait until he returned. You couldn’t do it without him there. Though, he had asked about a million times if you wanted him to cancel on McLaren and take you to a doctor now.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured. “You just focus on driving fast.”

“I can’t focus when I know you're here alone. What if something happens?”

“Well, the faster you drive, the sooner you can come home.”

He rolled his eyes at you, then gave you a peck on the cheek, before you both went back into the apartment to enjoy your last night together. 

When he left the next morning, you couldn’t lie to yourself and say that it wasn’t tough. It was only 3 races, not even a month, but when he closed the door behind him, your apartment was quiet in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. 

With no Oscar, and no work to do, what could be done to fill your time? It hit you then, how little of a life you had, outside of your new boyfriend and his job. It hurt. 

You confided this to him when he called after he landed that night. 

“How was your day?” he asked, clearly exhausted from his flight.

“Boring,” you confessed. “I have no life outside of F1. It’s kind of sad, actually,” you said, laughing, poking fun at yourself, though the admission cut deeper than you’d care to admit.

“Neither do I,” he said. “But what about those pictures you’ve been trying to edit?”

“Huh?” you said. “I’m not allowed to post any pictures. They literally changed your Instagram password.”

“Ew,” he said. “But I don’t mean photos of me. I mean, you’ve always got your camera, and you always say you don’t have enough time to edit all your shots. Hell, I don’t end up seeing half of them.”

“Because they’re bad.”

“Then fix them.”

The conversation didn’t last much longer, but eventually you did take his advice, going through the backlogs of all the shots you had acquired in your paddock days and nights on the town with Oscar. The shots often hurt; full to the brink with memories, from times before, when things were stiffer, more closed-off. 

And even if you didn’t have the memories at your disposal, you could tell from the subtle details of Oscar’s face what he was feeling. He was actually quite easy to read, and his smile ran from photo to photo, sometimes hiding pain, but sometimes hiding a deeper truth beneath them, a love he had been so scared to confess.

And as you clicked away at your computer, for a second, you thought, maybe I’m good at this. 

Your editing consumed your days, when not watching content from the race, of course. You worked into the night, taking breaks only to fulfill your most basic needs, as if you could lose yourself in all the snapshots you had taken long ago.

And in a way, you did. You could ignore the silence of your apartment, the nervousness as the day of your appointment inched closer, the nausea that always sat in wait in the pit of your stomach, waiting to strike. You stopped only when you were going to collapse from exhaustion.

The night before Zandvoort, that’s what happened; you had worked into the early hours of the morning, ignoring the clock, until you were forced to take a nap and set an alarm before the race.

But when you woke up, your room was dark, and you couldn’t quite move. Something was wrong. 

You dragged yourself out of the bed, only to be met with a horrifying sight: you were bleeding. And it was everywhere; staining your clothes, the sheet, and deep into the mattress. You barely had enough energy to hold yourself up, let alone register what was happening. 

You looked up at your TV, which you had left on as you slept. You saw Oscar’s frame, dashing down the pit lane, as the race was about to begin any minute now. He was there, unreachable, so close, yet further than he’d ever been. 

You were alone. 

Oscar was just as tired when he crossed the checkered flag and claimed the coveted first place trophy for the Dutch Grand Prix. 

He had coasted above the competition, winning easily. But he couldn’t shake the loneliness that had settled deep into his bones, knowing that you weren’t in the garage or in the crowd below the podium, waiting for him with a warm embrace and a smile wider than he could imagine.

But you were at home, cheering him on. He looked ahead past the crowd, into the reflective lens of the camera he knew was staring at him right now. He knew, somewhere, you could see him. 

And, he thought to himself as he exited the podium and went back to the cooldown room, you would always leave him a sweet congratulatory text for him to look forward to. 

He exhaled, truly, in the cooldown room, the cameras now gone. George and Max, his podium companions, chatted to themselves as Oscar stretched. Lando had been caught in an accident in the early laps of the race, a result of a lack of focus. DNF. Oscar was now ahead in the championship.

He knew it was too early to celebrate, and if he wanted that championship, he’d have to claw his way towards it, fighting for every point. But he couldn’t lie and say that a twisted part of him didn’t enjoy overtaking Lando, both on track and off it. 

But when he finally got back to his driver’s room and got his phone, he was disappointed to find no text from you. Nothing. That wasn’t like you.

He stuck his phone in his pocket. Maybe you were waiting to call him back when he was at the hotel.

But even then, no text, no call. His own texts went unanswered, his calls to voicemail. He made a sour face after going to your voicemail a third time. What else could you be doing?

He suddenly remembered, he had your location. Maybe you had just fallen asleep. Or maybe you were at the supermarket, or maybe…

You were at the hospital. 

Your little icon was in the middle of a hospital. And you weren’t answering him. 

He called again, and again went to voicemail.

“Hey YN,” he said, trying not to let fear waver his voice. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you can. Love you.”

Straight, to the point, just like Oscar. But when another half hour went by with no word, he couldn’t help but panic.

Who could he call? His family was halfway across the world. All his coworkers were here. Monaco was a ghost town during race weekends. You truly were alone, and he was terrified.

He took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he dialed the one number he never wanted to call again. 

“You have got some nerve calling me,” Lily said, her voice sharp with venom.

“And yet, you answered,” Oscar said, unable to keep his snarky comments under wraps. “Look, Lily, I need you to listen. I need to ask something of you.”

“You really think you have the right to ask anything of me?” she questioned.

“It’s not for me. It’s YN.”

“I don’t care.”

“She’s in the hospital,” he said, his throat choking. “Lily, I haven’t heard from her since last night, and her location says she’s in the hospital, and you are the only person I know who’s in Monaco right now.”

On the other line, Lily was silent.

“She’s pregnant, Lily. And I am fucking terrified right now. Please, just find her and tell me she’s okay. Please.”

Though he couldn’t hear her, Oscar could picture her face in his mind, how she was biting her lip, turning the gears in her mind.

“You’re lucky I’m off tonight,” she said. “I’ll go check and call you back.”

“Thank you so much Lily, seriously, thank—”

The call ended. 

Lily’s shoes clicked against the sensible tile of the hospital floor as she made her way to your room. Her breath was tense with stifled anger. She knew this wasn’t about you. But to hear Oscar plead for you, in a way that he had never cared for her, hurt more than she would ever admit to. 

She gently knocked on the door before entering, but you were clearly not conscious. Your phone sat on the counter, your home page (a photo of you and Oscar, to add insult to injury), full of his frantic notifications. 

She sighed as she sat in the lone armchair next to you, watching as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

“Are you family?” a doctor asked, startling Lily. 

“No, just a…friend,” she said, forcing her lips into a smile. “Her boyfriend asked me to come check on her. Can you tell me what happened?”

“She stumbled here a few hours ago. Hemorrhaging pretty bad. We gave her a transfusion, but she’s been in and out.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes, she’s just in shock.”

“What about the… um,” Lily paused, unsure of how to continue. “Um… she’s pregnant.”

The doctor made a face, looking down to his clipboard of papers. “Give me a second,” he said, exiting the room.

Lily bit her cheek. Of all things, this is one she wouldn’t wish on anyone, even Oscar, angry as she was still from the way he spoke to her back at the MTC.

She typed up a quick text. I’m at the hospital with YN. She’s fine, but not awake. I’ll call when I know more. 

It wasn’t until an hour or so later that you came to, though you thought you were dreaming. The last thing you could remember was the deep red stain of blood soaked through the mattress…you thought you were going to die. Yes, you must be dead, because your personal hell would be what faced you now; sitting incapacitated in a hospital room across from none other than Lily Zneimer. 

Though you were awake, you were visibly confused. “Hey, YN,” Lily said, her voice gentler than you’d heard it in a long, long while. “You okay?”

“What’s going on?” you asked. 

“You had an… um, an emergency, I guess. I don’t really know.”

“What are you doing here?” 

“Oscar was scared because you weren’t answering his calls.”

“But Oscar’s racing,” you said, your speech slurred.

“YN,” she said, “It’s late.” You raised your head and craned your neck to see the twinkle of Monaco’s street lights against the velvety water. Lily was right—it was late, and you had no idea what had happened, how you had gotten here, and what was going on at all.

Your question was answered when Lily stepped out of the room and you finally got a visit from a doctor, who explained how you had dragged yourself, weak and bloody, into the emergency room before passing out shortly after they got you into a bed.

“You’ve had a transfusion, but all your other tests came back normal,” he said. “So nothing immediately life-threatening. We can release you in a few hours with a referral.”

“But what about my baby?” you asked, and the question nearly made you faint again. You had said it instinctually, not feeling the weight of the words until they had already left your mouth. It had always been ‘the pregnancy’; something sterile, detached, a condition. Not your baby. Not a real, tangible sign of your love with Oscar.

Your baby. Oscar’s baby. Our baby, you thought, and you wanted to cry.

“Miss YN, you’re not pregnant,” the doctor said, matter of factly. 

“I…I miscarried?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “Your tests showed no signs of pregnancy. You weren’t pregnant when you walked into this emergency room.”

“That’s impossible. I missed a period. I—I had unprotected sex and then I missed a period. That’s not how that works.”

“Missed periods can be caused by many things—”

“I don’t understand. How am I not pregnant?” 

“Well, it could be from—” The doctor’s voice droned on, but you weren’t listening. 

There was no baby. There never was a baby. Your mind went blank.

How were you supposed to tell Oscar?

“So, Miss YN, we’ll get that referral set up for you. I’d like to keep you here overnight, just in case, but you’ll be good to go in the morning.” 

You nodded, numb, as the doctor exited the room and Lily returned. She saw the expression on your face and immediately softened.

“YN, I am so sorry…”

“Don’t be. I’m not pregnant. I never was.”

Lily paused. “False positive?”

“Something like that,” you muttered. 

“Still,” she said, sitting tentatively at the foot of the bed, “I’m sorry. I can tell you aren’t happy about that news.”

“Lily, you don’t have to do this,” you said. What you left unsaid: you don’t have to pretend like you’re not relieved that I’m not carrying your ex-boyfriend’s baby. You don’t have to pretend like you don’t hate me. You don’t have to pretend like you care.

Lily bit the inside of her cheek. Even though you hadn’t said it, she knew. “I still don’t wish that on anyone,” she muttered.

“Not even me?”

“No. Not even you, or Oscar.”

The two of you fell silent, and the air was thick with tension.

“Erm, speaking of, you should probably call him. He’s freaking out.” You glanced over to your phone on the counter, but it was now dead.

“Can you just tell him I’ll call in the morning?”

“You can just use my phone. Seriously, YN, he’s scared. Just give him 5 minutes.”

You grabbed Lily’s phone from her hand, your hand shaking. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to call him, but you thought of him staring at his phone, hoping for a call from her name and number, and still, deep down, it made you sick.

Lily left the room again, and you found his number in the recent calls; his contact had been deleted. 

Many miles apart, Oscar couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest, couldn’t hardly breathe. He knew better than to call and pester Lily again. But when her number showed up on his phone—he too had deleted the contact—he picked up within a single ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi Osc,” you said, your voice weak and shaky.

“Oh my God, YN,” he said, and you could hear an equal fear in his tone. He tried to swallow it down. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said. 

“You scared me.”

“I know,” you said, choking on your own words. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t really know what happened. I just woke up and I was bleeding everywhere. And, uh,” you said, a small laugh in your voice, “you were a bit busy running from Martin Brundle in the pitlane. So I just went to the hospital, but I don’t really remember how I got here, or anything really, between that and, like, 30 minutes ago.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. You could imagine him rubbing the sleep and worry from his face.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Is…everything with…” He didn’t have to finish his sentence. You knew what he was trying to ask.

There was no easy way to say it. “I’m not pregnant, Oscar. I never was.”

“Oh.”

The silence hung in waves, from Monaco to Zandvoort, across the line. 

“Are you…” he began, “Are you okay?”

You were silent for a moment. 

“Am I allowed to be sad?”

The tremor in your voice broke his heart. “Of course you are,” he answered. 

“I knew it wasn’t the right time. But I guess I had already…accepted it, I don’t know.”

“I understand,” he said. “I was already thinking about names.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If we had a girl, Charlotte, or Amelia.”

“And if it was a boy?”

“Maybe Caleb. Or Elijah.”

The tears now flowed down your face unrestrained. “You’ll be a great dad one day,” you said, trying to hide the cracks in your voice, evidence of your weeping.

“And you’ll be a great mum,” he said. “I can already tell you loved the little one.”

“But it never existed.”

“But we believed it. And we loved them anyway. Isn’t that enough, for now?”

You couldn’t answer him. He continued, “We knew we weren’t ready. But now, we can wait until we are. We can be there for them, raise them everyday instead of being gone at races all the time. Because our little one deserves better than we could give them right now.”

“Stop calling it that. Don’t get that idea in your head,” you said. There was no baby, no ‘little one’, not even a clump of cells. All that rested in your womb was an empty idea. 

“It’s already in my head, YN. It’s in yours too.”

Again, silence fell. 

“They’re gonna keep me here overnight, but I should be back by tomorrow,” you explained. 

“Good, you’ll be home by the time I get back.”

“Oscar, you don’t need to come back,” you protested.

“Of course I do. You’re sick.”

“I’m fine, and you have a triple header to drive.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the races right now, YN.”

“Well I do!”

“You didn’t even watch the one today, because you were too busy bleeding out!” he retorted, his voice gaining a sternness to it. 

“We are both on thin ice right now. There’s no way I’ll get my job back if I cause you to miss a race.”

“YN—”

“No, Oscar, you’re not coming home. I’ll lock you out of the apartment.”

“YN,” he said, his voice like that of a tough father, “I thought you were dead today. I’ve never been more afraid in my life. I can’t drive knowing you’re at home, sick and alone.”

You refused to budge. “If anything else happens, I’ll call you, and you can come to my rescue, I promise.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re impossibly stubborn?”

“Never,” you said, a soft smile on your lips. ‘Look, I’ll call you in the morning. If I feel good, you stay, and if not, you can come back. Deal?”

He sighed, “Fine.”

“Good,” you said, satisfied with your deal. “By the way, how did the race go?”

He echoed himself. “Fine.”

“What’d you place?”

“P1.”

“Oscar, that’s great!” you said, though a small pang of sadness rushed through your heart. You had never been absent for a victory. “We’ll celebrate when you get back.”

Celebrations were the last thing on Oscar’s mind, but he knew it was pointless trying to redirect you. “Can’t wait,” he said.

“I should probably give Lily her phone back,” you said, feeling it buzz with a notification. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry I had to call her, I just…didn’t know anyone else to call.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

With that, you hung up the call. 

A few minutes later, Lily reentered the room, and you handed her the phone with a small thanks.

“I grabbed my charger,” she said, plugging up your phone.

“Thanks,” you said. 

A silence settled in the room after Lily curled up in one of the armchairs beside your bed, passing the time scrolling. After about half an hour of silence, you spoke up. 

“You know, you don’t have to stay here all night.”

She furrowed her brow. “I’m not going to leave you here alone.”

“Look, I really appreciate it, more than you know, but I know you don’t want to be here.”

“It’s not you I’m upset at,” she said, her voice lower. 

“You take it out on me, though,” you replied, refusing to lower your own voice. “And I mean, I get it, I’d do it too. But as you can tell, not everything on my side of this is sunshine and roses, so…”

“YN—”

“Lily, just, let me say this, please,” you said. “What was said outside the MTC… Oscar and I obviously didn’t go about any of this right. He didn’t just leave you and come to me and start treating me like a princess. He used me to get over you and I let him, because I wanted him for so long now. I mean, I don’t know who I am without him.”

“And at the end of the day, you still forgave him.”

“Because I love him. Because I want to be with him despite it all. But Lily, my life is falling apart. The entire internet hates me, and I deserve it. I lost my job, and I lost the baby I thought I was going to have, and…yes, Oscar and I are official. But it didn’t come without pain. And it breaks me because I know that this is what I get for all of it.”

“YN,” she said. “That’s not true. In that hearing, you think I didn’t realize that Lando was just using you? He was using me, too, I know. I got so overcome with anger, and I lashed out at you and Oscar, I just…” She locked her gaze toward the floor. “I sometimes feel like I’ve gone crazy. One day, I believe everything you and him said. But some days I think everyone was just lying to me for years, and I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

You could see her trying to hold back tears. “And I’ll admit it, even after all this time, I still love him, and I miss him, and God, I wish I was you. I want to be with him more than anything, but I’m angry and I want him to suffer for what he did to me. How did you not feel this when you were betrayed?”

“Because I didn’t love him,” you said, the image of your ex-boyfriend flashing in your mind. “Oscar is the only man I’ve ever loved. Ever. Since we were children.”

“It’s an endless pain, to be that consumed with love. He will hurt you. He already has.”

“I know,” you said. “And I’ll hurt him. That’s how it goes”

“That’s what I said, too. I told myself that’s the nature of love. But I always loved him more than he loved me. And then he left me. And even after everything, if he came to me today and apologized, I’d forgive him in an instant. But he never will. He never will.”

“I’m sorry, Lily.” You were bed bound, but you wanted nothing more than to hold her, for her tears to wet your shoulder as it had so many months ago, when you had assured her that none of this would ever happen.

“Deep down, I think I know he didn’t cheat,” she said. “At least not physically. But it’s easier to say that than to accept that he never loved me like he loved you. And he never will.”

What else could be said? The silence filled the room, like a funeral for what once was. Lily still never moved to leave.

“You should leave him,” she whispered. “Not so I can have him. But because you deserve better. And he’ll never be better.”

“You know I won’t ever do that. I can’t.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

In the morning, she helped you get home, then texted Oscar from her car in the parking lot of your apartment. Many arguments had been had in that garage. But today was different.

YN is feeling better. Got her set up at home. I can come check on her a few times until you get back, if you’d like. 

That would be great. Thank you so much for this. 

She gave the message a heart reaction, fully intending to leave it there.

Her phone buzzed again. 

And I should apologize for the exchange outside the MTC. I was really cruel to you. I’m sorry. 

Lily took a deep breath, unsure of how to respond. 

He kept texting. For you to go above and beyond for YN after I treated you like that shows the difference between us. Really, I am sorry. 

Lily knew she should send something distant. Like, ‘thanks for the apology’ or ‘no worries’ or ‘I appreciate it’. But she couldn’t. She poured her heart out into the message. 

I’m not going to sit around and let someone you love suffer. I did it because I know you love her, and I love you still. I’m not asking you to be with me, I know better. But I have to say it because it’s driving me crazy, going back and forth between anger and love. I know you meant what you said, that you’ve always loved her more than you ever loved me, and I have to live with that. It’s just hard. 

The three dots that bounced up and down sent Lily’s heart rate to dangerous levels, until his message finally appeared. 

Thank you for loving me when I couldn’t love you back. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I hope we can forgive each other. 

Lily was thankful for the privacy of the parking garage and her tinted windows. 

It wasn’t a waste to me. Was it a waste to you?

Oscar’s reply was lightning fast. 

No. But I do wish I could have been honest to you and myself. I just hurt us both.

Lily’s hand began to cramp with how fast she was typing.

I just wasn’t the one. You don’t have to apologize for that. Besides, I never wanted the wag life, all the attention. She’s good at that, despite everything she’d tell you.

When Oscar didn’t immediately reply, she sent another. 

I don't want to live with this anger. The years we had were good. I got to see the world, and I’m thankful for it, and even with everything, I want you to be happy. 

No reply. She sent another. 

Please tell her I forgive you both.

Oscar’s reply was swift again. 

I think you need to tell her yourself. It haunts her.

Lily typed a short message. I know. 

And that was it. There was nothing more to say. 

As Lily drove off, she soaked in the streets of Monaco, a place she had come to hate. It was Oscar’s world, your world, a place she was never meant to call home. Soon enough, she’d never have to come back here. She thought to herself, I hope he has a good, long life here. I hope they raise their children here. I hope this place treats them well. And I hope I never hear about any of it. 

The next day, you are awoken by the ringing of your doorbell. When you open the door, no one is there, but at your foot rests a card with Lily’s signature on it, and a bouquet of wildflowers. 

[rosecoloredsunshine]

variety exclusive interview — evan peters

masterlist | request link

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and evan decided to do a sit down interview with variety.

REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n in narration (but there is on a use of y/n in the later portion), established relationship, married life, mention of kids (twins), reader is also an actress, timeline may be inaccurate, pretend that princess diaries was shown in 2005, evan and reader are the same age, private relationship, and minor typographical error.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this has been requested. i decided to tweak and deviate a little bit with the request, and add some twist into it—to which i hope you won't mind. all of the sent request had been queued in my drafts, i just decided to post this one first bc i actually enjoyed writing this one hajfkkrkfjd. i hope you guys will like it! :)

The cameras rolled, the lighting turning into soft hues, and the familiar hum of the Variety studio filled the air. You and Evan were sitting side by side on the plush gray couch, legs casually touching, both of you all dressed up in coordinated tones—Evan in a soft navy sweater, while you were dressed in a cream colored blouse tucked in high waisted white loose wide legged pants.

It had been years since you two had done a sit down interview together, and the moment felt surreal. You were back together on screen, after WandaVision, after a time off from co-starring, and now, you are back again for a new limited series, and fans were already buzzing.

“So, this is a reunion of sorts,” the interviewer said, smiling as she looked between the two of you. “You’re both starring in a series again after many years, how did it feel working together again?”

Evan let out a soft chuckle and glanced your way, that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It felt like coming home,” he said, voice gentle. “We’ve worked together so many times that it’s honestly second nature by now.”

You laughed, nodding. “It really was. It’s funny, we hadn't acted opposite each other since WandaVision, and even though it was just an episode or two together, that dynamic just clicked again.”

“Right,” the interviewer leaned in, clearly intrigued. “You and Evan play Quicksilver and Crystal—his wife, respectively. Fans loved that little arc.”

“That was a fun one,” you smiled fondly. “I remember when we got the call that Evan would be joining, I was already on set, and I literally texted him, ‘guess we’re married again.’”

“She didn't even say hi or hello,” Evan grinned. “Just straight out sent me a silly selfie of her in costume with the caption ‘Mrs. Maximoff, reporting for duty.’”

The room burst into laughter. “Okay, but let’s talk about something that’s become a running joke on the internet,” the interviewer said, tapping her notepad. “That Evan only says yes to roles if you're in them.”

You raised your brows, trying to suppress your smile. “Oh my god, that joke started years ago.”

Evan nodded in agreement. “It did, I think it was during AHS: Coven?”

“Yeah,” you said, “basically someone on set noticed that every season of American Horror Story we did, Evan was always my love interest. Every single one, even when it didn't make narrative sense, somehow, our characters always end up being entangled.”

“I think it also became a challenge for the writers,” Evan added. “Like, ‘how can we get these two together again without repeating themselves?’”

“And one day, it became a whole joke with the crew,” you said, laughing. “They were like, ‘oh, Evan’s only here because she’s in it.’ and I always denied it, but then I started looking back, it was kind of true, actually.”

Evan chuckled. “Hey, what can I say? I like working with you.”

You nudged him gently. “Well, you decided to marry me. I hope you do.”

What you said had caught the interviewer completely off guard. “Wait, you two are married?”

You and Evan burst into laughter again, and nodded. “Yeah, we are. Ten years now.”

“And you have—?”

“Twins,” Evan said, practically glowing. “Boy and girl, they’re nine. Total troublemakers.”

“Oh my god,” the interviewer breathed, clearly reeling. “How have you kept this all under the wraps?”

You shrugged with a soft laugh. “We never really tried to hide it, we just don’t post about it. People still assumed that we were still dating,” you raised your hand, showing your hand where the wedding band was. “Surprise folks, we’re married!”

“I think fans were too distracted by whatever show we were doing together to stop and think, ‘wait a minute, why are they always together?’” Evan joked.

“It kind of started as a joke too,” you said, giggling softly as you remembered the memory. “I remember when I did The Princess Diaries back in, like, 2005, and Evan was already doing some TV work—Phil of the Future. He was just so cute, and jokingly put out the idea with my agent if Evan could be casted as Mia’s love interest.”

The interview blinked. “No way!”

“I was nineteen, it was a crush!” you giggled. “I thought, ‘he has pretty eyes, he’s perfect in being my on-screen partner.’ and then years later, here we are. American Horror Story, WandaVision. He’s casted as my love interest again. And again, and again.”

Evan smiled at you while you explained, and then looked at the camera. “She manifested the hell out of me.”

You giggled softly, throwing back your head slightly. “I guess I unconsciously did,” you smiled. “I mean, I didn't get him in The Princess Diaries, but I got him in everything else after that. Including real life, so it’s a win-win situation?”

He reached over and took your hand gently, intertwining his fingers with yours. “One thing’s for sure, I love being her love interest, on-screen or off.”

The interviewer smiled. “So, being married for a decade, twins—that’s a lot of history. What’s it like working together again after building a life off-screen?”

Evan looked over at you, gaze fond and warm. “It’s the best. We know how each other ticks, I know what kind of coffee to bring her on set, and she definitely knows how to calm me down when I get too lost in my mind.”

“It’s true,” you smiled softly at him. “We’re each other’s comfort zone, so coming back to work together feels like home.”

Evan put an arm around you, then pulled you gently towards him, giving you a kiss on the temple.

youtube comments:

user1: THEY’RE MARRIED!? I THOUGHT THEY WERE JUST DATING??????

user2: sis wanted him to be mia’s love interest in 2005. i’m SOBBING.

user3: what whAT??? THEY HAVE KIDS TOO??? NO STOP THIS IS TOO MUCH.

user4: every season of ahs, i shipped them. turns out i was RIGHT

user5: these goobers been dating and ended up marrying each other ten years ago and didn't even bothered to tell us. i’m-

user6: “guess we’re married again” stOP. this is the most cutest thing i’ve ever heard!!!

user7: so you’re telling me that crystal and quicksilver have been ACTUALLY married with twins for a fucking decade???

user8: y'all don't know how this interview cured my seasonal depression.

user9: girlie said she wanted evan to play her love interest in the princess diaries when she was nineteen, and now they’re married with kids??? what in the 2005 spellcasting it THIS

user10: you guys don’t understand, i watched them fall in love across diff seasons of ahs, and now i know it was REAL.

user11: quicksilver and crystal being married irl is the plot twist i didn't know i needed. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL.

user12: now give us a quicksilver solo movie. NOW 💥💥💥

user13: all i can say is that they are the final boss of all private hollywood couples

user14: but can evan peters fight????

user15: idk if i wanna be evan or i wanna be her

reddit posts:

r/popculturechat

u/witchforyou

HOLY SHIT EVAN PETERS IS MARRIED TO Y/N????

I just watched the new Variety Exclusive interview with Evan and y/n and my brain is MELTING. Turns out they’ve been married for TEN YEARS. WITH TWINS.

Apparently she manifested him into her life back in 2005 when she jokingly told her agent she wanted Evan to play her love interest in The Princess Diaries. Fast forward to AHS, WandaVision, and now their new series—they’ve been each other’s on-screen love interest every time and were secretly married the whole time.

You guys, I’m SPIRALING.

⇧ 1,674 | ⇩ | 💬 982

Top Comments:

u/lana_del_chaos

This is literally the plot of a wattpad fic from 2012. I wanna be mad, but I also want to cry and scream and throw them a second wedding.

u/theystilldieinthesequels

You’re telling me they were filming ahs seasons while being secretly married and raising twins??? I can’t even finish my fucking laundry.

u/skin-of-a-killer

I just want someone to look at me the way Evan looks at her in that interview. Bro looked like he was about to melt into her shoulder.

u/ahs_addict

So all those steamy scenes they did from ahs…thEY WERE MARRIED. That wasn't acting, that was a married couple flirting on the job.

u/manifestationmami

She said she unconsciously manifested it. This is my roman empire now.

u/pillowprincesstate

This is why he stopped doing big interviews for a while huh. Man was off raising twins and being in love. Meanwhile I’m still recovering from murder house.

u/theoneloyalhusband

I want Evan to ignore all his other role and only act in projects with his wife forever. That’s my love language.

u/gayforthegothgirl

Okay but can they actually drop the wedding pics now?

r/popculturechat

u/evanpeterstruther

Okay. So after my meltdown in the other thread (hi), I stayed up literally all night rewatching interviews, AHS episodes, press junkets, etc. everyone take a seat, I’ve been running only on caffeine and I have CRACKED THE TIMELINE.

Yes, I’m unwell. Yes, I regret nothing.

2005: She mentioned she wanted Evan to play her love interest for The Princess Diaries all because girlie had watched him on Phil of the Future and found him cute. That’s not a wish, that’s a mf SPELL. A SUMMONING CIRCLE. Sis was POWERFUL even back then.

2011: They met on the set of AHS murder house, and have you SEEN how bro looks at her in that season??? No one, and I mean no one acts that well unless they’re in love or in debt, and honey, Evan Peters ain’t broke. ++++ multiple cast members say in behind the scenes clips that “they’re glued to each other” between takes.

2012: They confirmed that they were already dating. (Hallelujer!)

2013-2016: She disappears from public press tours, bro’s grinning so much in interviews, she has a ring. THEY GOT MARRIED. I don’t need no certificate, I have vibes. (+++ 2016 was prolly the twins were born :’’’> purely based on mathematical facts.) This was also the year she vanished during Roanoke promos due to “scheduling conflict” lol honey, we all know that ain’t scheduling conflict, that was a BABY CONFLICT.

2017: Only Evan took lead roles in AHS Cult, and she’s only in a few episodes. She probably took time off for the twins.

2018-2020: Mother was on temporary hiatus (no new projects, she’s kinda like on idle) + beginning of the covid era, the whole world was on full reset.

2021: WandaVision era. Parents are back again on-screen. “Mrs. Maximoff, reporting for duty!” shIVERSSSSS. Now we all know why it felt so natural. ++++ Crystal and Quicksilver, honey that isn't casting, that was cosmic balance being restored. Bro looks at her like she holds the soul, because she DOES.

2022-2024: DROUGHT FAMINE DROUGHT FAMINE. Everyone assumed mom and dad had grown apart (career-wise), but in reality, mom and dad had been living that peaceful and so in love, married-with-twins life in private. (+++ post covid era, so celebs have been living more privately.)

2025: Variety Exclusive Interview. Fav year. The year we got what we all been praying for. Casually dropping the “we’ve been married for a decade” like it’s not the cultural reset of the century. Mom and dad said it like “yeah we ordered takeout,” NOT “we set the whole internet on fire.”

In conclusion, they’ve been love interests in every project they did (mainly AHS), been married with twins, and now the timeline is SECURE. THEY ARE EACH OTHER’S ROMANTIC ENDGAME IN EVERY UNIVERSE.

⇧ 7,646 | ⇩ | 💬 2,637

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[yoditopascal]

Like A Prayer (Part One)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: lots of wade in this one but no wolverine just yet!

tag list: @allmyn1ghts, @oscarissac2099

Masterlist//Next Chapter

Not Ok

Flashes of images invaded your mind. You were in a tank, arms restrained to your sides as the oxygen was slowly sucked out of the chamber, suffocating you. Your nails digging into the leather cushioning beneath you as you try to claw your way out.

Now you were strapped to a table, an array of needles embedded into your arms and legs as you were injected painfully with all kinds of different things you weren’t even sure of.

You startled awake before the sound of your alarm had a chance to rouse you from your sleep. Groggily you run a shaky hand over your face before rolling over to grab your phone checking the time. You still had about 3 hours before it was time to get up and get ready for work. Knowing you most likely weren’t going to go back to sleep, not that you wanted to anyways, you toss the covers off of you and head to the bathroom.

You turn the water of the shower on, waiting for it to heat up as you stand back up you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror, taking in your disheveled appearance you sigh as you lean over the sink.

There’s visible dark circles under your eyes from being torn from sleep countless times over the last few months. You were sure why the nightmares had started back up again, it had been years since you had been freed from the Weapon X program so why was it all coming back now?

Pulling your tank top over your head you quickly undressed and hopped into the shower. The water cascaded over you, the warmth a welcome relief. You closed your eyes, as you felt your tired muscles slowly start to relax under the soothing spray. Lathering up your soap on a loofa you quickly washed and dried yourself putting on ample amounts of makeup to hide your dark circles.

Once dressed you sat down at your little table in the kitchen and helped yourself to a bowl of cereal as you checked your phone again.

So much shit was happening in the world, genocides, corrupt politicians running for power, starving children. It was all you saw anytime you opened up anything and it was all too much. The world was going to complete shit

You lock your phone and check the time, you still had about an hour before work. Slipping on your shoes you grab your keys and your bag and head out the door nearly bumping into Wade who was munching on a bagel in the hallway.

“Jesus fuck Wade!” You said placing a hand over your rapidly beating heart. “You scared the shit outta me!”

“My bad pookie bear. Didn’t know you worked today.” He said with a shrug adjusting his wig as he did so.

“Almost every day this week.” You said with a sigh rubbing a hand down your tired face. You had been doing that a lot lately. “God I’m so tired.”

“I hear OnlyFans is really popping off right now.”Wade said but it was hard to tell if he was joking or not with his straight face.

“Yeah? So what, you and Vanessa can be my only subscribers?” You snorted with an exaggerated laugh.

“I know for a fact Colossus would pay top dollar for a sneak peak of your toes!”

The sound of your ex's name made you grimace. Not that you had any ill will towards him, you were both still good friends albeit a bit awkward now that you’ve dated for a short time, but you still didn’t want the thought of him anyway near anything sexual you did.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself.” Wade said taking another bite from his bagel and you two walked down the hall together.

You start to rub at your forehead as you felt a headache coming on as you walked, another occurrence that had started to happen more and more often.

“More nightmares?” Wade asks, his voice laced with concern as he watched you.

“Yeah…but don’t worry about it Wade.” You could handle yourself, a few ibuprofen and you’d be fine.

He calls your name, as if to say it’s too late not to be worried about you, but you wave him off as you dig around in your backpack for a second before pulling out a small black envelope.

“Happy birthday by the way! You’re hard as fuck to shop for so I hope you like it.” You smile at him as you hold out the gift hoping to change the subject.

With an exaggerated gasp Wade tosses his bagel behind him and holds up his hands up in surprise before taking the envelope from you, and ripping it open. Inside were two tickets to a Celine Dion concert, one of his favorite artists.

“Oh my-!” He starts with a gasp “I didn’t even know she was touring!” He cried excitedly as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“Yeah I had to basically stalk Ticketmaster for those so you’re welcome.” You said returning the hug.

“Sugar booger! I love it!” He said releasing you.

“Now you just gotta figure out who to take with you.” You said as you bump shoulders with him. “Maybe Peter….oooor I don’t know maybe a certain someone we all know and love who works at a particular strip club that we like to visit on occasion?”

“Peanut…” Wade warned, you held up your hands in surrender. It was like a kid trying to get their divorced parents back together.

“Look, all I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to ask her.”

“I’ll think about it.” He says quietly as he stares out deep in thought.

With that the two of you part ways, wishing each other a good day at work, Wade heading for his bike where Peter was waiting and waving at you, and you heading toward the bus stop.

Work at the pet shop was the same as always, mundane and mind numbing but it paid the rent so who were you to complain about it. You had your fair share of zooted teens coming in to ask dumbass questions and waste your time as well as the occasional fish snob who complained about the size of your tanks but all of that was typical of a normal day and honestly made it go by quicker. By the time you realized what time it was it was time to clock out and head on home to help set up for Wade’s surprise party.

Once home you dropped off your bag and changed your clothes putting on a loose fitted t-shirt and jeans with a cardigan before heading over to Wade’s place with a bunch of drinks. You didn’t drink much but everytime Wade went out on a “business trip”, as he called them, back in his Deadpool days he’d bring you back a bottle of something.

Inside Wade and Blind Al’s apartment across the hall, many of your mutual friends were already busy at work setting up for the party. Colossus Ellie and Yukio were busy blowing up balloons and decorating while Dopinder Buck and Vanessa were busy setting up the food spread.

Looking around yourself you felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips, all around you were the people you and Wade loved the most and you were incredibly lucky to have them in your lives after everything you all had been through over the years. A pang in your chest made you hold a hand over it and your smile dropped. Something still felt missing though and no matter how hard you thought about it you just couldn’t place what it was.

“How you doing sweetheart?” A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Whipping around you were pulled into a tight hug by Blind Al.

“I’m doing alright.” You smiled weakly “How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m blind not deaf sweetheart,” she said “ain’t nobody else here sighing that hard but you and Wade and Wade’s not here yet.”

“Sorry.”

“Your dreams still giving you trouble?” She asks as she leads you further into the home.

“I wouldn’t say dreams, more like night terrors but yeah they are a little.” You say as you place the bag said booze you bought on the kitchen counter and follow Al to the living room where she seated herself comfortably in her recliner. “It’s nothing to worry about though.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter baby.”

For someone who was blind Al sure could see right through you sometimes.

“I’m probably just stressed is all.” You try to downplay the situation but Al wasn’t having it.

“It’s been months.” She says matter of factly.

“It’s been a stressful few months.”

“Look… I may not have been there when you and Wade went through what you went through in that program but it’s over now. It’s done and that Ajax guy can’t hurt you anymore.” She said resting a hand in her arm gently.

Al hadn’t been a part of the Weapon X program like you and Wade had been but that hadn’t stopped him from telling her in excruciating detail about all the horrible shit you both had gone through during it.

“I know Al I just-“ you start but stop not fully knowing how to describe what you felt. “I just wish I could switch my brain off, just hit the reset button and be done with it but I- can’t get the memories outta my head.”

“I know sweetheart it’s gonna take time but time ain’t gonna do shit if you don’t let people in to help you.”

You knew she was right but you’d be damned if you’d admit it out loud.

“When did this turn into a therapy session? I thought this was supposed to be a party.”

“Smart ass.” She said tapping you on the leg with her cane. “Go help Vanessa make the jungle juice before he gets home. I’m gonna go see if that dumbass has any Bolivian marching powder left in his stash.” With that she stood to her feet and went to her’s and Wade’s shared bedroom

“Oh Al come on! I thought you guys were done with that.” You called after her with a frown.

“Not till I’m dead babygirl.” She called back and if she could you think she’d wink at you.

Back in the kitchen you and Vanessa make quick work mixing and setting up the drink you bought making light conversation as you do so.

“So-“ she starts off but pauses as if deep in thought for a moment.

“So?” You ask curiously as you take a sip of the alcoholic punch taste testing to see if it needed anything.

“You uh seeing anybody new yet?” She asks.

You nearly choke on your drink in surprise.

“N-no I uh no I’m not.” You stuttered trying to compose yourself. “Are you?”

“Y-yeah there’s this guy. I met him at work, he’s kind.”

You could tell she was lying, but didn’t speak on it.

“Y’know, I hear Colossus has been talking about you to Ellie a lot lately.”

Here we go again you thought.

“Oh nah hard pass we tried that dance already didn’t really work out.” You waved her off, but she continued anyway.

“I’m just saying he’s a nice guy, and he’s big, like everywhere, and made of metal, that’s like totally your thing. Remember when we saw the Winter Soldier and you wouldn’t shut up about Bucky’s metal arm?”

Not she was calling you out.

“Just think about it hun, you're always stuck up in your apartment or at work, you’re lonely and I think a little human connection would do you some good.”

“Yeah alright I’ll think about it.” She smiles at you before caressing your cheek, like she was the big sister you never knew you had.

“But only if you think about giving Wade another chance too.” You slip in “Deal?”

She contemplates for a moment before she smiles back at you again. You knew she still had feelings for the man and so did he.

“Deal.”

Before either of you could change the topic of your conversation the front door opened up again, this time revealing Peter and Wade.

“Surprise!” Everyone shouted as Dopinder Ellie and Yukio threw confetti into the air.

“Oh you guys!” Wade gasps dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m not armed!”

“If this was five years ago you’d all be dead.” He laughed as he went around hugging everyone.

The party went on without a hitch. Wade intermingling with everyone as he was passed around the room. You stayed in your own little corner as you watched sipping on your third drink for the evening. Parties weren’t really your thing but for Wade you’d endure them when you had to. Just as you were about to move to get yourself another drink you spotted Wade and Vanessa talking quietly amongst themselves in the kitchen hovering over the punch bowl. With a smile just glad they were finally talking to each other you thought it better not to disturb them for the time being.

Soon after however you all found yourselves piling into the kitchen as Wade called for everyone to come and cut the cake. Wade snapped a few pictures on Yukio’s Polaroid, making some cheesy speech about how lucky he was to be surrounded each and every person he ever loved in one room, something you rolled your eyes at even though you had found yourself thinking the same thing just earlier, before going to make a wish blowing out his birthday candles as he did so.

The party continued to progress throughout the night and the stuffiness of all the bodies in the room was starting to get to you. Excusing yourself from conversing with Buck and Peter you step out into the hallway for a moment to try and get some air. Your head felt like it was swimming, probably from all the alcohol and not enough food, and you were starting to feel nauseated as a pounding sound hammered through your skull. Eventually you decided to take a step outside to get some actual air to see if that would help.

After a handful of greedy gulps of the fresh night air you finally decide to return to the party before anyone came looking for you. Once inside your hallway you spotted Wade first, but he wasn’t alone this time. Surrounding him were at least 5 guys all dressed in black body armor and masks with weird electrical looking batons in their grasps. Immediately your defenses rose as you silently crept up behind them.

“Oh peanut, you came back! I’d offer to let you join in on the orgy but I don’t think this guy here’s down for sharing me.” Wade quips as he sucks on a breath mint leaning on his doorway. His comment drew most of the men’s attention towards you but not before he drew it back to himself. It seemed that they could care less that you were even there. “He’s got this whole hate sex, love 'em and leave' em vibe going for him right now.”

“Shut your mouth clown!” The guy in the front snaps as he goes to grab Wade by his toupee. Just as he grabs it an orange doorway opens up behind Wade and a pair of arms reach out pulling him inside causing his hair system to get ripped off.

“Wade!” You shout as you sprung into action, using all your weight you shove two of the guys causing the three of you to fall through the strange orange doorway just before it closed behind you.