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intplayboy · 2 years

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TOUCH - MAFIA! BTS OT7 X F! READER [ THREE ]

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summary: jin, with the assistance of 007 (you), performs a quick operation on the maknae as a result of his injury. jungkook tries to thank you, while jin spends some time to learn more about you better. yoongi gets frustrated with his members and takes it out on you.

pairings: mafia bts ot7 x experimented human female reader

warnings: implied drugging, mentions torture (no gore tho), medical extraction, gunshot wound, blood, violence, swearing. more fluff in this chapter! but also unfortunately yoongi being more of an asshole a little bit.

word count: 12,722 *prewritten & new chap but written longer, as an apology for the lateness :')*

also sorry i didn't post on the last two fridays, i had family from the philippines and then new year plans. anyways, better later than never, am i right? heheh... enjoy <3

ps. the second half of this isn't proofread 😭

masterpost | two | four

tag list: @juju-227592, @drunkzseok, @yourgirlcin, @babybunli, @xanny91, @bibetsa, @borahae-reads, @lalavione1309, @luvsbngtn, @tetehearts, @singukieee, @serendididy, @quixoticbittersweet, @iriaachan, @jksisbunntboy, @missseoulite, @xjiminsthighsx, @just-vaaalll, @chim-possible, @passionandsuga, @deadrose287, @kalala22, @bangtanxberm, @scuzmunkie, @sunoosult, @germ2001, @lovelgirl22, @thvkives, @kourtney-fairy-blog, @linlinlily, @getinthetardissammy-sh, @prakriti-j, @paramedicnerd004, @cuteipat, @iamkookiesforyou, @queen-in-the-shadows, @shadowyjellyfishfest, @fakedanger, @reallysparklychaos, @ghostlyworld, @whipwhoops, @knjsbae, @peebsvic, @bfxnmcgjc, @ghostkat23, @mpc1324, @yoongissmalltoe, @prettyling, @luna-astro, @hannahdinse8, @twentyninetyseven, @cryingpages, @ut-dixisti (the tags that are strikethrough could not be tagged)

copyright © 2022 by kumiko. all rights reserved. my works or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express written permission from me except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The maknae lies on his bed, as the others surround him with worried expressions. Their butler and Jin tend to him. "How's he hyung?"

"He didn't lose too much blood since the bullet is lodged in him. But we'll have to extract it or else it'll become infected and he won't heal properly." Jin explained.

The eldest brother casts a glance at his younger brother's pale face. "Jungkook, the bullet is stuck; we'll have to get it out. And it will hurt... a lot."

He blinks open his eyes, faintly nodding. "O-okay."

Hoseok enters the room with a metal cart and approaches Jin and Sun-woo from behind. "I brought the tools."

"Thanks."

Then a tiny figure emerged from the doorway. "I heard, hurt bad."

All eight pairs of eyes turned to gaze at you, but you avoided eye contact. "I want to help him."

"C-can I help him?" You asked softly.

Jin redirects his attention to Jungkook, who meets his stare and nods. "L-let her."

"Okay, come here. " Jin directs you, prompting you to move your feet toward the three men. "Get on the bed on the opposite side of him."

You climb onto the bed and sit next to the injured boy. You chew on your lip as you look at him, the sense of his injury being much stronger to you.

Jin then pressed the silvery blade against Jungkook's wound and gently slid it across, while you wrap your hands around Jungkook, and your eyes and the veins on your hands begin to illuminate purple.

When Sun-woo turns around to deliver Jin the next tool, his attention is drawn to you and your glowing appearance, causing him to yelp and drop the tool in surprise. "Oh goodness! That startled me."

"Yeah, that'll be with us for god knows how long, so get used to it." Yoongi scowls and Sun-woo nods slowly.

As Jin drags the blade against Jungkook, the younger groans and stiffens in pain, but thanks to your abilities, Jungkook gradually relaxes and falls quiet.

Jin continues to cut him open until eventually lifting the blade, causing you to let out a short, relieved gasp.

Jin sneaks a glimpse at you before checking on his injured dongsaeng. "How do you feel Kookie?"

"I-I'm fine. It doesn't hurt anymore, I don't feel anything. You can continue." He affirms.

"Okay, well, the bleeding is stable, and I will now extract the bullet, alright?" Jin makes an announcement, to which Jungkook nods.

Jin extended his other free hand behind him, signaling their butler to give out the next tool, a forceps. He quickly adjusted the metal tool in his hand and hovered it over the bullet wound once he could feel it in his hand.

He looks into the wound again, properly locating the bullet before inserting the tool into the open wound. He fishes for the bullet steadily but effectively, and once he clamps on to it, he expertly wiggles it upwards to remove it.

The soft audible whimpers coming from your petite form, however, do not go unnoticed by Jin and Jungkook, undoubtedly because they are the closest to you.

Still, Jin focused on extracting the bullet diligently, and once it emerges from the open wound, he instantly places it in the surgical metal basin beside him.

"All done." He begins removing his bloody gloves. "You can heal him now."

You flash Jin a brief glance before gently placing both of your hands above the wound. And, once again, not only do the veins on your hands glow but so do the veins around Jungkook's wound.

Meanwhile, Sun-woo marvels as you miraculously heal his youngest boss. "Amazing..."

You quickly retracted your hands while looking at Jungkook after the wound healed. "A-are you okay?"

The corners of the maknae's lips curved up slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on you. "Yes, thanks."

For what seemed like hours in their eyes, a sudden loud sigh interrupts their trance. "How come you didn't say anything, Jungkook?"

The addressed man swiveled his head, his eyes settled on his concerned leader. "I didn't want to worry you guys, and I figured I could treat it myself."

"If only the bullet wasn't stuck in there." He mutters quietly, but the oldest manages to hear him.

"You really think you could properly treat that wound yourself, are you crazy?" Jin exclaimed.

He puts his hands up defensively. "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry, I will make sure to tell you guys next time. Happy?"

While the boys cleaned up, you returned to your room as told and awaited further instructions.

Your head sprang up when you heard a knock at the door a little while later. You watch as a figure enters the room; it was the same broad-shouldered man who had tended to their youngest member and politely conversed with you the day before.

As he approaches you, he gives a faint smile. "Hi, I just wanted to come in here and thank you for helping Jungkook."

"Y-you welcome." You answer with your small voice.

He chuckles softly when the memory of your whimpering came to him. "By the way, I meant to ask you, why were you whimpering earlier?"

You give him a quizzical look, urging Jin to continue with his explanation. "You were making these sounds with your mouth while taking Jungkook's pain and healing him. It sounded like whimpering."

You pause for a few seconds. "Oh, y-your pain—" As you try to explain, you motion to him and then to yourself. "My pain."

The lens spectacle-wearing man scrunches his brows. "Huh? What do you mean by that?"

"I thought you already feel when someone is—" A voice disrupted him before he could complete his sentence. "Hyung! Are you making dinner tonight?"

Jin lets out an exasperated groan. "Of course!"

He sighed heavily, knowing he'd have to put that subject of discussion on hold for the time being. He then returns his attention to you."I know you've been cooped up in this boring room for hours, so would you like to join me in making dinner for everyone?"

"Y-you asking me?"

He nods. "Yeah, it'll be fun... I think?"

"Fun? What's fun?" You sway your head.

He rubs the back of his head, he did not expect that. "It's like— something you find enjoyable, yes. Something you'll like doing."

"Do you understand?"

"Enjoyable... Oh! Enjoyable, yes." You grin with your lips, exposing your adorable bread cheeks and deep dimples akin to Namjoon's.

That's cute. Wait what? What are you saying Jin? "Well, then, shall we go down?"

He offers his hand to you, which you immediately wrap your own around. He takes your hand in his and gently tugs you out of your bedroom.

When the two of you eventually made it into the kitchen, Jin automatically headed to where the apron with the white and blue stripes hung on a cabinet door. You, on the other hand, stayed still as the expert hacker moved about the kitchen retrieving all of the ingredients.

He didn't see you still awkwardly standing in the center of the kitchen until all the veggies and spices were spread out on the large island table. "O-oh sorry, I didn't realize..."

"I plan to make japchae and kimchi quesadillas. You can help by pouring all these contents for the quesadillas into the bowl like this." He demonstrates with empty dishes, making sure you pay attention. "Then mix it with the ground beef— Does this look easy enough?"

You hum and position yourself in front of the contents you were presented with. Jin attentively monitors you for a moment, ensuring you perform your job correctly. When he's satisfied, he turns around and starts chopping the veggies for the japchae.

He skillfully cuts and slices all of the peppers, mushrooms, spinach, and carrot. The same small voice rang out just as he was about to put a pot on the burner. "I-I finished."

He turns his head, and he finds the sight amusing. Splattered stains on his dongsaeng's sweatshirt and your hands drenched in the mixed spices and oil from the sauce that drips down your arms, staining the cuffs of her sleeves.

He chuckles lightly at your disarray. "Ah you're so clueless, but you're a cute kind of clueless."

As he approaches you with a smile, you pucker your lips in bewilderment. "Let me help you here."

He pulls a clean rag from the oven handle and drags her hands towards him. You squeak quietly at his abrupt actions, remembering Yoongi cleaning the food crumbs off your hands before. So you let him do what he did.

He adds as Jin keeps wiping your hands. "You should've rolled up your sleeves before mixing the ingredients together."

"It's okay, you didn't even know. Next time." He finally finishes drying your hands and lifts his eyes to meet your innocent, questioning gaze.

They exchanged stares for who knows how long until Jin noticed a smear of soy sauce on your cheek. His eyes narrowed on the spot, and his hand moved to your cheek without thinking as he came closer to your face. "You have something on your cheek."

You remained still, the close proximity quickening your heartbeat. Were you feeling fear, like your had with the angry man on the road? No. Then what was so different about how you felt when Jin is just inches from your face? That, you did not entirely understand.

This feeling of a new sort of pulse beating, the people, and even the environment itself were all foreign to you. Being outside the concrete walls that had imprisoned you had been a dream in the past, but it was now your new reality. You were finally experiencing it. Perhaps in an extremely bizarre way, as most people would put it, but anything had to be better than looking at those concrete walls and feeling trapped by your own father, right?

Jin came to a stop so near to your face that you could feel his breath tickling your nose. With his fingers hovering over your cheek, he wiped the sauce off your smooth skin with his thumb.

As he withdraws, a smirk appears on his face. "There you go, all done."

"Your hands could be sticky as well, so go wash your hands and we'll continue from here." You nod once again and do what you’re directed.

And for the remainder of the cooking time, you lingered behind Jin, a curious expression on your face, watching him work earnestly.

Jin eventually finishes their food after only an hour and a half. "Ya! I need one of you to help me in bringing out the food!"

Several footsteps can be heard before one individual enters from the kitchen entryway. "I'll help you hyung."

Jungkook walks over to the large island table and carries the other dish that his hyung had cooked. The meal is brought to their dining table by the two men. "Hey, erm, 007...?"

You glance up at Jin when you hear your name and wait for him to continue. "Could you please bring some plates and chopsticks?"

"Okay." You squeaked.

You looked inside the cupboards Jin had been rummaging through while cooking, searching for those white ceramic round circle plates. As you scanned the cupboard, you spotted the stacked plates. You stretched, nearly reaching for the plates with her fingertips.

As you ostensibly struggles to get the plates yourself, she huffs. After a prolonged strain, you felt your fingertips slightly contact the ceramics and instinctively sought to lean to get a proper grip. You were so focused on retrieving those dishes that you didn't notice the tall figure who walked back into the kitchen. "Ya, what are you doing?"

You flinch at his unexpected presence, startling you, and the plate you barely clutched slips from your loosened hands and smashes on the floor with a loud clatter. You released a small gasp, clearly alarmed by the abrupt predicament.

The said person scrambles forward instantly. "Ya, are you okay?!"

And as soon as you saw him, you identified the familiar face of the man you met in the alleyway who protected you without hesitation. "That was so sudden, I'm sorry."

He says tearing you out of you short daze, gazing at him a little stunned. "It's okay, it's my fault, I clean."

You then lowered your eyes, eventually frowning at the mess you had created. You crouched above the shattered fragments of the once-round porcelain dish without thinking. Upon seeing this, Jungkook scurried to your aid, shaking his head. "No- It's alright. I came up behind you without warning."

"I'll clean it up, you'll only hurt yourself—" The sound of glass thudding and a small yelp alerted him, and he noticed blood seeping out of your palm. "See, I told you. Let me do it."

"Let's wrap this up first." He grabs you injured hand, but you pull it back, shaking your head.

"I heal, remember?" Your eyes then turned purple, and the cut on your palm gradually closed, reverting your hand to normal.

Jungkook watches you as you heal yourself in front of him. That's right, I suppose that'll be the new normal now that she's here. Still, he will always remain awestruck by your abilities, although he doesn't look like he is. "Well, even if you can self-heal, that doesn't mean you put yourself in harm's way all the time."

"Let's get you off the floor for now." He wraps his arms around your slender frame and effortlessly scoops you up, eliciting a subtle squeal of surprise from you.

He then places you on the long island table and sweeps the broken ceramic off the floor. When he's finished, he approaches you again. "You know, there's no shame in asking for help. Especially if it keeps you away from harm's way."

You nod slowly, and Jungkook smirks. "Normally, I wouldn't be so courteous to a stranger I'd only met two days before. But you're different, which I like."

"You also helped me, so I guess my behavior right now is a way of expressing thank you for me." He explains himself sheepishly.

Why was he explaining so sheepishly? It wasn't like he was attempting to declare his love to his crush or ask a girl to a school dance. So why does the cute clueless stranger he encountered on the road who can magically heal people make him feel that way when he speaks to her? It seems like such a complicated question to answer.

When you returned his stare, you both fell quiet, unsure what to say next. After what seemed like many minutes of silence, Jungkook couldn't stand it any longer and cleared his throat. "I'll just grab the plates and you can grab the chopsticks."

"Does that sound good?"

You nod and look down from the counter as if you’re uncertain how you’ll get down from there. This does not go missed by him, and he almost laughs at the sight of your innocent concentrated face trying to figure out how to get off.

Without warning, he puts his hands around your waist, lifts you, and lowers you to the floor. "There you go."

"Let's join the rest for dinner, I'm sure we had them waiting quite long enough."

For the following days, Namjoon summoned the gang for another brief meeting, this time to discuss future plans regarding the allegedly stolen medical equipment and the gang that was transporting it. Everyone agreed that it was necessary to begin investigating the truth behind the smuggling business that had been operating under their noses for nearly two decades.

So, since then, some members have kept holed up in the house, going through recent and archived files and phoning contacts, while others have gone in and out meeting other different 'acquaintances' who prefer the traditional way of discreet information dissemination. However, as the days turned into weeks, the group failed to find even a single lead. File after file, contact after contact, it seems that the so-called "smuggling firm" didn't exist.

No one had the slightest knowledge about it not even the whereabouts of that unidentified gang. And this increased Bangtan's suspicions. They all inherently congregated in the living room at the end of the day and sat drained along the couches.

Yoongi rubs his eyes, almost laughing. "This is like chasing after a ghost."

"What are we even doing?"

"Whoever put in this much effort to keep this thing running in such secrecy for so long must be in a higher status. So the real question is, what are they doing with all of these packages of supplies that would force them to conceal it so desperately?" Jin's brows furrows.

Jungkook cocks his brow while staring down. "Something illegal— extremely illegal."

"But we do illegal shit almost everyday." Taehyung responds bluntly.

The others threw him a deadpan expression. "What? It's true!"

Namjoon sighs. "But, Jungkook and Jin are right." He thinks for a moment. "Jin, do you think you could analyze the supplies within the cargo? Maybe we can start speculating from there once we understand exactly what's in there."

The eldest nods. "Yeah, I can do that. But as I said before with the whole military mainframe hacking, this will also take time."

"And, as I have mentioned, it's fine; what matters is that we get to the bottom of this."

"Should we ask our wonderful guest again?" Jimin advises as he cracks his knuckles.

Taehyung sighs. "That little shit refuses to speak. We've gone at him for hours on end."

"And at this point, he's pissed me."

Yoongi scoffs. "Maybe you need to try a different tactic—"

"What kind of tactic?" Taehyung huffs.

"The Oranyan tactic." He replies.

Jimin rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, good luck trying to get something out of him."

"Watch me." He flashes a sly grin.

With that, Yoongi heads to the basement himself, walking into the dim gray room. There, the surviving member of the cargo delivery they interfered in is now bound to a chair, blood trickling down his nose and purple bruising on his right eye and cheekbones. His head hangs as he was rendered unconscious by the constant pain from yesterday afternoon.

Yoongi approaches the poor man, kicking his foot, awakening him. "Ya, wake up dipshit."

The man groans, groggily lifting his head up. His swollen eyes fluttered open, finally landing on the master manipulator himself. He visibly gulps, this doesn't go missed by Yoongi, making him smirk cockily.

"Good, you already know who I am. No introductions needed, I like that." He tilts his head teasingly.

"Jesus fuck- how many there are of you guys?"

"Enough." Yoongi states bluntly.

"W-what do you want? Your friends already talked to me, and I ain't telling you shit."

Oranyan chuckles humorlessly. "Well good news for you, I don't need you to be talking for while—" The man's face twitches, making him continue. "Bad news, you're going to wish you had."

Two hours later...

The beaten man is no longer restricted to the chair but is suspended from the ceiling by his wrists. Yoongi's knuckles are red from the repeated strikes, but his patience is wearing thin. That's it, he tried to be kind.

He then opens a metal drawer and pulls out a syringe. He moves back up to the man, noticing his wary eye on the needle he's holding. "Oh, you must be wondering what this is?"

"Have you heard of opioids? The drug that supposes to relieve pain... Well, with the proper hazardous amount of an extra component, like fluoroquinolone, it will have the complete opposite effect."

"What does that mean for you? This means that the pain will intensify ten times worse than the minor pain you think you can handle. And well—" His lip rolls up. "You better hope your pain tolerance is immeasurable."

Yoongi had fulfilled his goal, the terror had settled in his eyes, and he was only going to touch the tip of the iceberg for the man. This satisfies him and simply pushes him to inject the drug, forcing the unfortunate man to scream. "NO! No, please!"

Yoongi removes the syringe and replaces it in the drawer. The tormented gang member cries out and squirms in his confinement. "Don't do this please!"

The second-oldest bangtan member ignores his screams by grabbing an empty bucket, placing it in a sink, and filling it with water. When the bucket is roughly one-third full, he takes it out and returns to his subject, drenching him with water.

"What are you doing?!"

Yoongi snaps his eyes up at him. "Can't a man have his fun?"

He then takes another gadget from the metal drawer. "Did I not warn you? Now you're pleading with me to stop, and I haven't even begun."

"Let me ask you a question. Do you want me to stop?"

He reluctantly nods. "Then tell me who that shipment was for."

Silence.

"All right, you asked for it." He sighs. The electric buzzing sounds as he switches on the gadget, and he immediately pins it on the lowly gang member, causing him to scream in agony. Thank goodness for Jungkook's idea to soundproof the room.

He lowers the electric device, allowing the man to breathe deeply... "Gonna talk now?"

He simply shakes his head, causing Yoongi to sigh in disappointment, before repeating his actions.

An hour later...

Shit, he looks like he might... No, he won't, he still needs to give some information. Yoongi groans, knowing what he needs to do now, but dreads it.

But he has to do it for the sake of his family. "You're lucky, you get a break. Because I'm not done with you yet."

As a response, he receives a pained moan, which causes his eyes to roll. He finally departs the basement, passing by the living room, where Hoseok and the maknae line were sitting with instant ramen bowls in their hands.

Jimin pauses in his chewing, making eye contact with his hyung. "So, did he talk?"

Jungkook giggles, attracting Yoongi's attention. "Something funny, Jeon?"

"No, no— uh, nothing." He coughs, continuing eating his noodles.

"Well, why are you here if you're getting close?" Jimin inquired.

"Because that fucker has a low toleration, he looks like his heart is ready to quit beating if I keep going."

Hoseok's pupils dilated. "What, why? What have you been doing?"

"Didn't you hear him earlier, he say his 'oranyan tactics'?" Taehyung nudges him.

"Seriously, Yoongi what did you do?"

"I might've given him the drug." He answers haphazardly.

All four of their faces drops. "You what?!"

"But Jin hyung said-"

"I know what Jin said. But it was the only thing that triggered that prick, okay? And if it works, it works, and I will continue to do so." He cuts off Hoseok. "Now tell me where that weird chick is."

"Where she's always been... Her room." Taehyung sighs.

Yoongi left the living room and proceeded to your room without saying any more.

Before leaving your room, Jimin and Jungkook assisted in keeping you entertained by setting up your television. You were so engrossed by the moving images and characters on the TV that you hadn't noticed Yoongi enter your room after two knocks that you ignored.

He came to a stop when he saw you were too absorbed in a... children's cartoon? His brow furrows at the scene, and he clears his throat loudly, capturing your attention.

Your head swings around at him, little startled by his presence. Your doe eyes reciprocate his gaze. When your eyes connect, he can't help but look away, trying to hide the sudden warmth that has crept up on his cheeks. "H-hey."

You cock your head. "Hi..."

"I need uh- I need you to do something for me." He starts. "There is someone here who is being questioned by me. But it looks like he might pass out from all blows he got."

"I also don't want to risk him dying before I have any information from him."

You keep staring at him, urging him to continue. "What I'm trying to say is, you need to heal this guy, or whatever."

At his remarks, your brows raise. "Okay."

"He hurt really bad?"

"I guess?" He shrugs.

You then hop off the bed and stand on your own two feet. "I will heal then."

Yoongi nods, mildly stunned by your instant obedience. "G-good, follow me."

He then walks you out of your room and down the stairs, passing through the living room, where the three youngest and Hoseok still stay. "Hey cutie~! Whatcha doing out?"

Taehyung greets you with the same boxy smile he had the first time you two met.

"Following him..." While glancing at Taehyung, you point at Yoongi. "He said someone hurt really bad, so I heal."

"Oh..." His lips curled slightly downward as he turned to look at his hyung.

"You're seriously going to bring her down there?"

"Yeah, so?" The latter replies dismissively.

"Hey, this is your problem, don't drag her into this. It's your fault for using that drug on him. I'm guessing you gave him more than the proper dose." Hoseok quickly intervenes.

Yoongi huffs. "Would you all stop ganging up on me. I'm trying all I can to acquire some sort of lead and help us all."

"May I remind you all that we've been running in circles with these detective games for weeks and haven't gotten far."

Hoseok's shoulders slump, Yoongi isn't wrong. If they had any suspicions about anybody or anything, they could usually track down the person's whereabouts, associates, background, and whole past in a matter of days. But not this time; the pending investigation has been prolonged for far too long already, and it's quite eerie for them to go this far without knowing who or what is involved in this whole quandary.

"Well, just know that if Jin finds the extent of your 'interrogation,' you will bear the consequences." Jungkook breaks the tension.

One thing about Jungkook is that, despite being the youngest, the maknae of the gang, he can be pretty mature and frequently plays the part of the elder one or even the group leader when the circumstance calls for it. Perhaps it is because he tries his best to be the most level-headed member of the gang whenever there is a problem amongst the members, and the others are tremendously thankful to him for it, either indirectly or directly.

"I understand." He cuts the talk short, then turns to you, who is already staring at him, oh so innocently... "L-let's go."

You nod and continue to follow him, silently, to the interrogation basement.

When you both enter the room, your sight is drawn to the battered form of the guy that hangs from the ceiling. When you return your gaze, Yoongi turns to face you. "He's hurt really bad."

"Yep."

"Heal him, so I can question him more."

You again merely nod as you walk up to the gang member. When you come near to him, he opens his eyes and fixes them on you. You meet his glance with a blank face. "Hello."

He grimaces at you. "What do you want, bitch."

"Bitch?" Your brow furrows in perplexity.

"Yeah, you stupid bitch." He says it again, leaving you even more perplexed. "Did you come here to do your little boyfriend's dirty work?"

"Me heal you." You innocently gesture to him.

He chuckles dryly, then spits in your face. "I ain't falling for your tricks."

You take a step back from him, flinching and closing your eyes at the fluid contact. Yoongi's laughter interrupts the silence, surprising the guy who had missed Yoongi's presence. Oh, how he wishes he had noticed.

"I think you're the stupid one here." Yoongi then approaches you and hands you a white handkerchief while causing you to gaze up at him while still having the man's spit on your face. "Wipe your face with this."

"I was actually generous enough to bring her here to relieve you of your misery. But it seems that you desire to do more." He looks across at the battered prisoner.

"I-I'm sorry, I t-take it back." He splutters.

Yoongi picks up the water-filled bucket once more. "No, no, not again."

He splashes him with water before grabbing the stun baton. "I advise you turn away, kitten if you can't handle this part."

You tilt your head in confusion as he pushes the stun baton on the gang member, eliciting another agonizing cry from him. As the wailing continues, you cringe, shielding your ears.

Yoongi takes away the baton. "Who was the cargo intended for?"

"I-I can't t-tell you. T-they'll kill m-me." The man replies.

Yoongi exhales exasperatedly. "You'll die anyways if you don't tell me who that cargo was for."

The man clamps his lips together, terrified, he looks at the second-oldest member of the bangtan mafia group. "I-I c-can't."

"Then I'll continue." He then applies the stun baton to the prisoner's abdominal region.

The shrieks lasted for a bit longer, till Yoongi removed it again as the man struggled to take deep breaths. Yoongi was about to push the gadget against him again when the gang member stopped him. "Wait, wait!"

"I-I can't tell you w-who the shipment was for, b-because I don't know who it is."

"How can you negotiate a cargo agreement with someone you don't even know?" Yoongi asks, judgingly. "Are you telling me you don't know who this man is?"

He shows the image that was contained in the evidence package from their anonymous tip a few weeks ago. "Isn't this your little gang meeting up with a man who runs a medical facility?"

"Y-yes, but that wasn't who that supplies were for."

"B-but I don't make the deals, s-so I wouldn't know—" He explains.

"You're the one who does the dirty work, I know." Yoongi sighs and sets the photo down after finishing his sentence.

"But if you don't make the deals, surely you know who does." Yoongi arches his brow in expectancy.

The guy nods, gulping. "I-I do..."

"Tell me now."

Jin was on his way to find Yoongi and remind him that it was his turn to make dinner. He enters his dongsaeng's bedroom, only to be met by the void of his presence. He furrows his brows and begins searching for him throughout the mansion until he comes upon their vast gym room, which Jungkook is occupying.

He walks in, quickly drawing the maknae's attention. "Hey, hyung."

"Hey, Jungkook, I'm looking for Yoongi. It's his turn to prepare dinner. Do you know where he is?"

With the white rag in his hand, the younger pats his forehead. "Yeah, he's in the interrogation room."

Jin's brow furrows in surprise. "He's still there?" He glances at his silver wristwatch. "It's almost six, that means he's been in there for hours."

"Yeah, he claimed he was close to getting the guy to talk." He nods.

"Okay, thank you. Remember to wash up before you come for dinner." The elder pivots, about to return to the entrance.

"Yes mom." Jungkook rolls his eyes. "By the way, that girl is with Yoongi as well."

Jin comes to a halt before grabbing the door handle and turning to face him. "The girl? She's in the interrogation room with Yoongi?"

"Yeah, he said he needed her before the guy passed out on him." Jungkook answers without making eye contact as he resumes his workout on the bench.

Jin pauses for a moment. "Why would— Oh, my god, that little... I'll go, see you later, Kook."

The latter simply grunts in response, as Jin walked out of the gym to the basement interrogation room.

As he descends the stairs, he strains his ears to hear something, anything, despite knowing that the room had been soundproofed courtesy of Jungkook's big brain.

He approaches the door and swings it open. "Min Yoongi, what do you think you—"

Jin stop mid-sentence as he registered the scene in front of him. Yoongi is stuck, staring at you with uncertainty as to what to do about the state you're in.

Earlier, before Jin arrived, the gang member finally told Yoongi what he needed to know, and everything he did know. Yoongi then ordered you to heal him in order to torture him again as retribution for the man's delay in providing the information and send a message to that gang. One that tells them explicitly that Bangtan always gets what they want and that no one can or will stop them from achieving their objective; if they do so, they should count themselves unlucky.

Of course, he didn't tell you that. You knew and were trained not to question commands, only to obey them. So you complied with his demands, but both of you didn't anticipate how severe the healing process would be on you, until now.

Like the previous times, your veins from your fingers to your elbow glow purple and match the veins of the man you are holding as your hands are gently squeezing his sides.

The pain was first somewhat more than you could handle, but the more you lingered with the man, the worse it became. You did your best to prevent the cries and whimpers that threatened to spill from your mouth. No, you can't take your hands off him just yet; he's not completely healed, and his pain hasn't gone away, you thought.

Back at the facility where you escaped, if the healing procedure wasn't fully completed and the subject's pain wasn't properly drained out, you were met with consequences. Consequences that ensured you never made the same mistake twice. You want to take your hands off the man, but if you do, you could suffer the same repercussions as before, which you don't want more than anything.

You don't notice it at first, but as the pain transferring grows increasingly intense, your veins and eyes begin to shine brighter and your head rolls back. You whimper softly as you take more, not only feeling the scorching pain in your abdomen but also in your head. You're not sure what's going on, maybe because you've never reduced pain like this before, causing your senses to surge into overdrive.

Blood begins to seep from your nostrils as your face glows brightly and your head lolls back. And it wasn't until you let out an audible whine that Jin breaks out of his trance on you and rushes up to you.

He grabs your shoulders and jerks you away from the man, interfering with the healing process. And as soon as you lost contact, the agonizing sensation subsided, but the aftereffects almost immediately caused you to become limp in Jin's arms.

Jin drops to the floor with you, softly cradling you. He attempts to wake you, but you don't respond. "Ya! Wake up!"

The elder shifts his gaze from you to Yoongi. "What did you do, Oranyan?"

Yoongi meets his gaze. "I didn't do anything. All I asked her was to heal him."

"And from there, I don't know what was happening. I thought she was just healing him."

Jin's lips pinched as he returned his attention to you, his gaze drawn to the blood gushing down your nose. "I-I think it was too much for her."

"Too much?" Yoongi questions.

"After all, she is still a human being, just like me, you, and that punk over there." Jin replies. "Everyone has a limit, I know you know that, otherwise you wouldn't have asked her for help."

Yoongi turns away as Jin rises up and lifts you in bridal style. "I'll have one of the maknaes take care of whatever happened here."

"I came to tell you that you need to make dinner. And you'd best be prepared to explain everything later." He exits the interrogation room, leaving his dongsaeng behind.

Jin walks across the living room to the front entrance as he emerges from the basement. Their medical clinic is separate from their mansion, but still on their property, so they would have to walk a short distance to the modest housing unit.

On the way to the clinic, he comes across Namjoon, who is reading a book on one of the white benches on their magnificent front yard. Jin's footsteps on the gravel draw the leader's attention away from his book.

When he sees your unconscious body in the arms of his hyung, his brow furrows. He stands from the bench and walks over to you both. "What happened?"

Jin sighs. "I'm not sure, I found her with Yoongi in the interrogation room."

"I guess he needed her to heal the guy since he went too far again." He elaborates. "I think she passed out because it was too much for her."

When the three of you arrive at the clinic, Namjoon goes ahead and holds the door open for Jin. Jin lays you on the automatic medical fowler bed before scurrying into the clinic's supply room to retrieve some tools to help you.

"She's bleeding." Namjoon points out, as the other moves about.

"Oh really Namjoon, I hadn't realized that. Thanks for pointing it out." Jin reacts sarcastically.

Namjoon pouts. "Geez, I didn't notice it until now, okay."

Jin finally returns to you with the appropriate equipments. He needs to check sure you're still alive, so he attaches the fingertip pulse oximeter to your index finger and connects it to the machine.

The machine then detects your heartbeat, allowing the elder to exhale a relieved sigh. "Well, she's alive—"

"What are you doing?" Namjoon observes Jin as he drags a machine close to your head.

"I'm going to scan for her brain activity and see what's going on in that little head of hers when this happens." Jin answers. "I had some suspicion when she helped Jungkook."

"And that is?"

"I'll try to explain it simply, you know when she takes away the pain—" Namjoon nods, encouraging him to go on. "I believe she achieves this by transferring the pain we feel to herself, which means she will experience all of our pain at the moment."

Namjoon's pupils constrict. "That's… That's pretty sensible."

"But, we'll conduct a test to further confirm it." Jin tells him. "You asked me to do some research on the girl, so here it is."

"Shouldn't we first wake her up?" Namjoon inquires.

He shook his head. "No, at least not yet. I'd want to compare the results. Right now, her brain activity should be fairly stable, but we'll see."

Jin surrounds your head with the swoop portable mri scanner. He types on the machine's screen, and the machine whirrs away, leaving the two men waiting for the results of the scan.

It isn't long until the device completes the process and emits an electronic beep. Jin moves to the display computer beside them and types briefly on the keyboard before the scan results appear. Namjoon approaches him from behind, peering over his shoulder.

"What do the results indicate?" Namjoon asks, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"These yellow-red patches in her frontal and parietal lobes are likely the stress-related aftereffects of the physical pain she suffered." Jin explains.

"It's almost mostly red on her parietal lobe, is that worse?" Namjoon inquires.

The master hacker nods. "Yes, the parietal lobe is in charge of sensory perception, such as taste, hearing, sight, smell, and… touch."

"You're right, then…" The leader concludes.

Jin snorts. "I'm always right."

Namjoon rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

Suddenly, the two men hear fabric ruffling, signifying that you are waking up.

They pivot, seeing your eyelids flutter open with a scrunch between your brows. When you fully wake, your face softens into a muddled look. You sat up hastily, swiveling your head in the strange room until you noticed the two familiar men alongside you.

Your wide doe-like eyes lock onto them. "W-where am I?"

"You're in our clinic house." The lens-spectacle man responds.

"A c-clinic ho-use…?" You stutter.

"Yeah, it's like going to a doctor's office to be healed and whatnot." Namjoon simply explains for you. "

"Healed…?" You tilt your head. "But I heal me."

"Well, it's also a place to find out whether there's something wrong with you." Jin adds.

Your eyes widen with a trace of panic, which the two men pick up on, only raising more questions about you in their minds. "I-Is something wrong in me?"

The oldest member shakes his head. "I wouldn't say bad, we're just doing tests to see what you do."

They test you; you must do well, you reason, thus you almost instantly sat up straight. "What do I do?"

"Huh?" Jin lifts his brows.

"You said, test me…" You started making that cute gesture you make when you're trying to explain yourself. Wait, cute? What on earth are they thinking?

"So 0-0-7, do what you say."

"Oh well, it's not much. It's a quick thing." Jin begins, then pats Namjoon on the shoulder. "Namjoon here is going to hurt himself, and you're going to heal him again."

Namjoon looks at Jin. "Excuse me? Since when have I-"

"Since now. Now go hurt yourself with something." Jin smiles tightly.

"With what exactly?" He narrows his eyes at his hyung.

The latter merely shrugs. "I don't know. You're the clumsy one."

"Fuck you. I'm NOT that clumsy." The younger scowls.

Jin's brow furrows. "No… You're quite clumsy at times, it's ridiculous."

"Am not." Namjoon groans.

"Remind me who packed the wrong explosive on the helicopter?" The broad-shouldered man crosses his arms and stares expectantly at the other.

"Hey-! It's not my fault they look the same to me!" Namjoon accusingly points at him.

"And neither is it my fault, you were too over-confident."

"Look, if you're not going to hurt yourself, I will." Jin says.

"Oh, really? And how are you—ah!" When Jin jabs a scalpel into his hand and swiftly retracts it, the tactical genius yelps loudly.

"YA! Are you crazy?!" Namjoon exclaims with disbelief.

"I did strap a missile to a tiny helicopter in order to blow up a moving truck… So, perhaps a little?" He replies condescendingly.

"Again, fuck you, that hurt."

"Well, of course, it hurts you pabo, I stabbed your hand."

Jin claps his hands. "Okay, now that he sustained an injury—" He turns to look at you, only to catch you looking at both of them, frightened. Jin's unexpected action may have scared you. The way he didn't think twice about hurting the mafia leader reminded you so much of your father, who didn't hesitate about punishing his scientists and workers if the drugs and experiments on you didn't work or went wrong, along with you, of course.

"Oh, I- um, it's for the test." Jin approaches, but you simply shrink back.

And Jin dislikes it. You and he may have just spent a short time together, but he preferred it when you didn't back away from him. "H-hey, I'm not going to hurt you like that... that, was just for the test."

You reluctantly nodded, then shifted your gaze to the leader, feeling a clear sensation in you that he's hurt. Namjoon meets your eyes, knowing exactly what you're about to ask him. He chuckles to himself, you're like an open book, so simple to read.

He approaches you and extends his hand to you. But Jin stops you before you can display your glowing visage again. "Wait, let me first put this on you."

He grabs a piece of the contraption and places it on your head, puzzling Namjoon. "What is that?"

"It's a neuro headset. It will read her brain activity and transmit it to us in real-time while she heals you." He answers.

As Jin finishes setting the headset on you, Namjoon's lips make an 'o' of understanding. "Okay, you're all set."

Then, he locks eye contact with you, with no animosity. "Don't worry, whether you heal him or not, you'll do well."

Your lips curl into a little grin at his remarks, now nodding with more confidence, which causes him to smile as well. You cover Namjoon's bleeding wound with your feathery touch. Your purple glow comes to life, illuminating your veins, around the wound, and your eyes.

You begin to close the cut on Namjoon's hand while also relieving his pain. And this time, Namjoon truly focusses on your face, attentively watching even the smallest twitches in your face as Jin keeps his attention, analyzing your brain waves. When you transfer the pain into yourself, you close your eyes and your face starts to contort in discomfort.

Jin is right; when you're healing someone, you experience all they feel. He leans back in shock, watching as the wavelengths on the screen bounce higher, indicating the severity of your discomfort. You slowly open your eyes again a few seconds later, and your purple light fades, indicating that the process was complete.

You let go of the dimpled man's hand, revealing it to be perfectly flawless, as if the injury had never occurred. He then pivots, waiting to hear from the master hacker about your brain activity.

Jin just nods his head, confirming Namjoon's thoughts. You're a true enigma to figure out. “How do you feel?”

Namjoon's question makes you blink. “Me?”

“Yes, how do you feel?”

“I feel… okay?” You say.

"007, what did you mean when I asked you how you take away our pain?" Jin asks.

You hum. “Your pain, my pain.”

"I should've known then, but now I know. This changes things a bit."

Namjoon nods. “It does. So we can’t entirely rely on her when it comes to the more severe injuries.”

“We have to tell the others about it.”

“Indeed, we do. We have a lot to talk about anyways, I assume Yoongi got the man to talk.”

Jin rolls his eyes. “Yeah.”

By dinnertime, the seven members had gathered in the dining room, where the delicious food had been prepared by the scar-faced man.

The table was unusually quiet, which generally meant that something bad or novel would be spoken. In any case, the maknae line never enjoyed the tense atmosphere, at least not at the dinner table.

Jungkook uttered a whine. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“I have something to say…”

“I have some information…”

Yoongi and Jin spoke at the same time, causing the others to raise their brows and the two men to exchange glances.

“Well, since I’m the older one, you go first.” Jin crosses his arms.

Yoongi only huffs. “Sure… I got a name and location for the gang. The birdie informed me that their gang's leader conducts business in private. But he uses an alias. So it's pointless to try to check his background."

“And the location?” Namjoon inquires.

“Daegu. They had plans if they were compromised they’d lay low there.”

"It seems that their leader loves Golden Dragons. And, that he’s a person we don’t come to and demand of, he comes to you, or so he says.” He rolls his eyes.

“Then we’ll go to Daegu.” Namjoon declares.

Taehyung’s eyes widened. “Deagu?! That’s hours away. That’ll be—”

"Yes, it will be a full work day for us, maybe a couple of work days." Namjoon confirms.

"When are we leaving?" Hoseok questions, unfazed by the sudden plans.

"The sooner the better, therefore we'll leave tomorrow." The leader answers.

The maknae groans. “Aw man, that means we’re going to have to pack tonight.” Jimin scolds him quietly by pinching his leg.

“Then it’s settled, we’re going to Daegu tomorrow.”

Jimin looks at Jin. “Now, what was it you were going to share hyung?”

He exhales, his shoulders dropping. “It’s about the girl, 007.”

“What about her? Is she okay?” His face is filled with concern. “Actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen her since she went into the interrogation room with Yoongi.”

“Well, she’s alright now. But it’s about her… abilities, we could say…” He begins.

"We all know that one of her abilities is to heal wounds and relieve pain for all of us, or anybody, really—"

"You're rambling again, Jin hyung." Jimin puffs his cheeks.

He exhales forcefully. "Remember when she came to help you when I extracted the bullet from you, Jungkook?" Jungkook nods, and Jin resumes. "What she did when she numbed the pain was transfer the pain to herself."

"Meaning, she felt all the pain you were feeling at that moment—that's how she does that thing." He explains.

The table falls silent once more as everyone processes the new information.

"See, I had a feeling bringing her down there wasn't a smart idea." Taehyung frowns at Yoongi.

"Ya, none of us knew that until now. Don't blame me." The older glares back.

"How did you find out about this?" Asked Jungkook.

"Well, Namjoon and I went to the clinic to run some brief tests on her after she passed out in the interrogation room. Her brain scans reveal it all." Jin replies.

"Ah… I see…"

"Wait- Did you say she collapsed?!" Jimin's eyes widened as he turned to face the person who had prepared dinner.

"What do you want me to say— I didn't think that would happen." Yoongi shrugs.

"Alright, well, we all know now. We can't rely fully on her if one of us suffers a more severe injury." Namjoon breaks up the members' glares and looks.

"But she was fine when she was healing Jungkook," Jimin muses.

"The only difference is that he didn't have the drug put into him." Jin sneers.

Oranyan slams the table with his fist. "Can't you all be thankful that I got something from him to help us all?"

"Seriously, all I've been hearing at this table is how badly I screwed up. It's annoying." He clenches his teeth.

"You know what, whatever, I'm not hungry anymore." He abruptly rises from his seat, and all six of the remaining eyes follow him.

"Where are you going Yoongi?" Jin sighs.

"Room." He walks away without looking back.

They all looked at each other for a moment before Taehyung broke the quiet. "Shouldn't we—"

"No, just leave him alone for the time being. He needs his time to cool off." Namjoon replies.

"And speaking of the girl, since were going on our little business trip, we just can't leave her here the entire time."

"What do you suggest we do?" Hoseok cocks his head.

"We'll enroll her in school." Namjoon responds while slicing his steak.

"A school… You want to put her in school?" Hoseok repeats.

"Yes."

"I think she'll be alright with Sun-woo here." Jungkook insists.

"Yeah, but for a more than a day, busy with what? A children's cartoon?" Namjoon counteracts.

Jungkook raises his hands in surrender. "I'm simply looking at it logically. I mean, she has no social skills, rarely speaks, and doesn't even recognize half of the items in this house. You think she'll survive a day at a school?"

"While I understand your point of view, Jungkook, I think Namjoon's idea is good. How else could she learn those things—certainly not from us." Jin sips from his glass of wine. "And I believe that is also a logical viewpoint. She wouldn't gain from being cooped up in this mansion. And if she's going to stay with us, she might as well learn a thing or two."

"Are we even going to be able to have her registered so quickly? We leave tomorrow." Taehyung questions.

Jin smirks. "Look who you're talking to; what you're asking me is child's play."

"I mean, she's the one forced into a new environment after all." Jimin proposed.

Namjoon nods. "We will and we'll get her registered first thing tomorrow, and then leave later in the evening. Does that sound good?"

Everyone hums or nods in accordance to their leader's instructions.

"So… I think it's very clear we can't register with the number she gave us. She needs a name." Jungkook stuffs his mouth with food, ravenous after all that talking.

"Hmm, you're right… Maybe we can discuss that with her."

Yoongi exits the dining area and ascends the stairs, walking idly along the corridor until he glances up and finds himself in front of your bedroom door.

Over the course of a few weeks, it appears that him bringing your food for dinner has become such a habit that even his body knows where to go and for what without even realizing it. He throws your door open, making you flinch at the door slamming as he strides in, still agitated by the dinner conversation.

“Your food.” He spits, roughly placing it on the bedside table in front of you.

With a little furrow between your brows, you gaze up at him silently. “Y-you… feel not good.”

“Yeah, and I wonder whose fault is that?” He sneers.

"Who?" Curiosity filled your eyes.

He scowls and mentally breathes, cool it Yoongi, one less thing for them to nag you about if you blow up in front of her. "It's none of your business."

You avert your eyes, now staring at the meal. You have a sense that if you make any abrupt moves, you'll set him off. But your inaction seemed to irritate him even more.

You can feel his frustration waves making you tense as he clicks his tongue. “Ya-! Are you gonna eat or what?”

You swallow, unsure where to look, but nod anyway. “I-I will.”

“Well, then…” He narrows his eyes at you.

You perceive this as a cue to start eating on your own. You assume he won't feed you tonight, so you'll have to help feed yourself. And, of course, you're still not sure how to use the utensils.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for the food on the white porcelain plate, scooping up the rice and spicy red vegetable known as Kimichi, which you learned you really liked. Your other hand goes to rip a piece of meat jun that you also found you really liked the flavor of.

So you started stuffing the food into your mouth wordlessly, completely disregarding the silvery utensils on either side of the tray, just like the first time he served you dinner.

He catches your attention with an impatient sigh. "Weeks have passed, and you still can't manage something as basic as a spoon or chopsticks?"

"You see these things—" He motions with the spoon and chopsticks, causing you to nod while starring at him. "Use them. Now."

"O-okay." You squeak, clutching the spoon with your food-strewn hands, knowing that it was easier for you to use.

When you picked up the spoon, you tried to mimic what the man in front of you used to do when he fed you, scooping the rice and ready to rip a piece of meat jun again when Yoongi stopped you. "No, use the chopsticks. You've spent enough time watching to understand how to use it."

You hesitantly nod once more before taking the two silver sticks. However, you struggle to grasp it properly when you try to take a piece of the meat jun with the chopstick, holding the utensil awkwardly. You were able to rip a little bit, but as soon as you got a grip of it between the metal sticks, it fell instantly.

You puff softly, attempting it again—once… twice… three times—but it falls pitifully at each attempt. And this simply adds to the master manipulator's aggravation. "YA! Are you that helpless, or should I say useless?"

Your lips quiver faintly as you recoil at his outburst. You disliked it when people yelled at you. With the pathetic ratio of successes and failures you accumulated during your 'training' and testing, it always reminded you how much of a failure you are.

"Can't even use a simple object. I won't understand how any of them think any good of you when you can't even do this." He rants angrily, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed.

And you hadn't realized that when you finally looked up at him again, your eyes blazed purple, indicating that you were scared of him. He exhales deeply before opening his eyes and returning your gaze, noticing your vivid violet eyes.

He's quite taken aback by it, but he doesn't show it. This happened the last time he saw you for the first time. Why are your eyes so bright when you're just with him? He steps back. "I don't have time to deal with this; I'll have someone fetch the platter when you're done."

He quickly pivots, shrewdly speed-walking back to your door, leaving you in the tense atmosphere.

The next day, the group convened once more to have you registered at one of the nearby schools, as planned. After dinner, Jin proceeded to forge various documents to formally enroll you, such as a paper proof of residency and emergency contact information, as well as fill out a general application form to prevent any suspicions and questioning.

To be totally honest, it'll still raise quite a few eyebrows for one of the country's most infamous mafia gangs to suddenly enroll a girl who hasn't seemed to exist for the previous nineteen years.

The final thing they needed to do was to create a birth certificate for you, but first they had to come up with a name for you. So, with the seven men in your room, they start to discuss the ideal name for you.

"Good morning 007." Jimin grins politely and joins the rest of you in the room, holding a platter of steaming tea in his hands.

With a little wave, you falteringly smile. "Hi…"

You gaze with curiosity as he sets the tray on your nightstand. "Is that my medicine?"

Jimin pauses, puzzledly glancing at you. "Medicine-? This? Oh, no, it's tea. Green tea."

"Tea? Will it make me caa-lm?" You queried.

"I guess…? It's healthy for you." Jimin responds hesitantly.

"007, did they give you something like this back where you're from?" Taehyung questions.

You nod truthfully. "They make me take to caa-lm me."

"And do you know what kind of medicine they give you?"

"Mister said P-pavulon… I t-take when they fix me." You stumble through your reply, trying your hardest to get the words out.

Jin's eyes widened in shock, but Hoseok, being the astute observer that he is, notices it. "I take it, it sounds familiar to you hyung?"

Everyone looks at Jin as he nods in affirmation. "Pavulon- or more precisely, pancuronium it's a neuromuscular blocker used as an adjunct to general anesthesia to facilitate tracheal intubation and to provide skeletal muscle relaxation for patients that undergoes mechanical ventilation or I assume, in her case, surgery."

"Maybe talk in dumb for people who don't understand science terminology you." Jungkook smiles sarcastically.

"It's a more targeted paralytic medicine used in conjunction with general anesthetic to induce skeletal muscular relaxation in the patient, which will require mechanical ventilation since they'll struggle to breathe on their own." Jin explains again.

"So they're practically paralyzed from the neck down?" Taehyung frowns.

"Yes, and in fact, seventy percent of the time, some people do not regain their sensation, resulting in death." Jin continues. "That's why several laws to ban the drug were almost passed."

"But I assume it's only after a certain number of times they've been drugged with it or how much they've been given in one dose, right?" Jimin's face is covered in worry.

"That is correct, and she is quite lucky to still be able to move or be alive."

"Wait a minute- why would they need to use such a strong drug to get her into that state?" The maknae wonders aloud.

Namjoon rubs his chin. "That's a good question, Jungkook."

"Well, given what we know, one thing is certain: whatever facility 007 came from isn't a regular facility."

"Jin, you were able to get any details on her?" Namjoon looks to the eldest.

The latter shakes his head. "No boss, absolutely no traces of her. When Jimin and Jungkook met her, she seemed to appear out of nowhere."

"Alright, it seems like we'll have to make do with what she can tell us about the institution where she was held."

"But for the time being, let's concentrate on the enrollment—So, 007…" The leader now turns his attention to you. "We talked last night, and we all agreed to send you to school because we'll be away on a… business trip."

Yoongi snorts, stifling a laugh, at the notion of you attending school during their time in Daegu. But the rest of them gave him a look that made him shrug. "What-? I thought it was funny, nothing wrong with that."

"What is school?" You tilt your head.

"Basically prison." Jungkook muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear, and Hoseok chastised him by nonchalantly smacking the back of his head. "Ow- hey-!"

Your pupils dilated. "Prison? Did 007 do wrong?"

Jimin frantically shakes his head. "No, no, you did nothing wrong. And it's certainly NOT a prison." He then glares at his dongsaeng. "Jungkook has no idea what he's talking about."

"Oh… Then, what is it?" Your face regains its innocent expression.

"It's a place where young people like you go to learn all there is to know about the world." Jimin answers. "It… It can be enjoyable, and you'll meet a lot of other kids like you!"

"Actually, there are no other kids like her. At least a kid who can heal others and herself in seconds and has glowing eyes." Jungkook interrupts.

"Jungkook-! Seriously." Jimin gives him another scowl.

"Okay, I'll stop." He chuckles.

"You'll get used to it, I believe in you." Taehyung smiles at you.

You reciprocate his smile. "Okay, when I go?"

"Today, in a like two hours maybe." Jin checks his watch.

"However, before we can register you, we must first create a birth certificate for you. The only issue is that we need to give you a real name."

"Name…? 0-0-7—" You point to yourself. "Me- my n-name, 007."

Jin shakes his head. "No, that's a number. Those people in your facility didn't give you a name; they just gave you a number. A number makes you a subject, not a person."

"And you're a person, a human, not anything else."

"So, 007, what do you want to be called?" Taehyung lip-smiles.

With confusion, your eyes are blank. "I-I don't know."

"How about, Ae-Ri?" Jungkook suggests.

"Eh, that sounds too girly for her." Taehyung disagrees.

Jimin arches his brow. "Too girly? What makes it 'too girly', Taehyung?"

Taehyung pursed his lips. "Uh… no… Nevermind."

"What about, Eun-Ha?" Hoseok proposed.

"Oh hell no- that's my sister's name. Definitely not." Jin grimaces.

"Okay, not Eun-Ha, what do you suggest then?" The younger said.

"Let's do Min-Ah." He smirks.

Taehyung giggles. "Sounds like the a shorter girl version of Jimin-ah."

Jimin narrows his eyes on the later 95. "Fuck off, Taehyung."

"Hyung!" Jungkook whines as he notices your ears perk up at the swear word from Jimin.

Jimin looks at Jungkook then shifts his eyes to you, where you look at him with wonder. "Fuck?"

He nervously laughs. "Don't repeat that. Especially not in school, okay?"

"Fuck?"

"Yeah, don't say it okay?" And you nod in compliance, to which Jimin sighs in relief.

"Han-Byul, it's classic." Namjoon says.

"No offense Namjoon, but if I were you, I would sit this one out." Jin said.

Namjoon looks at him, completely offended. "What, why? What's wrong with my name idea?"

"It sounds ancient, you're going to make her seem old." Jungkook pats his leader's shoulder.

"Exactly, took the words right out of my mouth." Jin concurs.

"It's not old, it's classic." Namjoon repeats.

"It's old, that's what it is." Taehyung comments.

Jimin then turns to look at you. "007, how do you like the name, Ji-Won?"

"Ji-Won?" You think audibly.

Jungkook snorts. "Are you sure you want to name her after one of your hookups?"

Jimin swivels his head to look at the maknae. "No...? Wait- How do you know her name?"

"You're telling me you didn't know? She's hundred sixty-two centimeters, smaller eyes, black to blonde ombre hair— that girl, does it ring a bell?" Jungkook looks at the older expectantly.

"Ohh- her... Why do you even remember her anyways?" The master seducer squints at him.

"She came crying to me when you broke the 'news' to her one day after your guys 'amazing' night." He answers.

"Oh- well, then I got nothin'." Jimin says.

The room eventually became silent as they all struggled to come up with a nice name for you, as you sat on your knees gazing at them on your bed.

"Y/N." A voice disrupts the silence.

All seven heads turned to look at the source of the voice, and all eyes were drawn to Yoongi. "What did you say?"

"Y/N, it's simple, and it matches her- I guess…" He mumbles, his eyes averted elsewhere, missing the way your eyes gleam at the mention of the name. Hearing it piques your interest.

Another beat goes by, and your sweet voice comes out. "Y/N…"

"I l-like Y/N." You say again.

Jungkook, Namjoon, and Hoseok's expressions gradually shift to one of slight surprise, while Jimin, Jin, and Taehyung's slowly smirk at your response before diverting their attention to the second-oldest member's reaction to your reaction.

Yoongi coughs, attempting to dismiss it; the bitterness from last night is still present. "Goo- Yeah, whatever."

"Alright, if 007 likes it, then we'll go with it." Namjoon claps his hands.

Everyone accepts with a nod, and Taehyung's boxy smile forms on his face. "It's nice to meet finally meet you, Y/N."

You grin, revealing your teeth. "T-thank you, Tae-tae…"

"D-did I say name r-right?"

Hoseok chuckles as he tries to correct you. "It's actually—"

But Taehyung interjects, waving his hand. "Yeah, you can call me Tae-Tae."

You giggle slightly in response to his pleasant remark.

After a fifteen-minute drive, the eight of you arrived at Yonsei University. The chauffeur parks their black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter Luxury van, and shortly after you all exited, eliciting numerous attention from students and a few from the school's bypassing staff.

Your eyes surveyed the magnificent architecture, which was partially covered by what appeared to be green moss. Jimin and Jungkook walked on each side of you, both staring at the structure. "From now on, this is where you'll spend the majority of your time."

You twist your head to look at the tattooed-sleeved man on your left. "I-It looks n-ice."

Jimin hums, looking at you. "I think so too."

"Let's go inside." Namjoon announces.

To say that everyone in the front office was surprised is an understatement. Everyone halted in their tracks to gawk at the mafia gang as they strolled in with you, nearing the front desk where the assistant head administrator stands.

She gulps visibly as you all approach, Namjoon in front. "We want to register a student here. Where is your head administrator?"

"H-quite he's busy at the moment, you might have to wait for about half an hour before he could meet with you." She answers.

"Well, tell him to cancel his plans right now because we're on a tight schedule." Namjoon smiles that didn't reach his eyes.

She timidly nods, reaching for the black phone beside her and dialing the number. "Hello, sir; there are people here who want to enroll a student right now."

"Didn't I say I had work to do? Tell them I decline to meet them, and do your job to set up another time."

"Besides, it's mid-year; they're crazy to register them now."

The assistant anxiously flickers her eyes at Bangtan, which catches Hoseok's attention. "Sir, you don't understand…"

Hoseok's face twitches with amusement as he approaches Namjoon from behind. "Boss, he's most likely refusing."

The woman hears Hoseok and glances at them both with fright. "Ah- no, he'll—"

Namjoon blinks, his face expressionless yet menacing to everyone else. "I'll talk to him."

She hands the phone to Bangtan's leader immediately. He then presses the phone against his ear. "Morning, Pang Chunso-ssi—"

"Who am I speaking to? Are you the one who wants to enroll a student in the middle of the school year? Are you insane?"

Namjoon chuckles dryly. "This is Black Mamba speaking, I'm sure you've heard of me."

The phone went silent.

"Good, you have. Then you should know that I wasn't asking when I said I wanted to register a student here."

The man suddenly clears his throat. "I apologize! O-of course, I'll have my schedule c-cleared out r-right now."

"Excellent. And one more thing Pang Chunso-ssi..."

"Yes... Sir?"

"Am I crazy?" He grinned evilly.

"N-No, o-of course n-not, sir."

"Right, because I'm not that crazy to know about the secret second family you've been hiding from your wife and two kids for the past three years." He replies.

"H-how…"

"Ah, ah, no questions, we'll be at your office in two minutes, and if you're not ready by then, all of those pictures will be sent in two minutes, understood?"

"Y-yes."

"See you soon, Chunso-ssi." He hangs up the phone and returns it to the woman. "Lead us to his office."

They entered the chief administrator's office two minutes later, exactly as Namjoon had stated, with the documents in Jin's hands. As Bangtan comes in, the man straightens up.

He greets Namjoon and the others with a 90-degree bow. "Please take a seat."

"To begin, I'll need the application form, birth certificate, past school records, and emergency contact documents." He begins.

Jin passes over the packet with all of the necessary documentation. "There aren't any school records."

"Pardon?" He raises his eyes to Jin.

"She's never been to school before; this is her first time." Jin responds.

The head administrator's face contorts in befuddlement. "And it's for…" He then takes a look at the application form and the birth certificate. "…Kim Y/N."

"Y/N, me." You smile as you talk, pulling the man's attention to yourself.

He smiles professionally. "That's the new student, I see. I see- well, unfortunately, without any school records, we won't be able to—"

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear Pang Chunso-ssi... Should we find out how your wife and kids will react when they realize you—"

"Okay, okay!" He coughs, trying to keep his composure. "I'll get her registered, she'll start attending tomorrow."

"Today." Namjoon cuts in.

"I- Today..." Chunso glances at his assistant, calling her over. "Tell them to prepare her transcripts and class schedule."

The woman nods, taking the documents and hurriedly leaving the office. Chunso then claps his hands. "Well, you may wait outside, her papers will be ready in a few short minutes."

They all rise from their chairs, and the man bows ninety degrees again. You cock your head. "What are you doing?"

Everyone then looks at you. "I-I'm showing respect."

"Oh." You blankly look at him up and down then mirror his actions, bowing ninety degrees, making the old man's eyes widen. "Huh-?!"

Before you could say anything else, you're grabbed by the shoulder and led out of the office, leaving the headmaster stunned.

"Y/N, you don't have to do that." Jin tells you.

"Why?"

"You're with us, or at least closely associated with us now. And a thing about Bangtan, they don't bow down to anyone, so neither should you." Namjoon explains.

"So... no bow?"

"Yes."

Once your papers were printed, indicating that you were an official student at the school, the assistant informed you that you would be given a tour of the school by another student, which meant that the seven men who accompanied you were no longer required to be present.

So they're back at the entryway, near their parked luxury vehicle, wishing you goodbye.

"I feel like a mother dropping her child off at college." Jin says this while smiling at you. "But aside from that, behave well and have fun, okay?"

He carefully extends his hand and softly pets your head, making you grin slightly as you hum in response.

Jin steps back, allowing the others their turn. Everyone except Yoongi, who is already grimacing in the van as his members say their goodbyes.

Hoseok and Namjoon finished their turn next, followed by Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung.

"Ya, don't do anything I wouldn't, alright?" Jungkook says, causing Taehyung and Jimin to nudge him roughly. "What-? I didn't say anything bad."

"Yeah but she doesn't understand that. And besides, the things you wouldn't do is socialize and be nice to others." Taehyung rolls his eyes.

"That's exactly my point." Jungkook responds, which makes the elder less amused.

He then looks at you. "Hope you have fun my cutie. We'll be back before you know it."

The two youngest then climbed in the vehicle with the others, leaving Jimin alone. "Also if anyone bothers you, tell us okay?"

You nod. "O-okay."

He ruffles your hair lightly. "Bye Y/N. We'll arrange for Sun-woo to pick you up after school."

"Just look for a car like this one, understood?"

"Yes."

Finally, all seven members piled into the vehicle and drove away.

"Y/N-ssi." Someone beckons to you, prompting you to turn around.

"Hello." You greet. "My name, Y/N."

"I know, I called you that." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, I'm Young-Jae, I'm assigned to show you around the school, so keep up."

"Keep up?" You furrow your brows at the phrase.

"Yeah, it means don't be slow." He scoffs. "What are you five?"

"No, my name, Y/N." You gesture to yourself.

He irritably clicks his tongue. "Yeah, you said that twice, now come on."

After about a half-hour tour of the school, Young-Jae had bite his tongue every few seconds in answer to your absurd questions. Seriously, how do you not know any of the stuff here, like a water fountain. Were you born under a rock, or are you just dumb?

Then a bright bulb went out in his head, yeah, it will undoubtedly be a memorable first day of school for you. He comes to a halt in the middle of his stroll, which causes you to come to a halt as well. "Hey, wanna see a cool spot that no one else knows about?"

"Cool…?" Your brow furrows with interest.

"Yeah, you'll enjoy this." He lies.

"O-okay." You blithely agree. Too easy, he thought.

He snatches your wrist and drags you over campus, your small legs struggling to keep up with his speed. He then comes to a halt in the middle of the corridor, in front of an old, worn-out door. "We've arrived."

You peer around behind him, your gaze scanning the door. "What is it?"

"Oh, there are so many great things you could play with." He responds in a phony happy tone that you miss.

If there was anything nice that came out of the facility, it was the unlimited quantity of toys you were given to keep you entertained in the ten-by-ten-foot box room.

"I-I can g-o in-sside?" You questioned.

"Sure you can!" He opens the door and then shoves you inside. "Have fun!"

Then he shuts the door and doesn't bother to switch on the lights for you. You stare about in the darkness until you hear a click that causes your head to jerk up. "H-hello?"

But all you're met with is silence.

And suddenly, the darkness merely brings back the unpleasant memories you're trying to erase. You start grabbing your chest and squeezing it repeatedly, striving to keep your whimpers silent. Your eyes are closed as you strive to remain quiet; otherwise, someone could discover you and scold you for being so… weak…

"Hello, 007." An artificial voice interrupted your thoughts, forcing you to startle and open your eyes.

Your wide eyes landed on a purple three-dimensional holographic lady, and your eyes began to glow violet again as you stared at the unknown woman in front of you.

"Do not be afraid 007, I am only here to assist you." The woman speaks robotically.

"My name is Genesis, and I am a three-dimensional artificial intelligence. Dr. Hyon Kwan created me. Also known as for you, Mister."

masterpost | two | four

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harlowsbby · 2 years

Note

hear me out 👀 for “in my head,” the reader is in a relationship with jack and the reader has a good version of him, although the readers family and friends were skeptical of him. by the end, the reader realizes their relationship’s flaws. i don’t know if that makes sense but it’s emotional.

Boy I invented you Part 1

You thought your relationship with Jack was sunshine and rainbows you loved Jack so much he was your other half the man of your dreams, but your family and friends didn’t like Jack they saw Jack for what he truly was but not you all you saw was the version of Jack you painted in your head.

You saw the version of Jack that you invented in your head sooner or later you had to wake up and see just how toxic and draining your relationship with him was.

“Jack! I made some breakfast this morning I know you’ll be busy at the studio all day.” You yelled from your spot from the kitchen, you had made Jack some homemade waffles, sausage and eggs and even some homemade orange juice.

“Girl you really think he’s going to even eat all that. I swear that man is so ungrateful.” Your friend Kourtney’s voice came through the phone, nobody in your friend group or your family liked Jack they said he wasn’t the man for you and didn’t treat you right at all, but you never paid them no mind you didn’t have time for the drama.

“Yes, he will, and he is grateful look Kourtney, I don’t need you opinion on Jack too it’s bad enough my family hates him.”

“Fine I’ll drop it.. just for today but I’ll see you later tonight alright I love you beautiful.”

“I love you too Kourtney and I’ll see you later.” For the past four months you’ve been planning a party for Jack just to celebrate all his achievements this year 2022 has been treating Jack right and you were beyond thrilled and proud of him.

You’ve put basically your whole entire life savings into planning this party the amount of money you’ve spent, and time and effort was something you can’t get back, so you only prayed he’d like everything.

Hearing footsteps upstairs you smiled hearing that Jack was finally awake, you quickly finished plating everything before tossing all the dirty dishes back inside the dishwasher.

“I’ll see you later Kourtney, I love you.”

“I love you too girly bye.”

You smiled seeing Jack strolling into the kitchen he smiled right back at you before pulling you in for a kiss.

“Good morning baby, it smells good in here.”

“Thank you I spent all morning making you some eggs, bacon and hash-browns I even got Maggie’s homemade waffle recipe for her.”

“That’s really sweet of you baby but I’m actually not going to have time to eat with you.”

You pulled away from his and gave him a confused look what did he mean he didn’t have time to eat breakfast with you, the breakfast that took you a good two hours to make, he just got back home from your where else did he have to go.

“Where are you going? You just got back from tour Jack where else do you need to go.” You weren’t understanding what he was saying and why he needed to leave.

“Baby you know I have to go see Nemo and Drama today for finishing touches on this song I’ve been working on with Bryson.”

“You’re working on a song with Bryson? How come you’re just now telling me. I can tag along with I haven’t seen you that much you know since you’ve been gone on tour.”

“It was sort of a last- minute type of thing baby but I’ll be back tonight okay!” You went to stop him, but Jack quickly kissed your cheek and hurried out the door.

“Well looks like it’s just breakfast for one huh Miles.” Your cat miles meowed his little orange tail flapping around as he went to eat his breakfast.

You just wished Urban was able to get him to the party in time tonight.

After you ate breakfast, you got everything cleaned up and organized, the party didn’t start until 7pm that night and it was currently 12pm so you had time for a little nap before you started getting ready.

After your nap you woke up and quickly jumped into the shower the entire time in the shower you just prayed that tonight was going to be a good night. You decided on an all-black dress that stopped just by your thighs paired with some black heels and the gold butterfly chain Jack gifted you for your birthday last year.

When you arrived you were greeted by Kourtney who of course was bossing around the people decorating the bowling alley for the party.

“Kourtney leave these people alone they did a great job it looks so good in here.” You smiled at the workers at looked at the room in awe it looked so amazing they had blue and white balloons everywhere along with a couple of banners and lots of other decor needed for a party they even had an ice sculpture made out of Jack’s face.

“Have you called Urban? People are starting to arrive but not the man of the hour.” Kourtney asked you, pulling out your phone you sent Urban a texting asking if they were on the way before stuffing it back in your purse.

“Y/N! It looks so good in here I think I might need to hire you to plan my birthday.” Neelam stated and you smiled before hugging her.

“Neelam, I’m honestly surprised you made it Jack told me he’d be busy in the studio today finishing up his song with Bryson.” She took a sip of her margarita and gave you a confused look.

“Jack has no song with Bryson coming out. At least not that I know of.”

“He told me he’d be with Drama and You this afternoon to finish up the song so if he isn’t working on a song then what is he doing?” Just as you finished you sentence you got an incoming call from Urban.

“Y/N uh I tried my best to get Jack to come but he said he’s kicking it with Nemo and the rest of the guys tonight but I’m still coming leave some of the pretzel dog bites for me.” You laughed slightly but the tears started forming in your eyes.

Maybe everyone was right about Jack maybe he wasn’t the guy you thought he was or the guy you invented him to be.

I mean sure Jack didn’t know you were planning him this celebration party but it still hurt that he blew you off because it’s all it seemed like he ever did lately. Before he left for tour you tried your best to spend as much time with him but he didn’t seem to care and since he came back from tour he was never home and he was home it was to sleep.

“Y/N are you okay babe? You want to leave.” Neelam coo’d at you and rubbed the side of your arms your lip started quivering and soon enough you busted into tears, you cried and cried your hands gripping the sides of Neelam’s arms.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Kourtney mouthed to Neelam who shook her head at him and rocked you back and forth.

“Let’s just go home babe and get you some much needed rest babe.” You sniffed and nodded and let Neelam led you out the bowling alley.

As if things couldn’t get any worse you got a message from Jack.

Baby 💗

- don’t wait up tonight baby I’ll be with the guys.

You sighed and angrily tossed your phone into your purse, on the car ride home you just looked out the window and couldn’t help but to think was Jack even worth it anymore was he worth the constant heartache.

Pulling your phone out you went to his contact and typed the three words you thought you’d never have to say.

Baby 💗

- Were done Jack.

Thank you @heavyhitterheaux for helping me with this one 🤍

( I probably won’t see notifications when this post cause I’ll be in Disneyland but I hope you all enjoy this piece I can’t wait to see what y’all all think of it 😌💗 )

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Psychomanteum / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 1: Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: You've recently taken on the customer-facing responsibilities of the small-scale cannabis bakery you and your late husband ran out of your apartment, which introduces you to occasional customer, Dieter Bravo. A friendship is sparked when you realize you have something in common: you've both died. What Dieter doesn't tell you about his near-death experience, though, is that it foretold his life with you.

Word Count: 6.2k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, sitting shiva, stitches / scars, cannabis, edibles, drug use, alcohol use, haunted mirrors, spooky stuff, verbal argument, face slap, cheating, sexual grieving, a dick named Glenn, meet cute

Notes: Chapter title from "Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us" by My Chemical Romance. Hey friends! I have a couple things right off the bat: (1) the reader has a name (Louella/Lou/Lua) and has scars and tattoos, but no other physical descriptors; (2) I'll be trying to release new chapters on Saturdays.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Title Song ]

When people ask what it’s like to die, you’re supposed to tell them it’s terrible, even though it isn't. Like leaving a shitty yelp review for a restaurant when you actually really loved the food, but you have a vendetta against the owner and their staff.

Death Louella F. Rating: 0/10 Scary as fuck. Not in a cool, vintage way like Bram Stoker’s Dracula, but in more of a can-you-believe-people-cream-their-pants-over-this-shit way like Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight. Ugh. They sent me away at the door and wouldn’t even tell me why. RUDE!!!! I would rather die than go back.

It’s only polite, after all. If everyone knew that it fucking rules to be dead, nobody would stay here in these decaying bodies, on this doomed fucking rock floating through space. So, when your good friends (like good good friends) ask, you give them the inside scoop.

Death Louella F. Rating: 10/10 The single most magical thing to happen to me during my existence in the mortal realm. Truly ethereal. I only had the 1 hour trial, and I wanted upgrade to the forever package, but my dad forced me to return to my meatbag (BOOO!). Can’t wait to do it again. Absolutely TO DIE FOR!!!

That’s why, now, when your just ok friend Kourtney comes over on the last day of sitting shiva in your apartment, and she asks you what was it like to die? in the same cadence she asks how's your mom?, you don’t tell her the truth.

You don’t tell her than every waking moment you’re alive now is torture because you don't understand why you weren’t allowed access to the club. Why could Ethan go, but not you? What could you possibly have left to do that doesn’t include him?

Instead, you give her a wane smile and joke, “Oh, ya know, I had better shit to do, so here I am.”

Her big sky blue eyes soften and her shoulders slump when you tell her this. Then she threads her blonde eyebrows together and gives a sympathetic frown, “Oh, honey.”

No matter how many times you try this line, everyone responds with pity. You need some new material. Kourtney wanders off into the kitchen before you can respond.

When you look around the living room from your vantage point on a sitting stool, you briefly notice that all of the other visitors are gravitating towards the kitchen, too. Then the opaque black stain that looks like a black hole in the middle of your otherwise pristinely white carpet catches your eye. You tilt your head as you study it, wondering how it can be so impossibly dark.

“Are you ready, Lou?” your father-in-law, Adam, asks you from across the room.

You lift your gaze and look around at the other sitters, realizing they're all staring at you expectantly.

“Yeah, yep,” you finally respond, then get to your feet. They follow suit.

After gathering their belongings, Ethan's immediate family crowds around your apartment's entryway to bid their farewells. His mom and dad tell you that they’ll call you in a few days to check in on you. You believe it. Unlike everyone else that promised you’d “talk soon,” Adam and Sarah mean it.

"If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, please don't hesitate to call us," Sarah tells you, then scoops you into a great big hug. When she pulls away, she holds you by the shoulders and stares at you with tears pooling in those brown eyes that break your fucking heart. You look away when you say goodbye.

Your stepson, Ben, literally scoffs when you tell him to call you if he wants to talk about it. Which is just like a 16-year old to do. When his mom is distracted, fussing over your stepdaughter, you try to level with Ben.

"Listen. I know. I know people just say that. My dad died when I was 16, too. It fucking sucks. And I get it. So if you wanna talk to someone who knows which shade of 'this fucking sucks' you're going through, I'm your guy."

This time when he responds, the snotty tone is gone. It's replaced by a morose veil over his eyes and he just nods, "Ok."

The 12-year old, Talia, saves your phone number and tells you she’ll send you snapchats.

Even though you iterate these comforting half-promises to communicate in the future, when you tell Ethan's kids you’d “talk soon,” you don’t mean it. They don’t, either. But that’s alright. You never thought the too-little-too-late maternal bonding would stick, anyway.

Once the last mourning visitor leaves, and door clicks shut, you deadbolt it, and you’re... alone. It's surreal. Moping around the silent apartment, you reorganize things to your liking, collect sitting stools, and tug the fabric off the mirrors. You're stunned momentarily after each reflection you unveil.

The person you see is a stranger. Your skin is very Bride of Frankenstein, stitched together with pieces of tattooed corpses. Just over a week ago, your body was twisted and mangled, but doctors slapped you back together in time to bury your husband. Briefly, you consider covering all of the mirrors again until you're farther along in the healing process, but decide against it. What the fuck does it matter, anyway.

For at least five minutes, you're anchored in front of the spare bedroom door, its key pinched tightly between your thumb and index finger. You locked it last week to keep nosy visitors from poking around during shiva. God only knows what kind of shit they would stumble upon, considering how out-of-control Ethan was towards the end. Not to mention the deep freezer filled with bulk amounts of flower and cannabutter.

There are two huge mirrors in the room that you want to uncover. But this room is- well, was- his space. On most days, he spent hours in there, isolating, listening to music, hanging out with friends, or whatever else. Not like you'd know, since it was just another club you weren't invited to join. A deep sense of foreboding infiltrated your psyche when you covered the damned things, and it somehow feels worse now.

A fuzzy, uncomfortable buzzing starts under your skin as you stare at the old brass door knob. You’re just about to say fuck it and try again later when something clatters from inside the room. Your hands work on their own accord. They slide the skeleton key into its slot, then turn the knob and push the door open. It swings back on its hinges with a groan and butts up against the doorstop with a thud.

The room is neat and clean, like it was a week ago, but you immediately notice two things that make your hair stand on end:

The picture frame

The mirrors

When moving into this apartment, Ethan insisted the 4x6” ceramic picture frame be transported on your lap from the dumpy apartment in Bushwick. His little brother, Benji, gave it to him for his birthday the summer before he fell through the ice. The photo depicts a 12-year old Ethan with his arm around his little brother’s shoulders, both smiling from ear-to-ear as they hold up the fish they caught off the dock of their childhood home in Eagle Bay, NY.

One bare nail stands erect on the navy blue wall. That’s where it was hanging when you locked the door last week. But now, the picture frame is propped up by the easel back in the middle of the shiny hardwood floor.

It doesn’t make sense.

On the westernmost and easternmost walls, the matching set of Regency era mirrors, which hang across from one another, are uncovered. Their intricate bevels are illuminated by the fading sun, casting shadows into the mahogany frames. The bedsheets you covered them with last week are crumpled on the floor beneath them.

“Why are you covering the mirrors?” you asked your great-grandma, watching her from the doorframe of your parents’ room with curiosity. Her paper-thin skin drooped over the hills and valleys of her hands, shifting over bones and blood vessels as she secured a white cotton bedsheet to the full-length mirror with clothespins.

“So his spirit doesn’t get trapped inside,” she explained simply.

You shake the memory from your head.

They’re just mirrors.

Ignoring every cell in your body that screams at you to get the fuck out, you take a few cautious steps forward, then pick the picture frame up off the ground. The pad of your thumb rubs against the smooth finish of the white ceramic. An ache radiates across your chest as you stare at the young boys with their matching smiles, backdropped by tall pines and open waters. Suspended in time, happy and carefree in their favorite place.

Now they’re both fucking dead.

The urge to cry tingles at the back of your throat. You look up at the bare nail sticking out of the wall across the room and march towards it. A shiver of warning runs down your spine as you walk past the antique mirrors. You mount the frame on the wall in its place.

But then you’re frozen.

Spiders are crawling around inside your spinal column, spinning webs, exploring every inch. And, it’s fucking insane, just childhood memories fucking with your head, but you swear you feel eyes on your back. A shudder racks your body. You look straight down at your feet, holding all of your concentration steady on them as you turn around towards the door.

The buzzing in your bones intensifies. Instinct engrained in the folds of your brain for a millennia, since homo sapiens were hunters and gatherers, urges you to look up look up look up because someone is watching you. Hunting you.

Fighting your seized muscles, you make yourself take one step forward.

Adrenaline floods your bloodstream and spurs you into action without thought. Your feet carry you past the mirrors, out of the room. The spiders mobilize, scurrying inside your spine, making you nauseous. As your trembling hands fumble with the doorknob, your eyes betray you.

They flick to the westernmost mirror.

And just barely… you think you see someone staring back at you.

“What is this?” Anika’s Bulgarian accent is the first thing Dieter hears as she shakes him out of sleep. His response is to roll away from the nuisance and pull the white duvet over his head. She jumps off of the bed and yanks the blanket away from him in a series of furious tugs as she hisses, “No. No sleep. Get up.”

When she succeeds in retrieving the whole blanket, she throws it on the floor by her feet, exposing Dieter's naked body to the megawatt afternoon sun. The intrusion sets him off, and he groans, pinching his nose in response to the headache throbbing in his eyes and nose, “Fuckin’ a, Annie, what?”

Sitting up, eyes still closed, he grumbles, “What could be so fucking important-“ he cracks open an eye, throwing his palm down against the mattress in frustration, then sees the headline displayed the iPhone she's holding in front of his face.

LEAKED: DIETER BRAVO PARTYING WITH INSTAGRAM MODEL

He squints as he reads it again, then snatches the phone away, scrolling through the short article on the tabloid magazine DIRT’s website.

The Cliff Beasts 6 star, Dieter Bravo, was spotted with Instagram model, Lilly Stokes, getting hot-and-heavy at several LA nightclubs late last night. Reportedly, the duo were heavily intoxicated, seen taking shots and snorting lines of illicit substances. In the photos obtained by DIRT, the disheveled Bravo, sporting a half-buttoned floral shirt and jeans, can be seen groping Stokes, dressed in a hot pink slip dress and stilettos, as she straddles the actor in a roped-off section of Aspect’s VIP lounge. This scandal is surfacing amid rumors of Bravo’s marriage with Anika Bravo being strained to the breaking point. Dieter and Anika met in 2020 during the filming of Cliff Beasts 6, a film made infamous by the hit documentary Beasts of the Bubble. The couple tied the knot in 2021, immediately following their escape from Clifton Hotel. In one of their only public appearances together, the newlywed couple raised eyebrows when they brought fitness guru Kate Ridley with as their date to the Beasts of the Bubble premiere. Since then, the Academy Award winning actor has been under fire for alleged infidelity and drug abuse, as well as displaying bizarre behavior, such as his appearance on The View in September, when he told host Meghan McCain that he “hopes hell is real so (her) dad burns there forever.”

As promised, the article includes a slideshow of photos depicting him and Lilly making out in a booth at Aspect the previous night. Dieter tosses the phone to the side, and all he can do is shrug, staring up at her with cold eyes, “Whaddya wanna know?”

They sit here like this for a beat, frozen in their stubbornness. As if he doesn’t know the question on her mind.

She blinks, swallows hard, and crosses her arms in front of her body. Then finally breaks and asks, “Is it true?”

As if she doesn’t know the answer.

He grinds his jaw back and forth, considering the consequences of what he’ll say next. She stares at him.

Fuck it.

“Yeah,” he admits to his wife, averting his gaze as he runs his fingers through his hair, “Yeah I fucked her.”

Anika rears back, then slaps him across the face, gritting her teeth together as she growls, “FUCK YOU!”

His cheek stings as her palm jerks his head to the side. He deserves that.

Sure, he could have lied, but there’s no use in denying it. There he was, caught on camera with Lilly's tongue down his throat and his hands up her dress. From there, they stumbled into the bathroom of the club. He gave the bathroom attendant $200 to guard the door. Then, he snorted coke off her perfect tits, bent her over the granite top sink, and fucked her speechless.

The bathroom attendant won’t be speechless, though. Dieter is sure that for another $200 from any number of tabloids, the gangly, pasty skinned kid would unzip his rubber band lips and tell all.

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do, Annie!? You won't fucking touch me!" the cords of his neck stick out as he leans forward barks this into her face.

"Don't deserve to be touched," she spits, narrowing her eyes as she inches so close he can feel her breathe, "Leave me alone all the time. Do you know how lonely I am, Dieter? What kind of man leaves me alone all the time?"

"Fucking AGAIN with this. Really? Every fucking time I come home, it's all I hear," Dieter stands up out of bed and stomps over to the closet, Anika hot on his trail. He starts mocking her, using an exaggerated Bulgarian accent, "Oh I'm so sad, you leave me alone in this big house with all this money, oh nooo!," then he turns on his heel to scoff in her face, "Get over it, for fuck's sake. It's tired."

Her shoulders sag. He knows he went to far. He’s being mean. Cruel, even. But he can't stop. His father’s anger, flooding from his hindbrain through his mouth.

"It's how I feel, Dieter," she squeaks, big brown eyes filling with tears. He starts digging through drawers of the built-in dresser for boxer briefs, then stuffs his legs into a pair. She sobs, "I didn't know it would be like this. So lonely."

"Yeah?! Welcome to my FUCKIN' LIFE!" he screams into her face, then rips a shirt off the hanger and pulls it over his head before storming off.

You sink down into your purple velvet couch and turn on the TV. Fresh-out-the-shower damp hair sticks to your cheek when you rest your head on a black and white checkered pillow. In an attempt to take your mind off what you thought you saw in the spare bedroom earlier, you flip through various streaming services for a distraction. However, your attention is drawn to the shiva candle dwindling down on the fireplace mantle.

Each time it flickers, dread seizes your heart. You hold your breath and watch it, unblinking, until it steadies.

It happens again.

And again.

Your eyes flit to the opaque black ink stain in the middle of your carpet, only for a moment. But it's long enough. When you look back to the candle, the flame is gone. Black smoke curls and dances in celebration around a glowing orange wick.

He’s gone.

This fact creeps into your consciousness slowly, but surely. The same way the cold settles into your bones when the temperature is below freezing. It starts off fine, maybe a little brisk, but manageable. Then your nose, fingers, and toes start to feel frosty. Before you know it, you can't stop shivering, and can't even remember what warmth felt like.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you squeeze every ounce of oxygen from your lungs. Your brain prompts you to inhale. The breath comes as a shattered gasp, and your chest heaves, but the well of pain is too far underground. The tears don't come. You’re unable to tap into it and release the pressure that's been building for nine days. You're about to fucking explode.

Your gaze shifts to the window. It’s dark outside. You try to decide who to reach out to for support. Each person you consider would come over and sit with you as they awkwardly make conversation. They would probably try to talk to you about Ethan, or tell you about how their friend’s cousin had a husband croak on them and they did abc, then xyz, and voilà! They’re cured!

And you just can’t with that shit right now. You don’t want to be pitied. You want to have a normal conversation. One where you aren’t expected to cry and talk about it. You want to be how you were before.

How you were before, but without him.

“Whiskey neat,” Dieter tells the bartender without looking his way.

When he glances up into the mirror behind the bar, he sees the version of himself that Anika hates the most. Mop of curly brown hair stuffed under a baseball cap, sunglasses covering half his face, wearing sweatpants and whatever t-shirt he happened to pull off the hanger before heading out the door.

“Airport Dee,” her lip would curl up and touch the columella of her nose, “I don’t like him.”

“Airport Dee means Working Dee, which is better than Broke Dee, right?” he would try to reason, meeting her eyes over his sunglasses, tugging her closer for a kiss goodbye.

She would arch a brow and back away from him, her sneer firmly in place, “I like Home Dee the most.”

The last few times he left, he didn’t even say goodbye. He thinks that maybe Airport Dee isn’t the version of him she hates the most anymore.

His phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pants pocket to see the text from his wife.

> ANNIEBABY: > If u get on the flight, we’re done

An amused laugh trickles from his throat. The bartender, a handsome, tall, blonde man with terrific posture, slides a coaster in front of Dieter, then places the lowball glass on top of it. Just in time. Dieter picks it up and swallows it in one go, then tells the bartender, who’s foolishly walking away, “Another.”

The bartender turns on his heel and raises a well-kept eyebrow at Dieter, who responds by reaching into his wallet and slamming a $100 bill onto the bar, advising, “This is your tip if you keep ‘em coming and don’t fucking look at me like that again.”

“You got it, boss,” the man responds as he grabs a bottle of bourbon and flips it upside down over Dieter’s cup.

The phone starts buzzing again, but this time it’s his publicist. He picks up with a cheeky, “Darlene, it’s been ages, what in the world could you possibly be calling me about?”

“Just wanted to call and let you know you’re making my life a living fucking hell today,” she volleys the same faux-sweetness back to him.

“Welcome to the club,” he mumbles.

“How’s your wife?”

“Terrible, she’s leaving me,” Dieter drops this bomb, then tells her, “Hey, I’m boarding a flight for the, uhh- the screen test thing, I’ll call you later.”

“Dieter, don’t you fu-“

He hangs up and puts his phone in airplane mode. Morphine was such a good idea.

Instead of the all-consuming anxiety that typically accompanies one’s name trending on Twitter, all Dieter feels is an overwhelming sense of fuck it. That’s what morphine is good for, after all. Not for all the time, though. Just emergencies.

He imagines a bottle of MS Contin but instead of the prescription label it just reads EMERGENCY OBLIVION.

“Having a rough day?” the bartender asks, looking from the discarded phone to Dieter’s smiling face as he leans against the bar.

Dieter giggles and shakes his head, “Fuck off, you don’t care.”

“I- I care,” the bartender frowns, then pushes off and stands up straight.

“You don’t. Not really. You’re just nosy,” Dieter grins with a shrug.

He downs the whiskey, slams the cup against the bartop, then points to it. The bartender refills the cup and fucks off. Dieter sighs with satisfaction and floats into the abyss.

About mid-way through your third vodka cranberry, you start to feel more comfortable in your skin.

A short-statured man hangs his winter coat on the back of the barstool next to you and sits down. A green knit cap hides any indication of hair on top of his head, although a trimmed beard hints that it'll be dark brown if he has any. When he looks your direction through thick rimmed glasses frames, you meet his honey brown eyes and you smile.

Granted, it’s not a smile you really mean, but he’s cute and he sat right next to you at a bar that has plenty of other open seats, so, you’ll play the part.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he inquires, gaze trailing up and down your form.

You shake your head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks,” he gives you a wide smile, then flags down the bartender and orders a drink.

You sit back and look up to the flatscreen TV playing the Knicks game, pretending to care, watching the teams dribble a basketball from one side of the court to the other. Back and forth, back and forth. It seems so fucking pointless.

“You a Knicks fan?” he asks, following your line of sight to the TV.

“Hmm?” you blink, then realize you are furrowing your brow up at the game as if you’re interested, “Oh, no. I don’t give a shit.”

This makes him laugh. He shows you those pearly whites again, then extends his hand to you, “I’m Dante.”

“Louella,” your hand meets his. It’s warm and sandpapery. His thumb rubs against the back of your hand as you shake.

You ponder what this stranger’s hands would feel like on other parts of your body. What it would feel like to forget, just for a while, that Ethan’s hands were the last ones to touch you. What it would feel like to forget that he’ll never touch you again.

“That’s a really pretty name,” he comments, not letting go of your hand, not ceasing the movement of his thumb on your skin. A tingle trickles down the middle of you and produces goosebumps across your flesh.

It’s the only enjoyable sensation that has managed to rise above the soul-crushing emptiness of the past week and a half. Your skin aches and yearns for more.

You try to stretch your smile wide and make your eyes sparkle as if you’ve never heard that before, “Thank you, Dante.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he lets go, then leans forward against the bar.

Your eyes flick from his thick lips to his honey brown eyes and you nod.

“Dieter fucking Bravo!” Glenn hollers at his longtime friend as Dieter approaches the well-dressed table.

Friend might not be the right word. Enabler is probably closer to the truth. His nasally voice booms across the dining room, earning a few disgruntled stares from the highbrow patrons expecting a quiet lunch on the Upper East Side.

Dieter offers a nod in the general direction of the outburst, then pulls out the chair perpendicular to Glenn and plops down, picking up the menu as he scoots in his seat.

A peeved, but incredibly handsome, waiter comes to the table and pours ice water in a glass for the new arrival, “Welcome, sir. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Whiskey neat,” Dieter answers, then dismisses the waiter's presence as he glances around the room through tortoiseshell Ray-Bans and tells Glenn, “You finally got your wish. Anika is filing for divorce.”

“About fucking time,” Glenn guffaws and claps his hands together, “Was it the thing with the uh, what’s that broad’s name, Bailey?”

“Lilly,” Dieter corrects.

“Lilly,” Glenn repeats, “Irregardless, congratulations, my friend. Welcome to the divorcee club!”

Dieter’s face scrunches up in disdain at the enthusiasm as he mutters sarcastically, “It’s an honor.”

“We should celebrate,” Glenn winks.

He knows Glenn well enough to know that "celebrate" means "go on an alcohol and drug binge so outrageous, you'll be trying to chase that high for a year." And, fuck, that sounds like a slice of heaven. The last time he "celebrated" with Glenn was pre-COVID. They were awake for 2-days straight, going to nightclubs, stripclubs, country clubs, whatever. It was a blast.

He thinks it was, at least.

“I don’t have to go back to the studio ‘til Wednesday, so I’m game,” Dieter gives a small grin, then rubs his hands together.

The waiter returns with Dieter’s drink and takes their order, then talk of celebrating recommences. Glenn leans over, trying to be as discreet as his voice can manage, “What kind of stuff ya looking for?”

Dieter ponders this, leaning back in his chair as he rolls head on his shoulders and sips his drink. The first thing that comes to mind are these "special" baked goods he gets sometimes when he’s in New York. The guy hand delivers them, and they were better than any pastries he’s eaten otherwise, “straight” or not.

“Doesn’t matter. I just want to get out of my fuckin' head. I’m gonna see if I can get some of those edibles we got last time. The pastries, what’re they called?” Dieter snaps his fingers together trying to jog his memory.

“Cookies?”

Dieter scoffs and shakes his head, “You think I don’t know what a fucking cookie is? No, it was like a donut.”

“Like a…” Glenn screws his face up and shrugs, then takes a sip of his old fashioned, “Like a long john?”

Idiot. Dieter pulls out his phone, clearing notifications from the Lock Screen from his lawyer, Darlene, and Anika, then sends a text message to Ethan.

< ME: < In NYC. Want what I got last time, can u do that?

“I texted the guy,” Dieter advises, then briefly looks at the last message he received from Anika.

> ANNIEBABY: > My father was right about u

He ignores the sharp stab in his chest at this remark, remembering how hard it was to convince her dad that he wasn’t a piece of shit. Just as he’s about to hide his phone again, it buzzes.

> ETHAN NYC: > Idk what you got last time. $150/ dozen pastries. $100/ 2 dozen cookies. $50/ 4 brownies. Have to pick up here now FYI, in downtown Brooklyn.

< ME: < Ok. Surprise me. 12 pastries, 24 cookies, 12 brownies.

> ETHAN NYC: > You got it. Should be ready by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll text you the address when they’re ready.

“Alright, edibles won’t be ready 'til tomorrow, but it’ll be worth the wait,” Dieter announces to Glenn, who’s also fucking around on his phone.

Glenn nods, then looks up around the room and back to Dieter, leaning in as he asks, “So you wanna go do a few lines in the bathroom, or what?”

Once the second-to-last order has been picked up, you pour yourself a glass of wine. It's noon, which you consider a socially acceptable time to start drinking.

You turn the stereo on and start prepping for the next day while you sip wine and sing along to the music on your baking playlist. Aside from getting fucked by Dante in the bar bathroom the other night, baking is the only thing that has taken your mind off of the fact that Ethan is dead.

It's the stupid little things you wouldn't have expected that sting the most.

His prescription refill reminders dinging on your phone. Leftover takeout from the day before the accident starting to emit an unacceptable odor. A package arriving yesterday from something he ordered online. You stare at the nondescript cardboard box now, as it sits next to the stack of outgoing pastry boxes, and wonder what's inside.

All of these things and the deep ache they cultivate... but you still haven't cried. Everything feels so far away, like it's not real. Is this normal? Are you broken?

You swallow the remaining wine in your glass and refill it.

There’s a buzz on the intercom. You pad over to the screaming box, holding your wine glass by the stem as you press the DOOR button.

A knock sounds on the door a minute later, so you turn the stereo down from a roar to a murmur. You open the door to reveal a broad, relatively tall, tan-skinned man. Pillowy lips fold in a frown and he narrows his dark eyes at you. His age shows in the creases of his face and the sparse grays in his patchy facial hair.

“Hi,” you greet the unrefined, but notably handsome, stranger, “Come on in.”

He does so cautiously, furrowing his brow with confusion as he peers around the apartment like a frightened animal, and you explain for the 8th time today while extending your hand to him, “I’m Louella. I’m Ethan’s wife.”

“Dieter,” he meets your hand and shakes it, avoiding eye contact. When he turns his head to the side to examine your kitchen, you catch a glimpse of his profile and feel the urge to run a finger down the center of his aquiline nose.

“Ohhh!” you exclaim as your face heats up, “DEE-ter! Not DIET-er. It’s your name! That makes sense.”

He runs a hand through his mess of curly brown hair, “Yeah.”

When he does this, his knit sweater pulls up over the waistband of his jeans and exposes his bellybutton. Your eyes fall on the soft section of his broad body and you suddenly can’t tell if your mouth is dry, or if you’re drooling, but you swallow hard, and- is it fucking hot in here?

“Sorry,” you shake your head and feel the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck as you make your way over to the kitchen counter, “I just, um, I haven’t really met any of our clients in person. I thought maybe you were someone on a diet? I don’t know. Ethan had all kinds of weird fucking code names for people.”

“I didn’t know Ethan was married,” Dieter comments as he pinches one nostril closed and sniffs, then rolls the sleeves on his sweater up to his elbows. His jaw is clenched like he’s grinding his teeth. He’s practically fucking vibrating.

This dude is coked the fuck up.

“Technically, he’s not anymore, because he’s dead,” you nod, then clear your throat and try to move on to the next subject as you fidget with your apron, “But yeah, I’ve always done the baking, so it’ll be just as good. I just can’t drive. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

His head jerks back and he unleashes a booming, bright laugh that brings an actual smile to your face, “Did you… did you just yadda yadda the fact that he’s dead?”

“Mhmm, yeah,” you laugh nervously. Your entire head is lit ablaze up now as your attention is drawn to his gorgeous smile, “This is like the tenth time I’ve done this today, I’m a little desensitized to it.”

His cheeriness disintegrates as he realizes he's laughing about your recently deceased spouse.

“I’m-“ Dieter’s mouth gapes open and he tries to generate a response. You meet his glossy eyes, and notice now that his pupils are blown out so wide over the dark brown irises, they appear black. They remind you of Ethan. The black ink stain on your carpet.

And they’re filled to the brim with that annoying fucking look. Pity.

“Don’t- don’t say you’re sorry,” you sigh, real smile waning into one that’s painfully forced, then gesture to the stack of boxes on the counter, “Just pay me and you can be on your way.”

Dieter climbs into the backseat and sets the pastry boxes between himself and Glenn. He can’t shake the puzzled look from his face. Glenn lifts the cover off one of the boxes and grabs a brownie as the driver starts off down the street.

“What?” Glenn asks with a mouth still full of brownie. His dilated eyes search Dieter’s face, narrowing with suspicion.

Dieter frowns as he scratches the scruff on his chin, then snaps his head back and forth, cracking his neck, “That was weird.”

“Why? Did he hit on you or something?” Glenn’s words form around the food in his mouth. Dieter’s lip curls in disdain at the homophobic implication. He swears Glenn forgets that Dieter is not straight sometimes.

“No,” he scoffs and turns to dig a pastry out of the box in spite of the cocaine buzzing through his veins, suppressing his appetite.

When he bites into it, he finds it’s exactly the one he was trying to think of yesterday. Apple Danish. His shoulders wiggle and he groans in delight as the flaky crust gives way to apple filling inside. He swallows and clears his throat, “No, it wasn’t even him, it was his wife. The guy died.”

“She hot?” Glenn asks, not looking up from his examination of the remaining brownie.

Dieter nods as he chews, raising his eyebrows to indicate fuck yeah.

“How’d he die?” Glenn questions. His eyes are flicking all around the backseat of the town car, knee bouncing at lightspeed to spend some of his amplified, god-like energy. Dieter can tell he does not give one single fuck, he just wants to move his mouth.

“Didn’t ask,” Dieter takes another bite and throws his head back, groaning “Fuck, that’s good.”

Glenn shoves the rest of the brownie into his cavernous mouth and nods in agreement, “Good call.”

“But, she just casually mentioned that he died,” Dieter shakes his head and swallows the pastry.

“Weird,” Glenn comments in a disinterested tone as he grabs for a bottle of champagne waiting in an ice bucket by his feet.

Dieter licks his fingers and shakes his head again, “That’s not the weird part.”

“Then what the fuck is the weird part?” Glenn snips, growing impatient, all red-hot edges, fueled by cocaine and alcohol.

It wasn’t the off-putting way you spoke about your husband’s death. Or your apartment filled with a haze of loneliness so palpable it felt like someone was squeezing Dieter's heart.

Glenn wipes the brownie crumbs off his hands onto the seat of the car, then passes two champagne flutes to Dieter, who pops the last bite of Apple Danish into his mouth and takes the glasses. The unmistakable champagne POP! makes both the men flinch. Glenn fills both of the glasses that are shaking in Dieter’s unsteady grip. A substantial amount overflows onto the floor of the vehicle.

Dieter takes a swig of the bubbly, then explains, “When I OD’d, before they revived me, I saw her. It was like a memory, man. But it wasn’t, because it didn’t happen yet.”

He thought maybe the wires got crossed with someone else and he got the wrong memory. Fuck, he doesn’t know how it works. In the moments of clarity during his near-death experience, he knew, somehow, that he was seeing the future. His future. Each time he looked back on the experience, though, he grew more unsure.

But you opened that door into your apartment, and it was like déjà vu. High ceilings, purple crushed velvet couch in the living room that reminded him of Prince, pastry boxes stacked on the white granite countertop in the kitchen that looked made for a chef. It smelled like vanilla and pastry crust.

Louella. One of your bare arms looked torn to shreds, tattoos once cohesive now crudely pasted back together, ribbed with newly formed scar tissue. Your smile, the real one, occupied your whole face.

"Weird," Glenn responds. He's scrolling through Twitter on his phone, not even listening.

There was more, though.

Waking up in your bed, morning light spilling onto the two of you like a spotlight, his fingers tracing the map of scars up your leg.

Holding your hand while walking down the icy, snow-dusted sidewalk outside your apartment building.

Kissing you in front of an ordained minister, cheers erupting from the crowd of spectators.

Louella. Who the fuck are you?

[ Next Chapter ]

#dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #pedrostories #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #psychomanteum

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bisexualfemalemess · 1 year

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*HSMTMTS SEASON 4 SPOILERS*

Final episode. Oh, this is gonna kill me. Let’s go.

Poor ricky worrying about gina. HE WAS NOT HAVING DANI TRYNA JUMP IN LMAO. Ooh, there’s my babygirl G. Ricky being a supportive boyfriend, awww. EJ AS BOLTON, yasss. Gina wanted ricky to ask her to stay and he didn’t want to make the same mistake he did with nini, miscommunication trope, i hate it here. RICKY BOWEN IS A FUCKING MENACE. “hey, by the way, who the fuck are you guys?” Been asking myself this question for four years, we still don’t know. Awww, Ricky, baby. Ah, Monique coleman giving kourtney advice, aww cute. WISH WE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN AN ACTUAL THE BOYS ARE BACK SCENE. TIM, I’M UNDER YOUR BED. Ooh, rina paralleling troyella, babies. Why is everyone going to ej for advice lmao, even miss jenn. That boy is a freshman in college. Maddox is so pissed that ash and red could be back together. Madison knew hahha. MADLYN CONFESSION AND KISS, LET’S GO LESBIANS/ SAPPHICS! Also, the fact that ej carved their names into a tree, he knew since the beginning and was a supporter, 😂 Terri back off, gina’s already hesitant. Jealous ricky, awww. GINA JUST WALK AWAY, SHE’S SO GOOD, My gabriella fr. “Be good to her. Just please take care of her in New Zealand.” My boy loves her so much 😭😭😭😭😭😭. JENNZZARA ARE SO CUTE. NOT THE RINA LOOK EXCHANGE BEFORE MY BOY RICKY SINGS SCREAM. THEY’RE SO TROYELLA RN. Antoine is me. Aww not Benjamin touching his heart while watching miss jenn perform. JETNEY SCENE. MADDOX IS GOING TO NEW ZEALAND TOO WTF??? Aww, big red worrying about Ricky, such a good friendship. Ricky worrying about his future now that gina’s leaving. Rina right here, right now reprise version?! It work so well for them at this point in their story. My poor children, tim istg if they don’t get their happy end i’m suing. THE LOOK EXCHANGE AND GINAS SMILE AFTER THE SONG, DON’T MIND ME DYING ON THE FLOOR. HAHA MRS POTTER DID NOT LIKE THAT. WAIT ANTOINE IS ANDY??? WAIT ANDY AND RED???? ANOTHER RINA LOOK EXCHANGE DURING CURTAIN CALL, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! andy screaming is me. DEWEY IS A SOFTIE OMG. AND A RINA CHEEK KISS! Seb 😭😭😭. Gina, my movie star baby. Ooof ricky’s speech hit me where it hurts. I hate it here. ITS OVER KOURTNEY SHUT UP 😭😭😭😭. G OH SHE LOOKS GORGEOUS AND THE WAY RICKY LOOKED AT HER AND MOUTHED ‘wow’. He’s in such awe of her, my otp. Oof, gina’s speech also hit me where it hurts. Not her calling jet out when it comes to kourtney haha. THE WAY SHE WENT THROUGH THE PEOPLE ONE BY ONE OH AND WHAT SHE SAID TO RICKY OMG 😭😭😭 “But with you I feel so seen, and so understood and so known.” THATS SO MUCH BETTER THAN ANY I LOVE YOU, OH THEY DESTROY ME. I MEAN SHE LITERALLY SAID “this one is gonna kill me.” The way the camera couldn’t find ej 😂😂😂. MISS JENN IS THEIR MOTHER, GINA CONFIRMED. THE RINA HUG AFTER HER SPEECH TO HIM PLS I’M ON THE FLOOR. NOT ASHLYN FINDING OUT MADDOX HAS TO LEAVE TOO. I HATE IT HERE. RINA AND MADLYN ENDGAME PLS. OH THE WAY RICKY’S VOICR BROKE WHEN HE SAID “I DIDN’T SAY I LOVR YOU.” OOH GO FIND THAT GUITAR RICKY. Ooh mack’s not doing Romeo and Juliette, ha. GO TELL YOUR GIRL YOU LOVR HER RICKY, GET THE GIRL. OMG RICKY! “Am i too late?” Some things never change. RICKY. CONFESSING. HIS. LOVE. TO. GINA. WITH. A. SONG. IN. FRONT. OF. REPORTERS. HER MOM. ALL THEIR FRIENDS. THEIR TEACHERS. HER BOSS. DON’T MIND ME ON THE FLOOR SOBBING HYSTERICALLY. THE LYRICS??? ‘Cause i love you fells a lot like high school and forever after that.”STFU. EVERYONE JOINING IN 😭😭😭 RINA ENDGAME OMG. RINI LOVE CONFESSION COULD NEVER. ITS HIS FAVORITE HAT SHUT UP. STFU STFU STFU THE EMBROIDERY ON THE TAG STFU. “Just like me.” RINA ENDGAME. OMG GINA MOVED THE MOVIE TO SALT LAKE BEFORE RICKY EVER EVEN SHOWED UP, RINA ENDGAME FR. AWW MISS JENNS STAYING TOO. RINA FOREHEAD KISS SHUT UP! Ricky is such a good boyfriend, helping her down. Terri finally approves! Ha. MISS JENN AND MR MAZZARA FINALLY. GINA WEARING RICKYS JACKET AHHH, cuties. BORN TO BE BRAVE NAWW. LAST RINA CHEEK KISS, IM FINE 😭😭😭😭 AWW THEY WENT TO DENNY’S. What a nice nod to nini. Omg the post credit scene STOP IT RN.

Seblos endgame ✅

Jetney endgame ✅ (kinda)

Madlyn endgame ✅

Jennzzara endgame ✅

MOST IMPORTANTLY RINA ENDGAME ✅✅✅ THEY CALLED US DELUSIONAL BUT WE MADE IT RINAS. THIS SEASON WAS FOR US. THIS IS THE BEST DISNEY SHIP THEY WERE SO INSANE FOR A DISNEY SHIP, OMG. OTP FOREVER, Golden retriever boyfriend and black cat girlfriend fr.

Question; Are we all in agreement that ricky definitely took over as Romeo after mack left the movie???

#gina porter #hsmtmts #rina #ricky bowen #ricky x gina #madlyn #jetney #seblos #jennzzara

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fbfh · 2 years

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rocks at your window pt. 10 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 10.1k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, more high highs and a lot of low lows, tooth rotting fluff

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: saucy flashbacks, nini and ej are very unprofessional, more fake texts, more coping through the arts, ricky realizes he's a real theatre kid, ricky is simping for you, seb being seb/a good friend/an absolute sweetheart, ricky distancing himself from lynne (slay), spilling tea (after getting permission to do so), conflicted feelings, nini (and ej but mostly nini) ruins the show, three seperate nini pick me moments, reader is about to snap, ricky and reader are mvps, one playful 'babe' from reader to ricky, nini is one delusional bitch!, brief mention of reader's trauma (jumpy at loud noises, flinches when someone raises their voice), ricky and big red are bros, big red has good opinions bc he stans dr phil, minor big red x ashlyn, kourtney and ricky do not get along lol, reader DOES snap, nini is terrible idk how else to rephrase it she's just the worst, nini gets yelled at by both you and ricky (slay), realizations happen, jones BIGASS love confessions and neck kisses.html, flowery descriptions, ricky picks you up briefly, making out, ricky is good with kids and it's adorable, nini is the only one who calls it YAC, theatre kids at denny's jumpscare, mike is a good dad, you wear one of ricky's shirts, saccrine amounts of love declarations, tooth rotting fluff

summary: after the disaster that was act one, act two also finds some way to go unplanned, causing you to be completely fed up with Nini's unprofessional behavior. you turn a night of confrontations around as you realize something and ricky finally gets something important off his chest.

song recs: entr'acte (hands clean) - jagged little pill obc, smiling - jagged little pill obc, what am I to you - rm, you stupid bitch - crazy ex girlfriend cast, first - niki and gabi, for a pessimist, I'm pretty optimistic - paramore, I hear a symphony - cody fry, something to believe in - newsies obc, let's go to the movies - annie (1982), sunrise - in the heights obc

a/n: fangz again 2 cici for beta reading, prepz fuk off. I'm watching american horror story murder house so uh. i'll let you know how that goes. it's hilarious so far tbh i love basement babyman. also this is ricky at you

tags @yesv01 @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @hopefullhearts @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

You had heard the first part of their argument from your dressing room. After that it was muffled yelling - most of which you hoped was Ricky’s. When Natalie called for places, they were still going at it. You found Miss Jenn as quickly as you could, worried about Ricky, unsure if he was still okay to perform.

“EJ is already getting ready to go on.” She tells you. It’s the only answer you need for how ugly things got. She ushers everyone to their places, trying her best to squash their questions and speculations of what’s going on.

“Nothing you need to worry about, just find you places, get in character, get ready for act two…” she instructs. She pulls you aside before you enter the wings.

“Mr. Mazzara is escorting her out as we speak.” she informs you quietly.

“Wait, Mr. Mazzara is here?” you ask. She pauses.

“Uh, yes. He’s been… helping run the lights up in the control booth. It was a last minute-” she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, the… shrew is leaving and Mike is on his way back to check on Ricky.” You’re relieved that his dad is here for him - and Miss Jenn. You look around momentarily.

“Where is he?” you ask.

“That dusty storage room we shoved the creepy mannequins in.”

The one with the piano. The one where he helped you come down from a panic attack your first day at the El Rey, and…

“...So they’re probably going to wait until the show is over, then head home.” You snap out of the onslaught of memories that stirred up at the mention of that storage room, catching the last half of what she said. “You can keep your phone in the wings to stay in touch, just make sure it’s not a distraction.”

“Okay,” you agree, already feeling it buzzing in your pocket. She nudges you toward the wings as the intro to I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You starts playing, Nini and EJ’s voices should be floating through the house.

“Now, go be Sharpay!” she says with a smile, and you start to turn the corner, then pause.

“Miss Jenn!” you whisper-yell, and she looks back up at you. “Thank you! For everything.” you say sincerely. She places her hands on her chest, smiling, and you finally find your place backstage.

“Like, full on screaming,” you hear Zeke say to Martha. You try to ignore them, and everyone else talking and whispering. You knew it would spread like wildfire, backstage drama always does. You pull out your phone, blowing up with texts from Ricky and his dad. You keep switching between the two text threads, trying to figure out what happened, to make sure Ricky’s okay. As you type out replies to both him and his dad, you look out onto the stage. Something doesn’t sound right, the gaps between the dialog are too long.

Your brow furrows, trying to figure out what’s going on. EJ’s hand comes up to his collar and he leans forward. Nina delivers her next line more stilted and awkward and out of character than anything you’ve ever seen. You watch, confusion turning into disbelief as Nina covers her mic with her hand, and whispers something to EJ. Being so close to where they’re standing, you’re able to catch most of what she says - ‘seriously, EJ, where’s Ricky?’, or something to that effect.

High pitched feedback whines at the disturbance to her mic, and for a moment you think you must have imagined it. There’s no way, no chance in hell she covered her mic with her hand, broke character onstage, and got EJ to break character too. You take a few breaths, reminding yourself that you’re not the director. Miss Jenn will have to deal with that one. Your phone buzzes as you get more texts from Ricky, and you check it again.

Ricky stares at the little gray box on his screen, letting your words sink in. He still has four shows to perform in. He has more than just tonight to look forward to. All of those shows, every single one of them, is going to go just fine. Even now, through the worst possible nightmare of a thing that could have happened, the show is still continuing; the show must go on. And it will. It is, right in front of his eyes, as he and his dad enter the auditorium, taking two empty seats, Ricky’s right on the aisle. EJ and Nini harmonize, dancing around the stage - like he was supposed to. They finish the last verse of Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You, as the audience applauds. He claps politely as the lights go down.

He mentally runs through what he would be doing if he were back there with you guys. You’re probably getting ready for the scene at Sharpay’s locker with Zeke, standing center stage in the dark, looking at the prop accessories in the pink locker, while Zeke mentally goes over his lines and blocking in the stage left wing. The lights go up, and he’s right. He knows this whole show inside and out, he realizes, and it makes his chest squeeze. Instead of dwelling on that, he leans forward, watching the scene begin to play out. He realizes suddenly that he gets to actually watch you perform. Not just from the wings or during rehearsals or in a grainy camcorder video, but he gets to watch you live.

He smiles a little, realizing how special that is. You deliver your lines flawlessly, bringing a chuckle from the audience with your attitude right when you want one. It’s crazy how you play the mean girl so well, when it couldn’t be further from your real personality. He figures you’re just that amazing. You let out a shrill, frustrated scream, then storm off stage with Zeke trailing after you. When the lights go down, he claps loudly, letting out a cheer. He lets out a shaky breath, knowing you’ll be in the next scene, too - you’re probably quick changing for it right now.

He’s right again, and backstage, you pull on your jacket, relieved to be done a little earlier than usual. It’s probably nerves from everything that happened tonight making you go a little quicker, but you’re not complaining.

“So,” Seb says quietly next to you, bending over to tug on his heels, “what happened earlier? It sounded bad…” You let out a slow, frustrated sigh. He gets the sense it wasn’t just bad, it was really bad.

“Just…” you search for the words, “some personal stuff. Family stuff, I guess.”

“Bad enough for him to leave halfway through the show?” he asks, and you can tell he’s concerned. You pause fixing your belt, looking up to the catwalk and praying for the strength to get through tonight. Seb is one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met, and you know he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the last thing you need to do is add to the whispers, the desire for someone to spill the tea on what happened during intermission.

“It’s really not for me to say…” you trail off, glancing at the other groups of castmates waiting to go on and techies listening for their cues. ‘Later’, you mouth to him. You have to go on any minute, and you want to text Ricky about it before you tell anyone anything. It’s really not your place to tell anyone what’s going on in his homelife. You pull out your phone, sending him a quick text that says some of your friends are worried about him, and does he want you to say anything or keep it under wraps for now. You turn your phone on silent and hide it in your bra before making your entrance on time.

Seb lets out a huff, then follows you off stage as the ensemble runs in from the wings and the music for Wildcat Cheer reprise starts playing. As the ensemble begins dancing, Ricky checks his phone again, seeing a new text from you. ‘What do you want me to say?’ He pauses, staring at the screen. What does he want you to say? Nothing, at first. For a painful, fleeting moment, he wishes none of this had ever happened in the first place, he wishes he didn’t have to keep making up excuses and brushing things off. He doesn’t have to, he realizes. He doesn’t have to keep covering for her, and overcompensating for her shitty decisions. He bites the inside of his cheek, then texts you back.

Backstage, you return to the stage right wing, ready for your next scene. You check to see if Ricky has texted you back, and he did. ‘Tell them she showed up unannounced and we got in a fight. I’m not trying to make her look good anymore.’ You agree, and a part of you is glad he’s not making himself responsible for his mother’s emotions anymore. When your scene is over, you rush to your dressing room to get ready for Bop to the Top. You have a full costume and hair change, and you need to tweak your makeup a little, so it usually takes you the longest to get ready for. Once you’ve applied enough body glitter to choke a bratz doll, you leave your dressing room, meeting Seb on the way to the wings.

Most of the cast is onstage right now, so it’s not very crowded backstage where you stand, waiting for the current song to end. Seb moves a little closer to you and lowers his voice.

“I know it’s probably not a good time to ask, but what in the Mount Saint Helens happened with Ricky?” He asks in a hushed, worried tone. You bite back a smile at his turns of phrase, and sigh. You think back to Ricky’s text, how he said he’s done covering for her.

“His mother showed up…” you say slowly, pausing at the shocked expression on his face.

“She what?” he exclaims quietly.

“And she tried to corner Ricky during intermission,” he gasps, and you continue, “and they got into a huge fight.”

“Oh my god.” he says, thinking back to the yelling he’d heard.

“Mhm.” you confirm, “Miss Jenn had to kick her out so she wouldn’t cause more of a scene.”

“Oh my god!” he gasps in disbelief that it got that bad. He feels like he’s on an episode of Real Housewives. Or maybe Dance Moms.

“Poor Ricky… Is he okay?” His mind constructs different images of Ricky’s mother ambushing him while he tries to get ready for act two. He can’t imagine how terrible that must have been.

“As much as he can be right now,” you say. Seb can see how worried you are about him. This night took a toll on you, and he’s sure Ricky’s dad and Miss Jenn can’t be doing much better. It makes sense, and he’s glad to at least know what happened.

“That’s pretty much it, but I’ll give you the details later.” you say, noting that you have to go on soon, and walking over to Ashlyn so you can enter together.

The music starts, and Ricky has never been more excited for Bop to the Top. He’s never had the opportunity to see you and Seb perform full out like this from the audience, he’s always been just out of view before because of the blocking and where he was supposed to stand on stage. But now, he’s front and center, watching the light bounce off the glitter scattered across your chest and arms. You’re in a gorgeous, glittering teal dress that bounces and moves with every step you take. Your silver sparkling heels match your bracelets, and your hair is pinned up with big pink and white flowers on the side. Seb begins to dance with you, wearing a coordinating outfit that’s just as flashy.

As the music cuts between the basketball game and science decathlon, you and Seb continue to steal the show. Your singing is gorgeous and your choreography is flawless. You harmonize as you spin around, totally in sync. Your attitude, your charisma is overflowing. The two most important events of the show are happening on either side of you, and you’re keeping all eyes center stage. He’s never seen a number with this much energy, this much flare, and based on the way the crowd is reacting, they feel the same way.

As the tension builds, as the time to score the winning shot runs out and the science questions get harder and harder, as the music builds, Ricky’s breath is taken away. At the climax of the number, the East High Wildcats win the championship basketball game, and the science decathlon at the same moment. You and Seb hit the final note, holding it out as you strike your ending pose. Right as you’re done, Taylor kills the lights.

Ricky is stunned at how good the show looks from the audience. But in spite of how amazing it’s been, he can’t ignore the gnawing in his chest anymore. He’s been trying so hard to focus on you, to not be jealous of EJ standing up there reciting his lines, singing his parts and doing his choreography. Seeing EJ up there, seeing Carlos struggle to fill in as Chad makes his stomach sink. It’s supposed to be him up there. He’s supposed to be the one scrambling to make it to callbacks on time, just like he did in real life all those months ago. He turns his attention back to you, as you begin your biggest Sharpay diva moment of the show.

You storm off with Seb at your heels, and you both begin to get changed for the finale. As you get dressed into your white and red outfits, you can’t resist telling him a little more about what happened during act one and intermission.

“...And she just stormed up to me, demanding to see him. Like, I told her, ‘you’re not cast or crew, you are so not allowed to be back here’, but she didn’t care!” Your voice is intense, but hushed.

“Are you kidding?” he demands, shock evident on his face.

“I wish I was…” you laugh softly, just as flabbergasted by the recent turn of events as he is. You inch closer to the curtain, and see Ricky wave to you in the audience - or more specifically in the general direction of where he knows you’d be right about now. His eyes are still a little pink and puffy, and it’s obvious how much everything that happened tonight has fucked him up. Your chest squeezes at the sight, and you wish you could hug him or do something to help. You sigh, trying to think of something encouraging to text him when you get a spare minute to. You snap out of your train of thought when you realize it’s quiet onstage. Your stomach sinks as EJ repeats his line, trying to cue Nina.

“Oh god,” you mutter next to Seb.

“Did she forget her lines?” he asks. Her head turns, and you see what she’s looking at - who she’s looking at. You’re minutes away from the finale of the show, and she’s staring at Ricky. EJ begins speaking again, reciting his lines, but he just keeps going.

“Is he improving?” you ask rhetorically. “Why is he improving?”

You have no idea what’s going on, but this show is going off the rails so fast. It’s like a slow motion trainwreck, and you find yourself unable to look away as Nina whispers to him out of character, for the second time in the last hour. You can feel your blood pressure rise as she breaks character too, the both of them floundering onstage and deviating from every rule of theatre Miss Jenn has been drilling into your heads for the last three months. Again, EJ speaks up, not even trying at this point.

“I’m not the Troy you want,” he says melancholically.

“What the fuck are they doing?” you hiss, and Seb can tell that after everything that happened tonight, this is really the last straw for you - you’re out for blood. You watch in disbelief as EJ just… walks offstage. And that’s it. You think it’s a really good thing he exited to the other side of the stage, because you sure have some choice words for him right now.

“What is he doing?!” you question again, more pissed off than Seb has ever seen you. As if things couldn’t possibly get worse, you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Nina picks up her mic and begins to walk toward the edge of the stage, singing acapella.

“She better not fucking do what I think she’s doing.” your voice is quiet, dangerous, and Seb is momentarily worried on her behalf. Even though you’re like, the nicest person ever, he doesn’t think anyone would want to be on your bad side.

Your hand flies over your mouth in utter disbelief as she walks into the audience and right over to Ricky, signaling for Big Red to follow her with a spotlight. Just when you think this couldn’t be more of an amature hour shit show, she pulls out her phone, turning her flashlight on him. You have no idea what she thinks that’s going to do, and thank god when she puts it away after a minute. She grabs Ricky’s hand, trying multiple times to pull him out of his seat. His heart is pounding, and he can feel himself freezing up. He has no idea what’s happening or why she’s doing this, and he has even less of an idea what he’s supposed to do.

“I’m… really not at my best right now…” he manages to choke out. She doesn’t listen, and grips his hand, limp in hers.

“Just look at me, Ricky. Right at me.” She smiles, like that will fix anything. He shouldn’t go up there, he shouldn’t go onstage when he’s like this. He and his dad had a whole conversation about it after intermission. But with everyone staring at him, Nini begins to sing. When she holds out the mic for him to finish the verse, he does, almost on instinct. He can’t leave her hanging, not like this. He panics, and next thing he knows, he’s letting her drag him onstage. He doesn’t know what’s happening, why she’s doing this, but he moves automatically and lets her drag him onstage.

He’s struggling to keep his voice level, using all his effort to push past the pain, and smile at her. As she finally brings him center stage, taking his shaking hands in hers, he fights with everything inside him to make this work, to make it convincing, and be the finale it was supposed to be. He just has to keep it together for this last number, work through the pain, the ache in his chest and stomach that’s killing him as he stands up there, just for three minutes. As the rest of the cast begins to hit their cues, the energy has never been higher. They’re giving it everything they’ve got to hype him up, give him something to hold onto. He can feel them reaching out to him, singing and dancing their hearts out to lift him up.

He’s trying so hard to be Troy, to seem convincing, to smile sincerely - not at Nini, but at Gabriella. He holds her hands, beaming, thinking about how badly Troy wants to kiss her. He clings onto this moment, the music, this role like a lifeboat. Troy has a great relationship with both his parents, Troy doesn’t come from a broken home. Troy is okay, he’s never been better, which means that Ricky gets to be okay vicariously through him, just for a little while. Just for a few minutes. He holds onto this catharsis as tightly as he can. He’s not going to let this moment be taken away from him too. The audience is cheering louder than ever as they make their way to the end of the song, incredibly confused at the cast changes and Nini’s actions, but they cheer everyone on - especially Ricky - nonetheless.

He smiles at her through misty eyes, holding her hands and gazing at her in adoration. ‘This is it,’ Nini thinks, ‘my Ricky has come back to me. It’s always going to be us.’ He caresses her cheek, and looks at her like he really wants to kiss her as they harmonize. She knows he wants to kiss her, he’s always loved her and he’s always going to. They’ve had their ups and downs, but she knows that Ricky will always be hers. She was his first love, his first everything, and that’s what really matters. They have history, and you can’t fake that, you can’t manufacture that.

The song ends and she drags him into the wings away from you and Seb, shoving his finale costume at him. He fumbles to take off his jacket, desperately trying to stay in motion, to keep moving, keep smiling, keep being Troy. He throws the sparkly white and red tracksuit on over his remaining clothes, and has seconds before he’s going to get dragged back out for the finale of a show he was only able to half participate in. He hates her so much for ruining this for him. He hates Nini for dragging him back up here, for literally putting him in a spotlight in the aftermath of the worst event of his life. He sucks it up, putting on a smile and getting hyped up to sing along to the megamix.

It takes one look at your face for Seb to know just how bad this is. He can feel the rage, the disbelief radiating off of you, and he has no idea what’s going to happen after this. He thinks it’s nice that Nini tried to include Ricky, but she definitely didn’t go about it the right way. He’s sure you’d feel that’s probably the biggest understatement that could be made about the situation.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, really worried. There’s already been so much drama tonight, he knows your bullshit tolerance is in the negatives right now. You stare at Nina across the stage, watching her whisper something to Kourtney with an expression on her face that infuriates you.

“Not sure yet.” You answer quietly, voice dangerous. Finally, you hear your cue, and you and Seb enter the stage.

He watches you change on a dime, transforming into a sassy, fun, reformed mean girl. You dance with him, and flirt with Zeke effortlessly. He can’t find a trace of your previous rage once you’re past the curtain, singing and dancing as Sharpay. There’s a light, fun, playful energy around you, and it’s infectious, making Seb and Zeke and everyone else around you have even more fun out there. For a moment, he forgets how ugly this is going to get once the lights go down.

You make your way over to Gabriella, doing a little dance with her, just like you’re supposed to. You flash her a thumbs up, and wink at her supportively when Troy pulls her closer to dance, just like you’ve been practicing at every rehearsal leading up to this moment. Nina smiles at you when you do, interpreting yours and Ricky’s behavior as more than just stage directions. She feels a sense of benevolent camaraderie with you in these fleeting moments. Maybe she will be the bigger person, maybe she will extend her friendship to you, because even though you did try to steal Ricky from her - unsuccessfully at that - fighting over dumb boys is stupid.

She and Gina run off to pull Miss Jenn onstage so she can deliver her infamous deleted line. It was your idea initially, but you made sure to tell the rest of the cast before tonight so the surprise could be from all of you. The cast and house cheer as she delivers her line, and you can see how much it means to her. You get a minute to dance with Ricky, and make your way over to him as quickly and naturally as possible. You couldn’t seem happier or more care free, but when you speak, your voice is strained.

“I am so sorry that happened…” you say, barely loud enough for him to hear over the swell of the music and the rhythmic clapping as the audience keeps time. He can see it, the frustration being masked by your energetic, jovial nature. You’re doing the same thing he is, he realizes. You’re using this moment onstage and in character to keep the real world at bay. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt closer to you than he does right now. He wants to say something, he wants to feel horrible - he’s sure it’s justified - but when he looks at you, he can’t

You’re onstage together at the end of your opening night performance, with a full house clapping and cheering and singing along with you both, with the whole cast. And in this moment, you’re worried about him. You’re worried about him. He’s so overwhelmed by this feeling of being onstage with all his friends, an audience full of people who came here and bought tickets and watched the show and are now cheering them on for this, the penultimate moment of all their hard work and dedication and doubts over the last three months culminating to this. He knows you know this feeling well, that this is the first show you’ve done in so long and how badly you’ve missed it - and you’re still up here, worried about him.

“There were some… hiccups, but…” he starts, locking eyes with yours, looking at you that way that he does. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more strongly for you than he does right now. “This is kind of the best, right?” You smile suddenly at his words, relief evident on your face. You feel like you can breathe a little easier knowing he’s doing okay - or at least, better than he was.

“This is just the tip of the iceberg babe,” you chuckle, nudging him playfully. You’re still livid at that… stunt Nina pulled, that hasn’t slipped your mind. But for now, Ricky is okay. That’s what’s important. You’ll deal with her later, if you get the chance.

“Just wait till you see what I have picked out for the spring musical!” you both look over at Miss Jenn as she smiles, drawing an excited laugh from you and Ricky.

Nina looks over, hearing you laughing with Ricky. It makes her stomach sink. She scoffs, figuring it must be platonic. He’s probably just giving you closure, or something. She looks back out into the crowd, and stops dancing as she watches the scout from YAC leave. Her mouth hangs open in disbelief. If she doesn’t get into YAC, the performing arts school of her dreams, what was the point of all this?

After everyone runs forward in groups, then individually to bow in front of the audience, You, Nina, and Ricky are the last to go. He stands between you, lined up with everyone else, holding both your hands as you and all your friends bow as a cast. He snaps to attention as he hears a certain part of the music, squeezing your hand in warning. Confetti cannons go off from the wings moments later, drawing out a new wave of cheers and applause from the audience. You’re grateful for the warning, and you squeeze his hand back as a thank you. Your heart is warmed that even now, after so many difficult things happening back to back in one night, he still remembered that loud noises can make you jumpy.

When Nina goes to share a look with Ricky, her smile drops. He’s already looking at you. There’s a certain type of joy in his eye, the kind you can only find amidst the ashes of misery, as he realizes that through everything that happened, he’s still okay. You’re still here. That’s the important part. You’re still right here with him, holding his hand. He made it to bows. Everything is going to be okay. In sharing this eye contact with him, you can’t help but reflect on how pretty he looks in the blue cast of the stage lights as he looks at you that way that makes your stomach twist.

The curtains begin to draw closed, and you all wave at the audience until they’re out of sight. Sporadic cheers are let out around you as hugs are initiated here and there, and everyone begins flooding to the dressing rooms to get changed. As you make your way to the back, Ashlyn already leading everyone in a very loud, high energy reprise of We’re All in This Together, you squeeze Ricky’s arm. When he looks at you, he seems to be doing exactly as well as you’d expect - okay for now, the massive high from the end of the show keeping him afloat for now, but you know it won’t last forever.

“I’m gonna go get changed real quick, I’ll say hi to my mom then we can go home, okay?” you say quietly, and he can tell from your tone of voice that you’re here for him, he just needs to hang in there a little longer.

“Okay,” he says with a shaky breath. He doesn’t really need to get changed since he has his street clothes on under his tracksuit, so after hanging it up in its place, he waits in the hall outside the dressing rooms. A few minutes later, everyone who got changed the fastest are in the halls and on the stairs outside the dressing rooms, talking and congratulating each other before they go to the lobby. There's a silent understanding that you're all waiting just a few more minutes before you have to leave, before you have to acknowledge that the show is over. Big Red runs over to Ricky as soon as he spots him.

“Are you okay, dude?” he asks quietly, clearly worried about him. Ricky lets out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Ricky realizes how stressed he must be, having no idea of anything that was going on until half way through the show. "There’s a lot to fill you in on." Ricky nods his head, and they move to a more secluded area so Ricky can begin catching him up. He goes over the series of events from earlier tonight quickly, trying not to get worked up over all of it again. Soon he's wrapping up his summary of the horrible things that happened in such a short span of time, and his eyes are much less misty than he was worried they'd be.

"Oh. My. God." Red states, laughing in disbelief that his mother would do something like that.

"Yeah." Ricky nods, still in shock.

"Don't take this the wrong way, dude," Red says tentatively, "but that does sound like something she would do; the guilt tripping, mind games, all of it." Ricky can't help but agree. In retrospect, Red does remember her using a lot of language that read as passive aggressive or guilt tripping. There’s no way they could have picked up on that as kids, but hindsight is 20/20. Ricky loses Red's attention real quick as Ashlyn walks toward her friends, no longer loitering outside the dressing room she shares with you and Nini - and soon, Gina. She holds up a piece of paper from the mystery bouquet she'd been inspecting more closely.

“We found a card!” she says excitedly. Ricky nudges Red, encouraging him to tell Ashlyn that he was the one to send the flowers. He looks at Ricky, nervous, and gets an encouraging nod. Big Red takes a breath, steadying himself, then stands up and walks towards Ashlyn.

"Actually…" he starts. He doesn't need to say anything else, watching the realization hit. They walk a few feet away, talking animatedly and seeming to have a good time. More people start to filter out to see their friends and family, and as they dissipate, he realizes he still hasn't seen you since you went to change. He spots Kourtney passing by a few feet away and runs over to her.

"Hey, uh," he starts carefully. He knows Kourtney hasn't been too fond of him for a while. "Do you know where Nini is?" He knows where Gina and Ashlyn are, and he really just wants to grab you and get out of here without even more drama. Kourtney sucks her teeth, considering how to respond for a moment. She could say something, she always has something to say when it comes to Ricky, but she knows tonight was hard on him. She doesn't know the details, but she's sure the last thing she'd want in his position is more animosity.

"The scout left, and she's taking it hard. I think she's with her moms, but I don't know for sure." He waits a beat, realizing there's no other shoe that's going to drop, no glares or snarky comments.

"Thanks," he says quietly, before making his way to your dressing room. You're probably just having trouble getting everything back in your bag. He thought you had way over packed when you showed him the huge tote bag you got ready for tech week, but by the end, every 'just in case you had brought had been needed more than once. You really know your way around a theater, he thinks.

When you first enter your dressing room, all you want to do is get changed and get out. Ashlyn talks a little - mostly to herself - about how excited she is for the next show. You reply as politely as possible, doing everything you can to avoid Nina, ignore her as much as you can. You just have to get changed and get out. You have bigger issues to deal with, bigger fish to fry than to chew her out for what she did back there.

"Yeah," she replies, a faux chipper tone to her voice "hopefully we won't have as many last minute cast changes tomorrow night," you pause, gripping the empty plastic hanger so hard your knuckles turn white. "But who knows, right?"

You've tried your best, you really have, but you can't take her bullshit anymore. The hanger snaps in your hands with a loud crack. Ashlyn's eyes widen in surprise, and now out of costume, she makes her way to the door.

"I'll give you two a minute…"

The cacophony of voices get louder for a moment as she opens the door to leave, then it's quiet again. You turn away from her to tug on your shoes, praying to god she'll just leave it alone, let you get out of here quietly.

"Sorry," her voice is dripping with a passive aggressive ignorance that grates on your ears. "Did you have something to say to me?" Before she can scoff and drop a yeah, that's what I thought, you turn, looking over your shoulder at her with a stone cold glare. When you speak, your voice is so deadly, so sharp she feels like she's been stung.

"Count yourself fucking lucky that I don't have time to hang around right now, but I swear to god, Nina, if you pull shit like that again-"

"Wh-" she sputters, "excuse me? Pull what? Including Ricky, and helping him?"

"You think you were helping him?" You repeat, turning to face her. You roll your eyes scoffing. "Wow." She starts to say something, but you cut her off.

"Look, I don't know why you're here, but some of us actually take this seriously. This actually means something- this matters to some people, and nobody needs you turning it into a little three ring Nina circus, and ruining it for the people who actually want to be here!" Your voice rises as you continue, driving your point home, and refusing to let her interrupt you. By the time you’re done, her mouth is hanging open.

“I don’t care what you do in your free time,” you continue decisively, “I really don’t, but don’t ruin everything for the people who actually give a fuck!” you say, a humorless laugh at the end. You don’t know who’s been coddling her up until now, but you are sure as hell are not going to let someone get away with a stunt like that. It’s clear from her reaction that no one has ever spoken to her like this, and you think it’s long overdue. “That was the most unprofessional load of bullshit I have ever fucking seen! And I’ve been around the rodeo a few times.”

Nina blinks hard, fighting tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She feels like she’s just been slapped. Her? Unprofessional? Wow. You’re really reaching now. She’s the most professional person at this whole school, she just… She freezes as it hits her in a split second of clarity, that she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. She broke the cardinal rules of theatre; she broke character, went into the audience, broke the immersion. She ruined opening night. You can see the moment of lucidity where she realizes she’s in the wrong, and it’s gone just as fast.

“You’re one to talk about being a professional.” She spits. You look at her incredulously. Once again you have no idea where she’s going with this. When you don’t react, don’t instantly get it, she continues.

“You had a Broadway career handed to you on a silver platter, and you threw it away!” she searches your face for shock that she figured out your secret, continuing, “And for what, so you could slum it at some midwestern high school full of amateurs?”

You figured it was a matter of time before someone found out you’ve done professional theatre before, so if she’s waiting for a reaction from you, she’s not going to get one. The only reason you didn’t tell anyone, the only reason you kept quiet about it is because you didn’t want to come across as cocky or seem like you were bragging. Plus, with how hard things got towards the end, you don’t really want to go around and dig up memories from that time in your life. Besides, you’re not in New York right now, you’re at East High. You’re here with all your friends, finally getting a little piece of normalcy. You’re exactly where you want to be, so why would you waste it living in the past?

Before you can answer, she continues.

“The point is, you need to stay away from Ricky and stop lying to him. Okay?” she demands. Her voice is muffled through the door, but right outside, Ricky hears her loud and clear. He didn’t hear you two before, but now the halls and dressing rooms are mostly empty.

Is she still seriously going on about that? You let out a breath, trying to regain your composure.

“I really do not have the time to keep having the same conversation with you over and over - or explain to you that you can’t tell people who they can and can’t date!” you exclaim. You’re about to drop it, but there’s one more thing you need to get off your chest. “And for the fucking record, you don’t know jack shit about what else was going on in my life when I left New York. And I don’t owe you an explanation either.” you say coldly. You’ve said your peace, the only thing you need to do is fucking get out of here and find Ricky.

“I can’t believe I actually used to look up to you!” she exclaims. “Look. It was cute, or whatever, at first, but this little game of yours has gone on for long enough. He’s mine. Now can you leave him alone, please?” she demands. She’s dripping that passive aggression you’re really starting to get sick of. You look at her in the mirror, illuminated with lights.

“Seriously? You seriously want to do this right now.” You say, exhausted. She either doesn’t hear you or pretends not to as she continues.

“I knew him first! I dated him first, I kissed him first. Everything he’s done with you, he did with me first.” she states. She doesn’t know how else to get it into your head that she was his first everything, and you’re just a rebound or something. What they have isn’t something you can just get over like that.

“You weren’t… every first, Nini.” You both look over at Ricky, and you wonder how long he’s been standing in the doorway, how much he heard.

“Ricky… what?” she whips around at the sound of his voice. He stares back at her, teary eyed and serious.

“You weren’t every first.” he repeats. You both look at him in disbelief. Nina furrows her brow. She can’t believe he’s disrespecting their relationship like this. You stare at him, thinking back, reanalyzing your memories. He can’t be saying what you think he’s saying. There’s no way you were his first time. That couldn’t have been his first time. There’s no way that Ricky Bowen was a virgin before he showed up at your house that night, there’s no way that you took his virginity. ‘Oh god, I did, didn’t I?’ you think, remembering the way he looked at you, how nervous and desperate he was. Heat floods to your cheeks. You have no idea what to do with this information.

“How could you say that?” she demands. She was his first crush, his first kiss, his first date, girlfriend, heartbreak. She was all of it.

“Because it’s true!” he exclaims. “The only first I care about, the only first that matters, is right there.” he gestures to you.

Oh yeah, no, you definitely did take his virginity. You did not expect this, much less that it would make you feel so… tender? Flattered? Warm and fuzzy maybe? You hold back a flustered laugh. Whatever warm thing it is, you’re sure feeling a lot of it. You stare at the ground, cheeks hot, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you process this in the back of your mind. The majority of your attention is still on Ricky. You’ve been so worried, but he seems okay, which is a huge relief. He catches your eye, and your stomach twists. He’s looking at you like that again, and you’re sure you must be looking at him the same way. Anyone could see it. You snap back to attention, remembering Nina is still in the room with you.

“We should get going-” you start quietly, reaching for your bag.

“Stay out of this!” she snaps, and you recoil at the sudden sharpness to her voice. “This is between Ricky and me.” She turns to him, continuing, “And we are not done talking about this.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” He says quickly, more defensive of you after what happened earlier. He walks over to you, standing in between you and her. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say it in front of her.” Even though his voice wavers with emotion for a moment, Nina can tell he’s not backing down on this. She weighs her options.

“Okay.” she starts, sucking her teeth. “I think she’s manipulating you.”

He lets out a breathy laugh with a bitter edge. He rolls his eyes, looking away for a second.

“That’s… hilarious, coming from you…” he mutters.

“What? She’s been lying to you this whole time! She’s been doing professional theatre for years, Ricky, she-”

“That’s what this is about?” He realizes. “Oh my god, I already knew that!” he yells. Relief floods him as it clicks that all the bullshit she’s been spewing is nothing he didn’t know about already. She really was just trying to get into his head. “She’s not manipulating me, Nini, she’s there for me! There’s a difference! She actually cares about me - unlike you, and Lynne, and everybody else.”

“That’s not fair-”

“She’s actually there for me, and she doesn’t just bail when shit gets hard. Not like you’d know anything about that.” he says the last part quieter, but she still hears it. She doesn’t have a comeback, she doesn’t have anything she can say to that.

“I don’t have to listen to this.” She grabs her bag, brushing past him. Before she leaves, he turns to her, finally saying something he never thought he’d be able to.

“I’m starting to think I wasn’t the problem in our relationship.”

She freezes, turning to him slowly, eyes glistening.

“What?”

“You heard me.” he states.

“You know what?” There’s nothing she can say, no comeback, no way to defend herself. She lets a single tear fall. “Screw you, Ricky.” She leaves quickly, huffing at what he said. He turns to you, still staring at where she left in disbelief. You exhale for what feels like the first time since this confrontation began, then immediately turn your attention back to Ricky. You’re grabbing your stuff as quickly as you can, desperate to finally get out of here, laughing nervously.

“I can’t believe this night keeps getting worse. Look, we can just go home, we don’t have to go to Denny’s or anything if you don’t want to, I just want to make sure you’re okay, because obviously a lot of-”

“I love you.”

It tears from his throat with more raw emotion than you’ve ever heard, stopping you in your tracks. Your eyes widen as his hands come up to hold your face. He wants to kiss you so badly, more than he’s wanted anything, and you can feel it. He keeps going.

“I love you so much, I wanted to say it before. I’ve wanted to say it since that first amazing night we spent together. Ever since you snuck me into your room, and we talked and watched old episodes of cartoons, and you took me in when I needed you, I have loved you. And then you got those little plastic rings when we were running late for rehearsal, because we stopped for coffee and peach scones, and- and we traded colors, I felt like my heart was going to explode.”

His thumbs caress your cheeks, and it makes you light headed.

“I wanted to say it when we were dancing at homecoming and you were so beautiful I thought I’d die, I wanted to say it every time we kissed, and every time you laugh so hard your nose scrunches up, I wanted to say it. You made me fall in love with theatre, and this beautiful place, and with you. You love everyone around you so selflessly,” his voice breaks, “please, let me love you. The way you deserve to be loved. Even if you don’t want to say it back-”

“I love you too.” You can’t help interrupting him, unable to ignore how true they are any longer. He’s stopped dead in his tracks. “I would have said something sooner, but the last thing I wanted was for you to feel pressured, so I… figured I’d follow your lead.” The room is quiet as he tries to get the air back in his lungs.

“You love me?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding, “I do.”

He takes one look at you, holding you intensely in his gaze, confirming that you really just said that. In one swift motion, he pulls you close to him, dipping you, and finally connects his lips to yours. He kisses you more passionately than anything he’s ever done. He kisses the air out of your lungs, kisses away the little space between you, desperately kissing everything he feels for you onto your lips. You lose yourself for a beautiful moment in that kiss. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, holding each other as close as you can get, with kissing as the only means of expressing the depths of your feelings, but it’s long enough that your lungs burn when you finally pull away. He barely moves his face away from yours as you attempt in sync to catch your breath.

“Say it again,” he murmurs against your lips.

“I love you,” you say, soft and sincere, that beautiful smile on your lips where his ache to be again. He reacts instantly to your words, picking you up, and kissing you again and again. You wrap your legs around his waist, giggling in surprise. He sets you on the table in front of the big dressing room mirror where Ashlyn’s character shoes still sit. The mental note to make sure she doesn’t forget them flies out of your mind as Ricky kisses you again and again, mouth open against yours. His lips are all over your face and your neck, turning you into a giggling mess as he holds you tight. He mutters sweet nothings against your skin that turn sensual very quick, but mostly he keeps telling you how much he loves you between kisses, mumbling the three words into your skin over and over.

“Ricky…” you trail off as he bites your neck playfully, causing you to let out a flustered noise. “We have to go upstairs…” you start to forget what you were saying as he runs his tongue over your skin. “Our parents are waiting!” you laugh, desperately holding onto the train of thought.

“Let them wait…” he murmurs, “You said we could kiss after the show, and… it’s after.” The flustered look on your face is too much for him, and he presses his lips to yours again, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You feel so good, your skin is so soft and you smell so sweet, and it’s all so much more now that he’s said it, now that you said it back to him. He squeezes your thigh and bites your lip and moans into your mouth, loving every noise you make, every tug of his hair and grab of his shirt. He’s so desperate for you and your touch, he would fuck you right here if he could. He considers it for a moment.

After eavesdropping too long for her own good, Nina feels a solitary tear roll down her cheek. Ricky’s words ring in her ears. He loves you. He didn’t just say it back, he initiated it. She didn’t stick around too long, just enough for it to hurt. She reaches into her bag, pulling out her songwriting book. She’s sure this will give her plenty to write about, she thinks bitterly. She could probably get a whole album out of it. ‘At least then the pain would be worth something…’ she muses, taking one last look over her shoulder before leaving the dressing rooms - and Ricky - out of her sight.

Eventually, you and Ricky manage to drag yourselves upstairs and greet people in the lobby. Mike finds him quickly, pulling him aside to check on him. He looks back over at you, accepting flowers from your mom and pulling her in for a hug.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay.” He doesn’t look away from you, and Mike doesn’t miss this. His son is a lot of wonderful things, but he sure wouldn’t describe him as subtle. Ricky watches you as a girl in a pink dress walks up nervously to you with who he presumes is her sister. He’s too far away to hear your conversation over the chatter from people milling about, but your face lights up after she speaks. You pull a hot pink sharpie out of your bag and sign her playbill before handing it back to her. The sight makes his chest squeeze. He didn’t know you were good with kids, but it makes total sense - you’re good with everybody.

Mike nudges him toward you.

“Go ahead,” he smiles, so Ricky does.

“Hey,” he starts, pausing when a woman walks up to him, a little girl hiding behind her leg, looking up at Ricky in admiration.

“Excuse me,” the woman says, getting his attention. “You were fantastic. She really loves High School Musical, and we wanted to know if you’d sign her playbill…”

The girl looks up at him nervously, and he smiles, letting out a flustered chuckle. He didn’t expect this, he doesn’t even have a pen - but luckily as always you’re right behind him, extending a sharpie his way.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “sure, of course!” He scribbles his name across the front before handing it back. “What was your favorite part?” he asks. She considers.

“We’re All in This Together.” she decides, singing out the song title.

“No way, that’s my favorite song too!” The way her face lights up is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. She jumps excitedly that someone as cool as Troy Bolton has the same favorite song as her before hiding behind her mom’s legs again. The mom thanks him again before picking up her daughter. Ricky turns to you, not even needing to say anything.

“I know,” you smile, “it’s the best, right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It is.” Your eyes light up that way they do when you remember something, and you reach into your bag. You pull out Ashlyn’s character shoes - thank god you remembered to bring them out with you - and gesture down the hall to where Ashlyn is talking to some of her friends that came to see the show.

“I’m gonna give these back to Ashlyn, and I’ll meet you and our parents by the doors in like, two seconds.” He agrees, and you part ways.

“Thank you!” Ashlyn gasps when you hand her the shoes. “I was looking everywhere for these.”

She pauses, remembering how tense things got between you and Nini earlier before she left.

“Was everything okay with…” she trails off, jogging your memory.

“Oh,” you start, a little unsure of how to answer. “Yeah. Everything’s fine now.” You look off to the side, and she follows your gaze to Ricky. He’s talking to his dad and seems to be doing a lot better now, and you seem to be doing better too.

As you make your way down the hall and across the lobby you’re stopped by a woman you don’t recognize, but she seems to know you, addressing you by name as she introduces herself.

“I’m Kalyani Patel, the dean of the Youth Actors Conservatory in Denver. I’ve been following your career for some time, and I have to say, I’m very impressed. You’re incredibly talented and have a lot of notable credits for someone as young as you are. We have one more available place available for the upcoming semester, and we would be thrilled for you to attend.”

“Thank you so much, Kalyani. I’ve heard a lot about Youth Actors Conservatory, and I’m so honored by your offer, but I’m not planning on switching schools at the moment.” You say as graciously as you can.

“Of course, I understand.” She smiles.

“Thank you again for the opportunity, and I hope we can work together in the future.” You smile back, saying goodbye, and making your way over to Ricky and your parents.

After returning to the dressing rooms to write sad song lyrics and watch herself cry in the mirror, when Nina finally finds her moms in the lobby, she has a piece of good news for once.

“The dean of YAC!” she exclaims.

“I thought they were full, sweetie.” Carol says. She and Dana had gotten a rejection letter addressed to Nini a few days ago, and were trying to find the right time to break the news.

“She said a spot opened up,” she beams, “which means I’m going to YAC!”

Her moms hug her, congratulating her on the good news, and that they’d discuss it in detail at home. Nina looks over to where you and Ricky are standing. He holds your hands in his while you talk quietly. You have no idea that soon she’ll be out of here, and you’ll never see her again. She was on the fence, but after what he said to you, she’s made up her mind. She’s leaving this town, and going somewhere that she’ll be appreciated, somewhere she’s wanted. If that happens to be a boarding school in Colorado, then so be it. ‘Take a good look’, she thinks, ‘because that’s the last you’ll ever see of Nini Salazar-Roberts.’

After more mingling, congratulations, flowers, and playbill signing, you turn to Ricky.

“You ready to go home?” you ask, walking toward your car. He stops, turning to look at you.

“You know what? No.” he lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t want to go home. I… want to go to Denny’s! I’m a theatre kid, and I just finished my first show, and it’s like, tradition to go to Denny’s, so I want to!” You smile at his sudden enthusiasm, laughter matching his.

“Yeah, okay,” you smile, “let’s go!”

You both walk over to your castmates, who are trying to figure out a carpool to get everyone there before it gets any later. You nudge Ricky.

“So, does anyone need a ride to Denny’s, or should we just meet you there?” he asks. For what feels like the millionth time, everyone erupts into cheers. You know all your friends were worried about him after what happened, and Seb instigates a group hug, that everyone quickly jumps on to. You think it’s important to end the night on a good note like this, spending time with your castmates, cramming into booths and singing obnoxiously in an empty restaurant. It’s sort of a rite of passage, and you’re glad that Ricky’s able to participate, especially after opening night of his first show.

You sleep over at his place that night. After everything Ricky’s been through, after he seems to finally be okay again, the last thing Mike wants to do is not let him spend time with someone he’s so close to - especially considering what a good influence Mike thinks you are on him. From what Ricky told him, you didn’t instigate any drama tonight, and spent every spare moment off stage trying to help Ricky through what was going on. It’s not the first time you’ve helped Ricky navigate the ups and downs of growing up in the time you’ve known him, so when Ricky asked if you could stay the night, he agreed. While you’re brushing your teeth, Mike pulls Ricky aside to talk.

“I spoke to Nini’s moms,” he starts, and Ricky braces himself. “They’re going to talk to her, and I said I’d talk to you to make sure these last shows go smoothly, alright? So, no more fights, no arguing, no more of this… reality tv stuff.”

“Believe me,” Ricky sighs, “I don’t want any more drama. Especially at the expense of the show.”

“I know,” Mike agrees. “So just… it’s only a few more shows. Try your best to…” he looks for the words.

“Politely avoid each other?” Ricky supplements.

“Exactly.” Mike nods. “Just politely avoid each other for a few more days, and all this will blow over.”

When he finally reenters his room, he hands you a t shirt to wear. He knows you probably brought pajamas, but he wants to tell you he loves you in as many ways as he can, like wearing his clothes. When you come back in and sit on his bed in his big shirt and your little shorts, he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” you ask tentatively.

“Not really,” he chuckles. “I feel like I’ve kind of talked it all to death by now.”

“You know what we haven’t talked about?” you ask, a look in your eye that immediately has his attention. “How Nina and EJ - but like, mostly Nina - ruined the finale of the show.”

“Yeah,” he starts, remembering how stunned he was. “What the fuck was that?”

You talk shit until you have nothing else to say about it, and soon you’re curled up under the covers together. You’re laughing and talking, and things almost feel normal again. It’s like every bad thing never happened tonight. He doesn’t know how you do it, how you make things feel so okay again, but he holds you tight, clinging onto the feeling. He was going to say it earlier, but he was so distracted by you, by how beautiful you are.

“I love you.” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He feels you smile against his chest.

“I love you too, Ricky.”

You sound so content, so comfortable with him, and he feels like his heart is going to burst.

“I love you,” he says again, running his fingers along your waist.

“I love you too,” you giggle sleepily. Every time you think he’s asleep, he says it again, and again, and again. He can’t help himself, he loves the way you blush and giggle, loves how warm you are against him, loves the way you say it back to him. It’s quiet for a little while, but you feel his hands still tracing little shapes into your skin. You glance up at him to find him staring at you in that way that makes your stomach twist.

“Close your eyes,” you mutter, drowsy.

“But I love you.” he replies quietly, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I love looking at you. I love everything about you.”

“I love you too,” you answer groggily, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt better than he does when you say it like that. “But we have a full day of school in the morning, then homework, then another show to perform in, so we have to get at least a little sleep.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, eyes growing heavy as the day catches up to him. “As long as we have time for coffee and peach scones.”

“There is literally always time for coffee and peach scones.” he chuckles at how quickly you respond. You lean up, pressing a kiss to his nose, then snuggle back into his chest. It’s his favorite time of day again, he realizes, where he gets to sleep next to you, and kiss, and cuddle. Except this time, it’s better than it ever has been, because right before you fall asleep, he gets to say it.

“I love you.” he breathes, kissing your forehead.

“‘Love you too.” you mutter, barely awake. Your words reverberate and replay in his mind as he closes his eyes, finally drifting off. He doesn’t know how the next shows are going to go, he doesn't know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about what will happen when the sun rises, he’s just excited for it to happen with you. He sleeps better than he has in a long time.

#hsmtmts ricky #ricky bowen #ricky bowen x reader #hsmtmts #hsmtmts x reader #rocks at your window #I was watching the first episode and there were all the flashes and jumpscares of basment guy (idk his name) but I was like #'oh that guy? that's babyman. he's my neighbor :)'#I love that violet is both pro smoking and pro litter btw #bold stance

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