#meanwhile just mentally picturing it now makes me feel nauseated

[colorisbyshe]

i was a freakish child because i loved to watch all of the vet shows on animal planet here they did like… open cavity surgeries on animals like i thought it was so cool

but at the same time i had to (and currently have to) look away when getting my blood taken cause i would almost faint if i saw a needle like that

wanna go back in time and psychoanalyze myself a bit cause girlie what…

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.2K~

Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Greg apparently had a LOT on his mind, because this was supposed to be short and instead it’s over 2000 words, ahah. Final chapter!

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

Chapter warning: Allusions to past non-canon character suicide.

____

Chapter 6: Greg

Hours pass.

Bismuth makes quick and quiet work of replacing the cracked slider door in Steven’s room while he sleeps, and secures a thick tarp over the open front of the house to keep the coastal breeze somewhat at bay until she can finish her repairs to the windows and siding. She warns that might take a day or two. Garnet, meanwhile, busies herself the rest of the afternoon and evening fielding all of the Diamonds’ frazzled calls, and reassuring them of the boy’s current stability. Pooling their knowledge, Dr. Maheswaran and Peridot make sure to confirm that. Beyond some minor scarring, neither his organic or Gem half seems to exhibit any serious physical health conditions in consequence of what happened today, news which works to ever so slightly lift the air of the household. With no other concrete tasks to complete, Pearl, Amethyst, Lapis, Connie, and Greg all rotate between sweeping debris off the floor, wandering the beach to mentally recuperate, and dutifully sitting at Steven’s side as he rests. It may not sound like a lot, but alas the level of emotional labor demanded by such a situation is immense.

All in all, the sun’s long since dipped below the horizon by the time Greg finally collapses onto the mattress laid out in the back of his van, craving if but a moment of privacy and respite from all the chaos. It’s been... an insufferably long day, to put it lightly. Busy. Tons of cleaning, and intercepting nosy neighbors, and bedside monitoring...

He offered to take the first night shift watching Steven a few minutes ago, but Pearl must’ve noticed the dark circles creeping ever wider under his eyes, because she proceeded to gently overturn his offer and remind him of humanity’s daily sleep requirement. And she’s right, of course. He can’t stay up as long as he used to in his twenties anymore. Plus, he probably deserves some time to himself after everything that’s transpired. There’s plenty of Gems left in the house who can keep watch, after all. Steven will be fine for a few hours. Surely nothing else can happen when he’s asleep, right?

 Right??

Exhaustedly slumping against the side wall, Greg offers a glassy, vacant stare at the contacts list of his phone, roughly wiping the damp from his cheeks with his other hand as his thumb hovers over one of the numbers. Does he dare drag someone else into this whole situation? Surely the kinder solution would be to refrain from widening the circle any more, from letting anyone else learn about today’s harrowing events. And yet if he fails to find a proper outlet for the raw emotions all of this has violently hauled to the surface, he fears he just may suffer a mental break himself, repressed memories bursting like a vicious flood through the dam he desperately tried to seal them behind all those years back. Much of this is just... far too familiar.

His phone slips right through his trembling hands as the cruel reality of what he witnessed today finally begins to carve its indelible presence in his mind. A strained sob leaking from between his tightly pursed lips, he buries his head between his knees, clutching at the worn bottom hem of his jean shorts like an infant to a parent’s finger. Small. Vulnerable.

Helpless.

His son... oh stars, his only son, he—

He can’t talk about any of this to the Gems; they wouldn’t wholly grasp the uniquely human nature of his concerns. And he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing these matters with Dr. Maheswaran, especially not after the stern words she dealt to him back at the hospital. He’s burdened her enough already, by this point. No, there’s only one fellow human he feels close enough with to engage in this sort of conversation.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he reaches for the phone he dropped on the mattress. Turns it on. Nervously clamps down on his bottom lip as he selects his cousin’s contact and dials.

The passing heartbeats slamming against his ribs are almost nauseating in their needy clamor as he waits, his calloused fingers tapping against the thick rubber of his phone case. Andy’s never been a particularly tech savvy guy, so honestly, it’s well within reason he might not even carry his phone on his person to answer. And that’d be fine, really. In fact, he might even prefer it, since he’s still not confident he’s emotionally prepared to discuss any of this at this precise moment, anyways. But just as he’s beginning to undergo mental preparations for what on Earth he might leave as a voicemail message, his older family member finally picks up.

“Greg?” Andy’s gravelly voice rings through, sounding somewhat tinny through their connection. “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s the ol’ Universe family unit doin’?”

“Not great, honestly,” he narrowly manages in response, his throat constricting tight. “That’s kinda why I’m calling, if you have the time to listen?”

“Heh. I’m a drifter, you know I ain’t got no schedule. Carry on.”

“Well... geeze, how do I put this. There was, uh... a bit of an incident today. With Steven.”

“An incident?” his cousin questions, marked worry immediately painting his tone. “The kid okay??”

He falls silent for a few seconds upon this question, threading his hyperactive digits through the split ends in his hair on automatic, a stress-induced habit. “Unclear,” he says, a slight quiver making itself intimately known in his words. “I mean, physically, at the moment, yes, but—“

He cuts off once more. It suddenly occurs to him that little of today’s events would make sense to Andy without providing the appropriate context. Or, at least, what little context he’s capable of giving as a father. It’s still terrifying to admit the truth to himself— that he doesn’t possess the full story. That he hasn’t been paying close enough attention. That, in many ways, he willfully blinded himself to all the troubling events transpiring around his son throughout the years, foolishly believing that if he didn’t involve himself... that if he simply stayed out of the Gems’ hair... everything would go to plan, and Steven would finally receive the training he needed. He didn’t expect things would grow so complicated.

He didn’t expect that his teenage son would have to march into battle carrying nothing but his wits and a shield time and time again.

With a weary sigh and a quick apology, to which Andy brushes off, Greg begins to weave a verbal picture of everything that’s transpired across the last few days. First, the hospital call. Rushing home from tour, only to find his son giant and flushed pink, literally filling an entire room with the sheer volume of his trauma. The shattered x-ray in his chart, hinting towards hidden hurts that— before all this— even Steven seemingly hadn’t processed or quantified. Then, the road trip. The unwanted reminders of his childhood. That blasted CD. His expression sobers as he describes the fateful argument they had on the road home, one which lead to his son accidentally breaking the steering wheel and flipping the van. Next... his disappearance. No texts for four whole days, which is so unlike him. He was worried sick. And the next time he saw him, he was eight feet tall, glowing, and painfully manic in behavior, with each new sentence spilling from his mouth revealing an even more heartbreaking picture of the sort of poor mental state he’d spiraled into. It was nothing short of a father’s worst nightmare, propelled into horrifying, vivid reality.

Nothing in this corner of the galaxy could’ve prepared him for the primal surge of terror and anguish he was engulfed within when that nightmare distorted and transformed even further.  

His only son... colossal and coated in thick scales and spines, sclera black as night... roughly clawing at this unfamiliar form, smashing his skull against the cliffside, roaring with an inner pain so primal that the sound now haunts the depths of his very soul—

“I- you remember what happened with cousin Jo, back when we were young?” Greg says softly once he’s caught Andy up with the details of situation, his voice frail and unsteady, the tone of a man helplessly marooned amidst his anxieties. “Before she was sent to that mental rehab place? Well, I’m... with the addition of Gem magic, it almost felt like that. I mean, h-he’s fine for now, we have him resting, but... but I’m just so scared he won’t come out of this, like her, a-a-and that one day he’ll—“

A mewling sob bubbles up in his throat, swiftly severing that train of thought. N-no. No, he refuses to even utter that horrible idea out loud! After all, a world without Steven in it isn’t worth envisioning.

Andy’s eventual response— albeit tinged with a justified shade of awkwardness, given the emotionally charged nature of this conversation— is filled with genuine compassion, and for that he’s dearly thankful.

“Aw, hell... Greg, I’m- I’m so sorry. I, uh- I could fly over, if any of ya’ need me? For emotional support, or whatever?”

Upon this kind offer, he inhales deep to steady his breath, and wipes away dewy beads of moisture from the corner of his eyes, desperately hoping that he can mitigate the pitiful wavering of his voice over the phone. He’s gotta fight to reliably keep some form of composure in front of other people, damnit. His kid can’t have his dad breaking down around him too, of course.

“No, you’ve got places to be,” he replies evenly, pressing his thumb and pointer against one of his aching temples. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You ain’t asking,” he retorts, the eye-roll evident in his tone. “I’m offering. Listen- family takes care of family, y’hear? And I’m only about a day’s flight away, anyways. It’s really the least I could do.”

He sighs. Absentmindedly tugs at a thick strand of his hair. Offers a long, contemplative stare at the rickety age-worn handle affixed to the inside of the van’s back doors. Truth be told— ignoring his deep-seated guilt at dragging Andy into all this to begin with— he’d love having another family member around to embrace, especially a human one who can more deeply understand the crux of his anxieties about this delicate situation. But in the end, he shouldn’t be prioritizing his own feelings and comfort. He’s not the one in crisis, his son is.

Desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, Greg flexes his fingers, and acquiesces to the offer, on one condition: only if Steven consents to having visitors, once he’s awake.

Andy hums in approval. “Understood. Don’t wanna overload the poor guy with any surprise visits, or whatever.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want to do is push him too hard, too fast.”

He pauses, braving waves of parental grief to spend a moment to reflect on Steven’s emotional progression over the past few months... a stray negative comment here, an unusually forlorn mannerism there... All of them events that, in isolation, wouldn’t point to anything more than your standard ‘teenage angst,’ but when observed in strong, unceasing patterns, begin to reveal deeply harrowing truths about the state of an individual’s self-image. How did he never notice? Why wasn’t he there to catch him in his fall?

“I think he hates himself,” he says quietly, his voice hitching up at the end. “He didn’t say so directly, but- but I can sense it. And I don’t know how to help him, I-I... I don’t know if I can.”

“Nonsense,” his cousin scoffs, “‘course ya’ know what to do! What does any good father worth their salt give their sons?”

Unable to evade the momentary temptation of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, he slumps back against the wall, giving a weak shrug that his current audience would never see.

“I dunno, maybe a stable, safe childhood? Not growing up poor as dirt in a van?”

“No, you numbskull,” Andy immediately cuts back, “you love on ‘em and support ‘em just as much as you always have! Y’ show him that you’re always gonna be there for him, and that he can trust you with anything.”

“But I haven’t always been there for him,” he exclaims petulantly. “That’s the whole problem! That’s one of the reasons he ended up like this.”

“Greg,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Listen to me, ain’t nobody perfect, okay? We’ve all made our mistakes with people. Me? More than most. But what we can’t do is let those mistakes cloud what’s happening right now. Y’know, that’s one of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn over the past two years, that you can’t always make things about you. Because right now, it’s about him. He’s dealin’ with some hard feelings, and he needs all of our help. So, let’s help him. Together. We’ll start with one foot in front of us, and we can take it from there. All right?”

Closing his weary, exhausted eyes and pressing his thumb firm against his still-aching temple, Greg Universe gives a long sigh and finally concedes to the reality that— just as he’s not solely responsible for the decline of his son’s mental state— no man should be an island when it comes to the task of supporting one’s journey towards recovery. As with everything, the extended Universe family unit will face the future together, hand-in-hand. Step-by-step.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think that’s do-able.”

[lilallama]

Since I loved the one you did for me. Can I request a continuation to it? Like the reader brings him home bmand everything is great but after a few months neighborhood pets are coming up missing and the reader finds out or something?

Early Sunrise

Word Count; 2.1k

!!TW!! This Series contains themes of gore, obsessive behaviour, violence, murder and societal injustice

》 Prologue; Düstern 《

》 First; Frühdämmer 《

"Another one?" Y/n looked at the Missing Poster which hung up on the tree outside their neighbour's house (the picture displayed a small well groomed cat with grey fur. 》 Prince Winters - british shorthair - two and a half years old - Was last seen in the owners backyard - please call this number if you have any information: X X X X - X X X X X X 《). The [gender] sighed in pity before turning to walk to their door. As they opened it they happily expected their small Guinea Pig Hybrid, Hoseok, to run into their arms. But that didn't happen. His fluffy locks were nowhere in sight. Worried that something might have happened Y/n searched the mansion. He wasn't in their room (he insisted on staying with them because he was too scared to sleep alone at night), he wasn't in any of the four bathrooms, not in the kitchen, not in the front hall, not in their living room. They were starting to panic, their poor, sweet baby was gone. But then they heard someone giggle outside in the garden. With rushed steps they ventured into the garden and let out a relieved sigh, only for that sigh to turn into a half chocked gasp as Hoseok turned around.

"Hoseok.., what is that!?" On the floor infront of the Hybrid layed something mangled and bloody. It's body was distorted, limbs torn off, milky eyes bulging out if it's sockets with it's head twisted in an unnerving angle. The sight was horrific, grotesque and truly nauseating. "Oh," Hoseok said in with his innocent smile which was surrounded by dried up blood, "remember Mrs. Winters' cat? I played with it." Despite the sweet smile his eyes held something menacing, something sick and twisted that Y/n was terrified of. They looked big and empty, like emotionless voids staring right through them. If they could have the choice to claim this a disturbing nightmare, they would. But they knew, they would have to face this. Y/n's previous scared expression turned into one of determination, "Hoseok, whipe that off your face and get in the car, right now."

The drive was tortuously silent, the only sound coming from the radio ("And now we present to you our 90's Pop Songs marathon. Starting of with the 90's Queen, Britney Spears with 'Baby one more time' "). Hoseok hadn't dare move throughout the whole time spend in the car. His only action; trying to make himself as small as possible to escape the mind numbing tension that filled the car. What if Y/n would send him back to the shelter? That thought had always kept him up at night. They were the only one he had, they couldn't just abandon him, right? > But what if they did < whispered the voice in the back of his mind, > What if you'll never see them again? You can't let that happen. < he started shaking violently > Just take the wheel and drive off the road. Kill them, then they'll never leave you. <. The voice got louder as he cowered in the back seat, eyes pressed shut and mouth chanting "No no no no no no no-". But Y/n didn't pay the quivering Hybrid any mind, all they could think of was, that their Hybrid needs help, immediately. Clearly the mistreatment he was put through with his past owners (what mistreatment?) took a toll on his sanity. The poor sunshine needs help. So they hurried towards the next Hybrid Psychiatrist hoping it'll magically rid Hoseok of his tendencies.

"Violent tendencies?" The pair sat infront of the Psychiatrist, Mr. Bluestone, a kind hispanic man in his mid 50's. "Could you elaborate what exactly that would mean? Does he get into fights often or perhaps bites?" They bashfully scratch their neck while looking over at Hoseok. "Not really. He is more... more..," they leaned forward and whispered, "gory." Bluestone looked intrigued by that as he shuffled in his seat slightly. "How so? What does that mean, L/n?" The Hybrid nervously watched the conversation going on, his eyes darkened as his owner leaned closer. His nose twitched and he started looking around the room to try and distract himself from the dread he felt. (The white door had 》 044 《 standing on it in golden, shimmering letters, the floor was polished and held a warm grey as it's colour. The walls were mostly white with a small peachy orange stripe spreading across all four walls. The plants were clearly fake and left him feeling hungry as he hadn't eaten today. He considered asking Y/n for one of his treats but he figured that wouldn't be a good idea.) When that didn't work he resorted to imagining doing everything the poor cat had suffered through with the Psychiatrist. "He- he-," they gave him a quick side glance before lowering their voice again, "he tore our neighbour's cat apart." With a look of surprise and horror Bluestone stared over to the Guinea Pig Hybrid (which usually are very peaceful and cheerful creatures) only to avert his gaze once his eyes locked with Hoseoks. He cleared his throat and shuffled through the stack of papers on the desk before him. "I'm sorry, but I do not think I'm experienced in such... special situations." Y/n stood up, making the elderly man flinch slightly, and looked at him with teary eyes. "Please, please, I beg you!" The man stayed silent for a moment before sighing. His smile was reassuring as he patted their shoulder. "You never learn to fly if you don't try, I'll see what I can do."

The next day Y/n sat in Mr. Bluestone's office and discussed Hoseok. "The thing that makes this difficult, is that Hybrids have not been studied enough for me to be able to diagnose him with any Guinea Pig Hybrid specific mental illness." He looked through some files that layed on his desk, scratching some things abd writing notes. Meanwhile Y/n asked, "But how come we don't diagnose them with human mental illnesses?" After a few seconds Bluestone looked up, now focusing his attention on the [gender]. "You see, Hybrid brains are, while not completely but still considerably, different from ours." That gained a sceptical look from Y/n. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not calling them inferior. If anything, they are way more physically advanced than mere humans are." The Psychiatrists eyes started sparkling with passion as he explained the abilities of different Hybrid breeds. "Cheetah Hybrid are able to run 3.6 times faster than an average grown human! Cat Hybrids have the ability of night vision and way more advanced senses than we do. And between Seahorse Hybrids it's the male who bears the children, not the female!" The excitement the man holds for Hybrids was very blatant as he continued rambling before Y/n asked while laughing, "You really like Hybrids, don't you?" "I find them fascinating, my husband thinks so too. It's sad to see so many people disrespect such fascinating creatures." The discussion went on for a while before they finally looked at the clock. It was time to go for Y/n which caused them great concern as their problem was still not close to being solved. Nonetheless they wished each other farewell before returning to their mundane tasks.

As Y/n sat on the soft, expensive couch in their livingroom Hoseok shyly approached them. "Y/n, are you mad at me?" They wanted to scold him, to put him in his place, teach him that such behaviour was not acceptable. But when they looked into his guilt filled eyes they just couldn't stay mad at their little ball of sunshine. "No," they rubbed their temple, "I'm not, Hobi. Come on." And they petted on their lap with a forced, slightly saddened smile. Hoseok immediately lit up and jumped onto their fraim, cuddling into them while letting out that weird purr when they started petting his brown-white locks. As they laid there many thoughts ran through Y/n's mind. How did they not notice that their own Hybrid was the one who caused those pets disappearances? Thinking back, it was so obvious. Those red stains on his clothing that they mistook for sauce or marmalade stains, the strong metallic smell that Hoseok sometimes had, it was right infront of their eyes. Yet they didn't notice, they didn't think to question that the cases of pets going missing had started a bit after their Hybrid moved in. The warning that caretaker gave them at the shelter, should they've listened to it? What would've happened if they didn't taken him, left him there without anyone by his side? Quickly they shook off such thoughts and looked down at Hoseok on their chest. He looked so innocent and fragile, as if he could snap at any moment, it made them want to protect him. The Guinea Pig Hybrid had already won over a giant portion of their heart, leaving him was out of question. But they will have to wait until Bluestone has found something that they should discuss. Y/n imagined that they would try and 'train' Hoseok, that they would talk him through his trauma and teach him the right way. But Bluestone wanted to know what he's doing before he would try and teach the Guinea Pig Hybrid anything. The risk that he could make it worse or cause a different trauma was too high for him to discard. So they agreed to first try and find something similar to Hoseoks condition first. Their thoughts were interrupted as they ley out a yawn. It was starting to get late, so they decided to go to bed now. The only problem was that Hoseok had already fallen asleep on top of them and they didn't want to wake him up. So they decided, one night sleeping on the sofa wouldn't hurt, how wrong they were.

When they woke up in the morning both their back and neck hurt as if someone slammed a hardwood chair against them. Hoseok had shifted over night so that they could get up without disturbing his sleep. Under grave pain they stood up, looked back at their little Hybrid and admired him for a second. Despite everything, he still was a very handsome young man. Undoubtedly if he wasn't their Hybrid they would be more than willing to date him. (Although he's a Guinea Pig Hybrid his body was quite athletic, he wasn't of abnormally muscular structure but did have abs and surprisingly strong legs. His hair always managed to look soft and shiny with little to no effort, his tan skin was completely clean, not a single blemish in sight. His eyes were a beautiful almond shape adorned with dark chocolate irises that always managed to wrap them around his fingers. With an oval shaped face and very pronounced jawline he surely was a sight to behold. But the greatest part was the tiny smile that he held even during his sleep.) Eventually Y/n stretched and walked over to their laptop. They received a new E-mail from Bluestone.

》 Dear L/n,

I am sorry to inform you that I did not find anything that could relate to your Hybrid's issue. But I have decided that, if you are willing to, still try and help your Hybrid. While I do not think this is the best way to approach it, I will try and help you and your Hybrid through therapy. I will send another E-mail should you agree to my offer.

Please remember to not accept you don't consider this helpful or do not want to waste your time with something that may or may not work. Send me an answer and I will send you the room, time and what I was planning on trying out. You can always back out, this is not any form of contract.

Sincerely,

Doctor Valentino Pérez Bluestone. 《

Suddenly the back- and neck pains weren't too much of a bother. While he couldn't find anything specific that he could sort Hoseok to, he would still help them. They quickly write an E-mail back.

》 Dear Doctor Bluestone,

thank you so much for helping us. I would not have known what to do without your help. I would very much like to accept your offer, sir.

I will await your E-mail. Until then,

Sincerely,

Y/n L/n. 《

After leaning back and turning to check up on Hoseok (at which point they remembered their back- and neck pains, causing them to stiffen from the stabbing pain running through them.) they carefully turned back to their laptop and decided it was time to finish their work.

If you enjoyed reading my work, please consider reblogging it. Thank you for reading

[letsperaltiago]

We’ll sweep out the ashes in the morning |CHAPTER 4|

Sorry for taking so long to update, but life has been hella stressful and busy lately! I will try to get the next chapter out faster. Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think: comments and kudos are always oh so very appreciated

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With every single pulsing heartbeat and ticking of the clock, the world kept spinning and time went by without further intertwining of two specific, lost souls. The cold, nail-biting winter slowly and tortuously transitioned into spring. Somewhere in Brooklyn Amy’s eyes unconsciously flickered to the calendar hanging on her kitchen wall, which would tell her that the day was indeed May 14th, involuntarily bringing her to think of the fact that Jake and Sophia were throwing their much anticipated Spring-wedding (not her words) soon… More precisely this weekend… Even more specifically May 16th — or so Rosa, who happened to be invited, had told her over drinks a few weeks ago. Just like her friendship with Jake had faded after her job transfer, Amy and Rosa rarely saw each other these days, but once in a while they'd make sure to catch up over drinks and the occasional comfortable silence (compromise). The memory of Rosa breaking the news to her over drinks still stood out vividly, even weeks down the road.

“You coming to Peralta’s wedding? Do you guys even talk anymore?” Rosa had thrown into space, catching Amy off guard by initiating the end of what had happened to be a renowned comfortable silence, which for the past minutes had managed to only get slightly interrupted by the discreet sound of Amy sipping on her beer bringing her about to put it down with a thud against the wooden bar.

No, she wasn’t invited - no wonder why - but also couldn’t help but be overpowered by guilty curiosity. Ever since that malefic evening they’d spent together, Amy had obsessively wondered whether or not Jake had told Sophia about it - or anyone, for that matter. it was a fact that Rosa was one of Jake’s closest friend thus, although Rosa was a very private person, Jake could’ve opened up and told his friend about the evening he spent with their third, common friend. Alas, she hated admitting to it and probably never would out loud, there was a tiny part of her that hoped that maybe some day a text or a phone call would confess to her that they should be together; that said malefic evening wasn’t a slip-up but on the contrary an epiphany. Well, perhaps an ‘epiphany’ wasn’t the right choice of word since their act was a rather immoral act of selfishness on both their parts. Perhaps ‘revelation’ had a less religious undertone and was therefore probably more appropriate for this particular sticky situation. “Oh- uhm… When is it? And, I mean, we talked a few weeks ago, but that’s… about it,” she trailed off before looking down into her bear in attempt to try and hide the fact that the latter was a lie.

“I don’t know,” Rosa shrugged nonchalantly. “May 16th or something. I threw out the invite as soon as I saw the terribly cheesy engagement picture of the two of them that they’ve used for it.”

Though it didn’t really surprise Amy that her friend reacted the way she did, it was undoubtedly Rosa Diaz that she was talking to, a frown and crinkling of the nose only seemed appropriate. “Was it that bad? And what are you going to do then? Just show up on a random date?”

“Sure,” an iconic shrug of the shoulders from her friend let the curious woman know that she didn’t care much and was going to do like she always did - and probably nail it with her cool attitude anyways. Rosa took another sip as a natural break from talking before picking back up the conversation. “I know I can’t run from the fact that I actually-” she took a pause as to brace herself for what she was going to say before continuing with a look of discomfort, “…care about Jake. Like, he’s my friend…”

A small smile crept onto Amy’s face. Every tiny glimpse into Rosa’s secret soft side felt like a huge moment to celebrate. Yet Amy knew better than to point out said glimpse; this would only provoke her already calloused friend to share even fewer details and secret sensitivities. Instead Amy bit her lip and let her friend continue with wherever the, surprisingly, personal conversation was going.

“… But honestly I don’t care much for Sophie. Never really liked her… Or maybe I just don’t like her for Jake. I can’t really tell.”

“Sophia?” Amy corrected meanwhile Rosa tried to recover from the emotion in what she’d just said by downing the remaining of her drink and smoothly ordering a replacement.

“Whatever, sure. Anyways I’m only going for Jake’s sake.”

“That’s…” Frist Amy tried to grasp, secondly put together, the somewhat ground breaking information she’d just been given. Meanwhile her friend had unsuspected knowledge of all the speculating and whirlwind of emotion she’d just opened the way for. The third stage of dealing with these informations consisted of figuring out whether or not what she felt was actually… bad? Evil? Was she a horrible person for feeling just a tiny bit less worse about what happened between her and Jake solely based on the fact that one of Jake’s closest friend (and therefor a legitimate source!) didn’t like Sophia?

“That’s…Too bad. But at least you’re going. I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you there,” Amy finished her sentence, just barely making up for her sudden, suspiciously uncharacteristic reticence by raising her almost empty beer suggestively.

“To Jake?”

Having definitely picked up on some way too obsessively curious indications and not Amy-like behaviour, Rosa shot her friend an uncertain glare before deciding on not diving into whatever was haunting her friend. Today had already contained too many emotions for her liking.

“To Jake,” Rosa raised her refill.

The conversation about Jake and Sophia had come to its end at that moment but Amy’s worries, hopes and speculations sure hadn’t. They had since then haunted her day-to-day life making it impossible to go on as if she didn’t feel the ghost of Jake Peralta’s lips haunting her skin, in the form of burning spots on her neck, every time she passed Shaw’s or made her way through the 99th precincts’ neighbourhood. Impossible had never been a word in Amy Santiago’s dictionary; yet here she was with the troubled feeling of losing control of herself, defeated over and over again by the image of his hungry, alcohol-infused eyes ransacking her lips and chest for the first time. A tiny part of her wanted to believe Jake Peralta was a horrible person. A horrible person because he cheated on his fiancée with some old colleague he hadn’t seen for years who just so happened to be there at the right time and place; some old colleague who happened to be there when he was drunk, causing him to feel scandalously unrestrained. Yet there was no denying the fact that branding him as a horrible person would be unbelievable wrong and hypocritical. Amy herself wasn’t much better at all. She was said old colleague; she had kissed Jake Peralta without denying him it when he complied. If Jake was a horrible person then so was she and maybe that was something she wasn’t quite ready to admit to yet - or ever.

The daylight of an otherwise ordinary May-day gradually dissolved into familiar darkness reminding Amy of kisses in drizzling, frozen rain and dark Brooklyn-alleys. Similar to how a pressuring countdown could drive the most sane person insane, her own equivalent of a ticking bomb was counting down to detonate on May 16th. A partnership of letter and numbers on the white, clean pages of the calendar which hung above her organised nightstand burned in the pitch black of her bedroom. Beneath it, on the nightstand itself, a digital display of numbers glowing in the dark let her know what time it was; for how long she hadn’t been able to sleep and instead had spent tossing and turning like a woman possessed by the devil.

2 : 54 AM.

“Damnit,” her body’s180 flip to rest on her opposite shoulder, facing away from the clock and calendar in protest, was alas in vain. The date and number still burned in her mind as if she’d never turned over at all. Buzzing through every working vein, fiber and cell in her restless body was the anxious feeling of losing and it was making it impossible for her to sleep let alone unwind from the her constantly, both mentally and physically, jittery state.It hadn’t always been like this. The first few days after their adventurous evening had definitely left her in jitters and a constant state of confusion as well, though it was nothing compared to the horrid nauseating feeling of time running out. To make it even worse it had only started growing faster and stronger, totally destroying its previously somewhat balanced curve, as soon as her calendar had displayed the month of May.

There was nothing more frustrating than the feeling of losing something wasn’t even hers to lose. From the depth of the dark night her phone then chimed loudly, immediately interrupting the chaos inside her head with wonders about who would be calling during this horrifically time of night. She flipped back to her other side in order to grab the phone on her nightstand; no sane person would call her in the middle of the night if it wasn’t an emergency, right? So she told herself as she blindly reached out for the screaming device.

“Hello?” She mumbled tiredly, repressing a yawn in the back of her hand.

“Amy?” Resonated from the other end of the line.

And somehow the sound of her name had the ability to freeze her in her spot in the darkness of her bedroom, more helpless than she liked feeling. And it was all because of a phone call that she’d anticipated for so long yet now wanted to run from so bad she could feel adrenaline pump furiously through her entire system.

“Ames?” A stroke of pulsing energy rushed down her spine upon hearing the distant yet so familiar nickname moulded by the sound of his annoyingly perfect voice. Was it because it sounded good or simply because it belonged to him, she wondered.

“ Are you there?” Jake tried once more to catch her attention, unbeknownst of the fact that he already had it but that she simply couldn’t seem to push the words she tried to form across the edge of her lips. By accident, her eyes panned across the digital clock on her nightstand just as the last number increased to 2 : 55 and subconsciously prompted her to utter the bare minimal.

“Y-yes,” she’d left her lying position to instead sit up in the queen sized bed, using her free arm to hold her knees to her chest as to have something, just the bare minimal, to keep it occupied and away from gripping her already messy hair.

“It’s me… Jake.”

Of course it was. There was no point in trying to deny the fact that Amy had recognised his voice right away. Even in a crowd of a million people she’d be able to pick up on it. Yet, as if him actually coming forward with an introduction, committing to the crime of calling her in the middle of the night before his wedding, her heart suddenly ceased to beat for him. There was no telling whether it was caused by the fact that being called as such an ungodly time of the night was just unpleasant in genereal, or if it was because of the unjust, perplex comfort his voice brought her, when the hard truth was that she could never have him. Yet one thing was definite: something within Amy clicked, catalysing an entire range of unpleasant emotions.

“You’re not supposed to call me,” she expressed cooly, completely ignoring the previous feeling of yearning for his attention and outreach.

On the other end of the line a hitch in Jake’s breathing declared inquietude on his part, obviously feeling thrown off by his ex-partner’s hostility.

“I-“ another hitch. “I know-“

“No,” she cut him off; all mercy had been thrown out the window moments ago. “You don’t know, Jake. If you did know you wouldn’t be calling me right now.”

“Why are you attacking me like this? You make it sound like all of this is only my fault?” His voice climbed to a scolding tone, which was new to Amy who’d only ever known Jake as the incredibly goofy, immature yet only good-hearted person. Even after the course of multiple years of partnership, he’d never been anywhere near raising his voice at her. “I’m the one with a fiancée; I’m the one who’s bound to hurt the person I’m supposed to promise to love forever.”

“What do you want me to say?” The tone of her voice followed his progressively aggressive lead feeling provoked by where the conversation seemed to be heading. “That it’s my fault that you ended up cheating on your future wife?”

“Wha- No! That’s not what I’m saying, Amy!” How come it had to sting every time he said her name out loud, she couldn’t help but wonder in the midst of these crumbling grounds. “I just want you to hear me out and not dismiss me like I’m the bad guy here.”

“Why?” she spat on the verge of tears stemming from the frustration of concealing her true feelings which’d shattered all across the floor the second she tasted his lips that wet, cold night. Amy would never back down; she would never let him, or anyone else for that matter, tell her that this was her fault alone. Although just the implicit accusation was enough to exasperate her.

“Because,” he paused letting a pregnant silence take over for just a brief moment, enough for him to collect his thoughts and fall back down to a composed tone. “I can’t stand the thought of you hating me. You’re somehow too important to me and-  I’m all alone right now and suddenly all these thoughts came rushing in, questioning- ”

For just a second Amy considered giving into his suddenly apologetic tone; to give in to the infatuated butterflies in her belly which wanted nothing more than to feed off the sound of his voice confessing to feeling something too. Maybe not love but perhaps just something more than innocent friendship or unmanageable lust they’d expressed so far. Though contrary to what she wanted, without warning, Amy’s sense of control bursted at the seams.

“I- I can’t deal with this. It’s too messy and just… You don’t get to say that, Jake!” The tears that had now formed in her eyes, the ones that threatened to spill, started to show through her thick voice as she fought with everything within her. What did she fight for or against exactly? She wasn’t even sure anymore which only seemed to be amplifying.

“Amy, let me speak out, please,” he plead though his voice had gained back a certain touch of confidence, the firm tone she knew he possessed when needed.

“Why should I? Jake, you’re getting married in what is literally a matter of hours. You shouldn’t have anything to tell me. You shouldn’t be questioning anything on the night of before your wedding.” In strong contrast to her previous outburst, perhaps one that had woken up her neighbours, Amy’s voice now faded into a thick silence. For just a few yet long seconds, Jake was tricked into thinking she’d interrupted the call nonetheless he continued, praying to whatever stronger force hat she was still there, listening.

“That’s it! I shouldn’t be, I know, but I’m suddenly questioning everything!” All sense of confidence was sucked out of his body and replaced with trembling doubt that reflected in the way he spoke with a quivering pronouncing of every word that slipped off his lips in an anxious rush. “Am I where I’m supposed to be? Am I with who I’m supposed to be with? My entire life suddenly seems to be flashing before my eyes, making me rethink every defining moment I’ve ever encountered - even the ones I didn’t realise were that important back then, like… Should I’ve let someone like you slip away and out of my life? Am I a fool for marrying a women that to begin with didn’t believe in our relationship? Should I’ve followed my instincts and chased you instead? Where would we be now if I’d just-“

Fully ignited yet so very worn down. Nothing else seemed to describe her better at that very precise moment. After having lived in what could be defined as a constant state of emergency for the past three months, a state where she could only dream of hearing him say those words but never telling him simply because it would allow him to hurt her, she wanted to give in to what he was hinting at. Alas Amy Santiago didn’t have a life calendar for no reason; her life was and would always be well-considered and meticulously planned which meant that Jake Peralta was far from suiting.

“Amy, ever since that night together my life has been like… one big question and,” a shaky breath let her know that he’d been holding it. “I don’t know what the answer is anymore.”

She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes together in both frustration and fight against the tears. “This- This is too much… “ If only he knew what she actually wanted tell him. Something along the lines of how he should’ve followed his instinct back then. And although he hadn’t, she’d allow this very moment, even though it was morally wrong, to be their ‘now or never’ if he wanted it to be.

However Amy Santiago had never been the one to take such huge risks. The counterarguments seemed to be piling up in her mind; not only did she risk ruining herself but also someone else’s life. Alas a risk she couldn’t offer anyone.

“You shouldn’t be calling me.”

Though he wasn’t physically present to see it, the thought of Amy with a facial expression that matched the sound of her broken voice tore Jake’s heart into pieces. Her voice suddenly, after all the rage and fierceness, seemed wrecked, shaky and at the very edge of perishing.

“Ames…” He tried to soften up the tense moment as it seemed to slipping through his fingers.

“I hope,” she took a deep breath, a sob threatening to ruin her already collapsing facade. “I hope you have the most beautiful day of your life with Sophia. Don’t let anyone take that away from you - especially not me. We’re cool, Jake… I just can’t get further into this right now or… ever. But we’re cool, okay? Don’t worry about it. Goodbye.”

“Don’t say that-“

The line was cut off leaving him with nothing but the sound of a monotone beep.

In an suddenly very empty-feeling bed in Brooklyn, though he’d never actually lied there with her, sat a crumbling Amy who’d just barely managed to hang up before bursting into tears and disappointment. Across the water of the East River, somewhere in lower Manhattan, Jake sat speechless by the landline in some random hotel room, where he’d been situated as to follow the tradition of not seeing his future wife before they stood by the altar to promise each other a life of love and commitment. To his right, hanging on the outside of the wooden wardrobe, was a freshly washed and pressed tuxedo full of the said promises. The promises he suddenly doubted so strongly.