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theragingthespian · 4 years ago

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forgive me if i wander off (forgive me more if i just stay)

or the thobm i said i’d do

“Miss Clayton?”

Dani hums.

“Miss Clayton.” This time there’s a finger, firm and quick, prodding at her side. When she glances down, Flora’s looking irritated. Or at least, as irritated as Flora gets.

(Sometimes there’s irritation one second and-

Then the next it’s gone, replaced by an all too calm look. A look that seems beyond her years and it’s-

(Perfectly splendid.)

unnatural.)

“Yes?”

Flora’s shoulders drop, less pressing and urgent now that she’s got her attention. No, now she takes her time, draws it out. Dani looks around as Flora works it out. It’s bright and sunny out. The constant days of rain and general dreariness making way for clear skies and picnics. “What’s love like?”

“Um.” Dani returns her gaze as it was before, freezes at the sight, and twists so she’s facing Flora fully.

She hears a breath of quiet laughter, quick and contained, and she has to force herself not to look.

Don’t look. It’s as easy as that. Just. Don’t-

Crinkled green eyes meet hers and-

Flora huffs.

Dani smiles, hopes it’s as warm as she intends it because Flora is too young, too good to not know she’s so loved. “Well, you know what it feels like, silly. Owen loves you and Ms. Grose. I love you and- and your parents. I know they love you so-”

“I know that.” Flora bites her lips, quirks her mouth to the side. She’s so full of movement. Dani had missed it. The questions and perspectives of the world and light that children embody. “I mean love.”

Heat rushes up the back of her neck, has her biting her lip. She glances back to Jamie who’s guided a vine up and over the arbor but still somehow has the time to smile quickly at her, eyebrows raising. “Oh I-” Her voice breaks and she sucks in a quick breath. “Why do you ask?”

(There’s a part of her that’s worried Flora will question and question and see. That she’ll have to confront this and-

Oh. There’s a part of her that welcomes it. Aches to know how it would feel to begin to acknowledge it.)

“I just.” More quirking and now her fingers grab at her shirt and tug. “Does it ever seem like it’s- it’s not good? But it is to you?”

Dani thinks. Tries to think of every way this could be interpreted in Flora’s mind but quick enough that Flora doesn’t get bored and wander off before she’s finished because this- the way Flora asks, concerned and scared- this is important.

(She instantly thinks of Jamie and hears Poppins.

But it’s tempered by thinking of the way Hannah’s face falls when she talks about Rebecca. Talks about Peter.)

“I think when it’s good, everyone can see it. Even if they don’t want to say so, you can see it. You can-you can feel it. It-.” Dani looks up at the sun, at the way the plants are reaching out and up for it. Looks at Jamie and suddenly feels the urge to reach herself.

(Thinks it’s undeniable.)

“It-”

ii.

Jamie’s leg is warm against hers.

There’s a blanket over them, the fire crackling a few paces away from them, but still. Still, she can feel Jamie’s warmth. Jamie shifts and Dani finds more of the blanket pooling into her lap.

(It’s a game they’ve been playing since they’ve started the fire. Silently passing each other more than needed blanket.

She’s not sure if she wants to win, to lose, to find herself in a draw and looking into-)

Jamie huffs- a sound she makes constantly- drawing her out of her thoughts, as soon as she realizes the blanket is back to her. It’s nice. The only sounds between them the fire popping and the hushed laughs, whispers, breaths between them. The kids had gone to bed, tired after chasing her around the lawn. They had stopped when they neared the lake, Flora growing quiet and-

Haunted.

“Fancy shedding some of your mysterious history?” Jamie’s words are quiet, like most of her movements, but it carries in the cool night air. It takes her a moment to process and then she snorts, earning a laugh from Jamie in response.

“Mysterious?”

Jamie shrugs. “You don’t come to Bly for no reason.” Dani snorts again. Wrinkles her nose this time because she wished she hadn’t the first and now- well now, Jamie is looking at her with a fondness that can’t possibly be from that. Besides it’s a far nicer way to ask than she thinks Jamie is ought to do. Thinks she could ask why she continuously finds her teetering the edge of a breakdown. Thinks she could ask why Jamie can put her at ease.

“Then what’s your reason?”

Their shoulders brush as Jamie leans in close, close enough that Dani thinks she should lean away but- but it’s nice and warm and it’d be terrible to ruin it. She looks into hazel eyes- in this light, but she swears they were green earlier, bright amongst the foliage- and leans forward herself.

If Jamie is surprised, she doesn’t show it besides the barest flicker of her eyes looking between them.

“I asked first.”

“Okay.” She breathes in deep, drops her hands heavily on her knees. She had left to get away. To get away from-glasseslightsguilt- to avoid. To-

God, sometimes she wishes she could just exist without there being so much-

Just so much.

(She had so desperately wanted to avoid reflections, avoid mirrors, avoid anything remotely shiny that at a point-

Well, at a point, she stopped getting anything. Stopped doing.

Moved and left an apartment- a room, it was a room- bare.

And now, now she’s surrounded by Flora and Miles.

Surrounded by a too big house with too nice people and even sitting here, Jamie solid beside her, feels an awful lot like-

Growth.)

“I had a fiancé.”

Jamie’s jaw shifts as she slowly raises her cigarette, inhaling deep and slow. “Yeah. Course.” Her shoulders are tense, but then they loosen and fall. “Feel like there’s a bit more there.”

“There is.” But her chest is tight and the moment has changed, stiffer, rigid, and-

It feels like so much more.

“Hey, hey.” Jamie knocks her mug against hers, just hard enough to stir her but not enough to be in danger of losing her grasp, “You’re alright. We can just-” Jamie flaps her hand. “Relax. You ever done that?”

Dani laughs, but it’s wheezy and thin. It doesn’t settle Jamie if her look says anything. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.” Jamie’s face softens, and oh Dani didn’t know she- in all her lounging, quipping glory- could even look that soft. “Sometimes,” she grins, knows how ridiculous it will sounds, “sometimes it sounds like the house is whispering all night.”

(It breathes and shakes.

There’s footsteps all night, and anytime she goes to check, Flora and Miles are there.

Nightmares. Worries. Storms. Anything and everything, so she can’t check.

She just sleeps. Wakes. And listens.)

Jamie’s eyes squint. Not quite worried but curious. Alert. “What’s it say?”

It’s hard to articulate. To hear the house coaxing quietly, gently, silently every night, images that don’t make sense, and memories- because that’s- that’s what they are, right?

It says too much and doesn’t say anything at all.

What does say something are the volumes she sees in Jamie’s eyes, in Jamie’s lip that twitches just so, in the hand that slightly drifts over her arm and falls.

Dani allows herself to close her eyes, just for a moment. She tries to stop herself from grinning now, but feels it coming all the same and puts on her best- still not terribly good, in fact bad. Completely an awfully bad- accent, “It likes your flowers, it does.”

When she opens her eyes, Jamie looks mildly offended, a grin playing at the corners of her lips, but mostly-

Mostly, it’s tender and warm and when Jamie slides even closer, patting at her shoulder, Dani doesn’t think twice to rest her head against Jamie.

(They end the night with the blanket pooled at the end of the bench, pressing tightly together instead.)

(The next night she goes to bed, there’s flowers on her nightstand.)

iii.

“It needs more.”

Dani laughs beside her as her eyes- one as blue as the sky and the other as deep and earthy as the ground below- meets Jamie’s. “More?”

“Yes,” Jamie affirms. It’s part of her plan. Push for more, see if Dani will agree, and pull the plants out of her car as if it’s all a happy accident.

As if it’s not the plan.

(As if Dani will tell her no.)

Instead, Dani will hum and tilt her head back and forth, acting as if it’s not an actuality when Jamie knows from even that question it’s a solid, absolute yes.

“You see,” she rolls up the cuffs of her sleeves, thumb hooking under the material before she just shoves it up and over her elbows after getting irritated. “This air is pretty stuffy.”

“The air,” Dani echoes, “that’s a new one.”

“Air is pretty old, actually love.” Dani snorts. It’s sharp and has Jamie releasing her own breath.

(Dani had been quiet on the drive over.

Which is both typical and not.

Sometimes it’s unclear who she’s dealing with. Dani or some jumbled version of the two of them. Of the-

Dani calls it the beast.

Jamie calls it the coward.)

“You see,” she muses as Dani walks over to her, the boards creaking beneath their feet. Dani clicks her tongue and unravels her cuffs before starting anew, the tips of her fingers lightly touching the underside of her arm with every roll. “We’ll need more in here, so that it doesn’t overwhelm those two poor, exploited plants.”

“You’ve brought in at least five.”

“Three and two-thirds.”

“Three and- Jamie.” A sharp tug and another flip has her sleeves neat and tidy. Dani keeps her hands there all the same, thumb brushing against the side of her wrist with a gentleness that’s all Dani. “I know you have more.”

“Define more.”

She’s fixed with a stare then, and it’s supposed to be chastising, she’s sure of it. But being on the end of Dani’s gaze, wholehearted and singularly focused on her- well, it’s charming and lovely and she’d like it to continue. “You know I don’t mind more plants.”

“Yeah but then you’d miss out on my powers of persuasion.”

Dani’s grin goes crooked and toothy as she pulls her close, murmurs of her ridiculousness against her lips.

(Truth be told, it gives them both something to focus on.

There are plants that are Dani’s, plants that are hers, and plants that they share.

It gives her a system of knowing, always, always, always, where Dani is in the day. That if she’s missed watering the plant they share but has watered her own, she’s either teasing or has just strayed from the tracks just a bit during the day. Maybe has forgotten to turn off the bath water or the hose outside or is watching the rain fall.

(All with this look that she swears isn’t Dani.)

When she waters them all, Jamie greets her with a thorough kiss.

When she forgets them all though, she tears through the house, desperate to see those eyes and soft hair and infinitely softer eyes.

So Jamie will fill their home with plants, with life, and hopes Dani helps her keep it that way.)

iv.

It’s not exactly how she imagined it.

(To be fair, she imagined it in a variety of ways.

During every Christmas, surrounded by her siblings, where it was warm and light and-

Well, then it wasn’t, quite suddenly.

She still imagined it though. Even more so, afterwards. Imagined a family, whole and together. Soft and brilliant and hard, a blanket of snow over a town and a train slowly working its way through the hills.

Clean.

Without coal and ash and death.

Life, vibrant and eager and waiting, just below it.

A white Christmas.)

The train is quiet and the people are quiet and Dani keeps looking back to her with a curious- quiet- gaze.

“Some looker behind me?”

Dani rolls her eyes, the lights catching the brilliant blue and highlighting the depth of neverending brown. “Yeah.” Her accent- drawling, thick, kind- sounds out of place even in America. Or at least the Northeast where the crowd chatters in quick and tight phrases. “She’s about mmm,” Dani holds a hand just at her head, “this high. Real good looks.” She leans in close then and Jamie always- willingly, desperately- eagerly leaning forward until they share the same space. “Bad attitude sometimes,” Dani whispers, delighting in the way Jamie lunges forward to- to do something if only to make that smile bigger and that giggle continue forever.

They hadn’t made it that year, when she had planned and planned, and then Dani felt as if she’d go through her hands like-

(She doesn’t dare suggest any lakes or beaches or anything remotely close to water.)

But then Dani had shoved her out of bed, brochures in hand, bags at the ready and thoroughly destroyed any argument as to why they shouldn’t.

Feeling downright throttled, Jamie didn’t pity the children Dani had in her classes in the past. When putting her mind to something, Dani trekked onwards, regardless of what was in her path. All the while, a jaunty hustle that made Jamie want to laugh and sweep her up all the same.)

Dani throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, closer still when Jamie sighs with relief. “I just,” Dani searches around the train as if she’s searching for what to say, or better yet, how to say it, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m alright.” Dani’s chin drops on her shoulder and those eyes are wide and warm when Jamie chances a look to her side. “It’s-” She flaps a hand as they wander throughout the steadily accelerating train. They take up the majority of the narrow aisle, Dani still plastered against her side and doing some odd sort of shuffle to keep her close by. A man makes a grumpy sort of sound- the audacity- as they waddle past, and it takes all of Jamie not to strike up a certain conversation with him.

(It takes all of Jamie meaning it takes her all of a second to recognize Dani’s firm hand at the small of her back and the gentle push of her hand and-

It doesn’t take any of her, not at all really, to listen to Dani in an instant, swiftly and fervently.)

“It’s a train.”

“It is.” Dani draws it out a bit longer than needed, her confusion clear.

“Thought it’d be more to be honest.”

(It doesn’t fit as neatly into her heart. Doesn’t fill some immeasurable space and shape.

It’s just a train in December, and it’s cold and Dani- Dani keeps looking at her reflection more and more and more.)

Her heart falls even more as they reach the narrow tight space they’ll call a home for the night and feels it crash around her. “This was stupid.”

Dani spins them around fast, her hand already being on her shoulder before she finishes her sentence, and, even now, with Dani looking worryingly at her, hands framing her face, she wonders if Dani already knew how she felt. How she was feeling. And just hung back until she was ready to talk. Dani, ready and willing, for Jamie to fall into her.

(Push and pull.

It’s taken work- from both of them. Of knowing when to breathe, wait, listen. Of knowing when to step into the other’s space and gather them in a hug that’s as warm and loving as the sun against the petals of a flower.

It’s taken her to hold her tongue, stifle the quick words and quicker temper at the unfairness, at the damn house, at Dani- Dani who was so quick and gentle and good-hearted to welcome this into herself.

It’s Dani’s bravery over and over again. It’s her tap, tapping against Jamie’s hand when she sees, hears, feels it. One tap for a flash of something, two taps for it’s still there, Jamie, she’s still here.

It’s taken them.)

“It’s not stupid.” It’s a whisper, a promise against her head, fingers roaming idly through her hair. When she grumbles, low and deep in her chest, Dani’s breath fans out against the side of her neck. “Tell me what you wanted.”

Jamie groans. “A white Christmas.”

“Well,” Dani directs her in a neat little half-spin until she’s facing the gentle hills passing by them, snow glittering as the sun begins its descent. “What’s that then?”

“Snow.”

“And it’s-”

“Almost Christmas.”

“Debbie Downer.”

“Who’s she now?”

That earns her a light, playful elbow against her side. “I hear,” and now Dani’s back against her, whispering against her ear in a way that’s downright unfair, “they have hot chocolate too.”

“So you can rob them of every marshmallow?”

“Only yours,” Dani says sweetly. She urges Jamie to sit, eyes fixing her in place- she’s always so struck by those eyes, long before they were different colors. All it took was once and then it took hold, growing into a shape that she couldn’t name but felt a hell of a lot like love, like forever- “I have something.”

“Hopefully our tickets.”

Dani’s face falls. “Um.” She looks down, pats at her pockets. It’s adorable and endearing, and oh even if they get kicked off, Jamie’s already glad she’s here.

(With Dani.

Always with Dani.)

“I’m sure I’ll find them.” Dani crinkles her nose and her hands ache to pull her close. “More importantly,” she rummages around in their suitcases for a moment, shaking her head as her forehead wrinkles in concentration. “Got it!”

“Our tickets?”

“I said I’ll find them.” Dani passes a mass of- Jamie cranes her head as she twists it back and forth- maps? Definitely. It’s maps of Vermont, their destination carefully drawn out in red ink and circled one, two, three times with such effort that it bled through the side. “Sorry,” Dani muses, “I used what I had.”

“You got me a present?”

“Of course.” Dani sounds somewhat offended. Somewhat offended for an individual who in no uncertain terms agreed to no gifts because they had scrounged their money for this trip- a trip Jamie had wanted.

(Dani had scoffed and called her stubborn.

Said whatever Jamie wanted, she wanted. That she’d follow her, be it land, sea, air-

They both agreed to avoid the sea for now.)

“You’re devious.” Dani grins at that, a little wicked in the corners, before nudging at her knee. Jamie carefully peels away the hurried pieces of tape, knowing she’ll keep this map and run her thumb over Dani’s circle after circle. Over the clear times and schedules edged into the sidings. The lines and numbers and streets fall away into a deep green, soft and thick, scarf.

“Dani-” Her hands get lost in the softness of it, the endless green that makes her miss the vines that she’s slowly, successfully, getting to climb up their walls.

“You stared at it.” Dani’s biting at her lip, hands wringing. “At that shop. And they were nice. I know- I know we said no gifts, but it’s small! It’s small, and you’re- you’re my favorite.”

“Come here.” Jamie tugs them together, until they’re awkwardly smushed together- Dani laughing in between her quick, anxious breaths- and winds the scarf around them both. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it once or twice.”

“You’ve heard it from me thrice over.” Jamie winds the ends of the scarf around her palms, pulls and hums happily when it has Dani hunching even closer to her, limbs and all, “You’re my favorite too.”

The lawn is large and green and extremely, very, perfectly quiet.

It’s lush and well-kept, and she so desperately wants to know if there’s a lake. Would Henry want to normalize it for them again? Just a lake. Just water that’s not so deep, not as deep as the ocean.

Just a lake.

(Not a place of curses or people or skeletons of long-broken promises that linger far longer than the individuals who carried them, who had broken them, who had come across them.

Not a place in which Dani knows she’ll return some day, take her place among haunted secrets and confessions and-

Sleep. Wake. Walk.)

“Still here?”

Jamie looks expectantly at her, arm stretched across Owen’s too tall shoulders. Owen grins, thankfully rid of just the mustache and sporting a full beard. On anyone else, it’d hide that deep, earnest smile, but Owen’s? Owen’s shines through, brightens the already too bright image of a beautiful home and beautiful lawn and-

The world shifts, her feet briefly losing contact with the ground, tilted, then steadily placed- floats, she’s floating- down again.

“Poppins?”

(She’s not back at the house. She’s not back at the house.

She’s not. She’s notshe’snononono-)

The world returns in a fury of greens and blues and birds singing. It returns with Jamie- still looking, still beautiful- pulling her arm from Owen and taking a half-step towards her. Her eyes squint, worried and searching.

(It’s not fair.

Not fair for Jamie to look at her like that. Not fair for Jamie to watch and watch and watch. To sweep her up in her arms when she sees water, sees her reflection.

(Sometimes.

Sometimes, she wonders if it’d be kinder to put an end to this. To stop the worry and fear and the way Jamie will run into the bathroom if she doesn’t immediately respond the instant Jamie steps through the door.

Sometimes, sleep calls to her.)

It’s not fair to find such a love and still wonder what it will mean in the end.)

“Where else would I be?” And because she’s feeling anxious and her chest is tight, she can’t help but continue. “I’m here. We’re here. Well, they’re,” she waves her hand to the house, “they’re over there and-”

“Okay,” Owen claps his hands, “Good. A successful round of roll call.” He points behind him, towards the house that isn’t that house- Dani looks it over twice and nods to herself, not that house- arms still raised as he looks between them. “Shall we?”

Dani bounds forward, intent on getting those looks off their faces, intent on moving out of place before Jamie, stubborn and resolute and strong Jamie, will stop her in her tracks and see-she always sees- having them both home before Dani can blink.

(Are you sure you want to go, Jamie had asked, the sheets kicked down at the edge of the bed, Jamie favoring her warmth far more.

Dani had taken a moment to squeeze Jamie tighter in her arms, twisting them both around as Jamie grumbled, and thought about every place she had followed Jamie to so far.

Thinks she’s not about to stop now and-

Yes, of course, she answers to a far different question than Jamie asks.)

She loops her arm with Owens and throws a look over her shoulder. “Coming?”

“Always love.”

It’s a quiet walk through the courtyard, into the foyer, rounding about from room to room until- Until there they are. Quiet and tucked in close, Flora and Miles sit patiently on the couch. It’s almost a picture-perfect image, Henry standing behind the couch, smiling faintly down at them. Perfect if not for their fidgeting hands, Miles’ leg kicking out every few seconds and the impatience that slowly seeps into Flora’s face, inch by inch.

(Or is it millimeter here?)

Dani drops to her knee as soon as she sees Flora shift, expecting a hug, expecting Flora and Miles to run across the room and greet her.

They merely stand.

She can’t quite process, so she gets up- slowly, or- or is it quickly? She takes a step forward, sees the polite smiles plastered on their faces. She’d be proud of their manners if she hadn’t wanted all prosperity thrown to the wind.

It’s only been a year.

It’s only been a year, and it feels so much shorter than that and yet so much longer.

(Every moment with Jamie lasts a second, a lifetime, all wrapped neatly together until she questions the validity of even measuring time. Finds herself measuring through every soft smile, every shy glance- they’re rare and a joyful victory on her behalf- every soft touch instead.)

It’s only been a year and the beast takes a step forward as Flora and Miles take one back.

Jamie’s hand finds her shoulder, squeezes briefly, and then tiptaps down the length of her arm until she can slip her fingers in the spaces between hers. Gives another squeeze.

“Hi you two,” Jamie calls. She murmurs her own hello but winces when it seems altogether too much of a croak, too loud.

“Hi.” Flora looks suspiciously at her. It’d be adorable, again, given any other context of a young girl giving her such odd, slipping into negative, glances. Miles, on the other hand, looks about the room as if he couldn’t be more bored.

And then, just like the world and the ground and her breath, it returns.

It’s a shout as it clicks. “Miss Clayton!” Flora jumps forward and stretches out her arms. She turns her head, but doesn’t lower her arms, looking to Henry- it speaks volumes to their relationship, a quiet question of this okay? He nods and then Dani’s arms are full of Flora and the beginning of what is sure to be endless chatter. “-That’s what Miles says at least. You should just meet my teacher.”

“Yeah? She nice?”

“No.” Dani chuckles as Flora bumps their heads together, brown eyes startlingly serious. Dani laughs again, finds the breath catches in her lungs, and it’s only that- that slight hitch that makes it sound like a sob.

“I missed you.” It comes out in a rush, working it’s way out after threatening to grow and grow in her chest until there was no room left. Growing in the absence of their joyful laughter and energy, and the beast had ate away at it. Coaxed it.

“Dani,” Flora says in a way that makes her feel so, so small, “We’re always with you.”

(For a second, she swears she sees, feels a figure right behind Flora.)

“Come,” Flora commands. Her shoulders curl inwards, eyes darting to the floor when Henry clears his throat, “Right. Right. Do you want to see the house?”

“Well, I, for one, would love to see the kitchen.” Owen grins as Flora wriggles out of her arms and runs to him. “Oh, I don’t know if I know you.”

As Owen and Flora continue to bicker, Jamie gives her a long, fond look that’s so full of relief Dani feels tears gather in her eyes, before following them through. Henry places a hand on her arm, gives her a nod so deep she’s sure his chin touches his chest and passes through.

She looks towards the last one left in the room. Miles seems to purposefully hang back, eyes meeting hers and then looking back down, head jerking just so away from the doorway where everyone’s left.

“Miles?” She imagines he thinks he’s getting too old for long hugs, so she settles for ruffling his hair when he allows her to come closer.

He still doesn’t seem to appreciate it much more than she thought he would a hug.

(But he leans his head into her hand all the same.)

“I’m sorry,” Miles whispers, looking far too grown for his age but still- weary and drawn- “for what happened.”

(She has a million questions. Do he and Flora remember everything? Do they talk about it? What does Henry say? Is everything okay?

Does it still feel like the house is surrounding them? At night, when it’s quiet and dark and the shadows are spread around in such a way that she can’t tell what’s the light and what isn’t

She only has one thing to say though.)

“Me too.”

vi.

Her dreams are full of warm hands and laughter.

She wakes slowly, too immersed in the dream to wake up rapidly. Not that she enjoys waking up quickly anyway. She enjoys waking to the smell of tea, it’s pleasant smell a lie to what actually makes its way into her cup at Dani’s hands, and the gentle grazes of Dani’s hands at her hips. She thoroughly intends to continue that, maybe catch Dani before she leaves the bed and presses backwards.

Instead, she finds that side of the bed cold, without a trace of the enveloping warmth that Dani so easily puts off.

“Dani?”

She freezes, waiting for the response, begging for a response, a noise, anything.

All that meets her is the beginning of bustle below in the streets as the sun lazily crawls upwards.

Jamie scrambles out of bed, throwing off the covers to the side, panic clawing at her chest, her throat and-

Her leg catches and she hits the floor.

“Dani.” Her eyes burn and her teeth tear at her lips. “Please.”

(They forgot us, Dani had said the night before. Pale in the dark, the light only catching the side of her face. Don’t, she had raised her hand as Jamie had tried to argue they remembered in an instant, they had forgotten us.)

“Dani,” she yells again. And again. Again. As many times until her voice is hoarse as she rips through the apartment.

Her knees buckle when she gets to the bathroom. The door is closed, a light flickering underneath against the floor. Jamie jerks the knob and yanks the door open with a force that has the frame creaking.

The bathroom is empty.

(Dani had dipped her head afterwards, withdrawn, wiped of all emotion. Blank. She stared at Jamie, and, in the light, both eyes looked brown.

(In the years to come, she’ll hate how hopeful Dani sounds in her next words.)

Will you forget me too?)

Jamie looks at the sink, the towels, the tub-

It’s full. And now, now taking a deep breath because Dani isn’t staring at the kitchen sink or the bathroom sink or hunched over the bathtub, she sees wet footprints.

She follows.

She follows them down their hallway, out the door, down the stairs.

(Briefly, her mind wonders, how her feet are still wet.

As if they’ve never left the water.)

Their bell jingles happily, dully, as she steps away from the entrance and obediently keeps to the path. She follows them, doggedly going from print to print, shouldering and elbowing those in the way.

Her shoulder aches with every hit, but she continues, head down and shoulders squared. The prints take a sharp left and, after bumping into an elderly woman- even Jamie feels the need to apologize here- Jamie does the same. She’s so intently focused on picking up the drying footprints that she overlooks the figure in her path.

Until she doesn’t.

Dani stands in the middle of an alley, hair dark and pulled down with moisture as are her clothes, as she shakes. “Dani.” She’s breathless and choking and the sight of Dani is both a relief and isn’t. A relief that she’s here, she’s still here, thank God she’s-

And yet Dani doesn’t move. Just continues to shiver and stare at her feet. No, Jamie corrects herself, at a small puddle. “Dani,” Jamie calls softly. She eases her shoulders, hoping to tell this as a joke to Dani later, her football career as a- a receiver or whatever position it should be after Dani corrects her. “Dani.” This time she steps into Dani’s view and reaches out with a cautious hand.

The haze over Dani’s eyes lifts as does her gaze. “Jamie.” She sounds a bit confused, a bit cheerful to see her. “What’s-oh.” Dani presses her lips into a thin line, grabs her outstretched hand and pulls her close. “I didn’t-”

Her wet hair brushes against Jamie’s face, her hands. The droplets from Dani’s movement are jarring. A drop here. There. Her lips against Jamie’s head, whispering apologies as tears fall from her eyes. It feels so incredibly real that it must be.

(Right? It must be.

It must be.)

vii.

Jamie doesn’t leave her side after the-

The incident is what Dani calls it in her head.

(Jamie calls it The Morning Walk. She’ll grin and laugh and gently prod at her until she’s laughing with her.

But, in between, Dani sees the way her hands shake and her eyes follow Dani as she moves.

Can you- Dani’s hesitant to ask Jamie, so instead she rolls it over and over in her mind- haunt someone while you’re still alive?)

She twists the ring around her finger, once with her right hand, then with the thumb of her left hand, spinning it idly and clumsily against her finger.

“The regret’s settling in, isn’t it?”

Dani smiles, feels it pulling even further at the corners of her mouth. “Never,” she says resolutely and presses a quick kiss against the cool metal. She turns to Jamie, who’s sitting in some variation between cross-legged and legs sticking out, and quirks her mouth to the side. “Are you?”

“You know better than that.”

It’s said over a gardening magazine that she had ordered Jamie a month ago. When one had first arrived, Jamie had been confused. Eyes guarded and seeming almost half offended. What are they going to tell me that I don’t already know? Now, though, now she burns through them the instant they make their way to their stoop. Anytime Dani goes out on a day it’s supposed to come, Jamie hounds her at the entrance. When she asks about it before kissing her as a greeting, Dani draws the line.

They reached a compromise where she gets soundly and thoroughly kissed at the door if she raises the magazine clear in the air.

(Sometimes, she grabs a random newspaper and throws it in the air upon her arrival.

She finds that it works even better than intended as the kissing doesn’t stop when Jamie’s not distracted by a magazine that was once a good idea.)

“I’m just saying-”

“I’m happily married. Unioned. And I’d like to think my wife,” even in her frustration, Jamie tilts her head and says the word with such love, “is quite satisfied.”

“She is.” It’s an easy agreement to be honest. The only part somewhat off-putting is the way in which Jamie’s smirking at her. It’s far too arrogant and boastful and Dani decides tomorrow that she’ll pick up the home improvement magazine that Jamie loudly criticizes anytime they’re in a store.

Although, she must admit that, sprawled out lazily in the sun, eyes a fierce green, it looks good on Jamie.

She admires the view for a long moment, wishing for anything that she could paint and finally figure out the exact color of Jamie’s eyes. Her fingers twitch at the thought, her nose-

Wait. “Jamie.” Those eyes meet hers again, warmth pooling in her stomach- but she needs to focus. “What’s that smell?”

Jamie’s chest rises as she takes a deep breath. She makes a quick popping noise with her mouth. “That, my love, would be our dinner burning.”

“Jamie.”

Jamie scrambles up, tossing her magazine into Dani’s lap. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” Dani treads along after her, neatly placing the magazine on top of the stack of books by the lamp. “Oh. Hmm. Well,” Dani glances up and meets Jamie’s sheepish glance and the remnants of their dinner.

“You used the timer I got specifically for you, right?”

“I can’t tell if that’s a genuine question or you rubbing it in just a bit deeper.” Dani bites her lip to keep from grinning and holds up the trash can. Jamie mutters a quick thanks and all but chucks the blackened- she thinks it was once chicken but it’s anyone’s guess at this point- chicken in. “Between you and me, I think I got the ingredients wrong again. I don’t understand why a teaspoon can’t be a teaspoon.”

Dani deepens her voice and raises her arms, “Let it be known that by Jamie The Burner’s decree, all measurements shall be the same.”

“That make you feel better?”

Jamie’s halfway to pouting, although tucked away, in her eyes, in the slightest twitch of her lips, there’s amusement and affection. Dani steps towards her, following when Jamie reaches behind her and pushes herself up and onto the counter. “A little.”

“Yeah?” Dani finds herself urged forward by quick hands and Jamie’s legs bracketing her on either side. “What’s gonna make it better?”

She kisses Jamie. Quick and deep, her hand pressing against Jamie’s back to pull her as close as she can without getting too close to the edge. Jamie sighs against her, hands twisting in her hair. When she pulls away, Jamie huffs, swiping a thumb at her lip and a surprised look on her face. It gives way to heated when she grabs the collar of Jamie’s flannel, worn and soft beneath her hands, and drops her voice to a whisper as Jamie’s hands tighten against her shoulders. “Pizza.”

Dani doesn’t look for Jamie’s reaction. She turns as quickly as she can, feeling Jamie’s hand snatch at her shirt without any purchase as she runs through their home. Jamie’s footsteps are a dull thud as she gives chase, shoes long since worn down.

(That night, when they’re tangled together, Jamie tracing idle patterns against her skin, the image stays with her.

Jamie following right behind her.)

viii.

It had been so long.

Long enough that she had tricked herself into thinking they were fine and this was fine and it would all be fine.

Looking back, it should have been clear.

Dani had been cooking. Her latest project- a mess of paints and canvases that always resulted in Dani staring at her with an intensity that was hard to name before shaking her head and buying more paint (always a green of some sort) without explanation- forgotten at their table. It was inconspicuous coming from anyone else, the tea being set down in front of her as Dani pressed a kiss against her cheek, her temple, her head.

It had been perfect.

Now, hours after, she realizes it had been anything but.

(Dani is bitter coffee and too sweet tea.

Well, one day. The next, she’s too sweet coffee and bitter tea.

Dani can cook whatever recipe she throws in front of her but tea? Coffee? Jamie loves her endlessly for an endless list of reasons but right at the tip top of that list is her inability to make a normal beverage.

The tea that afternoon had been perfect but perfect is Dani somehow burning water over and over again.)

Hours after, it feels like a goodbye wrapped up in cream and sugar.

(Her mouth feels bitter for days.)

Because their bed is empty and the house is empty and the box tucked away where Dani stores cash for gifts- she thinks she’s clever, she’s not, she’s not but oh, Jamie loves her- is empty.

Standing alone in their home, surrounded by their things and their love, Jamie knows, deep in her chest, in her bones, where Dani has gone.

She throws her scarf around her shoulders, once, twice and finds the weight of it keeps her centered. The softness brushing against her chin, reminding her to not lose focus, to keep on her task, to find Dani.

She gathers her own stash- this one not for presents and love and laughter. This one stored with the knowledge of this day and the lengths it would take for Jamie to reach where Dani had gone.

(They had traveled further and further from it.

But oh, it’s reach just grew and grew and grew until it took shape with them, in their life.)

Every minute feels too long.

(Her mind supplies her with the question every second, is Dani taking her last breath?)

When an hour passes, she sobs in the taxi. The man driving starts blasting Whitney Houston and says it always makes him feel better.

In a taxi, far from home and her wife, Jamie thinks it’s not exactly appropriate to ask this taxi driver what better is without Dani.

(She still does because she’s still crying and Dani’s still gone and she’s so, so tired.

He goes pale and turns the music up louder.)

Ride after ride after ride and finally-

Finally, she’s staring at Bly Manor and feels a strange sense of belonging and returning and as if she never left. Whispers gather at the edges of her senses, shadows creep along the corners of the house, of the yard.

They coalesce. They point. They pull.

She’s running before she even realizes it.

Past the stone walls, past the gardens.

(She sees them as she passes.

Her propping her feet up on the table as Hannah frowns. Her paying no mind to it in favor of watching the way Dani’s hair brightens in the sun. The hands on her hip and stern voice making her and Hannah laugh.

She sees the way Dani took root in their lives in an instant, spreading and spreading until she’s not sure what’s left without her.)

She runs past the church.

(Hannah. Hannah. She’s so sorry but-

She will not light a candle.

Not for Dani. Not when they have more time.)

The grass, seeped in morning dew and moisture, glints in the light and coats her pants. Creeps up her ankles as she stops, breath caught in her throat.

(Is she breathing?)

A body floats gently in the lake. Arms splayed out and face turned toward the sun.

(She doesn’t want relief.

Doesn’t want the sick, shameful, hollow relief that will eat away at the grief.

Doesn’t want relief at Dani giving into the beast and knowing that there’s no worry if Dani isn’t moving in the tub because, instead-

Instead, Dani is gone.)

Jamie is in the water before she really, truly thinks. In the water, first sloshing at her ankles, and then pulling at her waist and elbows and neck.

She’s in the water before she thinks-

Thinks that it’s peculiar that the body that had been so still is now moving, lifting, sitting up.

“Jamie?”

She can’t breathe. She can’t see, vision swimming- she’ll laugh at herself later- in and out of focus. Hands grab at her shoulders, colder even than the cool water, cup her face.

“I can’t- I can’t-” The hands pull their faces together, noses brushing until finally- finally-

She sees.

Dani is crying and is attempting to brush away tears as her hand leaves more water in its place. “I’m sorry.” Her hands squeeze. “I’m sorry. I was just waiting. I- I didn’t know what would happen, so I just.” She looks down at the water, finally settling from Jamie’s dash to the middle, “waited.”

(She had once vowed that she would rather go, be given mercy, than to be waiting day in and day out.

Now, she wants anything but.)

“Waiting,” she says thickly, in between tears and sadness and anger, “waiting is good.”

So they wait.

They wait for Henry to pick up. For him to respond when Jamie says, bites, snarls into the phone that they need to fix this.

They wait for cars and trucks and people to slowly filter in, meandering about the lake as they talk amongst themselves, waiting for instructions.

They wait as skeletons are pulled from the lake. Some so small that it makes Jamie’s stomach twist even tighter, her nails digging into Dani’s arms.

They wait until Dani goes stiff, eyes refusing to blink, as a chest is pulled from the waters.

“That’s it.” It’s a whisper. “That’s it.”

Jamie goes to open it but is stopped by deathly cold hands.

Dani’s. Dani’s that grab her and jerk her back. “Don’t,” she warns.

“Okay. Okay.” Jamie holds up her hands, allowing Dani to come forward in her place. “What is it?”

“A gift,” Dani breathes, hands tracing along the sides of the chest, the tops, the latches. It opens stubbornly, Dani leaning and bracing her weight against it to push upwards.

Inside remains what Jamie thinks were once fabric.

Jamie places a hand at Dani’s back, lingers there in the hope that some of her warmth will sink into Dani, who’s so usually warm and vibrant but is now cold. “Think they still want it?”

“No.”

They stay that way. Long, longer, until Dani shifts and Jamie has to ask, “What do you need?”

Dani stares at it for a long beat, then another. “It,” she pulls a hand to her chest, curls it in close, “it feels like home.”

“Okay.” Jamie claps her hands. “I’ve got a plan.”

And then Dani waits.

Waits for her to lug bag after bag of dirt and mulch and tools to the place she had planted a moonflower so long ago.

“So,” she says as she presses the shovel into the dirt, finding it pleasantly soft, “You remember what I told you last time we were here?”

“People are exhausting?”

Jamie pauses, leaning against the shovel. Dani’s hair is still wet.

(It will take her years and years to not see the image of her, staring at the sun, daily.

Today, though, she will do what she can.)

“What else?”

“Plants,” Dani says slowly, eyes closing as she tries to remember. Her face quirked in such a way that Jamie has to fight to stay in place, “stay after us.”

“Yep.” Another shovel full of dirt. “We leave more life behind us to take our place.”

Dani is quiet for a long time after that. Watching as the hole gets bigger, deeper. Watching as Jamie begins dragging the chest to it before taking the weight of it and pulling beside her.

It falls in with all the silence of an empty house, empty street, empty lake.

“It’s you. It’s me. And eventually,” Jamie says, rearing back on her feet, knees sinking into the fresh mud-

“It’ll be all of us.”

ix.

“Miss Clayton?”

Dani blinks and Flora- Flora because although she goes by a different name now, she had confessed one night- amongst popcorn and movies and laughter- that it reminds her of when she was little and small and cared for and Flora.

(Dani steers the conversation away then. Always. Without fail.

Part of her mind- an overwhelming, largely the majority, worries, asks, screams about what else she may remember from then. From shadows that move and lakes and faces without- without-

A small part that she considers quite traitorous scratches in the inside of her chest, wishing they remembered. Remembered that she isn’t an old family friend of her father’s, that it wasn’t an insignificant event in their lives when she watched them, guarded them, protected them.

Wished they remembered Dani, her, them.)

“I’m sorry.” Dani doesn’t dare call her Flora. Doesn’t dare risk it on today of all days even if she hopes the pure warmth and love that’s gathered could fend off anything. A hand squeezes hers.

(Sometimes she still loses focus.

The room tilts and shivers and Dani- she swears she hears the sound of water dully breaking against the shore.)

“Could you repeat that?”

“Well,” Flora looks at her and then to the side, smiles that smile she had as a child, wide and inquisitive and-

Oh. Hopeful.

“How do you know it’s love.” Flora clicks her tongue, dissatisfied with her question. “I guess. The-the everlasting kind?”

James laughs, deep and full, beside her. “Planning to ditch me by the end of the night?”

“No.” Flora rolls her eyes but leans into his side all the same, looking up at him with a brilliant light in her eyes that burrows deep into Dani’s chest- shoves aside that small, small part of her and takes root in its place. “I just- they-”

“We’ve been through it.”

Dani glances to her side at the voice, squeezes the hand in hers. Jamie’s shoulders fall with relief as if just the thought of- of all of it had eaten away at her so thoroughly in only a moment. Flora slides around in her seat- ever moving- as her elbows knock those beside of her, earning a few aggravated glances that are half-hearted at best and full-blown adoration at least. “Yes,” she says with so much determination that it makes Dani’s hands shake at the ways in which that determination used to be directed fully at her, of bedtimes and snacks and stories.

(She remembers when she was so, so small.

Eager and wispy and bright.

She still is, of course, but Dani- Dani forgets those moments so easily. Forgets everythingnothingthebeast.

Forgets.

But then they’re there. Her family. Flora and Miles. Owen. Jamie.

And she leans, reaches, aches for them.)

“Don’t you remember?” Dani asks, chest filling with pride and anticipation and oh, love. “One day,” she starts, feeling Jamie press against her side more. She smells of mulch even though Dani had urged her to take shower after shower, joining her if only to make sure she was thorough. “One day,” she repeats through the haze of slow mornings and burnt dinners and forgotten shows in favor of gentle hands and whispered jokes, “one day, you come across them-”

“And they never leave,” Jamie interjects, pinkie hooking over hers and giving it a shake.

It’s foolish, a habit of Jamie’s when Dani feels off balance and the beast steps closer. A light step, a quick shift forward. But- but the beast isn’t here. Isn’t curling around her ribs, slipping through her bones and spreading. It’s gone and Jamie fills the spaces in between. She curls her finger around Jamie’s. “You’ll just know, and you’ll cherish it as long as you have it. In the meantime, that love-,” she pauses, looks to Jamie and finds eyes that are warm, green and brown flickered as if the universe knew of what Jamie would become. Of what her hands would accomplish and give life to.

“It blooms.”

#thobm #dani clayton #jamie #uhhh i don't think she had a last name #anyway you don't understand i am OBSESSED #the haunting of bly manor

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hockeyboysiguess · 5 years ago

Text

Countdown

a/n: what’s up everyone? i’m new in town because i found one stupid hockey boy which led me to another and you know how it goes. let me know if you want me to continue writing!

warnings: some swearing, a little bit of drinking.

Your feet were killing you, and you’d definitely had a couple more than you set out to have when the night started, but it was New Year’s Eve, you told yourself. It was the kind of night you could have a little too much. You rocked a little forward on your heels, trying to relieve some of the pressure on the arches of your feet, but it threw you off balance. Luckily, Mat was there with a steady arm to keep you to your feet. You could’ve done without the chirping that immediately followed the incident.

“You know, you could just take the shoes off if they’re bothering you that much,” he said, with a laugh edging at each word as he spoke.

“I’ve definitely explained this to you before,” you sighed. “You look at the shoe, you look at your feet, you tell yourself that your shoes and your feet are married tonight and nothing in the world will separate you. You can’t get divorced after two hours, would look bad for my next husband.”

“You are more committed to those shoes than you were with your last boyfriend,” Mat retorts, never the one to stop the banter first.

“He couldn’t support me like these babies can.” You point your toes and jut one foot out for emphasis, “He didn’t make my legs look this killer either.”

Mat rolled his eyes at you and laughed, a constant combination in your friendship that had become one of the most crucial in your life this past year. You’d met him towards the beginning of the year, and you got along instantly due to your identical senses of humor. Your friendship solidified with his willingness to try practically every restaurant in New York City with you and the fact that you always let him be the DJ whenever you were together. You tried to go through the timeline of your friendship, trying to find the moment something shifted and he stopped being your friend Mat and started being the reason you said no to dates with other guys when they approached you and why you refused to let any of you other friends set you up with anyone. You glanced over at the clock to distract yourself from your thoughts, 11:50pm. Ten minutes to midnight.

“Hey, I was just thinking about the day we met,” Mat told you, a smile on his face carrying over to yours as you remembered the first time you met him.

Ten.

- Months ago, you were at a party pretty similar to this where everyone was a little less dressed up and the alcohol was a lot worse. You were standing with two of your friends, debating on if you wanted to stay longer or head out to the bars when a ping pong ball landed in your cup.

“Hey! My buddy needs a partner for pong. Can you play? Doesn’t matter if you’re shit; he’s probably worse.”

You shrugged, said, “Why not?” and stepped up to the table next to him. You set your cup down on the table and turned to your new partner for the evening, “If I have to carry this team, now’s the time to let me know that you’re dead weight.”

His face was a little taken aback for a second, but then a wide smile formed across his face. He nodded softly.

“I like you,” he said. “You’re right, I am totally about to be dead weight. My name’s Mat by the way.”

You introduced yourself to him and proceeded to win the next two rounds of beer pong with Mat making three cups the entire time. You made fun of his accent. He pretended to be upset that you got away with breaking the elbows rule because you had boobs and they distracted Tito, but the distraction was to his advantage so he said he’d let the rule breaking slide as long as you promised to be his pong partner for the night. You agreed to take him on as charity case for the night if he tried a Thai-Greek fusion brunch with you tomorrow morning that none of your other friends we’re willing to go it. He took the deal and your friendship began.

Nine.

“– seasons of How I Met Your Mother? Jesus, is this even going to be worth it?” Mat complained

“Get the popcorn, sit down, and shut up,” you told him. “I cannot believe you haven’t seen this before. It’s a classic.

“Friends is a classic,” he sighs as he sits down on the couch, dropping the popcorn bowl between you. “This is a cheap imitation. Besides, I thought you would hate this. Isn’t Barney like very anti your whole super feminist thing or something and doesn’t Ted just suck?”

“If you don’t realize you have to take everything in this world with a grain of salt yet, then you are beyond help, Barzy.”

You binged it in under three weeks. While you’d lived the last episode premiering live with your family, you didn’t think you’d ever seen anyone as pissed off at the ending of the show than Mat was. Your sides hurt from laughing so much at his insane ranting about how they could have possibly done that to him, with all of the time he invested in this show. He took it personally and swore he’d never watch another episode again. You still couldn’t bring it up without making him start a whole diatribe. It was your party trick together even though Mat wasn’t quite in on the joke.

Eight.

- Days in Spain in June. Mat insisted on you joining him on his post season tour of Europe. By tour he meant never leaving Spain but going on a lot of wine tours and pretending he knew a lot about wine even though he couldn’t tell the difference between a three-hundred-dollar bottle of age merlot and a bottle of Barefoot if his life depended on it.

“Oh, isn’t this a fabulous red vintage?” Mat said to you, doing an impossibly bad British accent in an attempt to sound fancy. “I can taste floral,” he sipped the wine again, smacking his tongue against his lips loudly, “and citrus notes in this one. You’ll quite like it, madam.”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” you sang softly to him as you noticed the daggers he was getting from your tour guide.

Mat slung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in tight to him. You could feel his muscles tense under his thin t-shirt, and your breath caught in your throat. Some part of you had known he was attractive this whole time; you’d just never been forced to pay attention until this exact moment when you were pressed up against him. You pushed the thoughts to a far corner of your mind. This was your friend Mat and you didn’t need anything more than that from him. You didn’t want it, you told yourself.

Seven.

- Seconds left on the clock. You were pretty sure you hadn’t breathed for the last 5 minutes of the game and you were gripping your seat so hard that your knuckles were starting to go numb. The Islanders were down by one going into the last two minutes against Tampa Bay. Tito had scored to create a 3-3 game with just over a minute on the clock to play. You didn’t want this to go into overtime and neither did the guys. They wanted to complete the comeback win here and now.

You watched as Mat shifted the puck side to side on the ice. You saw him glance up at the clock for a brief second, then he looked back towards the net and he saw his shot. He took it without any hesitation. You were on your feet before the puck hit the back of the net. Mat was immediately engulfed by his teammates, swallowed up in a sea of blue and orange jerseys. His games practically gave you a heart attack, but you’d never turn him down if he asked you to come and he asked you to come a lot.

“Hey there, superstar,” you said, the smile in your voice obvious as you met Mat in the tunnel after he’d finished up his interviews and changed.

“Hey there,” he laughed, giving your shoulder a little shove

You looked around as you walked out with him. He was walking you through that final shot, second by second, but you couldn’t focus on his story. You saw the girlfriends, fiancées, and wives of the other players greeting their respective partners and for a split second you let yourself imagine that with Mat. You hadn’t really thought about it before, but as soon as let that wall down and the flood gates opened, and your feelings for Mat hit you square in the stomach. You wanted to be like them, have what they have, and for a split second, you let yourself want that with him. You wanted him to look at you like the other guys looked at their girlfriends and wives.

“Um, hello?” Mat’s large hang waving in front of your face pulled you out of your moment.

“Oh, sorry. Can you start over? I got a little sidetracked.”

“You okay?” he asked, concern coating the words and his brows furrowing.

“Super-duper, superstar. Try me again.”

Six.

“-Entrées is way too many. Look, I know you’re practically a championship level competitive eater for fun, but this feels like an exercise of your skills we don’t need to practice.”

“Two things. One, calling pancakes an entrée is a little much. It’s just pancakes,” you retorted, “and two, they serve six different kinds of pancakes here, so I’m getting six kinds of pancakes. Join me or get the hell out.”

Mat’s nose scrunched up as he laughed at your response. God, you loved his laugh. You loved it most when you were responsible for it, not the girl he met at the bar last night who was definitely responsible for the marks peeking out from under his shirt. Seeing those when he sat down made you felt like all the air had left the room. You shrugged off your thoughts as best as you could. Mat wasn’t yours to be possessive of, but that didn’t make the pit in your stomach settle either. You took a sip of your orange juice as Mat’s laughter slowed.

“God, how do I still think you’re cool even though that was super lame?” he asked you, stealing your water since his hungover self practically chugged his when he arrived

“Barzy, some things in the world are magical and they’re better left unexplored and unexplained.”

“Like all women,” he said proudly, like he’d discovered something profound.

You rolled your eyes at him. Even when he was an idiot, you still wished he was your idiot and not some girl at the bar’s idiot, but you wouldn’t risk this. This friendship was too important to you to jeopardize for your stupid middle school girl pinning. You put your feelings back in the box they’d let themselves out of just as the pancakes arrived.

Five.

“You think you’d had five drinks tonight?” Your eyebrow is arched as you look back at an incredibly hammered Barzy. You knew he had to be at least eight deep, more like ten, but instead you said, “Are you sure it’s five?”

Mat nodded profusely, looking more like his bobblehead then himself in that moment. You turned your palms up at him and shrugged a bit, giving him a look of complete disbelief. He proudly put down his beer and yanked his sleeve up to show you his wrist. On his wrist were five incredibly smudged tally marks of various lengths. He hadn’t even managed to realize you were supposed to cross the last one across the other four for every set of five, so there were just five incredibly crooked lines drawn on his wrist in Sharpie.

“See? Five tally marks, five drinks,” he told you, like you were the idiot in this situation.

You nodded in fake understanding as an incredible drunk Mat reached for you. He was significantly touchier with you when he was drunk, his large hands always finding your skin and making a series of thoughts you shouldn’t have run through your brain as your heartbeat picked up in your chest. His hands rested on your upper arms this time as he lined himself up with you, forcing you to make eye contact.

“I’m fine. Don’t you worry about ol’ Barzy here,” he slurred.

“You’re twenty-two,” you laughed. “Hardly makes you an old man, my friend. Come on, I called an Uber. Let’s go.”

You took on of his hands from your arm and held it, dragging him slowly out of the party. He had the attention span of a golden retriever puppy when he was drunk, so it was a good thing you had some practice with this and started your journey to the car ten minutes before your Uber was supposed to arrive. By the time you made it outside, it was already waiting for you. You gave him one small shove and he practically fell right into the car.

“You know,” Mat told you as the car started to roll away from the party, “you’re a really good friend, ya know.”

You smiled at him but turned your face away quickly as you felt the tears start to sting in your eyes. Maybe it’s the few drinks you’d had yourself, but Mat calling you a good friend was definitely supposed to feel good, but all it was make your heart clench inside your chest. It confirmed everything you were feeling. You and Mat were friends, good to great friends even, but that’s how he saw you, his friend. You never wanted to be the kind of person that complained about someone not liking them back, but you finally understood where everyone else was coming from. This feeling was awful in a way you couldn’t quite describe. It was like a hand had reached into you, found the place where your feelings for Mat where, and squeezed hard, except that hand wasn’t actually all too careful to target that one spot and instead squeezed everything inside your chest until you could barely catch your breath and the tears were rolling down your cheeks. Thank god that Mat had way more than five drinks and was already asleep against the opposite window because you couldn’t keep it together the entire ride home.

Four.

“You really want four dogs at once?” The disagreement coated Mat’s voice. “That’s a lot of dogs at once. I think you need to reconsider this part of your life plan.”

“Four is a very reasonable number,” you replied, not even bothering to look up from your phone. “And this is my twenty-year plan here, Mat, not yours. You don’t get a say.”

“I’m your best friend. I deserve a say here if I think you’re going to screw up part of your life,” he countered. “You’re going to be beholden to these creatures. And you’re gonna have four of them! They’re going to need you constantly. You’re not going to have time for anything else.”

“I do plan on like, having someone around at some point,” you reminded him. “Step nine of this plan was to find that man, finally, and one of the key criteria is that is likes dogs, so he’ll help share the workload.”

“And then you really only have two dogs,” Mat mumbles under his breath as he start to nod in understanding. “Okay, okay, I concede. You’re right, four is the correct number of dogs.”

You laughed in response to his agreement, “Now I’ve just got to find a man and convince him like I convinced you.”

“Took you all of a minute to get me on board with your plan here. I’d sign up to co-parent four dogs with you. You’re gonna be a killer pet parent. I’m sure you can get some other schmuck to agree with you. He’s not going to be as hot as me though, so that’s going to be a downgrade for you right there.” You didn’t let his words sink in. You let them flow right out of your head as soon as they came in. It was for the best, you told yourself.

Three.

- Hours into your co-worker’s engagement party and you were about ready to scream. If one more platter of engagement cookies with their initials and faces came past you, you were going to explode. The only reason you’d make it this long was Mat and the fact he tipped the bartender big time when you got your first drink, so he was making you doubles and triples when he was only supposed to pour singles at the open bar.

“This sucks,” you sighed to him, taking a swig of your drink.

“This party is fucking pathetic,” he said to you. “How are people this boring before they’re thirty? I just don’t understand. If I ever get engaged to someone who wants to have cookies with our faces on them at our engagement party, please shoot me.”

“I expect you to do the same if I ever think that’s a good idea,” you laughed as your spoke.

“You know what,” Mat paused only to down the remaining third of his drink in one go, “it’s time to blow this popsicle stand.”

“Jesus, Mat, they haven’t even made a toast yet or anything. We can’t leave yet,” you tried to remind him, even though it was completely half-assed since you might have been more miserable than him.

“Oh, come on, be irresponsible. Let’s go do something actually fun,” Mat said, leaning into you as he spoke. “You’re in a killer dress. You look incredible. There’s this cool bar down the road I’ve been wanting to try, and we’re dressed for the occasion.”

You scrunched up your nose as you thought. You wanted out, but you also really didn’t want to be rude since you’d have to show up to work on Monday regardless. Mat took your drink from you as you thought, taking care of the rest of your glass with ease even though the bottom quarter was definitely straight vodka due to how slow you’d been drinking. He looked at you, his eyes softly begging for you to get the hell out of here with him. You sighed and grabbed one of his hands, making your way towards the back exit. You couldn’t see the smile on his face, but you felt his fingers slide between yours as he gave your hand an appreciative squeeze.

Two.

- Times that you’ve almost told him how you feel in the last month. The holiday season had you feeling particularly emotional in general due to a combination of Hallmark movies and the holiday parties’ people were having were giving you a few too many opportunities to be drunk around Mat. Drunk you was a little looser lipped than sober you. Both times started and ended the same way.

“Hey, Mat, can I talk to you for a quick sec?”

You placed your hand on his shoulder as he spoke, pulling him slightly so he’d turn to face you. Each time he agreed and followed you away from the crowd, tucked away in a less traffic area of the party.

“What’s up? Are you too drunk? Do you need to head out? I can call an Uber. Or should I call a Lyft?” he asked in rapid succession.

“No, no,” you shook your head. “I, uh, I wanted to tell you something actually.”

“Okay, shoot,” he replied instantly. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Your mouth went dry as the desert and your carefully rehearsed speech dissolved in your mind. You looked at him, his eyes dark as his traced over your face, trying to figure out what could have been important enough for you to pull him away from the party. Your eyes danced across his face, his strong jawline, his kind eyes, his soft lips. You wanted him. You wanted him so badly it hurt, but the idea of losing him from your life kept your mouth shut both times.

“You know what. Actually, it’s nothing. I figured it out myself. Let’s go get another drink.”

One.

You snapped back to the current moment, pulling your head out of the past. You watched the clock turn to 11:59pm.

“Sorry, I zoned out there,” you told him.

“It’s alright. Tito dropped in when you faded off, so no hard feelings,” he laughed as he spoke, “Um, actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about and I guess, why not start the new year off with a bang?”

You took a deep breath in as you looked over Mat’s face curiously. He was nervous. His hands were fidgeting with his cup. He was shuffling from side to side, foot to foot, transferring his weight with each movement. He looked down at the ground, unable to meet your eyes and mumbled something you couldn’t hear. The countdown for the last twenty seconds had already started, so there was too much background noise to catch his words.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you?” You had to shout to make sure he heard you.

“I like you!” he screamed back. “Fuck that, I’m in love you with and I really, really fucking don’t want to see you kiss anyone else at ten seconds because I’m pretty sure it’ll break me at this point.”

Ten. Your mind was racing. Nine. Mat wanted to kiss you. Eight. Mat liked you like you liked him. Seven. No, Mat loved you. Six. He took a step closer to you. Five. He was so nervous, nervous he’d just ruined everything because you still hadn’t said anything. Four. Your feelings burst out from the box you’d put them in, running through your body, making your heart rate kick up in your chest. Three. Mat leaned his face closer to yours. Two. Your eyes locked with his. One. You rocked up on your toes and pressed your lips against his.

His hands found your hips, pulling you desperately closer to him, practically crushing you against his chest, but his lips were soft and gentle against yours. The room exploded into cheers around you, everyone celebrating the ball drop and the new year, but you barely noticed them, until you pulled back from Mat. His eyes scanned your face, trying to figure out exactly what you were feeling.

“I love you too, Mat.”

“Thank God,” he chuckled to himself as he leaned down to kiss you again, “and happy fucking New Year to me.”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine

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salt-warrior · 4 years ago

Text

WHEN EARTH TURNS TO ASHES

Masterlist

Chapter Fifteen: Christmas and Conspiracies

"What's even the point of tinsel?" Iko asked, biting off the head of a frosted gingerbread-man.

Cinder sprinkled thin strands of silver tinsel along the branches of the miniature tree from the chair she was seated in. There was a single string of white lights climbing through the green, earthy smelling branches, and only a few bulbous ornaments.

Christmas had always been Cinder's favorite holiday. For one, it was sisters with her birthday, and it was also the only good memory she had of her mother; decorating the Christmas tree had been the only thing they'd ever done together, and Cinder had always gotten to sleep under the tree with all of its beautiful lights.

"I think it makes it look like it's snowing." Cinder reminisced. When she had been a child, her mother had told her stories of how magical Christmas elves had cast a snowing spell on the tree just for an extra Christmas surprise. Cinder hadn't known that her mother was the Christmas elf, or that tinsel could be bought a dollar per pack.

Iko snorted, and Cinder glared at her. Over the past couple days the girls had become well acquainted with one another. Iko had grown up with her paternal grandmother in Boston. Her mother had left when she was only two, and her father died of Lymphoma a year later. Iko had no memories of either of them, except for her grandmother forcing her into a black dress for her father's memorial service.

When Iko turned nineteen, her grandmother died. She was not a wealthy woman, having no education past high school and only ever working at a grocery market, but she left Iko with enough money to pay college tuition. Iko got a degree in nursing, and worked in Boston until she followed her boyfriend to Hayden. When the guy cheated on her with a pretty blonde french girl, she dumped him, but stayed in Colorado.

"What?" Cinder challenged.

"It's just..." Iko smiled wistfully. "You come off as this tough I-can-take-care-of-myself kind of woman, but then you say stuff like that and you're an innocent little girl."

This time it was Cinder's turn to laugh. "Iko, you're only three years older than me, and I'm not a little kid."

"I know that," Iko asserted confidently. "It just makes me sad to think that someone like you had to live with... the people you did." Iko smiled morosely. Cinder stared at her with wide eyes, and her heart seemed to crinkle like foil. "Do you want some hot cocoa?" Iko asked, changing the subject before Cinder could sink deeper into self-pity mode. Cinder nodded amiably.

Iko stood and skipped to the kitchen. She continued to talk to Cinder, prattling on about how her Grandmother had taught her the proper way to make cocoa, but Cinder wasn't listening. Her mind had slipped to the boy with the dazzling copper eyes of fire, black messy hair, and the gray sweatshirt with his scent that Cinder kept on wearing.

Cinder had tried to hate Kai, but she couldn't. She had thought of every reason why she should: him nosing through her business, him calling her by that cursed name, his bringing Cress back and putting all of them in danger. No matter what she thought, she still couldn't hate the boy who cared only for her well-being.

She knew that she couldn't stay with Iko forever, and would, at some point, have to face Kai. It pained her to think of their next meeting and the hurtful words she would have to scourge him with in order to keep him away; because he had to stay away. Cinder wouldn't let him become another casualty of her existence.

"Here you go," Iko sang, placing a steaming cup of liquid chocolate in Cinder's hands. It only made her think of Kai and his partial chocolate scent.

"Thanks, Iko," Cinder smiled.

"What are you thinking about?" Iko asked, sipping from her large green mug. Iko was fervent about the color green; she said it went with every holiday and was always festive. That was perhaps why Iko's small apartment was accented with green in the most fashionable way possible.

Cinder shrugged, taking a swig from her own mug— it was a darker shade of green, more evergreen— and her whole body seemed to tingle with pleasure. She clutched the warm mug tightly against her chest, reveling in the pure bliss of a warm cup of cocoa. "Nothing."

"Oh, really? I didn't know Kai changed his name." Iko smirked.

A blush spread across Cinder's cheeks, and she buried her face in her mug. Iko laughed, seeming to get more confirmation to her statement than anything Cinder could have said.

"Are you really still mad at him?" Iko inquired. "Because personally, I think he is way too hot to stay mad at."

"I think he's more cute than hot," Cinder diverted, her cheeks coloring to Santa's favorite shade of red.

"Aww," Iko teased, twisting her shoulder upward and grinning. "But really, when are you gonna talk to the guy. He's probably at home, baking Santa cookies and praying that you're under his tree tomorrow morning. You gotta talk to the guy."

Cinder drained the last of her cocoa with a smack of her lips. The back of her tongue was coated in sticky sugar, but it was all worth it. "He's not obsessed with me, Iko," Cinder said. "And he most definitely won't want me under his tree; pine needles give me an allergic reaction."

Iko laughed at this, just as a knock sounded from Iko's door. Cinder froze, her first thought going to Kai. Iko, seeming to read the terror off of Cinder's face put her at ease. "Don't worry. My friend Scarlet is just coming by to drop some things off from the hospital. You remember her, right? She was one of your nurses."

"Oh, yeah. I like her," Cinder said absentmindedly, her shoulder still tense and eyes on the door. Cinder did in fact like Scarlet, though in a different way than Iko. Scarlet didn't talk much, but was always seemed to know exactly what Cinder needed.

Another knock sounded at the door, more urgent than the first. "Geez, take a chill, Scar. A lady may take her time to answer the door." Iko yelled, though only more pounding came from her statement.

Iko unlatched the door, and it swung open before she could even touch the knob. "What the–"

"Sorry, Iko," Kai winced, his knuckles were red and split. He had great dark circles coloring under his eyes like bruises. His hair was messier than usual, and his clothes were rumpled. Cinder felt her heart twinge with worry for him before remembering her pact to hate him.

Behind Kai trailed a jovial Thorne— who threw a wink at Cinder and a flirtatious smile at Iko— and a small, scared looking Cress. Cinder froze with terror.

"Hey!" Iko yelled, trying in vain to shove the onslaught out the door. "Get the–"

"Iko," Kai pleaded. "Please, I have to speak with her; it's urgent."

"I told you no then, and I'm telling you no now!" Iko spat, standing protectively between Cinder and Kai.

Kai tried to peer at Cinder, but she was staring at the ground. "I have to–"

"First you call me a thousand times, and now you break into my house," Iko blazed. "She doesn't want to talk to any of you. Especially if you brought her," Iko sneered, glaring pointedly at Cress. "So get out, before I make you get out."

"Sheesh, you have a lot of fire, hot nurse," Thorne whistled. "Do you maybe want to go out sometime?"

Iko and Kai both turned to glare at Thorne, who respectively put his hands up in surrender. "I'll take that as a I'll-think-about-it."

"Get out–" Iko fumed.

"Please!" Kai begged, his eyes glittering and huge.

"No. I'm done with you hurting Cinder. She doesn't deserve it, so stop. Get out before I make–"

"I'll talk with him," Cinder interjected, surprised at the words that came out next. "And Cress."

"But what about–" Thorne whined.

Cinder cut him off before the words could escape him. "I have this deep yearning to strangle someone today, and I bet you like your eyes inside your skull, am I right?"

Thorne pouted. "I'll wait outside."

Iko glanced at Cinder, a question in her eyes. Cinder could tell that she wanted to stay and help, but this was something that Cinder needed to do on her own. Cinder shook her head.

"I'll wait outside, too," Iko said, obviously trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

The two outcasts left out the door, both of them looking rather unhappy to be left out of the fun. When the door clicked shut behind them, Cinder spun on Kai and Cress, her eyes blazing and her heart heavy. "Why on earth–" Cinder practically yelled at Cress, "–would you come back?"

***

Kai flinched at Cinder's words— no, the tone of her words. She said them with venom and hate and hurt. Cress had hurt Cinder—bad—but Kai knew that they could work it out. He hoped, at least.

Over the past couple of days, Kai had tried to find Cinder. He tried the hospital, though they had no clue where Cinder was. He tried Iko, but she told him nothing. It wasn't until Kai had spoken with nurse Benoit that he had discovered Cinder's location.

Kai had called and texted and practically cornered Iko at the hospital, but she had been firm; if Cinder didn't want to see Kai, she didn't have to. But Kai had to.

Cress had revealed nothing more to Cinder's past than her words after the failed surprise party. She had told Kai and Thorne that it was Cinder's business and that she was done betraying Cinder. Kai admired the loyalty, but he was dying to understand what Cinder's deal was.

"I have to explain myself." Cress squeaked. "I need you to know why I did what I did and how I've regretted it ever since."

Cinder scoffed, but didn't interrupt. She wasn't looking at either of them, but burning identical fiery holes into the carpet. She remained seated in her chair, and tinsel decorated her hair and arms. Kai itched to pick it out for her, but restrained himself.

"I promise, Selene, I am not here to hurt you anymore," Cress cried. She had hardly slept in the past three days. She had stayed at Kai and Thorne's apartment in the guest room, though she tended to spend the nights pacing the house and finding unusual places to read.

"It's Cinder," Cinder said crossly. She continued to stare at the floor.

"Cinder," Cress amended. "Remember when we were in high school and you told me about your mom?" Cress asked.

"Yes," Cinder tiffed. "And I also remembered how you betrayed me and told the whole school how I killed Peony."

Cress took a step towards Cinder, her hands trembling. "I know," she whispered, "and it has been the greatest regret of my life."

Cinder looked up, shock in her eyes. "What?"

"I-I messed up." Cress said. "I researched, just like you asked me to. We tried everything, read every book, and none of it made sense. None of it worked."

Kai glanced between the two girls, confusion and curiosity burning within. He wasn't understanding a word of their conversation; everything was too vague.

"I started to think that Ran was maybe just a freak accident. The letter was weird, but I mean, it would totally make sense if the shock of the event had made you hallucinate. But after Peony..." Cress swallowed hard. She was now kneeling in front of Cinder, the two girls at eye-level. "I thought that you had created Her. I thought that you had killed Peony."

Cinder's jaw dropped. "I didn't do it! I told you Cress, I couldn't have created a–”

"I know!" Cress held her small hand up to silence Cinder. "I realized that after you left. You didn't see Her die, so..."

"I couldn't have created Her." Cinder finished.

Cress looked at her old friend, and understanding seemed to pass through them like an electric current. "But I know how to stop Her. I figured it all out. I-I'm sorry that it took me so long to find you, but I thought you wouldn't want to see me. I–"

"You know how to destroy Her?" Cinder exclaimed. "Cress, how?"

"Do you still have Her bracelet?" Cress asked. She had an illumination to her face, and her eyes were alight with relief.

"Yes, I do," Cinder confirmed.

An image of a small braided bracelet shot through Kai's mind. He remembered the letter and the picture as well. The girls were prattling through a list of things that they would need, but Kai's brain was completely lost. He didn't understand a word of their ambiguous conversation.

"–we'll need to go to the place where it originally happened and summon Her. That's the only way we'll be able to stop Her; to confront Her." Cress said.

"Wait, wait, wait, hold up," Kai took a step forward, and both girls tilted their eyes up to look at him. Bewilderment painted their faces, as though they had forgotten that he was there. "What are you guys talking about? What are we trying to summon? What is going on?"

Cress looked at Cinder, and the two exchanged a glance. "Do you want me to tell him, or..." Cress asked. Cinder stared at Kai, and it was only then that he noticed she was still wearing his grey sweatshirt.

"Kai," Cinder murmured, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

#when earth turns to ashes #wetta #a burning world #marissa meyer #tlc #the lunar chronicles #lunar chronicles #kaider fanfiction #tlc fanfiction #linh cinder #selene blackburn #prince kai #emperor kai #carswell thorne #iko #channary blackburn #salt warrior stories

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saintsurvivors · 4 years ago

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Hi! I love your writing!! For the Whump Drabbles, could you do #56?

No pressure, have a fabulous day!!

@whumpflumpthump I just realized when I sent that last ask, I didn't give you a character😅 Sorry about that, I would love it if you did Mac, thanks, and sorry again

No. 56 Begging

Ahhhh! no problem fam, honestly, thank you so much for sending this in and sorry for your wait!! <3

warnings: broken bones, shitty self esteem, referenced torture but non graphic, jack’s potty mouth and atrocious southern accent.

Mac’s broken bones before. He’s not exceedingly clumsy, but whilst cuts and bruises are a warriors lost, broken bones and concussions seem to be a spies lot, especially ones that deal with explosions and under the table incidents that DXS do. Never mind the fact that he’d broken several fingers and ribs whilst back downrange, had barely been able to stoop when things had gone wrong so spectacular and Al had been less ...well, had been less Al and more parts of Al.

But human minds aren’t designed to remember pain, not really, even ones that are eidectic memory. The neurons remember it, but you forget what caused it, what made your heart stammer, what made your lungs seize, what made you want to jackknife up from your bed in the middle of the night, face wet with tears and blood beneath your nails because you’ve scratched your throat raw. You only remember it when it’s happening again, when you’ve felt that loss, that break.

Mac’s good at compartmentalization. Too well, often times. Jack doesn’t quite understand, not really though he tries, just how afraid Mac is, how afraid he is that if he even begins to open those tiny little boxes, meticulously labelled and stored away in the shelf of his mind, that he might not ever get them back closed. Everything he doesn’t, can’t deal with, handle. Everything he wishes would be wiped clear like the last equation of the white board by the eraser. But it isn’t that easy.

Maybe that’s why he can’t help it, why he leans so easily upon Jack, despite Jack no doubt hurting just as much as he does. Broken bones and concussions are a spies lot, but Mac thinks that kidnappings and hurt are a MacGyver and Dalton special, and wishes that it wasn’t. Wonder sometimes, in the back of his mind just how much Jack regrets meeting him. Wonders if Jack wishes he’d walked away at the end of his original tour and had left a stubborn bomb nerd in the sand of Afghanistan. Wonders how long he’d have lived; it’s a question he likes to ask himself, especially now, after missions, or when he and Jack are traipsing back to exfil after things have gone to shit.

Thinks he knows the answers, but always swallows the question and the answer, swallows the pennies he can taste too, doesn’t want to turn around and accidentally spit it out on Jack. Jack, whose already bloodied, bruised and aching. He’s got probable fractured ribs, but he can’t rest because he has to help haul Mac’s stupid, incapable ass out of the fire. He can’t keep doing this, not to his partner, not to Jack.

His left leg buckles, fire lancing up his shin to his thigh, spreading through his hip. his ankle twists further, and he only just manages to avoid bringing Jack down with him by twisting and ducking, knows that Jack’s ribs can’t take the strain and Jack’s reflexes would have him letting go. The ground is hard and cold, he can already feel the bruises forming over bruises, wonders if he’ll have the entirety of their kidnapping marked out on his skin like the world’s most fucked up map. Wonders if he’ll be able to read all the pit stops and roads, he’s where they first captured us, here’s where they fractured Jack’s ribs up after a failed escape attempt, here’s where they almost waterboarded me, here’s where they shattered my shin with a hammer because I called someone an asshole and Jack punched their lights out-

A frantic hand tucks beneath his armpit, tries to get him up, clamps down on his instinctive cries, blinks reflexively in place of the full body flinch he wants to give.

“C’mon man, we gotta hustle, I think they’re right behind,” Jack crouches as best he can, tries to get his shoulder jammed underneath Mac’s, tries to haul him up through sheer force of strength. A wheezing grunt escapes, pained. God, Mac is so selfish. “Get up, hoss, don’t do this to me, now.”

“You gotta go, Jack,” He says, looks Jack in the face, sees the wide, pain lined eyes, the grit of his teeth. He’s in so much pain, Jack is, exhausted to his very bones, beaten and bloodied. He doesn’t deserve this. “You, you need to leave.”

Jack pauses for a single moment, his arm around Mac’s waist tightens, leaves Mac breathless, dizzy, with breathlessness and pain. Jack loosens immediately, but that rare look of anger doesn’t. Seems to only grow deeper.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Jack far enough growls it, anger and pain, his eyes flash, he looks furious. Furious enough to hurt, to break, to punch. He does neither, only look at Mac like Mac’s said something so stupid, so out of far left field that it doesn’t even compute, as if Jack hasn’t had the same thoughts.

“Just go, Jack!” Mac hisses, insists, tries to shove himself backwards out of Jack’s grip, manages to break it, only to immediately miss it. He’s so fucking selfish. “Look, I’m just weighin’ you down, at this point, baggage, dead fuckin’ weight, you know this, man! You gotta go!”

“Now, I know that’s them blows to the heads talkin’, because I’m pretty sure I didn’t just hear my partner say to leave him the fuck behind!” It’s angry, angry and harsh and pained. An edge to it that has Mac’s back straightening, a shiver roiling down his spine, something pooling in his gut that he hasn’t paid attention to for the longest of times, because like Al used to say, it isn’t the bomb that’s going to kill you, it’s the emotions.

“Jack, please,” He tries to plead, can hear the shouts getting closer, the bark of angry shouting, he can’t let Jack be taken, not again, not when it was Mac that got them into this. “Please, just, go, already! They won’t be able to keep up with you. I can distract them-”

“Boy, are you stupid?” Jack hisses, and that seems to be the last straw. He grits his teeth, face turning red, hand shaking from where he’s tucked it up around Mac’s waist, hauling him up. Mac barely gets his feet beneath him, before Jack is fairly enough marching him forward, eyebrows knitted together, eyes flashing.

“Jack.” Mac hisses, pleads, begs. He’s got no chance but to go forward, pain sunfire hot, chemistry fire burning. He’s sick to his stomach, swallows down the bile. Every foot forward is agony, gut punch deep.

“No, Mac.” Jack grits out. He’s sweating, red faced. His ribs seem to creak with every movement, but he’s got Mac locked too tightly against him for Mac to do anything. They step wrong and Mac lets out a thin yelp. Jack doesn’t even flinch, only grabs the arm he forced Mac to throw around his shoulder further over, presses the swell of his thumb harder over the wrist pulse point. “No, Mac, I ain’t leavin’ you. You know why? Because you’re a fuckin’ stubborn ass of a kid who I still want to punch sometimes and you’ve got the shittiest set of emotions I’ve ever seen and I mean that, I’ve dealt with Deacon and that guy is a hot mess, but fuckin’ Christ, Mac, telling me to leave you behind?”

Something seems to have rattled loose inside of him, something hurt and vicious. Mac falls silent, keeps his hurt noises locked behind his teeth.

“We’re both gettin’ outta here, hoss, I don’t care what that stupid brain a’ yours is saying, and I swear to High Heaven that if you ever ask me to leave you behind, I will knock you on your skinny ass and drag you there, do you get me? ‘Baggage, dead weight’-” Jack scoffs, literally hauls Mac up over a mound of rocks; his anger seems to be the only thing keeping him going. “Biggest crock a’ shit I’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you what Mackie, if i ever meet that pops a’ yours I’m gonna be beltin’ him so hard I swear-”

“Jack,” Mac says, soft, gentle. Something swells up inside of him, warm, cosy, like he’s just slipped into a hot bath. Even the fiery hot pain of his broken leg seems to have been soothed. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, he says,” Jack’s words sound angry, but his tone is soft. His fingers tap something out in morse code against the shiver of Mac’s ribs. something that spells i love you. “Just never ask me to leave you behind kiddo, I can’t. You go kaboom, I go kaboom, got me?”

“You go kaboom, I go kaboom.” Mac echos softly, wondrously, hopefully.

#whumpflumpthump #mac whump #jack whump #angus macgyver #jack dalton #macgyver 2016 #!!!#kw #this got LONG #prompt

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missinghan · 5 years ago

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night changes (2) ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : rich kid!au

❖ word count : 21k.

❖ warning : explicit language & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : fate decides to backfire when you try to pull the son of the Senator in as a barrier between your life and Bang Chan.

❖ a/n : read pt.1 beforehand to understand the story better, I’m too tired to proofread this after the nth time, please don’t @ me.

one. The only reason why your mom persuaded Jeongin to move after when you moved in with your dad was college being practically thirty minutes away from the place. And also because of the rent. You feel bad for your brother mainly since the walls there are awfully thin and the girl next door always seems to have someone over every other night. They aren’t exactly trying to be subtle either. Sometimes you wonder how the fuck can he study for finals when the noise pollution can’t get any worse but he still manages to hit straight A-s.

On the other hand, you and Felix never have to worry about things such as students’ loans or college tuition. Every single penny was paid, as well as every other necessity in life. But you feel like nothing but a filler or a mannequin whenever you dad demands for intimate parties where you’re forced to sit still and look pretty when he’s too busy talking business with the other families. You’re just simply there, in his circle of status. Even when you’re all dressed up in designers’ clothes and whatnots, you still feel so out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Felix rolls his eyes dramatically when you pull up right in front of a rather ugly tree, scowling hard. “And you’re seriously taking your Rover today? Where did all of your standards go?” He glances sideways and sees a black Mercedes right in front of your car but shrugs it off shortly after.

“Hey! You take that back! She’s my baby! And also, it’s not gonna freak Jeongin out as much as your Tesla would,” you chuckle and punch his arm, earning a wholehearted laugh in return. Despite being born in a well off family, your stepbrother isn’t as much of an asshole as you’re expecting him to be. He’s pretty down to earth and acts like every other college kid that you’ve met with a questionable obsession with Fortnite. Except he loves to shove all the logos of luxurious brands into people’s faces who keep pissing him off, making him that much more intimidating.

“Wait here or stay there, pick your poison,” you tell him before grabbing your key and exit the car.

Felix mumbles something along the lines of ‘don’t be so rude’ and trails after you. He flutters his eyes upwards to take a closer look at the apartment complex before him. It’s quite small but seems very cozy. He wonders if it does feel less isolating and cold when there isn’t so much extra space around him all the time. “Hurry up, Lix! Jeongin gotta run to class in three hours.” With that, he hastily follows you up a narrow, rusty flight of stairs, the place reeks off the smell his dad always despises. He calls it ‘the subway smell’.

When your hand is hovering over the wooden door, it suddenly swings open, revealing an impossibly handsome guy. Chestnut brown hair, midnight orbs, tall nose, and peachy lips. He has you completely frozen for a good five seconds before you snap out of it, raising an eyebrow. Since when did Jeongin have hot guys as his roommates? And since when did your mom even allow him to have roommates? “Uhm sorry, you are..?”

The stranger smiles, perfectly showcasing his white. That’s your weak spot too. You’re a complete sucker for guys with cute smiles. “I’m Jaemin, and uh, my friend asked me to come over and help him with an upcoming exam.” You subconsciously stare at his outfits for a while, seeing no signs of any designers’ pieces. But his posture screams mad confidence, straight back, always maintaining eye contact, like he’s been raised in a wealthy family just like Felix. You can’t help but automatically judge people for what they wear, it’s been drilled into your mindset at some point and you hate yourself for that.

“Hello? Are you okay?” He waves his hand when you stay unresponsive. He partially thinks that you’re mentally judging him for acting like a weirdo.

You laugh nervously, completely oblivious of how Felix is facepalming himself behind your back. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m here to look for my brother.”

“Brother who?” Jaemin narrows his eyes at you skeptically.

“Yang Jeongin? Ring any bell?”

“What? Jeongin never told me he had a sis—“ his gasp is cut off midway when a hand flies to his mouth out of nowhere and pulls him backward. Your brother pokes his head out from behind Jaemin and smiles sheepishly. You can’t help but notice how different his smile is. Oh…where are his braces?

Jeongin says flatly, “Hey, sis, long time no see.” Then he scratches the nape of his neck, unsure of what to say. “Uhm, so what are you doing here?” It’s really been a while since you last saw him. Your dad can’t really do anything because your mom had full custody of raising him and he wanted to stay with her either way. He said he wouldn’t feel like he belongs if he dares to take a single footstep into his billion dollars mansion. Sometimes it feels like you’re just two strangers with the same blood coursing through your veins, family in name, but not in fact. But to be fair, you don’t even have the same last name as him.

“Where’s mom?” You avoid his question before stepping into the studio apartment completely. The last time you were here was when you’re still a freshman in college, you believe. And now all you can do is stand there in awe.

There was nothing but cardboard boxes scattered everywhere, dirty dishes piling up day by day, chipping wallpapers and a crusty old couch that the previous owner left behind as a result of your heartbroken mom. It used to make you grimace but holy shit, mom really did pull herself together. The place is freshly renovated, the smell of new paint is still evident, a teal couch, wooden cabinets, clean kitchen, bathroom on the left along with a brand new TV. Although it’s not the newest model of any sort, you can see how far your mom has come. She worked hard for your brother, and it’s definitely paying off.

Jeongin whispers something into Jaemin’s ears and pushes him out the front door, leaving a very shocked-looking Felix as a witness. “She’s at work,” he states the obvious monotonously.

“Oh,” you chuckle to yourself and let your fingers dance along the kitchen aisle. “Silly me. Anyway, when did you have your braces off? Last week?”

“It’s been a lot longer than that, Y/N. The last time you saw me was Woojin’s wedding.” He massages the side of his temple, sighing heavily. And your heart sinks, a pang of guilt always seems to be inevitable whenever you come over to visit him. Even when it’s only once or twice a year, you could never move on with life without knowing how he’s doing. You tried. “What are you doing here?”

You cut to the chase, “Dad wants you to come and join his party at the hotel this weekend. Nothing major, just another event as an excuse for him to make more money. And also he said he wanted to see you.”

“As if he needs any more money,” your brother sneers. “And he wanted to see me? Don’t be ridiculous. The old man probably wants me there to humiliate the shit out of me so that I’ll stay away from him and his precious jewels.” You perk a brow at what he’s referring you and Felix to, “I’m not gonna be there and smile through the whole thing. I don’t even own a tuxedo for fuck’s sake! Those people aren’t just rich, they’re crazy rich. They’re snoshy, and loud, and act all elegant with thousands of dollars draped over their bodies—“

Felix makes a face, “Snoshy?”

“Posh and snobby.”

“Are you coming for my accent?”

“I dare not.”

He laughs and swings an arm around Jeongin’s shoulders. “Good move, kid. Now get in the car, loser, we’re going shopping.”

The younger boy scrunches his nose in disgust, shoving your stepbrother away. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t make me put you in timeout.”

two. Jeongin feels like he’s sitting on a pile of burning coal instead of the espresso-colored velvet couch in the middle of a Tom Ford store. Soft white light slipping through the ceiling, walls embedded with mirrors all around and closets that are probably made with the finest kinds of wood. Even the fake pot of flowers on the glass coffee table in front of him looks more expensive than everything he owns combined. While he’s receiving dirty looks from some of the staff, Felix on the other hand, is too busy skimming through the watches and ties displayed inside the see-through cabinets.

Being humiliated just because he doesn’t dress like ‘your people’ makes him wanna bust through the door and stay at home for three consecutive days. People already disrespected him in a clothing store, what will happen if he attends that stupid intimate party? He’s not gonna fit into the social circle just because he’s wearing some designers’ pieces because that’s not who he is.

“Wrap those up for me,” you voice, face stoic of any emotions.

A staff at the checkout nervously laces her fingers together, a bead of sweat unknowingly rolls down on her temple. “Miss Lee! Having you buy our newest collection is more than we can ever afford, I’ll make sure to contact our superior to let you—��

“To let me fire you?” You cut her off, voice soft and stern at the same time. “Oh please, don’t bother,” the staff almost jumps back when you place one of your hands on hers, your rings cold against her burning skin as shivers run down her spine. “Minho will take good care of you, I guarantee.”

Jeongin groans in pure frustration when you wave at him, smiling in your luxurious glory when he’s sitting inside a high-end store like an absolute idiot. “Tom Ford? What is wrong with you people?” Felix glares at him and he immediately puts his hands up in defense. “Right, sorry. But would you mind and just strangle me right here right now so that I won’t make a grave mistake by putting that on? Can’t I just wear the tux that I had on Woojin’s wedding?” You bringing Felix along had already suffocated him enough when he literally lives and breathes in Gucci. Jeongin is not a fan of the tiger on his bomber jacket either.

“Eh..it’s a little dated, wouldn’t hurt to buy a new one. And did you really think that your sister’s gonna let you pay by yourself? How innocent,” Felix puts an arm over his shoulders when he refers to the brand new suit jacket, dress shirt and slacks on the marble counter. All that for more than ten thousand dollars, so… he’s gonna need more than ten years to pay you back. “Also, did you know that your sister is scary when someone pisses her off?” He whispers under his breath, slightly scared that you’re gonna catch his words.

“You’re wasting my time,” you hand your credit card over to the other staff, in which he receives with shaking hands. “Get yourself clean up and pack your bags, I’m sure a professional like you would have no problem landing another job like this.”

Jeongin almost gawks at how you’re giving ten thousand dollars away like you’re simply buying a burger at McDonald’s. He even feels bad for the staff who’s on the verge of breaking down, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. She did treat him like he was trying to rob the place but having her fired is far too harsh. Now he knows why he should never be on your bad side. “I think I do now.” He swallows thickly with two hands on his knees, the muscles on his back tense.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, we—“

You smile coldly, “That’s enough, I believe you all can reconsider your own behaviors towards customers. All of your customers.”

“Yep,” Felix catches the jet black Tom Ford bag when you walk past the couch, seemingly busy talking on the phone with Minho. “Iced cold motherfucker.”

Then, an unfamiliar figure enters the store the moment you walk out the door. Felix and Jeongin also pass by her without a second look even when they both accidentally catch some parts of her conversation with the staff. Fuzzily. So he doesn’t bother to think too much about it. “Good afternoon, ma’am, how can we help you?”

“I’m here to pick up a tuxedo for my boyfriend,” the girl takes off her sunglasses and grins, a smile that can take the breath right out of anyone.

The staff returns her smile and taps away on the iPad while the others are escorting the crying woman into the bathroom. “May we have the name please?”

Felix tosses the bag into the car trunk as soon as you start the engine, hurrying to the backseats after. Jeongin has his arms crossed in front of his chest in the passenger’s seat, no words can describe how frustrated, and mad, and partially relieved he feels right now all at once. All will be revealed in the next episode of how his sister fucks up every relationship he’s ever made, stay tuned folks!

“I was having a migraine just by seeing you handing out one of your five other credit cards. And firing her too? Aren’t you being too harsh? Couldn’t you spare her any sense of kindness at least?”

You laugh monotonously, “There are way worse things that could have happened to her. Trust me, you don’t wanna know what ‘my people’ can do.” This isn’t the first time you’ve seen some self excessively conceited staff who judges people by their social background. And now they had the audacity to insult your brother? Being fired is the only sense of kindness that you can give them for today.

“Great, now I’m gonna have to pay the old man back.”

You carefully take a turn and almost snort at your brother’s pointless concern. “That was my money, in my own defense. I don’t live off dad’s pennies anymore.” Even if it was your dad’s money, he would never make his biological son pay for what he can’t even afford. That’s like…asking a vegetarian why they want to bring down the mood of a BBQ party.

Jeongin replies flatly, looking out the window in boredom. “Huh, funny. Last time I checked, you said you were working at his hotel. Who’s the big boss there? Where does all the money come from? Him. Same thing.”

“Are you familiar with the triggers of migraines?” Felix abruptly places a hand on Jeongin’s shoulders, almost giving him a heart attack.

Jeongin doesn’t know much about migraines but he does know that your stepbrother is high-key a weirdo who just happens to be born with a butt load of money. “Uh…no?” If he happens to live in the same home with this idiot, he’s gonna go insane in a minimum of twenty-four hours. No doubt.

Felix excitedly laces his hand together and you mentally facepalm yourself. You’re so over his discussion about stuff like this because you know damn well he’s just trying to take it out on people after being stuck in med school for two years. He’s convinced that he’s gonna kill people instead of curing them so his mom gave him the consent to drop out to prolong the family’s legacy. “Here are some of them so that you know what not to do; from most likely to least likely: emotional stress, hormone, not eating, the fucking weather, sleep disturbances, certain odors, neck pain, alcohol, bright lights, smoke, certain foods, exercise, sexual activities, etc.”

“Sexual activities? Like a hangover after getting laid?” Jeongin asks.

“No, like just sex itself but it’s not supposed to happen that often so don’t worry too much about that.”

You automatically grit, feeling the need to bleach your ears after this. “Do not encourage him.”

“Hey! This is for educational purposes! Besides, it’s not like he’s still a little boy or whatever, he’s an adult now. #LifeCoachingWithLeeYongbok.” Felix takes no time to defend himself. “Now, I wish I could lecture you about the hypothalamus and give you a long-winded explanation of the science behind it, but Imma spare you for today.” Even if it were possible for you to sew his lips together, there’s no doubt that those unnecessarily inappropriate words would still find their ways to crawl out of his mouth and potentially mess up your little brother’s entire existence.

You let out a humorless chuckle, one that yells ‘hey, stop before you fucked it up for the rest of us’. “I’d hate to poke your enormous ego, but whoever attends your classes is gonna have their life crumbling right in front of their eyes.”

Felix simpers at your attempt of a clapback. “Actually no, people who attend my classes drastically turn their life around because they know what not to do. If you think about it, all of my advice to you has been great. I just don’t practice what I preach,” he tuts in that deepass voice of his, not noticing how Jeongin’s face is morphing into a very disgusted expression. “Just one more shot, I’ll be fine. I can quit whenever I want. I’m not addicted,” he mocks one of his friends who can’t stop drinking for their own good. “No, you won’t you lying bitch. An example of someone who followed that sentiment is right in front of you.”

He fairly believes that he can become the youngest professor to be teaching at a college or university with a Ph.D. in the ‘Getting your shit together’ Department.

But in your eyes, these are just some of the side effects that he got from hanging out with Minho so much. Being bitchy and all. If anything, Minho should be the one who takes his spot and becomes the youngest staff for big places like Harvard or Oxford. And you’d love to continue this nonsense of an argument but you’re already pissed off by that staff previously so you should just let him win or your dad’s gonna find you three ending up in the E.R.

“So this is what I get for setting you up with Chan,” Jeongin crosses his arms and you glance at him sideways, staying silent for the rest of the drive home.

three. Chan dreads the packing process after a long tremendously because not only does he have to trust his idiotic friends to not damage his luggage, he also has to help them pack since they are literal children. Changbin’s butler straight up shakes his head when Chan FaceTimed him, asking about how he usually helps him with preparation for a trip. He really hopes his family pays the man good money because dealing with Changbin’s impulsive, indecisive ass sounds extremely exhausting, and burdensome as well.

“Which one?” Changbin refers to a dozen of black tuxedos hanging inside the dressing room, and Chan feels like his brain’s about to retire.

He exclaims in frustration, “THEY’RE ALL BLACK FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

“No you uneducated moron,” Changbin purses his lips, “There’s carbon black, raisin black, olive black, super black, coal-black,..which one’s sexy enough for me to snatch myself a date at the party?”

“Seo Changbin!”

Chan’s been so sensitive these days, to the point that he decided to whack a mosquito with his MacBook the other day. He did miss the mosquito, but also, he almost killed Jisung who’s taking a nap right beside him in the studio. And apparently, Han Jisung holds grudges. Hence, there’s no way in hell is he gonna help Chan in the ‘Getting Seo Changbin aka the snobby brat the perfect tuxedo’ Operation. It would be way easier if Jisung was here.

Changbin interjects his trains of thoughts, “Silk or wool?”

“Uh- silk.”

“The Gabardine one or the smoking jacket?”

Chan makes a face, “Smoking jacket?” Whatever that means. He didn’t like the shoulder pads on the other one anyway.

“You heard him, Park, go get that ish and wrap it up! Go go go!” Changbin pauses for a second, “Wait, no, actually…just take them both.”

Call him delusional, but in the span of ten seconds, Chan fully believes he’s already entered (or has been pushed into) the Panamera 4 E-Hybrid that’s waiting outside of the mall. Jisung’s sitting in the passenger’s seat, honking the car repeatedly while the Seo family’s chauffeur is constantly throwing daggers at him with his eyes. Now he’s starting to question if bringing Jisung to the mall would be the wisest decision.

“What’s with the grumpy face, grandpa?” He chimes unhelpfully with a pout on his face. And now all Chan wants to do is to deck his perfect teeth and knock upside his head. “You really need to lighten up, old man, you’re going home!” He groans dramatically, arms crossed like a three-year-old.

“Yeah, going home,” Chan says with expressive hands. “To put on a goddamn show for my grandparents so that they won’t have a heart attack knowing that I can’t give two fucks about their promise with some random family in the same circle.” He’s on the verge of breaking down just thinking about going hand in hand in public with another woman that’s not you. It makes him sick to the stomach more knowing that he’s been hiding everything from you.

He’s such an asshole for doing this to you. Avoiding your calls and texts every other day becomes almost all too unbearable for his shoulders. Instead, he’s been trying to leave you voicemails every other week but it seems like you’ve already despised him. The night of Woojin’s wedding comes crashing down on him as he takes a stroll down memory lane. He might as well be cursed because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to have you in his arms again. The saying: “out of sight, out of mind” works for some people as an excuse to forget someone but truth is, he still misses you, all the time, every second, every minute, every hour, every day.

“So you didn’t tell her?” Changbin perks a dark brow.

“Not yet…”

“You should though,”

Chan barks, “I know! She just won’t answer my voicemails,”

“Then call her you coward!” Changbin immediately barks back, fingers still tapping away on his phone, “Look, if Y/N was your date in the first place, you would be crazy giddy and all right now, and not the nervous kind of giddy, but like the exciting kind of giddy. You are so loopy in love with her it makes me wanna feed my eyeballs to my dad’s German Shepherd whenever you’re FaceTiming her,”

Chan’s been clenching his jaw for God knows how long, and now it’s starting to ache. “Don’t say that, she probably hates me. Like you said, I’m a coward. I don’t deserve her and she doesn’t deserve this. Falling for Y/N was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. All I’ve been doing is tearing us apart. Sometimes I wish I didn’t fall for her—“

“—listen up, you genius. If falling for Y/N is a sin then so be it. Because being in love with her is gonna be the best fucking mistake you’ve ever made in your twenty-three years of existing,” Changbin’s words start zeroing in on Chan, so when he opens his mouth to say something, it automatically snaps closed. “I’ve never seen your eyes do that thing where they sparkle whenever we mention her name or when you’re just simply giggling to yourself while texting her. And have you seen the way that she looks at you? She looks at you like you’re the only person to exist on this planet, like someone she’s ever truly loved more than herself.”

Chan drops his gaze from Changbin to his knees, his heart beating rapidly at the sound of your name. Goddamn, he really misses you. “It’s okay, Bin, even if she hates me. I can—“

Changbin interjects immediately, gripping onto his friend’s shoulders tightly and stares into his tired eyes. “Don’t fucking tell me that it’s okay because I saw you alone in the studio every night. You were crying like a baby!” Seo Changbin gives really good advice because pushing people to their limits, not crossing them, just dangling at the edge so that they can’t stop acting like a loser and get their shit together is what he does for a living. Without getting paid a single penny.

“It’s because I’m losing her! I did that to myself!” Chan shudders at his own words, shaking his head profusely to hold back his tears. The idea of losing you sounds so terrifyingly panic-stricken that he would rather lose anything else than not have you in his life, or just not having you at all in the first place. Chan was an idiot for kissing you that night but something deep down still tells him that “screw life, you said what you said and you did what you did, now go out there and get her back before she falls into someone else’s arms”.

Changbin corrects him, pinpointing his words. “You’re losing her, you didn’t lose her yet. You still have an opportunity to make it up to her.” He knows Chan long enough to know that his friend doesn’t easily wear his feelings on his sleeves, mainly because he’s the eldest in 3RACHA. If he falls, the group’s gonna fall with him. But today, seeing the pool of tears in his eyes, the raw emotions in his voice makes Changbin believe that he’s senselessly, wildly in love with you. He knows damn well that Chan would never let you slip away again.

“This is your chance, to prove to Y/N that you’re still the goofy, caring, dumbass Bang Chan that she has already fallen in love with, not only once, but twice.”

four. “Have you been hearing anything from Chan? He hasn’t called me for two months. Changbin and Jisung have been avoiding me like the plague too.” Woojin asks you with a questionable looking drink in his hand. Minho said he mixed the masterpiece with all of his blood, sweat, and tears. You don’t know how to take it, metaphorically, or literally because both options would make sense. You’re just fairly concerned for Woojin’s liver since he’s been attending too many parties, mainly for business but still, that doesn’t mean he’s not gonna stay away from alcohol.

So much for adulting.

“Not really,” you didn’t want to admit that Chan was ignoring your texts and calls before but it’s quite obvious now that he doesn’t want to talk to you. You didn’t think about it much at the beginning because everything must have been so hard for him in a foreign country where young talents are out there competing with each other like they’re in The Hunger Games. But daily conversations turned into weekly, and then monthly and then basically non-existent. No more ‘Good morning’, no more ‘How was your day?’, no more ‘I miss you’. None of that.

The kiss that day seems like it’s disintegrated into literal dust.

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ sounds like utter bullshit now and you’ve never felt so foolish for saying ‘I love you’ to someone you truly believe won’t take your heart and crush it. But Chan did just that. You spent lots of sleepless nights thinking, and bawling your eyes out. You felt so lost and tremendously hurt. You didn’t know what to do. But you soon figured that it’s okay, people aren’t supposed to know what to do in those kinds of situations. You just gotta figure it out by yourself. So wherever he may be, whatever he’s doing, you still hope that he’s happy. That’s all that matters.

Or maybe you’re just too tired to reach out to him again.

You reply with a lifeless smile, bracing yourself for the upcoming party that’s starting in less than an hour. “He hardly talks to me. He doesn’t even text me in full sentences anymore.” You shrug it off casually, ignoring the sound of your heart aching to focus on other stuff for the time being. “Maybe he’s just busy? You know how problematic the music industry is.”

“Being busy isn’t an excuse to ignore your loved ones, Y/N,” Woojin knits his brows together. “Mind you, I still come home to my wife at nine o’clock, every single day.”

You check the time and almost panic, but before you can form a proper sentence, someone’s already dragged you away from the scene, “Look after Jeongin for me! Got it?” You yell back at him only to receive a thumbs up with a grimace. Woojin is the CEO of a well-known IT firm, after all, no one’s gonna mess with Jeongin if he stays by his side. The last thing you want is your brother coming home sobbing his heart out just because some wonderbread doesn’t know when to keep their mouth shut.

“I’m like..” You trail off while tapping away on your phone. “—pretty much free tomorrow morning, right?”

Chaeyoung - your assistant frowns and stops you midway, smoothing out your baby hair. “Not quite, you can’t skip DBR at seven,” she asserts. “And the daily phone call with your dad- I mean, the CEO at half-past six as well.” It’s obvious that everyone wants a coffee in the morning and since it’s a common time to gather, it seems like DBR (or Daily Business Review) is a good idea to just have a meeting before the day starts. The rules are simple. The meeting can not last more than half an hour and to make sure, you all stand up. You talk about the night before, VIPs coming in, the forecast for the coming day and any common issues to the group. Then you all dismiss and go to work. This way, everyone is on the same page 24/7.

“Oh, and a meeting at three too, and also the Kims Are coming in fifteen minutes.” She checks her watch subconsciously and it reads [7:30p.m.]

“Right, right,” you close your eyes for a moment and let the information sink in, slightly taken aback by yourself that you forgot Jennie’s coming back from New Zealand. The party won’t start until eight, you can still spare fifteen minutes and chat with your friend before being pulled away into utterly unnecessary conversations. “I can’t believe I almost forgot Jen’s visiting us…” You murmur under your breath, “God, Chaeng, what would I do without you?”

Chaeyoung pushes your shoulder playfully, “You’d die, obviously.” She’s not necessarily wrong because if it weren’t for her to manage your shitty schedule, your life would become a fucking merry-go-round which makes you all nauseous and dizzy. As if you’re not being tossed around and fucked up enough.

“Hypothetically speaking, I can just hire another assistant and move on with my life,” you smile cheekily.

She follows you towards the front desk, where Lisa is too busy texting someone cute to focus on her main task: greeting people that she despises with her entire existence. “Well, hypothetically speaking, no one can replace me and you would never have the heart to do that anyway.” Again, you hate it when she’s right. And she’s always right. Because she’s Park Chaeyoung.

You put your phone away finally and ask her about your beige suit with matching high-waisted slacks. “How do I look?” Also, you’re never wearing heels again because you’ve learned not to torment your precious feet when you’re gonna be out and about, being dragged around like a rag doll. Woojin’s wedding taught you that.

Chaeyoung gives you the warmest smile, “Like a boss bitch,”

“You have to come with us to Bora Bora this summer! We just opened a summer resort there with a beach and spa services, it’s absolutely delightful! Very fitting for de-stressing, dare I say.”

“How convenient! Do you see these wrinkles? We were all exhausted after the flight from New York. And I’m stressing over how it’s impossible for my son to improve his English. How in the world is he gonna travel the world for business trips now?”

“Ew,” you automatically scrunch your nose at your stepmom’s conversation with the Senator’s wife. “If we’re gonna act like that when we’re their age, I’d rather jump off a cliff.” And Chaeyoung clears her throat awkwardly when she sees your mom waving you over, giving you a pat on your back. There goes your fifteen minutes of freedom.

You quickly fix the lapels of your blazer and muster a sickly sweet smile, just for the Senator’s wife. “Yes, mom?” Or in this case, ‘stepmom’ but you wouldn’t want it to be awkward for the both of them. She does treat you with nothing but kindness and generosity although you’re not her actual daughter.

“Honey,” you almost snort at the nickname. Honey is practically a bee’s vomit. So you don’t really see the point in calling people bee’s barf. Ain’t cool. “You must know that this is the Senator’s wife, she suggested that you and their son can perhaps—“

You cut her off sharply. “No,”

“Y/N, don’t be so rude,” she laughs nervously as the Senator’s wife wears an unreadable look on her face. As if she’s interested in your particular kind of demeanor like you’re a completely different species. She doesn’t seem to be mad or offended at all. “I’m sorry, you see, this girl can play hard to get from time to time…and—“

You elect to ignore every word that comes out of her mouth from this very moment. Not again with this bullshit. An arranged marriage is basically a living embodiment of your biggest nightmare. You can’t imagine being tied down to a person that you barely know just because of their social status or for the sake of mutual benefits. Not to mention, every guy in the circle is all the same anyway. Disrespectful, egotistical, and only show mild interest if the person they’re marrying at least has something to offer that’s related to cold, hard cash in the long run.

It feels like the world just stops spinning when you flutter your eyes upwards and make direct eye contact with him. He enters the front entrance in a full-on black tuxedo, black silk shirt tucked neatly into his pants, chestnut hair rather well-styled, and black dress shoes. The outfit looks like it was made for him, personally tailored to every detail of his body. You almost scowl and look away until you recognize that smile, those midnight orbs.

To your dismay, the Senator’s wife exclaims, “My goodness! I told him not to wear that specific shirt!” before excusing herself from the conversation.

“Uhm is that…”

“Oh yes! That’s their son, Jaemin. Felix used to go to the same kindergarten as him, I believe,” your stepmom explains calmly, watching how you’re slowly becoming interested in the Senator’s only son. So that explains the black Mercedes in front of Jeongin’s apartment. “He got sent to a private school in the UK after graduating from middle school but somehow, I don’t know how he still can’t speak fluently English. Maybe you can help—“

You quickly realize how fast the situation’s escalating and you must say, you’re not letting that happen. “Sorry mom, Jen’s here! I gotta go!” Learning to let Chan go is one thing, but getting yourself into an arranged marriage with another guy who cares about nothing but money is an absolutely torturous idea.

People change, they all do eventually. But sometimes they don’t. Certain things can never fluctuate despite the circumstances. For instance, Kim Jennie still pulls you into a bone-crushing hug like she always does the moment she spots you in the crowd. Her gummy smile didn’t change, her gestures, the way she walks with pride didn’t change and you highly doubt that she no longer sneaks cute boys into the house when her parents are conveniently abroad. But she definitely looks more mature the last time that you guys met in Paris.

“Wow, Jen,” you utter. “You look…good,” Tonight she’s wearing a white dress from Chanel, diamond earrings and bold red lipstick. And don’t even get you started on her ring, you’re pretty sure that it was a present from the brand themselves. She is the ambassador, after all, they would be more than happy to spoil her with their newest collections.

Jennie takes a look at your outfit, twirling you around before breaking into a fit of giggles. “Good? I look good? You look gorgeous! Look at you! Well, actually you look just fine in your PJs as well. Heck, you can even breathe in this thing, I can’t relate,” she beams and keeps on admiring you as if you’re her own life-sized Barbie doll. Baggy clothes can look good, she knows that now.

Jennie clings onto one of your arms and receives a glass of champagne from a waiter, smiling at him softly. “So, how are you enjoying the party, manager Lee?”

You threaten to spill alcohol on her fifteen thousand dollars dress but only proceed to roll your eyes because you value her money too much for the sake of being petty. “It’s kinda meh,” you make a face. “But you know, let’s just get it over with. And to be honest..I’m kind of sick of socializing with people that I don’t even like.”

“Oh really?” Jennie raises a brow curiously when she sees a certain someone in the midst of the chaotic party. “Someone seems to be interested in you though, that cutie over there…” She then motions towards the general direction of Na Jaemin, the person who you’ve been trying to avoid all night. “I think he fancies you. Been eyeing you up and down for the past ten minutes,”

Right, you also forgot that Jennie didn’t know about you and Chan.

“Actually—“

“My God! Did you see that? The Bangs are here!” She gasps and tries to tiptoe in order to get a closer look, allowing her heels to dig into her feet even more. You won’t blame her, the Bangs are basically the biggest developers in Korea. Real estate, investment, tons of things, tons of boring paperwork but you do respect them for what they do. “I heard their eldest son’s dating some up and coming artist, her exhibitions were quite successful, all big hits since last year. It’s mind-blowing!”

You pull your friend back in time when people are shoving each other before her white dress can be contaminated with the bubbly champagne. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to patch your lips together?”

“Damn, he looks fine,” your friend murmurs and has you roll your eyes for one too many times tonight already. “I’m not messing with you, look!” She grabs either side of your face and turns it sideways, towards the front entrance.

You feel like someone just kicked you to the curb and stepped on you, knocking the breath right out of your chest. It’s Chan, it’s really Chan. Navy tuxedo, brown hair styled neatly, he looks even more beautiful than the last time you’ve seen his face. Beside him, hand in hand is another girl. She has the most delicate features and probably the most angelic smile in this world. She’s looking at him all lovingly, the same look you gave him approximately a year ago when you thought that the kiss did mean something to him. Apparently, it didn’t. Now you feel like a paper bag being thrown away, forgotten in the corner, drifting through life like a haze.

Your heart is stuck in your throat, slowly crumbling into dust when you see how he smiles at her, the dimpled smile that you treasured with your entire heart. They look like they are meant to be. And yes, you wanted to see him again but not like this. It’s like karma’s trying to tell you that this is what you get for falling in love with Chan faster than a tick of a clock, for foolishly holding onto false hope. And your butt load of money doesn’t matter anymore because your everything is already being held in someone else’s arms.

Now you’re the one who’s left with a broken heart.

five. In the dead of the night, you no longer feel the sounds of your heart shattering into pieces. Chan’s just making it easier for you to forget him.

“Y/N?” You stay unresponsive at his voice calling out to you. Every cell, every muscle, every neuro inside your body is yelling at you to turn around and throw your arms around his neck. The willpower that you’re mustering to not do that right is impossibly terrifying. But you’re not giving in again, not this time. You won’t be able to piece your heart back together after a second heartbreak. “It’s been quite a while huh? Are you—“

You turn around with glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill any second. Chan’s words get caught dead in his throat upon seeing you on the verge of breaking down. It hurts more knowing that he’s the one who made you cry. “You should have told me..” Your voice cracks and it breaks Chan’s heart into a million pieces at how broken you are. “You should have told me if you wanted to cut it off sooner..” You smile bitterly with tears rolling down on either side of your cheek. You no longer care about how pathetic you may sound or look, you just want to be completely transparent with him.

Another thing that you hate about yourself: how you just let yourself go exposed and vulnerable right in front of his eyes. “What happened to ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’? Does our kiss that night mean nothing to you? Was I setting the bar too high? Was I…getting in your way?” You ask him between quiet sobs, not bothering to put on a fake smile anymore. You’re too exhausted for that anyway. “You didn’t even tell me..that you’re part of the Bangs family, like the Bangs family. What else are you hiding from me, Chan?”

Chan grabs you by the shoulders to hold you back firmly, eyes boarding into yours fiercely. His touch once made your heart weak, now you feel nothing but disgust when his fingertips graze past your clothed skin. “Y/N, listen to me. You don’t understand— she’s not—“

“Y/N!”

Chan snaps his head towards the owner of the voice and grimaces when he sees Jaemin waving at you from the other side of the room. You gotta be shitting me. Chan then looks over at you in disbelief, eyes almost popping out of their respective sockets. Out of all people, you’re dating Na Jaemin? The Senator’s son? Without letting him know? And you’re accusing him of hiding things from you when you’re also with someone new already? “You know,” you wipe your tears away and look him dead in the eye. “I’ve always thought that all the guys in my dad’s social circle were a bunch of ignorant jerks, but it turns out you’re the asshole.”

With that, you briskly walk away with your phone clutched in your hands, knuckles turning white as you bite down your tears. Chan’s gaze trails after your figure until you’re completely gone, falling into another man’s arms like it’s your safe place. Jaemin caresses your cheekbone and smiles at you. You return it too, bitterly. It was supposed to be Chan who makes you feel like the happiest woman in this world, not the one who takes your heart and crushes it into pieces. His heart breaks, again, and again, and again, and again until he no longer feels its presence beating inside his rib cage. There’s something else more than just distance between the both of you now, something that was never there in the first place. Little did you know, you’re not the only one with a broken heart after all.

“Jaemin right?” You sniffle when he lures you away from the party, away from the chaos, away from Chan. “Thank you, I can manage myself now.”

Jaemin shakes his head and speaks to you softly. “Nonsense. I’m staying here with you. The party sucks, but don’t take it personally.”

You chuckle with teary eyes, but you’ve determined not to cry again tonight, especially not in front of the Senator’s son. “Does my brother know that his tutor is the son of the Senator?” Jaemin shakes his head again, the warm smile never once leaves his lips. He gently wipes a single tear that unknowingly rolls down on your cheek and heat flares through your nostrils, a shade of coral scattered across your face. This is why you never cry in front of a stranger.

“There, there you crybaby,” he comforts you with a hand on your shoulder, the other pulling out a handkerchief to dab your tears away. “Who knows the manager of the Carpe Diem Hotel is such a softie. I heard from the staff that you’re fucking scary when someone gets on your bad side.”

“Then don’t get on my bad side,” you roll your eyes in annoyance. “But God, I really can’t blame them. Our people are so posh, and snobby—“

“We’re basically snoshy,” he finishes your sentence and laughs. “Your brother tells me that all the time, if only he knew about my family. He’s most likely gonna murder me in my sleep.”

You roll your eyes, pushing his hand away slightly. “This is why we’ll never get a happy ending of our own. What’s the point of owning all the dollar bills when we’re just sad motherfuckers? And people wonder why we all prefer one night stands. I fucking beg to differ. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed him that night. Maybe I was nothing but an instant filler for his non-existent love life. ‘Do you still want my phone number?’ He didn’t even bother texting me anymore! Bullshit!”

Jaemin doesn’t know you very well but by the looks of it, you’re definitely not the type to lash out on someone very often. You must have been furious with that Chan guy because whatever he’s done to you, shit must have stung. Because you still look at him with those eyes. Eyes of those who are madly in love. He can’t change that.

“Y/N,” he pulls you into a hug and rubs little circles on your back as an attempt to soothe your aching heart. “Listen, it’s okay if he’s not the one. He might be the wrong person at the right time for all I know. And your soulmate is probably taking their sweet ass time because they are completely oblivious about your existence. But they will be there for you, they will, I promise. You know damn well how life likes to toss us around right? Love is patient, love is kind. And it will come one day.”

You snicker and hug him back, grateful for how he’s already consoling you although you’ve only met twice. Maybe he isn’t like the other boys in the same circle, maybe he’s different even when he dresses the same and looks the same. “Cliché sayings are cliché for a reason, Jaemin,” you laugh before pulling away, staring into his starry eyes.

“I know I know,” he squishes your cheeks together and chuckles. “But hey, sometimes they’re not wrong either. Tell you what though, I was so close to decking that guy in the face back there but I didn’t want to go all Alpha Apeshit and appeared as a douchebag then get blood on his goddamn Tom Ford. Just throwing that out there in case it does help you feel better.”

You can feel your tear-stained cheeks cool against the night breeze. The balcony seems to be the only place that you can seek calmness in, mainly because there’s no alcohol and no one to push you from one boring conversation to another with the same topics. Your people are basically repeating themselves over and over again about money and arranged marriages which you’re not very interested in so yes, you don’t see the purpose of throwing parties that only consist of the top 1%. You lean your back against the railings and watch the party from afar, letting the background chatters sink in. Soon this whole place will be within your grasp along with many others, but you’re afraid that you’ll be lost in your own empire.

“No offense,” you turn back to him and smile. “I didn’t think you’d be able to throw a punch at all.”

Jaemin makes a face, “I’m not like those wonderbreads over there,” then smirks devilishly. “But I’ll never be one’s knight in shining armor. Life just teaches me things that our people don’t. For example, living in a mansion won’t teach you how to throw or take a proper punch. Also, wear black because you’ll never know whose blood is gonna be on there.”

“So you’re saying that being sent to boarding school is the best thing that’s ever happened in your life?”

“Not quite,” he winks. “The best thing that’s ever happened in my life is to have the pleasure of meeting you.”

You shove his chest and laugh wholeheartedly, it feels nice to talk to someone like this. “Don’t flirt with me and find yourself another trophy out there, I’m too bitchy to fit in with those chicks.” You jerk your head towards the girls who are all dressed up in fancy dresses and heavy jewelry, finding amusement in how they’re all eyeing Jaemin up and down like he’s a prettier version of an ATM. “And also, what do you expect? You have the look, the money, know how to kick someone’s ass. That’s more than what a trophy wife needs.”

Jaemin scratches his neck sheepishly. “I don’t know how to take that but thank you, you look better than all of them honestly. I don’t know why women choose to suffocate themselves in a dress and torment their feet just to attract guys with thick wallets like me. I think I’ll need to settle down sooner or later and I’m not planning on doing that with a brat who only sees how many dollar signs I can afford on Yelp.” He sighs in pure frustration and a puff of cold air escapes his lips.

“Haha very funny, Na Jaemin is adulting like how the Senator’s son should be in his early 20s,” you joke. “And no, I’m not gonna make fun of you for that. You want me to pinpoint where we are right now? Adulthood.”

“No! I’m being serious!”

“Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

“Let me take you on a date and prove it.”

“You’re drunk,” you laugh nervously. But suddenly he inches in closer and your breath hitches in your throat. Nope. He’s dead-ass serious. “You’re being fucking serious, aren’t you?”

Jaemin brings your hand up and presses a small kiss on your knuckles, “See you around, manager Lee.” before sliding away with ease, leaving you blushing so furiously that you almost forgot your heart was broken that night.

six. While you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack because of a date, Kuma - Jennie’s Pomeranian is complaining to you with his eyes about his first world problems aka, Jennie leaving his favorite toy back in New Zealand. “Yes, yes, I get that it’s absolutely unforgivable of her to do that.” You acknowledge and nod absentmindedly, petting him gently. “If anything, I can do you a favor and douse one of her favorite dresses in pickle juice.”

“But also what?” You tilt your head slightly, “She what?! She insulted your favorite tuna bites?! She’s a witch! Burn her!”

“I can’t stand the goddamn smell, that’s all.”Jennie glares at you while hauling her suitcases out of the closet. “You dramatic, bitchy, ungrateful ass.”

“Jen, it’s just a dinner date.”

Jennie dodges your eye roll and proceeds to rummage through one of her ten suitcases, throwing dresses and bodysuits all over the floor. She’s lucky the suite has plenty of extra space or you won’t be able to see the floor in the next fifteen minutes for all you know. Kim Jennie goes ham on picking out clothes for her favorite bitches because not only is she one of the most acclaimed actresses but she’s also a fashion icon, influencer, and Chanel’s one and only darling. Hence, knowing that you’re going on a date with the dress code: formal; she freaked out and dragged you all the way from your house to the hotel that she’s staying in.

You facepalm yourself onto the extra king-size bed and sighs into the soft blanket. Yeah, that’s how rich the Kims are. Not king-size, but extra king-size that can fit at least four people but still have extra leg space. You know where to have your girls’ night this weekend now because you’d rather not have Ryujin whip your ass for bringing friends over.

Your groan grows louder when you keep hearing Jennie repeats “I’m a genius, a fucking genius!” to herself over and over again until she stops. And that’s when you decide to push yourself off the bed carefully to not wrinkle your clothes. “Look at this baby!” She holds up a long, bedazzled gown with spaghetti straps. Gives you a very 70s vibe but you’re not mad at it, you think you might be able to pull it off. “Listen, if you don’t look good in this, I’ll call Chanel and drop it as a flop, got it?”

Wow, Chanel is hanging on the edge of flopping by a strand of hair just because of you. The pressure’s on.

Jennie shoves you into the ridiculous-sized bathroom with marble floor and all, she’s definitely not letting you wear one of your blazers today. “Knock knock,” she impatiently leans against the door after what seems like ten minutes. But all Jennie’s met with is dead silence, she’s starting to get worried now. “Y/N, you good?”

You barge out of the bathroom with a panicked expression, shrieking. “Kim Jennie what were you thinking?!” When she gives you a what-do-you-mean look, you mentally groan to yourself and are kind of ready to call the date off. You’re not going out looking like this. “It’s 64 degrees outside and you’re making me wear this?!” You do a full 360 turn to only to show her the awfully low cut on the back of the dress, and she immediately claps happily like a seal. God, what is wrong with your friend?

“Stunning! Absolutely stunning!” Jennie nods to herself like the evil mad mind genius that she is. “You’re pretty tolerant, so I think it’s not gonna be a problem.”

“Do I have a say in this?” You eye her in defeat when she helps you on a dainty necklace and a pair of silver earrings.

Jennie puts her hands on her hips and almost laughs, admiring you like a piece of art, a creation that she will forever keep in her heart. “What makes you think so?” And off to the date, you go.

Jaemin picks you up not long after, wearing a full-on white suit in his black Mercedes. It’s not hard to guess that it’s his favorite. Since the party from last week, both of you have been texting and FaceTiming non-stop, it almost feels like he’s making up for the lost time that Chan’s wasted. For the Senator’s son, he’s surprisingly approachable, very quirky but charming at the same time. Jaemin does give an effort to make you laugh every time he sends you the same memes over and over again. Hey, it’s not your fault his humor is impeccable.

But being one of the Elite, you can’t blame him for wanting to do it the old-fashioned way. Fancy restaurant, having waiters drape white napkins over your lap, cheesy classical music in the background and the typical candles to set the romantic atmosphere. The place is quite busy too, some ladies in their forties are wheezing in helpless laughter as a waitress secretly shoots them dirty looks while a group of businessmen is eating in silence, an old couple is feeding each other in the corner and a younger couple that you don’t really pay attention to since they’re too far away. Sometimes you wonder what that feels like, to have someone by your side forever.

Maybe forever is just not meant for you.

Forever might not be for you, but going on a date feels like a fresh breeze passing by after so much pain and agony. Jaemin always tries to make you feel as comfortable as possible but still manages to make you laugh until your stomach hurts and tears are evident in the corners of your eyes. He’s not one of those guys who’s not used to hearing the word ‘no’ and never pushes your boundaries. But the feeling’s not there, it’s just not there at all and you wish that it was. You can’t play along then end up breaking his heart later on. No one deserves going through that, not even the ones who lost your trust.

“Okay..” Jaemin peels his eyes away from his crème brûlée’s when you set your fork down. “Just to be clear, I don’t hate you but I would never date you.” And he immediately chokes on his big bite, coughing furiously into the white napkin. You’re very straight to the point, he appreciates that, but still, ouch.

“Tell me three valid reasons why I should stop going after your heart.”

“One, I don’t wanna break your heart. Two, I don’t want you to break mine. And three, I just threw it in the trash.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes rather dramatically, holding back a lighthearted chuckle. “So what? You got your heart broken by some bastard and now you’re gonna distance yourself from everything that’s related to ‘love’? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like this? Alone? In your giant mansion with your butt load of money?”

“Yes,” you nod without hesitation, trying to ignore the bitter feeling that’s rising in your throat. “And technically I can adopt as many puppies as I want to.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs and moves a bit to the side. “There’s your man, twelve o’clock.”

You feel like you would personally gouge your eyes out of the sockets the moment they land on Chan and his current girlfriend at the opposite table if you weren’t sane enough for a Michelin-rated restaurant. They’re both wearing black, laughing and talking with each other like they’re the only beings left in this world. You wonder if fate could be a bit more generous to you, just a little bit, then would you be there with Chan instead? You’ve told yourself one too many times not to dwell on the past but like always, you never learn. And you know that you’re dumb but you still don’t get why fate forces two people to meet each other knowing damn well that one of them is gonna leave the other behind.

But this time when you look more closely, his smile looks somewhat forced and the dark circles under his eyes have been darkened by time. He looks so tired and drained but still keeps up the smile for his date. A pang of guilt hits you hard when you realize that you should have listened to what he had to say at the party. He doesn’t look happy, that’s what ticks you off.

Chan subconsciously flickers his eyes upwards and meets yours, completely frozen in his spot like a statue. His smile falters, eyes going wide from surprise, utterly, undeniably speechless. It’s not easy to read what’s going on in his mind but you’re positive that he doesn’t seem to expect to see you in this kind of situation. He quickly averts his gaze back onto the other girl, laughing nervously so that she won’t turn around and accidentally see you. Your heart unknowingly sinks to the pit of your stomach.

“It shouldn’t be like this,” you never knew that you’ve been crying until Jaemin gently wipes your tears away with his handkerchief, his eyes softening at your sobbing form. “But it is what it is.”

seven. Chan quickly calls in a cab for his date after sliding his credit card across the counter. He grimaces slightly when she presses a goodbye kiss on his cheek, and then waves her off when she enters the taxi. After receiving his bill, Chan pushes himself through the busy waiters and waitresses, mumbling small “sorry” along the way until his feet lead him to the long flight of stairs.

And he sees you standing there with your back against him, fiddling with your fingers nervously. He knows you’ve never been good at hiding how awkward you are so it gives him a tiny bit of hope when he finds out he still has this kind of effect on you. But when he takes a few more steps forwards, his jaw almost drops to the floor when he can finally get a closer look at your dress.

Chan’s never seen you in a dress before, but he believes that you have the ability to pull off anything. He’s not wrong after all. The dress hugs your figure perfectly and in the most flattering way, leaving him in complete awe. But you’d never choose a dress, even when it’s a formal dinner. Goddamn, that kid is one lucky son of a bitch, he mentally curses.

You meet Chan once again on a balcony, but tonight you’re met with a sky without stars. It seems like they can’t even muster the courage to see where this conversation is gonna go.

“What’s her name?” You ask breathlessly, still not willing to make direct eye contact with him.

Chan inhales deeply, and exhales, “Her name is Eunji. Apparently, our families had an agreement that we’re gonna be engaged once we reached a certain age. I’m so sorry for shutting you out without a proper explanation, I really am. I’m such an asshole.”

You finally can look at him without getting all teary-eyed, your lips trembling. “It’s alright,” then you quickly look away to avoid any awkwardness. “You guys look good together, I’m happy for you both.” And when Chan doesn’t say anything, you decide to ask him softly. “But are you?”

He buries his face into the palms of his hands and sighs heavily. “I- I don’t know, I just don’t want to let them down. And I tried so hard to tell them that I already had someone else but I’m just scared that—“

“That they won’t accept me because you didn’t know that I do in fact, make cold, hard cash?” You stare deeply into the distance and laugh humorlessly. “After all those years, I had no idea, no fucking idea that you were Christopher Bang, like the Christopher Bang, the one who’s supposed to take over the family’s business, the most eligible bachelor in the country.”

Chan grabs you by the shoulders, catching you off guard when your noses are barely touching, his warm breath fanning your face. “Speak for yourself. You’ve never even told me that you were Felix’s stepsister. All those years of college, and I only know that you’re the manager of the Carpe Diem Hotel now. And why are you dating the Senator’s son again? Last time I checked, you’re still leaving me messages even when I went MIA or put the phone on silent all the time.”

“I can date whoever I want to,” you try to shove his arms away but his grip only gets tighter. “And no shit, you know I’m not into guys like that. We’re not dating, he offered me dinner after seeing me so miserable at the party.”

And you quickly assert with a fake smile. “But that’s not the point, is it? Let me guess, if I were not some daughter of the CEO of the biggest hotel chain in the country, then you would never tell your parents about me, would you? You’d rather marry Eunji so that your grandparents won’t potentially disown you instead.”

Chan shakes his head profusely because he could never, would never, can never, and will never trade you for anything else in this world. “No, you don’t understand- I- just- just give me some time and-“ He loves you too much to the point that his heart bleeds a bit whenever you catch his gaze from across the table and return to your conversation with Jaemin, giggling and laughing at his lame jokes like nothing’s ever happened. But his biggest problem here, is how can he convey his love to you once again when you’ve already despised him with every single cell inside your body?

You narrow your eyes at him, slightly amused by how he’s stuttering. “And?”

“Let me make it up to you,” he tells you after running a hand through his brown locks. “Come with my family on a cruise trip next month in Singapore. I’ll prove myself to you and do everything in my power to get your trust back. Even if things can never be the same again. I can’t lose you, I won’t let you go this time. Bring whoever as your plus-one, just not that kid…I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

“How are you so sure that you’re not gonna break my heart again?”

Chan says breathlessly and goosebumps automatically bubble up on your skin at his words, “I’m not. Because I know that no matter how many times I stupidly, or impulsively hurt you, you will always stay. And I’ll always be there to gather the broken pieces as if you’ve never felt the pain before.”

A long, muffled silence occurs between both of you. You quickly look away after a good ten seconds of making eye contact with Chan. He’s having that kind of effect on you like how he used to and you’re determined not to fall again. You’d hate to have your heart broken twice by the same person. “You do know that we wouldn’t have worked out anyway right?”

Chan doesn’t say anything, instead, he turns around and calls a ride for you. His eyes look stormy that night, impossible to read as if there are so many things on his mind at the same time to the point that his head becomes cloudy and nothing makes sense anymore. He doesn’t even wave you goodbye when you get inside the car but his gaze never leaves your figure until it’s completely gone in the distance.

You know that it’s something more than just love because your feelings for Chan are still there even when he’s not. You’re just far too busy being depressed inside your bedroom, under your fuzzy blanket to notice them. Now they’re back, again, for the third time, much, much stronger and more powerful. You don’t know whether this is hazing because falling for someone more than twice just sounds unhealthy for you, a person who lives off donuts for two weeks straight because you need the push of the sugar crush in order to avoid caffeine. Chan just stepped into your life like how he did about three hundred and sixty-five days ago and completely broke down the fort you were trying to build.

Call you an idiot, but is it bad to think that he’s not planning on leaving any time soon?

eight. You hate cruises for plenty of reasons, and one of them being, not surprisingly, a cruise is basically a hotel on water. The concept of a hotel floating on the water makes it a trillion times cooler and unnecessarily overrated. In your defense, having a massage or partying ‘til dawn while not knowing when you’re gonna drown to your imminent death is petrifying. Maybe you’re just bitter about the fact that people don’t appreciate normal hotels enough, because they really don’t.

Okay, if you have to choose one thing not to hate on a cruise, then it’s probably the mini theatre that Chan personally demanded for his chaotic group of friends. Hey, privileged people need some wholesome, chill times with friends too.

But the fact that almost everyone has already seen Stranger Things makes you feel more like a grandma than you already are. These are the times where you rarely choose to sit next to Jisung because you’re both on the same boat for once. Other times, you’re just bickering like the reincarnations of every movie where the main characters constantly want to put the other’s head on a chopping block but end up falling in love anyway; except, you will never fall in love with Jisung. That’s so creepy on so many levels.

Creepier than whatever the fuck of a demonic image that Hyunjin’s about to show you, being the pest that he is. “We have four votes for Stranger Things and four votes for Spider-Man: Far from home,” he announces in that irritating voice of his while hogging the whole bowl of popcorn to himself. “So what’s it gonna be, Han? Choose wisely, my friend,”

Jisung sips on his Coke and points his index finger at his roommate as if he’s accusing Hyunjin of murdering someone, “I’m with Y/N, because screw you,” he’s not entirely wrong because, without a doubt, Jisung’s soul is gonna detach itself from his body after the first episode. “And if Chan were here, he’d agree with me,”

“Nope,” Chan conveniently steps in when you’re about to do a fist bump with Jisung, taking the seat on your right despite plenty of other (about twenty-six) empty seats. “We’re watching Stranger Things, it’s been almost thirty minutes and all you guys have been doing is aiming at each other’s throat,” he whips out a small remote from his pocket and clicks the ‘play’ button without anyone’s consent. He has no right to do that! You don’t think you’ll ever forgive him after this.

Chill time isn’t so wholesome anymore.

So basically the whole plot is about a boy going missing, flipping a whole town from Indiana upside down. Everyone spends days and nights, desperately trying to find him until one day, a little girl with a shaved head comes into the story and makes the entirety of the movie that much weirder. And more horror-worthy when she’s being chased by ‘bad guys’. This is another reason why you hate Chan: he can’t be bothered about what he’s watching because he’s only here for good food. And probably your suffering. But mostly just good food.

Actually, it might be the other one because you can clearly see that stupid grin on his face when you pull your hood low enough to cover half of your eyes so that you won’t be potentially haunted at night by whatever’s ready to pop on screen. And Jisung’s already clinging onto one of your arms like his life depends on it, legs quivering in his boots. You really don’t wanna accidentally elbow him in the face when there’s an inevitable jump scare.

“Chan, you sadist, I hope you’re happy for doing this to me,” you sneer at him with gritted teeth, frustrated about the fact that you can’t singlehandedly feed him to the sharks.

Chan leans in slyly, lips dangerously close to your ear. “That’s for you ogling Tom Holland,”

Jisung automatically gasps scandalously, once again opening that useless mouth of his and decides to put you on trial. “A compromise was almost made, Y/N you monster!” (Actually no, he’d never survive law school). Jisung wiggles himself out of his seat faster than a lightning bolt and snuggles closely next to Woojin, who’s staring at the screen like someone’s forcing him to watch one of the worst pantomimes to ever exist. Great, now you’re stuck with Chan in the very front seat, having no choice to hold onto him like he’s your last option before falling into your impending misery in the next sixty minutes.

This asshole is really—

The moment you’re ready to pour a paper cup full of Sprite over his head, Jisung and Hyunjin just happen to whimper and yelp at the same time, with the same amount of awfully loud volume, spilling their own endless string of curse words with the same length while holding onto whoever’s lucky enough to sit next to them. So naturally, you stupidly let your guard down and cower like a child watching Snow White for the very first time and being absolutely terrified of the ugly witch. You’re far too busy thinking of ways to bury Hyunjin alive to realize that you’ve unknowingly pulled yourself closer to Chan and hid your face in his chest.

“Hwang Hyunjin you fucking moron!” Jisung yells at the top of his lungs when another demonic scene occurs, sending actual chills down his spine. He almost misses the feeling of still having a vendetta with his friend back in the good old high school days when they’re still wrestling each other every two minutes. Also, you’ve never felt this bad for Jisung (or even related to him) in a fairly long time, because… same.

Hyunjin can officially kiss your Jeep goodbye because you’ll never let him borrow it again. That idiot.

“You’re such a baby,” Chan comments and purposely cuts off your trains of thoughts so that you can peel yourself off him and look straight into the screen again, at the wrong time.

“I’m not your baby—“

You hiss in panic and throw yourself onto him again, trying to calm yourself by listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat and persistent pace of breathing. You’re already mentally apologizing to Jennie because you’re 75% sure that she’s not gonna be able to sleep with you sticking to her side like a jellyfish. There was this one time you all watched The Conjuring because Jisoo insisted so much and except for her and Lisa, no one got a wink of sleep that night so you’re not sure how you’re gonna survive this when there’s no pillow or blanket to protect you from all of the horrifying sound effects and imageries.

Chan secretly bumps his fist with Jeongin in the back, who’s a little bit too occupied with Hyunjin crushing his bones every two seconds. The perks of hitting on a friend’s sister. Works like a charm, he smirks internally. “Little Y/N is scared, how precious,” he looks down at you, and a smile blooms on his lips, enjoying the blissful feeling of having you in his embrace again.

“I am not scared!” You still can’t learn to accept that sometimes, admitting to your defeat is better for your own good.

“Then why won’t you look at the screen then?”

“Because- oh my God, what the hell was that?!”

“It’s okay to admit that you’re scared, I can protect you,” Chan boasts with his chin high up. And you’d love to blush at his affectionate words right now, really. Only if he didn’t quickly jump into conclusion because of your crush on Tom Holland and chose the movie in the span of a split second.

“Christopher, this isn’t funny!”

“Well, I certainly didn’t try to insult you in any means at all, ma’am. I don’t see what’s the problem here,” he singsongs, gently draping an arm around your shoulders. This time, he’s glad that you didn’t end up punching him in the gut.

“Shut the fuck— Jesus Christ!” You screech when the demonic image keeps flashing in your mind, driving your head around in circles. “Chan, I swear to God, you’ll regret—“ you don’t even bother to finish your sentence and have no choice to hold onto him like he’s your only source of life, without him, you’ll soon disintegrate into fine dust and slip away easily. If Lisa was here, she would record the whole thing and play it on the slideshow of videos that she’s been preparing for your upcoming birthday. Thank God she’s playing beer pong with BamBam somewhere on the second floor.

That sounds so melodramatic but it’s not necessarily wrong. Chan still has that same sense of comfort whenever your skin comes in contact with his, even when it’s a thin layer of fabric away, you can still feel how badly it burns like a reminder for you that he’s here and he’s not going anywhere. Nothing’s going to change that, your intuition has told you before but you elect to ignore it. You’re starting to realize that you let Chan into your life again just like that, let him tear down your walls, and lit your heart on fire.

But what you don’t know is that his heart is still beating vigorously in his chest cavity for you, after all this time. His one and only.

“Hey, hey,” he tells you softly.

“What? Don’t make me look, I don’t wanna see it, I don’t wanna hear it either, I’m scared okay just don’t—”

“No, Y/N, look at me,” Chan chuckles and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to stare into his starry eyes. All you can see is an entire cosmos, more wondrous and beautiful than everything you’ve ever seen. He shines like he owns the entire universe in his existence, glowing from within and leaves you utterly speechless. Your head starts to become fuzzy and your heart dips when you realize how terribly close you are to him.

Chan takes your head and gently places it on the left side of his chest, smiling. “Can you hear that? It’s your fault, yeah, you did that to me,” The calm rhythm of his heart cancels everything out; all you can see is him, and all you can hear is his heartbeat. You spend approximately one second debating whether you should kiss him and you hate every moment of that one single second, you dread every nanosecond of it.

“Are you still afraid?” He whispers and you shake your head almost immediately without replying with what’s in your head. Like no shit, you’re more than just petrified right now, this is by far, one of the scariest, most frightening, and most nerve-racking decisions you’ve ever made in your life.

At that moment, it feels as if you’re standing on the edge of a cliff with him by your side. And you do exactly what he’s asking you to because it’s the only thing that you can do.

You jump.

nine. Weirdly enough, you miss college.

You miss those days where you had to finish the entirety of your morning routine in a span of five minutes so that you could be out the door and not miss the bus. You miss those moments where you had to skip two steps at a time on the longass flight of stairs just so your professor wouldn’t have another excuse to yell at you other than the overdue assignments.

You also miss college parties, not because they’re ‘lit’ but because things were simpler back then. People come, drink, get wasted, fight someone (or make out with someone), and then go home. Actually, no, they usually make out first thing first in the front porch because college students don’t give two fucks about their dignity and decency. You definitely didn’t miss that. And also those times where you ogled Chan during lunch breaks or when you both took the usual 4419 to college on a daily basis.

Everything gets a little more nostalgic when Minho slides your usual mojito across the counter and gives you that cat-like smile of his. Somehow, it makes you wanna hug him and bite his head off at the same time but you’re not wasted enough for that yet. You just need to get your mind off Chan when he’s too busy being tormented by his own family.

“Zero sips and you’re already dreaming about Chan? Gee, if I’m not mistaken then you’re so in love with him, manager Lee,” Minho is in his element, surrounded by good music and alcohol. In which, there’s no point in arguing with him anyway because you’re basically vulnerable and defenseless when everywhere you go, you see Chan’s face.

You down half of the mojito in one go and the bartender in front of you almost staggers backward from utter shock. Normally, you’d be snapping back at him with a witty retort instead of being all sappy and dreamy like this. This is not good. “My my, you’re really thinking about him, aren’t you? So tell me, how does that feel? To be deeply in love with another human being,” he leans forward to approach you, propping his head up with his hands. You murmur a small “bullshit” and proceed to toss your head back for a bit, shaking the weariness away.

“Listen, I might be heartless and all but when I accidentally put Tabasco into Jisung’s orange juice instead of honey the other day, I did actually feel bad about it. I felt a rush of empathy for a split second there,” Minho muses when he sees the corners of your lips curl upwards, stretching into a small grin. “It was wild, and then I just thought; is this what it feels like…to be a decent human being? Edgy, I know.”

You laugh dryly with boredom glinting in your eyes. “You know, if you’re going to distract me from thinking about Chan, at least be good at it,” his mouth drops open at your statement, completely gobsmacked. Oh, how the tables have turned. He’s never felt so defeated and useless before. Usually, he’s the one who makes others speechless. It’s not hard to tell that he hates it when everything just flips upside down.

“Bitch please,” Minho says with puckered lips. “Even if I spiked your drink, you’d still repeat his name in your dream like a mantra because you’re so fucking whipped for him,” he stops for a while to train his undivided attention on the Tequila Sunrise for Jisung who’s already smashed after two beers. He can really use some counseling, Minho ponders. “And you wouldn’t kiss Chan back if you hated him, gotta love stupid feelings that you can’t even explain for yourself, am I right?”

You take another sip of your drink and exhale, staring into his sharp eyes. “Excuse me, who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Lee Minho, genius, dancer, fashion icon by day, party animal by night, personal counselor,” he holds back the urge to slap you across the face with Felix’s Gucci slippers and instead, musters the sweetest smile. Being a bartender and a potential alcoholic at the same time definitely doesn’t help because he wishes he could just chug a whole bottle of vodka before you complain to him about your miserable love life. “I believe I’m qualified enough to give you some solid advice. So shut up and listen to me—“

“—I’m trying! But Minho, what if I’m the delusional one? What if he just wanted a fresh start so that we wouldn’t be so awkward towards each other? A kiss can’t possibly mean something. I mean, if you consider our New Year’s kiss, it meant so much to me but I don’t know if—“

And now, Lee Minho, self-proclaimed, genius, dancer, fashion icon by day, party animal by night, personal counselor; doesn’t have the slightest earthly idea of what the hell he should do. God, serious relationships are so fucking complicated to the point that his brain is yelling for retirement. Usually, he just poisons his friends with a dose of some common sense and solid logic to knock them back to reality in order to figure out whatever they’re going through. But this time, he thinks he should just let you fall further and further until Chan catches you instead.

Now that he’s thinking about it. Chan definitely didn’t pay him enough to be the bartender and a personal therapist for the love of his life.

“Seems like you’re not enjoying the party,” you instantly turn around because you can realize the owner of the voice in the matter of a split second. The moment Chan’s eyes are locked with yours, your heart immediately jumps up to your throat and then drops back down to your chest. If only this was because of the mojito, you’d feel better about it somehow but unfortunately, Minho gave you a non-alcoholic one today.

You can tell that he’s already hammered by the smell of alcohol when his warm breath brushes over your nose and how his cheeks are redder than usual. Minho quickly excuses himself from the scene to save himself from witnessing a mediocre, drunk confession session. And also because people are starting to pour in by the second, so the bar will probably be overpopulated in the next ten minutes or so. It’s downright a college party again except for the fact that everyone is floating on water but still, alcohol-thirsty pigs are still pigs. Everyone’s sloppy and lightheaded to the point that you’re already hearing the janitors crying themselves to sleep tonight.

“I’m enjoying it more than you if you couldn’t tell already,” your face morphs into a frown when Chan giggles and stumbles around like a madman. He would have facepalmed himself onto the marble counter with various bottles that probably cost more than one of his cars combined and made a scene if it weren’t for your hands steadying the blades of his shoulders. The warmth of your fingers radiate through his denim jacket and sinks into his skin, making his head a little fuzzy while you’re wondering how the fuck did he get this batshit drunk when Minho was with you the whole time.

“What the hell did you have?”

“I don’t know, BamBam asked me to try out some of his new cocktail recipes,” Chan hiccups and allows you to fling one of his arms over your shoulders. “Guess I didn’t consider dinner with my family afterward. Mom said I should just get some rest but I was thinking of you, so voila, I’m here now,” he gives you that signature boyish grin of his that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. But this time, your frown just grows deeper because since when did BamBam know how to make cocktails? And almost knocked Chan out too? You know why you should just stick to Minho’s mojito now.

Your eyes widen in panic as Chan almost trips over your foot when Hyunjin accidentally bumps into his back. “Oh Y/N, I’ve been looking for you,” the younger boy tells you with a Margarita in his hand, curiosity laced in his eyes. “No, scratch that, actually, some guy called Jaemin is looking for you,” Hyunjin then leans closer to a very-shocked-looking you and tries to shout over the loud music. “Who is that guy anyway? I heard rumors going around that he’s the Senator’s son or—“

Even though Chan’s not very sober at the moment and all he can hear is “some guy” and “the Senator’s son”, he knows that he needs to get you out of here as soon as possible. That bastard, Chan thought he’s already eliminated him from the guest list. Without a second thought, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you away from Hyunjin although he’s not the real threat here, piloting you through the sweaty bodies grinding against each other to the EDM music in the background. He was gonna take up the DJ duty tonight but really…is he gonna let you have another encounter with Na Jaemin? Yeah, he thought so too.

Before you can even register the whole situation, Chan’s already backed you up against a wall in his bedroom, a hand over your mouth with the other on the small of your back. Time seems to stop when you see the golden flecks in his eyes, floating softly in his nebula, and you’re absolutely, definitely, totally falling for him all over again. He’s so incredibly beautiful it leaves you moonstruck, wondering how can God be so unfair to make Chan look better than you even when he’s wasted.

Everything starts moving once again when a series of “have you seen Y/N?” echoes through the hallway and you can physically feel Chan tighten his grip on your body, jaw clenching too much that it might hurt. You know that voice all too well; Na Jaemin is here. And he’s looking for you. But you can care less right now because your heart automatically does a flip when Chan makes direct eye contact with you, his index finger hovering over his lips.

“Y/N, I need to tell–“

But this is not the time to fawn over how good he looks, you tell yourself with such determination.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” you help Chan walk over to his king-size bed, his limbs wobbly and unstable. After a solid minute of struggling and panting, you finally have Chan laying on the bed, legs dangling off the edge. While you’re too busy unfolding his blanket, he’s murmuring gibberish that you can’t quite, choosing to ignore it like how you’ve ignored Woojin snoring at two in the morning during a camping trip. “Chan,” you shake his shoulders slightly. “You’re gonna fall flat on your face if you sleep like this,”

You hiss through gritted teeth helplessly. “Chan!” But he doesn’t even move a single muscle. “You idiot, why did you agree to drink all of those cocktails?” You’re going to rip BamBam��s head off of his neck next time with your bare hands, it’s on. “Chan!” Your last attempt of waking him up fails miserably when he scrunches his nose a little, then proceeds to move on with his slumber.

Yeah, he’s definitely gone.

Or not.

Just when you’re about to give up and leave him as he is, Chan grabs you by the wrist and pulls you flush against his chest, heart thundering more vigorously than ever. He easily rolls the both of you to the side with no effort, only to get a better grip of your waist, his breath tickling your nose. At the suddenly close proximity, you can take a closer look at his long lashes that framed his eyes perfectly, his tall nose and his plump lips. Chan looks so ethereal and otherworldly that you wonder what it feels like to run your hands through his hair, dance your fingers against his jawline and press your lips against his.

But you also notice the bags under his eyes and how his brows are slightly knitted together. He doesn’t seem to be doing a great job at taking care of himself after all and it makes your heartache knowing that he didn’t have any other choice. It’s no one’s fault, really, though, in scenarios like this, people would love to point fingers and make assumptions out of something that they don’t even know. Falling in love with Chan for the third time can be the best thing that’s ever happened to you or it will eventually push you off a cliff, straight into a downward spiral.

Whatever the consequences are, you’d never trade him for anything in this world. Even if it means getting your heart broken all over again. You’re willing to walk through fire and step on thorns just to be by his side again. But at the same time, you’re not sure if he feels the same because if not, you’ll be left with nothing. Maybe he’ll forget all of this in the morning. Maybe it’s never meant to happen anyway.

Chan suddenly pulls you in more and his lips are terribly close to your flesh, your eyes going wide in panic. Moments later, soft snores escape his mouth as his chest heaves up and down in a calm rhythm. It reminds you of when he hugs you in the theatre, embarrassment soon flares through your nostrils and sprinkle a shade of coral on the apples of your cheeks. You can’t help but smile, arms snaking around his firm waistline.

Chan hugs you so tightly that you blindly believe that he needs you. As if it’s his way of saying “stay, it makes me feel at ease that you’re right here, in my arms again”. No one has ever really needed you. As sad as it sounds, your family can still move on with life just fine even when you’re not there. Your friends have their own jobs and other relationships as well, they don’t actually need you. You’ve never felt anything quite like this before, it’s a little bit frightening but also a little bit tempting.

Yep, you think to yourself. I’m done for.

Goddamnit BamBam.

ten. Chan groans loudly when the early daylight hits him like a truck, knocking him out of his semi-unconscious state. Hangovers still hit him hard, but this time, shit hurts way worse because someone still has a lot to learn as a mixologist. He smells like alcohol, probably looks like trash, and his head is fuzzy yet [insert culprit’s name] is standing right in front of him, all dressed up like he’s about to do a drug transaction.

“Bro,” he narrows his eyes to do a full scan of the bedroom, plopping himself back down only to realize that you’re not here. “You fucking suck at making cocktails,”

BamBam only chuckles humorlessly at that, five of his drinks didn’t even put a dent on Changbin yet the infamous Bang Chan wasn’t able to stay sober to not have a girl carry him to his bedroom. “Drink,” he gives the glass of water in his hand a light thrust before handing Chan a tablet of aspirin with the other. He’s also decided that it’s a lovely Sunday morning and he doesn’t have time for this shit. He should be chomping on breakfast in bed with something on the TV right now. But, he can’t risk having Chan roam the cruise looking all homeless and insane.

“I can’t believe not only did you let Y/N into your room, slept in the same bed as her,” Chan chokes on the big gulp of water that he’s just taken, and everything from last night starts pouring back to him like an unwanted nightmare. He was far too drunk to even remember every detail, he just prays to whatever gods up there that he didn’t say anything stupid. “Yet you didn’t even confess, great fucking job.” BamBam asserts like the true friend that he is, accidentally pushing Chan closer to his imminent misery.

Chan snaps his head up and almost screams aloud that his heart’s about to jump out of his chest, “You wanted me to what?!”

“You heard me,” BamBam tongues the inside of his cheeks in annoyance, regretting the amount of money that he spent to tip one of the cruise’s staff so that he could sneak his own alcohol in safely. “You know what that means? That means you still didn’t shoot your shot! You did not shoot your shot! Which entails? You’re gonna be lonely for the rest of your life and eventually die alone. You’re gonna die alone! You hear me?”

Chan thinks it’s way too early for him to endure BamBam repeating himself over and over again like a crazy person. He might still be slightly hammered because all he’s hearing is “shoot your shot” and “die alone”, he’s confused because why in the world is his best friend making him choose between killing someone and dying alone? Wait, no, actually….he might mean something else. Chan’s just in denial.

“Where is she?” He rasps out tiredly after taking the pill and downs the whole glass of water.

“Lisa carried her back to Jennie’s room in the middle of the night,” BamBam informs his friend, watching how his eyes are starting to turn stormy, and then he exhales out of relief. “She almost murdered me! This is all your fault!” He cries out dramatically before belly-flopping himself onto Chan’s bed, metaphoric tears dripping down on his cheek.

Chan perks an eyebrow as if BamBam just offended him, as if he’s mental and just made it out of an insane asylum. “My fault?” He questions, his voice getting louder and louder at the end. “Whose idea was it to poison me with your questionable drinks? Whose idea was it to make me all batshit drunk? Whose idea was it to let me into the party so that I could find the only thing that I’ve been trying to avoid all night? It was your fault, okay?! It-was-your-fault!” He deadpans and soon realizes that now he’s the one who’s repeating himself.

BamBam is more than confused right now because didn’t Chan want this after all? To confess to you once again and get you back? All he was trying to do is basically give his friend a teeny tiny sprinkle of motivation and this is how he repays him? Now he looks like an idiot who has been trying to sabotage the relationship between the two protagonists of another horrible rom-com. Jackson was right, he should have just played ping pong in peace and not stick his nose into other people’s business.

“Look,” he places a hand on Chan’s shoulder as he sighs deeply into the palms of his hands, mentally debating how the fuck can he make it up to you now. “She could have just refused your invitation of stepping onto this cruise. She could have pushed you away when you tried to kiss her,” BamBam stops midway to suppress his laughter at how Chan’s cheeks are taking no time to turn into a brighter shade of pink. “And, she could have left you alone and drunk at the bar, and- I don’t know, hang out with Na Jaemin or something.”

When a muffled silence descends in between the current civil conversation, only a confused look crosses Chan’s features and all BamBam wants to do right now is to put his head through a goddamn wall. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he murmurs to himself. “Minho’s right. You both are so dumb it’s physically hurting me.” Not exactly the most comforting words to tell a person in crisis but things hitting hard like this actually helps Chan a lot more than how people usually sugarcoat their words.

“Listen, it’s not like there’s no more fish in the sea but have you ever met someone who instantly clicked and just simply fell for you? She didn’t know that you had money, she didn’t know anything about your family. She could care less about your social background too honestly, because she fell for who you truly are,” BamBam hates to be cliché, really, but it is what it is. “Y/N has never gone a day without checking your notifications, she was so broken when you suddenly just shut her out like that. And yes, you were an asshole for doing that but can’t you see how hesitant she was every time you’re trying to get closer?”

Chan looks up at his friend, his tense muscles finally relaxing. “Which isn’t the point…”

“Which isn’t the point,” BamBam tells him, looking more serious than ever and it’s freaking him out. “Because what I’m trying to say is, it’s still not too late to shoot your shot.”

eleven. Maybe you deserve someone else, but deep down, you’ve always wanted Chan. And in your heart, you know that it’s right because humans only want the love they thought they deserved. You think part of the reason why you can never seem to let go of him is you’re just scared that something so amazing won’t happen twice. People might call you out for dwelling on the past but you call it a coping mechanism.

Magically, you’re starting to get used to the frequent encounters with Chan and Eunji since they’re also apparently part of the Privileged. You really should give yourself a pat on your shoulder for not having a mental breakdown whenever you see them hand in hand in public. The forced smile on Chan’s face always gives you the tiniest strand of hope that he’s just putting on a show as demand from his family. But at the same time, you’re scared that you’re just being delusional and you’d never have anything to do with his life from now on. Perhaps he wanted a fresh start so that everything can be like how they used to back in college? He didn’t want to “lose you again” because he still wanted to be friends?

But every time he tried to sneak a glance towards your direction and smiled, all you could think was: “Oh, shit,”

You knew that you fell for him twice, and you’re still falling. Every. Single. Day.

“Like what you see?” Changbin brags on the other side of the curtain, followed by a string of gagging noises by Jisung. And you secretly want to take a picture of his face, for science, obviously. But by that, you mean to blackmail him whenever wherever you want because he’d rather not have his fans gushing over him looking like a dying donkey, inside a fifteen thousand dollars suite on a cruise.

“You look like an idiot.”

Jisung voices with pure disgust in his tone. “Who the fuck lend you a white tuxedo?” Needless to say, you try to picture Changbin wearing a white suit and you immediately scrunch your nose up, shaking your head profusely. Changbin looks especially good in dark colors, but you’re not saying that he wouldn’t look good in brighter tones, it just feels weird not seeing him in a black tux, even when it’s just for a small party.

“My sister! If anything she’s an idiot,” he’s probably throwing his hands up in frustration. “She said I should switch things up. And I trusted her, now I feel like an idiot.”

Jisung asserts like a snake, “You look like you have a stick up in your ass, it’s so high up I can literally see it whenever you’re opening your mouth.” He’s probably man-spreading on the blue velvet couch, playing with the glass of bubbly champagne that he’s specifically requested. You don’t get why he would want to drink when he’s waiting for his friends in the dressing room but he will, just because he can.

“Ew,” he spats not long after. You’re not sure if he’s referring to the drink or Changbin’s outfit. It might be the drink, it’s shit but it gets the job done. It’s more about the concept of looking elegant and fancy more than the concept of getting wasted, in order to not look like a corrupted person. “Why would you godsend privileged, snoshy, live-and-breathe-in-money people deadass drink this instead of a nice Tequila?” Yep, not surprising.

Changbin protests, clearly annoyed. “Because we can afford that shit, just like how there’s a random, money dripping guitar in the dressing room,” you don’t even have to peek to know that he’s rolling his eyes to the point that they’re gonna fly out of their sockets. “But at the same time…true, I don’t like it either. That’s why I never get wasted whenever I go to parties like these, man, I miss college parties,”

God, this zipper is driving me nuts, you mentally curse when it gets stuck halfway and your arms are already giving up on you. Where’s Jennie when you’re in desperate need of her help?

“Whatever, let’s go find your sister and get you in a new tux,” you can hear Jisung pushes himself off the couch and settles his champagne down on the coffee table. “No offense towards her…I just fucking hate it on you,”

“Wait, guys—“ the moment you try to call out to them, they basically shut the door of the dressing room. “Well, shit,” you sigh, quickly realizing that 1) you don’t have your phone with you; 2) you can’t just run outside to grab it because what if Changbin and Jisung get back here at an untimely moment; and 3) there’s no way in hell you’re gonna ask one of them to zip it up for you. Now you’re forced to stay in a confined space with your only protection aka the red velvet curtain that looks way too cliché for your liking. Seriously, isn’t Jennie supposed to be here with you? It was her idea to put you in another dress, which you hate with a passion but you can never have the heart to tell her that.

The door swings open again and you exhale out of surprise, “Thank God, Jen. You’re here. Can you help me with my zipper? It’s stuck, and my hands gave up on me,” you immediately turn around, a sense of relief washing over you.

“Do you think Chan’s gonna hate seeing me in a dress again? I mean, I did call him an asshole when I wasn’t wearing one,” you stop to take in a breath, completely oblivious about the fact that it wasn’t Jennie who opened the door. “…but I was kinda acting like a bitch when I was wearing one too. I was so furious knowing that he’s seeing someone else behind my back that I wanted to bite his head off. And now I’m stuck here with him, his family, and that chick, in a hotel, on water, floating spontaneously somewhere near Singapore.”

Wordlessly, a pair of hands push the curtains aside to tug onto your zipper, slowly adjusting it and careful not to break it at the same time. Once your dress is zipped up all the way, you’re ready to turn your head and thank your friend. “Stay still, I’m not done yet,” your face automatically burns darkly when you come to a realization that it’s definitely not Jennie, most definitely not Jennie. In fact, it’s the person you’ve been planning on avoiding all night. Before you can decide when to make a run for it and save yourself from the imminent embarrassment, a silver necklace is draped around your neck, a diamond-studded buttery resting nicely right below your collarbones.

“Beautiful,” he says again in that honey-dripping voice of his. “You should wear dresses more,”

“Chan! You just scared the living daylights out of me,” you whisper harshly, turning on your heels and shove his chest. You definitely didn’t know what you were signing up for because it’s a grave mistake for you to accidentally look into his captivating eyes and you can see an entire universe in them. Absolutely magnificent. He looks impeccably good in his bejeweled black suit jacket, black turtleneck, and a silver chain around his neck, matching pieces of jewelry adorning his ears.

Chan wiggles his brows like the self-indulging person that he is, straightening his lapel dramatically. “Hmm, I don’t know if you can smell that, but it reeks of jealousy in here, and also hatred, but mostly jealousy.”

“Can. You. Zip. It. And. Call. It. A. Day.” With every word, you repeatedly slap his chest, but only to see him breaking into a fit of giggles in return. You almost forgot that he works out, whereas, you literally have zero ounces of muscles on your body. What a disgrace to your family. Like come on, even Felix has abs, and he never turns down Tacos Tuesday whenever he has dance practice with Hyunjin because their studio is conveniently situated right next to the best Mexican restaurant.

And the guacamole there? Phenomenal.

Chan teases, “I thought girls like you should be taught to act like a lady, not hitting the innocents.”

“Stop being a baby, Bang, it’s not like I’m gonna leave you with a bruise or two.”

Ah yes, this reminds Chan of the good old days of college where you’re both in that weird phase where you’re too much of a scaredy-cat not to talk to him on a last name basis because Changbin was an idiot for constantly leaving you two alone in the music room. “Why?” His lips curl up into a grin. “Because you can’t even open a jar of spaghetti sauce by yourself?”

That’s…that’s just a harsh truth. And now you feel like Regina George getting hit by a bus because life’s willing to give you a piece of its mind. You’re weak as fuck.

“It’s not fair when Felix has a six packs while eating tacos every other week, and I’m here looking like this with a green smoothie for breakfast every day,” you mumble bitterly, already too tired to argue with Chan because the party’s starting in half an hour. “I swear he’s on drugs, he always puts something into his daily Americano.”

Chan laughs breathlessly and cups your face with his hands, squishing your cheeks together. “I’m pretty sure it’s just stevia since Lix has a sweet tooth. On the bright side, I think you look just fine like how you are right now. I like you just the way you are. No modification is needed.” The audacity.

Your nostrils flare with heat, and your cheeks feel hot against Chan’s cool fingers. Again, Chan looks really good tonight and you’re not sure how much longer your heart can hold up before you pass out in his arms. “Uhm, so, just to make it clear,” you fiddle with your fingers nervously. “You and I-“

“Hey guys, how are things going—” Jennie pops her head into the dressing room and looks around, seeing no signs of Changbin or Jisung whatsoever. “What did I miss?” She looks at you cluelessly, then her lips automatically spread into a shit-eating grin when she sees how Chan’s cupping your cheeks. Just when you thought you can’t possibly blush any more darkly.

You awkwardly pull away when Chan clears his throat, retrieving his hands from your face. “Jen, just get out, I swear it’s nothing.” Yeah, as if Jennie aka the person who proclaims to be an expert at love because she’s snuck way too many boys into her closet, is gonna believe your pathetic attempt at an explanation.

“Oh, I’ll get out,” Jennie throws you a wink and you can see how Chan’s shuddering slightly at the dangerous glint in her eyes. “Now, don’t get too freaky in here okay kids, walls are pretty thin,” she asserts unhelpfully like the true friend that she is before shutting the door close. When you’re about to blurt out as many apologies as you can muster to Chan, a soft ‘click’ echoes through your eardrums. Your eyes grow alarmed almost immediately and so do Chan’s.

Did she just lock you inside the dressing room with Chan and expect something to happen? Kim. Fucking. Jennie.

“I hate you, and Jennie,” you tell Chan, not even bothering to hit him this time.

You’d rather take a nap on that couch over there than go out and party honestly. Parties only consist of two things most of the time: drinking and talking. But getting wasted is not an option tonight because you’re not about to spill rosé on the dress that Jennie adores the most. Although you do hate her ass right now.

And people don’t even hold proper conversations during parties unless they know each other, there are only small talks which are so….ugh. You don’t understand the purpose, the meaning of speaking to someone with a maximum of three sentences. You need a real, authentic, civil conversation about a specific topic that’s worth one’s time. Not just “how are you liking the party?” and “yeah, it’s dope, you?” or other gibberish nonsense.

Sometimes you feel bad for those people because their lives are staler than those crumbs of bread that pigeons feed off.

Chan tips his head back and releases the most obnoxiously loud series of laughter that you have to hold back the urge to kick him off the cruise. “You know you love me,”

“I don’t.”

“If you don’t then why would you dash through the airport like a madwoman just to hug me and tell me those three magic words?”

“Too bad, my brain just refused to recall that memory.”

He grabs your chin and angles it so that you’re directly looking into his eyes, dimpled smile, and all. “Then do I need to interfere and remind you?”

You don’t think you’re gonna make it through tonight if Chan keeps making your chest swell like this.

twelve. You and Chan have decided to change into more casual outfits and ditch the formal ones to strip the awkwardness and tension to a bare minimum. And by ditching, you mean hanging them up nicely so that Jennie won’t strangle you later. It is her dress after all. But you have every right to burn it since it was her idea to lock you up with Chan in a dressing room. Thank God it’s almost the size of her closet. Now, you’re both laying flat on your backs on the navy fuzzy carpet before the white couch, already moved the tiny coffee table away so that you won’t accidentally knock something that costs a fortune over. Kind of insanitary too but you can’t care less.

“Are you hungry?” Chan turns his head and asks you, warm brown eyes twinkling under the dimmed light.

“No,” you shake your head, and as if on cue, your stomach rumbles involuntarily. As Chan bursts into laughter, you quickly cover up your pink cheeks with the palms of your hands, internally groaning in pure agony. “Yes, I am hungry like a normal human being should because it’s already midnight, sue me.” You confess.

If only some of Ryujin’s leftovers were here. This is exactly why you refuse to eat out most of the time. Why bother hiring high-end chefs and having fancy dishes when you’ve already had a roommate who’s born into cooking? God, you miss her spaghetti.

Chan props his head onto one of his arms and looks down at you, a glint of mischief evident in his orbs. “You know what’s a whole fucking gourmet dish? Me,” he peels your hands away from your face with ease, holding onto them tightly to prevent you from smacking his chest.

You roll your eyes at him in the bitchiest way possible, yanking your hands away from his because every touch burns like fire and you’re not letting yourself be vulnerable tonight. If you still remembered some of the moves from the martial art classes that mom forced you into when you were in middle school, Chan wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance. You almost snap someone’s arm in half back then, but those days are long gone.

“You? Please, you’re like those piles of unwanted leftover vegetables that everyone keeps giving away to their most annoying relatives,” you start talking big with no intention of meaning it.

Chan’s not just a single dish, he’s an entire buffet. You could never imagine how it felt like for him to have thousands of letters and notes pouring out from his personal locker when he’s wrapping up for the day. Yeah, a total heartthrob. That’s why all of the dumb bitches on campus would always circle around him during breaks, no matter where he went. You were one of them too, you’re also a dumb bitch. Except, you didn’t need to stalk him, Changbin did all the work for you: inviting you to sit with them during lunch breaks, letting you ride the 4419 home alone with Chan, consistently hinting at Chan about your stupid feelings for him every two seconds,… In all honesty, you should be thanking him but you also want to throw him into a tank full of sharks.

Chan gasps, like audibly gasps as if you’re throwing shade at him, which you totally are. “You’re such an absurd, unreasonable, incongruous, preposterous-“ he pauses midway because he’s already running out of big words for ‘ridiculous’ to call you out on; it takes guts and Oscar-worthy acting to insult his godly appearance and impeccable visual, it really does. “—whatever, doesn’t matter. I know that you’re lying,” he singsongs before pushing himself off the carpet, stretching his limbs tiredly.

You think it’s almost two hours since you’re laying in a single spot, and you’re not risking having any parts of your body paralyzed so you get up, proceeding to do the same thing. “I can’t believe you didn’t have your phone with you,” you throw your hands up in exasperation, careful not to chip one of your nails. Lisa didn’t spend an hour on them for nothing. “And no one is even looking for us! Literally no one!” You can’t exactly blame your chaotic group of friends because they’ve probably fallen asleep since formal parties like these are so damn boring but Chan’s parents not freaking out about their missing son? And his “fiancé” too? That’s oddly concerning.

“You don’t have your phone with you either,” he snickers, hands reaching for the random acoustic guitar in the corner of the room. “I doubt that Lisa or Jisoo’s gonna get us out of here, I don’t even have faith in the two other parts of 3RACHA anymore.”

“What about your fiancé?” You ask him out of the blue, completely ignoring the sudden pang in your chest.

Chan shrugs nonchalantly, strumming some random chords with the instrument. “I broke it off with her, in front of my parents.”

“Cool then-“ you almost choke on your own saliva, “—hold up, did I just mishear you? Did you dump her?! In front of your parents?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” You heave, feeling your heart rate increasing by the nanosecond. Not only did Chan break down the walls you’ve been trying to build, he utterly eliminated the invisible barrier between your life and him (sorry Jaemin), and he knocked down the only obstacle left that’s in his way. Now, imagine two dots with a single line to connect them both. Everything’s as simple as that but your brain is already fried from coming up with one hundred and one ways to move in the slowest way possible.

Chan keeps strumming the guitar in his arms but purses his lips at your particular way of responding to his previous statement. “You know, a ‘thank you’ would be nice. And no, they didn’t disown me. I was like ‘fuck it’, and I told them everything. Not everything-everything, but like everything-everything, you feel me?”

No, I don’t fucking feel you but I can physically feel the shame and agony that’s slowly dawning on me you moron, you think to yourself, inhaling and exhaling deeply to prevent yourself from exploding like a ticking bomb.

“What did they say?”

“They didn’t say anything since they were too…uh, taken aback by the amount of information I guess..”

“Chan, I don’t think you were thinking straight—“

He interrupts you with a sad pout, sticking out his bottom lip. “Why are you talking about my parents and not this guitar?” This man is being ridiculous, as stubborn as a child.

“IT’S A GUITAR! RELAX ABOUT IT!”

“I GOT THIS FOR YOU!” Chan raises his voice slightly to catch you off guard and then sighs deeply. “Felix said you hadn’t played the guitar in years, but you were pretty good at it. So I wanted to surprise you, don’t you like it?”

“Chan, you what?” Your voice grows smaller and smaller until it’s only as audible as a whisper. “You didn’t have to do that- of course I like it! But- it’s just..” You stop talking completely to take a closer look at the acoustic guitar in his hands. It’s made of a reddish-brown type of timber with a satin finish, you can tell that the wood will age well through time and create more depth and warmth to the sound of the instrument. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a guitar, but it’s been way too long since you’ve touched one.

“I- I forgot how to play it after a while..”

Chan throws a wolffish wink in your direction as a reassurance that there wouldn’t be a problem with that. “I can show you how to if you like.”

“Moving too fast, moon is lighting up her skin,” Chan cuts you off softly with his angelic voice, and your heart is stuck in your throat, refraining you from barking back with anything. “She’s falling, doesn’t even know it yet. Heart is beating loud but she doesn’t want it to stop.”

Is he seriously trying to do this by singing a song? A fucking One Direction’s song?

“We’re only getting older, baby. And I’ve been thinking about it lately,” Chan’s voice slowly bleeds into the chorus, and you feel as if all of your pride and dignity have been thrown out the window because you’re completely frozen in your spot when he sits down next to you. Chan smiles throughout the lyrics seeing how you’re looking at him like he’s the only person left in the entire Milky Way, a strange warm sensation bubbling up in his stomach. “Does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes?”

“Everything that you’ve ever dreamt of, disappearing when you wake up,” Chan’s heart does an entirety of an acrobatic routine when he locks his eyes with yours. Seemingly to keep himself together, but the insides just feel like he’s being hung upside down on a tree with blood rushing to his face. This just has to be the cheesiest, sappiest, not-necessarily-scream-CB97 way to confess to someone but fuck it, he still needs to shoot his shot. “But there’s not to be afraid of. Even when the night changes…”

He pauses for a few seconds, “..it will never change me and you..” and finishes off smoothly, embarrassment growing more evident on his cheeks.

What did you tell yourself months ago, Y/N? Aren’t you tired of trying? How are you so sure that he wouldn’t do it again? Haven’t you had enough?

Yeah, you’d never know. And yes, you’ve had enough.

Well, to hell with that.

That’s when everything clicks in place. After all this time, after everything you’ve been through, after everything he’s done, you can finally see why you’ve been chasing him relentlessly knowing damn well that your heart is still in his hands, one wrong move and you’ll be utterly destroyed forever. Nobody compares to Chan. Nobody makes you smile like he does, nobody makes you laugh like he does and nobody makes you cry as hard as he does. It’s almost a truth that’s universally acknowledged that everything has been leading up to this specific moment, your heartbeat comes in sync, and two completely different worlds collide with each other.

You almost lost yourself all the way to him, but in him, you also found the way back to you. And how do you argue with the algorithm of falling for someone when the entire universe has conspired for the both of you to be together since forever?

“Uhm…so what-“

Before he can even finish his sentence, you abruptly grab a fistful of his hoodie and yank him towards you. Chan physically feels shivers run up his spine when your hand automatically interlocks with his, still fits like a glove. You kiss him with such desperation and tenderness it makes him feel as if you’ve been wandering this celestial sphere by yourself in the past century, yet he’s always had your heart. And he lets himself trust you with his in your hands once again because this is only the beginning. The paths ahead might not always be peaches and cream, but if it’s with you, he’s willing to stick with you ‘till the very end of it.

You’re the first one to break the kiss, managing to talk between short breaths. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Chan shakes his head and laughs breathlessly, wearing a dimpled on his face, “Nothing, I was just wondering if you’d take me back after everything.”

“After everything?” You merely chuckle when tiny bits of confusion in his orbs soon disintegrate into stardust, floating through the galaxy for eons. “A million times over, I will still choose you and let you rip my heart in half if that’s what it takes for me to stay by your side.”

Chan feels like he’s floating in midair, head all fuzzy and moonstruck. “Actually though…can I kiss you again?”

“And then nap time?” You let out a big yawn, making Chan toss his head back, laughing wholeheartedly.

“And then nap time,” he agrees, gingerly pulling you in by the waist while trying to stop himself from picturing the smirk on BamBam’s face when he opens the door in the morning.

Likewise, BamBam indeed opens the door to the dressing room early in the morning to make a move on his cleanup duty before Chan’s parents have a cardiac arrest. His smirks can’t possibly grow any wider when he sees you cuddle closely to Chan, palms resting on his chest while his hands are locked on your waistline. And BamBam sighs in relief because thank goodness he did shoot his shot.

#stayshub #stray kids scenarios #skzwritersclub #rich kids au #bang chan fanfic #chan fic #chan x reader #kim woojin #seo changbin #lee felix #yang jeongin #han jisung #kim seungmin #hwang hyunjin #lee minho #na jaemin #kim jennie

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chimswae · 5 years ago

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BTS Caretaker CH5

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 2,590

- Author Note: I suppose im late posting the new chapter because was too tired yesterday, therefore im changing my days of update. From now on i would do update every Saturday/Sunday weekly or biweekly. This is to avoid me forgetting hahah

Previous | Next

Chapter 5

“Who…the.. fuck… are.. you?” Yoongi lurched forwards trapping Seul between the kitchen counter. Every word came from his mouth were dangerously low and disturbing. He cursed something low beneath his breath, something that she couldn’t understand. It sounded like a thick accent from Busan or Daegu to her. Whatever it was, she felt small in front of him.

The breath caught in her throat and her heart twisted at the stunned tone of his voice.

“Stay away from me…” she clutched onto the counter trying to escape from his gaze.

Shit, am I getting caught? She mentally slapped herself for her stupidity.

The corner of his lips twitched into a smirk “Who the fuck are you?” he inquired again this time the tone of his voice was harsher than a minute ago.

Seul bit her lower lips trying to make up excuses, but what else could she say. Her mind went blank for a second and it was not good at all considering how Yoongi’s eyes piercing through her deepest soul. It paralyzed her body.

Getting annoyed, Yoongi leaned closer to her face minimizing the gap that they had earlier “Are you even listening? WHO. ARE. YOU?” he pressed.

She scowled at the proximity as she could literally feel the rate of his heartbeat increases against hers. Why would his heart react crazily like this? Plus, the smell from his hair is driving her crazy. Not that she wanted to creep the hell out of him, it is just he smelled too good. Way too manly, that a woman’s heart like her could melt instantly. Shrugging the thought off, her eyes darted to the guy in front of her. She mentally scanned Yoongi’s feature started with his small and thin lips which still appeared luscious to his nose and eyes. Crap, not this weird thought again.

His eyelashes batted perfectly matching that milky skin of his, how could a man be this flawless? It made sense since he’s an idol, yet heck he is still a man! Metrosexual guy like him really put all his heart into his appearance.

The hell, is she going to play dumb. Yoongi hissed frustrated of Seul’s silence.

“All right, since you are keeping your mouth shut. I am calling the cops” the corner of his lips was tugged into a meaningful smirk, causing Seul to flinch at the sudden threat. She let an unknowing gasp under her breath making the man slamming both hands on the marble counter trapping her body in between “Why? Are you scared?” his brows flinched together showing off the gaze that could kill million Armys.

“Because you are a sasaeng?”

“What did you do to ahjumma?”

“Did you make her give up her job today, so you can stalk me?” accusations after accusations were bombarded right on her face that triggered Seul’s anger in the end. She was still thinking of reasonable stories without uncovering the whole truth. Unsure of the consequences that her mother might receive in the future for bringing her in illegally made Seul became more cautious of everything surround him. First, she must deal with this grumpy monster in front of her.

Wait a minute, why should i? I am working here legally well technically illegally but still I have the staff identification card. Who is he to look down on me? Seul finally got back to her sense after spazzing over Yoongi’s visuals.

Her eyes landed on the bandage near his ears, as bad as this might sound but she found his weakest point. This guy in front of her was invading her personal space, didn’t he realize it was a serious offence. On top of all, none of Bangtan’s members should be around. Referring to their schedule today, they had an award show to attend as early as 6 in the morning.

Mustering up every ounce of her strength one of her hand reached out to his injured ears to give a small squish over there causing Yoongi to yelp in pain. He cursed reflecting the pain that he experienced at the moment, as his body staggered backwards finally leaving a space for Seul to breathe.

“WHAT THE HELL WOMAN?” Yoongi touched his pulsing ears sending death glare at her way.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, bewildered of his presence at an odd hour like this. “NO ONE TOLD ME ABOUT ANYONE BAILING ON THE AWARDS?” Seul continued before Yoongi could even give her the answers.

Yoongi let out a sarcastic chuckle a hint of annoyance and anger “Fuck this. You even know our schedule? ARE YOU INSANE.. THAT IS IT IM CALLING THE COPS NOW!” his face grimaced due to the pain he experienced. He left dumbfounded Seul behind making his way stealthily to his room. As she finally registered what was going to happen next, her eyes widened in pure horror.

“WAIT WAIT WAIT!!!!” she skipped as fast as lightning to reach the older guy realizing what he planned to do. A single phone call would ruin everything for her especially her mother. That need to be stopped.

Despite being in the same size as Yoongi except Seul is much shorter than him, she grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him with all her might putting his step at halt. Yoongi inhaled a deep breath, as his body stumbled backwards crashing the girl against the wall.

“WHAT THE HELL? ARE YOU INSANE” the same thing came out from his mouth as if he was chanting a curse.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING? I am about to answer your questions!” she grumbled lowly, pushing Yoongi body off from touching her body. Lies was the last thing she wanted to do, or more like adding more lies to their existing lies. Yet, what choice did she has?

Yoongi clucked his tongue inside as he spun his body facing the worried Seul “Speak. If you don’t speak in 5 seconds, I swear to god I will make the phone call” he rolled his eyes scanning Seul from top to bottom. Even though she looked pretty decent to be a sasaeng fan, but her face told him she was far from those title. Was he overreacting?

“Jeez, alright. I am your caretaker for now or at least until my mother got better” his brow ceased into a deep frown.

“What kind of bullshits you are trying to tell now?” Yoongi backfired with a nasty scoff.

“Not bullshits but truth” she heaved a deep sigh as her hand went to rummaged through her bags, finding her mother work ids. “Here..Mrs Hwang is my mother so digest it” she tossed the cards for Yoongi to catch it on time.

He was displeased with the way she acted but played along since this privacy invasion was severe than her attitude. Being in the condition whereby he wanted to believe or denying the fact that Seul was saying the right thing, Yoongi chose not to give in so easily.

“You don’t look like her, are you sure this is your mother? Anyone can claim to be Mrs Hwang’s daughter at this rate considering how crazy a fan like you can be!” Seul gritted her teeth feeling the anger built inside her slowly took over her mind.

Seul crossed her arms “That wont change the fact that I am her daughter you little piece of shit. For a record, I AM NOT YOUR FAN!” he was startled by her choice of foul words making him feel more irritable than before.

“Why would I trust a girl with foul mouth like you? That makes you make even suspicious. I demand the truth now”

“That is the truth. You are just too stupid to realize it”

“Excuse me? Do you think I would buy your ‘Mrs Hwang is my mother’ story? I am much better than that thank you”

“Gosh, as expected idols like you are nothing but pretty faces. A total asshole and dumb some more”

Yoongi shot her a bewildered glare “ First of all, thank you for stating the fact. Oh, secondly, we are bunch of genius. The only idiot in this room is you” he knew the banter was pointless and childish. However, Seul was driving him up the wall with all the nonsense coming from that pretty little lips of her.

“Whoever you are mister, I don’t think I need to explain everything to you. You are not even my employer” Seul grabbed her mother card from his hand harshly, shoving it inside her bags.

“I mean my mother’s employer” she corrected before grabbing the rest of her stuff getting ready to leave.

He took the chance to yank her hoodie with a strong tug, pulling Seul to face him again “Where do you think you are going?” for an odd reason he enjoyed seeing her flushed face. Seul was struggling like cute kitty wanting to escape from his owner’s grasp.

Feisty. He mentally laughed at her silliness.

“You are not allowed to leave. Let’s wait until my manager come back, we must deal with crazy girl like you. That is if you really are Mrs Hwang’s daughter” every word coming out from him was a total psycho. It irked Seul to the core.

“LET ME GO! DON’T MAKE ME DO SOMETHING THAT YOU WILL REGRET, I SWEAR I AM CAPABLE OF ANYTHING!” she yelled.

“Oh really? How crazy does it sound, I AM INTRIGUED BY THAT MISS MRS HWANG’S DAUGHTER” he challenged with a playful smug.

Seul pressed both of her lips into a thin line. Her eyes aimed for his injured ear again, yet she put a stop of that devil thought upon seeing a small red stain on the bandage. Her tummy churned in sheer fear, he was bleeding.

Shit Seul, think of something. You must leave now. A lot of crazy ideas were attacking her at once but the after effect of her action would bring more harm than good. Whatever it was, she needed to leave now. The guy in front of her would not spare her life so easily.

Should I aim for his crotch..She was about to sway her knee to give a little kick on Yoongi’s private area and as expected he was quick to catch that obvious gaze of her. As if her eyes were telling him the plan inside her head. Interesting.

“Got you” he lifted his leg blocking Seul from kneeing that fragile area.

Seul snorted in annoyance which later turned into a devilish smirk “Oh really?” she was contemplating to do this one thing which would end this bicker between them, so she could flee with ease. Seul thought it was a horrible idea, but slowly let her anger took over her sane mind, Yes.. I will make this little piece of shit shut up.

Snapping her head up meeting his deep gaze, Yoongi raised his eyebrow in confusion “Lower your gaze wom-“ his eyes popped out upon feeling a wet and moist friction against his lips. Seul was kissing him on his lips not cheeks, but his lips. What on earth just happened?

She cupped his cheeks, tiptoeing a little ‘Screw this Ji Seul, just do it and go. You will have to quit from now on’ Seul tilted her head a little ignoring stiff Yoongi as she was now kissing him for real. No more hanky panky.

Seul did not even care if he wasn’t kissing her back even though she could feel his lips quivered beneath hers slowly giving in.Yoongi froze in his spot staring straight into her dark brown eyes. He had no idea how to react neither did he knew what to do. This was a total madness.

Seul cussed regretting her stupid action but she could feel his grip start to loosen up, which meant her plan worked in the end. Because after all, Yoongi was too noisy. Seul calmed her racing heart due to her rash actions but decided to ignore all the stupid butterflies inside her tummy.

It can’t be undone. Screw this.

After for good two minutes locking lips, Seul pulled away quickly with a deep taint blush visible on both of her cheeks leaving shocked Min Yoongi behind. Taking off her aprons, she tossed it away and decided to make a run before Yoongi came back to his sense.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Seul smacked her lips, scolding it like it could respond her back afterwards.

Yoongi watched Seul’s figure disappeared from his vicinity as he bellowed his frustration loudly “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!” he raked fingers in his messy hair angrily. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to register earlier incident, she was kissing him on the lips. He was too taken aback that he stood there like a clown and a second later she flees leaving no trace behind.

“MIN YOONGI YOU IDIOT” he hissed pacing around the living room calming down his aching nerve. His heart beating furiously as if he would jump out from it by anytime soon. This was an invasion of privacy and sexual harassment. Would anyone even trust a guy being sexually harassed because after all the world is prejudiced when it came to man being sexually harassed.

Crazy. Clenching his fist, he was determined to find Seul again.

----------------

“Min Yoongi that sound insane” said Seokjin with a frown.

Yoongi had been convincing Jin about his encounter with Seul but to his dismay, the older guy would never trust him and assumed he was high with drugs. Heck, he wished he could turn back the time and changed that one scene which kept lingering in his mind.

The kiss was the stupidest thing that ever happened. How could he forget that?

“YAH ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME? SOMEONE TOOK OVER AHJUMMA’S JOB TODAY AND INVADED OUR DORM!” Yoongi facepalmed in frustration. He really wanted to punch Jin handsome face to let out all the frustration inside him now.

“As much as I want to trust you my friend, but I think that is impossible. The security here is pretty tight, how can she enter this building without an access card? Can you take a chill pill. You must have seen it wrong” Jin sighed.

“The problem is I know what I saw. A girl around our age is here, in our kitchen! And for pete’s sake she is not even an ahjumma in fact.. far far away from being an ahjumma. YOU ARE FRUSTATING HYUNG” he rose from his feet, pacing back and forth with a grimace.

Jin shrugged while his hand massaging his tense muscle “Yoongi I am too tired to listen to your nonsense. Let’s talk about this tomorrow alright? And don’t talk about this to manager hyung. You will cause unnecessary worries” he mumbled. Yoongi watched the older boy lied down on the bed looking dead tired after their hectic schedule.

Sitting at the end of his bed, he ran his finger in his soft hair feeling a little glum after his failed attempt in convincing his own roommate. He decided to call it a day and talked it out with others tomorrow. Maybe, someone would trust him unlike traitor Kim Seokjin.

He threw his body heavy on the bed with a loud grunt. Reaching his finger to his lips, he found his heart felt giddy over the brief kiss that he shared with Seul few hours ago.

Groaning in his head, he buried his face in his pillow ‘DON’T YOU EVER DARE MIN SUGA..’ he huffed.

#bts fic #bts fanfiction #min yoongi x oc #yoongi x oc #yoongi fic #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x oc #jungkook fic #bts fanfic #bts series #yoongi fluff #bts romance #bts idolau #suga x oc #jungkook romance #bts fluff #jungkook idolau #yoongi idolau #btscaretaker

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cupcakemolotov · 5 years ago

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Scatter the Die

I was originally just going to reblog my old post but I couldn’t find it and I decided that I couldn’t be bothered to keep digging for it. I decided to pull a lalainajanes and update/edit/re-post a thing to see if it will get me off my ass to finish the sequel. Also, I apologize, because I’m pretty sure I’ve changed the title of this thing twice now so oops.

You can find it here on A03 if you prefer.

Caroline shivered beneath the blankets she'd been tucked into, thankful that the bone jarring shakes were finally easing. One of the disapproving medics had surprised her clothing change and trussed her up like a thanksgiving turkey, but she’d been cleared from taking a ride to the hospital. A warming IV did not sound like a fun way to spend the rest of her day, and the last thing she’d have expected was to brush off her was hypothermia training in New Orleans of all places.

Magic had changed a lot of things over the decades, but the last few years had been particularly difficult. The veil was thinning and monsters sometimes wore human faces. Humanity sat poised on another apocalyptic event, and they fought it one case at a time.

Today wasn’t likely her last brush with death.

But her own state of well being wasn’t her highest priority. All around her cops and feds scrambled to collect evidence, trash bags and waiters being handed as they worked against the clock. The evidence was disappearing with the muddy rain, and once gone, they’d have no chance to collect it.

They owed the dead cops more than that.

Mouth tightening, Caroline watched the other ambulance pull out, it’s lights flashing as it’s wheels hit pavement. To lose a rookie on his first day in Homicide would be a kick in the gut for the department that was already reeling from two deaths. She could only hope he pulled through.

Goddammit.

Two weeks ago, what should have been an open and shut suicide had turned into a horror movie gone bad. What lived behind the veil was hungry and angry. Assuming her department was allowed to keep so much as a paper lip attached to the files of this one, explaining the deaths to the grieving families wouldn’t be easy. There was no right when nightmares gorged.

Oh, the Feds would make all the right noises at there having been a cop-killing Fae running loose and offer little else. It was why she’d taken to making two set of notes. So that when her case file disappeared she’d still have her back up files. But in this case, even if the Feds did make an evidence grab, at least they knew the murderer was dead.

She’d seen to that much.

"Detective?"

Caroline bit the side of her cheek at the familiar voice, glancing over to find Special Agent Mikaelson walking towards her. In his hands was a steaming takeout cup, and his jaw was set at an angle so rigid she wondered how he hadn’t cracked teeth. He wasn't wearing a coat in respect to the drizzle, and his curls looked riotous. For a moment they stared at each other before he offered her the cup.

Wary, she wiggled a hand free, and was amused to discover it was hot chocolate. Taking a careful sip, she tipped her head. "Agent?”

He leaned against the side of the ambulance with eyes that were once again dark with things she'd no intention of reading. "I've been told to keep this short."

"Elena can be fierce," Caroline murmured as she glanced over at the brunette EMT who was assessing another injury. "But she means well."

"Friends?"

She shrugged. "It never hurts to make them."

A quirk of his lips at the slight accusation in her voice. He didn't look at all bothered by her jab. She might have admired his thick skin, but it honestly just made her want to punch him in his perfect teeth.

"I owe you an apology."

She paused, the drink inches from her mouth and studied the lines of his face, both brows arching. "For what exactly? I have a list, if that’d be helpful.”

A hint of a dimple before he slipped one hand into his pocket, face sobering. "You make a habit to carry cold iron with you, Detective?"

The knife was an old safety blanket, born from teenage years spent knowing that a fae nightmare had killed her mother. Years later, the truth might have freed that particular fae from its fate, but Caroline had stopped feeling comfortable without cold iron around her.

Special Agent Mikaelson from the FBI Department of Weird didn't need to know that.

"My captain encourages police officers to carry iron, Agent. Shall I dig out my handbook?"

A flicker of something bright slipped along his pupil, and Caroline tilted her head, gaze narrowing. She knew what magic looked like. Until that moment, she'd have sworn Mikaelson was human. A complete ass, but human. Now, she wasn't so sure.

"That knife wasn't department issued," Mikaelson said with a hint of a blade in his voice.

"I'm sorry," Caroline said serenely after she took a slow sip of her drink. It was really good hot chocolate. She wondered where he'd gotten it. "Where exactly is this apology?"

His eyes were calculating, as he studied her. Those disgustingly long lashes lowered to hide his gaze, and when they lifted, his pupils were golden. The blue of his iris had narrowed to a thin band, and the color had changed to something several shades brighter. It was like looking at the heart of a star.

But other than those eyes, he somehow managed to appear completely human.

Her mouth ran dry.

"We underestimated her," Klaus said and the crisp tones of his accent had sharpened a hair. "Fortunately, it appears that you were also underestimated, and that was a lucky break. My sincere apologies, Detective Forbes, that you were pulled into a situation you shouldn't have had to deal with."

Something about his tone irritated her, and she concentrated on that instead of how she could almost feel his words on her skin. Taking a careful, deliberate sip of her drink, Caroline forced herself to hold his gaze.

"I'm a cop," she said bluntly. She didn't back down from his gaze, even when the tilting of his head wasn't quite… right. "It's my job to deal with the unexpected. How long have you know what we were hunting was a she and what it could do, Agent?"

He long had he known that this… woman could drown someone when they were standing between four walls? Caroline was certain she'd dream of screaming, the saltwater scent and the taste of brine in her mouth. The monster who'd had no face that Caroline could describe with words, she'd had no interest in another woman. The rage, the worst of the water had been used to attack the men who'd stood around her as they'd examined the scene. Surprise had been the only reason Caroline had won, surprise and an old, old habit.

Watching the life go out of a nightmare was no easier than watching a human die.

Those glittering eyes studied her. "I'm afraid that's classified."

"Is it now," Caroline said slowly, a hint of drawl elongating her vowels.

"You're a bit of an enigma, Detective," Mikaelson said, the calculation in his gaze turning to iron she recognized. "Your mother murdered; yet, you worked to clear her supposed murderer's name. You’ve filed a number of complaints with the local bureau when they couldn't produce information on a number of supernatural killers."

"Families deserve the truth," she said stiffly. "They also deserve to know what justice has been given. It's not that difficult a concept."

"Sometimes, truth isn't the right answer."

Caroline tossed the last of the hot chocolate on the ground and stood, unwrapping herself from the blankets. The oversized clothing was a little ridiculous and her hair was a tangled mess scraped into a wet bun, but right then she couldn't care. Pasting on a fake smile, she hoisted the ends of her pants so she wouldn't trip. "Yeah, well, in that case, why don't you shove that apology up your ass."

His brow arched. She didn't like how much taller her was than her when he straightened, and she lifted her chin to scowl when he stepped into her space. "Regardless, the bureau will extend its apologies to you and your precinct."

Her teeth ground together. "So that's it?"

"The case is closed."

"Oh yeah? Care to tell me what the motive was exactly?" Caroline asked. “Or why she picked men. Cops. People I worked with.”

"I'm afraid that's classified as well," Mikaelson said.

"Donovan has a daughter," she said carefully. “They all had families.”

Those burning eyes softened a hair. "The loss of any life is always a regret."

Caroline showed him the edge of her teeth. "And this mythical apology of yours. Will it include using cops as bait?"

The smile wiped from his face and his chin lowered, so they were nearly eye to eye. It struck her again, how pretty he was, with his scruffy jaw and burning eyes. His magic should have frightened her, but all it did was piss her off. He'd had this magic and she'd almost drowned.

He was such a dick.

"Is that what you believe happened?"

Of course that was what happened. Mikaelson was obviously not human, and Caroline had seen this kind of maneuvering before, when her mother had been killed. Had seen good and honest men, used as easily discarded chess pieces. She wasn't stupid and she resented that he thought she was but this was also not a battle she could win. Not today. But maybe tomorrow.

So instead of picking the fight she really wanted, she shrugged. “Are you saying you weren't using us?”

"Be very careful, Forbes," Mikaelson warned, gaze tracking a curl as it tumbled across her cheek, the wild colors in his gaze shifted like tectonic plates. "There are things in this world you don't want to engage."

Caroline wasn't sure if he referencing himself or whatever had happened to fellow cops. Not that it mattered. When had she ever let something stop her from getting answers for the families who'd had a loved one stolen? Knowing that a killer was dead meant nothing if you couldn't grasp why.

She knew that sometimes there was no good answer. This wasn't one of those times. Still, she'd no reason to tell Special Agent Klaus Mikaelson that, did she?

"I'm just a murder cop."

Mikaelson laughed. Deep and rich, dimples flashing, he watched her as the gold and wild blue faded from his eyes. "It'd be easier if you were, Forbes."

It was on the tip of her tongue, to ask him what he was. What caused eyes to shift to molten heat that way, while the rest of them remained normal. What kind of power did he have? But she sensed a trap there, saw him waiting and refused to give him the satisfaction.

Bonnie might know, anyway.

"Apparently your case is closed," Caroline said with sugary sweetness as she shifted to walk away. "So, here's to hoping I never see you again."

"I don't believe it will be quite that simple, Detective," Mikaelson said softly, voice laced with warning as she moved towards the squad cars.

She rather thought it was.

Three days later, when her Captain brought up that the FBI were digging through her old cases, she was irritated. When the official letter offering her a both an apology as well as position showed up, she dug up the card that had been left on her desk and the number she refused to input into her phone. She never replied to the Bureau directly, but she did send a single text with a picture of a letter on fire.

The response had left her grinding her teeth.

Some things are inevitable, love.

#my fic #repost #i know i know #but I'm 8k into the sequel #and i need to finish it #for the love of fic #ive ben working on it for ages

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elmaxheadquaters · 5 years ago

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It was 1984... 15

January 3, 1989: The sun had finally slipped past the sky, leaving it’s orphaned hues of orange and violet to be overcasted by the materialized moon's strong shades of lavender and blue. It’s beautifully dark reign casting a shadow across everything it touched, including the small apartment of two employees to a forever standing film store that went, and still goes by the name of Family Video.

This apartment, which had stood idle for countless minutes was now being disrupted. By the opening of a white door of the opposite end. From the now agape hole into the tiny living space came a red headed girl, wearing a uniform shirt with three white stripes that had been stitched into the top sides of it’s dark blue fabric.

The girl had bags under her eyes amongst her abundance of freckles. She had been forced by her coworker -and roommate- to take the night off, by the woman’s words, “you’ve never half-assed so hard… I’ll cover your shift, you go home and relax or whatever you do to not look as dead.” this of course was retaliated by the redhead’s born with stubbornness, but was shot down quite quickly by the previous woman’s debateful attitude.

She kicked the door closed while pulling out the old and faintly colored yellow scrunchie that once held up her burnt orange locks into a high ponytail. She wrapped it around her left forearm as she walked on the creaky wooden floorboards to what presumably would be her room.

This room that sat amongst others, kept the contents of the inside hidden by the absence of luminous energy had this effect stripped away as fast as the speed of light in the girl’s act of flipping the even tinier area’s neutrally tan hued switch.

The room had now been bathed in yellow, showing a bed as the eyesore inside. On top of the mattress sat old and worn rainbow sheets, with many pillows, all covered by white pillowcases. With the acception of one, instead of a pillowcase covering, the one sitting in front of the others’ was covered by an old flannel shirt. Above the bed were pictures illustrating mainly another girl, a few pieces of paper stained by vibrant colored crayon wax to show crude illustrations surrounding the word “MAXIE” or simply “MAX”, and many thin keepsakes that had been collected over the years.

The girl who’s hair that now was draped over her shoulders and back stumbled to the other side of the room, to a dresser. The top had been repurposed into a shelf, holding a frame with the words “Love you Max! -Dad” carved into the wood, inside of it was a picture of a man and a little redheaded girl. The frame held two strips of photos in between the glass and wood, all picturing the girl in most of the photos above the bed acting doltish with the girl that stood before it, the older strip had a piece of tape holding it together across the center and the other that was made much closer to the present day seemed to still be in perfect condition.

She busted the first drawer open before immediately shoving her hand into the contents inside. When she took her hand it had a tight grip on a white tank made of thin fabric. The girl threw it behind her with the intent of it to fall atop the bed covered in rainbow. She closed it with force while advancing to the third drawer. Inside were what seemed to be an abundance of many things from pajama pants to tee-shirts all crammed into the compartment. The redhead pulled out a pair of worn down sweatpants and flung it behind her, the same way as the tank top while forcefully shutting the overstuffed drawer with a push.

The girl quickly stripped herself from the dark blue uniform, revealing to no one, a dark bra covering a plethora of the many scars that dared stain her freckled skin, they came from faint to clear. She paid no mind to them, it wasn’t as if she wasn’t familiar with her own body.

The blue uniform fell to the floor, among many other clothes and items while it was being replaced by the thin tank top. The black skinny jeans she wore -and hated- met the same fate was soon substituted by the sweat pants. The girl looked down, finding her equally thin jacket. Without a second thought, the redhead grabbed it swiftly and wrapped it around her hips.

She flopped onto the mattress of her bed, with her head falling onto the flannel pillow. Letting out a low and stress filled sigh, she grabbed it from under her head and stared at the fibers that held it together, she swore each one held a story from where it came from, each one full of happiness and heartbreak.

Her thoughts trained themselves onto the yellow telephone that had been stained by colorful inks, all coming together to create small illustrations of almost illiterate symbols and small creatures like frogs and lizards. She let the synthetic fabric of the miss purposed pillowcase fall onto her chest as a idea formed in her head..

Her left arm grazed over the flannel patterned pillow before grabbing it whilst she stretched her torso towards the phone. Her reach hit it’s limit as she grabbed the phone. While retracting herself back into the groove she had made into her color filled sheets so long ago. The redhead dialed in a series of numbers that had been pushed so many times that the numbers it included had started to fade.

The familiar hum from the ringer inside the yellow casing made the girl’s smile grow wider, her heart quickened as the thoughts of the one she loves filled her head.

“Hello?” The voice was crackly and hinted with exhaustion, yet it was soft, silky, and sweet as it filled the redhead’s ears.

“Hi El.” The girl sat up in her bed, whilst she visioned the girl on the other end in front of her. Her honey colored eyes that the redhead could swear would be the death of her, her rose colored lips forming into it’s naturally sweet smile, her darkened but golden brown locks of hair that was just long enough to hit her shoulders.

“Maxie!” The voice from the receiver crackled through into the girl’s ear. She felt as if it had body melted. More than anything the redhead wanted the girl she heard to be more than just a vision in her head.

She grabbed the pillow from behind her, wrapping her arms around it as tight as she could. Maybe her wish couldn’t be fulfilled, but it could be compromised.

“Max,” the whisper like sounds of a breath flooded out the speaker of the telephone. Max followed with a curiosity filled hum just before an all to quick response came through, “Nothing, it’s nothing. I just really miss you.”

“I miss you too El,” Max’s heart seemed to have cynical flip with El’s words. She had told Max before, many times, that she missed her. But now it was different, everything was different after the week prior, “But, don’t forget it’s O-“

“Only 42 days,” El cut off the redhead, surprising her in the process. Max had been counting down the days until she could see the brunette again, she didn’t expect her to be doing the same, “I know Max, it still doesn’t stop me from missing you.”

“Well it doesn’t stop me either. But there is not much I can really do about it.” Max’s heart felt as if it sunk deeper than it has in a long time, she loved El. And she would do almost anything if it meant she could see her right then, and right now that anything was to just wait for the days to go by.

She heard a small and crackled, “I know.” Before the redhead let in a sharp yet soundless breath. Max went back to her roots, “Let’s not dwell on such things my girl,” El giggled slightly at the mediocre mix of accents Max had pulled into as she spoke those words.

it was always a joke when things got even slightly heavy. And it always has been, that’s how Max coped with things. Even in others’ darkest moments. As long as she could get a smile on their face, it was a win in her book, “How was your day?”

“Same as always, find a few things in the woods like always.” El loved the woods. Maybe because it was the thing she escaped into on that night, or maybe it was because she had spent so long living in it after everyone thought she died almost 5 years ago.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Max sat up, the bed creaking with the sheets shuffling before going back down on the opposite end. With her elbows resting against the end of her mattress, one lifting her head and the other holding the phone.

“A lot of things. Little things, big things, weird things, rocks.” Max had rocks, some from her own collection she created when she was smaller. But most of the little treasures were from El. Some had been painted, some were left plain, some were covered in dirt and rugged, while others were clean and smooth. El liked rocks. To the brunette they were more than just a thing you kicked on a road while walking.

One thing is something Max will never forget was the day El showed her collection to Max, saying how some of the rocks reminded her of her friends. How Mike was like a long, skinny, cold, black and white colored slag. Will was like a small pebble, warm, colorful, more than meets the eye. Lucas was dark, strong, rugged, easy to throw and hard to the hit, a good candidate for any rock fight. Dustin was like a boulder large, soft, and warm. Max noticed how she had a lot of one type of rock, before asking why there were so many. Her answer was, “Because they remind me of you, you are not supposed to find them here, but I found one, and bought the others,” El had reached over Max, grabbing one of the biggest out of all of the little pile that sat outside the window. Showing it to Max, letting her hold it in her hands, “They are strong, and yeah they may not be the prettiest on the outside,” She took it back as she started to telekinetically crack into halves of it, holding the two pieces in her hand. On the inside the rock was full of sharp diamonds, they reflected the light from outside the window right next to them. Casting a beautiful sight of light all around them, “But they’re really pretty on the inside.”

She looks at the half El had given her afterwards, the diamonds on the inside of the rugged exterior seem stare back at her, she remembers how her heart fluttered the whole time. How the thoughts of kissing her almost got the best of her that day.

“Oh! Did you get it yet?” El asked, her words clear and curious.

“Get what?” Max asked back, she hadn’t gotten anything besides bigger eye bags since El had left a week ago to go back home.

“You’ll see,” Max visioned the smile on El’s face with those words. She then heard almost a yell through the phone that sounded like a whisper to her, “I gotta go. I’ll call you back, okay Maxie?”

“Okay, Ellie. Bye.”

“Bye bye.” with that, El hung up.

Now silence fills the empty room. It wasn’t unhappy but it still had lingering sense of loneliness. She couldn’t wait until until she could hug El again, she could see her again, she could kiss her again.

Max crawled to the opposite end of the bed, putting the phone back into it’s forever resting place on the bedside table next to the decorated lamp. Whilst through the wall the white door opened once more, with the women who made Max come home in the first place coming through.

“Hi.”

“Hi Robin.”

“You got a package, from El a presume.” The woman threw the small package that originally sat cradled in her hand onto the bed.

Wrapped in a tan orange colored paper, with a string in a small bow holding it together. The insides were of two pieces of paper and a rock. Max smiled as she held the rock in her hand. The first piece of paper was a color filled page with the word “MAXIE!” written in soft shades of pink and yellow, with butterflies and hearts drawn around it. The second was a letter in scribbled words, as she read it her heart melted...

“Max,

I love you…

I love how you always know what to say…

I love how you only let me and now one else play with your hair…

I love how you can always see the good in everything, even when you’re sad you can always find it. Always…

I love how you keep everything I have ever gave you…

I love when you don’t question the words I ask you the meaning of. Yes, the others don’t either, but I love it when you do it…

I love how you listen to my “ramblings”...

And there is so much more I love about you, like your hair, your eyes, and your smile. But this paper is too short to list it all, I can’t wait to see you again.

Love, El”

///

(10-21-19 / 11-2-19)

Colors for Max’s Sheets: (here)

Pixelated 80’s Poster: (here)

Background Reference: (here)

Inspiration: (here)

#stranger things #elmax #elmax rights #fanart #stranger things max #el hopper #artist #el x max #max x el #max x eleven #elmax fic #stranger things 3 #stranger things fic #maxine mayfield #max mayfeild

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everythingoesnk · 5 years ago

Text

Once in Rockfield Farm (3/5)

summary; 🤡🔫

word count; 4 970

disclaimers; this is my least fave chapter don’t ask me why. tell me what u think please i’m so conflicted !!

warnings; nopeee

part 1

part 2

********

By the ridiculous number of plaques of the albums' sellings and accomplishments hanging along the corridors, it was quite obvious that EMI moved a lot of money.

With your middle finger, you went over the edge of one of the paintings. There wasn’t a single speck of dust on it.

The boys’ manager and lawyer invited you to wait for them outside.

Roger’d already warned you that they wouldn’t allow you to be present. Not that you cared or wanted to. But at some point you were growing tired of sitting alone doing absolutely nothing.

Once they abandoned the office after what seemed an endless time, you immediately hauled yourself to your feet.

“You’ll kiss the floor we step on as soon as we introduce you to A Night at the Opera, my dear," Freddie told Foster as he left the room.

Ray followed the grandiose Freddie with his eyes, a bit of mistrust in his face.

"I very much hope so" he answered before closing the door.

"It went well?" you asked to no one in particular, holding your purse against your tummy.

"We think so" Brian murmured.

"He doesn't believe we're going to present him the best album in history," Freddie bragged confidently as if it were definite that they were going to do so.

"Will you? Create the best album in history?" you smirked.

"Yep," John replied with all the sincerity in the world, leading the way to the elevator.

Roger stood beside you as the group left the building behind, and pulled a pack of ciggies out his pocket. In record time, he brought one urgently to his lips.

"You don’t think we can?" he inquired you, aiming the other way before blowing the smoke out.

You extended your hand and he understood the message.

Before shoving the package back, he took out another one, and with the cig hanging immobile in your mouth, Roger lit it for you.

At that exact moment, while he was concentrated on the task, you realized how long and thick his lashes were.

"I haven’t said such thing"

"Lovebirds, when you’re done with whatever it is you have to do, come to Mary's”

Roger nodded at Freddie’s words.

Posterior to waving the other three goodbye, you glanced at him with a puzzled expression.

"Right. This way"

"What are we doing?"

"Do you always have to ask questions?"

"And do you always have the habit of not answering when being asked?" you objected.

"When we get there you'll know it"

"You’re impossible" you groaned, and quickened your pace.

He took a new puff on the cigarette and looked at you jubilantly, pushing his tongue into his cheek, enjoying your harmless tantrum a little too much.

If only you knew how much he loved these domestic moments with you.

"Not that much, believe me"

In what sense is that addressed, even?

Although you didn’t speak much because Roger was intent on not getting lost, obediently following the instructions Clare had patiently listed him the night before, from time to time you exchanged a word to fill the silence.

You really appreciated the stroll. The last couple of weeks it’d been home-uni-home-uni-home-uni. You’d missed the active streets of London, the continuous loop of the loud noises and the accent.

"I think we’ve got to turn to the right"

He didn’t seem completely sure of his own words, and because of how fast his eyes moved from side to side, you knew he was struggling.

Eventually, he managed to ubicate himself.

"We have to cross the park and technically we’ll be able to see it"

"You'll see it, you mean. I don’t know what there is to see"

Roger rolled his eyes and put his hand on your lower back to guide you.

Checked first if it was okay to go ahead, and ignoring that the light was red, you passed the zebra crossing together.

Bringing you back to an old memory, it made you recall how several weeks ago you witnessed the boyfriend of a classmate of yours do the same with her with hectic traffic when they were late for their class. Nevertheless, it was also something a father could do with his daughter.

Why were you spinning around the matter? Nonsense.

But it was cute that he kept you close while crossing the street, though. Had it been a reflex action or had he been fully aware of doing so?

The thread of your thoughts caused you to space out, and as a result you didn't notice until then that you were approaching the exit of the aforementioned park.

Your heart enlarged a couple of sizes when he nonchalantly slipped his hand out of your back to entangle his pinkie with yours.

The pulsations your heart kept on producing were hard, so hard they hurt. Persistent and quick like a hummingbird’s flap.

As lightly and subtle as he did, you slowly proceed to move your fingers and hold his hand in its entirety, both of you looking ahead as if looking at each other would turn out to be too much right now.

It all felt too intimate, hands being the only method you used to talk to one another during the remaining bit of the walk until the final destination.

Roger stopped walking, and you did too.

You fixed your eyes on the store window before them: there were two mannequins wearing sets that genuinely caught your attention. From where you were stood, the store seemed to be empty. Sign that it was expensive. The walls inside were painted with neat white, thin golden lines forming patterns on the walls. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, so large that you were surprised it stayed in place without falling off, dragging the roof along with it.

You looked suspiciously at Roger.

"What are we doing here?"

“See if you find out yourself. After you," suggested Roger, and as on the day you met, gesticulated you to go first.

A tune rang in the background announcing your arrival after you stepped right in. It made the employee’s head lift up. She left her position behind the cashier and walked towards you. Her outfit was all white with a golden headband, matching the drawings on the walls and the rest of the store.

When the three of you were together, you noticed that both of you wearing heels surpassed Roger by a few tiny inches. It didn’t seem to bother him, perhaps he didn’t even detect it.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

"Clare’s friend?" Roger asked.

"Oh, Roger and (Y/N), I’m guessing. Very well, come with me"

The girl marched away, Roger with her.

He turned around and stopped when he saw you hadn’t moved.

"Ay, what's all this?" you whispered, not wanting the woman to hear you as not to be impolite.

And who the hell was Clare?

Roger grinned.

"This is my surprise"

Head in a muddle, you let Roger lead you to a small room filled with clothing items where the saleswoman’d been waiting for you.

A tray of tea and freshly made biscuits filled the air with a nice scent of sweet and salty.

"Our firm is not particularly well known for its catalogue of dresses, we rather excel at accessories such as handbags and glasses. Either way, I hope you find one you like. Anything you need, call me"

In the blink of an eye she was gone.

"Roger, care to explain?" you asked after a pause, looking around.

"Yesterday you mentioned you didn't have your graduation dress. I know your father's behaviour saddened you, I thought this would cheer you up"

"Shopping? Don’t tell me that, Roger. I didn’t take you for a sexist"

He looked like if you just hit him across the face.

"No... I never... I didn’t mean... I just wanted to have a nice touch, to buy it to thank you for—"

"I'm messing with you. Of course I don't think you're a sexist. I know very well you did it with the best of— What did you say? Buy it?"

Wide-eyed, you were shaking your head no.

"Yes. Buy it"

"Why would you do that?"

"To thank you for your hospitality"

Also because Roger simply wanted to give you the world, but since it's something that takes time, he decided this was a way to start. But he meant what he said: adopting four crazy and weird children for months… no one in their goddamn right mind would have agreed to that.

The first couple of following days after their arrival, having very little confidence around any of them, you didn’t really hang out together. Still and all, after some time but soon enough, you learnt that the four of them were warmhearted, fun and loving people.

"I know how hard you’re working to earn that diploma. We’re proud of you"

"Roger, you already pay me a rent. And I know you are, but it’s not necessary. You don’t have to do this, I can pay for it myself” you said too quickly.

“I know you can” he shrugged, letting you know he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Because of the look he was giving you, all defensive, you knew he already made the decision.

Arguing was only going to make you lose a valuable amount of time you could invest in killing the curiosity raised by the outstanding dresses displayed out front.

Following Roger's orders to take a good look at them, you picked three that you thought were pretty and elegant. One was black and the other two different shades of blue.

When you glanced up at Roger to tell him you were done choosing, he was no longer on the small sofa near the fitting room devouring the biscuits like the last time you saw him.

A one-sided grin lifted the corner of your mouth when you spotted him snooping on the other side of the room, rummaging through the dresses as well to be occupied. By his expression of absolute concentration it seemed that he was really putting effort and interest in the mission beforehand.

He turned around unexpectedly and smiled delightedly at you.

Every time he did smile like that, you could feel your soul leaving your body.

From time to time you had these intermissions where the world around you gradually began to slow down, Roger Taylor as your only source of light.

It was one of those.

"I have these," you said shyly after some time of you two staring at each other. "Have you found any I could try on?"

“Not really”

Seventeen minutes since you entered the dressing room. Roger was bored.

“Can I see?”

“No. The black one’s so ugly on me” you roared, looking at yourself in the mirror.

“You’re not being objective. Let me see”

“No”

“You look gorgeous”

You quickly turned on your heels, ready to hit him in the head for not listening, but he was nowhere to be seen. How the hell…?

“How can you tell?”

“I just know”

You laughed it off, blushing.

“So cheesy”

“But you’re smiling”

“Roger! Are you seeing me?” you asked, staring intently at every part of the curtain to see if maybe there was a tiny hole in it where he’d been peeking at you.

“No, but I can hear it in your voice”

“Shut up” you giggled.

“Can I see now?”

“No, you can’t”

God.

You weren’t sure about this.

You weren’t sure about this at all.

Roger taking the credit card out of his wallet to pay for something that was not going to be his but yours made you all flustered and uncomfortably red as hell itself in the face.

You took his hand before he could pass it to the woman.

“(Y/N), stop” he chuckled and gave her the card anyway.

He pulled you closer to him and kissed your cheek so casually, like if said actions didn’t have consequences. Hello? Your heart combusting, perhaps?

“There you go,” the woman handed him the bag, “tell your sister I said hi”

“I will” Roger nodded.

“Your sister? Clare?”

"Uh-huh"

“Younger or older?”

“Younger”

"You didn't tell me you had a younger sister," you said as you two initiated your way to Mary's.

"You didn't ask. Aren't you gonna tell me which dress you've chosen?" he cocked an eyebrow at you. "I paid for it, I believe I have the right to—"

You wanted him to see it the day of the ceremony, to make it a surprise as well.

"Please don't remind me you bought it. It's embarrassing"

Roger snorted a chuckle.

“Oh my God, woman. You’re so worried about it”

"We've got to be frank here. Mary told me you guys are broke, because you had issues with… whoever in the past. And now you take me to an upper high-class store to buy me a dress. Don't take me wrong, but I just don’t get it”

“Don’t have to swear on it” he noted quietly to the last part.

You sure weren’t getting anything.

“We firmed a contract we shouldn’t have. Life goes on and we’re with Rheid now, about to launch a masterpiece that will change our lives forever. Every penny he’s given us is for the album, but I know it’s gonna pay off. Of the little I had left from before, I wanted to do this. It’s my money. I do whatever the fuck I want with my money”

You didn’t say anything, perplexed.

He wished you'd understand the real reason why he wanted to make you happy. To cover your whims. To take care of you.

“So,” you spoke after a while, breaking the ice, “A Night at the Opera”

“Freddie’s suggestion. Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s weird, but it sounds like Queen”

He grinned.

Freddie said that enough was enough, that they deserved to disconnect from work for the group’s sanity.

They were getting ready at Mary’s to head to the nearest pub –putting it in his words— to dance until their feet bled and hopefully drink like psychopaths. He dictated how disappointed he’d be in them if they didn’t wake up naked and hangover in the middle of nowhere.

He was now in the bathroom applying black eyeliner to John.

“Can we come?”

Mary and you opted for a chill sleepover at first, but you changed your mind and managed to persuade her to go out as well, telling her you couldn’t remember the last time you went partying together.

Brian and John didn’t speak up, expecting Roger to do. When you saw that neither of them were saying a word, you turned your gaze towards him. He was wearing a seemingly chill unbothered facade, pushing aside how your request had tickled his stomach.

"Sure" Roger replied, mouth curving into a perfect smile.

Mary told you you could choose whatever you wanted from her closet in case you wanted to change to a more appropriate outfit for the occasion.

The two of you hurried upstairs.

It was evident that once you were there you were gonna dance all freaking night, so you picked a pair of denim bell-bottoms to be comfortable, a basic top, and kept the pair of black heels you had on already. Then you ran to touch up a little the makeup you had previously put on in the morning, adding a bit of glitter to your cheekbones.

Listening to the front door open and Freddie screaming to get your fat asses down there, Mary rushed to put a sparkly belt on while both of you trotted down the stairs.

“We’re coming!” you shouted, jumping to skip the last three rungs.

Sliding the back of your hand across the forehead to remove the sweat, you took Mary by the arm and escorted her to the opposite end of the pub, fleeing from the group of girls who were screaming at you for having spilt drink on them by accident. Mary tried not to fall while you made your way through the congregation of people going against your flow.

You raised your arms and kept dancing carefreely, ignoring the looks of all kinds you received.

Mary knew she’d never be on the same level as you. Her knees were begging to stop, meanwhile you were as fresh as a rose. It didn’t seem like you’d been dancing for over two hours without a break.

The boys, even Freddie, had also thrown in the towel a while ago.

"(Y/N), I'm going with Freddie!" Mary shouted, grasping you by the shoulder.

"What about me?"

"Come, I’m not keen on leaving you on your own" with this said, she began to gently push you towards where the boys were.

You were careful not to stumble since the drinks you had consumed earlier were already coming into effect. The purple, yellow and blue lights that illuminated the area disorientated you, so without question you let Mary lead you.

"Mary, I've saved you a seat, darling" Freddie said, patting the empty space next to him.

You frowned when you saw there was no room left for you in the booth.

"Shit”

John laughed when he heard the disappointment in your drunken voice.

Roger didn’t stutter. He held your hand and sat you on his lap.

"I don’t like this posture. Your thigh will hurt you, y’know what I mean?" you slurred.

Yet your actions were contradictory, because you moved to squeeze against him, too exhausted all of a sudden.

"I'll handle it," he murmured, fighting the instincts that grew inside him to touch you everywhere.

Fiddling with your necklace, you looked at the people on the dance floor.

You’d been wasting your time with them, bizarrely enjoying being so proximate to Roger more.

Speaking of the devil, the bastard had unbuttoned his shirt at some point.

The top you wore had its back completely uncovered; as a result, your sticky skin collided with his. Not that you complained, in fact, the contact made you horny. Could it possibly be that you were just dreadfully drunk and that your five senses were way more sensitive than usual? And that it didn’t have anything to do with Roger?

You’d been secretly having lascivious dreams concerning him for a hot minute, but resigned to admire from a distance. So no, he absolutely was the one to blame.

Roger waved his glass of tequila, offering you some.

As you were already drunk from the shots you had with John as soon as you stepped in, when you threw your head back to swallow til the very last drop, a lot of the liquid dripped down the sides of your mouth, staining your top and wetting your neck.

You laughed, clearly too tipsy to be upset.

Roger watched you attentively.

Many inappropriate thoughts seized him as he saw the liquid running down your collarbone.

You deposited the glass back on the table.

“You won’t be dancing anymore?” Roger asked.

“Perhaps at another time. I like it here”

“I like it too” he replied, and added in a small voice the following request hoping you wouldn’t get to hear it through the music. “Don’t leave”

You listened without interest as Brian and Freddie exchanged opinions on whether they should or shouldn't add a guitar solo in an almost finished song. John looked at them as if it were a tennis match, throwing glances at Mary from time to time that she returned. They knew they had to act before they started an argument, so Mary proposed to go dance some more.

Freddie followed her, and you saw him complaining to her about Brian's last-minute changes. John gestured Brian for the two of them to leave the booth as well, pointing discreetly with his thumb back to Roger and you: Brian understood.

"They’ve abandoned us" you stated, staring at your friends walking away until they were no longer in sight.

Now it was you sitting on the leather sofa, with Roger tucked between your legs –clearly if he sat on your lap he wouldn’t even last five minutes because you wouldn’t put up with it any longer than that, so it wasn’t worth a try—.

You had your feet against the edge of the table, legs wide apart to make room for him. At first he wasn’t sure, but quickly changed his mind when your fingers slipped into his hair, lazily massaging his scalp.

The idea occurred when he proved your point, telling you to sit on his left thigh because the other was getting numb.

He was in a trance, and felt his eyelids heavier by every second, not because he was sleepy but because of the pleasure.

“Fuck” Roger muttered thoughtlessly with his eyes closed, catching you off guard.

A sudden increase in your heartbeat, now irregular, rattled you.

“Wh-what?”

Embarrassment crept up his face when you stopped.

“Sorry, I don’t know what was that, it just felt good and—“

Your core was throbbing. You were so confused but so pumped at the same time.

“You want me to continue?”

He turned his head and scanned your features. He definitely didn't expect that, thought you'd want him to get off you instantly.

The intense eye contact that followed earned you another electrifying whip that shook every corner of your body.

When Roger went back to his initial position, you smiled mischievously.

He had to keep biting back his moans throughout the entire thing.

The mixture of alcohol running at an unrestrained rhythm through your veins, including how dangerously turned on you were by Roger’s constant heavy breaths, pushed you to take a step further: you traced your finger along the curve of his jawline, painfully slow, and with the tip of your nose you drew patterns on his neck, observing hungrily his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard.

Roger looked up at the ceiling and attempted to count its tiles. Anything that'd distract him from having a boner, really.

"You good?" you teased with a smile, whispering near his ear.

"I wish I could answer honestly"

"Do it, I won’t judge"

He ran a hand through his golden hair, feeling really irritated that this was happening now, where he couldn’t rip your clothes off.

Saying he was having a hard time keeping it together doesn’t do justice to the reality of how much he had to retain himself.

"Say it" you insisted, intrigued.

In a hoarse whisper, pretty much thanks to the alcohol and the inebriety that your touch drowned him in, he grew the balls to actually say what was crossing his mind.

“I’ve never had the urge to taste a woman this bad”

You grinned, and that throbbing kept escalating.

“Oh, Rog. You couldn’t be any more subtle, could you?” you laughed, burying your hand one more time in the mess that his hair was, pulling it.

Literally, you couldn’t control yourself.

It’s his fault!, claimed a voice in your head. For being too fucking irresistible.

"Don't" he desperately groaned, taking your hand in his.

He sat straight.

“Why?”

Roger gave a small sexy laugh, and he turned to look at you in the eye, shoving the hair back of his face.

“Wanna hear me say it or feel it yourself instead?”

“(Y/N)”

A bad feeling that you did something terrible sunk in when you saw Mary towering over you, her mouth set in a line.

If yours'd been watering seconds ago because of Roger's cock being hard because of you, now it was as arid as the Sahara desert.

"I need a ‘you-know-what’," she said, the ‘you-know-what’ item usually being a tampon. This time it was only a petition for you to follow her quickly, “come with me”

Once inside a bathroom stall, she locked the door and sat on top of the toilet seat, crossing her arms and looking at you as if you were the biggest crackhead in the world.

"What the fuck was that? What were you thinking? What was all that about?" she argued.

"I don’t understand a word you’re saying"

"If I’d gotten there just ONE second later you’d be sucking him dry right now. Don’t play dumb with me, (Y/N)”

You leant your back against the door.

"Mary, cutie, this conversation’s stupid"

She put her hands on her hips. It made you giggle that she was so angry.

"I already explained to you what Roger is like. Once he gets what he wants, he’ll forget you and drool over the next one" she hissed matter-of-factly.

"Why are you acting like I’m in love with him or something? We’re adults having a good time. If there’s physical attraction, why shouldn’t we able to fuck?"

She winced, and focused on the first question only.

“You aren’t?”

You furrowed your brow. Okay, maybe the conversation was more serious than you thought. Alcohol slowing your brain down didn’t help the situation either.

“You’re being weird”

“And you’re being an asshole! Are you even listening to me? Roger’s a—“

“What?! What is he, Mary?! Enlighten me! And I do listen to you, always! Sure I remember me phoning you after that day I sang ‘All Too Well’ to him and you saying I shouldn’t get too close. But he’s been nothing but nice to me, M. He’s polite, funny, sweet… What the hell did he do to you?” you asked, staring at her with a look of incredulity, not recognizing the person in front of you.

“To me? What he did to endless women that once were in your place. He’s used them all and he’ll use you too”

When she pointed an accusing finger at your chest, where the heart is, you could feel yours dropping.

That you liked each other physically was undeniable, but what you didn’t know was that you cared about him so intensely. When and how did that happen?

It was true that out of Queen he was the one you talked to the most and the one you had the best time with, always joking and finding interesting subjects to talk about. Above everything else, he became a confidant. And it felt mutual up until now.

Had he been toying with you just to get in your pants?

“But… he helped me cope with my dad, and…”

“And what was he supposed to do?”

“And today…,” speaking was so hard. You were scared you’d choke clumsily with your own saliva, “today he bought me a dress. For my graduation”

Mary’s strong gaze changed, and she pulled herself to her feet. You swore something was eating her alive internally, but she was good at pretending she had it all together.

“Buying your love and attention. I saw it coming”

Mary let a calculated pause set between you two.

“You’re my best friend, (Y/N). I don’t enjoy doing this. I… I want to protect you”

She sighed and left when you didn’t open your mouth.

A couple of minutes later, you did too. Staring at yourself in the smudged mirror, you couldn’t tell whether you needed to go home or have twenty more drinks.

“Finally” you suddenly heard Roger say. He hugged you from behind right away, stopping you from literally rushing to John to tell him you wanted to leave. “I missed you, love”

Although you noticed your pulse rapidly accelerating, Mary's words seemed to be floating through your mind with a big neon sign with the word “alert” above them. She’d known Roger for a longer period of time than you did, and saw every lover appear and vanish whenever he found a new interest.

It just… You had to accept that one way or another, Roger was most likely to create damage.

“I want to go home, I’m wasted”

“Go home? We’re having a good time” he pulled you closer once again, his hands resting on your stomach.

He debated whether to bite your earlobe or not. One second later, he went for it.

You moaned. Loud. You wanted him to do it again.

“No, stop” you turned around and took two steps backwards, convincing you it was for the best.

He looked nothing but shattered.

“What’s the matter?”

“Forget what happened earlier. It was foolish”

Roger blinked too many times. He didn’t want to believe that you were being serious.

However, you looking everywhere but him was everything he needed to confirm you meant it.

Anger, exasperation and hurt clouded his face.

“So, we were this close” he began, his thumb and forefinger almost touching, “to make out about ten minutes ago, and now you want me to simply pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Well, I don’t want to ‘make out’ anymore, easy as that”

“I just can’t fucking wrap my head around it” he snapped.

It wasn’t about making out or not: he enjoyed your company and loved the way you made him feel when you were together. And he thought… you felt the same.

His heart was pounding so fast in his chest he thought he’d suffer a stroke.

You lapsed into silence, broken only by the one thing that made Roger understand why you were rejecting him.

“All girls swoon for you. Find another one to spend the night with, it won’t take you long, really. And please do forget about whatever happened between us in the booth”

It sounded way crueller than you wanted to. You wished you could take it back, but what's done cannot be undone.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything for a while.

Knuckles white and breathing uneven, Roger got closer and bent forward invading your personal space.

“Assuming I’m a womanizer, eh?” he replied coldly, jaw hard.

Curling up into a ball and crying never appealed to you that much before.

“Don’t worry. I will”

********

tagging; @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers @benders-diamond-earring

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