#oh look at him now mr. VULNERABILITY doesn't it make you throw up??

[chocoreads]

OMG MANXY MOO I FINISHED THIS TODAY WAS IT WAS WONDERFUL, EXHILARATING, AND the most bittersweet adventure i've read <3 i love your setup for the story--that prom dress scene at the beginning is flawless!! as expected ur banter is tippy top notch and ur characters are refreshing!! i enjoyed reading their interactions so much (esp the scene at the end awwww my heart couldn't take it!)

some of my fave excerpts:

4 + 4 = 8!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my breath was fully taken! i had zero breaths!

literally made me choke i loved this sm

OUUU I WAS WINDING UP I REREAD IT MULTIPLE TIMES!!

my eyes were fully reading it!!!!! it's all so palpable and vibrant!!

the pressure throughout this fic is so delicious as someone who thrives off angst and creating a smouldering wildfire of tension this was super satisfying!! you want to keep reading cuz ur on the same edge as the characters, waiting 4 smth to go wrong, knowing the illusion can't go on forever even when it's at its sweetest :(( wanting them to talk so bad but then it all goes up in flames :c

also i attempted to squeeze all my most blaring thoughts into the tags but im pree sure i hit the tag limit JHWFEUKHF

ur my hero this was amazing!!!!!!

when the devil drives.

pairing — jeonghan x fem!reader ft. bestie!joshua

word count — 23.7k

genres — road trip au, exes to friends with benefits to lovers, fighting as flirting, angst, fluff, smut (fingering, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, slight praise, cunnilingus)

warnings — toxic relationships, swearing and threatening language, explicit sexual content, they're both infuriating (yes that needs a warning, trust me)

summary — when your best friend breaks his leg and cancels your summer getaway, jeonghan turns up in his place to take you home from college on what was supposed to be a five hour car ride. except he has other plans, and you end up with more than you bargained for on a week-long road trip to nowhere with the cynical, silvertongued ex-boyfriend whom you're still kinda sorta in love with.

note — it's finally done. the bane of my existence. please enjoy the fic that made me so stressed that it delayed my period by like a week. on a lighter note, there's a playlist. enjoy <3

go to main masterlist | svt masterlist

THREE YEARS EARLIER.

The person in the mirror is not you.

The person in the mirror is beautiful when you’ve only ever felt pretty, mature even though you still feel like an overgrown child, and confident despite the fact that your heart is beating right out of your chest. Despite her makeover skills being limited to being practiced only on fortnightly dates, your mom has actually done an incredible job with you. Long hours of youtube video-watching and swatting you to remind you to sit still have finally paid off.

You trail your lilac-coated fingertips over your bare collar, marveling at the way your skin throws off light. It probably wouldn’t take much to convince your friends that it’s actually makeup instead of sweat doing the job, but it probably isn’t worth it. You stand up, looking down at the ruffled skirt of the purple dress you picked out at the mall weeks ago. Then, glancing back up at the mirror, you lift a hand to your arm, giving it a light pinch.

The yelp leaves your lips right as your mother opens the door to your bedroom, gesturing frantically with a makeup brush. “Honey, he’s here,” she informs you in a rapid hiss, looking as giddy as if it were her final prom night. “Get downstairs, quickly.”

“But my phone, and my purse—”

“They’re downstairs. First drawer of the credenza.” She slams the door shut before you can get a word in, leaving you standing in the middle of the room feeling even more alone than before.

You begin chewing on your bottom lip, and stop when you remember her specific instructions against ruining the lipstick. Smoothing down the ruffles with fluttering hands, you cast one last, yearning glance at the full-length mirror before going to the door, unlocking it gently and stepping outside.

The walk to the edge of the staircase is short, but it feels like more than an hour has passed by the time you get to it. You take a deep breath, clutching the balustrade with trembling fingers, and pause.

The noise had gone unnoticed by you earlier, owing to the anxious clamoring of overlapping thoughts in your head, but now if you pay attention you can hear your father’s stern tones, no doubt questioning your date at the front door. Anxious once more, you take a step back, wringing your hands. You carefully tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, running your hands over your skirt again, letting the texture of the ruffles calm you down. Okay, okay, I can do this, you think, placing the ball of your thumb between your teeth. It’s no big deal.

No big deal at all.

“Dad, quit grilling him,” you call out, and finally step into view. Your father looks up, and so does the poor boy he’s been cross-examining for who knows how long. You feel your face heat up at suddenly being brought into the spotlight, but manage a small smile.

You think you see your dad’s eyes misting over, but then your eyes automatically stray over to the person whose reaction you’ve been anticipating more. Your date is standing there slack-jawed, the top of his slightly-loosened tie visible as the bouquet of roses in his hands droops from inattentiveness. 

“Hi,” you say shyly, pleased at his reaction. Then, raising your hands above your dress, you give him a slow twirl. “So,” you say breathlessly, “how do I look?”

Jeonghan’s eyes are bright with fervor, the grip on the plastic cover around the flowers tighter than before, which you can tell by the way the blood has receded from his knuckles.

And he doesn’t say anything at all.

NOW.

“And done,” you say, slapping the end of the packing tape on the side of what you hope is the last carton. Then, still squatting, you place a hand on the side and lean back to examine your handiwork. To your dismay, the end of the tape has already begun to curl. "You think that’ll keep?"

"Absolutely," your roommate, Mina, hums in a way that tells you she isn’t listening. You glance back at her exasperatedly, and she gives you an apologetic grin. “Listen, I’m beyond caring at this point. That was the last of them, right?”

“Checklist.” You point at her, and she sighs, her acrylic nails tapping against the glitzy pink clipboard in her hands. 

“Yes, mother.”

Straightening, you place your hands on your hips and survey the area like the captain of a ship sailing into unknown waters. Your shared room, which had once been a safe haven strewn with comforters and fluffy rugs, is now overrun by corrugated cardboard boxes, some bulging and some rattling, almost all sealed unevenly with old dried-up tape. You rub your creased forehead. “I feel like we should’ve gotten professionals to do this work for us. The RA even recommended someone who gives out discounts for people who move before summer.”

“Are you kidding? We did a pretty bang-up job, considering this was all last-minute, and for free too,” Mina exclaims. “Plus, I would never trust a stranger with my ceramic dolls.” 

“You wouldn’t trust me with them, and I’ve been holding your hair up while you vomited in the toilet for months,” you complain. “Did we pack everything?”

She hums under her breath again, chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes roll down over the checklist. “I think so. Did you finish packing?”

“Yep.”

Mina looks sideways at one corner of the room, where your lone olive-green suitcase sits flush against the wall. “I still don’t understand how you’re going to survive a whole summer on just that.”

“It’s not a whole summer,” you correct. The thought of leaving fills you with a buzzing excitement, and you have to bite your lip to stop the smile from unfurling like a banner over your face. “Just a couple of weeks out in nature. And maybe a few motels. Neither place really requires much clothing.”

She makes a face, but dismisses the line of conversation with a wave of her hand. “Whatever you say,” she says. "Now, help me push these out into the hallway?"

You groan, but oblige. It’s mostly your fault that the two of you had to pack everything yourselves, since you picked the last possible day to move out before you’d have been thrown out of the dorms. Most of your stuff is already gone, but as a dutiful roommate, you’d promised Mina that you’d help her out before leaving for the summer. So, here you are, running on less than three hours of sleep, having spent most of this morning and the night before squeezing piles of clothes into boxes and folding bubble wrap like splints.

When you’re done, Mina takes the elevator down with you, and the sole suitcase you’re carrying feels even lighter than it is after all the boxes you'd been lugging around. When the metal doors slide open at the ground floor, you let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Mina pats your hand. Her clipboard is still tucked under her arm. “Don’t be so worried.”

You let out an uncertain laugh that fades quickly into a grimace, fingers clenched tight around the handle of your suitcase. “Why would I be worried?”

She pries your fingers out of their vice-like grip. “Exactly,” she says, grabbing the handle in your stead and pulling the suitcase out of the elevator, leaving you to awkwardly follow along, not quite knowing what to do with your hands. “After all your unfounded confidence in your packing and planning skills, it would be a shame if you lost faith in them now.” You can’t help but smile a bit at that, but for some reason, you still feel squeamish. “We’re not late, are we?”

Pushing your irrational anxiety aside, you hurriedly check your watch. “Well, um, a little,” you say with a shrug, “but Josh makes it a point never to show up until it’s fifteen minutes past our appointment.”

“So it’s all dandy then,” she says, her voice a bit further away, and when you look up you realize that she’s more than just a few steps ahead of you despite the heels and the suitcase, and you hasten your step. “Just make sure to check your pockets for condoms—”

“Mina.”

“—and your phone and wallet, and pepper spray.” She catches the stern look on your face. “You know, just in case.” She stops suddenly, and you almost trip over your own luggage. You look up at her in exasperation, but stop short upon noting the confusion on her face. “Is that Joshua?”

You follow her gaze across the parking lot, and spot the unmistakable blue Corolla parked a couple spots over. There’s a figure leaning against the side, his stark blonde hair makes the heated air shimmer like a halo over his head. Your first thought is oh, he dyed his hair. Your second is that’s not Joshua.

“What?” Mina looks confused, even as she falls into step beside you as you begin to stalk your way through the lot. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing yet,” you mutter as you reach the car. The blonde looks up, and your heart jumps into your throat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The boy who is not Joshua tilts his head questioningly. “Why the cold reception?” Jeonghan asks. 

You raise your eyebrows, incredulous, and are just about to open your mouth to elaborate on just why he’s getting a cold reception when Mina places a placating hand on your arm. “Hi, I’m Mina,” she says, putting on a bright smile, no doubt to outweigh the dark glare you’ve directed at his face. “The roommate.”

“Jeonghan.” He inclines his head with a neutral yet pleasant smile of his own, glancing at you. His smile falls almost comically upon seeing the expression on your face. “The…”

“You didn’t answer my question,” you interject, relentless. Mina is looking more and more discomfited by the second, but you scarcely notice. 

“The ex,” Jeonghan completes. He then turns to you, raising a cool eyebrow. “I thought you knew,” he says.

“Knew what?” You demand. 

He straightens, slowly drawing his hands out of his pockets, and you almost regret asking the question. Always the dramatics, you think bitingly. “That there’s been a slight change of plans.”

There was a time you thought you could trust Joshua Hong.

For the major part of your life, he had been the one person you could rely on for (mostly) everything, even when that something involved needing someone to catch you when you snuck out your window at 2 a.m., or knowing you’d always have a clean band-aid to use if you scraped your knee biking through a junkyard.

That time was approximately a minute and twenty seconds ago, when you hadn’t pulled out your phone with its unrepaired crack and checked the unread messages—the most recent of which were from him. It says sorry, and that he’s broken his leg and won’t be able to drive you from your dorm for the planned road trip. The crack lands right over the word sorry.

You know it’s been a minute and twenty seconds because you’ve been counting.

It’s like a bubble has burst inside your chest. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mumble softly, clenching your fingers tighter around your poor phone, which might end up with another crack if you squeeze it any further. “And he couldn’t tell me this before.”

“So you’ve been saying,” says the unwelcome replacement Joshua sent in his place. Jeonghan doesn’t have a trace of sympathy on his face as he folds his arms across his chest and checks the time on his watch. “Not to sound like an asshole, but it’s already three o’clock. We were supposed to be in town before dark, and it’s at least five hours from here.”

His voice is flat, utterly unsympathetic to your frustration. You’re still reeling, which is the only reason you don’t snap back immediately. It’s bad enough that your best friend isn’t here after all the work that went into planning and budgeting your trip, but Yoon Jeonghan’s presence is like salt on the wound. 

Maybe you’d say something snarky if it hadn’t been eight full months since you’d last talked to him. If the anger from your last conversation hadn’t faded over the long months and turned into something more…malleable. Manageable, as if you could ever have associated the word with him, with the feeling that you were swallowing hot coals every time you looked at him. You still remember the last time you talked to him in painstaking detail, and as you realize that fact, the memory comes rushing back, alongside the feeling that you’re going to throw up.

“So...that’s it?” You don’t know if you’re supposed to be nice to him. Exes have never before been an issue for you because you’ve never really had one before. “Joshua breaks his leg, so he sends you over.” Like nothing ever happened between us, you want to say, but your tongue seems to curl up when you try. “As a stand-in?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you can tell he’s holding back some words of his own. “Call it what you want, sweetheart,” he says, and you feel like you’ve been slapped across the face.

Part of you knows that he’s just trying to rile you up, but unfortunately, he’s had a lot of practice at it, so it’s working. You find yourself wishing that you hadn’t sent Mina away with nothing more than a short hug and a few words, but ever since you spotted Jeonghan across the parking lot you’ve been feeling about as steady as a salt shaker. Some support right now would’ve been nice.

Your fingers unclench from around the phone. There’s two ways this could go—the good way, in which both of you pretend that nothing ever happened, or the bad way, and you don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be. Jeonghan has never been a patient person, but right now, even as you stand silently in front of him after months of no contact, he seems unresponsive. Something hurt and hungry rears its head inside you at his hollow indifference, and you taste a familiar venom at the back of your tongue.

But you’re not going to give him the satisfaction. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask instead.

Jeonghan shrugs. You’re not sure if you just imagined the tension going out of his shoulders. “I owed Joshua a favor.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You expect me to believe that?”

His lips thin. “Would you believe me if I said it was a big favor?” he asks casually, but his shoulders are tense again.

You’re aware of the intensity with which you’re watching him, and the fervence with which he’s avoiding your gaze. “No.”

“Figured.” He looks away right before you manage to catch the look in his eyes. “Is that all you’re carrying, or…?”

You look back at your olive green suitcase, the handle still pulled out, lying forgotten a couple of steps away from you. You don’t remember having moved towards Jeonghan during the course of your conversation, and you’re surprised enough by the realization that your chest tightens for a second. “That’s all,” you say numbly, and Jeonghan turns to pull open the car door.

“Well, then, we don’t have all day,” he says, gesturing to the seat. You feel a twinge of irritation again, but say nothing, roughly grabbing the suitcase handle and yanking a door open. Asshole, asshole, asshole, you chant in your head. This is going to be the worst drive of your life.

Even worse, you find it impossible to fall asleep.

Somehow, it’s not the noise. Jeonghan doesn’t whistle, and he doesn’t turn on the radio, or try to make small talk that would make you want to tear your hair out. He remains perfectly silent, not saying a single word to you after starting the car, not even an offer to stop by a corner store or for a drink of water. It’s been some time since the loud city faded into empty, expansive grasslands on either side of the highway, but you’re still wide awake.

Maybe it’s the silence that keeps you up, or whatever it is that it implies. You’re on edge, and your mind is churning, struggling between being mad at Joshua or being mad at Jeonghan or being mad at yourself for giving a shit. You’re still so shaken by Jeonghan’s sudden reappearance that you haven’t even begun to process anything else.

I’m going home, you think numbly, but even that thought evokes only a dull response in you. You think about the weeks building up to the summer, the calls with your dad. Your not-so-meticulously packed suitcase lies in the car’s boot, probably collecting dust if you know anything about the state of Joshua’s car. Much like all your dreams of summer. No beers, and no swimming pools, and certainly no Joshua.

You look over at Jeonghan again, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. You must be in a daze, because for a moment, you think about leaning over and nudging him.

What makes seeing him so much worse is that he looks almost exactly the same as he used to. The same hands, the same eyes, even his hair is still bleached the same silvery-white. The first button of his white shirt is opened, revealing a sliver of tanned skin inside. He always wore pressed shirts and sweater vests—and here a venomous thought enters your mind—when he really should be wearing a straightjacket instead.

When you knew him a year ago, he had been beautiful, but it was a beauty that was yours to possess, to kiss and to touch and to hold. He’s still beautiful, but now it’s the kind of beauty that makes him untouchable. The kind that belongs behind a glass pane, like a fragile display made out of cards or glass or papyrus in a museum exhibit that you would stare at with wonder in your eyes, yearning to reach out but holding yourself back knowing that a single touch could send it crashing to the floor. No, you can’t allow yourself to touch him now.

So you cross your arms, tuck your fingers under your biceps, and turn to glare out the window instead.

You switch with him after the first stop at a gas station.

“I’ll be right back,” Jeonghan had told you before heading in, and you’d taken the opportunity to get out and stretch your legs. When he comes back carrying a plastic bag from the convenience store, it takes him a few minutes before he notices standing forlornly in front of a tree.

“What?” he asks, only half curious. It’s a tall three, thick-trunked, with segmented branches that end in spiky gray-green leaves that make it look like a high school rocker with too much hairspray.

“It’s a Joshua tree,” you reply mournfully.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, and you turn to him with an evil look in your eye as you begin the walk back to the car. “He broke his leg, not his neck.”

“Of course it’s all the same to you,” you fire back. Jeonghan unlocks the Corolla with short, sharp movements that show his exasperation, and tosses the keys to you. You catch them, going around to the driver’s seat, as he leans in and pushes against the lumpy plastic bag, trying to make space for it on the dashboard. “A broken leg is pretty painful.”

“More painful for you than him, apparently,” Jeonghan grunts. With a final push, he manages to make the bag stay, and climbs into the car, shutting the door behind him before pulling on the seatbelt. He turns to look at you with his forehead furrowed as the car starts rolling forward. “I thought you wouldn’t want to drive.”

“Why, because you think I’m sulking?” you ask, offense creeping into your voice. Your neck is already coated in sweat, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the weather or just a bodily reaction to your feelings.

“I’d say it’s normal to be upset about your best friend being hurt.” Jeonghan shrugs.

“I’m not upset about that,” you snap. 

“You’re not upset about your best friend being hurt?”

“I am. I just mean—” You break off, irritated. The sweat is now drying because of the hot air coming in through the open tops of the windows, making your skin itch. You just twist your shoulder backwards, unwilling to let go of the steering wheel because if you do, you might just sock Jeonghan in the mouth. “It kind of brings things to a halt. For both him and me.”

Jeonghan leans against the side. “I wouldn’t call one canceled trip bringing your life to a halt.”

Your head is beginning to hurt. “You’re right,” you say testily. “It’s just really fucking inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” he echoes. “You get to go home to sweet Joshua. Nurse him through his grievously traumatic injury. It could be a bonding experience, unless you’re bent on calling the poor incapacitated boy an inconvenience.”

“I never—” You grit your teeth, forcing down your rising anger. The heat has begun to crawl like a swarm of fire ants, up your neck and down your back. “I’m surprised he only broke his leg,” you say savagely. “Considering that he thought of sending you in his place, instead of literally anyone else, I wonder how he didn’t get a concussion instead.”

Jeonghan laughs. “All this anger over a little road trip? What exactly were the two of you planning to do, pray tell? I feel like I’m missing out.”

You kiss your teeth, thinking better of responding with another biting comment. Your skin is sweaty and itchy and hot and there’s still a good four hours before you get home. Going at it with him isn’t going to help your mood. You tell yourself that it’s been eight months, you’ve grown, you’ve become a better person. You’re not going to fall for his bait.

Then Jeonghan says, “You could always tour his bedroom.”

In your head, you slam on the brakes, bringing the car to an immediate halt for dramatic effect. In real life, however, you’re painfully aware of how Jeonghan’s lack of a seatbelt would send him flying into the windshield, so you slow down before coming to a rolling stop at the side of the road. Your throat feels like hot lava.

“Really?” the perpetrator asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’s the witless bedroom comment that gets you?”

You clench and unclench your jaw a couple of times, trying to bring your temper down, but to no avail. Your hands on the wheel are unusually tight, as if trying to close into complete fists around it, so you have to forcefully pry your fingers apart before you unlock the door and step out of the car.

Jeonghan copies your movements, getting out of his seat to lean over the hood of the car, his posture suggesting curiosity rather than sympathy. His lips part, no doubt in preparation to say something to push you over the proverbial edge, and warning bells go off inside your head.

“Shut up,” you snap, and he recoils, blinking in surprise.

“I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” you repeat decisively, turning to level your gaze at him like the tip of a sword. “I didn’t ask for you to be an ideal travelling companion, but the least you could do is shut the fuck up.”

Jeonghan says nothing, but his eyes stay on your face, intent and oddly unnerving. You force yourself to look away lest you give away some kind of weakness in your expression—being civil is your best bet to last the duration of the ride, but this is still a push-and-pull. With him, it always is.

“This was supposed to be the last summer we had before graduating and getting jobs and moving to different parts of the country,” you say through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t even going to be that big of a deal—just being on the road for a few weeks with each other for company, having no responsibilities, no destinations, and no deadlines. And then he had to go and fuck himself over, and fuck me over in the process, and now it’s weeks and weeks of work gone to waste, and all I’ve been looking forward to is dust. And on top of that, you had to come in and do what you do best, which is twist everything I say and make me feel like shit about it like it's your god-given right to ruin my life. So, yeah, it’s the fucking—” 

The anger seems to have gone out of you somewhere towards the end, and you feel yourself deflate like a pricked balloon. “And it’s so fucking hot, too,” you mumble, burying your face in your hands. Then, face still covered, you laugh, feeling ridiculous and petulant like a child after throwing a temper tantrum about a broken toy. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault for having to drive me, and it’s not Joshua’s fault for getting his goddamned leg broken. I’m just…” You struggle to find the right words to express your frustration, but ultimately give up. “It’s so hot,” you whisper.

Your face burns, and you’re no longer sure if it’s from anger or embarrassment. It’s unusual for you to lose your composure, but you must have been more affected by this than you had imagined. Or maybe it’s just Jeonghan bringing out the violence in your emotions again.

Speak of the devil. Jeonghan steps around the front of the car and comes to a stop in front of you, hands very still at his sides, yet tensed as if they’re about to move. Suddenly you feel very tired, and very, very small.

“Let me drive the rest of the way.” His tone is gentler than you expected, but you’re still not brave enough to meet his eyes. He hesitates, like he’s about to say something else, but then his lips press into a thin, concerned line. You remember that expression from years ago, his eyes warm, a hand reaching over to curl around yours. Now, it just feels alien.

“Get some rest,” he finally says, and you don’t have the heart to fight back.

It’s been half an hour, and you still haven’t said a word to each other. Whatever pretense of cordiality you thought could be preserved is gone—if it had even existed in the first place—and the tension in the air is thick enough that you could carve something out of it. You’re beginning to get a little tired of the silence, now that the noise in your head has begun to quiet down just enough so you can actually think.

At least he’s turned the air conditioner on, which is a small mercy. You don’t know how you forgot about it before, but it probably had something to do with your rising irritation and the complete lack of awareness due to your blinding rage. Maybe if you’d just retained enough sense to turn the stupid freaking air conditioner on, you wouldn’t have had a loud, embarrassing breakdown in the middle of the freeway.

“I can hear your internal monologue from all the way over here,” Jeonghan says, making you start. It’s almost as if he actually can hear every single one of your thoughts—which shouldn’t be so surprising, considering your history. Your heart’s startled palpitations turn into a painful squeeze. “Stop thinking so hard and get some sleep.”

“It’s not like I’m not trying,” you mutter. “I’m just…restless.”

“Can’t wait to get home?”

You scoff. “Yep,” you say, dragging the syllable sarcastically. “Can’t wait to get home.”

Jeonghan catches your eye in the rearview mirror. There’s something quietly thoughtful brimming behind his eyes, and although you can’t quite put your finger on why, it makes you sit a bit more easily. It could be that you’re glad he isn’t too mad at you—people pleaser that you are—but it’s more likely that the look is…familiar. Familiar enough that relaxing in reaction to it is an instinct your body hasn’t gotten rid of just yet. Fucking biology. “We don’t have to go home if you don’t want to,” he says with pretend nonchalance, looking away.

You laugh, a little sadly, and uncross your arms to rub your hands down your biceps. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

It’s quiet for another moment. This time, it’s you who can almost hear the gears turning in Jeonghan’s head. You can’t help but anticipate what he’s going to say. “I don’t know,” he says, voice so muted that you have to look at his mouth to make sure you can correctly make out what he’s saying. “Where were you planning to go with Joshua?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “No,” you say firmly right as he asks the question, your voice a little rough and more than a little hoarse. You’re sitting stock-still now, like you touched a live wire and have been electrified in place. “Don’t even think of going there.”

He shrugs, and you can see the slightest hint of tension in his neck muscles when they flex with the movement. “If we take the highway, there’s a motel about half an hour from—”

“Don’t,” you say through your teeth. He’s still not looking at you. “Jeonghan, stop it.”

“Two days,” he says, unrelenting. His eyes finally flicker to yours, and you feel something stutter in your heart when you see the first hint of genuine emotion in his expression. The first time in eight months. “If we take the U-turn up ahead and keep going, it takes two days to lead up to the bay. Just two days. We could stay in a bed-and-breakfast, and if you still want to go back after that, I’ll take you home. No stops.”

You swallow back the dry patch in your throat. It feels wrong to see him like this, so eager when he greeted you with all the warmth of an icicle just a couple hours ago in the parking lot behind your apartment building. You know some part of it is because of your unintended meltdown in the middle of the road an hour ago, but the whole proposal reeks of pity.

“Not funny,” you say shakily.

“I’m not joking,” comes the simple reply.

“What’s the catch?” you ask sharply. “Not even half an hour ago you were letting me know exactly what you thought of road trips and risks. Why the sudden change of heart, huh, Jeonghan? If you tell me it’s because you feel guilty, I swear to god I’ll punch you.”

“Well,” he starts, lifting a single shoulder, “I don’t really have anything better to do. And if I take you home right now your mom will definitely make me stay for dinner, which would be awkward for both of us.” He shrugs. “And…maybe I want to spite Joshua. For breaking his leg playing soccer with little kids, and making me come all this way just to pick up an ungrateful little alley cat who could’ve just taken the bus.” 

You lapse into silence for a few moments. Then: “He really broke his leg playing soccer with little kids?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan replies, but not without an eye roll to accompany it. He looks at you then. “So what will it be, sweetheart?”

You know in your heart that there’s only one right answer to that question, and it’s a resounding no.

But then, if you’d been sensible enough to listen to your heart, you probably wouldn’t have ended up five hours away from home in a shitty old college majoring in fucking math of all things. So of course you tell him to turn the car around.

Jeonghan has always been an ass with apologies.

Which is ironic, because ever since you first met him, you’d known that he had the gift of the gab (for lack of a better phrase). His talents had always been in lying and talking and picking exactly the right quote from a classic text to make himself sound smart—which, admittedly, he is. He went from making people pay him to write their college essays and down the natural pipeline to majoring in literature at a fancy place. He’s always been good at making you angry, but you don’t think he’s ever figured out how to make things right. Or care enough to work for it.

So when Jeonghan knocks on the door and you open it to find him with a beer bottle in his hand, you’re only slightly surprised to see it. 

When he comes in, his eyes go straight to the double bed. He steps inside the room (at the first motel you’d seen which advertised running hot water, which makes no damn sense anyway because it’s over a hundred degrees outside and neither of you is taking a hot bath anytime soon, but whatever). The blades of the ceiling fan spin lazily, barely even disturbing his hair.

“The speed for the fan doesn’t go beyond three, and the air conditioner only works between seven and seven,” you inform him as you sit back on the bed, your suitcase open on the mattress in front of you. 

Jeonghan nods, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He’s probably not used to this kind of place at all, but if you’re going on the road with him, you’re not pulling your punches. You’re happy enough with the arrangements yourself, being accustomed to living in even worse conditions. His description of you as an ungrateful little alley cat wasn’t far from the mark. It could always be worse, but you don’t tell him that.

You’d decided against calling your parents—or Joshua—to inform them about your change in plans, and had instead chosen a few simple texts to convey the information. They trust you enough to deal with your last-minute changes, but you know that there’s going to be a lot of questions about your choice of companion when you get back. Those questions, however, you can confidently avoid thinking about at least until you get back. And as for Joshua—he should’ve known better, you think primly. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan says suddenly, breaking you out of your reverie. The beer bottle sits guilty in his grip. Gotcha, you think. “For riling you up in the car. Being around you kind of triggers my fight or flight instinct, and I’ve never been much of a runner. Heaven knows my dad tried, though.”

You half smile in acknowledgement. His expression is awkward, which makes your smile widen. The apology in no way makes up for your history, but now that you're already halfway through your decision, you decide to put him out of his misery and call a truce.

Leaning forward, you take the beer he offers you, raising it in his direction like a salute. “You’re good enough with words to make up for your lack of athletic ability,” you say, making the corners of his lips curl up. “And the pen is mightier than the sword, as they say. Care for a sip?”

He shakes his head no. “Can’t blame you,” you say, nodding sagely as you casually uncap the bottle with your teeth. “Beer does taste like piss when warm.”

“Or cold. Or room temperature,” he says. “I don’t know how you manage to keep it down.”

“Needs must.” You grin, patting the empty space on the mattress next to you, and he indulges your request. “So, I was thinking about what you said,” you start, taking a square of paper from between folded clothes and books in your unzipped suitcase, and unfolding it. “I’ve been going over the route Josh and I picked out for the trip, but I thought of making some changes.” You run your fingertips over a squiggly blue line marked on the map, and tap a spot outside it. “We could visit the museum. Take a meandering route, make a few stops here-and-there before we actually get to the bay.”

Jeonghan peers over your shoulder. “That’s about eight hours from here.”

“Mhm,” you say, putting the lip of the bottle to your mouth and taking a gulp. You make a face as you swallow. “Damn. I thought it was kind of clichéd, but warm beer really does taste like piss.”

“I did warn you.” He’s stiffened a bit. You sniff the air, wondering if something stinks. 

“Well, uh,” you mutter under your breath, and bring the bottle back up to your lips with slow, careful motions. “We could make a few pit stops over here, and go to the shore later. Then there’s the wharf.” Your fingertip moves over the map.

Jeonghan looks at the spot you’re pointing at. His gaze shifts to your hand, then up over your arm, all the way to your bared shoulder—which you realize is mere inches from his face. 

He’s stopping breathing, as if afraid to exhale on your skin. You open your mouth to make a joke, but it dies in your throat. Your mouth remains open, no words coming out. Jeonghan lifts his eyes up to yours, and you feel your heart jump. The scent of green apple shampoo envelopes you.

Something thumps on the roof above. Jeonghan looks up, and you take the opportunity to nimbly shift away. “Do you think that was a rat or a person?” you wonder aloud.

“I’m not sure which I’d rather have it be,” he answers, getting to his feet. You look up at him, the beer bottle in your hand barely empty, but you’re already feeling lightheaded. “Dinner?”

Dinner is uneventful. You usually hate forcing pointless conversations, but now you find yourself broaching all kinds of topics from the weather to the food to the ketchup stain on the waiter’s apron.

Jeonghan is polite, laughing at the right moments and nodding along when you need him to listen, but you feel fidgety on the worn leather seat that you normally would have sunk comfortably into. The long-drawn conversation makes you feel like you’re talking to a stranger, not someone you’ve known for the most part of your life. Not for the first time, you mourn a friendship that has seemingly dissolved after your break-up.

By the time the two of you walk back, it’s almost ten. You pass under more than a few flickering streetlights, but they are more than made up for by the neon signs that begin to light up after dark.

When you get back to the room, all you can think about is the double bed. How convenient, you think to yourself, more than a little miserably when you think back to the tiny moment you shared while looking over the map. While you’ve moved on from Jeonghan, your body clearly hasn’t, if the way it reacted to his scent is anything to go by. And you have moved on. Why else would you be so comfortable basically running away with him?

“I hope the lock works,” Jeonghan mutters to himself as he locks the door for the night. You’re less confident, so you zip your bag back up and push it flush against the white door, propping the handle against the top.

Your phone rings, and you take it out, checking the caller ID. Joshua. You look up, and find Jeonghan looking at you, his face blank. Feeling unsettled, you reject the call, and put your phone away.

Now that it’s just the two of you with no dinners or strangers or ketchup stains to distract your conversations, the two of you fall into a pregnant silence. Jeonghan thumbs the collar of his shirt idly, looking at the bed with a glazed-over expression. You sidle by the bed and place a pillow in the middle, then stand back to survey your work.

“It looks like a face,” Jeonghan says.

“We can share the blanket,” you allow. For all the burning heat of the mid-afternoon sun, you know that the nights in the desert are cruelly cold, especially so within the paper-thin walls of the motel room. “Do you want to keep the fan on?”

“I’m good.” For some reason, Jeonghan looks ill. “You know…I just realized I don’t have a single change of clothes.”

You take a good look at his current attire, and it’s definitely not an excuse to stare. He’s wearing a plain white shirt, as you noted before. It’s fitted but billows faintly about his frame, making him look like a prince of old. His hair falls in soft blonde waves down to his neck, brushing the very top of his collar, and a few stray strands frame his face. Even though the harsh fluorescent lights draw the color from his face, the sheen of sweat over his cheekbones make them shine. You watch, transfixed, as Jeonghan’s fingers slip from the collar to the undone button, the pad of his thumb shaping the outline of it.

And he’s also wearing jeans. The jeans are reusable, you think, blinking yourself out of your stupor. Get a hold on yourself. But you can already pick out the stained collar of his shirt with ease. “We can go shopping tomorrow,” you suggest, clearing away the thickness of your voice. “Restock your supply of Walmart t-shirts.”

He looks at you with narrowed eyes, and you allow yourself a smile.

When all the blinds are all drawn and the lights turn off, you’re the first under the blankets. The pillow you’d ceremoniously placed down as a barrier between the two of you is flush against your back as you curl into yourself. You feel the mattress dip and the bed frame creak as Jeonghan gets into bed. It feels strange to have him in the same bed again, something you used to yearn for, now something so strange and troubling.

“Neighbors are loud,” he states, his voice muffled. You curl your fingers into the bedspread, and sigh silently before turning on your side so you’re facing him. Sure enough, now that you’re paying attention you can hear party music bleeding in from the room next to yours.

Jeonghan is nothing more than a dark outline against the sparing light that seeps in from under the door. “G’night,” you say softly. Softer than you intended, anyway. You bite your lip and duck your head under the blanket, feeling inexplicably schoolgirlish.

With the way your heart beats in your chest, it sounds almost as loud as the music coming from next door. You’re almost worried about him hearing it, but if he does, he doesn’t betray a thought. There’s no way I’m falling asleep like this, you think to yourself, but it doesn’t take more than a few minutes before you’re at the soft edges of sleep.

“Good night,” Jeonghan whispers back, just as you begin to drift off.

True to your word, the first place you put on your list of shopping locations is the local Walmart.

“You know I intend to wear these newly-acquired clothes outside of this trip, right?” Jeonghan complains as you browse a rack of t-shirts that advertise themselves as being up to fifty percent off! “You’re wasting your time if you think I’m going to spend my well-earned money on anything here.”

“May I remind you, mister, that this whole trip thing was your idea?" you ask, pulling out a tie-dyed shirt that’s a swirl of shades of peach and baby blue, and holding it up in front of his frame with an appreciative hum. “Plus, don’t you feel gross in your sweaty old underwear? This could be the splash of color your wardrobe so desperately needs.”

Jeonghan looks unimpressed. He pushes the tie-dye down, looking over it at you with a shake of his head. “I know better than to trust your choices, even those made with good intentions. And your intentions at the moment are clearly not good,” he emphasizes. “Anyway, this is not the underwear section.”

You raise your eyebrows, and look behind you pointedly at what is, actually, the underwear section. Jeonghan follows your gaze to the display of Fruit of the Loom underwear. “No, nope,” he murmurs. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too good for Walmart underwear, are we?” You wrinkle your nose, but don't press the issue, moving instead towards another part of the t-shirts section. The tie-dye stays in your hand, though. 

“With underwear, I always believe that what you get is what you pay for,” Jeonghan says, then frowns. “What are you doing?”

You look up, innocent. “These crewnecks are on sale too.”

“That’s because it’s the peak of blistering summer,” he says, exasperated. “No one’s wearing crewnecks.”

“At night, though.”

“I’m not wearing a crewneck to bed.”

You’re about to crack a joke about going on long walks by the beach, but think better of it. Jeonghan looks confused by your sudden surrender, but you’re too busy looking in every other direction possible as a prickly heat crawls up your neck. “You really are a snob,” you mumble.

“I’m not a snob.” He rolls his eyes. “Can we go somewhere else? Anywhere else?”

You glance back, coy. “Anywhere?”

He grimaces. “I take that back.”

“Your wish is my command.” You wave the blue-and-coral tie-dye in the air. “We’re buying this one though. Don’t think for a second I’m gonna let you walk out of here empty-handed.”

For once, Jeonghan doesn’t complain, but he does purse his lips to make his feelings clear. “I guess I could make use of it when I have no clean clothes left.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

He still pays for it—and some clean, much-needed underwear, despite his many complaints—at the counter, and you’re honestly surprised at how civil he's being. You'd thought that it would require a lot more effort to make this whole thing as smooth as possible after the fiasco in the car, but he's been on his beat behavior since then.

Despite your outburst and Jeonghan’s subsequent apology, you’re aware that neither of you have actually broached the reason for this tension. It’s much easier to just not think about the break-up, and act like it never happened, because that’s a whole can of worms right there that you do not wish to open. 

You wish you could unscrew the top of your head and bring your brain out. Give it a good shake to dust off all the stray thoughts you keep having about Jeonghan and your self-control and your relationship, and just let yourself enjoy the ride. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

“We could go thrifting,” you suggest once you’re in the car, and for once, Jeonghan doesn’t seem too opposed to the idea.

The first thrift store you find on the GPS is small and plain-looking, but upon entering the dilapidated, run-down looking building you quickly learn not to judge the book by its cover. Inside, Jeonghan picks up a fluffy hot pink scarf with a wince, and you can’t help but laugh.

“You should try that one on, actually. It matches your mean girl vibe,” you point out, digging through the bin where he found the scarf in question.

“I like mean girl better than snob.” He slings the scarf around his neck. He'd decided to trade in his white button-up for the tie-dye you got from Walmart, but not before proclaiming that it was only because he needed clean clothes to wear. “It sounds more like a phase that way.”

“It doesn’t fit as well though,” you say, bringing out a sequined shirt. “Ooh, try this one. The disco vibes would make you a hit at the local club.”

“Thirty years ago, maybe,” he grumbles, but adds it to the cart. “Can’t you look for something more…”

“Boring?”

“Classy,” he finishes with a pointed look.

You grin. “As my lord pleases,” you announce, and hold up a plain brown t-shirt. Jeonghan arches his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised and skeptical, until you turn it around to reveal the Twilight logo with the faces of the main trio plastered below it. “Doth thou find this to thy liking, good sir?”

There’s an expression of part disgust, part enjoyment (and is that a glimpse of fondness you catch in his eye?) on his face. “Verily, fair maiden. It is to my utmost satisfaction,” he replies, a smile playing on his lips. “And it would be dost, not doth.”

“Very well.” You drop the shirt into the cart and straighten, grin unwavering. “Let us look around.”

He offers you his arm, and you hesitate only a millisecond before taking it. “Shall we?”

You nod, keeping the smile in place. “We shall.”

The two of you end up staying in the store until it closes, losing track of time as Jeonghan models different outfits you throw together—“This one has a dick drawn on the back.” “I know, right?”—and bring to him in the changing rooms. It’s not entirely a waste—he actually ends up finding some decent clothes, which you make him pack into a hello kitty backpack, and you buy the heart-shaped sunglasses that manage to catch your attention. By the time you come out and agree to get an unhealthy dinner from a McDonald’s drive-thru, it’s almost nine, but you’re on a dopamine high that you know is going to keep you up for a long while.

Also, you kind of don’t want to go to sleep. Going to sleep means finding a cheap place to stay, with vacancies, during tourist season, which means you’re probably only going to find a single bed. After all you’ve done to keep an invisible barrier between the two of you today (which is to say: not much) you don’t trust yourself enough to try to risk sleeping in the same bed again.

Jeonghan seems to have had the same idea, so you end up taking mini naps while switching with him to drive all night to the next destination. Most of the night, at least. It’s about four in the morning when you realize you’re beginning to nod off in the driver’s seat, so you pull over and nudge Jeonghan awake.

“I don’t think going on is good for our health,” you tell him seriously.

He’s still half-asleep, but he bestirs himself at your words, rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of a closed fist. “Uh, okay,” he mutters, opening his eyes wide and blinking the sleep out of them. “Why?”

“It’s irresponsible,” you insist. “You know, from a road safety perspective. Also, I almost drove us into a tree.”

That wakes him up quick. “What do you suggest, then?” he asks, sitting up. “Sleeping in the car?”

“Well,” you begin, unsure, “yeah?”

“Are you crazy? We’ll freeze to death.”

“No we won’t,” you whisper back, then clear your throat, not sure why you’re whispering. “Body heat.”

Jeonghan puts his face in his hands for a few seconds, then exhales deeply. “Okay,” he mutters savagely, dragging his fingers down his face. He looks up at you, and there’s a languid sharpness in his eyes that makes you squirm in your seat. “Four hours,” he says. “Don’t complain later if you can’t take it.”

You try for a scoff to hide your discomposure, but end up yawning instead. “Whatever,” you murmur, putting your forearm against the wheel and leaning your face against it. It’s still dark out, and you are freezing a little bit, but the dull orange light that lights up the interior of the car makes it feel slightly warmer. “It’s not like we have anything worth stealing.”

Jeonghan lounges against the passenger seat. He’s still wearing the stupid tie-dye, and the orange of the interior lights have washed out the peach in his shirt. The rest of him is bathed in the same color, making his skin look like it’s been licked by fire. You watch him undo the seatbelt buckle with hooded eyes, curling your fingers around the steering wheel to contain yourself. Even as he climbs into the backseat, you don’t move, eyes still fixed on him. 

Would you have reached for him if you didn’t remember every word he said that day? Maybe you should talk about what happened, to clear the air at least. You try to think of how that would go. Jeonghan, you would start, about what happened—

“Are you coming or not?” Jeonghan asks. He leans forward, beckoning you with a crooked finger, and your gaze glides over the collarbone that peeks out from just below his neck. His voice is breathy and low, making something twang in your gut. You pull yourself up quickly, and follow him before you can change your mind. Jeonghan pulls out a few of his clothes from the backpack to cushion the seat. The space is small, cramped, and smells like cheese, but you think about none of those things except the heat of his body against yours. This is, undoubtedly, the most terrible idea you’ve had so far.

“This is a terrible idea,” you voice, as he pulls an oversized shirt over your legs and leans back. You’re not half as sleepy as you were mere moments ago. The comfort is so deeply unsettling that you feel like you’d rather nap in a bush.

“As I said,” he murmurs, gaze darting to your lips for a millisecond. You gulp. He looks like he’s made of honey and marmalade. “Do you want to turn off the light?”

“So passer-bys don’t think we’re fucking in the back of the car?” A nervous laugh bubbles up your throat like an uncorked Coke bottle, the regret following the words as soon as they come out. You glance up at him, pulse jumping, but his eyes are already closed. “Oh. Um. I’ll turn them off.”

It doesn’t take long for Jeonghan’s breaths to even out, but you lie awake for a long time, listening to your own heartbeat. It’s long past ten a.m. before either of you wakes up.

You spend the next few days doing what you do best—wasting time. This was what you’d planned originally, doing absolutely nothing and deciding destinations on the road, but it was supposed to be with someone who knew you well. While you have no doubt that Jeonghan had managed to puzzle out every part of you before, you're no longer the same pedantic, rule-abiding perfectionist that he probably remembers. You think you’ve changed a lot since you last saw him, and since a major part of that owes itself to him not being in your life any more, you don’t know how to adjust your relationship to that change.

There’s a day you spend most of at a microbrewery, where you manage to snag a guided tour to the home brewing process and Jeonghan develops a taste for fruit beers. Another where you trek up the mountains at a national park just to watch the sunset, sitting on a rock with your sore legs and sharing an artisanal. Once you spend the whole day at the pier.

“There.” You point at a highway, licking the side of your strawberry ice cream (Jeonghan takes the mint). “That’s the road I took while following this stupid underground band on their tour. Didn’t even like them that much, but these guys convinced me, and it turned out to be kind of fun. Sort of like a grown-up camping trip.”

Jeonghan squints at where you’re pointing, then shakes his head. “So that’s why you were so confident about sleeping overnight in a car in the desert.”

“S’not that bad.” You shrug. “I thought it would be like a new experience, you know, and that’s where I got this idea about the road trip in the first place. I don’t think Joshua expected me to suggest something so…careless.”

He’s silent for a long moment. You glance at him sideways, and clutch the bear plushie you won at the ring toss. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks at length.

“Never,” you reply quietly. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you thought.

Every location is fun at first before your not-relationship gets in the way, slowly chipping away at your sanity like a heavy-handed ax. You swear you’ve barely touched alcohol, but soon the days begin to blur together, and by the time you get anywhere near the beach you don’t even know what day it is.

Saturday, your phone says.

You swipe ignore on Joshua’s sixteenth call in the past few days, this time not even bothering to shoot him a text in its stead. It’s late in the afternoon, and you’re lying on your stomach on an extremely soft mattress in a fancy hotel, ankles crossed in the air as you read an old copy of Gone Girl that you borrowed from Mina in case you got bored. 

Or you were reading it. You press your lips together as you finish reading the same paragraph for the seventh time without actually absorbing any of it, and sigh. Jeonghan reaches over and flicks the cover before leaning back. “Female rage, huh?” he asks, settling back against the pillows. “Should I be concerned?”

The colors of the sunset seep in through the slits between the blinds. You look up at him, noting his watchful gaze, the controlled set of his mouth. Somehow you feel more resentful than wary. “I don’t know.” You roll onto your back and jut your chin out, looking at him upside down. “Should you?”

He doesn’t give up. “Are you angry?”

Your fingers coil more tightly around the book. You match his stare for another second before propping yourself up on your elbow and going back to the text. “No,” you reply after a second, still with your back to him.

“I think you are.”

You throw your head back, irritated, and set the book back down on the bed. “Why would I be angry?” you ask, turning your face in his direction. “I’m just tired. That’s all. It’s too hot to do anything anyway, we can just go out after the sun goes down.”

Jeonghan doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push you on the subject, and you’re relieved. The truth is that you’ve been feeling irritated and guilty and rash ever since you woke up, but don’t want to give yourself the chance to do something stupid.

“Where do you want to go today?” he asks instead.

You frown, squeezing the bridge of your nose between a forefinger and thumb. “I don’t know,” you repeat. “Maybe nowhere. Do nothing.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “What were you planning to do with Joshua?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, all of that went out the window the second he broke his damned leg,” you snap. Then you pull back with a wince. “Shit. Sorry. I think I’m getting a headache.”

He doesn’t say anything, only offers you a glass of water, which you accept with a quiet thanks. It’s not going to help, though, you know that; your headache has deeper roots than that. The water is lukewarm, and you gulp the water down, spilling half of it over your mouth and down your shirt. “Maybe we can go somewhere you want,” you say, pursing your lips into the best smile you can muster. “You know, this was for the both of us.”

“I know,” Jeonghan replies, monotonous. “You’re getting a nosebleed.”

“What? Oh, fuck.” You hurriedly put the glass down on a side table and head to the washroom. Sure enough, when you look into the mirror, your upper lip is coated in crimson.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself again, and bend over the basin. The sound of running water almost drowns out Jeonghan’s footsteps, so you jump a bit when you hear his voice.

“Let’s go to a club,” he says. You straighten, holding a napkin to your nose, and glance back at him. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. “Sounds like you need to get drunk,” he says, shrugging.

Your lips part. “Okay.” You turn and grab another napkin. “Sure, yeah, let’s go.”

The teeming throngs of people seem to envelope you, like a piece of paper folded over and over. The air in the nightclub is stale but cold, with undercurrents of sour sweat and sweet coke syrup. You wouldn’t call yourself a stranger to this scene, but for some reason, it feels foreign.

You weave your way through the crowd on the dance floor, an untouched glass in your hand. Although the whole ordeal had been Jeonghan’s idea, he’d disappeared less than ten minutes after you came, no doubt off buying pretty girls drinks. Being seen with you would probably ruin his night, but at least someone’s living their single life to the fullest.

You, on the other hand, have not been having fun at all. It’s not entirely unexpected, since the whole reason you’d said yes to the idea was because you’d felt bad about snapping at him. Usually, you go drinking to unwind after a stressful week, but today you just can’t seem to get into it. You suspect it’s because you’re alone. The music is loud and heavy and while you remember noting that it’s one of your favorite songs, all you can hear right now is the bass. You feel it in your skull and your teeth and jarring all up your sciatic nerve, sending little jolts through your spine. If you didn’t have a headache before, you’re definitely close to getting one now.

Someone brushes past you, and you almost spill the drink in your hand all over the dress. Annoyed, you turn to snap, but they’re already gone by the time you’ve turned around. You sigh, massaging your temple with your free hand, and sit down at the first table you see, placing the glass with the red drink sloshing around inside. The pulsating lights make the surface of the liquid flash, turning it orange and pink and even green. You don’t even remember what it is supposed to be.

With a deep sigh, you pull the glass off the table and nurse it in your lap, head dropping from exhaustion. Maybe if you had someone to dance with you, but your choleric disposition has a habit of chasing people away, and tonight you’ve dialed it up by about a hundred.

A shadow looms over you, blocking the lights, and the color winks out of the drink in your lap. You look up with a glower, ready to chastise what is undoubtedly another hopelessly drunk guy looking to hit on single girls, but falter when you manage to make out the man’s features.

Jeonghan’s blonde hair looks lilac in the lighting. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s got that white shirt on again, but the lights have bled into it like with your drink, turning it different colors. For a moment, neither of you move, him looking down at you and you matching his stare from the seat.

“Are you drunk?”

You shake your head mutely.

If he doubts your honesty, he doesn’t show it. “Wanna get out of here?”

It’s stupid, but you feel bad. You’ve never known him to be into the whole party scene, but maybe he’s gotten different hobbies since you split up, and you feel like you’re taking that away from him. “Don’t you want to stay?” you ask, setting the glass on the small table. “I know the way back.”

He offers you a small smile. “You know how I feel about places like this,” he answers as you prepare to leave. Then why did you suggest it in the first place? you want to ask, but dare not utter a word. “Well then—” He offers you a hand, the smile softening— “my lady?” 

His voice is low, but you hear it like an arrow singing through the noise. “As my lord pleases,” you murmur with an incline of your head, a smile creeping onto your lips as you take his hand.

Jeonghan tugs you through the crowd, his grip gentle yet firm. You pull yourself closer to him, marveling at how the sea of people seems to part before him, like he’s a warm knife going through butter. “You should’ve told me if you didn’t want to come,” he yells back at you.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” you explain, wrapping an arm around yourself as the two of you step out into the night air. It’s much colder outside even with the crowd, and you barely manage to suppress a shiver. “I thought it might be—fun.”

“But it wasn’t?”

You shake your head stiffly, shoulders raised against the late night chill. It’s only then that you realize your right hand is still intertwined with his, with you almost hanging off his arm. Flushing, you extract it quickly, folding your arms across your chest. “Let’s just go back to the hotel.”

You can’t see his face, but you imagine him burning holes into the side of your face. But he only nods.

Back at the hotel, you lean against the basin in the washroom, staring at yourself in the foggy mirror. Your face looks back at you from the parts where you wiped off the mist with the heel of your palm, smokey-eyed, your makeup smudged. The cold ceramic seems to cut into your hands, but you’re grateful for it.

With the bathroom door left ajar, you can hear Jeonghan in the connecting room. “Sorry about ruining your night,” you offer with the most apologetic tone you can summon, but your heart feels as numb as your fingertips. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you hear him say, his voice feeling like it’s coming from a tunnel. You know exactly what’s gotten into you though. 

You swallow against the hard knot of dryness that has lodged itself in your throat. Your head is pounding, and you feel like something is splitting you apart from the inside, like a block of ice in your chest that refuses to melt. Am I really that cold inside? Throughout this trip, you’ve found yourself wishing multiple times that the distance between you and Jeonghan didn’t feel so great, but now the thought overwhelms you, washing over you like a riptide, and you feel like you’s gotten into you to sea.

You think about just giving in, but you want to preserve some semblance to self respect. Although none of your concerns feel grounded—Jeonghan’s been the perfect gentleman since after you broke down on him. The memory of your last argument eight—now nine—months ago, his harsh words cutting you down, they all feel so far away. So unreal. You wonder if you imagined breaking up.

“I shouldn’t act so immature, right?” you wonder aloud, and spin around to face him. Jeonghan’s standing just outside the bathroom, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt, and blinks at your question. “I mean, we’re not in high school anymore.”

His brow twitches, like he’s about to frown. “You’re not acting immature.”

You feel slightly hysterical. There’s exactly one thing you want from him—a reaction. Even though you know it’s only going to make things worse. “You don’t think so?” you ask, very quietly.

The frown finally manifested itself on his face. “Are you drunk?” he asks again, enunciating each word slowly and carefully.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jeonghan.” There’s a wild edge to your voice that has him tilting his head. “Why are you so—so—” Blank. Unaffected. Maddening. “Calm?”

The frown flickers away, and once again, he goes back to looking as unemotional as an alabaster statue. Just as beautiful, driving you insane with a feeling that you can’t quite put into words. “What would you rather have me be?”

One second you’re leaning against the doorframe, fingernails gouging into the wood, and the next second you’re on him, reaching out like you’re about to claw his face off. Before you know it, you’re kissing Jeonghan with all the viciousness of a bite. 

Your hands grip his shoulders, then slide up to his neck and down to his upper back. You can feel his shirt creasing where your nails dig into it, so desperately that you think they might leave crescent-shaped scars. “What do you think?” you hiss into his ear as he stumbles, stepping back to steady himself, his hands coming to your hips. You lean into him, returning to his lips, and then he’s kissing you back.

Jeonghan slides his hand over the diaphanous material of your dress, reaching up to slide into your hair, deepening the kiss. His other hand grips your waist, pulling you as close to himself as humanly possible. His arm crushes you against himself as his lips part against yours, kissing you like he was breathing from you, as desperate as if he were drowning.

It’s as if he’s come alive under your touch, so different from the unemotional front he’d displayed just seconds earlier. His hands roam your body, exploring, tracing, remembering. You open yourself to him, letting every doubt and second thought be washed away by the tide of emotion that rages inside you. Jeonghan tastes like strawberries, his lips soft and sweet, and you feel like putty in his hands, but you still manage to push him into the bed. You’re in his lap now, legs on either side of him, slowly and teasingly tracing the roof of his mouth with the tip of your tongue.

Jeonghan’s hands travel up your waist to your breasts, and you press your lips to the junction of his jaw and neck, right over the pulse. He moans into your mouth, and you feel hot all over—the good kind of hot, the kind that makes you feel like you’re standing in his fire, sweating harder to feel more keenly the wind against your skin. It starts in the pit of your stomach and spreads to your core, your chest that’s flush against his, your hands as you pin his shoulders to the mattress. You kiss him again, hands moving to his chest as you start to unbutton his shirt.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeonghan breathes, covering your hands with his. You make an impatient noise at the back of your throat, but pause, pushing yourself up so you’re straddling him. “You’re not drunk.”

You give him a black look.

“Okay, okay.” His breaths are coming in pants, each as ragged as the last. “I…I don’t have a condom—”

“I do,” you cut him off in the middle. He gives you a questioning look, and you huff. “I was going to get laid, okay? One way or another.”

His lips part, and for a long moment, no sound comes out of them. “Are you sure?” he asks lamely.

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you think?” you demand again. He’s such a sight under you, with a half-unbuttoned shirt and swollen lips, that you’re having trouble stringing words together. “Jeonghan—I don’t know what it is that’s holding you back, or—or if you just don’t want to have sex with me, but—”

“Not like this,” he interrupts. There’s a softness to his voice, even as he looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes. Your hand twitches where it’s lying on his chest. “I mean. You’re not in the right state of mind—”

You’re incredulous. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Jeonghan,” you say, petulance creeping into your voice as you struggle to maintain your composure. “I’m upset and frustrated and I really need this, okay?” Your voice cracks just slightly, but it’s enough for the air to get knocked out of him. 

Some part of you tells you not to do this. To apologize, maybe laugh it off with a shitty joke about getting rid of the tension, act like you don’t want to open him up and climb into him. Sex has never been the solution to your problems. But you’re on a mean bad decision streak, so you just bite down on your lip, swallowing your feelings.

“Please touch me,” you whimper, and Jeonghan takes in a sharp breath, briefly closing his eyes before moving to oblige. 

His hands go back to your waist, but this time he flips your positions. He grasps the hem of your dress, and you stretch your arms, letting him tug it up and off your frame. You watch as his eyes rove over you, and his pupils darken, swallowing the warm brown of his eyes. Jeonghan leans down next to your ear, and you feel the dent in the mattress next to your head where his palm presses into it.  “Remember,” he says, as your stomach flutters weakly, “you asked for this.”

Jeonghan’s knee nudges yours to part your thighs, and the next thing you feel is two of his fingers pressing against the already-damped seat of your panties. “Didn’t expect to be so wet already,” he murmurs, and your face heats up like he toom a match to it. “Is that what you meant by frustrated?” Wordlessly, you arch against him, eager. “Hips,” he commands, and you raise your hips to allow him to pull your panties down your legs, where you agitatedly kick them off your ankles.

You suck in an anticipatory breath as his fingers push against your unclothed core. He doesn’t even need to look for your clit—the pad of his thumb is pressed against the bundle of nerves a second later, rubbing circles into it. You screw your eyes shut and throw your head back, clenching your thighs around his arm. “Oh god,” you gasp. “Oh god oh fuck—”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale to grab his forearm, digging your fingers into it as he flicks a finger against your clit. “You’re so sensitive,” Jeonghan remarks, a smug smirk painted on his face. “Always were. That’s what made playing with you so much fun.”

You open your eyes just to narrow them at him, panting. “Oh, finally, there he is,” you drawl breathlessly. “The resident devil of—Jeonghan!”

He has the gall to laugh as your entire body jerks in response to his middle finger pushing past your folds and into your heat. “Admit it. You like me better that way,” he counters, adding another finger inside you. You arch your back, sucking his fingers deeper inside your cunt as he curls the digits in your core.

“I did admit it,” you breathe. It’s astounding, how quickly the two of you fall back into the familiar play, trading words back and forth like you’ve been doing this all your life. His thumb swipes down against your slit, collecting your wetness and massaging it back into your clit. You buck against his hand, mewling. “Fuck, Jeonghan, pleasepleaseplease—”

Watching him like this, you suddenly remember that no matter how mild-mannered he may seem to the untrained eye, Jeonghan is neither calm nor reserved. He is sanguine, a hunter in the night, smelling blood from a mile away. And you've always been his favorite plaything.

“There’s a good girl,” he praises, but his fingers pull away a second later. You bemoan the loss of the friction, desperately rubbing your aching thighs together for any sort of relief. Jeonghan’s fingers dig into the inside of your thighs, prying them apart firmly. You begin to protest, but he quells you with a look. “But I can’t let you have it just yet.”

You’re panting. “Fuck you.”

He only smiles. “Condom.”

You gesture towards the bedside table with a tilt of your chin. “Second drawer,” you choke out, feeling like someone’s set a fire to the base of your brain, cutting off your ability to form coherent thoughts. Jeonghan retrieves it, waving the small square packet in the air as if to further provoke you. You settle back onto the sheets, waiting for him to put it on, but instead he leans his weight back against you, playfully nipping at your collarbone. You grit your teeth, grabbing the front of his shirt.

“You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” You hiss, and start unbuttoning his shirt hastily. 

“Well, I tried being nice, and you hated that,” he murmurs against the base of your throat, sending vibrations through your sternum. You fling open his shirt, and he takes it off fully, balling it up and throwing it to some dark corner of the room. “Aren’t you hurrying too much?” he says, but when you roll down against his hips, the bulge straining against the seat of his pants is unmistakable.

“Aren’t you talking too much?” you fire back, and he chuckles. You hear the sound of the packet tearing and the subsequent unzipping of his pants. Jeonghan rubs the head of his cock against your slick heat, almost making you sob, and pushes it in.

Your fingers claw against his back when he slowly rolls his hips into yours, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. “I forgot how good you felt,” he rasps, sidling his hands under your arms and pulling them off him. The heel of his palms skims your forearm, reaching up to meet your wrist. When he presses his fingertips against the palm of your hand, you open up to him like a flower in bloom, letting him twine your fingers with his in a slow, decisive motion.

The head of his cock brushes against your sweet spot, and your mind goes blank with bliss. Jeonghan says your name like a prayer as he pushes deeper into you, harder, and the feeling of hot-and-cold pleasure stirs in your abdomen. His pace quickens, hips snapping faster against yours, and you begin to feel dizzy and delirious. 

You gasp his name, and he shudders as he breathes out, all but falling against you. His fingers tighten around yours as he moves, the tip of your nose nudging his, his forehead cool and damp with sweat where it meets yours. He draws your orgasm out, still fucking into you as you reach your climax. You call out his name as you ride out your high, and his face twists with desire so devastating that it looks almost like pain. He thrusts into you once, twice, only a few more times before he comes, almost collapsing on top of you when he finishes. The pent-up frustration is gone, you realize as you lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, along with the misery and confusion and anger. 

You clean yourself off in the bathroom in silence, as he wipes off your makeup with a gentleness that you’d almost forgotten. Neither of you speak, but the silence is heavy and comfortable like a winter blanket. A voice at the back of your head is screaming at you about consequences, but it’s small and tin-like and easy enough to tune out in the face of Jeonghan’s lips brushing against your temple.

Plenty of time for regret in the morning.

And, oh boy, does the regret hit like a fucking truck.

You’re the first one up, waking to the feeling of soft blankets on your bare skin and Jeonghan’s sleeping face just inches from yours. Startled, you sit up, the strap of your bra slipping off one shoulder.

Then you’re slipping off the covers and making a beeline for the bathroom, stopping only to grab your phone off the bedside table before locking the door behind you. You lean against it heavily as your legs seem to give out, breathing hard as if you just woke up from a nightmare. 

You slept with your ex last night. The one thing your friends with active dating lives told you never to do. And it was all your idea.

Fuck.

Still trying to steady yourself, you sit down heavily on the edge of the toilet seat, placing your head in your hands. It was a stupid decision, and you know that—hell, you’d known that going into it—but now it’s time to deal with the aftermath. Jeonghan himself is going to wake up in no time, and you don’t even want to think about how he’s going to react.

You try to think of someone smarter than you, but after your actions last night, the bar proves to be pretty low. Your first thought is Joshua, but you feel even more like shit when you think of calling him, so reject that option out of hand. Someone who’d know what to do, you think to yourself as you shakily dial the number on your phone, fingers trembling.

She picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey, girliepop,” Mina greets in a bright, peppy voice, as your shoulders sag with relief. “I feel like I haven’t heard from you in ages. What’s up? How’s home?”

You don’t waste a second. “I did something really, really bad.”

A pause. “Do you need help hiding a body?”

“What? No. I slept with Jeonghan.” You cover your mouth, briefly closing your eyes. Saying it out loud makes it sound even worse. “I’m so screwed.”

“The hot ex-boyfriend? Oh, honey, don’t worry, that’s a mistake we all make at least once in our lives,” she says sympathetically. “Were you drunk?”

You squint. “No…”

“Okay,” she says slowly, and you wince. “Do you…want to do it again?”

At that, you pause. Do you want to do it again? You hadn’t even thought of it before this. “I mean…” You trail off, doubtful. “The sex was pretty great, but…”

You can imagine her twirling a lollipop stick between her fingers, sucking thoughtfully on the candy. “I don’t know, I’m gonna need a lot more context,” she asks finally. “Why did you guys break up? How long were you together? What kind of person is he? It depends on a lot of things.” Another pause, and you can almost see her raising her eyebrows at you, like, well? “You gotta give me something to go on here.”

You try to think of an answer, but every thought feels muddled, like you’ve reached peak brain capacity. “Um,” you start, haltingly, “we have a lot of history, I guess.”

She hums, which sounds like a muted buzz through the line. “Like what? Childhood best friend type of history? On-and-off kind of history?”

You close your eyes, focusing intently. “Um…well…we have known each other since we were in grade school. And we dated for most of high school, and almost two years after that. Then we…we broke up in October, last year.”

“Why?”

That’s a loaded question. You pass a hand over your face, trying to think of how you can explain it. You remember there being so many reasons for it, but now that you’re trying to remember them, not a single coherent-sounding explanation presents itself. “It’s complicated?”

Mina tuts. “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is, babe.”

“I’m so confused,” you lament, biting your lip. You try to explain the situation as best as you can, how you decided to ditch your plans and go on a fuckass road trip with your ex. Everything comes out like a barrage: all the doubts you’ve had about your relationship with Jeonghan, the constant second-guessing yourself, all your worries about his inconsistent behavior. By the time you’re done, Mina’s gone silent on the other side. 

She doesn’t say anything for a long time, so you listen to the soft crackling of her breathing mixing with the sounds of traffic coming in through the tiny window on the opposing wall. “Oh, honey,” comes her fizzy voice from the speaker finally. “Now I wish I’d convinced you to go on that blind date.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah. It’s just… Every sensible bone in my body is telling me I’ve made some kind of mistake, that I’ve crossed some invisible line, but it was so easy,” you tell her. “Last night, when we—it felt like old times. As if nothing had ever happened. And now I’m wondering if that’s what I’ve wanted all this time.”

“I almost wish you’d come to me with a murder to cover up, because at least I’d be able to help you then,” she replies. “But if you think that maybe this is what you want, and if he wants the same thing, then you can still work it out, you know? You’re a smart girl. You can figure out what you want.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” you murmur, using your pinky to trace a crescent into your bare knee. “But thanks.”

Her grin is crystal-clear in your mind. “I’ve got faith in you.”

“That makes one of us,” you quip, and she laughs as you hang up. 

The call didn’t help much, but you’re glad to have gotten some things off your chest. The narrow walls of the bathroom don't feel so suffocating anymore. All right. You pull your knees up decisively, straightening your spine. It’s my problem to fix now, you think. Even if you don’t feel calm, you have to at least act like you are.

Taking a deep breath, you unlatch the door and step outside, closing it slowly behind yourself. As you’d thought, Jeonghan is already up and dressed. Well, kind of. He has his boxers on, and the shirt from last night, crumpled and still unbuttoned. You stare, frozen in place, as he turns and notices you. A beaming smile spreads across his face.

“I went ahead and ordered room service,” he says by way of greeting. “Considering it’s past twelve and absolutely boiling outside, I thought we might stay in for brunch instead. I hope you like pasta, ” he says, shrugging. Then he notices the look on your face. “Is something wrong?”

You blink slowly, as if coming out of a daze. “Something wrong?” you echo, wondering if you sound as bewildered as you feel. “Something…Jeonghan.”

His eyebrows arch. “Yeah?”

“We had sex,” you say slowly.

“We—yes.” He nods, slowly at first, but then more rapidly, until he looks like a bobblehead. “Yeah, but—I mean, we used protection, and we talked about it before, kind of, and I thought it was fine, you know, because—” He’s rambling. You’re beginning to realize he’s not as nonchalant as he appeared a moment ago. “At least we didn’t have sex very publicly in, in the motel, or the car, or—”

It’s like a strange tranquility has descended over you. Jeonghan swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he looks anxious. You haven’t seen him anxious in so long.

It feels like the roles have been flipped. You know that’s not quite true, and your poise is only temporary, but at least he’s not giving you unreadable looks every time you try to show vulnerability, tripping you up on your own words. You just hope you’re not going to use this opportunity to do something stupid again.

“Jeonghan,” you interrupt. Mina hadn’t really given you any clear-cut counsel, but it seems her reassurance had been all you needed. “If we’re going to do this, we need to set some ground rules.”

‘No strings attached’ sounds weightless in your mouth, but the words seem to sink like stones into your mind.

Still, now that at least the sexual tension is out of the way, you feel as unburdened as those girls in sanitary pad ads. Jeonghan’s inner navigator must be in touch with his good-for-nothing side, because he turns out to be absolute magic with finding amazing out-of-the-way places. The two of you go off-road for a while, but get lost so you decide to stick to what you could identify on the map. There’s another day spent walking around at a doll museum and pointing out dolls that you thought looked like people you both know.

It feels a bit silly, running around with Jeonghan all the time, but it’s the happiest you’ve been in months. You take baths together, and sometimes you go out for ice cream, and despite some of the lewd activities involved, it feels as sweet and innocent as kids playing house.

After the first time your motel room neighbor bangs on your shared wall to ask you to be quieter during sex, you decide that sticking to places with reliably thick walls is the way to go. That’s how you find out that Jeonghan has developed a taste for long baths.

You’re rummaging around inside your suitcase, looking for the paperback you borrowed from your roommate, untouched since the day you stopped reading it right in the middle. “Jeonghan!” you call, overturning a pair of pajamas. Even in a thin robe, you can feel the heat almost radiating off the floor. “Did you see my book? I’m kind of worried that I left it somewhere.”

No response.

Frowning, you stand, looking at the cream-painted door on the opposing wall. It’s firmly shut, and has been that way for the past hour or so, not a sound escaping from inside. You cross the room and check the handle, not too surprised when it swings open.

One glance inside gives it away. Jeonghan looks at you with displeasure, only his head poking out from behind the side of the bathtub. Well, that and the copy of Gone Girl you’ve been looking for the past half-hour, clasped in a long-fingered hand, his elbow propped against the lip of the porcelain tub. “Do you mind?” the perpetrator asks.

You place your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “You’ve been in here for over an hour,” you tell him. “At this rate your body is going to turn into an overripe raisin. Also, that’s my book.”

He turns the book over to regard it. “I thought you weren’t reading it.”

“I wasn’t. Emphasis on was.” You rest your hand on the door handle. “There are other people who want to take a bath, you know.”

“Aw, I was just looking for some entertainment.” He flashes a grin at you. “But if you have a better idea…”

You roll your eyes, but unfasten the robe anyway. Jeonghan’s eyes follow your every move, pupils blown wide. He places a cheek on his arm, eyes half-mast as you slip the robe off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor at your feet.

“Nothing underneath, huh?” he muses. “Have I been out-maneuvered?”

You ignore that. “Move over,” you say shortly.

“Don’t need to ask me twice.”

(Later, when you’re lying on the bed after having managed to wrestle the book away from him, Jeonghan brushes his fingers against the sliver of exposed skin under your shirt. “Don’t even try,” you warn him, after smacking his hand with the spine of the book.

“I thought you wanted to do something ‘wild’,” he says, making air quotes with his hands. You smack him again.

“Not everything is about sex,” you remind him, not really meaning it.

“‘Everything in the world is about sex except sex.’” he quotes. “‘Sex is about power.’”

You roll onto your side, letting the book fall shut as your forearm hits the mattress. “You’re so full of shit, Yoon Jeonghan,” you tell him, getting a razor-sharp grin in response. But you still let him kiss you a moment later.)

By the time you finally reach the ocean, the air conditioner has been broken for two days, so when you feel the fingers of the first evening breeze sneak in through the lowered top of the window and run themselves through your hair, you almost stop the car there and then.

Jeonghan stops you, reminding you that if you get off you’ll have to walk a pretty long time before you actually get to the beach. You stay put, but when you do get to the beach you’re the first out of the car, standing spreadeagle against the flow to feel the wind on each and every inch of your skin, plastering your clothes to your frame.

“This is so much better than that stupid air conditioner,” you sigh. Jeonghan’s still fishing out that Hello Kitty backpack that contains your towels and sunscreen, so you deign to wait for him instead of going off on your own.

Something pink and plasticky covers your vision. “Here.” He grins, settling the heart-shaped sunglasses on your face. “Now you can finally use these,” he says, and turns to head off.

You fix the sunglasses before following after him. The sand is soft under your feet, shifting to accommodate the shape of your feet as you step over it. You pull your sandals off, tucking your fingers under the bands and opting to carry them at your side so you can feel the grains on your soles.

“I thought there would be more people here,” your not-boyfriend comments.

You look around. A kid is building a sandcastle near a couple that looks over him, turning over buckets to deposit clumps of wet sand to shape them into towers. A bit further away, a head wearing sunglasses pokes out of the ground as its giggling companion packs more sand over the body. Jeonghan’s right; the crowd is tamer than you expected, but it’s probably because it’s getting late and the weather is about to turn icy in no time. 

“I haven’t been to the beach in ages,” he says as you reach the shore. The wind tousles his hair, flapping his shirt around his torso, and he squints against the saline breeze. “Kind of forgot what it feels like.”

You hum contentedly, watching the tiny waves lap at your feet. “When I was a kid, my mom told me I had to dig my feet in before the tide came in, or else I would be carried away by the waves.”

He snorts. “I know. Your mom told me the same thing.”

“Right,” you smile. 

Jeonghan bends to place his hands in the sand in front of him, letting the water wash over them. “Cold,” he says. 

“You know, I did almost get washed out to sea once,” you remember. “Swam too far. There was salty water in my mouth and ears and the ground felt like it was made of hands, trying to drag me down further. My uncle told me that when they finally fished me out, my head was wrapped in kelp. He thought that telling me that would traumatize me, but I just kept swimming out again and again.”

“Stubborn and proud,” he observes. “That sounds like you.”

“Does it?” You grin, bending to scoop some of the water into your palms, and sling it off your fingertips to splash it into his face before he can realize what you’re doing. Jeonghan sputters, stumbling in the sand, and comes up with an indignant hey!

Laughing, you turn to run, and glance back to see him discarding the Hello Kitty bag to chase after you. “It’s the beach, cut me some slack!” you yell back at him. He doesn’t respond, but when he does catch you, it’s around the middle, and his tackle flings both of you into the water, you still laughing. You wrestle unsuccessfully with him for another second before coming up for air, his arms still wrapped securely around your waist.

“No fair,” you complain, but the smile that splits your face is as bright as the sun.

“No fair?” he repeats, expression indignant. “You started it.”

“Okay, but now we’re both wet.” You spit some water out of your mouth. Sure enough, your clothes are drenched, and so are his. Jeonghan staggers to his feet, pulling you up with him. His pale blonde hair is plastered to his forehead, darker where it’s wet, curling at the back of his neck. “And not in the fun way.”

“Who says this way isn’t fun?” He kicks some water at you, and you raise your arms to shield your face. Offering only a glare in retaliation, you turn, wading a little further out so the water is up to your waist. “Are you planning to get washed out again?”

“Hilarious,” you call back without turning. The sun is low in the sky, turning the ocean the colors of fire. Jeonghan comes up behind you and you close your eyes, breathing it all in.

The water tickles your waist where your shirt billows up, and the breeze cuts deliciously sharp on your damp skin, but you only shiver when Jeonghan traces a map on the exposed skin of your back.

You don’t stay in the water for long, dragging yourselves up to the shoreline to make sure you mostly dry off when the sun is still up. Jeonghan’s hair slowly curls as it dries, and he tries to comb the sand out with his fingers to no avail.

“I’m gonna need a nice hot bath after this,” he complains, carding a hand through his hair. “It’s all fun and games going to the beach until you’re digging sand out of your body for the next three weeks.”

“You take a nice hot bath at every opportunity you get,” you remind him, but you share the sentiment. The retrieved backpack swings off one shoulder, slapping against your side with every step. “That was so much fun, though. I wish we’d just come here in the beginning and stayed.”

“Nothing beats hiking for hours up a mountain just to see a yellow ball come up in the sky. You made me wake up at an ungodly hour for that, too.”

“And I’m not gonna apologize.” You stand back in the final rays of the sun, watching it sink into the horizon. Strips of gold glimmer in the blue-green of the water, shimmering like the surface of a polished jewel. “Sometimes I look at the sun on a regular day and wonder how it can do that.”

Jeonghan hums under his breath. His stance is unhurried, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets. You lick your lips, feeling the salt sting the raw patches where you’ve managed to break the skin by constantly worrying at it with your teeth.

Now that your mind is beginning to quiet, it’s turning to thoughts of the real world instead. For the last few days, you’ve successfully ignored every single warm tingle or stomach butterfly, every warning sign that came up when you looked at Jeonghan, but casting them aside has only made them weigh heavier on your shoulders. 

It doesn’t have to mean anything, you’d told him, but that had felt more like an excuse. Under the guise of only using each other for sex, you’ve been indulging yourself in far more than that, and it’s plain as day for you to see.

“Jeonghan,” you venture in a hushed voice, and he turns to you quizzically. “Do you ever wonder—do you ever think that you’ve made a mistake?”

Instead of answering, he offers you a lopsided smile and extracts his hand from his pocket, letting it hang in the air next to yours. It’s only your knuckles that brush the back of his hand, but you feel the heat all over—on the backs of your shoulders, north of your abdomen, as a constricting circle around your throat.

“I try not to think too much,” he says, catching your fingers lightly when they graze his. You hesitate, but choose not to pull away. “But I know that’s not your strong suit.”

The sky has gone dark. One by one, the artificial lights switch on, bathing the sand in a pale glow. With his tanned skin and platinum hair, Jeonghan looks like a tallow angel in the light, his mouth a soft rosy line curved into a smile like you’re sharing an inside joke. The breeze flows over the water, lifting his shirt up a shade.

Your heart lurches in your chest, but you manage a smile back. He’s probably right and you’re probably overthinking, but you are as helpless in the face of that knowledge as you were without it. As you murmur and you think too little with numb lips, you can't help but wonder what he’s really thinking. 

Jeonghan thinks this bar is going to be the death of him.

The Shipwreck Tavern must take its name quite seriously, because it smells exactly like how he imagines the interior of a shipwreck must smell—like fish and rotten wood. The place is filled with tough-looking old people, and the bartender must be a wrestler’s grandma, because her arms are as big as his head. Everything inside the pub looks old and feels old, except the new-looking TV that adorns a wall adjacent to the bar, playing a soccer game that seems like the local pastime, judging from the attention it garners among the tavern’s patrons.

There are probably better places the two of you could’ve gone to, but this was the nearest place he’d been able to find with an outdoor shower, and he could’ve sworn he felt a crab in his pants before. Instead of bothering to look for a place to eat, you’d suggested staying at the same place, and he hadn’t known better than to comply.

Jeonghan takes the drinks he ordered from the bar with a nod of acknowledgement, fighting to keep the smile on his face until it’s out of the bartender’s view. As soon as the old lady with the anchor tattoo on her forearm turns her back, he makes a face, turning away from a fellow customer who frowns disapprovingly at his expression. Jeonghan gives him a helpless look, and begins making his way through the crowd to a pool table in the corner.

He knows that you think he’s the more sociable out of the two of you, but he begs to disagree, and the fact that you’re already laughing along with a mean-looking guy with a shaved head is only more proof. You turn slightly to let your eyes glide over the crowd searchingly, stopping when they spot him coming towards you. Something in his chest clenches when he sees your face light up upon seeing him. You wave him over to the table, and he raises the drinks in response.

“You might wanna go slow on these. I think I saw something wiggling in the bottle she poured these drinks from,” he warns as you take the glass from him. You grin, but pay no heed to his warnings, tossing the whole thing back like it’s a regular Tuesday.

“How bad could it be?” Shrugging, you put the drink down and smooth down the front of your skirt, briefly playing with the corner where the slit ends. “Maybe it was like an eel or something.”

“Well, you’re certainly something,” he mutters to himself, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Why don’t you go ahead and drink mine too, if you’re so fearless? Might find a shark fin in there.”

“Those are too big to fit in a bottle, silly.” You roll your eyes, taking a cue stick leaning against a corner. “Now let’s get this party started,” you purr, bringing the stick up and across the table and positioning yourself behind it.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but doesn’t try to push down the smile that appears on his face. “Okay,” he sighs, coming around the table to your side, leaning so his face is level with yours. “So you want to keep the stick aligned with your line of sight, and try to aim for the easy pockets first.”

You lick your lips, screwing one eye shut to aim. “You underestimating me?”

“No, it’s just to keep your mood up. Now choose your shot.” You survey the layout of the table once before deciding on a target, arranging your stance to aim accordingly. Jeonghan nods. “Okay, good. Line up, and be careful about the angle.”

Placing the stick’s tip near the cue ball, you bend again. “Like this?”

He reaches over, rearranging your hand that’s splayed against the table so your first two fingers make a bridge. “Balance the cue on top of that,” he says, curling an arm around your waist. His fingertips press against the elbow of your cueing arm, stabilizing it. You shiver slightly as if a cool breeze had just blown through, making his own stomach flutter. “That’s it, like that,” he whispers in your ear, enjoying your reaction as you squirm. “Steady, steady…now try.”

Taking a deep breath, you shoot. The cue ball cuts across the dull green surface, bumping into the black ball and sending it rolling into a corner hole. Grinning, you straighten, pumping a fist in the air. “Nice!”

“Yeah, pretty nice.” Jeonghan nods. “Except we’re playing 8-ball pool, which means if you pocket the 8 ball before all the stripes and solids are gone, you lose.”

A despondent boo erupts from the audience watching the soccer match, exactly in sync with your face as it falls. “You didn’t tell me that before,” you say accusingly. “That’s cheating.”

“Good try though,” he acknowledges, taking a sip of his drink. It tastes just as bad as he’s expected. “And I didn’t cheat, I just withheld information.”

“That’s lying.”

“Tomato-tomato.”

You bring up the cue stick, pointing the polished end at his chest. “I’m about to demolish you,” you challenge.

He grins and takes a stick of his own, tapping it against yours. “Bring it on.”

Jeonghan had intended on leaving the second you were done with your food, but you end up staying for more than a few hours as you keep asking for extra rounds despite continually losing. When you finally agree to leave, it’s way past two, and you walk with a giggly, faintly tipsy stupor so he has to support you all the way to the hotel. 

Instead of falling into bed immediately upon entering the room, you pull him into the bathroom, crashing your lips against his before he has the chance to let a question pass them. Jeonghan closes his eyes, holding you against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, almost dragging him down the floor as you go limp in his arms. Your back hits the wall with a loud thump, but you still don’t let up. “Someone’s eager,” he says as you press kisses along the line of his jaw, settling his hands on your hips.

You let out a soft breath, bunching up his shirt under your fingers. He leans in to kiss you, but you step back, holding him in place. “I was—do you think we should—”

Someone bangs against the other side of the bathroom wall, making both of you jump. “Message received, damn,” Jeonghan mumbles, turning his attention back to you. “Sorry, you were saying?”

You fumble with your words for a second before seemingly giving up, instead smiling brightly. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Nothing, is it?” He kisses your jaw, and you let out a soft sigh. Your hand drops to his pants, moving to unfasten it, but he stops you. “Shh,” he whispers, brushing his thumb against your lips. “Walls have ears, remember?” he murmurs, as his warm breath fans your face.

You tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, blinking up at him so sweetly that he almost groans. He dips his head, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, the ghost of his smile against your skin. “We have to be quiet,” he says, lips touching the shell of your ear. “If you behave, I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for your efforts.”

Your breath hitches, and you turn your face away, letting out a choking laugh. “Oh yeah? And how are you planning to do that?”

Maintaining eye contact, he sinks to one knee, and slides his hands down from your hips to the back of your thighs. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, and he tugs your skirt up, warm palms skimming the cool skin of your thighs. 

“Well, for starters,” he says in a low voice, watching your eyes as they darken, and slips a cold finger just inside the top of the slit in your skirt. “I’m going to make you come on my tongue.”

You watch him with wide eyes, still as a statue. Jeonghan licks a warm line up the inside of your leg, which twitches in response. “Remember, not a sound,” he warns, teeth nipping at your skin. 

“You’re an ass,” you tell him, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He smiles, and taps at your knee to indicate to you to move it. You swing a leg over his shoulder, adjusting your stance to stabilize yourself. He hooks a thumb into the underside of your panties and pulls it aside, revealing your glistening core in its full glory.

The sight makes his breath catch in his throat. Jeonghan licks his lips, experimentally swiping the tip of his finger along your cunt, and you squeeze his shoulder. “Ticklish?” he asks, and you slide a hand through his hair, giving it an impatient tug. “Always so sensitive,” he tuts, even though the sensation sends a bolt of arousal straight to his dick. “Always had a bite, too.”

“Shut up,” you growl, impatiently pulling his face closer to your core.

“Patience, grasshopper,” he admonishes. He slips the finger between your folds, massaging lazy circles into it, and your grasp on his hair tightens. “Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

You grit your teeth, but the pause tells him you’re actually considering it. Your giving up so easily would take all the fun out of it, he decides, and without warning, he tilts his head up and closes his lips around your nub, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Your whole body seems to spasm in response, like a puppet that just had its strings pulled taut. Jeonghan grins into your cunt, and increases the pressure on your clit. You whine, rolling your hips against his face, but he holds you in place.

“Not so fast, honey bunny,” he murmurs against your arousal, which only has you straining harder against his hold. “You like that, huh?” he asks, and sinks his index and middle fingers into your hole knuckle-deep. “All those times you called me a silver-tongued devil—how d’you feel about this tongue now?”

As if to prove his point, he laves his tongue leisurely along the entire length of your pussy, making you cry out. “Jeonghan, please,” you moan, and his heartbeat stutters at your desperate pleading. The moment you start begging, he’s a goner. “More—ah—”

He doesn’t even remember that he asked you to be quiet. “Fuck,” Jeonghan snarls, “you know I can’t say no to you, don’t you?” He pulls his fingers out almost entirely, coated in your juices, before thrusting them back inside. He proceeds to bury his face back into your heated cunt, sucking on your swollen clit and finger-fucking you at the same time. You throw your head back, scraping your fingernails against his scalp as he eats you out like a starved man. “No.” he says, pulling away momentarily. “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Ngh—please—” Your words come out in broken moans, but Jeonghan scarcely hears them. He scissors you ruthlessly, stretching you out with his fingers, the other hand leaving dents in your skin where it digs into the soft skin of your thigh. Your orgasm is drawing near, he can tell by the way your walls are spasming around him, so he speeds up his pace, licking and suckling in quick succession, pushing you far past the point of satisfaction. “Jeonghan!”

You come with a cry, your eyes rolling back into your head, back arched against the wall. Jeonghan unlatches his lips from yours unwillingly, pulling back to admire the look on your face, hazy with desire. 

“Fuck,” you breathe once you’ve come down from the high, chest heaving. You let the back of your head fall against the wall with a light thump. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He shrugs with faked nonchalance, grazing your skin with his teeth as he slips your leg from his shoulder. A glint of satisfaction shines in his eye like an ember sparking in a dead bonfire as he gets to his feet. “I’ve been practicing.”

Your shoulders stiffen, and Jeonghan stops in his tracks. “Right,” you murmur, as alarm bells go off in his head. He regrets the words instantly, and moves to take a step towards you, but you’re already turning away and out of his reach, leaning towards your phone that rests precariously on the basin’s edge. “Oh, wow, it’s getting pretty late. I think we should head to bed.”

Jeonghan bites his lip. “Yeah,” he says softly, stepping back to allow you to slip past him and out the door. Stupid, he thinks, licking the remains of your cum from his lips. “I guess so.”

The next morning, after you finished locking the doors behind yourself, you’d come down to the lobby to find Jeonghan flirting with the receptionist.

He had both his elbows on the table, leaning his weight against it as he gave her his best smile, chuckling at some shitty joke he probably cracked himself. She’s pretty, you’d thought as you saw her smile, flushing as she tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. He said something else to her, and she giggled, but it had died out quickly when she’d spotted you approaching.

To his credit, Jeonghan dropped his smile as soon as he saw you. You’d deposited the keys, thanking the receptionist with the nicest smile you could manage, but even that wasn’t very nice. He hadn’t said anything as you got to the car, and you feel like shit even though you know he doesn’t owe you an explanation.

Stupid, you think to yourself. Stupid of you to forget that this whole thing was going to be over soon, stupid for caring so much and getting hurt despite yourself, stupid for thinking that Jeonghan would share your concerns. And let’s not forget angry: angry for getting so carried away, especially when you pride yourself on being so careful all the time.

The car hasn’t stopped in hours, not even for a gas refill, and you haven’t had a proper conversation since the drive started except for when Jeonghan tried to offer you a soda.

You’re glad you’re driving, because it gives you an excuse to be silent. Focus on the road. Jeonghan has sensed something off with your mood, but he hasn’t tried to ask you about it, and you don’t know whether to be grateful for him respecting your boundaries or mad for not trying hard enough. 

Now that it’s June the skies have begun to turn an angry, burning orange-red before six o’clock instead of remaining a softer bruised purple. You’ve been in the same position for a while although your neck started to hurt some time ago. It’s getting chilly, but not cold enough to roll the window back up, and you’re determined to fill the silence with the whistling wind for as long as you can.

You must’ve jinxed yourself, though, because the silence is broken in seconds. “Just so you know,” Jeonghan starts, tone light and conversational, “I wasn’t flirting with her.”

You tighten your hands around the wheel, staring so hard at the windshield that you’re surprised it hasn’t melted into a puddle of plastic yet. “I don’t care if you did,” you say tersely, trying and failing to sound normal. “It’s none of my business.”

“I was just asking her if she knew any places we could stay nearby,” he continues, instead of giving up. “And as it turns out, there’s this really great—”

“Actually, I think we should go home.” You cut him off demurely, not taking your eyes off the road in front of you, even though there isn’t another vehicle in sight. “My parents are probably worried about where I’ve run off to, and I’ve been kind of a shit friend to Joshua recently.”

Jeonghan’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “That was a choice you made.”

You scoff, rounding on him with a scornful look on your face. “Oh, so you want to talk about choices now?” you ask, voice full of strife. “Remind me again in case I’ve forgotten—it was your choice to have us break up in the first place, wasn’t it?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten, standing out under his skin where they flex. “Oh, come on. You’re just mad about last night and instead of acknowledging that, you’re changing the topic.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m mad,” you admit, “but that’s not why I’m bringing this up, and you know it. I believed you the first time you said anything. We can’t just never talk about what happened nine months ago—you can’t just sweep something that big under the rug and expect things to be fine and fucking dandy.”

“Who cares about something that happened months ago?” he asks angrily.

“Are you serious?” you ask, laughing disbelievingly. A chill is beginning to settle over your skin even as the air simmers at a hundred degrees.

He tugs an opposing sleeve, and throws the other hand up in exasperation. “I don’t see how it matters anymore.”

You stop the car.

Jeonghan opens his mouth, and closes it again. "You know, this whole stopping the car in the middle of the road thing is getting old," he says with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“You don’t see how it matters?” You whip around to look him in the eye, and he shrinks back just a bit. “Jeonghan, you said getting into this relationship was a fucking mistake!”

He stares back at you, unyielding. 

“And now you want to act like that never happened?” you press on. “How did you expect this to turn out? That we would be on the road forever, always going nowhere? That you could get away with never addressing all the things you said, just because I never brought it up?” You scoff. “Did you ever give a shit, or was this whole thing just a way to get into my pants?”

Your eyes are burning, and not just from the heat. Jeonghan’s hands are balled up around the seatbelt, the skin around his mouth pulled tight. You don’t dare to look away, hoping against hope for him to finally say something, anything, even though you’ve been in a dozen arguments like this that all ended the same way. This time, you pray with bated breath, this time it has to be different.

“I guess it was just a bad idea,” he says finally, quietly.

Every tensed muscle in your body goes limp, and you’re pulling yourself out of the suffocating car before your mind has even formed a coherent thought, dying to get away from him. The asphalt seems to sizzle, and you wonder in a daze if the road is just a mirage and you’ve actually been standing in one spot this entire time.

You’re standing in the heat, the warm wind making your skin sting with sweat, and even with your hands covering your face you can still sense Jeonghan’s presence behind you. When you turn, there he is, standing still in front of the car. The sun’s rays reflect off of the hood of the car and into your eyes, and you blink back against the stinging brought on by the forceful brightness. For a second you can’t see the expression on his face as he shifts, his silhouette outlined in shadow by the glaring sun, but then your eyes adjust to the light and the look on his face makes something crack and split apart in your chest.

You know then that he will not say anything. He will watch you walk away, again and again and again, with that stoic set of his shoulders and the proud line of his mouth, but he will not say a word. You want to grab him and shake him, scream at him to say something, but you know that his words, in all their vehemence and vitality, are reserved only for him. And you’re going to stay outside, forgotten in the sun, where he hung you out to dry all those months ago.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a twinge of pain against the side of your ribs where his fingers dug into your skin last night. For a moment, you can almost feel his hot breath on your neck, his teeth on your thighs, but you blink, and suddenly the distance between you feels too great. Jeonghan’s eyes bore into yours, the heels of his palms braced against the hood of the car he leans on, and even in the sweltering heat you have to suppress a shiver. 

“I knew this was a bad idea,” you whisper. “Even when I didn’t have a choice.” 

A muscle in his neck pulls taut, but all he does is lift one corner of his mouth in a lazy, sardonic smile. You watch him pretend not to notice as his grip turns white-knuckle-tight.

“Needs must when the devil drives, sweetheart,” is all he says.

You have no response to that. “Right,” you whisper. Your fingers are trembling, and you’re definitely in no state to drive, but you’re suddenly seized with the desire to get away from it all. Away from him. “Take me home, Jeonghan.”

Peonies have always been Joshua’s favorite. 

Even though you’ve never been big on elaborate apologies, the guilt you feel after having ignored your injured best friend for the past couple of weeks is strong enough that you end up buying a whole bouquet for him. Joshua’s mom’s face lights up when she sees you, and you give her a shy, apologetic smile right before she sweeps you up into a bone-crushing hug.

Your eyes widen, but you wrap your arms around her anyway, feeling stupidly emotional at the warm reception. “Oh, sweetheart, I haven’t seen you in so long!” she gushes, and you ignore the painful squeeze of your heart upon hearing the endearment. “If Josh had told me that you were coming, I would’ve made your favorite cherry brownies.”

“No problem, ma’am, I’ll be sticking around for a while,” you tell her with a warm smile.

“Oh, you must be looking for him,” she says, “Poor kid’s been cooped up for weeks, he misses you so much. I think he’s in the backyard, or I would’ve called for him.”

The backyard? You wonder what a guy with a broken leg is doing in the backyard—definitely not sunning himself in this weather—but you thank her anyway. Gripping your bouquet, you head to the back of the house, pushing past the screen door and stepping into the uncut grass of the Hongs’ backyard.

And stop short.

“What the fuck?” you sputter.

Joshua almost trips over the black-and-white football, steadying himself last minute to look up at you with wide eyes. Your grip on the flowers has tightened even further as you imagine it to be the boy’s throat. “Hey, ____,” he says with a strained grin. “I didn’t know you were coming! This is such a lovely surprise. And are those flowers? For me? Aw, you shouldn’t have!”

You stare him down, unrelenting. “I didn’t realize broken bones could heal themselves in less than three weeks,” you say pleasantly, a contrast to the death glare that pins him in place. “Shouldn’t you be resting, sweet Joshua?”

“Oh, um, the doctors were pretty surprised too. Miracle recovery, they called it.” He lets out a forced laugh as you cock an eyebrow menacingly. Joshua sighs, dropping the facade. “Okay, that’s not working, huh.”

“No,” you tell him. “But I can break your leg right now to make it all true, because I know how much you hate lying to your best friend.”

He puts his hands up placatingly, taking a careful step back. “Hey, hey, hey, I can explain,” he says, sweating. “Why don’t we go back inside and get you something to drink, and then I can tell you why I lied,” he suggests with a nervous smile. “You must be parched.”

You give him a dirty look. “For blood, yeah,” you mutter. “This better be fucking good, Hong, or I’m going to break both your legs.”

Back in his room, you opt to stand near the doorway in case he tries to bolt. You’d tried to upend the peonies into the bin, but he’d grabbed them before you could, saying that the poor flowers weren’t to blame. Joshua sits on the edge of his bed, hugging the bouquet to his chest, and you fold your arms threateningly across your chest. “Alright,” you say waspishly. “Explain yourself.”

He looks down at his shoes, see-sawing the heels of his cleats back and forth. “Before you get mad,” he starts, “you gotta remember one thing. I did it for you.”

Your lips curl downwards into an unimpressed frown. “Let me get this straight. You lied to me about your leg being broken, sending my ex-boyfriend in your place to take me home, for my sake?”

Joshua winces. “That sounds pretty terrible when you put it like that,” he confesses. “But, yeah, I did.” You unfold your arms, making as if to step towards him, and he yelps, putting his hands up again. “Let me explain!”

“You’ve explained plenty,” you tell him.

“No, I still have stuff left!” he pleads. “Listen, after you broke up with that guy, you weren’t the one who had to deal with him afterwards. While you went back to college, I had to stay here and be there for him while he was moping all over the place.”

You roll your eyes. “I would hardly call you and Jeonghan friends. There’s no reason he would come to you for comfort.”

“I mean, yeah, he didn’t,” he admits, “but this is a small town. Do you know how hard it is to escape the news of one break-up, especially one as high-profile as yours.”

“High profile?”

“You know what I mean,” he chides. “The point is, you didn’t see him afterwards. He was really torn up about it, you know?” You purse your lips as Joshua leans forward, his expression turning serious. “I didn’t have any sympathy for him in the beginning, because of what you told me, but the more I saw of him the more difficult it became to match up the idea of the Jeonghan I knew and the Jeonghan you said told you all those things.”

Scoffing, you look away, unable to stand the sight of Joshua’s imploring eyes. “Just because you couldn’t make sense of it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

He sighs. “Look, I’m not defending him. What he said to you—about not seeing the point in putting in effort, that you were just playing at charades, and the thing about your relationship being a childish mistake—”

You grit your teeth. “I get it. I was there, remember?”

“Yeah.” Joshua scratches his head, a thin line appearing between his brows. “He had no right to say any of that to you, but I still felt like there was something I was missing, so I went to talk to him.”

Defeated, you throw your hands up. “Of course you did.”

“And I don’t think he meant any of that. I mean, he still shouldn’t have said that shit, but…” Your eyes narrow to snakelike slits, and he shakes his head hastily. “Haven’t you ever gotten the feeling that despite all his bravado, the guy just doesn’t know how to express his feelings without getting defensive about them?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. Joshua sees the shift in your mood, and persists. “I might be wrong, and maybe breaking up with him was the best thing that ever happened to you,” he says, “but if there was the slightest chance of miscommunication, I would be a shitty best friend if I allowed you to let him go without a chance to set things right.” He tilts his head, sitting back. “So I faked a broken leg and kind of tricked him into thinking I was doing him a favor by letting him go get you in my place.”

“You tricked Jeonghan.” You can’t lie, you’re impressed. “Wow, you’re insane.”

“Um, I would say talented,” he argues. “Anyway, he was happy to do it. I think he was secretly looking for a chance to talk to you, so I thought a five hour drive might give him enough courage to tell you how he really felt. Then when you came back, I thought I’d surprise you, and we’d get to go on that trip after all. And then you texted me that you were eloping with him—”

“That’s not what it was.”

“—and I thought that my idea had worked. But then…” he trails off, and looks down at the flowers in his hands.

“But what?” you prompt.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he says. “Something clearly went wrong.”

You sigh, and walk over to sit down heavily beside him. “It was going fine in the beginning,” you tell him. “But we didn’t actually talk about the argument, and after a point, I didn’t know how to bring it up. Then we sort of…” You wince.

Joshua frowns. “What?”

You think about all the different times the two of you fucked instead of talking about your feelings. “We kissed,” you finally speak, and Joshua shakes his head disappointedly. “A few times.”

“I’m getting the feeling that’s not all you did.”

You shush him. “And then it sort of reached a boiling point, and we argued. Again.” Your heart hurts as you remember the argument from only hours ago. “And he said some messed up things. Again.”

Joshua is silent for a few moments. Then he slings an arm over your shoulders, squeezing you against him in an incredibly comforting side hug. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, and you blink back tears. 

“I missed you.” You reach up to wrap your hands around his shoulders. Joshua’s hugs are as comforting and as restrictive for your breathing as his mom’s. “I had the worst fucking time, but it was also the best fucking time,” you sniffle into the crook of his neck. Then you spot a gleaming trophy on his ledge. “Oh, so you guys did end up winning the playoffs.”

Joshua looks back, and nods. “Oh, yeah, the second half was absolutely insane. Remind me to tell you about it.”

You tuck your chin into his shoulder. “I still can’t believe I threw a whole tantrum about not getting to go on a trip,” you say, “when I could’ve just come back and done it anyway.”

“Don’t worry, we still have weeks to make up for that.” Joshua rubs your back comfortingly. “He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, he is,” you mumble, speech slightly obstructed by your cheek squished against Joshua’s shoulder. “I just thought things might be different this time.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

You press your face back into his neck. "You're not off the hook, by the way."

Joshua sighs.

Joshua’s mom insists on throwing you a welcome back party that night, and despite being both emotionally and physically exhausted, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. She makes you your favorite cherry brownies, as promised, which are the only thing you eat before your appetite runs out.

You sit alone at the table after everyone is done eating and the guests have dispersed around the house, dragging your spin around the empty hollow of your bowl. Your shoulders feel heavy with the weight of all the mistakes you’ve made. As you sit there idly, you keep running your last conversation with Jeonghan over and over in your head, wondering what you could’ve said to make it go differently. 

You close your eyes, and for a moment you’re back to last October, standing on the ice-slicked ground outside the diner where you’ve celebrated every birthday with Jeonghan since eighth grade. His eyes are vacant and vicious and there’s ice trapped around your ribs that seems to be getting harder and sharper with every breath, and you’re screaming at each other until your throat is raw and your tears freeze in the cold.

There’s no point in crying over spilt milk, you suppose, and you’ve always been a hothead. You and Jeonghan together are about as mild as an active volcano.

Sighing, you get to your feet, the table cover rustling over your knees. You’ve stayed for about as long as you could have, and now you just want to sleep. I’m just gonna tell her I’m tired, you think, and head towards the backyard in hopes to catch Joshua’s mom conversing with someone there.

You step outside into the dark to find a single person sitting on the rickety old swing. Frowning, you move closer to figure out if it’s her, but the frame is too tall and masculine to be the person you’re looking for. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” you tell them as they raise their head, taking a step back.

“No. Stay.” A hand reaches out to wrap around your wrist, tugging it towards the swing. It’s then that you notice the silvery-blond hair, lit up by the smattering of light that shines out past the half-open screen door. Jeonghan gets to his feet, and you freeze. “Please.”

“I didn’t realize you were invited,” you say stiffly.

“I wasn’t. I just came to look for you,” he says. There’s an earnest touch to his voice, giving you pause. “To apologize.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your hackles rise. “What could you possibly have to say now?” You free your hand from his grasp, taking another step back. “You’ve made it sufficiently clear that this never meant anything to you.”

“Of course it meant something!” he yells. He takes a deep breath, chest still rising and falling. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was—I was scared.”

The notion sounds so ridiculous that you want to laugh in his face. But his eyes are still on yours, voice is gravelly and somber, and you feel like you’re rooted to the spot.

“Scared of what?” you whisper.

“Scared to repeat history,” he replies. “Scared to let my pride get the best of me again, say things I don’t mean. Lot of good that did me, since trying to avoid talking about it just led me to making the same mistakes.”

Your throat constricts painfully, like it’s being choked from the inside. “You really hurt me, you know,” you say hoarsely. “I never wanted to see your face again.”

A small, sad smile touches his lips. “I know,” he says. “Knowing that you didn’t want to see me made everything so much scarier. What if you just refused to come back with me? What if you’d rather just stay back or actually take the bus?” He seems to struggle with his words for a second. “When you agreed to come on that stupid road trip, I felt like I had struck the lottery.”

Your vision is blurry, and you blink rapidly against the oncoming tears. “Thank you,” you whisper, choking back the emotion that surges up your throat, “for telling me that. But,”

He waits.

“That’s not enough,” you complete tiredly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Jeonghan asks, eyes blazing. He looks just as tired as you are. “Is it because of what I said? Because—I don’t know how to make you believe this, but I didn’t mean any of what I said.”

“No.” It feels like the only reason you’re standing still is because every cell in your body has had the energy sucked out of it, leaving you bone-weary. “It’s because you never say anything. And I’m sick of it, Jeonghan.” Your face twists as you try not to start sobbing like a little kid. “I can’t live knowing that you can go back to pretending to be that wooden, unfeeling shell of a person every time I rip myself to shreds in front of you. I hate that you never say a word, that you’re willing to watch me walk away rather than choke back that damn pride of yours. I’m fucking sick of it.”

His eyes soften. “I’m not the same person I used to be, sweetheart. Losing you taught me that,” he says quietly. “Even if I forget that at times myself. Please, just let me show you.”

“I'm not a girl anymore, Jeonghan,” you say tightly. “I don’t know how many second chances I have left in me.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” He moves towards you, cupping your face. “Because you still feel like a girl to me… and I still feel like a boy around you. I'm afraid that you're growing up and away and out of me. That’s how I felt last October, when you came back so different, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I thought you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

“Then why didn't you say that?” you demand, lungs burning. “All this time, I've been—” You finally let the tears flow. “I’ve been so…”

“Because I'm still seventeen," he breathes, "every time I look at you, choking on my words as you come down the stairs in your prom dress. I might be a devil, but when it comes to you, words still fail me." 

There’s a barbed wire wrapped around your spine, a spike stabbing into each vertebrae, that tightens and tightens with every word that comes out of his mouth. He laughs under his breath, as if remembering something. “You see,” he says, “being around you kind of activates my fight or flight instinct.”

A broken laugh bubbles to your lips, and you blink against the tears that seem to make everything brighter around you. “You suck,” you tell him honestly, making him smile as if you’d just told him he was the most perfect man on earth. Standing straighter, you school your features into an expression of formality, and clear your throat. “So how are you planning on not making the same mistakes again?”

“Well,” he says, “I’m gonna try really, really hard.”

You cast your eyes heavenward. “You’re really lucky I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

“I know.” Jeonghan takes your face between his cold hands and pulls you in for a firm kiss. You clutch the hem of his t-shirt, feeling warmth spread down to your toes when he smiles into the kiss. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, too.”

“Oh, look at you, all grown up,” Joshua gushes as you lug your olive green suitcase down the front steps of your porch. “Going off to college for the first day of her final year. I feel like we should take a photo to remember this moment.”

“Joshua, shut up,” Jeonghan grunts as he lifts the bag. “If you have the time to take a photo, you have the time to help me out with the luggage.”

“Um, aren’t you forgetting something?” Your best friend points exaggeratedly at the plaster cast that covers his foot. “I’m a bit disabled at the moment.”

Karma had come full circle for him when he’d tried to take over the neighboring eleven-year-old’s trampoline, and had ended up breaking his leg for real. Everyone thinks he deserved it except Joshua himself, who’d warmed up to the idea anyway when he’d realized that he could get people to sign cool stuff on his cast.

“You’re acting like I’m going for my first day at kindergarten or something.” You roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, you’re a real grown-up,” he leans over to pat your arm, withdrawing it hastily when you threaten to kick his broken leg. “Jeez, calm your tits.”

“I am calm.”

“Totally.” Jeonghan slams the boot of the Corolla, making a cloud of dust puff up. He reaches over to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “You ready to go?”

“I really think we should take a picture,” Joshua interjects.

Both of you turn to glare at him, and he shrinks into the wheelchair. “Sensing some hostility,” he mutters. “So ungrateful, considering that I’m the whole reason you’re together in the first place.”

“Exaggeration,” you say, and turn to Jeonghan. “I’ll just be a moment, okay?”

He nods, and you give him a tiny smile before running back inside the house. Joshua shakes his head curiously at Jeonghan, who only shrugs in response, just as mystified. They wait for a few more seconds, and Joshua pulls out the marker and begins doodling inside the D of your signature on his cast, which is a sweet, short message: Dick.

“Okay!” You command the attention back to yourself with a clap of your hands as you emerge from the door, this time with the plastic pink heart-shaped sunglasses adoring your face. “How do I look?” you ask, propping them up on the top of your head, and giving them a little twirl.

“Like an idiot,” your best friend says, deadpan. You smack the back of his head as you pass him. “Also, don’t forget your Hello Kitty backpack. They go with your glasses.”

“That’s mine, actually,” Jeonghan says pointedly, and turns to you with a heart-melting smile. “And you look gorgeous as always.”

“Disgusting,” Joshua comments.

You flip him off. “I’m ready to go now.”

“Well, then,” your boyfriend says breezily, patting the hood of the car, which causes another cloud of dust to billow into the air. “Get in. We don’t have all day.”

taglist: @fragmentof-indifference @sadgirlroo @joonsytip @odetoyoon @sstarrysshit @lockburn-castle @chocosvt @ohgeezitsbreadgenie @outrologist @ishireads @ti--red

[whispdoodle]

I'll let you.

synopsis: stelle finally finds Mr. Cold Feet, and the person she finds is exactly who she thought he was going to be.

warnings: a bit of violence, hurt, sfw, implied mutual pining, deception, mentions of betrayal.

She knew. Since this all started, Stelle knew the outcome of this chase. No matter how much hoping, how much DENYING she did... she simply couldn't lie to herself like a complete fool once the voice from behind the hotel room door had reached her ears.

Another scheme, she thought. And, as always, she was dragged right into it.

He was NOT getting out of this unscathed.

The temptation to kick the door open hanged heavy in the air, but as Stelle pledged the mission's success to Pela (and Goethe hotel was as busy as ever), instead her hand gently grasps the knob to turn it anticlockwise and push forward to allow herself the entry.

As the door closed behind, she wouldn't even spare the host a word. The only form of acknowledgment she spared for the trickster was a hardened stare, one that indicated both disappointment AND betrayal.

Sampo, on the other hand, was speechless. Whether it was her murderous aura or anything else causing it, Stelle couldn't care less. She relished in his discomfort, gladly prolonging it. That is, until... "C-Come now, good friend!" Until his made-pretend tone finally pushes past the wall of silence.

"It is honestly astonishing how fate keeps bringing us together, over and over and... over." A meek of a last 'over' rolls off the snake's tongue, and Stelle's annoyance only becomes that more apparent with a twitch of her left brow. Hands, both of them, ball into fists so tight she's sure her knuckles would be pure white should she look at them. But instead, she chose a different course of action.

There is a collision. Two, in fact. The first: of Stelle's fist against Sampo's cheek. The second: of the liar himself crashing into the nightstand. A crash and a rather loud groan follow the commotion, with the heavy breaths that only escalate the trailblazer's turmoil. "You LIED to me!" And she doesn't even give him the time to properly compose himself, throwing accusations about.

"I knew, I KNEW you were behind this!" Her fist rose yet again, and with a wince Sampo covered up his face. Yet the blow never came. And as his hands descended slowly to no longer obscure his vision, Sampo's eyes grew wide in disbelief of what he saw.

He has never seen the trailblazer this... distraught. Her entire body was shaking, her chest heaving violently up and down. And her eyes, Qlipoth preserve him, her EYES. She looked so betrayed. So utterly and thoroughly cheated. And he was to blame for this display. He messed up. Oh, he messed up big time. And now, he didn't know how to fix this.

All he could do was stand up, albeit clumsily. One palm graced his cheek, making sure not to press against his still pulsating jaw. Good news, it didn't seem to be broken. Bad news, Stelle was DEFINITELY ready to just about break it. "Q-Quite a punch there, my friend!" He started off, forcing on a cheery tone. "If I was a fragmentum monster, I'd surely be a goner!" The chuckle he follows up after has no sincerity to it. It is forced, it is faked, and absolutely dishonest. And it only made his situation that much worse.

"You know..!" No, she thought. Don't let your voice shake. Don't let your lips quiver, don't let those tears gather. He doesn't get to see you cry, to see you BREAK. He does NOT deserve to see Stelle this vulnerable.

A few deep breaths, and though her brows furrowed still, it was not through wrath. Rather, solemn. Despair. "I told myself so many times that maybe I was wrong. When I came to you, and you swore, SWORE you had nothing to do with it, I wanted to believe that SO much!" Sampo raises his hands, trying to reach you, but you swat his hands with a loud "DON'T TOUCH ME!" He staggers back, as if burned by the most hurtful of flames.

Aeons, he thought. He was the cause of this. Of ALL of this. He pushed you to this edge, dragged you to this verge.

How has this gone this badly?

"My friend..."

"Pela told me SO many times to watch you still..."

"Trailblazer..."

"But even then I NEVER looked into you! I... trusted you!"

"Stelle!"

"DON'T CALL ME BY MY NAME!"

The sound is more akin to the screech, as flames of preservation rage out of control across the strands of her silver hair. Despite the events, Sampo thought, at that moment Stelle looked absolutely stunning.

"You don't have the right to call me that! Not after every lie, every half-truth you kept bulshitting at me!"

Suddenly, a ringtone breaks the spiral of rage and misery. And as the flames die down, the trailblazer wipes away at the tears that barely formed and pulls out her phone. To find none other but Pela, a message asking for an update on the investigation. And Sampo? He doesn't need to see the text to know who it is from and what it entails. He's caused her so much trouble, he realized. Avoiding the truth has become so common for him, everyone on Belobog knew how to deal with that. But Stelle WASN'T from Belobog. And obviously, lies left an extremely bitter taste on her tongue. But to see her fall apart like this, to see her lose control, well.

It made Sampo's heart clench so unbelievably tight, he hated himself for the next sentence that came out of his mouth.

"I... I can't be caught, m- trailblazer." He dared not look her way, half resigned to the idea of Stelle just beating the shit out of him and dragging his sorry ass to the Silvermane Guards. Oh, the pure disbelief and shock on his face when he heard her reply. "I... can buy you maybe 7 minutes." Her reply was so meek. Whether she realized it or not, she was so torn between her own actions. It only made Sampo's gut twist that much more. He was... DISGUSTED with himself. "I'll tell Pela I never found Mr. Cold Feet. That they just... never came here in the first place." Silence looms for a heartbeat or two right after. And the snake of a man is absolutely an ashamed of himself. Grateful to the trailblazer, one hand rests atop his chest as he offers a courteous bow. He dares not to say a word. "But when I see you again- IF I see you again... I'll knock you out."

And under his breath is a smile. That is honestly far less than he earned himself. He spares Stelle one last glance, her back turned towards Sampo. And with a fresh thought on his mind, he jumps. Disappearing into the crowd.

Days had passed, and Stelle alongside with Pela had managed to retrieve all of the relics and exhibits that were previously stolen from the museum. Kindly enough, the cart that was to haul these down to the Underground was mysteriously delayed. Imagine that.

The nightfall approached, and Stelle decided to retreat to her hotel room for the remainder of this tedious day. She walked in, removed her jacket and didn't even bother to hang it properly, throwing it onto the coffee table instead. Her weight plopped itself onto the single bed, and as it did, a curious envelope bounced off the mattress. Strange, she thought to herself. Was it there before?

Curious, trailblazer took the envelope and clumsily tore it open. Inside was nothing but a square piece of paper. And Stelle's throat grew constricting at the words written on them.

when we meet again- IF we meet again, I want you to know...

...I'll let you.

- yours, Mr. Cold Feet.

This letter shouldn't make her smile, shouldn't make her happy. But that night, Stelle fell asleep with a smile on her face, and a heart a little more full than it was in the morning.

thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Good Girl, Bad Boy (Pt. 08 of 15)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 1.5 K

Summary: You're the extreme opposite of Billy Hargrove. The good girl, with perfect grades, the child every mother wants to have. And you don't want to have nothing to do with his kind. Ignoring Billy – and his constant, lingering stare – became an habit. But after you're put together for a special school program, you'll have no choice but to get along with him. And soon enough you'll find out that Billy is so much more than just Hawkins' bad boy.

<-Previous part (07)

Next part (09)->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

Hearts Wide Open

Silently, you let Billy pull you inside. You can't help but give a quick look around as he closes the door. “Are you busy?” You ask, gesturing at the TV.

“I was going to work out but...” He walks over there and turns it off. “I–” Someone knocks, cutting him off. “Who's this?”

“Delivery for Susan Hargrove.” A male voice says, and Billy rolls his eyes.

“Give me a sec.” He mutters before heading to the door.

Nodding, you pace around the living room. There's a bench press in the middle of it, and the bellbar seems very heavy. Walking further inside, you give a glance at the door. Billy seems to be arguing with the guy, so you decide to explore, walking through a small hall. On the first door, you hear some music, so it's probably Max's room. You go for the next door, slowly opening it.

It doesn't take much time until you notice it's Billy's room. He doesn't seem like he's done arguing, so you walk in. The bed is messed up, and there are movie posters on the wall. Walking around, you notice a couple of pictures on the inside of his wardrobe door, which was left open. In one of them, a blonde woman is looking away, a hand keeping her hair away from her face. In the other, the same woman with a kid next to her, both smiling. It's Billy's mother, that's clear.

“Sneaky,” Billy says, startling you a little.

Stepping away from the wardrobe, you clear your throat. “Sorry, Mmm... She's beautiful.” You mutter, gesturing at the pictures. “And you seemed very happy.”

“I was.”

“Yeah...” Taking a deep breath, you cross your arms. “B, I...”

“I'm sorry, (Y/N).”

Shrugging your shoulders, you walk over to the bed, sitting on the edge, eyes locked on your hands. “Why did you... Why did you disappear like that?” You didn't plan on getting all sentimental, but it's just flowing out. “We were fine... Normal and then... You just left.”

“Stacy pushed you because of me. People are... People are starting to notice we're around each other a lot and they'll start calling you a slut. And... I already screwed up my life, I can't screw up yours.” Billy sits next to you, so you pull a leg up, folding it under you and turning your body towards him.

“First of all, I need to know if what you said at the mall still stands. Or else I'll sound like an idiot.” Keeping your voice low, you try not to sound too nervous.

“Every single word. That's why I decided to step away.”

Nodding, mostly to yourself, you sigh. “I... I was trying, you know? Trying to see if we would work out somehow.” You didn't want to admit it, but here you are. And if you don't speak your heart now, you never will. “We're extreme opposites but I do enjoy spending time with you. And the friendship we're creating is good so when you left, when you disappeared, skipped school... It upset me.” Looking down, you see his hand on the mattress. Shyly, and very slowly, you take it, your fingers caressing his. “If you're tired of me, of... Waiting to see how things play out, it's alright. But please, go back to school. Keep studying because I'll help you no matter what. Just... Just don't do this.”

Billy takes a deep breath before taking your hand in his and moving closer. “I disappeared because you're the only person whose life I can't ruin. I can't be the reason why you get hurt, or called mean names, or–”

“I don't care about what people think or say, Billy. I only care about what's real. What's happening here and...” Shrugging your shoulders, you pull his hand up with yours, just to make your point clear. “It's freaking good so far. At least to me.”

“A girl like you should stay away from guys like me.”

“I know.” Nodding, you bite your lip. “My mother and I spoke about it. About you. So did Nancy, and Steve... They warned me not to fall for your games.”

“There are no games, not with you.” The honesty hits you a different way, and you can't help but smile.

You're aware of what people say, and you know the things Billy did. But you can see the difference now. Billy never tried anything. No flirting, no cheesy pick-up lines, not calling you to a ‘more quiet place’. Nothing. He's being... A completely different person. He treats you nicely, a freaking gentleman, something you never expected of him. Mostly not after the way he approached you last year, all charming and wicked smiles. This is different. This is real.

“Billy... I called before coming and your sister answered the phone.” You start, wondering if you should really ask what you're about to ask. But still, you need to. You need to know if you can allow certain feelings to emerge. “She said something about a keychain and... She said that... That she thinks you're in love with me.” The last part is barely a whisper, and you wonder if he even heard you.

Billy doesn't answer, he just stands up, walking away.

“B, I'm–”

“It fell from your bag last year.” He says, and you turn around on the bed, finding him next to the nightstand, a metal daisy flower in his hand. “I was going to give it back but it was broken so... I don't know. I wanted to just throw it away but I ended up keeping it.”

“Why, B?”

“Because it reminded me of you.” Stretching out his arm, he passes it over to you. You remember it now, taking the cold metal in your hands. “I thought it was everything I would ever have. A broken keychain and those moments that I got to look at you from afar.”

After a while, you give it back to him. It takes a few seconds before he takes it, sighing. “I always noticed you staring. I just never knew why.”

“I may be.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you tilt your head to the side a little. “I don't get it.”

“I may be in love with you.” His voice is heavy, and you can see in his eyes that he feels vulnerable. Billy Hargrove admitting he's in love with a girl? This might be hard for him.

“I like you, B. So... Don't decide things for me.” Getting up from the bed, you walk over where he stands. “I don't care about mean names, or stupid girls pushing me. I can deal with that. And you can't ruin my life, I'm the only one who can do that.” Taking his hand, you look up into his eyes. “And I don't think you ruined yours. You can still fix things. You are fixing things.”

“With your help.”

“With my help.” You agree with a smile. “So what do you say? Can we please go back to normal, you and I?”

Billy's lips break into a smile, and he nods. “Is that what you want? To be seen with the bad boy? You, princess of Hawkins.”

“That's Nancy's nickname.” Stepping backward, you smirk at him.

“Oh, yeah. Yours is ‘pretty girl’.” He quickly ends the distance between you two, towering over you.

“Stacy wouldn't agree.”

“Stacy is jealous.” Billy lightly touches your cheek, so softly you barely feel his fingers, like a ghost. “I'll say it a million times over, you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen.”

“Am I?” You shyly ask, eyes focused on his. Billy was never this close, and it makes your stomach burn.

“You are.” Suddenly, he steps away, walking around you, straight to the door. “Your tits are fine by the way.” He says from the hall, when he's already out.

Your whole face burns, and you storm after him. “First of all, don't use that word.” You yell, walking fast to the living room. Billy is by the bench press, ready to lift the bellbar. “Second, drop that. We're going to study until you pass out.”

“What?”

“I'm not asking.” Raising an eyebrow, you put both hands on your hips. “C'mon, Hargrove.”

It takes a while until he drops the bar, eyes rolling before he follows you.

The drive to your place is on separate cars. You'd stay at his house, but you were quick to get that his father is a problem, so it's just easier to do it at your place.

When you get there, you make a show opening the front door, gesturing for him to get inside.

“Mom, I got Billy back!” You shout.

“Good to know you're better from that cold, Billy.” She says from upstairs.

“A cold?”

“Yeah. It was that or tell Mrs. Martinez you were skipping class.” Shrugging your shoulders, you go to the dining room, settling down in your usual place. “So we're ok now? Friends again?”

“Friends again.” He agrees, searching for your hand under the table and grabbing it, thumb caressing the back of your hand. “As long as you want me around.”

Smiling, you nod. “As long as I want you around.” You snap back with a sassy tone. “Now, immunology.”

“Immunology it is.”

×

@multific @clockworkballerina @tina1938 @graciehams @moatsnow @all-the-stars-on-your-skin @captain039 @rebelemilu @theodore-likes-frogs @prettyinpunk85 @taisab02 @pascal-rascal424 @aleksanderblack

[bangtanpromptsfics]

pyxis.

dialogue prompt #9: “Cheer up it's Christmas Eve, sweetheart”

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: christmas au, brother's best friend au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 3,412 (oh no)

warnings: reader is a lil sad but nothing angsty tho

summary: christmas was always an eager wait. less for the tree decorations, family dinner and the fuss of toddlers. more for your childhood best friend who you kissed under a mistletoe years back.

a/n: ahhh!!! I'm not completely satisfied with how this turned out to be. the inspiration was from a few christmas themed fics I read here and the movie ‘It's Christmas, Eve’. anyway this was my attempt though it's nowhere near christmas time. one of my personal goals is to celebrate a christmas like the west, the snow, the fuss and the commotion ;-;. Also I lost sense of time and space and this turned out to be 3k ;-;

masterlist

“Cheer up it's christmas eve, sweetheart”, your mother chimes as she pours brown batter into little cupcake moulds.

You simply smile at her, the festive mood not really getting to you because of exhaustion. Uni was tough, and enjoying this Christmas when you know you have tons of essays due in a few days was hammering inside your brain every now and then.

“Is that chocolate?”, you ask, leaning your tired body on the counter where she is at work.

“And orange”, she smiles, turning around to preheat the oven.

“Where's Jin”. Though you hated the routinely flicks against your forehead, the absence of your big brother felt weird.

“He went with Jimin to get the Christmas tree”.

The mention of Jimin brings a smile to your face. His soft features and captivating grin filling your head. If there was one of the few things you enjoyed coming back to your hometown for holidays, it's chocolate cupcakes your mom bakes and Jimin.

His family are friends with yours after all. You, Jin and Jimin attended the same school until college and other priorities in life drift you apart. Though the bond must have rusted a bit, you can't deny the fact that you still have that crush which started somewhere in middle school, on a chritmas eve like this when he kissed your cheeks shyly under the mistletoe. Your friends and family, and even Jimin himself must have seen it nothing more than platonic, but you still find yourself relieving the moment in your head however crazy it may sound.

Standing up straight, you decide to fix your bed hair and complete the skincare routine before the said duo drops.

“Mrs. Y/L/n...”, Jimin softly kicks the back door. He is carrying one end of a huge fir, and your brother on the other end, grunting from the freezing snow outside.

“Oh dear place it right there”, you mother is quick to her feet helping the boys and doing her usual commentary on how well the tree looked.

Jimin looks more handsome than ever, especially with his nose and cheeks dusted in scarlet from the cold. He looks really huggable in his fluffy sweaters and red beanie. Jin is busy commanding around so you choose to sit back, a very typical sibling energy and the size of decoration boxes and the tree itself not really appetizing to your will to find any strength.

“Hey Y/n!”, Jimin stares back at your eyes in a split moment which has your lashes fluttering suddenly. You probably look like you are carrying a disease and right now you become very hyper aware of that.

“You alright? You look tired”, he comments. You feel his eyes carefully studying the black under your eyes and worrying his mind because that's what he is like. He cares about everyone and everything, has a heart so soft it hurts to even think about it.

“Jet lag...”, you say, “I'll be fine”. You shoot a little thumbs up on his way to reassure.

“Why didn't Jin get the tree earlier? It's Christmas in a few hours”, you dodge the focus around you and walk near in an attempt to closely examine the tree for no reason other than feeling Jimin’s eyes a little too long on you.

Your brother gets visibly annoyed seeing you start a very unnecessary talk. So he is completely obliged to shoot back with, “Because you were in charge of Christmas decorations this year but your lazy ass flew down here only yesterday”.

“You know I was busy with Uni!”

“Whatever”, he shrugs, getting back to the box of tree decorations. You feel a little bad seeing yourself not being helpful during a festive season. It felt like you were procrastinating on your responsibilities as always.

“Um...is there any way I can help?”, you ask softly, earning a mischievous grin from Jin and your mom fills in the answer.

“We need more baubles. Also I missed out gifts for Aerum and June, so maybe you can get them”. Now this was already tiring and you were not lying earlier either, the jet lag was still choking you alive. You wonder if the huge pile of stars and glitters beside your foot aren't enough but then maybe it's true because this is the largest fir you ever saw for Christmas in your house. And speaking of the five year old notorious duo, your cousins-- Aerum and June, you have no other option than to step out into the butt numbing cold and get something for the sake of not getting your brains eaten.

While you stand there doing these calculations, Jimin puts a two and two and immediately suggests to tag along with you.

“That'd be great! Thanks sweetie”, your mom chimes, her fine lines of face gathering around her eyes while she does so and you catch her throwing a wink to your side and you pretend you never saw that.

“Thank you Jimin”, you smile in all honesty while he reciprocates the same.

“No problem. I'll get my car. Will you be ready in an hour? I think you just woke up”

“Uh...yeah”, you fake a laugh, “Yes I'll be ready in an hour”

Jimin still lives here in your hometown, attends a community college nearby and his house is just a few steps away from your own. You remember how you had the same analogy in your mind as well. You like living here. You like Jimin’s company. The lake Park and the annual ice skating competition in December and the bookstores and coffee shops at the outskirts of the town. And you can't seem to clearly remember when and where that feeling started to become foreign. Maybe it was a teenage quirk to explore the world that you are now a three hour flight away from all of this. It wasn't a deep regret, but seeing Jimin, it almost felt like it. It felt like you betrayed him. Because he seemed to be keeping his word to this day.

This year, it's a few degrees lower than what it usually is and you find yourself chattering your teeth together as you walk to Jimin’s house.

His footsteps rush to get the door as soon as you ring the doorbell and he greets with the same wide grin as if he hasn't just saw you an hour ago.

“Let's go?”, he asks immediately, getting house keys from his coat pocket and locking the front door before stepping out making you confused.

“There's no one home? Where are your parents?”

“Oh well didn't Mrs. Y/L/n tell you?”, he studies your features and gets his response so he continues “They went to New York this year for Christmas. It's some elder people thing I think...so I'll be spending Christmas this year with your family”

“Really!?”, you chime, and then immediately notice a very childish jump you did with tiny fists and all, feeling a little embarrassed at yourself, “Ah... uh I mean that's great”.

“Yeah”, he giggles, sounding like a twelve year old who is still waiting for his growth spurt, “Get in the car it's freezing in here”.

Since it's been six odd months you've spoken to Jimin, you figured it would would be strange and awkward to be with him, but his demeanor states otherwise. He could effortlessly begin conversations and build momentum with you and by the time you are at a thrift store, he is aware of the little gist of student life and the dramatically exaggerated history research paper still due.

“What are you getting for the twins?”, he asks, seeing you checking out the kids toys section with absolutely no idea and that's exactly what you reply to him.

“How about this puzzle?”, he brings a big jigsaw to your glance and you figure it's a great thing to have their little brains engaged and give yourself time to breathe.

“It's perfect!”, you add, immediately placing it your cart with a few decors you picked up from earlier aisles.

Jimin places an extra pack of Christmas candies in the cart, and you send him a questionable look knowing it's his way of bribing the kids coming this evening. He puts too much effort into people's happiness, something you wish you were capable of as well.

The shopping went smooth. It was therapeutic to get hot chocolate with extra marshmallows afterwards like he insisted followed by that very cliche movie scene where one of them develops a creme moustache and the other notices and dabs it off.

You want this moment to linger a little longer, but your whole family arrives in less than two hours and the decorations were due. If Jin doesn't have you in the next thirty minutes he might as well eat all the cupcakes your mom is baking as revenge.

“I had a great time”, Jimin states as he stops the car in front of your house, stealing the words from your mouth and warmth hugs your cheeks immediately.

“Me too. It's been long since we spent time with each other”

You hear a lone sigh with white fogs coming out of his plump lips while he does so, as if he were suddenly sad when you mentioned that.

“Are you okay?”

His grips tightens around the steering, “I've missed you”, he says, eyes meeting slowly. And as if he was suddenly pulled back to earth he conjures another sentence to not sound so vulnerable.

“I uh... It's just--”

“I've missed you too”

Even with the gear box painstakingly blocking the way, you throw your upper half towards his body anyways and you find him hugging you back. His hugs still feel the same from years back; safe and warm and filled with love.

If it wasn't for the constant reminder that your brother is probably plotting a murder against you, you would've stayed much longer in his embrace. Maybe the hug was a big straightforward for a bond still gradually blooming, but it didn't feel weird at all and when you pull back he is smiling down at you.

“I thought you two lovebirds flew off”, a very annoyed Jin states from above you. He is balancing himself on a chair to attach the mistletoe to the ceiling.

“Sorry hyung”, Jimin says. And somehow now you are getting super aware of the way your family is low key shipping you both. Not that it's an irritating thing of course though you seem to act like it. But you have no idea what's going on with Jimin, what if he said he missed you as your childhood friend? It's a lot difficult to segregate his priority of giving affection. He seems to be giving justice in terms of care for every living being he knows.

“The circus is on its way so I hope you both hurry with putting up everything together”, the voice above states, now lowering himself to ground after putting up the twig.

Three of you giggle at the mention of your family as a circus. Well in a way it definitely was. You have a bunch if uncles who crack awful jokes, a trait Jin himself as picked up from a tender age of ten. Then their wives and kids who share certainly the same braincells in comprehending things. You bet they'll ask you again about your major and your dating history once they walk in through that door amidst clearly stating everytime that you are a history major and yes still very single.

In the hallway there is a half decorated tree. A thread of fairly lights wrapped around the green and very few baubles hanging here and there.

“I'll put up the star and join you”, Jimin says, digging out a golden star from the carton. Though now he doesn't know why it was a good idea for him to announce that when both of you were almost the same height. He is just a few centimeters taller than you and the top of the fir is still very much way above your heads.

So with a chuckle you both figure Jin has to do it.

“This is your final year right?”, Jimin asks stepping closer to you. He seemed nervous about something. Or was it anxious?

“Yeah...you?”

“Yeah...”, his sweet tone was drawn almost like a whisper and you sense you should ask him further about what's wrong. But before you had to deal with a starter he continues,

“Are you planning to work in Chicago as well?”

“Sweetheart help me clean up the kitchen please”, your hear your mom's voice overpowering through the house. Which is good. Because you don't know what you are supposed to answer. It was as if he was almost hopeful that you'll choose your hometown all over again. But you aren't sure. So you take the opportunity to step away from the situation excusing yourself.

And while you are clearing the blobs of batter stuck on the counter, your mind is a haywire. What are you going to do? Though you know your whole family wants you to stay, it's still a foggy place to be in. Four years apart in another city as a college student has not provided much, except caffeine addiction and sleepless nights. Things were not even as fun as everyone told you.

A few steps away Jimin silently prays that you stay, because he had truly missed you. Even though you have outgrown from the eighteen year old shell as he had known, he finds himself actively choosing to be with you. Even when other things in life occupies his mind, there's an element of it which goes back to you.

“They are here!”. You groan silently, while your parents are throwing their hands in air, giggles and chatter fills in as your uncles and aunts and the taunting toddlers welcome themselves in.

“Y/n! You have grown so much!”, the older aunt comments, and you supply a manufactured smile to tag along. Other comments follow by soon, about how tired you are, gasps about not having a partner and future plans, all of which are not completely answerable at the moment but you manage to get through them all and finally excusing yourself back to the garage convincing there are more decor supplies in there.

Families are nice. They make festivals brighter and lives less lonely. But yours was just hard sometimes. Not that you completely loathed the people now fueling themselves off the cup cakes your mom bakes, you were just merely lost, still yet to come up with an answer to what your stance is after graduation.

“Hey...”. Jimin has joined you now which you notice feeling a warmth against your shoulder when he sits, with an extra scraf knowing the garage is still comparatively chilly than the house, “you okay?”.

“Yeah...I was just...thinking”

“Is this about earlier? I'm sorry if I made you anxious”, he quickly adds.

“No!...I mean yeah but, it's high time I find a ground with this. What are your plans?”

“I was thinking about teaching at Jefferson High”, he shifts rather uncomfortably. He is talking of the school in your town, your school, where you have lots of memories with Jimin, “You know...like we said during Junior year in high school?”

“I'm sorry Jimin”, you feel the guilt inside you growing, “I never kept my promises”.

“Hey...that's okay! Everyone changes. I just want you to be happy. I...I hope you are happy Y/n”, he reassures, taking your hand from your side and squeezing it between his soft palms.

“I don't know about that either...”

As much as you hated showcasing vulnerability to another person, you know Jimin is an exception. You had cried to him about everything during school days and he had never invalidated a single thing, even when you were visibly dramatic over a downpour during a family picnic when you were five.

Jimin is frozen on his seat as if he can't find the words. He was never good with words so instead he hugs you, a little longer than the last time till he is sure you have calmed down. Grateful for not ending up crying, you smile up at him and remind yourselves to get back inside to avoid suspicion, especially from the kids who take humiliating people as an important milestone to achieve.

When you enter back inside and get immediately surrounded by a million questions and chores thrown at you, you find your answer. Maybe your heart belongs back to everything your younger self had blabbered about. Not to mention, this fairly good reunion with your crush feels nice, though, he might still see it as platonic. Maybe he makes things less daunting.

By the way Jimin was owning everyone's heart in the house, it felt like he was family. Well in a way he is. But to put more clarity, he bought things together and his actions bought so much peace and love within everyone. Even the notorious twins listen carefully to him and help the uncles and aunts in the kitchen.

He is again by your side, two cupcakes rests on his palms and you take it with a silent ‘thanks’.

Seeing no signs of him beginning a talk now, you think of coming up with something. Maybe a memoir from today? Or about how absolutely handsome he looks right now? Wait.

“They are under the kissing twig!”, Aerum screams like the house caught in fire, her sibling joining by the side to provoke the habit even more.

“It's called a mistletoe Aerum”, your aunt corrects before pasting a smug across her lips.

Nothing changed. They are the same people. Hyping you and Jimin to kiss just like when you were thirteen. If the factor of time is removed, this is the exact night. Both of you cemented to the flooring as if you forgot to exist.

Both of your necks snap together to the mistletoe Jin had attached to the ceiling earlier. And when you lower your gaze back, face gawks at each other eye to eye. It's the same. He has that blush, the shyness from years ago. It's going to be platonic. Yet again. And this moment will only ever be romantic and flowery in your head.

June was the first to squeak, and Aerum shuts her eyes the moment Jimin is leaning his mouth towards your lips. It was difficult to relax under the stares of many, but when he ghosts his mouth over your again and leans in for a second kiss, you are fixated on him. Hands holding each other, the plump of his lips so soft it felt like you were biting into a fluff of cloud.

Maybe he'll have an explanation to your family for this. Not like anyone in the audience was disappointed. Your mother was almost in tears? And Jin looked hardly surprised with any of this. As if it was all swell according to his plans.

“You both are so cute”, one of the aunts awes and your mother is quick by her side, completely agreeing to it.

“Jimin...”, you return your gaze to the equally flustered man who just kissed you and he sounded almost breathless,

“I'm sorry if this was wrong it ju--”

“I like you”, you immediately snap in and his face is a void for an instant. Fully processing the words, his eyes disappear when he grins, “I like you too...a lot”.

“Are you two dating?”, the twins haven't dropped the case yet, running to your feet to help their curious brains.

“Yes...”, Jimin responds, looking up at you for a reassurance, which you quickly supply with a nod, “Yes we are dating”.

When the kids are satisfied they go away snickering to themselves.

“I decided to stay”, you say.

“Really!?”, his disbelief was comical, yet wholesome considering how much he wished for this, “I'm...I'm so happy!”.

Giggling at him, this time you lean forward and peck the corner of his lips.

“You lovebirds better get a room”, Jin announces and thankfully not loud enough to catch everyone else's attention.

Usually Jin expects a punch to his arms from his sister, but he sees how grateful you are for his mistletoe decor. He leaves the couple, satisfied that there won't be any more ranting about how much Jimin likes you.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptsfics

[nerdy-novelist017]

Awakening (Joker/Arthur Fleck fanfic)

This is my first Joker fanfic. I absolutely loved the 2019 movie. Joaquin Phoenix deserves an Oscar for his performance. The film was cinematically beautiful The writing was haunting and stuck with me for a long time after. The soundtrack deserves its own Oscar, it was a perfect representation of Arthur Fleck. I just HAD to write something after seeing this movie.

Enjoy!

Ps. Feedback is appreciated greatly!

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She had never wanted this for her life. When she was a young girl, her dream was to be a princes and fall in love with her brave prince charming, just like all those Disney movies had sold to her. The idea that she could live in a perfect world, waking up to birds chirping and animals talking, singing all day and, eventually, falling in love with this perfect, pure person. But it was all a story, a lie told to eager young girls. There was no talking animals. And singing in public caused people to to look at you strangely. And there definitely was no prince charming of any kind. Just a broken world full of broken people just like her. Elizabeth was no princess. She was a prostitute.

Elizabeth walks down the sidewalk of the empty sidewalk. Her shift had started ten minutes ago, for that she is sure that The King would have her head. Her black, strappy heels leaves soft clicking noises as she quickens her pace. Thoughts of how she could slip past her boss races through her head as she rounds the corner to go to the back entrance. She yanks open the door and slips mutely inside. Almost immediately her nose is filled with the obnoxious smell of cigerettes and beer, smells that she has gotten use to in her career. The noises of the club surrounds her with yelling, laughing and, of course, cursing. She feels like it might have warmed up at least five degrees inside from the the crowd of people. Liz is use to this atmosphere. She is use to rude drunks, the sore losing gamblers, and her customers.

She ducks into the back hallway where it leads her to the back room filled with her other coworkers who are lounging on the uncomfortable, velvet couches. The room is dark, and falling apart at the walls. Ugly, cracking gold paint covered the walls with a faux rich atmosphere. The front of the casino was rich and fancy, the back was not.

"Look what the cat drug in," a voice speaks loudly in a thick New Jersey accent. Elizabeth knows who it is without even looking. She can recognize that wretched, annoying voice in her sleep. The voice belongs to a woman named Imani. She is a prostitute in her late twenties, just slightly older than Liz. She's a beautiful, tall, African American girl who had been in prostitution since she was eithteen. Ever since Liz had found Saltwater Casino all those years ago, Imani has made it her personal goal to make her life a living hell. As if it isn't already.

"Dragged," Liz corrects her grammar as she digs around in her purse. Her fingers find the tube of lipstick at the very bottom, under piles of napkins, loose change and packets of gum. She quickly rushes to one of their many full-length mirrors to apply a fresh layer of her favorite red lipstick.

"Oh, screw you, Lizzie," Imani spits as she rose from her lounge. In three long strides, she is across the room, glaring daggers at Liz. Years ago, when Elizabeth had first started working at Saltwater Casino, she would have flinched away from Imani's towering form and beautiful glaring looks. She would have immediately apologized and slunk away like the weak person she was. But that was the past when Liz was just a young girl. Now, she turns directly towards Imani.

With faces just inches away , Liz speaks calmly, "Get out of my face, Imani,"

The room full of girls has turned their attention to the fight brewing. The atmosphere grows tense.

"Girls, knock it off," a strict voice averts all of their attention to the doorway where a larger man stands, arms folded over his large chest. He barely fits in the doorway with his towering height, but where he is tall, he certainly lacks any attractive physic. He's skinny, with arms and legs that look like they have not seen a day's worth of hard work in their entire life. Liz figures he is built this way from the cocaine she knows he uses often. His veins are in a perpetual state of protruding down his arms. However weak he may appear, he is certainly no weak man. She knows this from experience. All of the girls do.

Without missing a beat, Imani takes a step back, throwing her arms open wide, "Mistah King, look who was ten minutes late, yet again. She came in here with an attitude lookin' to start a fight with me as usual."

Elizabeth rolls her eyes, knowing there was no use arguing her side. A few of the others girls laugh, they all knew she was lying, but none bother to back Liz up. It is survival instincts that keep them quiet. Each of them know that if they say anything to her, Imani will make their lives unnecessarily complicated. So, they say nothing.

"Lizzie, walk with me," Mr. King demands as he turns, leaving Elizabeth to slide around Imani and follow her boss out of the room.

"She's lying, I wasn't --" Liz starts once they were out of earshot and down the hallway. The hallway that was decorated with dreadful red and gold wallpaper that warped and peeled in more than one area. It was dim, the wall scorns not bright enough to lighten the hallway. Nothing could brighten the back of the building.

"So you were on time?" Mr. King cuts her off. Liz looks away. Great, he was already in a bad mood tonight.

"Yes," Elizabeth lies, focusing her gaze on a particular bubble of wallpaper that shapes a mangled dolphin. Anything would be better than looking into her boss' cold, dark eyes. She swallows the frog in her throat. She hates the effect he still has on her. The knots in her stomach, the shivers on her skin. She hates the way he makes her feel vulnerable, small.

"What have I told you about being late, baby girl?" Mr. King leans in closer to her as he speaks in a low whisper. Elizabeth almost flinches at his pet name he had given her throughout the years.

"Don't let it happen," She answers, emotionless. Her nose burns from the stench of alcohol on his breath.

He reaches his skinny hand out to stroke her cheek and down to her neck. Elizabeth refuses to cower under his touch. She doesn't want to satisfy him in any way. Instead, she looks him straight in his beady black eyes, "You got a shift for me?"

He is quiet for a long time, only staring at her. Finally, he backs away and says, "Yeah, you're on from nine to five,"

She bites her lip in anger. He has purposefully given her a crappy shift because she had talked back to him. She shakes her head and makes her way to the front of the casino. It is a busy night as usual. It is a Tuesday night, so there is classical music playing in the background as customers gambled, drank or talked. She sits on a high stool where the girls sometimes wait for men who were looking for an hour's escape from reality. She immediately spies her coworker and closest thing to a friend she has.

"Hey, Nat," greets Liz as she moves to sit closer to the young girl at the opposite end of the bar.

The woman looks up from her ciggerette, causing her kinky, blonde curls to bounce slightly at the sudden movement. Her face breaks out into a wide smile, "Hey, sugar!"

"Is that a new shade of lip gloss?" Lizzie asks when she takes a seat.

"Oh this old thing?" Nat's messy manicured nails gestures to her lips, "Nah, I've had this for quite a while. Got it from my second cousin. Anyway, I didn't know you would be working tonight." her southern drawl slurs her words together. She constantly speaks of her childhood home back in New Orleans, where she has inherited her accent. Whenever she would ask Elizabeth about her childhood home, Liz would dismiss it as unimportant or not worth the time.

"Got nine to five," Lizzie confirms as she signals one of the many bartenders to bring her a drink. He's a kind man, often servers her for free.

"Oh, honey," Nat shakes her head in shame, "that is such a shitty shift. He's such an ass."

"It was because I was late, slept through my alarm," she leaves out the part where Mr. King got too close for comfort. It isn't like she is the only girl he has done it to. She's seen multiple new girls go into his office for longer than they should have. She pities them, but doesn't dare speak up against him. She needs this job. It is the only thing she is good at in life.

"Well," Natasha props her elbows on the glossy oak top, "at least you got a good night, there's been a dozen of cutie butterflies that came in earlier. They are all over there, by the slots."

Elizabeth's dark eyes follows Nat's gaze directed over to the east wing, where a group of clean-cut men pool around, cheering on their friend who was about to roll his dice. The two girls have code words for different type of customers. Butterfly is the code for an attractive young man. Because they are few and far between, they have been given the word butterflies. Moths are the name given to just about every other customer. They are usually old, fat and unattractive married men. Moths are ugly and always a pest to deal with, thus the nickname was born.

"I don't know, they seem pretty invested in their game," Elizabeth shakes her head and leans her chin on her palm, resting her elbow on the table top.

"A girl can dream, right?" she flashes one of her brilliant smiles.

As the night progressed on, Elizabeth chats with Natasha as much as she could before one of them would most likely be whisked away by a needy customer. They both have a drink of vodka before their Mr. King could see. Throughout her years of prostitution, she has learned to yearn for a drink to calm her nerves. A couple moths sway through, looking for a date for the night, both girls quickly show them to the other prostitutes on shift.

"Lizzie, you're on room nine, guy's already in there waiting for you," Mr. King appears behind her, eyeing them as if they are threatening him at gun point, "You planning on paying for that, or am I gonna have to take it out of your paycheck?"

"Course, Mister King," Natasha winks at him over the brim of her glass as she downs the rest of the amber colored liquid.

"I didn't even see anyone go in the den," Elizabeth raises her eyebrow in confusion. The den is what the girls called their workspace. Usually it consists of a queen bed and a couple of rickety night stands. It's a sad room where the girls spend most of their nights with various men.

"Let's hope he's a butterfly," Nat smiles in encouragement as she raises her empty glass of vodka, "look good, babe,"

Elizabeth nods, forcing a tight smile. She follows Mr. King out of the main room and moves down the cramped hallway, all the way until he pauses in front of a door. The wood has been painted black with a giant red heart and in the center is the number 9. Before her hand can grab the door handle, a large first curls around her bicep.

"This man is paying very well, baby girl, so don't screw anything up with your woman emotions, got it?" Mr. King spits through clenched teeth.

Elizabeth nods her head, "Got it,"

He releases her arm and takes a few steps back, "Good, he paid for an hour, so that's what your going to give him," and with that, he turns and disappears down the dim-lighted hallway.

Elizabeth knows if this man complained in any way, Mr. King would punish her severely. She runs a hand through her dark chestnut hair to make herself look more seductive. A shaky hand reaches out to grab the door handle again. She curls her hands into a fist to stop the shaking. She is strong. She can do this. Her usual prepping rings out in her head. Opening the door, she is greeted with a dark room, the only light illuminating was the light spilling in from the hallway behind her. For a moment, she actually thinks she has the wrong room. She reaches to flick on the light switch. The lights pop on and she can see his towering form over by the window, broad back facing her.

She gently closes the door and moves towards the bed in the center of the room, "So, you like standing in dark rooms?"

"No," his voice was low and calm. He speaks clearly, without any stutter or shyness. He is sure of himself, "I like the look of the city. When the lights are on, it leaves a glare on the window."

He still hasn't turned to face her yet, giving Elizabeth a chance to see his body. He is very tall, long legs and broad shoulders. Soft layers of black hair spills out around his neck and just touching his shoulder. He is lean but muscular enough to be intimidating. He wears a beige jacket that stretches across his long back. Simple boot cut jeans covers his lengthy legs and finishes at his boots.

Elizabeth thinks he is strange, but she shrugs it off and lays on her side of the bed, leaning one leg over the other, "Are you gonna come over here, or are you gonna stare out the window the entire time?"

His towering form turns slowly, stepping away from the window. Elizabeth can see that he has a sharp jawline, littered with a light dusting of stubble. His lips are splashed with just enough pink hue to make them look full and playfully tasteful. His hooded brows and lack of light in the room conceal his eye color from her.

His feet stop when he approaches the end of the bed. He rings his hands out as if he is nervous. She studies his face for a moment and frowns. She has seen him before. But where?

Elizabeth clears her throat before she speaks, "You don't have to worry about wearing anything. That's already taken care of by me."

She looks down at her cheap clothing, expecting him to want her to start stripping her sheer, black tank-top to reveal her lacy, red bra. She unconsciously plays with a loose thread on the purple bedspread. The nerves always eats through her stomach right before she meets a customer. None of the men that came in for the night are good people. All of them are either drunks avoiding their nagging wives, young men getting a taste of freedom, or even aged men without anyone in their lives. She can't quite tell what this man's tell was.

When he does not acknowledge her, she sits up a little, propping her upper half of her body on her hands, "What's your name?"

He tilts his head to the side, "I'm Arthur," he seems to pause a moment before continuing, "what's yours?"

This causes Elizabeth to pause and stare at him with a small, agape mouth. Hardly any of the men that come through on their nightly livelihood ever ask her name. They don't care. She is just a tool to them, just disposable. "Call me Lizzie,"

"Lizzie," he looks down at his feet as he tests the name on his tongue. An uncomfortable silence fills the room, creating a tense atmosphere for Elizabeth. Usually she is not this uncomfortable and stiff, but this man, Arthur, is forming a very afflictive attitude within her. His presence is unsettling, making her want to get away.

"Um, do you want to sit on the bed?" Elizabeth suggests, motioning to the fluffed pillows.

Arthur cautiously lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed, furthest away from her as he could possibly be without falling off the side. Elizabeth scoots over to the middle of the bed, laying down on her back and closing her eyes. When he still does not move or speak, She peers an eye open.

"You alright? You only paid for an hour, so..." Elizabeth trails off.

"I paid for an hour in this room, right?" he asks.

"Yes, an hour with me in this room." she confirms.

He looks away from her face, suddenly finding the wood paneling more interesting than ever, "Is it alright if we just...talked instead?"

Elizabeth tilts her head to the side in utter confusion. She is expecting him to request a lot of different things, but she definitely does not expect that to be one of them. When his eyes float back to hers, she immediately looks down in embarrassment. She can feel heat rise in her cheeks. Who was this guy? "We can start with that, to calm your nerves,"

"I don't want to use your body for prostitution, Lizzie," he speaks softly and quickly, "I don't want that from you."

Her head is pounding with confusion as she stares at the mysterious stranger. Most men don't even care for her name, and now here this man is telling her that he doesn't want to have sex with her? Her immediate thoughts were that he is shy to be naked in front of her, hence the lights. "We don't have to leave the lights on, if that's what you mean,"

His face remains straight, "It's not. I did not hire you for sex."

She hears bells of alarm and panic in the back of her mind. This man was so odd, so unpredictable. "Are you a cop?"

He laughs loudly and shakes his head. he looks to be in pain as he covers his mouth with his hand and turns away from her.

Then she suddenly remembers that laugh. That eerie laugh. The same laugh he gave when he was on the Murray Franklin Show. The same laugh he gave before he killed the popular tv host.

She stands so quickly she stumbles in her heels. The door is the only thing on her mind. She needs to get out of this room and away from this murderer. However, she needs to accomplish this sneakily. Who knows what he would do to her?

He notices her change and stands beside her, his laughter has died down. She panics at his towering form and rushes for the door, barely pulling it open before he's by her side, slamming it shut.

"Don't," he growls and she yelps, hand still on the door handle.

"You're him," she whispers, "you're the Joker,"

"You aren't going to run out there and scream for security. I don't get out of jail just so that I can go right back in," he says lowly, his warm breath fans across her face. He smells strongly of cigarettes and a musky cologne. He is so close to her, she turns her head to the door, she doesn't want to look into the eyes of a murderer. Of her murderer.

"Are you going to kill me? My boss is just right down the hall. He and others would here if I screamed." she surprises herself with her newfound courage.

"They don't appreciate you as you should be," he says, "they wouldn't care if they found you dead in this room. You are just a tool to them. Just something to be used to gain them even more money. The rich come in here and abuse you then pay you way below what you're worth."

Tears prick her eyes as she gripes the door handle tighter. Though she knows all this to be true, it still hurts to hear.

She startles when she feels his cold hand slowly turn her cheek to face him. His fingers move to her mouth, his thumb gently tracing over her bottom lip before pulling her mouth into a large smile. He mimics her forced smile with one of his own, "Smile, I'm not going to kill you."

She feels herself being drawn to him, her hands falls of the door knob as he pulls her closer. His eyes, a brilliant green, hold so much emotion. So much pain. So much honestly.

His hands drop from her mouth, and he backs away. It feels as if she can breathe again. She watches him retreat to the bed, sitting alone. She swallows, her throat feels dry as she glances back at the door.

"You can leave," he speaks without looking at her as he pulls a cigarette from its pack, "but we both know you don't want to."

She wants to leave, more than anything. Her mind tells her to run and call the cops. But when she turns back to him, he's sitting on the bed, pulling out a cigarette from its pack. He lights it and takes a long puff from it before putting his head in his hands. He looks so broken, so defeated. So lonely.

       "There's nobody to talk to anymore," his voice drops off to a lower octave, "Even before they cut all the funding to those therapists, they never really listened. They never really talk. They didn't care."

       She is quiet for a few minutes before speaking with a scratchy voice, "I'm not a trained therapist. I don't know what to say like they do."

       "They never knew what to say either. That's why I like you, Lizzie. You aren't like them. You are like me." he smiles at her, and she wraps her arms around her torso uncomfortably.

       "I'm nothing like you."

       "You can't see it now. You haven't found your awakening yet," he takes another puff of his cigarette and looks away again.

      She hesitates a moment before slowing moving into a sitting position on the bed as far away from him as possible,"You paid an awful lot of money just to sit in this dingy room and talk with me,"

      He nods, "I know you must be confused, but I paid for an hour."

      She is quiet for a few painfully awkward seconds. She self-consciously tugs down on her skirt, no longer confident in her own skin. He sat completely still, as if he were waiting for her to leave through the door. But she doesn't. She needs this job. She needs the money. When she got home last night, her landlord had stopped her as she stumbled into the apartment building at two in the morning. Dan Flemmings was a short, balding Latino . Liz likes to blame the fact that his wife ran away to Belize with his best friend on why he was so mean, but the truth was, he was born to be bitter in this world. He never shows any mercy on her, or any other building attendant, in fact. If your rent was a day short, you needed to find a new building to live. He caught her as she was unlocking her door, ready to shower and sleep for a few hours before needing to wake up and repeat the process all over again. He had been waiting for her.

“You got your rent, Griffin?" his grating voice startled her, "It was due yesterday,"

She kept her emotions at bay, no matter how irritating Dan was when he used her surname, "That was yesterday? Must have slipped my mind."

“You know damn well that its always the first of the month," he stepped closer to her, the fluorescent light hanging above them highlighted his scared top lip, a final parting gift from his ex wife, "I won't make exceptions for you or your sister."

“Got it," she mumbled. She didn't have the money, in fact. She was almost two hundred short. With her food bills and her sister’s medical bills, she did not have enough money to pay for both her meals and her rent.

She needs the money. That's why she stays with the Joker.

“What do you want to talk about?"

[marshmallowatheart]

To All The Boys I've Loved Before (Part 17)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16)

Dear Veronica

I had a lot of fun at the zoo, we should go again sometime. Maybe we'll get a chance to see the pandas?

- L

P.S I thoroughly enjoyed your leaning tower of chocolate cake.

Veronica chuckles at the note, remembering how thoroughly he had enjoyed it. She makes a mental note that chocolate goodies are kryptonite against Logan Echolls.

She wonders what other foods he likes. Does he like lasagne as much as she does? She remembers that he's allergic to shellfish, was there anything else he was allergic to? She tries pulling out memories that she'd long ago sealed away and she wonders if he still likes honey on his toast.

--vm--

"Look what the cat dragged in, Veronica Mars," Trina smirks, descending down the staircase like she's in a movie and this is the moment everyone's been dying to see.

Veronica gives her a small smile and a head bob. "Hey Trina, how's it going?"

"I thought you were in Australia," Logan says; he would have postponed this dinner if he'd know his sister was back in town. Trina's an unpredictable wild force of nature that would embarrass him without a second thought for her own amusement - he doesn't want to have to deal with that when he has all of these other added pressures in making this dinner go well.

"Yeah, well, I'm back baby bro," she grins, enjoying the fact that he's rattled with her presence. Trina's always had the most fun when people didn't want her to be there. "So I've clearly been out of the loop lately. Are you two together now?"

Logan's hand finds Veronica's and he starts to tug her away to the kitchen or any other room where his sister is not. "Yeah," he answers. "Hey, if you're back home who's playing Dead Hooker number 2 on CSI?"

Trina rolls her eyes and decidingly ignores her brother in favour for the blonde beside him. "Veronica, look at you. All grown up. Hey, we should go shopping sometime now that I'm back in town."

Veronica nods her head, offering the aspiring star a smile. "Sure, Trina."

--vm--

It feels like she's living in a flashback of her life when she settles down at the Echolls' dinning room table. The home decor hasn't changed much - minus all of the Aaron Echolls' blockbuster movie posters that were once plastered along the walls - Lynn Echolls is still the charming hostess she always was (though she does look lighter and more radiant than ever before).

Veronica's happy to see that it's still Mrs Navarro cooking that's filling up the table - she'd always made delicious food that tasted like heaven on a plate.

"Logan tells me you have two sisters," Lynn says, bright smile and pearly white teeth. "Your mother must love having three girls."

"Her mother's not with them anymore, mom," he says, wide-eyed and pointedly, before Veronica can even get a word in.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Veronica," she amends, bashful and eyes full of sympathy. "I remember now."

"It's okay," Veronica assures her, picking at her food with her fork. "Dad, he loves having three girls," she adds in, trying to de-spell the awkward tension. "But you know I think he secretly wanted one of us to be a boy, someone to play catch with and go fishing," she chuckles, hoping to ease up any of Lynn's concerns. "I don't mind the sports but fishing is way too gruesome."

Lynn chuckles along with her, sensing what the petite blonde is doing and welcomes it. She continues to cut her meat and mentions, "Maybe he can take Logan with him the next time he wants to go fishing."

Trina snorts, loudly and radically. "Logan's so spoiled, he might as well be a girl," she remarks. "Don't let his tough-boy looks fool you, Veronica Mars. Logan won't survive a day without a household staff and take-out."

Logan is already regretting accepting his mother's invitation for dinner.

Veronica humours Trina with an uneasy chuckle and at the same time defends her faux boyfriend. "He did help me bake some cookies once so maybe there's hope for him yet."

Logan gives her a smile and she reciprocates the gesture, feeling her heart swell at the way his eyes seemed to light up.

--vm--

After dinner, Logan pulls Veronica away to the pool house because Trina is wildly inappropriate and his mother gets a call from her agent and reaches for a drink so he knows she's getting bad news.

It fills him with disappointment whenever he sees her fall into old habits but his mother definitely takes bad news better than his father used to. And well at least his mother doesn't drink herself into oblivion anymore.

Logan busies himself behind the counter, getting out drinks and snacks for them and Veronica plops on the counter near him.

He lets out a breath, handing her a soda and says, "Hey, I'm really sorry about what my mom said to you."

Veronica shakes her head. "It's fine. It's nice to know that not everybody has 'drunk mother abandons family' in the back of their mind when they talk to me," she jokes, swaying slightly on his counter.

He nods his head, he gets it, there's always been some headline attached to his name and he basks in moments when he's just Logan - those moments seem so few and far but when he's with Veronica, he feels like he's just him.

"Do you miss her?"

"I miss the person she used to be," Veronica offers softly. "She wasn't always drunk," she says, reminding him and herself. "She used to come to my soccer games, we'd bake cookies and prepare dinner together. Stuff that mothers are supposed to do, you know?"

He nods his head, he has vague memories of her when he'd first moved here; Lianne Mars was nice to him and it was the first time he didn't mind the company of someone else’s mother.

"But those were in between the bad moments," she swallows. Her eyes falling from Logan to her can of soda. "Sometimes she'd miss picking me up from school because she was passed out drunk. Or she'd burn the waffles because she was too dazed out."

She lets out a breath, trying to control her emotions as she shares this part of her with Logan. It's always been hard to talk about it but right now it feels like a bit easier with Logan.

"The months before she left, it got really bad," she meets Logan's eyes and he's attentively listening to her, offering her looks of understanding and silently waiting for her to continue. "Dad got calls to pick her up in the middle of the afternoon or at night," she sighs loudly and shrugs; it's a distant memory but it feels raw and as present as ever. "He tried for years to hide that side from us and then it got to the point where he couldn't anymore."

She bites her lips, she can feel tears caused by long ago memories start to brim in her eyes so she shakes her head and shrugs. Swallowing down her soda, hydrating herself as much as she can. She doesn't want to cry over this woman that's left them anymore. "There's moments I forget who she's turned into and I miss the times when we were happy with her."

"And then I remember that she left us," she comes off the counter, can in hand, searching for the bin and Logan lets her distract herself from her rising emotions. She spots it easily enough and throws it in.

She lets out a breath, looking at Logan and her voice feels hoarse that she wonders if she's at her limit talking about this but she still has these feelings that for some reason wants to let itself out now, to him. "Normal people get divorced when they're unhappy in their marriage but she didn't just leave my dad, she left all of us."

"Even though I was so angry, even though I know how bad things could get with her there, I wanted her back," she admits, it's one of her more vulnerable thoughts that not many people are privy off. "I would have welcomed her back if she came back to us."

She doesn't know how Logan's wiggled himself into being a person that she's comfortable enough to share this with - maybe it's because he's the only person that she's not lying to or maybe because he's been a friend that's allowed her to be vulnerable or maybe because he understands what she's talking about even if their emotions are derived from different situations.

"But she didn't, Logan, she left us, moved to Arizona and has this white picket fence life with a new family," she tells him and he's shook - she can see him registering the new information and she remembers how distraught she was when she'd learnt this.

"A family that she's there for, a family that she's sober for while we're left to think why weren't we enough?" Her voice cracks, she hates to admit that the thought still does creep up at times when she's particularly nostalgic.

"I found out last year," she confesses, a bitter smile gracing her lips. "Perks of spending afternoons at the Sheriff's departments and fiddling around with systems I'm not exactly authorized to," she lets out a humourless chuckle.

"I never told my dad or my sisters." She wouldn't be surprised if her dad knew - if he wanted to know, he'd know. "Just Wallace," she says in a quiet voice and meets his eyes once again. "And now you."

She gives him a half-smile when she says that, a silent thank you for listening. And he returns it, a silent thank you for trusting me.

"My mom drinks," he confesses, walking towards her - she's on the couch, pillow in her lap and looks at him in surprise.

"She doesn't drink as much as she used to - and as far as I can tell there's no more pill popping. But when Aaron was alive, things weren't good at all," he settles beside her sideways, his one leg folded with his arm on the back rest of the couch and his head is resting on his palm.

"He was the worst husband. Even worse father. He liked to portray the perfect family life on screen but we were far from it."

He's not used to this sharing thing. He's not ready to talk about everything that his father has done - he's not sure if he'll ever be - but he thinks if he ever is, Veronica might be the person he'd be able to confide to about it.

"I miss those good moments in between all the bad too," he offers.

He remembers a time - it feels like from another life - but there'd been a time when Aaron had been a father, when he was a kid, years leading up to his tenth birthday.

And then suddenly his father turned into this angry vengeful monster that took his anger out on his son, using anything he could get his hands on - including his hands - to teach Logan a lesson.

She gives him a small half smile, tilts her head and she once again thinks that he has the most beautiful brown soulful eyes she's ever seen.

"Hey, you wanna play Mario Kart before I take you home?"

"Sure, if you're ready to lose," she grins and he laughs.

He relaxes next to her, the game is on and she's being her usual snarky self and he reciprocates in kind. Being with Veronica feels so natural and it feels so good like a relationship should feel. He hopes that she feels it too.

[sparkledfirecracker]

So, I decided to talk to him. To hash it out, lay it all on the table and see what he had to say. I wasn't entirely sure I would change my mind about the situation, but I wanted to give him a chance to explain his thoughts and feelings unlike how I'd shut the conversation down after Christmas.

Yes grab that bull by it’s horn and address the clear elephant in the room instead of sweeping it under the rug.

Things were fine between Chris and I, we were getting along well enough with no more noteworthy disagreements, but there hadn't been a good time for any kind of heart-to-heart.

There will never be a good time for conversations like this. Just go for it and talk it over. You need it, he needs it, YOU BOTH NEED IT!!

"No," he shook his head. "He's in Daddy's office."

Nightmare meltdowns of having a captivated bear in the house.

Eavesdropping isn’t nice Whitney. The ever correct answering is just bliss and cute. Could he have kept it shorter, yes, but did he want to? I don’t think so 😍

It would appear that you have a stowaway. I know you're busy, but please return Mr. Bear at your earliest convenience.

Hahahaha, loved this message, give him back or we’ll hunt you down.

My suspicions were confirmed as I walked into the living room and saw Chris on the couch, his phone in his hand and his brow furrowed.

See the perfect opportunity to talk just came round the block. So chop chop get in there and talk about everything.

These unwanted comments come with the fame, as unfortunate as it may seem, but meatball you chose the bed. So why are you getting worked up about it? If it bothers you that much, pull the plug on all socials or have your team run it completely.

I LOVE THIS DIALOGUE PLAY. LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT IT THE VULNERABILITY, THE FEELINGS, THE EMOTIONS ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 Even though it is written from her POV, you still get such a good insight in what he is feeling and experiencing. It is just so good 🙌🏼🥺

My feelings though, he’s saying all these ugly things and she is not making it much better, I’m about to cry. Ripping my heart out here, because it hurts seeing these two insatiable idiots trying to be together and not give in because of stubbornness.

"I slept with you, didn't I?" He questioned, a defensiveness creeping into his tone. "Doesn't that make someone's feelings pretty fuckin' clear?"

Sleeping with someone doesn’t always mean you love them, Chris, so don’t take this out on her. Let’s all keep a clear head now and not do or say something we will regret down the line. Feeling like a peacekeeper who might be out of a job sooner than later.

"Only because you never told me how you felt," I shot back. "I didn't want you to commit to something out of a sense of obligation. I didn't want you to put up with me for a few years until you dumped me for someone more in your league who you actually cared about."

There it is the underlining truth. 🥺

OH MY HEARTSTRINGS THEY ARE BEING TESTED WITH THIS CONVO BETWEEN THESE TO SHITS.

Chris right now you are not much better than your three year old throwing a temper tantrum, because you are not getting what you want. Stop it with the huffing and puffing and be an adult!

Damn those panic attacks, I feel you honey, they are a bloody nightmare.

"I'm sorry to hear that, buddy," he said, lifting him up in his arms. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dad Chris will be the BEST Chris we will ever see 😍

"Goodnight." Chris paused to answer me and flashed me a look that made me feel like a schoolgirl being scolded by the principal. "This conversation isn't over."

Alright meatball, now get that kid some sleep and let him hog all the blankets as a punishment for your ignorant ass.

Were my intentions really as noble as I wanted everyone to believe? Or was I using Grayson as a shield to protect my own heart from pain as much as his?

You know these answers already, so give in and break down that wall. 😊

-More Hearts Than Mine-

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

Especially when a global pandemic is sweeping the world.

With lockdowns and stay at home orders looming on the horizon, the uncertainty of their situation becomes almost too much for Whitney Taylor to handle. Chris suggests that they quarantine together to avoid any potential separations but, given what happened the last time they spent more than a few brief moments in each other’s company, that could cause more problems than it solves…

Chris Evans x OFC

Sequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Part Two

____

Part Three

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