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andvys · 17 hours ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven’t seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter three

⭐︎ You're the greatest thing we've lost

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comofort (I guess?), mentions of death, grief, grumpy/mean!Steve

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve allows you to see a glimpse of who he really is, and not only do you get that, you also find out some sad truths.

Word count: 12.1k

Author's note: One of the chapters I was excited for the most was this one, you'll know why when you read it hehe. @hellfire--cult worked on this one with me, and she added a lot (don't listen to her when she will say she didn't, cause she did !) give her some love (or all of it cause she deserves it ♡)

⭐︎ series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

Steam fogs the mirror in the bathroom, drops of water fall from your hair and down your shoulders, the smell of vanilla and lavender lingers in the room, you are rubbing moisturizer into your skin, enjoying the luxury of it all, a luxury you won’t have much longer the moment you are back on the road again. It’s impossible to find functioning showers nowadays, let alone hot running water. Something that used to be so normal, is something special now and you enjoy every second here in Hawkins, every hot shower, every good night’s sleep, every warm meal, the feeling of safety.

You put a pair of sweatpants on and a sweater to keep you warm, a pair of wool socks that Nancy knitted herself. You brush your wet hair and clip it back.

When you step out into the hallway, silence greets you. Eddie is in his room, he was complaining about a headache after you finished patrolling together after he worked on the RV all morning, you both got caught in the rain and after taking a shower to warm up, he excused himself to lie down. The door to Nancy’s bedroom is closed as well, she must be reading, she always closes the door when she does. The rainy weather allows you all to take everything a bit slower, to rest a little more than usual.

The wind howls outside, thunder striking somewhere far, red bolts of lightning curse through the sky, an image you still haven’t gotten used to.

You make your way down the stairs, it isn’t dark out yet but the grey clouds make it seem like it’s evening already, the golden light from the fireplace in the living room is very inviting in contrast to the darkness outside. You step inside and notice Steve moving around in the kitchen, taking out bowls from the cardboard. A towel is slung over his shoulder, his features are relaxed, no sign of a frown appearing on his face… yet.

You watch him for a moment, not moving away or towards him. You don’t want to disturb him or his peace. He seems to be content by himself and you know that facial expression will change the moment he notices you.

Things have been tense between you after your one and only time patrolling together. He didn’t ask you to join him in anything and you didn’t make the mistake of trailing after him again. You also didn’t make much more conversation with him and he seemed happy about it for he didn’t try either. The only interactions you both have are ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’, maybe a ‘can you pass me the salt’ or an ‘excuse me’ here and there but that’s all.

It’s been eleven days since your arrival here, and you both are still where you started. It saddens you. You tried to get to know him, and you still want to but he makes it hard to.

Maybe if things had been different, you would have gotten the chance to get to know the Steve you have seen in the pictures Nancy had shown you. The guy he once was seemed sweet and welcoming, the one before you is the opposite of it.

You know something must’ve happened to him. Maybe it’s got to do with the scars on his skin, maybe he lost someone you don’t know about, maybe it’s because of Robin but whatever it was that took away the light in his eyes has turned him into this – mistrusting and mean.

A silent sigh falls from your lips, you force your eyes away from his form and turn away, ready to make your way back up the stairs but his voice makes you halt in your tracks.

“Hey…”

A lump grows in your throat, a nervous feeling settles in your chest, you swallow and take a deep breath before you turn around, facing him again.

He is looking right at you, an awkward attempt at a smile pulling at his lips.

“Hi… I uh, Nancy and Eddie are in their rooms and I didn’t want to disrupt their peace but uh I also don’t want to disrupt yours so–”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts you, not even letting you finish your sentence. “Would you like to help me?”

You blink.

Did you hear him correctly?

He presses his palms against the counter, raising his eyebrows at you, like he waits for you to say yes.

Steve notices your uncertainty, the knit between your brows, the pursed lips, the confused look in your eyes. You are pulling at your sleeves, looking a little lost, looking a little intimidated. You are not like this with Nancy and Eddie, you are comfortable with them – but not with him, and he can’t blame you for that.

“I could use a hand.”

You nod slowly, licking your lips, “yeah, I uh, sure!”

You can’t help but feel a giddiness inside of you. He never asked you to join him before, he never asked for your help.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask as you make your way over to him, standing across from him now, on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Butter for now.”

“Butter?” You tilt your head.

He hates it when you do that, every time you ask a question, every time you are confused about something, you tilt your head to the side.

“We received a ton of milk, but we have to make our own butters and cream,” he explains as he gestures to the cans of milk on the table.

“Oh…”

“Wanna give me a hand? It’s a lot of stirring.”

You nod, following him to the small, round kitchen table.

“Here,” he murmurs, gesturing to the wooden jar, “this is a butter churn.”

“This is what they look like?”

Steve nods, “yeah, what’d you think they looked like?”

You shrug, picking up the stick, “I dunno, this thing looks like something straight out of the 1500s.”

Steve snorts, “maybe it is, we found it in Miss Keller’s house, she’s basically from the 1500s with the dresses she always wore.”

You fake a gasp, bringing your hand up to your mouth, “you stole Miss Keller’s butter churn? Bad Steve.”

He rolls his eyes at you and turns away, but you see the way his lips curl upwards, even if only a little. – A small victory on your part.

“So… how do I use this thing?”

He pours some milk into the jar and takes the stick from your hands, putting inside the jar before he covers the sides with a towel so the milk doesn’t splatter over you both.

“Here, you just… do these motions,” he explains, twisting the stick from side to side as he raises it up and down slowly, “you churn it slowly, you don’t want the milk to get all over you, it may take some time until you see some progress, you just gotta be patient.”

You hum, moving a little closer to him, invading his space, you smell his shampoo, his body wash, a hint of oranges and apricot, the sweet and soft scents surprise you, most men opt for masculine scents, strong and overpowering ones. You prefer this. You like this, you like this a little more than you should. You watch the way his hands move as he shows you the motions, you focus on his voice when he gives you the instructions and then you take over when he hands you the stick before he steps away from you rather quickly.

Unbeknownst to you, he too liked the scent that lingers on your skin a little too much. The sweetness of it, the softness of your hand when it touched his own, the closeness and the heat of your body – he doesn’t like you, how could he? His body reacts to your scent, feminine and soft. It’s been a long time since he felt the touch of a woman, and you are the first to graze his skin, that’s all. He wouldn’t think anything of it, he wouldn’t react to it had there been other women around.

To his surprise you stay quiet, focused on the task before you, you don’t speak or ask any questions for a while, it’s almost odd to him, you are talkative, never missing the opportunity to open your mouth and ramble about something completely random and unimportant. Then again, things have been tense between you both. He knows it’s his fault, he also knows that it’s for the better, yet he can’t help but dislike this silence right now, he doesn’t know why.

He tries to focus on his own task, pouring milk into a pot to make cream.

The crackle of the fire, and the sound from the butter churn fill the silence between you both. A few minutes pass before you finally speak up.

“What are we using the butter for?” You ask, feeling the soreness in your wrist already.

“For the meat. I use it to make it tender. The meats are not as good now that the cows are not properly cared for. They’re just cows from the wild and the few from the barn here.”

“Oh, so they don’t get all the needed supplements and stuff?”

“Exactly,” Steve nods, reaching for a spatula, he starts stirring the milk, “I mean, we do our best but you know…”

You look over at him, surprised to find him looking back at you already, you didn’t realize his eyes were on you. You nod your head slowly, not moving your eyes away from his, you don’t break the contact just yet, looking into his hazel eyes that are always blazing with anger or annoyance, right now it’s neither of those emotions, it’s something else, something you can’t read, something you can’t make out, something you haven’t seen in his eyes yet, a look yet to be unlocked.

He blinks, shaking his head, he furrows his eyebrows and looks down at your hand, “how does it look?”

You breathe out and force your eyes away from his as well, you stop your movements and lift the towel off the jar, “uh, I think it’s solid now.”

“Great, now pour it into the bowl,” he gestures to the bowl with the cheesecloth inside.

You fall quiet again and follow his instructions, his voice fills the space between you as he gives you a step by step on what to do but when you’re as good as done, the silence between you is almost deafening, almost awkward, especially to him, the need to fill it is so strong.

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t talk to you if not necessary, that he wouldn’t ask questions. He doesn’t want to know anything about you, he doesn’t need that in his life, but this moment right now is killing him. He is done cooking the cream, and he is now working on making dinner, cutting vegetables. He tries to distract himself with that but to no avail.

He glances at you. It’s dark out now, the only source of light coming from the fireplace and all the candles set up because he likes to save up on electricity by keeping the lights off. The golden light touches your skin so softly, your hair shining from it, the smell of your body wash lingers in the room. You look relaxed, you look content despite being here with him. The sweater you are wearing is too big and it slipped down your shoulder from all the movements, exposing the scar that has formed on your shoulder. It was fresh when you came here, and he never found out how you got it.

He clears his throat, swallowing the lump that grew from nervousness, he speaks your name, which it’s almost foreign on his tongue.

You look up at him, “yeah..?”

“What uh,” he pauses, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly before he points to your shoulder, “what happened?”

You need a moment to follow what he is pointing at. You are surprised, almost taken aback to hear a question coming from him, a question directed at you. Slowly, you look down, only now noticing that your sweater slipped. You put down the paddle that you used to form the butter and pull your sweater back up.

“Uh… I fell onto broken glass when a sick person snuck up on me.” You explain, scrunching your nose, “I was distracted, I never am usually but I was hungry and looking for food and I found something I’ve been looking for, for months!”

“Oh,” Steve mumbles and looks down. “What was it?”

“...Kit Kat’s.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, lip curling up a bit, “you almost got yourself killed because of Kit Kat’s?”

You shrug at him, “they’ve always been my favorite! And I haven’t had any since the day the world went to shit!”

He chuckles a bit but he doesn’t comment on it further, just looking back down, giving you the opportunity to look at him closer, at the scar around his neck, you never asked how he got it, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

He looks up to find you staring at his neck. He knows you are curious, you have been from the start, he always caught you staring at it.

“I was dragged by a demo– a bat.”

He sees the way your eyes widen, how surprised you are by his explanation, “huh?”

He points to his neck, “it choked me, leaving a mark, while two others bit my flesh off.”

Steve used to cringe every moment he spent thinking of that night, of when they dragged him across the floor, leaving marks on his skin. He used to have nightmares of it, until those nightmares were replaced by new pictures, worse ones.

You nod slowly, looking him up and down, there are no other visible marks for you to see, except for the one on his neck.

“Where?”

He sighs, not wanting to look into your eyes, not wanting to see the sadness flashing in them. He looks back down at the carrot he was cutting, picking the knife back up again, he continues.

“My abdomen, my sides… but Eddie had it worse.”

You quickly realize what he is doing, steering the topic away from him again, thinking he doesn’t deserve sympathy for what he went through.

You have seen the scars on Eddie’s skin, the deep and gnarly marks, he briefly told you what had happened but you never pushed the subject, you never tried to find out more.

“You mean the scar on his lip…?”

Steve nods, “his chest, abdomen, arms, legs… They’re all scarred. They bit off chunks of flesh.” He says, his voice sad, almost haunted.

Your shoulders drop, the look on your face too, sadness flushes through you and you look down at the table, at nothing in particular.

You can’t imagine how it happened, the pain he was in, the fear that took home in all of them when Eddie was bleeding out and fighting for his life.

Steve turns around when he registers your silence. He sees the worried, sad look on your face, how your lips curl downwards and your shoulders are dropped.

“But we’re okay now, he is healthy as you can see… and annoying.”

At that, you smile a little, lifting your head back up to look at him, “yeah, but he’s adorable.”

Steve draws back a little, raising an eyebrow at you, “you crushing on Munson or something?”

Your eyes widen and you flush all over, shaking your head quickly that your hair falls out of your clip.

“What, no! Ew! He reminds me of my brother! People that are just like my brother ain’t my type!” You scoff, shuddering a little. You pick up the paddle again and continue forming the butter into the shape you want to have it.

Steve can’t help but smile, amused by the look on your face. He gets a little curious though.

“... And what is your type?”

You hum, taking a moment to answer his question.

He doesn’t look away from you just yet, he watches you.

“Mmm… As long as he makes me smile when I need it the most… that’s all I need.”

Steve nods at your words, humming.

You look up at him, surprised to see him still watching you.

“What about you? What’s your type, cowboy?”

He flushes a little, cheeks warming under your eyes. He hasn’t talked about women in years, and hasn't thought about this either.

He shakes his head, lifting his shoulders up and down, “I uh… I honestly have no idea.”

He is not the guy he used to be, the one who was flirting freely and taking out one girl after the other – even that guy didn’t know his type. He was searching for something in every girl, and he never found it.

“Oh come on!” You scoff, looking at him in disbelief, “what type of women did you go out with?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, they were always… stereotypical girls that always talked about the latest trends and stuff.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you look down.

“Ah right… Prom King. I can guess which type of women you’re into–”

He quickly shakes his head at you, “no… no… I went out with them to have fun, it was just physical. Those girls weren’t my type.”

You frown at his words and sigh.

For some reason your reaction makes him think that you’re done with this conversation, but then you look back up and turn towards him completely.

“Okay… then, when you’re with a woman, what is attractive to you?”

“... Real answer?”

“Sure…” You murmur.

A smirk tugs at his lip when he notices how flustered you are getting when his eyes move up and down.

You notice how he stops at your chest in particular and you can’t help but groan and shake your head in disappointment.

“Booo…”

“No!” Steve raises his hands up in surrender, chuckling.

“I was gonna say eyes.”

You roll your eyes, snorting, “right… I didn’t mean physically, Steve. I meant what is attractive to you when you’re on a date with them? What do they do that is attractive to you?”

Your words wipe the small smile off his face again, and he stands there in silence, getting lost in his thoughts, getting lost in the past, reliving every date, every moment that should have excited him but didn’t. He realizes that there was not a single date that is worth remembering, not a single girl who made him smile genuinely. Sure, he had fun the moment he was in pleasure but that’s all, the girls were attractive physically but emotionally? They all sucked, none of them cared about him, all they wanted was a piece of King Steve.

And even when he thought he found something genuine, someone to love him, someone to care for him, it turned out to be a show, it was just as genuine as the interest all those girls had in him. It was all a lie.

There is no love in him for her anymore, no feelings, no desires, nothing. But those words still hurt and sometimes they still haunt him because he believes it. Those words echo in his head, just like all the other hateful things others have thrown at him. But one in particular remains,

‘Bullshit’

“I… I don’t know…” He whispers, letting his facade fall for only a moment. “I guess someone who doesn’t see me as a failure.”

You are taken aback by his words, a weird feeling settling in your chest at the confession.

When Steve realizes what he said, when he notices the look in your face, when he notices his mistake, he immediately draws back.

“W-What… Failure, why?”

He shakes his head, turning his back to you again, “doesn’t matter, um… the butter should be done, wanna give me a hand cutting the potatoes?”

You hesitate, staring at the back of his head. You want to know more, you want to know why he said that, you want to know why he feels like this, who made him feel like this.

A sigh falls from your lips, loud enough for him to hear.

“Sure…”

You leave it alone, not wanting to risk getting on his bad side again, you bite your tongue and do as he asked. You clean up the kitchen table before you walk over to him, getting your own cutting board, and you start peeling the potatoes.

You work in silence for a while, just like before, but this one isn’t as uncomfortable, even though his words still echo in your head and you wonder about his past. You don’t want him to close up on you again, not when he just started to open up, so you don’t press the subject further.

It’s too silent though and you can barely handle it. You let go of the peeler before you started peeling the potatoes, taking Steve aback, his eyes already glaring at you as you turned and walked away.

“Really? You don’t want to peel potatoes?”

“It’s too quiet!” You leave the kitchen, leaving Steve stunned as he looks back at the door. It was quiet but he didn’t think you were going to have a breakdown because of it. He doesn’t know you and that is being a little obvious by now. Maybe you don’t do good with silence and he just doesn't know that side of you. If he knew, maybe he could have talked about something else, or try.

But not two seconds later, he starts hearing the radio turning and then static. He doesn’t remember when was the last time they turned on that radio. He can hear you changing the channels of it, the static growing and lowering, and he wonders if you're crazy. There is no music being played. Who would operate a radio station in the middle of the apocalypse–

His eyes widen when he starts hearing ‘Hound dog’ by Elvis Presley. It is static, yet it is still there. There is music. Somewhere in Indiana, someone is operating a radio station. Someone is trying to keep people in a good mood despite it all. He never knew. Nancy never knew. Eddie never tried. The three of them thought that the only music they could have was Eddie’s guitar.

He hears you humming to it, walking back into the kitchen and placing the small radio on the far corner so you two can have the music to yourselves. He is still staring at the radio, completely stunned, his eyes wide. You turn to look at him when you grab the peeler, noticing the look of surprise.

“Why do you look so stunned?”

“I– I didn’t know they played music…” Your eyes went to look at it and you smiled, nodding at him.

“Yeah, I had one back at camp too… Did you know radio signals can travel from 50 to 60 miles away? Some AM stations up to 100 miles!” He is still surprised there is music, yet you are talking away facts to him about radio signals. But that actually caught his attention. There are others, not an hour away from him. It has to be the WSQK watts station. It has to be.

“There’s… a radio station near… like thirty or forty minutes away from here…” You turn to him, surprised as well now.

“Really? Well… there’s people operating there… Probably also sending out news and messages to people.” Your attention turns back to the potatoes, starting to peel away, leaving the peeled skin scraps in a mountain on the counter.

“That’s… good to know.” It actually is good to know. They thought that the only radio signal they could ever get for news was Mr. Clarke’s transmitter that is in the library. That’s how they got contacted by Hopper when the others arrived in California, and now he is finding out that maybe some radio stations are still transmitting. They are probably using some kind of solar panel to make energy because–

“This potato has a worm.” He snaps out of his thoughts immediately at your words, frowning as he looks down at it.

“There’s no worm there.” You slowly look up at him with a cheeky smile, only to look back down, leaving that peeled potato aside to grab another.

“You were thinking too much. Just enjoy the music, you can think later.” You reply and he blinks for a few seconds as the song keeps playing. He looks back down to his carrots, grabbing the knife he left on the side to keep cutting. The minutes pass, the songs changing, songs he knows. Songs that remind him of when the world didn’t simply go to shit.

And there’s some kind of comfort in that.

“Did you know Marvin Gaye was shot by his own father?” You have been spitting facts and news to him that he either knew or never knew, and he didn’t notice he found himself talking back at you, even giving a fact or two of his own.

“I did, that was crazy as shit.” The song ‘Sexual Feeling’ was playing, that’s why you started talking about that with him. Each song that passed, you said something about it. You were stirring the vegetables in the boiling water while he sauted the meat in the pan, with the butter you made. He threw some rosemary in it too, for extra flavour.

One other thing he didn’t notice was that he had been humming along all this time.

He had two pans where he was cooking four pieces of meat, while you worked on making sure the vegetables were properly boiled. You had added some garlic in the pot because you claimed it’s good for the overall health. He almost chuckled at that because it was just because garlic is delicious. There was no need to put garlic on boiled vegetables.

You two didn’t even notice that even in the silence of conversation, where just the music played, there was no more awkwardness. There was no tension. There was nothing that could make you think he didn’t like you anymore.

“Is that Marvin Gaye?” The sound of Nancy’s voice makes the two of you turn around, and she is surprised to see you working together. It’s been days since you two last had a proper conversation, and– “Wait… music?”

“Yeah. She kind of discovered it. Nance, we didn’t know the radio station was still functioning, for a whole year.” Steve’s voice makes you feel proud, knowing you helped and that he was actually surprised by your discovery. Nancy blinks a few times, not believing her ears.

“Wait, so it means we can use that to receive news…” Steve’s eyebrows meet in the middle for a second, only to then nod slightly.

“I bet they’re not different from the news we get from the transmitter in the library, Nance.” His head turns back to the meat, while you grab four plates, stacking them next to him. “Thanks.”

You try to tone down your giddiness, not wanting to show him you are really happy he is being civil and friendly with you, “No problem.”

Nancy’s eyes travel back and forth with the two of you, wondering what had changed, but it is better not to ask. Seeing Steve putting steak on each plate while you grab a colander from the cupboards below the sink. You are about to grab the pot yourself, grabbing kitchen clothes to not burn yourself on the handles, but Steve grabs them from you.

“Let me.” You see how he grabs the pot, not letting you do it, not letting you carry the heavy weight yourself.

“Um–” You don’t know how to react or say, kind of confused at his action, but you don’t dislike how much of a gentleman that move was. Nancy hums a bit to herself, clearing her throat before yelling out.

“Eddie! Food’s ready!” Your head turns to look at her, and you snap from your thoughts, not noticing you had been looking at his arms as they strained a bit when pouring the water into the colander. You quickly move to the cupboards to start setting up the table with Nancy as Eddie walks down the stairs.

“Oh, shit, we eating Steve’s delicious steaks?” Steve rolls his eyes but he’s proud of his cooking. It’s one of those things he knew he was good at, and he never received any complaints.

“Just set the table up, Munson.” He replies and Eddie immediately moves to grab the water out of the fridge and set it on the table. You go back to the counter, next to Steve, and grab a big scooping spoon. Steve hands you one plate, with a steak on it, and you just add some boiled vegetables on it before placing it in front of Nancy as she sits down.

Once you are all seated, Eddie doesn’t even wait a second before he shoves a piece of meat into his mouth, moaning as if he’s in a porn movie, making the other three of you cringe.

“Do you have to do that everytime you eat his steak?” Nancy asks as she cuts herself a little piece, Eddie turning to look at her, with his mouth full.

“Its’ ‘fee biss’ stek’ i’ve evur’ haf.” You snort into your water at the nonsense he just mumbled because of his mouth full of food. Steve holds in a chuckle as he grimaces in disgust.

“Can you chew and swallow before you talk?” And Eddie glares at him only for his eyes to widen up as he looks around, a frown in his eyebrows. He chews quickly, swallowing where he almost choked.

“Is that– ‘Take on me’? Is that fucking music!?” Nancy snorts as you all realize that Eddie hadn’t even noticed the music playing because he was more focused on Steve’s steaks.

You explain that you have found a few channels over the months every time you come across a radio somewhere, though none of them have played metal music.

“Maybe you gotta do the heavy metal channel,” you shrug.

“Huh, you know what? Maybe I will, once I figure out how to, I fucking will,” he nods happily before he takes another bite of his steak.

Steve chuckles a little to himself, though he keeps his eyes trained on the plate before him. Nancy and Eddie share a look of surprise, it’s been a while since they saw him so… relaxed.

For the first time in a while, he joins in on the small talk during dinner, commenting and nodding along to the things you talk about. A sparkle of hope is inside of both Nancy and Eddie, hope that maybe there is still something left in him wanting to try, wanting to live, wanting to fight for something better.

Maybe he is ready to leave now, maybe he is learning how to let go.

Eddie wastes no time in wanting to find out, because the moment you are all done eating and he pushes the empty plate away from him, leaning back, he stuffs his hand into the pocket of his jeans, fishing something out.

You all watch curiously.

Eddie flashes you a smile when you lean closer, trying to peek over the table. He lifts his arm up and throws something over to Steve, the unmistakable sound of jingling keys passing by you, a flash over silver before your eyes before it lands in Steve’s hand.

Steve looks down, feeling the metal in his palm, his fingers are closed around it. He doesn’t need to look to know what it is, the happiness in Eddie’s eyes and the dreadful feeling in his stomach tells him exactly what it is.

With furrowed eyebrows, he stares at nothing in particular.

“What is it!?” Nancy asks, impatiently.

Eddie looks at the both of you, unable to contain the smile on his face as he starts jumping up and down on his chair.

“I finished it,” he explains proudly, though neither of you understand what he means by that as you both give him questioning looks, to which he sighs. “The RV! It’s up and running! We can finally get out of here!”

“Seriously?” Nancy nearly squeals, her eyes lighting up at his words, she nearly jumps from her chair, almost knocking it over.

You know that she’s been waiting for this, waiting to be reunited with her family again.

“Yeah! We’re going to California, baby!” Eddie exclaims, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. “So you better start packing your bags.”

You smile, sharing their relief as well. You've been waiting for it too, waiting to finally see your family again, though in this moment, you fear looking over at Steve, knowing how he feels about leaving Hawkins. You still turn your head, daring to take a glance and you find exactly what you thought you would.

His features are no longer relaxed, his lips are no longer curled into a smile, his eyes aren’t soft like they were before. A mixture of sadness and anger lingers in them, and when he looks at you, meeting your eyes, you feel a shudder running down your spine, he no longer is the one from before, the one that laughed with you, the one that talked with you like you were his… friend.

He clenches his jaw and he turns away again, throwing the keys back to Eddie who catches them with one hand, the smile falling from his lips when he finally notices the frown on Steve’s face.

You all flinch a little when the chair scrapes against the hardwood floor and the brunette picks his plate up angrily before walking over to the kitchen.

Nancy’s smile falls and her shoulders slump, helplessly she looks at Eddie.

“Dude, you know we can’t stay here,” Eddie states carefully, with a soft and gentle voice. “We’re gonna run out of everything someday, you can’t prevent–”

“We won’t run out if we go hunting,” Steve grumbles.

“There’s nothing left here for us, man. We got people waiting for us–”

Suddenly, Steve turns around, with his eyes angrier than before and his cheeks burning red, “you got people waiting for you! Leave me out of this!”

Nancy frowns in disbelief, as well as Eddie who gets up from his chair as well, throwing the keys on the dining table.

“Seriously? You’re telling me that the kids aren’t waiting for you? That they haven’t been asking for you every time Dustin radio’d us and you’ve been acting like a complete asshole, refusing to speak to him – to them?”

Steve scoffs loudly, turning back around, he makes his way over to the sink.

“We’re not leaving without you, Steve,” Nancy speaks. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Nance.”

She falls silent after that, opening her mouth and closing it again, she looks a little taken aback, guilt flashes in her eyes.

Eddie only sighs, looking down with a defeated look on his face.

You don’t know what his words mean, you don’t know why she gives up after that. Many questions run through your head but you mostly wonder what he meant by that.

“Steve,” Eddie tries again and you can hear the desperation in his voice, you can see the sadness in his face, he doesn’t want to leave his friend behind but he doesn’t want to stay here either, he never wanted to, least of all now. “There is nothing left for us here, there is nothing left for you here, you know that, man. Robin is–”

You flinch again when he throws the plate into the sink, so hard it must’ve splattered in half. He turns around, throwing a finger at Eddie, “I told you I’m not leaving! If you wanna go, feel free to get the fuck out of here, all of you! But leave me alone!” He yells, glaring at the both of them before he storms out of the room, passing by you and out into the hallway, not bothering to grab a jacket or an umbrella before he rips open the door and leaves the house, slamming the door so harshly that you wonder if it’s still in tact or not.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, adrenaline kicking in when you notice that Eddie and Nancy aren’t moving, not planning to follow him out.

They know him better than you do, they know not to touch him now, he won’t listen, he won’t compromise, he will do more damage than anything else at this moment but you don’t know that.

Worry settles deep in your gut, the urge to go after him growing stronger each passing second. You get up and push the chair back, leaving them no time to react before you rush out of the room, quickly throwing on your old pair of sneakers, not wasting any more time to follow him out.

You hear your name being called before you slam the door shut, but you don’t bother to turn back around, you run straight into the storm, not caring about the rain you ran from earlier.

You rip open the gate and close it behind you, looking around you as you try to spot him in the darkness, you squint your eyes when lightning strikes through the sky. You see his silhouette, three houses down the road.

The rain runs down your face, soaking through your clothes already, the coldness of it clinging to your skin and making you shiver already, even as you start running after him, following him wherever he is going. You pick up the pace when he gets further and further away from you.

Worry still gnawing at you, not knowing how he will react to you following him but you can’t just let him go like this, you know that he is angry but you also know that the anger is a mask for something else. He is sad, he is broken because of things that happened to him. You may not be the person he wants him to follow, but you just can’t let him go like this.

You slow down when he rounds the corner of a house, disappearing behind the wall. The rain paddles harshly against the floor, thunder crashing through the sky. You almost slip on the muddy ground when you step into the grass, you halt in your tracks when you notice the surrounding bushes, somehow still full and alive, unlike most other things in Hawkins.

You lost him after he disappeared into the garden of whoever lives or lived in this house. The white picket fence has no gate, and you can just walk through it. You follow the footprints in the mud, feeling grateful for the lightning for once. You push your wet hair out of your face, as you inch closer and closer to where he ran off to.

You take deep breaths, trying not to shiver from the cold. Thunder makes you flinch again, though the loud crash is not what makes you halt in your tracks, nor is it the red lightning bolts in the sky that illuminate your surroundings, allowing you to see better, allowing you to take in the view before you.

For a moment, you stop breathing, you stop moving completely, you are sure that even your heart stopped beating. You can only raise your hand to your lips as your eyes widen in horror.

He is here, he is standing in this garden, only a few steps away from you. He is standing there with his head hung low, looking down at the grave before him, wilted flowers on it, a necklace dangling from the cross, a necklace that once dangled from her neck.

Robin Buckley.

The name engraved into the wooden cross, is the name you have heard so many times, the name of his best friend.

So many feelings run through your veins but mostly shock and confusion. He talked about her like she was alive, they talked about her like she was alive, there was no sign of this. You could have never guessed. Every time he left the house saying that he was gonna visit Robin, you thought he was actually seeing her, you could have never imagined that he meant visiting her grave.

Your heart breaks when the realization of it all begins to sink in, why he is the way that he is, why he doesn’t want to leave, why he is so filled with anger and rage.

You swallow the sickening lump in your throat. You don’t know what to say or do, a part of you wants to walk away and leave him be, the other wants to comfort him, and the stronger part wins.

“Steve…” You call out softly to him, your voice reaching him despite the raging storm.

He tenses up, you can see it, it takes him a moment but when he finally turns around, you realize what a mistake it was to follow him. Even through the darkness and the rain, you can see the glistening tears in his eyes, the angry ones, the scowl on his face directed at no one but you.

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Don’t!” He snaps loudly. “Don’t say anything right now!”

You press your lips together, taking deep breaths as you look at the intense emotions in his eyes, and his anger makes you cower away. Shivers run down your spine, not from the rain, but from how he looks at you.

You shake your head slowly, digging your nails into your palms. You don’t know what to do, so you just stand there and watch him. Behind the hatred in his eyes, you see pain and sadness, you see how hard he is holding onto this, you see how it is driving him crazy, how it’s ripping him apart.

“I-I didn’t know…” You say softly.

Steve can hear the sadness in your voice, the gentle tone in it, the warmth in your eyes – he can’t stand it, he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t deserve it.

“That she’s dead? You didn’t know that my best friend is dead?” Steve scoffs as he slowly starts to make his way over to you, inching closer carefully, staring at you like you are his prey that he is ready to rip apart, right here, right now. “Well, now you fucking do, she’s dead, Robin is dead just like most people are, just like you will be the moment you step out there!” He throws his hand up, pointing at nothing in particular. His voice is trembling, the rain streams down his face.

You wince at his words.

You know what’s waiting out there, you know the dangers of this world but that doesn’t stop you from finding your family, from keeping hope alive.

You understand him now, more than anything. You don’t know how you would be if you lost someone you loved so dearly but he still has people he loves, people that love him.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I really am, I’m sorry that you lost her,” you start, your own voice trembling, out of nerves and out of fear. “But she is gone, a-and you staying here won’t change it! It won’t bring her back, it won’t fix anything! I understand your pain, I really do… but– you have people who care for you, Eddie and Nancy. You have other people who are waiting for you… Dustin?” You say despite the shock that still curses through you.

You don’t know whether it’s tears running down his cheeks or if it’s just the rain, but his eyes are glassy.

“Don’t bring Henderson into this! He is alive and well and that suffices!”

“Does it really?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. “Because you look miserable most of the time, and you will end up all alone once Eddie and Nancy are gone!”

Steve takes another step closer to you, looking down at you with nothing but hatred in his eyes.

“I know you feel like your life is over but it’s not, I–”

“You’ve known me for two weeks. Two fucking weeks. I don’t care about your optimistic hopeful bullshit. When you find your parents and your brother dead, you will wish you never had it to begin with.”

You draw back, straightening your back, you stare at him, speechless and stunned. The words are caught in your throat, your chest aching more than ever.

You know he is hurt and angry, and now he is trying to hurt you back. You know that they’re alive, you know that your parents are fine, you know that your brother is well.

“They’re… they’re not–”

“You saw the world out there, open your eyes for just a second!” He snaps at you, getting closer and closer, allowing you to see him and his anger better. “You are leading my friends to their death! You are helping them leave! I-I thought you would want to stay once you realized you were safe here, that you’re all fucking safe!”

You shake your head at him, growing angry too for the things he said about your family.

“Why wouldn’t I want to leave!?”

“Cause you are literally driving into hell! There are things you haven’t encountered there!”

“I want to see my family! Nancy and Eddie too! You have family waiting for you!”

A humorless laugh falls from his lips, he brings his hand up to his face, pressing his knuckle under his nose as he closes his eyes for a moment before he opens them again, looking at you again, “family? My family is here, six feet under!” He yells, pointing at the grave. He is blinded by rage and sadness. “The one person I had in my life that cared for me like no one else had is gone! And I’m not leaving her here!”

You know there is no getting through to him, not when he is like this.

Steve would rather chase after a ghost for the rest of his life.

“Leave her here?” You whisper. “She’s not here anymore, Steve! Do you really think she would want this for you? She wouldn’t! You were family, you were her best friend, she would want you to leave, to find a better place, to live!”

If the look in his eyes could kill, you’d be buried under this ground right now. You can see that it’s getting worse, that his eyes are burning, that his chest is heaving.

“I know what danger is out there, but I need my family–”

“Smell the fucking non-existent sunflowers, they’re dead by now!”

Steve tries it again, to hurt you, to harm you where he knows it hurts the most but you shake your head, trying not to let his words get to you, trying not to let his words touch your heart. You take a step away from him, shaking your head.

“No–, no they’re not,” you whisper, feeling the familiar lump in your throat, the painful throbbing in your heart, the hotness in your eyes.

He scoffs at you, looking you up and down in disbelief, “you think you’re going to find your house surrounded by a gate of protection? You’re fucking delusional if you think so.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, taking a step back further. You hesitate, feeling intimidated by his presence all the sudden but he only follows, looking right into your glassy eyes.

He is guided by hatred. He can no longer see clearly, the pain has turned him into this, the pain has made him cold. He doesn’t care about the tears in your eyes, about the trembling in your bottom lip, about the fear and the sadness in your eyes.

“My family is alive, I-I know they are–”

“Smell the decay of the corpses around you, and tone down that hope of yours before you end up even more hurt than you thought you could ever be. Open your eyes for once and stop acting like an immature little girl.”

His words feel like a blow to your chest, stealing the breath from you and replacing it with pain. The colors vanish before your eyes, a darkness you never allowed to enter, blurring your vision and crawling into your veins, threatening to take over.

The tears no longer stay in your eyes, they start falling freely as your bottom lip trembles, a sob threatening to escape you though you push it back down, not wanting him to see just how much his words have hurt you.

You see nothing in his eyes, no remorse, no guilt, nothing but this – grief has turned him cold.

Your sniffle breaks his anger a little though, the blaring redness that flashed in his eyes just seconds ago, dimming just a bit when he begins to see the damage he has done. He sees the way your chest is rising up and down heavily, the way you're blinking quickly like it would stop your tears from falling, he sees the pain in your eyes that he had caused.

You are crying, he made you cry when he once swore to himself to never do this to anyone ever again.

“You’re…” Your voice breaks and you wipe your tears, as though it would change anything. “You’re a douchebag.”

The tension in his shoulders leaves him, and regret starts sinking in.

Robin thought that of him before she got to know him, before she became his friend. He changed, even more so when he found her.

Has her death made him turn back around?

Has it changed him this much?

She would be disappointed, she would kick his ass for what he did just now, for what he said, for how he made you feel, for making you cry when all you wanted was to help. He knew where it would hurt the most and he chose to hit you there exactly, not caring about what it would do to you.

You tear your eyes away from him, sniffling quietly as you walk away from him, leaving him in the rain.

His fingers itch, his hand moves forward as though to stop you but he quickly clenches his fist and breaks his eyes away from you, looking down at the muddy ground. He closes his eyes, shutting them tightly as he holds back tears. His heart is aching more than ever.

He knows you’re right, deep down he knows.

He knows it’s only fair for Eddie and Nancy to leave, he knows it all, he understands it all.

He knows that she would want him to go with them, that she would force him to if she could. He knows she’s gone, he hasn’t felt her presence since the day a bird had sat down on her cross, she is gone and there is no bringing her back, not even if he stays.

But how can he leave when all that is left of her is this?

Everywhere he turns there’s a reminder that she was here, every good memory he has of her would be abandoned and he can’t do it, he just can’t.

With trembling lips and tears now streaming down his cold cheeks, he turns back around, looking at her name on the cross, at the reminder… that she is gone, forever. His knees almost buckle, a sob threatens to rip from his lips but he doesn’t let it, he doesn’t allow himself to break down, even as the sadness and the guilt begins to consume him.

“Robin,” he whispers, shakily. He knows he won’t get an answer, he knows he won’t get the sign that he’s been begging for, he knows he won’t hear her voice calling back to him, the only thing he hears is the rain, the rustling trees and his own heartbeat. He tastes the saltiness of his tears, he tastes the bitterness. “Birdie…”

She is gone and she’s not coming back.

He lost her, and soon he will lose more.

Soon his biggest fear will catch up to him.

Being left behind, being all alone.

It was bound to happen.

Right?

Steve didn’t come out of his room all day.

You haven’t seen him, haven’t heard from him, haven’t heard his voice in the hallway or anywhere else.

He came home shortly after you the night before, you heard him talking to Nancy, heard her asking questions that he didn’t answer. You know she told him that you’re leaving today, told him to pack his bags and be ready by night. It’s getting dark out now, your bags are in the RV, as well as Nancy’s and Eddie’s, along with a box of pictures and other things that they refuse to leave behind.

You are all ready to go, all except for him.

Eddie is giddy, excited to finally hit the road, though you can also see his jumpiness, how he can’t seem to sit still, the anxiety of having to leave Steve behind is eating at him.

Nancy is distracting herself, sitting at the dining table, her guns and knives sprawled across the table, a cloth in her hand as she cleans her weapons.

You’re sitting by the window, looking into blank space. Sadness lingered in you all day, and it didn’t change throughout it. He planted thoughts into your head that you refused to think about or even consider, though now a part of you can’t help but feel anxious because what if… what if there is some truth to it? What if you are being a little too hopeful? What if you are being ignorant and foolish?

You know he was hurt, and that hurt has triggered the anger, anger that he directed at you – he wanted to hurt someone and you were there, the perfect target, you are the reason why his friends are leaving now.

You didn’t mention what you found out last night, not to Eddie nor Nancy. It only really sunk in this morning, when you woke up with a headache after crying yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how he lost her but something tells you that she didn’t go peacefully. He blames himself, you saw it in his eyes.

“We should go soon.” It’s Nancy who breaks the silence in the room, a determined look on her face. You can sense her hesitation, her nervousness. She doesn’t want to go without him, you saw the way her eyes kept flicking to the staircase waiting for him to come walking down the stairs with bags in his hands, he never did. She told him to be ready by 7pm, it’s 8 now.

Eddie told you that Steve said goodbye, that he hugged him and Nancy, and prepared food and snacks for the road. No matter how much they begged and tried to convince him to come with them, it was to no avail. He never planned on leaving, not then, not now.

A part of you wants to try, to go up to his room and talk to him again but you doubt he wants to see you, especially after last night. He hates you, you saw it in his eyes. He won’t change his mind, not for you. He hurt you, but you still don’t want him to stay here, to be alone, to be left behind.

Eddie stops pacing around, he watches Nancy as she gets up from her seat, putting the guns and knives away into her backpack.

“Nance,” Eddie hesitates, looking at her in uncertainty.

She throws her backpack over her shoulder and shrugs at him, trying to look tough, trying to mask the worry on her face.

“He made his choice, he wants to stay. I won’t force him to come with us.” That is all she says before she leaves the room, taking you by surprise with her sudden coldness. She walks out of the house without another word.

Eddie glances at you, taking in the frown on your face, the sadness behind your puffy eyes. He knows that something happened between you and Steve when you followed him out into the rain, last night. He suspects that he threw unkind words at you – you didn’t tell him anything, neither did Steve but Eddie knows it crashed between you.

Now all he sees is hesitation in your eyes, despite the hurt written across your face. He can tell you don’t want to leave him behind. Eddie noticed that you had developed some kind of attachment to Steve, despite his constant cold shoulder.

You keep your eyes trained on the ground, blinking rapidly as you get up, not moving away from the window just yet though.

Eddie sighs, he walks over to the desk by the window, opening one of the drawers, he picks out a map he kept hidden, a copy of the one already in the RV. It’s marked up just like the other one, the town in California circled in a red color. He carries it over to the dining table, “in case he changes his mind,” he tells you.

You furrow your eyebrows as you look between him and the map, “I thought you didn’t have a copy?”

He makes his way over to you, a small smile grazing his lips, he places his palm on your shoulder, “guess I lied a little.” His brown eyes are sad, not matching the smile at all. He squeezes you, nodding softly before he steps away, looking around one more time, even though he’s done it a few times already today. “I’ll be outside.”

“Yeah…”

He closes the door behind him, leaving you by yourself.

You can’t say that you’re surprised by their sudden decision to leave today, but then again, they have been waiting for this moment for a long time. They’ve been waiting for it for a year, waiting for him to be ready. He never will be.

You take a deep breath as you look around the house you found shelter in, found new friends in. You wouldn’t have been here if you didn’t follow him that day. You tug your jacket closer to your body, gripping it tightly.

You don’t want to leave without him.

But you are the last person to change his mind.

You have known him for a few days only and yet he managed to crawl under your skin. You got used to him, despite his rough demeanor, despite yesterday.

You make your way upstairs, you can’t leave without saying goodbye.

But when you knock on his door, he doesn’t respond or open the door – not that you expected him to. You lean against the door frame, keeping your knuckle against the wooden door.

“Steve?” You whisper shakily, hoping to hear his voice. “I uh… I just wanted to thank you, for letting me stay, I know you didn’t want to but still… thank you.”

You hear nothing on the other side, no shuffling, no footsteps, no sighs, nothing.

A sigh falls from your lips, the sadness in you spreading further.

“Despite everything, it was nice meeting you… Goodbye Steve.”

You finally pull away from the wood, looking at the door one last moment before you head back downstairs and grab the backpack you left on the floor. You look around the house one last time and you can’t help but imagine him walking downstairs, where his friends once were, and see them all gone. Just himself and the ghost of what once was and never will be again.

It hurts to leave him behind, and you can’t even imagine how Nancy and Eddie feel. You have your answer once you head out and towards the back where you see Eddie wiping his cheek away while making sure the tires are all set, and how Nancy has her back towards the two of you, and her legs are slightly shaking as she looks at stuff into her weapon bag.

They are hurt from leaving him behind, way more than you are. You had to reassure them that even in loneliness, Steve will be safe. He is inside a community, guarded even if little, but he is still with people and in safety.

“Okay ladies, I think we are good to go.” Eddie says finally and you head over to Nancy, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, Nance.” You see her looking at the distance, towards the same way you followed Steve the night before. You see her gulp tightly, nodding at you before turning around and heading inside the RV first. You turn to see Eddie giving you a small comforting smile as he looks at the house one last time.

He sighs as he turns towards you, bowing down as he points with his arm towards the open door of the RV. You can only smile so little at the theatrics, and you take a deep breath before you step inside, surprised to see just how well equipped it is. Two big seats at the front, driver and passenger, then followed by counters on the side, and then a couch on the other. A pull out couch. Then at the end of the kitchen counter sat a small booth, with a small table in the middle.

You see there is a small little hallway, which has the door to the toilet, and then at the very back end you can see the big double bed. It has a sliding door to close it from everyone else if needed. You are amazed by it, a small and nice motorhome for the three of you. Eddie enters the RV as Nancy starts the vehicle. He closes the door behind him and he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“You like it? I installed the pull out couch myself. We have enough gas till the next possible gas station, and hopefully there’s still some left, so we need to make sure to not run out before that.” Nance only nods as you look up and open the bag cupboard at the top of the couch, putting your bag inside as well as Eddie’s and hers. You close it and you three hear the RV coming to life finally.

“Good job Eddie.” Nancy finally smiles his way, and Eddie puffs out his chest as he sits in the passenger’s seat, pulling the map out of the glove compartment in front of him. He had marked down all possible places they could stop at to look for more food and gas. Even toiletries. He also marked all possible gas stations, and you realize they had been planning this for a very long time.

“Okay… goodbye Hawkins you piece of shit.” Eddie says, making you hum as you take a seat on the couch. Your body suddenly sways as the RV starts to move slowly, and the excitement starts to come back to you as well as the fear of what you might encounter. You are going to your family. You are going to find your family and you will be safer this time. You have people around you, armed and willing to protect you as much as you would protect them. You won’t sleep in the mud, looking for cover under the cup of the trees. You will be sleeping either on a nice couch, or the bed whenever available.

You see how Nancy turns the lights on and off quickly, just enough to mark her way through the trees, not following the main road so no one would stop you all. Your hands were gripping the couch tightly, not wanting to look out the window, not wanting to look back, but you were itching to do so.

It takes time because Nancy is going as slow as possible so the motorhome would not do that much of a sound thanks to the engine. You know that people are already sleeping by now, except for the guards at the front gate, and you are taking the closed off one. The one in all chains.

Once you reach it, Nancy stops the RV right in front of it, Eddie getting up from the passenger’s seat to walk towards the cupboard underneath the sink of the kitchen, taking out some bolt cutters. Your eyes widen as he pulls those out and you turn to look at Nancy.

“Hang on, you are cutting those open– you are going to leave the gate open for all the community inside here!” Nancy sighs at your outburst and you hear the clanking of chains, you turn your head to see Eddie holding a new pair in his hands and a lock.

“We are not that reckless and selfish. It took me some time to find a spare pair of chains this size, and a lock, but– It’ll endure.” With those last words, he jumps off the RV, and you rush to the passenger seat to see him get into action, grabbing the cutters and start snapping the chains away.

You’re biting your lip as you see the metals falling piece by piece. Eddie hesitates for just one second before he snaps open the last chain. He pushes one of the doors open slightly and Nancy turns on the bright lights instantly. You see how he pulls it open even more and you see how there is nothing out there, giving you guys the green light to go. He gives a nod towards the two of you and pushes the first gate open and then the next one.

His eyes widen when one bright light shines your way, the guard light tower pointing your way. The sound of a loud siren blasting suddenly and you realize you’ve been caught. Nancy and you motion Eddie to leave the chain behind, that people will put it back together instead of him.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Nancy curses loudly.

Eddie snaps out of it as he rushes to the doors of the RV, the motorhome starting to move forward as you hear the screams of people, telling you to stop, to turn back, that it’s dangerous out there. The front of the vehicle is out and you’re almost passed the gate when Eddie’s head turns to his left, his panicked face falling as his eyes widen.

“Eddie, get in!” You yell, trying to snap him out, and Nancy groans loudly.

“Munson, I’m stepping the gas whether you get fully inside or not–”

“It’s Steve!” Her eyes widen as well as yours. She doesn’t stop moving, instead slowing down.

You rush towards the window, popping your head out and sure enough, you see him.

He is running fast even with a bag hanging on his back, two duffel bags on each side of his hips, his bat in one hand, the other gripping a flashlight tightly. You hear Eddie egging him on, to keep running because Nancy is not stopping, she can’t. You see the flashlights of people running towards you, right behind Steve, ready to stop you all from stepping into the danger zone.

He can’t feel his limbs anymore from how much he ran, from how dumb it was to not tell the three of you that he had actually packed, leaving the bags in his room. Dumb to tell you that he left to give his last goodbye to Robin’s parents and Robin herself. He spent all day with her. Had breakfast, had lunch, and finally dinner.

He lost track of time, and when he returned to the house, none of you were in it. His heart had crumbled to the floor, but it was just a few minutes late, so if he had any luck, you three were still near. He grabbed everything as fast as he could, rushing into the kitchen to shove one last thing into his duffel bag, and then run out. He ran through the woods with his flashlight, following the broken bushes and the tire trails the vehicle left.

As soon as the RV came into view, the lights from behind him turned on, his panic rising as he didn’t have a chance to even catch a breath. He saw how the officers and the guards started running towards him with their flashlights, and he took off. He ran as fast as his feet could take him, trying not to think of all the weight he was also carrying. He could hear Eddie calling for him, his hand reaching out already for Steve to grab.

He knew that the moment he grabbed Eddie’s hand, Hawkins would be a thing of the past. She would be the past. Everything would be the past. But Robin would have wanted him to move forward. She would have wanted him to keep on going. She would have kicked his ass if she found out he was willing to throw everything away just for her. She would have wanted him to actually live.

So he grabs onto Eddie’s hand.

Eddie pulls tightly with a grunt, using all his strength. Nancy picks up the speed and throws her foot onto the gas when Steve manages to put one foot on the first step of the RV. Eddie drags them both inside, falling onto the floor with Steve.

You are stunned as you stare down at them both. You snap out of it when you feel the cold wind, you run towards the door and shut it, locking it.

Steve is panting, no, heaving as he tries to recover his breath on all fours, staring at the floor. Eddie is sitting up, his hand coming to rest on Steve’s back. The three of you are silent, not having expected Steve to appear out of nowhere at the last minute.

“What… What happened?” Eddie asks, his own breathing heavy from the whole ordeal, and you can just stand over them both, looking as Steve starts to shake, your eyes coming to meet in the middle in worry.

“I– I was saying goodbye– I forgot to tell you, I’m so sorry–” And you can hear the choked up voice, your heart turning with sadness as Eddie’s eyes glistened, looking at his friend. Nancy couldn't stop driving, but she turned her head for just one second to look and you saw how a tear was running down her cheek, her gaze turning back to the road.

“Steve…” Eddie’s voice is low, a whisper and it was the key that opened the gate to Steve’s emotions. Through his heavy breaths, you start hearing his sobs. Choked up sobs that he wanted to swallow down, but it was impossible. Soon, his tears were hitting the floor as he stared down at it, his fingers digging into the carpet as memories flashed in his mind.

He could almost picture Robin waving at him from the gate that people were already closing. He could almost picture how she would be smiling and jumping happily the more the RV drove away. How she would be cheering him on. His cries were loud, knowing there is a part of him that was being left behind, a part that he will never in his life get back.

You could hear the sniffles coming from the driver’s seat as well, quieter than Steve’s cries of pain, and you saw how Eddie was keeping a strong face for both his friends, especially Steve who was still trying to breathe through his sobs.

You just stood there as you waited, wanting to comfort the man that was on the floor, but you knew better. It was a moment that he needed to have with his friends, with his family. You felt your own tears flowing down your cheeks. You didn’t know Robin, but from the cries of your new found friends, you realized she was loved. She was very much loved.

The road ahead was uncertain, but in Steve’s mind, only one little thing resonated, one little voice that he could hear despite the dark clouds inside it, and the screams coming out of his mouth. If he was imagining it, he hoped it would never leave him. He might have gone crazy, but he was so happy to hear her voice, at least one last time.

‘Goodbye, Dingus.’

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rewind-redux · 11 hours ago

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New Experiments - Harley Sawyer/Reader

The halls were dark and reeked of coppery blood, the scents of metal, toys, and blood blending into a suffocating fog. What few papers explaining what had happened in this hell were crumpled in your bag, along with the occasional VHS tape that you managed to find. You were on your way to confront The Doctor, the monster you've read about behind the experiments, now an experiment himself. His voice rang in your head, that rough metallic tone echoing the last words he'd said to you before you’d continued on.

"An intriguing specimen, with no obvious reason to come down into the pits of playtime co." You glanced at the TVs lining the walls, the box frames enclosing the already small hallway, making you feel much more... fragile. God knows what you'll find when you get to the man behind the torture. If he's even a man anymore.

"Even the ground beneath your feet..." The Doctor's voice sang out from behind you, roughly pushing you to the trapdoor. You grabbed his hand at the last second, taking him down with you. Or.. what sounded like him.

Your eyes adjust to the dim room, being met with a robotic body covered in a torn shawl, and a TV for a head that flickered with different images and videos. You pushed yourself back against a fence, the metal rattling loudly in the silence.

"...Harley Sawyer?" Your voice was a bit shakier than you would have liked, but at least the words came out.

The machine's head tilted slightly, as if examining you. "How... interesting. I've seen how you understand that the price of progress is insignificant. I watched you snuff out that little life for the sake of reaching me. You dragged me down into my own trap. And yet, now that you've reached your goal... you don’t seize it. Are the lies finally wearing off? Have you come to your senses about that doll?" He stayed where he was, not moving towards you like one would wait for a puppy to come to them so as to not scare them off.

You inhaled deeply, trying to regain your senses, the stress of being in Playtime Co exhausting you now that you were no longer under immediate threat. ...You didn't even feel like this in safe haven.

"It's a mystery how Playtime managed to ignore such an intriguing mind, such a.. promising one. You understand how things work. How to succeed. You would have made for a stimulating experiment." You looked up at him, the remorseless, ruthless doctor. The doctor that.. could actually do something, keep the burden off your shoulders, unlike the toys you've been carrying through this hell.

You sighed, leaning against the fence. "Why... why should I trust you?" You could feel your body trusting him, relaxing under his analytical gaze.

"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have even made it this far into Playtime. 1170 would have made quick work of you."

‘Huggy Wuggy’. You thought to yourself. You've had so many close calls, almost dying every room you stepped in, and yet-

"And what an exceptional case you are, making it all the way to me. Even the most promising toys never made it very far, but you. You would have been the most successful, if only Playtime had recognized it." Your eyes trailed up his metallic body, his eye trained on you, filled with anger and... grief.

"But now it can't." You looked back up at his body as you said it, taking in what he'd become.

"Not anymore. Those.. fools decided to take away my achievements, my abilities. They gave up a vital asset because of their own ego, took over my experiments as if they were their own. They stole my experiments, my ideas, and confined me into this body." You could picture the scowl he would have if he had a face, the anger that would've been so easily seen.

You didn't really know what to say. What was there to say? This man, this... genius, broken down into an amalgamation of metal and dismembered flesh suspended indefinitely. You can't help but feel sympathy for him.

"But you," You glance up at him, his eye still locked onto your body. "You could've been my success. My magnum opus. You could have shown everyone that I was right." His metallic body stepped closer, the whirring of his mechanisms quiet. Soothing, even.

"You didn't deserve this." The words came out before you could process them, the tone… soft.

Sawyer paused, the TV screen flickering as if in thought. No one talked to him like that. He's never been spoken to as if he was a child. But.. you weren't wrong. He didn't deserve it, he knew that more than anyone. His voice became less rough. "No, but they were too scared of my creations, of what I could do. They were fools for thinking doing this would stop me. And now they're gone." The bitterness came back at the last sentence, his eye narrowing.

You stood, pulling yourself up using the chain link fence you had leaned against. He wasn't that tall anymore, and looked... human. Wires and metal and TV static, yet he was still the man you read about. He was still a man.

The silence dragged out, neither of you daring to speak and break it, seeming so fragile yet so needed. A break. That's what you both needed.

Eventually, Sawyer spoke up, shaking off his feelings, his tone returning to the clinical one you knew. “What do you gain from coming back? Why come back at all?”

You… couldn’t really answer that. Why did you come back? It’s not like you knew any of these toys personally. It’s not like you knew the directors at all. “...I’m not entirely sure, myself.”

He hummed, a bit disappointed. “And here I thought you came back with a reason I could dissect. No matter. What matters is you’re here now. And I get to have my stimulation, instead of waiting for those inadequate toys to wander where they’re not supposed to.” He stepped closer, examining you. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a body, much less done a vivisection.”

You held your ground, not wanting to show that his words made you feel a bit queasy. His hand reached out, feeling your neck and pulse.

“110 beats per minute. You’re scared of this, aren’t you? Your blood pressure feels higher as well.” His hand clamped around your neck, tilting your head up so he could take a closer look at your face. “Your pupils are dilated, most likely from adrenaline and how dark it is. Your respiration rate is higher than average, but not that high. You’re trying to keep yourself calm. Box breathing, yes?”

You swallowed, feeling vulnerable. He was pointing out everything about your emotional state and your body, nevermind the fact his hand could easily snap your neck in a flash.

His hand was cold, the contrast ever so noticeable on your warm neck. “You would have made for a successful bigger body. Perhaps a Huggy Wuggy, or a CatNap. Perhaps a completely new toy. Your body would have been easy to change into it.” His hand glided down to your chest, pressing into it. “Strong bones. Maybe it would have been a pain for you to start the process, not that it matters.”

Your breath hitched, blood rushing to your face as Sawyer pressed into your chest. Thank God it was dark.

“Ah. A reaction. Fear? Anger?” He pressed harder, your back now up against the chain link fence. You could feel the heat on your face, your ears burning as you took a breath. “You’re not going to answer? Do I have to pull the words out of you?” His fingertips dug into your skin, leaving red marks behind.

A small noise slipped out of your throat, barely getting out before you took another shaky breath to calm yourself.

“Maybe you won’t be immediately discarded after all. You have such stimulating reactions.” His hand dug in again, and this time you grabbed his wrist to stop his fingers from breaking your skin.

“Stop-...” He surprisingly pulled away, giving you a moment to compose yourself. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“It’s easy to get under your skin isn’t it? Just as easily as you slipped under mine?” The thought made you flush red, visible in the dim light. He pulled you closer again, examining your face. “Extremely easy. In more ways than one, I see.” His hand tightened on your throat, enough to feel it, but not enough to be painful.

“Sawyer…” You couldn’t tell if what came out of your mouth was a groan of pain or pleasure, or maybe a mix of both. Your hands grasped at his shawl, weakly pulling at it. Gods, you felt so pathetic, but so… needy. It’d been so long since you’ve felt any positive emotions, so long since you’ve felt even remotely relaxed. Maybe Sawyer felt the same way, being trapped in that form, stressed about no direction to go, no purpose in existing other than to spite those who made him what he is now.

He gave a short chuckle, finding your position amusing. This was a game to him, a chance to find and create reactions to stimulate his clinical mind. His hand dropped to your waist, feeling around your skin in a detached, almost professional way, if you hadn’t known he was a sociopathic doctor.

“Your body is much warmer than everything else down here. No wonder the toys find you so easily.” He pressed his hand into your stomach, eliciting a grunt from you. “Sensitive here? Not at all surprising, the human body is typically more sensitive around vulnerable places, such as your stomach or neck.” You could feel your body heating up, even warmer than before. You cursed softly under your breath, shifting a bit to get more comfortable.

“Where else?” He glanced up at your words, humming in thought.

“Where else is the human body sensitive, or where else are you sensitive?” You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts to answer him. Your mind felt clouded in a haze of fear and need, thoughts coming by sluggishly.

“Where else am I?” You almost panted out the words, the air you were breathing in not feeling like it was enough.

“For that, I would have to test it. Feel every part of you, what makes you tick, what makes you grimace, and what makes you squirm.” You could hear the anticipation in his voice, the way he viewed you as a new toy to pick apart and analyze what was left behind afterwards. You glanced down at his metallic hand hovering over your neck, the joints almost shaking as he waited for your acceptance. It surprised you that he would even consider thinking about whether or not you accepted.

“I don’t think it’d be very comfortable to do that against a chain link fence.” He looked over your shoulder at the fence, tilting his head.

“I don’t need comfort in this body, the surroundings are trivial.” You sighed. Right, self absorbed mad scientist.

“I do. I’m still a human, remember? My body isn’t as forgiving with rough surfaces as yours is.” He thought about it for a second, watching you.

“You won’t find a… comfortable place in Playtime. It wasn’t built for your comfort.” You huffed, but shook the annoyance off. He was right in a way, it wasn’t exactly the most inviting place to be at.

’Ironic.’ Before your thought could continue, his hand pulled you out to a better lit place. You couldn’t control the way your hand immediately grasped onto his, the urge to intertwine your fingers with his coming to the forefront of your mind. He let go as you reached the room where his brain was contained, looming over you like an omniscient being. Well, not that he wasn’t, in his own way.

“Now, get on the table and I’ll start.” You climbed up, laying on your back, the metal cool and hard beneath you.

“Why’d you choose here?” He stood over you, hands poised. He paused when you asked that, humming to himself in thought.

“It works the same as any other nervous system. The closer you are to the brain, the more sensations are felt. The more they can be analyzed and dissected.” You inhaled, relaxing on the table as the soft red glow of the machine reflected off Sawyer’s mechanical body.

His hand started by moving across your face, examining the way it looked and twitched. It went to your hair, feeling the strands.

“A lot different than the toys you’re used to, huh?” He looked down at your eyes as you whispered that, as if part of you didn't want him to hear your words.

“Yes, the toys… their fur is more like plastic, some have a combination. But they're all more… animal like than human. The same can be said for their… cognitive functions.” His hand went to your ear, tracing around the outside with a surprisingly delicate touch.

“You’ve got a… delicate hand for a…” You faltered. For a machine? For a sociopathic insane mad doctor?

“I wasn’t a surgeon for no reason. How do you think my experiments always came out so well? How they were perfect? The… cognitive side of those experiments is on the other doctors. They let their pathetic emotions get in the way of progress. See how my creations turned out? 1170, 1222, 1188, 1166? Loyal to only me, how they were supposed to be. I did what the others couldn't stomach. Emotions meant more to them than progress.” His hand gripped your throat, his anger being taken out on you.

“Saw-” You could barely choke out his name, his hand tight. He glanced down and eased his grip.

“Apologies. Wouldn't want my new… test to fall short, now would we?” His thumb rubbed your neck, the cold metal warming up from the contact with your skin. A groan escaped from your lips, Sawyer pressing gently on your throat to feel the vibrations.

His hand slowly made its way to your collarbone, where he flicked the collar of your shirt. “Clothes… always in the way.” He briskly unbuttoned your shirt and pulled you to a sitting position. “If you could not be a limp body that would be useful.” He pulled the shirt off, and you moved your arms to help this time. The air was slightly cold against your skin, goosebumps raising on your arms. “How… fragile. You can't even weather the air of a factory. That needs to be fixed.” He traced your chest and arms, rubbing a circle around your nipple. “No evolutionary purpose for men to keep these… you'd think for how complex biology is, it would try to be better.” The cool metal of his thumb circled around your nipple, sending heat straight to your face.

His hand moved again, tracing your stomach where your organs sat. “I keep the digestive system in the toys, it makes for a more… challenging procedure. And it makes them hungry, which in turn keeps them loyal to their feeder. The rest of the systems have no use in the toys, other than the nervous system.”

“And you don't have any systems.” He glanced up, slightly surprised at your comment.

“...No. I have lungs, a heart, and a brain. I do commend the efficiency of it, since there's no need for food or air. It makes me practically immortal, almost perfect. The way it was done though…” He trailed off, his hand twitching.

“...I'm sorry for what happened. It.. sounds terrible to go through.” You didn't really know what else to say, this wasn't exactly a common occurrence.

“I don't need nor want your pity,” His hand gripped your waist, pulling you forward to him. “You shouldn't be saying anything about what happened to me, unless you caused it. And if you’d caused it, you would be in a much worse state than what any of Playtime Co is in.” His eye stared into yours, seething with rage and grief of what had been taken from him.

He quickly collected himself, going back to the analytical side you'd known him to be. His hand stopped at your pant line with a scoff. A chuckle came out of your mouth as you reached down to help.

“Never taken someone's pants off before?” You watched his screen as it flickered static for a moment.

“Yes, I have. All bodies need to be completely naked when it comes to vivisections and turning them into toys.” He helped roughly, clearly not used to his patients being awake when it came to undressing them.

“Didn't mean it like that, Doctor.” He glanced up at you.

“Be clear about what you mean. None of this guessing nonsense, you're wasting my time.” He tossed your pants to the side, then pulled down your underwear in a clinical, detached manner.

“Fine. I'm assuming you've never taken someone's pants off for sex before.” He paused at that, placing the underwear with your pile of discarded clothes.

“No, I have not. I have much better things to do than get in relationships and mess around like a high school boy.” You chuckled, the statement sounding odd coming from Sawyer. He glared at you, then dipped his hand lower, tracing your thighs. His thumb gently brushed against your inner thigh, where your artery lay.

The realization that Sawyer could kill you within seconds resurfaced from the haze of your mind. You were sitting naked on a table, with a mechanical body of an insane doctor looming above you. His hand poised over your artery, able to strike in moments if he wanted.

As he continued his exam, you realized he was too engrossed in the “test” as he'd called it, to even think of killing you. You could see the concentration in his eye, it flicking up and down, taking in every part of you. His hands moved to your calves, then back up as he mapped out your blood vessels in his head.

Your breathing was heavier, your heart rate fast. As his hand reached between your legs, your leg jerked, trying to close them. Sawyer said nothing, but used his other hand to push your legs apart and keep them that way. He slowly, agonizingly traced around your privates, his fingertips freezing against it. You couldn't help the twitch of your hips as he almost reached it, the flush in your face darkening. The hand holding your legs moved to hold down your hips, his screen flickering as he watched your reactions.

“I can see you're getting impatient, with your… uncontrolled movements. Perhaps we should control them, no?” Both of his hands pinned down your hips before you could respond, the metal digging into your skin. Your hips reacted, instinctively bucking against his hold. He watched and pressed down harder, drawing another reaction and a small noise from you.

You could see in his eye as something clicked. Humanity was so close for him, however disgusting it was. The feeling that he could be human again, if only in his head. This… emotion he was pulling out of you, this pleasure... this was the first time in years that he felt even remotely close to his old self. To being human. And he craved it, the ability to move around, experiment, to be his old self. He needed it.

He clamped a hand over your mouth as he pushed a finger in, not giving you any time to adjust to the new sensations before he started stretching you. He clearly knew what he was doing, but in a studied clinical manner, as if following instructions from a book. His eye was trained on where you two met, watching your body's reactions to the intrusion. He hated it. But it was all he had left to feel human, this disgusting pointless act. He slowly added another finger, the metal cold and desperate as it thrusted in and out. A low groan escaped your lips, sawyers eye quickly looking up to see your face, your expressions.

His hand clamped harder on your mouth, muffling the noises you made. He added a third, the stretch painful due to the lack of preparation he’d given you.

“Harley- ngh.. fuck.. slow down..” He glanced back up at your face, his emotions unreadable. It was unsettling, how silent he was, but you supposed it was his clinical side taking over, logging each and every reaction you made. He barely slowed down, just enough for you to stop complaining. His metal fingers curled in different ways, prodding and testing to see if you’d react to it. He was rewarded with grunts and groans that slipped from your mouth, muffled from the hand pressing into it.

He spoke up, his tone back to normal, talking more to himself than to you. “How submissive you’ve become… expected, really. All you need is the right treatment, which would be more successful with locking you up in those padded rooms. How do you think I was able to create and control all of those toys so easily? Though I do prefer a… faster approach, such as isolation and torture. Something like this… It would take quite a long time for the patient to become fully submissive, and for all of the wrong reasons too. The patient would become a pet, not an asset. Completely worthless.” He continued with the movements as he talked, not making any move to slow down or pull away.

You could feel yourself getting closer to release, your mind in a pleasurable haze as you closed your eyes. He noticed and slowed down, dragging the pleasure out more. A low whine escaped your mouth, almost turning into a moan. Your hips bucked forward, searching for more friction, to finally climax. He moved his hand from your mouth and pushed your hips down, thrusting his fingers hard into you, curling them inside. You could barely even choke out a noise, the abruptness too intense to react to. He continued at a rough and fast pace, eventually adding a fourth finger, stretching your already sore hole even further. You couldn’t help but grind into it, the feeling desperately needed after such a long time of pent up stress.

He watched your reaction as you climaxed, the flush that enveloped your face, the sweat that glistened on your forehead, the shakiness in your legs and arms, the rapid rise and fall of your chest from your panting breaths. He continued to thrust his fingers in and out, making you ride it out, adding to the sensations he was causing you. He logged every reaction and every simple movement as you laid back limply on the table.

“It seems I was right. Yet again. What an interesting specimen you are. But.. don’t think I’m done with you yet. There’s still plenty more to test. After all, I haven’t seen anything like you in years. It’s only fitting I keep you for my own… enjoyment, if you will.” He pulled his hands away, wiping them off on his shawl. “Now get dressed. I’m getting awfully tired of looking at you being so… pathetic. It’s disgusting.” He didn’t even bother to toss you your clothes, instead just standing there watching you as you struggled on shaky legs to stand on your own two feet. You eventually managed to pull on your clothes, your shaky hands barely able to button your shirt. You were still breathing heavily, taking large breaths to calm your racing heart.

He started walking away, expecting you to follow, and follow you did. “Now… what to make of you…? I’m sure the Prototype would… love to get his filthy hands on you, but… let’s keep my secret for now, yes? He may control the board, but that doesn’t mean he controls the pieces, only the rules. And there’s nothing against… holding out on a potential subject for him. As long as you eventually end up in his grasp, I’m keeping you for my own scientific purposes for now. He never gave a time limit either, so that means you’ll be mine indefinitely, until I tire of your presence.” He paused in thought, stopping in his tracks.

“Unless…” You felt goosebumps raise on your arms. You didn’t like the tone of his voice, the way he stopped as if realizing something exceedingly substantial. “I could do what no one else could, with you. I could finally make a scientific breakthrough that no one could ignore. The other heads would be shamed and put in their place, after stealing my work and humiliating me like that.” He turned around, facing you. “...And all I’d need is you.”

#harley sawyer #poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime the doctor #the doctor #the doctor poppy playtime #harley sawyer poppy playtime #poppy playtime harley sawyer #harley sawyer x reader #the doctor x reader #rewindwrites

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theiaphage · 1 day ago

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This is a really well worded post and I generally agree! However, I think I got another angle of this same conclusion based on the idea that Amy's original redemption arc never really concluded only to backslide -- rather, that her expectations about redemption fundamentally change what that redemption arc means in-text

Like you say, it absolutely falls well within the typical narrative-trope parameters of the expected 'redemption arc,' she hits all the core points -- but, like with a lot of tropes related to pain, trauma, healing, forgiveness and so on, the typical narrative portrayal isn't often a realistic one. In that way I think Amy acts as both a good example and, with further context, a deconstruction of the redemption arc, because under further examination a lot of the arc itself isn't necessarily as positive as it first came off. In so many of her attempts, she's trying to do better according to all she knows when surrounded by the worst influences possible. She doesn't have a solid safe role model, and hasn't for her entire life. Someone to tell her that sometimes you just won't be forgiven, that not every fight ends with a hug and back-to-normal at the end.

In that way, Amy's attempts at doing the right thing in Worm, though absolutely noble in conscious intent, still betray a few of her failings and the places she was failed. Like you say, she really does try to get better, she does the things she may know broadly lead to healing or help or forgiveness, but a lot still ends up being more about her than her efforts.

The tattoo here absolutely stands out to me -- even before Ward went and had her all but explicitly say that the tattoo holds a different meaning now, even in Worm it still seemed imperfect, questionable potentially, but with heart behind it. It was a memorialization of pain and a reminder to do better -- but like so many pieces of art about pain or failure, it could inadvertently romanticize the subject just as much as it condemns it. Amy is, in a very real way, actively working this tragedy into a part of a narrative -- one she tries to use for growth, but ultimately fails in.

I'm trying not to be too harsh on Amy here, but vibes-wise I'm reminded somewhat of something like an ex-boyfriend, leaving flowers at the door of someone who dumped him, or cry-singing a song about how they were a bad boyfriend on the car drive home. Sure, the pain is real, the acknowledgement of failure likely is as well, but at some point the gesture becomes more about the boyfriend's pain than the actual relationship, or even the breakup. In this moment Victoria, a victim who literally cannot speak for herself in this instance, is 'memorialized' in a very real sense, turned into a symbol by a person that already as a base nature of their power and life can feel so disconnected from the humanity of others.

So many of these choices by Amy center her -- her attempted growth, her attempted retribution, her attempted change. It's the kind of thing that in real life really can be done for the right reasons, but can also be done for worse ones -- that ex-boyfriend working out thinking of their ex, getting a job thinking of their ex, hanging a picture of their ex above their bed to motivate them to get up in the morning. Amy's actions aren't even this extreme or pointed, but I view it as them sharing a sort of kernel of trying to do better because they really want (or even need) better in turn -- and thus, Amy's arc in Ward is what happens when the textbook redemption arc doesn't work.

When all those acts of memoriam, distance, betterment, health, are done with the kernel of hope in your mind that it means you'll be forgiven, that it all will be fine again and you can go back to how it was.

And that's why I see her redemption arc as never having completed -- she's trying, she's hitting the right steps, but ultimately at the conclusion of this redemption (which I would argue is a long period of time, starting with Vicky's new body and coming back up again for a while) would come when those attempts were tested, when Victoria refuses to forgive her and she's forced to either accept her betterment without Victoria, or let go of it and keep pushing for her -- she begins to choose the later.

In this way it's less of a backslide and more of a recontextualizing moment. She is backsliding in behavior, but it's not that she got foundationally better and then became foundationally worse again, and more so that she tried to get better, put in real effort, but ultimately failed. This version worked for me because it seems to be what Amy acts like right out of the gate; annoyed that Vicky won't accept her, continually trying to do things 'for' her or based on her happiness when Victoria wants nothing to do with any of that.

These give some context to her past actions, allow you to re-examine Worm in a way that both provides answers and adds a new layer in a way many readers (myself included) missed at first simply because yeah, Amy's arc does have all the pieces of a redemption arc, and it takes Ward to get people thinking about whether or not those pieces add up.

I do want to state to conclude that yeah, her portrayal (and especially the initial choice to tell this story surrounding Amy of all people) has its issues, many major, but the portrayal of someone who falls into toxicity and abuse because they thought they were doing everything right and still didn't get what they wanted out of it; A person who still didn't get that one selfish prize they latched onto in a moment of pain that they tried to be a saint to deserve or make up for wanting? Yeah, that's pretty unique and powerful, and despite its flaws it really hits home as an accurate-to-the-point-of-painfulness portrayal.

Okay, fuck it, I've built up enough goodwill with this sideblog - let's risk it all by sharing my opinions on how Amy is handled in Ward.

It's kinda complicated I think.

Okay, now that I've resisted the urge to immediately hit post for the bit: I think the way her interludes are written substantially flattens her character in a way that I find distasteful and unpleasant, but I find the overall shape of her arc and her role in the narrative compelling. The things I dislike have been well-covered by plenty of other people in the fandom, so I'm going to focus on the things I like.

To talk about Amy's role in Ward, I first need to talk about my interpretation of Ward as a whole. To me, Ward is, above all else, about trauma and recovery. Society is traumatized by the end of the world, the shards are traumatized by the death of Scion and their loss of purpose, individuals are traumatized by all the things individuals are traumatized by. As an aside, this reading is a big reason why I'm not too bothered by a lot of the world building choices that other people frequently (and fairly) criticize - I think many of them serve this theme effectively.

One specific facet of that reading that I find particularly compelling is Ward's interest in people who are traumatized not just by the harm done to them, but by the harm they've done. Characters don't just regret what they've done, they don't just want to be better, they are traumatized by it, and their reactions to that trauma are as messy and complicated as any other traumatized people. I don't always agree with the stances the text takes on how to deal with having done harm and been traumatized as a result, but I find the exploration of the topic compelling.

Enter The Altruistic Amy Dallon.

Amy's arc in Worm was, to a degree, a prototype of this kind of storytelling. She is repeatedly and horrifically traumatized, the actions she eventually takes in response to that experience inflict equally horrific trauma on her victim, and she is further traumatized by her own actions almost to the point of ego death. She removes herself from the environment she was in, begins rebuilding her sense of identity and ethics, and reemerges having grown, prepared to do better going forward and to make reparations for her past actions as best she can. Arc done! It's satisfying and cathartic, and we leave content in the knowledge that the part she's on will take her to better places. It's the quintessential appeal of a redemption arc, and it's a strong example of its type.

There's something people like to say a lot when talking about mental health and personal growth in real life, and that is that progress isn't linear. It's an important truth to understand.

It's rarely true in fiction. Very often, in redemption arcs, in personal growth arcs, after a series of false starts and setbacks, the character reaches a critical point where they resolve their conflict and either overcome it or succumb to it. From that point on, their nature or behavior is fundamentally changed - if they've grown they never relapse past a certain point, or do so only fleetingly, or else never improve past a certain point. This makes sense from a storytelling perspective, but it doesn't map to how growth often works in real life.

In Ward, Amy occupies the very rare narrative position of being who completes her arc of growth and redemption, who crosses that critical threshold of lasting, meaningful change... but backslides anyway, to the point of essentially losing all that progress.

It's an outcome that I find very believable for her, honestly. Her newfound worldview and conviction were forged in the very insular environment of the Birdcage - of course they would be impacted by her new environment. She says at the end of Ward that she had been able to excuse all of her worst behavior because she had convinced herself that she could fix anything - and at the end of Worm, I can see how she would come to think that! She's been pardoned and released from Forever Prison, she overcame her old aversion to brains to create Khepri and thereby saved the world, she's formed a positive relationship with the father she never thought she'd meet, she's receiving love and support from parents she never felt good enough for, she's using her powers to help people in a way that doesn't make her want to die, and she even "fixed" Victoria, when failing to do that before was the final nail in the coffin she just finished clawing her way out of! The sheer number of seemingly impossible things she's accomplished, of apparently irreversible failures she's seemingly put right, is mind boggling! It'd be the easiest thing in the world to let that go to your head!

Her social circle is also a perfect environment to enable her worst tendencies - there's no one left in it whose opinion she trusts that's willing to call her on her shit. Marquis doesn't see anything wrong with her behavior, Carol is trying to make up for a decade of neglect and unwarranted criticism, Mark just wants everybody to get along and be happy, and Riley and Rinke are pretty shaky on this whole human decency thing themselves! With a (not unjustified) pride in how far she'd come, a circle of willing enablers, a complete lack of moderating influences, and a bulletproof get-out-of-moral-culpability-free card, and two years to spiral, I find her backsliding to be completely believable. And given that Victoria is the fly in the ointment to all of this, that her continued refusal to have anything to do with Amy gives lie to Amy's belief that she can fix anything, and thereby puts the entire edifice of her self-rationalizations at risk, it also makes perfect sense to me that Amy would become fixated on her, on proving that she really can fix anything.

Of course, being believable isn't the same thing as being compelling. The thing that makes all this so resonant for me is that, at the end of Ward, after being this grasping spectre that haunts Victoria the whole book, after rejecting countless opportunities to demonstrate a hint of self-awareness or the slimmest motivation to change - Amy does. She sits down with a therapist. She rips off the band-aid - both the metaphorical one and the literal one made out of Victoria's skin, jesus christ Amy - looks at what she's done, at how she went awry, and resolves to do better. And we end with her in essentially the same place she was at the end of Worm: prepared to do better going forward and to make reparations as best she can. But the journey she has taken to get there gives the destination entirely new meaning for me. She's already fumbled her chance at redemption! But her journey gives lie to the idea that you only have one chance, or two, or any finite number! Every moment you draw breath is a chance to do better.

To me, Amy Dallon's arc in Ward shows that the most important step you can take is the next one, and no matter how many times you walk up and down that road, it never stops being true. And I find that compelling as hell.

#worm #ward #parahumans #wildbow

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bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades · 3 days ago

Text

Imagine this: you're a nearly incomprehensible amount of miles from shore, nothing around you but the cold, karmic sea. You're not the most experienced sailor, but you've heard the rumors. Rumors of creatures so fantastical even a mere picture will net you enough to pay your rent for a few months. Rumors of treasures that you could use to pay off your student debt and then some. Rumors of oceanic spells and areas that could cure you or a loved one of an ailment or a disease. Whatever your reason, you're out on the sea, and you haven't found your treasure, and there's a storm rolling in. Maybe you've been this far out but not in a storm, maybe you can weather the storm but the vessel you're in can't, maybe you simply have no experience with any of it--- no matter the exact cause, pitching on waves that grow taller and harsher by the minute, you have no choice: you send off an emergency flare, the bright red of it winking against the black, swirling storm clouds.

You have little hope someone will see or find you: who else could possibly be in this random square of the ocean, which you only know is significant because of these stories? Before you meet your watery fate, however, you see the vessel: a sleek, strapping, massive research vessel, search lights blinding in the faux night of the downpour, its massive engines propelling it confidently through the tumultuous waters. The crew is surprising small for a vessel of this size, but efficient, and they pull you on deck without fuss or fight.

You're greeted by the captain--- or, rather--- the captains. Maybe you hit your head, because there are two of them, and they're identical.

One peers down at your rickety vessel, which, overtaken, vanishes beneath the waves. You swear you see swirling tentacles underneath the surface of the murky waters. "Yep," he says, "been there, done that. That's a sign you need an upgrade. I know just the guy... it might cost you, though..."

The other makes sure you get inside, where it's warm. "Ignore my brother," he insists, and gets you a warm mug of tea. "Welcome aboard--- let's get you back to port. Say, though--- did you see anything odd or unusual out there? Any eldritch nightmares haunting your dreams of late? For research purposes, of course."

It's sitting in the mess, sipping at your tea, that you work up the courage to talk to the red-haired mate, who can't be much out of her teenage years; you figure you should make sure, at least, that you haven't been captured by pirates.

She laughs. "Those dorks, pirates? As if. Believe me, you're in safe hands--- unless you're allergic to bad jokes. Then maybe stay away from Stan." She smiles and sweeps a hand out, gesturing to the whole vessel. "The captains were in your shoes not too long ago, so they got something a little better than their old sloop. Welcome to the R/V Stan o' War III--- don't get too attached, or you'll find yourself staying with these old buggers."

You press on, and ask what, exactly, they're doing science on. Plankton? Pollution? Deep sea animals?

The mate smirks. It's obviously a question she heard before.

"Nothing so complicated. We research one thing here: mystery."

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #wendy corduroy #Stan and Ford do SAR #“We're gonna need a bigger boat” type shit #Research vessels are cool and stuff #sea grunks #pines twins

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softlypaintedseafoam · 18 hours ago

Text

i'm your conscience, i am love

synopsis. with new waters on the horizon and wano embracing a new dawn, you enjoy a private moment with your beloved swordsman.

pairing. roronoa zoro x f!reader

word count. 0.7k | masterlist

content warning. wano spoilers, reader is coded black (written ambiguously. anyone can read), established relationship, soft zoro, silent 'i love you's

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

a surprise gift for my friend @triangularz >:3c hehe, surprise hazel, i'm sure you didn't see this coming! i'm also back at it again with the i would die 4 u titles, i did warn you guys though. i've never written for zoro before but i wanted to give it a go!

You'll miss the beauty of the Flower Capital.

A fragment of guilt takes hold of your heart; yet you can't stop yourself from admitting it. From the crystal blue lake with flower petals delicately floating across its surface to the vibrant green eaves that accompany you. The Flower Capital is aptly named. It is a sight to behold, especially when juxtaposed to the current conditions of the rest of the country.

The next time you see Wano, you pray that it will be when green covers the whole of the island.

Tama will be a step closer to her dream of becoming a kunoichi, darling and excitable. Momonosuke will be a touch more mature and Hiyori will be will be as rambunctious as ever, giving her brother a run for his money now that she no longer needs to project herself as the most sought over oiran in the whole of Wano. By then, Yamato may return with you all as a full-fledged Straw Hat, seeing the country of his birth for the first time in years.

Yes, it's a wonderful scene to imagine. The warm hugs and the banquet that will ensue privately in the castle, Wano unaware that its unsung heroes have returned.

For now, though, the unsung heroes will be living in the morning.

So for today, your crew prepares their exodus and says their necessary goodbyes. For today, you can enjoy a small walk in the forest with your partner and see the scenery one last time. All without the worries that Zoro will get lost like if you were to live him to his own devices.

Wano's healing won't be an immediate change.

No amount of hoping and wishing will do that. But everything has to start somewhere, you fasten your grip on Zoro's arm. He glances at you curiously before you smile in return, giving him arm a brief squeeze. All things are fine here! "Just thinking about how nice it'll be to see Wano after some time passes," you sniff the fragrant aroma of cherry and plum blossoms. "By then, Luffy'll be King of the Pirates, you know. And I'm sure you'll have knocked Mihawk off of his throne."

Zoro's lips spread into a grin, dark eyes glinting with mischief. Of course, you can hear him say. That's the only way we'll come back here! "I wonder who'll be trying to dethrone me by then," you're sure he is imagining his hypothetical opponents with he laughs. It's fittingly Zoro that he the prospect only excites him. You try to picture it; a Zoro 20 years from now staring down a spunky teenager challenging him for his title. What sort of adventure will that person go on to reach levels necessary to fight the King of Hell?

You can only hope it will be as wonderful as the one you're on right now.

"Do you think they'll go sailing across the Grand Line to get strong enough to defeat you?" Maybe they'll come across the sky islands or surf the sands of Alabasta. "Go on a crazy adventure and learn about the world?"

Zoro looks boyishly young, like a child winning his first match in a duel at his dojo. "They'll have to if they ever want to defeat me," he nods firmly, grinning with all of his teeth. "Maybe throw in one person whose fought me before. If they can't handle someone whose ass I've kicked, they definitely can't handle me. And they can't have any scars on their back," he adds in quick succession.

"Maybe they'll fall in love," you giggle knowingly, raising your brows in a playful motion. You hold the gaze of dark eyes with tender affection that is doubly reciprocated.

"That wouldn't be so bad," Zoro's voice is a quiet, warm timber. There's a near melodic quality to it that you can't describe and everything is green. When did green become your favorite color? Stubborn verdure, pulsing with the vitality of life and everything beautiful about it. You're arrogant enough to believe Zoro looks at you like you're the one that embodies those qualities rather than him. "That wouldn't be bad at all."

Your adoration bubbles over the surface and you raise one of Zoro's hands, pressing a kiss against his palm. The walk comes to a sudden pause, Zoro gently wresting his hand from your grip to cup the side of your face. A thumb grazes your bottom lip. "You might as well commit to the full thing," he murmurs, lips brushing against yours before pressing them together firmly.

#romance dawn ー 🌅#one piece x reader #op x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x black!reader #op x black!reader

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jungkoode · 21 hours ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #04 死

† forest rendezvous †

"They say the most dangerous predators are the ones that make you feel safe before they strike. But watching him calculate each shot with deadly precision, you realize there might be something even more dangerous - the ones who warn you exactly what they are, and still make you want to stay."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6k

rating: mature

content: forced proximity, piggyback, sniping, ominous threats, badmouthing, hinting at deeper wounds

☠ author's note ☠

A/N: Oh wow, apparently I even had author's notes saved in my drafts when I started writing this back in 2020? Past!me had *thoughts* and present!me is just here like (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

So I'm basically taking those written thoughts and rechanneling them through my 2025 brain. And let me tell you, the cognitive dissonance is REAL. Like past!me was all "but it's a slow burn!" and current!me is just cackling in the corner because honey... you have no idea what's coming ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д

I really debated on whether to include the piggyback scene or not. Had the whole thing pictured out a LONG time ago (we're talking pre-pandemic long, yes I am ancient, no I don't want to talk about it), but wasn't sure if I should add it here... you know, being a slow burn and all that jazz. But I think it works? They're both so against it that it's basically negative development at this point lmao.

Also, FORCED PROXIMITY MY BELOVEDS. If you think I'm not going to milk every single trope in existence, you clearly don't know me well enough yet. Just wait until we get to- *gets tackled by the spoiler police*

As always, thank you for reading! Your comments give me life and serotonin, which I desperately need because my caffeine addiction can only do so much. Stay tuned! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Shit—"

The word slips out as you struggle to your feet, using Jeon's hand like some kind of reluctant lifeline.

That's when your ankle decides to remind you exactly how badly you messed up trying to ambush him earlier. The adrenaline's wearing off, leaving behind nothing but raw, throbbing pain that makes you want to scream. Or cry. Maybe both.

"I think I twisted my ankle."

Jeon drops your hand like it's burning him, his expression morphing into pure exasperation.

"You must be kidding me."

"Yeah, because I love pretending to be injured during paintball." The pain makes your words sharper than intended. "It's my favorite hobby, actually."

He presses his hand against his face and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. His expression shifts from annoyed to something more complex—like a storm trying to decide which direction to blow.

The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable. You lean against the rock, trying to take weight off your ankle, but it just keeps t̶h̶r̶o̶b̶b̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ hurting worse with each passing second.

Finally, Jeon clicks his tongue and strides over to you. Then he just... turns around. Stands there. Like you're supposed to know what that means.

When you don't move, he adds, "Hop on," in a voice that somehow manages to sound both annoyed and urgent at the same time.

Like he's throwing commands to a dog.

You stare at his back, brain struggling to process what's happening. This is Jeon—Mr. Ice Prince himself—offering you a piggyback ride. The same guy who can barely stand being in the same room as you most days.

He glances over his shoulder, dark eyes meeting yours. "I said, hop on. We don't have all day."

"No way." Pride makes you lift your chin despite the pain. "I'm not getting a piggyback from you. I'll just... wait here."

His patience visibly snaps. He turns to face you fully. "You can't walk, and you'll be a liability." The words come out sharp and cold. "If someone from his team finds you, you're out. And now, you're on my team."

"What do you mean I'm on your team?"

"You ask too many questions." He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶n̶o̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ done with your attitude. "Were you or were you not with my team when shit went down?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"It's an improvisation game. It's V's thing, stealth. Remember?" His voice cuts through yours like a knife. "Whoever's with me when V strikes is on my team. Same goes for him. It's really not that complicated."

He takes a deep breath, face muscles shifting to something more controlled. When he looks at you again, he seems determined.

"I'm not losing to V, especially not because of you. So either hop on," the gentleness in his voice has an edge that makes you tense, "or I'll pull rank and make it an order."

Your blood boils at that. The audacity of this man, threatening to pull rank just because you don't want to get a piggyback ride like some kid. But he's right, and that just pisses you off more. Your ankle's screaming, and you're basically a sitting duck out here.

Fuck.

You hobble closer, swallowing your pride along with a string of curses. The warmth oozing off his body envelops you swiftly, making your heart do weird things in your chest.

Getting on his back is awkward and t̶h̶o̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶l̶y̶ ̶h̶u̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ uncomfortable, but he lifts you like you weigh nothing. His body is all lean muscle under your hands, which is just... t̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶o̶n̶e̶ not something you need to think about right now. You kind of want to knee him in the ribs, just because you can.

You don't, though. Your ankle's already betrayed you once tonight—no need to make things worse.

He starts moving with careful, measured steps. Neither of you speaks. If he's as annoyed as you are about this whole situation, he doesn't show it anymore. His focus is entirely on the game now, eyes scanning the darkness, body tense and ready. Like a storm gathering strength.

And that just pisses you off more. Here you are, swallowing your pride with every step he takes, while he acts like carrying you is just another mission parameter to execute. The quiet forest floor suddenly seems way more appealing than being trapped in his personal weather system.

His breathing is steady, a rhythm that somehow makes the tension worse. Because yeah, he's helping you, but it feels like being rescued by a particularly moody thundercloud. The fact that you need him right now doesn't make you like him any better—it just makes everything more complicated.

Your eyes are dragged to the edges of his tattoos where they disappear under his shirt. Each one probably has a story, but good luck getting those out of Mr. Storm-and-Silence here.

Still, you're curious.

Are they about pain? Strength? Or maybe he just likes sitting through hours of needles because he's t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶m̶a̶s̶o̶c̶h̶i̶s̶t̶ that dedicated to his aesthetic.

The silence starts to feel heavy, pressing down like gathering clouds. All you can see is his back, and the closeness makes your skin buzz like it's charged with static.

"So where exactly are we going?" You break the silence because honestly, anything's better than drowning in his suffocating presence.

"Paintball weapon cache."

"Wait, what?" You can't keep the disbelief out of your voice. "I thought we were getting my ankle checked out—"

"This is a simulation." He cuts off. "V's games are unpredictable, but they mirror real scenarios. We adapt. We deal."

There's something under that icy tone—a competitiveness that makes you think this is more than just training to him. Your fingers twitch against his shoulders, and you try not to think about the muscle shifting under your hands.

"You do this often?" You find yourself asking, curiosity winning over irritation.

"Unfortunately." The word carries a gust of dry humor. "V likes his... creative training methods. Paintball, surprise drills, mock raids. He's impulsive, but effective."

"Sounds... fun?" The word tastes weird in your mouth.

"If you enjoy being perpetually ambushed." His dry tone makes your lips twitch despite yourself.

You fall quiet, thinking about these two forces of nature—Jeon's storms and V's thorny garden. Different kinds of dangerous, but both leaving destruction in their wake (duh, they're assassins?). One's all calculated precision, the other pure chaos—yet somehow they both keep the gang's deadliest division running.

"So what's the plan now?" You try to keep your voice neutral. If you're stuck being his human backpack, might as well try to be useful.

"We arm ourselves." His voice gains a strategizing color. "It's not about having the most firepower. Real situations never go according to plan."

Something about his tone piques your curiosity even further. "Has he always been like this? V? With the whole paintball ambush thing?"

Jeon lets out a sound that's caught between amusement and irritation. "Yeah. You never know what to expect with that psycho. There was this one time when he—"

He cuts himself off abruptly. You can feel how his muscles tense against your legs, probably kicking himself for almost sharing something personal.

"When he what?" You can't help pushing. The rare glimpse behind his walls is too tempting to ignore.

"Never mind." His voice goes flat, that familiar coldness sliding back into place.

The silence stretches again, pregnant with all the things he won't say. It's strange, catching these tiny cracks in his perfect ice-prince facade. Makes you wonder what other stories he's keeping locked away.

As you move deeper into the forest, his competitive side starts showing through. He explains the rules like he's briefing for a real mission, all strategy and tactics.

"...And the objective?" You ask, trying to piece it all together.

"Last team standing wins." His voice rumbles through his back against your chest. "Or take out the opposing leader—me or V."

"Makes sense." You nod, hyper-aware of how his voice ricochets through you. "But why so intense? It's just paintball, right?"

The question slips out before you can stop it. But really—all this drama over some colored paint?

"It's never just a game." The edge in his voice could cut glass. "In our world, everything's a test. A challenge. We're constantly proving ourselves. You should know that by now."

His words sink in slowly. You do know—every day in this place feels like walking a tightrope, being watched, measured, judged. Even something as simple as paintball becomes another arena to prove your worth.

"This is exhausting," you mutter, and you actually mean it. The weight of constant training, constant proving yourself—it gets old fast.

"It is." Something in Jeon's voice makes you wish you could see his face. There's a pause, then: "But it's necessary. Keeps us sharp. Survival of the fittest and all that shit."

The bitterness in those last words catches you off guard. It's weird hearing him talk like this—like maybe he's not totally sold on the whole 'constant competition' thing either. The thought of Jeon having doubts about anything feels like finding a dent in what you thought was solid concrete.

He continues moving through the forest like he was born here, feet finding paths you can barely see in the dark. The trees loom overhead, their leaves whispering secrets you can't quite catch. Soon, you are opening your mouth again before your brain can stop you.

"How'd you end up here?"

His stride breaks—just for a second, but you feel it. The air grows heavy again, pressing down on your shoulders.

"Circumstances. Choices." The words come out clipped, that familiar wall slamming back into place. "Same as anyone else."

You can practically taste the story he's not telling. Something dark and messy that turned him into this walking hurricane of a person. But pushing would be stupid, and contrary to popular belief, you're not that dumb.

"Right." You let it drop, focusing instead on how the moonlight catches on his silver chain when he moves.

Jeon picks up speed, and the trees seem to close in around you both. It seems to be a sign you are approaching your destination.

"So once we get the guns, what's the plan?" You try to break the weird tension that's settled between you.

"Find high ground," he says, voice low and focused. "Somewhere we can see everything but stay hidden. Sniping's all about patience and precision."

"And you think there's actually a spot like that around here?" You can't keep the skepticism from your voice. You've done your fair share of surveillance—good vantage points are rare as hell in this forest.

He just grunts, confident as ever. "I know this place like the back of my hand." He actually lifts one hand to prove his point, the moonlight catching on his rings.

It shouldn't be as hot as it is.

Silence falls again and the trees grow closer together, moonlight filtering through in weird patterns that make everything look kind of surreal. The darkness feels heavy, like it's trying to remind you both that you're not exactly on a fun camping trip here.

You watch him scan the forest ahead, all focus and precision. It hits you that this is his element—the quiet, the calculation, the waiting game.

"You really think this'll work against V's team?" The doubt slips into your voice before you can stop it.

"It's not about what works against them." He sounds almost philosophical, which is... different. "It's about playing to our strengths."

He pauses to lick his lip ring—a habit you're starting to notice—before adding: "Plus, I'm Chief of Tactical Assassinations for a reason. Best sniper in Kkangpae. Best in South Korea."

"Best in the whole country? For real?" You hate how interested you sound.

"Probably." His shoulders lift in a small shrug that makes you bounce slightly.

"Right." You roll your eyes. "Got any proof of that?"

"I do." The response comes quick, matter-of-fact. "They're all dead though."

A snort escapes before you can stop it.

Shit.

Okay. That may have been actually funny. But you're definitely not laughing at his jokes. He might have a sense of humor hiding under all that ice, but he's still an ass.

Jeon slows down as you reach what looks like the world's most underwhelming hideout—just a tiny hut tucked between the trees. His muscles go tense against your legs, like he's preparing for trouble. The way he lowers you to the ground is weirdly gentle for someone who usually acts like basic human contact might give him hives.

Your ankle screams in protest when you put weight on it, making you wobble slightly. Something flickers across Jeon's face—t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶c̶e̶r̶n̶ probably just annoyance at having to babysit you.

"You good?"

The question catches you off guard. Since when does the ice prince care if you're okay?

You manage a nod, not trusting yourself to speak without letting out some embarrassing noise of pain. He turns toward the hut but pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

"Tell me if you see movement." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Any movement."

Then he's gone, slipping into the darkness of the hut. You hear him moving around inside, probably doing some super-professional sniper inventory check or whatever the hell he does.

When he emerges, he's carrying two paintball rifles like they weigh nothing. You try really hard not to notice how the moonlight catches on his arm muscles as he moves, or how smoothly he closes the door with just a flick of his wrist.

He hands you one of the rifles, dark eyes scanning the forest with the kind of focus that reminds you why he's chief of his division. Then he just... crouches down again, waiting for you to climb back on.

The sight of him effortlessly holding a rifle while offering you a piggyback makes something in your chest twist. How dare he make this look so easy? How dare he be this capable and t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ this insufferable at the same time?

You sigh, swallowing your pride along with several choice words about the universe's sick sense of humor, and climb back onto his back. His body is warm against yours and you hate that you notice. You hate even more that he's not even breaking a sweat carrying both you and the gear.

Stupid attractive jerk with his stupid perfect aim and his stupid strength. The least he could do is be ugly, but no—he had to look like that while being the most irritating person you've ever met.

Jeon stands like your weight is nothing—because of course he does. He adjusts the rifle with practiced ease, and you try really hard not to notice how effortlessly he handles both you and a weapon. It's t̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶i̶v̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ annoying how good he is at literally everything.

His movements fall into a steady rhythm as he walks, and you find yourself swaying slightly with each step. It's weird being this close to someone you can barely stand. The guy who's usually a walking natural disaster is suddenly all careful precision, like the calm before a storm.

The hill stretches up ahead, moonlight painting everything in silver and shadow. Somewhere in the distance, paintball guns are still going off. Sounds like V's twisted little game is still in full swing for everyone else who isn't stuck playing piggyback with their nemesis.

You watch the forest ahead, trying to focus on anything except how warm Jeon is against the cool night air. He moves through the undergrowth like he was born for this. The higher you climb, the slower he moves, until finally he stops altogether.

Without a word—because god forbid he actually communicate like a normal person—he crouches slightly. Your cue to get off this incredibly awkward ride.

"Here." His voice is barely above a whisper as he helps you down with surprising care.

You scan the area, taking in the elevated position and clear view of the forest below. It's perfect for sniping, which makes sense given who picked it. But something about being this exposed makes your skin crawl.

"This is way too exposed." Your instincts are screaming at you to find better cover. The entire forest floor is visible from up here, which means you're visible too. "We need something more concealed."

Jeon turns his head just enough to catch your eye in the moonlight. "Trust me."

Two simple words, but they hit different.

Trust isn't something that comes easy in this life. Especially not between you and Mr. Hurricane himself.

Yet here he is, asking for it like it's that simple.

You weigh your options, torn between your screaming survival instincts and his calm certainty. Finally, you give him a reluctant nod. What choice do you really have?

You can't help watching as Jeon sets up his position. The way he moves is t̶o̶o̶ ̶g̶r̶a̶c̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ irritatingly efficient, precise and purposeful. His eyes scan the terrain with a focus that makes your mouth inexplicably dry.

Because it's weird seeing him like this. The usual cold, intimidating chief is gone, replaced by someone who moves with quiet, deadly grace. Every shift of his body as he positions the rifle speaks of years of practice, of countless nights spent perfecting each tiny movement.

The hurricane that usually swirls around him has settled into something different—a gentle breeze that makes your skin tingle. It's... weird.

Almost peaceful.

You can't help studying him while he's focused like this. The way his dark eyes track every movement below, how his brow furrows just slightly when he's thinking. His silver piercings catch the moonlight when he shifts, and you find yourself leaning closer.

Just to see better, obviously. For tactical reasons.

Movement near the cache catches your attention. Jeon goes completely still beside you, the kind of stillness that reminds you he's literally the best sniper in South Korea. You lean in further, trying to see what he's seeing, and suddenly realize how close you are. Your shoulder brushes his, but neither of you moves away. You're both too focused on the target below, who's digging through supplies like they've got all the time in the world.

"Wait for it..." His voice is barely a whisper, warm breath ghosting past your ear. His finger hovers over the trigger with the patience of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

The poor soul at the cache has no idea what's coming. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

Then—bang.

The shot is perfect because of course it is. A splash of neon paint blooms on the target's back like some abstract art piece. They jump about a foot in the air, spinning around wildly.

"Dammit, Jeon!" The shout echoes through the trees. There's only one person who could make a shot that clean from such distance.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Even Jeon's mouth twitches at the corner—the closest thing to a smile you've ever seen from him. For a split second, a gentle breeze wraps around you both like a shared secret.

You nearly jump out of your skin when Jeon's eyes suddenly meet yours. For a heartbeat, maybe two, neither of you moves.

It's... t̶o̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ weird. The way his dark eyes seem to see right through you, how his hurricane wraps around you like you're in the eye of the storm. Too close. You're close enough to count his stupidly long eyelashes, to see the tiny scar on his cheek catch moonlight.

Then reality crashes back in. Jeon shifts away so fast you'd think you burned him, putting blessed distance between you. The barriers slam back into place—he's your superior, you're just some annoying ensign he got stuck babysitting during paintball. That's all this is.

You lean back too, trying to ignore the way your heart's still doing gymnastics in your chest. It's unsettling, this weird moment of... something. Not respect, definitely not that, but maybe a reluctant acknowledgment that there's more to him than just being an ice-cold asshole. The way he handled that shot, the focus in his eyes, the subtle pride in his posture—it's t̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶t̶e̶s̶t̶ annoyingly impressive.

Jeon's already back in sniper mode, all business again like nothing happened. But the air feels different now. Like the air has picked up speed, swirling with renewed intensity as if trying to blow away whatever just passed between you.

You watch him work, wondering when exactly you started noticing things like how his jaw clenches when he's concentrating, or how his fingers move with such precise grace on the trigger.

You tell yourself the shiver down your spine is just from the cold night air.

"I should leave." The words come out low, almost like he's talking to himself. He stands up, towering over you, a dark silhouette against the forest green. "Won't take long for them to tell V where I am."

"What, you scared?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

Since when does the great Jeon run from a fight? Especially with V?

"No." It's instant, defensive. His tone is laced with something like irritation. "With V, you play his game. I just landed a shot. He'll know exactly where I am the second he gets here." A pause. "That's why you're staying."

"I see." You answer automatically. Then your brain catches up.

Wait.

"Hold up—I'm what now?" The words come out sharp. "So I'm just bait?"

"Yeah?" He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like he can't fathom why you're even asking. "You'll draw him out."

"Didn't you literally just give me that whole speech about 'making do' and 'real situations'?" Your voice rises with each word. "And now you're using your teammate as bait? Real nice. Guess I was right—you are a hypocrite."

"Sometimes sacrifices are necessary." His voice is cool, professional. "Plus, between us..."

He looks at you then, really looks, and something in your chest goes tight. Those dark eyes of his catch moonlight like black ice, beautiful and deadly. His stupidly long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and when he blinks, it feels deliberate. Like he's giving you time to process what comes next.

"You're the expendable one. Here, and in real life."

"Fuck off." The words come out sharp and mean, exactly how you want them.

His eyebrow arches, silver beads catching moonlight like a warning. "Watch your tone."

You can feel the hurricane bearing down on you again. It sneaks through the cracks in your attire, scratching at the outer layer of your skin. It is oppressive, suffocating. Engulfs your whole being almost instantly, almost as if to blow you off balance.

"So you're really doing this?" Your voice cracks a little, caught between rage and something that feels too much like hurt. "Just leaving me here as bait?"

He doesn't even blink. Those dark eyes of his are cold and distant now, like you're just another variable in one of his calculations.

"It's strategic, not personal."

"Strategic." You let out a laugh that's more like a snarl. The thought of being nothing but a disposable piece in his game makes your blood boil. Being used by anyone would piss you off, but being used by Jeon? That's a special kind of infuriating.

He takes a step back from you now, creating physical distance as if he was uncomfortable. Maybe, somewhere under all that ice, he actually feels bad about this. But t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶f̶u̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ you're probably just seeing what you want to see.

"Stay low and keep quiet." His voice goes all authoritative again, his standoffish nature coming right back. "If V knows it's a trap, we lose our advantage."

You cross your arms, watching Jeon's figure fade into the shadows. Every cell in your body screams to call him out, to demand better than being left as bait, but...

What leverage do you have? The answer hits like a slap: absolutely none.

He moves like a ghost between the trees, that hurricane of his dissipating until you're left alone with nothing but forest sounds for company. His words echo in your head, each syllable of "expendable" burning like acid.

You try to shift position, searching for some way to sit that doesn't make your ankle scream or your pride hurt worse. Hard to do when you're officially demoted to bait in this stupid paintball game.

Stupid Jeon. How can he turn even mock battles into some grand strategic play?

Your jaw clenches. At least real bait doesn't have to deal with the indignity of knowing it's bait.

The forest is too quiet now, like it's holding its breath. You try to focus, to be the good little decoy he wants, but between your throbbing ankle and the rage simmering under your skin, concentration's a lost cause. Your thoughts spin like leaves in a storm, each one circling back to how much you want to punch that perfect face of his.

Then—something changes.

It's subtle. Just the slightest shift in the air, barely enough to stir the leaves. But every instinct you have lights up like a warning flare. You freeze, hardly daring to breathe as you strain to locate whatever's setting off your internal alarms.

That's when you feel it—thorny vines wrapping around your lungs, making each breath sharp and dangerous. V materializes from the darkness like he was born from it, moving with the kind of liquid grace that reminds you why he's chief of stealth. Before you can blink, cold metal presses against your neck—his paintball gun, a very pointed reminder of how screwed you are.

The speed of it leaves you breathless. Or maybe that's his thorny rose aura, squeezing tighter with each passing second. His mastery of stealth isn't just reputation—it's terrifying reality.

"Shh, shh, shh." His breath ghosts over your ear, playful and deadly all at once.

You hadn't planned on screaming, but the way his aura constricts around you makes you reconsider.

"Where's Jeon?" V's voice is barely above a whisper, but something in it makes your blood run cold.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to sell Jeon out—serves him right for using you as bait. But something in V's tone makes you think carefully about your next words. This might be a game to everyone else, but V... V plays different.

"He left me," you manage, voice tight. "Twisted my ankle."

The laugh that follows sounds wrong, like broken glass wrapped in velvet. His thorny vines squeeze tighter.

"Typical Jeon." The way he says it drips poison. "Once a traitor, always a traitor." There's history there, old wounds still bleeding. "Abandoning a teammate? That's cold, even for him."

The paintball gun stays pressed against your neck. Except... is it really loaded with paint? Your stomach drops as you realize you have no way of knowing. Not with V. Not when he's got that edge to his voice that makes you think maybe this stopped being a game the moment he spotted you.

Every instinct screams at you to run, but you're trapped between fight or flight, knowing either choice could end badly.

"He's not here then?" V sounds almost disappointed, like a kid whose favorite toy got taken away. "Pity. I was hoping for a proper reunion."

The gun against your neck suddenly feels a lot more real. You're not the target—you're just the bait. Again. Except this time, it's not just your pride at stake.

"Should've expected as much..." His laugh raises goosebumps on your skin. "No loyalty in that one, hmm? Makes you wonder what he'd do in a real bind. Leave you to rot, probably."

You stay quiet, letting V's poison drip. Each word feels calculated, like he's trying to infect you with his hatred for Jeon. His vines constrict tighter around your lungs with every syllable, and you can't help wondering what made these two hate each other so viciously.

"That's Jeon for you." The words drip with disgust, but V's smirking like this is all some twisted game. "Self-serving. Cold. Doesn't care who he steps on to get what he wants."

The way he's focused on his little villain monologue gives you an opening. Adrenaline floods your system as you make your move—one hard stomp on his foot. His yelp of surprise is almost satisfying.

You shove the paintball gun away from your neck, twisting out of his grip. For one glorious second, you think you might actually get away.

Then reality hits. Literally.

V moves like water, flowing around your escape attempt like he knew exactly what you'd do. Before you can blink, you're eating dirt, his weight pinning you down. The gun barrel presses cold against your forehead, and you realize just how badly you miscalculated.

"Not bad, dear." His grin makes your skin crawl. "But not good enough."

You're pinned, his weight heavy and his presence suffocating. His thorns dig deeper with each breath, and you can almost feel them cutting through your skin.

You're trapped, completely at his mercy, but damned if you'll let him see you scared.

He leans in close. "Let me give you a piece of advice." His whisper raises goosebumps on your neck. "Watch your back around Jeon. He's more dangerous than you think."

The warning in his voice sounds too personal, too raw to be just another mind game. Like maybe he's speaking from experience.

"Oh, I'm counting on it." The words come out steadier than you feel with V's weight pinning you down. You manage to keep your voice even despite the lack of oxygen making it to your brain.

Something flickers across his face—confusion, maybe suspicion. Those stealth instincts of his finally catching up, but too late.

SPLAT.

Paint explodes across V's back in a neon burst. His whole body goes rigid against yours, muscles freezing mid-squeeze. The look of pure disbelief on his face almost makes this whole night worth it.

When he turns to look over his shoulder, you already know what he'll see. Jeon emerges from the shadows like he was born from them, rifle balanced casually in those tattooed hands. Even playing paintball in the middle of the night, he somehow manages to look t̶o̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ irritatingly put-together.

He runs his fingers through dark hair, pushing it back from his face in a way that's probably supposed to look casual but comes off more like a shampoo commercial. The silver in his piercings catches moonlight, and honestly? It's just rude how he makes everything look so effortless. Like being unfairly attractive is just another one of his many talents.

V's weight disappears as he stands, and suddenly his whole demeanor shifts. The deadly predator from moments ago vanishes, replaced by that familiar chaos-loving trickster. His laugh rings through the trees as he claps, adorned with delight instead of danger.

"Bravo, Jeon!" V calls out theatrically into the forest shadows where Jeon now stands revealed. "Always hiding in the shadows like the snake you are."

Jeon's face is blank, but there's something razor-sharp in the way he moves

"Far better than always playing the fool to hide your incompetence, if you ask me." Jeon retorts sharply, ice crystallizing each syllable.

"Incompetence?" V's laugh has an ugly edge to it. "That's rich, coming from you. Can't even follow basic gang rules, but here you are, talking shit."

Something flickers across Jeon's face—too quick to catch, but his expression grows darker, more intense. Seems like V knows exactly where to stick the knife.

"A gang built on backstabbing might want to rethink its rules." Jeon's voice could freeze hell over. It's like the winds around him whip faster now.

"See, that's your problem." V tilts his head, a mischievous, lazy grin spreading all over his lips. "When I stab someone in the back, at least I don't cry about it after."

The smile he gives Jeon is pure venom—like he's referencing something that happened between them, something that left scars.

"Right." Jeon practically spits the word. "You only get emotional when you're the one getting fucked over."

They stare each other down, and you feel thorny vines trying to pierce through howling wind and rain. Finally, Jeon looks away first, shaking his head like he's trying to dislodge memories he'd rather forget.

Jeon's eyes find yours, and it's not concern you see there—more like he's doing some kind of damage assessment without having to actually ask if you're okay.

You don't give him the satisfaction of a response. He left you as bait, remember? Used you like some expendable pawn in his little game with V.

But something annoying nags at the back of your mind.

Because he did come back.

The moment breaks when Jeon looks away, that weird tension snapping like a rubber band. His typhoon-self settles back into its usual pattern as he stands there radiating smug victory. The paint splattered across V's back is proof enough of who won this round.

"That's it then. This round goes to me." He says it like he's commenting on the weather, not like he just outmaneuvered the most dangerous man in Kkangpae.

There's something almost boring about how he announces his win—no gloating, no pride, just checking another box on whatever mental list he keeps in that pretty head of his.

His eyes flick back to you. "Time to get you to the infirmary—"

"Let's not pretend you've suddenly gone soft, Jeon." V cuts him off, setting down his gun with this little head tilt that somehow manages to be both playful and threatening.

"Oh, please." The disdain in Jeon's voice is too evident. "She just needs to get her ankle checked, and it's not like she can walk there."

V steps closer, moonlight painting him silver. There's something otherworldly about him now—like some fairy tale creature that lures people into trouble with a smile.

"I'll take her to medical myself." His voice drips honey-sweet mockery. "Sounds more fun than whatever boring escort you had planned."

You watch Jeon consider this, weighing something in his head. After what feels like forever, he just... shrugs. Like he couldn't care less what happens to you.

"Sure." His voice is pure ice. "She's your problem now."

Then he just... walks away. No backward glance, no hint that he gives a single shit about leaving you with someone who literally had a gun to your head five minutes ago. The winds that seem to surround him dissipate with each step he takes, leaving you feeling weirdly hollow.

V turns to you with that signature grin of his—the one that's equal parts charming and concerning. He offers his hand with exaggerated gallantry, like some twisted prince charming.

He then scoops you up, bridal style of course because that's V for you, and you can't help but notice he's stronger than he looks. The transition from ground to air is smooth despite your resistance, but what choice do you have? Crawl to the castle?

Your eyes find Jeon one last time as V starts walking. Something in your chest twists when you realize he's not even looking back. You hate that you wanted him to fight this, to show something about handing you over to V. Your twisted ankle is his fault, after all.

But his face might as well be carved from stone. If he feels anything about this situation, he's buried it so deep even his hurricane can't dig it up.

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duachai · 7 hours ago

Text

HANA, DUL, SET : 108 - PARK SUNGHOON

my hands on you.

Girl(Boy), you should taste the water from your well

♱ PAIRING : PARK SUNGHOON X MALE READER ♱ CONTENT WARNING : This chapter contains explicit sexual content and mature themes. Stop and start after the 🤍 if you want to skip. ♱ AUTHOR'S NOTE : I know my choice of making Sunghoon a bottom is uncommon lol, but I had to, sorry not sorry. I'd like to think that they don't necessarily care who is inside who, but also I purposely made Sunghoon infatuated with M/n, so why would he not want that satisfaction? I just like the idea of seeing tall, little muscular Sunghoon completely faltering over his boy lol. But ladies and gentlemen... we are 2 chapters out from the end... how do you feel?

LINKS : Wattpad | Book Link | Masterlist

The courtroom was eerily quiet, save for the faint creak of the wooden chairs and the occasional shuffle of papers. M/n sat at the long, polished table at the front of the room, his mother seated beside him. Her hands were clasped tightly around his in his lap as she muttered soft prayers, offering strength as they waited for the proceedings to begin.

Behind them, the entire Enha team sat in solidarity. Their faces were a mix of quiet determination and subtle nervousness, with Sunghoon sitting at the edge of his seat, his hands clasped on top of his bounce knee in anticipation.

Coach Park, standing beside M/n, was the picture of calm professionalism. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat as the lead official, an older man with a weathered face and piercing eyes, called the session to order.

"We are here to review the appeal of Shin M/n for eligibility to compete in this season's volleyball league," the official announced. "Coach Park, you may present your case."

Coach Park stepped forward; his voice steady as he began. "Ladies and gentlemen, Shin M/n has demonstrated not only exceptional athletic ability but also a genuine commitment to improving himself as a player and a teammate. The events involving Fifty-Forty are regrettable, but they were instigated by individuals who targeted him unjustly. M/n has shown resilience and maturity since joining our team, and I firmly believe he deserves a second chance."

As Coach Park spoke, M/n kept his head down, his fingers nervously playing with the hem of the itchy girly sweater his mother had brought to him.

The official nodded, glancing at the papers in front of him. "While we acknowledge his recent efforts, there is still the matter of his history. Multiple altercations, both on and off the court; these incidents cannot be ignored. The league holds its players to a high standard of conduct."

M/n's heart sank as the official's words cut through him like a blade. "May I speak?" M/n asked quietly, his voice barely audible.

The official gestured for him to proceed.

Taking a deep breath, M/n stood. "I know I've made mistakes, and I take full responsibility for them. But I've worked so hard to move past those mistakes. Volleyball is everything to me and it's the one thing that's kept me going, even when things got tough. All I'm asking for is a chance to prove that I can do it, and I can do it right."

The room fell silent. M/n sat down, his mother giving his hand another squeeze.

The officials exchanged whispers; their expressions unreadable. Finally, the lead official spoke again. "After careful consideration, we have decided to deny this appeal. Shin M/n will not be eligible to compete this season. This decision is final, but we think it's too soon to be completely sure there will not be a repeat offense. As for the team, we will appoint a few substitutions in the meantime."

Of M/n's stomach dropped. The words echoed in his ears as the team behind him let out audible gasps of disbelief. His mother pulled him into a hug, whispering softly, "You're strong, M/n. You'll get through this."

The team exited the courtroom with him, their voices low as they tried to console him.

"That's bullshit," Heeseung muttered, frustration lacing his tone.

Jay nodded in agreement. "This really all Fifty-Forty's fault."

Sunghoon was the last to leave, walking beside M/n in silence. Once they were outside, Sunghoon stopped and gently grabbed M/n's wrist, his eyes filled with a mix of condolence and a little bit of anger.

"Come with me for a sec'," Sunghoon said softly.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the quiet streets as M/n and Sunghoon walked side by side. The others had gone ahead to the restaurant Coach Park had planned for dinner, giving the two some much-needed space.

M/n shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his head hanging low. "I fucked up," he muttered.

"You didn't," Sunghoon said firmly, glancing over at him. "They just don't know what they're missing. It's their loss, not yours."

M/n huffed a bitter laugh. "Yeah, sure feels like that right now." He kicked a loose pebble along the sidewalk, watching as it skittered into the gutter. "I worked so hard to get here, Sunghoon. And for what? To sit on the sidelines like some benchwarmer?"

Sunghoon stopped walking and grabbed M/n's arm, spinning him around to face him. His eyes glittered with intensity, his grip firm but not forceful. "Listen to me. You are not just some benchwarmer. You're one of the best players I've ever seen. And if the league won't let you prove that, then I will."

M/n blinked, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to make sure Fifty-Forty pays for what they did to you," Sunghoon said, his jaw tightening. "Every point, every set, every match, we'll crush them. And when we do, it'll be for you."

"Sunghoon, you don't have to-"

"I want to," Sunghoon interrupted, his voice softening. "Because you deserve it. And because I-" He paused, his cheeks tinting pink as he broke eye contact, looking down at the ground instead. "I care about you, okay? More than I probably should."

M/n's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. The vulnerability in Sunghoon's voice, the way his hand still lingered on his arm, it was overwhelming in the best way.

"Sunghoon..." M/n started, his voice trailing off.

Before he could say anything else, Sunghoon let go and took a step back, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make this weird. Let's just let's head to dinner, okay?"

M/n grabbed Sunghoon's hand before he could walk away. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For everything. You mean more to me than you realize."

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the world around them seemed to fade away.

But then Sunghoon cleared his throat and gave a small, nervous smile. "Come on, the others are probably waiting for us.

Reluctantly, M/n let go of his hand, and they continued walking toward the restaurant.

The restaurant was alive with chatter, the team settled around a large table with dishes of steaming food. The laughter and clinking of glasses almost drowned out the soft tension lingering beneath the surface. M/n sat quietly at the end of the table, poking at his food while trying not to feel like an outsider... again.

Across the table, Jake stood abruptly, drawing everyone's attention. He cleared his throat, his gaze flicking briefly to M/n before settling on the table. "Uh, hey, can I have everyone's attention for a sec?"

The team quieted down, eyes turning to Jake, who shifted awkwardly under the weight of their stares.

"So, uh... I've been kind of a jerk," Jake began, his voice steady but earnest. "Especially to you, M/n."

M/n blinked in surprise, sitting up straighter. "Me?"

"Yeah," Jake said, scratching the back of his neck. "I've been... suspicious of you. Like, I thought maybe you were just using us or something. But I realize now that I was wrong. You've been nothing but genuine, and you're trying your best to be part of this team. I should've seen that sooner."

The table was silent for a moment, everyone exchanging glances. Jake took a deep breath and looked directly at M/n.

"I'm sorry, man. I messed up, and I hope you can forgive me."

M/n's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Jake... I appreciate that. And I get it, I wasn't exactly open about myself when I first got here. But I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just want to be part of something again."

Jake nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "We want you to be part of it, too. Right, guys?"

A chorus of agreement rippled around the table, and M/n couldn't help but smile, feeling a little lighter.

Heesung, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly let out a dreamy sigh. "Wow, Babe. That was... so mature of you."

The team collectively groaned as Heesung leaned on the table, propping his chin on his hand and gazing at Jake with starry eyes.

"Here we go again," Niki muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Do you have to be like this every time I say something serious?" Jake groaned, but his ears were noticeably red.

"Can you blame me?" Heesung shot back with a playful grin. "You're like... the perfect man."

"Alright, that's enough," Coach Park interjected, barely containing a laugh as Jake buried his face in his hands, Heesung winking at him from across the table.

M/n chuckled softly, the awkwardness melting away as the team settled back into their usual dynamic.

As the plates were cleared, Coach Park clinked his fork against a glass, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, since this is a special night, I thought we'd make it even more special." He gestured to the waiter, who approached with a bottle of wine. "One bottle, strictly for the adults," Coach Park teased, raising an eyebrow at the boys.

Heeseung smirked, shooting a look at Jake. "Adults, huh? Define 'adult.'"

"Legally? Not you," Coach Park shot back, earning a chorus of laughter.

But as the waiter poured glasses for Coach Park and M/n's mother, Heeseung made his move. With a practiced sleight of hand, he stood up, pretended to drop something, swiped the bottle then walked carefully to the end of the table where M/n and Sunghoon was, "For the new couple." Heeseung whispered with a conspiratorial grin.

Sunghoon hesitated but grabbed the bottle and poured some into his empty soda cup, ultimately taking a sip, his nose scrunching up at the sharp taste. "That's... strong," he muttered.

M/n took a tentative sip as well, feeling the slight burn of the wine as it slid down his throat. He glanced at Sunghoon and couldn't help but laugh at his reaction.

"What?" Sunghoon asked, his cheeks pink, whether from the wine or embarrassment, M/n couldn't tell.

"You look like you just ate a lemon," M/n teased, his grin widening.

Sunghoon nudged him with his shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not used to this stuff, okay?"

The moment felt private, even amidst the bustling table. For a brief second, it was just the two of them, sharing quiet laughter as the world faded into the background.

As the night wound down, Coach Park stood to settle the bill, and M/n's mother gave him a soft pat on the shoulder. "You'll be alright, sweetheart. And I'm sorry I can take you home, but you'll sleep over at the Park's," she said gently.

M/n nodded, her words comforting even as the ache in his chest lingered.

When the team began gathering their things to leave, Sunghoon turned to M/n. "You're coming with me tonight."

M/n blinked, startled. "Sunghoon, I-"

"Nope." Sunghoon's tone was firm but kind. "You need a place to stay, and I've got one. Plus, my dad will kill me if I leave you on your own after today."

M/n hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Sunghoon's earnest expression. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Thanks."

The team exchanged knowing glances but said nothing, their goodbyes filled with warmth and encouragement as everyone dispersed into the night.

The ride to Sunghoon's house was quiet but comfortable, the hum of the car engine filling the silence. M/n leaned his head against Sunghoon's shoulder, watching the city lights blur together as they drove through the quiet streets. Sunghoon glanced at him a few times but didn't say anything, respecting the calm that had settled between them.

When they arrived, Sunghoon led M/n inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around them. "My dad's is gonna stay out for a bit," Sunghoon said casually, taking off his shoes by the door. "It's just us."

M/n hummed in acknowledgment, following Sunghoon upstairs to his room. The space was neat and organized still, just like the first time he came over.

M/n tossed his bag onto a chair and sat on the edge of the bed, stripping from the itchy sweater down to his shite t-shirt underneath. As he leaned back, he sighed. "Today was... a lot."

Sunghoon sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Yeah, it was. But you handled it. That's what matters."

M/n turned his head to look at Sunghoon, studying his profile. "You've been... really good to me, you know that?"

Sunghoon blinked, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. "You keep saying that. I'm not really doing that much."

M/n's chest tightened, a warmth spreading through him that he hadn't felt in a long time. "You are doing enough."

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the day slowly melting away. M/n laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sunghoon hesitated for a moment before lying down beside him, his movements careful and deliberate.

They lay there, side by side, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the room. After a few minutes, M/n turned his head to look at Sunghoon again, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Your bed's really comfortable," M/n said, his tone light and teasing.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. "Glad it meets your high standards."

M/n chuckled softly, and without thinking, he reached out to poke Sunghoon's side. Sunghoon flinched, a quiet laugh escaping him.

"Ticklish?" M/n asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Sunghoon lied, his voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

M/n grinned mischievously, his fingers darting toward Sunghoon's ribs. Sunghoon squirmed, laughing despite himself. "Stop! M/n, I swear-"

Their playful wrestling ended with Sunghoon pinned beneath M/n, both of them breathless and laughing. The air shifted slightly as their laughter faded, replaced by a quiet tension.

Sunghoon's face was flushed, his eyes wide as he looked up at M/n. "You're... really close," he murmured.

M/n's smile softened, his gaze searching Sunghoon's face. "Is that a bad thing?"

Sunghoon swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "No."

M/n leaned in slightly, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

"Can we... pick up from where we left off?"

🤍

"Mm," M/n hummed in agreement. Sunghoon's eyes fluttered closed as M/n's face inched closer, their breaths mingling. He could feel the warmth radiating off M/n's body, making his skin tingle with anticipation. Slowly, hesitantly, he tilted his head down, their noses brushing against each other.

He hesitated briefly, giving M/n time to break away and say no, but before he knew it the gap was closed and their lips pressed softly against each other's. The kiss was gentle at first, one that wavered all the pervious feelings away. But as the moment stretched on, Sunghoon found himself deepening the kiss, parting his lips slightly to allow M/n to do the same.

M/n met him halfway, their lips fitting perfectly together. One of Sunghoon's hand came up to cup M/n's cheek while the other stayed firmly planted against the mattress beside his head, careful not to put too much weight on him.

Sunghoon's shuddered as M/n's cold hands slid beneath his shirt, the surprising chill causing his skin to pebble and his back arch involuntarily. A soft gasp escaped his cherry tinted lips, followed by a quiet moan that mingled in M/n's mouth. "A-ah..."

M/n smiled into the kiss hearing a sound of pleasure. Sunghoon savored the feeling of the smile and saw that as an opportunity to return the feeling. Sunghoon's fingers, now ducked into M/n's t-shirt, brushed against one of M/n's sensitive nipples, teasing it gently before wrapping his fingers around the hardened nub, giving it a gentle squeeze. M/n let out a startled yelp into the kiss, his back arching further as he pressed his chest against Sunghoon's hand.

M/n's body throbbed for more.

Continuing the gentle torture, Sunghoon rolled the nipple between his thumb and finger, eliciting another breathy moan from M/n. He could feel M/n's heart racing between his palm, matching his own frantic rhythm. Their kiss became more intense, tongues exploring each other's mouth.

Sunghoon's other hand migrated to M/n's waist, his fingers exploring the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his pants. He could feel M/n trembling slightly against him, both from the sensation of his touch and the heat mounting between them.

"Sunghoon... please," M/n whined a a little, pushing Sunghoon's hand further down to his hard.

At M/n's desperate plea, Sunghoon's hand delved further into the waistband of M/n's dress pants, his fingers wrapping around the warm, hard length of M/n's erection. He gave it a few gentle strokes then spit in his hand for lubrication, feeling M/n's hips buck against his hand, "Like this?"

"Yes, just like that, sweetheart, fuck." M/n breathed, his hand resting on his forehead, his eyes closed and his face a little sweaty.

A small blush crept across his face at being called "sweetheart,' M/n's first pet name that wasn't said in teasing. With the guidance of M/n's free hand engulfed over his, Sunghoon picked up the pace of his strokes, his other hand palming himself at the same pace. He curled his fingers around M/n's length more tightly, his thumb rubbing the sensitive tip each time his reached the top of his stroke.

"M/n..." Sunghoon whined, unable to keep himself contained in just his pants. M/n leaned up, halting both of their movements for a moment. He attacked Sunghoon's skin with peppered kisses as he helped the latter out of his clothes and then himself. As their clothes disappeared, leaving them both bare and vulnerable, Sunghoon wrapped his fingers around himself again, mirroring M/n's movements as they sat knee to knee, stroking themselves in unison. He could feel the cool air against his heated skin, heightening the sensation.

With his free hand, M/n pulled Sunghoon closer by the locks of his hair. As M/n tugged gently on his hair, Sunghoon could feel his breath hitch in his throat. His arm wrapped around M/n's waist; forehead knocked together as they lips parted and moans spilled into each other's mouths, their bodies now completely entangled.

Their movements became more urgent, their strokes faster and tighter. The room filled with sound of their ragged breath and the wet, slick sounds of their hands working. Sunghoon could feel the heat building his stomach, his muscles tensing as he got closer to the edge.

M/n... I'm gonna..." He warned his voice barely a whisper, his face contorting with the effort of holding back. He could feel M/n's hot breath against his face.

"Go, baby... together," With a final stroke, they both bend over on each other, pleasure coursing through their bodies in hot waves. Their forehead pressing together, breath mingling, they rode out their orgasms with muffled moans, hands still wrapped around each other's sensitive lengths.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Sunghoon found himself still aroused, their mixed releases coating their fingers. He looked into M/n's eyes, seeing the same unquenched desire reflected at him.

They had time. They wanted more.

M/n found himself on his back once again. Sunghoon threw his legs over M/n's waist, straddling him possessively. His hands covered M/n's wondering ones over his body as he prepared himself with the bit of lotion he could find on his nightstand.

Their eyes locked intensely as he positioned himself, one hand supporting his weight on M/n's chest, the other guiding M/n's hard length to his entrance. M/n placed his hand over Sunghoon's, the other on his waist as he guided Sunghoon onto himself.

Sunghoon eased himself down slowly, feeling himself stretch open around M/n. A mix of pleasure and slight pain crossed his features, a quiet gasp and whimper escaping his lips. Once fully taken, he took a breath before lifting himself slightly, and then sliding back down.

"Fuck..." They said in unison.

The sensation of being filled so completely with M/n's length dragging against his walls with each movement was overwhelming. Sunghoon began to bounce on M/n's lap, his hands braced on his shoulders as he rode him hard and fast, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

M/n's hands gripped Sunghoon's hips tightly, assisting the swift movements with short thrusts, Sunghoon arched his back, tilting his hips to take M/n even deeper. Pleasure spiked through every nerve ending as M/n hit his prostate with each thrust, "Fuck, M/n... fuck." Sunghoon whimpered, his thighs clenching.

Leaning down, Sunghoon sprawled out against M/n's body, his lips taking back their place on his as he arched his back, keeping his pace fast and rhythmic. M/n whispered sweet nothing and encouragement in his ear. His body tensed, his muscles quivering as he continued to impale himself on M/n length, He could feel the sweat slicking their bodies together as they moved, their bodies intertwining.

As he rode M/n, Sunghoon could feel himself teetering on the edge one more, the pleasure building to a crescendo. M/n's lips moved against his, their kiss sloppy and desperate as they both chased at their releases. "M-M/n, I'm gonna come... please, fuck, please!" Sunghoon practically screamed, lifting off M/n as he rapidly sped up.

"Mm, go, baby," M/n encouraged. With a final, powerful thrust, Sunghoon buried himself to the hilt of M/n, and came hard, his orgasm hitting him like a truck. His body shook, his vision blurred, and his screams of pleasure were muffled against M/n's mouth.

🤍

Sunghoon slumped forward, his forehead resting against M/n's sweat-slicked chest, his breath coming in ragged pulls. His body felt limp with exhaustion, utterly drained from the intense pleasure they'd just shared. He could feel M/n's heartbeat against his chest, pounding just as fast he smiled to himself a little.

As they lay there, wrapped around each other in a sweaty, tangled mess, the room slowly cooled around them, but they remained motionless, lost in the afterglow of their intense lovemaking, "M/n.." Sunghoon whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Yes, sweetheart?" M/n asked, stroking Sunghoon's black strands from stuck on his forehead with sweat.

Sunghoon inhaled sharply as M/n tenderly brushed the sweat-drenched hair from his forehead, the gentle touch sending a pleasant shiver down his spine despite his exhaustion. He gazed up into M/n's eyes, a soft, loving smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Did I pass the boyfriend initiation?"

🏐🏐🏐

The next two weeks flew by in a whirlwind of drills, strategy meetings, and intense matches. The league season had finally begun, and the Enha team wasted no time proving their mettle. With each game, their chemistry on the court grew stronger, their movements fluid and synchronized as they dominated their opponents.

M/n watched from the sidelines with Coach Park, a clipboard in hand and a sharp eye on the games. Though he wasn't on the court, he poured his heart into supporting the team, offering advice during timeouts, studying their opponents' strategies, and cheering louder than anyone when they scored.

"Nice block, Heeseung!" M/n called out during their third match of the league, his voice cutting through the roaring crowd. Heeseung glanced back at him with a smile and a thumbs up before refocusing on the game.

Coach Park leaned over, his tone approving. "You've got a good eye, M/n. Keep it up."

M/n smiled at the praise, feeling a sense of pride swell in his chest. Despite not being able to play, he had found his place within the team, and it was more fulfilling than he had expected.

The final whistle blew, signaling another victory for Enha. The players erupted into cheers, huddling together in celebration. Sunghoon turned toward the sideline, his gaze immediately finding M/n. He gave a small, triumphant grin, his eyes shining with pride.

M/n clapped for them, feeling a mix of joy and longing. He couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to be out there with them, sharing in their triumphs on the court.

As the team exited the gym, Coach Park gathered them for a quick debrief. "Great work today, everyone. Keep this momentum going, and we'll be in the finals before you know it. Now, go home and rest up. We've got another match tomorrow."

The players nodded, their excitement still palpable as they grabbed their bags and headed out.

Meanwhile, news of Fifty-Forty's performance spread like wildfire. They were just as dominant, crushing their opponents with ruthless efficiency.

In the stands during one of their matches, M/n sat beside Sunghoon, their expressions tense as they watched Fifty-Forty dismantle yet another team.

"They're no joke," Sunghoon muttered, his jaw clenched.

M/n nodded, his eyes narrowing as he studied Fifty-Forty's captain. "They're strong, but they've got weaknesses like everyone else."

Sunghoon glanced at him, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "You're always thinking ahead, huh?"

M/n shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Someone has to."

The tension between the two teams continued to build, the inevitable clash looming closer with each passing match. The air was thick with anticipation, both on and off the court, as everyone braced for what was sure to be an explosive showdown.

The gymnasium was alive with energy, the stands packed with fans, their cheers reverberating off the walls. Signs and banners waved in the air, half supporting Enha, the other half cheering for Fifty-Forty. The tension was palpable as the two rival teams stepped onto the court; their expressions hardened with determination.

M/n sat on the sidelines next to Coach Park, his hands gripping the edge of his seat. His heart pounded as he watched his teammates stretch and warm up, their usual lighthearted banter replaced with a tense silence.

"You okay?" Coach Park asked, noticing M/n's rigid posture.

M/n exhaled deeply, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. I just... hate that I can't be out there with them."

Coach Park gave a reassuring nod. "You're part of this team, M/n. Don't forget that."

The referee's whistle cut through the noise, signaling the start of the match. The players took their positions, and the crowd roared in anticipation.

Enha started strong, their teamwork shining as they secured the first set. Heeseung's powerful spikes and Sunghoon's precise serves had the audience on their feet, cheering wildly.

"Let's go, Enha!" M/n shouted, his voice hoarse from yelling.

But Fifty-Forty wasn't going down without a fight. Their captain, a towering figure with a cocky smirk, rallied his team with sharp commands.

"Is that all you've got, Sunghoon?" Wonbin sneered after expertly blocking one of Sunghoon's spikes.

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, his glare icy as he repositioned himself.

From the sidelines, M/n bristled at the taunt. He clenched his fists, wishing he could step onto the court and shut Wonbin up himself.

The second set was a turning point. Fifty-Forty came out swinging, their aggressive playstyle rattling Ehna. Their constant taunts chipped away at the team's focus, and unforced errors began to pile up.

"Shake it off, guys!" Heeseung called out, trying to rally his teammates.

But the momentum had shifted. Fifty-Forty took the second set with a commanding lead, their fans erupting in celebration.

M/n felt helpless as he watched his team falter. Sunghoon, usually composed and confident, looked visibly frustrated. Jake's usual precision wavered, and Heeseung's attempts to keep morale high were met with silence.

The third and final set was brutal. Fifty-Forty's relentless attacks and flawless defense left Enha scrambling. The gym grew quieter with each point they lost, the once-boisterous cheers of Enha's fans replaced with murmurs of concern.

When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 25-18 in Fifty-Forty's favor.

The gym fell silent for a moment before Fifty-Forty's fans erupted into cheers. Their players celebrated on the court, high-fiving and smirking at their defeated opponents.

Enha, on the other hand, stood frozen, their heads hanging low. M/n's heart ached as he watched his friends walk off the court, their shoulders slumped in defeat. He wanted to say something, anything, to lift their spirits, but no words came to him.

Coach Park stood and clapped his hands loudly. "Heads up, team! This is just one game. Learn from it and move forward."

The team nodded half-heartedly; their spirits clearly crushed.

As they walked past the sidelines, M/n reached out and lightly grabbed Sunghoon's wrist. "Hey," he said softly.

Sunghoon glanced at him, his eyes filled with frustration and something else, something M/n couldn't quite place.

"You did great," M/n said, his voice firm. "Don't let them get in your head."

Sunghoon gave a small, strained smile and nodded before heading toward the locker room.

M/n watched him go, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and heartbreak.

The parking lot was dimly lit, the cold night air biting against Sunghoon's flushed skin. He had walked out to clear his head after the devastating loss, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder. His steps echoed in the empty space, his mind replaying the match over and over. The sting of defeat gnawed at him, but it wasn't just the loss, it was the way Fifty-Forty had dragged all of his work into their taunts.

"Sunghoon," a voice called out, sharp and mocking.

Sunghoon turned to see a group of Fifty-Forty players leaning casually against a car, their faces twisted with smug grins. Wonbin, intimidating, stepped forward, crossing his arms.

"Rough game," he said with faux sympathy. "Can't handle the pressure?"

Sunghoon ignored him and kept walking, his jaw clenched tightly.

But the taunts didn't stop.

"Still got your little cheerleader on the sidelines, though," another player jeered. "You think you can turn him out? Turn his little ass in your little personal fuck, 'casue it's not like he's better for anything else, right?"

Sunghoon froze. His grip on his bag tightened, and he slowly turned to face them, his eyes blazing. "Don't talk about him."

The captain smirked. "Why not? We know him the best. We don't blame you. I've had a try too. But it makes me wonder how long he'll stick around before he moves on."

"Shut up," Sunghoon said, his voice low and dangerous.

The group laughed, their mockery echoing in the empty lot.

"Or what?" the captain sneered. "You gonna hit me, pretty boy?"

Sunghoon dropped his bag and took a step forward. "Say one more thing about him. I dare you."

The tension snapped like a taut wire. Wonbin shoved Sunghoon, and before he could think, Sunghoon swung back. The fight erupted in an instant, punches flying as the other Fifty-Forty members joined in.

Sunghoon held his own, his movements fueled by anger and adrenaline, but the numbers weren't in his favor. A punch to his stomach doubled him over, and a shove sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Give it up, Park Sunghoon," one of them sneered, standing over him.

"Enough!"

The voice rang out, and suddenly the rest of Enha rushed into the scene. Heeseung and Jake pulled the Fifty-Forty players away, while Jay helped Sunghoon to his feet.

"What the hell is wrong with y'all?" Heeseung demanded, his voice sharp.

"Just teaching your captian a lesson," the captain said with a smirk before stepping back, his hands raised in mock surrender. "See you at the next match."

The Fifty-Forty players walked off, laughing amongst themselves, leaving Enha standing in the parking lot, seething with anger.

"You okay?" Jay asked, steadying Sunghoon.

Sunghoon nodded, wiping blood from his lip. "I'm fine."

Jake glared in the direction the other team had gone. "Those assholes... They're lucky we didn't take it further."

Heeseung placed a hand on Sunghoon's shoulder. "Why didn't you call us? You can't take them on alone."

Sunghoon looked down, his fists clenching at his sides. "They were talking about M/n. I couldn't just let it go."

Back in the locker room, the atmosphere was heavy. Sunghoon sat on the bench, a cold pack pressed against his cheek.

M/n rushed in moments later, his face pale with worry. "What happened? I just heard-"

He stopped short when he saw Sunghoon's bruised face. His eyes widened, and he dropped his bag, rushing to his side.

"Sunghoon, what the hell?" M/n asked, his voice tight with a mix of anger and concern.

"It's nothing," Sunghoon muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"Nothing?!" M/n crouched in front of him, his hands hovering uncertainly. "You're bleeding! Who did this?"

Sunghoon hesitated, then sighed. "Nobody... Fifty-Forty. They were... saying things. About you."

M/n's expression darkened. He stood abruptly, his fists clenched. "I'm going to-"

"No." Sunghoon grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Don't. It's not worth it."

M/n looked down at him, his anger melting into guilt. "This is my fault. If I wasn't-"

"Stop," Sunghoon said firmly, his grip tightening. "It's not your fault. I'd do it again if it meant defending you."

M/n's breath hitched, his heart twisting. He sank back onto the bench beside Sunghoon, his head in his hands. "You're an idiot," he muttered, but his voice was soft, almost fond.

Sunghoon chuckled lightly, wincing at the movement. "Yeah. Guess I am."

The echo of raised voices filled the otherwise empty gymnasium as Coach Park and Coach Shin stood face to face, their tense postures mirroring the intensity of their words. The aftermath of the parking lot altercation had brought them to this moment, emotions boiling over like an untamed storm.

"This is unacceptable, Shin," Coach Park said sharply, his fists clenched at his sides. "Your players are out of control! Attacking one of mine in the parking lot? What kind of example are you setting?"

Coach Shin's jaw tightened as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't stand there and pretend like you've got a team of angels, Park. I don't condone what happened, but my boys aren't the only ones with tempers. Maybe you should focus on keeping your own players in line."

"Keeping them in line?" Coach Park stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "My players don't corner others in parking lots to throw punches. They don't spew venom about someone's past just to get a rise out of them. Your team is toxic, and you know it."

Coach Shin's expression darkened, and for a moment, his guard slipped. "You don't know anything about my team or what they've been through. M/n is my son, not yours. They're misunderstood, Park. You're so quick to judge, just like you always were."

Coach Park faltered, his anger momentarily giving way to something more vulnerable. "Misunderstood? That's your excuse? I'm not judging them; I'm holding you accountable. You're supposed to lead them, to teach them. Instead, you're letting them become bullies."

Coach Shin let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "You think it's that simple? Not everyone gets to lead a golden team like you, Park. I've had to fight tooth and nail for these boys, to keep them from falling apart. I'm doing the best I can."

"That's not good enough!" Coach Park's voice cracked, frustration bleeding into his tone. "Your 'best' isn't protecting them. Not protecting, M/n. It's enabling them. And it's hurting people like Sunghoon and your son."

The mention of M/n's name seemed to strike a nerve in Coach Shin, and his expression softened, just barely. "M/n doesn't need you to fight his battles. He's stronger than you think. I know that best."

"This isn't about his strength," Coach Park shot back. "It's about the fact that he shouldn't have to keep fighting, especially not against people who should know better. He's already been through enough."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the conversation hung heavy between them, the silence filled with unspoken words and unhealed wounds.

"You've always been so self-righteous," Coach Shin finally said, his voice quieter now, almost tired. "Like you're the only one who cares. But you don't know everything, Park. You don't know what it's like to carry this kind of weight."

"And you don't know what it's like to lose someone because you refused to do the right thing," Coach Park replied, his voice steady but laced with emotion. "Is that what this is about, Shin? Are you still running from what happened back then?"

Coach Shin flinched, the words cutting deeper than he expected. "Don't," he warned, his voice trembling slightly.

"I'm not the one who left," Coach Park said softly, his gaze unwavering. "You did."

The tension shifted, the air between them charged with something far more personal than the fight in the parking lot. Both men stood there, locked in a standoff of old wounds and unresolved feelings, until finally, Coach Shin turned away.

"This isn't about us," he muttered, his shoulders tense. "It's about the kids."

"You're right," Coach Park said, his voice firm. "So, start acting like it. Fix this, Shin. Before it gets worse."

Coach Shin didn't respond. Instead, he walked away, leaving Coach Park standing alone in the dimly lit gym, his heart heavy with both the present conflict and the echoes of the past.

The last echo of footsteps faded down the hallway as the gym doors creaked shut. Coach Park stood alone in the center of the court, the faint hum of the overhead lights casting long, wavering shadows around him. The gym felt vast and hollow, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos of raised voices and clashing egos.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The court, once filled with the sound of squeaking sneakers and competitive laughter, now felt like a museum of memories, some warm, others sharp and aching.

His gaze shifted to the far corner, where a scuff mark on the polished wood caught his eye. It was nothing extraordinary, just another blemish from a hard-fought practice, but it tugged at something deep in his chest. He could almost hear the laughter, see the vibrant energy of a younger Shin, diving for a ball, flashing that cocky grin that had once made Park's heart skip a beat.

He closed his eyes, willing the memory away, but it was no use. The past came flooding back with the force of a wave, shared moments under the glaring gym lights, stolen conversations after practices, and the way Shin's voice used to soften, just slightly, when he was speaking to Park.

"Why did you have to make it so hard?" Park muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. His words echoed faintly in the empty space, a reminder of just how alone he felt.

His shoulders sagged as the weight of it all pressed down on him; the conflict with Shin, the responsibility he felt for his team, and the gnawing regret that had lingered for years. He thought he had moved on, buried those feelings beneath the demands of coaching and the passage of time. But tonight, it was as if every unspoken word and unresolved moment between them had resurfaced, raw and unrelenting.

Park's fingers traced the whistle hanging around his neck, the metal cool against his skin. He thought about the fight in the parking lot, about Sunghoon standing up for M/n despite the odds, and about M/n's quiet resilience in the face of so much adversity. He admired their courage, their ability to confront things head-on.

If only he'd had that same courage all those years ago.

He sighed, shaking his head as he turned toward the doors. His steps were slow, deliberate, as if the weight of the past made it harder to move forward. Just before he reached the exit, he paused, glancing back at the court one last time.

"I'm not the only one carrying this, am I?" he murmured, his voice tinged with both bitterness and longing.

The gym offered no answers, only the quiet hum of the lights and the faint creak of the floor beneath his feet. With a final sigh, Coach Park pushed open the doors and stepped into the cool night air, leaving the gym behind, but not the memories.

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