#probably especially since i can relate to it so much

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land Part 3

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here!

25.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: mentions of blood, mentions of guns/shootings/gunshot wounds, mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, CPR, mentions of jack's injury and losing his foot, anxiety about partner's safety, angst (kind of), very emotional, probably incorrect description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, reader wears Jack’s clothes, self-hate, Robby has been to therapy, fighting/arguing (no raised voices), unprotected PIV sex (BC implied with their committed relationship), allusions to sex and oral sex, discussion of end of life wishes, descriptions of nightmares, discussion of someone dying in front of reader, panic attacks, vomiting (very brief, not reader), discussion of scars/wounds, grief, mention of UTI, myrna, reader likes candles, Jack is the best, I had this idea and started drafting before we knew Jack was a widow so in this world he has never been married, no use of y/n or related, not really proofread.

Summary: Healing is hard. Emotions abound. Somehow life goes on. [Author continues to suck at summaries.]

AN: I am so sorry this took so long 😅 The vignettes have a bit of a different feel here because the way we are moving through time is much different and on a larger scale. But each vignette 'happened' before the scene it precedes. Part 4 is already like 75% of the way done so it will not be as long of a wait, I promise 😭 I know some wanted it all at once and I'm sorry it isn't, but I can offer as an apology the fact that because we're getting another part we're getting more content both in Part 3 and in Part 4!! Also I promise Quiet Part 2 is next up after Part 4. Thank you all so much for your patience and support and for reading!! Your replies and likes and reblogs mean so so much to me and I know we're all busy so I really appreciate you taking the time to read whatever it is I do here ♥️

After the housewarming party, life is good. You and Jack are still home together while you recover, in love and soaking each other in and planning France and dreaming out loud about your wedding. And healing. Individually and together. 

Things get harder though.

You’re both in therapy, yes, but you’ve been through a lot in the last month and a bit, and an hour a week only does so much. You’re both struggling, struggling a little harder now that the kind of honeymoon period of you getting home from the hospital has passed. 

You and Jack talk about it sometimes, about how things feel harder in a way all of the sudden now that you’re not focusing on being home finally and getting your place painted and all moved into. You think it’s just because you have lost some of that distraction. The reality of what happened starts to sink in deeper. Especially because things are ostensibly returning to normal but not really. 

Because normal isn’t being at home together while you’re recovering. You’re back to that hospital feeling of waiting. Waiting for you to recover enough for the next step to get taken. Jack going back to work. You going back to work. The return of your true new normal. 

So things get a little harder, emotions more intense. Some days it feels like you guys are taking more steps backward than forward. But you’re taking those steps in whatever direction together and you have each other and are in love and that’s all either of you need at the end of the day. Each other and your love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s day four. 

Four days now you’ve been in a coma. Four days with no signs of waking up soon, even after they weaned you off the meds that had been keeping you under to help you heal. No twitch of your fingers or toes, no flutter of your eyelashes, no little grunt, no breathing over the vent. Nothing. Just you laying there in a hospital bed. Technically still alive and with him, but are you really?

Jack stretches out. He hasn’t left the hospital since you got shot. Literally has not set foot out of the building, hasn’t gone to the roof or out into the ambulance bay or gone through the main doors to stand on the street. 

Dana brought him in clothes and toiletries. She brought some for you too, telling Jack that you’d want them as soon as you were awake. Half of Jack wanted to scream at her for tempting fate like that, now that she brought them there would be no use for them because you’d never wake up. 

And half of him wanted to just sob into her because he knows that as much as she did bring them for you, she brought them for him. To give him the option of smelling like you, or just smelling your shampoo to smell you for a second. To give him a shirt of yours to keep near his head when he tries to get an hour of sleep. It helped once. He was actually able to grab a couple of hours. 

It’s not the same though, because those products haven’t mixed with your body chemistry to become the unique scent that is you. But it’s better than nothing. Because until Dana had brought it in for him he’d forgotten what you smelled like. 

He’d forgotten what you sounded like too. The sound of your voice, the way you say his name. The way you say you love him. Your laugh. He just couldn’t hear it in his head. He cracked on day three and listened to a voicemail you left him, watched a video of the two of you that you’d taken one day. It was comforting to be able to remember what you sound like and what you look like when you smile, to have those little pieces of you back in his mind. But it was also a devastating reminder of what he might lose. 

Your things, the voicemails you’ve left him and the videos and photos you’ve taken together might be all he really has left of you at the end of this. The realization had made him dry heave a little.

Robby walks in as Jack is stretching, hands him a coffee and a brown bag. Breakfast. “You have to eat if you want the coffee or else it’s just going to shoot up your heart rate and give you more anxiety.”

Jack looks at him almost blankly as he sits down in the chair on the other side of your bed across from Jack. “I’m still a doctor, you know?” The words hit Jack. “A fucking shitty one apparently. I can’t even fix her. This shit is what I do and I’ve saved so many people but the one fucking person who actually matters.” Jack shakes his head. “And nothing.” 

Robby cocks his head at him. “No doctor could fix this Jack. She’s in a coma. You’re making sure she gets the best care possible. That’s all anyone could do for her right now, doctor or not.” 

Jack waves Robby off, takes a sip of the coffee but makes no move for the bag. It earns him a look from Robby that he ignores. They sit in silence for a bit. It’s hard to come up with things to say. But Robby knows Jack needs to start thinking about it. It’s still very far down the line but it’ll be better for him to start thinking and coming to terms with it now, Robby thinks.  

“Jack.” Jack pulls his eyes off you and over to Robby. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Deep down Jack knows exactly what Robby’s question means. But he doesn’t let himself go there. He can’t. Robby will have to spell it out for him. “What I’m going to do about what?”

“What you’re going to do if down the line she heals physically but doesn’t wake up?” Robby says quietly, as though saying it lower will make it somehow less painful, pull less of a reaction from Jack. 

“What the fuck is that? Why the fuck would you even bring that up?” Jack snaps at him. While you were awake after surgery you’d signed a healthcare proxy giving Jack the authority to make treatment and end of life decisions for you. It had been just in case. Better to have it because then you would never need it right? Wrong. “We’re so the fuck far away from that. She’s not even healed. You and Dana are the ones that keep saying ‘it’s only been four days Jack give her time’ and now you’re coming at me with this bullshit?”

“I’m not coming at you with anything. Just asking a question because maybe it’s better to start preparing now for something you’ll never have to do than to be unprepared.” Robby shrugs. 

Jack doesn’t say anything, just looks back at you. He scoots his chair closer so that he can hold your hand. You’re just so goddamn still. It’s unnatural. Even the way you breathe is, it’s mechanical. Chest rising and falling in time with the clicks of the vent. 

“I know that I don’t really know her, Jack, and certainly don’t know her well. But just from the little bit of time I have been able to get to know her I don’t think she’d want this Jack. Not indefinitely. I don’t think she’d want machines keeping her alive.” Robby watches Jack carefully as Jack takes in his words. Devastation is quickly covered by anger. 

“I don’t fucking care. She should wake the fuck up then and not leave this to me. Not make me fucking kill her.” Jack knows his anger at you is misplaced and a cover for how much this conversation is hurting him. Anger is just easier to deal with than heartbreak and grief right now. He sees Robby go to speak. “Just fucking don’t Robby. Don’t. You’re right. You don’t fucking know her. And I don’t care. I don’t fucking care if she wouldn’t want it because I need her. And having her here with me like this is better than not having her at all.” Jack knows how selfish he sounds, how selfish he’s being.

Robby doesn’t say anything, waits until Jack glances over at him, tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, asking him ‘really?’ without a word. 

Jack sighs and looks back over at you shaking his head. “No,” he whispers. “She would hate it. We fucking talked about it once, way before this when it was on some show or movie we were watching. It would be cowardly and selfish of me to keep her here like this forever, just so that I wouldn’t have to deal with completely losing her and could live in a perpetual delusion that she’ll wake up tomorrow.” Jack gives a short and hollow laugh through his nose. “Right before I left to go down to the ED and help, we… argued isn’t the right word, but I don’t know what is. She mentioned it, her dying. That if she had already died, in the OR or at the courthouse then I could be properly grieving, and I cut her off but she was going to say that I could be working towards moving on.”

Jack feels guilty for getting angry at you, for being selfish. He knows you’d understand and wouldn’t care and wouldn’t want him to feel guilty but it doesn’t help. He swallows thickly and then takes in a deep breath, squeezing your hand, praying you’ll squeeze it back, even just a little. 

“But there’s no moving on from her.” Jack shakes his head as he looks down at you. “The problem is that I don’t think I’ll be strong enough to do it. To sign the damn papers,” Jack admits, voice wet with the tears lining his eyes. 

Robby nods slowly. “You are now and you will be then, if that then does ever come. You will because it’s for her. And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two humans love each other as much as you do, the way you do. She would do anything for you. And I know you’d do anything for her, no matter how much it killed you inside. So I know that if that day ever comes you’ll be strong enough to sign for her, to do that for her.”

Jack’s silent for a minute, trying not to give into the urge to grab your shoulders and shake you awake. “I don’t know Robby. I don’t know how to talk to her like this. I try, but I just never know what to say other than I love her and please come back to me and please don’t leave me alone. And I hate it. She deserves more. For it to not be about me,” he whispers, stands and runs the back of his bent index finger over your face like he’s trying to memorize you. As if he hasn’t already. He’s teary, voice small and raw from all the tears he’s already shed. “So how do I let her be taken from me? How do I give her up, give up on her, tell her it’s okay to let go? How do I stand there and fight all my training and every instinct and just watch her die and know it’s my fault?”

Robby has to take a minute to compose himself because his heart aches for Jack. It’s hard to see your best friend, your brother, contemplating losing the love of his life. Even though all of Jack’s questions are rhetorical he answers the last one. 

“You don’t,” he says simply. “You get in bed with her and you hold her and find it within you to talk to her. Tell her all of your favorite memories together. Tell her what she means to you. Tell her you love her. And you stay there in bed holding her until she’s gone.” 

Jack takes in a shuddering breath as he sits back down in his chair. “Hope seems so worthless and useless right now even though it’s all I feel like I have left.” Jack grabs your hand again, brushes his thumb over your knuckles. “I hope I never have to sign those papers.” 

Robby sniffles a little, not crying, just emotional. “That makes two of us, brother.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think you should consider leaving your engagement ring here.” You and Jack are planning more for your trip to France, making packing lists. Well, you’re on the computer planning and making lists and Jack is chopping up ingredients for dinner. 

It’s been four days since the housewarming party. You feel like Jack has been more stressed lately, more on edge. Looking at you like he’s terrified of losing you again, like he did at times in the hospital and the first two days you were home.

“Why?” You pout at him from the stool you’re sitting on at the kitchen island. “I want to wear it and show it off and take photos with it on while we’re in France!”

“I know,” Jack hums lowly, his eyebrows raising a little as he focuses on chopping. “I worry about it getting stolen, you getting assaulted for it or something, especially in Paris.”

“But walking around with it on in Pittsburgh is okay?”

He sighs at you. He kind of hates that you said that because now it’s all he can think about. Whether he has put your life in danger for a third time by getting you a nice engagement ring. Because he’s already done it twice. When he didn’t check you over in the trauma room before letting you go and going to help Robby, and when he left to go down to the ED and wasn’t there to notice you going septic and throwing a PE. 

You’re the only one who would notice him stiffen the way he does, it’s so slight. You feel bad. You know he’s been struggling more the closer he gets to going back to work and having to leave you alone. Even starting with half shifts. And you know he’s struggling to talk about it with you because he doesn’t want to burden you with it or make you feel any guiltier. You’ve both fallen into that habit a little bit. 

“I really don’t think anyone is going to try to steal it off me or assault me to get it when I’m walking around with you.” You raise your eyebrows at him and give him a knowing smile, wait for him to lift his head to look at you once he’s finished chopping. He does. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He points the knife at you teasingly and holds your gaze for a moment before grabbing something else to chop and getting back to it.

“But I don’t want to leave it here Peter!” you almost whine. It makes Jack chuckle to himself a little. “I don’t want to argue about it, but I really want to take it. I like showing it off, like everyone knowing I’m yours.” That makes him look up at you again and you smile at him and nod encouragingly. You can see the possessive look in his eyes, the way he breathes a little bit faster thinking about it. But he just clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth at you and shakes his head as he looks back down. “Okay, how about a compromise?”

“A compromise?” Jack echoes.

“Yes. A compromise.” 

There’s a beat where neither of you talk, only the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board. Jack pauses his cutting and looks up at you. “Are you gonna tell me what the compromise is?” 

“I’m thinking of one,” you grumble, knowing how satisfied he’s going to be. 

“Oh,” he draws the word out teasingly, “she suggests a compromise before she even has one!” 

“I’ll come up with one, just give me a minute,” you huff. Jack hums at you again, keeps chopping. “Okay, yes! I have one. What if while we’re in Paris or whatever bigger cities or places you’d prefer I wasn’t wearing it on my finger you wear the ring around a chain on your neck? Even on the same one as your dog tags if you’re bringing them. People are much less likely to try to snatch it from your neck and run, plus it’ll always be covered by your shirt unless you’re going to start wearing deep v-necks, which I doubt.” You smirk. 

You watch Jack’s eyes slide from you to the wall behind you and glaze over. It’s clear he’s going back somewhere, you just don’t know where or why or what happened. The smirk slides from your face as it twists into concern.

He goes to say something but stops as your words fully process. Wear the ring around a chain on his neck. Like he did at your funeral. 

Jack drops the knife, it falls out of his hand and clatters a bit as it hits the counter. “Jack?” you whisper, your heart rate picking up. 

The nightmare plays on fast forward in Jack’s head, every emotion he felt when having it slamming into him all at once and making his head spin. With the massive flood of epinephrine, norepinephrine and cortisol all those emotions cause his body to release, Jack’s turning and leaning over the sink to be sick. 

It’s all too much. 

“Jack!” You’re off the stool and over by him in a second, rubbing his back. “Hey,” you murmur, “it’s okay, you’re okay.” You have no idea what’s going on with him, but have a feeling.

Jack shakes his head at you as he dry heaves a few more times, trembling like nothing you’ve seen from him before. “I’ve got you.” Your hand keeps rubbing circles on his back soothingly and it’s simultaneously comforting him and burning him, because it’s all too much. There are too many emotions. 

You were dead. He was at your funeral. It was so real. 

Tears start to stream down his face silently as he rinses the sink and his mouth. “We can get you to bed, okay? I’ll make you some broth if you feel up to it.” 

He can hear the anxiety in your voice, the worry for him, your love for him. He loves it, he does, truly, but it almost makes it worse because you were dead. And if you were dead, if you had really died, he wouldn’t have this. He wouldn’t be in sweatpants and an old shirt at home chopping things to make dinner for the two of you while you sit in the kitchen to be with him and plan your trip. You wouldn’t be rubbing his back and so worried about him. You wouldn’t be taking care of him and offering to make him broth. 

You simply wouldn’t be. 

Jack shakes his head and sniffles. He turns to you and your eyes widen when you see him crying, pain and a heartbreaking and agonizing sorrow etched into his face that threatens to bring you to tears. You immediately know what this is about. He doesn’t need to say anything. He’s not ill. But you’re not sure how to support him, what to say, what exactly is wrong. “Jack what’s-”

You’re cut off by him crumbling in front of you, grabbing at your forearms to pull you closer as he slides down the base cabinets to the floor, bringing you down with him. “I,” he tries to choke out, “I, I…” He shakes his head again. 

He can’t speak right now, and you know it. “Okay, it’s okay,” you tell him as you reach for him and pull him close to you as you press your back against the cabinet, letting him almost lay on you. 

Jack buries his head in your chest, careful not to press into your still healing sternum too hard, and clings to you, both arms wrapped tightly around you, one diagonal up your back, hand clinging to your shoulder for just a second before it slides over to your neck, two fingers pushing down. 

He’s looking for your pulse. 

“Oh, Jack,” you whisper, your own voice thick with tears now. “I’m here. I’ve got you baby.” You hold him just as tight, let one hand find his hair and run your fingers through it, scratch at his scalp at times, kiss the top of his head and nuzzle your nose into him in hopes of soothing him. Sometimes you rock a little, but you’re not sure if that’s more to comfort him or yourself. 

And you whisper little words of reassurance and, you hope, comfort to him. “I’ve got you.” “I’m here.” “You’re okay.” “I love you.” You hold him and let him weep into you. Let him keep his fingers pressed into your pulse point. Let him cling to you like you’re the only thing left in the world, because to him you are. You’re his whole world. 

It kills you, seeing him like this, hurting this badly. This deeply. You know it has to do with what happened, know that it’s been building up in him for a long time. That he hasn’t said anything about it, not because he was trying to hide it but because he just couldn’t. And you understand that. A whole lot.

“Here baby,” you murmur at one point, try to move his head a little which just makes him sob harder and hold you closer. “Shh, I’m not going anywhere, just trust me, okay? I think this will help.” You try again and this time he lets you move his head, lets you turn it to the side and move it over and then pull him back to your chest, keep your hand on the side of his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. He’s confused until he hears it. 

The rhythmic beating of your heart in your chest. 

It makes him tremble against you harder, clutch at you tighter. But you don’t care. You wouldn’t care if he held you so hard it hurt. You’d take on all the physical pain out there without a second thought and genuinely smile about it if it would take away Jack’s pain.  

It starts to pass the longer Jack is in your arms, ear to your chest listening to your heart beating, fingers pressing into your skin feeling your heart beating. It calms him. He quiets, reduced to only sniffles and hiccuped in breaths and swollen eyes and an ache so deep in his chest he’s not sure it can be fixed. But you’re with him, still holding him on the kitchen floor and brushing at his cheekbone and scratching at the nape of his neck and kissing his curls and whispering soft words of reassurance to him.  

You’re here. You’re in your shared apartment. You’re alive. 

You have to be, right? The sound of your heart beating and the warmth of your chest and your voice whispering quiet words to him has to be real. It would make sense for you to come up with the idea of him wearing your engagement ring on a chain around his neck all on your own as a compromise. It doesn’t mean he’s still in that nightmare and just starting to realize it. It means the two of you just think alike. Right?

You aren’t sure how long you end up sitting there on the floor together, his head pressed against your chest. It doesn’t really matter. You know he’s really starting to come down when his fingers no longer press into your neck to feel for your pulse. “I’m here if and when you want to talk,” you whisper. You don’t expect anything back from him and aren’t hurt when he remains quiet.

Eventually Jack pulls his head from your chest and looks up at you. After a few seconds of eye contact he pushes himself up and sits with his back against the base cabinet next to you. He wipes off his face with his hands and once he’s done, one of your hands immediately finds one of his and squeezes. He needs it. Little things like a hand squeeze from you to remind him that you’re still here with him. Eventually he lets his head tilt and rest on your shoulder. You turn your head, give him a lingering kiss to the temple and then rest yours on top of his. 

And then you just sit like that. For as long as he needs. Even when your ass goes numb and back stiffens a bit. You stay just like that with him. 

Jack loves the way you don’t press him. You don’t ask if he’s okay, or if he wants to talk about it, or tell him gently to talk to you. You just let him be as he comes back to himself fully. And he knows it’s not because you don’t want to talk about it or don’t want him to talk to you about it but because you understand that sometimes there is simultaneously too much and nothing to be said. So you let him be. 

After a while Jack takes a big breath in and slowly lets it out. You feel him pull his head a little so you lift yours up and look over at him as he looks at you. 

He looks wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. Eyes red and swollen, lips a bit swollen too. Mouth set and lips pulled just the slightest bit down, hair fluffier and more askew than normal because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. His shirt is wrinkled, part of the neckline darker than the rest of the shirt from his tears. He looks haunted. 

But mostly it’s the way he’s looking at you that really shows how wrecked he is. You’ve seen Jack look at you a lot of ways, with a lot of different expressions, especially recently with everything that has happened. Happy, sad, like he’s amazed and can’t believe you’re alive, like looking at you hurts him a little because it reminds him of what he almost lost and who he couldn’t protect.

But you’ve never seen Jack look at you like this. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe you’re alive, but not in an incredulous, happy sense. Jack’s looking at you like he truly cannot believe you’re alive, is scared to believe it even for a second. Like he doesn’t trust the world that you are in fact alive, doesn’t trust himself and his ability to know whether you’re alive. Like you’re a hallucination or a mirage, or a ghost who has been living with him and he’s just realizing it. Like you’re a dream he’s about to wake up from. 

“I…” Jack tries to start, voice raw, as unsure and questioning and wrecked as he looks. He just keeps looking at you like he’s about to come back to reality and you’re about to disappear right in front of his eyes, just cease to exist. 

He shifts and leans off the cabinet, gets closer to you and takes your face in his hands. Jack holds your gaze how he loves to do, lets his eyes burn into yours as though they’ll give him the answer to whatever question it is he can’t speak. 

You lean your head into one of his hands a little and then Jack’s kissing you, pressing against your lips hard at first like he was bracing to just move through air and never actually find your lips. It’s short, his head pulling back from yours for a second to look you in the eyes again before his eyes drop to your lips. 

Glassy eyes look back up at you, questioning. You nod slightly, because of course he can kiss you. And he does. 

Jack pulls your head back towards his as he leans in, both of your mouths opening just slightly. He takes the opportunity, licks into your mouth and starts devouring you, his head moving slightly with each kiss and slip of his tongue back into your mouth. 

It’s greedy the way he kisses you, nose smushing into your face as you both start to breathe hard, the sound almost lost in between the noises of pleasure you pull from each other and the pops of your lips with each pass. Jack kisses you like he doesn’t believe you’re real. Like each kiss might be the last one he’s ever able to give you, like it’ll never be enough, like he’ll never have enough of you. It’s not something you’ve ever felt from him before. You can tell he’s scared in a way but you aren’t sure about what exactly. 

He keeps kissing you but his hands drop from your face to grab at the hem of your shirt, start sliding it up your body, stopping to pop the clasp of your bra as he works the shirt up and eventually over your head, helps you shrug your bra off. You expect his lips to return to yours immediately but they don’t. 

Jack stands as he tosses your shirt and bra to the side, hands reaching down for you and helping to get you up on your feet. Before you can say anything his hands are on your hips and his lips are back on yours. He walks you backwards to the kitchen table until your ass bumps into the edge of it. Without breaking the kiss he moves his from your hips and blindly wipes off the table, sending some mail and books and whatever else happened to be there clattering to the floor.

He finally breaks the kiss to give you a chance to breathe and so he can check there’s nothing on the table. “Jack,” you breathe out with some surprise. He grabs your hips and helps you sit on the edge of the table before stooping to bring his face back close to yours. 

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, “please. Please, I need this.” He pushes his lips to yours once again, licking into your mouth once again. “I need to feel you.” He feels your hands at the hem of his shirt and moves apart just enough for him to get it off and throw it to the floor. “I need you.” It’s pleaded, desperate and needy, but not erotically so. 

“Of course, always.” You let him support you as he leans over you and guides you down until your back rests against the table. “You have me, you always have me.”

It’s quick then, the way he tears off your bottoms and then his. You wrap your legs around him as he leans back over you, chest to chest and kisses you again, like he can’t get enough, like each kiss is a surprise he wasn’t expecting to actually get. He grinds himself into you as he does and you respond in kind, tightening your legs around him and letting your hips buck as much as they can against him to search out more friction. His hands roam your body, pressing into you to feel as much as he can, groping at your breasts and squeezing your hips as his lips stay on yours.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, hand sliding between the two of you to feel how wet you are for him. “Can you take me like this?”

“Yeah,” you pant softly, “yeah, please Jack.” You wrap your arms around his neck, hands tangling in salt and pepper curls you adore.

He shivers at the way you say his name, his lips leaving yours so he can look down at you as his fingers run through you and then over his cock to slick himself up as much as he can. “I need to know you’re real and still here. I need to be close to you.”

Jack notches himself in you and then moves to rest on his forearms with his hands holding your face, forehead resting against yours before he finally pushes himself into you slowly. His voice cracks with emotion part way through the needy and relieved groan he draws out as he pushes in. 

“Oh Jack,” you moan as you take a breath in and feel it catch in your throat. 

Once he bottoms out Jack stills, the two of you panting against each other’s lips until Jack’s are claiming yours once again. He stays still, lets himself relish in the way you taste and how you feel around him, so tight and warm and fluttering as you adjust to taking him with no real preparation. 

Jack finally draws his hips back slowly and steadily pushes himself back in with a grunt. “You okay?” Even with as out of his mind for you as he is, how desperate and needy and frantic he is to have you he’s still checking in on you. Would rather die than hurt you, especially like this. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, Jack please. Need you.” Hearing that you need him has Jack pulling his hips back again, faster this time before snapping back in.

From there it’s all feral need and grunts and groans as Jack tries to be closer to you, to consume you, to be one with you. His strokes are hard as he tries to get as deep inside of you as he possibly can. His pace varies, keeps you on your toes, but it’s not deliberate this time. It’s Jack chasing what he needs from you however his body tells him, however feels right at that second. At some point one of his arms slides under your back, his hand wrapping over the opposite shoulder so that you tilt to the side just a little and he can pull you down onto him as he fucks you so hard your last clear thought is of concern he might break the table. 

Your hands tug at his hair, nails draw up his back when he starts mouthing at your neck, kissing and sucking, lips passing over the scar from your central line again and again. He rests his cheek against yours leaving his mouth near your ear allowing you to hear every little noise your body pulls from him. Jack is fucking you with pure need but it’s not an erotic need like it is sometimes when you tease him or he’s been thinking about you all day. It’s intimate. Jack needs you. He needs you. All of you.

Only you.

You’re so lost in the haze of pleasure that it takes you a moment to realize your cheek is wet where your and Jack’s touch. You realize he’s crying. “Jack?” You moan his name so sweetly for him, lace it with all the concern and worry and need you have for him. 

It makes him let out the smallest sob and breathe in hard through his teeth, shake his head a little against yours. He pulls his head from yours and looks down at you, hips slowing but not stopping. “Tell me you’re here,” a fresh wave of tears roll down his face and hit your cheeks. He’s unfairly beautiful when he cries. “Tell me this is real. That you’re real.” A few of your own tears slip out the corner of your eyes and roll down towards your ear. “Please,” his voice cracks, more of his tears joining your own on your face, “please be real. Please tell me you’re here and real and with me.”

You do. Over and over and over until his lips are back on yours and consuming you in a different way now. More confident, more convinced you’re real and here with him and letting him fuck you on your kitchen table to soothe himself and fix something inside of him he didn’t realize was broken. 

Letting him take solace from every part of you.

One hand slips between your bodies and with how well he knows you it’s not long before Jack has you soundless with pleasure for a moment as your orgasm crashes over you, voice coming back to moan out little whispers of his name, veiled pleas for him to take anything and everything he could ever need from you. 

And so Jack does. Lets himself give in and lose himself all the way in you, your name groaned with a relieved intensity you’ve never heard from him before, lower and more gravelly than usual right at your ear.

Jack works himself through it before stilling and resting his forehead back against yours, the two of you panting softly as you come down, bodies hot and sweat sheened and sticking together. “I love you,” Jack whispers, eyes opening and finding yours before kissing you, chaste but lingering. Just to feel you. 

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips when you’re able, hand running through his hair and scratching at his scalp. Jack kisses your lips again and then your chin, down your neck and to your central line scar, lingering there before kissing down to the highest part of your thoracotomy scar. “Bed?”

Jack nods, lifts himself off of you and pulls out gently. He steps back and helps you up and off the table. “I should take care of all this.” He nods to the kitchen.

You shake your head and grab his hand. “The carrots and potatoes can live there overnight and it’ll be fine. We can order something from bed.” You squeeze his hand and pull him gently so he starts walking with you. 

Jack pulls back on your hand before you can get in bed, flicks his chin towards the bathroom. “Go,” it’s not an order, just a reminder. “We don’t want my… whatever that was to be the reason you get a UTI. You really don’t need that right now.” 

You smile at him gently and nod. Even after all the emotional turmoil he just went through, still is a little bit from what you can see in his eyes, he’s still thinking about you and your well being and keeping you healthy and safe. “You’ll get in bed?” 

He nods and drops your hand, sits on the edge and takes his prosthetic off as you go pee. He’s leaning against the headboard and staring into space when you get into bed. You slide up next to him so that your legs touch and lean back against the headboard, let your hand rest on his thigh and give it a little squeeze so he knows you’re here for whatever he might need.

“When you were in a coma,” Jack starts, voice strained and raw, “I started having nightmares.” He rests his hand on top of yours. You close your eyes and bow your head a little, heart sinking. “Some weren’t completely awful. But the one I got the most…” he trails off and shakes his head, grows quiet again. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you remind him softly, lean your head over and kiss his bare shoulder. 

“I know, but I want to. At least enough to explain what that was.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Jack.”

“I know but I want to tell you.” He pauses for a second. “The worst, and of course most frequent, one was where you died in the OR. And I had to hold your lifeless body and somehow force myself to walk away from you. In the nightmare I’m thinking back on that while I’m sitting at your funeral.” You blink away tears because you can’t even imagine the level of pain that must have caused him. Multiple times. “The details, I… They don’t really matter, right now. In the nightmare I wore your engagement ring, the one that never got to go on your finger because I never go to ask, I wore it on a chain around my neck.”

“Oh fuck Jack,” you cringe, closing your eyes and squeezing his thigh tight and hating yourself. “I am so fucking sorry.”

Jack finally turns his head to look over at you. “Don’t be. Seriously. You had no way of knowing.” You appreciate him saying it but it doesn’t stop the guilt that builds inside of you. You were the reason he had the nightmare in the first place and now you’re the reason he had to go right back there. “So when you, when it got brought up, it just made it all hit me again, all the emotions from that nightmare and it made me panic almost. That this wasn’t real, that you weren’t. And I lost it a bit and so I did whatever that was and then needed to be as close to you as possible.” He shrugs a little. “I needed to know you were real.” 

Jack’s hand slides under yours and picks it up, laces your fingers together and squeezes. You feel vaguely lightheaded by his admission and then berate yourself and feel guiltier for thinking about yourself when this is about Jack and him still needing you. “I,” you try to find words to say, “I’m sorry,” Jack shakes his head but you continue, “I can’t even begin to imagine how painful that must have been.” You pause and have to look away from him for a moment, can feel his eyes remain on you. “Or maybe I can, to some extent at least, and that’s why I’m sorry and wish I could take it all away from you, make sure it never happens again.”

“That one has only happened once since you’ve been home. The first night.” You feel a little relief at that, are able to look back up at him. “They’ve kind of changed though, honestly. It’s not holding your dead body in an OR anymore, it’s walking in the door from work or the store or wherever and finding your dead body on the floor or in bed or wherever. Complications. Something else random. Freak home deaths I’ve seen roll through work before.” He lets go of your hand to bring his hand to your face again. “I wake up and have to convince myself you’re here. I’ve gotten quite good at the art of taking your pulse on your wrist without you waking up.” He gives a little laugh through his nose, trying to infuse a little lightness. It doesn’t work. If anything your lips pull down a bit. “Sometimes I just lay awake for a while watching you breathe. Sometimes I cuddle up to you a bit closer to feel your chest rise and fall against mine. Sometimes I fall asleep counting the beats of your heart while I feel your pulse.”

You take in a shuddery breath, trying so hard to focus on him and helping him and being here for him and not on the way this is all your fault. “Do you want to talk or for me to just listen?” You don’t want to force him to truly discuss this with you if he’s not in the headspace right now and it won’t surprise you if he’s not.

Jack thinks about it for a second. “Listen, please.”

“Okay.” You nod at him. “I’m not saying this to start a conversation when you just told me you wanted listening but I just need to make sure you know. You can do whatever you need to do Jack. When you wake up from one. Wake me up. We can talk, we can just sit together, whatever you need, okay?”

He nods, pulls his hand from your face to wipe away the couple of tears that have fallen down his own during this conversation. “Actually when you shifted us earlier, in the kitchen. Pulled my head to your chest so I could listen to your heart. It helped a lot. I just didn’t want to hurt you, before. With your chest healing.” He tries to laugh softly at himself. 

You give him the best smile you can manage with all the guilt and self-hate swirling inside you. “You can roll me into whatever position you want so you can listen anytime.” You know he’s trying to keep the conversation light because he knows how hard hearing it is for you. But that’s not fair. You should be the one trying to keep it light for him, should be taking care of him. “We could get you another stethoscope to keep on your nightstand,” you offer. “Then you could really listen whenever you wanted.”

He gives you a little more of a laugh at that and it makes your small smile become a little more genuine. “Could, yeah. But I like having my head on your chest, feeling you. I think it probably helps ground me in its own way.”

“Makes sense.” You rest your left hand on his chest, push down a little extra hard with your ring finger so he can feel the band that lives there now. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy and that you didn’t have to. And I want to do whatever I can to help you because I don’t want you to suffer.” You stop yourself from adding the because of me that you want to so badly. 

Jack picks up your hand, brings it to his lips palm first and kisses the band of your engagement ring before flipping your hand and kissing to the side of it the best he can with the setting. He brings your hand to the side of his face and covers it with his as he leans into it. “You always help. Even when you’re just laying there asleep and don’t know it.” 

You give him a little smile and laugh through your nose, try your best to take his words to heart because you know how much he means them. Jack knows you’re struggling, he can read you like a book. But he senses that you don’t want to acknowledge it so he doesn’t bring it up. 

His stomach growls then which makes you laugh a little more and he huffs. “Ruined our moment.” 

“Nah,” you shake your head and pull your hand away and rub his stomach, push off the headboard to sit up more. “What do you feel like? Can’t have my man going hungry.” The smile you give him is genuine, all the way to your eyes this time and it makes him mirror you, that smile of his you love so much pulling onto his face. 

He widens his eyes at you for a second and raises his eyebrows and you already know what he’s about to say. “You.”

“Yeah, I walked into that one,” you click your tongue at yourself. Jack gives you a smirk. “I don’t think I’m going to be filling enough for that-”

“I could go for seconds. Thirds, even.” 

“Mm, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no.” You boop his nose and the way he scrunches his nose at it is so cute you could bite him. “Real food first. Me later, if you’re good.” He raises his eyebrows at you with a little smile. “What would you like? I’ll order.”

“Feisty. I’ll take it. Be so good for you so I can have dessert.” He nods all saccharine and put-on grin that makes you roll your eyes at him playfully. He thinks for a moment and then says the name of your favorite restaurant. 

You tsk at him and give him a really? look, but you’re smiling still, grinning, in fact. Like an idiot. It’s so sweet and so Jack, just one of those little casual ways he shows he loves you. 

“Whattt? I can’t want that?” 

“You can, but I don’t think it’s really your first choice, right now.” You shake your head a little as you speak. You start to slide out of bed and Jack whines, grabs at one of your arms. 

“Where are you going?” he pouts at you. 

“Gotta go get my phone so we can order, baby.” 

His pout lessens fractionally. “Alright, but hurry back.” 

“You’re very cute when you’re clingy,” you giggle at him as you get out of bed. He goes to make a smart comment back that he isn’t clingy but stops. He is right now and he doesn’t fucking care. He’s allowed to be. 

Jack has a favorite restaurant, just like you. Several, actually but you know the one that really tops the list. But you’ve also deduced that Jack has a favorite comfort restaurant that’s different from his favorite favorite. And you know what his favorite comfort meal from that restaurant is. So you add it, pick something for yourself and order it to be delivered before walking back into the bedroom with your phone. 

“Took you long enough,” he teases as you come into view. “What were you doing?”

“Ordering.” You toss your phone at him as you slide in and he unlocks it, reads it over. 

He swallows thickly and looks at you with glassy eyes. You make him feel more loved than he could ever possibly deserve, knowing him that well without him having ever said a word about it and doing it for him without asking. You give him a soft smile when you turn to look at him. “Okay?” 

“More than,” he whispers. “Thank you.” He pulls you closer to him so that you’re cuddling chest to chest, gives you the sweetest, simplest kiss. It’s everything. “You know,” he hums, starting to push you on your back. “I think you’re my appetizer and dessert.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How about the day we met? We consider that our first date, it’s our anniversary,” Jack suggests. 

You and Jack are lounging on the couch together, half watching your show and half discussing wedding things. You’re not making any real plans, just thinking and dreaming out loud with each other. 

You can’t help but tease him. “Is that because you only want to have to remember one date?”

He shoots you a look. “No.” He wags his head at you as he says it. “I just thought it was kind of sweet. That’s our day, you know? And it falls on a Saturday that year.” He waves his phone that’s open to the calendar app at you. 

You grin at him. “You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot.” You’re crawling into his lap as you sing it, running your hands up his chest to hold his face so you can cover it in kisses.

“So you’ve said.” Jack moves his head and chases your lips with his trying to get a kiss on the lips. “Multiple times.”

“Because it’s true,” you mumble against his lips as he kisses you, running your hands through his curls.  

“Yeah, yeah.” He playfully waves you off as you settle on his lap perpendicular to him, one of his arms resting against your legs, hand spread over the thigh closest to him. His other hand rubs up and down your back absentmindedly. “You thought about where?”

“Mm,” you hum, look down at your engagement ring, “not so much. You?”

“Yeah,” he nods, squeezes your thigh. “I was thinking the bookstore.”

Your eyes come up from your ring and look at the wall in front of you for a second before looking at Jack. He can’t be serious. You open your mouth to say something, but close it as you struggle to find the words. 

“I didn’t expect speechless but I knew you’d love the idea.” Jack smiles. He uses the hand rubbing at your back to gently grab the back of your neck and bring your face close to his as if he’s going to kiss you. He drops his voice and lets a breath of hot air fan over your lips. “I’m fucking with you,” he murmurs before pulling his face away a bit and releasing you, letting his hand come down to your back again, a huge self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“Jack!” He laughs at the shrill tone of your voice and the way you swat his chest playfully. 

“I really had you there for a minute,” he laughs as you fake pout at him. “But something I love about you is the way you were thinking so hard of a way to let me down without hurting me.”

“You did!” You huff at him. “I was sitting here thinking how am I going to explain to him that while I love our bookstore it doesn’t say wedding venue, nor do I want our wedding to be a near recreation of our first date with a bunch of extra people with us!”

Jack chuckles a little more. “I haven’t really thought about where either. Hard to think of where before you have a date to know the season.” You nod and hum, he makes a good point. “I only have one wedding requirement. And it’s not even really the wedding.” 

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow at him in intrigue. “What’s that?”

“I plan the honeymoon.” Both of your eyebrows raise at that and you cock your head at him. You don’t know what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t planning the honeymoon apparently. “And you don’t get to know where we’re going until we’re at the gate about to board.”

“How will I pack?” You look slightly stricken. “Jack, I love you and I trust you with my life, truly, but packing-”

“I’m going to give you,” Jack cuts you off with an oddly reassuring smirk, “two packing lists. You’ll make two piles. Once you’ve left to go get ready I’ll put one of the piles into a suitcase. That way I get my surprise and you’ve packed for yourself.”

You blink at him for a moment. “Jack,” you whisper, swallow hard and will away the tears you can feel forming. “You have this all planned out just to surprise me?”

“I thought you might like the idea, but it’s okay if you don’t.” He nods to emphasize that part. “But if we do decide to do it this way we’ll still talk about places of course, it’s not like I don’t want any input from you. I’ll just be the final decision maker.” 

“No, I love it.” The laugh you give him is breathless. “It makes me feel so loved and taken care of. It’s hard to wrap my head around.” You lean into him to give him a deep kiss. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“I think the general idea came to me a couple weeks after I knew I wanted to marry you.”

You beam up at him. “That long?” Jack nods. “Wow.” 

“Did you have a moment?” Jack asks you. You furrow your brows at him and shake your head slightly to ask him to explain. “A moment when you knew you wanted to marry me. That you knew you’d say yes if I asked. It’s okay if you don’t, honestly.”

“Of course I do!” You click your tongue at him. You let out a short laugh. “It actually wasn’t long after yours. Like two-ish weeks later, maybe? Things had been adding up, there were lots of things. This was just the first moment where I really consciously thought it.” You smile at him, wrap one arm around his neck so your fingers can scratch at the back of his scalp and nape of his neck how he likes. 

“You had just worked I think five nights in a row helping cover shifts. We hadn’t spoken on the phone that day, but exchanged some texts in the morning before you got home and went to sleep. And I could tell just from them that you were so beyond exhausted. My day, well. It was probably the worst and hardest day I had ever had at work and I felt so selfish but once I was able to leave I just went straight to your place. Without asking. So I knock and wait, get ready to leave because I know you’re asleep but then you open the door in your pajama pants, you’d clearly just woken up. And you give me this little ‘Hey Doll, come in’ as you open the door. I was frozen by that point. You took one look at me, grabbed my hand, pulled me inside and sat me on your couch and then disappeared. At some point you came back and gave me a tight hug, kissed my forehead and said ‘I’ve got you.’ And the next thing I know you’re stripping me and getting me into the bath you’d apparently drawn. You sat on the floor next to the tub with me. I still hadn’t said a single word to you at this point. Not even hi. And then you start talking to me. Just talking. I don’t remember about what. But you knew just from looking at me that I needed help getting out of my head. And as I listened I finally found my voice and was able to say I was sorry. You asked why and I said something along the lines of I was being selfish and knew you were exhausted and shouldn’t have come and made you do all this just because I had a bad day. And then you said, ‘Don’t apologize for needing me. Ever. For anything or for any reason. The day will never come where you need me and I am too tired for you.’ It wasn’t a big deal or a huge declaration. Just a casual fact you were stating. You knew what I needed just by looking at me. You didn’t care that I didn’t say a word to you while you did all this stuff for me. You didn’t ask what was wrong or for me to talk to you. You just met me where I was. And as you were helping me out of the bath and drying me off with a towel I just had the thought. I want to marry him.”

You wipe a few tears from your eyes. “Sorry, that was probably way more of a story than it needed to be to answer your question.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Jack murmurs. His eyes are glassy just like yours, a bit red. He gives a soft laugh. “I just feel kind of bad now that I didn’t give that much detail.” 

“Don’t.” You shake your head at him. “I promise, if I had been down on one knee on this floor that story would have been a whole lot fucking shorter.” 

That makes Jack laugh properly which makes you laugh properly. You turn a little and slide your arms around his neck to hug him, his arms sliding around you in return and holding you close. 

You nuzzle into his neck and then pull back for a kiss, let Jack deepen it as he begins moving to get you on your back on the couch, propping himself up on his elbows on top of you to keep too much weight off your chest and abdomen. You have to break apart for air but Jack goes straight to your neck, kissing and sucking and pulling all those pretty little sounds from you that he loves. 

“We have a date,” you whisper, hands tugging at his curls a little. 

Jack pulls back from your neck to look down at you, both of you grinning at each other. “We have a date.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jack walk into the Pitt together. He needed to grab some stuff and sign a few things and was going to have Robby drop it all off so he didn’t have to leave you. You haven’t been outside much since the shooting. But you convinced him that you guys should go together, that it would be good for him to see people. As long as he would drive you guys, which he would of course. 

Jack was weary at the idea. You seemed to be struggling a bit harder lately and he worried something about being in the Pitt specifically might be too triggering for you. He knows that you have a lot of unresolved anxiety and guilt about what happened still. And that, while you’ve spoken generally about feeling guilty for putting him through all of this, you, like him, struggle to talk about it with him because you see it as burdening him or guilting him.

But you reassured him that it would be fine. You’d been back to the hospital since everything for follow up appointments. Not to the Pitt, but if the hospital didn’t completely trigger you why would the Pitt? 

You feel a little twinge of something as you walk through the ambulance bay doors, the ones you’d come through that day. Jack can tell and he squeezes your hand, stops and pulls to the side. “You sure about this? We can leave, right now.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m sure. It’ll be good for me. I’m okay, really. It was just a little second of something.” 

He eyes you for a second but nods and starts walking you further in. It’s busy, nobody notices either of you as he leads you over to the break room. “You want to wait here? Shouldn’t take long. You can check the fridge. Anything with Robby’s name on it you can steal.” 

That makes you laugh, helps you relax. “I’ll wait here, yeah. Go do your thing, Dr. Abbot.” You wink at him. 

Jack lets out a little chuckle and shakes his head. “Don’t even start with me, Doll.” It makes you giggle as he leans down to kiss you. “I won’t be long, okay?” You nod at him, take a seat as he walks out. 

You scroll on your phone for a few minutes before your curiosity gets the better of you. You walk over and peek out the window of the door. It’s constant movement right now, people barely acknowledging each other as they rush to get somewhere else. You open the door and step out, just to look around. 

Before you’re even really aware of it you’re standing in front of one of the trauma rooms. That trauma room. The parts you can remember play in your head. Hugging Jack, Robby calling him over, you realizing what had happened and calling to Jack. And then nothing. Standing here you can only imagine what it must have been like for Jack, for him to have seen where you were shot and then watch you collapse. And then you made him live in the hospital with you for weeks. And now you’re making him stay home with you. Sometimes your guilt makes you feel like his jailer. 

Jack chats with Robby at the desk while he fills out one of the papers, gives whatever info it is HR so desperately needed to process all his leave correctly. Robby’s mid sentence when Jack spots you just in the corner of his eye, turns to see you standing in front of the trauma room. Jack leaves without a word to Robby and strides to you. 

“Hey,” he calls out as he gets close so that he won’t scare you when he steps in front of you and puts his hands on your arms. He sees that your eyes are a little glazed over when he gets a good look at you. “Why don’t you come over to the desk with me, yeah?” He’s not going to ask you why you were there like you’re a child who needs to explain yourself to him. He’s just going to redirect. “Yeah?” He asks again as he cups your face with one hand. 

“I just wanted to see. I, I got… curious. Just wanted to watch.” You explain anyway. “And then I was here.”

“That’s okay, Doll. You can sit at the desk with me, yeah?” 

You look around. There’s a chair against the wall a bit down, not facing the trauma room. “I’ll sit there. If that’s okay. Then I can watch.”

Jack glances over. “Yeah, that’s fine, that’s okay.” He walks you over to it, squeezes your hand. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

Being away from the room and back in Jack’s space snaps you back a little. “Okay, Peter.” You smile at him before he walks away. 

After a few minutes sitting there by yourself a woman rolls her wheelchair up to you. “And who are you that they’ve got sitting in time out?”

You glance around for a second to see if anyone’s coming after her and when nobody does you figure fuck it, and answer. “I’m Jack, um, Dr. Abbot’s fiancée.”

“Oh you lucky girl,” the woman smirks at you. “I’m Myrna.”

“Oh!” You smile widely at her. “Yes! I’ve heard a lot about you from Robby!”

“Have you now? Fruitcake’s talkin’ about me outside of this shithole. I knew I had that cocksucker wrapped around my finger.”

“Fruitcake?” You laugh. “That’s what you call Robby? Fruitcake?” 

“Yeah,” she nods. “He loves it.” Myrna gives you a conspiratorial wink. “He pretends it doesn’t, but I know it makes him feel things.” 

At the desk Robby looks up, sees you and Myrna talking and you laughing. “Oh that’s not good.” 

“Hm?” Jack raises his brows and then looks up. He smirks. “Not for you, but I think it’s going to be pretty funny for me.” Jack signs the last form and they both walk over to you. You and Myrna quiet as they get closer. 

“Myrna, are you harassing Jack’s fiancée?” Robby asks sternly, crossing his arms. 

“Not at all Fruitcake!” You answer for her. “We were just having a little chat.” 

Robby lets out a big sigh as Jack laughs. “See man, I told you. Not good for you, funny for me.” 

“Actually, we were talking and Myrna is free, Robby. She can be your plus one to the wedding! You said yesterday you were still looking!”

“That sounds perfect!” Jack smirks, clapping Robby on the shoulder. “I’ll let you see my vagina again for free Fruitcake,” Myrna offers, raising her eyebrows at Robby. 

Robby lets out another sigh and hangs his head. “The roof doth beckon.” 

You and Jack laugh while Myrna swats at him. “Ready Doll?”

“Yeah.” You look at Myrna. “It was lovely meeting you Myrna, I look forward to seeing you again.” You turn your attention to Robby, disguising your smirk with a warm smile quite well. “Bye Fruitcake!” You lean up and give Robby a quick kiss on the cheek as Jack snorts a laugh and holds his hand out for you. 

As the two of you walk away you hear Myrna giving Robby more shit.

“How come she’s allowed to kiss you on the cheek, cocksucker, but when I try you threaten to call the cops?” You and Jack laugh with each other as you walk out the ambulance bay doors to go back home. 

That night Jack thinks it’s a little strange, how long the shower has been running. And how it doesn’t sound like you’re in it. There’s no pause to the water raining down on the tiled shower floor, no slaps of water hitting against the floor suddenly when you step to rinse your hair or body, no muffled rain sound when you let yourself stand under the stream and soak. Only the uninterrupted sound of water raining from the shower head onto the tile. 

He glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand. You have to have been in there for at least thirty minutes. Jack looks back over at the bathroom door. It’s unnerving. Something is wrong. 

He gets off the bed, shirtless and just in his sweatpants. You guys had been winding down for the night before you decided to shower. He tries the handle. It’s unlocked. There’s an unspoken rule between the two of you that you can enter without asking if the door is unlocked. 

“Doll?” Jack calls to you softly as he opens the door. 

It’s like you don’t even hear him. Jack finds you in only your underwear staring in the mirror at your scars, one hand hovering over the bottom of the long laparotomy scar running up your stomach, another over your mouth, tears streaming down your face. Being at the Pitt today pushed you over some edge you didn’t realize you were so close to.

He knows now that you were using the sound of the shower to hide your muffled sobs. 

His eyes run over each of your scars, starting with the one up near your neck from your central line, that one fading quicker with how small it is, especially in comparison to the others. From there his eyes move down until he hits the scar from your thoracotomy. He traces the line with his eyes before he finds the laparotomy scar and lets his eyes drag along it. And then his eyes move over to the more circular scar. The bullet hole. 

“Doll, sweetheart,” Jack keeps his voice low as he walks into the bathroom. He steps over to the shower first and turns it off. Even that hardly seems to get through to you. He sees your eyes leave yourself in the mirror and flick to him for just a second. The tears start to fall harder. 

Jack walks up behind you so that his warm, bare chest presses against your back, his hands resting on your hips and lips kissing at your neck. Not teasing, just loving, soft and sweet and trying to soothe you when he knows words are only going to go so far. 

“What if you can never look at me the same way again?” You finally whisper, moving your hand from your mouth. 

You can see his brows furrow and a look of confusion fall over his face. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve kissed all of them, that you did the first time we had sex again after what happened. But I see you looking at them all, all the scars, whenever one is visible. And so what if you can never look at me the same way again, especially when they’re visible. What if my body is just always a reminder of one of the worst days of your life? A visual reminder that sends you right back there, that just, that just tortures you!” You let out a quiet sob. “What if that’s all you can ever see when you look at me?”

Jack takes in a deep breath and you can feel his chest press into you a little more as he does. He catches your eye contact in the mirror. “Doll,” he murmurs, “I think that you misunderstand why I look at your scars whenever one is visible.” Jack slides his hands from your hips around your front in a kind of backwards hug, pulls you back closer to him a bit. 

Your chin trembles a little. “Oh?”

He nods. “Will you turn for me? Sit on the counter?” Jack tilts his head a little so that it rests against yours. “You can say no and I’ll still tell you of course. You know I just like my eye contact.” He says it with just a hint of a smile and self-teasing tone to try and get you to smile. 

And it’s small, but it works. Your lips pull up just slightly for a second. You chew on the inside of your cheek for a second before you turn around and let him help you get you up to sit on the edge of the counter. 

“Thank you.” Jack steps between your legs and leans down to kiss your forehead. “You want me to grab your shirt?” He’s cognizant of the conversation you’re having and the fact that you’re topless, scars on display. You give him a little nod and he grabs it from the pile of your clothes you made to the side of the door. “I say your shirt, but I really mean my shirt, don’t I?” 

You’d been wearing one of his old shirts that’s a bit oversized on him, soft and worn in and smelling like him. You stay quiet and nod. Jack’s heart almost throbs in his chest at how much he hates seeing you like this, this upset. Your tears have stopped now though. Little victories. Once it’s on he rests his hands on the tops of your thighs, rubs his thumbs in what he hopes are soothing circles. 

“Your scars don’t remind me of one of the worst days of my life. Looking at them doesn’t send me back to the hospital or torture me. Pretty much the exact opposite.” This time it’s your brows that furrow. “They’re a reminder of what happened, sure. Of what I almost lost. But it’s that part that’s important. What I almost lost.” 

“You know what you didn’t have in any of my nightmares?” Your eyes widen a little because you know what he means, what he’s going to say. “Scars. You only had wounds, fresh, stitches still in them. No scars.” Jack squeezes at your hands. “When I was in that operating room holding your dead body, you didn’t have any scars. So your scars, looking at them, when I look at them, they don’t torture me or send me back to one of the worst days of my life. They tell me that you’re alive. They remind me how hard you fought to stay here with me. They remind me how strong you are. They remind me that you’re here with me, healing and living.” 

Jack moves his hands from your legs and sets them on the outside of each of your thighs on the counter, hunches over a bit and leans on them as he moves forward to kiss your forehead again. You bring your arms up and set them on either side of his neck, fingers playing in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Your scars are proof that you’re alive. And so your scars will never be anything less than one of the most beautiful and important and comforting things I could ever look at.” He says it so seriously, so firm and settled, looks you straight in the eye as he says it. It makes a few tears slide down your cheeks again. “Second only to your face and you in general, okay?” He nods as he says it. 

He brings a hand up to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “Can I give you a kiss?”

You nod as a couple more tears fall. Jack takes your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts your head up so he can kiss you. It’s gentle, soft and sweet and lingering as he just holds you there. He pulls back but then goes back for another quick one. 

Both you and Jack are surprised you haven’t started fully bawling into him, but there’s something in your chest that stops it from coming out like it needs to. You couldn’t describe it if you tried. 

“Bed? Or you wanna shower?”

It takes you a moment to answer. Not to decide. Just to answer. “Just bed, please.”

“Of course, Doll.” Jack steps back from between your legs and helps you get off the counter safely before taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bed. You both slide in and Jack takes his prosthetic off and gets an arm around you, pulls you into him as he leans up against the headboard. 

You let him, let your head rest on his chest and let his arms wrap around you and let him hold you close as you think about everything he said. You believe him, you do. You know he would never lie to you and when you think about it all it makes sense. You just wish it were the same for you. Wish you could look at them and feel something, anything other than crushing guilt. 

Because for you they’re a reminder of a traumatic event but more than that they’re a reminder of what you put Jack through. What you continue to put him through now as you try to heal physically and mentally. 

Sometimes, maybe a lot of the time recently, you go back to that place. That place where you just wish it would stop, be over for the both of you. Wish you hadn’t made it out of the OR or the courthouse. That place where your brain tells you that Jack would be better off without you, that it’s unfair of you to ask him to do this all with you, that he’s only here with you still because he feels some sort of weird responsibility for what happened to you, that even if he doesn’t think he could, he would survive losing you and he would properly grieve and he would move on and find someone else. Someone who’s less work, less of a burden. Someone who’s better. That it wouldn’t even be that hard. 

The rational part of you knows that those thoughts aren’t true. That Jack is here because he loves you, more than anything, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. That he would not survive losing you or properly grieve or move on. That if he knew he would tell you that you’re not work at all, not a burden, that he could never do better. That he had an entire nightmare about having to bury you and it hurt so bad that even weeks later when he thought about it he was physically sick and broke down in the kitchen. 

Jack doesn’t push you, just like you never push him. He does get worried though. He hates to see you cry but this silence is somehow worse. 

“You wanna go to the bookstore tomorrow?” He asks it just to ask. Just to fill the silence and help distract you and maybe keep you out of your head. Or from getting further into it. 

You can feel the vibration of him speaking as your head rests on his chest. “Hm?”  

He kisses the top of your head. “Bookstore tomorrow?”

“Maybe, yeah.” It’s an odd answer from you. “I don’t know.” 

Jack nods slowly. “It’s okay to not know. And I’m here if you want to talk or have me listen. Whatever you need.”

You hum at his words. “I don’t know anything anymore Jack,” you admit. 

You feel his arms hold you a little tighter. He doesn’t understand and something about the way you say it scares him a little. “What do you mean?”

The something in your chest that was blocking everything from coming out starts to crack. “I don’t know,” you whisper, high pitched and cracking. “I don’t know how to do this.” You pull away from him and move so that you’re sitting next to him with your legs crossed so that you can face him. 

“I know I’m in therapy. And I know it helps. And I hate to think about what I’d be like without my therapist.” You shrug, chin trembling and tears lining your eyes as you look at him. You look so sad and it kills him. 

“But I still don’t know how to do this Jack. How to heal, how to grieve. I don’t know how to heal the tremendous guilt I feel. And everyone says to let myself grieve and what the fuck am I grieving? I don’t have anything to grieve. I didn’t lose anything! Not like you. It’s not the same as what you went through. You lost a piece of yourself. I happened to get shot and spent time in the hospital and yes I almost died but I didn’t lose a piece of me. And so I don’t know what I’m grieving and I don’t know how to grieve or what I’m grieving or how to heal from this… this amorphous concept. This thing, that just happened to me. This event. And I shouldn’t need to! I shouldn’t need to grieve or heal. There’s nothing there. I don’t have anything to grieve or heal from, and I shouldn’t be like this! And I’m not trying to throw what happened in your face Jack, I’m not, I promise, and I’m not for a second saying you somehow had it easier because there was a more tangible thing to grieve, if anything it’s the opposite, you lost a piece of yourself and I lost nothing. You had so much to grieve and heal from, you needing to grieve and heal and struggling that makes sense. I lost nothing. I don’t even know what I have to grieve. I don’t know.” 

All the tears in your eyes spill over at once. You bring your shoulders up to your ears in a held shrug. “I don’t know, Jack.” He’s never heard you sound so small. Not even that ‘okay’ you gave him in the hospital was like this. The guilt and shame and embarrassment all flood you, make it hard to look at him. “I didn’t say anything even though I’ve been struggling because-” 

You shake your head, try to wipe some of the tears off your face, look down at your hands in your lap. “I just don’t know how to do this, whatever this is. And it’s like recently I’ve lost all the words to even try and begin to explain how I feel or felt. I lost all the words.” You force yourself to look back up at him because when you admit this and apologize you need to be looking at him. “I lost all the words and my head got so fucked up that I didn’t know how to ask for help, from anyone.” 

Jack catches the change in tense. You had said you don’t know but now you’re saying you didn’t, like somewhere along the way in this conversation, this admission, this time with him, you found the words again. 

You shake your head a little as more tears slip down your cheeks. You whisper now, voice thicker than he’s ever heard with emotion. “Not even you. I didn’t know how to ask you for help Jack.” You try to hold back a small sob through your teeth. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t know, I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-” You’re cut off by the wracking sob that you’re finally able to let out as that something in your chest shatters.

“Okay, shh.” Jack shushes you softly as he reaches for you while you let yourself fall forward into his chest, rolling on your side slightly to get your legs stretched out as he pulls you on top of him and cradles you against his bare chest. He isn’t shushing you to get you to stop, only for the comfort of it.

Jack hates this. He hates seeing you suffer so thoroughly. He hates the way he can’t hug you and put you back together, the way he can’t fix this for you, can’t take away your pain. Can’t take on all of the pain for you. Jack believes you when you say you didn’t know how to ask, knows that you weren’t trying to hide it from him, just like he wasn’t trying to hide his shit from you. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He repeats it as he continues to hold you, rocks with you at times like you did with him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” “I’ve got you.” “I’m here.” “You’re okay.” “I love you.” One arm keeps you close, his other hand rubbing your back in circles. He knows there’s very little he can do right now except hold you through it. 

With time, you run out of tears, exhaust yourself out of crying and just sniffle and hiccup into Jack. He keeps holding you, doesn’t push for more from you. 

“It’s just so hard.” Your whisper breaks the silence after a good five or so minutes. 

You can feel Jack nod. “Talk or listen?” he whispers. 

You try to think about it. You’re not really sure what you want. “I don’t know,” you admit, “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” You try to stop yourself from getting worked up again, the reality of one more thing you don’t know hitting you hard. 

“Shh,” Jack soothes you, “it’s okay, you don’t need to apologize and you don’t need to know. It’s okay. I promise.” His hands rub up and down your back and he kisses the top of your head. With how escalated you are right now he thinks eye contact will be too much so he just holds you tight as you are. “I’m going to talk. And if you want me to stop, just say so, okay?”

You nod. Jack takes a breath in as he tries to think of how to start and how he wants to say what he has to say. “You don’t ever need to apologize for struggling and not knowing how to ask for help.” There’s a pause as Jack realizes how guilty he feels about that. He knows he can’t focus on himself right now. You need him. “I think maybe we need to try and find something that you could do, that both of us could do honestly, that doesn’t require words but would let the other know we needed help. So then we don’t need words and can still get help.”

“Probably, would be good, yeah,” you mumble against him.

“Good. We’ll figure something out, promise.” He’s quiet for a moment to give you the chance to say you’ve talked enough for the night, but you don’t. “As for the other part, I know and understand and hear you when you say that you don’t know what you’re grieving and that you don’t have anything to grieve. But Doll, you do. You have so much to grieve, so much you are grieving even if it’s hard for you to see or understand right now. There doesn’t have to be some tangible loss like a foot or a person for you to have something to grieve. I hate it, and I wish that I could make it different and better for you, but you did lose a piece of yourself.” Jack feels new tears wet his chest but you don’t ask him to stop or make a noise so he continues. He knows he’s not what’s making you cry. That it’s just hard to hear and realize. “You lost a piece of yourself the moment that gun went off, and the moment you watched someone die in front of you,” he addresses the one thing you don’t talk a lot about because you’re not ready yet. It took a while for you to even be able to tell him. “And the moment,” he has to take a breath to steady himself because it’s still so hard to say, “the moment that bullet hit you, and when you almost died and over weeks in the hospital. All of those things take something from you, even if it’s not something tangible. You’ve lost a piece of yourself. And you’re grieving the person you were before you lost it. You’re grieving the you who didn’t know this type of violence, the you who didn’t know what it felt like to be shot, or what it felt like to be drowning in your own blood, or what it felt like to be septic or what it does to you to watch someone die in front of you or how it feels to see reminders of what you went through permanently on your skin. You’re grieving the person you were. And you’re grieving other things that I don’t know because I’m not in your brain. But those ones I said, those are ones I can see you grieving and struggling with and I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m being condescending or trying to define your grief for you, because I’m not. I’m just trying to tell you what I see in the hopes that it’ll help you be able to see, or give you a starting point.”

You shake your head against his chest. You know he’s not doing any of that, he didn’t even need to say it but you find it sweet that he did. “I know,” you sniffle. “I do. And it does help and somewhere deep down I know what I’m grieving, all of those things. Some things I probably can’t articulate. I just feel like I don’t know how to grieve. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to grieve obviously but I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s all the guilt making me feel like I don’t deserve to grieve or heal and should be stuck in this weird limbo forever or what. I just don’t know how.”

You both sit with your words for a minute. “I wish I had answers,” Jack finally murmurs. “But I’m not sure if anybody really knows how to grieve.” He tries to think of more to say that might be comforting or helpful. Before he can you speak.

“I got you all wet and snotty, I’m sorry.” You lean off his chest a little and put your hand under your shirt and bring it up to try and wipe him off. Jack understands you. You’ve talked enough for the night. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” Jack laughs softly, grabbing at your hand to get you to stop. “Two of the most benign bodily fluids I’ve had on me, and they’re yours. Plus, I think I’ve done the same to you recently.”

“That’s different.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” he shakes his head, gives you a little tap on the ass. 

“It’s true!” you protest. “I was wearing a shirt. You’re not. That’s different.”

“Still.” He knows you’re technically correct. “I did the same to you. And I’m pretty sure I cried tears onto your face while we were, you know… at the table.”

You burst out laughing. “While we were at the table? That’s what we’re calling it?”

“It’s not incorrect.” He shrugs, beaming just from hearing you laugh and being the one to pull it from you. 

“Well, actually, I think it was more you were at the table. I was on the table,” you point out. 

Jack shakes his head and smiles at you. “Prepositions are overrated.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jack don’t argue often. But you’re humans. Humans who went through a major trauma together. And humans aren’t perfect. Individually or as a couple. 

Neither of you even remember how it started. And you’ve somehow moved far, far away from what you were initially discussing and starting to bicker about. But you’re here now and things are escalating into a kind of argument. Even with the escalation you never raise your voices at each other, never yell. Still. It’s neither your nor Jack’s finest moment. 

Jack has never pressured you into going outside. He knows it’s still hard for you, knows how much it scares you. But he also knows that you really need to and that it’s never going to get less scary. He knows that he needs to go outside but doesn’t want to leave you, feels like he can’t leave you or something will happen like when he left you that time in the hospital. And you know that you need to go outside. It’s just so scary. You were shot. You’ve put Jack through so much, and when you think about outside you think about what if something else happened, when will it be too much for him, you can’t keep asking him to do this.

Jack isn’t pressuring you to go outside but he does ask. Again. In the space of minutes.

“I don’t want to, Jack.” Your tone has a snappy edge to it. You’re getting frustrated. At yourself more than Jack. 

“You’re going to have to go outside eventually, Doll. For more than me driving you to a doctor or therapy or the bookstore.” Jack tries to keep his tone even. He’s getting frustrated too, also more at himself than you. Something about his words stings when you know he doesn’t mean them to, know it’s because you’re escalated and more sensitive in a way. The way he says it makes it seem like he’s not doing those things with you, just driving you somewhere. Chauffeuring you. Like he doesn’t want to be doing it. “Around the block, please. Nothing major. I’ll be with you the whole time, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You shake your head from where you’re sitting on the couch, knees coming up to your chest. “I don’t want to. Asking me eight more times isn’t going to change my answer.” 

“I’m worried about you!” Jack stands across the living from you in jeans and a shirt. Actually dressed compared to you in lounge clothes that are effectively pajamas. “I’m not trying to pressure you,” you can’t help the little face you make at that, “I’m really not, I promise. I’m just worried. You need to go outside. Get some fresh air. You’re holding yourself hostage here. You’re holding me-”

Jack stops as soon as he realizes what he was about to say. But he knows from the look on your face that it’s too late. And he’s right. It hits you like a slap to the face, far worse than he even realizes or could imagine. Because you’ve never really explicitly or in any detail told Jack about the guilt you have from effectively asking him to do all of this with and for you, about how guilty you feel that his entire life has been turned upside down and that he was confined to the hospital and is now confined to home because of you, because you’re scared to go outside. About the guilt of feeling like his jailer. Or hostage-keeper, apparently.

It’s a silent type of panic. One that pulls a band around your chest and stomach making it hard to breathe and sends adrenaline through your veins to chill your fingers and toes and has tears hitting your eyes. 

“Doll, I didn’t-”

“No, Jack, finish the goddamn sentence.” Your voice is eerily calm now. Jack takes in and lets out a breath, tilts his head and goes to speak. “No Jack. Finish the fucking sentence.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know that. I wasn’t thinking when I said it, phrased it like that.” Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Phrased it like what? Like you resent me? Like you’re getting tired of me? Of having to take care of me?” You’re pushing some of his buttons now, a little more deliberately than he had initially pushed yours. 

Jack clenches his jaw and tries to breathe through his hurt and rising frustration. “I don’t resent you, nor am I getting tired of you or having to take care of you.”

“You just feel like I’m keeping you hostage in your own home?” It’s cold, the way you say it. Icy. The guilt eats away at you. You hate yourself for what you’ve put him through. 

“You won’t even try, Doll! I know you know I need out of this house and you won’t even try!” A push back at your buttons. Jack knows that it’s not a matter of trying. He knows it’s not that simple. Just like you know he isn’t growing tired of you or caring for you. 

“You won’t try leaving me alone,” you fire back. “I got fucking shot and I don’t want to go outside. So why don’t you try just leaving me here alone if you want to go outside that badly?” That one really hits a nerve, harder than you realize because Jack hasn’t directly expressed just how guilty he feels about what happened when he left to go down to the ED that time in the hospital. How fucking responsible he feels for what ended up happening, for you almost dying. How he thinks it’s completely his fault and could have been prevented, easily. 

“Because the last time I left you alone you ended up coding in front of me and coming a centimeter and a half away from dying!” Jack takes a quick breath. He hates himself for what he let happen to you. “You don’t even know what you don’t fucking know! I watched my best fucking friend intubate you and do CPR on you and shock you. I watched them crack your chest. I have seen your literal fucking heart.” That’s all new information to you and it makes you hate yourself a little bit more even though you know that wasn’t Jack’s intention. “I have sat by you while you were in a coma for five fucking days, all because I-” 

You cut him off before he can finish his sentence. All because I left you and so I wasn’t there to notice you getting sicker and to feel your fever before you went septic and threw a PE. 

“Oh well I am so sorry Jack, that I went to work and got shot and almost died-”

“Don’t.” The way he says it is almost dark, low and deadly serious, face set and eyes piercing the thick tension between you. That’s the line for him. The almost flippancy in your tone. 

Jack holds his hands up. “I need air.” You don’t say anything as he walks over to the entryway and puts on his shoes. “I love you.” He puts his hand on the door handle and pauses.

“I love you too.” The door opens, Jack walks out and it shuts, key turning the deadbolt to lock a few seconds later. 

The sudden quiet of your apartment is what seems to bring you back down. You take a gasping breath in as everything you said to him sinks in. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, tears wetting the back of it. You’re pretty sure you’ve never hated yourself more. 

You stay there on the couch, are stuck there really, unable to bring yourself to move. All you can do is cry and think about how to apologize to Jack. You start ruminating and edging toward panic thinking about whether he’ll be able to forgive you, whether you guys will be able to work through this. You know it’s panic and that you guys will be able to. That both of you said things you didn’t mean and that were designed as jabs at the other. But yours feel so much worse than anything he said to you. Even when Jack forgives you, you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself. 

Jack takes a couple of steps away from your apartment door but stops. He can’t. He can’t go any further. He knows he needed air and was right to step out and get some and help diffuse things between the two of you because that conversation was not going anywhere. But his fear is still there. So he walks back and slides down the wall right to the side of your door, convinces himself that this way he’ll hear you fall, if something happens. He’ll know. 

Sitting in the quiet brings Jack back down too, gives everything he said to you the chance to sink in. He runs his hands over his face and through his hair before bringing the heels of his palms to his eyes and pressing in. He’s pretty sure he’s never hated himself more. He gets panicky too, it gets hard for him to imagine how you could ever accept his apologies, how he could ever make this right. He knows that you’ll forgive him, and that you’ll work this out. He just doesn’t know how he’ll forgive himself.

Neither of you even cares what the other said to you. Not really. Both of you can hardly even remember what the other said to you now, in part because it doesn’t matter. It was said out of frustration and hurt and a deep grief, none of it was meant. Things just boiled over. And in part because all you can remember is the terrible things you said to the other. 

Jack doesn’t sit there long. It can’t be more than twenty minutes. You’re on your feet the second you hear the door start to unlock, walking closer to it and trying to wipe the tears from your face quickly. Jack pushes it open and looks at you, looks just as devastated as you feel and you hate it. He walks in and closes and locks the door. 

“I’m so sorry.” You both say it at the same time and it makes you smile a little at each other. You’re both moving then, walking towards one another until you meet and pull each other into the tightest hug. 

“I was so out of line Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.” Jack can feel your tears wet his neck and it makes him squeeze you a little tighter. 

“I was too. Way out of line. I didn’t mean it either. I’m so sorry, Doll.” Jack kisses the top of your head. 

The anxiety hits you a little harder being in Jack’s arms for some reason and you start to tremble. “I feel so awful, and I promise the tears aren’t manipulative or for guilt or to distract, I’m just so sorry and I hate myself for what I said and I don’t want to lose you.”

Jack frowns to himself. He’d like to have a strong word with whoever made you feel like you have to explain your tears. “I promise you that I never, for even a second, thought that. Now or any time in the past. I don’t want you to hate yourself, but I get it because I hate myself too right now. I don’t want to lose you either.” 

A few tears of Jack’s own slip down his face as he says it at the thought. “You’re not going to lose me,” you whisper.

“And you’re not going to lose me,” he whispers back. “Let’s go to bed.”

You pull away from him a little. “We can go out, if you just give me a couple of minutes to change-”

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t want to go out right now, I just want to be in bed with you, holding you close.” Jack brings a hand to your face and cups it, brushes some of the tears away. “I’m just as insecure as you are right now. Just as shaken. And not by anything you said. By myself, for what I said.”

You lean into his hand. “How do you always manage to do that?” Jack raises his eyebrows to seek clarification. “Read me so well. Know how I’m really feeling.”

He shrugs, like it’s simple and obvious. “You’re my favorite book. I’ve got you so well memorized you’re an easy read.” You give him a sad nod and look down at his chest. “Hey,” he guides your head back to look at him when you don’t resist. “That was so cheesy and deserved at least a pity laugh.” 

You give him the smallest one through your nose. You love this about him, it’s one of the ways he takes care of you when you’re upset, tries to make you laugh a little when appropriate to help distract your mind. Usually it works. You’re just a little too shaken yourself for it to right now. 

“I,” you try to find the words. “I’m not upset or shaken by anything you said either. I just want to make sure you know that.” 

“I do.” Jack nods. “Honestly Doll, I barely remember what you said to me. All I can hear in my head right now are the things I said to you.”

You give a slightly bigger laugh through your nose. “Same. I can only hear myself, only remember my words.” You know you’re preventing him from getting you in bed where he wants to be, but you have one last thing to say. “I don’t want that to ever happen again Jack, I don’t ever want to hurt you like that again, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, and I don’t want to hurt you or say things like that to you ever again. But right now, I think we hurt ourselves more than we hurt each other.” He leans down and you share a kiss, three actually, each one lingering, an apology, forgiveness given and declaration of love from both of you to the other. “We’re going to figure it out, okay? I promise.”

Jack’s promise is how the two of you found yourselves here. Couples therapy. 

It wasn’t one person’s suggestion. After the argument the two of you had been talking in bed, trying to work some of what you each said out. You both talked about your own therapy and it just kind of dawned on you both at the same time and you both agreed, easily, even laughing together when you said it at nearly the same time. 

You stand outside the office with Jack. You hate the term, feel like it implies something. But nothing is wrong between the two of you. Just the opposite. After your argument you both knew you needed guidance on navigating your guilt and healing as a couple, not just as individuals. Both of your therapists had recommended the same couples therapist when asked, one who specializes in helping couples who have gone through an acute traumatic experience together.  

Nothing changed after the argument. You were both clingy the rest of that day and for a few days after. If anything in some ways it made you guys feel stronger as a couple. But at the same time neither of you ever want it to happen again. 

So here you are. You know it won’t make you as individuals or partners or your relationship perfect because that’s impossible. And you both know you’ll hurt each other again as you heal from this and move through life together because you’re human. Neither of you expect perfection.

Jack squeezes your hand as you stand there. You squeeze back, hard as you let out a big breath.

“Preventive medicine,” Jack reminds you. You’d admitted to him one day how much the term couples therapy freaked you out and how you knew it was stupid and nothing was wrong with you guys or between you guys but it still freaked you out. Jack had suggested calling it preventive medicine, asked if that might help. You weren’t sure you were sold but knew you’d pick apart any potential name for it and preventive medicine was better than couple’s therapy to you for some reason.

“Nothing is wrong?” Sometimes you just need reassurance from him. He’s always happy to give it. 

“Absolutely nothing. I’m not mad or upset with you. I’m not hurt. I don’t resent you. I love you. More than I did yesterday, less than I will tomorrow, whatever the fucking saying is. We’re okay. I promise. And if we’re ever not, if we ever even get remotely near being on the same planet as not being okay I will tell you.” Jack kisses your forehead. “This is a good thing. It’s smart. They tell people to do this before they get married even when one of them hasn’t just been shot and almost died.”

You smile at him, soft and a touch somber, but a smile nonetheless. “I know. And thank you. I’m sorry, I know I’ve been so insecure and worried lately and asking for so much reassurance.”

“I’ve been the same,” Jack reminds you. You hum and shake your head as if to question him. “I have been, at least a little bit. And you give me reassurance. You don’t mind. You say you’ll give it to me as much as I need it, never take it personally because you understand. The same is true for me. I will give you however much and whatever type of reassurance you need as much as you need whenever you need and I will never take it personally. I understand too. I’d rather you ask than live with worry that could be soothed by asking, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You lean into Jack for a second and take in a deep breath. “Alright. I’m ready. I don’t know why I even had to stand here and become ready, but whatever.” Jack smiles to himself because he loves when you do that kind of self-commentary. “You ready?”

“I’m always ready for anything with you Doll.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack is obviously the first of you to return to work. It’s not something either of you are looking forward to really. In a sense you both are because it checks off another box on the return to normalcy. But you’re not looking forward to being alone and Jack isn’t looking forward to leaving you.

The two of you talk and decide he’ll start with half shifts, give you both some time to adjust back into things. He had been working days but he thought maybe nights would be better until you were back to work, you’d be asleep when he was gone that way. You were fine with it and so that’s what he worked out with Robby. 

It’s strange sitting on the bed watching him pull on black scrubs that have been folded so long they’re a little creased. It’s been a long time since you last saw him in scrubs. It makes you smile because it reminds you of life before the shooting. And he still looks incredibly, incredibly fucking hot in them. 

“What?” He smirks as he looks at you after pulling his scrub top on over his undershirt. 

“I didn’t say anything!” You give him a look of mock offense. You really are doing your best to temper your anxiety about tonight. 

He narrows his eyes at you a little and walks to stand in front of where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have to say it. I could just feel it.”

You lean your head forward onto his tummy and rest your forehead there for a moment before looking up at him. “That so?” He gives you another smirk and nods. “I’m not allowed to appreciate how good you look in scrubs anymore, Dr. Abbot?”

Jack steps back and takes your hands to pull you off the bed. “Of course you are. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it.” He uses one hand to hold your face before leaning in and kissing you, hard, a little bit of tongue. Just because he can. He pulls back just far enough so you can see each other and gives you another smirked smile before kissing your forehead and releasing you. 

The two of you walk back into the front room together, and you sit on the couch and fidget with your fingers while Jack looks through his backpack to make sure he has everything he needs. You grab your phone, try to distract yourself with it so he doesn’t feel you staring at him the entire time. You don’t want to make this any harder for him. Both of you know the other is just as anxious. 

Jack glances down at his watch. He needs to leave. The urge to pull out his phone and call Robby to say he can’t make it in is immense. But he, and you, know that this day has to come eventually. He walks over and sits next to you on the couch. “You gonna be okay?” He grabs one of your hands in his to help ground you, get you to focus on him. 

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” You try to give him a brave smile but you’re not sure how well it lands. 

“I want you to call me or text me if you need anything, okay? I mean anything. If I have to leave early then I have to leave early.” His eyes flit around your face trying to make sure he’s reading every little bit of you. “And if for some reason I don’t answer the phone, call the hospital, yeah?”

“I know Peter,” you murmur, bring his hand up to your face and lean your cheek against the back of his hand. “I’ll be okay though. Really. It might be hard at first but I’ll probably just end up falling asleep and then you’ll slip into bed beside me before I even know it.”

“I really hope so, Doll.” Jack leans in and kisses your forehead, lingers for a moment before he pulls back and looks back down at you. His brows are creased, mouth just slightly pulled down, eyes a little wider than normal. He’s concerned, worried about you. You hate seeing him like this. You know part of it goes back to his nightmares about coming home and finding you dead.

“It’ll all be okay in the end. You’re coming home to me.” You manage to give him a real smile, as small as it is, and it visibly helps him relax. 

He’s able to return it. “Yes I am. Always.” He stands up and you follow, walk him over to the door. 

“Text me when you get there, yeah?”

“Course. And you text me during the night if you need, okay?” You nod at him, give him another little smile as he pulls his backpack over one shoulder. He pulls you close to him in a tight hug, kisses the top of your head before letting you pull back and kissing you. “I love you. So fucking much.”

“I love you more,” you murmur before stealing another kiss. Normally he’d argue with you, but tonight he lets you have it. 

Jack opens the door and steps out and you close it behind him. You both know that if he turned and looked at you he probably wouldn’t end up going in. He waits to hear the deadlock before he takes a few steps away. He has to stop though and just breathe for a minute before finally setting off. 

You lock the deadbolt and then rest your forehead against the door, one palm flat on it. Tears hit your eyes and you feel so fucking ridiculous about it. Like some clingy, codependent fiancée who can’t stand to be away from her man for more than ten minutes. You try and remind yourself that this is okay, you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling and you being upset isn’t because you’re clingy or codependent. It’s because you went through a major trauma and are healing and it’s your first time truly being on your own since you were shot. You know this won’t last, that it won’t always be like this, but in this moment it feels like it will and it overwhelms you.

Your hand itches to undo the deadbolt and dart out after him, beg him not to leave you. But you can’t do that. This is something that has to happen. So you pull yourself from the door and head back to the couch for a second before getting back up to go do the dishes from dinner. You thought it might be a good distraction. Instead it just reminds you that he’s not here doing them with you. 

Your phone dings as you finish loading the dishwasher and washing the pan that can’t go in it. It’s Jack letting you know he got to work. He keeps typing, and you chew on your lip as you wait to see what he’s going to say. 

J - I just want to let you know that it’s slammed here tonight so I’ll probably be busy and not around a ton. But I’ll check my phone often even if I can’t always reply. So text me if you need to, or call me or the ED. I love you. 

Your heart falls at his words and some part of you feels selfish for it. It’s good. It’s good for him to be there and be busy and have that distraction and get back to normal. It just sucks you won’t have him to talk to much. You had tried to prepare yourself for this, tried to operate under the assumption that he wouldn’t be around much but a part of you, apparently a big part, still held onto the hope he would. 

There’s also the unspoken meaning of the Pitt being slammed. The chances he’ll get off on time are probably slim to none unless some miracle happens. You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re going to be asleep anyway. But will you really?

Jack is anxious to get a text back from you, glancing at his phone nonstop while Robby goes over the board with him. This was exactly what he did not want to happen. He didn’t want it to be slammed. Busy, fine. He appreciates the distraction it brings. He’d still be able to respond to you more even if not as frequently as he’d like. And slammed means the chances of him getting off in six hours are a fraction above non-existent. He knows you know that too. 

He also knows that he’s the lucky one out of the two of you. He can’t afford to be distracted here. So he has to do some kind of compartmentalization. It doesn’t mean he won’t miss or worry about you constantly. He will. He just has to force himself to stay present where he’s at. His inability to be distracted here is itself a distraction from his anxiety and missing you. 

It feels selfish. He knows that you don’t have the same luxury at home, if anything it’s the opposite. You have to try and find things to distract yourself so that you don’t end up getting too into your head. He knows that sometimes you struggle to come up with ways to do that, or that you think of ways but can’t convince yourself to do them. He gets it. He’s been there himself. And up until now he’d been there to distract you when you couldn’t do it for yourself. But now he’s not. 

So he’s anxious as he waits for a response. He knows you’re just staring at your phone trying to think of what to say. He’s trying not to think about the likelihood of teardrops hitting the screen of your phone and magnifying whatever they fall on. He’s trying not to think about what you look like when you cry like that, completely silent with the tears slipping down your face. 

You’re looking down at your phone enough that the first tear to roll off your face hits the screen. You shake your head at yourself. You need to get a grip. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Jack will be fine. 

You - I’m glad you made it there safely. Thanks for letting me know, I hope the night isn’t awful. Let me know when you’re on your way home. I love you

Jack feels better for about half a second when your name finally flashes on his screen. But then he reads your message. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back for a second before looking back down at his phone. He can feel your dejection through the phone. For his part Robby gives Jack space, doesn’t comment on it, intercepts a couple of people who want to welcome Jack back. It takes Jack a moment to decide on what to reply. He knows that it doesn’t matter what his reply is, it’s not going to make anything better. 

J - Of course. Don’t forget you have a couple new books on the kitchen table and all of wedding pinterest and the knot to explore. I love you more

His message does manage to pull a little laugh from you. He’s so sweet, your Jack. Reminding you of things you could do to keep yourself occupied and distracted. You look around the kitchen and take in a deep breath, try to hype yourself up. 

It’s going to be okay. You’re going to do this and be fine and Jack will be so proud of you. You can do this. You grab your laptop and settle on the couch, put a show you like on and start looking through pinterest like Jack said. It goes well at first. Until you see something you really like and go to turn your computer and look over at Jack to show him. The realization hits you then that you’ve only ever done this with him. 

Fine. That’s okay. You have books. You turn the TV off and go look through the stack, pick one out and curl back up on the couch. Reading also goes well at first until it finally hits you that you’ve been staring at the same page for quite a while now because it’s hard to see through your tears. You set the book down and feel so defeated. You want to be okay so badly, for Jack and for yourself. But it seems the more you try to be the more you aren’t. 

You check your phone. 7:47. Nothing from Jack, not that you expected anything, especially since effectively no time has passed since his last message. You don’t know why you can’t do this, why it’s so hard. And that just makes you more upset. 

You get up once you start sniffling from the tears and just take yourself to bed, curl up in a ball on it with a box of tissues and let yourself cry. You grab your phone several times, have to fight the urge to call him and plead for him to come home. You have to fight the urge to get up and grab an uber and show up at the ED. The only good thing about crying is that it’s exhausting, and the swelling of your eyes makes you feel even more tired. And so you slip under without even realizing it. 

When Jack finally gets a second to check in and look at his phone sometime around 10:00 he’s a little surprised to see nothing from you. It’s unlike you. Normally you’ll text him often throughout your day, even if he can’t reply. Just little things. What you’re doing. Something funny that happened or that you saw. A photo of something that made you think of him. A moment on a show he doesn’t watch but that you want him to see. But then he realizes the problem with his thinking. Normally. 

Normal at this point is synonymous with ‘before you were shot.’ Because nothing has been remotely normal since then. It’s all been temporary. The hospital was temporary. Him being at home with you was temporary. Even his half shifts are temporary. And you both want normal back. But it’s not. And even when it is you both know it’ll be different, and that’s okay. A new normal is okay. But you’re not there yet and so, Jack realizes, thinking about what you’d normally do is futile and deceptive. He is surprised he hasn’t gotten anything wedding related though. He thought you’d take him up on that suggestion, go on pinterest, send him things you find and like. 

J - Finally have a second. You doing okay?

Before he can even start to wait for your reply Parker is grabbing him for help with a patient and his phone is back in his pocket. He tells himself he’s just been moving a lot and so that’s why he hasn’t felt his phone vibrate with your message. But when he pulls his phone out at 12:23 and there’s nothing from you he can’t help the pit of dread that starts to form in his stomach. 

Flashbacks of nightmares play in his head. You dead on the kitchen floor. You dead in your bed. You dead on the couch. He stops himself. You must be asleep. You just fell asleep early. Hell, maybe you took some sleeping meds just to make it easier for yourself and were asleep before his last text. That has to be it. Even though he’s sure you won’t see it, because you’re sleeping, he sends another one with the news you both saw coming. 

J - Hope you’re sleeping well. I’m going to be stuck here past 1. I’m hoping for 3/3:30, at most 4. I promise as soon as I can get out I will. I’m sorry. Love you

You wake with a start, covered in cold sweat, heart racing, chest heaving. It takes you a minute to fully come to. You had a nightmare. You were back in that courtroom with gunshots deafening you as you tried to hide. And then that body collapsed in front of you just like it did that day but this time you do recognize the person when their face rolls towards you as they bleed out, eyes fluttering closed. 

Jack.

You think you woke up before you even got shot, though you’re not sure. You’ve never been able to remember exactly when it happened. All you know is you saw Jack’s face and Jack’s blood and then mercifully woke the fuck up. You take a second to try and come down, look over at your phone and see it’s just after 2:00 and Jack’s messages. Your heart is crushed a little by the disappointment of him being home late even though you expected it. If he had gotten off on time he’d have been here, might have woken you getting into bed, might have stopped you from having that nightmare and that image of him seared in your brain. You know it’s not fair to put that on him and you aren’t, you don’t blame him. You just can’t help but think it. 

It’s what makes you burst into tears, again. Your disgust at yourself for even coming close to thinking about blaming him. And then you’re crying about all of it. Tears of anger at yourself, tears of frustration with yourself, tears of despondency about getting better, tears of panic from seeing Jack in your nightmare, tears of sorrow that he’s not home, tears of disappointment with yourself that you couldn’t do this one night, tears of confliction about being alive. You wear yourself out again. 

But this time you don’t go back to sleep. Instead you get up and take a shower to rid yourself of the sticky cold sweat that covers you. You hold some ice to your face once you’re out, hope it’ll help with the swelling of your eyes and lips enough that Jack won’t notice, especially in the dark. You toss the copious tear soaked tissues in the bathroom garbage and put the tissue box back where it was so that Jack won't see anything amiss and crawl back into bed. The exhaustion of crying pulls you under again. 

Jack’s out at 3:13. He hates it. He’s still on edge because still nothing from you even though he didn’t expect anything. He lets you know he's on his way home anyway. He cannot be home and have eyes on you soon enough. The drive is at least short at this time of night. There’s no lights on when he opens the door. Part of him is relieved because that would make sense if you were sleeping. But part of him is just put more on edge by the darkness. He doesn’t let himself think about it much, drops his backpack and gets his shoes off quickly and then is heading for your room. 

As much as he wants to, he doesn’t turn the overhead light on. He can make out your form on the bed so he steps over to the bathroom and reaches in to flick the light on, leaves the door open to give him just enough light in the bedroom to look at you. Normally the sight would turn him on, immensely. It still does, he can feel it. But tonight that’s overshadowed by the way it breaks his heart because he knows what it means. 

You’re curled up on his side of the bed, head on his pillow, wearing one of his shirts and holding another close to you, clutching it to your chest really. He lets out a slow breath through his nose as he takes you in. His brows furrow a little. He’s not sure if it’s the lighting or if your eyes and lips are really a little swollen. He makes himself let go of the thought for the moment so that he can grab a pair of pajama pants and just get in bed with you. 

When he walks in the bathroom properly it hits him. It’s a bit warmer than your bedroom, a bit more humid. And the smell. It smells like he just showered. Which means you showered recently and used all of his products so that you’d smell like him. It’s so sweet but it hurts, that he wasn’t here when you so clearly needed him. He tries to set that aside and not feel guilty, think about and apply what you guys have learned in couple’s therapy but it’s hard. And it gets harder when the pile of white catches his eye and he sees all of the tissues in the trash can. It wasn’t the lighting. The swelling is real. You cried. A lot. 

You’re not sure what wakes you but when you force your eyes open you realize the bathroom light is on which means Jack is home. It’s the first time you’ve smiled since he left. “Peter?” you call softly as you get out of bed to walk to the bathroom. Jack’s out of his scrubs in just his pajama bottoms.

“Hey, I’m sorry Doll, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You shake your head at him, meeting him at the doorway to the bathroom. 

“I’m just glad you’re home.” You push your lips out for a kiss he happily gives you. “Missed you. Were you okay?” 

“I was yeah. Being slammed was good at keeping me distracted." He frowns for a second because he knows how not the case that was for you. He leans in for another kiss. "I missed you more,” he murmurs against your lips, hands finding your waist. 

You hum back against his lips as he kisses you again. “I’m going to let you have that only because I was passed out most of the night.” 

Jack nods at you. But you can tell from the speed of it that he knows. You just give him a little shrug to tell him you know he knows. 

“Why didn’t you call?” It’s soft. He’s not angry at you or upset with you in any way. Just curious. You look away from his eyes down at his bare chest and give another little shrug. “Did you need me?”

“I was okay… eventually,” you admit. One of his hands finds your chin, gently pushes it up to see if you’ll move your head up to look at him. You don’t resist so he tilts your chin up. 

Jack gives you a small smile and keeps his voice low and gentle and he hopes comforting. “That doesn’t answer my question.” The hand still on your waist gives it a small squeeze. “You can be okay and still need me, or trying to convince yourself you’re okay and still need me, or trying to be okay and still need me.” He raises his eyebrows a little at you. 

You look at him for a beat and then let out a big sigh, lean forward and into him a bit so that your forehead rests against his chest. “I hate it when you do that,” you grumble against him. 

“What’s that?” He leans down and kisses the top of your head. 

You move your forehead off his chest but plant a kiss there before looking back up at him. “See right through me,” you murmur through a watery smile. “I don’t know how you’re so damn good at it.”

“Well,” Jack nods slowly, “in your fourth year of med school they pull a couple of students aside, obviously the ones they think are the best since I was one of them, and they teach us x-ray vision.” 

You let out a huffed laugh but smile at him. “I really thought I was about to learn something about med school.”  

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?!” He gives you his best surprised face. 

You roll your eyes at him and laugh a little with him but it quickly turns into trembling lips and you shaking your head. 

“Okay baby, come here,” Jack whispers, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, one hand finding the back of your head and holding your face against his chest. 

“It was so bad Jack, it was so bad,” you choke out through a strangled sob. “And I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to cry into you tonight or this morning or whatever the fuck it is. I just want to get in bed and be with you.” You sniffle and try to pull yourself together. 

“I know.” He rocks you just a little, presses his lips to the top of your head and lets them linger. “But we can be in bed together and you can be crying if that’s what you need.” As he speaks he flicks the light off and settles one hand on your hip and slowly begins walking you backwards toward the bed. 

“I’m tired of it being what I need,” you mumble. At least you’ve managed to stop the tears. You turn once your knees hit the back of the bed so that you can slide in, Jack following you once he has his prosthetic off. “I just…I had a nightmare.”

Jack cringes as he settles and holds his arms open for you. “I’m so sorry.” He knows all too well how much they can rattle you and fuck you up for days. How long it can take to get them to a point of only happening a few times a year. How much therapy and EMDR he’s had to do to help with his over the years. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sigh as you curl into his side and drape your top leg over his, rest your head against the crook of his shoulder. The hand of Jack’s arm that’s now behind you starts rubbing your back up and down. “I was back there. In that courtroom on that day. And it was all the same and as much as that sucked it was fine. But then I got to the part where that woman collapsed in front of me and died but,” you have to pause and try and get yourself closer to Jack. “But it wasn’t her. It was you.” Jack’s shifting onto his side a bit more at that and pulling you closer into him, pressing the front of his body against yours. He positions you so that you can rest your ear up against his chest. “And unlike her you rolled your head to look at me as you were bleeding out and then I woke up.” 

You hear the click of Jack’s jaw as he opens it to say something. But it never comes, instead you just feel his head shake a little. You let yourself focus on the beat of his heart underneath your ear, the warmth of his skin. “I’m so sorry,” he finally whispers. “I know it’s not my fault but I am so sorry that you had to experience that Doll.”

You shrug a little. Apparently you’re all out of tears for the night. You’re too tired for them. And here in Jack’s arms with his heart beating under your ear it’s not so scary. There’s an odd sense of calm that fills both of you. You feel kind of bad, like you've taken this for yourself, haven't talked about how he did at work. But you know there's time. “Don’t be,” you whisper, turn your face a bit to nuzzle into his chest. “At least I didn’t have to live through your funeral. I’ve got that goin’ for me. More than you can say.”

He can feel your lips turn up in a smile against his chest. And he has to let out a laugh at it too. Because you’ve hit a point where you can start to make small jokes about what’s happened, what you’ve both been through. Because it’s all so miserable and horrific that if you guys don’t laugh you’ll cry. After a second you pull your head from his chest and look up at him. He looks so amused with his wide closed lip smile, shaking his head at you slightly that you have to bite your lip to stop from laughing. But that makes him crack and start properly laughing and so you do too. 

You guys laugh until it hurts, until the smallest tears slide out the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, that was probably so insensitive of me-”

“No,” Jack keeps laughing, “no. No, Doll that was so fucking needed, fuck me. The laughing feels just as cathartic as crying right now.”

“I agree,” you giggle as you both start to wind down. You lean in to kiss him and Jack keeps you there, nipping at your bottom lip and tugging at it a little when you try to pull away. “Needy,” you murmur teasingly.

“For you? Always.” You lay there and kiss. Kiss and make out in bed pressed against each other simply because you want to feel close and because you can. It’s not leading anywhere as good as it feels and as wired as it makes both of you. You can feel him growing hard against you and yourself growing wetter for him but you’re both content to stay like you are. 

Eventually the kisses slow. You’re both sleepy, and between snuggling with each other and all the kissing it’s quick to catch up with you. Just as you both start to nod off you think of something. “Hey Jack? Maybe no more night shifts.” It’s all sleep slurred and in that drowsy tone you get that he finds particularly adorable.

He laughs a little through his nose. “No more night shifts,” he agrees, just as groggy.

When you wake up the next day Jack is able to get in touch with Robby and switch things back so that he’s on days again. Something about the daylight makes it a little easier for you, and you don’t seem to have any nightmares when you sleep snuggled into Jack. The next time he goes to work for half a day shift sucks still, but significantly less than that first half a night shift. Each time it gets a little bit easier, even when Jack is finally back to regular twelve hour shifts. 

And then eventually it’s your turn to go back to work. It’s not just going back to work, it’s going back to the place you were shot. Both of you are on edge. Jack hates the thought of you having to go back there, it sends his anxiety through the roof even though he knows logically it’s probably the safest courthouse in the entire country right now with all the heightened security. 

“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Jack asks you for probably the tenth time this morning alone. 

“I’m sure,” you call to him from the bathroom as you finish getting ready. Jack appears in the mirror behind you, stopping at the doorway of the bathroom. You look at him in the mirror. “It’s okay, I’m ready. I can do this.” 

You sound more like you’re trying to convince yourself than you are Jack. “You can call me. If you need anything.” 

“I know,” you nod, “I promise I know and that if I need you I’ll call.” You turn to look at Jack and start walking towards him. Half of you feels ready for this, is craving the normalcy that being at work will bring. The other half knows you’re probably not quite ready. You haven’t even been by the building to expose yourself to it.

You pick at the breakfast Jack made you, stomach churning too much to feel hungry and making it hard to swallow anything down. He doesn’t comment on it as he sits at the table across from you working on today’s crossword, isn’t going to pressure you into eating more or potentially make you feel bad by calling you out on it. He gets it. He didn’t eat much dinner the night he went back to work for that one half a night shift. 

It’s going to put your shoes on where you really start to let yourself realize how not ready you are for this. You stare down at them for what feels like ten or so seconds but is in reality close to a full minute. Jack knows because he glances at his watch after the first few seconds pass and you don’t move to put them on. 

Finally you force yourself to and grab your bag. You take in and let out a deep breath and ignore how shaky it is as Jack walks over to you. He doesn’t want to smother you in reassurance and reminders you can call him or end up letting an ask for you to stay home slip out. “Have a good day Doll. Call if you need and I’ll be here waiting for you when you get home. I love you.” 

Jack leans down and kisses you, one that lingers followed by a bunch of softer pecks. “I will,” you nod. “I’ll see you tonight.” You put your hand on the door handle and open it a little. “I love you more,” you smile up at him. He lets you have it this morning. 

As you walk out the door and close it you know immediately you’re not ready. Jack knows you aren’t ready. But you try anyway and he doesn’t try to stop you because this is something you need to do for yourself. 

It doesn’t take too long to get there, the commute is generally fairly easy even though it’s busy. You walk up to the courtyard of the courthouse and stare at the entrance. It feels like you can’t breathe and you’re aware of how badly your hands shake. Your heart races as you try and tell yourself you just need a minute and then you’ll go in. 

But everything just gets worse. All you can hear is screaming and gunshots, taste that metallic flavor of adrenaline, and smell sulphur and smoke. You can’t do this. You so cannot fucking do this.

You get yourself back enough so a trembling hand can get your phone out of your bag, unlock it and hit Jack’s name. He answers on the first ring. “I’m not ready Jack, I can’t do this, I, I, I’m stuck outside and I need you, please come, I’m sor-”

“Doll,” Jack interrupts you. “Turn around.”

You do and standing at the edge of the courtyard is Jack. 

He hangs up his phone as he starts moving to you, shoving past a couple people with a distracted excuse me because he just needs to get to you. He knows that you don’t want to fully lose it here, not with the potential for people you know or work with every day to see. And Jack doesn’t want it for you either. He knows you hate crying in front of people, that it took a while for you to be able to cry in front of him. 

“I’m here,” he’s saying as he gets to you, arms reaching out before he’s even all the way there to start pulling you into him. “I’m here, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” Your hands slide around his waist and clutch at the back of his shirt as you close your eyes and press the side of your head to his chest. 

You breathe him in, smell your laundry detergent and his body wash and him. You focus and let his heart beating become the only thing you can hear. The metallic taste in your mouth starts to fade.

“Ready to walk?” Jack whispers as he feels you start to calm down. You nod against him and so he lets go of you. A hand finds your lower back and starts directing you over to a bench outside of the courtyard facing away from the courthouse.

You both sit and he pulls you as close as possible, wraps the arm closest to you around your waist to keep you close as you rest a hand on his knee. Jack brings his other hand across his body and rests it on top of your hand, laces your fingers together from above. 

Jack doesn’t pressure you, doesn’t ask you for details or if you want to talk or what exactly happened. He just sits there with you holding you close. You tilt your head and let it fall onto his shoulder. He tilts his head and his lips press against you where they can reach before he lets his head rest on yours lightly. 

“I feel so ridiculous,” you murmur after a while. 

Jack squeezes your hand. “Why?”

“I knew the entire morning I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to be so bad so I didn’t listen to myself.” 

“I know. I knew,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t make you ridiculous. Just human.”

“You knew?” you whisper, pull away to look at him. “How?”

“You told me as much with your eyes and the way you hesitated before you did anything related to getting ready this morning.” He squeezes your hand. “Before picking up your hairbrush and putting your bra on and picking up your mascara, that type of stuff. Your hand hesitated for just a second or two before you grabbed whatever it was. And then when it took you as long as it did to get your shoes on I just had an intuition or gut feeling or whatever you want to call it that I should be here.” 

“You didn’t try to stop me?” 

“No,” he shakes his head and gives you a small smile. “It was obvious that you needed to do this. Come here. Try. Get yourself back in front of this building. You needed to do it for yourself and I wasn’t going to interfere with that, no matter how badly I wanted to stop you so you wouldn’t hurt. You needed to do this. My role is to support you and help you with your healing. Not to dictate how you do it.”

You take in and hold a long breath before letting it out through your nose and shaking your head a little. “You’re way too fucking good for me.”

Jack gives you a look. “Not even gracing that bullshit with a reply,” he parrots the phrase you love to use back at you.

You give him a little eye roll and a smile. “I just should be better, Jack. I should be able to go back and get back to normal. But then I got here and it’s like it was yesterday.”

He nods slowly. “I think it was yesterday in a sense, Doll. This is your first time even being in front of the courthouse since it happened. That’s one. Two,” he pauses to take a breath and look down and away from you for a second. “A very, very smart woman,” he looks back up at you with a small smile, “once told me that should is a stupid word. Nothing should or shouldn’t be. Things just are. And it’s okay for them to be as they are. It’s okay for this to be as it is.” 

You’re quiet for a few seconds before you let out a huffed laugh through your nose. “I can’t believe you just used my own words against me twice in a row.” 

Jack clicks his tongue and shrugs. “I can be a real dick sometimes can’t I?”

You roll your eyes at him again and lean back into him. “Maybe. But you’re my dick, so it’s okay, I’ll allow it.” 

That makes him roll his eyes at you and chuckle. “Yeah, I’m your dick, alright. I’m glad to hear you’ll allow it,” he teases. 

“I’m actually quite impressed that you remember that entire little speech I gave you,” you admit after a few minutes. 

“Repeated it to myself a lot. Still do. Well, really in my head you’re saying it to me and I hear it in your voice. So I guess I have you repeating it to me a lot.” He pauses. “It’s important to remember.”

“I suppose it is.” You pull away again to look up at him. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Always, Doll.” The kiss he gives you is quick yet ardent. “I love you too.” 

There’s a lull as the two of you just sit on the bench and exist together, soak in the sun.

“You wanna go to bath and body works?” Jack breaks the silence. An amused smirk pulls on your face as you pull away to look up at him. “Candles are on sale. $12.95. And they just released a bunch of new scents.” 

You know he’s offering and that he keeps tabs on when they’re on sale and when new scents come out because he knows how much you enjoy candles and the fun of smelling them. You bite your lip and look up at him all dreamy. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head and stands up, offers you his hand and helps you off the bench so you can head to the store. “Just in love.”

You take a bit more time for yourself before you try going back again, go and sit outside the courthouse with Jack and alone. And the next time you go back to work Jack goes with you, holds your hand all the way up to the employee entrance. He gives you a kiss goodbye and holds the door open for you, watches you for a second before he lets the door close. He waits outside on a bench for a bit, just in case you decide you’re not ready again and need him. But you don’t. And so Jack smiles to himself as he gets up and heads back home. 

Normal. Things are finally starting to get back to normal.

But, as it turns out, normalcy is a fragile thing. And so things are finally starting to get back to normal.

Until they aren’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so so much for reading, I hope it was okay!

Part 4 will be out soon!! This weekend for sure! And then we're straight into Quiet 2 which I am so fucking excited for! I have many many plans! How many exclamation points can I use in a row!!!!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack!

And if you'd like to be added to my Jack tag list please interact with this post!

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[zosanniz]

Hiiiii, omg it soooo nice to see new people writing for One Piece, specially that write for that many characters, because I was gonna ask just for some strawhats, but then I saw you write for so many other of my faves that I couldn't stop thinking (sorry I'm rambling). I would reaaaally like some Beckman, Mihawk, Katakuri, Kinemon and Rayleigh (I would prefer if it wasn't poly for Kin and Rayleigh, not that I dislike Tsurujo or Shakky they r great, super badass, I'm just being extremely gay right now) with a male or gn reader, that keeps calling them not just handsome and hot but also cute and pretty and beautiful (I did that with my boyfriend and its really cute when more manly people get soft compliments, that just don't expect them). If you want of course, but thank you either way.

OLDER MEN POST (you picked out some yummy men especially the last two)

Beckman shakes his head at you everytime you do it. Beckman isn’t really used to “softer” compliments as he’s typically been in superficial relationships that are purely sexual in nature so when complimenting him like this he doesn’t mind it, just isn’t used to it and is probably kinda flustered and flattered by it (secretly, you probably have no idea tbh since he hides it well). Secretly likes it but probably won’t admit it. He usually will give an amused smile and then tease you with something you knows may fluster you instead, (like a compliment or a nickname)

Mihawks expression will not change but his face almost looks… brighter somehow.. when you say such things about him. He’ll usually reply with a compliment of his own with a straight face. Though he treats your compliments as if you’re stating a fact, since that’s what he does. So he’s just like, confused when you call him cute. “I certainly hope I’m not.” Is typically his response.

Katakuri is far more… flustered by this. I’m gonna be honest I can see him being like a nearly 50 year old (yes he’s that old) virgin. (Oh my god why is he 48). Katakuri typically gets red in the face by being called cute but will typically say “im not cute..” while the tips of his ears burn crimson. He’s just not used to compliments unless it’s related to his strength and how cool he is. And yeah perhaps girls have come onto him and have called him attractive but never something like this.. like just seeing him as a person capable of being soft, cute. Katakuri sometimes gives you a shy “thank you” cause his brain can’t form any other response.

Kinemon is so flustered oh my goshhhh what a nerd. Anytime you give him any kind of compliment, whether it’s calling him sexy or adorable, his entire face goes beet red and smoke steams out of his ears. He’ll probably stutter something about how you need to stop embarrassing him so much with your lovely words, he truly isn’t worthy!

Rayleigh (happy late bday btw) loves it. Though certainly not something he’s ever received before (besides maybe Shakky… or Roger as a joke and perhaps because Roger is just a flirt like that) he welcomes it. Will return the compliments in full but Rayleigh has a habit of making it dirty really fast (low key a perv sorry) but he’s always romantic about it. Truly a man that can make you swoon. He’s a man that is praised by pirates, he’s a man that even in his “retirement” is feared. So like, just kinda nice you just give him soft compliments like that.

[linkons-most-wanted]

Hello! I just noticed that we never actually see any of the LIs get angry, displeasure may be, buy never truly angry. What do you think it would take for them to lose their temper?

On a similar note, what is each of the LIs' relationship with anger as an emotion, do they control it, supress it, let it reign freely, or does it control them? Whose do you think is the healthiest?

Thanks!

Thank you so much for this ask, and for your patience! My brain is functioning again 😂 (well, y'know, as much as it ever does)

I think this ends up being such a compelling line of questioning in relation to a dating game because a lot of us have complicated relationships with masculine anger.

I think it helps to frame up how I think about anger: a fight response due to a perceived threat. So we can think about: what threatens them? And how do they react?

Xavier represses his anger, which is a key reason I pegged him as a type 9. It's mostly expressed in his possessive moments when he becomes passive aggressive and gloomy, like we see in Misty Silhouette. Xavier's repressed enough that any outburst is very unlikely--we see how relatively passive he is when it comes to resisting his father in the Academy anecdote and Shooting Stars myth. The major weakness for Xavier here is that by repressing his anger, he can fail to actually change the circumstances hurting himself and the person he loves (MC). He also ends up overreacting to things that aren't real threats--like Charlie the baker. He needs to embrace this anger and coax it out as a useful signal--instead of sulking when he gets jealous, he can use it as a motivation to be more forward in his affection for MC, taking more risks in revealing his vulnerable feelings. (And I do think we've started to see him do more of this!)

As Xavier gets more comfortable with his anger (especially since MC's affirmed she likes this side of him) it still takes something major to make him lose his temper--such as a confrontation with Professor Lucius or another key Ever player. There we can expect quiet, focused, merciless combat followed by a bit of gloom as he has to finish processing that anger even after the confrontation is over.

Zayne's anger is largely self-directed (at least in the main timeline). He's furious at himself when he feels like he hasn't done enough to protect MC from himself. But his anger still functions in a mostly normal way--we see burst of it at appropriate times, such as in the Tomorrow's Catch 22 AU when he's dealing with the inmates. Here we see just how powerful his Evol can be, which speaks to how restrained he is the rest of the time. The threat is serious, so his reaction is proportionate. He doesn't over-react to things that aren't threats. The majority of the time, Zayne feels his anger internally and uses it as a signal that he needs to act. We especially see this in how he deals with Carter, someone he rightfully hates--Zayne makes it very clear that he has no interest in joining XHeart, he removes himself and MC from the situation when needed, etc. No inappropriate outbursts, but he's not placating Carter either. As far as the LIs go, Zayne probably has the healthiest relationship with anger--largely because passion and desire are the emotions Zayne struggles with much more.

For Zayne to lose his temper requires a pressing physical threat to the people he cares about most. His fury is explosive and decisive--the whole building is going to end up encased in ice. And since the emotion has run its course, he's swiftly back to checking on you, making sure you didn't get caught in the crossfire, etc.

Rafayel is a fiery character and, like Zayne, has a mostly adaptive and normal relationship with anger. (Notably, with Rafayel being 4w5 and Zayne being 5w6 there's a good bit of overlap in how they approach core emotions.) More of when we see his "anger" is when he's pouting or sulking that MC isn't giving him enough attention. Nightly Stroll is a great example. Rafayel's the character most likely to lose his temper in little moments and lash out--as we see with his little barbs about forgetting promises and rescuing small animals. He loses some maturity points for being passive aggressive instead of stating his feelings, but his moods generally run their course. Because his anger gets vented in smaller moments, bigger surges are less likely. (Possession by the God of Tides aside.) Sort of ironically, when he's really angry, the drama falls away, such as when he's dealing with Ever and their experiments on Lemurians.

The three things most likely to get under Rafayel's skin are insults to Lemuria, insults to his art, and (most of all) threats to MC. Paparazzi had better watch out if they pester him on a bad day and hit a nerve--a melted camera would be getting off easy.

Sylus is particularly interesting here because we do actually see a fair amount of his anger, but he deals with threats so swiftly and decisively that you almost miss it. For example, in Long Awaited Revelry, the Man in Black gets a "touch her and die" moment. Sherman is made to suffer before he dies. In Final Farewell, the Curse Box 1 incident shows Sylus destroying a copy of a prophecy about his curse with his mist. Sylus doesn't yell or berate, he just destroys anything in his way. He gets to cheat a little bit because he's so powerful that very few things can pose a real threat to him for very long. His same personality, given more realistic constraints, would definitely run into more scenarios where there are threats that can't just be dealt with. And, notably, I think that's a big part of his character growth with MC--he can be angry at how the Association is treating her, but he can't just go destroy the Association because that would hurt her. He's used to just being able to act on his anger. So, he has to learn to sit with those feelings--and he does so quite quickly, making him a contender with Zayne for healthiest LI around anger.

It would take quite a lot for Sylus to really, truly lose his temper. It would require a surprise--something he didn't calculate in advance and didn't have a plan for that simultaneously is a clear and present existential threat to MC. In that case, you'd best believe the horns and wings and tail and claws are coming out in an instant. An army? Vaporized. An unusually powerful Wanderer? Crushed into nothing. There would be casualties.

Caleb is alongside Xavier as having a more dysfunctional relationship with anger. He generally has a dysfunctional relationship with most emotions, to be fair. As Mr. Obsessive Protective, he's not exactly going to be emotionally stable, and of course we love it. Especially as a type seven, he's trying to keep himself busy enough to not have to deal with anger, grief, and other "negative" emotions. Crucially, when threats to MC trigger his "fight" response, he turns it on MC, acting angry with her for not listening to him when the source of his anger is really the threat he perceives. He does get that more under control after Homecoming Wings, but not in a healthy way--in Deceptive Solitude, we see him continue to lie to her and pretend everything is fine, even when he's furious to be followed. He overreacts (such as constantly disfiguring Viper) partly because of his own self-directed anger at not being able to protect MC in the past.

MC saying she doesn't need him really sets Caleb off. He's also got all the usual over-protective triggers--seeing her with other guys, perceiving threats to her safety, etc. Ironically, when real threats emerge, he's likely to downplay their significance--"Don't worry, Pipsqueak, I've got this."

~~~

Looking across the board, I think a large part of why I'm drawn most to Zayne and Sylus is that they have relatively healthy relationships with their anger. They act decisively and protectively when necessary, but don't over-react to things that aren't true threats. Their baseline is very calm, which can be quite healing for someone with trauma around others' anger.

Rafayel and Caleb are relatively more chaotic, with Rafayel being occasionally passive aggressive and petty, and Caleb being, y'know, deeply mentally unwell (💕).

Xavier ends up being really interesting because it can be tempting to say he has his anger under control, but as a type 9 myself, I feel comfortable criticizing his past passivity and his present slowness to accept and confront his emotions.

Anyway, thanks for giving me an excuse to ramble about this! ☺️

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

THE HUNDRED LINE: LAST DEFENSE ACADEMY - Journal #5: Route 0 Days 57-66. [MASSIVE SPOILERS]

//As I mentioned before, due in part to me having more immediate obligations to get through, I ended up taking a break from this game. But when I did, I genuinely was so excited to get back to it that I started to go threw withdrawals.

//I'm not addicted YOU ARE!

//But in all seriousness, I wanted to try and cover as much ground as I possibly could. I was shooting to make go from Day 57, where I left off, to Day 70 at least.

//But man, this game is SO LONG. And these days in particular were jammed with SO MUCH STUFF.

//It's...hard to say how I feel about this arc of the story, but I can confidently say that it's probably the most emotionally damaging part.

//Which is actually ironic. One common theme of the Danganronpa games and their plots is they start of strong, tend to petter out during the middle, and then where it flops massively, it hits back with the most emotionally engaging, and typically the SADDEST part of the story.

//And even though Hundred Line is not split up by chapters, turns out it hit the same way. I complained a bunch about the previous stuff I experienced, but everything I found in this part was LEGENDARY.

//But I can't say any more than that, because again, spoilers.

DO NOT READ THE REST OF THIS POST IF YOU HAVE NOT PLAYED/SEEN THE HUNDRED LINE: LAST DEFENSE ACADEMY. I WILL BE TALKING ABOUT VERY SPECIFIC PLOT POINTS AND MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE GAME.

//So let's get started:

DAY 57:

//One thing I will say out of the gate is that the actual plot progression over the course of these days is honestly kind of slow. It has a really slow, steady buildup, and then immediately, it all comes crashing down.

//The highlight of today's discussion, as I fully expected it would be, is Moko, as it's now been 8 days since she showed up at the school out of nowhere. Seeing as, by this point, she's the only one of the group not on the battlefield yet. I assumed that this arc would be centered around her, but there are other things to note as well.

//Specifically, the Invader Commander that we took prisoner after the last battle, is now in a cage in the courtyard, and Shouma is apparently taking care of her.

//Not gonna lie, Shouma's budding relationship with the enemy commander throughout this part, even if most of what we know is only given by word of mouth, is pretty engaging. Through this initial interaction, I started thinking that he might have had a crush on her.

//By the way, this Invader is CLEARLY an important character SOMEHOW, because she appears on the map and has her own icon, suggesting that she's someone we can talk to. As I said before, my current theory was that this Invader was going to end up being student number 16, since most of Kodaka's games have an evened out cast like that, and Hundred Line's lineup was only really one off.

//Ima and Kako show up a little later because they spent the night playing games and trying to ease into their new relationship dynamic. And credit where it is due, the way they interact now towards each other is MUCH better!

//I think the big issue is that the sister-complex nature of Ima, and the submissive sister nature of Kako made it really hard to relate and sympathize with them both. But now that Ima's worldview has changed and Kako is trying to be more independent, they now seem just like regular siblings, and I can definitely get behind that.

//I would KILL someone to have a Danganronpa/Danganronpa-style game that features siblings, and just HAVE THEM BE SIBLINGS. It's my firm belief, based on...very obvious past experience, that having siblings, especially if they're twins, in a killing game is just a really obvious plot point in the making, where one of them dies, they both die in the same trial, one impersonates the other, etc. There's so little you can do with that idea, which is why I'm never on board with it.

//This is definitely acceptable though. And as rushed as the story felt, I am happy that Ima is now treating Kako like a sister rather than his most cherished property.

//I spent Free Time as I often do; with trying to level up my social stats and physical stats, but during my break, I was given some advice on something.

//Someone told me that it was a really good idea to get everyone to learn Last Yell, and then try abusing that move as much as possible in the battles. Especially the one's that last for a while, i.e. more than one round.

//I haven't actually talked about it before, but to go into a bit more detail here, but up until now, I've mainly been using the voltage meter to use my super abilities and take out enemies in a large group. But on top of using the meter to use ultimate moves, you can also use them to give your character's a boost, like a boost in damage for instance, one of which is called Last Yell.

//The way Last Yell works is once it's activated, whenever an ally uses a skill while you're sitting at exactly 1 Action Point, there's a 50% chance that whoever has Last Yell active will trigger an effect called Support. Support enhances that skill, adding +2 damage and granting 2x Voltage instead of the usual amount.

//The really interesting, and frankly absurd part is that multiple instances of Last Yell can be triggered by a single skill, assuming that most of your characters around you have it activated. These effects stack additively. You can trigger up to 4 instances of Support, resulting in a potential +8 bonus damage and 5x Voltage gain from a single skill, assuming your luck holds.

//Which makes this ability not only INSANELY STRONG, but also VERY STACKABLE.

//The true hilarity begins when you strategically lower your AP to 1 and intentionally leave a few AP-boosting enemies alive. If you line things up right, a single skill can wipe out several of them at once, and each kill can independently trigger Last Yell, rapidly snowballing your Voltage. This Voltage can then be reinvested into activating MORE Last Yell Boosts, amplifying the effect even further.

//When it’s time to face the boss, you repeat the process: bring your AP back down to 1 and use the Voltage you’ve generated to trigger Act Again instead. With the right setup and a bit of RNG, this effectively converts 100 Voltage into multiple skill activations, each one hitting with +8 damage or more.

//And again, this lasts across the whole battle, so you don't need to reapply it to characters after each wave.

//Unfortunately, I didn't have much of a chance to actually TEST this power, because most of the fights I did in this part of the story only lasted around two rounds, and in the major boss one (spoilers) the first round only has you use two characters on the field, and the rest of your squad join in the second round. So there wasn't really any way I could use this in-game hack effectively. But it's definitely something to keep in mind for the future.

//So I grinded a bunch of BP, and got everyone in the squad to learn it.

//I DID consider maybe going on an exploration, because I want to upgrade my gear and potions and don't have enough levels or gear for it at the moment. However, I decided against it, because Nozomi is unavailable for the current period; being too focused on taking care of Moko, and can't come out with us.

//Nozomi kind of carries me during lengthy explorations, so I didn't want to risk going out there without her.

DAY 58:

//Day 58 was pretty uneventful overall. The only major development is that Moko seems to have come down with a fever, and things aren’t looking good for her. Her condition just keeps getting worse, adding to the growing sense of hopelessness surrounding her situation, and Nozomi is running herself ragged trying to help her.

//What stood out to me most during the day was my curiosity about how the invader commander might eventually tie into the main plot.

//Once again, I’ve been speculating that she could be the mysterious 16th character, though based on what’s currently happening, I’m still not entirely sure how that would work. There’s just not enough narrative groundwork laid for that twist, at least not yet.

//Again, nothing much happened today, I just spent the Free Time like I normally would, but the day wraps up with another flashback to Karua.

//In the scene, Karua is nursing a sick dog back to health, and Takumi ends up taking care of her when she herself inevitably falls ill from looking after it. Again, all of these Karua scenes tie back to her subtle connection to Nozomi in some way, and Nozomi herself is being shown to be losing sleep and health because she's too serious about taking care of Moko, just as Karua was this dog.

//It also retroactively explains her actions during the prologue, where she ran off after the stray dog that turns out to be Sirei. She just has a strong instinct to protect lost or sick animals, even at her own expense.

//By the way, I should mention something I’ve noticed but haven’t brought up until now: almost all of Takumi’s flashbacks involving Karua have Clair de Lune playing softly in the background.

//For you Danganronpa fans out there who somehow don't recognize it, that's Kaede's song from V3 that plays at the end of Chapter 1 when Shuichi is in her lab by himself, after she's died. It's a song that's pretty synonymous with Kaede and V3 as a whole, and in the music credits of the game, she's even listed as the song's composer.

//While that track is often associated with Danganronpa, it’s interesting that it only shows up once or twice in those games. Apparently, it's used far more heavily in The Evil Within, which makes sense when you realize that Masafumi Takada, the composer for both Danganronpa and The Hundred Line, also did the music for that game.

//I haven't played The Evil Within, so I don't really understand the deeper meaning of that song being in it, but there's not really much reason for it to be tied to Karua in all the scenes we see of her. So rather than being a deliberate thematic reference, I get the sense that Takada just really, REALLY likes that song, lol.

DAY 59:

//Shouma is clearly forging a deeper connection with the enemy commander. Despite the language barrier between them, he's managed to prove that meaningful communication is possible between our species. Apparently, he spoke to her, and, surprisingly, she not only understood him but seemed to genuinely enjoy the exchange. It’s a small but powerful gesture that suggests a potential bridge between our two worlds.

//However, this development doesn't sit well with the rest of the unit, and it’s easy to understand why.

//The more Shouma learns about the commander, the harder it becomes to uphold the narrative that the Invaders are fundamentally alien or inhuman. They're intelligent, capable of understanding language, and able to form emotional connections, just as any regular human being could. Considering they also use hemoanima to fight and transform, really, the only difference between us and them at this point in terms of nature is that we speak different languages.

//In particular, the likes of Kyoshika and Kurara don't like it, because as far as they're concerned, the Invaders are murderous monsters who must be annihilated. Likening them to fellow humans when protecting humanity is the reason we're here in the first place doesn't bode well for them.

//So when Shouma starts treating the enemy with empathy or even curiosity, it feels like a betrayal of purpose. After all, we’re supposed to be here to protect humanity, not question whether the so-called monsters we're fighting might actually be people too. As those differences fade, so too does the moral clarity of our mission.

//On a different note, I’ve noticed a shift in the game’s pacing. Earlier on, I remember complaining that there wasn’t enough free time to explore or build relationships, but now, I seem to have more downtime than I know what to do with.

//Wanting to make use of it, I went to the school library in the afternoon to boost my social stats and ended up reading yet another heavily censored book. But this one had an interesting detail that stood out.

//It confirmed something I’d been suspecting, and that I talked about in my previous posts for this game. Not all media was simply lost after the Tokyo Residential Complex was established. Some of it was DELIBERATELY destroyed. Specifically, anything containing records of human history before the Complex existed.

//That revelation adds an unsettling layer to the worldbuilding. It makes you wonder what exactly are they trying so hard to erase? What truths have been buried under layers of propaganda and silence?

//We obviously know it's related to World Death, but even that suggests there's more behind World Death's origins and what it actually is than we're let in on.

//With the strange behavior of the Invaders, Shouma’s growing bond with the commander, and the increasingly obvious signs of a rewritten history, I’m starting to question the entire narrative we’ve been given. The real question is...are we REALLY the heroes of this story?

//Again, mostly standard day, but I do want to quickly make a note that there was this line in the breakfast scene that suggested that not even Shouma's dog loved him, and was actually trying to run away from him. Which is actually super depressing, because Shouma's dog was supposed to be the only thing in the world that cared about him, and is the very reason he's out here fighting.

DAY 60:

//We've offically been here for two months, and all dumbass Sirei could do was show up in a suit, apparently not having prepared anything.

//This is where the somewhat casual air of the story starts to take a bit of a turn, and we get more suggestions as to what's really going on here. It starts off with Moko not getting any better, so Nozomi prepares to go out and get ingredients so she can make some kind of medicine with the Gift-O'-Matic. Takumi doesn't want her going alone, so he heads out with her.

//This isn't my first rodeo doing this as part of the story. We basically have to move the characters around the board to three locations to progress. After touching down on the second one though, it suddenly starts raining.

//That rain becomes a thunderstorm after grabbing the third and final ingredient, and not wanting to be struck by lightning, Takumi and Nozomi duck into a nearby building to wait out the storm.

//This is a pretty crucial moment, because this is the first time that Takumi and Nozomi have been alone since they met. And not in a hostile way either.

//However, even though this is Takumi's chance to finally have a one-on-one conversation with her about her potential connection to his childhood friend, he reads the room, and decides not to bring it up directly.

//Nozomi is really out here acting like she's not the most integral member of the party, smh.

//Nozomi ends up talking a little about her routine back in the TRC, though not in much detail. But in the middle of this reflective moment, she accidentally drops a major revelation; one that completely shifts Takumi’s understanding of her place in the story.

//Without meaning to, she lets it slip that she WASN'T recruited into the war effort the same way the rest of us were. In fact, from what she says, it becomes clear that she was never meant to be at the Last Defense Academy at all.

//At least...that's what I'm getting.

//By this point, I had already started to suspect something was off about Nozomi compared to the rest of the group. Rather, I had expected as much since her debut in the trailer; purely from the fact that she had a different means of combat than everyone else.

//Everyone at the academy shares one critical trait: we all have a specific kind of special blood anomaly that enables us to wield Hemoanima...or at the very least, that's the feeling I'm getting from Shouma's flashbacks to the Kamukura hospital. It’s the cornerstone of our combat potential and the primary reason we were drafted into this war.

//But Nozomi stands out. She’s never demonstrated the same affinity for Hemoanima as the rest of us. Instead, she relies entirely on her custom artificial armor to fight. And now, with this accidental admission, the pieces begin to fall into place.

//My guess is the real reason she can’t use Hemoanima is because she doesn’t have the blood type, and she was never compatible in the first place. Unlike the rest of us, she wasn’t chosen; she herself chose this path. She VOLUNTEERED to fight in a war she wasn’t meant to be a part of.

//Realizing she’s said too much, Nozomi goes quiet. But instead of shutting down completely or deflecting with a lie, she simply asks Takumi to drop the subject...for now.

//I like Nozomi's reaction to this. She doesn't freak out about it, she just makes a calm request. It shows that she trusts him, not just to keep her secret, but to respect her boundaries. And considering how rocky they started off, this is a good thing.

//She’s not ready to talk about it, and yet she’s vulnerable enough in his presence to admit that.

//However, the situation however only gets more confusing after that.

//Nozomi quietly reveals that her mother was a researcher; a detail that immediately draws ANOTHER parallel to Karua, whose mother is also known to be involved in scientific work. We found this out during Karua's introduction in the prologue.

//But as Nozomi continues, the similarities begin to blur into something more unsettling. She offhandedly mentions that her own birth was one of her mother’s many experiments, implying she may have been created or modified as part of a larger scientific agenda. It’s this almost chilling admission that casts her entire existence in a more ambiguous, possibly artificial light.

//Adding to that mystery, Nozomi's mother is supposedly dead, while Karua’s mother is still alive...

//...as far as WE presume, at least. The truth is, we have never MET Karua's mother. She only talks about how she's never home, so the possibility that Karua's mother could be gone is also non-zero.

//There's a chance that Karua's mother did pass away, and Karua never really talked about it to the Sumino family.

//And then there’s the matter of their fathers. Both Nozomi and Karua lost their fathers in car accidents during childhood. That parallel feels too specific to be coincidence, yet the emotional texture around each story is distinct enough to prevent an easy conclusion.

//I just want to give this game credit for doing a really good job at handling the Nozomi/Karua mystery. Because no mystery in this game has fucked with my brain more than this one.

//These two seem to share a mirrored origin, as if they’re reflections of one another rather than entirely separate people. On the surface, they appear fundamentally different in personality, outlook, and role in the story, but they are strikingly aligned in appearance, backstory, connections to scientific institutions, and a sense of being shaped by forces beyond their control.

//The game is walking a fine line, skillfully feeding just enough symmetry to make you suspicious, while also presenting enough divergence to keep you uncertain.

//There have been so many possibilities and explanations brought up so far. Are they sisters? Clones? Variants from different timelines?

//None of those feel right, and yet, there's no clearly obvious way to explain it either, other than Karua and Nozomi just ARE the same person. But again, even THAT doesn't feel right with all that we know so far!

DAY 61:

//By the time Takumi and Nozomi return to the academy the next morning, having weathered the storm overnight, they're greeted at the entrance by Eito, who’s waiting with unexpected news.

//Though their original reason for venturing out was to gather ingredients to make medicine for Moko, it turns out that Moko has already made a full recovery in their absence. And sure enough, when we return to the cafeteria, there she is, waiting for us.

//(GOD she is so absurdly big...!)

//Upon reuniting, Moko properly introduces herself for the first time, and her presence INSTANTLY shifts the atmosphere. What follows is a heartwarming reunion between her and Nozomi.

//As for Moko herself...Yeah, I REALLY like her!

//It becomes clear pretty quickly that all the good feats Nozomi spouted about Moko before are true. She's loud, goofy, and delightfully over-the-top, she barrels into the scene with an energy that’s impossible to ignore. Her personality is larger than life, and in just this brief introduction, she manages to bring levity and laughter.

//There’s something incredibly endearing about how unfiltered and open she is, even when she's saying some kind of violent bullshit. She has a kind of “big sister” presence, but not in a solemn or protective way, more in the sense that she’s the type to ruffle your hair, tease you relentlessly, and then throw you over her shoulder affectionately.

//Even in this short exchange, it’s hard not to smile when she’s on screen.

//Although, we do get a very brief hint that something's not quite right with her when everyone asks if she's fit and fighting ready to combat the Invaders. More on that in a bit though.

DAY 62:

//Takumi begins today dwelling on his discussions with Nozomi, and isn't really giving much attention to her accidental confession. Instead, he's focusing more in the experimental side of things.

//Assuming Nozomi IS Karua, he suspects that the experiments that Nozomi underwent is the reason why she doesn't remember him. Which...you know, I'm willing to give credence on this line of thinking. Even if I am left guessing, that's still a better avenue than nothing.

//But even with that, there's so much lore to unpack here.

//For reasons that I can't quite explain, I keep going to check up on the captured commander every morning before I head to the restaurant, thinking that she might do something or say anything to me. I kind of wanted to see if anything had changed behind the scenes.

//On the first day when I went to check on her she looked sad, but since then, her expression is more passive and she hasn't been saying anything. She's not been smiling or anything, but I keep going back to look.

//Entering the cafeteria, Moko is standing in the middle of the room and recounting a story that's making everyone laugh their asses off over it.

//Moko tells a lot of stories at breakfast over the course of these few days. The best part about them is I can't tell if they're tall tales or not, because knowing who's writing this game, these events are perfectly plausible.

//What made me laugh was that whenever all the characters are in a room together, I have a tendency to talk to all the characters I'm not supposed to talk to, then talk to the important character to progress the story; just so I don't miss out on all the optional dialogue. And this time when I did it, I talked to Ima, who was basically saying that he's worried that Kako would be inspired by Moko, and hopes that she doesn't start thinking she wants to be like her, followed immediately by Kako saying she wants to be just like her. That gave me a tickle.

//We actually cut to business quickly after the story, and as it turns out, Moko, suspiciously, doesn't remember anything when she got captured by the invaders, suggesting that her memory had been wiped. So we're unfortunately not getting much out of her on THAT front for the moment.

//Not that I expected we would. We don't tend to have a lot of luck with this kind of thing.

//It took me a while to click honestly. I thought that the game was suggesting that Shouma was going to have a romantic tension with the Invader we captured, but right now it seems more like he's treating her like a pet.

//RESPECTFULLY of course, but he's not quite seeing her as an equal human being. Or rather, maybe he is seeing her as an equal, but only because he himself thinks he's on a dog's level.

DAY 63:

//NOOOOTHING FUUUUCKING HAAAAPPEEEENED!

//Basically we just rinse and repeated what happened the previous day. Wake up, hear Moko chatting about shit in the cafeteria, something doesn't seem right, Free Time.

//I do have a couple small highlights. For one, you can talk to Yugamu in the hallway before you go to breakfast.

//Takumi and Yugamu haven't had a single wholesome interaction yet. Takumi just DOES NOT LIKE THIS MAN, haha.

//Similarly, Darumi clearly doesn't like Moko at all. But obviously, that's because happy situations where people are alive and merry are her kryptonite basically.

//And once again, Nozomi herself seems to be noticing more keenly that something is up with Moko.

DAY 64:

//That kind of culminates into today, and the following day too.

//The moment you walk into the cafeteria, you sense there's something off about Moko. Unlike the last two days, she’s not at her usual post telling the morning story, and instead looking distant and aloof in the corner, in a way that's kind of eerie.

//I actually kind of started getting chills at this point. I should have realized at that time that they must have meant something.

//More directly, the news for today is that through his interactions, Shouma has somehow taught the Invader to speak like a human. Or at the very least, he managed to teach her how to say the word "Beautiful" in their language.

//I honestly do feel a little bit bad for Shouma in this part of the story, because he clearly cares about the Invader we captured. But everyone else is treating her like a feral animal with rabies, and honestly, that might be the safer bet. But still, she doesn’t seem violent. I just hope Shouma’s attachment doesn’t end up getting someone hurt, or cause a rift in the group.

//Later that evening, Nozomi shows up at Takumi’s door, and invites him to a quiet classroom to talk privately. She says she suspects Moko is hiding something, which...yeah, no kidding. Moko’s whole vibe has been really off lately, despite having a really corny introduction.

//After a short conversation, Nozomi agrees to confront her. It's risky, but we need answers before this situation spirals any further out of control.

DAY 65:

//This is where things go from "Oh God" to "OH SHIT!"

//Remember how I mentioned that this part of the story is the most emotional trainwreck we've seen so far? Well, here's why.

//Moko tells another story in the morning, and I swear, these tales get more outlandish as things go along.

//But more importantly, Takumi suspects that Nozomi called Moko to the same room she called him the previous day, and worrying for her, he goes to eavesdrop.

//Things...don't go well.

//Kudos to Nozomi, she at least goes out of her way to explain thoroughly to Moko what she noticed, and why she was concerned, on top of giving her very good reasoning for it. But Moko's response is to blow up on her, and she even accuses her of being a fake friend, getting close for no reason other than wanting whatever information she forgot about the Invaders.

//And it becomes very clear very quickly why Moko is suddenly acting so untowards...and it's NOT pretty.

//Takumi goes to check up on Nozomi afterwards to see if she's okay, and ends up coming clean about eavesdropping.

//Side note, Nozomi's room is actually super cute and cozy looking. Not-Not really much of a big deal, kinda just wanted to mention it because I like it.

//Anyway, a conversation ensues, and Takumi comforts Nozomi, sympathizing with her, and Nozomi resolves to apologize to Moko in the morning.

//Things seem like they're really tense after Moko and Nozomi's argument, but then somehow, things get even worse.

//And by the way...get used to hearing me say that. Because for these last few days to cover here, we just get bad news after bad news after bad news, and we keep getting the shit beaten out of us by the narrative.

//The boy wreathed in the Undying Flames appears again in Takumi’s room that night, and as we are already aware of by now, every time he shows up, disaster follows. First, it was Sirei’s death, then Hiruko vanished, etcetera.

//Takumi doesn’t waste a second. He bolts after the boy, convinced the ghost is headed toward the Defense Room (Not sure why because if the ghost was looming in the school he'd have multiple chances to get to the Defense Room, but...okay)

//But instead of catching up to him, he runs straight into Moko in the hallway. And this is where everything gets surreal.

//Moko's dialogue starts glitching with random capital letters in it. Her sprite begins to warp as well, and as Takumi follows her, her features become twisted and grotesque.

//When Takumi finally reaches the Defense Room, it’s not the boy waiting there, but Moko. And what he sees is nothing short of a nightmare. Moko is standing far too close to the barrier of Undying Flames. Takumi tries to pull her back, to stop her from breaching whatever lies behind the fire, but then she turns...

//OH FUCK MY ASS!!!??

//Yeah, not gonna lie, even with the buildup, this CG scared the SHIT out of me! It was WAY more horrifying than I thought it would end up being, and it's enough to make someone pull a Tsubasa and throw the hell up.

//When I first saw what was going on, I had the sickening thought that what happened is the Invaders turned Moko into one of them when they captured her. I haven't talked about it explicitly, but I had this theory before that the Invaders weren’t born, but were actually humans twisted into something else. If they captured Moko, maybe that’s what happened to her. And maybe all of her weird mannerisms the previous few days were just the result of her humanity slipping away.

//Just as things spiral completely out of control, not only does Nozomi appear, but the Undying Flames react, almost like they recognize her presence. They lash out at "Moko," hurling her out of the room and out of the school entirely.

//Takumi and Nozomi go to get her, but before that, Takumi insists they suit up. So with it being just the two of them, and with no alarms sounding, they jump into the battlefield.

//Before we fight, we get a few more cutscenes of Nozomi trying to get through to Moko. I get where she's coming from, like, she really wants to believe there’s still a piece of her friend left in that thing, but man, she’s really slow to accept that Moko is long gone.

//It’s rough to watch honestly. The story is putting Nozomi through the emotional wringer, and she barely gets a breath before it throws her into another devastating scene.

//The first round of the fight kicks off with just Nozomi and Takumi squaring off against the thing wearing Moko’s face, and a swarm of smaller, shadow-like creatures she summons.

//I'm gonna be completely honest, I wasn’t expecting her to hit that hard (despite, you know, the fact that Moko is a wrestler), so Takumi actually got taken out in the first round. Luckily, he did enough damage, and Nozomi finished Moko off pretty quickly.

/.Visually, this whole display is horrifically stunning. Not only is the enemy design grotesque, but the dialogue cuts deep. The horror elements are firing on all cylinders, and I think this is the closest I've ever been to finding one of Kodaka's games genuinely scary.

//Thankfully, backup arrives just in time. The rest of the gang shows up finally, where Yugamu puts his bizarre and encyclopedic knowledge of the human body to use, and explains the full scope of the situation.

//As it turns out, Moko wasn’t possessed, and she didn’t turn into anything. What we’ve been fighting isn’t Moko at all. It’s an Invader Commander wearing her skin, and it's been im impersonating her from the start.

//Looking back, this explains A LOT. It explains how and why Moko was able to get through the wall of fire without any hemoanima-based fire hydrant, and ALSO why when she showed up, the school alarm sounded. It's kinda freaky looking back and noticing all the oddities.

//Then Fake Moko turns up the nightmare factor, as she starts creating twisted shadow versions of the team; one for each of us. It’s a full-blown shadow clone battle, and honestly, it’s a fun mechanic.

//Darumi throws out a meta-comment pre-fight, "Clones make things easier for the devs," which cracks me up even as I’m clenching through the chaos.

//Honestly, this battle, at least for the first half, is TOUGH! More than I expected. The shadow clones have all our moves and abilities, and the only saving grace is that they don't have much health, meaning one good super move is taking them out easily. It's best to make sure you use the characters who can hit in a wide area with their attacks, like Gaku or Ima.

//But I make a point to let Nozomi land the final blow. She’s earned it.

//When the Invader finally collapses, it drops the mask. I'm impressed because this wasn't just mimicry. This thing had access to all of Moko’s memories, her voice, her habits, everything. It was a near-perfect copy. The only reason we even noticed something was wrong was because of the subtle breaks.

//Then comes the gut punch: the commander confirms it. The real Moko is dead. There’s no saving her. She’s gone. And with that, any hope of her returning to the team dies too.

//On top of that, the commander's initial plan was to go in under the guise of Moko being sick, and get to the Defense Room without anyone noticing. But because Nozomi never left its side, that was impossible. They tried to do it on the day Nozomi left with Takumi, which is why Moko conviniently woke up.

//So we're probably not even gonna be able to see what Moko can do until we do another playthrough, where we might get a chance to save her before she gets captured.

//This affects everyone pretty badly, because they'd all grown to really like Moko, only now finding out she was never the real deal. Just a copy that was out to get them all. The scene ends with Eito killing it when it went silent.

//Out of rage, detest, and spite against the Invaders for what they did to Moko, the others are ready to take it out on the Invader we’ve been keeping locked up, the one Shouma’s been trying to reach. Ultimately though, they’re simply heartbroken, betrayed, and just looking for somewhere to put that pain.

//But before it explodes into another tragedy, Eito steps in. Then Takumi. And, in what might be the most heartbreaking part of all, even Nozomi asks everyone to stop. Despite being ridden with Despair over finding out her best friend was killed by the enemy and impersonated, she rightfully points out that now's not really a good time. They should come to a conclusion in the morning.

DAY 66:

//No, far from it. Day 65 was an emotional beating in and of itself, but waking up literally the next morning, and things somehow go from ABSOLUTELY AWFUL to EVEN WORSE!

//We honestly shouldn't have even brought up the possibility of killing the Invader we captured, because lo and behold, that bitch ESCAPED from the cage!

//The timing is way too convenient. The lock on her holding cell has been clearly broken, not picked or bypassed, and considering she didn't have the means of getting out on her own because her abilities were deactivated, someone let her out. That much is obvious.

//Naturally, all eyes turn to Shouma. He had the motive and he had the access, since he was assigned to watch her. It adds up on the surface, but even the characters themselves point out that it still doesn’t sit right. Shouma doesn't have the emotional will to betray everyone, as much as he cared for the Invader and as much as he tried to defend her. Plus, he had the key to her cage, so why would he break the lock.

//Personally, I suspect Eito again. He's still my prime suspect for killing Sirei and making Hiruko vanish, as well as burning our food. So this could be the next phase of his plan.

//The problem is I really don't understand his angle this time, assuming that he IS the traitor.

//Then again, I never understand what his angle is. He’s clearly trying to weaken us from within for whatever reason, but this seems like a really unprompted tactic. Why release someone we were planning to execute anyway?

//Takumi, on the other hand, doubles down on blaming the Undying Flames Boy. He’s convinced the ghost is orchestrating all of this from the shadows.

//But Nozomi, ever the voice of reason despite everything, finally pushes back, finally pointing out that without the boy’s sudden appearance, Takumi never would have found Fake Moko in time. If anything, the boy SAVED us.

//I don't really get why Takumi is so insistent the Undying Flames boy is evil when he hasn't really done anything untowards yet. Takumi might just be that stupid, or at the very least, he's not spending much time thinking about it.

//And just as we’re all knee-deep in suspicion and tension, the situation gets even worse. Turns out, the escaped Invader didn’t leave alone.

//One thing that everyone noticed early that morning is that the Tsukumo Twins didn't show up to breakfast. We assumed they were late again, because they both slept in after the last big battle we did, but the situation is...far worse than we thought.

//Takumi goes to the Entrance Hall, and as he does, Kako suddenly comes back in, dressed in her Class Armor, and no sign of Ima. She passes out, and after she recovers, we find out that the Invader left the academy and took him hostage.

//Ima. The newest member of our team. The one who just started opening up, started fitting in. And now he’s gone.

//But...haha...SAY IT WITH ME EVERYONE! "IT! GETS! WORSE!"

//The fire extinguishers in the entrance hall and the emergency ones on the bus are BOTH BROKEN. So not only can we not get outside the Wall of Flames to chase after Ima and save him but we’re essentially TRAPPED IN THE SCHOOL! Surrounded by the Undying Flames, with no clear way out.

//This is bad for multiple reasons. The main one is that we obviously can't rescue Ima from whatever fate he's currently suffering, but also we get most of our resources from random shit we happen to scavange in the wild. Now we can't even do that.

// might be misremembering here, but I'm pretty sure Takumi blames the Undying Flames boy again.

I still don’t understand Takumi’s obsession with him. Every time he’s shown up, something helpful has happened, if not directly, then indirectly. He’s never spoken a word, never raised a hand against us. If anything, he seems like the only one trying to guide us. And yet, Takumi can’t let it go.

//The loss of Ima hits hard. We were just beginning to get to know him, to fold him into the rhythm of the group. And now, just like Hiruko, and just like Moko, he’s gone. Probably permanently. At this point, I’m scared to hope for anything different.

Conclusion:

//After my disappointments from the previous arc of the story, this one brought some amazing plot points, mysteries, and generally awesome times all around. Here's my takeaways:

The mystery of how Nozomi is connected to Karua, or whether they are the same person or not, is starting to become more and more layered, and as such, I gradually grow more and more interested in it.

I feel really bad for Nozomi in this part. She got emotionally damaged by what happened and I don't know how she's going to cope with it going forward.

Shouma's unexpected fondness and budding relationship with the Invader Commander, though it only lasted a few days, was unexpected, but not unwelcome. I enjoyed it.

The whole situation with Moko turning out to be an enemy commander in disguise was so sad, so TERRIFYING, and so BRILLIANT. Day 65 genuinely had my heart racing the whole time.

My hopes for Ima's survival after this are not high. Now that the Invaders have him, I think it's light's out for him. He's in my prayers though.

I am honestly a little disappointed that both Ima and Moko are gone. I only got to use Ima in two battles, and I didn't get to use Moko in ANY. I'm really hoping my theory about the timeline reset is right so I can use them both for real.

//Man, you don't know how good it feels to finally be back to playing this game again. Like I said, I was starting to go into withdrawals during my break. I'm enjoying it THAT much, even with all the despair and pain it's giving me.

//Can't wait to see what happens next~

-Mod

[gameo-archive]

Thanks to the always-amazing @pipwasreal for providing the transcript under the cut:

George: Hello Evelyn! I hope you're doing really, really well. It's lovely to hear from you again. I hope everything is good in Taiwan, I hope you're safe, I hope you're enjoying the spring... I don't know if it is spring over there, actually, but I hope you're having a nice day.

It's nice and sunny here in London, which makes a huge change, especially when it's consistently sunny, so I am making the most of that.

Thank you so much for your cameo request, let's get into it. So you've said: "Happy first anniversary to Dead Boy Detectives." Happy first anniversary back! Sorry, that was a bit of a mouthful. Happy first anniversary back. It's crazy that it's been a year since it came out. It feels like a very long time ago, but also very recent. A lot of stuff has happened since, I feel, but also not much. So it's a nice little balance of both.

You've said: "I've been thinking a lot this month about how grateful I am to have found such an amazing show. It's been a comforting presence through so many stressful times. Edwin's resilience and kindness are so inspiring, and he'll always hold a special place in my heart. Since Dead Boy Detectives is still a baby in the world of TV, here's my question: What do you think six year old Edwin would be like as a kid?"

Hmm... what do I think six year old... I think six year old Edwin would have been quite introverted, quite shy, quite obedient. I think he would've, even at such a young age, found solace in reading, and stories, and found a sense of escapism from that.

I see him, despite that, I do see him enjoying the outdoors, being around horses, animals, maybe. I don't know why, I always think of horses with him. Walking through fields... I always imagined him growing up in, you know, some kind of manor in the English countryside.

But I do think he would probably keep to himself, when it comes to interactions with other humans, I think. I think he would be in his own world.

Umm [pops lips] "How would sixteen year old Edwin react if he met six year old Charles?" [Laughs] I think he would have to exercise a lot of patience, because, I think, I can imagine six year old Charles, if he's how I imagine six year old Jayden would be, would run absolute riot, and get up to a lot of mischief. So, um, Edwin might have to put him on a leash, to be honest.

"Since I wouldn't trade the experience of falling in love with Dead Boy Detectives for anything, here's another question: If Edwin were given a potion that could erase his romantic feelings for Charles, would he take it? Why or why not?" I don't think he would, no. Because, I feel like... it's one of those complex things in life, you know, the way Edwin is forced to navigate his feelings for Charles is a very truthful thing. And it's something that, I think, in one way or another, I think a lot of people relate to. So to take that away is to take away the human experience, I think. But maybe that's a bit deep.

But listen, Evelyn [pronounced Ee-velyn]. Evelyn [pronounced Eh-velyn]? I... will you remind me in the next one how to say your name correctly? Because I... I remember in the last couple I did that, I couldn't remember, and you have explained it before, but I can't remember, and I'm really sorry about that.

But listen, I'm so pleased that Dead Boy Detectives has resonated with you so much, I'm so pleased that Edwin has. Edwin will always be there for you, Dead Boy Detectives will always be there for you, and it's lovely to hear from you, as well. So, have a great rest of your week and I'll speak to you soon. Bye!

Jayden: Hey Evelyn [pronounced Ee-velyn]! Happy belated first anniversary to DBD. I can't believe it's been a year. I can't tell if it's been the quickest year of my life, or the slowest year. Still haven't quite worked that out yet.

So, you've said you've been thinking a lot this month about how grateful you are to have found this brilliant show. It's led you to meet so many wonderful people, and that absolutely includes me, whoo hoo! "I'll always love the way you handled Charles' trauma and growth, it continues to be a source of encouragement and comfort to me." I love that, thank you so, so much for your kind words.

Since DBD is still a baby in the world of TV, here's your question: "What do you think six year old Charles would be like as a kid?" I think Charles would be very sporty. I imagine him always, like, climbing things. That was one thing, I aways kind of imagined Charles, he was like the kid who kind of ran off and climbed things. [Laughs] Very similar to me, to be honest.

"How would sixteen year old Charles react if he met six year old Edwin?" Very good question. I always imagined Charles being really good with kids. I just answered a question about, like, what things that Charles used to do, and I always imagined Charles being that guy or that kid in the neighbourhood that would kind of go around and, y'know, clean his neighbours' windows or his neighbours' cars or, like, take his neighbours' dogs for a walk. So, I imagined him being quite good with kids, so, yeah, I think if he met six year old Edwin he'd, y'know, be very gentle and he would probably try and make him laugh, as, y'know, as he does when they're both sixteen.

"To many fans, DBD feels like a lantern in the dark." Amazing. "Here's another question: Was the lantern Charles used in Hell the one Edwin gave him? After escaping, did he ever find a new one? See you."

Well, I don't think it was ever, on purpose, meant to be that, like, that lantern. But it was, it was the same prop, I know that for sure. And the only reason why I know is because me and George had a whole giggle about how, like, heavy it gets, after a while. It was, like, really weighty, the one they gave us [laughs]. And there were so many scenes where, like, especially for me in Hell, I'd have to hold it up, like, really high, and hold it there for lighting purposes. And I felt my arm like [laughs] shaking. So um yeah I don't know if that, if it was supposed to be, but it was the exact same lantern we held.

Thank you so much for your amazing questions, and hopefully I get to hear from you again soon.

Belated Happy 1st Anniversary of Dead Boy Detectives !

Here are my questions for George: What do you think 6-year-old Edwin would be like as a kid? How would 16-year-old Edwin react if he met 6-year-old Charles? If Edwin were given a potion that could erase his romantic feelings for Charles, would he take it? Why or why not? 

Here are my questions for Jayden: What do you think 6-year-old Charles would be like as a kid? How would 16-year-old Charles react if he met 6-year-old Edwin? Was the lantern Charles used in Hell the one Edwin gave him? After escaping did he ever find a new one?

[syvellsworld]

Gerrit about his time at school, mobbing and his best period in life. From the Q&A he did on Twitch on February 6th 2025.

German original / transcript:

Q: Wie war deine Schulzeit und welcher Abschnitt im Leben war bisher dein bester?

G: Meine Schulzeit war offen und ehrlich gesagt scheisse. Ich habe Schule einfach von Tag eins bis zum letzen Tag mit all den Umwegen die ich genommen habe mit ganz wenigen Ausnahmen überhaupt nicht genossen. Ich habe dieses Konzept einfach nie verstanden und habe es nie gemocht. Ich hatte mich nie sonderlich wohl unter Mitschülern gefühlt, ich hatte auch ganz ganz große Mobbing Probleme irgendwann in der Pubertät, also ich in der Rolle des Mobbingopfers und Lehrer, die das nicht ernst genommen haben. Ich weiß das ist auch immer noch ein Thema heutzutage, offensichtlich wird das nicht richtig in den Griff gekriegt, dass etwas gegen Mobbing unternommen wird, dass Lehrer das ernst nehmen. Vielleicht schon ein bißchen ernster als noch vor 20 Jahren als es bei mir alles der Fall war, aber es war auf jeden Fall damals ganz ganz große Scheisse und ich hatte immer ein bißchen das Problem, und das habe ich auch immer noch, dass ich mich nicht für etwas begeistere oder Leistung in etwas erbringen kann, wofür ich mich nicht wirklich 100% interessiere und ich Bock drauf habe. Und das einzige worauf ich immer Bock hatte war Musik, aber selbst da waren meine Noten grauenhaft schlecht, aber vor allem weil der Musikunterricht relativ wenig mit Musik zu tun hatte zum Teil, das war schon ein bißchen weird.

Aber davon ganz abgesehen, dieses ganze Allgemeinwissen und Algebra und Gedichte interpretieren in Deutsch und was immer, da hatte ich sowas von keinen Bock drauf und musste es aber machen. Und wenn ich etwas machen *muss*, musste und wie gesagt, das gleiche Problem habe ich immer noch: wenn ich etwas machen *muss* bin ich schon mal, nehme ich schon mal so eine Antihaltung ein, unter dem Motto: "Unter diesen Umständen komnen wir nicht ins Geschäft." Das heißt das schlägt sich in der Schulzeit, in der man nun mal Dinge machen muss, gehört nun mal leider dazu, schlägt sich natürlich negativ nieder und dementsprechend habe ich meine Schulzeit nie sonderlich genossen und ich denke mal dass viele meiner Lehrer mich auch nicht sonderlich genossen haben oder nicht verstanden haben, warum bei mir nichts zu holen ist, obwohl ich doch vielleicht nicht der unintelligenteste Mensch bin aber einfach, keine Ahnung, kein sehr leistungsorientierter Mensch bin, das steht nun mal zum krassen Kontrast was Schule darstellt. Das ist natürlich ein Leistungskonzept und unsere Gesellschaft hat ein Leistungskonzept und gerade in der Schulzeit, wie gesagt, war das etwas, vorauf ich überhaupt nicht konnte und was sich in Noten niedergeschlagen hat, sich in meiner Lust zu Schule zu gehen niedergeschlagen hat, die Zeit meines Lebens gering bis gar nicht vorhanden war und bin ich froh das hinter mir zu haben und zum Beispiel mein Studium, mein Tontechnik Studium, was ich vorhin erwähnt hatte an der SAE, dass ich das auch hinter mich gebracht habe, weil auch das ist ja in gewisser Weise eine Schulsituation. Das war natürlich etwas angenehmer als eine allgemeinbildende Schule, aber es war trotzdem eine Lernsituation. Ich habe danach gesagt, ich möchte nie wieder auf irgendeiner Schulbank sitzen, nie wieder in einer Lehrsituation sein, ich habe da keinen Bock mehr drauf. Ich hatte noch nie Bock drauf und ich möchte es auch nie mehr machen. Das heißt also dieses "Ach, vielleicht in meinen Dreissigern noch mal studieren" wenn ich Zeit und Bock habe, warum nicht... bleib mir weg, nee, also...

Also ja, meine Schulzeit: ungeil. Und ich möchte es auch nicht Schullaufbahn nennen, ich möchte es eher Schulhürdenlauf nennen, weil auch gewisse Ehrenrunden, die ich gedreht habe und vom Gymnasium auf die Realschule runtergestuft, weil ich irgendwann einfach gar nichts mehr geschissen gekriegt habe und dann irgendwann, mit einem ganz schön schlechten, fast nicht bestanden Mittlere Reife oder erweiterten Realschulabschluss dann wieder zurück auf die Oberstufe ans Gymnasium und geguckt, naja, vielleicht schaffe ich es ja doch mit dem Abi, habe dann nach der elften dann abgebrochen. Nach der elften war ich eigentlich in der dreizehnten, weil ich zum Zeitpunkt schon zwei Schuljahre wiederholt hatte, ich habe quasi dreizehn Jahre Schule gemacht, obwohl ich nach der elften abgebrochen habe, kein Abi und auch meine mittlere Reife ist unfassbar schlecht, weil ich weder Bock hatte noch mich in Prüfungssituationen wohlgefühlt habe. Prüfungsangst kam dann hinzu und hat mir alles versaut und ja: ist nicht meins, war nie meins und ich bin froh, dass ich das hinter mir habe.

Dementsprechend, daran schließt sich direkt der zweite Teil der Frage an "Welcher Abschnitt im Leben war bisher dein bester". Defintiv alles, was nach der Schule kam. Oder, um es genauer zu sagen, alles was nach dem Studium kam, also alles seitdem, also, ich will jetzt nicht auf die Tränendrüse drücken und nicht alles irgendwie, also ich will nicht sagen, dass ich alles auf diese eine Karte setze, aber alles, seitdem mich Chris damals gefragt hat, ob ich nicht zufälligerweise in seine Band eintreten möchte. Alles, was danach kam und bis heute anhält ist für mich der beste Abschnitt in meinem Leben und das darf auch gerne noch so weitergehen. Alles davor: notwendiges Übel, sagen wir mal so. Und bevor das hier zu traurig und zu düster wird, schaue ich mal, was wir noch für Fragen haben.

English translation:

Q: What was your time at school like and what was your best period in life so far?

G: My time at school was, to be honest, crap. From day one to day one, with all the detours I took, I simply didn't enjoy school at all, with very few exceptions. I just never understood the concept and never liked it. I never felt particularly comfortable with my classmates, I also had major bullying problems at some point during puberty, when I was the victim of bullying and teachers didn't take it seriously. I know that's still an issue today, it's obvious that it's not really being tackled, that something is being done about bullying, that teachers aren't taking it seriously. Maybe a bit more serious than 20 years ago when all of that was the case for me, but it was definitely really, really bad back then and I always had a bit of a problem, and I still have it, that I can't get excited about something or perform well in something that I'm not 100% interested in and don't feel like doing. And the only thing I was always interested in was music, but even then my grades were awful, but mainly because the music lessons had relatively little to do with music, that was a bit weird.

But apart from that, all this general knowledge and algebra and interpreting poems in German and whatever, I just didn't feel like doing it and yet I had to do it. And when I *have to* do something, had to do it, and as I said, I still have the same problem: when I *have to* do something, I take an anti-attitude, under the motto: "We can't do business under these circumstances." That means that it has a negative impact on school time, where you have to do things, unfortunately that's part of it, and of course it has a negative impact and as a result I never particularly enjoyed my time at school and I think that many of my teachers didn't particularly enjoy me either or didn't understand why there was nothing to be gained from me, even though I'm perhaps not the least intelligent person but I'm just, I don't know, not a very achievement-oriented person, which is in stark contrast to what school is all about. That is of course a performance concept and our society has a performance concept and especially during my school days, as I said, that was something I was absolutely not good at and that was reflected in my grades, reflected in my desire to go to school, that time in my life was little to non-existent and I am glad to have that behind me and, for example, my studies, my sound engineering studies, which I mentioned earlier at the SAE, that I have also got that behind me because that is also a school situation in a certain way. It was of course a bit more pleasant than a general education school, but it was still a learning situation. Afterwards I said that I never want to sit on a school bench again, never want to be in a teaching situation again, I don't feel like it anymore. I have never felt like it and I never want to do it again. So that means this "Oh, maybe I'll study again in my thirties" if I have the time and the desire, why not... stay away from me, no, well...

So yes, my school days: not great. And I don't want to call it a school career, I would rather call it a school hurdle race, because I also did certain laps of honour and was downgraded from grammar school to secondary school because at some point I just couldn't get anything done anymore and then at some point, with a really bad, almost failed intermediate school leaving certificate or extended secondary school leaving certificate, I went back to the upper school at grammar school and thought, well, maybe I'll manage to get my A-levels after all, and then I dropped out after the eleventh grade. After the eleventh grade I was actually in the thirteenth because I had already repeated two school years at that point, I basically did thirteen years of school, even though I dropped out after the eleventh grade, no A-levels and my intermediate school leaving certificate is also incredibly bad because I didn't feel like it and didn't feel comfortable in exam situations. Test anxiety then came along and ruined everything for me and yes: it's not my thing, it was never my thing and I'm glad that I've got that behind me.

Accordingly, the second part of the question follows directly on from this: "What period of your life has been your best so far?" Definitely everything that came after school. Or, to be more precise, everything that came after university, so everything since then, well, I don't want to pull the wool over your eyes and not everything, I don't want to say that I'm putting everything on this one card, but everything since Chris asked me if I wanted to join his band. Everything that came after that and continues to this day is the best part of my life for me and I hope it continues like that. Everything before that: a necessary evil, let's put it that way. And before this gets too sad and too dark, I'll see what other questions we have.

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[blitz0hn0]

We finally wrote a proper response to this haha thanks so much for the clarification! It makes perfect sense now. We looked up the definition but should've known the mathematical definition was a factor (pun intended).

"To be discrete is to be static" is such a brilliant point. Like you said, a living breathing part of a brain won't fit that definition. Life experiences aren't static whatsoever.

There's simply no reason to give a shit if someone is performative or not, but for reasons I still can't figure out, many many people give way too much of a shit, which is why as you pointed out, the language we use matters. The smart of kind "staring at fragmentation presentations all day" is to gain an understanding of the how and why, like you do with your research. However, too many reduce these survival mechanisms to mere performance and act like it can't possibly be true, but to be completely frank I need to stop worrying about those types altogether. Again as you said, there's no reason to give a shit about others' performance if it's not helpful. It's better to question the how and why of actions within the context of a larger society.

Your analogy makes sense - you aren't saying people shouldn't psychoanalyze, you're saying that there are other factors to 09 besides his psychology that make him interesting. This is very true, and also you're right to be frustrated that many who solely focus on his psychology have a poor understanding of it. Especially since there ARE concrete reasons why he wasn't free, and probably felt like he would never be.

The panopticon of society is a brilliant lens to study MILGRAM's story through. It's so meta because it shines a light on the different reactions people have to not only the characters themselves, but how they are talked about. Especially when their circumstances of living in Japanese society seem to get overlooked and misunderstood by people unfamiliar with Japanese culture. Critically analyzing the environment 09 was placed in is crucial to dissecting the author's intent, and yet you're one of he few people I've seen go in-depth about it. The cause-effect relations between what happens to and around the prisoners and their resulting actions is deeply important.

Prohibit all the words you like because as you've pointed out, a lot of popular language used by eng fans discussing 09 is unhelpful, alienating, and even obnoxious at points. It creates a vibe of "otherness" that those with this disorder have to deal with as it is, whether or not they know they have fragmentation going on. I agree that the Warden running with Kotoko's "diagnosis" in a prison like this, with no attempt to truly understand what they're dealing with, is unethical and an affront to 09's rights. Especially their refusal to explain what's going on to Mikoto himself. However, was it unethical for him to be written in a way that the text explicitly states his mental condition? I don't think so. I think Yamanaka is directly challenging the stigmas and assumptions the society around him makes by explicitly stating that this character meets the criteria for the condition. Examining how people speak about those with the condition specifically seems to be a goal in writing such a character.

The language used can be frustrating, yes, and the last thing I wish is to take that frustration out on those critically analyzing these things. Language is how we de-stigmatize these things for sure. The panopticon of society pisses us off sometimes because we shouldn't have to have labels shoved on us by others. We shouldn't have to explain every little thing just so others will believe us. There are words we can choose to achieve those goals.

The exact phrase used that prompted this ask was "carnival performer profile." As I said, I am not about to get mad over a tumblr post and would never take out pointless frustration on someone smart enough to analyze this shit thoroughly. However, it's incredibly irritating when others describe dissociation sufferers' projections of their own symptoms like that. (You are describing how they describe a character, so it's not quite the same and not a big deal imho). It caught my attention because the "this is performative" narrative seems to be a common sentiment among those without the condition, even some who claim to be professionals. Naturally, it bleeds into other discussions around the condition. Western spaces that talk about DID, even the ones who claim to be positive, tend to discredit some collectives as being "over-the-top" when they are simply describing how they experience the world. As you said earlier, it's all self-expression, and there's no point giving a shit how others present themselves, but so many people are quick to dismiss parts choosing differentiation for themselves as performative. The implication being that these people are bad or wrong for expressing themselves how they do.

I strongly agree that western 09 posters trying to present Mikoto in terms of how they personally see dissociation is obnoxious as fuck, especially when they shove terms and labels on him with certainty that said labels mean something clinically, when they really don't. In term's of 09's culture itself, they wouldn't be of any use to Mikoto whatsoever. But reducing the tendency for younger/uninformed 09 fans to do such irritating things to an appearance of "performance" or "roleplay" is also unhelpful language imho. These people are posting on the internet and thus inviting interaction, so telling them to expand their vocabulary is good.

However, the continuous narrative that that if one speaks about this "disorder" (as defined by the societies that allow parents and other caregivers to get away with the disorderly conduct which causes dissociation) incorrectly that they will be seen as a joke is not my favorite. Over-valuing labels and exclusive language is something deserving of being clowned on. Using unhelpful vocabulary to describe things, though, isn't a crime unless the person is doing it on purpose imho. We despise a lot of the language used in "DID" spaces, personally. But I know exactly why people speak like that; they're so used to "normal" people never accepting them as they are, that they pander to an in-group who they securely feel "gets it." It's not correct, but it's a natural tendency in the panopticon-like society we all live in.

This is in no way implying that your expressions of frustration were "wrong." It's your space, say what you like how you like it. I quite like the things you have to say. I just think the language around how DID "looks" to those without it should be more forgiving in general discussion. Everyone knows not what they do, and getting through to them is possible through the steps you laid out.

also we want to frame those steps you wrote. Discussion and language are the keys to community, and you really hit the nail on the head here. Thank you for such a thorough response!

I like your take, but I will say that while many fragmented personality states do not experiences discrete differences, some brains do. Yes it seems "performative" but sometimes brains do that becauae drastically different behavior/views are sometimes required for survival. It's as annoying for the person experiencing it as the person witnessing such a "switch" irl, because both parties are thinking "this seems totally fake."

The whole thing the brain is doing is convincing itself that the thing it is experiencing isn't actually real. Most people don't have distinct parts because the opposite is necessary. However, sometimes parts are extremely distinct because it is necessary.

How this manifests in 09 is completely up to the viewer so your interpretation is completely understandable and valid. However, do understand that overt symptoms don't make someone a sideshow freak. A lot of people carry that sentiment, but it's not true. It's not something that doesn't happen, it's hidden because it scares people.

The language we use to discuss these things is very valuable, and your input is deeply important and well-put. The language many communities use to discuss these things is unhelpful, and catering your discussion experience how you like is great. Still, no one who is truly expressing symptoms like "stereotypical" DID is enjoying their brain's performance. We hope more people can understand that, too.

What if 09 was free to be different day-to-day even when it's deemed weird? You're right that it's dumb to just focus on his self-states, but we can't toss aside their differences as entirely irrelevant. Yamanaka gave us ways to differentiate them because they are influenced by different life experiences.

I hope this doesn't come off as a rant! The way you explain things is very skillful; I understand what you're getting at. Still, it bothers us sometimes that these symptoma tend to be seen as a "circus performance."

nods nods. "discrete" is a different from "different" in the sense that a "discrete" thing means an individually separate entity with no overlap with anything- there is no possibility of continuity. whereas "different" can include some continuity despite a shift from an origin point. yeah, dissociated states can appear vastly different but, due to the fact that there's a continuity via co-existing within one body/brain, it doesn't qualify for the definition of "discrete". and "distinct" just means to appear different enough that it can be considered a haecceity, but not necessarily be inherently discrete. "different" ≠ "distinct" ≠ "discrete"

besides, to be "discrete" is to be static. isn't it kinda strange to call a person a static, non-changing, non-evolving entity? i don't quite see the point in caring if someone appears to be "performative" or not, nor do i care if someone appears "stereotypical" or not. and i especially do not give a shit if someone's being distinct or not; everything's a form of expression in the end and who's to dictate how one is to express their existence? besides, what really matters is how actions and subsequent responses impact an agent(s) or entity/entities. what matters more is how those expressions affect things and if a person is cognizant of why/how they express/phrase something as they do- the deliberation and understanding of one's acts of agency. it's better to know why you chant some slogan rather than to do it mindlessly, right? the same premise goes for what a person says or does or acts.

What if 09 was free to be different day-to-day even when it's deemed weird? You're right that it's dumb to just focus on his self-states, but we can't toss aside their differences as entirely irrelevant. Yamanaka gave us ways to differentiate them because they are influenced by different life experiences.

i think there's some misunderstanding here. analyzing the overarching systems in place that developed Mikoto Kayano in all his complexities isn't casting aside his differences, it's - instead - focusing on what caused X or Y etc. to manifest in Mikoto (which ofc includes whatever caused Z-difference to manifest); analyzing the macrofactors of the world that molds its inhabitants rather than analyzing the expressions of the microworld within a single human being. if you need an analogy, think of anthropology vs psychoanalysis: one is the study of a group of people/community and the other is the intimate study of a single person — patterns within many vs singular expression of individualism. once more, i really could not give a single modicum of fuck about how Mikoto expresses himself, freely or not. i care more about the Cause-Effect in the Cause-Effect-Response continuum when it comes to analyses. everyone's free to focus and approach analyses from whichever angle they choose to, i just happen to like thinking about the more overall structure of things - the panopticon of society itself and its effects en masse rather than the individuals. if you know the foundations of what causes something, it's more effective in changing more things - the structure of things - ergo affecting more people for better or for worse. genuinely if you want to analyze 09 and his psychology, by all means you've always been able to. all i'm yapping about on this account is wanting to see other topics of conversation about him- discussions that aren't just focused on MILGRAM's unethical abductive-reasoning diagnosis of the DID of Mikoto Kayano. i'm all for expanding discussion, not stopping or limiting them lol. and if prohibiting a few words makes it so people have to think and come up with their own ways to phrase things, it would expand the diversity of conceptualizations, understandings, and perspectives all because of phrasing things differently- all because you place yourself in the variety of lenses that gives meaning to the world that different words offer through its usage.

i can understand the frustration of the symptoms of a stigmatized disorder being seen as a "circus performance" and displaying overt symptoms being seen as "freaky" since that's just dehumanizing but there are ways to help destigmatize it. one of many ways is figuring out the language that stigmatizes or destigmatizes because meaning, thus image/stigma/preconceptions/nuance, is constructed in language. it's one of the basal instruments that is actively perpetuating or changing the current mores of thought, thus philosophies, thus people through its usage that is as essential as breathing. why do you think some people have a notion that a disorder like DID is "circus"-adjacent or "freak"-adjacent if not because of the language used to talk about it? words have nuances and if enough of those words-with-nuances surround a community enough, become embedded with it, it affects how its speech community members and outsiders/most of the population will understand it. now, how do you deconstruct stigma in language? (1) be critical of existing language; (2) educating and making speakers understand the meanings embedded in what they say; (3) once that's achieved, it's up to those persons to choose what to do with that further insight and if they'll be more deliberate in how they say things. this can apply to the individual or a/the community that's affected that deliberates what they will do with that language and how it's be approached and transformed to their will. language is a living, communal and mutual instrument that requires the effort of many individuals within the speech community to exist. language isn't static nor are thoughts nor people. things can change for the worst or better.

[cuteniarose]

Each time I think I’ve finally become normal about This Fucking Family my brain comes up with shit like “Hey have you noticed how much Liba looks like young Sunat?” and now I want to throw up

[zanzanne]

wanting more than anything to just go home for the thousandth time

[teamfortresstwo]

In a life swap AU rather than just a role swap I think it would be sooo fucked up if Patroclus swapped with Theseus and Achilles with Asterius

[rawliverandgoronspice]

ohhh I managed to convince my potato laptop that it was indeed capable of running clip studio paint let's fucking goooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lususnatura]

🎤 🎤 🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

AHH, hey, ramone!! thank you for sending in this prompt :D since you sent in three of the mic's, i shall now be treating you to three songs that make me think of blamore when i hear them / that i associate with it. an explanation of why i chose them will be in the tags <3

hozier - who we are.

icehouse - crazy.

depeche mode - personal jesus.

[arolesbianism]

Having realizations while looking through some of the newer logs again

[mathmusicreading]

Blog(ger) Shift

I am, so weird and bad about original posting and about reblogging and about saving things on Tumblr and that's why my blog has been mostly inactive or the lurking consumer type. But I don't want my fears about putting myself out there, being seen and known, articulating myself well vs. having been told my whole life I'm too wordy and opinionated vs. not managing to articulate myself well enough to justify being verbose and passionate, etc. to continue to control me so much.

So for my new specific-interest sideblog that I'm not locking, I hope it being themed will help me with making more original posts and reblogging, and I'm publicizing that here to push myself and also welcome interaction.

RIP to my other public specific-interest sideblog and the fandom sideblog I took over for someone that I didn't take further and to my private sideblogs that were meant to make me reblog and save and say stuff because they would be personal and just for me. I still would like to make those happen and reblogging and posting things that matter to me here, and oh my heart for the content ideas I haven't been working on, but they're pipedreams with how I'm (not) managing my life and I keep kicking those cans down the road.

To the person who I developed a real relationship with as a beta but who by now I probably count as having disappeared on with how long it's been and my not coming back to explicitly say I still can't help and don't know when I can, I am so sorry. I'm being a coward languishing in hoping I can tell you soon that I can get back into beta-ing for you and talking, but that's turned into me not talking to you because I'm waiting to be able to say something positive. Hopefully my vaguing here can help push me into talking to you, or at least this is here for you to read if you happen to see it; and I want you to know you absolutely can talk to me, can call me out, and if you're so gracious as to still want to be friends with me and just chat despite my dropping being your beta, I'm here for you and still want to be your friend even if I don't know if I'll have the spoons to be a good one and I know my saying that preemptively isn't apology or justification enough.

Honest assessment, I'm going to curse and say my living situation and work have both become even more of a shitshow, and with those things in mind I can't begin to imagine handling a real project until basically literally a year from now.

Which segues back into the main topic of this post. My goal isn't to have my new sideblog be like an active mainblog nor to abandon this blog—people interested in that blog can and should still interact with me here given how primary vs. secondary blogs on Tumblr work, and in terms of using that blog to help make me be a better Tumblr user, I think I should make certain original posts here and reblog them there as opposed to them being original there. With my mental-emotional and time resources, I want that blog to be "active" for a given definition of active, but really I think I should see my objective as "clear out tabs and likes and photos and lists and notes and drafts, etc. from the last four months" by saving stuff there, as opposed to my goal being the original posts I want to make there, and actually my long-term goal should be to use that momentum to do the same for older digital and physical storage that hasn't been lost or stolen. In my failure to be an interesting person, do I at least manage to be fascinating as a basket-case? Ha. But, also, as expressed above the Read More, the exercise of my danmei/Chinese sideblog is supposed to be a foray into me allowing myself to be an interesting person.

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (2)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: still could not tell you a single thing about this plot but who knows!!!! perhaps I’ll make a whole serious out of it (??). will probably be smutty eventually.

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: slightest bit of sexual tension.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

masterlist

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any future chapters :)

***

The party is already in full swing by the time the two of you arrive. Sunghoon beats his driver in opening the car door for you after insisting that you stay put for him to do so. It seems a bit much, especially since Sunghoon has never held the door open for you in this manner, but you’ve learned not to stop him from pursuing what he wants. You feel a bit awkward when he holds his arm out for you to grab as you attempt to exit the car nonchalantly. It’s not commonplace for your boss to assist you in such a manner. 

Your fingers drum against the leather of your bag as the two of you walk inside. For the first time in six years, you haven’t got a clue as to why Sunghoon needs you here. Being his “plus one” usually entails business negotiations or seeking out potential connections. He’s never asked you to accompany him for the hell of it. There’s always work to be done and Sunghoon isn’t above having you put your weeknights into your work agenda. 

The venue is glamorous. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the staff carry around trays of alcohol and expensive-looking appetizers. You decline a glass of champagne but accept a small savory bite with loads of caviar on top of it (you don’t want to guess how much was spent on this dish alone). Sunghoon, on the other hand, grabs two champagne flutes and holds one out to you just as you shove your food into your mouth. 

“I’m good,” you say through a mouthful. Sunghoon chuckles.

“Let loose. You’re gonna be gone in two months. You might as well enjoy the perks while you can.”

“Are you accepting that I want to quit?” 

“Absolutely not.” He pushes the glass towards you until your fingers curl around the long stem. “But I am trying to get you to have fun.” 

“I know how to have fun.”

“You’re always on work mode when we come to these things. You could learn to relax your shoulders and not talk business all the time.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my job, Sir.”

“Sunghoon.”

“That’s my job, Sunghoon.” 

“Not tonight. Don’t think about work. Matter of fact, if anybody talks about anything work-related, direct them to me or give them my email.” 

You look at him curiously. “Since when do you care about how much fun I’m having to the point of burdening yourself with extra work?”

“Since my favorite assistant decided she wanted to quit.” 

You don’t respond. He’s naturally a forward person, but he’s never commented on the nature of your working relationship beyond praising you on a job well done when you’ve clearly earned it. Sunghoon believes in proving oneself without any handouts, especially since his nepotism granted him the work he does now. You know it was significantly easier for Sunghoon to work his way from an intern to managing partner because his family legacy is Park Inc., but all of his accomplishments are on him. It’s why he believes in giving everybody a fair shot and kicking those who don’t perform well to the curb, even if their family is considered “well known.” 

When it comes to your job and the work you’ve done for him, Sunghoon keeps his praise to a minimum. He is polite and doesn’t forget to thank you if you’ve completed a task for him, but he keeps his praise to himself until you do something that truly amazes him. You could probably count all of these stellar moments on one hand, and it took you years of working alongside Sunghoon to stop seeking his validation so much. When you focus on your work and not his praise, you seem to get more tasks done efficiently. But all you’ll ever be to Sunghoon is his assistant. Despite all of the work and knowledge you’ve acquired through your years of working at Park Inc., you doubt you’ll work your way up to become a managing partner like him. 

Lee Heeseung and Park Jongseong, two of Sunghoon’s business partners and closest friends, provide a welcomed distraction when they approach the two of you with champagne flutes of their own. They both look just as prim and polished as Sunghoon in their tailored suits and reflective black shoes. You wonder if their assistants are here tonight.

“Always good to see you,” Jongseong says with a quick hug when he sees you before greeting Sunghoon. 

“Didn’t realize you were coming.” Heeseung looks at your boss. “I thought Hana was accompanying you tonight?”

Sunghoon waves them off. “Nah. Asked my trusty assistant to come with me instead.” Heeseung looks at your hands.

“And you’re…drinking?”

“He told me it was fine,” you said, gesturing at Sunghoon. Heeseung smiles and steps forward to pull you into a short embrace as well, hands kept as a respectable distance while balancing his own drink. “Where’s Jake?” 

“Business trip to Brisbane. It’s doubling as a family vacation since he hasn’t been back to Australia since he started his career,” Jongseong explains. “He’ll be back in a week.” 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung interrupts. “I’m stuck on the fact that you’re actually drinking and not pretending to so people don’t give you a hard time about it.”  

“I told her to let loose and not think about work too much.”

“If she doesn’t, who will?” Jongseong snorts. He turns at you. “Are you going to grace us with your presence on the dance floor, or is Sunghoon making you butter everyone up until they inevitably do what you say?” 

“She’s here because I needed a plus one and she’s here to have fun,” Sunghoon responds for you. Jongseong chuckles and stuffs his hands in his pocket.

“Well, God knows she needs a night off. You make her work too hard.” 

Sunghoon tuts. “I do no such thing.”

“He can’t be worse than Daon. No could ever be,” says Heeseung.

“I guess you’re right.” Heeseung glances between you and Sunghoon before speaking again.

“If she’s here to have a bit of fun, you won’t mind if I took her to the face floor, would you?” Something unreadable flashes across Sunghoon’s face. 

“No,” he says with his jaw fixed. Heeseung grins.

“Perfect. Shall we?” 

You give Sunghoon your champagne flute and don’t look back, enjoying the idea of entertaining your awful dance skills with somebody you’ve known for nearly as long as you’ve known Sunghoon. Heeseung is charming in all of the right ways and you can see why most of your colleagues harbor small crushes on him. He’s extremely charismatic and good at getting what he wants. It’s a quality you wished you could possess. 

Heeseung’s hand rests on the small of your back while the other gently holds your hand as he sways the two of you to the rhythm of the music. You’re not one for the theatrics of dancing the night away like Heeseung is, but it’s nice to forego your professional duties and scuff up your heels for a change. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Heeseung says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve made a habit of being on the go when I come to these things.” 

Heeseung tuts. “Sunghoon’s pushing you to your limits, but I can see why you’re the only person he trusts to get things done.”

“I remember the days when he barely trusted me to get his coffee order right.”

“Well, you’ve come a long way since then.” 

Heeseung winks and places one hand on the middle of your back before you find him hovering above you. He doesn’t let you linger for much longer and pulls you back into his chest. The two of you have always had a friendly-yet-playful friendship, but something about him spontaneously asking you to dance and making you break your normal, party-going habits has you blushing. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Sunghoon told me you’re quitting.” Your hand on his shoulder tightens for a moment. 

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be thinking.” 

“You’re not the type of person who can just let things go.” 

“I hate that you know me well.” 

Heeseung winks again. “My assistants and I have learned to count on you more than we can count on Sunghoon. I’d like to believe I know you better than you think I do.” 

“Well…I’ve worked alongside him for so long that it’s making me wonder what else is out there for me, you know? Don’t get me wrong, I am so lucky to have been able to travel and learn alongside him, but it’s never because I want to. I don’t want to be a career assistant.” 

“What do you want to do instead?”

“I don’t know,” you frown. “I’ve spent so long cleaning up after him and catering to his needs that I’ve never spent enough time thinking about what I want to do with my life.”

“He seems choked up about it.” 

You scoff. “I handed him my resignation letter and he barely acknowledged it.”

“Jongseong told me he picked you up from your apartment.” 

“He accompanied his driver.”

Heeseung waves you off. “Same difference.” 

“And, well…he told me to stop calling him by his title and to start calling him by his name.” 

“Oh?”

“I know. It’s weird, isn’t it? I don’t think I could ever address him by ‘Sunghoon.’”

“You call me Heeseung, though.”

You swat his chest. “Yah. That’s because I don’t work for you and you threatened to get me fired if I treated you like a stuffy higher-up.” He grins at that.

“You’ll be missed, you know. I can tell Sunghoon’s starting to spiral about it. He doesn’t call me often to talk about himself, but he spent our entire meeting discussing his weekend golfing plans.” 

“He’ll function without me.”

“I don’t know if he can.” 

As it stands currently, your personal life barely exists. It’s hard to find time to do things by yourself when you’re constantly on call. Sunghoon is respectful of your personal time as much as any high power venture capitalist can be, but you often find yourself sitting with him during late night working hours and in the early morning when he asks for your presence. It’s not a terrible job, certainly not for the pay and how it used to give you a sense of purpose in life, but it’s starting to feel like the days and months are blurring together. You don’t think you could recall what day it is without looking at your calendar. 

Your working relationship with Sunghoon is near perfect. He can be a bit of a charmer when he wants to be and knows all the right ways to get you to say yes, but you can’t say you’ve had a horrible time working under him. Sunghoon is a fair boss who trusts you far more than you trust yourself. He’s given you incredible opportunities to learn and grow as a businessperson, and it’s far more than you can say for anybody else in that office. Sunghoon values his personal time, which leads him to valuing when you take time off (and, to be honest, is rarely ever). That is something you know you’ll struggle to find elsewhere. 

But this job has seen you work over the typical forty hours to the point where you lose yourself in it. You try to balance your time in and out of the office, but it’s hard to keep up a personal life when you care so deeply about your job. The projects you work on are important to you, as is contributing to businesses that have since become successful thanks to you and Sunghoon. It gives you a sense of fulfillment to know you can be part of the reason why a local eatery becomes a celebrated chain restaurant, or why a crowdfunded product becomes internet famous for all the right reasons. It’s your job and it’s your life, but that’s what you’re afraid of.

Sunghoon will never have to wonder what it’s like to worry about paying rent or utilities because his family comes from a long line of extremely successful venture capitalists. He could try his best to blow his fortune and wouldn’t come close to spending a fraction of it. You, on the other hand, budget wisely on your salary in order to be able to afford and maintain the lifestyle you have. Every cent is accounted for and splurging on things is a treat every once in a while, aside from the budget Sunghoon gives you when you travel with him. But even then, you’d consider yourself someone who doesn’t overdo it for the principle of it all.

Aside from having little to no hobbies that require stepping out of your apartment, you don’t meet people. You don’t hang out with anybody regularly enough to build connections or to explore romantic relationships. The people you see on a weekly basis are your elderly neighbors who praise you for being quiet during the nighttime, your colleagues at Park Inc., and Sunghoon. There is no time to settle down. While Sunghoon gets his fair share of taking women home and indulging in sex and dating, you find that you’re the one who he calls when he can’t seem to get rid of people who refuse to leave. The thought of explaining this situation to your date, and having them be okay with being a glorified babysitter, seems a bit far fetched.

You tell yourself that dating shouldn’t be a big deal. It isn’t, right? Not when you’ve learned to become independent and confident in the face of venture capitalist sharks that will eat you for breakfast should you falter. The thick skin you’ve managed to build feels more like protective armor than anything else. People who know you would say they’ve seen an immense amount of growth in how you carry yourself, and while you credit it to working in the environment you do, most of it is because you refuse to let yourself falter, even if for a moment. 

Dating hasn't been on your mind for the past few years. You were young, and you still are, but the years after graduating university were dedicated to figuring out where you belonged. This job at Park Inc. was a great blessing. Having to focus on getting your job done and learning about the business took up more time than you anticipated, so there was no time to think about relationships. You were very much in the mindset of pursuing a career before indulging in boys. Perhaps it’s your hyper independence that led you to push any yearning for romance aside. But it’s bubbling to the surface like a vengeance in the present day. 

And if you’re being honest, you feel incredibly silly. It feels stupid to watch movies or read books and wish you could experience the kind of love that leaves you breathless. You’ve never been one for the theatrics, but what if you were? What if you were the type to meet a guy and fall for him instantly? What would you be like if you were the type of person people naturally gravitated towards? If you were any different, would guys come up to you out of the blue and entertain you until one of you ultimately decided it isn’t worth it? 

You don’t have the time to consider these things beyond daydreams. Your days are filled with project meetings, phone calls, scheduling, and anything else Sunghoon requires of you. It’s gotten to the point where you’re considering asking him to get a second assistant to help you with the tasks you’re drowning in. 

You don’t have the luxury of meeting incredibly handsome men who want everything to do with you as Sunghoon does. People fall at his feet when he looks at them. With his warm brown eyes and devilish smile, he barely has to lift a finger to get people to fall to their knees. You’ve seen it one too many times, whether it be women who lunge at the chance to go home with him or potential clients who want his money for their business. Sunghoon knows how to sweet talk and he knows how to get what he wants without making the other person realize they’re submitting to his will. His charisma is admirable. You wish you could be a little more like that. 

Thinking about how little action you get compared to Sunghoon feels like you’re losing your mind, too. You’ve had shitty dates and failed hookups in the past that leave you wondering if trying is worth it. It doesn’t seem like that’s the type of lifestyle for you, and while you’re not necessarily looking to settle down with the next person you meet, you desperately wish you could meet somebody who doesn’t disappoint you by the time the check arrives. It’s almost aggravating when Sunghoon walks into the office with a post-sex glow to him. It’s irritating when he calls you to take women out of his house and see him in all of his glory (shirtless only—you’re crossing so many boundaries just by helping Sunghoon in this matter but damn, his abs are chiseled by the gods). 

You’d have to be completely blind to think Sunghoon isn’t attractive. Meeting him for the first time felt like you were meeting the child of Aphrodite. His hair naturally fell into all the right places and his suit was tailored to the nines. He was commanding yet soft, and his baritone voice felt like pure velvet the first time you heard him speak. Your knees nearly buckled when he looked at you and you imagine that’s what every woman must feel like when he gives them his attention. You know far too well just how charming and handsome Sunghoon is, and you’ve learned to push these thoughts and feelings to the very back corner of your mind. 

Sunghoon always is, and always will be, off limits. He’s your boss, for starters. In the early days of your career, you’d find yourself fantasizing about him and his otherworldly looks when desperate times called and when bad dates left you wondering what life would be like if you weren’t Sunghoon’s assistant, but someone he took home. It always made you feel guilty and shameful, especially when you’d walk into his office the next day and make any sort of eye contact with him. That feeling ate at you alive to the point where you had to force yourself to view this as a professional, working relationship only. Besides, there was no chance Sunghoon would ever jeopardize himself like that. He takes work too seriously to ever mix it in with his private life. 

Eventually, you learned to tune those feelings out and view him like your superior. Sunghoon’s always been a bit friendly with you, especially as your years of working together grew. You know so much about his family, where he lives, his goals and aspirations, to the point where you think you know more about him than you know about yourself. You’ve seen him stress over big projects and celebrate incredible milestones. You’ve been with him every step of the way for the past six years, and leaving his side is the scariest thing you’ve done in your life thus far. 

You know he’ll be just fine. Sunghoon might have to get to know somebody all over again and get used to working a different dynamic, but it’s not as if you’re irreplaceable. That thought tends to keep you up at night every once in a while. Not a single person has ever made you feel like you’re worth fighting for and nobody has ever gone out of their way to show you how much they value you. It comes easily to Sunghoon to the point where you’d be surprised if people didn’t want anything to do with him. 

Those kinds of things don’t happen for you very easily. Men don’t fall to their knees when they see you and they certainly don’t strike up a conversation with the hopes of scoring your number. You can count on your hand the number of times people have hit on you, and while it’s not a measure of who you are as a person, it does make you feel shitty about yourself when you start to compare your love life with your boss’s. 

So you find yourself here, standing in between Heeseung’s arm, feeling like a shy school girl who got asked to prom for the first time. It’s ridiculous. You’ve known him for nearly as long as you’ve known Sunghoon, and Heeseung has always been friendly in a way a colleague should. He never oversteps nor makes you uncomfortable, but the feeling of his hand on your back makes your mind drift to a scenario in which you’re dancing with the love of your life. It makes you feel small. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

As if on cue, Sunghoon’s voice pierces through your wandering thoughts. 

“After this song, Hoon. I’m having quality time with your assistant.”

The song ends just as Heeseung is done speaking. It feels like the universe might as well be laughing at you.

“Would you look at that? The song just ended.” Heeseung steps away and winks at you before looking at Sunghoon.

“She’s all yours.” 

Sunghoon resumes Heeseung’s position and every fantasy you’ve had of him from the early days of your career suddenly makes their way to the forefront of your mind. No matter how much you try to push them back in their place, these desires keep coming up like a canon of confetti at the end of a concert. Your heart rate picks up slightly and you hope your hands don’t feel as clammy as you think they are.

“Having fun?” 

“I’d hardly count coming to a stuffy event as fun, but I’m not miserable.” 

Sunghoon tilts his head. “You don’t like schmoozing with men who only care about money?” The two of you share a laugh. It’s so easy to let your guard down with him.

“Ha-ha. No, Sunghoon, I don’t typically imagine this as my ideal way of having fun.”

“No?” He pulls you closer to his chest as he brings the two of you deeper into the dance floor. It makes you help in surprise and Sunghoon doesn’t bother hiding his pleasure when he grins. “What do you like to do for fun, hm?”

“I…I don’t know.” 

Sunghoon clicks his tongue. “It can’t be all work and no play, you know. That makes Jack a dull boy, or however the saying goes.” You roll your eyes.

“I’m too busy taking care of you, remember?” 

“Ah, yes, and what a wonderful job you’ve done. Come on. Tell me something you like to do when you’re not with me.”

“I like to read, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I like to read. Better?” 

“Much. What kind of books?”

“Depends on my mood. Sometimes I like reading fiction, sometimes nonfiction. I like thrillers a lot.”

“You’re one of those types who likes to see if you can unravel the plot before you get to the end, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Knew it.” He squeezes your hand placed in his. “Anything else besides reading?”

“I like traveling. I don’t do it much unless you request I go somewhere with you. But I like exploring places by myself without the pretense of work.” 

Sunghoon frowns. “You don’t travel much?” 

“No, not with the work I have to do.” You let out a small laugh. “I try not to be too jealous when you take time off work to go to Europe or America.” 

Sunghoon nods once and spins the both of you as the song’s tempo picks up. “You’ll have more time to travel when you leave me, no?” 

“Mhm.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Osaka sounds nice. I’ve only ever been to Tokyo for a few business meetings, but we’ve never had time to go elsewhere. New York sounds like a dream. Maybe I’ll visit São Paulo or Rome if I’m lucky.” 

“That’s quite the bucket list.” 

“I’m an ambitious woman.” He squeezes your waist. 

“Don’t I know it.” 

“You know, this is probably the longest I’ve talked about myself with you.” 

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s usually business talk first thing in the morning, and then whatever you’ve been up to.”

“I don’t ask you what you do on the weekends?”

“Sometimes. Mondays are usually our busiest days, though.” 

He frowns. “I should’ve paid more attention. Maybe that’ll convince you to stay.” 

“You’re funny.” 

The song ends and Sunghoon doesn’t pull away like you think he will. He’s not somebody who generally enjoys spending time with his colleagues more than he has to, and that includes you. Part of you wonders if some innate guilt keeps him dancing with you, but you try not to think about the negative possibilities when you’re with him. 

“What are you going to do when you’re free?” Sunghoon asks as the next song begins. “Are you booking a plane ticket to New York or Osaka?” 

“I don’t know, honestly, but maybe I should. Who knows, I could find the love of my life on vacation and move to a brand new city if it works out.”

“Love of your life, huh?”

You shrug. “Dunno. I’ve been thinking about, err, my love life, or lack thereof, for the past few weeks. I don’t have time to date around when I’m at your beck and call. God, this is weird, isn’t it?”

“What is? Talking about your love life? Or, how did you say it, ‘lack thereof’?” 

“If I’m being honest? Yeah. I’ve seen you hook up with so many women in the years I’ve known you but that’s what assistants are for, right? Helping you out of situations without asking any questions?” 

“I suppose you’re right. You don’t keep to shy away from things all the time with me, though,” he reassures. “We’ve known each other for half a decade. I think that earns you the right to talk about yourself whenever you feel like it.” 

“Seems like I'm crossing a boundary.” 

“I’m telling you tonight that you aren’t. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about a boyfriend before.” 

“Nope.” You tilt your head and keep your lips in a thin line when you smile. “Got my hands full with you.” 

“Some would say you’re in a lucky position.” 

He laughs when you roll your eyes. When you try to step away and take yourself out of Sunghoon’s grasp, he immediately pulls you back into him. It catches you off guard and you’re suddenly aware that he’s looking at you with those commanding brown eyes peeking through his bangs. It makes your breath falter for a moment. 

“I appreciate you more than you know. I hope you know that.” His baritone voice nearly makes you knees buckle.

“Thank you for saying that.” 

“I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You look away. “I’m sure you could find someone else who’d be a better fit than me.” 

“Don’t downplay yourself. You’re a fantastic assistant who’s kept my head on my shoulders for the past six years.” 

“Sunghoon…” 

“Say it. Say ‘I’m a great assistant.’” 

“I’m a great assistant.” He grins. 

“Good girl.” 

Yeah. You must be losing it if hearing your boss say that makes you feel a little worked up. Those feelings from when you first met rise to the surface and you struggle to push them down. It doesn’t help that Sunghoon looks like a Greek God among mortals with his chiseled jawline and impeccable skin. You stare at him far too long to realize how long his eyelashes are and how he looks quite handsome when he’s looking at you like he’d do anything to make you change your mind about quitting your job.

Goodness, you think. I’m screwed.    

***

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