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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years ago

Text

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys. I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy and miss alex @darthstyles for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law. Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her. The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time. She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street. Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl. Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years. To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning. And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume. However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment. When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things. The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado. These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am. It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in. The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today. I’m the maid of honour. I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath. Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her. What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright. Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice. We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again. It could be a day, or it could be five. If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment. In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old. They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails. From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild. Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused. Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop. Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice. To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur. Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce. Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD. Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack. In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name. It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer. She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N! Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous. Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point! I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go! A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already. There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours. She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out. I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands. I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine. We can work around this. We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking. The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room. When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you doing here?” She demands. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour. And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not? It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor. Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her. Alright. So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal. But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything. Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life. While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah. That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened. Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod. She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So? He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her. She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes. We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through. Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room. When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear. If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go. Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks. As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car. Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist. I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car? You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses. He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes. Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep. Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours. Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts. Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message. Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight? Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction. Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright? Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody. Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait. She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her. She knows she shouldn’t take it. And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening. Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N. Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car. Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him. But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them. Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything. However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there. She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt. Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language. You don’t really want him. He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant. Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time. You’re wasting his time, too. Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type. Right. What is my type, then? What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road. With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel. Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window. Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own. He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that. And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right? Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date. But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine. But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday. Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail. Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks. She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks. If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment. His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago. Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been. Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself. When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left. It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N. The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms. I got one room left. Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together. No way in hell. They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff. If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which. Now do you want to share the room with him or not? If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own. She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height. When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right. To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned. However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder. She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way. For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly. To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in. The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas. Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college. Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N! How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day? Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert? Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass. He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly. If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear. It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it? He named it, Jo. He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating? Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too. I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person. You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that. But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone. On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence. Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated. There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive. Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle. His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes. Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again. For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right. Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes. He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable. His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips. His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground. He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder. He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest. Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala. His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles. Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot. She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse. I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face. Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it? Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject. Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner. Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it. And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason. It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears. Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know. However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites. She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes. There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds. I’m not a fan of big crowds, really. Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff? Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them. Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other. As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile. His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile. It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same. Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight. And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her. Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort. Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle. She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner. The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before. I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really? Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway. If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter. The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower. Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it. She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting. He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back. And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else. Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while. Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory. Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern. Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop. Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them. She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop. Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach. Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen. She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach. Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her. It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly. She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No. I wish something had happened to you. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough. Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice. While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief. Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted. When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table. She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel. She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato. Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips. It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film. As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in. Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID. She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N. I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine. How are you?”

“Oh, alright. Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip? I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though. And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N. Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind. Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day. I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with? Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him. Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t. All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone. Why had she done that, she wonders? She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once. When she talked about the wedding, probably. As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding? About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life? Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read. Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth. She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her. She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado. That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead. Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call. The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call. She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true. She hadn’t lied. And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care? It’s just Harry. There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again. Things are different between them. There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks. They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that. So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell. Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right. Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands. He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs. His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning. You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know. I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before. Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip. As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel. It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment. The silence between them. It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension. It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion. One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough. I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality. Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering. The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose. I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior. She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes? Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong? It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry! Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal. Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral. While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry. Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him? You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air. It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to. We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you. It’s supposed to be a joke. Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends. I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips. His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment. Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way. Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does. It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives. Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes. It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends. Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then. Let’s go.”

…

“Hello! My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away. Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable. After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard. Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together. She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry? Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue. They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news. Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please. And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen. A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before. There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him. Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand. Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately. It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right. Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine. Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them. His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse. His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here. I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away. When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me. I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty. I thought it was wrong. I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it. And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same. There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best. If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you. I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me. I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world. I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt. I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were. I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible. I promise to love, period. I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye. She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her. Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words. The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you. ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel. ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close. I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing. The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want. I want us to be permanent to each other. Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart. Committing to you isn’t any trouble. It’s as easy as breathing. I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us. I love you, permanently. I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out. I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that. I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you. You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it. I love you permanently, Laure. I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table. She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right. They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face. His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows? I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people? Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people? Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone. The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it. When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them. However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days. The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence. She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine. Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself. After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it. His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room. Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep. Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal. But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder. The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him. She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair. It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see. It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth. He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did. I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head. She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder. That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice. He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then. And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me. No one stopped to help me. I felt like I was…trapped. Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out. I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity. And just something about it…I don’t know. It changed me. I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it. I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really. A side effect. We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse. I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight. I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know. I thought we were getting along better. For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends. I think…I don’t know. I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah. Me too. I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this? I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes! It was the very first night we met. We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—? He was a classmate of mine! I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong. You were all of those things. But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know. Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you. I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me. I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N. When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time. It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry. She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own. He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning. Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

7K notes · View notes

miracleonice87 · 4 years ago

Text

Cape Cod Confessions - Kevin Hayes

a/n: this one hit me outta nowhere and I blame my Philly loves @broadstbroskis and @princessphilly for enabling me 😉😘 (jk you know I adore you.) writing this one actually made writing feel fun again. I'm grateful for that. also hey, I'm writing for Kevin Hayes now! keep that in mind for the next prompt list lol.

warnings: I think just swearing. also heads up, this is an OC. I like them and I ain't sorry.

word count: 4.4K+

_____

The familiar scene in the yard of Kate’s parents’ summer home on Cape Cod would normally fill her with contentment and peace, as all her family and closest, lifelong friends were gathered together in celebration. Her brother was marrying his college sweetheart in twenty-four hours, and Kate had every reason to be happy.

Today, though, after not being part of such an occasion for many months due to work obligations back in Seattle, Kate felt strange pangs of guilt and discomfort. Days like today made her wonder why she had ever left Boston in the first place.

And seeing her childhood best friend Kevin manning the grill, his nieces and nephews hanging from his long limbs as he promised them he would play with them as soon as the food was finished, made her wonder why she had ever left him in the first place.

How she had ever left him in the first place.

Kate was still lost in her own thoughts when, from across the lawn, she heard a shrill scream, followed by an ecstatic, “Auntie Kate!”

Her goddaughter Neila’s voice was unmistakable, and Kate set her purse on the grass just in time to catch Neila on her running jump, all the way from her Uncle Kevin straight into Kate’s arms. Pure joy flooded Kate’s soul as she caught Neila, giggling, and held the little girl to her chest.

“My beautiful Nene!” Kate exclaimed, kissing her cheek. “I missed you!”

Neila pulled back, pushing her hair away from her face. “I missed you, too,” she said sincerely before throwing her arms around Kate’s neck again.

A moment later, Neila wriggled out of Kate’s hold and turned toward the crowd of family and friends on the patio.

“Auntie Kate is here!” Neila announced, eliciting chuckles from the adults. Except for one — Kevin, whose eyes had already been glued to Kate since his niece’s initial squeal upon discovering her arrival. He’d turned his back on the grill to find his niece holding onto Kate’s hands and hopping backwards in an effort to pull her to join the party on the patio.

Kevin looked on as Kate threw her head back in laughter, and he felt the sort of distinct happiness that he only found when Kate was near. He couldn’t stop staring, mesmerized by how radiant she looked in her lilac sundress, with her curls thrown over her shoulders… that is, he couldn’t stop staring until his brother clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Steaks are gonna burn, Kev,” Jimmy said loudly in order to bring Kevin back down to earth. Kevin simply nodded and turned back to the grill. Jimmy’s eyes traveled to where Kate stood reuniting with her immediate family, and a soft smile found his lips.

“She looks beautiful, no?” Jimmy spoke into Kevin’s ear, more softly this time. He was always more than willing to publicly embarrass his little brother when it came to an array of subjects. But Kate wasn’t one of them. Jimmy wouldn’t dare.

Kevin only nodded, again. Jimmy squeezed his shoulder, then scooped up his little son in his arms and headed to see his old friend.

Kate’s parents, her older brother Patrick, and his fiancée Joelle had just finished taking turns greeting her with hugs when, over her brother’s shoulder, she spotted Jimmy carrying Beau.

“Baby Beau!” Kate gasped, holding out her hands as Beau smiled and reached out for her. “Who let you get this big?!” she questioned as she took him in her arms. He simply giggled and laid his head on her shoulder.

“Hello, Kathleen Paige,” Jimmy greeted, using her full name as he had for Kate’s entire life, no matter how much she had hated the Irish moniker as a young kid.

“Hi, J,” she replied fondly, leaning in so that he could wrap her in a hug and plant a kiss to her forehead. “Your boy is getting way too big,” she told him, tickling Beau’s belly and making him laugh.

“Tell me about it,” Jimmy said. “How are you? You look great.”

Kate glanced downward, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Thanks. I’m okay,” she replied uncharacteristically dryly, switching Beau to her other arm. “It’s good to be home,” she added without elaboration.

Jimmy nodded in understanding.

“It’s good to have you home,” he agreed, then tilted his head toward the house. “Kristen’s inside. She can’t wait to see you.”

Kate beamed at the mention of Jimmy’s wife, one of her closest friends for years now.

“I can’t wait, either,” she said, just as Beau reached back toward his dad, making them both laugh. “Here, take your mini me. I’m gonna go finish my rounds,” she told him as her eyes flickered in search of the younger Hayes brother.

Jimmy retrieved his son and smirked down at her, his own eyes dancing.

“You do that,” he encouraged, teasing in his tone.

Kate rolled her eyes, but, just as Jimmy had anticipated, she headed straight toward the barbecue next, passing at least a dozen other people who had been waiting to see her.

“Hey, grill master,” she said, her hand gently coming to rest on Kevin’s back.

Her touch took him by surprise, and he nearly fumbled the tongs in his hands as he turned to greet her, his tall frame towering over hers.

“Hey, Katie girl,” he spoke, and Kate realized just how much she had missed that voice speaking those very words. She could only grin like an idiot.

Kevin pulled Kate in, his arms crushing her against his chest, and she hugged his waist as she felt his heartbeat against her ear.

“Missed you,” she said simply.

“Missed you, too, Kate,” Kevin said, his voice rumbling against her cheek. She pulled back to look up at him with a relieved sigh as he grinned at her.

And in that moment, she finally felt some of the contentment and peace she’d been searching for.

_____

Hours later, after the cookout lunch and the rehearsal dinner, when the attention-commanding nieces and nephews had long been put to bed, Kevin found Kate where he’d always found her on summer nights at the Cape — down at the boathouse, her feet dangling above the water, her short stature prohibiting them from actually being submerged.

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” he found himself saying — immediately followed by an internal monologue of, God, Kevin, why are you so fucking lame?

Despite his pathetic attempt at humor, Kate still smiled up at him.

“I knew you’d find me eventually,” she replied, letting her gaze drift back across the water.

Kevin hummed in response as he set down the pair of beers he’d brought and took a seat on the dock beside her.

“I’m surprised you’re not with the girls,” Kevin said. “They’re up there poppin’ bottles in the kitchen.”

She laughed softly at the thought. “Nah, just needed some time to think,” she told him.

Kevin nodded, knowing not to press any further if Kate wasn’t feeling forthcoming.

“Well, I come bearing beers,” he said, offering her one of the bottles.

With a grateful sigh, she murmured a “thank you,” and accepted the cold beverage. And that was just another item that fell somewhere in the middle of the long list of reasons why Kevin adored her — because she never needed champagne or an apple martini or a Mai Tai. A beer that matched his always suited her just fine.

Kevin was smiling at the thought, and when Kate caught him, he quickly saved face by lifting his bottle in the air.

“A toast,” he announced. “To Pat and Joelle.”

She nodded, lifting her beer toward his. “To Pat and Joelle,” she echoed, clinking the neck of her bottle against his. “Cheers.”

Kate took a long pull, looking back across the cape, and after a few silent moments, Kevin casually reached for her ankles and swept her legs atop his lap, his free hand resting on her shin. It certainly wasn’t anything unusual — anyone who knew Kate and Kevin and their relationship knew that they had always been affectionate with one another. (So much so, in fact, that on many occasions, Jimmy had muttered, “Jesus Christ, just fuck already.”) But it had been so long since he had initiated such a gesture that Kate would have been lying if she said her breath didn’t catch in her throat a little.

She sniffed and made work of picking at the label on her bottle, trying to act as cool and collected as possible.

“You look great, Katie,” Kevin eventually piped up, interrupting the silence and making Kate feel somehow more nervous and more at ease all at once. She tucked her chin to her chest with a breathy chuckle. “I mean it,” he added earnestly. “I should’ve said it before, but… anyway, just wanted to tell you now.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, and Kevin had to remind himself to breathe as she shot him her famous pursed-lipped smile, pushed to one side of her mouth.

“Thanks, Kev,” Kate said softly. “You do, too.”

“How’s work?” he asked, assuming that he’d be posing a simple, run-of-the-mill question, one that might lighten the mood and give his heart rate a chance to slow a bit.

But Kate snorted, lowering her bottle from her lips after a swig. “What work?” she asked cynically.

Kevin’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

She cleared her throat, turning to face the full moon instead of him. “The magazine shut down,” she finally admitted. “It’s been almost a month now, I guess.”

And for once in his life, Kevin was speechless.

Kate had started working for the small, independently-owned Pacific Northwest tourism magazine five years ago — the publication was the whole reason she’d moved to Seattle in the first place. She was so proud of her photography that was featured in each issue, and so was Kevin — though Kate didn’t know it, he had subscribed to the magazine after her first photo was featured in an issue early in her time on staff. And since the monthly magazines were mailed to his place in Philly and not in Dorchester, he realized that he would have had no way of knowing about the shutdown if it weren’t for Kate directly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kevin asked gently, concern evident in his tone.

She shrugged. “Not something I really felt like talking about this weekend,” she replied, rubbing her hands along her upper arms to warm them from the cool ocean breeze. “Not necessarily something I was all that proud of.”

Kevin’s heart sank. “But it isn’t your fault, Kate,” he said, squeezing her calves. “You didn’t have any control over the magazine going under.”

She heaved a sigh. “I know, but…” she began, tipping her head back wearily, “it just feels like everything’s crashing down around me in Seattle. Half a dozen of my friends have moved away in the last year, my freelance clients are dwindling seemingly by the day because everybody and their mother think they can be their own photographer, and now the magazine’s gone. It just feels like I’m failing at everything, Kev. Failing at life.”

“Hey,” Kevin said firmly — immediately. He nudged her chin with his thumb so that she was looking straight at him, those sea blue eyes of his suddenly the only thing she could focus on, as all of her self-doubt was washed away, even before he continued to speak. “You are not failing. You’re 28 years old. This is just a part of growing up, Kate,” he assured. “This shit happens to everyone. Remember when I got shipped to Winnipeg and then to Philly so quick? I went through the same shit. I felt like nobody wanted me, like I couldn’t do anything right. But it got better. It always does, Katie. Especially for people with as good a heart as you.”

Kate sniffled, wiping at a lone stray tear with her knuckle.

“Thanks, Kev,” she said softly, followed by a few more quiet sniffles. “You’re the best. Reasons why I love you,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Kevin’s brows lifted and his eyes widened as he looked at her, wondering if he’d just heard her correctly.

As with the physical touch, it had always been this way with Kate and Kevin when it came to their long-simmering feelings for one another. One of them would slip up and say some shit like “I love you” or “you’re so hot” or “come home with me,” and then try to play it off or walk it back, while the other person was left reeling, unsure of whether or not the other had truly meant what they’d said.

“I mean, you know, like I—”

“I love you, too, Kate,” Kevin said without hesitation, not walking anything back, interrupting Kate’s hopeless stuttering.

She glanced at him, taking a few chugging sips of her beer, and shook her head.

“No, you don’t,” she asserted flatly. “You’ve had a lot to drink. So have I. It’s a wedding weekend and we’re—”

“No, Kate,” Kevin insisted. “I mean it. I-I love you.”

And Kate suddenly felt really dizzy, like, really dizzy, and not because of the alcohol or the day she’d spent in the sweltering July sun. Dizzy like her best friend since diapers had just fully admitted that he love loved her in a manner far more sincere and more convincing than all those other times before.

“I… I gotta go to bed, Kev. Big day tomorrow,” Kate said abruptly. She drew a deep breath, swung her legs out from beneath Kevin’s hold, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pushing herself up from the dock and heading for the steps. “‘Night.”

_____

“You did what?!” Jimmy asked on the golf course the next morning, coughing as he nearly choked, not because of his cigar smoke, but due to pure shock upon hearing his brother’s declaration.

“I told her I loved her,” Kevin said. “And she told me I was just drunk, and I told her I wasn’t, and then she went back to the house.”

“I think I need to lie down,” said Keith Yandle, Kate and Kevin’s mutual lifelong family friend, as he dramatically took a seat in the golf cart.

Jimmy stood slack-jawed in front of Kevin, waiting for more.

“And?!” he finally prompted.

Kevin shrugged. “And I haven’t talked to her all morning,” he said, earning groans from Jimmy, Keith, and Noel Acciari, another longtime member of the crew. “But I don’t regret it. And I’m bringing it up again tonight.”

“At her brother’s wedding? What, are you nuts?” Jimmy accused.

“No, that’s perfect,” Keith bellowed. “You know how girls get about weddings. All gooey and shit. Just get her a couple drinks at the reception. She’ll cop to loving your sorry ass, too. We all know she does. This has only been about three decades in the making.”

Kevin hated to admit it, but Keith was right, and he knew that Jimmy knew it, too, as Jimmy stood with his hands on his hips, sighing as he exhaled cigar smoke.

“Alright, fine,” Jimmy said, putting his hands up and rounding the golf cart to take the driver’s seat. “That’s not your worst idea ever, Yands. And you know what, Kev? I’m proud of ya. I wasn’t sure ya had it in ya.”

Kevin let out a singular chuckle and adjusted his golf hat.

“Neither was I.”

_____

“He said what?!” Kristen said loudly from the makeup chair as Kevin’s sister Justine squealed in the hair chair next to Kate’s.

“He told me he loved me,” Kate replied incredulously, still not convinced that last night was anything more than some fever dream. “Like, actually loved me. And I didn’t say it back. Because I’m an asshole.”

“No, you’re not,” Kristen assured firmly as Justine waved Kate off. “He caught you off guard, that’s all. You’ll have plenty of time this weekend to make it up to him,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Justine flung out an arm and squeezed Kate’s elbow.

“Wait, are you gonna say it back?” she asked in a sharp whisper.

Kate just pursed her lips, smiling crookedly.

_____

“Jesus fuck,” Kevin muttered as Kate walked into the narthex of the church to be lined up for the walk down the aisle. Noel elbowed him in the ribs.

“We’re in a church, bud,” Noel muttered. “You’re gonna get struck down, and I’m gonna be standing next to you when it happens.”

Kevin barely heard him as he watched Kate approach her brother, who let out a “wow” at her appearance and pulled her in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Wow was putting it lightly. Her hair was left long and curled, save for a few pieces pinned back from her face, and she donned an elegant, v-neck, pale blue bridesmaid dress that appeared to have been designed just for her. Her makeup, though simple, was flawless, accentuating her strong features, making her hazel eyes, in particular, impossible not to notice.

Kevin had never seen Kate look more stunning in all his life. And that was saying something.

Kate turned toward the groomsmen next, her eyes immediately locking with Kevin’s, despite Jimmy’s wolf whistle and Noel’s “damn, Katie.”

She shot them both an eyeroll before refocusing on Kevin.

“Hi,” she said dumbly.

“Hi,” Kevin repeated. “You look beautiful, Kate. Perfect.”

There was that pushed-to-one-side, pouted-lip smile that made Kevin’s pulse race.

“Thanks, Kev,” she replied. “You look really handsome.”

Kevin gave her a grateful smile, then took a step closer to her.

“Can we talk later?” he asked, softly enough that he hoped no one else could hear and then subsequently give him shit for asking such a middle school question. His breath against her ear sent shivers through Kate, and his low tone made her mouth go dry.

She nodded, looking up at him doe-eyed and unable to form a single word. He nodded, too, and before she knew it, he was reaching for her hand, brushing a soft kiss against the top of it, and giving it a quick squeeze.

Kate didn’t have a chance to overanalyze his actions because the wedding planner quickly marched through the group, announcing that Patrick and his groomsmen needed to make their way to the altar for the start of the ceremony. Kate stepped forward to pull her older brother in for one last hug and a few whispered sentiments, then she smiled shyly at Kevin, smoothing her hand over his lapel as she passed, unaware of the knowing smile that Jimmy and Kristen shared watching the two of them.

_____

Back at her parents’ house for the reception, Kate was well on her way to a hangover for her flight back to Seattle tomorrow. Naturally, she’d been seated next to Kevin at the head table, and though the two of them hadn’t yet found time for an actual conversation, they each knew it was coming, which only increased the number of trips they’d both already made to the open bar.

After the meal, Pat and Joelle were invited to the dance floor in the middle of the yard, beneath twinkling string lights and the glow of the moon, and the strains of “Marry Me” by Train came over the sound system, filling the salty air with the peaceful guitar melody.

Kate’s jaw dropped just slightly, but enough for Kevin to take notice.

“That asshole,” she whispered.

Kevin held back a laugh at her reaction to this significant, romantic moment in her brother’s life.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“This is my wedding song,” she told Kevin incredulously, putting her hand to her chest. “I’ve said that since I was, like, in middle school. He knows that.”

Kevin wasn’t sure if it was the drinks or how breathtaking Kate looked or the feelings he’d long been pushing down finally bubbling over, now that he had let his little confession slip last night, but he suddenly heard himself say, “We can use it, too. Nobody’ll remember by then.”

Kate stiffened in her chair and snapped her head toward him.

“What?” it was her turn to whisper.

“Oh, come on, Kate,” Kevin said, sipping his whiskey casually. “Let’s not kid ourselves. That’ll be us up there someday.”

And there was that goddamn smile of hers again — Kevin knew she was trying so hard not to pull a full-on, megawatt grin, which was fine by him because he was perfectly happy with this version. Preferred it, actually.

She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“Don’t hold your breath, Kev,” Kate replied lightheartedly. But her tone was… less than convincing, some might say. Even less convincing was the way she almost imperceptibly leaned closer toward Kevin, whose arm rested loosely around the back of her chair.

And at that, Kevin smiled into his glass.

_____

Somehow, even in the midst of her own brother’s lively wedding reception, Kate still found her way to the boathouse. Kevin hadn’t even bothered to look for her elsewhere — once he noticed that she’d disappeared from the dance floor, he grabbed two Boston Lagers from the bar and headed for the dock.

She smirked when she heard his footsteps.

“Want some company?” he asked on his way down the wooden steps.

“Only if it’s you,” she replied, the flirtation evident in her tone.

Kevin smiled, pleased with that answer, and took his familiar spot next to her.

“Nice day, huh?” he asked, again pulling her legs across his lap before nudging the second beer into her hand.

“Really was,” Kate replied, clinking her bottle against Kevin’s for yet another toast.

They sat wordlessly for a few minutes, staring out at the water, listening to the laughs and chatter and music from the party up in the yard.

Eventually, Kevin cleared his throat, drawing Kate’s attention.

“Listen, Kate, about last night,” he began, but Kate’s anxiety spurred her to interrupt.

“No, it’s okay, Kev,” she said, shaking her head quickly. “You don’t have to explain—”

“No, I do,” Kevin insisted. “I-I don’t know if you’re getting it.”

She frowned. “Getting what?”

Kevin opened his mouth, looking into her eyes, then closed it again with a humorless chuckle.

“I meant it,” he finally said. “I said I loved you. And I meant it.”

Kate couldn’t break from his gaze despite the flipping sensation in her stomach, and despite the warmth creeping up her neck. The intensity of his stare was foreign to her — she was so used to happy, joking, jovial Kev, who never took anything too seriously. Even his earlier comment about their supposed future wedding reception had been tinged with sarcasm.

There was no ounce of him that was kidding now. That much Kate could see.

“You’re perfect for me, Kate,” Kevin continued. “You always have been.”

She blinked, tucking her loose waves behind her ear.

“Kev, I—”

“Wait, wait,” he laughed to himself, shaking his head before taking a long pull from his beer. “Listen, you gotta let me finish, because it took me this long to get this far. Okay?”

She nodded. He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on hers.

“I love you, Kate,” Kevin said. “I love you in the worst way. The most real way. Not just some fleeting, fling-type shit. I mean, I want it all with you. Everything. The whole fuckin’ thing. Ring, wedding, babies in little ‘13’ jerseys. Nice house, a dog. Picket fuckin’ fence. I want what our parents have. And our siblings. You’re the only person I wanna share that with. Ever.”

Kate was crying now, blissfully unfazed that her mascara tears might stain her pretty makeup. Though, they didn’t, because before they could, Kevin’s thumbs had wiped them away, and after rubbing his fingers together, he smoothed his thumbs along her cheekbones.

“And I’ve always known it,” he continued. “But it took you going away and coming back for me to work up the balls to say it.”

Kate hadn’t flinched this whole time, Kevin noticed. In fact, her eyes grew brighter and her soft smile a bit more noticeable with each word he had spoken. But she had yet to utter a word. He studied her in anticipation.

“You gotta say something, Katie girl,” he said nervously. “I’m dyin’ here.”

But there was little left for her to say, she realized, and so instead, she leaned in, cupped Kevin’s neatly-bearded cheeks in her hands, and kissed him like she had never kissed a single soul before. And Kevin kissed her back, his relief evident in his tender touch, in the way he exhaled softly against her mouth.

As soon as Kate pulled her lips from his, hers curled into a breathless smile, and she leaned her forehead against his.

“I love you, too, Kevin Hayes,” she whispered, her fingers combing through the hair at the back of his head. “I’ve loved you since forever.”

“Be with me,” Kevin blurted, as if he actually needed to. “Like, officially. I wanna do this with you.”

She nuzzled her nose against his and circled her arms around his neck.

“Oh, we’re doin’ this,” Kate told him, beaming. She pressed a kiss between his brows and whispered, “Can’t get rid of me now.”

_____

Three summers later, in her parents’ yard on the Cape, Kate twirled around the dance floor to “Marry Me” by Train with a tall, reddish-brown-haired, blue-eyed boy from Dorchester, the very one she had loved since she was a little girl, long before she even fully understood what love was.

But now, Kate knew exactly what love was, because she knew Kevin.

Her newly dubbed husband leaned down to speak softly into her ear as her song continued to play.

“Remember that night we finally got together, when Pat and Joelle had their first dance here?” Kevin asked. “And I told you, ‘someday it’ll be us up there,’ and you told me not to hold my breath?”

Kate hid her face in his chest and felt her face warm, chuckling bashfully. Her recoiling only caused Kevin to hold her tighter and press a kiss to the top of her head. His thumb and forefinger found her chin and angled her face toward his.

“I’m glad I held my breath, Katie girl,” he said, his voice low.

Kate nodded, her eyes damp with unfallen tears. “I’m glad you did, too, Kev,” she said.

#kevin hayes #my writing #kevin hayes fanfiction #kevin hayes fanfic #kevin hayes fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey art #nhl fanfictin #nhl writing #k. hayes #k hayes

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mydogisveryadorbs · 4 years ago

Text

sick | jj maybank x reader

summary: you get sick and all jj wants is to take care of you

warnings: cursing, tooth rotting fluff, mentions of getting sick and throwing up, jj being so fucking soft

masterlist :)

(gif credit to the owner)

1.8k+ words

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

You hate getting sick.

The first time you were truly sick was in fourth grade when you had gotten a bad case of the flu. The whole ordeal had scarred you so badly that even six years later you will do everything in your power to avoid getting sick.

The pogues quickly discovered your fear when a few years ago, Pope had told you he wasn't feeling good and you completely avoided him until he was absolutely healthy again. It had become a running joke amongst the five of you, but they all made sure to let you know if they were sick so you wouldn't catch anything.

When you woke up Friday morning with an achy feeling in your body and a runny nose, you immediately wanted to burst into tears.

Your parents had taken your little brother up to Pennsylvania for the annual family visit two days ago. It was the first year they had allowed you to stay behind on your own and you were so excited to spend the next two weeks doing whatever you wanted with your best friends and boyfriend.

Now, staring up at the ceiling of the Chateau, you come to the realization that all of your plans could be thrown out the window.

You are sick.

Looking to your left, you see your blonde-haired boyfriend drooling onto the pillow next to yours, soft snores coming from his parted lips.

You and JJ have been dating for over a year now. You had been best friends since he started mowing your lawn in middle school. Sometime around your freshman year of high school, you had realized your feelings for the blonde boy were more than platonic. It had taken over a year of flirting and your friends setting the two of you up before you finally admitted your feelings. From there, your relationship with JJ took off. JJ had a lot of emotional trauma and had a difficult time letting people in, but when it came to you, everything was just easy.

Even in your groggy, sick state, you couldn't help but admire the beautiful boy in front of you. As softly as you can, you use your pointer finger to delicately trace his features. It baffles you still how you were able to get a boy like JJ to love you.

You smile softly as his features relax under your touch. Suddenly, your nose starts to tingle and you quickly turn away before letting out a loud sneeze. One sneeze turns into three and you reach to grab a tissue off the nightstand and rub your running nose.

You feel a familiar hand rub your back as you attempt to blow your nose.

“What's wrong, beautiful,” JJ says quietly from behind you, his voice laced with worry and sleepiness. “Are you sick.”

Hastily, you shake your head. “No, I feel fine, J,” you attempt to convince him, but even you can hear the congestion in your voice.

JJ moves so that he is sitting in front of you. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “Holy shit, you're burning up,” he says, clearly concerned about you.

The only thing worse than actually being sick was having people fuss over you while you are.

“I'm seriously fine, JJ,” you tell him, “It's probably just allergies.”

You can tell that he is about to argue back with you, but before he can get in a word, a sharp knock at the door cuts him off. The door opens and John B’s head pokes through.

“Hey lovebirds,” he says cheekily, “You guys almost ready to go down to the docks?”

JJ shakes his head looking at you softly. “Sorry man, I think we're going to stay in today,” he tells the brunette. “(Y/N)’s not feeling good.”

You roll your eyes. “I feel perfectly fine,” you argue despite the growing ache you feel in your temples. “It's just a little stuffy nose.” Your boyfriend tries to argue, but you cut him off with the raise of your hand. “JJ please,” you say, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “I really want to go on the boat.”

JJ sighs, unable to say no to you when you give him that look. “Fine, whatever,” he grumbles rolling out of the bed to get your stuff ready.

Ten minutes later the five of you and Sarah are loading onto The Pogue. The bright sun above you increases the pounding in your head and as soon as you step onto the boat, your stomach starts to churn.

As Pope maneuvers The Pogue away from the Chateau and out to the marsh, JJ makes his way to sit next to you, wrapping one of his toned arms around your shoulders. He hands you a beer from one of his hands, but you place it in your lap.

The pogues chat around you and the nauseous feeling in your stomach grows.

“(Y/N),” Kie calls from the other side of the boat where here and Sarah are seated. “Come over here. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever.”

You giggle through your pain. “I saw you two days ago,” you tell her.

Kie smiles. “Two days too long, girlie.”

JJ moves his arm and watches as you stand up. You wobble slightly and he notices as your face pales.

“You aren't looking too hot, (Y/N),” John B cautions and JJ quickly stands up to help you balance.

“Maybe you should sit down, lovie,” he pleads softly into your ear. He guides you to sit back into your seat, crouching down in front of you. JJ cups your cheek with his big hand, grimacing when he feels how warm you are.

“I'll be fine, JJ,” you tell him with a sniffle, eyes closed as your brain pounds in your skull.

“No – no. We are going back right now,” JJ all but scolds you before turning to look at the dark-haired boy in front of the wheel. “Pope, turn around now.”

JJ sits back next to you and pulls your body into his chest as you feel the boat come to life. He strokes your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You vaguely hear him grumble about how you should have listened to him earlier.

When the boat pulls into the dock a few minutes later, your blonde boyfriend guides you off and towards the Chateau.

Before you can make it to the porch, you get a churning feeling in your stomach and you run to the nearest bush. Everything you have eaten in the past twenty-four hours is emptied into the shrubbery outside John B’s.

You feel JJ’s gentle hand running small circles on your back as he holds your hair away from your face. You get sick two more times before you sit back onto your heels.

“You alright, baby,” JJ asks so soothingly, his fingers reaching to push back the hair that had fallen onto your forehead.

“I'm fine,” you say with a sniffle, trying to hold back the tears. “I think I'm done now.”

JJ sighs. “You just threw up three times, lovie. It's okay to not be fine,” he tells you. “Will you just let me take care of you. Why are you so stubborn?”

“I just didn't want to be a burden,” you explain to him, not looking up to meet his eyes.

He cups your cheek, lifting your head so that your eyes meet his. “You could never be a burden, (Y/N), not when all I've ever wanted is to care for you.”

His honest words mixed with the gross feeling you have after spilling your guts cause tears to cascade down your cheeks. You choke out a sob and JJ quickly gathers you into his arms. “I've got you, baby,” he coos. “You're gonna be alright, m’kay?”

A few minutes later, your sobs die down and JJ moves so his right arm is hooked under your legs. He carries you inside and places you down gently on the bed in the guest room.

You let him tuck you into the covers and your eyes flutter shut when he presses a soft kiss to your head. “JJ,” you sigh, opening your eyes and looking in his cerulean ones. “You should probably go.” A look of hurt flashed across his face so you quickly grab his hand. “I just don't want to get you sick, J.”

JJ pretends to roll his eyes in annoyance, but the corner of his lips can't help but pull up into a smile. “I don't care if you get me sick, lovely,” he tells you softly. “All I care about right now is getting you better.”

You nod, not having the energy to fight back. “Well if you are going to stay anyways, can you give me cuddles?” you ask, your eyes half-lidded as you stare up at JJ. “I'm cold.”

He smiles, pulling back the covers next to you and slipping in next to you. You are pulled to his chest and you try to get comfortable, but worn material of JJ’s muscle tank scratches your cheek.

Pulling away slightly, you tug at the hem. “What's wrong, beautiful?” JJ asks in concern.

You groan. “Your shirt is scratchy,” you complain to him.

JJ laughs softly, but obliges nonetheless, quickly pulling his shirt over his head. You immediately snuggle back into his toned chest, eyes drooping in exhaustion.

The blonde pulls away enough for his eyes to scan your face. “You know, even though your hair is plastered to your forehead and you're a snotty mess, you've never looked lovelier.”

Your eyes open wide at his words, not able to comprehend how you managed to get a guy like him.

“I love you,” he says, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb moving back and forth lovingly. “Even at your worst, I can't help but still love you.”

Tears well in your eyes and you bring your lips up to meet his in a passionate kiss. JJ returns the kiss with an equal amount of love. It was nowhere near the first time the two of you had shared those three words, but it still shook you to your core each time.

Feeling the need to sneeze, you pull away a few seconds later.

You sneeze twice, going in for a third but it never comes. You hear JJ chuckle from behind you and you groan at the feeling.

You fall back into JJ’s arms, leaning your back against his chest, and the blonde boy wraps his arm around your middle and holds you securely. He presses a soft kiss to your head and you let your eyes flutter shut.

“Please get better soon,” JJ whispers a few minutes later, thinking that you are fast asleep. “I can't stand to see you this way.”

Your heart grows two sizes in your chest and with JJ’s arms holding you tight, you drift off to a dreamless sleep.

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

masterlist :)

#jj fic #jj angst #JJ Imagine #jj x oc #JJ smut #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut #jj maybank fluff #Outer Banks #outer banks series #outer banks fic #john b routledge #jj outer banks #sarah cameron

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anagentinwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Lifeline - Part 13

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 7700+ (Whoops!)

Warnings: Fire, triggers, angst, fluff, trauma, arson, language

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

AN: Flashbacks in italics

“Okay, Team, we have a single-level house fire in a local suburb. A neighbor called it in but isn’t sure if anyone is home. The owners of the house are newly married, Ian Boothby and Darcy Lewis. He suspected the husband to be home since he saw him mowing the lawn earlier this morning. Now, when we get on scene, I want Steve to stay with the truck engine in case the ventilation team needs help on site. On ventilation I want...” Carol continued to give demands to the rest of the team. “As for Thor and Bucky, search the home.” Everyone agreed with Danver’s orders, and Steve nodded, looking out the window of the truck.

“Hey man, you alright?” Sam asked Steve through his headset, taking in his appearance, sitting across from him.

“Yeah, I’m good. Getting my head in the game.”

“Okay.” Sam narrowed his eyes, nodding but not believing him. “Let’s do this, boys and girls.”

At the scene, Bucky and Thor went to the hatch to grab their tanks and masks before running into the burning house in record time.

“I’ll go left, and you go right,” Thor commanded over the walkie.

“Got it,” Bucky added. “First bedroom clear.”

“Living room clear,” Thor voiced.

Steve went to talk with the ventilation team but noticed the house’s skylight on the roof was already broken, so the ladder truck wouldn’t be needed. He rushed back over to Danver’s to figure out the next game plan when Thor’s voice broke through the walkie.

“Found Ian in the kitchen, heading out now. Val, get the gurney ready.”

Steve watched Thor run out with Ian in his arms, coughing. He placed him on the gurney, and Val put an oxygen mask on him, but he immediately pulled it off.

“My wife, Darcy,” he wheezed in a British accent. “She’s still in there. Please...please save her.”

“Barnes, his wife is still in there somewhere,” Carol commanded into her walkie, but there was no reply. “Barnes.”

A second later, Bucky was running out of the burning house with Darcy in his arms. He laid her on the ground and tore off his mask, and shouted, “she’s not breathing.” Sam rushed to their side and started chest compressions.

Ian jumped off the gurney and ran over to them. “Please...please help her. Don’t let her die,” Ian cried, holding onto Darcy’s hand. “I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Steve’s eyes stayed glued to the scene before him. His mouth went dry, and he started to hear his heartbeat in his ears. He tried to concentrate on breathing evenly, but it didn’t help. He turned away from the scene, stumbling to the side of the truck. He squeezed his eyes shut as flashes of Peggy drifted to the front of his mind: her smiling at him as they laid in bed together, her waving goodbye to him when he went off to work, and her lying motionless on the cold ground. He put a hand on the truck to hold himself steady, feeling his chin start to tremble and his chest start to tighten with every breath he took.

Steve heard a cry of relief behind him, forcing his eyes to snap open. He glanced over his shoulder as all the oxygen left his lungs, seeing Darcy sitting up and hugging her husband. He turned back to the truck, closing his eyes, causing a few tears to slide down his cheeks. He shook his head, knowing he should be happy Darcy is alive, and we got to her in time, but his mind continued to drift back to the worst day of his life.

“You okay, pal?” Bucky inquired in a soothing voice.

Steve’s eyes shot open, rubbing his hand on his cheeks before he turned around. “Yeah.” He nodded his head a little too much, waving it off. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure, pal, because you don’t look fine to me.”

“I will be--” he licked his lips “--how...how is she?”

“She’s breathing. They’re both on their way to the hospital now.”

“Good,” Steve swallowed, letting out a deep sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

“Hey, I’m here if you need me.” Bucky patted him on the back before stepping away to help calm down the blaze.

“You okay, Rogers?” Carol asked, and Steve snapped his head in her direction.

“Yeah, Carol. I’m fine--” he leaned against the truck “--think I--I think I inhaled a little too much smoke. Heads a little fuzzy.”

“That makes total sense, considering you were nowhere near the smoke,” she recalled, earning a slight smirk from Steve. He shook his head about to say something, but she beat him to it. “Hey, I get it.” He gulped, rubbing his lips together. “It’s always hard when you’re working a call, and something triggers a memory. Good, bad, or whatever, but it pulls you back to that day, making you feel something you wish you didn’t have to feel again.” She paused, shaking her head. “I know what you went through, but it’s one of the reasons I hired you to be a part of my team. I might sound like a terrible person for saying this, but you know what loss is, and sometimes if you experience it, you will do whatever it takes to make sure others don’t feel that way.”

Steve bit his lip, nodding at the ground.

“You’re a great member to our team, Rogers. And I want you to know that there are counselors available to you in case you need to talk, or if you want to talk to the team, we’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Ace, but I’ve gotten the whole run down before and talked to someone in Brooklyn after everything happened.”

“Take advantage of it here, too. It will help, or you can always talk to someone else,” she suggested with a half shrug.

“Thanks, I’ll consider it.” He nodded as she patted him on the shoulder and returned to the front line.

_________

You sat down on the couch, pulling a blanket over you, and switched on the tv. You browsed through the many streaming services you had, along with a few Loki paid for. The sound of the front gate buzzing forced you to let out a loud annoyed sigh. You crawled out from under your warm blanket and went to the digital screen to see who was at the front gate. Your eyes widened, realizing it was Steve. You haven’t talked to him since you ran out of his house like a crazy person, but what was he doing here? Thor and Steve were on the same shift tonight, and judging by the small screen, he was still wearing his fire station logo shirt.

“Fuck, something happened to Thor,” you mumbled, buzzing Steve in as you started pacing the front doorway. He knocked on the door, and you took in a sharp breath, opening the door. Steve was still a little dirty, but you could tell he tried to clean himself up. His ears and some of his neck still had smoke residue on them, but something in his blue eyes told you something was wrong.

“Is everything okay, Steve? Did something happen to Thor?”

“No, no, he's fine,” He looked down at his appearance. “I’m sorry. I wasn't thinking when I came straight here, but yeah, yes, your brother is fine.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Everyone’s okay, that’s all that matters,” you replied, furrowing your brows together. “But...but are you okay? Here come in.” You opened the door for him and closed it behind him.

“It’s about the other night when you rushed out of my apartment after breaking the wine glass.”

“Oh, um, yeah. I’m sorry about that, again.” Your voice cracked, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. No need to apologize for it.” He held up his hands to show he wasn’t going to hurt you. “I hope you know that it was an accident, and accidents happen all the time.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his front pockets.

“I know,” you whispered, rubbing your hands over your upper arms.

“I got to thinking about how it might have triggered something like...like a memory with Billy.” He paused, licking his lips as he watched your eyes flash to his. “I remember you mentioning a wine glass before, but I’m only asking because before I came here, I had a trigger. A memory of something I would rather forget and move on from, but I can’t.”

“What sort of memory?” You questioned, stepping a little closer to him.

He stared at the ground, rubbing his scruff with his hand, and let out a deep breath, and his eyes connected with yours. “It reminded me of my wife and how I didn't get to her in time to save her.”

Your eyes widened, and you didn't know what to say. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t,” he shrugged with his hands still in his pockets.

Steve crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the back of your couch, staring off into the distance. Steve was doing what you always did. Replaying the same scene over and over again, trying to come forth with a different solution, but it would always end the same way.

You stepped closer to Steve to see his eyes drift back up to you. You offer him your hand and lead him to the other side of the couch.

“Thinking about her now feels like it all happened ages ago.” He stared at the coffee table, folding his hands together in front of him.

“Was her name Peggy?” His eyes shot to yours, and he nodded. “How did you two meet?”

Steve smirked to himself before looking over at you. “We met when I was a junior in high school. She was going to this fancy prep school for the elite, and I was in public school. I don’t know how I caught her attention…

Steve was in the public library, researching information for his english final. His cheek throbbed after getting into a fight earlier today that his mom would ground him for later, but right now, he needed to get this done. His family didn’t own a computer, and he always ended up using Bucky’s for projects but knew he could get it done if he spent enough time at the library.

There was some commotion behind him, and from the reflection on the computer screen, it was a group of girls sitting down at a table. They were whispering about something, and Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Libraries are quiet for a reason, so people can focus on what they came to do and leave when it's done.

He sighed, glancing over his shoulders after hearing more loud whispers and a few giggles. They were from an elite school, judging by their uniforms. Three of them were looking at him and smiling, but the one had her head in a book. He couldn’t help but notice her brunette hair and the bright red lipstick on her lips that he couldn't help but feel drawn to. She looked up, and he nodded at them, slipping on his headphones and getting back to work. On the computer screen, he could see Red Lips staring at him every so often, and he couldn’t help but smirk.

He was working on the conclusion when someone patted him on the back, and he looked over to see Bucky, narrowing his eyebrows at him.

“What’s up, man?” He asked, taking off his headphones.

“Whoa, pal, what happened to your face?”

“It will heal.” Steve shrugged, biting his bottom lip. “It was just a little fight. Not a big deal.”

“Why do you always have to pick on the big guy?”

“Usually, he's the jerk.”

“Right,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Did you see those elite girls behind you? I mean, Wow!” Bucky winked in their direction, and they giggled.

“Yeah, hard to miss with all their giggles. I had to put my headphones on,” Steve added, looking over at them, immediately finding Red Lips. She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the small subtle smirk on her lips that she was trying to hide.

“Pal, I think they were trying to get your attention.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know a damn thing about women, do you?” Bucky grinned, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning against one of the computer chairs next to him.

“Like you do? We’re still in high school, Buck. We don’t really know anything about women.”

“Speak for yourself, champ.”

Steve rolled his eyes after saving everything to a flash drive and stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Then, a week later, I saw her again, but she was alone this time. She sat at the same table, chewing on the tip of her pencil, reading through her textbook, and taking notes. She was still in her school uniform, and her lips were still the same shade of red…

“Not with your friends today?” Steve asked, taking off this backpack.

She looked around her as if he was talking to someone else, but then her eyes connected with his. “I could say the same about your friend.”

His eyes widened at hearing a British accent pass her lips. “I focus better when he’s not here. He can get pretty annoying.”

“I’ll have to agree with you there. All the excessive giggling isn’t a good focus aid either,” She smirked, shaking her head. “It’s nice to see your bruise is healing nicely on your cheek.”

“Oh ah, yeah,” Steve reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Peggy Carter.”

“Every week, like clockwork, I would see her, and we ended up doing homework together. Not like we were learning the same things, but just to be in the same room together. It took me a while to finally get the nerve to ask her out. I still remember her response to this day--” he smiled to himself “--Wow, you really don’t know a bloody thing about women because you should’ve done this months ago,” Steve voiced in a British accent.

“She sounds like she knew how to put you in your place,” you smirked at him, and he nodded.

“She did.”

“What happened after high school?”

“I didn’t end up going to college much to my parent's disapproval, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do. So instead, I went straight into work while Peggy went to college. I worked a variety of different jobs, trying to find my niche. I ended up working in construction for a couple of years, realizing I like building homes and giving back to the community. It was a satisfying feeling, but I knew I wanted to do more, but I didn’t know how. Weird enough, Peggy was the one who mentioned joining the fire department.”

“Steve,” Peggy called, walking into their small studio apartment to find Steve making supper.

“Hey, doll. How was class?”

“Dull, but it’s law school. And, Steven, don’t call me that I'm not made of porcelain.” She walked over, hitting him playfully on the shoulder and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, making his smile spread wider. “At least you won’t look like a choir boy once this grows in,” she joked, rubbing her thumb over his cheek feeling the scruff starting to grow on his face. “Oh, I saw something today on one of the many bulletin boards on campus.”

“What was that?”

“Joining the fire department.”

“To be a firefighter?”

“Yes, I grabbed the brochure.” She pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him.

“I’ll look at it later,” he nodded, putting it on the counter behind him.

“I bet you’d love it, and seeing you in that uniform. Woooo!” Peggy fanned herself with her hand as she walked into the bathroom. “I would swoon dear, swoon.”

He chuckled to himself and picked up the brochure, reading parts of it out loud. “‘What fuels your fire?’ Interesting way to grab someone's attention, I guess. ‘We teach, we train, we serve together.’” He hummed, flipping open the brochure and reading it to himself. When he got to the last section, something stuck with him. “As a firefighter, you are a role model, and you will make a difference.”

“I think someone is sold on the idea,” Peggy smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he put his arm around her, pulling her in closer to his side. “And, if you don’t like it, you can quit and find something else.”

“It might be worth a shot,” he grinned, leaning down and kissing Peggy. “Thanks for looking out for me, Peg.”

“Swoon, can I say I love her?” you commented, hearing him let out a soft chuckle.

“Everyone did, and after she showed me that brochure, I went to do the 14-week program at the Fire Academy in New Jersey, and she was right, I loved it. Being able to work with a team and build a sense of camaraderie with each other. It was like having an extended family.” He paused, wringing his hands together. “When Peggy graduated law school, she was offered a prestigious position at a law firm in Manhattan, and I got recruited by one of the fire stations in Brooklyn. Then, I finally went out and bought Peggy a ring with the money I saved up working all those odd-end jobs…

“Steve, what about this big one? It says, sorry boys, I’m taken when she’s at the office, and it’s enough to make her friends jealous,” Bucky commented, pointing at the rings in the case.

Steve shook her head, “She’s not like that, Buck. She doesn’t want a big rock; she wants something practical enough to wear to work and put away the bad guys, but pretty enough that she can show it off.”

“Sounds like you are in a real debacle, pal.”

Steve hummed, scanning over the many different styles of ring. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew what Peggy would like and not like.

“Hey, Steve. I am actually in a bit of a debacle myself.” Bucky confided, leaning against one of the ring cases.

“What about?”

“I got offered a position at one of the Los Angeles Fire Department stations.”

“You want to leave Brooklyn?” Steve questioned, narrowing his eyes at him.

"I don’t know, it sounds like a great opportunity. And, I kind of always felt like getting out of here, living somewhere else, and trying something new.”

“I get it, and there isn’t much holding you here besides your friends and family. I mean, who cares about them, am I right?" Steve sighed, shrugging his shoulders in defeat as he continued to search for a ring.

“I've already talked with them about it, and they think I should do it.”

“Wait, really?" Steve's head snapped to Bucky, and he nodded. "To be honest, Buck, I will miss you and Peggy will, too, but if it’s an opportunity you don’t want to pass up, then I think you should do it.”

"Really?"

"Yeah," Steve smiled, and Bucky pulled him in for an abrupt hug. Steve patted Bucky on the back a few times before they separated. "You just have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid out there.”

"How can I? When I’m keeping all the stupid here with you.”

“Are you gentlemen looking for anything in particular?” Steve looked up at the guy behind the counter. This name tag read Broker, and he probably had the best eyebrows in the business.

“Um, yeah, an engagement ring that is stylish but still practical and pretty.”

“You got anything like that,” Bucky asked, crossing his arms.

“I might have a few; excuse me for a second,” Broker nodded, walking into the back room.

“So when you find this ring? How are you going to do it?”

“At the public library.”

“I’m sorry, that old place,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “I thought you would take her out to a romantic dinner and hide it in her dessert or in her wine glass."

“We met there, and it’s kind of symbolic in a way. And hiding the ring in dessert, do you know nothing about woman Bucky? Most women just want to eat their dessert, not make it a scavenger hunt and be a reason to break a tooth."

“Good point,” he agreed, pointing his finger at him. “I’m sure whatever you do, Peggy will love it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Here we are, gentlemen. I found these three rings that are both elegant and practical.”

Steve stared down at them, and his eyes continued traveling to one. He picked it up with a small smirk on his lips and glanced over at Bucky.

“It’s perfect, pal.” Bucky grinned, patting him on the back.

“Did you end up proposing at the public library?” You couldn’t help the warm smile gracing your lips.

“Yes,” he nodded. “And she loved it. She said it was cheesy, but she loved it.”

“Any girl would.”

“Anyways, we got married at her family's estate. It was a small yet charming wedding. She wore this amazing dress, but my favorite part was the red lipstick she wore.” His face flushed at the memory, letting out a content sigh. “We ended up moving to Brooklyn after her parents helped us put a down payment on a small four-story home, and it was way better than any studio apartment we crammed into.”

“Steve, I don’t think I will ever get tired of this kitchen,” Peggy smiled, cutting some lettuce on one side of the island while Steve formed burgers on the other side. They were having a little housewarming slash Fourth of July Birthday bash for him.

Steve smiled at her comment as his eyes wandered around the kitchen. The cabinets were teal with a stony black countertop. The ceiling had exposed wooden beams, giving it a rustic flair. Three lights hung down over a wooden oak island in the center of the kitchen. It was a kitchen you would see in a home magazine, but instead, it was their kitchen. It even had two sinks, but he didn’t understand the purpose of them both. Although, he did enjoy the huge fridge and the amount of space in the walk-in pantry. It was a professional kitchen for two amateur cooks.

“If it wasn’t the kitchen that sold me on this house, then it was that huge bathtub in the master bathroom. No more all in one shower and bath.” She grinned, starting to cut the vegetables for the veggie plate.

“My favorite is the rooftop deck.”

“Of course it is--” she shook her head “--it’s gonna turn into a man cave up there soon. I mean, I did buy you that new grill for your birthday today, but I wonder what else you and the guys are gonna drag up there.”

“It won’t be anything too crazy.”

“That’s what you say now,” she winked.

“It does sound like a kitchen you’d see in a magazine.”

“Yeah.” His calming smile drifted away, leaving a frown in its place. “Remember when you mentioned the Arson Artist, Aldrich Killian?”

“Yeah, the guy that targeted first responder's families.” You nodded, not missing how Steve's jaw clenched at your statement.

“I wasn’t completely honest when I told you I knew some people that lost someone during his reign--” his eyes drifted to yours as he let out a deep breath “--my...my wife, Peggy, died in his last so-called masterpiece.”

You didn’t know what to say to him. His wife was killed, and a simple sorry wasn't going to bring her back or make him feel any better. Without hesitation, you reached out and grabbed a hold of his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes traveled down to your conjoined hands, and he interlocked his fingers between yours.

Steve remained silent, staring down at the coffee table. His elbow rested on his knee as his head rested in his other hand. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, lowering his head in his hand, resting it against his forehead. He let out a shaky breath, and you gave his hand another comforting squeeze.

"Steve, you don't have to tell me this if it's going to upset you. I understand better than anyone when it comes to talking about the messy things in life. You don't owe me an explanation," you explained, placing your other hand on his forearm. He turned his head in his hand to you, seeing his tearful eyes looking back at you. He sat up, rubbing his hand down his face and scratching at his jaw. He sniffled, staring back at you.

“I know that…but…um...I want to," He breathed, clearing his throat. “So..um...there’s this one day I kind of have engraved in my head, and as much as I try to forget what happened, I can’t. In my head, that day never changes and always has the same ending. The ending I hate reliving whenever I’m triggered…

Steve sighed, laying in his bed with Peggy asleep next to him. He looked over at her, noticing she was laying on her stomach with her head almost off her pillow, breathing heavily in and out. Her hair was sticking up in all directions and her mouth was slightly open. He loved waking up next to her and seeing this site before him. He smirked, reaching over to grab his phone, knowing he had a 24 hours shift starting in 5 hours. He wouldn’t get to wake up next to her pretty face tomorrow, so he decided to snap a picture to smile at tomorrow or to blackmail her with it later. He snapped the picture.

“You better delete that, or I will kill you, Steve Rogers.”

He chuckled. “Okay, yup, deleted.” He reached over, setting his phone back down on the end table.

“You’re a horrible liar." She looked up at the alarm clock and sighed, putting her head back on the pillow.

“You know what would be fun to do this morning?”

“Making me breakfast.”

“I can do that after,” he scooted closer to Peggy.

“Or you can do it now,” Peggy stated, not moving away from Steve's advances as Steve put his hand around her waist and flipped her over, so he was on top of her.

“I’m not going to see you for a full 24 hours.”

“I’m sure you have pictures.”

“Pictures don’t do you justice, Red Lips.” He leaned down, puckering his lips and waiting for her kiss. She rolled her eyes with a loud sigh, leaning up and giving in to his kiss.

After an energetic morning he made Peggy her favorite breakfast before taking a quick shower and getting dressed in his uniform. He came downstairs to see Peggy waiting for him by the door.

“If you didn’t have to go to work right now, I would take you upstairs for round 3,” she winked, giving him a quick kiss.

“I will definitely take you up on that offer if you’re up for it, Peg.” He wiggled his eyebrows, forcing her to laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. “Love you.” He leaned down and kissed her again.

“Love you, too, Steven.” She hugged him close.

“Stay safe.”

“I will.”

“The day started out like any other day, and there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. A few calls came in about car accidents, heart attacks, and a grease fire at a local restaurant. And things were looking up with the Arson Artist case because the FBI brought in Anvil to help with the investigation. Around six that night, we got dispatched to a house fire in Brooklyn….”

“Alright boys, you know the drill,” Captain Phillips stated over their headphones. “It could be a house fire, but keep your eyes peeled for anything that looks suspicious.”

Steve looked out the window of the engine, and he realized this was the main road he took to work. His heart started to beat rapidly against his chest as he looked out the front window to see what street they were going to turn down. When they turned down his street, all the air left his lungs; his home was on fire.

The truck didn’t even come to a complete stop, and he was out of the truck engine. He sprinted towards his front door, tossing on his jacket and his helmet as he heard his Captain yelling his name, but he ignored it. He skipped up the steps he so casually walked down earlier that morning.

When he kicked the front door in, all he saw was flames. “PEGGY,” he shouted, coughing into his sleeve. “PEGGY.” He hid his face with the sleeve of his jacket, running inside. He squinted his eyes against the smoke, not seeing anything, but something dark in the kitchen caught his eye. He stepped over to the kitchen, coughing as his eyes watered from the excessive amount of smoke in the air. When he reached the kitchen, he saw her tied to a chair with her head hanging down on her chest.

His heart broke, putting her chin in his hands. “Peggy,” he cried, feeling his eyes start to fill with real tears.

Dum Dum came in and grabbed ahold of Steve, pushing him towards the front door, and Gabe cut Peggy free from the restraints, carrying her in his arms. Once Steve was outside, he ran to Peggy seeing her body weak, barely clinging to life. Gabe laid her on the ground, and Jim felt for a heartbeat.

“Starting compressions,” Jim stated.

“Please, please help her,” Steve cried, leaning down next to her. “Come on, Peggy.”

“Checking for a pulse, nothing. Starting compressions again.”

“Come on, Pegs. Please.”

“I got a pulse, but it’s faint. Let’s get her on the gurney and to the hospital, stat.” Jim and Dum Dum lifted her body onto the gurney and slid it into the back of the ambulance.

“Steve, go,” Dum Dum commanded. “We’ll do all we can here.”

He nodded, hopping into the back of the ambulance, grabbing a hold of Peggy’s hand. He brought her hand to his lips, and he cried, staring down at her. “I’m so sorry, Pegs.” Jim put an oxygen mask on her and a heart rate monitor clip on her finger.

“Man, it’s not your fault it was the Arson Artist,” Jim replied, and Steve shot him a quick nod.

He clutched onto her hand, not wanting to let go. He couldn’t lose her. They were just starting their lives together, and he didn’t know what he would do without her. They had so many things they still wanted to do: get weird hobbies, travel the world, start a family. She’ll pull through this; she has to.

“Almost there, Stevie.” Jim squeezed his shoulder, but he couldn’t remove his eyes from Peggy’s form.

He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing Peggy was going to be okay. They were going to get to the hospital, and she was going to make it, and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

Peggy’s heart rate monitor flatlined, and Steve’s eyes shot open. Jim went to the side of the gurney, pushing Steve out of the way, and administered CPR again. Steve’s eyes started to fill with tears once he realized his worst fear was becoming a reality.

The back of the ambulance doors flung open, and Jim shook his head. Steve grabbed ahold of Peggy’s hand once more and removed her oxygen mask. He cradled her face with one hand, holding on tight to her hand with the other. He stared at her, thinking it was all a dream and he would wake up to her smacking him with a pillow. He could feel his heartache with every shaky breath he took. He gulped, letting out a sob, running his thumb across her bottom lip. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Peg.”

Your heart broke as a stray tear slid down your cheek, and you wiped it away. “Steve, I’m ahh…”

“I know." His tear-filled eyes flashed to yours, and he blinked them away, not giving them a chance to fall.

Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He was tense at first but then relaxed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You heard him let out a sniffle, forcing you to squeeze him a little tighter. You rubbed his back, trying to keep your tears at bay but having little success. “Please tell me you still have that picture of her sleeping.” You could feel Steve let out a soft chuckle as he loosened his grip and pulled away from you.

“I do,” he sniffled, clearing his throat.

You eyed him, noticing the reminisce of tears on his cheeks. You grabbed the box of tissues sitting on the coffee table, taking a few, and handing them to Steve. He sighed, wiping the tears away, leaning back against the couch. He ran his hands down his face and tried to refocus.

“After everything happened, I was a mess. I didn’t want to believe she was gone. I hoped it was all a dream, but it wasn’t, and I blamed myself for not getting to her in time.” He paused, clearing his throat. “I was constantly thinking about the what if’s and the if onlys of what I could’ve done differently. Not like it mattered much because she wasn’t coming back,” he breathed, blinking away tears that started to form in the corner of his eyes.

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re right to someone else looking in, it wasn’t my fault, it was Killians, but I didn’t want to see it that way. I thought if I stayed mad at myself, it would somehow fix it, but I wasn’t in my right mind. I was hurting and pushing those who cared about me away. I was depressed but was too stubborn to admit it.

When I returned to work after my leave, my captain, Captain Phillips, declared me unstable and took me off active duty. He thought it was safer for me and everyone else if he put me behind a desk. I know he was looking out for me and wanted me to get better, but all I had left was my job, and he took it away from me.” Steve shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

“After about eight months, Phillips gave me an ultimatum. The only way I would be reinstated to active duty is if I talked to one of the department's assigned therapists at Ancient One and Associates.” He let out a deep breath. “It wasn’t so much an option as it was an order. I wasn’t myself, and I haven’t been. He wasn’t the only one who saw it, but my squad did too. Whether it was from seeing the bags under my eyes due to the lack of sleep or from my pants getting looser from skipping meals. I was numb, lonely, and my family and friends didn’t know what to say to me. I shut them out, even the ones who reached out and tried to help me. I didn’t know how to talk about it, I didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to let her go. I didn’t want this to be my new reality. I knew there was no other way for me to get around this by myself, so I decided to go to therapy.”

You remained silent as he paused, biting his lip, trying to figure out what to say next. He stared at the coffee table, and you couldn’t help but admire him. Steve’s been through so much, and you never would’ve suspected any of this with the way he carries himself. He seems so sure of himself and always has his feelings in check, but deep down, he has been through hell and back.

“When I first went to therapy, I thought it wouldn’t help me. On the first day, the Ancient One called me out on it, saying heroes are the ones who don’t think they need help, but sometimes they need it the most and are simply ashamed to admit it. She was right,” Steve mumbled with a half shrug.

“With everything that happened, I had a hard time accepting the truth and forgiving myself because I didn’t want to forget her. Peggy was so special to me, and I didn’t want to push her aside as if I didn’t love her anymore. I still did, and a part of me still does.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and wringing his hands together in front of him. “The Ancient One helped me see things from a different perspective, and in ways, I never thought possible. There was one point when she reversed our roles, asking how Peggy would have responded if I was the one who died. To be honest, I never thought of it like that because I always wished I died with her, but when I thought about it, I know Peggy would’ve accepted it sooner than I did. Sure, she would’ve been emotional that I was gone, but I know she would’ve been strong for everyone else, and when she’d go home alone, she would grieve. Then, if Peggy ever found someone new, who cared for her like I did or more, I’d want her to get remarried. All I would want is for her to be happy.

After realizing this new perspective, I knew Peggy would’ve wanted the same for me. To be able to move on and be happy. So, I focused on getting better and going to therapy, which then got me reinstated to active duty. Things were looking up for the better, and I knew Peggy would be happy for me.

I even started reaching out to a few friends I shut out, one of them being Bucky. I hadn’t spoken to him since Peggy’s funeral, but I hoped he’d answer and accept my apology. We ended up talking at least once a week, and then he mentioned a job opening at his station in L.A. I saw it as a chance to start over, so I took it.” He let out a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved Brooklyn, but it felt off after Peggy died, and then my mom passed away, which was inevitable because she had been sick for a while. But with all that happened, Brooklyn didn’t feel like home, it was just a city filled with traffic, noise, and crowds. I felt alone in a city filled with people,” he sighed, shaking his head, looking over at you.

“You make moving on sound so easy.”

“It’s not. It’s probably one of the hardest things to do; it takes time, and it’s about moving on from the past and living in the now. Before I came out here, I talked about everything and made amends with my coworkers, apologized to my friends for being so selfish, and said goodbye to my parents and Peggy. It took me a while to get to that point, but I’m happy to be where I am today.” Steve nodded, shooting you a closed-mouth smile.

“What do you think she thinks about you moving to LA and leaving Brooklyn?”

“She’d understand, and I know she’d want me to be happy and to try to move on from her. I know she’d be proud to see how far I’ve come, but she knows I’ll never forget her.” You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He smirked, his eyes drifting to yours. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve talked about Peggy with anyone I wasn’t paying.”

“Remind me to send you the bill,” you said, removing your hand from his and pointing at him.

He chuckled, “I’ll look for it, but mail does get lost quite a bit.”

“Can I ask what triggered you to tell me all this?” You asked, earning a quick nod from Steve.

“Today, I saw a husband watch his wife get carried out of their burning home. He cried, begging us to bring her back, not wanting to lose the other half of himself. He didn’t, but to me, it brought back the worst day of my life.” He turned towards you, staring into your eyes. “There is always going to be a trigger. It can either be a good memory or a bad one, but whatever happens, it’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.”

Your eyes flashed to his, and you gulped, knowing he was referring to the wine glass incident. You nodded, “It's just every once in a while I see something or feel something that reminds me of him, and it triggers something in me, and I can't be pulled back.”

“I get it. You always hear time heals things, but the truth is ignoring it and not talking about it only compounds the damage and makes it worse. You’re hoping it fades away, but it’s always in the back of your mind, haunting you and reminding you of everything that happened. The Ancient One told me it is better to allow yourself to feel what you went through because pretending you’re not hurt is not the same thing as healing; it just prolongs it. We may have experienced a different kind of loss. I lost my wife, and you lost yourself. It’s a different scenario, but the advice is the same.”

“How are you so full of wise words?”

“Therapy helps and life experiences,” Steve nodded with a soft chuckle. “Is that cliche?”

“A little,” you smiled. “Both our lives have been pretty messed up, huh?”

“Maybe it's fate’s way of giving us a second chance.”

“If you believe in that spiritual mumbo jumbo sort of thing,” you snorted, making him roll his eyes. “Why did you decide to tell me about Peggy?”

“You see, there is this girl I like, and I felt like I owed it to myself and her to be honest about it since she shared her story with me. I wanted her to get to know the side I don’t share with many people,” he smirked with a tint of pink hitting his cheeks. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck.

A sweet smile graced your lips, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Well, she appreciates you telling her, and I can inform you that she feels the same way about you.”

“That’s good,” he cracked a smile, looking over at you with his blue eyes sparkling. “At least now I know I didn’t make a complete fool of myself.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you chuckled, feeling his body vibrate at your side with a silent snicker. “Are you going to be okay with going back to work?”

“Yeah, I have a good support system there, and I know my team has my back. It’s like one big messy extended family,” he smirked, nodding your head in agreement. “Speaking of work, I should probably get back to my shift before another call comes in, and Carol wonders why this detour is taking me so long.” He winked, pushing himself off the couch.

“Yeah, you don’t want to get on her bad side.” You joked, standing up off the couch and following him to the door.

“Are you going to be okay?” Steve asked, opening the door and turning to face you. He furrowed his brows together, forming a small crease between them. “Are we going to be okay?”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” You nodded, your eyes drifting to the ground. “I’m getting a little better every day--” you shrugged, not wanting to talk about it “-- it just takes time, right?”

His hand lifted your chin and your eyes flashed to his. “I know you’ll get there.” He shot you a shy smile, brushing his thumb along your cheek, sending a rush of heat to your face. He dropped his hand, grabbing a hold of yours. “Remember, if you need someone to listen and is full of wisdom, I’m here for you. And don’t be ashamed to give therapy a chance; trust me, it will help more than you think.”

“Okay, hot stuff. I get it, “ you scoffed, shaking your head. “Stay safe out there.”

“I will. Have a good night, YN.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, letting it go. You rolled your eyes at his gesture, but you couldn’t stop the smile inching its way across your face.

You watched him walk down the sidewalk to your front gate, and he turned around one more time, waving goodbye. You waved back before he opened the gate and it clicked shut behind him. You closed your front door and leaned against it, covering your face in your hands, and let out a loud sigh. Steve seemed ready to take the next step, but were you?

You walked back over to the couch, returning to your blanket and switching the tv back on. You picked out a random movie to watch, but soon it became white noise in the background. You haven’t been in a relationship since Billy, and to be frank, you were scared to give the whole relationship thing another shot. You and Steve joked about it, but you never thought it would actually happen. Even though Steve and Billy are two very different people, you couldn’t help but be reminded of all the negatives that could come with it. Were you even ready? Should you have even been hanging out with Steve? Were you leading him on? What if he did the same thing Billy did? With all the negatives that came to your mind, maybe Steve was right, maybe it was time to give therapy a chance.

____________

AN: Thanks for reading Part 13! If you haven't noticed yet, I'm all for angst, I don't like feeling it, but I like writing it!! This is probably one of my favorite chapters in this series because it's both emotional and tragic. I'm really hoping that while reading this part you fell in love with Peggy. Her part wasn't huge huge, but I hope it made you realize what Steve lost and how much she meant to him. Emotions, am I right!! Also, I felt doing the whole flashback thing for Steve would show the different relationship dynamic that Peggy and Steve had versus her and Billy's. Huge difference obviously, and I felt like it would be better to show how they communicated and acted towards each other rather then just talking about it. It's also why I went into a little more detail in the last chapter with Laura and Clint's relationship...again, showing the relationship dynamic. Sorry for that unnecessary ramble! 😂😂 Anyways, do you think she is gonna give therapy a chance? What did you think about Steves backstory? And do you think this slow burn will finally end, and they will finally get together or will it be just a little longer?! 😂 Comments always welcome, and until next week, thanks again!

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butgilinsky · 4 years ago

Text

december // mb

warning; heartbreak. that’s it.

summary; after he’s left alone in an empty apartment with the weight of the world on his shoulders, mat comes to realize that december’s his least favorite month of the year. based on the song december by neck deep.

word count; 3.8k+

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

mat doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around the block. all he knows is that it’s hard to see, even harder to walk straight, and he can’t shake the itch he has to call you. he just needs one more time, just one final attempt at hearing your voice, even if it’s just your answering machine.

“hey, this is y/n! i’ll get back to you-” he hangs up then, decides that he doesn’t have the mental capacity to leave another message.

it’s only been two weeks, but mat feels like it’s been years since he’s seen you. his heartbreak is just as fresh as it was when you walked away from him, tears in his eyes and mind going through the motions of trying to put itself back together again. two weeks isn’t long enough to heal from the gaping hole you left in his heart. there’s not enough time in the world for mat to heal properly.

he comes to the realization that he’ll never be the same fairly quickly. he thought you were it for him. he thought that every obstacle would be tackled by the two of you together. he thought you’d be in this shit show called life together, for the long haul. he can’t say it’s not his fault, can’t say he tried as hard as he could. he took you for granted, and he knows that now, but now it’s too late.

he thinks that december is the worst month to be face heartache. he can’t take you home for christmas like he planned, can’t kiss you when the clock strikes midnight on january first. he doesn’t get to see you shudder from the cold despite him telling you to bundle up ten times before leaving the house. the christmas decorations that line the street are a constant reminder of the ones you lined the apartment with, and mat starts to think he’ll never look at christmas decorations the same.

when he gets back home he sees a pair of your shoes by the door. he sees the christmas card from your best friend sitting on the table in the entry way. he sees little traces of you, almost fooling him into thinking you still live there. he has to remind himself then, your stuff is here but you’re not. you told him you’d pick everything up after he went to vancouver, wanting to limit your amount of contact with mat, but that only made it worse for him.

you didn’t want to see him anymore. he wants to see you, and you want nothing to do with him anymore. it’s a hard pill to swallow, losing you so quickly after having you for so long. he knows he should understand, knows he should come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t the best he could’ve been. he wasn’t the man he should’ve been, nowhere near the man you deserved. you asked for simple things and mat told you he’d never be able to give them to you.

he thinks about how hard it’ll be to go home, to open gifts on christmas when he knows that theres a pile of boxes in the back of his closet that’ll never be opened. he knows that he should return them, should take them back to the stores before his grace period expires, but he can’t bring himself to even look at the boxes. he can’t bring himself to return the gifts he bought for you, can’t imagine going over each individual one in the process.

tito offers to do it for him, says that he has a pair of pants he needs to return anyways, but mat knows better. he knows his friend is just doing what he thinks will help, and while it’s heartwarming, it’s also gut wrenching that his friends think he can’t take care of things himself.

the first time he sees you after you walked out is at a restaurant, sitting across the table from a guy he’s never seen before. anders asks if he wants to leave, says that there’s another place they can go to right around the corner. mat shakes his head and slides into his seat, says it’s fine even though it’s not.

he sits with his back to you, figures that’ll make it easier to resist the temptation to look at you. he doesn’t know that you watched him walk in, watched him slide into the seat facing away from you. he doesn’t know that your heart sinks into your stomach when you see him turn his back to you, silently telling you that it’s simply too difficult to look at you now.

you excuse yourself from your table, the man across from you offering you a worried smile before you walk to the bathroom quicker than normal. you grip the edge of the sink, leaning over it in case your stomach fails you. the world around you spins, makes it harder to catch your breath that’s only getting worse with every passing second.

you try to ground yourself, try to tell yourself that you did what was right for you, that this is what you wanted. it’s what you needed. you remind yourself that you want things that mat can’t give you. you want things that mat doesn’t want to give you. you need a life that mat can’t provide.

“what do you want from me, y/n?” it’s the same fight, the one you’ve had too many times to count. you ask for something simple, ask him to do the bare minimum only for him to act as if you asked him to pull the moon out of the sky and shove it in your pocket.

“i want you to tell me that we’ll get there! i don’t need it now, mat, but-”

“but that’s the thing, y/n. you do need it now. you want me to throw away everything i’ve worked for because you want some stupid house with a red door and shrubs around the lawn. you want to get married on a beach or in a forest. you want to have a large wedding, a reception in a big ballroom where everyone is smiling at you like you’re the only person in the room.

“you want kids that pull on your hair and draw on the walls. you want to settle down and have a life made for thirty year olds who sit in cubicles from nine to five and then go home and eat dinner at the kitchen table. but i can’t give that to you. you want a life i can’t give you.”

it hits you at full force, like a tsunami that nobody saw coming just before it wipes out an entire city. you try to ground yourself, try to bring yourself back to the restaurant bathroom that you’re in, rather than your place in the middle of your living room, crying and begging mat to just listen to you.

you don’t think you’re ready to leave the space just yet, but you’re reminded that you’re not here alone, and the guy at your table is probably worried that you’re crawling out of the bathroom window.

you run straight into someone on your way out of the bathroom, chests colliding into one another before you’re both rushing out apologies. you’re almost knocked off of your feet by the force, and grip onto the first thing that you can reach, which happens to be the person’s forearm.

anthony’s hands steady you, making sure you don’t topple over in the heels that are suffocating your feet. he tries to mask his shock with a warm smile, tries to hide the sympathy that’s eating away at him. it doesn’t work, but you can tell he’s trying.

he noticed the red rimmed eyes you’re sporting, and the way your eyeliner is smudged just the slightest bit. he notices the indents in your bottom lip from where you were just chewing on it to conceal the sounds of your sobs. it’s not the first time he’s seen you in a state similar to this one, and he’s not sure if he hopes it’s the last.

you see him look back at his table and make the mistake of following suit, feeling every muscle in your body tense when you find the same set of eyes you’d missed for two months. you can’t tear your eyes away from him, can’t even bother to notice that the guy who brought you here is watching the entire exchange.

mat doesn’t know what to do. he doesn’t know if he should look away and pretend like he never saw you or if he should get up and go talk to you. he doesn’t know where the boundaries are drawn or if he’s invited to overstep them regardless of what they entail. he wants to ask you, wants to stand up from his set and rush to take tito’s spot. he wants to hear your voice and feel your touch, feel his heart intertwine with yours in a bed shared by the two of you.

anders brings mat back, clapping a hand on his back and trying to integrate him back into the table’s conversation. you look at him for a little longer, only brought out of your thoughts when you hear anthony’s voice.

“y/n-”

“i have to go.” you leave him before he can say anything else, walking up to your table and rushing out a slew of apologies as you gather your things.

“i’m sorry, i have to go.” he notices the tears building in your eyes, asks you if you need a ride home or money for a cab, both of which you turn down but thank him for. he’s not sure what just happened but he knows you can’t stay here for much longer without tipping over the edge, so he lets you go.

you walk by his table then, trying to ignore the fact that you’re so close to him. you ignore the call of your name and cover your mouth with the back of your hand as you inevitably catch the attention of half of the restaurant.

“barz, don’t-”

“y/n!” he’s out of his seat and running after you before any of his teammates can bring him back down.

he doesn’t care that the whole restaurant is watching, doesn’t care that he’ll see stories about the exchange in the morning. he just focuses on you running out of the doors the best that you can, focuses on the fact that he’s getting closer to you with every stride. it’s not close enough, but it’s the closest he’s been in a long time and he’ll take anything he can get at this point.

“y/n!”

“don’t do this, mat.” it’s the first time he’s heard your real voice for month; the first time it’s not your answering machine or his saved voicemails from you. it’s not in a video he can’t seem to stop watching, or a figment of his imagination in the middle of the night. it’s you, and you’re here. for a moment, he thinks he’s dreaming.

“baby, please.” you move when he reaches for you, trying to hail a cab as quickly as you can so you can get the hell out of this situation.

“i can’t do this. please, mat, please don’t do this. i’m begging you.” he feels his heart sink at the desperation in your face, somehow coming to terms with the notion that you don’t want to talk to him right now, and you probably don’t want to talk to him ever again. “i can’t do this to me mat, because if i let you tell me what you’re thinking then i’m not going to be able to walk away from you.”

your words hit him at full force, almost knocking him straight off of his feet. he’s not entirely sure what weight your words held, but he does know the he wishes you’d give him the room to explain why that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

a cab pulls up to the curb and you’re reaching for the handle before he can get another word out, even though he doesn’t have anything else to say. he’s forced you into conversations that you didn’t want to have for months, he can’t bring himself to do that right now despite the questions swimming around in his mind.

he watches you slip into the backseat, locking eyes with him one more time before shutting the door and begging the cab driver to take you home. he knows he messed up, knows he should’ve stayed in the restaurant, knows that he shouldn’t have let you walk out in december.

you’re gone before he can process it. he’s left standing on the edge of the sidewalk, his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes glued to the spot where you once stood. he feels a hand on his back, hears his friends telling him that you just needed time, that it was still all too new for you to face.

but they don’t know you the way he does. they don’t know that you’re never going to be ready to face this. they don’t know that all you wanted was mat in a big house with a rose colored door, and all he gave you was the opportunity to find him passed out in the bathroom at three in the morning, too drunk to crawl into bed.

he hears tito say the same thing he always does. the four words he hates to hear, but can’t seem to get his friend to stop muttering when the situation arises.

“pain is never permanent.”

he bites his tongue, doesn’t want to yell at tito and tell him that he knows that, but tonight it’s killing him. he doesn’t say that december has become his least favorite month, that he wishes time would slow down so he wouldn’t have to reach the end of the year.

the next time he sees you is a few months later. this time you’re in the park, hand gripping a leash with a dog he’s never seen on the other end of it. he feels his heart threatening to jump out of his chest when he sees you leaning into someone’s side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. he has a leash in his hand as well, a different dog on the end of it.

he doesn’t know if they’re yours or his, the dogs. he doesn’t know if they’re still puppies or fully grown. he doesn’t know if the guy you’re with is your new boyfriend, or a friend that’s overly affectionate.

he gets his answer, unwillingly, when you turn to the man and smile brightly, watching as you push yourself onto your toes and press your lips to his. mat feels bile tickle the back of his throat, feels the gut wrenching feeling that comes with a heartbreak that’s never subsided.

he wonders how he’s forced to see you like this. the city’s so big, and he had to be at the same park as you and him today. his jog picks up pace, his frustration being fueled into his early morning run.

you see him when he passes you, eyes locking for just a moment before he looks ahead of himself once more. you know he’s mad, know he’s still grieving, but then you’re reminded of the man beside you, his hand squeezing your shoulder just as the dog on your leash gives you a firm tug as a reminder of where you are and who you’re with.

you smile at him and tell him that yeah, you’re fine. you walk with him, only glancing over your shoulder once. mat’s already gone, no sign of him anywhere in sight. you almost wonder if you’d made up the entire thing in your head.

it’s december again, and when mat reaches up to scratch his neck, he’s reminded of the facial hair he’s sporting. he remembers a time when you ran your fingers over his jaw, scratching gently at the stubble forming.

“should i shave it?” you hum, almost not hearing his question. he asks again, peeling his eyes away from the tv and looking down at you.

your head’s on his chest, and your eye are wide with admiration as you look up at him and shake your head. you tell him no, that you like his facial hair and it makes him look about five years older. he smiles, despite the fact that he asks you if that meant you didn’t like the babyface he usually wore.

you smile then, rolling your eyes and squealing when his fingers dig into your ribs. you try to swat him away, but he rolls the two of you over and effectively traps you between him and the mattress. he only stops when you struggle to catch your breath from laughing, both of you wearing wide, cheesy grins while holding eye contact.

you lean up and press your lips to his, humming when he pushed back against your lips with added pressure. his fingers dip down to your hips, gripping them slightly before slipping under the material of your shirt.

mat has to pull himself out of the memory before his mind goes too far. he can’t spend too much time dwelling on the moment, or he’ll back out. he can’t back out, not after getting this far.

he needs to tell you, needs you to know that he wants the best for you. he wants you to have everything you’ve ever wanted in life, even if he isn’t the one that gets to give it all to you.

he wants you to know that he loves you, and will until his last breath. the years he spent with you weren’t like anything else he’s ever experienced, and he has a feeling it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

your smile spreads a warmth through his chest. he notices that it doesn’t reach your eyes, but neither does his. he walks into the coffee shop, know that there are so many thoughts bound to be left unspoken by the end of this. neither of you know how to start this conversation, but you take the first plunge.

“you look good.” he lets a soft laugh slip, not understanding how that can be the first thing you’re saying to him after all of this time. he takes it in stride though, and bites his tongue so he doesn’t return the sentiment.

there’s not much small talk. it’s practically impossible to sit in front of the other and pretend like the last few years never happened. he can’t act like he doesn’t know how it feels to wake up beside you, or have your lips moving up and down the skin of his neck. you can’t pretend you don’t know how it feels to watch him score a goal, or two, or three, and be the one that gets to go home with him afterwards.

so he takes a deep breath, and you sense the hesitation coursing through him. he notices your patience, remembers how that came in handy over the course of your relationship. he gives you another small smile, and grips the cup in front of him as a way to keep his hands occupied while he starts to speak.

“i just want you to know that i want you to be happy. i know that you are, and that makes me happy. i hope you get your ball room floor, and your perfect house with rose red doors. i know that it’s been a long time, and i couldn’t tell you that when-” he swallows, and attempt to stop the lump from forming in his throat. it doesn’t work, but it adds a sense of comfort in a weird way.

“i want you to know that i’m happy for you. i wish it was me, and i’d be lying if i said there’s a point where i won’t feel like that, but i know that you wanted things i couldn’t give you. i hope he's better than I ever could have been.” he doesn’t say that he doesn’t think that’s possible, and he doesn’t say that he’s ready to give you everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you asked him for a year ago.

he doesn’t say that he’s ready now, that he’s at a place that he didn’t think he’d ever reach. you don’t get the pleasure of knowing that mat’s ready for this, for you. you’re left with the thought that he’ll never be ready, and you’ll never be given the chance to see mat mowing the lawn of a big, two-story house with a red door and a wrap around porch.

you don’t tell him that you want to hear it, that you need to hear it. you don’t tell him that you’d drop everything you have right now if it meant that you can live that life with mat. he doesn’t get the pleasure of knowing that you’re silently begging him to ask you to leave your new life behind and run away with him. he’s left with the thought that you’re satisfied with what you have going for you, and he’ll never be given the chance to see you in a beautiful white dress, walking towards him with a smile so bright, he thinks it’ll blind him.

you sit across from each other, biting your tongues and holding back words that would change everything if just one of you would simply spit it out. if one of you could build the courage to just say what you were both thinking, your lives would change once again. your lives would finally end up being everything you wanted them to be.

but you don’t say anything, because you don’t think there’s a place for you to say it. mat doesn’t say anything, and he thinks he’s doing the right thing by holding back. he thinks he’s come to terms with how his life is meant to play out, and you think he’s still incapable of reaching the point that you need him to be at.

you leave the coffee shop with a weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there when you arrived. your stomach feels uneasy, maybe from the coffee but definitely from the realization that you’d never be able to move on from mathew barzal.

mat stays in his seat after you leave, not being able to hug you goodbye or watch you walk back to your car. he can’t find it in him to move from his spot, trying to give himself the time to come to the realization of what just happened. he knows that he still loves you, knows that he’ll always love you. he feels his chest ache and maybe it’s the weight of the situation, but it’s definitely from the realization that he’d never be able to move on from you.

it’s going to be another long, lonely december.

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hankwritten · 3 years ago

Text

Hofstadter’s Law

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for MinnesotaMedic821, Drunk

“You sure this best way in, Jane?” Demo muttered quietly as he gazed up at the looming concrete spires of BLU base.

“I am very sure!” Soldier said, not quietly at all. Practically yelling actually. Right in Demo’s ear too, what with his arm slung around the RED’s shoulders as the only thing keeping him upright.

“Shhh!” Demo hushed him. “You want me to go half-deaf as well as half-blind? ‘Sides, the last thing we need right now is the other BLUs hearing us.”

Soldier’s head, lolling like a pad of butter sliding around a hot pan, took a long and winding trip from one side to the other. “…Why?”

“…Because I’m a RED in the middle of a nest o’ BLU corn snakes?” Demo raised a brow. “Ach, you really did have a number done, didn’t you? Remind me not to let you near the Everclear again.”

“Okay! I will definitely remind you!”

Demo eyed him dubiously. “Remind me what, Jane?”

The grey shell of the helmet stared at him for several seconds. “…What?”

“Let’s just get you in, aye? We can do all sorts of filling in each other’s memories when your toesies are tucked safe under your covers.”

But in order get the Soldier safely in bed, they’d need to first traverse the minefield of potential termination that was the center of BLU operations. No problem at all really. It was late—even if some of the mercs had hit the town like Demo and Soldier had, they’d certainly be back by now, fast asleep, no chance at all of waking up and discovering a very difficult to explain situation in the form of an enemy merc carrying around their Soldier. As long as they were quiet, they’d be perfectly safe.

Demo guided Soldier towards the back doors, at which point they promptly ran into the enemy Demoman.

The BLU, spread out on a fabric lawn chair surrounded by dust, desert, and least a half-dozen bottles, blinked wide-eyed at the pair who’d just come around with the low-speed but high-inertia gait of a drunk couple. He shook his head slightly, as though to dispel the ‘ole three am fog and ascertain that yes, that truly was his teammate being helped along by the RED demolition’s man. Demo, for his part, froze like he’d been staked to the ground.

Soldier, as heavy things are want to do, kept going at his expected velocity. It nearly took them both over—Demo had to abandon the arm under his shoulders, lunging to haul Soldier up the waist and folding him in half like a Panini.

“Well,” the BLU in the lawn chair said, “you two look like you had fun.”

His face was a mish-mash of raised brow and, perplexingly enough, a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he bore witness to the two truants. Most shockingly of all, there wasn’t a trace of surprise on his face now, just those shades of smug amusement you put on when watching a particularly entertaining drunkard. The fact that Demo was used to having that expression leveled at him was neither here nor there.

“Er…�� he said eloquently.

The flash of dread that’d shot through him when he’d caught sight of the BLU was the worse case scenario of course: reported on, fired, dead in a gravel pit somewhere, all rendered in gory detail by his mind’s eye. (His overactive imagination a bloody menace sometimes.) But as the BLU continued to sit there, not sounding the alarm, not even looking particularly worried, Demo’s fear for his own neck slowly morphed into confusion.

“I was just er-”

“Oh, hello Demoman!” Soldier chimed in. “We have been out. Drinking alcohol!”

“I’ve heard that’s a fun pastime,” his teammate commented mildly.

“Don’t tell him that,” Demo complained, hauling Soldier to an upright position. “Jesus, this er, isn’t what it looks like, honestly.”

“Sure it isn’t,” the BLU said, wearing what could now be identified unmistakably as a smirk. He gestured with his bottle. “Back entrance ‘s that-a-way.”

A little ball of defensiveness, not matter how unjustified, rolled around in Demo’s gut to the point he wanted to stop and give the other Demoman a piece of his mind. Which would probably involve lying. And then consequences to lying since Soldier had already given away this wasn’t a one time thing. He shut his gob and took the out.

Until the hum of the BLU’s resumed tune was far behind them, until the curving architecture of the base would keep them from being overheard, he didn’t dare start asking questions. Only when he was sure that the corner they’d rounded was at a significant distance away did he accusatorily hiss, “what was that about?”

“Hm?” Soldier asked pleasantly. He fixed a dopey smile on his friend, a second ago which had been the responsibility of a beetle crawling a tuft of bullheadidly tenacious grass.

“Your Demo, why’d you tell him where we were? And why didn’t he flip out?”

“You’re my Demo,” Soldier hummed unhelpfully.

“Ach,” Demo said, realizing he’d get nowhere with the security lights and a whole herd of horseflies bearing down on them. “Fine, lets get you inside first. But I’ve still got some bloody questions.”

They’d arrived at the unassuming little door cut into the base’s thick concrete, welded metal gushing haphazardly from its size as though its very addition had been an afterthought. Demo motioned at Soldier.

“Pass me your keycard, lad.”

“M’what?”

“Keycard.” Demo’s heart sank. “You keep it in your wallet or something, right?”

Soldier stared at the card reader. He stared at long and hard, so long and hard that Demo was starting to wonder if the question had made it through his ear canals at all when he concluded, “I forgot it.”

“You for- Oh for the love of Pete.” Demo took the hand that wasn’t supporting his mate and rubbed it long suffering across his face. “Well that’s great. Bloody great, risk my arse hauling a drunken fart back to his base cause he can’t hold his bloody liquor, and we can’t even get in to the fecking-”

The door hissed, layers of dust shaking loose like with a sci-fi swish as the vacuum seal was opened to the desert night. Demo gawked, watching it shake away grit like it was built into the surface of Mars instead of a dead-end town in the middle of New Mexico, and letting out a wash of air-conditioned oxygen.

When it was partially ajar, it unveiled the BLU Sniper, arms folded and leaning on the inner wall.

“How…what?” Demo asked. Soldier was too busy looking at the beetle again to be perplexed.

“Heard you guys arguing from the roof.” Sniper jerked his thumb upwards. “If you were sneaking ‘round, might want to think about keeping your voice down in the future. Probably could’ve heard you all the way at RED.”

“I wasn’t- We weren’t-”

Sniper waited. When no adequate explanation was forthcoming he said, “you comin’? Cold air’s getting out.”

Demo grimaced, and began the arduous processes of lugging the Soldier inside.

Chill ran up where his t-shirt had sweated to his neck, Soldier fairing no better since they’d spent the past half hour (every moment since Demo had realized Soldier would be going nowhere on his own) with their sides pressed together. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until the cold ai) brought the slightest suggestion of relief to his (admittedly also not terribly sober) body.

“If this is going to be a running thing for you two, maybe don’t get so munted next time, yeah?” Sniper offered. It was neither reprimanding nor conversational, like this was a totally normal exchange happening here with a RED in a BLU hallway.

“Who said anything about a ‘running thing’?” Demo demanded. “You didn’t overhear that!”

Sniper raised a brow. “Soldier said you were his new best mate. I assumed that meant you’d both be out and about more than once.”

Demo grit his teeth, the pieces clicking into place. “Did he now.” He leveled his best attempt at a glare from his blindspot at the disoriented Soldier who, unsurprisingly, was more interested in resting his head on Demo’s shoulder than being reprimanded. “Well that’s good to know. Any chance you can point me to his room?”

Sniper took one gloved hand and shoved a thumb over his shoulder.

“Thanks. Cheers.”

“Goodbye Sniper,” Soldier said belatedly, a good three minutes after he’d disappeared around a corner. “Oh hey! My room!”

“Jane, is there anyone you didn’t tell about us?” Demo demanded.

Soldier thought for a moment. “…I didn’t tell any REDs.”

“Jane,” Demo groaned. “This is supposed to be a secret. What if one of them tells the Administrator? You want that? Going to be hard ever meeting up again if we’re both six feet under.”

For the first time, a bit of shame managed to reach the Soldier through the woolen mesh of his inebriated state, and he looked at his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just got really excited. Wanted everyone to know I was hanging out with you.”

Demo sighed heavily, not up bullying his friend when he was in such a pathetic sate already. “I know you were. Ach, it’s fine. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.”

Later being sometime after he’d managed to deposit Soldier onto a four-poster, though with the way the night was going it seemed like that moment would never arrive. His outlook wasn’t improved when he opened the door of Soldier’s room and found that not only was it Soldier’s room, but the occupancy of the entire Offense division.

“Whzzat?” Scout said, rolling to his elbow just in time to be bombarded by the hall light. “Ahg, dammit Sol. What the hell man?”

Demo didn’t bother freezing this time, successfully desensitized to literally every BLU on the planet stumbling across his ill-advised trip through the enemy base. Instead, he walked over, dropped Soldier on the bed, and began helping him unlace his boots.

“What the-?” Scout said when he finally lowered his arm. “Oh right. You. Jesus, how ‘bout a little consideration for the sleeping guy?”

“Mmrrhaunna,” came from the bundle in the corner.

“Yeah, what they said.”

“You don’t got the right to be begging consideration from anyone, jackrabbit,” Demo said hotly as he frees the military-grade combat boots from Soldier’s feet. He threw a blanket over the man’s form, who sighed appreciatively and said something about how this would earn Demo a medal. “‘Sides, don’t need to worry about me no more. I just came to drop of your sergeant and get out of here.”

To prove it, he backed out of the room with hands raised. Mission complete. Time to get out of here and bring this mortifying night to an end.

He might have gotten away with it too, if Pyro hadn’t shot straight up and pointed an accusing finger at him. “Mrrhaha! Hudda hah ha hoo.”

Demo reared back slightly from the Pyro who was still very much in their rubber suit, now with added nightcap. Whatever the hell they were saying, they were very impassioned about it. He looked to the Scout for help.

“They want you to tuck them in too,” he said, and the light flooding in from the single open door was good enough to see that he was smirking as he did so.

“Wha- I’m not bloody tucking anyone in,” Demo said hotly.

“Hudda ha. Mrra haa hur ha.”

“You tucked Soldier in,” Scout translated. “Only fair.”

“Gurrhaha.”

“…Otherwise they’ll tattle.”

“I cannae bloody believe this,” Demo groaned, rubbing his face.

Grudgingly, he made his way over the giggling pyrotechnician, absolutely giddy to have gotten their way. Thankfully boots weren’t part of the pajama equation, and Demo had only to tuck in the blanket’s edges ‘round a pair of socked feet and a squirming, suit-clad body. When he tried to leave it at that, a keening noise stopped him, and he was forced to repeat the process for Mayor Balloonicorn. All the while, he could feel the Scout staring smugly at the back of his head.

“D’awww, ain’t that adorable. Going to be hard to be scared of you now, though. Y’know, after you swung by to give us goodnight kisses and all that crap.”

“Just for that, I’m going to have a sticky trap with your name on it, boyo,” Demo pointed an accusing finger in Scout’s direction. He just shrugged.

“But uh,” Scout added, just as Demo was finally about to make his escape. “Glad you turned out to be cool though. He was really gung ho about tonight. Its nice he has good friends besides us.”

Demo cast his gaze to Soldier, who’d fallen fitfully in the short while it’d taken to get Pyro off his back.

“…That’s good. It was a fun time.”

“Oh yeah?” Scout wiggled his eyebrows. “How fun?”

Demo took one of the pillows he’d used to burry Pyro in and flung it at Scout’s face.

“Sticky trap. Your name.”

He could still hear Scout snickering all the way out into the hall.

#demosolly #tf2 fanfiction

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yungidreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Arrival

Summary: Yungi and their girl arrive in New York City for spring break! After a visit to central park they decide to have an evening in at their B&B, planning for the rest of the trip and relaxing. When their girl turns in early, the boys expend some energy together in the shower

Wordcount: 6.6k

Content warnings: a little discussion of insecurites, orals sex, face fucking, anal sex, shower sex, and lots of love as always.

“New York, New York!” Mingi sang as they stepped off the subway at the stop closest to their bed and breakfast. Yunho gave a snicker and she laughed, hugging him around the hips. “What?”

“You’re just cute, love,” she told him with a bright smile. “I love that you do stuff like that.” Mingi grinned, turning a little pink. Yunho took one of Mingi’s hands and she hooked a finger into one of his belt loops as they headed out of the subway station and out onto the streets of the city. They paused as Yunho checked the directions on his phone, opening the map to get their bearing and gestured in the direction they needed to head. Dragging their bags the short block and a half, they found themselves in front of the iron and glass door that was their bed and breakfast. Mingi dropped Yunho’s hand and pulled the door open, holding it open for the other two to enter before following with his own bag into the small reception area.

With no one currently at the desk, they put their bags to the side near the wood paneled desk and poked their heads around the corners of the small lobby area with a couch, an armchair, a coffee table, and a little vanity that had been repurposed to hold a few welcoming decorative items. It was nice and cozy looking, a little like a living room at someones house. Mingi scootched up behind her, petting her head and touching gently along her neck. Yunho threw his arms around Mingi from behind, lifting him up off the floor and bouncing him as they all giggled.

“Uh, can I help you?” A voice came from behind the desk.

“Yeah we are here to check in, sorry,” she said coming over towards the desk. Pulling out a piece of paper and her ID.

“Are you here with your parents?” Asked the guy behind the desk as he took the papers.

“Nope just us,” Yunho replied, hanging on Mingi’s shoulder from behind him still.

“Alright, let’s see,” he said, typing into the computer behind the counter. “Hmmm, I think there might have been a mistake in your reservation.”

“Hmm?” She said, standing on her tiptoes to try and see over the counter as if it would let her see what they were looking at.

“Well it looks like you have a room with only one bed,” his mouth pressed into a line. “We do have another room with two beds or we can also send up a cot, but that would be a little extra.”

“One bed is fine, it’s a king sized right?” She followed up.

“Yes…” he blinked at them for a second before going on with the check-in for them. “Well, here is your key. You guys are up on the third floor, room 304 towards the end of the hall.”

“Thank you,” she smiled as she took the key from him and turned to grab the handle of her bag. “Come on loves, let’s go see the room.” Yunho and Mingi followed her to the stairwell, and they walked together up the couple of flights to the third floor. They found their room at the end of the hallway to the right. She slid the plastic key into the reader and swung the door open and stepped inside. The room was a lovely space filled with a pleasing combination of bright blue and crisp white. The room wasn’t large and the space was mostly filled with the bed, but given the price and the location, it was still a very good deal. They had a window that looked out on the small side street with the entrance to the B&B, a bright tiled bathroom, an armchair, and a little desk under the TV mounted to the wall. The bed was actually a little smaller than theirs back home, but it would be fine for the days they were here over break.

Not wanting to waste time, they put their suitcases in the corner, put the key in Yunho’s wallet, and headed back downstairs. They walked out the front door and turned left to make their way down the three and a half blocks to the edge of the park. Checking Yunho’s map again, they decided to head down a block to a small entrance into the massive park. They decided to start with the area behind the Metropolitan Museum, in part because there was a chance the cherry trees might be blooming already since spring had been warm and the place called Cherry Hill seemed like a good destination for that.

They set off along the maze of paths further into the park. At first they followed the path along the back of the museum, seeing the massive extended structures that seemed to stretch so far along the edge of the park.

“Do you think we’ll be able to see everything in there in a day when we go?” Mingi asked as they walked along the modern feeling structure of glass and steel that reached into the park.

“Maybe not but I bet we can see a lot,” she commented with a smile, catching his attention by taking his hand again. He looked back at her and gave her a big smile. Yunho took her other hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Did you see that over there?” He asked, gesturing at something that seemed to be pointing up into the sky behind the line of trees across the street that was running alongside the path they were on.

“What is it?” Mingi asked, squinting at it as they continued walking.

“It looks like an obelisk,” she stated. “Want to go see what it is?” Both of the boys nodded and they started off, first crossing the road and path and sneaking onto the broad grassy lawn. The old trees there were just starting to put out their leaves making it surprisingly easy to see further into the park as they walked. The obelisk was a large object of brown stone that seemed to be just a little out of place, rising out of nowhere in the middle of a park in the city. When they got close, they could see that it seemed to actually be an ancient object that had been installed in the park, likely related to the museum nearby.

“That’s neat,” she declared, circling the base and looking up at the hieroglyphic carvings. “I really wonder what it says.”

“Maybe something like ‘Pharaoh Ramses was here, he was cool and liked pointy things,’” Yunho jokingly suggested.

“You know,” she admitted with a grin. “There is every chance you really aren’t that far off.”

After a couple more minutes they headed down off the area that held the obelisk onto another path that circled around the broad open lawn at the center of that portion of the park, slowly making their way towards a place called the Turtle Pond. They passed a cool faux medieval bridge and a statue to some Polish king. Across from the statue was a natural looking rock outcrop that provided an amazing view over the water with some of the very tallest buildings at the south side of the park poking up to remind you that you were in one of the biggest cities in the world.

“I wonder if anyone ever swims in that,” Mingi wondered, dipping the toe of his shoe into the water where it was lapping at the edge of the rock.

“Given the color of the water,” she said, giving a little bit of a frown. “I am hoping not. I would bet there are way nicer places to swim or get wet even in the park.”

“Yeah probably,” he nodded. “The view just kind of makes it a tempting place, I think.”

“You like the idea of swimming with a view?” Yunho chuckled.

“Isn’t everything more fun with a nice setting?” Mingi shrugged.

“Yes, yes it is,” she agreed. “But I’d prefer my swimming water to have a little less algae in it.”

“Me, too,” Mingi admitted.

“Okay, so where are we going from here,” She asked, coming up beside Yunho as he pulled out his phone at her question. They set a vague path towards through the forestry ramble and along the inner side of The Lake. The sheer scale of the park was enough to make you feel small. It was odd how, when you stepped out of the forest and could suddenly see the sky scrapers again it suddenly made the park seem both huge and closed in at the same time.

As they exited the ramble, they found themselves on a beautiful gently curving bridge that crossed over a thin stretch between the two sides of the lake. She paused midway, leaning on the decorative cement railing to take in the view of the park and the city. Along the side of the park to the west skyscrapers added texture to the skyline, so contrastingly symmetrical and industrial. A testament to industry and innovation.

In the park, the sparse branches of the trees reached towards the sky, yet still dwarfed by the buildings unless you were under them. In the park on the other side of the lake, fruit trees were blooming in pink and white, heralding the beginning of spring. People passed, the water sparkled, and a light breeze stirred the blooms and the branches.

“Want to get a picture here?” Yunho asked when she paused there, looking out at the view.

“Sure,” she nodded. “Isn’t it such a gorgeous place? The trees and the lake and everything… just how it all makes you feel so small.”

“It’s beautiful,” Yunho agreed. “But I never feel small when I’m with you.”

“Is… is that a joke about my height?” She laughed, narrowing her eyes at him.

“No, no,” he burst into laughter, realizing that it did sound like that when he thought about it. “I meant you both make me feel important.”

“Okay, that was sweet,” she chuckled, guiding his face down for a kiss. “Mingi babe, come here, let’s get a picture here together.” Mingi happily bound over, joining them where they leaned against the concrete rail of the bridge. The boys leaned down to her level so they would all fit in the frame and smiled into the camera as she hit the button.

“One more,” Yunho urged as she started to put the camera away. She nodded and brought the camera back up for another picture. Both boys turned their faces, pressing a kiss to her cheeks from either side. A grin spread over her face as she took another couple of pictures of the three of them. This would be a moment she would want to remember for a very long time.

Before the boys could stop her, she dashed off towards Cherry Hill, going to look at the cherry blossoms fluttering in the breeze. They chased after her, laughing as they quickly caught up with her on the paved path that curved around the slight hill where many of the pink crowned trees were dotted. At a break in the benches that lined the path she guided them off the path and onto the grass to get closer to the trees.

“Isn’t it just a little amazing that they bloom even before the leaves come out?” Mingi noted as he looked at the pink blossoms against the blue of the sky. Petals fluttered off the tree and onto the grass around them, dancing like snowflakes in the air as they fell.

“They are so beautiful,” Yunho agreed. “Maybe someday we can have a cherry tree at our house.”

“Someday, when we have a house that is ours,” she nodded. “The flowers are awesome, but can you imagine if we actually got edible cherries too. I could make pies.”

“My mom used to can peaches from my grandparent’s yard back when I was a kid,” Yunho recalled. “Maybe she can teach us how to do that, then we can save them.”

“I think it’s going to be awhile before we can do that,” she said with a sigh.

“Doesn’t hurt to plan ahead,” Mingi grinned.

“Of course not,” she admitted. “It’s just…”

“What?” Yunho asked, when her pause seemed to draw out.

“Sometimes it feels so far away it doesn’t feel real,” she shrugged, deliberately looking at the trees around them.

“You mean the future?” Mingi questioned, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “A future where we have our house and our trees. Sometimes I don’t really want to think about it since it doesn’t really feel like it’s going to be real. What we have now, I’m just happy to have what we do at least.”

“When we graduate,” Yunho declared with complete confidence. “We’ll buy a house together, get a dog, just, you know, make a real home for ourselves.”

“How are we going to explain that to our parents?” She half laughed, half sighed.

“Who says we have to explain anything at that point?” Mingi declared, longing for the day when he could really not care about what his father thought.

“I don’t know,” she allowed. “I guess I sort of hope someday mom and dad will understand, you know. Come over for holidays and birthdays. I want them to be happy for me.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” Mingi said ruefully. “But I’d be so happy if you got that. Your parents have always been amazing to me even if your dad can be a little prickly sometimes. They love you, I think maybe, if they see you… or I mean us happy, I think they will come around.”

“It’s sort of funny,” Yunho sighed, putting his hand over Mingi’s where it was resting on her shoulder. “I think my mom will be relieved that we are all together. She is always so worried about me being left out; being left alone. When we tell her we are all together, I actually think it will make her happy.”

“Well, on the upside,” she said, giving Mingi a bright smile. “When we tell your dad, we will never have to see him again.”

“That is a bonus,” Mingi readily agreed. “Can… can we call him now?”

“Let’s get a couple more years of tuition out of him,” Yunho suggested.

They got back to the B&B around sunset tired and hungry from their wandering in the park. On their way home they had picked up some Thai food and donuts to eat so they would be able to stay in and relax for the rest of the evening. Tomorrow would be a full day of touristing, so they decided a little relaxation and maybe even an early night, would be ideal.

Bags of food in hand, they slipped back upstairs to their room. She was already yawning by the time they were back in their room, tired from running around and keeping up with the boys as they toured the park. They had seen quite a few cherry trees, gotten selfies in some of the more iconic spots in the park, like Belvedere Castle and Strawberry Fields. Although they had grabbed a couple of sandwiches from a convenience store at some point, they were starving by the time they actually got back. Passing around the containers of food, they each took their fill while they planned what exactly they were going to do the next day.

“Can we do the big museum tomorrow,” Mingi asked, taking a bite of a maple bacon donut. “I want to see what’s in there, and it’s pretty close.”

“Yeah of course,” she nodded, opening her mouth to accept a bite Yunho was offering her. “We can see what we can get in during a visit tomorrow. Was there something specific you wanted to see there?”

“I don’t know,” Mingi shrugged. “I just like history and it looks like it could be fun.”

“We’ll do that first then,” she nodded. “I’d kind of like to maybe see the Natural History Museum, too.”

“What about the botanical gardens?” Yunho suggested.

“Sure we can do that the day after,” she agreed. “I want to save Thursday for shopping. I wanted to get a dress and maybe some makeup for our anniversary dinner on Friday. Do you boys want to get anything done?”

“I already have a suit but I was thinking I might like a change of hair color if you guys were okay with it.” Yunho mentioned, trying to read their faces.

“You know I’d love any look you pick,” she assured him, patting his knee.

“Yeah, of course, what were you thinking of?” Mingi asked with an excited grin.

“What about something wild,” Yunho tested. “Like a green or blue?”

“Ooooo,” Mingi responded, giving him finger guns. “I like it.”

“Do you mind if I take my shower now?” She asked, stifling another yawn. “We don’t have to go to bed quite yet but I am tired.”

“That’s okay,” Yunho nodded. “Go ahead. It’s not like we are going to go out again anyway. Take your shower, love.”

“Thanks, I won’t be long, “ she promised, kissing each of them on the cheek as she got up. They watched her head into the bathroom, relaxing against the headboard as they finished up the last of the food.

“Do you think she’ll let us pay for her dress and stuff for the dinner?” Mingi asked.

“Mmmmm, probably not willingly, but maybe we can sort of do it sneakily,” Yunho suggested.

“I’m listening,” Mingi turned his head to look at the other boy with a grin.

“It’s pretty simple,” Yunho shrugged. “When she has picked it all out, we divide and conquer. So you take the stuff and I’ll distract her by taking her to look at something else while you slip off and pay.”

“Deal,” Mingi stuck out his hand and sealed the deal with a firm shake of their hands. They settled on watching an episode of something while they waited for her to come back out. Before too long she came out damp and wrapped in a fluffy towel. She fished out an old AC/DC t-shirt that sort of belonged to Yunho but had largely been adopted by her as a night shirt, slipping it on before she tiredly flopped onto the foot of the bed.

“Tired, baby?” Mingi asked, leaning forward and patting her head.

“‘m fine,” she said as she yawned. “Maybe a little.”

“Honey, just lie down,” Yunho looked at her and laughed, pulling her higher up into the bed. “After this episode we’ll go shower and we can just go to sleep.”

“You don’ hafta,” she muttered, cuddling down into the space between them. “I don’t want to rain on the fun we should be having.”

“It’s not a bad idea to sleep a little early today,” Yunho gave her forehead a quick kiss. “Then we can get an early start tomorrow on the actual fun we have planned.”

“Sorry I’m being no fun today,” she huffed.

“Babe, don’t be silly,” Mingi hugged her from behind, nuzzling into her damp hair. “I’m a little tired too, it would be smart to sleep early. Just get under the covers and close your eyes.”

“Fiiiiiiine,” she grumbled but let Mingi tuck her in under the blankets. As she settled down in the pile of pillows at the top of the bed Yunho motioned at Mingi that they should go ahead and go into the shower. Mingi nodded and slid off the bed to follow him into the bathroom. They stripped off their clothes near the suitcases, piling all their dirty clothes together in a heap, then headed into the bright tiled bathroom. Yunho closed the door behind them and pressed Mingi back against it, leaning in for a playful kiss. Mingi grinned against the other boy's lips as his arms snaked around his neck.

“Not feeling tired yet, huh?” Mingi teased in a quiet voice, trying to keep it from carrying into the other room.

“I kinda want you,” Yunho chuckled, bringing his hands to Mingi’s narrow hips.

“Wait, one sec,” Mingi pulled away and cracked the door open, he quietly snuck back to their bags and pulled out the bottle of lube he had packed, casting a look back to the bed where she seemed to be nearly asleep already. The sight made him smile as he quietly slipped back into the bathroom.

“Let’s see if I can’t tire you out a little.” Mingi teased, putting the bottle on the counter as he backed Yunho against it.

“Yes please,” Yunho grinned. Mingi’s lips found the soft Cupid’s bow curve of Yunho’s, enjoying the sweet softness of them pressed against his own. His tongue darted out, tasting the pink softness of Yunho’s lower lip, making him moan slightly.

“I wanted to kiss you all day,” Mingi admitted, pressing his forehead against him.

“Why didn’t you,” Yunho asked, putting his hands on the other boy’s biceps.

“I don’t know,” Mingi shrugged, shaking his head slightly. “What if someone says something? What if someone wants to start something?”

“They won’t,” Yunho soothed, running his hands up and down Mingi’s arms. “And what do I care if they did. I’m proud that I love you. I want everyone to know that you’re my boy.”

“Yeah?” Mingi gave a chuckle.

“My handsome,” Yunho kissed his cheekbone. “Sweet,” he kissed the little mole lower down near his jaw line. “Funny,” he moved to the side of his neck. “Wonderful,” his lips brushed his collarbone. “Sexy,” he smiled, looking up to meet Mingi’s eyes as he reached between them to wrap his fingers around his growing erection. “Boyfriend.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I kissed you sometimes when we were out?” Mingi questioned, feeling a blush rise on his chest and face. “You wouldn’t pull away?”

“Any time that I would be okay with getting a kiss from our girl, I would be just as happy to get a kiss from you,” Yunho promised. “I’m so happy to have you, that you love me, too.” Yunho pushed him slightly further into the bathroom and went to his knees in front of him. “I haven’t kissed you because I’m afraid, but not of what others think.” Yunho told him as he kissed the tip of his erection. “I’m afraid you’ll pull away and I don’t want to hurt you.” He took the head in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

“Ahhh,” Mingi groaned, gripping the towel rack with one hand and the edge of the counter with the other. “I want to say I wouldn’t but… sometimes I get scared of what people will think or how they will react.”

“I know,” Yunho nodded, working his hand up and down the length in his hand. “I want to kiss you and I want you to like it. I want it to be something you hope for, not something you fear happening. I love you too much for that.”

“I’m sorry,” Mingi said guiltily.

“It’s okay,” Yunho licked up his length. “Someday you’ll get there, and I’ll wait for you and for that day.” Taking Mingi into his mouth, he threw himself into driving him to distraction. Mingi looked down, taking in the view of Yunho bobbing as he took as much of his length in his mouth. He loved watching himself disappear in Yunho’s lips and feeling the wet cavern of his mouth move over him.

Yunho loved tasting Mingi. He loved the flavor of his skin and how he reacted to his touch. Usually it was the three of them, and he loved every moment they had together. But sometimes he thought that it made Mingi feel like he was less. That perhaps he wasn’t loved for himself, he was a secondary piece, a less important part of a whole. At the very least, less secure in how important he was and how much he was loved for himself.

Yunho licked him like he was candy, holding onto Mingi’s hips to hold them both steady. Mingi felt weak as he watched Yunho’s mouth move over him eagerly. Part of him wanted to tell him he didn’t have to do this, but he loved this feeling and seeing Yunho on him so he bit his tongue. The way his hands held his hips and his eyes looked up at him, a sparkling glow in his deep brown eyes, made his stomach tight. Catching him looking, Yunho made a show of taking as much of Mingi as he could into his mouth until he brushed the back of his throat and made his eyes water slightly.

“You—you don’t have to,” Mingi finally panted.

“But I want to,” Yunho replied, licking the saliva that was moistening his lower lip. “Do you want to come in my mouth or do you want to take me in the shower?”

“Both,” Mingi joked. “Either, as long as it’s inside you.”

“As you wish,” Yunho let one hand go to stroke himself as he took Mingi in his mouth again.

“Wait,” Mingi stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Yunho sat back on his heels and let his hands drop from the other boy with a twinge of disappointment in his eyes. “No no, I just,” he cleared his throat as a pink blush rose on his cheeks. “Can I taste you too?”

“Do you really want to?” Yunho asked, coming to his feet to look Mingi in the face.

“I don’t have to,” Mingi shrugged, averting his eyes.

“That isn’t what I asked,” Yunho moved into his vision. “Do you want to suck my dick?”

Mingi’s eyes snapped to Yunho’s at the crude language. “Yeah,” he replied a little defiantly.

“Then do it,” Yunho prompted, pressing lightly on Mingi’s shoulders to bring him to his knees.

“Sit for me?” Mingi guided Yunho back to sit on the lid of the closed toilet. Yunho acquiesced, taking a seat on it and letting Mingi kneel down in front of him. Reaching out, Yunho ran his fingers through Mingi’s hair as he drew closer. Mingi put his hands on the thick thighs of the other boy, adjusting his position on the floor, then leaned in to lick a line up the underside of Yunho’s erection. Yunho let out a tight sigh at the feel. Mingi took the tip in his mouth sucking it and swirling his tongue around it like a lollipop.

“Ahhh, Mingi, you’re such a tease,” Yunho praised, running his fingers through his hair. Mingi hummed around him, flattening his tongue as he slid more of him into his mouth. Yunho quivered, his hand fisting lightly in the other boy’s hair as he fought the urge to guide him further down.

“Show me what you like,” Mingi said when he pulled off, putting both of Yunho’s hands on his head as he moved his mouth back on him. With a smile, Yunho gently used his hands to move the other boy along his length until he felt his tip touch the back of his throat and held him there for a few seconds before pulling him back up.

“Is that okay,” Yunho asked, keeping his grip but making it light enough to allow Mingi to pull away if he wanted. Mingi gave a light shake to his head without taking his mouth off Yunho’s length. Guiding his head down again, Yunho watched as Mingi closed his eyes, giving the other boy almost complete control of him. With slow deliberate moves Yunho moved Mingi’s mouth up and down his length as he kept his jaw slack. At the end of each slow stroke Yunho felt himself brush the softness of the back of Mingi’s throat before he pulled the other boy back.

“Love, you feel like fucking heaven,” Yunho moaned. “If we keep going much longer I’m going to come.”

“Come in my mouth, please,” Mingi said, having pulled back enough to speak as he wiped a little bit of moisture that had spilled onto his chin.

“Okay,” Yunho nodded, running his thumbs over Mingi’s cheeks as he pulled him back.

“And, please be a little more rough,” Mingi’s eyes flicked up to Yunho’s then dropped nervously.

Yunho nodded again, “Just tap out if you need to, okay?” Yunho guided Mingi’s mouth down onto him again pulling him down faster and bumping the back of his throat harder. Mingi gagged slightly, his little snaggle-tooth scraping along Yunho’s length for a second before he caught himself.

“You okay?” Yunho gritted out, enjoying the sensations. Mingi nodded, keeping his eyes closed and concentrating on keeping his jaw slack. Trusting the other boy, Yunho pulled his mouth up and down the length of him faster and going deeper. The soft, slick feel of Mingi’s mouth around him felt fantastic and the way he just trusted him and let him control the movement made it feel different. Yunho could feel his orgasm building and increased the speed at which he moved.

“Fuck, Mingi, you feel so good,” Yunho groaned. “Can you take more of me?” Mingi didn’t answer, instead he pushed himself down his length, past the point where he hit the back of his throat taking more of him until he gagged and his eyes watered. Yunho’s breath caught and he wiped away the tears from the corners of Mingi’s eyes. Following Mingi’s guide, Yunho kept him moving, hitting that depth over and over again as his pleasure built.

A moment later his orgasm burst over him and he held Mingi’s head down against him as he felt himself twitch in his throat. He felt Mingi swallow around him, the muscles in his throat working on him. Letting go of his head, Yunho let Mingi pull away. Mingi drew in a deep breath, having been holding his breath as Yunho invaded his throat. He wiped his chin and looked up at a dazed and pleased Yunho still sitting before him, leg spread wide and his head thrown back.

“Mingi, I love you,” Yunho panted, leaning forward to pull him into a kiss. “God you are so good to me.”

“Was that good?” Mingi asked, a happy sparkle in his eyes.

“So good,” Yunho praised. “You made me feel so good. Now how about you fuck me senseless in the shower. What do you think?”

“You still want to?” Mingi smiled up at him.

“Please,” Yunho urged, standing up and pulling Mingi towards the shower, palming the lube as he moved. Mingi followed him, stepping in as Yunho started the water running. Mingi pushed them both under the stream of hot water, tucking his head against Yunho’s shoulder. Yunho wrapped his arms around the other boy, holding him close.

“I love you, too,” Mingi said softly. They stood in the water, letting it flow over then until their skin was pink and warm from the heat. Yunho reached for the bar of soap the hotel had provided, lathering it in his hands before reaching out to Mingi to start washing him. Mingi helped him, guiding his hands as they washed along his chest and abdomen and lower. Yunho had to kneel to reach his legs, taking the chance to place a soapy kiss to Mingi’s hip.

Having gotten all of Mingi clean, they switched places and Mingi returned the favor, giving the boy he loved a sunny grin as he washed him. He loved touching and looking at Yunho’s lean body. It was so perfectly proportioned, soft and hard in all the right places. He pushed the slightly taller boy back under the water to rinse him before reaching for the shampoo and drizzling a little into his palm. He ran his fingers through the other boys hair until it was satisfactorily sudsy and clean. Mingi helped him lean his head back under the water and rinse it clean before Yunho did the same for him.

“You ready?” Mingi asked, running his hands over Yunho’s droplet covered body. Yunho nodded, giving him a quick kiss before he turned around, giving Mingi his back. Mingi reached for the bottle of lube where it had been left on the little shower shelf. Clicking open the top as the water from the shower beat lightly against his back, he dribbled a liberal amount of it into his hand. He slid it over himself and along the damp crevice of Yunho’s ass. He couldn’t help but admire the lovely bubbly shape of it, rinsing his hand slightly before reaching out to give the muscles a light squeeze.

Yunho gave a low chuckle, sticking his ass out invitingly to the other boy. Mingi kissed the back of his neck and down over his shoulder blades. He ran the tip of his length between Yunho’s cheeks, testing the resistance of his body. Finding it still too tight, Mingi slipped a hand between them making slow circles around Yunho’s tight ring of muscles.

“Let me in, love,” Mingi said gently as he slid a finger inside. “I want to make love to you.”

“Yes please, I want you,” Yunho whined. Mingi worked him wider for another moment before bringing his erection back, slipping the tip of his head inside. He added more lube again, having lost some to the dribbles of water that had come over his hands and the front of his body from the shower. With gentle thrusts and withdrawals, he slipped himself inside up to the hilt.

“You feel so good,” Mingi groaned, his hands coming around to hold Yunho around the chest and splaying over his lower stomach. He pressed his lips to his shoulder as he pulled out and slid back in. They both sighed at the sensation.

“Is it good for you,” Mingi asked, looking at what he could see of Yunho’s face as he leaned against the tile wall, pressing his forehead against it. Yunho nodded, only giving a breathy moan in response besides that. “Can you come again tonight?” Mingi asked, his lower hand wandering down to touch Yunho’s half hard length.

“Dunno, but we can try,” Yunho turned his face to the side and offered the other boy a smile.

“If it’s too much just say, okay?” Mingi urged as he fondled the slightly squishy length. Yunho nodded, relaxing with one cheek pressed against the cool tile. Yunho shivered slightly at the feeling of over stimulation. He liked it but it skated on the edge of discomfort. Mingi kept touching him, keeping his movements light and gentle as he touched him and keeping the pace the same as his thrusts. Mingi buried his face in Yunho’s shoulder as he moved, taking in the scent of his clean skin and listening to his panting breaths as he brushed over his prostate from the inside.

“Faster,” Yunho breathed, eyes closed and features slack with pleasure. Mingi obliged both thrusting faster and holding him tighter. Yunho’s dick was almost hard in Mingi’s hand but still slightly soft. He could feel the pulse of blood below the skin as he touched it. He seemed to be getting close and Mingi concentrated his touch on the head, only occasionally sliding his hand down the full length.

“Can you come for me?” Mingi breathed against the shell of his ear. “Come for me one more time.” Yunho whimpered, his face scrunching as he came closer to his second orgasm. “That’s it. You look so good when you come. Let me see it.” Yunho panted, his jaw falling slack as the sensations built against whatever dam he had inside, beating against it until it broke. His orgasm shuttered through him and he stiffened in Mingi’s arms. Mingi whispered praises to him as he felt the slight dribble of cum bubble out onto his hand as he gently held him in his hand. It wasn’t much since he had already come a half an hour before, but Mingi gloried in the feel. He thrust into him, looking to follow soon after. Yunho groaned, interlacing his fingers with Mingi’s where he still held him in his hand.

“Harder,” Yunho demanded. “Fuck me, Mingi.” Mingi moved his hands to Yunho’s hips, thrusting into him to the hilt and withdrawing nearly all the way. Yunho angled his hips to help him move, propping himself up against the wall with his forearms. Mingi could feel his orgasm there, so close. With just a few more thrusts he came, his length deep inside Yunho as he threw his head back and his hands grabbed Yunho’s hips harshly.

“So good,” Mingi groaned. “You make me feel so good.” Yunho pushed away from the wall, bringing them both back under the water. Water dribbled down over their faces as Mingi finally pulled himself out, making both of them moan. Mingi smiled against the back of Yunho’s neck as his hand went between them to use the water to rinse both of them clean again. His hand reached for the soap, taking a little on his hand, and washed them both gently.

“Ready to get out and join our girl in bed?” Mingi asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Yunho agreed with a giggle. “I think I’m gonna sleep really well now. Thanks for helping wear me out. Are you ready for bed?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mingi nodded, turning off the water behind him as he drew Yunho into a kiss. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that you love me.”

“I’ll try to remember to tell you more,” Yunho held Mingi’s hand against his cheek. “I’ll try to never let you forget how much I love you. Just you, for who you are.”

“Me too,” Mingi grinned shyly. “I’m sorry I’m such an idiot sometimes.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Yunho pushed his shoulder playfully. “You just need to hear it more and sometimes I forget that. Just remember, I’m always happy to get a kiss from you or hug you or hold your hand. I know you don’t always want to, and I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for the day when you reach for me.”

“Thank you,” Mingi pulled him into a hug as they stood in the tub together, dripping in the cooling air of the bathroom. When he pulled away, Yunho grabbed a towel off the rack and rubbed himself mostly dry before stepping out of the shower and rubbing Mingi down with the same towel. They both ran the towel over their heads, drying their hair. Yunho wiped a clear area in the mirror and looked at both their faces together in the reflection.

“What would you think of me with black black hair?” Yunho asked, still looking at both of them. “Like a sort of goth look? And…” he paused, his cheeks going a little pink. “Would you be embarrassed if I tried a little make up?”

“Sounds kind of hot to me,” Mingi waggled his eyebrows at him in the mirror. “Maybe we could all share makeup. Our girl could probably help us learn to do some.”

“She’d like it too, wouldn’t she?” Yunho said with just a hint of doubt in his voice.

“I’m sure she would,” Mingi shrugged. “But we can talk to her about it in the morning. Ready to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Yunho gave Mingi a quick kiss on his cheek. “I think I’m just gonna sleep like this. Did you want to put on a shirt or anything?”

“Nah, let’s just hop into bed,” Mingi agreed, grabbing Yunho around the waist and turning them both towards the door and waddling out. They both snickered quietly as they slipped into the bed from either side, cuddling up against their girl. She huffed and half opened her eyes as they joined her and they both shushed her, urging her to relax and close her eyes. They all entwined their limbs in the dim room, only lit by the vast city outside their window.

Masterlist

#ateez smut #song mingi #jeong yunho #mingi smut #yunho smut #ateez imagines #kpop smut #kpop imagines #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #yunho #mingi #romance #poly smut #polyamory

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thefinalcinderella · 4 years ago

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Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 7 - The Qualifiers (Part 3)

After this chapter I have officially finished 50% of this book...yeah that’s right after 2 years I have finished half of this book...

Next chapter is pretty long, we might be staying there for a while folks

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. A “one-two finish” refers to members of the same team winning first and second place

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When Kakeru reached the finish line, he was handed a water bottle by a staff member and ordered to move; if he stayed near the finish line, he would become an obstacle to the later runners.

He wondered how the others were doing. He was worried, so he lingered under the trees next to the finish line to check on the situation. There was another cheer, and he caught a glimpse of a Kansei uniform on the other side of the crowd—it was Kiyose.

“Haiji-san!” Kakeru shouted and leapt out onto the pathway that the runners who finished passed through to get to the lawn. Kiyose was crouching. Startled, Kakeru ran over to him.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t seem to be breathing too much. The runners who finished in the top rankings had that ability; they were able to run the race at their own pace and with ease. There was no way they would be gasping for breath and unable to move after reaching the finish line. “It’s your leg, right?” Kakeru judged after checking Kiyose’s breathing.

In order to lessen the burden on his muscles even just a little bit, Kakeru poured water from the bottle onto Kiyose’s shin. After Kakeru lent him a hand, Kiyose stood up and started walking with a slight limp in his right leg.

“Kakeru, good work.”

Kiyose’s first words were words of appreciation towards Kakeru. Is this really the right time for that? Kakeru felt like crying.

“Yes.”

When he hung his head, Kiyose laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Let’s go cheer on the others.”

“But, we should cool your leg imme—”

“It’s not a problem. Let’s go.”

Kiyose slipped into a gap between the spectators. Kakeru followed him, saying, “Excuse me.”

At the finish line, there was a close race for eightieth place. Since the results were decided by the combined times of ten people, everyone was desperate.

“It’s the twins, it’s the twins!”

Kakeru spotted Kansei uniforms in the tight group. On the other side of the course, Hanako was jumping up and down.

Jouta and Jouji both gritted their teeth and crossed the finish line. After them, Yuki, Musa, Nico-chan and Shindou finished in the eightieth to ninetieth places. King fought bravely and finished in one hundred and twenty-third place.

“Good. That’s a good pace,” Kiyose murmured. Prince, however, was nowhere to be seen. Among the regular schools, there were more and more that had all ten people finish the race.

“It’s not looking good for us at this rate.”

Kakeru stamped his foot. He almost wanted to run one more time himself. Is he here yet? Is he here yet? Then, from behind the trees, where Kakeru had been staring as if in prayer, Prince appeared.

“He’s staggering…” Kiyose furrowed his brow. Prince had already passed his limits, and his eyes were unfocused.

“Prince-san, run! The finish line is right in front of you!” Kakeru shouted, trying to at least guide him by ear.

“I know that.” Prince struggled forward, fighting the nausea that was rising up. Sweat was flowing from him and his fingers were unpleasantly cold. Where did the blood go? Prince vaguely wondered. My face is probably pale as a sheet of paper right now.

He was clearly anemic, but he couldn’t collapse here. There were twenty meters until the finish line. If Prince stopped running, Kansei, which only had ten people, would be eliminated from the qualifiers. If Hakone was a no-go for them because of him, his collection of books would surely be burned. He had to avoid that.

Prince summoned up all of his willpower. As soon as he did that, his stomach squeezed, and he finally felt an unendurable nausea.

He no longer cared about the several hundred people watching him. As Prince ran, he threw up with all his might. He could hear the female spectators along the route letting out cries of “Kyaa!”

“This is no time for throwing up! Run!” Kiyose’s angry voice rang out.

Are you a demon or something? This is why I hate sports clubs. Prince cursed at him in his head, wiping his dirty mouth with his hand. Of course, he had no intention of stopping his feet. He wondered why he was doing sports, something he wasn’t good at. He wondered why he had been doing all this running practice like an idiot.

It was to participate in the Hakone Ekiden.

Because I thought it would be nice to share in you guys’ muscle-headed dream for once…!

Prince crossed the finish line in one hundred and seventy-sixth place and lost consciousness on the spot.

Everyone in Chikusei-sou had fallen flat in their encampment on the lawn. Less than half of them had the energy to even check their wristwatches for their times after finishing. Yuki had given up on the attempt to clearly grasp the ten’s combined times.

The tallying and calculation of intercollegiate points took up more time than expected, so the results were to be announced at around eleven o’clock. They had to wait at least another hour after all the competitors had finished running.

“We’re in a delicate position.” Kiyose calmly calculated while icing his shin. “When averaging our positions, we’re probably in the mid-eighties. That’s borderline.”

“Depending on the intercollegiate points of the schools that are also borderline…”

Nico-chan glared at the sky with a difficult look on his face.

“It’s possible we won’t qualify,” Yuki said.

Oh no, the twins moaned. Shindou and Musa were quiet, looking like they were praying to their respective ancestors and patron gods. King was plucking at the grass. Prince didn’t so much as twitch, still lying facedown on the grass. Hanako and the shopping district people, who were surrounding them, were unable to give any careless encouragement, and could only wait for the results.

Kakeru suddenly looked at Kiyose’s hands; the ice they had brought in the cooler box was melting in the plastic bag.

“I’ll go get some ice. Maybe they’ll give us some at that store over there.” Wanting to escape from this oppressive atmosphere, Kakeru stood up. Musa seemed to feel the same way.

“I shall go as well,” he said and followed him.

They cut across the lawn and headed for the store with the red roof. It was easy to tell which schools were confident that they would qualify by the expressions on the runners’ faces; it was the borderline schools, like Kansei, that were exuding a sense of high tension, but the schools that had clearly ranked lower were generally calmly waiting for the results to be announced. Among them, there were teams that were happily picking at the multi-tiered bento boxes made by their female managers.

There are all sorts of people, Kakeru thought. For those people, their goal was to make it to the qualifiers. They knew the outcome from the beginning, so when they were finished running, they made it into a picnic-like event and enjoyed themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, but we’re different, he felt.

I don’t want it to end the qualifiers. I want to see even greater heights. I want to be an even faster and stronger team and compete in the Hakone Ekiden. That’s what I’ve been training for, and that’s what I’m going to keep training for.

“I wonder what will happen, Kakeru,” Musa spoke to him worriedly.

“We can get to Hakone,” Kakeru assured him. Burning magma was gushing up from the pit of his stomach. Everyone had run the qualifiers with all their might today; there was no way they could lose.

Musa’s eyes widened at his forceful words.

“Kakeru, you seem to have gotten stronger somehow.”

“That’s not true.” Kakeru shook his head. “We ran pretty hard, didn’t we? So I just think we’ll be okay.”

Musa nodded. “You are correct. We are going to Hakone. All together.”

When Musa said it, it sounded like the happy ending of a fairy tale, or a reliable prophecy.

When Kakeru and Musa asked for some ice, the shopkeeper readily gave them some. Since they came empty-handed, the shopkeeper put the ice into a paper cup. “We were careless,” Musa said. A group of spectators walked by behind him.

“Another black runner. It’s pretty unfair to bring in foreign students.”

“With a bunch of guys like that, then Japanese runners won’t be able to compete.”

Musa’s face stiffened at the whispered comments that they intentionally let him hear, and Kakeru was about to turn around and object.

“It’s fine, Kakeru,” Musa stopped him. “I have heard a lot of comments like that today alone.”

“We can’t let them say something so one-sided!” Kakeru still tried to chase after the spectators that were getting further away, but Musa seized his arm.

“We must not get into quarrels. They are talking about foreign students who came here because of their talent in athletics. I am embarrassed. I am embarrassed of myself. They don’t seem to be able to tell the difference, but my legs are not fast. I am just a foreign student with no talent to be envious of.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” Kakeru was indignant. “You, me, the people who took first and second place today, we all ran the same course. And yet…”

He didn’t know how to say it, but Kakeru was frustrated. He felt like Musa, who he lived with, Kakeru himself, and the international students from other schools he had never exchanged a word with were all being insulted. That’s right, I can’t express it well, but it’s an insult to everyone who’s taking running seriously. Kakeru squared his shoulders.

“It’s just as Kurahara said,” someone said. When he turned around, he saw a lanky man with a shiny and round head. “But let it go. They’re amateurs who don’t know what running is.”

Kakeru and Musa watched as the man bought oolong tea at the store. Kakeru had seen him before. Without letting his guard down, he searched his memory in a panic. I recognize this shiny head.

“Rokudou’s Fujioka! …san,” Kakeru deduced the answer.

Rokudou University had won the Hakone Ekiden several years in a row. This was their captain, Fujioka Kazuma. Kakeru had only met him at the TSU meet in the spring, but he wondered why someone like him would come to the qualifiers.

“I’m here to observe our opponents,” Fujioka said, perhaps reading Kakeru’s question. “Kansei has become quite strong. It looks like you’re going to make it to Hakone.”

Fujioka had the complacency and presence of a champion.

“Thanks to everyone’s hard work.” Kakeru’s natural competitive spirit reared its head, and he answered back proudly. Fujioka let his gaze collide with Kakeru’s, not taking a step back, and then looked at Musa.

“You shouldn’t care about people like that. It’s a ridiculous opinion.”

“Which part of it is ridiculous?”

Kakeru stopped Fujioka, who was about to leave while drinking his tea. The way the spectators talked about Musa made him angry. However, he couldn’t figure out exactly why he was angry, but Fujioka seemed to know what was causing this annoyance.

“Please tell me,” Kakeru pleaded.

Fujioka stopped and stared at Kakeru with interest. “Alright then,” he said and turned to Kakeru and Musa again.

“There are at least two ridiculous parts. One is the reasoning that it is unfair to include foreign students in the team because Japanese runners can’t compete with them. So what about the Olympics then? What we’re doing is a competition, not a kindergarten field day where we all hold hands and one-two finish. (1) It is natural that there would be individual differences in physical ability. But on top of that, sports are about equality and fairness. They have no idea what it means to compete on the same field in the same sport.”

Musa was silent, attentively listening to Fujioka’s words. Kakeru was just simply overwhelmed by Fujioka’s quiet analysis.

“Their other misunderstanding is thinking that winning is good,” Fujioka continued. “If a Japanese athlete takes first place, if they get a gold medal, is that all that matters? I firmly believe that isn’t true. That shouldn’t be the essence of competition. Even if I win first place, it isn’t a victory if I felt that I lost to myself. Things like times and rankings change rapidly from competition to competition. Who decides who’s the best in the world? It isn’t because of that, but because we have unchanging goals and ideals within us that we continue to run.”

That’s right. Kakeru felt his hazy, pent-up feelings clear up. I got stuck on these things and they made me angry. Fujioka’s amazing. What Kakeru felt and wanted to say were extremely easily untangled and put into words.

“You haven’t changed at all, Fujioka.”

Before they knew it, Kiyose was standing behind Kakeru and Musa.

“An outsider said something unnecessary.” Fujioka bowed to Kiyose in a stoic manner and left this time.

“No, you were helpful.” When Kiyose said that, Fujioka turned his head over his shoulder and a corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.

“Looks like you’ve got quite the lineup.”

“Well, I suppose.”

“I’ll be waiting at Hakone.”

With a resolute attitude befitting a champion until the end, Fujioka disappeared between the trees. It’s like he said “I’ll be waiting in nirvana,” or something. I wonder if he’s not going to wait to see the results announced even though he came all the way here, Kakeru thought, but he hurriedly bowed towards Fujioka’s back.

Musa also said, “Thank you very much,” and bowed deeply. Fujioka’s words had energized Kakeru and Musa, like dispelling thunderclouds.

“I came after you guys because you left without taking the bag.” Kiyose lifted the plastic bag.

“Sorry,” Kakeru said and accepted the bag, then transferred the ice he got from the shopkeeper to it. Kiyose was already walking without dragging his leg.

“Is he called Fujioka-san? He is an amazing person.” Musa seemed deeply impressed.

“I guess that means you need emotional strength and wisdom in the true sense to continue winning Hakone,” Kiyose laughed a little. “Well, he’s always been strangely calm; as a high school student his nickname was ‘Trainee Monk’. It's a bit unpleasant, isn’t it?”

Kakeru and Musa looked at each other and nodded, saying, “That’s true.”

Spectators and runners were beginning to gather at the large display board near the finish line.

“It’s almost time for the announcement.”

“Let’s go.”

Musa jogged back to Kansei’s encampment. Kakeru matched Kiyose’s pace as they made their way across the lawn. He was curious to see what the results would be, but they had come this far and there was nothing they could do about it now. What occupied Kakeru’s mind at the moment was Fujioka’s figure.

The power to change thoughts into words. An eye that calmly analyzed the hesitation, anger, and fear within you.

Fujioka was strong. His running speed was extraordinary, but the mental strength that supported it was incredible. When I was just running recklessly, Fujioka must have been analyzing himself in his fast-moving head and pursuing running on a deeper and higher level.

Kakeru felt both battered and inspired with a strange kind of excitement.

What I’m lacking are words. All I do is let my hazy feelings stay hazy. But I can’t do that from now on. I’ll be as fast as, no, even faster than Fujioka. In order to do that, I need to know my running self.

That was definitely the “strength” Kiyose had spoken of.

“I feel like I’m starting to get it,” Kakeru murmured.

“Is that so.” Kiyose seemed satisfied.

A student in a gakuran carrying a megaphone climbed onto the stage. He reverently opened the memo with the results of the qualifiers. He was a student member of the administration committee from the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto, which organized the Hakone Ekiden. His assistant, a female student, stood by the display board while the gathered people listened attentively with anticipation and anxiety.

“We will now announce the qualifying schools for the Tokyo-Hakone Round Trip University Ekiden Race. First place, Tokyo Sport University.”

The TSU crowd gave a loud cheer. Kakeru saw Sakaki being given a spank of joy by his senior. The TSU runners hadn’t come apart, reaching the finish line in a good position together; it was a victory of total strength that displayed the depth and closeness of the runners.

The female student pulled out the first place card on the display board. The name “Tokyo Sport University” and the total time of ten people were written in the first place column: ten hours nine minutes and twelve seconds. The average place for the ten runners was forty-ninth place.

“As I thought, it was a pretty fast-paced race,” Kiyose groaned in a low voice. The expression on his face showed that they were in a difficult situation to qualify. Kakeru curled his hands into fists.

“Second place,” the announcer dispassionately read the memo aloud. “Koufu Academy University.”

Cheers erupted from another corner. “Hmph,” King sniffed.

“That announcer is putting the perfect pause between ranking and the school name.”

“Don’t act all important, get on with it,” Prince, who had finally come back to life, immediately complained.

“Aah crap, my heart feels like it’s gonna explode.” The twins and Hanako were huddled together, quivering like young birds that had fallen from their nest.

The announcement had proceeded to fifth place, but Kansei’s name was not called. Up to this point, all the schools had been Hakone regulars; if they couldn’t get into sixth place, the seventh to ninth places were likely to be different from the total time order of the qualifiers because of the intercollegiate points involved.

“Sixth place.”

“Please please please!”

“Kansei, Kansei!”

Their desperate prayers were in vain, and the announcer said, “Saikyo University.”

“Aah!”

“Are we done? Are we done?”

Nico-chan and Yuki looked up at the sky. Kiyose was staring at the display board in silence. The glint in his eyes suggested that he was looking through the white cards that still hid the seventh to ninth place columns.

“In accordance with the rules, seventh place and below are determined by subtracting each school’s intercollegiate points from their total times. Seventh place, Jonan Cultural University.”

Kakeru felt like he was losing the strength in his legs, but he managed to hold on. They still had a chance. There were two more participation slots to be filled. He felt a pain in his right shoulder, and he looked to see Shindou’s fingers digging into it. Musa’s face was half-buried in Shindou’s arms, and he was mumbling something in his mother tongue.

It’ll be okay. It’s going to be okay. Kakeru stretched out his arm and gently patted Shindou and Musa’s backs.

“Eighth place, Kansei University.”

He thought he misheard. King leapt upon them. Kiyose raised his arms to the sky with a rare full-faced smile. Shindou and Musa weakly sat down on the grass. Nico-chan and Yuki high-fived each other, and Hanako and the twins screamed as they slapped Kakeru all over his body.

While being mobbed, Kakeru looked. At the display board, where the words “Kansei University” shined brilliantly. At Prince, who shed a single tear outside the circle.

We did it. The truth finally reached his brain. We are going to be in the Hakone Ekiden.

The next thing Kakeru knew, he was bellowing from the pit of his stomach.

Kansei University’s total time was ten hours sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds. The ten’s average place was eighty-sixth place.

Jonan Cultural University, in seventh place, had the actual time of ten hours seventeen minutes and three seconds. The intercollegiate points put them ahead of Kansei. The school that just barely passed in ninth place was Shinsei University.

Their time was ten hours seventeen minutes and eighteen seconds. Kakeru looked up at the time written on the display board and exhaled with relief and joy. Kansei University had successfully obtained their ticket to Hakone on their first attempt. And they even finished in ten hours and sixteen minutes, which was good enough for seventh place.

There were cries of surprise everywhere.

“Kansei actually did it.”

“And I heard they only have ten people on their team.”

“That’s the school where the third place and sixth place guys came from, right? I already learned their uniforms.”

“Me too. It’s black with silver lines. It’s kind of cool.”

As they were cleaning up their encampment on the lawn, they were asked to give a few words to the close coverage cameras, but Kakeru’s mind was dizzy and lacking oxygen. He was more tired than when he was running and his feet were unsteady.

We've only passed the qualifiers; the actual race is next January. The Hakone Ekiden is in approximately seventy-five days. Even though he told himself that, happiness filled his chest.

Kiyose once said this: “Hakone isn’t a mountain in a mirage.” That really was true. The residents of Chikusei-sou had finally reached the point where they could see the mountain as a real entity.

While feeling excited, Kakeru swiftly folded the plastic sheet. Jouta and Jouji were sitting on the grass. They were frowning for some reason as they peered at the notes of the results they had copied from the display board.

“What’s wrong?” Kakeru called to them. The twins looked up at him.

“Haiji-san said we’re going to the top,” Jouta muttered.

“Mm? Did he?” Kakeru responded lightly, but Jouta wasn’t convinced.

“He did say that. But, this time…”

“What about it?” Kakeru put down the plastic sheet and crouched down next to the twins. “Let’s clean this up quickly and go home. I’m sure we’ll have a party tonight.”

“Kakeru, doesn’t ‘top’ mean winning?” Jouji asked with a grim face. “Our total time is ten hours sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds. TSU, who qualified in first place, has a time of ten hours nine minutes and twelve seconds; that’s a difference of seven and a half minutes. And yet, this is still the qualifiers, right? So, how fast do the runners of the schools that win Hakone run twenty kilometers?”

“If we practice, can we get to that level by New Year’s?” Jouta asked him seriously. “Hey, what do you think, Kakeru?”

Kakeru couldn’t answer anything.

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#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

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The Break - ep. 03 - Georgia

Summary: Hershel and Annette find out that Maggie has been dating Glenn behind their backs.

A/N: I took a lot of liberty with Hershel the first time I wrote this so I wanted to align him more with his character when he was first introduced.

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

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“Annette you gotta talk to him! Please!” Maggie begged, standing in the kitchen as Annette prepared dinner for the family.

“Margaret. What your father says is law in this house, you know that as well as anyone. And he’s told you how many times that you are not permitted to date unless-”

“I know!” Maggie groaned. “Unless you both approve of the boy. But that was never gonna happen. Ya’ll wouldn’t let me date Glenn and I knew that!”

“Well I’m sorry you felt like that but going behind our backs was deceitful and wrong. You can use this time to reflect on your decisions and whether what you did, lying to your family, was pleasing to God.”

Maggie groaned, slamming her hand on the counter and then rushing out of the house, toward the barn. Anytime she had gotten into an argument with her dad and stepmom before she always went to the barn for some fresh air and clarity.

Beth had come home Friday night from a playdate with a friend to tell her dad two very important things. One, that she had seen you with ‘someone’ outside the diner when she was leaving with her friend’s family and two, that Maggie was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully for you the someone Beth saw was no one she recognized but the instant Hershel and Annette heard that Maggie wasn’t exactly where she said she would be on the night she said she’d be there they had looked through her room and her cellphone log.

And when she came home that night after her date they were waiting at the dining room table, Hershel with his stern pastoral face on and Annette looking unnecessarily near tears.

“It’s not like you’re hanging out with Daryl Dixon.” You’d told Maggie later that night on the phone as she cursed both her parents out of existence over the entire ordeal.

“I tried to reason with Annette and she won’t even talk to him for me. Told me he’s doing the right thing for everybody. Just cause Glenn isn’t Baptist.”

“And cause he’s Korean.”

“It ain’t like that.” Maggie argued. On more than one occasion you and Glenn both had told Maggie that her parents were walking the line of racism pretty thoroughly. They did the thing all churches looking for new members did, masking their doctrine with a welcome sign for all creeds and cultures and backgrounds and people. And it was fine if the majority white church had some Hispanic, black, or Asian patrons. All were welcome. But all were not welcome to date Reverend Greene’s daughter.

“It’s like that.” You replied. “You can be friends with whoever you want Maggie but they aren’t about to let you date someone who isn’t white and Baptist and from a family they’ve known since the creation of the earth.”

“Will you call Glenn for me? Tell him what happened?” Maggie requested, “I’m trying to talk some sense into daddy but I’m grounded expect for church and school. They said not even youth group!”

“I’ll call him.”

“I really love him, ya know? I know we’re in high school but I really think he’s the one.” Maggie admitted.

“I’ll talk to him, don’t worry.”

Nothing came of Maggie begging Annette to talk to Hershel. She was insistent that Maggie listen to her father and abide by his rules and his rules were that she wasn’t permitted to date a boy that didn’t go to the church. The ‘what if he did’ argument got her nowhere either, Hershel simply reminded her that he didn’t and he would never and even if Glenn started to now out of the blue they would all know why and it wouldn’t be earnest.

When Beth told them, over the dinner table the first official night of Maggie’s grounding, that she had been on the phone with you, all her phone privileges went out the window too. She would go to school, pick up Beth and Sean, come home, do homework, and go to bed. On Saturdays she would help around the farm and on Sundays she would go to church and that was the end of it. There would be no social life. Even a few of her teachers had been informed that she was not to speak to Glenn Rhee.

“You know what I hate about small towns?” Maggie questioned, sitting on the swings beside you. The playground was fenced in, right beside the addition that had been added to the church some 30 years prior so that people could send their kids to a Baptist preschool. It was through church donation and preschool tuition that the playground had been kept up but it was still outdated compared to an actual schoolyard.

“No.” You replied, positive that she would tell you.

“That everybody just knows everything! And listens to everything daddy says! All week we were pulled apart, Mrs. Frasier told everybody that we weren’t allowed near each other!”

“I know. We go to the same school Mags.”

“But it ain’t fair! He’s not God, why’s he get a say in my personal life?” Maggie questioned.

“Just think, soon we’ll be in college. Then we can hang out with whoever we want.” You replied.

“I don’t think being in college will make your parents okay with the idea of you spending time with Daryl Dixon.” Maggie said, grinning, “where do they think your car is anyway?”

“At Dale’s. I told them Dale always comes by the diner and I knew he would give me a good deal. I just left out the part where it’s at Daryl’s house.” You laughed. “Speaking of, I kind of told him I’d stop by today.”

“Now?” Maggie asked. “This is the only social life I get all week.”

“Did you ask Annette if you could go dress shopping with me tomorrow after school?” You asked. “It’s the only day I have off. I switched shifts with Lori, she has another date.”

“Oh my god!” Maggie stood up from the swing suddenly. “Oh my god!”

“What?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t tell you!”

“Tell me what?”

“Daddy said I’m not allowed to go to the dance.”

“What?” You paled at the information. The only thing that wasn’t making the entire experience of going to the dance completely awful was the knowledge that Maggie and Glenn would be enduring it with you. But if they weren’t...if Maggie wasn’t going...then you would be sitting there in a hideous dress listening to Aiden bullshit with his football buddies.

“They both said, no dance.” Maggie said, dropping back onto the swing.

“I can’t believe it. Do you think they’ll change their minds?”

“If I can find a time machine and make them forget that Glenn and I are dating.”

Daryl was already working on your car when you showed up in his driveway. The cold weather had you in a white long-sleeved turtleneck and a nice skirt, tights keeping your legs warm. Your parents were one step away from becoming crazy fundamentalists but thankfully they only made you wear dresses and skirts on Sundays. You came into the car port where Daryl was, waving at him when he looked up from the car.

“Hey, hope it’s okay I stopped by.” You said, coming over to stand beside him.

“Yeah, ‘s fine.”

“Patricia won’t let me work on Sundays and Maggie is only allowed to hang out during church so...” you trailed off as you sat down in the lawn chair. You’d brought your backpack with you to church with the intention of going to Daryl’s afterward.

“So ya figured ya’d come antagonize me?” He asked, the hint of a grin.

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise!” You replied. “I brought homework anyway.”

While Daryl got back to work on your car you pulled out your history homework, balancing the textbook and notebook on your lap and wedging the pencil case between your thigh and the lawn chair. For the most part you focused on your notes for the Atlantic Revolution while Daryl worked though every few paragraphs you would look up. You found that you liked watching him, it was almost calming in the way he worked on a car but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable and you knew how weird it would seem if he caught you staring. There wasn’t much else to see from where you were sitting.

Behind your Jeep was Daryl’s truck and parked on the sidewalk outfront was a rust bucket of an old sedan that you guessed belonged to his father. It hadn’t been there on Halloween but it had been there the last time you stopped by. The backyard, from what you could see, looked as messy as the carport.

“Do you have any water?” You asked, standing up and putting your books on the chair.

“Thought ya were gonna be quiet as a mouse?” Daryl sassed.

“I am, I swear.”

“There’s water in the fridge.” He waved his hand over toward the refrigerator the sat beside the steps.

The fridge was closer to the back of the carport and gave you a better glimpse into his yard. There was a pop-up camper parked in overgrown grass and a shed in the far corner by the chain link fence. A picnic table sat in front of the camper along with a small grill.

“That’s cute.”

“What’s cute?” Daryl asked, saying the word like it was an insult.

“The camper...I like how it’s all set up.” You said, “my family goes to this Baptist camp every year and there’s this family that has a camper like that. They put string lights on theirs.”

“I ain’t putting string lights on my camper.” He said.

“It’d be so cute.”

“Yer not so good at being quiet are ya?”

"Sorry.” You grabbed the bottle of water from the fridge and went back to your seat. “I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

“Ya keep promising.” He pointed out.

You sat down and held your books up as evidence that you were getting back to work. As you resumed studying Daryl went back to working on the car, glancing up every once in a while, to make sure you were alright. Or so he convinced himself that was why. He thought you looked pretty, not that he didn’t always think that, and he couldn’t figure out why you kept coming around. He thought maybe you didn’t trust him with your car but then you weren’t hovering and you didn’t seem too worried about what he was doing to the car while you were there.

“Ya know ya don’t gotta come around every time I work on the car.” Daryl mentioned.

“I like hanging out with you.” You shrugged, looking up from your notebook.

“Well I ain’t here ta babysit ya.”

“I could give you an extra $5 an hour?” You teased, “and snack allowance. I prefer goldfish.”

“Ya always like this?”

“Like what?”

“A pain in the ass.” He deadpanned.

You pouted, “fine, I won’t come by next time. I’ll go hang out with Glenn or something...Reverend Greene found out him and Maggie were dating and now she’s grounded until she’s like thirty.”

“That the Chinese kid?”

“He’s Korean.”

“Ain’t surprised the Greene’s wouldn’t want him around they’re daughter.” Daryl replied.

“You don’t even know Glenn. He’s so nice-”

“Hey, I ain’t saying anything against the kid. Just saying, they’re old school. Most people ‘round here are.”

“It isn’t an excuse.”

“I ain’t disagreeing with ya, I’m just saying...they ain’t gonna change their mind.”

“Well anyway, I can go hang out with Glenn, so I don’t bother you.” You said, back on the topic from earlier. That you were a nuisance, which was the exact opposite of the effect you wanted to have on him.

Daryl rolled his eyes at you, “I didn’t mean ya had ta go. Just meant, if yer worried ‘bout the car I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not worried about the car.”

“What?”

“I’m not worried. You said you could fix it and I trust that you can.” You replied.

“Than why ya hanging around?”

“Its not the goldfish.”

“I’m being serious.” Daryl said, leaning against the Jeep.

“I like hanging out with you.”

Daryl didn’t say anything else, just turned back to look at the car before you could see the blush on his cheeks. He scrunched his nose and bit at his thumb as he focused on the engine and tried not to think about what you just said. He wasn’t completely friendless in the world. He had Rick, and occasionally Rick’s friend Michonne came around from the police academy, but he’d never had someone outright say that they liked his company. Especially not a someone like you.

taglist: @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @alwaysadreamingoptimist @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @qrangr @twdeadfanfic @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon @harpersmariano @cathwritestragediesnotsins

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masjestickingdom · 4 years ago

Text

My Little Secret (Part 2)

Pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: So you made a promise to yourself that you would get over your feelings for your sister’s husband. Except you can’t.

Note: This is part 2 of My Little Secret! If you haven’t read the first part, please check it out here. And if anyone wants to drop anything in the suggestion box, please do so. I’m open to any ideas, seriously, so don’t feel embarrassed--you can send it anonymously.

____________________________________________________________________________

Nothing about that night felt right. Your dress was too tight. The curling iron was nowhere to be found. Half of the jewelry you owned were tangled. Worst of all, you were sweating bullets from walking back and forth from your room to your small office, rapping to your boss, who was also your friend, on the phone.

“What? I was never given that file,” you would repeat when your friend asked you to look something up.

It was only half past seven and all you wanted to do was to go back in time and take back your statement, “I’ll go.” It was stupid of you to agree to go to some charity event to meet a guy when you strongly despised social settings, which was odd because your work required you to socialize all the time.

With one of the most important business meetings ahead of you in a week’s time, Jia was freaking out over how disorganized everything was.

“Jesse,” she whined, calling out your name for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. “I swear I gave you the file.”

“Maybe I left it at the office,” you said, rushing to slip on your heels. “I’ll be there as soon as the fundraising event is over.”

Once you made it out of the building, the cold breeze of the dark autumn night ran past you, and you instantly regretted not bringing out with you a light coat. You hissed under your breath as you made your way over to your car, which you parked across the street for some reason you couldn’t recall.

“I just had to park it at the farthest corner,” you murmured while your friend kept babbling on about some random dude on the street (and sometimes you wondered how Jia got the position of marketing manager with her tendency to chatter whenever she was anxious). “Hey, I need to get going, so call me when you need something else, okay?” you told your buzzing friend, hoping to free your mind of work for the next couple of hours.

The ride to your sister’s house was peaceful. The street lamps and office lights lit up the navy night sky and, subsequently, your mood. Every passing street had people strolling on the sidewalks, some with families, others with friends, and some alone. With your window rolled down, you listened to the sound of the wind and the delightful screams of children running around. But your peace ended quickly: before you knew it, you were standing in front of an all-too-familiar brown door, across the mowed lawn, with your fingers drumming lightly against your bare thighs.

“Please get me through this night” you whispered to an invisible force before the door flew open with a friendly face.

“Jesse!” your sister excitedly greeted, immediately welcoming you with a warm hug.

“Hi, Janet,” you said, trying to return her enthusiasm. “How’s the stomach pain?”

In a hushed tone, she replied, “Honestly, I’m just using that as an excuse not to call our nanny. I’ve got the feeling that she has her eyes on Jaehyun.”

“Oh, really?” you reacted weakly as you pulled away from her embrace. “That’s a shame.”

That did not at all throw your mind into chaos. Not at all. Your sister quickly changed the subject as she scanned you from head to toe and wiggled her eyebrows. “Well someone cleaned up nicely.”

You simply shrugged, letting yourself in the house. Everything was in the same place, still as boring as ever. The only new additions were the two humans who were approaching you with wide smiles.

“Jesse, long time no see,” Mark and Doyoung said with wide arms, to which you decided to hug both of them simultaneously.

The two black-haired beauties had known you since they moved in, which wasn’t a long time ago, but the three of you clicked. You loved music and had always fantasized about becoming a music producer when you were younger. Mark and Doyoung were living the dream, and you couldn’t wait for big things to happen for them.

While you were catching up with them, your nephew Jaehyung made his appearance out of the hallway with his adorable hands partially wrapped around his father’s, the man you secretly loved.

“Auntie!” your nephew shouted, willingly letting go of his father’s hand as he dashed towards you at full speed.

By instinct, you bent down to receive the speeding little boy who almost toppled you over.

“I’m starting to get the feeling that he loves her more than he loves us,” Mark said to Doyoung in a not-so-quiet manner.

“Well, I’m a blood relative,” you told your same-aged friend, lifting Jaehyung up from his feet and letting him join you and your sight of the world at your freakish height. “Isn’t that right, LJ?”

“Auntie is always right,” your nephew sweetly responded, to which Mark and Doyoung dramatically gasped.

“I don’t mean to break you two apart,” your crush spoke, “But we have to get going if we don’t want to be late.”

Thankfully, you were able to shoot a calm smile at Jaehyun, greeting him very briefly before handing the sweet little boy in your arms to his mother, all without making a fool of yourself. Jaehyun was absolutely gorgeous. With his slick-backed hair and dark blue suit that complemented his eyes, you could just run your fingers along his beautifully placed--

No, you couldn’t. You had to physically refrain yourself from acting out your fantasies by forcefully turning your back to him, and you lowly hummed to a pop song, hoping your amoral thoughts would wash away. However, the fact that the other two called the back seats, leaving you at the shotgun with Jaehyun by your side, forced you to swallow the rising guilt inching near your throat. To your luck, Jia had called you and whisked you into the world of your comfort zone, which was funnily what you were sick of: work.

...

“There is no way you actually got him to get back with his ex.”

You were just about to text back your secretary regarding something Jia requested to have when Mark pulled out the vacant seat next to you and said what he said.

“You actually got Jungwoo to leave the event to talk to her,” the dumbfounded boy said, shaking his head in disbelief.

That’s right. You somehow managed to encourage Jungwoo, the guy your sister and Jaehyun set you up with, to get back together with his ex-girlfriend. There was nothing wrong with Jungwoo; in fact, he was the perfect gentleman you would have dreamed of having in your younger years. He was stunning--physically, facially, and personality-wise. He was funny and considerate. He had a soft, melodious voice that you swore you heard on the radio. He even shared your weird preference of music. But there was one thing: he was the perfect gentleman, except he wasn’t Jaehyun. The amazing skills you had to convince someone, someone as fine as Jungwoo, to leave you for someone else astonished Mark.

“You must be a beast when you negotiate,” he murmured while you typed away on your phone.

“Believe me, I had no intentions of shooing him away,” you told him. “He just mentioned that he got out of a long-term relationship, so I asked him a few questions. I swear that’s all I did.”

Your same-aged friend snorted. “Yeah, yeah.” When you continued to text your secretary, he added, “You should really get off your phone and interact with others.”

You simply hummed and Mark, in response, swiftly snatched your phone and tucked it away, far from your tech-deprived hands.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you questioned your smirking friend, your eyebrows deeply furrowed.

“Getting you to mingle.”

“You’re gonna get me fired,” you huffed frustratedly.

“Mark almost got me fired,” you heard your other mischievous friend say. “It was one of the worst days of my life.”

“I should get ready for that anytime soon then,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Get ready for what?” another familiar voice spoke.

The apple of your eye joined the table, sitting across your seat. Suddenly, the table seemed longer than it was, stretching for miles and miles. You quietly let out a sigh and decided to look around your surroundings, eyes gliding over the mass of people conversing. In the midst of your scanning process, Doyoung and Mark abandoned their seats to get more drinks. Without you noticing, Jaehyun managed to scoot down to you, stealing Mark’s seat.

“Is there anyone here who catches your eye?”

Startled at the proximity of his voice and suddenly uncomfortable, you began tapping your feet to the rhythm of the background chatter. You didn’t dare look at him in the eye; you didn’t want to face his genuine curiosity--it would destroy you. Instead, you picked up your glass of wine ever so slightly, swirled it around, and answered with a plain “no”.

“I’m sorry that you and Jungwoo didn’t work out,” Jaehyun said with pity filling his voice.

“Well,” you began in an effort to keep the conversation rolling instead of childishly letting your emo-side take over, “I’m 30, and I seem to be wedded to my work. I’ll be alright.”

“Work does seem to like you a lot,” the beautiful man joked. “But you don’t seem to hate it.”

You offered a small smile. “I’m over it with people constantly calling me, but, yeah, I don’t hate it.”

When a moment of silence passed, you deemed it fitting to finally take a sip from your drink. But it was then when Jaehyun thought it was appropriate to say, “Janet seems to think that you’re a work-a-holic.” Now that was a label you had never thought applied to you. A work-a-holic? You? Impossible. What was wrong with simply liking to bow down to fear?

“I guess I need to fill up that loneliness,” you said lightly, setting your glass down. “Gotta have something, you know?”

Jaehyun dismissed your half-hearted comment. “You do know that she’s concerned out of love.”

You simply nodded and added, “Gotta love her too,” earning you a knowing look. “Okay, being my brother-in-law doesn’t mean you get to scold me too.”

A low feeling of heartache stirred in you as the conversation carried out. If this basic conversation about your life had you killing inside, how could you face three weeks worth of the same thing with him in two weeks time? Answer: you couldn’t.

“You know, if you keep working like that, you won’t have time to date.”

“I’ll just date my work then,” you replied sarcastically. “No one needs a human significant other to fulfill their satisfaction.”

For once, you looked at Jaehyun straight into his eyes. Those deep brown orbs of his spoke of genuine curiosity. You were right: they destroyed you. You forced yourself to avert your gaze back to the crowd before you.

“Come on, why don’t you give yourself a break?” he asked, leaning closer to you due to the sudden increase in background noise.

His natural honey-scented self was overpowered by the soft lavender-scented perfume you saw Jia spray on him earlier. It was the perfume you had gotten them for their four-year wedding anniversary, with the card, “Don’t worry: it’s gender-neutral.”

“Okay, I really don’t want my brother-in-law giving me advice about my love life,” you grimaced bitterly while trying not to breathe through your nose. “It’s weird.”

“Then take it as a friend.”

A new wave of the aromatic scent reached your nose as you sharply inhaled at the words that left Jaehyun’s lips. Friends? Friends? Since when were you and Jaehyun friends? Sure, you guys talked, but it was only because of his relationship with your sister. If you hadn’t met him through your sister, you were sure that you wouldn’t have had the guts to approach him yourself. Being friends with your brother-in-law was not something you had in mind, not especially since you were in love with him--not that you were planning on making a move on him. In fact, you wanted to do nothing with him.

But if you were friends, then wouldn’t that be the first step to getting over him?

Thankfully, a fellow co-worker of Jaehyun’s saved you from your train of thought, informing Jaehyun that their boss was looking for him. Before he could leave, though, Jaehyun patted your shoulders and sent you a comforting smile. You watched him go farther away from you as he interacted with his boss whose face instantly brightened. Smooth talker. Sociable. Look at me, sitting and moping as if there’s no tomorrow, you thought bitterly, tasting your wine for the first time.

And that was how you spent the night--sitting by yourself, worrying your phone would be broken from the number of calls Jia would have made, and watching the man you loved mingle with others like the loveable man he was. You were officially pathetic.

When the time came to leave, you were more than ready to sprint out the doors and claim freedom. Instead, your boss called and the cold wind slapped your face.

“Jia, I got the file,” you said to your friend, pushing your company’s tall glass doors open and waving the thick file in your hands even though she couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I told Sophie to leave it at my desk. Don’t worry, I’ve got things covered, alright?”

Before Jia could say anything else, you stepped onto the pavement when you heard someone call out your name. Once you saw who it was, you greeted that person with a bright smile. That man could liven up your day with his mere presence.

“Johnny!” you exclaimed, reciprocating the tall man’s lively tone. As you initiated a hug, you asked him, “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yeah, my boss pulled me back,” Johnny said grimly. “What’s with the file?”

“Oh, this? It’s just something Jia was freaking out about.”

Your considerate co-worker sent you a sympathetic smile. “Couldn’t get Sophie to get it to your place, huh?”

To that, you shrugged and said, “It’s not that bad. It’s just weird having people peeking into my house.”

Talking to Johnny was like meeting your long time friend. He was a breath of fresh air, asking you about things that had nothing to do with your love life. You admired the way he could easily change topics without seeming too sudden and appreciated his quick wit. Unfortunately, the fruitful conversation didn’t last long, and you two parted ways, Johnny taking a cab while you jogged across the street to reach Jaehyun’s black, family-friendly SUV.

“Hey, who was that?” Doyoung said suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows in a manner you thought was silly.

“A coworker,” you replied emotionlessly, hoping Jia would stop texting you.

“He was checking you out,” Mark blatantly remarked.

You stopped typing momentarily and shot a glance at his direction. You meant to give him a menacing glare, but you were caught off guard by Jaehyun’s arm resting behind your headrest. You cleared your throat once you realized that he was backing up the car from the parking lot.

“He’s just a friendly person.”

Sick of Jia’s constant demands--you still loved her--and the horrible night full of pain, you rested your elbow comfortably against the window and rubbed your temple. You were not going to be able to sleep that night with that splitting headache, especially with Mark and Doyoung teasing you.

“Come on guys, give her some privacy with her love life,” Jaehyun defended you as he removed his arm from your seat. “I think she’s had enough tonight.”

You offered Jaehyun a weak but warm smile. “Thank you.”

He, in return, gave a cheeky one. “Hey, do you know the song that goes, ‘Jesse and Johnny sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-’”

“-I-N-G!” - Doyoung Mark chimed enthusiastically.

Sinking into your seat, you grumbled, “I’m really babysitting four children next month, aren’t I?”

And the way back to the house of torture was filled with laughter and childish rhymes while all you wished to do was jump out of the car and end your misery. Oh, but you had no idea that the three weeks that awaited you made that night seem like nothing in comparison. Nothing you could do would prepare you for hell.

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threeletterslife · 4 years ago

Text

06 | Redefining Destiny

→ previous | next

→ summary: You were convinced you were in love with him. A former member of the mafia in the states, that is. It was true love. Destiny. Until one day you wake up with a memory lapse; then that love is replaced with hatred. The thought of marriage is substituted with revenge. If your love with Jeon Jungkook really was destiny, you’d fall head over heels in love again. But if only he weren’t such a hot, goading asshole.

→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 70% fluff, 25% crack, 5% angst | e2l!au & soulmate!au

→ warnings: profanity, mentions of murder, blood, torture and gang activities

→ wordcount: 4.2k

You wake up feeling slightly cranky, groaning as you turn over to your side in early-morning contemplation.

How the heck am I going to face Jeon Jungkook, now?

Maybe he was right. Maybe the two of you should've been drunk yesterday when you'd spilled all of your secrets and confessed your guts out.

Gosh. Now it's going to be awkward.

You scrunch your nose just thinking about it. But the Jeon Jungkook you'd seen yesterday had been so different from the one you hated. He seemed like a genuine person. A person who had gone through too much. A person who was looking to make things right with the little he could impact in this vast universe.

He wasn't as bad as you thought.

Your head rings with the advice he told you. At this age, you should know what's good for yourself. Follow your own dreams.

For a guy who apparently sleeps around, he's wise. And considerate. But then again, he's been through a lot. You hadn't known that his friends had been murdered. The story almost seems implausible, but you have to stop yourself and remember that America is a whole other country with a very different culture and society. Maybe street violence is prevalent in the states. Maybe violence is prevalent there.

You sigh, throwing your covers off of yourself and quietly getting ready for class so you won't wake up your roommates. You guess you'll just have to try to avoid Jungkook until you can get your head back on track and really figure out what was up between the two of you.

But, of course, you should've known it would be impossible to avoid Jungkook. There's some magnetic quality about him that always attracts you subconsciously. You end up bumping into each other at the lunch hall.

Your friends had snorted, about to cuss Jungkook out until he'd spoken a soft, "Hi, Y/N," with a genuine smile etched out on his lips. Their jaws dropped open.

"Uh, h-hey," you'd stuttered. "Yeah, hi."

"I'm starting to think fate really likes us together," he'd said with a little laugh.

"Yeah," you'd agreed. "I, um..." You'd looked between your friends and Jungkook before sighing. If there was no way of avoiding him then you might as well—"Can I have lunch with you?"

Your friends and Jungkook had simultaneously said, "What??"

After the initial shock was sorted out, you'd ended up leaving the lunch hall with Jungkook, each holding your lunches.

Now you're sitting on the grassy lawns of your campus, basking in the noon sunlight as the rather awkward silence encompasses the two of you. You take a small bite out of your dainty finger sandwich from the local bakery. Jungkook just sips his drink in his water bottle. When the man makes no move to talk to you, you take another bite of your sandwich—this time, a larger one. By the fourth bite, your sandwich is gone and there is still silence.

You don't really feel like eating a second sandwich so you brush your hands free from excess crumbs and begin to twist the ring on your finger.

Jungkook notices your anxious movement, his eyes flickering down to stare at your hands.

"That's, um, that's a pretty ring," he offers.

"Thanks," you say. "It's my purity ring."

"Oh."

Silence again. But you like the silence better. It's better than arguing with him about stupid things.

"So..." you say, looking up at Jungkook who's sipping on his drink again. "I, um, it was nice last night." Your cheeks flush as the words leave your mouth and you stutter to clarify. "I mean, I know we haven't been the best of pals for whatever reason... But I don't know. Something about yesterday was pretty eye-opening, don't you think, JK?" The nickname slips from your lips easily—almost as if you've been calling him that since the beginning.

"I guess it was one of those days," Jungkook mutters. "You know, when you feel like you have to share your ordeals..."

"Yeah... I'm glad I got everything off my chest," you say with a smile. "It feels good to know that someone else knows my secret."

Jungkook nods as he continues sipping his drink. "Yeah..."

But he sounds distant, almost lost in his thoughts. And his eyes wander off into the distance, looking nowhere near you or where the conversation was supposed to be. He seems to be thinking.

"Is something wrong?"

"Um," he struggles to come up with what to say. "I dunno. Maybe."

"Maybe?" you say.

"I... Well, I didn't tell you everything," Jungkook says. "But, of course, you're not obligated to listen to me or whatever... It's just that I felt weird. That you told me everything but I left things out."

"Oh, JK," you say. "No, really. The least I can do is listen. I've been terrorizing you for way too long."

"I don't know," he replies. "What I tell you might terrorize you even more."

You cock your head. "What do you mean?"

"God," Jungkook sighs, massaging his forehead. "This is so weird. I just feel like telling you all of this. Even though I shouldn't. I just feel like I have to do this."

"Do what? Tell me what?" you say. "I'm curious, now!"

"You never asked questions yesterday."

"Well, I didn't want to interrupt you."

"I feel like I need to confess this part of my life to you. I weirdly trust you."

"I'm a trustable person," you smile.

"Strangely, I agree with that..."

"Okay, so what was it that you should've told me yesterday but you didn't so you have to tell me now?" you ask, tilting your head curiously at the man in front of you.

"I don't know... You might dump a load of holy water on me or condemn me while clutching that cross necklace of yours," Jungkook sniffs. "But it'll explain a lot of things, I guess."

"That's not how Christianity works!" you huff. "There's something called forgiveness," you say, crossing your arms. "And besides, if you're stalling that much, then maybe you shouldn't tell me. Maybe it's better for me to not know." There's silence after that. "But I want to know, so please, do tell," you admit while twisting the ring on your finger. "Is it that bad?"

"Yeah," Jungkook nods. "It's that bad. But whatever. I should've told you yesterday..." he sighs. "I don't know how to start telling you this," he confesses. "I never told this to anyone."

"You can start anywhere. I won't judge," you tell him, picking up another one of your finger sandwiches and taking a bite.

"Okay," he breathes nervously. He looks around to see if anyone was listening in, but the other students are consumed in their own activities. "Well, I was rich in America."

You frown. "Wha—"

"You promised you wouldn't judge," Jungkook sighs.

"Okay, okay, fine," you say. "I'm sorry. You can continue."

"Okay. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was rich in America. Wait, no... Let me back up. Before I was rich, um, I went there to study while my parents stayed in Korea. I was all alone in a vast country. I was Asian, Americans thought I was Chinese but I was Korean. I had an accent. I looked different. I had squinty eyes—or so they said... I was different and lonely and scared." Jungkook pauses his story to take a deep breath.

"But that's when I met my friends. There were eight of us in total. Seven boys including me and one girl. I had a huge crush on her back then... but um, she married one of the other guys. Anyways, we were pretty tight. All of us were foreign students from Korea, too, so we had a lot of similarities already," Jungkook smiles at the memories. "It was great. They were with me all the time. I met my best friend there. Kim Taehyung. He was the kind of best friend everyone wants but very few are gifted with. I was lucky to have him."

Jungkook takes a sip of his drink again and clears his throat. "I used to prank the other boys with Tae... Good times," he sighs. "Things went uphill when one of the boys—Jimin—thought the... um, the mafia was some cool stuff. We spent our days pretending we were secret members. Pretending we were in luxury suits and going on important missions and all that. Wasn't long until the pretending manifested into a reality."

You audible gasp. "Mafia?" you whisper, tilting your head. Gosh. You should be more surprised than this. But you're not. You should have more questions. But you don't.

"Yeah... the mafia," Jungkook nods. "I dropped out of college. So did Jimin and Tae to pursue it. We were entranced by the promising riches, mostly. It didn't occur to us then that what we were trying to do was necessarily bad. The rest of the boys continued with their education... And the girl... well, we left her out of all of this."

You interrupt. "But I thought the eight of you were friends. Why'd you leave her out? I mean, granted, she dodged a bullet but... c'mon."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. Her older brother was Jimin and there was no way in hell he'd let her join the mafia. Plus, the Park family was expecting their children to graduate with master's degrees in medicine or some sort. With Jimin out of the picture, she had to step up, I guess. We didn't even tell her where we were going. We just... left one day."

You scrunch your nose but you don't say anything.

"And then, the mafia business started, I guess. It wasn't that hard. LA had a lot of gangs already. We just had to pretend we knew what we were doing. Before we knew it, we were rich. Um, we had a big mansion with hundreds of rooms, a huge kitchen and expensive cars and limos... We were called the—"

"Crescents," you breathe.

Jungkook whirls at you with wide eyes. "How did you—"

"I-I, uh," you stutter. "I don't know. It just came to me. And you were staring at the crescent moon yesterday so I just assumed..."

"Wow. Yeah. We were called the Crescents... I uh, still have a scarification mark to show I was a part of it. It's on my right thigh," he says. "Tae's was on his left thigh..." Jungkook trails off. He takes some time for himself before sighing deeply and continuing. "We were a family, the Crescents. We had each other's backs... At least, that's what we thought."

"What do you mean?" you whisper.

"Our perception of family was kind of an illusion," Jungkook sighs. "First of all, there was a goddamn hierarchy. Tae, Jimin and I were at the bottom of it. Basically, it was because we didn't go to college. We were the only three hitmen in the seven-member gang. So yeah, we got stuck with a lot of the dirty work. House chores and shit."

"I'm sorry..."

Jungkook gives you a sideways glance. "It wasn't that bad at the moment. I didn't really mind doing the chores because I'd always be doing it with Tae. But thinking about it now... man, it was unfair. We were like the servants of a rich family." He sighs, staring at his hands before closing his eyes and frowning in disgust. "I've had blood that wasn't mine on these stupid hands."

He refuses to look at you, squeezing his eyes shut as he continues. "T-There was a torture room. And Tae, Jimin and I would hang around there... We'd get our vengeance through violence. Through inflicting pain on our enemies. Through hurting them so much they wished they were dead. That's the life I lived, Y/N."

"Jungkook..."

"It gets worse."

"Jungkook," you call his name again, moving to encompass his hand in yours. Sudden sparks erupt the moment your hands meet, the force of it making him open his eyes and look at you. He takes your breath away. You squeeze his hand in an attempt to calm him down. "I'm still here to listen," you remind him. "You've changed a lot... since your debut as a member of the Crescents. I won't judge. You can continue."

Jungkook takes a shaky breath before nodding. "Okay," he breathes. "Okay... Um, the Crescents had this business... an underground black-market kind of business. Um, arms dealing. We hooked up all the gangs around the city. That's how we actually got rich. We were a great gang. Everyone was either afraid of us or respected us. But..." Jungkook pauses. "We were kind of a fraud."

"Fraud?"

"Yeah. Normally gangs are pretty large. There's the boss, the underboss, and hundreds and hundreds of hitmen or new recruits. The Crescents consisted of seven members. So we lied about our numbers," Jungkook explains. "The Crescents were one of the largest gangs in the city—or at least, that's what everyone thought. No one dared to challenge us. Until..." he sighs. "Until they killed Jimin."

"They?"

"We never figured out which gang did it," Jungkook says. "It wasn't a murder done out of hatred either. Uh, so, basically, sometimes, when new recruits join a gang, they have to prove they are made of 'gang material,' which means they have to murder as a tribute to join. Usually, the victim is an innocent passerby. And... well, Jimin was the unlucky victim of a new, merciless recruit."

"They just killed him? Just like that?" you whisper.

"That's the mafia for you," Jungkook sighs. "They didn't just kill him. Before that, they tortured him. By the time we got to the body, we could barely recognize it."

"His sister..." you breathe. "Did she...?"

"That's when things started picking up. We knew we couldn't run a gang with only six members. So we brought her in."

"You brought her into the mafia??"

"Yeah..." Jungkook trails off. "That caused a bit of a problem. I mean, we lied to her to make her stay."

"Oh gosh."

"I know," Jungkook sighs. "We told her that her brother was killed by an enemy who wanted to go after her as well. We were trying to scare her into staying. Keep in mind, she hasn't seen us or her brother in six years. It took her a while before she realized she needed us to protect her. We were also the only key for her to get revenge on her dead brother. So, just like that, we became a seven-member gang again."

"Wow," you breathe.

"She hated us at first. And all of us were confused. It was weird seeing her again after so many years... And she was mourning—we all were. We didn't expect anyone to get killed, but it happened, and all we could do was move on. But the night she found the torture room, she tried to leave. I thought it was going to be over then, but Yoongi... the guy who married her later, managed to convince her to stay. From there, it went pretty well. I think she started accepting our ways, despite the violence and cruelty. We all thought we were a family again. Until she left. She took Yoongi with her too. It happened so fast. They fell in love, she wanted to leave the mafia suddenly, so they left. I caught them leaving too. I caught them in the dead of the night, getting ready to leave. God, I was so mad, then. But I let them leave. They didn't deserve the family if they didn't appreciate it.

"The Crescents were a five-member gang now. We felt like we lost everything. Morale was low, days were depressing... the family was falling apart more than before. And just when we thought it couldn't get any worse..."

"Oh no," you breathe.

" 'Oh no,' barely even cuts it," Jungkook says. "Maybe the other gangs saw them leave. I don't know. Something happened and the they found out the Crescents were a five-member gang.

"They ambushed us in our own home. In our own fucking torture room. But they couldn't get to me because I was hiding in the dark corners. They didn't see me. But I saw everything they did. They tortured them first. There wasn't a spot on the floor that wasn't red with blood. I didn't know what to do. Taehyung saw me, in his last moments, and he begged me to leave. He risked more pain and more torture for me. I watched him die because I couldn't leave until they left. But I sprinted out of the place the moment they stopped guarding the door. I didn't know where to go. I would be a target anywhere, so I knew I had to get out of the country.

"I've been here ever since."

It's silent as you try to digest the contents of the tragedy that you were told of. "Gosh..." you begin, shaking your head as your look up at Jungkook's doe eyes. You can tell he's tearing up—especially when he turns away to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. "You must have so much trauma," you tell him. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," Jungkook sighs. "At this point, I'm kind of used to the nightmares..." He shakes his head, frowning. "God, this was such a sob story. I'm sorry. I feel bad for telling you all that."

"No, don't feel bad," you say, taking both of Jungkook's hands in yours. "I'm glad that you were able to get the story out to someone."

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Y/N... You didn't sign up for all that gruesome stuff."

"Hey, JK, I'm really fine," you say. "Besides... um, it sounds weird but I feel like you've told me this before... Or, I don't know, I feel like I've heard this story sometime else."

Jungkook hums. "Is it weirder to say that I agree with you? Maybe I felt comfortable telling you because I felt like I told you this before? I don't know."

"For some crazy reason, I get what you're saying."

"Me too."

"I mean, this... this whole thing is crazy!" you say, shaking your head. "Two days ago, I would've done anything to spite you."

"I would pour a bucket of ice water on your head if I could," Jungkook laughs under his breath.

"What??"

"Two days ago, that is," Jungkook clarifies with a snort.

You nudge him, releasing your hands to cross your arms over your chest. "Very funny, JK."

His heart flutters every time you call him that. In fact, his heart flutters every time you near him, and he can't quite understand why.

"So," you begin, "we've called an official truce. Is that it?" you grin. "You'll be there for me when I want to rant about the stupid classes I have to take to get my degree, and I'll be there for you when you have your bad dreams... Or just whenever you need a friend."

"Well said," Jungkook nods. "It's official, then."

He laughs when you hold out your hand, preparing for a rather professional handshake. But he grabs your hand nonetheless and shakes it.

Invisible sparks fly every which way; both of you cannot see it, but both of you can feel it. Something feels right. Something feels familiar.

The past few weeks have been strange without your usual animosity-filled exchanges with Jungkook. But it had been replaced by friendly talks and discussions.

The more you talk to Jeon Jungkook, the more you like him, and the more you want to spend your time with him. He's an inspiring soul, ex-mafia member or not. He wears his big heart on his sleeve and shares his generosity with you.

It's funny to see him do a complete one-eighty from the man you used to know, but at the same time, you know he can be mean when he tries, which may come in handy in the unlikely chances that you were robbed on the streets of Seoul.

Your days are usually spent researching on getting a teaching degree or learning how to become a great elementary school teacher. Ever since Jungkook told you to pursue your dream, you've been trying to do just that. Your nights are spent hanging out with your friends—mostly Jungkook. Your late nights are spent with you awake in your bed at strange hours of the night. But you don't really mind getting less sleep these days.

Sometimes, it's easy to get carried away in your life—especially when you're surrounded by everything you like. Today, you spent your whole day on your laptop, writing up an application to start online teaching courses. By the time you look up from your screen, it's dark outside. The only source of light comes from the sliver of the moon that clearly illuminates the sky.

A crescent moon.

Suddenly, you feel the urge to get outside for some fresh air. You quickly grab a thin jacket and leave your dorm, mindlessly walking around your campus. After staying cramped up in your room all day, the nighttime exercise does you good. You're feeling so much more refreshed by the time you've walked for almost an hour.

But when you're making your way back to your dorm, you catch sight of Jungkook. He's sitting on a metal bench, staring up at the crescent moon with a nostalgic look in his eye. He looks lonely. Sad, even.

Before you know it, you're already approaching him. "Hey," you say, sitting down next to him.

"Hey," he replies, quietly. He doesn't take his eyes off the moon. "Did you know I was gonna be here?"

"No," you confess. "I just wanted to get some fresh air tonight."

"Oh," he says. "It's a crescent moon," he murmurs.

You don't know if he was talking to himself or if he was remarking for you to answer. You reply just in case. "Yeah... Do you need someone to be by your side?"

"Mhm," he hums.

"Is it Taehyung, again?" you whisper.

Jungkook jerks his head toward you, making you jump back just slightly. "God, I tell myself to move on, but I can't," he admits. "He plagues my thoughts, my dreams... But I don't want him gone. I don't want to lose my memories of him."

You slide your hand over Jungkook's. "It takes time to move on," you say. "It'll be fine."

The man next to you takes a deep breath. "Be strong and courageous," he says, turning to stare into your eyes. "Do not be frightened—"

"And do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go," you recite along with him with a small smile on your face.

"Joshua 1:9," Jungkook whispers. "Saying the verse out loud helps me calm down sometimes."

"That's great, Jungkook," you say. "I'm glad it can help."

"You know, I couldn't sleep tonight," he says. "I just... I kept getting nightmares the moment I closed my eyes. I didn't know what to do. Something told me you'd be out here and I just—"

"You knew I'd be out here?" you say. Your heartbeat quickens the moment Jungkook admits that and your cheeks flush warm heat.

"I-I just got a feeling," he says. "And we're always meeting, anyways, so I thought my chances were pretty good."

You smile. "I think it's just meant to be, then. Right JK?"

Jungkook grins wildly. "Right Y/N."

He doesn't stop himself when he suddenly leans in, softly taking your hands in his. You let out a little gasp when your noses touch, your eyes fleeting down to his delicate lips as he takes a moment to cherish the proximity.

"You know what's weird?" Jungkook whispers, scrunching his nose.

"It feels like we've done this before," you whisper back, smiling.

"Yeah..."

He leans in to meet your lips for one, single, chaste kiss. Both of you pull back, the invisible sparks flying between the two of you warming up your insides and making your cheeks hot. Your purity ring burns on your finger, a reminder that you won't lose yourself completely to Jungkook tonight.

But you let him take you away to his tiny apartment that—for some reason—seems familiar as well. Everything about him seems familiar. Even when he kisses your cheeks and lays you down on his bed, his touch, which should feel rather foreign, is comfortable. It feels natural. When his kisses turn deeper with more tongue, your head goes crazy, and your mind goes absolutely blank.

You're breathless by the time he's pulled away. All of your clothes are intact and are just the way you'd put them on before, but you feel vulnerable under his eyes. But you trust him enough to feel that way.

You end up falling asleep under his covers, completely knocked out after a busy day. Jungkook watches you sleep, making sure the blankets are tight around your figure to keep the warmth in before slipping under the covers as well.

His heart beats uncontrollably in his chest as he waits patiently to fall asleep. And when he does, for the first time in a very long while, Jungkook isn't plagued by his nightmares. Maybe it's because you're by his side.

—previous | next

—masterpost

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #btswritingcafe #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #redefining destiny #redest #ALMOST OVER!!#POSTING THE LAST CHAPTER TOMORROW

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