#then i put my pajamas back on and instead of moping and scrolling i put on an episode of tv and worked on my embroidery. it was crazy

[prodigyprosecutor]

they've invented a new cure for depression called getting really really really really really really mad

[mieohmy]

𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗋 | 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 (𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅)

part one | part two

PAIRING: CEO boss! jeon wonwoo x secretary! reader

GENRE: fluff, ANGST but i swear its a happy ending ;;;;

WC: 3.4k

NOTES: mentions of death, angstyy ?

❋

Oh my god.

You’re screwed.

You panic, swiping past to see pictures of you and him on the balcony from last night. You kissing him. Someone must’ve seen you two and taken pictures...

‘Y/N!!’ 

‘U awake????’

‘Someone saw you guys last night and took photos!!’

‘Leaked them and now I’m pretty sure everyone at work knows now’

‘What are u gonna do?? Maybe u shouldn’t go to work..’

‘You better respond !”

You sigh, scrolling past all of seungkwan’s messages and throwing your phone somewhere. Great, now everyone at your workplace knew. There was nothing from wonwoo.

Was going to the office a good idea? You contemplated for like 10 minutes. Maybe pretending like nothing happened would be professional. You are a professional, you are a professional..... you repeated that several hundred times before finally getting out of bed.  

And so, you got ready like a regular day of work but took the bus instead of normally being driven to wonwoo’s house. (You couldn’t bear to face the driver or wonwoo either)

Arriving at the entrance, you steeled yourself. Immediately after you entered, there were whispers and stares from everyone around, almost as if they were waiting for you to come in.

You bite your lip, continuing to the elevator. When the doors open, there are already two other people inside. They quickly shuffle away from you, moving to the other side in the small space, and you can obviously feel their eyes on you. 

Arriving at your floor, you can hear the whispers of the others. “It’s them...” “they’re the one that’s dating Mr. jeon?” Ignoring them, you slump down at your desk, burying your head in your arms. You knew you should probably talk to wonwoo, but what would you say? The secret was out already. 

You feel something soft touch your head. You groan softly. “It’s me.” Glancing up wearily, you see dokyeom looking down at you with concern. “So... I guess everyone knows now?” 

Your head falls back onto the desk. “Dokyeom, what am I gonna do?” you moan. “Nothing. I mean, so what if you two are dating? It’s your personal life, not other people’s.” 

“You’re right. It doesn’t bother me. Who cares, right?” You say absentmindedly. 

That was a lie. You cared. And it did bother you. For weeks, people would stare and whisper behind your back. All the gossip was getting to you. To the point where you would purposely hide in the restroom until the coast was clear. 

There were a lot of people who did stand up for you, all your close work friends that overheard others gossiping. You were extremely grateful for them, but it didn’t make much of a difference.

You’re staring at yourself in the restroom mirror when you hear the door open. Panicking, you quickly hide in a stall, closing the door. 

Two voices grow louder and louder. “-you hear CEO Jeon is dating his secretary?” “Of course, the whole building knows now.” “I can’t believe it, still. His secretary of all people?” “I heard that they don’t have a father, no one to support their family.” A gasp echoed in the restroom. “That explains why they’re using him. It’s always money...” 

You can’t move. Even after the others come and go, you can’t seem to budge an inch. 

❋

You kept your distance from wonwoo after that. It didn’t help that wonwoo was getting increasingly busy with work. No matter how much you wanted to see him, the words replayed in your head. 

“He’s rejected so many people but chose them?“ 

“You just want his money.” 

“How can someone like them be dating someone like him?” 

“You’re nobody.” 

The worst part is, you agreed. You were no one, just a lame secretary working to support their family. You didn’t even have passions, interests, you were always too busy trying to make money. And you didn’t even have a family to go home to. Yes, you had your friends, but you felt like such a baby for complaining to them.

The only person who truly knew you was your father. And he was gone. Maybe you deserved to be alone... Maybe they were right, wonwoo didn’t deserve you. 

❋

You tried to limit your contact with him as much as possible, strictly talking for work purposes only. Every time wonwoo would ask you out (on the rare occasions he could), you would make an excuse. you were tired or had something else to do.

Wonwoo tried, so hard, to talk to you but every time you did, the hurtful words resurfaced. You wondered if he had heard what other workers would say- probably not since they were too scared to even speak in front of him. And you didn’t tell him because you knew he would make a big deal out of it, and that was the exact opposite of what you wanted. 

Also.... maybe because you were ashamed. Ashamed at the fact that you let those words hurt you. That they cut deep into your heart and sunk into your skin. Others would probably ignore it all, but you were different. It’s like all those people knew your weakness, how to sneak into your brain and make all your insecurities stronger.

It was horrible, affecting your mind, your life. Sleep barely came. You were a living zombie. With feelings. Feelings that were beaten down and crushed, ones that couldn’t even get back up.

Seungkwan noticed, but luckily he didn’t pry too much- probably because he knew the reason behind you shutting wonwoo out-everyone out. You were so grateful for him and the others for attempting to cheer you up.

One day, you drop off wonwoo’s schedule at his desk, immediately spinning around to leave when he grabs your wrist. You can’t move, his grip tight. “Y/n, please.. tell me what’s wrong? Is it something I did? Is it because people know now? Just tell me, I can fix it. I-I just need to know..” your boss pleads.

You hated hearing him like that. And still, you remove his hand from yours. “Mr. Jeon, don’t. Let’s stop...maybe this is for the best.” 

You walk out without looking back, biting the inside of your cheek hard so you can’t feel the pain in your heart.

You can’t focus the rest of the day, moping around. You don’t even realize the time, Dokyeom comes by (knowing you were still here) and forces you to go home. You were secretly extremely grateful he didn’t try to ask anything. You didn’t want to have to say anything, telling others about all the insults and remarks would just cause more of a problem. 

❋

Opening the door, you drop all your stuff on the ground of your apartment, instantly going to change into comfortable clothes. And sulk some more. 

Your past self would be laughing at you now. Or extremely shocked. To find out that you are? were? dating the one person that you hated. Some time ago, you were crying over losing your job because of your boss, and now here you are, moping over the same person. 

Crashing into bed, you fall into a weird sleep-state, flowing in and out of sleep. A bunch of notifications at once finally awakens you fully. It usually wouldn’t bother you, but there were so many at once you had to check.

Huffing, you wearily look at the screen. Right away, you jump up. An article post was sent to you by Seungkwan.

“Jeon Wonwoo’s-CEO of one of the largest printing companies in Korea-Mother has passed away this evening.”

Horrified, you quickly scroll down, skimming through it all. The only words echoing in your mind are ‘funeral held in an hour’ and ‘son is nowhere to be found.’

Immediately, you dial Seungkwan. He picks up almost instantly. “Y/n?? Did you see what I sent?” You nod as though he can see you. “What... what’s going on?” 

You can feel seungkwan’s frustration pouring out from his side of the phone. “Didn’t you read it? Mr. Jeon’s been missing for hours. He just disappeared after finding out. No one knows where he is. Except you.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “What? Me?” You hear a sigh come from the phone. “Yes. You, y/n. No one knows him better.  You have to find him.” 

You hesitate, knowing you weren’t in the best conditions with him at the moment. “But....” Seungkwan cuts you off. “No, y/n. There are no buts. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but our boss is literally missing. You’re the only one who knows where he could be. “ 

It finally hits you. “You’re right, oh my god, Seungkwan. what if he’s dead? His family was always a touchy subject, and I don’t know what’s happening and-“ 

“Trust yourself y/n. You can find him. Go.” The call abruptly ends with a beep. You stare at the screen for a second, brain loading until you crash out of bed, scrambling out to quickly put on any pair of shoes. 

Even in your ratty old pajamas and dirty sneakers, you dash outside, going to every single place you can think of. It’s tiring, getting on and off buses, running around and searching each place. After about an hour and a half is when you stop. Panting, you slump down next to a bench, head in your hands. 

Wonwoo, where are you?

After a couple minutes of rest (and maybe an internal crisis), you finally get up, resolve burning. 

You’re not sure why, but your feet bring you to the mart- yes, the one where your view of jeon wonwoo completely changed.

Dragging your drained body to the entrance, you open the door, the familiar ding to signal your entrance sounding above.  

Quickly, you glance around. It wasn’t a huge place, you could almost see the whole store from the front. 

He’s not here either? For some reason, you feel disappointed. Like he was gonna be here. Deflating, you turn towards the exit, hand reaching for the door handle when you stop. 

“Wonwoo?”

He was outside, standing by the railing over the river- the one by the bridge right next to the store. You could only see his silhouette, it was dark, but his body seemed small, familiar but small.

You burst out, exhaustion dissolved. You stop a few feet away, breathing heavily even though it wasn’t far.

“Wonwoo.”

The figure shifts, slowly turning to you and his face comes into the light. You first notice his red, pained eyes, barely holding back so much emotion. His handsome face showing nothing but everything at the same time.

You stare at each other for a split second before you rush to him, throwing your arms around him. It’s only the sound of both of your breathing until his arms slowly wrap around your waist, head burying into your shoulder. 

You hold him. Until you hear the quiet sobs. And then feel the wet spots on your shirt.

Rubbing his back comfortingly, you let him grip you tighter, allowing all the emotions and feelings to flow out.

After who knows how long, he quiets down. You wait for a little before softly speaking. “Do... do you want to talk?” 

He gradually loosens his grip, moving back to look at you. Your heart pangs at the sight. His red, swollen eyes. Darker eye circles than you recognized. His lips were chapped, probably because you weren’t there to nag him about wearing it. 

Slowly, your hand comes up to wipe his tear-stained cheeks. When you drop your hand, he finally speaks, his voice quiet and raspy. 

“I wasn’t close with anyone growing up. I told you that. Except for my mother. She loved me the most. Stayed by my side and supported me always. I.... I just..” 

You hug him again, squeezing your eyes shut. “You don’t have to say more. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

You know there’s tension between the two of you, but decide to bury it. Now’s not the time to bring it up. 

“How are you feeling now?”

He rubs his eyes. “Better. It was just a lot... at once. But I’d rather not go back now. I don’t want to.” 

You nod. “Okay.”

You bring him to your place, no questions asked. Knowing he didn’t need to be alone, and your place was close. 

It was a little awkward, but wonwoo was stubborn even when he was upset and slept on the couch. You’re pretty sure he passed out in three minutes. To be honest, you did too, the day’s events taking over. 

❋

Awakening with a start, your eyes focus on the ceiling. You stretch for a good couple of minutes before tottering outside. 

Your feet come to a halt. Right, wonwoo. 

His body slowly rising up and down signaling he was still sleeping. 

For no reason, you move to sit in front of him, on the ground, to just look at him.

Wonwoo looked so peaceful, reminiscent of a little child- it was shocking how different he seemed in his sleep. 

You admire his face for who knows how long, starting when his eyes suddenly flutter up at you. You give him a tiny smile. “Good morning?”

You prepare breakfast. It isn’t much, but you didn’t think the two of you were that hungry anyways. There were other things to discuss.

It’s silent until you finally speak. “Wonwoo. where were you? Why did you leave for so long? Everyone was so worried you know, it was all over the news..” 

He clears his throat as you wait patiently. “Everywhere. I just needed to leave, get out. So I drove around, not necessarily going to one place. Then... you found me.”

You bite your lip, “wonwoo. I think you need to go back. Everyone’s worried, waiting. I-I think you need to talk to your family.” 

There’s a pause. He says your name softly and you look down, not able to look him in the eyes... 

“Y/n.... we’re the ones who need to talk.” You cut him off. “I know. I know we do. But I can wait. You need to go back first. Then I promise we can meet up and explain.”

You can tell he’s reluctant to leave, but eventually, he’s at your door, about to go. 

He faces you once more. 

“Y/n, promise me. You’ll meet me today at seven? After I sort everything out?”

You nod, squeezing his hand. “I promise. After you sort everything out.” 

And after he leaves, you sort everything in your head too. All your feelings that had been stuck for weeks. Wonwoo deserved to know everything. 

❋

It feels like an eternity until seven comes. You feel anxious, a queasy feeling in your stomach. When the familiar knock on the door sounds, you flinch. Quickly opening it, you see him. 

“Hi,” you say nervously. Wonwoo gestures out, and you follow him to his car. It’s a silent ride. You’re not sure where he’s taking you, but you let him lead on through the night. 

 “Did... did everything go okay?” 

“Yes. I... I explained myself. It was shocking, seeing my father show so much emotion towards me. It was just nice to talk, about the old days. Thank you, y/n. For making me go back.” 

You smile sadly, deciding to focus outside at the passing lights. It’s a surprisingly peaceful drive. You turn to him when he stops the car. 

“The park?” He only nods. 

You follow him along the path, sitting down at a bench. Wonwoo follows you, sitting next to you.

Gazing at the scenery, you lick your suddenly dry lips. “Wonwoo, I want to apologize first. You did nothing, and I never told you why I was acting like that... I wasn’t acting truthfully in our relationship, and I’m sorry.” 

He shifts, gesturing for you to continue. Inhaling, you resume. “It started after everyone found out the news, but you probably figured that already. People started saying things, about our relationship. I know it’s dumb, most people probably don’t even care, but I did. And I got self-conscious. Like I wasn’t good enough for you. I believed everything the others were saying. That you didn’t deserve someone like me.” 

You pause, voice suddenly shaky. “I-I didn’t want to tell you, so you wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. I didn’t want to seem affected by all those words. But I really was.” 

You laugh, quickly wiping away your tears so wonwoo wouldn’t see. But of course, he did. He always saw you. “That’s all. It’s a horrible reason for me acting that way, so I understand if you want to break up. I can find a new job too.” You hated how your voice cracked at the end.

You didn’t want to look at him, see his expression probably filled with disdain. But he speaks up instead. “Do you know why I hired you?”

You whip your head towards him, confused. Wonwoo’s doesn’t face you, looking off into the distance, but he proceeds.

“Because you’re strong. Compassionate. Kind. I saw you on the day of your audition, and you helped some person even though they were extremely rude and didn’t want a low person like you to help them,” he chuckles. 

“I kept you by my side for so long because you’re hardworking, stubborn, and like me.” You open your mouth to speak, slightly offended, but his eyes flick to yours, and your breath hitches. 

“And I asked you out because I love you. I understand why you felt and acted that way. But it’s okay to complain about your problems. It’s okay to feel upset and tell me. You don’t always have to be the strong one.”

You stare at him with wide eyes, wiping away tears you didn’t even notice falling.

“I’ll always be by your side. You don’t ever have to feel being alone, because I’ll be next to you. You can talk to me, I’ll listen. You can whine, I’ll deal with it. Because it’s you. And I’ll be there. ” 

You process all his words, feeling yourself about to cry harder as you continue to look into his eyes. Hesitating, you fidget with your hands, freezing when you feel his warm arms wrap around you. You close your eyes and just enjoy his warmth. 

He breaks the hug, standing up. You watch him, bewildered. Wonwoo suddenly falls to his knee, and you only watch him, furrowing your eyebrows.

When his hands move to inside his jacket, your breath hitches, hand flying to cover your mouth.

His gaze is so tender, soft, you never felt so loved.

“Y/n, I promise you that I’ll love you, forever until the end of the earth if it’s possible. So, will you accept this?” 

Wonwoo pulls out a box, opening it. You’re greeted by a sparkling ring, the gem on it your favorite color. You’re frozen in shock. 

He scratches his head. “I- uh, got it a while ago. Never had to time to really give it until now. It’s a promise ring..D-do you like it?” 

It takes a second before you can move again. You smack him. several times. Wonwoo splutters, trying to avoid your painful hits.

“Are you serious?!?! How much did this cost??? If it’s more than a hundred and fifty then I’m not taking it!! Scratch that, a hundred!!” 

Wonwoo stops, looking up at you with a dumbfounded expression. “Are you serious? I thought you were about to reject me!! And why are you worrying about the price? I’m literally the CEO of a huge company!?” 

You cough. “Right. Well then, I like it.” You reach for it, but he holds the box up high above you. Whining, you stand on your tippy-toes, trying to grab it. 

“Wonwoooo, I thought you bought this for me!” “Maybe I don’t wanna give it to you anymore,” he teases. 

You pout, flashing a cute face. “Please??” Wonwoo pretends to think, tapping his foot. “If you give me a kiss. It has to be a real one. On the lips, too.”

“Ugghh, fine,” you fake scowl. And of course, he can see right through you. “Stop acting. I know you want to kiss me.” 

“And so what if I want really to, Mr. CEO? Like I said before, you're stuck with me forever.”

❋

“Oh my god y/n is that a ring? Does that mean there’s gonna be a wedding?!?” 

“Yes, seungkwan. A promise ring. And no! We’re not getting married.... Yet.”

 -fin-

   author’s note: ngl I cringed writing the ending scenes anlkfjenfdn anyways thank you to anyone who actually read all three parts from start to end :)! I’m sorry if this is not what you were expecting- this story changed so much I struggled honestly but I’m just glad it’s done before I ruin it more  uhu 

[thedistantstorm]

Come Together 02

Fandom: Destiny

Pairing: Devrim Kay/Marc

Warnings: ridiculous romancing, eventual smut

“A young city planner set his eyes on an older militiaman. He was unkempt and terribly forward. The militiaman had class. He wasn’t interested.”

“Clearly,” Marc tells their friends. “That’s why they decided to get married.”

(A story told in bits and pieces.)

Chapters: 01

-/

He enters the office with an impressive swagger come Monday morning.  Manages not to piss off Devrim, passing him on his way in without so much as a direct look. Marc could absolutely feel that coldwater gaze on his back, though. Good, he thought.

Devrim meets him for lunch, arriving at noon like clockwork. Marc makes another concession, already having his usual meal sitting there, waiting for him when he sets down his pack.

“What, no aioli? You’ve only been trying to get me to put it on everything for nearly a week now.”

“Hello to you, too,” Marc chirps, pulling the extra from his take-away container and holding it out between his index and middle fingers. “Knew I’d convert you eventually. Artisanal food is my specialty.”

“I didn’t know the City employed food-tasters,” Devrim sasses him. “Is that what they do in the Planning Office now?”

“Oh, of course,” He agrees, treating Devrim to an eye-roll that’s been stolen from his own playbook. “Who needs infrastructure?”

“You’re a monster. Who needs infrastructure, indeed.” He grumbles.

His reply begins with a laugh. “I’m kidding. I love infrastructure,” Marc leans in, his eyes on Devrim’s lips before flicking up to meet his intent gaze. He hopes it’s as heavy as it feels, flirtatious but not overwhelming.

“Is that so?”

Marc’s eyes light up. “It is.” 

“What do you do in the City Planner’s office?”

He shrugs. “I fool around until someone gives me something to work with.”

“Like what?”

“Like the redesign of the Market District, or the Plaza, or the Consensus Hall.” Devrim leans in as Marc leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, giving Devrim a peek of the chest hair that peeks from his unbuttoned collar. His hazel eyes flash as he grins. “I’m an architect.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, enunciating that final ‘t.’ “Lead architect, actually.”

Devrim shakes his head. “At your age?”

“Trust me,” His smile errs toward sheepish then, “My subordinates hate me.”

That earns him a laugh. No sarcasm, no irritated expressions. It’s glorious.

Marc cannot wait to get this man under him.

-/

Devrim cancels their second ‘official’ date, that Thursday.

He’s managed to come down with a nasty cold, the bark of his cough making Marc wince as he sees him that morning. He receives a message on his tablet - having only just exchanging contact info on Tuesday.

>CO sent me home sick. Afraid we’ll have to reschedule.

Marc takes one look at the message and scoffs. Instead of going home to change into something a bit more date-worthy after work - well, now going home to mope over cancelled plans, technically - he heads to the market for supplies and directly to the address Devrim had scribbled on that napkin he definitely isn’t keeping in a box atop his dresser since he's already memorized it.

Of course the other man lives on the upper, but as luck would have it, Devrim's neighbor lets him in without him having to use the outside buzzer. For the best, since he wasn't really sure what he was working with and grabbed a little bit of everything.

He only sets one of the three heavy bags down outside the door, preferring to do so rather than bash his produce against the wall beside it. There's some rustling from inside the flat - thin walls, he catalogs for later - and then the door opens a crack.

Red eyes, feverish cheeks, pink nose… no doubt about it. Devrim is sick as a dog.

"Did I - I swore I sent you a message saying I had to cancel," Devrim says, his voice hoarse but no less rugged or handsome.

Marc turns on his most charming of smiles. "You did. Thought I'd come-"

"I'm not dressed."

The door closes immediately in his face.

Undeterred, Marc knocks again. More insistently than before.

Devrim throws the door open a little more, just in time for Marc to catch his attire.

"WHAT," He snips, irritated. Genuinely so.

"You're in pajamas. And a robe." Marc's eyes don't leave Devrim's face for once, and his smile fades into something less put-on and more genuine. Affection bleeds into his voice as he teases, "You're plenty decent. Let a man cook for you."

Whatever comes out of his mouth is more grumble than actual words, but he's allowed entry. Even if he knows it's mostly due to Devrim wanting to lay back down. Devrim waves him in the general direction of the kitchen - sparse, but expansive - and he sets the bags down before he returns to what's clearly a living room. Surely if it has been any other time and the other man not been sick, he'd have been given a tour.

But instead, Devrim is reclined on a chair, though it's clear he'd been laying on the sofa based on the blanket and box of tissues there.

He opts for transparency. "Figured you wouldn't be up anything crazy, so I'm making chicken soup. I'll force you into trying something new when you can actually taste it."

Devrim casts him a tired glance, as if silently willing him to get on with it.

"And lay on the couch, would you? I'm not about to make a pass at you while you're sick. I'm not that trashy."

"Is that so?" He coughs into his elbow, and cuts his momentum in half. He doesn't manage to spin it into an eloquent insult.

"I'll be in the kitchen," Marc says, pressing cool fingers against Devrim's forehead as he passes. He's burning up. Maybe he should have grabbed some cold medicine. "It'll take a bit, so let me know if you need anything."

-/

He wakes in the middle of the night with a gasp. He's still on the couch, which explains why he's so stiff. Only the light over the kitchen stove is on, casting a sliver of light into the living room, enough to see the reflection of a glass of water he definitely did not set out for himself on the coffee table. He knows this because he would have used a coaster.

Beside it is a scrap of paper.

Soup in fridge. Feel better.

-M 

He sags back against the cushions, listening carefully. He barely remembers Marc showing up, he'd been so out of it, but he remembers that the other man had brought groceries. After a moment of intense scrutiny he determines that unless his senses are failing, he's definitely alone in the apartment.

Groaning, he rises, taking the cup of water with him and drinking his fill before forcing himself to see what force of nature has wrecked his kitchen.

What he finds surprises him. Whatever dishes he'd used are sitting in the rack, his cutting board cleaned and replaced on the hook near the range. Even the garbage has been emptied. It's as if he'd never been there in the first place.

"Well I'll be," He marvels aloud. He opens the refrigerator to find a large stockpot of soup, proof that Devrim needs a better array of storage containers and that Marc was not joking. 

He searches for a ladle in the drawers, only to discover it and a single place setting laid out on the counter beside the refrigerator.  Shaking his head, the sick militiaman takes his time reheating the bowl.

It might be mean, but he's glad Marc is long gone when he tries it. He might be sick, and his sense of taste might be lacking, but the soup is out of this world.

-/

Marc isn't surprised to see someone else standing at Devrim's post the next morning.

What he is surprised to see, however, is the lush bouquet of cream-colored roses delivered to his office while he's out at his ten o'clock meeting. He does not want to imagine what Devrim paid for same-day delivery. Assuming they're from Devrim.

At least, he really hopes they're from Devrim. Cream roses are a rather traditional flower of gratitude. Seems his style.

He waits until his nosy co-workers buzz off, slipping the card into his suit jacket to prevent them from asking. Which they do. Surprise flowers are the most exciting thing to happen in the planning office since his secretary adopted a dog. Which was cute, but the event has come and gone and Marc would be more invested if it was a cat and not some yappy little thing the woman keeps insisting upon bringing to the office.

When the anticipation feels like it’s literally killing him, he very covertly removes the small envelope and opens the card, which has an elegant scroll of ‘Thanks��� embossed on the front of it.

Inside, it’s blank.

It’s from Devrim alright.

His tablet buzzes around the time he’d go for lunch. Which, without anyone to meet, there’s no point, so he grabs another coffee and tries to get ahead on a proposal that has to go in front of the Consensus next week. It’s always extra brownie points if he gets it in early to Zavala.

Marc nearly forgets that he’s missed a message, he’s so in the zone. More than likely it’s from his secretary, who will insist on bringing him something to eat even though he’ll stop for something on the way home.

The reminder buzz interrupts his double check of a materials analysis.

>Take away? Assuming you and your new secret admirer don’t have plans.

Marc grins.

<I’ll see you in a few hours.

[quercussp]

Tired to the bone

Rating: G

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: Dan is really tired after the tour.

Authors note: This fic is a gift for @phantasticlizzy that I wanted to publish next week, but got too impatient. Sorry:)

A huge thanks to @nihilismdan and @secretlizard for betaing! You guys are awesome.

Warnings: reference to depression

[read on ao3]

There are different levels of tiredness. Sometimes your body is tired and you need a nap. Sometimes your mind is tired and it helps to aimlessly scroll through twitter for a couple hours. Sometimes your entire being is tired, and you just need to blackout and sleep for 14 hours to recover.

But there is also a type of  exhaustion when you are so tired you can’t even sleep. You are consumed by the lack of energy and all you can do is suffer aimlessly in your bed, hoping to fall into deep sleep, but instead shifting in and out of consciousness and just feeling more and more tired as time goes by.

That’s the type of tired Dan feels after they get home from the tour. The jet lag and all the stress and the exhaustion from touring the world for 5 months and meeting people and performing on a stage, sometimes twice a day, coupled  with the feeling of it being over and done, all of that has put Dan into one of the worst withdrawals he has ever had.

Phil has gotten out of bed this morning after a good solid 12 hours of sleep, and has been in the lounge playing fortnite all this time. Dan, however, is just lying in bed with no lights on, praying to feel better and to fall asleep again. Everything seems exhausting and draining, the whole world feels grey and Dan doesn’t even have the energy to be upset about it. It’s torture.

He knows that the healthy thing to do would be to get out of bed, have something to eat and maybe a shower, do some yoga or go for a run and try to get his body to work properly again. The healthy thing is the last thing Dan feels like doing. He just wants to mope. He is allowed. He is tired and depressed and overworked, so yeah, he is allowed to just be miserable for a little while.

Every couple of hours he hears Phil coming into the room to check on him. He softly sets a glass of water on the side table, carefully pulls back the covers to see if Dan is asleep or not and gently kisses his forehead, or murmures something sweet if Dan’s awake. He also asks if Dan wants him to stay or if he wants something to eat, but Dan always rejects him. One of the reasons is because he doesn’t want to suck Phil into his hole of exhaustion, another is that he just really wants to be miserable, and being miserable with Phil lying in your bed requires more energy. Something that Dan doesn’t have.

Dan tries to remember the last time Phil checked on him. It must have been a couple hours at the very least. His overtired brain instantly provides him with an explanation: Phil is tired of his shit and doesn’t care anymore.

He lets himself wallow in that feeling of hurt and sadness for a couple minutes, until he reluctantly pulls himself out of it. That’s ridiculous. Phil has seen Dan in much worse states, they have survived through horrible ups and downs of Dan’s depression, through fights and pain and conflicts, and Phil’s compassion and love for Dan has never waivered. But it’s kind of nice to feel all forgotten and abandoned so Dan allows himself to do it. Serves Phil right for abandoning him.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the sun has set outside of his curtained windows, and his brain has already gone through all the scenarios of Phil finding him cold and alone and sick and then weeping over his lifeless body, cursing himself for not being attentive enough. Dan’s a dramatic person, ok? Could he text Phil and ask him to come cuddle him? Of course, he knows Phil could come running. Could he just stand up and walk into the next room to see him? Yes, he could. But instead he just watches the light from the streetlights filter through the blinds and leave orange stripes on the dark wall of his bedroom.

His misery is interrupted by soft footsteps in the corridor and the sound of the door being opened.

Finally. Took Phil long enough to check on him. Either because of tiredness or to punish Phil and not give away how much he was waiting for him Dan stays still, not looking towards the door and just lies under the covers curled up. He hears Phil sit down on the other side of the bed, turn on the lamp on the bedside table, but then he hears a weird squealing and panting. He is almost tempted to look around to see what the strange noise is, but stops himself. He doesn’t have the energy to care.

And then he feels something wet and cold gently nudge his shoulder and then a warm, wet, scratchy tongue licking his neck, and a tiny fluffy paw nudging him.

Surprised and startled, Dan finally turns around and is met with the sight of the most adorable puppy he has ever seen. It’s brown and cuddly and small and it’s now eagerly licking his face and nudging him and its soft and warm and precious.

He looks past the puppy and sees Phil sitting on the bed fully dressed, smiling at the scene.

“This is Yuka, I borrowed her from my friend Lizzy,” Phil says softly. “I thought that she would cheer you up a bit.”

Dan continues staring at Phil, but the adorable plush puppy in his face is demanding attention, and he doesn’t even notice how he starts running his hands through Yuka’s soft curly fur while she licks every inch of skin she can reach.

He digs his face into the puppy’s fur and takes a deep breath. She smells like warmth, and like a dog and a little bit of shampoo. It’s so good. So easy. So relaxing. He sees Phil gently petting Yuka as well and their hands brush each other in her fur every once in a while. Dan’s chest is getting tight and he is so grateful that Phil stays silent, because he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth a ragged sob would come out and that would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it.

After some time and some intense petting, Yuka settles in curled up under Dan’s side, cuddled up close to him, her breathing slows  and she falls asleep. Both Dan and Phil continue running their fingers softly through her fur, and Dan looks up at Phil again. He’s too tired right now, but when he has the energy, he’s going to take some time to cry about how much he loves his partner at this moment, and in general. And how adorable Phil looks right now, with his quiff all messy, glasses askew and a soft smile on his face. About how Phil went out of his way and traveled somewhere to get a dog to cheer Dan up. How much he loves and cares for him. Not now, now he just wants to rest.

He carefully curls his lanky body around the tiny dog and presses her to his chest with both arms. Phil pulls away his hand and starts to stand, and Dan catches his fingers in his and gently squeezes them. He knows Phil will understand.

He lets go of Phil’s hand and closes his eyes. The soft breathing of the dog in his arms and the feeling of her body moving slightly and the smell of her fur makes him feel so comfortable for some reason. He feels his brain starting to fall asleep, and his limbs relax.

In the back of his mind he registers Phil turning off the light, and walking into the bathroom to shower.

By the time Phil comes out of the bathroom, puts on pajamas and climbs into bed, Dan is already deeply asleep with a tiny puppy in his arms.

[5hfanfiction]

2AM in L.A. - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Parties

Days, weeks, months passed as Lauren and Camila’s lives continued to exist in separate worlds. They lived only miles apart, walked the same sidewalks, and frequented the same coffee shops. But they existed in separate worlds. They bought the same groceries, worked in the same studios, and felt the same desperate heartache for each other each day. But they existed in separate worlds.

Some nights, when she was too drunk or too high, Lauren found herself mindlessly scrolling through Camila’s twitter and instagram feeds. The dark-eyed Cuban girl seemed to be doing well, collaborating with songwriters and producers who consistently topped the charts. She stayed largely out of the tabloids, except for the occasional dinner or drinks out with someone she was working with. Lauren couldn’t decide if she’d rather see Camila staying single, or finding true happiness with someone else. But for now, it seemed single was the route Camila had chosen.

Some mornings, when she was in line to pay for groceries or idly bored in a coffee shop, Camila found herself mindlessly looking over the tabloid headlines. The green-eyed vixen seemed to be taking “work hard, play hard” to levels previously unexplored even for Lauren’s standards, out with different crowds of people in different clubs night after night. Rumors of a young pop star gone off the rails became more and more frequent with each new club Lauren stumbled out of at ungodly hours of the night, often times when the sun had already begun to come up to begin the next day. Factual or not, the paparazzi photos that accompanied the headlines fit the narrative well. While in her younger days Lauren made a concerted effort to keep her vices and personal life private, both appeared to have gone by the wayside as she emerged from the LA hotspots with a woman on her arm, and a rolled cigarette in hand. Camila recognized the woman instantly; it was Halsey, Lauren’s off-and-on romance for the better part of the last three years. Camila couldn’t figure out which part bothered her more: having to helplessly watch Lauren derail, or knowing that the woman by Lauren’s side through it all wasn’t her.

Camila kept an eye on the headlines as Lauren and Halsey’s romance grew from “spotted at a club together” to “seen leaving each other’s apartments” to “romantic dinners every night.” Lauren was moving on, and Camila knew she had no right to be upset. She had asked Lauren to take down her walls, but instead they were only built higher. She had asked for all of Lauren’s heart, but Lauren had said no. In or out. Lauren chose out.

Shortly after 10:00 on Friday night, Camila’s phone buzzed with a text from Ashlee.

Ashlee: You’ve been sitting at home moping for weeks. I’ll be home in 20 and then we’re going out tonight. No discussion ;)

Camila groaned, but Ashlee was right. She hadn’t been out in weeks, but still wasn’t feeling it tonight either.

Camila: idk i had a really busy day

Ashlee: come onnnnn you’re being lame

Camila: i’ll think about it ok?

Ashlee: good enough for me

Camila spent the 20 minutes between Ashlee’s last text and Ashlee’s return home dreading the night. If they went out, the odds of seeing Lauren were moderate to low – Camila vaguely recalled seeing an article saying that Lauren and Halseywere on a romantic getaway to the Bahamas – but still, the idea of running into any of her posse nauseated Camila. Nevertheless, she found herself putting together an outfit for the night with only one person in mind to impress.

Halfway through getting dressed, Camila pulled out her phone and began absentmindedly scrolling through Twitter. A TMZ report popped up with photos of Lauren and Halsey strolling through LAX, both nicely tanned from their trip to the Bahamas, and grinning ear to ear in youthful, spirited love. Others may have seen it as a romantic return from paradise. To Camila it felt like another punch in the gut. She set her phone down, now knowing full well that Lauren would almost certainly be making an appearance at the party tonight. If there was a party and Lauren was in town, she would be there. That much was certain. Camila turned to the mirror, looking over her partial outfit and half made-up face, and thought of Lauren, likely doing the same thing but with entirely different motivations.

Lauren was probably in her room right now, getting ready for a long night out. Her nights out tended to go hours longer than any normal parties lasted, though Camila never actually knew what happened in those after hours. Some combination of sex, drugs and rock and roll, Camila assumed. Camila’s mind continued to wander, wondering further what Lauren was doing. Was she slipping into another tight, short dress that left just enough to the imagination? Was she with Halsey? Had they left each others’ side, or each others’ beds, since returning to LA? Or maybe she was with a big group, pregaming the night with hundreds, even thousands, of dollars of drugs and alcohol? Was Camila on her mind as she thought of heading out? Was Camila ever on her mind? Did her decision to build walls around her heart echo in her memory, as it did every day for Camila?

Camila was pulled from her trance as she heard Ashlee burst through the door and began clattering around the kitchen.

“Come on Mila!” she yelled. “We gotta rapid fire pregame this thing!”

“I don’t know,” Camila replied as she walked into the kitchen, pulling a comfy shirt over her head, mismatched with the pajama pants she had changed into while thinking of Lauren, and decided she certainly didn’t want to go out that night. “I don’t think I can do this tonight.”

Ashlee stopped making drinks and sat the glasses down on the counter.

“Did I do something? Is there some reason you haven’t wanted to go out for the last few weeks?”

“I’m just tired,” Camila sat down on the couch.

“We don’t have to drink if you don’t want to,” Ashlee pleaded. “It can be a chill night.”

“No it’s fine, you go ahead without me.”

“I don’t buy it,” Ashlee shook her head. “You’re not tired. There’s something you’re not telling to me.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Camila denied. “It’s just been a long day.”

“You’re lying to me,” Ashlee replied, the frustration beginning to creep into her voice. “It’s been a ‘long day’ every time I ask you to hang out anywhere other than here or the studio, and it’s getting old.”

“I just don’t want to go out!” Camila snapped. “Why is that such a fucking problem?”

“I don’t care that you don’t want to go out, I care about what you’re hiding from,” Ashlee yelled back. “You’re lying to me or you’re lying to yourself and I’m not gonna keep putting up with it!”

“FINE,” Camila roared, before taking a deep breath. “Fine. You want the truth? Fine.”

Ashlee stood across the room from Camila, not budging for fear of doing anything that would change her mind.

“The day after I went to Lauren’s and everything was horrible, I called her. And she said she wanted nothing to do with me,” Camila explained, her voice shaking as tears beginning to fill the corners of her eyes. Saying it out loud somehow made it feel real, and truly over. “She’s spent the last month parading around LA with my replacement, and it fucking hurts. It’s killing me and I don’t want go to some party and have to actually see her with her tongue down someone else’s throat and pretend I’m okay. Maybe next week I’ll be ready to get dressed up and fake a smile, but she’s moved on, I can’t seem to do that, and I just don’t want to see any of it for a while.”

“Mila, why didn’t you just tell me that?” Ashlee asked, softening her voice and taking a seat next to Camila. Camila leaned into her shoulder as the first few tears began to fall.

“I see her face in the paper and it feels like a knife is being stabbed into my chest, and then I see – ” Camila stopped, needing a moment to choke the name out. “I see Halsey beside her and it’s like someone is just twisting that knife. If I can’t see her face on a tabloid, how am I supposed to see her standing in front of me? I’ll just break down crying and make a scene and it’ll make everything worse.”

“You’re okay,” Ashlee whispered. “You take all the time you need. You don’t have to see her.”

The two girls sat wordlessly for a few minutes, the silence broken only by Camila’s muffled sobs.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Ashlee asked.

“Because it’s humiliating,” Camila admitted. “I’m afraid to see her because I know she’ll be laughing and smiling while I’m dying inside, and it’s just ridiculous.”

“Mila, it’s not – “

“It is. I fell for her when I was fifteen years old. It’s been nearly a fucking decade but no matter what happens I can’t get past that. I can’t get past her.”

“She was your first love,” Ashlee said quietly, gently stroking Camila’s hair. “That’s something you never get over.”

“I don’t need to get over it, I just want to be okay with it being in the past.”

“You’ll get there.”

“How?”

Ashlee paused, hearing the desperation in Camila’s words.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe you need a little distance. When’s the last time you went back to Miami?”

“Not recently,” Camila shrugged. “I’ve been in the studio so much trying to make an album that doesn’t suck.”

“Then maybe that’s where you start. Give yourself a break, head to the beach, spend time with your family, just let yourself breathe.”

“You really want me to run all the way across the country just to avoid Lauren?”

“I don’t think it’s as much avoiding Lauren as it is getting some fresh air. LA can suck you in,” Ashlee reasoned. “I think it’s important to remember where you come from and who you truly are.”

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update, I’ve been crazy busy. I think I know where I want the story to go but am definitely open to suggestions if you guys have any ideas!