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netegf · 1 year ago

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Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot.

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath.

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were.

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another.

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding.

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway.

Some things don't change.

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses.

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs.

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too.

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister.

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend.

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you.

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere.

Much to Topper's devastation.

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise.

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply.

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you.

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow.

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again.

"You know he would do anything for you, right?"

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you.

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point."

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat.

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink.

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face.

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well.

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him.

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights.

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly.

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud.

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly.

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically.

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray.

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow.

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming.

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted.

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display.

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath.

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it.

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there.

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him.

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking.

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint.

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night.

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates.

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs.

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway.

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?"

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again.

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently.

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you.

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after.

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else.

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?"

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house.

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt.

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway.

"I love these."

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world.

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much.

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check.

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat.

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you.

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes.

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day.

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing.

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators.

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night.

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included.

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all.

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine.

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger.

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head.

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date.

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything."

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall.

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl.

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together.

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about.

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am."

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company.

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers.

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you.

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself.

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off.

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!".

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin.

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date.

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing.

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote.

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them.

"Maybe later." You reply quietly.

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else.

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees.

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized.

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like."

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that."

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?"

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point.

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off.

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement.

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy.

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs.

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask."

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that."

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?"

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity.

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart.

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long."

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder.

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party."

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue."

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground.

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness.

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks x reader #rafe x reader #i love writing completely ridiculous and unhinged side characters #topper too i always make him so weird LMAO #this is a lil rough around the edges but !! whatevrrr

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ryescapades · 2 months ago

Text

❝ [ say (no?) yes! ] ╰┈➤ of the same thread (kaiju no. 8)

— v. to love is to fight.

genre/warning: narumi gen x lil sis!reader, bf!hoshina, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mention of injuries and blood, fluff, a bit of goofiness in the end, some canon-divergence plot, lots of time skips/scene changes(?)

a/n: pls accept this as my apology for that previous part kwkjdsfds also i listened to jk's stay alive while writing the first half of this. really loike the vibes :>

2.9k wc | mini series masterlist

in all his life, narumi gen has always believed in luck.

it was luck that he was still alive after everything he used to call home was razed to the ground. it was luck that he even got transferred to an orphanage. it was luck that they noticed his achievements despite not acknowledging his hard work. it was luck that he was born with such tremendous power to kill a kaiju without any training whatsoever. it was luck that shinomiya isao had decided to take him— and you— in to become soldiers.

"captain narumi, sir! apologies, but... i'm here to report about your sister,"

and it was the absence of luck that separated you and him. narumi was angry— furious, even. why did it have to be you? out of all the possible outcomes, why did it have to be his sister's life being taken away from him?

he's angry at that godforsaken kaiju for killing you, at hoshina for not protecting you when narumi himself couldn't, at you for being too selfless and wanting to save those reckless children, at the world for taking away one of the extremely few good things in his life, at himself for being so helpless.

the hollow, aching misery bemoaned in his chest as he quietly carried your limp body into the mobile medical unit. he didn’t even bother to stay in the vehicle. narumi knew a certain vice-captain would do so in his stead anyway. too consumed by his grief, he went to take out his anger on the last few monsters.

they did not stand a chance against him. not when he was feeling so much, grieving so much. at the end of it, only dust, corpses, blood, the smell of rotten flesh and gunpowder and his own sorrow remained.

"y/n-san, she—"

but this... this was no luck. it was a miracle.

"she survived, captain! your sister is alive!"

narumi didn't care whatever gods existed up there but he has never prayed his gratitude this much ever.

he pauses in his steps, knees almost buckling as his heart pounds wildly behind his ribcage. placing a finger on his earpiece, he finally speaks for the first time in the last few agonizing hours, "where's she now?"

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

through the clear glass, narumi studies your lifeless figure laying in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask worn with various needles, wires and tubes connected to your once battered body.

"vice-captain hoshina detected a minimal chest movement a few hours after her heart stopped beating. we believe it was the work of her remaining unleashed force that had pushed her suit to carry out the resuscitation. she was immediately rushed to the nearest med-bay after that and was transferred here as soon as her condition was stabilized there." the military doctor beside him explains.

"she's in a comatose right now, but i have full confidence she will wake up soon, captain. and when she does, i assure you that you'll be the first to know. she's your sister, it's only natural that she's also a real strong fighter. just like you, sir."

and now, it's been weeks since that.

narumi, amidst his busy schedule of attending meetings, finishing his reports, training and carrying out missions, has been visiting you as much as he possibly could.

he'd just sit there beside your bed, listening to the stable beep of the heart monitor and switching between playing games on his switch, or resting with his back hunched, his arms acting as his pillow or staring at you with an undecipherable look on his face before grumbling at you to better wake your ass up right now, you brat.

he sort of never said anything other than that, really. because he knows hoshina has been coming to the hospital to see you as well from the amount of your favourite flowers he keeps seeing on the nightstand in your hospital ward, and your boyfriend's the one who has been doing all the talking.

guess narumi can cut you some slack by not annoying you while you sleep (he doesn't know you’ve only ever found your brother to be annoying, albeit in a fond way, but never hoshina).

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

...

it's dark.

it’s deadly silent.

you feel like you were drowning in murky waters. deep, deep, deep down at the bottom of it. you hear voices too. they all sound familiar, but you could never place a finger on which one is whose.

it's been like this for god knows how long. weeks? months? it felt like years, even. but all you know is that you've been trying to escape from this darkness since then. were you really dead?

you remembered the kaiju, the excruciating pain from that fatal blow on your vital area, the expression on your boyfriend's face and the trembling of your brother's hands, the warmth of his tears on your skin.

how long has it been since you last saw gen cry, you wonder. or was that the first time? but one thing for sure, you never wanted to see him like that again. you never wanted him to be sad, ever. as the strongest, gen has shouldered enough burdens of the people to be in such a state. he deserves everything that is good in this world. if it were up to you, you'd have given him the whole universe itself.

and soshiro— oh, your beloved soshiro. in a room full of all kinds of living souls, you'd always choose him every single time. no one has ever made you feel so loved, so appreciated, so seen. every second you've spent merely thinking about him is a testament to how intensely you hold him dear to your heart. you would've devoted your whole life just cherishing him, if only he'd asked for it.

so why are you here, trapped and stuck in this endless gloom when you should be there with the most important people in your life?

stay alive, stay alive, stay alive, your mind chants repeatedly, like a desperate, haunting piece of a broken record.

and you did. you stayed alive.

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

hoshina's body jerks up.

he doesn't know if he's hallucinating or not— he can't even recall when was the last time he's had a proper sleep— because he swears your finger had twitched just a second ago.

straightening up from his position on the chair beside your bed, hoshina gently grabs your hand, holding it in both of his own. he calls out your name hesitantly, wanting to confirm whether you really did move just now or was it all in his head.

his heartrate quickens when he finally feels it, another twitch of your finger. "y/n, dear, i'm here. can ya hear me?" his grip on your hand tightens slightly, hoping that he could urge you to make any form of a reply.

a dull silence greets him.

"y/n?" he tries again, but no response. you're still there, all stillness and tranquility in your sleep.

his shoulder drops, head hanging low as he clenches his jaw with a heavy heart, disappointment settling deep in his gut. he's in the middle of slowly letting go of your hand to put it back where it rested on your blanket-covered body when a faint, breathy voice enters his ears.

"s-soshiro...?"

hoshina has never snaps his head up so fast in his life but when the sight of your eyelashes fluttering, eyelids heavy but they're opening to reveal that pair of eyes he's always been drawn to, and they're meeting his own brightening irises, he doesn't care how many whiplashes he gets.

because you're finally waking up.

the violet-haired man rushes to the intercom system nearby, "call for captain narumi. now! officer y/n is awake," he orders, not bothering to wait for a reply from the other side before he turns back to you.

panic surges through him when he sees you already trying to sit up. "hey, hey, slow down, sweetheart. why dont'cha take it easy, hm?" he says, helping you maneuver yourself into a sitting position, back against the pillows. once seated, he stares at your steady form on the bed, mouth opening and closing as if in disbelief.

“i...“

"you're crying," your first whispered statement snaps him out of his daze, startling him with the realization that he is, in fact, crying. bringing his hand up to wipe away the tears, he can't even bring himself to stop the small sniffle that comes out of him.

your lidded eyes soften. "come here," you croak, a hand weakly reaching up to motion him into a hug. your boyfriend complies without a word, his arms carefully wrapping around you to hold you close.

"you're here... gods, you're here. i'm so glad you're back, baby, you—" his throat constricts from the emotions he tries to hold in. hoshina buries his nose into the crook of your neck, indulging himself in your scent and brushing a few kisses on your skin. you freely bask in his affection, noting the tinges of happiness, relief, concern and regret, all in one from the hug alone.

suddenly, the door opens and you can't help the frown on your face when he eventually pulls away. you both turn your heads, seeing your appointed doctor walking in with a clipboard in his hand.

after a few minutes of checking up and getting you up to date with everything that has happened, the doctor deems you safe to be discharged in a few days, though you're not allowed to do any heavy work yet lest you put a strain on your body. the injuries you've suffered were way too detrimental to be taken lightly, even when you've recovered.

your boyfriend is back at your side the second you two are alone again. he sits quietly, holding your hand in his with his thumb tracing back and forth on your knuckles.

"i'm sorry," he mutters, voice low with a hint of remorse. you tilt your head to the side. "what for?" you ask, confused. you almost, almost pull your blankets away and lunging at him for another hug when hoshina looks up at you with such anguish in his eyes.

"if i had been there earlier, you wouldn't have been in this situation," he says, causing your breathing to pause for a second. has he been feeling like this the whole time you were asleep? who the heck put that absurd idea in his head?

"no, it's not your fault, soshiro. it never will be. it was my action, and it's a consequence i bear on my own. don't ever put yourself to blame for what i did," you press, gripping tight on his hand.

"but you almost died, y/n. i could've lost ya, i swear to god i'd never forgive myself if that ever happens. narumi was right, my sector was so much closer to yours. it was my fault, i could've reached there faster, could've saved ya from that kaiju and—"

you don't let him finish, grabbing his face to crash your lips against his in a desperate attempt to stop his rambling. his hand goes to your neck to keep you in place, your lips melding perfectly with his like they were meant to be. his body shudders with both regret and passion.

a ragged sigh then leaves him when you pull away. "i love you, soshiro but shut up, please. it hurts me when you keep blaming yourself for something that was out of your control... also, remind me to smack the hell out of my brother when i see him later," you murmur, planting a few tender pecks on his lips as reassurance.

he rests his head against yours as a comfortable silence envelops you both. hoshina's head is muddled with too many thoughts, but one thing is clear. so clear he straight away voices it out loud.

"marry me," he rasps, so lowly you almost didn't hear it.

your eyes widen, pulling back a little to look at him properly with shock evident on your face. "...come again?" you gape. the love of your life stands his ground, crimson eyes sharp and gaze transparent as he repeats, this time louder and clearer for you to hear.

"i know this isn't exactly a good place, nor it is a good time for it. but i can't bear to see ya like this again, love. i can't bear the thought of losing ya while knowing i could've done so much more to make you happier, safer. i've long sworn to myself that if i was to die one day, i would go down with my soul completely bound to yours, y/n," he vows.

your eyes glisten, the words stuck in your throat as you try to get them out. you've wanted this for so long, wanted him for much longer. only god knows how many nights you've spent hesitating to bring up such heartfelt topics with your soshiro, afraid that it would never work out, that it could only stay as a pipe dream, nothing more. and so, you utter out the one and only answer you would ever give.

"yes!" "no!"

hoshina falters. "wait, what?"

you also falter. "...what?"

instinct tugs at the both of you, causing you to swivel your heads towards the entrance of the ward.

and there your brother stands hunches, breathing heavily with his hands braced on his knees as if he had ran a marathon just to get here (he certainly did). your eyes widen at the sight of him just as narumi wheezes before lifting his head to glare at the other man in the room.

"i said no, you dumbass!" he snaps at hoshina, causing the vice-captain to frown. "captain narumi, glad to see you're finally here," he trails off, glancing at you.

this time, you don't pay your boyfriend any mind as you call for gen, voice small and timid like you were back to your child self crying out for her big brother.

"nii-chan..."

that is all narumi needed to hear before he dashes for you, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

"i'm here, kiddo. you're okay, you're fine," he mumbles into the side of your head, stroking your hair as you bury your face in his chest, clinging onto him like he’s your very own lifeline. just as you were his.

hoshina smiles at the side, looking away to give you two some semblance of privacy.

you don't know how long you stay in your brother's arms but when you move to pull away, you can't help the next words that come out. "i still wanna marry soshiro, though," you mutter and just like that, the bittersweet and wistful atmosphere comes crashing down.

narumi freezes, and hoshina suppresses his growing simper, which doesn't go unnoticed by the former. "the hell you're smiling at, you bastard?! did you threaten her or something?" he sneers before turning to you. "y/n!! listen here, did he do anything to you? drugged you to say yes??? this place has a lot of that shit, after all. i swear to god if he so much as touches you, i will—"

you sigh exasperatedly. "he didn't. none of those things whatsoever. you're being overdramatic, gen. besides, did you say to soshiro that whatever happened to me was his fault?" you narrow your eyes at him.

narumi immediately scowls, throwing a dirty look at your boyfriend while avoiding your eyes at the same time. "fucking snitch," he hisses. hoshina only rolls his eyes before approaching you, not caring that he's deliberately pushing narumi to the side.

your brother's offended squawk is lost to the wind as hoshina dives in, giving you a chaste kiss on your lips. "thank you for making me the happiest man alive. love ya, baby," he quietly whispers. you hum lovingly, reciprocating your own words of affection against his lips.

the both of you completely ignore the obnoxious vomiting noises from somewhere in the room, too lost in each other’s touch.

narumi exaggeratedly trembles in disgust, "someone needs to pay me for all the times i've had to watch some lowlife with a stupid bowl-cut freaking demolish my sister's face.”

"and someone needs to pay me more for having to deal with your ass every single day. you almost made me crash the car so many times on the way here, narumi." the first division's vice-captain makes his appearance, his figure towering at the doorway.

your brother startles before he turns his head, "hasegawa?! you're supposed to wait at the reception! i told you not to come up!"

your brows furrow in aggravate. "i'm confiscating your console for that, gen." you state, knowing he definitely has the device right now in his uniform somewhere. narumi snaps his head back towards you with a glare.

"what was that? who gives you the right, huh? i could steal all your meals later and the doctor wouldn't even notice," he challenges, harshly whispering the last part as to not let the other two men in the room to hear.

with crossed arms, you throw him a smirk. "considering i'm still a patient here, shouldn't you be treating me properly? like how a big brother should?" you drawl out patronizingly.

"oh yeah? how about you watch this big brother sock you in the face—"

hoshina sighs. "hasegawa-san, i think we should get outta here,"

"you're right. i guess i can send officer y/n a proper regard at another time as i have other matters to attend to. narumi can find his way back on his own."

don't we all love a silly happy ending

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

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aquaquadrant · 11 months ago

Text

from eden, part IX (act II)

Word count: 15,401 Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts (not really, Jimmy’s just a listener and doesn’t know it), strong language, internalized racism, past abuse/experimentation, dehumanization, self-hatred, kissing, mature implications (fade to black), voluntary decapitation Summary: The Double Lifers have successfully thwarted the invasion by Hels Tek, but not unscathed. Now that Tango’s been outed as Bravo’s doppelgänger, the remaining threads are starting to unravel, and Jimmy suddenly finds himself fighting to save Tango from his own inner demons. Can their love survive the fallout?

A/N: This chapter had to get split into two parts bc Tumblr sucks, here's a link to the first half if u missed it. Hope y'all enjoy, please reblog/comment if you do!

Also please don’t think too hard abt the technical portal/redstone junk. I’m throwin a lotta random terms and conditions out there in the hopes of creating a feasible explanation for how portal travel works, and how Hels differs from other worlds in that regard. It’s possible there are contradictions or other things that I didn’t fully think through, but these details aren’t really important. Just try to suspend ur disbelief. - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part IX (act II) - no tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony

~*~

“Right then. Uh, thank you all for coming on short notice.”

Grian’s tentative welcome is met with a chorus of rather subdued greetings from the Double Lifers. Everyone is gathered in a loose semicircle around spawn, standing in their respective soulbound pairs and groups. Jimmy would’ve preferred to have this conversation sitting down, inside somewhere, but Tango had insisted on spawn.

Only now does Jimmy realize that the open nature of the forest clearing at spawn is less enclosed than a room filled with fourteen people would feel, and he understands.

Tango hadn’t been very talkative on the way over. But every time he said something, it was with that same forced ‘Everything’s fine!’ kind of attitude. It’s really starting to frustrate Jimmy, making him want to grab Tango by the shoulders and shout, ‘No, actually, everything’s not fine, and that’s okay!’

But he doesn’t think that’d be well received at the moment.

Tango, standing beside Jimmy, is still maintaining his fake nonchalance. To an untrained observer, he’d actually look quite casual. Simply standing with his hands in his pockets, listening intently to Grian with a plain, but not unpleasant, expression. The only indication Jimmy has that he’s at all uncomfortable is the complete lack of movement.

He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t pace, doesn’t shift his weight- all things that might otherwise be taken as signs of anxiety, but are usually normal for Tango. The stillness, though subtle, is concerning. It means he’s tense and on-guard. As if expecting an attack at any second. Which, to be fair, Jimmy doesn’t blame him for.

But more concerning is the fact that Tango can so easily and convincingly pretend that everything’s fine. He must’ve had a lot of practice.

(Ten years, remember?)

(Of course he’s a good liar.)

(Surprise, surprise.)

Grian clears his throat. “So, as we all know… there was an attack yesterday by some strange fellas who came in through a hacked portal of some sort. I’ve locked the world down for the moment, but until we know all the who’s, why’s, and how’s, I’m afraid that’s only a temporary solution… since I’m sure you all don’t wanna be stuck here forever.”

He says it matter-of-factly, not a hint of any frustration, annoyance, or other ill-feeling in his voice. But Jimmy sees Tango’s face twitch anyway. Unsurprisingly, the guilt is getting to him.

“But that’s why we’re here,” Grian continues, taking a more upbeat tone. “Tango has kindly agreed to explain a little better what’s goin’ on, so hopefully, we can get to the bottom of this and uh… come up with a plan for moving forward.” He gestures invitingly towards Tango. “Tango?”

(Here we go…)

Tango clears his throat. “Right, yeah, thanks.” He takes a small step forward, casting a quick glance around the clearing. “Okay, so here’s the deal. I spawned in a world called Hels, where every player is sort of an evil counterpart to an overworld player elsewhere in the universe. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the Helsknight fiasco.”

Jimmy can actually see the sudden realization that settles over all the present Hermits- minus Pearl, who seems as out of the loop as the others.

Grian’s eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, that makes so much sense…”

“Oh, dudes,” Ren breathes, running a clawed hand through his hair. “Not gonna lie, I completely forgot about that…”

“Same here,” Impulse says, looking stunned. “I mean, it was over and done with so fast, and Wels didn’t seem worried, so I guess none of us really thought to look into it? Man…”

Scott puts a hand up. “Um, what’s tha’ Helsknight fiasco?” he asks, frowning.

“Oh, right.” Tango scratches the back of his head. “So, you guys know of Welsknight, right? One of our fellow hermits?” At the group’s hesitant nods, he continues, “On Hermitcraft’s seventh world, there was this player who randomly joined and attacked Wels. None of us ever saw him, but when Wels explained the situation later… he said Helsknight was some kinda evil clone, and that he came from a place called Hels.”

Murmurs of surprise and confusion ripple through the group. Jimmy longs to put a hand on Tango’s shoulder as a reassurance, but based on how tense he is, that’d probably set him off.

“Wait, really?” Pearl asks, her antennae curling in surprise. “What’re the chances of that?”

“I know,” Cleo agrees, “it was really strange, in hindsight…”

“So this Helsknight guy,” Joel says, knitting his brows together. “He’s what Bravo was talkin’ about, one of those Hels players? Like all the other people that came through the portal?”

“Yeah,” Martyn chimes in, “I- I noticed a lot of uh, ‘Hels’ in the names in chat. Or like, ones with ‘bad’ or ‘evil’ kinda vibes.”

“Yep.” Tango nods stiffly. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t know Helsknight or- or how he joined Hermitcraft, but it was obvious he was Wels’s counterpart. I mean, he said he was ‘all the darkest parts’ of Wels, right?” He folds his arms. “Well, I’m that for Bravo. A sort of uh- a personification of his badness, I guess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bigb cuts in, holding his hands up. “So- so you’re sayin’ that we all have these… Hels versions of ourselves?”

“Evil doppelgängers, yeah,” Tango amends. “I mean, I don’t know why it’d only be for some players and not others, and Hels is plenty big enough for every player in the universe to have a counterpart. You go to any of the major cities around spawn, and it’ll definitely feel that way.”

“What’s this… Hels world like?” Pearl asks, her red eyes wide with a sort of morbid fascination.

Tango’s expression darkens. “It’s an ancient world, infinite and deadly. The overworld and nether are fused into one crazy, messed-up realm full of these weird hybrid kinda biomes, and- and you can’t access the end. The bedrock ceiling makes it so hostile mobs spawn basically everywhere, but you can’t find naturally spawning passive mobs for like, hundreds of thousands of blocks around spawn, ‘cause the early players murdered them all. And no portal travel in or out- at least, that’s what we thought.”

Jimmy’s starting to see why Bravo described Hels as ‘an inescapable prison of horrific violence and suffering.’

Grian raises his eyebrows. “No end?”

“No portals?” Bdubs echoes disbelievingly.

Etho, who’s been listening with rapt attention, tilts his head. “That Bravo guy, he mentioned something about my, uh… my doppelgänger?”

Tango shrugs. “He must’ve met them at some point in the last ten years, yeah. I- I dunno, I never did.” He pauses, creasing his brows as he glances around the circle again. “Actually, I don’t think I ever met any of your guys’s Hels. Or, if I did, I don’t remember.”

That makes Jimmy frown. “What do you mean?”

Tango gives Jimmy a sidelong look. “I uh, I wasn’t really that social for most of my time there, I spent my childhood being a general menace- most kids do, actually. There’s no infrastructure to look after kids, we- they’re basically on their own. So you can imagine it’s- it’s an interesting world to grow up in.” Idly, he kicks at a clump of grass. “Bunch’a little monsters runnin’ around unsupervised, causing chaos, trying not to get brutally killed by hostile mobs and players, it was great.”

Horror seizes Jimmy. “That’s awful.”

“That’s just how it was,” Tango says bluntly. “I mean, try setting something like that up without an admin, right? See how that goes.”

“Wait, Hels doesn’t have an admin?” Grian repeats.

“Nope. At least, not when I was there.” Tango shrugs. “They hadn’t for a long time before I even spawned, so- so the whole place was basically anarchy, every player for themself.”

Aghast, Scar shakes his head. “What in the world…”

“How long did you spend living like that?” Impulse asks softly, his eyes sad.

Tango’s avoiding everyone’s eyes now, staring off somewhere into the middle distance. “Oh, probably ‘til I was like… fifteen or sixteen? Somewhere in the teen stage? That’s when I met Atlas.” A bitter smile splits across his face. “He told me he was recruiting for his redstone company, Hels Tek, and- and of course he threw in lots of cheap flattery, blah blah blah, and in my young, naive stupidity, I fell hook, line, and sinker. Turns out all he wanted me for was a blaze farm.”

There’s a brief silence.

“What?” Jimmy asks, confused. Is that what Atlas had meant about a farm design? Did they just want to force Tango to make farms for them? He knows Tango’s a bit of an innovator in that regard, but that’s an awful lot of trouble to go through for something that could easily be done by someone else.

“He… wanted you to build a blaze farm?” Impulse asks slowly, brows knitting together.

Tango laughs; a sharp, dry exhale. “No, no. Not to build one. To be one.” He reaches a hand up to tap one of the blaze rods hovering around his head. “I uh, I dunno if you guys have noticed, but these things here aren’t just for show. They’re real, functional blaze rods, and they just so happen to be respawnable.”

Jimmy’s stomach drops.

Oh.

(There we go, now they’ve got it.)

(Makes sense, right?)

(Honestly, it’s so obvious…)

The clearing is deathly silent now. All Jimmy can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Everything is clicking into place, all the strange things he’s seen and heard suddenly making perfect, horrible sense.

They used Tango as a blaze farm. An actual sentient player, reduced to nothing more than a simple mob. A player with complex thoughts and feelings, with creative ideas and passions, with hopes and fears and dreams. They locked him up like an animal to use for profit- and even now, ten years later, he still can’t fully escape from it.

Jimmy has a sinking feeling he knows what Tango’s nightmares are about.

Tango keeps talking. “They didn’t start with that, of course.” There’s a bored sort of quality to his voice, like he’s merely commentating on the weather. “There was this uhh awkward phase where I thought I was helping with redstone experiments, when actually I was the test subject.”

It’s kind of surreal, actually. To be standing here and talking about this so casually. It’s like Jimmy’s having a nightmare he can’t wake up from.

“And once I caught on, well, they uh- they didn’t exactly have to play nice anymore,” Tango laughs. “That’s where I got these fabulous accessories.” He waves a hand, cuff jangling around his wrist.

Jimmy feels sick. They put the cuffs on Tango to lock him in a farm. To think he’s still had those on him, all this time-

“After that,” Tango continues briskly, “it still took, like, another year of testing for them to develop the most optimized farm.” He delivers the information almost disinterestedly, studying his claws. “It was a pretty smart design, nice and compact.”

Jimmy glances around the clearing. Amidst the shocked, horrified faces, he finds Impulse- who seems to be focused on taking slow, deep breaths, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

(Uh oh, no Impulse to the rescue…)

“Wither roses dealt constant damage,” Tango rattles off, “triggering my blaze rods to respawn as quickly as they could be skadoodled away by hoppers, and they had regen on an automatic clock to keep me alive- though there was a backup respawn anchor for any accidents.”

Wither roses. Of course. Jimmy can picture it, in his mind’s eye; Tango chained up among the ashen flowers. What must it have felt like, to be withering all the time? His health constantly wavering between the icy blackness and the regeneration, every minute of every day. How absolutely miserable.

Jimmy somehow finds his voice again. “How… how long did you spend like that?” he asks hoarsely, stepping next to Tango.

Tango won’t look at him- though he’s carefully watching out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, I dunno… four or five months, maybe?”

Months. Jimmy’s heart aches. He can’t even begin to imagine what that existence was like. To spend all day trapped in a farm that’s constantly hurting him- and by wither effect, no less. Not to mention how dehumanizing the entire concept is on its own.

“How’d you get out?” Jimmy asks tentatively. “If- if you don’t mind.”

Tango snorts. “Yeah, so, one day, the charge on my anchor ran out when no one was around, so I was able to kill myself to get back to world spawn. And that’s when the portal to Hermitcraft appeared.”

Etho steps forward. “I thought Hels didn’t allow portals?” he asks, his voice as cool and unreadable as his partially-concealed expression.

Jimmy’s taken aback, his feathers puffing up unwittingly. He doesn’t understand how Etho can grill Tango about technical details in such an upsetting situation. In fact, he’d almost think that Etho doesn’t care at all- except the question makes Tango pause. In his expression, Jimmy can see his mind working, and realizes what Etho has done.

By circling back to a scientific topic, he’s provided Tango a distraction. Something less personal for his mind to focus on, and take everyone else’s focus off of him. Already, Jimmy can see that Tango’s less tense as he starts to explain.

“We didn’t have portals in Hels, but we knew the concept from data-mining.” Tango spreads his hands. “Locked comm commands, hidden recipes. But portals to Hermitcraft are made by the universe, right? So- so whatever is preventing Hels players from making portals, it- the universe can circumvent it. ‘Course, at the time, I didn’t know how it appeared or where it was gonna take me, but I went through. And apparently, somehow, a portal appeared in front of Bravo that took him to Hels at the same time. The universe must’ve tried to send Bravo to Hermitcraft, glitched ‘cause of Hels’s wonky portal technology, and swapped us by mistake.”

Etho hums noncommittally. “So it was an accident.”

(Oh, sure.)

(That’s what they think…)

(Yeah, he ‘accidentally’ didn’t tell anyone the truth for ten years.)

Jimmy angrily pushes the thoughts away. So long as Tango didn’t intend to strand Bravo in Hels, that’s all that matters to him.

Tango gives Etho a funny look. “I mean, that’s not the point? Bravo’s been trapped in Hels ever since, ‘cause of me. This whole invasion thing was my fault, they were tryin’ to get me back for the farm and help Bravo escape Hels, and... I dunno, get back to his life? Or, the life I stole from him ten years ago.” He shrugs. “So yeah. Secret’s out, sorry I’ve been lying to some of you for a decade, now, and- and sorry you all got dragged into my mess. I didn’t mean t- well, anyway, that’s- that’s what happened.”

“God, Tango,” Jimmy breathes, reaching a hand out, “I- I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Tango asks incredulously, jerking away from Jimmy. “Wh- for what? That’s just what Hels is like, okay, if it wasn’t the farm it’d have been some other terrible thing, so y’know, it’s- it’s whatever.” He lets out another harsh laugh, raking his claws through his hair. “If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry, I mean, I- I’ve been lyin’ for ten years and-”

“They put you in a farm?!”

Everyone jumps. Impulse’s voice is suddenly several octaves lower, quite a bit louder, and warped with distortion into something truly demonic. His pupils have eaten up the rest of his eyes, turning them solid black. The teeth bared in a scowl look bigger and sharper than they used to, and the hands at his sides have sprouted claws. His horns and tail have grown longer, too, and Jimmy can see what looks like dark, leathery wings sprouting up behind him. His entire body is outlined by a bright golden glow, like his skin has abruptly become as hot as lava, and the absolute fury in his expression burns even fiercer.

Ah. This must be ‘full demon’ mode.

Bdubs quickly jumps in front of Impulse, grabbing him by the shoulders to ground him. Jimmy instinctively steps in front of Tango, wings snapping out to shield him from view.

But the damage is already done. Jimmy hears footsteps, and by the time he looks over his shoulder, Tango is gone.

“Tango, wait!” Jimmy turns to follow him, but a hand suddenly grabs his arm.

Martyn is there. “Don’t chase him,” he says lowly, “he’ll only panic more.”

Jimmy wants to argue, but the severity in Martyn’s solitary eye sobers him. “Alright,” he relents, folding his wings. “I… guess I’ll give him a few minutes to calm down…”

“Right, then.” Martyn gives a short nod, putting his hands on his hips. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Tell me about it,” Jimmy mutters, gazing back over the clearing.

Impulse is starting to settle back down, Bdubs in front speaking to him in low tones while Etho and Joel each hang onto an arm. It looks like his extra demon-y features are reverting back to his usual state, though he still looks furious.

Grian is sitting against a tree, wings splayed out around him. He’s massaging his temples like he’s warding off a headache, his eyes squeezed shut, groaning, “How did I not see this coming?” while Scar, crouched beside him, rubs his back soothingly.

Ren is pacing back and forth across the clearing. “I should’a killed more of those guys,” he growls, tail lashing, ears pinned flat against his skull.

“Hey, you did all you could,” Bigb says comfortingly. “I was the one that got us killed. If I’d kept my shield up, he wouldn’t have gotten that shot on me.”

“I wish we’d realized that Atlas guy was in charge,” Martyn laments, crossing over to them. “If we’d stopped him from leaving, we could’a gotten a lot more information.”

“I wish we’d known Tango was dealing with all this,” Cleo says bitterly, her crossed arms resting on her knees, Scott leaned against their side. “I mean, honestly… ten years and we never knew? That’s- that’s- that’s rubbish. We’re rubbish friends.”

“Hey, hey now,” Jimmy says, lifting his voice to address the group, “this wasn’t anyone’s fault, okay? You guys have been great friends to Tango- otherwise, he wouldn’t have stuck around for so long, right? It’s- it’s just his way, to try and deal with things on his own without askin’ for help. You know that.”

Cleo exhales slowly. “Yeah, I know. Still sucks.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy glances over at Impulse, who seems to have recovered himself back to normal, sitting cross-legged next to Bdubs. “You alright, Impulse?”

Impulse gives a slight nod, expression guilty. “I’m sorry. I- I almost never lose control like that, I just got so angry… not at Tango!” he quickly clarifies. “Never at him. I- I just… thinking about what they did to him, everything he went through…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Bdubs murmurs, squeezing Impulse’s hand. “That’s- it’s freaking crazy, right? With th- hyaugh, evil Hels world, puttin’ people in uh, in farms… sheesh.”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Jimmy assures him. “I know you didn’t mean anythin’ by it. I’m sure Tango does, too, he was just so on-guard the whole time… he just got spooked, that’s all.”

“Jimmy,” Pearl says urgently, fluttering over to him while tailed by her small pack of wolves, “d’you know- uh, is- is everythin’ Tango said true?” she asks, concerned.

Jimmy swallows. “It’s true. I mean, I- I didn’t know about the farm specifically, but based on what I overheard Atlas say- it makes sense.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And gosh, I didn’t know how awful Hels was, but the way Bravo talked about it…”

“But, um…” Bdubs pipes up hesitantly. “Just- just ‘cause Tango is Bravo’s… uh, Hels… doppelgänger, whatever… doesn’t mean he’s evil, right?”

“I know!” Jimmy cries, throwing his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell him! He doesn’t believe it. He thinks he’s a monster for what he did, killin’ those guys and burnin’ down the ranch.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Martyn scoffs. He’s coaxed a still-seething Ren to lay down now, absentmindedly stroking Ren’s ears as his head rests in Martyn’s lap while Bigb starts to braid his hair. “It was self-defense, yeah? A bunch of strangers invaded your home, and he defended it. There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

Jimmy has a feeling it’s more to do with how Tango killed them and how the fire got started, plus the fact that Jimmy got hurt in the process. But Tango didn’t share those particular details, so Jimmy’s not about to now. Besides, in his opinion, that doesn’t change anything.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says ruefully. “But he still blames himself for what happened. For all of it.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Cleo deadpans. Then she pauses. “Or- sorry, his feelings aren’t stupid, but I- I hope he knows that none of us feel that way.”

There are exclamations of agreement and similar sentiments from the rest of the group, which helps ease some of the tightness in Jimmy’s chest. He knows his friends, and knows they’re all good people who wouldn’t judge Tango like that, but it’s been hard not to let Bravo’s words get to him.

“I’ll tell him,” Jimmy promises them. “I’ll try to make him understand, he just- I think he’s always been afraid this day would come, that he’s just been tickin’ down borrowed time.”

“What d’you mean?” Grian asks, rising to his feet. “It’s not like he knew they were coming, right?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s more like… he’s always had that possibility hanging over him.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Impulse says quietly. “The first time he saw a communicator portal open, you would’ve thought he was being sent to his death. It… makes sense, looking back now.” He puts his head in his hands, sighing. “Man, there were so many signs…”

Grian walks over, pulling his communicator out. “So hang on, the world itself is called Hels, yeah?”

“Yeah, why?” Jimmy asks.

Grian doesn’t respond, silently scanning his comm with his brows knit in concentration. And then something very strange happens. For a moment, it almost seems as if Grian’s eyes flash purple, and Jimmy hears his voice in his head.

(There it is. Hm, firewalled. Gonna be tricky.)

Then Grian pushes his glasses back up, and it passes.

“Right,” he says briskly, putting his comm away. “I can’t find the world, so the portal thing checks out. But since Tango’s cut this meeting a bit short, do you have any other information? Anything the Hels guys might’ve said or done that we should know about?”

Jimmy blinks. Grian’s just looking at him expectantly, giving no indication that there’s anything out of sorts. Jeeze, he’s used to having random thoughts, but the stress of everything must really be getting to him if he’s imagining his friend’s voices, now.

“Um, actually,” Jimmy says, “the collar they put on Tango… he said it’s using some sort of… modified wither rose to dampen his fire? It’s uh, also dampening our soulbond.” He clears his throat, glancing away. “As a- as a fun little side effect.”

“Have you tried removing it yet?” Etho asks, stepping around Impulse with his hands in his pockets.

“I did, earlier,” Impulse chimes in from the ground. “Just with my hands, but uh, he acted like it was hurting him.”

Jimmy nods. “Yeah, Atlas locked it on him with a key, and I’m pretty sure he still had it when he left. So I think that might be the way to get it off.”

“Well,” Joel cuts in, straightening up from where he’d been leaning over Impulse’s shoulder, “surely not the only way, right? I mean, you could always…” He makes a noncommittal noise, and draws a finger across his neck.

Jimmy bristles, wings flaring out. “What, decapitate my soulmate?!”

Joel holds up his hands. “Hey, hey, we don’t know if that thing’ll respawn on him!”

“His cuffs do!” Jimmy points out.

“Yeah, but isn’t it worth a shot?” Joel counters.

“I… I guess,” Jimmy relents, letting his feathers smooth back down. “But I’d rather look into a few other options before jumpin’ straight to decapitation, if you don’t mind. Tango’s been through enough as it is.”

Joel backs off. “Alright, fair enough.”

“Okay…” Grian turns to address the rest of the group. “Well, um… this has been an interesting revelation, to say the least. I think we’re gonna have to do a bit more research to figure out how they got here before we just… open the world back up. So that means we’ll all be stuck here a bit longer, is that- is that okay with everyone?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Bdubs says vehemently.

“Yeah,” Impulse agrees, “whatever it takes.”

Further murmurs of assent ring out from among the group. Everywhere Jimmy looks, he sees faces full of sympathy and understanding, not a single trace of resentment or annoyance to be found. God, he loves his friends.

“Thanks, guys, I appreciate it,” he says gratefully. “I’m gonna go check on Tango, but we’ll keep you updated if anythin’ changes.”

“Right, okay then.” Grian claps his hands together. “Uh- I guess that’s all for now?”

Nodding, Jimmy turns and takes to the sky, leaving spawn behind him.

His mind is still reeling from all the heavy revelations, his stomach twisted up into knots, but he’s at least comforted by knowing that his friends are behind them. Seems that the fears Bravo tried to instill were completely unfounded, nothing more than vicious, desperate attempts to sow division between Tango and the others. Jimmy really shouldn’t have doubted them.

(That went… surprisingly well.)

(Give it time.)

‘Oh, shove off,’ Jimmy thinks.

~*~

He finds Tango back at the spare room in Impulse and Bdubs’s house.

Thank goodness for that. He hadn’t exactly been sure if Tango would consider this a safe place to go. But with the ranch destroyed and the world on lockdown, it’s not like he has a lot of options.

Tango’s sitting on the bed with his back to Jimmy. At a glance, he seems relaxed, but his legs are curled under him in a way that’d allow him to spring up in an instant. And the way his pointed ears swivel back toward Jimmy tells him Tango is quite alert.

(So deceiving…)

“Hey, Tango,” Jimmy says softly. “You alright?”

“Oh, hey.” Tango doesn’t turn around just yet, shrugging a shoulder. “Sure, yeah.”

Jimmy lingers by the bed for a moment, uncertain. “Um, Impulse didn’t mean to lose his temper like that,” he offers. “He wasn’t mad at you, he was mad at the situation, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just, in the moment- I- I- thought…” Tango sighs. “Anyway. So- so I guess I should head out, huh?”

Jimmy’s stomach drops. “What? What’re you sayin’?”

“It’s over, right?” Tango asks, his voice tight, shoulders hunched by his ears. “They don’t want me around, and I don’t blame ‘em. I mean, once Grian opens the world again, it’s only a matter of time before another portal from Hels opens up. And- and who’d want to go through all that again, right? So don’t worry, I get it, it was my fault, so-”

“No, Tango, I promise- none of them blame you, alright?” Jimmy sits down on the bed- not too close. “None of them believe what Bravo was sayin’ about you. None of them think you’re some… some evil monster that deserves to be locked up in Hels.”

Tango finally turns around. His body is coiled with all the tension of a drawn arrow. “That’s ‘cause they didn’t see me- what I did- back at the ranch,” he says sharply. “They don’t know the whole story.”

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. He knew Tango would hold that against himself. “Well, I do, and I-”

“No, you don’t.”

Jimmy blinks. “Wh- oh, you mean the Helsknight thing?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “Look, honestly, based on what you told Bravo, I don’t blame you for doing that. You were just scared you’d get sent back, that doesn’t make you evil. I know you-”

“No, you don’t,” Tango says again, more intently. “You don’t know everything about me, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s stomach drops. “Wha’d’you mean?”

Tango smiles without humor, a hard look in his eye. “You wanna know why I like making those- those crazy mob farms? Why I try to kill them in creative, fun ways?” He tilts his head. “Because I like it. I like to make their deaths entertaining. I’ll even sacrifice efficiency for it, I’ll go out of my way to do it. And I- it doesn’t stop there, I’ll kill passive mobs for no reason. Cats, frogs, things that don’t even have drops, for absolutely no reason. That’s not normal.”

Despite himself, Jimmy feels a chill run down his spine. “That’s not… those are just mobs, it’s- it’s not evil…”

(Are you sure about that?)

Tango exhales sharply- a short, bitter laugh. “Okay. You know why practically all my mini games end in death? Huh? You wanna guess?”

Distress shoots through Jimmy. “Tango-”

“I like to watch players die, too,” Tango says. “And I like it to be entertaining. I enjoy it, that’s- that’s just plain sadistic.” He rakes his claws through his hair. “That’s what I am, I’m a- a sadistic monster, okay, I always have been.”

“Stop it, don’t say that!” Jimmy protests, his heart twisting. “You’re not- people actually sign up for those games, you know. And it’s not like death is permanent, it doesn’t matter-”

“So?” Tango interrupts harshly. He jumps off the bed and starts pacing. “What- does that make any difference? Doesn’t matter if people enjoy them, okay, my- my reason for making them is wrong. Designing games is fun, sure, but I- that’s never what it’s been about. I like to make players struggle, and suffer, and die in the end. I like to watch them experience pain and fear in a trap of my own creation. I like the feeling of control it gives me. No matter how you look at it, that’s- I- I’m messed up.”

Jimmy can’t take this anymore. He rises to his feet. “Tango, stop, that’s enough,” he says, his voice stern. “I know I haven’t known you very long, but-”

“Yeah,” Tango snaps, rounding on Jimmy, “you haven’t! That’s the whole problem! I’ve kept a huge chunk of my life secret from you, my own soulmate. I’ve kept it from the Hermits, too- my friends of nearly a decade. I’ve deceived and lied to everyone I ever cared about. I’ve pretended to be this- this benevolent game maker who just wants everyone to have a good time, I’ve kept so much of who I really am hidden ‘cause I knew that if you guys ever saw the real me, you’d hate me.”

Jimmy’s mind is reeling. Tango’s clever eye for game design is something Jimmy’s always loved about him, the way he could create fun challenges even amidst the throes of a death game. After all, the first time they really interacted was when Jimmy died to his ‘Dare to Flare’ challenge back on the Third Life world. And that had been a laughably simple game compared to some of the things he’s done on Hermitcraft.

Even though it ended up costing Jimmy a life, the rush of adrenaline had been thrilling. And even though in hindsight, he knew it was a deliberate ploy by Tango to thin out his competitor’s lives, Jimmy’s never resented him for it.

So to suddenly realize there might’ve been more to it… that Tango might’ve actually enjoyed watching him burn to death- beyond the simple satisfaction of having outsmarted his competition, of course- is… unsettling, to say the least.

(What a start to a relationship!)

(The red flags have been there from day one.)

(A sadist and a liar, lucky you.)

But nevertheless, Jimmy holds his ground. “I don’t hate you.”

Tango tenses. “You should.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Jimmy insists. “I love you, Tango.”

“No, you don’t!” Tango snarls, and the hurt in his voice is raw and ragged and bleeding. His eyes are burning with rage, and Jimmy’s almost certain that if it weren’t for the collar, he’d be on fire right now. “Alright? Just shut up! You love this- this version of me that I’ve presented, okay, this lie I’ve been living. You love Tango the friendly redstoner, who makes ridiculous high-pitched noises when he’s flustered and who’s funny when he’s mad and who can’t fight his way out of a one-block hole. You don’t love the sadistic blaze hybrid that sets things on fire and- and rips people’s throats out with his fucking teeth, don’t be stupid!”

The silence that follows is deafening.

(And there it is!)

(Finally showing his true colors.)

(He did try to tell you…)

For a moment, Jimmy is too stunned to speak. Tango’s never yelled at him before, not seriously, and the sting of his words is almost a physical thing.

Tango seems just as shocked at his outburst as Jimmy is, his face paling as his anger quickly extinguishes. The next words out of Tango’s mouth are almost guaranteed to be an apology, but Jimmy isn’t letting him off that easily.

“Now hang on just a second,” Jimmy says lowly. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel about you. I’m a grown player. I’m not some poor, innocent idiot that you’ve manipulated into loving you, alright? And it hurts that you’d think so little of me, that I’d stand here and just lie about my feelings to you.”

(Ooh, someone finally grew a backbone-)

Jimmy silences the thought, violently forcing it out of his mind. He’s got no patience for that sort of thing right now.

“I’m sorry,” Tango whispers, “I didn’t-”

“And what’s more,” Jimmy continues, gaining steam, “do you really think I’m the type of person to judge someone so harshly for things outta their control? You honestly think I’m some- some shallow, heartless jerk who’d turn on you, just like that? Or- for that matter, you think the Hermits would? After ten years of friendship, you have that little faith in them?”

Tango’s eyes widen. “No, no it’s- it’s not like that,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care that you’re from Hels,” Jimmy presses, taking a step forward. “I don’t care what you did in the past, or that you kept it from me. I don’t care if some random guy thinks you’re just the manifestation of all his evil- frankly, I think that says more about him than it does about you.” He comes to a stop in front of Tango. “I love you. The teeth, the claws, the death fascination or- or whatever you wanna call it- I love all of it. All of you. And I wish more than anythin’ they hadn’t got that damn collar on you, so you could feel that love through our soulbond. But you’ve felt it before, right? Before I knew? Well um, it hasn’t changed, I promise you that.”

Tango stares back up at him. Now that the anger’s gone, he just looks scared. “You don’t-” His voice breaks. “You can’t.”

“Yes, I do,” Jimmy answers, unwavering. As difficult as this conversation has been, this part’s easy. “I promise, cross my heart.”

Tango shudders, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Please,” he whispers, “don’t… I can’t- if I let myself think that but you don’t mean it, I- I can’t handle that. Please. Just tell me now, okay, get it over with…”

Understanding settles over Jimmy. Creasing his brows, he takes a slow, deliberate step forward. “I mean it,” he says, lifting a hand to cup Tango’s cheek.

Tango trembles, but he doesn’t move away. He swallows, licks his lips. “Say it again?” he asks, almost a plea, his eyes darting to take in every inch of Jimmy’s face- like he’s unsure whether he can truly believe what he’s seeing, almost searching for any hint, any trace of doubt in Jimmy’s expression.

There isn’t any. Jimmy leans in. “I love you.”

Something glimmers in Tango’s eyes; a warm light Jimmy hasn’t seen since before the ranch burned.

Something like hope.

Love rises inside Jimmy like a wave- love and the sorrow of shared grief, the fierce determination to withstand it, and the agony of all the past suffering he can’t take away. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating, this sudden rush of emotion. A whirling maelstrom that makes his head spin. But his love burns brightly through it all, a sole lantern against the storm.

Maybe he can’t make Tango believe he’s worthy of love. But he can give it anyway.

Jimmy moves slowly, tilting his face down towards Tango’s. He keeps his eyes open until the very last second, giving Tango plenty of time to move away or say something to stop him, to give any sign at all that he isn’t feeling the same.

There isn’t any. Their lips meet gently, like a familiar greeting. Like the way sunlight falls through the window every morning.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Suddenly Tango’s kissing him back, fervently, pushing against him. Jimmy’s legs hit the bed and buckle, sending him backwards, Tango falling on top of him. His hands cling to Jimmy’s shirt, twisting in the fabric, and his tears wet Jimmy’s face, salt on his tongue. Above the pounding of his heart in his ears, he can just make out the words Tango’s murmuring between kisses, breathless and desperate.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Jimmy pulls him impossibly closer, whispering, “I never doubted.”

They don’t need words after that.

~*~

“Jeeze, they weren’t kidding,” Tango mutters, taking in the ranch with wide eyes.

The ranch looks even worse than Jimmy had been imagining. Nearly the entire first floor is gone, just a wide-open plot and their lonely front door sitting ajar. Aside from the odd block here and there, it’s just empty. A couple trapdoors from the furniture in the living room. The smooth stone slabs that made up their kitchen countertops. An occasional unbroken glass pane floating where there used to be windows.

It’s not a home anymore, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Up the intact cobblestone staircase, the second floor has only fared slightly better. Some of the walls are still standing, charred and moth-eaten as they are. He thinks most of the bathroom’s interior was spared, as it was primarily made of different stone materials. Polished andesite and the like. The chests in their storage room made it, of course, even though the room itself didn’t. And their bedroom seems to have gotten the worst of it. From down here, he thinks it might just be the bed itself that’s left.

The roof is gone, leaving their cobblestone chimney awkwardly sticking up from the ground to nowhere. The path up to the house and the surrounding fields have been torn up to make a ditch. Necessary as it was, it’s quite the eyesore. And to top it all off, one of the custom trees that Scar helped build has been hastily chopped down, due to its proximity to the nearby forest. There’s just a couple of logs and solitary leaves left floating in the air.

It hurts. Everywhere Jimmy looks, there’s another source of heartache. Another precious memory that’s been turned to ash. It’s almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

But he’s also aware of Tango standing beside him. He knows how much Tango is already beating himself up for the fire, and the last thing he wants to do is add to that guilt.

Jimmy turns to give Tango a rueful grin. “Talk about your fixer-uppers, ey?”

Tango exhales slowly. “Man, it’s so…” He glances at Jimmy, expression pinched. “I’m sorry, you worked so hard-”

“It’s fine,” Jimmy says, shrugging. “It’s just a building.”

Tango hesitates. “It’s… alright to be upset. This was our home, and I- I got all ‘rahhhrr angry-burny rage mode’ on it and-”

“Not your fault,” Jimmy says, voice gentle but firm. He puts a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s the Hels fellas for attackin’ us in the first place.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise, scuffing the upturned dirt with his boot. “Sure.”

It’s clear he’s not convinced, but Jimmy leaves it there for now. Their conversation from yesterday is going to take some time to fully sink in. He crosses over to a haphazardly-placed double chest near the front of the ranch and crouches beside it, lifting the lid with a creak.

“Martyn said everything they were able to save is in this chest here, let’s see…” He rummages through the chest’s inventory. A lot of it is random junk; miscellaneous blocks, half-stacks of wheat, dropped weapons and armor from the fight. But there are a few good finds, like some of the clothes from their closet, a couple of flower pots, one of his framed embroidery pieces...

“Oh, hey, look at this!” Jimmy calls excitedly. “My gloves!”

He pulls the gloves out, looking up from the chest to see Tango standing over him. His eyes widen when he sees them- happily surprised at first, and then the familiar dawning of guilt and regret.

“You uh… maybe I should take those back, for now,” Tango says quietly, his ears lowered. “Or- or maybe just forever, yeah.”

“Ey, stop it, no take-backs,” Jimmy chastises him, slipping the gloves on. ��Gloves couldn’t have prevented that fire, anyways. And I like wearin’ ‘em, because that way it’s sorta like I’m holdin’ your hand all the time.”

A grin tugs at Tango’s mouth. “Aw, that’s real cheesy, honey,” he teases, even as a faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Yeah, but I mean it,” Jimmy says loftily. “I’m keepin’ them.”

Tango holds his hands up, chuckling. “Alright, alright…” His gaze travels back towards the ranch, up towards the storage room with its rows of chests. “Guess we should still have plenty of materials to rebuild, huh?”

“Should do, yeah,” Jimmy says, straightening up. Having the gloves back is an immediate comfort, despite the fact he’d only gone two days without them. He foldings his arms, gaze sweeping critically over the remains of the ranch. “I guess for now, we’ll just focus on the structure? Y’know, get the place liveable again and worry ‘bout the decor and landscapin’ later…”

“Oh, that’s what you think!”

The loud voice makes them both jump. Jimmy whirls around to see Bdubs- of course, because there’s absolutely no mistaking that voice.

“Bdubs!” Jimmy laughs, clutching his heart. “What- what’re you doin’ here?”

Bdubs puts his hands on his hips. “I- I can’t believe what I’m- ‘no interior decor’, yeah right! You’re not gonna get outta that very- so easy! I tell you!”

Tango snickers. Luckily Bdubs’s sudden appearance hasn’t seemed to cause more than a brief startle. “Oh, yeah? You gonna help out, then, shorty?”

“Hey!” Bdubs barks incredulously- though it’s clear from his expression he’s not really upset. “I’m tryin’ t- augh, n’you- you stu- yes. Yes, yes, I’m here to help, of course. For goodness sakes. I- how kind, are I! Sweet, kind Bdubs…”

“And handsome, too,” Jimmy adds cheekily.

That makes Bdubs beam, puffing his chest out. “Yeahhh, c’mon baby!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Tango groans.

“Oh, stop it!” Bdubs huffs. “Anyway, Impulse would’ve come, of course, but he and Etho- the redstone guys, you know, uh, they’re havin’ a- a- little chat, little brainy-thing… brainstormin’ ‘bout the portal stuff with Grian. But never thy fear! I saw you guys head out and, in my eternal wiseness, have already called in the forcements!”

Jimmy exchanges an amused look with Tango. “Well, any help is appreciated,” he amends.

“Sure about that, Timmy?” calls Joel’s voice, as the man himself appears over the hill.

And he’s not alone. Cleo’s taller figure looms over him, Scott and Pearl walking on either side of her as a small pack of wolves weave between their legs. The trio is followed by Martyn, Bigb, and Ren- the latter seeming to have recovered his friendly disposition and wagging tail. Finally, Scar emerges from behind a tree to round out the group, calling out a cheerful, “Hello there!”

Joel comes to a stop next to Bdubs and claps him on the shoulder. “We figured you two could use the help, what with you not bein’ builders and all.” Cheeky man.

Jimmy snorts. “Gee, thanks,” he says sarcastically. But slights at their building skills aside, he’s actually quite touched.

Tango blinks. “You guys… all came to help out?” he asks, sounding amazed.

“Of course!” Bdubs declares. “We ha- we help!”

Cleo shrugs, giving a hapless grin. “You know, I- I- I really don’t know… why Bdubs invited me? I’m not that great a builder. But I can supervise, I guess? And- and heckle. Always heckle.”

“And reach tha’ tall bits,” Scott offers, lightly elbowing her hip.

“And reach the tall bits,” Cleo laughs. “Right. Yes.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Martyn chimes in, slinging an arm around Bigb’s shoulders, “since that portal stuff is way over my head.”

Bdubs pulls a face. “Uh…” He speaks to Jimmy and Tango behind his hand, despite making no effort to lower his voice at all- for comedic effect. “Normally, I would’ve offered my perfect redstone prowess to uh, to help the other guys out with their little portal thing, you know, but eugh- I knew someone would have ta’ keep all these jokers in line.”

“Ah, of course,” Tango replies sagely.

“Well?” Bdubs turns expectantly to the others, throwing his arms up. “Get movin’ then! Sheesh! Stand around, waitin’ for- for no raisin…”

“Yes, my liege,” Cleo drawls, rolling their eyes.

Ren claps his big paws together. “Yeah, we’re burnin’ daylight, my dudes!”

Pearl’s fuzzy wings unfurl from beneath her red cloak. “Let’s see what we’re workin’ with!” she says excitedly, fluttering up to the storage room.

Just like that, the other Double Lifers descend on the husk of the ranch. Placing down temporary chests and crafting benches, sorting through the remaining resources, filling in the ditch with dirt. Multiple conversations start up immediately as everyone sets to a task, and the atmosphere is comfortable- even if a bit strange.

Jimmy can’t recall a time when this many of them have worked on a project together. Not on Third Life, not on Last Life, not here. Something like this just wouldn’t be possible during a death game. Large gatherings between different groups are always fraught with tension and uncertainty, by the fear of a trap or a backstab or a fight breaking out.

But it’s nice. Pearl is hovering above the second floor, working with Cleo to build the walls back up while Scott prepares some stairs and slabs for detailing. Scar and Bdubs are already bickering about how to do the landscaping while Joel grumbles at them, waist-deep in the ditch with Bigb and Martyn placing dirt. Ren’s started tearing down the damaged trees, clearing room for replanting, and Pearl’s wolves mill about, filling the air with curious sniffs and yips.

Tango’s watching the scene unfold with wide eyes, and it suddenly occurs to Jimmy that this is the most people Tango’s been around since the difficult conversation at spawn. Impulse was checking on them throughout the rest of the day, of course, and a few of the other players stopped by now and again, but not in big groups or anything.

Jimmy steps closer to Tango. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

Tango looks at him in surprise. A smile spreads across his face, and he takes Jimmy’s hand. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, it is.”

Jimmy smiles back. “Then let’s get in there.”

~*~

Jimmy lets out a low whistle. “Dang, this looks even better than before!” he says, craning his head to look around the room.

After a full day of building and the gradual dispersal of the other Double Lifers, Jimmy and Tango are now seeing their new bedroom for the first time. They were around for the bulk of the structure building, but once it came time for the interior, Bdubs and Scar had insisted it be a surprise. Everything about it is perfect, from the custom furniture to the quilted wool rug to the fancy frame Scar built around their double-wide bed.

Tango clears his throat. “Maybe, uh- maybe we can just…” He kicks one of the beds with the toe of his boot. “... scooch this over a little…”

“Nope,” Jimmy declares, sweeping Tango off the floor and onto the bed. “Nice try, mate, but you’re stayin’ right here next to me.”

“Okay, okay, fine! I ju- don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Tango huffs, but he’s grinning as he says it.

~*~

“Alright, fellas,” Grian says, clapping his hands together, “here’s what we’ve got so far…”

Jimmy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Tango is a little tense beside him- probably just nerves. But it could be worse. They’re gathered in the living room of Impulse and Bdubs’s house; Grian perched on the arm of the sectional across from Jimmy and Tango, Impulse and Etho sitting adjacent to them. The familiar setting and fairly limited company seems to have helped put Tango more at ease for what might end up being a tricky conversation.

“We’re... pretty sure we know how the Hels peeps got here,” Grian continues, “but there are a few things we need to clarify, first.” He glances at Etho, inclining his head. “Etho, you wanna explain?”

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Etho stands up. “Tango, may I see your comm, please? I uh, just need to look at it for a minute.”

Tango blinks. Anxiety flashes across his face for just a brief second before disappearing. “Oh. Uh, sure?” He pulls the item from his inventory, holding it out.

Etho takes the communicator. “So,” he begins, sitting back down, “you said that in Hels, players can’t make portals with their communicators, right?”

Tango gives a short nod. “That’s right. That comm isn’t the one I spawned with, they took that from me at Hels Tek. X made me a new one, after I got to Hermitcraft.” He gives a dry laugh. “I told him- I told him I lost it. Which, I mean, that’s- it’s technically not a lie, just... not the whole truth.”

Jimmy gives him a sympathetic look. He might no longer be worried that the others will reject him, but this still can’t be easy to talk about.

Etho studies the communicator, his mismatched eyes narrowed in concentration. “So after you got a new comm, you were able to use it to make portals?”

“Yeah,” Tango says, “it uh, it’s taken me to each Hermitcraft world and everything in between, no problem. Hubs, solo worlds, creative- you name it.”

Etho hums. “Can you use your comm to travel to Hels?”

“No.” Tango glances away. “I’ve looked for it, a few times. Never shows up.”

That brings a couple more questions to mind, but Jimmy files them away for later.

“Interesting.” Etho seems to be delving deep into the communicator’s hardware, typing rapidly. “So uh, the portal issue isn’t centered on players that spawn in Hels, just their communicators. And since overworld communicators can’t find Hels, there must be something about the world itself preventing it.”

Tango knits his brows together. “I suppose…?”

It’s at this point that Grian leans forward. “Have either of you heard about firewalls?” he asks.

Tango shakes his head, but Jimmy’s heart jolts. He has heard that word before; just the other day, when he thought he heard Grian’s voice in his head. But that’s not exactly something Jimmy wants to bring up right now. Or ever, maybe. His weird, random, intrusive thoughts don’t need to be anyone else’s problem.

“Um…” Jimmy pretends to think about it for a moment. “I think I’ve heard the term somewhere before, but I- I dunno what that actually means.”

“Right.” Grian spreads his hands. “So firewalls are a sort of added security measure that admins can use when making a new world. It’s like, an impenetrable barrier ‘round the world that makes it basically impossible for anyone unauthorized to join via portal.”

“Wait, really?” Tango asks, eyes widening. “What- why haven’t I heard about this? Do all worlds have these?”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “Well, firewalls are kinda outdated. Developments in server security and comm travel have basically rendered them obsolete. I mean, when’s the last time you heard of a private world being raided, besides ours?” He shrugs. “Plus, it’s a real tedious process to set one up, so they aren’t used often. Mostly for multiplayer worlds that are invite-only, if an admin is particularly concerned about hackers.”

Jimmy holds out a hand. “So wait, hang on, this- what’s this got to do with our situation?”

Impulse catches his eye. “If you try to join a firewalled world without permission, it doesn’t show up on your comm.”

“Oh,” Tango says, realization dawning in his expression. “You think Hels has a firewall?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Grian says, nodding. “However, it’s a bit odd, ‘cause firewalls are usually just one-way… meaning that they keep players out, but they don’t stop players from leaving. So if that’s what’s goin’ on with Hels, it’s a firewall unlike any I’ve ever heard of- where it’s meant to keep players in, too. I’m not exactly sure if that’s why comms made in Hels can’t make portals, or if that’s due to something else entirely, but uh, that’s my best guess.”

Tango runs a hand through his hair. “That’s… I mean, this is the first I’ve heard of firewalls, but that doesn’t sound impossible…”

“So,” Jimmy speaks up hesitantly, “so how did the Hels Tek guys open a portal here?”

“How, indeed?” Etho repeats, finally looking up from Tango’s communicator. “Well, we know the portal was red, not purple. That’s like a comm portal, the way their light syncs up with the world they lead to. But uh, you know, the players coming through had items and armor on them, and they didn’t show up at world spawn. Their spawns didn’t reset, either, they uh- they kept spawning back on the other side. That makes me think this was actually a hacked nether portal, not a comm portal.”

Tango frowns. “Hang on, we- we didn’t have nether portals in Hels, either. I mean, how- there was no point, the nether and the overworld were combined into one realm.”

“Right.” Etho’s got that look in his eye- the glint of an idea about to take off. Jimmy’s seen it in Tango countless times. “You know how nether portals work?”

Tango coughs into his fist. “Oh, right, of course I know all the uh, super technical skadoodle bits, but- but maybe you should go over it.” He jerks his head towards Jimmy and Grian. “You know, for these uh, non-redstone people here.”

“Please do,” Jimmy chuckles.

Etho’s eyes crinkle upwards, like he’s smiling behind his mask. “Basically, they grab the coordinates they’re made on and translate it to nether coords, and vice versa. From what you’ve told me about Hels, being a fusion of the nether and overworld realms, a nether portal couldn’t work ‘cause it’d be like… giving it coords to a place it already is? It’d just crash and never ignite. But if you gave a nether portal frame coordinates to a different place… like, say, a different world…”

Even with Jimmy’s scarce knowledge of portals, it’s easy enough to catch Etho’s meaning.

“That’s crazy,” Tango protests. “How’d they- how could they possibly have gotten coordinates to Double Life?”

“I don’t think they did. I think they got coords to you.” Etho leans forward. “Think about it. The portal didn’t open at spawn, it opened down the hill from the ranch- where you were. I think that was intentional, considering you’re the whole reason they came.”

Jimmy’s mind is spinning. “But... how? And how’d you figure all this out?”

Etho shrugs a shoulder. “Uh, educated guess? Like, just kinda based on the things Bravo said, and what Tango’s told us about Hels and the players it spawns. But um, looking at his comm just now basically confirms it for me.”

“Wait, really?” Tango asks, surprised. “How?”

Etho tilts his head. “Communicators are pretty special items. They’re unique to the player they spawn with- even a replacement communicator like this one. It might not have the hard locks on it that prevent it from summoning portals, but it’s still unique to you. And based on its data, I can tell your player data is a little different. I think it has to do with you being from Hels.”

Tango hesitates. “Okay, and…?”

“If you and Bravo are really counterparts,” Etho says, “then I’d expect your data to be similar. Like, the same word in different languages, in a metaphorical sense. So if Bravo’s data was fed into a nether portal, it’d translate it to your data, and open a portal at your coords. Plus or minus a few blocks, probably.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “So… you’re sayin’ they used Bravo to open a portal to Tango?” he surmises.

Etho nods. “I’d need Bravo’s comm or a look at his player data to confirm, but that’s my best guess, yeah.” He holds the communicator back out to Tango.

Tango stashes the communicator in his inventory. “So wait, what about- how does the firewall thing factor in, here?” he asks. “If it stops comm portals, wouldn’t it stop a nether portal, too?”

“Yes and no,” Grian answers. “A firewall works by constantly scanning for portals. If it finds one trying to form, it’ll crash it. If a nether portal was used to travel between different worlds, rather than two realms on the same world, a firewall would recognize it all the same.”

“But,” Etho continues, “if they somehow figured out how to stabilize the portal… like, by sending a constant stream of updates… it’d constantly reset the scanner of the firewall. Sort of like an update suppressor. That way, the uh, the firewall can never actually register the portal as a problem and shut it down. So that’d be one way they could keep a hacked nether portal open, even in the face of a firewall.”

Tango exhales slowly. “Okay…” he says, “and how do we stop them from doing that ever again?”

Impulse winces. “That, we’re not sure about. I mean, if Bravo wasn’t there for them to grab a signal from, I guess that’d stop them. However they built a portal, it probably needs his data to function.”

“Oh, well, great.” Tango throws his hands up. “No way he won’t help them again, he hates my guts. Only reason they haven’t come back yet is ‘cause Grian locked the world down, I- I guarantee it. But we can’t just all stay locked in here forever, you’ve all got lives and other worlds to get back to.”

Jimmy frowns, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “Tango, anyone who’s got a problem with you has a problem with all of us.”

“For sure,” Grian agrees.

“Besides,” Impulse says, shrugging, “not to toot our own horns or anything, but I think we handled ourselves just fine against them.”

“You mean Pearl’s wolves handled them,” Tango says flatly. “And you guys had the element of surprise. I guarantee the only reason they went down so easy is ’cause they weren’t expecting much resistance. They show up again, now knowing what they’re up against, and that’s- that’s gonna turn out a whole lot differently.” He crossed his arms. “I need to leave, before Grian opens the world back up.”

“And what, just wait for them to come after you?” Jimmy demands, his wings puffing up. “Absolutely not.”

Tango makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. “It’s- you understand it’s only a matter of time, right?” he stresses. “Maybe it won’t be right after Grian lifts the lockdown, okay, maybe it’ll be days, or weeks, or months. Either way, it’ll happen eventually, and when it does… whether it’s- if that happens here, or back on Hermitcraft, or the next Life world... the result will be the same. People I care about will get caught in the crossfire, I- I’m not lettin’ that happen again.”

Jimmy pauses, wings drooping. The distress in Tango’s voice is sobering. There’s no question that Tango cares fiercely about his friends, and the guilt for putting them in harm’s way must be staggering. But still, he insists, “We don’t mind stayin’ put-”

“For how long, though?” Tango asks pointedly. “I can’t ask you guys to stay here forever. Like, I- I can’t stress enough how obsessive Atlas is. He came for me after ten years, okay, he’s not gonna just give up or lose interest. There will always be the risk of them opening another portal to me, so long as Bravo is in Hels.”

“So what if Bravo wasn’t in Hels?” Impulse cuts in.

Tango gives him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Impulse’s eyes are alight with excitement as he gains steam with his idea. “What if we went to Hels and got him out? That way, he’s not mad at you for being stuck there anymore, right, and Hels Tek can’t use him to make another portal.”

“What, you mean we open a portal to Hels?” Tango asks, raising his eyebrows. “I- I thought we already established that our comms can’t take us there, what- how are we supposed to get there?”

“The same way they got here,” Etho says. “We use your data to open a hacked nether portal to Bravo. Ahah.”

As intimidating as the prospect of encountering Hels Tek again is, Jimmy has to admit it’s probably the only solution. They can’t just ignore the problem and hope it goes away, not if it means Tango could get randomly attacked at any moment. And with all of the Double Lifers together, they stand a much better chance of succeeding.

“That’s a great idea!” Jimmy exclaims. “We grab him, shake Atlas down for the key to the collar while we’re at it, and get out. Problem solved.”

Tango doesn’t seem nearly as enthused. “No way. Absolutely no way. That’s- that’s way too dangerous, if you guys get stranded there- and Atlas is already looking for more hybrids to make farms with, he was about to take Jimmy for a feather farm!”

A brief silence follows this revelation.

Grian grimaces, ruffling his wings. “Oh, woof.”

“What?” Impulse asks, taken aback. “That’s why he had Jimmy chained up, too?”

Jimmy blinks. “Oh, is that what he meant?”

“What’d you th- you didn’t know?” Tango asks incredulously.

Jimmy holds his hands up. “Hey, hey, I didn’t spend much time thinkin’ about what he said to me!” he says sheepishly. “I was more concerned about you.”

Tango pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh. Oh, great. Well yeah, that’s what he wanted you for, to stick you in a feather farm skadoodler for all eternity.”

Jimmy swallows. No wonder Tango’s been so against the idea of them going against Hels Tek again. Death is no big deal- they’d simply respawn. Few injuries cause lasting damage. But being trapped in a farm like that, with no means to escape…

“Well,” he says, “that still doesn’t change my mind. You’re his number one target, okay, you can’t go without backup.”

“No,” Tango huffs. “Let me do it. I- I know Bravo shouldn’t just be left there forever, but that’s not your guys’ faults! It’s my life, my mistake, you guys shouldn’t be putting yourselves at risk like that-”

“Tango,” Jimmy interrupts, “we’re not gonna make a portal to Hels and just send you through alone-”

“Well, I’m not letting you guys come with me!” Tango shoots back. “Most of you guys are hybrids or monsters, too, and I’m not gonna risk Atlas turning you into farms.”

Grian clicks his tongue. “Ey, we wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, “and what’s the alternative? You just take off to some solo world until Hels Tek comes a’knockin’?”

Tango shrugs. “I mean, I’d be fine with that-”

“No,” Jimmy says firmly. “I’m not lettin’ that happen. This is our only option, to put this problem to bed forever, and we stand the best chance if we do it together. We have to take it.” He grabs Tango’s hand. “Please, Tango.”

Tango hesitates, staring at their intertwined hands.

Now more than ever, Jimmy desperately wishes that he had some sense of what Tango’s thinking- even just the slightest insight to his thoughts, the faintest impression of an emotion through their soulbond. Especially since he’s had his confidence in reading Tango so thoroughly shaken over the last week. It’s scary to consider that he might not know Tango nearly half as well as he should, that Tango can so effectively mask his true feelings even from him.

“... fine,” Tango says, after a small eternity. “Fine, okay, we- let’s plan an invasion to Hels, sure.”

Jimmy gasps. “Really?”

“But,” Tango says warningly, “we gotta go about this extremely carefully, alright? No willy-nilly ‘rushing in blindly without a plan’ nonsense. And- and once we’re there, if at any point I tell you guys to flee, you- you best be fleein’, got it? With extra flee. No stupid heroics of noble stupidness.”

It’s a chance. That’s better than nothing. “Yes, alright!” Jimmy cheers. “Thank you!”

(Yay, we’re going to Hels- said no one ever.)

(Do they know what they’re getting into?)

(Oh boy, here we go.)

Etho shrugs. “Whatever you say, Tango, you’re the uh, you’re the Hels expert, here.”

Impulse folds his arms. “That’s a dirty condition you kinda tacked on the end, there,” he mutters, “but I’ll accept it.”

“Alright then.” Tango gives a tired sigh, but the corners of his mouth are curling into a smile. “I- I guess we’re doin’ this. We’ve got some room in the basement at the ranch, we can build it there.”

“Excellent.” Grian grins. “Let’s build a portal to Hels, fellas.”

~*~

Jimmy’s startled awake by a shout.

Heart pounding, he squints into the dark room. As his eyes struggle to adjust in the scarce light, he can just barely make out Tango sitting upright in bed. His rapid, shallow breaths wheeze through clenched teeth, faint sparks emitting from his dim blaze rods as they try to ignite.

“Tango,” Jimmy whispers, sitting up, “you okay?”

Tango’s breathing hitches. Then he turns to collapse against Jimmy’s chest, clinging fiercely to his shirt. His entire body is trembling. “Nightmare,” he manages to get out.

Jimmy’s heart twists. He knew it was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see. Gently, he wraps his arms around Tango, then his wings for good measure. “I got ya,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”

Tango tucks his face against Jimmy’s shoulder and falls silent. Maybe he’ll want to talk about it in the morning, maybe he won’t. But for now, Jimmy just holds him, and hopes that’s enough.

~*~

Jimmy stares at the redstone circuitry laid out before him. “I understand none of this.”

Though it’s only been a few days since they started work on the portal, they’ve already made a lot of progress. Impulse and Etho have been over basically around the clock, with Bdubs and Joel tagging along more often than not. They’ll watch the redstoners work until they get bored, and inevitably wander upstairs to bug Jimmy. Grian checks in on them every now and then, and the other Double Lifers have popped by for little visits, so it’s been a lot of activity at the ranch. Lots of people coming and going.

It’s strange, but not necessarily in a bad way. Almost like an actual pleasant community feeling. Neighbors helping neighbors and all that.

A dedicated digging session has left them with a bit more space in the basement, allowing them to section off a separate room from Tango’s sugar cane farm. They finished it with a stone floor and simple wooden walls at Bdubs’s insistence (he considered it unacceptable to just leave it all as freshly-dug dirt). An obsidian portal frame (complete with corners at Etho’s insistence) stands empty against the back wall, leaving abundant floor space for the redstone- of which there is plenty.

Redstone dust wires criss-cross through rows of repeaters and hopper lines. It’s all far beyond Jimmy’s capacity to understand, of course, but even Tango seems a bit baffled. He’s claimed many times that his understanding of redstone is surface-level at best, and that his real skill comes in applying the various components and systems in creative ways. But he’s at least been able to help with the construction, the actual placing of redstone components.

“Right,” Tango laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s- lemme see if I’ve got this right…” He points at a long line of redstone dust. “Main circuit to the portal.”

Impulse nods. “Yep.”

Tango steps gingerly around the redstone, gesturing towards a rather complex looking amalgamation of observers and comparators. “This nonsense over here will turn my skadoodle bits into a fireable signal.”

Etho, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, chuckles. “Pretty much.”

“And this,” Tango waves at the hoppers, “will count out the final coords before they hop on the main bus line to the portal.”

Jimmy nods hesitantly. “Okay… okay, cool, so- so is it done, then?”

“Not quite,” Impulse says. “We need a player detector.”

Tango creases his brows together. “What, like a- like a pufferfish? A skulk sensor?”

“No, more like a- a whole separate system,” Etho explains. “It’s more than just registering your presence. We need something that can read your data, pick out your coordinates, and send them to the portal for translation to Bravo.”

Tango exhales slowly. “That… sounds pretty complicated.”

“Oh, it will be,” Impulse says, folding his arms. “I mean, just think about how much data each player contains, right, all the codes that dictate our behavior and biology… we don’t wanna overload this thing, so it’ll require some heavy-duty filtering.”

“Not only that,” Etho continues, “but uh, if that firewall thing turns out to be a problem, we’re gonna have to figure out a way to stabilize the portal, too. That’ll take some tinkering with different power sources til we find the exact right input to override the firewall’s checker.”

Jimmy winces; he’d been hoping for a quicker solution. It’s already been over a week since the invasion, and he knows Tango hates being stalled. The sooner they get this problem taken care of, the sooner they can stop worrying and get back to their normal lives. Jimmy himself doesn’t have anywhere else to be, but the other Double Lifers do. And even if they don’t mind the unexpected stay-cation, it definitely bothers Tango that their lives have been disrupted for his sake. Goodness knows he’s already got enough of a guilt complex.

But Tango simply gives a bemused smile. “Well, let’s get started, then.”

~*~

“Are we really sure we wanna do this?”

Jimmy winces at Tango’s tone. “I know, I know,” he says regretfully, “it wasn’t my favorite idea either. But if it can get that collar off’a you, we gotta try, right?”

Trying to remove the collar manually had resulted in a sharp, shooting pain through Tango’s neck at the slightest movement. Trying to remove it with redstone had proven unsuccessful- clearly, it was designed to be insulated against any outside signals. Trying to pick the lock had resulted in nothing but a lot of frustration. So that left them with their last resort.

They’ve moved outside, round the back of the ranch, to avoid getting blood stains all over their newly refurbished house. A random bed has been placed down to provide them with a quick and easy respawn, their items temporarily stowed in a chest. Impulse holds a Sharpness V sword, tail flicking as he watches them apprehensively.

“I’m only gonna do this if you’re okay with it,” he tells Tango seriously. “We can go back to the drawing board, come up with some other things to try…”

“No, no,” Tango shakes his head, “I don’t- you shouldn’t be wasting time on this, you’re already working pretty much nonstop on the portal.”

The frustration in his voice is evident. Impulse frowns. “I don’t mind…”

“Well, I do!” Tango says, crossing his arms and glancing away.

Jimmy exchanges a look with Impulse before putting a gentle hand on Tango’s shoulder. “I know there’s a chance it won’t work,” he starts quietly, “and we’ll have killed ourselves for nothin’. No one likes gettin’ their head cut off. But it’ll be over quick, we’ll respawn straight back here, and then at least we’ll know we tried everything.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “Hey, I- I’m not afraid of a little decapitation, alright, I just… I feel kinda bad putting you through this, you know?” Guilt creeps into his expression. “It’s not your neck that the stupid thing is stuck on. You shouldn’t have to-”

“We’re in this together,” Jimmy tells him steadily. “So if you’re willin’ to try it, I’m happy to die along with ya.”

Tango manages a faint laugh. “Jeeze, honey, you- you don’t have to make it sound so dramatic. We aren’t on a three-life system anymore.”

Jimmy shrugs. “Well, that’s how I feel! Honestly, if there’s even a chance this’ll get that thing off’a you, I’m down.”

“Alright.” Tango takes a quick, steadying breath. “Okay, I wanna try.” He glances at Impulse. “Uh- commence the chop-ificating, then, I guess.”

Impulse nods; he’s keeping his expression and general demeanor calm, reassuring. “Okay, then. So here’s what I’m gonna do…” He carefully sets the edge of his blade along the rim of Tango’s collar, so that the metal is just barely touching skin, and then pinches the collar between the fingers of his other hand. “I’ll give it one quick, clean slice, and try to pull the collar off your body, okay?”

Tango tilts his chin up. “Okay,” he whispers. He’s nervous, now; every muscle in his body is rigid.

Jimmy reaches for his hand. “I’ll be right there with ya.”

Impulse tightens his grip on the sword. “Tango, gimme a countdown whenever you’re ready.”

“Alright.” Tango exhales shakily, closing his eyes. “Five... four... three... two...”

Jimmy closes his eyes and squeezes Tango’s hand.

“One.”

Pain slices across Jimmy’s neck- an intense, searing burn, like he’s swallowed a bucket of lava. There’s a rush of vertigo, the world spinning off-kilter around him. He’s instantly thrust into darkness, that all-consuming void with which he’s rather familiar.

And then it’s over. He’s back, sitting on the bed with Tango in a piled heap of limbs.

Jimmy sucks in a breath. Now that everything’s stopped spinning, he can see that the collar is still around Tango’s neck.

“Oh, babe,” he murmurs, sweeping Tango into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Tango’s laugh is muffled against his shoulder. “Worth a shot, right?”

Impulse, standing a few feet away and holding a bloody sword, looks dismayed. “No good,” he says as he walks over, putting the sword away. “Your body respawned before I could pull the collar off. But uh, that’s… not the only issue.”

That makes Tango look over. “What is it?”

“I caught a look at the inner face of it,” Impulse says, frowning, “the part that’s actually touching your skin? And, um… it looks like there’s a bunch of little… spikes on the inside of the collar?”

“Spikes?” Jimmy repeats, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I don’t know how else to describe them?” Impulse rubs the back of his neck. “Um, they’re black in color, not super big... probably thinner than my pinky finger but not like, needles or anything…”

“Oh.” Tango blinks. “It’s the thorns. They’re wither rose thorns. That’s how it works.”

Jimmy’s heart jolts. “What?”

Tango spreads his hands. “When Atlas locked the collar, it must’ve caused a- a bunch of thorns to pop out and dig into my neck. But they aren’t- they don’t have the full strength of wither rose, so that’s why I’m not getting the full wither effect, and after a while, you know, they sorta- they numb the area, so I don’t feel them. But when we start yanking on the collar, it forces them deeper into my skin, so it hurts.”

“Oh... my gosh,” Jimmy breathes, aghast. “That’s- that’s horrible!”

The whole concept of the collar is already inhumane- to treat a fellow sentient player like a simple animal. But this? This is just plain evil.

Impulse seems to be trying very hard not to get upset again. “Well, then,” he says, voice tight. “That rules out my next suggestion, which was to just go at it with a few sharp axes. I don’t wanna like, hammer those thorns deeper into your neck...” His expression turns thoughtful. “What if we try and get something sharp between your neck and the collar, slice off the thorns all the way around? Then we could-”

“No,” Tango interrupts. “Look, I- I appreciate the help, but if we tweak this thing the wrong way, it could probably jab an artery, or puncture my trachea, and then I’d respawn and be right back at square one again! No, I- I think we’re done.”

Impulse looks like he wants to argue, but Jimmy catches his gaze, giving him an imploring look.

“Alright,” Impulse relents. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, “we’ll get that collar off, I promise.”

“It’s fine.” Tango’s avoiding Jimmy’s eyes. “It... might not be the worst thing, you know, to have my fire locked down. Considering our fancy new house and all.”

Oh, they can’t have that. Jimmy puts a hand on his shoulder. “Tango,” he says seriously, “your fire is a part of you, and I’m not gonna rest til we’ve got it back.”

Tango sighs, but when he looks up, his eyes are fond. “I know.”

Impulse exhales slowly. “Do you... wanna try and get the cuffs off, then?” he offers.

“What?” Tango jolts. “Why? They aren’t hurtin’ anything.”

Impulse holds up his hands. “Hey, it’s okay, I just thought... if they’re from that terrible place, maybe you’d wanna get rid of ‘em?”

“And y’know,” Jimmy chimes in, “it’d be a lot easier for someone else to crack them off ya, couple good swings with an axe, maybe…”

“That won’t work,” Tango says stiffly. “They’ve been on me for so long now, been through so many respawns that if I’m not the one to remove them, it- they’ll just keep coming back.”

Impulse inhales through his teeth, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Oh, man.”

“Are you sure?” Jimmy asks, his heart sinking. He isn’t overly familiar with the universal rules that determine what does and doesn’t respawn along with a player, but Tango seems pretty certain.

“Yeah. They’re basically part of my data now.”

“Oh.”

The unspoken question is glaringly obvious: ‘why haven’t you removed them yet, then?’ The cuffs seem just as well-made as the collar, but surely there’s a way to cut through them. At least, he should’ve been able to find a way sometime during the last ten years- even if he wasn’t comfortable asking any of the Hermits to help him.

But Jimmy can tell Tango’s already hit his limit for today. It’s a subject he’s always avoided discussing in the past, so they’ll just have to wait until he’s ready.

(Oh, gonna make that mistake again?)

‘Shut up,’ Jimmy thinks.

~*~

“Need some help, hun?”

“Ack!” Jimmy gives a start, accidentally yanking out the feather he’d been teasing. He whirls around. “Tango!”

Tango holds his hands up. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Jeeze,” Jimmy laughs, catching his breath, “I- I thought you guys were still working on the portal!”

“Well, yeah,” Tango says, closing the door behind him, “but Etho thinks we need a redstone ore block and we didn’t have any layin’ around, so he and Impulse went mining.” He crosses over to sit on the bed, curiously studying the feathers strewn about. “Doin’ some preening?”

“Um...” Jimmy ducks his head sheepishly. “Yeah, just- just the uh, burned ones... they’re startin’ to itch.”

Tango gives him a sad smile. “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to hide it from me, I- I won’t get all weird mega guilt-trippy about it.”

Jimmy softens. “I just... I know you’ve been beating yourself up about it, that’s all.” He gazes at the burned feather in his hand. “It was an accident. I don’t blame you.”

“I know.” Tango runs a gentle hand over one of Jimmy’s wings. “Can… can I help?”

Jimmy smiles. “Sure.”

~*~

“Wait, are you serious?” Tango asks, eyes wide. “You think the portal’s ready to go? Right now?”

Grain nods. “Yeah, I do.”

Jimmy glances between them with raised eyebrows. They’d called Grian over for a little update on the current state of the portal project- now complete with the fancy player detector system that the redstoners have been painstakingly building over the past week. But once Etho explained that the final step was stabilization, Grian had dropped a bomb on them.

“I’ve uh… been doin’ some research,” Grian continues, “and I’m pretty sure that Hels has a firewall that’s just been sorta… inverted? It’s still a one-way barrier, it just stops players from making portals out rather than in. ‘Course, it’s still inaccessible by comm portal, but our little set-up here should circumvent that. Once we’ve gotten the portal to lock onto Bravo’s coords, there shouldn’t be anythin’ stopping it from forming.”

Etho scratches the side of his mask. “Well, if we don’t have to stabilize the portal, that’ll definitely simplify things,” he says. “We might actually have everything we need already.”

“Couldn’t hurt to fire it up,” Impulse agrees, glancing at Tango. “Just to give it a little test drive? If we do get a portal open, we can easily shut it down right after. We don’t have to actually go through it.”

Tango hesitates. “But wouldn’t Grian have to lift the lockdown?”

“Yeah, I will,” Grian amends. “But I’ve actually just finished settin’ up a firewall, so when I lift the lockdown, we’ll still be protected. We’ll be able to leave through any portal we want, but no one else can get in without bein’ on the whitelist.”

“Wait, really?” Tango looks surprised. “Why- did you let the others know? I- I’m sure they’ll wanna get back to their other worlds.”

“Ey, I only just finished it!” Grian defends. “I wanted to let you lot know first, so there wouldn’t be any panic or confusion if people started randomly leavin’ through portals. I’ll inform the others, but uh, I’m pretty sure they’ll wanna just stick around til we get this done. Especially if the portal’s ready to go. All that’ll be left to do is come up with our plan of attack, and we’ll need all hands on deck for the actual mission.”

“Yeah,” Impulse says easily, “Hermitcraft can wait.”

Tango chews his lip. “I… I guess we can try it,” he relents.

“Great!” Grian pulls his communicator out. “Gimme a second to lift the lockdown, okay…”

Jimmy turns to Tango, taking him by the hands. “Hey, is this alright?” he asks softly. “We don’t have to try it today if you don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” Tango assures him, squeezing his hands. “It’s just- it’s a bit sooner than I was expecting, you know? But this is good. I mean, if this works, then this whole business will finally be over.”

Jimmy’s eyes trace the collar around Tango’s neck. “Yeah. And not a moment too soon.”

Obviously they’ve still got a pretty significant task ahead of them. It’ll be no easy feat to storm Hels Tek, not if they’ve got as much muscle backing them up as they did for the invasion. Atlas is one slippery fella, and it might be hard to get Bravo to listen to them long enough to cooperate. But getting the portal in working order is another hurdle down, so they can shift gears towards the impending mission. And once that’s done, there’ll no longer be a threat hanging over them.

Suffice to say, Jimmy’s looking forward to getting back to his domestic bliss.

“Okay,” Grian says, glancing up, “lockdown is officially lifted. Go ahead.”

“Alright, Tango.” Etho pushes away from the wall. “Uh, just hop onto the redstone ore block whenever you’re ready, I guess? Everything should be in place.”

Tango exhales shakily, looking nervous, but he manages to give Jimmy a smile. “Here goes nothin’...”

Turning away, he steps onto the redstone ore block, which immediately lights up. It starts a sort of ripple effect along the dust that connects it to the rest of the redstone, triggering all kinds of ticking and flashing. It’s all Jimmy can do to follow the signal as it travels towards the portal frame-

Static fills the air, and the portal ignites. Swirling red light fills the frame.

“Oh, nice,” Grian breathes.

“Yes!” Impulse cheers. “We did it!”

“Okay, uh, Tango?” Etho nods at him. “Go ahead and step off the block, now.”

Tango doesn’t respond. He’s staring at the portal with an unreadable expression clouding his gaze, almost as if in a trance.

Jimmy quickly hurries to his side. “Tango,” he murmurs, gently shaking his arm, “come on.”

“Huh?” Tango jolts. “Oh, oh right, sorry!”

He steps aside, and the portal remains lit. Impulse grins. “Alright, looks like we’re good,” he says, stooping over to hit a button next to the portal. A piston extends across the redstone line, and the portal extinguishes.

Jimmy lets out a breath of relief. An irrational part of him had been worried that Hels players would immediately start pouring through. “You okay?” he asks Tango quietly.

Tango nods. “Yeah, sorry,” he says with an apologetic smile. “I’m fine, it just… kinda hit me all at once.”

“Yeah,” Impulse says, “I definitely wasn’t expecting to have a working portal today, either. But hey, good job guys!”

“Yeah, nicely done, fellas,” Grian says, sounding pleased. He starts typing on his communicator. “I’m gonna let the others know we’ve got the portal workin’, and tomorrow… we’ll all meet to start planning our invasion of Hels. I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with a solid plan to get Bravo, get that key from Atlas, and get out.”

Tango snorts. “Oh, sure. Easy peasy.”

“Don’t worry,” Jimmy says, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “We won’t go through til we’re all good and ready, yeah?”

Tango’s expression softens. “Yeah.”

“Right.” Grian puts his communicator away. “Get some rest, everyone, and we’ll see you tomorrow. Details in chat.”

~*~

<Grian> portal done. meet @ impulse and bdubs tomorrow at noon for hels invasion plotting. all ideas welcome

<PearlescentMoon> Ooh :0

<InTheLittleWood> wait seriously? already??

<Renthedog> YO amazing job on the portal guys! :D

<BdoubleO100> oh THANKS A LOT for volunteering us to host GRIAN!!

<Grian> :P

~*~

Later that night, in the dark quiet of their room, Tango rolls over to nestle his head beneath Jimmy’s chin, claws bunching up the fabric of his shirt.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

Jimmy hums. “For what?”

“For… not givin’ up on me.”

“What’d’you mean?”

“I mean… you know, I- after everything I did, and- and everything I said…”

“I already told you, that doesn’t matter to me.”

“Yeah, I know. But when I realized the secret was out… that things were- that we couldn’t just go back to normal… I mean, I was convinced it was over. Everything, my- my new life, my freedom, my friends. Us. But you never gave up hope.”

“Of course. It’s been a long road here, alright, I- I’m not givin’ that up without a fight.”

Tango tilts his chin up to look at Jimmy, red eyes glowing in the dark, and leans in to meet his lips. They kiss slow and sweet. Warmth hums in Jimmy’s chest.

This hasn’t been an easy journey, and he knows there’s plenty more challenges still ahead. Even if the mission to Hels goes well and they achieve all that they want to, the experiences Tango’s been through won’t magically go away. It’ll take time. Healing isn’t linear. But with everything out in the open now and the support of their friends, Jimmy’s hopeful that Tango can start to unlearn his self-hatred. Jimmy will be there every step of the way.

All too soon, Tango pulls away. “We should get some rest,” he whispers, settling against Jimmy again.

“Yeah,” Jimmy sighs ruefully, draping a wing across Tango. “Gonna need all two of my brain cells at full strength.”

Tango huffs a soft laugh. “Love you, honey.”

Jimmy closes his eyes, smiling. “Love you, too.

~*~

Jimmy wakes up to a cold bed.

That immediately sets off alarm bells in his head, because since when has Tango gotten out of bed before him? Then he opens his eyes and realizes it’s still night; a faint crescent moon hangs in the starry sky visible through their window. Their room is dark and empty. Tango is nowhere to be seen.

The alarm bells become a siren.

No, no, no, no, no.

Jimmy springs out of bed, sparing a second only to grab his shoes off the floor before throwing the door open. His heart is in his throat as he flies down the stairs to the main level- all dark and empty- and hooks the corner to wrench open the basement door.

Already he can see the chilling red glow from the portal cast across the wall, a shadow of bleeding light, and a million curses scream through his mind. His stomach feels like it’s knotted in on itself and his lungs are burning for air, he’s moving faster than what seems physically possible and yet not nearly fast enough as he crashes down the stairs and bursts into the portal room, mouth opening to cry out-

Just in time to watch Tango vanish into the red light.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player walks through a portal.

Tango’s heartbeat pounds in his ears. He’s already started shaking- if it weren’t for the wither effect flowing from his collar, he’s certain his blaze rods would be igniting right now. It’s a bizarre mix of emotions. The scent of ash and the sight of netherrack are comforting, in a way. Familiar. But it’s also terrifying, because there’s no mistaking where he is.

(There’s a reason he doesn’t like hanging out in the nether.)

Fear threatens to swallow him. He pushes it down; he’s got a job to do.

Forcing a steadying breath through his clenched teeth, he takes in his surroundings, ears pricked cautiously. He’s definitely not at spawn- he’s at the border of a basalt delta, actually, fine gray particles fluttering through the air. Aside from the portal behind him, there’s not a structure in sight. No sounds save for the distant bubbling of lava and the distinctive slap of magma cubes.

Tango frowns, chewing his lip. The portal was supposed to take him to Bravo, so he must be around here somewhere. Why he’s not at Hels Tek, Tango isn’t sure. Maybe they’re out on an errand run? Either way, he ought to start looking around.

But first, he’s got to break the portal so no one can follow him. Everything he’d packed made it through with him, thankfully, so he equips his pickaxe and turns back to the portal-

Just in time for Jimmy to emerge, running straight into him.

The collision knocks Tango to the ground, pickaxe flying from his hand, his forehead stinging where it smacked against Jimmy’s chin. Blinking spots from his eyes, he pushes himself up on his elbows with a groan. Once his vision stops spinning, he locks eyes with Jimmy, who seems just as shocked as he is.

Both of them shout at exactly the same moment.

“What are you doing here?!”

~*~

#hels to pay au #HTP fic #my writing #hermitcraft #double life smp

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thatnarcissisticfeel · 1 year ago

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I think that a lot of people without NPD have a really poor understanding of "narc supply" or the specific type of positive attention that pwNPD crave. Even the egotypicals who are allies, the ones denounce narc abuse and anti-NPD ableism, don't fully grasp it.

There's this false idea that NPDs like to be worshipped and showered with compliments all of the time, and I mean, yeah, most of us would eat that shit up, but I know that for myself and a lot of other pwNPD it's deeper and much more, I guess, personal?

I don't really know how to describe it, so I'll give an example: As a kid, no one really paid attention to my creative endeavors, my accomplishments, my feelings, etc. And if they DID pay attention, the attention was negative. I could always do better, I could always be smarter, stronger, etc. This came from peers and adults alike. So I developed a coping mechanism where I would tell myself that everyone else was wrong, that I'm actually the best person around, etc. I don't have to explain what disorder I ended up with as an adult as a result of all of that. :P

But anyway - the wound of constantly being ignored at best and insulted at worst is still there. You know how when you're in a group chat or a conversation with multiple people and no one ever pays attention to your comments, while paying attention to everyone else? Yeah, that shit hurts EVERYONE, but especially pwNPD. Even the smallest acknowledgment can be "narc supply."

You know how when you achieve something really cool and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you will be quick to praise OTHER people?

You know how when you post art/edits online and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you compliment someone else's post in the exact same thread?

You know how when you ask your friend to read your favorite book or listen to your favorite artist or whatever because of how much it means to you, and they never do it, but then they read/listen to everyone else's favorite thing at everyone else's recommendation, and how much it pisses you off? (Hurts even more if you have the SAME favorite book/artist and someone reads/listens to it at the other person's recommendation and not at yours.)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I could go on and on. That shit would bother anyone, us narcissists aren't alone in being hurt by that, but my G-d, it impacts pwNPD in such a specific way.

But let me flip it around to the positive!

A narcissist doesn't necessarily get their "supply" from someone telling them that they're the coolest person in the world and that they're a god. (Though if you do want to say that to us we probably won't complain!) Sometimes they get their "supply" from something as simple as someone acknowledging their achievements, and giving specific praise on what the achievement was. ("It's so cool that you won a prize in the music recital. The song you played sounds like it was really difficult and I loved your stage presence.")

Being told, "Wow, you did such a great job on your artwork, I love the colors!" goes a very very long way for a narc, especially when said narc is used to being IGNORED for their art.

Hearing, "it's so cool that you like that book, I'll have to read it and tell you my thoughts!" can help a narcissist's interests feel acknowledged.

You might be reading this and thinking, "well, isn't it just basic human interaction to compliment your friends or try out their interests"? And, well, maybe it is, but the whole point of NPD is that most of us grew up without receiving that type of attention, so now we're very very desperate for it - and very, very, VERY sensitive to when it doesn't happen, or is even perceived to not have happened. Something as small as being talked over in a group chat can set us off, but something as small as a simple, "hey, it's so cool that you did this, I love it." can win us over.

And to be completely fair, most of the time us being "ignored" isn't completely intentional. Like, I get it, yeah, sometimes timing just doesn't work out for person A to read my favorite book at my own rec, but by the time person B is in their life, person A can read it, and it's not anything personal. Sometimes the content I make just isn't someone's ~style~ and they support me, they really do, they just don't know what to say. Sometimes someone forgets to respond, or doesn't get a notification when I send them something I made or tell them about something I did. (There is less excuse for being ignored in face-to-face/offline convos though.) But because of the trauma of us constantly being ignored as kids/teens, the smallest little thing hurts and as a result we seek and crave attention EVERYWHERE.

So now, to give in to narc stereotypes of begging for attention: If you're a person without NPD and you genuinely want to help the narcissists you have in your life, the second best thing you can do for us is checking in to make sure we're not overlooked. Try to be sure you're not ignoring us, and if we do something cool, try to compliment it, even if it's something you don't fully "understand." Ask us about what we've been up to lately, what we're proud of about ourselves, and agree with us that what we've done is pretty cool. I mean, you'd do that for any friend, right? It's really not all outlandish for a narc to want that.

(If you're curious what the FIRST best thing you can do for a narcissist is, it's giving us a million dollars unlearning your anti-NPD ableism and calling people out who use narcissist as an insult as a synonym for abuser. Even in "offline" spaces, even when we're not around, even doctors/therapists. Even "narc" abuse survivors.)

#actuallynarcissistic #actuallynpd #npd feels #npd safe #npd culture #my favorite person is literally my favorite person only because she warned me about media that used narcissist as an insult and listened to #an album i liked when literally EVERYONE ELSE i've recced the album to has ignored it. (I've been a fan of said album for ALMOST A DECADE)#like guys it's not that hard to treat us well #(also i mean favorite person in the cluster b way - she's my favorite person in the NT way for many reasons)

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kpopfanfictrash · 1 year ago

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Until Death (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor:@baebae-goodnight for this unbelievable moodboard truly, like, WHAT

Genre: Green Bone Saga!AU || Organized Crime / Forbidden Romance / Suspense + Action

Author’s Note: This one shot is set in the Green Bone Saga universe, written by Fonda Lee. You do not need to have read this series in order to read this one shot (I explain concepts/terms), but I do HIGHLY encourage you to read this series at some point because it’s absolutely amazing!! Anyways, Yoongi dropped the Haegeum MV and I was like.... did he read Jade City lol. Further disclaimer this is not a retelling of the books, nor does the Kaul family exist in this version of Kekon (although the No Peak clan does)

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Synopsis: Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan.

When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic violence, fight scenes and mature content (character dies in the story; not main character)

NSFW Warnings: dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (female), multiple orgasms, possessiveness, unprotected sex (couple is monogamous), spit, hand job

Word Count: 17,650

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Jungkook growls, slamming his fist to the table.

No one in the room flinches, although several glance fleetingly in the direction of the Pillar. The typically mild-mannered head of No Peak frowns, clearly disturbed by the recent attacks. Only a madman wouldn’t be.

Still, his voice remains calm while answering your second Fist. “That remains to be seen,” Yoongi says. As though the current situation could be perceived as anything but a threat.

Subtle, you flick a glance towards him, then away. In the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi’s lips curve before smoothing to nothing. Lowering his palms to rest on the table, the ends of his sleeves rise to reveal solid jade.

Leaning back, you survey the table before you. As the Horn of No Peak, it’s your job to defend the clan’s territory – by force, if necessary. Several levels of Green Bone warriors report into you, including your Fingers (the lowest of soldiers) and Fists, your direct reports.

Jungkook became Second Fist only a month prior but already, he’s created a name for himself. An impulsive, somewhat violent name for himself.

In this case though, you happen to agree with him. Not one, but two Lantern Men – commercial patrons of No Peak – have turned up dead in the past week, tortured beyond recognition. Over a week has passed since the first murder and still, there’s no suspect. Neither man was wealthy nor wore jade beyond a single piercing. Each was killed in a different part of town with no family in common. For a week, you’ve been racking your brain for motive and coming up empty.

Peeved by the thought, your fingertips dig into your leather jacket. Perceiving the shift to your aura, Yoongi starts to turn – catching himself just in time and facing forward.

An assortment of Lantern Men, Fists and Luckbringers (the money-making side of the clan) sit around a worn table. All watch the Pillar warily, as though uncertain how this meeting will end.

Tilting his head, strands of dark hair fall across Yoongi’s forehead. Studs of green line his ears, a single bolt of jade threaded through his right brow. Since the Academy, Yoongi has preferred to wear his jade as piercings – except for the clusters on fingers and wrists. He flexes these now, a visual display of power.

Jade from the island of Kekon is powerful; toxic to all but the Green Bones trained to wear it. To them, it grants unique power in each of the six disciplines: Strength, Steel, Perception, Lightness, Deflection and Channeling. Being from Kekon is no guarantee a person can wear and use jade, though. Individual tolerance varies, with most not able to withstand more than a few pieces.

No one in No Peak wears more jade than the Pillar – no one but you, that is.

This thought brings little comfort in a room such as this. Most of the sycophants seated around the table would turn on Yoongi – and No Peak – in a heartbeat. If it’d enrich their coffers, they would switch sides, honor be damned. You trust your Fists and Fingers but find it hard to extend the same grace to Namjoon’s side of the clan.

Kim Namjoon, known as the Weather Man, heads No Peak’s monetary ventures. Ranking as highly as you, he reports directly to Yoongi. Turning to face Namjoon, you make no attempt to hide your suspicion.

Although he doesn’t meet your gaze, his annoyance flares. Namjoon’s jade aura is weaker, fueled by one or two jade rings on his fingers. More would be unnecessary in his line of work. Namjoon’s lips tighten, able to Perceive your attention.

Perception is one of the more interesting skills of a Green Bone. Wearing jade creates an aura and through it, other Green Bones can sense emotion and intention. For example, you sense that Namjoon is annoyed, but you don’t know why. You can hazard a guess, based on the context.

Although you both graduated from the Academy at the same time, you barely knew Namjoon in your youth. The Kim family is legendary, having fought alongside Yoongi’s grandfather to dispel the Shotarian occupation of Kekon. You, on the other hand, moved to the city of Janloon when you were ten and joined the Academy as an outsider.

Not only were your social circles different, so were your interests. Even as children, Namjoon preferred brains over brawn, while you – well, you don’t enjoy violence, but you understood its necessity in protecting those you love. Ever since your father’s death, what you love has been No Peak.

You suppose Yoongi could’ve picked a worse person for Weather Man. Namjoon is shrewd, if occasionally withholding. He has the best interests of the clan at heart, even if you often disagree about what those interests are.

“Min-jen,” Namjoon says, the respectful title flowing from him like water. “I share your frustration with the current situation. My men are, of course, at your disposal.”

Your gaze narrows on his profile. Namjoon loves to offer help but when push comes to shove, it’s your side of the clan on the front lines.

“And what will your men do?” you inquire, drawing heads your way. “The entirety of their green couldn’t be seen in a desert.”

Someone down the table coughs, although they swiftly fall silent when Yoongi clears his throat. Disappointment radiates from him, turning his head.

“One’s worth to the clan isn’t measured in jade,” he says levelly. “You’d do well to remember that, in the future.”

Sitting back, you school your expression to nothing. Shame swirls in your stomach though because Yoongi is right. His sister is a stone-eye; someone unable to use or wear jade. Yejun feels nothing of jade’s effects – either positive or negative – but serves the clan in her own way. Kekon is superstitious about such things though and, when Yejun was born, rumors ran rampant it boded ill for Yoongi’s leadership. Rumors the Pillar has done his best to stamp out.

“Yes, Min-jen,” you acquiesce, inclining your head.

“My Luckbringers are reviewing financial statements of the victims,” Namjoon says, as though you haven’t spoken. “If there’s any monetary connection between them, we’ll find it.”

“My Fists are also investigating,” you add. “We’ll keep the clan updated.”

A scoff from the lower end of the table. Turning your head, you find Mr. Hu, a wealthy Lantern Man, watching you with a scowl. Middle-aged, with a portly belly from hoji, the man has never accepted you as his Horn. As the first woman bestowed the honor, you expected there to be some resistance.

Not that it endears him to you. Sweetly, you smile and lean forward. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Hu?”

Briefly, his gaze drops to the jade around your throat. Forcing a swallow, he forces his gaze to lift. You must give him credit; the man continues, despite the visual reminder you could kill him in seconds.

“Investigating what?” he asks, puffing out his chest. “I saw the second victim being brought in. There was… well. There was little to see. Tortured,” he adds, addressing the muttering around the table. “The man was mercilessly tortured before he was killed.”

Perceiving the shift in Yoongi’s emotions – edging towards fury – you hasten your response.

“Mr. Hu,” you say, lightly resting your hand on a Talon knife. “I thank you, for having the foresight to raise such an important issue.”

Frowning, he glances left and right, but his fellow Lantern Men avoid him. Likely, they understand this won’t end well. Indeed, Jungkook is already eyeing the man with barely concealed malice, thumb stroking slowly over the hilt of his sword.

“The fact that both victims were tortured,” you continue, conversational. “Almost as though the killer were looking for something.”

“Or someone,” Namjoon adds.

“Or someone,” you agree, focusing on Mr. Hu. “My men are searching the murder sites for more information now. While they do that though, are there any other details of an active murder investigation you’d like to know? Perhaps whether the victims pissed themselves before death, or left money behind?”

Paling, Mr. Hu seems to realize how this sounds. “N-no,” he says. “Thank you for sharing what you have, Horn-jen.”

Ignoring him, you glance in the direction of Yoongi. “We’ll find the traitor. I swear it.”

His aura flares, full of emotion unrelated to the conversation at hand. “Of that, I have no doubt,” Yoongi says lowly.

Heat floods your face, sensing his intent and swiftly, you look away before others can notice.

“While the Horn and Weather Man conduct their investigations, I ask for everyone to remain on high alert,” Yoongi says, surveying the table. “No Peak will increase Green Bone presence in the border districts. If you see anything of interest, contact the clan.”

Several Lantern Men relax at the mention of Green Bones. You know business has been hard as of late, with so many customers shaken by the violence. Hopefully, this will convince the people No Peak has the situation in hand. Otherwise, why would the Lantern Men continue to pay for your protection?

Glancing at the bloody photographs laid out on the table, you can hardly blame them for their skittishness. Whoever killed these two victims was skilled. Their torture tactics are pristine, better than most graduates from the Academy. A skill you also possess, although you choose not to use it outside of last resorts. Even then –

Your fingers cease tapping against your leather jacket. Straightening, you realize the skill displayed is exactly that of the Academy. The cuts, the angle of the blade and depth of the wounds – all of it, textbook. A Green Bone did this, you’re certain.

Sharply, you glance up and allow your distress to show. Voicing your suspicion aloud would only end badly. Above all, the Pillar must appear in control. If a Green Bone – even a disgraced one – is murdering citizens of No Peak, it would be a disaster. Better to discuss your suspicions in private before airing them to the entire group.

Perceiving the shift in your emotions, Yoongi stiffens. “We’ll update you with any new information,” he says, dismissal clear in his tone. “Thank you for coming.”

Chair legs scrape floorboards, patrons filing out as they murmur to one another. Asha, your First Fist, hovers by the door until you give a discreet shake of your head. Nodding, she slips out and you see Jungkook follow.

To one side, Yoongi converses tersely with his Pillarman, Hoseok, until Hoseok exhales and swiftly exits the room. Kim Namjoon stays, drinking a glass of water at the opposite end of the table. Once you three are alone, Yoongi holds up his hand. He waits, utterly still until the last jade aura fades.

Only then does he turn. “Well, Y/N?” he drawls. “What did you realize?”

Not wasting time, you pluck a photograph from the pile and toss it before him. “These cuts,” you explain. “They were made by a moon blade. So precise – so even. Exactly the length taught at the Academy. Which means–”

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters. He sets down his glass. “We’re fucked.”

You give him a look. “Precisely.”

Yoongi frowns, his distaste palpable. “This is the work of a Green Bone.”

“I think so.”

Pushing his chair back to stand, Namjoon grabs a photo and turns it sideways. “Why would a Green Bone go after a Lantern Man, though?” he wonders out loud. “He wasn’t even wearing jade when he died – it’s against aisho.”

Yoongi’s lips press tightly together.

Aisho refers to the strict code of honor governing all who wear jade. There are many tenets, but first and foremost is that those who wear jade don’t harm the jadeless. Aisho also limits retaliation following honorable duels, ensuring the clan lines remain intact.

A Green Bone who follows aisho would never attack a citizen.

Which forces you to draw an unsavory conclusion. “Unless they didn’t care,” you say, voicing the worst possibility. “The killer could have been trained as a Green Bone and left.” Stiffening slightly, you glance at Yoongi. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Yoongi mutters. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Maro.”

Namjoon swears softly.

Maro – known to most as Toh Marosun – is a traitor to No Peak. He grew up in the same circle as Namjoon, Yoongi, and other high-ranking Green Bones. Maro attended the Academy in the same class as Yoongi, and everyone expected him to become the Horn. Brilliant, swift, and vicious in battle – not to mention one of Yoongi’s closest friends.

Despite this fact, you never liked him. Having grown up the only daughter of an unremarkable Lantern Man, you experienced Maro the way most people did. Toh Marosun was cruel. Saccharine, willing to say whatever people in power wanted to hear. Maro knew exactly what to do, what to say to manipulate followers. From the beginning, you saw Maro for who he was – a bully.

He joined No Peak’s ranks as a Finger, but swiftly rose to prominence. By the time you graduated, Maro was the youngest Fist in No Peak’s history. What he lacked in jade tolerance he made up for in cunning. Maro was always more sensitive to jade, but he was also smart. Talented, with the skills he did have.

In Green Bone society, there are two ways to gain jade – gifted or earned. Green Bones win jade through physical duels, taking the green from those they defeat. Recklessly, Maro began to challenge rival clans and often, he won despite not being able to wear his spoils. He displayed his jade often, which you suppose should’ve been the first warning sign.

Maro cared too much for personal glory. In Kekon, glory is achieved through the clan. Even the Horn and the Weather Man only exist to further No Peak’s prowess. The Pillar themselves is the embodiment of the clan, not their own person.

Even now, you recall the day Maro’s crimes were exposed.

Seven years prior, you were a Finger on routine patrol when Sain, your Fist, was commanded to return to the Min property. He brought you along, stationed by the front gate to ensure no one left.

You guarded with another Finger, one whose name you don’t recall. What you do remember is the utter stillness of the day, the unnatural calm which comes before a storm. The sun was bright overhead, a thick bead of sweat sliding down your neck when the door behind you at the main house banged open.

A man tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap in the billowing dirt. Coughing, he struggled to right himself, but both his hands were bound. From your spot at the gate, you couldn’t see clearly but you scented his blood. Heard the bruised rasp of his breath.

Yoongi prowled down the front steps, his famed Da Tanori steel glinting in his right hand. His gaze never wavered from the man bound before him – Toh Marosun, his former friend.

“Do you deny it?” Yoongi asked, his voice soft but deadly. Despite this, you Perceived conflicting emotions within.

Toh Maro stayed silent. Eventually, he exhaled.

“No,” he said sullenly.

Unable to stop it, you turned and saw Maro staring unflinchingly up at the Pillar. Yoongi stood over him, his lips a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t know what had happened but feared the worst from Yoongi’s expression.

In that moment, you didn’t envy the Pillar. Yoongi had become head of No Peak only a year prior; in many ways, he was as untried as you were. He was a silent, intelligent man and many people thought they could take advantage of him.

They were wrong, of course, but it would take time to prove that.

On that day though, you felt the dull grief to his aura. “Then I am sorry,” Yoongi said quietly. “For you leave me with no choice. Toh Marosun, you stand accused of smuggling jade from No Peak – one of the worst crimes a Green Bone can commit.”

The entirety of your blood drained as you turned around.

Spine steeling, you gripped your knives tighter. There were few crimes so awful they couldn’t be forgiven, but stealing from the clan was one of them. Cutting off Maro’s ear would be too light a punishment, especially with Yoongi so untried a Pillar. Death would be acceptable. Expected, even.

It would be the Pillar’s call – the clans weren’t run as a democracy. Straining Perception, you listened closely behind you. Although you’d interacted little with the Pillar, the man behind the mask couldn’t help but intrigue you.

Broken sobs filled the clearing, and you heard the sudden thud of knees hitting the grass. No jade aura accompanied the sound.

“Yoongi, please,” gasped a voice – feminine, young. “Brother, please spare him. Don’t kill him, he –”

“Silence.” Yoongi’s voice echoed over the courtyard. The newcomer obeyed with a lone, stifled sob. “You’ve been found innocent, sister,” he said, sounding weary. “But that does not make you innocent.”

The threat of his words hung overhead and although Yejun continued to sniffle, the sound of it muffled. When you glanced sideways again, you saw her face in her palms.

Yoongi watched dispassionately, although you sensed his inner turmoil. Rumors had reached your ears by then that Maro was dating Yejun. It seemed to be true, based on the way she pleaded.

Returning to face the gate, the yard remained silent until Yoongi exhaled. “Toh Marosun,” he declared, his sword sheathing. “From this day on, you are banished from Kekon. Return your jade to the clan and go. If you return to Janloon, your life is forfeit. Take him,” he said, speaking to someone you couldn’t see.

You didn’t dare turn, but tugged your knives a half-inch from their sheathes. If Maro decided to fight, you’d be expected to protect the Pillar. For whatever reason – disbelief, or respect – Maro didn’t attack, and no violence took place. He left in the waiting car, but you’ll never forget the look on his face when he passed.

Despite your young age, you recognized the glint in his eye. Fury, tempered by disbelief. He’ll be back, you thought grimly. It was only a matter of time before someone like Maro declared vengeance.

Your gaze slid to Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. He watched Maro leave, his expression carefully neutral before he turned around and entered the house. Yejun had already disappeared, likely leaving upon Maro’s banishment.

The expression on Yoongi’s face now is similar, staring down at the photograph. Another moment passes before you realize something else.

“They knew each other,” you say, glancing between the victims. Reaching out, your hand lightly touches a photo. “Icho Retubin. He worked for the Weather Man after the Academy. And this man here” – you touch the other – “Niru Roluan. A low-ranking Finger who quit after a year.”

“He was friendly with Marosun,” Namjoon recalls.

“Yes.” Eyes wide, you look up. “After Maro’s scheme was uncovered, both of them quit and began working as Lantern Men.”

“Interesting,” Yoongi muses. “So. Toh Marosun returns. He tortures and kills his former friends – why?” he murmurs, speaking more to himself than either of you.

Brow lowering, you search for the easy answer. “He’s torturing them for something,” you say, glancing at the wounds. “Information, maybe.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Which begs the question – has Maro found what he wants, or is he still looking?”

“Does it matter?”

Namjoon shrugs at your question. “If Maro hasn’t found what he wants, he’ll strike again. If he did find it – well. We might be out of time.”

Yoongi considers. “He didn’t find it,” he says, turning around to stride for the door. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Your gaze narrows on his backside. “Let’s call it more than that.”

Yoongi turns around, lips twitching in a smile only you see. “I can think of two reasons Maro might return. One – jade.” The Pillar lifts a finger. “Or, two – revenge.” His second lifts.

You and Namjoon exchange a look. “Maro could find jade on the Shotarian black market if he wanted,” you say.

“Exactly.” Yoongi drops his hand. “Which is why I’m inclined to call this revenge.”

“Maro could want revenge on anyone, though,” Namjoon points out. “Most likely whoever sold him out in the first place.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” Casual, Yoongi tucks both hands in his pockets. “I sold him out. I discovered details of his jade smuggling in Yejun’s apartment.”

“Yejun?” Sharply, you look at him. “Your sister knew?”

Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “Yes, she knew,” he says. “I’m sure you understand why I kept that piece of information to myself until now. Yejun wasn’t involved with the smuggling, but she knew it was happening… and didn’t tell me,” he adds, his voice grim.

Mind reeling, you attempt to digest this piece of information. Betrayal lodges deep in your gut, although you do your best to dispel it. It’s pointless to expect Yoongi to tell you everything – especially events which occurred before you became the Horn.

Namjoon also looks troubled. “That’s… but that means–”

“Careful what you say, Namjoon.” Although his tone remains soft, Yoongi’s body tenses. “The matter is done. I punished Yejun as I saw fit, within my right as Pillar. Trust me,” he adds, his façade cracking a little. “Her deception was dealt with.”

Silently, you wonder if this is why Yejun studied in Espenia. As a stone-eye, she can’t serve the clan as a Green Bone, but could have taken other paths. She could have become a Luckbringer on Namjoon’s side or begun a career in government. Instead, Yejun left Janloon for a foreign University. It was only recently she returned to start her residency at Jan Royal University.

Curious, your gaze flicks to Yoongi. If what he says is true, then surely, he knows Maro is coming for him. Yejun might not have betrayed him, but Min Yoongi did. It’s only a matter of time before Maro discovers what happened.

Blood simmering, you do your best to hide your frustration. Your role as Horn would be much easier if the Pillar would be honest about all his enemies. Suppressing your scowl, you ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on the side of your face.

“Namjoon,” he says, turning away. “I want a list of potential targets. People Maro has worked with in the past or knew at the Academy. Assuming he doesn’t have the information he wants, Maro will strike again.”

“On it,” Namjoon says, already heading for the door.

Although faint, you can feel the cool brush of his aura passing. You envy the Weather Man’s ability to ingest information and remove partiality. Even after something like Yejun’s betrayal, he remains unflappable. Namjoon simply absorbs and executes, doing what needs to be done.

Left alone with your thinking, you can’t claim the same. Namjoon’s jade aura fades when he exits, footsteps receding to leave you alone with the Pillar.

You refuse to look at him, casting your Perception outward. A Green Bone with as much jade as you have can Perceive a beetle crawling through the tall grass outside. Feel the rumble of cars on the distant streets. Hear Yoongi’s heart beat from across the room.

Wearing jade results in a dizzying expansion of knowledge. You’re used to it by now – years of training and genetics lessen the risk of being overwhelmed. Without either, it’s all too easy to lose control.

It’s one of the reasons jade-smuggling is a serious crime. The other being that jade is the main source of income funding the clans. Selling jade through non-regulated channels increases the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. Hands which could bring negative consequences to other people or themselves.

Aisho outlines a strict Green Bone code of honor. It states Kekon first, clan first, family first. Occasionally, all three are tied and occasionally, one outstrips the other. Maro disobeyed every rule by selling jade to the Shotarians.

Maro knew all this and chose to continue, blinded by greed. He placed his personal glory above that of the clan, something which must be dealt with. To a lesser degree, Yejun chose Maro over No Peak, as well – which is why you’re surprised Yoongi said nothing.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi speaks your name softly, forgoing your title.

Stiffening, you force yourself not to turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” he asks, his voice moving closer. “Your name?”

Hand brushing your elbow, Yoongi turns you to face him. Against all better judgement, you obey – and find your first mistake. Meeting his gaze, a ripple of familiarity – of home, a voice whispers – goes through you.

Shutting all this down, you lift your chin. “You lied to me.”

Yoongi’s expression flattens. “I couldn’t explain.”

“You could have. You chose not to.”

“I couldn’t,” he insists. “I’m still not sure I didn’t make a mistake. I showed mercy, Y/N.” Yoongi pauses, then swallows. “I exiled my friend and sent my sister away – and now, look what’s happened. Two men have been killed, and it’s my fault. How could I have told you,” he adds, the words desperate, “when I knew it’d result in that look on your face?”

“I’m looking at you like this because you lied. Not because of a decision you made in the past. Mercy isn’t a weakness, Min Yoongi.”

“Some would say that it is,” he murmurs. Fleeting, his gaze drops to your lips.

Yoongi drops all restraint so his emotion, so often concealed, smears through his aura. Longing, anger and fear, mixed with worry.

White-hot electricity jumps over your skin. Seeing the normally reserved Pillar undone in your presence is a heady knowledge. Knowledge that terrifies you, even as everything in you aches to move closer.

“It’s not,” you exhale, meeting his gaze.

Something falters in his expression and Yoongi stares at you, heated. You Perceive his intent – a rough flare to his aura – a moment before Yoongi bends and crushes your mouth to his. His kiss is thorough, intent, his body curving with yours while walking you towards the wall.

You instantly cave, unable to withstand the desperate sweep of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you groan, fingers gripping him tighter. “People will hear.”

“Let them,” he says, his voice undeterred.

Before you can respond, his lips fall upon yours with increasing urgency. Hand slipping beneath your jacket, Yoongi cups your waist to pull you taut against him. Eyes falling shut, you swiftly scan the building for lingering Green Bones. Finding no one, you return your attention to Yoongi and bite down on his lip.

He growls, grip tightening when you tug him towards you. Breaking away, Yoongi lowers his head to suck the curve of your throat. He lingers at your jade, tongue darting out to lick the skin underneath. Your entire body shudders, aroused by the sensation.

Touching another person’s jade is intimate. Most wouldn’t allow their own family the honor, let alone someone they sleep with. Skin contact with jade imbues power, and the swift rise and fall of it can be dangerous. Only Yoongi is brave – or foolish – enough to risk the effects.

Spine on the wall, you inhale at the rush. Yoongi’s length presses against your core, already hard through the confines of his pants. It seems unfathomable that this man, a stranger to you for so long, can inspire such potent emotion.

When you first met him, you were ten, and he was fourteen. You didn’t know who Yoongi was at the time – a fact which now seems unthinkable. Raised in southern Kekon, you came to Janloon after your mother’s death with little understanding of clan politics. Likely, you would have remained so if your high jade tolerance hadn’t pushed your father to enroll you at the Academy.

Walking through the gates that first day, you found nothing but apathy. The best-case scenario was your classmates left you alone. Worst-case, the other children were brutal. You attended school with the sons and daughters of high-ranking clan members. Although your father joined No Peak as a Lantern Man eventually, he could hardly be called successful. The Academy had no patience for a rural girl whose jade tolerance far outstripped their own.

It wore on your classmates’ pride when the teachers praised you. You began to get noticed, and not in a good way. Fed up with your presence, one of the students attacked you at the end of your first year. Even then, you knew how to defend yourself and flipped him on his back. Stunned, he stared up at you before yelling to anyone within earshot that you’d regret this. His father was a powerful Lantern Man of No Peak and he said you’d be banished before graduation.

Fear gripped you, sensing the truth to his words. Based on your own experience, you knew No Peak wouldn’t believe you over one of their own.

Despair filled your thoughts as someone entered the corridor. Your attacker instantly froze, which should have clued you in this was someone important. Still, you refused to look, reticent to turn your back on an opponent.

The newcomer cleared their throat, further stoking your ire. After a moment, you dragged your attention to them.

Min Yoongi stared back, his expression mild. “So,” he said. “Who can tell me what happened?”

Looking him up and down, you chose not to respond. You didn’t trust a stranger – a fourth year at that – to intervene on your behalf. Most likely, Yoongi was a member of No Peak and had only arrived to harass you further.

Seeing your hesitance, your attacker jumped in. He accused you of treachery, saying you jumped him in the corridor and threw him on the ground. Silent, your fingers curled into fists, but you remained quiet, even when Yoongi turned.

“Well?” he asked you. “Is that right?”

Your lips dropped into a scowl. “He deserved what he got.”

Subtle, his brow flicked upward.

To your dismay, you saw people had gathered as whispers broke out. A sinking suspicion occurred to you that something was wrong. Not with your attacker, but whoever this was.

Yoongi stared at you for a long moment before, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I agree.” Turning to face the boy, a dangerous light entered his eye. “I’d suggest not telling your father what happened, Heike. Because then, I might feel honor-bound to confess what I saw. Which was his son ruthlessly attack a first year, lose and then lie about it to his future Pillar.”

Color bled swiftly from Heike’s skin. “Yes, Min-jen,” he whispered, head bowed in shame.

Panic-stricken, you stared as realization sunk in you’d been flippant to the future Pillar. Steeling yourself, you waited for Min Yoongi’s response – likely anger or worse. Based on your experience, most men in power liked this fact to be known.

Instead, Yoongi merely turned and looked you up and down. His gaze traveled you slowly, unreadable in his scrutiny. At last, he glanced up.

“Your father owns the tea shop by the docks, yes?” he said, waiting for you to nod before he continued. “He joined No Peak as a Lantern Man last year.”

“Yes, he did.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then,” Yoongi said as he turned away. “I can’t help but be grateful he chose No Peak to patron. It would’ve been shame to lose you to another clan.”

Stricken, you watched as he strode from the courtyard. Minutes passed, and eventually you realized the crowd had dispersed. Heike skulked off to nurse his wounds and the future Pillar had gone, giving them no reason to stay.

If you weren’t loyal to No Peak before, you certainly were after. Yoongi had that type of effect on people.

After that day though, you rarely interacted. Yoongi was four years your senior and the future Pillar, while you were nobody. Albeit a talented nobody who graduated at the top of their class from the Academy. At your graduation, people whispered you’d make a strong Fist. No one ever imagined you’d rise higher than that.

You joined No Peak as a Finger, starting from the bottom. Yoongi continued to remain out of reach, the newly named Pillar struggling to earn his own title. It didn’t take long though, before you rose in the ranks. You spent two years as a Finger, then two as a Fist – you were twenty-two years old when promoted to Horn. The youngest in history, and a woman to boot.

Yoongi was adamant in the choice, defending you calmly to the entire clan. He said he’d rather have the right person at a young age than the wrong person at the right age. His support was the only reason you didn’t strangle him that first year. It was the beginning of working together and as it turned out, Yoongi drove you mad.

He micromanaged, overseeing all decisions to ensure No Peak ran smoothly. You two bickered often, the fire eventually dissipating to begrudging acceptance. Ultimately, you realized you saw the world the same – No Peak first, followed by everything else.

Back then, Yoongi dated but none of them stuck. No one understood the sacrifice necessary to remain head of No Peak. Couldn’t comprehend the ruthlessness, the dedication it took to lead the clan. Yoongi could never let his guard down, could never relax with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You understood, though, because you shared this burden. Yoongi could be honest with you in a way he couldn’t be elsewhere. To the rest of the clan, he was the infallible Pillar, but to you, he was only a man.

Proof of said manhood hardens against your thigh, and Yoongi’s lips curve gamely at the base of your throat. Head lifting, his smile is sharp enough to carve the remaining bit of your heart.

“You left early this morning,” he observes, his gaze dimming. “Why?”

Your eyes trace his lips before lifting to his face. “Hian called in sick, so I replaced his watch. My Fists are spread thin, Yoongi.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Why?” you tease, your hand sliding lower to rest above his hip. “To watch me go? You needed your sleep.”

“I needed you more.”

Yoongi’s words still your fingertips, struck by his honesty. Min Yoongi is nothing if not blunt, leaving you often speechless. What began as just sex, mounting frustration between friends, has become something almost too tenuous to name. The idea of having him scares you nearly as much as the prospect of losing him.

“You had me last night,” you murmur.

Yoongi’s fingers drift across your cheek. “And yet,” he says, unwilling to let you off the hook. “I woke up ravenous.”

Multiple meanings layer his words, some of which you purposefully choose not to hear. Instead, you glance past him to search the grounds. Several Green Bones cross the lawn, none of them close enough to overhear. Still, it reminds you of what’s at stake.

Exhaling gently, you pull from his touch. “I should go,” you tell him.

Head tilted, Yoongi’s dark hair conceals the jade in his brow. His brow wrinkles when he Perceives your tumultuous emotions.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course, I am,” you say with a frustrated laugh. “I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my job to protect the clan – to protect you – and right now, it feels like I’m failing.”

His gaze on you sharpens. “First off, I can protect myself. Second – it’s my job as Pillar to protect the clan. How can you protect us from something I can’t see?”

“How many times do I have to say you don’t shoulder that burden alone?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “In good times, I’m lauded. It only follows that in bad times, I’m the one at fault.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” you say drily. “I, for one, have never lauded you.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, his expression shifts from frustration to carnal. “I seem to recall differently last night.”

Electricity catches each place his gaze lingers, shivering its way down your spine. Refusing to let him notice, you lift your chin higher. “You’d have to remind me. It all blurs together.”

Yoongi bares his teeth, and you can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing the Pillar of No Peak can’t resist, it’s a challenge. The start of your relationship is proof enough of that.

After your promotion to Horn, you spent most waking hours by Yoongi’s side. Working with him was exhausting. Every decision turned into an argument. How many Fists you should have. How many students to admit to the Academy. Whether you should train with the Kekonese military or not.

Yoongi constantly occupied space in your thoughts, and not in a good way. He frustrated you, forcing you to second-guess and slow down your thought process. Maddeningly, he was often correct, which only served to further your irritation.

Eventually, things began to shift. Bickering turned to acceptance and finally, understanding. Yoongi trusted you more often to make the right calls and in turn, you snapped at him less for his input. Your arguments dwindled, then disappeared altogether.

Three years passed as Horn, and soon your frustration gave way to a different kind. You started to notice when Min Yoongi entered the room. At first, you brushed it off as nothing. Yoongi had an undeniable presence, this was true. Soon though, you realized your thoughts breached the border of friendship.

His absence could be felt like a phantom limb. Yoongi’s jade aura comforted you despite its fierceness – so at odds with the calm way he carried himself.

Idly, you wondered what it would take for him to snap. To release his infamous self-control and fully give in. Thoughts of what Yoongi would feel like left your body scorched. On more than one occasion, you awoke with an ache between your legs and a dream of his face slipping away.

Such thoughts though, were dangerous. Yoongi was the Pillar, and you were his Horn – a relationship couldn’t happen and what’s more, he’d shown no interest. You began to withdraw out of self-preservation. Prior, you sparred with Yoongi every morning but soon found yourself making excuses to skip.

What was once daily practice turned into every week and then, once a month. Yoongi was a distraction you could ill-afford, disarming you with his laughter as easily as his sword.

Instead, you forced your attention on training your Fists. Firstday through Fifthday, you met Asha and Jungkook at the gym before dawn. This went on for months, training in secret until one day you exited and saw Yoongi’s car at the curb. Stomach sinking, you watched as he reversed and sped down the street.

Perceiving tumultuous emotion, you knew confrontation was inevitable but hoped Yoongi would give you time to process.

He did not.

Instead, Yoongi pounded on your door the very next morning. When you finally answered, he tossed a practice sword your way and demanded you dress.

Shaking free of your stupor, you glared at Yoongi a moment before slamming the door. Stalking inside, you threw gear in a bag and returned to the hall. Stomping past him, you refused to acknowledge Yoongi, throwing open the door to his Duchesse Priza.

Yoongi sped to his place in silence, tension churning between you like water beneath a ferry. At his gym, you stormed out and ripped the sword from its sheath. Yoongi followed closely behind, barely leashed emotion rolling off him in waves.

You flew at him first, your body Light, and then Strong while swinging towards his head. Moving through the various jade disciplines, you relied on training hammered into your bones. Yoongi caught a blow on his forearm, Steeling his skin to avoid any damage. The two of you entered a familiar rhythm, understanding the other in ways no one else could.

It must’ve been hours before you threw down your sword and declared the match ended. Yoongi simply stared, his chest heaving with a wild spark in his eyes.

You were turning to leave when he dropped his blade, strode across the clearing and crushed your mouth to his.

Five months have passed since. Your relationship has been kept a secret, with you unwilling to place any labels. People would talk if the Horn and Pillar were dating. You don’t want that for yourself. Not when you’ve worked so hard for credibility.

Pressing his thumb to your lower lip, Yoongi drags it lower before he releases. “I’ll have to remind you, then,” he says before stepping away. The heat dissipates from his gaze, leaving you cold. “But you’re right. I should go.”

Somewhat dazed, you feel yourself nod. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. This is exactly what you asked for, so you have no right to feel abandoned.

“Send me the list Namjoon makes,” you say, forcing lightness to your tone. “I’ll send Green Bones to watch their houses.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and merely nods. He stays silent when you leave, brushing past him to the hall. Outside, you pause on the landing before you continue.

His jade aura fades as you exit, letting you know he remains. You do your best to ignore him, flipping your keys as you stride towards your car – not as nice as Yoongi’s, but serviceable nonetheless. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the sticky-warm gray leather seat.

Exhaling, you stare at the wheel before shifting to drive. Lowering the windows, you allow a slight breeze to drift over your face. As much as you pretend to be happy with the current situation, you’re not. You aren’t stupid – you know your feelings for Yoongi extend beyond those of a Horn to their Pillar.

When you first became Horn, you respected Yoongi. He was a good leader – still is – and you were proud to be the person strengthening No Peak by his side. Now, he’s the closest thing you have to family. Deep down, you understand his pardon of Yejun. If you were in a similar situation, there’s nothing Yoongi could do that you wouldn’t forgive.

Especially now, with your father dead. It happened soon after graduation, a sudden collapse of his heart no one saw coming. Yoongi attended his funeral. It was held on a rain soaked Seventhday after the Autumn Festival. Late in the season for a deluge but fitting for the occasion. It felt like the world was wiped clean, along with your prior life.

For the Pillar to attend was unusual, but not unprecedented. You recall him standing near the back, his Pillarman, Hoseok, at his side. The funeral was short – your father wasn’t garrulous by any means – but rain soaked your dress by the time it had ended. It surprised you when Yoongi came to express his sorrow, even more so when he seemed to mean it. Most people didn’t. Most people came for the spectacle, or to say they were there.

Yoongi though, gripped your hand tightly while meeting your gaze. His calluses were as rough as your own when he said the clan would support you. Oddly enough, you believed him.

With both parents dead, and no siblings, No Peak is the only family you have. Yoongi’s life is similar to yours, apart from Yejun. His father died of cancer when he was twenty-one and his mother soon followed, unable to cope. Yoongi knows what loss means, what it feels like to be alone.

Lips tightening, you imagine what it’d feel like to lose him. Worse than a Horn should feel when they lose a Pillar. Silent, you curse yourself for having poor foresight. There’s a reason the Horn and Pillar don’t date. A reason why such a relationship would be forbidden. It’s your job to protect the clan – not just Yoongi – but if it came down to it, you’d choose him every time.

Weaving through the bustling streets of Janloon, your speed is forced to slow. Janloon, the capital city of Kekon, is full of contractions. The latest car models pass beneath flashing billboards, coupled with street stalls and sprawling temples. Scents of the city mingle with stale AC from your car.

No matter how much time passes, Kekon stubbornly clings to its roots. Portions of the outside world may infiltrate, but they’ll never replace. This is something Green Bones and the clans understand.

Traffic forces you to park a block away from your destination. Striding towards the Twice Lucky, you nod at a few Lantern Men idling outside. Asha and Jungkook wait for you in a private room, lounging in seats around the square table. The second floor of the Twice Lucky has been reserved for Green Bones; a privilege No Peak ensures is well-compensated.

Jungkook sits in his usual spot, arms crossed and feet up. Asha is restless, fingertips drumming against the hilt of her blade. Food and water are laid out, half-eaten as though there were others here before.

Sensing your presence, your first Fist looks up. “Y/N-jen.” Asha straightens. “Any news?”

Crossing the room, you scan the building but Perceive no other Green Bones. Sinking into a chair, you pull a plate closer and pick up red chopsticks.

Jungkook turns towards you. “What’d you discuss with the Pillar? Seemed important.”

Asha gives him a warning look, to which he only shrugs.

Ignoring them both, you stab a dumpling. “We suspect the killings were done by a Green Bone. Do you remember Toh Marosun?”

Asha’s head whips in your direction. Jungkook was at the Academy during Maro’s betrayal, but Asha was there and remembers how it went down. If Maro has returned, it’s only a matter of time before things get worse.

“Of course, we remember.” Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s really him? Maro came back?”

“Maybe.” You hesitate another moment, then finish the dumpling. “It’s only a guess.”

“A pretty good guess, if you’re telling us,” Jungkook muses. “Why come back now, though? Returning to Kekon is a death sentence.”

“Is it?” Asha fights a smirk. “Everyone knew Yejun had a thing for Maro.”

Casual, you retrieve a talon knife from its sheath. You begin cleaning the blade, the weapon a natural extension of your wrist, and feel Asha and Jungkook’s gazes follow.

“I don’t think that’s relevant, do you?” you say calmly. “Not unless you’re questioning the Pillar’s judgement.”

Asha looks away, miffed. “No, jen,” she mutters. “Of course, not.”

“Good.” You pause, allowing your fury to seep into your aura. “The Pillar deserves nothing less than your respect. Which means Jungkook is right – coming back here is a death sentence, begging the question of why.”

Jungkook considers. “Maybe he left something.”

Asha turns back, the moment of tension forgotten. “He could be after his jade,” she offers. “Maro was always thin-blooded, so if it’s jade he wants, this could get bad. He could come down with the Itches.”

Sheathing your knife, you look up. “I agree. Maro might not be in his right mind.”

“What should we do?”

“Nothing for now,” you tell her. “Namjoon is compiling a list of people Maro knew. If he hasn’t found what he’s after by now, he could strike again.”

Asha nods and accepts this. Pushing aside a twinge of regret, you wish you could explain the rest. If Yoongi is a target though, it’s best to keep that fact quiet. And as much as you’d like to blame the Luckbringers, you have no way of knowing who’s helping Maro – either by will or by force.

A phone rings on the lower level, barely audible over the din. The Twice Lucky restaurant doesn’t have the best food in Janloon, but the quality is good, and its owner is loyal. The same can’t be said for other places.

Footsteps pound on the staircase, and Jungkook springs to his feet. Before you can warn him, the door opens and Mr. Une, the proprietor, freezes in place.

“Put that away,” you demand, waving for Jungkook to lower his knife.

Eyes wide, Mr. Une stares while your Second Fist sheaths his weapon. Seating himself at the table, Jungkook kicks both feet up like nothing has happened. The third-highest amount of jade in the clan lies coiled about his neck, polished stones resting against his tan skin.

Mr. Une continues to stare, wary until you pointedly clear your throat. “Uncle,” you say, adopting the deferential. “What can we do for you?”

Somewhat placated, Mr. Une turns his head. “Phone call for you, Horn-jen. The Weather Man said it’s urgent. You can use the phone in my office if you’d like.”

Smile disappearing, you stand. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Une blinks, and you realize you’ve crossed the room in less time than it took Jungkook to draw his knife. Inwardly, you sigh and attempt to appear harmless. The citizens of Janloon are used to living with Green Bones but sometimes, your power is a reminder of what they are not. Of the inherent danger of living amongst latent gods.

Following Mr. Une, you head towards his office. Asha and Jungkook walk close behind, with Jungkook at the rear and Asha by your side. Mr. Une hovers awkwardly at the door before turning around and pushing into the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you lift the phone. “Hello?” you say.

Namjoon’s voice barks in your ear. “Get back to the Min property. Now.”

Your stomach drops. “What happened?”

“Maro struck again,” he says tightly. “It’s definitely Maro – and the victim is still alive.”

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting the worst.

“Jio Reubin. He managed to escape and made it here, but he’s injured. This is our best chance to get information.”

“On my way,” you say, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the reality of Namjoon’s words to wash over you. Jio is hurt, meaning you need to interrogate soon in case he dies. Nausea curdles your stomach, and you try to dispel it.

Guilt wars with relief from knowing Yoongi is safe. You’ve met Jio several times, having attended the Academy with his now-wife, Lula. She never took to the bloodier side of the clan, deciding to enter the medical profession instead. If you remember correctly, she’s in the same resident program as Yejun.

Leaving the office, you nod for Jungkook to follow. He falls into step beside you. “I need you to do something for me,” you say to Asha. “Head to Jio Reubin’s and search the area for Maro. Call me if you find anything.”

She nods and turns, disappearing out the side door.

You and Jungkook exit the front, squinting when you emerge in the golden hour. “Follow me to the Min property,” you say grimly.

Jungkook nods as he turns, aura pulsing with adrenaline while growing fainter. You should warn him to be cautious but know it’d be hypocritical. Your own car’s speed is nearly twice the limit as you rush through the streets of Janloon, returning to the gates of the Min property.

Screeching to a halt, you yank keys from the ignition and sprint across the courtyard. Namjoon’s aura pulses from the main house, so you follow the trail and shove open the door.

Namjoon doesn’t look up when you enter, and you immediately see why. Jio lies splayed on the sofa, right arm dangling listlessly from a red cushion. At first, you think that’s the color before you notice the blood darkening Jio’s chest.

Kneeling at his side, Namjoon’s jaw clenches while attempting to Channel. Usually, Channeling is used to rend the body apart but in certain circumstances, it can be used to hold it together. Namjoon doesn’t wear much jade though and wasn’t trained as a healer.

“Allow me,” Jungkook says from behind you.

Dropping to his knees, he replaces Namjoon to clasp Jio’s hand in his. Closing his eyes, a thick vein pulses in the side of his neck. Despite Jungkook’s wish to enter the bloodier side of the clan, he would’ve made an excellent healer. His ability to Channel is better than anyone else in No Peak.

Jio’s aura, previously guttering, gradually smooths. Namjoon sits back on his heels, clearly spent from the effort. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turns to see you.

“Close the door,” he says faintly.

Reaching out, you obey and cross to stand by his side. Staring at Jio, you take in his bloodied state. Whoever tortured him was thorough, cutting just deep enough to let him slowly bleed out.

It’s a miracle Jio escaped, no matter how slowly his chest rises and falls. When you cross your arms, he coughs and cracks open one eye. Dazedly, Jio registers your presence.

“Horn-jen,” he rasps.

Briskly, you nod. “You’re going to be fine, Jio.”

Straining Perception, you sweep the ground for Yoongi but find him far away. Good. The further he is from this carnage, the better.

Glancing back, you seek Namjoon. “What happened?”

“Maro was waiting when Jio got home from his night shift. His wife had already left for the hospital. Maro knocked out Jio, tied him up and when he came to, started torturing him for intel. Jio managed to escape but hasn’t said how. Couple of Fingers found him in the Temple District.”

Your gaze moves to Jio. “Maro escaped?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

Stomach tight, you consider the options. Either Maro is still searching for whatever he’s after, or he found out from Jio and –

From across the property comes a surge of fury. No one else seems to notice, but that doesn’t surprise you. You’re more attuned to Yoongi’s aura than anyone present. Keeping your expression neutral, you know you don’t have much time until Yoongi arrives.

“What did he want to know?” you demand. “Did he –”

The door to the room flies open and hits the wall. The Pillar strides in, adjusting his cuffs as he goes. Yoongi’s dark hair is slicked, clothing immaculate as always. Heat curls in your lower belly, and you do your best to stamp it out.

His gaze flicks towards you, sensing your need before his expression shutters. Facing forward, Yoongi surveys the scene.

“What happened?” he asks, low and deadly.

His Pillarman steps inside and shuts the door. Hoseok leans to the wall, jacket falling open to reveal the handle of his Sig Sauer. It’s odd for a Green Bone to carry a gun but Hoseok’s job is to protect Yoongi from all threats. Although Green Bone warriors render bullets obsolete through Steeling, there are other threats best deterred by firepower.

On the couch, Jio coughs and attempts to sit up. Grunting, Jungkook grabs his shoulder and forces him down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say to Jio. “The doctor is coming, but if you die before they get here, you’ll be no help to anyone.”

“Are you sure it was Maro?” Yoongi asks, tension radiating from every line in his body. Even if you couldn’t Perceive him, you’d know.

Weakly, Jio nods. “It was Maro. Looks different now – leaner and wearing new jade. Scabs up and down his arms. But yeah, it was him.”

You and Namjoon exchange a look. Arm scabs could be a sign of the Itches, an illness caused by jade overexposure. Jade overexposure can happen gradually, or it could be caused by a single instance. For example, if someone were to go without jade for years and then put a lot on.

Green Bones are taught the symptoms from a young age. Severe mood swings, sensory distortion – shaking, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, and heart palpitations. When left untreated, the Itches can lead to madness and eventually, death. Better soldiers than Maro have succumbed to it, the lure of more jade greater than self-control.

The possibility flashes before you – Maro, unable to stomach being cut off from Kekon. He seeks out new jade, expecting to stomach as much as he used to. Instead, Maro breaks, paranoia and fear dragging him under. He starts to blame others, including the clan who took everything from him. A man in such a state might consider revenge his only option.

The hypothesis fits, though it means nothing good for No Peak.

“What did he say?” Yoongi asks. “Tell us, word for word.”

“He…” Jio breaks into a coughing fit. “Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to my kitchen chair. I asked Maro what the fuck he was doing.”

“And?” Namjoon prods. “What did he say?”

“Said he’d been gone for too long. That it was all a mistake – leaving, taking off his jade.”

“Is that why he came back?” you press.

Jio’s head lolls. “He asked who betrayed him. Said he only told a few people about the smuggling, so one of them must’ve done it. I didn’t know,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t one of the people Maro told. He didn’t seem to remember – or care.”

Paranoia. Another unmistakable sign of the Itches.

“What else?” Namjoon asks. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know.” Jio frowns, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “Maro seemed confused. He kept asking who betrayed him, and then mentioning treasure? He wanted to know where his treasure was. I don’t even know what he meant,” he admits, glancing between you and Namjoon. “His jade? I dunno.”

“It could be,” you say slowly.

“He’d ask about his treasure one minute, then accuse it of betraying him,” Jio says. “He said he went where his treasure was, but it wasn’t there. Or they weren’t there? He kept mixing up tenses. Wasn’t sure he knew where he was, half the time.”

Off to the side, you feel a sudden surge of emotion – there and gone before you can dissect. Startled, you glance in the direction of Yoongi but find him unharmed. Eyes narrowed, you watch a moment longer before you turn back.

“If Maro wants his old jade, maybe he meant his apartment. He could have gone there to search first,” Namjoon offers.

“A waste,” you say with a frown. “Maro forfeited his jade to the clan before leaving.”

Forfeited to the Pillar, more accurately. You glance once more at Yoongi, who doesn’t react. He continues to examine Jio, a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“All roads lead to me, it would seem. How did you escape, Jio?” Yoongi adds, casually changing the subject.

“Didn’t, really.” Jio coughs, the sound wet. “Managed to get an arm free, lunged for Maro and fell on the floor. Maro… didn’t really notice. He swore something fierce, stabbed my fridge with his knife and ran off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “He stabbed your… fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If he has the Itches, it doesn’t have to,” Namjoon murmurs.

“True,” you say.

This feels important though, in a way you can’t pinpoint. Maro didn’t have any trouble killing before – the only reason he’d leave was if he found what he wanted. Frustration gnaws at your thoughts, certain you’re missing something.

Outside, you hear someone enter the driveway. Gravel skitters beneath tires, the car coming to a stop as someone exits.

“That must be the doctor.” Yoongi turns around, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ll go let them in.”

Pulling open the door, he exits with Hoseok. You watch them leave, returning your attention to Jio.

Looking weary, Jungkook sits back on his heels. “I’ve done what I can,” he says. “Stopped most of the internal bleeding. He should live.”

The door behind you opens. “I’ll be the judge of that,” says an unfamiliar woman, striding in. Setting down a black bag, she looks around. “Anyone without medical training should leave. Now.”

Brows raised, you obey and take your leave. In the hallway, Jungkook mutters something about readying the car and disappears. You remain in the house, pacing and waiting for Yoongi’s return.

Namjoon’s eyes follow your tread. “What are you thinking?”

Shaking your head, you stop to examine a portrait of Yoongi’s father. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Something about this feels off. Why would Maro leave so abruptly?”

“He wouldn’t,” Namjoon muses. “Not unless he found what he was looking for.”

“Maybe Jio is lying. Maybe he told Maro it was Yoongi who betrayed him. If that’s so though, why wouldn’t Maro come directly here?”

“Here?” Namjoon scoffs. “It’d be suicide to attack the Pillar in his own compound. No way – Maro is smarter. If I were him, I’d set a trap. Draw the Pillar out.”

A terrible suspicion dawns as you freeze, mid-stride. This is the moment the landline rings and, crossing the hallway, you yank down the phone.

“Hello?” you answer.

Asha’s voice fills your ears. “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have… well, I don’t know what I have.”

“What do you mean?” you press. “What’s wrong?”

Noticing your expression, Namjoon frowns and pushes himself from the wall.

“I went to Jio’s like you asked. There was no sign of Maro, so I went back to the house and… it’s strange. Maro tied Jio up in his kitchen, and there are signs of a struggle, but…”

“But what, Asha?”

She pauses. “Did Jio tell you what happened?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicks to Namjoon, who listens to every word. “He said Maro swore, stabbed a fridge and ran off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Asha exhales. “I was worried you’d think I’m crazy. The thing is, Maro didn’t just stab a fridge – he stabbed a photo. A person, to be exact.”

“… Who was the person he stabbed?”

Namjoon goes still, and your grip on the phone tightens. Pieces of the puzzle slide into place, leaving a picture which turns your stomach. Dread fills you, knowing what Asha will say before she says it.

“Yejun,” she says, and a loud ringing fills your ears. “She works at the same hospital as Jio’s wife, and there’s a photo of them at some ceremony. The knife… it’s straight through Yejun’s head.”

Heart pounding, you close your eyes and frantically sweep the grounds. Deep down though, you already know what you’ll find.

Yoongi is gone.

Fury boiling over, you realize this was the epiphany Yoongi had earlier. It must have something to do with the word treasure – likely a nickname between Yejun and Maro. Maro was looking for Yejun, not his jade or revenge. Or maybe it is revenge – stomach sinking, you realize what this must seem like. Maro told Yejun about his operation and soon after, Yoongi found out.

Maro wants Yejun, which is something you should’ve seen from the beginning. Yoongi realized before you and now, he’s run off to play hero.

“Stay here,” you say, turning to Namjoon. Feverish anger burns your blood. “Get Jio to the hospital once he’s stable. Thanks, Asha,” you say before hanging up.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “Yoongi went after Yejun, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” you say, pushing past. “If he did, I’ll find him.”

You don’t remember reaching your car, only that once you do, you drive faster than you ever have through Janloon. The hospital is a logical starting point since that’s what Maro saw from the photo.

Shutting down your thoughts, you continue to weave through traffic. Thinking begets worry, which can lead to mistakes. Tightening your grip, you push the car faster. Roaring down the next street, you recall Yejun is working early shifts this week. She mentioned it the other day, saying how glad she was to be home in time for dinner.

Glancing at the clock, your jaw tightens. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a sharp turn, car skidding a little on the next street. If Yejun is already home, better to first check that she’s safe.

Yoongi’s sister lives near the hospital, an allowance granted with the understanding that your men keep tabs. While it’s unlikely Maro knows her home address, he could have followed her there from the hospital.

Parking swiftly, you leap from the car and sprint inside. Someone on the street protests, all bravado disappearing when they notice your jade. You skid to a stop in the lobby, zeroing in on the doorman.

“Floor ten,” you say flatly.

Open-mouthed, the man stares. When you start to move forward, he snaps to attention. “Elevator is out,” he blurts. “You’ll have to take the stairs, like the rest.”

The rest.

Teeth gritted, you pivot and take the steps three at a time. The climb upward is steep, and you use a burst of Strength to reach the top. Shoving open the door to floor ten, you come to a sudden halt.

Chaos greets you.

The hall before you is narrow, barely two meters in width. Yoongi and Maro face each other midway, moon blades drawn and locked in combat. Lunging, Maro’s blade slices Yoongi’s shoulder and blood splatters the floor. Hissing, Yoongi doubles his Strength to kick Maro in the chest, sending him flying.

Maro slams into a window, glass raining around him. Rolling Light, Maro jumps to face Yoongi, unscathed. Stomach sinking, you notice the amount of jade Maro carries. More than he ever had while part of the clan. Clearly, Maro is past the point of caring about things like the Itches.

His aura feels wrong where it touches yours, jagged and pulsing. Leaping and whirling with unknown motive, withdrawing to expand in nonsensical patterns.

Face contorted, Maro unleashes a series of blows which nearly has Yoongi buckling. Clearly, Maro has continued training in exile. He looks similar and yet different – his hair longer, beard unkempt to hide the scar on his cheek. His body is lean, that of a wild wolf after winter who fights more desperately because of it.

Steeling himself, you feel Yoongi pull his aura inward, readying for the next blow. Maro slips beneath Yoongi’s blade and slashes – and Yoongi releases, Channeling his energy outward in a deadly wave. The invisible strike hits Maro dead-on, making him stumble.

Gaze bright, Maro’s head whips upward. Sensing murderous intent, a growl slips from your throat as you rush in. Swifter than breath, you wrench knives from your belt, thrusting them upward to catch Maro’s blade.

He shudders to a halt, teeth bared in your face.

Yoongi skids to a stop beside you, disbelief warring with his panic.

“GO!” you yell, glancing at Yejun’s door. “Now!”

Yoongi hesitates before nodding, lowering his sword to dart inside. Maro seethes when he escapes, shoving with all his weight to send you backwards. Dropping into a crouch, you brace yourself with one hand and kick outward. Maro leaps to avoid the blow, landing Light with a fierce glint in his eye.

Bright studs of jade – some red and oozing – dot his chest, clearly done in haste. Maro doesn’t seem to feel pain as he walks towards you.

“You?” he taunts, half-laughing. “You’d barely graduated when I was chosen for Horn. Must be nice,” he muses. “A reward for fucking the boss.”

Biting your lower lip, you hold back your retort. When you do this, Maro smiles, lips pulled from his teeth.

Before he can speak, you lunge forward and Channel. Energy jabs Maro’s chest – enough to stun, but not kill. Grunting, Maro’s smile disappears as he Deflects. Bringing his sword down overhead, he leaves no room to dodge. Swiftly, you Steel and hope for the best.

Maro’s blade slams against skin, though he fails to draw blood. Springing forward, you strike hard enough to rend his shirt’s fabric. Pulling back, Maro seethes.

Your next series of blows are fueled by Strength, fast enough to elude normal vision. You rely on muscle memory and Perception, countering each of Maro’s strokes with your own. He’s not as fast as you are, but his additional jade gives him an edge.

His next Channel is clumsy but strong, enough to leave you winded and miss his next blow. You don’t Steel in time, his blade catching your jacket to cut your torso. Hissing, you stumble and press a hand to the wound.

The cut feels shallow but stings, nonetheless. Fury building, you hone your Perception to a narrow cone. Maro’s aura ebbs and flows, erratically bursting as he walks towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to fight,” he says, adjusting his grip on his sword. “If anything, you should join me, Y/N – I’m your future.”

Refusing to let him continue, you rush forward and exchange a flurry of blows that end in a stalemate.

Panting, Maro withdraws. “You have to understand I loved her,” he hisses. “I loved her, and she betrayed me. She deserves to die.”

“Who did?” you ask, although you already know.

Behind Maro, you see Yoongi rush from Yejun’s apartment. He holds her, unconscious, Yejun’s aura silent without jade ability. Fervent, you wish you could gauge her vitality. As it is, all you can do is buy them time to get help.

Sinking into a crouch, you draw Maro’s gaze.

“Yejun?” you prod.

“Yes,” Maro breathes, his gaze bright. “I trusted her, and she turned me in. Do you know what I thought about every day while in Shotar? Her. Do you know what she thought about? The clan,” he spits. “He’ll betray you, too, in the end – you’ll see. Killing them both now would be a mercy.”

“Yejun didn’t betray you,” you say to buy time. “She wasn’t the one who told Yoongi – he found out on his own.”

Maro blinks, his surprise evident for a moment before vanishing under fury. “That’s just as bad,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Yoongi and I were like brothers. Under aisho, doesn’t family come first?”

“Even family is bound by honor,” you say grimly. “Should I ever be disloyal to my brother, may I die by the blade,” you add, reciting the Green Bone oaths. “I won’t join you, Toh Marosun. Take me by force if you must.”

His nostrils flare but before he can act, you rush in. Dimly, you register Yoongi’s retreating aura and hope he’s managed to escape the building. Lightness and Strength blur as you move, Maro’s Deflection flung hastily forward.

You keep your blows unpredictable, swift enough that Maro struggles. Rage cloaks your intention as you whirl and slice in erratic patterns. Sweat beads on Maro’s forehead, Steeling wrongly for your knives to draw blood.

Sensing victory, you push harder. Gathering his energy inward, Maro lashes out suddenly in a Channel you barely Deflect. Energy rips through you, searing your bones in a silent attack. Wincing, you leap back and Channel a blow. Maro stumbles, barely shielding and you recognize a flaw.

There are few Green Bones in Shotar, which must make it difficult for him to practice Deflection. Pressing the advantage, you move forward in a quick flurry of blows. Although Maro’s sword is larger, your knives gain the advantage in the small space. He can’t move when you duck underneath, stabbing upward to pierce his soft underarm.

Howling, Maro whirls and swings at you rashly. Leaning backwards, you Steel and catch the blow on your forearm. Vibrations clang through you, rattling the teeth in your skull. The two of you lock together, Maro’s energy clashing with yours. When he doubles his Strength, you feel your Steel buckle.

Lips split in a grin, Maro keeps his sword steady. Further increasing his Strength, he’s focused on winning he doesn’t notice the shift in your aura.

Dropping your Steel, you draw everything inward and let his sword slice your arm. Maro’s laugh is manic – until you Channel outward. The last of your energy shatters his Deflection, piercing inner organs with deadly precision. You feel the moment Maro’s heart stops, his arteries rupturing from the inside out.

Forgoing any mercy, your knife slashes his throat in a clean line.

Blood mists from the wound, coating the wall behind you in red. With a gurgled gasp, Maro lifts a hand – only to go limp and fall, face-first on the floor.

Silence descends, broken only by your ragged breathing. Not far off, sirens wail, and you sense Green Bone auras closing in on the building. Eyes closed, you force yourself to breathe in and out.

No matter how often you do it, killing another person never gets easier. Even when necessary. Even when said person threatens your life and others. You fortify yourself with the knowledge that Yoongi is safe, and Yejun will live – she has to.

The cost to your soul is too high for anything else.

“Is he dead?” asks someone behind you.

Swiftly, you turn as you open your eyes. You were so focused inward, you failed to notice Yoongi’s aura approach. The Pillar’s gaze snags, stopping on the man before you.

“Yes,” you say, bending to clean your knives. Heart hammering, you wonder what Yoongi feels at seeing his former friend dead. Wonder if he’ll blame you, as Maro said.

Setting your jaw, you sheath both your knives before standing. Immediately, you see you needn’t have worried. Yoongi isn’t looking at Maro, but at you. A lone muscle tics in his jaw, observing the crimson blood staining your clothes.

“The police are on their way. They’ll clean up the scene. You’re hurt,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick.

You glance down at your arm. “It’s nothing.”

Bending again, you begin to gather Maro’s jade. You’ll be expected to wear it the next time you’re in public, but right now, the touch of it is nearly overwhelming. Minor wounds and injuries pulse with each movement, already healing from your current jade.

“I’ll take it.” Yoongi suddenly is beside you, right hand extended. “Let me help.”

Relinquishing some of the jade piercings, you slide the rest in your pockets and push yourself to stand. Turning to face him, you stride down the hall. A roiling ball of emotion settles deep in your gut.

Worry about Yejun. Fury at Yoongi’s lies. Relief, that he’s here and unharmed.

Entering the stairwell, the door hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Yoongi follows closely, wisely choosing to remain silent. Two stories lower, you find the words to speak.

“Is Yejun okay?” you ask.

You feel Yoongi’s gaze on the back of your neck. “She’ll live,” he says, sounding weary. “I left her at the hospital with Namjoon and Jiro. She has a concussion. Maro got here a few minutes before I did and had already roughed her up.”

Something about this snaps the hold on your fragile self-control. Picturing what might have happened had you arrived a few seconds later, you whirl around and grasp Yoongi by his suit jacket.

“Never,” you blurt, yanking him closer. “Never do that to me again.”

Gaze burning, you stare him down and Yoongi watches warily. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing you to manhandle him. “I know that you’re angry,” he says carefully.

With a harsh laugh, you release him. “Of course, I am! You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“I know that.”

“Well?” you demand after a long moment passes. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “I’d do it again.”

You stare at him, aghast. “Well, then.” You pause. Shake your head. “If that’s all you have to say, I think this night is over.”

Wiping your palms on your pants, you turn away. You only make it one flight before Yoongi’s hand finds your elbow.

Spinning you towards him, Yoongi pulls you closer. You manage to avoid eye contact until his fingers slip beneath your chin, making you face him.

“I know you want me to apologize, but I won’t,” he says lowly. “I refuse to apologize for trying to keep you from danger.”

Most people would swoon, hearing this from their lover but you aren’t most people. You’re the Horn of No Peak, sworn to protect the clan – and Yoongi – from any threats.

Your gaze narrows on his. “That’s a problem, then. I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my duty to protect No Peak – to protect you. The Pillar is the spine of this clan and, once severed, No Peak can’t survive. It can survive without me, though.”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare. “And what about me?” he asks. “If you don’t survive, how do you expect me to continue?”

You go still. “Yoongi… I…”

“And for that matter,” he adds, his hand on your chin sliding to the back of your neck. “If you’re so intent on following the rules, who are you to give me orders? I’ll fight to protect the clan if I want to, Y/N.”

Fury expands from the spark in your chest. “You didn’t make me your Horn to follow you blindly,” you seethe.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I did not.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, each passing second draining some of your fire. You’re left with smoke on your tongue, a heaviness in your heart and the ever-growing certainty the time for rule-following has passed.

“You… can’t think like that,” you say eventually.

Yoongi’s brow sketches upward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth more than the clan. More than you, as it’s Pillar. That’s dangerous precedent.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you say, frustrated by his nonchalance. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” you add, reciting your oaths again. “You are the Pillar. Your life is that of the clan.”

Yoongi’s lips twist with displeasure. “It seems we’re at an impasse, since I refuse to place my life before yours.”

“Yoongi,” you snap, exasperated. “You can’t just… just –”

“Just what?” His eyes blaze. “Love you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Something in his face gentles. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Perceiving this truth, the last bit of fight drains from your body. Sensing it, Yoongi draws you closer and pulls you against him. Eyes shutting, you lean into his chest. Yoongi’s aura swallows you whole, an oasis of calm against the onslaught of night.

His breath warms your ear. “It was my problem to fix,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding reticent. “She… Yejun didn’t betray Maro, but she was going to – that’s how I found out. She was writing a letter to me on her kitchen table. I walked in and saw it.”

Lifting your head, you regard him. “You don’t have to explain to me why you spared your sister. I understand.”

“Thank you. You should know, though,” he adds, his voice fierce, “I will do anything to keep those I love from harm.”

You can’t help but smile, though it quickly fades. “I know you would, Yoongi. That’s a burden you can’t carry alone, though. It makes you weaker, not stronger.”

“This was my fault, though,” he says. “Not yours – nor anyone else from the clan. It was my decision to let Maro go free.”

“You aren’t responsible for Maro’s actions. And it’s not weakness to show mercy.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s not,” you press on. “Who’s to say what the right choice was? If you’d killed Maro back then, maybe something worse would’ve happened. Yejun might not have forgiven you. It’s impossible to rewrite the past, and you’ll go mad if you try.”

Yoongi looks away, unconvinced. “What type of Pillar does that make me, though?”

“One who hesitates before killing their friends.”

“One who balks at making tough decisions.”

“Min Yoongi.” Steel layers your voice and you reach up, turning his face to yours. “I would never swear oaths to someone who killed without question. Who made decisions in anger, then regretted them later. You question me when you question yourself.”

His gaze roams your face. “And what if others betray me?” Yoongi murmurs, voice lower. “Would you continue to support me if I was forced to kill Asha? Or Jungkook?”

“I’d trust you did what had to be done.”

“And what if I become corrupt?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking lower. “What if I’m the one being selfish, betraying the clan?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reaching lower, you wrap a hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Not looking away, Yoongi’s hand covers yours. “You could try,” he murmurs, some of his tension dissipated.

“Oh, I think I’d succeed.”

Releasing your hand, Yoongi finds your knee and hitches your leg against him. “If it came to that,” he murmurs, nose skimming your throat, “I’d let you.”

Inhaling softly, you close your eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Perceiving the truth to his words, you open your eyes. Yoongi stares back, letting you see the starkness in his gaze. It’s no small thing for the most powerful man in Kekon to promise you anything.

Similarly, it’s no small thing to admit he holds your heart in both hands. Which is why you need to say what you do next. Without Yoongi’s next promise, this can’t go any further.

“Don’t make these decisions without me,” you whisper. “Let me decide for myself when a job is too dangerous.”

Yoongi’s lips flatten. “You give me an impossible choice, since nothing is too dangerous for my lovely Horn.”

“Trust that I love you, then,” you say, your hand trembling as you rise to cup his face. “And that I’ll do what it takes to come back.”

Yoongi goes still at your declaration. His pupils dilate so far, they seem to swallow the light. Four years, you’ve spent fighting together. Five months of knowing him this way, and never have you uttered those words to his face.

The transformation is quick, his expression shifting to desire in barely a breath. Bending, Yoongi drags your mouth to his. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’ll become greedy,” you say, breathless.

“I’m the Pillar of No Peak.” He gives a half-laugh. “I will always want more.”

“Then, take it.”

Opening your mouth, Yoongi walks you backwards until your spine hits the wall. You lose yourself in his touch, his taste, the fatal heat of his body. Fingers tangling in hair, you’re rewarded by the basest of groans from his lips. Yoongi’s hands find your body, grasping and searching to pull you against him.

Far below, the faint pulse of jade auras brush yours. “Yoongi,” you moan, nipping his lower lip. “We should go.”

Pulling away, his thumbs indent your hips. “Go where?”

“Your place. My place. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says with a grin. “Want to wake up with you in my bed.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re so needy.”

“I am.” His lips curve. “I need many things, Y/N. You in my bed. Eventually, in my house. Your vows exchanged for mine. But first” – his brow lifts – “I need to fuck you. Need to bury myself inside you.”

Lips parting, you attempt to digest this information. Everything Min Yoongi has laid on the line. The last sentence catches your attention though, heat curling in your belly and replacing all sentient thought. The rest can come later – first, you need him inside you.

“Let’s go,” you declare, pushing yourself from the wall.

He chuckles, low in his throat as he follows your lead. Halfway down, Yoongi’s arm finds your waist to pull you against him. His teeth scrape the skin beneath your ear, pausing to nip the highest jade hoop.

“Where will you put your new jade?” he muses, pressing his erection to you from behind. “You’re running out of places on your body.”

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur, Yoongi’s tongue on your neck proving extremely distracting. “Wrist cuffs might be nice.”

“If you wanted to be cuffed” – his voice dips – “all you had to do was ask.”

“That is not what I was referring to,” you say, although a shiver traces your spine.

“Pity.”

A second before exiting the stairwell, Yoongi releases you and takes a step back. You ignore the disappointment this brings, forcing your expression to neutral. Already, police cars are arriving to hold back the crowds.

From across the lobby, you spot Asha and Hoseok in deep conversation with uniformed officers. Moving towards them, you’re surprised when Yoongi takes you by the elbow.

“I ran into Hoseok in the lobby,” he says, steering you sideways. “He and Asha will clean up and meet us back home.”

Hoseok nods when you pass, his jaw tight in a way that implies displeasure. Swallowing laughter, you push open the door and immediately, your smile vanishes. Many people have gathered, huddled in groups around the yellow caution tape.

Catching sight of your reflection, you stifle a groan. You look terrible – sweat and blood mar your forehead, the rips in your jacket showing your wounds. Before anything between you and Yoongi can happen, you need a hot shower.

“The situation’s been handled,” Yoongi says to the crowd, pulling you towards the car. “Green Bones are searching the area for remaining danger – you should be able to enter the building soon. No Peak will compensate for damages.”

With that, he opens the car door and watches you enter. Expressions shift in the crowd, a wave of relief washing over the people. Yoongi joins you in the backseat, leaning forward to instruct the driver to go.

The car rumbles from the curb, its speed slow to avoid the pedestrians in your path. Grateful for the tinted windows, you lean sideways and rest your head against the cool glass.

In the reflection, you watch Yoongi retrieve his car phone. “Namjoon?” he says after a moment. “It’s done – Maro is dead. How’s Yejun?”

Namjoon’s reply is muffled, and your thoughts wander. Once you return, you should find Jungkook and instruct him to search Maro’s former haunts. There’s a chance he wasn’t working alone and if so, you’ll need to catch his supporters.

Tonight has taken a toll though, no matter how much you’d like to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion settles while you stare out the window, watching the lights of Janloon flick past.

Yoongi hangs up the phone. “Yejun is fine,” he says, and you turn your head. “Namjoon said she lost a lot of blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed. She should be awake in a few hours.”

Relief floods your body. “That’s good.”

His hand rests beside yours on the seat, close enough to feel the heat from his palm. Exhaling softly, Yoongi shifts until his hand covers yours.

Going still, you stare at your entwined hands on the leather. The car slows beneath you, coming to a stop before the Min gates. Another moment passes before the gates open, the car rumbling forward as Yoongi speaks up.

“You can take us to my place, Galo,” he says. “No need to stop at the main house.”

Startled, you glance sideways, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. Never mind the driver’s raised eyebrows, or the fact that Yoongi just told him you’re sleeping together. While it’s true, you’ve slept here before, you’ve never been obvious. It feels as though a bridge has been crossed without discussion of what that means.

The moment the car is in park, you exit the vehicle and slam the door. Striding inside the front door, you unzip your jacket to hang on a hook. If Yoongi thinks he can share your relationship with others, you have every right to act at home in his house.

Technically, the Horn has a house on Min property, but you’ve always preferred to keep a separate residence. Your apartment in the city has served you well – except for the nights you stay here and sneak out the next morning.

Removing your boots, you set these aside. “We just discussed this,” you fume as you turn. “Ask me next time before you decide–”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi’s mouth, pushing you back until your spine hits the wall. “Couldn’t wait,” he rasps, shutting the door with his foot. “Need you. Now.”

Exhaling, you melt and arch upward against him. Grasping your thigh, Yoongi yanks your leg higher to wrap around his waist. The thick length of his cock presses to your center and you nearly whimper. Fiery anger dissolves into need – the need to touch him, feel him and wash away tonight’s fear.

“Yoongi,” you moan, turning your head. “I need to shower.”

Grasping your wrists with one hand, he presses them above your head. “Do you?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck.

“I’m covered in blood,” you protest.

Glancing up, Yoongi smirks. “And?”

Stifling laughter, you push at his chest. Obedient, Yoongi releases your hands to take a step backward. “Not to mention,” you say as you move past, “I’d rather not have Toh Marosun’s blood in your bed.”

Yoongi’s next action is quick, happening in the same breath. Catching your wrist in one hand, he pulls you closer. “The next time you say a man’s name in this house,” he rasps. “It had better be mine.”

“We’ll see,” you say loftily. “Now, let me wash up.”

Releasing you, Yoongi lets you pass, and you don’t turn around. If you did, you know you might cave and fuck him right there on the floor.

Entering his bedroom, you flick on the lights. Soft, muted warmth fills a room of concrete. Bulletproof windows overlook dense vegetation, invoking the feel of a post-apocalyptic city. Pausing in the doorway, you inhale his scent.

Although you’d never tell Yoongi – it’d go to his head – this room has swiftly become one of your favorite places. Watching dawn break in his arms has brought you greater peace than any of the gods.

In his bathroom, you help yourself to his fancy products and step under the spray. Securing your hair, you do your best to avoid the strands getting wet. Cranking up the heat to high, steam fills the room as you scrub blood from your skin. The water beneath your feet turns red, and then pink before finally clear.

Once done, you turn off the spray and wrap yourself in a towel. Straining Perception, you find Yoongi showering across the house. You’re momentarily surprised he didn’t try and join, although grateful he didn’t. After five years of knowing one another, Yoongi understands when you need time alone.

You’re washing your face when the bedroom door creaks. Drying your skin, you cross to the closet and withdraw a robe. Securing the tie, you wipe steam from the mirror before opening the door.

Yoongi sits on the edge of his bed, damp hair curling at the base of his neck. He’s freshly washed and changed into a plain shirt and trousers. In one hand, he holds a crystal glass of hoji, swirling it once before taking a sip.

Leisurely, his gaze drags down your body. When Yoongi looks up, his face brims with unsaid desire. Silent, he sets down his glass and pushes himself to stand. Watching him eagerly, you Perceive his intent when Yoongi prowls closer.

Coming to a stop before you, Yoongi lifts his hand to cup the back of your neck. Tilting your face upward, he strokes your damp skin with his fingers.

Silent, he lowers his face until your lips nearly touch. “What was it you said?” he murmurs. “About the clan being your blood and the Pillar, its master?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You know the oaths as well as I do.”

“Yes.” Bending, Yoongi uses Strength to lift you against him. Gripping you tightly, he carries you to his dresser and deposits you there. “Well,” he says, lowering himself. “Allow me to show you who I get on my knees for.”

You stare at him, mesmerized when he parts your legs. Pulling your hips to the edge, Yoongi grips your thigh with a veined hand. The sight of him like this is downright sinful. Desire courses through you, setting your skin ablaze.

Yoongi leans forward, gaze meeting yours at the first brush of his tongue. You groan with relief, thighs spreading further. Lifting his other hand, Yoongi tugs at the tie of your robe. You inhale when it opens, fully bared while Yoongi’s tongue curls against your dripping sex.

He pulls away, eyes dark and casually spreads your folds. Muttering something that sounds like a swear, he stares at your cunt before lowering his head and sucking your clit. A dark moan escapes, weight shifting to get him even closer. Forcing your thighs open, Yoongi begins to flick his tongue against your swollen mound.

He doesn’t rush this, taking his time while eating you out. Yoongi flicks, and then swirls before sucking your clit. His tongue drags to your cunt, already dripping with arousal. Humming in satisfaction, Yoongi shifts on the floor and slips his tongue inside. Gasping his name, your fingers curl in the dark strands of his hair.

His tongue slowly fucks you, barely a taste of what’s to come. “Yoongi,” you groan, moving against him. “I need more.”

“Anything,” he says, pulling back to spread you with his fingers. Yoongi’s thumb finds your clit, casually stroking until your body quivers. “Take off the robe,” he demands, looking up. “I want to see you.”

Wordless, you push the supple silk from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at rounded breasts and hard nipples. Lowering his head, he sucks your clit again. Sliding a hand under your ass, he drags you close to the edge.

Gasping out loud, your hand fists his hair to anchor your body. In the mirror behind him, you watch your chest heave, hips undulating while he licks your pussy. Head tipping back, you lose yourself in sensation, each stroke of his tongue further coiling your tension. Yoongi is patient; he knows what you need and takes his time getting there.

Cupping his head, you move your hips while starting to ride his tongue. When Yoongi strokes your entrance and slips a finger inside, you nearly convulse.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lifting his head. Curling that finger, he strokes a dangerous place. “Come for me.”

When his tongue resumes motion, you feel your walls convulse. Tighter and tighter until – everything snaps, a wave of pleasure cresting through you. Thighs trembling, you hold Yoongi’s hair while you cry out his name.

The pleasure slowly subsides, leaving you slumped on the dresser. Yoongi pushes himself upward, cock straining eagerly against the seams of his pants. Cupping the back of your neck, he kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself. Parting your lips with his tongue, he dives into you eagerly, one hand slipping to slide into your pussy.

Groaning his name, you fumble with the buttons holding his shirt together. “This,” you demand. “Off.”

Using Strength, you send the buttons flying. Yoongi smirks, withdrawing and pushing his shirt to the ground. Touching his chest, you stare at him, unabashed. The lean lines of his torso, the indent of his v, the jade lining his fingers where he grips you tightly.

His moon blade is absent, likely the first thing he cleaned upon entry. Still, the hum of Yoongi’s jade is a potent weapon – nearly as much as the need in his eyes.

Lowering your hand, you palm the bulge in his pants. Jaw flexing, Yoongi lifts your leg to wrap around him. The roughness of his pants against your sex makes you hiss.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Want to touch you.”

“I want that, too,” he murmurs, hair falling into his gaze. “More than that, I want to be inside you.”

Breath catching, you remove your hand as he presses forward. You feel his cock through his pants, rock-hard and straining against your needy pussy. Swallowing thickly, you managed to undo the last button and shove his pants down. Stepping free of their confines, Yoongi palms his own cock.

Replacing his hand, you give him a squeeze. Yoongi lowers his head to close his lips around a waiting nipple. A whimper rises when he tugs, switching to the other breast and repeating the motion. Arching upward, you lazily drag your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Eventually, Yoongi looks up and hisses, “Enough.”

Reaching lower, he guides his cock to your entrance. Leaning back on your palms, you lift one knee to allow him better access. Yoongi pauses, gaze traveling your face to your chest, landing on your cunt. Exhaling softly, your head tips back as you widen your legs.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi rasps, flicking his thumb over your hooded clit.

Inhaling, you tremble from oversensitivity. Bending, Yoongi slowly spits to land moisture on your cunt. It drips down your sex, mixing with arousal while Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock inside. He pauses, watching your face, then adds another inch.

You arch upward, trying and failing to take him in deeper. “Is that all you have?” you challenge, goading.

Yoongi merely smirks. “Do you think,” he murmurs, refusing to move, “you can make me give you what you want?”

When he starts to withdraw, you tilt your hips, and he slides in a bit deeper. Yoongi groans as he fills you, hand tightening on your waist.

“Yes,” you gloat, brushing your breasts to his chest. “I do.”

Yoongi’s gaze flares, and he pushes in a bit more. “I know you, Y/N,” he murmurs, moving one hand to your neck. Thumb brushing your collarbone, he hauls you upright and keeps your thighs spread. “I know you want this pussy filled nice and slow. I know you want me to tease you. I know you want to feel in control but have someone else do the work. And I want – no, need,” Yoongi corrects, aura flaring, “to be the one giving it to you.”

Before you can respond, he thrusts forward and fills you with his cock. A cry leaves you, unable to do anything but take it. With your legs spread, hips tilted, the thickness of his length presses to your g-spot. And when Yoongi withdraws and leaves your body empty, you think you might cry. Think you might beg to have more of his cock.

Luckily, Yoongi doesn’t want this. Thrusting into you fully, he starts to move. Filling you up with his thickness, he goes harder and harder until you can barely think straight. His hips pound yours, filling you to the brim, making you take it. Fingers brushing the jade on your throat, he spikes your arousal and drenches his cock.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at the place he disappears inside you. “You’re amazing.”

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need… need…”

“Yeah?” His gaze lifts. “Tell me what you need.”

“Deeper,” you plead.

His aura flares briefly before he pulls out. Before you can speak, his hands find your waist, setting you on the floor to turn you around. Spreading your legs, he presses a hand to your back to push you lower.

Gripping his dresser, you look over your shoulder while he positions himself from behind. “What about now?” Yoongi asks, slipping inside with one thrust.

Lips parting, you bend further and stick out your ass. Yoongi starts to move when you spread your legs, fucking you harder. His thrusts become rougher, hips slapping your ass while your breasts bounce.

“That’s it,” he says, leaning forward to lace one hand with yours. His other slides between your thighs, flicking over your clit. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you own it.”

“Don’t I?” you groan.

“Mm,” he agrees, rubbing circles on your clit. “It’s yours – I’m yours.”

Before you can respond, he pulls out again. Draping you over one shoulder, Yoongi carries you, Light, to his bed. You scowl, hitting his thigh but Yoongi responds with a firm smack to your ass. His fingers slip briefly between your cheeks, wetting himself with your slick. Before you can moan, he deposits you on the bed.

Kneeling between your legs, Yoongi repositions himself at your entrance and pushes in.

“Oh,” you groan, heading tilting back.

You love sex with Yoongi in every position, but this is your favorite. Feeling his callouses slide over our skin, his weight heavy while filling you with his cock. Yoongi’s length slides inside, rocking into you slowly while his hair brushes your forehead.

Reaching up, you push this from his face when he starts to move. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from tonight, it’s that these moments are precious. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hold him tighter.

“Marry me,” Yoongi says.

You go still underneath him. “I… what?”

Sliding his hand under your hips, Yoongi tilts them to get deeper. “Marry me,” he repeats. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of waking up without you. Living my life without you.”

“You have me,” you say, unsure whether he’s serious.

Slowly, he thrusts in and out of your body. “Not the way I want.” His eyes flash. “As not only my Horn, but my wife. I want to be your husband. I want the entire world to know I belong to you.”

Taking your other hand, Yoongi moves this to the bed while continuing to thrust. You arch against him, chasing his hips and words with your own.

“People will talk,” you say, breathless.

His gaze sparks. “Do you think I care?”

“Maybe I care,” you say. “They’ll call me a distraction. And don’t give me that bullshit about my life being worth more than yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi chuckles, teeth scraping your neck. “What I will say is that I’m better with you. And if I’m better, the clan is better. Not that you should marry me because of that,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You lose your breath when he circles his hips, driving into you deeper. Thighs parting, you lose yourself in the feel of him in you. His body moves as his soul does, completing you fully. In truth, you’ve avoided this conversation because you know how it ends.

It ends with Yoongi. He’s it for you. From the first time you kissed, you knew it would end up here – it was only a matter of when. Your remaining barriers crumble as you meet his gaze.

“Yes,” you exhale, your hips chasing his.

Yoongi’s aura sharpens. “Yes?” he repeats. “Is that… agreement or acceptance?”

“Yes – as in yes, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi goes completely still, ignoring your protest. A second later, he’s consumed by a wave of emotion. Need – fiery and stark – sweeps through him as he bends, crushing your lips to his. Yoongi’s kiss burns, searing and marking you for one another.

Slipping an arm beneath your knee, Yoongi pushes upward to get even deeper. You gasp with pleasure, his cock hitting a spot that makes you incoherent.

“Soon,” he adds, adding Strength to his thrusts.

Breathless, your fingertips dig into his skin. “Don’t be greedy,” you chide, losing some credibility when a moan leaves your lips.

His upper lip curls. “I am, though,” Yoongi grunts, pushing you close to the edge. “I’ll never have enough of you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you say, holding him tightly. “I’m yours, Yoongi.”

A groan escapes him, burying his face in your neck. The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders strain, fucking you harder. “I could die hearing those words.”

“Don’t. That’s an order.”

Yoongi looks up to lock gazes. “Whatever you want. I need it, Y/N. Need this – want to feel you come on my cock.”

Already close to the edge, his words leave you trembling. Clutching him harder, you widen your thighs and feel your walls shatter when you come undone. Pleasure consumes you, vision going dark as you throw back your head. Yoongi’s lips brush your throat, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Swearing when you tighten, Yoongi goes harder to chase his release. On his last thrust, he breaks, your name on his tongue as hot cum fills your body. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed beside you. Yoongi slips partway out, your bodies still intertwined.

Lifting a hand, you drag this down his side. Yoongi smiles at you before pulling out, reaching to grab a tissue from his nightstand. He cleans you with care, then rises from bed to throw it away. Slipping beneath the covers, you wait for his return.

Yoongi does so quietly, dimming the light before he joins you in bed. Slowly, your eyes adjust until Yoongi’s moon-limned face becomes visible.

“Did you mean it?” you say, barely more than a whisper.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says roughly. “And you? Did you also mean what you said?”

Slowly, you nod.

Joy floods his aura, sharp and bright. “Anything you want,” Yoongi says, determined. “You have only to ask. Cities burnt. Villains vanquished. My own name, forsaken – ask, and it’s yours.”

You can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking. “Villains vanquished?” you tease, pressing closer. “There are some who might call you the villain of this story.”

His lip twitches. “Then, I’ll defeat myself.”

“Seems like an easy fight.”

Mock growling, he rolls to pin you underneath him. You laugh louder, the sound muffled when Yoongi bends to kiss you. By the time his head lifts, the two of you are breathless.

“I apologize,” you murmur, cupping his face. “Most fearsome Pillar.”

Baring his teeth, he nips your thumb. “That’s better.”

“Truly, though,” you tell him. “There’s no need to get me anything. Whatever I want, I can get for myself.”

Somewhat amused, Yoongi settles beside you. “Oh, I’m aware. My heart, for instance,” he says, placing your hand on his chest.

“That, I’ll accept,” you say softly, staring at your hand on his skin. Your gaze lifts. “As long as mine belongs to you, in turn.”

“A heart for a heart,” Yoongi agrees, moving closer.

Skin pressed to skin, you feel your hearts settle. No Green Bone magic ties two souls together. Instead, that magic lies within the bounds of normal humans. And yet, as you breathe and listen to the blood in his veins, you can’t help but feel something greater is at work.

Something even death could not part – although you’d dare it to try.

Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Go read Jade City by Fonda Lee. LOL

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