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quackarl · 1 year ago

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YOU BELONG WITH ME; QUACKITY X READER (STRANGERS TO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, SLOW BURN.)

A/N: Hiii! I did not realize how hard it is for me to write about friends to lovers until I was writing this. I think I'm better at established relationship stuff, hahaha. But there was an interesting request in my inbox if I could write a Quackity X Reader piece, where the reader is hired by Quackity to edit his videos and Spanish subtitles and such, and proceeds to fall for him somewhere along the way. So, I did that, with a few twists of my own imagination. Be aware, that this story includes usage of alcohol. And it's painfully slow burn at times, hahaha, but that's the beauty of it sometimes.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I have felt more hopeless. Looking for a job really sucks, actually many things suck and I hate how life seems to pass me by, almost even faster when I feel like running out time, almost as if to tempt me to keep count of all the time I waste. Time flies when your life is falling apart, isn’t that what they say?

I wish it was few days ago when this started, this desperate job-hunt, but it’s been so long now. I need something, and fast.

I see my phone light up, the only source of light in the dark room. I see it’s already 11 PM, which means I have wasted another night staying up thinking about my future and where do I fit, if anywhere. Great.

Besides that, what captures my attention next is that it’s my friend texting me, and they’re not here to chit-chat about the usual stuff we talk about every night, but telling me they have a perfect plan for me that’s worth a shot. I wonder how that’s possible, at 11 on a Monday night, and how do they know it any better than me what’s right for me? We both know that’s a lie, though, they know things about me before I even know them myself.

I demand to know more about this plan. I’ll try anything, that’s for sure. Anything to get my foot in the door in this world, you know? The next thing they send me is a mysterious link. I click on it and see it taking me to an application form. For what exactly?

I let out a frustrated puff once I read the first line;

“We are hiring! Apply here for the position of ‘Video Editor’ and ‘Translator’ for Quackity!”

Ridiculous. I already feel defeated, rejected, because how would I have a chance, out of everybody else applying? What makes me special? That’s probably one of the questions on the application and I don’t see myself writing anything worth reading over in it.

I text my friend promptly, my will to fight suddenly vanishing into thin air, telling them exactly what I think of this idea, that it’s far-fetched and I’m not going along with it. Still, curiosity, or whatever, is kind of getting the best of me, I can’t lie, as I eye the open application.

My friend texts me back, full of persistence;

“And why not? You studied editing and you’re good at it AND you speak Spanish which is what they’re looking for. You’re the whole package?! Tell me I’m wrong, you can’t.” 11:06 PM

Well, I can’t argue on that. It’s my power that I did happen to take editing courses, and Spanish courses too, for reasons I wasn’t sure about back then, but now it could all make sense.

I confess to my friend that I’m actually considering filling out the form, but I feel stuck. I don’t know what I would answer to certain questions such as why should they hire me, or what makes me, well, me. I don’t know.

I mentally hit a dead-end as soon as I got to the question of what makes me unique and stand out from the other candidates. I wrote out my first, honest thoughts, and everything the perfect version of me in the perfect world would think or say, if I only was more brave and less insecure. I wrote, a lot of stuff. If I say so myself, it was a good application in the end, with a little humour.

The scary part was to scroll down the page, hit the blue ‘submit’ button, and watch text appear on the screen;

“Thanks for your application and your interest towards working with us! We will be in contact as soon as possible as the recruitment process will proceed!”

I think I just jumped out of my skin. I want to cringe at the thought of them reading over my application. Can I just not be me for a second, while I try to get over this?

I text my friend the last thing for the night, before deciding I need to sleep this shame off, and maybe tomorrow it all doesn’t matter, and we move on;

“Guess what? I just sent the application. I hope you’re happy now.” 11:25 PM

I watch their text pop up;

“I am! You’ll be too when they hire you, trust me!” 11:26 PM

Sure, I think, almost wanting to roll my eyes. I appreciate the enthusiasm my friend has for my future when I don’t have any, but I mean, like I said before, this is an insane attempt. I drift to sleep soon after. A total shocker that I was able to even sleep a wink that night. What have I done and what am I doing to myself?

The more time went by, the more all of this felt like a joke I always knew it was. It’s been a week now since I sent the application, and everything almost feels too normal for anything life-changing to happen anytime soon.

Well, it wasn’t until I checked my email on a Wednesday morning when things started to feel somewhat real and moving again. I had something there waiting for me. An email regarding my application. I imagined it to be a nicely worded rejection, something along the lines of “We would like to thank you for your interest in us and the position you have applied for. Unfortunately, at this point, you are not being considered for this role, blah blah blah.”

I suddenly felt like I was in fact not fine at all, when I started reading through it;

“Welcome to our team! We were impressed by your application and would love to proceed further with you! Please reply to this email as soon as possible if you are still available and interested in this position.”

What do I do?! I will reply, tell them I’m still interested, right? That I’m ready for things to proceed. Am I? How, or why, am I the lucky one here? I’m not used to claiming first place, I’m usually just a runner-up. But here begins my winning streak, I guess.

I type a response with shaky hands, then put my phone down. I don’t think I’m actually ready for things to move any faster than I can take, and it’s already feeling like a lot right now, like I’m biting off more than I can chew. But if they see enough potential in me, it’s all in my head.

Safe to say that it startled me when not even a few minutes later I received a follow-up email, asking me a few more questions, to which I replied to to the best of my ability. Questions such as am I certain I can commit to such schedule in a long run. It was sinking in for me as I was typing, that this really is a one hell of an opportunity that they are offering me, and I need to be the best. There’s no other option.

The next email they sent, it meant all business;

“We are thrilled to hear you are ready to work with us! Would you be free for a call tomorrow at 8 PM?”

Okay, straight to the point. I tell them I’m free and ready.

Except that I didn’t feel so ready anymore when I received one last email;

“Great! We will have Alex call you tomorrow.”

Yeah, I’m absolutely sweating bullets now. I stayed up much later than I had intended that night, mostly thinking about how fast things are happening now, and if I have started something here I can’t end. I typed his name countless times into the internet to see more of him, but it feels like the more I know, the less capable I am of dreaming of the possibilities of what will happen. So I just went to bed.

The next day arrived faster than I hoped it would. Can I really do this? Am I ready? So many questions and not enough time to figure out the answers. Quite literally, because I lingered in bed the whole day and hurriedly had to jump into my clothes when I eventually got myself up.

It was 7.50 PM when I sat myself down at my desk, ready to take on whatever was coming. Even if it knocks me down once, I will get up twice. No matter what it takes. It didn’t help my nerves when I kept checking and re-checking the time on my phone. Now I just want to get over with it, so I can finally have some peace of mind and not live in the distress for a minute longer.

Then it was finally 8 PM, sharp. This is a waiting game, I guess. A matter of minutes.

When the phone finally rang, it was 10 minutes later. The longest 10 minutes of my life, by the way. I’m surprised I didn’t curl up and die within those 10 minutes, that’s what it felt like.

I give myself a few second pep-talk, clearing my throat, before picking up as nonchalant as I could, acting like I haven’t been sitting and waiting here shaking like a leaf, thinking about if death was more painless, “hi there!”

I mentally cringe at myself for sounding a little too excited and loud, but Alex didn’t seem to mind as he speaks back to me, “hi! Hello. How are you?”

“I’m good, yeah! Nervous, actually, if you can’t tell yet. You?” I’m already starting to crumble and my voice is wavering as I realise that I’m just… me, and he is he. Even as strangers, he’s way out of my league. He is known, adored, watched by millions of people, I am not. I’m average, boring, some would even say. I don’t blame them. So, remind me how am I, out of everyone, here, in this situation?

I hear him smile into the phone, “don’t be. I’m good, fuckin’ amazing, to answer your question. And just overall, you know…,” he trails off, before taking a sharp breath, “anyway, I guess I’m just here to sort of do a vibe check. I mean, I can tell you’re cool, so there should be no problems there, but—talk to me, about anything. I would appreciate it, though if it was related to the job, but don’t fret too much, okay?”

I now smile to myself too and at the fact that he, first of all, is here trying his best not to overwhelm me, and that he keeps cussing as if he doesn’t care this is technically a business call. I could loosen up a bit too in my own ways.

“Well, I—first of all, thanks for doing this. I’m really excited about this opportunity,” I ramble until I realize how I’m getting a bit sidetracked here from the question, thankfully he doesn’t point it out, but instead encourages me to keep going, so I did, this time right on subject. I tell him what I can, about myself and my studies that I worked hard for and that would benefit me in succeeding in this job position. He listens every word, throwing in some comments and pleased sounds, as to approve what he’s hearing.

“Wow, yeah, that’s fuckin’ impressive, you should be proud. Not everyone can do it, you know? Like that’s some tough shit if you want to be any good, so I definitely respect what you got goin’ on.”

Why am I now spiraling? Maybe because I can’t recall the last time someone bothered to compliment me on this so thoroughly, and out of all the people possible, it has to be him. I didn’t expect it to actually rob me of words like this.

“Thanks,” I eventually stutter, “didn’t think I was going to hear that, especially from you. It means a lot.”

“Of course, I’m glad it means a lot. I really mean it.”

This is definitely not the kind of vibe I had prepared myself for. I feel like we are already…. bonding? Just a little bit. I feel it more as we keep talking, and one conversation turns into another and then another. I learn something, that he undeniably has a great sense of humour, very witty and likes to laugh, but can also be serious when needed, talk sense into anybody and be the voice of reason. I think it was at least for a good hour that we just exchanged words and stories, and laughed a lot too, of course. I even come out of my shell and tell him jokes, that makes him laugh in turn.

Before we could get any more in depth, he mutters through a yawn, “I’m genuinely excited to have you, it’s gonna be so fuckin’ great. So, welcome to the Team Quackity—no one says that, I just made that up, I just lied to you—but, I really think you’re gonna do amazing. I think I’m going to put my little best foot forward and head to bed at a decent time, for once. My feet are not little though, like I’m not a fuckin’ gnome or anything.“

We both laugh. It is getting somewhat late and our brains are getting to the stage of tiredness when everything said is suddenly funny. It’s very reassuring to see this human side of him, that he is so easy to talk to and that maybe I was anxious for nothing, and felt the pressure to appear so interesting for nothing, because he made me feel interesting so effortlessly.

And I guess I’m in now, I got the job, judging by his words, that he is excited to have me around in the future. It’s going to take a while to get used to this. Maybe I ever won’t, so he’ll always keep me on my toes.

”I’ll see—or talk to you soon, I think,” I tell him.

He doesn’t bother correcting me or himself, “yeah, I’ll see you soon, very soon probably.”

After that all I heard was rustling from his end and a small noise indicating he was getting tired, so we both know it’s time to wrap things up here. Until next time. It made me want to squirm to know there will be a next time.

I still don’t know how I managed to fall asleep that night with a mind running a thousand miles an hour, but I did, eventually.

It didn’t take many days at all before I already had something waiting for me in my inbox, some work to do. This is what he must have meant by seeing me very soon.

And so the first day of work and then a whole week of work was over in a blink of an eye, and I found myself busy trying to juggle everything. Doing my best was the best I could do, as I spent my days taking everything in and making this my new normal. Speaking of, it will take a while for any of this to feel normal.

I got to put my rusty Spanish skills to use, I even surprised myself with how easy I suddenly found the language I struggled with at a certain point in my life. I guess all it really takes is finding the right thing.

As to what comes to Alex, I barely hear from him. Mostly because this is strictly business, and when we do talk, it’s about work, and even then he keeps it very short. I understand, he’s busy, I’m not his only priority. The one-on-one talk I got to have with him on the phone that one night, when he was supposed to interview me but we ended up talking about anything else, that was one time and definitely won’t be something that happens frequently. Things have changed since then. There has to be some boundaries set of what is appropriate, because after all, I just work for him and not playing any role of a friend.

So, it’s been very independent, lonely at times, doing this job and I don’t know how or who to talk to about it. New job blues, it must be. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.

I was startled out of my sleep to my phone obnoxiously ringing. Well, it was obnoxious at first to be woken up like that, until I realised there aren’t many people who would call me this early in the morning.

I make grabby hands for it, until I find it in the midst of the covers, and to my horror see Alex’s name on the screen. It was still there no matter how many times I tried to blink the sleep out of my eyes, confirming I’m not dreaming. This could be pretty much about anything, which scares me. It’s very unlikely for him to call me anymore just to chit-chat about nothing in particular. There has to be something else.

I hesitantly pick up, “hello?”

“Hi! I just wanted to… you know, check in, ask how’s it going?” he sounds way too happy for there to be to bad news. Whew.

I tell him it’s going good and hear the smile in his voice as he seems to be satisfied with my brief answer, “good, I’m glad. I know it might be a shit show at first, like everything’s new, you feel like you’re alone in it—all of that, but you’re not, okay? Like, I really do appreciate the hell out of you and what you’ve done so far. It’s been really great to see it!”

“Thanks. That’s actually what I needed to hear. It’s been a lot of…. change for me,” I feel like I’m flustered like a fool right now, good thing he can’t see it because I must look crazy. I wish I knew better words to express my gratitude for him right now, because it’s exactly what I wanted to hear, especially after feeling low, but I never thought he’d actually say it. Especially not right now on this specific, beautiful morning when I’m still half asleep and oblivious to the world.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t really been there to show my appreciation more, but I’m genuinely just so fuckin’ busy, or if I’m not busy I’m sleeping or some shit, because as great as I am, I still do need my little beauty sleeps. But, if there’s anything I can do for you, just—you will let me know, right?”

I don’t know where this is coming from and what is causing him to talk to me in such confidence and care. All I know is that I suddenly don’t feel as alone as I did not too long ago.

“Sure. I’m really glad you told me that. Takes a bit of a weight off my shoulders.”

“Of course,” he emphasizes, “I’m glad we’re on the same page. So, what are you doing right now?”

I’m surprised at his attempt to keep talking to me instead of hurrying to go on with his day, like he usually does. I rack my brain for something sensible, if there’s a right answer to his question, “uh—is this a trick question? Is there something I forgot to do?”

He laughs, “no, no, I swear! So, you’re not up bright and early, not a morning person?”

“Who is?” I chuckle and fight off a yawn.

He groanes as if stretching himself to prove his point, “fair. So, you’re not doing anything? You’re free to—I don’t know—have a little chat?”

Is there something he hopes to discuss, since he keeps hanging on the line? I don’t know for the life of me what that would or could be, or maybe I’m wrong and mean and paranoid and he is just kind enough to call me and initiate conversation after not hearing from me in a while.

“Yeah, sure. Anything in particular you want to talk about?”

“No. Just anything, like fuckin’… why Spanish? Why did you learnt Spanish in the first place? Why did you chose it?”

Great question. I smile to myself, “sounds like you had something to ask me all along.”

And so we fell into a conversation about it, about me deciding to learn Spanish in the first place, me telling him it was more of decision that I made one night when I was bored and couldn’t sleep and thought it was a such a godsent, brilliant idea. And so I applied for those classes that same night, I think I was half asleep and delirious, and the next morning I had to suck it up and face the consequences of my sleepy actions and attend those damn classes. It was surely tough at first, like everything new is, but eventually, with some hard work, I got the hang of it.

It was over 30 minutes later, when we finally said goodbyes and hung up and then it was silent again, except for his words now echoing in my head, and how he seemed to be very into learning more about me, like he eats, sleeps and breathes that new information.

Now that I sort of have his permission to rely on him if I need to, I want to make the most of it. I mean, possibly, if I ever need it, but on the flip side, I’m aware I’m not here to make friends or connections. We haven’t really even connected more than as people who work together so far, which I understand. Except for those few longer talks we’ve had on the phone, but I think since he’s so approachable, he probably talks like that with everyone. I don’t feel too special yet.

Things slowly made more sense and fell into place as it was that same cycle for the remaining of the week and the weeks after. I spent the days sitting at my desk, working. Time flied, for sure. The only thing that made me feel as if the days were dragging, was that I didn’t hear much from Alex. I actually didn’t hear from him at all, except for when I reached out to him concerning work, but other than that we didn’t really talk. I didn’t want to be the one to reach out to him for a casual chat, because it felt inappropriate, unprofessional even.

I definitely got crashed back to the harsh reality from whatever high I had been on when he used to have the time to talk to me. I understand it, but I did kind of crave some human interaction, some communication. Blame it on me and that I’m a people person and that maybe I find him interesting just a little bit.

I want to know how he is doing and kind of wanted to have him ask me how was I doing too. Well, I am buried in work, that’s how I’m doing. I sometimes too need something, or someone, to share the burden with. I wonder if I’ll always feel this way.

Something blaring disrupts my sleep and wakes me up. Whatever it is, it’s too loud for whatever time it is. It’s not my alarm, I acknowledge, but my ringtone. My phone. I recognize that sound.

It almost hurt to pry my weary eyes open so fast, but I still experience a deja-vu. This sort of feels all too familiar, doesn’t it? Who’s calling me this early? It’s 9 AM on a... Saturday!? I completely forgot it‘s the weekend. That’s what intense work hours does to a human.

“Hello?” I didn’t even try to conceal the sleep in my voice.

“Well, hello to you too,” my oh-so-dear-friend speaks on the line. Right now I feel like I could tell them off, but to be fair, we haven’t talked in a long while. I just realised how long it’s been since I have heard their voice now that I’m hearing it.

I groan groggily, “hi, hello. Cut the chit-chat and tell me why you woke me up.”

I pull the phone away to check the time again on the screen, if I had read it correctly. Yep, 9.01 AM on a Saturday morning. No one should be awake at this hour, especially not me.

“I was finally able to sleep in today, you knew this,” I keep whining.

My friend just laughs like this is all a joke, “or you could come and have breakfast with me, just like the old times. I work too, so don’t tired-shame me! I love sleep as much as you do, but it’s not every weekend we can do this anymore. You barely even talk to me these days.”

I sigh again, now out of pity, because as tired as I am, they’re right. We really don’t even talk as much as we used to do when we were not busy with work and well, adulting. Life. Ugh.

“Fine,” I eventually agree to it, “you got me. I’ll see you soon then, I guess.”

My friend squeals, “you really gave in already, this easily? I’ll see you soon!”

I stretch my tired body that feels like it isn’t ready to get up just yet. I need a minute, or two, or ten to wake up and I probably have like 30 minutes to an hour to get ready. Definitely enough, even if I stall in bed for a bit longer. And that’s what I’m planning on doing.

I cry out when my phone rings again not even a few minutes later. There’s no way my friend is on their way already. Or maybe something came up and they are telling me I can go back to sleep. Am I an awful person for wishing that? I had a change of attitude when I saw who was calling me.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Long time no see, or talk,” he speaks. It’s Alex.

Why is he calling me now? I’m suddenly feeling way more awake than I did just seconds ago. Yeah, screw sleep. What does he want?

“Yeah,” I laugh nervously, “what’s up?”

“So, something needs to be up for me to call you? I can’t just call you?” he speaks before breaking into laughter, “I’m just fuckin’ around, I’m kidding! Anyway, speaking of that seeing, how—what would you say if I asked if you want to pop a visit to my place? I’d love to see you in person, you know, and I’m in town, I have like no shit to do for once, I’m a free fuckin’ man. If I was you, I’d take advantage of that, but you do you, I guess.”

This is not what I expected in a million years. Even if his house was the only house in this world, I still wouldn’t expect access there. I mean, I’m flattered as hell, but why? I’m sure he has other friends he would rather see—and we’re not even friends, actually.

I guess kindness comes in many forms. He doesn’t really owe me anything, especially letting me to see such a private part of his life like the place he calls home. Just because I’m now a part of his job, an acquaintance perhaps, doesn’t mean he has an obligation to let me see more of him. But, who am I to say no?

I hesitate, before finally uttering a response, “sure—I mean, if you’re sure, then yes. I’d like to, it’s not like I have anything to do.”

Except that I actually do have something to do. The breakfast.

Of course I don’t have the heart to correct myself, not when Alex sounds this excited, “great! So, I’ll be expecting you… let’s say in a few hours? Nothing too crazy. I want to—you know, I usually have a thing that I want to see as many people as I can who I’m working with to kind of, just to see them, makes sense, right? A vibe check, some would say.”

Finally he tells me he’ll text me the address later and there he goes, as the line goes dead and I’m left with my own thoughts. As terrified as I feel, I also do feel a little curious. What’s going to actually happen once I get there? Is this a build-up to something bigger? What will he think of me when I’m not just an ideal voice on the phone, but a real, existing person standing in front of him?

I call my friend and they immediately pick up, “there’s no way you’re already ready! I’m leaving in a few—”

“No!” I yap, “listen—this is an actual emergency, like Alex just called me and asked me to come over, like he actually wants to see me and I said yes, because I spoke before I could think, so here I am, thinking what the hell I have just done.”

“What? What are you talking about? Like right now? You have to go right now?”

“Like soon-ish, yeah, I mean—should I not? Am I actually going to go?”

“Of course you’re going! In what world would you not go?!”

“So—you’re okay with it?” I ask. I don’t care what anyone’s telling me right now, I still feel stubborn if this is the right thing to do. I mean, there’s a lot at stake here. I could like, say something stupid to him or get all tongue-tied.

My friend sighs loudly, “I’m saying this as kindly as I can, but shut up. You’re going! I’ll just see you another day! Just tell me how it goes then.”

We talked for a bit more, or more like, my friend talked and I halfheartedly listened. I feel completely unprepared for what is about to happen. Good luck to me. Luckiness is not my strong suit, but it has to be today.

I was finally walking to the bus stop when a drizzling rain started to fall, and it did when I got on and off the bus too. Before I was caught in a storm, I check the address on my phone, and then I’m on my way to my destination.

It was not more than 15 minutes when I had made it, and there it was. In front of me was a really nice apartment building. The dark, cloudy sky made it look even more majestic, as it stood tall and proud. As I walk along the concrete sidewalk, I maneuvered my way to the entrance and right up the few front steps.

I feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t as I make my way inside. Thankfully, I don’t see anyone as I step into the well-lit lobby, because I was definitely a sight to see, a bit damp from the rain and looking around like I don’t know where I am.

My heart is still heavy in my chest and my ears in the elevator. I keep tapping my foot whenever I could keep myself still, which was nearly impossible. But I had some time to think; what do I actually do once I’m there? No idea.

I finally make it to the right door and then it’s now or never. Well, it’s not going to get any easier, so I guess I have to go for it. After I gather the courage to ring the doorbell, I hear the lock turn and see the knob twist, and there he is, in front of me.

He has a really nice, contagious smile that I’ve only seen on screen before, but I never saw just how it reaches his eyes, the dark and captivating eyes that reminds me of nice things in life, framed by his long lashes. He looks relaxed, his face a bit sleepy and his hair covered by a black beanie.

“Hey!” he smiles wide, looking like he can’t stay put in one place much longer either, “it’s so nice to see you! Come here!”

Before I have the time to say or do anything, he pulls me into a warm, welcoming hug. Definitely a good hugger too. His scent fills the air around me, which has a calming effect. The hug was warm like a sweater and a soft, pleased sigh escaped his lips.

“Hi,” I mumble against him, “it is. I didn’t know you’re a hug person. Noted.”

Alex just laughs, like it was everyday for him, “thanks for thinking I’m an asshole. What, should I just fuckin’… push you like the asshole I am?”

We laugh off any tension, if there ever was any to begin with. See, he’s really funny like that, which makes me think that maybe there won’t be any rough patches today and we will get along fine. When we pull apart, he takes his body heat away with him, and I feel a little chilly again from the rainfall. He steps aside in the doorway and with an excited grin, invites me in, “come on in!”

I give him a tight-lipped smile as I walk past him, “gladly, thanks.”

God, I need to stop being so formal and boring, and lighten up a little. My head is still hazy, I can’t remember the reason why I am here in the first place. Was there ever such thing? Guess I’ll find out soon.

He shows me around inside. What I saw in front of me, was a place that was really simple yet modern, very inviting indeed. Lots of tones of grey and white. There wasn’t any clutter in my sight, everything looked squeaky clean and organized. There was a corner that looked like his streaming set-up, that looked more messy than the rest of his place did.

“So, this is my place slash office, where I do work. Hence the name ‘office’,” he tells as he gestures me to take a look around. I laugh, and he seems satisfied at successfully amusing me, as he moves our attention to the living room.

I agape at how spotless it is wherever I look at. There’s no way he does this himself with a schedule like his, or if he does, it’s impressive.

“I’m a clean-fuckin’-person, okay! As you can see. Honestly, my life hack would be just not to do shit. If you don’t do anything, there won’t be a mess. See, it’s fuckin’ easy.”

We both snicker out loud again and he motions at the tiny kitchen, exclaiming, “this is where I cook! I bust my little ass in this little kitchen every day.”

“You do?” I ask, surprised. Shit, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, especially after what he said, so now it sounds kind of awkward, but it’s also kind of funny. I’m just surprised that he seems to be so good at everything.

He just chuckles, “yeah. I’ll show you someday. Only if you promise to pay attention to the food and not only to my ass, like get your priorities straight first.”

Oh God. Someday? I’m here for the long run? I’m just going to ignore the latter comment. I put my hands up in surrender, “I promise.”

As we laugh again, I wonder how he is truly, effortlessly funny, like a breath of fresh air. I’m sure I haven’t met someone like him before. Now it all clicks why he has such a wide audience from every corner of the world, it’s not hard to find his personality likeable at all. He wears his sense of humor like it’s his lucky charm and it works.

I follow him with my arms tightly tucked on my sides to the living room area, that’s kind of one with the kitchen, like a joint. I must look painfully awkward.

“And this,” Alex gestures, “is where I kick back and relax. Not too much time for that lately, I’ve been so fuckin’ busy with work.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. I’m glad if I can make your life a little easier in that spectrum.”

He has a nice view of the bustling city from the window too, something I find hard to divert my gaze from, just to find myself staring right into his eyes when I did.

“You do!” he smiles widely, “that’s why I wanted to see you, actually, to kind of know even more about what you’re all about. You wanna sit down for a second? Can I interest you in a drink?” he pulls his best British accent for the question. Oh, so here’s the part when it gets real, him questioning me.

I agree and again follow his trail to the kitchen and watch as he pulls out a chair for me. He made it seem like it’s such a nonchalant thing to do, but it strangely made my face feel warm. He didn’t have to do that, but he did. I thank him and sit down.

“So, what would you like to have?” he speaks behind me.

I eye the kitchen, “honestly, whatever’s the easiest for you.”

I hear him hum and then he is gone. I watch as he walks around the kitchen, opening the fridge and the cupboards. I feel a bit creepy just following him with my eyes, so I sneakily pull my phone out of my pocket and see there’s a text from my friend. I should’ve known.

“What’s going on there? I’m dying to know!” 1:01 PM

I kind of did promise them that I would text them as soon as things progressed or happened, which they really haven’t so far. I’m just kind of lost in the moment right now, taking it all in.

I mentally shake my head and fight a smile, texting them back that I promise and vow to tell everything later, except that not much has happened yet. We haven’t exactly gotten to the point here, whatever it is.

There’s one thing I can’t deny so far and could talk about forever, which is that he’s really fun to be around. He’s one of those people who can immediately light up a room with his energy, which is what he probably does every time he’s with people. I suddenly feel small in his world. Sure, I’m here right now, sitting in his house, and I’m lucky enough to call myself someone who gets to work with him, but still. I’m just one of the many people that gets to watch him shine from the sidelines.

I put my phone away once I hear him coming back, and watch as he places a drink in front of me, “for you,” and one for himself “and for me,” and sits down opposite me. The drink is lime green. It looks delicious. I tell him that and shiver as I wrap my hand around the cold glass.

He smiles at me with his pearly white teeth on full display, “it’s fuckin’ amazing. I think it’s so cool, like the shit that bartenders do, mix a bit of that, throw a little bit of that in, and this is one of my many creations. I do feel like a bartender whenever I make this.”

I smile and take a sip. It was amazing. “You make this for everyone?”

He seems stunned, “no, no! I mean, I rarely get people over, we’re all just so fuckin’ busy to dilly-dally, and if I do, it’s work related—you’re work related too, I know, but—it’s a day off for the both of us, so fuck it, why not, you know?”

“Yeah,” I take another sip, “well, I’m glad you invited me over.”

He broadly grins at me from behind his glass, “you already told me that.”

I feel myself getting flustered. I’m not really too good with human interactions or words today.

“I’m just kidding,” he gently laughs, “I’m glad you came over, too. Uh—you—how have you liked everything so far? I feel like I know a lot about you already, but you just—you’re a very interesting person.”

So, this is the kind of stuff he wanted to talk about? And did he just call me interesting? I’m going straight back to feeling nervous. Meanwhile he takes a sip of his drink too and keeps his eyes on me the whole time.

“Me?” I gulp, “I don’t know whether to thank you or tell you that you’re delusional.”

He just snickers again, there was no hint of real hurt or judgment there, “no, no! Like now, you could’ve told me more, something I don’t know, but it’s almost like you got some secrets, like you’re avoiding some shit. Are you? Every time I try to talk to you, you don’t.”

He holds a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and I’m thinking if I should hold back my words here. Have I been holding back that much? I haven’t realised it, if I have. Maybe I’m just scared of being too much and I don’t want to, well, be too much. I don’t know how deep is too deep, especially considering our work situation-ship.

Just when I thought I somewhat know him, he shows me a new side of him. There’s been a lot of people in my life who’s had their eyes on me, but never cared enough to look closely enough to see me the way I am. At least not in the way I feel I deserve, like I do with him. He seems fairly interested in me, which is the highest compliment, I think.

“I thought you invited me here just to talk business,” I stutter.

”We’re not working right now, I already told you.”

His face was content as ever as he leaned on the palm of his hand and listened to me talk. And what did we talk about? Everything. All about me. I found it rather easy to open up to him, once I got started. The only time it didn’t feel as easy was when I was reminded how intensively he’s listening and looking at me. I gulp down my drink and relish the sweet taste.

“I think it’s kind of a fair trade if you tell me something about you next,” it’s my turn to grin at him.

It was enough to make him crack up, “what is this, a fuckin’ truth or dare? Spin the bottle? You want another drink? I could go for another one. Fuck it, let’s do 10 more! This is fun, I’m having a good time.”

He convinces me to have one more with him. I mean, I can’t leave him now, I think it’s just getting good here. We are having fun, is it a bit too much fun? I don’t know, but neither of us seem to care enough to stop it.

I agree, “sure, I’ll have another and dare you to tell me something next, like how did you pick me? Or was it even you? You had your fair share, now it’s my turn.”

I can play this game too and I’m really interested in why he chose me. All this time I thought it was luck, but was it? What else does he see in me?

He grabs our glasses, going to the kitchen to work his magic again, with his back facing me. It didn’t take him long, but it was long enough time for a silence to fall over us, except for a few clinks from the kitchen, and enough time for me to wonder about what has happened to far today.

He is so chill, unlike me on the inside. He didn’t make a big deal of us meeting, which is fine. I mean, I do work for him, this is all business, so I don’t know what else I would expect to happen. But I am taken aback he is willing to share so much with me and that it doesn’t seem to phase him much. He is letting me read him like an open book.

He was way too soon back with our second batch of drinks, “so, you want to know why you’re here?”

I nod coyly.

He beams and leans back on his seat, resting his arm behind him and fiddling with his glass with the other hand, “I mean, you know everything I need you to know and you’re good at it. You know a lot, you’re very smart and you work hard. I saw your application. And I know you’re very funny, too. You were funny as fuck on the phone when we first talked.”

Oh no. Yeah, that was my tired brain talking back then.

He interrupts me, “no, I think you’re funny as fuck. You should do that more often. Why are you holding back?”

“I don’t know,” I don’t know what I’m actually going to say to this one, “I’m not used to mixing my humour with work, I guess, but glad it works for you.”

“It does, like you don’t need to hold back around me. Be yourself, you know? Like, fuck it. I say stupid shit too, but you don’t think any less of me, do you?”

“No, I dont,” I confess. I’m happy he told me that. He’s giving me the freedom to be me, which I never realised is the greatest thing someone could give you.

After both of our glasses were empty and we had gone over the stupidest jokes and stories that matter, I think it was time for me to get out. We really had found ourselves talking about everything, from our tastes in music to plans for the future.

I tell him, “I should go soon, but this was fun! We should do this again—probably not! But if we ever happen to… I don’t know.“ Damn it. I know very well we shouldn’t and probably won’t ‘hang out’ like this again. Stupid me, not knowing when to stop. I’m such embarrassment-prone.

To my luck, he shakes his head, “no, I’d like that! You have a phone, I have a phone, you know, let’s make shit happen. Easy.”

I dodged a bullet right there. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to think that us meeting up again would be unprofessional or weird and I didn’t make matters worse.

We get up and I let him lead me to the door. I’m about to step out, but not before turning to see him standing there with his arms spread out for me. A little warmth rushes into my cheeks as we mold together and share a hug for the second time today and he gives my back a soothing rub.

“Have a safe trip home,” he speaks lowly in my ear.

I watch him return the small smile through the little crack, until the door shuts close with a soft click. I walk back to the elevator, and once I’m certain I really am alone, I pull out my phone and text my friend. I didn’t even realise what I was typing as I was typing it.

There’s one thing in my mind I need to air out, because the longer it stays there, the more it becomes a secret. And I don’t want to keep secrets from my friend right now, secrets that are confusing me as much as it will confuse them;

“Oh my God. Since when has he become so attractive?” 3:05 PM

It didn’t take long at all for my friend to reply, like they had been waiting by the phone, but certainly not for a message like that. For the first time ever, I was honestly scared to see what they have to say this time. I don’t blame them though, I myself even feel a little scared of what I’m feeling right now.

“What?! What did you guys even do? You know this sounds very suspicious?” 3:06 PM

Trust me, I know it’s stupid, but it’s the way he actually cared to listen to me, and, I don’t know, appreciate me like no one has before. I’m afraid no one will understand what I mean, they would have to meet him and be in my place to understand. He is somehow irresistible in every way, the way he talks, the way he listens, both just as important qualities.

I guess there is no use in explaining myself, but I still text my friend back, trying to find the right words;

“Nothing like you’re imagining, we just talked! But he said some nice things to me, like he finds me interesting, like he’s just a very nice person and he has an attractive personality. I don’t know if that’s a thing but if not then I just invented it.” 3:09 PM

I know if there’s someone who sees right through me, it’s my friend and I will probably be called out any second now. Just to be clear, I would not mess with him nor this job opportunity. I’m not like that, I just appreciate a good personality, I guess. And I mean, I’m not saying his looks are bad either... but, no.

My friend replies,

“I believe you, but this sounds like so much more. And I’m quoting you now, ‘attractive’?!” 3:11 PM

I wish I would’ve kept my mouth shut, because I don’t think I will ever hear the end of this. I end up finding my way back home safe and sound, which was actually a miracle, considering that I didn’t really pay attention to where I was going or which bus I hopped on, because there was just one thing on my mind. I don’t like Alex like that, but I’m also running out of ways to defend my case. It’s too soon to even think about these things.

I went to bed early, deciding to catch up on some tv-shows, because I didn’t exactly know what else to do with myself. And sure, I was also texting my friend, telling them it’s not like that and if we can now drop it and move on. I feel too stupid and embarrassed to think about it any longer. So I just got ready for bed and started up a tv-show re-run. Of course I couldn’t pay much attention when I had my friend blowing up my phone and my brain screaming the same stuff at me. This secret can never get out.

The next day, as I woke up, the first thing on my mind was whatever it was that had taken over me yesterday, but other than that it was all the same. I so wanted to text Alex, thank him for having me over. I suddenly felt so very bored of my own life, as I realised that wasn’t going be something we do often, if ever again.

I spent the whole day in bed, just killing time and relaxing, not like I had anything else to do. I could call up my friend, but I honestly still feel a bit embarrassed to talk anything over with them yet. I would rather solve it myself. My feelings, my problem, right?

A few weeks have passed. I haven’t talked much with Alex. It’s the same as usual, we have fallen back to the normal ritual, where the only interaction we ever have is strictly work-related talk.

I, myself have also finally fallen back into my calm state of mind and so has my friend. Everything feels the same it’s always been. Obviously, my friend hasn’t completely let me live it down, but I can live with it. We still occasionally talk about it, or more like, they ask me if I’m okay, because apparently, I sounded so passionate about my feelings and it’s not healthy to brush them off.

It wasn’t until a few more weeks had passed by swiftly, when I heard from Alex again, on another Saturday evening. My phone was going off, with his name on the screen.

“Hey. Sorry if this was sudden, or whatever,” he quietly speaks to me when I pick up.

“It’s fine,” I assure, “I actually have been waiting to hear from you.”

Was that too much? I feel like that’s one thing that would have been better if it only existed in my head. I was relieved to hear him find the humour in it though.

“Yeah?” I heard him chuckle on the phone, “you’ve been waiting for me like I’m fuckin’ Santa or some shit?”

I laugh too and played along with his usual banter, “oh, yeah. Now, do you have something for me?”

He actually sighs and gets serious, “I have like, bad news and then there’s like, amazing news.”

Oh no. How bad are we talking about? Is it about me? Just when I thought things would go back to normal, whatever normal is. I make a noise to urge him to keep going.

He sighs again, “okay. I’m… going to have to move and leave that fuckin’ amazing apartment behind, that you just saw a few weeks ago. Like, what the fuck? I get it, like life comes at you fast, but like, fuck.”

“What?” I ask him, sounding too disappointed for my own liking, “you have to? Like, this is it? You’re getting evicted or something?”

He finally laughs lowly, “okay, fuck you. I’m just kidding! No, actually—I got this offer, hear me out, this is a big ass spoiler, but I’m getting a huge sponsorship, which means that the amount of content I have to do for them, and with them, of course, is just so much that it would be necessary for me to live there. At least for now.”

He keeps on rambling about this opportunity and genuinely sounds like he couldn’t be more excited, meanwhile I don’t make a peep.

“And I figured to tell you now, because I know you’ll be cool about it. I’ll still have work for you to do, so technically this doesn’t change anything for you, but, I mean, fuck it, why wouldn’t I do it?! It’s time for me to spread my little wings and go out there in the big world,” he keeps going while I still remain silent.

“Oh, wow, not what I expected to hear, but that’s awesome. So, where’s the bad news?” I finally say to him, when I don’t hear his voice anymore, trying my best to conceal the lack of excitement in mine.

“I know right! Those aren’t even bad news, ‘cause like, what the fuck? It’s going to be amazing. I figured I should let you know, ‘cause when you see me filming from somewhere else, just so you know I haven’t been kidnapped, I’m not streaming from someone’s basement. No one’s forcing me to make content.”

Well, that got a genuine giggle out of me. I want to show my support more, but I feel a bit sad about this. I don’t know why. Why do I find it so hard to be happy for him right now?

I understand that this is really something he wants to do, something that’s bringing him lost motivation back, so what else would I tell him other than ‘yes, it’s a good idea’? Even though it means he’ll be far away in another state, God knows exactly how far, but I can’t be selfish and act all hurt when this doesn’t even affect me. But, how long will he be gone for?

“So, when will I see you again? Not anytime soon, I assume?” Now I’m asking the real questions here.

“I know... yeah, probably not. Shit just happens so fast, isn’t that crazy?”

At least he’s honest. I don’t know and neither does he. There’s my answer. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little upset. I guess we have—I don’t even know how much more—time left, and then everything will change, or not, like he assured, but I think it will all change for us. Maybe not in all the worst ways, but how often does change not hurt at first? It always does.

That bitter feeling didn’t die, no matter how many days I tried to drown it for. There’s still a tiny string in me holding onto the hope that he’s not leaving. I know it’s selfish, I hate it too. I hate how I’m doing this to myself. I’m especially having one of those days today, when I feel like doing nothing, but I have to get work done. It’s just hard not to think about him when my work centers around him, like I really can’t get away.

I just never thought we would run out of time. Isn’t it cruel how we only appreciate time when there’s not much of it left?

I decide to wrap up work early today. I had sat on my desk the whole morning, staring at the screen and realising that words don’t make sense to me, I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, like this stupid editing program suddenly feels like a stranger. If I’m going to do a crap job, I might as well just not do anything. The deadline isn’t until tomorrow.

My mind is more occupied with things with a shorter deadline, other things I have to solve before I can immerse myself in anything else that requires complete focus, like the strange feeling I got after hearing him break the news. It shouldn’t matter to me, so why does it feel like it does?

I shut down the computer after saving the little work I got done. I need to look after myself, do the things I used to do and enjoyed doing before all this happened and he came and rocked my world and hopefully I’ll get over it, and myself.

Just out of pure curiosity, I want to know how things are going for him. I’m not trying to get my feelings hurt, but it’s only been a few days, nothing too major hasn’t happened yet, right? The buzzing of my phone jerkes me back to reality. It’s Alex!

“Hi!” I balance my phone on my shoulder, as I finished patting my face dry after a very refreshing shower I just had.

I can hear him clear his throat and speak, “hello. I just woke up, I know it’s like, what, 1PM? Holy shit. Anyway, uh… what are you up to?”

I wonder what is the reason for this call, but I’m not going to ask. I’ll happily take as much of his time as he can give me, before he gets busy with moving and his new life.

“Nothing,” I reply truthfully, “I mean—I’ve had kind of a slow day today. I just—I’ll get back to work later, right now I’m just trying to unwind myself, I guess.”

“Oh,” he replies, “something on your mind?” Oh, you have no idea.

I try to laugh it off, hoping he won’t try to dig any deeper, “honestly, the usual. You know, life.”

To my relief, he just laughs in response, “yeah, me, if anyone, would know about that. Like, fuck—tell me about it! I don’t know at this point if I’m fighting demons, or if I’m the demon.”

We both laugh and it’s so nice even for a few seconds to just laugh with him, and I hate even more what is about to happen to us.

“Yeah, like I don’t know who prayed for my downfall, but it’s working for them.”

He yawns, “see, you get it! I knew you would.” Except that I don’t…

“Anyway—you’re probably wondering, how am I doing, so considerate of you. Being all worried and shit. I am after all just a baby. But I’m doing great! Uh—I’ll be busy as fuck soon, so...,” he trails off.

I hum. I know what he means by that, that he won’t have much time for me anymore. “Yeah, I understand,” I tell him, trying not to sound too sad nor too happy. Just neutral, like how I wish I could actually feel about it.

“Yeah, so, it’s a big fuckin’ step, but I still think it’s a step that needs to be taken, content-wise, because, after all I just want to keep getting better and bigger. I mean, there is no such thing as too big. That’s what I tell myself every time I—okay, I’m gonna stop myself right there.”

He laughs at himself and I stand stunned for a while, until the joke hits me and I laugh too. And… it made me feel flustered. He is just something else. That’s why I like him. As a friend!

“What was I saying? I don’t know, but yeah, it’s happening and I’m excited. So many fuckin’ great things happening. I hope the same goes for you.”

I hum again, since I don’t trust my voice right now, “thanks. I hope so too. I’m really excited for you. Don’t miss me too much while you’re gone.” Just one lie after another.

“I’ll try not to. I think I should be the one saying that. You don’t miss me too much.”

“Wait, who are you again?”

“Okay, fuck you. Bye.”

We both break into laughter again over the ridiculous banter and hang up. Seems like things are going, and will go, well for him.

I put on a very lazy outfit, since I had no plans to go anywhere today.I had too much time on my hands, so I started overthinking again, and for the rest of the day, it was one thought after another. I wish I could see him one last time, why didn’t he ask to? I mean, I know why. Because we’re not close like that. It was a one time thing, won’t happen again. He probably said that he wants to see me again just to avoid disappointing me and hurting my feelings. They will be hurt either way.

I wonder what Alex is doing right now, 7PM on a Wednesday night. A text pops up on my phone as I'm scrolling online… from him?!

“Hey! I have some spare time tomorrow, you wanna come over? I kinda owe it to you, but I wouldn’t mind you seeing you either. It’s a fucking mess here but I’m sorry I can’t pack neatly.” 7:01 PM

What on Earth? It seems like for some reason we are in each other’s subconsciousness. I asked for this, but now I feel weird that this is happening. I’m getting what I want and I don’t think I will want it again. I reply;

“Sure! Thought you’d never ask.” 7:03 PM

I slept better that night. Who knows why.

The next morning I was up before the sun, bright and early. It wasn’t until the afternoon when I had promised to be at Alex’s place, but I couldn’t sleep and lay still anymore. I’m itching for something to happen, something that involves him and getting to see him, possibly for the last time in a long time.

Then later in the day, it was me going downtown again in the same bus, walking over to the same building. The same elevator ride upstairs. The same long hallway. The same door that already looks like coming home. I shouldn’t get so attached anymore. No more crazy thoughts.

This time I didn’t even wait around, but rang the doorbell as I pulled my earbuds out. Ironically, there’s nothing but petty, angry love songs on the radio today where someone’s leaving and someone gets hurt. I feel like I have nothing to be scared or nervous about right now. If anything, my feelings should be scared of me, because I’m not going to feel anything. Whatever I felt the last time I was here, I’m over it.

I heard him turning the lock and there he was, opening the door, all smiles. He looks happy. This time, though, I don’t think I’m alone the reason for it. He doesn’t surprisingly look as disheveled or tired as I imagined, either. In fact, he looks like he has been personally touched by an angel. He is, well, glowing, you could say. Every piece of him.

“Hi!” he ushers me inside, not wasting any time.

I march right inside, “you’re happy to leave.”

He rubs his hands together, “c’mon! I’m having the fuckin’ time of my life! Like—I’ve had good news, c’mon on! Cut me some slack!” He’s so excited to go. Wow.

If I was him, I would feel more bittersweet, perhaps, but people like him just don’t seem to be having a hard time saying goodbye. Maybe people like him aren’t even supposed to stay too long in one place, like the world needs him as much as I do. Good for him, but sucks for me. He then went off, leaving me by myself, like I’m already one with the house and know my way perfectly around.

I followed him to the kitchen, where it was boxes upon boxes. The living room didn’t look any different. The house looks swept, from what I can see so far. His setup is the only thing that looks somewhat the same, but I can tell there’s things missing, already been put away.

“Wow, you really weren’t kidding, like, this is really happening,” I say, mostly to myself.

This place looks weird and dead now that it’s almost empty, like it’s empty of life too.

“Yeah! What, are you gonna miss me and shit?” he asks me, amused by the thought, “no sad, happy!”

Then he quite literally places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a comforting rub, before taking off again. I don’t know if it made me feel better or worse.

“I—“

“So,—“

We start at the same time, following by us both saying ’sorry’ in sync. Awkward. But hey, that got us to laugh again. Oh, how I just like laughing with him. I think it’s one of my favourite sounds. God forbid, if he could read my thoughts right now.

“I was just going to ask if I ever get to see you cooking in that kitchen, like you promised?” Way to change the subject.

Alex gasps with his mouth agape, “no fuckin’ way! How the fuck are you one step ahead of me? I made some of it last night, wondered if you wanna have a bite with me? I mean, of course, you fuckin´ do, right?!”

He starts clapping excitedly, before I could say anything. But the answer is going to be yes, nonetheless. A perfect way to waste some time with him.

In the kitchen, I already knew my seat. It’s the same one I sat on the last time I was here. It felt like personally addressed. I reach for the chair at the same time as he turns to pull it out for me as an act of chivalry. It caused us to knock into each other. Not hard enough to cause an accident, but hard enough to make us both feel embarrassed.

We laugh again, more awkward this time. That was probably the worst fake laugh I’ve ever had to do with him. I sit down and watch as he turns his back to me and takes something out of the fridge.

“This,” he announces, “is my secret recipe, fuckin’ incredible, guacamole.” He brings it to the table and goes back to kitchen to fetch us something to enjoy it with, until sitting down with me. He tells me to dig in, while sitting back and taking off his beanie and running his fingers through his hair. God knows why it made my breath hitch.

When I finally make the move to dig in like he told me to, it’s unlucky he made the same choice at the same time. Our hands touch lightly, before we both quietly apologize and pull them apart like they just had been burned.

“Relax, it’s all yours,” I tease him.

“Fuck you,” he giggles, a smile creeping in, like he’s glad I broke the tension.

The food was honestly pretty good. I hum in enjoyment, “this is good, you were right.”

He laughs, “I told you. Get used to me being right, if you haven’t yet, it’s about time. I mean, I was right about you, too.”

Is he doing this again, getting all mysterious and sentimental about me? And he does it whenever there’s no escape for me from the conversation, too. I wonder what’s really weighing on his heart.

I ask him instead, “okay, what does that mean? You always do this.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for my mastermind, you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have something here that made me thought about staying, but, you know, it’s not like I’m leaving for good.”

I was on his mind as something that’s worth staying for? There’s not much left he can give me anymore, we’re running low on things to say or do when there’s so little time left, but he never wanted to leave without telling me that. It’s the one last high, before we flatline.

“You really think so? That I’m that special? I’m sure whatever you will find next is going to be worth it, though. I’ll be fine.” I can only keep lying to myself for so long. I’ll be a mess.

Alex straightens himself in his seat, like he’s about to say something crucial, “you’re so fuckin’ special, like I don’t know who hurt you so that you always have to question it. Like this is not the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

He’s right. But what he doesn’t know is that it’s him leaving that hurts me. Maybe I’m just insecure, because I know I’m always replaceable. But maybe he doesn’t think so.

He slyly continues, “whatever it is, whoever they are… they don’t matter now. Don’t think about them, just think about us—or me, you know I would never judge you for how you feel. And I even told you already that you mean a lot to me, so what are you scared of anymore?”

“I—,“ I really don’t know what to say, “I don’t mean to make this about myself, but… I guess I was just excited to spend more time with you and now you won’t be here. And I know it, that I was a chapter in your life, but you have a whole book to write. So I don’t know how much space there is anymore to write about me.”

I know better than get attached to people like him. They have the whole world to impress, I’m just one person.

“Damn, that was some deep shit. I was not fuckin’ ready for that by any means, but fine. Fuck it, let’s take the deep road,” he babbles in his usual way, “it’s not like the next time I see you will be awkward anyway, because, you know… I won’t fuckin’ see you. I’ll be long gone.”

I pretend to gasp at the joke and play along, even though the truth behind it hurts.

“But I agree, it’s been great, but, you know, I’m just a call away. And I always, always have time for you, like I’ve already fuckin’ saved you a seat in my mind, so I never forget to keep you in my thoughts. See? That was pretty good, I can get deep in shit too,” he grins almost child-likely and nudges me as he gets up and goes on his merry way to the kitchen, cleaning up the table.

He seems like he’ll be fine enough, so I feel dumb to push it anymore. I just nod, even against my own will and avert my gaze. Maybe I should stop acting so ungrateful, I still get to keep my job and it’ll almost like force him to talk to me once in a while. It’s not the end of my world. Maybe.

We talk more, this time with me trying to act reasonable. He seems to like and laugh at everything I say. I try my best too to keep a smile on my face and tell him, “I’m sure it’ll be fine and we both make it. I’ll be here rooting for you, king.”

“Thank you so much, thank you. It really means a lot coming from you. I’m glad you seem to feel better.”

Yeah. Surely, I’ll be fine… I’ll fake it if I can’t make it. As he’s cleaning up, he tells me I can feel at home and get some water from the fridge if I want to. Well, I eventually figured I should make myself useful and walked up to the fridge in unbreakable strides.

He seemed to be finished with the dishes and stepped to his right where I was, and our bodies had another collision, I think this being the worst one yet. Like we’re used to it already and know the route out of the awkwardness, we just laugh it off. I don’t understand what the universe is trying to tell me to do right now, because it seems like every move I decide for myself to make is wrong.

And there comes that weird tension again. I hope he doesn’t think I’m trying to try something here. I would never. But he seems more than fine, and definitely not like he’s internally cursing my name, as he is casually standing there next to me, making these ridiculous expressions and sounds in result of a brain freeze, since the water was pretty much ice cold. It made us both laugh and smile like nothing had happened.

What do we do now? Is this it? I thought as I soon announce that I should leave, before anything else can happen. I make quick work on putting my jacket on and tying my shoelaces, reaching for the door just as he does, and there I find myself bumping right into his side again.

I suddenly feel the urgent need for the floor to swallow me whole, but since that’s not happening, running out the door seems very tempting. I can’t handle another one of these accidents. I’m so embarrassed. Not the kind of ending I imagined for our story, but I guess it’s better than drowning in tears. Maybe I have a chance in surviving losing him, if this is how I feel.

“Sorry for whatever that was,” I apologize again, God knows for how manyth time today.

He just timidly laughs, not as loudly and lively as he usually does, but it was still a laugh, “it’s okay, you know, it takes two to… fuck up, something like that, right?”

I laugh too now, “that’s true.”

Now we are just standing in the doorway, thinking who’s going to be the first to say goodbye. And I didn’t find it in me to just run out and leave without it. To my luck, he breaks the moment of silence, “so, uh…. I wanna tell you that I’ll see you soon, but I’m actually not sure when I’ll be able to do that. So—I know you understand, right?”

I do. I understand what is happening. It’s almost like it’s finally sinking in that this is it. I don’t know what the future holds. Will I see him again?

“I don’t want to make any promises, but… I’ll see you at last whenever I’m back, whenever that will be. I’ll talk to you about the new work schedule too, when it’s more topical,” he rants. Yep, at least I get to keep my job.

I just nod sympathetically, “I understand. Good luck with everything, honestly. I’ll see you someday and in the meantime, we can always talk on the phone.” I feel the need to still remind him that just because he’s not here, doesn’t mean I’m not waiting to hear from him every day.

“Of course,” he smiles genuinely, so wide that it reaches his eyes, which makes me want to take his word for it.

He then pulls me into a lingering hug, which surprised us both, how there was no hesitation this time to be so close to each other. Sure, my time with him has been short-lived, but it has meant something. Every second mattered and in a matter of seconds time will be irrelevant. Oh, how life goes.

He pats my back, which felt both like a curse and a blessing. It felt too nice to not happen again in a long, long time. Why couldn’t I feel this way when there was still time?

When he next stares at me from under his long lashes with an unreadable expression on his face, like he’s trying hard to memorize something, I make the move to leave before I fall any deeper into the despair.

It takes a second for him to realise it and to follow me, and now he leans against the doorway, as if he needs something else to cling on to now that I’m out of his reach.

“Go on then, little superstar,” I giggle, “I won’t forget you. Which would be impossible, anyway.”

He starts grinning again, and before he can get too ahead of things and himself, I roll my eyes, “I’m trying to be nice here.”

He gets serious and gives me a more gloomy look before turning it into a smile to almost prevent any emotions spilling, “I know, I know, sorry. Me neither. Trust me.” Trust. That’s what I need, to trust him and let the rest roll off my shoulders.

Soon after we say the final farewells and I watch and hear the door click close for the last time and he is out of my sight for also possibly the last time, at least for a long while. Call me selfish, or a bad person, all of it, but there’s no way he’s actually leaving. I don’t want him to. There’s no way after all that sunshine, it’s now raining this hard. When it rains, it really pours.

Quite literally, indeed, because when I stepped out of the building, it was raining. Ironic. I put my hood on and made my way quickly to the bus stop, staring at the black screen of my phone like any second now he’s going to tell me something, something along the lines of like he has changed his mind. I wiped the raindrops off the screen, they reminded me of teardrops. For some strange reason, I don’t feel like crying at all.

I was already cursing the bus, the bus route, the bus stop. Everything here is going to remind me of him. I can never come back here, unless it’s with him. There’s no way I’m in this deep already, but I am. And there’s no bottom or no one to hold me up this time, I’ll just keep sinking.

The next morning, and the next one, and the next one my immediate thought was Alex, not to anyone’s surprise. The thought of his existence didn’t get me so high as it used to do, since he will now exist so far from me. Just when everything started falling into place. I had already let myself forget the day he’s leaving. Was it yesterday or today, or tomorrow? Or maybe it’s better if I don’t know and will let him leave quietly. So quietly, that the sound of it doesn’t make me flinch.

I figure I can’t just lay down here in my bed the entirety of my existence or Alex being gone, I have to get back to work and back to, well, what life was like before there was him. But what was my life like without him? I’m not sure I can recall it.

I realise I could do anything I ever want, but I’m stuck here and there’s a void in me that looks like him. I feel like I’m supposed to just sit on my hands, what else would I do? Later that night I throw myself on the bed again, ready to waste time scrolling through my phone, maybe watch some TV.

I open Twitter and wait as it loads new content for me to see. So, what do I do on Twitter? I do follow Alex, and I see that he hasn’t posted anything new. I also do follow people I find interesting, a few friends, people who have the same music taste and interests as me. I haven’t caught up with the timeline since last night.

The further I scroll, the more I see concerning headlines of news. What the hell is this?

“Another COVID-19 lockdown possible, says experts.”

What’s going on? It says just a few states have been put on high alert, the one I’m in is not included, at least for now. We still get to go about our lives here. I feel my heart sink, thinking about going back to square one. I don’t think we as society can take another one of those. I see it before my very eyes how the news are spreading like wildfire. Everyone is talking about it. It’s all I see and I think it’s all I will see even in my sleep tonight.

I read until the words didn’t make any sense to me anymore, they were just words of confirming what we all fear. They just made me sick. As the night fell on me, I know I wasn’t the only one in the world who laid wide awake that night. What’s going to happen?

So much for summer plans and so much for possibly visiting Alex or him visiting me. Shit. I just realised what this means for us. It’s the state where he went that’s one of the few mentioned to be prepared to shut down. If only he had never left.

I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s now been more than a few days since I had last seen and heard from Alex, too long when he’s all I think about. I want to know more, ask him how he is. I’m also a little worried, like how he had joked I would be, but now I really am. The world is suddenly not ours to take anymore, so I guess I have a valid reason to be. I text him;

“How is everything?” 1:24 PM

A completely harmless, friendly question. It doesn’t give away too much and he can write me back whenever he finds the time to.

Instead of doing so, he almost right away was calling me. Even a bigger bargain: I get to hear his voice again!

I picked up the phone expecting him to be in a frantic, excited hassle, but he was calm, it was almost too quiet on his end for someone who’s doing as much as he is. Actually, he didn’t seem to be in a rush at all and definitely didn’t sound as excited as he had the other day. I can only assume he’s tired, that’s the only logic that makes some sense.

“Hey,” wow, he does sound worn-out.

“Hey. I bet you’re tired, so you didn’t have to call me. I just wanted to know that… how are things in wherever you are?”

“No, of course I want to talk,” he assures, “I’m—something happened. I’m sure you’ve seen the news. It’s fuckin’ crazy out there.”

It hits me again. The news that feels like the end of the world all over again. I feel for him. Is he now possibly stuck in another state for longer than he anticipates?

I sigh, “yeah. I was hoping it won’t mess with you too much?”

“I’m just as fuckin’ caught off guard as you, but… I really can’t go. It’s too bad out there where I was supposed to go to that I can’t go, I can’t risk it. And I don’t want to seem like an ignorant asshole and just take off.”

“What?” I stutter, “I mean, it makes sense, but you mean—where are you right now?”

He lets out a little sad laugh, “I’m still here, in this great apartment of mine, in the middle of all these boxes and all of my shit is packed up, all of it. And now I’m not even going. Think about it.”

He is still here? He never even left? Or more like, he didn’t have the time to leave? He continues before I could get a word in, “I mean, fuck it, I still might as well fuckin’ move to the next block in the spite of having to pack and unpack everything.”

That made us laugh amidst all of the chaos. I feel bad for him, but it’s a funny thought. But, back to the real topic, he is not leaving after all? What is this universe up to? Did I manifest this unfortunate and unexpected turn of events? I’m starting to feel like I did.

“So, stupid question, I know, but how are you? You never got to leave? I thought for sure you were already gone,” I ask, “sorry, this must be so shitty, I can’t even imagine, and you probably don’t want to answer my stupid questions right now.”

“No, no! I do want to talk, more than ever. I was supposed to leave the day after I last saw you and then all of this kind of happened overnight. I don’t know—I’m just thinking about all the things and shit I don’t get to do now.”

He was so excited just for everything to be called off right before the kick off. I pity him. I’m not exactly sure how to comfort him in times like this, how to say the right things. What even are the right things to say? I know I wanted him to stay, but I never wanted it to happen like this, in a way that drains him of all of his contagious joy.

We talked a long while. Or more like, I let him talk and didn’t wait for my turn to talk. I listened with curiosity and empathy, for as long as he needed. I didn’t fill in the silences, just listened. The last thing he says to me on the phone before we hang up, comes as a total surprise, “hey—you wanna come over?”

And so it went, there I was again taking the same bus downtown to him. I never saw this coming. This looks like a film everyone would love to act in, where the one never gets away, but this is real life. I don’t know how to direct it yet, but I will keep looking for the answers for why this is happening and why he keeps always coming back to me, sometimes even against his own will.

Of course I said yes, when he asked me to come over.

By the time I rode the elevator, I was fuzzy in the head. This was not supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to come here again, not after we said those goodbyes not even a week ago.

I walked up to his door, and as by some instinct, he opened it before I could even knock. I did a double take, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I mean, it’s him, but... he looks great. Happier, for some reason, even when there’s not much to be happy about, or so I thought. I wonder who made him like that. Whoever it is, consider them lucky. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so serene and beautiful like he does in this light.

“Hi!” he lets me in, “alright, let’s just forget about the fuckin’ dramatic goodbyes that we had and pretend none of that shit happened.”

He then giggles at his own recollections, so did I. How many times you get this lucky when there is no bye in goodbye? I also still don’t know what is keeping the smile on his face right now. If there is sadness in there, he’s not showing it.

“Yeah, this is pretty fucked. Not to make things about me, but I thought I would like never see you again. Like you’re gonna start a whole new life without me.”

He shakes his head, “not this time. And I mean—I still wanna keep you, I’m not just gonna fuckin’ let you go, no matter what happens. You’re stuck with me, pal.”

“Yeah, literally. You couldn’t get too far even if you tried.” I wonder if he will ever make it out of here. Right now, everything feels impossible. None of us will get out anytime soon.

“Yeah, see?” he grins.

I see some of the boxes in his house are still up, some of them opened and unloaded, as if something necessary has been taken out of them. He follows my gaze and laughs nervously, “yeah, I know, it’s a fuckin’ mess here. And—it’s just that all of these news are fuckin’ with my head, you know? You feel it too?”

I nod. It’s not bad at all where we are, but what if it gets bad here? The only rule is that we can’t exit the state, but that’s already enough to mess up people’s plans. Like his. It’s all ruined for him.

We talk about these arising fears as he guides us to the kitchen and motions me to take a seat. I smile at his thoughtfulness and sit down. He sits across from me, bringing some snacks on the table.

As I secretly watch him there in the brief silence that occurs when we chew on the snacks, I feel the same old familiar excitement to see him and to be here with him. Like I want to fight all the odds that prevents keeping me right here forever. He makes me feel excited about life, especially when we have more promised time now. That’s the closest my words will get to the feeling I can’t explain.

And, he looks... great. Brand new. Attractive, even some would say. Not me, of course… I clear my throat, hoping he’s not catching on to me, “so, you called me here, because… you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I just needed to know that… I still have you. Like no matter what shit goes wrong, I’ll always have you here. Especially now, when being alone is the last thing I want. I can’t even see my friends from other states or from home, in case shit gets worse, but you’re always here, right?” he rambles.

I’m still too a bit freaked out that I now have him here, right here where I wanted him all along, I suddenly don’t seem to know or remember what I always wanted to tell him. I think he just beat me to it. I think we really need each other, especially at times like this when loneliness is almost bound to happen.

“Yeah, of course. As selfish as this sounds… I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t think I was ready to say goodbye just yet,” I didn’t know what else to say to his emotional outburst other than answering with the same concerns. If honesty is what he wants and needs to hear, then so be it.

“I knew it. I knew you’re happy I never left”, he tries to suppress his usual grin and raises a brow challengingly at me, “you need me.”

I roll my eyes, “what? That’s all you decided to take from that?”

We both laugh at the banter, like we always used to do. I’m glad we are able to pick up right where we left off. It’s like nothing ever happened. Even though I think we are getting a little sidetracked here.

He adjusts himself in the chair and leans back, crossing his arms as if to appear more intimidating, “what can I say? I have a selective hearing, you tell me you need me and I’m fuckin’ all ears, just like that.”

“I—okay. I didn’t say I need you, I’m just happy you’re still here. I know, it’s probably weird for me to say this—“

At this point I felt like I was squirming in my seat under his gaze. Why is he doing this, almost obsessed with the idea of me needing him?

“Hey, no. I’m sorry if I went too far joking about it and making you feel like it’s weird. It’s not. I feel very… fuckin’ happy you think so highly of me.”

We talk more, and I learn that the news of the possible COVID-19 outbreak, even if it’s not happening here, has really messed with him and I understand a little better why he is being like this. No one wants to feel isolated and alone and he seems to be holding onto me now more than ever. I understand him, but it will change us. For worse or for better, nobody knows.

“Anything else before I go?”

“Actually, yeah. I have a few friends pop over in a few days. You should come too,” he tells me like it’s nothing and like he has already made up my mind for me.

“Oh?” I ask with genuine surprise, “are you sure? Do you really thinks it’s a good idea for me to meet them?”

“Of course! I think it’d be fuckin’ awesome! They’ve been in the city for a few days now, they’re not coming from another state, so it’s all good, all safe.“

“Okay.”

He grins happily, “great!”

What am I getting myself into here? I need to think things through when I get home. He walks me to the door not soon after that. I thought to open the door and walk myself out, but he had the same thought to open it for me, causing us to collide with each other again. This is such a deja vu, but I didn’t remember how awkward it exactly is.

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll stop being a gentleman right at this fuckin’ second,” he laughs. I laugh too, because as awkward as it is, he makes it funny.

“Okay, I’m gonna go now, before you jump at me again,” I finally make the move to leave.

“Uh—excuse me!” he yells after me, “it takes two! It takes two, pal!”

I keep backing away until I’m so far from him, that we pretty much have to yell to make ourselves heard in this hallway, before waving him goodbye. I made some quick strides to the elevator, it was waiting for me on the same floor as if to rescue me. What is he doing to me and why is it working? And why do I kind of like it?

So, how do I actually feel about Alex inviting me over with his friends there? The thought of it seemed to excite him greatly, but I, on the other hand, am not sure if I can reciprocate his feelings. I do like hanging out with him doing nothing, but when you throw other people in the mix, will it just blow up in our faces? Am I just ruining things to make myself miserable at this point?

I so want to text my friend at times like this, even though I’m highly aware they would force me to go and socialize, but I figure this is something I just have to decide myself and for myself. Some would say this is out of my comfort zone, but what else would I find comfort in if not being around him? How bad could it be there?

My phone makes a sound. There’s really only one person who would have a reason to text me right now. It’s time to make up my mind, I guess.

I was right, it was Alex,

“Sooo you coming tonight? I hope?” 4:35 PM

Fortunately for him, I don’t think I have it in me to tell him no. Not when he sounds like this, like he needs me. Like it’s up to me to make or break his night. It’s a lot of pressure to be this important to someone like him.

For now, I reply,

“Yeah, I’ll be there!” 4:39 PM

It’s as if he knows me inside out again and that I’m still questioning my choice, because he doesn’t leave it there, but says,

“Awesome, I was already thinking you’d bail on me.” 4:40 PM

That’s awkward.

“Never.” 4:40 PM

Guess I’m going.

I popped by a liquor store on my way to his before I hopped on the bus. I’m not usually the one to drink, especially on the first meeting, but I think I need some liquid courage, because I will decay before I can meet those new people if I think about it too hard. Have I already made it obvious that I’m a nervous wreck? It’s already an accident scene in my mind. When I finally arrive at his door, I could already hear the voices of many that I’m not familiar with. It’s still not too late to back out, but I won’t. I didn’t come this far just to come this far.

I knock on the door, and then it opens, revealing Alex behind it, smiling at me radiantly as ever. The smile that I think makes this all worth it.

He seems to be already having fun with his friends, so it’s still unclear to me why he wanted me here to shuffle the pack. I put on a happy face and my best foot forward, greeting him with the same enthusiasm. Faking it until I make it.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” he was grinning, like he was proud to have lured me here.

“Of course! Always up for a challenge.”

“Hey, everyone’s gonna like you, as much as I do. You don’t ever have to worry about that,” he pouts.

I wonder what caused him to say that. What is suddenly so likeable about me and how can he sound so sure of everything?

I step in the living room and see three other people that are still strangers to me. So that’s not too bad, I can tackle three. And perhaps Alex was right, if he invited me here it must mean there’s something he sees in me that everyone else will too. It was when I found my seat that they started talking and then it was my job to keep up.

“Hi! I’m Karl!” a brunette opposite me spoke and gave me a little wave.

“Punz,” the person next to him raised his hand as a greeting and popped snacks into his mouth.

“Oh! I’m Foolish!” the last person speaks and laughs lightly.

I wonder what happens next and how much they already know, or more like, what has Alex told them about me. Well, I was nevertheless about to tell them something that I hoped to be interesting enough, but got cut off by Punz as he waves me off and gestures to bottles on the table, “oh, we know who you are. Here, have one—oh, you brought your own drinks, nice.”

Oh, now I really am curious what have they heard from Alex. If it’s anything like what he told me at the door, I have a lot of expectations to meet. I’m totally cool about it, as cool as the drink I crack open and take a sip of. Bless them for initiating small talk while we wait for something to happen, since we are still the guests here.

Speaking of Alex, where the hell did he go? I haven’t seen him ever since he let me in and told me I don’t have to worry about a thing. Well, now I am worrying a bit, am I the only one who feels bothered by his absence?

“Yo, where the hell did he go?” Karl asks everyone at the table.

So, it seems I’m not.

We all look around ourselves but he was nowhere to be seen. As if he planned this all along, leaving me alone with his friends so we have no other choice but to gather around and talk to each other. It would have happened even without his shenanigans, so I don’t understand why this was necessary, if that is the case.

We couldn’t help, but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Karl hid his smile with his sleeves and slapped the armrest, “he really said hi and bye. Can you believe him?”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. Punz seems fixated on the snacks he is still eating, good for him. Foolish was laughing too, like this was the main entertainment. I feel anything but entertained, I forgot to expect the unexpected whenever I am with Alex. You never know with him. I just sat there and drank my drink.

“So, what do you guys wanna do? Since it’s just us,” Foolish asks and wiggles his eyebrows, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, balancing the neck of a bottle on his fingertips.

I don’t want them to change their plans for me or to stop doing what they were doing before I got here, but obviously, true to my nature, I don’t dare to tell them that. My head is playing tricks on me, making me think there’s still a reason to keep my guard up and shy away.

Karl looks like he’s going to say something, like a brilliant idea washed over him, but then just asks me, “you two seem like you’re pretty close. Are you?”

My jaw slacks open in surprise. I assume he’s talking about me and Alex. What do I even say to that?

“Yeah, I think so—“

“Really? What do you like about him?” Karl bombards me with more questions, “ahem, as friends, of course.”

What is this about? What are my answers being used for?

I’m confused, but answer, “uh—everything?”

I don’t really know what to say and I acknowledge that Alex could come back any second and I don’t exactly want to be caught talking like this.

Karl tucks his lips into a tight-lipped smile, “well, if that ain’t the cutest thing. I asked him the same thing and he told me pretty much the same about you. Do whatever you want with that information.”

It’s now my turn to ask him, “really?”

He said that?

Karl just smiles again and yells out to Alex, wherever he is, “in case you forgot, you still have guests over and we would like to do something here, with or without you!”

Okay, so that conversation is over and I’m left drawing the conclusions and connecting the dots myself. It looks like a messy map of undecided feelings and missing truths. Did he really mean it, and if, why?

We all dissolve into laughter when Alex finally comes out of hiding and yells, “okay, asshole! Some of us has to look good tonight.”

Not too much had changed about him that would explain why he was gone for so long. Well, he had changed his outfit and from what I can tell, maybe fluffed his hair a bit, but I don’t see why that is necessary. He can do whatever he wants in his house, I guess. Not that I mind what he looks like, I myself am very casual and so are the other guests.

“So,” he claps his hands together and sits down next to me, not taking his eyes off me, “you okay?”

I nod. He has no reason to worry about me so much, but I appreciate his heartfelt care. It’s a two-way street, I acknowledge I would do the same. It causes a grin to break out on his face, “great! So, should we play something? Jackbox?”

We did that. I was sitting there on the couch, with my legs pulled up to my chest, curling away, watching the game play on, downing my drink.

Somewhere along the night, he was resting his arm on the back of my seat. I didn’t think much of it, until I felt his fingers toy with my hair. Does he even realise he’s doing it? I let it go and let him do his thing. It’s new for the both of us, a touch that’s so gentle and light as a feather it’s almost make-believe, but it feels nice and real. It’s making me want to stay here longer.

The game went on, we didn’t get through a round without laughter and genuine fun. I don’t know what happened to me about halfway through the night, I drank like never before. It occurred to me that it’s a receipt for disaster, but I’m way past thinking straight anymore. We just had a bit too much fun, or I did. Like I said, I never take things this far, but the rules slipped my mind tonight.

Foolish stretches with a strained cry and we all contagiously yawn as we wrap up the game for the night.

Alex mumbles next to me, “did you guys know there’s a fuckin’ fancy pool downstairs? I think it’s closed now and probably has restrictions and shit anyway—”

“Why tell us about it then?” Punz asks.

Karl was giggling again, “and who asked? We get it, you’re rich and we can’t go there—”

“No!” Alex defended his case, “I just—that would’ve been cool.”

It would’ve. I’d like to see the pool. Maybe someday.

Karl hums, “hm, did you want to look at the stars with me and kiss me under the moonlight?”

We all laugh again and watch Alex throw a cushion at him.

Everyone soon scattered around the house to take bathroom breaks and such. As I attempt to hoist myself up, I definitely feel more drunk than I had intended to be tonight. I give up and sit back and hug my knees again, hoping this will pass. Alex gets up too to clean up the empty bottles on the table and floor. I’m scared I’m going to make a mess that won’t be so easy to clean up.

I’m mentally cursing everything and myself, mostly myself for crossing the line, and how awkward it is sitting here alone. I want to get up and make things better, but before I know what is happening, I find myself falling to the ground. There’s no way to really say how I feel other than that I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round that doesn’t stop for anyone. It’s making my stomach churn and head spin. Everything is spinning, until I crash and hit the ground, or whatever I fell onto.

I’m listening but don’t hear anything, thinking it’s the alcohol messing with my head, until I realise there’s no sound. It’s a pin-drop silence. We’re almost frozen in time, right in this moment.

Alex finally fills the silence and speaks to me, holding onto me, “are you okay? Should I—tell me what can I do for you?”

Did he…. catch me? I mean, he must have, because I’m not shattered on the floor right now, but instead it was a very delicate fall. It didn’t even feel like falling, but the proof that I did is right there when I open my eyes that brings me a distorted vision of the floor.

“It’s probably just the alcohol, you know. We should get them water,” I hear someone else speak for me.

I then hear sounds from the kitchen, until it’s silent again, anticipating.

“Here,” Alex advised me, “drink this.”

I felt a glass tilted against my lips and gulped down some water, and prayed this will all pass. This is such a nightmare, and I don’t even know who’s the villain here. I didn’t even drink that much, or did I?

Alex shakes me a little to get my focus, “do you feel sick? Just nod or shake your head.”

He kneels by my side and lays a warm hand on my shoulder, rocking me a little. That’s one thing I’m painfully aware of right now, how close we are. I hesitate to let him get any closer to me, in case this turns into an awkward memory. I mean, it’s already embarrassing enough as it is, I just don’t need him to touch me in ways he will later regret.

He seems to notice my upset state and lifts my head to rest on his knees for a little comfort and holds me a little closer. This way, I can feel his every move, almost even every breath he takes. It oddly helps me, trying to synchronise our breathing, reminding myself that I can live through this.

I shake my head weakly, too weak to speak. Thankfully, he understands. I can see it in his terror-stricken eyes. Is he scared for?

“So, that’s a no. Would it be okay to move you onto the couch?”

I nod, giving him the green light. I’m still here, pathetically lying on the floor like a wounded animal and no one knows what’s the right thing to do.

Alex nods back at me, “okay. Is this a stupid question if I ask if you can stand up? Even just for a few s—”

“Oh my God,” Punz groans, “yeah, no offence at all, but that’s a stupid question. I mean, look at them.”

Yeah, look at me... I know there’s no judgment there behind his words, it sounds almost pitiful, the way he talks about me. He sounds like someone who wants the best for me.

“Okay,” Alex panics, “sorry. Is it—do you want me to carry you?”

Like he’s asking permission from me before daring to move me or touch me in a new way. I’m not in a good headspace to think, but that was kind of adorable of him. I nod, before I feel overtaken by nausea again. I can feel it in my guts, literally.

I can make out Alex again hovering somewhere over me as he witnesses the colour draining from my face and my eyes drooping, like there’s something I’m trying to fight against. He seems to get the hint when I gesture him that I don’t feel good and then there’s four voices again frantically talking over each other about what to do with me.

“Are you—okay, okay. Should we go to the bathroom?!” Alex’s freaking out. Poor him.

Meanwhile I think I officially have the worst taste in making decisions. I’m in last place in learning lessons. This should have never happened. It doesn’t matter anymore, but I know better.

“Yes!” Punz steps in, “take them!”

Those are the last words I can hear before I feel like silently I’m blacking out and spiralling into darkness.

The next time I gain some sort of consciousness is when someone is talking and gently caressing me. I’m on the floor again, and that floor is cold, which feels nice on my hot skin. I don’t know where I am now, or who is with me, but my head is too heavy to ask myself those questions. I want to lay here for a second and just catch my breath, before I catch myself triggering another wave of nausea.

I feel someone leave my side for a minute, before they come back and drape something warm over me, as I lie still, too sick to utter a word. And so there were no further words spoken, until they squeeze me tight and whisper, “are you okay? Please, for the love of fuckin’ everything, tell me you’re okay.”

Assuming they are talking to me, I nod. I’m getting there, I’m going to be fine. I think.

“Oh, thank God,” they whisper back, keeping their voice low, “tell me if you need anything and I’ll deal with it.”

I really need my bed. No more words are needed when they say everything with their touch, rubbing their fingers comfortingly against my skin where they are holding my arm. I take a sharp breath as I feel my stomach twist and turn again very unpleasantly and pray they don’t hear it, but they do.

“It’s okay,” they murmur quietly again, “is it okay that I’m here with you?”

I nod again.

I lost all track of time and place as I laid there in the silence. The silence seemed to be fulfilling enough for the person with me too, like keeping me company was the main reason they are here. By the way, I have no idea how long me and they have been here, wherever we are, but they never rush me. It never happens, no matter how many minutes of this night we are wasting.

Then it comes to the point of intoxication when I feel very swept up in emotions, like I had burned like a birthday candle that burns for joy, but now I’m burning out. I don’t even flinch when tears prickle my eyes and I start sniffling, as dramatic as it is. I really try to contain it, but my body doesn’t listen and wants to stir the pot and make me more of a mess. So I have no fight in me.

The person next to me doesn’t seem to mind as they lean down to fully capture me, their body radiating warmth against mine and hands urgently pressing wherever they could and stroking my back. Still no words said, but letting the actions speak. I know it’s not the right time or place for this, but when’s the last time someone has held me like this or would love this version of me? They keep me there tightly in place, tucked against their chest, giving my frame a few easing squeezes to tell me to take my time.

When they pull away, I whine in the loss of comfort they once brought.

“One more hug?” they ask me. As soon as I nod, we are back to cuddling there on the floor. It must not be so comfortable for them, but they put up with it, for me.

I’m startled to the core when I hear a door opening to the room we’re in, and a voice, “the car’s here. Ready whenever you are.”

That sounds a lot like one of Alex’s friends I met tonight.

The someone who’s still lying by my side tells them, “okay, great. Uh—we’ll be right out, okay?”

That sounds a lot like Alex.

Wait, so I’m still at Alex’s place, in his bathroom, and everyone is still here? I’m embarrassed. Cheers to the night I wish to forget. The only memory I wish to revisit tomorrow is Alex and his tendency to closely watch over me. He did more than what was enough and showed me something about him I haven’t seen before. I like the new highs he took me to, but I’m not going to like the come-down tomorrow.

I jolt somewhat awake when I’m being helped to stand up and then walked downstairs and put in the awaiting car. This ride is not going to be nice with an upset stomach like mine. I don’t have to worry about that for too long though, when I close my eyes and then I’m out like lights.

I wake up to sunlight peaking through the window, shining on my face. I don’t know anything, but I do know that I feel like hell, at least emotionally. My mouth is dry as ever and my body feels icky. It’s uncomfortable to a point, that I wish I could step out of my current skin and put on a clean, nice one that doesn’t hurt. I’m happy to make the observation that I’m in my bed and that I made it home last night, or, well, I must have made the absolute walk of shame home last night.

I don’t know how long I have laid here like the dead, it doesn’t feel that long at all since I was sick at Alex’s. Speaking of him, how will I ever speak to him again without wanting to die of embarrassment? I didn’t have much time to think about it, when my thoughts were diverted to something else; I’m wearing more clothes than I did when I left. I’m talking about the soft hoodie I still have draped over me, Alex’s hoodie that he lent me for comfort. Awkward. It’s so bad I wonder if it will ever get good again.

I’m scared to check my phone, I really don’t want to know or see anything right now that would make me feel worse, but I still check it. The time on the screen tells me that it’s 11:45 AM and that my friend had texted me not so long ago;

“Come to my place today! We’re having a partyyyy. I know you love those ;)” 11:34 AM

Right, it’s Saturday, of course they are having one. When it comes to this party and my invitation, I can’t even look at alcohol right now, not after the night I had. It’s the last thing I need to expose myself to and it’s almost inevitable.

No text from Alex, nothing. A part of me wishes to see him, to apologize and give back his hoodie, but I don’t know what he thinks of me anymore. I know it would be better to make the big step forward and own up to it, but I was so out of line last night that I’m honestly terrified to talk to him right now. He probably resents me. I do too, it’s almost inspiring. I might be weak and unstable, but at least I’m trying. He and what we have, it means too much to let it fall apart.

I went back to bed and texted my friend back, telling them about last night. Not all of it, but enough for them to know I feel vulnerable and psychically I’m not doing much better.

While I lay there in the silence I created, I let the memories from last night creep back, or the ones I can remember. The tender touches from him, the whispers that were all for me. The hold he had of me, like I was the only thing he wanted to touch. I have forgotten to miss his touch already when there’s still a mess I have yet to clean up and this time he won’t help me. He hadn’t signed up for taking care of me, but he still did and followed through like it was a contract. God, how will I ever make it up to him?

So, tonight’s party. I think I feel fine enough to go as long as I stay away from the drinks, stay there for an hour or two just to say hello to my friend, and then come straight back home and continue rotting in bed. It’s settled then.

I take a long, refreshing shower which soothes some part of me, but I still have this shame that doesn’t come off in the wash. That’s not how life works, unfortunately.

As I’m picking out an outfit, my phone pings to notify me of a text from Alex. Shit. I’m terrified to see what he has to say, but I know I have to take on my biggest enemy right now; the consequences of my actions. I don’t want to leave him hanging right now, so I read it immediately.

“Are you okay???” 1:34 PM

That’s all his text says.

Well, I have this shame in me that’s eating me alive, but other than that, I feel okay, I guess. This is why I sometimes hate texting, not being able to read people. I can’t tell if he’s mad or worried, or somewhere in between, and I don’t know how I deserve to be perceived right now.

“I’m okay, but so embarrassed I’m not even sure I can talk right now, but I know we need to.” 1:36 PM

He must’ve been waiting to hear from me, because it didn’t take him long to respond;

“No, it’s fine. Seriously don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re okay. It was an honour to take care of you ;)” 1:36 PM

Why would he say that? I can’t remember what I have done and am not sure if I want to know. And when it comes to him reassuring me this is fine, I want to tell him it’s not and that he has every right to be frustrated, but I don’t exactly want to go against what he is saying to me and argue. How will I win if I don’t want to fight?

“Stop, this is so embarrassing. Can’t wait to never be invited again.” 1:37 PM

I fairly wouldn’t be shocked if last night was my last night at his place. His lack of irritation and ability to brush things off has so far been surprising. I wonder if he really is okay and what is he doing today. Is he thinking about me, us, and what to do with me? He is not going to fire me over this, is he?

He replied shortly;

“Can’t wait to invite you again ;) What are you doing today?” 1:39 PM

Just like that, he read my mind.

“I’m actually going to a friend’s place, there’s a party BUT I am NOT drinking! Just wanna say hi and then bounce. Believe me, alcohol is the last thing I want right now. What are you doing?” 1:41 PM

I feel stupid now that I said it out loud, that I’m attending another party after last night. He must think I’m insane, if he already doesn’t.

My phone pings again to alert another text from him;

“Oh nice, don’t drink, I’m not there to save you ;) Doing nothing.” 1:44 PM

I’m just going to ignore those winky faces he keeps sending me and how they make me feel. Just when I thought things couldn’t get more weird between us, they do. I type;

“This is as embarrassing for me as it gets, but I still have your hoodie. Tell me when to return it!” 1:46 PM

“Oh, it’s no problem. Think you need it more than me ;)” 1:47 PM

He is acting like he’s the one out of his mind right now. Did we both get up on the wrong side of the world this morning and fell into some alternate universe where nothing feels real or makes sense?

I don’t know what came over me next when I typed before I could think;

“You wanna come with me to the party? I think we really need to talk.” 1:50 PM

I was terrified to check my phone when it had been a few minutes, and even more when I saw no reply from him. Why did I have to go and do that? Haven’t I been enough trouble for him already? I really need to think more and do less. Or, even better, I could have at least waited until Monday, when he’s going to text me anyway about work and the schedule for the week. It’s really not easy being me right now when I can’t stop screwing up and upsetting people, it seems like.

Next time I checked, he actually had replied;

“Needy smh, but what wouldn’t I do to see you ;) Tell me where and when.” 2:01 PM

He just said yes, as in I will see him very, very soon? This was an unexpected turn of events and I don’t know if we are heading for a dead-end here. I haven’t been this scared in a long time. This is what I wanted, but I think I underestimated myself.

I also made sure to text my friend and keep them in the loop, telling them I will be bringing him with me. I’m only doing this because I will not let him settle for anything less than a proper sorry. But sorry is just a word and not so simple, so what he decides to do with my apology, it’s up to him.

I got to the party before Alex did, which was lucky, because it meant I could have some time with my friend before he arrives. I know it’s not all fun and games when he gets here since we still need to talk about… well, last night and I’m not sure what kind of a conversation that will be. It if doesn’t kill me, it probably will make me wish it had. Will we work or hurt?

I soon spot my friend in the crowded living room that had been turned into a dance floor for the night. The reek of alcohol and the sight of it is enough to make my stomach turn. I’m never drinking again. I push myself through the crowd and tap my friend on the shoulder. They turn around, their eyes lighting up as they see me there.

“Do you want—right, you’re not drinking tonight!” they yell over the music.

I shook my head, “no way. I’ll be just hanging in the kitchen probably, you know, serving you drunks.”

“That’s fine! And hey! What were you last night then?!”

“An idiot.”

They shoot me a sympathetic look and nod again, changing the subject like the good friend they are. We catch up some more, before I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I know it before even checking that it’s Alex texting me, telling me he’s finally here.

“I’m going to find him now!”

My friend just dramatically grins and sends me on my way, “hurry up! Don’t let him get away!”

I make my way back outside, and once I get there I inhale the fresh air that doesn’t stink of alcohol, which washes off all that nausea. My gaze immediately fall on Alex as he stands there cooly, with his hands in his pockets. He really came here for me, or at least that’s what I want to think, but I’m afraid he’s not here to see me just to see me, but for something else.

I forget for a second that I’m supposed to feel ashamed when his face holds a mysterious grin that makes it hard to believe there has even been anything troubling him, “hi! Good to see you standing, literally.”

Okay, so maybe there’s a chance he will try forgiving me and maybe forget.

I gladly accept his hug, letting him pull me to his chest, feelinghisthumb softly rubbing my back as he holds me in place, “shut up, but I am too, but shut up.”

He laughs lightly, music to my ears, “you’re a fuckin champ, though, because—how the fuck are you even standing after that? I thought I was going to have to carry you to the hospital.”

Ashamed isn’t actually even the word for how I feel, it’s deep regret for what I put him through. If there’s any part of him that is mad at me, he is suppressing it very well, so well that I’m not sure he is letting me see it.

“I don’t know, but even thinking of alcohol makes me sick right now, so I think I’ll be hanging in the kitchen, playing the bartender.”

Alex grins at me widely again, his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, before he admits, “it’s a shame, truly, that our time together was so limited. We didn’t even get to the good part.”

“Which was?”

“I don’t know, like we could’ve snuck to the pool. That would’ve been fuckin’ sick—sorry, I do apologize for my choice of words right there,” he shrugs, emphasising the word ‘sick’.

“Shut up or I’ll be sick on you the next time, whatever, goodbye,” I turn on my heel and walk inside, pretending to be annoyed and it didn’t take long that I heard him on my tail, following me inside.

“Next time?” he asks behind me, tickling my sides, “there will be a next time?”

I don’t need to look at him to know his eyebrows are quirked and that he’s wearing that stupid smirk again. It’s truly his favourite accessory whenever he’s around me, especially today when he has something new to tease me about. My head is hanging down as I’m trying to hide the smile creeping across my face from everyone passing by. They would never understand, when I can hardly understand how he makes me feel.

I kind of did take on a role of the bartender in the kitchen. You know, serving everyone who swings by whatever drinks they are looking for. Alex grabbed a seat and came to sit right by me, like I’m the only interesting thing here, or in the whole wide world.

“Sorry I forgot to bring your hoodie,” I blurt out. Better to get on with these apologies, there’s a long list to go.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, those eyes that held such care for me last night, “listen, that’s—it’s yours now. If you’re gonna give it back to me, I’m just gonna give it to you, you know that?”

Because friends totally keep each other’s clothes, right?

It’s like he could tell there was a lot on my mind as if he wanted to do something about it, “listen. Stop apologising or thinking you did something wrong last night and shit. I mean, I didn’t think either that you would find yourself in my arms, literally, but shit happens. Just let it go.”

“You know I was only there in your arms, because I quite literally passed out?”

“Yeah, sure,” he just grinned at me, like he wanted to believe that’s the real truth, “you seemed more awake when we… hugged and shit. Cuddled, even. It’s all good, I liked it too.”

I groan and cover my ears. So embarrassing.

I serve a few drinks to people, not exchanging a word or even a look with anyone else other than Alex. He is what matters.

“Wait, you have Snapchat? You should add me,” he leans back in his seat like he’s here for the long haul, already pulling out his phone.

“Ugh, really? You’re one of those guys?” I hate that stuff, I don’t really see the appeal and I don’t know if it would make any difference to what we do now, but for him, sure, I guess?

“Hey!” he straightens up looking up at me, extending his hand for my phone, “it’s a great fuckin’ app, okay? You just boom, boom, pow, and everyone knows what you’re doing.”

I give it to him without further complaints, expect for, “I don’t need everyone to know what I’m doing.”

“No, no. Just me,” he smiles smugly, softly brushing his hand against mine. I don’t know he meant to do it, but if not, then he’s real damn good at pretending and these happy accidents.

While I was handing out drinks, he is doing God knows what on my phone. There’s not a single word exchanged when he seems to look interested in whatever he’s finding there and I’m not bothered to intervene, just enjoying his company in all its forms, until he talks again, “yo, what the fuck is this? This don’t even look like you.”

He flashes my Bitmoji on the screen, just enough for me to get a glimpse of it. Yeah, I know, I really don’t care about that stuff or if it looks like me. I have never felt bothered to change it or customize it, so sue me.

“Oh, really?” I challenge him.

“Yeah, I could make that amazing, like—you’ll see. You’ve never looked better.”

Before he could get any more heated over this dumb debate, I agree and let him work his magic on my phone again. Meanwhile I try to steal glances at him of sitting with his head low, leaning on his knees. He’s so chill it almost gives me chills. I can’t believe we made it through what happened last night, or did we?

I let him mess with my phone while dealing with more drunk people looking for more drinks. I gave them what they wanted. Ugh, they’re gonna feel like hell tomorrow. After last night, I can’t look at drunk people the same way, sorry.

“There,” he slams the phone back on my hand.

I raise it up to my eyes, “what the hell?”

He had made me look absolutely ridiculous and freaky. This, if anything, does not look like me. Well, as long as he has fun.

“Thanks for making sure no one will ever talk to me again,” I tuck my phone deep in my pocket.

“They shouldn’t, you’re right. I think I should be the only one,” he lays his eyes on me again, raising his eyebrows challengingly and crossing his arms across his chest.

For an hour, he sat there with me, like the time had stopped for us and there was no hurry to be anywhere else. I understood a little bit better why many feel drawn to Alex, and how it’s his commentary on things that is rather entertaining. I just want to hear him talk and joke more. I noticed he had rolled his sleeves up at one point and now his other sleeve had fallen down due to his dramatic hand gestures. It was kind of adorable.

“I’m definitely not drinking ever again. I’m so glad I’m not one of these people here, they will feel like hell tomorrow,” I tell him after watching another drunken person stumble out of the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone again.

He suddenly seems concerned, a total shift in his mood, “are you sure you’re okay? Did you even throw up last night? Like, you know, you need to get that shit out of your system.”

I bury my head in my hands, “I don’t know, I don’t remember anything after I was put in that car. What was up with that though? Who drove me home? Whoever it was, I just want to tell them that I’m sorry for being such an idiot.”

He hurries to my comfort, “it’s okay! You don’t remember? I got my friend to pick us up, he drove you home and then drove me back to the house.”

“You were there, in the car? Why?” I was surprised. He didn’t have anywhere to go, since he was already home, so why would he be there?

“Holy shit, you really don’t remember a thing,” he tries to contain his laughter, “of course I had to be there with you, I mean, not to spark some memories, but you were quite literally all over the place and I feel like it was my duty to get you home, so I came along, which by the way turned out to be the right thing to do, since you kept passing out and leaning on me.”

I did? And he was there for me the whole car ride? Ignorance is bliss, but I wonder what made him do it. Was it his head or heart that made that decision? Is he hiding something to be considerate of me or is there something he is not telling me? I would do the same for him, though, but I’ll never tell him that, since we all have something to hide here.

“Oh God,” I groan in shame, “yeah, I don’t remember how I got home from the car, but I don’t think I want to even know. I know it will be embarrassing as hell.”

He seals his lips with his pointer finger, “okay, okay. I’m not telling you, unless you absolutely demand me to, but let’s just say that you were clinging on to me when I was walking you to the door like—”

“Stop!” I cover my face with my hands. This is so bad for me. I will never, ever hear the end of this.

Well, that was until our night came to an end when he told me he has to get going, since he had promised to stream later tonight. Safe to say I was disappointed, but duty calls for all of us sometimes and I can’t do anything to stop it.

I didn’t let him leave until I told him, “I can’t wait for the day when this will all be forgotten and we can go back to normal. I am so, so embarrassed.”

“You’re asking me to forget how it felt to have you all over me? You’re driving a hard bargain, I’m not sure I can do that,” he grins mischievously and reaches for my arms as I walk him to the door. This is hopeless, he is being impossible. Impossibly… flirty?

Hhe closes the distance between us to capture me in a quick embrace, wishing me a safe rest of the night, and then he is gone, vanishing into the night too soon for my liking like a figment of my imagination. For a second I really think if this is all just a really good book that we live in. He’s too good to be true sometimes and that’s what scares me. I think it’s safe to say I am free to move on from last night and that we are in the clear.

I had to really comb the whole living room in the hope of finding my friend, to tell them I’m out of here for good. Now that Alex’s gone, I feel like this place is dead and I have already overtimed my stay. I made my way through the dancing bodies, bumping into a few.

“Hey, who are you? Where did a beautiful thing like you come from?” says someone behind me. I know they’re talking to me, because I can feel them trying to grab my arm to slow me down. Not to my surprise, when I make them the favour of turning around, I see a guy I have never seen before. He wasn’t too drunk to function or to know what he’s doing, but definitely has more than a few drinks down.

“Uh…” I stutter, “I was just about to leave.”

He groans, “nooo, c’mon, stay! I’ll get you a drink if you stay and—”

“I don’t drink tonight, actually. I still have a killer hangover from last night, so I just came to say hello to a friend here,” I tell him firmly before he can finish that sentence. I don’t need to hear it, because my mind can’t be changed.

He seems taken aback and puts some space between us like someone will charge at him if he gets one more move wrong, “okay, I hear you, I respect that.”

Thank God. I smile in hopes that he lets me go on my merry way, until he tugs on me again, “hey, you’re not interested at all? Like, can I get your number at least? I swear I’m not a creep, but you’re really, really beautiful, and I’d like to know you. That’s all.”

He raises his hands up in surrender as to prove his innocence to me and I internally want to roll my eyes. I thought he might have been cool and all and and then he raises a red flag. Nothing good ever starts with what he said, ‘I’m not a creep, but…’. He seems harmless, even a little nervous to be talking to me, which almost makes me feel flattered. Almost. He is innocent until proven guilty. Hope it’s not a dead-end case.

Before I can pick him apart any more in my head, I agree to his deal and he seems to notably cheer up, “awesome. Thanks for giving a guy like me a chance, it’s not every day I get this lucky.”

Save those compliments for the date, I’ve already said yes, I thought. That said ‘date’ though, all I’m saying is that I won’t be mad if it never happens. I’m not particularly excited to possibly see him again, but I rather take the risk than the regret of what could’ve been.

I just smile again when we quickly exchange numbers, and then I leave. It’s unlucky I can’t see my friend anywhere, so I just text them on my way out that I’m leaving. They wish me good night. I

Ever since that weekend, I felt the universe shift again for me. I know I say that a lot, but something really changed between me and Alex, like someone had wiped our slates clean and tied our souls together into a pretty bow. Or maybe it was because of that damned Snapchat, he definitely has used it to his advantage and sent me stuff all day and night, telling me where he’s going or what’s he doing, like he wants me to know his every move. Whatever it is that we’re doing, I kind of don’t want it to stop. I want to hear more from him, see more of him, and if this helps the case, then so be it. I want to give this my best.

Work has been okay, actually more than okay, now that I finally know him the way I have wanted. Sometimes he calls me while I’m working and we go over some bits together and laugh about them, or he tells me about the game he has been playing lately and I try hard not to get distracted. If I’m having a tough day, he always manages to put me back together. It was not so long ago when I still felt like walking on eggshells around him, like I was desperately just trying hard to make a good impression on him, but now we ask all the deep questions and keep each other up all night talking about anything and everything. It’s weird how fast things have fallen into place with him.

Just like today, when I finished work and was almost expecting him to blow up my phone again for no particular reason. I actually can’t wait to hear from him. My phone did eventually ping to alert a text, but my smile fell when I saw it wasn’t a text from him, but from a number I don’t recognise nor have saved;

“Hey. Still up for that date, I hope? How about tomorrow?” 5:32 PM

A date? With who?

“I’m so sorry, who is this?” 5:34 PM

“It’s me from the party! You didn’t drink back then, but I wondered if you’d like to go out, I mean you did say yes after all. Unless something came up?” 5:35 PM

Oh, it’s him, from my friend’s house party. Tomorrow is Saturday after all, if it happens it will happen tomorrow. I don’t know if I exactly feel like wasting a perfectly good Saturday night on him when there’s endless potential for it, but I guess one date won’t hurt, so I tell him;

“Oh sure, tomorrow is fine. Text me the time and place?” 5:38 PM

“Great, there’s this restaurant I think you’d like, I’ll text you the address. How about at 7PM?” 5:39 PM

How does he think he knows me already? I’m just going to go along and hope for the best, whatever the best here is.

“Sounds good to me!” 5:40 PM

It was 6.15 PM when I left the house the next day for this so-called-date. He had kindly offered to pick me up, but I told him I’d rather meet him there.

The restaurant looked promising, at least on the outside. I don’t even remember the last time I went out to eat, now that I think of it. I definitely didn’t in a million years think my next time would be with someone I barely know, an actual date. He didn’t seem to care too much about the finer things, so I’m surprised this is the kind of place he decided to choose for us tonight, but I appreciate the effort. I’m lucky if I even remember what he looks like and if we find each other in this parking lot.

I was there, leaning against the wall and looking around, until I saw a silhouette of someone I think I recognise getting out of a car. I’m pretty sure it’s him and he confirmed my suspicion by smiling at the sight of me and waving, making his way over.

“Hello there,” he greeted me politely, “let’s get inside and see what this place is all about, shall we?”

I nodded and let him lead the way. How bad could this be?

It was a few steps to the door that opened up a bustling, dim space for our eyes. I could barely make out what he was telling me, but I figured it was something about finding our table. I just nodded and went along with him as we walked further inside.

“How did we, or you, manage to get this table tonight?” I asked him when he found an empty booth and we made ourselves comfortable in it. I mean, this place is packed and if I saw correctly, there was a small queue outside that we were able to just waltz past.

“Well,” he blushed a little under the yellow light, coming from the lamp hanging above our table “I booked this for us on the same night when you gave me your number. I’m sorry—I probably went ahead of things a little, but I couldn’t let this opportunity go.”

“Oh, that’s fine.”

At least he’s honest.

“Okay,” he smiled at me as if relieved, “good.”

A waitress came by to get our drink orders first. I decided to settle for one glass, he did too, and then we fell into small talk.

“So, what is it about you? Why are you ‘you’?” he questioned me.

Well, that’s one way to ask for my story.

I cleared my throat and thought about how much do I exactly want to share, before telling him about my studies. That’s always a good place to start, right? He kept nodding while listening to me, occasionally letting out approving sounds. Not that his opinion on what I should do or should’ve done matters too much. I asked him the same question in return, and that’s when he went into great detail about his life. Wow, I would’ve never guessed he’s so... educated and wealthy. A guy like him just doesn’t look like someone that walks around with such riches and glories like it’s nothing. Guess I could have not been more wrong about him.

If Alex was here, he would definitely crack more jokes and never make me feel less than I am—stop! Why am I thinking of him right now?

He kept rambling, not stopping even for a second when our drinks and food got placed down in front of us and we dug in, “I don’t want to brag, but I could change your life too if you gave me a chance. I have everything anyone could ever want and you look like you could use some of that.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, because that’s exactly what he’s doing this whole time; bragging. It’s not the lifestyle I’m interested in nor do I need it from him. I suddenly feel very content with the simple life I have, I don’t need any of those things that he’s trying to force on me.

As I was sipping from my glass, I could already imagine if Alex was here, how he would definitely steal some food from my plate and then act offended when I call him out for it and how we would make fun of pretentious people like my date. On the other hand, I need to stop thinking about him so much and stop looking at life through him and manage on my own for once.

We chat more between bites and gulps, mostly about him or the more serious stuff and the future, things that I didn’t really feel the want to discuss on a Saturday night or if ever, especially on a first date. I mean, we’re so young, what’s the rush planning the rest of our lives right this second?

I let out a few forced laughs here and there at his stories about his trips around the world, laughs that I never had to force with Alex. I felt almost ill at one point, like my gut was telling me something and I wasn’t listening. It didn’t get any better when he fell deeper and deeper into the same cycle of boasting himself and convincing me that he’s the greatest I will ever find. I think he should just date himself at this point.

He eventually slows down, “that was something, wasn’t it? Are you impressed, you don’t look impressed? What about you? What do you think you want to do?”

“Um,” I gulp, “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” he thinks out loud, “you could do so much more than you do right now. I’m not saying you could be as good as I am, these kind of things only happens to the few. I’m just the lucky one, but I think it would be good for you to give me a chance. You don’t need to be miserable for the rest of your live, when you could be happy with me.”

Oh God, I just want this to stop. How would he know what’s good for me and that I’m miserable with how life is going for me when in fact I am not? I mean, I am absolutely miserable right now here with him, but as soon as I get out of here I’ll be the happiest I have ever been and will go on living my perfect life that he won’t ever see. It’s perfect because it’s all mine and no-one else’s.

I nod just to get him to shut up, but as soon as I think it’s over, he looks like he’s eager and ready to delve into another story about himself. I sit there finishing up my food, occasionally listening to him, occasionally shamelessly thinking about Alex again. It’s a scary thought, how attached I feel to Alex all of a sudden. Maybe it’s moments like this, when I realise how good he is to me, so if nothing, at least this date gives me some new perspective on him and how he is the only beautiful thing in this ugly world. I can’t believe there ever was a me without him.

We finish our plates just as he comes to an end on his story. I wonder if he timed that somehow and hope he doesn’t see through my facade and figure it out that I wasn’t paying much attention.

To my luck, he’s just all smiles, “thanks for listening. Now I guess it’s all up to you how you feel.”

Yeah, I’m not feeling much of anything.

He pays for us, at least he is a gentleman, and then we get up. I’m the one leading us outside this time. We stand there in the dark parking lot and he asks me if I need a ride home. I hastily lie again and tell him that I have a friend to pick me up, you know, any excuse just to walk away alone.

He seems to believe it and asks me instead, “so, will I see you again?”

Now’s the time for me to be honest. I shake my head, “sorry, I don’t think so,” and leave swiftly, but not without shooting him a sorry look. I don’t know exactly what I’m sorry for, I’m sorry for myself if anything. Almost everything he said tonight was uncalled for, I deserve something better.

As I make it far enough to not to be in his sight anymore, I fish my phone out of my pocket. It’s only 9:35 PM, I see.

Before I can exactly control myself, I dial Alex’s number.

“Too drunk again?” he picks up, a taunting smirk evident in his voice.

Oh, how lovely it is to hear his voice, and just like that, he immediately makes me want to laugh the realest I have laughed the entire night. All it takes is really nothing from him to make me feel like this. It’s so easy for him to make me happy.

“Ugh, yeah,” I pretend to slur, “I went on this crappy date and drank for my misery the whole time.”

“You did?” he asks, sounding surprised, “I mean—what’s the truth? Did you really?”

“Yeah, I actually did.”

“No fuckin’ way,” his breath hitches for a second, “with who? You don’t know anyone.”

I laughed again, because he genuinely sounds like it’s news to him that I actually can go out and hang out with someone else other than him, “so you’d think, because I’m pretty sure I was just sitting at a restaurant with this guy, who, by the way, was—”

He rushes to interrupt me before he hears too much, “okay, okay! I get it, fuck. What the fuck—is this why you’ve been so quiet today?”

He’s right, we have not talked much today but I didn’t think it would concern him much, but now he makes it sounds like I should be behind bars for neglecting him for a day.

“Calm down, bucko. I didn’t even get to the good part, which is that I’m not interested in him and hope I never see him again.”

“Huh,” he exhales, “that bad?”

“Yeah… not the worst, but I didn’t have the best time either.”

“What happened? Why was he an asshole?” he inquired, almost defensively.

“Okay, imagine someone rich and successful—”

“Yeah, me,” he interrupts me again.

I shushed him through my giggles, “—and they just make it about themselves the whole time, like you didn’t have to come all this way just to tell me that you think you’re better than me.”

He groans in response, “yeah, definitely an asshole. What the fuck were you even doing there?”

“Well, I thought it’d be fun, you know, as you usually expect from dates, but it’s not every time you get lucky, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s why there’s only one of me,” he states.

I laughed again, “right. But, I’m definitely over it, so you don’t need to worry your little mind. The only thing you need to worry about is when will I see you again before the next date candidate comes along and steals me away again.”

“As you should, as you fuckin’ should be over it. That shit doesn’t sound like worth anyone’s time, especially not yours. I’ll see you next Friday, it’s settled, alright?”

This made me feel a whole lot better, I can’t lie. He’s so easy to be happy around, he doesn’t try too hard to be funny and that’s what makes him funny. I think he’s one of those people who I could list good things about for days. One of those people who constantly celebrates you like it’s your birthday every day. Someone who knows what you need before you know it yourself.

“I love how you know exactly what I need and want and how I should spend my time,” I tease him. What if he is that someone?

“I do. I have something for you that will surely make you feel better, wait.”

“Okay...” I will wait. I have no idea what he could have up his sleeve now, but I think I will be pleasantly surprised, like I always am with him.

All I hear next is rustling and him murmuring to himself as if setting up something or moving something heavy. It went on for a minute, before I heard him loud and clear again and what sounded like him placing the phone down, “so, I have this piano, I don’t know if you knew but… I haven’t played it in a long fuckin’ time anyway.”

I didn’t know that. I don’t know what it has to do with anything, but I will trust the process.

He starts playing and talking in a voice so obnoxious that it makes me cringe for a second, “if you could see that I'm the one who understands you, been here all along, so why can't you see? You belong with me—I'm in the room—in my room, I don’t know—it's a typical Tuesday night—a Saturday night, actually—I’m listening to the kind of music he doesn't like, and he'll never know your story like I do—something like that.”

I don’t know what is going on here, I mean it’s pretty obvious that he’s trying to lift my spirits that were stomped to the ground, but where is this coming from? All jokes aside, he’s pretty good at playing, but of course I don’t dare to tell him. Even if this is not genuine, I’m not mad about it, at least it’s something to laugh about, but if he’s this good when he’s not even being serious, I wonder how good he could be when he wants to be good.

When he decides he’s done, it’s silent until I speak. He seems to be amused by how I’m struggling to make sense of this and laughs loudly, still playing random keys in the background, “yeah, that’s a good fuckin’ song, okay? It’s just straight up disrespectful if it doesn’t make you feel better. Like, I’m sorry I can’t write that shit myself, but I’m still here trying to make the most of it for you.”

For the rest of my way home we talk about nonsense and laugh, it’s what we do best. I try my best to keep good company, even though I’m not able to get back my mind that I had lost on him earlier and I hope for the best that it’s not too obvious that my mind is somewhere else, literally. Will I ever know the truth behind what he did, did he really mean it? Whatever the truth is; will it hurt, is it going to be worth knowing?

After we hang up the phone, I stare at the screen like it would tell me all the answers. That was one hell of a night.

He seemed to be completely oblivious to everything the following weeks. Work was as usual, except that it almost had became a ritual for us to see each other every Friday night. It felt dangerous, like I could finally live instead of just exist, it was living between existing. I lived in ways I had never before and no one knew, no one but me and him, but I liked it like that. We would hang out at his place most of the time, I would keep him company and he would keep all of my secrets. His place felt like a hideaway from the real world, most of the time I even forgot there was a real world out there, it felt like it was just us two. We spent time talking about anything and killed time doing much of nothing when there was nothing to talk about. Nonetheless, all time spent with him was time well spent.

As I was on my way to his place one Friday night, I had a different feeling about it as I typically do. Last week had been busy, maybe it was the stress catching up to me. I made it to his door, knocking, waiting until he appeared behind it, looking a bit disheveled. We greeted each other and he let me in.

I was touching up in the front of the bathroom mirror when he barged in, “I was thinking—“

I looked at him through the reflection, silently asking him to keep going.

“—we could go down to the pool now. I can see it from the window, there’s literally no one in there right now.”

“We can?” I asked in surprise. I mean, I’m really not surprised about it being empty, it is almost 9 PM, but I for sure would think that it’s closed at this hour. Isn’t that what he has told me before, when his friends were here too and we asked to go there but he said no, because it closes for the night?

“Yeah!” he cheered, “why not? It’s always open for residents. I know I might’ve said last time that it’s closed at nights, but it’s technically not. I just wanted to—I don’t know—be there with you, not them.”

I’m not sure what he means by wanting to exclude the others, or why he suddenly seems hesitant to even look at me, or why he sounds like his guard is down and he struggled to say those words out loud, but I shrug it off.

“Okay,” I agree, “but I wasn’t exactly prepared for this, I didn’t bring anything.”

If I would’ve known this was on the agenda for tonight, I could have been more prepared, but he is so full of surprises and spontaneousness that I shouldn’t be surprised. One of the many things I have learnt about him so far, I wonder if I will learn more tonight at the pool.

“No, no,” he waved me off, “I got it all.”

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle, “I have this left from… that night. Is this okay? Just something chill.”

I agree to it, knowing exactly the night he means. He has learned not to poke anymore holes into my remorse than I already have. It’s something we just have moved past.

I watch as he runs around grabbing the keys and the bottle and also two glasses from the cupboard, and then we’re off.

The air at the pool almost stood still, it was so quiet and calm. The moon hit the surface of the water right, making it illuminate before our eyes. I pried my eyes off of it just to see the stunning night sky above us. I suddenly felt small in this world and overwhelmed by how that sky is black, apart from the hundreds of stars, but I’m only seeing colours when I’m here with him. There’s so much beauty in this world that I will never get to see all of it, but this moment makes up for it; the way the universe is kind enough to always stay beautiful to make moments like this more beautiful. Or maybe I just fell for him and got a concussion that’s making me see stars and colours. One or the other.

We sit down on the side of the pool, making ourselves comfortable. He pops the bottle open and pours us both a full glass.

“This is nice. If I could I’d be here every night,” I broke the comfortable silence. ‘Nice’ is definitely an understatement, but I don’t want to overwhelm him like I’m overwhelming myself.

He grinned and swirled his glass, “well, who says you can’t?”

“You, realistically.”

He looked surprised as he gulped down some, “the fuck? You can come over here anytime you want, okay? You know that?”

“Yeah, I know.”

There’s never a point in arguing with him when it comes to… well, me. Like how he always wants me around and if I can’t be there with him, he always makes sure I know I’m at least on his mind by blowing up my phone, asking me how am I. Yeah, I told you; we’ve come far from where we started.

We had a few glasses and talked, a lot. The night got darker as we got lost in endless conversations. I usually forget a lot of things, but I’ll never forget this night, I’m sure of that. It’s the way our minds and words merge together like missing parts, creating an entirety of mutual understanding that only makes sense to us.

As he eventually laid down on the concrete to relax himself and I decided to join him, the view of the luminous sky was undeniably impeccable from this angle. I could still hear the soft sounds of the pool too, the sound of the water gently splashing against the walls, that made me want to close my eyes. There are so many things to be happy about right now, but I’m thinking; what is it that we’re doing here? Are we crossing lines or are we just friendly? Why am I here every Friday night if it’s all innocent? Do I even want to feel like that about someone? Everything is good as it is, so why ruin a good thing like I’m doing right now. But if it’s not him in the end, then who?

I think I’m going through the melancholy you get in this position, when it’s late at night and you think too hard about the world and you get a bit sad and apprehensive about everything.

“The same person that’s destined for you or cares for you or will become your everything someday could be looking at the same moon right now. Isn’t that insane?” I don’t even know what I said that, I didn’t mean to get so sentimental. I still don’t seem to know how deep is too deep.

He sounded tense, “it is, yeah.”

It didn’t sound like him at all. Where’s the laughs and the jokes that are more like him? I was almost expecting him to laugh at me and call me out for being too philosophical for his liking, but he didn’t. It made me nervous.

I turn to look at him as he seems to turn away. It gives me no answers. I think the silence is the loudest and clearest answer here. I’m not sure what happened in the span of these few minutes and why are we now acting like we don’t know each other at all?

When he finally turns to me, I see a look on his face that I have never seen before. He looks almost emotionless. I know he knows this is getting weird and I don’t know anymore who’s to blame, I fear it’s me. There has never been a better time for him to quiet my fears than right now. I just wish he would.

Is this the moment for the inevitable hurt when something goes awfully wrong? Whatever it is, whatever will come out of his mouth next, will change something, change us. I’m sure of it.

“Can I ask you something?” he finally stutters. It’s so quiet I can barely hear it. I wonder how loud it must be in his mind.

“Yeah, anything.”

He laughed sadly, “yeah, anything but what I’m about to ask you.”

It can’t be that bad, can it?

“What is it?” I urge him to tell me.

He abruptly sits up, looking afraid of God knows what, his head slumped, looking very stiff and uncomfortable in his own skin. He has never been the one to run when the heat turns up and it scares me how much he looks like he’s just planning his escape from this situation right now. I want to be there for him so bad, to reassure him that everything is okay, but I settle for silence. I’m not sure what to say to him when he’s acting like this, it’s my first time hanging out with this side of him. So we just sit there, I’m literally counting the seconds, because I don’t know what else to do with my thoughts nor how to sort them.

He finally gets it together and sits up straight, “sorry—can I kiss you?”

Is that really what he wants? Does he know this could make us or break us? One move wrong and we fall apart. But, why do I want to say yes? I thank the lucky stars that it’s dark here, so he can’t completely see my face, I know I look as dumbfounded as I feel. I felt a rush of energy, I’m not sure what kind of energy it is yet.

“Yes,” I slyly give him my verbal consent and sit up.

“Holy shit, yes—really?” he slurred, almost as if he was drunk on this.

When I nodded to confirm his question, it didn’t take him long at all to slot our lips together confidently, like he has thought this over before. I wonder if he has. I’d like to find it in me to ask him some time, but for now now our mouths are busy pressing and massaging against each other over and over again.

It felt like a movie with fireworks, like that whole Hollywood blown-way-out-of-proportion magic. I think moments like this, that are like something out of a movie, only happens to you once in your lifetime and I don’t regret one bit spending mine on him.

Excuse my language, but shit got very real when he wrapped his other arm around me and deepened the kiss. It felt new and breathtaking. I’m pretty sure that he could make all my dreams come true overnight. Maybe that’s my head and the adrenaline running through my veins talking, but if this is already the dream, then I don’t want to wake up ever.

We slowly pull away, so slowly that it feels like for a moment we are one, and it takes a while for him to come back to reality and take his hand off of me. I want to tell him that it’s okay and that he can keep it there, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk just yet. My lips feel like they’ve been claimed for more important things, like they should never be used for any other purpose ever again than kissing him. He remained silent too and I wonder if he feels the same. I felt wildly flustered again as I thought about the possibility of me in his thoughts. I was even more flustered when I realised how much I want to do that again, but I’m not sure how much is too much. We’ve already crossed one line, so what’s another one?

He seemed to know it too and make it known that I was there, in every corner and place of his mind, when he looked into my eyes and whispered the only words that matters, “was that okay—did you like it? I liked it.”

“More than okay,” I reassured him, “I liked it so much that I’d like to do it again.”

Relief washed over his face and his eyes gained their usual whimsical twinkle back as he nods and cups the back of my neck and brings his mouth down to mine. It was even better than the first time, as he made me putty in his hands.

“What if it’s me?” he whispers against my lips.

I pull away and knit my brows, “what?”

He laughs freely, “sorry. You were just going on about that shit about the moon and I was here next to you thinking how much I care for you and I don’t think you know it. Like, I’m right fuckin’ here.”

I’m not sure if my concept of care is the same as his, if he thinks it like I think of it. But, I can’t complain when he’s here pouring his heart out to me after everything.

“I… don’t know what to say, other than I care about you too, a lot. I just didn’t expect to find it in you tonight.“

He quiets down, “it’s okay. We don’t need to talk about it right now. I just wanted you to know that if you can’t find whatever you’re looking for, it’s because you already have it, it’s me.”

And there he goes again, turning into a cocky little tease.

“Yeah, I’m done talking,” I pretend to roll my eyes.

Big mistake, because he plays along and doesn’t lose the smirk off his face, “are you, now? I’ll spare you talking, if you let me.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

And then, kind of to my surprise, he pulls me in for endless kisses. I don’t know what I expected, but it caught me off guard how brave he is all of a sudden with his words, his hands, his lips, all of it. But, I like it, the confidence.

In the end he grabs our glasses and the empty bottle and asked if we should go back up since it was getting chilly. I agreed, because it was and I was dressed fairly lightly, no matter how bad I wanted to stay here with him. Those were one of the few words we exchanged as we made our way back upstairs. We left the pool just like we had come, as friends and nothing more, I guess. On the outside we appear normal, you would never guess there is something wrong, but on the inside we both know we had taken some damage. Repairing that would cost us facing things and questions that we are not ready to see just yet. Only time will tell the answers, I think.

He opened the front door and we were immediately engulfed by the warm air. It was dark in the apartment, until he switched on the lights, creating a dim atmosphere for us. I don’t know what is happening next, am I supposed to just go home now?

“I have another question for you,” he told me in the kitchen, setting our glasses down, “you remember that piano I have? I wanna show you something.”

Oh God, how much more can I take for one night?

Nonetheless, I nodded, “yeah, sure, but you don’t have to impress me anymore.”

I think he has done enough tonight to show me how he feels. I do regret saying that when I see him grin at me over his shoulder, like he is back to his usual self again that lives for teasing me, “what, like you’re fuckin’ hopelessly in love with me already? This is it, like—you want my last name now or later?”

I try to act as unfazed by his comment as I possibly can as I follow him into his room and then there he is, anxiously messing with his piano, while I just stand and watch. He didn’t have me waiting for too long when he spoke again, “I can do better than the last time you heard me playing this bad boy.”

I played the memory of him singing to me on the phone back in my mind and laughed.

“Okay, if you insist,” I told him, leaning back against the wall, letting him do his thing.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “I don’t know what this will make me sound like, but I learned something that I think you will like and appreciate. You will, right?”

“Sure. It sounds like you’re hopelessly in love.”

I should know he is always one step ahead of me and that I can’t win, because he grins again as his eyes shift back to me, “there is hope. You’re still here.”

What is he doing to me?

Instead of more words, he let the music speak for itself and started playing. It didn’t take me long to recognise the song; You Belong With Me. Now, this makes it feel like he’s playing along to whatever joke this is, but as I stand there and watch him, I notice how much more serious he sounds. Of course I don’t dare to look at his face, I’m scared I might see through him, see his heart and soul and subconscious thoughts, see something that will change my mind about us, that maybe he is wishing non-existing things into existence, like us. Maybe this means more to him that I think it does. When I think I have him figured out, I realise I don’t. But I can’t exactly figure out myself either right now.

One thing I think I know for sure right now is that I feel something for him that I haven’t before. It’s when I see him like this, like he’s in his element, like music is the language he has wanted to speak to me all along. This is a total new side of him I have not had the pleasure of seeing before. I wonder if I’m really this special to him that he would do this, do something that most people would consider even romantic.

And… it’s kind of even attractive how he plays.

“That was nice...”

“Yeah? Just ‘nice’?”

“You know what I mean,” I try to divert my gaze when I feel my face flush.

“Hm, tell me,” he rolls over to me in his chair and looks up at me. So many times I have seen those eyes, but now he stares at me so intensely I can almost see all the worlds and all the lives he has lived before. Maybe I knew him in another life and that’s why things are unfolding like they are right now, everything all at once.

“Fine! I think it was kind of… cute, and… I don’t know where all of that came from, but I think it made me think that maybe you were right. That you do things to me that no one else can.”

Wow, look at me being confident and speaking my mind. Never happens.

“‘Really now?” he smiles smugly, raising his eyebrows, ”fuckin’ finally. And you… you think I was cute too, huh? Just ‘cute?”

I sigh out loud, “fine. It was hot, okay?”

I think I went too far. I think that was too much. Maybe I have had too much to drink again. But no, I do know how I feel.

His smirk doesn’t falter, and it’s my time to yelp when he suddenly makes the move to pull me on his lap. This is a whole new sensation. And what happened then? We got greedy again with our mouths and hands and each other. Endless sweet touches and kisses, as I stay seated on his lap. It was innocent as we still got used to the feeling of feeling each other this close.

We soon wrap up the night and I decide it’s time for me to go home and I actually couldn’t wait to be alone with my thoughts. I have a lot to think over, or maybe I’ll just fall into daydreams about him and this night instead. Tonight’s moment are going to be the rest of my life’s memories, and I can revisit those memories whenever I want to. He walks me to the door, we don’t really talk about what happened or what will happen next, instead he just settles for pulling me into a hug. His grip on me, that’s tighter than ever before, tells me everything I need to know, that he doesn’t want this to end here.

All he asks me as I’m about to walk out is “will we do this again?”, holding onto my arm, not willing to let me slip away before I can answer his burning question, whatever he means by ‘this’.

I just grin, “maybe.”

I still want to play a little hard to get after all this time, see what his intensions are and if he will keep fighting for me and my time. Now, I don’t actually mean any harm by that and I definitely want this to happen again, I just still feel like I have to preserve some self-respect and not be an easy target. Then I walk off.

The following week brings that painful tension between us and all I can think about is if we made a mistake at the pool and if I’m his brand-new regret. I’m trying to keep that thought out of my head, but it’s hard, because when it comes to work and talking with him, there’s so much tension there that I’m just dreading the moment when the heat turns up and it all sets on fire. I don’t know what will be left of us once that happens.

It wasn’t until a few more weeks had passed until it really settled in my chest, this hollow feeling, when something unexpected happens: he starts giving me the silent treatment. Something I never expected him to do, and unfortunately, I’m think I’m partly to blame. The night at the pool made things weird. If I think hard enough back to that night, it almost feels like a movie how he made the first move and unveiled both of ours wants for each other, but it ends as soon as I open my eyes and face the reality where he flipped the script and fleed. He had made me feel like I was flying that night, now I’m flying and getting motion sick.

I try texting him;

“Is everything okay? I need to talk to you.” 9:35 PM

He doesn’t respond. I wonder if he’s sleeping soundly meanwhile I’m staying up all night.

Eventually I’m so tired I just fall asleep, my phone next to my head.

No text from him in the morning, or the morning after that.

I keep trying with a different approach;

“Pretty bored today, what are you up to? Unless you want me to get a head start and work on that stuff today already? Or unless you are up for some chatting :)?” 11:39 AM

To my surprise, he replies, but it’s not the side of him I was hoping would to come to the phone;

“No” 11:52 AM

If I’m not careful, I will get cut by the sharp edges of his tone even when there’s no reason for it. Maybe he doesn’t mean it like that, maybe he’s stressed and unintentionally took it out on me. I read the text again like a chant and wear it like a warning label. I didn’t know it would get to me like this, but I feel like I need to write it on me to warn people like him to watch their temper around me.

I text him one final thing before getting on with my day, even though I have a peculiar feeling he won’t reply;

“Okay. Let me know when you’re free to talk!” 11:55 AM

I was right, for the rest of the day and night, he’s silent.

If I thought one day of his silence was loud, nothing could have prepared me for Alex disappearing from my life for a whole week and then two. He had brought us back to life just to leave like a ghost halfway through the good part of our story. It doesn’t make sense. Reality hurts too bad right now, I wish I could leave like he did.

It was a text after another that I kept sending him, not even expecting a reply anymore but I still do it;

“Are you ok?” 7:52 PM

I wish I didn’t care so much, but I do. I thought we were getting along just fine, more than fine. That’s why it hurts.

My friend does keep me in check from that day on and blows up my phone with happy texts constantly, like they know somehow that I need a friend right now. Those are the only texts I seem to receive these days, so it was a real shocker when one day my phone buzzed with a text from Alex;

“Can we meet? Maybe by the park?” 1:15 PM

Oddly enough, I know the park he means. It’s the one next to where he lives that you can partly see from the living room window, the one I always walk past whenever I’m on my way to his. I think it’s the real oasis of this city, somewhere where the birds never stop singing and it’s always evergreen. I think that will change today. I’m never going to see that park in the same light again. I hope I’m wrong.

I throw on some clothes and then I’m out the door.

When I arrive at the park, he’s already there. Whatever it is that he wants to tell me, he must want to get it over with fast. When he looks like he doesn’t even want to look at me, I look at the sky and wish there’s an alternate universe somewhere up there where this is not happening, where everything is still okay.

I sit there next to him, nearly not as close as I used to would. The park looks ethereal as always, especially on a summer day like this it’s like a paradise, but you know what they say; even the sun sets in paradise.

He sits there next to me in heavy silence, before taking a deep breath and telling me with his head in his hands, “listen, this whole thing—I’ve had fun, but…”

I’m just waiting for him to say it, that this was all a mistake.

He finally continues, “I’m just thinking about shit and turning shit over in my head. I like what has happened so far, but there’s just no dating—or being with someone like you. It’s so much more complicated than that.”

He said the d-word. Fuck. He’s braver than me.

I don’t dare to interrupt when he keeps going, “I mean, you’re amazing, but it’s like—that’s the thing; you deserve someone that’s sure of what they want and don’t leave you hanging. For me, it’s like, I date or I don’t; I don’t do anything in between. And right now, I’m not sure what I want. You with me?”

He checks in with me and I just nod. I think I understand and I think I’m the same. Neither of us are cut out for casual dating, it has to be the real thing or nothing. And making the decision if we are ready for the real thing, I don’t know if we, or I, can make that decision right now after all. He also keeps dropping this d-word like it’s nothing. I guess this is the calm before the storm.

“And—yeah, there’s not just dating, or committing to someone like you. People like you are so deserving of things I’m not sure I can give you. Maybe that’s just my insecurities talking, but I mean this as wholeheartedly as I can and hope you remember it. You deserve someone who deserves you, as simple as that, and I don’t know if I do right now, or ever.”

Wow, he really dug to the bottom of his feelings and found some gold there, and even shared some of it with me.

I finally find my voice and some words to make sense of it all, “that’s—I’m very glad you told me that. I agree, there’s no telling who really deserves something the most, but I know you deserve good things too and I feel… very overwhelmed, but happy to know you see me as one of those. No matter what happens next, I think things have already changed between us, and maybe that means that the worst part is over, but I guess all we can do is keep going like before and see where we end up?”

He nods and croaks out, “yeah. That would be great. I need to get my own shit together first, like I don’t wanna be one of those fuckin’ people when I say this, but it’s not you. It’s me. I just want to be the best for you, but for now, I can only be your friend. Just like before.”

I’m glad we had this conversation after all, but still feel a little pang in my chest when we agree on staying like we were before, like there is no promise or guarantee we will ever make it as anything more. It’s better than nothing though. Now we just need time. Time for if nothing else, the sun setting in our paradise.

There’s nothing that time and sleep can’t fix. Just a few days ago when I had the talk with Alex, I felt almost explosive, like if someone would have said the wrong things or made me upset in any way, I would have just exploded and spilled my feelings all over the place. There was more for me to process that I was able to take, but now I feel fine. We had a mature conversation, and I have a clearer vision of his feelings now. No more second guessing or doubting, or getting mad over literally nothing.

Work feels fine again, because at least that awkward tension is mostly gone, but we don’t talk as freely as we used to. That’s what happens when you’re not careful and spill your cup of romance all over your work.

I still nevertheless happily tell my friend about it over coffee. I didn’t mean to talk about it right there, in broad daylight, in a crowded cafe, but I did.

“So,” I tell them, “we did make up—I mean, there was no bad blood to begin with. I was just being dramatic, like you told me.”

“Yeahhh, I told you! I knew it,” they rolled their eyes at me from across the table, “no need to get all fired up if someone just—what did he tell you? Why did he do it? He was just busy, or?”

“Yeah, pretty much. He was just... busy. Yeah,” I have never sounded more shady.

I know I still can’t blow my cover. This thing will be kept tightly under wraps until it feels right to discuss it with other people. I’m also that good of a person that I want his approval to share anything.

As I feared, my friend doubts me, “really? Is that really all? What are you not telling me?”

Digging a deeper hole for myself, I stutter, “yep! I just—I was really expecting there to be something, so I was just surprised that—you know, it wasn’t something I did. You know me, I’m paranoid like that, I don’t exactly like that about myself either.”

I was hoping this conversation would shift to something else, like my insecurities, literally anything else than this. A part of me feels bad for the lies I keep feeding them, but I know I’m doing this for the right reasons.

They squinted their eyes at me, “that’s weird, you’re being weird. I know you and I know you’re being weird like now. Since when we don’t tell each other everything?”

I don’t like how sad they sound all of a sudden.

“I am telling you everything, as always,” I try to comfort them, “it’s just weird for me to talk about him, because you know—he’s him. I just still feel weird about it that I get to know him like this.”

That seemed to ease their mind, as I witnessed a slight smile creep back into their face, “okay, okay, I believe you.”

As summer starts nearing its’ end, I feel like it’s also the end of other things too. Like the thing between me and Alex. We haven’t really hung out or even talked, and on top of that, I heard the news that it’s safe to travel again and that he’s going back home to Mexico for at least the rest of the summer, maybe even for longer. He didn’t tell me how long he will be gone for, but I know how his tone works and that there was something he didn’t tell me. Meanwhile I knew I will miss him terribly, but didn’t dare to tell him that either, considering the circumstances.

And so, he leaves in silence and I let him. I get to keep my job and talk to him about work matters, but anything other than that, nothing.

I miss him bad and fear that by the time he comes back there is going to be nothing left of us. He lives in a whole new world now, or that’s what it feels like. It feels like he is lightyears away.

“So, what do you want to do on Saturday?” my friend asks me as we pick out what to eat from the menu.

“Why?”

“Your birthday, dummy! You forgot your own birthday?”

“Of course I didn’t,” I scoff back.

They just sip their drink and devilishly smirk at me from behind the glass, “sure. Anyway, we could go shopping for some props, since we’re here at the mall. Do you know who’s coming yet?”

I scratch my head, “not really.”

Truthfully, there’s only one person I hope to see there, but it will not happen since he’s not here. I wonder what he is doing right now, wherever he is.

It’s the weekend, — and more importantly, it’s my birthday today— , but I’m just feeling blue. I’m throwing a party tonight and invited all of my friends that are in town, and in conclusion, they are coming over any minute now and I need to feel better ASAP before I become a buzzkill. I could lie and tell to myself that I don’t know the reason behind my heavy heart, but I know. Me and Alex haven’t really talked lately. I doubt he even knows it’s my birthday, or if he knows I wonder if he cares. It just sucks things have went south between us.

Soon my friends are walking in through the door one by one, holding small gifts or flowers and hugging me, wishing me a happy birthday. They don’t know that the best gift would be if Alex was here, as ungrateful as that sounds. The music is blasting through the speakers, but it’s not as loud as the thoughts in my head. This is going to be a long, miserable night if I don’t get it together.

We take a bunch pictures to post online and show everyone how much fun we are having. For me, it all feels like a facade. That’s how social media usually makes me feel, but now it feels like a whole cliché how I’m acting all happy, but inside I’m in shreds. If things were any different, would Alex be here right now? Possibly. That breaks my heart.

The night goes on and I keep discreetly checking the door and my phone every now and then. I still don’t seem to understand that he won’t be here. One day he maybe will, if I don’t overthink myself to death by then.

We poured more drinks and even set up a little party game section in the living room, moving the furniture for more space to move and dance around. The more fun we had, the more ungrateful I felt for wanting more from this night, because at least I have my real friends right here with me. How could I ever wish for more? Who else could I count on if not them? I might feel lonely without Alex, but I would be lost if it wasn’t for the people here. There’s a difference and that tells me everything I need to know.

I can definitely have fun tonight. I can stop holding out my hand for someone who has no intention of taking it if I want to.

I poured myself another drink and to make up for my lack of gratitude so far, I went to turn the music up and got cheers from everyone as response. I do miss him, but I know now it will pass.

It was fine until it got to the point of the night when I have had enough to drink to start to feel emotional or sentimental or both and cursing myself for it. A moment when I just want to text someone something risky, especially Alex. It’s a stupid idea, a bad idea even, and just not worth it for me to be so forward on the phone now and then later flinch at the silence he will give me in return.

I still do the bad thing. I go to the bathroom and before I step out again, I type a quick text to him,

“I wish you could be for my birthday tonight :( It’s fun, but would be more fun with you here. 10:55 PM

Now I feel stupid as I stand and watch the text being delivered to him, knowing it’s too late to undo the damage. Way to make him feel guilty for not being here and making a fool out of myself in the process too. I know I’m better than this and I don’t like the sides he’s seeing of me right now.

I exit the bathroom and my friends tell me we should move this party to a bar. I agree, I have neighbours after all and it’s now past 11 PM, meaning we have to quiet down. And so the music stops and tables are being cleared and the lights are being switched off as we leave, but the night is not over for us yet.

It’s a struggle for us to get a ride this late on a weekend, but we eventually manage to get a cab.

As we all finally squeeze in the car, I check my phone. My heart unpleasantly makes a drop to the pit of my stomach like I was on a roller coaster of life when I see a text from Alex;

“Happy Birthday” and a stupid meme attached to it that immediately makes me smile.

It’s just like the old times happening all over again, like someone rewinded the story of us, when we were able to joke around like this with each other. It feels nice to do it again. Maybe I can finally take my heart down from the shelf I had reserved for him and accept that there is just friendship after everything we’ve been through.

I was looking out the window, watching the city lights and busy streets pass us by, while listening to the song on the radio and my friends conversing about what they will order at the bar. Things might not be as good as they used to be with Alex, but at least he’s still somewhere out there for me.

I lock my phone and put it away in my bag for good. We will be okay again. Or that’s how I’m trying to distract myself from thinking too much, because I know deep down I miss him bad.

At the bar, it’s jolly. I’m bubbly like the bubbles in our drinks. There’s no reason to be sad anymore, as long as I remember to forget. We dance the night away, we take more pictures, and buy all the fancy drinks. I know it’s a one-way ticket to temporary happiness, but I’m planning on staying for as long as I can.

I get up to go and order another drink, and my friend comes along to tug at my clothes. I figure they are just too drunk to support themselves, until I notice their eyes wide as a deer’s in headlights and they shriek in my ear, “oh my God, I think I just saw him!”

“Who?” I cringe at their volume.

They stammer and wave their hands frustratedly, already having trouble expressing themselves due to being under the influence, “Alex!”

My heart sinks.

“He’s not here, he’s home! We’re literally not even in the same country right now,” I try to get them to calm down, before someone else intervenes. I understand that this isn’t a good look on us here, them all over the place, freaking out.

“You ordering?” the bartender asks, seemingly bored of waiting around.

I tell him to hold off a minute and instead escort my friend back to our table. What kind of a sick joke was that anyway?

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—it looked just like him!” my friend still slurs their apologies to me.

“Okay, I believe you. It’s okay,” I coo at them when they look at the verge of tears. What have I started? My brain being occupied with the endless trail of thoughts of Alex all night seems to be contagious. Are we all going crazy? Is this fun anymore?

I don’t know if I even believe them, though. I’m curious who it was, I could imagine it’s someone that does not look like Alex the slightest. You know, when you have had too much to drink, anything can look like anything. I admit, the thought of it makes me want to laugh. It’s kind of funny in the end.

“Hey!” someone storms up in front of me.

What now? Oh no, are we in trouble? Was that scene we made too much?

I look up and squint, just to be met with eyes I know I have looked into before. I almost jump out of my skin when they splay a hand across my back.

“I found you! I actually found you!” they giggle.

And that’s definitely the same laugh I have had the pleasure of hearing before.

Alex?!

I swear I almost fell forward from shock, “what? How… How?”

Alex places his arm on mine now and leans in to talk quietly to me, as if he doesn’t want me to miss a word, “what does it look like? Okay, I know it looks bad, but…”

I waited for him to say something and still look at him like he is a shooting star passing me by, which seems to amuse him.

“I flew back, to... see you, I guess? Yeah. I have to go back home tomorrow, or so, but then I’ll be back again, okay?”

None of this is actually making sense like it should. He came all the way here, just for a day, to attend my birthday party? He flew all those hours to see me and has to do it all over again tomorrow?

I’m here standing in place, his hand steadying me. It’s like the world has stopped for us, and it’s just waiting for me to make a choice, make a move, say a word, for things to start moving again.

I know he’s touching me, but I almost don’t feel it. I can see he’s desperately waiting and begging me with his doe eyes to do something, but I can’t quite acknowledge it. Did he make the right choice by showing up here? Just when I felt like I was content leaving things between us unfinished, to never write that chapter, he’s bringing everything back.

I know whatever I feel and whatever my choice will be is real, when tears pool in my eyes, that he seems to notice even in the dim lighting, because he starts to move his hand and rub my back again soothingly.

“W-what changed?” I finally ask him, when I got myself together. Except that I’m now crying, great.

He looks surprised that I want to have this talk right here, right now, but then tells me “I wanted to see you, and I want to see what life could be with you. You know, if we take the next step.”

In spite of everything, in this moment, I feel it in my soul and heart that I need him in my life, in any way it works out, but even better if it’s in a way we haven’t explored before. Or is it?

“Don’t overthink it,” he reassures me, as he can sense the distress I’m in, “let’s make the most out of these few days and see what happens.”

I nod, “that sounds... perfect.”

He laughs lightly, and pulls me finally in a tighter hug and sways us back and forth. I could spend the rest of my night here.

My friends are quiet behind us, trying to mind their own business’s, but of course they are curious too, looking at us and then looking away when I try to catch their eyes. I don’t even want to know how dramatic I look, with tears rolling down my chin, pouting my lips.

I guess I have to introduce Alex to them now, kind of. I’m sure they already know him.

He stands there right by my side as my friends pipe up their “hi”, making sure to say hello to everyone back.

I can’t help myself, but only look at him with stars in my eyes. How charming he is towards everyone, not losing that smile on his pretty face even for one second and raising his eyebrows in surprise every time he tries to memorize a new name. It’s kind of an… attractive look. I should stop.

None of my friends still have no idea that there is something going on between us. To them, we are just friends, good friends. But just between me and Alex, we both know now there is something more brewing.

I’ll tell them in my own time. Nothing gets out, until I’m ready for them to know. And this bar doesn’t seem like the ideal place to drop such scoop. I’m sure we all want to be sober for that conversation, too.

“Sorry, I have to go and lock my car doors. I got out in a rush when I was looking for you and feel like I’m getting robbed right fuckin’ now as we speak,” he whispers to me and laughs.

I smile at him, until my smile falls, “your car? I mean, yeah, of course, but how did you even find me? How did you knew I was here? How did you knew to drive here, out of all places?”

He just mysteriously grins from ear to ear, “so many questions, but how could I not know? That’s all you’ve been posting and I can still see your Snapchat location, you know? I knew it would come in handy one day.”

It dawns on me, “oh, right.”

I never even thought of that possibility. He’s a hundred steps ahead of me in thinking. Props to him.

I let him go and as he disappears for a minute, it’s already enough time for me to start missing him. I lived all this time without him, and now even a second is too long without him. Love is impatient. I want him only to myself. Love is selfish. I’m talking about love like it’s been here the whole time. Love is blind.

I want to cry again. I’m not sure if they are happy tears this time. I’m happy, because he’s here, but it also fills me with a heavy feeling, because I can’t exactly celebrate and smother him with love here in public like I want to. I need to be careful of every word and action with him in front of my friends. Hearts aren’t meant for cages and chains, and that’s what mine feels like right now, locked up and tortured. Misused. Might as well not have one.

No one at the table says anything. I guess they are either still drunk and ready to go home, or just flabbergasted. I’m both. Mostly the latter. I feel almost completely sobered up.

Before I can hold myself back, I tear up again. I’ll just blame this on the drinks, or him, or me, or my friends. All of it is overwhelming.

My said friends immediately gather around me to comfort me and in chorus ask me what’s wrong. I almost want to say everything is wrong, but that’s not true.

“Are you just going to make yourself cry more and not tell us what’s happening?” they push me to talk and huddle around. It makes me crack.

I choke out and sniffle, speaking no matter how much my voice breaks, “he’s just so great, you guys, like… you see him now and he’s so kind and amazing, right? But once you actually get to know him like I do, he’s incredible.”

I can’t pick my head up anymore from where it’s buried in my hands, but I can tell by the loud silence that there’s confusion in the air, until my friend snaps back to reality and is the first to ask me what I’m sure everyone else is thinking, “but… this is a good thing, right? Happy tears?”

Others agree to the question, waiting to hear the confirmation of their conclusions from me. Safe to say, they are surprised at my outburst, but still supportive.

I hiccup, “I guess...”

Now I just feel like leaving it at that, if they can’t figure it out themselves that I’m not happy with the way things are. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I got some of it off my chest and that’s it. No more spoilers.

“You’ve cried a lot tonight, on your birthday too! Are you sure you’re okay?” another friend asks.

I settle for silence and silent weeping for a little longer, until I croak out, “I feel like I have never felt like this about anything, or anyone, before like I feel about him. There’s so much emotion, as you can tell. And I—we—there are some feelings involved, has been for a while now. I like him, he likes me. He wants to try to—I don’t know—see if we could be more than friends. That’s why he came here tonight.”

Shit. Before I can stop myself, I have spilled the secret. This is bad. I can still feel my cheeks burning under the stream of tears and I don’t see an end to it. I have to get it together though, before Alex gets back. Which should be any second now, by the way.

I don’t even know if he’s okay with this information being out. I don’t even know if that’s true. What if it doesn’t work out in the end and he leaves the country again as just a friend?

I try to wipe my eyes before he comes back.

“It’s okay! I mean, wow, I never saw this coming, and judging by your reaction, you didn’t either, but sometimes it just happens like that, when you least expect it,” my friends are immediately there for me.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you, it’s just really scary for me that you guys know now. And it’s a big deal.”

When Alex finally, or at a perfect time, comes back when I look decent again, everyone fortunately acts the same as before. I don’t think he even notices that I’ve been shedding tears again. In any other situation I’d feel hurt, but now it’s for the better. At least I don’t think he notices, when he smiles at me and makes the move to put his arm around me to be cute, but holds himself back and instead asks me if I’m okay.

We stay for one more round of drinks and I comprehend that he hasn’t wished me a happy birthday yet. Maybe there’s a time and place for that later.

When the night actually comes to an end and everyone has an assigned ride home, Alex gets close to me again and asks me, “so, uh—do you want me to drop you off at home?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

He gentlemanly opens the car door for me and waits for me to climb in, until getting in from his side. Before he even considers driving off, he looks at me and daringly caresses my cheek with his soft fingertips, “hey. Happy birthday. I didn’t tell you yet and—”

He checks the time.

“—it’s past midnight, but fuck it. It’s still your birthday, don’t listen to the clock.”

We laugh in the dark car and I give him my most sincere thank you.

“So, about your present…”

I examine his face, and how it turns smug, and tell him, “a present? I think you coming here was enough. What could be better than that?”

I’m surprised when he still doesn’t start the car, but pulls his hand back a little bit just to use his thumb to swipe it slowly across my lower lip and murmurs, “no, no, nothing like that. There’s really only one more thing that I could give you.”

“What is it?”

Alex tilts my chin up, his eyes not leaving my lips, “I think you know. Do you trust me?”

Oh… I think I do know what he means.

I gulp as he gets closer, “I do.”

This is not the first time we kiss, but it’s the first time we do it when we know the feeling is mutual and this could become a recurring thing. As our lips mash and do their thing together, his warm fingertips slips under my the hem of my shirt just a little, to test the waters. I let him twiddle with the material and claim every inch of my skin.

“What time will I see you tomorrow?” I mumble drunkenly against his greedy lips. Not on the drinks at the bar, but drunk on love, or whatever it is. It’s more than lust what we feel.

He retreats himself and the moment is gone, “what makes you think we’ll see each other again?”

I look at him confused.

He fiddles with my hands that he has draped over his lap and continues, “what if we never say goodbye tonight? If… you want to stay the night at mine?”

What’s the worst that could happen, why not? Now that things between us are finally moving, I don’t want them to stop.

I agree and his delicious, cherry-red lips curl into a smile, while an awed look swims in his pupils. He looks as gone as I feel.

He finally reaches out to turn the engine key and the car purrs to life. I lean my head against the window and watch the sleeping city pass by. The empty streets void of people while we cruise is like a vision of a dream, like it’s just us two in the world tonight. Speaking of, in what world did today happen? This doesn’t feel like the same world I used to struggle in, living feels and comes as easy as breathing now with him.

We drive and drive, until the scenario changes to something I recognize. We must be close to his apartment. From here I can see the park bench where we had that talk a while ago, when we agreed on staying as friends and he kind of broke my heart for the first time when he told me he needed time, and there was no certainty of anything. The place sparks up unpleasant memories in me.

He seems to notice it too and taunts me, “you want to sit there? Reminisce with me a little bit?”

“If you do that I’ll break up with you!” slips out of my mouth. My big, stupid mouth. Can’t take my big, stupid mouth anywhere these days. Never in a million years I should have said that.

“I mean… I don’t know what I mean,” I finally admit when he’s fallen silent. I really don’t know. We never said the D-word, dating, again since that day at the park, ironically. Not until now. We haven’t even established that, there’s no label on us that says we are exclusive. That’s a talk for another day.

Alex finally opens his mouth and laughs, “I think you do. I know what that meant. You will break up with me.”

As he recalls those words back to me, I cringe so hard at myself.

“No, seriously. I didn’t mean it like that,” I try to save face. Just when we agreed to take these few days slow, I go and announce it to him that in my head we are a couple. Leave it to me to mess up this bad.

“I mean,” he seems to be enjoying putting me on the spot like this, “I don’t know how many ways there are to break up with someone.”

I sink into the seat, trying to be hide in plain sight. I hope he would let it go, but I know he won’t. Especially when he lays his hand on my thigh while driving with the other. Now we must look like a couple. A couple of pining people, if nothing else.

“Now you want to get shy?” he asks, “would you still feel as shy if I said I kind of don’t want to wait anymore either?”

“With what?”

He doesn’t even hesitate to speak and also doesn’t let go of me, but still holds my thigh in place, “fuck it, let’s make it official. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you want me as much as I want you. I want you in a way that allows us to be together. So, what do you say?“

My face gets hot. It’s what he does to me when he’s this blunt.

“I would love that,” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. I have a feeling these four words will be the most important ones I will ever say.

He smirks, “great! Uh—I would love to make this more romantic and shit, but…”

“You did this, technically, on my birthday, so I think it’s pretty romantic and great already. And I think it’s kind of us to just be spontaneous. It was perfect.”

He parks the car, “with the way you’re throwing all this praise my way, are you sure you can wait until we’re out of the car before you jump my bones?”

I try to duck my head down to hide my face, but he leans in and presses a single, seductive peck on the side of my jaw, before winking at me and exiting the car, before hurrying to my side to open the door for me. I am definitely falling.

“So, that’s how we got here,” I tell his friends in the kitchen, the luminous afternoon glow radiating through the window, illuminating our faces. Ever since the night when we—in his words, made it official—things have gone great. He had to leave the day after, but then eventually came back home from Mexico and told me he’s here to stay. So, life is sweet. It’s all like a dream, but the only difference is that I’m awake.

What it comes to his friends: Karl, Punz and Foolish especially, the night I blacked out wasn’t thankfully the first and the last time I saw them. I had another chance of redeeming myself. We’ve hung out as a group a few times, like we are currently doing, and they are dying to know how exactly did we end up here.

And, I am glad to tell them. Over and over again, as many times as they want to listen.

I get up to walk to the fridge to fetch a drink, and notice Alex standing in the kitchen, preparing me a snack I didn’t ask for, but know I need. He’s sweet like that, making sure I eat and offers to make me something whenever he can tell I don’t have the energy to make it myself. It’s scary, how well he knows me already, but I can say the same about him. I think that’s how you know you have found your person.

Alex purposely gently nudges and bumps me, just as I walk past him, “oh! Woah! Is this like our love story? Like in the old days?”

It takes me back to when we used to do that.

I understand now that the wait is over why it had to happen. It was painfully awkward to even look at him afterwards, but I would do it all over again if it meant that we would still have our happy ending.

“Oh, shut up!” I scold him through my smile and in return, push him back with my hand.

He grabs the hand I’m holding out and pulls my whole body against his instead and tells me he will never stop, pulling me into a kiss to seal the deal. He belongs with me, and there's never a day when he doesn't make me feel the same.

THE END.

#mcyt x reader #quackity x reader #quackity fluff #quackity imagines #reader x quackity #dream smp x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt fanfiction

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marigold-hills · 4 months ago

Text

Dunes & Waters, part 23

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

It’s the only reason he’s able to break the eye contact, the surprise of the sudden new light in a room where all light has to be accounted for.

Wepwawet’s lapis-blue eye glints faintly a few times, then goes back to the brilliant dullness of ancient crystals.

“Did you see that?” Remus asks and the words taste like residue of a spell unbroken. That, above all else, is how he knows he didn’t imagine it. He crosses over to the Box, goes to touch the crystal but Sirius grabs his wrist, keeping him from it.

“Don’t touch it.”

“Right. Of course,” Remus withdraws, a bit embarrassed. He should know better than to touch magical objects he knows to be dangerous when they display new behaviour.

“Can you write down what you said? Phonetically, please.”

Sirius, wand at the ready, reads it out. The language sounds like magic in his smooth voice, but nothing happens.

“Must be my pronunciation. Can you do it again? Just be ready to cast a shield on yourself in case anything happens alright?”

Remus speaks again, words sandpaper-sharp on his tongue, bubbling in his throat. I measure your mouth for you. The crystal gleams, like a moon shining from the inside.

Sirius casts a detection charm at it. Lines of gold and purple cross the air between Remus and the Box. Fold in on themselves, double around the space where, close to the full moon, Remus sometimes feels a second heartbeat.

Sirius casts another charm, and a sound resonates in the spaces between the colours, empty like a brass bell being struck by wood. Like the taste of wolf teeth growing in his mouth.

“That’s strange,” Sirius says and Remus thinks fuck.

“What is?”

“It’s reacting to your voice, more so than to the words. Like it was made to respond to you. Sure you’re not some two thousand years old?” Sirius laughs because it’s a joke, because it should be funny, because he doesn’t know.

Remus tries to play along, like isn’t that bizarre, what a mystery, do you believe in reincarnation?

It falls flat because all he can think is fuck.

There’s one reason for this to happen and one reason only. Sirius’ pronunciation is flawless. But Remus is a dual thing, a thing containing multitudes, and it’s that which the Box found when he spoke aloud in the language it was made for.

He’s going to have to tell Sirius.

Or, no. He’s going to have to tell Kingsley they’re done, they are finished, they found nothing. Send Sirius off to England with a clean record and nothing but a memory of two months spent together in dusty library rooms.

He’s going to have to find a new niche to study or to abandon academia all together, follow his dad to the Highlands maybe.

He’s going to have to…

He’s been quiet for too long.

“Remus?” Sirius asks and its with that frown he gets when he thinks about a puzzle or a crossword or the Box.

“I have to go.”

“What?” Shock is too small a word.

“You know how to get back to the hotel. I’ll see you… later. I’ll be back later.”

“Remus, what in Merlin’s name are you doing? We’re finally getting somewhere.”

“Yes. Good job. You’ve,” and he stops here, midst the panic, because it’s so true and he wants Sirius to know this, “you’ve done a really great job.”

“What the hell do you mean I’ve done a great job? We’re not finished!”

Remus doesn’t respond, steps through the ward back into the library and apparates on the spot.

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #dead gay wizards #fanfic #remus x sirius #marauders era #dunes and waters

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magicshopaholic · 7 months ago

Text

A Lack of Colour

Summary: Seokjin realises he needs to have a talk with his girlfriend. Yoongi makes a promise. "i should have given you a reason to stay" - death cab for cutie, a lack of color

Pairing: Seokjin x OC, Yoongi x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Angst, sort of

Word count: 9K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language

A/N: Please don’t hate me. Takes place a week after Helping Hands. If you want to yell at me with other readers after you're done , you can do so on the Discord channel.

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive @faearchives @margopinkerton @dreaming-with-happiness @purpleseoul7

Listen to: "a lack of color“ by death cab for cutie

seokjin masterlist | yoongi masterlist | main masterlist

The ER is quiet today - too quiet.

Nari tries to ignore the giggles and whispers that are permeating the sanitizer whiteness of the room, and concentrates on the breath sounds of the patient on the bed before her. She’s come in complaining vaguely of “chest pains” but it’s mildly frustrating; Nari can’t hear anything except absolutely normal breath sounds and heartbeats.

“Show me where you’re feeling the pain again?” she asks kindly, watching closely as the girl - a kid probably in her early twenties - frowns and gestures largely at the front of her torso.

“Just… everywhere,” she answers unhelpfully.

Nari frowns slightly, not wanting to alarm her patient while a variety of scenarios start flipping through her mind as to why her chest sounds perfectly normal, not dismissing the possibility that her stethoscope is damaged.

She glances up at the girl’s friends, two similar looking girls who seem least bothered about their friend’s situation. Instead, they’re on their phones, exchanging grins and excitedly whispering, nudging the girl on the bed to look at something on their screens.

“Just - give me a moment. I’ll be right back.” Nari walks away calmly and doesn’t stop until she reaches the front desk of the ER. She leans over to the first year resident who’s manning the desk for the day.

“Hey, have you seen Dr Kang or… Cheon or… anyone else?” she asks. “I need a consult.”

“Oh, um, I think they’re all in surgery…” The resident checks a large board behind her. “Yeah, won’t be out for a while. Anything I can help with?” she asks quickly.

Nari nods, empathising with the annoyance of having to answer phones in the ER in place of practising medicine. “I have a case of chest pain - female, early twenties, otherwise seemingly healthy. Her breath sounds, heart beat and EKG are completely normal and she can’t seem to pinpoint any singular area of pain. Can you do some research to understand what this could be?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, of course -“ She retrieves a notebook from her pocket and flips through it vigorously. “I’m sure I can find something -“

They’re interrupted momentarily by another sound of furious whispering - a group of medical student interns pass by them, giggling in hushed tones.

“Not to sound old or anything, but I swear we were more professional at that age,” mutters Nari, shaking her head.

“I kind of get it, though,” says the resident, shrugging apologetically. “It’s not every day there’s an idol somewhere in the hospital.”

Nari raises her eyebrows. “Like a k-pop idol? Here?”

“Uh-huh. It’s all super secret and high profile, though. He’s in the VIP section and has bodyguards everywhere.”

“Wow. That explains a lot. Anyway, let me know if you find something on the chest -“ Nari pauses abruptly, something clicking. She turns around slowly to look at the girl with the mysterious chest pains, sitting up straight on her bed and whispering with her friends.

“You know what,” she says instead, turning to the resident. “It’s a slow day. Why don’t you take over my patient instead?” she offers.

The resident’s eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Make sure to really ask her a lot of questions,” adds Nari. As the resident hurries away, pulling on her lab coat, Nari stops her. “By the way… who’s the idol?”

“Oh. Nobody knows.” The resident shrugs. “Rumour is that it’s someone from BTS.”

—

Nari waits outside the entrance of the VIP section, watching as one of the bulky bodyguards slips inside the private hospital room, presumably to ask the said BTS member if he knows and would be okay to see a Dr Choi Nari.

It’s a fifteen percent chance it’s Seokjin. If it’s any of the others, it will be a pleasant run-in. If it’s him… it occurs to Nari for the first time that he might not actually want to see her.

Just as she begins processing this possibility, the bodyguard pokes the upper half of his body outside the room and waves at her to enter.

Her heart leaping slightly, she saunters down the corridor silently, ignoring the two surely-vetted nurses giving her bewildered looks as she pushes open the door.

“Hey.” Seokjin, in a hospital gown, looks tired yet relieved. “I was hoping I’d see you.”

“Yeah?” Nari takes a few steps towards the bed, hands in the pocket of her lab coat, noting that he seems okay, except for an IV in his forearm and one of his feet elevated on a cushion. “You know where I work. Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

He purses his lips hesitantly. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me,” he says lightly. “I thought… this might one of those times where lack of privacy would actually come in handy.”

She nods, waiting for the heaviness in her chest to reappear, but it doesn’t. “It did. What happened to you?”

“Oh.” He seems to remember why he’s here. “Um… twisted my ankle. And our regular doctor is out sick today. Irony,” he adds in a soft sing-song voice, grinning when he realises they've done it in unison.

“M-hm. Who’s your doctor here?”

“Uh… Park something. Park Naeun.”

Nari raises her eyebrows. “Head of the department?” She taps his foot with her pen, ignoring his dramatic gasp of pain. “Must be some twisted ankle.”

“That hurt!”

“No, it didn’t,” she says, giving him a look when his face immediately drops to normal. She points at his chart hooked at the bottom of his bed. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead. You don’t have to ask.”

“Yeah, I do. Patient information is confidential and I’m not your doctor.”

Seokjin nods slowly but his expression is clear. Nari waits for him to say what she thinks he’s about to but then decides she doesn’t want him to.

She flips through the chart. “Your vitals seem fine. BP is a bit low…” Automatically, she pulls her stethoscope from the pockets of her lab coat and puts it on. “Sit up?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow but obeys. Keeping the chart down, Nari places a hand on his shoulder and gently presses the chest piece to his chest. “Take a deep breath,” she murmurs, listening closely, frowning when his heart speeds up slightly. She moves to his back. “Lean forward a bit?”

He does so, and the hospital gown falls from his chest to his waist. His skin feels warm where Nari places the chest piece on his back. “Slightly tachycardic. You’re dehydrated, Kimbap.”

“Bingo,” he says, sounding tired again. Up close, he looks paler. But his eyes look more full of life than Nari has seen them in a while. She frowns curiously for a moment before realising it’s the first time she’s called him Kimbap in months.

In order to break the silence, heavy with meaning, she places the back of her hand on his forehead. “You’re feverish. And you look thinner,” she adds, stepping away. “Have you been eating properly?”

He chuckles pointedly. “Hello, pot. I’m kettle.”

A smile flits across her face. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

“Airplane food is shit.”

“Even business class?”

“Absolutely. And touring is tiring.”

Nari nods, placing the chart back. There’s nothing much for her to do; rest and fluids are all he needs and both are taken care of for now. She hesitates, wondering if she should leave. A moment later, she takes a seat on the chair next to his bed.

Seokjin doesn’t try to hide his smile. “Don’t have surgery to get to?”

“It’s a slow day.” She nudges his bed lightly with her foot. “How have you been?”

Seokjin’s smile fades slightly, and his eyes fall. Nari bites her lip; it’s only been a week, but it feels like forever ago. Standing inches away from each other, his cheekbones under her fingers, his palpable desperation followed by clear, transparent realisation.

Despite that, it’s the first time in months that she’s been around him without wanting to cry. Talking with him is easier. Being around him feels like it used to. The truth is out there, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest.

“Okay. Been thinking a lot,” he says, glancing up at her.

She nods. She wants to ask more, but looking at his pale face and clammy forehead, she decides not to. Not while there’s a chance of delirious answers.

“Where’s Seulgi?”

His face falls. “Oh, crap. I should call her.” He reaches over to his bedside table and picks up his phone, only to see a black screen. “Damn it.”

“You should let your people know to let her in,” says Nari, taking his phone from him and plugging it in to charge behind the bedside table. “They’re fairly intimidating.”

He half-chuckles. “And yet here you are.”

“The whole hospital’s talking about a famous idol here somewhere. Had to check out the rumour for myself.”

“Good to know.” He turns to check that his phone is charging and sits back. “She’s gone to see her parents in Busan,” he says after a moment. “So I don’t think I’ll see her. I fly out the day after tomorrow,” he adds, answering her silent question.

“Oh. You may not be in a state to,” she tells him, pointing to the IV in his forearm.

“Don’t have a choice.” He sighs and closes his eyes, placing his other arm over them. His chest looks white, not a single bit of loose flesh anywhere. But she knows better than to argue with his schedule.

“Keep a water bottle on you at all times. One with a carabiner that you can hook onto your bag.” She clicks her tongue. “There is no way that this is the first time I’m telling you this.”

“Okay, Dr Choi,” he mutters, not moving.

She slaps his shoulder lightly. “I’m not kidding. You’re making yourself sick. You look like a ghost, Kimbap.”

“On the plus side, my hair game has never been stronger.”

She reaches over and ruffles his hair until he slaps her hand away, laughing.

“Don’t be jealous, Nari,” he says loftily, delicately straightening his bangs along his forehead.

“I’m not,” she says honestly.

He gives her a small smile but says nothing. “Thanks for coming,” he says after a moment. “Truth be told… I don’t feel that great.”

Nari wonders if she’s imagining the double meaning, or if she simply wants to. The look on his face at the restaurant opening when she’d finally told him, in as many words as she could, how she felt; it had simultaneously broken her heart and renewed hope because now he knew.

Part of her had expected their lingering desperation at maintaining a friendship to die a feeble death right then, but Seokjin seems to be genuinely glad she’s here right now. She searches, again, for the heaviness - but it has disappeared.

“‘Course I did,” she says softly, squeezing his hand. He squeezes it back, warm and dry, and Nari feels like crying. Not out of sadness, or heartbreak - but out of relief. There was a lack of colour in her life but it’s back now, clear, beautiful and messy.

“Nari, look… about -”

The door flies open and Dr Park Naeun stands at the doorway, youthful as ever in her late forties, with a sharp frown on her forehead.

“Dr Choi,” she states sternly. “I don’t remember assigning you on this case. Are you cleared to be here?” Without waiting for Nari’s response, she turns to Seokjin and her face softens. “I’m sorry, I was told you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“I’m not,” he says instantly, letting go of Nari’s hand. “Nari - er, Dr Choi,” he amends, glancing at her sheepishly, “is my oldest friend. No disturbance at all.”

Dr Park nods, still seeming a little unconvinced. “Alright. You should rest, though. Dr Choi - the ER isn’t going to run itself.”

Sensing her cue, Nari stands up, her hand brushing Seokjin’s. “Of course. Take care,” she says softly to him before walking past her boss and out of the hospital room.

—

Nari doesn’t stop by again except later that night to inform him she’s going home and checking his vitals once more. Seokjin stays motionless while she presses the chest piece of her stethoscope once more to his torso, soft and familiar fingers brushing against his skin. The medication makes his heart race but he tries not to show it, and he doesn’t exhale until she leaves the room.

He is discharged the next day; a shiny black SUV takes him back to the dorm, where all the members have elected to stay until the tour ends. It’s both convenient yet mildly chaotic; the only time any of them go back to their own apartments is when Dilara is in town, or if Jimin is to meet Sooah, or if Jungkook is entertaining one of his casual lady friends.

As it so happens, the only person in the house when Seokjin returns is Min Yoongi, eating a bowl of cereal at four pm in front of the television.

“Hey, you’re back,” he says unnecessarily. “When did - wait, why didn’t you tell any of us when you were coming back? We could’ve picked you up.”

Seokjin waves his hand dismissively. “Not necessary. Everyone has enough going on.” He takes a seat next to Yoongi on the sofa and sighs, gratefully accepting the bowl of cereal and taking a large bite of choco flakes and cold milk. “Oh, God, that’s good,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.

“I can get you a bowl,” offers Yoongi, heading to the kitchen when Seokjin nods. He brings back a plate with a bowl of cereal on it, along with toast and blueberry jam. “I know it’s carbs but you were sick - you need your energy.”

“Yeah, I don’t care about carbs right now,” agrees Seokjin, eagerly taking the plate and going straight for the toast, not emerging until he finishes an entire slice. “Jesus. It feels like I haven’t eaten in days.”

Yoongi nods, patting him on the shoulder. “Good. How are you feeling now?”

“Much better. Yesterday was a bit shit but I woke up feeling pretty okay. Nari’s convinced it was the rest and fluids but I think it was the super comfortable hospital bed and jelly cups that did the trick.”

“You met Nari?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “How, uh, how is she?” he asks, sounding a bit guilty.

Seokjin is sure he’s recalling the disastrous not-date that occurred at the restaurant opening a week ago, but says nothing. Nari’s transparent embarrassment from that night doesn’t need to become public knowledge.

“She’s okay. It was kind of weird seeing her in work mode, but - but it was good,” he replies, realising as he says it, that for the first time in a long time, it actually was good. Maybe it was the fact that he was sick or that he hadn’t actually seen her smile at him in forever, but it was the closest he’d felt to her in months.

Kimbap. And maybe - just maybe - he wasn’t alone in it.

“Why are you smiling?”

“What?” Seokjin stares at his remaining cereal. “I’m -” About to deny it, he stops. “Okay, I need to get something off my chest.”

“Okay.” Yoongi mutes the television.

“I -” He takes a deep breath, not really sure where to begin. “Um… after the restaurant opening, when Nari was leaving…” He swallows, feeling his stomach squirm the same it has the entirety of the last week, every single time he thought about her and that night. “I think… Nari might have feelings for me.”

There’s a few moments of silence. When Yoongi doesn’t answer, Seokjin turns to him to see him looking back expectantly. “And?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Well…” Seokjin frowns.

Yoongi squints. “Please don’t tell me that’s news to you.”

Seokjin opens his mouth then closes it, knowing he’s been caught. “It’s not… news,” he admits. “But it’s confirmation. I didn’t think it was likely, not after the pregnancy scare and with that Jason guy… but I did wonder. Maybe,” he finishes, shrugging tiredly. “Kind of felt wrong to speculate once I got together with Seulgi,” he mutters.

“Does Seulgi know? Wait - what actually happened?” Yoongi asks instead.

“Nothing happened,” he clarifies immediately. “Not like that.” But it could have. Another second and I might have. “But… I mean, I would be deliberately obtuse if I didn’t see it now, right?”

Although it doesn’t answer his question, Yoongi tactfully doesn’t repeat it. “But you said everything was good with her yesterday?”

“That’s just it.” Seokjin pounces on what’s been going through his head for the last twenty-four hours. “It’s been a nightmare for almost a year and then suddenly it’s… we’re back to normal. Kind of.” He shakes his head. “I kept thinking it might have made it worse, having it out in the open. But it isn’t. It’s like a switch flipped.” I got my best friend back, he thinks, and a part of his heart soars.

“What does Seulgi think?” When Seokjin doesn’t answer, Yoongi sits back on the couch, still observing his friend. “Does she know about this new development at all?”

“It’s complicated,” he mutters. “I don’t even know what this development is.” He catches Yoongi’s knowing look. “I’m serious. It was, like, fifteen minutes in total and it was… normal. If anything, the last few months were a development. This is the default.”

Seokjin is mildly aware he’s rambling now, especially when Yoongi conspicuously utters nothing. It’s just as well; he’s run out of ways to explain the situation. There are no appropriate words to describe the wave of emotions he’d experienced since last week, beginning with shock and solace that Nari was finally communicating with him, stress and fear that this may just have pushed her away for good, and a numbing relief when she’d shown up yesterday.

He wishes he’d hugged her. He wishes she’d stayed longer, or that stupid Dr Park hadn’t told her to leave. He wishes he knew what she was going through last week, if she was truly as relaxed as she seemed, if her confession really had been as cathartic for her to make as it had been for him to hear.

“Do you think you can travel tomorrow?” Yoongi asks, breaking the silence.

“What? Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Seokjin shifts on the sofa, running a hand over his face. “It should be fine.”

Tomorrow. It seems too soon now, now that there’s so much to leave behind in Seoul. She was happy. It was, at the crux of it, the detail that sticks in his mind. He imagines the weight off her chest, imagines her expecting something from him, imagines telling her what she wants to hear. It could get complicated, for certain, but the thought of it doesn’t tire him the way it used to.

“Hey, you know what?” Seokjin asks, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “That night, when Nari was leaving the party, she said you were… kissing someone?”

Yoongi goes very still. “She told you about that?” he asks, and there’s a bite to his tone.

“Well… she was upset,” he says hastily. “I don’t think she knew it was a secret… is it a secret?” he asks hesitantly, not wanting to overstep.

Yoongi is silent for a moment longer. “There’s nothing to tell, honestly,” he mutters, and that’s enough to indicate that the topic is closed.

Later that evening, as he drives to the Big Hit building, Yoongi finds himself regretting being so abrupt with Seokjin.

But there is nothing to tell. He didn’t lie. There has been virtually no contact with Miso since that night, and he hasn’t been able to come up with a single appropriate way to begin conversation. Hey, I just want to skirt around the awkwardness of kissing you in a coat closet right after you admitted your psychotic mother has a habit of stealing men from you, so how’s it going? I miss you.

It was variations of this until Yoongi gave up, choosing to give her space and time to process everything and let the ball be in her court for once.

Even when he reaches the floor, he makes sure to only wave at her while she’s standing with Donghyuk and a couple of other people before ducking into his own studio. He stays there for a while, distractedly flipping through his files and trying to remember why exactly he’d come in today at all.

After a few minutes, he decides he needs a cigarette, taking the elevator to the terrace and stepping out into the pleasant evening air.

He lights his first cigarette and takes a deep drag, closing his eyes when the door creaks open behind him.

“They don’t let you smoke on tour?”

Yoongi doesn’t move. “They’d probably have a heart attack if I did. Although my make-up artist joins me for a secret one once in a while.”

“Clandestine smoke breaks feel different,” she agrees, slipping out her own pack and placing a cigarette between her lips. Yoongi reaches forward and lights it for her, and her eyes look brown in the brightness of the flame.

Miso breathes it in and lets the smoke out without flinching. “Didn’t think I’d see you back so soon.”

“You didn’t?”

“Yeah… weren’t you in Europe or something this week?” She frowns. “The flying must be playing havoc with your system.”

She means the tour. Yoongi nods a little belatedly. “I guess. I’m used to it. I sleep when I can. How are you?” he ask after a moment.

“Same as always.” Miso takes another drag before giving him a side glance. “Also… I just want to move on from the whole… weirdness of our - of us, you know, kissing in the aftermath of my whole word vomit about my demented mother going after men far too young for her.” She exhales, having said everything in one breath.

Yoongi stares at her, blinking wordlessly before he realises she’s expecting a response from him. “Oh, hey… don’t worry. No weirdness whatsoever.”

She gives him a small smile and leans back against the railing he’s looking over, the city of Seoul lit up under them. Their shoulders brush and Yoongi tries to grasp at anything to keep the conversation going. “Um, so… how are things with - with you and your mom?”

Miso frowns slightly, as though she hadn’t expected this question. “As good as they’ll ever be? We’ve successfully ignored each other all week,” she explains, half-chuckling.

Yoongi doesn’t know whether to laugh or cringe; it’s not a common cue to take, so he simply nods. She seems a bit jittery; the last time he’d seen her like this, it was almost a year ago at her house, the first glimpse he’d gotten a peek into her life. He’s about to reach for her hand which is holding the cigarette and tapping absently at the railing, but at that moment she raises her hand to take another drag.

“Anyway, I, uh…” She clears her throat and taps the cigarette, ash falling on the ground, “I’m just glad we didn’t… I mean, you don’t have to feel like… God, it was a weird night,” she sighs awkwardly. “But it doesn’t have to… go anywhere. We can just go back to normal.”

Unlike her, Yoongi doesn’t look away. “Truth be told, I’m not really sure what normal is with us.”

Looking at the ground, Miso half-chuckles again, without humour. She’s wearing full sleeves again, despite a mostly warm day. Beige sleeves and a dark t-shirt on top; her skin looked white against it, like porcelain.

“I know,” she admits, flicking ash again. “But I’m just saying, it doesn’t have to be… anything different. Whatever normal is.” She shrugs and when Yoongi doesn’t respond, she looks up. “I’m just saying… it was a long night. I was on edge, surrounded by my mother and her friends and you… and everyone was hungry because they took forever to serve dinner…” She exhales, and grey smoke comes out of her nostrils. “Nothing… really happened.”

Yoongi stares at her, his face making no movement whatsoever for he finally feels as though she’s reaching the point. “What?”

Miso gazes at him, pursing her lips. It feels as though she’s reading him, trying to gauge what his question is referring to. She takes a last, deep drag and finishes her cigarette. “This is a good thing, Yoongi,” she says at last, stamping out the butt. “You got a look into the shitshow and… you’re getting out ahead.” She gives him a small, forced smile. “You’re off the hook,” she says in English, the unfamiliar accent jarring.

She moves to leave while Yoongi stays frozen to the spot, his stomach sinking slowly. Then, as though jerked out of a trance, he extinguishes his cigarette against a metal pipe on the side and drops the butt, turning around and catching up to her in a few steps.

“I’m off the hook?” he repeats, voice low and sticking to Korean.

She doesn’t look too surprised that he’s stopped her, but her forced nonchalance wobbles slightly. “Well, the proverbial hook.”

“Yeah? What hook is that?”

“The hook that pegged you to kiss me in a coat closet after I… dumped my mommy-trauma on you.” She shakes her head. “There was a lot going on and I don’t… I’m not expecting anything from you. Not for that.”

Yoongi bites his lip. “So… I’m off the hook for the spur-of-the-moment kiss we shared after I assured you that you can trust me.”

Miso’s eyes flicker momentarily but she reverts to her blasé expression instantly. “The words sound like you get me, but your tone is throwing me off,” she says wryly.

He takes a step closer to her. “You are,” he mutters tightly, his hand clenching into a fist, “the single most uniquely frustrating person I have ever met.”

“I don’t understand why you’re getting annoyed with me,” she replies, but Yoongi doesn’t believe her, scoffing and turning away. “You want this, believe me.” When he doesn’t answer, she folds her arms across her chest. “I’ve told you a dozen times not to get involved. I don’t know why you’re still trying to.”

“You know, I’m starting to wonder the same thing myself,” he snaps, walking past her and out of the terrace. He catches a glimpse of her just as the elevator doors close and he bristles; there’s no doubt, guilt or anger on her face. It’s an expression he’s seen numerous times before, annoying him more each time: the one of being proven right.

—

Donghyuk [21:15] Going out with some of the prods in a bit. Drinks on BH. You in?

Yoongi [21:16] Don’t think so. Too much to get done.

Donghyuk [21:16] Sure? Kim Namjoon’s coming too. Probably.

Yoongi [21:17] You asked him?

Donghyuk [21:17] Not yet.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, although Namjoon might just agree to go. Anything to get his mind off his girl.

Yoongi [21:18] Raincheck. In the zone right now.

Donghyuk replies with an irrelevant emoji but doesn’t push. Yoongi locks his phone and stares at the wide screens in front of him. A part of him had planned to return to the dorm tonight to give Seokjin some company; something about how deep in thought the older member had been earlier today was throwing Yoongi off. Seokjin didn’t divulge much, but Yoongi had a feeling he might want to just this once.

There’s also the added bonus of a hot meal most likely awaiting him at the dorm, for when Seokjin was stressed, he tended to cook.

Yoongi [21:25] Hyung. Need me to pick up anything for dinner?

Seokjin [21:27] Not for me. I’m probably going out.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at this unexpected response, his stomach rumbling sadly. But he ignores it, reaching for his half empty pack of cigarettes and debating another smoke break, when his studio door opens without permission and he turns, his heart skipping an automatic beat.

Miso pokes her head in, expressionless. “Donghyuk’s leaving. He asked me to check if you want to schedule the demo with that rookie girl group tomorrow at noon.”

Yoongi turns back around. “Sure. Anything else?”

She hesitates. “That Chinese place you recommended sucks, by the way. Their portion sizes are deceptively huge and now I’m stuck with enough Kung Pao chicken to feed a small army,” she states in mild exasperation before leaving.

The door swings shut behind her. Yoongi scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. Uniquely frustrating. Everything had to be an argument, and every argument had to be won by her, even if it was about an excess of Kung Pao chicken.

He checks his pack to see about half a dozen cigarettes left, when something clicks. He pauses and, on cue, his stomach rumbles again.

Grabbing his phone and the smokes, Yoongi stands up and heads out of his studio, making a beeline down the corridor for Donghyuk's. He can smell the food even before he pushes the door open.

Miso looks up when he enters, not looking entirely surprised, but - he notes with caution - her shoulders relax as though in relief. Four boxes of food are on the console table in front of her while she unpacks the chopsticks. As he takes a seat next to her mutely, she unpacks the last items in the bag: two cans of lemonade. She slides one over to him and he catches it.

“Thanks.”

She nods, handing him a pair of chopsticks. “I’ve heard the food’s not bad.”

“So have I. I didn’t know about the lemonade on their menu, though.” He takes a sip and swallows it slowly, wincing slightly at the tartness. “Not bad.”

Miso, her can unopened in front of her, observes him thoughtfully before bending over the other side of her chair and retrieving two cans of Budweiser Premium. She offers one to him, eyebrows raised.

“Are we allowed alcohol in here?” he asks mildly, taking the can anyway.

“No idea.”

“Not afraid of getting caught?”

She hitches one leg on the edge of her chair and pops her can open, taking a long sip. “What are they going to do? Fire me?”

Nope. Not daddy’s nepo princess.

A year ago, Yoongi would’ve said it out loud. The arrogance of her statement would have struck him in his very core, except now he can only detect apathy in it. What’s the worst they can do? Fire me?

He opens his own can and takes a sip, the cold beer feeling incredible in his chest. “God, I feel healed.”

The corner of her mouth lifts and she reaches over, and they clink their cans together. “Cheers.”

As they eat, Yoongi finds himself more confused than ever. Not only did Miso, in her own twisted way, offer an olive branch and buy him dinner, but for the first time since he’s known her, she is initiating conversation.

“Are you allowed to drink on tour?” she asks him, curiously scooping some noodles into her paper bowl.

“Only as long as we’re not seen. And as long as it doesn’t make us put on weight or bloat or break out…” He shrugs. “So… no. Not really.”

“Is the company afraid your fans will get scandalized if they see you, an adult man, consuming alcohol?”

He cracks a smile. “Something like that.”

“Damn. How do you smoke?”

“I don’t, as much. I wait to come home and do it in peace.”

She grins and his heart catches. “Yeah? Dreaming about the Big Hit terrace while sailing around the world?”

“You have no idea. Sometimes I wake up smelling instant coffee and cornflakes.”

“A man so loyal to his work,” she says dryly, chuckling when he waves a hand in mock-embarrassment. “Big Hit is so lucky to have you.”

“They make me do a lot more dancing than I ever signed up for, so… you know what? They kind of are,” he agrees, smiling when she laughs. “Damn, this is good beer.”

Without being asked, she hands him another one, and their fingers brush on the cold can. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second before Miso lets go and leans back, busying herself with something else. Yoongi glances at her as he absently bites down on a mushroom, wanting to bring up their earlier encounter today, last week and all the preceding weeks - but it’s not a good idea. Not during this precarious time of… he isn’t even sure what to call it.

“How come you didn’t go out with Donghyuk and the guys?”

“Work,” he answers simply. “How come you didn’t?”

“Work, I guess. And I had all this food to finish,” she reminds him, gesturing to the half a dozen boxes on the table. “You’re only back for a couple days, though. How come you don’t want to, you know…” She does an awkward wave with her shoulders. “... party?”

Yoongi stifles a chuckle. “Someone had to help you finish all this food. Apparently it’s my fault there’s so much of it.”

“It is. But the food is actually quite… not bad,” she adds generously. “How’d you know about this place?”

“Oh, I, uh… I used to deliver for them,” he confesses, nodding when she raises her eyebrows in surprise. “It’s been a few years, but… there was this one apartment over in Hongdae that ordered in from there almost every single day. A couple of roommates, fresh out of college, I think,” he recalls. “I asked them once about it and they said they worked long hours and ordering in from here was what kept them going.”

“Wow.” Miso is quiet for a moment. “So you started eating from here, too?”

“Once I could afford it, yeah.” He catches her eye but she lowers her eyes, almost as if ashamed. “The shrimp fried rice is the best thing on the menu, though.”

She nods, glancing up at him. “Noted. For next time.”

Yoongi’s heart soars unexpectedly before his mind forces their disagreement on the terrace to the forefront of his mind.

“I didn’t know you delivered food,” she says after a moment.

“Mhm. It’s also when I learned to pick a lock, because these kids in one of the Gangnam neighbourhoods would lock people’s bicycles for fun,” he tells her, rolling his eyes.

“What? Why?”

“Who knows.” He tosses his empty bowl on the table and stretches back in his chair. “Dumb, rich kids with nothing better to do,” he mutters, looking up at the ceiling. When he glances back down at her, it’s to see her quietly cleaning up, her hair covering the side of her face.

Yoongi starts to say something but thinks the better of it, instead helping her clear the table.

“Tell me something about you,” he says a little while later, as they share a single serving of chocolate mousse. “Not your parents or your… driver or whoever. You.”

Miso raises her eyebrows, looking a little startled at the question; it’s clear that it’s not something she gets asked too often.

“I don’t know. I’m really not that interesting.”

He gives her a look. “I told you about being a delivery boy. Interesting isn’t the criteria here.”

“Fine.” She purses her lips and frowns, apparently thinking. “Okay, I have one. Ready?”

“On the edge of my seat.”

A smile flits across her face. “Okay… I’m red-green colourblind.” She shrugs hugely, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Huh. Really?” Yoongi wasn’t expecting that. “So, can you…”

“I can,” she confirms. “I wear contact lenses so I can pretty much see everything normally. But, yeah. That’s something about me.”

“Have you - sorry, this might be a stupid question -“ He raises a hand and she waves her own, permitting him to ask. “Have you always had it?”

“Pretty much, yeah. It’s genetic,” she adds. “My mother used to take me to the optometrist in secret, as if she was afraid that my father would explode at a reminder of a weakness,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “Actually, that seems pretty on brand for him.”

Yoongi frowns. “But if it’s genetic…”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have it,” she confirms. “Neither does my mother, which means she’s a carrier.” She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not something we talk about. Ever.”

She says it in a matter-of-fact way, as though it’s the most understandable thing in the world for her own issues to take a backseat to her egocentric father’s insecurities.

Yoongi lets out a low whistle. “So it’s your little secret?”

“Kind of. Strange to think about,” she agrees. She is quiet for a moment. “She really did seem to care that I had the best possible doctors and specialists and whatnot.” She shudders. “It’s like a fever dream.”

He doesn’t know how to react to this so he follows her cue and returns her wry smile. “I saw a picture of you as a kid at your house. You were a cute kid.”

Miso narrows her eyes at him. “Uh-huh. Where are you going with this?”

“Nothing. Just picturing you holding your mother’s hand, going to the optometrist.” He grins when she rolls her eyes. “You did say she took you in secret.”

“Well, she and Seungkwan,” she amends. “Not that we ever discussed it with him but I’m pretty sure he guessed.”

This is news. Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? And he never told your father?”

A faint smile appears on Miso’s face. “It’s a dangerous thing to be that loyal to my father. Some things are better left ignored.”

He senses something else in her words, but doesn’t ask. He remembers her driver vaguely; somehow, he appears everywhere she is, whenever she needs him.

“Well, I can keep your secret,” he promises her, leaving the last bite of the mousse and handing it to her.

Her smile widens as she takes it from him. “I know,” she says. “I trust you.”

Yoongi holds her gaze for a moment. “Are you sure?”

Miso’s smile fades. “Yoongi…” She trails off when he drops his head, suddenly tired. She begins again. “You know, you’re the only person in the world who’s ever apologised to me,” she tells him.

She waits until he meets her eyes again, and he’s slightly startled at how sorry she looks. He struggles for a moment to recall what she’s talking about, the memories of the aftermath of the launch party crawling to the forefront of his mind.

“That isn’t -“

“I’m just saying… It seems okay now. Now,” she repeats. “But you really don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. I’m not talking about my parents,” she says quickly when he opens his mouth. “I’m saying…” She sighs. “Yoongi, I don’t think I can give you what you want. I don’t know how.”

Yoongi says nothing; his throat feels stuck and he worries that if he speaks, his voice might break. It doesn’t feel like a rejection, but he also can’t find a way to respond. Once again, she’s won the argument.

They leave soon after that, once they clean up in silence and Yoongi takes out the trash while Miso closes down Donghyuk’s studio. He walks her to the elevator, both of them walking beside each other with just enough distance between them to not touch.

I don’t know how. It bothers him more than he’d like to admit, and he can’t tell if it’s because of her fucked up parents or her general tendency to keep a distance that she believes she’s incapable of genuine human connection.

When they reach the elevator and she reaches up to press the button, his eyes fall on her wrist and he wants, once again, to grab it and push her sleeve up her forearm. The bruise he’d seen all those months ago feels like a siren he’d ignored; it makes him sick to think about another potential one on her wrist right now.

The doors open, Miso glances at him hesitantly. “I don’t know about you… but I actually had a good time tonight.” She nods once. “Thanks, Yoongi.”

He slips his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Thanks for what?”

“You know…” She steps in between the doors to stop them from closing and turns to face him. “Helping me out… with the Kung Pao chicken and everything,” she finishes, her mouth lifting up at the corners. By the way she bites her lip, he knows his own face is betraying at least a hint of humour. Or maybe it’s exasperation, or annoyance, or infatuation, or everything at once.

“Your driver… Seungkwan?” He waits for her to nod. “He’s here?”

“Downstairs,” she confirms.

Take care. Call me if you need anything. Call me if you don’t need anything, too.

“See you around, Miso.” He waves mechanically and it immediately feels ridiculous.

She frowns curiously but mimics his awkward wave. “Bye.” She takes a step back into the elevator and presses the button, and he takes a similar step further back. She gives him a small smile as the doors start to close.

Yoongi starts to walk back towards his studio, noting the elevator only in his peripheral vision. As he leaves, the image of her on the terrace comes back to him; through another set of closing elevator doors, her look of mild satisfaction, almost expectant.

It only takes a fraction of a second; Yoongi turns on the spot and hurries back to the elevator, slipping through just before the doors close fully.

“Whoa.” Miso jerks back slightly, but doesn’t look annoyed “What are you doing?” she asks as he steps towards her.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you again,” he assures her dryly, ignoring the look she gives him and reaching over to wrap her in a hug. He waits a moment, and then two, and then relaxes when he feels her arms go stiffly around his waist.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. She smells of lilies and cigarette smoke. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m not going anywhere,” he promises her, closing his eyes and meaning every word of it.

It takes another moment but she tightens her arms around him. Her fingertips brush his shoulders and - he hopes he’s not imagining this - he feels her smile against his collarbone.

They step away from each other a few seconds later when the doors start to open. There’s a tinge of pink on her cheeks he’s never seen before. She hitches her bag on her shoulders as she exits.

“Don’t be such a sap, Min Suga.” But the blush says differently, as does the small smile she visibly struggles and fails to hide.

Yoongi grins at her, wide and gummy, feeling lighter and taller all at once. He’s made a decision, and now she’s in on it, too.

—

It’s almost close to dinner time, but for once Seokjin isn’t hungry.

His phone stares at him from where he’d tossed it on the futon a few minutes ago, the screen painfully dark. He was trying to spare himself the temptation of checking it every second, but this isn’t any better.

After staring at it for a few more seconds, he reaches for it and replays the voicemail he’d sent to Nari over an hour ago.

“Hey. It’s me. Seokjin. Er, Kim Seokjin. I got discharged and I’m home. I hydrated, too, like you said. Still am, in fact. You may have been onto something, Dr Choi. Anyway… thanks for coming yesterday. It really meant a lot and I’m… God, I can’t tell you how good it was to hang out with you again. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed it. And… I do want to talk about last week. I know things have been really weird with us for a while but I don’t want them to be anymore. I’ve been thinking a lot this last week - I can’t help it, I’ve tried to stop, believe me. I’ve been way too afraid to lose you as a friend. I’d be lost without you, Nari. But… I may have been overcompensating on that front. I don’t know where this leaves us, but I want to figure it out. With you. Not in my own head, the way I’ve been doing it this whole time. I’m flying out tomorrow, but do you think we could talk tonight? Coincidentally, I have everything needed to whip up jajjangmyeon, too. Just throwing that in there. Let me know. Oh, this Seokjin.”

There’s a click to signal the end of the message, but Seokjin’s stomach churns more than ever, though not necessarily in a bad way. He’s officially entered the ring, albeit to do what, he isn’t completely sure. All he knows is that there’s no ignoring this anymore, the uncomfortable distance with Nari, the subtle hostility between her and Seulgi, the distaste with which he thinks of Kang Jason at the oddest times.

Nari hasn’t replied or called him back yet, but he tries not to stress about it. Most likely, she’s in surgery, or the ER, or even catching up on sleep in an on-call room. He’s determined to stay up all night, though; he can sleep on the flight tomorrow.

Automatically, his eyes fall to the last message he’d sent to Seulgi. Hey. I was hoping we could talk. Call me when you’re free?

She had replied a little while ago. Sure. Everything okay?

Seokjin didn’t have a response to that, so he’d sent her a skull emoji instead, hoping that would do the trick.

He wishes he wasn’t touring right now. There’s a better way to do this: with Seulgi, in person, thorough and rational - and then with Nari, slow and gentle, giving her space and control.

But he has one day - no, one night - before he leaves once more for weeks, with all three of them left to stew in their own thoughts for that time. Sure, he can call - but calls can be ignored. So can messages, and voicemails, and then before he knows it, he’s back in Seoul, tired and jet lagged only to find out that the situation has progressed, leaving him completely out of the loop.

After considering it for a minute, he picks up the phone and calls Seulgi. Fortunately, she picks it up on the second ring.

“Hey,” she says, panting slightly. “I went out for a run; I was just about to call you. What’s up?”

“Um -“ He bites his lip. “Not - not much. How are you? How are your folks?”

“They’re good. Mum’s asking when she can meet you but I deflected that,” she adds, but there’s a knowing lilt to her voice. “You have enough going on right now.”

Do I ever. “I appreciate that. I just wanted to talk before I fly out tomorrow.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry. I really wish I could’ve been there. You barely get any time off as it is and even when you do, I’m not in town.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He picks at a loose thread on the corner of the sofa. “You don’t have to accommodate your family plans around my crazy schedule. And I’ll be back again soon.”

“Can’t wait.” She pauses. “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asks, apparently done with small talk. “You seemed serious.”

It’s not serious, he’s about to say, but stops himself. “It’s… it’s about Nari. We kind of… ran into each other.”

There’s another pause, a longer one this time. “Okay. When?”

“Yesterday, when she visited me at the hospital. I wasn’t expecting -“

“You were in the hospital?” She interrupts him, tone suddenly anxious.

He freezes. “Yeah, but it - it wasn’t serious. I was dehydrated, that’s all. I don’t even know why they took me to the hospital, honestly. I’m back home now.”

Her next response is instant. “But Nari knew?”

“I - only because it was her hospital. And I didn’t tell her - she found out.” He waits for her to respond. “Seulgi, it wasn’t a big deal. You weren’t here - I didn’t want to worry you. I’m perfectly fine, really.”

There’s another pause and then she sighs deeply. “Okay. Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

Oh, boy. “Kind of. Well, no. I…” He sighs. “God, I really wish we were doing this in person,” he mutters.

“Wait. Are you -“ She scoffs, but it breaks slightly. “Are you breaking up with me? Over the phone?”

“No! No, I’m not. Look, I think I need to talk to Nari,” he says quickly before he loses his nerve. “It’s been a long time and I… I really need to know what’s going on. But I want you to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Where do I start? “I mean, you know what it’s been like. But it’s just been too long - and I think she might be ready to talk to me, too. I have to try and fix it with her… I hope you understand why, Seulgi,” he adds, meaning it and already feeling horrendous.

“But I thought she was mad at you.” Seulgi is calm - too calm, and it’s worrying. “Or something. What’s changed?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know.” It’s not a complete lie. I think she might have feelings for me based on a moment we shared a week ago, where neither of us actually spoke. Not only did it sound insane, it didn’t actually clarify anything. There was no point bringing it up when he wasn’t sure of it either.

“So…” She takes a deep breath on the other end. “Let me get this straight. She’s been evasive and distant and - let’s face it - sort of pissed at you. And then something changed… and suddenly she’s nursing you back to health during a hospital visit that I’m finding out about now.”

Seokjin closes his eyes. “I know it sounds bad,” he murmurs. “And I know it’s my fault it’s so messed up. I don’t… If I think back, I don’t know where I went wrong, but I’m sure I did something. You know?” He bites his lip, suddenly glad he’s flying out tomorrow, far away from his girlfriend and his best friend where he can’t hurt them anymore. “I don’t want to be unfair to you,” he admits.

“Why do you think you are?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t know…” He runs a hand down his face tiredly. “There’s a lot of history there and baggage and stuff…” There's no telling what we’ll find.

“You know what I think, Seokjin?” she says after a few moments. “I think you’re not fully sure of what you want. Or you are,” she guesses, “and you just don’t want to admit it because if you do and you don’t get it, you’re afraid it’ll devastate you.”

Seokjin swallows. His vision blurs without warning and he blinks rapidly, a distinct memory threatening to surface, of hope being crushed in his chest, a life he’d dared to imagine disappearing before he’d even fully wrapped his head around it. He’d repressed it as best as he could, figuring there was no one to blame but himself for this lapse in judgement, but it had inadvertently set actions in motion that he will regret for a long time.

He’s taking too long to respond, he realises, but he’s afraid to speak. It might all boil down to that one night and the thought of what it meant - of what it might still mean - is too overwhelming to think about.

“I’m glad you don’t want to be unfair to me,” she states, and there’s finally a bite to her tone. “So call me when you figure it out.” She hangs up.

Seokjin stays frozen for a minute before he sighs, tossing his phone back on the sofa and dropping his head in his hands. Suddenly, everything about his relationship with Seulgi feels tainted, now that his mind is involuntarily tracing the timeline of events back to the day he met her, and then ran into her again. She was lovely and calm and straightforward and put together - and he was so tired.

He needs to talk to Nari. He needs to. His mind is blocked and so is his heart, and it’s occurring to him now that it all comes to Nari. Everything comes down to Nari.

He’d been vague but he can’t imagine she would simply ignore his message, not unless she absolutely hated him. She didn’t, though, his brain reasoned.

She’d visited him, actually talked with him, and she’d called him Kimbap. She would call. Even if she couldn’t meet him, she would call, or text. All he has to do is wait.

—

Nari takes off her lab coat and shakes her hair out, glad to be done with the day.

“See you tomorrow, Nari,” says one of her friends, a perky first year resident with the kind of confidence Nari could only dream of. “Say hi to your famous friend for me.” She winks and leaves.

Nari rolls her eyes but scoffs in humour. Somehow, the other residents in the surgical wing had caught wind of the fact that she knew the elusive celebrity idol that was admitted to the hospital yesterday and while she’d neither confirmed nor denied it, the story spread anyway.

“You’re in a good mood,” comments Hyeri, her friend, changing out of her scrubs at the locker next door. “What did you take and can I have some?”

Nari frowns curiously and laughs. “What are you talking about?”

“That. The laughing and the smiling and the… being nice to first years and interns.” Hyeri raises her eyebrows. “We haven’t had the mental capacity for that shit in years.” She raises her eyebrows. “Is it actually because of your famous friend? I mean -” She steps closer and lowers her voice. “We’re talking about Seokjin, right?”

“I - yeah. He was here,” admits Nari. “Nothing serious, though. He got discharged today.”

“Oh.” Hyeri sounds surprised at the admission. “That makes sense. You’re relieved.”

Yes… and no. She’s certainly glad Seokjin’s okay, but despite how selfish it makes her feel, she’s even gladder that for the first time in a long time, she was able to be herself around her best friend. It’s definitely relief - Hyeri isn’t wrong about that.

“I can’t believe we’re actually out early enough to have dinner,” remarks Hyeri as they head out of the locker room, out of scrubs and in normal clothes again. “I’m going to get in the tub with a glass of wine and fall asleep in there. Obviously I’m not serious,” she adds quickly, catching Nari’s eye.

“Hey, no judgement. Add some candles while you’re at it and it’ll look like a Madonna video.”

Hyeri chortles. “I’m out of wine, though. Can you send me the number to that liquor store? The one that delivers?”

Nari nods, fishing her phone out of her bag. “Shit. My phone’s dead. Daeun has it, though - she’s the one who sent it to me.”

“Okay, let me - oh, there she is!” Waving hurriedly, Hyeri jogs towards the entrance to catch up with Daeun, another of their resident class who’s leaving for the night as well.

Nari smiles as she watches her friend dash away, and catches herself. The laughing and the smiling and the being nice to interns. It’s not a mystery, the origin of this brand new version of herself. It took a long time and a lot of frustration and courage, but a week after the fact, she knows she’s at a place with Seokjin that she was only hoping she would eventually reach.

It’s a start, she tells herself. It’s a start and irrespective of what happens next, at least it’s a start. She’s lighter and she’s calmer - sometimes, there are moments where she feels freer, as though the invisible chain that kept her tethered to her suppressed feelings has been cut through with a chainsaw.

She stops by the pharmacy in the lobby of the surgical wing to pick up some antiseptic for her first aid box. While the cashier rings up her purchase, she turns absently and spots Jason at the reception, still in scrubs and handing in a couple of patient charts. As he clicks his pen closed and tucks it in his pocket, he grins at something the nurse says and responds, making her laugh.

Grabbing her antiseptic, Nari walks over to him, smiling when he spots her.

“Hey.” He takes in her clothing? “Leaving already? I thought you were helping Dr Park with her trial research.”

Nari shrugs. “She gave me the night off.”

“Wow. Is she okay?”

“I’m not going to ask; I’m just taking the night,” she tells him. It’s a start. “What about you? Are you, uh, free tonight?”

Jason raises his eyebrows casually. “Uh, yeah. I have a couple of things to close out, but I can head out in a bit. Or I can meet you back at my apartment, too, if you want.”

“No, um…” She shakes her head and bites her lip. She hasn’t done this in… ever. “I meant, are you free… for a drink.”

He clearly notices the change in her tone. “A drink,” he repeats. “Just you and me. Like a…”

“M-hm.” Nari nods, but she doesn’t think he’ll say no. Familiarity builds over time, and Nari is suddenly seeing the world - and the people in it - in a newer light.

After a moment, Jason nods. “Absolutely. Just give me fifteen minutes?” He waits for her to nod as well and smiles, touching her elbow as he leaves.

She watches him go and her heart beats pleasantly fast with a small risk that’s paid off. She’s definitely lighter, brighter, calmer - and she can only route it back to the night of her confession to Seokjin. It felt like a start but maybe - just maybe - it was closure.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

#seokjin x oc #seokjin fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x oc #thebtswritersclub #bangtanwhq #micdropnet #k-vanity #houseofddaeng #wkcnet #hyunglinenetwork #bts jin fanfic #bts suga fanfic #bts suga angst #bts jin angst

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nejibaby · 2 years ago

Text

crush culture

Pairing: Wakasa Imaushi x Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Description: everybody knows about your crush on wakasa, including the man himself.

The art of subtlety is a skill you have yet to acquire. With that said, everyone you know is able to read you like an open book.

In the recent chapters of the book that is your life, it says that you have feelings for your friend, Wakasa Imaushi.

You know it.

Benkei knows it.

Takeomi knows it.

Shinichiro knows it.

Even Wakasa himself knows it, as embarrassing as it sounds.

Though technically, they’re all assuming you like Wakasa, but without your confirmation, it’s just that: an assumption.

Even though your feelings for him are indeed true and definite, you refuse to admit it to anyone out loud. You won’t allow them to tease you more than they already have.

But for whatever reason, you could tell that the founding members of the Black Dragon gang are conniving with each other to somehow get you to confess, which is a real mystery to you, because what is there to gain from it?

You know he doesn’t like you like that, and you’ve already accepted the fact that heartache comes with continuing this friendship with him, so what’s the point? Why risk a perfectly good friendship over something as trivial as your crush for Wakasa?

Unless…

No, you refuse to go down that path. There’s a reason why Hope is in Pandora’s box in the first place.

You click your tongue and focus on the task at hand, which is sterilizing Shinichiro’s wounds.

“What happened this time, Shin? Did you instigate a fight? Got ambushed? Flirted with a taken woman?”

Shinichiro grunts. “‘S not important.”

You scoff, dabbing the disinfectant harder to his open wound.

“Ow! That hurts!”

“You should’ve known better than lying to my face,” you mumble.

“Don’t worry about it. It really isn’t important.”

“Shin, you have a black eye,” you deadpan. “And you were limping when you got here. I’m pretty sure whoever did this intended to hurt you.”

He doesn’t refute your claims. He just waits until you’re done patching him up.

“Thanks,” he says after you murmur you’re done. He stands to his full height and starts walking towards your door, but you grab his wrist before he can even cross your room.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home?”

“I don’t think so, mister,” you frown. “Stay here for the night. If you aren’t going to tell me what really happened, you’re going to sleep here and wait ‘til morning before you can leave. I’d rather have you spend the night than have you ambushed again.”

Shinichiro sweats, and you can tell he’s about to turn down your offer. “I—”

You glare at him. “No ifs or buts! Now go lay down in bed and sleep or else I’ll knock you down.”

There isn’t really much he can do to sway you when you’re this upset. So he lays on the other side of your bed and patiently waits for you to fall asleep before slipping out of your place.

The next day, someone knocks on his door. He sluggishly walks towards it with his eyes closed, and opens it without a thought. “Mmh?”

“Waka really did beat you up, huh?” He hears Benkei laugh at him.

Shinichiro groans without even putting effort into opening his eyes. He just walks back to his bed blindly and slams his body to it.

“Ah, did you knock out in an alley somewhere last night? I went to check up on you but you weren’t here.”

With sleep laced in his tone, he murmurs the tale of how he went to your house to get his wounds treated and how you won’t allow him to leave your place in the middle of the night.

He almost falls back to sleep with the lack of response from Benkei, but he jolts awake when he hears Wakasa gritting his teeth and saying, “You what?”

He swiftly stands upright and gapes at a fuming Wakasa. He internally curses himself for not bothering to open his eyes earlier and for running his mouth.

Wakasa Imaushi is jealous enough of him and his closeness to you as it is, and hearing what had just happened makes him want to punch Shin’s face again.

“Nothing happened!” Shinichiro is quick to clear it out, but Wakasa’s not hearing it.

“Quit going behind my back!” Wakasa is seething and Benkei is holding him back from attacking their leader. “You know damn well we have something going—”

“Am I interrupting something?”

You’re leaning against the door frame with your arms crossed.

Wakasa pulls away from Benkei’s grip and scoffs. His anger quickly fizzles down at the sight of you.

Shinichiro, on the other hand, sighs in relief at your impeccable timing. He decides then and there that you’re his savior.

Benkei eases the awkward air. “Shin and Waka were just… play fighting. Yeah, play fighting…”

You turn to look at the two men with a questioning look, and find them nodding at you.

You roll your eyes. Wakasa is an awfully good liar. Unfortunately for him, Shinichiro is terrible at it. So you naturally don’t believe them, but you decide it’s better to leave it at that.

“Whatever,” you frown at them. You then sit on Shinichiro’s bed and point a finger at Wakasa. “You better go easy on him. He was already limping last night. I don’t think a night’s worth of rest would be enough for him to recover.”

Wakasa hides the way he’s clenching his fists inside his pocket. He hates how he can’t quell his jealousy no matter how hard he tries. So he opts not to say a word. He just keeps his eyes on you.

It’s unnerving.

But he’s so pretty, it leaves you breathless.

You look away from him when you feel the heat creeping up your neck from the intensity of his gaze.

You’ve always been like this with him. It’s impossible for you to keep eye contact with him longer than necessary without being flustered.

You can almost hear Takeomi snickering and whispering “The Wakasa Effect” by your ear, even when he’s not around.

“Well, anyway, we just dropped by to tell you that Takeomi wants to celebrate our win against that puny gang the other day at the bar downtown,” Benkei says.

Despite not being a member of the gang, Benkei tells you, “You can come along too.”

Without any other plans for the day, you suppose you can join them. “You pickin’ me up, Shin?” You ask.

Shinichiro averts his eyes quickly, only to meet the glare of Wakasa. He clears his throat, “Uh, I can’t! I still have to drop by somewhere else. But I’m sure Waka can drive you there.”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from calling Shinichiro a traitor. And you have to acknowledge that it takes a whole new level of self-control not to strangle him for putting you on the spot like this.

Wakasa hums. “You sure you wanna ride with me?”

Your real answer is a big red NO. You’re pretty sure you’d combust on the spot if you’d be that close to him. In all honesty, you’d very much prefer to be swallowed whole by the earth over that.

But perhaps this would be a good chance for you to try and desensitize yourself from him, hence you find yourself croaking a “Yes, Waka.”

He smirks at you and you feel your entire body shutdown.

With that, Benkei drags Wakasa out the door and leaves you with Shinichiro in silence.

For an entire minute, you could only blink owlishly at the space where Wakasa stood. And when your brain finally recovers from his lethal attack, you pounce on Shinichiro, screaming, “How could you?!”

a/n: part 2???

feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

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scarscannotbereplaced · 5 months ago

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The Dark Truth About Scorpio Rising Men: Decans Unveiled

First Decan of Scorpio Rising (Ruled by Mars)

Alright, let’s cut the bullshit and dive into the first decan of Scorpio rising. These guys are ruled by Mars, the god of war. Yeah, you heard me right. These men are aggressive as hell and impulsive as fuck. They’re the ones you see tearing it up in sports, dominating the gym, and flooding your Instagram with their jacked physiques. Why? Because they’ve got all this pent-up energy and an insatiable thirst for power.

These men have a presence that screams “respect me, or get the hell out of my way.” They’re detached, cold, and couldn’t give two shits about delving into their emotions. Vulnerability? Nah, that’s not their style. They’d rather choke on their own pride than admit they have feelings. They’re the gym bros, the police officers, the selfish bastards who’ll do anything to be on top. They lie, manipulate, and scheme their way to power. If you’re looking for empathy, look somewhere else. These guys are all about that raw, unfiltered Aries energy – masculine to the core and allergic to anything that might bruise their fragile masculinity. Oh, and let’s not forget – they’ve got a psychopathic streak that makes them downright dangerous.

Second Decan of Scorpio Rising (Ruled by Jupiter with Pisces Influence)

Now, onto the second decan, where things get a bit… deeper. These men are ruled by Jupiter, with a touch of Pisces influence. Don’t let that fool you into thinking they’re soft, though. These guys are artistic as hell, with a dark, mysterious aura that keeps you guessing. They’re the musicians, the metal vocalists pouring their rage and pain into their art.

They’re not as detached as the first decan, but they sure as shit aren’t open books. They’re the quiet ones, the guys with headphones on, lost in their own world. You know there’s something intense simmering beneath the surface, but good luck getting them to spill. They’re emotional, much more so than the first decan, but they hate the company of others. They prefer to stick to their family or a close-knit group of 1-3 friends. They’re not plastered all over social media – they prefer to keep you wondering, intrigued by the depth you can sense but can’t quite reach.

Third Decan of Scorpio Rising (Ruled by the Moon with Cancer Influence)

Finally, we get to the third decan, where Scorpio’s intensity meets the emotional tidal wave of the Moon. These men have a presence that can send shivers down your spine. Their aura is dark, almost menacing, but it’s all a front – a protective shell to hide their deep, tumultuous emotions.

These guys are vengeful as fuck. Sense danger or hidden animosity from someone? They’ll destroy them, emotionally, mentally, and if push comes to shove, physically. They don’t take disrespect from anyone and get into a lot of physical confrontations because of their intense empathy. They give respect, so they damn well expect it in return. They’re the martial artists, the fighters with a fire burning in their eyes. Covered in dark tattoos, they walk into a room and command attention without saying a word. Their eyes? They’ll pierce right through you.

And while they look like the kind of men you’d avoid in a dark alley, get to know them, and you’ll find they’re fiercely protective and surprisingly nurturing to their close circle. But don’t mistake their kindness for weakness – they’ve got a manipulative streak, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. They’re incredibly close to women, loving and admiring them deeply, but they manipulate them too, knowing exactly what a woman wants or needs because they’re so in tune with female emotions. They’re the dark knights, the ones who respect women deeply but aren’t afraid to play mind games.

Unlike the first decan, these guys actually have friends – a small, tight-knit group they’d die for. They protect their own with a vicious loyalty, especially the women in their lives. Emotions run deep with these men, and their anger is a force to be reckoned with. They’ll fight anyone for their friends and family, no questions asked.

So, there you have it. The men of Scorpio rising, each decan darker and more intense than the last. They’re not for the faint of heart, but if you’re looking for raw, unfiltered masculinity and a presence that demands respect, look no further. Just don’t expect them to open up – they’re masters of keeping you at arm’s length, and that’s exactly how they like it.

#bruce lee #scorpio decans #scorpio #scorpio rising #scorpio ascendant #dark astrology #astrology for men #masculine astrology #alt #sidereal astrology #real astrology #pluto asc #pluto 1st house #pluto #pluto aspects #pluto astrology

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 2 years ago

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Post-Mortem

Summary: Spencer wants to get back with Reader a month after their breakup, and it doesn't go the way he planned.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Angst

Content warning: Breakup, recovering from heartbreak, rejection, sad ending

Word count: 1.3k

Spencer Reid broke my heart, plain and simple. Eight months of wonder and joy were destroyed at one dinner. A romantic one, just to twist the knife more. I was sure we would’ve been together longer, which is why it felt like the world caved in when he ended it. I never felt so broken. At that moment, I could say it was the dinner to end all dinners. Because I told Spencer I never wanted to see him again.

So you can imagine his surprise (and mine) when I agreed to meet him for a coffee a month later. I took deep breaths in the car because, like the breakup, this location was just as methodical. The spot where we first met in our respective rushes to work, he decided would be the last. When opening the shop door and hearing the familiar bell ding, it's like a neck-breaking transport. And when I spot Spencer at a table, with two cups and a pastry wrapped in front of him, the reminder to breathe comes back.

One of the most painful things about heartbreak is that it doesn’t rip up memories like your body. They’re as clear as ever when Spencer stands from his seat while we lock eyes. The chair legs scooting across the floor were as loud as it was when we came here for quick breakfasts. Quick breakfasts were never my choice, but duty calling never involves convenience. A call from Spencer’s phone was equivalent to a brace for impact. The anxiety of waiting for the pleasantries to inevitably end was as real as the others in the shop turning their heads at the sound of Spencer’s chair. Brief and dreadful.

Nevertheless, I walked forward, keeping eye contact and an optimistic look. “Hey,” I said.

“Hi.” His hand pops up to wave as his lips thin out in his classic unrelaxed half-smile. “How are you?”

I sit. “Alright.” I can lie if I try hard enough. That’s one perk of dating a profiler. “You?”

“Good.” He nods while shifting in his seat. “Yeah, good.”

“You look exhausted.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Did you just get back from a case?”

“Yeah, last night. Los Angeles.” He rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept. “I got you an iced vanilla latte.” He points to the cup, condensation already layering the outside of it.

I take a sip. It’s watered-down but sweet. “Thanks.”

He then slides the mystery pastry toward me. “And a scone.”

This will be a long sit-down. He wants it to be. I can smell the scone. Nostalgia hits hard and doesn’t apologize. “Chocolate Chunk,” I say. It’s what I ordered the first time. He and his damned eidetic memory remember how I entertain desserts whenever I eat somewhere. And I remember our last dinner, how he ended it before they even had a chance to offer the selections. I didn’t touch it. Instead, I leaned in my chair. I thought I should kick back. “Why’d you call me here, Spencer?”

He looked around the room as if others wanted to listen in on this riveting conversation. He takes his coffee and slowly sips, putting it down. “One of the victims, her girlfriend… or ex-girlfriend was devastated during our interview. They had been on a break and she —”

“Regretted the way things ended, and now that she’s dead she can’t say sorry.” I’ll admit I didn’t care for my monotone voice, but he’s told me similar stories and a range of others that cut him deep. And I listened and held him then.

Then is, unfortunately, not now.

Spencer’s eyes darted from the cup to the scone, to me, back to the scone, then to me again. “I really am sorry.” His voice is strained.

I gripped my sweater sleeves under the table, like how the dinner ended. Except I stood up from the table with my fists deep in the soft linen covering it. The anger boiling inside fueled my force as I walked out of the restaurant. It was literally a raging spectacle, despite the deafening sound of my heart cracking in my ears.

The anger had long subsided. “I know.”

His eyebrows raised, likely expecting a more spit-in-your-face response. “You do?”

“The phone calls made it easy to assume.” That doesn’t mean I answered. He called once a week, but picking up the phone any earlier than yesterday would’ve led to undignified sniffles, giving me away instantly. My broken heart has calcified significantly in record time.

Spencer nodded. “I know I hurt you, and I hope you can forgive me someday.” For a minute, I wondered if this was the workings of a genius or a psychopath (he hangs around enough of both). Because despite the cruelty of such a planned-out ending, I somehow felt sorry for him. And I hate to admit there’s a small part of me that wants to crumble to his side.

“It’ll be okay,” I told him. “Water’s making its way under the bridge.” Time was all I needed.

Quiet takes over for a brief moment between us, and even though we’ve been apart for a month, it doesn’t take away the other eight. Spencer’s eyes, puppy-like in shape and oaky in color, are as obvious as the rest of his behavior.

“That isn’t why you wanted me here. Isn't it?"

He licks his lips and shakes his head. “I was hoping… in due time, of course, we could try again.”

The sigh that came out of me was involuntary. I wouldn’t have held back my response even a week ago, and he was lucky about that. “Spencer, I’m sorry. It may not feel like it now, but I think, in retrospect, you made a wise choice.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Nothing has changed. You were just in Los Angeles.”

“But I could try harder. Like you wanted." He swallows again. “I miss you.”

Damn, that was all I thought.

“Well,” I cleared my throat. It didn’t help. “Maybe… maybe we can be friends someday. But for now, I hate to say this,” I do. “But it might be a smart idea to keep our separate ways for a while.”

The best thing I could do is avoid diving headfirst into my true feelings. To expect things to suddenly change just because he wants to return. It's vulnerability and blissful ignorance I can’t afford. Calcified is an accurate way to describe my current state, but fragility is still there. I’ve managed to get to bed without crying for a week, but the sucker punch of memories, the freshness is very prevalent. I can still pretend here.

Spencer though, no matter how hard he tries, is not a stoic person. It’s not in him. If he’s angry, it comes out in passive-aggressive remarks or emotional outbursts containing at most a single swear word. And when sadness comes, tears are sure to follow.

I see one fall, and I try to avoid erosion as he wipes the trail off his cheek. “I understand.” He doesn’t look up.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” That's all I can say. Having the tables turned is painful.

“I don’t blame you. I handled it terribly.”

I said nothing.

“And if I could, I’d —”

His phone vibrated. Brace.

“Duty calls,” I say with a lilt, and he isn't amused. I take another sip of my coffee before I scoot my chair back. I push the scone toward him, but he stops me halfway. We don’t flinch at the contact, fingers nearly laced.

“It’s yours. You take it.” He pushed.

“I think you need it more." I push.

“Please.” He adds force.

I let go, leaving his hand alone on the wooden surface. I try to concoct a smile. “Take care of yourself, Spencer.” I stand up from my chair and turn to head toward the exit. The ding of the bell comes and goes, and the sun splashes my face with warmth. Tears collect and cool my cheeks as I walk to the car, but I let them.

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ajs-in-the-tardis · 6 months ago

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Human Music isn’t so bad

(Doctor Who)

(Maestro X GN!Companion!Reader)

(Synopsis: While travelling with The Doctor and Ruby Sunday, you encounter and defeat Maestro, the living embodiment of Music. After bringing Maestro’s piano into the Tardis, you can’t help but get a closer look.)

(Warnings: Sexual themes (Masturbation) and Language)

——

When Ruby had introduced you to The Doctor, and you’d all gone out into space and time together, you’d been excited to say the least.

As the moments passed, your little Family soon fell into a rhythm. It wasn’t like you had any other family. So, A heroic Time traveling shapeshifter and a mystery girl who grew up thinking she was human but obviously wasn’t human? Well those seemed like good siblings to have indeed!

A few days ago you’d all encountered Maestro.

Maestro was a flaming haired, eccentric young god who wanted nothing more than to consume the music from all time and space.

And slowly they’d begun to, until The Doctor and Ruby helped The Beetles discover the secret chord and bound them into their Piano.

You’d made a room for the piano into The Tardis, and The Doctor had encouraged cautiously keeping it safe and locked away where Maestro would stay bound.

And maybe the piano was why you kept hearing the music late in the night. Why you couldn’t keep Maestro’s painted features out of your mind.

That’s what you wanted to tell yourself. You wanted to blame your own wandering thoughts on the piano and not on your own aching heart.

Music had always been a part of your soul. From the moment you could appreciate it, you’d almost obsessed over it. You often found yourself humming or singing to yourself without even thinking about it.

It was one of the only things you were good at. One of the few things that felt natural for you.

And, when Maestro showed up, The Doctor immediately put you on a very short metaphorical leash. Sometimes he had even begged you to stay in the Tardis because he knew Maestro was close by and would target you.

Yet the glimpses of them you’d gotten were enough to make an impression. There was something so achingly familiar and natural about them. They were so wholly otherworldly and so wholly right.

They’re the perfect living embodiment of music itself.

And now, as you lie in bed, you yet again find yourself thinking of Maestro. Their wild red hair swirling like a flame, the bold Black and White of their collar, their intense yet beautiful eyes, their voice… somewhere teetering between commanding and soothing. Like the sound of a Saxophone…

Against your better judgement, you silently got out of bed and padded across the Tardis to the room Maestro’s Piano was held. You heard the door slide silently shut behind you.

Just being in the room with The Piano made your stomach flip excitedly. Maybe it was the thought of being in the same room as them.

Excitement swirling in your gut, you traced a hand lightly along the top of the Piano.

“Are you still in there?” You whispered to the piano. “Can you hear me? Can you see what you’re doing to my mind?”

You sat, opening the piano. You knew The Tardis had manifested this room to be soundproof. You silently thanked it as you gently played a few singular notes. You knew as long as you didn’t play the Devil’s chord, Maestro couldn’t return.

Oh how you wished they’d been more agreeable. Your mind raced with the possibilities of having someone like Maestro as a friend, a mentor. Or maybe more. Your cheeks flushed.

Your fingers slipped into your shorts, finding their target. You shuddered a little at the coolness of your hand.

A part of you chided yourself that masturbation was a sign of poor impulse control. That it was better to reign in control of your emotions. Another part of you snapped back that you didn’t care. You needed this and it was a private enough affair.

You imagined yourself wrapped in their arms. The feeling of their lips against your skin… the possibilities of how this force of nature made tangible could make you feel.

You finished quickly, with Maestro’s name escaping you in a whisper. You leaned onto the piano for support, the keys screaming.

The Piano started shaking.

Oh.

Oh No.

You scrambled off of the piano bench and as far away as possible from it.

What would The Doctor and Ruby think? What would Maestro tell them?

Maestro leaned out of the piano expectantly.

“Bravo! Bravissimo!” They exclaimed, clapping excitedly. “What a show!”

They disappeared from inside the piano, reappearing in front of you.

“Oh, Encore! Encore! That was the most riveting performance I’ve ever witnessed!” They growled playfully, yanking you to your feet. Their touch felt like fire against your cool skin and you tried to ignore their warmth.

“That… that wasn’t a performance….” You squeaked out, your face feeling like it could burst into flames.

“Oh but it was, though.” Maestro murmured lowly, lifting your chin with a finger to look you in the eyes. “A performance just for me. And I’m requesting an Encore…”

You were frozen in terror. Maestro’s eyes softened and their voice lost a little of it’s showmanship.

“Honey I can’t hurt you in here. As long as I’m inside this thing I’m still trapped. And my powers are just smoke and mirrors in here. Have a little fun.”

Their hand cupped your face, relaxing you into their touch a little.

“Please… you must know how serious this is to me. How deep this goes.” You cautioned.

Maestro kissed you roughly, pulling away quickly. They sat you down on the piano bench kneeling in front of you.

“A symphony returned, then? An equal exchange?” Maestro said, wagging their eyebrows.

You ran a hand through their bright hair, wondering how you could get your fingers through such wild curls.

“Alright.”

Maestro flashed another grin, and your world soon turned into an orgasmic symphony.

The name Maestro had never really hit you until you were the instrument being played.

And, fuck, they played well.

…

You weren’t sure when exactly you moved to your bed, but when your senses finally cleared, you were covered by nothing but your duvet.

Maestro hummed a tune you’d never heard before, tracing patterns on your back as they held you close.

The last thing you remembered before slipping into sleep was their soft muttering.

“Maybe human music isn’t so bad…”

#maestro doctor who #maestro #maestro x reader

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be-my-ally · 1 year ago

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Autumn Leaves Falling Down

(Like Pieces into Place)

I've inserted the sneak peak/1st part from last week into this to make it easier to locate and read, so if the first 1k reads as familiar that's why.

summary: it's autumn 1972, and Elvis' girl on the side, Laura (from All Revved Up), who is no longer the girl on the side -- has come to stay at Graceland. There's the Memphian, an attempt at a trip to the morgue, and Elvis in a sweater - oh, and smut.

wc: 7.6k

warnings: 18+, kissing, making out at the cinema, there's an argument with Red that results in a gun being drawn but doesn't go off, mentions of dead bodies, p in v sex. this could probably do with a ton of editing but i am fundamentally lazy.

the memphian scenes are totally inspired by @whositmcwhatsit’s The Gate Girl — I've avoided rereading the past couple of weeks to try and forget it but i’ve read it upwards of 55 times and i think i’ve absorbed it all into my brain as fact - and really, she does it much better than me so everyone (if you haven't) pls go and check it out.

October 19th 1972 Graceland.

It’s quiet as Laura pads down the stairs, suspicious of the silence in the house - hoping that Elvis hadn’t actually up and left her on her own. She hadn’t bothered to get dressed, hoping to find him quickly and work out what she should wear today, and besides, it was early - knowing him they’d end up back in bed soon. But she hadn’t really anticipated having to go all the way downstairs before she could call to him. She wraps her arm around herself as she looks around, it’s the first time she’s been cold at Graceland, really she’s only been there a handful of times anyway - and last year in the colder months he’d had her over in Palm Springs. Sure, he kept his room at a frankly ridiculous temperature but under the warmth of his heavy comforter and arm she barely felt it. Now though it feels as though there’s a cool breeze running through the house. The late summer having certainly given way to autumn, bronzed leaves starting to fall off the trees.

Elvis is nowhere to be found as she peeks around doorways and arches, and she wonders if she should give up and just wait for him to show up in the bedroom - but she’s sure he’d have woken her up if he was leaving, so he must be around here somewhere. She’s grateful there’s carpet in the kitchen for her bare toes when she creeps around the corner, the breeze suddenly stronger. The mystery is quickly solved; the door to the hallway flapping from the exterior door being left open. Laura huffs as she slams them shut, but it does at least explain where they’ve all gone (and why it was so breezy in the house). She looks down at herself, considering if she was prepared to venture out, but it’s just this side of too cold, and besides she’s pretty sure Elvis would flip out at her parading outside in just her silk robe. She heads down to the den, intending on just getting a little glimpse before going to get changed.

She quickly spots some of the guys, as she peeks out of the glass, but they’re all just a little too far to the side for her to see everyone. She leans against the windowsill to help her stretch to peer as far as she can out, tiptoes rubbing into the plush green carpet. A football comes flying and Joe comes running past, red-faced and struggling to breathe in an attempt to catch it. She can’t help but giggle watching him as the collection of men come trotting around the corner to join him. Elvis at the end of the group, looking pleased with what had clearly been his throw. Laura leans as close as possible to the window, ducking her head under the little curtain, appreciating the look of him having fun. He’s practically bouncing around outside, dressed casually in a way she hasn’t really seen before - his velour zip-up looking particularly cosy. He’s a little thicker than he was in the height of the summer and in Laura’s opinion it looks good on him; she’s a fan of how he’s styling his hair at the moment too - the slightly longer shaggy length of it that seems to look like he’s either just combed it into a gentle swoop or like he’s been rolling around on it. Both looks make her tummy flip if she looks at them for too long. He’s foregone his tinted glasses, whether because it was overcast and therefore the light manageable to his eyes, or simply from fear of the football being thrown Laura didn’t know. She could, however, just from looking at the set of his shoulders tell that for once he seemed untroubled. As calm as he could ever be, his carefree attitude was evident even from a distance. He spots her at the window after a couple more passes, his face lighting up as he jogged over to the window.

Even though Laura was watching him she still startles when he taps the glass, through the decorative metal, grinning at her. She beams back - thrilled at his happy face.

“How’d’you sleep honey?” He shouts at her, muffled but still audible, she giggles in response - shaking her head at his antics. She’s pretty sure she’s somehow alone in the house, but she wasn’t about to start shouting through a window at him. He folds his arms, leaning back to look her up and down, frowning suddenly and insistently tapping the glass again in mock outrage.

“Get dressed!” Laura shakes her head again, teasing him and watches as he signals something to the boys who all jog off to one side. She’s too distracted by all the movement to notice Elvis himself disappearing, until the door slams open. She stumbles, caught in the drape when she attempts to whirl herself around - but before she can right herself there’s an arm suddenly wrapping around her middle, holding her tight and close. Despite the plush velour rubbing against her back, she can feel the chill on him; they must have been out there playing for a while already.

“Jesus Elvis! You’re freezing!” He shakes his head, laughing and shoving his cold nose into the crook of her neck, “Elvis!” She tries to dance and wriggle out of his hold, but he has a surprisingly tight grip onto her.

“Not my fault Lor! Y’gotta get dressed, honey, catch yer death runnin’ round like this!” He tugs her away from the window, bundling them towards the middle of the room.

“Didn’t need - didn’t need to before.” His hands brush up her sides and she squirms as he tickles her. “‘Fore someone kept shoving their nose places it didn’t be-” Laura yelps when his nose makes another appearance, now with accompanying snuffle-snorting noises. “-long!”

“Oh yes you do. Can’t have you like this -” Elvis holds her with one arm, the other hand trailing down to brush across her bare thigh, large hand parting her robe and pushing up her nightgown. Laura involuntarily clenches her thighs and immediately feels his huff of laughter as he feels it. His voice lowering as he leans closer to her ear, the gentle vibration sending goose-pimples across her skin. “Not like this.” He flicks at the hem, now high enough to send a gust of air across the crease of her upper thigh, just the threat of exposure enough to make her gasp.

He smooths the fabric back down, mock outrage back in his voice; “Anyone could see you!” As if he wasn’t the one exposing her. He prods his long fingers into her tummy, making her crunch in an attempt to squirm away from his tickling, giggling the whole time.

“No, no!” She shrieks, “No more! I give!” He stills his hands and between gulps of air she tells him, “I’ll get dressed! I give.”

“Y’better!” he growls against her ear, squeezing her tight to his torso for a long second before releasing her with a grunt. Self-satisfied smile on his face when he pulls her around to face him, her own rosy cheeks matching his. He flicks at the hem of her nightgown again, shaking his head at her.

“Go on then.” He turns her to the stairs, slapping her behind as she stumbles calling out to her as she heads up the stairs and back up to his bedroom “Hurry! Want you to be my little cheerleader out there!”

So, Laura hurries. She gets ready as quickly as possible; dabbing on a little makeup and brushing her hair. She’s casually dressed when she heads back down towards the back door - jeans and a ribbed rollneck, fully expecting to change again later in the day. She grabs one of Elvis’ coats out of the coat closet on the way, wrapping herself in the thick fabric and liking how it fell past her knees - she’d really not been prepared for this early fall chill, having brought with her light jackets and layers instead of anything with a focus on warmth. Elvis grins over at her, pretending to throw the ball at her when she finally exits the house, and she giggles back at him, standing to the side of their playing space,

“Gimme a E!” She shouts at him, and he roars with laughter, shaking his head as he loudly tells the boys;

“Oh, you’re in for it now! Got my little good luck charm out here, haven’t I? Where’s all your missus’ huh?” Jokingly shoving and jostling as they come in closer. The game continues - seemingly some sort of bastardised version of football wherein it was every man for himself, and Laura contented herself with watching from the sidelines, every now and again giving Elvis an encouraging cheer at what she hoped was a particularly decent run or pass. It was growing a little boring watching by herself and she wondered where all the other wives and girlfriends were, if they’d had other plans or turned down an invitation to watch - or, as she hoped (despite her boredom) if she’d been specially invited out to the boys-only impromptu game. But Elvis looked happy, practically beaming at her every time he ran close by and so she was more than happy to burrow into the lapels and collar of the large overcoat, enveloping herself in his scent while she watched on. It’s only about ten minutes later that he runs past and pauses, hands outstretched,

“Aw, Lor, baby, I’m all chilled to my booones, you gotta warm me up ‘fore I freeze!” He tries to shove his cold hands up her sweater and she shrieks, dashing away from him -

“Oh no you don’t!” He pouts, arms crossed, and she shakes her head, “Not gonna work this time mister, you’ve got icicles for hands, and you can keep them to yourself!” Elvis huff in a faux put upon manner, and calls the boys in;

“C’mon guys, I’m gettin’ bored of kickin’ all your asses… and ‘m hungry - let’s go have somethin’ to eat and warm up a bit.” Laura goes where he nods towards the house, slowing to let him catch up with her and letting him curl his cold hands onto her warm stomach from behind as they walked in together.

Hours later, after the afternoon light had turned to darkness and they’d spent the day fooling around in the house - if she didn’t know better she’d be wondering where all their energy was still coming from - Elvis was again calling for her to get dressed so they could leave for the Memphian.

“Maybe you wanna get changed sweetheart? You know, into, uh, just something, you know, honey, just, just a bit more, uh, flattering…” He’d followed her up the stairs, and she found it hard to be annoyed at his disparaging comment towards her jeans when he’d playfully chased her into the bedroom. Laura shrieked and danced out of his hands, screeching when he got close enough to dig his fingers into the sensitive flesh just above her knee. She careened through the door and they both fell together once he tackled her when she was close enough to the bed.

They ended up rolling around on the bed for a moment, both laughing. She allows him to pepper her face with kisses, rolling on top of him to return the favour. He clings to her, unwilling to let her wiggle off of him even when she tries to lean back fearing she was squishing him. “Elvis, you’ve got to let me get offa you; I bet you can hardly breathe under me!” He rolls his eyes, flexing his forearms as he squeezed her even tighter to him,

“Can’t breathe! I’ll show you can’t breathe.” She can practically feel her ribs cracking and she yelps,

“Elvis!” Elvis laughs, releasing her, making Laura relax on top of him, sinking against his body. She leans back to observe his face, running a gentle hand over his cheek, stroking the side of his intense eyes and trailing it down to trace his plush lips. He playfully nips at her finger, growling and she blushes at how the noise immediately sent her tummy into somersaults. She feels herself tingle at the sensation of his breath on her now damp finger, and her eyes slip closed for a long second. When they reopen he’s staring at her, mouth slightly open, eyes lidded and she no longer cares about being on top of him, his hands sliding down her sides to hold her as she bucks her hips, manoeuvring her to slip her legs on either side of one of his. She grinds down, tangling her fingertips into his sideburns as she captures his mouth again. It’s delicate for one short moment before they both seem to sense an urgency in the situation and she suddenly feels like she’s a willing victim being devoured, his tongue and teeth everywhere all at once. She pulls back to catch her breath, and he chases her lips even then, kissing the side of her mouth until she recaptures his. He ruts up against her once, twice, before stilling and rolling her to the side - Laura lays there panting,

“El, what’s? what’s wrong?” She pauses, she doesn’t want to embarrass him but she can’t help but ask, “Did you - did you, uh, finish?” Elvis smiles a little bashfully, eyes crinkling at the sides as he shakes his head,

“No, no, honey, no just, just gonna save myself - be better later if we just wait; I’ve got plans for you this evening, jus - just lemme hold off for the mo.’” She nods, it makes sense, even if she impatiently wanted him now - and she whispers as much against his jaw.

“Want you all the time, want you in the morning, in the evening in the - god, Elvis, I just - I want to be here all the time, want you right now.” He rolls them so he’s leaning over her, caging her in with his arms and wrapping one of his legs between hers.

“You got me darling, you got me - we just, I want to make it special, tonight - just, just cool it baby yeah? Gotta,” He leans forward into her to kiss her, pressing his mouth hard against hers, tongue licking into her long and slow, before pulling back, breathing heavily again. Elvis reluctantly stood up. “Gotta get ready now. Get ourselves looking uh, presentable.” He cracks his back, stretching his arms and Laura feels abruptly cold at the loss of his warm body heat, panting as her heartbeat slows and the throbbing between her legs cools to a faintly warm glow.

—------------

Laura stares at her hair in the mirror, pinning half of it up, brushing through the rest gently, trying not to lose too much of the volume from the day. Her mousy roots are showing from where she dyes it near-black and she absentmindedly makes a mental note to ask if Elvis knows where she can get some dye, or if there’s time for her to go to the hairdressers. He’d already left for downstairs, having gotten changed unusually faster than she had and left the bedroom long before she was done in the bathroom, telling her,

“Take your time, baby, ain’t going nowhere without you.” She’d blushed at her own reflection at her reaction to his words - it had clearly been a throwaway sentence for him, not something she should take to heart and yet she couldn’t resist it. It was too much, too soon, too close to everything she wanted that she could practically feel it fluttering around her head, feeling herself locking it away tight in her chest. It had been on the edge of every interaction with him the past couple of years, the knowing that she was kept around for a reason, and that she kept coming back for a reason. She’d never been much of a fan of the men in Vegas; they were all too lecherous and desperate – even those that weren’t there to partake in all the sins and pleasures. The few dates she’d been on with guys she’d met while working out there had ended fast, and often slightly uncomfortably. Elvis wasn’t like that though. She’d thought he might be, expected he would be - had rolled her eyes at herself when her stomach flipped at his fingers calling her over. Had lain in bed telling herself it was just her stupid crush from years ago rearing its ugly head, making her see things that weren’t there. She wouldn’t ever even see him again, and don’t be stupid Laura, he probably wasn’t all that nice anyway. Besides, he has a wife and she knew enough not to get involved.

But somehow, her feelings and heart ruled over her sense and before she knew it her life revolved around him in a not unwanted way. She’d not had to worry as much about the men in Vegas then, they could behave how they wished — her dating life that had previously been slim was pared down even more, too anxious that she might be out when Elvis would choose to call and she’d miss him or have to explain where she was. It meant dates were few and far between, but as much as she thought herself a terrible idiot - she couldn’t bear to let anything get far enough that she might have to turn Elvis down.

She shakes her head at the reminiscence, it's been years since that first encounter during one of his early residencies. She’s getting too emotional about it now she’s allowed to be here, tangled in the domesticity of Graceland life, allowed to be photographed, and publicised. She just needs to stay in the moment, worry about how her feelings are getting involved when she gets home - she’s only here for a month, she should just make the most of it. She finishes getting ready quicker with that in mind, rushing through her make-up, a voice in her head telling her not to stupidly waste time. Before long she had her mini dress on and shoes quickly buckled before she headed down the stairs.

Laura had seen photos of Elvis when he was younger, knew that he wasn’t opposed to knits, it just wasn’t something she’d yet had the good fortune of witnessing. But there he was, sat on the couch in the music room, waiting for her and everyone else to be ready. Open V neck knitted sweater with a little collar. She stilled in the hallway, reluctant to break his silence. He’s just sat there with his thighs spread and his legs stretched out, arms across the back of the sofa, his eyes closed and head tipped back. She must make a noise, or something, because he suddenly jolts his head up to look over at her. They make eye-contact and she freezes even more still, trapped in his intense gaze. He looks well, like she wanted to climb into him and never crawl out, cuddly and soft and yet thick and masculine. Laura swallowed, her hands shaking a little, as he pats his thigh. How ridiculous that something as little as that could make someone so nervous - she’s just about to take a step towards him, ready to curl into the plush fuzzy softness of his sweater and tangle her fingers in the similarly plush fuzzy softness of his chest hair when there’s a sudden ruckus from seemingly all sides as all the other men and woman, ready for a night out, suddenly appear. Laura mourns the loss of her cuddle, but Elvis’ hand in hers as he effectively shows her off on their way out makes up for it a little.

The step out into the late evening air was even chillier than the day, Laura shivered in her thin jacket - it was downright unseasonable for Tennessee in October to be this cold and she wishes for the second time that day that she’d thought to bring a heavier coat, but then the heavy thump of Elvis’ arm comes down around her shoulder, enveloping her in him. She finds she doesn’t mind the cold so much then, able to enjoy the scent of the wet, crisp fall air and how it just feels different to the summer within the warmth of his grasp.

They’d filtered into the Memphian and Elvis immediately grasped her wrist, pulling Laura with him. He ignored the hustle of the others to head straight up the stairs to the balcony, she goes where he leads - he’d taken her to the Crosstown the last time she’d been in Memphis, so she didn’t really have much choice; not knowing where he was going beyond the ‘balcony’ sign on the door. The door slams behind her, and she jumps at its loud echo in the empty movie theatre.

“I didn’t wanna ‘embarrass you ‘round the guys, I just, uh, want you all to myself.” He pauses while he shuffles down the aisle, “Figured this way,” He settled himself into a chair one row back, in the very centre, “this way you can - “

Elvis suddenly realises she hasn’t followed him down the aisle and laughs, “C’mon, darling, what’chyu standing out there for?” Laura hurries down to him, and he clasps her hand as she gets herself comfortable in the seat next to his, bringing it to his lips. She blushes at the feeling - it was so startlingly romantic that she can’t think of what to say, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s. He settles back into his chair, dropping her hand to stretch his arm across the back of her chair. A couple of the others come thundering up the stairs, laughing and joking, but they go silent when coming through the doors, taking seats right along the back wall - Laura’s head turns to see who it was but Elvis’ hand from her chair blocks its path, two fingers pressed against her cheek as he cups her face - keeping her looking directly at him.

“Don’ worry about them - they won’t bother us none.” She nods, unable to stop herself leaning her head further into his hand — he smiles softly - cheeks crinkling into his eyes. His hand falls to stroke at her shoulder,

“There we are. Now, what was I saying?” He pauses, “Oh, yeah, if - this way if y’get scared I can cuddle ya.” He pauses, “You’re alright with a…. uh…. slasher flick aren’t ya?” He prods her far shoulder.

She nodded enthusiastically, although her head was ringing alarm bells - she wasn’t normally a huge fan of any kind of horror. She lived alone - life was scary enough without worrying about x hiding behind her doors at night.

But any reservations Laura had were quickly lost when after the title card came across the screen accompanied by some ominous instrumentals Elvis’ hand came creeping across to her thigh,

“You scared?” She shakes her head.

“Course not.” He nods, although his smirk suggests he’s unconvinced,

“Good, but just so you know - ‘m packing…. I could protect you from anything. ‘Specially a man.” He’s looking at her almost too seriously, and she feels trapped under his intense gaze, all she can do is nod.

“Of course - I know, I know you would.” He stares a second longer, before leaning back into his chair, and he indicates with his head the unoccupied seat next to him.

“Besides, if you’re just scared, I got my big ol’ flashlight with me too.” She nods again, not quite knowing what to say in reply - she can tell he’s waiting for her to speak though so all that spills out of her mouth is,

“That’s-that’s the police one, right?”

“Mmhmm… got it direct offa the sheriff.” She turns to say something else, but the opening scene starts to play and he shushes her, pulling his hand off her thigh, enrapt in the movie.

Clearly, it fails in holding his attention for very long. Mere minutes later he leans over, sighing, not bothering to try and keep quiet. She squeaks in surprise as his hands grip hold of her arms - tugging her, she scrabbles over the arm of the chair to go where he’s pulling her — arranging her to be sat on his lap. She looks around, suddenly coming to the realisation that at some point he must have shooed away everyone else from the balcony. He tuts, a finger going to her mouth in a keep quiet gesture when she opens it to speak, pointing at the screen as if telling her to keep watching. Laura does, but she’s lost track of whatever was going on and can’t find it in herself to care when she feels one of his hands curl around to creep gently up her uncovered thigh, the other gripping tight on her side, just below her breast. He teases her like that for a few minutes, although Laura’s lost all sense of time, too focussed on the tickle of his fingers and breath on her neck. She can’t take it anymore, turning to throw an arm around his neck, shifting on his lap to draw him into a kiss. Elvis pulls her tighter, fingers tensing, and she moans into him.

He tugs Laura’s leg a little, pulling her to be straddling his lap. She’s embarrassed almost, or would be if there were anyone around, to be sat on his knee like this, rocking against him and necking him like a goddamn teenager. She’s not done this since college, and he feels so different. He’s got solid thighs and sure hands, manoeuvring her and masterfully keeping his lips on hers - just the right amount of pressure, of tongue, and nibbling bites.

Elvis’ fingers slide up her skirt, toying with the fabric of her slip while his other comes around to palm at her like a teenager himself, hand roving over her breast. She gasps into him, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his jaw as she grinds against him. He seems to gain confidence at her reaction, moving to push the wide strap of her dress off her shoulder, tugging it low enough to reach the soft cotton of her bra. His fiddles with her nipples, pinching one just the tiniest bit between his fingers and Laura’s eyes roll back in pleasure. He bumps her panties with the other, but goes no further, moving to grip her back in an attempt to keep her balance on his legs.

She pants, uncaring now if she’s louder than the actors, gasping as he pulls away. She’s never been gladder he’s wearing a v-neck when she rocks against his thigh, leaning forward to suck a bruise against his collarbone. His hips dislodge her accidentally when the pressure gets too much and he bucks up, jerking her away. Laura’s fingers tangle into the fabric on his shoulders, her nails making little divots in the knit; he was going to have to have someone steam this sweater to get it straight again. He’s breathing rapidly against her cheek, hot breath tickling her nose,

“‘s no good baby, I got - I got plans for you tonight.” Laura grinds against him, unabashed at her wanton display.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah baby, wanna,” His thumb rubs a circle on her hip as he slows his own jerking pelvis. “Wanna show you something. Something a lil’ spooky” Laura grins back at him, hand slipping down between them -

“Oh yeah, you got something you want to show me?” She attempts a particularly awful Transylvanian accent, “Something spooky you wanna show me?” She brushes her hand over the not insignificant bulge of his trousers, the outline of his cock clearly displaying he’d forgone underwear. He moans, eyes closing for a moment before he shakes his head, clasping her wrist and tugging her hand away.

“No, no baby, honey, I got, ah, lord, got something serious I wanna show you.” Laura pauses from her playful wriggling, curious.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh Lor, but, uh, let it be a surprise.” He pulls up her strap, patting her shoulder.

“A surprise?” She’s unsure now that he’s not joking about sex.

“You trust me, don’t you?” He’s looking at her so earnestly, lip caught in his teeth that she couldn’t dream of refusing him.

“Of course!” He pushes her off his lap, brushing himself off and straightening her collar when he joins her in standing up,

“Well then darlin’ let’s go.” He holds out a hand and seems to take a mischievous glee in practically running away; leaving the boys downstairs none the wiser to their disappearance. He opens the car door for her with an exaggerated wave and bow before trotting around the front to climb in himself.

They pull up to the nearby funeral home and Elvis starts to climb out of the car but Laura stays frozen where she’s sat, more uncertain than ever. “El I’m not sure about this,” He cuts her off,

“Nah baby, trust…you said you trusted me.” He leans down to peer through the door at her, “Don’t go lying to me now, doll, Cilla liked it - she told me herself it was uh, enlightening!” He’s tripping over his words in his haste to convince her. He’d mentioned his trips to the morgue before - endlessly fascinated with the spiritual and scientific notion of the still bodies. But Laura’s conflicted - she can’t help but feel it’s fundamentally disrespectful to stand there gawking at some poor person’s body but, on the other hand, the reverent way he spoke about the trips and his persistent aura of peace means that she can’t help but feel that it’s ok. As long as she’s with him. She nods, climbing out to follow him. He once again takes her hand, and the unease builds again the closer they get to the door - she was concerned before with the morality of going in there but now it’s her squeamish nature that’s starting to make her tummy hurt.

“C’mon hon, it’ll be good for you.”

“If you say so -“ She mutters back. He raps on the door that was now in front of them. There are no lights on, and she shakes her head,

“Elvis - I don’t think there’s anyone in there, they’re closed.” He tilts his head, frowning, as if confused that a door might remain shut to him before insistently knocking again.

“I got, got special permission, Laura, they - they can’t just lock us out. Hello?” He bangs on the window to the side of the door, he huffs, turning away when there’s a sudden loud crash from inside. Both him and Laura jump at the noise, both whirling back - Elvis jogs down the path, standing back to be able to see all the windows but still no light turns on to indicate anyone inside. He marches back up to the door, raising his arm to pound on it again but Laura catches his forearm, tugging it back to her;

“C’mon El - we’ll come back another night. I’m - I’m scared now, and maybe if they know we’re coming they’ll have the lights on…” He looks down at her, gaze softening at the way she’s quivering a tiny bit - a combination of the anticipatory fear, her jumpiness, and the cold.

“Goddamnit.” He swears, “Well, guess we’ll have to come back another night.” He makes it sound like his idea and accompanies it with a shake of his head. Laura had fully expected him to be more annoyed - and he is, somewhat, ranting the whole way back to Graceland; but thankfully less at the funeral home and his inability to sneak in and more at the movie they’d left. Blaming it for his rash idea to come here with no planning involved.

Most of the cars were already back and parked along the driveway when they got there; either the movie had finished and they’d all left before they started another, or more likely - they’d noticed Elvis’ disappearance and abandoned the movie all together. Red shook his head at Elvis as they walked in,

“Man - don’t you go looking at me like that.” Red baulks at the suggestion,

“I wasn’t Boss, wasn’t looking at you like anything, swear it -” Laura tactfully takes a step back, removing her jacket and taking Elvis’ coat in an attempt to remove herself from the conversation. She goes to the kitchen in the hope of finding someone to hand them off to, before taking a second to collect herself to be, hopefully, a calming influence on the raised voices she could now hear. She slinks back into the hallway,

“I can go where I goddamn like - you sayin’ I can’t protect myself?” Elvis’ waving his pistol in the air like he’s in a western, and Laura bites her lip to stop from giggling. Red’s backtracking now, his hands up as if warding Elvis off,

“Of course, I wasn’t - I wasn’t suggesting that I’m jus’ - just sayin’ you disappeared is all and what with the threats -”

“You hear about anybody threatenin’ me at home?” Elvis roars back, his finger inching ever so slightly to the trigger; Laura panics desperate for them to not get into this now - God forbid there had been a threat made, they’d all be up for hours while they reassessed the security. Red shakes his head,

“Well, no - but people move about, EP, they don’t just stay in one-” Laura takes her chance and steps in, lightly touching Elvis’ arm,

“Baby, I’m tired.” Elvis does a double take at her, completely ignoring Red still talking. “Can we go to bed please?” She blinks owlishly at him to convince him to leave it be, and Elvis seemed to relax, his tense shoulders coming down as he lowers his arm with the gun in hand. There’s a long pause,

“Sure, sure, doll, sure.” He gestures for her to go ahead, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, “Get him the fuck out of my house, I’ll talk to y’all tomorrow.” Elvis ignores Red’s reply, climbing the stairs himself. He shushes Laura when they reach his bedroom, fiddling with the security camera feed until he watches Red leave. He sighs, heavily, and shakes his whole body out, “Awh, baby, I didn’t - didn’t need to get all worked up like that, just - those assholes just don’t understand what it’s like to be me. I can’t be all, all, all cooped up like this all the time.” He whines, gesturing expressively as he talks.

“It’s ok.” She shrugs, running her manicured hands gently up his arm, “They can be pretty overbearing huh?” She presses her chin into the crook of his shoulder as he sighs, kneading his biceps. He sighs back at her,

“I know he’s just doin’ his job, but…” He trails off, taking another deep breath, “Anyway, enough of that now. I want to get back to the night - all m’plans were ruined tonight - you deserve well, you deserve the perfect night.” He turns in her arms, and Laura frowns up at him,

“Why don’t you let me worry about that. I’m fine, I’ve had a great night; such a shame about not being let into the morgue…. How about you let me take care of you?” He shakes his head,

“Naw, naw darlin’ I want to -” He cups her face in his hands, the size of his palms dwarfing her cheeks, “want to show you how much I like having you here.” Elvis tips her head up, bending over a little to reach her lips even as she’s stood on her tiptoes.

She’s enrapt in the moment, not really even conscious of his hands fiddling with her zipper on her back until she suddenly feels his fingertips on her bare skin, chasing the zip all the way down until it's falling off her on its own. His hand comes up to clasp her face to his when she moves as if to pull away, using his free hand to shove her dress to pool at her feet. He pulls back with a tug on her bottom lip, and Laura surges forward to hurriedly tug at his sweater - he takes the hint, pulling it over his head and Laura turns her attention to his trousers. He rushes to unhook her bra, even as he stumbles out of his pants, and it's only a few seconds later before her panties join her dress on the floor.

“C’mon now, honey, s’ok, just - just wanna love on you some,” He pulls on her wrist again, smiling almost shyly down at her naked form. Gently lowering her on top of the covers, he kisses her neck, gentle presses of his lips - every few seconds sucking down with a little more pressure in one spot, before moving to the next. He moves down Laura’s chest, one hand on her waist keeping her still, the other joining his mouth. He kisses across her breasts — capturing her nipple in his mouth, he wets it with his saliva, pulling back to blow his breath across it, Laura’s skin pebbling in response as she quivers. Her hands come up to tangle in his hair, and Elvis stills when she tugs just a little too hard - the sting sparkling down his spine. He pants against her, eyes closed as he rests his head on her chest, trying to regain any semblance of self-control so he could continue, his hands splayed across her stomach. The heat that had been building in Laura’s body all day is back with a vengeance, and already she can feel her heartbeat throbbing between her legs.

He presses little kisses down the soft folds of her stomach, and he grunts as he repositions himself up onto his knees. Laura takes a moment to drink in the sight of him - the way his hair is fluffed out from where her hands were just in it, the dark shadow that hints at stubble around his chin catching her attention, and below that a flush that matches hers colours his chest. She’s almost embarrassed at the little moan that slips out of her mouth as she follows, with her eyes, the thick patch of chest hair past his necklaces, and down, down his soft tummy before she rests them onto Little Elvis. Who’s already popped up to say hello, rosy and chubby. He takes her moment of stillness as his cue to go on and shifts one hand to tweak her nipple, the other going down to gently trail across her thigh. Laura gasps, urging him on. He dances his fingers across, hovering them over her until she’s about to beg. The moment his rough fingertip finally touches her she jolts, legs falling open even as her thighs clench.

“Oh Lord, you’re, you’re, Christ Lor, you’re ready for me already.” He strokes his finger up her wetness, adding a second to the mix to expertly spread her sticky folds. Laura tries to respond but all she can manage is a frantic nod as she struggles to find her words while Elvis busies himself with teasing her in little circles, dipping his finger in just the teeniest bit to gather more wetness and bring it back to circle almost directly on her clit. He’s got the same burning focus he does on stage, eyes blazing and his mouth open a little in concentration, pouty lips looking even more appealing in their bitten state. Laura’s eyes fall closed and she feels Elvis’ hand come back to her stomach, pinning her in place while his other plays with her, stilling her jerking hips a little. Laura doesn’t know what to do with her hands, but the problem quickly resolves itself when Elvis leans back to rub his wet hand over himself, before lining himself up and sinking into her hot, soaking, heat. Laura’s hands fall to grip at his shoulders, uncaring of her nails sinking into his delicate flesh.

“El-Oh, god, bit, bit of warning - next time, would be, ah, would be ni-ice.” She was ready but it didn’t stop her from feeling the stretch of him pushing into her. He pauses,

“You want, you want me to, fuck, come out?” He looks pained as he says it, and Laura grins,

“Christ no! Just, give me a-,” She wiggles a little, “No, no. It’s fine.”

“Yeah? You sure, honey? I don’t wanna - meant to be about you baby,” He says this, even as he can’t help but nudge further into her, his eyes begging her to say he can stay.

“Elvis. God, you can move.” He’s slow at first, barely rocking his famous hips, eyebrow quirking as he teases her.

“Yeah, baby? That - that what you wanted?” She groans, red-faced and sweaty,

“Elvis. Please.” It’s the magic word for a reason and he smiles before he concentrates again, his own eyes rolling back a little at the pleasure of it all as he builds up speed, rapidly fucking into her.

Laura rocks her hips into the air, legs shaking as Elvis brings his thumb down to rub directly over her clit, and their tight connection keeps her in precisely the right position even as her legs seem to flail. Her orgasm hits suddenly, and she falls off the precipice with a yell, mouth open and eyes wide as she catches sight of them both in the mirror, Elvis’ sweaty self-satisfied grin as he slows his fingers.

She shivers with the aftershocks, suddenly realising there were tears streaming down her face.

“Oh - Lord, what’s, ugh, what’s wrong baby, am I - am I hurting you?” He slows himself until he’s almost completely still, although, not totally. His voice strains with the effort of not moving, high-pitched, and Laura just shakes her head, “No - honey, I gotta know, you want me, you want me to stop?”

“No, no,” Laura sniffles, “‘s just, just a bit much - please Elvis, I want more.”

“Bit much?” Elvis takes her at her word and thrusts into her again,

“Just can’t get over you wanting me - ‘s just,” she moans, “just over, oh, overwhelming.”

“Baby, you feel what you do to me? What you done to me all day?” He pushes the hair from her face, staring down at her. She gazes back at him, glossy-eyed. “Awh, now baby, don’t look like that - you’re so pretty - Jesus, Lord, even,” He thrusts again, starting to fuck into her at a solid pace, “Even, fuck, even crying baby - makes your eyes all big, and your cheeks all rosy … god you look so fucking pretty.” He drags her even closer to him, his hands tight on her hips and waist, finger bruises being left - she babbles at him that he looks good too, pretty, and handsome and sexy. He doesn’t last much longer, maybe another thirty seconds before he’s shouting,

“Oh fuck, baby,” and his hips still, mouth falling open and his eyes rolling back as he groans. He collapses half on her, half on the bed and despite the almost overwhelming heat of him Laura welcomes the sensation of his heavy presence over her and the way he rubs his face on her shoulder. It should disgust her, the fact that he’s essentially covering her in his musk and sweat, but instead she finds it endearing, her pulse jumping in reaction to it. She kisses the top of his head and he responds by gently pulling out of her, rolling to one side. She tries to find it in herself to be brave, the afterglow making her bolder than she would normally be, but still not quite enough on her own.

“Can feel them cogs whirrin’ from here - did I not give you ‘nough attention?” He rolls over to face her. Laura shakes her head, taking a deep breath - it’s hard to have this conversation when she can literally feel his cum still sliding out of her, and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he refuses.

“Elvis, can I - I want to stay here. Can I stay?” He pauses,

“For Christmas?” Laura frowns, starting to shiver at the cooling sweat and her stress at the discussion. Elvis tuts, rubbing her arm,

“Well, maybe? I mean I’d love to - if you’ll have me. But I mean, maybe that could - I’d really like to stay with you.” He hums, as if finally understanding what she’s getting at, there’s a long enough pause that Laura opens her mouth to say she didn’t mean it, explain that she was caught up in the emotions of the evening and she didn’t want to - honest, but Elvis beats her to it.

“Well, hon-ey,” He’s talking slower than normal, his southern drawl even more pronounced, “I don’t, I don’t see why not - I sure like having you around.” Laura turns to face him, finally,

“You mean it?”

“Wouldn’t say if I didn’t.” He says it sarcastically but he’s smiling softly at her and Laura grins,

“Oh! Thank you,” He strokes a circle against her arm, and she continues the only thing she can think in her mind that’s not just Elvis Presley agreed I could live with him is the next thing that comes falling out of her mouth, “I’m gonna need a thicker coat.” Elvis laughs,

“Baby, you wait ‘til Christmas - I’ll get you the warmest coat you’ve ever seen.” She smiles back laughing a little with relief, “Now, let’s get you warmed up again.” He rolls himself back over her and she giggles as he digs his fingers into her sides and his lips find hers once again.

—————

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