#this thing is 17k words what the hell

[pumpkinpartynoelle]

The Secrets of Power, Sin, the Weird Route, and More

Variable Angel Theory - Part 2

Hi! Noelle Holiday here!

I went over a lot in that last post, but I didn't go over everything. Partially because it would have taken too long (it was already over 10000 words), and partially because I hadn't found everything there is to find so far in Deltarune, and I'm sure I still haven't here.

My main goal is to refine my theory more and give you even more evidence, in case the original post didn't have enough to convince you. As it turns out, there's actually quite a lot more evidence than I thought there was, and considering how solid it already felt at the time, I'm more and more certain I'm right. Plus, I found a lot of new stuff too.

I’d also like to request anyone that finds this interesting please share it around (along with part 1 of course, for context), I want to start a community discussion on the topic.

Like in part 1, I’m expecting you’re at least mostly familiar with Undertale and Deltarune, and know all major routes released so far, because I’m not going to retread the basics. This post will contain spoilers for Undertale, and hopefully Deltarune as well.

Plus, of course, make sure you’ve read part one first.

Here’s the new stuff:

More info on “Power”, A.K.A. Soul Power

How Kris’s soul works, a unified explanation for the new abilities we have access to in Deltarune (and possibly even abilities we had in Undertale)

What the vessel in the intro is for

A general idea of Gaster’s involvement

A clearer picture of the ending

A more thorough analysis of Jevil and Spamton

An analysis of “Holy” and “Sin” in the same vein as "Angel" and "Demon"'s analysis in part 1

A guess on what the hell NEO is

An alternate purpose behind the DT extractor

The possible identity of the Egg Man?

A vague idea of what The Song from the Sea might be

A comically thorough analysis of Rouxls Kaard as an angel candidate

Save file mitosis

The worst plot twist of all time

Much like the last post, this won’t have exclusively stuff directly and immediately relevant to Variable Angel Theory in it, but will instead show most of what I found in the process of refining this stage of Variable Angel Theory. This is because of how interconnected everything in Deltarune’s world is, it can be hard to completely isolate one element from the others, and even the less relevant parts can still be useful context, so I’ve decided not to bother trying to separate them. You’re getting not just VAT, but a lot of the smaller stuff I found along the way. Just know that, if some parts are wrong, and at least something probably will be, that doesn’t necessarily invalidate the rest.

Finding more evidence isn't the only purpose of this post though, there's also just some stuff I decided I wanted to mention after I published the first one, so that'll be in here too. Originally I was just going to call this "Extra Thoughts", but there's more than enough stuff here that "Part 2" feels warranted. This post will probably end up bigger than the first one, so expect at least 10000 words, possibly closer to 15000.

Something to keep in mind about Deltarune, that I may not have placed enough emphasis on in part 1, is that the idea for Deltarune, and specifically its ending, came even before Undertale. One can expect then that many details in Undertale intentionally relate to Deltarune, and so far, that seems to be the case. That’s why I’m so confident making these connections based on information that isn’t directly in Deltarune itself.

Another important thing to keep in mind, again, is that we only have 2 chapters of Deltarune so far. With so little information, I’m basically forced to rely on foreshadowing, narrative parallels, double meanings, and the like as evidence for my theories. Aren’t we lucky, then, that Toby has proven himself a master of that craft? I’m willing to rely so much on this evidence that might be shaky or meaningless in any other game because this isn’t any other game, this is set to be Toby Fox’s magnum opus, and I’m confident he’ll put everything he has into its story.

I'll also be taking some other points as read that I hadn't before, most namely Timeloop Theory (that the game will end in a reset and the world of Deltarune is in a time loop because of this), and Jaru’s Asriel/Ralsei theory (the general idea of it, not the specific hypothetical scenario Jaru gave for how it could have happened). It's only relevant a few times in this post, and you still don't need to know it to understand what I'll be talking about for most of this, as long as you're willing to go along with me and trust that I believe it for a good reason. Or, dozens upon dozens of good reasons, as the case may be.

The game hints at both of these theories all over, pretty blatantly in a few places. I wouldn't assume them as true without being very confident in it, and the reason I’m choosing to take them more as fact here, aside from my being confident in them (I would genuinely be shocked if either were somehow incorrect in their broad strokes), is that these theories are somewhat important to certain parts of Variable Angel Theory that I’ll be discussing here.

Most of Variable Angel Theory and its branches remain valid without the Asriel/Ralsei theory (the time loop theory is a little more important since it’s the entire reason for the weird route at all), but since we’re now getting into the details and specifics, I don’t want to keep restricting the information I draw from. I was originally going to remove most references to Jaru theories, despite how well a few of them compliment VAT, to avoid hate related to him, but as I'm setting up this thing for posting, I've decided fuck it we ball. I've been working on this thing for like a year, I'm making it how I want it.

However, even though I’ll be assuming these theories as true, even the parts that involve them are often not vital to the theory. It’s strong enough, I think, that taking out some pillars won’t bring down the whole structure, so even if you don’t believe them, you’ll probably still get something out of this post. Quick primer on the Asriel/Ralsei theory for those who don’t care to look up the full reasoning: In spite of what Toriel believes, Asriel is dead (like in Undertale). Kris feels guilty for it and may have caused it (but if they did, without an intent to harm, their light world LV is still 1, or perhaps human LV starts at 0 and Frisk killed someone). Kris absorbed Asriel's soul (humans absorbing monster souls was clearly foreshadowed in Undertale but never happened), and Ralsei is a lightner/darkner hybrid made partially from Asriel's dust (hence his weird similarities to Asriel and Flowey, and why the game goes out of its way to never explicitly call him a “darkner”). Kris's unique soul means Asriel is the one possessing them (and the person we play as, similarly to how we play as Chara possessing Frisk in Undertale), and it gives Kris special powers like being the only one able to seal a dark fountain, grazing, shared damage between party members, etc., powers that, despite their variety, Variable Angel Theory’s understanding of soul power can and will explain fairly simply. I can’t tell you specifically how Asriel died, there’s just one or two pieces still missing, but there’s so much evidence pointing to it having happened that despite this I still have a lot of confidence in it. Kind of like Variable Angel Theory itself, actually! You can still get the big picture even if you're missing the details, I think.

I'm also assuming, of course, that you've read my first post on this theory before this one, as rehashing all of that groundwork would take way longer than is worth. If you haven't, maybe go do that or you'll be really confused. If for some reason you really just want to read this part and don’t care about the evidence I used for part 1, there’s a TL;DR at the bottom of that post. This one too, for the new stuff.

Soul Power: Determination, Magic, and Love:

To start us off, I have a better idea of what soul power is that I want to share, or more, a refinement of the idea I already had. I think that, much like determination, magic (as in, the magic used by darkners and some monsters in the dark world, as well as Undertale's monsters) is an aspect of soul power. We know that magic is strongly tied to the emotions of its users, as is determination, being a physical embodiment of the will to live.

Magic, too, operates on many of the same rules as determination, and so does a power like LOVE. So, I think all 3 of these are aspects of soul power. That explains how high LOVE manifests powers similar to determination, why monsters’ emotions have so much impact on their magic, and how Undyne was seemingly able to generate her own determination. It all comes back to emotion, and the power of the soul. In hindsight it's kind of obvious.

What can this tell us? In Deltarune, many party members show a magic stat. The tie between magic, determination, and LOVE may mean that someone's magic stat can be used to get a rough idea of their other soul power stats. And, of course, I have the most latent magic, having as much at LV 1 as Ralsei would have at LV 3. Ralsei seems very knowledgeable about and experienced with magic, one could extrapolate that he's probably the equivalent to a fairly skilled mage. If my base magic is above this, that backs up Queen's insistence of my latent power, and of course my candidacy for ascension in the weird route. Of promptly available choices for a new angel, my high magic stat may translate to high soul power in general, thus making me the best candidate.

Catti:

Of all likely party members we know of, Catti seems to have the most potential to rival me in magic. She has enough associations with it that it would be odd not to make her a primarily magic-oriented character, and the "nekomancer" pun feels too good for Toby to pass up. The earliest she'll show up, I think, is chapter 4, which, as I said in my last post, I feel places her a bit too late to be a serious angel candidate. I think, however, that she’ll have her biggest role in chapter 5, as I believe that’s the most likely chapter to take place in the church, a location that would fit very nicely with Catti’s whole theme and aesthetic. But really, who knows specifics? I sure don't!

What I'm wondering is, what will her magic stat be? For game balance reasons, it would make sense to have a higher magic stat than I do (11 at LV 1, 16 at LV 2 in the weird route), as most of the party will be at least LV 4, maybe even higher, by the time she joins. This should place Ralsei's magic stat around 13-15, possibly up to 18 or more depending on how violent you've been. Maybe Catti's spells will be stronger to compensate for her lower magic stat? Maybe she'll start with a higher LV?

My best guess is that I'll have higher magic at this level in a weird route, assuming I show up (I might not), but in a normal route, Catti's magic may be higher. Though, it's also possible that her magic will be extremely low, on the level of early-game Susie, despite her magic associations, and Toby will use this to make a point about the nature of magic and soul power.

Either way, I think that by the end of even a normal route, it will be farther hinted in some way that I have more potential power than Catti, regardless of what her stats are, and in a weird route, I'm sure I'll be much more powerful by the end than Catti would be. All signs point to it.

LV, Love, and LOVE:

So, what's dark world LV? It's a different stat than light world LV, so what's it mean? For the main members of the Fun Gang, LV increases upon encountering a dark fountain. This makes sense. The fountain seems to be raw magic, and magic, like determination and light world LV, is an aspect of soul power, so they have a solid connection. Light LV, though, is tied directly to killing, and Dark LV isn't. That explains why Dark LV, instead, is earned through exposure to fountains of raw soul power. This could be extrapolated to mean that all stats (HP. ATK. DEF. EXP. LV. (maybe not gold)) are aspects of soul power. Which, again, feels like it should have been obvious from the start, with the way emotions affect this, and maybe most other people have already picked up on it, but it was kind of a minor revelation for me. But, with most major stats all tied back up with soul power, it's almost like we've come full circle. It's a bit harder to say anything uniquely useful about them when they're all tied to the same thing. Either way I think magic in particular is the closest, other than maybe LV, to quantifying "power".

What strikes me as odd is that I start at LV 1, and while I can become LV 2 through the weird route, which I think makes some sense, I can also become LV 2 by just acquiring a title. This raises the question: is this purely a gameplay thing, or does this mean something? Do titles have some tie to soul power? Maybe! I think it's too early to tell either way. Maybe a title is somehow some achievement for your soul that allows it to draw on the power of others nearby? Maybe Kris being LV 2 at the time of title acquisition allows my soul to power up to that level? Or maybe it's related to their unique soul and the powers it has from absorbing Asriel? It could be related to why Ralsei levels up from dark fountains despite not directly being there for their closing. Kris's soul may be uniquely tied to party members, (like how everyone takes damage when Kris's soul is hit) so when Kris levels up, so do other party members. We'll have to see if other characters have their LVs raised mid-chapter this way, our sample size may just be too small, but with Toby it's never safe to assume that a gameplay mechanic is just a gameplay mechanic.

So, with basically every theme of the game tying back to the power of the soul, or the power of the heart, we have an explanation for the bizarre plot importance of all the romance theming, but that still makes Ralsei seem a little weird. My best guess is that Ralsei maintains the essence of affection for Kris from Asriel, like how he might have affection for Susie because of Asriel's interest in hot purple dragon girls (discussed a bit more in the next subsection, as it’s strangely relevant), but that affection takes a different form. It’s possible romance itself enhances the power of the soul, and the romantic implications of the weird route are in part a deliberate choice by the entity possessing Kris.

As a bonus, here are a couple more hints I noticed after the last post about Kris and Susie potentially having, or more likely, foreshadowing that they will have, a romantic relationship. Alphys subtly hints that, when she didn’t know where Kris and Susie went off to, she suspects they might have been doing something of a romantic or sexual nature together. When I show up, and ask Kris and Susie what they’re doing outside of the storage closet, the options are “hanging out alone in the closet”, obviously implying romance, and “crime”. Selecting “hanging out alone in the closet” leads to Susie stumbling over her words, acting almost flustered, and remarking that they were just “touching brooms”, a clear innuendo.

Kris’s Soul:

Speaking of Kris, I’m writing this section about 2 weeks after the previous one, and I think I’ve figured out sort of why Kris’s soul acts the way it does. I’ll go over all of Kris’s soul’s special abilities here (at least the ones new to Deltarune).

Shared damage between party members, and not dying until all of them are defeated

Grazing and TP

Shining “power” on a party member to grant them new abilities

Sealing fountains

Trance

Fighting battles even without Kris present in them (Susie Vs. Lancer)

Surviving briefly without a soul

Wielding determination without a soul

Raising stats without leveling up

I think Kris’s soul has the ability to “sync” with soul power, creating a line of connection between Kris’s soul and other souls and soul power. This alone can explain every single one of their demonstrated abilities introduced in Deltarune.

Shared damage between party members, and not dying until all of them are defeated

With Kris’s soul synced to the party, it acts as a shared soul between them for battling purposes. As such, they can all take damage when it does, and are only defeated when everyone is.

Grazing and TP

Bullet patterns are established in Undertale as being made of magic, and darkness seems to be magic manifest. As such, darkner bullet patterns are likely also magic. Since magic is an aspect of soul power, Kris’s soul being able to gain strength and share it with the party by staying close to concentrated soul power in the form of bullets makes complete sense.

Shining “power” on a party member to grant them new abilities

This ability, and the abilities it unlocks, require the presence of a fountain, because it provides the party with power that Kris doesn’t have inherently. Instead, it channels the fountain, made of raw darkness A.K.A. magic A.K.A. soul power, into the party to give them a boost while in proximity.

This also explains why the party only levels up when Kris closes a fountain, except me. Instead, my level syncs to Kris's when I earn a title, as matching the level rather than exceeding doesn't require the use of a fountain (probably). This may also be how Catti and other potential party members will get on par with party level. A good lore-friendly fix for scaling issues.

Sealing fountains

Because the fountain is made of magic, and can be opened with determination, one can assume soul power is also capable of sealing it somehow, but determination alone can’t make that happen. Instead, the hole in the fabric of reality created when the fountain was stabbed into existence can be sealed by connecting the soul power back together, patching the hole as if sewing it up. It’s a bit of a different implementation of a soul connection, but still follows a similar principle I think.

Trance

Soul power is heavily reliant on emotion, and trance seems to subtly manipulate its target to be more suggestible and open by syncing their souls together.

This could also explain how ACTs work, but that’s more ambiguous because Frisk can also ACT effectively. It’s possible that the presence of Chara within Frisk allowed them to ACT, and trance may be an ability associated more with combined souls/essences in general, rather than specifically a human soul that absorbed a boss monster soul. It’s also possible that, since Chara was absorbed by a monster, their spirit maintains the trance ability from that, since we don’t know for sure if a monster absorbing a human can use trance the same way a human absorbing a monster seems to be able to.

There’s also a chance that trance isn’t an ability tied to Kris’s soul at all, and it’s just tied to equipment, but I think it would be more narratively compelling if it weren’t exclusively an equipment thing. As I trust Toby’s writing to generally pick the most compelling option, I think it’s more likely that trance is actually connected to Kris’s soul, unless Toby has other major plans for trance, some possibilities for which I’ll explore later.

Trance is one of Kris’s abilities that I’m the least sure about. There are a lot of ways it could work and it may be distinct from Kris’s other abilities, but it doesn’t have to be. Toby could take it many different ways and it would still fit nicely, I think.

Fighting battles even without Kris present in them

While the soul is Kris’s, it isn’t Kris. We know Kris likes Susie, but so does Asriel, the other likely component of the soul, which we can glean from things like the How to Draw Dragons book, and Susie’s reaction to his room in Queen’s mansion, which implies Asriel’s search history heavily involves purple dragon girls, hence why Asriel didn’t want Kris to be able to see it and closes their eyes when attempting to look inside without Susie present. It’s also possible that Kris just doesn’t want to see their brother’s search history. Sharing a soul might mean Kris already knows how weird it is.

Either way, Asriel’s likely affection for Susie, combined with Kris’s, may be what gives the soul the ability to maintain its connection to Susie over a longer distance. We’ve always checked what Susie is up to at a distance, but never Ralsei, after all, but even if that changes I think there’s still merit to this.

Surviving briefly without a soul, and wielding determination without a soul

As the soul belongs to Kris, and can sync over short distances, Kris may still be able to use the soul’s power even while it’s not in their body. I’m imagining it like a cable astronauts use to tether them to their spaceship for spacewalks. Go too far, or stay out in space for too long, and it might snap, or you might run out of air. Figuratively, I mean.

Raising stats without raising LV

Defeating enemies with violence, as established earlier, can raise your stats. Much like the link to dark fountains, Kris’s soul establishes a link to the darkners they defeat, siphoning off a small amount of power from them, much less than a dark fountain, but enough that your stats can be increased by defeating multiple. Of course, this bonus is shared with the team through Kris’s soul sync as well, farther splitting the power and explaining why it takes so long for a relatively small increase.

If I had to guess on future abilities, the soul may have the ability to sync up with a target soul so forcefully that it can override their own control of their body. If this happens, it will likely be in the weird route, and I think this is what the vessel may be for. I’ll provide more details later. It also may be possible for Kris’s soul to drain a target’s power until there’s nothing left to take.

Funnily enough, you could call elements of this soul connection a “hyper link”, but as Spamton’s “[Hyperlink Blocked]” seems to just be a standin for the word “love”, that might not be intentional. Or maybe Toby is on some galaxy brain nonsense, it would certainly explain a lot.

Holy:

Undertale has no mentions of "holy" anywhere in its dialogue, so that’s a pretty easy one. Instead, I just want to mention something interesting I noticed. Like I talked about in the first post, the Angel religion shares a lot of similarities to Christianity. It doesn’t have sin as a concept, but other than that, the aesthetic resemblance to specifically Christianity feels significant, especially given its incorporation of angels, all the mentions of demons, the heavily implied existence of Christmas, that sort of thing.

One of Jaru’s theories (that I’m less confident in than the Asriel/Ralsei one but still seems like a valid possibility) is that, long ago, there was a previous angel, and that angel sealed away magic into the dark worlds, as well as memory of it, and gave the monsters physical bodies (that still turn to dust so monsters can maintain their cultural traditions involving it). If this is true, but that angel is no longer around, that could make sense, as the magic and the then-magical bodies of monsters would fall under the purview of an entity with significant control over Soul Power. So would memories, as we know from Undertale that a reset isn’t actually a perfect time rewind, since people still keep some memories, and Flowey specifically mentions erasing memories as a particular part of the reset process.

As such, the making of a new angel now calls to mind the second coming of Christ, with the roaring resembling the rapture, but instead of some people getting sent to heaven while others are left behind, the darkners are turned to stone and the lightners are left behind. It feels like an intentional parallel now that I think on it, which makes me even more confident I’m on the right track comparing some of UT/DR’s supernatural elements to their Christian counterparts. Plus that also explains why the angel religion exists at all, and seems to have been a presence in the world for a decent length of time. If the angel hasn’t been made yet, why would that religion exist, unless there used to be an angel long ago? The prophecy doesn’t seem well-known enough to have spawned an entire religion from it, especially in the light world.

Deltarune:

The “Holy” element

“Holy Fountains, whose shadows are creating a new world… OUR world.” by King

Berdly calls his weapon a “Holy Halbird” a couple times

“HOLY [[Cungadero]] DO I FEEL GOOD …” by Spamton before the Spamton NEO fight

“Holy Circuits Are You Serious” by Queen upon learning about the roaring

“THE HOLY”, song that plays when encountering a dark fountain

Unlike the word “angel”, “holy” doesn’t seem to have as strict of rules regarding its use. Half of these probably mean nothing.

The “Holy” element

Deltarune’s element system is barely relevant to anything. It’s almost entirely unimplemented, with only the Cat:Puppet pair actually having even the slightest bit of functionality. Holy’s pair element is “elec”, probably short for “electric”, reminiscent of a divine smiting with lightning or something. The only place you can actually see a character’s element is in the recruits menu of the Cafe, and thus far, no one appearing there has the Holy element.

There are a few people with the Elec element, Holy’s pair, specifically Ambyu-Lance (Order:Elec), Tasque (Cat:Elec), Werewire (Elec), Maus (Mouse:Elec), and Werewerewire (Elec:Fight).

Oddly, Mauswheel and Tasque Manager are not Elec elemental. Mauswheel is just the Mouse element three times, and Tasque Manager is Cat:Order. Jevil appears there too, in the game files at least, with the element Chaos:Chaos. Fitting.

It’s hard to tell what information we could draw from this due to how little implementation and relevance the elemental system has had thus far. I can assume, by the fact it exists at all, that it will have more relevance going forward, but what that relevance might be I’m unsure. I’m hoping it will have much greater combat relevance, as while I love the lore and story of Deltarune, the gameplay feels a bit samey, especially if you’ll end up having to play it for 7 chapters at least twice over, possibly more depending on how much the pacifist and neutral routes diverge, and whether there will be significant changes in subsequent time loops. While I trust Toby to write the story well, I’m not so sure if he and his team will nail the gameplay, as it’s only the bosses that are particularly interesting in that regard so far.

The only thing I can gather right now lorewise is that the Cat:Puppet pair may be a bad omen for Catti’s involvement later.

“Holy” fountains

This makes sense. I think darkness is made of raw magic, or at least something closely tied to soul power, something in common with the angel, who I think is made manifest via high concentrations of soul power. It would be perfectly in keeping with that to consider the dark fountains “holy”. It also implies the knight has some connections to holiness, which tracks for candidates like Alvin, or a dark world being made from Gerson’s dust, the candidates I think are most likely to be the knight given what we know so far.

The Holy Halbird

We’ve already examined Berdly briefly as an angel candidate in the previous post, and I haven’t found any new indications that he’ll be a viable angel candidate since then. However, Berdly often fights on my behalf, treating himself as my knight in shining armour and the like, so it makes total sense to call his weapon holy when he’s so often using it on behalf of the angel. It even makes sense when he teams up with Susie, as she’s also a likely angel. I don’t think Berdly knows about this of course, he’d be kind of a weird character to give some deeper hidden knowledge to, especially since he never gives any indication of knowing anything secret, but it makes sense from a thematic standpoint.

HOLY CUNGADERO!

From everything I can tell, “cungadero” is just a nonsense word that might refer to a fictional type of car or something. In that case, a holy cungadero could be that vehicle I briefly mentioned in a hypothetical extrapolation of the thing Alphys went into about The Symptons, but even given Toby Fox levels of foreshadowing that seems like a bit of a stretch to actually mean anything. It could, though! Outside of that, this just seems like an exclamation, I don’t think it’s foreshadowing much in specific.

Holy Circuits!

The same goes for this, I think it’s just an exclamation. It could mean Queen’s circuits are holy, maybe in a similar way that King and the dark worlds are likely holy, but if it does mean that, that still doesn’t really tell us anything new.

THE HOLY

One could potentially dismiss the fountains being “holy” as something King thinks given his particular position and goals, but the fact that the fountains are also called HOLY by the soundtrack itself puts more merit behind King’s referring to them as such, unless the songs of the soundtrack are meant to be named by a particular character rather than by Toby or whoever else worked on the music, something that doesn’t seem to be the case so far. We know that ALL CAPS song titles tend to be related to Gaster, so if anyone named the songs in-universe it was probably him, but then, why would ANOTHER HIM not be called “ANOTHER ME” or “ANOTHER SELF” or something?

Sin:

Oddly, despite sin not being a part of the angel religion according to Alvin, the concept of damnation seems to still exist, as “damn” is a swear used a couple times in the game. That may not mean anything, but it’s possible sin used to be a concept in the religion but was gradually lost to time, or it might mean that both the angel religion and Christianity exist in this world, hence the presence of Christmas, and a potential reason why Monster Kid might be wearing a cross necklace.

The angel religion may bear similarities via cultural exchange, or evolving from Christianity into its own thing around the time of the first angel, like how Christianity itself came from Judaism around the time of Jesus. Though, if that’s true, it’s a little odd that Christianity is never really referenced by the characters outside of Christmas, but not so odd as to be out of the realm of possibility. It would explain where Asriel got his concept of sin from, which is why Alvin mentioned that sin isn’t a thing in the religion in the first place.

I’m not sure, it could swing either way. Damnation might also just mean something completely different or even positive in the angel religion. It wouldn’t be the first time Toby has inverted the meaning of a word like that.

Undertale:

“It means you’ve lived a life of sin” by Ragel after performing his mushroom dance

“You felt your sins crawling on your back” and “weighing on your neck” in the Sans fight

“The potted plant is judging you for your sins” in MTT cafe

All of these use “sin” in basically the same way, and all are exclusive to the merciless route, so one can assume that killing a bunch of people is a sin. Not exactly revelatory, but it means in Undertale at least that sins aren’t somehow a good thing, probably. The narration in the Sans fight, however, could imply that sins can physically manifest and potentially damage the host, but that may also just be a flowery description and isn’t meant to be taken literally. It’s possible none of these lines are all that useful, and I’m starting to think that I made the right call in choosing “angel” and “demon” as my main words of analysis in VAT1 rather than “holy” and “sin”, as these so far have been much less impactful.

Deltarune:

Discussion with Alvin

Forgiveness from Hathy

“My hearts go out to all you sinners!” by Jevil

The Hathy one is much the same as how Undertale used sin. If you’ve defeated a Hathy with violence, they can forgive your sins against them if you talk to them in Card Castle, and you can still get the pacifist ending as long as you only hurt one of them. As for Alvin, we’ve already discussed it earlier, touching on it in this part and going over anything relevant in part 1. That just leaves Jevil.

Jevil:

Jevil's lines are hard to parse without some idea already of what's going on, but I think we've figured out enough by now that we can start to understand what some more of these lines mean.

“MY HEARTS GO OUT TO ALL YOU SINNERS”

The “multiple hearts” thing could just be a joke about his attacks firing multiple hearts, or the “hearts” suit. It could mean Jevil has multiple souls, as absorbing a soul is something Spamton established as a possibility for darkners, but he doesn’t seem powerful enough for that. Sure, Jevil is widely considered one of the most powerful residents of the Card Kingdom, but that implies Seam would also have a soul to match him, and that the residual essence of a lightner’s passion was enough to give Spamton NEO power on par with an entity that stole a lightner’s soul. None of it feels right, so I don’t think Jevil actually has a soul, let alone multiple. As for sinners here, I believe we, on principle, stand in opposition to the Angel’s Heaven, making us sinners in a sense, as he uses this line even if you play pacifist.

 “I AM INNOCENT, INNOCENT! I JUST WANTED TO PLAY A GAME, GAME!”

Jevil believes he’s the only free one because he’s the only one in the kingdom, other than Seam, who’s accepted the truth. Everything will be reset in the end, so it doesn’t matter how many people he’s hurt, all will be undone, thus, effectively, no crime was committed. Though, since Jevil did this before the start of chapter 1, it’s possible that the reset will go back to before chapter 1. It’s also possible that it won’t, as regardless of when a dark world is created, its history seems to be created retroactively.

 “NOW I WILL SLEEP FOR THE OTHER 100 YEARS.”

Following this, it’s possible the card kingdom had 100 years of history before the time we enter it, and it may have 100 more years in its time before it ends, or rather, dark worlds in general may have 100 more years, given we seal the fountain at the end of chapter 1. Time does seem to flow differently in dark worlds, and Ralsei’s impatience when we first return to him at the start of chapter 2, and his not knowing for sure how long a day is other than that it’s supposed to be short, may mean that the time he spent in the dark world alone was much longer than the time Kris and Susie spent in the light world. Susie saying “just waiting for today felt like years” is obviously a joke about it taking multiple years for chapter 2 to release, but it may also be hinting that, for Ralsei, the time he waited was much longer than it was for Kris and Susie. This would also explain how he set up so many rooms in his castle so quickly.

If Dess is trapped in a darker world, as I think she might be, (a dark world created within another dark world, like Berdly almost did in chapter 2), the time dilation may be even worse. She might be unrecognisable by the time we find her, and unfortunately for her, due to soul power’s association with modifying the flow of time, the odds that dark world time flows very differently are pretty good. If Dess is trapped in a dark world, that may be the reason the unused fountain theme that Toby still wants to use somewhere has an acoustic guitar playing the melody, one of the very few things we know for certain to be associated with Dess from the Spamton Sweepstakes. It's possible she's been trapped for centuries, or millennia, unable to die, being surrounded by the energy that gives things life. Would she even remember me?

“AS PUNISHMENT, THEY CRAVED TO IMPRISON MY BODY. BUT I’M FAST, FAST, CLEVER CLEVER. THEY LOST THE CHASE, AND LOCKED UP THEIR ENTIRE RACE, NOW I’M THE ONLY FREE ONE.”

As far as Jevil is concerned, his mind is still free. He’s the only one who’s accepted the truth. There are no crimes, there are no victims, all will be undone, and as the only one who can accept this, he’s the only free one. Locking him up just allows the rest of the card kingdom to stay in their own mental prison, not accepting that they can do anything they want. To Jevil, the time loop isn’t a curse, it’s a blessing.

It’s also possible that, if Jevil has stolen a soul, he may be able to project it out of his body like Kris and influence things outside of his cell that way. Seam’s vague light connections may mean that he also has a soul, and thus, is the only person that could defeat Jevil. But so far, soul projection and soul sync, being able to operate without your soul, seems unique to Kris. If Darkners don’t have souls normally, and it seems like they don’t as they’re basically made of soul energy anyway, Jevil may not need the soul in him, but would that allow him far greater remote control of his soul than Kris has?

Importantly to note, if Jevil does have a stolen soul, it’s odd that Spamton NEO is seemingly comparable in strength to him without one, so I’m far from convinced of this possibility. It seems just plausible enough to be worth the mention.

It’s possible Seam has a soul but Jevil doesn’t, as Seam is more powerful and has the only Delta Rune in the dark worlds outside of Castle Town, but much of Seam’s history is still a mystery. However, when you ask about Jevil, Seam says “After all the trouble I went through to lock him up, you want to release him?”, which implies that it was difficult. If Seam had a soul, and Jevil didn’t, shouldn’t it have been much easier than Seam seems to let on?

Maybe Seam’s seap song is just called “lantern” because Seam’s face kind of looks like a Jack-O-Lantern, with the orange glow inside Seam’s mouth and the pointy triangle teeth when Seam smiles, and I’m reading too much into it. But given how important a character Seam seems to be, I’m inclined to think there’s more to it than that.

After selecting “Do not play a game”: “HOW CAN YOU REFUSE, WHEN YOU ARE ALREADY PLAYING?”

There’s obviously the meta interpretation, as Deltarune is a video game, but considering Jevil has every reason without meta knowledge to interpret his reality as some kind of playground, I don’t think we need to assume he actually knows that Deltarune is a video game. He might, I just don’t think it’s necessary for anything Deltarune’s seemingly trying to do, so I don’t want to assume he has more meta knowledge than he necessarily does.

After selecting “Do not” when asked to use the key on Jevil’s door: “YOU CAME TOO FAR! YOUR CHOICE HAS RUN OUT!”. The door unlocks anyway.

Pretty straightforward, but given secret boss doublespeak, he may also be referring to the end of the game where, no matter what you do, the angel resets, or it may be a warning about the weird route. At a certain point, you go too far and you don’t get to stop anymore. If I had to guess, (and when it comes to this sort of stuff, it really is just a guess) it’s when the vessel takes over, which I’ll be discussing later.

“OH, IT’S JUST A SIMPLE NUMBERS GAME. WHEN YOUR HP DROPS TO 0, YOU LOSE!”

This one actually could point to Jevil knowing that his reality is literally a video game, but it might also be that, as darkners are made of soul power, and all stats seem to be an aspect of soul power, he may know about it that way. So far, everyone to mention stats, I believe, is either a darkner, or in the case of Ralsei, partially a darkner. This makes me wonder though, Sans, Flowey, and Chara all reference game stats, but I believe they’re the only people in Undertale to do so. Flowey and Chara make sense, as the game’s angels, they may have that special connection to soul power. Sans is somewhat different, but as he has ties to Gaster, and Gaster’s main subject of research is soul power, it makes some sense for him too. As such, we can assume Gaster also knows about stats. Keep in mind that, while these are game mechanics, most if not all of Undertale and Deltarune’s game mechanics have some lore reason for them as well, so knowing about the game mechanics doesn’t necessarily mean someone knows that Undertale or Deltarune is a video game.

Pirouette

I think the pirouette ACT operates by Kris soul-syncing with Jevil’s chaos? Something like that. Each outcome is on a cycle, repeatedly looping, much like Deltarune’s reality itself. Beyond reference to that, the number of outcomes doesn’t seem to match with the number of chapters, though it might match up with the number of dark worlds by the end of the game or something? Or, the number of options may have no secret meaning. I just don’t want to dismiss something in a secret boss fight as meaningless before considering the possibilities, y’know?

Hypnosis

This one is a little more confusing. This ACT makes Jevil far more tired than pirouette. It requires the use of Kris, Susie, and Ralsei. How it operates could potentially be a combination of Kris’s soul sync and trance, and Ralsei’s pacify, though that doesn’t explain why Susie has to be involved. Toby has proven time and again that a game mechanic is rarely just a game mechanic, so I’m inclined to think it means something. It may be that, as Susie is frequently prone to falling asleep, she may be used as a conduit to intensify the sleepiness effect?

There are 3 different messages that can appear upon using this ACT.

“Ralsei chanted something!”

It may be a lullaby, it may be some magical incantation, it’s too vague to say. A repeated instance of music and specifically singing being used in a hypnotic context, as putting someone to sleep is generally the stereotypical hypnosis effect so one could argue Ralsei’s standard lullaby is hinting at a hypnosis song. I don’t think Ralsei is actually using the Song from the Sea here, which I think may be a hypnotic or mind-altering song, but it puts the possibility on the table for that song to exist.

“Susie spun something around!”

Another instance of spinning, looping. The entire fight supports the time loop motif extensively. Even the music, when it uses the  “Don’t Forget” melody, loops one part of it over and over and over and over until the very end of the song when it starts all over again. Focusing on something spinning can be a good method of hypnotic induction too, I just wish the way this was worded wasn’t so vague so it’d be easier to extrapolate something.

“Kris gazed strangely!”

“The eyes are the window to the soul” is a fairly well known saying. It’s possible that trance, operating via soul sync, is more powerful under Kris’s gaze, creating a stronger soul link. Hypnotic eyes are also a common trope in hypnosis-related media.

 “UNFORTUNATELY, YOU KIDS CANNOT HAVE SUCH A PLEASANT DREAM. FROM NOW, A NIGHTMARE WILL AWAKEN IN YOUR HEARTS. IN THE SHADOW OF THE KNIGHT’S HAND… LIGHTNERS, CAN YOU STOP IT?”

Deltarune is all about the woke agenda, and I can prove it!

We know from Undertale that “nightmare” is often in reference to Flowey/Asriel, arguably Undertale’s most significant angel. In Deltarune, Chapter 2 is referred to as a dream, though in the weird route, I call it a nightmare. So we can assume then that the “nightmare” in Deltarune is related to both the weird route and either the angel or Asriel specifically, or even both. Both is what I’m inclined to guess, as there are a lot of readings I can make of this line.

The “nightmare” in your hearts, or the Asriel in your soul, makes complete sense for Kris, as far as my understanding goes. Will Asriel begin to awaken? Has he already? One could argue our control over Asriel, and thus indirect control over Kris, is awakening us as the nightmare within Asriel and Kris’s heart.

Reading “nightmare” to more generally mean something akin to “angel” or “weird route” makes more sense for me. My growth in power and participation in chapter 2’s weird route is referred to as “waking”, and Queen insists that the events of chapter 2 have already awoken me too much. She makes clear that she thinks I should rest, go back to sleep. Whatever awakening the nightmare would do in the weird route, as far as Queen is concerned it isn’t anything worth doing.

Susie: Get out of our way. Susie: Noelle needs to wake up!

Queen: Wake? No, She Has Already Awakened Too Much Queen: Let Her Close Her Eyes And Sleep Away Queen: Into A Darker, Darker Dream

“Darker, Darker Dream” makes me wonder if the reason Queen wanted to expand the reach of darkness as a way to “help” me is because she agrees with me that Dess may be trapped in a darker world, and expanding the reach of darkness may give me a way to find her. Sure, it’s possible she just misinterpreted the bits of my search history pertaining to Dess, that’s the implied reading, but it’s also possible that she actually completely understands what I want and how much it means to me, and it’s why she wanted so badly to help me get her back.

The “shadow of the knight’s hand” could be referring to “the actions the knight takes’, but it could also be referring to the dark worlds the knight creates, the “shadows” of the knight’s hand.

There’s also, of course, the lack of distinction made between Ralsei and “lightners”, farther implying that Ralsei isn’t just a darkner.

 “HA HA HA! WHAT FUN!!! YOU’RE FAST, FAST, STRONG, STRONG, BUT THERE ARE YET FASTER, YET STRONGER. THE HAND OF THE KNIGHT IS DRIFTING FORWARD. SOON, THE “QUEEN” RETURNS, AND HELL’S ROAR BUBBLES FROM THE DEPTHS… LIGHTNERS, CAN YOU STOP IT? UEE HEE HEE! EITHER WAY, A MISCHIEF-MISCHIEF, A CHAOS-CHAOS…! LIGHTNERS! FROM INSIDE YOUR LITTLE CELL!! TAKE ME AND DO YOUR STRONGEST—!”

We've presumably met the queen. Hell's roar, I assume, is the roaring, with hell possibly being a darker layer deeper down? Given the constant personification of the Earth I'm inclined to think the roaring is literal, although the wording of "bubbles" is confusing. There's enough in VAT to make sense of a lot of this, but I don't think we know enough just yet to make sense of all of it.

Spamton:

Writing this in mid October trying to finish up this post on time despite the executive dysfunction, here we go! A lot of Spamton’s lines aren’t all that relevant to Variable Angel Theory. Most of the ones that are are on the weird route.

1. LOOKING FOR [Irresistible Deals] THAT WILL [Blow Your Mind!?]

As with all Deltarune lines, but especially with secret bosses and heavily lore relevant characters like Spamton, we're gonna have to do some reinterpretation to find out what Spamton might mean here. "Irresistible Deals" could mean multiple things. Kris can't resist making the deal, we force them to, and we make this deal for the thorn ring, with Trance, so I presumably have a harder time resisting orders. I still think Kris (or their soul) has some innate trance ability, allowing ACTs and the like to be so effective and getting me to this point in the weird route in the first place, but it's possible for the truly heinous stuff, like killing a friend, I'd need that extra push (I sure hope I would!). "Blow Your Mind" has similar connotations, but given Spamton's crass nature sometimes, it could also mean "blow" in another sense, like you're getting "mindfucked" or something, but I’m kind of “maybe” on that. While we’re on the subject, the ring of thorns reminds me a bit of the biblical crown of thorns Jesus was given to wear prior to his crucifixion. Possibly a coincidence, but, I think, probably not one. Either way, for anyone concerned about my safety in this route, red flag! Add it to the pile.

2. THIS IS [One Purchase] YOU WILL [Regret] FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!

This farther reinforces to me that the weird route isn't going to end well. We'll touch on specifics of how I think it's most likely to go wrong a bit later, as one of Spamton's lines sort of changed where I was leaning on this, albeit not too significantly. It's also possible he's not talking to specifically Kris here, but us as the player. I don't think Spamton exactly knows that the player exists, he might but that's unclear, but I think it's possible this line is meant for the player's eyes as much as Kris's and could hint at permanent consequences for the weird route, even on subsequent playthroughs, much like what happened with Chara in Undertale. My best guess for that consequence is that Kris is effectively erased from the game and replaced with the vessel on subsequent playthroughs, but that's potentially more work than the team would be able to do reasonably, so I'm iffy on it. I'll go into more detail in the Gaster section later. Either way I don't think we'll see it until chapter 7 releases, so it'll be a few years until I'm proven right or wrong on that guess, unless chapters 3 and 4 introduce the vessel earlier than I expect they will.

3. THANKS TO YOU AND THAT LIL [Hochi Mama]

Spamton calls me stuff like this all the time, reinforcing the romance tie between myself and Kris, especially with how much more often he does it in the weird route. "Side chick" is another one that we've gone over.

4. SOON I'LL HAVE EVERY[One] IN THIS CITY EATING RIGHT OUT OF MY [$!$!]!

Ew. But I guess this implies Spamton's ambitions are mainly for the cyber world, he seems like he only wants his good old life back rather than anything much grander, he just wants to make sure it can't get taken away from him again. Plus, he's bitter and might be wanting to dabble in light revenge.

5. IT'S NOT MY JOB TO BE SOME KIDS' [Extra Boss]!

This could be talking about Kris, but including them in "kids", as is perfectly reasonable to do, implies a different boss, like fate or the player or the soul or something. This is how I expect the player to be mainly referenced, with some degree of ambiguity. I expect only a few characters, Gaster especially, are likely to call the player out directly.

6. KID! I'M BUSY BECOMING [God]. GO PLAY [Minecrap] OR SOMETHING!

Of course this could imply greater ambitions. Maybe he doesn't want to limit himself to getting his old life back and keeping it, he may want to completely control the cyber world to an even greater extent than Queen. Maybe he even wants to escape the dark world entirely, and perhaps with the Power of NEO he could, as it's wrapped up in the hopes and dreams of a lightner, maybe that would allow him the ability to exist outside of a dark world.

It's equally possible that that wouldn't work, and even with this power he's still trapped in the cyber world. There's also the tie drawn between God and Demon and Angel but I don't think this is an instance of that being so meaningful. "God" has always seemed the least restricted of the three, and Spamton NEO isn't nearly as powerful as even 6 soul Flowey, which we required 7 souls to beat rather than the mere 1, arguably a max of 3, required against Spamton NEO (the solo fight would have, at most, Kris, their possessor, and myself). And the true 7 soul Flowey, more of an actual god, was only defeated when he chose to give up. I'm still under the impression that actual gods, like the angel, would be essentially untouchable to anyone but their equals in power regardless of what Spamton implies here with the vocabulary.

7. THANKS TO YOUR [Total Jackass stunts] I HAVE [Becomed] NEO.

Catti wanted to talk about this one, she's been helping me finish up this section.

a bit of my own theorycrafting here. what the hell is neo? cuz like neo is "new" right? or something like that. so is spamton neo like... neo because its a new version of himself? supposedly theres some sort of "power of neo"  but what the hell even is that, the power of new shit? deltarune and undertale are both stuck in time loops so like. the only real new thing is the influence of the player, so is that the power of neo? are instances of "neo" something the party wouldnt have encountered on their own in any loop? so like, they never meet jevil and they never activate spamton neo? jevil's instance of neo btw being the voice line "a true and neo chaos" when performing his finisher thing with devilsknife. (noelle has filled our brain with so much weird niche deltarune info) presumably frisk never fights mettaton neo without being influenced down the geno route, if this holds true. so like... noelle talks about this more later but, gaster is seemingly drawing on the power of neo for whatever purpose he has? cuz if the player's influence is the power of neo and he's the one that makes contact, that's probably what he's going for. either breaking deltarune's time loop or maybe studying it to figure out something greater, like how and why every universe in the undertale/deltarune multiverse seems to be stuck in a time loop? idfk, its the ingredients of a theory but im not sure how to mix them all together.

8.  AND NOW IT'S MY [Mansion]! MY [City]! MY [World]!

This line solidifies his ambitions as, at least, reaching greater heights than he had before, and wanting to be able to strongly influence or even control the cyber world. But again, there's no indication of ambition beyond that. He may just be content controlling the cyber world, spam and ads taking over computers. What a cruel fate we've subjected these people to then, they really need an adblock. At least Kris seals the fountain soon after, and we avoid all that.

9. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU WOULD HAVE USED MY [Ring] FOR [Evil]... OH [Right]. THAT'S WHY I SOLD IT TO YOU

We already have a lot of evidence that Spamton knows future details, but he kinda just confirms it here. Though, if he does, it's odd then that he didn't expect to be stopped at the fountain after taking over. However, much like Ralsei seems to, he might not know all the details. Ralsei was surprised at a few events in the weird route, things not going how they were "supposed" to, most notably Susie's interactions with Noelle in her room and our perspective not following them.

Maybe it's some external influence, like the player, not directly interacting with the world but making decisions people in that world wouldn't normally make and there isn't really precedent for it in Spamton and Ralsei's knowledge of the future, or of past time loops, or whatever info they might have, and we exist as some external intervention brought in to break the loop via indirect influence.

10. YOU THINK MAKING [Frozen Chicken] WITH YOUR [Side Chick] IS GONNA LET YOU DRINK UP THAT [Sweet, Sweet] [Freedom Sauce]? WELL, YOU'RE [$!$!] RIGHT! BUT DON'T BLAME ME WHEN YOU'RE [Crying] IN A [Broken Home] WISHING YOU LET YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON [Kill You]

We've discussed the "side chick" thing before, but this line is so great I wanted to include the whole thing. The important part is the latter half. This one makes me think there's actually a real chance the one ending is the weird route actually working, breaking the time loop, but you've essentially killed the world you saved.

I think "broken home" probably means home world,  or hometown at the least, because Kris's home is already broken. Toriel and Asgore have divorced, evidence suggests Asriel is likely dead and possessing Kris, there's not all that much more broken Kris's home specifically could get if Spamton is just referring to the household itself, plus that would be a little underwhelming a consequence.

I'm inclined to think we'll essentially destroy the world, and only then break the time loop, and when we do, we have nothing left worth saving anyway. After all, Spamton likes Kris. He finds them relatable, a kinship between puppets. They can become friends in the normal route which Spamton likely knows about to some extent, so I think calling Kris his "pal" is sort of genuine. Spamton may actually think killing Kris is doing them a favour, and he gives an actual reason why that isn't just that their souls might be freer together like in the normal route.

Either way, at least when it comes to Kris, I don't think Spamton likes to be malicious, so I'm inclined to trust his information.

11. I’LL ADMIT YOU’VE GOT SOME [Guts] KID! BUT IN A [1 for 1] BATTLE, NEO NEVER LOSES!!! DIDN’T YOU KNOW [Neo] IS FAMOUS FOR ITS HIGH DEFENSE!? NOW… ENJOY THE FIR3WORKS, KID!

Catti may actually be onto something. In a one on one battle, the player’s character has always had a chance to win as far as I can recall. Of course, this places Spamton NEO as the Neo in this scenario, and to beat it we have to get help making it no longer a 1 for 1 battle, so I’m unsure exactly how this relates. If Neo does mean the player, being able to reset any mistake could be considered having high defence? I think we’re still missing a couple pieces we need to know quite what Neo is supposed to be, but I figure we’ll have what we need with the release of the next 2 chapters, or at least a lead more concrete than “maybe something player-related”.

12. THERE WILL BE NO MORE [Miracles] NO MORE [Magic]. YOU LOST IT WHEN YOU TRIED TO SEE TOO FAR…. …YOU LOST IT…

Another hint at a sad ending, but it makes me wonder if Gaster really is trying to harvest the darkness from this world or something, if the weird route ends with no more magic. This could also be a reference to trying to see into H E A V E N, which I’m gradually becoming more convinced is some other layer of reality where Gaster is or something, whether that be a darker world or something else entirely. Speaking of whom:

Gaster:

Yeah, we have to talk about this guy now. I wasn’t sure if he was all that relevant before since we know so little about him, and I don’t find him that interesting because, again, we know so little about him that there’s not much to get invested in, so I didn’t bring him up much in part 1. I assumed he probably had some relevance, seeing as this is the ending of the game angel stuff we’re talking about, and Gaster’s presence is felt all over the game, but it wasn’t until recently that I figured out what that presence might mean. I still don’t know many of the details, but I’ve gotten the broad strokes in place I think. Don’t expect me to go super in depth with the specifics. Either way, this section is going to require more guesswork than the rest of this post, and I’m already working with only the evidence I didn’t find for my last post. If something in here is wrong, and there likely will be something, don’t disregard the rest of it. Plus, if these guesses (educated guesses at best) end up being right, I want to be able to say I called it!

The Egg Man:

I think the Egg Man is Gaster. Revolutionary, I know. But specifically, I think there are two Gasters, the Undertale Gaster and the Deltarune Gaster. Which one is which, I’m unsure, but we know that Gaster in Undertale was researching things like darkness, a concept that may be exclusive to Deltarune and certainly wasn’t explored in Undertale, unless you consider the underground to be something of a light world / dark world hybrid, which you could make an argument for. I don't have a lot of evidence for this, especially not in-game evidence, this is just who I think is most likely based on what little I know about it.

People have said that the Gaster dialogue in the 2024 Valentine’s newsletter, while it has similar formatting and speech style to Gaster, doesn’t really sound like Gaster. It sounds too goofy and too casual to feel like something Gaster would say. However, since there could very easily be two Gasters, I think it’s not difficult to reconcile this. Toby may be planning both a Gaster similar in personality to what the fandom expects, and another Gaster, the Egg Man, who’s a lot goofier and less serious to fit a style Toby seems to really enjoy writing. He could get the best of both. The first song in the game, in the sequence talking with Gaster, is literally called “ANOTHER HIM”, and the egg man is only referred to as “man”, “he”, and “him”. I just can’t tell you which Gaster is which. The Undertale Gaster may be originally from Deltarune for all I know.

The Vessel:

I think the Vessel is exactly as advertised. I don’t quite know what it is, but I have an idea of where it might come in useful. I think that late in the weird route, around chapter 6 or 7, Kris will decide they have no choice but to stop the soul by any means necessary, and will attempt to remove it, willing to die without it to ensure the soul doesn’t have a body to possess. This is where the vessel comes in, a convenient alternative to ensure our time loop breaking plan comes to fruition even without Kris’s help. The reasons I think it will be so delayed are twofold:

1. I think that the vessel replacing Kris isn’t something that people are going to just brush off, so it has to happen pretty late as otherwise there would be multiple chapters that have to get rewritten. If it happens at the end of chapter 6 through to the middle of chapter 7, as I think is its most likely window of timing, the amount to rewrite will be much more manageable. 

2. There’s a sword with the trance ability, the Twisted Sword. As Kris is the only one who can use swords, and so far the trance ability seems to affect the user of the equipment, this implies we’ll use it in the weird route to keep Kris docile enough that they won’t try to stop us until the situation is much more dire. Unlike Undertale’s merciless route, the steps to play out the weird route in Deltarune are already very specific and precise, and already require the use of specific equipment in the thorn ring, so this is entirely within the realm of established possibility. It’s also possible, however, that since it’s a weapon with the ability rather than something wearable, it inflicts trance on a target. It may do both, but we don’t realise it affects Kris until later because of how rarely they’re able to express themselves during possession. If, after equipping the sword in the merciless route, Kris suddenly stops getting a lot of their moments of independence and character establishment, we’ll know what it does.

As the sword presumably turns back into a pencil in the light world, this shouldn't change chapter endings much. Since I offer Kris a candy cane pencil in chapter 1, something that could easily match the description we have of the Twisted Sword once it transforms in the dark world, it’s possible I already have the Twisted Sword, though what that could mean I don’t know.

As for the fate of Kris, I think they’ll die. Without their soul, I don’t think they could survive long, and as Susie says, it would be a shame for Toriel to have to bury her child. Which one? Both?? Especially given the ultimate fate of Chara in Undertale, a character Kris very clearly has many parallels with, things aren’t looking good for at least one route’s version of Kris. However, even for Deltarune, killing off Kris in pacifist feels like a stretch. Kris won’t die in pacifist, at least not until the very end at the earliest, they might die in neutral, but I think it's more likely than not that it will happen in weird.

The Song from the Sea: 

My ideas on this are very limited. My best guess is that it may have something to do with how trance works, like a siren song, or Shyren song as the case may be. It’s possible this can be used to override the will of a target. At the very least, it seems to be messing with Onion’s head, as they have severe memory problems that they didn’t seem to have in Undertale. They mention hearing music coming from below the water, likely the bunker that’s probably underneath town, and Shyren’s in the hospital for straining her voice too much that day. This could be related to what happened to Shyren’s sister, Shyra. Maybe she died attempting to perform the song from the sea, and Shyren may suffer the same fate. Maybe the Song from the Sea  is “Hell’s roar bubbling from the depths”, as Jevil says, but the phrasing implies that to be related to the roaring.

Either way, I’m confident this is in some way related to “voice”, and if it is, the connection to trance is supported by the emphasis placed on my being able to hear the commanding “voice” in the weird route irrespective of Kris. Beyond the “voice” relation though, I think there just might be too little info to extrapolate very far with any confidence.

The File Select:

Potentially more evidence in support of additional Gasters is on the file select screen. Choosing a save slot to copy to is choosing “a target for the reflection”, and upon doing so, “the division is complete”, like mitosis. Could Gaster be cloning other selves? Is that “another him”? Multiple vessels? Even cloning timelines, hence its presence on the save file screen? Whatever the process, you can’t copy a file onto itself, because it’s “immune to its own image”.

If he’s cloning himself, it could be so he could have more eyes on his work and more minds thinking before the reset erases his memory.

If he’s cloning timelines, maybe he’s trying to simulate as many options as he can to find a way to break the loop, or maybe the entirety of Deltarune is a reality of Gaster’s creation, hence why he can seemingly destroy it at the press of a button. It may be that the Deltarune we play through is one of these simulations he’s using to find a way to break the time loop. Though, the idea of Deltarune being basically a game within a game feels as though it might undermine investment somewhat. Much of the rest of Variable Angel Theory is so convincing to me in part because I trust Toby as a writer to create a compelling story, and I think VAT is pretty compelling, but if, even in its own fictional universe, it still isn’t real… it just feels off, almost like poor writing. Maybe Gaster is using darkness to bring these simulated universes to life and make them real?  Maybe Undertale was a simulated universe? But I still don't know why he would do something like that other than the reasons I already gave.

Long shot, but maybe “the other 100 years” is the amount of time our Deltarune’s reality has left before it gets deleted? Maybe Seam’s “toast to the end of the world” doesn’t mean the reset, but the literal, actual, permanent end of the world? To me, all of this feels like a needless extra layer on top of a story that could already be complete without it. I trust Toby as a writer not to undermine his own story, or the importance of Gaster in it, especially after all the hype he’s let build up, so I’m inclined to believe I’m misreading something here and this isn’t actually Toby’s plan. If it is, there must be a lot more to it to make it work and be compelling.

While I agree with Jaru on most things related to Deltarune, and he’s the reason I got into Deltarune theorycrafting in the first place, hence why I’ve brought up his work so often, the idea that Deltarune can’t be as compelling if it’s a video game in-universe and explicitly addressed as such isn’t something I agree with quite as strongly as he seems to. It’s a very risky play, and I don’t think the payoff would elevate Deltarune’s story very significantly even if Toby makes it work, but I don’t think it’s unachievable or anything. All rules in writing have certain situations in which it can be better to break them. It’s just that personally, even as a writer myself, and one who prefers less conventional stories, if I were writing it, I don’t think it would be worth the risk, unless I have some very specific and exceptionally compelling plan in mind, which Toby may well have given his clear passion for the story he’s dreamed up.

As such, I won’t rule out the possibility that even in-universe Deltarune is a simulated world akin to a video game, I’m just inclined somewhat against it given the limited amount I’ve looked into Gaster thus far. It’s possible there’s far more evidence in favour that could make this much harder to deny, and I just haven’t found it yet, and it’s not like it would be too far opposed to the themes established in Undertale. After all, Undertale and Deltarune both operate in-universe on many video game rules, this wouldn’t be coming completely out of nowhere if it happens.

It’s even possible that the undermining of narrative importance from this is actually the point, making it even easier to distance yourself, because even in this fictional world these people are still not real. It’s just another reason why your choices don’t matter. Even then, will you still choose to be a good person since their world is still real to them? Will you be like Jevil, and just have fun with it, thinking (probably correctly) that you’re not actually doing any harm? Or will you be like Ralsei, even knowing that the consequences of your actions are so minor, still choosing to be as good a person as you can in spite of it? I think by the time chapters 3 and 4 come out, I’ll be able to more easily swing one way or the other, so I’ll have to follow up on that once that happens. Right now, I’m kind of 50/50 on it, but if it does happen, I wouldn’t be surprised, especially since the more I think about it, the more I write this, the more I’m convincing myself that it’s a genuine possibility. If things keep going the way they have been, it's like the entirety of Deltarune is a buildup into making one of the worst twists in fiction actually hit properly and be kind of good, just for Toby to prove that he can.

If Gaster is cloning vessels, it could be that he’s trying to create the proper one for the job, breeding iterations until it matches his specifications. That fits fairly well with one of my Spamton Sweepstakes pages, wherein I’m breeding pets in a video game to get the right one, and of course, one of them is a glitchy egg that I can’t maintain proper memories of. Whether that’s due to the passage of time, or some supernatural force, I don’t know, but given how many things in Deltarune could potentially have control over your memories and ability to maintain them, and how odd it would be to drop this hint and have it not mean anything, I’m inclined to believe that the memory loss is supernatural in nature and not simply related to the passage of time. Memory of Gaster in Undertale seems to have been erased, so something associated with him might be fair game for erasure as well. Of course, this also makes me wonder, could Gaster be breeding universes? Is that why he would bring them to life? Or might they already be alive by default?

I don’t think the pipis is the same thing as the eggs from the egg man, Spamton clarifies as much, but they may be related. The egg man eggs may duplicate via mitosis as well. Are they an “easter egg”? Or are they meant to be a bug in the code or something? Are they like the “bad egg” in Pokemon that turns other things stored with it into more eggs? Once we put the egg in Asgore’s fridge, and it duplicates, the narration doesn’t clarify if the pickles Asgore had are still there or if they became the second egg that appears in the fridge.

Might the eggs hatch into a new universe, even? Homestuck comes to mind, a project Toby worked on, where, to create a new universe, you have to breed frogs until you get the perfect one that can then become the new universe. If universes or timelines are alive, could the Song from the Sea or some other Trance method be used to influence them? Do all Undertale/Deltarune realities end up in a time loop, and Gaster is attempting to create one that doesn’t by manipulating it manually? I’m not strongly inclined toward any one possibility just yet, but I wanted to lay it all out in case anyone reading this comes up with any ideas, or any more evidence for the ideas I’ve proposed. The idea that Gaster is cloning or breeding universes seems entirely plausible, though to what end, I’m unsure. As for why there are three files, the only thing I can think is Kris’s soul sync with Ralsei and Susie adding up to 3. Susie, as a lightner, should be able to wield determination, and Ralsei, who I believe to be a darkner/lightner hybrid due to his relation to Asriel, should also have this ability. It’s also hard to tell exactly what Gaster’s interaction with these files means. It doesn’t seem like saving in the light world is possible, though the angel may be able to, as Flowey attained that power in Undertale and it didn’t seem to require being underground to work properly, so maybe it’s something Gaster has some access to?

But it’s hard to know exactly which properties Undertale’s underground has in common with Deltarune’s dark worlds, all that seems consistent and clear is that as you go underground, the presence of magic, of darkness, increases. It’s probably why we fall into dark worlds, why the true lab was so deep down, and what the CORE was tapping into to power the underground. As you go deeper, things get dark, darker, yet darker, to borrow a phrase. Thematically too, it seems like the deeper you go the darker the story gets. Toby loves those double meanings. Whatever happens in that bunker, it won’t be good.

The DT Extractor:

In Undertale, the DT extractor is never explicitly called a “DeTermination extractor”. I think that’s one of its functions, (Alphys doesn’t seem to have a deep enough understanding of soul power to be able to do what she did without it, and some of her logs imply the DT extractor is what she used to extract determination) but there’s a good chance it stands for something else or has additional functions, especially given Toby Fox as the writer. It resembles a caprid or cervid skull, which calls to mind the Dreemurr and Holiday families, and some version of Asriel uses it as an attack to erase the timeline, something we’ve just established Gaster may be able to do as well.

I think, at least in some routes, the DT extractor is one of if not the final step in the angelmaking process. If it can extract soul power, which it seems like it can, that gives us the perfect repository for soul power and a way to get it all into one person, as Undertale established it can be injected into someone to allow them to use that power. As I think the angel will reset the timeline, it’s yet another parallel to Undertale, where Asriel, Undertale’s angel, used Hyper Goner, an attack that looks suspiciously like the DT extractor, to reset the timeline. One could ask, why not just inject Kris with so much soul power? After all, we have control over them, it would be easier not to reset the timeline if we have direct control of that power, rather than indirect control through me in the weird route. I see six reasons: 

Giving Kris soul power may allow them to override our control, especially as they can already somewhat do that. Undertale established that sufficient soul power allows someone to override our control, and we don’t even control Kris directly, we control them via Asriel, or at least via the soul, so that should give them an even better chance at taking control from us with that much power. 

We don’t know if humans can even wield soul power in the capacity an angel would. Chara seems to, in Undertale, but they've been dead for presumably decades, and the abilities of ghosts, if Chara even counts as one, are extremely vague and underexplored. Chara is a very special case and I don’t think we can extrapolate from them exactly how it would operate with Kris. The reason I think we can assume it would give Kris control, then, is that It’s also shown with Flowey that high soul power allows someone to wrest control from us, and even though it happened in a different way with Flowey, with him taking control of the timeline rather than control of our actions, it creates a thematic throughline.

By the time we come across the DT extractor, the roaring will probably have started already. Shelter from the roaring is an obvious "in" for exploring the bunker. If Kris did take control from us, they would likely choose to reset, because just like Susie, their hand would be forced.

Everyone’s memory is reset for each loop, it’s hard to know all of the possibilities you’re working with under those conditions. Gaster might know how soul power works in monsters, but he’s much less likely to know how it’d work in Kris, as not only are they a human, something in short supply in Hometown, they’re likely a human with a monster soul, which complicates things farther. It’s not like he could just check how it works because, unless that was his plan from the start, his memories would be erased and he would have to relearn everything each loop. Not only is it a gamble, it’s a gamble he’d have to choose to take as one of his first options.

It’s also possible that Gaster might have more time than I think. If he’s holed himself up in a dark world, or a darker world even, the time dilation effects may allow him to concoct some plan I can’t foresee, making this reason a bit shakier. However, the fact that the reset has already happened several times at least, and it definitely has, may point against him having a successful plan, as if he did, why would the time loop be happening at all anymore? This could also mean the time loop is part of his plan, but if that’s the case, I’ve no idea why. 

Maybe, if you’re in the dark worlds, you’d be immune to the angel’s resets? But if that’s the case, the stakes for darkners are null, they shouldn’t be erased in the dark world. If it’s exclusively a property of darker worlds, that also doesn’t make sense, because then Gaster could easily just go there and savescum until he has time to come up with a working plan. However, if Dess is down there like I think she might be, and she had the determination to create a darker fountain in the first place, she may have more determination than Gaster and is therefore blocking him from resetting.

But if that’s the case, Gaster may not have a DT extractor at all, as otherwise he’d have been able to give himself more power to reset with, something that feels a little off to me as the DT extractor has always felt like it meant something bigger, beyond just what we saw of it in Undertale. Its resemblance to the hyper goner and gaster blasters, and the giant pit under it, which may be used to harness darkness from deeper underground, feel too significant, I don’t think Toby would just leave it at what we saw in Undertale especially with Deltarune being so much more Gaster-related.

Maybe Gaster can’t do it with himself, maybe he’s split into too many pieces or something, and that’s why he’s trying to create an angel by proxy? Maybe his experience with Dess is why he might think I’m a good candidate?

It’s also possible that, if Gaster does maintain memories, he’s already tried just about everything he could. Much like Flowey, he’s gone through loop after loop after loop, and can’t find a way out, so his solution is to reach outside the bounds of Undertale and Deltarune’s realities, and contact us, as hopefully we aren’t bound to fate the same way they are.

When we take control of Chara in Undertale, Flowey posits that it might be because we heard him calling Chara's name, which, while I'm not sure what it means, is an interesting consistency. We have to be called, before we show up. A demon that comes when you call it's name? Maybe Gaster is desperate enough to make a deal with a demon, like Kris tried to. Granted, that's a bit wonky with the angel-demon synonym idea, so I'm inclined to wait for more evidence on it before I consider our involvement demonic, but it's something.

Injecting Kris with this power and making them the angel feels like one of the less interesting ways this could go, given everything we know so far and all the potential character arcs we could be in for, and I don’t think Toby would go with anything less than an extremely compelling option, especially for the endgame. Of Kris, Susie, Ralsei, and myself, I still hold that Kris is the least compelling angel candidate of the four. I just think there are better places to take their character.

This whole thing is so incredibly speculative that there could be dozens of reasons we don’t even know about yet. 

The Roaring:

There’s a good chance that Gaster tapping into the deepest parts of the Earth, like he did in Undertale with the CORE, may be what causes the roaring. If the Earth is alive (which it very well might be given how it was personified in the legend and how darkness brings objects it makes contact with to life), Gaster tapping into it may be the very thing that causes the roaring to happen, as a more literal roaring, the Earth itself being the biggest and most dangerous titan of all. “Crack with fear”, “her heart pounding”, I think there’s a good chance this isn’t going to be metaphorical, even though at first, before you know how darkness operates, it sounds like it would have to be.

Normally, darkness seems to be contained in a separate layer of reality, but with dark fountains punching holes in it, and potentially darker fountains punching holes in the layer beneath those holes, it may only be a matter of time until the Earth’s roar bubbles from the depths. If I had to guess, I’d say the roaring starts at the end of chapter 6 or the start of chapter 7. I expect we’ll explore the bunker in chapter 7, which has a good chance of looping around back to castle town where we’ll end the game, at least in pacifist, being surrounded by all our new friends for the reset. Plus, everyone hiding in the bunker at the end parallels Undertale, where everyone hid in True Lab, the bunker’s likely equivalent, in the merciless route.

Another reason I think this, aside from the fact that it makes sense from a storytelling perspective, is how weird the entrance to the first dark world was. Unlike with the Cyber World, we don’t immediately jump into it, there’s a brief part where Kris and Susie, still appearing in their light world outfits, walk through a room that’s too large to be a closet and doesn’t have any nearby walls. If this happened again in chapter 2, I would be more willing to dismiss it, but there’s clearly something special about this closet that’s being hidden by being shown first, and therefore seeming less weird because we don’t have much to compare it to.

Unfortunately, 2 examples is a little less than we need to establish a pattern, so knowing for sure if there’s anything particularly weird about the closet may have to wait until the next chapters release, so all I can do is guess that it’s connected to the bunker in some way, be that figuratively or literally.

The End, Again:

So uh... that's basically part 2! A little all over the place, but I just wanted to share my thoughts on pretty much everything I've come up with in the process of researching VAT since part 1's release. A lot of stuff here is a little more half baked, but that's kinda what you get working with scraps of the scraps of info we have from 2 chapters I guess.

Rouxls Kaard?:

Here’s something a little less serious to wrap up, like a palate cleanser or something. A couple years back, Jaru made a video going over every even somewhat significant character in Deltarune (and Undertale), to figure out roughly how likely they were to be the Roaring Knight. For some reason, Rouxls has so many similar attributes to the knight, including even sharing the same initials as the knight’s title, that he seemed to be an intentional red herring. And gamers, he’s done it again. Toby Fox has done it yet again. The amount of ties Rouxls has to the angel is actually so damn goofy and it makes me wonder if maybe this does mean something, angel forbid.

Rouxls may have more knowledge about the nature of reality than most characters, as one of his lines gets cut off by the size of the text box, and he complains about this at the end of that line in the game files “Thou gazeth upon a man most handsometh. This daringst genius, adoredeth beyondth all hey let me speakst”

Rouxls’s speech patterns call to mind sort of a parody middle ages type of vibe, a time period associated heavily with Christianity having a strong influence. Especially if there was an original angel centuries or even millennia ago, as there may have been, invoking a time long past. Of course, his speech has to remain somewhat comprehensible, and what it’s going for needs to be understandable by most players, so even if the angel was around well before Early Modern English, it still makes sense for Rouxls to speak in that style to give the general vibe.

The fact that he frequently uses English loan words in the Japanese version, in combination with an older style of Japanese itself, also leads me to believe that specifically Early Modern English is the intended style of his speech and not just something chosen because the game is in English, as otherwise, his use of English-related words even in the Japanese version feels a bit off. I don’t read or understand Japanese nearly well enough to verify this myself. It’s possible my understanding is incorrect, and I know Japanese has a lot of English loan words so it’s unlikely that only Rouxls uses them. I’m just going off of the information on the wiki for this one.

Rouxls says he has some sort of “Reale Powere” we haven’t seen yet, and oddly I’m inclined to believe him. He looks like he has some pretty flashy powers, and those powers seem to operate via holy light. He even teleports with a beam of light from the heavens. I wish we knew what element he is, in case it’s holy, or holy’s pair element, elec.

Rouxls maintains a consistent presence throughout the game, establishing him as important enough to potentially get a role like the angel if he weren’t such a goofy and comedic joke character

The angel would probably have control over the “rouxls” of the universe (or at least the rules of Soul Power), making it the new rules card essentially

Rouxls views himself as above just about everyone, except maybe for the entity he chooses to serve at any given time

Rouxls can fly (or at least levitate a bit), and much of the other information about the angel implies this is common among angels

In Rouxls’s unused proper battle theme, there are bells playing in the background Church bells seem like a likely instrumental motif for the angel, both because of its connection to Christian religion, and the end of the world (when the bell tolls). While the bells in this theme don’t seem to be church bells specifically, they’re still bells, so it seems worth a mention.

The same goes for his shop theme, but as Swatch demonstrates in chapter 2, that seems to be a generic shop theme rather than specifically a Rouxls theme. Since Rouxls is the first one to have it though, and he visits Swatch’s shop, you could make an argument it’s also a Rouxls theme.

White may be a colour associated with the angel, with black or dark blue being a colour associated with darkness and/or the roaring. Rouxls’ colour scheme has both of these colours, exclusively, unless you count the inside of his mouth being lighter blue.

Rouxls is able to create decoy save points, using one for a puzzle in Chapter 1. They’re supposedly “the light only you can see”, so how would Rouxls know generally what it looks like?

Rouxls’ ability to mind control certain characters implies he may have an ability similar to Trance, which could be something people with significant Power have access to. Though, it also operates through equipment, (the Control Crowne) so maybe that’s evidence that trance only works through certain items rather than through the powers of a specific person. Keep an eye out for any disc shaped lifeforms that might be a threat if mind controlled, and any crown shaped crowns that might do the controlling.

The sound of Kris creating a dark fountain at the end of chapter 2 is a modified version of Rouxls’ teleporting sound

So either Rouxls is a masterful double-red-herring, which, knowing Toby, is entirely possible, or he’s actually vital to the plot. However, since Toby wasn’t initially sure if players would even like Rouxls, and actually thought he would be disliked, on top of his goofy personality and status as a mostly joke character, I assume he, at the very least, isn’t a realistic angel candidate. Though, since Toby would have realized how positive his reception was soon after Chapter 1’s release, that could have given him time to give Rouxls a more important role somewhere else.

As both a writer and hobbyist game designer, I just don’t see how a Rouxls angel could have nearly the same impact in the story as myself, Susie, Ralsei, or even candidates I don’t think are all that viable, like Kris, Catti, and Asriel. Knowing how much the impact of this ending means to Toby, being the main inspiration for Deltarune’s creation, and probably even Undertale’s by extension, I don’t think he would risk undermining that ending with Rouxls as the angel.

Maybe Rouxls was the previous angel and he wants to reclaim his lost glory? But that implies the angel serves some specific entity, and while I think the angel is still beholden to fate, I don’t know that you’d really call “fate” an entity. Maybe Rouxls used to serve under the previous angel? But if he did, he sure doesn’t act like he’s been around for that long, and if it was thousands of years ago, or even more than a couple hundred, playing cards may not have even been invented yet, let alone a modern-enough looking rules card that the narration wouldn’t point it out as odd.

Rouxls Kaard even slightly resembles Gaster, so I have to wonder if he’s potentially a triple red herring for something related to that. This character is a mess, and as I’m writing this, I’ve just noticed yet another thing. "My hobbies includest calligraphy, lawkeeping, bugkeeping, cages..." If Jaru’s knight theory is correct, and Gerson’s dust and hammer was reanimated like Ralsei with Asriel’s dust, then Rouxls’s hobbies each match one of the main three opposition characters in Deltarune. Calligraphy for the knight, as Gerson was a writer. Lawkeeping for the angel, as it has control over soul power and the laws of reality itself. Bugkeeping for Gaster, as in programming bugs, given his association with errors in reality and the like, and cages because the game places everyone (except Jevil, he’s the only free one) in a metaphorical cage via the time loop.

That’s all, folks!

At least for now, anyway. Maybe I’ll find even more stuff to share and I’ll have to make a third post about this that’s even longer! But that will probably have to wait until the release of chapters 3 and 4. In the meantime, you can expect the occasional update with some more minor theories of mine, unless the wait is significantly longer or shorter than I expect it to be.

Thanks to Kris, Catti, and some out-of-system friends for helping me puzzle this all out. Without people to bounce ideas off of I would have lost the motivation for this months ago and might not have even finished part 1. Thanks to @jarujaruj, who, without his videos starting me on this nonsense, I would have never gotten this far. Thanks to Toby and his team for not releasing the next 2 chapters before I finished this, despite the multiple scares they gave me in the process and this potentially being the month it'll release. And thanks to everyone for reading, and hopefully, now that you’ve presumably read 2 of these giant things, being willing to give my theory a fair shake.

Here’s your TL;DR:

Kris may be able to sync up their soul with other souls and sources of soul power like dark fountains, potentially explaining every power they uniquely have access to in Deltarune and the dark world leveling system. The angel is created by high soul power, power of the heart, hence the romance themes with Kris and the main angel candidates. Kris will likely remove the soul in the weird route, attempting to take us both down together even if it kills them, and we’ll have Gaster’s vessel as a replacement to ensure we complete the route without Kris’s help.

The DT extractor, assuming Gaster has one in Deltarune’s reality, is likely used to acquire soul power and inject it into a target to make the angel in at least one route. “Holy” and “Sin” don’t seem to be as strictly regulated in their use as “Angel”, so the information we can gather from them is limited, but they seem to help indicate there’s a decent chance Christianity is a religion in this reality, or it used to be, and the angel religion’s traditions evolved from it, making the roaring like the rapture. The Egg Man is, by my guess, a second, goofier, less serious Gaster, from whichever reality the other Gaster isn’t, though they may be a clone as the save file screen implies Gaster can mitose save files, possibly breeding vessels, more Gasters, or even more timelines or universes. The Song from the Sea may be able to create a trance-like effect, and if universes are alive, may be able to control them.

Noelle is the angel in the weird route, Susie is the angel in the pacifist route, Ralsei is likely the angel in the neutral route because Susie won’t have had her full character arc, but this may just happen in a particularly violence-heavy neutral route. Dark worlds have different time flow, and their histories seem to be created retroactively, there’s a good chance a day in the light world could be weeks, months, or years in a dark world, maybe even longer in a darker world (i.e. a dark world created within a dark world, like Berdly tried to do near the end of chapter 2), all decently likely given soul power’s association with time control and darkness being an aspect of soul power.

The personification of the Earth may mean it's actually alive and has a will, and this is what enables the roaring. NEO may be related to things only possible via influence of an outside force, like the player. The Ring of Thorns' similarity to the biblical crown of thorns implies I may be murdered or sacrificed late in the weird route, probably in my attempt to break the loop. I suspect the most likely conclusion of the weird route is successfully breaking the time loop, but being left with a world that's only a broken shell of what it used to be. Don’t forget, even when the places you’ve come to know start feeling like a fantasy being enacted over and over, I’ll be with you in the dark. See you next loop! It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Swallow the Pill

Kim Minjeong (Winter) x Male Reader

word count: 17K

The duffle bag is halfway zipped when your phone buzzes on the dresser. You glance over, one hand on a folded towel, already thinking it’s the group chat. Maybe they’re early, maybe someone forgot sunscreen—typical. Instead, the name “Winter” flashes on the screen. The towel drops from your hand as you frown at it.

Winter...

You haven’t heard from her in a few days, not since that weirdly intimate coffee date where she’d kept looking at you like you hung the moon. Cute, sure, but intense. A little too much. You two weren’t even a thing. A couple of drunken makeouts at parties, a handful of late-night texts, and maybe one date that leaned dangerously into feelings territory. That’s it.

Her message is short and loaded:

"Hey, are you busy?"

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a second. You start typing.

"Kinda. Packing for the beach. What's up?"

The reply comes back fast, like she was waiting for you to answer.

"I’m sick. Really sick. Can you come over?"

You squint at the screen, reading the message twice. Sick? What the hell? You fire back.

"What do you mean sick? Like hospital sick? Are you okay?"

She sends an emoji—one of those pitiful, droopy ones—then another message:

"No hospital. Just the flu or something. I feel awful. Need help."

It takes a second for it to sink in. She must be joking. You stare at the phone, genuinely confused. She has friends, right? Family? Someone closer to her than the guy she’s hooked up with two or three times?

You type:

"Why me? Don’t you have someone else? Friends? Relatives? A neighbor?"

The response is instant:

"Everyone’s busy. And you’re close.

Please, daddy."

Your stomach lurches at the word. She called you that last time you were together too, whispered it in your ear with a grin, like she knew exactly how to get under your skin. You run a hand down your face and reply:

"Don’t call me that."

"Sorry. Please, though. I’m really sick. Can’t even get out of bed. Just need a little favor."

She adds a sad face this time, really driving it home. You stare at your duffle bag, then back at the phone, then back at the duffle.

You’re not her boyfriend. You’re not even really sure what you are. A fling? A pastime? The guy who texts back at 2 a.m.? And yet, there’s this strange pull. The idea of her alone in her apartment, small and helpless, buried under blankets, sniffling. It needles at you.

You type one last message:

"What exactly do you need me to do?"

Her reply is shameless.

"Take care of me. Bring some meds or soup or something. I’ll owe you big."

You know you should say no. You know you should zip the bag, throw it over your shoulder, and walk out the door to meet your friends. But something makes you hesitate.

Is it guilt? Curiosity? Some twisted sense of responsibility for this girl you don’t even know that well? You sigh, tapping out your final surrender.

"Fine. Be there soon."

You throw the duffle bag in the closet. Goodbye, beach. Goodbye, carefree weekend of sun and booze and forgetting your responsibilities.

Winter, you think, had better be worth it.

—

The plastic bags rustle against your leg as you climb the stairs to Winter’s apartment, the fucking elevator is being fixed, and it gives you more time to think about what exactly you're doing. You should have just told her to order delivery. Or called one of her real friends. Or just—anything but this. But here you are, with cold medicine, snacks, and a pint of strawberry ice cream you’re pretty sure she likes because she mentioned it that one time when you were half-listening.

Her messages played through your head the whole drive over. Fever. Headache. Sneezing. She hadn’t sounded dramatic—just miserable enough to guilt you into dropping your plans.

Her door is slightly ajar, probably because she didn’t want to get up to let you in. You knock anyway, a couple of quick raps, and her voice floats out, soft and faint.

“Come in!”

You push the door open and step inside. The place is small, tidy, and unmistakably her. Neutral tones with little bursts of pastel here and there. A fluffy pink throw draped over a beige couch. A single framed photo of a seaside sunset on the wall. It smells faintly of lavender, like one of those candles she’s probably obsessed with.

And there she is, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in the thinnest blanket imaginable. She’s wearing this oversized long-sleeve shirt that probably hits mid-thigh. Her dyed-blonde hair’s a bit of a mess, and her cheeks are faintly flushed. She looks like some kind of sickly cherub, both pitiful and oddly… attractive in her vulnerability.

“Hey,” you say, unsure where to stand, so you hover awkwardly by the door. “How’re you feeling?”

She shifts, sitting up just a little, her voice soft and nasal. “So-so. Better now that you’re here, though.”

You ignore the flutter of something in your chest and hold up the bag. “I got some stuff. Medicine. Snacks. Ice cream, too.”

That perks her up. Her eyes brighten a little. “Ice cream?”

You mumble something barely audible, already heading to her tiny kitchenette. “Yeah. Strawberry. Figured it’d help with the sore throat or whatever.”

She murmurs a soft “thank you” as you stash the pint in her freezer, then return to the living room. You glance around for a place to put the rest of the stuff and end up dumping it on her coffee table. She looks at you with those big, tired eyes, and you feel like you’ve just handed over some priceless treasure instead of a few basics.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says quietly, though there’s a small, pleased smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, I’m here now,” you reply, shrugging. Then, unable to help yourself, you add, “Though it’s a shame it’s under these circumstances.”

Her lips quirk. “Yeah. I was the one missing you, and this is what I get. Karma’s cruel, huh?”

You kneel beside the couch, reaching out almost automatically to check her temperature the old-fashioned way. The back of your hand brushes her forehead, warm but not alarming. Her skin is smooth, softer than you’d expected.

“Doesn’t feel like much of a fever,” you say, trying to sound neutral.

“It’s mild,” she admits, leaning into your hand slightly like it’s instinct. “But I still feel awful. Weak. Kinda lightheaded.”

“Mm.” You pull your hand back, studying her for a moment. “Have you eaten anything today?”

She hesitates, her gaze sliding to the side. That’s answer enough.

“Of course not,” you mutter, exasperated but not surprised. “All right. Medicine first, then you’re eating something. I didn’t give up my beach weekend to watch you wither away on this couch.”

Her laugh is soft and a little hoarse, but it’s there. “You’re bossy. I like it.”

You don’t bother replying, already rummaging through the bag for the cold meds. She watches you the whole time, a small, lazy smile on her lips. It’s like she knows something you don’t, and for some reason, that makes you a little nervous.

You pull a pill packet out of the bag and pop one free, holding it out for her like you’re a nurse on shift. She looks up at you, her nose scrunched. “What is it?”

“Magic,” you deadpan, before grabbing the nearest glass off her coffee table, rinsing it in the sink, and filling it with water. You return and plunk it in her hand. “Just take it. It’s for the headache and fever.”

Winter pouts but obediently swallows the pill, washing it down with the water. Her throat bobs as she drinks, and for some reason, you notice her lips lingering on the rim of the glass. You shake it off and clear your throat. “You got anything in the kitchen? Like, soup stuff?”

She blinks, like she has no idea what you’re talking about. “Maybe? I think there’s... carrots? And, um, potatoes?”

“Perfect,” you say dryly, already heading to the fridge. “Soup à la ‘whatever I can find.’”

She props herself up on her elbow, watching you rummage through her cabinets. “Do you even know how to make soup?”

“Nope,” you reply without missing a beat. “But YouTube does.”

Her laugh is soft and raspy. “Good luck, Gordon Ramsay.”

You glance back at her, smirking. “Keep that energy, sick girl.”

—

It takes longer than you’d like—turns out soup’s a bit more complicated than just dumping water in a pot and crossing your fingers—but eventually, you’ve got something that vaguely smells edible. It’s hot, steaming in a bowl, and you’re honestly a little proud of yourself.

You bring it over and hand it to her. She takes it with both hands, peering into the bowl like it’s a work of art.

“Wow,” she murmurs, a small grin tugging at her lips. “It looks legit.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you mutter, sinking into the armchair across from her.

She spoons some up, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. Her eyes widen just slightly. “Hey, this is actually good.”

“You sound shocked,” you say, leaning back. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She grins, small and sheepish. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to... you know... be so domestic.”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This was a one-time deal.”

She finishes the soup slowly, savoring each bite like it’s some kind of rare delicacy. When she’s done, she sets the bowl aside and looks at you. “Thanks. Really. I feel better already.”

You wave her off, standing up and brushing your hands on your jeans. “No big deal. If anything happens, just shoot me a message.”

Her head tilts. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” you say plainly. “There’s still soup in the kitchen. You can heat it up later if you’re hungry. And like I said, message me if you need anything else.”

Her hand shoots out, grabbing yours. Her grip is soft but firm, and it stops you in your tracks. “Don’t go.”

You hesitate, looking down at her. “Winter...”

“Part of the treatment depends on you staying with me,” she says, her voice light but pleading. Her eyes—big, dark, and slightly glassy—fix on yours. It’s unfair. A total cheat code.

“Come on,” you sigh, trying to pull back. “I’ve already—”

“Please,” she interrupts, tugging you closer. “I get clingy when I’m sick. I need you here.”

You groan, exasperated but helpless. Her face is too damn convincing, her voice too soft. Before you know it, you’re sinking down onto the couch next to her, and she’s leaning into you, her arms sliding around your waist in a loose, warm hug.

“You're too dramatic,” you mutter, but your arms move on their own, wrapping around her small frame.

She lets out a quiet sound—half sigh, half happy grunt—and burrows into your chest like she’s been waiting all day for this. “Thank you,” she whispers.

You sigh again, defeated. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t milk it.”

She just smiles against you, holding on tighter. And somehow, you don’t mind.

—

It’s one of those nights where nothing feels rushed, where time slips by in lazy waves. You’re at one of your friends' house, slouched on his shitty couch that’s seen too many parties and not enough Febreze. A game’s on in the background, the volume turned low enough that no one’s paying attention, and the room smells like pizza grease and beer. Everyone’s in that late-night haze where conversation loops into nonsense—who’d win in a fight between Superman and a shark, or the ethics of hot dog toppings.

You’ve got a cold beer in your hand, halfway through your third or fourth, when your phone buzzes on the armrest.

It’s Winter. She had sent you other messages earlier, But you didn't see them. Or you chose not to.

For a second, you just stare at her name on the screen. It’s been a week since you hooked up at that party, and yeah, you’ve texted a bit. Casual stuff. Songs, memes, “what’s your favorite color” bullshit. You’ve been trying to keep it light. She’s cool, and that’s the problem. Cool girls are trouble. They make you think too much, want too much, and you’ve got enough on your plate without adding emotions to the mix.

Still, curiosity wins. You pick up the phone and open the message.

"What r u doing?"

Simple. Innocent. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. You could lie. Say you’re busy. But why bother?

"Chillin at a friend’s. What about you?"

Her reply comes quick.

"Thinking about you."

You blink at the screen, your brain short-circuiting for a second. The bottle in your hand feels heavier.

"Oh yeah?"

She doesn’t reply right away this time. It’s maybe two minutes of nothing, enough time for one of your friends to ask you a question about the game, for someone else to start laughing about God-knows-what. You nod along, distracted, and then your phone vibrates again.

"Yeah... You were really fun at the party. ;) I kinda wanna see you again."

Your heart does this stupid skip thing, and you tell yourself it’s just the beer. She’s probably just bored. Horny. You tell yourself to play it cool.

"Is that so?"

The next message hits different.

"Come over."

Two words. That’s it. And then, right after, the low blow: a picture.

It’s not outright explicit, but it doesn’t have to be. She’s in these tiny-ass pajamas—shorts so loose you can see the curve of her thigh, a top hanging off one shoulder like it’s about to slide off completely. Her blonde hair’s a little messy, like she’s been rolling around on her bed, and her lips are pouty, her eyes big and innocent, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

She knows. She fucking knows.

Your friends are still talking, still laughing, oblivious to the war happening inside your head. You take another sip of your beer and stare at the photo.

"What’s the catch?"

She replies with another picture. This one’s worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. The shorts have ridden up higher, and her hand’s resting on her bare thigh, just teasing enough to make you swallow hard.

The caption?

"No catch. Just... us."

You’re toast. Game over. Whatever thin line of resistance you had is gone. You drain the rest of your beer in one long gulp and stand up, grabbing your jacket.

“Where you going?” one of your friends asks, looking up from his half-dead vape pen.

“New plans,” you say, keeping it vague, keeping it casual. No one needs to know.

You text Winter on your way out the door:

"On my way."

Her reply comes immediately, a simple:

"Good. Door’s unlocked. You already know the address."

And just like that, you’re heading into the night, her photos burned into your brain and your chest pounding like you’ve already lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing.

—

The elevator hums faintly, a low mechanical noise that fills the silence as you lean against the wall, hands shoved in your jacket pockets. The building smells faintly of floor cleaner and old carpet, and the dim light overhead flickers every few seconds. You glance at the number ticking upward, trying to focus on anything but the flood of memories crowding your head.

The party. You hadn’t planned on much. Show up, grab a drink, maybe stick around long enough to prove you weren’t a total recluse. You weren’t exactly in a social mood, but your friends had dragged you along anyway, saying something about getting you out of your funk. You weren’t even there ten minutes before you saw her. Kim Minjeong.

Winter, as she likes to be called.

She’d practically lit up the room. Blonde hair catching the crappy strobe lights, this magnetic energy that somehow felt both chaotic and easygoing at the same time. You’d been nursing your beer, trying to stay inconspicuous, when she caught your eye and grinned like she already knew all your secrets. It wasn’t long before she was laughing at some half-assed joke you made, her laugh contagious, her hand brushing your arm. Flirting came naturally, her words laced with playful teasing.

And then—your place. Her legs wrapped around you, her breathy moans filling the room as your name spilled from her lips. The way she pulled you closer like she couldn’t get enough, the way her nails dug into your back when you made her come. This story was repeated at another party, then another. And now...

The elevator dings, snapping you back to reality.

You step out into the hallway, the carpet muffling your steps as you make your way to her door. Your stomach twists—anticipation, nerves, maybe a bit of both. The memory of her last message sits heavy in your chest. "Door’s unlocked."

You knock lightly anyway, out of habit, before pushing the door open.

And then she’s there.

Winter launches herself at you like a bullet, arms flinging around your neck, her body colliding with yours so fast you almost stumble back. Your hands fly to her waist instinctively, steadying her, and she clings to you like you’ve been gone for months.

“You came,” she breathes. Her face is so close to yours, her warm breath brushing your cheek, her big eyes looking up at you like you’re the answer to every unspoken question.

“Yeah, I—”

Before you can finish, she presses her lips to yours.

Her kiss is needy, urgent, like she’s been waiting all night for this moment. Her hands move to your hair, fingers tangling in it as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss. You tighten your grip on her waist, her small frame fitting against you perfectly. Her lips are soft and slightly sweet, probably from whatever she’d been drinking before you got here.

You walk her backward, barely breaking the kiss long enough to navigate, until you feel the edge of the couch hit your legs. You sit down, pulling her with you so she lands on your lap, her thighs straddling yours.

“Miss me?” she teases, her lips brushing against yours as she speaks.

“Not sure,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though your hands are already sliding down her sides. “Depends on how much trouble you’re planning to cause tonight.”

Her grin is wicked, her eyes sparkling as she cups your jaw. “A lot. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Probably,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss her again.

She hums against your mouth, her fingers tracing along your jawline. “Good,” she whispers. “I like being your problem.”

You laugh, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mm, you love it.”

You don’t respond, but the way your hands grip her hips says enough.

Her lips barely leave yours as she speaks, her words soft and breathy between kisses. “Why didn’t you answer my calls earlier?”

The question lands like a curveball, and for a second, you freeze. Her hands are still in your hair, her hips firmly planted on your lap, but she’s pulled back just enough to study your face. Her eyes are sharp, curious, and maybe a little accusing.

“I was busy,” you reply, trying to sound casual as your hands settle on her waist.

Winter narrows her eyes, her head tilting slightly like she’s not buying it. “Too busy to pick up the phone? Really?”

You sigh, leaning back into the couch, though your hands don’t leave her hips. “I answered your texts, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, after I sent about ten,” she counters, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

You smirk, raising an eyebrow. “More importantly, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She seems to consider that for a moment, her fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Okay, fine. You get a pass... this time.”

“Oh, thank you, Your Highness,” you tease, earning a playful swat on your shoulder.

Her grin softens, and then she tilts her head, giving you a look that’s somehow both sweet and devious. “So... you don’t secretly have a girlfriend or anything, right?”

The laugh escapes you before you can stop it, loud and genuine. “What? No. Where’d that even come from?”

Winter shrugs, but there’s a sly glint in her eye. “I don’t know... You’re kinda hot. Feels like you’d be someone’s boyfriend already.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Trust me, I’m not. You’re not sharing me with anyone.”

“Good,” she says, her tone a little too triumphant. She leans down again, her lips brushing yours. “Because I don’t like sharing.”

You chuckle against her mouth, your fingers giving her hips a light squeeze. “Noted.”

There’s a brief lull, the kind where the weight of the moment lingers, and then she pulls back slightly, her eyes locking on yours. “Hey,” she starts, her tone shifting to something softer. “Wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden suggestion. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” she says, sitting up a little straighter on your lap. “Like, a casual thing. No big deal.”

You hesitate, your mind running in circles. Coffee. That’s... date territory, isn’t it? Things between you two already feel fast, tangled, intense. The memory of her in your bed is still fresh, and now she’s talking about coffee like it’s nothing.

“Don’t you think we’re moving kinda fast?” you ask, your voice careful.

She tilts her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she smirks, her tone light and teasing. “It’s coffee, not a wedding. What’s the big deal?”

You exhale, shaking your head with a small laugh. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much,” she replies, her grin widening. “So, is that a yes?”

You stare at her for a moment, her face close to yours, her weight warm and solid on your lap. Something about her makes it impossible to say no.

“Fine,” you mutter, smirking. “But you’re buying.”

She laughs, leaning in to kiss you again. “Deal.”

Winter shifts on your lap, her legs straddling you more comfortably as she leans in close, her arms loosely draped around your shoulders. Her expression is playful, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes.

“So,” she starts, her voice soft and sweet, “tell me something about you. Something real. Like... what do you do for work?”

You smirk, leaning back into the couch. “What, now you’re interviewing me?”

“Yep,” she says with a grin. “Can’t just make out with a stranger all the time. Gotta know who I’m dealing with.”

You let out a breath. “Alright. Well, I just left college not too long ago. Now I’m working this boring office job—data entry and spreadsheets. Real thrilling stuff.”

Winter tilts her head, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder. “Office job, huh? So you’re, like, a suit-and-tie kind of guy now?”

“More like khakis and button-downs. Nothing fancy.”

“Hmm,” she muses. “Doesn’t really suit you.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, well, it pays the bills. What about you? What do you do?”

Winter’s smile widens, and she shrugs a little too casually. “I’m a stylist. Hair, makeup, fashion—the whole package.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up.

“Why’s that so surprising?” she teases, leaning in closer, her face inches from yours.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t peg you for that. But I guess it makes sense. You’ve got the vibe.”

“Thanks,” she says, clearly pleased with the compliment. Then, out of nowhere, she drops the bombshell: “Oh, and I already knew you before that party.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she says. “We went to the same college.”

“Are you serious?” You sit up straighter, your hands tightening slightly on her hips.

Winter nods, biting her lip like she’s trying not to laugh at your shock. “Yep. Saw you around campus all the time.”

“Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

Her cheeks flush slightly, her confidence faltering just a bit. “I was shy back then. Plus, you were always surrounded by other girls.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I wasn’t surrounded by girls.”

“You were,” she insists, grinning. “And I thought you were cute, so I didn’t want to deal with the competition.”

You lean in slightly, your voice dropping. “Well, I thought you were beautiful at the party, you know. Everything about you—your clothes, your hair, your smile. You kind of lit up the whole place.”

Winter’s smile softens, and she looks at you like you just handed her the world. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” you reply firmly. “It’s the truth.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling.

“Do you think about me after we had sex? I mean, whe I leave?” she asks, her voice quieter now.

You pause, the question hanging heavily between you. Instead of answering, you turn it back on her. “Do you think about me?”

Her response is immediate. “Of course I do.”

You blink, a little taken aback by her honesty.

“I kept thinking about our kiss,” she continues, her hands sliding down to rest on your chest. “About your hands on me. The way you were so... affectionate and strong at the same time. And how mysterious you are. Like, you give just enough to make me want more.”

Her words wash over you, leaving you almost speechless. You swallow hard, her gaze locking onto yours, and before you can stop yourself, the truth spills out.

“I thought about you too,” you admit. “Just a little. The way you moaned in my ear, soft and slow. The way you pulled me closer, like you couldn’t get enough. And...” You trail off, your hands sliding down to cup her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “I couldn’t stop thinking about this tight little ass of yours.”

Winter lets out a small gasp, her cheeks flushing red, but the sly grin creeping across her face tells you she likes it.

“Is that so?” she teases, her voice trembling slightly as she rocks her hips against your hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss her again. “It’s burned into my brain.”

Her laugh is breathy and soft against your lips as she kisses you back, her arms wrapping tighter around your neck. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Winter’s hips shift subtly in your lap, her thighs squeezing against yours like she’s testing how far she can push you. Her breath is warm against your neck, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispers, “Show me how much Daddy missed me.”

Your grip on her tightens instinctively, your hands digging into the curve of her ass. Something about the way she says it, soft but deliberate, ignites a spark in your chest and sends it straight to your groin.

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” you murmur.

She doesn’t respond with words, just tilts her head, offering her neck like a challenge. You lean in, your teeth grazing her skin, and she lets out a quiet gasp, her fingers tangling in your hair to pull you closer.

Your touch grows firmer, your hands roaming her body like you’re staking a claim. Winter notices—of course, she does—and the sly smile spreading across her lips only feeds the fire.

“Take this off,” you mutter, your fingers toying with the hem of her top.

Winter doesn’t hesitate, raising her arms obediently, her gaze fixed on yours. The top slides up and over her head, revealing her bare chest underneath. No bra, just smooth, pale skin and her small, almost flat breasts. Her nipples are soft, pink against the lighter tone of her skin, and for a moment, all you can do is take her in.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your voice thick with something between awe and desire.

Winter blushes slightly but doesn’t look away, her confidence unwavering as she leans closer, her hands resting on your shoulders. “Well?” she teases, her voice softer now. “Aren’t you gonna touch me?”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your lips find her chest, warm and delicate against your mouth. You kiss along the curve of her small breasts, your hands sliding up her sides until your thumbs brush against the soft skin beneath her nipples. Winter sighs, her head tilting back slightly, her fingers tightening on your shoulders.

You take your time, your lips closing around one nipple, kissing it before flicking your tongue over the sensitive peak. Her skin tastes clean, warm, slightly sweet, and you can feel her chest rise and fall against your mouth as her breathing quickens.

“Oh,” she murmurs, her voice soft but needy. “That feels so good.”

Your hand moves to her other breast, your fingers gently teasing the nipple as you kiss and suck on the first. Winter shifts in your lap, her thighs pressing tighter against yours as she arches into your touch.

“God, I missed this,” you mutter against her skin, your lips dragging across her chest to give her other nipple the same attention.

Winter lets out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers slipping into your hair. “You're making it hard to believe that you were thinking about me just a little bit.”

You look up at her, your lips brushing her skin as you smirk. “Maybe I've been thinking about you too much.”

Your mouth trails upward, leaving her chest for her soft, exposed neck. Winter tilts her head to the side, offering it to you like it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. You kiss along her skin, slow at first, testing, and then your lips part, and you suck gently.

Her breath catches. “Oh, fuck,” she whispers.

You grin against her neck, dragging your tongue along the spot where you know her pulse is fluttering wildly. “I’m gonna leave marks,” you murmur, your voice low and rough. “So you don’t forget me.”

Winter’s fingers slip from your hair to your shoulders, her nails digging into your shirt-covered skin. “Do it,” she pleads, her voice breathy and desperate. “Please, daddy, mark me.”

Something about the way she says it sends a shiver down your spine. You latch onto her neck, sucking harder this time, your teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp. She writhes in your lap, her hips shifting against yours as soft moans spill from her lips.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You move to a new spot, just below her jawline, and suck again, harder this time. Winter whimpers, her hands slipping under your shirt. Her touch is cool and electric against your bare skin, her little nails dragging lightly at first and then scratching down your back.

“Shit,” you hiss, the sting from her nails mixing with the heat of her body against yours.

She smirks, her confidence peeking through as she lifts your shirt higher, exposing more of your skin. “If you’re gonna mark me,” she says, her voice soft but teasing, “I’m marking you too.”

Her nails dig in harder this time, her hands roaming your back and sides with purpose. You feel the faint burn of each scratch, and it only makes you want her more.

You pull back just enough to look at her, her flushed cheeks, her lips slightly parted, her neck now adorned with faint red marks from your mouth. “You’re trouble,” you mutter, your hands sliding back to her hips, pulling her tighter against you.

Winter grins, biting her lip as she looks down at you. “Your trouble,” she says, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning in to suck on another spot just below her ear. Her moan this time is louder, her nails dragging down your chest in response.

Your hand slides down Winter’s side, sneaking under the hem of her loose shorts. The moment your fingers brush against her panties, you freeze.

“Shit,” you mutter, pulling back slightly to look at her. “You’re soaking wet already?”

Winter’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look embarrassed—if anything, she looks proud, biting her lip as she gazes down at you. “Just from your kisses,” she whispers, her voice soft and teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, your fingers dipping further, sliding over the slick heat of her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties. “You’re telling me this is all because of me?”

She lets out a soft gasp, her hips shifting against your hand. “It’s because I’ve been thinking about you. All night. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, your thumb brushing against her clit through the damp fabric. Her reaction is instant—a sharp intake of breath, her nails digging into your shoulders as she presses closer.

You lean in, biting her lower lip just enough to make her whimper. The faint taste of her cherry lip gloss lingers on your tongue, sweet and sticky, and you pull back with a smirk. “You’ve been thinking about me, huh? Let’s see just how much.”

Grabbing her waist, you lift her slightly, laying her back on the couch. Winter looks up at you with wide, eager eyes, her breathing quick as your hands slide to her shorts.

“Let’s get these off,” you say, your voice rough.

She lifts her hips obediently, letting you pull the shorts down her legs. The thin fabric catches for a moment on her thighs before slipping away completely, leaving her in nothing but a tiny pair of panties, already darkened with wetness.

“Goddamn,” you murmur, tossing the shorts aside. “I missed this. Missed the way you taste.”

Winter squirms under your gaze, her lips parting as she whispers, “Then come and get me.”

You take off your jacket and throw it on the floor before you push her legs apart, pale and soft under your hands, guiding her closer to the edge of the couch. You remove her panties in one smooth motion. The sight of her drives you insane—her pink folds glistening, practically begging for your tongue. You kneel between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs, your thumbs brushing just close enough to tease.

“Patience,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss the inside of her thigh. Her skin is warm under your lips, the faint scent of her arousal filling your senses as you trail kisses along her thigh, inching closer to where she needs you most.

Winter moans softly, her fingers tangling in your hair. “Don’t tease me,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

You smirk, your lips brushing against her skin. “But you like it, don’t you? Makes it even better when I finally give you what you want.”

She whimpers, her hips shifting toward your mouth. “Please, daddy,” she breathes. “I need you.”

You grin against her skin, dragging your tongue up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, savoring every shiver and gasp. “You’ll get me,” you murmur, your voice low. “But I’m gonna take my time first.”

Your fingers glide lower, grazing her entrance, and the slick heat against your skin makes your cock throb. “You’re dripping, Winter,” you murmur, teasing her as your fingers just barely slip inside before pulling back.

She arches her back slightly, her hips chasing your hand, desperate for more. “Please,” she whispers, her voice soft and breathy.

“Please what?” you ask, your tone laced with mock innocence. You drag your fingers through her wetness, just enough to make her gasp, but you don’t give her what she wants.

Winter whines, her nails digging into the couch as her thighs twitch against your shoulders. “Please... suck me. I need it,” she begs, her voice trembling.

“Need it?” You smirk, your fingers circling her clit lightly, watching the way her body reacts to every touch. “I don’t think you’ve begged enough.”

Her head falls back against the couch, and she lets out a frustrated moan. “Daddy, please,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “I’ll be good. Just—please. I need your mouth on me.”

“Better,” you murmur, leaning in until your lips are just a breath away from her. You can feel the heat radiating off her pussy, the scent of her arousal making your head spin. “But I want to hear you beg like you really mean it.”

Her hips buck again, and she whimpers, her voice desperate now. “Please, daddy, please suck me. I need your tongue. I need to feel you. I’ll do anything, just—fuck, please!”

That’s all it takes to break you.

“Good girl,” you mutter before diving in.

Your tongue runs flat against her slit, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she shudders under you. The taste of her—sweet, salty, perfect—hits your tongue, and it’s almost overwhelming. You groan against her, your hands gripping her thighs to keep her open as you suck gently on her swollen clit.

“Oh my God,” Winter gasps, her back arching off the couch. “Fuck, yes—just like that.”

You don’t stop, your tongue swirling around her clit before dipping lower to tease her entrance. She’s so wet, the slickness coating your lips and chin as you lap at her like you can’t get enough. Her moans grow louder, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer.

“Fuck, daddy,” she moans, her hips grinding against your mouth. “You’re so good at this—oh, fuck—don’t stop.”

You hum against her, the vibration making her cry out. Your tongue plunges into her, tasting her from the inside, while your thumb comes up to rub slow circles on her clit.

“Shit, you taste so good,” you mutter, your voice muffled against her. “I could do this all fucking night.”

Her breath catches, and her moans turn into desperate little whimpers. “Oh, fuck—I’m so close, please, don’t stop, please—”

Her begging drives you wild, your tongue glides along Winter’s folds, teasing her clit as you feel her squirm beneath your touch. But as much as her gasps and whimpers fuel your hunger, you decide to take it further. Your fingers slip down between her legs, sliding easily over her soaked pussy.

“Fuck,” you murmur, glancing up at her flushed face. “You’re so wet, Winter. You always get this messy just thinking about me?”

She nods weakly, her lips parting to answer, but all that comes out is a shaky moan as you press one finger inside her. The heat and tightness make your cock ache, and when you add a second finger, you’re rewarded with a sharp cry that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You remember last time?” you ask, curling your fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her melt before. “That sweet cream you gave me? I want it again.”

Winter’s head falls back against the couch, her hips bucking into your hand as your fingers pump into her. “Oh my God,” she moans, her voice high and needy. “Daddy, I—fuck—I’ll give it to you, just don’t stop!”

“Good girl,” you growl, your pace quickening. Your fingers thrust into her slick pussy, the sound obscene, wet, and fucking addictive. You can feel her walls tightening around you, and as you pull your fingers out slightly, you watch as a thin, creamy slickness clings to them.

“There it is,” you say, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanted.”

Winter’s face is a mess of pleasure, her moans coming louder and more desperate as you keep going. “Oh, fuck, daddy, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you cut her off, leaning in to suck on her clit while your fingers keep working her. “You’re gonna cum for me, Winter. I want all of it.”

She cries out, her nails digging into the couch as her thighs tremble around your head. “I’m close—fuck, I’m so close!”

You redouble your efforts, your tongue swirling over her swollen clit while your fingers curl and thrust, hitting that spot inside her with relentless precision. Her moans turn into frantic gasps, her body tensing as the pressure builds.

“Come on, baby,” you murmur against her, your breath hot on her sensitive skin. “Give it to me. I want to taste all of you.”

Her body arches off the couch as she lets out a broken scream, her pussy clenching hard around your fingers as she cums. You keep going, licking and sucking at her clit, swallowing every drop of her as her juices coat your tongue. Your fingers slow but don’t stop, drawing out her orgasm until she’s shaking and gasping for breath.

Finally, you pull back, your lips and chin glistening with her arousal. Winter looks at you through half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and trembling. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you meet her gaze. “Told you I missed your taste.”

Her laugh is soft and breathy, and she reaches out to pull you closer.

“And I missed you,” she murmurs. “Every fucking inch of you.”

You lean up, your lips crashing against Winter’s in a desperate, heated kiss. She doesn’t hesitate, kissing you back with just as much intensity, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer. Her taste lingers on your tongue, sweet and salty, and when her lips part to deepen the kiss, you can feel her shiver against you.

Between kisses, her breathless voice cuts through. “I need you,” she whispers, her tone thick with want. “I need your cock, daddy.”

Her words are gasoline on the fire already burning in you. You tug your shirt off over your head, tossing it aside. Your hands drop to your belt, unbuckling it with quick, impatient movements. Winter watches you, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling as she stares at the bulge straining against your underwear. The sound of your zipper fills the room as you shove your pants down, kicking off your shoes and stepping out of everything, leaving only your boxers.

Your cock is rock-hard, the fabric damp where precum has seeped through. Winter’s hand reaches out, slender fingers grazing the outline of you through the thin material.

“Fuck,” Winter whispers. She slides her hand inside your waistband, freeing you in one swift motion.

The moment your cock is out, her small hand wraps around it, stroking you slowly at first, her touch firm but teasing. Her thumb glides over the head, spreading the wetness there as her lips crash against yours again.

“You’re so fucking hard,” she murmurs against your mouth, her strokes growing bolder.

“For you,” you growl, biting at her lower lip as your hips thrust lightly into her hand.

Her grip tightens just enough to make you groan, but you pull back, grabbing her wrists to stop her before this ends too soon.

“Turn around,” you command.

Winter obeys instantly, her movements eager as she twists to lie on her belly on the couch. You guide her legs up, positioning her so her knees rest on the arm of the couch, her ass raised in the air and her thighs trembling.

The sight of her like this—completely vulnerable, her pale skin flushed, her pussy glistening and ready—makes your breath hitch. You step behind her, standing on the floor, your cock twitching as you grip her hips, lining yourself up.

“Beg for it,” you demand.

Winter lets out a soft whine, her head turning to glance back at you. “Please, daddy,” she starts, her voice shaking. “Please fuck me. I need you so bad. I need your cock inside me.”

“That’s not good enough,” you growl, gripping her ass and squeezing hard.

Her voice grows louder, more desperate. “Please, daddy, I’ll be so good for you. I’ll take all of you. Just—fuck, please! I need you to fill me up. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

You smirk, the raw need in her voice sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s better,” you mutter, your hands sliding up her thighs as you position yourself.

“You’re gonna feel every inch of me, baby,” you promise, your voice dark and full of intent. “And you’re gonna love it.”

You don’t bother teasing. Gripping Winter’s soft hips firmly, you position yourself at her entrance, the slick heat of her pussy already pulling you in. And then you push forward, slamming into her in one smooth, powerful thrust.

Her gasp is sharp, a mix of surprise and raw pleasure. “Oh, fuck!” she cries, her body jerking forward on the couch.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, pausing just for a second as her pussy clenches tight around you. “You’re fucking tight, Winter. So goddamn tight.”

She moans in response, her head turning slightly to glance back at you. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes are already hazy with need. “Don’t stop,” she begs, her voice breathy. “Fuck me harder. I need it.”

“Careful what you wish for,” you growl, pulling back and slamming into her again. Her cry of pleasure spurs you on, and soon you’re setting a brutal pace, your hips slamming against her ass with every thrust.

Her pussy grips you like a vice, impossibly tight and hot, and each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You grab a handful of her ass, squeezing the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as you drive into her over and over.

“Shit,” you groan, your voice rough as your hips snap forward. “You take it so fucking good. This tight little pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Winter moans, her voice high and needy. “Yes, yes—don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Her hands claw at the cushions, her body rocking with every thrust. You lean over her slightly, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up her back, pressing her down into the couch. The new angle has her crying out, her pussy clenching even tighter around you.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your breath ragged. “You’re so goddamn wet. So tight. Feels like you’re trying to milk my cock.”

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, each one making your cock throb inside her. “More,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “I need more. Please, fuck me harder. Use me.”

You oblige without hesitation, your grip on her hips tightening as you pound into her mercilessly. The sound of your hips slapping against her ass fills the room, mixing with her desperate moans and your own rough grunts.

“You love this, don’t you?” you growl. “Getting fucked like this, bent over and taking it. You’re such a good little slut for me.”

Her response is immediate, a loud, breathless moan as her back arches. “Yes! I love it—I fucking love it!”

Your thrusts don’t falter, hips slamming into Winter’s ass with relentless force, the wet, filthy sounds of her tight pussy taking you driving you insane. Her body shakes with every thrust, her moans coming louder and louder, each one dripping with desperate need.

And then you glance down at her ass—small, pale, and bouncing every time you slam into her. The sight sends a wicked idea flashing through your mind, and without thinking twice, you bring your hand down hard against her cheek.

The smack echoes in the room, and Winter cries out, the sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp of shock. “Fuck!” she whimpers, her head snapping up as her back arches.

You grin, your hand tingling from the impact. “You like that?” you growl, squeezing the soft, warm flesh you just marked.

“Yes,” she moans, her voice high and breathless. “Do it again.”

Your hand comes down again, harder this time, the sound sharper, and Winter’s reaction is immediate. She moans loudly, pushing her ass back toward you like the filthy little slut she is. “More,” she begs, her voice trembling. “Please, spank your good girl’s ass. I need it.”

“Yeah?” you say, your tone low and mocking as your hand rubs over the red print blooming on her cheek. “You need me to mark this pretty little ass of yours?”

“Yes,” she gasps, writhing beneath you. “Mark me. Use me. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

The words flip a switch in you, and your hand comes down again, and again, each slap leaving a red handprint against her pale skin. Winter cries out every time, her moans turning to shameless, wanton whimpers as she pushes back into your hand, her pussy clenching tighter around your cock.

“Look at you,” you taunt, your voice thick with satisfaction. “Bent over and begging to get your ass spanked like a little whore.”

“Because I am,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “I’m your little whore. Please, don’t stop. Spank me. Fuck me.”

Your hand comes down one more time, the slap ringing out, and Winter practically screams, her hips jerking forward before slamming back against you. Her ass is warm under your palm, the flesh reddened and glowing, and you can’t help but grab it, squeezing hard as you bury yourself inside her again.

“God, you’re such a slut,” you growl, your grip on her hips almost bruising. “Taking my cock so fucking well. You love being dominated, don’t you? Being used?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking as she gasps for air. “I fucking love it. I love the way you use me.”

Her pussy grips you like a vice, her walls fluttering around you as you pound into her, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you. But neither of you is there yet—this is just the beginning, and you’re nowhere near done with her.

Your thrusts are relentless, Winter’s high-pitched screams filling the room, each one tearing through you like fuel on a fire. Her once-pale ass is now completely red, the heat radiating from her skin as you give her one last hard slap. The sound echoes, and she cries out, her body trembling beneath you.

“Get up,” you order.

Winter doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even question you. She pushes herself up from the couch, her legs shaky as she stands, looking over her shoulder at you with wide, obedient eyes. Her chest rises and falls, her flushed body trembling slightly as she waits for your next move.

You don’t give her time to think. Grabbing her by the waist, you lift her with ease, her small frame light in your hands. Her arms instinctively wrap around your neck, and her legs lock around your waist, pulling herself closer to you.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your cock brushing against her slick entrance as you position her. “So fucking obedient. You make me so goddamn hard.”

Her breath hitches, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “Anything for you, daddy. Use me however you want.”

“Fuck, Winter,” you growl, the words making your cock twitch.

You push into her slowly, her wetness making it easy, but her tightness still squeezes you. Both of you moan at the same time, the sound mingling in the air as you bury yourself inside her.

Her voice is soft, trembling. “Oh my God... you’re so deep, daddy.”

“That’s because you’re made for me,” you reply, your voice low and rough as your hands grip her thighs. “Every inch of this tight little pussy is mine.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her nails digging into your shoulders as you start to move. You lift her up, her body sliding along your cock, slow at first, letting her feel every inch as you fill her completely.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your neck as she moans softly in your ear. “I love being your fucktoy.”

You groan, your grip on her tightening as you pick up the pace, moving her up and down on your cock like she’s nothing more than a doll in your hands. Her moans grow louder, each one hitting your ear and making your cock throb inside her.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you mutter, your voice thick with lust. “Moan for me. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

“I love it,” she whimpers, her hips moving in time with yours, her voice high and needy. “I love the way you use me. You make me feel so good—so full.”

“You’re my good girl,” you growl, biting at her neck as you fuck her harder. “And it’s my fucking job to ruin you.”

Her cry is almost a scream, her nails dragging down your back as she clings to you. “Yes,” she moans, her voice breaking. “Ruin me, daddy. Fuck me however you want. I’m yours.”

Your grip tightens on Winter’s thighs as you start pounding into her harder, your movements raw and unforgiving. Her gasps turn into high-pitched moans, her breath hitching with every thrust as her body clings to yours.

“This what you wanted so bad?” you growl, your voice rough against her ear. “You called me over just to get fucked like this?”

“Yes,” she cries out. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I needed your cock—I needed you to fuck me. Make me cum, please!”

“Fuck, you’re so naughty,” you growl, biting her neck lightly as your hips snap forward, driving her down onto your cock with brutal force. “A little slut, calling me in the middle of the night just to get used like this.”

“Yes!” she moans, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against you. “I’m your little slut—I love it! I love being your whore!”

Her words fuel something dark and primal in you, and you slam her down harder, her body bouncing against yours like a rag doll. “Yeah?” you snarl, your tone dripping with dominance. “Then be a good slut and cum on my cock. Right fucking now.”

Winter’s cries rise into screams as you adopt a brutal rhythm, your hands gripping her ass and thighs tightly, throwing her body onto your cock like she’s nothing more than your personal toy. Her moans are loud, desperate, raw, and you can feel her body trembling, teetering on the edge.

“Cum,” you command, your voice firm and unrelenting. “Cum for me, Winter. Now.”

Her body stiffens, her head snapping back as she lets out a long, broken scream. Her pussy clenches hard around your cock, her thighs quaking as waves of pleasure crash through her.

“Fuck!” she cries, her hands gripping you tighter, her nails digging into your back. Her entire body convulses, her moans turning into incoherent whimpers as her orgasm consumes her.

You lean in, attacking her neck with kisses and light bites, your breath hot against her skin. Her eyes roll back, her lips parted in silent screams, and you hold her tightly, keeping her steady as her body jerks uncontrollably in your arms.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur against her skin, your tone softer now. “My good girl. You did so good for me.”

Winter’s breathing is ragged, her body limp in your arms as she comes down from the high. You shift your grip, holding her gently, your lips brushing along her jawline and cheeks, peppering her with soft kisses.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, your hands smoothing over her back. “You deserved every second of that.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her face burying in your neck as she clings to you. “You’re gonna kill me,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but full of satisfaction.

“Not yet,” you reply with a smirk, kissing the top of her head. “I’m not done with you.”

Slowly, you lower her to the ground, setting her on her knees in front of you. She goes willingly, her legs trembling but obedient, her wide eyes looking up at you as she licks her lips.

Winter smiles, her voice soft and teasing. “Ready for more, sir?”

You look down at Winter, kneeling in front of you like the perfect little slut she loves to be. Her blonde hair is messy, her cheeks flushed, and her lips slightly parted, still red from all the biting and kissing. She looks wrecked, and it’s fucking beautiful.

“Yes,” you say, your voice low and full of hunger. “I’m ready for more. But the question is—are you?”

She nods eagerly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as her eyes flicker down to your cock. It’s still rock hard, slick with her arousal, twitching slightly as you step closer.

You grab the base, stroking it slowly as you guide it to her face. The swollen tip brushes against her soft cheek, and her breath hitches, her hands coming up to rest on your thighs for balance. You drag your cock across her flushed skin, over her delicate jawline, and finally against her lips.

“You see this?” you murmur, smirking as you tap the head of your cock against her mouth. “This is what you do to me, Winter. You’ve got me so fucking hard, and now I’m thinking about marking this pretty little face of yours.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as she presses a soft kiss to the head of your cock. “Do it,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “Please, cum on my face. I want it. I want you to mark me.”

Her words send a jolt straight to your core, but you’re not letting her off that easy. You grip her chin gently, tilting her face up to meet your gaze. “If you want it so bad,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her lower lip, “you’re gonna have to earn it. Make me cum, Winter. Show me how much you want it.”

She doesn’t waste a second. Her hands wrap around your shaft, small and delicate against your thick cock, and she leans in, her tongue flicking out to tease the head. You let out a low groan, watching as she works, her eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your hand resting on the back of her head. “Show me what that pretty little mouth can do.”

Winter’s lips part, and she takes you in, her tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down your length. Her mouth is warm and wet, and the suction she creates has your knees threatening to buckle. She starts slow, her movements deliberate as she takes more of you, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck, that’s it,” you groan, your fingers tangling in her hair. “You look so fucking good like this, Winter. Taking me so well.”

She moans around you, the vibration making you curse under your breath. Her head bobs, her pace quickening as she gets more confident, more eager. Spit drips down her chin, her hands twisting at the base of your cock, and her soft little whimpers drive you closer to the edge.

“Shit, baby,” you mutter, your voice rough. “You’re so fucking good at this. Keep going—just like that.”

Her response is to take you even deeper, her throat constricting around you as she gags slightly, but she doesn’t stop. Her nails dig into your thighs, her moans growing louder, and you can feel yourself getting dangerously close.

“Fuck, Winter,” you groan, your grip on her hair tightening. “You’re gonna make me cum all over that pretty face of yours. Is that what you want? To be covered in me?”

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips slick and swollen. “Yes,” she gasps, stroking you with both hands. “I want it so bad. Please, cum for me, daddy. Mark me. I’ll take all of it.”

Her words are your undoing, and you feel the tension coiling tight in your core as she wraps her lips around you again, sucking you with even more determination.

Winter’s lips work over your cock like she was born to do it, her soft, pink mouth gliding along your length while her tongue swirls and flicks against the sensitive underside. Every movement sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you, making it harder to keep your composure.

Her eyes glance up, locking onto yours, and fuck—it’s like she knows exactly what that look does to you. Wide, innocent, framed by her messy blonde hair, and full of something sinful. The combination of her gaze and the wet, obscene sound of her sucking you is almost too much.

“Goddamn, Winter,” you groan, your head falling back for a moment as you let yourself get lost in it. “You’re so fucking good at this. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. She doubles down, taking you deeper, her lips stretching around your cock as her tongue continues to tease. You can feel her saliva dripping down, making a slick mess of her chin, but she doesn’t seem to care. If anything, she moans softly, the vibrations shooting straight through you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your fingers tightening in her hair. You glance down, and the sight of her small hands now cupping and massaging your balls makes your knees nearly give out. “Shit, baby, that’s... that’s so fucking good.”

Winter’s only response is another moan, muffled around your cock. She speeds up, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach, her tongue flicking over your tip with each pass. You can feel the pressure building in your gut, that telltale tightness letting you know you’re close.

“Fuck, Winter, stop,” you growl, pulling her off your cock with a wet pop. You’re panting, your cock twitching in your hand as you take a step back.

She looks up at you, her lips swollen and slick with spit, her chest heaving. “Why’d you stop me?” she asks, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Because,” you say, gripping your cock and stroking it slowly, trying to hold back. “I’m gonna make a fucking mess of your face, and I need you to beg for it.”

Her eyes light up, and she leans forward slightly, her hands resting on her thighs. “Please,” she says, her voice soft and needy. “I want it. I want you to cum on me, daddy. I need it. Please, baby, please.”

“Shit,” you groan, the sound of her sweet little pleas making it impossible to hold back.

You stroke yourself faster, the slickness of her spit making it easy as you aim at her gorgeous face. Winter watches you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her expression full of anticipation.

“Fuck,” you growl, the tension snapping as you feel yourself tip over the edge. “Here it comes, baby. Take it all.”

The first hot spurt of cum hits her cheek, followed by another and another, painting her face in thick, messy streaks. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move—she just sits there, taking every drop like the good little slut she loves to be.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your strokes slowing as the last few ropes of cum land on her lips and chin.

Her lips curl into this filthy little smile, and she doesn’t waste a second. Her fingers are already working, sliding through the mess, gathering your cum like it’s something precious, smearing it across her cheeks, her forehead, even brushing it down to her neck. She spreads it out deliberately, almost artfully, until her face glistens with it, sticky and marked like she wants everyone to know exactly what she’s done. Exactly who she belongs to.

Her tongue flicks out, tasting the corner of her lips, humming softly as if savoring the flavor. She's in no rush to get clean, it's like Winter feels like she doesn't need to—she just leans into the mess, into the filth, wearing it like a badge of honor.

"You taste so fucking good, daddy,” she murmurs, her voice low and thick with satisfaction. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she drags her fingers to her lips, sucking one clean with a soft, wet pop. She grins wider, teeth flashing. "I could eat this off me all night.”

You smirk, brushing a thumb across her cheek to gather some of the cum she missed. “Clean me up,” you say, stepping closer and holding your cock in front of her mouth.

Winter leans in without hesitation, her tongue flicking out to lick along your length, cleaning every inch of you with slow, deliberate strokes. She takes you into her mouth one last time, sucking gently, her eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the moment.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her hair as she finishes. “You’re fucking perfect.”

—

The TV hums softly in the background, some late-night infomercial filling the quiet, but you’re not watching it. Your eyes are on Winter, her head resting on your lap as she sleeps. Her soft blonde hair falls over her face, her lips slightly parted, her breathing slow and steady. She looks so peaceful like this, curled up on the couch under your hand.

You stroke her hair absentmindedly, your mind drifting. It’s not the first time you’ve been like this with her, and that’s what’s messing you up. You think back to that night at her apartment—the way she kissed you like she’d been waiting her whole life for it, the way she moaned your name, the way she asked you to mark her, the way she fell asleep in your arms afterward.

And then, the morning after. That was unusual for you. Normally, you’d wake up, maybe share some awkward small talk, and then you’d be gone. No texts, no calls, just a memory and a closed chapter. But with Winter...

You remember how she clung to you that morning, burying her face in your chest, refusing to let you go. How you didn’t mind staying in bed with her, your arms wrapped around her, her warmth sinking into you. It was so... different.

Now here you are again. Winter on your lap, completely comfortable with you being here. And you, sitting here like an idiot, unable to tear yourself away. If only she wasn’t so cute, so sweet, so... fucking irresistible.

You sigh quietly and glance at the clock. It’s late, and you know you shouldn’t stay. Carefully, you slide your hand out from under her head and shift her onto the couch, laying her down gently. She murmurs something in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. You grab a blanket from the armrest and drape it over her, tucking it around her small frame.

You pause for a moment, just looking at her. God, she’s beautiful. Too beautiful.

Shaking your head, you grab your jacket and head for the door. You’ve got your hand on the doorknob when you hear a soft, groggy voice behind you.

“Where are you going?”

You freeze, turning to see Winter sitting up on the couch, her eyes heavy with sleep but full of confusion. She looks at you like a child caught waking up to an empty room, her expression tugging at something deep inside you.

“I was just leaving,” you say quietly. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

She gets up slowly, the blanket falling off her shoulders as she shuffles over to you. Her arms wrap around your waist, her cheek pressing against your chest. “Stay,” she murmurs, her voice soft but firm.

You hesitate, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides. “Winter...”

“Why do you always run away?” she asks, her voice muffled against your shirt.

“I’m not running away,” you say, though it sounds weak even to your own ears.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those big, questioning eyes. “Yes, you are. You did it the first time, and the second, and—God, you always do this. Why?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t... I don’t do relationships, Winter. That’s not my thing. I’m not trying to hurt you—I just...”

“Just what?” she presses. “What are you so afraid of?”

You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. Finally, you take a deep breath and say, “Maybe I like you more than I should. And I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and you feel her grip on your shirt tighten.

“Relationships are messy,” you continue, your voice low. “They’re complicated. And I’m not good at that shit. I don’t want to fuck this up, Winter. I don’t want to fuck you up.”

She blinks at you, her expression softening. “You’re not fucking me up,” she says quietly. “You’re... you’re making me happy. And I think I make you happy too. Or am I wrong?”

You look at her, the vulnerability in her eyes. “You do,” you admit. “You make me feel things I don't want to feel, Winter.”

“Then stay,” she whispers. “Just for tonight. Stop running, just... stay with me.”

Her words hang in the air, and for once, you don’t have a reason to say no. Letting out a heavy sigh, you throw your jacket back on the couch and wrap your arms around her and pulling her close, resting your chin on top of her head.

“Alright,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.”

Winter hugs you tighter, her body relaxing against yours. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice soft and full of relief.

Winter tugs you back to the couch, her small hands wrapped around your wrist as she pulls you down beside her. The blanket slips off the couch as she curls up next to you, her head resting against your shoulder.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask, glancing down at her.

“Better,” she murmurs, her voice soft and still a little groggy. “Just a little cold.”

You tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “Want me to grab you something from your closet? A hoodie or something?”

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she looks up at you. “No. You’re already enough to warm me up.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitches upward. “You’re so clingy.”

“And that's why you like me,” she shoots back, leaning into you a little more.

You sigh, letting the moment settle for a bit, but then Winter shifts, sitting up slightly to face you. There’s something in her eyes now—a mix of curiosity and determination that instantly puts you on edge.

“So,” she starts, her tone deceptively casual. “Why are you so anti-relationship?”

“Winter…” you warn, already feeling the weight of the conversation she’s trying to start.

“Nope,” she says, cutting you off with a shake of her head. “Don’t brush me off. You just admitted you like me, so now I get to ask questions.”

You groan, leaning your head back against the couch. “This is why I don’t talk about shit like this.”

“Too bad,” she says firmly, poking your chest with her finger. “Spill.”

You let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “Fine. You want the story? Here it is.”

Winter doesn’t say anything, just waits, her eyes locked on you, her expression soft but focused.

“It was high school,” you start, your voice quieter now. “I was seventeen. She was… everything. Or at least, I thought she was. We were together for two years—serious, like, talking-about-the-future serious. Then, out of nowhere, she dumped me. Said she was bored. Two years, and she just… walked away like it was nothing.”

Winter’s face twists in disbelief. “Are you serious? She said that? That she was bored?”

You nod, a bitter laugh escaping you. “Yeah. And she was already hooking up with some guy from her physics class a week later. Guess I wasn’t exciting enough.”

“That’s fucking awful,” Winter says, her voice soft but filled with anger on your behalf.

“Yeah, well, it kind of destroyed me,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was stupid enough to think it was love, you know? Thought she was the one or whatever. But after that, I decided I wasn’t gonna deal with that shit anymore. Relationships are messy, and people suck.”

Winter doesn’t say anything right away, just stares at you like she’s trying to piece you together. Finally, she asks, “So, what? You’re just gonna live the rest of your life alone?”

“Pretty much,” you say with a shrug. “I’m not living in the 50s, Winter. I don’t need to get married or settle down to be happy.”

Her brow furrows, and she shifts closer, her hand resting lightly on your knee. “I’m sorry you went through that. I really am. But…”

You raise an eyebrow. “But?”

“But,” she continues, her voice firm, “not everyone’s like her. Not everyone’s gonna break your heart.”

You scoff lightly. “Right. Until they do.”

Winter shakes her head, her hand squeezing your knee. “I’m not saying you have to trust everyone. I’m just saying… maybe you shouldn’t shut the door completely. You’re not the same person you were back then.”

You glance at her, her face so earnest it almost hurts to look at her. “What are you getting at?”

She takes a deep breath, her hand moving to cover yours. “I’m saying… give me a chance. Let me show you that relationships don’t have to be messy and painful. That they can be good, too.”

“Winter…”

“Just think about it,” she says softly. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m asking for a chance. For us.”

Her eyes search yours, and for the first time in years, you feel the walls you’ve built around yourself start to crack, just a little.

“Why me, anyway?” you finally ask. “There are so many guys out there—guys who actually want to date, who don’t have all this baggage.”

Winter sits back a little, still close but giving you enough space to think. Her eyes stay locked on yours, though, unwavering. “Because none of them are you,” she says softly, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of her answer. “What does that even mean?”

She smiles, a small, almost shy curve of her lips. “It means I don’t want someone else. I want you. You’re funny, and you’re smart, and you’re—” She pauses, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re different. In the best way.”

You snort lightly, trying to deflect the compliment. “Different how?”

“You just are,” she says, leaning forward. “Remember that night I couldn’t sleep, and you were up playing video games? We messaged for hours, just talking about the dumbest shit.”

You do remember. She’d been wide awake at 2 a.m., texting you about how she hated the sound of the neighbor’s wind chimes. You’d been mid-match, only half-paying attention at first, but then she’d started making jokes, and somehow you’d ended up talking until the sun came up.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “That was... pretty cool.”

“Exactly,” she says, her smile growing. “You made me feel better that night without even trying. And it wasn’t just that. It’s everything. The way you talk, the way you think. You don’t even realize how... captivating you are.”

You glance away, the intensity of her gaze making your stomach twist. “You’re overselling me, Winter.”

“I’m not,” she says, and before you can argue, she climbs into your lap. Her movements are smooth and confident, and suddenly, she’s straddling you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

“You’re scared,” she says softly, her face inches from yours. “And I get it. But if you give me a chance, I promise you won’t get tired of me.”

You look at her, her wide, earnest eyes, her lips slightly parted, and you know she’s being honest. You sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. “I already know I wouldn’t get tired of you,” you admit, your voice low. “That’s the problem.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” You pause, your hands instinctively settling on her waist. “What if it’s the other way around? What if you get tired of me?”

She stares at you for a moment, and then, without saying a word, she leans in and kisses you. It’s soft at first, her lips brushing against yours gently, but then she deepens it, her hands sliding up to cup your face. It’s not just a kiss—it’s an answer.

When she finally pulls back, her voice is firm. “I’m not going to get tired of you.”

You stare at her, her words settling somewhere deep inside you, and you can’t find it in yourself to argue.

She smiles again, softer this time, her fingers tracing along your jaw. “So... is tomorrow’s coffee still on?”

You chuckle, shaking your head slightly. “As long as you’re feeling better.”

She grins, her eyes lighting up. “Deal.”

Winter’s hand moves slowly over your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your shirt. Her gaze softens, though there’s a playful glint in her eyes. “So,” she starts, her tone low and inviting, “what do you think about celebrating this new phase of ours… in bed?”

“You’re sick, Winter.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “I feel cured already.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Do you?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, leaning in closer, her fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush against your bare skin. “And if I’m not, maybe you could… help with that?”

Your laugh is soft, though your body betrays you, your hands already resting on her hips. “You really think I’m gonna fuck you when you’re sick?”

“Why not?” she counters, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Are you saying you’d stop just because of that?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though your grip on her hips tightens slightly. “Because I actually care about your well-being, even if you don’t.”

Her smile widens, and she leans closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “For the sake of my well-being, I need to be fucked really hard. By you.”

You pull back slightly, giving her an incredulous look. “And how exactly is that supposed to help?”

She shrugs, her fingers sliding further up your chest. “It’s alternative treatment,” she says, her tone teasing. “I’m pretty sure it’s good for circulation or something.”

You shake your head, fighting a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re already hard,” she points out, shifting her weight slightly to grind her hips against your lap. The motion is subtle, but it’s enough to make your cock twitch, the heat of her body pressing against you.

“Winter—” you start, but she cuts you off, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re hard from the thought of fucking a sick, vulnerable girl,” she says, her voice dropping to a provocative whisper.

You smirk, your hands sliding down to squeeze her little ass. “You don’t look very vulnerable right now.”

She laughs softly, her breath warm against your neck. “You’re right. I’m not. In fact, I’m fucking horny.”

Her words send a jolt straight through you, and before you can second-guess yourself, you’re standing, lifting her effortlessly into your arms. Winter squeals softly, her legs wrapping around your waist, her hands locking behind your neck.

“You’re so fucking naughty,” you mutter, carrying her toward the bedroom.

“And you’re irresistible,” she counters, grinning.

You glance down at her, her flushed cheeks, her bright eyes, her lips slightly parted. “You are too,” you admit, your voice quieter. “Too fucking irresistible for your own good.”

She leans in, brushing her lips against yours in a soft, teasing kiss. “Then don’t resist.”

You step into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you before lowering her onto the bed. She looks up at you, her messy blonde hair splayed across the pillow, her lips curling into a pout. “Promise you’ll be affectionate with me after?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with mischief. “I'm so sensitive.”

You laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Sensitive? You? That’s the last thing you are.”

Her pout deepens, though the glint in her eyes gives her away. “I can be sensitive!”

“Sure you can,” you tease, your hands already sliding under her shirt. “But I think we both know you’re a lot more dangerous than that.”

She grins, her hands tugging you closer. “Dangerous or not, I’m all yours.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you murmur, lowering yourself over her as your lips capture hers in a kiss that promises everything she asked for—and more.

As you pull back from the kiss, standing over Winter while starting to unbutton your shirt, she suddenly shifts, adopting this dramatic, old-Hollywood expression. Her eyes widen with mock innocence, her hand fluttering delicately to her chest.

“Oh, Doctor,” she says in an exaggerated, breathy voice, like a starlet from a black-and-white film. “Are you sure this… treatment is absolutely necessary?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“This treatment,” she repeats, pointing vaguely between the two of you. “It feels so… unconventional. I’m not sure I should be here.”

The way she’s looking at you, like she’s trying to win an Oscar, makes you snort. “What the hell are you doing?”

She gasps, putting a hand to her cheek like you’ve just scandalized her. “I’m your patient, Doctor! You mustn’t mock me in my time of need!”

It finally clicks, and you shake your head, chuckling as you play along. “Oh, I see how it is,” you say, pulling your shirt off and tossing it onto the floor, already working on your pants. “Well, don’t worry, Miss Winter. You’re my favorite patient. The most beautiful, the most well-behaved. You deserve the best care.”

She covers her mouth like she’s shocked, then peeks through her fingers with a mischievous grin. “Oh, Doctor, you must say that to all your patients.”

“I don’t,” you say firmly, now standing in just your underwear. You slide your hands slowly down her thighs, her skin soft and warm beneath your palms. “You’re the only one I touch like this. The only one I care for in such a… special way.”

Winter bites her lip, pretending to be shy as she squirms under your touch. “Doctor,” she whispers, her voice trembling with fake innocence. “Promise you’ll take good care of me?”

You smirk, leaning down so your face is close to hers. “I promise. That’s my job, after all.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks up at you through her lashes. “You make me feel… strange things, Doctor.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Strange things? What kind of things, Miss Winter?”

She hesitates, biting her lip like she’s embarrassed. “Well… down there,” she says softly, gesturing vaguely toward her hips. “You make me all… wet.”

You fight back a grin, your hands tightening slightly on her thighs. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she continues, her voice growing more dramatic. “And I’ve been having such impure thoughts about you, Doctor. Thoughts about your… hands. And your lips. And other things.”

You let out a low chuckle, leaning down to kiss her, slow and teasing. “That does sound serious,” you murmur against her lips. “But don’t worry, Miss Winter. I know exactly how to solve this.”

She gasps softly, her hands tangling in your hair as she kisses you back, her voice a little less dramatic now and a lot more needy. “Oh, Doctor,” she murmurs, her tone shifting into something real, full of anticipation.

You grab the hem of Winter’s oversized shirt, lifting it slowly, and the sight of her bare thighs makes your breath hitch. But when you lift it higher and realize she’s not wearing panties, her pussy already glistening, you pause.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your eyes locked on her. “You’ve been walking around like this the whole time?”

She grins, her cheeks flushed but full of mischief. “Maybe. It's more practical to simply not wear panties around you.”

You slide a hand between her legs, your fingers brushing against her wetness, and she gasps, her hips jerking slightly. “Soaked,” you murmur, rubbing her gently. “You’re soaked already. You’ve been like this the whole time, haven’t you?”

“Since you walked in,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I’ve been dreaming about this cock since you got here.”

You lean in, kissing her hard while your fingers work her pussy, sliding along her slick folds. She moans into your mouth, her hands reaching down to grip your cock through your underwear. The pressure is just enough to make you groan, and she strokes you, slow and deliberate, her fingers wrapping around your length.

“Dreaming about me, huh?” you say, pulling back just enough to look at her flushed face. “Were you even sick, Winter?”

She hesitates, biting her lip before confessing, “Maybe… I'm not that sick.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m noticing that.”

Your fingers slide inside her, and she lets out a sharp gasp, her nails digging into your shoulders. She’s tight, hot, and so wet it’s almost obscene. You move slowly at first, curling your fingers just right, and her moans grow louder, her body arching into your touch.

But then you pull your fingers out, watching as they glisten with her slickness. Without a word, you bring them to her lips. “Suck,” you command softly.

Winter’s eyes widen slightly, but she obeys, parting her lips and taking your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around them, slow and sensual, and the sight of her makes your cock throb painfully.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you mutter, watching the way her lips move, how she looks up at you like she’s daring you to lose control.

You pull your fingers from her mouth with a soft pop, her lips shiny with saliva, and you smirk. “Open your mouth,” you say, your voice rough.

She does as you ask, her lips parting slightly, and you spit, the act filthy and intimate. She takes it without hesitation, her tongue darting out to taste it before you lean in and kiss her hard, your hand gripping the back of her neck.

Your other hand comes up to her cheeks, holding her face as you pull back slightly. “Tell me,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her flushed skin. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

“That’s not polite,” you say, smirking. “Ask nicely.”

Her eyes darken, and she bites her lip before speaking again. “Please, daddy. Please fuck me. I need you so bad. Please.”

You grin, leaning down to kiss her again before pulling back. “Lie down,” you command.

Winter obeys, sliding back on the bed until she’s lying flat, her legs spreading instinctively. You strip off your underwear, your cock springing free, hard and already leaking.

“Condom?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

She shakes her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You know we don’t need it.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “I like to be polite.”

She giggles, her laughter soft and breathy. “You don’t look so polite when you’re fucking me like an animal.”

You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself between her legs, your cock brushing against her entrance. “And you love it,” you say, rubbing the head of your cock along her slick folds, teasing her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her hips shifting as she tries to take you in. “Yes, I love it. Please, don’t tease me.”

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. “Then beg louder,” you murmur.

Winter’s whines turn into outright begging, her voice trembling as her hips tilt up, desperate to pull you in.

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands gripping the sheets. “Please, I need it so bad. I’ll be your little whore, I promise. I’ll be good, daddy. I’ll do whatever you say—just fuck me already.”

Her words make you grin, the filthy desperation in her voice hitting you in all the right places. You look down at her, her angelic face flushed with need, her wide, pleading eyes fixed on you, and you can’t help but marvel.

“How can you look so sweet,” you murmur, your voice low, “and be such a little slut at the same time?”

Winter moans at the words, her thighs trembling as she spreads her legs even wider. “I’m your slut,” she whispers. “Only yours. Please, please, don’t tease me anymore. I need you.”

“Yeah?” you growl, gripping her hips tightly. “You’re mine, huh? My needy little slut?”

“Yes, daddy,” she cries, her nails digging into the sheets as her head tilts back. “All yours. Please, just fuck me!”

You don’t make her wait another second. With one powerful thrust, you bury yourself inside her, all at once, hard and fast. The sheer heat and tightness of her pussy make you groan, your fingers digging into her hips as her scream of pleasure fills the room.

“Fuck, Winter,” you growl, barely able to hold yourself back. “You’re so fucking tight.”

She’s writhing beneath you, her back arching as her hands grab at your arms, her moans coming high-pitched and desperate. “Yes, yes, fuck—just like that!”

You don’t waste time easing into it. You pull back and slam into her again, setting a violent, unrelenting pace that has the bed creaking and her cries growing louder with every thrust. Her pussy clenches around you, slick and hot and perfect, pulling you deeper every time.

“Goddamn, you take it so good,” you growl, leaning over her as your hips snap against hers. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To get fucked like this?”

“Yes!” she screams, her nails raking down your back. “Yes, yes—fuck me harder! Use me, please!”

“You love being my slut, don’t you?”

“I love it,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I fucking love it. I’ll do anything—just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Her legs wrap around your waist, locking you in place as her body trembles beneath you. Her moans are constant, her cries mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. The sight of her like this—messy, desperate, completely lost in you—only makes you go harder, driving into her like you’re trying to ruin her.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groan, your grip on her tightening as you pound into her mercilessly. “This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Made to be fucked like this?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Winter cries, her voice shaking as she clings to you. “It’s yours—only yours. Please, I can’t take it—please don’t stop!”

Your cock drives into her over and over, each thrust rougher, deeper, more unrelenting than the last. Winter’s high-pitched moans fill the room, her thighs trembling as her hips push up to meet yours, desperate for every inch you’re giving her.

You bring your hand up to her throat, wrapping your fingers around it, just enough for her to feel it. Winter gasps at the touch, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, and her lips part in a soft, breathy moan.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “I love it. I love how you make me feel.”

You smirk, leaning down slightly, your hand tightening just enough to make her breathing shallow. “You love being submissive, huh? Love being at my mercy?”

Her head tilts back, her eyes rolling slightly as she moans louder, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. “Yes,” she whimpers. “I love it. I love being yours.”

The sight of her—so completely lost in the pleasure, so willing to let you take control—sends a jolt of heat through you. You squeeze her throat a little harder, watching the way her body reacts instantly, her back arching as her pussy clenches around your cock.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your hips snapping against hers. “You’re so fucking perfect like this. You’re made to be my little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice strained but dripping with need. “I’m your slut—your good little slut. Please, don’t stop, daddy.”

You lean down further, your lips brushing against her ear as your hand stays firmly on her throat. “You like being choked, don’t you? Like how it feels when I take control?”

Her eyes roll back again, her body shuddering beneath you. “Yes, yes—I love it,” she gasps, her voice barely audible now. “Please, don’t stop. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Yeah?” you growl, your other hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks as you thrust into her relentlessly. “You’d do anything for me?”

“Yes,” she moans, her nails digging into your arms. “Anything. I just want to please you.”

You tighten your grip on her throat slightly, watching as her lips part in a silent cry, her body arching off the bed. The way she looks right now—eyes hazy, mouth open, completely at your mercy—drives you insane.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your pace never faltering. “You’re such a good little slut for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Her moans grow louder again, her body writhing beneath you as you push her closer and closer to that edge. But you’re not done yet—you want her completely undone, begging for more, completely yours.

Your cock slams into Winter’s soaking wet pussy with relentless force, the violent pace making her body bounce with each thrust. Her moans are high-pitched, desperate, and completely filthy, and you can feel the way she’s tightening around you, her body trembling as she gets closer and closer.

“I’m close,” she cries, her voice breaking, her nails clawing at the sheets. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

The moment the words leave her mouth, you slow down drastically, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in painfully slow. Winter whines loudly, her hips trying to chase yours for more friction, but you grab her waist, holding her still.

“What did you just say?” you growl, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t cum unless I say so.”

“Sorry, daddy,” she whimpers, her eyes squeezing shut as her hands grip the sheets tightly.

“Do you?” you challenge, raising your hand and slapping her cheek firmly, just the way you know drives her wild. Her head turns with the impact, her lips parting in a sharp gasp, and her eyes flutter open, looking at you with a mix of surprise and arousal.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Louder,” you demand, your hand gripping her chin to make her face you. “Speak clearly when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes!” she cries, her voice louder now, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed over. “I understand. I’ll be good, I swear!”

“That’s better,” you mutter, giving her one more light slap for good measure.

Without another word, you lift her off the bed with ease, her small frame fitting perfectly in your hands. You reposition her so she’s sitting in your lap, her back pressed against your chest. The intimacy of the position contrasts sharply with the dominance in your touch as you slide back into her, burying yourself deep.

Winter lets out a choked cry, her hands grabbing at your thighs as you hold her firmly against you. Your chest presses against her back, your arms wrapping around her waist as you start to move again, slow and possessive this time.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your lips brushing against her ear. “You feel so fucking good like this. You’re mine, Winter. My good girl.”

“Yes,” she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder. “I’m yours. I’ll be good, daddy—I promise, I’ll be good for you.”

“You better,” you growl, your teeth grazing her neck as your hands roam over her body, gripping her hips and pulling her down onto your cock with each thrust. “If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to earn it. Be the perfect little slut for me.”

“I will,” she gasps, her body trembling against yours. “I’ll do anything for you. Just don’t stop.”

You hold her tighter, your thrusts growing faster, deeper, the angle making her whimper and cry out with every movement. Her head rolls against your shoulder, her lips brushing against your neck as her hands grip your thighs desperately.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur, your voice rough with lust. “You take me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “Made for you. Only for you.”

Your cock drives into Winter slowly, each deliberate thrust making her squirm in your lap. Her back is pressed tightly against your chest, her flushed skin damp with sweat, and her whines are soft and desperate, filling the room like music. You can feel how badly she wants it—the way her pussy clenches around you, her hips trying to push down to take you deeper. But you don’t let her.

Instead, your hand slides up to her throat, fingers wrapping around her delicate neck, and you give her a firm squeeze. She gasps at the contact, her head tilting back against your shoulder, exposing her throat to you.

“You really like this, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “The way I fuck you. The way I tease you.”

“Yes, daddy,” she whimpers, her hands gripping your arms for support. “I love it. I love everything about it.”

You squeeze her throat a little tighter, your lips brushing against her ear. “You sure about that?” you ask, your thrusts slowing even more, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in agonizingly slow. “Because if you’re not, I can stop. I won’t let you cum.”

“No!” Winter cries, her voice high-pitched and panicked. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

You chuckle darkly, your free hand sliding down to grip her hip, keeping her firmly in place as you continue your slow, deliberate pace. “Then tell me,” you growl. “Tell me how much you love this cock.”

“I love it,” she whines, her voice trembling with need. “I love your big, thick cock. I love the way it fills me up, the way it drives me crazy.”

Your cock twitches at her words, and you tighten your grip on her throat just enough to make her gasp. “Yeah?” you murmur, your tone still teasing. “You love the way I fuck you, don’t you? The way I make you beg like this?”

“Yes, yes,” she moans, her head rolling back against your shoulder. “I love it so much. You make me feel so good—so fucking good.”

You smirk, your lips grazing her jawline. “You’re not just saying that, are you?” you ask, your hand flexing around her throat. “Because if you’re lying, Winter, I swear I’ll stop right now.”

Her body shudders, and she turns her head slightly to look at you, her eyes glassy with desire. “I swear,” she says, her voice breaking. “It’s true. I love it. I love the way you fuck me. Please don’t stop, daddy. Please, let me cum.”

You study her for a moment, her trembling body, her wide, pleading eyes, the way her voice shakes with desperation. There’s no denying how much she means it, how much she needs this.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your grip on her throat easing slightly as you press a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve been so good for me.”

Winter moans softly, her hands tightening on your arms. “Does that mean I can cum?” she asks, her voice hopeful and needy.

“Not yet,” you reply, your smirk growing. “But soon. I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

Your hands move up from Winter’s waist to her chest, cupping her small breasts as you start to squeeze and knead them. Her soft moans grow louder, her nipples hardening against your palms as you gradually pick up the pace, your cock sliding deeper and harder into her with every thrust.

“You like this?” you growl, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper. “You like how I fill you up, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “I love it. I love how deep you are. Please, don’t stop.”

Your fingers pinch her nipples, twisting just enough to make her gasp, and you lean in closer, your breath hot against her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you every day,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “Every chance I get. I’m gonna make you scream so loud the neighbors’ll know exactly how good I fuck you.”

Winter shudders in your arms, her head tilting back against your shoulder as a moan tears from her lips. “Fuck,” she cries, her nails digging into the sheets. “I’d let you. I’d let you ruin me every fucking day.”

The way she says it, so shameless and raw, makes your cock twitch inside her. You smirk, gripping her hips tightly as you pull out slowly, savoring the way her pussy clings to you. Then you shove her forward, letting her fall onto her hands and knees.

“Get on all fours,” you command, your voice rough with need.

Winter scrambles into position, her pale little ass sticking up, her glistening pink pussy on full display for you. She looks back over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as she waits.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her ass lightly before positioning yourself behind her.

Her pussy is already full of creamy slickness, and when you slide back into her, the wet, obscene sound it makes drives you wild. “Shit,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you start to fuck her hard, the bed creaking beneath you.

Winter’s moans grow louder, turning into screams as you pound into her, your cock hitting her deep and fast. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” you growl, your hips slamming against her ass. “So wet and messy for me.”

Her cries are almost incoherent, her body jerking forward with each thrust. “Yes! Yes! Fuck me harder!” she begs, her voice breaking.

Your gaze drops to her ass, watching the way it bounces with every thrust. Her tight little hole quite inviting as you fuck her, so pink and tempting. You reach out, rubbing your thumb against it in slow, deliberate circles.

Winter gasps, her head snapping up as her back arches. “Oh my God,” she moans, her voice trembling. “Yes, touch me there—please, more!”

You keep rubbing, teasing her hole with your thumb as your cock slams into her harder, deeper. “You like that?” you growl, watching the way her body responds to every touch.

“Yes,” she cries, her hips pushing back against you. “I love it—don’t stop, please!”

Your grip on Winter’s hips tightens as you pick up the pace, your cock slamming into her soaking pussy harder and faster. Her screams are music to your ears, high-pitched and raw, echoing off the walls. Her ass bounces against you with every thrust, the creamy slickness of her pussy making every movement wet and obscene.

At the same time, your thumb continues massaging her tight, virgin asshole, slow, deliberate circles that make her body shudder beneath you. Her moans turn breathless, desperate, her hips twitching as she pushes back against your hand.

“You like it when I play with your ass, don’t you?” you growl, leaning forward slightly, your breath hot against the back of her neck.

“Yes,” Winter moans, her voice trembling with need. “Fuck, yes—I love it!”

“You’re such a fucking slut,” you snarl, your thumb pressing more firmly against her entrance. “Getting off on me fucking your pussy and playing with your ass at the same time. That’s what you are—a needy little slut.”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “I’m your slut—only yours. Please, don’t stop!”

You grin, knowing how much she loves hearing you call her that, and you feel her pussy clench tighter around you, her body trembling as she edges closer to the brink.

“I’m close,” she warns, her voice shaky and frantic. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

Your pace becomes brutal, your hips slamming against her ass as you drive into her harder, deeper, faster. At the same time, you press harder on her asshole, teasing her entrance with your thumb.

“You’re gonna cum with my finger in your ass, aren’t you?” you growl.

“Yes!” she screams, her voice raw. “Yes, yes—please, make me cum! I need it!”

You smirk, pushing your thumb in slowly, just enough to stretch her a little, and her reaction is instant. Her back arches sharply, and she lets out a guttural moan, her nails clawing at the sheets.

“Fuck, Winter,” you groan, your cock driving into her harder as your thumb moves slightly inside her. “You’re so fucking tight everywhere. Such a perfect little slut for me.”

Her cries grow louder, her body shaking violently as she teeters on the edge. “I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum!” she screams, her voice echoing through the room.

“Do it,” you growl, your grip on her tightening as you fuck her relentlessly, your thumb pressing deeper. “Cum for me. Let me feel it.”

Winter’s entire body tenses, her head snapping back as a scream tears from her throat, so loud it’s a miracle the neighbors don’t start banging on the walls. Her pussy clamps down on your cock, her hips jerking uncontrollably as her orgasm crashes over her, wave after wave of pleasure leaving her shaking and gasping for air.

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling the way her body spasms around you, completely undone.

Her cries eventually fade into soft whimpers, her body going limp beneath you as she collapses onto the bed, her chest heaving. You pull out slowly, your thumb sliding from her ass, and you smirk as you watch her shiver from the aftershocks.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to her back.

You hold Winter close against your chest, showering her neck and shoulders with tender kisses as she catches her breath. Her body is still trembling from the intense orgasm you just gave her, her pussy dripping wet and sensitive. You stroke her hair gently while whispering in her ear.

"Such a good girl for daddy, cumming so hard on my cock like that. You're perfect, baby."

Winter preens under the praise, a proud smile spreading across her flushed face. She's never experienced pleasure this intense before - her whole body is still tingling from the force of her climax. Your words make her feel cherished and special.

"The neighbors definitely heard what a naughty girl you are," you tease, making her bury her face in the mattress with an embarrassed whimper. Her ass wiggles enticingly as she squirms.

"I bet they heard every single moan and scream while I was pounding your tight little pussy. Now everyone knows what a dirty girl you are for daddy.”

Winter's embarrassment only makes her more aroused. She can feel your hard cock still buried deep inside her, and she desperately wants to make you feel as good as you made her feel.

"Please daddy," she whimpers needily, turning her head to look at you with big innocent eyes. "I want to make you cum now. Will you...will you cum in my ass?"

Your cock twitches inside her at those filthy words coming from such a sweet mouth. Hearing your innocent submissive good girl beg for anal makes your head spin with lust.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want daddy to fill up your tight little asshole with cum?" You give her ass a firm squeeze.

"Yes daddy, please," she moans. "After you played with my ass, I can't stop thinking about having you inside me there. I want to feel your hot cum filling me up."

"Fuck, you're such a dirty girl," you growl, your cock hardening even more. "Begging daddy to cum in your virgin ass like a little anal slut."

Winter whimpers and pushes her ass back against you needily. "Please daddy, keep fucking my pussy and when you're about to cum, just put the tip in my ass and fill me up. I want to feel it so bad."

"Stay right there on your stomach like a good girl," you command, repositioning yourself between her spread legs. Your cock is still buried in her dripping pussy, and you start thrusting again at a steady pace.

Winter moans and arches her back, presenting her ass to you perfectly. "Does daddy like my tight little holes? They're all yours to fill up however you want."

Her dirty talk drives you wild and you pick up the pace, fucking her pussy harder. "Keep talking like that baby, tell daddy what a naughty anal slut you are.”

"I'm your anal slut daddy," she pants between moans. "I want you to stretch my virgin asshole and fill it with your hot cum. I've been such a good girl, please give me my reward."

You spread her plump ass cheeks apart with both hands, exposing her tiny pink asshole. The sight of that tight virgin hole makes your cock throb with need. You start fucking her pussy even faster, your heavy balls slapping against her clit.

"Look at this perfect little asshole," you growl. "So tight and pretty, just begging to be filled with daddy's cum. You want it bad don't you baby?"

"Yes daddy, please! I need it so bad," Winter begs shamelessly. "Cum deep in my ass, mark me as yours. I want to feel your hot cum dripping out of me."

Her filthy words push you closer to the edge. You spread her ass wider, watching your cock slide in and out of her soaked pussy while her tight asshole clenches and relaxes invitingly.

"Such a dirty little anal virgin," you pant. "Begging daddy to take your ass and fill you up. I'm going to cum so deep inside that tight hole."

Winter's moans get louder and more desperate. "Please daddy, I'm ready for you. Put it in my ass and fill me up with your cum. I want to be your anal slut."

You can feel your orgasm building as you pound her pussy relentlessly. Her tight walls squeeze your cock perfectly while she continues begging for anal.

"Daddy please, I need your cum in my ass so bad. Make me your anal princess. Fill up my virgin hole."

When you're right on the edge, you pull out of her dripping pussy. With one hand you spread her ass cheek wide, exposing her tiny pink hole. With the other, you guide the head of your cock to press against her virgin entrance.

The tight ring of muscle resists at first, but then the head of your cock pops inside her ass. The incredible tightness sends you over the edge instantly. Winter cries out as she feels your hot cum start flooding her virgin asshole.

"Fuck baby, taking daddy's cum so deep in your ass," you groan as you empty your balls inside her. "Such a good anal slut for me."

Winter moans and shivers as she feels each hot spurt of cum filling her ass. The head of your cock stays snugly buried in her incredibly tight hole as you finish cumming.

When you finally pull out, your cum immediately starts leaking from her stretched asshole. You spread both of her cheeks wide apart to watch the erotic sight of your white cum dripping down toward her pussy.

"Look how pretty your ass looks leaking daddy's cum," you praise her. "Such a perfect little anal princess."

Winter whimpers and wiggles her ass. "Thank you daddy. I loved feeling you cum in my ass."

You continue admiring the view of your cum trickling from her freshly-fucked hole. Her virgin ass took you so well, stretching perfectly around the head of your cock.

"We're definitely doing that again baby," you tell her, giving her ass a playful smack. "Now daddy knows what a naughty anal slut you can be."

Winter blushes but smiles proudly, happy to have pleased you. She can still feel your hot cum inside her ass, marking her as yours.

You lay down beside her and pull her into your arms, peppering her face with soft kisses. She snuggles against your chest contentedly while your cum continues slowly leaking from her ass.

"Such a good girl for daddy," you murmur. "Taking my cock in your virgin ass like that. Did you like having daddy's cum filling you up?"

"Yes daddy," she says shyly. "It felt so naughty but so good. I loved feeling you cum inside me."

You stroke her hair and hold her close, letting her bask in the afterglow of her first anal experience. Her body is completely relaxed against yours, thoroughly satisfied.

"Next time I'll fuck that tight ass properly," you promise. "Really stretch you open and fill you with cum over and over."

Winter shivers with arousal at your words. "Yes please daddy. I want to be your anal slut whenever you want."

You spend the next little while cuddling and exchanging soft kisses, your hands roaming over her curves possessively. Winter occasionally squirms as she feels more of your cum trickling from her ass.

"Should we get cleaned up baby?" you ask after a while, noticing the mess of cum between her legs.

"Not yet," she says, clinging to you. "I like feeling your cum inside me. Makes me feel like I'm yours."

You smile and kiss her forehead. "You are mine baby. My perfect little anal princess."

—

You sit across from Winter at a small café table, the sunlight spilling through the large windows and catching the golden streaks in her blonde hair. She’s wearing a light yellow sundress that flares out just above her knees, a little bow tied at the waist. The dress shows just enough skin to drive you crazy while still looking effortlessly cute. Her white sneakers complete the look, giving her an innocent, casual charm that feels so uniquely hers.

Winter’s playful smile is fixed on you, her chin propped on her hand as she stirs her iced coffee lazily with a straw. She’s got that look, the one that says she knows something you don’t. Probably feeling like she’s already won whatever unspoken game you’re playing.

“You’re really feeling better?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take a sip of your drink.

She nods, her grin widening. “Completely cured.”

“You sure? Because you got better awfully fast. Makes me wonder if you were even sick in the first place.”

Winter lets out a soft laugh, twirling the straw between her fingers. “That’s because of you,” she says, batting her lashes mockingly. “You were such good… medicine.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Medicine, huh? Pretty sure I broke a few ethical guidelines as your doctor.”

“Yeah, well,” she teases, leaning forward slightly, “I’m not complaining.”

She looks too damn proud of herself, and you can’t resist poking at her.

“Hey, you spilled some coffee on the table,” you say, pointing to where she spilled it.

“Oh, you're right! Hand me a napkin.”

You pick up a napkin and slide it toward her. “Here. Do you clean by yourself or do you want daddy to help you?” you ask, purposely raising your voice a little.

The shift is instant. Winter’s playful confidence crumbles as her cheeks turn bright red, her eyes darting around the café to make sure no one heard.

“Are you insane?” she hisses, grabbing the napkin and glaring at you. “Don’t say things like that in public!”

You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the table. “Why not? You seemed to love it in bed yesterday. Hell, you couldn’t stop saying it.”

Her face gets even redder, and she throws the napkin back at you, hitting you square in the chest. “I was dying of embarrassment even leaving the house today!” she exclaims. “I’m pretty sure the neighbors really heard everything.”

Your laughter only makes her more flustered, and you lean back, grinning. “Hey, you asked for it. Literally.”

Winter groans, burying her face in her hands for a moment before peeking out at you. “You’re insufferable.”

“You chose the insufferable,” you say smoothly.

She tries to hold her annoyed expression, but a small smile slips through. “Whatever,” she mutters, picking up her coffee again.

“So,” you say after a moment, tilting your head. “You gonna call me daddy again later?”

Winter glances up at you, her lips twitching as she tries not to smile too much. “Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “I love calling you that.”

There’s a moment of silence, charged but comfortable, before you clear your throat. “Anyway, why’d you pick this café again? There are like, fifty others places we could’ve gone to.”

Winter shrugs, stirring her drink again. “Last time didn’t count.”

“Didn’t count?”

She looks up at you, her expression soft but serious. “You dodged all my questions last time. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to be there.”

The guilt hits you instantly, and you exhale, leaning forward. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t you, though. It’s just…” You pause, lowering your head. “You already know the reason.”

Winter nods. “I know. But it still kind of sucked.”

You nod, meeting her gaze. “You’re right. It did. I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry. But I’m here now. And this time, I won’t run.”

Her smile grows, slow and genuine, lighting up her entire face. “You promise?”

“Promise,” you say softly.

Winter leans forward, resting her chin in her hand again, her grin turning playful once more. “Good. Because I wasn’t gonna let you run anyway.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.”

For the first time in a long time, you feel it—something steady, something warm. Maybe this time it’s worth the risk. Especially with her.

[kooyabooya]

INSIGHT

m reader x gaeul // 17k words

It’s not much to unpack: the findings or purpose one pursues. You know this. Everybody’s different, and that’s not limited to the sex - it also accounts for the experiences and connections you make with someone, exploring the limitless possibilities of what or who you want in your life. You’ve been told that the ‘one’ might be out there and have yet to realize it. No one could ever really pin it down to one reason. 

But what’s there to overreact about? You’re a hopeless romantic. 

Okay. To backtrack on the hopeless romantic thing, that’s not entirely true; you’re on the eve of something big here, and the intuition is approaching that conclusion by the second. 

None of this should be that easy from the get-go. Delving into casual conversation to the nice meals and then the eventual ditziness finds you and her on the bed of fucking each other’s brains out until one of you is practically paralyzed from the waist down. That’s the essential beauty of it, right? The hints and signals are right in front of your face; all it takes is a simple notice of interest that can lead anyone to think if they feel the same way. 

You’re not entirely sure, but taking this date with a grain of salt was the best course of action to follow. Besides, it’s too early to delude yourself into thinking about a future with Gaeul. 

(Though, it’s worth noting: 

She never coined it to be a date; said that it was too direct on the nose. In all fairness, you just needed a plus one to tag along with you. It could’ve been anybody else, but Gaeul was the first person to come to mind. You and her have similar interests - a point of connection strong enough to expand on. She didn’t mind keeping you company, and the fact that she was willing to circles your mind far longer than it should’ve.) 

Which brings you to here: standing in front of a timely art piece that looks to be dated from the 1600s. Or- at least that’s what the plaque says on the bottom left corner of the frame. However, you also feel like the people in the room with you are also playing their role like they do in those typical romance movies or serial dramas. You also begin to wonder if people go to an art museum in their free time just to look at fine pieces curated by people who have an obsession for old pictures or to dress up to match the aesthetic and pretend that they know what the hell they’re talking about. 

Given how you’ve dressed up for the occasion, they’d probably be right.

Gaeul herself matches the look so well. Her stilettos are one thing, but the bright-colored skirt along with her high socks are doing wonders for highlighting her legs, with her old-fashioned pink top that looks to be from the Victorian era simply bolsters the elegance past your personal rating scale. She’s also got her slightly-thick-rimmed glasses and the low braided ponytail wrapped in a small bow at the end. You can’t deny it, she’s gorgeous. The kind of girl that’s hard to come by and you’ve struck yourself out of the ballpark by getting her here. She walks at a pace, her strut consistent and punctuated with the way her feet are carrying her. It doesn’t help with the fact that you keep thinking about how you’d hold her hanging ponytail when her head is between your legs, or how she’d let you take off her socks with solely your teeth and show that you do more than just run your mouth. You stand behind her by a few inches and just watch that amazing side profile of hers, molded and chiseled by God himself. 

Her eyes stay fixed on the piece in front of her. Blinking. Examining. You resist the urge to stand behind her and bury your nose in the back of her head. 

You look away for a second only to hear her sigh, and watch as her arms cross over her middle. The stance alone can tell you that she’s the kind of girl that will do damage to you whether you like it or not. 

“I don’t know,” says Gaeul, looking left to notice you approach her left side, pointing her lips back to the art piece as you give it a fraction of your attention - staring at Gaeul with the corner of your eyes, thinking of all the ideas your hands could have on her pretty face, her small hands, lifting her by the waist when she hugs you. “This isn’t the actual ‘Starry Night’ painting, is it?” 

You laugh, because the question itself was supposed to be rhetorical. “No, it is. Not a replica. The real thing.” 

“No, but look,” Gaeul slips her hand around your arm and pulls you closer while she points out to the painting again with her finger. You’ve had crushes on girls throughout high school and college, but there’s a sense of a pull here that’s different from the rest. “This is something that you would do, hm?” 

You lean more closely at the painting and feel her face rest along the line of your upper arm. The picture itself was a mix of these yellow circles over a blue canvas - you think - has to do something about admiring the view that nature presents, which explains the artist’s approach with the usage of the abnormal brushstrokes. “Right.” You get the underlying appeal of the painting’s message, that’s for sure. 

Gaeul giggles, humming a sound too elegant and pretty for its own sake. You’re playing it cool as best you can. It’s a lot to keep track of her sparkling eyes so full of you within them that you’re nervous to even speak a coherent sentence. She looks dangerously good in her outfit: hugging the curves, the collars and ends of her sleeves dancing in these wavy, coquettish lines. That hint of lace she’s wearing is also cute - only for it to be outshined by her exposed collarbones and neck. 

(So, you might be insane here. Try acting differently about it all you want. It’s no use.)

Gaeul then looks at the art piece adjacent to the right - twists her head behind, eyeing the walkway, her gaze now matching yours, cocking her head to the side with her lips pursed. 

“Hmm?” she hums, innocently. There’s a minute tug at the corners of her mouth, a small smile. Her teeth start to peek under her upper lip. 

You’re holding your breath here for a second or two longer. 

“Uh, I didn’t say anything,” you tell her, pulling your lips inward to hide your returning smirk. 

Before you and her move to the next room, you’ve deduced that a woman like Gaeul is no mere anomaly. She is intangible, quixotic, reserved, sensible, and the kind of person who doesn’t let anyone get too close for her comfort. There’s a motivation to be seen with her, the way that her grin and shrug of her singular shoulder gives you the implication that she’s into you. Your gaze goes inquisitive when she’s sashaying timidly further and further away from your sight. 

–

Let’s take a step back here - go to the drawing board, make a new page. There’s substantial progress here. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to have your input solicited. 

Gaeul looks through her handbag, pulls out various items, puts on hand cream and retouches the makeup on her face. You’re on the other end of the table, watching her, listening to the guy nearby do a fantastic take of Take Five on the saxophone with flying colors. Gaeul’s also waving her head from side to side, closing her eyes with a soft smile spread across her lips implying that she likes the music. 

As for the art museum trip itself, you don’t take anything away from what you were supposed to look at and write down - probably because the focus shifted from taking notes to getting a conversation going with Gaeul whenever she was curious about a certain piece or at least your interpretation of what work itself. One of the other pieces that you and her take notice of was from your courses that you don’t remember learning a mere inkling about. A piece from the romanticism era revolved around these two lovers, one of them being madly in love while the other is still trying to figure out their feelings and desires, or vice versa; it may be unappealing for your outlook in artistry, but once you saw the meaning behind the paintbrush and use of strokes, the feeling hits too close to home. 

“From this artwork, what do you want us to take away from it,” someone probably asked back then - the same kind of question that earns a few eye rolls and those heavy sighs used to hide the bubbling frustration within, gets a good number of people scratching the back of their head - though nobody answers it right away unless it’s the professor. 

“Well, that’s not for me to decide,” the professor answers, earning a subtle nod of the head by her, the way the shade of her hair shimmers in the room and how it flows at the turn of her head, glimpses of her skin for you to admire once she has nothing left to say, almost like she was speaking those words to you - waiting for your answer. “The personal interpretation of the painting has to be discovered on your own.” 

In a way, he has a valid point. He’s knowledgeable enough to know what he preaches. He’s passionate about this course alone and it really could take a simple business pitch with a pen to get on board with what he’s selling. 

You have an idea of what message he’s trying to get across, but maybe you’ve got it all mixed up in between still. 

–

The groove of discovery isn’t a straightforward, linear path. Some days your understanding is there, and other times it’s all up in the air; you’re stopping by a food truck near some plaza in the early hours of the evening off the gut feeling that it just feels right; you also find yourself staring at her wide eyes when she gets the first taste of those potato chips she convinced you to buy, wiping a corner of her lips with her tongue. 

It’s almost too good to be true, honestly, that she’s sitting next to you at a park bench as the sky above is painted in these hues of purple and orange to reflect off the sunset, her appearance mimicking royalty and you - her knight in shining armor. She looks up to the sky before offering you her bag of chips, the tilt of her head and how she blinks is so - unbelievably enchanting like she’s unintentionally guilt-tripping you even though you’ve done nothing wrong at all. You take up on her offer, keep a mental note of how she’s so attentive in the way that your hands move and the way that your lips punctuate each letter and phrase so eloquently. Her bottom lip is pulled back into her mouth, holding the foil in her fingers so delicately. 

You can easily tell. She’s enamored; she keeps hitting your arm lightly and plays along with your inside jokes; there’s also that smirk she does in embarrassment and tries to hide away from but you’re still staring at her anyway. 

She stays close to you. Comfortable. Exactly the way you want her to be. You could kiss here right and now and she might be okay with it. You’ll try it eventually, because why not? 

Later, Gaeul walks slightly ahead of you, turns around, and takes your hands in hers, standing on her tiptoes to somewhat match your height. “I’m curious about your eyes, how they look,” she says, not that she meant for it to be embarrassing, but something that she’s noticed the first time and now she can’t ignore it. “They’re enchanting.” 

“Your smile,” you say back. She flashes that exact smile, wearing it with pride. “I like when you smile that way.” 

“My smile is always like this.” 

You sweep her off her feet and twirl yourself around. A finger pulls some of her hair behind her ear, grazing a thumb across her temple, careful enough to not ruin the surface. 

Gaeul looks up. Her head leans into the touch of your hand, inviting. 

This is where it all starts; a genesis of sorts: you drink in the sight of how she is right now, half-lidded eyes, her hands slipping behind to the back of your neck, pulling you in; you, leaning into her body, hands sliding and dipping to the curves where she wants you to hold, keep her in your grasp and unravel her bit by bit; it’s fine to be skeptical, figuring out something new is all part of the learning process. 

You turn your imagination into a reality when you finally kiss her. 

The pull of her into you elicits this gentle hum rumbling within her lips. Given how her fingertips were clawing into your scalp for a second there, she didn’t even put up a fight to begin with. 

The realization of losing her also sets in for a quick moment, the silence alone holding out for longer than it initially should. She continues to blink, teeth capturing the upper profile of her lip just slightly. You might be a bit too forward, but you’re waiting to see what she thinks before you consider dialing it back. 

“That’s not fair-” she stutters, tongue to the inside of her cheek, laughing and then tapping your shoulder soon after. “Normally, I- I’d hold out until we got a little farther with how things are currently.” You also notice that she’s not opting to be let go from your touch, or give you this look of confusion with wide-open eyes or a hand covering her mouth. Her fingertip traces along her lips, internalizing what had just happened. “Don’t tell me you’ve been wanting to do that since the second you saw me earlier. ‘Cause if you were, then I’m in really deeper shit than I expected.” 

“Might be right,” you mumble. “Sorry, I’m not the kind of person to half-ass things. Not my style.” 

“Troublesome,” Gaeul whispers across your lips. You steal a kiss from her again, and this time she gives you a shocked expression. “Hey, again-” 

You’re laughing, rightfully so. She’s pulled into your arms as you spin her around - hearing her laugh also when she’s cradling your head, bringing her back down to earth only for her to kiss you the next second, with more force and tongue. She doesn’t stop there. She keeps on kissing, prompting you to give a fair fight. It’s free reign for her - first, the cheek, then the line of your jaw, and the spot where your chin and neck meet that sends your mind reeling. 

Gaeul then takes one more kiss before the bus makes its eventual stop, pulling you by the wrist to get inside and take one of the seats at the end of the car, away from whoever might take notice. From there she picks up where she left off; her legs are swung over yours, her fingers keep your head in place as she’s placing these sweaty kisses all over your face once more, causing you to rope her in and slide a hand underneath her shirt to her chest. 

“Putting the effort where it counts, huh?” she says when you shift her hips closer to yours. Her giggles are also so pretty that it matches the hot blush colored across her face. 

You look over to the rest of the bus, take into account that there was one other person on the opposite end towards the front with their back turned. “Did you have any other place in mind where you want me to do this?” 

“No,” Gaeul responds with an absorbed smirk. “Not at all, I like what you’re doing so far,” she’s telling you, upholding with a press of her forehead against yours. “It’s riling me up a bit, actually.” 

“Oh? That so?” 

Gaeul nods, leaning in for a much softer peck this time, wiping a wisp of your hair. “Don’t be shy, keep going.” 

You blink twice at the surprising request, figuring out how to handle this situation - let alone what to say or even do at this point. All of that doesn’t matter when all she wants is you. One second later you’re kissing her again - with much more force through every passing press of your lips until the only thing that she can manage is to tilt her chin up and keep on receiving. Two more pecks couldn’t hurt, and she’s giggling when her hand’s patting your chin, kissing her palm to return the favor. 

“How am I doing now?” You ask her again, pressing another kiss to her neck right where the pulse courses rapidly underneath. 

Gaeul’s breaths here are dragged out and unshackled; you’re already thinking ahead of what she’ll sound like when she’s reduced to a moaning mess asking for more. She’s on track there but it’ll take a little bit. She nods - and holds your head at bay, “Okay.” That first response is controlled, feeling out the situation. “Okay,” she repeats, her teeth are peeking out across that pretty little mouth of hers. The hum in her throat drops an octave: “you’re doing really good.” 

Like you needed any other form of implication; the way that she’s playfully scratching your scalp, eagerly leaning for another kiss, this is good stuff you’re doing. Stay in the pocket with her, and continue doing those same things. 

You have to hear that sound from her again. No. You need to hear that sound come out of that sweet mouth, as you slide your hand between her closed legs - pull her closer, closer - and get her within your reach once your palm slips beneath her skirt, feel the sudden hook of her arms around your neck keep her in place. She presses her legs together, trying to maintain the heat in her panties once your fingertips get their first touches. Gaeul hums into your lips, encouraging you, and gives the go-ahead as she opens the space wider in the middle of her thighs for you to capture - her body much rucked up against yours, trying so hard to not come loose. You’ll double down on the reassurance, that’s for sure. 

“Fingers, your fingers,” Gaeul grits, hissing; she’s unraveling. “Holy fuck-” 

Her fingers are well wrapped to the nape of your neck. You can see her brows furrowed together - the lines of her face crinkling; only for them to disappear entirely, relaxed. She forgets about reality for a moment when you slot your lips perfectly with hers, sinking two of your fingers right down the knuckle of her sopping cunt. You watch as she looks down, lips parted to an ‘o’ shape. 

“Fuck, that’s-” she’s babbling, putting her mouth back up with yours - forcing down a moan into your throat, trying to figure out the next thing to say. “Forget what I said, that’s amazing.” 

She pulls her in close as much as possible, hips bucking and jerking when your fingers glide gently between her folds, at the slit. It’s worth noting that the gentler your strokes are, the worse it is for her - so you keep the pace slow for now, waste as much time as you can, dip a finger inside, and focus on the graveled breathing by her through every passing second. 

“You like that, hm?” You’re telling her. “Gotta say, you’re fucking wet.” 

Gaeul tenses her shoulders. “I know,” she whispers, thighs closing around your hand. You’re kissing her again - open tongue and head tilted back when you bring another digit into play - her moans are hot, curling your fingers inside and pressing at the clit to keep her from thinking straight, pressing at the hottest point in her body until Gaeul eventually buries herself in your neck, stifling her whimpers when she’s cumming all over your fingers. 

“Wow,” you say, breathlessly, smiling as she leans up gingerly to put a kiss to your chin, a job well done.

“Yeah,” mumbles Gaeul. “Yeah.” 

You look over to see the person sitting on the opposite end of the car, their back still turned and hunched over; you take that as a hint that they’re probably knocked out cold. Gaeul’s fingers pull your gaze back into her, her face hot pink. She’s got this lazy smile spread on her lips, breathing with her hand palmed to your cheek, eyes dazed and out of focus. 

You then decide that you can’t help yourself anymore. Laying her down on the seat and eating her pussy out right here. You can’t stop thinking about it, looking up as her upper half crumbles while she cums on your face. She can try to make you stop if her brain isn’t partly mush, can try all she wants to stop you kissing from down her waist and into her thighs or wrapping your fingers around her legs once you’ve got your mouth clamped to her cunt like it’s nothing - you’ve got her laid back and relaxed, hands sliding south past her middle, thinking of all the pretty noises that you can squeeze from that heavenly voice of hers - Gaeul looks up once her hands meet yours at her hips, unwilling to let you go. 

You smile at her before you’re biting your lips without thinking twice. 

The way that she says your name too, does something to your brain, man. She needs you. 

You almost feel bad to be the one asking for permission first: 

“If I eat you out right here, Gaeul. Promise me that you’ll be quiet?” 

Gaeul’s mouth drops, before twisting into a devilish grin. 

She looks over to the same person you were looking at, lip captured by her teeth. “Worth a try,” she answers, still coming down from her high. Her eyes stay on you. The lust one can get is dangerously intoxicating - it may not look good on others, besides her - the shade of hot pink, her little swollen lips, the way that she has to use her fingernail to bite down. But her hand gently clutches your wrist. “Would you be nice if I said to go easy on me?” 

You snort at the question, only because her pleading eyes sell the whole deal to you anyway. 

“Asking a lot from me here, darling. No guarantees,” you tell her and descend between her spread legs. 

–

You keep spacing out since then: of her, the grip of her fingers deep in your hair; grinding her hips against your face as she’s trying to not yelp or shriek to not wake the poor guy sleeping - now completely giddy and well-relieved. She tried to crush your skull from the tongue fucking you were doing to her just ten or so minutes ago. Not to mention the cursing, it’s hard to believe she can say stuff like that. 

She also tells how thoughtful you are walking her back to her place; you know the area well enough to make your way back. You tell her that it’s nothing if anything, it was just more time to spend with you. 

Gaeul smiles at that, fixing up her hair like anyone would to keep her hands moving. Her eyes shoot towards the ground before they flashback up at you, which she’ll admit is a bit awkward for her standards. You can’t stop staring at her; she’s that pretty. It’d be worth preaching about for the rest of your life if it ever came to that. 

She hands you her phone and you’re doing the same -  a simple transaction. The subtle question of ‘it’s okay to call you on this, right?’ rolls off your teeth so easily to where Gaeul gives you a nod to answer. There’s a little bit of wiggle room to grow - filling in the gaps with details as we go - things that will be logged in eventually all with time. 

“I’ll be as blunt as possible: I want something fun,” she tells you as if she already had the general idea swirling around your head. Her fingers are fiddling with the zipper of your jacket. As if she wanted to say it differently but ended up with that. A lifeline or rope for you to hold on to - aware that the threads are tearing just a bit, but you’ll grab it anyway because you can. “I’ll bite at whatever you throw at me. Who knows, maybe I’ll do the same to even the odds.” 

Slapping a title or caption to this doesn’t always end well - if you’re gonna be honest, it’s impossible to tell whether or not it’ll go the way you hoped for. 

“You sure?” you’re asking, smiling. Since that’s the kind of trap that you were hoping to fall into anyway. In the face of love, you’ve always found yourself folding right at the first hurdle. 

Especially adding onto the fact that you and Gaeul have known each other to a slight degree; through mutuals, to be more specific. That’s one of the weird things that life can work with: instilling these thoughts about someone and telling them things knowing that it could all go wrong down the line; Gaeul rests her forearms on your shoulders, lets her fingers dance along the back of your head, and nod again with a yeah, you’re already infatuating to me as it already is. It’s so bad, she’s never dressed like this before when you’ve seen her with Liz or Wonyoung for that matter. Her chest and collarbones are out in the open air for you to mark up without remorse, tilting her head back with an arched eyebrow and sly smirk, don’t test me, because believe me, I’m gonna ruin your life from here on out. 

You may as well be far gone from the start. 

–

“It’s not that important,” you’re telling Gaeul over on FaceTime, tossing your phone onto the mattress and stretching out your limbs. Gaeul on the other end, groans in annoyance, though her voice is composed, playful. “I think we’re just stuck on a few things from what it looks like.” 

“But this project with Yujin is also one you mentioned a while back to me,” Gaeul responds, forehead filling the phone screen to check what you were doing, but all she sees is the ceiling. “What are you guys trying to achieve again?” 

“What would you do if you were assigned to discover a brand new constellation or galaxy all by yourself? You ask. “Spoiler alert: it’s a lot harder than it sounds.” 

“Maybe next time you should bring me to the observatory, that way I can see what it is you’re looking for,” Gaeul says with a lovely hum and laughs at the end of it.

She’s so cute when she’s playful; her voice alone is enough to make your brain chemistry go haywire. 

“Well, uh- you know Yujin,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “This is important to her. I honestly think that she’s trying to compartmentalize everyone that’s involved, which is a bit of an overreaction I think.” 

Gaeul then sighs, as if she too, is frustrated. “She’s a hard worker. From the outside looking in, maybe she just needs somebody to make her life interesting. Do you know what I mean? I think she’s sex deprived.” 

“You-” and you scrunch your nose, trying to hide a genuine laugh because you’ve been trying to say something along those lines to Yujin for god knows how long, and Gaeul flat-out said it in a matter of days. “You’re not wrong.” You then see her put the phone down facing up on the nightstand. “Her timetable is very slim, so I get why she can’t afford to have any distractions.” 

“Someone like her should always make time for sex.” 

“Are you always this forward?” 

“Not always, might be just for you.” 

“Consider me lucky,” you muse, tongue to the inside of your bottom lip. 

“You boys think of nothing else besides getting between a girl’s legs, huh?

Gaeuls face returns to the screen and all you give her is a pull of your lips inward. She nods when you don’t say anything, proving her suspicions right. You set her off to the side while you keep doing a separate thing to keep yourself occupied while she does the same. While you’re tending to your notes, you imagine Gaeul to be walking around her room; sitting on her bed, or moving to the bathroom or kitchen - keeping a close eye and ear on you and your voice because she’s got a fix on a few interests of yours that outweighs her own. She watches while you give her a few glances here and there. Staying on task was going to be difficult. You text her your address to pass the information without giving a reason as to why. You probably fucked up in that regard. You might’ve. 

(She puts a heart icon on the message to send your mind for a loop, telling you to think of it lightly; hey, show me what’s on the shelf behind you, see if you make your bed in the morning - and you’re carrying a conversation with her for more than an hour or so. She’s asking different kinds of questions; the ones that are along the lines of: How come you don’t have a roommate with you, where do you go for groceries, what’s the distance between your place and mine? The curiosity grows to uncover the mystery, you think. She’s laughing when you flash a look at her on the screen before you carry on with whatever task you are doing, acting all candidly when the both of you know well that you’re doing everything to not press the ‘end call’ button.)

“Wait,” Gaeul breathes, leaning closer through the phone screen. “Didn’t you offer to show me what you were working on over some food?” 

You’re side-eyeing away, hiding a smile. “I did mention that at the beginning but, yeah.” 

“Shoot, okay,” she huffs, dropping her face so that you only see the top of her head, pulling your lips inward to hide the smile. “How bout this: lace or no lace?” 

“Woah.” You freeze. “Hang on now.”

“Do you want me to explain it to you?” You could feel the slow-burning rush of heat spread across your cheeks. The phone screen flashes in your hand, and she chuckles. “Easy, cowboy. I know you want to jump the gun with me, but I just wanted to hear your thoughts before I do anything else.” 

You’re picturing it once she’s managed to break you, bending down to slip her panties back on, stretching the ends until she lets go and the fabric slaps along her skin. She can’t see it, but your mind goes under. When Gaeul presents it so innocently in the way that it is, it’s hard to believe that she’s able to bend your ego with a few simple words and actions. 

“The image of lace - on your body? I wouldn’t share that with anyone else.” 

She rolls her eyes, and hums a sing-song tone to tease you. “Alright, don’t tell me you’re getting hard just at the thought of that.” You drop your jaw and that earns you a deadpan. “Would you mind if I surprise you with a color of my choice?” 

“You know my color. Well- I don’t think too much of the color. I’m easy to impress,” you reply, nonchalant. 

“Oh, I can take my time with the color. It’s just a matter of how long you can hold out.” She’s not posing it as a threat, but the low tone in the delivery is enough to instill a small fear in the back of your mind. 

“Pfft, that doesn’t scare me.” 

“We’ll see about that. When do you want me to come?” she asks, genuinely. 

You make eye contact with her to ensure she’s serious. 

“I mean,” you start. The more your mouth freezes, the more embarrassing it gets. “Whenever you can. If you’re free.” 

Here, Gaeul tilts her head, confident smirk and tongue to her cheek. “Maybe my punishment is to make you wait. I don’t like the dry response and straight face on top of it. That’s not your look.” 

“What do you even achieve out of doing that?” you ask. “You’re holding me out from-” 

“Yes, you’ll get between my legs again like last time. But I think you can give me more than that, which I’m sure about. Make me scream until I lose my voice or I somehow lose the ability to walk. Does that sound good to you?” 

Part of you likes the fact that she’s got no filter; speaking her mind whenever it feels right.

“Sounds like a test to me,” you muse, taking the challenge head-on. You’re not the kind to back away, let alone have any reason to impress her. You’ll prove your point again when the time is right. 

“Give me twenty minutes,” she says to you. The information comes as need to know, anticipatory. You’re teasing her to get here faster: come to my place sooner and we can skip the boring exposition and do more interesting stuff together. “I promise not to keep you waiting.”

–

The time ticks a lot faster and when you realize it, three or four knocks are sounding off on your right. A scuffle of your socks, a swing of the door later, and voila: Gaeul’s in the middle of your doorway, reflecting the same head tilt you’re giving her before she leans forward for a few kisses. It’s real-life b-roll footage, the snapshots and captured moments of love that everyone longs for in some way or another; you’re living in it. 

“Mhm,” she hums, arms well wrapped around your neck with wrists stacked. She smells good, her body lighter than usual, letting you pull her closer because she knows you will. “Looks like somebody missed me.” 

“Uh uh,” you breathe, laughing in the open space of your mouths, shuffling into the apartment some more, stumbling. Gaeul’s keeping her attire easy with a pair of baggy bottoms that’ll slip so easily out of her legs once you get her to stop moving- 

“I’ll have you know that I thought long and hard about what to wear,” adds Gaeul, standing still and taking her sneakers off one foot at a time, her hair pooling from one side to the other. “But then it hit me, why not just keep it casual?” 

“Explains the comfy combo,” you’re telling her. You don’t even realize the bag brandished on her shoulder. “Is that-” 

“Exactly what it looks like. I don’t have anything tomorrow, so I figured I’d use my downtime more wisely.” 

This is fun. Sure, it’s the playful banter, mixed in with the flirting. You’re using every self-restraint you’ve got in your head to not pin her over on the couch and put her hips against yours. 

You simply can’t help it. The law of attraction that’s taking place: you like her, and it can’t get any more complicated than that. You’re positive that she feels the same way - to some extent. She rubs the neckbone at the nape, twiddles the ends of your hair. The smile she has is infectious, watches as your eyes wander across the lines of her face, almost like you discovered fire. Gaeul’s lips then fall flat, nodding. This is the second or third time you’re seeing her exclusively, each one more exciting than the last. 

“Hungry?” 

Gaeul shakes her head, “Hm, kinda.” 

“You’re in luck,” you beam. “I was gonna whip something up anyway.” 

“Aw, how thoughtful.” She tells you when you’re setting her down, walking over to the dining table with her setting her bag down, following not too far behind. While you’re getting yourself situated, she takes the time to let her head look and observe all the things organized on your shelves and tables, a peek into the inner workings of what makes you tick. You could feel her gaze on you once you’ve got yourself situated at the stove and she finally settles down at the kitchen island, opposite from you with a front-row seat. 

You throw a towel on your shoulder, playing the measly bartender part loosely. “Water?” 

Gaeul blinks, hums a noise serving as a yes. 

“This is just for starters,” you tell her, sliding a glass across the marble before eying the brandy resting at the top of the fridge. “If you want, we can get the good drinks later when we’re bored.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“Want me to explain why Yujin’s project has been a pain in my ass as of recently?” 

She dips her head down, hiding her smile. 

“I think I can think of a few reasons why she can be a handful for some people,” she says, sipping a bit of the water before she gestures her head to the fridge, wanting to get right to business without wasting any time. “But you care a little too much, so we need to ease your mind a little.” 

“Just trying to not be overbearing; because she’s a piece of work, but I love working with her regardless,” you tell her. Next thing you know the brandy’s been brought down on the counter. While you’re doing that, you’re finding the gaps in her schedule. When’s the next time you’re free? There’s the proposal that you’ll bring her out for a nice picnic, drinks with charcuterie, maybe toss in painting to the mix while you’ll blatantly stare at her cottagecore dress with a wine glass in her hand- 

“Are these your notes?” She asks, pulling one of your many notebooks closer to flip through the pages, looking at the different constellations that are already there, the ones that are easy to recognize. Her eyes dart to you when you’re sliding over a different cup filled with brandy for her to take, taking a sip while you glance over at the two sandwiches on your pan. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is quite a lot of work she has you doing.” 

“The name of the game, essentially,” you’re grinning, transferring over a tablet with pictures of different stars and galaxies from an album you curated. Some are straight out of a textbook, the others you and Yujin have found on separate occasions. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re actually a nerd?” Gaeul asks, mockingly, swiping the screen as you give her an unimpressed expression. 

You crowd behind her shoulder, going through the gallery, leaning her head against yours as your nose brushes her cheek, sighing in approval. Your hands have a mind of their own, slithering around her waist, planting a kiss on her neck - just to tease. Hey, you’re not fooling anyone here. 

“So you’re telling me that Yujin’s been trying to find a constellation of love somewhere in the stars instead of an actual person? Okay-” she holds in her laugh, leaning into your touch with another kiss. “Sorry, I- I can’t help myself, she’s a handful with this.” 

“Food’s ready, by the way,” you tell her. “I can talk about my side of things in the meantime.” 

–

Gaeul, effortless as she is, listens attentively. 

Her elbows are on the table top, most of the sandwich eaten as she keeps her eyes fixated on you. She watches while you’re giving her the basic rundown of what’s going on with your work life to the best of your ability - stops you midway, points to a spot under the corner of your lip, prompting you to check it yourself, which you do. By some klutzy move, you miss it - probably on purpose, enabling her into telling you to lean closer for her to wipe it herself, and with a downward tilt of your face, she hides away for a moment. It’s that implication of playfulness that gives way to curiosity, that sense of restlessness where sex was always going to be the eventual inevitability.  She wipes whatever was on your chin with her thumb, and keeps it there. Next thing you know, her lips are on yours. 

You’re fighting the press of her lips, leaning forward. Her hands suddenly palm your chest, pushing you back into the chair; the conquest picks up when she straddles herself on top of your hips, grazing her lips and nose across your face. The rush itself dies down for a bit - taking the sweet time of tasting each other’s lips and sucking the air out of one another. 

For someone like her to kiss you so eagerly. You’d let her do just that. 

Her jacket gets taken off smoothly, and her bottoms are pulled a bit to where you can see a hint of her underwear, holding her by the hips. 

The fucking lace, alright. She looks unreal the way it hugs her figure. 

At this point you’re just hypnotized by her hands and lips, undoing some of the buttons on your shirt, sliding her way down until the trail of kisses reaches the lower regions. Your pants and boxers pool at your ankles, kicking them off. She kisses the inside of your thighs, lets her breath coat your balls before a lick of the underside shifts your hips forward to the edge of the chair. Her pretty little mouth reaches your tip, delicately kissing it; she knows what the fuck she’s doing. 

“You’ve been fantasizing about this for a little, haven’t you?” Gaeul teases, pleased. She grins when she wraps her fingers at the base, sighs when you hiss some of the air out your lungs. Her breasts are fighting the bra containing them. She then opens her mouth a bit, drops her head, sinks - fuck. The seal alone is just the right amount of pressure. “How much am I willing to bet you yanked one out after our first date?” 

Your midsection tenses, balling your fists because there’s nothing else you would rather do than push your hips upward and fill her throat; not to shut her up, but give her an idea of what she’s in for if she doesn’t play nice. 

You know that she won’t. 

“Well- you’re right. I did exactly that. How did you-” you blow air out instantaneously when she moves down halfway to your shaft, her eyes rolling back as she’s forcibly choking down your cock. Some of the spit leaks out of her mouth, coating the skin, soaking her bottom lip. Some of it lands on her chest. 

“-ust my kind of guess. Now how much are you willing to bet you’ll ruin me with this cock of yours?” she asks once more, giving you no time to answer when she’s putting her head between your legs, suffocating herself before popping her lips off the tip, slapping your shaft across her cheek. “Shouldn’t take you that long, huh?” 

The way she’s smiling while talking you through this filth, it’s gonna break you. You need her. You need her mouth right back on your fucking cock before she entertains the idea of blue balling you to oblivion. “I’m slightly worried that you won’t be able to handle this. Maybe I should just hop on your cock and let you have your fun while you fill me up-” 

“So f-fucking bad, you are,” you grit, stuttering. 

Consider this as karma coming full circle: Gaeul breaking you just by her being on her knees, lapping away your cock while you had your fun eating her out in the back of the bus back to her place less than forty-eight hours ago, holding her close while you made a mess of her underwear with your fingers. She was trying so hard to be quiet, covering her mouth while you were fucking her open. 

“Aw, that’s unfortunate,” she tells you, dropping her mouth again, hand cupping beneath your balls, working her way down your shaft even more. 

Her bobs are meticulous and calculated. The levels of stimulation are over the scale you drew up in your head, and when she gets her other hand in the fun - twisting the base while the one at your balls are being squeezed, you draw your head back against the chair. 

It’s all in the slow buildup: the soft pumps, the occasional spit slathered as the sound of skin on skin becomes even more obscene. Her fingers coil your base when she takes you in that enveloping heat, humming down your cock until you feel the gentle graze of her teeth on the topside, eyes open and going cross-eyed. You’re struggling to come to terms that this girl was the same girl that was dressed up so nicely and princess-like in the art museum asking you and wondering what was the meaning of all these pieces. 

But then you’re reminded, that all of it is just the surface level of certain things - once you get to know someone, you learn as you go along with them. Gaeul just blinks through every move of her head at your hips, coating your cock endlessly and teasing to the point where she wants to see that side of you that you’re capable of showing her - to make you bust over and over again until you filled up her cunt where she’s begging for more, watch as she gets herself off if you’re away from her for too long, break her like it’s meant to be a daily routine from here on out - which will happen, Gaeul’s good enough to get you there sooner than you think, her pretty little lips, her dainty hands, that fucking tongue - you’ll get back at her for breaking you. 

“Sweetie, okay.” You gasp when she bottoms out your cock, groaning aloud that she’s smiling into the length. She keeps working with her hands and mouth, takes a moment to breathe, fingers sliding nice and easy along the slick skin. Staring at you. “Gaeul, please-” 

She’s close to getting you there; begging, and you manage to get a hand to her cheek, hold her face while she sinks her lips back on your cock again. Fuck. You might be too far gone already. Her teeth press down on the skin of your dick and you let out a noise showing another sign of just how good she’s making you lose it. Some of your fingers card her hair, like you’re clawing for a grip on the side of a rock and you swear that your cockhead swells at the top of her throat - you’re left speechless. You’re pretty sure that you can see stars. 

Gaeul smacks your tip across her lips, smiles as she does so. “You love my mouth, don’t you? I bet you’re just dying to cum all over my fingers and make me apologize for not letting you have your fun. Sucks to be you.” 

“Fucking-” you spit. She swipes her tongue on her lower lip, kisses your shaft the second after. Her index and thumb tighten around your base. “Gaeul, I swear-” 

“What? Had enough already?” 

Forget what you assumed about Gaeul. This version of her at your feet blows the performance right out of the water. 

All that boldness; that wit and snark while playing it cool, she swept it all under the rug from you. Anything she does or says to you, she knows that you’ll twist yourself into giving in to what she wants. Bratty might be one way to conclude - the way she hides her pert smile when you can easily tell that it’s a teasing grin. She looks at your shaft so earnestly as she jerks it around her hand, testing the girth and thickness of it when she finally decides enough is enough and tells you to plug that sorry little hole up that is her throat. The choice to paint your mess over her face or drain it down her mouth is up to you; you’ll ruin her just to satisfy your selfish ego. 

“I could just let you, ya know,” she leans more into your palm while her tongue laves across the skin of your balls, breath hot and heavy in the same way her eyelashes bat at you so innocently. “Let you fuck my face and fill my mouth up with this cock. You’ve been good enough for me, I think I just might.” 

She leans back and unclips her bra, revealing her tits; nice and perky, her rosy pink nipples too - you’ll mark her up when you get the chance. Her hands go to her hair, tying it like some party trick that only takes a few seconds, leans down to your stomach and kisses it, licking downwards just enough to make you snap. 

Your hand’s fast to grab the ponytail on the back of Gaeul’s head. 

“Thought you said you’d let me take over,” you tell her. And then: “there we go, look at that. So pretty when your mouth is full of my cock,” you hiss, guiding her down along your shaft, dragging your hips down and up into the addicting clench of her throat. You pull yourself out and smack your tip across her face, smearing the spit and precum. She wants the mess: “Gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you.” 

When she sinks again, you lose focus for a moment. 

“Mmphgh,” she hums, gripping your wrist. “Mmmuugh.” 

“Not so tough now if you can’t talk.” You almost feel bad. It’s unfair how she can still look up at you and smile at the corner of her lips, keeping her gaze leveled as you sink her mouth on your shaft - you thrusting upwards to meet in the middle. She’s handling it like a champ, and it takes a bit for someone to take you whole. 

A drag up, down, then up. She’s halfway on your shaft, rises, goes deeper - you could see her upper lip clamp down at the base, cheeks puffing up to dispel the air. Her head shakes a bit, struggling; sucking her cheeks soon after - god. The blush is a lot more apparent now, her eyes filled with lust. You give her a little bit of breathing room while you crash her face back down on your shaft. 

“Fuck yes,” you groan, feeling her velvety mouth, taking all of you. She inhales sharply when you slip out of her - only for her to take you back in as you pick up with the thrusts with every shove of her head back down. 

You are trying, so hard, to not fuck anything up - fucking her face - you’re pretty sure you feel a little lightheaded. Her gaze is hazy, gasping every few seconds or so through the gags before you up the intensity once more. How is she even prettier like this? She has no right. Not when the noises and current actions are this debauched. 

“Mmnph?” She hums, the vibration tremoring on the skin. The clamp of her lips at the base again doesn’t help, but when she slides her tongue along the underside- 

“Jesus, Gaeul-” 

Fuck. She inhales your cock to the hilt and swipes her tongue across the same spot where her lip can’t reach. Rough. 

“Mmph hmm.” 

“Relax your jaw, baby,” and she does so, holding you where the clench is the hottest. She squints her eyes as you move her head side to side, the gagging more punctuated through the wet sounds. Ah fuck-

She makes it so, so easy for you. You’ve got just enough to hold yourself back, tugging at her ponytail while she adjusts her mouth over your length - mindlessly bobbing that makes you forget for a second and get lost in the overwhelming wave of pleasure coursing through your body. You’d do anything for her, she’d do anything for you: even if making her a slut was part of the process. 

If we’re being honest here, she wouldn’t have gone this far for you to fuck her mouth - like, a well-practiced and simple blowjob from her could’ve been enough for you to lose it - but if she prefers things this way, how her wide eyes keep looking at you with your hand in her hair, she’ll keep it up until you eventually dump your cum all over her tongue. 

You just have to, soon, and you will. Gaeul guides her other hand to yours, giving you free reign - sending her mouth to you. She does it with such grace, so beautifully, the arousal catches you by surprise. 

Her hands slide to your sides, gripping. Goddamnit, it’s clustered all over her face: the rosy cheeks, the swollen mouth, the sound of her mewling and gagging once you’re upping the pace of your thrusts, spit spread all over her face and chest that makes her skin shine, her hair around the tie becoming more and more messier. 

She will make you insane. 

“Mhm mhm,” she sputters out because it takes her a while for her to coherently say it, probably since her cheeks are so full of cock you pull yourself out to the point there are webs of spit plastered over your shaft and on her lips. 

You’re trying to hold it together. Gaeul, not so much - breathing staggered before she nudges her lips along your cockhead again, opens wide, and slides her way back down, the hypnotizing movement of drool with every deepthroat stroke she does on you. 

“Gaeul,” you call out, breathlessly. Her gags just keep on coming, and your hands find themselves in a familiar place yet again. 

She forces your hand down, comes back up for air. You’re left speechless, stunned. She’s kissing up your cock - desperately in adoration, practically begging without being verbal about it. 

“I want it,” she whispers - drops her jaw again, and guides your hand with her head back down on your length. The friction alone hangs your mind in suspense. 

“Fuck my mouth,” she commands; her voice soothing. You don’t think twice when you sink her head back down on your cock, the warmth and plushness of it unfathomable to register in your fucked-out brain. When she comes back up, gasping for air: “Please, sir. Just like that.” 

So you grip her hair again. “Shit.” You pull at the root of her knot, let her graze her teeth along the slick surface of your cock. “Christ- Gaeul,” Her eyes red, mascara smeared, cheeks hollowed out once more as her throat rucks up the head of your shaft, taking you- all of you. 

Easing yourself into fucking her face wasn’t the way to go; it would be like shying away, saving yourself the embarrassment. Your ears close in on the sounds: the choking, the new layer of spit coated across your throbbing shaft. She’s so good with her lips - in the most fucked up way possible, the sloppier she is, the more happy she’ll be when you release your cum in her mouth or on her face. 

Whichever one happens first, that is, you’ll find out soon enough. 

“Gaeul-” you’re saying her name, sighing it out in reverence. “Close, baby. I’m so close-” 

It’s when she curls her bottom lip, the technique of her tongue sweeping that sensitive spot at the underside - it makes your vision focus at a fine point, she doesn’t let up with the gulps and gags, the delicious clench that makes you swallow nothing. Fuck, you feel it. She knows. With every passing drive of your hips, there’s enough wiggle room for her to breathe again. 

She’ll kill you if you let her do this more often. 

–

“Uhm,” you’re calling out to her again, noticing something out of place. “I don’t remember you asking for that.” 

Gaeul turns around, stretches the shirt on her like some bathrobe. It’s funny: the hem at the waistline covers the middle of her thighs, but somehow you can’t help but admit she looks cute in your clothes - even when she’s wiping away the cum and saliva with the collar and there’s no point in complaining. 

“Sorry, I thought you’d be okay with me having a small memento of you,” she says, pulling the fabric behind, molding it to her figure. There’s a playful hum she’s singing, wandering around your place like it’s her gallery, eyeing the trinkets and things that make you well- you. 

“Would you be cool if-” she adds, turning around in some coquettish ingénue pose, showing a bit of her panties that’s being engulfed by her ass. “-I made you cum a third time?” 

You give her a chuckle since that’s in the ballpark of recurring jokes or cute memories, somewhere along the lines of flirting like an idiot and fucking like rabbits. It’s getting there, the insight at least. 

Sure, have her keep the shirt. It looks good on her. She brought a change of clothes for the night anyway; God knows as to why but you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her around. 

“I’ll take that as a yes with how you’re staring at me still.” She muses a scrunch of her nose that simmers the cutesy, heart-fluttering, babyism sort of act that would make anyone, in particular, flash a look of confusion topped off with a subtle eye roll. 

She grabs your toothbrush and runs it through the faucet. You don’t say anything about that. 

The balls of her feet lift her heels, but she’s not slick with the small arch of her back and leans in towards the mirror. She’s careless, and that’s apparent with how the collarbone sticks out on the right side where the shirt pools. You give her a light laugh when you’re hugging her side, nestle your nose at her temple, patting her head. 

“Do -ou minth?” Gaeul sighs, smiling. “-m tryimph to cean mythelf ere.” The toothbrush hangs at the side of her mouth, minding her own business as you’re pulling a few wisps of her hair past her ear. “Should’ve closed the door on you when I had the chance. Didn’t expect you to be so clingy. You expect me to believe that you can be soft and bubbly when you just shoved your cock down my throat?” 

“Too much?” you ask. “I can dumb it down if you want.” 

She gives you a genuine shake of her head. No. “I don’t mind at all.” She spits out the paste into the sink for a new one, since she’s drooling it out. “It’s cute that you’re like this when it should be the opposite.” 

“Mmm. Bite me if you have a problem with it.” 

Gaeul then sighs when you bury your nose in her hair, rub the side of her waist, because it feels right. Her eyes follow you when you leave her be at the sink, let her spit out some more before brushing. 

–

A girl like Gaeul makes it difficult for you to come to grips with her small, yet lithe frame - how your hands rest neatly on the swell of her ass, fingertips cupping the indent. She’s not making this any better, palming your cock through your pants, or that cheeky smirk once her hand slithers past the elastic and wraps around you like it’s a lifeline. 

You also realize: how light she is, feeling her tits and having a moment of small joy when you manage to get a mouthful of her breast, mouth parting while you’re sucking on her mounds and nipples shamelessly to the point where she has to tug you by the hair to make you stop, grasp at that last bit of control. 

Marking up her chest serves as a viable response to her. 

“Careful now,” she tells you, mewling, head tipped forward - the stimulation quite a lot for her to handle. “A little aggressive, are we? Ah-” 

Like you’re the kind of person to take it easy, anyway. She says your name so prettily; the sensuality over a simple utterance, the breathlessness lying beneath the tone. You’ll fuck and treat her like she’s the only girl in the world and prove it in more ways than one. You’re on the eve of something big here: finding where her limbs and muscles tense, mark up her perfect skin and knock her up like she wants the filthy mess. There’s an unspoken safe word - a prompt or phrase of some kind. If or when she says: “I’m yours,” she tells you, eyes fluttering when you slip your two fingers in, guiding them to the tempo that she wants you to go. 

So she grinds on your fingers and cock whilst making out with you on your bed, eventually fucking her soon after, sheets and pillows tossed and used in the process; you slip some rubber on your cock and cum first before she does, and she’s a bit angry, pouty, coiling her arms and legs around your neck and shoulders until you give her what she wants - the time reads a little past midnight, she’s sprawled on the bed like some happy, sleepy puppy and sighs: “I’m starting to think you can’t handle me. My pussy’s just too good for you to have another round,” laughing as her knee rises and slides her heels along the mattress. 

“Maybe two or three will shut you up, I don’t know.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Gaeul says flatly in lieu of your subtle shrug, “I’m gonna break your cock, just watch me,” and well, you find and realize, she was serious about that; she fucks herself on your hips, determined - and hops off your waist, your front flush with her back, bringing a pillow for her to cling onto. “Something tells me that you’ve been- deprived, I would say. This bed is a little too spacious for us.” 

You laugh with a yawn mixed in. “Yeah, sure.” Gaeul takes the tie you pulled out from her hair and tosses it to the nightstand. “If you want to put it that way, I won’t complain.” 

She scoffs. “Wow. I point out one thing and you’re not even gonna argue against it,” you can picture the quirk of her mouth, a hint of her teeth peeking through into a grin. “For a guy like you to have some experience, that’s not what I expected-” 

“Do you want the polite answer or the truth?” you ask her, leaning more into the cushion while Gaeul tangles a leg between yours. The world around you seems to fade out from your ears, solely making you focus on the present moment, looking at her with a wistful gaze, one filled with contentment and wonder. 

Deprived no more, you’re mentally telling yourself. 

It’s not long after before Gaeul pats your cheek, kisses your jaw before you hear her feet scuff across the floor to your bathroom with nothing on, watching as she checks herself in the mirror, leans into the doorframe, arm raised and stretched up high, locks of her hair spilling from her collarbones and down to her chest, that head tilt to top the silhouette off nicely you’re left in a trance. 

You figure out that this moment, right now, all of the stars aligned at the right time and firmly believe that it’ll stay. 

–

Sometime later, you tell Gaeul that you were holding out for someone like her; someone that took an effort to get because they were simply out of your league - she laughs, half-impressed. 

“Y’know, for you to be figuratively at the altar but still searching,” she murmurs, tapping your chin. “people like you and I can only get so far in life.” 

“People like me and you,” you repeat, the movement between you two isn’t much, but still cautious.

Gaeul drops her eyelids and smiles, a dimple appearing. 

“People. Interesting, enticing,” she breathes. “Enigmatic and those with charisma.” A chuckle hums low in her chest when she looks up with those wistful, doe eyes, “that’s where your type falls, doesn’t it?” 

On the nail, she is - damn she’s good. 

“And where would I be, had I not talked to you that day,” you ask, grinning like an idiot. The space alone is still difficult to interpret, placing your lips on hers and scratch her head while the waves of her coffee-brown locks sift between your fingers. You could feel yourself sinking - sucked into a black hole with no way out, swallowing you up whole. 

“I wonder too,” she echoes your thought. 

You kiss her forehead, give attention to that cute little beauty mark on her cheek. Watch as her gaze softens: a look of love, almost. 

“I’m bad news for you, sadly,” she adds. “Keep me in your life, you’re bound to regret it.” 

–

She wants you so bad, you can’t help but fuck her for the next couple of days. 

Your schedule slowly shifts to Gaeul’s. When the night falls - because there are multiple instances at two in the morning talking about complete nonsense over mac and cheese bowls and slow kissing in the shower with the water falling on both of you that makes her skin a hot blush pink, pressing her into the tile or sink after with your hand or towel in her mouth to keep her quiet - since you learn she likes it that way, letting you feel up the slick curves of her ass and watch the skin ripple to where you see some of the recoil of her tits in the mirror, or even on your office chair facing away from the desktop, Gaeul biting your ear with her knees up to her pits- 

“You like fucking my pussy open with my legs up like this? Hmm?” Gaeul hisses in your ear, voice rasped and torn, sliding her legs back down, tugging hair while you’re filling every inch of her cunt. “Just letting you use me wherever, whenever, however you want-” 

Alright. It’s hard to imagine what you were getting yourself into when Yujin threw a bone to pick at you playing matchmaker - leaving the door open for Gaeul, the girl who waltzed into your life unknowingly, only for her to be the kind of girl that crumbles from your cock being inside her, pumping so full where she’s pulling you into that leaking white slit for another round - but there’s times in the late morning, treating herself another cup of tea, body riddled with hickeys drawn up and discovered by you like a stargazer, her small waist a gift from the heavens above, in your sweatpants where the ends pool over to her toes, leaning down to take your attention away from the screen, grabbing a handful of her tit in place of a hello. 

“What’s that you got there?” Gaeul giggles, hand stacked on yours while you squeeze gently. “That doesn’t look related to the project.” 

She’s half-right. It’s somewhat relevant to the submissions Yujin’s been sending over for you to look at, and the data’s been stagnant; luckily, you’re glad that someone else’s been keeping you accountable for the time being. 

“Well, that's because it isn’t.” you laugh, swiveling your chair a bit so that she can sit on your lap. “This is what the galaxy looked like on your birthday. Gotta say, that does look pretty.” 

Gaeul coos, leaning her head on top of yours. She moves your hand up to her chest, slips her arm out of the sleeve, rucks the shirt on her shoulder. The mix of pale skin and pink bruises, you’re salivating with every lick of your lips - and she leans closer to the screen.

Her eyes widen at the flashes of blue and purple, stares like the picture itself is an art piece, captivated. “Wow, you know what I think?” 

“What is it?” 

“If you’re gonna help discover a galaxy or image like that,” Gaeul tells you, moving her arm around your neck, lightly scratching your hair, “I’d pull your weight with Yujin on this project if I were you.” 

“Really?” you ask her, leaning back so that she can rest her other leg across yours. “I’ve been doing that, but it’s been slow.” 

“Maybe you just have to draw up the connection a little better, then.” 

–

Your groove gets thrown off. Gaeul disrupts the flow which you have no complaint about. You leave your place far later than you intended, and tell Yujin to let you off the hook. The pictures, readings, sketches - the information is a lot to take already. You’re seeing stars. If she’s the sun then you’d be Icarus: flying closer and closer until you get engulfed completely. 

This isn’t simple for you; a little hard to properly explain. The girl just takes and takes and takes. 

You show Gaeul the night sky, have her look through your telescope and tell which stars and planets are seen, painting the image and guiding her to fill that imagination - only for her to say something to make you laugh; next thing you know, she’s got her pretty lips wrapped around your cock, shutting you up with no care right there on the balcony. She keeps batting those lashes at you, fucking her face - hollowed cheekbones too, god. She’s swallowing you whole, hands at your sides, gargling. Putting her hair up in that ponytail. Yeah, you won’t last long. 

The lapping, licking, spitting. She’s savoring the inescapable deepthroat. 

When she licks the upper seam of your balls, you’re pretty sure you saw a new set of stars right then and there. 

“We might need to look at those pictures you have,” you’re telling Yujin on the phone. “I think those from the last look-up. No- I mean, yeah. I was also reading on Rei’s side of the project as well, and what she has is way more substantial than what we were initially working with.” 

“As much as I hate to admit it, her recent stuff has been looking pretty good compared to ours. I’m just glad we found her to work with us in the first place.” Yujin says, laughing. 

“All I’m saying from last time is that if you were this committed to finding someone that can put up with your antics; maybe rough you up and get you all needy and not be as controlling to just live a little, you know? I know that we’re close to finishing this, but I can extend an olive branch for you to reach if you need a guy up your alley.” 

“I’ll hold you to that offer,” replies Yujin, “Hopefully you got a guy in mind that can handle me like how Gaeul is with you.” 

Right, you tell her. Gaeul’s leaned on the frame leading to the kitchen; not tired, sighing when you look over your shoulder to see her hand in her sweats, finger deep up her cunt. The tilt of your head says to keep it down. She bites her lip, continuing what she’s doing. You’ll see why, and be glad that you didn’t jump at the opportunity yet. You look away for a second to notice her sitting right next to you, brushing up your right side, forcing you to switch the phone to the other hand. Watch it. You’re certain that she could hop on your cock right now, and ride you without a care in the world, because why the fuck not? She’s not wearing panties underneath as it is; asking, whining, begging to be bred. 

Shit. 

You really could. 

If you wanted to. 

Like fucking her on the balcony for the world to see would just be another law in your twisted philosophy, breaking a slut like her, leaving the mess of cum all over her body, have her lick it off so sweetly. In a sky full of stars, you’d want to paint that picture somewhere up there too. 

You’re certain that there’s a solace here - one that’s permanently eclipsed with euphoria, certain that it will stay. 

Gaeul’s breathing funnels into your ear as you bite down a smile, grab a handful of her ass and claw greedily at the indent. You could feel her head nod against yours. She’s so fucking needy. 

“I’ll send over the revisions I made,” she pulls back on your lap to see you say. Yujin beams on the other end of the line. “Touch base with Rei also to see if it matches up.” 

Gaeul moves your arm away, pushes your head back with a lip lock. Her hips drop to your growing bulge below. You end the call right away to ensure Yujin doesn’t get caught up in the middle of it, watch as she rips your shirt off from her body. 

–

You hate to admit that you’ve got this dark-twisted fantasy, unwilling to frame that mindset because there was no reason to. She’s so mild-mannered and soft-spoken; wears pretty outfits and dresses waiting for you in the lobby of your building. She’s one messy bun with a hairclip on top away from urging you to snatch her away, Christ almighty. You’ll take away the layers and make mental notes, conceal her away like she’s some comet - write her name into the books that way the whole world knows about her perfection. A girl like her can change what a man thinks, make them say things like I know what you want, don’t give me that look - just for her to stare with that lovestruck look in your eyes. 

If she wasn’t the kind of girl that fell from the sky and onto your lap, syrupy laugh and giggle with those dreamy eyes, you would have a hard time looking through a scope; she’s rattling your brain to the point where you could say one or two things, have her listen dutifully because you know she will. 

Every exploration is a journey into the unknown, and suddenly she could pop a question at any random point in time, like: hey, you don’t need science to make a woman feel good, okay? You can totally fuck me like you mean it.  

But here she’s babbling, heaving. Completely stuffed up on her back with her knees to her chest, brain nothing but mish mash and riding out the pleasure. “Aren’t you a sweet thing,” you groan, “creaming all over my cock-” 

She’s biting down a piece of her shirt, lifted just above her tits, eyes squinched. Her head tilts back, chest up in the air. You’re pressing on the underside of her thighs, pushing her deep into the mattress. The words coming out of her mouth are incoherent, but you’re fucking it out of her: god, oh god, yes, shit, baby, fuck, fuck me- 

“Christ,” you hiss, and move your hands from her thighs to her back, bending the arch more. You’ve done yourself a favor by not railing her on the dining table like last time, gripping her ass, the addicting clench and glide of her folds, begging you to pound and pound and pound until she’s lost the feeling in her legs. 

Everything leading up to this was relatively tame; nothing too serious other than fifteen or twenty minutes of the usual fill-ins of what was done throughout the day, only for Gaeul to flash a look at you and with a grab of her wrist, the rest of the clothes peel away not long after. 

Probably in this universe, there’s nothing left to decipher in the sounds and expressions displayed on Gaeul’s face, small streams of tears falling on her cheeks with every part from the face down riddled in a rosy blush and sweat. You slide your palms up to her chest, rest your thumbs on the underside of her breasts, steadying, plugging your cock up in her tiny cunt and dragging every inch of skin across her walls, clamping hard and soaking no matter how fast and hard you’re giving it to her. Her body’s used to your length, thoroughly fucked that she can’t do anything but feel ruined. 

You see her mouth form an oh shape, some of her hair gets caught on her cheek, glancing you from the corner of her eye before rolling it back to her head- 

“Shhh,” you say, brushing your nose to the side. “Almost there, baby. I’ve got you-” 

Gaeul’s brows furrow together; grinding her teeth, forcing the dragged-out groan down her throat, tears peeking through the seal of her eyelids. She knows that she can’t do anything - besides just taking it like a nice little girl, let this cock pound and wreck her and look gorgeous as you bottom her out. 

“C’mon baby,” you’re huffing, getting one good thrust in while the flesh ripples at your hips, and Gaeul grits out a holy shit but dies down instantaneously, soft, the wail wheezed out in a whisper. Her whole body shakes with another peak, her face flushed with red, saying nothing seconds later. The wetness leaks out of her, coating your cock while holding you true. There’s no objection, only order when you drive your dick back in her cunt. Small threads of her slick forming on your waist, drawing their own set of constellations on her body. 

Her body rebounds upwards on the inhale. 

“Cum,” she tells you, pleading. You could feel her fingers coil your forearm. 

“Condom,” you stutter and fuck. She’s so unhinged - even if it’s just a singular word or simple request. Wringing her out this way was always going to be the result. “Fuck, can’t-” 

Her breath hitches, a cute noise you think. Some of her hair falls on her forehead, eyes lidded. The corner of her mouth ticks up. 

“What?” 

“If you seriously think that I’m gonna cum inside-” 

Gaeul chuckles, twisted into a moan. You can see the gears in her head turning, trying not to get caught up with your cock embedded in her hot cunt still. 

“Not- that.” 

“Not?” 

Her head falls to the mattress. 

“All over me.” Her shoulders slack, hands sliding further up your arm. You let her legs bracket your hips as you grasp at her tit. She doubles down on the command to be sure you heard it the first time. “I wanna feel it.” 

You don’t say anything more when she props herself up on her elbows, watching the sight of your cock slide slowly in and out of her cunt. Slipping the condom off in one swift pull and lick your palm. Gaeul bites on her thumb, smiling at you barely keeping it together. 

“Here is fine.” The way she suggests is dripping in want. Her heaving chest, kiss-bitten lips, tousled hair and sweat and everything in between. “Or maybe,” you see her glossy eyes once more, filled with lust. “Paint my face and get your nice, thick cum all over my fucking lips-” 

You inhale sharply. 

“Watch it,” you hiss. 

“Maybe I won’t,” Gaeul replies, lip between her teeth, challenging. Her hand reaches to your length to keep you second-guessing. The sight of her body; a literal depiction of sin, right in the palms of your hands. 

She grinds your cockhead along her folds, closing her legs slightly. The pressure already sucking you back in. “Sweetie, where- I could just let you lick it off again, grab a towel from the bathroom, that-” 

“You know what I want.” 

You look at her, unsure. But you know what’s about to happen anyway. 

As if she couldn’t give it to you in a different language, she grabs your wrist gently. It’s an easy problem with an easy solution. You can’t argue how pleasant she really is. She doesn’t have to prove more into it, how she’ll be, you could give into that sense of luxury, and you really could. 

So you’re pondering, skeptical. “I told you. You’re insane if you genuinely want me to cum in you. We’re not doing this. No.” 

Gaeul pouts, combined with an eyebrow lift. 

“And I wasn’t kidding when I said that.” She mentioned it the first time, too: “I’d let you cum anywhere you want.” 

A few more passing blinks go by. 

“Why go through all that just to waste your hard work on-” And you’re left surprised that she’s got the strength left to pull herself back up, resting her hips right on top of yours, fingers carding through your hair when she slips you back inside. Inch by inch, you feel her sinking down - slowly. You know that she isn’t stopping in particular, wiggling her ass; a soft implication, teasing. She’s pulling you closer and closer to where you’re seeing eye to eye with her. “Safeguarding a pretty girl like me.” 

In all honesty: it’s in your nature. Gaeul’s simply just being herself. Tender. Beautiful. Fully embracing. You could give her the power to destroy you, and she’d thank you for it. 

She gives you a very hard time thinking, grinding her hips against yours - let yourself get drunk in the raptures since the rubber was starting to become a pain in the ass recently. Gaeul’s cunt siphons out all your thoughts with every single inch of her gripping cunt, speaking listless phrases of praise and wishes that you’re positive to make come true for her. She could ride and pound her pretty pussy all over your cock - orgasm after orgasm after orgasm - until her face is blown out and just flat-out gone. Ease her mind with your dick, since she seems to love it so much. 

To be spoiled, showered and railed in whatever way possible. She just keeps hopping along your cock, bottoming herself out to the point where she’s looking to the ceiling in pure stimulation. 

You ruck your hips forward. Gaeul trembles, sighing in relief, allowing you the reins, lifting her body up and back down on your thighs. Her neck tips down, mouth canted. 

She’s warm and tight - just perfect; so sensitive and responsive after bouncing her cunt on your cock over and over and over- 

You steady yourself, savoring the feeling. 

She wants you to fill her up, to the point where she has to tell you that it’s enough. 

You suck in a breath, slip out a groan, shuddering. “Oh my god-” 

“Good, right?” Gaeul smiles, “Shit-” and you feel her head collapse onto yours, relaxing and riding out the length until her hips mesh with yours. She practically melts on your cock, stretching and tightening all at once, inviting. 

A kiss to her chest is what you give her, trying to keep your mind off her pussy carelessly clinging every inch of your girth; making it simpler for you to nudge your cockhead into the spot that makes her clench and shake; mewling and humming mixed with the moans; soaking your hips till it stains the sheets. 

“Such a slut,” you tell her, maintaining the last bits of coherence you have left, “so careless and needy. I should stop before you do some real damage.” 

Gaeul smirks, looks so admonished you can’t help but stare. “I don’t like that tone of yours.” 

“What tone?” 

She curls a smile before cradling your head. 

“Talking me down, doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“You told me that you didn’t mind.” You lift her hips from the crease, lean forward to swirl your tongue around her nipple. Looking up to see her watch, give a shameless lick on her bud to lay the challenge, pull back with a pop of the lips. “I know you were being polite about it. Call me a good listener.” 

“I might’ve said something different.” 

“Like you beg to differ.” 

“Hush.” 

“Pussy so good for you that you’re at a loss of words? Set your mind right after getting lazy over work?” The arch in her back deepens, gyrating her hips at the hilt to further the connection - your thumbs dig in the crease of her legs. You drag her forward. She moans again. “Shame on you, I should say no the next time-” 

“But you won’t.” 

“No. No. I won’t.” Gaeul huffs into your cheek, sighs once more when you’re kissing her throat. 

You’re fucking her brains into a puddle and somehow you’re still wondering how she can still think straight - ignoring the fact that her body’s split open and folding through on slap of your hips onto the next- 

“I won’t. Not ever.” She mumbles, whimpering. “I- can’t get enough of this dick. I can never get enough of your dick.” 

“Really?” You’re asking acerbically.

She shakes her head, and you give her a nice hot kiss, priming her head at an angle where you both prefer it to be: and she slips her tongue between your lips, groaning and melting on top of your body, pressing her knees to the sides of your thighs and her cunt in this sliding friction across your cock. She’s terrible at keeping secrets, a truth even - trying to convince you otherwise that she doesn’t like when you’re working her so well her face flushes, aching while leaking her endless slick onto your skin. Your mouth, hands, and cock all give her these waves of bliss, hitting the points all at once where her body blooms and she doesn’t know what to do next. 

You slam her ass back on your balls that her hips spazz out, grinding another climax out of her while she screams; a live wire is what she is, purring and gasping once you’ve triggered that reaction. 

“Like that,” she tells you, at this point, her arrogance is fucked out. Then, her lip is between her teeth, puffing out, bites her teeth together: “that’s so fucking good.” 

“Yeah?” and you feel her fingers slither back into your hair, assisting in the lift of her lower half back down - she’s spiraling. “So good for me, love, baby. Oh, baby-” 

She rattles her head when you’re sliding your hips further forward, the press of Gaeul’s knees moving up to the sides of your stomach. “Nuh uh,” she hisses; the angle is too good for her, impaling her from below she can’t breathe at the top, cunt nicely forming around your cock so deep-” 

“Not the love bullshit, no.” Gaeul chuckles, giddy, mouth canvasing your shoulder. Sighing, whispering, swallowing her hums.

You raise and yank her back down. The whine is one part of the whole symphony. 

“Like- love. What the fuck - so soft. God-” 

“Look who’s talking,” you growl. A curse spills from your lips. She’s a fucking waterfall that it’s unbelievable. The tightness alone for the first time would make anybody an instant addict. And you’re bent on the fact that cumming inside Gaeul is your inevitable demise - her walls clamping in increments around your shaft that every slap of skin and swallow of your throat brings you closer. “I’m giving you what you want, no? All you have to do is just take it - like a nice, little, whore-” 

She wheezes, giggling where it gets caught between a coo and a hum of approval.

“-my little cocksleeve, good god-” you hear yourself say, and the bump of Gaeul’s head into yours can hide so much of her flushed cheeks. “So beautiful, ruined for me, my little nymph come to life. You love this cock so much, wanting to be full of cum, lapping it up like a cute puppy-” 

You’re not sure what you’re saying at this point, but Gaeul keeps on laughing, rolling her hips forward and backward. She lifts herself halfway, falls right back in. Exhales. You know what’s coming; what’s about to happen. Her legs lock up, jaw slacked - hung in suspense. She’s breathing where you could see on her shoulders, leans forward with a turn in her ear: 

“My little sex kitten, how bout that?” 

Skeptical, Gaeul sighs; sucking in her stomach while her head turns the other direction, showing some of that fading self-control and common sense. 

“Okay, that’s. Oh-” she tries telling you, shying away. Her hand goes to yours, continuing the motion, sloppily, letting out a lazy grin and bouncing your name off your lips as her body leans back and into your control. “Rushed, I think. Maybe. Not sure- need more- to get used-” 

“Gaeul.” There's no hiding it anymore, you’re too dumbfucked out of your own mind to turn back now. She seethes out another cry, making you tilt your lips to a devilish smile. “Poor thing, so dirty. A naughty little squirrel that can’t get enough of my nut, huh? Look at you, so wet and filthy, making a mess all over the place-” 

Yeah, she broke you. You’ve gotten so twisted because of her - no point in mincing words here. 

“Fuck, okay, please, that’s too much-” 

You can’t stop - you just can’t. Her cunt is so close to squeezing you, numbing your mind until she drains you completely. 

The pace is painstakingly slow, the rise and fall of her hips with every pump inside her, nails clawing your skin away at the bridge of your shoulders. It becomes- too much, the way your cock stuffs her tiny pussy until that edge is finally reached, the heat cranked up way past eleven, the desire to take it written all over her face and body.

“Want it,” she chokes out. Her cunt creates this pocket of air inside where the noise is just utterly wrong. “Please.” 

Her eyes water, fluttering.

“I hear you, darling. I know.” 

“Ah, yes. You-” 

Her head lolls forward, lazily. You wrap your arms around her waist and guide her back onto the sheets, slip yourself out and roll her over until her ass is in view. She peers over her shoulder, watching you mount her thighs, pull her hips up and slide a pillow into the open space created, laying back down and bury your cock back in her creaming cunt, kneading the handful of ass in your palm before testing the depth again. 

You notice her shoulders bunch up to her neck, hands gripping the sheets when you’re leaning back down to her face.

“Fight me,” you whisper down her ear, “if it’s too much.” Gaeul shakes her head at the drag of your shaft, driving back in with a firm thrust that makes her gasp for air - bites down a moan into the blankets beneath her. You’re pinning her into the bed frame so harshly you don’t even care if you break it. 

Her hand shoots back to your arm, grabbing. The slaps of skin pick up in rhythm, maintaining a tempo. You reach out for her hair and lift her head, releasing a few moans before her breaths also start to become more staccatoed- 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t- hhn-” 

You’re having too much fun for your sake. Though, you can’t blame yourself in this situation. This was what Gaeul wanted, and she got it. A second later you’re pressing her head back down into the bedding, bend that arch in her lower back a bit deeper where your cock can carve its way down to the hottest point where she can take it. Her mewling and crying rise in volume and you only have the slap of your hips to hers serving as this undertone to her song. 

“Where,” you sputter, because you know the limit’s about to be reached. “Where do you want me-” 

Gaeul turns her head back; you can’t even see her lips move when she says it: “Inside.” 

So you coil your arms around her waist and flush your chest to her back. “If that’s what my kitty wants.” 

You raise the pace then and there. Fucking her tight little cunt as if you finally created the theory in your head into breaking Gaeul. It doesn’t take much for someone smart to put the pieces together: all you need is a nice hold of her ass, impaling your cock deep where you can take it, sliding in and out of her walls with such precision that you’ll empty every fiber in your body to satisfy both her and yourself. 

You’re experimenting with the position of her body - deep into the mattress, lift her upper half where both deepens the arch of her pussy, nudging your cock where her walls can clinch and clench along the member - working so seamlessly to bring that orgasm to the front. There’s only one thing left to do now: to pound and bounce her ass and cunt all over your cock until you spill all of it inside her open pink hole. You’re gonna drain everything in your balls deep into Gaeul’s cunt until she’s whining from the mixture of tension and shaking, growling so loud that you’ll wake the neighbors on the upper and lower floors. 

The pulsing, shooting rope after rope and after rope of cum inside her. She’s moaning in relief at the feeling while you’re still pooling, head spinning so fast that you’re finally on the same page as her: ruined, and thoroughly fucked. 

“T’so warm,” she mumbles sleepily. “And thick-“ 

The slamming of your hips keeps you conscious. “Gaeul, this cunt, baby, so fucking incredible.” 

An angel falling from the heavens. Would anyone ever believe it if you told the things you did with her? 

When you do slide out of her well-fucked-and-worked-cunt, you can’t help yourself still and slip inside again, coating your cock mixed in with her slick and your cum. You watch when you pull your tip away from her folds, the sheen of white coming out of her slit - the whole image of her backside is a picture-perfect painting right here in your sheets: her puffy pussy lips, the beet red spread across the breadth of her ass, bruises on bruises across the plane of her back, hair in this half and half of a bun and wavy locks. You then run your hand across your length, wipe the mess on the person who created it, and look at her while she rolls on her back with her arms raised. 

You’ll also think about treating her; cleaning her up in the shower; dry her hair, swaddle her in a towel, carry her around your place, clean every spot and cranny - worshiping her curves and mounds until she’s willing to be broken apart and put back together again. A girl made to be ruined, an endless experiment you want to keep forever. 

“See?” She laughs, running a finger along her folds, collecting her reward, licking it off her fingertips before cupping her palm gently along your cock, slowly rubbing you to get a few more drops out of you. Her tongue runs across her lips, almost like she’s gonna drool again and it’s just fucking terrible, but you love it. “Can’t you think the wonders of you breeding my poor, sorry, cunt-” 

Part of you wants to shut her up with your dick. She’s so forward with the intent and doesn't care about the consequences. It’s dangerous. You’re thinking ahead of how she’ll look with the ribbons of cum spread all over her body, on her face, in her hair. Sick and twisted it is, and she cups your sack - gasping at the sudden weight of it still. 

Soon. You need a breather and push yourself away. 

She flails her arms and legs around like some kid throwing a tantrum, groaning. 

But she smiles and shies away; not nervous, but happy. “Fuck me,” she swears where she feels relaxed and unbound by any worry. You bring yourself down to her and try to kiss her cheek, but she turns her head away with her hand pushing your face. 

“Nope,” she tells you, softly laughing, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Should’ve fucked me harder.” 

This girl is a problem. 

You pinch her cheek and start poking her stomach, the bubbliness coming to life. She can’t stay in one place the more you tap your fingers all over her body. She’s very ticklish. 

“Poor kitty,” you remark, because you notice her smile and tucked lip, watch the butterflies flutter in her stomach, and when you’re patting her thigh she doesn’t bother retaliating, since the idea’s set in her mind that there’s no further objection. 

“Didn’t you say,” she sighs, voice beaming, face pink and clutching her waist. “You like it when I’m like this, making you stupid that way you’ll just pound me at the end of it? Y’know, pinning me into the mattress. Gotta say, the-” 

“Gaeul, please.” She knows that you’re amused, smiling. “Get up. Go shower, you’re dirty.” 

“No no,” she replies, shaking her head. You stare into her eyes while her legs spread, causing you to look down and scrunch your nose. Her head tips back, trails her fingers up her chest, traces around the nipple, some of her hair falls in front. “If you’re the one who made the mess, you should make the effort to clean me up again.” 

You make a note of the upsetting attitude - maybe forward it to Yujin since she knows a little more about Gaeul out of annoyance. 

Yujin didn’t give you the full report, anyway: about how Gaeul’s the kind of girl that functions over good food, drinks, and a proper dicking down without even considering the whirlwind of logistics she’ll mess up. You should’ve seen the signs. You should’ve known who you’re dealing with. 

“What’s wrong?” Gaeul asks, grinning, relaxing her back while you pull her by the thighs, bringing her closer. You thumb her knee, considering. The warning signs are there - just waiting for everything to come apart. 

She gives you an eye smile while you’re rolling yours, guiding your hand up her inner thigh, stopping right at her pussy lips. It’s draining. A headache. You’ll be sleepless in the morning because you can’t admit Gaeul’s the reason for staying up so late. “Only gonna say it once,” you tell her. “Shower comes first.” 

You say, but your body does otherwise, scooching forward where your finger hovers right above her clit. Though you gently press your palm right above her hip, noticing how sweaty she is - or maybe it’s the spread slick from her thighs; you can’t tell, the slide of it has you in disbelief. 

“I think you can give me one more,” Gaeul suggests, rolling on her stomach, forming the arch so tantalizing you force yourself to look away, knees spreading and her feet flush - imploring without really saying anything because you know she won’t stop and there’s nothing you can do about it. Her teeth peek through her cunning smirk, fully pleased. “Forget about putting another condom on, ‘cause like- god. I know you love how my pretty little pussy lips wrap around your cock when you’re cumming in me anyway.” 

It’s a genesis of sorts: the beginning of an unending madness. A world which you cannot escape - nor want to. 

–

Everything is a mess: you, your place, your work with Yujin. Gaeul comes by every other day - except when she’s swamped with schoolwork where she pops the idea of going on a romantic getaway or a staycation, hiding yourself away from the world and fucking her stupid until she’s sleepy. 

Here’s the thing. 

It’s when you’re with friends- or just you and her, wandering around the city, she’s the calmest, reserved girl you’ve ever seen. Much like she puts on a mask or appearance during the day and nobody seems to notice. Her clothes are much in line with yours, and pulling your face for a kiss - well, to milk the moment, you suppose - curling her fingers across your cheek, eyes so full of her that they’re crossing against each other at the press of her forehead with yours. 

There’s something here. You’re certain that it’s already been found. An exploration of these moments and experiences and the gut feeling rest well in your mind. You ponder, maybe it’s meant to be. This was all for fun at some point too. Maybe, also, that might not be the case. 

You deem it too early to say you love her, but the reciprocating kisses she gives you make you think otherwise, every single time, and you give into her little smile. 

If you or her mean it, one of you will say the words eventually. 

–

“So? What are we thinking? You reckon we’ll get it this time?” Yujin says, optimistic. You picture her with her feet propped up on something or in the air, it sounds like it. 

“Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” You answer, “Oh- by the way, Gaeul wanted to come along for the final set of tests. Are you okay with that?” 

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” 

“Awesome.” 

Silence builds up on the line. 

“Aren’t you gonna tell me how she is?” Yujin prods, teasingly with a tone higher than usual. “C’monnnnn, I wanna know-” 

“Why would I? My business with Gaeul is not information to share.” 

“Boooooo.” 

“What?” 

“You and her haven’t given me credit for setting you guys up,” says Yujin. “Some of the details can be left out - for obvious reasons. She’s been telling me good things about you.” 

You smile at that. 

“Okay, to be honest, she’s amazing. I haven’t had an issue with her since our date and well- I don’t need to explain more for you to figure the rest out.” 

“Tell me more later when I see you two, but from what it sounds like, I think you struck your luck out with this one. She’s a real keeper.” 

Seeking out an Andromeda wasn’t on the cards, but you’re happy enough to have it fall right on your lap. 

It’s something special to cherish. 

–

Gaeul watches from a distance, admiring the image of you in your element. 

Yujin looks closely at the screen readings while you’re peering into the telescope, following along to the proper adjustment in getting the coordinates right. There’s a double check - then a triple check - glancing at the image presented. She smiles when you give her a nod of approval, looking back over at Gaeul who stares right back. 

Gaeul appears stoic, but you can tell that she was a little bit nervous for you. If things didn’t go well today, it wasn’t going to be the end of the world, but you know deep down that she wants you to succeed - and you do too. 

“We have something,” you’re telling her when you reach the bottom of the steps, rubbing her elbow for comfort. “Wanna come take a look?” 

She bites her lip, eyes tilting down, and nods. 

You kiss her knuckle and bring her up. 

Minutes later, she’s where you were: through the looking glass while Yujin slides her chair over pointing at the mix of greenish blue in the middle of the vast blackness of space. “Looks new, seems lightyears away from us. Have we finally got it?” 

“Judging from what the professor was telling us, nobody is claiming this one yet.” 

Yujin taps your shoulder before leaving to call up her mentor. 

Gaeul still looks into the scope, smiling when she feels your arms wrap around her waist, laughing softly. 

“It’s beautiful,” she tells you, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

The night sky shines above the observatory, light funneling through the opening as a natural spotlight, illuminating the glow reflected on her perfect skin. You look at her as if you’d turn into stone when you look away. She looks at you like everything just makes sense - a safe place where she can find comfort in, realizing what she said was already made true, but she doesn’t know that. 

“You speak for yourself? Or?” 

She hits your arm, and you’re smiling like an idiot. 

“Do you have a name for it?” Gaeul asks, turning around so that she’s properly facing you. You’re still trying to figure out how she can look so pretty - so effortlessly; it’s something that you’ll dedicate a whole lot of time to study, see if you can find the answer in her eyes, or her body- 

“Not yet,” you answer. “It'll take some time to pick, but- I’m open to recommendations.” 

She nods, quickly flashing her eyes to see if there was anyone within earshot, pensive. “I got nothing so far, but I’m willing to jog your mind if you’re it.” 

“Gaeul,” you say, sternly, grip tightening on her lower back. “What’re you implying, hm?” 

“All I’m saying is that I can be a great help for you in that bathroom downstairs. Unless you want to step outside, get some fresh air - the breeze is so nice up here, and no one will hear me because of the crickets-” 

“Minx,” you’re saying again. She sighs with her mouth parted, working herself right off the bat. “Now’s not the time, you were good for me earlier. Plus, your ass is still sore, I know why you didn’t want to sit down in the first place.” 

Gaeul nicks her head up, lifts her eyebrows. You’re flashing the image in your head of earlier: her being soaked in your cum, mouth swollen and makeup ruined, naked with a pair of cat ears in her hair and wrists handcuffed to the edge of your bed. It’s been a few hours since then, but nothing’s stopping the urge from burning through your pants- 

“Said you did a good job spanking me, did I?” 

“You know my answer.” 

“Touché.” 

You shake your head and press your lips to her crown. Patting her head and rubbing her shoulder while she puts her thumb on her chin, carelessly minding her own business while you’re treating her; mind already tired and with the amount of pictures and papers and telescopes too complicated to listen to in a firm explanation, she’s unbothered. She pats your back twice to make you stop. 

“We’re still grabbing drinks with Yujin after, right?” Gaeul asks, remembering the offer. “Her treat?” 

“She’s a terrible liar,” you chuckle, “The tab’s on me.” 

–

It’s all a process. 

Day by day. The concept of love is not a linear path; getting to know someone and revealing the pieces, building that trust with a significant other, infatuated about the secrets and intricacies that you’ll take to your grave once they’re shared, seen, and spoken. 

You’re up late nights, peering into your bedroom to see her legs tangled around a pillow. On certain days she comes home excited, jumping onto you at the door to times when she’s tired, and you’re piggybacking her inside because that’s what she likes. When she’s with Yujin, she’s normally quiet and laid-back - but with you, she’s all over the place. Telling you these unholy things that you don’t expect her to know when you’re fucking her into the bed; the way her voice sounds when she’s praising you. She goes around like her own little planet, full of wonderful things. She likes vinyls and vintage stuff and prefers to run outside when it’s raining. You let her steal your glasses because she looks better in them. Her smile is infectious. The way that she tousles and turns when you’re kissing every corner of her body and telling her all the things that she wants to hear. You’ve got the backlog filled out.  

Spread her legs apart, have her sit up, ride your face. Break down those fragile walls until she’s completely sucked into your embrace. Gaeul desires a lot of things that you can try to give - the wonders of the world, a bigger picture - something that you’ll pull down from above and have her keep for the sentiment. 

You’ll keep the fact that she’s somebody who wants to be ruined - get chaotic and a tad sadistic. She prefers the punishment over the crime. 

–

Nights like these, it feels like some kind of mistake when Gaeul brings you over to her place. 

There’s nothing bad happening whatsoever, you just feel the knife twist a little more when you can’t go inside because last time Liz and her other roommate caught you and her red-handed on the couch, even after having the assurance that they wouldn’t be home until later. It wouldn’t feel wrong to hug her, kiss her goodbye, knowing that you’ll probably see her around on campus in the afternoon later. 

Gaeul gazes into your eyes earnestly, as if she didn’t want to go back in yet, hoping that you’ll take her away and carry her back to your apartment. A wish she made on a passing star and praying it comes true. With those white thigh highs she’s wearing, you’ll make that dream a reality in a heartbeat. 

“How long have we been friends for again?” She asks, tugging on your jacket, slipping your hands around her hips. She’ll take wherever she can, you know her well. “Hard to believe that we’d be together. You know, like this.” 

“Do I need to remind you who made the first move?” 

“Fuck you.” She slaps your chest as part of the response. “I was trying to have a moment with you. So shut up.” 

“Okay, I will, please continue.” You lift your shoulders in surrender. “For the record, I’d like to take most of the credit, since I asked and all that.” 

Gaeul rolls her eyes to the back of her head. That was her whole plan from the start - had you not said anything to her, she wouldn’t be here taunting you; while being so quiet and pretty that it’s hard to combine the two. 

“Depends on who asks,” she begins. Her cheeks rise, veneers highlighted. She throws everything out in your head with ease - one hint or subtle suggestion and the common thoughts get brushed aside. That’s a you problem. More so of a bigger problem compared to hers. She can read your expressions like a book. 

So you say: “Are you asking?” 

You keep looking at her, like you did back in the museum, wondering all of the pretty little things that differentiate her from the rest; her side profile, the bunny-heart-shaped-ears, how her lips purse together almost like a pout; it’s like you’re seeing some cosmic pareidolia. Kind of like putting fragments together from your dream. 

Gaeul tilts her head, pondering. “If you are, then I’d agree with what you’re saying,” she tells you, kissing your cheek and stepping inside her apartment.

[seospicybin]

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART III

Bangchan x reader. (s,f,a)

Chapters: Part I / Part II / Final.

Synopsis: After a mishap on his part, you doubt that Chan is ready for a relationship but he is determined to prove it, except that he's having problems following your one condition. (17k words)

Author's note: Sorry for the late post. Hope you like the new chapter and don't forget to share your thoughts on it x

Chan has always been the type to run when conversations gets hard, when the truth is too heavy to carry. But not today.

Today, he is standing still, facing it head-on. His hand hovers over the wood, hesitating for only a second before he knocks again, his heart is beating out of his chest.

The second knock seems to last forever, but then, the door creaks open and youu stand there, looking at him with an expression that made it clear you aren’t surprised to see him.

Chan feels a lump forming in his throat—he was expecting more. Maybe shock, or even anger. But what he gets is quiet resignation, and that hurt more than he thought it would.

“Can we talk?” His voice comes out softer than he intended, laced with the weight of what he needed to say. His eyes searched yours for any sign of what you're feeling, but you are calm, too calm.

For a moment, you consider his request, eyes narrowing slightly before you step aside to let him in.

Chan exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he is holding and steps past the threshold. The apartment feels familiar, yet foreign—last night’s tension still lingering in the air like a ghost. He can feel the weight of his own mistake pressing down on his shoulders as he moved toward the living room.

You followed behind him, closing the door with a soft click before turning to face him, waiting for him to speak.

Chan runs a hand through his hair, his nerves making him fidget more than usual. He isn’t used to this—staying when things got hard. But here he is, about to dive headfirst into the conversation he would have normally avoided.

“I’m sorry,” he begins in the best way there is: with an apology

“About last night. I know it looked bad,” he winces as the whole incident flashes through his eyes.

Your expression remained unreadable, and that only made his stomach twist. He pauses, carefully find the right words to say next.

“I sent that text before you came over,” he admits, his eyes finally meeting yours. “It was stupid, I know. I was angry... knowing you went on that date. I acted out of impulse, and I didn’t even think she’d show up. Hell, I didn’t even think you’d come.”

You cross your arms in front of you, your silence heavy with expectation and he knows you are waiting for more.

“I messed up,” he continues, the next best thing to do is acknowledging his mistake.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve never sent that text, and I’m so sorry for how things turned out,” he continues, his voice tinted with regret.

Chan’s chest aches with the weight of the confession. He is baring it all, and the fear of rejection, of messing this up even more, is creeping up on him. He takes a step closer, his gaze softening as he looks at you.

“I just... I didn’t want to lose you. And when I saw you with someone else, it hurt. More than I expected it to,” He painfully admits, then he stops talking and waiting for you to respond.

For what feels like an eternity, the silence hangs between you and him like a barrier. Finally, you sigh, dropping your arms to your sides.

“I know it wasn’t great timing,” you begin, your voice calm but firm. “And I know you didn’t mean for things to go the way they did, but Chris... this isn’t just about last night.”

Chan blinks his eyes repeatedly, surprised, “What do you mean?”

You turn to lean against the back of the sofa, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About how fast all of this has been moving, and maybe... maybe I moved on too quickly from my last relationship.”

Then you look away as if searching for the right words, “Maybe we both aren’t ready for this.”

The idea of losing you now, after everything, is unbearable. His heart is sinking but he sees the doubt in your eyes, the walls you are building to protect yourself. And yet, he couldn’t walk away from this—not when he is feeling things he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“I know I’m not perfect,” he says, taking another step closer, his voice thick with emotion. “And I know I’ve made mistakes. But what I feel for you... it’s real. And it’s different from anything I’ve felt in a long time.”

Your eyes flicking up to meet his, and for the first time, he sees something soften in your expression. He presses on, sensing that this is his only chance to convince you.

“I’m not the guy I used to be,” he continues, his voice growing more confident. “Yeah, I’ve had my moments, and yeah, I’ve been a fuckboy. But that’s not who I want to be with you. I want this to work. I want us to work.”

The vulnerability in his voice hit you harder than you expected. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, feel the raw honesty in his words. And despite all the doubts and fears swirling in your mind, there is something about the way he is standing here, owning up to his mistakes, that makes you want to believe him.

“I don’t want another heartbreak, Chris,” you openly share, “The last thing I need is to go through that again.”

He nods, fully understanding the weight of your words but it only encourages him to convince you more, “I promise I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here because I care about you. More than I can put into words.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The room feels thick with emotion, but there is also something else—a glimmer of hope. Something worth fighting for.

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you look at him, searching his face for any sign of dishonesty. But all you see is sincerity, and that is enough to make you consider his plea.

“Okay,” you finally whisper, “Let’s give it a shot.”

Chan’s face lights up with a warm smile, his heart swelling with happiness at your decision. But the joy in his expression doesn’t last long as you look at him seriously, your gaze sharp.

“In one condition,” you add.

His smile falters, and a flicker of panic replaces it. “W-What condition?”

“There’ll be no sex,” you say plainly, your voice calm and firm.

“No–no sex?” He stammers, looking at you like you’ve just told him he’s not allowed to breathe. His eyes widen, his mind scrambling to process what you’ve just said.

You nod, your expression unwavering. “I don’t want you to confuse this— physical attraction with emotional connection... Sex will only distract us from our goal.”

Chan’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s going to protest, but no words come out. He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as he tries to gather his thoughts.

After a moment, he nods, though his expression is one of disbelief. “Okay... okay, no sex.” His voice is strained, but he’s doing his best to sound agreeable.

But then, something flickers in his eyes, and a small hope sneaks back in.

“Just sex, right?” He asks for clarification, a hopeful smile creeping onto his face. “I’m still allowed to kiss you...?”

Your eyes narrow slightly, and a sly smile spreads across your lips. “I’m afraid not.”

His face falls, the hope vanishing in an instant. “Not at all?” He asks, his voice horrified.

“At all,” you confirm, your tone playful but firm.

He stares at you, his expression a mix of shock and despair. “You’re serious?” He mutters, more to himself than to you.

You cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow as if you’ve just remembered something else. “Oh, and that includes no more barging into my place.”

Chan blinks, still processing the former information when your next statement hits him like a second wave.

“I know you’ve been keeping my spare keys," you say with your eyes narrowed at him, "I want them back.”

He closes his eyes, letting out a long, exasperated sigh as if he’s in the middle of a nightmare he desperately wants to wake up from. But when his eyes open, nothing has changed. You’re still standing there, waiting for him to comply.

“Come on,” you say, nudging his arm gently, “give them back.”

With a deep, reluctant sigh, Chan reaches into his jeans pocket, his movements slow, as if giving up the keys is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He pulls them out and holds them in his hand for a moment before finally passing them over to you.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, taking the keys from him.

He watches you with a defeated look on his face, his shoulders slumping as you put the keys away. His lips press into a tight line, clearly still processing the fact that not only has he agreed to no sex, but now he doesn’t even have access to your place anymore.

Chan sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is going to be harder than I thought."

You catch his thoughtful expression and smirk, a playful glint in your eyes. “Well, you can just quit now,” you tease, the words light but with a hint of challenge.

His eyes snap to yours, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “Oh, just wait and see,” he replies, his voice low, but there’s a spark of determination behind it.

The teasing grin lingers on your lips, but Chan’s heart is set. This isn’t just about sticking to your rules—it’s about showing you, through his actions, that he’s no longer the guy who flirts and leaves when things get complicated. He’s here, and he’s staying.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head as if amused by his newfound resolve. “We’ll see.”

"You will," he boldly remarks, his voice steady, and there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. It’s not just a flirty remark or an empty promise. It’s real.

This time, it’s different. He’s different. And he’s going to show you that he’s ready to be the person you deserve.

-

When Chan thinks about it again, you’re not asking for much beyond that one condition—but deep down, he knows it’s more than that. It’s not just about avoiding physical intimacy; it’s about proving himself. He’s not the guy who plays games or casually dates for fun anymore. He’s not that fuckboy. He’s changed, and he’s ready for something real, something meaningful.

However, words are just words until he acts on them.

That’s why Chan waits in the lobby around the time you usually get home from work. To pass the time, he chats with the new guy working the concierge, trying to distract himself from the nervous energy building up.

The second you step into his radar, he can almost sense it. He turns his head toward the entrance, and there you are—pushing through the apartment door with a bag slung over one shoulder and another in hand.

Without missing a beat, Chan rushes toward you, grabbing the bag from your hand. “Great day at work, darling?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

You let out a low scoff, eyeing him skeptically. “And you’re still doing your best at work, huh?”

“Well, I aim to please,” he playfully responds, giving you a wink.

Before you can protest, he takes your bag to the concierge and talks to the new guy to keep it safe, leaving you standing there, eyebrows raised.

“Why... what are you doing with my bag?” you ask, looking at him in confusion.

“He’ll be keeping it safe,” he simply replies, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “While I’m taking you out for dinner.”

Before you can get another word in, he takes your hand, pulling you with him as he drags you right back out the door. You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

It’s clear: Chan’s not just saying things this time—he’s showing you.

The restaurant he is taking you for dinner is only two blocks away from your apartment building, and it surprises you that you didn’t know about it until now.

“How come I didn’t know about this place before?” you ask in wonder, chewing on your food.

Chan clasps his hands together in front of him and props them under his chin, “Maybe if you were being a lovely neighbor from the start, I would’ve taken you here sooner,” he teases.

You narrow your eyes and take a jab back at him, “And maybe if you weren’t busy taking girls home and avoiding them in the morning, you would’ve taken me here sooner.”

Chan sighs in defeat, putting his hands off the table, deciding to let the conversation slide. “But you agree that you like the food, right?”

You shovel another spoonful of food into your mouth and nod in approval, "Mm-mmh," you hum in answer.

Spotting something on the corner of your mouth, he grabs a napkin and, with a soft touch, dabs it away. You look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You had something on your face. Was I just supposed to leave it there?” he defends with his grin.

You take the napkin from him and finish the job yourself. “You know, you don’t have to try this hard,” you say.

It's not a surprise that you would think that way, that he’s overcompensating, but he's doing it all because he genuinely cares for you.

“What? I’m just taking my lovely neighbor to one of my favorite spots nearby,” he says with his signature dimpled grin.

Shaking your head, you sip your drink, unsure how to respond. Before you can think of anything, he changes the subject.

“So, what are we doing this weekend?” he asks, as if it’s a given that you’re spending it together.

“Bold of you to assume I have nothing to do this weekend,” you say.

“Well, if you do have something to do, I can only hope it’s me,” he says with a wink.

You groan and toss a crumpled napkin at him. “I have to work this weekend.”

His groan is louder than yours. “If you’re working weekends too, when do you have time for me?”

You shoot him a look. “As far as I know, you didn’t have a problem keeping yourself entertained before.”

Chan’s smile turns cryptic as he slumps in his seat. “True... but it would be fun to play with you.”

“You remember my one condition, right?” you remind him.

He tosses the crumpled napkin back at you. “There are so many ways to have fun without sex.”

“Sshh,” you shush him, glancing around.

“Why are you still weird about it? We’ve had sex twice al—”

You cover his mouth with your hand, glaring. “You might as well announce to the whole restaurant we’ve had sex twice!”

He pulls your hand away, grinning wide as if he’s about to do it for real, just to see the horror in your eyes. But then he bursts into laughter instead and catching you off guard by kissing your hand softly which makes you withdraw your hand immediately.

“Did you really think I would do that?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.

“For a second, yes,” you admit, a smile tugging at your lips.

“You were right,” he playfully says.

When the server arrives with the bill, you get ahead of Chan, placing your credit card down before he can.

“So you’re the one paying in this relationship?” he teases. “I could get used to that.”

“Don’t,” you warn, rolling your eyes.

The server returns with your card and receipt, but she also gives Chan a familiar smile. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” she says, flirtatiously and completely dismissed your presence there.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been busy,” he replies, glancing nervously at you.

“Next time you stop by, I’ll give you a little free service,” she says, smiling a bit too much.

You’re not blind to her tone, but you keep quiet as the two of you leave the restaurant. Once you’re back at the apartment building, you retrieve your bag from the concierge, muttering your thanks as you take it. Chan offers to carry it for you as you head up in the elevator.

“You should invite that cute server to play with you this weekend,” you say, a hint of jealousy in your voice.

His smile grows, sensing you care more than you let on. He doesn’t respond, leaving you to wonder if he’s considering your suggestion. Even after the elevator doors open, he follows you to your apartment, still carrying your bag.

“I can take it inside for you,” he offers, clearly hoping for an invite in.

“I can take it myself,” you say, effectively blocking his plan.

He hands over the bag with a pout, lingering as you unlock your door. He leans against the doorframe, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“You’re going away for the whole weekend, and I get nothing?” he asks, inching closer.

You cross your arms. “And what do you expect?”

“A kiss would do,” he says, almost shyly, though the glint in his eyes says otherwise.

You shake your head, staying firm on your one condition. “No kisses.”

“Just a nibble then?” He grins wider.

“A nibble?” you laugh. “I’m not some... snack.”

“You’re not. You’re a whole damn feast,” he says, lowering himself to your eye level, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips and not hiding his eyes from looking at them.

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, his lips brushing past your ear. His boldness catches you off guard, and your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your jaw. Then, just as he’s about to claim your lips, you block him with your fingers.

“You’re good,” you admit with a smile, “but not that good.”

For a guy who always gets what he wants when he wants it, this is frustrating. He lets out a heavy sigh then drops his head onto your shoulder.

“I have to go,” you mutter, even as you let him hold you.

“Just give me a minute,” he mumbles, nuzzling his head further into your neck, inhaling your scent like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He savors the moment, holding onto you a little tighter, soaking in the feel of you against him. Everything about you—your warmth, your softness, your scent— oh, it’s all so right.

“I have to wake up early tomorrow,” you whisper again, rubbing a hand along his broad back.

“Fifteen more seconds,” he mumbles, discreetly letting his hand slide lower, only for you to catch it and place it firmly on your back.

You stay like that for a moment longer, neither of you wanting to let go until you finally pull away.

“Goodnight, Chris,” you say softly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight,” he replies with a smile, slowly letting you go, though everything in him wants to hold on.

As you take a step back, he does the same, the two of you locked in a gaze to keep the intimacy of the moment continues through your eyes until you close the door with a faint smile that lingers in the back of his head.

Letting you go isn’t easy, but sometimes he knows he has to if he wants to bring you closer.

-

Chan lies awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The weekend he had envisioned was simple: hanging out with you, maybe grabbing dinner or spending lazy afternoons together. But since you weren’t around, the plan had crumbled, leaving him stranded with nothing to do.

He could go out, like he usually does on weekends, but something in him resists. It's too easy to slip back into old habits, to fall into the routine of partying and avoiding the emptiness that comes with it. So instead, he’s here, in his apartment, doing nothing.

With a sigh, he reaches across the bed, his hand brushing against the smooth fabric of something familiar—your underwear. He’d kept it from that night, the night everything between you two changed.

Lifting it to his nose, he inhales deeply, letting your scent flood his senses. Just a whiff, and he’s already lost, a fire igniting in his gut. His cock twitches, aroused, stirred by the memory of you.

Closing his eyes, he lets his mind drift back to that night—the way he had kissed you, held you close, felt your warmth pressed against him. He remembers the way his hands explored your body, how he had parted your legs and exposed you, tantalizing and perfect, making his every nerve scream for more.

"Fuck," he mutters, the word hanging heavy in the quiet of his apartment. His frustration is palpable, throbbing inside him.

The thoughts alone aren’t enough. He needs more. He needs you. But you're not here, and that only makes the ache more unbearable.

Thankfully, his phone rings, pulling him from the spiral he was sinking into. He groans and drags himself out of bed, grabbing the phone off his nightstand. The call is brief, no more than a minute, but it does the job. It snaps him out of the rut he was teetering on the edge of.

It looks like Chan has to go out tonight after all.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he stares at the text that came through. Someone had pulled out of a gig last minute, and now he’s been asked to fill in. It’s a valid reason to get out of the apartment, at least. Better than staying cooped up and letting his thoughts eat at him.

Before he knows it, he's dressed and heading out the door. The club he’s heading to isn’t unfamiliar—it’s one of his favorite spots to work. Maybe it's the crowd, or maybe it’s just because he desperately needs a distraction tonight, but it feels less like work as he steps inside and feels the pulse of the music hit him.

He takes a deep breath and dives into the scene, ready to let the night carry him wherever it leads, all while keeping you in the back of his mind.

After his set, he decides to hang around the club for a bit, rewarding himself with a drink. It’s been a good night, the crowd was lively, and he deserved a little downtime.

He leans against the counter, sipping slowly as the music thumps around him. Girls have been giving him smiles, glancing his way, but he’s used to that. It’s nothing he can’t handle, especially now when he’s keeping his focus sharp.

Then the bartender sets another drink down in front of him.

“This one’s on her,” he says, nodding toward the far corner of the bar.

Chan follows the bartender’s gaze and spots her—a girl with a sultry smile, waving at him. She’s undeniably attractive, but he’s not interested.

Still, it’s just a drink, and rejecting it feels unnecessary. So he lifts his glass, offering her a polite smile of thanks from across the bar.

Before he can even take a sip, someone else steps up to him, practically radiating anger.

“Are you flirting with my girlfriend?” the guy growls, eyes dark and filled with rage.

“What?” Chan responds, confused and caught off guard.

“I said, are you flirting with my girlfriend?” The man’s voice rises, his presence looming over Chan.

“I’m not,” Chan says quickly, holding his hands up defensively. “She bought me a drink, and I thanked her. That’s all.”

But the guy isn’t having it. He steps closer, grabbing the front of Chan’s shirt with one fist. “How dare you lie to me!” he shouts, pulling Chan closer, their faces inches apart.

Before things can escalate further, the girl who started all of this rushes over, forcing herself between them.

“Stop! He’s telling the truth!” she says, tugging at her boyfriend’s arm and dragging him away from Chan.

Chan can see the regret in her eyes as she mouths, “I’m sorry,” before leading her fuming boyfriend toward the exit.

As they leave, Chan sighs, straightening his shirt and shaking his head. Maybe tonight, he should have just stayed in his apartment after all.

-

Chan arrives at his place, feeling weighed down by the events of the day. You've only been gone a day, but it feels like an eternity to him. Everything feels off without you around, stretching out every second into what feels like endless suffering.

He needs you. Desperately.

He knows it's late, and he isn’t even sure if you're home yet, but he finds himself walking toward your door. His feet move on their own, driven by an overwhelming need for comfort. When he gets there, he knocks gently at first, waiting in the quiet hallway. No response.

With a sigh, Chan leans his forehead against your door, feeling a sinking hopelessness wash over him.

“Please… open the door,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Then, to his surprise, he hears movement on the other side. He steps back quickly, his heart racing as the door creaks open, revealing you—looking slightly disoriented, your hair tousled from what must’ve been sleep.

"I'm sorry," Chan says, his voice soft with guilt. "I didn’t know you were home already."

"I just got home not long ago," you reply, your voice still thick with sleep.

Seeing you—standing there in the low light, with tired eyes and that familiar warmth—pulls at his heart in a way that makes him ache. He inhales deeply, trying to steady himself before speaking again.

“I’ve had a really, really bad day,” he admits, his voice low, almost breaking.

The truth is, you’re a big part of why his day feels so unbearable. The distance between you gnaws at him, creating a physical ache he can’t shake. He needs you, even just your presence, to feel whole again.

Without thinking, he reaches for your hand, holding it gently but firmly, as if letting go would mean losing his grip on everything.

"Can I stay the night with you?" His voice is heavy with vulnerability.

You hesitate, shaking your head. "You know that we can't—"

“I swear I’m not trying to do anything else,” he cuts in quickly, his eyes pleading. "I just... I just want to be with you tonight. Please?"

The sadness in his voice is raw, and you can see how much he needs this, needs you. You massage your neck, the exhaustion of the day visible in your eyes as you consider his request.

For a moment, silence hangs between you two. Then, finally, you nod. “Okay.”

From the way you're giving in with less resistance than usual, Chan can tell you're too tired to fight him on this tonight. He feels a pang of guilt but, at the same time, relief. A win is a win, and right now, he just needs to be near you, hoping his presence might bring some comfort, as yours does to him.

Once you let him in, there's no more talking. You silently lead him to your bed, making space for him without any fuss.

"You can have that side," you gesture to the left side, your voice soft with exhaustion.

Any side would do. As long as he's here, next to you, he couldn't care less. You crawl under the covers while Chan stands there, starting to unbutton his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Your voice holds suspicion, your eyes peeking over the blankets.

He smirks, pulling the shirt off. "I told you I sleep naked."

"Naked naked?" you ask, eyebrows raising as his fingers move to his jeans.

He notices the way your eyes fixated on his body, he knows you like what you're seeing so he makes a good show out of it. He's working his jeans open in a painstakingly slow motions, stripping down to his dark boxers.

"Your expression is filthy," he jokes, "what are you thinking?"

You let out a scoff and tuck yourself into the blanket, trying so hard to not to be affected by what he just did.

Chan can't help but quietly smiling in triumphant and comes over to the bed. Climbing into bed next to you feels surreal. It's more than just sharing a space now; you're sharing your bed.

The scent of your sheets is intoxicating, subtle yet enough to make him feel like he's sinking into you even without touching. He pulls the covers over himself, careful to leave a respectful gap between you two, honoring your one condition.

He rolls onto his side, facing you, while you lay on your back, eyes closed. The darkness wraps around both of you, the room heavy with quiet and the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the air.

"What happened?" you ask, eyes still shut, your voice breaking the silence.

"What?" Chan asks, fingers barely brushing the edge of your arm, almost on instinct.

"You said you had a bad day," you repeat, softly, your voice drifting through the stillness.

He sighs, staring up at the ceiling now. "Well, I went out tonight and I tried to be... good," he starts, his voice low. "But it turned out to be not easy."

You don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue, your presence alone urging him to be honest.

"I was at this club after my set, just hanging out. Someone sent me a drink, and next thing I know, this guy is in my face, accusing me of flirting with his girlfriend," he explains, his tone frustrated. "I didn’t even do anything. But... it just made me realize how easy it is for things to get messed up. One small misunderstanding, and it all spirals."

His fingers lightly brush your arm now, the contact gentle, but you don't push him away. He takes that as permission to continue.

"I don’t want to be that guy anymore—the one who gets mixed up in stuff like that," he murmurs. "I’m trying to be better... for you."

You don’t respond right away, your breathing steady, as if you’re already halfway to sleep. But your silence is enough of an answer for him. He feels calmer, just being here with you.

"He almost punched me," Chan dramatically shares to gain sympathy from you.

You chuckle softly, "So, the usual, huh?"

"The usual, yeah," he responds, grinning.

"But that's also where you're doing it wrong, Chris," you say, turning your body to face him and see his eyebrows knit in confusion.

"You're doing it for me." You say, resting your hand under your head as you clarify, "When you should be doing this for you."

That sinks in, and it hits him why everything's felt like a struggle lately. He's been trying to change because of external pressure—because of you—not because he truly wanted it for himself.

"Don’t get me wrong," you continue gently, your voice low and soothing. "I appreciate that you’re willing to change for me, but I want you to change because you want it. For yourself."

Your words, so calm and caring, open up a new perspective for him. It's not just about trying to impress or be better for you, but about becoming someone he's proud of. It all feels clearer now, and at the same time, he feels a deep sense of reassurance—he really is with the right person.

"Can we cuddle?" Chan asks, pulling his best puppy eyes to win you over.

You don’t answer verbally, but the way you open your arms for him is all the permission he needs.

Without wasting a second, he slides in closer, wrapping himself around you, his arm draped over your body as he nestles his head into the crook of your neck. The warmth of your body envelops him, bringing a sense of comfort he desperately needed.

"Goodnight, Chris," you murmur, patting his head softly.

"Goodnight," he mumbles back, sneaking in a kiss on your jaw.

You let it slide this time, smiling into the darkness before closing your eyes, drifting off.

Chan, however, is still wide awake, his mind buzzing with the proximity between you two. There's only a thin layer of clothes separating your bodies, and he's doing his best to respect your boundaries, but the way your warmth radiates against him makes sleep the last thing on his mind.

Still, he takes a deep breath, doing his best to settle down, grateful for this moment of closeness with you.

-

Chan is used to waking up unsure of his surroundings, but this morning is different. He knows exactly where he is, and for once, he doesn't immediately rush off. Instead, he nestles his head closer to yours, savoring the warmth of your body pressed against his while you're still unaware that he's awake.

The sound of your alarm blaring from your phone finally breaks the silence. You groan, forcing yourself to wake up, eyes still closed as your hand fumbles around the bedside table to turn it off.

After silencing the alarm, you yawn and stretch, your body still heavy with sleep. "Ugh, I have to go to work," you mutter, tapping Chan’s forearm in a silent request for him to release you.

But instead of letting you go, he tightens his hold, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. "No, stay," he mumbles, his voice low and groggy.

"Not everyone makes money from spinning records," you tease, a playful jab at his career.

"I’m not going to take that personally," he grumbles, his voice muffled as he refuses to lift his head from your neck.

You chuckle softly, your fingers naturally slipping into his curls. Gently, you start brushing them with your fingertips, feeling the texture of his hair as you absentmindedly comment, "Is this your natural hair?"

"Hmm," he hums, affirming.

"They’re a bit dry and..." You pull back slightly to take a better look, "...a little dull too."

"Mmh..." he hums again, clearly enjoying the gentle scratching of your fingers against his scalp.

"You should condition them better," you suggest, offering hair advice out of the blue.

An idea forms in Chan’s mind, and though he knows you’ll likely see right through him, he can’t resist. He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, a cheeky grin forming on his lips as he asks, "Can you show me how to take care of my curls?"

The playful gleam in his eyes is unmistakable, and you can already tell what he's up to. But the question catches you off guard enough to make you laugh.

"Show you how exactly?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you pretend to play dumb.

Chan, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, stumbles through his words, "You know... we could, uh, get in the shower together, and you can, um, show me how to... condition my curls, or whatever…" He flashes you that dimpled grin, the one that always manages to make his adorable babbling irresistible.

You lift your head slightly, propping it up with one hand as you look at him skeptically. "You want us to shower together so I can teach you how to wash your hair?"

He nods, eyes wide with feigned innocence, fully expecting a refusal and maybe a reminder of the boundary you’ve set about physical intimacy. But instead, you surprise him by giving in.

"Okay," you simply say.

The stunned expression on his face is priceless, his eyes widening further as if he didn’t quite hear you right. "Wait, really?"

You shrug nonchalantly, "Sure. You want to learn, right?" You give him a smirk, teasing him without saying it outright, fully aware of what he's really after.

His grin grows, and for a second, he looks like he’s about to leap out of bed with excitement. "Yeah, of course," he replies, trying to keep his voice steady, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrays him.

Without another word, you swing your legs out of bed, standing up and stretching a bit before heading toward the bathroom. Chan watches you, dumbfounded for a second, before scrambling to follow.

-

Nothing could have prepared Chan for this.

The moment you slip your nightdress off and pull your underwear down your legs, his brain shuts down. His eyes roam over your bare skin, every curve, every inch of you exposed, leaving nothing to the imagination.

As if that weren't enough, you gather your hair into a messy bun on top of your head, exposing your neck—a sight that only intensifies his desire. He stands there, frozen, unable to decide which part of you to look at first.

You step into the shower, and Chan steps aside, barely breathing as the water begins to cascade down your body. He watches the droplets slide over your skin, wishing desperately that he could replace the water, that he could all over you like that.

When you turn to face him, he lets out a low breath, trying to keep his composure. His gaze travels down your body, soaking in every detail, every inch that he so badly wants to touch. He grips the shower stall handle tightly, fighting the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you.

Your hands slide down your body, the action as innocent as washing off yesterday's weariness, but in his mind, it's anything but innocent. You're driving him crazy, and you know it. The way you look at him, allowing him to watch you like this—it's tantalizing, almost cruel.

"Okay, first," you break the silence, your voice echoing in the small shower chamber. "We need to get your hair wet."

He almost forgot the pretense of this shower. He tears his eyes away from your body and focuses on your words, trying to remember that this was supposed to be about hair care. You take the showerhead and aim it at him, chuckling as he remains rooted to the floor.

"It's hard if you stand so far away," you tease.

He steps closer, knowing that proximity will only make things worse for him. Still, he obeys. The moment you're close enough, you bring the showerhead to his hair, gently wetting it with your fingers brushing through his curls. He's so close to you, his lips mere inches from yours. He has to fight the urge to kiss you, to taste your skin.

"Now it's wet and ready," you murmur, putting the showerhead aside and reaching for the shampoo. You work it into his scalp, massaging it in slow, circular motions.

"That feels good," Chan mutters, his voice rough with desire.

"Yeah?" you whisper, stepping even closer, your chest now grazing his. "You like that?"

"Yeah, I like that," he says, his voice strained as he struggles to keep it together.

The intense eye contact is too much for him, and though he's usually good at holding a gaze, this is different. He closes his eyes, trying to calm the heat building inside him. His body is betraying him, and the situation down there is getting harder—literally—to control.

"Okay, now we're going to wash it out," you say, grabbing the showerhead again and rinsing the shampoo from his hair.

Chan almost groans when you step away, the loss of your touch leaving him aching for more. He keeps his eyes closed as you instructed, but every brush of your fingers against his scalp, every sigh you let out, sends him spiraling.

"It's all good now," you say, smiling as you wipe a stray bit of foam from his face.

He's at ease, yet burning inside. He feels taken care of, but also teased to the brink of madness.

"What's next?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"We're going to condition it next," you explain, turning away to get the conditioner. "Your curls need moisture, so you have to condition regularly. Or just condition without shampooing sometimes."

He nods, barely hearing your words. The proximity, the feel of your breath on his ear, is driving him wild. As you apply the conditioner, you're even closer than before, so close that he can feel your breath on his neck. He’s barely holding on.

Then you ask, casually, "Do you want me to wash your body too?"

The offer hits him like a shockwave, and for a moment, he can't speak. Blinking, he nods, his heart pounding. You take a bar of soap, lathering it up before sliding your hands over his skin. Every touch is electric, and when your hand glides over his abs, he clenches them, trying to maintain control. Your hand goes lower, tracing the path along his pelvic bone.

But then, mercifully, your hand moves away. You rub down his legs and even grab his rear, making him chuckle nervously.

"Something funny?" you ask, feigning innocence.

"Nothing," he replies, swallowing hard as he lets you continue. He’s letting you do whatever you want, helpless under your hands.

When you finish, the two of you just stand there under the warm water, the tension in the air thickening by the second. The bathroom feels smaller, the space between you more unbearable.

Chan snaps. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you flush against him, his body fitting against yours perfectly. He presses his lips against your neck, kissing the soft spot under your ear. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his dark, lust-filled gaze.

"What’s next?" he growls.

You wrap your arms around his neck, dragging your lips along his jaw until your mouth hovers near his ear.

"I'm going out of the shower," you whisper, "and I'll give you a few minutes to..." Your eyes flick downward, pointedly glancing at his hardening member. "...sort out your situation."

You kiss his cheek and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself. With one last playful smile, you say, "I can't be late for work."

And just like that, you leave him standing there—wet, aroused, and utterly flabbergasted.

-

Chan’s life is different now—less chaotic, more focused. He’s found a new rhythm, avoiding old habits and temptations, reminding himself that he can be better. At work, he's polite, giving empty promises when girls ask him for drinks, knowing full well he has no intention of following through. His nights out have become rare, and if he feels that sexual urges, he'll channel that energy into working out at the gym.

Tonight, he's watching for you, keeping his apartment door open so he can see when you arrive home. The moment he hears the elevator chime, he rushes to the door and spots you stepping out, looking exhausted from work.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greets, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You give him a tired but warm smile. “Hey.”

Chan walks over, grabbing one of your bags to help lighten your load. “Come on, I cooked us dinner.”

The sight of you eating so well makes him feel proud. Every bite you take feels like a reward for the time he spent preparing the meal. When you finish your plate and look at him with a shy smile, asking for more, he grins and happily gets up, placing more fried rice on your plate.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely as he refills your glass of water before sitting back down.

“You’re very welcome,” Chan responds, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment.

Dinner ends with a cold can of beer, and soon, you're both on the sofa, enjoying the comfortable silence that fills the space. Chan sits there, the question he’s been wanting to ask weighing on his mind. He takes a breath.

“Do you have plans this Saturday?” he asks casually.

“Why?” you inquire, taking a sip of water, sensing something behind the question.

“A friend asked me to play at his sister’s wedding,” he explains, his arm resting on the back of the sofa, his hand just brushing your shoulder. “and I want you to come with me.”

“As a date?” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Chan grins, trying to suppress his excitement. “As a date, yes.”

“I’d love to,” you say, but something in your tone makes him sense there’s more.

“But?” he asks, bracing for the letdown.

“I can’t. I have a guest coming over that day,” you explain apologetically.

“A guest?” His eyebrows raise in curiosity.

You nod. “Yeah, a guest.”

“Family?”

“No.”

“Colleague?”

“Nope.”

“Friends?” he asks, growing more curious with each question.

You shake your head, hesitating for a moment before finally revealing, “Ex-boyfriend.”

Chan leans back, exasperated. “So, you're not coming with me because Lee is coming over?”

“Yes,” you answer, trying to keep things simple.

He stares at you, dumbfounded. “But why?”

“Because I told him to,” you respond, trying to sound nonchalant, though you know it’s frustrating him.

“What?!” Chan looks at you in disbelief, his eyes wide.

You laugh softly at his reaction, putting your glass down and settling into the couch. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been trying to make this work, so, I thought maybe it’s time I do my part too.”

He’s silent, listening intently, trying to understand what you mean.

“I told Lee to come so he can take his things from my place,” you explain. “That way, I can have space for… new things.”

Chan’s pout fades into a smile as the meaning behind your words sinks in. Tentatively, he reaches for your hand, holding it gently on your lap. For a moment, he can’t believe it—the two of you are really doing this. You're starting fresh, together.

“Okay,” he says softly, understanding now. “I get it.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, smiling back at him.

“I still want you to come with me, though,” he says, the hint of disappointment still lingering.

“I’m sorry,” you reply, genuinely apologetic. Then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you offer, “But I can still help you with your hair if you want.”

Chan laughs, his grin returning. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Later, when he walks you to your apartment door, he dreads the moment of parting. You share a long, warm embrace, and as usual, you're the first to pull away, though you keep holding his hand for just a little longer.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say softly.

Chan smirks, joking to lighten the mood. “If you’re really thankful, you should dream of me tonight.”

You smile, playing along. “I’ll try.”

“And I’ll try to dream of you too,” he pauses, his voice dropping to a mischievous whisper, “preferably naked.”

You scoff, shaking your head with a laugh. “Good luck with that!”

He gently caresses your face, his eyes warm as they meet yours. “Goodnight,” he says softly, then adds with a smirk, “I think we should start picking pet names.”

You shake your head, but there’s a smile on your face as you step back, ready to go. “Goodnight, Chris.”

“Goodnight… baby?” he tries, testing out the pet name.

You say nothing, just smiling at him one last time before you let go of his hand and step inside, leaving him standing there, heart fluttering, wondering when he’ll get to hold you again.

-

Chan stands in front of the mirror, buttoning up his shirt, though leaving the cuffs open for now. He can’t help but think what a shame it is—looking this good and going to the wedding without a date. You had refused his invitation, but he can’t fault you for it. There’s something good in your intentions, and all he can do is be understanding.

He’s about to grab his suit jacket when there’s a knock at the door. With a smile, he heads to open it, already knowing who it is.

There you stand, a can of hairspray in one hand and a hair straightener in the other. “It’s your hair appointment,” you announce with a grin.

Chan chuckles and motions you inside. He sits in front of the mirror while you stand behind him, carefully styling his hair. As he watches you work, he’s struck by how focused you look—creases forming between your brows, your lips slightly pursed in concentration. He never thought it was possible for someone to be both cute and sexy at the same time, but here you are, proving him wrong.

“Would that suffice?” you ask after spraying his hair one last time.

“No,” Chan says, his tone playful, “not if you’re not coming with me.”

You smile but don’t respond, busying yourself with taming the last few stray hairs at the nape of his neck. “You’re done now,” you announce, satisfied with your work.

He glances at himself in the mirror and smiles. “Aren’t you going to kiss me on the cheek and tell me I look handsome?”

“I don’t remember saying that,” you tease, tidying up the clutter on the table.

Chan stands, smoothing down his shirt, but there’s one more thing to complete his look. He picks up the tie from the table and holds it out to you. “We still have a problem here.”

You glance up, understanding immediately. Without a word, you take the tie from his hands and skillfully knot it around his collar. Your fingers work quickly, and before long, the tie is secured neatly in place.

“Okay, you’re ready now,” you say with a nod.

Chan puts on his suit jacket, then spins around with his arms spread wide, showing off the full look. “How do I look?”

You step closer, and to his surprise, you plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “You look handsome,” you say with a soft smile.

He stands there for a moment, warmth spreading through him from that simple gesture. It’s enough to make him feel like he’s already won, even if he’s going to the wedding alone. He places his hands gently on your waist and pulls you closer, his voice soft but persuasive.

"It's not too late to text Lee and tell him to come another day," he suggests, his eyes searching yours for any sign of reconsideration.

You chuckle lightly, looping your arms around his shoulders. "I don’t think it's wise to cancel it on the last minute," you explain, your tone gentle but firm.

He nods, accepting your decision even though it’s not the answer he wanted. At least you have a good reason, and it’s not as if you’re choosing your ex over him. But the tension lingers, and Chan pulls you even closer, savoring this tender moment before Lee shows up and disrupts his day. He knows he has no reason to be jealous, but it nags at him anyway—what if Lee has other intentions with this visit?

"Can't you just... put his things in a box and mail it to him?" He asks, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice.

You chuckle again, tilting your head slightly. "We’re grown-ups, Chris. We broke up on good terms. I don’t see why we can’t be civil after everything."

Chan tightens his grip around you, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. "But what if he asks you to get back with him?"

Instead of answering, you raise an eyebrow and ask, "And you think I’d say yes?"

His grin widens, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

You shake your head, smiling. "Oh, Chris... you're ridiculous."

He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. "Yeah, but I had to ask. I just don't like the idea of him coming around."

"He's just going to come, pick up his things, and leave," you explain, trying to reassure Chan that there’s no need for jealousy.

Chan takes the opportunity to pull you even closer, his arms tightening around you with a possessive gleam in his eyes. "No deep talking, no reminiscing the shared memories, okay? No smiling either," he warns, his voice full of playful intensity.

You laugh at his protectiveness, letting him rest his forehead against yours.

"I love the way you smile," he says suddenly, the words catching you off guard. "I want to tell you to do it more often, but I don't."

"Why?" you ask, curiosity piqued.

"Because you don’t give it to everyone," Chan murmurs, his lips grazing your cheek as he moves to whisper in your ear. "And I don’t plan on sharing you."

The possessive edge in his voice stirs something in you, and you feel yourself relax, leaning into his embrace. His fingers cup your jaw, tilting your head ever so slightly as he draws closer, his gaze flicking down to your lips.

Just as he’s about to close the gap, a knock sounds—not on his door, but across the hall. You gently break away from his hold, heading to check with Chan trailing behind, a bit flustered.

"Oh, Lee, I'm sorry, I was at Chris's place," you say as you open the door and spot your ex, Lee, standing there.

"Oh hey," Lee greets you, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug. A hug that, to Chan, feels way too long. Chan clears his throat loudly, making his presence known.

Lee finally lets go of you and acknowledges him. "Oh, hey, Chris," Lee says, extending his hand for a handshake.

Chan hates that Lee’s actually being nice—he's a good guy, and that makes him feel like the bad guy.

"Hey, Lee," Chan mutters, reluctantly shaking his hand.

"You look dashing. Going somewhere?" Lee asks, genuinely.

"Yeah, uh... a friend's wedding," Chan replies, his earlier hostility fading slightly.

As they exchange pleasantries, you unlock your door and gesture for Lee to come inside. "Please, come in," you say.

"Are you joining us, Chris?" Lee asks, seriously offering for him to stay.

Chan would love nothing more than to stay and keep an eye on things, but he checks the time on his phone and realizes he’s already pushing it if he doesn’t leave now. "I have to go, actually," he says, regret heavy in his voice.

"What a pity! I brought us food," Lee says to you, smiling. "It’s the baked ziti from your favorite place."

You smile awkwardly, glancing at Chan. "That’s so nice of you, Lee."

"See you next time, Chris," Lee says as he steps into your apartment.

Chan sighs, feeling torn between wanting to stay and knowing he has to leave. His chest tightens as he glances at you one last time.

"I’ll see you later, okay?" you say, smiling, though it does little to comfort him.

"Don’t smile at him!" Chan grumbles, trying to cling to his playfully jealous tone.

You laugh softly and surprise him by stepping forward, placing a quick but tender peck on his lips. The brief contact sends butterflies swirling in his stomach.

"Have fun at the wedding," you say sweetly, flashing him one last smile before closing the door.

Chan stands there for a moment, his heart racing, the taste of your lips lingering. He shakes his head, smiling to himself as he turns to leave, knowing that despite everything, you’re still his.

-

Seeing that most of the guests have already left and only a few remain on the dance floor, Chan decides it’s time to wrap up his set. Grabbing the mic, he announces, "Everyone, this is the last dance."

His suit is no longer in its proper form—he ditched the jacket long ago, his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck. He inhales deeply, satisfied with a job well done.

As he packs up, his friend, the groom's brother, hands him a bottle of champagne as a token of gratitude. "You killed it, mate. Thanks for stepping in."

"Anytime, man," Chan says with a grin, accepting the bottle. Just as he’s about to take a sip, a voice interrupts him.

"Are you planning on sharing that?"

He turns around, surprised to see someone he least expected. "Sue?"

"Oh, I thought you forgot about me," Sue says with a teasing smile.

How could he? Sue was his first love, the one who gave him his first heartbreak. She’s older and taller than him, just like before, but Chan sees her differently now—not as the boy who once idolized her, but as a man. Yet, the admiration still lingers.

Sue chuckles and gives him a quick hug. "Of all places, we meet here?"

"I know, right?" Chan shakes his head, still bewildered. "My friend is the brother of the bride."

"And I’m one of the groom's family," Sue says, showing off the dress. "What a small world!"

They share the bottle of champagne in the garden, sitting by the pool as they catch up. The evening air is warm, and the conversation flows easily.

"Is it alright that you're here with me?" Chan asks, glancing around as though expecting someone to pop up and claim her.

"Why wouldn’t it be?" Sue replies.

"I don’t know. I figured your boyfriend would be looking for you soon," Chan jokes, though there’s a part of him that’s curious.

"I don’t have a boyfriend," Sue says casually, taking a sip from the bottle.

Chan arches an eyebrow. "That's a lie!"

Sue playfully elbows him. "Oh, I know you’re happy to know I’m single," she teases.

"You can’t be single," Chan insists.

"But I am," she assures him, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"No way," Chan shakes his head, unable to believe it. "I mean, you’re taller and more beautiful than the last time we met. You can’t be single."

Sue leans in, her tone shifting ever so slightly. "And maybe that's why we met again tonight."

The suggestion in her voice throws him off balance, and before he can say anything, they bump into a group of people running around in their underwear, dripping wet and giggling as they pass by. Some guests have clearly taken the after-party to the hot tub.

Sue looks at the now-empty, steaming hot tub and asks, "What do you think?"

"You... you want to get in the hot tub?" Chan asks, incredulous.

"You and me, together," Sue says with a mischievous grin, her fingers already reaching for the zipper of her dress.

Chan's eyes widen as she strips down to her undergarments, standing confidently in front of him.

Before he can protest, she grabs his hand and pulls him toward the tub. "Come on! It’s getting cold!"

Seeing no harm in it—and after all, it’s been a lovely night—Chan relents. He strips down to his boxers and slowly lowers himself into the steaming water. The heat engulfs him, relaxing his muscles.

Sue leans back in the tub, her fingers playfully skimming the surface of the water. "Chris, you’ve really grown since the last time I saw you."

"Nah, I’m still the same," Chan says, feeling oddly shy. Despite the years that have passed, Sue still has a way of making him feel like a nervous kid.

"You're... hot. Like, really hot," Sue says with a giggle, her eyes sweeping over him.

Chan shakes his head, his ears turning red. "Nah, nah."

Sue moves closer, her voice dropping. "I’ll admit, I regretted rejecting you back then."

"You’re only saying that to make me feel better," Chan says, trying to deflect, but there’s a seriousness in her eyes that throws him off.

"Let's hope that's the case," Sue replies, and for a moment, their gazes lock, the tension thickening between them.

The heat of the water and the intensity of her gaze make Chan’s heart race, and he’s not sure if it’s just the temperature that’s making him feel this way. "It’s getting late," he finally says, breaking the moment.

"Yeah, you’re right," Sue agrees, being the first to climb out of the tub. She picks up her dress from the sun chair—and grabs Chan’s clothes as well.

"Hey, Chris," she says, a devilish grin spreading across her face as he’s about to step out of the water. "I have your clothes."

Before he can react, Sue takes off running, leaving Chan standing there, drenched and half-dressed.

"Sue!" Chan shouts, scrambling to get out of the tub. With no other option, he chases after her, his laughter echoing in the night.

As a family member of the wedded family, Sue has a room reserved at the resort, and she generously offers it to Chan so he can clean up after their impromptu dip in the hot tub. Chan stands in the bathroom, holding a hair dryer in one hand and his damp boxers in the other. He’s wrapped in a towel, waiting for his clothes to dry as he awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other.

"Chris, are you done?" Sue’s voice calls from outside the door.

"Almost done!" Chan shouts back, his voice strained. The air in the bathroom is warm and heavy, matching the tension he feels in his chest.

Before he can finish drying his boxers, Sue barges into the bathroom, still in her wet undergarments, her towel loosely wrapped around her. She doesn’t seem to care that he’s there.

"I can't wait any longer," she announces, her voice playful but firm as she strides confidently toward the shower stall, tossing her towel to the floor.

Chan swallows hard, eyes widening as she starts stripping out of her wet underwear. His gaze flickers to the mirror, catching glimpses of her body before he quickly tries to avert his eyes, heat rising to his face.

"I–I'm almost done..." Chan mumbles, his voice barely audible now as he turns the hair dryer off, but his words trail off because Sue isn’t listening. She’s busy shedding the last of her clothing, standing completely exposed now, her back to him.

His heart pounds, and though he desperately tries to look away, his eyes betray him, catching her figure in the reflection again. She moves toward the shower, but then she pauses, noticing his gaze through the mirror. A small smile curves her lips as she saunters back toward him, utterly confident.

"Chris," she says, her voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that sends a shiver down his spine. She steps closer, her bare body now in full view. "Want to shower together?"

Chan’s throat tightens, and he can’t seem to find the words. His mind is racing, caught between a surge of old feelings and the shocking reality of the moment. Sue stands there, teasingly exposed, as if waiting for him to make the next move.

Chan was a boy back then but now, he's just a man.

-

Is Chan still mad about Lee visiting you? Or did he go somewhere after the wedding and forget to tell you? Or... maybe he simply doesn't want to see you?

You’ve been turning these thoughts over in your mind ever since that night. You thought he’d come over after the wedding, share his usual stories about the day, about anything, really—like he always does. But the silence has been unsettling.

Coming home from work today, you half-expect to see him standing at his door, greeting you with that dimpled grin, his usual "Hi, neighbor." But all you see is his closed door.

You convince yourself that if Chan wants to see you, he’ll come around like usual, to poke fun at you or make you laugh. But it’s been too long now, and a knot of worry forms in your chest. What if he’s sick? What if something’s wrong?

After dropping off your bags and changing into comfortable clothes, you make up your mind and head over to his door. You knock, heart thudding with anticipation. A few moments later, you hear footsteps from inside.

When the door creaks open, there he is. He looks well—he looks good, as usual—but something feels off. There’s no dimpled grin, no sparkle in his eyes.

"Hey, can I come in?" you ask, hoping your voice doesn't betray the unease creeping in.

"Sure," he says, stepping aside to let you enter.

You walk in and sit on the sofa, waiting for him to join you. The silence feels heavier than usual, and he seems distant, avoiding your gaze.

"How are you?" you ask, breaking the quiet.

He lets out a long sigh before replying, "I’m good." He says but it doesn’t feel like the truth.

"That’s good to hear," you say, though you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

You reach out to press your hand gently against his forehead. "You’re not sick, are you?"

He lets you touch him, and you tease, "Ooh... you’re still the hottest tenant in this building."

You hope the joke might lighten the mood, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s faint, distant. You don’t want to push him too hard, but this isn’t Chan. Not the Chan you know.

"Are you trying a new persona?" you tease again, nudging him lightly. "Because this brooding emo guy thing doesn’t suit you."

This time, he chuckles, and the sound makes your heart lift a little. He finally looks at you, and his hand reaches for yours, fingers loosely intertwining with yours in the space between you on the sofa.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs, the apology catching you off guard.

"What for?" you ask, scooting closer to him, sensing that he’s carrying something heavy. You want to comfort him, whatever it is.

He leans back against the sofa, exhaling deeply. You wait, giving him the space to gather his thoughts.

"I met someone at the wedding," he begins, his voice careful.

A flicker of unease ripples through you, but you don’t say anything. You stay calm, letting him explain.

"Oh no, don't say you ran away with the bride," you joke, but it's more to ease the tension you feel building inside you.

Chan doesn’t react. He keeps looking straight ahead, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

"I met Sue," he starts, his voice struggling to push the words out. "She’s... someone I knew from the past."

You stay quiet, sensing that there’s more he needs to get out, but the pauses between his words are long and heavy.

"We met there, talked, had some drinks... and we ended up taking a quick dip in the hot tub."

"Sounds fun," you say, but your voice is flat, far from convincing.

He swallows hard, visibly uncomfortable. "We ended up in her hotel room... we were in the bathroom at the same time, and then... she asked if I wanted to shower with her."

Your heart sinks, but you brace yourself for whatever comes next. You stare down at your lap, your thoughts swirling, every unkind possibility flashing through your mind.

"I didn’t take her up on it," he quickly adds, "but... I hesitated. And in that moment, I realized I completely dismissed your feelings. I hate myself for it." His voice cracks with regret, and you can see the pain etched across his face.

"Maybe I haven’t changed at all," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "Maybe I’ll always be... this... ‘fuckboy Chris.’" He lets out a heavy sigh, tilting his head back as if trying to escape the weight of his own thoughts.

He turns to look at you, his eyes full of sadness. "Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not ready for this." His voice is small now, hesitant. "And I’ll understand if you don’t want to continue."

It’s a lot to take in. The silence fills the room, and you let yourself feel everything. The disappointment, the hurt, the empathy. You need time, just a few moments, to let it all sink in.

When you finally lift your head, you give him a soft, bittersweet smile. "Thank you for being honest with me," you begin, your voice steady but quiet. "And I know it wasn’t easy to say... but I’d be lying if I said I’m not disappointed."

His expression is heartbreaking. "I’m really sorry," he whispers.

"But Chris..." You take his hand, resting it on your lap, your fingers curling around his. "The fact that you acknowledged what you did was wrong, and that you took responsibility for it, shows me you're on the right path."

His eyes shift, the glints of warmth starting to return. "Don’t ever say you can’t change. You’re changing... I can see it, believe me."

Chan lets out a breath, his relief palpable. He pulls you closer, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "Goodness, what did I do to deserve you?"

You chuckle softly, wrapping your arm around his shoulder. "You don’t have to be perfect for me, Chris. You just need to be good for yourself."

He buries his head into the curve of your neck, his arms tight around you, holding on as if to remind himself this isn’t the end. Not yet.

"But, you know..." you tease, your voice light. "You could always quit now."

"Never!" he exclaims, pulling you even tighter into his embrace.

The two of you sit there, holding onto each other, your flaws laid bare. The silence between you feels different now—it's full of understanding, and something deeper starting to grow.

Chan tenderly cups your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and his eyes soften as they lock with yours.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," he whispers, his voice full of quiet gratitude.

You meet his gaze, the same emotions swirling within you. "Thank you for not giving up on me," you echo, because this journey hasn't been easy for either of you.

The moment between you is tender, delicate, and charged with something deeper—something that goes beyond words. You can feel it in the air, and in the way he looks at you. It feels right, like it needs to be sealed with something more, something real.

Your hands gently cradle his face, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. You swipe your thumb across his mouth, your touch lingering as you think about how much you missed the feel of him, the taste of him. Slowly, you lean in, closing the space between you, and press your lips to his.

The kiss feels unlike any you've shared before. It's soft, deliberate, and filled with all the unsaid emotions between you. His lips move against yours with such tenderness, and in that moment, everything melts away—the hesitation, the doubts, the fear. This kiss marks the start of something new, something deeper.

Chan kisses you gently, and it makes your heart tremble in your chest. Every brush of his lips against yours speaks of the emotions he's been holding back, the sadness and the sweetness of what you’ve both been through. It’s bittersweet and lovely, all at once.

This kiss signifies that you’re ready—both of you are ready to take this leap, to explore this new depth together.

When the kiss breaks, Chan can’t help but smile, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief and joy. He buries his head in your neck, inhaling your familiar scent that always calms him down. The feeling of your hand rubbing his back as you rest your head against him only solidifies how grateful he is that you're here, that he didn’t lose you.

He almost blew it, and yet here you are, forgiving him, giving him another chance. It's moments like this that make him certain—you’re the right person for him. Everything feels just... right.

You interrupt the peaceful silence with a playful tone, "It's your turn now."

"My turn for what?" Chan asks, momentarily confused as he lifts his head to look at you.

"Your turn to host the pajama party," you say, reminding him of the promise he’d made.

For a second, he’d forgotten all about that. "Huh?" he blurts out before realizing what you mean.

"I'll bring the snacks," you offer, and Chan nods, still smiling.

"Okay," he agrees without hesitation.

But you quickly add, "No weird movies, please?"

He can’t help himself from teasing you. "I know this French porn movie where the man—"

"Don’t make me cancel it," you cut him off, shooting him a stern look.

Chan laughs, "Okay, no French porn movies. Noted."

A mischievous idea crosses his mind as he playfully grins. "It's my party, though. I can do whatever I want, right?"

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly seeing through his intentions, but to his surprise, you don’t outright protest. "Well... yes."

His grin widens as countless thoughts—most of them lewd and not remotely innocent—flood his mind. You’ve given him too much freedom now, and with that playful look in his eyes, Chan’s already thinking of ways to push your buttons.

-

The pajama party is officially on, and Chan has everything set to perfection. The bed faces the TV, freshly made with new sheets, and a scented candle flickers nearby, filling the room with a light, romantic scent. He carefully curated a movie list that’ll support the atmosphere he’s trying to create—a mix of feel-good films with enough romantic tension to get you in the mood.

As for himself, he keeps it simple yet calculated—gray sweatpants, worn low enough on his hips to give you a glimpse of his pelvic bones, knowing full well how much you like that.

He checks the room once more, muttering to himself, "What else? What else?"

After a while, he spots something."The lights!" he says, darting toward the switch.

Setting the lights to a soft, dim glow, it ensures the perfect balance—just enough to see but low enough to encourage a little closeness.

Just as everything’s ready, you arrive, right on time. He’s been buzzing with excitement, but he tamps it down, making sure to keep his face casual as he opens the door slowly.

"I'm on an all-protein diet, but I can't say no to this snack," he teases, his eyes shamelessly traveling down your body. There’s a flicker of disappointment when he sees you in an oversized sweater, hiding your figure.

You hand him the bag of snacks with a smirk, "I hope you like grapes!"

He places the bag on the table, watching as you stroll into the room, eyes observing the cozy setup he’s prepared.

"I see that you did a little renovation." You comment with eyes narrowed.

"And I see that you're not dressed according to the dress code," he quips, pointing at your large, cozy sweater with a mock frown.

"Is it necessary though?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, already anticipating his answer.

"Yes," he insists, determined.

You sigh in playful defeat, tugging at the hem of your sweater and lifting it over your head, revealing a short, black slip dress underneath. It's silky, tight, and leaves just enough to the imagination—but not too much.

As you bend slightly to place the sweater on the sofa, Chan catches a glimpse of the lacey black underwear peeking out beneath the dress. His eyes widen for a second, and his pulse quickens. Suddenly, he wonders if maybe insisting on the dress code was too good of an idea. That slip dress, especially with the way it clings to you, is dangerous.

Oh, this is going to be fun, he thinks, trying to steady his breathing as he watches you settle in, completely unaware of the effect you’re having on him.

"Do you want me to prepare the snack or something?" you ask, snapping Chan out of his daze. He’s been standing there for what feels like a full minute, just staring at you.

He quickly averts his gaze, trying to shake off the image of your nipples lightly pressing through the silky fabric of your slip dress. It's too much of a distraction. "No, I'll do it. You can just..."

"I'll just get comfortable," you say with a teasing smile, turning away and heading toward the bed. His eyes can’t help but follow the way the hem of your slip rides up with each step, revealing more of your thighs than he's ready to handle.

He manages to gather his thoughts long enough to prepare the snacks. When he returns with the tray, he finds you nestled in the bed, already looking far too comfortable. A pillow is propped behind your back, your legs casually stacked and splayed across the bed, and the hem of your slip dress rides dangerously high, showing off even more skin.

You crawl over to the side of the bed, the neckline of your dress dipping low and giving him an accidental peek at your soft, unrestrained curves. You help him place the snacks on the bed, and his mind keeps wandering as he tries not to lose focus.

"So, what are we watching tonight?" you ask, clearly unaware of the war going on inside his head.

"I don't know," Chan blurts out without thinking, his mind still stuck on how your body moves so effortlessly in that dress.

Your brow furrows, and you pout in response to his non-answer.

"I mean, I've chosen a few, but I’ll let you make the final decision," he says, completely surrendering control of the night, which had not been part of his plan.

He places the tray of snacks in the empty space on the bed, and you pick up a chip, popping it into your mouth with a playful grin. He takes a seat next to you, keeping a safe distance—for now.

"Okay, now I’m curious about your choice of movies," you say as you crawl over him to reach for the remote.

The scent of your skin, the warmth of your body so close, it’s all so utterly distracting. His breath catches as you move over him, the proximity stirring something deeper inside.

"No porn," you say with a laugh, scrolling through his movie selections. "That’s a good start."

Chan grins, but the effect you have on him is overwhelming. He needs to cool down fast before his mind strays too far. Thinking quickly, he suggests an action movie, something that could help him focus on anything other than you.

You agree without hesitation and settle back against the pillows as the movie starts, the room dimly lit, and the night now filled with a tension that neither of you can completely ignore.

"So, the father no longer lives with his daughter?" you ask, eyes glued to the screen while Chan’s attention remains fixed on your body.

"Uh-huh, yeah," he mumbles, clearly distracted.

"I don't like the stepfather," you comment about the movie, unaware of how little Chan is actually paying attention.

You turn your head to him, catching him in the act of staring. You pretend not to notice, reaching casually for a grape from the bowl he's holding. But as you bring it to your mouth, it slips from your fingers, rolling down Chan’s bare stomach and stopping right at the waistband of his sweatpants.

Without hesitation, you innocently reach for the grape, your hand brushing dangerously close to where he’s most sensitive. The moment is fleeting, but it lingers for Chan. He feels the heat rise in his chest as your fingers pull the grape free and pop it into your mouth as if nothing happened.

For a second, he’s frozen, his breath catching as the proximity of your touch leaves him wanting more. His carefully crafted plans for tonight? They seem to be backfiring, with you unintentionally driving him wild.

-

Chan may think all your actions were innocent accidents, but little does he know every move was calculated. You've been noticing his wandering gaze, the way he keeps getting distracted by you rather than the movie. His bare torso, though distracting, only adds fuel to your own plans.

When the first movie ends, you decide it’s time to build a little anticipation. You scoot to the edge of the bed, casually announcing, "Bathroom break."

You linger in the bathroom longer than necessary, letting the tension grow. When you return, Chan has cleared the tray and is fluffing your pillow—a sight that makes you grin inwardly. He’s already under your control.

"Can we watch a romcom next?" you ask as you climb back onto the bed, this time settling even closer to him.

"Sure," Chan agrees without hesitation, confirming that you've got him wrapped around your finger.

The second movie begins, and a few minutes in, you fake a yawn, casually resting your head on his shoulder. He doesn’t move at first, but eventually, his arm slips around you, his hand gently rubbing your arm. You smile softly, knowing you’ve set the perfect stage.

You lower your voice and whisper, "She’s beautiful, don’t you think?" referring to the actress on screen.

"Yes, she is," Chan replies quickly, too quickly.

You chuckle, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "I thought you'd say something like, 'but you're more beautiful,'" you tease.

That comment finally breaks his concentration on the movie. He looks at you, eyes locking with yours. The tension between you simmers, everything falling into place.

"You are more beautiful," he says, catching you off guard with how sincere he sounds.

You gently hold his chin, making sure his gaze stays on you. "Yeah?"

"Yes," his voice is low, thick with desire.

"Thank you," you sweetly murmur, leaning in to plant a soft, lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth. It's a tease, just enough to leave him wanting more.

Chan is clearly struggling to hold on, but you're determined to push him further. You move swiftly, pulling one of his legs aside and slipping between them to sit.

The sheer panic in his voice when he asks, "What are you doing?" is impossible to miss.

“I want to sit here so we can cuddle,” you reply, playing the innocent card. You settle yourself against his chest, making sure to let out a low, sultry hum as you lean back into him.

He remains tense for a moment, but you feel him give in, his hands slowly trailing down your sides. His fingers gently squeeze your waist, and then his arm wraps around you, pulling you in close. His lips find your skin, starting with soft kisses on the top of your head, then trailing down the side of your face and to your bare shoulder. Each kiss becomes more ragged, more desperate, and you can feel the weight of his breath against your skin.

Finally, he turns your head, and the intensity in his eyes says it all—he’s done resisting. His lips crash into yours, the kiss raw, hungry, filled with more than just lust. It’s deep, hard, and leaves you breathless. You're barely keeping up as he kisses you with an urgency that feels like he’s been waiting for this forever.

“How can I walk away from this?” he asks, his voice heavy with emotion, his forehead resting against yours.

You smile, your lips barely grazing his as you reply, "You don’t, because it's your party, and you can do what you want."

That’s all it takes. Something inside him snaps. Chan gives in entirely, kissing you more feverishly, his hands roaming your body, touching you everywhere at once. You feel his fingers tug at the hem of your slip dress, and you lift your body slightly, allowing him to pull it off. The fabric falls away, leaving nothing between his hands and your skin.

“You’re so soft it's ridiculous,” he murmurs in awe, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You watch as his hands trail down your arms, over your shoulders, down your sides, claiming every inch of you. He traces the lines of your body like he’s memorizing them, his breath hot against your neck as he leaves searing kisses along the way.

“Everywhere my hand slides, you fit me,” he whispers, showing you just how well with every touch—from your throat to your breasts, your hips, and down. His mouth follows his hands, kissing, tasting, marking you.

You let out a quiet whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. “Please let me touch you too,” you manage to whisper.

Chan doesn’t hesitate. He flips you over so that you’re straddling him, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your every move. You waste no time, leaning in to kiss his neck, trailing your hands down his broad shoulders. Your fingers explore the firm muscles of his chest, and your lips follow, savoring the feel of his skin against yours.

You pause, admiring his sculpted abs, running your hands over them. "How do you even look like this?" you ask, awestruck.

Chan grins shyly, clearly not used to the compliments. “I don’t have anything better to do than go to the gym.”

“You do now,” you tease, tugging at him playfully.

Before he can react, you pull him down with you, both of you collapsing onto the bed together, laughing as the tension between you grows thicker.

In the dim light of the TV, Chan’s body hovers over yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he props himself on one elbow. You can feel the tension in the air, the weight of everything unsaid building between you. His eyes are locked onto yours, and you respond by slipping your hand down into his sweatpants, wrapping your fingers around him.

The way he groans, half-broken, sends a shiver down your spine. His hardness pulses under your touch, and each breath he takes sounds more ragged than the last. It’s intoxicating, knowing how undone he is because of you. Every stroke of your hand, every gentle squeeze makes him unravel a little more, and for a fleeting moment, you realize just how much power you have over him.

But before you can dwell on it, you feel his mouth. It takes you a second to pinpoint where, but then you feel it—hot and hungry, kissing your abdomen. His lips trail down, kissing along the curve of your stomach, his breath hot against your skin. The tension coils tighter inside you with each kiss.

With a playful grin, Chan grips the elastic band of your underwear between his teeth. The memory of last time flashes in your mind, and you can’t help but laugh at the familiar sight.

"Someone better not interrupt me again," he mutters between clenched teeth, determination and amusement laced in his voice as he tugs at the fabric.

The laughter bubbles out of you, half from the tickling sensation of his chin grazing your skin, half from the irony. But soon enough, the underwear slips away, and your laughter turns into a breathy sigh.

Chan wastes no time, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. You can barely catch the words he murmurs between kisses, your focus completely stolen by the feel of his lips and tongue, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

It’s too much, and not enough all at once.

Your legs part instinctively, and you know exactly what’s coming next. Anticipation swirls inside you, tightening in your core as Chan’s mouth ventures dangerously close to where you need him most.

The first contact of Chan’s mouth on your wetness is deliberate—a slow, teasing swirl that feels like the soft lick you’d give to the top of a melting ice cream cone. The sudden sensation draws a sharp gasp from your lips, and you almost snort from the intensity of it. He rewards you with a soft kiss on your inner thigh, as if pleased with himself.

The second contact is a gentle kiss, a reminder of the first kiss you shared. It’s pure, almost chaste, without any tongue, yet it holds a promise of what’s to come. As you stare up at the dark ceiling, a single thought pulses through your mind—you deeply wish that his kisses were meant for no one else but you.

Then comes the third, another kiss that slowly progressing from pure and innocent to something much dirtier. His lips linger and press deeper, his tongue tracing lines that send electric shocks through your entire body.

Chan takes his time, savoring every second, and with each passing minute, your body alternates between moments of tension and relaxation, yielding completely to him.

All of a sudden, he lifts his head, groaning in frustration. "I can’t handle it..." His voice is rough, desperate. He rests the side of his head on your thigh, his fingers lightly circling your clit as he breathes out, "I need more. Please."

His words are strained, raw with need. He’s hanging on by a thread, teetering on the edge, and you know that if you don’t give him what he wants soon, he might just break. You slide your hand through his curls, tugging lightly to bring his gaze back to yours.

“More?” you ask, voice low, teasing, though his desperation makes your heart race.

"Way, way more," he whispers, the hunger in his voice unmistakable.

You smile softly, the pet name slipping out so naturally it surprises you. "Okay, baby."

At that, Chan hurriedly kneels, shedding his sweatpants in a rush, and when his erection springs free, it’s impossible not to stare. The sheer size of him, the desire etched across his face, it’s all aimed at you, and the heat between you intensifies.

He positions himself above you, taking your hands and tangling them with his own, pinning them above your head. "Finally..." he breathes, his voice thick with excitement and relief, almost bordering on ecstasy.

Despite the waiting, the teasing, you realize you were just as desperate as he was for this moment, "Finally..." you repeat.

As he pushes his hard length into you, he does it slowly, savoring every inch as your body adjusts to him. He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can hear every sound that escapes his lips—soft gasps, sighs of pleasure, as if he’s trying to survive this moment and let it consume him all at once.

Fully sheathed inside you, he flexes his hips, and your eyes flutter shut. The sensation of him filling you, hot and hard, is overwhelming. It’s perfect.

"God, I was so right," he groans, his voice filled with awe. "You fit me perfectly"

Chan kneels again, his muscles contracting, his skin flushed red from the intensity. The view of him above you—his sculpted chest and arms—is breathtaking. He starts moving, each thrust measured, controlled. You can feel the pressure building inside you, and something similar to panic grips your chest, a raw intensity that threatens to overwhelm you.

“Talk to me,” Chan murmurs, leaning down to place a quick kiss on your lips.

You smile weakly, your eyes half-closed as you try to keep yourself together. "This is... this is nice," you mumble, barely coherent as your mind reels from the pleasure.

He looks almost offended, his brow furrowing as if the word "nice" is beneath him. "Nice, huh?" he repeats, voice low and teasing.

Before you can respond, his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you just enough to create a new angle. The depth he reaches now makes your breath hitch, and any attempt at keeping a coherent thought vanishes as he thrusts harder.

"Nice is good..." you start to say, but the words are swallowed by a moan as his pace increases, hitting just the right spot with every thrust. Your eyes roll back, and he grins at the reaction he pulls from you.

“I don’t do... nice,” Chan says with a smirk, leaning down as his movements grow faster, deeper, shaking the bed with every thrust.

You let out a sob, the sensation too much, and your body tightens around him, trembling as the knot in your stomach pulls tighter and tighter. It’s a battle to hold on, but there’s no escaping what’s coming.

Chan hovers lower, his face close to yours as he studies every expression, his hips moving with precision. "Is it still nice?" he growls, his voice hoarse.

You can’t answer, not with the way he’s pushing you right to the edge. Your breath hitches, and just as you open your mouth to say something, a desperate cry escapes as your body finally gives in, releasing all the tension in a wave of pure ecstasy. You cling to the sheets, legs shaking, your voice echoing in the room as Chan continues to drive into you.

Moments later, you feel Chan reach his own peak, his body shuddering against yours as he releases with a deep, guttural groan, collapsing onto you, exhausted and trembling from the intensity of it all.

Once he's come to his senses, he lets out a shy laugh, his cheeks flushed. He’s so different from the brash, confident man you expected him to be—soft and vulnerable in ways you didn’t anticipate. You gently stroke his cheek, feeling a surge of affection for this man you’re getting to know in a completely new way.

"We’re going to miss the end of the movie," you tease, glancing at the TV still flickering in the background.

Chan laughs, his voice rich and warm. "I think we finished just in time."

-

Every time Chan wakes up in the morning, he no longer wonders where he is. He’s right where he belongs, lying next to you.

On weekdays, you live your separate lives, each sleeping in your own beds. But on weekends, you’re his, and he makes the most of it. It’s not just about sex—though there’s plenty of that. Your nights are filled with movies, video games, long dinners, and endless cuddling that eventually leads to even more sex.

Once, he warned you that it would take him days, weeks, maybe even years to get enough of you.

As expected, your alarm rings just as Chan is about to pull you closer, his arms instinctively reaching for you. With a quick motion, he grabs your phone, turns off the alarm, and shoves it under his pillow, refusing to let you go.

“Work,” you murmur, still half-asleep, rubbing your eyes as you reach for your phone.

“You know what time it is,” he teases, pulling you on top of him with ease.

Chan brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears so he can plant soft kisses all over your face. When his lips finally reach yours, his hand glides down your spine, resting on your rear before slipping his fingers under your underwear, teasing you through the fabric.

"Chris..." you mewl, your voice a mix of protest and desire.

“It’s either we do it here or in the shower,” he says, voice thick with need. He doesn’t care about the setting—he just knows he needs you to start his day right.

“As long as you’re doing all the work,” you reply, half teasing, half serious.

His eyes widen in disbelief. "Since when do you ever—"

You cut him off with a kiss, your lips pressing firmly against his. "Are we doing this or not?"

No matter how much you protest, Chan always gets what he wants. And he knows you secretly love catering to his desires, just as much as he loves pleasing you.

Your lips move together again as he pulls his cock out of his boxers, positioning himself. You lean forward, lowering yourself onto him slowly, feeling him fill you inch by inch. His hands rest on your hips as you stay on all fours, your back arching beautifully while he thrusts into you from below.

You glance down, watching his cock move in and out of you, and let out a playful giggle. “How do you have so much energy in the morning?” you ask, a little amazed.

He grins up at you, his hips never stopping their rhythm. Honestly, just looking at you is all he needs to feel alive in the morning. Your moans, your smile, the way you move—it all drives him wild.

“That feels so good, baby,” you purr, leaning down to kiss him deeply.

Chan’s mind wanders for a brief second, wondering how he got so lucky. There was a time when he feared you might think this was only physical, that he mistook lust for something deeper. But now, he knows it’s not just his body that craves you—his heart does too.

“What are you thinking, mmh?” you ask, your nose brushing against his.

"Nothing," he murmurs, looking at you with the softest expression. "I’m just so happy."

You smile at him, pressing another kiss to his lips, and he holds you close, your bodies fitting perfectly together as he continues to move, his hips rocking into yours until both of you are lost in the sensation.

When you finally reach your peak, he follows, planting his seed deep inside you to complete what’s now become his favorite morning ritual.

As you get dressed, Chan stays in bed, a satisfied grin plastered across his face. He watches you with lazy, contented eyes, still basking in the afterglow.

"I’ll cook dinner tonight," he says, hands propped behind his head, already thinking of the next time he’ll see you.

"Okay," you reply casually, slipping your sweater over your head.

"It would be easier if you gave me your spare keys," he says, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the underlying hope in his voice. "So I can cook at your place."

You pause for a moment, a coy smile creeping across your face. "You want the spare keys to my place?"

"Yes," he replies eagerly, sitting up a little straighter, hope flaring in his chest.

"Well..." You walk toward the door, glancing back at him over your shoulder. "You’ll have to earn it first."

As you leave his apartment and head across the hallway to your own, Chan lies back on the bed, his grin widening. It seems he has a new quest: earning the spare keys to your place.

And knowing Chan, he’ll do whatever it takes to get them.

-

Chan knows your morning routine by heart. He lingers in bed for a moment after you leave, his mind wandering back to the last time you were together. Whether it was this morning or the night before, the memories of your body against his make him smile lazily.

Eventually, he gets up, washes up, and grabs a quick breakfast before heading out of the apartment to send you off to work.

As he steps out of his door, he sees a sight that surprises him: you're helping someone unload boxes from the elevator. Without thinking, he rushes over to help, noticing that there are still several boxes left inside.

“You should be on your way to work,” Chan says, more concerned about your punctuality than anything else.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t get into the stuffed elevator,” you reply with a shrug, clearly unbothered by the time.

Just then, someone else steps out of the elevator, carrying the last box. “You can use it now,” he says, smiling.

You turn to Chan and introduce him, “This is Minho. He’s our new neighbor.”

Then you turn to Minho and gesture to Chan, “And this is Chris, the other neighbor.”

Chan feels a pang of disappointment. Just the "other neighbor"? He swallows it down, deciding to let it go for now.

Minho puts the box down and extends his hand to Chan. “Minho,” he says with a friendly grin.

“Chris,” Chan replies, shaking his hand. As their hands clasp, Chan gets a quick read on him. He knows the type—game recognizes game—but for now, he decides to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’d better get going,” you say as Minho holds the elevator door open for you.

“Yes, please, I’d be devastated if you were late to work,” Minho says with a smile that seems just a little too smooth.

You laugh softly, waving it off. “It’s fine. No worries.”

That laugh—the ease of your interaction—it’s all too friendly for someone you’ve just met. It takes Chan back a little, knowing how long it took for you to warm up to him. Still, he lets it slide again.

As you move to leave, Chan pulls you close, intending to kiss you goodbye, but at the last second, you turn your head, and the kiss lands awkwardly on your jaw.

“Bye,” you say softly before stepping into the elevator.

“Have a great day at work, neighbor!” Chan calls after you, trying to play it off with a wave as the doors close.

Left standing in the hallway with Minho, Chan notices the pile of boxes still waiting to be moved into the new neighbor’s apartment. He offers to help, not feeling right about leaving the guy to handle it all alone.

After placing the last box inside, Minho hands Chan a can of soda as thanks. They sit for a moment, taking a breather from the unexpected workout.

“I must say,” Minho says suddenly, cracking open his can, “that was hard to watch.”

Chan’s brows knit together in confusion. “Sorry?”

“You and that pretty neighbor of yours,” Minho continues, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Chan straightens up, his grip tightening on the can. “What are you trying to say?”

Minho lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I can see you like her, but her… I don’t think she likes you back.”

Chan feels the jab, but he doesn’t let it show. He knew there was something off about Minho from the start.

“She introduced you as her mere neighbor,” Minho adds, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “And that kiss dodge? Ouch.”

Chan tries not to take the bait, but it’s impossible not to feel a little stung by the comment. Pissed, actually.

“How long have you been chasing after that cute neighbor?” Minho presses, his chuckle laced with condescension. He doesn’t even give Chan a chance to defend himself.

“Hey, you can mess with me all you want, but not with her,” Chan warns, his voice low, a dark edge creeping in.

Minho only snorts, crushing the empty soda can in his hand before tossing it casually into the trash. “And here I thought you were just like me.”

Chan tenses as Minho steps closer, eyes narrowing with a fierce smile. “I could have that girl in a week,” he declares boldly.

Chan’s jaw clenches. “I told you not to mess with her.”

Minho shrugs, completely unfazed. “Just watch me.”

And with that, it’s clear: there’s a new fuckboy in the area, and Chan’s got more than a little competition.

-

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[galaxy-fleur]

˗ˏˋ Thoughtful Care ˎˊ˗

Pairing: RE2R!Leon/gn!reader. Summary: After escaping the hell on Earth that was Racoon City, you are now stuck in a dingy motel room that will be your safe haven for the time being. As you and your little group try to get your bearings together, you get a chance to spend some much-needed alone time with Leon after your eventful night together. As it turns out, tending to one's wounds is a more intimate experience than you thought. Word Count: <17k words; AO3 link. Notes: One use of Y/N, switching POV, some mutual pining, kissing, you take care of Leon's wounds, brief discussion of Ada, Claire and Sherry cameo. Credit: divider by @/saradika-graphics.

Life is a mysterious thing. You haven't ever considered yourself to be someone particularly special. You were always just an ordinary person, with a pretty ordinary life, and ordinary problems someone your age would typically be dealing with. You never once thought of that as something worthy being upset about. Being ordinary meant having your life in order. It meant that your daily routine was comfortable for you. Pleasant. Safe. Small daily problems that keep your mind occupied are really not appreciated enough. There is a very fragile feeling of peace in worrying over not being late to work tomorrow, or what to buy for lunch.

A very fragile feeling of peace that was forever broken for you in a single, horrible night.

You definitely never anticipated yourself to end up in the middle of some deadly outbreak straight out of a horror movie. Sure, you may have joked around with friends on how you would do in a horror story once or twice, but that was the extent of it. Jokes. Make-belief. You can indulge in fantasies about anything while you are safe and sound, however insane those fantasies may be. It's a completely different story when you are suddenly forced to shoot someone who is neither dead nor alive.

There were some that you even recognized.

A cute baker boy you remember complimenting on his new haircut during your visit to Racoon City a few months back.

A young teacher fresh out of college who shared many meaningful conversations with you near the Orphanage.

An elderly neighbor you once helped cross the street, after which he kindly invited you for tea next time you'll come to visit.

A promise that was never to be fulfilled now. And realizing that you would probably end up among them if you didn't move out of the city was... chilling, to say the least. 

Racoon City, once a place of many fond memories for you, has now become nothing but a living, gruesome nightmare that you will likely never forget. A part of you still wonders how you even managed to keep yourself alive through it all in the first place. But, somehow, you did. In part, due to a very fortunate encounter with a rookie cop who seemed to have arrived in the city not long after you. You barely spent a day in there, yet it felt like a lifetime. But despite everything fate threw your way, you two remained united, only briefly forced apart from each other, but ultimately rejoined again.

At the end of the day, it felt good to at least not be alone in this. To know that someone has your back. Heck, even simply having someone there to talk to made things just a tiny bit easier. Navigating the blood-stained corridors of the ruined Police Station on your own would have made you lose your mind for sure.

Survival is not a pretty nor heroic endeavor. You've lost people. In fact, you'd say that you've lost way more than you've saved. Your heart has been permanently stained by witnessing so much senseless death and violence in such a short time. At least you have shared this awful stain with Leon. And it's always easier to share a burden than to carry it alone.

In the end, while you didn't achieve anything world-changing or save the city, you managed to escape together, relatively safe and sound. Despite being battered, covered in blood and grime, you two at least have the privilege of living another day. One that not many share, sadly.

You even managed to reunite with a pair of other survivors along the way - Claire and Sherry - who clearly had their own stories of shared survival to tell. So, you all made the decision to stick together from then on. Each of the four of you with their own scars to bear, whether physical or mental.

Tired, and a bit lost on what to do next, you all decided to spend the day at the nearest shabby motel. To get some much-needed rest before deciding on what to do next. Not the most ideal of places, but after the night you had, a clean bed to sleep in and a safe room with no metallic stench of blood clinging to your nostrils, was more than enough to feel relieved. Although it was rather cramped with all four of you huddling to share the compact space you've been given. But it was also an undeniable source of comfort to not be alone. Furthermore, your body was so utterly exhausted that you couldn't really afford to be picky.

In fact, you're pretty sure that you blacked out as soon as your head hit the pillow. All four of you shared that same sentiment, it seems. You all slept through the entire day and most of the night, your drained minds and bodies hungry for precious hours of peace and safely. 

When next morning came, Claire went out with Sherry to get breakfast for you all from the nearest diner, while you and Leon stayed back together in the motel. It was definitely... strange. It was strange to share so much with someone you've only met about about a day ago. Though, considering that you spent the entirely of the last day sleeping, it pretty much felt like yesterday. You met Leon having no prior knowledge of him whatsoever. He wasn't even from Racoon City. You couldn't have known him if you've tried. Yet, the shared experience of survival side by side made you feel closer to him than to some of your friends back home.

Human minds work in mysterious ways.

So, here you are now, stuck all alone with Leon, for the first time since you reunited with Claire on the train. To avoid any unwanted awkwardness, you decide to break the silence at last.

"So...How'd you sleep?"

With a small yawn, Leon stirs in his bed and shifts onto his side. He slept the longest out of all you. Knocked out cold and waking up only approximately ten or so minutes ago. He's still rubbing at his bleary eyes, clearly not fully awake despite his efforts to appear alert for you. Given that he was also the one in the worst shape among you all, no one really blamed him for it. As the morning sun trickles through the shutters, light streaks across his face, painting his features into soft shades of red and yellow. It's a cute look on him, in a way. Though you don't linger on that thought too much. He examines the dimly lit room for a moment, almost like he needs a moment to remember how he got here in the first place, before his eyes settle on you standing by the window.

You kept the shutters down on purpose, to keep the morning sun away, making the room appear rather dark, aside from long stripes of bright yellow from the sunlight stubbornly peeking through. Though, it's definitely a first for you to find such comfort in a motel room, of all places.

Leon rolls over onto his back with a small, pained grunt, propping himself up slightly with his good arm. His voice is muffled and groggy as he answers, and you smile to yourself at the sound of it, stiffling a snort: "Honestly... Can't really complain. This might be the best sleep I've had in a while, all things considered."

"Well, I guess at least some of us are well-rested," you say, indirectly referring to your own rather worn out state despite the good 15 hours of sleep you got. You appreciate the cleanliness of the fresh air coming from the window for another short moment, inhaling with your full chest to fill your lungs to the brim. Compared to the foul stench of blood and rot you had grown a tolerance for now, even the somewhat dusty air from the curb felt like you were breathing on top of the cleanest mountain. But, you step away and sit back down on the other bed next to Leon's, leaning back on your palms comfortably. "Claire and Sherry are out to get us all some breakfast. We decided not to wake you."

Leon sits up and gently stretches out his shoulders, wincing slightily at the motion. No wonder, considering the huge, bloody bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Despite your effort to appear nonchalant, he quickly recognizes the weariness etched onto your features, and looks over at you with a genuinely sympathetic expression from what you could tell.

You look away, disappointed that he somehow read you like a book.

It's bizarre, having someone you had basically just met feel so relaxed with you. Usually, it takes you at least a few weeks to develop this level of friendliness with someone. Then again, not like you go through what you went through the night before with everybody. After all, you already knew that Leon was good. There was no need to be cautious around him. None that you knew of, at least. That, and he seemed way more outspoken than you, anyway. A bit too trusting and naive, too. Especially for a cop.

"What about you? You didn't sleep too well or something?" Leon asks with a hint of trepidation in his voice. While a part of you is still a bit annoyed at his keen perception of you, you suppose you can't really blame him either. Given that he's likely dealing with the same thing you do.

Though, despite all that happened, he and Claire were much more optimistic than you.

Either way, you give him a small, dismissive shrug and run your hand over your hair, your nose wrinkling at the unpleasant feel of it. It's dry and matted under your touch. Even with your best efforts to get yourself back into shape yesterday, your hair was still far from its ideal state. Not like you had access to your usual haircare products in here. You probably still look rather messy. You also find yourself wondering if you'll have to get a trim on it when you go back home. Maybe this whole ordeal was the universe's twisted way of telling you to get a change of style or something.

Leon gaze is still trained on you, his eyes peering straight into your soul. That's how it felt, at least. No matter how hard you try, the weary look in your eyes and slight sag in your shoulders are the dead giveaway that you are, indeed, still tired. But he doesn't address the issue. Much to your relief.

"Eh, I'm fine. I got some sleep," your response is somewhat aloof, and you know it. But your lack of sleep isn't your only worry here, after all. "I'm glad you got some rest, though."

"Yeah... I sure needed it," Leon sighs softly, tracing the white bandage on his shoulder with his fingers.

Your gaze, too, shifts to the blood-stained bandage over his shoulder as you look over at him. You're a bit curious whether he was tracing it more due to his overall unease or because he was reminiscing about the very person who had put it on him in the first place.

Leon notices your stare on his shoulder, and his fingers stop their movements, almost like he's a bit embarrassed of it. As he looks back up at you, his expression is a perfect blend of exhaustion and contemplation. A somewhat awkward moment of silence passes, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

"...How are you holding up?" you coax, your voice a bit quieter than usual, much to your own surprise.

Geez, you didn't mean to sound so worried.

"I'm... managing," he responds with a hint of fatigue in his own voice. He softly pokes at the makeshift bandage again, grimacing instantly as another dull pain throbs in his shoulder. "-It still hurts like hell though. But I guess I can't complain. Considering everything."

You let out a sigh and lean forward, resting your arms on your knees: "That's... not what I'm asking here."

In a way, you were curious why you were asking him this in the first place. Not like it's important. Or should be important. Your shared experience together did not change the fact that you and Leon were still pretty much strangers, regardless of everything. Or maybe you were being too cynical. Regardless, the absence of Claire and Sherry allowed for you two to converse with each other one on one for the first time in a rather long while. Something that you felt the need for. For a variety of reasons.

Your words cause Leon's brows to furrow slightly, be it confusion or something else. Though, it's obvious he understands what you're implying here, what you're truly asking from him. He pauses for another long moment, seemingly unsure of how to respond. You don't rush him. Letting the silence settle between you two once more, safe for the quiet hum of the air conditioner and an occasional car driving by somewhere in the distance.

Finally, he looks away from you and stares down at the cheap carpet on the floor. His expression is almost fragile as he speaks up, his eyes hinting at a hidden vulnerability he kept inside up until this point: "It's... I don't know. I just... all the people I- we couldn't save..."

You quickly recognize his potential indirect referral. Or perhaps you were already aware of it from the very beginning, simply waiting for him to get to it. After all, the urgency to escape prevented you from talking about it, the entire Nest crumbling in on itself in a blaze of fire and ashes.

No time for talking about your feelings when you are about to fucking explode, after all.

Leon trails off, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

So, you cut straight to it for him.

"...Are you thinking about her?" you murmur faintly but just loud enough for him to hear, looking directly at him. Providing a name wasn't necessary for you both to understand exactly who you were referring to here.

Ada.

As Leon glances back up at you abruptly, his blue eyes flash with surprise. It's easy to see the moment his heart drops, a pretty blatant mix of pain and guilt quickly washing over his face. Looks like you hit the jackpot after all.

He tries to speak, but then shuts his mouth once more. The look in his eyes is now one of confusion as he runs a hand through his hair frustratedly. You allow him to have his moment with no interference. 

"...Yeah. I am," he finally admits, his voice almost a whisper. It's a wonder you heard him at all. With all the gunshots and explosions, you wouldn't have been surprised to find your hearing suffering greatly. He sighs heavily, his fingers twiddling together on his lap. "I... know it's probably stupid. Hell, it is stupid. To feel guilty over someone I barely even knew. Someone who..."

You sigh and lower your gaze as well. Saying things were complicated would be the same as saying nothing at all. Their final confrontation on the bridge was inaudible to you due to your distance. So, you were unaware of what was said between them. Not all of it, at least. The rumbling sounds of the Umbrella facility slowly crumbling in on itself caused everything to be drowned out to you. You didn't dare ask him about it, either.

His voice catches in his throat and he hesitates, making it obvious that it's your cue to continue now.

The judgment you made on Ada was based on what you saw from afar. That's all you could really offer him here.

"I do think she cared. About you, at least. We don't know why she did what she did. But... she didn't shoot you back there. I don't think she wanted to," you say, pursing your lips in thought as you play over what your eyes have seen. You were not aware of what Ada's last words to him were before she slipped from his grasp. But what you did see unfolding in front of you was... conflicting, to say the least.

Your words have a pretty profound effect on Leon, causing his heart to tighten in his chest with a painful pull. He understands all the implications behind them and, admittedly, he had already came to the same conclusion within himself. He just had no desire at all to actually face it and accept it. The fact that Ada's refusal to harm him to get her way was clear evidence of her allegiance. But that evidence was cruel and left him with no closure at all. Nervously, he runs his hand through his hair again, releasing a bitter laugh that felt heavy on his lungs. He is unsure whether he should be angry, sympathetic, or simply mournful towards the enigmatic woman who was such a mystery in every way, up to the very end. Perhaps he experiences all three emotions at the same time.

But you both know that if it were you standing there instead of Leon...

Ada probably wouldn't have hesitated on pulling the trigger.

He looks to you again, maybe hoping for you to give him some information he knew you couldn't give.

But you don't meet his gaze, choosing instead to look downwards, seemingly just as conflicted about this all as he is. Of course, Leon realizes that his numerous questions would remain unanswered for an indefinite period. Probaby forever. He also had to accept that you couldn't give him any answers, or closure that could potentially come with them. Ada has died, and there was no way to change that cold, hard fact. Just like there was no way to take back all the lives of countless others who were lost in those streets. Racoon City had transformed from a community of pride and hopeful future into a place of death and bloodshed, with only you, Claire, and Sherry, managing to escape it alive. That was your current understanding, at least.

It would be nice to meet other survivors. But, for now, all he could do was sigh and accept your answer, however unfair it was on his heart. 

"Yeah, maybe... Maybe you're right," he mutters before falling into silence once more. His mind is racing with so many thoughts, all in conflict with one another. He is torn between his heart's desire to believe that Ada cared and the warnings of his mind to be cautious. He is uncertain about any of his emotions or thoughts at this point. He lets out another tired huff of frustration. "I just- I just wish I knew why. Why she did what she did, how much of it was real, or..."

...Or whether she cared about him at all.

"Well... at least you're safe. Let's leave it at that," your voice cuts through the dark whirlpool of thoughts in his head, turning his attention back on you. You seem to be focusing on his injured shoulder again. Perhaps in an attempt to divert the conversation, you switch the subject: "-We should really clean that up for you. It's all dirty and bloodied. Can't be good."

Leon winces as he instinctively tries to move his injured shoulder, further proving your point. He complies with a single nod, fully aware of the dire need for cleaning and proper care for the wound hidden under the worn-out bandages. Or... whatever care you could provide. At this point, anything is better than this dirty, blood-soaked thing.

"Uh, yeah. It's been a while, and it's starting to kind of..."

He stops, his face contorting in pain while he tries to move it again. His shoulder is becoming increasingly tender, and the bandage is completely stained with dark crimson blood. How much of it is his, and how much of it is of the other mutated things that used to be humans or animals he had to fight off, is unclear. Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself mentally for the miserable ordeal ahead. 

This experience will not be pleasant.

That pitiful look you give him doesn't help his pride, either. Or what's left of it, anyways. 

Regardless, not wanting to stall this any longer than he has to, he gingerly shifts his wounded shoulder and starts to delicately remove his police uniform with caution, taking his time. He took off his body armor the day before, leaving it stacked neatly somewhere in the far corner. Out of sight, out of mind, so to speak. Still, what was left of the dirtied police uniform on him was just as much of a reminder of the night before. He flinches involuntarily due to the fabric brushing against the bloody bandage, the pain instantly radiating from his shoulder straight to his insides.

You realize that you cannot just sit back and watch him struggle on his own, pride be damned.

"...Here. Let me help," you murmur softly as you approach him and sit next to him on the motel bed. You begin to delicately unbutton and peel off his soiled uniform from his upper body, aiming to avoid putting any unneeded discomfort on his already tender shoulder.

Leon nods quietly in response to your assistance. You're grateful he didn't make a big deal out of it. Outwardly, at least. He raises his good arm and makes an effort to shift his position, allowing you to help him in taking off what was left. "Thanks..."

You try not to think too much about the fact that you are basically undressing a cute guy you just met the day before.

With your help, you eventually succeed in removing the top portion of his uniform, leaving him in his pants and a bandage to cover his bruised skin. As he sits there, you can tell that his upper body being fully uncovered to your gaze - except for the stained bandage on his shoulder that is - is making him feel rather awkward and tense. You can't really blame him for that.

You sure would be feeling embarrassed in his place.

"...I probably look a total mess right now," Leon shoots you a somewhat nervous smile. Despite him clearly trying to make a joke, you can still hear the painfully obvious apprehension in his voice.

"Yeah, you do," you agree rather bluntly as you glance over him without crossing any inappropriate boundaries. Leon had a more fit body than you expected, which... made sense in hindsight due to his recent graduation from the Police Academy, as he told you. It was probably necessary for him to be in good shape. Although muscular, he wasn't excessively so. His body was... normal. In a good way. Decently toned, with some softness around his sides and belly. Frankly, if it wasn't for the situation at hand, you would have complimented him, but you suppress that urge as soon as it arises.

You don't need to make things even more weird between you two.

As your eyes travel up and down his body, you lock eyes with each other for a brief, awkward moment. You quickly break eye contact with the each other, almost simultaneously.

Welp, so much for not being awkward.

"Uh... Do you remember what Ada did for you exactly...?" you say instead, touching his uninjured shoulder lightly. When Leon was shot, you were not together. You missed witnessing the event directly, only reuniting with him afterwards when he already had a fresh bandage wrapped snuggly around his shoulder.

"No... I passed out after I got shot," there is a brief pause between you, and his face reflects a mixture of pain and another indescribable emotion that you can't really pinpoint clearly. Whether it's physical discomfort speaking or something else entirely, you don't know. "I woke up with it already on and her gone."

You watch him turn his attention back to his injured shoulder, where the white bandage is stained with dried blood. He gently rubs the fabric with his fingers, sensing the pain and discomfort that emanates from the fresh wound beneath. Despite everything, it's very much evident that he can't help but feel at least a small tingle of gratitude towards Ada, even though it hurts him to think about her at the moment.

"Well, since you didn't bleed out, and your arm is still somewhat usable, I'd say she did a good job," you let out a sigh and lean back slightly. Although you had previously taken a rather beneficial first aid course, you never anticipated having to actually apply those skills to treat a severe bullet wound, of all things. "...Her being a mercenary explains her way around such stuff, I guess."

Leon's eyes are still fixed on his injured shoulder as he nods. Guess he wasn't feeling very talkative for now. Not that you could blame him for that.

He runs his hand through his messy hair as you go to grab the medkit you thoughtfully prepared for the occasion, the faint sound of his fingers scratching against his scalp echoes in the room. You can only guess that his hair is probably just as dry and dirty as yours is, considering the circumstances you've just recently escaped from. On some level, it makes you feel less awkward about your own disheveled appearance in turn. It's good to know that you are all in the same boat here. Looking like a mess, and feeling like one, too.

"It sure does," he exhales somewhat bitterly, his voice filled with underlying anguish, as if he feels deeply betrayed. And he probably does. His face covered in a plethora of conflicting emotions. You feel a twinge of sympathy tugging at your heartstrings again. "I wish she could have just... been honest with me. From the start."

It appears that he is struggling to reconcile with the disparity between the person he believed he knew and the person Ada truly was.

You decide to not mention that he knew her for less than 24 hours. After all, it's evident that he's going through a difficult time as it is, and your practicality may not be of much help to him. Emotions are notoriously illogical.

It's difficult to think of a way to comfort him in the current situation.

"Well, at least you still have me, right? We made it out. And Claire, too. And Sherry." So, instead, you choose to gently rub his uninjured shoulder as a wordless show of support. "C'mon. Let's get that dirty bandage off of you. We don't want you catching an infection or something."

When you touch his shoulder again, he returns his gaze back to you, some life returning to the gentle blues of his eyes, much to your relief. Looks like your touch did the trick, as his body gradually loosens up under your palm. He gives you a small but genuine smile. "Alright, alright. Let's get this done, then. This is going to suck though..."

"Hey, it can't be as bad as actually getting shot, though, right?" you attempt to make a small joke to lighten the mood, but you instantly feel a deep sense of discomfort inside as soon as you actually speak it aloud.

Well, that sure sounded macabre.

"Uh... Sorry. That was... pretty bad."

Leon snorts out a short laugh regardless, running a hand over his face. At least you made him laugh. Though you can't help but wonder whether he laughed at your joke, or you. Probable the latter. Regardless, he takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the very probable agony of having his shoulder directly meddled with.

You both understand that it'll likely be pretty painful for him to endure, but you also understand that it is very much essential to get done. Especially since you haven't visited a hospital yet.

So, after you share a nod of mutual agreement with him, you begin to carefully remove the dirty bandage from his shoulder, taking your time to avoid causing him any unnecessary discomfort.

Besides your unfunny joke, that is.

"...Your jokes are terrible." Leon mutters under his breath, probably to distract himself a little. He winces slightly, the fabric that's already hardened now rubbing directly against the wound from your movements, which is more than uncomfortable to sit through, but not as painful as he expected. Or maybe he has just become more numb to the pain of it. "Don't be too gentle, by the way. Better to just get it over with as quickly as possible."

"I'm not about to hurry through this and potentially make it worse, sorry," you deadpan, leaving no room for doubt. 

Well, so much for his hopes of getting this done quickly. Though he knows you're right there. He just really doesn't want to sit through this.

As you continue to unravel the bandage, he clenches his teeth tightly. The pain is bearable, but it's far from enjoyable. With you steadily approach the actual wound, his entire body tightens involuntarily, muscles going taut with contained tension. The actual memory of being shot is still fresh in his mind, unfortunately. Though, he tries to divert his attention away from the pain by focusing on your presence and touch instead, however dubious such a notion may be.

He can hear you release a small sigh, whether it was out of annoyance or pity for him, he couldn't really tell. Your lips tighten as you carefully and patiently unravel each layer of cloth one by one to reach the aforementioned wound. He quickly looks down at his lap, scolding himself inwardly.

Why was he staring at your lips, of all things, anyways? He has no concise answer for that. And he is not sure what to expect once you two can finally look at the bullet wound itself, either. It's like everything was uncertain, and that was frustrating, to say the least.

"F-Fuck... That hurts-"

He clenches his teeth tightly, determined not to make any unneeded noise. He doesn't want to appear weak in your presence for some reason. Perhaps it's his pride speaking. He didn't really know.

"Sorry... I'm going as gently as I can," your voice is softer than he's used to, and he's not sure how to take that. You take your sweet time to remove the remaining layers of his bandage, being cautious not to abruptly tear it off, opting instead for a slower and more careful approach. Considerate as ever.

Leon releases a trembling breath while you carefully remove the final layer of fabric. He has to fight a growing urge to recoil as the last remaining layers of bandage are delicately removed. But it does at least feel relieving to finally take a full breath with no restriction that the tightness of the fabric secured around his chest provided. Even if such freedom was probably brief.

You both can now see his entire shoulder, which completely reveals the wound for you both to behold. He is very much aware of his heart pounding in his chest, his nerves on high alert. Once the wound is finally exposed, you examine it, quickly glancing over the hastily but securely stitched front and back where the bullet entered and exited his body. It was certainly not a clean, medical work, but it far surpassed anything either of you were capable of doing for him.

"Looks like she stitched you up, too... I wonder if that means she removed the bullet," you note, your brows furrowed together, creating a rather adorable-looking wrinkle between them.

...Goddammit, he's thinking utter nonsense.

"Ugh... I don't want to look at it," he mutters with clenched teeth, his breath slightly uneven. Nonetheless, he tries to divert his attention to something else, anything else, to distract himself from the nervousness twisting at his insides. The pain is intense and prickling, a sensation that spreads from the wound itself. The tender area around the injury causes Leon to wince involuntarily as you delicately touch it. He looks down at the wound, the stitched-up flesh making him a bit queasy. But he pushes past it. "I... can't tell you anything on what she did, sorry. Like I said, I passed out."

He looks away from it, not wanting to see it for much longer. Damn it, this will likely leave a mark. So much for the first day on the job. The idea of having to bear a permanent reminder of that horrible night makes him want to wail and claw at the walls.

But instead, he just lets out a shaky breath, his hands gripping at the sheets with iron-tight grip. In some sick irony, he now finds himself wishing for the dull, physical ache to return, to take center-stage again, instead of these feelings of disgust and dread that were so much more difficult to deal with.

Once again, your voice pulls him out of his silent turmoil. This seems to be a common occurrence now. But one he's grateful for, nonetheless.

"Well... Either way, you'll still need to go to a hospital for this. Preferably as soon as possible," you state, pretty much admitting that you would rather have opted to go directly to the hospital after your escape instead of staying in a nearby motel. He knew that you didn't approve of his stubborn refusal to go to the hospital. And here you were now. DIY care will have to do. You hum, your fingertips carefully tracing around the stitches. He shivers. Whether that was from the pain or something else entirely, he didn't really know. "-At least it's stitched up, so that's good. I'll just clean it, disinfect it, and wrap it back up for you. Hopefully it'll be okay."

"Yeah, I know I need to get this checked out. But for now..." As you start tending to his injury with a wet wipe, he flinches a bit, feeling a sharp pain from the cold dampness touching his skin. He hisses through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he continues, his voice strained from the pain: "-I just want us to get out of here first. As far away from Racoon City as possible. Especially Sherry."

"Sorry... Bear with it for a while, will you?" you say as you move closer to him on the bed, glancing at him with that cute sympathetic look of yours. You start from his back and then move to his front. He shuts his eyes again while you continue with the wound cleaning, concentrating on taking deep, regular breaths to soothe his nerves. His body tenses up involuntarily, as the pain from the wound and the recollection of how it happened remain vivid in his thoughts.

"It's alright... I'll handle it." A sensitive area on his shoulder causes him to squirm slightly when touched. His entire body tightens instinctively, and his muscles contract involuntarily. "S-Sorry, just... Be careful, okay?"

You nod as you continue to cleanse his skin of dried up blood, while he tries to find solace in your quiet comfort. It presents a challenge, as the pain from his injury and the physical proximity between you two hinder his ability to focus on anything else.

"Don't apologize. I'm not the one with a damn bullet wound in my shoulder," you respond to his apology with a soft huff and a small shake of your head, your attention fully focused on your work. Your primary objective was to avoid making any sharp movements and to prevent your eyes from wandering south.

Which was... a bit harder than you would have liked to admit. You notice a few birthmarks scattered around his skin here and there. It's cute. A part of you wants to trace over them with your finger.

But, of course, you have a job to do.

Leon takes a deep breath, his chest slowly rising and falling as you work on him carefully. His teeth are clenched far too tightly for his comfort, and you are kind of worried that he might chip a tooth if he keeps this up. But considering that you have no idea what he's going through here, you decide to keep your mouth shut on that.

After successfully cleaning the area around his rough stitches, you pull away and search through the first aid kit you had in the motel room. A small, thoughtful hum fills your lips.

You hear Leon laugh weakly:"...Anything worthwhile in there, doc?"

"Well, there's some antibiotic cream in here... Better than nothing. I guess?"

He watches as you pull out the small tube of some basic antibacterial cream. You're pretty sure you have seen it somewhere before. Then again, no point expecting some high-end medicine from a med-kit you found stashed in the bedside drawer. Regardless, you make sure to read through its contents, just to be sure. Satisfied, you nod to yourself and return to sit behind him, beginning to apply the cream to his stitches with your fingertips. He instantly grimaces, be it from the pain or the cold. His muscle tighten again  for a moment, a small gasp leaving his lips.

"Stay still," you instruct to him softly as you spread the cream over his stitches thoroughly, your forehead wrinkling with focus. You try your best to be gentle while also ensuring that an adequate amount is applied to the injury.

"Ugh... shit, that's cold," he grits out, his voice strained.

For a small while, the room is silent, aside from Leon's shaky breaths and an occasional grunt of pain as he struggles to stay still for you. After you thoroughly treated both sides, you withdraw with a sigh: "Well... That's as good as we can do for now. We just need to wrap it back up with something."

Leon exhales a trembling breath of relief. Poor guy definitely had the worst night of his life.

"Heh... I guess I owe you one for this." He directs his gaze towards his shoulder, his eyes shifting between his bloodstained shirt lying crumbled on the floor and the now clean and treated stitches. Compared to their previous state, they definitely looked a bit better, but it was still, admittedly, pretty gross to look at. You can only guess that it will be a lengthy recovery for him. He hums. "You did a great job, by the way. I'm not sure I could have handled doing all that by myself,"

He meets your eyes with a gentle, grateful smile.

"-Just make sure to get it treated at the hospital. I don't need anything else from you." You dismiss him with a small smile of your own. Leon gives you a small nod at that.

However brief, the implication of the future makes you feel a bit... uneasy. Considering the past night's events, the idea of parting and going your separate ways seemed to be somewhat conflicting to you. Nonetheless, you have already accepted that it was inevitable. Leon, on the other hand, seemed to be firmly committed to destroying Umrella completely for what it did to Racoon City, just like Claire was. You felt somewhat out of place between these two determined individuals. After all, you were just an ordinary person who somehow miraculously escaped relatively unharmed. You weren't a courageous hero, nor were you skillfull enough to take down an entire corporation in some blaze of glory.

...Except for the scar or two for you to brag about now. Though you honestly doubt your survival is something to be proud of. You sure don't feel proud or accomplished at all.

Regardless, you ignore all these thoughts and concentrate on retrieving fresh bandages, contemplating them with a pensive expression. It's a bit of a hassle to unwrap the delicate gauze without tearing it. "...I sure hope this will be enough to wrap your shoulder back up. Though I guess I can just run out and buy some more."

"I think that should be enough. And don't worry about running out to get more. I don't want you going out there alone," Leon's voice is more serious than you expect, prompting you to raise a brow at him. He meets your questioning gaze, his face showing a somewhat worried expression. "We're stronger together. Safer together. And after everything we've been through, I don't want to risk us losing sight of each other."

"What do you would even happen, though? We're out now, right? I get that you and Claire want to deal with Umbrella and all, but..." you let out a sigh and move closer to him from behind, beginning to gently wrap the bandage around his shoulder and torso to provide support. Despite the awkwardness and clumsiness of your work, you do your best for him. "-I'm just a normal, boring person with a normal, boring life, y'know. Not much I can do. I'm guessing I'll just... go back home to my State or something. Since Racoon City is obviously... uh... not an option of residence anymore."

Leon nods again as he listens to you. He takes a brief pause, staring down at the fresh bandages layering themselves over his body before returning to look back at you over his shoulder. You lock eyes with him.

"But still... I'd feel better if you stuck with me. Or Claire. At least until you and Sherry are somewhere safe," he shrugs slightly, wincing as the motion immediately strains at his wounded shoulder. "I'm not saying you have to help us take down Umbrella if you don't want to. That's our fight. But... I would feel better knowing that you're safe and protected. And if that means sticking with me until you are, then..."

"-Go easy on that shoulder, will you?" you release a small sigh of frustration when you see him casually shrug and grimace instantly. You place a hand on his uninjured shoulder to acclimate him a bit before continuing bandaging him up.

"Sorry, sorry. Staying still now." A sheepish chuckle leaves him as he gives you an almost guilty look. A trembling breath escapes him as you work at his shoulder. Although it's obvious that he's still uncomfortable, it looks like his pain has eased a little, much to your relief.

You take a deep breath, your expression shifting slightly. Truth be told, you were a bit jealous of Leon's unyielding faith into things somehow working out in the end. It was naive, but... refreshing, too. He continues, his gaze now locked onto you over his shoulder: "And you're not boring, you know. Sure, you may not have any special skills or training, but you're smart. Brave. Resilient. You've survived this far, haven't you?"

You take a brief moment to reflect on his words, with only the faint noise of the gauze being unwrapped and distant sounds from outside permeating the motel room. "-Won't I just be a burden to you guys, though? You're a cop. And Claire is apparently one impressive badass with a gun. I'm not... Ada, either. I'm just... well, me. Not much I can offer to help you in the long run."

You take a brief break to lock eyes with him again. Leon smiles at you faintly, his face now looking more relaxed, no longer wrinkled with the expression of pain: "Well... You've got heart. That counts for something in my book."

"Uh... not to be a downer, but I don't think my 'heart' will keep me safe out there. I never even shot a gun properly before. Until last night that is," you whisper playfully, rolling your eyes at him. Somehow, his words always manage to bring a smile to your face, even if it's a small one. Though he is pretty damn corny. "I guess I could kill zombies with kindness. Do you think my heart is any good for that?"

Leon laughs at that, his eyes twinkling with amusement. It looks like your bluntness didn't bother him much. When you're eventually finished with bandaging him up, you're able to see how well the pure white fabric of the fresh gauze contrasts with the previous dirty and bloody one now lying discarded on the floor. Leon takes a moment to look back down at his freshly bandaged shoulder, too, appreciating your work. At least you hope he did.

"I mean... I could teach you how to shoot properly and all. If you want." He looks back up at you with a genuinely sincere expression on his face. He takes a short pause and a small smile appears on his lips before he adds: "...And I get the feeling you'd be a natural shot from what I've seen from you already."

You only scoff at that, your attention focused on inspecting his body, examining the various cuts and bruises that still marred his skin.

Leon lets out another gentle chuckle at your dismissive response or lack there of, his face showing a combination of amusement and gratitude. Admittedly, you're a bit more huffy with him now that you're out of danger. You can't really help it. But that doesn't mean you don't feel any worry twist in your gut as you look over his bruised body.

"-How about I patch some of these up as well? Since I have all the supplies out and all."

"You sure? I can walk it off just fine," Leon says in a rather playful tone. Though, to make it easier for you to observe his body, he still carefully adjusts his position to face you fully. "Sure, a few cuts and scrapes here and there, and I'm guessing I'm gonna be bruised up pretty bad, but... Nothing to make a fuss about."

You only grace him with yet another deadpan look that makes it clear that you already made the decision for him. So, without saying another word, you grab another wet wipe and begin cleaning out his numerous smaller cuts and gashes scattered here and there, starting with his lower back, as you move behind him once more.

Leon emits a soft hiss, the familiar coldness causing him to shudder against you. He's rather pliable for you, for some reason. You kind of expected him to protest or at least grumble a bit at your incessant coddling. But it seems like he was fine with just letting you play nurse for him. 

"Stay still, will you," you quietly chide him, placing a hand on his back to stop his squirming.

"Sorry, it just stings like hell..." he mumbles as he attempts to remain still for you, his muscles tightened. His body grows increasingly rigid as you continue to tend to his wounds, a trembling exhale leaving his lips. He clenches his teeth again, but he sometimes cannot resist emitting a hiss or gasp here and there. "God, I don't remember the last time I got beat up this bad... I feel like I got hit by a damn train."

You now move to position yourself in front of him to take care of his stomach area. And once again, you find yourself trying to keep your mind from focusing too much on the physical proximity between you two. Especially as you shift to kneel on the floor between his legs, finding no other better option to be level with his lower abdomen in a way that would be comfortable for you.

All you are doing is taking care of his wounds and nothing else.

Leon and you are both acutely aware of how close you are to him now, his breath catching in his throat when you kneel in front of him. But he doesn't say anything about it, and neither do you. After all, saying anything about it would potentially force you to confront some feelings you weren't comfortable confronting quite yet. As you clean up some minor cuts of his, you feel a slight increase in your heart rate despite all your best efforts to keep a level head. However, you try your damnest to put these unwanted feelings aside by reminding yourself that you are simply doing your job.

...Only you certainly can't ignore the fact that you are now essentially kneeling between his legs. Despite this, you persevere in cleaning him up, your hands moving over his chest and abdomen with great care. With too much care, really. There was no reason for you to be so careful and soft with him. But you do so anyways.

Leon watches you intently as you're working on him in tense silence, his eyes fixed on your face, hands, the way your hair occasionally falls over your face from your position, partially obscuring your features from his view. Your gentle assistance causes him to feel a tiny shiver traveling down his spine every time you move your fingers and touch his skin directly. He swallows, clearing his throat.

"Fucking hell... I'm gonna be sore as hell for weeks," Leon lets out a somewhat shaky laugh, trying to adopt a light and casual tone despite the situation. Though, he is mostly just hoping to distract himself from... everything.

...He wonders how your touch would feel on him without the washcloth there to mask it.

You give him a slight shrug in response. "-Sore is better than dead."

Fair.

"Thanks for... taking care of all this. I don't know what I'd do without you right now."

"Probably have Claire do this for me."

Leon laughs nervously, realizing that his attempts at small-talk are not quite working out. He watches you grab the antibacterial cream and move back up to sit behind him on the bed. When you begin applying the cream to his back, he wries slightly but tries his best to remain still for you and conceal the full extent of his discomfort. Your hands on his skin, and the cream's coldness is making him shiver for the countless time today. "...Is the cream really necessary? It's just some cuts and bruises..."

"Yup."

He sighs, hanging his head low and accepting his fate. Once the initial foreign coldness of the cream subsidies, the sensation of your touch on his skin has a strangely relaxing effect on him, especially so when it doesn't involve the aching bullet wound on his shoulder. He leans into your touch mindlessly, despite the ache, feeling his muscles gradually unwind under your care.

He's not necessarily aware of the action. But once he does notice it, he doesn't try to move back, either. After all the stress and pain, it's too much of a relief. And he's far too weak to resist it.

With a small smile on his lips, he glances at you over his shoulder and says: "You know... I've gotta say, being taken care of by a beautiful stranger like you isn't all that bad."

You huff out a surprised laugh at that, giving him a rather adorable-looking eye roll. He feels his smile grow, feeling oddly proud of making you laugh. Even if it was probably at his expense.

"...Not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that, but thank you for the compliment. You're not so bad yourself. For a patient." Your dismissive response at his cheeky remark is something that Leon finds genuinely amusing. He knows he took you by surprise with that. Which was his intention all along.

And just like that, you return back to the floor, settling between his legs and starting to apply cream to the small cuts scattered on his stomach. Like it's no big deal whatsoever. Your calm and nonchalant attitude about this all is kind of driving him crazy. It makes him feel like he's insane for feeling all frazzled by this entire situation. But he keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to embarrass himself any further.

Your ghostly touches across his abdomen cause a slight increase in his heart rate, another shudder running down his spine despite his efforts to suppress it. He tries to hide his body's unwelcome reactions to your touch, biting down on his lip, but he can't help but tremble and gasp occasionally, writing it off on the pain in his head. Rather poorly. His body stubbornly refuses to calm down, not when he can feel the sensation of your fingers gliding across his skin so gently, and he just has to sit there deal with it.

...And hopefully avoid getting a very awkward boner, considering your position between his legs.

Trying to keep the mood light, he grins down at you his eyes glued to you as his voice takes on a more joking tone. Though it sounds more shaky and nervous than confident, much to his annoyance: "You don't have to respond. Just take the compliment."

"Gee, thank you. Very gracious of you," you laugh briefly, shaking your head at him. At times, you were too much. Leon wonders if that's how you normally act, when you're not in a life-or-death situation. He was not prepared for you to be so curt and snarky with him. In a way, it was endearing. Though, of course, he wasn't about to admit that outloud.

Regardless, he finds himself shooting his shot again. Almost on impulse.

"Y'know... You're making this whole 'being patched up' thing damn near enjoyable," his tone is playful, but a subtle hint of interest still manages to sneak into his voice, mixed in with his playful words. He was testing the waters. Trying to see just how receptive you were to his flattery that was a bit more flirty in nature.

"Well, at least you're not in pain. That's good enough for me." Your response is almost unfairly simple, prompting him pout a bit as he watches you finish up on the task of tending to his numerous minor cuts and bruises that he acquired the night before. At the very least, this was much easier for him to handle, both physically and mentally, compared to the gruesome bullet wound you just treated. His torso still had a few noticeable bruises and smaller cuts from the previous day, but he definitely looked much better without all the dried up blood and dirt stuck to his skin and making it seem worse than it really was.

With a soft sigh, you pull back from him and look over him, pausing to look at his bruised hands in particular: "-Those probably hurt, no?"

He concentrates on his hands for a good minute, staring down at them and flexing his fingers to gauge their feel. With a slight grimace, he experiences a tiny burst of pain as he moves them, an exasperated huff leaving his lips.

At this point, is there any part of his body that doesn't hurt like a bitch?

"...A bit. Can't say I'm really surprised, though. It's a wonder I have any usable hands left at all, honestly."

His expression softens slightly when he meets your gaze, noticing the crystal-clear worry in your eyes. He finds it charming how much you truly care and desire to help him. You may be a bit more sharp with him, but your genuine concern for him never went away. He's definitely not used to being doted on so much. Though he feels a bit guilty for enjoying it as much as he does.

You shake your head again, giving him a pointed look at his little quip: "Don't get all dramatic now."

He smiles at that.

"No, but really. Thanks for tending to me. I was serious when I said that I wouldn't know what I'd do without you right now," he repeats his previous statement again, mostly because he doesn't really know what else to say. Or, rather, what he wants to say is a bit out of line.

"Nah. I'm not doing anything groundbreaking here. It just helps to keep my hands busy. I'll probably patch up Claire and Sherry once they come back, too." You wave off his gratitude, as always. 

Leon has to refrain from voicing his observations, which directly contradict your words. Which are that you visibly cared more and felt more concerned for him in particular. He didn't want to create an awkward situation between you two. Instead, he watches quietly as you hum and delicately take hold of his hands, bringing them closer to your face to assess the damage. Of course, it wasn't a major problem. In all honesty, you could have concluded this all once you took care of his bullet wound, as it was the only truly crucial matter to deal with. Everything else that followed was rather unnecessary, all things considered.

He freely lets you hold onto his hands without any resistance. His heart flutters slightly as he feels the tenderness of your touch once more. Observing your face, he feels a mix of affection and amusement bubbling in his chest as you examine his hands so thoroughly. Your gaze lingering on his bruised knuckles is something he notices in particular. You're rather attentive with him.

Nonetheless, you pull back once you're satisfied, meeting his gaze. "-It'll probably be good to bandage up those knuckles. Make it less painful for you, at least."

"Yeah, that might not be a bad idea," he says in a light tone, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat steadily accelerates due to the warm sensation of your fingers against his skin with no barriers getting in the way. And ignoring the persistent thoughts of lacing his fingers with yours, just to see how that would feel like.

As you begin silently wrapping his knuckles with gauze, he watches as your hands move gently and precisely over him. Even if it was faint, he couldn't help but notice the contrast between the size of your hands and his own. He almost becomes distracted by the sensation of your touch, but your voice takes him out of it.

"-Nice to know that taking that first aid course back in college wasn't a total waste of time," you muse playfully while you delicately wrap the gauze around one of his hands, making sure not to apply too much pressure on it. The sensation was comforting. By taking care of Leon, you were not only helping him, but also alleviating your own worries following the events of the previous night. In a sense, you were doing this for yourself as much as for him.

"Well, you're really good at this. Maybe you should be a nurse. Look into that." Leon's voice is soft even if his words are teasing, a hint of appreciation or admiration seeping through. You couldn't really tell.

As you scrunch up at him in response to his compliment, Leon giggles. The sound of it feels oddly calm and soothing to you. You are acutely aware of his eyes on you as you swiftly wrap the gauze around his hand, but you do not mention it to him. Considering that you were acting rather excessive with your care for him, you couldn't really blame him for staring. Once you are done with one of his hands, he glances at his freshly bandaged knuckles with a faint smile gracing his lips.

"...Never thought I'd put my skills to use like this though," your say quietly.

"I never thought I'd end up getting shot on my first day on the job, either. Or attacked by a giant alligator. It's been a wild ride, to say the least."

"I guess we all got the rug pulled from under our feet last night, so to speak," you sigh, your brows furrowing a bit as your mind drifts back to the events of the night prior. But you don't dwell on it too much. Focusing instead of the feel of Leon's hand in yours.

As you gradually complete the bandaging on his other hand as well, he continues to watch you in silence, his gaze fixed on your face as you concentrate on your task. You feel a bit sheepish, knowing you are being watched this closely, a warm, ticklish sensation flickering to life in your chest. You sigh and shake it off.

"But hey, I'm grateful I got to meet you. Though that was... one hell of a first meeting," his tone is sincere and quiet, with a genuine intention behind his words you can't overlook even if you try. You are suddenly fully aware that you probably wouldn't have been able to figure out what to do without his presence by your side in duration of that hellish night. In fact, if it wasn't for him, you'd probably be dead. Be it by giving up on fighting and simply accepting your fate, or being far too panicked to get yourself together in a moment of importance.

You wouldn't have survived if you were on your own put there. At least that's what you thought.

"I'm... glad I met you, too. And I'm glad you're here with me, right now."

The ease with which these words just fly out of your mouth is... surprising. A rather long moment of silence follows, only the soft sound of the bandage being wrapped around his other hand and the distant noise of cars outside filling the cramped motel room.

You do not look up at him, but you can be pretty certain that Leon is probably just as taken aback by your unexpectedly moving response. Your heart skips as you swiftly realize the genuine sincerity of your own words that seemed to have a mind of their own. This wasn't like you. Being this open and vulnerable about your feelings. Especially so to someone you've just met. Maybe you were even more of a mess than you thought. But when you do get the courage to sneak a quick glance up at him, his expression is rather soft, much to your surprise. You cannot quite comprehend what is reflected in there, but it brings a warm, blooming feeling to your chest regardless.

"Uh... Thanks," he speaks up eventually, his voice sounding a little rougher than usual, but you are grateful enough that he managed to blurt out at least something to end this heavy beat of silence. The unexpected intensity of the moment has left you feeling a bit flustered and caught off guard, and you never liked not being in control of your emotions.

He continues to watch you as you finish bandaging his other hand, his gaze shifting between your face and his now fully bandaged knuckles. Throughout this quiet but charged process, you deal with a rather strange combination of feelings. Gratitude for his understanding of your odd behavior without focusing on it too much. A fluttery, nervous feeling in your stomach due to your physical proximity to him, making you painfully aware of every rise and fall of his chest with every breath he takes. A burning heat of embarrassment blooming in your cheeks from being so upfront with him all of the sudden.

It was a doozy, to say the least. Especially to your already worn out mind.

You exhale slowly, calming yourself. Leaning slightly back on your knees, you observe his bandaged hands. Despite finding a safe place to rest and sleep without immediate danger, you still feel a sense of unease and uncertainty somewhere in the back of your mind, gnawing at your every thought like an ugly, persistent parasite. And these new emotions you are now dealing with did not help with that feeling of apprehension whatsoever. You're growing increasingly unsure about what to do next or how to proceed after all is resolved. Both short-term as well as long-term. 

Will you just return to your regular daily routine after this? Go back to work like nothing happened? Try out that study program you were so interested in applying for? Visit that new Cafe that opened near your apartment back home?

All of that seems almost impossible now. The same things that used to make you feel hopeful and excited for the future now seemed completely hollow. You felt hollow. Like Racoon City has robbed you of your future, even if it let you escape alive.

But what other option is there for you?

To play hero and risk your life again?

You weren't sure you could handle that, either.

"Hey, I..." Leon starts to speak, breaking you out of your trance, but his voice fades away without ever finishing whatever he was planning on saying to you. He clearly wants to convey something, but he is either unsure of what to say, or is hesitant about speaking his mind at all. You can't really blame him. You find it rather infuriating yourself, trying to find the correct words to express the unique combination of emotions swirling within you chest.

You shake your head, expelling all these unwanted thoughts from your mind. At least for a brief moment.

"-For what it's worth, I really am glad you've survived. With me. And... I'm thankful. For all you did for me. Even though you didn't know me at all."

Your thumbs are absentmindedly brushing against his palm now while you keep your gaze lowered. You don't want to see his face right now. Perhaps, you're just scared to.

"...You may not have saved everybody. Or most people you wanted to save. But... I'm here thanks to you. So... thank you. For saving me," you finish quietly. Taking little time to consider your next action, you find yourself leaning down and gently kissing his bandaged knuckles, lingering there for a few moments before withdrawing. You don't address the issue directly or consider its significance.

You refuse to.

Leon is very much stunned speechless when you go and kiss his knuckles without any warning being given to him, his heart quickly flying up into his throat as he stares down at you, utterly dumbfounded. This was... definitely the last thing he expected you to do, especially after such a heartfelt sentiment that left him feeling rather choked up as it is. He feels a rush of warmth traveling up to his face, causing him to choke on his own words for a good minute. He struggles to find the right words as various emotions overwhelm him all at once. But they didn't feel heavy or painful, like the crushing guilt for those he couldn't protect, or the suffocating ache of betrayal that Ada's deception left him with. 

This was lighter, giving him a much-needed break from all the depressing thoughts and questions buzzing on the front of his mind. But, ironically this was also so much more nerve-wracking to navigate.

He didn't know which on which emotion to focus on, which one to express to you, and whether or not he should express anything at all.

Gratitude for your unconditional comfort. Guilt for making you comfort him in the first place. Confusion at your sudden show of gentle affection he didn't know how to respond to. An inexplicable fluttering sensation making his guts feel all queasy.

You not saying anything to address what just happened doesn't help much with the chaos happening inside his head.

"You..." although he starts speaking, he trails off once again, cursing at himself inside his own head.

You don't seem bothered at all by his lack of a reply. In fact, Leon is kind of uncertain if you even want him to reply in the first place. It doesn't seem like you expect much from him at all. And the situation between you is already too complicated as it is, without all the added weirdness taking place right now. Maybe you didn't want to talk about it at all.

Though, the notion of you simply kissing him like that, without expecting anything from him in return is... more moving than he was willing to admit.

So, despite his disbelief and the whirlwind of emotions wrecking havoc on his already frazzled mind, he just keeps looking at you like. Like a loyal puppy looking at its owner and trying to figure them out. Truth be told, he simply cannot bring himself to look away from you right now, not with the memory of your brief kiss to his knuckles now etched into his mind. Regardless of its simplicity and innocence, the kiss has a deeper meaning for him. Suddenly, he finds himself being struck by your simple beauty: how tired and fragile you truly seem to him in this moment. In a way, you look just like him. Exhausted and battered, but carrying on regardless. There was a certain authentic charm in your disheveled appearance. He finds himself yearning to reach out and hold your hand, to bring your own fingers up to his lips, like you did for him.

...But before he can do or say any of that, you sigh and lift yourself up from your kneeling position beneath him. You release his hands, your thumbs gently brushing along the sides of his palms one last time before you warmth slips away from him completely. Leon continues to watch as you move away from him, feeling an unexpected sense of disappointment coiling deep in his gut despite his efforts to ignore it. He tries his damnest to dismiss this unpleasant feeling, convincing himself to concentrate on whatever you choose to do next instead. Though he does kind of feel like some lovesick puppy, unable to look away from you even for a damn second.

You quickly sit back up onto the motel bed beside him, your eyes traveling up and down his form quietly. He knows you're probably just overlooking his injuries, but he suddenly feels nervous and almost self-conscious under your attention, nonetheless. Mostly because he wants to know what you think of him. Not as a patient, but as a man. He does appear visibly better, though, now that he's at least no longer wearing that dirty, bloody bandage around his shoulder, and his smaller cuts and bruises have been properly cleaned from the stray dirt and blood stuck on them. But he's definitely seen better days.

"-Claire and Sherry sure are taking their time," you say softly, breaking the silence.

"Y-Yeah, they are. They've been gone for a while now. I'm sure they're fine, though. Claire can handle herself," he agrees, his voice sounding strangely squeaky even to his own ears. He cringes inwardly, clearing his throat. His mind continues to race, with thoughts swirling like a tornado within his head. Feeling restless, he shifts uncomfortably on the bed, unable to find the right position.

He's fully aware that his behavior has become noticeably more quiet and reserved compared to before, and he can't help but feel slightly annoyed with himself for making things awkward between you. But he doesn't really know what else to do. Whether you want him to talk about that kiss or not. If he's making a bigger deal out of it than it really is.

If you would be willing to do that again...

He runs his fingers through his unkempt hair with a quiet huff, the subtle sensation of your lips brushing against his knuckles both a blessing and a curse. He's definitely the weird one here. Claire probably would have laughed her ass off at him right now, and he can't really blame her. His gaze is fixed on you, his eyes lingering on your face for far longer than necessary, trying to read between the lines, to figure out what you're thinking in that head of yours. He's itching to say something, anything, to break the weighty silence that has now enveloped the small, confined room... but the words continue to stubbornly elude him. Instead, he awkwardly clears his throat again, almost like something got stuck in there. But, really, he is simply suddenly overtaken by a strong desire for physical contact with you. One he isn't sure what to do with.

You shake your head and speak up again, for which he is definitely grateful, his mind instantly rushing to cling to your words. Anything to escape from the rising disarray his head is in.

"Well, hey, at least it gave us a chance to patch you up properly."

You glare at the old bandage, stained with blood from his shoulder's bullet wound, that you had taken off earlier and left crumpled on the floor. As Leon once again remembers the wound on his shoulder, he trembles slightly, following your gaze down at the blood-stained bandage lying on the floor. He finds that cute. How you almost scrunch your nose up at that dirty thing. Like it's a living thing that caused him so much problems.

Despite him being very much shirtless, he still feels a bit too hot for his liking.

"I guess it did, yeah," he says, his voice sounding rather strained. Restlessly, he shifts on the bed again, desperately searching for something else to talk about. However, his mind stubbornly keeps returning to the sensation of your lips on his skin, and an unfamiliar longing gradually rises within him, tugging at his heartstrings...

But longing for what exactly?

He suppresses his thoughts and bites his tongue, feeling a bit embarrassed by the intensity of his desire. He feels like a complete idiot. Getting all worked up over nothing. He glances at you once again, his eyes lingering on your face momentarily before dropping to your hands resting in your lap.

"Uh... thanks again, by the way. You know. For taking care of me and all," he blurts out, trying to resist the temptation to reach out and hold your hand, his own hands now clenching into fists on either side of him on the bed.

"No problem. We're a team, remember?" you say in a more cheerful manner, giving him a slight smile. One that he returns almost on a whim. Though, as you look at him a bit closer, you hum and reach back for the antibacterial cream. Before he knows it, he feels the pads of your fingers dabbing the cool cream on the side of his cheek. You applying the cream to his cheek leaves him feeling a slight sting, but the warmth of your touch on his skin helps to distract him from it. He didn't even realize he had a cut there. He's pretty sure it was relatively tiny. It wasn't really needed at all to take care of it, but you still did it anyway, and your smile grew a little wider as you pulled your hand away. "-There. Good as new. Y'know... ignoring the bullet wound, huge scary bruises and a good number of cuts."

Despite knowing he's far from 'good as new', Leon can't help but laugh at your playful comment. It helps him relax a little, some weight lifted off his shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah, keep making fun of me. You didn't like it so much when those dogs were trying to bite your face off, huh?" A small smirk forms on his face as he teases you back in a lighthearted manner that a good friend would. Though,  the subject is rather... morbid. But it helps to joke about those things. A little.

He wants to say more, to come up with something witty or charming, maybe even muster up some cheesy pick-up lime to try and see if he can get away with it. But as he glances at you again, his words become stuck in his throat all over again. It's impossible for him not to focus on your face, taking in every tiny detail and drinking them all in with a hunger that feels almost scarily insatiable. This particular moment between you two has an oddly charged quality to it, as if there's more than just friendly banter filling the stale air of the motel room. He feels an intense and unexplainable desire to be closer to you, to touch you, to...

He swallows hard, trying to push these invasive thoughts out of his head. He chastises himself internally for being absurd. After all, you're just a friend and teammate. Supposedly. Whatever you were to him, his behavior is strange, like an infatuated teenager with a pathetic crush he has no idea what to do with. For fuck's sake, he is a 21-year-old police officer.

...Technically speaking, that is.

But he lacks any sort of control over his heart rate or sweaty palms. He can't help but look down at your lips repeatedly, as if he's being persuaded to do so against his own will.

As you let out a weary sigh of your own, you seem to be utterly oblivious to the inner struggle he is currently experiencing unbeknownst to you. The room is quiet, but your troubled and contemplative gaze is fixed ahead of you instead of looking at him. Leon doesn't know if that makes him feel better or worse. A huge, pathetic part of him wants your eyes to be on him, to be your center of attention like he was moments prior. But another part of him is utterly mortified at the prospect, knowing he'll probably just fumble like an idiot if you were to meet his blatant stare right now.

He's stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The shutter cracks welcome the morning sunlight in, creating long, bright yellow stripes across your features. You look beautiful like this, but he can't help but want to know what's on your mind that has you looking so distant, like you're in a world completely separate from this one. And them, much like you did with the kiss to his knuckles, you don't say anything to warn him. He just watches as you lean down and rest your head on his good shoulder. You remain silent, immersed in your own thoughts. Almost like it's a completely normal thing to do between you two. Or maybe you just don't want to address it? He couldn't really figure it out. He couldn't figure you out. And he couldn't really figure himself out, either. 

Everything was a big, convoluted mess.

Another strong rush of emotions hits him straight across the face at the sudden closeness you grace him with. It's funny, really. Here he was, wanting to get all close and personal with you, and now that that's exactly what's happening, his brain is completely blank. He makes an effort to take a deep breath, but it comes out shaky and uneven. He is also suddenly acutely aware of his own lack of clothing on his upper half. He longs to express himself to you in some meaningful way, but still finds himself unable to say a single damn word. A chaotic mix of thoughts and cravings overwhelms his mind, taking over his every sense. Gradually, he does manage to bring himself to move. To extend his arm and gently drape it around your shoulders, drawing you in closer to him, watching how you'd react and if he should pull back and shower you with awkward apologies that were already forming on the tip of his tongue. He can sense the gentle, rhythmic pulsation of your heart against his bare skin, and that feeling is almost intoxicating in how soothing it is.

He kind of wishes he could lay his head down directly on your chest, just to listen to your heartbeat. That would certainly keep his head empty of any and all thoughts, big and small.

You make a soft noise that sounds like one of approval, moving slightly closer to him, your bodies now comfortably intertwined in a clumsy side-snuggle. A surge of protectiveness suddenly comes over Leon when you cuddle closer to him like that. Silently, he squeezes you a just a little bit tighter, letting a pleasant shiver run down his spine as your body touches his, filling out the dips and contours of his form with your own, almost like two puzzle pieces fitting together. The gesture holds an undeniable amount of intimacy, and he feels a strong desire to just keep holding you and never let go.

Now, Leon finds himself being silent to conserve the moment, rather than due to awkwardness. There is a delicate sense of wordless understanding and reliance that has formed between you, without it having to be solely platonic or romantic in nature. He's uncertain how to interpret it exactly, and whether you even want him to interpret it in some specific way. For now, he simply acknowledges that your warm presence near him sooths him in a way that he desperately needs, regardless of what that entails for you two. In a way, it gives him a feeling of calmness he was longing for this entire time. A brief reprieve from all the chaos and uncertainty of the past, present,  and future.

He leans forward, carefully placing his chin on top of your head, and then closes his eyes, focusing on nothing but the soft feeling of your body pressed against his. He can hear the soft and soothing sound of your breath and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, which makes him feel strangely...

At peace.

He can feel you nuzzle into him ever so slightly, clearly being careful not to disturb his achy shoulder, which makes him smile fondly, finding the gesture endearing in a pure and uncomplicated manner. It is comforting to not be alone, in a fundamentally human sense. Maybe he needed a moment such as this one for a while now. He just didn't know that until he had it.

Leon inhales the scent of your hair as he takes a deep breath. It smells of motel's cheap shampoo, which is unsurprising. All four of them probably smell the same right now. But he doesn't really care. He is unable to resist the urge to bury his nose into your hair slightly, as if attempting to absorb your scent. Is that a bit weird on his part? Maybe. But he feels far too content to care about his dignity at this point.

Tgough, the moment breaks rather abruptly, as you move pull back from him, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. Leon feels a familiar sense of disappointment deep in his gut when you withdraw from him, but he tries his best to conceal it from you, not wanting to appear too needy in front of you. Even if he really was needy. Despite his heart still racing, he shakes it off and attempts to appear unaffected. Very poorly.

"...Sorry. You must be cold like that. The cream probably settled already, so..." you mutter out without looking at him directly, but he cuts you off, the words leaving the tip of his tongue before he can think them through.

"It's fine," his tone is gruff. "I'm not cold."

Despite being aware that there is nothing inherently intimate about this situation, he still feels oddly exposed in front of you. The thought of you observing his bare skin out in the open only increases his already fast-paced heartbeat. After all the events of the night before, it feels... strange to feel his blood pumping in his temples, and it not being a result of something horrifying or life-threatening. He attempts to divert his eyes from you, but they persistently return back to your face. He was being drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Though, your warmth was nothing like one coming from a flame. He wasn't scared of you burning him if he gets too close. No, rather, he was terrified of your gentle light to turn off, leaving him without its comforting warmth to grasp onto.

He can't help but focus on your lips in particular, already reminiscing about the moment you kissed his knuckles. His thoughts are now pretty much haunted by this one memory, replaying it incessantly like a broken record.

Don't give in, don't give in, don't give in...

He repeats it to himself in his own head, but he finds it increasingly harder and harder to follow his own advice. His hands are clenched tightly on his lap, causing his bruised knuckles ache in protest. But it's all he can do to resists the urge to reach out to you, and...

"-Sorry," you suddenly repeat, your attention fully focused on his tightly clenched hands. Damn it, you probably think he's uncomfortable or something. He can see that guilty look in your eyes, and he hates it. He doesn't want you to look at him like that. "I... didn't mean to make things weird. Don't worry about it. I don't-"

Leon shakes his head, but keeps looking straight at your face dutifully. His heart is beating so fast that it seems like it could burst straight out of his chest any moment now, eager to show you how excited you truly make him with the smallest of things. It's becoming almost too much for him to handle the desire to kiss you. And not just your knuckles.

"No... it's not that," he protests in a slightly hoarse voice. His words stop as he shifts his eyes down to your lips again and then back up to meet your hesitant gaze, searching for something he can't really put his finger on. He is able to see every aspect of your face crystal clear in the soft light of the morning sun: the way your eyelashes create faint shadows on your cheeks, the gentle curve of your lips, the subtle color flush on your skin. "You didn't make things weird. I just..."

Your lashes flutter, your body tensing ever so slightly as you finally take notice of his very apparent staring, causing Leon to hold his breath momentarily. A part of him expects to receive a scolding he probably deserves. But it never comes. Instead, an unexpected sense of tension settles between you, catching him completely off guard and leaving him uncertain about where this was going exactly. Or maybe he just doesn't want to acknowledge the truth. Even so, he allows it to persist and guide him without any resistance or attempts to distance himself from you. Not that he wants to resist this pull in the first place.

He can almost taste the saltiness of your skin on his lips. He can almost hear the soft sound of your breath. And he can almost sense the subtle scent that is uniquely yours. The emotional intimacy between you is almost too much for him handle. So, without much thought, he moves in and gently cups your cheek, lifting your face towards his, wanting - no, needing - to be closer to you.

"...Leon?"

The subtle sound of your voice uttering his name causes his heart to stop momentarily. He can see it in your eyes that you do understand the silent implication behind this sudden action of his. After all, clarification is not exactly necessary to catch on to what he trying to do here. The feel of your skin beneath his fingers sends a slight shiver through his body. Despite this, your eyes remain locked together, almost as if you were sharing a wordless conversation between each other.

Leon swallows. He gently strokes your lower lip with his thumb, relishing in the sensation of it beneath his fingertip. Even if it's chapped and dry from last night's events. His voice is just a soft whisper now as he voices the silent question that's on the forefront of his mind: "...Can I kiss you?"

There is a moment of hesitation between you, but you don't move to pull away or reject him. He can guess that you're mulling over your own thoughts and doubts in that pretty head of yours. Though he wishes he could know what you're thinking of right now. If you want this as much as he does. But he waits patiently for you to share your answer with him once you do find it. Whatever it may be.

And then, you give him a slow nod.

As you stare back at him, Leon feels a sudden tightness in his throat. He knows he's being a bit too emotional about all of this, but your little nod feels like an agreement, approval, and acceptance all at once. Without any further delay, he leans in and gently cups your other cheek now as well, holding your face in his palms, letting your breaths mix for just a smidge of a moment.

Is it a wise decision? Clearly not. You've just met. The fact that you were able to survive a dangerous and challenging situation together doesn't alter that fact. However... in a way, it still does. Leon feels secure with you. The unspoken trust built between you two is difficult to articulate in words. The kind of trust that can only form when you experience a challenging ordeal only you can understand the full extent of. Which is why he doesn't try to explain it. Not when you two can explore it through action, instead.

When he does finally lean towards you, you meet him halfway, much to his relief, your lips inevitably locking together lightly. He closes his eyes and drinks in the delicate sensation of warmth and comfort that comes from sharing this simple human contact with you. The sensation of your lips on his makes Leon's mind blissfully empty. He resists the urge to embrace you tightly and hold you close. Compared to the intense passion he feels burning within his chest, the kiss itself feels hesitant and almost innocent in nature. Nonetheless, it triggers a pleasant surge of heat in his veins. He can feel the warm of your hand on his skin as you place it atop of one of his own hands cradling your cheeks, causing his heart to beat even faster within his chest.

Your circumstances don't make it particularly romantic or mind-blowing. The kiss is a bit clumsy, as first kisses usually are, when you don't exactly know how to fall into step with the other person yet. Your lips are dry and cracked, just like his are, due to the previous night. There is even a faint taste of blood that can be felt in the kiss, as one of you definitely split their lip during the numerous falls you both endured. However, none of that is a major issue for him. If anything, it makes it more precious in his mind. How real and authentic it feels.

The kiss is a soft and lingering one that doesn't extend beyond that.

And when you eventually pull apart from one another, concluding the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, keeping his eyes closed tightly, a shaky breath leaving his lips. Your hand remains on top of his, the touch bringing him a nice feel of wordless reassurance. That you're really there. That you did just kiss, and it wasn't just some weird trick of his frazzled mind.

You weren't going away. Nor were you asking anything of him with that kiss. It was just a kiss. No hidden meanings or agendas in mind. Somehow, that makes it all that much more meaningful for him.

There is a strange sense of vulnerability he has to get used to, both physically and emotionally. The intensity of his emotions causes his body to tremble slightly against you. He remains close to you like this for a couple of long minutes, unprepared for the enchanting moment to come to its inevitable end. He absorbs the subtle scent of your hair hitting his nose, the warm sensation of your skin on his, and the soothing sound of your breath. He longs for this moment to last, and finding his voice again after kissing becomes a rather difficult task.

You also exhale, calming down after that short but sweet moment of connection with him. You don't express much about what just happened between you. You don't think it's even necessary. You simply know that it was sincere and enjoyable. And it seems that Leon felt the same way, too. At least you hope he does. Whatever that meant for your relationship in the long run, you know you don't regret it. You keep your eyes shut for a few more moments, staying close to him.

"Y/N..." he whispers your name in a low voice that sounds almost shy. You can't help but find the sound of him like this rather adorable, your heart giving out a subtle flutter in your chest.

Leon opens his eyes slightly, the blues of his irises meeting yours intently as you follow suit. The soft kiss you just shared is still running through your heart, leaving you feeling just slightly giddy. As you often do after kissing someone you like for the first time. And that dopey look of his is just too damn cute to bear.

So, you blurt out the first thing you that comes to mind. 

"...You know, I actually hate cops."

Leon blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice.

...Alright, that was probably not the most romantic thing to say right after kissing him for the first time.

"Uh... Really?" he manages to ask, even though he's obviously still very much dazed from the kiss. Which is honestly kind of endearing, considering how it was just a short but sweet little kiss. You can't help but wonder how he'd look if you kissed him again, properly this time. How he would look at you if you were to lean in and kiss him senseless. But you don't do that. For now, at least. Either way, it's obvious that the emotional whiplash you just gave him with your silly comment only contributed to the stupefied look he's giving you. "But you just kissed one..."

Leon's lips form a small but genuine smile as he lets out a quiet little laugh, a clear hint of disbelief in his voice. You feel his thumbs caress the apples of your cheeks gently as he continues to hold your face in his hands, the sensation warm and comforting to your heart.

"Huh. You're right. I guess I'm being a bit hypocritical today," you chortle, a small giggle leaving your lips in return. You can see his smile growing in response to your laugh, and it's a sight a bit too adorable for you right now.

He has a pretty smile.

"I guess you are," he agrees, his eyes briefly glancing over your face, as if he was taking in your features. Or maybe he was just marveling at how beat up you look. "But I don't mind. I think... I sort of like you being hypocritical. Just a little."

With another soft laugh, you gently squeeze his hand on your cheek, tilting your head to the side slightly and resting your face against his palm, practically nuzzling into a bit. You press his hand closer to your cheek and close your eyes for a moment, a content sigh leaving your lips. Your peaceful expression of serenity mirrors Leon's, as he looks on at you with that same sense of quiet satisfaction and solace that was filling the quiet space between you.

Your chest tightens as you feel his thumbs stroke your skin again, the touch gentle and light. The soothing warmth and softness of his skin on yours causes your heart to skip a beat. You suddenly find yourself seriously struggling to resist the urge to kiss him again. It wasn't just a passing curious thought anymore, but a genuine desire you are itching to fulfill. But, for now, you just exhale and enjoy this fragile moment as it is. At this very minute, all the chaos and peril you two have dealt with vanish from your mind at long last. Replaced by this tranquil, modest motel room, reserved only for you and him. At the very least, for this brief moment.

Unfortunately, your little exchange is abruptly interrupted by the earth-shattering sound of a door suddenly bursting open, none other than Claire entering the compact room without any warning given to either of you. That, or maybe you two were just far too lost in each other to hear the approaching footsteps or chatter. A peppy grin is brightening up the redhead's features as she strides in with no care in the world, seemingly far too engrossed into some vigorous discussion with Sherry to fully notice you quite yet. If it wasn't for the situation at hand, you'd probably comment on how buddy-buddy they looked: swaggering in hand-in-hand, almost like two sisters would. 

The entire space is quickly overpowered with the strong aroma of freshly cooked greasy food, and you immediately feel your stomach twist and turn in clear demand for some much-needed sustenance. The bags of what looked like your standard roadside diner takeout sure looked promising right about now.

"Rise and shine, dynamic duo! Breakfast's here- Oh."

As Claire's bright eyes inevitably land on the two of you, she stops right in her tracks, just blinking at you for a second or two. Sherry, in turn, appears to be just as surprised, not that you expected anything else at this point. 

...And you feel a strong urge to sink straight into the ground.

As if he's been burned, Leon abruptly jerks away from you and releases his hold on your face. Your heart pounds all the way up in your throat, and you can already feel the heat of embarrassment rushing to your face. Glancing over at Leon, he doesn't seem to be handling it all that much better, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted in silent protest that just didn't form yet. Though, there is also a subtle hint of embarrassed annoyance flashing through his eyes as he meets Claire's look. A look that is no longer surprised, but instead, expecting. And a bit smug.

You're in for a questioning. 

As expected, she is quick to regain her cool, raising her brows at both of you and closing the door with her hips, an incredulous snort leaving her lips. You can already guess that she's not going to live this down for the two of you. Before you can open your mouth and stutter out some type of excuse that would hopefully sound decent, Leon beats you to it.

"Jesus Christ, Claire! Knock much?" he grumbles out in a raspy and slightly trembling voice. If it wasn't for the burning embarrassment raging inside your head, you would have thought that was cute. He isn't really fooling anyone.

"Excuse me," Claire muses in a slightly humorous manner. "Care to tell what's gotten you shirtless? Or... who?"

Now it's up to you to sputter as you stumble over your words to try and rectify the situation.

"I-I was just changing his bandages!"

Claire just laughs at that, with Sherry now joining in a fit of giggles. The sound is lighthearted in nature, though. Just harmless fun that just happens to be at your expense. Well, partially. Your only choice is to accept your defeat, hanging your head low with a flustered groan. Leon's embarrassment only increases as laughter rings out. He crosses his arms over his chest, a pout quickly taking form on his face.

"Ugh, you two really have a knack for bad timing. And... for the record, it's none of your business what we were doing," even though he tries to sound irritated, his flushed face and the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips diminish the desired effect, making his effort useless.

"-Whatever you say, loverboy," Claire deadpans, giving you both a knowing smirk as she waves Leon off. It's apparent that she doesn't believe any of your shared excuses. Not that you can blame her. You'd probably act the same if you switched places. She takes her sweet time placing the warm fast-food bags on the nearest counter and brushing her hands off on her jeans. "Anyway, you better get dressed before the grub gets cold and soggy."

In spite of all the embarrassment, you can't help but chuckle sheepishly and shake your head. Despite being flustered, it's almost... comforting to share such a normal, simple moment over some silly accident instead of a high-stakes situation. You'll take getting teased by Claire over running for your life any day.

You watch as Leon huffs and puffs at Claire fruitlessly. He mumbles something inaudible under his breath, unfolding his arms, and quickly walking across the room to pick up his discarded shirt from the ground. He hastily puts it back on, all while stealing a couple of glances back at you. You don't know if he's trying to subtle about it, but if he is, it's definitely not working. A small, almost bashful smile appears on his face as he does, similar to the one you give to your crush when you think they're not looking. It's cute. You can't help but return it with a smile of your own.

"Well I think you two look cute," Sherry joins in, her hands resting on her hips as her blue eyes dart between you two with eager curiosity. You can already tell that you're in for a game of 20 questions after this. Or something similar.

"Cute, huh...?" Sherry's charming comment seems to inspire Leon's bashful smile to grow in confidence while he looks down at her. He almost appears a bit cheeky, as raises an eyebrow and gives you a quick side-eyed look. "What do you think? Do we make a cute couple?"

"...Don't get cocky now," you huff out with a lighthearted roll of your eyes, prompting him and Claire to chuckle.

As you go to grab some much-needed food, you feel oddly light, both in mind and spirit. All the anxieties and uncertainties about your future seem to have eased away, letting you enjoy the peacefulness of now, instead of worrying about tomorrow.

Whatever happens next, you just know that everything will turn out fine.

As long as you stick together.

[peoniesnro]

In Another Universe

#13. Falling Deep and Down

Synopsis – When you are just another iteration of Park Jimin’s girlfriend in a different universe.

Park Jimin × Reader

Genre – parallel universe / kind of fantasy/ strangers to ??/ SMUT/ maybe romance/ angst/ fluff /Infidelity

Warnings- Language/ Angst / INFIDELITY /NO SMUT (This is a warning)

Word count- 17k ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

a/n- Firstly, HAPPY NEW YEAR BABIES!!!! (I know I'm late but it still counts). Secondly, yay!!! the first chapter of the new year and I finally managed to make it shorter than the previous one. And hell this one took so long. I'm so sorry for the long wait. I hope you'd enjoy the chapter, though. I'd say this chapter is the calm before the storm. That's why there's no SMUT (Sorry @jimincrystal this is one of those unavoidable situations. Otherwise I'd have ended up writing 30K+ words). So, happy readings guys. (Thank you for reading like always ❤️)

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Chapter Index

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You sit in Kim’s kitchen. Eyes glued to your phone. You’ve watched this same video repeatedly at least dozens of times now. Still, you can’t find it in yourself to stop. You’re not surprised at all to say the least. You completely expected to find a video floating all around the internet as soon as you woke up this morning. That’s such a normal thing in this era. People usually post the most mundane things. Hence, there’s no surprise they posted a woman getting slapped in a crowded club. But still, you know that they didn’t post it because of you. Whoever recorded the video did it because of Liya. And Jimin. And all the other high profiles there.

The good thing is, however, that the video isn’t clear. You can’t really make out who’s slapping who. Both yours and Liya’s faces are completely hidden from the frame. And the quality is shittier than a VHS tape left on a rain. The videographer was either clearly drunk or didn’t know how to use the video feature. And you haven’t found any other video than this one. It’s surprising. You’d call it mere luck. But then it doesn’t make it any less of a problem. Even though you and Liya are hidden from the frame- surrounded by so many people- you can still make out Jimin’s and Jin’s face quite clearly. That makes you want to pull your hair. Can’t even imagine the ruckus this must be causing for them. Not that you can be of any help. You’re the one who caused all these problems in the first place.

“Anything interesting there?” You snap your eyes away from your phone screen to look at Mrs. Kim. Sitting next to you and peeling onions. “You’ve been watching that for a quiet some time now.” She explains further. It’s still early morning and there’s no business for you here. You should be getting ready for work, if anything.

Hell, no.

There’s no way you would go to work after all that. You’re beyond humiliated. You will not do the walk of shame. Mrs. Kim has been nagging you for a better thirteen minutes now. Asking why you are not going to work, but you’ve managed to brush off her questions. It seems like her questions aren’t over. You open your mouth wearily to tell her that it’s nothing when your phone is snatched away from you.

“Yah…” You mumble tiredly. Not even fully turning around to face Jungkook, who pocketed your phone instantly.

“I told you to stop watching the stupid video. What would you gain from watching it hundred times? it’s not like you gonna find anything new. It’s the same old shit every time.” He scolds you before turning around to mind his work. Apart from you, Jungkook is another person who has no business being here. He has classes. He needs to leave. Yet he doesn’t. Refuses to leave you alone as if you’d do something stupid. Well, what can you say? He’s Jeon Jungkook.

He won’t leave you alone. Hasn’t been since the very moment he walked you out of the club. He was there when you practically bite off your thumbs while you were on a cab. He was the one who yanked your hands away when you accidentally hurt yourself and started bleeding. He had panicked to see you bleeding as if it was your head instead of your finger. He was the one who instantly pulled you into his embrace when you finally broke apart. It was funny how you tried to keep it all inside, but it all burst out when you saw yourself bleeding. It was just a teeny wound, but you used that as an excuse. You cried and cried and cried. Wailed. Like you’ve lost someone who’s so dear to you. The case is that you really felt like that. You cried because you felt like you lost Jimin. Because of the humiliation. Because of the self-pity. In the end, there was Jungkook- holding you tight, mumbling soothing words in your ear. There was Jungkook, who refused to let you go. Who pulled you into his lap disregarding the cab driver. He had held you and rocked you. Until you managed to pull yourself together again. He was there the entire time and he’s still here.

“Give it back Kookie.” You turn around in your seat wearily. You’re absolutely exhausted from all the crying. Mentally wearied off that you’re barely even functioning.

“No. You’re gonna watch the same shit again.” He ignores you completely. You sigh heavily. You need your phone back. Not just to watch the video and feel the same hot embarrassment over again. No. You need it to see if Jimin has texted you. See now, you know that is so fucked up. After everything that happened. After Jimin walked after Liya and had watched you walk away with his hands around her. After the slap you received, you still want to hear from Jimin. At this rate, it just isn’t for satisfying your greedy self, however. You need to know whether he is okay. You need to know how it went. Not with Liya but with the video.

“You need to attend your classes. C’mon, you can leave me. I’ll be fine with Mrs. Kim.” You glance over at the said woman. She furrows her brows at Jungkook. Clicks her tongue.

“Are you skipping classes young man? Should I call your mom?” There’s a very serious warning look on her face. You would’ve laughed at that if it wasn’t for your zombie like state. Jungkook gives you a sneaky but disapproving look.

“I have no classes. Don’t worry darling, I’m gonna make you proud in the end. I’m better than Joonie. You know it.” Says dismissively. Winks at the poor woman and of course she eats the bait. You try to open your mouth but the sudden sound of kitchen door opening interrupts you. The new recruit- a young boy who stole your table wiping duties- appears on the doorway.

“There’s someone to meet you.” He awkwardly mumbles while gesturing at you. Your heart skips a beat instantly before it picks up the rhythm of beating. Weariness you were feeling, suddenly evaporating into thin air as you looks up at the boy with wide eyes. There’s someone to meet you. And that someone can very well be Park Jimin. Hope bubbles inside you. Only for it to pop out at his next words. “I- uh- I think that’s your sister. You two look alike.” He scratches his head stupidly. A heavy sigh leaves past your lips. That’s in disappointment. You feel so disappointed that even your eyes prick with new tears.

“You got to be kidding me.” You whip your head toward Jungkook at his sudden voice. Just in time to catch him, throw his apron away. Is already walking toward the door.

Oh, no!

You practically jump onto your feet. Startling poor Mrs. Kim as she watches you with wide eyes. You don’t pay her any mind as you sprint after Jungkook. Storming past the new boy who looks equally startled as Mrs. Kim. You have no idea how Jungkook moves that fast but when you enter the dining area, he is already face to face with a calm Liya. Staring her down. Or glaring her down.

“You’re not welcomed here.” Jungkook grits his teeth. You notice how tight his jaw is as you make it to his side.

“Jungkook!” You grab his arm. Try to make him turn away from Liya to no avail. He’s like a boulder. Doesn’t even budge. Yet Liya’s eyes fall on you instantly. For a brief moment before she looks back at Jungkook.

“Yeah? I don’t think I’ve done anything to be on the blacklist. Besides, you’re no one to put the CEO of The SE in a blacklist boy. So, if you just care to step aside─” Liya’s eyes shift from Jungkook to you again. She forces a smile which looks more like a sneer. “─ I’m here to have a word with my sweet sister.” Completes her sentence. Only that it makes Jungkook steps to his side, however. Completely guarding you from her view. You groan annoyingly. No one hears it.

“I don’t care if you’re damn CEO or the fucking president. Get your fucking ass out while I’m nice Ms. Kim." Jungkook is oozing venom. It’s weird to see him mad.

“Jungkook please.” You try again. Step away so you can see Liya again.

“Yes, Jungkook, listen to your little owner. Stop trying to be her guard dog since she looks like capable of doing lots of things without your help.” Liya gives Jungkook a mocking smile.

Okay, that’s it.

She can mock you all the much she wants. Can slap you, yell at you, publicly humiliate you, or anything else that makes her feel good. But she isn’t bringing Jungkook into this. No. This is where you won’t be just listening.

“He has nothing to do with this, Liya. Please, just leave him out of it.” You step forward. Bringing yourself to your full height. Your voice sharp. “You wanted to see me, what is it?” This time you manage to drag Jungkook an inch back.

“Noona!” He whisper yells. You just give him a stern look. He reads you well. Liya scoffs. Eyes shifting between you and Jungkook.

“Well, look at you. How sweet. Sticking for each other. You’re damn lucky sis.” Sighs. “And yes, I wanted to meet you. Hope, you’re not busy fucking someone else’s boyfriend.”

“Fucking leave!” Jungkook nearly plunges forward before you catch him. Turning around blocking his path. Place your palm on his chest. Looks at his face. He looks furious. Doesn’t look at you right away. But when he does, his features softens immediately.

“It’s fine Jungkook. Please. Let me handle this.” You mutter softly. Looks at him expectantly. For a moment, it looks like he would dare to kick Liya out of the restaurant. Then after a long second, just sighs. Takes a step back.

“Fine, but if she tries to hit you again, I want you to give her a blue eye.” Pouts at you. Apparently, doesn’t give a fuck about the fact that Liya can hear him. Waits until you agree. He can be insufferable sometimes. Yet you nod anyway.

……………………………………….

You patiently sit at a corner table at Kim’s. Where nobody in the kitchen can hear you. Since it’s still morning and there’s no breakfast serving, the entire restaurant is free of any patrons. Liya just blinks at your face. Her expression is calm and somewhat smug. It makes you want to scream. Curiosity and anxiety are eating you inside out. Whatever is the reason for her visit, you know that can’t be any good. You really wish you could snap at her. Ask her ‘what the fuck she wants’. Unfortunately for you, you can’t do something like that. Not when you feel like shrinking into a shrimp. Guilty. Ashamed. You can’t even look her in the eyes. You owe her the biggest apology. Yet you can’t bring yourself to do even that. It feels stupid. You need to try, though. She deserves at least that.

“Liya I-I’m so─”

“Don’t. I’m not here so you can apologize and find peace.”

You close your mouth which you opened to do just that. A wave of embarrassment ripples through you at her tone. Dismissive. Condescending. Your cheeks grow hot. It’d feel nice to be able to talk back. Defend yourself. How unfortunate that you’ve lost any right to do so.

“Then why are you here Liya? You gonna pay me to stay away from your boyfriend?” You mutter wearily. The exhaustion finding its way back to you. You have no energy to do this. Not now anyway. You know you’re wrong. You know you’re the biggest lying bitch. Yet you’re also human who feels drained off. You have to bite back the urge to cry hard.

Liya takes a minute. As if she’s processing your words as you keep eyeing her. Then all of a sudden, she crackles up with laughter. So loud that you recoil in your chair. Her giggles, which are like sweet venom, fill the entire space. For the people in the kitchen this might seem like an adorable moment for two sisters. Except for Jungkook, of course. You gape at her with an open mouth as she keeps laughing like you’ve made the biggest joke of the year. Okay, this is getting out of hand now. It is one thing not to be able to fight back when you’re the one who’s guilty. Still, it’s completely another to getting demeaned this way. You clench your teeth hard to keep your exhaustion and pain from turning into anger. It won’t get you anywhere. You need to be patient. And luckily it doesn’t take long. Liya puffs out a breath shortly after. Trying to sober from her blown out laughter.

“That was funny.” She croaks. You remain silent. You deserve this shit after all. You brought this on yourself. “Why would you ever think that I would pay. For you. To stay. Away from my boyfriend?” She leans forward to look you dead in the eye. “That’s so funny to even think. You’re the bitch here and you think I should pay you?”

“I didn’t say that Liya.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. Not wanting to bide your time with this woman. Yes, you’re wrong and you know that. Still, it doesn’t mean you have to do this. “All I’m asking is to get done with your business. Why are you here?” Liya’s smile vanishes at that.

“Okay, I like that you still have some nerves to act like you have any rights to do so.” Shrugs. You will yourself to stay calm. “So, how long are you gonna stay here? It’s like all my advice have been fallen into deaf ears. I asked you to leave as soon as you can sissy, you didn’t listen. Now look where we are. Look at the mess you have created. Do you have any idea how much trouble it caused us? Caused Jimin?” She raises one of her brows. You gulp harshly. That’s the part you’ve been afraid of. It caused Jimin problems. You feel your heart shatter.

“I- uh…” You try in vain to say something. You can’t. So, you just downcast your eyes to your lap. Heart heavy with guilt.

“Look, like I told you earlier, I really don’t want to fight with myself. Despite everything we’re still two versions of the same person. I mean it’s crazy how different we are, like I will never do something that cheap you know—” That condescending, smug smile finds its way back on her face. “—It’s cheap, what you did.” Adds. You shut your eyes for a moment.

Stay calm. Stay fucking calm.

If Jungkook ever heard that, he’d really hit Liya without caring for the fact that she’s a woman. But you need to remain calm. It’s your fault. It’s your wrongdoing. “But still, I hope we have at least some things in common.” Liya continues. “Like I expect that you want to preserve whatever still left in your dignity. I hope you’re smart. So, lil sis, I hope you’ll find this a chance to do the right thing.” You hate that she calls you sister. Why would she do that? To make you feel worse. You force yourself to look at her.

“If it isn’t for you, at least do it for the others. Like you have no idea how much of a damage you’re causing in Jimin’s life just because you’re wet.” You flinch at the word. Liya keeps going. “I think you’ve become friends with everyone. So, in that case, it’s safe to think that you won’t want to cause them harm now, will you? You don’t know how hard boys worked for the company. How much time and money they poured into it. And this?” She gestures at you. “A single mistake is enough to ruin everything. Jimin will lose everything and so will his friends. And I really wish you’re not someone who’d be that selfish.” Tilts her head. It takes you a second to realize that she’s expecting an answer from you.

“Wh-what do you want me to do? Just because you ask, I can’t stop coming here. It’s going to happen whether I like it or not.” You refrain from telling her the part where you only have a year. That’s none of her business. Liya smiles softly.

“That’s a shame but no. That’s not what I’m asking. All I’m asking is for you to stay away. It’s not that hard now, is it? If you really want to get- uh- lemme be straightforward- dicked down that badly—” She points toward the kitchen with her thumb. “Let me tell you that boy there would be more than glad to give you what you want.”

“Keep. Him. Out of it Liya.” You grit your teeth for the first time since she arrived. She chuckles at your glare.

“Okay. Whatever you want. It’s up to you anyway. What I want is for you to stay away. From Jimin and the company.” Her voice turns serious back again. “It’s not just my relationship with Jimin that you’re ruining. You’re ruining his career and future. All for what? A bliss that you could live for couple months until you inevitably return. Jimin would have to face all the consequences alone. Don’t be that selfish. You might be a little college girl who still doesn’t understand how harsh the world is. So, let me teach you sweety, it’s not one of those romance novels you read and Jimin isn’t a prince who’s going to sacrifice his career for you either. In the end, you’re going to ruin everyone’s life. Stay away. Resign.” With that she gets to her feet. The chair scrapes against the floor at the force she does that. “And listen to my words while I’m still being nice. Don’t think it’s just a mere coincidence that there is only one video and our faces aren’t clear. We had to go through hell to get everything cleared up.” Turns around.

Well, that makes perfect sense. And it makes sense why you’re not in any pain either. If your faces were clear in that video, people could’ve been confused who’s Liya. That certainly could’ve put you in pain. But you’re not in pain. Unless you don’t consider the way your heart aches right now. At what she said. At the implication. At how true every word she uttered. You’re a saboteur. A selfish bitch who ruined everything. You look up at her with glassy eyes. Of course, she is telling the truth, and you need to do as she asks. Liya is a smart woman, she had hit the nail right on the head. You would’ve thrown all the care out of the window when it comes to you, but you care about Jimin too much. Care about Hoseok. Taehyung. Seokjin. Care about each and every one. So, you will heed her words. Still, however, there has been a question that had made your head hurt to think.

“You suspected, didn’t you? There’s no way you could’ve been so oblivious.” Your voice comes out hoarse. Liya stops and partially turn around. She knows what you’re implying at.

“Of course, I did. I’m no fool. You two were too close. Emi always let me know how much time you spent in his office.”

“Then why?” You press your fingers into your thighs. “Why caused so much commotion if you knew?”

“No. I didn’t know. That’s completely two different things. I suspected. That’s it and I’m not happy to be found out that my suspicions were right. It hurt me. You know, I may not look like it, but I care about Jimin. I was with him for five years. And I will not allow anything or anyone to change it. To answer your question, that’s none of your business. Just know that everything I do have valid reasons. I don’t play for fun. I play for win.”

Her boyfriend.

You don’t stop her this time. Just watch her disappear with a blurry gaze. She steps out from the door at the same time when Jungkook enters. You don’t look at his face. Just because you want to hide your tears. He says nothing either. Places your phone in front of you on the table before sitting next to you. Pulls you into his embrace and you let him.

You wait that way until you finally feel like you can breathe again. Until Mrs. Kim calls out for Jungkook. So, you reassure him you’re fine. Wait till he’s gone to unlock your phone. Not knowing what you’re going to do when a new notification catches your attention. A new message.

I’m so sorry Spring Roll. Please don’t be mad at me. Let’s talk today? Meet me at my office, I’ll wait for you. – Park.

……………………………….

You truly didn’t want to do this. Not at all. Yet after sitting alone at the empty table for hours. Almost until the place started to fill with patrons, you came to a decision. Liya was absolutely right. You played with fire and nearly got everyone burnt in that. Not that you ever wished for it. Not even in your dreams that you wanted to cause any harm to Park Jimin or his friends. Now, though, since you have nearly come to it, this is your cue to finally do something about it. Grow up. Prove that you’re not a naïve college girl even though that’s who you are. You need to take responsibility for your actions. You need to apologize to people who deserve that. And lastly you need to step away from their lives and accept that yours is not a fairy tale even if it’s so full of wonders.

That’s your reason for being back here again in the RUN building. You are going to do it properly and end this. You are going to meet Hoseok and resign. Are going to apologize to him. To Taehyung and Seokjin. And of course, you are going to do the same with Park Jimin. You clench your fists into tight balls at the thought of him. Digging crescents into your palms. It hurts to think what you’re about to do. You haven’t replied to his text. Didn’t feel the need to do so. You don’t know what you’re going to tell him. You don’t know what he’s planning to tell you. That doesn’t matter, however. Like Liya said, there’s no point in your sneaky games. It’s better if you build the guts to end it now before Jimin will do it sooner or later.

Jimin isn’t a prince who’s going to sacrifice his career for you either.

Yes. That’s it. This will be the last time you walk across this lobby. So, you steel yourself not to look around you. It’s not like all of these busy people might have seen the video or know what happened. Still, you feel like walking through a forest of eyes. As if everyone is looking at you and laughing. Whispering. In reality, you know that no one gives a damn. Even with that, however, your palms are extra sweaty as you run toward the elevator. The doors nearly close as you rush toward them. You become almost convinced that you missed it when someone inside hurriedly stretch their arm to open the doors back. You swiftly push yourself inside with a soft ‘thank you’ before you raise your head to meet your helper.

“Oh!” It leaves your mouth involuntarily as you’re met with the wide eyes of Taehyung.

“Hey!” He mumbles in return as you bow to him slightly. He does the same to you. Fortunately, or unfortunately it’s just you two in the elevator. You decide it’s the latter when an uncomfortable silence falls between you as Taehyung presses the button to your floor. It’s awkward. It was never awkward with Kim Taehyung. He’s a social butterfly who’d make small talk with a blank wall. This is a testament to how uncomfortable you have made him. Or not. “Um... are you okay?” He surprises you with those next words.

“Huh?” You gape at him stupidly.

“You know. The video and all those shits. Didn’t expect to see you at work today.”

“Oh, I- uh- I’m fine Taehyung. I mean as fine as I could be. And I’m not here to work. I’m resigning.” You blurt out. Taehyung’s eyes go wide again.

“Wait, what? Why? You don’t have to do that. I mean—”

“Really. Tae?” You almost laugh at that. “You think I don’t have to do that after everything?”

“Well, it’s personal, isn’t it? It has nothing to do with the work and we took care of everything else. And if this is about Liya, she holds no power over what we should do in our company. You can continue to work as long as you wish.”

You sigh heavily. “You need to stop doing that Tae. I don’t know what’s all of your guys’ problem with Liya. But you need to admit that this is wrong. I don’t know how good or bad Liya is- I mean to you, but this isn’t okay.”

“Well, I didn’t say you should keep it up with Jimin. I’m saying that you shouldn’t give up on your job because of that.” Taehyung knits his eyebrows. This is the most serious you’ve ever seen him. It doesn’t suit him.

“And you think we’ll not end up doing it again if we’re in the same vicinity.”

“Why? You can’t resist each other?” A smile creeps on his face. Makes you roll your eyes.

“Don’t go there Kim Taehyung. Not the time.”

“Sorry.” That smile disappears. Yet you still prefer it when he is unserious. “But still, Li, don’t do this because of it. Jimin won’t like it. I don’t want him to blame himself. He cares, you know.” Taehyung looks at you expectantly. As if he’s waiting for you to confirm it. Say that you know. Well, do you know that? Maybe. You’re not sure. So, you do nothing but just stare back at him. That makes Taehyung chuckles. Almost in a pitiful way. “Gosh, I really want him to be able to do something. To have a choice. To be able to say fuck it and do whatever he wants.” Taehyung shoves his hands in his pockets. Throws his head back. You won’t ask him why Jimin can’t do that. Because you know he can’t. That leaves you with the question why Taehyung can’t do it.

It’s funny how you and him never had a one-on-one serious conversation. You despised him when you first met him. Then when you started doing same morally gray shits as him, you slowly start to like him. Still, you never asked him why he does what he does. “Then why can’t you Taehyung? I’m sure you’re not bound to have responsibilities as much as Jimin. Why don’t you just say fuck it and do whatever you want?”

“I am doing it aren’t I? I live my life the way I want.”

“Do you? Your life is as fucked as mine or Jimin’s. C’mon, no offense, but your relationship with Seoyeon isn’t the best now, is it? You act like you can’t even stand being in the same room as her.” You’re not even joking here. Taehyung sure does appear like trying to run away from his girlfriend half the time. “Why? Like, why are you still in a relationship that you can’t stand? Why cheating around and still keep her with you?”

Taehyung shrugs. His face turns grim. “I don’t know. I just feel bad.”

“Bad about what?”

“Just breaking up with her. Seoyeon isn’t bad as she appears.” Well, you don’t think she’s bad at all. “I just don’t love her. Never did. I don’t know why I asked her to be my girlfriend in the first place and when I realized I fucked up, it was already too late. I just don’t know how to commit. I can’t do that. It drains me off. And now I feel bad to leave her alone.”

“And you don’t feel bad to cheat on her? I know I’m not the person who should say this but that’s not fair. Not to her and not to you either. If you want to live a liberating life, then you should do it the right way. She deserves to have everything in her life too. Someone who’d love her and you’re keeping her away from that. It’s worse than breaking up with her.”

Taehyung blinks at your face. Opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the ding sound of elevator door opening. Well, you didn’t plan on having that conversation with Kim Taehyung. And you know you’re the last person who should give him moral advice. Yet you think yours and his situations are not entirely similar. You’re not the one who’s in a relationship. It’s Jimin. And you don’t know why Jimin fell into bed with you. You don’t know why he wanted to do it with you, especially when Liya and you are the same person. You don’t know what’s happening between Liya and Jimin. What makes them, them. All you know is that what you and Jimin did was a little escape from reality. Something that you both probably wanted. Maybe he was stressed, and you know your life was miserable. Now it’s time to end that. So, you just give Taehyung a final nod. Hoping he will not take offense to what you said. Puff out a breath as you look out through the elevator doors.

You planned different ways to do this the entire time you spent on getting ready and coming here. You knew it’s going to hurt. Saying goodbyes always sucks. You don’t even want to think how hard it’ll hurt to say it to Jimin. You need to do that, however. Can’t cower after you already made it this far. You almost step out while pep talking yourself mentally when Taehyung suddenly groans. You halt your movements to look at him. He is clutching his forehead.

“Oh, fuck he is here again.” Annoyance bounces off from his voice. Lets his hand fall down. Clenches his teeth. “I hate to see that fucking—” Gasps. Eyes wide and turning to look at you with a horrified expression. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to uh…” Shakes his head violently. You furrow your brows in confusion. What on the earth is this man talking about? Why is he apologizing? “It’s just your father can be a teeny bit annoying sometimes.” Taehyung chuckles nervously. Your furrow deepens.

“What?”

“Your father.” Taehyung, yet aging holds his hand out to hold the elevator door. You turn away from him to check who he’s helping this time. You catch the sight of an old man in a pristine black suite walking toward the elevator. Talking with a woman next to him. Surrounded by too many people. “Mr. Kim, I mean- what I’m saying is that he is a good man but….” Taehyung keeps rumbling. Yet the words slowly start to fade away for you.

What now? Father? Mr. Kim?

A loud gasp leaves past your lips. Realization hitting you hard. Mr. Kim. As in Liya’s father. That man who’s currently walking toward you is that man. You watch in horror as he laughs aloud for something the woman said. His focus solely on the woman. You without even your knowledge have expected Liya’s parents to look like yours. But this man looks nothing like your father. No wonder that you didn’t know who he was when you first noticed him. That, however, doesn’t change the fact that you look exactly like his daughter. Liya. Not her twin since Mr. Kim has no two daughters. And he is about to face you. There’s no more than five feet between you. Taehyung is keeping the elevator on hold. When he finally notices you that’s going to blow your damn cover. He will address you as Liya and you’ll have to pretend to be her. That will put you in pain and everyone will panic. Taehyung will wonder why your own father can’t recognize you and there’ll be no way out of that. No explanations.

Fuck no!

Your body works in autopilot mode when you suddenly grab Taehyung’s arm. Whatever he’s been saying instantly dying on his tongue at your sudden movements. You yank him to your side at the same time you step behind him. Covering yourself by his broad figure right at the moment the old man finally turns his head forward.  

“What? What the hell are you doing?” Taehyung tries to step away and look at you. You hold on to his shirt.

“Oh, please. I can’t face him.”

“What? What are you—” His words get cut off when the party finally reaches the elevator.

“Taehyung.” You cover yourself more behind Taehyung as that deep voice addresses him. It’s a good thing that Taehyung is tall and broad. Yet you know it’s not enough to hide you completely from everyone’s eyes. You would have to do with this, however.

“M-Mr. Kim.” Taehyung nods at the man. Very uncomfortable as it’s clearly noticeable in his voice.

“You’re coming to work now?” Liya’s father questions again. You want him to leave soon. “No. I just had to left for some work.” Taehyung answers. Mr. Kim mumbles a quick okay in reply before he steps inside the elevator. Everybody else starts to fill in as well. Making Taehyung steps away to make space. Making you step with him to keep yourself covered. And luckily for you, he doesn’t try to walk away from you. Not even look at you. Just tries to exit the damn elevator while not turning his back to Kim. Walks backward facing people inside the elevator. Awkward. Weird. Still, it looks like he can pick up a sign. He may be the funny guy who does stupid things most of the time but can certainly be smart sometimes. You walk backward with him. Step out. Nearly sigh in relief.

“And who might be the lady hiding behind you?” Mr. Kim’s voice is laced with amusement. Of course, anyone can see you. You knew it. Just that you wished they wouldn’t question.

“Oh, uh- Seoyeon—” Okay, you take your earlier thoughts back. He’s definitely stupid. You pinch his back hard enough that he yelps. But recovers quickly. Laughs. “Not Seoyeon. That’s what I tried to say. Not Seoyeon at all. Why would she hide right? This is someone else—” You pinch his waist this time. “Actually, this is no one important. I’ll let you leave Mr. Kim. See you soon then. Yeah, bye!” Takes another step back. You take it with him. Then another and another until the elevator door closes. He waits few more seconds. As if to make sure everyone has left for real. Then like a thunder boom, turns around so fast that you flinch.

“What the fuck was that?” Both of you bellow at the same time.

“Why would you tell him I’m Seoyeon?” You’re the one who question first. Taehyung looks at you with an incredulous expression.

“Why the hell would you hide from your own farther?” Gestures at the now closed door. Well, you think that’s a more valid question than yours. Your shoulders slump as you smack your lips together.

“Uh- I guess Hoseok told you that I’m the family disgrace. It’s like... mm...” You shrug. “He really doesn’t like to see me.” Offer him a soft smile. Taehyung’s incredulous expression instantly morphs into a sympathetic one. Hoseok definitely has told them about that part.

“Yeah, shit, I’m sorry.” He mutters softly while roaming his eyes over your figure. Like he’s expecting you to break apart at any moment. Looks at you like you’re a stray kitten getting drenched in a storm.

“Yeah, life is hard.” You nod. Trying to mirror his sympathetic look. Not hard since you’re already in a somber mood.

“Yeah.” He nods too. “I’m really sorry Li. That must really suck, like him not being your biological father and then he’s only favoring one of you. That shit must be really hard. I can’t even imagine that.” Taehyung gives you a tight-lipped smile. Looks very genuine. Shakes his head. Yet, you almost don’t hear the last part. Eyes snapping to his face while your mouth falling opening.

“Wha—” The question nearly escapes your mouth before you catch your tongue.

“Huh?”

“N-nothing, I mean, yes. That sucks. Very.” You chuckles nervously. Taehyung pats your head. Turns around while you just blink at him.

What the hell?

Mr. Kim isn’t Liya’s biological father? Well, that explains a lot why he doesn’t look like your father. But how come you never knew that. How come nobody ever told you that. It’s not like people would tell you about your own family, but you’re surprised. More than surprised actually. Jimin should’ve told you. True, that you never really talked about Liya but still, you could’ve blown your cover stupidly. Guess, it’s a close call after all. You scrunch your eyes shut. Blow out a breath. Opening them back again to find Taehyung’s retrieving back.

It seems like it’s finally your time to get your business done. No matter how much you don’t want to do that. As in cue Taehyung turns around. Maybe he can read mind too.

“And Li? Just think about the resigning, we all love having you here.”

…………………….

Jimin feels like trapped inside his own skin. With no way out or enough air to breathe. He wants a way to escape this feeling. Yet he can’t find one. He is pacing around his office like a maniac. As how he always does. His phone is clutched tightly between his fingers as his eyes snap toward the screen every few seconds. There’s nothing. Every minute passes without his phone dinging without a notification from you intensifies his trapped feeling.

You haven’t replied to him. It’s been hours. He has sent you three more texts, and you’ve left him on read. And you never do that. Something discomforting settles inside Jimin. He knows he took far too long to contact you. He should’ve texted you way earlier. But he was so preoccupied with getting things sorted and under control. He didn’t even have time to eat a proper meal. Was doing his very best and everything to get rid of all the videos. To prevent it from landing in the hands of press. Keeping everything hidden and getting rid of the evidence. He had no time for anything else. Nobody did. Not Liya. Not his friends. Hell, Jimin and Liya didn’t even have time to fight like a normal couple would. Not that he’s complaining. But that’s the truth. He has sent you a text the very moment he was able to. And he doesn’t like how you’re ignoring him. It doesn’t make him mad. It makes him scared.

Scared because he knows he fucked up. Again. He failed you. Again. He abandoned you and made you seek refuge in someone else when he told you not to do so, just a minute ago before it happened. He’s a failure through and through. A coward. And now he’s afraid the consequences are about to get to him.

It’s simply Jimin didn’t even know what he was doing at that time. It all happened too fast for his liking. He doesn’t know if he had done the right thing. What’s the right thing anyway? What’s the winning side? In Jimin’s case there’s no winning side. He was bound to lose one way or the other. He doesn’t know what made him follow Liya. He doesn’t remember. Only thing he know is that this would’ve been so much more messed up, if he hadn’t.

Figure out your shit Jimin. There’s thousands of people on your hands.

Right? It’s not like he can make decisions for himself. His life is too cruel to be able to do so. If he has done the other way around, then this might’ve been the last day of him being in this office. His friends wouldn’t have looked at his face. His name would’ve been on paper. He would’ve lost everything he worked hard for. Everybody would’ve known how much of a loser he is. You would’ve known he was a fucking failure. That’s terrifying to even think. Now he has avoided all of those things, he should be feeling relieved and happy. The thing is, though, he feels nothing remotely close to relief. He has saved everyone. But at what cost? He thinks he has failed to save himself.

Funny. Because this wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. You were supposed to fuck and get done. You were supposed to be his stress reliver. And you were. You still are. Just not sexually wise though. This feeling he’s getting. The feeling of being trapped and not being able to breathe, it would go away when you’re here. You’ve become his escape. His air. And he’s terrified of losing it. Losing you. He genuinely doesn’t know what he should tell you. Doesn’t know how to explain. He feels ashamed to tell you the truth. The last thing he wants is for you to see him as the real loser he is. It’s always easy with you, yes. You always understand, yes. But what if you run away when you see the real him. He has seen the way you look at him. That admiration and adoration. You act like Jimin is God. Has heard that in your voice. What if he lost it. He’s too greedy to do that. Yet he can still apologize. Profoundly. He would kneel in front of you if that’s what it takes. For every fucking pain he caused.

Because you were in pain. He saw that in your eyes when your eyes met before you disappeared behind a door that day. You were broken. Because of him. Up until that moment, Jimin was feeling numb with all the emotions. Then as his eyes connected with you, it all had come crashing down to him. Everything. He can’t even remember when or who had dragged Liya away from him. All he could think about was the way he had let you go. How he had fucked up. How he shouldn’t have done that. How he shouldn’t have left you alone. Shouldn’t have let you go. All he could think about was making it right again. He had wanted to follow you. Run after you. Yank you away from Jungkook into his chest. Kiss every inch of your face and apologize over and over again. Until he’d lost his voice doing so. He was really at a breadth of a hair apart from risking everything when he had taken a step forward. Just to be pushed back by pair of hands. Jimin had felt furious to see Jin stopping him. He would’ve never listened to his older friend but then Taehyung had stepped forward too. Had stopped Jimin. And Jimin had witnessed that rare occasions where his best friend was mad. They had muttered a single line repeatedly.

“Not now Jimin-ah. You fucking can’t. Not now.”

That’s how Jimin had lost. Lost himself and you. Now all he want is to apologize. But you’re not replying. Maybe he should call you. If you don’t answer, he would definitely drive to Kim’s to meet you whether you like it or not. He unlocks his phone. Determined just to do that when his office doors are barged open. Jimin snaps his head toward it immediately. Face lightening up with hope. Only for it to fall when his eyes land on Taehyung.

“Oh, wow, you look really happy to see me.” Taehyung chuckles.

“Not in a mood Tae.” Jimin rolls his eyes before going back to unlocking his phone.

“Yeah? Then should I leave?” Taehyung asks in a mischievous enough voice that Jimin can’t help but eye him suspiciously. Taehyung smirks. “I’m just here to let you know that Li is here. I just met her.” And just like that Jimin is back to beaming with expectation. “Yeah?” Mumbles more to himself as he already walks toward the door without even knowing where he’s going. Taehyung stops him, however. “Yeah. And she’s about to resign.” Jimin halts mid-step. Just as he’s passing Taehyung. Making them stand shoulder to shoulder with his best friend. Facing two opposite directions.

“What?” Jimin whispers. The excitement he felt vanishes into thin air. He turns his head slightly to peer at Taehyung’s amber eyes. Taehyung just shrugs. “I asked her not do so but we both know that she has no other options in the end.” Jimin frowns at that.

“What do you mean, she has no the other options? Nothing happened─”

“Nothing happened?” Taehyung exclaims aloud. “Dude, she got slapped in front of hundreds of people. And you’re saying nothing happened?”

“That’s not what I meant. We got rid of everything before it can affect anyone. Affect her. Nobody in this building knows what happened. Even if they do, they don’t know it was Lil. She doesn’t have to resign because of that.” Jimin argues. Feeling lost. Looking his worst fears coming true. You’re about to go away again.

“Oh, c’mon Jimin. Even I- who sees no logic in anything- can see where she’s coming from. How can she work under us after that happened. After she got exposed like that. How could she face Liya again. Act like nothing happened. I would do the same if I was her.”  Taehyung shrugs yet again.

“Well, then maybe I can explain to her and make her see it. She doesn’t have to lose a good job because of me.” Jimin blinks at his best friend’s face. “I- uh- I’ll just talk to her. Where is she now?” He knows what Taehyung said was true. It’s annoying when his unserious best friend makes sense.

“At Hoseok’s, of course.” Taehyung’s eyes aren’t wavering. There’s an amusing sparkle in them. Makes Jimin uncomfortable. It’s like there’s something that Taehyung doesn’t tell him. Jimin wants to question it, but he needs to find you first. Jimin almost steps forward at Taehyung’s answer. Only to get interrupted when Taehyung speaks again. “What’s happening Jimin?” He turns around to face Jimin fully. Jimin just furrows his brows in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you so worried about her leaving?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

Taehyung scoffs at that. “Not fair? Jimin, what’s not fair is her being here, being judged by people and getting slapped for the mistakes you both made. What’s not fair is she has no options. What are you even planning to do? Ask her to stay? Saying what? That you really can’t live without her pussy. That’s not what’s fair, Jimin. You gonna keep her here because you don’t want to lose the sex and she’d be the one to go through hell. That’s not what’s fucking fair.”

“Tha-that’s not.” Jimin is too stunned to speak at his best friend’s sudden outburst. Taehyung never does this.

“I mean, I’m not someone to judge people because I’m in no place to do so but Li, she looked like shit and I’m feeling really sorry towards her. Her father doesn’t like her. Her sister already hates her and now she might want to kill her. She lives with a stranger and she’s sick. Hoseok told me. And you gonna go after her and demand her to stay because she’s a good lay?”

“She’s not just a good lay.” Jimin steps forward. Clenching his teeth. He doesn’t like hearing someone talk about you that way. He doesn’t even know why. And he completely ignores Taehyung’s reasonings. Only if Taehyung knew.

“Then what? You love her?”

Like that Jimin freezes completely. Gaping at Taehyung. Opens his mouth just to close it back. No answer coming to his mouth. Resembles a fish. Chuckles. Breathless. Why is he so shocked? All he has to do is deny. Because that’s not the case after all. “No- Tae, of course not─” This is ridiculous. He sure doesn’t love you. Just cares about you beyond sex, that’s it. “I- I just care about her. Like- ugh- I don’t know man. It’s just that she’s a good person and I like her company. She’s not just a good lay. I feel free when I’m with her and- and she makes me do stupid reckless things I shouldn’t do, and I like that too. A little too much. I- I don’t know what I want exactly but I don’t want to cause any harm to her. I don’t want to lose her either.” Jimin doesn’t even realize that he’s rambling until Taehyung laughs. Shakes his head.

“Well, I don’t know what’s that makes of this situation. I obviously don’t know if that feeling is love Jimin because I haven’t been in love once in my life. But you have. So, I would take your word for it.” Steps toward Jimin. Pats his shoulder. Jimin feels weird. He’s been in love. Of course, he has. Right? He loved Liya once. This isn’t love because this isn’t how he felt. He’s safe. “And that’s good that you don’t like her in that kind of way. Because that’d just make everything complicated.” Sighs. Oh, Jimin hates when Taehyung is in a mood. Doesn’t suit him. “Still, though, it’s not fair that you’d just go after her and ask her to stay. If you really care, you should keep her far away from her sister. She doesn’t deserve that shit.”

Jimin no longer feels weird. He feels heavy. As if his heart is supporting fifty pounds. He knows it’s not fair. He knows the best thing is to let you go. But he can’t. No. God, he can’t. It hurts to even imagine that. “I- I don’t want to. I- Taehyung, you’ve not been listening to me. She makes me feel alive. I just don’t want to lose that.”

“Well, that’s so fucking selfish.”

“I know. I know I’m fucking selfish. Just can’t help it.”

“Then at least you need to give her a better explanation. You need to tell her why you’d have to keep her a fucking secret. I’m not talking about love or dating. You could’ve fucked her, or do any other shit with her freely, if it wasn’t for Liya. Then it’d not be an unfair situation to either of you. At least tell her why you can’t even give her that. This is fucking ridiculous. I don’t even know what you’re planning to do Jimin? What’s your fucking plan.” Taehyungs hand on Jimin’s shoulder tightens.

“I just need time. That’s all I want. I can make it right.” Jimin resigns. And Taehyungs features softens immediately as well. He steps back. Jimin may not know what he wants from you precisely. But he knows he need to put things on track. With his business and relationship. He can’t forever be an asset. He’s done being in debt. But this is not a game where he can press a button to change things. He needs time. That was exactly what he planned to do when he met you the other day. Baring gifts. It’s unfortunate how it has come to this. Still, though, he thinks he can try. And he needs you. Selfish? Hell, yes. Yet, he wants you.

Taehyung groans. “Oh, you selfish asshole.” Grumbles. “What can I do though. You’re my best fucking friend and you’ve done far worst shit for me. So, maybe let’s just see how we are going to fuck things up. We built things together so, it’s only fair if we fucked up things together too.” Throws his head up. Shoves his hands in his pockets. “Let’s be the partners in crime then. Like old times.” Looks back at Jimin expectantly. Jimin says nothing. Just a smile graces his lips. Taehyung always has been his partner in crime and Jimin is always grateful for him. “Then maybe you should go and do whatever you wish to do. I mean she’d obviously come visit you, but this would at least save Hobi the trouble.” Taehyung gestures at the door. Jimin gives him a nod. Yes, he’s going to do whatever he has to do. Taehyung nods in reply as well. “I really suck at this advising thing.” Mumbles as Jimin turns around.

……………………………………….

Jimin nearly makes it halfway toward Hoseok’s office when a sudden voice echoes behind him. A voice that is too familiar to him. A voice that he doesn’t want to hear right now. No. Not now. Yet it seems he has no other options as he hears the clanking sound of Liya’s heels against the marble floor. A sudden flash of irritation shoots across Jimin’s entire body. Liya has no business here. It’s so wrong for him to even get irritated. Yet it appears that he doesn’t care in the end. Jimin slowly turns around to face the approaching woman. A very fake smile is pasted on her face. Jimin doesn’t bother to reciprocate it. Liya doesn’t wish to see Jimin as much as he does. He knows it.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin asks straight away without any pleasantries. There’s no need to do that. Liya, however, just throws her hands around his neck. Catching him in surprise before pulling away. It’s a brief contact. But is enough to weird Jimin out.

“What? I can’t come visit my boyfriend?” Liya pouts. She never pouts. Not in this way, at least. Doesn’t suit her just like how it doesn’t suit Taehyung to be mad.

“Oh c’mon, Liya, cut the bullshit please. We definitely aren’t on terms as to where you’d visit me just to see me and hug me. Don’t act like nothing happened. It’s not okay.” Jimin frowns. For a moment, it looks like Liya is about to keep her pretense on. After a brief second, her face falls.

“Yeah, okay. Nothing’s fine. Of course, it isn’t. I mean you fucking cheated on me. How’s that fine?” Liya scoffs. Jimin winces at her voice. He might be as much of a jerk as Taehyung now, but that doesn’t mean he has no conscience. He feels guilty. He does. Simply wishes he could be a better man. To her. To you. And to himself. Too late now, however. “But that’s exactly why I’m here Jimin. We need to talk. Sit down and talk this out like adults.” Liya exhales loudly. Jimin bores into her eyes. He wants to laugh. There was a time when Jimin really wanted to talk. But they were busy. Liya was busy. She believed it was a waste of time to just argue when they’d end up with no solution anyway. Talking meant fighting to her. Then Jimin made sure he was busy too. It worked well until it didn’t.

“You want to talk?” Jimin thinks it’s too late for that talk now. Just asks for the sake of it. He owes Liya an apology after all.

“Yes. You don’t?”

“What are we gonna talk about? About why you’re forgiving me? Why you’re acting like nothing happened Liya?”

“I’m not acting like nothing happened Jimin. I’m just acting matured. We’re adults. People make mistakes and I’m willing to forgive you. But in order to do that, we need to talk and figure out why it happened.”

Oh, how badly Jimin wants to laugh. True, that they both didn’t have enough time to even fight let alone talk. But except for the part where she attacked you, Liya is acting unnecessarily calm. Jimin doesn’t think that’s being matured. No. Liya needs to lose her shit. She needs to cry. She needs to slap him too. She needs to threaten him with a breakup. She has the upper hand here. She needs to threaten him with her father. His business. It’s awfully suspicious in Jimin’s mind that she’s acting this way.

“What?” Liya questions again in his silence. “Look baby─” Jimin visibly winces at the term of endearment. There was a time where it made his stomach flutter. Then there was a time that it made him feel indifferent. And then in this moment, it makes him feel uneasy. Liya just continues, however. Completely ignoring the visible change in his features. See, odd. Very. “─I know there must be a reason for why it happens. I’m at fault too. I mean, we forgot to make it work. So, let’s consider this as a test. A test that check how well we can work this out. Let’s consider this as a reminder that our relationship needs some work. We can work it back Jimin.” Steps forward. Places a gentle hand on his upper arm. Jimin’s eyes fall to where she’s touching him for a second before he looks back at her face again. “It’s not late. We still have time. I really do love you that I can forgive you.” Smiles softly.

Liya doesn’t forgive. Just like his friends said, she’s a snake and she bites. In revenge. That’s who she is. This is really strange. And Jimin doesn’t think she loves him. No. Not anymore. This is a relationship in convenience. Still, he peers at her eyes. He loved those eyes once. He really did.

Is it really not too late?

Does he still love those eyes?

Does he─

The sudden sound of footsteps make Jimin’s eyes snap away from Liya. It’s completely unintentional how his eyes trail past her. Stopping on a new figure who rounded the corner just now. The intruder stops. Dead on the track. Big wide eyes are fixed on him.

You stand still, while your eyes are locked with him. The wind gets knocked out of Jimin’s lungs.

Oh, it’s late. Too fucking late.

Jimin feels a warmth engulf him fully. Then an ache surges through him. A longing. His heart clenches.

He doesn’t love those eyes, anymore.

Or he does. But those eyes, doesn’t belong to the same person anymore. He doesn't know what’s happening to him. Only thing he knows is the bittersweet feeling he is getting. All he knows is that he can’t wait another second. He doesn’t realize how much he wanted to see you until now. Until you’re in front of him. Finally. All he knows is that he’s not going to waste it this time.

It feels like a dream to Jimin when he steps to his side. When he starts walking past Liya. Maybe she calls to him but that falls into deaf ears.

You’re here and he needs to pull you into his arms immediately.

You stay still there. Eyes still wide. But this time you wander those eyes away from him. You look past him. Then back to him. He knows you’re looking at Liya. He has no idea what’s going on in your head but nothing’s going to happen again. No one’s going to lay a finger on you. Except him. He stops before you. Takes a good look at your pretty face. You look tired. Eyes puffy. Breaks his heart into tiny pieces. Makes him want to take all the pain away from you.

It’s going to be okay.

Stretches his arms to grab you. To pull you into his embrace.

You recoil like spring. And all his senses comes back to him. Like you’ve slapped him. Makes Jimin’s eyes go wide for a moment before he frowns in confusion. A deep ache tugs at his heart. A moment passes in silence before you suddenly speak.

“I am resigning Mr. Park. Thank you for allowing me to work here. It’s been a pleasure.” You bow deep to him.

Mr. Park?

You can’t be already resigned. Even if you have, that’s okay. He can make sure you’ve got any job inside this building. He doesn't give a single fuck about what people say. He must be losing his mind. “Lil? What are you─”

“I have already resigned. I came to say thank you. So, thank you Mr. Park.” You mumble once again with a bow. And before he can say or do anything you turn around. Start walking away.

No. No. No.

Jimin watches in horror as you walk away for a minute. Just like the day in club. His poor brain is taking its sweet time processing things. And he does exactly feel the way he did that day. Watching you walk away.

No. Not this time.

He’s not an idiot to make the same mistake twice. Jimin practically breaks into a run at the same time you disappear through the corner. It doesn’t take him more than a second to reach you. To grab your arm. Yanks you back and turns around to face him. You scowl at him. Your eyes look furious.

“You’re not walking away. We need to talk.” Jimin’s voice sounds foreign even to him. It’s barely audible through the roar in his ear. Over his own heartbeat.

“Talk what Jimin.” You hiss. A panicked expression crosses through your face as you quickly glance behind him. “Let me go please.”

“No. Not until we talk.”

“You can’t do this for fucks sake. There are people here and─”

“And what? I don’t care. I want to apologize for─”

“Keep your damn apologies to yourself Park. I don’t fucking care.” You try your best to step away from him. Jimin feels like he’s travelled through time. There was a time where you and he used to fight like angry cats. Just the same way. He’d try to stop you while you’re trying to get away. But you passed those days, right? He really hates to go through that again. “I don’t want to be your little secret anymore. You need to let me go.” Your words cut through him painfully. So damn painful that it almost annoys him.

“Well, you agreed to be that Lil. I already told you that you’re going to be stuck with me if you ever agreed to be mine. You can’t just walk away.” Jimin tightens his grip so that you wouldn’t be able run away.

“I did. But that’s way before we got─” You clench your teeth. Lower your voice to low hiss. “─caught. Before I saw how your girlfriend loves you. Before I realized I’m the only one who’s going to get the blame in the end. Get humiliated. I don’t want that again Jimin. I deserve fucking better than that. I deserve better than standing alone in a corridor and getting slapped. I know you did the right thing. And there’s no hard feelings. I don’t hate you or anything like that. I just want to end this shit. I’m tired.” You blabber in one breath. Heave for air once you’re done. Everything you say makes sense to Jimin. But at the same time, it doesn’t. All he needs is one chance to apologize.

“Lil...” Your name leaves Jimin’s lips in a desperate sigh. “I- I know. I- I just, let’s please─”

“I’m leaving.” You state sternly. Oh, it hurts. You don’t even want to listen to him. It hurts like a bitch as Jimin allows his hand to fall limp. He wishes to say something more. Beg more. He’s ready to kneel right now and right here. But before he could, you turn around. Before he could, he feels Liya’s presence next to him. Before he could, you storm away. Not a single glance. Not a single word. Just like that, you run away. You don’t want to be his dirty little secret anymore. And he needs to respect that. You don’t want to do anything with him anymore. He needs to respect that decision. You deserve way better. Of course, you do. Then why can’t he make up his mind to do that.

No.

It hurts.

No, he won’t just let you go.

Not this time. He’s going to go through whatever it takes. He’s going to make you stay.

…………………………..

Jungkook tries to stuff his face while ignoring the heated glare his best friend is throwing at him. Fails. No one can ignore J. Especially Jungkook. J raps his knuckles on the table. Starts speaking even though Jungkook doesn’t look at her. “Why weren’t you in the class today?” She interrogates, irritated. Jungkook refuses to look at her still.

“Because I didn’t feel like it. It’s boring.” Answers through a mouthful.

“Bullshit!” J yells. Makes Jungkook glance at her. But it’s Namjoon who calls her out. “Oh, c’mon. How old are you? You can’t handle being alone in a one class.” He peeks through his laptop. Rolls his eyes before looking pointedly at Jungkook. “I mean it’s not okay you’re skipping classes but still…” Gives J an odd look.

“Yes, I can’t handle it. I want my best friend for emotional support.” J crosses her arms across her chest. Pouts. Namjoon tries to argue again when J starts again. “Besides, he is fucking lying. You didn’t attend today because you didn’t want to leave Li alone.” Points out. Oh, how Jungkook hates his best friend’s observation skills. It’s almost annoying how much she knows about him. He tries to deny the accusation when J points a finger at him. “Don’t. Even. Try. To deny you little shit. I know you. You’re so fucking fixated on her. I mean like first you lied to all of us and then—”

“I didn’t lie to anyone.” Jungkook gives up on trying to eat.

“Well, yeah but you didn’t tell us anything either and you helped her?” J’s face turns into a furious expression. “You knew she was cheating, and you fucking helped her Jeon?”

“I did not fucking help her J. I just didn’t uh-do anything about it because it’s not my place.”

“Silence makes you an accomplice.” Namjoon chimes in again. It’s Jungkook’s time to glare at him. “What? Just saying.” He mumbles before going back to typing furiously on his keypad.

“Exactly!” J chimes. Jungkook groans. Rubs a hand over his face. “So, what do you suggest I should’ve done? Tie her up to fucking chair and keep her inside the apartment? Bribe her with candy? Take her to a church and teach her about the hell?” Throws his hands in the air. Luckily, it seems that it works. J sighs.

“Okay, let’s put that aside. But you still kept it a secret from us.” Nudges Namjoon for assistance, which she doesn’t receive.

“I couldn’t just do that. She is my friend.”

“Oh? Now you’re replacing me? You found a new friend?” J opens her mouth in disbelief. “Us” Namjoon butts in again. Without taking his eyes away from the screen.

“C’mon, Joonie, you’re not fucking helping here. And are you fucking crazy? What are you even talking about J? I said, ‘a friend’. Not damn best friend. It’s you who’s replacing me. You’re the one who don’t even reply to my texts anymore. You’re the one who’s following Jin around like a lost puppy.” It’s not that Jungkook is really mad. He just wants to take the winning hand. “It’s always, Jin that, Jin this.” He mimics her voice. J gasps.

“This is so damn childish. I don’t even know why I’m friend with kids.” Namjoon glanced between his two younger, very immature friends. J slams her palm on the table.

“That’s not the same thing. It’s entirely different. Jin is not a friend. I like him.”

“That’s exactly─ wait, what?” Jungkook’s eyes go instantly wide. “Come again.” Even Namjoon closes his laptop down. Fast. Paying full attention to the conversation for the first time.

“What?” J looks between them confusedly. “I like Jin. Why are you so surprised? Like isn’t it obvious?”

“Hold on, rewind please.” Namjoon turns to face J fully. “I mean yeah, it was obvious, but did you just admit it like that?” Questions.

“Are you dating?” Jungkook adds. Turning the restaurant into a temporary interrogation room in second.

“Does Jin know you like him?”

“Does he like you too?”

“Has he asked you out?”

“You know that we’d break his bones if he tried anything funny─”

“Okay, that’s it.” J bangs the table with both of her palms this time. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Glares at Jungkook and Namjoon as they both shrug.

“Nothing, just two concerned friends.” Namjoon answers on their behalf. Jungkook just nods, feeling grateful for the distraction of the topic. “I mean, J, our sassy ass friend, is admitting she likes a guy for the first time. Isn’t that concerning.” Namjoon further points out while Jungkook just keep nodding in agreement. J rolls her eyes.

“That’s not true. I’ve liked someone once before.” Argues. “Exactly! Look where it got you.” Namjoon exclaims. And Jungkook agrees. “He broke your heart even before you properly even started liking him. So, of course, we’re very concerned right here J,J. You don’t even know Jin properly and you admit you like him.” Namjoon levels J with a pointed look.

“Oh, I know him enough to like him. I mean what’s there not to like about Kim Seokjin.” J huffs. Starts putting her fingers down in count. “He’s so damn fucking handsome. He’s good. Kind. Funny. And of course, is rich. Is a good kisser. You might not want to know this, but he has an impressive dick─” Both Namjoon and Jungkook gags at the same time, but J pays them little to no attention. “─ and knows how to use it. Knows how to use his tongue and lips too─”

“That’s enough. I might have to bleach my ears now.” Namjoon grimaces. “And he’s too old for you.” Adds. J opens her mouth to retort when Jungkook fails to keep his mouth shut. “Yes, and he isn’t funny. He makes weird ass jokes and laughs like a squeaky windshield wiper.” He blurts out before he can process it. Is a very wrong move apparently. J’s eyes snap to him immediately. Burning with fire.

“He. Is. Not. Jeon. He’s funny and good. You two has nothing to worry about. If anything, who we should be worried about is you.” Shoots Jungkook a tight-lipped smile. “Because, just like me, Joen Jungkook, you’re always talking about Li. Noona this, Noona that. Just like me, you’re always following her around like a lost puppy. You even ditched your best friend today to be there for her. Then that’s very concerning unless you… like… her.” Ends her rambling with wide eyes. Dragging the last three words unnecessarily. As if it just makes sense to herself as well. “Holy shit, do you like Li, man?” Questions.

“What?” Jungkook chuckles nervously. Is ready to deny but something twists inside him. Why would he even deny it anymore? So, just closes his mouth back. Namjoon’s jaw drops to the floor.

“You too? What the fuck is happening?” Mutters.

“This is not good.” J mutters as well, glancing at Namjoon and sharing a knowing look. Makes Jungkook irritated. “What’s not good? What’s the problem here?” He scowls at his two friends.

“Dude, she has been having a secret relationship with a practically married man.” J’s expression turns into a genuinely concerned one. Jungkook doesn’t like it a little bit.

“No. That wasn’t technically a relationship. She was just having sex with a man, and she knew it was wrong and was feeling fucking guilty. And now she is about to make things right.” That’s what you told him and Jungkook couldn’t be happier. Not just because it’s the best for you. But because it leaves you all to him. Selfish, yes. But still, he’s buzzing with excitement.

“But what if it wasn’t just sex and she likes Jimin?” Namjoon shares J’s concerned look now. Jungkook doesn’t know how to answer that. What would he do if that’s the case. Hell, even the thought makes his heart clench in a painful way.

“And what if she breaks your heart?” J asks again. For that, he has an answer now. “I’m okay with that. She’s worth it.” So, Jungkook mumbles slowly when both of his friends sigh heavily. Jungkook doesn’t look at them. Feels weird. Painful. But he means his every word. And maybe he won’t care if you like Jimin either. He’d still fight and still like you until he’s tired and can’t do it anymore. He has no idea since when he started to feel this strongly toward you. Maybe it was from the first day he saw you. There’s a reason why he didn’t realize J- his best damn friend is falling for someone. A reason for that to slip from his sharp, observant eyes. That’s because he was so immersed in you. Even when he thought you were Liya. He was enamored by you. All he saw was you. Funny. But that’s how it is.

“This is absolutely not good.” Namjoon leans back in his chair. J mirrors his actions. “Not good at all.” Agrees with Namjoon.

“Oh, c’mon…. There’s nothing to be so dramatic about.” Jungkook shrugs them off. Gets to his feet. “This shit is cold now, thanks to you two idiots.” Gathers his food in his hands. Feels a bit heavy but guess it would pass away. Almost turns around to leave when J stops him.

“You know, I really don’t like her. What she did was such a bitchy thing. Especially as a woman, I want to slap her too. But, if she’s trying to do the right thing, and she’s feeling guilty… I hope I can find a way to forgive her.” Turns her head to look at Jungkook. “Besides, I’m team Kook always. I mean Jimin is a douchebag, and he deserves four slaps, but nobody delivered that. Such a shame. So, I’m gonna help my best friend to win the woman. If you need help killing Park Jimin, let me know buddy. You know I love you.” Nods very seriously that Jungkook snorts.

“Me too. I mean, not the killing part. Murder is illegal.” Namjoon sits back straight. Jungkook and J give him an annoyed look. “What? Just saying.”

“Oh, we didn’t know.” J bellows sarcastically as Jungkook finally steps away.

………………………………..

“Let’s go out please.” Jungkook whines as you ignore him completely. You don’t want to do anything except rot here. Sitting in Kim’s kitchen and sipping free beer and eating unhealthy amounts of chips. “C’mon, Noona.” Jungkook rests his head on your shoulder.

“I’m not in a mood Kookie. You guys should go.” You expectantly glance over at Jungkook’s friends. J and Namjoon. Yoona would be here any minute as well. You were surprised to see J and Namjoon treating you indifferently. You expected them to hate you. Maybe everyone’s favorite color in this world is morally gray. No one knows how to filter good from bad. Not that you’re complaining, though. You don’t want to lose any more friends in addition to Park Jimin. The very reason why you’re not in a mood to go out. Or to do anything else either.

It had hurt deeply. The moment you spat those words at him. The look in his eyes. It all had hurt. You had really wanted a heartfelt goodbye. Yes, you did. You wanted to clear the air and part ways on good terms. Because despite everything, you don’t hate Park Jimin. No. Absolutely not. In short, it’s quite the opposite. You still adore him. But when your eyes landed on Jimin and Liya together in the hallway something had spewed inside you. Something uncomfortable and painful. You hadn’t planned to walk away from Jimin that way. Now, though, it feels like the best option you had. Even though it pains you.

“What’s fun in that?” J chews on her bubblegum with extra force. Her look is pointed and sharp. Maybe they are not being indifferent. Maybe they are watching you closely until they find a moment to kill you.

“Right?” Jungkook raises his head immediately. “That’s no fun. We need you.”

“You need her. I’m completely fine.” Namjoon chimes in. J nudges him with her elbow. “Don’t be rude, Joonie.”

“I’m not being rude. I’m just─”

“Saying. Yes, we know.” Jungkook completes Namjoon’s sentence. Turns his attention back to you. “Please, Noona. I’ll buy you the biggest ice cream tub I can find. Or- or- loads of chocolates─”

“Jungkook…” You sigh, turning your head to peer at his doe eyes. “I’m really not in the mood to go out. Let’s just stay this way for tonight. I promise you I’ll go out with you every day if you let me stay in tonight.” Jungkook audibly and adorably whines. Says something else about how cruel this world is when all of your attention drifted away from him to the sound of restaurant door opening in distance.

“That must be Yoona.” Namjoon forms a dimpled smile. Visibly excited. You find it disgustingly sweet. Cute. Only if you could have that one day. An involuntary smile graces your lips at the sight. You all look expectantly at the swing door. Hoping Yoona will appear now. But then you hear voices before the door opens. Multiple voices.

“I swear to god Hobi…”

That’s definitely a male voice, and you heard the name Hobi for sure. You look at Jungkook confusedly when the door finally slams open.

“What’s up, motherfuckers!” Taehyung yells through the top of his lungs the moment he appears on the doorway. Very businessman- unlike. “We party hard tonight.” Adds a loud yoo-hoo at the end. Walks inside when Hoseok appears next.

“I swear, Joon, I have nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, yeah? You were the one who called me and said Namjoon is giving away free beer─” Yoongi straightly walks toward the fridge when Hoseok runs after him. Pressing his hand over Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi’s muffled voice comes behind Hoseok’s palms. “Nothing. He means, I called him and said nothing about Namjoon. Yeah.” Hoseok chuckled nervously. Namjoon gapes at the duo. Confused. Your attention alters from the chaos to J when she squeals in happiness when Jin walks in.  

“Oh, God, you should’ve told me. I would’ve dressed nicely then.” She whines as Yoona shoves both Jin and J away so she can enter the kitchen. You’re positive that Jin said something horribly cheesy but cute to J, just as Namjoon engulfs his woman in a warm hug too. See, adorable. Nice. Even, you forget your miserable life problems. Or you almost did. Only for a fractured second when another figure enters. Stands in the doorway. It takes your barely functioning brain a second to register who he is.

Park Jimin!

Wait, what?

Your eyes widen.

What the hell is he doing here?

Your stomach drops. A strange sensation washing over you. Your breath hitches as Jimin looks directly at you. Eyes burning into yours. Not even wavering. As if he came here just to do that. Find you. Stare into your eyes. And you find it’s impossible to tear your gaze away. Too stunned and surprised to do that.

Jimin can’t be here.

Your trance breaks when you feel a sudden movement next to you. You catch from the corner of your eyes as Jungkook jumps into his feet before you snap your head toward him. Startled this time.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jungkook’s voice comes out as a growl. You watch with wide eyes at the sharp line of his jaw and how tightly he’s clenching his teeth. His question is clearly directed at Jimin. Jimin doesn’t even try to answer, however. Or he just doesn’t get a chance to do that when Jungkook is already walking past you. Rounding the table to reach Jimin. Looks like he would straightly land a punch on the other guy’s face. You stumble to your feet in panic when Taehyung beats you to it. His arm wraps around Jungkook’s chest.

“Woah, woah, easy big boy. Don’t do that now. We are friends and I wanted to get a drink because the last time we left things ugly. Don’t start it again.” He pacify Jungkook in an uneasily calmed voice. Jungkook, on the other hand, looks feral. His eyes snap to Taehyung.

“Friends?” Questions while trying to shrug Taehyung’s arm off.

“Don’t do that please Jungkook. No need to fight here. We’re all cool. And yes, we are friends dude. You declared- not even confessed but declared- your love to me back at the cottage. Is this your way of breaking up with me?” Taehyung widens his eyes first then scrunches up his face in feigned pain. In a different context, you know, Jungkook would’ve played along with Taehyung. They’d even start to cry. This moment, though, Jungkook’s mood isn’t lifting an inch despite hundreds of jokes everyone would say to him. You almost become convinced that Jungkook won’t give up at all when Namjoon walks over to him.

“Hey, it’s fine Kook. You can’t avoid them forever. Hobi is my friend and now everyone is everyone’s friends, and you know…” Namjoon looks Jungkook in the eye. You guess you saw him gesturing at J with his eyes. Just for a moment. Then after a long minute, Jungkook sighs. Takes a step back and walks to you again. An arm sneaking around your shoulders protectively.

And you quite certainly witness the way Jimin’s jaw tightens. And that familiar fire breaks inside his eyes.

…………………………………

Night settles into a fairly normal one if not fun. All seated around the kitchen table. Conversation and beer flowing around. Paired with occasional laughter or shouting. Other than that, night feels dull. Despite the best effort Taehyung put out with the help of Hoseok. For the most part, part of the table is keeping quiet. That part includes you, Jungkook, and undoubtedly Jimin. He’s been staring at you for the past hour or so. You’ve been avoiding his eyes. You feel tense. Hard to breathe. Want nothing but to be alone. Your idiotic friends don’t allow you, however. You wish this night would end soon.

“Right Li? That’d be fun, right?” Taehyung asks you again. He’s been asking you so many questions. Is sitting next to Jimin. Almost makes you suspicious that he’s trying to make you talk with Jimin.

“Huh?” You quip distractedly. Having no idea what he’s talking about.

“A summer camp? Right Jimin? You want Li to come, right?” Asks from Jimin. Jimin’s eyes glint as he searches for something in your eyes. Oh, God it hurts be in his presence. Hurt to look at his eyes. Hurt to see that glint. You need to leave.

“Hell, yeah. You can come up with good ideas once in a while Tae, Tae. I’m impressed.” J perks up before you can say anything else. And you’re glad. Jungkook scoffs from next to you. Earning himself a glare from J as Taehyung’s face falls. As if he doesn’t want anyone else answering him other than you.

“Of course, I’m smart J,J. It’s not my fault it took you so long to realize that. Ask Jin Hyung, I’m the master mind behind everything.” Answers, nonetheless. Face proud and smug. Jin snorts so loud that it startles J slightly.

“Oh, yes. He is. Someone pass me another beer please.” Jin taps Namjoon’s arm. Everyone burst into laughter. Even the silent party makes soft sounds of chuckles. Taehyung gasps. Offended. No one pays him any attention.

“No, but seriously. That’s such a good idea. It’s going to be fun. I know a place we can go near this river. What do you guys say?” J practically vibrates in her chair. You wish you could share the enthusiasm.

“It’s a stupid idea. We can use our time for something better.” Jungkook states. He looks fine now. Not clenching his jaw so tight nor scowling deep like an owl. J shoots another glare at him. “Yeah, like what?” Raises her brow.

“I don’t know. Something that─”

“Oh, c’mon, you little shit, you love camping.” J throws a napkin at Jungkook. “What’s up with you? Killing the mood like a grumpy grandad.” Complaints. Jungkook tries to retort but a second voice booms across before he could.

“Or you can simply choose not to come. No one’s forcing you, you know Jungkook. You can stay and use your precious time to do anything you want.” Jimin’s eyes are boring holes in Jungkook’s skull. So, are Jungkook’s. You feel mixture of emotions engulf you. Irritation. Annoyance. Anger. Pain. Longing. And much more.

“What did you say?” Jungkook questions in a stony voice. Calmed but anyone can notice the underlying storm.

“Okay.” Taehyung palms his face. Takes a moment then pulls a bright but very forced smile. “What he’s saying is anyone can do anything. You know, this is a free country.” Shrugs. Yet, Jimin and Jungkook keeps glaring at each other. Oh, fuck. In addition to being painful, this shit is exhausting as well. You sigh deeply. Uncomfortable silence falls over the table. Until Yoongi breaks it. With something completely unrelated but the way everyone relaxes tell you how glad they are.

“We don’t have any more beer?” Yoongi shakes an empty beer can. “Are you sure?” Looks at Namjoon. Namjoon gives him a strange look. Almost like he’s ready to slap Yoongi.

“Yes. I am sure. You don’t get beer that you won’t pay for.”  Namjoon looks at everyone.

“So, you do have more. Where? Where are you hiding my precious alcohol?” Yoongi gets to his feet. Just to be yanked back into his chair by an extremely aggravated Namjoon. “Nope. No. You’re not making my parents’ business go bankrupt. No. More. Free. Beer.” He holds Yoongi onto his chair by his shoulders. Hoseok is the one who whines in complaint.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be a cheap─”

“Shut the fuck up, Hobi or I’ll shove a beer can down your throat.” Namjoon shouts as Hoseok instantly shuts his mouth.

“Your boyfriend is so violent Yoona. You need to do something about it.” Yoongi shrugs Namjoon’s hands off his shoulders. Yoona just rolls her eyes.

“Uh-huh.” Just nods while keeping her eye on her phone. She had said something about having to keep a close eye on some art piece earlier. You think it’s cool she works as an art broker. Namjoon says something else to Yoongi when the sudden sound of restaurant door chime erupts for a second time. Entire place falls into a curious silence.

“Is Seoyeon or Liya joining us?” Someone questions. And you catch a faint glimpse of Taehyung and Jimin shaking their heads at the same time. Then the silence abruptly gets broken by a loud gasp Namjoon lets out.

“Holy fuck, if that’s my mom and if she finds out you little pricks have been emptying her fridge, oh, she’s gonna have a heart attack and─”

“I’ll go talk to her. I mean I’ll distract her and tell her everything’s fine. I’ll ask her to go back.” You ramble before you can stop yourself. Get to your feet even faster. All you want is an opportunity to leave. Even for a moment. It’s too tiring for you. So, you are going to use this as a perfect chance to distract yourself. Leave this torturing place. Namjoon blinks at your face. Surprised. You offer him a tight-lipped smile as you walk around the table. Jungkook protests when you glare at him. You’re not a kid and all you want is a moment to be alone. Away from everyone. Away from Jimin. From his beautiful eyes.

“Don’t worry, she likes me.” You pat Namjoon’s shoulder as you exit the kitchen. Feeling relieved the moment the swing door closes behind you.

……………………………

It turns out it’s not Mrs. Kim. It’s just the newly hired boy who has left his headphones at the restaurant by accident. He has come back to take them. And you just allow him. You’re supposed to go back inside the kitchen the moment the boy vanishes again. You don’t, however. You had hoped it would really be Namjoon’s mom, and you’d get a chance to leave with her. It’s okay to be with her since she knows nothing about your miserable life or situation. Now, though, when you don’t have such a chance, you at least need a moment to catch your breath.

So, you sink into a chair at the empty restaurant. Sighing heavily. Not so faint chitter chatter and laughter of your friends drifting into the area. It’s not quiet. Yet is still better than the stuffed kitchen. It’s good to be alone. Liberating. You feel like you can breathe, finally. You place your arms on the table. Prop your head on your palms. Letting the cool air inside the building soothe your aching heart. It doesn't work. But you’ll keep trying. And you’ll stay here one more minute. Just one more.

“Lil?”

You nearly fall down from the chair at the unexpected voice. You haven’t even sensed a new presence, let alone the sound of footsteps or the door opening. You whip your head in the direction where the voice came. Just to find Jimin standing there. You suck in a sharp breath, stumbling into your feet.

No.

Hell, no!

You ran away earlier because you wanted to avoid him. This isn’t that. And maybe you should take this chance. To say the goodbye that you oh so badly wanted. To leave- whatever fucked up ship- you had on a good note. Just like you wanted. But after all, you don’t think it’d be easy. True it had hurt more since you had nearly yelled at Jimin before you left. But how can you be sure it’d hurt less if you do it in a civil manner. Besides what are you going to say. Everything you said before but in a calmer tone. No. That won’t hurt any less. It’d still hurt like a bitch and Jimin would still look at you with those eyes. Pain slashing across them. Like you’re tearing his world apart and you in the end undoubtedly will fold. Give up. You’ll fall under his spell once again. You don’t want that. When you said to him that you deserve better, you’ve meant it. You want to be free of this situation before it inevitably get more complicated. You’ll deal with the regret and pain later. What you should do is run away. Again. Immediately.

You round the table without uttering a single word. Almost walk past him when his voice reaches you. “Lil, please.” You think he has stopped you by touching you. But no, it’s just you have stopped by yourself. Against your better judgment. Maybe it’s the desperation in his voice. He sounds pleading. Helpless. That shatters your heart irreparably. “Please. Just listen to me. That’s all I-I w- want.” His voice cracks and the pain you feel intensifies. What’s the fucking wrong with you? Why does it fucking hurt so much?

“I don’t think you have anything else to say Jimin.” You bite down on the inside of your cheeks to prevent from breaking into a cry.

“You don’t know that.” Jimin stalks toward you. You don’t bother looking at him. Not because you don’t want to. But because it’d break you.

“Oh, for fucks sake Jimin. You need to end this game. We need to end this game.” You have no idea what Jimin is doing. Why is he seeking an opportunity so desperately to talk with you. What’s he even going to tell you. Apologize? For what? This is such a fucked-up situation. You really can’t blame him when you knew what you were getting yourself into. You can’t blame him for following Liya because that’s what he should do. Then why is he going to apologize? There’s no reason.

“I am not playing games.” Jimin sounds stern now. Voice rough. An invitation for you to just turn your head a bit to look at him. You refuse to give in.

“Well, then that’s good. If you’re going to apologize, there’s no need to Jimin. You’ve done nothing wrong. We both did our fair share of misdeeds and now it needs to end. So, let’s just end this here.” You manage to croak. Throat dry suddenly. A familiar lump forming there. You don’t want to cry. You need to leave.

Now.

You turn around just after you finish your sentence. Take two more steps. That’s all you manage before you feel pair of hands circling around you. Your back suddenly collides with a hard chest. You freeze. Too stunned to move. Eyes wide. For a minute before it hits you. Jimin is hugging you tightly. His arms are like protective armors around your body. And oh, how good he feels.

No. No. No

This is what you’ve been so afraid of. Alarm rings in your head as you panic. This is how you fucked up every time. How weak can you be? You try to step away from his embrace when he tightens his grip. Even places his chin on your shoulder. You could’ve been annoyed at the action if it wasn’t for his shaking voice caressing your ear. “Oh god, baby please. Please don’t do this. I know I’m fucking wrong. I know I fucked up again. You deserve the best. You don’t deserve to go through these shits with me. But just give me one chance. Please Lil.” His lips graze over your neck as he tilts his head slightly. A shiver runs through your spine. Your guard is starting to crumble.

God, you need to end this.

“A chance for what Jimin.” You sound exasperated. Tired. Resigned. “What are we even doing? What are you going to do? Why would you want me anyway?” You fail to hold your tears. They roll down your cheeks gracefully. Soothing the sting in your eyes. It’s Jimin who freezes this time. Well, you asked valid questions.

“I-uh-I─”

“See, you don’t even have answers. What are you going to tell me? Are you going to ask me to pretend everything’s fine again? I’m done doing that shit Jimin. It isn’t worth all the risk and the shit we’re going through. Surely, you don’t want me. You can have any woman you want. You can have Liya if you want. You clearly don’t have a reason for wanting me. You don’t want me.” Tangled sobs erupt through your throat as you completely give up trying to free yourself.

“But I do want you.” Jimin mumbles. Almost like a whisper that you nearly don’t catch it. But you do. Your breath catches and heart skips a beat. What does he mean? “I want you so badly. And no, not just to fuck. I just want you.”

“But why?”

“Because you make me feel alive.” This time his voice is perfectly audible. Raised and confident. “I don’t know what I’m feeling Lil. All I know is that I don’t want to lose you. Just don’t do that. Don’t say we need to end things. Sue me for being the biggest asshole in every universe─” Jimin exhales a shaky breath. You can feel him trembling. Oh, why? Why? Why? Why’s he so affected? Why are you so affected? “─but baby please.” He places a gentle kiss on your neck. Soft and sensual. You inhale air shakily. “It’s hard without you. I-I don’t know w-why but I feel so trapped. Gosh I didn’t even know how much I was suffering until you came. You’re just like a quiet magic, and I don’t want to lose that magic.”’

Holy fuck!

What’s happening?

He feels that way too?

He feels trapped and hurt. He feels like you’re his air. Isn’t that exactly how you feel as well. What’s going on? What’s wrong with you two? Well, there were always something wrong with you both and just because you accepted that hasn’t brought you somewhere nice. Look at you. All miserable and crying. You shouldn’t give in. Is hard not to do so when Jimin’s breath is hitting your neck. Hard to do so when he lands another kiss. Then another and another. Keeps his lips on your pulse point. Making your knees weak. You still refuse to give in, however.

“Then what the fuck are we going to do? You keep want to cheat with me?” You force yourself to open your mouth. “You keep want to be the assholes? And for what? What’s going to happen when my time expires? What’s going to happen when I’m no longer here, hm? Then what Jimin?” You bite on your lower lip so hard to control your sobs. If you cry hard your friends would definitely hear you and you don’t want them to find you in this position.

“I told you. I promised you I’m going to turn the world upside down if you still decide to stay after this year. I’m going to do that Lil. I mean it.”

A strained laugh leaves past your dry lips. “As if you would let me go.” A similar sound leaves Jimin’s mouth as well.

“Yeah. I’d never let you go. I plan on making you want to stay.”

“I already want- at least I wanted to stay.”

“Don’t change your mind then. I promise we- I will find a way.”

“And keep going? Keep being your dirty little secret?”

Jimin sighs heavily. “No. I have a plan.” Mumbles. You say nothing. Are bit intrigued. “I just need time. Look, I know we’re complicated and all, but I’ll make sure you get what you deserve. I just need time.” Jimin squeezes you in his hold.

“Time to do what Jimin?” You curiously ask, trying to take a look at his face. He doesn’t allow you to turn your head. Presses his lips further into your sensitive skin.

“To sort everything out.”

To sort everything out?

That doesn’t make sense to you. “What do you mean sort everything out? A-are you planning on br-breaking up with….” You can’t bring yourself to complete the question. Words taste bitter on your tongue. Feels so wrong. A beat of silence passes.

“Yes.” Jimin finally breaks that silence. His answer is clear, but you can hear the guilt in his voice. “And that’s not because of you. No. It’s because that relationship was already over long before you. It isn’t working. I was just reluctant to see it because I was fucking worried of this perfect image. Can’t do it anymore, I need to end that stress. Like you’ve told Taehyung, if we’re not in love we shouldn’t just waste each other’s time. That’s not fair. On me or on her.”  

Oh, you didn’t think Taehyung and Jimin might be sharing that kind of information as well. It seems like they do. And what Jimin says makes sense. Perfectly. You’re really glad that you are not the reason either. It would suck so bad. Selfish, yes. But is good, nonetheless. He, however, hasn’t answered everything yet. You have questions. “Then why do you need time? Why dragging it up?” You weakly voice out your concerns. Feel how he tenses. Weird.

“Uh- it’s you know, not that easy. It’s comp─”

“Complicated. Yes, you’ve said so once and I accepted it without questioning.” A deep sigh leaves Jimin. “I know. I just need time Lil. Can you trust me? Just give me some time.” He takes a second. “Please.” Adds.

Can you just do that. Of course, you can. You believe he has good reasons. Still, though, something is gnawing at your insides. You might not know what’s his so-called complicated reasons are but the fact that he can’t trust you to tell them makes you annoyed. Like he said himself, you deserve better. If you are to put yourself in this mess back again. Until Jimin would sort things out and God knows how long that’d be, you’ll be always left in the dark. You know you’re the secret, but you deserve a little better if not the best. You bring your palms to wipe down your tears.

“Well, then we should wait until you do so Jimin.”

“What?” Jimin pulls away from you fast. Turns you around even faster. “What do you mean?” Search for answers in your eyes.

“We should just go like this until you figure things out.”

“No. Lil. You- I don’t even know how long it’d take, and I don’t think I can go that lon─”

“Then at least you should explain to me the reasons. Why does it take so much time. I need to know why I’m putting myself in such a low position. I want to know if it’s a good reason. If you don’t want to, then I’ll wait till it’s over.” You manage to say it out without wavering your voice. Stern and precise. Jimin keeps staring at your face. It’s only now you notice the redness in his eyes. Glistening. Dark circles under them. Was he crying too? Probably not. Not like you did anyway. But the signs are there.

Why?

You expect Jimin to argue. Try to persuade you. But he surprises you. “Fine. You need an explanation. I’ll give it to you. It’s nothing really, I just- I don’t know, guess I’m embarrassed.” Your heart softens immediately. You open your mouth to say that he doesn’t have to be like that when he doesn’t let you. “Not now though, I guess Jungkook would come searching for you any minute now. Taehyung had to physically restrain him from following me.” A soft laugh escapes you at the mental image that creates in your head. “So, let’s talk baby, hm?” Jimin suggests. A small smile creeping on his godly face. You take a minute. Long one. You shouldn’t do this. Not again. But this time it’s different, right? It is. You hope it is. All you do is nod your head once. That small smile on Jimin’s face cracks into a huge grin. You can’t help but reciprocate it.

“Thank you.” He mumbles. Cups your face. You wait for his lips to press against yours. It doesn’t come. Instead, he presses his lips against your forehead. A tingle runs through your entire body. Tummy fluttering. “Thank you.” Mumbles again.

And you feel all those pains vanish away.

Oh, no this is not good. No matter how hard you try, you always end up back in Jimin’s web. It hasn’t even been two days. But here you are. Back in his arms. You’re failing to keep your control. You’re losing it. This is not good at all.

And your greed, little thing, is about to consume you whole.

You know this path is directed toward your destruction. You’re putting away all the morals. You’re willing to take this risk. Why?

You thought you finally made a decision. To stay away. You thought you’d never turn around. No matter how hard it hurts. How fascinating Jimin is to be able to turn it around. Just few words and you’re swooning. How?

What’s happening to you?

You tilt your head upward to look him in the eyes. Those brown orbs. Still glistening. Speaking thousands of words he isn’t saying with his mouth. Mesmerizing. And you find answers to your questions. It’s like lightning struck right on your head. You think you understand what’s happening. Now and then. Back at the club when everything went down. Yoongi was right. Of course, he was. You were acting stupidly that day. Were mad like a hornet. All because you were jealous. Because it hurt you to see him with Liya. You were seeing red from jealousy. And you were feeling the same this morning as well. When you found Liya and Jimin together. Again. Ridiculous. But that’s what happened. And there’s only one reason that would justify your actions.

Oh, no.

You’re falling for Park Jimin.

That’s what is happening to you. You’ve been falling for Park Jimin ever since the day you woke up next to him. And ever since then, you’ve let yourself keep falling. Now you’re near the very bottom. There’d be no way up. But what can you do, though. It’s already started. You’re falling for him. For Park Jimin.

Falling deep and down.  

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a/n- Leave a note if you enjoyed this one!

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Taglist - @chimmy-licious @graydolan12 @smoljimjim @likemeforme @sugas-baby-girl @canarystwin @jkayy @floboo6 @sunshinenmidnight @fiddlebiddls @unlikelycheesecakeenthusiast @mar-lo-pap @angelicsmilesworld @jimincrystal @datspjm @shakes0peare @butterymin @angellekookie @futuristicenemychaos @minijagiya @anumita-2007 @joulekanitz @llallaaa

[purplelupins]

Salvador

|Better Call Saul|

Part I Part II

Word count: 17k

Lalo Salamanca x Fem!reader

Summery: Reader just wanted a fresh start, but when she starts working in a care home, it seemed that she bit off more than she could chew when she meets a member of her clients family.

Warnings: (this story has smut but not in part 1), slow burn, age gap, mentions of past domestic violence/toxic relationship, manipulation, intimidation, pet names (niña, niñita, princesita, Cariño, Ratoncito) Spanish (have a translator ready),Lalo kinda comes with his own warnings,

Notes: this is dedicated to my dear friend @mandowifey who was a massive part of the creation of this…couldn’t have done it without you🤍

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Even with a world on fire, we often dare to place our faith in the hands of someone who we hope we are not naive to trust. It is perplexing just what desire and blind devotion will drive a person to do. Even in our wildest dreams we cannot imagine what our actions will bring us, or who.

It is a daring game of chicken, so to speak. Seeing who will break first- you or life. Who will bend. Who will be kinder. Who will show love.

Love in and of itself is a treacherous thing. It’s beauty when it is alive and blazing, and the sorrow it brings when it whithers and putrefies.

And you knew it all.

All too well.

There was something comforting in standing under the baking sun of the southern state of New Mexico. With just a suitcase that held a toothbrush, bandages, $3026.50 and a change of clothes, you felt like a little waif from a book published centuries ago. Malnourished, exhausted, nerves shot half way to hell, and bruises still healing. You hoped there was a childish charm to how you looked, but you knew that hope was silly; you resembled more of a drug addict than a stubborn child that wouldn’t come home for supper.

“-miss?”

The first half of whatever had just been asked of you was lost on you; after you had nearly frozen to the spot after exiting the airport, numerous strangers had stopped to ask if you were alright. You forced your eyes to refocus, and found that you were being spoken to by an older woman who looked half irritated and half perturbed. Despondency had that effect on people.

“…I’m- I’m sorry…what?” You managed. Perhaps the Albuquerque sun had begun to bake your brain.

The woman sighed. She was decidedly more irritated. “Christ, I just asked if you were taking this cab!” She said, nodding to the yellow vehicle that was just several feet from you.

You stared at her, then offered her a small smile and shook your head. “It’s all yours.”

There was an uncomfortable lightness to your voice as you fought to stay connected to your body and not float away to Mars. Even you knew it. You didn’t sound like you. Hell you didn’t even look like you.

The woman said something about you taking long enough to answer something simple, but if you were honest you were proud of yourself for even being able to answer her. Just 10 hours ago you had been unable to even form a sentence as your body was plagued with panic; frantically packing what you needed in the span of 5 and a half minutes while your boyfriend - now ex- had been on the phone in the other room. You could still hear the sound of him yelling your name as you jumped in your car and peeled down the street before he could hurt you anymore.

Your heart still hurt from how hard it had been beating.

The taxi pulled away and you watched it go. A warm breeze slipped up your legs, and once it brushed your finger tips, you felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped from a hundred feet above you with you as it’s sole target.

Your eyes stung.

Your fists clenched.

But you had no more tears. Not for him anyway.

You might morn the death of who you used to be…the bright young girl who had a sparkle in her eyes and had yet to see the devil. Your heart broke when you thought of her.

But there was no blood…no body…nothing left to even hint that she was there to begin with. And there was nothing you could do about it.

•Three months later•

“Mrs. Creaner, I know the water tastes funny but I told you- you can’t keep asking your granddaughter to smuggle in alcohol now hand it over.”

“This is supposed to be a free country…” she grumbled as she rooted around over her thigh in her wheel chair, and produced the flask.

You suppressed a smirk at her antics, and held out your hand.

“Ma’am your granddaughter is 7 years old.” You sighed, handing her a styrofoam cup as she begrudgingly handed you the little metal flask.

“Smarter than a lot of you in here too.” She folded her arms and slumped in her wheelchair, “If you’re going to take that from me at least do your job and take me to bingo.”

You nodded and took the handles of the chair and began to push.

The job opening at Casa Tranquila had been a godsend to you all those months ago. Living out of a cheap motel was not ideal, and working in a comfortable retirement care facility on the outskirts of Albuquerque was just what your nerves needed. It certainly came with its difficulties, namely mediating your emotions and avoiding getting your ass pinched, but it paid your bills and gave you a great sense of purpose. In some way it made you feel as if you actually had a family that cared about whether you woke up in the morning.

It was no dream job, but it was what you needed. It kept you occupied and kept the heavy sense of loneliness at bay.

“- we do have to move you. Hector come on now, it’s just like everyday.” Came the voice of one of the senior nurses, Ellie.

You glanced over your shoulder and watched as she wheeled a very displeased elder man in the same direction as you were walking Mrs. Creaner. With careful steps so as to not trip, you turned and cast the man a greeting glance.

“Good afternoon Hector.” You said simply but cheerfully, then nodded to your co-worker in acknowledgement.

The man’s permenant frown twitched.

Hector Salamanca was a fairly new addition to the home, having been emitted just two months after you had started. And if you were honest, he was disliked; staff and patients found him difficult to deal with- which you found unfair. It wasn’t his fault that he could only communicate via the tapping of a single finger, blinking and limited facial expressions. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t coherent too, you knew very well that whoever Hector was before his stroke, he was still very much present behind those greying brown eyes. Certainly he was a grumpy old man, but if you had been in his position you were certain you wouldn’t exactly be a peach.

If anyone took a moment to watch most of the residences, they’d see just how alive most of them were despite their aging bodies; Hector was no different. He had fellow patients who he disliked; enjoyed knocking various objects over to make nurses have to bend over; he had his specific things he liked and didn’t like.

He was still every bit a red blooded man.

And while you weren’t one to play favourites, he was probably the closest thing to it.

You liked that he didn’t hide himself away. He was brash and blunt in his ways- non-verbal or not. Then there was a loneliness in his life that reflected your own; kindred spirits in a way. It pained you to see it at an old age like his. He had very few visitors, aside from when he had initially been dropped off by two men who must have been identical twins. You knew he couldn’t be all bad, and knew that a great deal of his anger must have come from his lack of contact to what family he had, and his inability to communicate. He was only human.

Just as you had expected, Hector made no move to acknowledge that he had heard your greeting. As per residence policy, each client was called by their first name, but since the first day you met that man, you had noted that he seemed more displeased by the informality. He looked furious when he had been wheeled around that first day and introduced as Hector; corners of his mouth pulled tight and down to his chin, eyes wild, nose twitching. Irate.

Your suspicions were only reinforced when you “accidentally” called him Señor Salamanca; he had actually looked you in the eye. A rare occurrence.

With that level of pride, you pondered that he must have been respected or feared before being placed under your care…or simply had a massive ego. And if he wasn’t around for that much longer and was barely existing, you saw little issue with making him feel like his old self by addressing him more formally.

Hector didn’t like a lot of people. Didn’t tolerate them. But he liked you.

Plus you gave him the best jello flavours.

Once the senior nurse placed him in the spot she deemed appropriate, you watched her walk away before dipping your head down to his level, like you always did.

“Buenos días, Sr. Salamanca.” You said, and smiled when you saw his head twitch ever so slightly in your direction. And that smile only grew when you saw him tap his finger. You hoped it was his way of returning the greeting, either that or he wanted to tell you to shove said greeting where the sun don’t shine.

You hoped he was saying hello. You hadn’t accomplished a great deal in your short life, and you liked to think that making the grouch at work a little happy could be added to your list.

Your days looked very much the same. A nightmare would wake you up at 5am almost every morning, as much as you hated to admit it. You hated how small you felt. Visions of being back with him, under his thumb and living to please him with no favour returned…no love to feel. His voice in your head…his manipulations. You often awoke with your stomach in knots.

You could never get back to sleep after.

By the time the alarm you set sounded at 6am, you would be ready to leave your small apartment. Then it was a half hour drive to work. At Casa Tranquila, you would check in, bring your assigned patients their morning medication and start their routine. The same faces came and went, it was almost a blur some days. But you loved the blur. You needed it. Your mind had only started to heal once your days became blurs that bled into each other, and you were uncertain of what might happen if you changed that.

You pulled your keys from the ignition, and took a long breath deep into your chest. You felt an ache in your chest with how full your lungs were, and only released when you began to feel lightheaded.

Another day.

Having finished with the lunch duties, you took a moment to stretch your back in the nurse’s station before squaring your shoulders like you were tougher than you were. You began your rounds, checking on each elder during visiting hours, and went to enter the main seating area when you stopped short of the simple room.

Your feet ceased to move.

Your eyes went wide.

For the first time since you had met Hector Salamanca, there was someone sitting with him that wasn’t paid to.

A man, to be specific.

He was knelt down in front of Hector with his back to you, and spoke with an almost child-like glee to him. A ringing formed in your ears, and it took you a long minute to finally realize the ringing was not just in your ears at all; the crisp sound of a service bell rang out in the room, and as you stared, you came to find that the sound was coming from…Hector.

Indeed there was a small bell catching the sunlight on the arm of his chair right where his mobile finger usually sat.

You felt happiness fill you as the initial shock subsided. It was a mutual loneliness that had made you take interest in Hector to begin with, and you foolishly hoped that perhaps someone would cure your solitude like this man cured his.

You were staring.

Evidently too long as well, as another harsh ring snapped you out of whatever trance you had been in. Now, however, you could see Hector’s harsh gaze on you- his mouth twitching as he rung the bell again. Clearly having Hector not fully pay attention to him made the man pause whatever he had been discussing. He murmured something to the elder man, and Hector rang his bell again.

You told yourself to just keep walking. But you couldn’t.

The man sat before your patient seemed to catch on, and followed his gaze, which lead to him turning his head, and finally seeing you.

It was his eyes that struck you first.

They glittered like warm honey.

The man looked between you and Hector and murmured something to him, which was met with the usual verbal silence, then he muttered something else and it resulted in a ring. You hoped to God that meant something positive because you had just noticed yet another man standing who you had never seen before standing just a few feet behind the crouched man. He looked very much like some kind of body guard, rather than a friend or family; your heartbeat picked up and you began to wonder just who Hector was. Certainly you had thought he must have been the head of a family and perhaps a business owner, but there was something so militant about the way this man standing there was guarding them.

It couldn’t have been longer than 7 seconds since you had become rooted to the spot, but it certainly felt worlds longer. Once you realized you had frozen, you blinked and forced a polite smile onto your face as you continued your path.

“Buenos días, Sr. Salamanca.” You said as casually as you could, hoping your nerves didn’t seep through. You hoped you would be able to make it past the men without incident, and you thought you had…but then another ring struck your nerves. There was a pause followed by murmuring, which you didn’t understand but went something along the lines of:

“¿Me estás diciendo que te las arreglaste para que esta linda niña cuidara al tío? Creo que pronto tendré que retirarme y unirme a vosotros, ¿sí?” then another few rings followed by a laugh.

His laugh- the man with the glittering eyes.

You had no idea what he had said, but something about the way he said it made a warmth creep up the back of your neck, and spread to your cheeks at the sound-

Snap

You stopped.

Snap

You turned far more jerkily than you wanted, and to your horror, the man crouching was now staring back at you intently with that smile still on his face, albeit more curt. He held his hand out and beckoned you over with two fingers. You swallowed, but fought to keep your face pleasant. Visitors didn’t usually interact with staff unless they needed something, or it was time for them to go…and you hoped this was one of the two.

You came to stand a few feet from the men, wanting to remain respectful, “Hola gentlemen, it’s nice to see Sr. Salamanca having some visitors.” The professional grin on your face didn’t reach your eyes. You were too nervous for that.

“My tio was just talking about you.” He told you brightly, “Says you’ve been looking after him, hm?” The kneeling man seemed to have no issue with dominating a conversation; you chanced a glance at the bald man standing, but he barely reacted. Goosebumps sprang up on your arms when you looked back at Hector’s nephew; unfamiliar with the direct attention.

“Well I…it’s what I’m here for, Señor.” You managed. There was something about this man that made it difficult to look away. The way his dark hair was combed neatly, and how the stripe of grey on the crown of his head swept into a curl that barely stayed back; how his brown eyes looked black in the shadows, and how the deep lines on his face made his expressions so defined; how his smile stretched so charmingly; how when he stared at you it was like only the two of you existed.

He scared you.

And he could tell.

He wagged his finger at you, “Ahh a humble girl, eh? If my tio likes you that’s good enough for me, niña…but you know- this is perfect!” He smiled even wider as he spoke almost animatedly, but you noted how the smile failed to reach his eyes now. “‘Cause now I’ll know just who to come to if my tio needs anything.” The man’s smile fell to rest as he blinked up at you, speaking so casually, yet you couldn’t help but note the menacing undertone of his words. Your brain was working overtime as you tried to piece things together; all you could come up with was that you didn’t want to upset anyone or say the wrong thing. You were certain these men were not your ordinary visitors, and you didn’t want to find out anything beyond that.

“Consider me accountable, Señor.” You heard yourself say.

A moment passed, and you so desperately wanted to break the stare he gave you, but then it as if nothing had happened when his stellar grin returned. He barked out a laugh at you.

“Esta niña, lo juro...” he said to the man standing, then turned back to you, “Eduardo Salamanca, but you can call me Lalo.” He beamed. His smile was infectious and you found the corners of your mouth tugging up a little, despite your nerves.

Like a wolf lulling a lamb into false security.

There was something expectant in his gaze as he told you his name, and you assumed it was him waiting to know yours. Tit for tat. The theatrical, charming nature of him coupled with whatever made his smile resemble a predator’s made your stomach flip. He was both sides of a coin simultaneously, and you struggled to process it.

“Y/n…y/n l/n.” You replied to him. Lalo repeated your name a few times, rolling it around in his mouth. Your eyes felt glazed over as you listened to him; like he was hypnotizing you. You hadn’t even noticed how you were wringing your hands, nor how you hadn’t torn your gaze from his.

Lalo patted his uncle’s arm after a moment, “You said no one’s visited my Tio?” His face turned inquisitive and concerned, though almost cartoonish. Like there was a joke you were missing.

You shook your head as you snapped back to your body. Somehow your anxiety was starting to fade, and you chalked it up to having a name to put to his face- it made him feel more human to you, “No. I- I almost started to wonder if- if he had family, Señor Lalo.”

He nodded, which caused the curl of grey in his hair to finally fall over his forehead. Your eyes instantly latched onto it.

He was handsome.

Then faster than lightning, Lalo turned and shot a look to the man standing, then nodded his head understandingly. Almost as if to check with the man to see if what you said was true.

“That will change…you know, you should see us Salamancas- we breed like rats.” He said proudly, and chuckled.

He had a nice voice. Rough and low with an easiness to it.

You felt your cheeks warm at his statement, then nodded and remembered to blink. “Well…I’m happy to hear that- that people will come t-to see him that is.” You murmured, stumbling to correct yourself.

You watched his smile pull into a boyish smirk and you looked down to wipe away a nonexistent fluff from your uniform.

“I promise, you’ll have to smoke me and Nacho outta here. I’m looking after the family business so you’ll see lots of us.” He laughed, and nodded to the man behind him.

You looked at the other man, and smiled a little as if to aknowledge his presence. The stare he gave back to you was…bordering on sympathetic. Not what you expected.

You suddenly felt as if you were bordering on something you shouldn’t, despite your softness for the elder Salamanca.

You decided to trust your intuition.

“Well…I don’t want to intrude on your visit anymore. I’ll leave you gentlemen to it…Sr.Salamanca’s nurse should be by to take him in a little while.” You gave both men a small smile and nodded to Hector, who frowned deeper at the mention of his caregiver.

Lalo seemed to notice the change, and his smile dropped a little in curiosity. You sighed, and came a little closer to Lalo so no one would hear, “Sr.Salamanca doesn’t like her…and between you and me I think he’ll be even more Uh…vocal about it with this beautiful bell.”

Lalo’s eyes went comically wide, but the smile tugging under his moustache betrayed him. He was ecstatic. “Really? Will that be an issue?”

You noticed he didn’t clarify if he was talking about the bell or the nurse.

His charisma began to draw you back in, and you shook your head, “There won’t be an issue.”

He nodded and clapped his thigh, “Excellent!”

His reaction seemed to put you at ease, not that it should have. This man was playful in a very odd way and you didn’t know if feeling comfortable around him was a good thing. But you weren’t sure how long you would keep up with his banter, so you excused yourself.

“Right, well…enjoy the rest of your visit.” You smiled slightly again at both men, and backed away before turning and walking quickly out of the foyer. Your hands were shaking- you weren’t used to such direct conversation- with a stranger at that.

You heard Lalo say say “Adios!” to you, and you cast a quick smile back, but you didn’t stop. Panic began to rise in you as you recalled the last time someone had shown you such an amount of charm…the bastard had eaten you up and you had had to crawl out of his stomach. And there you were: hiding.

As soon as you were down the hall and out of view, you gasped and braced against the wall; your heart was working over time.

“You alright sweetie?” One of the male nurses stopped next to as you as he passed. A nice older man named Jim.

You sucked in a breath and forced a smile, “Y-yeah, thank you…just one of those days.” You reassured him. The man pursed his mouth, but didn’t press anymore as he nodded sympathetically. It was was well known that you were a private person, and you appreciated when someone respected that.

As your chest slowly unclenched, you felt your head grow light. Your poor nerves were so shot that you truly were unsure as to whether that man was just charming and witty, or if he was just trying to get in your head. You couldn’t tell the difference between a genuine interaction and a narcissistic one anymore.

You rolled his name over in your head, and found that you enjoyed how it sounded.

Lalo…

You found yourself mentally throttling your brain over how it began to assume the worst. That you had chosen to lightly insert yourself into an old man’s life when you shouldn’t have; that you were being selfish. Stupid. Dependant. All of the above. You felt the weight of your guilt strain on your shoulders, and you let it.

You were being selfish and childish. You didn’t have a family, and you needed to stop pretending you did just because an old man didn’t hate you.

A little over a week passed since you met Hector’s eccentric nephew, and you had to admit that he had entered your mind a few times despite you actively not trying to think of that family. You felt a pang of hurt in your chest every time you did. You had no business envying them- it wasn’t your place.

That Wednesday was a very pleasant day; there was a light breeze that cooled the air and dried the sweat that gathered on your brow. You rounded the corner of the main living area that fed out into the patio, and as you stepped out, the fresh air made you inhale deeply. As you looked up and down the outside area, you felt yourself pause. He was back. You were met with the amusing sight of Lalo Salamanca retrieve a flask, pour out the jello vitamin mix that sat in front of Hector, and pour a hefty serving of liquor inside the cup. You almost laughed. These elderly people loved their alcohol.

For a couple seconds, you allowed yourself to take in Lalo’s appearance. You knew he was handsome since you first saw him, but you felt as if you could appreciate just how well he cared for himself now. A rich purple polo that pulled tight around his biceps…neat hair and moustache, a polished gold necklace just peaking out against his chest-

Stop it.

You shook yourself and forced your mind to push any thoughts of him out. Your trust in your ability to judge a character was under great scrutiny every since…since you got away.

This man was charming, and that was it.

It was company policy for no alcohol to be on the premises, but instead of making Hector’s day even more miserable, you let him have a few sips as you stayed just out of their view until Lalo hid the flask. Once you stepped out, you let your professional smile settle onto your tired face.

“Good afternoon Señor Salamanca, Señor Lalo.” You greeted them; your nerves were already starting to amp up in his proximity, but you managed to speak with a little less discomfort than last time.

As if to return the greeting, you heard Hector’s bell sound just as the younger of the two turned to you and smiled, “Ahh the humble señorita.” Lalo leaned an arm over the back of his chair- opening his stance. His voice was a pleasant rumble in the back of his throat. You noted that he appeared to be far more at ease this visit. First visits were often the hardest for family- seeing their loved ones in a nursing-home could be a difficult pill to swallow.

Lalo continued, “You got a pretty sweet deal here.” He look at around appraisingly as he took in the patio. Admittedly it was one of the more favoured sections of the home and recently renovated. But he was right, it wasn’t that bad of a facility.

“I can’t complain too much.” You agreed, and folded your hands in front of yourself as you stood between the men. Lalo’s personality was far louder than what you were used to, and the part of you that craved human connection urned to keep up with him; once upon a time you might have had the ability…but not anymore. You admired how quick and bright-burning he was- like a firecracker.

Lalo smiled. “Polite.”

Your brow furrowed, “Sorry?”

He shook his head- smile growing- and looked at Hector then back to you, “Hey there’s nothing wrong with it- you’re humble too…you some kinda saint? You gotta be to work in a place like this- I’d lose my mind.” He laughed and leaned more into his chair.

His statement made you pause for a moment. It wasn’t that far off from the truth- the need for patience that is.

“Taking care of someone can mean accepting them like a part of your family…there’s a real selflessness that you have to find in you, Señor Lalo. For myself it’s a bit easier than most…I-I don’t exactly have much of a family, so Hector fills a pretty big void at the moment.” You said simply. It was the honest truth. You shared your patient’s happy moments and their worst moments; they trusted you with their well-being, so it was only fair that you cared for them blindly- job or not.

It was no small admission- to say that you were isolated- but Lalo had a way about him that loosened your tongue.

He stared up at you for a moment, then huffed out a laugh, “Be careful with a Salamanca, we bite.” He pointed at you playfully, though you gathered that while he was indeed teasing, there was a more serious connotation to his words.

Lalo’s dark eyes glittered with mirth as he regarded you.

“Even you, Señor Lalo?” You tilted your head to the side slightly, and watched him shyly.

The older man’s smile formed into an amused smirk, “Klah- me? Never.” He scoffed, but his bright eyes betrayed him.

This man was trouble.

Your lips tugged upwards as you nodded to both men; his jest was not lost on you. It was as if he wished you would ask him how hard his bite was, but you knew that would likely be a poor choice on your part. “Prey can bite too, Señor,” you quipped.

Evidently your response surprised the man as his thick brows rose up. You felt regret pull at you for engaging in his game, but you didn’t want to immediately back down. Shock was a nice expression to see on a man so sure of himself. You nodded to both men, and took a step back, “Enjoy your visit, Señors.”

You continued your route, and made your way onto your next check-up; the feeling of eyes burning into the back of your skull followed you as you went, and a few eager dings from Hector’s bell rang in your ears.

When you finished with one of your oldest patients, Thomas Lee - who did not get along with Hector at all- you tentatively looked back at the far table; it was empty now. Even Hector was gone. You sighed and pursed your mouth, knowing you were playing with fire with this man. A part of you hoped that he would stop coming, or visit on your couple days off.

Stupid.

You were being stupid, and that was that.

The day ended like every single one before that. With you and your coworkers exhaused, hungry, covered in sticky grime, and back sore. You stood in front of your locker, taking a drink from your bottle when another attendant you knew walked to hers. Samantha…yes, her name was Samantha.

“Hey.” You greeted her, smiling sympathetically at eachother.

“Going home too?” She asked as he took her hair down from its curly bun.

You nodded and retrieved your bag, hoping you had something in your fridge to eat. “Sure am…”

She unlocked her locker and smiled a little, “Saw you talking to that visitor of Hector’s today…he’s not bad on the eyes hey?” She smiled.

You felt your cheeks flush, “Oh, yeah…hes nice.” You replied, not wanting to get into it…but then a thought crossed your mind. “Sam?” You asked her.

She turned to you and nodded. “Mhm?”

“Do…do you know anything about Hector? Ab-about his family?” You murmured, looking up at her.

Her brows hopped up and she shuffled a little closer to you, “Mr. Salamanca?” She confirmed.

You nodded after a moment, not fully certain you were ready, but your curiosity was too strong.

Sam looked around briefly, “Well…I mean you know we’re not supposed to really ask questions or anything…” she began, “…but…I’ve heard a few things.” Sam nodded her head and you noticed her playfulness lessened.

You turned to her fully now and gave her your full attention…she seemed to understand that you were curious. That, and she had been trying to talk to you properly for months and was likely over the moon that you weren’t being skittish.

“I- I’d like to know…” you said a little more gently than you usually did.

She sighed, and nodded. “Apparently…those guys that dropped Hector off were really strange…didn’t speak, and just gave Ronny- the reception guy, remember he quit last month? Yeah him, anyways…they gave him this folder with all of Hector’s information and there was no spot open for the old fart…but after a few phone calls, there was suddenly a spot open. It was so weird, but- I don’t know…” she stopped her speculation but you wanted to hear more.

“Please- it- it’s okay, this is between us.” You reassured her, and you meant it. You had expected her to just brush you off or say no, but now it was as if the name Salamanca was a curiosity to you all.

A beat passed before Sam finished with her locker and shut it. “It just…I don’t speak much Spanish but they always speak so secretively…just…I don’t know they might just be talking about family gossip but sometimes it’s fun to imagine they’re actually some…I don’t know a mafia or cartel family or something.”

As the words left her mouth, you felt the blood drain from your face. Everything that struck you as strange flashed before your eyes and it began to make sense-

“But honestly they’re probably just weird- you should see my folks, they’re nuts. I just like to make stories up for everyone to make the days go faster! See you tomorrow.” She smiled and walked past you, leaving you there with this new possibility weighing heavy on you.

Once you finally pulled yourself from the locker room, and waved a few dazed goodbyes to the staff you saw, you stepped outside and walked out to the parking lot. Your car keys caught on your nurse’s mask as you pulled them from your bag and you tsked them. You were preoccupied with the task as you made your way in the direction of where you parked, and once you freed them and looked up, you froze in the middle of the parking lot.

You knew that curl of grey anywhere. Lalo stood leaning against your car, with his hands in his pockets and a friendly smile on his face pointed at you. Since meeting him, You had yet to see him stand up, and now at his full height, his sturdy frame overpowered you even from a few meters away. He was tall and broad and confident, and you felt very small all of a sudden.

“So! Where are we going?” He said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes and he didn’t even try to hide it.

“Wha-?” You asked as you managed to go closer.

He rolled his eyes “C’mon- you hungry? I’m famished.” He stood away from the hood, and his tone was so persuasive you almost forgot about what Sam had said.

Almost.

You shook your head and tried to be as friendly as you could in an effort to hide how your hands shook, “Really it’s alright, I’m —“

His smile finally dropped. “Get in.”

His statement made you contemplate running. Getting back inside the retirement home and locking yourself in a closet, but you had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t end well. Hell you doubted you’d even make it a few paces from him before his big hand grabbed your hair. So against your better judgement, you nodded and wordlessly handed him the keys.

“There she goes, Atta girl.” He smiled again, and accepted the keys joyfully; this time the creases around his eyes deepened. Lalo slid into the drivers side and started the car. As he went to back out, he cast a look around the inside, and seemed to note that you didn’t take the best care of the car.

“You need a tool box?” He asked.

You buckled yourself in and barely caught what he said as you mentally screamed at yourself for getting in the car. Were you really that stupid? “Wha- huh? Oh-“ you caught where he was looking and cursed yourself for being so sloppy.

You backseat housed several materials you carried with you in case you car broke down -which it had the tendency to do. A pair of wire cutters wrapped in duct tape and some pliers to match, a lug wrench, a jack and a pylon…not to mention a first aid kit and a blanket. “I’m…I uh…just haven’t had the time.” You murmured, “Sorta new here.”

The older man frowned exaggeratedly and rose his brows as if to say “Alright then.” And silently put the car in reverse. He backed out with one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of your seat, and you had no choice but to smell his scent…you didn’t know if it was cologne or something else but he smelled of smoke and whiskey…and something sweet like syrup. Like he had been sitting in front of a fire drinking after dessert.

“So! Why don’t you tell me about yourself.” Lalo navigated easily through the streets, and looked over at you like you were old friends.

You thought for a moment, having taken an interest in a hangnail on your thumb. “Not much to tell, Señor.” You said as you looked up. It wasn’t a lie. Your story was a sad one and not a terribly interesting one at that.

“Cmon.” He dragged the word out, “You said you count my Tio as family…any normal person wouldn’t say that in a million years.” The older man laughed and tilted his head to chase your gaze a little when you averted your eyes.

“Why do you say that?” You asked as you looked down again.

Lalo gave you a pointed look. “Smart girl like you can figure that out, niñita.”

You sighed. It wasn’t as if you could just walk away from the conversation…he had you. Regardless of his motivations, Lalo was undoubtedly protective of his uncle…and you had to respect that. You wished you knew what it was like to have someone so protective, but you could imagine it was liberating.

“You think I have some kind of alterier motive behind my kindness to your uncle.” You said simply, trusting your intuition.

Lalo looked out the window, and you wondered if he had even heard your answer.

“You hungry?” He asked, pointing to a burger joint as he already turned his indicator on to pull in.

The sudden change in topic made you blink, your brain lagging. “I-…sure. Don’t stop on my account though I have food at home.” You squeezed your hands out of anxiousness, but he was already going to the drive thru. You had completely forgotten about how hungry you were for the last hour when you saw him in the parking lot. Now seeing the menu, your stomach growled.

“Whatdya want?” He asked expectantly.

It felt so…domestic. You had gone from being certain you might end up being interrogated in a warehouse to him taking you for food in a matter of seconds. You felt your stomach tighten with unease at the memory of the last person who had taken you through a drive thru; that time however you had been disassociating so badly you didn’t even remember ordering nor eating. Ungrateful he had called you.

Snap snap

Your eyes refocused and saw a large hand in front of your face having just snapped a couple times to get your attention.

You swallowed and sighed to steady yourself.

“What’s good here?” You asked, turning to him.

One of his full brows was raised at your odd behaviour, but his face went back to his playful demeanour instantly. “Depends…but their number 2 and number 8 are good.”

You nodded thoughtfully, “What do you get?”

He held up two fingers, pulling the car up through the drive thru to the speaker, “I’m from the south though so I like to add extra spice. Burns your mouth right off but god it’s worth it, you know?” The lines around his mouth and eyes deepened when he smiled and spoke.

Your couldn’t help but return the smile a little at him. You gathered he could probably befriend anyone he set his sights on. A people person…regardless of how intimidating he was.

“I’ll get the same…but um, I think I’d like to keep my mouth.” You said the last part a little shyly, hoping he wouldn’t take offence.

Lalo laughed, “Too bad, I was looking forward to seeing how red your pretty face would get!”

You…were not expecting that. You didn’t have time to reply or ask him to repeat himself before he was leaning out the window and adding extra fries to your order.

“You ever been to Mexico?” Lalo asked as he started driving again up to the window.

You shook your head, “No…haven’t been to a lot of places.”

He gasped, “No! Really? Ahh man, you’d love it. Best food in the world.”

When the window came into view you instinctively reached for your purse when you saw Lalo already producing a $20, and re-pocketing a wad of cash. He tsked you when he noticed you.

The woman at the window handed him the two bags of food and drinks and he smiled charmingly. “Gracias!” Lalo beamed, depositing your order in your lap, then began his way through the city again.

“Plain number 2 for you and fun number 2 for papi, you like orange? I got you an orange soda, you’re gonna love it. Used to smuggle these bastards when I was a kid…my Tio beat the shit outta me for it.” He laughed as he handed you the drink; shaking his head as he steered the car one handed and rifled through his paper bag with the other.

You accepted the orange coloured soda, brows shooting up. He was…generous. The smell of the burger hit you, and you felt your mouth water. It had been ages since you had a proper meal, even if it was take-out. You tentatively took your food out, and took a bite. You swore stars erupted in front of your eyes as the taste filled your mouth; pleasure sensors in your brain lighting up.

The older man beside you watched you out of the corner of his eye as he ate and drove. A proficient multitasker. You were hungry. Seemingly non-threatening…skittish…but you weren’t off-putting. Tired. Definitely tired.

Lalo pulled off the main road and began the drive into the neighbourhoods; he continued to take the occasional bite of his food as he drove. You wondered how he could be so relaxed constantly. You wondered if he had a single tense bone in his body. He was always at ease…like he was always 10 steps ahead of everyone. He was handsome, and you wondered if he used that as a distraction for what lay underneath; perhaps he was a calculating, plotting and scheming man under all the smiles and goofy theatrics…

Your food was gone within 5 minutes.

When Lalo finally looked over at you, he barked out a pleased laugh when he saw the empty wrapper and your last few fries in your hand.

“Shit, I’d better be careful or you might eat me!” He joked, and took a sip of his soda.

You hadn’t realized it but your shoulders had dropped and your fists had unclenched. You were relaxed.

And the older man beside you knew it.

“Tell me…what do you know about us Salamancas.” He said as if he was commenting on the weather.

You knew the question was coming, how could he not ask?

You put your drink down, and thought carefully. “You’re all very…intense.” You replied.

Lalo laughed, “Good one. What else?”

This time you fiddled with a napkin still in your lap. You didn’t want him to think you actually knew anything, because you honestly didn’t. You used your brain and speculated and observed, but you didn’t know much at all. You knew Hector likes grape jello more than raspberry and that Lalo’s necklace was that of Saint Anne- the Mother of Santa Maria…but that was the extent of what you knew for certain.

“You run some kind of business…here in Albuquerque…and I…I think you’re not just some nobody with an uncle in a nursing home…” You murmured almost to yourself. You half hoped he would ask you to repeat yourself so you could come up with something else…but his ears were as sharp as a fox.

“Ahh see, clever girl. I thought so.” His smile slowly faded into a calm line. “Why do you care for my Tio? Don’t tell me he’s your type- you’ll break my heart.” Lalo’s cheeky grin came back.

The jest did lighten your anxiety a little, just as the food had, but you noted that he ignored the mention it the business. He was evasive. And he was charming while he did it.

You knew Lalo had his doubts about you…even if it was for the home itself and not just you, you were th# lucky bastard who he had chosen to interrogate. If you wanted him to understand exactly why it was that you were so at ease with caring for grumpy elderly people - specifically Hector- you needed him to see your perspective. If this was any other relative of a patient, you would have jumped out of the car or booked it before he could have even gotten you inside…but you had a nagging feeling that the only way this would end well was if you saw it through. No matter how painful it was.

“You didn’t see him for the last 2 months, Señor…” You said gently, “He’s…he’s been alone. Completely. No visitors, no friends amongst the other patients…he’s- well non-verbal patients have a difficult time as it is…but paralysed one’s have it even harder…and I- well…I don’t exactly have anyone…at all really. Don’t have contact with anyone so…I think there’s just a certain level of recognition between people who are alone. I’ve been looking after Hector for two months now…you don’t know how hard it is to see him sit alone during visiting hours- for any of my patients that have to do that for that matter. I wouldn’t wish loneliness on my worst enemy, Señor. He didn’t have anyone and if he died tomorrow I wouldn’t sleep knowing he didn’t at least think someone cared enough to look after him, blood related or not.”

You meant it. You knew your fate was likely destined to be a lonely one, but if you could change that for someone else, then you were going to do your damned best…of course you had to chose a more complicated person but it wasn’t as if you were a terribly lucky person.

Lalo didn’t take his eyes off the road, and it wasn’t until the car stopped that you realized you were outside your little apartment building. Lalo tapped on the steering wheel for a moment, then he turned in his seat to face you.

“You mean that?” He asked, turning his gaze to you.

You went to open your mouth but he gave you a look that pinned you to the spot. He didn’t need to say anything for him to convey “don’t fuck around with me.”.

“You seem to be a busy man, Señor…maybe a wife or even a family,” You mused aloud while you ripped a piece of napkin. Your distracted gaze meant you missed how Lalo’s nostrils flared when you mentioned him having a family, “You must have a comfortable life…one way or another. But not everyone has that. A lot of people don’t. I…I don’t have much…my work is my life right now. Sure they’re not the most lively people to engage with but my patients mean a lot to me…because they take up a lot of my life…and after- well…right now I don’t mind it.” You said with conviction, then sighed, “Sounds sad now that I say it aloud…but don’t doubt me.” You turned to look at Lalo in those dark eyes of his, “Don’t you dare doubt me.”

As you spoke, Lalo’s mouth faded into a firm line under his moustache. But even then, his eyes glittered. He was quiet for a few moments, then he hummed.

“You got a mouth on you, kid.” He rumbled.

You held his stare for a moment. You were certain you had crossed a line with telling him off.

Then, just when you were certain he might jump on you or worse, he broke out in a laugh and smile, smacking the wheel in amusement, “I see why Hector likes you. You got a bite for being a ratoncito…I’d hate to see someone knock your teeth out.” He dropped your keys in your hand and in one fluid motion opened his door and stepped out.

His sense of humour was borderline morbid, but seeing him smile while saying it more reassuring than him not.

You followed suit, and stepped out of the car; Lalo joined you on the sidewalk as he seemed to inspect the neighbourhood. Then as he stood there with his hands at his sides, you remembered that he had no way of getting back to his own car at the nursing home.

“I- Thank you for driving me home, Señor…can I- can I call you a cab?” You didn’t know what else to say. This man had practically interrogated you, bought you dinner, and drove you home. You didn’t know what to do with an interaction like that; we’re you supposed to run and hide or thank him?…or both? You didn’t know why, but regardless of his intentions, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to be scared of him…not really. He was intimidating and imposing, certainly, but it wasn’t as if he was threatening you.

You hated that you couldn’t come to a concise evaluation of the man.

Lalo shrugged and looked down at you. “Nah.” He said playfully.

Your brows scrunched up in confusion and you were about to protest, but then a red car pulled up almost directly behind him with the same man who had been standing with him that first day. Nacho? Nacho.

“Señor Lalo?” You called as he opened the door. The older man turned to you and looked at you expectantly.

“What, still hungry?” He replied.

You forced yourself to look him in the eye.

“If you insist upon giving Hector alcohol…I suggest the second to last table on the patio towards the west. Much fewer eyes.” You said simply.

Lalo smiled widely and pointed his index finger at you. He did that often, you noticed. “I’ll pour you one next time, eh?” He laughed.

You smiled a little. “I don’t think that would end well.”

“I look forward to it!” He smiled even wider and you pursed your lips to keep from returning it. You didn’t want him to know that he was wrapping you around his finger whether you liked it or not.

Lalo sat in the the car, and he waved briefly before they pulled away and left you there with your head still reeling. You didn’t even remember walking up to your apartment or undressing or getting into the shower…but there you were under the warm stream of water trying to understand and rationalise what had just transpired. You were frightened, then at ease, then thankful, then suspicious, then open, then…you head spun. You had become to accustomed to your little quiet bubble with minimal interactions outside of it…and this man had forced his way through it like a freight train.

And what frighted you the most was that you didn’t want him not to.

Your hands shook as you remembered the last time someone had seemed so charming and sweet. You rolled your eyes.

Arms length. You would keep this man at arms length- just like you did with almost everyone else.

Three weeks passed before you saw Lalo Salamanca again.

It wasn’t as if you expected to see him often, or even at all…but the man had a certain way about him that made you miss his presence. He was so all-consuming and confident that it was noticeable when he wasn’t there. You also noticed how Hector’s mood began to drop again. You didn’t blame him.

In an attempt to make the man a little easier to handle, you started teaching yourself some simple Spanish when you had the time. It helped greatly that several clients and staff members spoke it well, and they humoured you in teaching you a few things each day. You supposed they were mostly taking pity on you, but you didn’t mind too much.

You started to feel a little more normal since coming to the scorching city…like you were starting to grow away from where you had run from. You even made a joke that made Jim laugh.

In the back of your mind, you did feel something odd though. Like there was something in your peripheral that you just couldn’t catch. You had sworn that you’d seen the same car on your route for a few days…but you also knew that your paranoia was still very present.

By the second week, you begun to notice how much the language helped around the home. Staff taught you basic things that you said day to day, and your patients helped with more conversational language…your empty head was thankful for the distraction and soaked it up like a sponge. You were tired of the nervous and stressful thoughts that usually occupied the space.

It was early on a Friday when you heard the unmistakable sound of Hector’s bell ringing. You hoped it was that he had gotten his favourite breakfast and not that he had been seated beside someone he didn’t like- you gadnt had enough coffee yet to deal with angry seniors.

There was very little to do following breakfast as the clients enjoyed some free time before activities started; you indulged your curiosity and followed the ringing sound. You sought it out until you came to the patio, and you felt a tiny smile on your lips when you looked past the array of wheelchairs and nurses; there at the second to last table sat two very engaged Salamancas facing away from the entrance you came from.

You saw Lalo give his uncle the occasional sip from the styrofoam cup on the table, and you already knew that was no vitamin mix in there. As you inconspicuously made your way over, checking on a few clients as you went, you began to notice just how tense Lalo seemed from behind. You didn’t want to think that you knew he body language perfectly, but for someone who was usually aloof in his mannerisms, having tight shoulders was far more noticeable.

You slowed your steps once you got closer; they were in conversation. A one sided one but you knew they communicated regardless of Hector’s muteness.

Then you made the poor decision to listen. Your Spanish was very juvenile, but you had come to pick up on a lot - especially phrases and words that were similar to English. Which was why you started to realise that what you were listening to Lalo say was not meant to be heard by anyone but his Tio.

With what you knew and could piece together, you heard a few words that sounded familiar enough; secreto, hombre pollo, establecimiento, restaurante, and quemar. The last one you knew very well thanks to an elderly woman named Pricilla pouring hot tea into the lap of an elderly man named Jerry -evidently his admission of love to her was false and she found out- and his cries of “Quemar!” still rang in your ears. Your mind worked to add everything together and from what you could gather was that there was a restaurant of some kind that could very well end up burned to the ground…and you were fairly certain that Lalo disliked the owner or manager.

Hector’s dinging continued, and you could almost taste the tension growing.

You were about to take the last few strides right up to them, but one word stopped you.

…Cártel.

Every muscle in your body froze simultaneously.

It was no confirmation, but it might as well have been.

It fit.

The respect Hector seemed used to, the rumours, Nacho standing like a guard dog, the lack of visitors, the sudden admission of Hector into the home, the low conversations…you thought back to when he had driven you home and added intimidation tactics to the list. The wad of cash in Lalo’s pocket too.

Then, you felt yourself unclench and a morbid sense of peace washed over you. It wasn’t as if you were reassured; it was that you were still alive. It didn’t mean a lot, but it meant that they either liked you, or had a better use for you…and by god you hoped that use was simply to look after Hector and not to swallow baggies of drugs to smuggle across the border.

And of all people, you had chosen them to befriend.

“There she is!”

You refocused your eyes and as your gaze landed on the man with the skunk stripe on his temple, you let a polite grin grace your features. He was half turned in his chair to greet you- that smile already pulling under his groomed moustache.

“Señor Salamanca, I see you’re enjoying your special juice.” You gave both men a knowing look, then turned back to Lalo, “Señor Lalo, it’s been a little while since I saw you last. I hope you’ve been alright.” You heard yourself say.

You supposed there was no point in trying to run. They had you, and you had let them reel you in; there was no reason to be cold to them. It wasn’t as if you were a cookie cutter Mary-sue yourself.

“Ahh you know how it is…la vida es una locura.” He waved his hand aloofly, resting his arm over the back of his chair. You noticed that he did not elaborate nor answer your query.

“I think I have an idea.” You confirmed both his English and his Spanish.

The easy smile on Lalo’s face seemed to go still. It no longer reached his eyes, and you took a little reckless satisfaction in that.

“Really?” He asked with a prodding tone. You had a feeling he was quick to catch your double meaning.

You smiled tightly, adjusting Hector’s chair since his nurse hadn’t. “Truly.” You replied. “You must be busy…Business doesn’t run itself, I’m sure.” You were walking on ice, and you knew it…but you enjoyed poking at the beast a little.

Lalo’s lips parted at your quip, then he barked out a laugh and pointed at you, “You got some eyes on you.”

You couldn’t remember the full story of Icarus, but you knew he died because he flew too close to the sun regardless of his fathers warnings…and you felt very much like that foolish Greek man. Lalo was a scorching flame and you were standing far too close.

“Always good to see you, Señor Lalo…enjoy your visit.” You nodded to Hector who had been watching the exchange between the two of you, and he dinged his bell at you once.

“Adios.” Lalo gave you a two fingered wave, and you excused yourself.

As soon as your back turned from them, your hands began to shake; adrenaline moved through your blood like a poison or antidote. You didn’t know which.

Jim passed by you with a greeting smile and nod, and you schooled your face quickly. “Could you take Thomas into the bingo room? It’s 2:30.” He said to you, and you welcomed the task to ground you.

“Sure thing.” You murmured.

You didn’t fully remember the rest of the day- you were too busy trying to remember everything you had heard Lalo say to his Tio…jotting things down on sticky notes with poor spelling and guessed words. You almost felt…responsible for what you heard. You knew you were in deep, and you knew that by being curious you were digging yourself even deeper, but somehow you couldn’t stop. It was a sick need to know exactly what you were dealing with.

The day ended like every single one before it; you were exhaused and aching and only had a few thoughts in your head and most of them were of how comfortable your bed would be once you got home. The only difference that day was your anxiety over the notes you had made that day- hoping you didn’t forget any.

You swore under your breath when your keys once again were caught on something in your bag-

“Fancy seeing you here, niña.”

Your head snapped up despite you trying to keep yourself as calm as possible. You swore the older man just liked making you jump.

“Do you practice those lines in the mirror Señor Lalo?” You asked softly, tilting your head up to look at him; Lalo was leaned against your car just as he had taken to doing now.

“You wound me!” He gasped, placing his hand on his chest.

“How long have you been out here?” You asked, standing almost toe to toe to him as he refused to move from his place.

You knew he likely wanted something, and he was using his perfected charm and relentlessness to get it. You internally braced yourself for him to tell you to get in the car again…that he knew you knew more than you let on…and that you should make peace with whatever god you had before putting an extra hole in your head. You didn’t want to think the worst of him and his family, but if that did indeed happen, you wouldn’t be shocked.

But Lalo didn’t move, and he didn’t say anything at first. His smile didn’t falter, though it did lower a little to sit comfortably under his moustache. You watched as he unfolded one of his arms from across his chest and extend his hand to you- what was in it more specifically. There was a little yellow piece of paper folded between his forefinger and middle finger.

“No bedtime stories alright?” He pointed at you with a teasing and cheeky grin on his mouth as he winked down at you.

You took the paper, and felt his skin brush yours for half a second- he was warm. You chose to ignore that, and you focused on unfolding it. It was just a number. His. He had given you his phone number. A cartel phone number. Your brain started reeling again. Then, as you looked at it, you make a mental note that the writing was slanted the opposite way than you usually saw, then you thought for a moment.

He was left handed.

You grinned to yourself at the realisation. You didn’t know why you saved that information, but it made the enigmatic man in front of you seem more human- like knowing he had a belly button or that he had baby teeth that fell out at one time. It was perhaps childish but you liked knowing more about him.

“I-…Thank you.” You said as you placed it neatly into your purse. Once upon a time you would have refused the number and told him it was alright- that you didn’t need it, that if he wanted to get in touch with Hector he could go through the home….but you supposed you knew better now. You knew he didn’t take no for an answer, and you supposed you should show some respect to him for giving you something so personal.

“Atta girl. Don’t work too hard, eh?” He finally moved out of your way and began back to his own -much nicer- car.

“Likewise!” You called to him and he seemed pleased with your answer as he smiled.

You watched the older man get inside his Monte Carlo, and you mirrored him. Your car was hot and the seat radiated unwanted warmth into your back, but you could barely focus on that. You pulled out, and passed his as you went to the exit. Lalo watched you go, and while you waved, he returned it with two fingers extended up from the wheel.

You knew you had errands to run, but you simply couldn’t bring yourself to. The notes you had made yourself were burning holes in your pockets, and your want to know what they meant was outweighing your need for groceries and laundry detergent.

In fact, you were so preoccupied with getting home that you didn’t even notice the car that was following you; just as it had been for weeks.

The sticky notes sat arranged neatly on your floor, and your computer stared back at you as you considered your options.

Option 1: try to find proper translations of what was said and risk knowing too much and possible death.

Option 2: tear the papers up and pretend you heard nothing and act like the Salamancas are just an honest business owning family…and possible death because you were naive and didn’t know what you were getting into.

You felt your eye twitch.

Both such tempting options.

But the more you thought, the louder that one word became.

Cartel.

You really know how to pick ‘em y/n…

You sighed and rolled your shoulders as you began typing. You knew that whatever translator you could find wouldn’t be perfect, but you just needed enough to understand. The English to Spanish dictionary you had bought two weeks ago sat open beside you are you poured over the notes you had made. The more you typed and searched and double check, the more your mind began to race- evidently there was indeed more to that family than you had anticipated when you initially befriended their patriarch.

You stared at the translated sentences now, and heaved a sigh.

“We need to burn that restaurant to the ground. I’ll burn it like last time, uncle.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“The chicken man’s establishments are blinding him, can’t see past his greed.”

“He thinks his secret is so fantastic.”

You knew they weren’t perfect translations, but you got the message. There was unrest, and Lalo was sent to deal with it. Whoever this “chicken man” was, he was causing problems.

You let your eyes glaze over as you started to think.

A restaurant.

You checked your notes.

“Restaurants.” Plural.

So a chain of restaurants.

With chicken?

Chicken was a code name? No…Lalo wouldn’t do code names…he mocks people and pokes at their weaknesses, but he’s not the CIA or FBI. He was being literal when he called him the “Chicken man.”

Did he smuggle drugs in chickens? Use it as a cover?

Chicken is their speciality?

You stared at your original note with Spanish.

“Los pollos” …you had seen that somewhere before. You felt your brain stretch as you tried to recall. A restaurant…Los pollos…you started to run the two ideas around in your mind.

Restaurant…Los pollos…restaurant…Los pollos-

Your head snapped up and you frantically scrambled over to your pile of spam mail that you had been ignoring. You knew that name. You did.

You grabbed a chunk of the mail and started sifting through it carefully, scanning every new cellphone, ever greasy pizza place, every-

Your hand gripped blue and yellow ad a little tighter.

The two chicken logo stared back at you.

Los Pollos Hermanos.

No. There was no way.

You couldn’t help the little laugh that came from your chest- either from stress or shock, you weren’t sure. Perhaps a mix of both.

You had driven past it a few times. It was always so clean looking, and you remembered the nice smell you always caught through your window when you passed by it.

You were about to tell yourself that you were being delusional, and that you were too invested in this…but then you supposed the saying of “it’s always the quiet ones” could apply to more than just people. Nice, cookie-cutter restaurants could perhaps be fronts for a drug dealing cartel.

The initial shock began to wear off, and you slowly started to look over what else you had translated.

“I’ll take care of it.” Lalo had said.

Burn the restaurant down, more like…

You wondered what he was capable of. Had he killed people? How many?

Your thoughts strayed to the man himself.

Trouble. That was what you first thought of him.

You thought about his charm and charisma…how he carried himself. He was a confident man in every sense. He adapted his tactics to fit the people he wanted something from…you knew he used it on you too. He was kind and a little pushy but not enough to scare you. He bought you food and drove you home with no immediate expectation…he made you smile and welcomed you. He made you feel seen. Criminal or not…he saw you.

A stupid idea crossed your mind. You knew you were in deep already, and with each passing day it was as if you took a shovel and continued to dig deeper. The thought you had was fuelled purely by your own involvement with the Salamancas and juvenile selfishness.

A stupid impulse to help the two people who made you feel like a human.

Without another thought, you grabbed your bag, checked the stove clock, and were in your car within 5 minutes. You didn’t even bother the change. The route that took you by Los Apollo’s was almost muscle memory, and you were able to let your mind wander as you went. Anything to keep you distracted from what you were doing.

It was closing time once you reached the restaurant. Lights were being shut off, and you could see several workers leaving, and a few more mopping the floors. As you pulled into a parking spot across the street to watch, you noted that there was a level of order to the way duties were carried out. It was methodical and you wondered what kind of training these kids went through…

Every so often, you would see an older man come out to the front and inspect something. His back was straight was he moved just as carefully as the staff cleaned; he was in a yellow dress shirt and tie- nothing significant. The manager or owner you assumed. Your interest was peaked.

You sat there for two hours until almost every single person left. Almost. You waited an extra 20 minutes before leaving, and you were glad you did. If you had left after that those two hours, you wouldn’t have seen that same older man you have observed off and on for 120 minutes exit the building, only now he resembled almost an entirely different person. He was in a sharp black suit, and the change had you so distracted that you didn’t even catch the bulky, black SUV pull in around where the man stood off to the side of the building. Of course, it could have just been nothing- it wasn’t up to you to judge what someone looked like or did after work…but things were clicking together far too easily for you to just gaslight yourself into thinking everyone was Mr.Rogers.

After what you heard Lalo say, you felt your gut sink as you decided that you were indeed not looking at an average business owner. Your I tuition had let you down before, but something about the heat of Albuquerque had you seeing people much more clearly…and if Lalo wanted this man gone, then you had a sneaking suspicion that was a big deal.

The black SUV drove away with the man in it, and you decided that was enough for one night. All at once, your suspicions and thoughts and curiosities were all but confirmed; all you needed was a sign on that man’s back that said “You were right”. You drove home, and welcomed the sight of your small apartment. A morbid part of you half expected someone to be waiting for you when you got back…someone who saw you watching…or perhaps even Lalo himself- perhaps you had become a loose end? But there was nothing. No one waiting for you…just your quiet 400 square feet. Your thoughts were whirling, and sleep seemed like a far away fantasy as you sat on your couch and stared at a crack in the paint.

You had indeed gotten mixed into something far bigger than you- there was no denying that anymore. However, now that you had very nearly completely solidified everything you had wondered, you knew there was no chance in backing out now. You could certainly play dumb for a while…but Lalo was so smart it scared you, and he would figure it out sooner or later.

So you kept digging.

Against your better judgement, you repeated your stakeout the following night. You sat there with a container of takeout, and watched closely. Just like the night before, the business ran, closed, was cleaned and shut up like clockwork.

Methodical.

Careful.

It was fascinating.

This time, however, that older man you had watched last time left in a car already parked there, and it looked far more civilian. You supposed it would draw suspicion if he constantly left work in a black suv. You almost laughed. It was all so ludicrous.

You felt like you were having a strange dream instead of your more constant nightmares. It was far more enjoyable but no less concerning. Where you usually woke up with a tight chest and heart beat so fast it hurt; sweat on your skin and hair sticky, you hope that perhaps if this was a dream that you might wake up and laugh at the idiocy of it all. How silly you were in it. But the more you sat there in your car, and as you drove home, and showered and ate and stared out your window…you started to realise that you were in no dream.

You really were being an idiot. A stupid, impulsive traumatised idiot.

Two days went by after your last visit to the restaurant. Two days of contemplation.

You knew why you were doing those things. You did. But you still found yourself asking yourself why. It was like you craved the anxiety or the adrenaline that came with doing something you know could end badly. What did that say about your mental state?

The file in your hand sat open as you stood behind the reception desk. You had been trying to focus on reading it for two minutes but your eyes repeatedly unfocused as your mind strayed. You just needed to check one of the client’s family member’s number, but you couldn’t seem to even pull yourself together enough for that. You blew the strand of hair that had come free and hung in front of your eyes for the fifth time; you had given up trying to move it.

You heard the main door open and you briefly looked up out of habit, but you took a second glance when you saw that familiar face walk through.

“Good morning Señor.” You said, brows raised in surprise as something stirred in your chest at the sight of his confident strides. This was the first time you had actually seen him enter- most of the time it was like he just materialised out of nowhere.

Lalo rounded the desk to where you were coming out and leaned against it. “Do you know that they’re charging 25¢ more for parking here? It’s criminal, man.” He shook his head.

His statement made a little smile escape you but you schooled it fast.

“I apologise, would you like a word with the owner?” You asked with a little sarcasm, “I’m sure you could talk some sense into him.”

He nodded as if weighing the option, then waved it off and looked around the foyer. “How’s my tio?” He asked calmly, “The old dog up yet?” Lalo looked back at you and flicked his gaze between your eyes. You couldn’t look away. Caught.

You finally tried to tuck the stay hair away again to no avail, and swallowed, “He’s in the activities room. He tipped two full cups of juice over this morning already to look at nurse’s asses when they bent over.” You said as straight faced as you could, though the image had made you giggle to yourself earlier.

Lalo chuckled, “Ese perro viejo no cambia...no harm done, eh?” He reached out and tucked the piece of your hair back behind your ear, then casually started to walk in the direction of the activity room and you took that at your cue to follow him. You had gone still when he had touched you, and you did your best to not let on how shocked you were by the gesture.

Lalo was speaking about something, but while you wanted to listen, you couldn’t quiet find it in you to pay attention. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interesting, or that you didn’t care…it was that you had a startling realisation. You had missed him. That was what you had felt when you saw him…it was happiness. The pleasure of seeing him again. Then when he had moved you hair, you realised how badly you had wanted to lean into his palm.

It startled you.

You scolded yourself. It was a a fantasy. That was it. You were just latching onto him because he spoke to you…hell you might have done the same to the greeter at a supermarket if he was nice enough. It was silly. Just like you.

You walked quietly until you came close to the door, then you stopped and let him go ahead. “Disfrute de su visita, señor.” You said, and the older man paused. Lalo turned to you, but you were already starting to walk past him.

“Gracias, Niña.” He called and you turned and nodded.

You didn’t turn around again, but Lalo watched you walk away for a moment. You didn’t need to see him to know it- his gaze burned. The older man stood there for a moment longer and flexed his hand. You were trouble.

That night, you sat in your car, parked on the street just out of the ring of the fluorescent street lamp light; eyes unfocused, medical mask in hand. It was 3am, and you hadn’t slept a wink. All you could think of was what you were very ready to do.

Another ten minutes went by before you refocused your vision and blinked. You looked across the street, and stared at the empty restaurant. It had been vacant for hours- the only movement you saw were the odd couple pulling into the parking lot for a quick drunken blowjob. Besides that, it was just you and the task you had given yourself.

Breaking and entering wasn’t a skill you appreciated having…but thanks to your ex, you did. He had taken to harvesting copper wires when money got tight…and he had always coerced you into coming with him despite your discomfort and anxiety. “You n me, baby, c’mon.” He would say as he dragged you out of the car. But you always had the sense that it was only you and him until you got caught. Asshole.

You sighed and threw your door open. You might now have known a lot, but you knew how to open a lock and mess with wiring without getting yourself fried in the process. That was enough.

With those old wire-cutters of yours in hand and mask on, you threw up your hood, and moved with the shadows. You rounded the restaurant, and snuck to the back where the staff entrance was locked up well. You half wished that the lock would have been enough to deter you…that you didn’t know how to pick a lock at all. But it didn’t, and you did.

You reached into your pocket, and took a couple small gadgets that you still had from the asshat, and began fiddling with the thick padlock. Your heart was thudding in your ears while you worked away.

What are you doing?

You screamed at yourself mentally, wishing you had an answer to your internal question but you came up with nothing. Only that you needed to do something.

Click

A sigh of relief huffed from your mouth when the lock popped open. Your shaking hands quickly slid it out of place, and you were about to push on the door when you wondered if they had a security alarm set in place. It was entirely possible. But you knew you had your hands covered in gloves and your car not too far if the cops were alerted.

You decided that even if there was an alarm you had enough time to run. With another deep breath, you tugged on the handle of the door, and pulled. To your good fortune, there was indeed no additional alarm.

Once the relief faded, and your focus returned, you made quick work of finding the electrical box. It was on the wall just down from the back door. You thanks god that it was small. You carefully opened it, and stared at the web of wires and switches that greeted you. You groaned a little, and looked at the pliers in your hand, then back at the wires. Your hands trembled more now than you recalled they used to. You supposed your body was forced not to show weakness in front of him…

You shook your head. “Focus.”

Just to be safe, you flicked off a few of the switches that looked to be connected to the wire sets you were eyeing as your target. The last thing you wanted was to get zapped and pass out. It wasn’t as if you were going to clip any…you didn’t want things to completely stop working. Just a few mistakes that would cause a big enough issue for the restaurant.

A half hour passed before you were finally content with the work your had done. Indeed, the web of wires before you now had exactly three faults that would slowly weaken and cause issues throughout the restaurant. Machines not working, and if left long enough they would likely cause a fire. It would mean a plethora of further issues too if an anonymous tip was called in regarding a poor and unsafe work environment.

With a deep breath and a few prayers, you flipped the power back on. The emergency light turned on and the box in front of you fizzed for a moment with the newly damaged wiring, but to your relief nothing exploded.

Your nerves started to come back now that you were finished. You flicked your eyes around and patted yourself down to ensure you left nothing behind, but just as you were doing so, you heard voices. A shot of fear surged through you, and your fight or flight kicked in. The latter won. You were out the back door within seconds and snapping the lock back into place as your mind went into hyperdrive. Your blood ran cold as you heard footsteps rounding the building; you breath felt too warm against your mask and your fingers barely managed to get the lock in place before you had to bolt. You hid in the shadows and crept along the side of the building until you could see your car and you ran. Your heart beat as fast at your legs were moving, and you didn’t stop until you were behind the wheel, and driving away. You felt like you were missing something, but you couldn’t stop to check even if you wanted to.

The sun had risen long ago, and you half wished you had to get ready for work…anything to get yourself busy and distracted from what you had done that night. It was a warm afternoon, and your hands were clammy as you sat on your couch with your phone sitting in front of you and the thick Albuquerque phonebook beside your thigh.

Just pick it up. Pick. It. Up.

Pick it up.

Pick-

You sighed and scratched your head before snatching the receiver up dialling the number you had your finger on in the phonebook.The ringing set your nerves alight as you waited. The monotonous tone lulled your for a moment, so when someone picked up, you almost jumped out of your skin. The person greeted you and introduced themselves with a name you didn’t hear. “How can I help you?” They asked.

You swallowed, but you had to do this unless you wanted the problem you had created to get even worse. “Hello, I-I’d like to make a complaint regarding unsafe working conditions? No, I’d like to remain anonymous please…Yes…yes that’s right. Huh? Oh, at Los Pollos Hermanos.”

“BELOVED LOS POLLOS HERMANOS UNCOVERED”

It was on the front page two days later. Evidentially a tip had been called in that there was severe malpractice in the restaurant, and after a health inspector had been sent…they had found exactly that. Issues with basic wiring- a truly unsafe working environment. Due to something so simple being so wrong, every other aspect of Los Pollos was thus being investigated, and the business had been shut down until further notice.

It was the talk of the nursing home when you came to work, and you forced a look of surprise as people groaned about it. However, while you did feel a small sense of guilt…you couldn’t hide the creeping satisfaction that began to settle in you. It had worked.

There was the tiniest secret smile on your face that got you a few strange looks, but you brushed it off with a “I just slept well.” A part of you was mortified that you had done such a thing…worrying that somehow they knew it was you and that police officers would pull up at any moment to arrest you…but it never happened.

You carried on your day like any other, and you began to seek out Hector in hopes that he had somehow heard what had happened…or perhaps that you could tell him yourself. Then as you walked, you began to feel worry creep into your thoughts.

What if I crossed a line?

What if I ruined one of their plans?

What if Lalo had wanted to be the one to take care of the restaurant?

You started to wring your hands as you walked out to the patio, but your head snapped to a table where you heard a laugh you knew very well. There was no coincidence that Lalo was sat there with his uncle that day- you knew that. And judging by the ringing of Hector’s bell, he was in a good mood.

You weren’t sure that you were ready to speak to him after what you had done…you were filled with so much uncertainty. If he didn’t like what had happened then he would likely track down who had done it and when he found you…that would be it.

You took a deep breath and went to walk back inside, but you were stopped short when a whistle caught your attention. You hated how fast you stopped and turned to it.

Sure enough, that man with the devious smile was staring at you openly with a friendly wave. You hoped to god that he was genuinely happy and not just luring you in. With one last internal whimper, you began across the patio and came to the two men.

“Buenas tardes Sr. Salamanca…Señor Lalo.” You nodded to them both, but you noticed that Lalo simply refused to take his glittering eyes off you- mirth swimming in them.

“Beautiful day, no?” He beamed mischievously, gesturing to the cloudless blue sky.

His charm was still very much in place, and you counted that as a good start, but you knew his mood could change on a dime.

You looked out at the saturated sky, “It is. You seem to be in an extra good mood today, Señor.” You said, then bent down to Hector to gently ask him if he was comfortable or needed water. He didn’t ding he bell, so you assumed Lalo had already done those.

“You ever see what a mouse can do in a house, niñita?” Her asked, still smiling.

You thought for a moment, “Y-yeah I have.” You said, recalling when mice got into the basement of your childhood home and ate through the Christmas decorations.

“They scurry around and get into everything but you never fucking see them. Fast, y’know? Chew through everything…pequeños bastardos destructivos…” he chuckled and shook his head, “I have a…very strong sense that there is a little mouse…right here in this city.” Lalo leaned forward on the table- his forearms flexing. “Causing some serious damage too.” His gaze was heavy and intense. You found yourself starting to feel afraid, but you did your best to keep it at bay.

“A- a mouse, señor?” You asked.

He hummed, “You know what the thing about mice is though, niñita?”

You tentatively shook your head.

“They make tremendous pets.” He grinned.

“I-I suppose you’re right.” You hoped your skin blanching wasn’t as visible as it felt.

Lalo chuckled and leaned back again, and you released a breath. “Someone made a fool out of some competition of ours…their tactics reminded me of a pequeño ratón, you know?”

“Oh?” You asked as casually as you could.

“Yep.” He popped the “p”, “There’s this restaurant which, admittedly is pretty good,” he began joyfully, “And you’ll never guess what happened to it.”

You shook your head and shifted a little.

“Tell me.” You said, hiding your shaking hands behind your back.

“Got shut down.” He said like it was a huge secret, “Yeah, something about a wiring issue. Morons,” he shook his head, “Crazy eh?”

“Yeah…who would’ve thought.” You agreed, mirroring his shock.

“Yeah. Bonkers.” His smile faded from his eyes, but remained on his lips. But there was no anger there, which you counted as a positive thing.

Silence settled over you and you started to squirm. “It’s a good thing though…isn’t it?” You couldn’t help yourself from asking. You needed to know what he thought…whether you should say your goodbyes to this world or if you could actually breathe.

Lalo smiled again. “Sí, algo muy bueno.”

Your ears started ringing as his words settled into your brain.

He wasn’t furious.

He wasn’t vengeful.

You nodded, trying not to show how relieved you were. “Well…it might be unfortunate for that business but I hope your family does well in the meantime.” You sighed as calmly as you could, and picked up an empty cup on the table- anything to hide your trembling hands. “It’s always good to see you Señor Lalo…until next time. Sr. Salamanca your nurse will come get you in twenty minutes alright? Please don’t try and make her deaf this time…” you added after having the memory of the woman yelling every time she spoke for three hours following Hector ringing his bell non stop for 15 minutes. Poor thing could barely hear.

“Adios, niñita.” Lalo murmured just loud enough for you to hear it, and you cast him one last look before you left. You were certain you would never get accustomed to his stare.

The remaining part of the day passed in a blur. Before you knew it the next shift of workers were signing in and you were signing out. The receptionist on that evening bid you goodnight, and you finally felt yourself fall back into your body.

You said a few goodbyes on your way out the door, and you absentmindedly played with your keys. You ran the day over in your head, and while you did feel relieved that Lalo wasn’t angry…you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. You swore you forgot something when you had …when you had gone to the restaurant. You hadn’t had the wits to look over everything when you got home, so you were hoping it was just some remaining guilt in you still festering.

There was a light breeze that night. It crept up your spine and tickled your cheeks. You breathed it in as you climbed into your car, and you let yourself relax a little as you pulled out and drove home.

Your building came into view but just when you were climbing out, a body came right up in front of you- caging you between your door and the sidewalk.

“Hola pequeña!”

You stared up, and felt your cheeks warm at the proximity to the older man - his grey streak prominent in the golden setting sun. You felt your skin prickle with goosebumps and your fingers tingled as you fought to find something to say.

You forced a small smile despite how flustered you were, “H-hello Señor.” You said softly.

“Just the person I was looking for. How lucky am I?” He smiled- one arm over the open door and the other on the roof. You were stuck.

“Oh I- r-really?” You hated that you couldn’t stop tripping over your words.

His grin only deepened, “Yeah, you know…almost as lucky as I was when a little mouse decided to meddle with that restaurant, hm?”

You stared at him, not knowing what else to do or say. Your anxiety began to creep back as you started to think that the joy he had shown in front of Hector was just an act after all.

“If you say so Señor… I hope no one was hurt.” You managed to say as his warmth and scent radiated into the air around you.

He laughed and shook his head. “Nah not this time…but I will say that whoever did it was a little nervous I think.” He said as if it was a conspiracy, tilting his head just so.

“Oh?” You asked. Not your most genious of replies but your brain was starting to turn into white noise.

Lalo nodded, and you could tell he was feigning concern; his mouth was in a frown but his eyes were filled with amusement. He was playing with you. “Yeah they left their shitty wire-cutters behind.” The older man reached into his back pocket, and you felt yourself blanch.

“I went by there you know…the day after to give my condolences on the unfortunate findings…And I just so happened to find these. Such an amazing coincidence too.” He smiled, wagging the cutters at you as he spoke.

You continued to stare, as if you moving would cause him to blow your head off; you still couldn’t tell if he was pleased by what happened, and each passing moment didn’t seem to help clarify anything.

“Coincidence?” You asked a little breathlessly.

He nodded brightly.

“Yeah, I mean don’t you have a busted pair like these in your car?” Lalo pointed the metal at your vehicle.

He knows he knows he knows he knows-

“I-I I did…been donating some things though I think they were in the last l-load I did. Haven’t seen them for weeks.” You felt your brain working overtime as you fought to find something to convince him with; you were fine with him not knowing it was you even if he was happy about it…but you weren’t leaping at the chance of telling him that it was you and him not being pleased.

But then, Lalo tsked and leaned away, “Too bad…here I was thinking I might owe you a favour. Guess not.” He shrugged and tossed them into the window you now saw was open. You didn’t remember opening it, and you realised he must have opened it when you were working to check if your wire-cutters were missing.

Then you felt your heart sink. He knew you were lying.

You sucked in a breath and shrugged.

“Even i-if it was me…you wouldn’t owe me anything.” You said, holding your ground as he towered over you.

His brows rose comically.

“No? Some say a favour from a Salamanca is as good as gold.” He rumbled. His breath fanned across your cheeks and he readjusted his hand by your head. You felt yourself almost gravitate towards it.

You nodded and tried to ignore how you couldn’t feel your fingers.

“I’m sure you’re right, señor…” you replied, “Tu tío no me odia y has sido generoso…that’s enough for me.”You watched that mirth return. An morbid amusement.

You watched something in his head click ad he pieced things together in two seconds.

“Ah, ella ha estado aprendiendo... Una chica muy lista.” He winked and wagged a finger at you as he stepped away from you and onto the street.

You might not have gotten every word…but you knew there was a little bit of pride in what he said. Like he was amused by you learning and speaking his native tongue.

“My apologies for interrupting your evening. Adiós!” He was out of your space and walking to his Monte Carlo that you somehow missed when you pulled in.

“G-goodnight, Señor.” You watched him walk. There was a certain carefree confidence to the way his arms hung by his sides. You wondered what that was like.

He drove away with a two fingered salute, and you returned the gesture with a little wave. There was a surge of turmoil coursing through you as you pried yourself away from the sidewalk. On one hand, you hoped against hope that he wasn’t buttering you up only to turn around and end your existence…and the other part of you was trying to stop the first part of you from being so naive.

You strode into your apartment like you had soggy socks- slowly and uneasily. You sat on your couch and stared at the wall.

You fell asleep that night just like every other- suddenly and not knowing that you were being watched. Not that you would ever notice. Hector’s men might now have been as intelligent and inconspicuous as Lalo’s own back home, but they did the job. Every night like clock work; they followed you home, watched your window, and stayed quiet about it. It had been months now. At first it had just been to see if you were an informant or a plant…but after a few weeks, some uneventful phone taps and 24 hour shifts later, it was clear that you were just…alone.

Lalo knew your routine better than you did. Knew that you often sat for stretches of time on your bed or couch upon getting in the door…usually not even doing anything. He knew that you only ordered a full meal from a restaurant once every two weeks. He knew that you had nightmares too- sudden crying or screaming in the night had spooked the men stationed outside your window at first…but after a few nights they got used to it. He could still remember his mother having them when he was a boy and his father would disappear for days…her cries from her room. He knew the sound all too well.

You weren’t a threat. Not really. Lalo was still trying to work out how you had managed to get under Hector’s skin…but he had a feeling that your respect for him gave him a familial sense about you. Like a niece. No…no Lalo wouldn’t get rid of you any time soon, not while you still pleased his Tio, and now apparently looked out for the cartel.

When the men had told Lalo about your late night escapade, he had indeed paid a visit to Los Pollos Hermanos…and he admittedly hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time when he found those old shitty wire cutters of yours. He knew you had spirit but he had to admit that he hadn’t expected that of you.

You were this skittish little thing , but the older man couldn’t help but feel entertained at your antics. You were juvenile and fearless despite your anxious nature. So eager to prove something.

So they watched you.

The following few nights after your impulsive crime, the men had taken to start making little bets. Would you do something else crazy? Was it a one time thing? They kept busy.

You were dull, but you were cute, and they didn’t mind.

They knew you never had visitors, so a week later, when they saw a taxi pull up, and a man get out in front of your building they didn’t perk up. They watched him enter, and lazily observed him; it wasn’t until they noticed how he loitered outside the front door until someone left and he caught the door that they looked at him a little closer.

The man disappeared inside, and they were begining to grow bored of waiting to see if anything if happened until your apartment light turned on.

They watched what they could see of you move through your apartment. One of the men had his binoculars in hand, pressed to his eyes to see more, but all he could make out was your door being flung open, and your home going black.

That was enough for them.

One of the men pulled out his phone, and pressed a speed dial, and waited as it rang.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[la-muerta]

SH Spooky Fics Self-rec for Halloween

Shadowhunters edition first (because that's what I have the most of lol)

Monsters [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, ~93.7k words, SPN-verse AU, Lightwoods as hunters, Prince of Hell Magnus ---

Salem [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, ~61.4k words, College AU, modern witches, SE Asian magic & Salem Witch Trials ---

The Haunting of Blackthorn House - Part 1: Red Door on the Right [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, ~32k words - Part 2: The Secrets of Blackthorn House [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, ~28k words ---

Alexa/Alexander [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, ~3.7k words, Major Character Death; Magnus loses his husband in a car accident – but the ones we love never truly leave us. ---

Black Dog [Read on Ao3]; Rated T, ~1.8k words; Magnus Bane, a travelling demon hunter, wanders into a town that is being terrorised by a monstrous phantom dog. ---

The Lighthouse on Lightwood Island [Read on Ao3]; Rated T, 614 words, Major Character Death; A strange lighthouse stands alone at the far end of Lightwood Island. ---

The Goddess [Read on Ao3]; Rated T, ~4.1k words; Fearless explorer Maia teams up with a slightly shady sorcerer in an attempt to beat the Lightwood siblings to the lost temple of the dancing goddess. ---

Bloody Mary [Read on Ao3]; Rated T, ~1.6k words, Major Character Death; Clary hadn't planned to fall in love with the ghost in the mirror. ---

Sharp Teeth [Read on Ao3]; Rated T, 810 words, Major Character Death; Jace convinces Simon to explore an abandoned old house on their first date. ---

Afterschool Special [Read on Ao3]; Rated T, ~2.9k words, Major Character Death; School legend tells of seven haunted spots in Idris Academy. What better night than Halloween to find out if all the stories are true? ---

what is yours will find you [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, 17k words, Modern with magic, Human-ish AU, Alec with magic ---

the treachery of beautiful things [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, 44.6k words, Major Character Undeath, Vampire AU, Indonesian folklore ---

swirling black lilies, totally ripe [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, 6.6k words, Magnus is a God, Indonesian folklore ---

Definitely Not Haunted (Anymore) [Read on Ao3]; Rated E, ~50.4k words, Fluff & Horror, haunted house meet-cute, case fic, Indonesian folklore

[sauronpasta]

Rings of Power Sauron/Galadriel Fic Rec Post of Fics that are Exactly my Taste: Part 1/? Canon Compliant/Divergent One-Shots

Since I have torn through too many Rings of Power fics to count since the season 2 finale, I thought it was time to compile the best of them into some lists and send it out into the universe. I think I'm the last person on earth who doesn't know how to make fancy photo edits, but I am over-caffeinated and sleep deprived and will provide semi-detailed reviews for each fic to make up for my post being plain and simple. So don't scroll by! All of these fics deserve to be read and re-read, and please leave these great writers comments if you do partake! Also, if you know of these authors having tumblr handles, please let me know so that I can tag them!

ouroboros by Amuria, 17k, E: Post-S2 Finale Time Loop Fic. Galadriel keeps ending up on the raft with Halbrand and tries to change what happened. The best part of this fic, other than the gorgeous prose, is that it takes a well-loved fanfic trope, the time loop, and really ups the stakes with relentless pacing. It's not just a different versions of the raft scene, but short loops, long loops, loops where she tries to kill Sauron, and loops where they find that they are good partners. It's disorienting in a good way, because you are along for the ride with Galadriel.

salt by thefudge, 2.5k, E: HIGHLY recommend, one of my favorite pieces of fan fiction ever. One word to describe this fic: trippy. It takes place on the raft, after the storm and before Halbrand and Galadriel are rescued by Elendil. Galadriel falls deeper and deeper into various deceptions of Sauron, leading her into an un-reality where time is meaningless. The very definition of Sauron playing with his food. Artsy porn at its finest, mind the tags on this one, but definitely give it a read if it's up your alley.

Dragged by the Crown by fawningbruises, 12k, E: This is more of a Sauron character study, with a bit of Morgoth/Sauron and Sauron/Galadriel. So many great descriptions of first age Silmarillion stories and locations from Sauron's POV. If you enjoy Sauron being slightly snarky and an often exhausted evil bureaucrat, this is the fic for you.

Half Life by audreystark, 7k, E: Porn with Plot at its finest. Galadriel is making trouble for Sauron while he travels around Harad distributing the nine rings. I like that this fic explores the particular Halbrand/Galadriel dynamic, but post-season 2 rather than backtracking to season 1. I also like that Halbrand is hot as hell and Galadriel fights him tooth and nail the entire time, but still wants him. Just a great quick read.

The Waiting Game by ninathena (@athenasnina), 2.5k, G: I love a touch of sadness and tragedy with my Sauron/Galadriel stories, and this little fic explores the potential for a moment that I think about a lot. Would Galadriel feel it when Sauron is finally defeated in the third age? More importantly, would they be able to see each other one last time? The biggest tragedy with them is that no matter what, they are still bonded. I won't give anything more away here, go read! You will feel things.

I will make a separate list for multi-chapter fics and AUs. Happy reading!

[pisces-swirlix]

Payneland Fic Recs

There are some fics that I feel like don’t get talked about enough (or at all), so this is my attempt to give them more recognition! Even though nobody asked lol. Also, I don’t know the tumblr handles for like any of these authors, only their AO3 usernames, so sorry :(

love, in context B24-16 by experimentaldragonfire

Rating: General

Words: 19k

Status: Complete

“Archaeology student Edwin Payne didn't expect the chatty tourist at the excavation fence to become someone he couldn't imagine life without.”

Not gonna lie, I probably overlooked this one a few times, but I’m SO glad I finally read it. It was cute and emotional and damn, this pulled at my heartstrings SO hard. Seriously, there’s a beach date and a museum date and more than one scene where being soaked by the rain is involved. I binged the whole thing in one sitting.

The Manuscript of Real People by paraph

Rating: Mature

Words: 42k 64k

Status: In Progress

“Britain, 1976. Three years into boarding at Saint Hilarion's School, Edwin Paine is assigned Charles Rowland as a roommate.”

This one is pretty heavy. It’s not necessarily sad, but there’s a lot of violence and bullying and homophobia. However the plot really does pull you in, and it’s a really good slowburn. but like, slow slow.

The Case of the Couples Retreat by juliasfanart

Rating: Teen

Words: 17k 23k

Status: In Progress Complete!

“It should have been just another case for the Dead Boy Detective Agency - a pair of missing ghosts to find - if not for the fact that they had to investigate a luxury resort dedicated to couples counselling... for ghosts. And what better way for Edwin and Charles to infiltrate it than to pretend to be just another couple needing to revive their relationship?”

This one is like the opposite of the last one. No dark themes that I can think of, it’s fun and cute while also shining a pretty strong light on the emotions of the characters. This fic has me blushing and swinging my feet.

the notetaker’s ode by imnotcryingipromise

Rating: General

Works: 3k

Status: Complete

“In which Charles realises that Edwin’s notebook contains more than just information about escaping Hell.”

Fluff lovers, this one is for you. Edwin has some very cute things in his journal. Simple and sweet :)

More Night Stand by in_flux

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8k

Status: Complete

“The last person Charles would have expected to meet at a club is Edwin Payne. And they're both happy enough to leave together - with a little help from Niko.”

University AU (kind of). It’s got some pretty hot smut in here, but it also is very cute to see them both have these embarrassingly obvious crushes that the other isn’t picking up on while they both try to seem cool and casual. It’s technically done, but I’m holding on hope that the author will release more someday because this AU is awesome.

[starrysvn]

place in me | jung wooyoung

pairing: chef!wooyoung x chef!gn reader

genre: angst, slow burn, fluff, ex2l

word count: 17k

warnings: angsty af, kinda toxic workplace, food, drinking, i know jackshit about cooking apart from hell's kitchen, masterchef and google searches, one (1) sex joke, reader is kinda dumb.

a/n: this has been in the works since march. i gotta stop procrastinating. anyhoww, i cited "m. butterfly" by david henry hwang and reworked one of my favorite quotes ever from "jane eyre" by charlotte brontë bc i luv her. hope u guys enjoy it <3

networks: @cromernet 🫶🏻

playlist: beside you by 5sos, finally // beautiful stranger by halsey, sparks fly by taylor swift, sorry by halsey, back to december by taylor swift, right where you left me by taylor swift, the winner takes it all by abba, haunted by taylor swift, amnesia by 5sos, place in me by luke hemmings

masterlist | navi

During quiet nights you worked best. It had always been that way ever since you were a student and you didn’t think things would change. Not when the kitchen was completely silent except for the slow rumbling of whatever you had on the stove and the swift swish of your chopping knife against the cutting board. You loved listening to music while cooking, but on nights like these, you preferred the muffled sounds of the city coming in from the cracked open window and the occasional humming that left your mouth. 

It was peaceful enough to remember why you loved cooking so much. Not that you ever forgot but, lately, it was hard to find joy in your job. The hustle and bustle of the kitchen kept you busy enough to render your work almost mechanical, punctuated by the quick rhythm of orders coming in. All the loud noises around you sent you into a frenzy more often than not. 

It was on nights like these - in the kitchen of your own apartment, off duty for the evening - immersed in the mellow atmosphere you created, that you wondered if it had all been worth it. The studying, the getting yelled at, Paris… If it had all brought you to this - working in a Michelin star restaurant you had only ever dreamed of setting foot in -  but could never get you anywhere past it. If this was your final dream, your last ambition, then why did it all feel so heavy? 

It was a question you could never answer. You took great pride in your work and in yourself for getting you where you were. You liked some of your fellow chefs, and the reaction your answer got out of people when they asked you where you worked. It lit a match in you, it felt like a pat on the shoulder to your younger self. But when you got home exhausted and so not ready to face it all again the next morning, doubt clung heavily to your mind. 

You turned off the burner with a sour taste in your mouth you knew only your cooking could melt away. Sat down in front of your gamjatang, you took a big breath before diving in. You had avoided the dish like the plague ever since then, but somehow tonight your hands moved for you when reaching for the ingredients. The circumstances couldn’t have been more different than when you last cooked it; you weren’t hungover, it wasn’t four in the morning, and you weren’t halfway across the world with him. 

A memory pushed and shoved to come to the forefront of your mind, one about warmth and love and understanding all washing over you in the tiny kitchenette of a Paris apartment where, with him, you tipsily laughed and slow danced to the music of your hearts beating at the same time.

It wasn’t surprising that it just didn’t taste the same. Recipe and execution-wise it was perfect, you couldn’t count the amount of times you cooked the soup. But it tasted off, somehow. And right now you didn’t have the mental capacity to analyze why. So you just ate in silence, a slight frown on your lips with every spoonful, grateful you only had to load the washing machine before going to bed, disappointed your peaceful night of cooking had been ruined. 

–

“What’s got your panties in a twist today?” 

Park Seonghwa was your favorite coworker. You two started working at Hwang’s at the same time and bonded pretty quickly. He was quiet and focused, a perfectionist when it came to his job and never really contributed to the migraine-inducing bustling crowd of chefs around you. He also would never dare to speak like this when you both were in earshot of the sous chef. You sighed. Apparently, you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and proceeded to grill your junior chef Jongho with more bite than usual. 

“Please don’t say that when Seo’s so close to us,” you flashed him a warning look which was met with a mischievous smirk. 

“We all know you’re aiming for his spot, with the scolding you just did he can only be proud,” the sous chef in your kitchen had the reputation of being even worse than head chef Lee, truly the bane of everyone’s existence. You didn’t want to be like him. 

“Oh, lord,” you shook your head, slowing down your chopping the slightest bit. You’d woken up with a headache after a fitful night of sleep, already frustrated with the world before even facing it. Missing the bus and clocking in late didn’t help either, not when you were greeted with a murderous glare from the head chef. You didn’t mean to be snappy with your junior, but things had inevitably piled up. 

“I don’t even know if I want the position anymore,” you grunted under your breath, earning a soft giggle from Seonghwa.

“Careful saying that out loud, or the vultures will try even harder to take you down,” he knew better than to bump his shoulder with yours, lest he interrupted your furious chopping and ended up being the reason you lost a finger, but did it anyway. The sweet gesture comforted you, surprisingly you didn’t feel the urge to bite his head off. 

“Let them,” you meant the words to sound a little less disheartened than they did, but all of last night’s thinking had seemingly gotten to you. Seonghwa gave you a confused look but could say little before being interrupted. 

“Executive Chef Kim needs to speak to you,” the eyes of the whole kitchen were on you as a sort of stillness descended upon everyone. Even Seonghwa beside you looked surprised, even if less than everyone else. You knew in his head he was probably cooking up some joke about you being the next tyrant sous. 

There were two ways this encounter could go: either fire you or promote you. A conviction that grew stronger when you entered the still-empty restaurant and sat at a table were not only the executive chef, but also the owner and manager, waiting for you. Why would they do this hours before opening? 

“Thank you for joining us,” manager Na said as soon as you sat down in front of them. “As you may be aware, chef Kim and chef Lee have had their eyes on you as a possible candidate to replace chef Seo once he retires.” Her piercing eyes stared deep into your soul. You nodded, almost afraid to speak, wondering why in the world you chose to work for such intimidating people. 

“I’m afraid you will not be taking that spot.” 

A low blow. Somehow, even when you were neither too hopeful nor too enthusiastic about becoming sous chef, the rejection still hurt. It still sent a jolt of disappointment and self-doubt shooting through you. Were you not doing a good job? Were you not up to their standards? 

“However,” you looked up again, your eyes now on executive chef Kim. “Mr. Hwang is opening up another restaurant.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” you mumbled, wheels slowly turning in your head. Manager Na smiled knowingly. 

“I would like to give you the opportunity to become head chef in my new restaurant,” Mr. Hwang said. “I’m told by chef Kim and chef Lee that you would fit the position better than the one of sous chef. I trust their judgment.” 

It took all you had not to let your jaw hang in front of them. Head chef? Had they lost their minds? Never had your mind taken the decision for you before you could even rationalize your thoughts. 

“Could I think about it?” 

“Time ticks fast here, you know that chef Y/L/N,” Manager Na’s intimidating eyes were on you again. “We’d like to have an answer in two days at most.” 

With a curt nod, they dismissed you. You didn’t think you had ever made a beeline for the bathroom so fast in your entire life. Surely, you couldn’t go back into the kitchen looking like your cat just died. Everybody would know something was wrong, they would know that the position as sous was still free and you had been shot down. And there was little they could do better than kicking a man when he was down. 

So you sat in the cubicle, trying to calm your shaking hands and regain composure. Act like nothing happened. Betray no emotion. Go back to dicing potatoes exactly one centimeter by one centimeter. Not a millimeter more, not one less. 

Assholes. All of them. They couldn’t have chosen a better moment to tell you this than the most hectic night of the week. And now you’d have to work through it. Through the eyes trailed on you, holding questions and spite and jealousy. Through chef Lee’s and chef Seo’s yelled reprimanding, making sure everything was just perfect for the critic coming in.

Just one more night.

Never had you held on so tightly to such meager consolation. 

–

“You look like you need a beer.” 

Seonghwa’s voice broke the silence of the back alley. After closing, you decided to stick around instead of fleeing home like you usually would. It had been a while since the last time you sat outside the back entrance of the kitchen, alone with your thoughts after hours of noise. 

“I need vodka,” you voiced, not looking up as he took a spot beside you.

“That’s stooping so low, what’s wrong?”

You knew the question would come. Somehow he had not asked anything when you entered the kitchen again with a blank face. A murmur had slithered past as you took your place and started working again. But Seonghwa had just shot you a look, resuming his work as well. 

“They want to make me head chef at Hwang’s new restaurant.” 

“But that’s great!” He was looking at you with those big, wide, excited eyes of his and a genuine smile on his lips. One would think the offer was made to him. You were almost sorry you had to wipe that happiness away. 

“I don’t know if I want that…”

“What do you mean?” He looked puzzled, but not surprised. You sighed. How did you explain this without sounding crazy? 

“I mean… I-” you grunted, hands in your hair. “When’s the last time you felt like cooking?” 

Seonghwa stared back with a slight frown in his brow, eyes bouncing around your face in an effort to understand. 

“Like, really cooking. Without walking into the kitchen and wanting to throw up, or dreading opening time and all the yelling. I know it’s how it is when you work for such big names but fuck. Everything’s too fast and I… it feels like I don’t care anymore, Hwa. They took my passion and stomped all over it.” 

“Didn’t you want to be a high end, gourmet restaurant chef?” 

You stared, mouth hanging open. Of course, you did. It was your biggest dream, your one ambition. It was excruciating that all the pressure was making you break, making you think that you weren’t cut out for this and you had wasted your time. 

“I did, I do.”

“But?” 

“But this isn’t it. This feels like a survival show, where everyone’s out for blood. I understand competitiveness, but I can hardly breathe when we start cooking. Chef Seo is a literal nightmare and I don’t think I can do it anymore in a place like this.” 

“I see…”

“You think I lost my mind,” you let your head tilt back, eyes on the starless night sky.

“Maybe you did,” Seonghwa said. “That doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” 

“I’ll be honest, I never thought I’d hear you like this,” he continued. “You hold such pride for what you do and how you do it. I think Seo might yell at you just because he’s irritated he’s got nothing on you. Half of the people hate you for how well you manage.”

“Gee, thanks,” you scoffed.

“My point is,” he bumped his shoulder with yours. “That it’s indicative of how much this place fucking sucks if they got you breaking. A Michelin kitchen, or any kitchen for that matter, shouldn’t burn out their best chefs.” 

“Jongho is so brave for junioring here,” you deflected, allowing his words to soothe your burning wounds. 

“Hey, we did that too!”

“Yeah, and look at where it got us,” you giggled, smiling for the first time tonight. Seonghwa huffed out a laugh. 

A beat of silence passed. You were glad for Seonghwa. Even though you often joked he was just your favorite coworker, you considered him a dear friend. One of your only friends for the matter. 

“What are you gonna do?” 

“I’ll quit,” you heard his surprised gasp and chuckled. “And I’ll refuse the position. I know head chef sounds better but I know them. Manager Na and Mr. Hwang will only hire straight up assholes and I’d have to deal with it, and not even as executive chef.”

“We’re not assholes!” his hand sat on his chest in mock offense, you giggled.

“We look like assholes and do our job quietly and damn near perfectly, that’s why we’re here.” 

Mumbling something along the lines of I guess so, Seonghwa accepted the heavy truth. In the quiet alley, sitting with your friend, you felt okay. The murmur of the busy city filled your heart as you quietly giggled and remembered your first days working at Hwang’s. Goodbyes were always hard on you, but not this time. You expected gut-wrenching pain and tears and the heavy burden of failure on your shoulders as you accepted your decision. But none of it manifested, not when Seonghwa had snuck one of the most expensive bottles of wine out of the kitchen and launched himself in a perfect rendition of Chef Seo’s latest meltdown. Maybe taking a step back didn’t mean failing, something you never would’ve believed mere months ago. 

-

The sound of freedom equated to the one of your blaring alarms each morning. It had been two weeks since you had quit your job, but you still refused to get a good night’s sleep. Well, except the night you told Seonghwa and you ended up drunk off your faces. 

You rolled over, turning off the annoying alarm, ready to start another day of not knowing what to do. There were few things you enjoyed doing, apart from cooking, when all you were left with was free time and silence. It was nice getting out of the house in the early spring morning to buy groceries, go for walks, and swing by your friend’s flower shop, but it got old quickly. Mostly, you didn’t like how sometimes, while cooking, memories you tried to never think of seemed to resurface on their own. 

When you finally got to the kitchen and there was nothing but eggs in the fridge – it was shopping day – you settled on an omelette for breakfast. Only, halfway through cooking, your mind wandered back there. 

When Chef Berrien asked you to make an omelette you wanted to laugh. You didn’t though, not when you saw the serious frown he was sporting. He was being serious? The absurdity of the situation made you question if dropping everything you had back at home just to fly to Paris to master your craft had been worth it. Maybe your mother was right, maybe you were crazy. 

“Omelettes are the easiest thing to spoil,” he stood resolutely in front of you all. “Only good chefs make good omelettes.” 

Oh god, your mother was right. 

“Good luck,” a smug voice sounded from beside you. 

If there was someone who could push you over the edge Chef Berrien shoved you to, it was Jung Wooyoung. In just two weeks of sharing your working station with him, you discovered that his bubbly personality clashed with your silent brooding. You preferred to work in silence and, apparently, he thrived in chaos. 

“You too,” you grumbled, getting your few ingredients ready. How in the world were you supposed to prove your worth with a fucking omelette? You closed your eyes and sighed, getting to work. 

“That definitely looks… simple,” Wooyoung mumbled as Berrien walked through the cooking stations, pulling faces at every dish. You looked down at yours - a plain, french omelette - then at his - all prettily plated and definitely cheese filled - and bit your tongue.

“He asked for an omelette, not a Michelin star worthy breakfast,” you hastily whispered, wishing he would just shut up for once.

“Aren’t we training to be Michelin star worthy chefs?” came his rebuttal, getting on your last nerve with that pretty smirk of his. 

Pretty? 

You scoffed and shook your head, straightening your back and clearing your throat as Berrien came close to your station. When the chef’s eyes landed on your omelette, a slight frown pulled his lips downwards. As he walked away, you did your best to ignore Wooyoung’s silent snicker and the burning in your cheeks. After the evaluation, you kept quiet for the rest of the day. 

It sometimes happened that you would close off to the rest of the world, and focused only on what you were thinking and the task at hand. Most often when you were cooking, which both helped and hindered your work. As much as you needed to focus on what you were doing, you also needed to listen to orders while doing it. You hoped to get better at managing it, it was why you were here, after all. Though, for now, after a full day surrounded by people, you were happy sitting alone with your back resting against the backdoor to the kitchen. 

“Is the silent treatment payback for beating you today?”

The door flew open, making you lose balance for a second, then came his question. 

“You didn’t beat me, Wooyoung, this is not a competition,” you sighed, keeping your eyes set on the wall in front of you rather than on his figure sitting down beside you. 

“Sounds like something a sore loser would say,” he bumped his shoulder with yours, no doubt with a shit-eating grin on his lips. That did it.

“Just because your omelette got a nod and mine got a frown, it doesn’t mean yours was better!” You all but exploded, finally looking at him. Indeed, he was wearing a smug grin. 

“Well, Chef Berrien would disagree,” you scoffed as he looked at you with shiny, distracting, eyes. Was it the light from the lamppost reflected in them or had the lack of sleep finally got to your brain? You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thought.

“Fuck you too, I guess,” you finally said, turning back around, earning a laugh from him. 

You didn’t want to stop and think about why his laugh pulled a snicker out of you, making you feel so light and at ease. 

“Does this mean you’ll go back to talking to me then?” He asked, sounding a little small. “You’re not mad?” 

Something pulled at your heartstrings, hearing him ask something like that. Did he really think you were mad at him? You probably looked like an asshole for the rest of the day after Berrien barely passed your omelette. 

“I’m not,” you said much faster than you anticipated. “I never was.” 

“That’s good,” he smiled, and you weren’t sure you liked the warmth that blossomed in your chest. 

You avoided thinking of your training in Paris with all your might, and he was the reason why. But it seemed that now that your whole world had turned upside down, your brain could do nothing but. Add that to the list of things you hated about unemployment. A funny smell pulled you from your thoughts, eyes focusing back on the almost burned omelette in front of you. Mumbling curses under your breath, you turned off the heat and plated it. This was why you never let your thoughts take over. 

You ate your spoiled breakfast in silence, deciding to get started with your day and your grocery shopping, mentally listing all the food you’d need. Anything, really, at this point to keep your mind occupied with something that wasn’t him.

It was still hard for you to wrap your head around what Jung Wooyoung meant to you. Or rather, you knew perfectly well and tried to avoid it like the plague. He was a closed chapter you didn’t want to revisit simply because it hurt. Because there was a point in time where he meant the whole world to you, where he was your whole world, and you decided to burn it all down only to choke on the ashes of what it used to be. 

You left wondering if he was still writing pages or considered the story closed and done as you did. Like you had to not to drown in guilt. 

While walking down the street, warm sunlight caressing your face, you asked yourself why it was all coming back to you now. A hollow of confusion had opened up in your chest, and of its own volition your heart chose to fill it with such memories. When Wooyoung came into your life, he did so by taking it by storm; randomly, upsetting all you had ever known, and maybe at the wrong time. That didn’t mean he didn’t leave a sign, a permanent one, on your heart. And now that you were crawling in confusion, he was barging in once more.

Wooyoung was late. It was teamwork evaluation day and your project partner was nowhere to be seen. Chef Berrien had sent daggers flying your way upon seeing the empty side of your workstation, not waiting a second longer to start the class. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole and also to strangle Wooyoung on sight. There must’ve been a logical reason why he still hadn’t shown up when you were supposed to finish your three-day project. If the fucker left you alone to finish cooking lièvre à la royale, you were seriously going to give him the scolding of a lifetime.

Anxiety started to claw at your stomach, twisting it in knots and tugging at them in a way that made it harder to breathe. Under the chef’s pointed gaze you could only stay as still as possible, hoping he’d prolong his very unsubtle speech about tardiness until Wooyoung got here, praying he would, and yet cursing him in your head. 

He still hadn’t shown up when he gave the class permission to start working. You sighed in frustration, walking to the fridge to retrieve the hare you’d cooked the day before with trembling hands. Back at your station, you realized that working while checking the door every three seconds would get you nowhere, and you weren’t about to fail the assignment even if half of your team was missing. 

When the meat was finally cleaned of the jellied liquid it had sat in overnight, and you were preparing to cut it into exactly eighty grams slices - not one more, not one less, Berrien's voice sounded in your head -  the door to the kitchen burst open.

In came a panting Wooyoung, his white chef jacket buttoned up a little crooked, who tried to make his way to your station unseen. It didn’t work.

“Jung,” Berrien’s voice resonated in the hot hair of the kitchen, making everyone stop working for a beat. Too bad no one had time to spare. You started slicing. “I don’t appreciate tardiness.”

“I’m very sorry, Chef-” he held his hand up next to his face, shutting up your partner. 

“You may start cooking,” you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding the whole time, shoulders almost sagging in relief. “But don’t think I won’t keep this in mind during evaluation.” 

The frustration you’d tried to keep at bay so far flared up once more, and your grip on the knife tightened. Wooyoung silently made his way next to you, washing his hands carefully and using the time to assess how far you’d gotten into the process. You didn’t utter a single word, fuming quietly as you focused on your task and he picked up on his. 

You couldn’t afford to lose time bickering now, and for the first time in a while, you cooked in complete silence, the air around you tense and devoid of the usual jokes he would throw around to lift your spirits. No banter, just instructions and cooking for the next five hours. 

Despite everything, Chef Berrien couldn’t hide how pleased he was with your dish, which didn’t end up at the top of the class only because of Wooyoung’s mishap. As soon as the chef dismissed you, you fled the kitchen.

“Wait!” Wooyoung’s voice called after you, who were already outside and determined to escape to your apartment to avoid cussing him out in front of your fellow chefs, who had already thrown confused glances at you the whole day. 

“Hey, hold up!” He caught you by the wrist, spinning you around. If he wanted to do this here, who were you to deny him? 

“What.” Wooyoung almost flinched at the harshness of your voice. 

“I’m sorry I was late, I really am, I just-”

“Save it,” you cut him off. “Day’s over, damage is done, and we ended up with an alright grade. I don’t want to fight.” 

It was true. For how mad you’d been, you didn’t want to make it worse. You could tell he was sorry by the way he’d cooked in silence, waltzing around you as if you were a bomb ready to go off at any minute. It had taken all your strength not to. You made to turn around and walk away, but he was determined to make you listen to what he had to say. 

“Can you come with me?” He sounded defeated despite the determination in his eyes. All you really wanted was to go home, wash up and rot in bed. You were tired, physically and mentally drained by the day. But your friend – because how could you deny that Wooyoung had become more than a simple classmate in the last month? He’d quietly snuck up on you, surprising you with his cheerful smile and awful jokes, and slowly but steadily carved his own spot into your heart, now beating to the rhythm of his screechy laughter and kind words – was pleading you with his brown, burning eyes and how could you say no? 

Sighing in defeat, you nodded, readjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder and watching as his frown turned into a soft smile. Wooyoung took your hand in his, going back into the building, and guided you up the stairs. Transfixed, you stared at your hands; his felt slightly rough from all the cooking but still soft. You ignored the warmth the simple gesture sparked in your heart and followed quietly; you could only hope he wouldn’t get the two of you expelled. 

Finally, you got to the last flight of stairs, legs burning and chest heaving. You hoped he had a good reason to be dragging you up six flights of stairs and potentially getting you in trouble for trespassing. He ushered you to the small balcony, apparently mostly used for storage, and nodded to a shaky ladder perched onto its wall, leading to the roof. You often did this at your apartment too, the one perk of living on the last floor, but suddenly your mouth went dry.

“How did you even have the time to find out about this-'' you climbed the small way up, thanking your lucky star that the building at least had a flatter roof compared to yours. But the words died in your mouth when you finally got your bearings and looked around.

Wooyoung emerged as well, now leaning against one of the chimneys. You sat down, amazed at the view all around you; as the sun set in the West, tinging the bluish sky with hues of warm orange and golden light, you spotted the Sacre Coeur sitting North and the Eiffel Tower immersed in a pink blush down South. A light breeze passed by, blowing a strand of dark hair into Wooyoung’s eyes, taking your breath away. Paris was quite the show from up there. 

“I really am sorry,” slowly, he made his way over, sitting down next to you as he cast his eyes onto the breathtaking view in front of you. “I overslept, couldn’t find my keys, then had to rush here and… I’m sorry.” 

You scoffed, not believing he almost failed the both of you because he didn’t hear his alarm in the morning. Actually, you could believe it, because it was such a Wooyoung thing to do. You couldn’t stay mad for long though, not when you turned to look at him and simply seeing his face bathing in the golden sun made your heart stutter in your chest. Not when his sorry eyes were melting like honey in the light. 

“I wanted to punch you in the face when you came in late,” overwhelmed by his gaze, you looked away. Faintly, you heard him scoff beside you. “But I was also relieved. I didn’t think Berrien would let you cook.”

“I was ready to beg on my knees,” you snickered, Wooyoung elbowed your side. “No, really, lièvre à la royale is a bitch, I wouldn’t have let you cook it alone.”

“Then why did you sleep through your alarm? I was seeing red and had a knife in my hand, do you have a death wish?” You joked, heart singing when you made him laugh. 

“Hey, I had trouble sleeping last night,” he defended himself, hands up as his laughter died down. With a furrowed brow and inquisitive eyes, you finally looked back at him, studying his face. Only then you noticed the purplish circles under his eyes, just a bit darker than usual.

“Why?” You asked, trying to sound less worried than how you felt. It was Wooyoung’s turn to avoid your eyes and look out at the Parisian skyline, starting to twinkle in the fast-approaching night. 

“I- well,” he sighed as you kept looking, feeling the air around you shift. The way Wooyoung was struggling to come up with an answer had you feeling like you were standing at the edge of a cliff, buzzing with expectation, hanging onto his every word. You didn’t ponder too long on why your heart was racing or why you felt like you could barely breathe. Finally, he looked at you.

“I like you.” 

Now you truly did find it hard to breathe. 

“I like you so much I can barely focus when we cook, and it’s never happened to me before because I love cooking and I always pay close attention to what I’m doing. I also don’t want to lose a finger, you know? But now you’re around and it’s like I can’t help but look at you. You’re so bright and so passionate, and when you’re chopping vegetables you scrunch your nose a little and it’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen-”

In seconds you had your lips on his, pulling him closer with a delicate hand on the back of his neck. Wooyoung froze for only a millisecond before kissing you back. His lips were so pillowy and soft, you kissed him slowly, like you had all the time in the world. Lightly, his hand traveled up to rest on yours, which had moved onto his cheek. Kissing him felt like coming home after a long day. Warm and pleasant like the flame that swallowed your heart, chasing away the menacing grip fear had on it. 

Wooyoung pulled away first if only to plant a small peck onto your lips before smiling. 

“I was speaking,” he said.

“You were rambling.” 

You both started laughing, hearts singing. 

“What I wanted to say is that you shine in your own light and I can’t help but bask in it.” 

The way he was looking at you, in ways no one ever could, could have melted you right then and there. You felt the flush rise to your cheeks, the hand that still rested on his cheek trembling lightly.

“I like you too, Jung Wooyoung,” you smiled. “More than I think I should.”

The quaint flower shop came into view, dispelling the memory, and a soft smile opened up on your lips. It didn’t look like there were any customers, so you stepped in. The colors of the pretty flowers that covered every inch of the walls always managed to put you in a better mood. You walked up to the counter, ringing the bell.

“Coming!” You heard from behind it, somewhere in the back, with a little shuffling and a loud thump. You jumped on your spot, giggling.

“You okay, Sang?” You asked, trying to peep. Your friend emerged a second later, clad in a white shirt, jeans, and his green apron, blowing a piece of his black fringe out of his eyes, a vase full of sunflowers in his hands. 

“Oh, hey, what brings you ‘round?” He smiled, setting the vase on the counter. 

“Just dropping by before going grocery shopping,” you shrugged, smiling back before you started playing softly with the leaves of the flowers near you. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m good, I should be asking how you are,” he raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, “it’s the fourth time you visit this week.” 

You rolled your eyes, used to his antics, standing to help when he nodded at you to follow him. The quietness of the shop eased your thoughts more often than not, plus, you enjoyed the company of your friend. Yeosang lived in your same apartment building and opened up his shop early in the morning, around the same time you had to leave for work. Oftentimes you shared a coffee before your obligations called. He complained about horrible customers and you complained about your horrible coworkers. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” busy with an arrangement, he nodded you to the water lilies to his right. You reached for them with an arched brow, passing them. “A restaurant is opening down the street, if you’re interested in paying rent this month.” 

You huffed a laugh, pretending to be offended. 

“I’ll have you know I save my money, thank you very much.” He stood again, having finished his composition, watching you with an amused expression. “But I appreciate it,” you conceded. Yeosang smiled now, going back behind the counter as you followed.

“You should really check it out, even if it’s just temporary. It’d do you good,” a customer walked in, interrupting your chat. You nodded, leaving him to his work, shooting him one last smile before walking out. His cheerful Have a good day followed you out of the shop and into the now busier street.

Yeosang was right, you knew that much, but you still hesitated as you left the flower shop. There was uncertainty in your steps as you dared to walk down the street, looking ahead to spot the restaurant. Maybe you could go later that day, you could start with something easy like the grocery shopping you needed to do, to ease your nerves. 

That was better, you decided, easing yourself into the day with your routine before upsetting it by facing something new. With newfound vigor, you resumed your walking, headed to your favorite greengrocer. A walk that lasted barely five steps, before you collided against another passerby. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t-” 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

As apologies spilled past your lips, your eyes finally caught sight of the person you so rudely slammed into. When you did, you stopped talking, just as your lungs stopped breathing for a long second.

His dark hair looked a little longer, and his smile was just as you remembered, if not a little softer. Breathtakingly dashing like the first time you saw him, even in his worst moments. Because the last time you saw him, things weren’t pretty. You threw around words you didn’t mean only to disappear from his life. Both of you were crying, eyes red and puffy, voice broken as you spoke. You thought you’d never see him again.

To your dismay, you realized right then and there that you weren’t ready to face him yet. You never prepared for the moment it would all come back, simply because you never thought it would. 

“Thought I’d never see you again,” Wooyoung huffed, his polite smile falling in seconds.

“Yeah, me too,” you croaked, still in shock. 

The moment stretched on for what felt like minutes, and was only probably seconds, as you desperately tried to come up with something to say, something that’d make sense. But your brain came up empty-handed, because what if he hated you? He should hate you. What if he just told you to fuck off and left? Just like you did years ago. 

“So, what are you up to?” 

And yet, here he was again, taking your life by storm. There was no way he was standing there, in front of you in the middle of a busy sidewalk, asking what was of your life. You blanked, producing a sort of confused and surprised noise. He had to be joking. You watched as a little amusement flashed in his eyes, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. 

“Would you like to catch up over coffee?” 

Your eyes must’ve been wide as saucers, not a single second of this was making sense to you. 

“U-uh… Sure,” you shrugged, despite yourself. 

Was this his way of showing you he was unbothered and had moved on? His long-awaited chance to brag about where he was in life? You didn’t know him as someone who would do that, but perhaps you deserved it. Maybe this was karma. 

Awkward. It was all so painfully awkward: walking in tense silence beside him to the coffee shop down the street, trying to make small talk about the weather, stumbling over your words when ordering coffee, waiting for him to join you at the table near the exit. Just in case. 

“You’re back home?” You finally asked as he sat down in front of you, desperate to find something, anything, to talk about and fill the silence that hung menacingly over your heads. After all, he wanted to catch up. Wooyoung nodded, slowly sipping his drink.

“Oh, you’ve been traveling then,” you mumbled, playing with your coffee cup, not daring to look up at him again.

“I was, yes.” It was hard to wrap your head around what was happening. In another life, this would all have been familiar. It could have been. Sharing a cup of coffee on a Thursday morning, talking about whatever, sharing cool recipes, and planning how or when to try them out. His presence wouldn’t make you want to simultaneously vomit and run and hide. Dug your own grave, huh? 

“Only big names I imagine,” you forced a smile. He shrugged with a huff, a little bashful perhaps. It was all you needed to know you’d guessed right.

“What about you? What brings you here?” Wooyoung asked, pulling you out of your reverie. Despite the small, polite smile on his lips, his eyes were unreadable. Though, deep down, you knew the answer he wanted to hear. That you traveled all around the world and did big things - still were - and worked for big names. Achieved your dreams at the expense of his. The lump in your throat made it hard to swallow, to speak. 

“Worked at Hwang’s for a while…” you managed to say through the bitterness. Wooyoung’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, jaw hanging open.

“Really? Wow, that’s… amazing! Doesn’t it have two Michelin stars?” Some of your guilt evaporated at the surprise and excitement in his voice, a lightness that was quickly crushed by your own disappointment. 

“How’s it there?” There it was, the million-dollar question. You scoffed, bitter, looking at him, watching his face fall a little. 

“I quit.” You shrugged. 

“You? Quitting? What happened to the Y/N I knew?” Wooyoung was surprised, that much you could tell, but there was something else brewing in his brown eyes. 

“Dead, gone and buried, apparently.” 

Your words were nothing but bleak, with a little bitterness still in them. Sure, you did what was best for you and you were proud, but you couldn’t help but feel like you had let him down. And wasn’t that absolutely, wildly foolish? 

“They offered me a job as head chef in their new restaurant, but I turned that down as well,” you rushed to explain, feeling like you had to, missing his furrowed brow. 

“That’s…” 

“Crazy?” You offered, cutting him off. Wooyoung scoffed. 

“Well, yeah, but there must’ve been a good reason,” he shrugged. “You don’t have to justify your choices to me, Y/N.” 

Your breathing faltered at his words and the fragility they held. Wooyoung had muttered them so softly, you could’ve lost them in the bustling atmosphere around you, and somehow both stabbed and healed your heart’s wounds. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, speaking again.

“So, you’re unemployed,” you almost couldn’t fathom how quickly he got back to bubbly and upbeat. You nodded, still stunned.

“Great, me too.” Wooyoung smiled while you blinked repeatedly. Was he… happy? 

“My friend told me about this one restaurant opening down the street-”

“They’re not opening,” he said, watching as your face fell. “Not yet at least.” 

You furrowed a brow, confused, about to ask what he meant when he cut you off again.

“I still need to find a co-owner.”

For a moment, you didn’t hear the car, just outside, honking at a group of teenagers crossing the street despite the redlight. You missed the way a barista made a glass fall and shatter eliciting surprised gasps around the shop. You only saw Wooyoung in front of you, his expression between smug and daring to hope, eyes shining with a little fear. All you heard were the words that left his mouth and what they implied, along with your heart ringing in your ears.

“What do you want to do? Why did you decline the head chef position?” You blanched, head spinning, brain scrambling to form coherent words. His eyes burned with a fire in them that screamed determination, one you were used to seeing as he challenged a dish he was afraid to ruin. A fire you used to love so much and that, you found, still made your breath hitch. 

“I-I just want to make good food and not run a kitchen of overworked, stressed, miserable and spiteful people,” you settled on, not daring to look away, not even when he leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips.

“How’d you like it to open a restaurant?” 

“Let’s open our own restaurant,” you laughed at his words, turning your head to catch his enthusiastic smile and bed hair all over the place. He was so beautiful, bathing in the morning light of your room, that your heart jumped and hurt and sang all at once. 

“What?! Is this post-nut clarity?” Wooyoung laughed, pulling you with him.

“Way to ruin the moment, love,” he quieted down. “I’m serious, though,” he was looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes, and such adoration that sometimes it was hard to fathom it was directed at you.

“Mixing feelings with work is the recipe for disaster, Jung,” you found yourself saying, giggling when he pulled you into him, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. It was quiet for a while and you reveled in the warmth of the moment. Wooyoung often made you feel like anything was possible, like right now, huddled in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets despite the impending class you needed to leave for. 

“I think we’d make it,” he whispered, quite believing the words he was saying. “And if it all starts falling apart we can hire chefs to cook and be the owners. Live somewhere tropical, rebuild our relationship…” 

“That’s so sad, we wouldn’t be cooking at all!” you laughed, hiding in his chest and hearing a fake offended hey! from him. “You dream too big, Woo.”

“And you dream too small, my love.” He guided your face in front of his with gentle hands, bumping his nose with yours before kissing you until you were left breathless. When you pulled away, you finally saw the stars dancing in his eyes.

“I do have dreams,” you almost whispered, treading lightly on your own aspirations, opening up your heart for someone else to see. Someone who would understand and not call you crazy. Wooyoung nudged you, an expectant smile on his lips. “I want to travel all around the world and learn from the best of the best. Life’s a classroom, I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop.”

“Never?” he asked, not quite surprised, but more like impressed. He understood. You let out an elated giggle, almost cursing yourself for behaving like a schoolgirl. 

“Never.” unable to resist, you pecked his lips once. 

“That’s a wonderful dream, love.” 

One of his hands came up to rest on your cheek, cradling it gently, looking at you as if you were the most prized possession of his. All over, warmth wrapped you up, and rose to your cheeks that he was still grazing his thumb over, light as a feather.

“I want to open a restaurant someday, ” he whispered, so close to you, looking into your eyes and sending sparks flying in your chest. “But I think I might just follow you to the ends of the world.”

His lips crashed on yours once more, sending your heart racing more than his words had. This might’ve been the closest you’d ever felt to heaven, with Wooyoung wrapped around you, canceling any and everything else. You knew, right then and there, that the fall was going to hurt like nothing had ever before. 

Consommé was the most devilish dish you’d ever had the displeasure of cooking. And yet, its intricate cooking process demanded every last bit of your undivided attention. That was why you were sweating away in the kitchen, trying to achieve the perfect result through your rusty memory of the process, although you had no need for it. Well, except not thinking of your morning. You’d rather remember Chef Berrien’s voice as he dictated the recipe and the endless ways you could ruin it, than your encounter with Wooyoung. 

A shiver ran down your spine, tingling all the way, when his words, the ones from earlier and the ones from back then, echoed in your mind; clashing, fighting, and leaving behind scorched earth. 

You could hardly believe this was your life right now. Accepting would mean tying yourself down to this place, to Wooyoung. You let the thought simmer in your head, waiting for the familiar claustrophobia to bloom in your chest, suggesting you to run and never come back.  

It didn’t come. 

Instead, the thought of leaving pulled at your heartstrings. You liked it here. You liked your morning coffee shit-talking sessions with Yeosang, you liked meeting up with Seonghwa on his days off, you liked your greengrocers and the walk back through the park near home. You liked your apartment, you finally liked the disposition of your tools in your kitchen. You liked the thought of working with Wooyoung. 

You dropped the ladle, splashing your skin with the hot soup. You hissed in pain, clutching your hand to your chest before assessing the damage. You walked the short distance to the sink, running your hand under cold water.

Well, you thought, there goes the clarification process. 

-

You skipped breakfast with Yeosang that morning. For one, you were late despite the alarms, and, most importantly, you needed to talk yourself into actually meeting Wooyoung at the restaurant. The day before you’d left him with the promise of letting him know about the offer. You preferred not to think about how, for just a moment, you could see the determination falter in his eyes. Again. Wooyoung saved his number in your phone before letting you go. 

After taking care of your slightly burned hand, you stared at your phone for all of twenty minutes before finally crafting the perfect text saying you’d meet him at the restaurant at ten. 

And now, five minutes to ten, you were running down the street, dodging people left and right, trying to get to the closed-down restaurant. You couldn’t count the amount of sorry’s you’d thrown around when accidentally running into someone. Finally, the sign came into view, and so did Wooyoung. 

“You made it,” he sounded vaguely surprised and you tried not to let it get to you, or to let it show on your face. 

“So,” you cleared your voice after nodding. “How’d you find out about this?” He gestured for you to follow towards the entrance, producing the key from the back pocket of his black jeans. 

“I used to like this place,” he easily opened the door, leading you inside the empty restaurant. From the outside the restaurant didn’t look like much more than a hole in the wall, but the inside was spacious enough. A small restaurant, fitting maybe twenty tables at best, but you liked the idea. By the looks of it, it must had been recently renovated. Wooyoung switched the lights on, allowing you to see better. “When I got back the owner told me he was thinking of closing, and I asked if he wanted to sell. He made a pretty good offer.” 

“Huh,” you were still looking at the anonymous white walls and the few sleek black tables left behind, making your way to what you knew to be the kitchen. Stepping in, you gasped. It was perfect; an island kitchen slightly bigger than you’d imagined. Almost gleaming in its silver glory it stared back at you, inviting you in. You didn’t even mind the checkered floor as you walked across the space and took it in. Wooyoung stood by the door, leaning against its frame with his hands in his pockets, watching. It looked like he was holding his breath, and you knew why. 

“What do you think?” his voice was just a little bit hesitant. You turned around with a smile. 

“I love it,” you offered, noticing how he seemed to ease up the slightest bit. 

“Ah, I knew you’d fall for the island kitchen,” Wooyoung scoffed, walking into the space as well.

“Not my fault it’s the best type of kitchen,” you raised your hands, hearing him snort.

“Debatable,” he muttered, now standing in front of you. There was amusement dancing in his eyes, a spark you realized just then how much you’d missed. 

It hit you then, square in the chest, how much you really just missed him. He still seemed to know what you wanted even before you knew yourself. It happened then and it was happening now. Being in the kitchen with him felt electrifying, your hands itched to start cooking. You looked around once more, seeing yourself bustling around in this kitchen, Wooyoung at your side.

Never once did you regret the choices you’d made; your love for food had brought you all around the world, learning and cooking in the most beautiful kitchens, earning your praise felt like the biggest reward. Believing in yourself and your skill, your craft, and being able to perfect it was all you really needed. Maybe it was time to stop and breathe for a while, and put your experience to use. Because, no, you never regretted where your choices took you, except losing Wooyoung. Your compass, the one who never lost sight of your heart. 

“Let’s do it.”

Wooyoung looked at you as if you’d grown a second head, letting out a surprised sound.

“I saved quite a bit in the last few years and we could ask for a loan. Quite frankly, I’ve always wanted to run a kitchen on my own terms,” you could hear it in your voice, the ambition faintly coming back to it, something you hadn’t heard in a while. You smiled seeing Wooyoung straighten up. 

“We’d be running it together,” he lifted a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. You mirrored his stance.

“That’s good with me,” Wooyoung smirked. 

“Then let’s do it.”

-

Oftentimes you asked yourself how you ended up here. You believed it almost impossible that you were, once again, sitting in front of Jung Wooyoung at an ungodly hour of the night, eating food you’d made as the radio softly played in the background. What was even less credible to you was how you were sitting in your restaurant, yours, discussing menu plans. 

A month strong into the planning and designing, you were proud to say that you and Wooyoung were… friendly. Like coworkers were. Almost like long-lost friends would be. But it was fine because you got to stress Yeosang nearly every morning about how sometimes you both would slip into old habits and bicker like you used to and how that would confuse you. Then you’d talk Seonghwa’s ear off one night a week in front of your drinks, rambling on and on about how you’d catch yourself staring at him, blushing like an idiot, stumbling over your words. 

Safe to say that your friends were tired, but deep down it surprised and comforted them to see you come back to life bit by bit. 

It was all hard to wrap your head around because the last time you saw him still burned in the back of your mind. It was the giant elephant in the room you could never address, you could never pretend to not see. But Wooyoung was great at turning a blind eye, you realized. And you couldn’t really blame him either. You never expected to be in this sort of situation, you had quite literally run from it. 

But you were afraid of misstepping, of crossing a line.

So, now, there you stood, at a crossroads; talk about it and watch this newfound truce crash and burn, or pretend like everything was fine. For now, discussing the menu with your co-owner would have to do. 

“I think we should add that!” Wooyoung all but yelled, slamming his chopsticks down. 

“And I’m telling you that I know the area!” You rebutted, swallowing your bite, before carrying on with your point. “There’s at least three other restaurants that do that, what’s missing is a gourmet place.”

“Will you let it go?” He sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “If we get there, we get there, if we don’t, then we’re still making fantastic food!” 

Wooyoung had a point, you knew he did. A valid one at that. 

“You’re insufferable,” you conceded, rolling your eyes and resuming your eating, trying to hide the smile pulling at your lips. 

“You love it,” he winked, picking up his chopsticks. 

And just like that, he threw you back into your loop. How could you simply let it go when this felt so familiar? When it reminded you so much of how you were? Light and carefree. Happy. You hadn’t noticed your eyes roaming around his figure, taking in his long dark hair pulled back by a ponytail, the way his eyes seemed to shine in the dull light coming from the stupid lamp he’d insisted on bringing in. 

This was his dream, wasn’t it? You remembered, because how could you forget the endless hours he’d spend talking about his own restaurant, managing his own kitchen, creating dishes, and cooking his favorites? You could tell by the small smile he sported as he ate, looking around the room with star-filled eyes. 

You didn’t know quite how you fit into this. You never amounted that one conversation, years ago in your Paris apartment, up to anything more than daydreaming. Though, right now, the moment felt tangible, you could grasp it in your hands if you wanted to. He'd given you a new dream to chase right when you thought you were over. 

“You’re looking at me weird,” Wooyoung waved his chopsticks in a circle around your face, eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” your eyes fell back to the almost empty plate, moving the last bites of food around. 

“I didn’t say it was bothering me,” his voice was lower, almost a whisper, and you felt your heart drop. When you looked up, you didn’t know what to make of his expression. It looked like he was contemplating his following words, and you were all but hanging from his lips. He stayed quiet, eyes downcast on his plate, and shot you a short smile. 

You let the radio fill the silence between you, allowing the thoughts to pester your mind. Though, like a cup overflowing, there was little you could do to cage them and push them down.

“Wooyoung, were you-” his eyes rose to meet yours, and you stopped for a second, mulling the question over, savoring its bitter taste in your mouth before spitting it out as if it were a seed that ruined your bite. “Who were you going to open the restaurant with?”

His wide eyes told you all you needed to know, and yet his stunned silence pulled another set of words out of your lips.

“You said you needed a co-owner first…” you rasped, almost shocked you were still talking through the cotton in your mouth. Wooyoung set his chopsticks down, trying to hide the way his hands started trembling, sighing.

“We made a good team, didn’t we?” his voice was quieter, wondering. He shot you an uneasy smile, so short and so small you almost missed it. “I know you’re a great chef and we want this to be a great restaurant.”

“Yeah…” you whispered, feeling the weight of memories unloading on both your shoulders, their presence demanding the unwanted plunging into deep, murky waters. “Does it have, uhm… does it have anything to do with-”

“Let’s not open that can of worms, mh?” He cut you off immediately, sounding a tad harsher than he had before, rubbing salt into your matching wounds. 

“I just-” It felt like you were gasping for air, grasping at any lifeline you were afforded, lost in the swirling sea that were his pained eyes. 

“I know.” 

A mangled victory, or a loss, the way his voice sounded resolute. It allowed no space for you to counterattack, to try and pry any other thought out of him. And you accepted it, simple and plain, with no complaints. You had no right to. Nodding, you averted your eyes, affording him space. 

“I-” Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. The conflict in his mind was reflected on his face clear as day. Before his eyes were back on you, they looked around the room. “I missed you.”

Bearing his heart, that was what he was doing. It felt like, despite everything, he was still offering you a small piece of it. Your breath caught in your throat. Three words that held huge implications and a heavy past. One right answer, a truthful one, that could sound highly hypocritical of you. But you had to say it.

“I missed you, too.”

Wooyoung smiled, small and tentative, but still as warm as sunshine. You smiled back. 

The night was as cold as you felt despite having his arms wrapped around you, offering you shelter from the biting wind. Tonight the twinkling lights of the city below you couldn’t offer their usual comfort. You knew what was going to happen as soon as you opened your mouth to speak; you’d be breaking his heart along with yours. But you had to, hadn’t you? Wooyoung would understand. 

“Don’t you want to stay here forever?” He mumbled in your ear, his warm breath making you shiver. You kept staring out at the Parisian lights, heart sinking with every beat. 

“I-” you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut, wishing there was a way to prevent the hurt you were about to put him through. Never mind about yourself, all you cared about was him. Always him. Then why are you doing this? Sounded something in the recess of your mind. You shushed it. The lump in your throat formed out of the blue, making it hard to utter the next words.

“I wish I could,” you whispered, hoping your words would get lost in the wind, bracing for impact when you felt him tense and pull away from you. A gust blew by, chilling you to the bone now that he wasn’t holding you anymore. The look in his eyes sparked burning regret in your heart, setting it aflame.

“What do you mean?” 

He had taken a step back, confused eyes searching for yours. You couldn’t bear to look at him, not when you were about to break all the promises you’d made right along with his heart. What a coward.

“I was offered a job in New York,” you began, hearing his sharp intake of breath. “I took it… I leave next week.”

When you finally mustered enough courage to look back at him, you saw betrayal shining clear in his eyes, swirling in disbelief, his mouth slightly parted in surprise. It was almost as if you could hear his thoughts, and each of them cut a deeper wound. 

How could you? Why didn’t you tell me? I would've been happy for you. We could’ve made other plans. 

“Were you just going to disappear from my life forever, then?” He spat, a little angry, a little sad. 

“No, Wooyoung, I-” you tried to reason, knowing very well that no excuse would hold. He scoffed bitterly, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jacket like a hurt kid. Already hard to talk through the burning in your throat, the tears springing in your eyes didn’t make the task any easier.

“Save it,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “I should’ve known. I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for there,” he made to go, but you couldn’t let him, not yet. 

“Wouldn’t you have done the same?” He stopped dead in his tracks; you’d said the wrong thing. But you couldn’t hide your hand now that you’d thrown the stone. “Is it not our dream to learn and travel when all of this is done?”

Wooyoung shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it, and to some extent, you couldn’t either. 

“No, I wouldn’t have, Y/N. It may be your dream but it isn’t mine. Not anymore, not since I met you. So, yeah, I would’ve given it all up,” he all but yelled, each word was like a punch in the gut. Despite the noise of the city below, the beat of silence that lingered sounded louder than any of it. 

“Go to New York, love. It’s your dream after all,” he conceded, voice dying down and broken, softer, like some sort of realization had dawned upon him. He blinked away his tears, still, you refused to let yours fall. 

In a second he was close to you again, his smell and warmth engulfing you once more. A sob broke through you when you felt his arms wrapping around you tight, and another was pulled from you when one of his hands came to softly rake through your hair. Wooyoung surrounded you with all he was, holding you tight, almost as if he loved you. Almost, you thought, because you knew the difference, for you had felt what it was to be loved – truly loved – by him. But you went and broke it. Now, you had to put love out of the question, and think only of duty. You had made your choice, after all, and he knew it too. 

“Goodbye,” in an instant you were left on your own, cold, and watched as he walked away from you, his whisper resonating in your soul, breaking it with each echo.

If you chose to follow your dream, then why did it hurt so much?

-

Sundays used to be your day off. You’d wake up at midday, usually to a ray of sunlight harshly shining into your face until you could no longer bear its warmth. You’d roll out of bed and lazily proceed to tidy your apartment and rot on the couch for the remainder of the day. Now, though, you were a restaurant owner and Wooyoung insisted you should stay open on Sundays because two out of three of the restaurants in your area were closed. So, you rolled out of bed, taking just one second to admire the first rays of sunlight shining through the fading, dark night sky. You sped through your routine and breakfast, having sacrificed that slot of time in favor of five more minutes of sleep. 

Despite the fast-approaching summer, the morning air was still rather chilly, and much quieter than the rumbling of cars and city rustle that you were used to. You didn’t have to squeeze past sleepy teenagers and angry old ladies on the bus and got to choose which seat to sit in. You didn’t mind early Sundays. 

In no time you’d open the restaurant. Today you’d convinced Seonghwa and Yeosang to drop by for lunch; you needed them to test out the menu you and Wooyoung had carefully crafted. Of course, at the mention of free food, both of them agreed, so there wasn’t much convincing involved after all. A sort of test run before the grand opening. 

The restaurant stood before you in the quiet street, looking close to the eye. You smiled proudly, producing the key from your bag, opening the door, and closing it behind you after walking in. The room was quiet, the only indication of someone being in there was the rustle and faint light coming from the kitchen. 

“Hey, Woo,” he was already there, setting out pans and pots. You walked in, reaching for your jacket. 

“Hi!” Although his head was hidden in a cupboard, you could hear his cheery voice loud and clear. “Are you ready?” 

When he emerged, he was sporting a happy smile, contagious enough to make you chuckle.

“As I’ll ever be.” 

Wooyoung smiled at you, beckoning you over to the station where a copy of the menu lay. You sure had your work cut out for the day. Up until then, between the furnishing and taking care of the more bureaucratic aspect of opening a restaurant, cooking together hadn't been common. You were thrilled to finally share the kitchen with him again. 

“Hey! The rolling pin is there to keep you off my half of the counter,” you huffed, trying your best not to let your irritation show. Not while you were trying to close dumplings perfectly. 

“Oh, come on!” He protested, “I can’t believe you’d still do that, look at how much space we have!”

“Yeah, and somehow, you’re still taking up most of it,” Wooyoung grumbled under his breath, finally moving a few of his bowls and pans to make space for you. 

“Gee, thanks,” although you weren’t trying to rile him up, you still ended up falling back into old habits.

“Oh my-” he rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, moving a couple more things, “You’re the bane of my existence.”

“You literally asked me to be your co-worker!” You laughed, shocked, but amused.

“And there’s not a day I don’t regret it,” with his nose in the air, trying and failing to hide a smile, Wooyoung resumed his meat slicing. You scoffed, not really offended. It was so easy to breathe when things felt as light as they did. A smile threatened to open up on your face, but you had an act to keep up. 

Silence used to be rare between the two of you, yet you liked it now. There was no awkward space to fill anymore, not a single word to be wasted. You worked in tandem, like a well-oiled machine, chuckling at Wooyoung’s occasional jokes and exchanging instructions. It felt good. It felt like it used to. 

“Are you nervous?” You asked him as you finalized the prepping for the second course. Wooyoung looked up, flashing that smile of his that could rival the sun.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Are you?”

You nodded, avoiding his eyes and focusing on the bowl under your nose. The sauce you prepared to marinate the fish had a pungent note it shouldn’t have had. You didn’t notice him slipping closer to you, right at your side. Wooyoung was leaning on the counter, facing you. 

“You’ve got nothing to be worried about,” his voice aimed to soothe, and it did, sweet like honey. “Are you or are you not one of the best chefs in town?” 

You looked up at him, scoffing, ignoring the heat on your face that his closeness brought along. 

“See, now you’re exaggerating!”

“I’m not.” 

“Are, too!” A soft laugh escaped the two of you, and when he looked at you, eyes so full of hope and happiness, your breathing stopped for just a second. “But you’re right, it’s gonna be okay, I’m just… I don’t know, I want them to like what we made.”

“They’re gonna,” he shrugged. Only when you gave him a questioning look he answered. “Because we made it.” 

It looked like Wooyoung still knew what to say and when to say it to put your nerves at ease.

-

“Can I have some more?” 

“Me too!”

“You can’t ask that!”

“Says who?” 

“Alright, we’ll make it,” Wooyoung quelled the discussion that was about to start quickly, coming back into the kitchen with empty plates.

Two of his friends had joined yours for lunch, not that the food was lacking, but it seemed that Yeosang and San had promptly bonded over their love for one particular dish. Gamjatang, which wasn’t even on the menu, the two were just bottomless pits, apparently. The only one coming to your aid with restaurant etiquette was Seonghwa, whose reprimanding went unheard. Hongjoong stuck to silent side-eyeing, which barely helped. 

“Should we consider adding it to the menu?” Wooyoung joked, coming over to the stove where you stood, already heating up what was left of the broth from the previous batch. You thanked your lucky star you had some ready, or else they’d had to wait hours to eat.

“Let’s make it available only after eleven, though.”

He laughed, reminding you how you closed at midnight while washing and cutting up the mung bean sprouts, crown daisy leaves, perilla leaves, and green chilies you needed to add later on. You went for the pork bones, potatoes, and cabbage leaves.

Wooyoung set his bowl of vegetables close to the stove, ready for you whenever.

“Do you need more seasoning base?” He asked as you put your portion of ingredients into the pot. 

“Yeah, there’s not much left,” you looked at him, waiting for your word to start. “Thanks.” 

He smiled, getting to work quick.

As everything simmered and cooked, the two of you stood in front of the stove, silent, side to side. Outside, you heard your friends all talk and laugh, but they sounded miles away. Once again, you thought you knew what was running through his head. The night when he taught you how to cook the dish, the way he followed your every step with an encouraging smile. How your heart fluttered when he kissed your lips right after his first bite, saying that there was no way he was ever going to cook it again if yours tasted much better. How one night you tipsily tried to cook it together, almost spilling the batch of broth you saved in the fridge and ruining it all, but could only laugh until your stomachs hurt because somehow it was the funniest thing ever. After all, they plagued your thoughts as well. 

When the timer went off and he looked at you like a deer caught in headlights, you smiled, trying to ease away the tension that had bubbled up, going to kill the flame and plate the dish. 

You passed him a full bowl with shaking hands, praying he didn’t hear the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Maybe you should take away the wine,” Seonghwa sported a light frown on his lips when you made your way to the table with the other bowl in your hands. You furrowed a brow, noticing the way San and Yeosang were giggling a little too loudly, and how the former was particularly flushed, only after setting the dish in front of him. 

“Good idea,” Wooyoung snickered, scurrying back into the kitchen with the bottle. You watched him go, debating if to follow or give him space. You decided to stay, asking your guests how they liked the food. 

Seonghwa ended up giving you precious input and feedback, over the laughter coming from the opposite end of the table. It made you smile. Despite how interested you were in your friend’s recap of the things he appreciated the most about appetizers, you couldn’t help but glance a little worriedly at the kitchen doors from time to time. Wooyoung was still in there.

“Alright, we should go,” Hongjoong, who had simply complimented your cooking with a polite smile, spoke up after a while. San protested a little but stopped his efforts to stay pretty quickly when his friend said he was going to have no ride home. 

The two made their way to say their goodbyes to Wooyoung in the kitchen, leaving you with your friends. 

“We should go, too,” Yeosang stood, walking over to the doors with you and Seonghwa. 

“Thank you guys for coming,” you quickly hugged them both. “Drop by whenever.”

“You know I will,” Yeosang giggled, making you smile. 

“Keep it up!” Seonghwa said, walking out first. You waved them both off, and when you turned around, you were faced with San and Hongjoong. The former complimented your food, saying he’d bring over friends and family, rambling a bit. You giggled as he spoke, thanking him. 

“Thank you for having us, the food was delicious,” Hongjoong watched over San making his way out of the restaurant after saying his goodbyes, turning to you with a small smile. “Can I ask one thing of you?”

Your brow furrowed, but you nodded quickly. He sighed.

“I know you two have a complicated past,” he started, sending a jolt of anxiety through you. “And I see you’re doing great despite it, so, please, just… don’t hurt him again.” 

“I would never,” you were furiously nodding, suddenly your throat felt a little dry, hands all clammy. 

“Thank you,” Hongjoong smiled, walking out as well, leaving you dumbfounded and staring at their disappearing figures. 

You waited in silence for a while, mulling his words over in your head. When you turned around and saw Wooyoung leaning against the kitchen door’s frame with a bright, wide smile adorning his lips, the sight almost gave you a heart attack. He laughed loudly seeing your spooked reaction, making a smile appear on your face. His laughter only served to make your heart stutter like butterfly wings, having barely recovered from the surprise, making you giggle as well. 

Wooyoung looked so happy that you felt you could burst at the seams. 

“They liked it!” You could barely contain your excitement as you locked up and started to make your way over to him, almost with a skip in your step.

“They did,” he smiled back, eyes scanning your figure until you were right up in front of him. Not even thinking twice, you let your arms sneak around his shoulders, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. You even swayed side to side. Wooyoung laughed happily, his own arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“I’m so happy,” you murmured when your excitement quelled. Your chin was resting atop his shoulder, and his on yours. When he spoke, quietly, you could hear the smile on his lips right against your ear.

“I’m glad,” he said. “Me too.” 

It was quiet. For the first time since that morning there were no friends laughing at the table, no bickering in the kitchen along with the sizzling of the pans, chopping on the cutting board, and rumbling of the pots. 

Just you and him. 

Your heart was still racing, over the moon for the success of your menu, but also quickened by his close proximity. Once realization struck that you’d pulled him into you, you were quick to let go, though his arms around your waist wouldn’t let you wander far.

“Sorry, I-”

“It’s okay,” the look in his eyes was enough to send your heart to your feet, air stuck in your lungs, and take you back in time, just for a second. It was all it took for you to want to pull away from him as if you’d gotten shocked. You found that you couldn’t. Not when Wooyoung held you a little tighter, searching for anything in your eyes that would prompt him to stop leaning even a breath closer. 

Frozen in time, in your spot, your grip on his kitchen jacket grew impossibly strong. 

When his nose softly brushed against yours, as if he’d sensed your mind wandering far and wide and wanted to bring you back to him, and you saw how his half-lidded eyes were holding a simple question, you pulled back.

“Should we get to cleaning up?” 

Wooyoung’s eyes closed, for a fleeting second, before he started nodding.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be here all night,” he cleared his voice, arms falling from around you. He offered a smile so small that it barely showed, the moment gone as soon as it came. You watched as he disappeared behind the kitchen doors, shoulders dropping and eyes falling close. 

You gave yourself a moment, just one, to relish in his closeness. The closest he’d ever been to you in years, something that used to be so familiar and still sparked the same goosebumps, the same erratic heartbeat. You sighed, following after him. 

-

You couldn’t sleep. You hadn’t for a good week. 

Between the imminent opening of the restaurant and the newfound awkwardness between you and Wooyoung, your head was so full of swirling thoughts that, as soon as you closed your eyes, it prevented you from enjoying one singular night of rest. They just kept going, growing into a never-ending spiral of what-ifs and exploding into a hurricane of beating yourself up. 

By now you’d given up on trying to make sense of your feelings. All you knew was that you wanted to keep Wooyoung to your side, co-worker, friend, or lover, it didn't matter. Now that he was back into your life, you didn’t want to risk losing him again. Though, it got increasingly hard to ignore how you wished he would stay with you once you closed the restaurant. How you wanted him to hold you like he used to, how you wanted to tell him every day just much of your love and devotion he had. 

It was still dark outside when you closed the door to your apartment behind you. Almost without thinking, you’d thrown the covers off of yourself and gotten out of bed, put on the first clean clothes you found, and got out of the house. The cold, crisp air of the night hit you right in the face, waking you up like an icy splash of water would have. You pulled your jacket closer around your body, starting the walk to the restaurant. The keys jiggled in your hand, one of the few sounds in the lonesome streets. 

Your heart had decided the way for you before your mind could catch up.

You’d always found solace in cooking. It allowed your mind to relax, and think about what was right in front of your nose, slicing through all your doubts and worries like a knife. With each step you followed, each accomplished passage towards the perfect result, you felt lighter and lighter. Then Wooyoung came along. Never could you have predicted that something else in your life would’ve been able to bring you the same comfort and brightness as cooking. 

Whatever peace and happiness you’d found in your passion, you’d also found in him. He set you alight. You’d been dumb and wrong enough to think that the feeling that came along with him could be replaced. 

But how could it? Once you let go if it, of him, Wooyoung had haunted all of your what-ifs. All of your darkest nights could only brighten up if you thought of his infectious laugh, his soft kisses, and his kind words. 

Reaching the restaurant brought you back out of your thoughts. You were here now, by some fateful design, with him again. You’d do anything not to lose your brightest star again. 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You closed the backdoor behind you with a jolt, not expecting Wooyoung to be sitting at a table, illuminated only by the light coming from his beloved lamp. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

Ever so slowly, you made your way to him, trying to calm your racing heart. He raised his shoulders, avoiding your eyes a second later, shrugging as if he had no answer to your question. You sat with him, noticing just then the few papers scattered on the wood. 

“What’s on your mind?” The question fell from your lips in a quiet whisper, almost afraid to disturb the silence hanging in the air. You still knew him, after all, maybe even more than you gave yourself credit for. He sported that furrow in his brow, the one that lightly creased his smooth skin, that only showed up when something had been bothering him. 

“I-” he sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they didn’t waste a single second to find yours. Your mouth went dry. 

“You know what I hate most? That sometimes I hate you, sometimes I hate myself, but always I miss you. And I never stopped torturing myself with the same questions over and over, why would you go? Did our dreams mean nothing to you? Did I mean nothing to you?” A bitter, void laugh fell from his lips. “But you’ve gotta move on, right?”

Oh.

Oh.

Heart in your throat, you were left speechless in front of his innermost thoughts. Thoughts you never imagined could be plaguing his mind still. But how could you miss it now? His eyes were begging for answers, after all this time, as if the dam had finally broken. You couldn’t bear to see them be so pleading, so misty. 

“That’s not true, I,” the words died in your mouth as you choked on them. “You must know it,” reduced to a whisper by the weight of truth, you tried to salvage what you’d so carefully rebuilt.

“Do I?” He sounded so helpless, your brain scrambled in all directions to find a way to convey how so untrue it all was. “You left me, Y/N, and sometimes I'm still there.” 

A gasp left your lips, his words squeezing the air out of your lungs. 

“We’re doing it now, isn’t it enough?”

Wooyoung shook his head, shoulders dropping in disbelief as he scoffed. Despite the dim light, from across the table, you could see his red-rimmed eyes begging you to catch on. You did, you had the second he started speaking, but you’d still said the wrong thing. 

“You’re so dense,” head thrown back, hands on his face, you waited for him to speak again. “Tell me why did you go.”

Not a question. Up against the wall, you felt the way your heart fell to your stomach, how nerves were tugging at it painfully. He needed this, and you were willing to give answers.

“I didn’t think,” you started, feeling so small under his gaze. “The only thing on my mind was that I’d made it. Selfishly, I thought you’d understand. I… I never meant to hurt you, and I know it sounds like bullshit, but it’s true. And when you told me to go, for a split second, I thought we could make it. I realize now how stupid I was. How there were at least ten ways in which I could’ve handled it better. I wish I’d fought for us,”

“I’m sorry. I really am, I-” Unshed tears started to run down your cheeks, wetting your mouth with salt. “There’s nothing I regret more than letting you go.” 

“We were meant to be, love,” his broken whisper was a sinking stone in your chest. Lifting your eyes to meet his, you saw the tear tracks on his desperate face matching yours. 

“But we were not meant to last,” there were few ways you could describe how your heart was hurting as you muttered the words, hand reaching forwards on the table. You didn’t think Wooyoung would hold on to it until he did. Fingers intertwined, you both held on painfully tight as if by letting go you’d get lost in the current the sea of your words had provoked. Each other’s buoy in a storm of unsaid words and unresolved, muddy feelings, so strong that with nothing they could tear you apart. 

You cried immersed in the dark silence of the restaurant hall, the place that crowned your dreams, listening to the other’s quiet sobs. 

“I’m sorry, forgive me,” you choked out again, trying to find his face past your tears. Wooyoung reached out to brush them away, his hands just as soft as you remembered, if not more careful. The moment his skin grazed yours, a shiver ran down your spine, electrified by such simple contact. His hand lingered for a long second, cradling your cheek before all you felt was its cold absence.

He stood up first, only to walk around the table and stamp a kiss on the crown of your head, his hand holding your shoulder. You froze, barely hearing how he murmured something about seeing you in the morning, barely breathing. What you did hear was the closing door, a sign you’d been left alone with your thoughts in the dimly lit room, knowing your ignorance had broken his heart again.

-

You didn’t know how to fix it. 

Standing and cooking side by side felt off again. You were walking on eggshells, treading on a fine line to avoid ticking off another bomb. If the weight of apologizing had been lifted off your chest, something much heavier now resided upon it. Knowing something had changed yet again, all because of how you’d acted. What you’d said. 

“You want to make ramen noodles? From scratch?” 

In the middle of cleaning up part of the station, you couldn’t help but let surprise seep into your voice. Wooyoung stared, nodding. 

“I thought we already made enough to last us at least two days…” You let your words fade out, not wanting to start an argument. His jaw set and you realized your efforts had been in vain.

“I’d rather be safe than sorry, at least until our new hires come in,” he shrugged, going to preheat the oven. He really was serious. 

You wondered why he was going through with this; you ran out of kansui, which was already hard enough to find, let alone expensive. In its absence, you’d need to prepare a substitute for it: baking soda that had to be baked in the oven for at least an hour to act properly instead of the kansui. It was such a waste of time when you had more pressing matters to attend to. Ones that didn’t need the help of your brigade. 

Breathing in deeply and deciding that keeping peace was essential, you assessed how Wooyoung was just lining the baking sheet with parchment paper and spreading the baking soda over it. You went to retrieve the whole wheat and bread flours you’d need in an hour, trying to keep frustration at bay. You’d think about the salt and riboflavin later. When you came back with the sacks, Wooyoung was already cleaning the rolling pins and pasta machine. With a grunt, you set them down on the counter, watching as he jolted in surprise.

“I’ll go call our supplier while we wait on the oven,” you really didn’t mean for your voice to sound so clipped. He seemed not to care, simply giving you a nod and going on with his task.

You left the kitchen almost stomping your feet in frustration, sitting down at the table furthermost from it. Whatever game Wooyoung was playing, it needed to stop now. You had tried time and time again, in the last few days, to get anything out of him. To try and patch things up and salvage them as best as you could. But you guessed he needed time, and with the opening just around the corner, you decided it was best to let him be. As long as you could work well together, everything would be fine.

Except the wall he’d put up was so high that you felt it was impossible to climb it or break through. 

The sound of the door opening brought you back to reality, reminding you that you needed to find the supplier’s contact and call, murmuring something about being closed to whoever had just come in. 

“I figured,” the voice made every hair on your skin stand, plunging you back into prickly, cold, anxious times. As you looked up, you could barely believe your eyes.

“Mr. Hwang,” his name left your lips in an incredulous whisper. 

“It’s been a while,” he looked around, coming in. His eyes were inspecting thoroughly everything they could lay themselves on, scrutinizing all that might be out of place, or all that wasn’t, and had the ability to spark envy in an enviable man. “Nice place.”

“How may I help you?” 

“I have an offer to make you.”

Wooyoung nearly stumbled on his feet. When he’d walked out of the kitchen to see if anything had come of your call with the supplier, the last thing he’d expected was seeing you sat at a table with your old boss, having a chat, exchanging laughter. He’d quickly retreated, leaving you to it, seeing red. He didn’t need to know what was going on, nor did he want to. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself as he stared, unable to do anything else, at the timer of the oven ticking by. Every second you sat out there, was a second he needed to reason with himself and find out what the menacing grip that held his heart was. All Wooyoung knew was that he wished you’d walk through the kitchen doors, a bright smile on your face, ready to get back to work. 

And when you did, he couldn’t quite figure out the look on your face. He was dying to ask what Hwang wanted, no matter what it was, he needed whatever words you’d utter to soothe his burning curiosity. But you never spoke, keeping up your diligent work even past the timer dinging, through the kneading of the dough, its thirty-minute rest, and the several compressions through the pasta machine. He observed you carefully, like he always had, as you used a long knife to cut the noodles by hand as he was occupying the noodle cutter of the machine. Were you slipping through his fingertips again? His eyes on you had always felt like an encouraging, gentle caress. Always looking after and out for you. Wooyoung never noticed or wasn’t fully aware, that sometimes they still did. More often than not you felt the need to step away, or look away, under his gaze, caving in under his affection. 

You felt that you didn’t deserve to be looked at so tenderly, not anymore. 

He searched for words to say as the several pieces of dough were turned into noodles, but nothing came to mind. Nothing sounded right, not even in his head. Wooyoung let silence win this battle, preferring to let the whirring of the machine and the slicing of your knife talk, trying to work out all the tangled threads that were his thoughts. It was easy to mess up the noodles and have them stick together in an unsalvageable way; then you’d have to make them into dough again and put it through the machine, compressing it until it was ready to be cut up. He tried to treat his thoughts with the same care as noodles to avoid starting over. But Wooyoung wasn’t having the same luck. 

Your muttering from the other side of the kitchen prompted him to look your way, struggling to find some space in the refrigerator for your sheet-pans. He hid his smirk, tossing the last of his noodles with cornstarch.

“Why?” You turned around, hands on your hips, irritation barely at bay. Wooyoung raised a brow, doing his very best at pushing your buttons.

“Why did we make so many fucking noodles when we are stocked full?” 

“Because we need them,” he shrugged. “They’re tedious to make from scratch, it’ll make our lives easier.”

“Then you make space for them,” you huffed, hastily walking over to the dishwasher to start filling it with the utensils you’d just finished using. 

“What did Hwang want?” 

Wooyoung bit his tongue, watching how your back straightened at his question. He’d tried to sound casual, but the question turned out to be anything but. He couldn’t keep it in anymore, the longer he did, the more his nerves tested his peace of mind. Wooyoung watched as you froze, halting your movements, before turning to face him again. The furrow of your brow as you raked your eyes over him accelerated his heartbeat in mysterious ways, waiting with bated breath for your answer.

“Nothing important,” but it was to him. Wooyoung’s thoughts had taken him places he didn’t want to revisit. His heart had been swallowed with an all-consuming and unkindly familiar pain at the idea of you leaving him behind. Hwang had offered you a lot in the past, afforded you to realize your dreams, he knew that much. What could he give you, then?

“Then why did you take so long talking to him?” One way or the other, Wooyoung had to exorcize the sinking feeling in his chest along with the overpowering green monster resurfacing with all its might. The only way afforded to him now was to venomously spit his words to you.

“I’m not trying to put us in a hard place with our number one competitor,” you closed the loaded dishwasher behind you, coming closer to him, clouding his senses. He scoffed with a roll of his eyes and you lifted a brow, crossing your arms. 

“Fine, be that way,” you carelessly threw the towel that was resting on your shoulder upon the counter. “He came back to try and persuade me to work for him again.” 

And there they were, the words Wooyoung had feared the most. Someone who would whisk you away from him again as he watched helplessly, feeding into his fears. 

“I said no, Woo…” your voice put a halt to every thought drowning him, your eyes full of the same softness your voice was. Giving up the fight, extinguishing the fire of his worries, at the cost of your disappointment. You swallowed the bitter bite. “Did you really think I’d go back, that I’d leave this? That I’d leave you?”

His silence was answer enough. You nodded, pressing your lips together.

“Well, I wouldn’t.” 

You weren’t going to let him think like that, not now. 

“I wasn’t happy there, and there’s not a single thing he could offer that would make me as happy as you do.”

Wooyoung watched, stunned into silence, while you got rid of your jacket and murmured something about still having to call the supplier. The timid smile you gave him, eyes full of warm hope, moved something inside him that had been slowly waking up ever since you bumped into him down the street months ago. 

-

For so long, he’d tried to move on. In the end, it turned out that you wanted different things from him, and he had to accept that. Wooyoung couldn’t convince you to stay if you wanted to leave. So, with his heart aching and bursting at the seams with the hope that eventually you’d be back, he let you go. There was no way he could describe how he felt when he saw you again. Surprise struck him, leaving him disoriented for a long moment before his mouth spoke for him. As if his body had reacted to the presence of yours, remembering what it felt like to have you close. 

No, Wooyoung wasn’t surprised that he so readily welcomed you back into his life. You were trying, that much he could see, but he was, too. There was a battle going on inside his head that left him frustrated and confused when it came to you, to his feelings for you. His thoughts laid their armor down only in your presence. His heart knew you were the only one he’d ever truly loved. A love that bloomed at the wrong time, a fragile flower that didn’t survive the winter. Wilted and withered, you’d left him to mend the gashes. 

He did, only if it meant learning how to be without you, burning with the hope that one day, if the time was right, together you could grow flowers anew.

The chance was right there for him to take, and yet. It had taken him just a couple of hours after closing the kitchen to decide he needed to see you, and set things straight once and for all. 

“What are you doing here?” 

The sun was just about to set, gilded light flowing into your apartment from the window, bathing you in its gold. Wooyoung’s breath caught. For a fleeting instant, nothing else existed besides your confused pout and his erratic heartbeat. 

“Can we talk?” 

You nodded, opening the door wider to let him in, gesturing for him to follow to the kitchen. The sweet aroma hit him first, enveloping him, and he saw the cutting board in the sink after. It didn’t take him long to figure out you were making blackberry jam. 

“You’re stressed,” the words left his lips before he could realize he’d spoken them, your head jerking in his direction as you kept stirring the pot, only to nod right after. 

“Well, yeah, the opening’s just around the corner now and we-” your eyes fell back on the stove, briefly avoiding his. “What did you want to talk about?”

Wooyoung hesitated. He didn’t know. Rather, he was sure he needed to make things right. Clean the suffocating air of uncertainty when it came to you and what you were to him. What he was to you. You two were always good at dancing in the dark but now, in the light of day, it was hard to fall back into rhythm.  

“I’m sorry about the noodles,” he bit his tongue. Way to start. 

How could he say what he wanted to when his head was on fire? Still, you were there, waiting, occasionally stirring your jam, making his heart skip. Wooyoung sighed.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving.” 

Your hand halted its gentle movements, he saw your knuckles turning white. 

“Wooyoung-”

“No, let me say this,” he was pretty sure his lungs almost failed him when you turned to look at him, wide eyed, hanging onto his words. “I don’t really know how to act around you. At first, I wanted to be mad. Just a little bit, but found out quickly that after the anger was gone, there wasn’t much left. Just the part of me that wondered if you’d ever come back, if you missed me like I missed you. And if I push all the confusion back, it’s as easy as breathing. I never expected to want you with me as much as I do.” 

You turned off the flame, walking closer. 

“I never meant you any harm,” you were picking at your fingers, almost subconsciously, just like Wooyoung’s hand reached out to twine with yours, halting your nervous motions. “I‘m sorry that I let you down, and that I hurt you.”

“I know,” he squeezed your hand with a small sigh, eyes cast on them. “We weren’t meant to last.”

The words bitterly echo in the quiet kitchen, almost lost in the burbling coming from the stove. Wooyoung was tempted to let go of your hand and walk out the door, fragile like a house of cards, as if it cost him his whole heart to tell you the truth. To expose his confusion in fear it may be an imposition.  

“No, Woo, not when I was so confused and only put my dreams first. Not when we had so much that we would’ve held each other from,” your watery smile hit him square in the chest, your words feeding his worries. “But I think we were always meant to be. I still… I’ve always held so much love for you.” 

Wooyoung stopped breathing, letting the sweet taste of your words wash over him.

“Can we start over?” you asked, tentative, searching his face for any sign that you may have crossed a line. “I want to be by your side, at your pace, we’ll be whatever you want us to be. I wasn't ready then but I am now, and I know it'll take time but I want you to know that I'll be there. No matter how long, I'll always be there.”

The unruled hope, that he’d been fighting to keep at bay, finally broke free and sparked a fire in his chest that swallowed up his heart, holding it in a fierce grip, burning. Your hopeful, misty eyes told him more than words could, more than he could ever dare to imagine. He had longed to see them from this close again. 

“Didn’t you say that mixing feelings with work is the recipe for disaster?” 

Behind the carelessly amused shrug of your shoulders, your untamed smile shined with bright happiness. The hand that wasn’t holding his tentatively rose to cup his cheek and Wooyoung wasted no time in leaning in and basking in its warmth.

“I think we’d make it.” 

Your promise was enough for him. Wooyoung rested his forehead against yours, finding home in your sweet perfume once again. You were finally back into his arms, to hold and to love. Once your lips met his hesitantly, almost afraid at first but feverishly at last, the sweet and pleasantly tart taste of your kiss assured his head and heart that everything would be alright.

[mllekurtz]

My 2024 in Writing

I saw @rowanisawriter do this and I thought I would give it a shot too!

2024 was not an easy year for me. It started out with a wave of creative energy, allowing me to get the bulk of the Shadowgast Witcher AU written down, then I got blocked in April/May, picked myself out of the gutter in June (and ended up discarding most of what I wrote then lol), wrote a bunch of shadowgast stuff I haven't posted yet in July and August, and then had some very, very bad mental health for a while, and spent basically the entirety of October napping on the couch with my cat and dog. Then Veilguard came out! I was so inspired by it, I've been happily writing Veilguard fic since mid-November.

Words written: 201k

Words posted: 46k

Days written: 229/366

Fandoms: Critical Role (184k words) and Dragon Age (17k)

Fics posted: Critical Role strange magic (commuter au) the end of all our exploring (pre-c3 fic) losing hand chapter 5 (part of my birds of prey series) Fox's Claw prologue (first bit of the Witcher AU sequel)

Dragon Age the art of mending broken things (Lucanis/Neve getting together) we all fall in love sometimes (act 2 Lucanis/Neve) the toughest part of the body (post-canon Rook/Neve) to fade or at least to kneel (act 2 Lucanis/Neve)

What I learned: that forcing myself to write when I feel down sucks, it just does, and I won't to do it anymore. I actually expected my annual word count to be much lower because of the Bad Mental Health months, but what I wrote when I was feeling good more than compensated for that.

I also noticed a switch from writing fics about characters getting together to established relationships. Falling in love has always been easy to write for me, but clearly my focus shifted to staying in love, which is just as interesting.

What I want to write next year: I have a long, long list of Veilguard fic ideas that I'll try to get through, most of them Lucanis/Neve, some of them featuring Aglais, my Rook. I will probably bury myself even deeper in rarepair hell because I've been having thoughts about some niche pairings that I'll turn into something at some point. I will definitely come back to shadowgast and work on my long wips, some of which could go to kindergarten by now.

Last thoughts: I write for myself, but I share for others. I am so grateful to anyone who's commented, kudosed, liked, or otherwise talked about my fics with me: most of my motivation to keep sharing my writing comes from you. I'm also happy for the new friends I've made, and for the old ones that stuck with me. ♥

[lovebugism]

i need more of “the customer is always right” before i wither away and die <3 the anticipation of IT happening is quite literally killing me ilysm

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus

summary: eddie munson takes the unconquerable english midterm that's forced him to repeat senior year two times. dustin henderson gets a pep talk. uncle wayne gives his nephew a warning. you cook your eddie spaghetti some spaghetti. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: idiots in love, experienced!reader, domestic bliss, staying the night, eddie munson tries to get used to being loved TW probable typos, swearing, discussions of being poor, talks of insecurities, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving) 18+ only!!

a/n: hi. hello. me again. you probably don't remember me because it's been almost TWO MONTHS. i'm really sorry about that btw this semester of college was sent from the actual depths of hell. please take this sixth installment of tcar and find it in your heart to forgive me <3 ily all xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Okay, this is officially the last time I let you drive me anywhere,” Eddie gripes from the passenger seat of your too tiny car as one excruciatingly happy ABBA song bleeds into another.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re made of the same stuff you listen to — sunshine and melted ice cream and summer breezes. You match the blue skies above you as you belt the lyrics to the song you seem to know by heart.

The sight makes Eddie grin to himself, still beaming no matter how hard he rolls his eyes.

This was the only good thing about the breaks of his van going haywire and having to bum a ride to school from you — getting to see more of you in your element. 

As much as he loved having you in his passenger seat, bobbing your head to whatever rock song he’d popped into the cassette player, there was something entirely different about seeing you in the driver’s seat.

This car was your safe space, spotted with stickers on the console and polaroids on the speedometer, where you could sing any damn ABBA song you wanted to because it was your own little bubble where nothing could touch you. 

Eddie’s grateful you let him see it, all these parts of you that you reveal slowly to him like so many tiny rays of sunshine.

It’s even better to witness with a full stomach, which was maybe the second good thing about driving with you. You picked him up with time to spare to get breakfast — to take the long route to school and watch the rising sun sparkle over Lover’s Lake. There was no reason to speed through town like a maniac because he wasn’t in a rush. Today might be the first time all year he’s not five minutes late to first period.

He tells you to sing louder when you get all shy and hyperaware of his gaze, feeding you bits of your breakfast — but only on the instrumental parts so you don’t miss your favorites. The boy props his arm on the center console and folds down the wrapper of your greasy, plain biscuit with his thumb so it doesn’t get in the way of your bite. He doesn’t even complain when you try to sing through the mouthful. 

He figures that this is what love is. A part of it, at least. That stupid, philosophical feeling people have been trying to describe for ages is sitting right beside him — with crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth as she mixes up the words to the Dancing Queen chorus.

Love isn’t butterflies or tight chests — it’s this. It’s letting a person listen to music you hate because you know they love it and not caring that they’re singing horrifically off-key.

And it’s not like Eddie’s in love with you or anything. He’s just got a lot of adoration for you. It’s the kind of innocent affection that makes him love ABBA and think you’re one of the best damn singers he’s ever heard in his life — even though neither would be particularly true if he didn’t care about you so much.

It’s sort of like the love he’s got for Dustin, to still care about the little shrimp even when he’s annoying him to no end. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because Dustin Henderson isn’t the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Dustin Henderson doesn’t make him feel like his heart is being trampled by an entire stampede of zoo animals. 

No one quite makes Eddie feel the way you do. But even if he was in love with you, he’s got no way of knowing the difference — between loving and being in love. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he doesn’t know a damn thing. And that the sick feeling in his stomach he gets every time he looks at you can’t possibly be normal.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” you retort. Your words come slurred and slightly muffled through the bite of biscuit in your cheek. “I know you secretly like it.”

“Of course I do!” he shouts over the catchy bass guitar and your subsequent laughter. “It’s just not the kinda shit I wanna listen to right before I take the biggest test of my life.”

It’s true. The past two times he’s been forced to take Ms. O’Donnell’s impossible midterm exam, he's listened to the exact same song — ‘Ride the Lightning,’ Metallica. It’s the only song that gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to gather the confidence to fail the same test. Twice. 

Eddie Munson is a creature of habit. Today marks the third anniversary of the dreaded day that makes or breaks his high school career, but instead of spending it with Metallica, he’s spending it with you. He wants to believe you’re a good luck charm or some kind of lucky omen, but he’s terrified of getting his hopes up.

Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. That’s what Uncle Wayne always said.

“I think ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ has plenty of useful advice, Eddie Spaghetti.”

The boy turns to you with a bemused wide-eyed gaze. “If you’re suggesting I makeout with Ms. O’Donnell to pass her class, I’m gonna hurl— like actually hurl. And I will deliberately do it all over the floor of your car.”

“Would you rather repeat your senior year? Again?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat and with a very enthusiastic nod that makes his wild curls sway around his face. “I would rather be a senior for the rest of my life than kiss Ms. O’Donnell.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to, right? Because you’re totally gonna ace this thing.”

This is what you’ve been doing for over a week now — twisting everything negative into something more overtly positive. You meet Eddie’s pessimism and self-doubt with a sort of hopefulness he lost somewhere between the first and second time he got held back. 

You force him to study in the gentlest way possible because you’re never anything but soft with him. You make him pretty little flashcards and flip through them with him on the opposite side of his bed, obviously more enthusiastic about the whole thing than he is. You give him sympathetic pecks on his cheek when he gets a question wrong and kiss him totally breathless when he gets the odd one right.

Eddie would be lying if he said the incentive didn’t help at least a little bit.

There is no hint of impatience or sign of hubris that makes him feel stupid. You just teach him to be kinder to himself with tiny little reminders that you’re doing all this right along with him.

“Considering I’ve failed it twice already, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” he counters, and he’s kidding — mostly. He says it with a teasing lilt and a twinkle in his squinted eyes, but you know that’s his way of covering up that he’s totally serious. 

He really doesn’t think he can do it, pass this stupid exam. He’s got absolutely no faith in himself — but that’s okay, because you’ve got all the faith in him in the world.

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me to help you study,” you argue, just before accepting the last piece of biscuit he plucks from the parchment and offers to you.

You speak through the mouthful. “But now you do! And we’ve been going over this all week and—” You cut yourself off to swallow the dry pastry. “—And you totally got this. You’re gonna blow ‘em outta the park, Eddie Spaghetti. I can feel it.”

Your optimism makes him smile even though he doesn’t really feel like smiling. He lolls his head against the seat to look at you, finds you with a pretty grin and tiny biscuit crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and has the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you.

It comes out of nowhere. It bubbles up all at once like vomit and startles him with its unexpectedness. The sudden and unfamiliar feeling makes him feel sick, like he just went upside down on a rollercoaster. Whoever said love felt like butterflies was a liar because it feels a whole lot more like getting punched in the stomach.

The words rise from his throat like bile and linger on the edge of his tongue. Eddie forces himself to swallow them back down again. The unsaid ‘Holy fuck, I love the shit outta you’ tastes far more bitter going down.

“What do I get if I ace it then, huh?” he wonders after an awkward blink of silence.

“Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Your diploma.”

“I meant as a reward, dummy.”

“I feel like graduating high school is enough of a reward.”

“I just think I should be compensated for a job well done, is all,” he proposes with a lopsided grin. The teasing nature of his words drips from his mouth like honey.

You glance at him once, eyes wide and dumbfounded, then back to the road. “Eddie Munson…” you scold in a lighthearted lilt. “Get your head outta the gutter. It’s not even eight o’clock.”

That sort of thing wouldn’t have bothered you before. Any other time, you would’ve been all too happy to pull over and jerk him off in a barren parking lot, relieve all his pent-up stress about the exam in the form of a quick handjob. But you’ve been quite obviously keeping your hands to yourself since he told you he was a virgin. 

You were serious about what you said before, about starting over, and Eddie learned that very quickly. You take to giving him tiny little pecks on the cheek and holding his sweaty hand in yours and hardly anything else — like you’re a couple of kids going steady.

Eddie likes it, though, the comforting nature of your unhurried disposition. He just hates the ache it leaves him with.

“It’s all I’m gonna be thinking about,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “Just so ya know.”

“As long as it helps you pass,” you respond with the shake of your head.

“As long as it helps me pass…” Eddie echoes, quieter. 

“Just think about the biggest kiss I’m gonna give you when I see you again,” you tell him, flashing him a beam as you slow at a stop sign. You trap your smile between your teeth and flash him a glance that can only be described as whimsical — full of shy smiles and fluttering lashes and sparkling eyes. “‘Cause I’m gonna kiss you absolutely stupid, Eddie Munson.”

A rose-colored hue sprinkles along the apples of his cheeks. He never thought a threat could sound so appealing.

“Cool…” is the only thing he could think to mutter in the moment, too busy trying not to smile too wide. He turns his glowing cheeks towards his lap and purses his smile towards his fiddling fingers. “But, uh, I have Hellfire after school, so… Maybe tomorrow?”

You meet his disappointed glance with a shrug. “You could come over after if you want?”

He wants to. He always wants to.

“It’ll probably be late.”

“Then just stay over.”

Your offer comes effortlessly but strikes a deep feeling of complexity within him. Eddie doesn’t know why it makes him so suddenly nervous, only that it makes his palms sweat almost instantly.

The two of you haven’t crossed that threshold yet — of sharing a bed to sleep. He’d catch you dozing on occasion, slouched against his headboard with your head on his shoulder, and he’d wake you. Not because it made him uncomfortable, but because he didn’t want your neck to ache. 

You’d rouse with a groggy apology — “I should probably leave before Bowie starves to death and I drool all over your shoulder,” you’d tell him. 

And it’s not like Eddie wanted you to leave, but he was more than happy to sleep alone. What if he snores obnoxiously loud or he does something gross in his sleep? If you got instantly turned off by some sleeping habit he didn’t even know he had, he thinks it might destroy him.

Eddie can’t control the front he puts up around everyone when he’s sleeping. And for a boy who’s still trying to impress a pretty girl, that’s a very frightening thought.

“Uh, okay… Are you— Are you sure?” he stammers.

His apprehension confuses you. The offer hadn’t felt like that big of a deal to you. “I mean… yeah? We practically did it over the phone last week. It’ll be just like that — but, you know, in person.”

“Right… Okay.”

“I can make us dinner, and we can watch a movie or something,” you propose and grin at the daydream of it all. You wouldn’t have to miss Eddie if he was beside you all night. You wouldn’t have to drift off to thoughts of him either, because he’d be right there. “Bowie would be stoked if you stayed over. She’s practically obsessed with you.”

The thought makes Eddie smile to himself. His heart swells at the idea that other parts of your life have already started to accept him. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy in his leather jacket and ripped jeans and chunky metal rings.

“Her mom is too, right?” he asks you, mostly playful. He smirks all smug, but his cinnamon-tinted gaze gleams with sincerity.

“Oh, obviously,” you scoff without a second thought. “Have you seen her? She can’t get enough of you…” Your teasing lilt and soft smile fades as you squint at him. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”

Eddie pinches his thumb and forefinger together, zipping them across his lips, then rolling down the window to toss the imaginary lock out of it. 

Wind whips through the small car with vigor, making a wild halo of Eddie’s already less-than-tamed hair. The intrusion forces you to squint, even more so when you laugh. 

The sound of your giggling is like glitter or sunbeams. It’s as bright as yellow and soft like summer rain. It makes him smile, too, because that’s all he wanted to do in the first place — make you laugh. It’s all he ever wants to do.

Eddie cranks the lever to roll the window back up again as you tell him: “And, you know, if you stayed over, then I could give you that reward we were talking about.” 

You’ve successfully stooped to his level now: head stuck in the very depths of the gutter. Most of your thoughts are innocent, cooking for him and holding him while you slept. Others, not so much.

“And that would be…” he trails off with raised brows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you squint at him as you turn the steering wheel to pull into the bustling parking lot of Hawkins High. 

The place is as wretched as it always was. It hasn’t changed a bit, just sort of deteriorated with time. The nameplate on top of the building has started to grey and the tiger mural painted on the bricks is fading, but it’s still the same. The familiarity of it all hits you with an ice-cold pang of nostalgia.

“I would,” Eddie nods a very vigorous nod, all innocent and wide-eyed, as you park on the far side of the lot. “I would very much like to know.”

You lean across the console to press a swift kiss to his cheek. “You’ll find out later,” you assure him, lingering just ahead of his face. Closer by an inch or two and the tips of your noses would nudge against one another.

“Have mercy…” Eddie murmurs to himself, eyes and limbs suddenly heavy under the weight of his desire for you. 

You made him promise he’d stay sober for the exam — no drinking the night before, no smoking while he got ready. Before now, he’d been perfectly clearheaded. Then you go and look at him with that look, and he’s instantly drunk on you.

He tries to close the distance between you but succeeds only in brushing your noses together before a loud honk blares from ahead of you. It sends the two of you jerking away from each other almost instantly, heads whipping toward the direction of the too loud beep. 

It comes from Steve Harrington’s maroon Beemer that he’d parked just ahead of your Volvo. Him and his friends file out one by one — Robin from the passenger, Dustin Henderson from the back, and then Steve from the driver’s side. 

The former two are beaming, far too happy for it to be so early. Steve looks more like a victim to the morning as he leans against his open car door. His smile looks like a wince and he props his wrist on the door, throwing his fingers up in the place of an actual wave. Dustin and Robin are far more enthusiastic with their gestures.

You and Eddie wave a tad bit awkwardly back at them.

“Look at him,” the boy says, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “King Steve. Carpooling his kids like a real mom.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a babysitter first and a human being second,” you joke, then more seriously tell him: “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, you know?”

“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”

“Okay… I just— I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to, you know, force you or something—”

“It didn’t.”

“—I was just saying it could be nice, you know? But I feel like it sounded like I was being a little pushy.”

“You weren’t.”

“And I don’t want you to be, like, scared to say no to me or something, you know? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or anything, okay? I promise,” you ramble, partly lying because you know it would hurt a little, but you’d never tell him that. “The ball is totally in your court, so… Whatever you want to do, it’s completely—”

Your nervous blathering is brought to an unexpected halt when Eddie brings his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks in his palms, brushing his thumbs along the apples of them. The sleeves of his leather jacket tickle your chin. He sprayed his wrist with cologne this morning, you can tell; the musky cedarwood and tobacco are more prominent now. 

The boy laughs softly when the suddenness of his action makes your eyes go wide, chuckling louder when he squeezes your cheeks and makes your lips pout softly.

“I wanna come over, okay?” Eddie assures through his laughter. “And you’re never annoying me when you ask. I promise. I’ll probably say yes to just about anything when it’s coming from you, sweetheart.”

“And you’re not just saying that?” you press, words slightly muffled with the way Eddie’s holding your face.

“I’m not just saying that,” he echoes more confidently. He shakes his head at you, then moves your jaw back and forth with his palms so he’s shaking yours too. You jerk away from him with a grin. 

“I’ll see you later?” he asks you while he collects his things from the floor, which is just the little tin box he carries everywhere. He swears it has everything he needs in it. You assume it’s just a dull pencil and a couple of baggies of weed he plans to sell between lunch shifts.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.

He clicks the handle to open the car door, then kicks it open the rest of the way. He rolls his head back and puckers his lips for a kiss. You happily oblige him, meeting him halfway but turning at the last second so his mouth meets your cheek.

“Kids are watching,” you joke at his surprise.

And even though he’d only pecked your jaw, it makes Robin and Steve roll their eyes. “Gag me with a spoon,” the girl gripes as she walks past the hood of your car.

Dustin follows behind her, too preoccupied to care. He’s got an anticipatory grin on his face that reveals the blue and green braces on his teeth. The composition notebook in his hands has the Hellfire logo drawn in red and yellow sharpie on the front of it.

You’ve never met the kid, but he’s exactly how you’d expected him to be.

You heard a lot about him — from Steve mostly, but from Eddie too. Robin has the occasional story about the boy from whenever he visits Family Video. They all call him little shit most of the time, shrimp on occasion, and Dusty Bun when he’s done something particularly sweet.

It’s all from a lighthearted place, though. You figure it must be because Steve Harrington is waking up at seven in the morning to take some fourteen-year-old to school. And Eddie’s even worse — the second Dustin calls asking for a ride, he’s hopping in his van without a second thought.

The boy barely lets Eddie get out of the car before he starts bombarding him with questions about the latest D&D campaign. He prattles on and on about it while they walk towards the school, pointing adamantly at the notebook in his hands. You imagine it’s full of conspiracies and potential ways to beat the Cult of Vecna. 

He’s so invested he doesn’t even care when Robin slips the cap from his hand and flips it backwards.

“Have the best day ever, kiddos!” you shout through your rolled-down car window.

You get a half-hearted wave from Dustin, but he doesn’t even glance at you when he does it. Eddie blows a dramatic kiss your way, but Robin rivals his sweetness with a middle finger and a rouge-tinted smile.

The bell chimes overhead, high-pitched and too familiar. The parking lot empties slowly, and the mindless muddled chatter fades too.

Steve saunters to your car after everyone else heads inside. He folds his arms along the passenger door as he leans down to look at you. 

His hair is un-styled, but in a cool sort of way that only he can pull off. Chestnut strands fall down over his forehead while others are pushed back from where he’s ran his fingers through them. His jaw is dusted with a fine layer of stubble that sprinkles a shadow of a mustache on his cupid’s bow.

You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.

He’s got on a pair of faded jeans and the mandatory collared shirt, even though he swears Keith only makes him abide by the dress code. You’re wearing the all black get-up required of all Enzo’s waitresses. The flowy blouse and a-line skirt are now wrinkled from the drive over. You’re only missing your floral apron and Steve his forest green vest.

“How long until your shift starts?” he asks you, voice deep and gruff with the morning.

Your eyes flit down to the flashing clock on your dashboard, then back up to him. “I don’t have to go in until eleven today, but I was gonna see if I could pick up an extra shift.”

He nods and juts out his lips as he turns to squint down the parking lot. He looks back at you with a more hopeful gaze. “Wanna go fuck around at Family Video instead?”

And, of course, by “fuck around,” he means popping popcorn and playing some terrible, terrible slasher film on the television behind the counter that has more boobs and blood than actual plot.

You’ll stop for junk food on the way like you always do and spend the bulk of the movie tossing gummy bears and M&Ms into Steve’s mouth. You’ll waste hours talking about nothing, but it’ll feel like only minutes have gone by when it’s time for your shift.

“Are you kidding?” you scoff like it’s not the best idea you’ve heard all morning. Or maybe second best because Eddie’s proposal of a reward is still swirling around in the confines of your mind. “Of course I do.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

By sunset, Eddie Munson’s got a B-minus on his midterm, a crowd of kids singing his praises, and a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Life, as it turns out, was really starting to look up for the local freak.

“Best… campaign… ever!” Dustin shouts. He’s still so boyishly excited about the whole thing that he has to take in deep breaths before he says each word. 

The emphatic exclamation echoes through the dim, empty hallway of Hawkins High. The rest of the school had left some time ago; all that’s left now are the scraps — the basketball douchebags, the theater geeks, the D&D nerds.

The Hellfire Club gets the entire west wing to themselves, and the unusual vacancy allows them to saunter down the corridor’s length like they own the damn place. 

They don’t have to look over their shoulders for assholes that might trip them or stuff them into lockers. Still bubbling with the after-effects of such an utterly sadistic campaign, they feel like they’re on top of their own little world.

Eddie Munson hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.

He spins on the heel of his worn-out sneaker and walks backwards ahead of his friends so he can examine each of their faces. He’d unleashed the whole Vecna lives twist that he’d been keeping in his metaphorical back pocket for some time now.

You were the one that gave him the idea, sprung it out of nowhere during a smoke session so many months ago. It feels like it’s been forever now. That was back when you were just his customer, and he was just your dealer — when all you needed was a little free weed, and Eddie just needed to pass a test.

You both somehow ended up with far more than either of you bargained for, but he’s not complaining. He hopes you aren’t either.

Dustin had sort of predicted Vecna’s resurgence. He’d scribbled it down in his journal with all the rest of his endless conspiracies. Well, actually, he suspected that Kas was still a villain and hadn’t slain Vecna like they thought — which wasn’t exactly right, but it was still pretty damn close. Eddie’s never met someone who cared so much about one of his campaigns.

So, needless to say, the curly-haired boy is beaming. His green-blue braces and pearly whites are on full display, partially from excitement but mostly because he was sort of right — in a vague, roundabout way.

Mike had been enthusiastic about it too, but that was before he had to suffer through his best friend’s endless boasts. His brown eyes roll damn near to the back of his skull as he huffs, angled jaw clenching from gritted teeth.

“Well, when you spend eight hours coming up with, like, a thousand different theories, one of them is gonna be right,” he’d finally groused. 

Dustin only smiled at the lankier boy, totally unfazed by his grumbling. “It’s not my fault you have exactly zero work ethic. You’re just mad you lost.”

“Yeah, because staying up all night writing in your diary makes you a real winner.”

“For the last time, Mike, it’s not a diary!”

Lucas was too far away to join in on the bickering. The boy had been distant for a while now, actually. Eddie joked that he must’ve been upset about missing basketball practice with Carver and the rest of his goons, but Lucas hadn’t laughed as loud as he’d hoped. He only chuckled under his breath, shook his head, and said it was just girl troubles.  

Gareth, meanwhile, is still grumbling about Vecna killing his ranger. Even though Dustin’s bard brought them all back with a resurrection spell in the end, he doesn’t like to lose. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but he’d be lying if he said the angry scrunch contorting his best friend’s features wasn’t hilarious.

Jeff had lost his druid too, but he was a much better sport about the whole thing. He usually is, especially compared to the rest of the club. He’s perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat every loss like the end of the world.

“Well, thank you, Ser Dustin,” Eddie responds in a fanciful sort of accent, bending at the waist in a gracious brow. “But I cannot take all the credit, I’m afraid.”

Dustin’s brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“He means that his girlfriend helped him put it together,” Jeff lisps.

“No way!” the boy gapes, totally dumbfounded. “The girl from this morning? In the car? She’s… She’s into Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Not really. No,” Eddie shrugs right before flashing a shit-eating grin. “But she is into me, so…”

The less-than-humble brag makes Gareth groan. His sandy curls fall back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, ocean eyes rolling and then fluttering closed. “If I have to hear about your stupid girlfriend one more time…” he’d griped after the first few times Eddie managed to bring you up in every conversation — about a million of them ago now.

His annoyance doesn’t lessen Dustin’s confusion. “I don’t get it…”

“Gareth's just mad because he’s in love with Eddie’s girlfriend,” Jeff clarifies once more, feigning pity as he pats the boy on the shoulder.

“All I’m saying is, I would’ve tried a little harder to get her attention if I knew she was into freaks,” Gareth grieves, a little forlorn and distantly heartbroken, but shrugging it off like he isn’t all that affected by it.

You were a bit like Steve The Hair Harrington in that way. A little like Vicki Carmichael or, god forbid, Billy Hargrove. You’ve garnered a sort of popularity that’s made you into a sideshow attraction that everyone wants to ride — literally.

You’re popular in a much, much different way than Steve or Vicki or Billy. It’s left you acutely fetishized in an extreme sort of fashion, an object of desire for many in disgusting, lurid ways.

It seems Gareth didn’t go unscathed with his lust for you either.

Well, too little too fucking late if Eddie had anything to say about it. But he would never, because that’s his best friend, so he decides to scoff and tell him: “Like she’d be into you anyway.”

“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”

“Is there anyone she isn’t into?” Jeff chuckles, too kind of heart to realize the mercilessness in his words. “Isn’t that, like, her whole thing.”

A sharp pang of anger strikes like lightning in Eddie’s chest. It’s ice-cold and red hot, a burst of adrenaline that feels like fight or flight. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. If it had been anyone else and not one of his best friends, he imagines he might’ve swung before he even thought about what he was doing. 

Before the words to defend you spill like venom from his mouth, another beats him to the punch.

“Hey,” Lucas scolds from a little ways behind the group, making them all turn to look at him. His brows are furrowed slightly, but the rest of his face is contorted in an unreadable way. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of the puke-green letterman he wears over his Hellfire tee. “Leave her alone.”

“How do you…” Eddie starts, then squints past the group, gaze zeroing in on the boy. “Since when do you know my girlfriend, Sinclair?”

“She’s friends with Max. And she’s, like, really nice. So maybe we shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

The boy with the wild hair grins something wilder. His gaze is stern but no less playful when he turns back to Jeff. “You heard the kid. Leave my girlfriend alone, Jeffy.”

When the phrase leaves his mouth, for perhaps the billionth time that day, he realizes how often he must say it. My girlfriend, he says. My girlfriend, my girlfriend — because he can’t get enough of how it sounds.

With a grin on his face and his dream girl on his mind, Eddie spins on his heel again to swing open the double doors of the high school’s exit. The chill smacks him in the face almost immediately.

It’s the strange knick of time in early spring where the days are warm, but the nights are so, so cold. This one isn’t any different. A bitter breeze pounds at his chest, ruffles through his curls, and pierces the fabric of his jacket. Eddie’s body mourns the sudden loss of warmth almost immediately.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dustin continues to whinge, even though the rest of them have more than moved on. “Does— Does everyone know her but me? Mike, do you know who she is?”

The boy perks up at the mention of his name. He tends to get a little reserved unless he’s bickering or talking bout his girlfriend. The kid’s a complete and utter wreck when he’s been away from her for too long. Eddie used to make fun of him for it. Not so much anymore.

Mike runs a hand through his lengthy raven hair, then scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes squint and his nose scrunches. “Uh… not really? I mean, I think she knows El because she knows Hopper, but… I don’t know… No?”

Dustin’s face falls flat at his answer. Or lack thereof.

“Wow. Very enlightening, Mike, as always. Thank you,” he deadpans, then turns back to Eddie. His features go from deadpanned to hopeful: eyes wide, brows raised, lips quirked. “So when are we gonna get to meet her? Do you think she’d do a campaign with us? Holy shit— she could be the fairy! You know, of the Firethorns! I mean, you did just say the campaign was feeling a little empty—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it down a few notches, alright, Dusty Bun?” Eddie chuckles as he slumps a heavy arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t call me that. We talked about this; that name is reserved for Suzie and Suzie only—”

“Didn’t you guys break up?” Mike wonders with a sort of blandness to his tone that only he could pull off.

“Shut up, Mike,” Dustin bites in response.

It was still a bit of a sore subject for the boy who’d just lost the so-called love of his life.

Suzie was a girl he met at summer camp about a year ago. Things were going pretty well until they weren’t. Something about her family being uber-religious and not approving of Dustin’s more agonistic disposition.

She broke up with him over Cerebro and hasn’t been on the channel since. It was cold. Ice cold.

Dustin still hikes up to Weathertop every now and then with nothing but a packed lunch and the hope that she’ll answer. She hasn’t yet.

And Eddie can make a mockery of just about anything — it’s practically a superpower at this point — but he knows when to leave well enough alone. Even the most innocent question can send the boy into a spiral of despair. Even now, he gets so suddenly weighed down by the burden of his sadness; lips turning downward and the insides of his brows curling slightly.

Eddie smiles a sad sort of smile down at the boy, but he’s too busy moping to see it. He pulls him closer with one leather-clad arm and uses the other to pat the boy on the chest. Their feet stumble less than gracefully over one another. 

“Yeah, you’re never gonna meet her…” Eddie says in a mournful sigh.

Dustin blinks up at him, confused and even more hurt than before. “What? Why not?”

“Because she’d obviously like you more than me,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. “And I can’t have anyone taking my girl, Henderson.”

That confuses him even more. He was more prepared for one of Eddie’s stupid quips than something short of a compliment. It takes him by surprise at first, leaves him gaping for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”

“I’m serious!” Eddie chuckles, all loud and boisterous. The sound echoes through the vacant lot, made somehow emptier by the cold.

He stops walking suddenly and makes Dustin stop walking too. He takes the boy a tad bit roughly by the shoulders and looks down at him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. 

“I mean, look at you! What’s not to like, huh? You got their hair, the smarts, the personality—”

“And Eddie’s only got one of those things, so you definitely win,” Gareth quips from a few feet behind them.

“Exactly! Suzie was an idiot to let you go, Henderson.”

Dustin winces when Eddie jabs him in the chest. His saddened gaze flits to the pavement for a moment, then back up again. His eyes are brighter now, but still a bit melancholy — sort of like the streetlamp that flickers across the way. A light that’s going out but grasping for reasons to stay burning.

“You think so?”

“I know so, Dusty Bun,” Eddie grins — smiling wider when the kid’s beam falls flat again. He wraps his arm around Dustin’s punier frame. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. “Never change, Dustin Henderson. Never change…”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since he was ten.

Fifth grade. Franklin Kowalski’s place in the suburbs. Trampoline in the front yard, pool in the back, and an assortment of soft drinks in a fridge in the garage. Maybe he remembers it so vividly because it's perhaps one of the more traumatizing experiences a prepubescent boy growing out a buzzcut could go through.

He knew he didn’t belong there — not in the good part of town with a bunch of boys in brand-new tennis shoes. Eddie Munson was trailer park trash, through and through. He wasn’t used to new clothes or two-story houses or underground pools. But he didn’t care where he came from. And neither did Franklin. Not at first, anyway.

The other kids were nice enough to him. They offered him their swim goggles when Eddie didn’t have his own and made sure he wasn’t left out of any of their conversations. It was all in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, though. Their kindness was manufactured, a mask for pre-teen boy cruelty. 

See, they only gave him their goggles so they could laugh when they got tangled in his curls. They only included him in conversation so he could be the punch line to each of their jokes. 

All of it went over Eddie’s head. He was too innocent to realize he wasn’t being treated nicely, he was being taunted. He laughed along with each of their inside jokes because he wanted so desperately to be included, having no idea it was himself he was laughing at.

It took him until two o’clock the next morning to understand. He woke up all alone in the living room and found that everyone else had migrated upstairs without him. They were still awake, still laughing — and Eddie was forgotten in the dark.

He nearly cried when he called Wayne. He wasn’t sure if his tears were from anger or from sadness, but they stung all the same. 

He punched the numbers on the keypad with a clenched jaw to keep from sobbing out loud. His gaze was still blurry with unshed tears. It made it dreadfully hard to see, and what little light spilled from the television — which had turned to static after midnight — didn’t help either.

“It’s three A.M., Eds. You sick?” his uncle gruffed into the landline.

“A little,” Eddie half-lied. He twirled the curly wire around his fingertip until it turned purple. He prayed he didn’t sound as sad as he felt. “Everyone else is asleep… ‘M scared I’m gonna puke everywhere.”

Wayne was there barely fifteen minutes later. He drove his rusted pick-up to the suburbs, found his nephew waiting on the curb, and didn’t ask questions on the drive back to Forest Hills. 

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.

He’s got a feeling this one will be different, though. Because pre-teen boys are a hell of a different kind and you’re… you. 

He’s pretty sure you couldn’t be mean to him even if you wanted to be. You’re nice, far nicer than he deserves. You’re lovely and sweet and decent — every synonym of the damn word in a thousand different languages. It still floors him that it would ever occur to you to be kind to him. 

Eddie doesn’t feel all that worthy of your sunshine. He happily basks in your golden rays anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s selfish. Or maybe it’s because he’s so damn pale — in both the literal and figurative sense.

Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.

He isn’t totally sure of what to bring as he rifles through his disorganized drawers, so he ends up packing bits of everything. 

He does the sniff test for each of his crumpled-up t-shirts. The one’s that smell the freshest get stuffed to the bottom of his bag. He can’t be sure of how many he’s shoved down there now — three or four, maybe five. It makes it harder for his pants to fit, two of the pajama variety and two of denim. 

He grabs multiples of everything, just to be on the safe side. It takes only minutes for his backpack to fill up. He nearly breaks the zipper trying to fasten it, and still, he worries he hasn’t brought enough.

The bag sits upright on his mattress as Eddie bends down to grab the box of condoms that’s been idling under his bed for a year. The cardboard is coated with a fine layer of dust and time. He holds it between his ringed fingers, debating whether or not to finally break the seal and bring a few — just to be on the safe side. That’s when Wayne walks in.

The man isn’t looking at him. He’s too busy wiping his oil-stained palms on an already-stained rag, but his presence is sudden enough to freak Eddie out. The boy jumps like he’s been caught red-handed, scrabbles for a hiding place almost immediately, making the box sputter out of his grip. The thing falls to the ground with a dramatic thud.

He kicks it back under his bed again.

Wayne’s eyes finally flit up to his nephew’s at all the commotion. His bushy grey brows furrow when he finds him standing upright, hands behind his back, totally not suspicious at all. Raising a teenage boy has taught the man not to comment on what doesn’t concern him, so he keeps on swiping his fingers between the fabric of the grimy rag. 

“I finished looking at your van,” he says, accent deep and husky and not of Indiana origin. “Turns out that noise you were hearin’ was a damn rock in the break line.”

Eddie scoffs, then eyes a stick of deodorant sitting on his dresser. “Wow,” he marvels as he swipes the thing from its place. He stuffs it into the side pocket of his bag. “A measly pebble coulda killed me, huh?”

“Should be good to go now, though.”

“Sweet,” the boy nods.

Eddie squints as his eyes flit around his room, head darting in either direction to make sure he’s got everything. Wayne watches him with an identical squint. “Where you runnin’ off to now? You just got home, what, fifteen minutes ago?”

“Uh… I’m gonna go see a friend,” Eddie answers, voice trembling and slightly far away. He unzips his bag again to make sure it’s sufficiently filled. He does a little mental checklist: shirts, pants, PJs, shoes— how the hell is he supposed to fit shoes in here?

You’ve only got one pair of shoes, Munson, he reminds himself. Where the hell do you think you’re going, anyway? A nature walk?

“Oh, right,” his uncle nods. A smile plays on the edges of his lips, but it weirdly still looks like he’s frowning. “The friend.”

“Yeah— Well, she’s my… She’s my girlfriend, so…”

The admission makes Eddie blush in a way he isn’t typically used to. He can’t count the number of times he must say it in a day, but something about saying it in front of Wayne feels different — real.

He turns his glowing cheeks down to his bag and makes difficult work of zipping it back up again.

Wayne doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. The bright emotion is almost unfamiliar. “Well, shit,” the man’s chuckle sounds from the depths of his chest. “Look at you, Eds. My nephew’s finally got his first girlfriend.”

The boy rolls his chocolate eyes. He jerks under the pressure of the shoulder clap Wayne gives him. It’s equal parts annoying and embarrassing — to be talked to like a child in this way. Maybe because most children have long had their first girlfriends by now, and it took Eddie all of twenty agonizing years.

“We were gonna hang out at her place since I passed my English test and everything...”

The excitement washes from Wayne’s tired eyes. They widen, as though in shock, and reveal more of the glassy whites of them. He just blinks at him for a moment, like his words are still processing. “You… You passed?”

“Yep. Got a B,” Eddie nods, a tad bit sheepishly. He finds it hard to meet his uncle’s mystified gaze. “Well, a B-minus, but… Turns out, I might actually graduate this year.”

Wayne seems to experience every emotion at once. He’s surprised, of course — it makes sense. Eddie spent two years failing the damn thing, after all. Then he’s proud, overjoyed that there’s a chance his nephew might finally grow up. He’s distantly saddened by the exact same thought.

The man swallows thickly, as though to down each emotion. He nods and tries his best to smile. “Damn. Good job, kid. I’m… I’m prouda you.”

Eddie isn’t sure whether to take the praise or cower from it. At a loss, he opts to deflect entirely.

“Yeah, well, she— the friend helped me study and everything, so… I feel like we should probably be thanking her, you know?” he half-jokes as he swings the pack over his shoulder. His winces under the weight of it. “I probably wouldn’t have passed if she didn’t force me to read that stupid book. I mean, it’s 1986; who cares about the roaring twenties and blinking green lights—”

“Hm…” his uncle grunts. It isn’t an acknowledging grunt, though. It’s more of a bemused sort of grunt. And he’s got this quizzical twist to his features that makes Eddie confused too.

“…What is it?”

Wayne only shrugs, trying to act like it was nothing, but can’t help but to ask: “You’re real serious about this girl, aren’t ya?”

Eddie, feeling a bit weighed down by such a heavy question, shifts on his feet.

“Uh… A little bit, I guess. Yeah,” he stammers in the place of an honest answer. If he were being totally truthful, he would’ve said something like, “As serious as a goddamn heart attack.” But that might’ve actually given Uncle Wayne one, so he doesn’t answer with all that.

The man seems to hear all the words Eddie doesn’t say, though. He always does. Eddie figures that’s what happens when you raise a kid for fifteen years — you get attuned to their every thought like a superpower or something. 

It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. Eddie’s never been able to keep a single damn secret from Wayne because he’s a total mind reader. It’s entirely possible Wayne knew Eddie was in love before he did.

“Just be careful, alright?” the man advises. He looks genuinely concerned, eyes glinting and brows pinched, like you’re a treacherous road or poison ivy.

The misplaced cautiousness makes Eddie breathe out a soft laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Eds. Don’t play dumb,” Wayne tells him with a gruff chuckle — not totally unkind, just a Munson sort of curt. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. I didn’t even know her real name until you started bringing her around, 'cause all the kids at the shop call her the—”

“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.

The bitterness in his tone is foreign. It contains the sort of venom he’s more like to spit at Jason Carver or Mike Wheeler if he’s being particularly dickish. Never at Wayne.

But that dormant urge to defend you rises like a sleeping dragon that just got poked in the belly. The words rise like bile in his throat and spew out before he can think to stop them.

Uncle Wayne is a weathered man. He’s seen a lot of the world, too much of it, but nothing’s ever quite taken him aback like this. He’s never seen his nephew’s chocolate button eyes hardened into something so cold.

Eddie gets all hyperaware of the heart on his sleeve and starts to crack under the pressure of it. He deflates, stern features crumbling into something softer.

“It’s different, okay?” he assures with his chin brought down to his chest — brows raised and wide eyes twinkling. It’s the same thing you’d said to Hopper not too long ago. Eddie hopes you met the words as wholeheartedly as he does now.

“And even if I explained all the reasons why it’s different, you still wouldn’t get it.”

His melodramatic tone makes Wayne scoff. “What? ‘Cause you don’t think I’ve ever been a kid in love before?”

“No,” Eddie shrugs playfully. “‘Cause you’re old.”

The foreign tension ebbs all at once with a pair of laughs. One is gruff, a couple of sharp exhales more than anything else. The other is a lighter, far more boyish giggle.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, alright?” Wayne tells him once the laughter fades.

“Yeah, I know. You always do,” Eddie lilts with a disposition that might make it seem like he’s displeased by his uncle’s constant pestering. In reality, he knows it’s saved him from a world of shit.

Like that time he wanted to get tacos from a new food truck that gave the whole town food poisoning. Or when he’d wanted to ask Tina Burton, the most popular girl in school, on a date his sophomore year. 

It was Wayne that saved him the embarrassment from either. It’s like he can smell bullshit or something.

“But this is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me since Ride the Lightning came out… So, I’d kinda like to enjoy this whole thing while it lasts,” Eddie winces like it’s a joke, but he means it more than anything.

Wayne nods understandingly. “Will do, kid. But first girlfriends are always hard, okay? Remember that. Try not to let it hurt you too much, Eds.”

His uncle claps him once, then twice, on his shoulder before swiping away the grime he’d accidentally spotted there. Eddie lets him, too far away to shrug him off. He doesn’t even move when Wayne walks out of his room.

He knows his uncle means well, but something about his cynical words makes his chest burn. It’s like he’s betting on his relationship with you not working out or something. 

And Eddie knows he isn’t wrong. First girlfriends are hard. He’s heard enough shit from his friends to know that. Hell, Mike and Dustin have spent all year complaining about how complicated relationships are. 

But it’s different. 

Because they’re just a couple of kids and their girlfriends aren’t you.

Whatever form you come in, lover or executioner, Eddie’s more than ready to receive you.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You’ve never cooked for anyone other than yourself. And maybe Bowie.

That’s not to say you were a stranger to dining in company. Binging on takeout with Robin and Steve was routine. You’re pretty sure Benny at the diner has made more dinners for the three of you than you’ve ever made for yourselves — combined. 

But it was different, to make something for someone with your own hands. It took a relative amount of care, an acute sort of attentiveness that only felt deserved for someone really special. 

And Eddie was really special and then some.

There isn’t a word that encapsulates all the special he is. It makes you feel a bit guilty sometimes. You wish you were smarter so you could think of a big enough word to describe how much he means to you. But since you aren’t, you stick to making him homemade spaghetti and hope you can pour enough love into it that he feels all of yours.

Eddie arrives at your apartment before you’re ready for him.

You’d wanted to do more with your appearance by the time he came around — with your hair and your makeup and your clothes. Not because you ever had to, but because you thought Eddie deserved a girl who took extra care of herself in that way.

You got a shower in before you started cooking, but that was it. Your hair is unstyled and air-drying; your face bare and glistening in all its naked glory.

Clad in nothing but a hilariously oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks, you look more ready for bed than date night.

The knock at your door sends you into a momentary whirlwind. You scramble like someone’s seconds away from catching you naked — like there are four different fires in every direction and you don’t know which one to put out first. The panic is elaborate and fleeting, a bucket of ice-cold water on bare skin.

You figure that’s another part of caring about someone. You make them spaghetti because you love them and get nervous when things aren’t perfect. Love is all things stressful and homemade.

Eddie knocks on your door with several rhythmic raps. They’re evenly timed and spaced out. You recognize the bass line to ‘Crazy Train’ almost immediately. Da-da… Da-da, da-da, da-da. He must’ve been listening to it on the way over.

“Uh, come in!” you waver after an awkward beat. You’re yelling a little because you’re still standing at the stove, stirring the pot of noodles.

The door clicks once when it opens, then again when it shuts. The wall that separates the kitchen conceals your view of him, but you can hear Eddie’s shuffling in the living room from where you are because he’s never done anything quietly in his life.

Eddie toes off his sneakers before he heads into your apartment. You never asked him to do it, so it always confused you as to why. He’d told you, when you asked, that he knows he’s not the cleanest and that he cares too much about your space to make a mess of it. 

He tells you he can’t take care of you in the way he would like — that if he had it his way, you’d never have to work at Enzo’s again; that he wishes he was rich enough so you never had to wait on snobby stay-at-home moms or misogynistic businessmen. But since he isn’t a rockstar yet and The Hideout pays their busboy’s fuck all, Eddie figures the least he can do is not leave shoe prints on your carpet.

It’s boyish and strangely profound and so, so sweet.

He drops his backpack and leaves his sneakers by the doormat like he always does. They fit neatly between the wall and the roughly textured rectangle that reads ‘glad you’re here’ on the front of it. One is upright, the other falls to its side.

Bowie blinks at him from where she idles on her perch, green eyes wide and pupils set in narrow slits. “Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie greets in a quiet coo, scooping her up in his arms. Despite her round belly, the calico weighs no more than a feather. 

She meows once after being so suddenly plucked from her flower petal spot but settles into him instantly. He scratches at her chin to make her purr and revels in the soft buzzing sound she makes. Eddie waltzes into the kitchen with her, cradling her against his chest like a newborn baby.

You look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of them — at your two favorite beings on the planet, so obviously taken with one another. Bowie lolls in Eddie’s arm like he’s made of clouds and cotton candy. Her blinks are slow and lazy, her purrs audible to even you. She’s only this affectionate for him. You can’t even blame her. 

“Smells good in here,” the boy compliments trying his best not to blush at the wide smile you give him. He’s still not used to being looked at so tenderly. 

Failing to feel deserving of it all, he averts his chocolate gaze and flushed cheeks to the counter, where he plops Bowie down beside her half-empty food bowl.

You could only get her to eat so much of it before she got annoyed with you. Now she laps happily at the chunk of cat food like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted its goodness.

“Thanks,” you respond with a slight tremble to the edge of your voice. You turn back to the pot of spaghetti you’ve been stirring for close to ten minutes, eyeing the mixture of noodles and sauce and beef with intent because you need it all to be perfect. “I probably should’ve asked what you liked before you left this morning, but I only know how to make spaghetti, so… I made spaghetti.”

You look back at him, flashing the boy a nervous tight-lipped smile. It makes him grin, too, as he makes the terribly short trek over to you.

“Well, I actually love spaghetti,” he confesses, and it isn’t totally a lie. He just stopped caring for it around the millionth time Wayne made it because it’s one of the only things he knows how to cook too. 

Eddie lingers at your side, hip pressing into the counter, radiating warmth like a sun stuck in human form. You can’t tell if he’s toasty in his leather jacket or if you’re just cozy in the honey-coated tenderness you have for him. You don’t even realize you’re smiling at him when he scrunches his nose at you. 

“You should be careful, sweetheart. I’m kinda starting to think we’re soulmates.”

“That’s crazy,” you marvel, wide-eyed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Wow… We really were made for each other, huh?” he huffs with a similar sarcasm.

You try to keep the joke going, but it’s hard not to smile when you feel his hands creep around your sides. His fingers are soft on your waist, featherlight and a little unsure as he slithers along your back. The affection feels foreign on your skin. You bite back a shiver.

“Looks like way,” you affirm with a nod, tilting your head back so you can meet him halfway when he leans down to peck you.

It’s a soft and swift little thing, a brief brush of the lips that doesn’t mean anything but also the entire world. He kisses you just to kiss you — because he likes the feel of you or because it’s the sort of thing he can do now as your boyfriend. Either way, you revel in the unfamiliarity.

“Did the, uh… Did the test go okay?” you ask once he parts from you. You try not to sound like you’ve been agonizing over it all day and more like the thought had only just crossed your mind.

Eddie bites back a smile as he turns to walk to the opposite side of the counter. He makes sure any traces of the smirk have washed away when he hops onto the edge of it.  The forlorn look he gives you is manufactured, all pinched browed and gloomy eyed. 

“Um, no…” he fibs. “I, uh— I failed it again.”

You eye him from over your shoulder and notice how he shifts on his weight, looking down at the tile rather than up at you. It doesn’t cross your mind once that he might be joking. You just hope the flash of disappointment on your features was too quick for him to catch.

“That’s okay,” you assure and cover your chagrin with a smile. You shake your head and shrug. “We just try again, right? Not the end of the world.”

A grin tugs slow at Eddie’s lips. It’s bemused slightly and still sort of sad. He can’t believe how supportive you are of him even after he’s just told you outright that he’s failed — still loving even when he’s not good enough.

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a packet of stapled-together papers. It’s perhaps the first piece of schoolwork given to him that wasn’t immediately thrown away. He’d folded it twice in half, then tucked it safely away with the intent to show you later. He unfolds it again to marvel at it once more.

The letter grade is written in red and circled twice. Ms. O’Donnell’s fancy cursive is scribbled just beside it — “Finally! Good job, Eddie! I’m very proud of you!” Even though the boy has never been particularly fond of the woman, her compliment makes his chest swell.

“Oh, shit…” he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

“Hm?” you hum back in response. You don’t look at him, though, more focused on not burning yourself as you pull a tray of golden brown garlic bread out of the oven.

“I read it wrong…” he answers, feigning surprise. “This isn’t an F. It’s a B.”

The pan clatters to the stove when you spin around the face him. Your eyes are wide and your brows are raised, each of your features agape with shock. You’re not entirely sure how he could’ve misread it, but you’re prepared to celebrate with him anyway. 

Eddie flashes you a pink, lopsided smile as he flips the creased paper around. He puts the grade on display for you with a knowing, mischievous glint in his cinnamon eyes. He’s too pretty and you’re too proud of him — you can’t even care that he was tricking you.

“Oh, my god, Eddie!” you shout with a bubbly laugh, all but launching yourself at him. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach where he sits on the counter. The bottom of your stomach digs into the granite as your arms wrap around his neck. 

You don’t realize until you’ve locked him in this embrace that you’ve still got your oven mitt on.

Eddie bends awkwardly to reciprocate the hug, meeting you halfway so you’re not doing all the work.

One hand keeps hold of his midterm, but the palm of his free one spreads wide and warm along your back. The tops of your chests collide, soft and snug. They press together in such a way that it confuses him how he could’ve gone so long without feeling you like this — even in the most innocent way.

His chin settles along your clothed collarbone. With his nose digging into the cotton of your t-shirt, he inhales to find your warm floral scent. Eddies sighs and relaxes against you without thinking. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever hugged him like this before.

“I’m so proud of you!” you praise, chin bopping on his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

Eddie chuckles softly at the severity of your hug, so full of intent — louder when you peck him on his cheek and then the rest of his face when you realize you can’t just kiss him once. His stubble is rough against the plush of your lips as you press them to his jaw and chin and nose and mouth.

He tries to kiss you back, but he’s smiling too wide.

He’s almost certain no one’s ever gotten this much loving over a B-minus.

“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.

“No, it’s because you’re smart.”

“Mm, I don’t think that’s it,” he retorts with the shake of his head, too damn stubborn to take a compliment.

His chin pulls closer to his neck when he parts from you. Your noses are barely inches apart, lips so close he can taste them. He could kiss you if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at you.

“I’m pretty sure I only passed because I was thinking about you the whole time...” 

His words trail off. He’s got a crooked smirk on his lips like he’s only teasing, but brings his ear to his shoulder and gazes at you that way — so full of love and mischief. You think he might actually be sincere.

“Eddie Munson…” you scold at his suggestive tone. 

A smile dances on the corners of your lips as you pull back from him completely. You finally slip the mitten off your hand as you return to the stove, clicking the knob on the back panel until it turns off again.

“I just hope you’ve been thinking about that reward,” the boy lilts as he slips off the counter. He grins and walks until he’s leaning on the refrigerator beside you. He’s no more than a couple of feet away, but he somehow feels much closer than that. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we agreed that I’d get something if I passed…”

Eddie’s only teasing. He doesn’t actually want anything. Spending time with you now is enough. Making you blush was just a bonus. 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t cross his mind, though, far more times than he’d like to admit. 

And truth be told, you had thought about it, too. But that makes it sound too simple. It plagued you, really. First, it was the “oh god, what if he doesn’t pass,” and then the “what the hell am I supposed to do when he does?”

A passing grade isn’t usually that big of a deal. You’ve certainly never received anything from one. But passing a test after failing it the first two times and having to suffer two more agonizing years of school because of it certainly deserved to be celebrated.

Eddie was strange, though. He wasn’t materialistic or overtly enthusiastic about anything other than music and D&D. Maybe if you had more money, you could’ve gotten him a cassette or a new Dungeon Master’s manual. But thanks to Enzo’s salary, you’re lucky if you’re able to pay bills on time. And it sucks because Eddie deserves nice things, and not just for passing some stupid test. 

You hate that you don’t have anything other than spaghetti and adoration to give him.

It’s not fair to either of you.

You’d lamented to Steve about all this over gummy bears and buttered popcorn as Slumber Party Massacre played on the tiny television above the counter. The film was ripe with blood and random nudity, but you hadn’t fully paid attention to a single scene. You don’t think Steve had either because he was too busy trying to fuse two different halves of gummy bears together.

“Okay, you just passed a test you failed two times in a row,” you tell the boy, painting him a picture of your dilemma. “Your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you, but she’s boring and poor. What would you want?” 

“A blowjob,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His brows scrunch together like the answer was far easier than you made it out to be. He shrugs and squishes the strawberry head of one gummy bear onto the blue raspberry bottom of another. “Obviously.”

You didn’t think the answer was so obvious. Especially not when you’re trying to take things slow. It wasn’t an easy feat either — not with Eddie at your place, looking at you with that look. His features drip with honey as rose petal spill from his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tease you. 

He’s got no idea he’s quite literally dealing with the master of teasing.

“We’ll see how tonight goes,” you tell him, flashing him an arched brow and a knowing smirk as you drag two of your fancy, ten-dollar porcelain plates from the cabinet. “Only if you’re good for me, yeah?”

Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.

Like, if you’d asked him a question, the only thing that would spill out would be unintelligible murmurs of made-up words. 

His brain turns to mush with the look you give him — a two can play at this game kind of smirk that makes his mind melt. And your words are so effortless, so smooth, like you know just what to say and exactly how to say it to work him like a wind-up toy.

He’s in way over his head. The realization makes his breath hitch.

All he can do is nod like an idiot and let you fix him a plate of your “finest batch of spaghetti.” That’s what you call it, and he figures you must be right because you lay an entire three-course meal out in front of him. Well, it isn’t quite that extensive, but it feels that way.

Plates of pasta, a bowl of salad, and stacks of garlic bread decorate your small square dining table. Eddie almost feels like he’s at Enzo’s, even though there’s never been a world where he’s been able to afford Enzo’s.

You wine and dine him like the finest of them. Even though it’s nothing more than homemade spaghetti and apple juice in wine glasses, it makes him feel special — the kind of special people spend hundreds of dollars to feel. But he gets you for free and fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of it.

He got so damn lucky with you. 

He’s done trying to figure out why. He just wants to be more grateful for it.

Once he’s pleasantly full on a home-cooked meal, you usher him to the bathroom. There’s a bag full of stuff waiting there for him — toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash — all the essential shit that he’d forgotten all about. It makes his chest ache.

It’s less so that you knew he’d forget and more so that you thought about him at all.

Eddie imagines you getting off work, still in your Enzo’s-appropriate skirt and blouse uniform, scanning the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy for things you think Eddie might need.

It’s mundane, but so beautiful still — to be remembered in the most minuscule of ways.

“—I didn’t know what to get you, and I couldn’t afford a lot, so I just got you that 3-in-1 stuff,” you ramble as you pull the dark green bottle out of the brown paper bag on the counter. You wave it mindlessly in your hand. “I don’t know, it was affordable, and you seem like the kind of guy who might use this sort of stuff, so—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie chuckles, trying to act like he doesn’t have an off-brand bottle of the stuff sitting in his shower back at the trailer.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a giggle of your own. You shrug and sit the thing back down. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want.  I just wanted you to have some stuff here so it could, you know, feel more like home…”

Your words strike something profound in Eddie’s chest, a lightning strike or a punch to the stomach. In that moment, he comes to the realization that home isn’t a place. It’s not four walls or the little trinkets that fill it. The people that make you feel all warm and cozy inside, the people that make you feel like you have a place in the world — that’s home.

It’s Wayne and it’s Hellfire and it’s you.

So it’s easy for Eddie to feel at home in your little apartment, and not just because you bought a bunch of stuff to make it that way. 

He’s warmed by the hot shower and the thought that you’re waiting for him in your bedroom down the hall. The idea that he gets this night and so many others you with makes him feel all giddy — like he’s ten years old again and no sleepover has ever traumatized him.

Eddie uses everything you bought, still a little dizzied that it’s for him, but opts to use your vanilla body wash. It’s sweet smelling, with hints of deep musk and high lavender.

The scent of it on his own skin makes him feel like you’re on him and all over him. He has to flip the hot water to freezing before he steps out of the shower. Because, sure, he’s been less than shy about how much he likes you, but walking into your room with a hard-on is a bit more forward than he’s used to.

Eddie finds you waiting for him in your bed. You’re idling at the very center of it, knees up to your chest and back against the headboard, like you’ve been waiting for his return to get truly comfortable there.

You smile when you see him again. It’s that same grin you always look at him with, as though every time you see him is the first time.

He brings an air of cleanliness in with him. He's dressed in fresh pajamas, curls damp and still drying. Steam radiates off his skin along with the scent of freshly baked cookies and flower petals. It’s familiar to you because it’s yours, but it’s different on Eddie in a way you can’t describe.

“You smell good,” you compliment as he maneuvers through the velvet darkness of your bedroom. The black night is evaded only by your dim yellow lamp and the streams of orange that filter through your curtains from the streetlamps outside.

Eddie scoffs as he climbs onto your queen-sized bed. “Did I smell bad before?”

“No. You just smell sweet now. Like a milkshake.”

You shift to make room for him, pulling back your green gingham comforter so he can slip in beside you. Even though you’ve given him ample room to sit down, there isn’t any hint of distance between you. You keep yourself intently pressed to his side despite the several inches of space next to you.

Eddie hopes you never realize there’s a whole world of other places you could be than right next to him. He doesn’t ever want to see a day where you’re separated by more than an inch or two. 

“A milkshake, huh?” he echos as he leans back against the slatted headboard and all your pillows. You twist until you’re practically on your side — hip digging into the mattress, shoulder propped along the cushions, chest pressed against his arm.

“Yeah. Like whipped cream or… vanilla cake…” you trail off, quickly losing interest in describing the scent of him when you’re staring the pretty boy in the face.

One half of him is bathed in shades of golden orange, the other half coated in a deep, deep navy. Eddie’s eyes are somehow darker than any night sky. They swim with their own galaxies and stars that twinkle back at you.

He looks at you and all words lose meaning.

“Yeah, I’m totally stealing your soap before I leave,” he jokes.

You shake your head at him, but smile anyway. “Thanks for letting me know, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Just like all the times before, neither of you realize you’re kissing until you already are. The gravitational pull that brings the two of you together is effortless and natural. You’re like the moon and Eddie’s like the tide — you drag him to you without trying and he bends to your every whim.

Kissing him is easy. It’s like breathing. You don’t ever have to think about it, you just do it. 

You press your lips against the rosy plush of his, and it’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. It’s an atmosphere kissed by the sun and the trees and the morning dew. It fills your lungs with a new life, makes it impossible to quit kissing him.

But when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, when his mouth pries yours open to slip the pink muscle inside — that feels like getting the breath knocked out of you. The rough pattern of his tongue slides against your own, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Your lungs stop working, your chest aches, and there’s nothing you can do about it but let the moment pass.

Eddie keeps kissing you soft, though, coaxing fresh air back into your burning lungs. He helps you breathe normally again.

You move together like entwining summer breezes. Your thigh swipes against his lap and his hands find your hips to help guide you the rest of the way over. He’s halfway lying down now and you’re looming like an unconquerable mountain above him. Your back arches like a cat’s and your palms cradle his jaw while your tongue makes uncharted territory of his mouth.

The warmth lingering between your thighs presses into his lower stomach. It makes his grip on you tighten, hands pulling your hips further against him until he hears you moan.

The pressure of your clothed pussy against the pudge of his stomach brings you a distant pleasure. What really does you in is the thought of what little separates you — just the fabric of your cotton underwear and Eddie’s faded grey Tatcher Tire t-shirt.

But it’s hard to be indulgent when you’re so stuck in your head. Your mouth moves with Eddie’s on autopilot while your mind travels elsewhere. Because this isn’t supposed to be about you — it’s supposed to be about Eddie. You want to make him feel good for a change, but you have no idea how to go about it.

The foreignness is strange. It leaves you fumbling like you’ve never done any of this before.

In a way, you haven’t. Eddie is different from any guy you’ve ever been with. Not just because he cares about you, but because you’re practically the only girl he’s ever cared about in this way.

He’s a blank slate and you’re scribbled all over.

You don’t want to taint the pristine image he’s painted of you.

“Hey, Eds,” you murmur. The words are halfway spoken against his mouth because you don’t pull away in time to say them clearly. 

Your tongue darts out to feel how numb your spit-slicked lips have gotten after being kissed so ardently. You know they’re probably swollen and more vibrant in their color now. Eddie’s a lot of the same, mouth rosy and obviously kissed.

“Hm?” the boy hums back.

“Do you wanna… Do you wanna do something else?” you ask him, all slow because you don’t want to say the wrong thing. His brows furrow beneath the thin curtain of his curly bangs. The silent question eggs you on. “Would it be okay if I gave you a blowjob?”

Eddie’s eyes widen for a moment. He swears he goes blind because he doesn’t typically see white when he blinks. The question isn’t the weirdest for a guy in this predicament — with a pretty girl on his lap with his spit staining her mouth. It just catches him a little off guard.

“Would it be…” he tries to echo but trails off with a breathy laugh. You say it like it wouldn’t be perfect — to have you between his legs with your warm mouth on his cock, looking effortlessly beautiful while you swallow him whole. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I think that… I’d be a total idiot to say no,” he manages to stammer out, though words have long lost meaning by now.

The sight of his glazed-over eyes, warmed cheeks, and pink mouth makes you smile. He always looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen — like you're the infiniteness of space or a deep, deep ocean — something profound he desperately wants to discover.

“I feel like you deserve it, right?” you squint down at him, partially teasing. “For a job well done, you know?”

Eddie nods until he finds the words to respond. “Yeah… Right. Totally.”

“Do you wanna lie down? Or would you rather me get on my knees?” you ask him.

Eddie swears he’s dreaming. He isn’t quite sure how you manage to say something so sinful with such sincerity.

“It might be comfortable to stay like this, but most guys like the visual of girls on their knees better so…” 

There is no seductive lilt to your voice, no mischievous teasing to rile him up. It’s just a question of how he wants you, and it’s a very dizzying thought. Knowing he can have you however he wants makes his stomach all whirly and his vision start to swim like he just spun around ten times.

Eddie just blinks at you. His chocolate eyes and heavy lids flutter slowly like he’s trying to look at you through a layer of honey.

It takes him a second to answer because he doesn’t know what he wants — he rarely ever does, but now especially. How is a boy who wants you in every way imaginable supposed to pick only one?

“Uh, can you—” he starts before the words get caught in his throat. He grunts out a cough to clear it. “Could you, um… get on your, uh— your knees? Please?” 

You smile at how politely he phrases it. You don’t think anyone’s ever said please when asking you for a blowjob before.

Eddie fidgets awkwardly beneath you, and you’re not entirely sure why. You’re the one that just offered yourself up on a platter, totally and unequivocally happy to do whatever he wants. He’s not the one that should be embarrassed.

You nod down at him, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure. You can stay sitting if you want. Whatever you wanna do.”

“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.

He watches you with wide, inquisitive eyes as you maneuver off his lap and onto the rug beside your bed. When he swings his legs over the edge of it, you settle intently between them. His cock twitches at the sight of you below him, blinking up at him with sparkling eyes that almost look like they’re begging.

Your palms settle on his clothed thighs as your knees press into the woolen rug beneath you. Your chest warms when you’re finally level with his concealed cock. It makes your heart go silly, the sheer thought of what you’re about to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to suck dick before.

You wait patiently for him to make the first move — then you realize he doesn’t know how because he’s never had to before. Instead, he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do. With button eyes intently focused on your form and hands anxiously gripping the edge of the bed, he’s entirely prepared to move however you want him to.

“Take off your shirt, Eds,” you guide gently.

He listens to you without thinking twice. His fidgeting fingers reach for the fraying hem of his shirt to yank it up and over his head. He has to tug harder when the neck gets caught around his chin.

It isn’t the first time he’s been shirtless in front of you. Between changing and heated kisses, he’s had ample opportunity to get over his lingering insecurities.

For a while there, he found himself comparing his body to all your other more prominent escapades — the Billy Hargroves and the Steve Harringtons. The overtly masculine types with bodies that scream, ‘I peaked in high school.’

Eddie doesn’t look like them. He isn’t as toned or as thin. He’s got pudge on his belly and sparse hair on his sternum in the place of defined abs and pecks covered in layers of chest hair. He doesn’t look at all like those basketball douchebags that could easily model for whatever magazine basketball douchebags read — if they even know how to, that is.

But you don’t seem to care. You love on him anyway.

Even now, your eyes rake over his bare upper half with a gaze that isn’t anything short of hungry. You reach for his face to pull him down for a ravenous kiss that does little to quell your appetite. Your fingers tangle in the drying strands of his hair in the same way your tongues do. 

Eddie��s patient hands curl around the insides of your elbow as he keeps his lips obediently parted for you. He sighs into each of your eager kisses, more than content to let you swallow him whole.

You move down to his jaw and then to his neck. You nose his curls out of the way to sprinkle wet pecks to the warm skin there. You somehow manage to take your time and move with haste all at once — loving on all the places that need loving, but not lingering in one place for too long because there are too many of them to count.

The tip of your nose trails down his milky torso in time with your craving kisses. You press a final one between his ribcage, tongue darting out briefly just so you can hear his breath tremble before pulling away entirely. 

Eddie’s hands remain on each of your arms as your fingers curl around the hem of his plaid pajama pants. It makes his grip unknowingly tighten.

“Wait,” he blurts with his eyes squeezed shut. You tense almost instantly. “Can you— I mean, can we, just… you know…” he trails off, voice tight like he’s holding his breath. It’s probably because he is.

“What?” you pry with wide eyes and the sick feeling like you’ve done something horribly wrong. “Is this… Is this not okay? We don’t have to, like, do any of this if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion, Eds. We can just—”

“No!” he exclaims, eyes flying open to find your panicked ones. He shakes his wild head so vigorously down at you it makes his curls sway. He both wants to quell your worry and plead for you not to stop. “That’s not it. I— I want to, okay? I do. I really… really do. I just… You’re so far away like this…”

His words drip with a soft sincerity, his honeyed eyes even more so.

Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.

You haven’t had many firsts in a long, long time. Your first kiss was on the playground of Hawkins Middle. Your first handjob was in the locker room of the community pool not too long after. Your first time having sex was on a towel in the grass beside Tina Burton’s pool after her birthday party when everyone else had gone to bed.

All your stereotypical firsts happened lifetimes ago, but you’ve had a billion more with Eddie.

You can say with more confidence than you’ve ever had in your life that this is the first time a guy’s turned down a blowjob because you were too far away on your knees. 

“What?” the boy wavers at your silence. Your accompanying smile is somehow more frightening.

“Nothing,” you assure. Your brows pinch together as you smile up at him. “I just… I really don’t think we can be any closer than your dick in my mouth, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. His cheeks go rosy at your quip. “You know what I mean…”

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I know what you mean.”

You rise again, this time planting yourself on his thigh. Your knees settle on either side of his leg and dig into the mattress below you, on top of him all over again. The position is a familiar one. The only thing different is a few months’ time and a lack of Fast Times playing in the background.

Eddie tilts his chin to peer up at you. It’s easier this way, he realizes, to be below you and at your mercy rather than above you. Sometimes he thinks you were made to be on top of him like this.

“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”

“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”

“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.

Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”

You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.

You’ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.

It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless. 

His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.

His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.

“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.

He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.

“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.

“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.

Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.

Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.

“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.

“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.

It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.

You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.

Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard. 

When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.

A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.

The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.

“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning. 

Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.

“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”

Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.

Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.

You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.

It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre. 

It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.

Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.

“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”

The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.

The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip. 

You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.

“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.

He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.

Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.

Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.

You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.

And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.

It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.

The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.

It just has to be.

There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.

Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.

You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.

You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.

And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.

You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.

You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.

“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.

With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.

You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.

His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.

It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.

“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”

“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”

His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.

“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.

You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.

It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange. 

“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”

His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.

“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”

You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you. 

Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special. 

You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.

Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own. 

He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.

He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.

He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.

“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

let's take a chance and fly away somewhere alone

a steddie upsidedown au oneshot

||Jonathan Byers & Nancy Wheeler & Barbara Holland || Nancy Wheeler/Jonathan Byers || ~17k, complete || Complicated Relationships || Canon Typical Violence || Trauma || Mutual Pining || Friendship ||

Nancy’s jaw felt tight–aching with how hard she's clenching it as she walks the halls of the school. Beside her, Barb’s shoulders were curling forward, rounding in in a way that made her furious. If she’d known going to one of Steve Harrington’s famous parties would end like this, she wouldn’t have bothered.

They’d both heard the rumors by now. They’d seemingly circled throughout the school, passed on from person to person like a messed up game of telephone. It’d started innocuously, word spreading that she’d had a fight with Steve, and Barb had been there, but by the time she’d reached her locker,  it’d mutated beyond recognition.

Nancy had glared at the girls loitering by her locker that morning as one whispered in the ear of the other, purposefully loud enough to carry—Did you hear Steve Harrington’s loser girlfriend tried to get his friend to fuck hers? 

She’s heard too many iterations to count. Barb tried to have sex with Tommy, and stormed out of the party when he said no. Nancy tried to have a threesome with Barb and Steve. And, most hurtful, Steve cheated on Nancy with Barb.

Each one was whispered with such weight, like they didn’t have any other cares in the world. Not grades, not extracurriculars, not even the fact that there’s still a kid missing. Jonathan Byers keeps putting up missing posters, but that’s yesterday’s news. There’s new gossip to be passed around. 

Everyone knew someone who knew someone who’d seen it all go down last night in the Harrington’s living room. No one, apparently, had seen Tommy call Barb a loser and then drench her in his shaken up beer. 

Worse, Steve wasn’t here to put the rumors to rest, his words holding more weight than either Nancy or Barb’s. She was starting to worry that he’d skipped on purpose—who knows what excuses had come out of his own mouth once they’d left.

By lunch, she’s ready to stand up on a table and shout, if only it would stop everyone from looking at them.

“It’s not worth it,” Barb mutters as they sink into their old, familiar seats in the cafeteria, abandoned weeks ago for the more central popular table.

It’s nice, almost, to be back to just the two of them, no boyfriends or parties where people picked on her friend.

“Do you think Steve knows about this?” Nancy asks, voice hushed as she glares around the cafeteria, huffing as peering faces suddenly whip down to full lunch trays when their gazes lock.

Barb doesn’t answer right away. She picks at her tepid lasagna, not meeting Nancy’s eyes. 

“Barb?”

She sighs. “I don’t know,” she says, that mulish tilt to her chin that only comes out when she’s made up her mind but isn’t admitting to it. “I never thought he was good enough for you.”

Nancy picks up a carrot stick and bites it in two with a sharp snap. Steve wouldn’t have done this, not on purpose; she knows it. But one way or another, she’ll find him after school and get to the bottom of this. And if he had? She knew of an extremely sharp drop-off in the quarry he could stumble off. 

Barb plays reluctant chauffeur after school, idling in her car as Nancy pounds on the Harrington’s front door. 

Even though his car’s in the driveway, no one answers. 

Nancy goes around the side of the house. The gate’s still open, and the yard’s a mess of cups and overturned chairs, exactly as she’d seen it last night.

A kernel of worry sinks into her gut. Steve’s fussy about a lot of things—his hair, his possessions, his clothes—and she’d always thought that would transfer over to his own house. And yet, he’d left it like this?

The sound of a car door slamming echoes through the deserted cul-de-sac followed by Barb’s jogging steps.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

Nancy tries the side door, peeking her head through when it opens. “His car’s here,” she says, stepping inside when no one immediately jumps out to arrest her. “He’s here.”

“So you break and enter?” Barb demands, but she follows Nancy inside, shutting the door behind her. 

“Steve?” Nancy calls. 

The house is big enough that her voice seems to bounce off the walls and echo right back at her. No one else says a word. She makes her way through the house, kicking abandoned cups out of the way.

She jogs up the stairs, Barb hot on her heels. When she reaches Steve’s bedroom door, she knocks quietly before pushing it open just enough to poke her head in and peer inside. 

It’s neater than she’d expected, what with the state of the rest of the house. There’s nothing on the floor aside from his backpack, no clutter on his desk, no clothes strewn about. His bed’s even made. 

“Steve?” she calls again.

No one responds, so she steps inside, peeking into his en suite bathroom, opening his closet, pulling back his blankets like he can somehow be inside. She stalls in the middle of the room, surrounded by Steve’s things, no boy in sight. 

Something that feels uncomfortably close to worry starts to pool in her stomach. “Where would he have gone?” she asks the empty room.

Barb’s the one that answers with an exasperated, “I don’t know, Nancy.” Nancy turns to find her standing in the entryway to Steve’s bedroom, arms crossed, clearly fed up with all of this. “Maybe he’s off with his parents vacationing in Europe or something. Who cares? Can we go before someone calls the police?”

Nancy looks around the empty room again. “Will is missing, though,” she replies. “Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”

Barb throws her hands in the air with a vehement, “yes!” 

Barb’s exclamation rings through Steve’s bedroom, filling up all that vacant air. 

“What if something’s wrong?”

Barb sighs, slumping down and softening her voice. “Look, I’m sure he’s fine,” she says. “If he’s not in school tomorrow, you can always ask those two trolls if they’ve seen him.”

Nancy nods, looking down at her feet. She doesn’t want to talk to Carol or Tommy who very clearly share her mutual dislike. But, Steve’s not allowed to just up and leave when he owes her an apology and answers both. 

***

They use the side entrance to leave again. Barb’s tiptoeing out, some part of her waiting for Steve Harrington to step out of the recesses of his house and call the cops on them. But, when she closes the door behind them with a quiet click, all that greets them is silence. 

The pool’s got plastic cups floating in it, and there’s a pile of what looks like vomit gathering flies by the diving board. Her nose wrinkles when she catches a whiff. 

“Come on,” Barb says, heading toward the still-open gate and her waiting car. But Nancy’s circling the perimeter of the pool in the exact opposite direction. “Nancy?”

“I just want to make sure he’s not back here,” she says, peering into the trees like Harrington will be passed out drunk in the woods almost twenty-four hours after his rager ended. 

Barb stands by the gate, glaring at Nancy’s back until it’s entirely obscured by trees. All this fuss for a boy who couldn’t even be bothered to show up and apologize. 

Something snaps in the woods, like Nancy stepped on a felled branch and it broke beneath her foot. Nancy calls, “Steve?” and Barb’s ready to roll her eyes at whatever practical joke the guy’s pulling, but then there’s another sound.

It’s guttural, and twisted up on itself, and entirely indescribable. Nancy gasps, and there’s a thump. That’s when Barb comes running. Her sneaker slips on a wet patch and she almost goes tumbling into the pool.

Nancy rushes out of the forest, barreling into her hard enough to send both of them sprawling on the hard pavement. Nancy jumps up, yanking Barb upright right alongside her before dragging her by the wrist, trotting toward the gate at a fast clip.

“What happened?” Barb asks, craning her neck to look behind her, trying to catch sight of whatever made that noise, whatever freaked Nancy out this much. “What did you see?”

Nancy doesn’t answer until they’ve both slipped into the car and Nancy’s locked her door with shaking hands. Sensing the urgency of the moment, Barb hits her own lock and starts the car, backing out as quickly as she can.

Nancy stays twisted in her seat, peering out the back window until they’re down the Harrington’s long driveway and off his street entirely. “Nancy?”

Nancy finally turns forward, face blanched white. “There was something in the woods,” she says. 

“What, like a wolf?” Barb asks, thinking of that sound, the way it almost echoed through her head. 

When Barb glances away from the road, Nancy’s shaking her head. “It was bipedal,” she replies, staring at the windshield more than through it. “And it had no face.”

Barb scrunches up her face. “Like a person in a ski-mask?” she asks. It hadn’t sounded like a person. It hadn’t even sounded like a wolf. Barb never wants to hear it again. 

Nancy shakes her head, and all she says is, “I have a terrible feeling about this.”

Barb does, too. She wants to go home, and forget this entire day completely. She almost manages it, but it all comes rushing back when Harrington still doesn’t show the next day.

Barb nibbles on her lunch, watching Nancy talk to Carol and Tommy in hushed whispers. Tommy leans back in his chair, laughing at whatever Nancy said. Carol doesn’t look amused, but when Tommy wraps his arm around her, she leans into his side, glaring up at Nancy. 

Whatever Carol says next has Nancy storming out of the cafeteria entirely, not even glancing at where Barb’s sitting at their usual table. She still follows, the remains of her lunch left abandoned on the table, but Nancy’s nowhere in sight. 

There’s a pit sinking into her stomach as she walks to her next class without Nancy by her side. 

*** 

Jonathan doesn’t stay for the well-wishes and the throwing of the roses. He can’t, not surrounded by all these people who know Will–knew Will. Not when his Mom’s standing right beside him and still a million miles away. 

He shuffles out of the graveyard, head bowed, shoulders curled, hoping to remain unnoticed. He collapses on the sidewalk, letting his head rest against the fence surrounding it even though it’s rusted. Maybe he’ll get tetanus and die. Is that how tetanus works?

Will was always the smart one, but now there’s a grave with his name on it, not even a body to bury beneath all that dirt.

He knows he should feel bad, that’s what a good brother would feel, but all Jonathan feels is empty, sucked dry of everything. His whole life’s crumbled at his feet, and he feels nothing. 

Something warm settles against his side. He sighs, expecting his mom, but it’s Nancy Wheeler, smiling uncomfortably across at him.

“Hey,” she says, quietly. Private.

“Hey.”

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Jonathan feels his lips quirk up, but it’s a nothing gesture, empty of everything. “We are talking.”

“Steve’s missing,” she says, no further preamble wasted on useless condolences.

It takes him a second to connect the name to a face, but when he does, Jonathan leans away, creating distance between their bodies without having to get up. He keeps staring at her face, waiting for her to continue, but that’s apparently it. “Why would he be here?” he asks, words coming out dead on arrival. 

“No,” Nancy says, scrunching her nose up. “No one’s seen him since the party.”

Jonathan knows the party she means. He’s got a few photos from it in his room right now, developed in haste in the school’s darkroom. But there hadn’t been any hints of Will, no matter how hard he’d scoured them. 

He’d still kept them, couldn’t bear to throw them away. There was just something about the way when you flipped through them, the people slowly dwindled, shrinking down until the photo was just of two subjects. 

Steve Harrington, hand clenched as it drips blood onto the grass beneath him while Eddie Munson sits, staring up at him with his usual manic grin where he sits beside the pool. 

Jonathan had left not long after. He knew what that particular look on King Steve’s face meant, and he wasn’t keen to get caught in the fallout.

“Did you call the cops?” Jonathan asks because that’s what he’s supposed to ask, right?

Nancy nods, throat bobbing as she swallows. “They’re not doing anything,” she says, and there’s something righteous in the way she sits up straighter, neck high, spine stiff. 

What would it be like to live in Nancy Wheeler’s world, where everything is just so? Where you’ve got the time and money to dot every i in your planner, cross every t? Where every minor injustice is immediately rectified? 

Jonathan’s just so tired. 

But then Nancy says, “even after I told them what I saw,” under her breath, and an electric current runs through him. 

He leans back toward her. “What did you see?” he asks fervently. 

She ducks her head as he gets close, picking at the seam on the end of her black dress with perfectly rounded fingernails. “I went back to Steve’s to look for him,” she asks, lilting up at the end like it’s a question, so Jonathan nods. “And I thought I…saw something. Some weird man?” she glances at him out of the corner of her eyes before shaking her head. “I don’t know what it was.”

She stops talking again, pursing her lips. Jonathan wants to reach over and pluck the words from her throat. “Why are you telling me?”

Nancy straightens, turning fully to him again as she says, “your brother, and now Steve,” before stalling out, biting her lip as she finally meets his eyes. “I just thought, maybe you’d seen something?”

He stares at her, mind ticking away against the fog he’s been in since they’d fished Will out of the quarry. He must take too long, though because she starts to stand, muttering quiet apologies, as she smooths down her dress.

“Wait!” Jonathan cries, desperation bubbling out of him until he’s reaching for her arm and gripping it too tightly. She drops to her knees, and Jonathan lets go, holding his own wrist to his chest like it’s the one with a blooming red mark on it. “Sorry, just…”

But he trails off, not sure what to say. It’s just that Nancy had seen a man, and he’s at his brother’s funeral, and nothing is connecting right in his brain anymore. “What did he look like?” he asks finally, after another too-long pause.

Nancy settles back down, almost smiling as she shakes her head and says, “I don’t know.” Jonathan thinks that’s it, because the smile drops and she’s looking down at the pavement. “It was almost like he, like he—”

“Didn’t have a face?” Jonathan says it by rote, finishing the same delusions his Mom has been spouting.

But Nancy’s meeting his eyes now, brows furrowed as she asks, “how did you know that?”

The thing that bubbles up in Jonathan now is delicate. Dangerous. He’d just buried his brother, but Mom’s been talking to him through the lights for days. If one delusion is true, who’s to say another isn’t. 

Hope is the most dangerous killer, but he grasps it with both hands. 

*** 

“What’s up with you?” Barb finally asks, unable to stand the quiet a moment longer.

Nancy startles, eyes wide as she whips her head around to look at Barb for the first time since she’d hopped into her car before school.

“What do you mean?”

Barb sighs. “Is this still about Steve?” she asks.

Harrington’s corner of the cafeteria has been growing quieter every day, the empty spot where he usually sits growing a presence of its own. Like, even in absentia, Harrington is determined to haunt their minds.

Nancy smiles, but it’s her fake, lying to her parents' smile – she’s never used it on Barb before. “I’m fine, Barb.”

Barb digs her ragged nails into the steering wheel, jaw clenching painfully as she pulls into a parking spot. Nancy keeps up her prattling small talk all the way to class, like covering up the silence with meaningless words will distract Barb enough that she’ll forget the car was ever quiet at all.

Something’s wrong though, and Barb won’t be shaken off, so when she sees Nancy skulking around with Jonathan Byers of all people, Barb trails them. It’s better than eating lunch alone again.

They disappear into the dark room, Jonathan flipping the sign on the door to “in use, please knock” before letting the door slide shut. The hallway’s deserted, so Barb presses her ear to it, just barely able to hear the intonation of their words through its thick wood. She stays there long enough to grow bored, torn between barging in and walking away, when the volume of Nancy’s voice raises.

“That’s it!” she says, “that’s what I saw.”

Her mind goes to that sound, the inhuman growl that had sent Nancy running. Alone in the brightly lit hallway, Barb freezes like she’s prey being hunted by something bigger and scarier than she is.

She wants to leave. 

But Nancy’s in there, doing something stupid the way only she can, so she knocks. All noise on the other side of the door stops entirely for a second before whispering starts up, too quiet for her to make out.

When the door finally opens, it’s not Nancy behind it, but Jonathan. Up close, she can see the bags under his eyes from too many sleepless nights, the way the worry lines at the side of his mouth look like they’ve somehow been permanently etched into his skin in the past few days.

Barb’s never been in the dark room, but it’s about what she expected: a cramped bare room with a couple of sinks and a clothesline, all bathed in a light so red that it feels like it’s drilling into her skull. 

When she steps in, Jonathan skulks away from her toward the corner, like she’s switched from prey to predator. Behind him, Nancy’s got her fingers frozen mid-reach toward a photo. Barb ignores Jonathan to go look at the photo she’s standing in front of.

It’s grainy and dark, but she can Eddie Munson grinning, and the edge of someone else’s arm, and there, on the edge of the photo, is something else. It looks tall, like its body has been distorted, fingers stretched out to improbable points. 

“That thing has Harrington?” Barb asks, leaning closer, trying to get a better look at it, but there’s not much to see. Where the face should be, there’s what looks like folds of skin, tightly sealed against each other.

She tries to imagine the thing making that sound, and can’t. There’s no mouth visible by which it could growl through.

“And maybe Eddie Munson.” Nancy says, and Barb looks back at the guy’s grinning face. She hasn’t been subjected to a tabletop rant all week. 

“And Will,” Jonathan says, finally uncurling from the corner to join them by the picture.

“Isn’t he dead?” she asks, wincing once she realizes what she’d just said, and who she’d said it to. She hadn’t gone to the funeral, but she was there when the news broke, saw the shock of such a young death hit the small town. 

“Mom doesn’t think so,” Jonathan replies, not meeting her eyes. 

Barb looks back at the thing in the photo. There’s no way it’s real, probably doctored or a prank gone wrong, but even with her feet planted firmly against the floor, all she wants to do is run out of the room and never look back.

But, Nancy’s here, and she’s clearly not leaving, so all Barb says is, “what’s the plan to get them back?”

*** 

The car’s quiet, the heater pushing around stagnant air the only sound aside from Nancy’s well-loved Blondie tape, still stuffed into Barb’s car’s tape deck. Halfway to Nancy’s house, Barb reaches out and smacks the eject button abruptly enough that Nancy flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re mad,” Nancy says, not looking away from the cassette now sticking out of the player, waiting to be taken out or pressed back in.

Barb snorts, but doesn’t reply. Nancy’s hands curl into fists in her lap.

She loves Barb—she’s her best friend, but that doesn’t make her any less frustrating. It’s like she doesn’t know how to face an emotion head on. Sadness comes out as isolation, and anger? That comes out in snide comments and cold silences.

Nancy hates it.

“Can we just talk about it?” Nancy asks, glancing at Barb out of the corner of her eye, wincing at the way her jaw’s clenched. “Just this once? There’s a monster, and we don’t really have time for—“

“That’s the problem, Nancy,” Barb interrupts, voice even, tone cold. “There’s a monster, and instead of telling me you, what? Snuck around behind my back with that loser, Jonathan?”

“Jonathan’s not a loser,” Nancy replies quietly.

“God, Nancy!” Barb throws her hands in the air in clear exasperation, before grabbing the steering wheel again as the car swerves toward the sidewalk. “That’s not the point, and you know it!”

Nancy looks down at her lap, picking at the debris beneath her nails as the silence settles between them, a third passenger looming in the backseat. Barb’s right; she does know what Barb’s talking around, the question she wants answered without having to ask it.

Why did Nancy tell Jonathan Byers and not her?

“You don’t like Steve,” Nancy says, finally glancing Barb’s way. Her fingers are clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to turn white, and there’s that same mulish tilt to her jaw, but she’s not interrupting, so Nancy keeps speaking, keeps answering unasked questions.

“And I thought Jonathan might know something, you know, with his brother?” Nancy asks, wincing when that just gets another huff.

It’s the truth, but there’s a bigger, deeper truth that she doesn’t want to speak into existence, doesn’t want to give the weight of her words, lest it come true. But, that’s just useless superstition—the same kind of horse shit that makes Steve wear the same pair of tube socks for every away game.

So, when Barb still doesn’t have anything to say, she opens her mouth, and voices it out into the world. “Mike’s devastated, after Will,” she says, picking at her nails again, digging her thumbnail hard enough into the cuticle of the pinkie on her opposite hand that a bead of blood wells up. “And this seems dangerous, Barb. That thing in the woods? It was—it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Barb parallel parks in front of Nancy’s house so her dad doesn’t get mad about being blocked in, and cuts the engine. When Nancy looks over at her, Barb’s looking back, eyebrows still furrowed, but she’s no longer got a death grip on the wheel, and her jaw’s relaxed, teeth no longer grinding themselves into nubs.

Nancy meets Barb’s piercing gaze and finally says what she’s been talking around. “I don’t want to lose my best friend, too.”

Barb softens, reaching across the distance, the silence, the secrets separating them to take Nancy’s hand. Her fingers are soft as they squeeze around her own.

“I’m not going  anywhere,” Barb says, squeezing her hand once, hard enough that Nancy jolts. “And you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you go search for your boyfriend alone.”

Nancy laughs. She doesn’t bring up that Jonathan will be there, the moment too fragile and easy to shatter. “Steve’s not my boyfriend.”

Barb snorts, noise full of humor this time, as she steps out of the car, Nancy following her lead. “You might want to tell him that.”

Nancy’s mouth twists. Maybe she’ll tell Steve, maybe she’ll fall into his arms, maybe they’ll yell at each other about their fight at the party and go their separate ways. She’s not sure, but it doesn’t matter right now. First, they have to find him.

*** 

It turns out to be less of a plan, and more of reenacting a hodgepodge of training montages that they’d seen on TV. Barb can’t even blame them—as Nancy practices swinging a baseball bat like she in any way knows how, she’s doing the exact same with the crow bar nabbed from Ted Wheeler’s trunk.

They look like fools, and if there really is a monster, they’re going to die, but Barb still climbs back into her car and drives them out to meet Jonathan. She’s in this now, had damn-near begged to be involved, and no matter how stupid this whole thing is, she’ll stick it out to the end.

They go to her house next, but it’s got less options for weapons than Nancy’s own, neither of her parents sporty enough for a bat or handy enough to own a crow bar. They sit out on the front porch, waiting for Jonathan to show up after grabbing his own supplies.

When he finally arrives, Barb climbs into the backseat without complaint.

Her conviction is tested as she stands behind Jonathan and Nancy, watching as they flirt their way through a shooting lesson, somehow segueing from Jonathan’s failed hunting trip as a kid into their parent’s failed relationships.

“Yeah, I guess he and my mother loved each other at some point, but I wasn’t around for that part,” Jonathan says, lowering the gun after failing miserably to hit even one of the glass bottles he was aiming for.

Nancy holds out her hand impatiently, and Barb watches as she looks down at the gun like she’s never seen one before. “I don’t think my parents ever loved each other,” she says, and Barb flinches.

Nancy’s parents have always been a sore subject. Her dad’s as absent as a parent you live with can be, and her mom flits around Nancy like she’s trying to relive her glory days through her daughter. These sorts of conversations are usually reserved for two in the morning during sleepovers, the space between them in the bed just enough to keep their shoulders from brushing.

Hearing her talk about it so freely now, makes jealousy churn in Barb’s stomach like bile.

“They must have married for some reason,” Jonathan says, staring at Nancy with a focus that makes Barb twitch.

“My mom was young, my dad was older, but he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So, they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family.”

There’s scorn in Nancy’s voice—it’s the way she always sounds when she talks about her parents’ relationship, but she’s not talking to Barb this time. Barb’s behind her, almost a specter in this moment, lost in the face of attention from Jonathan Byers.

It almost makes her wish Harrington was back, such a shallow pool of a boy that there was no way Nancy was ever going to stick around. There was always a looming end to their relationship, and it looks like it’s well past its expiration date, with the way Nancy’s flirting with Byers right now.

“Screw that,” Jonathan says, and Nancy smiles, shoulders shoring up like what he said was profound, unexpected, unique.

Barb and Nancy had made plans to get out of here together. Chicago, Los Angeles, New York, anywhere with people who had bigger dreams than settling down and marrying the closest eligible bachelor. As she watches Nancy line up the gun, squinting at the targets with the same focus she usually reserves for pop quizzes, Barb can feel that future crumbling beneath her feet.

“Yeah, screw that,” Nancy says, punctuating her words with the loud bang of the gun going off, exploding one of the glass bottles with unerring accuracy.

Barb claps condescendingly. Jonathan and Nancy both whirl, clearly having forgotten she was there at all based on their wide eyes. “Congratulations, Nance, you’re a crack shot,” she says. Nancy’s cheeks darken, whether from the compliment or being caught flirting with Byers, she’s not sure. “Now can we get this show on the road? Daylight’s burning.”

Jonathan nods, picking up the bat and not meeting anyone’s eyes as they shuffle off into the woods to look for a monster that probably doesn’t exist, no matter what Jonathan’s camera had captured in grainy film.

*** 

“You’re cooler than I thought you would be,” Jonathan says, walking close enough that their shoulders brush.

Nancy elects to pretend she can’t hear Barb scoffing from behind them. “Yeah?” she asks, smiling down at her feet as she steps over a root in her path.

“Yeah,” Jonathan replies, swinging the bat foward to hold a branch out of their way, waiting until even Barb’s made it through before jogging to catch back up with Nancy. “When you started seeing Harrington, I thought maybe you were just like the rest of them, but now? I don’t know.”

Nancy’s gut sinks. She takes a step to the left, creating distance between them, face dropping into a scowl. “Steve’s actually a good guy, you know,” she says, unsure if she even believes her own words. She had thought so before, but after Steve had defended Tommy H’s actions at his party, she wasn’t so sure anymore. But Steve’s missing, and he deserves the chance to explain himself.

“Sure he is,” Jonathan replies, tone derisive.

Nancy bristles, angry, as she replies, “Steve’s missing,” like it’ll mean anything to him. Maybe it does, because he goes catastrophically quiet beside her, the only sound filling the silence the sound of their stomping feet. That’s almost worse, somehow. Nancy doesn’t want this quiet; she wants a fight—something, anything that’ll get this bubbling dread out of her throat.

“You know, I was actually starting to think you were okay,” she says, waiting until she feels Jonathan’s gaze on her to continue speaking. “I was thinking, Jonathan Byers, maybe he’s not the pretentious creep everyone says he is.”

Jonathan snorts, sounding so much like Barb that Nancy glances back at her. She’s walking a few feet behind, crow bar still clutched in her hands as she looks down at her feet, clearly uninterested in joining the conversation.

Looking at her now, all Nancy wants to do is go back to when things were simpler, last week, last month, last year. It’s been nearly a decade of just the two of them—she’d had Barb, and Barb had her, and that’s all they’d needed. Steve had changed that. Something had twisted in on itself, Barb taking the change in lunch tables like a betrayal, and now she’s not sure how to crawl back in time to where they were before.

She’s not sure she wants to.

“Well, I was starting to think you were okay,” Jonathan says, and she snaps back to the present, turning forward to find a pretentious sneer plastered on his face.

“Oh,” she says, watching as his face cracks right down the middle, something gaping and hollow shining out of his eyes as he lands the final blow.

“I was thinking, Nancy Wheeler, she’s not just another suburban girl who thinks she’s rebelling by doing exactly what every other suburban girl does until that phase passes and they marry some boring one-time jock that now works sales, and they live out a perfectly boring little life at the end of the cul-de-sac exactly like their par—“

“Hey!” Barb snarls, pushing between them and crowding into Jonathan’s space, crowbar held like a silent threat. “If you finish that sentence, I’ll put this crowbar somewhere you won’t enjoy.”

To emphasize her point, Barb raises the crow bar above her head and steps forward until Jonathan’s back hits the trunk of a tree. He looks like a startled deer, doe eyes wide and scared in a way that would usually make Nancy feel bad, but his words are still ringing in her ears, cruel and pointed unerringly at her soft underbelly.

Nancy continues walking, and it’s Barb that catches up and takes her rightful place at her side, Jonathan trailing behind, a quiet skulking shadow to their fruitless searching.

By the time the sun’s setting, Nancy’s worried that there’s nothing to find.

But before she can open her mouth and suggest they turn back, she hears it: a quiet, moaning sound that makes her blood pound, fight or flight kicking in harder than ever before. She stops, Barb and Jonathan halting with her as she tries to strain her ears past the sound of her blood rushing through her ears.

“What’s—” Jonathan starts before she shushes him, eyes closed in concentration, hand raised to silence them both.

It happens again, and Barb clearly hears it as well because she immediately starts walking that direction, stepping cautiously, clearly trying not to make any sound. Nancy and Jonathan follow, the darkness hemming them all in.

She doesn’t know what she expects, but the deer isn’t it. It’s on its side, blood leaking slowly from its side, leg mangled, panting like a dog left out in the sun to bake. Barb and Jonathan just stare, but Nancy drops down, fingers fluttering over its side like there’s anything at all she could do.

“It’s been hit by a car,” she says, finally brushing her fingers against its bloody flank, like somehow her touch will heal it. All it does is pant and moan. “We can’t leave it.”

When she looks up, Barb’s looking down at the gun in Nancy’s pocket. Nancy shudders, but stands and draws it out, pointing it at the poor thing’s head. She shudders, staring into its rolling eyes, gut roiling right along with it.

“I can do it,” Jonathan says, taking the gun before she even responds.

She’s a better shot—she doesn’t take the gun back, the emptiness in her hand feeling worryingly like relief. Jonathan lines up the gun, hand shaking slightly. It won’t matter from the close of a range, but he doesn’t get a chance to pull the trigger.

There’s a growl, something unearthly and clacking, and the deer’s yanked sideways so abruptly that her eyes can’t follow its movement. Then it’s just—gone.

“What was that?” Jonathan asks, lowering the gun, eyes wide.

When Nancy looks at Barb, there’s a knowing look in her eyes. Nancy’s not surprised; they’d both heard that same sound outside the Harrington house.

“Did it leave a blood trail?” Barb asks, and Nancy looks down. There’s nothing there, the deer’s body snatched up too quickly to leave any of it remaining.

“It can’t have gone far,” Nancy replies, already walking forward, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

Barb follows her, but Jonathan goes a separate direction without a word, slinking off to search nearby patches of the woods. It’s quiet, so quiet Nancy can hear Barb’s rapid breathing in her ear, can hear Jonathan’s steps as he foolishly separates from the group.

There’s nothing but trees, dark and silent around her, almost choking her with the fear of the dark she was sure she’d kicked years ago. But, this isn’t just the dark—there’s something in here with her, she knows it.

It’s still just trees, but she stops, stunned as she stares at the bark of one of them, squinting as she trains the beam of her flashlight precisely on it. It’s red, and she’d think it was blood if it wasn’t for the way it was almost pulsing, like the tree had a heart beating beneath all that wood.

“Nancy!” Barb hisses, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s reaching out to touch it.

It’s colder than the air around it, a shock to her system as she presses against the tree, only for it to give under her touch. It feels like pinching an egg’s yoke between her fingers, cold and sticky before the membrane gives and splatters back into the bowl with the whites.

Her whole hand goes through, then her arm, then the rest of her until she’s all the way through, Barb’s panicking voice still calling her name, words now muffled like she’s talking through a straw.

She’s still in the woods, but it’s colder now, and the sky’s a nauseating red, almost pulsing the way the tree had. She stares up at it, heart almost beating straight out of her chest. But then there’s a sound, wet and slurping, and Nancy looks back down.

It’s not a man in a ski mask like Barb had asked. It’s not human at all, despite the way it stands on two legs, hunched over the dead deer, impossible mouth pressed into its intestines. The deer twitches with the thing’s movements, body jittering around almost like it’s gasping for breath.

Nancy can’t help it—she screams.

The thing stops eating its meal, somehow looking straight at her even with its lack of eyes. She stands frozen as the thing straightens, looming over her with its impossible height, backlit by the deep red sky. Nancy shrinks into the trunk of the tree behind her as it takes a threatening step forward.

Then, Jonathan’s voice joins Barb’s, almost drowning it out as he calls for her, trying to get her to come back, like she’s not frozen like a fly beneath a microscope, pressed between two slides.

But then Jonathan says, “follow my voice!” and without question, she does, slinking slowly sideways, matching the thing step for step in a dance she never wanted to be a part of. She doesn’t look away until her hand touches a tree and sinks in. She turns, peering into the red hole in the world she’d slipped through.

She’s about to slip right back out the way she’d come and hope she can make it before that thing gets her, but before she can, she hears a scream, loud and angry and terribly human. She spins back around just in time to watch Steve Harrington, dirty and bloody and alive, punch the monster in the head and flee into the woods, that horrible thing right behind him.

“Steve?” she calls, staring at where he’d just disappeared, willing him to come back. He doesn’t.

“Eddie!” She turns toward the shout, and there’s Will Byers, yanking a resisting Eddie Munson toward her.

She reaches out when they’re close enough, snatching Eddie’s hand and falling back toward the hole in the world, hoping the momentum of her falling body weight is enough to yank him and Will both through. She tumbles painfully to the other side, Will and Eddie on top of her restricting her breathing until Eddie scrambles up off her and pounds against the tree trunk, now a damningly normal brown color, and wails for Steve Harrington, trapped and alone in that horrible place they’d just fled.

*** 

Jonathan stares at his little brother, his little brother, dirty and tired, but whole in front of him. The brother he’d identified a body for, had picked out a coffin for, had lowered into the ground, never to be seen again.

And now he’s here, staring at Eddie Munson having a meltdown in the dirt.

“Will?” Jonathan says, voice strangled as it croaks out of his throat.

Will turns, brown eyes wide as he looks up at Jonathan. That’s all it takes to get him moving, knees hitting the dirt hard as he scoops Will into his chest, grip almost crushing as Will melts into him, small arms going around his waist.

“You’re okay,” Jonathan murmurs into Will’s greasy hair, like he can make it true, even as Will shakes in his arms, never taking his eyes off Eddie. “You’re okay, right? You’re okay.”

Will doesn’t respond, instead calling, “Eddie?”

Eddie turns, eyes wild, clearly not all there even now that he’s stopped clawing at the bark on the tree like it’ll somehow open for him and let him go back to wherever he’d been. Jonathan wants to hide Will behind his body, shield him from whatever the hell’s wrong with Munson.

“I’ve got to go back,” he says, finally turning away from Will to look up at Nancy with those same imploring eyes. “How do I go back?”

Jonathan turns his head toward her, still clutching at Will’s shaking frame. Nancy’s shaking too, voice trembling right along with her as she says, “I don’t—I don’t know,” with more hesitation than he’s ever heard from self-assured Nancy Wheeler.

“Why the hell would we go back?” Barb asks, finally voicing Jonathan’s own thoughts into the world.

Eddie’s hysterics reach a fever pitch at that—he sobs into the dirt, no longer looking any direction at all. Jonathan presses a kiss to the top of Will’s head, ignoring the way dust coats his lips, because Will’s shaking worse now, as he says, “it’s Steve,” voice quacking with emotions Jonathan doesn’t, can’t, understand. “He’s still in there.”

Steve Harrington, the jock, the king, has Eddie Munson, has his brother, quaking with emotion at the thought of losing him. It writhes in his gut, a rancid jealousy, he can’t voice. It curdles more, the dregs of a milk carton turning viscous and sweet on the kitchen’s counter as Will climbs into the backseat of his car and latches onto Munson like he’s the only thing keeping him tethered to his seat.

That used to be Jonathan’s job—how could so much have changed in five of the longest days in Jonathan’s life?

The car’s quiet as Jonathan drives, steering wheel creaking beneath his grip until he pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine.

When they get to the house, it’s in disarray—Mom’s hung Christmas lights haphazardly in the living room, the dining table’s overturned, and the same dishes have been in the sink long enough to mold. 

He’s sure Harrington’s house is pristine, it probably smells like lilacs instead of the mildew and damp that’s always clung to their home. The roof’s been leaking for years, and the insulation doesn’t keep it from rotting the walls somewhere underneath where they can’t quite reach.

“Mom?” Jonathan calls, desperate suddenly to see her, to have their family unit together when he’d thought they never would be again. “Mom?”

He goes through the house, turning on lights and opening doors, but it’s an empty shell, no one inside.

He stalls out, unsure of next moves as Nancy orders him around his own house. He follows her lead, making sandwiches, and doing the dishes, one eye on Will where he’s curled up on the couch, tucked into Munson’s side.

Jonathan’s not hungry, but he eats his sandwich anyway, watching as Will eats two, looking so much like a starving dog given snacks that it makes Jonathan sick. Plans are made to get Harrington back—desperate, stupid plans, but Jonathan barely listens, only interjecting to make sure Will stays with him.

Even as he gets in the car, Nancy once again in the passenger seat, Will in the back, all Jonathan wants is to find his Mom.

***

Barb watches Jonathan and Nancy riff off each other’s ideas, syncing up seamlessly even in this catastrophic situation. In contrast, Will and Eddie are crumbling into themselves without Harrington. They want him back with such ruthless vigor that it makes her curious.

She sits on the fringes of two fractions, not quite fitting into either, left floundering on the sidelines as the world crumbles around her.

Until she’d seen Nancy crawl through the fabric of reality, she hadn’t really believed any of it. Even with the photo, and the growling, none of it convincing enough to make her stop doubting the impossibility of the world she’d found herself in.

But then Nancy had disappeared into a different world and come back with two out of three of Hawkins current missing persons.

Steve Harrington sits like a ghost between them.

So, when Nancy volunteers to go with Jonathan to the army surplus without a glance in Barb’s way, she volunteers to take Eddie to go see his uncle after they pick up her car.

When they’re alone in her car, she asks, “you live in the trailer park, right?” not even waiting for his affirmation before heading that way. They’re not friends, but Hawkins isn’t that big—she knows where he lives.

Eddie’s quiet, staring out the window at the passing houses like he’s looking for something. Barb’s got a sinking suspicion it’s less of something, and more of someone.

“Why are you so focused on Steve Harrington?” She says it before she even knows she’s going to open her mouth. It’s just, he’s Eddie the freak Munson, and the last she’d heard, Harrington wouldn’t spit on people like him even if he was on fire.

“He’s not what you think,” Eddie murmurs, still looking out the window even as his hands clench in his lap.

He looks mad, like he’d like nothing more than to reach out and hit her with one of his fisted hands. But, beneath that there’s that same desperate edge, and it’s not violence he’s desperate for.

“Coming from you, that might actually mean something,” she says, trying to reconcile the look on Eddie’s face with the last glimpse she’d gotten of Harrington, laughing as Hagan had shaken his beer up and squirted it in her face.

The subject drops in favor of walking up the Munson’s short drive and stepping into his trailer. When Eddie walks in, she follows, hovering awkwardly as Eddie’s uncle scoops him up in a hug tight enough that it must hurt.

It’s only as introductions are made that she realizes that Eddie doesn’t even know her name. She reaches her hand out to shake Wayne’s hand, smiling tightly as she introduces herself. Wayne shifts his gaze between the pair of them, eyebrow raised as he asks Eddie, “you got something to tell me?”

The implication of that hits Barb as Wayne glances down at her stomach. She grimaces, shaking her head against the disgust at even the thought of having sex with Eddie Munson, much less carrying his spawn. It flies right over Eddie’s head entirely.

He breaks down. Again. She’s getting tired of hearing Eddie cry like the world’s ending. She steps past them, settling into their dinky dining room table as unobtrusively as possible as Eddie cries into his uncle’s arms, babbling about having gone to hell, about leaving Steve there.

“Steve Harrington?” Wayne asks incredulously. Barb’s never empathized with something more in her life.

“He saved my life,” Eddie says, and she watches in real time as the look on Wayne’s face turns determined.

He leans over and pulls a shotgun from behind the recliner he’s sitting in, laying it across his knees as he says, “let’s go save your guardian angel.”

It’s only as Eddie’s cheeks burst with the most vibrant blush she’s ever seen that Barb clues in on what must be happening here. Eddie is in love with Nancy’s boyfriend. God, this is going to blow up in all of their faces.

But she’s in it now, and she’s curious enough to want to see what all the fuss is about. There’s got to be more to Harrington than hair to put that look on Eddie’s face. Besides, she’s always been too nosy for her own good.

*** 

They’ve got all the weapons they could find at the army surplus in town, garnering strange looks from the cashier. But, he takes Jonathan’s money anyway, so they scoop it all up and take it back to his car.

“You know, last week I was shopping for a top I thought Steve might like,” she says, smiling nostalgically as she drops her load into the trunk, Will and Jonathan following her lead. “It took me and Barb all weekend.”

Barb had complained for the first few hours, but as the trip had drawn on, they’d fallen back into their usual dynamic, goofing off in dressing room stalls and picking out terrible outfits for each other. Now, Barb’s tongue has gone back to being barbed. Nancy wonders if things will ever be that simple again.

“It seemed like life or death, you know?” she asks wistfully. She doesn’t think she’ll ever wear the shirt again, not after it had been tainted, first by Steve’s actions, and then by his disappearance. “And now—”

“You’re shopping for bear traps with Jonathan Byers?” Jonathan asks, that ironic tone to his voice that always makes her laugh.

“Yeah, and I don’t know if I even want him to like me like that anymore.”

It’d started with Tommy H’s cruel words, then rumors spread around the school the next day had felt like the final nail in their relationship’s coffin, but it’s more than that now. There’s Jonathan and the way, even when he’s hurling insults at her, she can’t seem to look away.

“We got into this fight that night he disappeared,” she continues, remembering the way his laughter had sounded almost mocking as Barb had wiped the beer from her face. “And I was so mad, but now I just hope he’s alive.”

She’s mad, still, but she wants to yell at him, to forgive him, to see him at all after all this time.

“He’s alive,” Will cuts in, and she jerks, having forgotten entirely that he was there, too caught up in memory.

She looks him in the eye and nods, firm and assured until the kid relaxes. Will’s always been a little anxious, but it’s understandably worse now, after whatever the hell he’d been through over in that terrible place. Still, she’s happy they got him back, would trade almost anything for the relief that’s going to flood Mike’s face when he sees Will again.

They just need to get Steve back first.

*** 

Wayne Munson doesn’t hesitate to take charge once he’s joined the fray. Jonathan stands in his own house and watches Will lead Mr. Munson to the kitchen and over to the phone, determined to get ahold of mom.

As Mr. Munson hangs up the phone, assured that both her and Chief Hopper will be arriving shortly, the tension on Jonathan’s shoulders finally eases. They’ve been fumbling in the dark for days now, and it’s a relief to have an adult doing something useful.

When his mom stumbles into the house after Chief Hopper, all Jonathan wants to do is collapse onto the couch and not move a muscle for an entire week. His brother’s back, everyone he cares about is in his line of sight, there’s nothing else he needs to do.

In contrast, Eddie and Will only seem to get more worked up as they spill the entirety of the sordid tale across the kitchen table. It hurts to hear, just like it had the first time. He doesn’t want to picture Will alone in that place with no one but Eddie and Harrington to protect him.

It rankles, and keeps on rankling as Eddie pulls Will into his side the same way Jonathan always has to comfort him.

“You mean blood draws this thing?” Hopper asks, only looking more fed up as Nancy, Barb, and Eddie shout entirely different answers at him.

“We’ve got a plan,” Nancy cuts in, self-assured, even in this. “To test the theory.”

They do have a plan, but it’s stupid and reckless from start to finish. Jonathan knows this, Eddie knows this, even Barb knows this. It’s only Nancy that’s affronted when it’s shot down from all sides. Her fists clench and her chin juts stubbornly forward.

Before she can argue further, mom yells, “this is not yours to fix!” with enough furious indignation that everyone shuts their mouths immediately. “It’s not you kids’ responsibility to save another kid.”

It embitters him, right down to his marrow. 

He’s a kid now, but why has it always been Jonathan’s responsibility to watch Will? Why is it Jonathan’s fault when he goes missing? He would do anything for Will, give up anything for Will, but he can’t help but feel that he shouldn’t have to. Why does she get to pick and choose when it’s convenient for him to step up and be an adult, and when he should sit back and let the adults fix his problems?

He bites his lip against the words that want to pour out. He bets Harrington has always got to be the kid, big house with parents to cover up all his messes. 

“Anyone called the boy’s parents?” Wayne asks, and Jonathan’s surprised by the derision everyone answers him with, like the Harrington’s caring that their son is missing is out of the question.

Jonathan’s gut churns as the implication of that response hits, Lonnie an invisible specter to this horrifying conversation. He looks down at his own knees and tries his best to disappear into the chair beneath him.

It’s only mom saying, “Will?” so worriedly that brings him back to himself in time to watch Will disappear down the hall toward his bedroom, Munson hot on his heels.

When his mom makes to follow, Jonathan grabs her mom, says, “Munson’s got him,” even though that rankles, too. Even in his own family, he’s been pushed to the side. Mom’s only got eyes for Will, and Will? All he seems to think about is Eddie and Harrington, like a couple days with them really has overwritten all their shared history.

While Nancy and Chief Hopper argue about next steps, Jonathan does what he does best: he sits and waits for someone to tell him what he’s supposed to do.

***

Nancy doesn’t understand how Barb and Jonathan can be so calm about this. They’d spent hours on this plan, and it was a good one, and now, what? They’re not allowed to do it because a few people that hold no authority over her have forbidden it?

She loathes it.

It gets even worse when Will comes out of his room, hands shaking and tells them that some “bad men” have her brother and his friends pinned down in the junk yard, her house being watched by unknown government entities. And the chief of police is trying to leave. Without her.

“He’s my brother,” Nancy hisses, standing with both her fists balled, rage boiling up her throat.

“I don’t care,” Chief Hopper declares, looking down at her like she’s a bug he’d accidentally squashed beneath his shoe. “You’re not coming.”

“You want me to just sit here?” she demands, hating how quiet her foot is when she stomps it down, hating the derisive snort the Chief sends her way—hating, hating, hating.

“You are staying here,” he asserts.

Neither Barb nor Jonathan make a move to back her up. Nancy stews in the feeling, unable to do anything else without a license or a car. She’s stuck.

Nancy joins Ms. Byers at the table and maps out their locations, knowing even as she does it that it won’t help at all. But she needs something to keep from yanking her hair out in little clumps the way Munson is.

“You’re not the only one worried, you know,” Nancy grits through her teeth when she can’t stand to see him pacing along her periphery anymore.

It works, but now his big, wet, accusatory eyes are pointed right at her as he asks, “excuse me?”

“Nancy,” Jonathan cuts in, going so far as to place a hand on her shoulder, like she’s a wild dog he’s keeping leashed. She shakes him off and takes a step forward.

“My parents’ house is being watched,” she says, the horror of it not touching her voice even as it permeates her. “Mike is out there, trapped and defenseless.”

“Yeah, but–”

“And I care about Steve, too,” she interrupts, her hold on the situation dissolving beneath her hands.

Munson doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, chewing on his hair. She wants him to talk back, wants him to fight, so she can fight back before the silence lingers long enough for the knot in her throat to form in her tear ducts and trail down her cheeks.

Before either of them can make a scene, Mike rushes through the door, bypassing her entirely to barrel into Will, knocking him and Munson both down with the force of his hug. It doesn’t take long for the whole thing to end in a mess of kid’s limbs and jumbled conversations, catching the kids up with what’s been happening.

It’s only when Lucas asks to go home that anyone brings up Steve.

“We’re not leaving Steve,” Eddie cuts through their loud voices, glaring around the room like anyone had even suggested it.

“Steve? Nancy’s stupid boyfriend?” Mike demands.

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

The words are out of her mouth before she even thinks them. She wants to stuff them back in her throat and swallow them down. It feels wrong to announce it to the room, Steve missing, gone, maybe dead when the last words Nancy would ever say to him were used to tell him how much he’d disappointed her.

She wants him in front of her so she can yell at him about all the rumors circling the school about Barb, tell him that his friend is rotten, and she’s upset that he’d taken Tommy H’s side over hers. She wants to be able to break up with him, if they were ever even dating at all. They’d never talked about it. Before this, there was always more time.

As the conversation moves on without her, Jonathan squeezes her shoulder. She leans back into him, and doesn’t think about how Steve would feel about it.

*** 

Barb doesn’t even know why she’s surprised when they all end up at the middle school to set up some sort of sensory deprivation chamber to help the girl with super powers get them to work. Barb’s not sure how a bandana and a kiddie pool are going to make a lick of difference in finding Harrington, but she’s not the one in charge of the plans here.

She’s pretty sure the whole thing is bullshit, but then the lights go dark, and she finds herself huddling against Nancy and Jonathan as they stare down at the floating girl. When she says Steve isn’t in the Munson’s trailer like Eddie had suggested, Nancy reaches down and squeezes Barb’s hand tight enough to cut off her circulation. She can see her other hand clutched in Jonathan’s, a trio on the fringes of this entire fucked up situation.

As the girl finds Harrington in his own damn house, as Eddie bullies his way into the search party, as Ms. Byers corrals the kids left waiting on the bench, she’s not sure why she’s even still here.

“We have to do something,” Nancy says, voice quiet but firm.

Barb sighs. She knows that tone of voice—no matter what anyone says, Nancy’s already decided on her course, and with most of the adults off on a suicide mission, there’s no one left to stop her. She also knows that no matter how fucking stupid it is, Barb will be going right along with her.

She’d done it at seven when Nancy wanted to sneak out and go to the library, done it last week when Nancy had wanted to go to that party, and she’ll do it again now.

Jonathan’s not as up to date on the way Nancy Wheeler operates, though, so he asks, “what?” in such a befuddled voice that she almost wants to laugh.

“Demogorogn’s are drawn to blood,” Nancy whispers, looking furtively over at where Ms. Byers is fussing over Will. “The hypothesis is sound, even if we didn’t get to test it.”

Barb sighs again. She wants to climb into bed and sleep for the rest of the year. This has been the longest week of her life so far, and Nancy’s determined to make it longer.

 “So, bear traps?” Barb asks, exhaustion hitting her even more as Nancy nods firmly.

Jonathan’s not looking at either of them. His eyes are fixed on his brother sitting on the bleachers with the rest of his friends, “But, Will is—”

“Fine!” Nancy hisses, loud enough that Lucas looks suspiciously their way, glaring over at them until Dustin sucks him back into whatever inane conversation they’re having. “Will is fine, but he’s going to be devastated if they can’t save Steve.”

Jonathan’s whole face drops, tinting almost green like he’s going to be sick at the thought. It’d almost be funny if it wasn’t destined to break that poor little kid’s heart.

“Munson’s the biggest freak in the school, and he seems pretty determined to get him back,” Barb says. She winces as both of their eyes turn straight to her, piercing her where she stands. “Shouldn’t that be enough for us to give him a chance?”

Barb grimaces, Jonathan making the same face right at her. She means it, really she does. She doesn’t know Munson, but he seems nice, and if he’s willing to risk his life to save Harrington, maybe there’s something there that she’s not seeing.

Jonathan sighs. “So, bear traps?”

He blushes when Nancy smiles with all her teeth, pointed directly up at him. God, she can’t even blame him. There was a time when she’d turn just as red at the force of Nancy’s smile. But they don’t have time for whatever weird courting ritual they have going on right now.

“Should we go before Ms. Byers stops fussing over Will long enough to notice us leaving?” Barb asks.

Nancy jumps, like she’d forgotten Barb was even there. Again. But they all file out of the gym quietly, entirely unnoticed. As she slides into the back of Jonathan’s car, all she feels is tired.

*** 

Tension knots up Jonathan’s shoulders as he watches the middle school disappear in his rear-view mirror. It feels wrong to leave Will after only just getting him back, even with mom there to keep an eye on him. But Nancy’s words are ringing through his ears—if Steve dies, Will will be devastated.

He doesn’t get it, can’t get Harrington’s smirking face out of his mind long enough to see anything else, but maybe that doesn’t matter. It’s not about him, it never is. This is about Will. And Jonathan would do worse things than save a guy he hates to keep Will happy.

“Where are we doing this?” Jonathan asks, rolling his shoulders as he drives, trying to unknot them as best he can. It doesn’t work.

“Harrington’s house, right?” Barb asks, leaning forward between him and Nancy. “That’s where the girl said he was in the Upside-Down.”

Without question, Jonathan turns and heads toward Loch Nora, happy it won’t be his own house they’re trashing.

It’s late enough that the streets are vacant as he drives through them, and all that’s in Harrington’s driveway is Steve’s own douchey car. He parks behind it, cutting his noisy engine as fast as possible to avoid getting the cops called.

“How are we getting in?” Jonathan asks, turning to look at Nancy, only to find she’s already out of the car waiting for him to unlock the trunk.

“The side door’s unlocked,” Barb replies, following Nancy out.

Electing not to ask how the hell they know that, Jonathan sighs and follows them. Now that it’s time, the supplies in the trunk seem inadequate. Still, he piles it all into his arms and follows the girls through an open gate and into the Harrington’s yard.

There’s a pool, in-ground and everything, surrounded by precisely trimmed bushes. It would be a perfect depiction of the upper crust’s suburbia if it wasn’t for the red cups scattered all around, abandoned and not cleaned up, even all these days after Harrington had gone missing.

He follows them through a side door, and the house proper looks just the same. Huge, colorless, and empty if not for those cups scattered around. It isn’t until he sees the abandoned house, almost a week after their son went missing, that Jonathan really lets the insidious thoughts creep in. Big house, no parents has always been something said about Steve, lauded as the perfect life for a perfect king.

Now, with the king absconded from the throne and his castle abandoned, it just seems lonely, and the castle isn’t much more than an empty shell of a place.

Nancy and Barb seem to share none of his compunctions. Barb goes through the house, turning on all the lights she finds until the whole thing’s lit up bright enough to show all its pristine corners, and Nancy kicks all the cups to the side to make enough room to set their main trap.

She pulls the Harrington’s auspicious rug back from in front of the couch and drops the bear trap down hard enough that Jonathan’s worried the floor will dent. Still, he follows her lead, pulling nails and a hammer from the box so he can nail the thing down, make it sturdy enough to hold the monster.

When he steps back, the set-up looks macabrely like whoever’s on the couch is supposed to watch the spectacle, view of the fuck-off huge television doomed to be obscured with whatever’s caught in the deadly points of their trap. Jonathan elects to never, ever sit on that couch.

Nancy puts bullets in his dad’s gun, Jonathan hammers nails into the bat, hoping for a weapon that has a chance of making a dent in a monster, while Barb pours gas all over the Harrington’s fancy hardwood floor.

The finishing touch is Will’s yellow yo-yo, commandeered without his permission, hung precisely over one of the Harrington’s dining room chairs placed just inside of what must be Mr. Harrington’s dusty office, a fucked-up warning system to let them know when the monster’s ensnared.

It’s a mess, and the more they prepare, the less he feels sure that any of this is going to work. But, there’s a steel behind Nancy’s eyes, so when she grabs three knives from the Harrington’s butcher block and asks, “ready?” he holds out his hand just like Barb does.

The steel feels heavy and cold in Jonathan’s hand. He clutches it, fingers shaking just a little as Barb says, “on three?”

“One,” Nancy replies, not giving them any more time to hesitate.

“Two,” Barb continues in the pause between words.

When they both turn to him, he looks between them, panic sinking into his stomach like lead. All this for Steve fucking Harrington. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Jonathan,” Nancy says on a disappointed sigh.

“I’m just saying, we don’t—”

“Three,” Barb cuts in, and Jonathan moves before he knows what’s happening.

The knife’s sharp enough that he doesn’t feel it at first, even as it parts his palm like butter. It’s only as blood starts pooling out of the cut into his cupped hand that the pain hits, sharp and clarifying.

“Shit,” Barb says, clutching her own hand to her chest, getting blood all over her shirt. 

Jonathan doesn’t look at either of them. He’s looking up at the lights, looking for any of the flickering that shows something from the other side is present. Nothing happens. The house is cold, and empty, nothing faceless creeping free of any nooks or crannies to kill them.

“Is that it?” Barb asks.

Did they trash the Harrington’s house—worse than it already was—for no reason at all?

“Maybe it takes a while?” Nancy replies, but she sounds the least sure Jonathan’s ever heard her, voice small and scared, not that the monster might come, but that it won’t.

Blood’s dripping down from his hand, splattering against the hardwood until he cups his other hand and catches it. Nancy moves abruptly enough that he jumps, their self-inflicted wounds giving her enough purpose to find her footing as she heads over to their supplies to fish out the bandages.

She wraps Jonathan’s first, moving quickly to Barb’s and then, finally her own, staunching the blood flow enough not to let it drip everywhere. It’s only as Nancy uses her teeth to rip the final piece of her bandage from the roll that the lights in the Harrington house start flashing, fast enough to be blinding.

Nancy picks up the gun, shuffling backward until she’s pressed against Barb, who’s snatched the bat from the carpet and is eyeing the house wildly. Left without his own weapon, he grabs Barb’s crow bar and settles into the circle, back to back to back.

Barb’s indrawn breath is the only warning he gets. He spins, eyes roving wildly until he catches sight of what’s caught her attention. He stands, transfixed, staring at the Harrington’s ceiling. There’s something wrong with it. It’s turned elastic and it’s pulsing as something presses on it from the other side, pushing and pushing as it descends until it gives way entirely.

What comes through isn’t what he pictured. It’s bigger, standing taller than any man, legs and arms bending at angles that should be impossible. They all stand, frozen, as it drops to the ground with barely a sound. No amount of prepping or planning could have prepared them for this.

They stay like that until the thing turns toward them, opens its face, and screeches loud enough to reverberate through his head and bounce around inside his skull. He hears the sound of Nancy shooting at it, close enough to make his ears ring, but the thing just screeches again and begins coming their way.

Jonathan grabs the closest wrist and runs, following the plan by rote, heading toward Harrington senior’s office. It’s only as he skids to a stop just past the threshold that he realizes it’s Barb he grabbed. She’s panting, staring wide eyed at him.

“Where’s Na—” he starts to ask, turning back toward the open door just in time to catch her in his arms, barely stopping her momentum without taking them both down.

Barb slams the door and they all three shuffle back, staring at the closed door, and Will’s yellow yo-yo stationary where it’s slung over the top of an office chair.

Nothing happens, The house is eerily still.

*** 

The longer the yo-yo doesn’t move, the tenser everyone gets. Steve’s house is eerily silent, and the lights are no longer flashing. Nancy holds her hand steady, gun pointed unerringly at the closed door, waiting for the heavy wood to splinter and let the monster through.

“Can you hear anything?” Barb whispers, voice quavering.

Nancy can’t blame her—she’s sure that if she opens up her mouth, bile will be the only thing that comes out.

“No,” Jonathan murmurs.

No one moves. The gun’s warmed up beneath Nancy’s hands with how tight she’s clutching it, how fast her blood is zinging through her veins. But, she’s the one who’d dragged them into this. She’s the one who’d insisted they distract the monster, help give the rescue party a better chance at success.

If anything happens to either of them, it’s on her. Besides, Steve’s her—friend. She wants to help him, so she takes the first step toward the closed door.

“Nancy,” Barb hisses.

She doesn’t answer her, just reaches out and opens the door, gun raised to shoot anything that so much as twitches on the other side. Nothing does. The air’s still, house silent and settled in its foundation. It feels like a herculean task to step over the threshold and back into the hall, but when she hears two sets of footsteps follow her out, her stride gains assurance.

The trap is still in the living room, intact but empty. The whole house seems empty, lights on and no longer flashing.

“Do you think it’s gone?” Jonathan asks, and as if his voice had summoned it, the lights begin to flash.

Nancy snaps her eyes closed on instinct, only opening them again when Barb and Jonathan’s backs press against hers, completing the circle. Moments later, the lights go out, leaving them in the relative darkness of the unlit Harrington house.

“Shit,” Barb says, and before Nancy can even turn, something heavy hits her back, knocking her down and sending her gun flying out of her hand just before she’s pinned to the floor.

Something screeches and Nancy rolls, terrified that the monster is atop her, but it’s just Barb. Nancy’s scrabbling for the gun, hands running over the floor, desperately trying to locate it in the dark.

Just as her hand closes around its reassuring metal handle, finger automatically resting against the trigger, Barb screeches and there’s the meaty thwack of a something hitting a living body. She scrambles to her feet, gun already raised.

Jonathan’s on the ground, crowbar raised in defense as Barb crashes the nail-studded bat into the thing’s back. It turns away from Jonathan, mouth open as it screeches in Barb’s face, that unholy sound reverberating through the house with such force that she’s surprised the walls don’t shake.

Nancy points and shoots, nicking the thing’s head just as Barb raises her bat again and yells right back in its face, bringing it down into its flesh again and again, nails embedding into the thing’s side. Afraid to clip Barb in any attempt to help, Nancy rushes forward to haul Jonathan to his feet, both of them stumbling to right themselves

Nancy’s brain’s not working, it’s shut off sometime between the monster dropping through the ceiling for the first time and Barb knocking her flat on her ass. So, when Jonathan clutches at her shoulder to steady himself, she just stares up into his eyes, brain ticking against itself as he stares right back, the sound of Barb’s assault gaining an echoing quality the farther away it gets.

They don’t snap out of it until Barb calls, “it’s in the trap!”

Jonathan drops his hand from her shoulder and turns, running toward Barb’s shout, Nancy hot on his heels.

Barb’s got black ooze splattered on her face, and her glasses are missing, but she looks remarkably calm and collected as Jonathan pulls the lighter out of his pocket and drops it to the Harrington’s gasoline-soaked floor. The flames lick up the hardwood remarkably fast, and Nancy’s caught watching the moment like it’s a movie and not real life, frozen and staring at the growing fire. 

The thing screeches as the flames caress its feet, almost dancing in the bright light like it’s trying to escape the heat even if it means losing the foot that’s caught in the trap. She watches, entranced as it writhes in the split second before the monsters entirely engulfed in flickering flames.

Nancy stands there, staring at the flickering fire, bathed in the relief of surviving the night, entire body shaking, when Jonathan Byers surges toward her, cups her face in his big hands, and kisses her like he wants to consume her.

***

For a second, it’s perfect. Nancy’s lips move against his, firm, and warm, and open just enough for the air to moisten between them. It’s the best moment of Jonathan’s life, his first kiss since Nicole in fifth grade who’d only done it for a dare. He wants to live in this moment, suffocate on Nancy’s breath and die happily.

But, then there’s a sharp, hissing sound, and they both jump back just in time for Barb to put out the remains of the fire with the extinguisher they’d brought for just this reason.

There’s nothing left on the Harrington’s fancy hardwood except a black scorch mark.

“Where is it?” Nancy asks, and when Jonathan looks her way, her lips are spit-slick and swollen, like their kiss really had lasted eons instead of the seconds that must have passed.

Jonathan jerks his head away, abruptly reminded of the real-life danger they’re in, eyes roving over ceilings and floors and walls, trying to find the Demogorgon, or any clue as to where it had gone. A tear in the Harrington’s gaudy wallpaper, a spot on the ceiling that’s distending bizarrely. But, there’s nothing.

“It has to be dead,” Jonathan says, looking back at the burnt patch of floor.

The Demogorgon had been entirely engulfed in flames, not visible past the flickering oranges and red that entombed it. Could anything survive that?

Barb snorts, dropping the empty fire extinguisher down with a clatter. “That thing’s from an entirely different world, why would you assume it’s dead just because it’s not here?”

She sounds exhausted—Jonathan doesn’t blame her for slinking around the burnt patch of floor to slump down on the Harrington’s hideous floral couch. She leans back into the cushions, head slumping back like it’s too heavy to carry. Nancy follows her lead, settling on the middle cushion, feet tucked beneath herself, her shoes no-doubt getting dirt and soot all over the cushions.

Despite promising not to, Jonathan sits beside her, facing forward as Nancy uses the hem of her shirt to wipe the black blood from Barb’s face. He keeps his feet planted on the floor, staring forward at the black TV screen, eyes dipping down to the burnt floor every few seconds. He’s right—it does feel macabre to see that trap there, even now that it’s signed and closed. What would it have been like to sit here and watch it burn?

He almost wishes he had—for Eddie, for Will, and hell, even for Steve fucking Harrington who might be dead right now. Whose girlfriend he’d just kissed. Whose girlfriend had kissed him back. God, this is fucked.

His shoulders hurt from wielding the crow bar with tensed muscles for so long, so he follows Barb’s lead and leans back, hoping to sink into the cushions and finally relax.

“This couch fucking sucks,” he says, and on the other side of the couch, Barb laughs.

“Fucking rich people,” she echoes, reaching her hand past Nancy to whack him on the shoulder in a way he’s pretty sure is supposed to be companionable, but just fucking hurts.

They stay like that, quiet and exhausted in each other’s presence. Jonathan doesn’t know what time it is when he closes his eyes, mind drifting in that place between sleep and awake, thoughts flitting in and out of his brain too gentle to be caught.

“We should clean up,” Nancy says, and Jonathan shakes himself back awake like a dog after a bath.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep—maybe they all had with the way Nancy’s slumped into him, head resting on his shoulder, feet curled up into Barb’s lap. Nancy gets up first, hair tickling Jonathan’s chin as she removes her body heat from his side.

On the other side of the couch, Barb groans, eyes blinking to half-mast, short hair mussed, and drool coming out of the side of her mouth. It’s cold on the couch without Nancy’s body heat. Jonathan’s tempted to lean into Barb instead and fall back to sleep for a few more blissful minutes, but then Nancy turns on the living room light and Jonathan shuts his eyes against the blinding light.

Nancy comes back, Barb’s glasses held out to her, and Barb levers her body upright, knee popping as it changes position. She takes her glasses and puts them on her face, still squinting as she dutifully begins following Nancy’s lead.

Jonathan’s own body feels weighed down with too many sleepless nights, but he levers himself up, entire body aching from his uncomfortable slumber as he joins the girls in cleaning up their mess.

There’s not much to be done, in the end. They pry up the nails securing the trap with the end of the hammer, cover the tarnished portion of floor back up with the rug, put the dining room chair back where it belongs, and make sure the knives they’d used are back in their respective slots in the block, sans blood stains. Once they’ve carted all their supplies out of the house and stuffed them into Jonathan’s trunk, the house is still a mess, but it’s like they were never there at all.

Jonathan slides into the driver’s seat, turns the key in the ignition, and stalls out, staring at the blinking 3:03 on his dash. God, they must have been asleep for hours. There’s no way his mom still has the kids at the school this late. Should he check the hospital for Harrington? His house for mom and Will? What’s he supposed to do here, now that all his goals have been accomplished?

“Where am I going?” he asks, finger poised to turn the key once one of them tells him what to do.

Barb stays silent in his back seat, but Nancy hums, that small little sound she makes when she’s thinking. “My house?” she asks. “Visiting hours at the hospital are over, so we should get some sleep and check there in the morning.”

Jonathan follows her direction, driving toward the Wheeler house in exhausted silence. He wants to check on Will, but his mom’s bound to have some angry words to shout at him over his disappearance, and he just can’t right now. Nancy’s house is dark, only the porch light on to guide them in once Jonathan’s parked on the street. They slip on silent feet through the house, and Jonathan’s reminded of how quiet they’d tried to be after they’d found the dying deer. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it.

When they finally reach it, Nancy’s room is nice—it’s organized, clean, and full of light pinks that suit her. Jonathan stares around at it with tired eyes and wonders how many times Steve Harrington has been in here, how many times he’s settled into her pink paisley sheets, Nancy beneath him.

Nancy’s sitting close to him, shoulders brushing as they wait for Barb to get back from the bathroom to turn out the light.

“Nancy,” Jonathan whispers, reaching out to take her hand. “With Harrington—”

“Not now,” she cuts in, squeezing his hand gently, the bandages on their palms brushing together. “Not until I talk to Steve, okay?”

Jonathan shudders when she says his name. Steve, Steve, Steve, as if Nancy hadn’t kissed him back. As if they even know if Harrington’s even around to talk to. But Barb’s words echo through his head. Eddie likes him, and so does Will. Shouldn’t that be enough for us to give him a chance?

“Okay,” Jonathan says, squeezing her hand right back. He’ll try his best to offer up that chance and hope against all that he is, that he doesn’t regret it.

When Barb gets back, she climbs into bed right alongside them, shuffling until her back’s to Nancy. Jonathan does the same just before Barb reaches over to turn off the lamp, ready to watch both of their backs for one more night.

*** 

“Where the hell were you?”

Nancy bolts up out of bed, disoriented. Mike’s standing in her doorway, backlit by the bright light in the hallway. He’s wearing yesterday’s clothes, arms crossed, and a ferocious snarl on his face as he glares down at her.

“Mike?” she asks, rubbing her eyes, trying to wake up. “What are you—”

“The bad men came, and you were all just gone,” he hisses, quiet enough not to disturb their parents, wherever they are. “El almost died.”

“Bad men?” Nancy prompts, brain still fuzzy with exhaustion. “El, what…?”

“They pointed guns at us,” he says, taking a step into her room to loom more effectively over her. “I’m fine, if you even care.”

“Mike—”

“But good to know you were all too busy sleeping together to care!” And with that, he storms out of the room, slamming the door hard enough that mom yells at him from somewhere downstairs.

She stares at the closed door for a minute, mind still clogged to work all that well.

“I need to go check on Will,” Jonathan says, and when Nancy whips her head toward him, he’s already up and out of the bed.

“Jonathan—” she tries, hand reaching out toward him, but he’s already too far away, grabbing his keys off her desk and shoving them in the pocket of his jeans.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” he says, pausing at the threshold of her bedroom door, soulful eyes staring back at her. “Maybe after you talk to Harrington?”

Nancy’s gut twists. “Okay,” she says, voice as small as she feels as Jonathan walks out the door.

She drops back onto the bed with a groan, beyond frazzled. Beside her, Barb still breathes deeply, always an absurdly deep sleeper. The shape of her warmth is a comfort, now that Jonathan’s stormed out, his side of the bed slowly growing cold.

She should talk to Steve.

Should she talk to Steve? From what Eddie and Will had said, he’d been through hell. Did he really need all of this on top of everything else? But, didn’t he deserve to know? Wouldn’t she want to know?

It seems like hours before Barb rolls over with a yawn, blinking confusedly over at Nancy where she’s staring up at the ceiling.

“Where’s Jonathan?” she asks, voice sleep-rough and low.

“Should I tell Steve?” Nancy asks, the question sitting on her tongue long enough that it escapes her mouth at the first chance of a willing audience.

“About Jonathan?” Barb asks, scratching her stomach beneath her t-shirt as she waits for Nancy to nod her affirmation. “Definitely. Kind of fucked up if you didn’t tell your boyfriend you kissed someone else.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she blurts out, and for the first time, she wonders who she’s trying to convince. “Besides, I thought you didn’t even like him.”

Barb shrugs her shoulders awkwardly against the mattress. “I don’t,” she confirms, heading out of Nancy’s room. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to know.”

Barb doesn’t close the door behind her as she heads down the hall to the bathroom.

After Barb goes home, Nancy stews on it. Barb says Steve deserves to know, but what if knowing does more harm than good? What if it sets back any progress he’s made? No matter what fight they’d had, it feels stupid now. She doesn’t want to hurt him, and this will.

Nancy collapses back down into her bed, stewing in the silence of her bedroom, the other side of the bed feeling cold without Jonathan to warm it up. 

***

He finds Will at the hospital, tucked into Eddie’s side as they both stare down at Harrington like he’ll disappear if they don’t keep their eyes on him. When Jonathan sees the state Harrington’s in, he’s not sure he can blame them.

His hair’s all shaved off, and he looks sunken down tucked under a thin hospital blanket, like he’s lost an impossible amount of weight in the few days he was gone. He’s got bandages wrapped around his shoulder, peeking out from beneath his hospital gown.

He looks washed out, tired, sick, nothing left of King Steve, just a boy who’s lost his crown.

He steps into the room, staring down at his prone form in the bed, something swirling through him, a mix of pity, and jealousy, and a nauseous sort of shame that’s only quelled when Will calls his name and jumps up, throwing his arms around Jonathan’s waist.

“You’re okay!” he cries, small arms wrapping Jonathan up tight and holding all his squirming guts inside.

Jonathan drops his hand on Will’s head and cards his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine,” Jonathan replies, voice choking as he remembers Mike’s words about bad men and guns. “Are you?”

Will nods, head rubbing against Jonathan’s ribs as he turns his head back toward Harrington lying lifeless on the bed. “I’m okay,” he whispers, “but Steve…”

He doesn’t have to finish the thought, he can see it in the sallow tint to Harrington’s skin. “What’s the prognosis?”

“They won’t tell us anything.” It’s Eddie who replies, barely glancing up from his vigil at Harrington’s side. “Johnny boy.”

“Eddie,” Jonathan replies, leading Will back over to his chair, pulling another over to his side so they’re all stacked against each other, staring at Harrington as he sleeps on, unaware.

He doesn’t wake up this time, or the next time he brings Will by, or the time after that. Eddie’s always at his side, looking more skeletal and drawn at each visit, like whatever umbilical cord is tying those two together is sucking all the life from Eddie to keep Harrington alive.

Jonathan just hopes Will won’t go down right along with him.

He doesn’t hear from Nancy or Barb, wonders if either had come to see Harrington at all, or if they’d both washed their hands of him now that he’s relatively safe. A small, quiet voice in the back of his head wonders if they’re doing the same thing with him.

It’s on their fourth visit that something changes: Harrington’s eyes are open, and as soon as they walk in, they’re trained on Will with that same unerring intensity that Will and Eddie have when they look at him.

“Will,” he says, and by the cracking of his voice, it must hurt, but he’s smiling. Smiling as Will clambers onto his bed, smiling as he burrows into his chest, smiling as he bursts into tears.

Jonathan follows him in, settles uncomfortably in that same hospital chair as Steve murmurs platitudes into Will’s hair, and Eddie rubs his back. He’s left to the side, watching his little brother break apart in front of him, two people who aren’t him or his mom piecing him back together with kind words and gentle hands.

It burns, like acid reflux boiling up his throat after movie nights with Will where they both eat too many off-brand chips, and chug sodas like they’re at one of Harrington’s house parties shotgunning a beer. He’s not a part of this moment, out on the front lawn watching a picture-perfect family moment through someone’s warmly-lit window.

Jonathan clears his throat, and Will shuffles back away from Harrington, rubbing his tacky eyes. While his eyes are covered, Harrington winces, hand coming up to cradle his side, like Will’s hug had hurt him, and he’d held on just as tightly anyway. By the time Will’s dropped his hand from his face, Harrington’s hidden any pain behind a smiling face.

“Thanks, man,” Jonathan says, speaking before he even knows what’s going to come out of his mouth. Steve’s eyes look startled, wider than they normally would with his shorn hair and gaunt face. Jonathan looks down at his lap, unable to meet his gaze as he continues. “For saving my little brother. I don’t know what I would’ve done if–”

There’s a sob building in his throat, at the thought of Will alone over there, Will dead in the coffin they’d buried. Will gone. He’s choking on it.

“Hey, man, your brother’s a badass,” Harrington says, like he’s trying to comfort Jonathan. “He would’ve been fine. You would’ve found him.”

“Yeah, Baby Byers definitely saved my life,” Eddie chimes in, going so far as to reach over and pat Jonathan’s back roughly, like he’s trying to burp a baby.

The sob in his throat dissolves as he looks between the two who’d saved Will when he couldn’t, who’d still wanted to see him once there wasn’t a monster to kill. They’re both smiling, and not at each other: at Jonathan.

“Well, still,” Jonathan says, voice cracking on all that saltwater he’d refused to shed. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Steve replies, clearing his throat uncomfortably even as he smiles up at Jonathan, small and shy, and so far from the usual King Steve that Jonathan remembers from across the cafeteria that for the first time, Jonathan wonders if he actually means it.

***

Nancy waffles for three days, the guilt over not even visiting him growing with each consecutive day. God, what must he think?

For the entire three days, she doesn’t hear from Jonathan at all.

It’s a relief when Barb agrees to go with her. Nancy feels almost sick with how clammy she feels as she slinks into Steve’s hospital room and catches sight of him for the first time. He’s sallow, thinner than she’s ever seen him, and his hair’s gone, shaved down until it’s just stubble.

Nancy’s throat clogs up as she looks at him, pale enough to blend in with the pillows he’s propped up against. In the chair closest to his bedside, Eddie sits, staring fixedly at her. She stares back, trying not to blink. It feels like he’s flaying her open. Does he know, somehow, what she’s done? Can she see the press of Jonathan’s lips against hers?

“Harrington,” Barb says, Steve’s answering response croaky enough that it must hurt to speak. “Glad you’re not dead.”

She can see Steve shuffling out of the corner of her eye, but Eddie’s still staring at her, and she won’t be the first to break.

But then Steve says, “I’m sorry about Tommy,” with such a contrite tone of voice, that she snaps her gaze toward him. He’s looking down at his own lap like he’s trying to hide his expression behind his hair, but it’s all gone now, and she can see everything. His mouth’s twisted up, eyes squinted closed, like a little boy being shamed for not doing his homework in front of the entire class. “That wasn’t cool.”

Nancy watches him, nauseous at the way he just says it, what little anger she’d been able to hold onto leaking out of her and leaving shame in its wake.

“You’re not responsible for Tommy Hagan,” Barb replies, caustic and biting. “I don’t give a fuck about him. I care that you’re friends with such a piece of shit.”

“Barb!” Nancy cries, trying to get her to shut up. Barb doesn’t even look away, eyes trained solely on Steve’s wide eyes.

“You don’t get a free pass because you tried to get eaten by a monster.”

Nancy gasps, but all Steve does is laugh, mouth twitching up at the corners like he thinks it’s funny, looking more alive than he had since they’d walked into his room.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Steve says, still smiling up at her, open, honest, happy to be called out on his shit. She doesn’t know the Steve Harrington that’s sitting in front of her.

Like that’s all it takes, Barb sits down beside Eddie, quizzing the pair about Steve’s injuries. Nancy watches, shocked as Eddie and Steve banter, jumping off each other’s sentences like that’s how it has always been. When Eddie had been so desperate to get Steve back, this hadn’t been what she’d expected.

There’s something there, she can almost see it.

It’s gone as soon as she steps further into the room, all candor in Eddie’s face dropping as she inches toward the trio, settling on the foot of Steve’s bed, carefully keeping distance between them, if only to stop Eddie from lunging toward her and slitting her throat.

“Steve?” Nancy asks, all conversation dropping away as Steve and Barb turn to look at her as well. She feels small under their eyes, twisted and wrong, as she says, “I’m sorry,” and really, really means it.

“For what?” Steve asks.

For Jonathan. “For leaving you at the party,” she says, catching Barb’s scathing glare. She swallows the knot in her throat and finally, finally says what she really means. “And for—you were gone, and Jonathan—”

She stops, can’t force the words past the lump in her throat. She stares at Steve, trying to beam the knowledge into his head, as he looks from her, to Eddie, to Barb in turn.

Barb, always both a thorn and salvation for Nancy, says it for her, looking Steve head on as she says, “Nancy and Jonathan have a thing going on.”

It feels like both more and less than it really is. They’d kissed, they’d slept side by side in her cramped bed. They’d saved each other’s lives, and spilled their own blood in Steve’s living room, and they haven’t talked in three days. Only three days, and she misses him, wants to kiss him again, see if she can recreate those handful of seconds where things seemed simple.

“Nancy, it’s fine,” Steve says, voice soothing even beyond the scratch of its disuse. “We kissed a few times, that’s all.”

Her gut sinks, and then balloons up and out of her entirely. Momentary hurt swept away on a tidal wave of relief.

“Really?” Nancy asks, eyes watering as she looks at him, ignoring Eddie’s scathing question from Steve’s side.

“Really,” he replies, like it’s easy. Like he means it. This is not the Steve Harrington that she knew. But maybe, that’s okay. Maybe that’s better.

So when Steve asks, “Friends?” all awkward and shy, she smiles and says, “friends” right back.

And when she climbs into the passenger side of Barb’s car after their visit she asks, “can you take me to Jonathan’s?” feeling hopeful for the first time all week.

*** 

Barb drops Nancy off at Jonathan’s house, and she can feel it coming—Nancy, Barb, and Jonathan becoming Nancy and Jonathan. She’d felt it coming curled up in Nancy’s too-small bed, pretending not to notice the other two curl into each other on the other side of the bed.

It’s been a waiting game ever since. Waiting while Nancy muddled through her feelings about Steve, waiting until Steve was allowed visitors, waiting for Nancy to break his heart so she can move on to Jonathan.

It hurts, that she’s right.

It’s not like they cut her out. She sits at their table at lunch, watching them hold hands beneath the table. They still talk to her in stints before getting wrapped back up in each other.

She can’t remember the last time her and Nancy had a sleepover.

It curdles, makes her bitter and mean, but she’s got nowhere else to go. It’s always just been her and Nancy. She hasn’t bothered to make any other friends. But, maybe she should.

When Steve comes back to school, part of Barb expects Nancy to approach him, make good on his request that they stay friends, but she doesn’t even seem to notice he’s back. Barb watches him as she stays at Nancy and Jonathan’s side.

He’s wearing Eddie’s clothes, bags dark beneath his eyes, hair still shorn startlingly close to the top of his head, and all the students part to let him through like whatever’s wrong with him is catching. And Eddie’s attached to his side like a barnacle Steve’s not even trying to shake loose.

She stands behind Nancy and Jonathan in the lunch line, waiting for them to pick out their lunches so they can sit down at their usual seats. They’re flirting over the school’s atrocious lasagna, so Barb lets her gaze wander over the rest of the cafeteria. She’s unsurprised to find Steve settled at the freaks and geeks table, Eddie tucked close to his side.

She leaves the line, heading straight for Steve and Eddie, unsurprised when neither Nancy or Jonathan notice she leaves.

“Barb would cry if she heard you say that,” Eddie’s saying as she walks up.

“I would cry if Steve said what?” Barb asks as she sits down at Steve’s side. She’s curious, nosey, warmed by them thinking about her when she’s not here.

“Steve here said you two aren’t friends,” Eddie, always the consonant shit-stirrer, replies.

That twinges, but she looks over at Steve, there’s no King Steve in sight. He looks awkward, worried, shy, as he picks at his lunch without actually eating it.

“You’ll do, I guess,” she replies, watching the pleased smile bloom across Steve’s face before she looks back at where Jonathan and Nancy are sitting at their usual table. Their bodies are pointed toward each other, closed parenthesis containing their inner circle, neither having seemed to notice she’s not in her usual seat across from them. “Besides, I’m going to need some new friends at this rate.”

Eddie nudges her sympathetically, but if anything, Steve seems more confused as he squints across the cafeteria at the pair, so she explains further, pulling the sandwich her mom had made that morning from her back pack and nibbling on it.

“All Nancy cares about right now is Jonathan.” As if to punctuate her point, Jonathan reaches out and tucks one of Nancy’s loose curls behind her ear, Nancy’s face blushing a rosy pink. Barb looks down at her sandwich, unwilling to watch it anymore. “At least with you, I knew it wouldn’t last. Now, when am I going to get my friend back?”

When she looks up from picking at her lunch, Steve’s staring at her, eyebrows still furrowed. “She’s right there,” he says, going so far as to point directly at the lovebirds. “Can’t you just go hang out with both of them?”

As if she hasn’t spent weeks doing just that, being left to the wayside while they stare soulfully into each other’s eyes. “They’re all…wrapped up in each other,” she explains, trying to keep her temper in check.

“Didn’t Hagan and Perkins go through a honeymoon phase?” Eddie asks. It’s not a phrase Barb’s heard used about high schoolers before, but it seems right. Phase implies it’ll end at some point, Barb just hopes it won’t take too long. Nancy’s smiling around the carrot stick in her mouth, and Jonathan actually looks fucking charmed by it. “What did you do when they used to go on their romantic dates?”

“Go with them?”

Barb snaps her gaze back to him, Nancy and Jonathan’s mating display all-but forgotten in favor of the conundrum wrapped inside a jock package in front of her.

“You’re shitting me,” one of Eddie’s loser friends cuts in.

“Wait, no. Let’s let this play out,” Eddie says, sounding gleeful. Barb glances at him across Steve and there’s a manic gleam in his eyes. “So, let’s set the stage. It’s Valentine’s day, 1982. Tommy Hagan has set up a candlelit dinner with Miss Perkins to celebrate their eternal love. Where are you in this scenario?”

“Have you been like, stalking me?” Steve asks, and it takes Barb a minute to realize the implication of that question.

Steve Harrington had gone on their fucking 1982 Valentine’s date.

“So, you, Steve Harrington, showed up at your best friend’s Valentine’s date last year and that was just fine?” Barb asks, voice devoid of all emotion.

“I didn’t just show up, I was invited” he says, glaring at her as he finally picks up his burger and begins eating it. “Usually, I help Carol do her make-up before. She’s not good at doing her own eyeshadow without looking like a hooker.”

He’s not looking at them anymore—he’s staring across the cafeteria at Perkins and Hagan with the same, forlorn look Barb knows has been peeking out of her own face for weeks now. Barb turns away from the rest of them to stare across at Nancy and Jonathan again. They’re even closer now, like whatever they’re saying is too private to be said above a whisper, even with all the vacant space at their table.

They still haven’t noticed the entirety of Eddie’s usual table staring at them, much less Barb herself, and maybe that’s the difference: Nancy and Jonathan haven’t invited her anywhere, have barely left a space at their side for her to settle into.

“I don’t think I can go on Nancy and Jonathan’s dates,” Barb finally says, something sad and churning within her as she crumples up her sandwich bag and sweeps it into the almost-full trash can at the end of their table.

“Oh, they’re both freaks,” one of Eddie’s other friends cuts in, the entire table dissolving into giggles.

Jonathan leans forward, planting a shy kiss at the corner of Nancy’s mouth that makes her smile, small and shy. Barb turns away, facing Steve and Eddie still arguing good-naturedly at her side.

Nancy and Jonathan may not have left room for her, but Steve had dutifully scooted closer to Eddie so she’d had room, both of them including her in the conversation like she’d always been there.

Maybe Barb was right all those weeks ago: Steve deserved a chance, and as he delicately ate his shitty cafeteria burger, she was happy to give him one.

As always, shoutout to my beta @queenie-ofthe-void who both made this flow better, and also pointed out that when I said it was done, it, in fact, very much was not! I hope the few of you who read this will enjoy it <3

[orange-foxes]

Binghamton Riot

❤️‍🩹 at the edge of what was by BurningFairytales (9k)

He flips Neil’s phone open and scrolls through the call history. It’s not a long list; his own name is at the bottom, then there’s a call from Nicky one from Dan. There’s an outgoing call from Neil’s phone to Andrew’s – that day they went to Atlanta – and one to a number that isn’t saved but that Andrew recognises as Bee’s. And then there’s a call from an unknown number, no more than an hour ago. He wants to call it. He wants to call it and demand where Neil is, wants to find out whoever the number belongs to and bash their head into a wall, break every bone in their body until Neil is back with them.

❤️‍🩹 Falling by fuzzballsheltiepants (5k)

When Neil disappears during the riot in Binghamton, Andrew is going to tear the world apart to figure out where he's gone. (The King's Men abduction scene from Andrew's point of view.)

❤️‍🩹 One Hundred by TheRainbowElectric (4,5k)

The most shocking thing about the sight of Neil is how still he is. Andrew has seen Neil bloodied and bruised before. But even beaten to a pulp and beyond exhausted, Neil talks and twitches and kicks in his sleep, restless fucker. Now, Neil’s only signs of life are the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the steady beep of the heart monitor beside his bed. That’s all Andrew has to hold onto as he drags a chair from beside the window to the gap between Neil’s bed and the door and sits down. Andrew breaks into Neil's hospital room after Baltimore.

❤️‍🩹 reaching for the heights by loveroulettes (119k)

"I'm not a hallucination." The warmth of Neil supported that. So Andrew said the next most reasonable thing, "You're a pipe dream." An awful fantasy Andrew dreamed up through all the stupid misery in his life. He didn’t want to believe in the reality of him. Not when he was beautiful and close, trying to make Andrew believe that he was worth something. -- The King's Men in Andrew's POV

❤️‍🩹 Baltimore Blues by SpangleBangle (17k)

He saw the duffel. It was battered all to hell and the strap was nearly torn from the bag, but it still glowed almost neon in the darkening night and streetlamp glare. Neil would never… He dropped to his knees beside it and rifled through it, looking for any sign, any clue as to where Neil might have run. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Until his fingers found the keyring. Until he found the phone. Andrew's perspective on the Binghamton riot and the walking tragedy that is Neil Josten.

❤️‍🩹 never fallen (from quite this high) by crystalcrow (352k)

For most people, a problem is a matter or situation regarded as unwelcome or harmful that needs to be dealt with or overcome. For Andrew Minyard, it’s the word that fits Neil Josten with a capital P. (or, aftg from andrew’s pov)

[fallingrealms16]

Destiel Fic Recs Part 2 <333

heheh part 2 <33333 I couldn't fit these in part 1

Sounds of Someday by AlucardsBiddies

36K Words // Chapters: 13/16 // 6K Hits // UNCOMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

"His relationship with Cas is complicated. Dean doesn't know if he can fix what’s broken between them. But he sure as hell can fix the roof of the cabin so it doesn't cave when the first snowfalls.” ------------------------------------------- Dean’s world has crumbled around him. Learning God's responsible for every awful thing in his life is hitting him hard and worst of all he pushed the person he loves most away. Determined to fix them, Dean tracks Cas down to Rufus's old cabin hoping to repair it and their relationship along the way.

Living Broken Adjacent by LittleAngelCassie

135K Words // Chapters: 41/41 // 27K Hits // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Hunt/Capture/Celebrate/Repeat. Dean Winchester’s world in four words: simple with no fuss. He’s not had a single, life-altering moment in the 13 years since he joined his dad as a professional bounty hunter. Why fix what’s not broken? That is, until everything around Dean comes to a screeching halt, leaving him alone in new surroundings. Suddenly, Dean’s forced to live in his own version of the Cuckoo’s Nest with the biter, the licker, and the joker. Where angels abound, and his roommate’s haunting blue eyes make him wonder about all his past choices. He’s got this no problem, right? WRONG! Who knew laughter and love could be found within the dull, institutional walls of a psychiatric hospital, teaching Dean that no one is ever truly broken, but sometimes you simply find yourself lost and stumbling through a life where you are living …broken adjacent.

Empty Spaces by thisisapaige

48K Words // Chapters: 20/20 // 5K Hits // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

[Castiel] found the colour. It was a green, one of the few gentle colours at the edges of his dreams and the one he tried to capture in his paintings, never quite finding the right hue. He spent so long chasing the colours, trying to find it though pills and needles, but they always evaded his grasp. Yet he found one, right here, hiding in the eyes of a stranger. He studied the colour, the subtle differences between dark and light, the little flecks of gold nearly hidden in the sea of green, the ring around the outside. He studied it, trying to commit the colour to memory. The other man cleared his throat. “Uh, dude?” Oh. Castiel forgot the colour was attached to a person. ~~~ What if Castiel had fallen before the start of the series and met Dean on a routine hunt? Set in the spring before Dean goes to find Sam in Stanford. Intended as a three part series.

Breathe In | Breathe Out by Elizabeth1985

222K Words // Chapters: 38/38 // 17K Hits // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Guilt-stricken, Dean finds himself wasted on the asphalt behind a club with Gadreel’s trail gone cold. In what he believed was his lowest moment, Castiel came and picked him up, giving him hope for a future. But it’s all taken from him; everything he was gets twisted. The very soul of him being corrupted. Castiel has seen the ages of the world, the tragedies that would cripple the strongest men. But this? It changes everything. Mending Dean’s mind and soul should be his only priority and yet, that too, is stolen from him.

Starstruck by peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim)

203K Words // Chapters: 50/50 // 223K hits // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

From the outside Castiel Novak looks like a regular guy: a good job, two teenage kids, a nice house and a crappy car he’s way too attached to. But there’s one thing no one knows about him: that, over twenty years ago, he used to live next to none other than Dean Winchester – back then a brash and loud-mouthed boy and nowadays a huge movie star and Hollywood’s sweetheart. Castiel never bothered to tell anyone about his childhood friend because frankly, who would believe him? Probably even Dean himself already forgot about his former awkward and weird neighbor, so Castiel seriously doesn’t see any point in mentioning the whole thing ever. But then an interview on national TV happens where Dean reveals way more about his past than ever before … and Castiel - as well as the rest of the world - suddenly realizes that he left a much bigger impact on Dean’s life than he originally thought.

Fools Rush In by sysrae

132K Words // Chapters: 35/35 // 40K Hits // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

''I'm sorry,' he said. The words came out in a gulp. He stumbled backwards, knocking over a pile of books and for once not caring, stopping only when he hit his desk. 'I shouldn't – I shouldn't have done that.' 'The hell you shouldn't,' Dean panted, touching two fingers against his mouth. It wasn't until he stared at their tips, his expression almost wondering, that Cas realised he was looking for blood – that he must have actually bitten him. Lust, and embarrassment, burned in him like fire. He gripped the edge of the desk and levered himself behind it, falling into his chair before his legs could give out. Had he ever kissed anyone like that? Had anyone ever kissed him like that? And why, of all people, did Dean Winchester have to be the one to make him wonder?'

Fools Rush In is a Destiel AU, complete with loan shark Crowley, cults, FBI politicking, and All The Angst Forever. Plus and also: smut.