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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.
#deltarune#noelle holiday#deltarune theory#kris dreemurr#susie deltarune#undertale#noelle deltarune#variable angel theory#pumpkinnoelle#w.d. gaster#gaster#wd gaster#utdr#berdly#kris deltarune#ralsei#jevil#jevil deltarune#deltarune queen#deltarune jevil#spamton g spamton#spamton#spamton deltarune#deltarune chapter 2#deltarune susie#ralsei deltarune#i had fun with the colours in this#no beta read i just want this out already#this thing is 17k words what the hell
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THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.
PART III
Bangchan x reader. (s,f,a)
Chapters: Part I / Part II
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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˗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.
#resident evil#resident evil 2 remake#re2r#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#resident evil 2 remake leon#leon kennedy x reader#leon x reader#re2r leon x reader#UHHHH i think i tagged it okay??? re fandom's etiquette with tagging on here is confusing to me lmao#do let me know if i messed it up :)#anyways re fic debut yippee#last time i wrote for leon was in my teenage years lmao i do hope i gave this boy justice#even if in different form#spoiler alert: they do NOT stick together#kinda wish i made claire's scene a bit longer bc i love her sm#also fun fact: i went and listened to leon's voice files in re2r to help with his dialogue#got baffled by how much he swears#had to go and redo his dialogue after that😭#it's kinda funny how he doesn't swear as much while you play#that or i just didn't notice bc i was swearing up a storm myself#english is not really my first language btw so sorry if there are some weird phrases here and there#pretty sure i wrote nightstand as bedstand.... i can't remember if i fixed it or not
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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.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
#tony dalton#lalo salamanca#better caul sall#breaking bad#Lalo Salamanca x reader#breaking bad imagine#better call saul imagine#lalo salamanca/reader#lalo salamanca imagine#bcs fic#better call saul fanfic#tony Dalton x reader
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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.
#not my fics#for once lol#fic rec#dbda fanfic#dbda fic#dead boy detectives#dbda#dead boy detective agency#charles rowland#edwin payne#payneland#edwin x charles
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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.
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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
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˗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.”
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#virgin!eddie munson#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfiction#st oneshots
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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
#shadowhunters#malec#clizzy#jimon#maiabelle#shadowhunters fanfic#shadowhunters fic rec#shameless self-rec#this is halloween everybody make a scene#I wrote a thing#LM's art#long post
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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)
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Well, two days ago I promised a fanfic to you all, so it is here! It's a inheritance games fanfiction and I hope you enjoy it. I accept any type of criticism, but just don't offend me. Thank you! @aaal-iz-well @myster3y @myfairkatiecat @riddles-n-games@aria-1105 @formulalina15
Prologue:
Jameson lost a 911 and has to deal with his penance.
Disclaimer:
All characters are from Jennifer Lynn Barnes's book The inheritance games. None of them are mine! Mentions of Nash Hawthorne, Jameson Hawthorne, Alexander Hawthorne, Grayson Hawthorne, Avery Grambs, Gigi Grayson and Maxine Liu. There's some cursing and mentions of murder, but nothing serious. The author didn't deep dive in these two delicate topics. No spoilers and no smut!
English is not my first language! So I apologize for any mistakes.
(P.S.: I'm always open for fanfic suggestions.)
Words count: 17K (sorry for being so long. I just couldn't help it 😭)
Jameson was never the type of person you could call “phone addicted.” He didn't spend much time scrolling because he was always busy with his brothers, a riddle, or doing something that the police would certainly arrest him for it. As a result, charging his phone wasn't something that occupied his mind, that's why his phone died often. That's what happened on this day. He was in a phone call with Xander when suddenly his phone went dead. Letting out a sigh, he opened the bedroom he shared with Avery to search for his charger. The room was quite a mess, with clothes on the floor, in the bed and hanging lazily around a chair. It reflected the owners' minds: messy as hell, but still comfortable somehow. There was a colored cube on the floor he accidentally stepped on and kicked away as he continued looking inside a drawer.“Where is it?”, he thought.“I know it's here. I remember the last time I used it and I put it in this drawer. . .” Before he could properly finish his inner monologue, he felt IT before he heard or saw it. He felt it strong and passionately inside of him, and deep inside he just knew what it was. Someone was approaching—HER. He felt her presence almost all the time when she was around. His heart would just stop as a true and genuine felling he had never felt before her took over his entire body and soul. It was exaggerating to describe it this way, but every single thing he felt and thought about her was exaggerating. “Jamie?”, Avery spoke and, oh, he loved her voice, specially when she said the nickname his brothers gave to him. Nobody else beside them had the right to call him this was, but her? Just listening to his nickname set his blood and entire body on fire. Hungry. He was hungry for everything, even for her—specially for her. “Heiress?”, he finally turned around and his heart pounded faster when he finally looked at her and realized why she called him. Her eyes were gleaming—they were always so bright when they stared at Jameson's eyes—, a challenge that he couldn't back down on her face. He clearly wouldn't back down from anything she proposed. “Jamie.” Avery knew he loved when she said it, so she usually did it when she wanted his whole attention to her, and god-damn, she was wearing one of his shirts. She had never done it before, but it looked way better on her. She looked beautiful, he thought to himself. And he FELT how Avery had an enormous effect on him. Forget hungry. He was starving just for a piece of her.
Smirking, he said, “So, now you steal my shirts?”, his green eyes glowing more than ever.
“Only when I want to catch you off guard, like now”, her eyes told what she didn't: Avery was enjoying what she was doing to him. Of course she did, he was acting like a damn dog. They stared at each other and did not break eye contact as she walked up to him and pressed her lips to his. The kiss wasn't soft or slow. It was breathtaking, and when she pulled away, he wanted more. Forget the charger, it could wait, but his hunger could not. And probably the 911 call he received from one of his brothers could too.
Grayson would never admit, but he was terrible. Not physically, Grayson Hawthorne was at no time physically terrible. He always makes to sure to be looking good. But mentally? His mind and feelings were so awful that just “terrible” wasn't an appropriate answer. He was drowning in work—again—, swimming like crazy and doing anything that was humanly possible to stop his brain from echoing a name. Her name. So that's why he was standing again at the place Emily had died, so-and-so far from the ground. He had no equipment and wondered—again— what would happen if he jumped. Of course, it was just a thought, Grayson wasn't going to jump, but just the adrenaline that he felt with this thought kept his entire head quiet. Her name wasn't there for a moment. But moments didn't last forever, so that's why he decided to finally go back to the house.
Once he arrived, his whole body ached for something. Escapism. Her name was there again, and he knew a way to stop it. Grayson quickly took some turns around the house, and before he could even think about it, he was in the cellar. Without realizing, his hands grabbed a Tequila, took off the cover and his nose caught the smell of the liquid. Eve. Eve. Eve. Eve. He took a swing. Eve. Eve. Eve. He took another swing, this time longer than the other one, and… Nothing. It was calm. And he took more long swings. He hardly allowed himself alcohol, but in that occasion he drank it like his life depended on it.
Halfway through the bottle, one thought broke through his shields: “You need someone”. That hit him, hard. But for one second he stopped taking swings and recognized the obvious: he was broken, drowning, but he didn't have to be alone. He had his brothers and Avery and, somehow, that was everything. Eve couldn't touch this, it was totally his and only his. His family. That's what they were. So he picked his phone from his pocket and only sent one message for each of his brothers: 911.
Nash and Xander appeared in a heartbeat and, for reasons he couldn't tell, his heart overflowed with love. He felt it warm and quiet on his chest for the first time in a very long time. Nash was the first one to look at him, raising one of his eyebrows, “So what's the deal, little brother?”. Xander whispered in Nash's ear, “He seems drunk to you too, or did the explosion I caused today already affecting me?” Grayson almost raised an eyebrow when he heard his words. That would explain his clothes that seemed to be set on fire. Instead, he chose to analyze the room he requested their presence. The gaming area was an enormous place full of all kind of games, physical games—like bowling—or just games that required thinking, like chess. Being more specific, Hawthorne chess.
After four rounds of Hawthorne chess and three Grayson's victories later, strip bowling was the chosen game, and he found out in the worst way possible that strip bowling wasn't for him. Nash didn't have his boots and his socks. Since his brothers demanded when they first played strip bowling that Nash's cowboy hat wasn't a piece of clothing, he was shirtless but had his cowboy hat on. Xander didn't have shoes and socks anymore, and Grayson…was winning. He didn't wear a coat, shoes, socks, and his shirt. But he was happy to be with his brothers…or at least two of them. Grayson turned away as soon as he noticed that Jameson wasn't there and asked, “Where's Jameson?”
“Probably doing something very dangerous and assuming risks that could get him to have a meeting with God!”, Xander replied with a smile. Nash frowned his eyebrows, “I called him like 10 times, and he didn't pick up.” Wasting no more time, Grayson reached for the phone in his pocket and called Oren. The bodyguard picked up immediately. “Any problem?”, he asked, his voice calm and powerful and useless for someone like Grayson, who knew the word “power” like the back of his hand. “Where's Jameson? Is he in danger?”. He could hear the way the bodyguard shrugged. “No danger in sight, if you don't consider sleeping in Avery's bedroom a dangerous thing to do.” Jameson was sleeping, and it was almost offensive that he lost a 911, but then he realized. Jameson lost a 911, and he was going to pay for it like Grayson did. He smiled and turn off the phone call. “As much as I love to see you smile, I can tell where this is going”, Nash replied. Xander was amused, his eyes as bright as the sun. “So Jameson really lost a 911?”. They didn't answer, but instead the rest of the evening was wasted between plans and more plans for his penance.
1:00 am
Jameson noticed that he lost a 911 call, and he knew his brothers would come after him with a wicked plan. Surprised wasn't an adjective to describe his emotions when Xander appeared out of nowhere at night and started to play a trumpet. But furious and about to end Xander were appropriate words. “STOP!”, he yelled through gritted teeth, trying to cover his ears with a pillow. Nash put a hand on his little brother shoulder to stop him. “Enough, Xan. Enough.” Grayson was behind him, and Jameson could swear he almost smiled. Reluctant, he got up from the bed. “It's time for my penance.” It wasn't a question, and nobody corrected him. Instead, he just received a devilish smile from Nash. It was going to be a very, very long night.
1:30 am
Max was spending the Christmas holiday at the Hawthorne house in her own wing, where his brothers dropped him. She smiled, a big and bright smiled that he almost feared. Almost. “Hello, little duck.” He snorted. “Not sure about being a duck.” She meant dick, but he chose to ignore it. “However. Just sit in this chair and let me do my magic.” He sat, and she covered his face in a really white foundation, drawing a smile with her makeup pencil, covering his cheeks a really shiny red. “I think I know what you're doing, but I better be wrong.” Max smirked, and he decided that smirking didn't look good on her. Actually, it was never a good thing when someone who wasn't him smirked. “I can't tell you. Xander made me promise.”
“I think so.” And he let her finish, putting a blue wig on his head, covering his hair. Thrilled, she picked a small mirror on the desk, showing his reflection to him. “Do you like it?”. He was right indeed. Xander had asked his girlfriend for a clown makeup for him. She gave him a card with an address written on it as he left her wing. He was going to kill Xander. Suffocated, precisely. With his own damn wig. Opening the card, there was an address that he did not recognize:
Flower Boulevard Street, 89
P.S.: Gigi must drive.
2:00 am
Gigi knew how to drive a car. Of course she did. At least that was what she told him before breaking all the traffic laws. Jameson wasn't a fan of laws and endless rules, but after this 30 minutes painful ride and almost dying more times than he could count, he was a new fan of the traffic law, apparently. She stopped in front of a building, some pop music blasting on the radio, his face so white that it looked like he was a ghost. After a few minutes of searching for his soul that clearly was lost along the way, his eyes analyzed the construction. He had thought about the worst places that his brothers would have chosen as a location for the evening, but a big and luxury hospital didn't cross his mind, not even once. But there he was, standing in full clown clothes in the hospital parking. Gigi grabbed his arm. “What are you waiting for? I thought you liked a challenge.” He did, and that's why he entered the construction.
2:15 am
He managed to get lost inside the hospital, but that was way better than Gigi getting lost four times while driving 'cause she insisted on not using the GPS. After a few minutes, he founded his brothers. Unfortunately. “Wooow! He looks awfully amazing”, Xander shouted. “This isn't your best moment, little brother”, Nash laughed. Grayson just looked, without saying anything at first. Then he raised an eyebrow. “I think you lost something, Mr.Clown”, he told Jameson, pulling out leather pants from his hands. Not common leather pants, but THE leather pants. He was doomed.
2:25 am
Out of all his brothers, Jameson was the leanest, but the leather pants still squeezed him really tight. It was almost painful, and he needed ten minutes to make them fit. “Comfortable?”, Grayson asked, enjoying this moment more than anything else. Jameson gave a Cheshire cat smiled, not giving him the satisfaction to see his discomfort. “More than ever, big brother.” Grayson smirked, and he wondered why everyone was suddenly smirking at him all the time. Nash leaned on the doorway, his cowboy hat hiding his smile. “Ready to put on a show, Jamie?” A show? What the actual fuc...”
“I have balloons!” Xander tossed three bags of balloons at Jameson's face, and he caught each one, his face marked with confusion. “Why do I need balloons?”
“For the kids!”, Xander smiled, thriving. “There are some sad and unfortunate kids on this hospital that need some fun and joy in their lives, and you're going to bring fun and joy. That's what clowns do, isn't it, Mr.Clown?”
He could feel the need to wash off all the makeup in the sink bathroom and take off his ridiculous clothes, including his fancy clown shirt. But he promised it to his brothers. Grayson had called and he didn't come. That was his penance. “Where are the kids?”, he asked.
3:35 am
One hour and ten minutes later, Jameson was at the edge of a breaking down. Sure he could deal with one or two kids playing with his wig, trying to pull his clothes, licking his face when they thought he couldn't see, getting on the ceiling, screaming, crying, popping the balloons, trying to slap him, laughing and making jokes of him, swearing, running and so much more. But twenty? It seemed and felt like hell. He couldn't even judge the kids, 'cause little Jamie was worse than that kids. He looked at Nash after one of them spat on his face, “Please, Nash. Please stop this.” All three of them laughed, Xander more pleased with himself than ever. He had video every time a kid did something to him and threatened to send them to Avery. Jameson didn't even try to stop him, his little brother was going to show Avery one way or another. And he was mortified. “Please. It's been one hour. I can't handle more.” Jameson Hawthorne didn't beg, of course not. But he was about to get on his knees if Nash didn't look at him and decided that the poor boy had enough. “Alright, kids!” He shouted and all of them immediately stopped what they were doing, something that Jameson couldn't do. He felt jealous. “Form a line, so the clown can say goodbye to you all.” They said an audible “noooo”. Apparently, they liked to torture him. He went to say goodbye to every kid when they finally formed a line, some of their names carved on his brain as he passed. Brian. Yasmin. Joe. Kloe. Patrick. Pablo. Iago. . .
“Where's Iago?”, Kloe said, looking behind her. Jameson counted the kids and there were only 19 of them. Oh, hell. “Nash”, he looked at his oldest brother while he nodded, understanding what he meant with just one word. “Go there, Jamie. We'll stay here.” He took a glance at the kids. “So, how are we feeling about dancing?” They screamed in excitement. Jameson couldn't understand how he did it.
4:05
Where were this kid? Jameson had searched absolutely every god-damn room of the hospital, had warned the nurses, and they still had not found him. He couldn't help but remember when he disappeared as a kid. It didn't take a couple of minutes to find him, it took hours. Sometimes even days. He swallowed hard, thinking what would happen if Iago wasn't found. What if he was in danger? How would his parents react? What if he managed to get out of the hospital…
“Oh my god, Iago! Can you calm down for a second? You're going to spill my coffee all over the room.” He heard someone say in a room at the end of the hallway, stopping to look what was going on. Gigi trying to take Iago off of the ceiling with a cup of coffee in her hand. The scene was a one to be recorded, if Jameson wasn't freaking out. “Iago! Get off of there!”, he commanded, and surprisingly the kid seemed to hear. “I don't know”, Iago mumbled and he looked worried. Scared. That shattered Jameson's heart. He picked up the kid, careful to not let him fall or break the ceiling. “Thank you”, the infant wrapped his hands around his neck, not letting go. Gigi was very embarrassed. “I couldn't get him off, he didn't hear me.” Jameson was so confused on why she was still at the hospital, at 4 am, drinking coffee. But all he did was to shrug, “They don't hear me too.” And they walked back to his brothers only to found Nash dancing with them. God has favorites, he thought.
8:00 am
Ten minutes later they arrived at Hawthorne House and Jameson dropped dead on his bed. After taking off the makeup, clown clothes and the leather pant, obviously. But his body naturally woke him up at 7:45, and he couldn't get any sleep after that. And that's why he was on the roof when he heard steps. “You put out quite a show to the kids.” It was Grayson talking.“The hospital called, asking if you're going to visit again.” Not a chance in hell. He liked the kids—actually, loved them— but he couldn't handle them all at once. It was draining. Grayson knew it, that's why he was smirking, almost showing a smile. “You know”, Jameson started, “that I only didn't pick up because my phone had died?” It was basically his way of saying that, if he knew that Grayson was calling, that he needed him, he would appear in seconds. And he always would. Despite all the offenses, the teasing and the fights, Jameson would walk through hell for Grayson. He knew that, and Grayson would do the same. If all that it took to make him laugh, smile or to just take the weight off his shoulders a bit was to see Jameson dressed up as a clown, he would do it a hundred times. And he would do it over and over, no just because “that's what brothers do”, but because that's what you do when you love someone—you show them your love and loyalty. 911 wasn't just a simple code, it was meant to their brothers know how much they loved and appreciated each other, even though sometimes they have a hard time telling or showing it. Jameson knew the meaning behind this simple code, and it would kill him if Grayson thought that Jameson didn't care for his older brother. They all cared for each other, that's what made them the Hawthorne brothers. Not just the DNA because, when you grow up between the Hawthornes, you couldn't care less for biology. “I know,” Grayson replied, and his tone gave something else. Of course, I know, but I won't go deep into it right now, he seemed to say. So they just stood there, watching the sun and enjoying each other's company, without admitting it.
#jameson hawthorne#grayson hawthorne#nash hawthorne#the brothers hawthorne#the final gambit#the hawthorne legacy#the inheritance games#xander hawthorne#best seller books#books and reading#fanfic#fanfiction#gigi grayson
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i will not vanish | two
I will not vanish [MASTERLIST] is a companion series/backstory to the ‘soulmates collection’ [doyoung]
demon haechan x fem reader
genre: fantasy, smut, angst!!, comedic and fluff elements, tarot reader haechan
warnings and content: +18, explicit sexual content, oral f, body worshipping, titty sucking, first time penetrative sex for reader, fingering, breeding kink, unprotected and pulling out then protected (?), cum play, dirty talk, biting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, finger sucking, sexual tension, mutual pining, slow burn, tarot readings, fight scenes and use of swords/knives, magic snakes, wounds, swearing
other characters: demon jeno, immortal jaemin, doyoung, selene (oc), archangel mark
words: 17k
soulmates universe equivalent: my soulmate loves wine
note: the terminology used [demon, angel, archangel] has no correlation to the usual religious connotations
Mark was a peculiar man, you thought.
His eyes were dark as carbon just like his hair. They would pierce into yours as if they could read your mind. Perhaps, he could. He was an Archangel after all.
But he didn't feel frightening when he approached you that day, gently sitting on the dying grass near you.
“Are you my guardian Angel?” you finally spoke after his short monologue, explaining who he was.
Mark chuckled, closing his eyes, and showing white shiny teeth.
“No, I am not. And Haechan is not your guardian Demon either.”
He didn’t bother to explain how he knew you were thinking precisely that.
You swallowed.
“But you can come with me and ask him that yourself.”
When Mark said he knew where Haechan had run to, you had no idea that convincing the University Rector to suddenly let you take a gap year was going to be the most difficult thing to do.
“What if I promise you that I will get a sick as fuck dissertation on this travel? You’ll get so much fame and so many people will want to come and study here.”
The woman was slightly swinging back and forth in her huge chair as if unsure.
“Well, if you write it the same way you speak, I’m not sold.”
You fought the urge to sigh. “I am the smartest person in Slytherin.”
“That’s not true. It is, in fact, Kim Doyoun-”
“Okay, I’m the second smartest person in Slytherin.” You felt your eyebrow twitch.
“What’s even the topic?” she looked bored.
“Parallel universes,” you were firm.
The Rector had to hide a patronizing smile. “Research on parallel universes.”
Your fist tightened. “I think it’s absurd how we have all sorts of magic, and we can fly and stuff, and we don’t believe in parallel universes and people - no, beings - travelling to them through portals.”
“What would these beings be?”
You were unsure. Angels? Demons? Could that actually be the case or were Haechan and his weird friend group pulling the biggest prank in history?
“That would be my my research question, ma’am.”
You were so convincing that you convinced yourself as well. Or at least, you tried to not think too deeply about it.
But when you reached the city Mark gave you an appointment in, you fought the urge to run back home.
What were you doing? Were you that stupid and gullible to believe a stranger and follow him around?
Maybe.
But Haechan has always looked very strange to you as well. His magic wasn’t of your world, and the way both he and Jeno disappeared all of sudden wasn’t normal. You had to find out what the hell was going on.
“You actually came,” Mark commented, raising his eyes from the phone he was holding.
The man was sitting at a small round table, in front of a café, a steamy coffee to blur his face.
You sat down as well and looked around.
People were walking by and not giving both of you a single glance.
Of course, you just looked like two normal people having a conversation at a café. You had no idea why you felt like an undercover spy instead.
“So, where is he?”
You meant Haechan.
Mark leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest. He looked so confident that it was making you feel anxious as if you somehow fell into his trap.
“He’s right here,” he tilted his head towards the entrance of the coffee shop.
You looked at it, snapping your head. Some employees were inside but none of them looked like Haechan.
“Not here here. In the Universe he is right now this place is not a café but a tarot shop. That’s where you’ll go.”
“A tarot shop?”
Mark nodded.
“And he’s there.”
He nodded again.
“How do I reach him?”
Mark extended one hand on the table. You looked at his fingers. The palm was facing up and he had one faint scar in the middle of it.
“Touch me,” he whispered.
You had no idea what you expected to happen as you leaned forward and slowly brushed your fingertips with his. But you expected it to be something.
Yet nothing happened.
No electricity, no headache, no vision, no portal transportation. Just you and that strange man holding hands.
For a second you thought he was some type of creep, and you gathered all the magic you could feel ready to blow him the fuck away. But then his eyes became completely white, no iris and no pupils, and you gasped.
In a second his eyes came back to their usual very dark brown and he smiled.
“Tomorrow, come back here. Have a good night's sleep, that’s crucial. You’ll find him inside.”
“Why are you doing this?” you asked quickly before he could get up.
“I thought you wanted to know where he is.”
You cleared your throat. “I’m just generally curious about him and you and this situation. From an Academic point of view. I’ll write a paper.”
Mark nodded as if not believing one single word. “You’re useful to me.”
“How?”
“You’ll bother him a lot.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. You wanted to ask more questions but just like the first time he spoke to you, you blinked and he was gone.
That morning you woke up after a good night's sleep, completely unaware you were in a different Universe with the task of finding a man called Haechan.
Haechan, Jaemin and Jeno were in silence at the round table. The first had a concentrated face as if he were completely in his head. The second looked bored and the third was simply waiting.
“I know,” the Demon finally broke the silence. “Kimchi jjigae.”
Jaemin’s mouth opened while his eyes closed. “Unbelievable.”
Jeno looked like about to attack at any time. “Were you thinking about what to have for dinner this whole damn time? I thought we were on a mission.”
Haechan eyed the other’s veiny fists. “Chill out. I figured out the plan in the first three seconds and then I wondered about food for the rest of the time. Who do you think I am? I thought by now you would have known I am a genius. Olay, you-” he indicated to Jeno, “Selene. And you-” he said to Jaemin, “Doyoung.”
“I have to pretend to be Doyoung and romance Jeno, who's pretending to be Selene?” Jaemin asked, confused.
“I regret every waking hour that I helped you survive,” Jeno didn’t look amused.
Haechan sighed. “Jaemin, I did say you don’t have to think when I am around, but I didn’t mean you don’t have to use your brain at all.”
Jaemin leaned back in his chair with a smirk as if acting dumb has been his plan all along.
“I have to take care of Selene and Jaemin will take care of Doyoung. To push them together,” Jeno guessed.
Haechan nodded.
“And what will you do?” Jaemin asked.
“I’ll be the glue,” Haechan answered. “Selene is gullible as hell in this Universe. I was thinking something like giving her a Tarot reading. Telling her a man is coming and describing him exactly like Doyoung.”
He chuckled as if he was about to prank someone and the other two sighed.
“It’s going to be easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
Haechan watched Jeno trip on his own feet and scratched his eyebrow. “Okay, maybe it’s going to be more so difficult difficult lemon difficult.”
“I don’t know why I have to pretend to be a girl. I can be her friend even if I’m a man,” Jeno was mad, hands on his hips and long black hair in his face.
“Stressy depressy lemon zesty,” Jaemin commented from his chair after having a good laugh.
“I need you to be her only friend, my dude. Every single person in her life it’s going to be just you.”
“That’s fucking crazy. I feel sorry for Selene,” Jaemin sighed.
Jeno, or the woman who looked like someone related to Jeno, sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. “This is going to take a long time.”
“Consider this a vacation. Let’s take it easy. Where are we rushing? We have eternity. My book-” Haechan patted an old tome resting on his desk, “says wine business. There’s no way in hell she’s into the alcohol business right now. I stalked. She’s in her last year of university.”
“You’re a stalker?”
“I’m a Demon. That's basically the same thing."
"I am a Demon, and I am not a stalker," Woman-Jeno lifted one eyebrow.
Haechan felt weird seeing him like that. "Did you really have to make yourself this sexy? What if Doyoung falls in love with you instead of Selene? No. What if one of us falls in love with y-"
Woman-Jeno disappeared to show a very angry Man-Jeno about to whoop Haechan's ass.
The day felt quite cold and you shivered after opening the front door.
Was it already sweater weather? The song played in your head as you turned around to run the stairs and grab something warmer from your closet. It would be nice for someone to hold both of your hands in the holes of their sweater, you thought with a melancholic smile.
But there was no one.
After wearing a clean hoodie you noticed the corner of a red and gold scarf, hidden under piles of hats and gloves. You’ve never seen it before and you wondered if your grandma put it there when she announced she was cleaning her closet. Perhaps a nice scarf was needed that morning, you realized. You grabbed it and felt it between your fingertips. It was very good quality and almost pristine.
Why did your grandma give it away? Then you shrugged and put it on.
Running the stairs again your fingers brushed over the “HC” embroidered on the bottom and you made a mental note to search the brand online.
It was the first day of work after graduating from university and the only company that accepted your CV has been this shady wine company. They barely had any information online but the contract seemed legit. Your task was managing the social media accounts so it made sense for them to not have anything prior if they hired you. Ideally, you wanted to do something more artistic. Like doing art for some weird brand or-
you stopped in place. A tarot shop?
You looked around as if checking if others were curious about the place as you suddenly got too but there was no one around.
Weird, you thought. It was a Monday morning after all.
Your eyes darted towards the shop’s glass windows again. It was closed and the lights were turned off. Your reflection looked spectral and you blinked seeing how your lipstick was a little bit smudged on your chin.
Haechan inhaled suddenly, eyes on the outside of their fake Tarot shop. Behind the glass, you were trying to look inside. It was closed so you thought no one could see you while you were touching up on your makeup in the reflection.
Jeno and Jaemin looked at Haechan first then in the direction he was staring at since they felt him freeze up.
Jeno’s eyes widened at the sight.
Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows confused. “What’s up with you guys? Do you know her?”
Haechan stood up in a second, knocking down the crystal ball from the desk with a shattering sound but Jeno’s iron fist stopped him by grabbing his forearm.
“Don’t.”
Haechan’s eyes were incendiary. “Let go.”
“No.”
“I said-”
“What are you going to do huh? Talk to her? Say what? You’re a Demon and you just talked in another universe a few days ago which felt like years? She doesn’t remember you.” Jeno scolded him but his expression relaxed as Haechan looked up, exchanging a look with him. He looked devastated.
“Haechan…”
Haechan shook his head with a tired chuckle. “No, you’re right.” He sat back down and rested his head in his palm, pretending to be busy looking in his book. The crystal ball turned intact on his desk as if it never fell.
“Haechan?”
“Jeno, it’s okay. I said you’re right. I’m not going to do anything stupid-”
“No, dumbass. Look!” Jeno lightly hit his shoulder.
You adjusted the big red and yellow scarf around your neck in the window's reflection. Haechan could see the bright “HC” letters on the bottom of it as you walked away.
Haechan had to fight the urge to search for you. The Y/N you were in this universe wasn’t like the Slytherin he grew to-
To what?
Love?
Haechan wasn’t in love. He couldn’t be.
He was a Demon.
Whatever he felt in that Universe almost disappeared during the travel, proof that it was the human flesh he wore to be attracted to you and not his real self.
But you were wearing the scarf he left behind. That was impossible unless that version of you was the Slytherin.
But humans can’t travel.
Haechan shook his head. He opened his book and sighed. In a few months, he’d give a tarot reading to both Doyoung and Selene.
Time flies when you’re pretending to be human.
The cards were neatly piled up and he smiled. Just a simple tool and it makes people lose their minds. He grabbed them and shuffled, pulling a card for himself.
The Tower.
He furrowed his eyebrows and suddenly exhaled like a dog sensing danger, eyes trained on the entrance. He turned all of the candles off while turning invisible.
“Is anyone there?” your voice could be heard before Haechan could see your face peeking through the crack of the door. He could feel you coming.
“Hello? I saw the lights on and thought it was open. Are you already closing?” you asked again.
You stepped in cautiously and looked around with tight eyes, unable to see much.
Haechan turned on one candle on the desk. “Who are you?” he asked.
You muffled a scream with your palms. Your wide eyes looked around again but Haechan was still invisible.
“I-” you tried to speak. “I am Y/N. I was interested in getting a reading.”
Haechan chuckled silently. You didn’t look like you wanted the reading anymore.
He turned on the rest of the candles and the room warmed up while he appeared from the shadows, this time gently to not scare you any further.
“Welcome. You can sit down here,” he indicated in front of himself.
You exhaled and blinked, eying him from head to toe.
When you decided to finally enter that Tarot shop after walking in front of it for weeks you didn’t expect to be met by a very handsome young man.
The place has been creepy for a moment but then it became so cosy that you felt at ease on the chair, staring at the way the man’s fingers were expertly shuffling the cards. It almost put you to sleep.
His hands were delicate but manly, with a single ring adorning them, and a silver watch on his wrist.
You thought he looked too modern for being in a Tarot Shop.
“Can you please blow on these?” he asked.
“Huh?” you lifted your head to look him in the eyes. They were very warm but with a piercing darkness you didn’t like, as if something bad would happen if you stared too much into them.
“Oh, sure,” you did as you were told, hoping you didn’t have bad breath.
The man shuffled again and spread them in front of you.
“I’ll let you choose,” he said.
His voice was melodic like a snake playing with its prey.
You looked at the back of the dark red cards then exchanged a look again. “I didn’t say what my question is.”
“I know without you telling me.”
That amused you and the seed of wanting to prove him wrong got the best of you. “Really?”
The man nodded with a little cunning smile.
“What is it then?”
He leaned back in the chair and pushed back his hair. He definitely didn’t look like he knew what he was doing. Was his grandma - the actual tarot reader - in the toilet?
“Will I ever find someone to hold my hands in the holes of their sweater?” he whispered.
Your heart dropped.
“How do you know that?”
The man’s eyes twinkled. “It’s my job.”
You suddenly didn’t feel safe anymore but not in a bad way. You looked down at the cards and you chose one, turning it.
It was the Page of Swords, or at least that was written on it. The image was of a young boy holding, well, a sword.
You looked up at the man for an explanation.
“You’re asking a good question. It also means that you might find a lover in some kind of mentor or a studying field.”
“I’m done studying. I’m working now.”
“We’re never done learning.”
That sounded like something an old grandpa would say and the mixed signals that the young man was giving, both young and millennials years old, were throwing you off.
“So, I’ll find a lover in a teacher?” you were weirded out.
“Maybe. Or you’ll find a lover while you research something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Is there something on your mind that you want to research?”
“I wanted to research this place,” you started then ended with a lower voice, realizing how that could sound to him.
You weren’t trying to hit on him, although he looked- well he was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life. If you could have a lover to hold your hands in the holes of his sweater you’d definitely imagine him like the young tarot reader in front of you.
“Well, maybe you’ll find your lover like this.”
His expression didn’t give you any information on what he was thinking.
You looked back down at the card and pulled another one. It was Strength.
You couldn’t tell what that could mean regarding everything else. On it, a woman was grabbing a lion with the symbol of infinity on her head. She didn’t look afraid or tired. She looked at peace.
“Is that my lover?”
“The Lion?”
You nodded.
“That’s an enemy,” he explained.
“What? I don’t have enemies.”
The Tarot man’s eyes were flickering like the candles in front of him. “You have a task,” he whispered.
He looked like he was in a trance and for a moment it spooked you. The young man looked surprised. But then he looked at you. “Give me your hand.”
His tone was calm but intense and you didn’t even think of not doing as he said.
You noticed your fingers were trembling a little as you put your palm on top of his. His skin felt soft but firm, just like what you imagined a man’s touch would be like.
Nothing happened for a second but then the man screamed and got on his feet, holding his wrist with the other hand.
You got up as well, the incriminating palm to your mouth, watching in horror the way his fingers were turning charcoal black.
“What the fuck is going on? This is not a funny trick!” you accused him.
The young man didn’t pay any attention to you, his soft brown curls becoming jet black and straight in his eyes, the veins on his back popping as his mouth was open in a silent scream.
“I will- I will write a complaint!” you added, sure it was some kind of elaborate joke. “It is not okay to bring it this far!”
But then the man fell to his knees and on his side with a thud.
You ran around the table and crouched down, the sweat suddenly accumulated on your forehead making your eyes burn. Or maybe they were tears?
“Hey?” you whimpered, afraid to touch him a second time. “This is not funny, please stop,” you tried again and the drops that fell on his arm were tears, this time you were sure. They burned his shirt and blackened his skin. You put your palm on your mouth and slid back until hitting the desk with your blades.
With a loud thud the front door opened and a tall man appeared in front of you with the angriest expression you’ve ever seen on a human.
“What have you done?”
“I think you should sit down and have a cup of tea,” the young man you learned was called Jaemin addressed the tall and scary young man who interrogated you for what felt like while years while the Tarot man was lying unconscious on the couch. You were occupying the other one, right in the front with Jaemin, who kept pouring you tea although you didn’t want any anymore. The scary man never stopped pacing the room and you wondered when the floor would cave in.
“Don’t piss me off,” Jeno replied.
Jaemin rolled his eyes and although you were feeling sick to your stomach at the situation, his energy was very calming and healing, so you let the corner of your mouth turn up for a moment when he locked eyes with you.
“Maybe if you sit down, you can think better. I don’t think you’re able to do two things at the same time.”
“You think this is a time to joke.”
“I just got possessed by Haechan’s spirit while it left his body, I don’t know what to tell you.”
That was the first time they said the Tarot man’s name and you understood they were talking about him because they both stared at his unconscious face - Jaemin with actual worry that he was trying to hide with jokes and Jeno with love that he was trying to hide with anger.
You didn’t like the way Jaemin said that his spirit left his body.
They also said going to a hospital is not going to help so you stopped insisting. And when you asked who or what they were they didn’t reply.
Finally, when you asked what happened to Haechan, Jaemin made sure to assure you that you didn’t do anything wrong while Jeno was firm on the fact that Haechan would be awake if you never placed a foot in that shop in the first place.
You also regretted coming.
“Do you have any- adulterer adult to resolve this? Like a parent or a teacher?” you tried again with a timid voice. Jeno sighed as if annoyed to hear your voice while Jaemin poured some tea for himself and faced you like some sort of kindergarten teacher.
“That’s him.”
You took a few seconds to process.
“He-,” for some reason you felt too shy to pronounce his name, “is your parent?”
Jeno groaned again as if that would be his biggest nightmare and Jaemin laughed. “Not like that, but yes. For how weird it might seem, Haechan is the chaotic parental figure. If there’s something someone should know it’s usually him. If he didn’t foresee this happening, then we’re against-”
“Another parental figure,” Jeno interrupted.
Jaemin’s jovial expression dropped. The gaze he exchanged with Jeno was so intense and full of information that your intestines twirled on themselves.
“Why attack now?” Jaemin asked. You had no idea what was going on.
“He found a weakness,” Jeno replied and looked at you. His eyes weren’t kind.
“I am a weakness? For whom?” you were starting to get mad yourself.
That Tarot dude scared you to death, the other dudes interrogated you, keeping you there, blaming you for whatever happened, without wanting to explain anything, and now they accused you of something else too?
“Don’t answer that,” Haechan cawed.
Jeno moved so fast near the couch that for a moment you thought he teleported.
Maybe he did.
“Fuck man, I thought you were gone for good.”
“You would have liked to see me gone,” Haechan tried to cackle but groaned in pain instead.
Jaemin moved just as quickly and brought Haechan a glass of water. “Can you lift yourself? How are you feeling?”
“Oh,” his eyes were still closed, and he chuckled, “I feel like I’ve been to hell.”
The other men didn’t laugh with him and from their expression, it was as if Haechan literally descended into Hell in the past hour.
When he opened his eyes, his pupils were fixed on you, and you noticed how black they were. His burned hands were still black fading towards the middle of his forearms. You thought he’d leave prints on the glass, but he didn’t.
“Well, I didn’t expect that to happen,” he commented after finishing it. He let the others help him to sit up and when he extended his head back as if the movement caused him great pain you saw the lettering of a silver tattoo on his neck. You had no idea if he had it before. You slowly turned your head to the side to be able to see what was written but Haechan put a palm on it.
“Nosy,” he simply said.
You straightened your back, embarrassed.
“I think she needs to know,” Jaemin said suddenly.
They were talking about you as if you weren’t there. “What do I need to know?”
They ignored you. “I just need to stay away from her,” Haechan opened his eyes and stared at his burned hands with disgust.
“And will you?” Jeno wasn’t impressed.
“Are you joking? After the literal Hell I’ve been through? Of course, I will.”
You didn’t understand anything of what was being said but you somehow felt hurt.
“Okay, I am going home.”
“No, you’re not going anywhere,” Haechan stopped you in your tracks.
“Haechan,” Jeno’s voice was a low warning.
“I can’t let her roam around. Who knows what’s going to happen?” he explained extending his thin fingers.
“You can’t keep her near you. You’re Superman and she’s Kryptonite!” Jaemin added.
“I am a person, and I can hear you talk!” you raised your voice, and all the candles went off.
Jeno’s eyebrows were furrowed when he turned them on in the same instant.
“Was that you?” Haechan asked after a moment of silence. His tone was grave.
You gulped and stepped back. “No.”
They all exchanged a look as if to check if some of them did that instead, and then they looked at you again like some sort of Fates about to decide on your destiny.
“Get her,” Haechan spoke and in the same instant Jeno’s hands were on your arms, materializing in front of you.
Panic washed over you as you tried to escape but he was too strong. “Let me go! What are you doing? Back off!” you screamed.
Jeno’s body flew across the room, landing on the desk and crashing it. Jaemin stepped towards you, but you raised one arm and he got hung against the wall as if an invisible snake kept him in the air by the throat.
You turned around, trying to find a way to run towards the door by avoiding Jeno who was already on his feet and, if possible, even angrier than before. But someone’s shadow obscured your face and you realized you were mere centimetres from Haechan. You didn’t bother to understand how he moved so quickly to be there, but one thing you knew, your touch for him was deadly so just one little-
your body was frozen. You tried to speak but you couldn’t move, not even the tip of your tongue.
“Now,” Haechan sounded exhausted. “There’s no need to be this aggressive. We don’t want to hurt you. Although I see you have no issues hurting us.”
His eyes were even darker than before, accentuated by the black eye circles. He looked like someone who actually just returned from Hell.
“You’re going to get all the information you want but you need to be a good girl and stay here. Is this clear?”
As if he was giving you a choice.
“I’ll take it as a yes although you can’t move. Nice to see you again, miss Slytherin.”
You couldn’t remember when or how you fell asleep, if you did at all, or if they knocked you out instead.
But you woke up in a big white bed and you realized you were wearing soft orange pyjamas with sunflowers on. The shame and anger washed over you at the thought of any of those disgusting men undressing you while you were forcefully unconscious last night.
“I can sense you’re awake,” a voice you grew to find annoying could be heard behind the door. The room was spacious and airy. It was probably some guest room because it didn’t fit any of the dudes’ personalities.
“Can I come in? I have breakfast.”
“As if I have any choices to make,” you mumbled.
The door opened and Haechan walked in with a tray. “You can choose what to eat for breakfast.”
“Kidnapping, assault and battery, psychological abuse, conspiracy-”
“But I also have flaws.”
“Sexual-”
“Hey hey hey, no one did anything sexual,” he interrupted drawing the line at that.
“You changed me of my clothes into this!” you indicated your body. “While I was unconscious! Hell knows what you did to me!”
Haechan sighed and put the tray on the nightstand. Then he snapped his fingers, and you were back in your clothes.
They were dusty and sweaty.
“No one undressed you and no one did anything to you.”
You were still looking down at your body as if not believing you were awake.
Haechan snapped his fingers again and you were wearing a different set of clothes. Then another one.
Then a dress with heels.
Then a fur suit.
“Okay okay okay! I get it!”
Haechan snapped them again and you were back in your fuzzy pyjamas.
“Also, there was no assault, no psychological abuse, no conspiracy.”
“You did kidnap me though.”
Haechan thought about it for a moment turning his head to the side. “I did yes. It’s either kidnapping or me letting you go, but becoming your stalker. Choose.”
“I don’t understand why this is necessary.”
“Listen, I don’t want you here either, but I don’t trust you after what you did to me and-”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You sent me to Hell.”
“You went there on your own!”
“How do I know you’re conspiring with Mark or not?”
“Who the fuck is Mark? You’re so worked up over a dude named Mark?”
Haechan closed his mouth and after a moment his whole body started to shake. You realized he was laughing.
“I’ve never realized how simple his name was. Doesn’t sound like a villain at all.”
“Well, because maybe he’s the good one and you’re the villain.”
Haechan’s smile disappeared and with it all the warmth in the room.
When he walked in he looked like a normal young man, a boy even. His hair was back to his soft brown curls and his hands weren’t burned up to the elbows anymore.
For a second you forgot what he was capable of or what he did the previous night.
Now he was showing you a little piece of that and you felt your spine shake.
“You’re right. Maybe I am. That’s what everyone says anyway.” Haechan turned around and left the room without adding anything else.
You stared at the breakfast tray feeling a weird sensation of guilt.
The bedroom door was unlocked, you discovered, after taking a shower and debating whether you should trust the food Haechan brought you. But your growling stomach didn’t care so you had to trust that he still needed you alive, and if he had to kill you, he’d do it more interestingly.
You walked towards the corridor slowly, following the string of groans coming from what seemed like some sort of living room. It was almost identical to the room in the shop, and you realized you were probably on the second floor of the same building.
The groans kept going and when you peeked from the corner you were met with Jeno’s bloodshot eyes.
“I will kill you.”
You jumped in place.
“Now now, let’s calm down. It’s not her fault,” Jaemin talked with his kindergarten teacher’s voice and you noticed he was medicating wounds that made Jeno groan like that.
Then you noticed that Jeno was shirtless.
“What happened?”
“I went to see your grandma to make sure she’s not worried about you.”
You were surprised they’d do that.
“But the little grandma was a fucking wolf in disguise,” he added.
Jaemin chuckled. “Literally.”
You walked around to see wolf bites on Jeno’s back. “Oh my god.”
“Yep, a hellhound,” Jaemin explained.
“My grandma is a hellhound?” you felt your head pulsate.
“Of course, she’s not your grandma. You have no grandma because you’re not from this Universe,” Haechan appeared on the stairs.
He was addressing you but he didn’t look at your face once. “It was one of Mark’s henchmen tasked to make you believe you’ve been living a normal life here since birth.”
Haechan walked around Jeno as well and winced. “Why are they not healing?”
“Well, he’s a fucking dog from fucking underground and I’m an angel. My powers are limited.”
“You’re a Demon now. Stop using that word,” Haechan sat on the couch and exhaled as if exhausted. You wondered what he has been up to.
You felt just as exhausted, as if you started to watch a tv show in the middle of the season and you lost very important information. “What the hell are you all talking about? At this point, I think I’m due an explanation.”
Jaemin finished taking care of Jeno’s wide shoulders by the time Haechan finished his tale. You were sitting on the couch, the cup of coffee you were offered still intact and cold on the small table in front of you. Your muscles were stiff and your body paralyzed. This time, it wasn’t because of any of the dark powers those individuals possessed, it was just horror keeping you in place.
Haechan started from the beginning, recounting the time when he was an Angel (no, not the way you imagine, he scolded you when you asked about wings and halos), then he mentioned his departure from the City (that’s a story for another time, he cut it short when you asked what exactly happened), then he casually mentioned how he lived in this Hell Prison for millennials (time doesn’t exist, he rolled his eyes at the way you eyed him like he was some prehistoric grandpa), and finally, he recounted the way this dude, Kim Doyoung, came to his rescue and they signed a contract (contract with the Devil, you commented, and Haechan ignored you) to make him fall in love with his woman, Selene, in all lives possible.
“Well, and what does that have to do with me?” you asked.
“We met in another Universe while I was doing my little task and you’re from there.”
“How is that possible? I have no memory of it.”
“That’s what we’re trying to understand as well,” Jeno got up from his chair and grabbed a silky button-down, groaning a little when he lifted one arm to wear it.
“Do you have any proof of this?” you lifted your chin, surprised you still had a voice to ask questions.
Haechan’s eyes analyzed your features and your courage went missing.
“Your scarf,” he simply said.
You furrowed your eyebrows and looked towards the entrance where your coat and scarf were neatly hanging.
Then you understood.
“HC,” you exhaled and got on your feet to go and grab it. The letters were there on the edge of the red and gold woven material. “This is yours?”
Haechan didn’t confirm nor denied.
“Why do I have it?” you looked at him then at the others. Jaemin and Jeno avoided your gaze. “Were we close friends?”
Jeno cleared his throat and mumbled something about work, heading towards the entrance. Jaemin scratched his forehead and just backed away into the kitchen.
“Haechan?” you hesitated. For some reason, you felt like you had to use “sir” or “mister” when addressing him although you looked roughly the same age.
The young man bit his lower lip then finally let his gaze fall on the scarf and then your face. “We were acquaintances. Same University. We talked before, that’s it.”
Your voice was a whisper but Haechan’s demonic ears were very sensitive. “Then why am I your weakness?”
He got up and passed his hands on the dark jeans.
“Never said you were,” he tried to walk past you but you took a step to the side and blocked him. Your hands, holding the scarf, almost touched his arm and he winced, putting distance between you two.
“Sorry,” you realized.
The fact your touch was deadly to him was making you feel upset.
His story had many holes and you still had too many questions.
Maybe the reading was right. Maybe you did have a task, some research to do.
But was Haechan the lover holding the cup with you, or was he the enemy, the lion, in that story?
“Is this Mark person my lover then?”
Haechan’s eyes became black. He seemed irritated. “How would I know that?”
“Well, I clearly have no memories so you’re my only source of information.”
“Since you’re here to kill me and I can smell his magic all over you, then yes, I guess you two fuck. And maybe you’ve been fucking the whole time and I had no idea,” he replied in a low voice before heading down the stairs. “If you have any more questions don’t ask them.”
“Then what about you?” you raised your voice so he could hear you from downstairs. “Are you my lover?”
Haechan stopped and you watched his back.
“Whatever happened in that Universe doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” he answered then disappeared from your sight.
The place was quiet, safe for a low metallic noise coming from the kitchen. You walked towards the noise expecting someone cooking but instead you were met with Jeno’s dark eyes, shining only when the reflection of the knife he was sharpening would hit his irises. They shifted towards you to give you a single glance. He looked like a butcher.
“Are your wounds better?” you tried to be friendly with that grumpy man.
Jeno sighed. “Yes, thank you.”
You adjusted your posture. He was being an okay person?
You remained both quiet for a few moments, safe from the knife sound.
“If you need to say something, just say it,” he lifted one perfect eyebrow.
In the mess of it all, you’ve never realized how good looking everyone was.
Truly angels.
Or demons.
You inhaled and shifted the weight from one foot to the other.
“Has there been something between me and-” you hesitated, “Haechan?”
The man listened and remained quiet for a moment. He got a sense of deja-vu.
“Oh, we– don’t talk much.”
Jeno looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “Why is that?”
You shrugged. Then you shivered. Apparently, having nude shoulders wasn’t only offensive for the Headmistress but also inconvenient for the autumn cold.
“He stopped talking to me all of sudden.”
“Maybe it’s for the better.”
You looked at Jeno’s chiselled jaw. “Why do you say that?”
“Haechan,” he started, “is not a great man. You should avoid him.”
“Because he’s a Demon?” you mumbled.
“I don’t know,” Jeno simply said. “It’s not important.”
“It is important to me. I have no memories. If you want me to stay here, you need to trust me.”
“Thing is-” Jeno threw the knife across the room. Its blade hit the poster and hung on the other wall exactly in the middle. The man walked towards it and grabbed it, feeling it with his thumb as if not completely satisfied. “-we don’t,” he finished.
“It is not my fault I have a deadly touch.”
“Maybe you’re a spy,” he commented, lifting one leg and putting the foot on the table. His combat boots were huge and the knife slid perfectly inside.
“I am not a spy! I don’t have any memories.”
“If you want to prove yourself, be quiet, and stay away from Haechan. That’s it.”
You hated him.
You hated everyone.
Maybe that Mark dude was right. Maybe he was the hero and everyone here was the enemy.
Maybe you were conspiring against them.
Maybe Mark was your lover.
Maybe you were the spy.
Maybe maybe maybe.
Deep in thought, you didn’t notice Haechan behind your back checking whether Jeno was ready.
“We’re going in five,” his low but melodic voice announced, and you jumped in place.
He was dressed for some kind of hunt too, you noticed - or assassination.
Haechan wasn’t carrying any swords or knives but the shadows curling around his legs told you he didn’t need any physical weapon to kill someone.
“Where are you going?”
“To catch a little bird,” Haechan replied, his back muscles flexing as he warmed up his wrists. Jeno was jacked, but you’ve never noticed how to fit Haechan was as well.
“I’m coming with you,” you crossed your arms on your chest, faking confidence. If they were going to meet Mark, you needed to be there as well. Maybe seeing him would make you gain your memories back or make you understand something about that crazy situation.
If what they were saying was true, you weren’t of that universe, you didn’t have a home or a sweet grandma.
You had nothing to lose.
“No, you’re not.”
“I have magical powers,” you reminded them, the thing still surreal to you. You had no clear idea of how to use them.
Haechan chuckled.
“Mark would probably want to see me,” you tried again.
Haechan’s jaw clenched. His eyes were as sharp as Jeno’s knives when he looked at you, like two dark cuts in that perfectly spectral face.
“This could be a trap,” Jeno’s voice was grave.
“What kind of trap can this be if I don’t even know where you’re going?” you scoffed.
“She has a point,” Haechan shrugged.
You hated how they always talked about you as if you weren’t there.
“Listen, you’re a Demon,” you suddenly said to him. It sounded like an accusation although you didn’t mean it to be. “The Demon. Lucifer Demon.” you added.
“What’s your point? Don’t waste our time.”
“Are you really not capable of– I don’t know, entering my mind and seeing if I am actually conspiring with this Mark dude or not?”
“You’d have a mental block anyway. Mark came in contact with you and sent you here. That is for sure, even if you don’t remember it. The reason why you’d accept to do that-” he interrupted himself, “that’s what we don’t know. And that’s why we don’t trust you.”
“What if I was just trying to find you?” you tried.
Haechan’s eyes shone but he shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Why? If I understood everything correctly, you guys suddenly left my home Universe. Maybe I wanted to find you again.”
Haechan’s mind went back to the last words you told him.
“It’s all your fault. If you knew all of this from the start, you should have just let me go.”
“I don’t think you’d do that,” he simply said and turned around.
You felt powerless.
“Haechan, please. Let me come with you,” you whispered.
The Demon stopped in his tracks and exhaled as if annoyed. Then with a snap of his fingers, you got covered in firm black combat clothes. They were so heavy that you almost fell backwards.
“Just keep up with us if you don’t want to be left behind,” he mumbled, descending the stairs.
Jeno grunted and followed him.
“So, she is a weakness after all, deadly touch or not,” you could hear Jeno comment.
“Shut up.”
Holding Jeno’s hand to travel the space-time wasn’t as unpleasant as you initially thought. No falling and no head spinning. Just close your eyes and open them to a different place.
The unpleasant thing was his reaction though.
Jeno let go of your hand as soon as he could. You could almost see the way he had to force himself to not clean it on his pants.
You wondered if given other circumstances Haechan would have been the one holding it for you.
Your eyes darted to his fingers wrapped in something that reminded you of a sword but it was made of pure shadow instead. Then your pupils focused on the surroundings. It looked like an abandoned warehouse, nothing majestic and Archangel-like.
What if they couldn’t find Mark there?
“But you did find me,” a melodious voice whispered behind you. You screamed and turned around. Haechan tried to move between you two, but Mark was quicker.
One palm cupped your face and the other one slid on your waist. His lips felt warm and soft on yours, slightly ajar to make them fit almost perfectly together.
“Hello, my love. Thank you for bringing them to me,” he smiled.
You didn’t have time to process anything.
Mark - or whomever the person in front of you was - disappeared from your sight, harshly knocked down by Haechan’s thighs, tightly pressing on his throat.
“If you fucking dare to touch her again I will kill you.”
The view was impressionable, and you realized you were shaking.
On the surface they were just two young men, one on his back and Haechan knee on his throat, eyes hidden by the black straight hair you understood by now was his real appearance, and the tattoo on his neck finally fully visible - Donghyuck.
But it was their energy that you could feel, like two black holes about to meet and merge in the most explosive event in history.
“Unleashing your full powers on me, Haechannie? I haven’t seen you like that in so long.” Mark’s clear and calm voice echoed in the warehouse.
Jeno took a step, and you felt his hand lightly push you behind him.
He looked tense.
“And who do we have here? Commander Jeno Lee went to the dark side?”
Mark’s carbon eyes moved from Haechan to the other man. Jeno’s expression didn’t change but you saw the way his forearm’s veins looked more prominent.
Haechan groaned, pushing his knee further into Mark’s throat. “Enough talking. You sent her to kill me, yes or no?”
Mark didn’t look bothered although a choking sound came from his mouth, as if he was letting Haechan do that.
In fact, he grinned, with perfect white teeth, and appeared in a different spot of the warehouse, at a good distance.
Jeno’s arm snaked around you as if he was afraid Mark would take you with him and Haechan just slowly got up on his feet, as if he also let Mark do that.
“Y/N, darling, did I send you to kill Haechan?” Mark looked at you and you eyed his lips, moving slowly around the letters of your name, the same lips that kissed you just moments ago.
Haechan’s gaze was heavy, staring at every glance you and Mark exchanged as if he could read into that.
“I didn’t. You chose to come here and kill him yourself, right?” Mark answered for you.
And what you saw next made you gulp and want to lean on someone, but Jeno took a step away, as if he saw that fragment of memory too and didn’t want to be close to you anymore.
“A tarot shop?”
Mark nodded.
“And he’s there.”
He nodded again.
“How do I reach him?”
Mark extended one hand on the table. You looked at his fingers. The palm was facing up and he had one faint scar in the middle of it.
“Touch me,” he whispered.
“Enough,” Haechan’s voice was loud and deep.
You looked at him and his eyes were bloodshot with hidden rage.
“Unfortunately, I can’t get your memories back because you were the one erasing them but I can show you mine,” Mark spoke to you. “If you don’t remember me at least I hope you can sense what we,” he stopped as if a bit embarrassed, “shared together in the past, my love.”
You felt your throat close. Mark was standing there, chiselled face and perfect posture, his wide eyes looking angelic and the light shining from his essence as he extended his hand towards you calling to you.
Then you looked at Haechan, shadows slowly creeping around his feet and his eyes, sending shivers down your spine.
“You tricked us the whole time,” Jeno growled but Haechan stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Stop it. Don’t humiliate yourself.”
“You pretended all of that time. You make me sick,” Jeno didn’t stop.
His rage was burning so you took a step back. You had no idea what to think.
Mark appeared near you, but you didn’t know if you should feel any safer.
If what Mark was saying was true, he was your lover and for some reason you forgot, you decided to find Haechan and kill him, thus explaining your killing touch. A
nd from Jeno and Haechan’s reaction you must have become their friend while working in incognito and now they felt betrayed.
It all made sense. It all clicked together.
But for some reason you felt sick.
“Mark,” you whispered, slowly turning towards the Archangel. The tattoo of a pair of wings was shining on his arms in the same ink as the name on his neck.
“Yes?” he grabbed your hands with both of his and you let him do that, staring at the perfect nails for a moment.
“If you’re a good angel, why do you collaborate with hellhounds?” you simply asked, your fingers grabbing his palms tightly and making him wince in pain.
“Now!” you yelled.
Haechan appeared behind his back and grabbing his throat they disappeared together from your sight.
Your knees felt wobble and you sunk on them. Whatever magic trick you’ve done to Mark it took all energy from your body.
“Where are they?” you wondered. “You need to follow.”
Jeno took a few steps forward, eyes staring away as if ready to see them appear back anytime soon. “Haechan would kill me if I leave you alone and vulnerable. He can handle it alone.”
A cold sensation wrapped you. “They’re going to kill each other.”
“That’s the goal, yes.”
“Why? Why do they hate each other that much?”
“That’s a tale Haechan has to tell. I’m not sure of the reasoning myself,” he replied then turned to face you, eyeing you sitting down on the freezing and dusty warehouse floor. “Why did you help us?”
“I didn’t help you.”
“You didn’t go with Mark.”
“I don’t trust him. And no, I don’t trust you two either. I don’t trust anyone. I will not trust any of you. I helped myself.”
Jeno’s inquisitory gaze danced on you and his jaw flinched as if thinking whether that was another trick of yours or not.
“I got involved in something that has nothing to do with me,” you continued, a burning rage finally warming your body. “And that dude Mark is lying.”
“How do you know?”
You gulped, staring at your shaking hands, resting on your knees. “I don’t know. I can feel it.”
“You’re a Slytherin,” Haechan’s rough voice made you jump in place. “You people can sense lies.”
He appeared a few steps away from where he disappeared.
“Are you okay?” you couldn’t help but ask, swiftly getting on your feet.
Haechan walked the distance and grabbed Jeno’s hand. The latter’s eyes unfocused as if he was downloading information then he nodded and disappeared.
“Don’t ask me questions as if you care,” his breath was heavy, and he unclasped the hard outwear to reveal the white t-shirt he was wearing underneath.
He lifted it.
Silver shadows were tangled around his torso, on his skin, and he groaned as if they were painful.
You didn’t notice when Jaemin came around, his hands on your back making you yelp.
“Take her home. I can’t touch her,” was the last thing Haechan said before you saw the darkness.
When you opened your eyes you were on the couch of that same apartment, familiar voices discussing in the background.
For a moment you wondered if everything you’ve been through has been a dream and if those voices were your family you couldn’t exactly remember because of the hazy of the dream.
But when you opened your eyes, reality crashed back on you.
“...lost him after that. Sent a few of them to Hell,” Jeno was narrating, sitting tall on a chair with crossed arms on his chest.
Haechan was mirroring him, sitting backwards on another chair, a tired Jaemin working on something on the Demon’s back.
The silver strips.
“Thank you, man,” Haechan murmured and Jaemin winked at him.
“What were they?” you asked, sitting up and feeling your head heavy.
Jaemin grabbed the strips he presumably took from Haechan’s body and sighed. “Angelic snakes or some weird stuff like that.”
You grimaced as Jaemin went outside to probably get rid of them.
“Why that face? You’re a Slytherin. Snakes are your thing,” Jeno commented.
You understood by now that everything they said made no sense to you.
“Where is Mark?” you asked instead.
The two men exchanged a look. “He escaped,” Haechan was the one to reply.
You took in the information.
“I guess you’re delighted I didn’t kill your lover,” he added.
“He is not my lover,” you replied back, still unsure of the dynamics. Haechan’s gaze was grave, and you felt unable to look away. Jeno sensed you two would get into a serious talk and wisely decided to walk outside the room in silence. The air felt thick and heavy afterwards.
“Can you just-,” you started, “can you do what Mark did? Show me some of your memories?”
Haechan looked away and grabbed his t-shirt, wearing it quickly. “What memories?” he asked.
“Of us.”
“None of them are exciting,” he replied as if wanting to end the conversation there.
You stood on your feet and walked the distance towards the chair Jeno abandoned.
“You said we were acquaintances. Mere colleagues in University. Yet you reacted like my betrayal, or whatever the hell I supposedly did to you, could almost kill you.” Haechan scoffed. “I didn’t react that dramatically.”
You didn’t say anything else, your gaze connected with his in a silent order as you sat down in front of him.
The young man sighed and you didn’t see him anymore.
You saw yourself in a uniform, a loose green tie around your neck. You were in Haechan’s body, staring at his memories from his point of view. Haechan jolted at the sudden foot hitting his ankle.
“If you don’t stop being so fucking creepy to women I’ll make you stop with my own hands,” you said.
Then the scene changed. Haechan swiftly put one hand on your nape and the other on your mouth in a mortal clasp. "That’s not something the whole campus needs to know, now, what do you think?" His whisper was so close that you smelled the sweet chewing gum on his tongue.
Then another day, you were writing in his hand because he took away your voice. “Oh my God, stop or people are going to think you’re into me,” he giggled teasingly. You let his hand suddenly fall and looked around scandalized. You could see the way you were flustered.
Then another. You were leaning on a wall, with Haechan in front of you. “Are you nervous?” he asked genuinely, gaze dropping to your chest as if he could actually see your heart through your flesh. You inhaled scandalized and covered your breasts with your arms.
Then other scenes, going quickly.
A peck in a corridor, then a full-blown kiss.
The feeling of his lips.
His hands on you.
His deep voice.
“So are you into demons? That’s why you’re into me?”
His thumb circling your back.
You sitting in his lap. His body pressed against you. A room filled with water, both wet, making out, his mouth on your bare breasts, your moans, his fingers inside of you, you palm swiftly around his-
“Okay enough!” you got on your feet.
You were panting and you could feel your body on fire. You brought a hand to your throat as if it could help you swallow the sudden lump.
You walked away from him, taking a few steps, but then you stopped, unsure of what to do with yourself.
“It’s okay. Don’t panic,” Haechan’s low voice was surprisingly sweet.
You eyed him for a moment. He didn’t look bothered like you, safe for the shining eyes and the nervous fingers pulling at a single thread of his shirt.
“How do I know this is the truth?” your voice was a whisper.
When you asked him to show you his memories you somehow didn’t expect you two to have been that… intimate.
“You said you know when people lie. What do you think? You think I’m lying?”
Your rational side was screaming at you to say yes, to run away from Haechan and his shadows, but your gut was pushing you towards him instead.
You didn’t know whom to trust.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know if you’re lying either,” he replied. “I don’t trust you. And now you know why your betrayal,” he paused as if unsure of what words to use, “was so surprising.”
“I don’t trust myself either,” you sat on the couch, away from him. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m a spy or not. I don’t know if I originally decided to kill you or not. I don’t know if I’ve always lied to you even when we-” you interrupted yourself and gulped, the flashes of his mouth on you making you dizzy. “So you’re doing well. Don’t trust me. Because I don’t know anything.”
The silence felt heavy and you could see the same inner fight inside of Haechan as well.
“Why did you stay with us?” Haechan looked young and vulnerable in his chair.
He looked the most human you’ve ever seen him.
“Do I have a choice?”
“You could have gone with him.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“Do you know me?”
You bit your lip. “Somehow I think I do.”
Haechan’s eyes felt almost warm and the setting sun made his skin lit up like honey.
How could Demons look like that?
You had no idea how you were looking at him but he suddenly sat up and turned around, one hand in his fluffy - and now back to brown - curls. “Ah, you’re fucking with my brain,” he mumbled.
You closed your eyes and sighed. “I am not.”
Haechan chuckled dryly. “For being a hag of a dark entity you’d think I would be more capable of not being manipulated. The human world always messes up with me,” he added the last phrase quietly, almost to himself only.
“I am not manipulating you. Since I’ve met you, in this world,” you precised, “I’ve done nothing but be truthful with you. I have no memories so of course I have no idea of my previous intentions and I don’t know if I am here now to look for you because I love you and you abandoned me or to kill you. Maybe both.”
Haechan’s eyes lit up at your words and he looked at you over his shoulder first.
Then he walked the distance so quickly that you inhaled and took small steps behind until hitting the couch with your calves.
“I will be delusional for a moment and believe Mark looked for you after I,” he gulped, “left, and you were angry at me enough to start working with him and come and kill me.” His voice was an intimidating whisper and you couldn’t help but feel the tension in all of your muscles. He has never been this close.
You could feel his warm breath on your face and the scent of his cologne. Your thigh muscles started to shake and you didn’t know if it was because of the effort of staying away from him, fear, anger, or-
“Would that make sense?” he continued. If he noticed your reaction his face didn’t communicate it.
“Why not?”
“Would your love turn into hate this quickly? Or maybe there wasn’t any love there in the first place and all of this time you’ve just been fucking that son of a bitch while playing me. Which one makes more sense?”
“You want me to hate you so badly,” you lifted your chin. Your thigh muscle stopped shaking and you leaned in.
Haechan flinched but he didn’t move away.
“You want me to look you in the eyes and scream that I hate you and I want you dead because it would make things for you easier, right? Why aren’t you honest with yourself?”
Haechan inhaled then scoffed. “You want honesty? What do you want me to say? That I’m happy to see you? That I hoped you actually came to find me? That it kills me to not be able to touch you because I might go to hell while that jerk can kiss you? That I might go insane anytime soon and actually touch you even if that means I’d go to the damned hell and take this whole shitty world with me? Fuck,” he turned around and you could only stare at his back getting farther away as he walked towards his chair, his shoulder blades moving up and down following his heavy breath.
You put a hand to your chest, feeling your own breath just as quickly.
“You already know about my touch. What else would have I prepared for your downfall? Nothing. I have nothing on you. You can trust me now.”
“You destabilize me. I am on a mission. I have a task and you’re here and all I think about is you. This is what you have on me.”
“This is also why you left, right? Your grand mission. Much more important than anything else. Much more important than me.”
Haechan didn’t say anything.
“Okay, I’ll leave you alone.”
“You can’t go anywhere,” he turned around.
“I’m not welcome here.”
“He’ll get to you.”
“Let him come.”
“Y/N.”
“Haechan.”
His name took you both by surprise.
“What do you want me to do then? Lock myself in a room forever so I don’t bother you and your task? I can’t be here, I can’t go away. What do you want me to do?”
“Just stay here. I’m not a piss boy. I can handle your presence,” he finally murmured. “And you can come in now,” he said louder.
Jeno and Jaemin awkwardly entered the living room.
“Thank God, I was starving and the fridge is on the other side of this fucking house.”
You didn’t sleep much at night.
The conversation you had with Haechan kept replying in your head.
His words, his feelings, his eyes, the scenes he played out for you.
You felt exhausted.
So much happened in the past couple of days that you felt like a brand new person.
You learned a lot but you didn’t gain any memories. They were tales told to you but you couldn’t find them in your brain or heart.
Was Haechan truly the one he said he was? Was Mark setting you up? Why did he pretend he was your lover then? Why did he kiss you? So many questions and infinite possibilities.
What if Haechan was right? What if you’ve always been on Mark’s side and you tricked him? But what if you actually fell in love? Or what if you were just looking for him? What if Mark was tricking you all?
You huffed and rolled on one side. Why didn’t Haechan bring you with him? Why did he leave you? You exhaled. You rolled on the other side.
“Stop huffing and moving. I can’t fall asleep.”
You opened your eyes in shock.
“What?” you thought.
“I said-”
You sat up. “Why are you in my brain?”
Haechan’s roll of eyes could be almost heard through the walls. “We’ve done this before. It’s called talking telepathically.”
“How is this possible?”
“I’m a Demon.”
“And me?”
“I don’t know. Technically you shouldn’t be able to reply back. Mark must have given you some sick powers while you two were fucking.”
You let yourself fall down on the pillows and crossed your arms on your chest.
“Again with this story. We’re not fucking.”
“You wouldn’t know that.”
“I’m not a cheater,” you were growing irritated.
“We have never dated. I wouldn’t blame you for it.”
“The thought pisses me off.”
Haechan didn’t reply but you could sense he was amused and pleased. You didn’t like that he infiltrated your head but a heaviness in your chest disappeared after seeing him in a good mood.
“How did you get into my head?” you asked again.
“You don’t have any blocks. Thought you did.”
“Does it mean you can look and see if I am lying or not?”
“I’d need to touch you for that.”
Right.
“Can Jeno do it?”
“No.”
“I thought he was also a Demon with your same powers.”
“He’s capable of doing it. But I will not allow it.”
“Why not?”
Haechan hesitated. “It’s very invasive.”
“Is it dangerous for me?”
“I’m not letting Jeno Lee see the depths of you.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Alright,” you thought. “I will try to fall asleep so your demonic ass and your superhuman hearing can also rest.”
You expected Haechan to chuckle or at least reply with a grunt but whatever mind connection there was it disappeared.
You sighed and turned around again, fluffing the pillow with one hand. But the moment you closed your eyes you heard his voice in your head, low and warm but clear.
“I am sorry for abandoning you.”
You opened your eyes.
Haechan continued. “I thought I was making the right choice. You said you didn’t want to do anything with me anymore. I thought we were over.”
You didn’t know what to reply to.
“If I don’t complete this fucking important mission as you call it, I will vanish.”
“Why can’t both things coexist?” you asked.
“You’re human,” he simply said. “I thought you’d live a good life without me. I erased your memories. I don’t understand-” he interrupted himself and you didn’t know why. You felt a sudden lump in your throat and you didn’t know if it were you or you were just sensing his emotions. “-I don’t understand how you got here. This is why I don’t believe you came to look for me. Because you couldn’t have remembered me in the first place.”
You felt tears prickle your eyes.
“This is the moment to tell me the truth, please, Y/N. Maybe you enjoy torturing me but it’s too late to keep playing. Just tell me the truth.”
“I swear-” you started, “I have no idea. I wish I could tell you.”
No thought came from Haechan for a moment then he said a single “Alright.”
“Haechan?”
“Yes.”
“In the warehouse,” you started. “Right before Mark appeared, I had a thought.”
Haechan waited.
“I thought what if we can’t find him there. And the first thing he said-”
“But you found me,” Haechan completed the thought for you. “I don’t know if he can read your mind or whatever Archangels ended up being able to master all of this time I’ve been away. But it could also mean you might have a connection with him.”
“What kind of connection?”
“The spell you have on yourself. Your deadly touch. He obviously put that on you. I don’t know if by force or if you accepted it willingly. But it might explain things.”
“Do you think he can- listen now?”
“Maybe.”
“Doesn’t that scare you?”
“He can listen either way. And if you keep thinking about me maybe it will piss him off.”
You lifted one eyebrow, the flirty reply to your serious concern making you scoff.
Haechan didn’t say anything else but you could still sense his presence. It was weirdly comforting and it lulled you to sleep.
In the morning you discovered Jeno and Jaemin were on their missions to bring the famous Doyoung and Selene together. You didn’t even know them, but they were kind of pissing you off. The fact they needed a Demon to bring them together instead of actually working on it themselves was also ridiculous.
Haechan was downstairs, sitting down at his Tarot desk and staring into a glass globe.
“Are you actually spying on them? Like a stalker?”
The young man chuckled as you walked behind his back.
“That can’t be legal,” you added and sat down on the other chair in front of him.
Haechan lifted his eyes under his soft fringe and a mischievous twinkle sparkled in them.
“I am an evil Demon,” he reminded you.
You took a sip out of your coffee and sighed. “Well, I guess this is the least evil thing you’ve done off of your list of crimes.”
Haechan passed one hand on the ball and the images disappeared.
“Does that thing really work or is it your demonic power?”
“Just my demonic power,” he smiled.
“The tarots too?”
Haechan looked at the pile of cards with fondness. “Yeah. They’re just paper.”
“So did you choose the cards on purpose for me to pick?” you felt amused but betrayed.
“Actually,” he was still staring at the cards, “I didn’t.”
You looked at them too. “May I?” you asked and Haechan gave you a single nod.
The cards were luscious in your hands and felt expensive. You stared at the images on them.
“You said I had a task.”
Haechan’s eyes were on your fingers, unsuccessfully trying to shuffle them.
“I could feel that. Everything I said during the reading is true. You have a task and I wanted to see what it was about in your head, but-”
Your mind went back to his scream and the way he plopped on the floor as he touched your hand.
“Do you still think I am here to kill you and that I work with Mark?”
Haechan shrugged. “At this point I don’t know if I care.”
That stung your heart.
“What happens when you’re done with this Universe?”
“I move to another. And another. And another.”
You took a card from the pile and turned it towards you. Two of cups.
Haechan’s eyes fell on it too.
“And what about me? Are you going to take me with you so you’re not living in fear of me randomly attacking you or will you bring me back to my old Universe and erase my memories the way you did it once?”
The card had two people on it, both with a cup in their hands. Above them was a lion with angel wings. Below it was a caduceus - the medical symbol with two snakes.
“I still don’t know,” was Haechan’s answer.
“What does this card mean?” you lifted your gaze to realize Haechan was already looking at you, chin resting on his fingers. The sun was shining brightly, the last rays of the sun for that year, and his eyes looked like fudge. If you didn’t know better you’d think he was about to lean in and kiss you.
“Union,” he started. “Attraction. Love.”
You gulped and broke eye contact to stare at the card again.
“Longing for someone,” he continued. “Healing broken ties. Being drawn to someone.”
You felt difficulty breathing.
“Discovering a feeling is mutual,” he finished in a whisper.
You dared to look up again and regretted it. The sensation of him caressing you with his mind crept into your body.
“Don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he replied.
“You’re doing something right now. My body feels-” you interrupted yourself feeling very ashamed.
Haechan smiled. “That’s called being turned on.”
“Well, stop turning me on with your demonic powers then.”
“That’s just human,” he explained.
You wanted to get up and run away but your knees felt weak. But if you stayed there you were afraid you would end up touching him. His hand was on the desk, mere centimetres away from you.
“I am dangerous for you. Please go away,” you almost mewled.
“Mark really has a hidden sense of humour,” Haechan exhaled, stretching his arms back and sliding his chair away from the table. It looked as if it took him a huge amount of effort to do that.
“He doesn’t want me dead. He wants to torture me,” he added, eyes staring at the ceiling.
“Can I ask what he is for you?” You felt better to have Haechan at a healthy distance and the air started to flow normally in your lungs.
“I don’t even know,” the Demon murmured. “We used to be friends. Then he betrayed me. In his perspective, I betrayed him, so I am not sure of the current dynamics.”
You remained quiet.
Haechan’s adam’s apple moved up and down in his throat and you realized you were staring at his silky skin when his gaze connected with yours instead.
“I don’t think I could ever have any desire to kill you,” you found yourself murmuring.
The young man’s lips stretched in a little smile. His dark and lazy expression felt like burning your face and at that point you had no idea if it was his demon powers or just human emotion as he said.
“I am glad,” he replied.
“I really wish you could trust me. I can help you.”
Haechan got up, the tarot cards still spread in front of him. He dragged his fingers on top of them when a card flipped out. It was the Knight of Swords.
“How?” he asked although his furrowed eyebrows gave him the air of already knowing the answer.
You got up as well. “I can spy for you.”
He shook his head before you could finish.
“Haechan-”
“No. I can’t bear the thought of you with him.”
You closed your mouth. His silver tattoo was slowly appearing on his neck and the way his hair darkened all of a sudden gave you the impression that he was losing control.
You really wished you could touch him.
“Aren’t you curious as to why I am here? How I got here? In another universe? Why I am still me and not my counterpart?”
“Yes, but you will not do anything about it. I’ll take care of it.”
“Haechan,” you took a few steps towards him. The man turned around.
“Stop saying my name like that,” he sounded pained.
His back was right in front of you, wide in his black t-shirt. You didn’t notice the tattoo he had on it, peeking a bit from under his collar to his nape. You wondered how the design looked like and why he concealed it before - what that meant for him.
“I can almost feel your gaze on me,” he whispered.
“What happened when I touched you? Was it painful? Was it really hell?”
Haechan didn’t reply for a few moments, and you bit your lower lips. Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked.
“You don’t have to know,” he turned around slowly. His scent engulfed you in the movement and you felt your throat close.
Maybe you looked at each other for too long. Or maybe you were imperceptibly getting too close, but he inhaled.
“We can’t,” he added with the same tone. You didn’t know what expression you had on to make him say that, but you knew what he was talking about.
“I know,” you whispered. “I know,” you repeated, rubbing your knuckles on one temple. But you couldn’t move away. “Fuck.”
You turned back your seat and exhaled.
Haechan was motionless in the same spot.
“What does the Knight of Swords mean?” you asked, eyeing the flipped card. You desperately needed to think about something else.
The young man turned around the chair and sat on it with his chin resting on his folded arms.
“Action,” he simply replied.
You smiled. “That’s it?”
Haechan’s expression relaxed. He hummed. “Do I look like an actual Tarot Reader to you?”
You chuckled. “To be honest, not at all. When I first arrived here I was expecting some old lady or something.”
Before you could add something else an older lady was sitting in Haechan’s place and you suppressed a little scream.
“Oh my God. Can you actually do that?” you put one hand to your mouth.
The lady chuckled slowly. “Cool, huh?”
“Okay okay, go back, please. This is creeping me out.”
Haechan’s features appeared back on the woman’s face, and he was there again. You looked at each other for a longer moment and you forced yourself too look away.
“Is there any fun reading I can get? I’m sick of future and predictions.”
Haechan hummed. “There is one.”
You stared at his ring then at his wristwatch, not wanting to risk looking him in the eyes again.
“What is it?”
“Would you be interested in knowing your sexual energy?”
You rolled your eyes with a scoff. “You’re going to make it all up on the spot, aren’t you?”
Haechan’s little smirk was daring. “Try it out and don’t blame me if it’s too accurate.”
You exhaled and stared down at the spread.
You grabbed a random card and turned it around.
“Chariot is self-restraint. Quiet alone time. Might indicate edging or masturbation.”
You gulped. “You can’t possibly know all that from a card, can you?”
Haechan chuckled and shrugged.
“Do you want another card?”
You inhaled and bit your lower lip. You wanted to prove him wrong. With a decisive movement you flipped another card and watched the way Haechan stared at it. It was the Devil. You lifted your chin.
“Now don’t tell me I’m into chains and stuff because it’s drawn on it.”
Haechan’s eyes shone under his eyelashes. “No. This is Temptation. You want something very badly although you know it’s bad for you. It’s about wants, desires, lust, carnality, senses, pleasure and all things erotic-”
“Alright!” you stopped him.
Haechan licked his lower lip as if enjoying himself way too much. “The object of desire can be some kind of forbidden love, or-” he stopped.
You waited.
“It’s the Devil card. Maybe you really desire, I don’t know, some kind of Demon,” he concluded and you huffed when you realized where he was going with that. You grabbed the card and threw it at him. He caught it with his perfect teeth and laughed.
“You’re playing with me right now.”
“I am being truthful. Pick another card.”
You inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm your nerves. The last card was the Queen of Wands. It looked innocuous and you wondered what story Haechan will make about it.
“Mmm,” he hummed pleased. He grabbed it and turned it towards you, keeping it in front of his face. “Making me blush,” he murmured.
You furrowed your eyebrows. “What does it mean?”
“This is someone who is shy.”
“I am not shy,” you tried to argue although your knees were starting to shake.
“Then,” he thought about it for a moment, “modest. Takes a while to relax.”
You gulped. His eyes looked feline and his voice sounded lower and smoother.
“The virginity card,” he continued.
You opened your mouth to speak but you stopped. Haechan waited.
“I have-,” you started then stopped again. “I don’t know if-”
Your eyes searched for his as if he could have any information. Haechan’s cheeks bloomed with a very faint shade of red that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t that close to him.
“Last time I personally checked you were still a virgin, if that’s what you wanted to know,” he gave you the answer. “It doesn’t matter though. This card talks about wanting something pure, not necessarily the literal meaning. The sensation of doing it for the first time. Being taken care of,” he added.
“Have we never-” you tried to speak again but couldn’t finish.
“Virginity is a construct, it doesn’t exist.”
You closed your eyes for a moment. “I know I know. Just- I just want to know what-”
“We never had penetrative sex, no,” he concluded.
You wanted to hide at the choice of words. He chuckled.
“Next card?” he offered.
“I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” you rubbed your cheeks with the back of your hand to cool them down. But the little smile on his face and the intimate moment made you enjoy his company and you didn’t want it to end. So you flipped yet another one.
Nine of wands.
Your gazes met again after staring at the piece of paper.
His lips looked plump when they moved to speak. The sun setting made the room dark and the few candles just accentuated Haechan’s jaw and the shadows on his chiselled face.
“It means - keep going,” he murmured, “don’t stop, again, I can’t take this anymore, please.”
The air felt heavy and you desperately wanted to walk away and get a breath of fresh air, but for some reason your brain was telling you the only way to breathe properly was by kissing Haechan’s lips.
The sound that escaped his mouth was almost a plea, as you got up and placed both of your palms on the desk right in front of him. He lifted his face to see you. His eyes were begging and you didn’t know what for.
“Tell me to stop,” you whispered. “Tell me to stop and I will,” you leaned down and Haechan’s soft fringe moved gently under your shaky breath.
He gulped and the view of his desperate expression made you almost whine. “I don’t think I can take this anymore, please just-”
You couldn’t finish the phrase. Haechan’s lips on yours felt better than you could have ever imagined and his hands grabbing at each side of your face, pulling you towards him made you melt in his touch. For a moment or many, you couldn’t think. You weren’t brain anymore or conscience. You were just lips and skin, just lungs to breathe in his scent.
But then he wasn’t there anymore. The abrupt separation made you exhale and you opened your eyes.
But Haechan didn’t disappear. He was in front of you, eyes wide open and shining, surprised as you.
You were probably mirroring his expression. “Are you okay?” you tried to speak.
You lifted one hand to place it on his face as if not believing he was there, and he closed his eyes, letting his head rest better in it. “I am okay,” he whispered. Then he placed his own hand on top of yours, sliding his face to kiss your palm. Then he kissed it again. And again. Then he pulled you closer, getting up so fast you didn’t make sense of how he made you sit on the desk getting so close that the only thing you could do was wrap your arms around his neck and let him guide the kiss the way he wished. It was only when he started to adventure on your jaw instead, going around it to reach the soft spot under your ear that you managed to breathe out.
“What about-” your fingers dug into his shirt, gathering the material underneath them, “the curse? The touch?”
Haechan ignored you, peppering wet kisses all over your throat, making your breath quiver and your legs tighten around his hips.
Your hands moved from his hard shoulders to his hair, finally sliding your fingers into the thickness of it, feeling how soft it was. Every touch on your skin felt like burning and you didn’t know if it was good or bad but it felt so nice you didn’t want him to stop.
“Haechan,” you moaned when he slid his thumbs on top of your bust, pulling down your shirt for a moment and the bra with it. His hands went to your spine, supporting you and pushing his face against your breasts, making you throw your head back. The view made him grunt and he came back to the base of your throat, sucking on the tender skin until it stung, and wetting the spots with his tongue. That tongue then slid into your mouth again, both whining into each other’s mouths, too hungry for touch to let yourselves breathe properly.
“You look like you’re in pain. Are you sure you’re okay?” you managed to talk again as he rested his forehead on yours for a moment.
“I am in pain because I feel like I’m going to cum in my fucking pants any moment now,” his eyes twinkled and your thighs twitched under his fingertips, gently going up and down on top of your jeans. “I don’t know why I am still here and not getting tortured somewhere underground right now but I want to make the most of it if perhaps I need to go soon.”
The implication of that made your skin shiver. You didn’t know if you wanted to know what the most of it meant.
“Are you scared?” he murmured against your ear. “You can tell me to stop and I will,” he repeated the same thing you told him. But just like him, you remained quiet.
“Please take care of me,” you only whispered and Haechan’s eyes never got that dark, not even when he saw Mark.
He could have snapped his fingers and gotten rid of your clothes, but instead he took his time, slowly sliding his fingers underneath your soft sweater, feeling the warm skin of your stomach, fondling your body until getting it off completely, all while his tongue never stopped swirling with yours.
The circles he drew on your back going to unclasp your bra could have been some ancient language that only expressed love because you couldn’t have imagined that kind of touch to mean anything else.
And when the fabric of the clothes touched the ground and you were naked in his arms he finally let your lips go, breathing heavily against them, and slid his t-shirt off by the collar, piling the indument on top of yours. His chest against you made you whine and grab at his toned body.
He was hot at the touch and his scent made you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck to get more, while his quick but delicate hands reached the button of your jeans.
“Lift your hips for me, baby,” he murmured against the crown of your head and you did as he asked, supporting yourself on his shoulders.
He pulled at your bottoms, sliding them down your thighs, his gaze never leaving yours for a moment.
Your chest brushed against his nose and he reached down, peppering kisses all over your cleavage. You mewled when he let go to get rid of your jeans and you inhaled deeply, holding tight on the edge of the desk when he dropped on his knees to free your ankles off the fabric and started to gently kiss them. He came up your legs, accompanying his soft trails with his hands, feeling your body until reaching the softness of your thighs.
You imperceptibly tightened them and his eyes darted towards you. It was a silent command and you felt like covering your face with your hands as you opened wider for him.
“Good girl,” his breath was hot and the sound of his voice vibrated along your skin getting you goosebumps. Your body was flinching at every touch and the closer he got the faster your chest rose and fell, until you couldn’t take it anymore and just moaned his name, pushing your hips against his face. You heard him chuckle and he didn’t waste any time. The feeling of his tongue on your clothed clit made you gasp and you pushed his hair off his forehead.
“Can I mess up your hair?” you murmured.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” he replied, his husky voice travelling down your core and making your spine curve.
You got it now. Everything Haechan showed you from his memories was true. The heaviness of his feelings, the desire, the fear, the passion, it was all real.
You couldn’t imagine not being his lover. While you were there, spread for him and at his mercy, you couldn’t imagine not being on his side, not falling in love with him.
The little tug at your panties made you focus your thoughts back on him.
“Are you perhaps getting bored, gorgeous?” he clicked his tongue.
You felt like laughing and shaking your head.
“I’m just thinking-” you started but the way your panties were slowly descending down your thighs and knees while Haechan wasn’t touching them made you interrupt yourself.
“Yeah?” he kissed the inner thigh and you shivered, the thought of him seeing every centimetre of you from his position making you unable to focus anymore.
“I was thinking that I am sure of it,” you repeated.
Haechan’s soft and plump lips made their way further between your legs and you closed your eyes for a moment all breathy.
“Sure of what, darling?”
“That you’re my lover and I am definitely not here to kill you,” you explained with a certain difficulty.
Haechan stopped right above your sweet spot and you had to bite your lower lip, the anticipation making you lose your mind.
“A little kiss made you sure of it?” his eyes were dark but amused.
He looked breathtaking.
“You know it’s not just because of a little kiss.”
Haechan’s breath was hot and tingly on your sensitivity. “I know,” he replied and didn’t give you any time to adjust as he gave you a slow and deep lick on your clit making you gasp loudly.
He hummed pleased at the reaction and he repeated it, again and again until he was satisfied with the sounds you were making. Then he went lower, dipping his tongue inside of you, making you grab at his hair.
“Oh my God,” you whimpered and you heard the buzz of his laugh at your word choice.
Your thighs got closer as he increased the speed and you noticed the red tint of his ears pressed against your skin.
It made your chest bloom with affection and it just increased the shivers on your spine as he kitty licked and sucked on you, the hums against you sounding more and more hungry.
His hands felt wide on your ass as he pulled you even closer to his mouth and you had to support yourself on his shoulders.
“Please,” you started to chant at the way he flicked his tongue.
His jaw flinched and the moment he directed his gaze on you, two deep cuts under his messy hair, your whole body trembled in his arms.
He lifted his hands and you intertwined your fingers with his as with a last suck you came against his tongue. His name was on your lips like a mantra, laced with swears that to Haechan’s ears sounded like the most divine compliments. His warm mouth was still on you when your breath started to slow down and the little licks he’d give your pulsating pussy made your whole body jolt in spasms.
“Enough, please,” you mewled at the overstimulation and Haechan listened, peppering kisses on your stomach instead, going up to gently bite the underside of your breasts, sucking on the spot, before giving your hard nipples a cheeky lick.
You hummed, brain still mush from the high, but body already reacting to Haechan’s touch. He didn’t stop this time, letting you feel his wet and hot tongue, sucking on one bud then another, diligently.
Your legs wrapped around his waist and you let him slowly push you on the desk until your back was resting on top of the Tarot spread. With the corner of your eyes you saw the Devil card and you wondered if it was alright for you to get fucked on it.
As if reading your mind Haechan murmured against your neck. “As much as I’d love to take you on this same desk you need to be loved properly on my bed instead.”
His voice was so husky and deep that you felt yourself getting wet again and the way the stubble on his chin felt rubbing against your throat just stirred you even more.
“I am not against you taking me on this desk,” you slid your palms on his face and brought it to yours, kissing him slowly.
“That’s going to be for the next time, when I can bend you over it,” he replied against your lips and before you could realize it, your back hit a mattress instead and Haechan’s weight on top of you felt overwhelmingly good. His scent was all around you, his pillows, his room, the sheets you had to grab onto as you felt his delicate fingers dipping inside of you.
The wet sound felt even dirtier in the dim lights of his bedroom, the deep silence interrupted only by the slow pumping and his mouth on your chest.
His name came back on your lips and you found yourself spread even more for him to reach deeper inside of you. Like a switch, he found your sweetest spot and your body seized up, curling your toes in the air.
“There it is. I didn’t forget it,” his amused whisper lingered on your lips, mixed with his moaned name. He curled his fingers so deliciously, hitting the same spot repeatedly as fast as your quick breath.
“I am going to cum, I am going to-” your quickening voice announces and Haechan hummed deeply.
“Yeah? Cum for me again, baby, let go.”
“Fuck,” you dug your nails into his body and the last thing you saw was his veiny forearm stilling between your legs as you pushed your head into the pillows.
“Good good girl,” Haechan’s voice brought you back from the radio silence your brain threw you in. “You need to relax a bit so I can get my hand back,” he added with a light chuckle and you realized his fingers were still buried deep inside of you as you clenched around them.
You tried to catch your breath and focus your gaze on him. Not once in your life you’ve felt that inebriated.
And when you felt his wet fingers on your lips you just opened your mouth and sucked on them slowly with a hum, letting your tongue on the underside of them.
Haechan inhaled. “I know you’re so fucking dirty. I just want to discover it little by little,” he leaned against your ear, sliding his fingers off your mouth. You let them go with a plop and gulped as he dragged that wet hand on his lower stomach, putting a little show for you as he reached his cock and lazily stroked it. He groaned softly and the small fuck that escaped your mouth at the view made him lean back down, resting his wide hand near your pillow and making you watch the way he aligned himself to your needy pussy and softly pushed inside.
You pressed your face against his forearm at the sensation, grabbing at his bicep and he exhaled.
“God,” he murmured, “you’re perfect.”
You whined again, feeling stretched and full and he searched for your eyes after stopping moving. “Are you okay?”
He rubbed your face with one hand and kissed your cheek, then your temple. You let out a faint yes and wrapped his neck with your arms, pulling him into a deep kiss. You felt him growing inside of you a bit more and the thought of feeling him all made you clench.
“You can move,” you whispered against his lips and he gave you another small kiss before gently pushing his hips forward. The first thrust was smooth and it made you open your mouth to breathe better, the second made you curl your toes and the third, deeper, made you roll your eyes back.
“Demon or not you’re going to make me nut so fucking quickly,” Haechan’s voice was breathy.
“You can cum wherever you want to,” you entangled your fingers in his hair. The man rubbed his face in the crook of your neck.
“You can’t say stuff like that to me or I’ll break you,” he replied and as a demonstration his hips snapped and you gasped at the way he managed to bottom out.
“Does it hurt?” he murmured and you shook your head unable to speak. “Does it feel good?” he tried with a little smirk and you nodded, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips.
“Fuck, baby,” Haechan thrust once, then twice, until the wet sound got drowned by the skin-slapping sound of his hips against your ass.
Haechan’s bed started to creak and he pushed one hand on the headboard above your head, giving you a better view of his body moving inside of you.
“Shit shit shit,” you grabbed at the sheets, pulling and twirling. Haechan grabbed them and held them on each side of your head, intertwining his fingers with you to let you squeeze as hard as you wanted to. His mouth was so close to yours but you were both unable to kiss. You’ve never thought of how hot a whining man could sound and the thought of you being responsible for those sounds made your head even dizzier.
“I want you to cum inside of me, please,” you begged and Haechan moaned harshly against your neck.
“Ah shit I can’t-” he choked on his breath and rose to his knees, pulling out frantically and releasing on your stomach.
The view knocked the breath out of your lungs. His messy hair partially hiding his lustful eyes, his chest, his veiny hand still stroking his cock, his plump abused lips still letting small groans escape.
His cum was hot on your skin and you desperately wanted it inside of you.
“Give me a second if you don’t want my child,” he exhaled, a lingering amusement on his now relaxed expression.
“What are you trying to do?” you asked, the thought stirring something in you.
“Contraception,” he lifted one eyebrow.
“And if I want the child?” you smiled.
“Don’t mess with me,” he leaned down, giving you a quick peck. Whatever demonic magic he did was done already because he didn’t miss any more time. His cock felt heavy on your lower stomach, and when he started to rub it between your folds, his tip pushing against your clit, your arms flew back around his neck. The slick made him slide back in so easily that you could just gasp.
“Hmm, yeah, you’re taking me so well.”
The praise went to your fucked up head and you could just throw your head back and moan his name again.
The pace was so fast and his thrust so deep that you could feel him inside your gut. Haechan messily kissed your lips and face, murmuring low shhs and nothingness in your ears, laced with curses with his husky needy voice.
His body was hot, caging you underneath him and you felt so full and so safe, you felt loved and desired.
The emotion that bloomed in your chest imitated the feeling nesting in your stomach, about to burst.
You wanted to tell him many things but you couldn’t find any good words, so you just pulled him tightly and brushed your lips together, chanting his name.
“Cum for me again, baby,” he grunted and you spasmed in his arms as he pushed you into the mattress again and again until your shaky moans and eyes rolled back in your head making him still inside of you, feeling you rhythmically pulsating around him.
The sounds he made as he released inside of you were the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard in your life.
You jolted in your sleep, feeling around you and finding the bed empty but warm.
“I’m still here,” Haechan murmured, his shadow getting closer. The bed dipped as he laid down and you inhaled his scent as he slid under the covers to pull you to his chest.
“I thought-” you started but then stopped, the image of Haechan screaming on the ground after your touch still haunting you.
“I didn’t go anywhere. I am fine,” he added. His arms felt strong around your shoulders and his gentle hands slowly rubbing your head and back were lulling you back to sleep.
“Jeno said it’s possible that the curse lifted after we touched the first time. Single usage.”
You lifted your head, resting your chin on his chest. You couldn’t clearly see his features but his eyes were shining in the dark.
“You’re saying that we could have touched all of this time and we just didn’t?”
Haechan’s soft chuckle warmed your face. “Mark humour I guess.”
You rested your head back on him, listening to his calming heartbeat.
“Are the guys back?”
Haechan hummed. “It’s Christmas. Selene will arrive soon. I expect Doyoung to come by in the night of the New Year.”
You nuzzled your head further into him and Haechan turned to the side, resting his face on top of your head. The little peck he left warmed you all up.
“I want to come with you wherever you go,” you whispered.
Haechan didn’t comment.
“Promise me,” you tried to lift your head to see his eyes again but a sudden light invaded your irises.
You wanted to scream and ask what was going on, but Haechan was on his feet already with you behind his back. You put your hands on his back to balance yourself.
“Oh fuck,” he exhaled and turned around. “Hold onto me tight! Never let go!” was the last thing you heard him say as the floor opened and swallowed you both.
#haechan#haechan smut#haechan angst#haechan fantasy#nct#nct smut#nct dream#nct dream sm#nct fanfiction#nct dream fanfiction#haechan fanfiction#I will not vanish#soulmates series#doyoung#mark#jeno#jaemin
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hi <3 soooo I was wondering if you have fic recs with historical setting? Like in canon through the ages or human historical fics?
yes of course 💜 here are some i enjoyed:
A half-penny will do by penny_archer (G, 2k) It’s Christmas in Victorian England and Crowley is trying not-very-hard to hide the fact that he’s been giving pickpocketing lessons to the disenfranchised youth of London. Oh, and he has a cute gift for Aziraphale that’s totally not a big deal.
Fighting Dirty by curtaincall (M, 9k) Aziraphale knows exactly what’s happening: Hell has sent up a devilishly attractive demon to tempt him into sinning against God. So he’ll act like he’s falling for it, pretend he doesn’t know just what Crowley’s doing. And he certainly won’t give in. Crowley knows exactly what’s happening: Heaven has sent down a divinely beautiful angel to dazzle him into revealing Hell’s plans. So he’ll act like he’s falling for it, pretend he doesn’t know just what Aziraphale’s doing. And he certainly won’t give in. (Or: an angel and a demon spend 6000 years each convinced the other one is a honey trap)
from autumn blooms spring summer fruit by blackeyedblonde (E, 9k) In the potter’s shed, Crowley picked up a trowel and threatened a yearling lemon tree still residing within its earthenware pot before he would allow himself to sit at the gardening table and pull the folded newspaper Aziraphale had given him from his smock. Enclosed on the inside were two gifts. One was the small velvet pouch that contained a pair of golden earrings strung with twin baroque pearls that did not squeak when he curiously rubbed one against his canine tooth. The other was the familiar sight of neat copperplate writing at the bottom of page seven of the paper, done in lead pencil so the words could be more easily smudged out with a bit of rubber. A gift, Lord Fell had written. I will come find you an hour after the molting brown bird has gone to bed.
An Arrangement of Convenience by Blue_Sparkle (E, 13k) Aziraphale works to purchase a bookshop space, but currently being a woman-shaped creature has its drawbacks when faced with rude property owners. The most obvious solution is to get Crowley to act as his husband and deal with all that nonsense, of course.
The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops by emmagrant01 (E, 17k) Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.
Time Flies (When You're Having Fun) by Mussimm (E, 23k) Versailles, 1769 - Aziraphale has a blessing to perform at a masquerade ball and it's important that he gets this one right. So important, in fact, that he can't seem to leave until he does. But with a fancy dress, an attentive demon and an endless supply of champagne, it's a little challenging to stay on mission.
An Ineffable Midsummer Night's Dream by Sabotaged_Words (T, 25k) London, 1605. Aziraphale urgently needs Crowley's help. The premiere of William Shakespeare's latest work is in danger! The only way to save the play is for Crowley to take on the role of Puck - and that will take a lot of convincing. Come explore some more of Azriaphale's and Crowley's life in the Elisabethean era, where the ineffable idiots are little theatre nerds, have to deal with unwanted advances, and suddenly face the question if they, in fact, could be even friends?
Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship by WaitingToBeBroken (E, 50k) Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards. Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him. Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them.
More Than by NaroMoreau (E, 55k) Crowley would like to spend another year without marrying, especially when thrust-forced to pick a husband. She refuses to cave in on a matter of principles. She refuses to cave in specifically on a matter of not wanting to be married to Lucien Morningstar. But she might need a hand to break free from such a burden. And who knows? She might even find something else along the way.
Against Expectations by Blue_Sparkle, summerofspock (E, 69k) After being pressured by their families into a marriage neither of them want, Aziraphale and Crowley resign themselves to an unfulfilling life together. For Aziraphale that means trying to be the dutiful wife she was always taught to be and for Crowley it means hiding an important part of who he is.
On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E, 133k) 1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.
#hope this helps 💜#good omens#good omens fic rec#good omens fanfiction#good omens through the ages#good omens human au#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#foolish recs#go fic masterpost
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Cupid’s On Holiday - KSJ
Summary: You don't get it, you're a damn catch. Anyone would be lucky to have you. You're smart, you're tidy, hell you'd give up your own kidney to a homeless guy if he needed it that bad. So what the issue? Failed relationships, blind date after blind date, and now your friend's competitive archery teammate is telling you he's Cupid here to help you find your one true love. You're not that desperate. He could take those golden arrows and shove 'em.
Genres: Angel!Au | Fluff, angst, smut, slight enemies to lovers, humor.
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, smut (fingering, protected sex), Oc's a bit of a downer but hey! Aren't we all sometimes! If I missed anything, let me know!
Rating: Mature (Minors, please, go away.)
Word count: 17k
Masterlist
Notes: A little late, but I made it before Saturday! I really really hope you guys enjoy this!! My contribution to @raplinesmoon , @kithtaehyung and @joheunsaram 's Catch Of The Century Collab! It's been a bit of a struggle to write, so show it some love! Also, you won't understand what I mean yet, but emotions are valid and you should feel them. Thank you to THE LOMFL @xpeachesncream for beta'ing for me, Nikki I love you so so much! Thank you for being there when I screamed about this fic when lightening struck and hyping me up always. Ly babie ❤️❤️❤️
Don't forget to leave feedback guys!! I'll love to hear your thoughts ( or crazy emotional rambles) Enjoy!!
Serendipity was in full swing; music blasting so loud you can feel it in your chest. Fellow club goers crowding the dance floor in a wild flurry of limbs and ill-timed dancing. You can barely keep up with the conversation Yoongi and Jungkook are having, you’re not even sure how they’re hearing each other over the music.
Clubs typically aren’t your thing, not one for the deafening music or the people who never knew when they had too much to drink. Tonight, though, you made an exception, meeting a friend of a friend for a date you were excited to be on. You thank your lucky stars you had the foresight to grovel at Yoongi’s feet to come with you, lord knows you’d be making your grand escape through the club’s back door by now.
“I mean, it’s not that hard, right?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Dude. Grow up.”
You chuckle into your whiskey as Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving his hand to direct your attention back to him and not on the way Jungkook was snickering. The flashy strobe lights waving mindlessly in the club catch on the silver of Yoongi’s bracelet and he rights his leaning frame, propping an arm on the table between you both.
“All I’m saying is...” He thinks hard for a moment, tilting his head to squint at the ceiling. You could tell he’s gone above his limit tonight; the rosiness of his cheeks visible in the odd flashes of light. “Man up. When he gets back, tell him he’s an ass and we can go home.”
“You know she’d rather die.” Jungkook mutters, draining the end of his beer, adding the empty bottle to the rest that was steadily growing the longer you all sat there. “Too nice.”
“Shit, you’re right.” Yoongi says, brows furrowed as though he’s just heard the most distressing news in his life, “I’ll do it for you. I swear if I have to sit here and listen to that guy ramble on about himself any more I’ll actually walk out into the street and stand there.”
“I don’t find you funny.” You deadpan, kicking your foot against his shin. He only whines, reaching for your bottle of water instead of brandishing his silver tongue at you.
Yoongi takes a long drink, eyes scanning the crowd, “He’s taking a long time to get back from the bathroom.”
Jungkook lifts himself partly out of his seat – having more vantage with his height – and looks around too. “Fou-oh...”
“What?” You perk up, following Jungkook’s gaze, but you’re suddenly blocked by Yoongi, who you didn’t even see get up. He shifts every time you’d move to look around him. You open your mouth to protest, but Yoongi’s hands land firmly on your shoulders.
“How about we just go? It’s late.” The furrow of his brow and the clench of his jaw tells a lot; he’s seen something you’d be better off not seeing at all and you simply agree. You take the hand that he offers, sliding out of the booth and Jungkook follows with a frown.
When you all get outside, Yoongi throws an arm over your shoulder, and you’re grateful for his warmth as the late night air nipped at your skin. You sigh, watching mist dance on your exhale, ducking your head a little to look at your feet. It’s quiet between you three, and you realize belatedly that you should’ve asked Hoseok to come too. He’s always good at distracting you.
Of course, you should have expected it to go this way. Another failed date that’s left you feeling worse than before, you think you’d might as well give up now, resign yourself to growing old and having fifty cats to keep you company. It’s been this way for a while, your last actual relationship being exactly three years and six months ago -- not that you’re counting or anything.
You stayed out of the dating scene for a while, focusing on yourself and being happy and content with who you are first before anything. Because that’s important, you can’t love someone else without loving yourself first. It was a good run anyway, until you became lonely and Yoongi’s dry humor and good cooking no longer sustained you.
You loved him, truly, but you missed the level of intimacy he couldn’t provide you with. Even though you loved when he made a big deal about cuddling and holding your hand – and frankly would rather shoot himself in the foot than say he liked that shit. You’re honestly considering making a pact with him to get married in the next ten years or something. You feel like that’s the only way to get out of whatever curse you’re under.
You don’t know if it’s you, or what. You’ve tried meeting new people, friends of friend’s, strangers from dating apps. Your dating life is quickly going down the drain.
“Hey, get out of there.” Yoongi taps his fingers against your temple, looking a little more sober now, even though his cheeks remain pink from the cold. He frowns at you, pulling you a little bit closer to his side, “Don’t think about it, okay?”
You can’t help it though, it’ll do no good in the long run, you know that. You’ve been feeling all sorts of low, and really you shouldn��t. You don’t need someone next to you to feel complete, to make you feel like the world’s finally spinning on the right axis. You just hate that you feel like you do; everyone around you seems to be happy and with someone and you’re here feeling like the hottest dumpster fire. You want to have rose tinted glasses to wear, too.
You wanted someone to hold hands with that wasn’t Yoongi or Jungkook...or Hoseok whenever he wasn’t working at the bar and using you as his wing-woman. You wanted someone to tell you you’re pretty and not mean it in a totally-best-friend way.
You sigh, long and drawn out, shoulders sagging as you watch the pavement pass by under your feet. The cracks in the gray stone representing the cracks in your love life that’s slowly drifting away like the ashes of the universe post Infinity Snap. Oh, you wished Thanos was actually here to snap you out of existence. You can deal with floating away into nothingness than dealing with the loneliness that’s beginning to cling to the edges of your form.
“How about we stop at the convenience store?” Jungkook suggests, linking his arm with yours, he looks down at you with a soft smile you couldn’t see. “Ramen on me?”
You can’t say no when you look up and catch his smile, dimples and all, and the three of you walk a little faster.
“Damn, everything’s just going up these days.” Yoongi grumbles, reading the label of a vitamin gummy bottle with a frown. You hum, reading your own set of labels listlessly a few feet away.
You’d long lost Jungkook somewhere in the depths of the large convenience store. He’d run off to find something and it’s been five minutes of you and Yoongi walking around and complaining about prices.
Yoongi puts the vitamins back on the shelf, twisting the container until the brand label faces him. You see him glance at you in your peripheral, see him walk a little closer until he stops at your side, “Doing okay?”
You think about it for a fraction of a second and shrug, throwing Yoongi a careless ‘Ok' sign, “Yeah, A-OK.”
You really just want to go home, watch a movie and forget tonight. Maybe you can convince Yoongi to watch that movie with you, and you both can share laughs over more beers and the pistachio flavored ice-cream that Yoongi hates.
The man himself doesn’t look convinced, and it shows in the raise of his eyebrow and the way he studies you. He’s always said you’re like an open book to him and he knows how to read the lines well – as much as you hate that – you appreciate that he says nothing of it.
You know it will come up later, not now while it’s still fresh, but when you least expect it. Yoongi purses his lips at you, shaking his head before tugging you along behind him as he walks on.
“Guys!” Jungkook's call comes from behind you both, and you and Yoongi turn to his approach, and the company he had with him.
The guy trailing behind Jungkook, for the sake of your mind that grinded to a halt at the sight of him, is beautiful. You don’t think you’ve called a man beautiful before, but there’s no other word that you can use. This man with his dark hair, eyes of the deepest brown, perfect plush pink lips and the widest set of shoulders you’ve ever seen.
You stand a little stunned, just staring at him until Yoongi nudges your arm and you realize that Jungkook is speaking. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on you, briefly, but you know he’s itching to grill you and you’ll never live it down.
“Guys, this is Seokjin.” Jungkook smiles, waving a hand at his friend, “He’s on the archery team.”
Seokjin bows his head in greeting, “Hello.”
“Jungkook talks about you a lot. It’s nice to put a face to the name.” Yoongi says as you struggle to come up with anything that won’t give away how nervous you suddenly felt.
“This is Yoongi, and Y/n.”
Yoongi nudges your side again and you smile, “Nice to meet you.”
There’s a twitch in his eyebrow as his eyes focus on yours, and for a moment it feels as though he’s looking right through you. He’s looking at you, but his eyes are so intense you feel like you’re under a microscope, or having one of those weird naked dreams and nothing to cover your shame.
It seemed like the moment stretched on for ages, and you’re stuck in a void being watched by someone you can’t see.
Seokjin's lips pull into a smile and when he blinks, you do too. There’s something strange about the air in between the space you occupied, something unfamiliar but at the same time not completely unknown. You’re not quite sure how to feel about it and you’re not sure if the shiver going down your spine was from the AC.
When he looks away from you to look at Jungkook, you lean over to take the basket from Jungkook’s lax fingers – it was filled with way more things than you’d all come in for - announcing that you’re going to check out.
You and Yoongi leave them both talking, walking back to the front of the convenience store where the cashiers were. You’re wondering about what that could’ve been, teeth picking at the skin of your bottom lip, brows furrowed in thought.
“You sure you’re good, right? You seemed a bit gone back there.” Yoongi asks, unloading the contents of Jungkook’s basket onto the counter, shaking his head as he picks up a packet of mint gum and places it with the things.. “Well, actually, you looked stupid – and I don’t mean that in the way it sounds. You just kinda...blanked. Like the second you saw him you went outta your head.”
“Huh...” You look back to where Jungkook and Seokjin are still talking, still feeling watched even though he wasn’t looking. “Kinda felt like it.”
When you finally left the convenience store, a light drizzle had started. Your apartment complex isn’t far, less than five minutes from where you are.
Seokjin had parted from your small group, getting into a fancy black car parked at the curb after bidding you all goodnight.
The walk was quiet until you’d all gotten home, with Jungkook waving a little frantically at his door a good way down the hall. Yoongi made no move to get into his apartment next to yours, watching you fumble with your keys.
“Not going in?” you mumble, looking over your shoulder to catch him waving his phone at you.
“Nah, I’m gonna meet Hobi.” He says, “Need me to stay with you?”
You shake your head. Sometimes you felt as though you treated Yoongi like your therapist, he’s always there to listen when you need to vent, always being the shoulder to cry on. Always a listening ear without complaint.
“I’m okay Yoongi. Promise.” You smile, lifting the plastic bag that Jungkook had so graciously provided you with. “I’m gonna eat my woes away.”
Yoongi sighs, “You know you can’t say you’re okay and then follow with that.”
He steps over to you and hugs you a little awkwardly, patting your back. You appreciate his effort to sacrifice his comfort, even as you laugh a bit. “Text me if you need anything and I’ll come back.”
Relaxing in his hold, you sigh, “D’You think it’s just me? I mea-”
“-No.” Yoongi cuts in, rubbing small, comforting circles against your back, “Men are dicks. It ain’t you, trust me.”
He leans away, hooking his pinkie into the handle of the bag and shakes it a bit, “Eat and get some sleep, okay? Don’t go thinking too much.”
You wait until he’s down the hall and out of your sight to head inside. Kicking your shoes off, you flick on the lights and drag your feet to your small kitchen. You dig through the bag in search of your ramen, finding the chocolate popsicles Jungkook bought you.
Maybe you should talk to Yoongi about that marriage plan of yours. Just so that you’d have something to fall back on, so that later down the road when you’re sixty you’d have grandkids running around and not a few cats instead.
There’s a loud banging on your door that jolts you out of your sleep the next morning. The blackout curtains you’d bought a couple weeks ago were working, you have no idea what time it is. You also have no idea when you’d gotten to bed either, you remember eating the ramen and one of the popsicles.
You remember hearing Yoongi come home, the opening and closing of his door and the clink of his keys against the little bowl with the cat on it that you gave him.
You don’t remember much else, you certainly don’t remember crawling into bed or changing your clothes for that matter.
You groan as the pounding continues, rattling into the empty hallways of your sleepy mind and knocking on every door. Rolling over you pull your pillow with you, covering your head and willing the noise to end. Squinting at the little blue clock on your nightstand and the numbers that squint back, you lay there wondering who’d be knocking on your door this early on a Saturday.
“Police! Open up! I’ve got a warrant.” Jungkook’s muffled, disembodied voice filters through your apartment and you sigh, kicking at your covers because you know if you don’t get up he’ll stand there and ring your phone until you pick up.
Grumbling to yourself, you drag your feet to your front door and open it. Jungkook’s standing there with one hand raised, looking ready to knock again and too bright eyed for the hour. His other hand balances a coffee holder with four cups and a large brown bag.
“Don’t you have practice to get to? It’s seven am.” you step aside to let him in, covering your yawn with a hand.
“Good morning to you, too.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, wiggling the brown bag at you – the brown bag that’s doing a great job of concealing its contents. “I brought breakfast.”
You’re moving to close the door when a hand stops the motion and Hoseok’s poking his head into your entrance hallway.
His eyes are bright, even though he’s not a morning person, and his smile is brighter when he sees you, as it always is. He pushes the door open as you step back to allow it, coming in to wrap his lanky arms around you. “Heard your night sucked ass.”
His fingers tangle in the mess that is your bed head, but he doesn’t let go of you even as he tries to free them. He rubs circles into your back, and sighs, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” You laugh into his sweatshirt, the old one he kept from college even though it’s fraying at the edges and the blue isn’t as blue anymore. The one you threw up on the night Yoongi lost you in a crowd of college freshmen and you didn’t know your ass from your elbow.
“Someone has to, you know?”
Yoongi’s the last to come through your open doorway, shutting the door behind him, looking like he’d barely slept, dark hair sticking up at odd angles.
He frowns at you both, “Guys, c’mon. You’re blocking the way.” He pushes lightly at Hoseok’s back, making him walk forward still clinging to you.
“You’re gonna make me trip!” You laugh, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold. When you’re free of Hoseok’s cuddling, you trail after Yoongi and into the kitchen where Jungkook’s pulling carefully wrapped bagels out of the bag.
“What’s the catch, Jeon?” You ask, knowing that he should be on his way to practice right now. Not that you don’t trust the guy, it’s just that normally if Jungkook has practice, you won’t see him until it’s over and he’s back in the building.
“Can’t I just be nice and bring my best friend breakfast from her favorite cafe?”
“There’s always a catch.” Yoongi says as he plops down into a chair at your small kitchen table and Jungkook makes an offended sound at the back of his throat. Yoongi shrugs, pulling a coffee free from the holder and passes it to you.
“What do you need this time?” Taking the coffee from Yoongi, you take the seat next to him and Jungkook gives you one of the bagels.
“Can you drive me to practice today?”
Hoseok ruffles your hair as he passes, leaning around Jungkook to grab a coffee and a bagel for himself while Jungkook neatly folds the brown bag. “I’d take him but I gotta be at the studio in an hour...”
You hum waving a hand, “No worries.”
It’s ten am by the time you return back to your apartment. You’d stopped at the grocery store to pick up things you needed and had no choice but to lug all the bags up at once.
You would’ve liked to make trips, which you would usually do going up and down the elevator and getting weird looks from old Mrs Bailey two floors down. The elevator was once again getting serviced and you curse the stupid machine to the high heavens.
You take one step at a time, the weight of the bags digging uncomfortably into your fingers. You’re sure they’re red by now and you groan thinking about the way they’ll cramp up when you put the bags down.
“Need help?”
You almost drop your bags, body jerking in place as you stop to look behind you.
Seokjin is standing a few steps down on the platform between the flights, and you find it just a bit strange that you hadn’t heard him; footsteps echo in the stairwell. You don’t think much of it though; Yoongi walks like a cat and you can never tell when he’s behind you either.
You look down at the bags in your hands, giving Seokjin a light smile. “Yes please.”
He jogs up the remaining stairs to meet you, and you envy the bounce of his dark hair that falls perfectly back into place. He’s dressed more casually today, with a loose white tee-shirt tucked into black jeans. He gently takes the bags from one hand and reaches for the other.
“Oh, I’ve got these.” You chuckle the sound awkward to your own ears and you want the floor to open up and swallow you. Seokjin thankfully says nothing of it, though.
“Which floor are you on?”
“The one above us.”
“Oh really?” Seokjin smiles at you and waves his free hand, “Howdy neighbor.”
You blink at him, a little confused, “Huh?”
“I moved in this morning!” He’s already walking up and you step quickly to follow. “you know the apartment just before the staircase?”
“That’s great! It’s been empty for years. Hobi thinks it’s haunted because he says he keeps hearing noises.”
Seokjin laughs at that, the sound bouncing off the walls of the stairwell. His laugh’s kind of squeaky and it makes you laugh, too.
You both share a light conversation going up the last staircase, and it isn’t as awkward as you thought it’d be. It’s certainly better than last night when you tripped over your tongue just to say hi back.
Seokjin’s presence is oddly calming. Despite being a stranger, it feels as though you’ve been friends for a while. He’s telling you about how he’s planning on decorating his apartment while walking to yours, and asking your opinion on paint colors.
“White always makes a room look bigger. Could be too plain though, if you’re not into that.” You say, fishing your keys from the pocket of your jeans. He places the bags at your feet when you asked him to, “Thank you,”
“No problem,” He gives a smile, a small one that puffs up his cheeks. “Well...I better get going...lots to do.”
“Of course! Bye then.”
“If I don’t see you around, I’ll see you square.” With a very serious expression, Seokjin shoots you some finger-guns before walking away, laughing at his own joke.
You shake your head, chuckling to yourself as you unlock your door.
You throw yourself on Yoongi’s couch, which by the way, was way bigger than yours and way more comfortable.
You groan into the throw pillow, smacking your hand against the cushions. “Yoongi. You traitor. Who’s hand am I supposed to hold now?”
“Hobi’s always available for hand holding.” Yoongi mumbles, barely paying you mind as he gets ready to go out on a date. A Date! How dare he.
“His hand doesn’t get sweaty like yours does!” You turn your head, pressing your cheek against the pillow, “This is absolute betrayal. I’ll never ever forgive you.”
“Quit being dramatic.” Yoongi sighs, fastening the clip of a silver chain around his neck. You pout at him from your spot. “It’s only the first date. If it falls through you’re welcome to hold my hand for the rest of our lives.”
Yoongi doesn’t date often, you honestly can’t remember the last time he even mentioned having one to begin with. You kinda feel bad about your whining, only because you feel bad that everyone’s suddenly finding significant others while you suffer.
“I’m joking.” You say, sitting up, “You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.” Yoongi smiles, all cute and gummy. “Now get out, I’m leaving.” He helps you up off the couch, grabbing his keys from the coffee table.
“You’re so rude!” You trail after him anyway, following him out his apartment. As he locks his door you poke his side, “What’s her name anyway?”
“Justine.” He glances at you, “Jungkook didn’t tell you? She’s on his archery team.”
“You met her through that rascal?” You scoff, crossing your arms, “You guys never tell me anything. When did you even have time to meet them?”
“Hey, I do other things when I’m not hanging out with you.” He walks you to your door, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything. “I’ll call you if I need to make a run for it.”
“Just go!” You push at his arm, waving goodbye, “Let me know how it goes!”
Yoongi’s in the elevator when he finally waves back, and you stay standing there long after the metal doors shut. Staring at your door, you sigh, you’re happy for him, really. Everyone else shouldn’t suffer with you.
“Hello.”
You startle, a frightened screech leaving you as you turn. The person behind you yells, too, backing away from you with wide eyes.
You press a hand to your chest and take a deep breath, “Dude. My heart almost fell out of my ass. Why are you sneaking up on me?”
“Why’d you scream like that? You scared me!” Seokjin presses his back against the wall behind him, a hand against his chest also.
He relaxes, hands dropping at his sides, and you do the same, laughing a bit at the situation.
“Did you need something?” You ask, watching as he steps closer.
“Actually.” He puts a finger up, “I came to make you an offer you can’t possibly refuse.”
“Huh?”
Seokjin straightens his form, smiling again, “I can help you.”
You blink, looking off to the side before your eyes settle on him again, “....help me with?”
Seokjin looks a little confused now, brows furrowing and he puts his hands behind his back and chuckles. “Your problem.”
When you stare at him blankly he sighs, “I can help you find the one you’re destined for.”
“Are you drunk?”
“What? No. I’m not drunk. I’m being serious!” He says, shaking his head, “Why do I always have to do this? I hate this part.”
He’s talking to himself now, and you’re trying to slot your key into your lock without him noticing. Maybe he is drunk, or maybe he’s one of those salespeople who try to talk you into buying shady things.
He suddenly looks at you and you freeze, giving a slow, awkward smile. “Um. Whatever it is... I’m okay. You should go lie down or something.”
“I’m not drunk.” Seokjin repeats, “Your friend went out on a date right? I saw him on the way up.”
That’s weird. Yoongi only left a few minutes ago, if Seokjin took the stairs there’s no way he would’ve seen him.
“I can help you with that. Getting a date, I mean.”
“Are you asking me out?”
“Not me, no.” He seems to think for a moment, “I’m actually the only person that can help you. I’m a Cupid. And it’s my job to steer you in the right direction so you can find that person.”
You laugh and he frowns, but what else are you supposed to do? He looks completely serious, and you wave a hand at him.
“Okay.” You say even though you don’t believe him, giving him a thumbs up, “That’s nice. I’m gonna go...and you can go lay down, okay?”
You turn quickly, opening your door and slipping inside. You leave him standing there, shutting the door behind you.
“...oh-kay...”
“I’m so tired.” You press your forehead against the cool wooden table. This isn’t really the way you’d like to spend your Monday afternoon, sitting in a café trying to finish up an article due next week.
The café you frequented is a bit crowded today, some either coming in to get their fix of hot drinks to battle the autumn chill outside, or either just taking in the scenery. There really isn’t much to take in, the cafe is a small hole in the wall on a street corner, with wet roads and people passing by outside.
There’s a park across the street that looks better in the spring, empty now that it’s getting colder and winter’s on the cusp.
You raise your head to stare at your half completed article. Cursor blinking mockingly against the white backdrop of the open word document. At least it’s due by next Friday, you have time to wallow in the writer’s block that’s been plaguing you for days now.
You stare out the window and sigh, watching the people and the cars pass by, watching the light rain that’s been doing nothing but falling all morning. You thought that getting out of your apartment would’ve been better, a change of scenery to help you finish your work. Now that you’re sitting in this crowded café, it’s difficult to concentrate, you don’t know how the college kids do it.
You’re quite bored by yourself, usually, your friend from work, Brinny would be with you. If you’re not working, you could at least pass the time with some gossip or some sort of stimulating conversation. Brinny had to be at the office today, and honestly didn’t have time to meet with you, so you’re stuck struggling alone.
“Y/n?”
You turn your head at the call of your name, the barista behind the counter is waving you over. “Your coffee’s ready.”
Getting up, you hobble over, reaching the counter to take your coffee. The barista smiles at you, closed lipped with dimples you want to sink your fingers into.
Namjoon was new, and you’re glad to see he’s getting the hang of things. You’ve seen the guy spill more coffee beans than he grinds and he’s burned himself so many times that you’ve been permanently worried.
You’ve also seen him staring, always when he thinks you’re not looking. You’ve had a few conversations with him on days when the cafe isn’t so busy, he’d always have some quote from a writer you’ve never heard of or he’d talk to you about art. He’s nice.
He’s cute. Even as he fumbles now to let you know that he put an extra shot of espresso in your coffee because you look tired.
You thank him with a sweet smile before going back to your seat, hoping to remember to leave him a tip.
You sit, squinting at the time displayed on the clock widget of your laptop screen, glancing over at Namjoon again who’s busy behind the counter. Maybe you should take matters into your own hands and just ask him out. Might lead somewhere, hell, you might even have a great time.
“I mean...”
Your head whips around to the person who’s suddenly sitting opposite you. Seokjin looks fashionable in a black coat over a white turtleneck sweater as he pulls a burgundy scarf from around his neck. He’s looking at Namjoon too, squinting at the man. “He’s nice and all but it won’t work out, trust me.”
“Are you stalking me?” You ask, still a little shocked because you didn’t see him approach, you didn’t even hear the chair move. He’s just there.
Seokjin chuckles deeply, the sound a far cry from his high laugh. He turns to look at you, “Me? No. I was just passing by and saw you. Thought I should say hi.”
“Hi. You can go now.”
“Wow.” Seokjin presses a hand to his chest, faux hurt morphing his features, “You wound me.”
“Seriously. Why are you here? Because it kinda looks like you’re stalking me.” You lean back into your chair, crossing your arms.
Seokjin tilts his head at you, expression serious as he simply stares. His eyes are intense, like the night you met him and you know that the shiver that runs through you isn’t from the cold; the café is warm.
“I’m honestly trying to help you.” He says after a while, expression unchanging.
“Right. ‘Cause you’re Cupid?”
“A Cupid. We are many.” He corrects you, putting a finger up. “Trust me, asking Namjoon out is gonna do more harm than it’s worth. Some things are just meant to happen in passing.”
You sigh harshly through your nose, closing down your laptop to stare at him without it in the way. “Listen.”
“You had a really great opportunity to say “Lend me your ear!”. I find that wording more effective in catching my attention, but I digress; speak away.”
You close your eyes and take a deep breath as his laugh fills the silence between you. Funny, just Saturday morning you were thinking he was kind of cute with his stupid jokes and his finger-guns and his stupid laugh. Now he’s getting on your nerves and he’s beginning to give you the creeps with how persistent he is about this Cupid thing.
It's always the pretty ones.
“Okay, look.” You raise a hand because you can see he’s about to open his stupid mouth to say something even more stupid. He gives you his full attention, leaning in a bit like he’s waiting to hear the secret to DaVinci’s code. “Do you...perhaps have a psychiatrist I can call for you? Or a guardian?”
His expectant expression drops, he looks agitated now and you’ll take that as a small victory. “I’m not craz....” Trailing off, he slumps back into his seat, “I give up. Why do I always get stuck with the stubborn ones? I’m just trying to do my job.”
He’s talking to himself again, loud enough for you to hear him. He waves a hand at you, looking out the window petulantly, “Do as you wish. Ask him out. I’ll be swinging by to say ‘I told you so’ when it crashes and burns.”
“You know. You definitely can’t be Cupid with that attitude.”
“A Cupid. It’s not just me.” He huffs, sucking his teeth, “Why am I even still here talking to you?”
“I could ask you the same thing, really.”
Seokjin side eyes you, slowly turning his head in a way that you decided at that moment was quite unnatural. There’s something weird about the motion, he’s weird, and that’s all there is to it. He’s no Cupid, and honestly kind of curious about what made him think he was.
“Go for it then.” He waves a hand in Namjoon’s direction, “Don’t let me stop you.”
You feel petty, but you also feel the indescribable need to prove him wrong, so you get up, chair scraping against the floor. “Fine. Watch me.”
Seokjin gives you an unimpressed look, sighing as though you’re the one making his life difficult.
You march your way over to the counter, now that the rush died down, Namjoon’s just sitting idly in a corner, phone in hand. He looks up at your approach, smiling sweetly.
“Hey, need something?” He asks, getting up from the chair he occupied to meet you at the counter.
“Um..” Abort. Abort! Namjoon is looking at you patiently, waiting as you wipe your suddenly sweaty hands on your jeans. You take a breath, “Are you free on Friday?”
“Huh? Y-yeah. I could be?” He looks just as nervous as you do, another small victory; you’re not alone! “Why?”
“I was thinking that maybe we can get a drink? If you’re okay with it?”
“Oh! Yeah. I’d like that, yeah. Let me just... I’ll write my number down for you.” Smiling, he goes around to the other end of the counter, looking for a paper to write on before giving up and grabbing a napkin.
You turn, ready to rub your pettiness into Seokjin’s face but he’s gone. And so is your coffee.
“Dude I mean...are you sure?” Yoongi looks skeptical, raising a dark brow at you as he wipes down a table. He settles chairs into their rightful spots, stuffing napkins into the fancy napkin holders. “Last week you were literally ready to cry over a failed date and you asked a guy out?”
“I was not.” You say, “Water on a duck’s back my friend. This guy’s actually nice, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t go off with some other chick halfway through our date.”
“Well, I thought that you’d just give it a bit of time before going again.” He pauses to look at you, halfway across the empty bar, folding the cloth he was using. “I know you want what everyone else seems to be getting – I’ve noticed it too, lots of couples running around like it’s valentines or something. But I think you should just wait it out.”
“Yoongi.” You whine his name, laying your head against your arm. “I’m not getting any younger.”
“I know.” Yoongi smiles at the offended sound you make, “Everything happens on its own time, sweetheart. Just gotta be patient. Wait a little.”
“But what if I just wait forever?” You mumble, picking at the skin around your fingernails.
“I didn’t say it for you to get sad, you know.” Yoongi walks over to you, he smiles gently, “If you wait forever then I’ll meet you at the end. You can hold my hand while we wait together..” He offers his hand to you, wiggling his fingers.
You give a watery laugh, taking his hand with a sniffle, “That was so corny.”
“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”
When seven pm rolls around you’re sitting at the bar, sipping on a rum coke that Yoongi gave you to calm your nerves.
The bar’s a little quiet, but you know that it’ll get rowdier as the hours go on. Yoongi’s sitting opposite you, picking at his nails in his boredom.
“I hope tonight doesn’t get busy. Hobi couldn’t come out cause he has some dance things to finalize...”
“It’s Friday, though...” You point to the door with a tilt of your head as a group walks in. Looking fresh out of the office in their business suits and briefcases. Yoongi sighs, hopping off his stool to go greet them.
You spot Namjoon coming through the door next, pulling headphones out his ears and smiling when he sees you. He reaches you in a few long strides, sitting next to you with a soft greeting.
You catch Yoongi’s double take, and the raise of his eyebrows but think nothing of it.
In the hour that goes by, the bar picks up and Yoongi has company behind the counter. Namjoon has you giggling and blushing every time he looks at you, you’d like to think this is going well.
You do the normal routine, getting to know each other, trading jokes. He’s easy to talk to and you like that.
He and Yoongi go way back – Or so he’s told you. You didn’t know this, but when does Yoongi actually tell you anything? – and they make easy conversation while he works. You’re not getting the looks Yoongi keeps trying to send you, though. You’re usually in tune with each other’s signals, but Yoongi’s been sending up smoke all night, because what does he even mean?
“You guys need anything?” Yoongi comes over for the third time, nodding at your empty glass.
“I’m good, thanks.” You wave him away, why’d he keep interrupting?
Yoongi sighs, moving away to help Jimin bring out more glasses from the back room.
“This was nice. I don’t get out much...” Namjoon says, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “I uh...wanted to ask you something...”
“Sure, what’s up?”
Namjoon looks a little nervous, playing with his fingers. “You know, last week when you came to the cafe? It was Wednesday, I think... You came with someone... Brunette about yay high?”
You know who he’s talking about before he actually asks. You sip on your rum coke just so you’d have something to do, watching as Namjoon gives a height estimate with a hand.
“You mean Brinny? Yeah...she works with me.”
You don’t blame him, Brinny’s a darling, an absolute angel. You feel like a complete clown, though. Maybe you’re cursed, or maybe you’ve pissed off some wrathful god in your past life.
You didn’t mean to visibly deflate, really you didn’t , but honestly, you’re tired. You feel like you’re stuck in an endless loop of ‘yeah, this isn’t gonna work out.’.
Namjoon pauses, eyes widening, “Oh God. This wasn’t a date was it?”
Ah, ignorance is bliss indeed. He looks genuinely worried, a crinkle between his brows as they furrow. Eyes round and a hand reaching out hesitantly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch you even if he seeks to comfort you.
“What?” You snort, smacking his arm playfully. It’s the only way you can ease out of it so you don’t burst into tears in front of him. “No way! You’re a cool guy. I can totally put in a good word for you. Brinny’s nice.”
If Namjoon isn’t convinced - and you’re pretty damn sure he isn’t – he doesn’t show it. He nods slowly, smiling a little – a lot – awkwardly at you before throwing back the whiskey in his glass.
“Hey, slow down a bit, yeah?” Yoongi covers the top of your glass with a hand, frowning at you. You stare at his hand, at the rings that glint in the soft lighting of the bar with a pout. He quickly pulls it to him when you reach for it and instead passes you a bottle of water. “Drink this, sober up.”
“D’wanna.” You slur, leaning forward to press your forehead against the cool bar top. Yoongi taps your arm, and you make a disgruntled sound at the back of your throat raising your head with some effort. You prop your chin in your palm and blink slowly at him. “I wanna not exist right now. I’m so embarrassed!”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Yoongi scoffs, twisting the cap off the bottled water, he presses it firmly to your hand. The bar eventually died down, unusual for a Friday but you’re thankful. A whole lot less people to witness your downward spiral into self pity with the help of Yoongi’s fancy drinks. “I swear I thought you knew. I was trying to tell you.”
“What am I supposed to do with your blank ass stare, Min Yoongi?”
“Just drink the water.”
Yoongi leaves you be, walking away to greet someone that waved him over. You stare at the bottle with a frown before picking it up and downing nearly half. “Cupid must be on a holiday or something.”
“I wish.” Seokjin plops himself onto the barstool next to you, and you groan, because he’s the last person you want to see. You hadn’t seen him all week since you asked Namjoon out for drinks, you were just starting to get comfortable. “I could be somewhere nice and sunny right now. Instead I’m stuck looking after you.”
“How are you literally appearing out of nowhere?” You ask, a little sober now, enough to question the way he just randomly popped in.
“I’ve been trying to tell you, but all you do is call me names and hurt my feelings.” Seokjin rolls his eyes, “Enough about me though, I want to hear about your date.” He gives a cocky smile and you really want to punch it right off his pretty face.
“There’s nothing to tell.” You grumble, and Seokjin chuckles.
“I told you so.” He says, shrugging, “You wouldn’t listen.”
“That was a coincidence.” Your throat burns.
“Or was it?” Seokjin nudges your shoulder with his, “Why are you so stubborn?”
“Why are you so annoying?” You fire back and he purses his lips, raising a perfect brow at you. “I really think you’re stalking me. How’d you know I’d be here?”
“I was just passing by.”
“Right.” You huff, rolling your eyes before leaning forward, “I’m gonna be alone forever.”
“Well, if you’d let me actually do my job you won’t have to worry about that.”
Something hot is burning behind your eyes, throat tightening. You’re once again asking if you’re doing something wrong. You don’t get it, you’re a damn catch! Anyone would be lucky to have you.
You sniffle, swirling the water around in the bottle as tears blurs your vision.
“Please don’t cry.” Seokjin says, but it’s not at all comforting. It comes out in a ‘Are you serious?’ kind of way that only makes you want to cry even more, so you hop off the stool, shooting Yoongi a text on your way out of the bar.
You’re quite aware of Seokjin trailing behind you like he’s got nowhere else to be. Your phone vibrates somewhere in the depths of your bag but you ignore it, promising that you’ll just let Yoongi know when you get home.
“Can you stop following me?” You stop, turning around to face Seokjin.
“We live in the same apartment building!” He points in the direction you’re walking, rolling his eyes, “Is it a crime to go home now?”
“Well can you at least not walk so damn close to me? You’re giving me the creeps.” Turning on your heel you continue walking, and thankfully, Seokjin doesn’t follow until you’re at least five steps ahead.
“My offer still stands, you know!” There’s no reason for him to shout, but he’s doing it anyway. “This’ll keep happening if you don’t accept it!”
You stop walking again, bowing your head to stare at the concrete below your feet. His footsteps slow and stop too, waiting.
“If...If I say yes. Would you leave me the hell alone?” You sigh, looking over your shoulder at him. He’s standing a few steps behind, hands in the pockets of his coat.
“No, but I can leave you alone for the rest of the night if you want.”
You tilt your head back, looking up at the overcast sky. Hoping for it to open up and give you the answer to all your problems. Honestly, what do you have to lose? Best that could happen is that he actually leaves you alone after this and you can go back to figuring it out on your own. Even though you’d already tried that and well...yeah.
“Fine.” You mutter softly, and Seokjin jogs over to you quicker than you can make sense of his movements. “I accept your stupid offer.”
“Finally.” Seokjin smiles, prettily, the glow of the street lamp looks like a halo above his head and for a second, you really believe that he’s an angel. He sticks out a hand, “You have to shake on it.”
“Are you serious?” You deadpan, staring at his hand as though it offended you.
“Yes.” There’s mirth in his eyes and you think he’s pulling your leg, but you shake his hand anyway. “Great! I’ll see you in the morning then.”
You look down at your hand as he walks away, grimacing, “You’re so weird.”
When you look up, Seokjin is gone and you’re standing on the sidewalk completely alone.
::
True to his word, you didn’t see Seokjin for the rest of the night. You’d gotten home, stared at his closed door for a while, having half a mind to knock and ask exactly what you’d gotten yourself into.
You thought that, yes, finally, he’ll leave you alone for good. That today when you had woken up bright and early, you’d be able to get some work done, maybe even clean up the apartment a bit.
You couldn’t be happier to work from home, even though it offers more distractions than you're able to deal with, it’s better to write from the comfort of your own home.
Though, Monday you had to be in the office to discuss some things with your team manager. You know that he’s going to ask about how your article is coming along, so you want enough of it finished by then.
You’re sipping on your coffee, content to watch the world wake up from behind your window, and there’s someone knocking at your door.
Sighing you place your cup on the coffee table, taking your sweet time to walk even as the knocks get insistent. You’re expecting Jungkook at the other side, or Yoongi coming over to give you a piece of his mind for bailing on him last night.
It’s just Seokjin, though. Standing there in black track pants and a white sweater, dark blue recurve bow in hand.
“Isn’t that dangerous to walk around with?”
“Not unless you’re my target.” Seokjin smiles, “Get ready, you’re coming with me.”
“I don’t think so, I have a lot of things to do today.”
“You really don’t.” He taps your forehead with a finger, but you’re not quite sure what he means by that. “Please hurry. I don’t want to be late.”
He races back down the hall, stopping to knock on Jungkook’s door before heading to his own apartment.
::
“Tell me again why I needed to drive you two?” You grumble, car slowing to a stop in the parking lot of Straight Arrow Archery Center. Jungkook gets out with a quick thanks, jogging through the parking lot.
“So I can start today, the quicker I get this done, the quicker I’ll be out of your hair.” Seokjin takes his time getting his things from the backseat, “C’mon.”
He waits until you're out of the car, rocking back on his heels before he marches across the parking lot. You’re following with quicker steps, trying to keep up with his longer strides.
The local archery range was owned by their coach, and they practice indoors when they’re not in the back field during the colder months. A big looming building, with large windows and chipping paint. You’ve only been inside a couple of times, once when Jungkook’s team was going against a team from the city over.
The heat’s blasting in the building, and you rub your hands together to help them warm up faster. Seokjin leads you through the front entrance of the building, where they have different types of bows mounted on the walls. There’s a board behind the counter, pinned full of photos of past teams and flyers about the center and archery safety.
The back room where the range actually is, some of the archers are taking practice shots or sitting against the back wall getting ready. You see Jungkook securing his quiver to his waist, joking with some of his teammates.
“Are you any good?” You ask Seokjin just to taunt and he purses his lips at you, leading you over to one of the many benches scattered around the range.
You sit and watch him set his bow up, attaching the stabilizers, sight and clicker to the front of the bow. He slips the chest guard over his head, sliding his arm through the loop, when he’s securing the arm guard against his forearm he finally answers you.
“I can shoot an apple off your head blindfolded.” He winks, “If you get hungry or anything, there’s a vending machine outside.” With that he jogs off at the call of the coach, the rest of the team following behind.
“Alright you guys, we all know that winter’s coming up, so we have a couple of weeks left to train up for the last competition. After that, we have some time off before the regionals in February.” The coach says, clapping her hands, “So! During these last weeks, I’ll be picking six of you for the competition!”
You watch on, genuinely interested in what’s being said. Jungkook had mentioned regionals a few times, talking about his excitement and nerves. The coach goes on a moment more about what she expects from her team and a few changes for meeting dates.
“Alright, let’s do our best today!” She says, waving them off, “Teams of three please. Seokjin, you’re up first.”
You perk up more, eyes following Seokjin’s movements as he stands behind a marker taped to the ground. He pulls an arrow from the quiver at his hip, the fletching and nock a shimmering gold that catches the overhead lights. He nocks the arrow, pulling the string back to his cheek and aims.
When he releases, you barely see the arrow cut through the air, you only hear the sharp whistle and the dull thump of it hitting the target dead center. The team claps and you’re not far enough to miss their mutterings as Seokjin walks forward to retrieve his arrow.
“He’s so cool!”
Half an hour later, you’re scrolling through your phone, finally answering the million and one texts Yoongi sent you last night.
Seokjin’s skill with the bow honestly surprised you, the way he’d nock and fire off arrows with inhuman precision was actually terrifying. It almost had you believing his little tirade, just almost, you’d yet to be convinced by his claims of being Cupid.
Part of you does believe him, though, as much as you’d hate to even think it. There’s just something strange about him. The way he’d seemingly appear from nowhere, disappear without a sound and – you truly believe that it was a coincidence – the way he knew that pursuing Namjoon would not be in your favor. There’s honesty in his eyes when he speaks of it, either you’re easy to be swayed or he honest to God believes he’s Cupid.
A Cupid, your mind berates and you scowl, shaking your head.
“I didn’t think you’d stick around.” Jungkook sits on the bench next to you, digging around his duffle bag, “I can take the bus back you know?”
“I know, I’m actually waiting for Mr Sharpshooter over there.” You wave your hand in a vague direction, not too certain where Seokjin was standing.
Jungkook nudges your shoulder, “I see how it is.” He wiggles his eyebrows, “I’m definitely taking the bus home.”
“Now why would you say that?” You raise a brow, pocketing your phone, “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”
“Sure it isn’t.” He over exaggeratedly winks, quieting to unwrap a sandwich and take a bite. “He’s pretty cool, though. I approve. He’ll have a hard time with Yoongi though...” He says through his mouthful, brows creased - a little angrily - as he chews.
“There’s nothing to approve!” You push his shoulder while he laughs, almost choking on his sandwich. “Kook. Can I ask you something?”
“Hm, yeah. What’s it?”
“Have you actually ever spoken about Seokjin before?” You think about how strange it is, Yoongi mentioned that Jungkook’s spoken of Seokjin before. Now that you’ve asked the question, you realise that you’ve never once heard of him. Most of the time if you’re not by yourself, you’re with the guys, and they aren’t usually by themselves either. Though, it could be nothing, could have been a conversation you weren’t privy to, just something you missed.
Jungkook rarely talks about his practices, unless something big happens, like the regionals announcement or when he wouldn’t let you, Yoongi or Hoseok forget that he fired the winning arrow during the summer semi’s even though you were all there to witness it. Seokjin’s never once come up, you don’t think.
You don’t remember seeing Seokjin in the times you’ve visited the Range or at any of the competitions, though, he seems to be well acquainted with everyone, and no one thinks it’s strange.
Jungkook stops mid bite, brows furrowing out of confusion now – and not because he really likes his sandwich – he nods, slowly.
“Yeah? I think so...” He doesn’t sound as though he believes his own words, “Yup, yeah. Definitely did.” He nods more surely, “....I think?”
“Are you sure? Because...”
“Bad mouthing me? I’ve only been gone thirty minutes, that’s rude.”
You look up to find Seokjin watching you with a raised brow. He unclips the belt at his waist to remove the quiver before he sits down, squinting at you. “What?”
“Nothing...it’s nothing...” You quickly look back to your phone, replying to Yoongi’s recent text.
“I’m gonna get something to drink from the vending machine, want anything?” Jungkook asks, shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and dusting his hands, you shake your head and he shrugs, “I’ll bring you back whatever, then.”
With that he leaves, lengthy hair bouncing with his steps as he makes his way out. You could feel Seokjin’s eyes on you and you slowly turn your head to face him, he’s indeed staring at you, in a way that makes you want to squirm and be as far away from him as possible.
“You have questions.” It’s a statement, because he knows.
“A few.” You nod, studying his features. He looks absolutely normal, nothing awry about him in visage. Leaning closer to him you ask softly for the sake of not being overheard. “Are you really a Cupid?”
Seokjin raises an eyebrow, watching you with thinly veiled suspicion, “What brought this on?”
“I’m just really curious.”
Seokjin hums, “I already told you, I am. I was extremely clear. Why? Change of heart? Or are you just trying to appease me by going along with it?”
There’s a hint of bite in his words, and you suddenly remember him saying that he gives up in the cafe, and realize, if he is indeed what he claims, you’re truly making his job harder. He’s like a venomous snake, poised and ready to strike if you misstep.
For a moment, you think it’s best to never get on his bad side if the slight irritation that darkens his eyes makes you feel cornered.
“I was just wondering.” You say, “It’s just strange how you just suddenly- I don’t think Jungkook knows you as well as he thinks. Yoongi definitely doesn’t know you either.”
“Ah.” He sighs, tilting his head curiously, “What I think is strange is that you noticed that.”
“You know... you’re kind of creepy. I think, sometimes it feels as though you’re normal but then it feels odd, like you’re an anomaly.”
“I’ll try not to be. But that’s just your senses telling you what you don’t want to believe.” Seokjin raises a hand to tap your forehead lightly with a finger.
You frown, “I’m not spiritual.”
“You don’t have to be.” He shrugs, “In terms for you to understand, I walk on a higher frequency than you do. Our energies are completely different, and it doesn’t matter if you are consciously aware of it or not, you’re going to realize that.”
“Okay.” You nod, trying to absorb the words that tumbled out of his mouth even though he basically dumbed it down for you. You’re still not certain if you believe what he says or if your mind is protecting you so that you just take it and run. “Why are you helping me?”
It feels silly to ask, but you’d like to think you’re not so deep and lost within the fog of your non-existent love life that a Cupid would take pity on you enough to step in.
“I hate seeing people struggle. It’s just so sad. You humans are like lambs without a shepherd; wandering aimlessly.” He sighs as though he’s in pain, before a smile breaks and his squeaky laugh follows, “I’m joking...partly.”
You roll your eyes, “No really, I want to know.”
“I don’t think you do.” Seokjin shakes his head, mirth lights his eyes still. Though you just stare at him, waiting, and he sighs, “I’m not supposed to tell you, but I suppose I already crossed a million lines telling you I’m a Cupid.”
He taps a finger against his chin, “I’m trying to get a promotion, it’s extremely important that we get this settled.”
“...what?” You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Are you joking?”
“I do find myself hilarious, but no.”
“I thought angels wouldn’t lie.”
Seokjin gasps as though you’d offended him, and judging by the look on his face you probably had. “When have I ever lied to you?”
“Just then. I’m supposed to believe that angels have what? A corporate system?”
“First of all, I do not lie. I just omit small things.” He pokes a finger at you and you swat at it. You want to tell him that telling a half lie is just lying while trying to seem truthful. “Secondly, yes. But I can’t tell you anything more on that, so don’t ask.”
You grumble to yourself, leaning back and away in time to spot Jungkook coming back with more than just drinks.
“He’s quite impulsive.” Seokjin chuckles, and you can only agree.
“Where are we going?” You trail behind Seokjin, down a busy street. Once again, struggling to keep up with his long legs.
“I’ve got a few potential candidates for you, all of which can work out though it mostly depends on your choices.” Seokjin slows down for your sake, “I’m not allowed to outright tell you who’s right for you, I can tell you who’s the wrong choice however.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier if you told me?”
“It would, but it’s against the rules and frankly takes the fun out of everything.”
“You want to see me suffer?” You cross your arms, and Seokjin chuckles, shaking his head as he turns to face you. He plants his hands on your shoulders, hands drifting down to unfold your arms.
“I think you’ve suffered enough. All work and no pl-“ Seokjin pauses, looking past you. The change in his easy going expression is startling, the humor dimming to be replaced by anger, jaw tensing.
You take a half step away from him, wondering what could bring about his change of mood so swiftly. Curious, you turn to look.
A couple stopped just a few steps from you both, they're both dressed warmly to combat the weather. The guy seems a little shocked, enough that the girl you assume is his girlfriend asks him if he’s okay.
He offers her a smile, one that seemed a little nervous to you. He eyes you for a moment, with the same intensity that Seokjin sometimes does, before his eyes settle on the man next to you.
“Hyunjin.” Seokjin says, eyes flaring with something indiscernible. His voice is clipped, stare harsh as he takes a single step forward.
“Seokjin.” The man replies curtly, pulling his girlfriend slightly behind him, “How about we talk about this elsewhere?”
He motions a hand to the people passing by who was paying no mind to either of you. Seokjin turns on his heel, walking briskly and you stumble to follow.
Seokjin is unusually quiet as he leads you through the streets, and you wonder just who Hyunjin is to him for him to react this way.
You pass by familiar places, the café where Namjoon works, and across the street to the park that was suspiciously empty.
You’re afraid to ask Seokjin what the matter was, mindful of the way you can feel the anger radiating off of him. So you keep quiet, stopping when he does, and sitting on the park bench when he tells you to.
He keeps walking, stopping a good distance away, waiting.
Hyunjin sighs, placing a gloved hand against his girlfriend’s cheek. “I won’t be long, okay?”
She nods and he leaves, walking towards Seokjin. As she sits next to you, you offer her a smile, “Sorry, I hope we aren’t interrupting you two.”
“It’s okay.” She says, pushing her glasses back up her nose with a hand. She glances over to where Seokjin and Hyunjin are talking briefly. “Is he your friend?”
You snort, friend is one hell of a reach, “Fortunately not.”
“I’m Nikki.” She offers a hand that you shake.
“Y/n.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Seokjin’s voice raises and both you and Nikki turn toward them, “You can fall for this. She’s human, Hyunjin!”
Hyunjin walks away, leaving Seokjin to gawk in disbelief. They both look angry enough to ignite the air around them, and Hyunjin ignores the call of his name, eyes softening when he lays them on Nikki. She stands at his approach, taking the hand that he offers. He gives you a long look, “I’d let him cool off first.”
You can only nod, voicing a soft goodbye as they leave.Turning your head you watch Seokjin who was too busy staring daggers into Hyunjin’s retreating form.
You give him a moment, waiting until Hyunjin and Nikki are across the street, until they merge into the crowd. You sit quietly, toeing the stone path beneath your shoe, kicking at a pebble and watching it roll its way away from you.
Eventually, Seokjin makes his way back, sitting next to you with a long drawn out sigh. “I have a headache.”
“You get those?” genuinely curious, you ask, but the withering glare Seokjin sends your way makes you snap your mouth shut. “Who is he?”
Seokjin sighs, running a hand through his hair in a way that’s deceptively human. You’re once again jealous of the way the strands fall back into place like they weren’t disturbed, making a note to ask him what shampoo he uses.
“Hyunjin is...” he shakes his head, jaw clenching, “We’ve been searching for him for a year. A guardian angel. That girl is his charge and up until now they’ve both been missing.
He said that he won’t leave her. That he would rather fall because he loves her. Ridiculous. It’s wrong, there’s only one way that could end and it’s not going to be nice. His duty isn't to love her that way.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it...” You mutter quietly.
“Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t understand, there’s no way that you can begin to. He’s putting her and himself in danger.”
He quiets and you do too, the air is still charged and Seokjin goes off muttering to himself. You glance at him and you can see that he’s thinking, fingers pressed against his lips as he stares at nothing in particular. It isn’t your business, but you ask anyway, “Are you gonna tell them that you found him?”
“I should.” Seokjin replies after a moment more of silence, “For now, though, I’ll turn a blind eye. I have more important things to do.”
“Right, yeah.” You nod, eyeing him carefully, “What were you saying earlier? Candidates?”
You’re not quite sure how people find watching sports exhilarating. Though, you’re here for Jungkook – and Seokjin - sitting on a bench between Yoongi and Hoseok, cheering as loudly as you can.
Its the last competition before the break, and if the Athens shoot the winning arrow, they’ll be at regionals next year.
You’d wished him and Seokjin luck before they’d left this morning, knowing well the latter didn’t need it at all. You know Jungkook was nervous, you can see him bouncing his leg even from where you are.
“Any bets?” Yoongi nudges your arm with his, passing you a soda, “I hope Jungkook doesn’t drop his bow or anything...”
“Nah, he’ll be fine. Seokjin’s on his team, there’s no way they’d lose.”
“You’ve been hanging out with him a lot.” Hoseok comments, and you spot him dipping his fingers into the pocket of his sweater only to come out with a gummy worm.
You wiggle your fingers at him, he side eyes you but gives you some anyway. “He’s cool.” You shrug, ignoring the soft snort that leaves Yoongi.
“Right.” There’s a knowing look that Yoongi sends you, one that you also ignore.
The teams take turns, women from opposite sides going first, and then the men, all scoring fairly well for their teams. It’s a moment again before the last shooters are ready, and they can either make or break the win.
Five minutes and a couple more gummy worms after, Seokjin is finally stepping up to his marker. If he scores a full ten, the Athens would take the win.
He nocks his arrow the way you’ve seen him done before, and the crowd quiets, waiting with baited breath. He takes aim and your squeezing Hoseok’s hand, he releases the arrow. There’s the sharp whistle, louder that the stands are still, and the sound of it hitting the target.
The folks that came all the way from your city to watch cheers the loudest as Seokjin and his team celebrates the win.
You’re all gathered in your apartment after the match. Though, Everyone had decided that celebrations would wait until the morning, desperate to get home and out of the cold of the winter air and into the warm houses. You just wished someone could convince the archers in your friend group.
Seokjin had insisted on doing something, claiming to be busy the next day. He’d drag you all off to the market, rushing you around to pick stuff from a crumpled list he pulled from the bottom of his duffle bag.
“Hey,” Seokjin says greets softly, passing you an opened beer with a soft smile.
“Thanks” You smile back, because he’ll just nag your ear off until he gets you to smile. Seokjin’s been in the kitchen since you all came back, shooing both you and Yoongi attempting to help, claiming culinary genius.
Your apartment does smell aromatic; filled with a blend of different spices. You know whatever Seokjin’s making is gonna knock your socks off. “You better wow me with your cooking. After you chased me out of my own kitchen.” You tease, and Seokjin chortles.
“Trust me, my cooking is unmatched.” He says confidently, chest puffing up.
You hum around the mouth of your beer, “Uh huh. You’ll have to prove that. No one’s better than Yoongi.”
Seokjin side eyes you playfully, poking at your stomach with a finger that you grab onto, “Yeah, Yeah.”
He quiets, wiggling his finger in your grip, “I wanted to do something nice.”
You make a confused sound in the back of your throat, because what more could he possibly want to do? He’s already helping you find the person you’re meant to be with, and on top of that, have the patience of Mother Theresa and you remain stubborn to a fault. Though, you suppose, he has his nature and you do too.
Hoseok and Jungkook are watching some age old holiday film, not paying mind to either you or Jin. Yoongi had long said he’d be back, though it’s been a half hour with no sign of your grumpy best friend.
“Wanna help me in there?” Seokjin points his thumb over his shoulder, and you raise a brow, “You can help me cut some stuff; I’ve only got two hands.”
“You sure you actually need my help?”
“She’s a disaster in the kitchen.” Yoongi suddenly appears behind Seokjin, a bottle of whisky in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “I’ll help.”
You make an offended sound, “I’ll have you know that I am great at cutting stuff!”
Yoongi only hums, slinking off like a bored feline into the kitchen. Seokjin pats your head, “You know how to hold a knife, right?”
“Why are you cutting it like that?”
You look down at the cutting bored through the tears stinging your eyes, and you sniffle, “I could barely fucking see. I hate cutting onions.”
Yoongi shoos you away, taking the knife gently from your hold, “Go wash your eyes.”
You shuffle, partly blinded by the sting and tears in your eyes to the sink, arms stretched out before you as your only guide. A warm hand grasps your wrist, leading you forward, “I thought you said you were good at it.”
Seokjin’s voice holds amusement, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s getting a kick out of the situation. You want to tell him that your skill with cutting vegetables and the onion’s rhine burning your eyes has absolutely nothing to do with each other, but you’re too busy trying to find the tap with your hands.
He turns the tap on for you as you lean down towards the flow, and you feel his hands pulling your hair back and out of the way. Sweet relief comes with the cool stream of water rinsing the sting from your eyes, though they’re still irritated enough for you to dig the heels of your palms into them when you straighten. “Onions are evil.”
“Are they?” Seokjin gently pulls your hands away from your face, “Don’t rub them.”
“Tell that the itch driving me up a wall.” You’re a little surprised at how close he is, barely an inch away from you. The rhythmic sound of Yoongi cutting vegetables fades to background noise that you can barely focus on, distracted by Seokjin’s brown eyes peering into yours and the gentle way he swipes his thumbs under your lower lids.
“They’re all red now.” He says softly, and he seems distracted too, eyes filtering away from yours and somewhere lower.
“You guys want me to leave?” Yoongi drawls, effectively breaking the moment, “I can do that you know. Just walk right outta here.” He’s pointing the knife over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, though there’s humour in his eyes.
You pull away from Seokjin’s hands, clearing your throat, “Can I finish cutting the onions now?”
“No, but you can start on the bell peppers for me.” Seokjin hands you a small glass bowl with yellow and red peppers, and you do your best to ignore his fingers brushing yours.
When dinner was ready, the four of you gather at the table, trading laughs and stories and you feel content in this moment. Watching your boys be happy, and Jungkook laughing so hard he chokes only to be scolded by Yoongi. Seokjin next to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him.
You wonder how it’ll be once his job’s done and he leaves, would you miss him? He’s still as weird as you thought he was that time you met him in your hallway. You’ll miss his laugh, and the way he can comfort you without trying, you’ll miss him doing his best to make you happy even when he doesn’t have to.
The way he pulled you close when one of your first dates went wrong even with his meddling.
You’ll miss him.
Seokjin’s grown quite fond of you, he thinks, a dangerous thing, he believes. Over the weeks that passed, he’s successfully done his job; setting you on the right track to find your person.
The first couple of dates, Seokjin seeked out people you were familiar with, rather than strangers.
He’d stay close by at all times, observing from a distance. On the days when you’d rather not do anything, Seokjin would meet in your apartment. He’d never tell you that the thing’s you’d have him get up to weren’t what he’d consider fun. He’d go anyway, content to watch you instead of whatever movie you’d convinced him to watch with you.
That’s when he realized it.
Funny, really.
Seokjin has seen love before, as it is, his duty was to bring those who are fated together by a series of coincidences. A meet-cute here, a spilled coffee there, even going as far as to reunite friends who've grown up and apart from each other. He’s seen how love can make people bloom like flowers in the spring, and change like seasons together.
He’s seen love make people go distances they’d have never dared to otherwise. He’s seen it in simple words and touches, grand and minute gestures.
So, Seokjin knows what love is when he feels it. It’s that feeling he gets in his chest when you smile, poking fun at him because there’s always something that’s so distinctively human he would never understand. Strange now that it makes him happy, you’re at a point where you no longer deny him being your friend when other people ask, when you take his teasing in stride like friends do.
You’re happier now, despite the trial and error and the hoops you have to jump through to get where you want to be.
It’s the way your hand felt in his when you held it for the first time. It was after one of your many dates, a Saturday evening when the sun was already dragging the moon into the sky.
First snow, and you’d both sat on swings in an empty park far away from where you’d normally venture. Crystalline flakes fluttered into your hair and melted on your clothes. He’d given you his scarf before you could start to shiver.
He’d been content to watch you then, boots kicking at the snow that was piling up quickly.
Watching the way you found joy in a snowflake landing on your nose, and the way you’d try to catch them with your tongue. On the way out of the park, you held his hand because there was ice on the ground and you didn’t want to slip.
Even through the layer of your gloves Seokjin felt the warmth of your skin. He’s way beyond being flustered by such a thing, but heat climbed his neck and flushed his cheeks and he blamed it on the cold.
Seokjin felt something curl around his heart tightly, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He understands Hyunjin now, he thinks, his words play on his mind more frequently these days. Unlike Hyunjin, though, Seokjin is too rooted to his place.
The dangers that would come from you and him being anything more than what you are now are too great for Seokjin to risk it. He knows well what would come of it, and it’s nothing good. You would have to spend the rest of your life hiding from the seeing eyes of others, and the forces that will undoubtedly tear you apart.
Seokjin doesn’t want that for you. You will be more unhappy than you’ve ever been. Forced to remain in shadows even when Seokjin represents a light greater than man could ever create. It would be selfish of him to want it, to go through with it as though he’s not making you suffer.
There’s a lump in his throat as he swallows, as he looks at you now, sitting next to him, with not a care in the world.
You glow brightly, like a star, burning hot in the far distance. Far, far off. And just like a star, you’re something he could never reach, even with all his prowess; you aren’t his to hold.
Though he wants to, and it hurts that he can’t.
“Jin.” You call his name softly, and Seokjin realizes that he’s failed. It’s the first time he’s ever felt so defeated.
He’s seen you, too. The way you’d try to pretend that his feelings aren’t yours as well. He knows. He’s seen love enough to know.
The way you’d flush at your friends’ teasing, but would not deny it. The way you’d watch him as though you’ve found something that you’ve been searching for.
“Are you okay?” Your concerned tone made him realize that he’s turned to look at you, but he’s not said anything. He nods, a little unsurely and you have a right to not look convinced.
You’re different now than you were when Seokjin met you. When he’d planted himself into the memory of your friends for the sake of his task. Truly, he wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to do his job from a distance, never to interfere. He’s watched you go on date after date and all his arrows would fall short of their target.
So, he did the most sensible thing and got directly involved. He was supposed to be finished already, it was supposed to be quick. He’s lingered too long, and now he's sunk so deeply into clear waters that it's turned to mud. He’s unwilling to lead you to the one you’re destined for – even though he knows who it is – and he’s unwilling to let himself be the one to love you instead.
His duty isn’t to love you, he knows this.
“I’m okay.” Angels aren’t supposed to lie, but he did, and he has been for a while. Trying to convince himself that he wasn’t falling in love with you.
“You’re lying.” You say, knowingly. How far have you come to be able to read him like this?
“I’ve never once lied to you.” Seokjin says, and it’s without his usual mirth. You give him a questioning look and not much else, nodding your head slowly.
“If you say so...”
Seokjin simmers in his thoughts for a while, glancing at you when you laugh at something silly.
“Y/n,” He calls softly, and you hum, turning to face him. Seokjin takes a breath, “I have to leave.”
“Right now? The movie isn’t even finished yet.”
“I know...” Seokjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. He stares at the TV screen, not really paying attention, watching a young girl ride a dragon to a far away place. He never understood your reason for having a TV in your bedroom, but it’s quite convenient for comfort.
He could just leave quietly, slip out of your apartment and out of your life without a word. It doesn’t feel right to do so without telling you, though.
“I won’t be back.” Seokjin waits for his words to settle, as the movie fades to background noise and he watches as realization dawns on you.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” You ask, voice pitching at the end, you stand and he does too, “But you haven’t – You can’t leave.”
“I have to.” He places his hands on your shoulders, trying to calm the storm before it blows in. It’s not helping, he knows, as you take a step back.
“Tell me why.” You demand, and Seokjin sees the tears in your eyes before they fall. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no. You didn’t do anything. It’s me.” Seokjin sighs, “This...this was a mistake. I never should have gotten involved.”
You call his name then, with so much pain that Seokjin feels his heart shatter in his chest. He hates it. He hates that even doing this, he still manages to make you unhappy, he’s the cause of your uneven breaths and the tears that race their way down your cheeks and he hates it.
“I’ll make sure you find them. I promise.”
“But I don’t want that! I love you. You can’t just leave.”
Seokjin lets his hands fall to his sides, staring at a spot somewhere above your head to avoid looking you in the eye. He knows what you want, of course he does, because he wants it to. You've gone and said it and that only makes things harder.
“Y/n.” He says your name firmly, and you snap your mouth shut, shoulders shaking still as you try to put an end to your tears. He takes a step closer, raising a hand to cup your cheek, “We can never be. It’s not meant to be this way.”
“Please don’t go.” You whisper, fingers curling around his wrist. “Please stay.”
His resolve is breaking. The longer he stays the harder it’ll be to walk away. Sighing he wraps his arms around you, holding you as you shatter.
Seokjin presses a kiss to your forehead and your eyes in turn, chasing away the remainder of your tears. There’s sadness still in your eyes when you open them, he tilts your head back to capture your lips softly with his.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He says, wiping away tears that still fall.
“Do you promise?”
Instead of answering, Seokjin kisses you again, hands slipping under the warmth of your sweater to meet your soft skin. He feels the shiver that runs through you, and he wonders if his hands are cold. You call his name softly and he gently quiets you, tugging lightly at the hem of your sweater, “Can I take this off?”
You nod and Seokjin helps you wiggle your way out of it. He doesn’t think of the consequences – he doesn’t want to, so he allows his mind to blank. He’ll give in only this once, he’ll give himself to you for the first and last time, no matter how selfish it seems.
He kisses you slowly, making a map of the marks he leaves against your skin. He wants to tell you everything, he wants to take every step with you, meet you somewhere along a coast where nothing matters. But here, he’ll steal this moment and keep it with him forever, until the pain of it fades and he could look back on it fondly.
He quiets the small sounds you make with his mouth, hands bringing your legs up to wrap around his waist. You fit perfectly below him, like a puzzle piece of a puzzle he’s been trying to find.
He props himself up on his hands, gazing at you, “You’re so beautiful.” He leans down, brushing his nose against you, lips finding yours again.
There’s a storm raging outside, wind sending snow pattering softly against your window. Seokjin tries not to let his mind wander, not when you're beneath him and so warm. Your skin is warm, your scent invades his senses and you’re the only thing he could see and Seokjin feels like crying. There’s something in the back of his mind that’s screaming at him, jarring and loud, that he should savor this moment because he’ll never have it again.
He pulls away from you, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, “I’m taking these off, okay?”
Your knee nudges his side, “You first. You’re still dressed.”
Seokjin chuckles, quickly pulling his sweater and the tee-shirt he wears over his head, “Now we’re even.”
He stands to step out of his sweatpants, allowing you a moment to strip the rest of your clothes on your own. He settles next to you, fingers tracing patterns against the soft skin of your inner thighs, touching lightly just to watch your eyes flutter shut and your nipples stiffen into peaks when he blows air over them. He marks you with his teeth and his tongue, taking a nipple into his mouth, hand stilling when you raise your hips to meet it.
“Impatient little thing.” He mutters, but cuts your pleading whine short, fingers finding where he knows you want him most, groaning at the wetness he finds. He rubs slow circles against your clit and catches your moans with his lips. When he’s teased you enough, when your desperate moans of his name is enough to make him rut his growing erection against your hip, he sinks his fingers into your heat, thumb never leaving your clit.
He curls his fingers against a spot that makes you cry out, your arousal drips into his palm, and he sucks bruises into the skin of your neck. Seokjin’s hips jerk forward when your fingers curl around his cock, squeezing around the base, “Fuck.”
Your other hand stills his and he pulls away to look at you, pupils blown and eyes heavily lidded, chest rising and falling with your breaths. “Can we just...”
“It’s been a while for you, right?” Seokjin asks softly, slowly resuming the thrust of his fingers, at your nod there’s a smirk on his exhale, “It’ll hurt if I don’t. Gotta stretch you out first.”
He can feel the way your walls tighten and flutter around his fingers, feel the way shudder, moans rising his pitch. “Jin- fuck, I’m so close.”
“Already?” Jin tilts his head, tone teasing. He kisses you, tongue sliding against your own, “Let go for me, baby.”
Your gasp is followed by a drawn out moan, curses and unintelligible words on the end of it. Seokjin watches you tip over the edge, unable to help the motion of his hips thrusting his cock into the loose grip your hand had around it. Removing his fingers from your heat, he lets you catch your breath, pressing a kiss to your temple, “You did so well baby, so good for me.”
Seokjin pulls away, placing a fleeting kiss on your shoulder, “Do you have condoms?” He asks, rubbing a hand on your trembling thigh. He would’ve thought you’d passed out if it wasn’t for the limp way you motion to the bedside table.
You peek an eye at him, “I’m clean if that’s what you’re worried about.” You murmur, and Seokjin smiles, shaking his head.
“That’s good to know sweet girl, but it’s not that. You don’t want what I can give you, trust me.” Seokjin turns to rummage through your things, finding the box tucked into a corner, “It’ll be hell if something unexpected happens. We’ll have a very big problem on our hands.”
“Oh, you mean...”
“Yes. It’s best if we avoid that.” He tears the glossy wrapper with his teeth, moving back to you, he kneels between your open legs. He slides the condom on and you prop up on your elbows to watch, when Seokjin’s eyes flicker up, he could see the hint of worry in yours. He raises a hand to brush your cheek with his fingers, “I’ll go slowly.”
He’s mindful of his size and how long it’s been for you as you settle again, one hand gently gripping your hip, he keeps his eyes on you, watching your every expression. He drags his cock against your sopping cunt, hand holding steady, he leans down to slot his lips to yours, “Ready?” He whispers, waiting until you nod.
A groan leaves him as he enters you, and your fingernails scratches red into his shoulders. He buries his face against your neck, teeth nipping at the skin he could reach, giving slow shallow thrusts until he bottoms out. You’re so warm and tight around him, he takes the calls of his name as prayer, you cling to him as though he’d disappear, and Seokjin thinks that some part of you knows.
Nothing you can say or do will make him change his mind, but he’ll allow you this moment. This moment where it’s just you and him and nothing else, where he can easily show you how he feels without promising anything more.
He thrusts slowly, wanting the moment to last for as long as it can, knowing that he will go on and remember this, and you, when the morning comes you would never know that you’ve loved and been loved.
This way, it’s better, it’ll be easier knowing that one day you’ll find what you need in someone else that isn’t him, without ever knowing what you mean to him at all. Things will return to the way it was meant to be, with him watching from a distance, guiding you in the way he was supposed to from the start.
Seokjin wills the tears behind his eyes to go away, and tells his mind to shut up.
Your name is a sigh on his lips, a prayer that when the time comes he could walk away. Your hips rise to meet his thrusts, and Seokjin loses his fingers in your hair, holding you closer because it’s all he could do as you grow ever tighter around him. He chases his end as you find yours, lips crashing against yours sloppily when he stills, release spilling into the condom.
“Are you okay?” Seokjin asks after a moment, when the room doesn’t feel like a sauna, and he’s finished cleaning you and himself up. Brushing back your hair that hides your eyes from his view, you kiss his palm and Seokjin tries not to let his sadness show in his smile.
“I’m okay. Can we take a shower? I feel gross.” You laugh, already getting up to walk to your closet, you throw a towel at him and he catches it.
“That’s rude, we don’t throw things.” Seokjin trails after you, taking your hand in his because he needs to be grounded right now and not think about what he has to do.
When you stir the next morning, the other side of the bed is cold, but Seokjin’s sitting at your side, brushing your hair away from your eyes.
“You’re still here?” You murmur, smiling sleepily. You open your eyes a bit to see him fully dressed in last night’s clothes.
“I’m here.” Seokjin smiles sadly, massaging your scalp with his fingers, “I have to go.”
You pull away from him to sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with a hand, “Are you coming back?”
He watches you quietly for a moment before he shakes his head, “I can’t.” He takes your hand and squeezes gently, “This...we can’t.” He sighs, frustrated, knowing what he has to say, what he needs to do.
Seokjin has spent thousands of years watching the rise and fall of mankind over and over, doing his duty as a Cupid to bring those who are fated together. He’s seen heartbreak, he’s seen how it shatters a person’s very being, now he knows what it feels like as he watches tears gather in your eyes because you know, too.
“Don’t go. Please. We can make this work, Jin. Please.” His throat feels tight, something is squeezing his chest and he hates it. He hates that you’re crying because of him, because he’s breaking your heart. “Please stay.”
“I can’t.” Seokjin whispers this, pulling you closer when you reach for him, the sound of your sobs etches into his core and they cut deep. He’s held you, a star, and you’ve burnt him now. Stars burn the brightest as they die, giving their all in the last moment of their lives, and like a star he watches as you implode.
Sometimes though, stars don’t always turn into black holes when they die, sometimes they scatter into matter and burn dimly forever. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Why? Why’d you let me fall for you?” You hiccup, pushing at his chest and Seokjin lets you, letting his hands drop at his side. “You knew that this was going to happen and you let it happen!”
Your tears are angry now, but still so sad, and you slap weakly at his arms. “Why?”
“I’m sorry.” He cups your cheeks with his hands, thumbs catching your tears. He wished it wasn’t this way, he wished that things were different, that maybe, you could’ve met him under different circumstances. That he wasn’t him, but you were still you. He wasn’t expecting it, like most things, it simply happened.
He kisses you while you cry, your fingers curl tightly into the material of his sweater, “I’m sorry. You have to forget me.”
You pull away from him completely, tears flowing faster now, “No.”
“Y/n.” He sighs.
“You can’t do that. What gives you the right?” You escape his reach, moving to the other side of the bed where you get off, turning to face him, “You can leave. You can go and pretend that this never happened. You can’t make me forget, I don’t want to forget you.”
Sighing Seokjin gets up too, walking around the bed to you. You step backwards until you have nowhere to go, back against the wall. “I have to.”
“No, you don’t.”
“So stubborn.” Seokjin clenches his jaw, his head hurts and he wants this to be over. The longer he stands here having this conversation, the harder it will be to follow through. He walks until he’s in your space, hand finding your cheek again. “Why are you always so stubborn?”
“Jin.” You whisper his name and his heart breaks, “Please.”
“Are you ready to spend the rest of your life knowing that we can never see each other again? Knowing me will put everyone you care about in danger. There’s no chance. It’ll break you and I’d rather not have that happen.” Seokjin says, “This was never supposed to happen. We weren’t meant to happen.”
“I don’t want to forget.” You repeat, stubbornly. “Please don’t make me forget.”
Seokjin leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his fingers already at your temple before you have the chance to stop him. He leans away, just watching you, memorizing your features as though he’d ever forget. “I love you.”
You finally quiet, staring at him with wide eyes, “Jin.”
“I’m sorry.” You fall limp and Seokjin catches you before you can hit the floor, holding you to him as the dam breaks and he cries. He cries for the moments he’s shared, the moments you would now live never to remember, he cries because he knows what heartbreak is and he feels it. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”
After he places you back into bed, he makes sure that nothing belonging to him remains. Seokjin walks slowly out of your apartment, looking around at everything because it’s the last time. There’s no way he can come back here, he needs to go as far away as he possibly can.
Softly, he closes your door behind him, and every step he takes he feels as though his heart is being pulled out his chest. He makes it all the way down the hall, and into the elevator when Yoongi steps out of his apartment. He looks at Seokjin for a moment, no sign of recollection whatsoever. The last thing Seokjin before the doors slide close is Yoongi opening yours and going in.
“Y/n. Why the fuck are you sleeping with the window open? Are you trying to get sick?” Yoongi stomps his way into your bedroom, pulling your window shut. He turns to look at you as you sit up, “Hey. Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”
“Hm?” You hum, confused, wiping your fingers under your eyes, “I...I don’t know? Must’ve been a dream?”
“Can you get ready in ten minutes?” Yoongi boldly rummages through your drawers, throwing clothes your way. “The café has deals on donuts and I wanna get some before they sell out.”
He walks to your door, while you sit, still sleepy, still confused. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah...I just...I feel like I’ve lost something.”
Broke your heart? Read the What If sequel drabble - Here
Tagging: @xpeachesncream @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @euphoricfilter @luaspersona @mssukeyna @matchstick6812 @jinsquishes @allhobbitstoisengard @eren-fall @dontstoptime @eoieopda
#persphonesorchid#bts seokjin#kim seokjin#kim seokjin x reader#bts x reader#bts x you#bts fluff#bts angst#bts smut#bts imagine#bts one shot#bts fanfiction#bts fic rec#BTS fic Collab#Catch of the century#Jin's dirty thirty#Fic: Cupid's on holiday#Angel au#Cupid au#Cupid!Seokjin#Slight enemies to lovers
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A fic rec of One Direction fantasy fics as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading
—Louis/Harry—
🔮 forever is in your eyes by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed
(M, 125k, mythology, statue) He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-
🔮 There's Such a Lot of World to See by @crinkle-eyed-boo
(E, 125k, Doctor Who) Louis has seen a great many things throughout his travels in time and space, but only one he can’t explain: He keeps meeting the same boy, who says the same thing to him each time. The boy should be impossible.
🔮 Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule
(T, 93k, magical realism) Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren't exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.
🔮 Coax the Cold by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics
(M, 86k, mermaid) When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers.
🔮 Tied to Fate by @littlelouishiccups
(E, 52k, ghost) After his estranged father’s death, Harry inherits a castle in England that has belonged to his family for generations and he knows nothing about.
🔮 It's a Better Place (Since You Came Along) by @phdmama
(E, 51k, magic) When Harry Styles, a mid-level talent, Finder, and small business owner, sets off on the vacation of a lifetime with his best friend, Niall Horan, he has no idea the changes his life will undergo over the next nine days.
🔮 Mind of Stone by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose
(M, 41k, mythology) Louis gingerly moves around the statues, trying not to look at their faces. The room is quiet, probably a basement from the low ceiling. He mentally curses when he doesn’t see a door leading outside.
🔮 The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson by @helloamhere
(T, 31k, ghost) Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!
🔮 Genie In a Bottle (series) by @kingsofeverything
(E, 29k, genie) As the owner of a second hand shop, Harry comes into contact with a lot of strange and unusual objects. Nothing’s stranger or more unusual than the glass bottle he came across that happened to have a genie inside—a gorgeous genie by the name of Louis who offered to make all of Harry’s wishes come true.
🔮 Don't Let the Tide Come and Take Me by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou
(M, 28k, mermaid) the one where Louis decides to set a merman free and ends up finding his own freedom along the way.
🔮 Where the World has Come Together by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup
(M, 26k, elves, vampires) For the crime of elven blood running through his veins, Louis Tomlinson spends his days protecting the human kingdom he’s been cast out of.
🔮 Love Will Light The Way by @jesapeak
(E, 26k, reaper) Most people throughout Louis's life thought that dying brought you to one of two gates. Heaven or Hell. Really, it brought you to a dated diner, just outside of the suburbs, skirting the beginning of the city. Where, instead of God, you met Liam Payne and his post-it notes.
🔮 The Blood of Love by @mugglemirror
(E, 25k, witches) Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.
🔮 In the Strangest of Ways by SunTomato / @sun-tomato
(NR, 17k, ghost) And when the haunting sounds of a melancholy piano piece accompanied by the vague shadow of a beautiful male figure appear, Louis is determined to find out who this beautiful man was and what happened to him…
🔮 (Make You Want To) Scream by @lululawrence
(M, 16k, bodyswap) While Louis' left hand plays with his nipple, his right reaches down and wraps around his dick and that's when he really knows something is wrong. The dick in his hand does not feel like his own.
🔮 Far Afield by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird
(T, 11k, witches) Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.
🔮 Just Your Jinx by @larryatendoftheday
(T, 10k, witch) Harry Styles may or may not have accidentally jinxed his extremely fit new neighbor, and it's not so easy to make things right.
🔮 Sympathy For The Devil by @taggiecb
(G, 5k, Satan, Santa) the one with Santa Harry and Satan Louis and a series of misspelled letters to Santa.
🔮 Moon Dances Over by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup
(G, 2k, mermaids) Louis knows that his tail is, frankly, stunning. His iridescent blue scales shimmer in even the slightest sunlight, and his fins have grown since he presented, delicate and almost transparent in their webbing.
🔮 Needle by @nouies
(NR, 666 words, magic) “You didn’t deserve this,” he muttered between hiccups. “She didn’t have the right.”
—Rare Pairs—
🔮 leave my life outside (or let me in) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed
(M, 52k, Zayn/Liam) Zayn is a 111 year old demon who is trying to decide his future. Liam is a 17 year old human struggling with his own life.
🔮 When We Hold On (To the Past) by @louandhazaf / YesIsAWorld
(E, 3k, Zayn/Louis) Zayn could drop the subject and keep fucking him, keep the strings from getting attached, pretend that they weren’t getting closer than Louis was comfortable with. Or Zayn could choose the opposite path—which he did.
#ficrec#fantasyfics#fantasy#1dficvillage#1dsource#trackinghappily#trackinghome#tracksintheam#ficsfor4am
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Destiel Fic Recs Part 2
(人 •͈ᴗ•͈)
heheh part 2 <33333 I couldn't fit these in part 1 (*<3*)
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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.
5. 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.
6. 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.
#destiel fanfic recs#destiel fanfiction#destiel#dean and cas#dean x castiel#dean is bi#dean winchester#deancas#castiel#castiel winchester#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#alternate universe#spn#books and literature
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A Shot Through the Heart
Fandom: Monsta X
Genre: Smut, natch.
Word Count: 17k (yeah, you read that right >.>)
Pairing: Hyungwon x OC
Trope: Anonymous sex, strangers to lovers
Synopsis: “You can’t catch feelings sucking tequila out of a stranger's bellybutton.”
The Vibe: Hopeless romantic OC meets shameless Miami Beach party, sweet and sincere Chae Hyungwon (who’s also a bit of a pathetic loser sometimes, and I love that about him, so that’s here also), probably cringey meet-cute, definitely cringey rom-com title because obvious cheesy rom-com overtones, well-meaning friends who actually have no clue what they’re talking about, body shots, stepping out of one’s comfort zone, instant chemistry, trying (and failing) to keep things casual, unprotected (not-so) anonymous sex (thank you, dramatic irony), far too romantic for what it’s supposed to be, the usual unrealistic rom-com expectations, cute ending because the author is also a hopeless romantic
A/N: Continuing the Wonnie love agenda since no one else wants to do it for me. This was most definitely for me because I’m hyper-obsessive about Hyungwon’s every charming feature and the Unseen promotion as a whole, but I hope you enjoy it, too.
You are here for fun.
As Gwen danced from foot to foot in the raucous line, she repeated the words over and over.
You are here for fun.
With searing clarity, she could hear her roommate Marie as though they were still in the car on their long drive down from New Jersey.
“It’s Miami, okay? You’re not going for a relationship. You are here for fun. Grind up against random hot guys. Make out with a stranger. I love you, but be a little fucking unpredictable for a change. Whatever, just no crushes because, I swear to god, if you even say to me, ‘He’s really sweet, Marie! I could see myself going out with him!’, I will throw up. And if the words ‘boyfriend material’ come out of your mouth, then so help me,I’m leaving your ass in Florida.”
You are here for fun.
She couldn’t even fault her friend for the rant. Gwen formed attachments, real and imagined. Hell, she was about to celebrate her 11th anniversary of fake marriage to Dylan O’Brien even though she hadn’t watched anything with him in it in years. Almost every man she’d ever gone on a date with had been followed with a relationship that left a crater of ruinous magnitude. It drove perennial bachelorette Marie crazy considering she was always the one left behind to rip the empty cookie dough tub from her roommate’s death grip and hazmat the ground zero of all the balled-up tissues.
After the latest of Gwen’s embarrassingly short-lived “sure-thing” relationships blew up spectacularly in her face, her friend had taken her under her wing and planned to show her once and for all “how to put distance between your heart and your lady parts.”
“Let’s have a little fun at men’s expense,” Marie had proposed when she’d flaunted the extravagant hotel deal she’d scored in Gwen’s face.
Now a month later, and here they were, three nights in at a palatial hotel on Miami Beach with a pulsing club in its heart and a raucous party that trickled out onto its grand pool concourse.
Their deal had been a simple one. In exchange for saying “yes” to three bullet points on her roommate’s “good time list,” Marie would pay for the hotel rooms for their bachelorette weekend. The only other stipulation on top of that was absolutely, positively no relationships.
So far, Gwen had passed with flying colors. She’d let a man buy her a drink at the hotel bar, and she’d danced with a few strangers, all without a hint of attachment. The guys were an eclectic mix of hot that had Marie rubbing her hands together and muttering “Taste the rainbow” on ludicrous repeat, but that’s all they were—eye candy. Gwen could compartmentalize that. Her friend’s plan was working. She’d felt beautiful. She’d felt powerful. She’d felt in control of her heart for once. She was ready to conquer one last, more challenging bullet point.
“You’re young, you’re hot, but you’re too damn romantic,” Marie had scolded as she’d helped her friend accessorize before heading down for the night. “Tonight, remember your mantra. You’re here to have fun. You’re not going to invent a backstory for everyone you meet. It’s okay to be a little superficial sometimes.”
“I’m doing pretty good, aren’t I?”
“Killing it, in fact,” the spicy brunette agreed.
“Damnit, I’m still so nervous every time though,” Gwen admitted as Marie had smoothed out her friend’s blonde beachy waves.
“Yeah, I know, babe, which is why I keep urging you to dip your toe instead of deep-ending everything. Contrary to what your Nora Ephron-mutated heart tells you, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the guys you meet aren’t marriage material for Gwen Goodwin.”
“What about the one who is?”
Marie bent down and kissed her friend’s cheek. “I don’t know, but I promise you this. You didn’t meet him last night, and you’re not going to meet him tonight.”
So it had all led up to this bullet point—a ridiculous line for body shots poolside.
“Come on, you picked the best one on the list! It’s harmless,” Marie had laughed as she escorted her friend into the line. “You can’t catch feelings sucking tequila out of a stranger's bellybutton. Now, I'm going to go hit on that guy over there, and, god willing, have his beautiful, obscene mouth on mine for a bit, and you’re going to spin the roulette wheel of hot and put your beautiful, obscene mouth on someone’s sexy stomach. No regrets?”
“No regrets,” Gwen agreed.
“I’ll have my eye on you, babe. If you need me, text me,” she said as she flashed her smartwatch at Gwen.
“Will do.”
“Have fun! Love you!”
“Good luck!”
Gwen watched as Marie zig-zagged through several clusters of partygoers until she reached her target, a rather burly guy with stupendous shoulders accentuated by a compression tee. Gwen couldn’t see the guy’s face, but she could see her friend’s, and it was lit up with a smile the likes of which she had never seen from the girl. She kept her fingers crossed that things would pan out as her friend hoped.
Meanwhile, Gwen turned back to her line where the shot-takers waited alongside the line of human shot glasses. She was at least twenty people back from the table, so there was no way to know with whom she might be paired. There were just as many women in the shot glass line as there were men, all of them attractive at unprecedented levels. She was grateful she was in the line she’d chosen because she didn’t think she could survive someone of their sexiness putting their mouths on her stomach.
That’s when her eyes fell on him, the shot glass with the round face and flushed lips. He was tall and slender, dressed unassumingly for someone in his decidedly sexier line. He wore a plain black tee and a pair of slim fit jeans on legs that seemed double the length of the rest of him. Other than a few silver rings on his spindly fingers, his only accessory was a pair of now-pointless sunglasses sitting on top of his fluffy dark hair. There was nothing flashy about the guy, yet she somehow wished she had a pair of her own sunglasses just to look at him.
His toned arms were stacked loosely over a wide chest that pulled the tee at his shoulders. Pretty as he was, the man didn’t talk to a soul; if he knew any of the people around him, he didn’t let on. Instead, those big, inquisitive eyes busied themselves scanning the party like a prairie dog.
He looked at her suddenly then, and the weight of his attention made Gwen’s ankle give out in her stupid high heels. She wobbled back with a yelp, but, luckily, the girl behind her caught her elbow and helped her regain her balance.
“You all right?” the girl asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gwen mumbled along with an apology and her thanks.
“Walk much?” said some generic bro a few people back in line, and it felt like everyone at the party was looking at her.
Humiliated, Gwen risked a glance over at the shot glass, but he seemed to be the only one who had turned back, though she couldn’t help but think that a proud smile tugged at his lips.
She would give just about anything for her pajamas and a romantic comedy right about now. She contemplated slipping out of line and heading back to her room, but she’d have to clear it with Marie first because she didn’t want to just leave her friend in such a big crowd of strangers, so instead, she stayed the course with plans of making a hasty retreat right after.
As the EDM pulsed across the party deck and the palm trees shimmied overhead in the steady sea breeze, the lines dwindled quicker than she ever expected.
And of course, it was becoming abundantly clear that, short of someone passing out or running off at the last possible second, Gwen was going to be lapping tequila from the navel of the pretty boy with the prettier smile.
When there was just one couple left ahead of them, she thought about offering her spot to the nice girl behind her as a thank you. The ponytailed babe behind the pretty boy sported a crop top and a great set of abs, so technically, it would still be fun for Gwen without the creeping dread, but before she could ask the girl behind her to switch places, she heard the call from the bottle girl.
“Next!”
With a lump in her throat, Gwen approached the table alongside the man in the black shirt. He nodded to the girl behind the table and then to Gwen.
“Hey.”
“H-hey,” she said.
The bottle girl continued all business as she had that night, though she did offer the man a smile she did not offer Gwen.
While she paid for her shot, he climbed onto the bar counter easily and shimmied himself into the most comfortable position the hardwood would allow.
Everyone waited for the hem of his shirt to reveal his stomach, but it didn’t. Instead, he looked to Gwen.
“You want it, you have to do it,” he said with a toothy grin as his eyes flicked to his clothed torso.
Gwen glared at his stomach and then at his face. “Excuse me?”
He laughed and waved in surrender. “I’m kidding, just kidding!”
But it was now patently clear he knew he’d been the reason she’d stumbled, and she wasn’t going to let him halt her momentum.
You are here for fun.
Finally, the attendant grew too annoyed to keep her mouth shut and griped, “If you’re not going to take the shot, I have to—”
“Okay, okay, I’m doing it,” Gwen insisted, though she’d meant it more for her shot glass than her bartender.
With a glower at the long man stretched out before her, she pushed his shoulder back so he flattened out on the table, the grin still playing at his luscious lips finally disappearing with her determination. Her fingers curled around the hem of the t-shirt resting far too near the apex of his thighs, and, slowly, she pushed it up his abdomen. She could have just yanked it up, but she wanted to punish him for his teasing as much as she wanted to savor the reveal, so she let her palm drag across the yielding skin of his stomach.
A swath of flawless flesh appeared beneath her, tensing instinctively along the path her hand had set. Like the rest of his features, it was soft and inviting. He didn’t have washboard abs like many of the men who’d showcased on the table already; instead, she found a narrow waist flaring broader and broader the higher she pushed the shirt up his chest. His freshly tanned skin featured the gentlest dips and smoothest waves of skin she’d ever seen. His navel was delicate, cute even, though she’d never considered a bellybutton particularly cute before. All of it made Gwen’s throat feel far too dry.
The bottle girl didn’t even try to hide the way she chewed her own lip, but she poured a shot of crystalline liquid into the appetizing little divot anyway. Gwen’s shot glass laughed, borderline giggled, at the sensation, sending a slender river of booze cascading over his naked waistline.
“Cold,” he confessed.
“You’re up,” the bottle girl said to Gwen with a bitterness she also didn’t try to hide.
Gwen nodded and stole a quick glance at the man’s face. He’d propped his head on his hands now so he could watch the show and grinned so hard she expected his laugh to follow any second.
Her brow wrinkled. If he was going to play games with her, then she could damn well return the favor. Gwen splayed her hand at the hem of his jeans, her fingers spread between the contrast of silken flesh and harsh denim. She bent over and pressed her bottom lip into the pouch of skin at the edge of his navel and closed her top lip around it to form a seal. She sucked quickly, a little of his skin suctioning between her lips.
The man gasped, and his hand clasped reflexively to the back of her head as she drained the last of the liquor from his navel. The urge to kiss his tummy overwhelmed, but Gwen fought it off, though she couldn’t quite stand up with his hand still in her hair. Instead, she rolled her head to the side and caught his eye. The motion surprised him, and he yanked his hand back.
Gwen stood up and licked every honeyed droplet of booze from her lips. He tried to sit up, too, but distracted by the trail of her tongue, his hand slipped in an errant splash, and he fell back onto his elbows. It was her turn to savor a proud smile.
“One more?” asked Gwen hopefully.
He didn’t hesitate. “Okay, sure.”
“Another shot please,” she said to the bottle girl, thrusting out her card.
“Sure,” said the other woman with a well-practiced smile. “See you shortly.”
“What?”
“You can buy another shot, but you’ve got to hop back in line.”
“But we’re already here?” Gwen noted with a poignant look at the man’s exposed stomach.
“Not how it works, sweetie. See you in a bit. Next!”
With a resigned sigh, Gwen rejoined the crowd. There was only a slim hope of being paired up with the same guy again, but not knowing what else to do, she followed the snaking line to the end only to notice the man was nowhere to be found.
Gwen looked for Marie, but the crowd had swelled as the night had worn on, and she couldn't find her friend anywhere. No doubt, the girl was twirling in some random hot guy’s arms somewhere in the thicket of dancers at the other end of the concourse, but Gwen didn’t really feel like braving all those sweaty bodies.
You are here for fun.
It had been fun, she realized, but it was so short-lived that now that it was over, she also realized how little fun the rest of the night had been in comparison. Rather than spoil Marie’s good time, too, Gwen made her way to a poolside recliner and sat down to people-watch.
There were hundreds of beautiful people here, not that that was a surprise; short of some place like Los Angeles, she wasn’t sure where there was a more concentrated percentage of objective hotness. Everyone rocked a beach-ready body, many still clad in their actual swimsuits, and thanks to the tropical air, they all smelled of a perfume of sunscreen, booze, and sweat. Laughter and cheers crescendoed around her as drinks were downed and the music pumped up. Tiny asses nestled in gyrating groins as limbs snaked up and down strangers’ bodies.
But as much as there was to see, the truth was the one person Gwen wanted to watch was gone.
Another ten minutes or so had passed with her eyes firmly fixed on the body shot lines, but her shot glass never reappeared, and she found herself so painfully far from the “fun” she was supposed to be having that when a new guy sat down beside her and started to chat, she decided to invent a new backstory of her own considering Marie had banned her from inventing them for bachelors she’d met.
“I only found out mid-way through the pregnancy that my cousin was having my fiancé’s baby. So I said ‘screw them all,’ packed my shit, and drove straight down here to start having some of my own fun for once,” proclaimed Gwen with a whip and toss of her hair over her shoulder.
“Heavy,” said the bearded man with a smug, approving nod next to her, and she snickered to herself at the anticipatory predatory flash in his eyes.
But her fun at the stranger’s expense was also short-lived when she heard over her shoulder, “That’s some story.”
Gwen swiveled on her chaise to find the lithe stranger from the body shot line holding a mostly empty bottle of tequila with a spout already stuffed in its neck.
“Oh, hey,” she fumbled. “You’re still here.”
“I am.”
An awkward silenced stretched between them as she scrambled to figure out which version of herself she was supposed to be presenting.
Miraculously, the bearded man saved her at the last second. “Is this your friend?”
“Best friend actually,” said her former shot glass, “here to make sure she has all the fun she wants.”
Knowing his window had closed, the bearded man nodded and faded back into the crowd without so much as a wave goodbye, not that Gwen had room to spare another second for him now that pretty boy had returned.
“Was any of that story true?” her handsome stranger asked.
Gwen shrugged. “The having fun part is true enough. The rest might have been part of said fun.”
He smiled gently, his cheeks two kissable meringues as he added, “Sorry about before.”
“For what?”
His eyes cast down her leggings to her feet. “Is your ankle okay?”
“Oh.” Gwen wrinkled her nose and protested weakly, “Hey, that wasn’t you, you know.”
“No, of course not.”
“It was these stupid heels. I’m more of a sandals girl. I’m just not used to wearing them.”
He nodded though he was clearly suppressing a laugh. “I see. So I’m off the hook?”
Gwen cocked her head in mock consideration as she eyed the bottle in his silver-clad hand. “That depends. How are you going to make up for exposing a very tragic girl after she thought she’d gotten away with it?”
One of those rings clanked emphatically against the glass, ringing even above the club music. “What about offering a second shot like you wanted?”
He waggled the bottle for effect, the liquid inside splintering the pulsing lights.
Gwen squinted at him. “How did you…?”
He brought his finger to his lips and bent down to her ear. Thanks to the blaring music, even this close, he nearly had to shout, “I stole it.”
“What a rebel.”
“Yeah, well, I’m really motivated.”
“Uh, okay, sure. I guess that’s fair.”
“Good, because I’m all about fair. Come on. I’ll find us somewhere where you can take it.”
The innuendo simmered between them until Gwen’s thirst had expanded beyond the restraints of mere drink.
“There’s a lounger right here?” she suggested as she looked at the chaise, but he shook his head.
“That would draw to much attention. I’m a rebel and thief now, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, of course. How could I forget?”
“Maybe we can head out to the beach, or,” the stranger hedged slowly, “I have a room upstairs if you want?”
His tone was matter-of-fact, considerate even, yet sin infused his bottomless brown eyes. It was a proposition Gwen had never considered. She was a fall-in-love not a fall-in-bed kind of girl.
But.
She was not going to fall in love on this trip, and she had never seen a man who looked like this one.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she pretended to mull it over and shrugged a shoulder to sell the act, though there had only ever been one possible outcome the moment her eyes had met his.
“Maybe it’s better if we go upstairs… I mean, we don’t want them to lock you up and throw away the key.”
“I appreciate that,” he said with a smile that left little doubt how well he understood everything.
“Let me just make sure my friend is okay with it.”
He nodded, unfazed. “I’ll do the same.”
Both of them pulled out their phones, and Gwen sent a quick message to Marie.
When Gwen put away her phone, she found the man waiting with an expectant, squishy grin on his face.
“Is your friend all good?” he asked.
“All good. What about yours?”
He motioned through the crowd back toward the hotel, and as they walked, he said, “They’re all good. Turns out they all knew already. The friend who helped me distract the bartender told the rest of them anyway, which I should have figured, I guess.”
Gwen perked an eyebrow. “They knew when I didn’t, huh? You’re not just a rebel, but a cocky rebel.”
Her companion laughed and rubbed the back of his head in his chagrin. “Maybe I’m just more of a hopeful rebel. Or a lucky one seeing as I almost lost my chance.”
She laughed now, too. “Who? That guy? No way. I think I was just amusing myself since I was bored.”
“Bored? Here, I half-expected I’d find you back in the body shot line.”
“Well, I whole-hoped I’d find you back in it, too, but since you weren’t there, that poor guy had to hear a story I’m pretty sure I stole from a soap opera.”
Her companion smirked. “I guess that makes you a rebel and a thief, too.”
“I guess so.”
They chatted easily across the busy pool deck and all through the lobby, but the second the elevator doors closed them in alone together, the conversation clotted up. It was a long and mortifyingly unbroken trip to the twenty-second floor, and the only sounds were the shush-shush of the elevator and the dull thunk of the bottle as he tapped it against his thigh.
Suddenly, he cleared his throat. “Uh, kind of embarrassed to admit this, but it occurs to me I don’t know your name. I’m—”
“You know, let’s keep it that way for now, okay?” Gwen interrupted with a tight smile.
“Huh? Oh, sure, sure…” he agreed though he couldn’t have looked more floored.
“It's nothing personal. Actually, that’s sort of the point. I have a tendency to get carried away. It’s a long, boring story, ha. And a lot less colorful than my made-up ones.”
“I'm a good listener.”
“Yeah,” she said solemnly, “I can tell that about you. Which is definitely why I need to keep things firmly in the here and now.”
“Live in the moment, I can get behind that.”
“Cool.” Gwen turned hesitantly to him just as the doors to the elevator split wide. “So, is that okay with you? Because if it’s not, we’ll just toast to this super awkward elevator ride.”
The man motioned for her to go ahead of him into the hallway before he added, “I’m not the kind of guy to turn back.”
I can tell that, too… she thought resignedly.
He led Gwen down the chic hallway to his room, where she stopped short and pulled out her phone.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Just letting my friend know where I am.”
“That's smart,” he said with a nod. “I’m on notice now, huh?”
“You got that right, buddy.”
They shared a laugh, and again, Gwen was struck by how brightly the man’s face glowed and how engaging his laugh was. Another thought popped into her head just then.
“Speaking of...” she started as she raised her camera. “Smile?”
Without a trace of surprise or curiosity, he did, and it was so blinding, it threw off the exposure in her phone, which gave Gwen the perfect excuse to snap a few more.
“How did my mugshot come out?” he asked and craned his neck to steal a peek.
“You’re a matter of public record now, sir. But I imagine it will be the first mugshot to grace the cover of Vogue.”
“Nice.”
She stashed her phone without hitting send, with a small grin for her white lie. For some reason, Gwen couldn't bring herself to share him. But he didn't need to know that.
Meanwhile, the man fished his key card out of his too-tight jean pocket and ushered her inside. He took off his shoes as soon as he walked in, much to her relief, since it meant she could finally get out of her damn heels. When she looked back up, she was at a loss.
“Shit…”
His head whipped toward her, eyebrows pinched with concern. “Everything okay?”
“I mean… Your room is so much nicer than mine.”
He clutched his heart in mock relief before he said, “What’s your room like?”
“Not like this. Small and bayside. You have a balcony!”
“Oh, uh, yeah. It’s my friend’s bachelor party this weekend, so we all kind of went all out, I guess. You want to go out?”
“Hell yeah, I do!” Gwen squealed. She made a bee line past the enormous bed and whisked open the door.
The wind was stiffer twenty-two floors up, and it bombarded her skin, fresh and salty and a little sticky but uplifting. She breathed in deeply, a smile splitting her face. The half-moon shimmied across the Atlantic swells in time with the electronic beats filtering up from the party at the pool below. She couldn’t help herself—she waved at the partygoers even though they were far too small to see much this high up.
“Aw,” her companion said sweetly. “Waving to your friend?”
“Yeah,” replied Gwen with a blush. “Not that she’ll see me.”
He joined her in leaning on the railing and waving at his friends, too. When he looked back up, his smile shifted slightly, less silly and a lot sultrier. She cleared her throat lightly and headed back inside.
With her back to the huge bay windows, Gwen could finally take in the rest of the room. It was modern and cloaked in the same jeweled beach tones of her own, but it was much more spacious, with a desk and a sofa plus a pair of chairs, while, to the left behind a half-wall, the enormous bed stretched out beneath a large padded headboard.
With a tiny yelp, her companion scrambled over in a hurry to straighten the still-crumpled covers and even out the pillows.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he worked, “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s fine. It’s not like I make my bed on vacation. Or ever really.”
Gwen meant it, but that didn’t mean she could shake the undeniably sexy implication of those tossed sheet or the image of this beautiful man stretched out naked and languid in them.
Still, he dressed the bed as quickly as he could and turned around with a flushed face. Again, he mumbled, “Sorry.”
“No worries. Hey, do you care if I use your bathroom?”
“Sure, it’s right around there,” he replied, gesturing toward the other side of the bed.
It was really just an excuse to see how much fancier it was than her own, and it did not disappoint. Instead of just a shower stall, there was a huge walk-in surrounded by glass, and instantly, images of fogged windows with desperate hand smears flitted across her mind. Just around the corner was a deep jacuzzi tub that conjured just as many filthy thoughts.
This was progress, Gwen thought. Her libido was on overdrive, which meant she could safely put her heart in the backseat. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her waves had regrettably frizzed, and she’d sweated out a fair bit of makeup, but it did make her skin glow, even under the harsh LED lighting. After a quick freshen-up and a primp to make her chest is best perky self, she returned to find the man waiting in front of the main window, adjusting the tuck of his tee in his tiny waistline.
There was just something about him—his every gesture was sweet and sincere, completely without artifice. And just like that, her heart was threatening a comeback.
You are here for fun.
Gwen shuffled in with a short wave. “I think your bathroom might be as big as my hotel room.”
He grinned. “I think it’s bigger than my apartment honestly.”
“You mean you don’t live like a high roller every day?”
“Actually, I moonlight as a broke New Yorker.”
Oh shit, he’s not far from you, Gwennie…
“You’re ruining my fantasy of the millionaire playboy in town for a big business deal.”
“My apologies,” he joked with a bow.
“So, when’s the wedding?”
He cocked his head, and it was painfully cute. “The what?”
“Your friend’s wedding.”
“Oh, next month.”
“And the groom’s not going to be mad that you’ve abandoned him?”
The man smirked. “On the contrary. Pretty sure he’s looking for any excuse to get rid of me.”
“You really are public enemy number one, huh?”
“Oh, yeah, undisputed.”
As they came down from their laughter, Gwen realized how close they were standing. This close, those lips loomed like a full moon, and she basked in their plumpness. The heat between them brought the intoxicating tendrils of his cologne forward, a fresh brightness that matched his smile, though it occurred to her he may have stolen a moment to reapply it while she’d been in the bathroom. The thought made her swallow hard.
“You’re easy to talk to,” he confessed abruptly, and Gwen tensed all over.
You are here for fun.
“Even though we haven’t really talked about anything?” she retorted.
He shrugged one thick shoulder. “Maybe that’s why. I’m kind of a wallflower at parties. I mean, that whole body shot thing was just a dare from my friends anyway.”
“Mine was like that, too!” she blurted and immediately regretted it, the way he seemed to soften all over. It wasn’t just how gentle his already-round features looked, but he relaxed against the desk into a cool lean as his usually petal-shaped eyes widened with interest.
No backstories, Gwennie, she scolded herself. Put that distance between your heart and your lady parts!
“So that’s how it happens, huh?” she continued in a sultrier voice as her finger stroked the neck of the bottle. “You do one dare, and now, you’re a full-blown criminal mastermind?”
His voice had dropped, too, along with his eyelids. “Looks that way.”
“Are you a liar, too?”
“No! What?”
She chuckled and waved the bottle between them. “What about my second shot?”
“Oh, you were serious?”
Gwen gaped at him. “Aren’t you the one who stole the tequila?”
“That was just so I had an excuse to talk to you again.”
Oh no… He was painfully, unforgivably, patently cute. Gwen could practically hear Marie threatening to leave her in Florida.
“Ah,” she said to deflect, “so you did lure me here with empty promises.”
“No! I—"
“I’m teasing,” she assured, and as she studied his saucer eyes, she risked resting a hand on his bicep, which she had to stop herself from just straight up groping when she felt the twitching muscle beneath.
“Sorry,” he said. “I just… I never do stuff like this.”
“Like what? We haven’t done anything.” He looked helplessly at her, and Gwen chuckled again. “Sorry, still teasing. When I'm awkward, I make awkward jokes. I've never done anything like this either.”
“Like what?” he echoed, and they shared a tight smile, but it vanished when he looked at her much softer this time. “Seriously, I don't expect anything.”
You can't catch feelings sucking tequila out of a stranger's bellybutton…
“I know, but I do.” Gwen swished the bottle back and forth, and he offered what she could only type as a giggle.
“You’re right, you’re right. So, um, how do you want to…?”
He spun in a circle until he nearly made himself dizzy, and she grabbed his shoulders to steady him.
“Maybe, um, you should just lay on the bed?” she suggested.
“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. So, I’ll just…”
“Get on the bed?”
“Get on the bed, yeah,” he repeated. The man spared a quick moment to smooth his shirt over his chest and run a hand back through his thick black hair, which had the most fatal way of feathering back across his forehead in a very regrettable heart shape.
Since the moment she’d met him, the man had possessed a magnetism that had set him apart from all the other hot people at the party, but here in his room, he was borderline pathetic, tromping around like a lost giraffe between the living room and the bed as he emptied his pockets between the desk and the bedside table. When, at last, he was ready, he walked to the foot of the bed and plopped down. He looked back at Gwen with a sheepish grin and comically high eyebrows.
“Ready?” she asked as she raised the bottle.
“If you are.”
She nodded and followed into the bedroom, and the air shifted. In here, it was hotter and even more humid than down at the beach but without the benefit of a breeze.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, and Gwen crawled on the bed beside him. She strategized on how to best take her shot, and while she positioned herself, her knees pressed into the mattress as she sat up, he untucked his shirt and raised it himself.
At the party, body shots had been a game. Here, it was foreplay. Judging from the blackness in his eyes, he knew it, too. He laid back and propped up just a bit on his elbows, which cupped his stomach just the right amount into the sweetest little bowl.
“It’s different,” he murmured.
“Yeah, it is,” she whispered, too, because somehow every thing, every word, felt very loud. “I can take my time now.”
He didn’t say anything. He just waited.
Gwen lifted the bottle, and, as carefully as she could, she tipped it until a golden thread puddled at his belly. He didn’t flinch this time. Instead, he sucked in a breath which deepened the cup at his navel, and she was only too happy to fill it to its tasty brim.
“Perfect,” she said as she set the bottle on the floor. “Don’t move.”
She braced her hands on his thigh and his ribcage and bent forward. Her lips glossed the velvety skin there before she opened her mouth and sucked up the sweet, smooth liquor all too quickly. This time, though, she spared a moment to dip her tongue into the divot, and this made the man beneath her hiss.
She licked her lips and ventured a look up his heaving torso to find him totally expressionless save for his overblown pupils.
“Satisfied?” he asked in a voice swollen with the same darkness.
Gwen shook her head lightly. “Still thirsty.”
But she did not reach for the bottle. Instead, she put her lips to his stomach and sampled a new patch of skin. It yielded beneath her, and so did he. He let out a low groan that tightened the muscles under her lips.
Another kiss led to another and then one more as she nipped and nibbled at the tender flesh. There was something about the man that was simply and undeniably edible, and no matter how much she tasted, she could not get enough. Gwen helped herself all the way up to the delicious flare of his rib cage, and at the swell there, she risked a swirl of her tongue. His head snapped up as he panted out a heavy pair of breaths.
“You're driving me crazy,” he said with a slanted smile.
“I could say the same,” she agreed, and when she brought attention back to his stomach, she noticed a lonely freckle at his hip. Her lips raced to devour it, this time adding a graze of her teeth. He jolted.
“That tickles!” he exclaimed though it was followed by another groan.
Gwen responded with another twirl of her tongue to savor the salt on his skin, and the groan became an outright moan. Emboldened by each grateful sound, her hand slid slowly up his thigh, and soon, it bumped a rigid hill smothered by tight denim.
At the first graze, he jolted again but followed it with a simmering hiss as his hips bucked reflexively into her hand. His eagerness was going to Gwen’s head. She wanted more of his pretty moans. She wanted more of his pretty body.
Her hand moved more brazenly to stroke the outline of the intensifying hardness, but this time, she was the one moaning at the way his bulge filled her palm. Her forehead pressed into that gentle stomach as she rested her lips lazily at his hip bone. Meanwhile, her fingertips traveled up the zipper to the waist of his jeans and swept back and forth before her thumb centered over the button there.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
Gwen kissed his hip again before she answered, “You told me if I wanted it, I had to do it.”
“Ah, I said that, didn't I?”
“You did. And I want it.”
He sat up higher now, expectation on his face. He drew his lush bottom lip between his teeth, and that alone set Gwen’s blood aflame.
Without another thought, she placed a garland of kisses along the waist of his jeans, and when she undid the button there, her lips raced to taste the secret skin she’d exposed. Dimly, she realized she was getting too carried away on a chance encounter, but she couldn't stop.
She couldn’t stop.
The further her mouth charted down the open zipper track, the more powerful her desire grew. She smelled his cologne here, too, bright like the tropical air but deepening down to dark woods on a second, greedier inhale. And beneath all that was the smell of him.
Too hungry now, Gwen hooked her hands in his jeans and tugged down. He lifted his hips with zero hesitation, and soon enough, she had full access to all that she desired. She swept her hand over the black fabric still sheltering him and felt him lurch. She hummed.
Slowly, she peeled down the hem of his boxer briefs, and his cock sprung up gratefully. Above her, her pretty boy exhaled hard, which only grew raspier as her skin touched his rawness at last.
Gwen’s romantic heart had drawn her to a number of beds over the years, and she’d enjoyed some decent sex in that time, but even without entering her, she knew this man was special. All his skin had been babied, but here, he was silkiest, like satin over marble. One touch was enough to fuel an addiction that sent a blaring alarm of dread to the back of her mind that she might never touch another cock that felt like it was made just to please her.
She danced her fingertips down his wickedly hard length until she got to his base, where she squeezed appreciatively. He hissed and hummed and arched his back before he mumbled something low and deep that she wished she could make out because just the echo of its echo sounded devastating.
Gwen didn’t intend to take things so leisurely—she knew she shouldn’t be—but it seemed foolish to fast forward through what had to be the sexiest man she’d ever met. Her friend’s rules be damned, she was going to enjoy every second for as long as she could make it last.
He was watching her, open-mouthed, as she held him. Their eyes met. Her breath caught.
Gwen wet her lips and pressed them to his hot, red tip and let her tongue curl into the smooth channel underneath. Her beautiful stranger let out the raspiest groan as his face disappeared from her view to sag under the weight of pleasure.
Spurred on, she invited him into her mouth now, shallow at first, but a little greedier with each pass until she could take what she could of him to the back of her throat. When she was comfortable, she found the perfect rhythm to have him singing for her with every eager suck.
And he was so noisy. It wasn’t filthy words or heaps of degradation like she’d heard plenty of times before. Between his moans and the grunts and the achy sighs, Gwen realized she’d never been with a man who had appreciated her more. It was filling her up with not just pride but confidence, and it made her want to ruin him even further.
His hand came to rest on the back of her head, but she quickly plucked it aside and pressed it into the mattress. For the briefest of moments, she released him to mumble, “Stay still.”
His shaky “okay” made her chest feel swimmy, and, instead, he balled two handfuls of sheets. But the man couldn’t help himself. Though he was hanging onto the bed with white knuckles, his hips took to lifting from the mattress, and she had to force them back down, too. She knew with just a little more speed and the addition of a helpful hand, she would get him off in no time, but she was having so much fun.
It didn’t hurt that all his whining was getting her off, too, even without a single touch. Gwen couldn’t remember a time she’d been so wet or so turned on.
Again, the stranger moaned, but this time, he added with a thick rasp, “You’re incredible. You might be my dream girl.”
It was her turn to whimper, but the vibrations traveled not just through her body and straight to her throbbing clit, but they also traveled down his length in a circuit of pleasure. He sucked in a harsh breath through gritted teeth as his legs tensed and struggled in the confines of the jeans still cuffing his knees.
“Can I—” he said before another grunt cut him off. “Wait. Can I just—fuck—can we take these pants off? I want to feel more of you.”
Gwen startled. She sat up on the bed and watched, numb with anticipation, as the man practically had to peel off his skinny jeans. He worked as quickly as he could, but it afforded her a flash of an ass as cute and smooth as his stomach and legs as long and delicate as his fingers. When he sat back down at the edge of the bed, he pulled off his shirt, too.
When she came to his room, Gwen hadn’t really known what to expect. It was clear they would end up in bed, but, for some reason, she never expected them to be fully naked. Now that things had taken a much more intimate turn, the casual momentum she had built quickly siphoned away.
This time, he didn’t lay back.
Here, he sat—breathless, naked, gripping his glistening cock, and staring hopefully at her.
“I’d really like to see you, too,” he asked.
As soon as he voiced his throaty wish, a fresh torrent of lust leaked between her pressed thighs. If she had worn the minidress Marie had pitched, there would have been no hiding it.
Gwen wanted to be coy or funny or anything other than tragically eager for this man, but how could she say no to such hopeful eyes and freckled lips?
With a red face and sweaty hands, she slipped out of her shirt, leaving her in her bra and leggings. She’d been wearing the same damn burgundy lace piece for two years, but now her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn’t undo the last clasp she’d put on hundreds of times.
He smiled knowingly and leaned in to wrap his arms around her. It only took him a moment to rescue her, but in his arms, time had stopped. Skin to skin changed everything. Gwen was spiraling, and the only way to make it stop was to steer into her tailspin.
Their lips met not in a clatter, but gently and with curiosity. Even at first brush, the way his puffy top lip notched into the crease of her lips felt like habit, like it had been there many times before and should return countless more times.
His hands cupped her cheeks briefly before they slid back in tandem to tangle in her disheveled waves. Only then, as he held her fiercely, did his tongue slip into her mouth to their shared whimper. One of his hands glided from her hair, down the back of her neck and over her shoulder, fingertips dancing like raindrops with the same biting chill thanks to the metal at his knuckles. He traced the side of her breast and then its underside all while his lips meshed with hers and his tongue curled deliciously against the roof of her mouth.
Trapped in the riptide of the moment, Gwen reached for him, too. His skin was just as soft at his neck and shoulders as it was at his waist, and she couldn’t stop stroking every inch she could access. He was only too happy to encourage her touches, even going so far to redirect her hand from his ribs to his hair like he wanted her to pet him. She let out a needy sigh that his mouth immediately gobbled up.
It wasn’t a surprise that the man was an attentive kisser. What surprised Gwen was how much she felt in the kiss. He was pouring something into her even as he seemed to drink from her, and she didn’t want it to stop.
She didn’t want it to ever stop.
You are here for fun.
Marie’s voice in the back of Gwen’s head was the ice water the blonde needed to disentangle from her beautiful stranger. Because that was all he was.
A beautiful stranger.
Gwen pulled back. He blinked slowly at her, but she kissed his flushed lips briefly to soften the transition. The hand of hers he’d placed in his hair drifted down his arm to his thigh, and whatever emotion had knitted his brows a moment ago corrupted. With a gnaw of her bottom lip, she slipped off the bed to the floor. His eyes followed.
He didn’t ask Gwen to kneel between his legs, but he didn’t have to. She was getting good at telling exactly what he’d like best—far too good at it.
His thighs were much creamier than the Florida caramel that warmed the rest of him, and as she shuffled into position between them, her hands worked higher and higher up their breadth. His knees tightened at her shoulders. Now that she was shirtless, she had no defense against the zaps of electricity that came with each stolen moment of raw contact.
His cock strained between his hips, the head shiny with lust and the veins pulsing along its length. Gwen gripped his hilt and stroked a few times, and he sighed in relief.
Now that he was sitting up, their dynamic swapped. He loomed over her. Shadows darkened what had always been a bright face. His enormous hands braced at the edge of the bed, firing prominent veins along his forearms. His shoulders corded with heavy muscle previously concealed by his round edges. The planes of his stomach creased as he bent over her. He wasn’t about to neglect even a second of his front row seat.
Gwen brought her lips back to his member and picked right back up where she’d left off, only this time she was noisier. Wet slurps and hungry hums echoed up from between his legs, and with each one, he got a little louder, too.
This time when his massive hand curled around the back of her head, Gwen reveled in it. His nails scratched deliciously against her scalp as he threaded her hair through those elegant fingers and tugged mindlessly. She was grateful she’d forgotten to strip off her leggings or she would have been dripping shamelessly on the carpet.
At last, she picked up speed, so she closed her eyes and concentrated on her seal around his demanding thickness. Her lips chased her fist up and down his shaft so he was never without a moment of her full attention.
The messier she savored him, the more urgent his whines got and the more he bucked underneath her. The hand in her hair was now a fist full of a makeshift ponytail. Mouth full, she raised her eyes to his face. A swirl of her tongue around his tip was all it took to rip a cry from his hunkered chest.
“Wait, wait, wait!” he demanded and pushed her shoulders back. “Wow, okay, you have to stop. I’m going to cum.”
“That’s the idea,” Gwen replied as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
But the man shook his head. “I want to make this last, and I definitely don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You’re not.”
“Good… Good.”
A pregnant silence fell between them. Both of them considered where to direct the needle of their night next, but he was faster.
“You know, the view from up here really is something,” he said.
“Ha ha,” Gwen said drily, but the earnest look on his face knocked her sarcasm down a few pegs.
“Come up and see.”
He offered both his hands, and once she took them, he helped her up to the edge of the bed. When she was seated beside him again, he kissed her sweetly.
When he stopped, his forehead rocked against hers, and her eyes fluttered open.
“I really want to taste you,” he confessed in a whisper.
Gwen swallowed hard.
“You do?”
“Desperately.”
“It’s just—” she fumbled, painfully aware of the panic in her voice.
“You don’t want me to?”
She didn’t know how to explain herself without pitiful embarrassment. Most of the men Gwen had dated were keen for a blowjob but always had a dozen reasons to move things along right after. Over time, it had given her a heavy insecurity, which Marie had always assured her was utter bullshit, yet still it persisted. Gwen didn’t think she could recover from someone this desirable rejecting her, even if he was a total stranger.
“No, I mean, yeah, if you really want,” she blundered, “but… it’s just—”
She bit her lip, and he cocked his head patiently. His hand squeezed her knee, and the words came tumbling out of her mouth.
“I’m kind of a mess down there.”
“Yeah?” he said hopefully—to her complete and utter shock. “Come on, you can’t tease me like that. Now, I have to taste you.”
“What if— It might take me awhile,” she admitted from behind her hands.
Gently, he lowered them from her face to her lap, where he held them like a friend, though his hooded eyes and honeyed voice told a very different story.
“I hope it does.”
Gwen gasped and closed her eyes to steady herself. “What about you?”
He laughed. “This is about me.”
The best she could manage was a slow nod, but that was all the stranger needed.
He dropped to his knees on the floor and spread her legs enough to rub his huge palms up her thighs and back down again. The more he soothed her, the more her legs parted on their own so he could sit taller—and closer—between them. On the next sweep up, his hands lingered at the crest of her thighs so his thumbs could stroke over her swollen sex still imprisoned in her leggings.
“Feel good?” he asked.
“So good,” she replied as she collapsed onto the mattress and threw an arm over her eyes.
“Good. You can watch if you want, you know.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure I’d recover from something like that. You’re, like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen as it is. That might actually ruin me for life.”
He chuckled, but it was tainted with pride. “Maybe that’s the idea.”
Gwen shot up to her elbows to argue, but that was the exact moment the man wriggled his slender fingers under her waistband and then her underwear to peel them both off. Cold air attacked her core, and though it was a relief to finally be free of her sticky prison, she was unprepared for the pad of his finger to graze over the seam of her lips. She shivered and whined.
He hummed. “You’re really feeding my ego here, sweetheart.”
His thumbs resumed the same stroke as before, but since it was over her bare lips this time, the intensity amplified exponentially. Each wave parted her folds a bit, and there was no escaping the knowledge that her arousal leaked heavily every time.
“What a pretty sight,” he murmured.
Foolishly, Gwen stole a look at the man, and the image of his keen eyes fixed on her wet cunt branded her brain just as she’d feared. She whimpered, zipping her bottom lip between her teeth to near shreds as he played with her.
She felt the first brush of his lips against her not in the careless rush of an obligation but as a leisurely kiss of a seasoned lover. There, his mouth lingered only to part for his purposeful tongue. He licked up along her seam once—twice—and on the third pass, his fingers parted her core wide. The exposure had her keening mindlessly, but when his tongue swiped through the secret skin, she cried at the top of her lungs. Her arm pressed over her eyes hard enough to create starbursts behind her lids while her other arm pressed over her mouth.
For just a moment, he pulled back. Another burst of cool air blasted her core as he hummed again, this time dreamily. “Perfect.”
He kissed the meat of her thigh once, and then drove on heedlessly. He teased her entrance for a moment before he swirled that wicked tongue around her clit with a mind-numbing rhythm. Through all of it, Gwen sank deeper into pleasure. As vocal as he had been, she managed to outdo him even with her makeshift gag. It was completely mortifying but also completely out of her control.
He didn’t try to stop her writhing or her moaning. Instead, he used them both to his advantage. Whenever she squirmed, he chased, and it made the promise of release a near certainty.
It was incredible. It was terrifying.
It shouldn’t be this easy. It had never been this easy before.
Gwen felt the blossom of his lips nibbling at her aching clit, and before she could brace herself, he’d taken her in his mouth. It wasn’t just his delicious suction that made her lungs seize but the way his tongue undulated across her eager bud.
And then he pressed a fingertip to her entrance.
Gwen’s hands flew to the sheets and dug into the mattress. Her head snapped up as she screamed, “Oh my god!”
Her eyes flew open. He was waiting.
Damn heart-shaped hair and damn heavy eyes stole what was left of her sanity right before he eased his finger inside her.
At least the unprecedented bliss gave Gwen the small mercy of forcing her flat to the bed. Her back arched, her nipples tightened, and her voice gave out. The only thing she could do was pant like some unbound creature.
His fingers were so long—world-record long, she thought drunkenly—and they explored parts of her she’d never even known were there. He didn’t race through her either, but primed her the same as she’d primed him, the devil. In only a matter of a few plunges, he knew her in ways she’d never even known herself.
In and out, in and out, he pumped that perilously long finger, each stroke sealed with a kiss of metal and knuckle. Her body hungered louder and messier, worse even than she’d promised him. Her shameless pussy dribbled like it had never been touched before, and Gwen was very, very glad she could hide in the crook of her arm.
And then he added a second finger.
The stretch was vision-whitening, the depth dizzying, but still his tongue insisted on speeding her to her ledge. Even with her face covered, she turned away because looking at him was like risking looking into the sun.
“I’m going to— I’m going to—” she stammered.
His mouth lifted then, but before Gwen could protest, he brought his other fingers to her clit. There, he kept a thorough pace just shy of what she needed. No doubt, he knew it just as she had known it with him, but with the tables turned, it felt unexpectedly cruel.
As if to contradict that, he tenderly kissed her thigh, and basic instinct drove her to look at him.
He smiled at her, and, with grit in his voice, he asked, “You going to cum for me, beautiful?”
“Yes!” cried Gwen, shuddering on his fingers. “Yes, yes, yes!”
His fingers moved faster now, across her throbbing hill as well as inside her. Pressure like she’d never felt built between her hips. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think.
And it all happened faster than she could ever have imagined.
She unwound.
Eyes winched shut, Gwen tore at the sheets as she arched, every muscle clamped in ecstasy, before everything released and she slumped glassy-eyed onto the mattress. Somewhere below her, she heard a little refrain of happy hums and dimly felt the slick circle of a tongue collecting all that she had released.
She panted as she came down from her high, her arm flung over her face once again, feeling everything and nothing all at once. As she worked to center herself, Gwen shivered.
“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” said the stranger who was once again idly massaging her thighs, this time with the most delicious domesticity. “You kind of glow when you cum.”
“Oh, shut up!” she wailed as she curled into a ball.
“What? Sorry, but I mean it. You do this cute little thing with your toes, like a kitten paw.”
Gwen heard him pantomiming something in the sheets, but she was too busy cringing into another universe, one where she’d kept at least a little of her dignity. She burrowed her head deeper into her arms to fight back how endearing she found him.
“Hey,” he said with the sincerity of concern. “You okay?”
“Mm-hm.”
“You liked it, right?”
Gwen peeked out through a small window behind her arms and found the man seated beside her on the bed. He looked down at her with eyes no longer blackened exclusively by desire but softened with care. She bit her lip and lifted her head as she held his gaze.
A beat passed before she said, “I loved it.”
“Well then, if that’s the case…” he said softly.
He leaned down and kissed her as lightly as a feather brushing skin. When he pulled back, there was the sweet temptation of darkness tinting his eyes once more.
“Will you let me inside you?”
“Why did you have to say it like that?” whimpered Gwen as she flopped back onto the mattress.
“I’m sorry,” he said though he sounded anything but. “Is this better? Please let me fuck you.”
She hissed. “You’re a terrible, terrible man.”
“Yeah, but I’ll make you feel so good, and I did ask nicely.”
“You did…” she murmured as she leaned up.
Their lips barely had time to fully enmesh because he had to help guide her up to the pillows since the only thing she could manage for the moment was a beached fish, half-hearted wiggle.
If Gwen thought she’d have a moment to recover between heated kisses, she was dead wrong. He caged her in beneath him, his heavy cock thudding unmistakably against her mound as his body flattened against hers. Her legs spread instinctively. Perhaps she should have taken the many, many hints that she would never have any control over herself with this man, but the way her body simply opened for him was more than a little pathetic.
At first, she threaded both hands in his hair, and he groaned into her mouth, but every little thing he did made her restless for more. She kept a hand fixed in his hair while the other now squeezed and groped the length of his back. Even if she couldn’t see it at the moment, his shape drove her wild. Not only did his definition heat her hotter than she’d ever felt in her life, but, fully pressed against hers, his skin was as decadent as cashmere.
His member, on the other hand, was as heavy and demanding as a stone on her mound. Every time he rutted against her, the base of his shaft brushing her engorged folds, she lost a little more of her sanity. She could probably cum again just like this, completely empty and yet feeling so fulfilled.
They passed some time in each other’s mouths without further expectation, but the weightier his cock pressed, the more impossible it was to ignore her basest needs. As he’d been able to do all night, he read her easily.
Unwilling to leave her lips, he groped blindly at the nightstand until he’d found what he was looking for and had to break their kiss. He held up a condom, his eyebrows up on his sweet, swollen-lipped face with the unasked question.
“Forget it,” Gwen said with a huff. “We’ve already crossed the line, I’m on the pill, and I really just want to feel you.”
“Oh, shit, are you—” he said, but she cupped his cheeks and kissed him hungrily.
She was being stupid, but the fuck if she cared.
Gwen whimpered with every sweep of his tongue, but those gave way to hitching cries as his long fingers trailed from her cheek down her arm to her hip where they danced in unreadable designs across her flesh. It was so playful, so charming that her heart fluttered to a totally different rhythm than it had all night. And that was dangerous. She needed to move this along at last.
You are here for fun.
Her hips jerked beneath him, tilting up in a kiss far filthier and needier than even their mouths’, and he pulled back with a ragged hiss.
“You are so wet again,” he growled with a glance down between their bodies.
“I can’t help what you’re doing to me.”
He cocked his head to the side, looking handsomer than any man really had a right. “Yeah?”
“Yes…” she sighed. “You make me so desperate.”
She drove her hips up again, her overheated sex grazing his base once more. His eyes flared, and Gwen felt the urge to cower.
Suddenly, he grabbed her arm and pushed it above her head, pinning it there by her wrist.
Dimly, the bass from the music far below drummed through the walls, but it was little more than a backing track to their tattered breath.
His stare was more commanding, more powerful even than the hot-forged iron branding her just shy of her center.
“I—”
Despite how badly Gwen yearned to hear the rest, he let whatever thought it was simmer on the heavily perfumed air enveloping them. His eyes searched her, from his ring-clad hand clasping her wrist to her sweat-studded breasts and back, at last, to her parted mouth.
He dove back down to her lips with another growl while his other hand fumbled between their bodies. After a moment, his hips lifted, and she felt the blunt head of his cock at her entrance at last.
She needed air to calm her ragged nerves, but thief that he was, he stole everything from her with another nibble of her lips. As his tongue entered her mouth again, he pushed his length inside her walls.
Gwen tore from his kiss to unleash the reediest moan of her life.
“Oh fuck,” he grunted. “Did you feel that?”
She had no idea what he meant, which made it all the more dangerous because she knew exactly what she felt.
Everything.
Why did he have to kiss her just then?
Why did he have to fill her like he was the only one who should ever do it again?
You’re idealizing, Gwennie, she scrambled to remind her sex-saturated mind, but she couldn’t convince herself to stop even if she knew she was. This was a man who was every bit as perfect as her stupid romantic self wanted to believe.
All Gwen could do was moan and grasp the back of his head.
He followed the weight of her hand and pressed his face into the juncture of her neck to kiss her reverentially.
“Go slow,” she implored.
He hummed in agreement and eased his hips back to draw his length to its limit before gliding back in as though he were savoring her. The moment he bottomed out, her mouth fell open in a silent wail. Gwen had never felt so full.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Open up for me.”
His voice penetrated as deeply as his cock and rendered her putty in his hands.
Each sweep of his hips was catastrophic, but it was even worse since his body smothered hers. It was too much and not enough all at once, and Gwen was glad she didn’t have use of her other hand or she’d have wrapped him up in her arms already.
She thought after the first few strokes that he’d pick up speed, but he seemed content to while away their night just like this. The only change to his smooth rhythm was the rough emphasis he added to his every thrust that drove the air out of her lungs each time. It was like he was trying to drive deeper and deeper and deeper inside of her.
Each penetration afforded her the sexiest view of the horizon of his body, and now that she was this far gone, she lifted her head so she wouldn't miss another moment. He moved with the grace of water, and the current threatened to drown her just as easily. The swell of his ass rose and fell over the heave of his back.
His whines and grunts came back with a vengeance, with the added mercilessness of being uttered along her skin. It was a devastating reminder that as much pleasure as she drew from him, he was just as greedy for her body, too.
“Need to fuck you harder,” he warned in a voice heavy with gravel. “I need to.”
“I want you to,” Gwen echoed.
If she thought this would be the reason he pulled back from this ridiculous intimacy, she was dead wrong. Instead, he stilled inside her as he lifted to his elbows, but it only brought his searing gaze to her. His enormous hand soared up to cup her cheek. His thumb traced her bottom lip before, at last, he planted his hand firmly on the mattress.
His first few thrusts stayed slow, but soon he gained speed and, with it, power. His hips slapped against hers, and each time, it sounded wetter and wetter, but it all should have been louder.
The difference was, now that they couldn’t tear their eyes away from one another, neither seemed capable of making a sound. It was all Gwen could do to remember to breathe.
Harder and harder, he drove into her until her tits were bouncing and each fuck pushed rhythmic, vibrating cries from her. Still, she could tell they were both holding something back from one another.
They knew the moment they ended, whatever this was had to end, too.
His luscious mouth parted. There were words there, half-formed, but those he held back, too, though she starved to know them.
The next thing Gwen knew, he released her wrist to push her knee up and back. The angle shifted, and she had no choice but to rip her eyes from his to watch as his cock disappeared inside her greedy cunt.
She let out a tattered moan before she hiccupped out, “So. Fucking. Good.”
“I want to be deeper,” he answered back.
Gwen’s eyes rolled back in her head. “You’re—ah—you’re already so deep.”
But he didn’t seem to hear her. He dropped to her chest again, his hips rutting truly desperately at last. He buried his face in her neck and his nose in her hair as his lips glanced across her skin in the unintentional kiss that came with every thrust.
“Deeper…” he murmured as though hypnotized.
“Oh my god!”
He hitched her thigh higher up his side so she could feel with devastating consequence the way his ribs flared with every frantic gulp of air.
“Wrap your leg around me,” he instructed.
Gwen dug her heel into the meat of his back, and he grunted, but it still wasn’t enough for him.
“Hold me tighter, please.”
As she’d feared, it was a mistake the moment she wrapped her arms around him. Strangers fucking didn’t embrace. Yet here she was, clinging on with the last of her sanity to his sturdy shoulder blades.
He smelled so good—like sex and summer—and it imprinted on her mind.
“So. Deep,” she stuttered.
The way he stretched her out clouded her mind until the only thing she could find through the fog was him.
How could he possess her so fully but make her so desperate for more of him?
Him.
“Give me your hand,” he demanded in a rush.
Gwen let one hand fall from his back to the bed, and he grabbed it quickly and pushed it up over her head again, only this time, his fingers threaded through hers and squeezed as tightly as her walls squeezed his shaft.
His thrusts switched to shorter, shallower, much faster now. Each time, his cockhead brushed over a spot inside her that robbed her of all sound and all thought. Just like that, he’d reduced her to nothing but quivering nerves and trembling muscles.
Gwen dug her nails roughly into his back same as she squeezed his hand and let him ride her for all she was worth.
Since his cheek pressed against hers, she heard his every grunt in relentless stereo. He was too needy, too desperate. It was only magnifying those same feelings inside her.
Her skin burned with sweat. Her eyes burned from squeezing them against the overwhelming pleasure. Her core burned from the friction of his perfect fucking.
He was panting in her ear, and she could feel the curl of his lip as he snarled.
Gwen moved her free hand into his hair as she clutched his head to her like a lover.
“Baby,” she cried, “baby, I’m going to cum again.”
He let out the most pitiful whine she’d ever heard in her life as his hips spurred even faster.
“Baby.”
The pull was there, starting at her chest and dragging her down.
Down.
Down.
“Give it to me,” he urged, the words nearly broken under the crushing weight of his desperation.
“Baby!”
This time when Gwen said it, it was a strangled little thing, the last breath of a woman before she disappeared beneath the waves.
It was different, cumming with his cock inside her instead of his fingers. Her walls frantically beckoned him to disappear within her, willing him to never leave. She shivered and shook and screamed with the power of a release she’d never thought herself capable.
He fucked her through it all, the smoky curl of his self-satisfied “yes…” unfurling across her skin.
And when at last Gwen had no more aftershocks to give, she laid there too limp to hold on to him at all. Her leg slipped to the bed and her hand from his hair and her fingers slackened in his, though he refused to let her go.
His strokes had grown erratic, each one accompanied by the sloppy sounds of her catastrophic release.
“Where do you want me to cum?” he said hurriedly.
Gwen knew what she wanted—what her body was demanding. She wanted him to fill her up. She wanted this perfectly handsome perfect stranger to cum deep inside her so she should could hold on to a little bit of him even after she walked out the door.
But this was the end—not just of their passionate sex but their time together. If she didn’t put distance between them right now, she was in for an even more terrible fall.
No feelings, just sex.
“My face,” she blurted.
Gwen regretted it instantly. That wasn’t what she wanted at all, and she braced for the humiliation she deserved.
But, instead, he pulled out with a strangled cry and came in the tangle of bed sheets beside him.
“I’m sorry,” he managed between heaves of breath and frantic jerks of his spasming cock. “I’m sorry.”
She watched his broad, glistening back flare as he hid himself from her, and she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch him. Her fingertips slipped in the sheen of sweat there, and his head whipped back toward her.
“I couldn’t do that,” he said dejectedly. “You’re just so pretty, I’m sorry. I know that’s what you wanted, but—”
“I didn’t mean it anyway,” she said. “I don’t know why I said it.”
Something fluttered across his dark features before his brow furrowed, and he turned away again. “Damnit, I should have never listened to my friends.”
Gwen quirked her head even as she covered up with the sheet. “Your friends?”
The man tumbled onto the mattress and spread out like a winded starfish without a single care for his nakedness, and she felt a little shame at the way she ogled that delicious stomach and his softening length now glossy and still leaking onto his thigh.
He sighed.
He was so different now from the dark, intense man he’d been only moments ago. Back was the brilliance that emanated from within that almost compelled Gwen to close her eyes when she looked at him. She could hardly believe it was the same man who’d brought her to two earth-shaking orgasms in no time at all.
“Can I confess something to you?” he said.
Gwen tensed all over, but she managed a nod of her head. “Okay.”
“This isn’t really my thing,” he continued, and her heart plummeted in ways it shouldn’t considering she’d just fucked a total stranger.
“Oh…”
Gwen realized too late how apparent the disappointment in her voice was when the man shot up and swiveled to her, his hands waving in defense. “I didn’t mean it like that, I swear! I mean, I have a hard time keeping things… simple. It wasn’t just the body shot thing that was a dare. Tonight was kind of my friends’ idea. They want me to be more… unattached, I guess?”
“That’s what my friend said, too,” Gwen laughed.
“Really?” He joined her laugh until, finally, his shoulders sagged with a light sigh as he covered his lower half with the sheet at last.
“Yeah.”
“I thought I was doing pretty good there, too, but— That was just so much more than I ever expected—you’re kind of more than I expected—and I really don’t want you to think I was just using you.”
“I don’t.”
“Good. Because…” He paused then, massaging his lips together as his eyes fell to his lap. “I think their dare kind of backfired anyway. Or it’s entirely possible I’m a hopeless case. So… I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow?”
At this, Gwen stiffened. Her eyes snagged on his naked frame. Though the sheet swaddled his hips and thighs, it did nothing to hide his tummy or his shoulders or his bowed head, nor did it conceal his pencil legs and feet poking sweetly over the edge of the bed. And then she realized they were both tucked under that sheet, and it would be so, so easy to just lay back and fall asleep with him.
There it was again, that urge to romanticize someone she didn’t even know, yet everything about the guy screamed boyfriend—or worse.
Oh no.
Boyfriend.
The one word Marie had made Gwen swear not to use this weekend.
And damned if her roommate hadn’t been right all along. The hard truth was, Gwen didn’t know this man. She didn’t know what he did, she didn’t know his past, she didn’t know his ethnicity or even his damn name, and that was all there was to it. To assign any more meaning to it was every bit as foolish as everyone always reminded her she was.
Dread welled in her stomach and weighted her limbs. The best Gwen could do was offer a tight smile. “I’d really like that, but my friend has our whole day planned.”
“Oh.” He looked crestfallen, but he picked himself up quickly and slipped out of the bed in a shy, awkward rush while trying to keep his modesty with the edge of the sheet still draped around his hips. He stretched out his leg as far as he could to hook the band of his jeans with his toe. He tried to keep conversation flowing even as he struggled with the cutest little grunts very different to the ones that had just been uttered for her ears only. “Oh yeah? Going to check out the beach or the city?”
“I’m not sure,” Gwen said. The truth was they had no plans, but she had to lie because her whole body screamed to meet him again, and if she did, there was no way of keeping things superficial. The man was too cute, too sincere, and far, far too sexy to turn down a second time. “I’m not one for itineraries. I kind of go where my heart leads me.”
He stopped, jeans sagging in hand as he looked at her with a gentle smile. “Yeah, same.”
But then his smile fell away, and he raced to shimmy into his jeans, too in a hurry to even bother with his underwear, and Gwen turned her head and busied herself poking at the remote on the bedside table.
Over her shoulder, she asked, “So, what will you guys get up to then? More bachelor party stuff?”
“I never can tell with them. Even when one of the guys makes plans, the others always seem to change them. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Easiest way to get through life,” she agreed. Gwen wanted to flinch at her own voice, but she didn’t want to call any more attention to her terrible bedside manner than she already had.
In the end, it didn’t matter. The man beside her was too perceptive, and he picked up her cues instantly. “Let me just grab the rest of my clothes and clean up in the bathroom so you can get dressed.”
“Would you mind if I go first? You know, since...”
Maybe if she tried hard enough, her awkwardness could compact her into a handful of atoms, and she could just disappear.
“Oh, of course, duh. Sure. Absolutely,” he bumbled.
Gwen grabbed the haphazard pile at the foot of the bed and practically sprinted to the bathroom where she tried to lose herself in the repetition of cleanliness. At least that was automatic.
Against her better judgment, she checked herself in the mirror. She looked every bit as undone as he had made her, and she hastily combed her fingers through her bed head so she didn’t scream “harlot” when she made her way back through the hallways. She rinsed her face and neck and swished some water to freshen her breath, and when she was done, she felt brave enough to face the music.
When Gwen returned to the bedroom, she found the man dressed as he had been, though all his clothes bore the same noticeable wrinkles and bagginess that hers did.
He smiled at her, and she swallowed roughly.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
It was agony. She just wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to feel him again. She wanted to hear him in the shell of her ear again.
“So, this was really fun,” she said lamely. “Thanks for the drinks and, you know, everything else.”
He laughed shyly.
This time, as she faced his open complexion and expressive eyes, she had no choice but to be sincere. “I had a really great time.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “I really didn’t expect to meet someone like you either, but I’m glad I did.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed before he unexpectedly bowed to her. “Thank you. I feel the same.”
Gwen burst out laughing, which helped ease the pang in her heart at having to pull away. “You’re cute.”
He shrugged a shoulder and laughed, too, though his was much more forced. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and the pair stood there in a stalemate. At last, he took a step back, and she took one forward.
“So…”
“So…” he echoed.
Gwen bit the inside of her cheek roughly in the desperate hope it would wake her up, and, thankfully, the flare of pain combatted the butterflies before they could overtake her. Tightly, she began, “I’m going to head out, I think.”
“Sure, yeah,” he said as he ushered her back into the living room to the door. “Yeah, you probably should. Are you good to walk back to your room? Wait, this is your hotel, right? Do I need to call you an Uber?”
“Yeah, I’m here. All good.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
They exchanged another round of confused smiles before Gwen, fool that she was, lurched up onto her tip toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. When she pulled back, his smile slanted with an irresistible dopiness.
“You sure you don’t want me to walk you back?”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
He nodded as though he understood, but Gwen wasn’t sure she did even though she’d been the one to say it.
“Goodnight,” she whispered.
“Night,” he replied. “Take care.”
He opened his hotel door, and with a nod of her head first, Gwen turned and headed down the hall with the burning notion that he was watching her walk away.
She barely made it to the elevator before she had her phone in hand, intending to text Marie that she was headed back, but Gwen got sidetracked by the memory of what now lurked in her gallery.
She opened her camera roll only to be assaulted immediately by several snaps of his heart-shaped hair and buoyant cheeks framing his dazzling smile.
“He's cute. Is that your boyfriend?”
Gwen’s head shot up. She hadn’t even realized the elevator had stopped to acquire another passenger at some point. The bleached blonde girl smiled, her wild gold eyeliner glinting in the lowlight like some forest sprite sent there just to taunt her.
Gwen locked her phone and stuffed it in her leggings pocket with a shake of her head. “Uh. Oh, no, he’s just a friend.”
“Cute friend.”
“Yeah.”
The elevator dinged at the fourth floor and Gwen nodded to the other woman. “This is me. Have a good night.”
“You too!”
Back at her room, Gwen showered quickly, hoping it would be easier to distance herself from the forbidden word now buzzing in her brain like neon.
Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.
She considered a shower, but that meant too much time to think just as much as it meant washing off the remnants of his cologne. She could do that in the morning once her heart had sobered up from its dopamine surge.
Gwen dressed for bed the same mechanical way she had back in Room 2281, and once she was safely into her pajamas, the familiarity brought the exhaustion in her muscles to the surface. She was only too happy to climb into bed after that, and tired as she was, she remembered to send her text to Marie.
Her finger hovered over the gallery icon again, but at the last second, she forced her phone off and let the night take hold of her.
Gwen woke to banging at her door. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and sat up slowly since her muscles ached from head to toe. She glanced at the thick drapes and caught the wan strip of light along the edges, but she had no clue what time it was until she grabbed her phone to find that it was just past noon. Even more surprisingly, she noted the slew of notifications.
Nine texts and four missed calls, all from Marie.
The banging continued, and Gwen groaned. “Give me a minute!”
At last, it quieted, and she shuffled like a geriatric over to the peephole. There, warped in the fish eye lens, was her roommate looking the perfect cross between annoyed and desperate. Gwen unlocked the door, and Marie rushed in.
“Finally,” the brunette said. “I was getting seriously worried.”
“I told you I made it back,” Gwen corrected.
“Yeah, but then you didn’t answer me at all, and I thought maybe you were passed out or something.”
The blonde squinted as she studied her friend now pacing the length of the hotel room. “Are you sure that’s it? Seems to me you’re the one who’s not okay.”
Marie shrugged a shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” her roommate said, still pacing. “Everything.”
Still exhausted, Gwen sat back on the bed and waited.
“Shit, it’s just— You know what, let's go to the pool. Maybe it will wash that guy out of my system.”
“That guy? The one from the party last night? Did you have a bad night?”
“No! Worse!” Marie wailed and flopped onto the bed. “He wasn't just scalding hot. He was likable! Ugh, I'm devastated. Catching feelings is your thing, girl, not mine. Damnit, I need a distraction. Tell me about your night. Please, don’t spare a single fucking detail.”
It was Gwen’s turn to shrug a shoulder. “I had fun.”
“So much fun you're not even going to tell your friend a single detail?” But then Marie's eyes narrowed, and her roommate’s skin bristled. “Or you had too much fun?”
“Hey, I slept in my own room last night, thank you.”
Marie whined. “Shit, I know. I must be projecting.”
“So what the hell happened with you last night?” Gwen said, only too happy to turn the attention away from her as she shuffled into the bathroom for her usual morning routine.
“I hardly know. We were dancing and drinking, no big deal, so I figured it was just going to be the usual fun, and it was fun, but, shit, he was just different, you know? He was like one of those lead guys from your movies, all gentlemanly and shit but more, too. Like he’s got secrets, but not the kind you want to run from, the kind you want to know. Oh my god, what am I even saying?”
Gwen smiled. “So, he was hot and charming? How is that different from the other guys you hook up with?”
“Gwennie, I didn’t even tell you about the sex. Shit, the way he moved his hips! There should be a law. And he was so diligent. He knew exactly what I wanted, and I didn't have to say a word, which was good because the only ones I could utter were swears. And I just couldn’t keep my hands off of him, you know? Fuck, not just his muscles, but his hair…” Marie laid there slack-jawed at the memory, her hands pressed over her belly.
“Sounds like you got the unforgettable night you were gunning for.”
“You don’t get it, babe. Even as he was giving me the dicking down of my life, this guy—he was, like, quietly sweet and funny? I don’t know how to explain it. He could just… smile, and it would make me laugh, like, even when he was inside, and somehow that was still super hot, you know?”
Gwen burst out laughing.
“See!” said Marie, gesturing at her roommate as she exploded up from the bed.
“I see,” the blonde teased with a lingering grin.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just, you know who you sound like?”
“You.”
“Me.”
Marie sighed. “Shit, I know. You know the worst part?”
“What?”
“This guy asked me to stay after.”
“Oh…”
“I mean, it’s not the first time, but it’s the first time I considered staying. Ain’t that some shit? But what would be the point, right?”
“Yeah…” Gwen said slowly as she thought of her thick-lipped lover. Marie’s unexpected dilemma had been just what Gwen needed to forget the ache in her core and the bigger ache in her chest, but now, it was a mirror reflecting things back far too vividly.
“Shit, huh?”
“Yeah. Shit.”
“You know the only thing to do, right?”
“Don't you dare,” Gwen warned.
But Marie was already up and moving to the door. “We’re going to the pool, and I'm going to find another hot guy because hot guys are a dime a dozen in Miami, right? I'm going to cleanse the palate.”
“Yeah, that's not how that works.”
“Look, I've never thought a guy was husband material before, let alone a one-night stand, so what do you suggest I do, Ms. Ephron?”
Gwen scowled. “Don't ask me. I've been getting it wrong so long that I'm not even sure I could trust myself to know when it was right.”
“Okay then. For lack of absolutely any other plan, this is what we’re doing. Put your swimsuit on, gorgeous. Let’s see how much Vitamin D we can get.”
Gwen sighed, but the truth was Marie’s distraction did help her forget the feeling of being surrounded by the stranger she couldn’t shake, so she slipped into her bikini, fought hard not to open her gallery yet again, and decided to dive headfirst into something new like her friend suggested if only to prove to herself once and for all that she’d idealized everything about last night.
Marie joined her in the hallway decked out in her cutest Miami-approved string bikini, already smelling of sunscreen and Flowerbomb. “Let’s do this.”
The pair chatted about their day and where they might go for their last night in town, all while studiously avoiding the topic of last night. They padded through the extravagant lobby along with a sea of other swimsuit-ed guests, their flip-flops smacking across the marble like theme music, until they emerged into the blistering Florida sun.
The pool looked very different in the daylight. There was no trace of the stage or the bars, and there was certainly no body shot table left out. It was just an ocean of sun-bleached concrete thrusting straight up to the white sands of Miami Beach, broken only by an enormous aquamarine pool, dozens of lavish cabanas, and a manmade forest of towering palms.
“Wait,” said Gwen as she scouted the bustling crowd stretching all the way out to the blue sea beyond, “you want the pool or—”
“Oh my god!” shouted Marie as she squealed to a stop and slipped behind Gwen. “It's him!”
“Who? The guy from last night? Where?”
“There, right at the edge of the pool. The one who’s shaped like a yield sign telling me slow down and give in to him again and again and again…”
“Marie!” she shouted and whirled around to face her friend.
“Oh my god, Gwennie, you have to hold me back or I am going to do irreparable damage here. Shit, shit, shit! I can’t believe I’m the one saying this. Fuck. He's looking right at me now, and he's waving with that stupid cute teddy bear smile, fuck. What do I do! What do I do!”
Gwen grabbed her friend’s shoulders and shook her until Marie looked at her. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to go over there, and I want to talk to him, and I want to hear his whole entire life story and what he wants in a woman, and then I want to take him back to my hotel room and be that woman.”
“Oh, girl,” Gwen laughed, “I never want to hear advice from you about this ever again.”
“That’s fine, just please come with me. I don’t want to talk to him alone.”
“Who are you, and what did you do with Marie?”
The brunette grimaced as she squeezed Gwen’s hands. “I don’t know! Help me!”
“Okay, now, I need to see the guy who broke my friend.”
Gwen turned from Marie toward the pool in time to catch the man who’d unmade her roommate over the course of one night. He was every bit as hot as Marie had described, with a chiseled jaw and even more chiseled abs, and he was indeed shaped like a triangle, which could be appreciated even easier since he was only in swim trunks. His skin had been worshipped by the sun, and he was sparkling thanks to a fresh dip in the pool. He lowered his muscular arm to sweep his fingers back through his sopping wet hair, and somewhere beside her, her friend whimpered.
But the blonde could only spend a fraction of a second on everything else around her because beside Marie’s hunk now was the very man who had unmade Gwen last night.
Time stopped.
He, too, was fresh out of the pool, with a towel ringing his neck and shoulders as swollen droplets rained down from thick, haphazard locks. He was out of breath, his chest heaving from his swim and his pale lips hanging open as he gulped air, just as they had when he’d fucked her to the brink of insanity.
But his eyes were as steady as ever, and they were fixed firmly on Gwen.
“Should we go over?” asked Marie, but her friend couldn’t move.
Instead, the two men began to walk the long perimeter before the bronzed man cut out the inconvenience and hopped back in the pool to wade across. Gwen was pretty sure she’d never again see anything more life-altering than these two shirtless heartthrobs pressing determinedly through the water with the ripples surging around their matching narrow waists.
The pair climbed out in horrible, horrible unison, their wet thighs flexing in time with their arms as water rushed off in diamond falls, and it was all terribly loud in Gwen’s ears. It only amplified when her stranger smiled in his darling tight-lipped way.
They padded across the concrete to the little swath of grass under a palm where the two ladies had been paralyzed.
“Hi, hello,” said the deep-voiced bronzed man. “It’s nice to see you again, Marie.”
“Hey, Hyunwoo,” she replied. Maybe it would sound casual to the strangers, but Gwen didn’t miss the uncharacteristic tremble in her friend’s voice.
“Good day for a swim,” he observed as he glanced up at the sun through the palm fronds and rubbed the back of his neck. “You planning on the pool or the ocean?”
“We hadn’t decided.”
“Ah, is this your friend you told me about?”
Marie nodded and took the chance to cling to her roommate’s hand, and with that, gained some strength. “Oh, yeah, this is Gwen. Gwen, this is Hyunwoo.”
Gwen felt the sharp squeeze at her hand, which was the only thing that made her realize she’d been staring unceasingly at her own pretty boy. She whipped her attention to Hyunwoo to smile and wave, but she could feel the burn of the other man’s eyes until she felt more naked than she had in his bed. She didn’t dare look back.
“Nice to meet you,” Hyunwoo said with that teddy bear smile, as Marie had called it. He turned toward his shirtless friend and added, “This is—”
“Hey!” came an exuberant call from across the pool in one of the loudest voices Gwen had ever heard. There stood yet another handsome man with hair dyed honey blond and chipper eyes waving at them with both arms like a used car lot inflatable. “Hey! Ask them if they want to join us.”
“Minhyuk,” scoffed the remaining stranger with a roll of his eyes, but Hyunwoo shrugged his mouth.
“What do you say, ladies? We have a cabana over there. Lunch is on its way, and we ordered lots.”
Marie giggled nervously and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I remember how much you said you like eating. I mean, if it’s cool with everybody…”
The brunette looked desperately at Gwen and squeezed her hand tighter than ever, and all eyes looked to the blonde.
“Sure, that’s cool,” said Gwen though she was anything but.
She was burning under the sun though it was nothing to the way she burned under the magnifying glass of cruel fate. Here, before the gentle gaze of the man she had forced herself to walk away from, everything came into calamitous focus.
His laugh, his easiness, his openness, his beauty. Their chemistry, their connection, their compatibility, their flaws.
Maybe Gwen had been a fool in love an embarrassing number of times, but she realized now that maybe all those mistakes had served a purpose. She could see clearly for the first time what all those men had lacked, and she’d be a much bigger fool to turn back a second time from something that felt undeniably different.
“You coming?” Marie called, and only then did Gwen realize Hyunwoo and her friend were already on their way to the cabana.
Beside her, her shot glass waited, smiling as he always seemed to be in her presence with that delicious bellybutton still glistening though this time it was from lingering pool water.
“Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to ever see you again,” he said.
“We’re really bad at this, aren’t we?” Gwen laughed awkwardly as she took the lead and followed her friend.
With his long legs, he caught up in a single stride, and together, they walked the long perimeter of the pool without any complaint.
“Bad at what?” he asked.
“Keeping promises to our friends.”
“Nah. Maybe it was just a dumb promise to make in the first place. And anyway,” he said, looking at her keenly over a bare shoulder, “aren’t you the one who told me no itineraries?”
“Oh yeah,” she said with a red-cheeked chuckle.
I go where my heart leads…
“I take it Hyunwoo’s a part of the bachelor party?” Gwen said.
“Yup. There’s eight of us, including the groom and his brother. You’ll like them, just hopefully not as much as you like me.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “And who says I like you?”
“I do. At least, I hope you do. Or maybe I’m just trying to manifest it.”
Gwen smiled shyly and nodded. “You’re right. I do.”
“Kind of funny how this worked out, huh? Your friend and my friend meeting up. Kind of feels like…”
“Blind dumb luck?”
“Destiny.” He studied her for a moment and then returned his eyes to the path around the pool. “I was going to say destiny.”
Her heart was beating out of her chest again, but this time, there was no scolding voice inside her head to temper it.
“You’re still cute,” she blurted.
“And you’re still driving me crazy.” His eyes roved over her skimpily clad figure, and he pressed his lips together. “So… Gwen, huh? That’s a beautiful name. It suits you.”
She was not prepared for the way it would feel to hear her name from his exquisite lips.
The front of her flip-flop rolled, and she stumbled forward with a cry and a flail before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he assured. He stared down at her fondly as she sheltered in the shade of his wide shoulders. Slowly, a smirk crept onto his lips. “Last time, you said it was the heels and you were a sandals girl. What’s your excuse today?”
“I’m clumsy, okay.”
“For everyone or just for me?” he teased. He leaned down, his lips to her hair, and added, “It’s okay if you say just for me. I’m kind of hoping for it.”
Gwen looked up into those brown eyes. The night had brought out their smoky depths, but the day brought out their playful hickory dimensions. So, too, had the merciless sun illuminated the finest spray of freckles dappling his cheek to puffy cheek, to devastating consequence.
“Maybe I’d admit it if I even knew who you were,” she said.
He stopped, and she stopped, too. Gwen looked at him with nervous eyes and an even more skittish heart.
She could forgive herself for all her stupid mistakes if it meant she could just get it right this one time…
Please. Just this once…
He lifted his head, caught her gaze, and closed the gap between them with one big step.
“In that case…”
Slowly, he bent down as his large hands gripped her cheeks, and just as his lips grazed hers gentler than the sea breeze, he spoke.
“So nice to finally meet you, Gwen. I’m Hyungwon.”
A/N: I know, I know. The muse obviously tried to turn this into a whole rom-com novel, but instead, I remained resolute to close this on the whimsical romantic open ending I originally intended. It got too out-of-hand as it was, if you couldn’t tell lol, so let your own romantic hearts take it from here, loves. <3 Thanks for reading!
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