#your writing is amazing and i love you so much

[goblinhoursinsomniaramblings]

... i... i need to contribute my fucked up system for shaking off writer's block but i feel like people are gonna hate it...

under a read more for feral adhd wrangling that looks one hell of a lot like OCD

STEP ONE: assign letter value to your project. slap that letter on the front of whatever folder you're keeping it in.

STEP TWO: that thing you got distracted by? book/ebook/video game/tv show/movie? figure out how to extract letter values from it. a line of dialogue starts with a letter that matches a project? whoop, stop right there, can't progress until you write a character/word/sentence/whole scene/you can slap that fucker up for reading, however little you need to keep moving, however much you need if you get on a roll. first letter of a page, first letter of a title or subtitle or episode title, first letter of a name of a character in that one phone RPG you keep playing who you just got the drops to upgrade, whatever works

STEP THREE: record overflow of whatever you're doing, all the letter values that didn't slot in. this is when you start making release valve projects with THOSE letters

no, hear me out--sometimes you are trying to write something tense, or dark, or violent... but in your heart, you had a tense and shitty day and while you can jot down words for how that feels as a form of keeping that feeling fresh, what you actually want to experience right that second is the warmest and fuzziest fluff you can think of, stuff that would NEVER fly in that first project. that is your release valve, and you need it because that writer's block is actually sometimes a feral idea that is blocking your mental pipes and will not leave until it can clamp down on your brain. do not listen to the cringe, the shame, the quality control in your brain. write the thing and do what you will with it after

shit, this whole blog is a release valve for me for when i want to be going over amazing ideas with close friends but no actually what i want is diving into random reblog threads and conversations and drop my masking so as to prevent severe fuckin burnout

anyway

STEP FOUR: binge that thing you've been meaning to catch up on. go on. do it. fill that overflow file

harvest the letters

feed them to the feral word beasts

they only bite when you love them

(tweet 1) (tweet 2) (article)

[dreamscapeee222]

Could you maybe do a reversal or Arevik's request? As someone who struggles with their body image the other way around.

A/n: I was actually planning on this. Now I write this for you :) I hope you like it!

You struggle with your body image

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

Vi notices your discomfort with your reflection long before you voice it. She’s observant, her sharp eyes catching how you pull at your clothes or avoid mirrors.

"Hey, you don’t have to look like anyone else to kick butt, alright? Trust me—I’ve seen you in action." She’ll say it with conviction, her tone brooking no argument.

When she realizes how deep your struggles run, she doesn’t push, but she’s always there. She’ll drag you to a boxing gym one day, not to force you to fight but to show you how strong you are.

"You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone," she tells you after watching you land a perfect punch.

Jinx

Jinx is chaotic but fiercely protective. She notices your hesitation to eat or how you tug at your sleeves and immediately declares, "Whoever made you feel like this? I’m blowing ‘em up."

She tries to cheer you up in her own unpredictable ways—drawing exaggerated portraits of you that make you laugh and reminding you she doesn’t care about appearances.

"You’re my favorite person, you know that? And I’m the smartest person in Zaun, so... my opinion’s the only one that matters."

On bad days, she’ll cuddle up next to you, her arms tight around your waist, mumbling, "I’ve got you. You don’t need to change a thing."

Caitlyn

Caitlyn notices the subtle changes in your mood when the topic of appearances comes up. She approaches it delicately, waiting for you to feel safe enough to open up.

When you finally do, she listens carefully, her eyes soft with understanding. "You’re beautiful as you are, but I understand how hard it is to feel that way sometimes."

She makes small changes to help you feel more comfortable—like buying clothes in cuts and fabrics you’d like or planning outings to places where you won’t feel judged.

Caitlyn constantly reinforces how much she values you, not just with words but through her actions. "It’s okay to struggle. Just don’t forget that you’re never alone in this."

Ekko

Ekko’s no stranger to insecurity, so he picks up on your struggle almost immediately. He doesn’t push you to talk about it but offers little reassurances whenever he can.

"You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. And no one else gets to define what’s worth loving about you. That’s all you, alright?"

On hard days, he’ll distract you with his projects or take you for a ride through the Lanes, showing you the world through his eyes. "This city doesn’t define us—neither do the things we don’t like about ourselves."

He’s endlessly patient, always reminding you of your worth without overwhelming you.

Jayce

Jayce struggles to grasp the depth of your feelings at first. He’s used to being confident and assumes a pep talk will fix it. "You’re amazing, okay? Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise."

When he realizes it’s more complicated than that, he shifts his approach, becoming more attentive. He starts noticing when you’re withdrawn and subtly adjusts his behavior to meet you where you’re at.

He’ll pull you into a tight hug, his voice warm as he says, "Whatever you see when you look in the mirror... I wish you could see what I see."

Jayce is big on small gestures, like leaving notes or little gifts to remind you of how much he cares.

Viktor

Viktor is deeply empathetic and picks up on your struggles quickly, though he doesn’t address it outright at first. Instead, he starts spending more time with you, letting his quiet presence offer comfort.

One day, as you stare at yourself in the mirror with a defeated look, he speaks softly but firmly. "I’ve spent my life defying limitations—don’t let your mind be one of them."

Viktor gently encourages you to focus on what your body allows you to do rather than how it looks. He’ll share stories of his own insecurities, hoping it helps you feel less alone.

On particularly bad days, he simply takes your hand and reminds you, "You are enough. You always have been."

Mel

Mel’s approach is thoughtful and calculated, but her warmth shines through in every interaction. She notices your discomfort almost immediately but gives you the space to come to her.

When you do, she listens without judgment, her hand resting gently on yours. "There’s nothing wrong with you," she says, her tone firm yet kind. "But I’ll help you see that when you’re ready."

She introduces you to self-care routines that help her feel confident, but she’s careful never to make you feel pressured. "You don’t have to change a thing to deserve love—not from me, not from anyone."

Mel is fiercely protective, shutting down anyone who dares make you feel lesser. Her love is constant, unwavering, and she ensures you feel it in every word and touch.

Requests may be sent through the ask box. Only SFW.

[sunfairiess]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 || 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

pairing: jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader

tropes: 3rd person narration | sarah cameron’s pov | childhood best friends to lovers | brother’s best friend | best friend’s sister | fluff | soft boy jj

synopsis: sarah cameron meets her boyfriend’s sister for the first time, and understands what being soulmates means.

warnings: cursing, slightly mention of violence

wc: 2.9k

it’s my first time writing a character x reader (and actually writing a ff in years lmao) so i really hope this turned out well! also, i apologize for any typos or grammar errors but english is not my first language <3

song rec: about you - the 1975 ♡

“c’mon guys, time to go back. it’s starting to freeze out here.” pope said, placing his fishing rod by his side before getting up and walking towards the helm of the boat, kiara following him to keep him some company. he was right: the temperature had started to drop, and honestly he didn’t even know why the pogues decided to go fishing at the end of november.

they were all there, except for the pogue princess as they liked to call her. she was john b’s younger sister, just by one year; and even though she was definitely a pogue down to her core, she actually almost looked like a kook: she was always composed, never drank too much, never even touched a cigarette or a joint, and she worked her ass off every afternoon at the country club to help john b with the bills and to afford a few of the things she liked.

she was smart, kind, the type of girl to lighten up a room with the sound of her laughter. she was also one of the reasons why the ‘no pogue-on-pogue macking‘ rule was made: everyone kind of had a thing for her, and jj maybank was the first in line.

“i seriously regret coming, i think i’m going into hypothermia.” jj said, shuddering a little bit. yes, it was cold, but it wasn’t that cold. jj just liked to be dramatic.

“gosh, you’re such a pussy.” john b laughed, smacking his best friend behind the head. they’ve know each other for more than ten years now. they weren’t friends anymore, they were brothers. they loved and cared for each other very deeply, even if they were acting like jerks most of the time.

as pope started the engine of the hms pogue, ready to go back to the château, john b took his sweatshirt off to pass it to sarah, his new girlfriend. she was a kook, but she was different. she didn’t care about how dissimilar their lives were, she loved spending time with the pogues because they were real. they were amazing friends, they were funny and smart, and the kind of people you could have a serious conversation with. they weren’t superficial like the kooks, and she loved them for this.

she felt a little tap on her leg, catching with her vision her boyfriend’s sweater. she gave john b a smile and slid the blue piece of clothing on. “so, i’m meeting your sister for the first time today, uh. big step.” sarah joked, slightly pushing his arm.

since the first moment they started dating, john b had always talked about how he wanted her to meet his sister. she was the most important person in his life, especially after his dad went missing at sea during a storm. he actually wanted sarah to meet her right away, but she asked him to wait a couple of months, just to see if they were solid about this relationship. “yup, and trust me you’re gonna love her. she’s like a little ball of sunshine, she wouldn’t even hurt a fly.” he said, smiling at the thought how of sweet his sister was with everyone.

“he’s right. i don’t think i’ve even ever seen her mad.” jj stated, shifting his seat from john b’s right to sarah’s left.

“she seems really nice, but i’m not worried about me liking her, because, by what you guys always say about her, i already do. i’m just worried she won’t like me, you know because of the whole pogue-kook thing.”

everyone bursted out laughing at sarah’s words, her face more confused than ever. “what? what did I say?” kiara left pope at the helm of the boat, and went to sit in front of her, crossing her legs together. “you don’t need to worry about that, she doesn’t give a shit about the rivalry. trust me, she looks like she walked out of a cruise brochure. the only thing she wants is to see her brother with someone who makes him happy, which you do, so she’s totally gonna be fine with it.” sarah smiled at her words, feeling a bit more relieved now.

even though pope wasn’t seating next to them, he could still perfectly hear their conversation and see sarah’s tensed body. that’s why he decided to lighten up a bit the discussion. “you know, one time she made jj dress up as a reindeer.” he said getting out a chuckle at the memory of jj dressed as one of santa claus’s reindeers.

kiara followed him with a loud laughter “oh my god it’s true, i almost forgot it.”

sarah gave them an amazed look. she was enjoying this too much to not say anything. “okay, this is actually the funniest thing i’ve ever heard. did you had a red nose like little rudolph, too?” she said with a smirk, turning her head towards jj’s.

“oh shut up, all of you. i only did it because she asked. besides, she looked so happy when i changed into that costume. i would honestly do it again.” jj let out an involontary smile at the thought of y/n. it was like this all the time: wether he wanted it or not, the only thought of y/n made him feel like he was the happiest man on earth, even if he wasn’t. she just had that effect on him.

“god, it’s sickening how whipped you are for my sister.” john b said, mimicking a gag reflex.

jj rolled his eyes at his words. sarah switching her gaze between the two boys sitting one to her left, and the other to her right. she then stopped to look at jj. “wait- you like y/n?”

“like? hell, he loves that girl. he’s been in love with her since he was six. the random hook ups he has? that’s all for show. he only does it to not draw suspicion, since the only girl he’d like to fuck— and sorry john b— is y/n.” pope said, fully exposing his friend’s feelings.

not that jj cared anyway. everyone knew how he felt about her, he didn’t even try to deny it anymore.

“and you’re completely fine with it?“ sarah asked john b, knowing how protective he was when it came to his sister.

“i wasn’t always. first time he told me he loved her? i punched him. not my finest moment but i was kinda mad.” john b replied, slightly chuckling, reminiscing his right fist hitting jj’s jawbone. “i mean, the day before he tells me he sees her as a little sister and then that he wants to sleep with her? hell nah, i wasn’t having that.”

“and what changed your mind?”

“because it’s jj. i know my best friend, and i know how much he cares for her. i knew he was never going to hurt her, i’m actually pretty sure he would die for her.”

sarah nodded along. the look on jj’s face confirming that what john b had just said was a hundred percent true. in that moment a thought crossed her mind, making her think about how what jj and y/n must’ve been something truly special.

“bubba, we’re home.” john b shouted, as he opened the château’s door. the house was silent, except for a light melody coming from the bathroom and the sound of the shower running. “shower! be right there!” sarah heard y/n shout back, as every one of the pogues sat on the couch: her ending up between her boyfriend and kiara, next to who was seated pope; and a bit far away from them jj. she figured he left the space empty for y/n.

about ten minutes later, while the pogues were having a conversation about an upcoming party at the boneyard, a sixteen year old girl came out of the bathroom, wearing a pink sweater and long white sweatpants. white socks at her feet and long wet hair cascading down her back. she walked up to them, bending slightly to place a kiss on her brother’s cheek, and proceeding to do the same with all the others.

she then retraced her steps and stopped in front of sarah. “so you’re the reason why my brother stopped being a cranky old lady.” she smiled, offering her her right hand. “i’m y/n, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“sarah. it’s a pleasure to meet you too, john b’s always talking about you.” sarah replied, shaking her hand. y/n let out a small laugh, as she walked towards the end of the couch were jj was seated.

she plopped down next to him, tucking her legs under her bottom and leaning into him. he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer and gently leaving a kiss to the side of her head. “he’s always talking about you too. i swear the other night he woke me up around 3am just to tell me how amazing your date was. which, don’t get me wrong, i was very happy to hear about.”

“you literally throw a pillow in my face.” john b said.

“duh, because you woke me at 3 fucking a.m. i love you bird, but for gods sakes let a girl sleep.” she replied, making everyone laugh at her comment.

the conversation resumed pretty quickly, this time through with jj paying way less attention to it, more focused on the girl next to him.

the entire evening, between laughters and bottles of beers, sarah observed how jj and y/n were always caught up in their whole world. jj’s hands being constantly on her body, wether it was a arm around her shoulders or his hand on her leg. they were glued to each other, sometimes even whispering between them words only they could catch.

for the second time that day, sarah thought about how jj and y/n’s bond was special, going beyond simple friendship.

it was almost two a.m. when kie and pope left, both returning to their respective houses to avoid their parents storming out on them. sarah instead was going to spend the night there, so since jj and john b were on the front porch smoking a joint, obviously a jj’s idea, she and y/n were the only two people moving around the living room, cleaning up the mess of empty beer bottles and pizza boxes.

the whole night she noticed how jj and y/n acted around each other, so since they were now alone, she just felt like she had to ask. “so what’s the deal between you and jj?”

“there’s no deal, we’re friends.” y/n said calmly.

“bullshit, i noticed the way you look at him and how he looks at you. that’s the look of love, sweetie.” sarah decided not to mention how jj actually felt about her. it wasn’t her place to say tell the truth.

“nah, jj would never go for someone like me. he only sees me as a little sister, besides i’m not even his type.” she replied, giving her a kind smile, even though she felt like a lump was stuck right down her throat. y/n always knew she wasn’t the kind of girl jj would want, the were total polar opposites, and truthfully she never even considered herself that much beautiful to have a chance with him.

“since when jj has a type? doesn’t he hits on every breathing human being?” sarah knew this probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but sometimes people needed a little push to blurt out their feelings. to her surprise though, y/n laughed, most likely because she knew how their friend had a habit of flirting with almost every girl he met. it didn’t matter if they were pogues or tourons, or hell even kooks sometimes. a pretty girl is a pretty girl, doesn’t matter where she comes from.

“kinda, but he always hooks up with victoria-secrets-models type of girls, if you get what i mean. and apart from that, we want different things. he doesn’t do relationships and i don’t do random hook ups. not to mention how the possibility of me and jj being together would probably give an aneurysm to my brother.”

“eh, i wouldn’t be so sure about that, ya know. either way though, you like him, don’t you?“ sarah said, remembering the conversation she and the other guys had on the boat.

busted. y/n stayed silent, sailing her lips in a thin, straight line. she then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, getting ready to spill everything out. she figured it was time to tell the truth anyway, since sarah clearly figured everything out.

“i met jj when i was four, we were in kindergarten and some older boys were picking on me. i was smaller and basically on the edge of tears, until i saw this blonde boy running towards me and putting himself between us. even if he was younger than them he still took my defense. after that he walked me home and told me he was a friend of john b’s. since that day, i don’t think i’ve ever liked someone that wasn’t him.“

she took a small pause, just to catch her breath. but she was so caught up in narrating the whole story, that she didn’t notice john b and jj leaning against the doorframe.

jj’s eyes almost bursting out of his face at her words, not expecting to hear her confession. john b, very aware of how his best friend was going to lose his shit any minute now, he places his finger against his mouth, mimicking him to shut up.

“as we grew older the roles kinda reversed and i started to look out for him: when he would come here bruised because of his father i would hug him and clean him up; even if younger than him i helped him study, you know just avoiding he would fail some subjects. at night, dad used to let him sleep next to me or john b because he didn’t want to be alone, thing that of course dad prohibited when i turned twelve. that didn’t stop him though: he would sneak out as soon as john b would fall asleep and come under the covers with me.”

she let out a laugh. “would sir. freud love this? probably yes, but it doesn’t matter. he deserves someone that cares for him, everyone does. and it’s not pity or mercy, i genuinely want to be there for him, because he deserves the best. yet, because of his father he’s convinced he’s worthless, but he’s not. gosh, he’s so funny and smart, which i know sounds weird but he is. he would die for his friends and cares so much for us. and i’m sure he could make it out of obx if only he wanted to. and he’s always so supportive and gen-“

she could’ve kept going on, but she suddenly noticed the two boys staring right up at her. jj’s eyes were watery, like he was going to cry any second now. he didn’t cry much, only when really fucked up things happened in his life, but for the first time he felt like crying not because he was sad and tired but because he was happy. because finally he could’ve had something great going on in his life. he could’ve had her.

without saying anything he launched himself into y/n’s arms, letting her stumble back due to the rushed impact between their bodies. he hold her tight, his arms around her waist and hers around his neck. his face placed in the space between her shoulder and her neck, breathing in the smell of the coconut soap she always used. he didn’t care about sarah and john b still being in the room, he wouldn’t even care if a freaking zebra walked in the house. she was the only thing that mattered. she was his whole universe.

“you shouldn’t eavesdrop, maybank.” she said with a smirk, putting a bit of distance between their bodies so she could look at him in the face, but still managing to play with the of hair at the nape of his neck.

“did you actually mean it? like for real?”

“every word, jay. you know me, i would never lie to you.”

jj maybank was impulsive. half of the time he never thought before acting, which pretty much resulted in him dealing with the aftermath of his stupid decisions. that’s why he didn’t think twice in grabbing y/n’s face with his hands, pressing his lips against hers.

at first he felt her stiffening, probably surprised by his gesture, and for a moment he really thought he had just screwed everything up. but then her hands went to his shirt, yanking him even closer if possible, and he sensed her relaxing, her lips moving against his.

after what seemed like hours, he pulled back, only because they both needed air. if it was up to him, he would’ve spent hours kissing her without getting a break.

“i’ve been loving you for a long time, princess.” she smiled, her cheeks almost hurting because of all the happiness she was feeling.

“well, you’re very lucky then, because i’ve been loving you for a long time too.”

“i can’t watch this, i think i’m gonna throw up.”

sarah nudged her elbow into her boyfriend stomach, giving him a look that said ‘shut the fuck up or i’m killing you’. john b raised his hands in the air, admitting defeat.

and, as they watched jj starting to kiss y/n again, sarah thought of how her own relationship was truly amazing. but in her opinion? what y/n and jj had was the true definition of soulmates.

[n0vazsq]

Tired of being alone | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x nurse!gf!reader

summary . . . Watching your boyfriend reveal your relationship on international TV, you realise that you missed him more than you realised

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 712

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . i have a free lesson rn so why not be productive and write? it's a bit shitty and kinda rushed but my next lesson is eng and i can NOT be late for it </3 saur sorry pookie!!

taglist . . . @barcapix (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . You slumped into the couch, limbs heavy from another exhausting shift. The hum of the TV filled the room, flickering softly in the dim light.

Your scrubs were still on, your shoes kicked off by the door. The thought of getting up to change or even eat felt too overwhelming after all those back to back shifts at the hospital. All you wanted was to melt into the couch and let the familiar background noise wash over you.

Oscar’s voice drifted into the room, steady and comforting. His interviews were always a joy to watch, making you smile and laugh, just like a kid watching their favourite cartoon. You hadn’t even registered what the interview was about; something about the upcoming Las Vegas GP, until the interviewer leaned in with a knowing grin.

"So, Oscar, we heard you stayed busy during the break between Brazil and Vegas. Anything special?"

You perked up, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Oscar’s laugh came through the speakers, soft and a little awkward. It was a laugh you knew well, the one he gave when he wasn’t sure how much to share. Your heart started beating a little faster.

"Well," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit that always made you melt. "I spent most of it taking care of someone close to me. She works really long shifts and don’t always get enough rest, so I made sure she was… comfortable."

You blinked, sitting up straighter. Did he just-? Your heart skipped a beat, eyes widening.

The interviewer’s eyes widened at his sentence, just like how you did, as if he was mimicking your actions. "Interesting," he teased, leaning in slightly. "Care to share more details? Who’s this mysterious lady?"

Oscar’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes, soft and sincere. "Let’s just say she's in healthcare. A nurse, actually. She's been pretty amazing, and I wanted to make sure she had a break too."

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was. A soft launch, wrapped in his quiet, subtle way. Oscar wasn’t the type of person who did grand gestures or flashy declarations, but this? This felt perfect. It was a little secret, meant just for you, even with the world watching.

The interviewer pressed on, curiosity piqued. "A nurse, huh? Sounds like you’ve got someone special in your world."

Oscar’s eyes flickered with that shy warmth you adored. "Yeah," he admitted, voice softer. "I do."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, pressing a hand to your mouth. The exhaustion of the day melted away, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling in your chest. He always had a way of making you feel seen, even when you were miles apart.

Your phone buzzed beside you. Picking it up, you saw that it was a text from Oscar.

Hope you’re watching. Rest up, yeah? ❤

You bit your lip, a grin spreading across your face. He always knew exactly what you needed.

Busted, Mr. Soft Launch. I owe you a dinner.

Your phone buzzed again almost immediately.

Only if you let me cook.

You leaned back into the couch, the smile refusing to leave your face. The weight of the day didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Knowing that he’d spent his break looking after you, making sure you were okay, it made all the long shifts and sleepless nights worth it.

On the screen, the interview moved on to other questions, but you weren’t really listening anymore. You were too lost in the quiet joy of knowing you were loved; subtly, quietly, and now, a little bit known by the world too.

You texted back, fingers hovering over the keys for a moment.

I’m tired of being alone all day. Come home faster.

His reply came quickly, almost as if he’d been waiting for it.

See you soon. It’s worth it for you. Every time.

Your heart swelled, and you sank deeper into the couch's soft cushions, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. Even with the miles between you, he had a way of making you feel like you were home.

In that adorable way that made you feel loved and cherished, just like when you were a kid.

God, you loved him more than anything.

[loverafey]

right of course we all think that rafe is dominant in bed alright- but what do we think about submissive rafe wanting to be taken care of after a tiring day? can you write sum for that???

your theme and writing is just so ugghh i love it and i think your writing style would fit my request so GOOD

anon this made me giggle you're the sweetest. <3 !!! confession time i've never written dom!reader before so this is an amazing req :]

pent up ! bf!rafe x reader.

          ꕀ warnings - smut, this is so filthy good lord, switching the dynamics up, dom!reader and sub!rafe, handjob, orgasm denial, he whimpers guys, riding. wc -  1.4k

it’s quite the norm for rafe to come back home all pent up after a long day, sometimes dishevelled and mostly pissed off. it was as if something wrong happened to him every day, at least in his eyes. it was slightly amusing, though you’d never tell him that, lest it does nothing but makes his mood all the more sour.

though it was nothing like today. he hadn’t muttered a word when he came back home from work, hadn’t spared a glance at you, eyes down and lips pursed tightly as he stomped his way into the bedroom. you wouldn’t even have noticed his presence if it weren’t for the sound of his footsteps. rightfully concerned, you rose from the couch where you’d been waiting for him, following after him.

“rafe?” you asked, noting the way his shoulders visibly stiffened up.

“i’m not in the mood.” he grumbled out, not as snappy as usual, just tired and bummed out. you tilted your head curiously, still stepping closer to him until you were in front of him. at this point, you’d gotten used to not caring about the rather hurtful words he’d be spewing out when mad.

“c’mon, what happened?” you asked, hands gently moving up to cup his face. despite the frustration etched on his face, he leaned it, earning a smile on your face as your fingernails lightly scratched against his skin, soothing his nerves.

“stupid fucking- stupid bitch tried to scam me. do people thing i’m fucking dumb, that i’m just some… incompetent replacement of my father?” he rambled on rather hastily, causing his words to get mixed and fumbled. you listened, gently guiding him on the bed. he didn’t resist at all, too exhausted to complain or start another argument that he’d normally do when tired.

“you must be so tired, huh? seems like a really bad day.” you sat down beside him, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling him lean into you. limp and compliant, he rested his head on your shoulder and groaned, pulling you up to sit on his lap, craving nothing but your warmth.

“you’ve no idea.” he huffed against your skin, shuddering when he felt you massaging his tense nape.

rafe was never one to fall into submission. he always had to be on the top, to assert his power over others, anything to fill something. though with you, it was less about power and more about letting him do all the work so you were constantly showered in affection. but today, none of that was playing in his head. he wanted, no, needed you, but he was just so tired.

“baby…” he breathed out while you felt his thighs twitch under your hips, aching to ground up against your crotch.

“do you want me to take care of you, rafe?” the sweetness laced with your words made his heart clench as he pulled his head away from your neck to look at you, blue eyes desperately pleading, cheeks flushed. fuck, he looked beautiful like this, needy with glossy eyes, his fingers harshly tightly into your sides without even realising it.

you let him hold you in whatever way he’d like, your hands finding their way to unbuckle his pants and tugging down slightly along his briefs until his cock sprung out, all heavy and hard, tip already leaking. you couldn’t help but wonder if you could make him cum in his pants, maybe some other day. it already looked like his cock was hurting enough.

“poor baby.” you cooed, words naturally coming out of you much to your surprise. your soft palms against his cock felt like heaven to him, and it was taking everything within him to not thrust up against your hands like something feral. he tried to relax on the mattress, leaning against the headboard as he breathed deeply, feeling your palm swipe up against his sensitive tip, rubbing slowly and lightly, as if barely even touching.

“fuck- stop teasing me.” he hissed through gritted teeth which soon dissolved into a choked moan when your thumb beginning to rub on his tip firmly, collecting the beads of precum before rubbing them down his length. the poor guy was literally trembling from pleasure, not having realised how much tension he had stored within him.

his hands continued to rest on your hips, clenching and tugging at your shirt to ground yourself as one hand of yours rubbed up and down his cock while the other rubbed against the swollen tip. his lips were parted, threatening to swoon as his hips began to involuntarily buck up, his mind feeling all bleary from the sheer bliss coursing within him.

“it’s okay, i’m here for you, and i’m really proud of everything you do for me, for us.” you reassured, unable to suppress a grin at the way his eyes rolled back into his skull at that, just so ecstatic to finally hear someone say that. he’d make sure to worship you fully after this, to kiss you all over, but for now this was all that mattered.

“shit, i’m so-” he couldn’t properly finish his words, whimpering out loudly as his eyes squeezed shut, chasing his orgasm. almost there, almost-

you pulled your hands away, his eyes flying up as he stared at you in shock, still sensitive and fuzzy from almost getting an orgasm. you could’ve sworn those were tears that welled up in those tired eyes of his as he grunted, shaking his head. “w-what, why?!”

“just hold on. patience.” you snickered to yourself, a seductive revenge for every time he’d done the same to you in the past. “you’ve to be a good boy for me or else you won’t be coming tonight.” you spoke as firmly as you could, your amusement still seeping in.

much to your shock, he didn’t retort or fight back, glaring at you as he chewed on his bottom lip. “please…” he croaked out, needily rubbing his denied cock against the front of your shorts. your hand gently smacks the top of his cock, earning a muffled noise from him. seeing him sensitive was surely one of your new favourite things now.

“fine… ‘cause you’re just so tired.” you cooed, lifting your hips up to gently take down your shorts and panties, rewarding him with the view of your pussy that he’d been yearning to see, all soaked. “see? you did this to me.” your fingers teasingly spread your slick folds apart, watching the way his eyes were practically fucking you hungrily alone from his vision.

“please…” he whined out, not even hiding all those pretty noises anymore. he was always loud, but never this pathetic. it was so endearing in a way. positioning your pussy on top of his cock, you slowly sunk in, moaning pleasantly as his girth stretched you out in the best way possible. his head lolled back, gripping your hips tight. fuck, he could just cum like this, already so close to explode.

your hips begin grinding against him teasingly, your walls tightening around him while you moved up and down, feeling his cock pulsating within your warmth. there was just something so special, so him whenever he’d start hitting all the sweet spots inside you with such ease. but something that was much sweeter was the fact that he was obediently taking it all, letting you ride him without him thrusting up into you greedily no matter how much he’d want to.

“you can cum in me, baby.” you encouraged him, causing his eyes to widen. his arms were wrapped around you as his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck, feeling you bounce up and down on his cock until he finally reached his peak, his cock twitching maddeningly, thick spurts of cum spurting within your pussy.

he panted heavily, sweat clinging to his forehead, not minding the way your hands began to take off his shirt so he could breathe freely, his chest all flushed. you didn’t pull away yet, letting his cock rest snugly inside you, his lips letting out an incoherent mumble as he clung onto you tight.

“i love you…” he lazily peppered kisses on your neck. drained out, but now in the best possible way.

[hoshifighting]

ok... so i've seen your amazing college fling works for seungcheol, jeonghan, and joshua.... but what about one for hoshi 👉👈

ONCE AGAIN I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

WARNINGS: freshmen!hoshi, late night practices, burn-out, shyness, sunbae!reader, fluff, a lil bit of angst.

WC: 2.8k of this... judge me 🗣needed to divide this into parts...

part 1 / part 2

college fling!hoshi that you clocked that he was a freshman by the very moment he stepped into the dance practice room. it started with the smell, honestly. freshman reek—like nervous sweat and too much axe body spray, paired with the faintest whiff of fear. baggy-ass hoodie that practically swallowed his arms, hands shoved deep in his pockets like they’d get fined if they came out, sneakers so new they squeaked against the gym floor. he looked young. not in a bad way, just in that “i’m not used to being left unsupervised” way.

he stood in the doorway like he didn’t know what to do with himself. everyone else was stretching, pulling their limbs into shapes human joints probably weren’t meant for, and there he was, swaying on the balls of his feet like a kid waiting to ask if they could borrow a crayon.

“you lost?” you called out, not even looking up from where you were sitting, tying your shoelaces.

“huh? n-no, i’m, uh—this is intro to hip-hop?”

the way he said it like a question had you biting back a grin. “yeah, you’re in the right place. c’mon in before the instructor roasts your ass for lurking.”

he shuffled in, taking a spot in the back corner like he was hoping no one would notice him. “i'm invisible if i stand still enough”, he thinks. but of course, everyone noticed him. new kid energy was impossible to ignore, and to top it off, he had that awkwardly cute thing going on. messy bangs falling into his eyes, face pink like he was one awkward comment away from combusting. his eyes, wide and curious, darting around like he was mentally cataloging every single thing in the room.

“you got a name, freshman?” you asked, leaning back on your hands as you watched him.

he blinked, like he didn’t realize you were still talking to him. “oh, uh, hoshi. i mean, soonyoung. but people call me hoshi.”

“cool. you dance before, hoshi?”

“alright, new guy!” the prof clapped his hands, dragging everyone’s attention. “show us a little freestyle! don't be shy...”

college fling!hoshi who freezes mid-blink, still thinking about your question. clutching his backpack straps so hard you thought they might snap. he turned to you, wide-eyed and panicked, like you could save him from the impending doom.

“relax,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice low enough that only he could hear. “you do this and sunbae’s buying you dinner. whatever you want. ramen, fried chicken, you name it.”

he blinked, like the concept of being spoiled by you was enough to short-circuit his brain, but there was something there. a spark. like maybe he didn’t wanna flop in front of you.

“okay,” he mumbled, and you gave him a grin that could probably power a small city.

“attaboy,” you said, patting his shoulder as you turned back to the class.

by the end of the first class, he’d loosened up a bit—mostly because the instructor made everyone run through improv drills, and there was no room for shyness when you were flailing around to some experimental old-school rap track. you caught him sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

college fling!hoshi who finally zipped up his backpack after what felt like an eternity, stood up, and immediately knocked over a water bottle with his foot. he muttered a quick, shy “sorry,” barely glancing at the offended plastic, and shuffled toward you. his shoulders were stiff, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack like they were the only things tethering him to this earth. you gave him a once-over, your phone in one hand, and a smirk playing at your lips. “you survived,” you said casually, and his grin was so tiny you almost missed it.

college fling!hoshi who started walking alongside you, a little too close like he didn’t know how to pace himself yet. every few steps, his elbow brushed yours, and he’d shift just enough to make it obvious he noticed. you didn’t say anything—just side-eyed him with a teasing smile that had his ears turning red.

college fling!hoshi who paused outside the building with you, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve as he asked, “so, uh… what do you like to eat?” his voice was barely louder than the passing breeze. you raised an eyebrow at him, tucking your phone into your pocket. “you’re really gonna let me pick, huh?” he nodded, determined, even as he shuffled his feet. “you said you’d spoil me,” he countered, and for the first time, there was a flicker of sass in his tone. you liked it.

college fling!hoshi who almost tripped on his untied shoelace when you said you’d pick a place, his backpack slipping off one shoulder as he bent down to fix it. he was mumbling something about bad luck when you crouched beside him, yanking the lace from his hands and tying it with a quick knot. “you’re gonna kill yourself before dinner at this rate,” you said, and the way he stared at you—wide-eyed, lips parted—made it feel like you’d just handed him the keys to the kingdom.

college fling!hoshi who sat across from you at the tiny chicken shop, looking at the menu like it was a math test. “it’s just chicken, dude,” you teased, propping your chin in your hand. he fumbled with the laminated page, finally blurting, “but what if I pick something too spicy?” you laughed, shaking your head. “okay, rookie, let me help you out.” you ended up ordering for both of you, and when the dish came, his eyes lit up.

college fling!hoshi who distractly puts too much sauce on his chicken wing and doesn’t notice because he was too busy grinning at your stories. “wait, wait—so you fell during a performance?” he asked, the sauce at the corner of his mouth. you groaned, throwing a napkin at him. “it wasn’t just a fall, okay? it was a crash,” you admitted, and his laugh was so loud the couple at the next table glanced over. “stop making fun of me or I’ll make you pay,” you threatened, and his face instantly sobered. “wait, what?”

college fling!hoshi who insisted on paying despite your earlier threats. he pulled out his wallet like it was some grand declaration of independence, only to hesitate when he realized he didn’t have enough cash. “um…” he started, cheeks burning. you rolled your eyes and handed your card to the cashier before he could protest. “rookie rule number one,” you said smugly, “always check your wallet before acting like a big shot.” he muttered something about repaying you, and you just laughed, nudging him toward the door.

college fling!hoshi who got lost again on the way back to his dorm, despite the fact that he’d been living there for a week. “are you serious right now?” you asked, watching him squint at the campus map on his phone. he scratched the back of his head, mumbling, “it all kinda looks the same at night.” sighing, you grabbed his phone, pulled up the map yourself, and started walking. “come on, hoshi-ya you’re hopeless.”

college fling!hoshi who walked beside you, hands in his pockets, quietly humming a tune you didn’t recognize. “what’s that?” you asked, tilting your head toward him. his eyes widened like he’d been caught. “oh, uh, just something I made up,” he admittedquietly. you stopped in your tracks, turning to him with a grin. “wait, you write music?” he shrugged, suddenly bashful. “a little… it’s not a big deal.” you nudged him with your shoulder. “nah, that’s cool as hell. show me sometime?”

college fling!hoshi who hesitated outside his dorm door, hand hovering over the handle. “thanks for… you know, today,” he said, glancing at you shyly. “and dinner.” you smirked, crossing your arms. “you earned it, rookie. but next time, you’re paying.” his smile stretched wide, and for a moment, he just stood there, like he didn’t want to go in. finally, he nodded, fumbling with the key. “goodnight, sunbae,” he said softly, and you had to resist the urge to ruffle his hair as you turned to leave.

college fling!hoshi who always trails behind you, holding onto the strap of your backpack like a lost puppy. “you’re gonna rip it, you know,” you tell him, but he just grins and tightens his grip. “you’re my sunbae. gotta make sure I don’t lose you.” it’s so dumb and cheesy that you flick his forehead, but your chest feels warmer anyway.

college fling!hoshi who managed to charm his way into your friend group like he’d been there all along. one of your music department friends spotted him loitering outside your lecture hall and asked, “is that the guy you’ve been dragging around campus?” you rolled your eyes, but hoshi smiled like he’d just won an award. “that’s me!” he said proudly, and somehow by the end of the conversation, they were swapping playlist recommendations.

college fling!hoshi who shows up at your dorm one night with a bruised knee and a sheepish smile. “i tripped during practice,” he admits, wincing as you drag him inside. “tripped or collapsed?” you demand, pointing at the ice pack in his hands. he shrugs, trying to play it off, but you’re already crouched in front of him, scolding him as you press the ice to his knee. “you should stop, sunbae its worried about you.” you mutter, and when he mumbles, “i’ll be fine,” you glare at him until he mutters an apology instead.

college fling!hoshi who gets into his first real argument with you after you find him practicing in an empty studio way past midnight. “what the hell are you doing?” you snap, flipping on the lights to find him mid-spin, sweat dripping down his face. “just a bit more,” he protests, breathless. “i need to get this routine perfect.” but you’re not having it. “perfect doesn’t matter if you’re too dead to perform, hoshi!” he flinches, wide-eyed, but you don’t stop. “you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. stop before you break something.” he looks at you, frustrated, and finally, he slumps onto the floor, whispering, “sorry, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who randomly shows up with snacks between your classes. “figured you’d be hungry,” he says, handing you a convenience store bag. you peek inside—your favorite drink and a pack of cookies. “didn’t know you were trying to bribe me,” you tease, taking a bite. “is it working?” he asks, grinning, and when you give him a thumbs-up, he beams like a kid on christmas morning.

college fling!hoshi who ends up crashing at your dorm after a long night of studying. he’s sprawled on your bed, one arm thrown over his face, while you sit cross-legged on the floor, typing away at your laptop. “you’re gonna fail if you don’t actually read the material,” you say, glancing up. he groans, rolling onto his side. “then i’ll just ask you to tutor me again,” he says, smirking, and you chuck a pillow at his head.

college fling!hoshi who catches you off-guard one day by slipping his jacket over your shoulders during a chilly walk across campus. “you looked cold,” he says simply, his voice softer than usual. you pull the fabric tighter around you, the faint scent of him lingering on it, and when you glance at him, he’s pretending to be super interested in a tree. “thanks,” you say quietly, and he shrugs, his ears turning pink as he mutters, “anytime, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who came back one day to the practice room after a late practice, two cans of soda in hand, humming to himself. “sunbae, I got—” his voice cut off when he saw you slouched on the floor, one hand clutching your forehead. “y/n?” he rushed over, dropping the sodas with a dull clunk. crouching in front of you, his voice softened. “what’s wrong? are you okay?” you waved him off weakly. “just tired. it’s nothing.” but he didn’t buy it for a second.

college fling!hoshi who gently pried your hand away from your forehead, his fingers brushing against yours. “you’re burning up,” he said, his brow furrowing. “why didn’t you say anything?” you tried to sit up straighter, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “it’s fine, really. just pushed too hard today.” his expression tightened. “this isn’t fine, y/n. you shouldn’t have kept going if you felt like this.”

college fling!hoshi who helped you lean back against the mirror. “stay still, okay?” he murmured, crouching next to you. you gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “you’re acting like I’m dying, hoshi.” he didn’t laugh, his lips pressing into a thin line. “don’t joke about that,” he said quietly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of improvement.

college fling!hoshi who let you rest your head against his shoulder when you slumped forward again. “here, like this,” he said softly, adjusting so you were cradled in his arms. his hands were steady, one supporting your back and the other brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just relax. you’re safe.” he started gently blowing on your face, the cool air soothing your heated skin. “better?” he whispered, his voice close enough to send a strange flutter through your chest.

college fling!hoshi who stayed with you until you could sit up on your own again, his arm still lingering behind your back just in case. “you scared me,” he admitted, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “i thought… what if something happened and I wasn’t here?” you blinked up at him, guilt bubbling in your stomach. “sorry,” you muttered. his hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “just don’t do it again, okay? i mean it, you always scold me for practicing too late...”

college fling!hoshi who refused to let you walk home by yourself, no matter how many times you insisted you were fine. “nope, not happening,” he said firmly, slipping your bag over his shoulder along with his own. “if you collapse halfway there, what am I supposed to do? carry you like a princess?” you snorted, but the teasing tone in his voice couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes.

“you know, I could really get used to you carrying me around,” you said, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. he raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. “oh, really?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah,” you said, deadpan, “I mean, who wouldn’t want a cute guy carrying them everywhere?”

college fling!hoshi who, despite the teasing tone in your voice, caught that little glint in your eye. “alright, then,” he said, voice suddenly serious, as he paused in front of you. “come here.” without waiting for a response, he slid his arms under your knees and around your back. you yelped in surprise, but before you could protest, he had you lifted off the ground like you were weightless. “you wanted it, right?” he said with a grin, carrying you like it was nothing. “not a word out of you until we get to your dorm.”

“you’re a natural at this,” you teased, your chin resting on his shoulder as you looked up at him. “yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you from passing out on me,” he muttered, but his cheeks were flushed, and his hands felt like they were holding you just a bit too tightly. “this isn’t bad,” you added with a smirk, “maybe I’ll start making demands. like, no more walking for me from now on.”

he blushed at your joke but didn’t miss a beat. “you sure about that?” he asked, glancing down at you with a sly smile. you nodded, playing along. “definitely. I’m a princess now. I’ll need snacks, water, a blanket... and don’t forget the back rubs.” hoshi shook his head, clearly trying to hide his amusement. “I’m pretty sure you’re taking this way too far, but okay,” he said, adjusting his grip on you. “I can do all that...”

“deal. but only if you don’t drop me halfway there,” you teased. hoshi’s grip tightened, his voice lowering a little. “I’ll never drop you, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who made it to your dorm room, still carrying you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “I should’ve known you’d enjoy this,” he said, shaking his head as he set you down on your bed. “enjoy what?” you asked innocently, grinning up at him. “this whole ‘being carried around’ thing,” he said, still laughing a little. you shrugged dramatically.

college fling!hoshi who would come up to you after class, always fussing over you—was your shoulder okay? did you stretch enough? how was your lunch? you’d always brush it off, sulking a little at the way he took care of you like it was his full-time job.

[070chwe]

AWKWARD — nicholas a. chavez

masterlist | inspo playlist

summary — a close friend’s destination wedding turns into an impromptu reunion between you and your all-grown-up college fuck-buddy. old flames reignite and tensions simmer in the italian sun, as you learn some sparks never really snuff out. inspired by awkward by sza.

word count — 25.1k

tags/warnings — feat. joshua hong, kim mingyu, a few other var. idols + ocs. fem!reader. forced proximity(?). eloping. 2 suggestive scenes. alcohol consumption (they’re in italy, it’s a lot of wine but nobody is drunk). best friends to lovers to scorned ex-situationship to friends to ???. angst for like 10 words because i just want everybody to be happy. josh and dae are plotting and scheming.

a/n — this is the longest piece i’ve written in years so i hope that you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. if anyone is interested besides me i may revisit these two in future as i am now Extremely emotionally attached to them. dedicated to my beautiful @titsout4nicholas who beta-read this and helped me flesh it out when i was stuck. please check out her writing at well!

DAY ONE

The cab winds its way up a narrow, cobblestone path, the engine purring as the late afternoon sun bathes the landscape in a golden glow. Between clusters of cypress trees, you catch glimpses of Lake Como shimmering like molten silver. The air feels impossibly clean, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers.

Joshua’s family villa looms ahead—a masterpiece of terracotta and ivy, perched like a crown atop the hill. You exhale slowly, the flutter in your stomach intensifying. You’ve travelled halfway across the world for this.

The cab stops in front of the grand iron gates, and you step out, your heels clicking against the stones. The estate is larger than you imagined, almost intimidating in its elegance. Joshua had joked in his messages that his aunt’s villa could host royalty, and now, standing here, you’re beginning to think he wasn’t exaggerating.

You press the buzzer, your nerves prickling as the gate buzzes open. Your suitcase rattles behind you as you make your way up the cobblestone driveway, flanked by gardens bursting with lavender and roses. The door opens before you can knock, and Joshua steps out, a grin already splitting his face.

“You made it!” His voice is warm, just like you remember, and the sight of him is enough to loosen the knot in your chest.

“Barely,” you tease, letting him pull you into a hug. “You didn’t mention how many hills I’d have to climb just to get here.”

He laughs, stepping back to look you over. “Italy suits you. You’re already glowing.”

“Please, I’ve been here for less than an hour,” you say, shaking your head.

“Well, Dae’s going to lose it when she sees you,” he says, ushering you inside.

The entryway is breathtaking—vaulted ceilings, marble floors, and soft sunlight pouring in through tall windows. There’s a faint citrusy smell in the air, mixed with fresh flowers. It’s almost too much to take in all at once.

“Where is Dae?” you ask as you trail behind Joshua.

“Probably trying to micromanage something,” he says with a fond roll of his eyes. “You know how she gets. Let me call her—”

Before he can finish, Dae appears at the top of the sweeping staircase. She practically sprints down, her steps light despite the heels she’s wearing. “You’re finally here!”

She pulls you into a tight hug, her excitement radiating off her in waves. “You look amazing,” she says, holding you at arm’s length for a moment.

“So do you,” you reply, meaning it. Her hair is swept up in a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing a crisp white blouse that somehow looks effortless and chic.

“We’ve missed you,” she says, looping her arm through yours and steering you toward the living room. “Come on, let’s get you settled. You can tell us all about your flight, work—oh, and your love life.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Please,” Joshua chimes in from behind. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet in the group chat. That usually means something juicy is going on.”

“I’m literally here for your wedding,” you say, trying to deflect.

“And we love that for us,” Dae says with a grin. “But don’t think for a second you’re getting out of story time later.”

Their easy banter pulls you in, warming you from the inside out. For a moment, it’s as though no time has passed since the four of you spent late nights cramming for finals in your college apartment.

But there’s an undercurrent of unease you can’t quite shake. It surfaces when Dae casually mentions that some of their other friends will be arriving later. When you ask who, Joshua cuts in with a teasing, “You’ll see,” before Dae can answer.

The villa’s guest room is as luxurious as you expected, with a high ceiling, a plush king-sized bed, and a balcony that overlooks the lake. You set your suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed and sink onto the mattress, letting out a long breath. The journey here had been a blur of airports, connections, and winding roads, but now, with the late-afternoon sun warming the tiled floor, the reality of being here finally settles in.

The villa hums with quiet life. Somewhere below, you can hear the soft clatter of dishes and distant laughter. Outside, the breeze carries the faint scent of lavender and rosemary, mingling with the warmth of the sun-soaked air.

You had barely finished catching your breath when Dae showed up, practically dragging you out of the room for a whirlwind tour of the estate.

“This place is magic,” she’d said, her excitement infectious as she led you down stone corridors and through hidden courtyards. Every turn revealed something new—a secluded fountain framed by climbing roses, a sun-dappled veranda, a cozy library tucked away on the second floor. “We’re using the garden for the ceremony. Just wait until you see it.”

The tour ended on the dining terrace, overlooking the shimmering lake. A long, rustic table had already been set with crisp linens, flickering candles, and bursts of wildflowers.

“This is where dinner will be,” Dae had said, her voice softer, almost reverent. “We wanted it to feel intimate, you know? Like something you’d do at home, but—”

“Much fancier,” you’d finished for her, smiling.

Now, back in your room, you find yourself lingering on the balcony, taking it all in. The lake stretches out below, its surface catching the last golden rays of sunlight. The moment feels quiet, still, a sharp contrast to the rush of life back home.

You let out a slow breath, resting your hands on the cool stone of the railing. It had been too long since you’d had a moment like this—too long since you’d seen Dae and Joshua, too long since you’d allowed yourself to just stop.

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“It’s me!” Dae calls brightly.

You open the door to find her grinning, a whirlwind of energy in an elegant cream dress. “Dinner’s starting soon,” she says, glancing at you from head to toe. “Wow. You look amazing.”

You glance down at your outfit—a deep green dress that hugs your figure in all the right places. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Not bad? Excuse me, I look incredible,” she quips, flipping her hair dramatically before looping her arm through yours. “Come on. We’re sitting together, and you’ll want a drink before Josh starts his toast. He’s been rehearsing.”

The walk to the terrace feels like stepping into another world. The garden glows under strings of fairy lights, the long table a picture of effortless elegance. Music drifts softly in the background, mingling with the sound of laughter as Joshua holds court near the head of the table, gesturing animatedly.

“You did all this?” you ask Dae, marvelling at the details—the flowers, the candles, the cosy but luxurious ambiance.

She gives you a sheepish smile. “I had help, but yeah. It’s what we wanted—something small, personal. Just the people who matter most.”

Her words tug at something in your chest, and you squeeze her arm gently. “It’s perfect.”

As you take your seat, the warmth of the evening wraps around you, the glow of the lights adding a touch of magic to the scene. It feels like the start of something—not just a celebration, but maybe a shift, a moment to breathe and reconnect with the people who shaped the most important parts of your life.

“Breathe it in,” Dae says, nudging you with a grin. “This is just the beginning.”

The conversation around the table is light and easy, buoyed by Joshua’s endless charm and Dae’s quick wit. You find yourself laughing more than you expected, the warmth of the evening sinking into your shoulders and softening the edges of your travel fatigue.

“You two have met, right?” Dae asks suddenly, sliding back into the chair beside you after a round of wine refills.

You shake your head, glancing at the man Dae gestures to, sitting a few seats down. He’s hard to miss—tall, broad-shouldered, and ridiculously good-looking in a crisp white shirt that somehow makes him look even more tanned than he already is.

“Mingyu, this is my friend,” Dae says, leaning forward to catch his attention. “You’ll love her.”

Mingyu looks up, his easy grin spreading as he shifts his chair closer. “Ah, I’ve heard stories. You guys met in high school, right?”

You nod, offering a polite smile. “We did. And you’re…?”

“Mingyu,” he says, his voice smooth and warm. “Friend of Joshua’s. He’s been telling me about you guys for years.” He tilts his head, his dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You’re the one who keeps them in check, right?”

You laugh softly. “Someone has to.”

Dae nudges your arm, grinning. “Mingyu’s one of those guys who knows a little about everything. And he’s annoyingly good at all of it.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Mingyu says, leaning back casually. “I’m just here for the wine and the view.” His eyes flick to you for a moment, the faintest hint of flirtation in his tone.

You arch an eyebrow but say nothing, sipping your wine instead.

The conversation flows easily, with Mingyu sliding into the dynamic like he’s always been part of it. He teases Dae relentlessly, compliments her taste in wine, and somehow makes Joshua laugh so hard he has to set down his glass.

It’s almost enough to distract you from the quiet sense of anticipation that’s been building since the moment you arrived.

Almost.

You’re just about to ask Mingyu something about his work—he’s in hospitality, or maybe it was hotels?—when the quiet murmur of someone arriving pulls your attention to the garden gate.

Joshua stands, grinning broadly as he strides toward the gate. “Finally! Look who decided to show up!”

Your stomach twists sharply, and you glance instinctively toward the entrance.

Nicholas stands there, sweater slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly rumpled as though he’d barely had time to catch his breath before arriving. The warm glow of the garden lights casts soft shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the familiar intensity in his eyes.

Your fingers tighten around your wine glass.

He scans the group quickly, his expression carefully composed, but when his gaze lands on you, it falters just slightly. His lips part, and for a second, he looks…stunned. Like he hadn’t let himself consider the possibility of seeing you here, even though he should have known.

Then Joshua breaks the spell, clapping Nicholas on the back and pulling him into the fold. “Tough flight?”

“Delayed out of LAX,” Nicholas says simply, his voice as calm and measured as you remember. “But I made it.”

“And just in time,” Dae chimes in, standing to give him a quick hug. “We saved you a seat.”

Your stomach sinks as you realize exactly where that seat is.

Directly across from you.

Nicholas hesitates for the briefest of moments, his eyes flicking back to you as though weighing whether he has a choice. Then he lowers himself into the chair, nodding at the group.

The conversation resumes quickly, Joshua launching into a toast that draws laughter and applause, but you’re hyperaware of Nicholas’s presence, the quiet tension crackling in the air between you.

“Hi,” he says softly, leaning just slightly forward.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, offering a polite smile. “Hi, Nic.”

“Nic?” Mingyu interjects, leaning forward with a curious tilt of his head. “You two know each other?”

The question hangs in the air, and you feel Nicholas’s eyes on you, waiting for your response.

“He’s the fourth, in the core four. We went to college together,” you say evenly, keeping your tone light.

“More like survived college together,” Nicholas adds, his voice carrying just the faintest edge of warmth.

Mingyu glances between the two of you, something flickering behind his amused expression, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he leans back in his chair, that easy grin returning. “Must have been some college.”

Nicholas’s jaw tightens slightly, though he doesn’t respond.

You sip your wine, doing your best to ignore the heat creeping up your neck as the conversation shifts away from you. But every so often, you catch Nicholas watching, his expression unreadable, and you can’t quite shake the feeling that you’ve been pulled into something you’re not ready to navigate.

And when Mingyu leans closer later in the evening, his voice low and teasing as he asks about your plans for the week, you don’t miss the subtle way Nicholas stiffens, his eyes flicking briefly in your direction.

For the first time tonight, you let yourself smile—not for Mingyu, not even for yourself, but for the quiet satisfaction of knowing Nicholas is watching.

The evening stretches on, the laughter around the table mellowing as glasses empty and conversations shift. You’ve managed to find a rhythm, the conversation flowing with Mingyu, Dae, and Joshua, but the tension between you and Nicholas lingers in the background like an uninvited guest.

Mingyu’s presence has certainly helped lighten the mood, and you find yourself laughing more easily than you expected, your earlier discomfort slowly melting away. His stories are ridiculous, and his charm is disarming in the best way, but there’s no denying the undercurrent of awareness that pulses through the room whenever your gaze meets Nic’s. It’s like there’s an invisible thread pulling you back to a time that feels both distant and incredibly close.

“Alright, alright,” Joshua finally says, pushing his chair back as the conversation dies down. “We’ll have to call it a night before Mingyu starts telling us about his gym routine again. Believe me, it’s all the same.”

Mingyu laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty. But seriously, you should try it sometime, Joshua. Your abs could use a little work.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dae interjects with a wink, standing to clear away the empty glasses. “He’s just mad because I won’t let him teach me how to ‘properly’ lift weights.”

You smile at the easy camaraderie between them, but as the evening winds down and the group begins to disband, the weight of the unspoken words between you and Nicholas hangs heavily in the air.

The others drift off in pairs—Joshua playfully nudging Dae as they head toward the kitchen, Mingyu wandering off with a last cheeky grin in your direction. You’re halfway to gathering the last of the plates when Nic’s voice stops you.

“Let me.”

You look up to see him standing there, hands already reaching for the empty bottles on the table. It’s a simple offer, but there’s something in his tone—something softer, unguarded. For a second, you consider brushing him off, but you step back instead, letting him take over.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended.

Nic glances at you as he sets the bottles down, his expression unreadable. “You’ve had enough on your plate today.”

The comment feels loaded, though you can’t quite pinpoint why. You don’t respond immediately, instead fiddling with the edge of a napkin. He doesn’t move, lingering just close enough that the air between you seems to buzz with unsaid things.

“Long day,” you finally offer, shrugging, but your voice lacks conviction.

Nic leans his hip against the table, his gaze steady on yours. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Your chest tightens at his words, though you can’t bring yourself to look away. “Like what?”

“Like we’re strangers.” His voice is low, almost tentative.

You laugh softly, but there’s no humor behind it. “Well, isn’t that what we are now?”

The question hangs between you, heavy and sharp. Nic hesitates, his lips parting like he might argue, but then he seems to think better of it. Instead, he shakes his head slightly, as if trying to shake off the weight of whatever he’s feeling.

“Goodnight,” he says finally, his tone quieter now, but there’s a flicker of something—regret, maybe—in his eyes.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat as you watch him step away. The warmth of his presence lingers even after he’s gone, leaving you with a mix of emotions you can’t quite untangle.

By the time you make it to your room, the house is silent, save for the distant murmur of voices from the terrace. You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands resting in your lap, staring at nothing in particular. The weight of the evening settles over you like a thick, heavy fog, leaving your chest tight and your mind racing.

Nic.

You hadn’t let yourself say his name in your head for so long—not like this, not with every syllable feeling like a stone dropped into the still waters of your life. Seeing him again after all these years had cracked something open, something you’d buried deep and refused to examine.

He hadn’t changed much. The sharpness of his features, the confidence in his posture—it was all still there, though tempered now with a quiet weight that hadn’t been there before. And those moments, brief as they were, when his gaze softened on you, when his words carried a tenderness you weren’t prepared for… they left you raw.

The sight of him stirred up so many conflicting emotions, you didn’t know where to start. The anger—oh, the anger—was still there, simmering just below the surface. How could he leave you the way he had, without a word, without a fight? How could he stand here now, acting like he wanted to bridge a gap he created?

But it wasn’t just anger. It was the ache, the longing that twisted in your chest at the sound of his voice saying your name. It was the flood of memories, unbidden and too vivid: his laugh in the dead of night, the way his fingers curled around yours when he thought no one was looking, the warmth of his breath on your skin as he whispered something only meant for you.

It was the bitterness, too, of realizing how deeply you’d missed him, even when you swore you wouldn’t. Even when you swore you couldn’t.

And now he was here, standing just close enough to stir everything up but not close enough to make it okay. You thought you’d prepared yourself for this—Joshua and Dae had warned you, after all—but nothing could have readied you for the reality of facing him again, for the sharp edges of the past cutting into you with every glance, every word.

What did he want from you? What did he expect? And more terrifyingly, what did you want from him?

The questions swirled in your head, unanswered and overwhelming. You stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to will the thoughts away, but they wouldn’t go.

Part of you wanted to hate him, to let the bitterness overtake everything else. It would be so much easier than confronting the other part of you—the part that remembered what it felt like to love him, to feel safe in the space you’d carved out together, the part that wondered if he was here now to take that away from you all over again.

As you closed your eyes, exhaustion finally pulling at you, one thought lingered above all the rest, heavy and undeniable: what happens next?

And for the first time in years, you realized you weren’t sure if the answer scared you or thrilled you.

DAY TWO

The kitchen is quiet when you enter, the early morning light streaming through the wide windows, casting golden streaks on the wooden floor. Nic is already there, standing at the counter with a mug in hand, wearing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The sight of him is… jarring, yet oddly familiar. For a moment, you pause, unsure if you should turn around and leave or brave the awkwardness.

He looks up just as you step in, his posture stiffening slightly. “Morning,” he says, his voice low, like he’s testing the waters.

“Morning,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral as you move to the coffee pot. You’re acutely aware of the space between you—too much history to feel natural, not enough familiarity to feel comfortable.

The silence stretches as you pour your coffee, the sound of liquid hitting the ceramic mug louder than it should be. You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting him to leave, but he stays rooted in place, fiddling with his mug like he wants to say something.

“You sleep okay?” he asks after a beat, his voice casual but his gaze flickering with something heavier.

You nod, not looking at him. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

The small talk feels unnatural, like both of you are grasping at straws to fill the silence. You take a sip of your coffee, letting the warmth anchor you.

“Well,” you say after a moment, your voice a little too loud in the quiet kitchen. “I’m gonna head out to the terrace.”

Nic nods, stepping aside to give you space as you move past him. The air feels heavy as you walk away, your shoulders tense until you’re outside and the cool morning breeze brushes against your skin.

You settle into one of the cushioned chairs on the terrace, pulling your knees up as you cradle your coffee. The view of the garden below is stunning, but your mind is elsewhere—on the kitchen, on Nic, on the way your chest felt tight just being in the same room as him.

The sliding door creaks open, and a moment later, Dae appears, holding her own mug of tea. She takes one look at you and immediately crosses the terrace to join you, settling into the chair beside yours.

“Stealing my spot already?”

“It’s not your spot. It’s the best spot,” you reply with a faint smile, trying to mask the thoughts spinning in your head.

Dae doesn’t buy it. “You’ve got that look,” she says, tapping her mug against yours. “You’re mulling. Spill it.”

You laugh softly, but there’s no point denying it. “You already know what I’m thinking about,” you say, leaning back in your chair.

“Nic,” Dae states plainly, and you glance away, caught. She leans closer, her smile mischievous. “So, are you going to talk to him? I mean, really talk? Five years is a long time, but… I don’t know. Maybe it’s time.”

You groan, toying with loose thread on your pyjama pants. “Dae, come on. I can barely get through breakfast without feeling like I’m going to drown in all the unresolved… everything. I don’t even know what I’d say to him. It’s not that simple.”

Dae shrugs, her teasing softening into something more thoughtful. “Maybe not, but you two were close once. Really close. And I know what he did was awful, but… he’s different now.”

You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Different how?”

“I mean, people grow up, you know? They change.” She hesitates, then meets your gaze. “Nic’s talked about it, you know. Over the years. Not all the time, but enough for me to know he regrets it. Deeply. What he did to you.”

You blink, her words hitting harder than you expect. “He… regrets it?”

Dae nods, her expression earnest. “I think he’s always regretted it. He just didn’t know how to fix it—or if he even could. He’s told Josh and me that what he did was the biggest mistake of his life.”

You look away, the weight of her words settling heavily on your chest. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you deserve to know,” she says simply. “And I know you don’t owe him anything. Not your forgiveness, not your time, nothing. But I also know you. You don’t let people in easily, and when you do, it’s because they matter to you. He mattered to you once, and maybe—just maybe—it’s worth figuring out if he still does.” Dae watches as you stew on her words. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say, though you brace yourself.

“Do you still care about him? I don’t mean, like, pine-after-him care. I mean… as a person. As someone who was once really important to you.”

Her words settle over you like the warmth of the sun, and you know the answer without hesitation. “Yes,” you admit. “I’ll probably always care about him. I don’t know what that means, though.”

Dae smiles softly. “That’s something. And I’m not saying you have to figure it out right now. But…” She hesitates, then laughs lightly. “Okay, this is cheesy, but Josh and I have had our disagreements. Big ones. And what’s always worked for us is being honest. Like, painfully honest. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”

You tilt your head, curious. “He’s never hurt you the way Nic hurt me.”

She nods, serious now. “No, he hasn’t. And that’s huge. It’s not the same, I know that. But you’ve always been one of the strongest people I know. I just don’t want you to close a door without looking through it first, you know?”

You look out over the lake, her words echoing in your mind. The idea of rekindling anything with Nicholas feels impossible, and yet… you’ve spent five years trying to bury something that clearly refuses to stay buried.

“I don’t even know if I want the door open,” you say after a moment, and Dae laughs.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to decide today. Just don’t lock it yet. You’ve got a week, give it some time.”

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. Dae reaches over and squeezes your hand, the gesture grounding you. You sit together in companionable silence, the morning sun climbing higher as the day stretches ahead, the uncertainty of the week hanging just out of reach.

The estate had a life of its own, buzzing with the quiet hum of excitement and last-minute wedding plans. Over the next few hours, you spent your time catching up with old friends and new faces alike. Joshua’s cousin Johnny, loud and perpetually armed with a joke, seemed to find you every time you lingered near the sitting room.

“You’ve got to stop hiding in here,” he teased, leaning against the doorway as you gazed out the window, book in hand. “Otherwise, we’re all going to think you’ve turned into a hermit.”

Johnny’s relentless energy was matched only by Dae’s younger cousin Theo, who had arrived with his girlfriend, India—a warm and bubbly presence who made you laugh more than once with her stories about Theo’s less-than-graceful attempts at wedding prep.

And then there was Mingyu, effortlessly charming as always, slipping into every conversation with a wink or a quip that made you wonder if he was born to make people feel special. He had a way of lightening the mood, even when you found yourself retreating into your thoughts.

By the afternoon, the rehearsal ceremony began in the estate’s garden. The celebrant, a kind Italian woman with a melodic accent, guided Dae and Joshua through the motions. You stayed off to the side, a silent observer. Watching the way they looked at each other—full of shared history, love, and promise—made your chest ache. It wasn’t envy, not exactly, but it stirred something deep within you, something unresolved.

Yeri, Dae’s younger sister, took her role as maid of honor seriously, adjusting Dae’s dress and making playful jabs about how Joshua would probably cry during the real ceremony. Johnny, Joshua’s best man, was less focused, cracking jokes and dramatically mimicking the celebrant’s gestures until Dae swatted him on the arm.

You smiled at the scene, grateful to be part of such an intimate moment, even as a quiet observer. It felt like a privilege to witness this chapter of their story unfold.

The rehearsal dinner followed shortly after, hosted in a grand but cozy dining room adorned with soft lighting and fragrant floral arrangements. You were seated a few spots away from Nic, with Dae on one side and Theo across from you, his girlfriend India chatting animatedly with Mingyu. Johnny, ever the life of the party, held court a few seats down, keeping everyone entertained with his endless stream of stories.

“So,” Johnny said, pointing a fork toward you, “I just realized this is the first time I’ve seen you in years.” He turned to Joshua. “Wasn’t it your 21st birthday party when we met?”

You nodded, remembering the lavish house party Joshua had thrown during your junior year of college. “Yeah, that sounds about right. You spent half the night in a heated debate about Australian football with one of the bartenders.”

Johnny grinned. “Good times. But hey, I remember more than just the bartender. You two”—he gestured vaguely between you and Nic—“were definitely sneaking off somewhere that night, weren’t you?”

The table quieted slightly, and you felt your cheeks flush. You glanced at Nic, whose expression was neutral but whose jaw tightened just enough for you to notice.

“I mean, I’m not saying I was spying,” Johnny continued, clearly oblivious to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. “But I remember catching a bit of a moment between you two. By the pool? Or was it the kitchen? Anyway—”

“Johnny,” Joshua interrupted smoothly, though there was an edge to his voice. “Let it go.”

Nic chimed in with a dry tone. “I think your memory’s getting creative.”

Johnny blinked, looking between the two of them, then raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No need to gang up on me. Just saying what I saw.”

“You thought you saw,” Joshua corrected firmly, and Johnny finally seemed to pick up on the fact that the subject was off-limits.

Theo, sensing the tension, jumped in to change the subject. “So, India and I were trying to figure out the best time to visit Florence—any recommendations?”

The conversation shifted to travel plans, and you let out a quiet breath, grateful for the diversion. Still, Johnny’s comment lingered, bringing back flashes of that night—Nic’s hand brushing yours, the way he’d looked at you when he thought no one else was watching.

When dessert was served, you found yourself catching snippets of Nic’s voice as he spoke to Joshua and Mingyu. His laugh was warm, familiar, and it tugged at something deep inside you. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed hearing it.

Every now and then, you felt his gaze drift toward you, but he never let it linger long. It was almost as if he was waiting for the right moment to speak, but the moment never came.

The conversation at the table had settled into a comfortable rhythm after Johnny’s earlier slip-up, everyone enjoying the fine Italian meal and the company. Mingyu, seated just a spot down from Nic, leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass as he listened to Nic talk about his work.

“Josh tells me you’re a prosecutor in LA?” Mingyu asked, his eyebrows lifting in interest.

Nic nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. Criminal defense first, but I made the switch to prosecution about a year ago. It’s challenging, but I enjoy it. Keeps me sharp.”

Mingyu tilted his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Man, I don’t know how you deal with all that pressure. I’m just behind a counter, trying to make sure pastries look good enough to eat and that customers leave happy.”

Nic chuckled, a hint of admiration in his tone. “Don’t sell yourself short. Managing a bakery chain sounds like it comes with its own kind of stress. And let’s be honest, no one’s day gets worse because of a croissant.”

Mingyu grinned, leaning forward. “True. But the way some people act when we run out of almond tarts? You’d think I committed a crime. At least you’re dealing with actual criminals.”

Nic laughed, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick with my courtroom drama. Pastry wars sound way too intense for me.”

Mingyu laughed, the sound warm and infectious as he leaned back in his chair. Then his gaze shifted to you, his curiosity genuine. “What about you? What’s your story?”

You took a sip of your wine, smiling. “I’m an oral surgeon.”

Before you could elaborate, Nic’s voice cut in smoothly. “A damn good one, too.”

The unexpected compliment hung in the air, and your cheeks warmed despite yourself. You glanced at Nic, whose expression was sincere, though he quickly looked away, his fingers fidgeting with the stem of his glass.

“Well,” you said with a small shrug, trying to play it off, “he’s not wrong.”

Mingyu grinned, clearly impressed. “Guess I know who to call if I ever need a new jaw.”

You smirked, your response coming easily. “I’m not expecting that call anytime soon. Your jaw looks perfectly fine from where I’m sitting”

The table laughed at your quick retort, and even Nic cracked a smile, though his fingers tightened slightly around his glass. You couldn’t quite tell if it was the flirtation or the ease with which you’d fallen into it that bothered him.

Mingyu leaned in, still grinning. “Good to know I’ve got the expert’s seal of approval.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you teased lightly, turning your attention back to your plate.

As the conversation shifted again, Nic remained mostly quiet, only chiming in here and there. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was holding back on purpose—or if he was waiting for the right moment to say something more meaningful.

While his praise had flattered you, it also left you feeling a little unsteady. He hadn’t said a word about the way things ended between you, and until he did, it was impossible to tell what his intentions for the week might be.

Still, there was a part of you that wanted to believe the look in his eyes—warm, familiar, and perhaps a little regretful—was a step toward something better, even if you weren’t sure what that better looked like just yet.

The sound of clinking glass and running water draws you toward the kitchen as the evening winds down. Joshua is standing at the sink, rinsing a wine glass with the kind of precision that only he could make look natural. His blazer is draped over the back of a chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“You’re not the help, you know,” you say lightly as you step into the room, leaning against the counter.

Joshua glances at you over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And yet, somehow, I’m always cleaning up after Mingyu. He has this uncanny ability to use three glasses for every drink.”

You laugh softly, crossing your arms as you watch him. There’s a brief silence, the kind that only Joshua could make feel comfortable, before he turns off the faucet and turns to face you fully.

“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice gentle but direct.

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Because I know you better than that.” He leans against the counter opposite you, his gaze steady. “It’s a lot. Him being here.”

You sigh, your shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his words. “I don’t even know how I feel, Josh. Every time I see him, it’s like—” You pause, struggling to find the words. “It’s like this hollow drop in my stomach, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m happy to see him or because I’m… angry that he’s here.”

Joshua tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Maybe.” You chew on your bottom lip, the thoughts swirling in your head louder now that you’ve voiced them. “I don’t even know if I should bring it up. What’s the point, you know? It’s been five years. What am I even supposed to say?”

Joshua steps closer, resting a hand on your shoulder briefly. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Give it time. You’ve always been the more emotionally mature one between the two of you. I trust you’ll handle it the way you need to.”

His words settle over you like a thin veil of comfort, but the knot in your chest doesn’t entirely loosen.

Without saying anything else, Joshua moves toward the counter and begins brewing you a cup of tea. The soft clink of the kettle and the quiet rustle of the tea bags fill the stillness between you, an unspoken offer of calm in the midst of your swirling thoughts.

He doesn’t need to say much more—his presence alone, steady and unassuming, is enough. As the steam rises from the freshly brewed tea, you take a slow breath, letting the warmth of the moment seep into your bones, even if it doesn’t chase away the uncertainty that lingers.

Joshua sets the mug of tea in front of you, steam curling up into the air between you. The kitchen is quiet now, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as the rest of the house winds down for the night.

“I’m cutting you off for the weekend,” Joshua says with a teasing smile, leaning against the counter. “No more drip-feeding you wine, or you’ll spend every morning with hangxiety and then blame me for it.”

You laugh softly, cradling the mug in your hands. “You’re not wrong. You’re a terrible influence, though.”

“Hey, I’m the voice of reason tonight,” he counters. “Remember this when you wake up feeling human tomorrow.”

The two of you fall into easy small talk after that—light chatter about the rehearsal, the chaos of planning a wedding abroad, and how Dae is likely still tweaking the seating arrangements upstairs. It’s easy, familiar, a welcome distraction.

But eventually, Joshua straightens and grabs his blazer from the back of the chair. “I’m calling it a night. You should, too.”

You hum noncommittally, staring into your tea. “I will. Soon.”

Joshua doesn’t press. He just rests a hand on your shoulder briefly as he passes. “Don’t overthink it, ‘kay. Not all at once, anyway.”

A soft sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupts your thoughts, and you glance up to find Nic descending into the kitchen, his pyjamas a stark contrast to the polished image he usually presents. There’s something strangely domestic about him in this moment—almost familiar. His hair is mussed, his shoulders relaxed, and for a second, he looks like the Nic you used to know, back when things were easy.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, trying to keep things light as he moves toward the counter to fill a glass of water.

He chuckles softly, a hint of weariness in his voice. “Yeah, that or I just didn’t feel like staying in that giant bed all alone. Guess I’m just not used to it.”

The casualness of his tone makes you smile, but there’s a touch of sadness beneath it, something unspoken. He looks over at you, his eyes softer now, not the sharpness from earlier. The room feels smaller, and for the first time since you arrived, the tension between you two feels less suffocating, almost bearable.

Nic leans against the counter, sipping his water, his gaze flickering toward you with a quiet intensity. “I know things were… complicated, back then,” he starts, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “And I know I left without giving you any real answers.”

You feel a tightness in your chest, the memory of it still fresh, even after all these years. But he doesn’t press further, not yet.

“I don’t expect any huge conversations right now,” Nic adds quickly, his voice taking on a gentler edge. “But if you ever want to talk about… anything, I’m here. I know I screwed up. I just want you to know that.”

The simplicity of it catches you off guard. It’s not a grand gesture or an apology, but it feels like an olive branch, a small offering, an acknowledgment of the past without expecting you to jump right in. There’s a rawness in his words, something real and vulnerable that makes your heart ache, but it doesn’t feel too heavy. Not yet.

He looks at you for a beat longer, as though waiting for something—an answer, maybe, or a sign that you’re willing to meet him halfway. When you don’t immediately respond, he shifts his weight, seeming almost a little self-conscious.

“I mean, you know where I am if you need me,” he adds, his tone lighter, but there’s something there—something sincere. “For whatever it’s worth.”

You can feel the weight of his words, of the quiet truth in them. Maybe it’s nothing more than a flicker of hope, but it feels like a bridge, and you’re not sure what to do with it just yet.

For a moment, you both simply stand there in the kitchen, the sound of the clock ticking the only thing breaking the silence. The tension hasn’t disappeared, not by a long shot, but it feels different now. The air between you isn’t as thick, the distance not quite as vast.

You bring yourself to nod briefly, mustering up a small smile. “Thank you, Nic.”

Nic finishes his water and starts to move toward the stairs, glancing back at you once more. “Well,” he says, with a small, almost reluctant smile, “I’ll be around if you want to talk… whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make you wonder if maybe there’s a chance, however small, to heal what was broken between you.

As he heads upstairs, you stay in the kitchen a little longer, the warmth of the tea in your hands and his words lingering in the quiet. For the first time since you arrived, you wonder if there might be a way forward. Not right now, but maybe someday.

DAY THREE

The sun is high and warm as you join Dae down by the grass near the steps leading to the lake. She’s sprawled out on a blanket, sunglasses perched on her nose, a chilled spritz in hand. You settle beside her, folding your legs under you and squinting out at the scene below: an impromptu volleyball game on the lawn.

Joshua dives for the ball with reckless enthusiasm, sending Mingyu into a fit of laughter as Johnny yells at him for botching the point. Mingyu sets the ball with ease, his towering frame and effortless movements commanding attention. Nic leaps, shirtless, to spike it over the net, his focus sharp, muscles flexing with precision.

Your eyes catch on him.

It’s the first time you’ve seen Nic shirtless since… well, since that night five years ago, the last time you’d touched him in that way. And what you’re seeing now? It’s very different.

He’s taller—or maybe just broader. His shoulders are like carved stone, his waist tapered and solid. His chest is thick with definition, and his arms look like they could snap a volleyball in half if he wanted to. And then there’s the six-pack, glistening slightly in the sun, drawing your gaze lower, entirely against your will.

Your thoughts betray you, running away into dangerous territory. What would those arms feel like now? Stronger, sure, but what about softer moments—hands brushing over your sides, pulling you closer?

Your thighs clench involuntarily, and the heat rising to your cheeks has nothing to do with the sun.

“You’re staring.”

Dae’s voice pulls you back to reality.

“I’m not staring,” you say, too quickly, shifting your sunglasses down to try and hide your expression.

“You are,” she teases, smirking. “I mean, I don’t blame you—look at him.”

You huff, feigning indifference. “When did he get so… big?”

“Josh says he’s been hitting the gym hard in LA,” Dae says, taking a lazy sip of her drink. “Work stress or something. Whatever it is, it’s working for him. And Mingyu too, for that matter.”

Your gaze flickers to Mingyu, who’s equally shirtless and equally distracting. He’s leaner than Nic, but just as tall, his arms roped with muscle, his easy grin radiating confidence.

Dae leans in closer, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “If things don’t work out with Nic, you could always try your hand at Mingyu. Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

“Dae,” you hiss, elbowing her, though you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.

She shrugs, entirely unrepentant, her grin widening. “Just saying. Your options are very tall and very broad right now.”

Before you can respond, the game wraps up with Joshua letting out a triumphant cheer, and Johnny collapses onto the grass in mock defeat. The boys gather near the water, catching their breath.

Josh heads your way, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, babe,” he calls to Dae.

She barely has time to react before he scoops her up, slinging her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing.

“Josh!” she shrieks, laughing as she flails. “Put me down!”

“Nope.” He strides confidently toward the water, ignoring her protests, and wades in until he’s waist-deep before dunking them both under with a laugh.

The others follow, kicking off shoes and tossing towels aside. Nic lingers, glancing up toward you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something.

But Mingyu beats him to it.

“You just gonna sit there admiring the view,” he calls from the bottom of the steps, his grin playful, “or are you actually gonna join us?”

You roll your eyes, pushing to your feet. “Fine.”

You tug off the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on earlier, revealing the bikini you’d chosen—a simple design, but it fits well. Age has been kind to your figure. Your hips and breasts are fuller now, your waist more defined. You don’t miss the way Mingyu’s grin widens as he takes you in, nor the way Nic’s jaw tightens before he quickly turns to Johnny, mumbling something about the water.

As you descend the steps, you stop beside Mingyu, arching a brow. “If you stare any harder you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

His grin turns coy. “Who, me? I’m just appreciating the scenery.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, though you can’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips.

The cool water was a welcome distraction as you waded in, but it didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering. Mingyu’s easy charm was tempting, but it was the weight of Nic’s presence—the unspoken history between you—that lingered at the edges of your mind. As the morning sun blazed overhead, you couldn’t help but wonder which tension would win out by the end of the week.

You leaned back into the cool water, letting it lap against your shoulders as Mingyu floated closer. His easygoing smile was impossible not to return, and his playful energy seemed to dissolve any tension lingering in the air.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head as he treaded water, “I didn’t peg you as the lake-swimming type.”

You raised a brow, matching his grin. “What gave it away?”

“Oh, just the whole polished professional vibe,” he teased. “I figured you’d be more into heated pools or, I don’t know, champagne on yachts.”

You scoffed, splashing a bit of water in his direction. “Wow, way to stereotype.”

Mingyu laughed, dodging the splash dramatically. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s not every day you see someone who can pull off surgeon chic also out here braving the elements.”

“Surgeon chic? Braving the elements?” you repeated, incredulous. “It’s a lake, not the Arctic.”

“Still,” he said, grinning as he swam a slow circle around you. “I’m impressed. Multitalented, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “What about you? Do you always talk this much when you’re swimming?”

“Only when I’m trying to distract myself from how cold the water is,” he admitted, mock-shivering for effect. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, “Or when I’m trying to keep someone’s attention on me.”

You smirked, narrowing your eyes at him. “Subtle.”

“Subtlety is overrated,” he quipped, his grin widening. “But hey, it’s working, isn’t it?”

You splashed him again, laughing as he yelped in protest. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, blinking water from his eyes with a wide smile, “here we are.”

The sound of laughter carried over from the shore as the others waded back into the lake. Johnny, forever the instigator, suggested a round of shoulder wars, and the idea was immediately met with enthusiasm.

Josh hoisted Dae onto his shoulders with ease, her laugh ringing out as she adjusted herself. Johnny waved Nic over. “C’mon, big guy. You’re carrying me.”

Nic’s eyes widened slightly, but he shrugged, wading over and lifting Johnny onto his shoulders without much effort. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Johnny replied, his arms raised in triumph.

Mingyu turned to you with a playful smirk, extending a hand. “Looks like it’s you and me, princess. Ready?”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. With surprising gentleness, he guided you up, steadying you until you were perched above the water.

“Comfortable?” he asked, glancing up at you.

“Not bad,” you admitted, gripping his shoulders lightly. “Just don’t drop me.”

“Never,” he replied, his tone mockingly gallant.

The game began with Dae and Johnny immediately going after each other, their laughter and taunts echoing over the water. You and Nic locked eyes briefly as you balanced on Mingyu’s shoulders, and something unreadable flickered in his expression before Johnny distracted him with a war cry.

Mingyu’s hands were steady on your calves as he maneuvered you into position. “You’re gonna let them win?” he teased, nodding toward Dae and Josh.

“Not a chance,” you shot back, leaning forward to push against Dae.

For a few moments, it was pure chaos—splashing water, shouted challenges, and laughter ringing out. Mingyu was solid beneath you, matching Josh’s strength easily, but Dae was relentless. She managed to shove you just enough that you wobbled precariously, though Mingyu adjusted quickly, keeping you upright.

“Close one,” he said, grinning up at you.

“Focus,” you shot back, swatting at Dae again.

At some point, Johnny made his move, lunging toward you and Dae simultaneously in a fit of uncoordinated glory. You and Dae both shrieked as the impact sent water flying, and you toppled sideways with a loud splash.

When you surfaced, sputtering, Nic was already helping Johnny back to his feet, shaking his head at his antics. Mingyu appeared beside you a second later, slicking his hair back with a grin.

“Not bad, partner,” he said, his tone teasing. “You’ve got some fight in you.”

You smirked, splashing him lightly. “You were a decent support.”

Across the water, Nic’s gaze flickered your way, his expression unreadable before he turned back to Johnny. The look lingered in your mind longer than you wanted to admit, even as the group dissolved back into casual laughter and chatter.

Mingyu drifted closer, his playful grin firmly in place. “So, do I get points for being the most entertaining person here?”

You snorted, splashing a little water his way. “Is that what this is? A competition?”

“Everything’s a competition,” he teased, brushing water from his face. “And I think I’m winning. You laughed, didn’t you?”

“Oh, please,” you shot back with a smirk. “I laugh at Johnny’s dad jokes, too. Doesn’t mean you’re special.”

Mingyu clutched his chest in mock-offense, a dramatic gasp escaping him. “Wow. Here I thought we were building something. Guess I’ll have to rethink my choices.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Might be a good idea.”

“Noted,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he leaned back in the water. “But for the record, I think I’m still ahead of Johnny.”

“I’ll give you that much,” you conceded, the easy banter making it harder to stay in your own head.

But as you glanced back toward the group, the fleeting weight of Nic’s earlier look was still there, unshakable.

The afternoon unfolds lazily around you as you stretch out on a cane chair, the sun casting a warm glow over everything. The air is rich with the scent of the lake, fresh grass, and the faintest hint of wood smoke. It’s a perfect day, easy and unhurried, with nothing pressing and no rush to be anywhere.

You watch as Joshua and Nic sprawl out on the lawn, deep in conversation. Joshua’s laugh rises above the hum of the world, light and familiar, while Nic listens intently, nodding along with whatever Joshua is saying. There’s something grounding about the way they interact, a friendship that’s built on years of trust. You can almost feel the weight of it, the comfort they’ve always had with one another. Dae’s head rests in Joshua’s lap, her eyes closed as she listens to the conversation lazily, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his jeans. The scene is easy, peaceful, and yet, you can’t escape the undercurrent of tension that pulls at your chest every time your eyes flicker over to Nic.

Mingyu flops down into the chair next to you, pulling your attention away from the group. He stretches, cracking his neck, before settling into a relaxed slouch. His presence is a welcome distraction, a change of pace from the quiet storm brewing in your mind.

“You look like you’re in deep thought,” Mingyu remarks, his voice teasing but with a hint of concern. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Just… watching everyone,” you reply, settling into the chair more comfortably, one leg draped over the armrest. “Trying to catch my breath, I guess.”

Mingyu tilts his head, glancing over at the group on the lawn, then back to you. “Yeah, it’s a good vibe today,” he agrees. “Everyone looks so relaxed. I like that.” He stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “Feels like a long time since I’ve had a day like this.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-smiling at him. “You, taking a break? What do you even do when you’re not working?”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, sinking deeper into his chair. “You know, the usual. Travel, work, annoy people.” He glances over at you. “Like I’m doing right now.”

“Mm, you’re not the worst,” you tease, your smile growing as you let your gaze shift back to the others. Nic is still talking with Joshua, his voice carrying across the lawn, but there’s a softness in his posture now, like he’s more at ease.

Mingyu follows your gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. “You seem very fond of Nic,” His voice is casual, but you catch the hint of curiosity behind it.

You freeze for a split second, caught off guard by his statement. You hadn’t expected him to notice, or at least not comment on it. But Mingyu is like that—sharp in ways you don’t always expect.

“Yeah,” you say carefully, letting out a slow breath. “We used to be really close in college, but time and life just got in the way. It’s strange seeing him after so long.” You leave it at that, not ready to get into the mess of it all. Not now, anyway.

Mingyu’s eyes soften, though he doesn’t press further. “It’s good to see you looking peaceful,” he says with a gentle smile. “Whatever happened, it’s obvious you’re doing okay now. I respect that.”

You nod, grateful for his understanding, and the conversation shifts away from the past as Mingyu begins to talk about his latest photography project. He shows you a few pictures on his phone, explaining the stories behind them—places he’s traveled, moments he’s captured. He talks about it with such passion that it’s easy to get lost in his words, the way his face lights up as he describes the scenes.

In some ways, it feels like a distraction you didn’t know you needed. But as Mingyu talks, your mind drifts back to Nic—how he looks at you, how he’s always been there, in his own way, even when you both tried to distance yourselves from each other.

“Have you been to Seoul?” Mingyu suddenly asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You blink, realizing you’ve missed part of what he’s said. “Sorry, what?”

Mingyu laughs. “I asked if you’ve been to Seoul. I know you’ve traveled a lot. You strike me as someone who would enjoy the culture there.”

“I have, actually,” you reply, smiling softly at the thought. “Joshua roped me into a trip with him and Dae not long before I did my post-grad.”

Mingyu grins. “I’ve got a few spots I need to take you to next time. If you’re up for it, that is.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Are you offering a tour guide service, Mingyu?”

“Absolutely,” he says with mock seriousness, “I’m a professional at it. No one’s better.”

You laugh, the sound light and unburdened for a moment. It feels nice to let go of the tension, even if it’s just for a little while. But as the conversation continues, you can’t ignore the fact that your mind keeps returning to Nic—his presence, his silence, his eyes on you. The knot in your stomach tightens again.

Eventually, Theo and India join the group, and the energy picks up again as everyone starts chatting and laughing. You let yourself relax into the moment, but something still lingers in your chest. You’re starting to feel the weight of the past more and more. And you can’t help but wonder when you’ll be ready to put it down.

After lunch, the sun hangs lazily in the sky, the afternoon heat beginning to soften as the shadows stretch longer across the villa grounds. You find yourself walking slowly, your feet brushing the warm stones as you make your way back down to the water’s edge. The sound of the waves lapping gently against the rocks is soothing, and you sit at the base of the stone steps, letting the cool breeze from the lake wash over you. The world around you feels peaceful, distant, like a moment you could easily lose yourself in if you allowed it.

But you don’t.

Your thoughts keep circling back to Nic—his presence, his silence, the way he’s been watching you from the corners of your vision, like he’s waiting for something. You don’t know what that something is, but you’re starting to feel the weight of it, the heavy undercurrent of a past that won’t let you go.

It’s not long before you hear the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel, and you don’t need to turn to know who it is. Nic’s voice reaches you before he does, low and tentative.

“Mind if I join you?”

You glance over your shoulder, and for a moment, your heart stutters. There’s something in his eyes, a softness that’s hard to place, but you don’t bristle. You nod, shifting slightly to give him space, and he lowers himself onto the step beside you, leaving a small distance between you. The silence settles over the two of you like an old, familiar friend, though it’s different now. More fragile.

Nic watches the lake for a moment before speaking again, his voice quiet. “You and Mingyu seem to be getting along pretty well.” He doesn’t look at you as he says it, his gaze fixed on the water in front of him.

You chuckle, the sound coming out a little bitterer than you intended. “I don’t really know the guy. He’s just a sweet talker.” You glance at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Does it bother you?”

Nic exhales, shifting on the stone. “A little. Yeah.” He pauses, then glances at you, his expression softening. “It reminds me of how we used to be, you know? All the teasing, all the jokes… the way we’d just be there for each other.”

Something flickers in your chest, but you can’t quite place it. You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “It’s funny, though,” you say, the words tasting dry on your tongue. “That it bothers you now. After all this time.” You turn your gaze back to the water, watching the ripples dance in the fading light. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

Nic doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, the only sound is the gentle lapping of the water against the stones. You feel the weight of the conversation hovering, suspended in the air, but there’s no rush to fill it. Not yet.

Finally, he speaks, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it.”

You don’t look at him, but the words settle into you, a reminder of all the things left unsaid. A reminder that maybe, just maybe, he regrets the way things ended between the two of you. You wonder if that’s enough.

It’s not. Not yet.

Instead, you just nod, letting the moment linger, your heart a mix of confusion and something else you can’t quite name.

After a long pause, you let out a breath. “It’s strange, you know. I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore. It’s like we’re strangers, but… not.” You shake your head, frustrated with your own inability to make sense of things.

Nic turns to face you now, his voice low but steady. “I know.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, and for a moment, you almost feel the weight of your past self and who you are now collide. It’s uncomfortable, raw, and you don’t know how to move past it. But you also know that this isn’t something you can avoid forever.

“Maybe it’s just the way things are,” you say finally, shrugging. “Maybe we’re just… supposed to be like this. With everything that’s happened.”

Nic’s eyes soften at your words, and he leans back against the step, his arms folded across his chest. “Maybe.”

You sit in the quiet with him, both of you staring at the water as the evening light begins to dim. Neither of you speaks again, but the air between you feels different now—heavier, maybe. But also lighter in a way, as though the words have started to open something that’s been shut for too long.

The silence stretches between you, the water lapping at the stones below. It’s almost like you’re both holding your breath, waiting for the next words to be said.

Finally, you break the quiet, your voice softer now, tinged with something that feels like release. “I don’t want to keep being angry at you, you know? It’s exhausting, and it’s never actually gotten me anywhere.” You shrug, though it’s more of a surrender than an answer. “I guess I just wanted answers. I still do.”

Nic is still for a moment, processing your words, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours. There’s something heavy in his eyes, an apology that seems to be hanging on the edge of his tongue.

When he speaks, it’s almost as though he’s talking to himself more than you. “I’m sorry that I left you to carry that alone. It wasn’t fair. I know that now.” His voice drops a little, quieter, like the weight of the years has finally hit him.

You feel a shift inside, the heaviness of his admission pressing against the tight knot in your chest. It’s not everything, but it’s enough. Enough to make you exhale deeply, to loosen the grip you’ve held on the anger, even if just for a moment.

The soft sound of the water fills the silence again. You turn your gaze toward the lake, letting the words settle. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is… but I don’t want to keep carrying all of this.” You glance at him, your expression guarded but tired. “Maybe… maybe I just need time.”

Nic doesn’t press, doesn’t offer anything more. He just nods slowly, as if he understands that this is only a small step. It’s not forgiveness, not yet, but it’s something. You can feel the weight of the years beginning to lift, if only just a little.

DAY FOUR

The morning unfolds in a haze of sunlight and warmth, the air alive with the scent of coffee and maple syrup. You’re tucked into one of the rattan chairs with Dae and Yeri, your legs curled up beneath you as you cradle a mug of coffee. The villa feels slower today, the kind of quiet that makes you forget the world beyond its stone walls.

The boys are scattered across the terrace—Joshua stretched out on a lounger with a book, Theo and Nic lazing in chairs nearby. Nic’s head is tilted back, his face toward the sun, his posture uncharacteristically relaxed.

Dae glances at you over the rim of her mug, her expression curious. “So… things between you and Nic seem a little less… icy today.”

Your heart skips at the observation, though you try not to show it. “It’s nothing,” you murmur, shrugging as casually as you can manage. “We just… talked a little last night.”

Yeri leans forward, her interest piqued. “Talked? Like, really talked?”

“Not really,” you say quickly, taking a sip of your coffee. “Just enough to make it less weird, I guess.”

Dae hums, clearly unsatisfied. “And?”

You glance toward Nic without meaning to. He’s still lounging, his face unreadable, but the memory of last night lingers—his voice, the softness in his eyes, the way he’d apologized without trying to make excuses. It had felt… different.

“And it’s fine,” you say finally, your tone clipped. “We’re fine.”

Yeri smirks. “Sure you are.”

Before you can protest, Mingyu strides onto the terrace, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. He’s balancing a platter piled high with golden pancakes in one hand and a bowl of syrup in the other. “Breakfast is served,” he declares proudly, setting the food down on the table in the center of the group.

“About time,” Theo groans, already reaching for a plate.

“Hey, perfection takes time,” Mingyu shoots back, snagging a pancake for himself before flopping into a chair.

You grab one as well, drizzling it lightly with syrup. The first bite is warm, fluffy, and just sweet enough to feel indulgent. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” you say, glancing at Mingyu. “These are good.”

He beams. “I accept your praise.”

Even Nic chimes in, his voice filled with rare levity. “I hate to admit it, but these might be the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

Mingyu looks genuinely pleased, throwing an exaggerated bow in Nic’s direction. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”

Nic doesn’t respond, too focused on his plate, but the easy smile on his face is impossible to miss.

Dae nudges you gently with her elbow, her voice low. “Look at him. It’s like pancakes cured his bad mood.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Maybe I should’ve just offered him pancakes five years ago.”

Dae snorts into her coffee, and Yeri joins in, her laugh a bright, unrestrained sound that makes you smile despite yourself.

The rest of the morning is filled with the kind of light, easy chatter that feels like a reprieve. Mingyu laps up the compliments, Joshua ribs him about his “culinary aspirations,” and even Nic seems lighter, his usual edges softened by the warmth of the day. And though you tell yourself you’re not watching him, you catch yourself glancing his way more often than you’d like, your heart tugging in a way you’re not quite ready to admit.

Before long, Dae ushered everyone toward the cars, her excitement contagious. “Alright, folks, next stop: a winery I found just outside of town. Trust me, it’s adorable, and the wine’s supposed to be incredible.”

Mingyu fell into step beside you as you climbed into one of the cars his tone teasing. “You’re not one of those people who pretends to know what ‘hints of oak’ means, are you?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Please, I barely know the difference between red and white.”

He smirked, leaning in just slightly. “Good. That means I get to teach you a thing or two.”

“Lucky me,” you quipped, trying not to notice the way Nic, sitting just behind you, shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze flicking between the two of you.

When you arrived at the winery, the view stole your breath. Rolling hills stretched out in every direction, the vines bathed in golden sunlight. The group gathered near the tasting room, Dae already chatting animatedly with one of the hosts.

As the first round of glasses was handed out, Mingyu sidled up to you again, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To learning the fine art of wine tasting. Stick with me, and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

“Is that right?” you asked, amused.

“Absolutely,” he said, his grin wide. “Step one: swirl dramatically. Bonus points if you look like you’re solving the mysteries of the universe.”

You laughed, swirling your glass with exaggerated flair. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” he said, tipping his glass toward you.

Nic, who had been standing nearby, cleared his throat lightly, stepping closer to join the conversation. “Or,” he interjected, his tone even, “you could just enjoy it without the theatrics. Not everything needs to be a performance.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What’s the fun in that?”

The three of you shared a laugh, the moment settling into something easy but charged. You caught Nic’s gaze briefly, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you before Mingyu nudged your arm gently, pulling your attention back to him.

The rest of the tasting continued in a similar rhythm—Mingyu’s playful banter, Nic hovering close enough to remind you of his presence, and you, caught somewhere in between, savoring the warmth of the day and the strange comfort of old wounds slowly beginning to heal.

As the tasting wound down, Dae—always a step ahead—waved everyone toward a narrow set of stairs tucked behind the winery. “Come on,” she called over her shoulder, her excitement infectious. “The host said there’s a rooftop up here. Best view of the sunset in the region.”

The group followed, glasses in hand, and you emerged onto a rustic rooftop scattered with mismatched chairs and weathered tables. Above, the sky had begun to glow with shades of gold and blush, casting the surrounding hills in a warm, dreamy light.

As the sun dips lower, bathing the rooftop in a golden glow, you and Dae find yourselves alone again, tucked into the corner of the cushioned bench with the best view of the vineyard. Mingyu’s laughter echoes somewhere off to the side, his voice blending with the others as the group lingers over the last of the wine. You tilt your head back against the seat, staring at the streaks of orange and pink across the sky.

Dae nudges your leg with hers. “So… Mingyu.”

You groan, turning to give her an incredulous look. “Oh, not you too.”

She grins, unfazed. “What? I’m just saying, he’s been glued to your side all day. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “He’s just being friendly. That’s how he is.”

Dae raises an eyebrow, her tone playful but pointed. “Friendly, sure. But come on, he’s keen, and you know it.”

You shake your head, exhaling a long breath. “He doesn’t even know me, Dae. It’s not like that.”

Her expression softens, and she leans back slightly, studying you. “Okay, fine. Then what is it?”

You pause, your gaze drifting toward the group. Mingyu is mid-conversation with Yeri and Theo, his smile as bright and easy as ever. For a moment, you feel the familiar comfort of his presence—the lightness he brings, the ease of being near him.

“He reminds me of… how things were with Nic,” you admit quietly, your voice almost lost in the rustling breeze. “Back when it was simple. Just the two of us, in our little bubble, with no expectations. The stupid jokes, the way he always felt just close enough to put me at ease. It’s like…” You hesitate, trying to find the right words. “It’s like I’m holding on to that feeling through Mingyu. Not on purpose, but—it’s there.”

Dae doesn’t reply right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more serious. “So what do you actually want?”

The question makes you stiffen, and you glance at her, brow furrowing. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she says patiently, shifting to face you fully. “Let me make it easier for you. If this week ends and you and Nic go back to your separate lives—if you go another five years, or maybe forever, having nothing to do with each other—would that make you happy? Would you be content with that?”

The question hits you like a punch to the stomach, and your breath catches. The thought of never seeing Nic again, of walking away from this week without even a shred of closure or connection, sends a hollow ache through your chest. You swallow hard, staring at your hands.

“No,” you whisper, the word heavier than you expected.

Dae nods, as if she already knew the answer. “Then maybe you need to start building a bridge, rather than burning it.”

Her words settle over you, their weight undeniable. You glance back toward the group, your gaze lingering on Nic. He’s leaning back in his chair, listening to something Joshua’s saying, but there’s a distant tension in his expression that you recognize all too well.

You take a shaky breath, Dae’s advice echoing in your mind. Maybe it’s time to stop running from the past and start figuring out how to face it.

Dae’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, her tone both gentle and insistent. “All you’ve wanted this entire time was some answers, right?”

You nod slowly, the knot in your chest tightening as you glance toward Nic again.

“Then maybe it’s time you go and get them,” she continues, leaning forward slightly. “You might not totally hate what you find, is all I’m saying.”

Her words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is sit with them, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You know she’s right. You’ve spent so much time running circles in your own mind, replaying what happened, questioning every moment, every word, every feeling. The answers you’ve been searching for aren’t going to fall into your lap—they’re sitting a few feet away, leaning back in a wicker chair with a glass of wine in hand.

But the idea of crossing that invisible line, of asking Nic to meet you halfway, feels terrifying. What if you don’t like what you find? What if his reasons—his answers—aren’t enough to fill the hollow spaces he left behind?

Still, Dae’s gaze doesn’t waver, her confidence in you steady and unshakable. “You’re not going to figure it out by sitting here, you know,” she says, her voice softer now. “Go talk to him. You’re braver than you think.”

You hesitate, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Finally, you draw in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you meet her eyes.

“Maybe,” you murmur, a flicker of determination breaking through the uncertainty. “Maybe you’re right.”

Dae smiles, leaning back with a knowing glint in her eyes. “Of course I’m right. Now, go.”

You sigh, dragging your hands down your face in exasperation. “I’ll do it tomorrow. Today has been too long, and I’m tired.”

Dae arches an eyebrow at you, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. “Okay,” she says slowly, the word drawn out like she’s testing it on her tongue. “Do it tomorrow. But you must actually do it. Don’t just say it and then decide you’re better off avoiding it entirely.”

Her tone is firmer now, but it’s not sharp. It’s grounded in a kind of steady care that only Dae can manage. She’s not pushing you for the sake of pushing; she’s doing it because she knows you need it. Because she knows you.

You let out a low groan, tilting your head back to stare at the fading blue of the sky. “Why do you have to be so relentless?”

“Because I know you,” Dae replies, deadpan, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You’ll talk yourself in circles until the week’s over, and then you’ll leave here thinking it’s easier to let it all stay broken. But I also know that’s not what you want.”

She’s right—of course, she’s right—but the idea of acknowledging that aloud makes your stomach twist. “I’m not running for the hills,” you mutter, your tone defensive but lacking bite.

“Not yet,” Dae says with a faint smirk. Then she softens again, her expression gentling. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but you owe it to yourself to at least try. And if you don’t…” She shrugs. “Well, I’ll just keep bugging you about it. Every. Single. Day.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” she quips, a playful grin tugging at her lips before she leans back in her chair.

The thing is, she’s not wrong. You do need someone to keep you grounded, to hold you accountable when your instincts tell you to retreat. And deep down, you know she’s the exact person to do it.

“Alright,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “Tomorrow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Dae’s grin widens, and she gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up. “That’s my girl. Now, drink your wine and relax. You’ve got one more evening to psych yourself up.”

After Dae’s talk, you’d thought maybe you could relax—enjoy the final stretch of the day, give yourself some peace before tomorrow. But instead, you’re stuck in the quicksand of your own thoughts, sinking deeper with every passing minute.

In the shower, you’d mapped it all out: what you’d say, what Nic might say in return. You planned for every possibility, every version of him that could show up. The defensive Nic. The remorseful Nic. The version of him who might even still be indifferent. What would you say to that Nic? You played the scenes in your head on repeat, fine-tuning your retorts, overanalyzing his potential expressions.

By the time you crawl into bed, your chest is tight, your limbs restless. You turn over once, twice, then a dozen times more, trying to find a position that feels less suffocating. The air in the room feels still, like it’s waiting for something, and you hate it.

What if he doesn’t give you the answers you want? Worse, what if he does? What if the things you’ve been holding onto for so long crumble under the weight of an explanation?

The clock on your phone ticks past midnight, and your mind is still racing. You picture Nic as he was this afternoon, stretched out on the grass, laughing at one of Joshua’s jokes. You picture him at the lake, sitting beside you, his voice low and careful as he apologized. You picture him five years ago, standing in the doorway of your shared dorm room for the last time, his silhouette etched into your memory like a scar.

What could he possibly say tomorrow to make any of it make sense?

You flip your pillow over, searching for the cool side, as if that will somehow quiet your thoughts. It doesn’t.

Instead, you start running through scenarios again, like rewinding a tape. Every question you might ask him, every possible answer he could give. How would you react if he said he was scared? If he said he didn’t know what he wanted back then? If he said he still doesn’t know? What would you say if he turned it all back on you?

You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion creeping into the edges of your body but refusing to take hold. You feel like you’re arguing with a ghost in your own head, spiraling until you can’t make sense of anything anymore.

Finally, when the weight of your thoughts becomes too much to bear, your body wins over your mind. The edges of your consciousness blur, your breathing slows, and sleep pulls you under, not gently, but out of sheer necessity.

DAY FIVE

The day begins before you’re ready for it.

Your eyes flutter open, and the weight hits you all at once—the anxiety pooling in your stomach like cold lead. It’s the same feeling you get when you’re preparing to stand on a stage, the audience waiting for you to stumble. The same feeling you get when a patient walks in with a case you know will test every ounce of your skill. Except this time, it’s worse. This time, it’s Nic.

You lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the early morning light filters through the curtains, feeling every ounce of your unease wrap around your chest like a vice. It takes you right back to college, to that night when everything fell apart. You can almost feel the ghost of his lips brushing your forehead, hear the quiet resignation in his voice as he said goodbye. The memory alone is enough to make you feel hollow.

When you finally get up, you’re quieter than usual. The group gathers for breakfast—coffee brewing, light chatter filling the space—but you barely pick at your toast. You sit on the edge of conversation, offering the occasional hum or nod but contributing little else.

Joshua notices first. He always does.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low enough that only you can hear.

You glance at him, startled out of your daze. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you murmur, but even you can hear how unconvincing you sound.

He doesn’t press, but his worry lingers in the way his gaze flickers back to you every few minutes.

By midday, it’s obvious you’re not yourself. At lunch, Joshua tries to pull you into a conversation about an old story from college—something about a prank Dae once pulled on him—but you zone out halfway through, staring into the middle distance. When he calls your name, you blink at him, startled, as if you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

“I’m fine,” you insist again when Joshua frowns at you.

But you’re not fine. You feel like your insides are twisted in knots, your stomach churning with a mix of dread and anticipation. You’re acutely aware of Nic’s presence—how he occasionally glances your way with a furrowed brow, as if he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong but doesn’t know how to ask.

At one point, you start to think you might actually be sick. Your palms are clammy, and your chest feels tight. It’s Dae who pulls you aside after lunch, sensing the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“I found a steakhouse,” she says, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “Josh and I were thinking of taking a few of us there tonight. Theo and India have plans with some friends, so it’ll just be a small group. What do you think?”

You nod automatically, grateful for the distraction.

Dae eyes you for a moment longer, then offers a small smile. “It’ll be fun. You need a good meal—and maybe some wine.”

She doesn’t say it outright, but you know what she’s doing. She’s pulling you out of your own head, giving you something else to focus on. And for the first time all day, the tension in your chest loosens—just a little.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze. You busy yourself with menial tasks, anything to keep your hands occupied and your thoughts at bay. But the anxiety never fully leaves, sitting heavy in your stomach like a storm cloud on the horizon.

You’re slouched on the love seat, a book in your lap that you’re not really reading. The pages might as well be blank for all the attention you’re paying them. Your fingers trail idly over the edges, lost in your thoughts, the tension in your body building with each minute that passes. Your stomach churns with the same nervous energy you’ve been battling all day, the anxiety too thick to shake off.

You don’t hear him at first.

It’s not until the soft creak of the door pulls you from your thoughts that you look up and find Joshua standing in the doorway, his arms crossed loosely as he leans against the frame. His brow is furrowed, eyes gentle but with a hint of concern.

“You’ve been on edge all day,” he observes, voice quiet, like he’s trying not to startle you.

You don’t respond immediately, not sure what to say. You can feel the weight of the conversation you know is coming, the one you’ve been dreading, hanging over you.

Joshua steps closer, his voice softening as he drops down to sit on the arm of the love seat, next to you. “Dae mentioned you were planning to talk to Nic… seriously talk to him. How’s that going?”

A sigh slips from your lips, the sound thick with frustration and uncertainty. You’ve barely been able to think about anything else, and now that the time is actually here, your mind feels like it’s running in circles. You’ve prepared a thousand things to say, and yet none of them seem right anymore.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit quietly, your fingers tapping against the book absently.

Joshua studies you for a moment, the corner of his mouth turning up in a rueful smile. “I guess I can’t pretend to be Nic,” he says, his voice teasing but warm, as if trying to bring some lightness into the air. “But maybe I can help you figure out what to say.”

You let out a small, dry laugh, shaking your head. “You’re too much of a softie for this to work.”

“I am,” he agrees easily, not offended in the slightest. “But I know both of you. And I care about both of you. I don’t like seeing you two stuck.” He pauses for a moment, the weight of his words settling between you. “I just want you to be okay, y’know?”

You look down at your hands, the weight of his sincerity making something heavy shift in your chest. “I know,” you murmur. “I just… I’m not sure I know how to fix any of it. It’s so complicated, Josh.”

He nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, I know it is. But maybe the first step is just being honest. With him. With yourself. There’s no easy way to do this, but you’ve got to start somewhere.”

He pauses again, considering you for a long moment before speaking again. “What is it you need from him? What’s the one thing you’ve been waiting to hear from him all these years?”

You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. It’s so straightforward, yet it feels like something you’ve been afraid to admit for a long time.

“I just want to know why he left,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to know why he couldn’t be honest with me. Why he just… shut me out.”

Joshua’s gaze is steady, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Okay. So that’s where you start. You need to say that. Don’t sugarcoat it, don’t try to make it easier for him. Just tell him how it felt. And let him answer.”

You nod slowly, the words hanging in the air between you. For the first time that day, you feel a flicker of clarity, a small shift in your perspective. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be perfect, but maybe it’s enough to begin.

Joshua gives you a small, reassuring smile. “You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

You manage a tight smile back, the pressure in your chest lightening just a little. “Thanks, Josh. For being here.”

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Always, you know that.” Then he stands up, patting you on the shoulder. “I’ll be around if you need me. But you’ve got this.”

You watch him walk away, the weight of his words lingering in the air. You might not have all the answers yet, but you feel a little more ready to face what comes next.

The steakhouse is tucked into a cobblestone corner of the small Italian town, the kind of place that practically begs you to stay awhile. Its warm glow spills out into the narrow streets, blending with the soft hum of a nearby fountain. The scent of garlic and rosemary wafts from the open kitchen, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation and the clink of wine glasses. It’s intimate in the way that wraps around you like a soft blanket, and for a brief moment, it tempers the anxious edge that’s been eating away at you all day.

Joshua and Nic are seated at one end of the long table, across from each other. Joshua is in his element, throwing lighthearted jabs and pulling Nic into a story about some trip they took years ago. You notice that Nic seems… lighter. His laugh comes easier, and there’s a genuine warmth in his eyes that’s been missing for the last few days.

You, however, found yourself quieter than usual. The knot of nerves in your stomach hadn’t left, but the company and setting muted it into a low hum instead of the roaring wave it had been earlier.

Mingyu, ever attuned, seemed to notice your subdued energy. His usual flirtations softened into gentle humor, his tone warm and light when he spoke to you. “You didn’t order the steak well done, did you?” he teased with a faux scandalized expression, earning a small smile from you.

“Don’t worry,” you replied softly, poking at your potatoes. “I know better than to offend the chef’s sensibilities.”

Dae glanced your way a few times throughout dinner, her sharp eyes catching the moments you zoned out or stared a little too long at the flame of the candle in front of you. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you was pointed, as if to say: You know what you need to do.

The walk back to the villa was quieter than usual. You stuck close to Dae and Yeri, the three of you a little slower than the rest of the group, who were caught up in banter a few paces ahead.

Dae fell in step beside you, her voice low but direct. “So… are you going to talk to him, or what?”

The question hung in the crisp night air, sharp and slightly challenging.

“I’ll get to it,” you muttered, trying to deflect.

Dae stopped walking, her hand lightly gripping your arm to pause you too. “No, you won’t just ‘get to it.’ You’re going to do it. Tonight. Stop putting it off.”

You swallowed hard, her words piercing through your hesitations like a blade. She wasn’t wrong, and the accountability in her tone forced you to confront the truth: you had been stalling.

By the time you reached the villa, the group began to splinter off, some heading to their rooms, others lingering to chat in the living room. Your heart hammered as you lingered near the staircase, watching Nic head toward the back terrace with a glass of wine in hand.

You took a deep breath, steadied yourself, and followed him.

“Nic?” you called softly, your voice carrying into the quiet.

He turned, surprised to see you there. “Hey,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly as he set his glass down. “What’s up?”

You crossed your arms, the nerves twisting in your stomach. “Can we talk?”

Nic’s expression softened, his head tilting slightly as he took you in. “Of course,” he said gently, motioning to the seating area nearby. “Let’s sit.”

The terrace was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the breeze through the trees and the distant chirp of crickets. The villa lights cast a warm glow over the stone pathways, but you barely noticed any of it as you perched on the edge of the rattan lounger, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Nic sat beside you, his posture more relaxed than yours, though his fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair—an old tell of his own nerves.

You glanced at him briefly before your eyes darted back to your hands, picking at the skin around your nails. The anxious habit was one you’d never quite outgrown, and now, with your pulse hammering in your ears, it was back in full force.

Nic watched you for a moment, his voice breaking the silence. “You look like you’ve been carrying something heavy all day,” he said, softly enough that it didn’t feel like pressure, but firmly enough that you knew he wasn’t going to let you brush it off. “Take your time, though. I’m here.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to exhale slowly. The words were lodged somewhere between your chest and your throat, an awkward lump of anxiety and frustration. You knew what you wanted—closure, answers—but the act of asking for it felt monumental.

“You told me the other night that I could talk to you,” you started, your voice quieter than you’d intended. You cleared your throat and straightened slightly, forcing yourself to look at him. “That if there was something I wanted to say, I could. And… I need to.”

Nic didn’t respond immediately, but he nodded, his dark eyes steady on yours. The openness in his expression—no walls, no defensive edge—made you feel both reassured and exposed.

“I’ve been sitting on these questions for five years, Nic,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Five years of trying to figure out what the hell happened between us. And I—I need to know. I can’t leave here without at least trying to make sense of it.”

You paused, searching his face for reluctance or discomfort, but there was none. His expression remained steady, his head dipping in a subtle nod of encouragement.

“Okay,” he said simply. “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

You swallowed hard, gripping your hands together to keep them still. The anxious niggle in your stomach was back in full force, sharp and unrelenting.

“Why did you leave?” you asked, the words breaking the silence like a snapped string. “Not just after graduation, but… us. Why did you leave us?”

Nic’s brow furrowed slightly, his lips parting as if to respond, but then he hesitated. You saw the flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—before he rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t care,” he started, his voice low, steady. “I need you to know that first. I cared so much it scared the hell out of me.”

You swallowed, trying to control the lump that had formed in your throat. “What were you so scared of, Nic?” The words came out almost too quietly, but you couldn’t stop them. “I cared too. It wasn’t just about losing the guy I was sleeping with—I lost my best friend, my confidant. And you—” You stopped yourself, trying to steady your breathing. “You never even tried to reach out. Why? Why didn’t you even try?”

You saw the flicker of regret pass over his face, and your heart sank. You had imagined so many answers, but none of them were quite like this. Still, you pushed on, the hurt and confusion boiling over. “I thought you wouldn’t want to hear from me. I thought I’d just be a nuisance to you.”

Nic’s jaw clenched as he exhaled, eyes dropping briefly to the ground. Then, he looked up, meeting your gaze again with a rawness you hadn’t seen before. “I loved you,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “I love you. And that’s exactly why I shut you out. I thought if we got too involved, if I let you get too close, I’d be asking you to take a risk you didn’t deserve. I couldn’t ask you to follow me—couldn’t ask you to uproot your life for me when I wasn’t sure if I could make anything work.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you, the air sucked out of your lungs as you processed what he’d just said. The weight of it settled in your stomach like a stone, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt trapped in your chest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you exhaled slowly, as if trying to catch your breath. “You loved me,” you whispered, almost too quietly to hear yourself. “You loved me, and you just… walked away?”

Nic’s eyes searched yours, desperate for understanding. “I never wanted to hurt you, not like that. I was trying to protect you from something I wasn’t sure I could give you. And that just made everything worse.”

“So I deserved to be shunned, instead?” Your voice cracks as the words tumble out, a mix of frustration and hurt. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Nic.” You take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything you never said until now. “I was grown then, and I’m grown now. I would’ve fought for you. We would’ve worked it out.”

Nic’s face tightens with frustration, but there’s something softer beneath it. He runs a hand through his hair, gaze turning away for a moment. When he speaks again, it’s a near whisper. “I don’t know what else I can say, okay? I can’t take it back, and God knows if I could, I would. If we could go back, and you told me you loved me, I would’ve said I loved you too, and you’re right—we would’ve worked it out.”

The weight of his words presses down on you like a boulder, but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s too late for anything to change. You rise from your seat, feeling the impulse to put distance between you and him, as if the cold night air could somehow steady your racing heart. Each step toward the edge of the terrace feels like a small attempt to escape, to regain some control.

The wind brushes against your skin, cold and biting, but it does little to quell the heat of the tears that are falling down your cheeks, each one stinging more than the last. You wipe them away, but they keep coming, and the cool air only makes it worse, as if everything inside you is unraveling in front of him.

Nic doesn’t follow you right away. He stays where he is, giving you space, yet you feel the heaviness of his stare on your back, a silent plea for you to turn around and speak, to say something more.

The silence between you stretches on. The words you’re both avoiding hang thick in the air. It’s suffocating, unbearable.

Finally, you turn back toward him, your voice quiet but firm, almost like a challenge. “What do you want, Nic?”

The question lingers in the air, sharp and direct. You’ve asked yourself that question a thousand times, but now, finally, you’re asking him. You want to know if this is just a moment of guilt, a fleeting regret, or if there’s something more. Something real. Something that could make everything worth it.

There’s a pause—a moment where the only sound is the faint hum of the villa settling in the night.

“I don’t know,” he says softly at first, the words unsure, as though he’s still grappling with his own heart, trying to understand the depth of what he’s feeling. But then, his chest rises with a slow, deliberate breath. His eyes lock onto yours, steady and raw. “No, that’s not true.”

Your heart beats faster, and in the weight of the silence, you can feel the shift. It’s as though he’s finally letting go of whatever wall he’d been holding up all this time.

“I want you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I want another chance. I want us. And I’m not gonna back out again. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I’m in this for the long haul. I won’t run when it gets hard. Not this time.”

The words hit you like a gust of wind, each one pulling you deeper into the current of everything you’d once wanted. But a part of you—an aching, cautious part—hesitates.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. You want to believe him. You want to let yourself go, to believe in the possibility of something real again. But you’re not sure. Not yet.

“Why does it matter, Nic?” Your voice cracks, the frustration spilling over, mixing with the raw ache in your chest. “At the end of the week, you’ll go back to LA and I’ll go back to New York. And we’ll both be in fucking shambles again for no good reason. I’m buying into the practice next year. I’m not gonna follow you this time.”

Your words echo between you, the raw truth hanging in the air. You don’t want to admit it, but you’re scared. You’re scared of doing this again, of letting yourself fall for him only for him to leave again. You don’t know if you can risk that.

He’s silent for a moment, his face unreadable. But then, out of nowhere, he blurts it out, his voice rushing forward like it’s been desperate to escape.

“I’m moving back.”

The words are out before he can fully process them. His eyes widen with the weight of what he’s said, and the air grows heavier, the silence thickening between you. It’s like the ground beneath you both has shifted, and neither of you knows exactly what to do with the revelation.

You blink, your mind struggling to catch up. “What?” Your voice shakes, both in disbelief and the sudden hope that flickers to life, only to be quickly masked by fear.

“My firm is opening another branch in Manhattan.” Nic sits straighter, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, almost as if the weight of his words is finally catching up with him. “I put my hand up to get it up and running. I get back next month.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Nic stands, his voice steady but softer now as he searched your face. “Because I need you to know I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. Whatever that looks like for you—taking it slow, starting over… I’ll even let you beat the brakes off me in Central Park, if that’s what you need.”

His jaw tightened, and his gaze softened as he added, “It’s not about what I want anymore. It’s about what you need—what you want. I just want the chance to try, to prove I can be better for you.”

You stared at Nic, his words hitting you like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from your chest. He was standing so close, the intensity in his eyes almost too much to bear.

“I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is too much. I just… I can’t deal with this right now.”

Nic’s face fell, but he didn’t try to stop you as you stepped back, putting space between the two of you. “I understand,” he said quietly, his tone steady but tinged with sadness.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, the weight of his confession pressing heavily on your shoulders. You made your way back to your room, closing the door softly behind you before sinking onto the edge of the bed. The air in the room felt too still, too suffocating, as your mind raced with questions and emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

How could you trust him again? Could you even let yourself hope that things might be different this time?

The questions circled in your mind as you curled up on the bed, your thoughts too loud to allow for any real clarity.

A quiet knock at the door pulled you from your spiral, and before you could respond, the door creaked open. Dae peeked in, her warm, familiar smile softening as she took in your state. “Hey,” she said gently. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, too drained to say much. She slipped into the room and crossed over to you, settling beside you on the bed. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around you, and you leaned into her, letting the tears that had been building all day finally fall.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “This was supposed to be your week, and I feel like I’m ruining it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dae said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re not ruining anything. You’ve been carrying a lot for a long time, and it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. That’s what friends are for.”

You wiped at your face, exhaling shakily. “Nic said he’s moving back to New York. And that he still loves me. I don’t know what to do, Dae. What if he runs again? What if I let myself hope, and he just breaks me all over again?”

Dae’s expression softened further, and she hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I need to tell you something. I overheard Nic and Joshua on the phone a few months ago. Joshua was helping him find a place in Manhattan because he knew Nic was planning to move back. He didn’t want to say anything until it was certain, but Nic’s been serious about coming back for a while now.”

You blinked at her, processing her words. “You knew?”

“I didn’t want to pressure you or plant any ideas in your head,” Dae admitted. “But for what it’s worth, I think he means it. He’s always regretted how things ended with you, and I really believe he’s willing to try this time.”

You sighed, your heart aching with the weight of your indecision. “What if it’s not enough? What if I let myself believe in him again, and it just falls apart?”

Dae squeezed your hand, her gaze steady. “Baby, I don’t have a crystal ball. I can’t answer that for you. But I do know that you’ve always been strong, and whatever you decide, you’ll be okay. If you’re willing to take the chance, though… maybe it’s worth it.”

Her words lingered as you sat together in the quiet, her arms a steady comfort as you tried to make sense of your tangled emotions.

Joshua’s entrance broke the stillness, his familiar warmth filling the room as he set a glass of water on the nightstand. He eased into the chair beside the bed, leaning back in that effortlessly casual way he always did, though his eyes flicked between you and Dae with quiet concern.

“Alright,” he began lightly, breaking the tension. “Which one of you do I have to yell at first?”

A small laugh escaped you, watery but genuine. “Definitely me. I’ve been the walking definition of a mess.”

Dae rolled her eyes, her arm still draped around your shoulders. “Don’t listen to her, Josh. She actually apologised to me for ruining our wedding week.”

Joshua’s head snapped toward you in mock offense. “You what?” he said, his voice exaggeratedly incredulous. “You think you could ruin this week? Please. It would take something a lot more catastrophic than your emotions for that to happen.”

“I mean it,” you muttered, heat creeping into your face. “I feel like I’ve been dragging all my baggage in here when this is supposed to be your time.”

“First of all,” Joshua said, holding up a finger, “you’re family, and family gets to bring their baggage—especially when it’s that guy,” he added with a sly smirk. “Second, you think Dae and I don’t love you, flaws and all? You’re practically my younger sister. Trust me, this week is better with you here, even if you’re crying in my guest room.”

The words, and the easy affection behind them, hit you square in the chest. Your lips twitched into a small smile despite yourself. “You guys are way too nice to me.”

“Absolutely not,” Dae interjected, squeezing your hand. “We love you. No qualifiers, no conditions. And you apologising? That just makes me want to shake you, but like, in a very loving way.”

Joshua grinned, clearly relieved to see a hint of your usual spark. “Yeah, you’re banned from apologising from now on, okay? Especially when it’s my fault for inviting Nic’s dumbass in the first place.”

You laughed, the sound rough but genuine. “You two make it sound so simple.”

“It’s because we’re geniuses,” Joshua deadpanned, leaning forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “But seriously, we’ve got you. No matter what. If you need a moment, take it. If you want to talk, yell, cry—whatever—you’re not going to scare us off. And Nic? He’s not going anywhere either.”

Dae gave an approving nod. “We’ve got your back, whatever you decide. But if it helps, we both think Nic is serious this time. He’s never stopped caring about you, and we’ve seen him wrestle with how badly he screwed up. He knows what he lost.”

Joshua’s voice softened, though it retained its teasing edge. “I mean, it’s hard not to love you. Even when you’re being dramatic.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your heart warm at their combined support. “I don’t know what I want yet,” you admitted, feeling the weight of the uncertainty settle over you again.

“You’ll figure it out,” Joshua said simply, standing and ruffling your hair lightly as he passed. “But just so we’re clear—you can take all the time you need, and we’re not letting you off the hook for being in our lives. Got it?”

The tenderness in his voice, mixed with his usual humor, steadied you. Dae’s arm tightened around you, and for the first time in days, the knot in your chest loosened just a little. You didn’t have all the answers, but for now, you had them. And that was enough.

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

The dental lab was a ghost town at this hour, the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet buzz of the sterilizers the only signs of life. Everyone else had long since packed up, leaving you and Nic alone amidst the neatly arranged tools and rows of workstations. The air was crisp, almost too cool, but you didn’t mind; the silence felt like a cocoon.

You were bent over a set of mock impressions, the tiny details demanding all of your focus. Or at least, they should have. Instead, your attention kept slipping every time you caught Nic watching you from across the room. He’d been “studying” for the past hour, but the way his chair creaked as he shifted, the way his pen twirled lazily between his fingers—it was clear his focus was anywhere but his notes.

“You’re going to burn a hole through that thing,” he finally said, his voice low and teasing.

You glanced up, your heart giving a small, familiar flutter at the sight of him leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out, his dark eyes heavy-lidded but alert. “Maybe if someone actually studied, they’d have less time to critique my technique.”

“Maybe,” he said, standing and stretching in one fluid motion, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach. “Or maybe,” he continued, making his way over to you, “someone needs to be reminded to take a break.”

“Nic…” You meant it as a warning, but it came out breathless, your voice betraying you before he even reached your workstation.

He didn’t stop. He stepped behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hands found the edge of the desk, caging you in, and his breath skimmed the shell of your ear.

“Take a break,” he murmured, his voice rough and coaxing, as if it wasn’t a suggestion but a plea.

Your fingers froze over the plaster mold in your hands. You could feel him everywhere—his presence, his warmth, his scent. He leaned in closer, just enough to let his lips graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and your grip faltered.

“Nic…” This time it was less of a warning and more of a surrender.

He turned your chair toward him, his hands firm but not rough, and knelt slightly, bringing his face level with yours. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might say something. Instead, he just kissed you—slow at first, but with a mounting desperation that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hands flew to his chest, not to push him away but to anchor yourself. He kissed you like he couldn’t help himself, like he’d been holding back all evening and had finally given in. His tongue brushed against yours, and a soft sound escaped you, making him groan low in his throat.

“I can’t focus when you’re around,” he admitted against your lips, his hands sliding up to cup your face. “Scrub pants do you wonders, you know that?”

“If you get my after hours access revoked, you’ll be a dead man,” you muttered, but your words lacked any real bite, especially when he kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, as though he was savoring the moment.

Before you knew it, you were standing, the chair pushed back and forgotten. He guided you to the edge of the desk, lifting you effortlessly onto it, his hands firm on your thighs. The cool metal against your skin was a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressing against yours.

You tilted your head back, letting him trail kisses down your neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. There was something in the way he touched you, kissed you—like he couldn’t get enough, like he was memorizing every inch of you for a moment when he might not have the chance again.

“Nic,” you whispered, your voice catching as his lips found the hollow of your throat.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like yearning. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you pulled him back to you, letting the kiss deepen, letting it drown out the world. The lab, the tools, the looming exams—they all fell away. All that mattered was him, the way his hands framed your face, the way he whispered your name like it was the only thing he could remember.

TWO WEEKS LATER

The warm light of the setting sun filtered through the cracked dorm window, casting golden streaks across the rumpled sheets. The faint chatter of students outside was barely audible over the hum of the fan, and the air was heavy with the scent of summer and sweat.

Nic lay sprawled on his back, his arm tucked beneath his head, his other hand tracing idle circles on your thigh. He was relaxed, his breathing steady, his dark hair still damp from exertion. You lay beside him, your heart still racing—not just from what you’d just done, but from the way he looked. The lazy smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth, the sharp angles of his jawline softened by the golden hour light, the slight sheen of his skin.

God, he was beautiful.

Your eyes lingered on the slope of his nose, the way his lashes fanned across his cheek as he blinked slowly. It wasn’t just his looks, though; it was everything about him. The way he teased you endlessly but always had your back. The way his laugh made your chest feel like it might explode. The way he touched you, like you were something precious.

The thought consumed you, spreading like a wildfire through your chest. You loved him. You didn’t know when it had happened—maybe it had been gradual, or maybe it had been all at once—but you loved him, wholly and irrevocably.

And the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I love you.”

The room seemed to still. The lazy patterns Nic had been tracing froze, and his head turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“What?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the admission crashing down on you. There was no taking it back now. “I said I love you,” you repeated, softer this time.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her stared at you, totally blank for a few beats. “You… You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Your stomach twisted, and you pushed yourself up to meet his gaze. “Yes, I do. How could I not?”

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something guarded. “Come on,” he said lightly, a weak smile tugging at his lips. “We’re just… having fun, right? Blowing off some steam before everything changes.”

The casualness in his tone hit you like a punch to the gut. “Just having fun?” you echoed, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Nic rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah. I mean, we’re good at this, you know? No complications, no expectations.”

The ache in your chest deepened, but you forced yourself to nod, the pain silent and all-consuming. How could he not see it? you thought. How could he not feel it?

You wanted to argue, to tell him that it already was more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words. Instead, you turned away from him, staring out the window. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Nic sighed softly behind you, but he didn’t say anything else. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and you knew he’d fallen asleep. But you lay awake, the ache in your chest growing with every passing moment.

When he woke hours later, the tension still hung thick in the air. Nic moved around the room quietly, gathering his things. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “See you later,” he murmured, and then he was gone.

Three days later, you walked into the library, the strap of your backpack digging into your shoulder. The quiet hum of hushed conversations and the rustle of pages greeted you as you made your way to your usual table. Joshua and Dae were already there, heads bent over their notes, but your heart sank when you saw Nic seated across from them, headphones in place.

He didn’t look up when you approached, but his posture stiffened ever so slightly.

“Hey!” Dae greeted you with her usual cheerfulness, sliding a chair out for you. “You’re late.”

“Got caught up,” you said shortly, avoiding Nic’s gaze as you sat down.

Joshua looked between the two of you, his brow furrowing. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Nic said at the same time you mumbled, “Yeah.”

The awkwardness was palpable. Dae’s smile faltered, and Joshua raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the tension.

Nic, seemingly determined to avoid any meaningful interaction, adjusted his headphones and focused on his laptop. You busied yourself with your notes, the silence between you louder than any words could have been.

The interaction that broke the tension was small, almost insignificant. Nic reached for a book that was just out of his reach, and his fingers brushed yours as you instinctively handed it to him. The contact was brief, but it was enough to make your stomach flip and your heart ache all over again.

“Thanks,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

Dae, who had been watching the exchange with growing concern, leaned in closer to you. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” she whispered.

You shook your head. “Not now,” you whispered back, your voice tight.

You and Dae lingered behind in the library, packing up your things in a heavy silence. Joshua and Nic had left a few minutes earlier, their quiet conversation trailing off as the door swung shut behind them.

Dae studied you carefully, her lips pursed in thought. “Okay, what is going on?”

You blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes, closing her laptop firmly. “You know exactly what I mean. You and Nic. A week ago, you were practically joined at the hip, and now you’re treating each other like strangers. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

Your stomach churned at the mention of his name, and you ducked your head, fiddling with the corner of one of your cue cards. “It’s nothing, Dae.”

“You’re such a shit liar,” she said, exasperated. “Josh and I aren’t blind, you know. We’ve noticed the way you’ve been avoiding each other, and it’s weird. You two were always… good to each other.”

Your chest tightened at her words, the memories flooding back unbidden. The way Nic used to pick up your favorite lunch without being asked. How he’d stay late at the lab just to be your volunteer when you needed someone for a prac exam. The way his hand always found the small of your back when you walked side by side.

“You were so good together,” Dae continued, her voice softening. “I mean, Josh and I worked it out ages ago that you were… you know.”

Your head snapped up, your heart pounding. “You knew?”

“Of course, we knew,” she said, smirking a little. “You weren’t exactly subtle about it. The way you’d look at each other, how you’d always find some excuse to sit next to him or how he’d hang on your every word. It was kind of sweet, actually. So we decided to let you guys have your thing. But now…” Her smile faded, replaced by concern. “Now it feels like you can’t even stand to be in the same room as him, and I have no idea why.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you. For a moment, you considered brushing it off again, but the knot in your chest tightened. You couldn’t keep this bottled up anymore.

“I told him I loved him,” you said quietly, the words barely above a whisper.

Dae froze, her eyes widening. “You what?”

You shifted uncomfortably, your voice trembling. “It just came out. We were in my dorm, and it was so… comfortable, you know? I wasn’t planning to say it, but I did. And he—” You broke off, your throat tightening.

Dae’s hands found yours, her brow furrowing. “And he what?”

“He brushed it off,” you said bitterly. “Said we were just friends blowing off steam. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like I didn’t mean anything.”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s been eating me alive all week, Dae. I thought… I thought we were more than that. It always felt like more. And now he’s just… gone. Like he doesn’t care at all.”

Dae was silent for a moment, her expression shifting between shock and anger. Finally, she let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand over her face. “That idiot.”

You blinked at her, startled by the venom in her tone.

“I mean it,” she said firmly. “Nic’s an idiot. Because there’s no way he didn’t care about you. Not with the way he looked at you. And now he’s just throwing it all away because… what? He’s scared?”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I don’t even know. He hasn’t said a word to me since that night. He just… shut down.”

Dae’s gaze softened, and she reached out to squeeze your hand. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this for you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, your voice cracking. “I just… I don’t know what to do, Dae.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “There’s something else,” she said carefully.

Your stomach sank. “What?”

“I overheard him and Josh talking a while ago,” she admitted. “Nic got offered an internship in L.A., some big shot criminal defense firm.”

The room seemed to tilt for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. “He’s leaving?”

“I think that’s why he’s been so distant,” she said quickly, her tone apologetic. “He probably didn’t know how to tell you.”

You stared at her, the weight of her words settling over you like a heavy blanket. “So he was just going to leave,” you said hollowly. “Without saying anything. Without… anything.”

Dae squeezed your hand tighter, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “I don’t know what he was thinking, but I do know this: Nic is an idiot, but he’s not heartless. He’s just… scared. Of what, I don’t know. But this doesn’t mean he didn’t care about you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter. He made his choice.”

Dae hesitated, then pulled you into a tight hug. “I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need. And for the record, you didn’t deserve this. Not even a little.”

You buried your face in her shoulder, the tears finally spilling over. For the first time, you let yourself grieve the weight of what you’d lost—and the realization of what you might never have again.

After that day, everything changed. Nic stopped showing up to your study sessions altogether, leaving his usual spot at the table empty and the air heavier than it had ever been. Whenever Joshua invited him somewhere and Nic caught wind that you’d be there, he suddenly had plans he couldn’t cancel, excuses that sounded thinner each time they were shared.

The last time you saw him was at a graduation party a few weeks later. He’d stayed on the opposite side of the room the entire night, never once meeting your gaze. No apology. No explanation. Not even a simple well-wish. And just like that, he was gone.

Life moved on, as it always does. Joshua and Dae stayed in New York after graduation, rooting themselves in the city that had always felt like home to all of you. They kept their ties to Nic and to you, carefully navigating the distance and emotions that neither of you seemed ready to face.

They watched as you buried yourself in your studies, earning a coveted spot in a prestigious postgraduate program. They celebrated with you when you joined a prolific practice, one that would eventually make you one of the most sought-after specialists in the city.

And through it all, they watched you heal. Slowly, painfully, but bit by bit. They saw you piece yourself back together—brighter, sharper, stronger than before. But even as the years passed, the cracks remained, faint but unyielding, a quiet reminder of the part of yourself you’d once handed over to someone who hadn’t known how to hold it.

DAY SIX

The next morning, Mingyu found himself lingering by the villa’s breakfast table, his thoughts far from the casual chatter around him. He couldn’t shake the tension that had simmered between Nic and you the night before. It was clear that something more than just playful flirting had been behind your exchange, and he hadn’t fully understood the depth of the storm that had been brewing between you.

Josh, who had been quietly sipping his coffee, noticed Mingyu’s brooding expression and raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, man,” he commented, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “What’s going on?”

Mingyu stews for a few moments before sighing. “I overheard [Y/N] and Nic on the terrace last night. I didn’t realise how serious it was to them. She’s so lovely and he’s…I don’t know. He seems to care for her a lot, and I’m worried I might have made it worse.”

Joshua tilted his head, a sympathetic smile softening his expression. “There’s a lot to it, but trust me, it’s not your fault. You weren’t to know, and honestly? They probably needed a shove in the right direction.”

Mingyu frowned, leaning back in his seat as if trying to make sense of the tension he’d witnessed. “What happened between them, if you don’t mind me asking? I feel like I’m missing pieces.”

Josh hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting as if replaying memories in his mind. “Nic and I went to high school together, as you know. They met through me in college when Dae and I started seeing each other. The four of us were inseparable and Nic and her became close fast, and by senior year, they were basically best friends who happened to be sleeping together.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, surprised by how casually he mentioned it. Joshua caught his look and let out a dry laugh. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, it was obvious to everyone but them that it wasn’t just casual. The way they were together—it ran so much deeper than friends with benefits. I think they both knew it, but they were too scared to admit it.”

His voice softened, and a faint trace of sadness crept into his tone. “Then Nic got offered an internship in Los Angeles. It was a huge deal for him, but he didn’t know how to tell her. And before he could figure it out, she told him she loved him.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows shot up. “What did he do?”

Josh sighed, his lips pressing into a tight line. “He iced her out. Completely shut her down. I think he panicked—he was so scared of trying to rearrange his life for her that he just decided it’d be better to throw the towel in. We used to study together every Thursday, without fail and at some point he stopped showing up. If I invited him somewhere and he knew she would be there, suddenly he had other plans.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, piecing together the fragments of the story. “They seriously haven’t spoken since then?”

Josh shook his head, his expression pained. “No. And the worst part? Nic told me after he moved that he loved her too. He admitted it was the biggest mistake he’d ever made, but by then, the damage was done. She worked so hard to rebuild herself after he left. Dae made Nic promise not to reach out because she knew she needed time to heal. And she did heal, in her own way, but Nic broke her in ways that I don’t think even she could fully explain.”

Mingyu exhaled, his chest heavy with the weight of their history. “That’s… brutal.”

“It was,” Joshua agreed softly, his gaze distant. “And I don’t think she was just upset that he left. She was angry because he didn’t give her a choice. She would’ve fought for him if he’d made even the smallest effort to keep her in his life. But he didn’t. He ran.”

“And now?” Mingyu asked, his voice cautious.

Josh’s lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “Now, they’re grown up. They’re different people with the same wounds. If they want to fix it, they’re the only ones who can.”

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully, his mind whirring as he connected the dots. “You don’t think I made it worse?”

Joshua’s gaze snapped back to him, his smile warm and reassuring. “Please don’t feel responsible for their quarrels, Gyu. This isn’t on you. It’s their responsibility to fix what’s broken. You just got caught in the crossfire.”

“I still feel like I should apologise to her,” he said, his tone laced with guilt. “I didn’t mean to stir anything up.”

Josh tilted his head, considering him for a moment. “I don’t think it’ll hurt, but I promise, she won’t blame you. She’s very reasonable—when people deserve it.” His smile turned playful, teasing him just enough to ease the tension in his shoulders. “And you definitely deserve it.”

Mingyu chuckled softly, though his expression grew serious again. “She’s been through a lot, huh?”

Josh nodded. “She has. But she’s also strong, and she knows what she wants. If you do talk to her, just be honest. She’ll appreciate it.”

Later that morning, Mingyu finds you stretched out on the lawn with a book in hand, the golden light of the late morning sun casting a warm glow over the villa grounds. A slight breeze ruffles the pages of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, and you pause to smooth them out, your gaze focused but peaceful. The serene moment is a stark contrast to the charged energy of the past few days.

Mingyu approaches cautiously, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s unsure of how to start. “That’s pretty heavy reading for a vacation,” he says lightly, nodding toward the book as he comes to a stop a few feet away.

You glance up at him and offer a small smile. “Sometimes you need something grounding. Keeps your mind clear when things get… complicated.”

Mingyu winces, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, about that…” He hesitates, clearly weighing his words. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you.”

Setting the book aside, you sit up and gesture for him to take a seat on the grass beside you. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

He lowers himself down, resting his elbows on his knees. For a moment, he just stares out at the horizon, gathering his thoughts. “I wanted to apologise. For… well, for anything I said or did that might’ve made things more tense between you and Nic. I honestly had no idea about your history, and if I’d known…” He shakes his head. “I just feel like I might’ve put you in an uncomfortable position.”

You study him for a moment, then shake your head with a gentle smile. “Mingyu, you didn’t do anything wrong. You couldn’t have known, and honestly, it’s not your responsibility to tiptoe around our mess. That’s on Nic and me to figure out.”

His expression softens, though the guilt lingers in his eyes. “Josh told me a bit more about what happened. I just feel like I walked into the middle of something that’s been brewing for years and accidentally stirred the pot.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe you did stir it a little, but sometimes things need to be stirred. It’s not like we were doing a great job of dealing with it on our own.” Your gaze drifts to the villa, where the weight of the past few days still lingers. “If anything, I should thank you. You’ve been nothing but kind and genuine, even when things got messy.”

Mingyu relaxes slightly, though his expression remains serious. “I mean it, though. I really respect you. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to even be here, let alone handle everything as gracefully as you have.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “Gracefully? I’m pretty sure half the villa heard me crying last night.”

“Maybe,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But honestly? You’re handling it. You’re facing it head-on, even if it’s messy. That takes guts.”

His words catch you off guard, and you blink, letting them settle. “Thanks, Mingyu,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

He nods, a warm sincerity in his gaze. “For what it’s worth, I think you should do whatever feels right for you. Whether that’s giving him another chance or walking away for good. Just… make sure it’s what you want, not what you think you’re supposed to do.”

You consider his words carefully, feeling a mix of gratitude and clarity. “That’s good advice,” you admit, your voice thoughtful. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, the weight of the conversation lifting slightly. Eventually, Mingyu stands, brushing grass off his pants. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to your heavy Roman philosophy. But if you ever need to vent—or just a distraction—you know where to find me.”

You smile up at him, genuinely touched by his support. “Thanks, Mingyu. Really.”

As he walks back toward the villa, you pick up your book again, but your mind lingers on his words. The clarity they bring feels like the first piece of calm amidst the chaos, and for the first time in days, you feel like you’re starting to figure out what you truly want.

After Mingyu’s apology, a sense of relief settles over you, but it doesn’t erase the questions or the lingering confusion. You spent the morning with Dae, trying to keep your mind occupied with light conversation, but your thoughts keep drifting back to everything that’s happened. The answers you’ve gained are helpful, but they don’t completely solve the storm raging inside of you. You’ve gained some closure, but there’s still so much you’re trying to process, especially now that you know Nic wants another chance. You’re unsure if you’re ready to give it, or if you even want to.

Looking for solitude, you escape to the garden, where the tranquil beauty of the estate contrasts sharply with the turmoil inside. Surrounded by the calm lake and vibrant flowers, you try to make sense of your emotions. The stillness around you feels like a reflection of what you want—peace and clarity—but it’s hard to silence the unease. You’ve been holding onto so much—anger, regret, and fear. Nic’s confession that he loves you, and his desire to try again, makes it all more complicated. Can you trust him again? Can you trust yourself?

The midday sun cast its warmth across the rippling lake, the golden light reflecting off the water like scattered diamonds. The air smelled faintly of wildflowers and pine, a comforting mix that you’d come to associate with this place. You were stretched out on a towel on the grass, letting the sun kiss your skin, trying to soak in the quiet and keep your thoughts at bay.

A soft rustle of gravel caught your attention, followed by the unmistakable weight of his presence. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was Nicholas. Even after all these years, you could still feel him before you saw him.

When you did glance up, he stood a few feet away, one hand playing with a ring on his other, his gaze flickering between you and the lake. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and in his hand was a folded piece of paper.

“Hey,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You sat up, shielding your eyes from the sun. “Hey.”

He shifted, his thumb brushing over the edge of the paper. “I, uh…wanted to give you this.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at the paper. “What is it?”

“A letter,” he admitted, stepping closer but keeping a careful distance. “I wrote it after college. It’s…it’s everything I couldn’t say back then.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Why didn’t you send it?”

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he sighed. “Dae made me promise not to. She thought it would hurt you more than it would help.” His voice softened. “She was probably right.”

Your fingers itched to take the letter, but your chest tightened. “Why now?”

He crouched down, placing the letter on the towel beside you, his gaze steady and purposeful. “I want you to have this,” he said quietly. “I don’t expect anything from it, or from you. I just think it’s important for you to know the truth. When you’re ready, read it. I’ll be here, but… take your time.”

You stared at the letter, a wave of conflicting emotions rushing through you—curiosity, fear, and something deeper, more vulnerable that you couldn’t yet name. By the time you looked up, Nic was already walking away, his footsteps soft against the gravel path.

Before he disappeared into the distance, he turned back, his voice low as he spoke again. “I’m not running away this time,” he said, a hint of finality in his words. “Whatever happens next, I’m staying.” His eyes held yours for a long moment, before he gave a small nod and left you alone with the letter.

You sat there, the peaceful sounds of the lake and the distant wedding preparations surrounding you, but you could feel the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. The letter before you seemed to hold the answer to questions you hadn’t known how to ask, and now it was up to you to decide whether to open it, to face whatever truths it might bring.

Hey,

I don’t know where to start, so I guess I’ll just say I’m sorry.

Dae told me how bad things have been for you. I can’t stop hearing her voice, the way she said it. You don’t deserve any of this. You never did. I’ve been trying to convince myself that this is what I wanted—that running to L.A. was the right thing to do, that leaving everything behind was the only way to get where I’m going. But every day, I wake up and realize how hollow that is.

You told me you loved me. God, I already knew. I’ve known for a long time—probably longer than you did. You didn’t say anything I hadn’t already felt in the way you looked at me, laughed with me, or trusted me when no one else could. I don’t know why I let you say it first. Maybe I was waiting for the courage to admit that I felt the same way.

I didn’t handle it the way I should have. I should’ve told you how scared I was—scared of messing this up, scared of failing, scared of how much you already meant to me. Instead, I just ran. Because running was easier than staying and facing the possibility that I might not be enough for you, that this thing between us could break under the weight of my fear and ambition.

But it broke anyway, didn’t it?

Josh told me to write this down. He said it didn’t matter if it was stupid or if you’d never even read it—just that I needed to get it out of my head. I didn’t believe him at first, but he was right. I’ve been carrying this around like a weight tied to my chest, and I need you to know that leaving you wasn’t what I wanted. Not really.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to fix this. I don’t know if I deserve that chance. But if I do—if somehow you find a way to let me back into your life—I promise I’ll fight for you this time. I won’t run. I’ll prove that I’m not the same stupid, confused kid who thought a job in L.A. was more important than the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

I don’t expect forgiveness. I just needed you to know.

I miss you. More than I thought was possible.

Love, always

Nic

The letter trembled in your hands as you finished reading, your vision blurred by unshed tears. You folded it carefully, your chest tightening as you placed it back on the towel beside you.

It didn’t erase the hurt—nothing could—but it filled in the gaps. It explained the silence, the retreat, the way he’d pulled away when you needed him most. It didn’t justify it, but it made it human.

And as much as it stung to relive those memories, something in you softened. The vulnerability in his words, the raw sincerity—they weren’t things you’d ever expected from Nicholas. He wasn’t just apologizing; he was baring himself in a way he never had before.

For the first time, you believed he truly regretted what happened. And maybe, just maybe, you believed he was capable of change.

You found him in the villa’s garden, sitting on a low stone bench beneath the shade of a sprawling olive tree. His shoulders were hunched, hands clasped between his knees as he stared at the cobblestone path. The rustling leaves and distant hum of cicadas filled the silence until your footsteps broke through.

He looked up, and his eyes searched yours. There was a flicker of hope in them, but it was tentative, cautious. You could see the way he braced himself, as if ready for whatever blow might come next.

“I read it,” you said, stopping a few steps away.

He stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets, then took a hesitant step closer. “And?”

You exhaled, shaking your head softly as you perched on the edge of the bench. “It doesn’t fix everything, Nic. It doesn’t take away the pain. But… I think I get it now. Why you left. Why you didn’t say goodbye.”

Nic sat beside you, not interrupting, just listening. His eyes were focused on the ground, his posture tense but patient, as though he was waiting for you to continue.

You glanced at him briefly, your voice quieter but steady. “I’ve spent so long wondering if I’d done something wrong. If I wasn’t enough. But seeing it, reading it… it makes it more real, I guess. You’re not a villain. You’re not just someone who walked away. You had your reasons. I can see that now.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t speak. His eyes searched yours for any sign of anger or resentment, but you felt only a quiet acceptance—your thoughts still swirling, but clearer than before.

“I won’t pretend this makes everything okay. It doesn’t erase how it felt, or how I felt. But it’s real, Nic. You’re not the guy I thought you were. It makes it… human.” You paused, looking away, unable to keep the tears in check for much longer. “But I can… understand. Finally.”

Nic’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for you, but he held back. His expression softened, and though he didn’t speak, there was an understanding between you now—a fragile crack in the wall that had been between you both for so long.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. He let you breathe, let you feel it, without rushing in to explain or fix. And for the first time in a long while, it felt like you were beginning to make peace with the past.

Nic broke the silence, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “I’d like a chance to try again. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’ve changed.”

You studied him for a moment, his expression open, unguarded. For the first time, it felt like he wasn’t just offering you words—he was offering you a piece of himself.

“And now?” you asked, your voice careful, cautious.

“I’m moving back to New York in a month,” he said simply. “I’ve already taken the job. I’ll be there full-time, and when I am, I want to prove to you that I’ve learned from my mistakes. That I can do better.”

Your lips quirked into a faint, skeptical smile. “What makes you so sure I’ll let you?”

“I’m not,” he admitted, a flicker of a smile breaking through his seriousness. “But I’m willing to try. You’ve always been worth it, even if I didn’t have the sense to see it back then.” He paused, his tone softening. “And I know if I screw up again, Joshua and Dae will drown me in the Hudson before you even get the chance.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking some of the tension. “That’s probably true.”

“I mean it,” he said, leaning slightly toward you, his voice lowering. “I’ve spent years thinking about this. About you. And I know now that nothing I say will ever be enough unless I show you. So this is me, showing you. I’m here. And I’m ready to put in the work, no matter how long it takes.”

The sincerity in his words tugged at something deep inside you, though your heart remained guarded. “It’s not just about making promises, Nic,” you said softly. “It’s about proving you can stay. That you won’t disappear when things get hard again.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “And I will. One day at a time. One step at a time. I’m not asking you to forgive me overnight. I just want a chance to earn it.”

You studied him for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. There was a quiet determination in his expression, a sincerity that felt unshakable. For the first time, you believed he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear—he meant every word.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice soft but resolute. “Baby steps.”

A faint, relieved smile spread across his face, one that reached his eyes. “Baby steps,” he echoed.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wouldn’t fix everything. But for the first time in years, you felt the tiniest flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward. Together.

You looked at him for a long moment, letting his words settle over you like the warm Italian breeze. There was no denying the sincerity in his voice, no mistaking the quiet resolve in his eyes. This was Nicholas—not the man who ran away, but the one who was willing to stay and fight for you now.

And yet, the hurt was still there, a lingering ache you couldn’t shake. But so was the memory of what it felt like to be with him—the safety, the warmth, the certainty that no one else could ever occupy the space he had carved out in your heart.

Before you could overthink it, you shifted closer on the bench.

Nic’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as you closed the distance between you. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

For a moment, he froze, like he couldn’t believe it was happening. But then he turned slightly and arms came around you, holding you tightly, and he let out a shaky exhale against your hair.

His heart was pounding beneath your ear, so fast and so loud you were certain he could feel it, too. It was such a familiar rhythm, one you hadn’t realized you’d missed until now.

Neither of you spoke, but there was no need to. The hug wasn’t just an embrace; it was a beginning. The first crack in the walls you’d spent years building, the first tentative step toward letting him back in.

His hand moved up to cradle the back of your head, his touch achingly gentle, and you felt his lips press softly against your hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, so quiet you barely heard it.

You didn’t respond right away, letting yourself sink into the moment—the feeling of being back in his arms, of being home in a way you hadn’t been in a long time.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your arms still looped loosely around his midriff. “Don’t make me regret this, Nic,” you murmured, your voice low but steady.

His gaze met yours, unwavering. “I won’t,” he promised.

And for the first time in years, you thought maybe—just maybe—you could believe him.

DAY SEVEN

The garden was alive with warmth and laughter, the gentle hum of conversation mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. A few rows of chairs were set out neatly in front of an archway draped in delicate linen and wildflowers, the blooms swaying lazily in the afternoon sun. Everything about the scene felt intimate and magical, the perfect backdrop for the day’s promises.

On the lawn just off to the side, Joshua and Nic were with Nabi—Dae’s niece, her joyful giggles carrying through the air as they took turns chasing her in playful circles. Joshua lifted her high in the air with ease, spinning her around before setting her down so Nic could crouch to her level and join in her antics. There was something achingly tender about the scene—Nic’s easy smile, the way he cradled her like she was the most precious thing in the world. It made your chest tighten and your knees feel a little weak. He looked completely at ease, his sharp features softened by the pure affection shining in his eyes.

You lingered near the garden entrance, letting the moment unfold, but Nic caught sight of you almost immediately. He froze mid-movement, his smile faltering for just a second before returning, this time softer, as his eyes stayed locked on you. Joshua noticed, his gaze darting between you and Nic before a knowing grin spread across his face. Nudging Nic lightly with his elbow, he murmured something you couldn’t hear, then patted Nabi’s shoulder as if signaling her to join in.

“Take Nabi with you,” Joshua said, his voice just audible now. “As backup.”

Nic gave him a look but obliged, standing and brushing off his trousers. As he made his way toward you, Nabi clung to his hand, bouncing excitedly on her toes.

“Auntie!” Nabi squealed, breaking free from Nic’s grip and running the last few steps to throw her arms around you. You laughed, stooping slightly to meet her hug, the warmth of her energy infectious.

“Oh, beautiful girl, I missed y,” you cooed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You’ve grown so much!”

She stepped back just enough to get a full look at you, her big eyes going wide as she gasped dramatically. “You look so pretty, like a princess!”

You chuckled, smoothing the fabric of your dress. “That’s sweet of you to say, Nabi. But I think the real princess here is you. Have you seen your flower crown? It’s gorgeous.”

Nabi, ever observant, turned her attention to Nic, tugging on his sleeve to pull him into the conversation. “Uncle Nic, don’t you think she looks like a princess?”

Nic’s blush rose immediately, a soft pink coloring his cheeks as his gaze darted between you and Nabi. He cleared his throat, his usual confidence taking a backseat to something tender and vulnerable. “I do,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “She looks beautiful.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes lingered on you like you were the only person in the world. Nabi seemed pleased with his response, clapping her hands before Joshua called her name from across the lawn.

“Nabi-ya!” Joshua beckoned, his voice light with laughter. He crouched down the ground, saying something in Korean that you didn’t understand.

But Nabi did, and she squealed again, running off toward Joshua without a second thought. He gave you a quick wink before turning his full attention back to entertaining Nabi, leaving you alone with Nic.

“She’s exactly how I picture Dae was as a kid,” Nic said, watching them go with a faint smile.

“Causing trouble between unwitting adults? Pretty much,” you replied, glancing up at him with a grin. “You’re really good with her. It’s sweet to see.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the blush still faintly there. “She was easy to befriend. I just had to give her a piggyback and promise ice cream later on.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly, the weight of the moment settling between you. “I stopped by Dae’s suite earlier. She’s excited, but you know how she gets before big moments.”

“She’ll be fine,” Nic said, his smile warming at the mention of her.

“I don’t doubt it,” you said, your voice taking on a gentle fondness. “Josh is going to be a wreck, though. He’s going to cry the second he sees her.”

Nic chuckled at that, glancing over to where Joshua was fussing with Nabi’s flower crown again. “You’re probably right. He’ll deny it, but I give it two minutes before the waterworks start.”

“Two? That’s gracious,” you teased, shaking your head. “But, honestly? I’ll probably cry too. It’s hard not to with these two.”

Nic hummed in agreement, but you noticed his tie was slightly off—crooked and loosely knotted, the way it always was when he attempted it himself. Without thinking, your hand reached out, instinct taking over as you caught the fabric in your fingers.

“You never could do this right,” you murmured, stepping closer as your fingers caught the fabric of his crooked tie.

Nic stilled but didn’t move away, his eyes dropping to watch as you carefully loosened the knot.

“All these years of being a big-shot lawyer and prosecutor,” you teased lightly, your voice soft but steady, “and you still can’t figure this out?”

His lips twitched, the corner tugging up in a faint smirk. “Guess some things never change.”

“Clearly,” you replied, tugging the tie into a perfect knot and smoothing it down against his chest. You lingered for a brief second, the faint impression of taut muscle below your fingertips prompting a tingle in your knees before you stepped back.

“There,” you said, finally looking up at him. “That’s better.”

When your eyes met his, you found him already watching you, his gaze warm and unreadable, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I don’t know,” Nic said, his voice quieter now. “I think it looks better when you do it.”

Your cheeks warmed at his tone, but you gave him a half-smile, trying to keep the moment light. “Good thing I’m here, then.”

Nic’s gaze softened as he looked at you, something unspoken passing between you as the celebrant called for everyone to take their seats. The air between you felt lighter—less burdened by the years of distance and hurt. It wasn’t everything, but it was something, and maybe, for now, that was enough. Together, you made your way to the front row, sitting side by side as the atmosphere shifted, the ceremony moments away. The weight of being at a wedding settled over you both, not heavy or suffocating, but warm and reflective, a reminder of the beauty in love and commitment. Nic’s hand rested on his knee, his fingers brushing yours for just a second before pulling away. It was a quiet gesture, but it said everything neither of you could in that moment.

The ceremony had been intimate, full of raw emotion and quiet vows shared under the archway of wildflowers and linen. After the applause and congratulations faded, Josh and Dae pulled everyone into the garden for photos. They made a point to gather everyone close for group shots, but it wasn’t long before the focus turned to the two of you—Nic, and you.

“Come on,” Dae urged, tugging at your hand with an almost childlike excitement. “Just one with the original crew. For old times’ sake.”

Josh beamed as he pulled Nic closer, the four of you automatically falling into place the way you had so many times before. Nic’s arm settled around your waist like a second nature, his hand gripping your hip gently as the photographer guided you all, and you found yourself smiling more naturally than you had in years.

As the camera clicked, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you, bittersweet and warm all at once. For the first time in what felt like forever, it was like no time had passed at all. These three had been your family once—Josh’s steady encouragement, Dae’s infectious laughter, and Nic’s quiet, unwavering presence. And now, standing there again, you realized they still were.

“Just one more,” Josh said, his voice light but fond as he glanced at Dae. “For the wedding album.”

Dae laughed, slipping her arm around his waist. “Fine, but I get to pick which one we print.”

As the session wound down, Josh and Dae were swept away for more couple’s photos, leaving the rest of you to wander back toward the villa. Nic fell into step beside you, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“That felt…a little like old times, didn’t it?” he said after a moment, his voice low and thoughtful.

You glanced at him, his profile softened by the golden hour light. “It did. Almost made me forget how long it’s been.”

Nic smiled faintly, his gaze fixed ahead as he said, “Doesn’t feel that long when we’re all together like that. Like…nothing’s really changed.”

You wanted to say that some things had changed—everything had, really—but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you just nodded, your footsteps falling into an easy rhythm with his.

By the time you reached the terrace, the space had been transformed for the reception. Strings of lights hung overhead, and the scent of wildflowers lingered in the air. The warmth of the garden gave way to a deeper kind of intimacy, the soft hum of conversation weaving through the evening as you and Nic sat side by side, the laughter and love surrounding you like a bubble that left just the two of you to your thoughts.

You couldn’t help but glance at him when he wasn’t looking, taking in the way the warm light caught the angles of his face, the faint lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Those years apart had added something to him—maturity, maybe, or weariness—but not enough to bury the man you’d fallen for all those years ago. It wasn’t the tailored suit or the polished smile or the gold plaque with his name on it that stayed with you now; it was the way he’d looked at Nabi earlier, the way he’d watched Josh and Dae exchange their vows with such a quiet intensity.

He caught you staring and smiled faintly, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to gauge where your thoughts had gone. For a moment, it felt like the two of you were suspended in time, the weight of everything unspoken between you making the air thicker.

The terrace fell silent as Josh rose to speak, his voice steady but rich with emotion. He spoke about Dae with the kind of reverence that only deep, abiding love could inspire, sharing stories that earned both laughter and tears from the small gathering. Dae followed with her own words, her usual confidence softened by the rawness of her affection for Josh.

The speeches struck a chord in you, each word a gentle nudge toward memories you thought you’d buried. You felt Nic shift beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned forward, his attention fixed on the couple at the head of the table. You knew he was thinking about them—about what they had—but you also knew he was thinking about you.

Then, Dae turned her attention to you, her smile mischievous as she raised her glass. “I think it’s only fair,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “that someone else says something too.” She pointed a perfectly manicured nail directly at you. “You’ve known both Josh and me longer than almost anyone here. You should say a few words.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, and you shook your head quickly. “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“You absolutely could,” Josh interrupted with a grin, gesturing for you to stand. “Come on, don’t leave us hanging.”

The guests clapped lightly, encouraging you, and with a deep breath, you rose to your feet. Your mind raced for something to say, the weight of everyone’s eyes on you making it harder to focus. Then your gaze landed on Josh and Dae, their fingers interlaced, their smiles soft and knowing, and you felt a calm settle over you.

“I’m, uh, not great at speeches,” you started, earning a few chuckles. “But I guess the thing about love is that it doesn’t really need perfect words, does it? Love is messy and complicated and…sometimes really painful. It’s not always easy to let people in, or to hold on when things get hard.”

Your voice softened, and you glanced briefly at Nic before continuing. “But when it’s real, when it’s worth it, it finds a way. Time, distance…even mistakes don’t make it disappear. It lingers. It’s patient, even when we aren’t.”

You swallowed hard, emotion creeping into your voice as you looked at Josh and Dae. “What you two have…it’s special. It’s not just about the big moments—it’s in the little ones, too. The way you look at each other when you think no one’s watching, the way you hold onto each other even when things aren’t perfect.”

Your lips curved into a small smile as your gaze softened. “You remind all of us what it means to love fully, without holding back. And I think that’s the most beautiful thing any of us could hope for.”

The applause that followed was warm and heartfelt, but you barely registered it. Your heart was pounding as you sat back down, your eyes meeting Nic’s for just a second too long. His expression was unreadable at first, his gaze fixed on you like he was trying to memorize every word you’d just said.

“That was…” Nic started, his voice lower than usual. He paused, shaking his head slightly as a small smile tugged at his lips. “You always have a way of saying exactly what people need to hear.”

His hand brushed against yours under the table, not quite a touch, but enough to make you feel the weight of it. It was in that moment you realized: you hadn’t just been talking about Josh and Dae. You’d been talking about him. About you.

And he knew it.

The first dance was everything you’d expect from Josh and Dae: sweet, understated, and full of a love that seemed to glow brighter than the candles flickering on the tables. The soft strains of their song floated through the terrace, weaving around the small, intimate gathering like a spell.

You and Nic stood off to the side, watching as they swayed together under the string lights. Dae’s head rested against Josh’s shoulder, her gown trailing elegantly behind her as they moved in perfect sync, lost in their little world.

“She looks so happy,” Nic murmured beside you, his voice low enough that it almost blended into the music.

You glanced at him, catching the softened lines of his expression, the way his gaze lingered on the couple with quiet admiration. “They both do,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended.

Watching them, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of reflection—a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and possibility. You thought about the version of yourself from five years ago, so tangled up in your feelings for Nic that it had felt impossible to move forward without him. And now here you were, standing beside him, watching someone else’s love story unfold.

Your mind wandered, drifting back through your memories of him—the late nights in college, the laughter, the arguments, the moments when everything felt so sure and others when it all seemed to slip away. And yet, even through the years apart, that same pull lingered. The question wasn’t whether you still loved him—you knew you did. It was whether the future could hold something more than the past.

Josh spun Dae out and brought her back into his arms, drawing a round of applause from the small crowd as their song came to an end. They beamed at each other, sharing a quick kiss before the music shifted to something more upbeat, signaling the start of the reception.

As the evening unfolded, the terrace came alive with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses. Nic had stepped away briefly to grab a drink, leaving you to mingle with the others, but it wasn’t long before Dae sidled up to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So,” she started, dragging out the word as she nudged your arm. “Progress report, please.”

You blinked at her, feigning innocence. “Progress on what?”

Dae rolled her eyes dramatically, crossing her arms. “Don’t play dumb with me. You and Nic.”

Your face immediately warmed, and you glanced around as if someone might overhear. “Dae…”

“What?” she teased, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “It’s a legitimate question. I mean, you’ve barely taken your eyes off each other all day.”

“I—” you started to protest, but the words faltered when Nic reappeared at your side, holding out a glass of champagne for you.

“What did I miss?” he asked casually, though the slight furrow in his brow betrayed his curiosity.

“Oh, nothing much,” Dae said airily, clearly enjoying herself. “Just checking in on you two. Josh has been taking bets on when you’re getting back together, by the way.”

Nic nearly choked on his drink, his ears tinting red as he looked at Dae with wide eyes. “He what?”

“He’s your biggest shipper, you know,” she continued, completely undeterred by the embarrassment she was causing. “He’s been rooting for this since forever. Honestly, I think it’s half the reason he wanted the two of you here together.”

You covered your face with your hand, half laughing, half mortified. “Dae, stop.”

“Why? It’s true!” she said, throwing up her hands innocently. “He even said at one point that if he had to, he’d lock you two in a room until you sorted it out. But hey, it looks like I don’t have to intervene, so… progress!”

Nic shook his head, his blush spreading to his neck as he avoided meeting your gaze. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Dae gave you both a smug little grin, clearly pleased with herself. “Just saying what everyone’s thinking. Anyway, I’ll leave you two alone. But don’t make me wait for updates—I’m invested.”

With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you and Nic standing there, equally flustered.

You finally dared to glance at him, catching the faint sheepish smile he was trying to hide. “Well, that was subtle,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face.

Nic let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… subtle has never really been her thing.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the music and laughter from the reception wrapping around you like a cocoon. And despite the teasing, despite the embarrassment, you felt a quiet warmth settle between you—something unspoken, but understood all the same.

You and Nic were tucked off to the side, your chairs angled just enough to give you a view of the lake as the night settled in. His hand rested lightly on the back of your chair, his body angled toward yours, the conversation between you easy and natural for the first time in years.

The moment was interrupted by the smooth arrival of Mingyu, his usual grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well, well,” he said, gesturing between the two of you, “I’m glad to see the two of you have worked things out. Not gonna lie, I was rooting for you.”

Nic stiffened slightly beside you, though his expression remained neutral. “Yeah, we’ve been…talking,” he replied carefully, his hand slipping from the back of your chair to his lap.

Mingyu’s grin softened, turning almost sheepish. “Listen, man,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to, you know, step on your toes this week. I didn’t know the history, and once I did, well…” He looked between the two of you. “I just want to say I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

Nic glanced at you, then back at Mingyu, clearly caught off guard. He shifted in his chair, a flush creeping up his neck. “You didn’t owe me anything,” he said after a moment, his voice measured. “But…I appreciate it. And, uh, sorry if I was…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head.

“Possessive?” Mingyu offered with a teasing glint in his eye.

Nic sighed, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah. That.”

Mingyu laughed, holding out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

Nic hesitated for only a moment before taking it, shaking firmly. “No hard feelings,” he echoed, though his embarrassment lingered in the faint pink of his cheeks.

As Mingyu walked away, you glanced at Nic, your eyebrow raised. “Possessive, huh?”

He groaned, leaning back in his chair with a wry smile. “Don’t start.”

You laughed softly, leaning closer. “It’s okay,” you teased. “I think it’s kind of sweet.”

Nic gave you a look, somewhere between exasperation and affection, before shaking his head. “You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

The reception had dwindled to a quiet hum, the terrace now lit only by the soft glow of fairy lights and the lingering warmth of a celebration well-lived. Guests were beginning to disperse, gathering their things, exchanging hugs and goodbyes. Dae and Josh stood at the entrance of the villa, looking every bit the newlyweds—radiant, a little tipsy, and blissfully in love.

“Alright, you two,” Dae said, pulling you and Nic in for a hug. “Promise me you’ll send updates. I need to know every detail of your progress.”

Josh chuckled, resting an arm around her waist. “She’s not kidding, by the way. You’re going to regret letting her have your number.”

Nic smirked, shaking Josh’s hand. “I’ll take my chances.”

Dae grinned but her tone softened as she squeezed your hand. “We’re so proud of you both. Really. It’s been amazing having you here this week. Seeing you together…” She trailed off, her eyes glassy with emotion.

Josh picked up where she left off. “It meant a lot. And not just for us. You two being here—it feels like something’s come full circle.”

“Alright, enough sentimentality,” Dae said, wiping at her cheek with a laugh. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”

They were heading to Santorini for their honeymoon—classy, romantic, and quintessentially them. The group gathered outside the villa to wave them off, cheering as their car disappeared down the drive.

As the crowd thinned and everyone started for their hotels or Airbnbs, Nic lingered by your side. He looked at you with a familiar warmth that made your chest tighten, a quiet confidence in the way he stood close, just shy of brushing your arm.

“So,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What do you say we find somewhere to grab dinner? Nothing fancy. We’ll just see where the night takes us.”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

You ended up at a small, tucked-away trattoria on one of Bellagio’s cobblestone streets. The kind of place where the servers knew every regular by name and the scent of garlic and herbs lingered in the air. It wasn’t planned, but it was perfect.

Over plates of fresh pasta and glasses of wine, the conversation flowed easily, loosened by the champagne and the natural rhythm you and Nic had always had. It felt almost like old times—like those late-night dinners during college when it was just the two of you, talking about anything and everything.

Nic leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “So,” he began, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Are you going to tell me what happened with buying into your practice? You mentioned it earlier this week, but you never really talked about it.”

You swirled the wine in your glass thoughtfully. “I’m supposed to be, early next year. But… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like something I want to commit to just yet.”

He frowned slightly, intrigued. “Why not? You’d be great at it. Dae couldn’t stop raving about how great you are after you took out her wisdom teeth. And—” he paused, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I may have read some of your practice’s Google reviews.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Oh my god. You’re a stalker!”

He laughed, holding his hands up defensively. “I was curious, alright? But seriously, you’re a great surgeon. Why not take the next step?”

You shrugged, resting your chin on your hand. “Maybe I’m too young to be running a business. Or maybe I just want a change of scenery. I’ve been thinking about going back to the public sector for a while now.”

Nic tilted his head, considering your words. “You want my thoughts?” You nod eagerly, eyes glassy.  “I think you should do what feels right for you. Whatever you decide, you’ll be amazing. You always are.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten, and you looked away, focusing on the last of the wine in your glass. The warmth between you felt almost tangible, a fragile, growing thing that neither of you wanted to disturb.

The walk back to Nic’s Airbnb began with an invitation over the last sips of wine at the restaurant.

The two of you had been lingering long after your plates were cleared, the conversation meandering between work, college memories, and everything in between. Nic leaned back in his chair, his tie slightly loosened, his hand absently turning the stem of his glass.

“I don’t want this to end yet,” he admitted suddenly, his tone light but honest. “There’s too much I still want to catch up on. Come back to my Airbnb? We can keep talking.”

The offer was casual, no hidden agenda—just Nic being Nic. And yet, the way he looked at you, his brown eyes warm and steady, made something in your chest tighten.

You hesitated for only a moment, your inhibitions softened by the wine and the comfort of the evening. “Sure,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “Why not?”

His relief was subtle, but you caught it—a small exhale, a quick grin. “Good,” he said, setting his glass down and standing. “Let’s go.”

The walk back was steeped in an easy, wine-laced warmth. Bellagio’s quiet streets were lit only by the occasional glow of a streetlamp, the lake shimmering softly in the distance. Nic walked close beside you, hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like years.

“I just—” he began, glancing at you before looking back ahead, “I didn’t want the night to end yet. It feels like we’ve only just started catching up.”

You felt your stomach flutter, a mix of the wine and the way he said it—earnest and almost boyish. “I get it,” you admitted, your voice soft. “It feels like there’s too much to fit into one dinner.”

He grinned, looking down at you briefly. “Exactly. So… thanks for coming with me. Even if it’s just to hear me ramble a little more.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “You? Ramble? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Oh, I do. Just ask Josh,” he teased, and the two of you slipped back into a conversation about work and life.

Somewhere along the way, he asked, carefully, “So… anyone back in New York? You know, in the last five years?”

The question caught you off guard, but the curiosity in his tone wasn’t intrusive—it was tentative, like he was almost afraid of the answer. You shook your head, smiling wryly. “Not seriously. Just a few failed Hinge dates here and there. I’m married to my loupes and luxators, apparently.”

Nic chuckled, shaking his head. “That tracks.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And what about you? Mr. Los Angeles?”

“Pretty much the same,” he admitted with a small shrug. “I tried dating—key word: tried. But nothing stuck. Guess I’ve been married to my caseload.”

His honesty surprised you, though it shouldn’t have. Nic was always like that—direct, but in a way that felt safe. And now, as you walked beside him, it struck you how little had changed in some ways. The years apart hadn’t dulled the pull you felt toward him, the way his presence seemed to make everything else fade into the background.

When you reached his Airbnb, a modest but cozy villa tucked into a quiet corner of town, he held the door open for you, letting you slip off your heels with a sigh of relief. “God, I think these shoes are trying to kill me,” you muttered.

Nic smirked, setting his keys on the counter. “Well, you survived. That’s what matters.”

He reached for a bottle of red from the kitchen counter, pouring two glasses and handing one to you before settling onto the couch. “One last glass?”

“Twist my arm,” you teased, sinking into the cushions beside him.

The atmosphere was easy, relaxed, but the wine added a subtle haze to the air. Nic leaned back, his shirt slightly untucked, his tie loosened from the long day. The disheveled look suited him too well, and you found your gaze lingering more than you meant to.

The low lighting softened his features, but the sharpness of his jawline, the curve of his mouth, were impossible to ignore. And it wasn’t just how he looked—it was how he made you feel. That giddy, nervous energy you hadn’t felt in years, the kind you used to feel back in college when he would smile at you in just the right way.

Your thoughts drifted. You were reminded of late-night study sessions, sitting shoulder to shoulder, the proximity enough to set your pulse racing. The way he’d brush his hand against yours when passing you a pen. The stolen glances that made you wonder if he felt it, too.

And now, here you were again, sitting beside him like no time had passed, even though it had. The tension was there, just under the surface—a hum of possibility neither of you seemed ready to act on, but both of you felt.

Nic glanced over at you, catching your gaze. “What?” he asked softly, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, looking down at your glass. “Just… you look relaxed. It’s nice.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You do, too.”

The air between you shifted, quieter now but charged. And as the conversation resumed—stories about work, the moments you’d missed—you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was where you were always meant to be. With him. Here.

The warmth of the red wine lingered, like a soft haze wrapping around the two of you as the evening stretched into something quieter, something slower. You and Nic had settled into a comfortable rhythm, trading stories and laughter, the conversation ebbing and flowing like it always had. But now, as the hour grew late, the air between you felt heavier—charged with something unspoken, yet deeply understood.

Nic set his empty glass on the coffee table, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. You looked down at the fleeting contact, your pulse skipping in response.

“I missed this,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, pulling your attention back to him.

“This?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

He smiled, his brown eyes catching the faint glow of the lamp. “You. Us. Talking like this.”

His words struck something deep, and before you could respond, he shifted slightly, leaning closer—not too much, just enough that the space between you felt almost non-existent.

“I need to ask you something,” he said quietly, his voice threading through the stillness.

Your heart stumbled, but you nodded, trying to keep your voice calm. “What is it?”

Nic’s gaze flickered down to your lips, lingering for just a beat before returning to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

The question was so tender, so deliberate, that it almost unraveled you. He didn’t rush the moment, didn’t move until you answered. But the intensity in his gaze left no doubt about what he wanted—and what you did, too.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced.

Nic’s lips curved into the faintest smile, like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for your permission. Slowly, he reached up, his fingers brushing along your jaw, his touch feather-light as if testing the waters.

And then he closed the distance.

The first press of his lips against yours was soft, tentative, a question in itself. He didn’t rush, didn’t push. His hand moved to cup your cheek, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepened ever so slightly, a slow, languid exploration that felt like coming home.

You melted into him, your hand finding its way to his chest, where you could feel the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. It matched your own, as if the two of you were syncing after years of being out of tune.

The kiss grew heavier—not rushed, but more certain, as though every lingering doubt or hesitation was being stripped away with every gentle pull of his lips. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, grounding you in the moment, and you responded in kind, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a reclamation of everything you’d lost, a connection you thought you’d never have again. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the years apart, not the mistakes or misunderstandings—just him, and you, and the way he made you feel like you belonged.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you opened your eyes to find him watching you, his gaze soft but searching.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, a slow, steady smile spreading across your lips. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Nic’s own smile mirrored yours, his hand still cradling your face like he was afraid to let go. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t think I can stop now.”

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension just enough to make the moment feel light again, but the undercurrent of emotion remained. This was Nic—your Nic—and for the first time in years, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

Nic kissed you like he was trying to etch the moment into memory, his lips slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that made the world tilt just slightly on its axis. Your arms looped around his shoulders as his hands anchored themselves at your waist, fingers curling like he was afraid to let you go.

Before you even realized it, you’d shifted closer, settling into his lap like you belonged there—because, God, didn’t it feel like you did? His hands slid up your back, pulling you firmly against him as your heart pounded in time with his.

When you finally pulled away, your breaths mingling in the stillness, Nic’s hands stayed exactly where they were, holding you in place as though releasing you would undo everything. His head dropped to your shoulder, and for a moment, he just held you, his chest heaving with something that felt almost like relief.

Then he let out a soft laugh, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His grin was boyish, a little crooked, and entirely unguarded. “You know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “for the first time in a long time, it feels like the world’s finally spinning the right way.”

You blinked, your chest tightening with an ache so sweet it almost hurt. “Yeah?” you managed, the word coming out a little breathless.

He nodded, his expression softening as his hands squeezed your sides. “Yeah. And you… you’re right at the center of it.”

Your laugh came out shaky, barely masking the tears threatening to spill. But they weren’t tears of sadness—not this time. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, though your voice betrayed how much his words had wrecked you in the best way.

Nic grinned wider, leaning in until his forehead touched yours. “You like it,” he murmured, his tone playful but sure.

“I do,” you admitted, your smile widening even as your heart soared. “God help me, I really do.”

For a while, you just sat there, wrapped up in each other, the weight of everything unspoken melting into the comfort of his arms around you. The quiet between you wasn’t empty—it was full of possibility, of shared breaths and unspoken promises.

Eventually, Nic tilted his head, brushing his lips against your temple. “This… this isn’t just a moment, right?” he asked softly, his voice uncertain for the first time that night.

You cupped his cheek, your thumb grazing his skin as you smiled. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

His eyes searched yours, and whatever he saw there seemed to settle something deep inside him. He let out a long breath, pulling you even closer, his arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go.

And as you sat there, wrapped in each other on that worn, comfortable couch in a quiet little Airbnb, it hit you—you didn’t need grand gestures or perfect timing. You just needed this. Him.

Because in Nic’s arms, the past didn’t matter, and the future didn’t feel so daunting. There was just now—just you and him, finally back where you belonged.

[guiltyasdave]

this is SO INCREDIBLY GOOD i’m gonna scream!!! you really blew me away, i’m absolutely in awe of you and your writing! easily one of my favorite joel stories that i’ve ever read.

and what a wild rollercoaster of emotions 🫠 i cried my eyes out to her backstory, you wrote that sooo well! the underlying angst, paired with that sweetness of falling in love, it’s amazing.

and i immediately felt connected to her, immediately cared really deeply about her, and ooohhhh my god you made me fall in love with joel all over again 😩 i love that gentle, caring, protective man so so much.

thank you thank you thank you for this story, it’s exactly what i was yearning for and i had the best time reading! you’re incredibly talented <3

hungry, lonely, violent

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Days, months, years you spent hungry, yearning. How can a simple two weeks change what's been your life since the outbreak happened? How can one man mend the shattered pieces you never thought could be put back together? How can Joel Miller be that man?

Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Caregiving, Recovery, Healing, Trauma, Oral Sex, Creampie, Size Kink, Size Difference, Older Man/Younger Woman, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, No use of y/n, Protective Joel

Word count: 22k

Read on ao3

The sunset is a blaze of orange over Jackson, Wyoming.

You’ve been all over the country at this point, a nomad by choice, who escaped the Atlanta QZ as soon as you had the ability and supplies to do so. There have been rumors of a safe place, a town out west where people live in a harmonious peace behind sealed walls. No infected breaking in, no raiders to rob you or do worse. No corrupt FEDRA agents to gun you down for looking at them funny.

As it turns out, it’s a lot fucking harder to find a place like that, than it is to imagine it. 

You know you’re close; you saw the Welcome to Wyoming sign days ago. Your best guideline is an out of date map that you’d killed a handsy FEDRA guard for. It’s gotten you this far though, so you can’t be too frustrated. 

Of course, it’d be nice if it wasn’t the dead of fucking winter, but you’ve never really had the best luck. 

You know you don’t have long before you need to give up on this insane venture. No one ever actually believed the talk about somewhere safe hidden in the mountains; somewhere that life was meant to be lived and not merely endured. Somewhere that a person could feel like a person again, by way of basic dignity and small decencies.

You can almost feel it now, if you close your eyes and let yourself imagine. The steam of a hot shower; water beating down on sore muscles, wet hair plastered down your back as soap bubbles cascade across slick skin. A mug of coffee, or tea, hell you’d even take hot chocolate at this point. Something to soothe the coldness of your palms; something to warm your throat and belly. The crackle of a fireplace underneath a mantle; hardwood floors, a rug nestled underneath a sofa. 

You were so young when the outbreak happened that you’ve never really gotten to experience these things. But you know them well. Stories from your parents, wishful tales of a life once lived in comfort and peace. An expanse of opportunity, safety to explore, create, enjoy. 

In a world like that, there’s room for all sorts of things you haven’t been able to have. What’s always been a quick meal of ration blocks scarfed down in a hurry, could be a slow-cooking stew, complete with fluffy bread and a glass of clean water with ice. Maybe even a wedge of lemon for flavor, if you’re lucky. A slice of hot pie for dessert, an unneeded expense of greed and hunger, nothing beneficial for your health really except to make you happy. Socks without holes, pants without inner thighs so worn you can feel your cold skin chafing between them. 

In a world like that, there’s room for things like delicacies. Things like…romance.

You have no illusions that this could ever be your future. Since you lost your family, things like safety and stability have been mere fantasy. You can’t remember what a home cooked meal might taste like, or a hug from someone who genuinely cares about you. The men and women you’ve been with have all been quick, dirty fucks, going through the motions to make eachother cum and breathe hollow noises of pleasure that are more for show than anything. 

In a different world, maybe it could all mean something.

You take quick stock of your rations. A half-empty water bottle with a screw-on filter that’s quickly becoming unusable from strain. A can of green beans. A small pack of bandages that have lost most of their adhesive strength from time. One pair of underwear that’s hanging off your pack, wet from a wash in the creek. There’s nothing worse than going commando in sub-zero temperatures, but it’s a necessary evil for hygiene. 

From your place currently hiding out in an abandoned gas station nestled in the mountains of what surely used to be some sort of thriving backwoods community, any hope of that fantastical world really does feel out of reach. For most of your life it felt that if dreams were enough to keep you alive, you’d surely be immortal. But lately, that negligent bit of hope is starting to seem like the flicker of a candle about to blow out. 

And it’s funny, for someone who claims to have given up hope, how quickly you jump into gear when you hear heavy footsteps behind you. Your hands fumble; cold and nearly frozen from the frigid temperatures outside, clasping the grip on your gun. You only have a half-mag left, and with your hands as shaky as they are from the weather, you aren’t feeling confident about your ability to aim as well as needed to make that half-mag worthwhile. 

Still, you have little other choice. In your condition, a hand-to-hand fight would be your undoing. 

“I hear someone in there, breathing,” a gruff voice says. It’s low and careful, a slow southern drawl that you recognize as Texan, most likely. You met a few of them in the Atlanta QZ, and they all had this gentle drawl to them, the same way this man does.

It would be almost a calm, reassuring sound, if his proximity didn’t surely mean imminent death for you.

“A runner?” another voice asks, this one is younger. A man, or a boy maybe, a teenager. 

Fuck. You’re outnumbered, even if these are the only two out here. You’re outnumbered by two men. You’re hungry, and half-frozen, and struggling to think of what to do next. It’s like your brain isn’t functioning at full capacity. Who could blame it, with the months of neglect on the road? When was the last time you even had fucking protein?

You try to listen, try to hone your ears to follow the footsteps of the man coming toward you. Surely he knows where you���re hiding, if he heard you breathing and assumed you were an ill infected. You must really sound like shit. You sort of knew that your lungs had a rattle from the cold and your nose was sniffly, but clearly it's worse than you thought. 

Okay, okay, think. What can I-

Your train of thought is immediately interrupted by a large, thick arm circling around your neck from behind. You gasp as your body is wrenched into the air, a sturdy mountain of a man behind you. In your panic, you drop your gun and reach for his massive forearm, trying to pry it off your neck as your vision begins to go fuzzy.

Holy fuck, you’re going to die at the hands of some random Texas giant in this abandoned gas station. 

“Shit, Joel, she’s not infected!” 

“Wh- Christ!”

In a flat second, you’re on the floor, coughing and gasping as you clutch at your neck, trying to fill your icy lungs with desperate air. The floor is more like concrete, and with the layer of ice spread across it, there’s damn near no cushion for your fall.

The large man reaches out, you can hear his jacket shuffle and his body move, but you scramble away, reaching frantically for your gun. 

The other one, the younger boy, comes into focus and reaches out to pluck up your gun before you can even make an honest grab for it. 

“Hey, we aren’t gonna hurt you,” the boy says, looking down at you earnestly. It’s big talk from the teenager holding a revolver on you, but his eyes are genuine enough. “I’m sorry we scared you. We thought-”

Your vision whites out as you feel a large hand grab your arm. The big man, the giant Texan has grabbed your bicep and is trying to pull you up. Pure instinct takes over; reflex causing you to lash out with your free arm. 

Your knife makes a decent slash in the skin of his hand, and he pulls back with a shouted curse of pain. 

“Whoa whoa!” the boy tries again for a calming tone, still attempting some sort of diplomacy.

Ignoring his pathetic excuse for a ceasefire, you launch yourself at the large man, wielding your knife like it’s your last chance. 

With him momentarily disoriented, it’s easy to hop on his back, effectively putting his body between yours and the boy with the gun as a human shield. And a gigantic one, at that. His shoulders are stocky, easy handholds for you as you settle your legs around his large waist. You press the tip of your knife against his throat, feeling the vibrations of his grunted breaths against your thumb bone. 

This close, you can smell a soft aroma of lemon soap wafting off his wavy hair. It’s dark with streaks of silver dancing down through the ends, matching a well-groomed beard on his jaw. His jacket is thick brown leather, it looks heavy and surely adds bulk to an already impressively large man. 

“Walk out, now!” You warn the boy with the gun, still pressing the blade into the man’s throat. “I won’t kill him if you leave me alone.”

You think it’s a pretty fucking generous offer, considering this giant just tried to choke you out.

The boy glances at the man, sighing. He shakes his head, holstering his gun. “Joel, just be gentle.”

Frowning, you look between them in confusion.

The man, whose name must be Joel, chuckles dryly. It’s a nice sound, a steady reverberation through his chest. In another circumstance, you think it might be a soothing noise. One of those laughs from a person who seems like they know the answer to every question, who's figured everything out. Someone who’d take care of you.

Then, he grabs your wrist so hard you feel bone press into flesh, wrenches the knife away from his throat as if you’re no more than a pesky mosquito, and flips your body over his shoulder. 

Being effectively yeeted into a frozen concrete floor by a man three times your size would most certainly be a death sentence. 

You feel the wind rush out of your lungs, the world spin upside down, and you’re preparing to hear a deafening crack of your skull against the hard ground. 

Before the impact radiates through your body though, you realize he’s slowed your momentum by sliding an arm around your lower back, stopping you just before your body would’ve crashed into the floor. He kneels forward, holding you just above the ice, and you get a good look at his face.

It doesn’t feel like the right time to be thinking this, and you hate yourself a tiny bit, but he’s really fucking handsome. His nose is large and stately, his eyes framed by thick, dark lashes that brush his cheekbones, eyebrows pulled together so his forehead scrunches up. There are lines of age on his face, flecks of gray in his beard, yet the flush to his tanned skin and the light in his gaze tells you he’s in tiptop shape. This is a man who eats well, eats often, and probably isn’t sleeping on the hard ground every night as you’ve been for weeks.

Considering he just tossed you over his shoulder like a tiny bag of flour, this isn’t particularly surprising. 

“If you’d quit tryin’ to kill me, little miss, then maybe we can have a conversation.”

With a growl of anger, you swing your fist. He catches your wrist in his hand so easily it’s humiliating, and gives you a disapproving look. 

“We ain’t gonna hurt ya’,” he continues, “stop swingin’ on me.”

“We should take her back to town,” the boy says, still standing beside the two of you a little awkwardly, “she’s not well.”

At that, you pause, something icy running into your veins. You’ve run into more than enough fucked up little “towns” on your trip west. They always ended up trying to kill you or indoctrinate you into some demented cult ideals. You’ve fought your way out of more than enough situations like this to know that if you don’t escape now, it’s not going to end well.

You’re unarmed, you’re starved, you’re half-frozen, and the man above you is so large you swear you could strap a pair of reins to his shoulders and have him pull a carriage. 

In so many words, you’re fucked.

“Get the fuck off me!” you snarl, wriggling in his grasp and trying to free yourself.

“Alright.” The man releases you and you hit the cold ground, a surprised noise of pain slipping from your mouth as your head smashes into the ice.

“Jesus Joel,” the boy says.

“She told me to!”

This is your chance. You just need to get to your feet and run. Fuck the gun and the knife, you’ll find new ones. You’ve been without your supplies before. You can figure it out. You just have to get up.

An attempt to move into a sitting position proves futile, as your vision begins to swim and your head throbs. Your hands fumble weakly for purchase at your sides, but the ice is too slick to find a solid grasp.

“I think she’s gotta concussion,” the man, Joel, muses nonchalantly.

“I think she’s got a lot going on,” the boy replies, “should we put her on a horse? Seems like she wants to be left alone.”

“Ain’t the policy that we bring back injured travelers?” Joel asks.

 “Yeah, but normally they don’t…resist this much, right?”

Joel hums thoughtfully. “Normally they ain’t women all by themselves surrounded by two strange men.”

“I guess not.” 

“Let’s get her on a horse. Once she realizes she’s safe, maybe she’ll quit the murderin’ shit.”

“What if she comes to and tries to kill you again?” the boy worries.

At this, Joel chuckles again. “If she manages to kill me on the back of a horse with no weapon, then I goddamn deserve it, kid.”

“Is this how all patrols are?” 

“Nah. They usually ain’t this exciting.” Joel leans over you then, and you smell the lemon soap and a faint whiff of pine oil. “Hey there, you with us?”

“No,” you groan, though you’re not actually sure what you’re responding to.

“Listen, m’gonna have to pick you up and put you on a horse. Try not to gouge my eyes out. Think you can manage that?”

“No,” you repeat sourly.

“Excellent. You ever been on a horse before?”

“No.”

He exhales. “You say anything else?”

“No.”

“Alright then. When we get you up, just hold on to my waist, don’t let go or you’re gonna go flyin’ and that won’t be good for neither of us. You hear? No ain’t an option.”

You narrow your eyes which does nothing to help your already blurry vision. You feel your consciousness slowly starting to slip away on a delicate string, at a great danger of snapping and disappearing in the distance. 

“I think she bonked her head,” the boy says when you don’t reply.

“Good observation, son.” With that, Joel reaches for you. You tell your muscles to resist, to fight back, but they frustratingly don’t move.

He slides his arms underneath your prone form and lifts as if you weigh no more than a backpack. Surprisingly, his touch is gentle rather than rough as you’d expected. He moves slowly, gradually pulling your body into a sitting position. Your head spins and you let out an involuntary noise of pain.

“M’sorry honey,” he murmurs, “you got your bell rung, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t carry a bell,” you manage a weak reply.

He chuckles again, and you feel yourself being hoisted up. After a moment of adjusting, you’re lying in his arms bridal style, thick forearms underneath your body. He grips your thighs to keep you in place, shifting you upward to preserve the momentum as he gets back to his feet with a slight huff of effort. 

“Do you need help?” the boy asks, hovering.

“Nah, she don’t weigh more than one of them kitchen chairs in the mess hall. Just grab her stuff, m’sure she’ll be askin’ after it when she’s up and running.”

“Okay, okay got it. You want me to lead?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Thanks Jesse.”

“Sure thing.”

You’re moving then, you think. The world shifts around you, and your head lulls to the side, pressing into a coat. You shudder once, and find yourself transfixed on the even breathing of the man holding you.

“Cold?” he asks gruffly, and then sighs as if that’s a stupid question. “Jesse?”

“Yeah?” 

“Help me with this.” 

There’s movement, and your body is shuffled a bit, before someone drapes a thick weight over you, wrapping you up like a burrito in what appears to be a giant leather jacket. It smells of lemon and pine oil, the scent wafting off it with each movement. 

You’re confused, disoriented and overwhelmed. The weight of the jacket around you is enough to soothe the cold for now, even as you feel shuffling and adjusting and find your legs slung around the thick flank of a horse. 

“Hold on tight,” says Joel. 

What other choice do you have? 

———-

Somewhere between the gas station and here, you passed out. 

It shouldn’t surprise you, given the state you were in. It only makes sense your body would give up in some way. Obviously you wish it hadn’t been while you were pressed up against the large, broad back of a grouchy old Texan, but as you said you’ve never had the best luck. 

When you come to, you’re supine on a couch. It’s odd though, because from first glance, the thing isn’t musty and dusty like they usually are. It’s soft, squishy, and smells clean. There’s a blanket draped over you, some sort of fuzzy wool that keeps your limbs warm. It’s heavy too, the weight of it soothing. A crackling sound alerts your gaze to a mantle with a fireplace underneath, heat flickering off the orange licks of flames, well contained in the brick casing. Atop the mantle are framed photos, a girl with choppy hair and freckles on a horse, the man, Joel, at her side, smiling. 

It’s an odd expression on him, you think. Although handsome, it’s surprising to see the gruff man look so at ease, so happy. From your brief interaction in the gas station, you’d come to gather he’s a no-nonsense, quick-to-choke asshole.

Not unlike yourself, really.

And if there are photos of him and what looks to be his daughter, or a teenaged relative maybe, on this mantle, that means you’re in his house. That means you’re in grave danger.

Though...you are seemingly fine, wrapped in a blanket by the fireplace, clothing intact on your body. Beside you on an end table is a lamp, a glass of tepid water, and a few leaves of unfamiliar greens. 

You move to sit up, pressing your hands against your thighs in search of any of your weapons. Nothing. Your pack is gone too. 

As you adjust, you find that your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, tongue swollen and dry. Your throat is aching, desperate for water. You run your fingers along the arm of the sofa, eyeing the glass of water longingly.

What if he’s done something to it? 

Before you can decide if it’s worth the risk, footsteps pad in behind you, and you whip around to see him entering the room. You stumble off the couch, legs wobbling, knees threatening to give out as you try to stand your ground.

“Easy,” Joel says in that slow drawl, “you’re alright, little miss. You’re safe.”

Your hands clench into fists. As if you’re stupid enough to believe him. 

“You know where you are?” he asks, like he thinks you won’t know. 

For a moment, you fumble. Where...are you? You know it’s snowing outside the windows of this little, quiet house. You know you came from Atlanta. You know you found yourself a little turned around in the backwoods of somewhere in Wyoming.

“Wyoming,” you say, forcing the word to come out assuredly, even as your voice cracks around it like a frail twig under a boot.

He nods once. “Good. You’re in Jackson. You hit your head and it seemed like you haven’t had a real meal in a while. We brought you back to get you feelin’ better. You passed out on the way.”

Blinking, you take stock of the room around you. You’re in Joel’s house, in Jackson. Can it really be true? Have you really found it? The place where life can be lived peacefully amidst the horrors outside the wall? 

“It’s real?” you find yourself asking. The crackling fireplace and framed photos seem evidence enough of a more content lifestyle than anywhere you’ve ever lived.

Again, he nods. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Just stories,” you admit, “didn’t believe them.”

“It’d be hard to,” he agrees gruffly. 

You allow yourself a moment to look him over. Here in his home, he’s shed his winter layers in favor of a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with an unbuttoned flannel over the top. His hair is tousled from the wind, gray-lined dark curls framing his face. His shoulders, just as big as you remember noticing, fill out the fabric of his flannel so well it’s a little hard to look away. A quick scan of his body does little to reassure you of any chance you have to fight back if this goes sour. He’s large; his chest thick, thighs sturdy in his jeans, a faint outline of a comfortable belly underneath his shirt. You can see a cropping of dark hair just poking out of his shirt collar and the ends of his sleeves. He’s rugged in every sense of the word. Rugged, and huge. 

“I left you some water there,” he gestures vaguely to the end table, “some mint leaves to chew on, sometimes they help when I gotta headache. I dunno. Just in case. They didn’t have anywhere to put you yet, and the infirmary was pretty overrun so they-”

“What are you going to do to me?” you find yourself asking, hating the hollow note of fear in your words. 

Joel pauses, hands on his hips, eyebrows screwed together. “Do to you?”

In lieu of a reply, you just nod warily. 

It takes him a moment, you think, to register what you’re implying. When it hits him, his shoulders deflate, and his expression heaves into one of displeasure. He clenches and unclenches his fists before he speaks.

“You’re safe,” he says again, voice even and composed despite the clear discomfort on his face. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Once they find somewhere else to put you, we’ll get you comfortable. But for now, if it’ll make you feel better.” He moves toward you, reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

Reflexively, you stumble backward, putting distance between the two of you. Your legs betray you, and you find yourself leaning against a table by the window with little wood carvings to stay upright. He halts instantly, expression neutral. 

“I was just gonna give you this.” He removes your gun from his waistband, presenting it matter-of-factly. “Loaded the mag for you. Don’t shoot me.”

With that, he sets it on the end table by the couch, halfway between the two of you, and steps back. 

“You got no reason to kill me,” he says, “I got no reason to hurt you. I wouldn’t. Ever. So take it. But I’d prefer not to have any extra holes by the time you leave.” 

You swallow noisily, eyes tracing the line toward the gun. It rests neatly beside the water and mint leaves, his gifts to you, comfort and safety all in one little package on the end table. 

Unsure of what to say, you slowly move toward the end table, picking up the gun. Hesitantly, you pull back the slide and see a round in the chamber. Then, you pop the mag out and see that he wasn’t lying. It’s fully loaded. 

You eye him warily as you tuck the gun into your own waistband, safety on. “Thanks?”

“Don’t shoot me,” he repeats sternly.

“Don’t give me a reason to,” you warn him.

At this, he scoffs. “Lady, if I wanted to kill you, I woulda done it with my arm around your neck.”

Your eyes narrow. “I never said you wanted to kill me.”

His nose wrinkles at that, eyes going dark. “You don’t have to worry about that. Listen, I’ll stay outta your hair. But they want me to get you healthy before you get set up on your own here. So-”

“Wait, before what?”

Another sigh, like he’s exasperated. “You’ll get assigned a house and eventually work duties and patrol schedules. They’ll go over all that with you. I’m just the middle man here.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even done speaking. “Who fucking decided that for me?”

His eyebrow arches. “Ain’t that why you’re out here?”

Torn, you struggle to think of a reply. It actually is exactly why you’re out here, but you’re confused and suspicious at the easy welcome and acceptance of another mouth to feed, another burden on the resources. You don’t even know if he’s telling the truth. Maybe you’re not even in Jackson. Maybe this is some fucked up murder cabin and he’s playing you like a fiddle.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” You demand, fingers itching to reach for the gun now that it’s safely holstered away. 

Joel gestures to the front door. “Be my fuckin’ guest.”

Reluctantly taking your eyes off of him, you push off the table and move for the front entryway. You brush by him briskly, annoyed when he doesn’t move out of the way. Your shoulder nudges into his arm, and you’re struck by how thick and immovable he feels beside your feeble frame. 

You hate it. It would be so effortless to overpower you.

You dislike having him in your rearview, but you move toward the line of windows that overlook the front lawn. 

Your eyes take in a sight you could’ve only ever imagined. Snow-lined streets, little shops and markets with pleasant looking customers milling about. People with horses, waving to each other. Children running in the street and laughing loudly while gentle adults corral them back onto shoveled sidewalks. No FEDRA guards shouting about work duty or drills, no bomb warning sirens, no distant roar of infected outside the gates.

No weapons, no shouting or robbery, no children sobbing in the snow from hunger. Everything that had ever felt unattainable, apparently just outside your window. 

In utter disbelief, you slowly turn back to Joel, who’s watching you with mild interest. 

“Wow,” is all you can manage. 

“Yeah, you found the promised land and all that.” He shrugs. “Now they said they oughta have somewhere for you to stay on your own by end of week, provided you’re physically up for it. You’d better start with some water, kid.”

You glance at the glass on the end table, ruminating on the possibility of it being laced with something. 

“For Christ's sake.” Joel marches toward the glass, takes a few huge gulps, and then holds it out to you. “Where the fuck would I even get somethin’ like that?”

He has to know that these days finding drugs to crush up and ingest is infinitely easier than finding food. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe living here has made a soft, ignorant man of him. Maybe he always has been. 

You’re suddenly so angry. All of the years you’ve suffered, your family dying, FEDRA raids and Firefly bombings and attacks from hordes of infected. 

And here he is. Sitting by the fire, framed photographs smiling back at him, mint leaves between his teeth for a mild ailment. 

It’s so unfair. 

“You guys are pretty selfish, you know.” You ignore his outstretched hand with the water. “Keeping all this a secret. Keeping it for yourselves while the rest of us struggle.”

Joel rolls his eyes, and the flippant gesture is enough to make your teeth grind together. “Ah. We’re doin’ this? You wanna leave, go. Ain’t nobody holding you hostage.”

What are you doing? Your brain is screaming at you desperately. This is what you wanted. This is why you came. You’ve found it. 

You hadn’t realized what it would mean, actually seeing this oasis. Actually feeling the warmth of a fireplace and the soft fabric of a clean couch. Having mint leaves and bullets a plenty. How could you have ever expected the gaping hole it would punch through your chest, seeing what you could’ve had all these years, laid out in front of you like a decadent buffet. What your family could’ve had. 

What this man, Joel, is trying to offer you. 

“It isn’t fair,” you manage weakly, talking to no one in particular, eyes searching around the organized decor. “It isn’t fair.”

“I know,” is all you get in reply. 

You move away from the window, not exactly sure where you plan to go, but overwhelmed. Finally, your weak knees do give out, and you pitch forward.

Your arms shoot out to catch yourself, but as it turns out, you don’t need them to. Strong hands grip you under the armpits, pulling upward until your legs straighten out. You stumble into a big, warm chest, and Joel grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, “gonna get you back to the couch.”

You’re too overcome to argue, though it is your first instinct. You allow him to lead your trembling body toward the sofa, jellylike legs carrying you only as his strength pulls them along. 

He slots you between two couch cushions, and you sink down in the fabric. Then, he picks up the water he’d set down in his hurry to catch you, and holds it out. 

“This would be a start,” he says earnestly. 

In shaky hands, you bring the glass to your lips, sipping delicately. The water is room temperature, somewhat warmed by the heat of the fire. It goes down your throat, soothing the ache there with much needed droplets of hydration. You finish the glass in record time, and before you can blink, Joel’s taken it from you. Your arm reaches forward pathetically, a plea to keep the glass as if you could suck the remaining moisture out from the bottom. 

“Hold on,” he says, but there’s no note of impatience or annoyance in the words. He leaves the room and returns a moment later with a glass full to the brim. 

Eagerly, you take it from his hands, too lost in the euphoria of fresh, clean water to consider the possibility of the first one being a trick. He’s got you comfortable. Now, he can do whatever he wants. 

You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until the pain was soothed. 

It’s a funny thing, longing. You get so used to it that you start to grow numb. You yearn for something long enough, eventually you don’t feel like yourself without it. Hunger, thirst, pining, it’s all a part of who you are. Fulfilled, sated, you wouldn’t know who to be or how to move forward. 

Still, you finish the glass as quickly as the first. 

“Better?” Joel asks, his voice lacking warmth but not particularly unpleasant. 

You nod hesitantly. 

“How’s your head?”

You touch your fingers to the back of your head, roving the pads across your tangled hair. You feel no bump, no cuts, nothing more than a rats nest of unbrushed locks. 

“Fine,” you say, though it does hurt. You’re sure it’s nothing serious, but you definitely gave it a good bump. 

“You feel like eatin’?” He asks, and the prospect of food is enough to make your chapped lips feel wet with salivation. 

“You have food,” you tell him, more of a statement than a question. 

Quizzically, he nods. “Uh, yeah.”

“Real food?”

“I got some venison in the freezer,” he says, “and some broccoli.”

“In a can?”

His expression softens marginally. “No.”

Fuck. Real fresh vegetables? 

“Tell you what.” Joel cracks his knuckles loudly. “You go on up and take a shower, get yourself sorted. I’ll get started on some grub. ‘Bout dinner time anyway. Then maybe we can get you healthy enough to get outta my hair. How’s that sound?”

“Okay,” is all you can think to say, surprisingly amicable. In your defense, it’s been a while since someone offered you a hot meal and a shower. And you do have your gun...just in case.

Joel holds a hand out, and despite every instinct in your body begging you not to take it, you slip your palm into his. His hand is warm, calloused from exposure and rough on the pads of his palm, but there’s something familiar about his hold. It’s oddly comforting. It feels like a hand that knows hard work, not unlike your own, which you’re sure are twice as rough right now.

He offers you a small, barely perceptible smile before he releases your hand and says, “second door on the right.”

Then, he heads into the kitchen. 

If you wanted to, you could quietly sneak in behind him, gun drawn, and put a bullet in his head. Right now, it would be so easy. He’s foolishly left you to your own devices in his home with a loaded gun. Who could blame you for second-guessing his motives and intentions? 

But he’s also offering you a meal, a hot shower, the prospect of a life. And you’d come a very long way to find him. To find this, you mean. 

You lean down and grab a mint leaf, sticking it between your teeth to chew as you ascend the stairs with a careful hand on the railing. It’s surprisingly tasty, the leaf, though it has a bite of burn that stings your tongue in an unfamiliar way. You press it between your teeth and tongue, feeling the sharp sting of the mint and breathing in the relief. You aren’t sure why, maybe it’s all in your head, but it feels like it is soothing your pain. 

Your fingers trail along the wooden banister. It’s clean, well dusted, organized. There’s traces of life here, in the haphazard way his boots are strewn by the door, in the crumple of towels on the floor in the corner of the laundry room you pass by, in the photographs on walls and more tables. That girl with the freckles and choppy hair is all over his life, alongside a man with a beard and scrappy bun. A brother maybe? You can’t tell, but what’s clear in the multitude of photos is that Joel likes to keep his loved ones close. He likes tangible memories, reminders of those he cares for. 

You find yourself in a large bathroom standing in front of a shower with a pastel yellow curtain. You grip the material in your fingers, pulling back on the curtain, enamored with the way it glides back and forth on the rod. The closest thing you had to this in the QZ was water boiled and poured into a tub for bathing. On the road, it was a nice cold creek when you could find it.

Curiously, you slide your fingers down the wall until they bump into a strange knob, delicate rounded designs poking out of the glossy finish. To the right, a little blue circle, to the left a little red one. You deduce they indicate the temperature of the water, and twist the knob until it’s halfway in between. 

The water shoots forward out of a head at the top of the wall, spraying you in the face. You splutter, pulling back and coughing water out of your nose and throat. It’s a powerful stream, the droplets hitting your face with a velocity you hadn’t expected. You know the currents of lakes, oceans and creeks can be unpredictable. Waves are something otherworldly, a force to be reckoned with, never tempted. 

You had no idea something so small could be so powerful.

You check once more that the door is locked, then you peel off your tattered jacket and undershirt. Your bra is barely held together by a stitch you keep doing and undoing in the back. The clasp broke a year ago. You slide your old jeans down your legs, face blooming red when you remember that your underwear was hooked onto the back of your bag to dry after a wash.

Where is it? Did they leave it in the gas station? It was your only pair. 

Somehow worse...does Joel...have it?

Hesitantly, you step over the ledge of the tub into the stream of water, surprised at the feeling of the droplets crashing into your skin. It hurts a little, the pressure at which the water shoots out at you. 

For a moment, you languish under the stream of water, feeling dirt and muck slide off your skin. It feels like you’ve been encased in a layer of grime for so long, you’ve almost forgotten what clean feels like. Though, you’ve never been clean like this.

You see a little sponge in a rack on the wall, and grab for it. There’s a bar of soap beside it, and you take that too, sudsing up the sponge as much as possible. It smells like lemon, the same faint aroma you’d noticed on Joel.

Then, it strikes you that this must be the sponge he washes his own body with.

You hesitate. Surely this violates some sort of acceptable hygiene norm. But also, your hand’s not gonna do the job. And you’d only be dirtying up his soap if you used that on its own.

In a confused moment of transfixion, you squeeze the sponge between your fingers, running the pad of your thumb over its gristly base. It wafts lemon, that enticing smell that Joel carries with him from a good wash in the morning. 

You know it’s odd, and certainly not the time to be having these thoughts, but it’s a little distracting that this is his sponge. The same one he rubs all over himself when he’s naked, when the water is drizzling down his thick body, his sturdy chest and his soft stomach and the unmovable width of his thighs. You imagine he must like the way it feels after a long day, hot water sizzling on his skin, the sharp edge of a sponge cutting through dirt on his body, the smell of lemon in his nose and lingering on him.

You douse the sponge in lemon soup, and carefully slide it down your arm. The feeling makes you shudder; the rough texture of the sponge grating down your filthy skin. The sponge that Joel rubs on himself. The sponge that’s nestled itself between the bulging muscles of his chest, down the lines of his abdomen, all over his large arms. Down further...between his legs, maybe. 

It’s been so long since you thought about a man this way; since you thought about anyone this way. On the road, there was no time for luxuries like sexual fantasy. 

But now, safe and comfortable beneath a thick and steady steam of hot water, you allow your mind to wander a bit.

How thorough must Joel be, when he washes himself with this rough little sponge? To smell as good as he does even in the midst of a fight, even with adrenaline pumping, testosterone brewing, sweat surely slickening his underarms and legs. Still, he wafts pleasant aromas, the kind that make you lean into him, rather than pull away.

He must touch himself often, in depth. He must scrub the soap in between places on his large body that only he can see, only he can touch. Dripping little droplets of sweet-scented soap on to parts of him that would be so difficult to get to, unless he were naked in front of you. 

Your fist clenches tightly around the sponge, expelling a myriad of soapy bubbles that drip down your legs into the drain. You blink, shaking your head, trying to come back down from those inappropriate thoughts.

Jesus. It’s really been too long. You’re gonna have to figure out something to do about that before you find yourself biting into this lemon-scented sponge.

Get a grip, you tell yourself. You have one hot shower and all of a sudden you’re ready and willing for the first person who will have you?

You’re sure it won’t be Joel, gruff and solitary as he seems, but maybe someone in this little safe haven is interested in relieving this ache.

Though, you’re no stranger to longing. It’s not as if you can’t take care of yourself.

Right now, you focus on washing. You scrub every inch of your body, including between your toes and in your belly button. You fight the layers of grime and grit until your skin is rubbed raw and red. Then, you take the syrupy bottle of liquid that’s labeled in marker “shampoo” and drench the crown of your head with it.

Scrubbing your hair takes more energy than you can expend. By the time the bubbles are rinsing down your back, your vision is swimming and you’re seeing black spots at the corner of your eyes. Your legs wobble, and you press a hand flat against the wall to steady yourself.

How long have you been in here?

Instead of tipping over and falling out onto the bathroom floor like an idiot, you slowly lower yourself to the shower floor. The tile is hot underneath your legs, and you realize you’ve turned the water all the way to the little red circle. 

It burns, droplets of acid shooting into your skin like knives. It’s so hot, hotter water than you’ve ever felt cascading over your body. It burns nicely, melting away the road like you’re shedding skin to grow anew. The steam fills your nostrils, and you take a big breath, your lungs still rattly and weak from the cold outside, but soothed slightly by the thick warmth in here.

You lose track of everything on the shower floor. The water is so hot, the smell is so sweet, the confines of the tub feel safe and secluded. The door has a lock, the shower has a curtain, each sliver of a barrier between you and everyone else feels like more security than you’ve had in months. Or maybe ever.

Your knees press against the sides of the tub, knobby and thin, too sickly for anyone to desire. You don’t like the body you’re in, don’t like that you were mistaken for an infected today, don’t like that you’re more survival than person at this point. 

And you can’t help but wonder, Jackson, Joel, this life here, would it be enough to change that? He says he can get you healthy, you can get your own place, a home. If you do as he says, follow his lead, can he really make that happen?

A place where you could lock the doors whenever you want. A place where you didn’t have to keep a loaded gun on you to feel safe. A place where you could drink the water without worrying it’s been spiked or it’s unsuitable. A life, a home, something meaningful.

All you have to do is get off the floor and go downstairs to it. 

With a huff of effort, you shove your body forward, bracing yourself on the side of the tub for momentum. You clumsily yank on the knob and crank it until the water stops flowing. There's a fresh towel on a rack by the shower, and you reach for it feebly.

You avoid your reflection in the mirror as much as possible; your skin is a mapping of cuts, bruises, scars. A lifetime of suffering delicately traced into lines on your body. There’s no hiding what you’ve been through, it plays out across your limbs like the scenes of a movie. Each moment of misery, each near-death experience, each trauma, a little piece of it left within you and etched into your physicality for everyone to see. 

Some people are born whole and become broken. Some are born whole and never lose enough pieces to say they aren’t complete anymore. 

You were born with missing parts, already deficient in a world that ensured it would hack every last bit of you away. You don’t know how you stand, how you breathe, how you live, without lungs to fill your throat with air or a heart to pump your blood. Your chest is a cavern, all your missing pieces scattered across the trails you’ve walked, and mirrored in your scarred flesh.

Reminders. Everything is fleeting, everything is futile, and contentment is an undeserved fantasy. 

Body wrapped in a towel, the cold air dimpling your flesh with goosebumps, you reach for your tattered clothes. They’re filthy, murky and bloodstained. You suspect Joel is going to need to thoroughly disinfect the couch you were lying on. 

You don’t want to put them on. You don’t want to slide your clean, scrubbed raw skin into the folds of clothing littered with horror. 

All you have is the cleanliness of your skin, and the mint leaf ground up between your teeth. Your first taste of comfort in...well, forever.

Reluctantly, you scoop up the pile of clothes and peer out into the hallway. You’re struck with a delightful smell; not the lemon soap, but something more tantalizing. Cooking meat, vegetables, the sizzle of smoke on a stovetop. You lean forward almost in a trance, your stomach growling ravenously, as you begin to descend the stairs. 

Your footsteps are featherlight on the stairs, toes carefully pressing forward down the cold hardwood. It squeaks underneath the pad of your foot, but you ignore it, moving languidly toward the enticing smell. 

He’s there, Joel, standing at the stove with his large back to you. He’s shrugged out of the flannel, leaving him clad in only his black t-shirt. The thin confines of the material give you more insight into the shape of him, the large, hulking physique of the man cooking vegetables. 

He doesn’t seem to notice your entrance, either too enthralled in his task, or you’ve been in the shower so long he’s forgotten you’re here. 

Carefully, you edge your way in a wide circle until you think you’re in his peripherals. He glances sideways, eyebrows shooting up as he observes you standing in his kitchen, only a towel around your body. 

“Do you have my underwear?” You ask, before something less humiliating can come to mind. 

Joel falters, something between embarrassment and amusement dancing across his expression before it smooths out. “Uh, yeah. I threw ‘em in the wash with some other stuff. Hope that’s okay.”

“Oh. Yeah it’s okay. Thanks.”

“I can take those too?” He jerks his chin toward the bundle of tattered clothes in your arms. 

“I have nothing else to wear,” you admit. 

At that, the corner of his lips twitch sideways. “I got somethin’ for ya’.”

He sets the pan down on the stove and gestures for you to follow him. You trail behind as he makes his way down the hall toward the laundry room you’d passed by earlier. He pauses in the doorway, looking around thoughtfully, before he spots a big tub in the back corner and reaches for it. It’s labeled with the same marker his shampoo was.

Ellie Winter Clothes

Joel brings the tub out into the living room and cracks open the lid, waving a hand for you to come in and examine the options.

You peer into the tub, surprised to find several neat stacks of folded up clothing. Jackets, pants, long-sleeved shirts and flannels. You look at Joel curiously.

“My kid,” he explains, “she just left last week to go on this tour of the west coast with her girlfriend. They just turned eighteen, all about gettin’ that freedom.”

You stare at him blankly. “You let your eighteen year old daughter leave on her own?”

Joel smiles wryly. “You ain't met Ellie. Anyway, she’ll be back at the end of next month. Just don’t lose nothin’ and I figure she won’t mind.”

You pick up one of the shirts. It’s soft fleece, navy blue, thick and warm to the touch. You purse your lips, doubtful it’ll fit you if it’s something a teenage girl’s wearing.

“I think it’ll fit just fine,” Joel tells you carefully, “‘least until we get some food in ya’.”

Warily, you slide the navy fleece over your head, keeping the towel upright with one hand and rolling the shirt down over the front of it. With dismay, you find the shirt fits nicely. It’s barely even snug.

And it’s so unfair that you almost cry in his living room. Because a girl ten years your junior shouldn’t be wearing the same size clothes as you. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the emotions from swelling to the surface, blinking rapidly. 

Joel clears his throat. “Hey, why don’t you throw them clothes on, and meet me in the kitchen? Grub’s almost up.”

You’re quick to nod, scooping up a pair of leggings and socks before you shuffle across the floor into the downstairs bathroom beside the kitchen. You allow yourself a moment to let the tears race down your cheeks as you dress in the teenage girl’s clothes, sniffling while wiping at your red eyes. You hadn’t realized, alone on the road all those months, how much you’ve shrunk in on yourself. You’ve never been as big as you should be, stunted by lack of food. But at least in the QZ you had ration blocks. It’s been a lean few months of scavenging. 

You feel like something inhuman, something wrong, something unworthy. You don’t belong in this well-decorated, well-loved home. In this safe little town. 

Finally, you wipe the last of the liquid from your eyes and exit the bathroom, heading into the kitchen. Your footsteps are careful, cautious, each one placed with delicate intention.

Joel’s just finishing up as he sets a plate down on his circular kitchen table. There are two settings, each with glistening silver utensils and a mason jar full of liquid beside them. 

Joel spots you entering, and smiles hesitantly. He pulls out one of the chairs, which you assume is your cue to sit. You place your bottom in the chair, surprised when he pushes it in for you. He sits in the other chair and begins to eat unceremoniously.

Taking in the sights on your plate, you find a well cooked slab of meat, seared delightfully. The broccoli is steamed to a crisp, but not burnt, and there’s a slice of fluffy bread sliced beside it. You even see Joel dip a knife into a slab of light yellow paste and spread it over his slice.

“Is that...” your voice trails off in disbelief.

“That’s right,” he replies, “want some?”

You nod eagerly and hold out your bread. He smooths some butter over the top. He takes a sip from the mason jar beside his plate, and you can’t tell exactly what’s in it but, from the smell you think it’s alcohol.

You glance down at your own jar curiously, picking it up with a delicate hand. It’s a faded orange-ish brown color, but smells sweet when you bring it to your nose to inhale. No traces of booze, you don’t think. You’ve never been much of a drinker.

Tentatively, you bring the liquid to your mouth for a sip, eyelashes fluttering with surprise. It’s sweet to the taste, tangy and thin as it drenches over your tongue. The flavor is familiar, though you’re certain you’ve never had this drink. It’s tart and sweet all at once. 

“You ever had apple juice before?” Joel asks, watching you make love to the mason jar as you eagerly sip more.

Frowning, you shake your head. “Maybe when I was a kid, before the outbreak. I don’t remember it though.”

“You like it?”

Nodding, you tip the glass back and finish it off, exhaling with pleasure. Then, you get to work on the meal.

It’s been so long since you used silverware you’ve almost forgotten how to properly position the fork and knife to cut into the meat. It’s tender though, and easy to slice into. You spear a piece with your fork and take it between your lips, eyes going wide at the burst of flavor breaking in under your teeth. 

It’s like nothing you’ve ever had before. Juicy, tender, flavorful. It fills your mouth, satiates the hunger radiating through your teeth, goes down your throat in a smooth gulp. It settles in your empty stomach, a small portion of relief restored within you. 

It’s as if a switch has flipped. Once you get a bite of the meat, you think you need to have more or you might die. It’ll be impossible to stop. 

You start cutting into the meat like your life depends on it, ravenously shoving pieces into your mouth in a manner you’re sure Joel finds unladylike. You supplement it with bites of well-seasoned broccoli and soft, buttery bread.

Joel refills your apple juice and you wash down bites with it, practically moaning at the taste. When your bread disappears another is set on your plate, buttered and soft, ready to go. 

You barely look up to breathe before the plate is clean, the glass is drained for the second time, and Joel is still working on his first helping of it all. 

He smiles at you when you meet his eyes, suddenly feeling something like shame wash over you. You don’t remember much of what your parents taught you about manners, but you’re pretty sure coming into a stranger's house and eating their food like a feral dog doesn’t fall under the umbrella of polite dining.

“Um...m’sorry,” is all you can think to say.

Joel arches an eyebrow, taking a hefty bite of his own and chewing thoroughly before he asks, “sorry for what?”

“It was really good,” you reply hesitantly. 

At that, his smile grows, and he looks down at the plate to smooth his expression over. He nods once. “Good. M’glad. Glad you liked it. How’re you feelin’?”

“Like I want more,” you admit, though your voice is sheepish, “is that bad?”

He clears his throat, readjusting in his seat, and your face falls. Oh dear god. You’re humiliated. Clearly he’s uncomfortable with your gluttony and your request, you’ve made this weirder than it already was. Further proof of your fears; you aren’t made for a place like this. You’re wrong, broken, not-

“I’m real glad to hear that, darlin’,” Joel says, “maybe give it a few minutes. I bet you ain’t eaten that much in a while.”

Your face feels warm at the casual use of darlin’, but you ignore that and ask, “wait for what?”

“For it all to settle, make sure you still feel okay.” He shrugs, taking another bite of the meat on his plate, which you’re now noticing is much larger than the one you’d had. “Goin’ from as hungry as you look, to eatin’ like we do here...s’gonna take some time.”

It’s an interesting concept, the idea that there could be too much to eat, when all you’ve ever known is the opposite. You struggle to see how that could be a problem, but it’s his house, and his food, and you don’t want to make a scene.

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, eyeing you as you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling as though your mere presence alone takes up too much valuable oxygen.

“Here.” He hands you another slice of buttered bread, holding it out in his large hand like a peace offering. “Can’t let you sit at my table hungry, darlin’. Just, take it easy, or you ain’t gonna feel too hot.”

Tamping down the glee that springs into your chest at the opportunity for more food, you accept the bread from his outstretched hand with a quiet thanks. You eat quickly, greedily, closing your eyes and letting out a small moan of  delight at the taste. 

Something funny happens as you eat that bread, a change in the way your stomach feels, a change in the way your body feels. A warmth, pooling in your belly, swelling through you up into your chest, softening your throat and relaxing your shoulders.

You’re full. For the first time in you don’t even know how long, the emptiness doesn’t persist. 

“Wow, that’s a sight,” Joel says, and you look over at his face to find a surprising expression of amusement there.

“What?” you demand, voice going sour.

He shakes his head, rueful. “You, smilin’ like that. Didn’t take you for the type.”

A scowl immediately overtakes your features, and your jaw clenches. “I’d have plenty to smile about if-”

His low, dry chuckle cuts off your train of thought. Your eyes narrow, and he shakes his head again, looking a little too amused by all of this for your taste.

“Will you settle down?” Joel teases lightly. “It’s just nice, is all. Glad to see you lookin’ happy about somethin’. We’ve made a lotta progress from you holding a knife to my throat earlier.”

You regard him with cautious eyes. “And you trying to choke me to death.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. “M’sorry about that. I didn’t realize you weren’t...”

“A disgusting mushroom monster?” you fill in, lips twitching.

“I wasn’t gonna say that.” He frowns. 

“It’s fine. I know I look like shit. It’s been a rough couple of months.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that neither,” Joel replies dryly. “What I do wanna ask is…well, how’d you end up out there on your own? Ain’t you gotta family? Young woman like you-“

“I’m not young,” you bite back immediately. And it’s true. In this world, at your age, you’re considered lucky to still be here

“Alright,” he concedes, “woman like yourself, alone. How’d that happen?” 

“Everybody’s got dead people,” you reply, running your finger along the thin glass around the empty mason jar. It’s cool against your skin, sticky with juice remnants. It gives you something to focus on besides Joel’s scrutinizing expression. 

You don’t want to do this; pry open this bleeding wound in your empty chest and claw at the flesh until the pain subsumes you. Your family is dead, you’ve never had anything close to a  friend, you’ve never been safe enough to slow down in the way you’d need to fall in love. What is the point of rehashing this? What is the point of saying aloud all the scars he can see written plainly on your body?

“Where is your daughter’s mom?” you ask, hoping desperately to shift the subject off of yourself.

Joel clears his throat, sitting up a bit in his chair. “She’s dead. I actually adopted Ellie.”

“Oh, you aren’t her biological father?”

“No. I uh...I was though. My older daughter. Sarah.”

You look at him, the plains of his face, the aged lines around his deep eyes, the flecks of gray in his beard. His use of the word “was” needs no further elaboration. It’s clear, probably should’ve been since even before he showed you Ellie’s winter clothes, this man is someone’s father. 

You suddenly realize you’ve left your loaded handgun in the bathroom upstairs, abandoned with your discarded clothing. You suddenly realize, that’s alright. 

“I’m sorry,” is all you can muster in reply to such a harrowing admission. 

Joel nods once, a brief acknowledgement of your condolence. “Thanks. Was a long time ago. M’alright, these days. Life’s good.”

“Everybody’s got dead people,” you offer up again, a limp shrug to your shoulders. 

Arching an eyebrow, Joel replies, “that’s true. Your parents, then?”

“Mhm. Yours?”

He chuckles. “Long before the outbreak, honey.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Old. Yourself?”

“Not old. Not young, either.”

Nodding, Joel’s eyes dart up to meet yours. It’s quiet then, the sort of quiet that lingers between two people when they aren’t sure what the next move is. When they aren’t sure where to go from here, what the future holds, what they are to each other.

“How are you feelin’?” He breaks the silence, of course, with a concerned glance at your empty plate.

You hesitate. How are you feeling? It’s been so long since someone asked you that question. 

Yesterday, the answer would’ve been something as simple as an eye roll and a gesture to your ruined body. How are you feeling? Fucking bad. Is there any other way to feel in a world like this one?

Good feels like a stretch. Your head hurts from where you banged it on the floor, your stomach is so full now it’s starting to feel uncomfortable, your body aches and groans with each movement, and your mind is a torrent of uncertainty and confusion. 

But...you’ve certainly felt worse, haven't you? 

There’s food in you, and something delightful called apple juice. There’s a fire in the living room. There’s utensils, and plates, and warm clothes, and a shower with-

You suddenly remember something you forgot to tell Joel. 

“I used your sponge,” you say abruptly.

Joel blinks. Once, twice, then his brow furrows. “Pardon me?”

“Y-your sponge,” you splutter like an idiot as you realize this was not an appropriate time to bring up the sponge. “In the shower. I’m sorry I didn’t…it was the only one, so- ” 

“Oh.” Understanding passes over his face, and he looks taken aback for only a split second before he speaks again. “Oh, no. S’alright. I didn’t think about that before I sent you up there. Sorry. You’re good.”

“I rinsed it clean,” you tell him. 

He laughs a little breathlessly, and you think you see the tips of his ears hueing a bit red. Clearing his throat, he swipes his used silverware onto his empty plate and stands. The chair squeals across the floor with his sudden movement. 

“I ain’t worried about it,” he says, and moves to deposit his dishes in the sink.

Urgently, you scramble to your feet, collecting your own plate and following him. It’s your immediate instinct to take over and begin scrubbing the dishes; so long living on your own that every responsibility fell to you. 

You’re stopped by his gentle arm brushing yours, and he shakes his head. “I got the dishwasher workin’ last month. No need.”

“Dishwasher?” you ask, confused.

Joel gestures to a large white door embedded into the cabinets. He reaches down, smooths his large fingers over the material, and pulls. The door draws down, opening to reveal peculiar little rows of racks and baskets. 

“Whoa,” you breathe, kneeling down beside it with fascination, “that’s what these things do?”

“You were young when the outbreak hit,” Joel notes, not a question, but more of an observatory reminder. “I’ll bet there’s a lotta shit we used to have that you don’t remember.”

“We had one of these in the QZ,” you say, still transfixed by the inner workings of this dish washer, “but I didn’t know it opened. I thought it was just a weird design thing.”

At this, he bursts out laughing. It’s a bit more vivacious than the dry chuckle he’s been giving you all day, a genuine, pealing laugh that comes from deep within his belly. It’s nice, rumbling in your ears and soothing to your tense shoulders. The timbre of his pleased noises does something odd to you, something calming.

“It takes running water to use,” he explains once his laughter has died down, “that’s why yours never worked. If your QZ was like ours, that is.”

“You were in a QZ?” you look up at him, struck with how massive he seems standing above your kneeling frame.

“Boston.” 

“Atlanta.”

“Heard that one ain’t a cakewalk.”

You shake your head. “No, we didn’t have cake.”

His lips twitch. “You don’t know what-”

“I’m fucking with you.” Rolling your eyes, you get to your feet and cross your arms. “I’ve heard of expressions before.”

“Just not dishwashers.”

Annoyed, your hand flies to your waistband, an instinct. You remember your gun is upstairs. 

Joel follows the movement of your arm with a disbelieving noise of contempt. “You’re a violent little thing, ain’t you?”

“I didn’t-“

“Where’s the gun you were just reaching for?” 

“I left it upstairs,” you admit. 

Joel nods approvingly. “I’ll call that progress. Let me load the dishwasher here and I’ll take you up to your room.”

“My room?” 

Your room, indeed.

After the dishes have been loaded into this bizarre machine, Joel walks you up the stairs, past the bathroom you used, into a spare bedroom. It’s nice and clean the way the rest of the place is, neat lines and vacuumed rugs. There’s a dresser, and a bed with four posts, a colorful quilt, photos of horses on the walls. It smells like pine. 

You haven’t slept in a bed in a very long time.

You tell him as much, stroking the quilt beneath your palm as you approach the bed. It’s sort of itchy, the kind of fabric that has grit to it, but thick enough to keep you warm. 

Joel watches you as you investigate the room, perched in the doorway with his ankles crossed and his arms pressed into the frame. “So you made it all the way from Atlanta, to here, on your own?”

“Mhm.” You vault yourself up experimentally on the bed, feeling the mattress dip beneath your slight weight. It’s aged, squeaky springs and lumpy spots here and there. The quilt scratches your raw skin and you pull back slightly.

But it’s a bed.

“Must’a been hard,” Joel notes.

You nod in agreement. It was hard. Now it’s over. No use rehashing it.

“Well, m’sure you’re exhausted.” He clears his throat and backs off the doorframe, nodding in your direction. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need...if there’s anythin’ at all...just, I’m here, alright?”

“Thanks.” You offer him a small, unsure smile. 

He returns it with ease. “That’s two.”

“Huh?”

Holding up two fingers, he moves from the doorway. “Two smiles. Bet I can get three outta you tomorrow.”

With a scoff, you walk up behind him and place your hand on the door. “Good thing there’s no money for you to lose.”

He grins at this, crooked jaw and curled lip all wicked and teasing. There’s something mischievous about this expression, something so out of character for this stern, fatherly presence that it almost takes your breath away. You can picture him, twenty years younger, a rough-and-tumble young man with a teasing sense of humor and a sharp wit. It’s no surprise at all that someone loved him enough to give him a child, someone loved him enough to make him a father. 

Joel is confusing, but he’s also quite simple. 

He’s a man who cares, fiercely, for those he loves. He cooks, he cleans, he folds his daughter’s clothes up in a neat little bin in the laundry room. He scrubs with lemon soap and stokes a soothing fire in the mantle. He chews mint leaves when his head hurts, he washes dirty undergarments without being asked. 

He also laughs, teases, chokes and leaves you to your own devices if you get on his nerves. Though, his patience seems admirable. He loaded your gun, handed it to you with a live round, even after you’d held a knife to his throat. He’d cooked you dinner, caught you when you fell, walked you to the bedroom so you could get proper rest. 

You guess, if you were gonna end up getting choked out by some strange man, you’re glad it was Joel. Joel...huh.

“Hey,” you stop him before he can make for the staircase.

“What?” he asks.

“What’s your last name?”

Joel regards you curiously. “Miller. Joel Miller. What’s yours?”

You tell him your name, and he nods. It takes a quick beat of silence for you to continue, “it’s nice to meet you, Joel Miller.”

He smiles again, softer this time, more genuine. “Likewise, darlin’. Get some sleep.”

With that, he turns his back on you and descends the staircase.

______________________________________________________________________

The days go like this.

You wake up in a bed, scratchy quilt wrapped around your sore, aching body. You hadn’t realized how badly you hurt until you stopped pushing forward. 

You climb out of the bed, and pad downstairs in the cold morning brisk of Joel’s house. He’s always up before you. He has a fire going in the mornings, heat wafting off the flicker of orange beneath the mantle, and you curl up beside it with the quilt dragging behind you. He’s out of coffee beans for now, but he makes the both of you a mug of hot tea with roots infused into it, and it’s close enough.

You hold the steaming mug to your chest, itchy quilt pulled up around your body like a coat of armor, and watch the fire. Joel asks why you sit on the floor when there’s a perfectly good couch right behind you.

You tell him you want to be warm. You’ve been cold for so long. He seems to understand. 

You help him make breakfast, mystified by the seemingly endless supply of fresh produce he has available. He likes breakfast, says it’s his favorite of the day. 

You watch as he cracks fresh eggs into a buttered pan; hear the sizzle of heat against runny yolk and whites, watch as the pools of liquid become firm and strong under the duress. Something soft and pliant, made durable through the forges of fire. 

It’s so silly, but you relate to those tough little eggs. 

You eat at his kitchen table some days, sometimes on the porch in the cold morning, waving to Jackson residents as they begin their work shifts. It seems like fair trades, a barter system built on community where everyone is taken care of in some way or another. It’s bizarre, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Joel’s brother lives here too, with his wife Maria who runs the council. It’s all very quaint, picturesque. 

Joel says it works. He explains patrols, explains the work shift rotation, explains the mess hall and the greenhouses and the bountiful supply of food from gardening and hunting. He likes it here, you can tell, and why wouldn’t he? 

He tells you about his life before, little bits at a time delivered while passing you a plate or tucking the corner of your sheet back down on your mattress. The damn thing insists on whipping up everytime he sits on the end of it to talk with you. He tells you about Ellie, how they came together, how she healed his broken parts.

You’re envious. Not of their relationship, but of the fact that his missing pieces somehow came back when you know your own are doomed to be lost forever. You don’t tell him about your past.

You eat. You eat like you’ve never eaten before. Eggs and bacon in the morning, fresh fruit and squeezed juices. Sandwiches for lunch; chicken and lettuce and tomato between thick slabs of bread that Joel makes in his oven. Cold, tart lemonade that tingles on your tongue and smooths down your throat. Hearty, tender meat with potatoes and veggies and soft baked bread.

 Joel watches you eat with this look on his face that you can’t quite decipher. It’s an interesting mix between what you think is some sort of pride, tangled up with another confusing emotion that makes him watch you carefully. He eyes the fork as it slides between your lips, watches you sigh in pleasure, adjusts in his seat when you ask for seconds. You aren’t sure if it’s discomfort with you eating all his food or...something more confusing. Though, he says there’s no rush to get into your own place. The council will check in soon and see if you’re ready. But he says there’s no rush.

Either way, you’re full every day now, so full and satiated that you’re starting to forget what hunger feels like.

Well...not completely.

Days turn into a week, and a week to two, and it’s on this two week marker that you walk into the bathroom without knocking.

It’s your fault. The door isn’t locked, but why would it be? Joel’s been living on his own since Ellie moved to her little shed apartment in the backyard. Your presence is a recent one, two weeks not enough time to get out of a routine of comfortability in his own home. 

And you, so many months alone on the road, any semblance of privacy was a lost venture. You’ve peed behind trees, bathed in streams, found yourself naked by the fire on late summer evenings while your clothes air-dried. Knocking on doors has taken some time to get used to.

So when you push it open haphazardly, not expecting to see the fully naked man stepping out of the shower, it’s a slight surprise.

Joel freezes, hand on the towel he’s reaching for, body dripping with warm water. It’s a split second, just a moment before you fumble out a frantic apology and slam the door shut.

But not quick enough that you didn’t see everything. Everything. 

You stand outside the door, hand on the knob, eyes wide, chest heaving. You try to clear your head of these thoughts, but there’s only one thing you can really focus on.

Joel. 

Naked. Droplets slowly dancing down his weathered skin; clinging to the dark hair on his chest, the slope of his full belly, gliding down toward his pelvis. His thick legs, muscled and bulging, arms the same. All of him, wet, breathing hard, and...and not just breathing hard. 

God, you’ve never seen one so big before. 

Everything about Joel is big. He’s a massive presence. His shoulders are broad, hips wide, thighs sturdy. His neck is thick and lined with veins, same as his wrists and hands. His stature towers over you, and his form exceeds yours in every possible sense. 

But...well, you’ve never seen one so big. 

It had been too quick, to really be able to tell if he was truly sporting a post-shower boner. You think, maybe a little. But you also think...maybe it’s just that big. 

The hair was well groomed, you noted that, though you aren’t sure why. It makes you feel...feral. You haven’t had a shave in months, legs thick with coarse down, the slope of your pelvis protected by a soft bush of hair. Razors were hard enough to get in the QZ. On the road? Non starter. You’re a fuzzy decoration of body hair. Joel’s not exactly smooth, but he looked...groomed. 

Why are you self conscious? Why do you care what he might think of the haphazard way you look naked? Why are you comparing your road-torn body to his strong, healthy one? 

Why are you imagining what his might feel like against yours? How the scruffy beard on his jaw might scratch and tickle yours like that stupid quilt. How his hands, thick and massive, would cradle your flesh, the pads of his rough thumbs leaving lines of desire down each tendon. How his voice, low and gruff, a buttery drawl, would whisper in your ear. Tell you you’re beautiful, tell you he likes having you here, tell you this is permanent. 

That’s enough to snap you out of your stupor. You release the door handle like you’ve been burned, stumbling back away from it. Your breath hitches, eyes feeling warm and wet. 

Before you can make a hasty exit, the door opens, and Joel appears under the arch. He’s fully dressed now; dark washed jeans and an olive green t-shirt that clings to his large chest and arms in a way that’s almost unbearable. 

For a beat, there’s this silence between the two of you that feels almost tangible. Your throat sticks with it, clogging up any pathetic attempts at breaking the tension. You look at him, fumbling for something to say, something to do, fuck to even move.

“M’sorry,” he begins, averting his eyes, “uh, I-”

“My fault,” is all you can squeak out.

“I shoulda locked the-”

“My fault!” you repeat, like a real eloquent genius. You force a laugh out of your lips, but it sounds more like a manic cry than anything. 

Joel’s brow creases, his eyes settling on you with clear concern. “No, s’okay. M Sorry, again. Are you...alright?”

Another manic laugh. “Joel, you’re not that special, I’ve seen naked men before.”

His jaw tenses. “You look upset.”

This is too much. This is all too fucking much. He’s got you all twisted up, all confused. Eating his food, using his sponge, sharing tea with him in the mornings and a leaf of mint at night. Letting him worm his way into your mind, make you feel safe and secure. 

This is how pieces go missing; get hacked off. This is how a person becomes whole, and then utterly incomplete.

“I’m… fine,” you manage, “gonna… actually, was just going to tell you. I’m gonna talk to Maria today. Let her know I’m ready to be on my own.”

And it shouldn’t affect you, the way his face falls completely at these words. The way his shoulders deflate, his eyes go soft, his lips draw down and his eyebrows flatten. 

You’ve hurt him, you’re hurting him. You don’t know why or how, but this hurts him. Despite the quick composure he sweeps over his expression into one of neutrality, you know. And you shouldn't care. It’s two weeks of nothing. You’ve been on your own most of your life.

“Alright,” Joel says, voice rough. 

And it shouldn’t hurt you, the way he easily accepts this. The way he doesn’t fight. You don’t own him, he doesn’t own you, you don’t belong to each other. 

Two weeks of meals, late night talks, healing. It’s nothing. To either of you, clearly.

But it does hurt. And that’s exactly why you have to leave.

“Okay,” you reply, swallowing hard.

“Council’s closed today, Sunday,” he explains dryly. 

“Then I’ll do it tomorrow,” you snap back, voice going a little defensive. “I can find somewhere to sleep for tonight.”

At that, he rears back like you’ve hit him. “What?”

“To get out of your hair,” you explain, gesturing vaguely. 

Joel rolls his eyes, crosses those big arms over his chest, and looks down at you disapprovingly. You shrink a little under his stern gaze, hating yourself for doing it. 

“You ain’t in my hair,” he snarls, “I told you there’s no rush. Talk to her tomorrow. Sleep in your bed tonight.”

“It’s not my bed.” You don’t even know why you say it, why you’re arguing. You’re just afraid, angry, at yourself more than anything. 

His eyes darken. “Do whatever you want, then.”

He brushes past you and heads down the stairs, not bothering to look back up.

__________________________________________

You do in fact, sleep in your bed that night.

The quilt is scratchier than ever, an incessant discomfort that has you tossing and turning all night. It’s never stopped you from sleeping before, but for some reason, tonight is unbearable. You roll on your side, roll on your stomach, bury your face in the pillow and try not to scream.

You’d skipped dinner tonight, for the first time in two weeks. You didn’t want to see Joel, even when he knocked on the bedroom door to tell you it was ready. Even when you said you weren’t hungry, and his worried voice came through the wood.

“Look, you gotta eat, alright?”

“Not hungry, Joel. Thank you though. Really.”

“Is this about-”

“No, I swear.”

“Please?” 

It had been hard to say no to that one.

Now, you lie in a suffocating mess of pillows, stomach growling, feeling utterly pathetic and weak. You used to go days with this feeling, gnawing, desperate hunger in your belly, and you persevered. Now, you’re so fucking spoiled you can’t even go to bed without dinner. 

You don’t recognize this person you’re becoming. She’s a stranger, a woman of luxury, of contentment, dare you say happiness. She is not you, but some foreign intruder who’s taken over your body in an attempt to finally rid you of your last intact pieces until you’re nothing. Floating in essence, vanquished into an eternity of emptiness.  

You rely on him, you depend on him. He feeds you, worries about you, watches you from the corner of his eye to make sure you’re alright. And you don’t know what to do with that. It makes you feel small, futile, like a burden. You know how to take care of yourself. It’s all you know. 

So, you toss and turn.

When sleep comes, it brings with it dreams. Haunting memories, things you’ve tried to keep buried deep inside that small little cavern of your brain where bad things go. 

The men come, late at night, in a group of six. You’re young, twelve you think. The outbreak has been going on for four years, and you think you’ve got it all figured out now. You’re going to get to this quarantine zone in Georgia, since your own fell. It’s all gonna be fine. Mom and Dad and your big brother Andrew, they’re here and it’s okay. 

You’re trying to sleep, burrowed and shivering cold in your thin sleeping bag. Andrew is sitting beside you, one hand on your upper back, shushing your whimpers quietly. His sixteenth birthday was last week. Mom and Dad couldn’t do much on the road, not like you all used to when there was cake and candles and Spiderman gift wrap. Still, he seems older somehow, the last four years have aged him far more quickly than regular life did before the outbreak. 

You’re close to the border, your parents say nearly out of South Carolina. It’s southern here, supposed to be warm, but the nights are brutal and unforgiving in the winter. You’re so used to the cold now you’d think you wouldn’t mind, but it aches your bones, freezes your limbs into a stunted position curled around yourself. You hate the cold, always have. 

“You’re okay,” Andrew murmurs quietly, trying not to wake Mom and Dad. It’s his turn to watch. They’ve done rotating shifts for days now, until he put his foot down and demanded they both sleep substantially. 

“M’cold,” you whine. You know you’re being a crybaby, and maybe once upon a time he would've teased you for it, but not now. You’re bundled up in your layers and sleeping bag while he sits upright against a tree, his thin windbreaker the only barrier between him and the cold. His gun is laid on his thigh, safety on, facing the opposite direction. Guns are a permanent part of your family’s accessorizing these days.

“I know,” he whispers in reply, “it’ll be warm in Atlanta. Just try to sleep.”

“I’m afraid,” you say, even though you’re embarrassed to admit it.

“Me too,” Andrew says, “but we’re all gonna be fine. We’ve made it this far, hm?”

You nod half-heartedly. “Yeah.”

“As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay. Alright?”

“Okay, yeah.”

“Get some sleep.”

“Okay.” 

That’s the last thing you ever said to him. 

They appeared from the trees, too quiet, too well hidden for Andrew to spot them in time. By the time one of the men got close enough to reach out and yank your sleeping bag up with you in it, he was out of time.

Andrew shot, blindly. He nailed the man who’d scooped you up, and you both fell to the ground. He cried your name, rushing toward you, and then another shot rang out. Andrew hit the dirt with a spurt of red liquid that splattered across your face.

 You remember screaming. You remember your parents waking up, frantic. You remember fumbling around on the ground and grabbing Andrew’s gun, only to feel a vice grip on your arm. One of the men grabbed you, while your parents shot and fought off the others. Your mother screamed, and a body hit the ground. You struggled against the man’s hold as his greedy, chapped hands combed your adolescent body to see what of value you had.

“Nothin’ on this one!” he’d shouted, tossing you to the ground like you weighed nothing. Your head hit the hard dirt, and you found yourself even with Andrew’s face. Well, what was left of it. 

“The lady had some ammo, there’s some stuff in these packs,” another man replied. 

“What do we do with this one?” asked the man who grabbed you.

“Eh, she’ll die out here on her own anyway. Might as well put her out of her misery.”

That was the moment you knew you were going to die. 

“Hold it,” another man said, “she’s a fucking kid, just leave her. We got what we needed.”

“Yeah she ain’t worth the bullet,” chimed in another man.

“I’ll choke her out,” one suggested.

“Just leave her,” a more commanding voice ordered, “grab this shit and let’s get going.”

You remember lying there in the darkness, watching the bits of chunky red substance leak from Andrew’s eye socket, waiting for someone to tell you what to do. Waiting for your parents to sit up and give you an order. 

The night grew colder. You weren't strong enough to bury them, even move them on your own. For a long time, you just lay there, staring at Andrew. The image burned into your brain forever. 

By the time the sun rose, your bones were so cold, lips blue, eyelashes stiff, you felt like you’d died right with them. Four corpses lying unceremoniously on a campsite. Rigor mortis set in early for you, a paralyzing terror of the next steps rendering you utterly immovable.

After a while, you got hungry. 

Isn’t it funny, how that’s what motivated you to push your small body away from your brother’s hollowed face? Your own selfish need, your own emptiness, always threatening to swallow you whole.

The walk to Georgia left you breathless a lot. You stumbled, more than walked. Drank from streams the way your parents taught you, foraged for food as best as you could with no weapon besides the little knife holstered in your sock. You hid from infected and more raiders, using your small body to your advantage as much as possible. 

When you finally made it to the giant cement wall of the QZ, it felt like you’d lost your breath forever. Your lungs rattled, air came in short, quick bursts, your throat ached from dehydration. Your legs didn’t work, not how they were supposed to.

You remember the FEDRA guards holding guns at you, a scanner to your neck, shoving you through the gates roughly. You remember telling them your family was gone. You remember lasting a week in the orphanage before you ran away, doing odd jobs for older QZ residents in exchange for places to stay. 

Mostly, you remember Andrew’s face. You remember the biting cold contrasted with the warm splatter of blood on your face, you remember his insides leaking out, you remember wishing you could scream, but not having enough power in your lungs.

As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.

You remember knowing that you would never be okay again.

The remembering hurts, restricts your lungs into a tiny little ball in your chest. You struggle to inhale, struggle to fill your sternum with necessary oxygen. It burns, the hunger for air with no satisfaction. The emptiness consumes you. 

You gasp, you see Andrew’s face, it hurts, everything hurts. 

Alone on a campsite, alone in the woods, alone in the QZ, alone on a cross-country trek, alone in a cold gas station.

A warm fire, mint on your tongue, tart lemonade down your throat, food in your belly. A dry chuckle in your ears, a steadying hand on your back, a comforting presence beside you. 

Alone. Afraid. Broken. A burden. Couldn’t save your family, could barely save yourself-

A burden.

Alone. 

Broken. 

“Hey.”

A voice, low and urgent. Familiar, gentle but concerned. 

You gasp.

Alone. 

Burden.

Broken. 

“Hey,” more insistent this time, “hey, wake up honey.”

You gasp, your body freed from its rigor mortis as you bolt upright, air circulating through your lungs like a broken fan blade. Your hands fly out, a desperate attempt to shield your face from whoever is currently saying your name. 

“...breathe, breathe,” he’s saying to you, a little frantic, “s’okay, you’re okay, breathe.”

“Please,” you wheeze, but you don’t know what you’re begging for. There are tears in your voice, a fragile broken blossom of desperation. 

“I know, I know baby, s’okay,” he’s touching you now, delicate fingers tracing up and down the protruding knobs of your spine. “Listen to my voice, darlin’. Take a deep breath for me, s’gonna be okay, I promise.”

You try to follow his example, try to steady your breathing to an even pace. He’s doing it for you, showing you how, patiently inhaling in a slow motion and letting it go in one soft exhale. 

“I-I can’t,” you gasp, feeling hopeless, helpless, pathetic and like a burden in every sense of the word. 

“Shh, yes you can honey. In, with me now, in.” 

He inhales, slow, lowering himself to look up at your trembling frame perched on the bed. The sheet’s come up, the fading cream color of the mattress almost too bright in the dark room. Pale moonlight illuminates Joel’s face, scruffy beard, wrinkles around his gentle eyes, broad nose. His lips part, and he breathes in, keeping gaze with you. 

You follow suit, inhaling in a choppy, half-hearted attempt at the smooth breath he’d accomplished.

“That’s good darlin’,” he nods at you, even though you know it wasn’t good. “You’re doin’ so good. Breathe out.”

You exhale in a stunted whoosh.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “keep goin’.”

With his hand on your back, rubbing slowly, delicately, you fight to steady your breaths. Your eyes are wet, your lips trembling, his voice soothing in your ears. He’s saying all these things, all these nice, lovely, wonderful things that people don’t say to you. 

“Attagirl, good job.”

“S’okay honey, you’re doin’ good, just breathe.”

“You’re okay, you’re safe, promise, I ain’t gonna let nothin’ hurt ya.”

Mercifully, you come back into your body, chest expanding the way it’s supposed to. Your fingers unclench from the tangled up sheets, aching from how tightly you’d been gripping. 

Through a curtain of hair, you draw your eyes to him. He’s still there, rubbing your back, murmuring sweet nothings, keeping his own breathing steady. 

Still there. He’s still there. You aren’t alone.

“Joel,” you gasp, and he moves toward you in an instant.

Large, warm arms pull you in. His chest, thick through his t-shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a rhythm in your ear. His chin at the crown of your head, his breath in your ears. You curl up like that useless little girl in a sleeping bag, and cling to his shirt. 

“M’here,” he whispers, “you’re okay, honey. Was just a dream.”

He’s here. He’s warm. He’s here and you’re safe and not alone. Four walls around you, a quilt underneath your cold legs, a kitchen full of food just down the stairs.

Panic leaks into your veins, memories of the road, cold and lonely and frightening. 

As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.

You want to tell him you’re afraid. You want to admit it; be forthcoming about just how damaged you are. You want to tell him just how heavily you’ve come to rely on his steadying presence, his warm food, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkle up and his teeth show when you make him happy.

You’re so, so scared. So alone, so petrified, not at all as tough as you’d like him to think. 

But the last time you admitted you were afraid, you lost everything in the blink of an eye. Your own weakness, always your undoing.

“You’re okay,” Joel says into your hair, not realizing he’s speaking empty words into a hollow recipient, “I gotcha. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You can’t tell him how badly you want him to stay. That will only make him leave. 

“Joel,” you repeat, breathless, unsure of what else to say.

“M’here honey.” He reaches down with one hand, cups your face in the rough of his palm, strokes his thumb over the delicate line of your cheekbone. And you feel safe. 

Desperately, you lift your own trembling hands, taking his cheeks in them. He seems surprised, but doesn’t pull back, allowing you to explore with your own frail fingers. You trace the bridge of his large nose, the slope of his full lips, the broad jaw and stern forehead. His eyelashes flutter, and you move yourself closer, cradled in his arms, faces only inches apart.

“M’here,” is all he says. And you must be tired of hearing it, surely you must, but you can’t find that anywhere within yourself. All you feel is safe. 

You don’t know exactly how it happens. Your face moves, his does too, hurried breaths and warmed air between you. His lips press into yours, soft and lush and tender. You don’t know who leaned in first, but you feel his caution, his carefulness as you deepen the kiss from something superficial to something that has meaning.

He allows you to part his mouth with your tongue, falling into one another as your noses bump. His grip tightens around you, and you’re awash in the smell of lemon soap and mint, the itch of the quilt beneath you, the squeak of a mattress underneath your combined weight. 

After a few seconds, your lips part. Your noses touch, the frame of your foreheads making a heart against the shadows of moonlight through your window. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused, yet unbelievably gentle all at once. It’s as though his grasp is a shield, impenetrable and solid. You’ve never felt so safe, so cared for, so protected. 

And so, so scared. 

Now that you’re here, safe and cocooned in this warm house, this gentle society, the arms of this incredible man… 

How can you ever let yourself love something that would hurt so badly if it were lost? You’ve done it before. You can’t do it again.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” Joel rasps, thumb still soothing small lines over your cheek.

You shake your head quickly, but the words spill out as if in spite of your body’s intentions. “Just… mm. My parents. My brother. Just-that’s all.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, “what…can I ask what-”

“Raiders. I was twelve.”

At this, he looks down at your face, brows furrowed. “You saw it?”

“Yeah, I got away. They let me go, I mean. After some debate.” You clear your throat, breathing settled and eyes drying with each word. You’re feeling grounded enough to be utterly humiliated. “Um, I’m really sor-”

“I know you ain’t about to apologize for havin’ a nightmare,” he interjects dryly.

“More for what happened afterward,” you mutter.

Joel’s fingertips tuck a lock of hair back behind your ear, even though it falls right back out again. “Now why on earth are you apologizin’ for that?”

Because I can’t stay.  

Limply, you shrug.

He laughs, that low, dry sound. It smooths from his chest like a bass drum, reverberating in your ears. And you smile in spite of yourself, a small, gentle pull of your lips. You love making him laugh. 

“Sorry I barged in,” Joel says, even though he’s still holding you in his lap like a stray dog.

“S’okay. Thanks for…thank you.”

“Don’t gotta thank me.”

“Be kinda rude if I didn’t.”

His lips twitch. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Okay.”

“Did you do that just now…kiss me…’cause you wanted to, or ‘cause you were upset?”

Swallowing thickly, you reply, “can it be both?”

“If it’s both, it’s both.” 

“That’s fucking vague,” you grouse.

“Pot, meet kettle.” He smirks down at you.

“I’m sorry I kissed you,” you say.

“Don’t be,” he responds, “I’m not.”

You have nothing to say to that.

“You oughta get some rest.” Joel squeezes you once, then moves like he’s going to get up and leave.

Your fingers dart out to clench his shirt, gripping the soft cotton in vice like digits. Wild-eyed, you look up at him, terrified of being alone, terrified of seeing Andrew’s face again all night.

“Hey, easy.” Joel pries your fingers off his shirt. “You alright?”

“I-I-“ you stumble over the words, throat choking up. It’s all so confusing. You need to be away, pull back, stop this before it goes too far. At the same time, you’ve never needed to be close quite this badly. 

“I can,” he answers a question you didn’t ask, “if you want.”

Limply, you nod. 

“Go on then, scoot.” Joel gestures for you to make room on the bed, and you do. He adjusts the pillows and lies flat, opening his arm for you. You curl up at his side, cheek on his chest, listening to the steady heartbeat underneath the cotton shirt. He smells like lemon soap, and a faint musk of sweat from sleeping. It’s enticing, the mixture, and you don’t know why.

You press your face into his shirt, breathing in the security that this strange man somehow brings. You don’t know when the shift happened from him being a man you wanted to stab, to this, but it’s happened now. It’s too late to deny this: Joel means something to you.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” you tell him quietly.

He hesitates. “You…didn’t say nothin’ bad. That was always the plan, for you to go out on your own darlin’.”

He’s right of course, that was the plan. For the past two weeks, all you’ve been doing is letting him take care of you. The end goal, ultimately, to help you become a functioning Jackson resident. 

“But can I ask?” He continues, voice low and soft in the dark bedroom. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you…do you want to leave? S’okay whatever you wanna do baby, just… that is what you want, right? To be on your own?” 

As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.

No, no, no I don’t want to be alone. Ever again. I want to stay with you forever. 

“Yes,” you lie. It’s a lie. You’re so afraid. Why can’t you just tell him the truth? Why can’t you just let someone in? If it’s gonna be anyone…well, it’d be someone like Joel. 

No. Not someone like Joel. Just Joel.

“So all that time on the road,” he adjusts your body slightly, tugging you up higher on his chest so that his chin rests on your head, “didn’t make you lonesome?”

An ache in your chest, sharp and spearing overwhelms you. “It-it did.”

“N’you like bein’ lonesome?”

The lie is on the tip of your lips before he says, “be honest, honey.”

“No,” you say, shoulders deflating.

“It’s hard,” he whispers, “lettin’ people in when you lost so much before. Believe me darlin’ I get that.”

“Then you know why I have to leave,” you tell him, desperate that he’ll understand, but also hoping that he’ll argue against it.

“I know why you think you gotta leave,” he corrects.

“This isn’t good for you anyway,” you’re shaking your head as you speak, fingers splayed out on his chest, “I’m a burden to you.”

At that, he manages a small, dry chuckle. You look at him, confused by what’s made him laugh. 

“Honey, havin’ you here…well, I think I needed it just as much as you did. You got no idea how much I like watchin’ you eat what I cook, listenin’ to you hum in the shower ‘cause you’re too shy to sing, watchin’ you curl up by the fireplace with that damn quilt around your head like a sherpa.” His fingers come down to cup your jaw, tracing the line of bone that leads to the curve of your chin, up to the bow in your lips. “How nice it is havin’ a pretty girl around to talk to, someone smart, someone funny, someone who’s like me.”

“Like you?” you inquire. 

“Mhm.” He presses the pad of his thumb against your lips, parting them slightly as he uses his finger to study the contours of your mouth. “Someone hurt, someone who thought they had no chance in this world. Someone who can get better, if she lets herself.”

Your throat feels tight. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re already doin’ it, baby.” He tilts your chin up with the meat of his palm, looking down at you through the silver streaks of moonlight. “Every day you get up, eat breakfast, and keep goin’. That’s all it is. Takin’ it one day at a time. Takin’ care of yourself. Letting yourself get better, slow n’ steady.”

You blink up at him, trying to process his words. You guess he has a point; two weeks ago you barely felt human, didn’t feel like you could ever belong in a place like Jackson, or somewhere like Joel’s home. But lately, through these routines of care, you’ve begun to feel…alive again. Still agonized by loss, still hopeless and confused and frightened, but something more than that too. 

“You don’t gotta stay,” he assures you, “not if you don’t want to. But don’t go just ‘cause you’re scared. Ain’t no reason to punish yourself. Not when I like havin’ you around so much.”

“What if you get tired of having me around?” you ask weakly. It’s no far stretch; every other short term partner you’ve ever had got sick of you after enough time. Every adult you roomed with in the QZ kicked you out sooner or later. Nothing is permanent, especially not people.

“You think I could at least get a chance to prove myself ‘fore you go ahead and write me off?” He smiles down at you, hand still cupping your cheek. “I actually ain’t all that bad a guy.”

“No, no,” you’re quick to reassure, “Joel, you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. You are- you are a good guy. It isn’t that, it’s-”

“It’s not you, it’s me, honey, that one’s a little played out.” There’s gentle amusement in his voice.

With a groan, you start to pull away. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, m sorry.” he pulls you back in, gentle but demanding, and you concede, all too eager to lay against his warm chest. “All I'm sayin’ is, no one’s asking you for your hand in marriage or nothing. Just…stick around for a while. Let me make sure you’re real healthy, ready to go. Get some meat on these bones. Get you feelin’ good. Might take some time. Two weeks ain’t much.”

“I’ve got meat,” you defend.

He snorts. “Me too.”

“Joel-”

“S’gonna take time, that’s all I’m sayin’. Just, stay, alright? Let yourself…have this.” Joel presses a firm kiss to the top of your head.

Finally, you exhale and find yourself nodding. Although it’s against your instincts, and better judgment, you know he has a point. How can you ever get better if you don't give yourself the opportunity?

“I don’t really know how to do this,” you admit, “I’ve never really…been a person before. Y’know what I mean?”

He makes a quiet noise of consideration. “Gimme an example.”

“Like, the apple juice,” you explain in a rambly sort of voice, “or the dishwasher. I don’t know how to do things like you do. I mean, fuck, I walked in on you in the shower today.”

At that, he clears his throat. You must be imagining it, but you’re sure you can hear some sort of…something in the noise. 

“That kinda stuff takes time,” he replies quietly, “s’okay.”

You arch an eyebrow. “What else am I missing then?”

“You’d have to tell me that, honey.”

Abruptly, you remember his body, naked and wet from the shower. Something about him is so desirable; whether it’s simply the masculinity of his form; hairy and strong, the impressive endowment between his legs or something else, you aren’t sure. Could it be that he’s simply an attractive man, who’s kind and thoughtful and funny? Of course. 

Could it be that everything about Joel represents what you’ve always wanted? The security of this home he’s created, the warmth of his fireplace and the way he’d thought to set out mint leaves for you to chew on? The heft of his body; his large shoulders, his thick thighs, his soft stomach, well fed and dense with nutrition. He is whole, broken pieces glued back together painstakingly to build back up this incredible man. This beacon of recovery, healing, strength and happiness.

What are you missing? Everything that Joel has, it would seem. The chance to finally become the way he is… to be okay again.

And…well, it’s also been a while since you had a good fuck. That wouldn't hurt either.

The thought is so ridiculous, so sudden and inappropriate, that it makes you laugh. A real laugh; a genuine, deep-chested sound of amusement that has Joel pulling back with surprise. 

“Somethin’ funny?” he inquires, arching an eyebrow at you like you’ve lost your mind. 

“No, m’sorry.” You press your fingers against your lips in a pathetic attempt to stifle the laughter. “So stupid.”

“What?” he demands.

“No it’s- god Joel it’s so ridiculous I can’t-”

“Oh, just tell me damnit.”

“I was just thinking, you know, what might help make me feel normal again. Haven’t had it in a while…” you look up at him expectantly.

It takes a moment for the message to land in his brain, and his eyes widen slightly. “Oh. I-I see.”

“Yeah…” you clear your throat quietly.

“Well, shit honey. All y’had to do was ask.”

Your eyes widen. “Pardon me?”

He takes your face in his hand again, tilting your chin and gently pulling your body until you’re face to face, noses brushing. His lips twitch, eyelashes sweeping over his cheekbones as he studies your face.

“Like I said,” he murmurs, “ain’t nobody proposing marriage or nothin’. But there’s no reason you can’t…enjoy yourself. If you want to, that is.”

“You…we…are you sure?”

“Ain’t nothin’ you haven’t already seen,” he quips.

You groan. “Joel.”

A low chuckle in his chest. “Sorry baby.”

“If you’re just gonna tease me the whole time, then you can go fuck yours-”

Your retort is cut off by his lips pressing into yours, and you startle a bit, though you don’t pull back. Your body melts, tension leaking out of your shoulders at the feel of his gentle mouth on yours. 

And you’re consumed. There’s nothing else in that moment except for Joel.

His mouth on yours, his tongue pressing forward until it parts your lips. His body, thick and warm against your chest. The tangle of his graying hair, the way his breath grows more heavy when you intertwine your fingers with it and tug. His hands, one cupping your cheek, keeping you close, the other delicately beginning to roam your body. 

And maybe it’s wrong; hooking up with him on the heels of a horrific nightmare about losing your family, or doing it after you told him you were going to leave, or doing it at all considering you barely know each other outside of these serene, isolated two weeks of eating and sitting by the fire and laughing.

But you want him, and he’s good and you want to be a person again. You want to eat meals and drink tea and sleep with a quilt and fuck often. You want to ride a hard dick, suck on a thick, veiny cock, be caged in an embrace of big bulging arms, hear the guttural moan of a man in your ear as he cums.

It’s a hunger, like any other. The way your stomach growled and gnawed for the relief of a hot meal, your body yearned to be filled too. That warm, wet space between your legs, at times so empty and vacant you thought you might just die from the need. Fulfillment, desperate for it in all its forms. Yearning, hunger, pleas to live a life where such simple pleasures are not only permitted, but taken with ease.

It won’t make you whole, it won’t heal your scars or fix your wounds. It won’t change what’s happened or secure your future. 

But for a while, no matter how fleeting, it’s going to fill you up.

Isn’t that enough for someone who’s spent so long being hungry?

“C’mere,” he murmurs, so gentle, so soft, that it’s impossible not to do as he asks. You let him readjust you so you’re sitting on his lap, slender thighs spread around his thick ones, arms hanging off his neck, foreheads pressed together as he hungrily meets your lips again. He’s warm, heat radiating off his large body, and you instinctively lean in.

“Gonna make you feel good,” Joel’s words are muffled by the skin of your jaw as he leaves lingering kisses there, slowly traveling down to your neck. His tongue flicks delicately at the column of your throat, eliciting a small moan from your lips.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched…

“God, you’re so pretty baby.” His fingers slide into the neckline of your nightshirt, which is really just one of his. It’s so large on you that you wear it as more of a dress, the only thing guarding your intimate areas from the outside world is your solitary pair of underwear, that’s been washed to death as you wait for more fabric to come into Jackson’s seamstress to make more. You’ve been going commando a lot.

It’s your immediate instinct to argue; you haven’t been pretty for a while, you’re not sure if ever. Survival is all you know; not caring for yourself or putting effort in to appear beautiful. 

But what’s the point, anyway? He’s here, he’s seen you for what you are, and he wants to make you feel good. What does it matter if you’re pretty?

Though… you do like the way it sounds coming off his lips. 

“Can I…” his lips explore the small patch of skin on your neck that’s exposed above the shirt, “can I take this off, honey?”

He’s tugging lightly on the shirt, asking your permission, even though in every way you’ve really already given it. You hesitate only briefly, concerned about the state of your sickly body. Then, you nod.

Calloused hands moving with a practiced tenderness, he bunches the shirt up at the hem and carefully slides it over your head, exposing your breasts and abdomen. You hear his sharp intake of breath, feel the warmth of it washing over your skin, and for a moment you’re paralyzed with fear.

He doesn’t like what he sees. How could he? You’ve become something inhuman. Scars, bones poking through flesh, discolored bruises. You’re something so ugly and unsightly that-

“Jesus, baby, you’re beautiful.” The pad of his hand smooths out to cup your breast, his thumb brushing elegantly over the bud of your nipple, which is rapidly coming to life from the sensation. “Lookin’ so healthy these days, so so pretty. You feel better?”

Robotically, you nod. “Y-yeah.”

“Love gettin’ to feed you, baby. Watchin’ you eat my food, gettin’ healthy n’soft.” He leans in, cradling your back to keep you upright as his warm lips explore the expanse of your chest, kissing down your sternum until he replaces his thumb on your nipple with his mouth. 

And he’s right, you think as you look down critically at your form. You’ve put on weight, surely not enough, not yet. But… you’re softer now, edges rounded out to a more gentle plush, knobby knees more full, bony hips more tender, slender thumb joints smoothed out. 

And you do feel better. Not dizzy or aching all the time, not sore or struggling to sleep from the pain, not burning from dehydration or growling from hunger.

You’re almost there, almost as full as a person can be. So, so close.

“I like it too,” you breathe, the last word pitching up with a surprised noise as his teeth graze across your nipple. A pleasant, but unexpected motion.

“That okay honey?”

“Mmm…yes…”

“Gonna make you so soft n’happy,” he murmurs, almost more to himself than you, you think, “gonna take care a’you.”

“Okay,” you whimper, pliant in ways you’ve never been with a partner before. 

You aren’t sure why, because he’s just sitting there, kissing you and holding you and telling you all of these kind things, but you feel the pooling of tension in your lower belly and the beginnings of a wet patch on your panties. It’s bizarre; other than teasing your nipple he hasn’t done much in the way of sexual advances, yet from his touch and his words alone, you need him.

And you didn’t imagine it, that his cock was big. You can feel it beneath your spread thighs, through his boxers and sweatpants, the thick girth and diamond hard weight of it pressing into the fabric. 

The heat between your legs feels almost unbearable now, the growing need and tension from his ministrations of your nipple spurring you on. Your fingers tangle in the wavy hair atop his head, and you feel his lips curve into a smile around your breast.

“Mind if I take this off?” he asks, removing his lips from your skin to tug at his own shirt. You nod quickly, eagerly, watching him slide it over his head.

In the soft glow of moonlight, the contours of his body are illuminated like the artful scenes of a movie. The tendons and muscle in his large arms, bulging and pulsing each way he moves, the clench of his jaw beneath his well-groomed beard, the mapping of dark hair over his thick chest. His stomach is full, wide and round and healthy, a sturdy man in every sense of the word. A big, meaty body to match that huge cock in his pants. It’s only fitting, you think as you admire the large score of his body. He’s scarred too, like you are, the lines and wrappings of a survivor beaten into his flesh.

“Ain’t as trim as I used to be,” he remarks offhandedly, though you think you sense a beat of hesitation in his words.

Your delicate fingers trail between his pecs, smoothing the hair down there until you reach the place beneath his belly button where the hair connects to his boxers. You tug experimentally at the hemline of his pants, eyeing the desperate thing there that begs to be freed. You watch his breathing pace up, his stomach and chest moving in synchrony with each hurried breath. 

So big, so full and warm and secure. Solid and strong, an impenetrable wall around you. 

“You’re perfect,” you tell him, and you don’t just mean his body. 

He ducks his head then, surely embarrassed by the praise, and buries his face in your neck once more. His lips and teeth graze the skin there, sucking and biting and kissing, leaving little wet spots as he moves along.

His large hands grip your hips then, lifting you with such ease it’s almost startling. He heaves you upward and then gently lays you on your back, head against the mound of pillows pushed up on the headboard. Your legs splay out before you and he positions himself above, careful not to lower his weight on to yours.

His lips return to your neck, dancing slowly down between your breasts, kissing the scarred flesh of your stomach and hips, teeth bumping into the cotton of your panties. His eyes dart up to you when he reaches them, eyebrow quirking. A question. He’s asking for permission.

You nod, too eager you’re sure.

“So pretty…” he breathes, pressing his lips to the wet fabric of your panties, eyes closing as he tastes the flowing liquid through the cotton. “‘Bout lost my cool when I saw these little things hangin’ off your pack, darlin’. Wondered what they’d look like on you, wondered what they’d look like off you…” He kisses the wet patch again, which makes your legs tense up, and slides his finger into the hemline, murmuring thoughtfully.

“Don’t fit so good anymore,” he notes, and you realize he’s right. There’s a pinch of fabric at your thigh that wasn’t there before, the mark of underwear too tight. It leaves little indents on your skin when he pulls at it, angry red marks that line the contours of your body. 

“You’ve been feeding me too much,” you manage.

He chuckles at this, deep and throaty. “I think we can do better, even.”

With that, he carefully glides the panties down your legs, the stickiness of your arousal clinging to the cotton until he finally separates it from your ankles. He holds it up, admiring the damp fabric. He balls it up in his hand, and then presses it to his nose with a deep, hungry inhale.

You blink, surprised. You’ve never had a partner…do that before. 

Joel’s eyes open, underwear still pressed to his nose and mouth. You can see the twitch of his jaw, the smile on his lips even though it’s hidden by your wet underwear, and it does something odd to you. 

He wants you so bad, is so hungry for you that he’s taking in every piece he can, breathing in your smell, your taste, even where it clings to the underwear that used to fit you and no longer does.

It makes you need, the way he wants you. It makes you ache desperately, makes you yearn and hunger for him too. Being wanted, being desired, it’s not something you’re used to.

“Smell so nice, honey,” Joel mutters, “bet you taste even better. So sweet, so wet.” He lowers himself between your legs, grabbing your thighs in his large hands, fingers pressing into the meat. 

It’s a reflex for your legs to tighten up, tension pooling at the sight of a relatively new man between them. He pauses, noticing your trepidation, and glances up at you without moving forward.

“Hey, you okay honey?” his voice is measured, composed. 

You nod.

“You sure? Talk to me baby, I gotta make sure you’re alright. You here with me?”

“I want you,” you manage, “please, Joel, I want it.”

“I’ll take real good care of ya’,” he promises you in that low, sultry drawl, “be real gentle. Treat you real nice.”

You’re nodding, already lost in whatever it is he plans to do to you. You feel a brief stab of insecurity for the state of your body hair, and you want to tell him as much, but you’re afraid it’ll kill the moment.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either way, lips pressing into your inner thighs, seeming completely heedless of the thick hair there. He pulls your body closer, gripping your hips in his strong hands, bringing your dripping cunt closer.

Joel’s head drops down, lips covering a delicate pattern on your lower belly, gliding easily over the soft hair on your pelvis, finding his mouth at your lips. Experimentally, he smooths his tongue over the wet slit there, glancing up when the action makes you inhale sharply.

His eyes are teasing, mouth quirked up in a small smile. Teasing, cocky, mischievous. 

“You’re g-gonna have to do better than that,” you tell him with a small curve to your lips.

“There’s that smile,” he muses, before burying his face between your legs again.

And there’s no ability to think of anything else, because he’s there. His tongue, expert and well practiced, running whirlpool motions over the bud of your clit, sucking and kissing and licking hungrily at the dripping bellow of your opening. 

Every sense is alight, each breath you take heavy with elation. The bundle of nerves between your lips is in overdrive, tensing and pulsing with desperate need as he gets you closer and closer. His tongue works miracles, the speed altering at just the right moment, switching his motions at just the right interval, lapping up your sopping liquids with his tongue like a starving man at a buffet.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby girl,” he groans into your wet folds, “such a pretty little cunt, so wet and soft for me.”

“For you…” you echo in a whine, fists gripping the sheet that’s come up off the mattress again.

The noises are obscene, the wet squelch of his tongue against your body, the almost frantic way he devours you. Hands holding your trembling legs in place despite the way you tense and move from the sensations, face buried against your wet center, the mess of liquid dampening his face and your thighs and the sheets underneath. 

You cum with a whining cry, a noise you didn’t know a person like you could make. It’s an innocent sound really, despite the debaucherous context. A noise of pure, primal pleasure, ripped from deep within your chest, a release and elation you haven’t felt in…you’re not sure if ever.

Knees clenched around his head, you’re expecting him to pull back now that you’ve gushed more fluid onto his face. But dutifully, he keeps eating. He drinks you in, the overstimulated, swollen clit beneath his lips is begging for relief, pleading to rest, but he doesn’t let it. 

Joel is hungry, and he won’t leave until he’s satisfied. Until you’re both satisfied.

“Taste so good when you cum for me,” he breathes when he pulls his lips back for air, “so sweet n’wet. Cum on my face, darlin’, do it again. Wanna eat you, all of you. So wet f’me baby.”

You think you cry his name, you aren’t sure, but you rip your fingers through his thick hair, tighten your thighs around his face, tears budding at the corners of your eyes from the ruthless sensation between your legs.

Then, a thick finger, gentle and careful probing at your entrance. He slides it in just a bit, moving with caution and curiosity. You buck your hips toward him eagerly, the desperate clench of your wet cunt around nothing is almost too much to bear. 

Slight relief as he glides his finger in all the way, pumping it gently in and out, back and forth to get a feel for the tightness of your slick walls. It’s been so long since anyone touched you this way, since you had anything substantial inside you, and Joel’s got the biggest fingers of any man you’ve ever met.

“That feel good baby?” he grunts as his lips ghost over your pulsing clit and his index finger smooths inside of you, “hurtin’?”

“No, good, good,” you pant.

“Good girl, attagirl.” He kisses your clit again and your hips buck once more, but he pins them down with his other hand. A second finger inside of you, matching the pace of his first, stretching you around the thick width of his digits. Preparing you for what’s to come, the massive, hard cock that’s going to spear you against the headboard.

Fuck, fuck.

“Joel,” you groan his name, feeling his fingers curl up in a crude little gesture inside you, coursing against your walls, brushing up against that place that makes you feel like you’re going to erupt. “Joel, Joel….”

He hums a low sound, lips and tongue still violently, rhythmically devouring your wet cunt. Between the pulsing thickness of his fingers, and the circular motions of his tongue on your clit, it’s not long before you white out. The pleasure is too intense, too sudden and overwhelming. It’s too much, too much, more than you’ve ever had before. 

Tears track down your cheeks against your will, your chest heaves with desperate, panting breaths. Your fingers have gone numb from their vice grip on the sheets, legs aching as they spread around his head to give him easier access, not a shred of resistance in your body as you submit to his expert touch. 

And it happens again, more intense this time. A black film teases the corners of your eyes, a devastatingly intense pooling in your stomach and through your cunt, a pulsing, thready explosion of pleasure bursting through you. 

You soak his face, legs jerking, hips convulsing, voice raw from crying out. The feeling is so intense that it dizzies you, your head floating off your body and spinning into a whirlwind somewhere in outer space. 

Joel licks it all up, tongue dragging across your drenched inner thighs, gliding across the shimmering wet slit of your lips, sucking on the raw skin until it’s nearly unbearable. Then, his wet mouth is moving, kissing up your thighs, the slope of your hips, your stomach and your breasts, sucking on your nipples and cupping them in his rough palms. 

Once he reaches your ear, teeth grazing the lobe, voice gruff, he whispers, “you with me, baby?”

You whine a small sound, feeble and needy. You feel the curve of his lips into a smile where they’re pressed into your ear, and he kisses your temple, lingering there. 

“M’gonna take these off, hm?” he slides a hand down toward his sweats, where you can see the large, intimidating shape of his hard dick outlined.

God, you need it, you need it like you’ve never needed anything in your life. So many years spent hungry, never realizing just how painful it could truly be to want something and be empty of it. 

Your pulsing, desperate pussy aches for him, dripping with the evidence of his prowess. Your thighs clench around nothing, pleading, begging, needing to be filled with whatever he can give you. 

Joel slides the pants off, boxers following suit, and your eyes widen a bit at the sight of his large cock springing forward. There’s a well-groomed crop of hair at the nape, heavy, even balls framing the thick protrusion of his shaft. The tip, angry and red, dripping with his need.

“Joel, let me-” you make a move to take it in your mouth, but he stops you with a gentle shush.

“No baby, just you tonight.” He lowers himself back above you, the hard tip just barely brushing your sopping cunt. 

A synchronized moan fills the air, both of you shuddering at the teasing contact. Holding himself upright on his thick, powerful arms, he lowers his forehead to yours, noses bumping. His lips ghost against your own, and you kiss him greedily, whining into the touch as his dick presses against you once more. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, “you wan’ me to fuck you, honey?”

You nod desperately.

“Talk to me, honey.” His lips press delicately right beside your mouth, smoothing his large nose over the supple skin of your cheek. “Tell me what you want, hm?”

“I-I want you,” you croak, voice frail and shattered, “want you inside me, Joel. Want you to fuck me. Fill me up, fill me with you. Please, please. I need it.”

He smiles down at you, no trace of teasing or mischief there, only a genuine, earnest warmth. Gradually, his hips roll into you, pushing just the slightest bit of him inside. You shudder, gasping at the beginning of the stretch.

“Gotta go slow, honey,” he breathes, eyes closing as if in concentration, “don’ wanna hurt you.”

“N-no, I don't care,” you insist.

“I do, baby. Gonna take care of you, promised. I got you. I got you. You’re safe with me.” His lips warm against your collarbone, kissing wetly there as his hips inch forward, shoving more of himself inside.

The stretch is intense, painful despite how wet and glistening you are for him. The head of his cock, fat and dripping, grunts into you with restrained desperation. His thighs push forward, hips moving slowly, slowly, giving you time to adjust, giving you all the focus and care and attention. 

Finally, mercifully, he bottoms out, both of you groaning out a noise of agonized want. Your thighs are speared apart by his wide body, balls of your feet digging into his lower back. His arms cage you in, one hand flat on the mattress to prop himself up, careful not to put any of his massive weight on your light frame, the other touching you. Your breasts, your cheek, your hair, your lips, every part of you he can see he explores while he allows you to adjust to the heavy weight of his dick inside of you.

It’s huge, spreading you and stretching you so intensely that you’re grateful for his godlike patience. You feel it bumping up inside, tip scraping the mouth of your womb, almost enough that you swear you could touch it through your belly. 

“So big, Joel,” you tell him, your voice a thready imitation of your usual cadence, “so big n’strong…so nice…”

“I got you baby,” he cups your cheek, bending his body down to kiss you lightly. The movement sheaths his cock forward inside, and you both groan.

“Please,” you beg, “please fuck me…please fill me up. Want you to fill me with your cum. Keep me full forever.”

“Fuck, fuck, honey girl,” he bites at your lip, pulling hard between his teeth until he draws blood. He licks across the soft pink flesh, taking more of you into him; the thin red line decorating his tongue before he swallows it up like a good boy.

Then, his hips grind into yours and you let out a shrill noise, a wounded animal crying out. He moves, slowly at first, allowing your body to stretch around him, getting used to the impact of his impressive girth. 

Quickly, he picks up the pace.

You’re begging at this point, nails raking down his thick back, teeth gritting into the hot meat of his shoulder, feet forcing his hips into you. He grunts your name, spits curses into the soft flesh of your neck, grinds and pounds his hips against yours so hard it feels as though he really could split you in two.

But split, you do not. Rather, you become more. Full, whining and screaming his name, sated and hungry all at once. Desperate and satisfied simultaneously. A hungry, soaking little mess underneath this massive man. This man who at first glance, had tried to kill you, a favor you quickly returned. 

A man who’s done nothing for the past two weeks but try to make you whole. A man giving you all the pieces of himself he can spare to try and mend your broken ones. A man who knows what it’s like to fall apart and be put back together again. 

He sees you; scarred flesh, fear, loneliness, all your worst, all you have, and he takes you as his own.

“Goddamnit,” he growls into your skin, “so fuckin’ tight baby, so good…so wet f’me…so tight, fuckin’ gripping me baby.”

Your nails dig deeper into his back, which only seems to spur him on. His hips somehow continue their breakneck pace, pounding against your deepest point so hard that it makes your head feel floaty all over again.

“Feel so good, you okay baby?” his lips against your skin are slurred, sloppy and greedy. 

You nod, nod your head so fast you feel dizzy, and he laughs a little breathlessly. Then, you feel the rough pad of his thumb move from your face down to your clit. 

You do white out then, with the combination of his hard, massive dick spearing you against the pillows, and the grind of his thumb against your swollen clit. The sensations are overwhelming, so intense, too intense. Your legs clench around his waist, and you let out a low, guttural scream.

“Fuck,” Joel gasps, eyes shutting as his rolling hips grow sloppier, less rhythmic, “fuck baby, fuck, fuck you just came all over my cock. God, so fuckin’ tight, so good so good honey, m’gnonna-fuck-”

And you’re full. The hunger, the emptiness, it all fades away in that instant. 

Joel empties himself inside you, cock jerking and pulsing against your throbbing walls. He groans deep in his throat, cursing and grunting as he fills you up, liquid gushing out over your pelvis and thighs. 

It takes a few moments for both of you to come down, his spent cock still sheathed inside your warmth. He hovers over you, and you feel one of his hands cup your cheek, fingers tracing slow lines across the bridge of your nose.

“Baby,” he breathes raggedly, “talk to me.”

“M’fine,” you assure him, though you feel like you’re on another planet.

“You sure? Everythin’ okay? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“You’re stupid,” you tell him.

At that, he snorts. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

He moves to detangle himself from you, but your legs clench around him, arms clasping desperately around his neck. He’s so warm, so solid and safe, and you’re so full. 

“They used to have a word for this,” he muses quietly, jerking his chin toward the cage of your legs around his waist, “think they called it baby trappin’.”

“As if you couldn’t get off right now if you wanted,” you mutter.

“Already did that, sweet.”

“Okay, you know what, get the f-”

He presses into you again, and you’re silenced by the low moan that slips from your mouth at the pressure of his heft inside you, even soft and spent. He smiles, teeth digging into his lower lip as he looks down at you with admiration. 

“M’gonna make you a real nice breakfast tomorrow,” he says matter-of-factly.

“That so?” You arch an eyebrow, amused at the ridiculous attempt at conversation he’s making with his dick literally still inside of you. “What’s the Joel Miller Morning After Special look like?”

“Waffles, homemade batter ‘course. Blueberries, the ones we been savin’. Big ole jug of apple juice, just for you.”

“Just for me?” You smile faintly at him. 

“Just for you,” he confirms, “whatever you want, just for you.”

A small laugh drifts from your lips. “Well, that’s very nice of you.”

“So you ain’t leavin’?” he asks, a note of hope in his voice.

“No.” You shake your head. “Think I'll stick around and annoy you for a while.”

He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear with the pads of his fingers. It stays put this time. 

“I’d like that, darlin’.” His teeth flash white in the darkness again. “Think I could go for a little somethin’ now actually. You need anything? Some water?”

You nod, fighting the instinct to get up and get it yourself. Maybe, just maybe it’s okay to let someone else take care of you once in a while. Even if it’s something as simple as a glass of water.

“Sounds great,” you admit, wincing slightly at the pull as he finally slides out of you with a sopping noise. You don’t even want to look at the mess on the sheets.

“How about a snack?” he asks. “You hungry?”

And you look at him, sliding his t-shirt on over his sweat-slicked body, reaching for a towel on your rack to pass toward you. So gentle, so caring, so tender and pragmatic all at once. 

You aren’t alone. You’re warm, and full, and for the first time in a long time, you’re happy.

“No,” you tell him in earnest, “I’m not hungry.”

“You sure?” 

You nod, managing another smile for him. Surely, he’ll add it to his annoying internal tally.

“I’m sure. I actually…I actually feel pretty full.”

What a wonderful feeling it is. 

[inbabylontheywept]

Hi there! I just read through a few of your long form posts -- the one about the boss and the glue traps and the lizards, the one about the friend and the radishes and the cop, and the one about the breakup and the car and the neighbor's car and your dad -- and I'm just really blown away by your writing. And I'm just curious, are they actual experiences or are they fiction? They read like actual experiences, and the writing is so naturalistic and...idk, low key sweet, stream of consciousness without the major sidetracking that often happens in stream of consciousness writing and also more...more poetical in a way, I guess. I don't know. Are you published or wanting to? I mean I couldn't help with that or anything but if you've got a book out I'd love to read it.

Patrick McManus was kind of THE legendary writer to my family. When my dad was a kid, he'd sit on the porch the door that the monthly copy of Outdoor Life was going to arrive, and as soon as he got it, he'd run in with it and take it to his dad, who would gather all his kids around and read the stories out loud.

My dad loved it because his dad would make a whole performance out of the readings: He'd do voices, pantomimes, dramatic sound effects, the works. The stories are amazing, but the out-of-character behavior from his dad was half the selling point. Grandpa Hank was, to his core, a good man. But he was gruff, and socially, pretty stiff, and he didn't often show emotion. I think my dad said he saw him tear up one time growing up, and it was when he got dropped off at the MTC. My mom was married to my dad for three years before Grandpa Hank was comfortable enough to sit down in their house, and he liked her. That's just how he was.

(You just praised me for not getting sidetracked, but I'm letting myself wander down those memories a bit. He died last year. I miss him terribly.)

Anyway: Those stories were how I first started learning how to spin a yarn. I got older and I got more influence than just cowboys and Westerns, but the soul of my style is still just The American Tall Tale.

Which is to say that they're not outright fabrications. When I say that I cut all the worms up in my backyard and had a panic attack and hid in a tree until my mom got me, that happened. But I only remember the vaguest outlines of the words that were said. When there's a line in that story about my mom telling me that she's sure the worms will forgive me because they got six hearts to love and no bones to pick, that's not how she talks. That's how I talk.

Other stories, they're far less fuzzy than that, but I can still point out things I don't know. Wrestling story was from middle school, and a lot of those "crisp details" are just me painting by vibe. I've had some people that did wrestling through highschool point out things like refs not actually counting to three, or how double-legs are not actually super effective for tall wrestlers. I don't actually know how much the woman I wrestled weighed, nor do I remember how much I weighed, except that I was more than two weight classes smaller than her. Car incident, I got broke up with, went to her parents door, waited on the lawn, and was given some olives to go with a wireless phone. But exact wording of a lot of the people involved fails me. As a rule, the weirder an event is, the more likely I am to be distinctly remembering it and not just filling in the background. Except for dialogue, which often turns out weird because when I have to make up things for other characters to say, it carries too much of my own speaking style in it, and that's always been weird.

There are even points where things do come right off the rails. In the stories about J post, J himself became a sort of mythic figure after he moved, and lot of the stories about him, I don't even know I'm remembering them first hand or second hand from a story someone else shared with me.

I know it would be easier to just go, yeah, they're true, or no, they're not, but I did a weird thing and mixed them up and now even I'm a little confused.

Regarding publishing: I'm not published, and the thought of trying to get published scares the shit out of me. I

I don't know. If anyone has advice, I'd be interested.

[cucuxumusu]

For @graytodd. Thanks a lot for your amazing dickjay art. I tried writing them as you draw them: cute and horny. Hope you like it.

Dick knew his little wing was touch starved. It was in the way he flinched whenever Bruce patted his back, or how he looked surprised whenever Alfred lay a hand on his shoulder. Jason was always glaring afterwards, acting annoyed and caged as if the touches only hurt him more instead of helping, or as if he never saw the goal for them.

The only exception to that rule was Dick.

Dick had noticed that Jason leaned into his touches whenever he patted him or ruffled his hair, he had noticed him sight in content once they were watching a movie and Jason’s legs pressed into his tight by accident. He didn’t seem to have a problem with him, just with the adults in the house touching him. The implications were worrying. It made Dick possessive and protective of the little boy even more than he already was, and so he took it upon himself to help Jason and be there where no one else was.

Dick called them ‘cuddling sessions’. Every afternoon when Jason returned from school Dick would spend time with him doing homework, both of them sitting next to each other, talking and touching all the time. It was him the one who spent time bandaging Jason slowly after training sessions, letting his hands linger for longer, and encouraging the other boy to touch him as well. But as the weeks passed and Jason’s initial reluctance faded, the sessions became a little bolder. Jason would appear in his room at night and ask to sleep together, he would initiate a hug, fall asleep on him, and just try to be as close to him as he could.

It was cute and adorable, and surprisingly it helped Jason as much as it helped Dick. He felt himself more centred, more relaxed as if he too had been touch-starved. That’s why, when Jason was killed, the blow felt even bigger for Dick than it should have been. There was suddenly an absence by his side, a lack of warmth while he slept, and no one hugging him back when he returned from a mission and had to face his wing’s empty room.

That was the hardest time in Dick’s life.

But then Jason came back. He looked and felt different from the little boy he remembered curling next to him in bed. He looked older, bigger, hotter, but so angry at the world that Dick could even feel it in his skin when he faced him. But it was still Jason, his little wing, the little boy he tried to help, and the one that he had hugged more times than he could count. He was back, and suddenly, life felt right once more. As months passed and the boy was accepted back into the family, things seemed to return to how they had always been and how they should have been.

The night Dick caught Jason sneaking into his apartment and getting into his bed as if years hadn’t passed, he said nothing. He just hugged him back and felt his whole world realign by how right this all seemed. He caressed Jason’s back learning the new shape of his body and how it matched so perfectly with his, and the new muscles and scars he carried. He kissed his brows and his forehead now covered with white bangs, and hugged him tighter than he had ever hugged anyone.

And Jason answered to him like he had always done, as if nothing had happened, as if his disappearance from Dicks life hadn’t shattered Dicks world.

He melted against his chest, sighed in pure bliss as Dick’s nails raked over his nape, and arched into Dick's touches with an almost sexual undertone. Jason buried his head in his throat as if he had just been dying to do so for months, he gripped Dick’s body back with the same desperation, and said nothing as Dick caressed him with affection.

The moment felt cathartic for both of them.

But it was also different than the others, more intense as if the separation had only aggravated the feelings between them. Back then Jason had been a child, a boy seeking warmth and love, now however both of them were fully grown adults, and the touch had stopped looking as innocent as they had once been.

Dick gripped the soft hair in Jason’s nape, a gesture that screamed dominance, and Jason’s body seemed to go motionless. The hands he had on Dick's shirt clenched, his breath catching, and his belly tightening as his eyes grew wide. Desire suddenly poured from both of them as they stared at each other, and both of them waited in silence to cross that last barrier, to turn this into something different. Something, Dick realized, that he had been wanting to do since his little wing had come back.

But not tonight, Dick decided, not when his little wing had finally returned home and was again in his arms.

Changing his grip again, he pushed Jason on his back on the bed and climbed on top of him trapping him with his body and not letting him go anywhere. He kissed his brow one last time, a hand still holding his neck reassuringly, another drawing little patterns over his shoulder, and their bodies glued together. He could feel Jason’s desire under him, he knew Jason could feel his, but none of them acted on it, tonight was different, tonight they would just fall asleep together as they had done so many years ago.

[bloodlinesceo]

Credit to gif owner.

A/N: That time of the semester & it inspired me to write this lol

Credit to @tsunami-of-tears for the amazing divider!

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Fem! Reader. Mentions & a bit of Tama Tonga x Fem! Reader.

Summary: School stress has been getting to you, but your amazing boyfriend & his twin cousins are there to pick you up & take you out to de-stress. However, more stress comes in when you have an encounter with the past.

Warnings ⚠️: 18+ Fluff, angst, swearing, stress ofc, mental breakdown, dirty talk, mentions of sex, fighting, past relationship, alcohol consumption, cheating. Past beef. The twins have no filter & Roman punishes them for it 😭Tama's the villain in this, sorry Tama girlies. But, I have something planned for you at the end of this mini-series.

Not proofread!

WC: 3.3k

Of course this is written for fictional purposes only & is based on their characters, it does not depict who they are in real life. Respect to them & their families.

Enjoy ☝🏽

It was that time of the semester, you had everything thrown at you before finals season. Something was always due for each class every week, and that being all at once too. It wasn't just small assignments, but shitloads of them being worth so much, and it was exhausting you. You wish your profs would know each other's schedules so they know when they should assign work to their class & have it due. But yeah, guess that's how degree programs work.

Not only are you a Bachelor's Degree Student, you are a makeup artist as well for WWE & traveled alongside with your boyfriend & The OTC Roman Reigns. You loved your job, doing makeup, expressing yourself & having your boyfriend on the job as well. It was a dream come true. Although you couldn't work it right now thanks to school. You asked Hunter for some time off so you can kick this semester's ass. While being stressed out & trying to get this paper done, your hunk of a man walked into the den where you were studying.

"Babygirl, you're not ready yet? Come on! The twins are waiting outside." He said.

You turned around, your hair was a mess, and you had dark circles under your eyes. Roman's expression changed from a smile to a concerned look as we walked towards you.

"Babygirl, are you okay? What's wrong?" he asked.

Your lip started to quiver, and everything that was bottled up started to pour out.

"I can't do this anymore Roman! This is bullshit! These profs don't give a f-ck about us or our mental health! They just throw whatever at us & set us up for failure! School is so exhausting! I just want to do well, finish up & get this degree! I want to go back to work with you! I miss everyone! I miss Naomi, Bianca, Jade, Nia, Michin, Seth, Damian. Hell, I even miss Solo too now! I just can't! It's killing me!" you cried.

Roman lifted you up, wrapped his arms around you & pulled you into his chest as you cried. He caressed your hair & calmed you down.

"Shhhh, there, there babygirl, I understand how you're feeling, it's tough. School is tough especially with all the different variables that come along with it. You're so strong for getting through it & if nobody told you today, I'm proud of you. Proud of you for going after your dream, making sacrifices for it, putting your work aside for this. You've worked so hard for this & have come so far & I admire that about you babygirl, you're so courageous & intelligent & both of those are sexy" he whispered at the last sentence.

You couldn't help, but smile at his words. His voice & words were so therapeutic. You lifted your head up.

"Thank you RoRo, I appreciate you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you" you said.

He smiled & kissed your forehead, "it's no trouble, I'm always here to remind you how strong you are when life brings you down, you got this! You will finish this semester strong! You can & you will" he exclaimed.

"Coming from the strongest man himself, you're not just my man but a real-life superhero to me" you said.

His smile got bigger & he smashed his lips onto yours.

"I love you, babygirl" he whispered against your lips.

"I love you too my Tribal Chief" you whispered back against his.

He pulled away "You need balance, babygirl. Don't put your head in these books for too long, it'll only destroy you mentally. I don't want you to crash out. When's this assignment due?" he asked.

"Sunday by midnight" you said

"Seriously, and you're worried about it now? That's so long away! Take a break, hang with us we're going to watch a movie & then go to Waffle House after" he said.

You rolled your eyes in amusement "let me guess…Jey planned that?" you guessed.

Roman nodded, making you laugh.

"You need a break though, go out, get some fresh air, you'll feel better afterwards & then you can properly think. Everything is just up in the clouds right now" he said.

"You're right" you smiled at him.

Your moment was interrupted when the twins barged into the den.

"Hey Uce! What the hell is taking y'all so long?" asked Jimmy.

Both of the twins looked at you & screamed.

Jey took his YEET glasses off & looked you up & down

"Damn girl! You look a mess!" he said in disbelief. Roman covered his face with his hands already feeling a migraine.

"You know her?" asked Jimmy.

"Know her? Uce, that's Y/N!" he answered.

"Y/N? Damn! I thought I witnessed The Grudge live for a sec," said Jimmy.

Roman gave Jimmy a death glare & mouthed 'shut up' to him. He stopped talking.

"Wow, that makes me feel so much better" you said sarcastically.

"I'll deal with these two, go freshen up & get dressed babygirl. I'll meet you in the kitchen" he said kissing your head.

"Okay" you smiled, leaving the den.

As soon as Roman heard your bedroom door shut, he glared at the twins & crossed his arms.

"We're in trouble aren't we Uce?" Jey asked chuckling nervously.

Roman nodded "you both are paying for our meals tonight at Waffle House. Talk it amongst yourselves & think before you say anything to Y/N, she was feeling down & stressed" he said walking away, and leaving them alone.

"Yeah, grow up Uce!" said Jimmy as he turned to Jey.

"Me? You're the one who went crazy & compared her to The Grudge!" pointed out Jey.

"But you started it, saying she looks like a mess!" said Jimmy.

"Man, pay for your own damn food. I'm out" scoffed Jey leaving to find Roman.

"I don't need your money anyway!" yelled Jimmy going after him.

You all had a great time at the movie theatre watching your favorite movie. You couldn't be more grateful for Roman & the twins in your life (even though you were mad at them for their comments earlier).

The four of you were at Waffle House, and finished your meals. Since you had a sweet tooth, you ordered the Triple Chocolate Pie, and fed a bit to Roman.

"That's tasty, baby. Don't give me too much though, I'm already looking at something sweeter" he whispered smirking at you. You gasped & playfully smacked his shoulder, making him chuckle.

"You look gorgeous, I can't wait to have you all to myself tonight" he winked.

"Says you? As if I don't feel the same way" you flirted.

"Um excuse me, we're right here" said Jimmy, making you blush & Roman roll his eyes. You continued to feed him & yourself.

"Well look who started dessert without us" you heard a familiar voice similar to the twins.

You looked up & saw Solo with his Bloodline.

"Solo!" you screamed, you ran to him & tackled him into a hug.

"What's up buttercup? Long time, how's life & uni?" he asked.

"Brutal, literally had a mental breakdown over an assignment today. These profs don't give a damn! Luckily Roman & your brothers took me out for a treat" you rambled.

"That's great! I'm happy for you! Don't take school so seriously though, it won't matter 5 years from now. Take it easy" said Solo.

"Just like how math doesn't matter to you now?" joked Jimmy, making Jey almost spit out his drink & Roman covering his face from laughing.

Solo gave his big brother a death glare. "I'll stop talking for today" said Jimmy.

"Thank you Solo, appreciate it. Don't listen to that Nut Job, I hated math too." you said.

Solo smiled "at least someone gets it!" he said while taking a seat. Meanwhile, you greeted the rest of The Bloodline.

"Hey Jacob! Long time, how are you?" you asked hugging him.

"I'm good sis" he said smiling & hugging you back "living the dream, and thankful for all God's given me. We miss you at work though, styling us & being our cheerleader" he said.

"I'm so happy for you! You're killing it! I miss you all too, and your famous "I love you Solo." Can't wait to finish this semester & come back during my break" you said.

"We'll be awaiting you" said Jacob as he sat down.

You moved to the last pair of people to meet which were Loa & Tama.

You smiled nervously, "Hey Loa" you said giving him a fist bump which he returned. "Tama" you said waving at him awkwardly, he nodded in return.

"What's up Y/N?" asked Loa

"Not much, I see you don't have to wear that eye patch anymore" you smiled.

"Yeah, thank God. I hated it" he said letting out a breath of relief. You giggled in return.

"Aye aye Captain!" you said saluting him. He just smirked sarcastically in response. You quickly got of their way & sat beside Roman who was studying both Tama & Loa as they sat down at the table.

Roman took out his phone as he texted the OG Bloodline group chat including Solo & Jacob.

Roman: Solo, what the fuck is Tama doing here?!

Solo: Him & Loa wanted to come. I couldn't say no, I'd feel bad.

Jey: You could've said you had some personal family business with your brothers, uce. They would've gotten the hint knowing it's blood only.

Jacob: 👀

Solo: Idk

Roman: Wdym you don't know? Y/N was feeling stressed out w/ school & everything & the last thing she needs to see is her ex right now.

Jimmy: WOAH WOAH HOLD ON! THEY DATED?!

Jey: @Jimmy you came before me right?

Jimmy: @Jey I never knew about this? You did?!

Solo: @Jimmy cause you got a big ass mouth. You'd tell everyone about our business just like you did about me when we came in.

Jacob: LMAOO TRUE 🤣 I love you Solo 🙏🏽

Roman: @Solo All I'm saying is that Tama is your responsibility, I don't want him anywhere near Y/N while we're here.

Solo: You want me to babysit a 42 y/o man???

Jimmy: HE'S 42?!

Jey: @Jimmy UCE, YOU GOTTA STOP DOING THAT!

Jimmy: 🤐

Jacob:

Roman: @Solo You brought him here, you deal with it. If he causes any trouble or gives Y/N a hard time, you'll see the worst of me.

Jacob: 😬

Solo: Noted 📝

Jimmy: Uces, how's this pic of me & Tank for Instagram?

Roman: JIM!

Jey: STOP IT!

Solo: Now is not the time.

Jimmy: Damn sorry, I was trying to lighten up the mood here. Geez, it's so negative, we need a virtual Sage.

Jacob: @Jimmy I like the pic, looking fresh 👍🏽

Jimmy: See? Someone who sees the vision! Thanks Cuz! 🖤

Jey: YEET! 💯🔥

Jimmy: @Jey Too late.

"Hello, why is everyone on their phones?" I thought we were having some family time?" you said, getting the guys' attention. They all put their phones away.

"Sorry babygirl, family emergency" said Roman. You nodded in understanding.

The new guests ordered their meals & started eating. While you & Roman were video chatting with Naomi, telling her how much you missed her.

While you were talking to Naomi, Tama kept sneaking glances at you while eating. Roman caught him & he looked away conversing with his brother.

Again, Roman whipped out his phone & started texting the group chat, clearly not impressed.

Roman: He's looking at her…. what I tell you? @Solo 🙄

Solo: Whatchu want me to do? Tell him to look somewhere else???

Jimmy: I got an idea!

Roman: ???

Jey: Okayy, what is it?

Jimmy: Watch me 😉

All men put their phones away waiting for his plan. Jimmy took the large laminated restaurant flier from the table behind him & stuck it in front of Tama covering him. He stuck it between his & Tama's table making it stand. He smiled big being proud of his work & looked over at his family. Everyone including you looked at him like he had 2 heads.

"Hey Naomi, look what your brilliant husband just did " you said turning your phone around & showing her.

"What?" he questioned. Roman just shook his head in response.

Tama stood up, "why is there a Waffle House flier stuck in front of me?" he asked. Everyone looked at Jimmy expecting an answer from him.

"Well, you know man. I was just trying to show you some specials. In case you wanted to add more to your order" said Jimmy. Tama cocked his brow at him. "You couldn't just pass the flyer to me like a normal person?" he asked. Jimmy was lost for words. Jey started stressing out "he does that all the time when we eat here!" he said laughing nervously. Solo put his hands on his head.

Tama signaled for his brother to get up & ask him to come outside with him to which he complied. As soon as both brothers went outside, Roman spoke up.

"I can't believe you thought that was a good idea" he said to Jimmy.

"Well it worked didn't it? I shooed him outside Uce!" said Jimmy.

"You got him all suspicious now" said Jey

"What's this all about?" you asked

The five of them turned to look at you in shock, forgetting that you were at the table.

"Nao, I'll talk to you later. Love you, miss you. Bye girl!" you said & she said her byes back before you both hung up.

"So? What's happening?" you asked.

"Listen babygirl, please don't get mad when I say this. I know you're already going through a lot of stress. But while you were talking to Naomi, Tama was looking at you" he confessed.

You laughed in disbelief "it was probably just one look right?"

"Not really sis, he was kinda staring at ya even while he was eating. He looked away when Big Uce caught him" said Jey.

"Ugh!" you stressed burying your face in your hands.

"See? This could've easily been avoided if you didn't bring him here! Now I wanna whoop his ass for looking at my girl!" Roman scolded while rubbing your back.

"I didn't know he still has feelings for her. I'm no mind reader!" responded Solo.

"Y'all dated?" Jimmy asked you. You lifted your head up from your hands.

"I thought you said you were going to stop talking for the day" said Solo

"No, no, let him ask! None of you guys told Jimmy about me & Tama?" you asked. They all looked like deers in front of the headlights.

"I just thought it would be better if he sat this one out, sweetheart" said Roman smiling awkwardly.

"Roman, it's okay. Jimmy I'll tell you the story. Yes, we've dated in the past. I used to work in New Japan Pro Wrestling as a make-up artist. It was tough being far from home, but I had to start somewhere & make sacrifices. I started my career in 2016 there, it was tough for me to adjust to a new schedule, country & lifestyle but I tried to adapt. I talked to a lot of amazing wrestlers men & women & had the pleasure of doing their makeup. I learned so many new skills & techniques especially face paint. One day, I met Tama, he wanted his face paint done for his match which I agreed to of course. We had a great conversation from there while I was doing his face paint, about him being in Bullet Club, Guerrillas of Destiny. He was fun to talk to, and we hit it off. After that, we started hanging out after shows & in between breaks. Those work hangouts turned to us meeting outside of work and then dating. We were inseparable. We had so much in common, it's like we were in the Honeymoon phase while dating. But then in 2018, he started acting weird, he started tweeting Roman for no reason attacking him then mocking him at shows. I tried to get him to stop & leave him alone, but he wouldn't budge. He got mad at me for defending you babe." you said referring to Roman.

You continued "we also started living together in Japan, he'd come home wasted almost all the time & try to sleep with me. It seemed like he wanted me for my body at that point. I remember that one time I told him no, he yelled at me, swore at me, and then left to go stay at Loa's. The next day I came to work & caught him making out with another makeup artist" you voice started to crack. Roman placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder for comfort.

"You don't have to tell us the rest babygirl if you're not comfortable to. I can tell it's hurting you" he said.

"No it's okay, I've hid this for so long. It's about time I tell someone. I threw my promise ring at him & went straight home to pack my things & move out. Somehow he got home & caught me leaving, he begged me to stay & mentioned how he was going through shit that caused him to be that way, but it didn't convince me. I left. It was hard to avoid him at work too as he tried to talk to me & explain his side of the story. I didn't want to hear it. It was miracle I prayed for when I applied to be a makeup artist in WWE & got the job. I gave my 2 weeks in, miraculously had 0 interaction with Tama during that time period & flew back to the US & started the job." you smiled. All 5 men smiled at you.

"Man Y/N, I'm so sorry you went through all that. You didn't deserve it. You're like the little sister I never had. Hell, I wanna whoop him" said Jimmy sympathetically.

"I never knew he cheated on you. Wow, I'm disgusted. I'm sorry Y/N" said Solo.

"What a jackass" said Jacob.

"And now he's in WWE, and he's probably trying to win you back I'm guessing?" asked Jey shaking his head.

"He'll never win me back after what he did. He'll never compare to Roman whom made these past 3 years of our dating life the best than the 2 years I've had with him" you said, making Roman smile big, he pulled you into his chest.

"I love you babygirl, I'll always have your back & cherish you. I'll never break your heart. Unlike him, I'll never force you into doing anything that makes you uncomfortable." he said kissing your head.

"I love you more my Tribal Chief" you said to him.

"Hey, that's me!" interrupted Solo.

"Get some new material you rip-off" teased Jey scrunching up his hair.

Meanwhile outside

"You still love her?!" asked Loa in shock.

"I mean yeah, I can't help it, I still get butterflies when I see her. She's still that beautiful & humble girl I met in New Japan. I really miss the time we shared & our life together, I wanna make things right with her" said Tama.

"Listen, as a brother I love you. But to be fair, you did cheat on her & that really hurt her to the point she left her job & the country. Also, you know she's dating Roman right? He already caught you giving her googly eyes. He's gonna pound you like a mallot if he finds you're making moves on Y/N & I don't want that to happen to you" said Loa.

"I know that & I fucked up on my end. It's my fault, I'm a horrible person. But ever since Y/N left, it made me realize how I took this whole thing for granted. She was the best I ever had. I regret everything I've ever done to her, she deserved to be treated better. I'm willing to change all of that for her I wanna apologize to her & give us another go" said Tama

"I don't know about giving it another go, I did warn you, but apologizing yes, it's about time you did that." said Loa.

They both went inside.

Feedback is appreciated! And if you want to be added to the tag list for the next chapter let me know!

[emilija04acer]

Jayvik fics list (pt 1)

(+ some Jayvikmel)

They are soulmates, Your Honor, whether platonic or romantic is irrelevant.

Firstly, here is an essay by isdisorigionale. Yes, they apparently wanted to write about a brotherly relationship. But it doesn't really read like that, in my opinion.

An Aroace Analysis of Jayvik—Not Necessarily Romance, Absolutely Not “Bros”

Their summary>

An essay I wrote in 90 minutes 2 hours after finishing Season 2 Act 3. Notably, those two hours were spent screaming to my friends on how fucking generational that Jayvik was.

Or: They obviously didn't need to make them make out to show how much they love each other, but I’m also pissed at how apparently this is being called a bromance like ?????

♥––––––––♥♥––––––––♥

Now onto the fanfics >

Green is my thoughts on the fics.

Those are shorter fics that I read...After the finale, fanfiction is helping me cope. I'll make a separate list with older and longer fics.

♥––––––––♥♥––––––––♥

You're Dreaming by Skullsz_Writes

Viktor & Jayce are researching in the library, but Jayce falls asleep...

Short and sweet fic about Viktor crushing on Jayce in season 1

An Epilogue by GwenEani

In the countryside of Demacia two men arrive one day, no one knows anything about them, no one even knows their names for certain. But they know one thing: they are partners and are here to stay.

What if Jayce and Viktor didn't die in each other's arms but were teleported away and were living domestic lives? There are a lot of these here, and rightfully so. They deserve some happiness.

to rot and ruin by ember360

The first words Viktor says to Jayce are immortalised on Jayce's wrist. The first words Jayce says to Viktor... are not what he thinks.

Soulmate AU for these two was a need. I love Soul Mark fanfictions.

Fortune Kooky by setbet

“And you end up with… a beard!” she exclaimed pointing at Jayce’s face.

Viktor rolled his eyes while Jayce looked on, amazed at her prophecy.

“And then…” she turned her gaze to Viktor. “You turn into a robot!” cried out the fortune teller, falling back in fear. “A terrifying robot bent on taking over the world!”

“Eh, sounds fake,” said Viktor.

“Viktor, don't be rude!” said Jayce, but starting to feel a bit doubtful at this point.

A fic about two academy boys visiting a completely accurate fortune teller.

Universal Constants. by Azurita25

“Yes, well… there is also the idea of constants, no? Universal constants. Gravity is always present, the Earth always spins around the sun–”

“And we always end up doing laundry together?”

“I do not think the laundry is the part that’s important,” Viktor stressed.

“So what is?” Jayce replied, making Viktor laugh, shake his head.

“You are.”

--Or, a glimpse into all the universes where Jayce and Viktor find each other.

wrong bedroom by a1sher

“Wait a minute, this isn’t my bedroom.” Viktor and Jayce tries to break into Heimerdinger’s lab only to end up in Viktor’s bedroom;)

What if Mel accepted Vik's excuse?

…And They Were Roommates! by draconabraxas

Mel Medarda never thought she’d go on a date with a taken man; homewrecking was beneath a woman of her standing.

In her defense, nobody in their circle seemed to know if Jayce and Viktor were together, either. So, how was she supposed to know?

Miscomunication and more miscomunication! Mel isn't a sidepeace!

Why Love Songs Exist by Slither

"All these timelines at our fingertips." Viktor pauses. He smirks in such a way that Jayce knows he has a silly idea. "It would be funny if I were a worm in an alternate universe," he says.

"I think you would be a cute worm," says Jayce—his Jayce—without hesitation, and then he shrugs. "I would put you in the best garden I could find and feed you the freshest fruits," he adds casually.

Giopara is silently mouthing the phrase "what the fuck" behind them, as Viktor's mouth falls open. "Oh."

Oh, he says, as if that did not remind him of everything Jayce revealed before they sacrificed their souls to contain the Arcane. Oh, that he was beautiful. Oh, that he was...

Desired?

Or Jayce basically confessed his love, but the specifics remained unclear to Viktor.

Kiss me like one of your Zaun Boys by setbet

“They’re making out in the lab.”

“Yeah, they do that a lot.”

“But they’re not boyfriends?”

“We don’t talk about it.”

The first time Viktor kissed Jayce, it was a quick peck on the cheek, followed by a casual conversation. The next time it's on the lips, but then it's back to talk about formulas. Jayce concludes it must be a cultural thing, and also starts to kiss Viktor back. Everybody else is confused.

A story of two friends kissing each other, who are definitely not boyfriends.

only you by babybirb

Jayce and Viktor don't quite cease to exist. Instead, they are side by side in each breath, in each droplet of blood, in each wave of sound and light. What seems to be the end, is only the beginning for them. And together, they pave their way forth.

An ethereal alternate after-ending to Jayce and Viktor and the love they hold for each other. With it, they exist within all possibilities.

not to me, not if it's you by brewstersbru

They were supposed to die, then, a better ending than Viktor expected. Far sweeter than he deserved. Jayce’s hand warm and broad against his neck, foreheads tipped together, breaths fanning over skin. It was neat. It was nice.

And then he woke up, splayed in a field, draped in the tatters of Jayce’s blanket. A groan rose from his left, then some pitiful shuffling before a final, loud thump, accompanied by a slight warble.

perfect imperfections by bbgghost

In his dying moments, Jayce revisits some important moments he has shared with Viktor. And makes some new memories along the way.

i knew you in another life (you had that same look in your eyes) by coefemi

Jayce shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me. I’d do it for you. I’d do anything.” He sounds so earnest too, and Viktor believes him. He is safe with this boy, he decides. Jayce’s smile makes him feel like he can eat the world raw, and Viktor wants to hold onto it forever.

 When Viktor and Jayce's foreheads touch, all the infinite what-could-have-beens spill through their minds.

♥––––––––♥♥––––––––♥

2x7 AU\No Hextech AU

I'd love to see more of this AU and will also write fanfiction about it.

Quiet Resonance by Qakk281

Jayce rarely wakes up before Viktor, but on the rare mornings he does, he savors every second.

After the events of Act 3, Jayce and Viktor found themselves in a different timeline, where Hextech doesn't exist.

what could've been, would've been (what should've been you) by ghostlyecho

They got married in this universe.

Jayce grabs Viktor’s left hand, examining it. He looks at his own.

Twin rings adorn their fingers, Viktor’s golden, Jayce’s silver, both holding a fragment of blue crystal in the middle.

They’re married. They vowed their life to the other, they promised themselves to one another, they actually acted upon the deep-rooted emotions that coursed through the garden that was their relationship, that stubborn weed called love, that always came back no matter how many times you plucked it.

What if it was Jayce who got to see his life in an alternate universe

What Could Have Been by TheUnknownGoose

When Jayce woke up he nearly leaped out of bed when he realized bed? Why am I in bed? His heart was pounding against his rib cage as he looked around. He was in a bedroom, not his though.

Or Jayce sees what could have been if one thing had gone differently.

In Every Universe, It's You by AniresNevil

In an Alternate Universe, a young scientist Jayce loses his hopes and dreams when an explosion in his studyroom takes a life of an young girl. Dean's assistant Viktor still seems to find him in every lifetime, and together they accomplish something once again with the power of their partnership. And maybe with something more.

What happened to Jayce and Viktor in the Universe where Ekko traveled to in season 2?

Both arms cradle you now by Alexthestarlover

They're meant to be. In every timeline of any universe, throughout all the endless possibilities of actions and worlds. Their souls are intertwined. But is it possible that they're together in death too? 

there was something about you, but now i cant remember by DipitinPuddinggg

He held out a hand for a shake, "I'm Jayce."

At the edges of his mind, a familiar voice echoed through the walls of his skull. A voice that was the same but also not. A face that was so familiar, but too smooth at this point in time, not yet marred by years of labour and hardship that not even the strongest person in Runeterra could survive on his own.

"I don't even know your name."

Viktor smiled and shook it, "Viktor."

After getting sucked into the rune, Jayce and Viktor get transported to a different timeline without the memories of their previous life. Except, some things start seeping in.

you'll never shine if you don't glow by hexcorehomos

Viktor woke up, his fact was hot, sweat dripping down it. Where was he?

He looked around, it looked like Piltover. He slowly tried to get up, still confused. He should be dead, he exploded with the Arcane. That's when he figured out that his leg was back to normal. He groaned, falling face down into the grass. He wondered if Jayce was here too, oh, Jayce. What would Viktor do without him?

He saw a few people pass, but he got the courage to speak up when he saw familiar blue hair, almost like Jinx's. "Uh, miss.." he got her attention, turning towards him.

"Hello, sir?" she responded. She had gorgeous blue eyes. "I need- I need help. My cane is gone, and I cant walk without it." he lied, desperate for help.

♥––––––––♥♥––––––––♥

The Poly relationship>

Radical Violence Theory by begaydocrimes10001

When Mel Medarda realizes that she's completely ignored Viktor's potential as a scientist, as an academic, she quickly seeks to remedy that. He may not be Jayce Talis, but he has his own brain, and he seems to be far more useful than most think. She's a practical woman, after all- it would be useful to have another genius on her side.

And when she realizes Viktor is also in love with Jayce Talis, and Jayce loves them both? She's still practical, after all-- she sees an opportunity.

(Or, Mel and Viktor are more similar than one might think. That applies to who they love, but it applies to how they love too.)

Mel and Vik are platonic in this one, and I love it. Sadly, the positive interaction between them in Cannon is non-existent.

♥––––––––♥♥––––––––♥

Explicit> (some are 2x8 specific)

Wild Like a March hare by crow_brain

Wild are the glimpses of their life, hot coals burning the soles of their feet. They dance like animals, trying to close the gap between.

(Or the body worship Viktor's always should've gotten)

Cosmic Coitus by Wink_Wonk_Wank_Wenk

Now that there’s nothing but space around them, they can do whatever they want.

Inevitable Change by magisterpavus

Viktor isn’t the same when he comes back.

Jayce is determined to make it work anyway.

convince you by spectacularorange

after being rejected once, viktor must find a way to convince jayce to join him.

2x8

Partners. by lw192

Taking place during the fight scene in the councilor's room, Jayce and Viktor reconcile and realize just how much they need each other.

(Jayce and Viktor fuck on the councilor's table.)

Can I hold you? (Even if its just pretend?) by Issavandra

“My partner died in this room,” he ground out.

“Do I seem dead to you Jayce?” Viktor asked. Jayce could feel him moving closer, he swore he felt something brush his nose. “I have never been more alive.”

A cool, metallic finger passed over his bottom lip in a featherlight touch. It felt almost reverent. “Do you want me to show you just how alive I am?”

[arpicityandneed]

Hi there! I'm so excited to hear your page is growing! Your work is amazing and I can't wait to see what you write next. Thank you for taking the time to share your work with us! 💜

If there's still space, could I ask for 2 or 10 with Steve or Bucky?

Thank you again and good luck in school!

Thanks!! It's my pleasure to share honestly.

Steve (#2 sex in front of a big window where anyone could glance up and spot them)

18+ f!reader. Cap!Steve. Dirty talk. Spanking. Semi public sex.

You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, all you could do was feel. Your cheek was pressed against cool glass as your boyfriend fucked you ravenously.

Alright maybe you shouldn't have teased him so much- each selfie sent during a tactical meeting was just your way of passing the time.

In your own defense, you'd been unsupervised.

But Steve had simply thrown you over his shoulder when he got back, ignoring your squeaks of protest. Your tshirt (his actually) was ripped in half before you got thrown on the bed, and all you got was one of his shit eating grins and a "you asked for it" before he was on you.

That was three- four? rounds ago, and at this point you weren't sure if you wanted to curse or thank Erskine's serum. Your boyfriend's stamina was endless.

"Come on pretty girl, where'd all that attitude go hm?" Steve was panting in your ear, thrusting his wickedly fat cock into your cum filled pussy over and over as his massive hand slapped your ass cheek.

"Thought you wanted my attention. Well now you have it baby." He bit down on your shoulder hard enough to leave teeth marks as you clenched down around him, every roll of his hips dragging the head of his cock over your spot and making you keen.

"Stevie," you moaned completely out of it as you fucked yourself back onto his cock shamelessly, each balls deep kiss of his tip to your cervix making your eyes cross.

"Yeah yeah, I'm here sweetheart. Just gotta gimme one more and I'll let you rest for a bit mkay?" Steve may be enthustiatic but he was still gentle with your nonenhanced body. (As gentle as you wanted him to be anway.)

All it took was his hand snaking around to find your clit before you were screaming his name, grateful for the soundproof glass of Stark tower.

Steve groaned and pulled your hips flush against his before he added even more of his super sized load to your overflowing folds. If you had hand shaped bruises on your hips tomorrow you wouldn't be surprised, but more importantly you wondered if birth control worked with super soldier sperm.

Gentle hands picked you up when you would've fallen to the floor happily, carrying you to the shower and turning on the hot water as they held you close.

"Hey baby, can you open your eyes for me?" Steve cajoled softly, cupping your cheek in his hand as you blinked up at him blearily.

"Try that shit again and I'll have Bucky deal with you, he loves putting little brats like you in their place." Your eyes widened in shock and more than a little bit of interest, and it just made Steve laugh.

"Next time baby, rest now."

~

(10 minutes prior)

Bucky moved silently, Steve's text with coordinates and a simple note 'enjoy the show' made him curious he could admit. But he wasn't expecting to see your pretty little self fucked out and pressed against the glass.

Steve had picked the perfect spot, the exact coordinates giving Bucky a private view of Steve's window and your fully naked body split open on his best friends cock.

"Well I'll be damned," Bucky muttered as he adjusted his erection in his pants.

Even 70 years later, Stevie was still a fucking punk.

[katerinaaqu]

Gosh you are so right! The movie is simply PHENOMENAL! Oh gosh these moments are so powerful!

I also loved the moment where Clytemnestra runs in blind rage and desperation to the soldiers screaming "Murder!" And even soldiers cannot move! At that moment the mother's pain is much stronger! Or when she says "and Menelaus can slaughter that daughter that Helen bore him!" She is in such a blind rage that she basically curses both her sister and her niece for her daughter, arguably her favorite daughter is now facing such a death! Or the way she yells in front of Achilles "THEY ARE KILLING MY CHILD!"

But man Agamemnon's moments! 😭😭😭 they destroyed me! The way he is so desperately screaming at Menelaus and then he admits that the soldiers are basically a mob. He cannot control them! Or how he screams how he can't do anything to Clytemnestra 😭😭😭

Oh gosh the moment with baby Orestes was a mix of the most heart-wrenching and adorable! Iphigenia is in such desperation but baby Orestes softly hopping on his knees being adorable and carefree (and it's also sad for we know how his life will become a living hell) or how she tells her mother not to mourn and Clytemnestra breaks again like "can't I even mourn my child?!" And Achilles tenderly touching her chin (maybe THIS is when the idea of offering human sacrifices came from for him as well! When he lost his mind in sorrow)

I also how authentic...how GREEK it felt because the dialog of Clytemnestra was the average mother ("let your father write!" Like yeah average mom hahaha) the way the soldiers were chanting like we chant for elections or in football matches and all! And of course Theodorakis amazing music and casting! Gosh! That movie is PHENOMENAL 🔥 🔥🔥

THIS is what happens when you allow the Greeks show their passion for their own history and mythology! Iphigenia (1977) based on the play "Iphigenia en Aulis", an Oscar-nominated film by Michel Cacoyannis and exclusively Greek casting

And here the phenomenal Irene Papas that we enjoy to "L'Odyssea (1968)" as Penelope and to "The Odyssey (1997)" as Anticlea now giving her all and in her own voice and language as Clytemnestra and her equally phenomenal co-protagonist Kostas Kazakos as Agamemnon have this heart-wrenching performance 😭😭

The seer PAIN and GUILT in his voice is killing me! "How can I answer such an inhuman question in a humane way?" My heart! 😭 and the way SHE stands her ground against his sadness that comes off as anger! "Your silence is enough" gosh! 😭 the seer pain of a mother and a father here! No Agamemnon laughing manichaly into the night of how how he gets his precious money from the war spoils but a father about to do the most inhumane thing to appease the gods for his hubris and a mother now realizing beyond any shade of doubt and being broken by it!

Dunno guys what kind of movies you expect in the cinema for greek mythology but THIS is the type I expect!

[fashionteahouse]

Hii! Your work is amazing!

Could you write a Reader x Paul story? The idea is that the reader is Jacob's friend, and he takes her to meet the pack. Paul has an imprint on her but keeps it a secret. Meanwhile, the reader becomes very close to the boys without knowing they are shapeshifters. At some point, they start arguing about Jacob suffering because of Bella. The reader then comforts Jacob, saying how sweet and loving he is and that he should find someone who truly loves him back. This makes Paul jealous. If it’s not too much trouble, could you make it a long story? I’ll leave the ending to your creativity—I absolutely love it!💓

heyy thank youuu 💜 and sure I would love to ! hope you enjoy :)

where do we go - paul x reader

"I can hear your stomach growling from here." Jacob pokes at you.

Nudging him, you tell him, "Just wait, yours will rumble like thunder in just one moment."

He chuckles at this and focuses back on the road with one hand on the steering wheel.

"This rides really smooth." you compliment his newly constructed ride. The rabbit he had been working on, was finally finished.

"Thanks." he says with a big smile.

Pulling up to the small but friendly looking home, you get out the car and adjust your slightly wrinkled clothes from it being pressed against the seat belt.

"Come on." he says impatiently. You wave him off, knowing that it was due to his hunger. He takes your hand and guides you into the home. You were shocked at the fact that he just opened the door and walked in like it was his own home.

A long, dark haired woman sets a platter of food in the middle of the table and looks over and smiles, "Just in time, Jacob. You brought someone." she states as she looks at you with a crinkle in her eye.

You wave with a friendly smile.

"This is Emily. Emily this is Y/N." Jacob says and you both say hi again.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"Hell yeah, I'm hungry." a boy says as he walks in and plops at a seat at the table.

Emily rolls her eyes and tsks, "Not you. I'm talking about Y/N." she says.

"Yes. Everything looks so good." you say and comment.

Jacob tugs your hand and sits you down next to him.

"This is Jared." Jacob tells you and you nod.

"I could've told her that." Jared replies back and this makes you smile a bit.

More people started to file into the room, conversations were thrown as people settled into their seats. They introduced themselves. You kept note of their names. Quil, Embry, Seth, and Sam.

"Where's Leah and Paul?" Sam asks as he grabs a fork.

"They said they were coming." Embry says as he wastes no time with digging in.

The door opens as you were in the middle of defending your growling stomach, Jacob tells the table how loud it was growling earlier.

You look and see a tall woman with short hair walk in with a muscle covered man.

You almost drooled at the sight of him but decided to keep your mouth occupied by chewing.

"We have company?" Leah asks as she takes a look at you and sits down with her own plate.

You both exchanged names.

"Can you hand me that?" you hear a rough voice.

"You should say please." Jacob says. You still hand it to him, you took it as an opportunity to look at this person who to you, was eye candy.

His eyes were like a spell. The talk that circled around you was muffled and didn't register in your ears as his warm fingers plucked the syrup bottle from you. His eyes went down to his own plate. You missed the sight but thought it was just a silly crush.

Paul on the other hand, didn't know how to feel. He liked the life of not being tied down. He loathed the idea of imprinting, he felt it was glamorized brainwashing. He didn't speak for the rest of the time at the table.

You and Leah wash the dishes as Emily clears the table.

"Are you going to be around more often?" Leah asks as she rinsed the cup under the warm water.

"I hope so. You guys are fun." you say with a smile.

You join the others in the living room, Jacob pats a spot next to him.

Paul did have questions. He wondered if Jacob had finally gotten over Bella Swan. He wondered if you were taking her place. He wondered how you two met. So, that's what he asked.

"How do you know Jacob?"

He didn't care how it came out, it was itching him to know. He watched closely as you looked at Jacob and giggled before saying, "Do you want to tell him or should I?"

Paul sighed softly to himself with impatience. He wanted to know the answer but you and Jacob laughed with each other as if you two shared an inside joke. Paul wanted to know how Jacob made you bubbly like that.

"Just tell him." you say, feeling nervous at Paul's intense and focused gaze.

"She used to work at a cookie shop. She would hook me up with the leftovers." Jacob shrugs.

"You still work there?" Quil asks, he wanted to be in on it.

"No, not anymore." you say while shaking your head.

"Why? He got you fired?" Paul asks again.

"No." you say in a small voice as you look to him.

"It was good while it lasted." Jacob says as he then starts to hold your hand.

"Everything can't last forever." you say to him with a small smile.

Since that day, you came over more often. You guilty started to prefer Sam and Emily's over Jacob's garage, even though you two shared great memories in such place.

Some days you would see Paul. Some days you don't. It didn’t bother you too much, you found yourself enjoying the quirks of each pack member.

You all were on the beach. You joined in on a soccer game. You had fun even though it was supposed to be competitive. Falling in the sand didn't matter to you.

You pant and sit down next to Leah, feeling tired.

"How come Paul didn't join us?" you ask. It was a nice day and everybody was in high spirits.

"Who knows." she replies.

"Oh." you say.

Paul walked the pathway to the beach. He could hear and see everyone from a distance. His ears opened as he could hear you and Leah speaking. He had conflicted emotions as seen you sitting next to her, he dreamt of you, two nights in a row.

"Is Paul antisocial or something?" you ask her.

Leah chuckles but shrugs and looks over, she sees Paul making his way to the sand covered beach.

Seth comes over and begs you both to play again. You get up as you watch Leah get up.

Paul just sat on the fallen log that distance from him and the group. He watched as you all had fun.

He didn't stay long. He found himself watching over you and he felt the spiked feeling when you looked over at him a few times.

Jacob wrapped his arm around you as he walked you back to his car. The sky was dark and you were yawning.

This time, you went over and Sam and Emily's with Leah. Walking in, you were happy to see everybody. Everyone got up and greeted you or gave you hugs.

Everyone except Jacob and Paul.

You walk over to a sulking Jacob, your face was masked with concern as he wasn't his usual sunny self.

"Hey Jake." you say softly.

"Hey." he replies back.

You didn't push it, you made sure to stay close. Paul watched as you brushed your arm against his, he secretly wanted you to do the same for whenever he was moody.

You eat some cookies that Emily had made, you offer him one. He shakes his head. You follow him out of the door and sit on the porch swing next to him.

You both sit in silence as the swing slowly rocked back and forth and the sounds of birds chirping was what filled the silence.

You look at him.

"Who did it?" you ask him. He shakes his head as he stares ahead.

"It's nothing. Really." he says. You're not convinced.

Dinner had came as you all enjoyed the cooked meal.

"Don't tell me you're still upset at that chick." Quil says as he takes a look at Jacob's slow paced eating.

"What chick? He wont tell me anything." you say as you put your utensil in your mouth.

"Bella Swan." Paul says. It was sneaky, but he didn't care.

"What did she do this time?" you ask Jacob and rub his arm.

"I just don't get it, why does she keeps pretending like she doesn't have feelings for me as well?"

"Well, how can you know for sure?" you ask.

"Come on, Y/N. The whole time her precious boyfriend was gone, she came to me for comfort. I saw the way she would look at me, let me hold her hand, and everything." Jacob says.

Embry snorts, "He still holds onto the fact that she told him he was sorta beautiful."

Snickering filled the table as they tease at the fact that he used to never shut up about it when it happened. Jacob just didn't have it in him to laugh a long with them. He genuinely felt frustrated and strung along. You didn't laugh either, you hold his hand that was resting on the table.

"I say to don't keep wasting your time on earning her love. If it was meant to be it would've happened."

"Thats the thing, it was going to happen. Had her boyfriend not come back."

"Jake, if she ran off with him at the opportunity presented, did she really love you enough?"

Jacob shrugs in defeat. You tug at his hand to get him to look at you. He does.

"Shes not the only girl in the world. As someone as sweet as you are, the right girl will come around. You're so loving and just so full of love, you will easily find someone who will love you right back. Just open your horizons." you say to him closely, you wanted him to grasp onto what you were saying.

"Is Y/N trying to shoot her shot?" Jared asks humorously.

Laughs circle around you tell him to shut up through your own laughter.

"Let me be there for him." you say as you take a look at your friend. He cheered up a bit, you didn't want him to get out of character for someone who didn't treat him to his value.

Paul didn't have an appetite anymore. He watched the interaction and felt something foreign enter his body. Jealousy. He was used to people being jealous of what he had, not the other way around.

"You don't want any more?" Emily asks Paul as he rises to empty his plate.

"I got full." he simply says. He takes a last glance as you continued to rub the back of Jacob's hand.

He goes outside and does what he does best, phase.

His mind wouldn't stop. Fantasies and realities began to mix with each other.

He huffed out through his snout as he bared his teeth at the thought of Jacob and you becoming an item.

"Paul? Did you imprint?"

Paul groaned at the distraction of his brain, not giving him a clue when Sam phased in. He shifts out and books it toward his home. He did a lot of thinking in the shower.

It shocked Emily and Sam when Paul decided to come over earlier than he usually does.

Sam gives him a look. Paul ignores him. He didn't need a pep talk, his mind was focused on one thing.

You and Jacob came in hand in hand and you both were softly talking to each other.

"Y/N."

You jump at the sound of Paul's voice saying your name. It was unexpected and you couldn't lie, you liked the way that it sounded.

"Yes?" you answer in a small voice.

"I need to talk to you." he says and steps forward.

Jacob clutched your hand tighter before moving you back a bit.

"For what?" Jacob questioned.

"I'm not talking to you." Paul coldly says.

"Jacob. It's alright." Sam speaks up and nods to Paul.

You say to Jacob, "I will be back, okay?”

He nods but you still saw the uncertainty.

You and Paul walked away from the home. You expected it to be awkward but it was comfortable. You kept glancing at him, his face was focused, as if he was thinking.

"I wont bite." he says as you two stop near a tall tree. You then saw the handsome grin that was displayed on his face.

"What's this talk about?" you ask warmly.

"I want to see you more often." he states.

"I do see you." you say.

He chuckled a bit, "No, I mean. I see you and you see me."

Your stomach drops. You had to make sure you weren't dreaming.

"W-why?" you ask, in a cracked voice.

"Never mind. I will back off if you and Jacob are a thing." he says.

"No!" you say louder than meant, "I mean.. Me and Jacob, we're just friends."

"The way you were talking to him, I would've thought you had a crush on him." he says in a somewhat teasing tone.

You shake your head, "I just really care for him. People who are in my life mean a lot to me." you say.

He nods.

You bring your own smile.

I mean. You're sort of beautiful." you say in a small voice. The look he gave you almost made your knees buckle.

"Sort of?" he asks.

You playfully roll your eyes a bit as you then look down, "You know what I mean." you whisper.

"So, where do we go from here?" you then ask.

"Wherever you want." he simply says.

As you two walk, he didn't want to tell you the imprint. He kept picturing the crash that would come down on your world once he tells you that you would be bound forever to someone like him.

You come back in and Jacob immediately, is in your face, this makes you laugh.

"I'm still alive, Jake. Calm down." you laugh. He just hugs you. Paul ignored the narrowed eyes that were darted his way.

You didn't come over on this particular day. You and Emily decided to spend the day together.

Jacob confronts Paul.

"Whatever you're thinking about doing, think again."

"Or what?" Paul simply asks.

Jacob steps forward, "Stay away from her. She doesn't need to be tainted by you."

Paul steps forward as well, "Or what?" he asks again. It was one thing for him to think it in his own head, it was another thing for someone to say it directly to him.

"You will see." Jacob states and walks off.

Paul shakes his head at the younger boy, he was in for a surprise.

You come into the home with Emily, Paul stayed hoping to run into you.

"Where's Jake?" you ask Sam who was moving towards Emily.

"Billy called him to come home." he states.

"Oh." you say. Before you could fully tun your body fully around, you heard, "You're not going to stay?"

Paul looked right you, expecting an answer.

You shrug. You watch him scoot over in the sofa, leaving some room for you to clearly sit down.

You slowly walk and have a seat.

He gets comfortable and doesn't care that his arm brushed against you. To be honest, you didn't care either.

Your mind was in a daze as it constantly thought how nice it was to be around Paul.

"Did you hear me?"

You look up.

"You weren't listening?" Jacob asks with a wrench in his hand.

"Sorry." you say whispering and shaking your head a bit.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'm just distracted that's all."

Jacob sighs a bit and suggests something, "Lets walk around or something. You've been cooped up in here with me."

You chuckle and rise up. The rain had stopped, leaving the air to be humid.

You soon find out that Jacob had been taking it one day at a time.

"You wont get over her overnight but, at least it's something." you say and take his hand to comfort him.

"I know." he says.

You noticed his walking slowing down. It wasn't until you looked ahead and your heart started to work extra hard to beat.

You see Paul's eyes flicker down to you and Jacob's conjoined hands.

You loosen your grip and put your hand behind your back. Paul is amused at this and even more amused at the somewhat hurt look on Jacob's face.

"Can we help you?" Jacob asks in an irritated tone.

You give him a look to tell him to chill out.

Paul doesn't seem effected by Jacob's cruel tone, just putting his eyes back onto you.

"How are you?"

"I'm good. You?" you say back.

"Better." he answers back.

"Come on, Y/N." Jacob says as he tugs your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Paul standing, looking at you as well as you walked away.

"What was that?" you ask Jacob as distance is great.

"You can't get close with him, Y/N." he says.

"Why not?" you ask.

"He's bad news." he says.

"Jake, that's not fair. I've been getting close with everyone."

"Just. Not him, okay? Please. You trust me right?" he presses.

"Yes. I trust you." you say and you seen the relief that washed over his face.

You stuffed your hands in your pocket as you watched the waves. You had agreed to go to the beach with Seth and Leah.

Seth picks up a stick, a worm was on it.

"Look, Y/N." he says with a smile, bringing the stick closer.

You squealed a bit, the worm looked nasty.

"Seth, Jesus. Leave her alone." Leah says.

Seth directs the stick in her direction, on the verge of laughing. Leah jumps back, "Seth, I swear!"

He continues his teasing as both you and Leah run a bit to get away from Seth who held the power to make you and Leah squirm.

You bump hard into something to the point, you emit an, "Oof."

Two strong hands hold your arms up, you don't even know what the wet sand felt like. You were grateful.

You look up to see Paul's face staring down at you.

"Sorry." you say and step back as if he was flaming fire. His face flashed a quick look of pining.

You turn around seen the stick on the ground and Leah has Seth in a headlock.

"Not so funny is it?" Leah says with a smirk.

"Lee I'm sorry. Come on, you have to admit that it was funny." Seth says.

"It will be funny if I make you eat this worm." Leah says.

You felt a hot hand touch your arm to make you turn back around.

"I haven't seen you around in a while." he says.

You shrug.

"You think I have germs or something?" he asks as he follows you on a large rock to sit on.

Softly chuckling, "No."

"Then what is it?" he asks lowly, his face was nicely placed close to your face. You didn't have to look over or up much, to see his face.

"I don't know." you whisper.

"Liar." he whispered back.

"Y/N, are you eating dinner with us?" Leah calls over, both herself and Seth looked ready to leave.

"I will feed you. If you want." Paul offers to you, only you could hear.

"Um.." you say to him and call back to Leah, "Sure."

You rise up. Paul's heart drops down.

"Getting cuddly with Lahote?" Leah asks you as you and her were in the bathroom taking turns to wash hands.

"It's nothing." you say.

"Sure." she says sarcastically.

Her mother, Sue, had good cooking. You made sure to compliment it and shes flattered.

Leah persuades you to spend the night.

You go with her and Seth in the morning to Sam's for breakfast.

You notice Paul wasn't there. Jacob engulfs you into a hug. You felt the difference in the room. You couldn't put your finger on it, his absence was very noticeable.

Emily wraps a plate as the boys teased each other in the living room.

"Who's that for?"

"This was for Paul. I was going to drop it off for him." she answers.

Before you knew what you were doing, your mouth opens, "I can-" you close it back.

Emily looks to you. "What were you going to say?"

"I can drop it off... If you want." you ask in a small voice.

"Okay!" she says and gives you the directions to his home.

You left before Jacob would notice you leaving. You still took small steps as you got closer to Paul's home. Your heart pounded so hard out for your chest.

The pounds weren't louder than the bang on the door you made from your knuckles. You clutched onto the plate that was under your finger's grip.

The door opened to a mouthwatering sight.

A shirtless Paul slowly pries the plate from your hands. He takes one finger to close your slightly opened mouth.

He chuckled as you regain your common sense.

"Tell Emily I said thank you."

You nod and go to turn, a warm hand jets out to you to turn you back around.

"You don't have to tell her right at this second." he says.

He opens the door wider, silently inviting you in.

You sit at his not so big table, as he eats.

"How come you didn't come over?" you ask.

"I don't know." he says.

"Liar." you whisper. A dark chuckle forms in his throat. He looks at you for some time with an amused look.

You look down as your cheeks feel hot. You heard him whisper something else.

"Pretty."

You then feel a soft brush on your cheek. Looking, you see it was the back of his finger. You felt sure. He felt sure. You didn't know how to explain it, it felt like this moment was always meant to be.

[solxamber]

Helloo, I absolutely love you writing! Your understanding of the twst characters’ personalities is phenomenal 😭❤️

May I request both Ace and Malleus crushing on reader simultaneously, and both are aware that the other likes reader (reader is oblivious hehe). Ace gets super insecure since he isn’t powerful nor of royal status and believes there’s no way he can compete against him, meanwhile Malleus gets super jealous since Ace has been friends with reader ever since and is the most close with him.

Ace x Reader x Malleus (Love Triangle)

a/n: the giggle i let out when i saw this!! such a fun concept and thank you so much 🫶🫶

It started with a normal day: you laughing at one of Ace's jokes, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind you. The storm in question was Ace and Malleus glaring daggers at each other over your oblivious head.

Ace was slouched in his chair, shooting side-eyes at the imposing figure standing too close to your desk. Why does he have to hover like that? he thought bitterly. Malleus, for his part, was casting pointed glances at Ace’s casual posture, as if silently saying, Is this the best you can do?

Neither could deny the truth. They were both hopelessly, tragically in love with you. And they both knew it.

Ace prided himself on being the guy you could count on for a laugh. But today, he was on a mission: show you how amazing he was.

“So, anyway,” he said loudly during your study session in the library, “I totally aced—get it?—my magic exam. Got full marks.” He leaned back smugly, hoping you’d be impressed.

Malleus, who had been quietly sitting nearby (because of course he was), looked up. “Impressive, Ace Trappola. But I suppose it pales in comparison to wielding centuries-old magic and commanding legions of loyal subjects.”

Ace choked on his own smugness. “Yeah, well, I bet you don’t even know how to mix a potion without turning it into swamp goo, huh?”

“Actually, I mastered potion-making at a young age. I created an elixir capable of reviving withered flora.”

“Cool, cool. Can you tell me how any of that helps the prefect with our history homework?” Ace shot back, leaning closer to you.

Malleus frowned. “History is one of my strongest subjects.”

“Oh my Seven—” Ace groaned and threw his hands up. “We get it. You’re ancient!”

You looked between them, confused. “Are you two okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Malleus said smoothly.

“Great! I was just explaining history to Deuce,” Ace lied shamelessly.

Lunch was another battlefield. Ace had secured a seat next to you and was recounting a funny story involving Grim, a mop, and a very angry caterpillar monster.

“…and then Grim screamed so loud, I think half the campus heard him! Right, Prefect?” Ace said, nudging you.

Before you could respond, the shadow of a tall figure fell over the table.

“Malleus,” Ace said with a forced grin. “Didn’t see you there. Like, at all.”

“I thought I would join you,” Malleus said, sitting directly across from you, his gaze unwavering. “Do you require assistance with your meal? Perhaps I could conjure something more fitting for your taste.”

“Okay, that’s just cheating,” Ace muttered under his breath.

“Conjuring food is a skill that requires great control,” Malleus said casually. “It’s a shame some rely solely on mediocre cafeteria fare.”

“Oh, so now the chicken nuggets aren’t good enough for you?” Ace snapped.

“They lack refinement,” Malleus said.

“Yeah? Well, you lack… I dunno, vibes!” Ace countered.

You blinked. “Ace, are you okay? You’re yelling about chicken nuggets.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good,” Ace mumbled, shoving a nugget in his mouth to shut himself up.

The tension boiled over during a school festival. There was a dance competition, and both Ace and Malleus signed up for one reason: to win your attention.

Ace went first, pulling off a routine filled with flashy moves that he definitely stole from a popular video. The crowd cheered, and you clapped the loudest.

“Not bad, right?” Ace said, slightly out of breath but grinning. “Bet I’m the first guy you’ve seen dance like that.”

Before you could respond, Malleus stepped onto the stage.

“I shall now perform a traditional dance of my homeland,” he announced.

It was graceful, mesmerizing, and undeniably magical—literally. The lights dimmed, and green flames swirled around him as he moved with perfect precision. The crowd was silent, utterly captivated.

Ace stood next to you, slack-jawed. “I… I can’t compete with that.”

You turned to him with a smile. “I thought your dance was amazing too.”

Ace lit up like a firework. “Y-Yeah? You mean that?”

Malleus, mid-spin, glanced at you both. His expression darkened.

Eventually, the competition escalated to new heights of absurdity. Ace baked you cookies, only to find out Malleus had hand-carved you a jewelry box. Malleus enchanted roses to bloom eternally, and Ace countered by organizing a surprise karaoke night with all your favorite songs.

But when you tripped and both of them scrambled to catch you, the ridiculousness reached its peak.

“You caught their hand,” Malleus said, an edge to his voice.

“And you caught their other hand!” Ace snapped.

You, still mid-air, sighed. “Can someone just catch me completely next time?”

Despite their antics, one thing was clear: they both adored you. And while their rivalry was exasperating, it was also… kind of sweet.

Well, for you, anyway. For them? Not so much.

Masterlist