kosmokai

[kosmokai]

oh lawd 🤕🤕

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀GOOD BOY oscar piastri smut

⠀⠀⠀⠀my masterlist | requests are open! | more oscar!

+18. MDNI | wc: 2,6K. ─── oscar gets home knowing exactly what he wants. his girlfriend does too.

› oscar piastri x dalilah bartocci (female!oc)

› warnings: stabilished relationship, p in v, sub!oscar!!!! soft dom!oc, use of toys, overstimulation, a whole lot of praising, sweet puppy behavior from oscar.

Different couples have different dynamics. Dalilah and Oscar, for example, could switch positions in bed as easily as he does behind the wheel of a racing car.

Today is one of Oscar's favorite days.

He usually sets things off very easily, and it's just as easy for his girlfriend to catch the signal. The Aussie drops his bag right by the door, toes off his sneakers with lazy kicks, and climbs onto the couch, where Dalilah lays sprawled on her back, scrolling through TikToks.

The soft mess of her dyed curls glows in the screen’s reflection as he squeezes himself between her arms, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck, rubbing his nose all over her skin until she lets out a little hum.

"Hello, baby," she coos, the soft tone in her voice enough to send chills racing down his spine — but what really gets him is the slow sweep of her hand up and down his back. "You okay?"

"Yup," he mutters, muffled against her neck. "You smell so good..."

That's his way of asking for it.

Body rubbing against the Italian girl, breath slow and warm against her skin like the brush of a feather.

"Thanks, babyboy," Dalilah murmurs, and Oscar replies with a soft, pitiful whine.

He loves pet names. Babyboy, good boy, darling... Any of them could turn him pink-cheeked and bashful in a heartbeat.

"Tough day, huh? You seem tense," she teases gently, thin fingers tracing lazy lines across his muscles, pausing at the waistband of his pants before gliding back up the nape of his neck. A slow, promising little touch — the kind that could set the whole night spinning.

"A bit," he rasps, voice low and thick with that husky Aussie lilt, almost purring like a spoiled cat. "You fine?"

"I'm great, actually. Called Mom today, she asked about you," Dalilah answers, curling his light strands between her fingers. "Dad’s excited to see you race."

"Dad gets more excited than I do," Oscar jokes, a small grin pulling at his lips. "Did you book the hotel rooms?"

They're comfortable enough now — long enough together to call each other’s parents Mom and Dad, long enough that sprawled over each other like this, half-talking, half-touching, feels as natural as breathing.

The conversation is barely a prelude, a lazy dance before what they both know is about to happen.

"Yeah, everything’s sorted. It’s going to be a good weekend," she promises.

Oscar wishes he had the focus to care about the details, but Dalilah’s fingers are back at the nape of his neck, not just caressing this time — squeezing, softly, firmly, sending sparks racing down his spine.

A needy sound breaks from his throat before he can stop it. His body moves without thinking, grinding against her subtly, desperately — as if close will never be close enough.

"In need of something, babe?" she whispers against his ear, sweet and dangerous all at once.

Oscar nods into her skin, almost frantic, but it isn’t words he finds — just a breathy, needy little noise that has Dalilah smiling against the crown of his head.

“Oh, baby.” she murmurs, shifting under him, coaxing him to lay flat on the couch. He follows without hesitation, body pliant, breath shallow. “You're always so good for me.”

He barely catches the kiss she presses to his forehead before she’s slipping out from under him, leaving a sudden, shivering emptiness behind. A little whimper punches from his chest, but she’s already padding away down the hall, hips swaying in that easy, lethal way she knows he watches.

"Stay there," Dalilah tosses over her shoulder, soft but leaving no room for argument. Oscar grips the couch cushions with his hands, knuckles white, biting his lip.

When she returns, she’s carrying the box.

The box that has Oscar blinking up at her, cheeks already heating before anything even touches him.

Dalilah sets it down with a soft thud beside the couch. Her fingers skim his jaw, his chest, trailing lazy circles until she can feel how fast his heart is hammering.

“All for you tonight, babyboy." she hums, pulling a couple of items free — a silky tie, a sleek little bullet vibrator, a small bottle of lube. Nothing too cruel. Not tonight.

Oscar shifts, trying not to rut up into the air like some desperate thing, but Dalilah sees it anyway. She always sees.

“Patience,” she chides lightly, straddling his hips in a single, smooth movement. She can feel him — hot, hard, throbbing beneath her — even through his jeans. Poor boy’s probably been half-hard since the second he walked through the door.

"You gonna be good for me, baby?" she coos, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Yes,” Oscar chokes out, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Dalilah hums approvingly, catching his wrists and bringing them up over his head. She doesn't tie them — not yet. Just holds them there, pinning him with the weight of her body and the unbearable tenderness of her gaze.

"You don't have to think about anything, sweetheart," she whispers, kissing his temple. "Just let me."

Oscar whines again, helpless, almost writhing under her. His eyes flutter shut, then open wide when he feels her pop the button of his jeans and drag the zipper down agonizingly slow.

She's unfair. She's devastating. She's everything.

Before he can beg, before he can even formulate a thought, Dalilah has his cock freed, leaking, twitching in the cool air. She strokes him once, twice — light, teasing, nowhere near enough — and smiles when his hips stutter up into her touch.

"So sensitive," she murmurs, clearly delighted.

Without warning, the slick tip of the bullet vibrator presses to the head of his cock, sending a violent shudder through his entire body.

Oscar gasps, back arching, fists clenching in the empty air above him.

Dalilah shushes him sweetly, curling over him like a soft, beautiful trap. "It's ok, baby. I'm going to make you feel really good, hum?"

Oscar is trembling already, bright pink blooming across his cheeks, his chest, the tips of his ears. He tries to be good, he really does, but he can’t help the tiny sob that escapes when she toys with the speed settings — higher, then back down, never enough to let him fully slip over.

"That’s it," she whispers, pressing little kisses along his jawline, his throat. Now in a steady speed of the vibrator as she presses it fully into the tip of his cock, a brand new gasp coming out of her boyfriend's lips as she allows him to come.

"Such a good boy for me."

He nods desperately, tears prickling his lashes now, pleasure burning too hot under his skin. She doesn't stop, knows his body too well. Knows exactly how to keep him just on that knife's edge — trembling, whimpering, pliant.

Dalilah slides her free hand down, wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing gently in time with the vibrations. "You can take it, can't you? My strong boy."

He's sensitive, riding the same orgasm.

"Y-yeah," Oscar sobs, his hips jerking helplessly under her.

Dalilah smiles — soft, proud, wicked.

She knows he’s close again. She knows exactly what she's doing.

And she’s not even close to done with him yet.

Oscar's whole body trembles under her, muscles straining with the effort to hold back, to be good, to earn every drop of the praise spilling from her lips.

Dalilah leans down, mouth brushing over his ear, voice a velvet threat.

"We're not ready for another one, alright? Wait for me, don't come yet."

A whimper. A broken sound.

He shakes his head rapidly, squeezing his thighs together, hips jerking against her grip and the incessant, cruel little vibrator still buzzing right over the slit of his cock.

"Good boy," she coos, dragging her nails lightly down his chest, watching him shiver and twitch like a livewire under her touch. "You’re doing so well, baby. I know it's hard. You're so sensitive already, aren't you?"

He nods frantically, gasping when she barely drags the vibrator down along the underside of his cock, featherlight and devastating.

"You’re gonna give me everything tonight, Oscar," Dalilah promises, voice still soft, still so fucking tender it breaks something in him. "Every little piece of you."

The words hit him harder than any hand could. His head falls back against the cushions, a wrecked, breathless sound tumbling from his throat. His cock leaks helplessly against her hand, and Dalilah smiles like he’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

"Such a mess already," she croons, moving down, settling between his spread thighs like a queen surveying her kingdom. "And I haven't even tasted you yet."

Oscar lets out a broken sob, his hands twitching above his head, desperate to touch her, to ground himself, to do anything.

But Dalilah only taps the inside of his thigh, sharp enough to snap his attention back.

"No touching, babyboy," she chides sweetly. "Good boys don't touch unless they're told."

He moans — fucking moans — like the perfect little thing he is.

Dalilah rewards him with a kiss to the leaking head of his cock, tongue flicking out to taste him, slow and deliberate. She hums approvingly, like he's the sweetest treat, the most perfect meal she could have asked for.

And then — because she’s merciful but still mean — she wraps her lips around him just enough to make him keen.

Oscar bucks up instinctively, eyes squeezing shut, thighs trembling under the effort to stay still, to stay good.

Dalilah pulls back with a wet pop, laughing quietly at his desperation.

"You’re close, aren't you, sweetheart?" she purrs, stroking him with the hand not holding the vibrator. "I can feel it. Feel you twitching. Trying so hard for me."

He nods again, too far gone to speak.

Dalilah tilts her head, studying him like something precious and pathetic all at once.

"You want to come, don't you, baby?"

"Please," Oscar gasps out, voice wrecked.

Dalilah smiles, all teeth, and taps his flushed cock lightly with the vibrator, making him jolt and sob.

"You deserve it, right? Come for me, Osc." she says sweetly.

Another sob, another frantic nod. And there he is, like it was all he needed. His body flicker slightly to the side the mess done all over his flesh, his girlfriend's hands and his brain. No words, just whines and his skin only in brighter tones of red.

She leans in, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his cock, pressing her tongue hard into that one spot that makes him twitch so violently it knocks the breath out of him. Oversensitive, still feeling everything from the last orgasm. Dalilah licks him clean, holding his thighs in place.

And then she pulls back again — leaving him trembling, desperate, falling apart right there on the couch.

"One more, baby," she whispers, crawling up to straddle him again, slipping out of her own clothes with lazy, unbothered grace. "You can give me one more, can't you?"

Oscar nods — tears leaking from the corners of his eyes now — wrecked and beautiful and so perfectly obedient.

Dalilah smiles, sinking down onto him in one slow, agonizing movement, taking him in to the hilt without a single stutter.

Oscar cries out, hips jerking helplessly.

She’s so wet, so tight around him, and he’s so close yet again he might black out.

Dalilah leans down, kissing the tears from his cheeks, rocking her hips in lazy, slow circles.

"There we go," she murmurs against his mouth. "Such a good boy. My good boy."

Oscar sobs again, hands fisting the cushions, trying — failing — to hold back.

And Dalilah just rides him — slow, sweet, devastating — until he finally breaks apart under her, coming with a wrecked, gasping cry, his whole body convulsing under the soft, brutal sweetness of her hands and mouth and voice.

And even then — even when he thinks he’s given her everything — Dalilah just smiles and whispers:

"That's it, baby. That's one more. Now be good and give me another."

Oscar's body is still twitching, every nerve ending raw and sizzling from the orgasm she dragged out of him. He’s so far gone he can barely catch his breath, still buried deep inside her, cock pulsing weakly even though he’s already spent.

Dalilah gives him a moment — a single, generous moment — to gasp against her shoulder.

Then she shifts her hips again, grinding down onto him, slow and merciless, her walls still fluttering and squeezing around him, dragging every last shred of sensation from his overstimulated cock.

Oscar sobs into her skin, hands gripping uselessly at the couch cushions.

"Dalilah," he whines, voice shredded.

"I know, baby," she croons, voice sugar-sweet. She kisses his temple, trailing her fingers down his heaving chest, nails raking lightly over his trembling stomach. "I know it's a lot. You're doing so good for me."

She rocks her hips again, deeper this time, and Oscar lets out a broken, beautiful sound — somewhere between a gasp and a moan — that makes Dalilah throb around him.

"You're gonna take it, aren't you?" she whispers, grinding down harder, panting now against his ear. "Gonna let me come all over this pretty cock? You can be strong for me, can't you, babyboy?"

Oscar nods frantically, tears streaking his flushed cheeks, wrecked beyond words, beyond thought — just raw obedience and need.

Dalilah smiles against his mouth, still moving with agonizing slowness, using his overstimulated body for her own pleasure, chasing her orgasm ruthlessly now.

"Good," she breathes. "Be good and let me use you, sweetheart. Just a little more."

She circles her hips again, faster, chasing that perfect drag of his cock against her swollen, desperate walls, the slippery, messy slide of him making her gasp aloud. Oscar sobs helplessly under her, his body jerking and twitching, cock still rock-hard inside her despite the tears running down his face.

"So good," she pants, voice breaking apart with pleasure. "You’re so fucking good, baby — you take it so well — make me feel so fucking good —"

Dalilah shudders hard, hips stuttering. She buries her face in his neck, biting down just hard enough to make him whimper — and then she comes, body clenching around him in long, rolling waves, dragging another broken, shuddering orgasm from Oscar with it.

He cries out underneath her, whole body locking up as he spills into her again, trembling and sobbing from the overstimulation.

Dalilah rides it out, grinding and gasping through the aftershocks, holding him down, owning every fucking second of his collapse.

And when she finally slows, finally lets up, she kisses him — open-mouthed, messy, filthy — tasting his tears and his pleasure all mixed together.

"That's it," she whispers against his lips. "You did so good for me, my love. So, so good."

Oscar just whimpers, eyes fluttering, chest heaving like he’s run a fucking marathon.

Dalilah slowly, gently lifts herself off him, careful with his hypersensitive cock, kissing every inch of skin she can reach as she moves.

"Shh, shh, babyboy," she soothes, pressing kisses to his burning cheeks, his wet eyelashes. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."

She disappears for a moment, and he makes a broken little sound at the loss — but then she’s back, draping a warm, soft blanket over him, easing him down into the cushions.

Dalilah wipes his face with the gentlest touch, cleaning the mess between his thighs with a warm cloth, whispering little praises the whole time.

"My beautiful boy," she murmurs, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead. "You were perfect for me."

Oscar just clings to her, still whimpering softly, completely wrecked, completely hers.

She kisses his forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth.

"I’m so proud of you, darling," she whispers. "You gave me everything. You’re my favorite thing in the world."

Oscar lets out a little, broken laugh — half-sob, half-love-drunk — and nuzzles into her, breathing her in like air.

Dalilah just holds him, stroking his hair, rocking him slowly back and forth under the blanket until his breathing evens out again.

And even then — even when his eyes finally drift closed — she doesn't stop whispering to him:

"I love you. I’ve got you. Always."

[kosmokai]

every so often it sinks in that kimi antonelli is younger than me… what the fuck am I doing with my life I can’t even drive an suv

[kosmokai]

THAT WAS AMAZING???

Hi! I really like your ninjago stories :) I don't know if you still take requests but if you do can you write cole x reader story, where cole breaks up with the reader in order to protect her but he doesn't tell her that. Later he regrets what he done and try to reconcile with her but she doesnt trust him, she starts to date her colleague from work just to spite him. One day he decides enough is enough and that is time to "teach her a lesson" if you know what I mean :) Thanks in advance :)

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 <𝟹𝟹 𝚜𝚘, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 - 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎. 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝟷𝟻𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸 (𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛) 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!

𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚒 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.

maybe. | cole x reader | chapter i

It's amazing how much one person can change you.

You never thought you would let heartbreak affect you. Life goes on, and so must you. But you’ll give yourself credit where it’s due – you held yourself together, even with the seams of your broken heart pulled too taut to stretch any farther. Armed with a blank expression and a determination not to let him steal any more time from you, you dragged yourself to work.

You convinced yourself that you were healing. More money was pouring into your bank account. More respect was gained among your coworkers. More people were being helped. Your mind was wandering less. And that’s what you wanted – to keep yourself too busy to think of him. To address what you really were feeling.

Time off from work suddenly seemed like a waste to you. You didn’t need a break. You were fine. Less time off the clock meant more money. More hours. More. More.

Your thoughts and feelings ceased to matter. Like they ever did in the first place.

Even if your coworkers noticed something was off, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You refused to – there was simply too much to do. You waved off their concerns, stating you were fine and shoving any thought of him away even further.

It worked for a while, but you should have known better. Pushing it away only delays the inevitable. And damn, did it screw you over.

…

[ present day ]

The weeks pass in a haze as you find yourself wearily driving to work at an obnoxiously early hour, eyes drooping as you study the road ahead. You’d become so familiar with this route. Same road. Same trees. Same early wildlife visitors that momentarily bring a smile to your face. Same music.

A soft sigh escapes you as your mind wanders back to the memory that induced this monotony-driven lifestyle, doing your best to shake the thoughts away. No sense in focusing on him anymore; you’re doing well. You’re fine.

Listening to a quiet song the rest of the way to work, your thoughts become drowned away by that all-too-familiar fog. Perhaps that’s for the best.

You’ve grown acquainted with the numbness, in a way; through the monotony it allows you to become numb. To drift away while your body goes through the motions. Oh, how you sought its comfort, cherishing the way it mimicked his embrace – almost mirroring the way a malevolent entity would entice its prey.

The police station comes into view soon enough, allowing you to pull into your usual parking spot. After gathering your belongings together, you exit your car. On your way inside, you notice a few of your coworkers gathered in small groups, murmuring amongst themselves. Not caring for the typical workplace gossip, you make your way inside.

You mumble hushed greetings to the few people already here, spotting your boss – the commissioner – huddled over the beverage bar.

“Morning, boss man,” you say, snatching a plastic to-go cup from the stack.

“Good morning,” he replies, straightening his posture and taking a sip of his coffee. “How are you this morning?”

“Doing well, and yourself?” you question, preparing your preferred drink.

“Just fine, thank you.”

“Good to hear. By the way, check your email when you can. I finalized the plans for our meeting with the Royal Family next week,” you note.

“Ah, good to hear. I’ll take a look later. Also, we’re having an impromptu meeting later today concerning crime prevention. Will you be able to prepare a segment on that? I was hoping to have you present.”

You nod. “Of course. I think I have an old presentation I can spice up beforehand. When is it?”

“It’s schedule for around noon, but it’s dependent on when our guests of the day are able to come. Just be in the conference room by noon.”

“You got it,” you say, finishing up your drink. “Anything else?”

“Not on my end. We appreciate your hard work, but make sure you’re not overdoing yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“You put in a lot of hours last week. More than anyone else. Just be careful not to overwork yourself, okay?”

“All right, thanks,” you respond, smiling smally before heading into your office.

A deep sigh escapes you as you sit down, turning your computer on as you get settled. Once that’s done, you get to work for the day, never once thinking to ask just who those special guests would be.

…

The fifteen minutes preceding noon kicks off with a bang.

Quite literally, too, considering the way Simon and Tommy barge through your door, both with excitement-riddled expressions.

You sigh, glancing up from your computer. “What’s going on, guys?”

“Dude, you’re gonna be late for the meeting!” Tommy answers, eyes wide. Poor guy must have had too much caffeine again.

“Why are you all excited? Besides, I still have fifteen minutes,” you note with a frown, patting your bag of needed belongings that had already been packed.

“Because, we apparently have some really important guests today,” Simon adds.

“Oh,” you mumble, unamused as you stuff your laptop into its storage bag. “I see.”

“You’re not excited?” Tommy wonders.

You shrug. “Not really. They’re just people.”

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles. “Anyways, need help carrying anything? You always have to bring a lot of stuff.”

“I’d appreciate that,” you say. “I guess we should head on up then, huh?”

…

After tossing your stuff into the empty conference room, the three of you decided to grab some snacks and drinks before the meeting. Having about five minutes until the meeting starts, you resort to nibbling on a snack while half-listening in on their conversation. Soon enough, the sound of hushed chattering begins to emanate from the people filtering into the conference room.

“Sounds like whoever our guest is just got inside. They went through the other door,” Tommy notes, reading the information off of a text message. He puts his phone away, looking up to the entrance closest to the three of you. “Shall we?”

“I guess so,” Simon replies. You merely shrug, just ready to get your presentation over with so you can continue working on your plans for next week.

With that, you follow the two to the conference room door, the murmuring of the crowd growing louder as you enter. At first, you can’t quite see into the room considering the amount of people crowded in front of you trying to snag a glance. Realizing you’ll have to get to your stand, you squeeze your way through with a few mumbled apologies.

Upon reaching the very front of the crowd, you sigh in relief upon gaining a little bit of space. You glance around, trying to find the commissioner so you can double check that you’re good to continue with your presentation when –

Your heart stops.

Seconds after your eyes land on the figure clothed in a black gi, anxiety begins to creep through your veins as your eyes widen. He’s standing right across from you, causing you to avert your eyes quickly. With hitched breath, you stumble backwards, accidentally bumping into Tommy.

Distantly, you hear your co-worker call your name. You turn, ignoring him as you hope to the First Spinjitzu Master that he hadn’t seen you. Your labored breathing begins as you push Tommy aside, shoving your way back through the crowd. Tears prick your eyes as you desperately try to maintain your composure, lips tautly pressed together as you furiously paw at your eyes to get rid of the tears.

why is he here why did he come why did i have to see him did he see me why am i so upset why why why why wh-

Your panicked thought ramblings screech to a halt as heavy footsteps bound down the hallway behind you, eventually ceasing. It’s then your name echoes through the hallways, the voice horrifically familiar as you stop, slowly turning.

There...there he is. In the flesh. After all these months, Cole stands before you, unmasked. For a second, you can’t speak, too afraid that the tears will escape. And you’ll be damned if you’re going to let him see you cry.

Cole frowns, saying your name again. He takes a step towards you, gaze softening. For some reason, that instantly sets a fuse off in you as you fully turn towards him.

“Stay the fuck back,” you warn, a tear rolling down your cheek against your will.

Once more, he calls your name, his tone completely severing the strings that had been holding you together.

“Shut the fuck up!” you yell, keeping your distance. “Stay away!”

At this point, your outburst has earned more than a few stares as you turn, making a break towards the exit.

…

The drive back was a complete haze. Not that you care – you're just glad you’re home now. Away from the public. Away from the paparazzi. Away from him.

Here you are, a complete mess. Again. But at least you’re a complete mess in your room. Your phone lights up yet again – signaling another message or call. You can’t bear to check just yet. Another sob escapes you as you sink down to the floor, curling your knees to your chest.

Why now? Why him? Why you? You press your eyes into the skin of your knees, hoping the pressure would stop the stream of tears. It doesn’t.

The anger boiling in your veins is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. How dare he? After the bullshit he had put you through? How dare he enter the building he knew you worked at? How dare he try to talk to you after the things he said to you? How dare he reinitiate the war that had been raging within your heart after he had been the one to shatter it? After you were just starting to move on?

You stand, unable to stay still anymore as you place your hands atop your head. Your career’s probably shot considering you just up and ditched what had to have been an important presentation. Not to mention your reputation – there's no way people didn’t notice you shouting at one of the esteemed ninja.

“There’s no fucking way they could do any harm, right?” you mumble to yourself in a mocking tone, suddenly wishing you could punch something. “No way. They’re our saviors. We should be the ones kissing their asses!”

Clenching your fists, you exit your room and make your way to your garage. Upon pushing the door open, you slam it closed.

Half of the area houses your car while the other half houses your therapy area – also known as your punching bag. There are more types of fighting equipment available, but all you can think about it just...hitting.

 A livid screech escapes you as you slam your dominant elbow into the bag, picturing it as Cole’s face.

The image spurs you to send a flurry of punches to the bag, each hit picturing him. You were doing just fine. You were healing. And then he came along and screwed everything up.

Your mind relapses into the memories of the day he’d torn your heart apart.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Punch.

“I realized that I’ve lost feelings.”

Headbutt.

“I can’t continue on with this. It’s time we go our own separate ways.”

Elbow. Hammer fist. Palm strike. More elbows. Punch. Roundhouse kick. A flurry of combos. A single isolated strike garnished with your scream of frustration.

You throw one last punch, suddenly winded as you set your hands on your knees. It’s then you notice a faint stinging sensation coming from your knuckles. You glance down, splotches of red covering the backs of your hands. Portions of the blood become slightly diluted as your tears splash on top.

“Dammit...” you mumble, not particularly caring that you’re bleeding. “Why now?”

You sigh, stumbling backwards until your back hits the wall. You slide down slowly, bending your knees so that you can rest your arms on them.

The worst part is that you know he was lying about the reason he left you. Nothing had felt off until the morning he broke things off. You tried to ask him what was going on, but he refused to budge. He just left without another word.

At the time you still had feelings for him. Fuck...now you realize you still do. Even after everything. You miss him more than anything, but you know you have to stay true to yourself first and foremost.

And only now are you realizing this. You never really were healing. Just functioning, ignoring your feelings rather than understanding and accepting them. Is that why you’re such a wreck now?

A sigh escapes you as you stand, deciding you should probably tend to your knuckles first. Damn, looks like they weren’t as calloused as you thought. You’re losing your edge.

“I’ve been pouring so much time into work...” you mumble, stepping over to your first aid kit. “I haven’t been conditioning as much as I should.”

You pull out the appropriate materials, quietly sterilizing and bandaging the wound. After cleaning up, you make your way back into your room, grabbing your phone and checking the damage as you sit on the floor again.

Lots of missed calls and texts from your co-workers and the commissioner. No surprise there. What catches your eyes is the unknown number. You frown, unlocking your phone so that you can read it…

…and immediately regret it.

Hey…it’s Cole. I know you have my number blocked so I’m texting from my old phone. Please…just hear me out.

You set your phone down, heart beginning to race as you rub your temples. What could he possibly want to talk about?

“No,” you mumble, hand swiping across the screen. The ‘delete conversation’ button appears with your thumb haphazardly lingering over it. Why are you hesitating? Why does a small part of you want to hear him out?

…Well. It can’t hurt more than it already does, right?

Shaking your head, you select ‘cancel’ and continue reading:

I know I wasn’t fair to you that day. I know my reason for leaving was shitty and half-assed, and it wasn’t even true. Judging from how today went, I think you now know my true reason.

I never wanted to leave you. I was just prioritizing your safety over our relationship. Please, call me, text back…I don’t care if you don’t want me back, because I get it. But I need to tell you everything. I need to hear your voice and I need you to understand the real reason. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was the worst decision I’ve made and seeing you today just…brought it back. Please?

And for whatever it may be worth…I miss you. I’ve missed you every day. Not a day has gone by where I haven’t cursed myself for leaving you. In retrospect I now see that there was a better solution. I didn’t see it at the time.

Please. Let’s talk. But, if you’re dead set on not wanting to...then at least reach out to Kai. We’ve all been worried.

I miss you.

“Fucking hell,” you mumble with a small sob, leaning your head against the wall.

You sit there for a few seconds, a headache beginning to form as you silently cry. It feels like all the tears you’ve been refusing to shed over him over the past few months have finally become victorious. After wiping some of them away, you decide to view the most recent texts:

Tommy

that’s it we’re coming over

Simon

?????????

Joseph

I’m covering your shift tomorrow. Don’t worry about a thing.

Boss Man (Missed Call)

Tommy & 2 others

You sigh, about to respond when you hear a brisk knock emanating from your front door. Not in the mood to socialize, you quickly debate on whether or not to answer. Your answer comes to you when you realize you left your lights on, so either way they’d know you’re home.

You make sure you look as you decent as you can (even with puffy, red eyes. Maybe it’d be more convincing?) before heading to the front door.

You peek through the peephole, seeing your favorite three co-workers standing there. You shake your head but can’t help but smile.

“What are you guys doing here? It’s late,” you say, keeping your gaze down.

“Well, it’s slightly off-putting when one of the toughest detectives in the department runs to her car in tears,” Simon says sarcastically, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Not to mention you haven’t responded to any of our texts.”

“We just want to see what’s going on. Not much ever gets to you like that. What happened?” Tommy adds.

“And, just to clarify, you don’t have to tell us,” adds Joseph Oda, a fellow detective. The two of you are partners and have become close friends over the course of your grueling missions together. “We’re just worried and want you to know that we’re here if you need anything.”

You sigh but smile smally. “Okay. Come in.”

The three pile in, all kicking their shoes off next to the door.

“Sorry that I’m a fucking mess,” you mumble, sitting down and waving your hands to your kitchen.

“It’s fine. Happens to the best of us,” Tommy replies, as the four of you settle down in your living room.

“You understand that you’re human, right? And it’s okay for us to show emotion? And feel?” Simon jokes, nudging you with his elbow. You chuckle lightly at his teasing.

Upon remembering the earlier events, you sigh and rub your eyes before glancing up. “So…what happened with the presentation?”

“I presented,” Joseph replies.

“You did? How?”

“You forget that we share a work drive account,” he answers with a sly grin. “The notes you typed were enough for me to improvise with.”

“Oh…yeah. Well, thanks,” you mumble, smiling gratefully. “I…didn’t plan on just ditching everyone like that, but…I…”

“Something happened,” Tommy finishes.

You nod. “Yeah. I think I’ve told you all already, but remember my ex?”

“Uh-oh,” Tommy mumbles, leaning in closer. “Was he there?”

You nod.

“I see,” Simon mumbles.

The three of you have been working together and hanging out outside of work for about two years now. Your friendship was beyond that of normal coworkers.

“And…it just brought everything I’ve been ignoring back up. He texted me this paragraph, and I just…I don’t know what to do.”

“Damn…” Tommy replies. “That’s tough.”

“Well, if it helps, commissioner is at least making you take tomorrow off. He said he’s not cutting your pay, though, considering the amount of hours you’ve put in lately. He doesn’t care if you take the rest of the week off, either.”

“Wait…he’s not mad?”

“Of course, no one’s mad,” Simon intercepts. “We’re just worried. This isn’t like you. And we all know you suck at asking for help even though there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I don’t need help,” you mumble.

“Everyone needs help,” Tommy replies, lightly bonking you on the head with a pillow. “You’re just super independent.”

“Who is this guy, anyway? Maybe it would help if we can look out for him?” Simon asks. “That way we can warn you if we see him hanging around.”

You nod. “Yeah. That’d be nice. It’s Cole.”

A brief silence hovers in the air before Tommy pipes up. “Wait…you don’t mean…?”

“Yes, I do. Ninja, Elemental Master of Earth Cole,” you mumble, the mention of his name eliciting an ache throughout your heart.

“Holy shit,” Tommy mumbles. “Okay. Well, yeah, we can at least let you know if he’s around.”

“And he…he dumped you?” Simon clarifies, frowning as he studies you.

“Yeah,” you mumble, pulling up the text Cole had sent you. “And look at this!”

You hand your phone to Simon, causing the three to pile around it, absorbing every word.

“Was the breakup before you knew he was going to be a ninja?” Simon questions as he hands you your phone back.

“Yeah,” you reply, staring at the text. “And now, he’s saying that…he was prioritizing my safety?”

“Like, he wanted to protect you?” Tommy wonders. “But he told you that he just wasn’t interested anymore?”

“Basically. I knew he was lying about his reason, but this…?”

“You have mixed feelings about it,” Joseph finishes.

“…Yeah,” you agree, folding your arms.

“That makes sense. You’re tough enough to take care of yourself, and part of you is thinking that he didn’t believe you were strong. But the other – probably smaller – part of yourself is happy he was taking you into consideration.”

“I think so,” you murmur.

“And now he wants to talk,” Simon surmises as he bites his lip.

“Yeah…that’s where I’m…a mess,” you answer. “Part of me wants to hear him out, but…”

“You also want to move on,” Joseph adds. “Rightfully so. He left you on your own with a poor reason as to why, completely cut off contact…and now he wants to talk?”

“I don’t know, sounds weird,” Tommy concludes.

“But that’s the thing,” you note. “He’s…not like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s honest,” you recall. “He was always transparent with me. That day was the only time I ever felt like he was lying. And now, he’s saying he…wanted to protect me?”

“So, he might really want to clear things up, then,” Simon says.

“But why should he? He just up and left with some wack excuse! He completely broke her heart! She shouldn’t let him come back, because who’s to say he’s not going to do it again?” Tommy replies. “He’s not good for her. She’s way out of his league.”

“I’m not saying that she has to go talk to him. I’m just saying there’s a pretty decent chance he might want to fix things for real. But, you have a point.”

“Let’s leave to her to that decision, shall we?” Joseph replies, effectively cutting off the two.

“Thanks,” you mutter. “I have no idea what I’m going to do, though.”

“And that’s okay,” Joseph assures. “Just know that you have plenty of time to contemplate.”

“And we’ll be here, too,” Simon adds.

“How do you generally feel, though?” Tommy replies.

“I…I mean…I’m not going to lie. I really miss him. I’ve been trying to convince myself I don’t, but I do. But I’m mad at him, and a big part of me just wants to forget this shit ever happened so I can just move on and stop hurting. But then again…can I do that without closure? And can I receive that closure without him?”

The three nod in agreement. “Yeah, we understand. And that’s up to you to decide. No matter what you choose to do, we’ll support your decision.”

“Thanks, guys,” you mumble, sinking further into the couch. “I just hope I choose the right decision.”

“You will,” Joseph assures, offering you a small smile.

“Just take however long you need to think things through,” Simon adds.

“Agreed. I’ll cover for you until you’re ready to come back,” Joseph notes.

“Joseph, no,” you say, frowning. “You can’t-”

He raises a hand with a sly smirk, effectively silencing your protests. “Don’t you think this all sounds awfully familiar?”

“Yeah,” Tommy jumps in, also smirking. “Remember when Joseph’s mom got really sick, so you took all of his shifts until she was back on her feet?”

Joseph nods. “Consider this payback. And before you ask, yes, I will take on the planning for next week tomorrow.”

You sigh, throwing your arms up in defeat. “Fine.”

…

That was how you ended up taking a day away from work.

You decided to get your mind off of Cole for the time being, his message still echoing within your head from time-to-time. After your discussion with your friends, though, you feel slightly better about it all.

Instead of worrying about it, you decide to pour your focus into regaining your energy and clearing your mind. You wake up earlier than normal, get a workout in, take a cold shower, then dress before you tidy up your house. It’d been too long since you’d cleaned it as well as you should have.

Someone once told you that having a clear environment is the key to gaining a clear mind – and that is exactly what you’ll need in order to confront your dilemma.

After a day of hard work, you swipe your forearm across your forehead, appreciative of the results but also grateful to be done.

Your efforts are complimented by a growling stomach. Wow, you’d been so focused on cleaning up that you’d forgotten about dinner. And lunch, for that manner. Whoopsie.

Maybe you’d just take yourself out to dinner tonight. There’s no way you’re cooking after all that intense cleaning you just did.

Nodding to yourself, you decide to head to your go-to restaurant, deciding takeout will suffice for tonight.

…

You’re glad you decided to walk.

The breeze brushes against your skin as you stare off absentmindedly into the sunset, thoughts drifting back to the matter at hand. Now that you’ve calmed down, you can look at things slightly more rationally.

You do want closure. But will that involve talking to him? Standing before him once more? What would come of that?

A soft groan escapes you as you abandon the thought, electing to just enjoy the moment instead. It feels like this is the most you’ve been engaged in a long time.

With that thought in mind, you quietly finish the remainder of your walk, making sure to commit the sunset’s warmth to memory. It’s then you approach the restaurant, mentally sighing in relief.

You’re hit with a wave of mixed emotions as you enter, the familiar jingling of the bell beckoning a nostalgic wave of memories from the back of your mind.

This restaurant...you haven’t been here ever since Cole left.

Chen’s Noodle House had always been a staple for the two of you – its status of open twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week made it a favorite for you both, being simultaneous night owls and early birds. The countless late nights and early mornings you’d spent here with him...

Your thoughts are cut off when you hear your name coming from behind the counter, spotting none other than Skylor there.

“Skylor,” you say softly, smiling at the redhead.

She returns your grin, hopping over her counter with ease so that she can envelope you into a tight hug. You can’t help but giggle as you return the embrace, grateful to see her again.

“About damn time you visited,” she mumbles, pulling away but leaving a hand on your shoulder. “How’ve you been?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Well...I’m here.”

“I hear that,” she replies, patting your shoulder lightly. “Come on, have a seat.”

You nod, your initial plans slipping as you excitedly have a seat. You almost forgot how much you missed her.

She places your order, disappearing through the doors as you sip on your drink, suddenly feeling much lighter.

Minutes after she leaves, she returns. “Okay. Come on, let’s catch up. First things first...how’s the job?”

“It’s been...well, going great, actually,” you admit. “I got promoted to detective, and also I got appointed to be the leader of the crime prevention unit. I got partnered with another detective, so I still help with cases, but my main focus is now in that unit.”

“That’s great!” she cheers. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you,” you reply. “How about you? How’s all this going?”

“Honestly, about the same. Aside from needing a little more exposure, I can’t really complain. I have to say...I enjoy the quiet nights like this. It’s a good break from all the chaos, you know?”

“I get that,” you reply. “I’m glad it’s been all right, then.”

She nods, the conversation trailing off momentarily.

“How’s everything been since...?” she doesn’t finish her sentence, keeping her tone low.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Honestly, I’ve been a wreck. I just tried not to show it, and then it all caught up to me, and it just...”

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, inching her hand across the table so that it envelops yours. You smile gratefully as she gives it a squeeze. “I know it’s been hard.”

You nod. “Yeah. I only just came to terms with how I was coping just last night.”

“I figured out what happened,” she admits.

“You did?”

“Well...only because I know what I know. On the news, I saw the ninja there, at the station, and then they said something about you having to leave before another detective took over your presentation. It didn’t take much for me to piece together what happened.”

“Yeah. I just...couldn’t bear to face him yet. He tried to talk to me, but I just burst into tears and ran to my car.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replies with a soft sigh. “You know...I don’t know whether this helps or not, but he still comes in. He still talks about you.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. Not one visit of his do I go without hearing your name. He asks if you’ve stopped by.”

You feel tears pricking your eyes, but you’re able to blink them away. “That’s the other thing. He texted me that night, and it just tore the rest of the wound open, you know?”

“Oh, babe...” she mumbles.

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you admit. “I really don’t. I miss him to pieces, but at the same time...I’m absolutely livid with him. Everything was fine until that morning. He lied to me about why he left. He didn’t wait to hear me out. Just left without another word. And now, here he is...trying to pry his way back into my life. Now I can’t decide if I just want to shove him out completely and move or if I want to talk to him first.”

She sighs, rubbing your knuckles comfortingly. “I know it’s hard. And I know, you’ve probably heard this in the time since it happened, but...you’re the only person who’s going to know what’s right for you. I can give you my opinion all I want, but that’s not going to affect its effect on you,” she replies.

“Yeah...I just feel like I’m completely torn. I don’t want to think about him anymore. But...part of me thinks that it’ll just...help if I can talk to him? I don’t know.”

“It’s completely fine to feel that way. Just take your time and don’t rush into a decision.”

You nod. “I guess that’s all I can do. But anyways, enough about me. How have you and Kai been?”

She shrugs with a sly smirk, noticing that your food is arriving on the conveyor belt. “Well enough, I suppose.”

You chuckle, snagging your plate greedily. “That’s good. How’s he been?”

“He’s been just fine. Hasn’t changed a bit. You haven’t talked to him?”

You shake your head as a surge of guilt courses through your stomach. “I kind of just...ghosted him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m glad he’s doing okay, though. I might try reaching out to him soon.”

“He’s been wondering about you,” she notes. “Even if you don’t reconcile with Cole, I think you should at least talk to Kai.”

“I think I will. I miss that bastard,” you mumble, recalling your fiery childhood friend of many, many years with a fond smile. Oh, how you’d missed his hotheadedness. “Damn. I owe him an apology. I shouldn’t have ignored him just because I was upset over Cole.”

“He’ll understand,” she assures. “Anyways. Let’s eat, yeah?”

…

From there, your conversation moves to more lighthearted topics. You eat your fill and end up sharing a dessert with her, eternally grateful you decided to dine in.

Soon enough, the two of you finish.

“Oh my stars, I’m stuffed,” you mumble, taking a second to stretch. “I forgot how amazing your food was.”

She laughs lightly. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house tonight. I’m glad you came back.”

“Skylor...”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” she replies with a knowing wink.

“Thank you,” you say, smiling gratefully.

It’s then you hear the bells jingling once more, signifying a new customer. You and Skylor not-so-subtly sneak a peek.

“Oh, hey!” you call, waving to Joseph.

Your partner speaks your name, returning your wave. “Oh! Fancy seeing you here!”

“That’s my partner,” you note to Skylor.

“Oh, got it,” she replies, the two of you standing up.

“I see we both had the same idea for tonight,” Joseph starts, grinning softly as you and Skylor go to stand next to him.

“Oh, I didn’t realize your partner would be one of my many regulars,” Skylor notes as she leans over the counter to yell at her employees: “Call-in for Joseph, yes utensils!”

“Heard!” you hear someone yelling as the sound of rustling bags emanates from the back.

“Anyways. It was fantastic catching up with you,” Skylor notes, bringing you in for a hug that you eagerly return. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“I will. Thank you,” you mumble.

She nods as the two of you separate. “Of course.”

You watch as Joseph pays and receives his food, bidding Skylor goodnight as the two of you exit the restaurant together.

“Now, I realize your car isn’t here,” he initiates, turning to face you.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I just walked here because I needed some fresh air.”

“I understand that. May I walk you home? It’s dark out, now. Not that you won’t be okay, but, well...you know.”

“Right,” you say, chuckling slightly. “It’s fine, I’m down. I need to give you the case files anyways, so you’re welcome to eat at my place if you want.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he replies, grinning slightly. “Shall we?”

With that, you fall in step beside your partner, unaware of the figure lurking atop the roofs and aiming a pointed glare at your partner.

…

The next day, you finally feel well enough to get back to work – even when your friends encouraged you to take a short break.

But you can’t. Next week houses one of the biggest events this department has ever hosted before – and of course, you’re in charge of it all. You don’t have time to mope around because there’s just too much to do!

Besides, your day off seems to have helped immensely. Your mind is finally clear for the first time in...however long it’s been, with the fog lifted for the time being.

“And here, we have this emptied warehouse that would be, in terms of size, perfect for the event you want. Sitting on roughly sixteen-thousand square feet, it would be large enough to host your gathering,” states your realtor, Patty Keys.

“Oh, nice,” you mumble, stepping into the warehouse. You glance around, marking off your mental list of minimum requirements.

Lots of space? Check.

High ceiling? Check.

Second-story pathways that are open to the first floor? Check.

All right. So far, so good.

“This looks great so far,” you note. “How many separate rooms are in here?”

“There are six different rooms,” she answers.

“Perfect. And what would the damage be to rent this for four days?”

“It is slightly pricey, but we may be able to negotiate the owner's price to suit your budget,” she states.

You stray away from her slightly, looking around to see if you can get onto the overpass. You glance around, eventually finding a set of stairs in one of the back rooms.

“This is great. This way, the Royal Family can stay here without getting bombarded by the press,” you note, ascending the staircase. Your loud footsteps echo within the empty warehouse as you clamber up, finally hitting the top.

You study the metal walkway for a second, testing it out by stepping a foot onto it. It’s solid metal with no openings, thankfully. That was one of your fears considering this is going to be a formal event that’s bound to attract lots of heeled shoes and such.

You continue walking along. It’s sturdy, has and handrail, and seems perfect for announcing things to a large crowd.

“I think this is the one,” you call down to Patty. “How do I get a contract in?”

…

Once the contract is approved, you find yourself back at the police station packing one of the patrol trucks with a few foldable tables and chairs, a cooler filled to the brim with ice and water bottles, and a bag of miscellaneous items you know you’ll need.

“All right, everyone ready?” you call back to the community outreach squad – also known as the team you’ll be working with to pull this absolute beast of an event off. Oh, and Joseph too.

They respond in the affirmative.

“Great. We need to wait for the Commissioner to send us off. For now though, get in the truck but leave the windows open.”

A chorus of agreement sounds from the group before they pile into the truck. There’s not going to be enough room to fit all of you, so you designate a driver before hopping into the bed of the truck. Thankfully, the warehouse isn’t horribly far away.

“Mind if I join you?” Joseph calls, also climbing into the back.

“Of course not!” you reply, resting your side against the foldable tables. They’ve been secured by a fuck ton of bungee cords so you won’t get crushed. But hell, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, huh? Getting crushed, not having to deal with life. Not a bad trade.

“Thank you. I don’t feel like being smooshed in there,” he jokes, smiling lightly as he sits against the tables on the other side of the bed.

You nod in agreement. “Yeah. Also, it’s just fun to ride in the bed of a truck, you know?”

“I’ve never actually done it before,” he admits.

“Oh, well you’re gonna love it. There’s just something about it that’s really liberating,” you note.

“I’m excited to try it. Though, there was something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he responds.

“What’s up?”

“So, for this event...I heard that the ninja are coming the family,” he notes.

“Yeah. I was the one who invited them. It’s just the nature of the event, so I had to invite them. Even underneath the guise of the department’s email address,” you mumble, frowning lightly. “I can’t let my personal shit get in the way of other things.”

“I understand,” Joseph says.

You shrug, spotting the Commissioner coming out from the building. “I mean, if they’re bodyguarding the family, maybe that means I’ll be able to avoid him.”

At this rate, though, you’re not even sure if you want to avoid him.

“But yeah,” you finish. “At this point, I’m just going to keep doing what I do. Whatever happens is going to happen. He’s not going to take any more time away from me, though.”

“I’m glad to see you back to your old self,” Joseph states, smiling softly.

You return the smile before shifting your attention to the Commissioner. “Hey, Boss Man.”

“Good morning, everyone. Good to see you back and well,” he notes, offering a small smile. “I see you all are ready to get going.”

You nod. “Yeah. Just waiting on your statement.”

“Well, here it is. This event is going to be crucial for us – we're going to be meeting with Royal Family and the ninja in order to sign into law the first ever official partnership between our department, the Royal Family, and the ninja. This law is going to allow us all to communicate easier so we can share intelligence and resources to keep our city safe. That’s why I’m making this your top priority for this week. Everyone back here will handle the calls while you all get this set up. I’m counting on all of you.”

“You got it!” you say, grinning wickedly as the driver starts the truck, its engine blaring to life.

“Good! Now go make our department proud!”

…

“Epic, right?” you note to Joseph with wind-kissed skin as you hop out of the truck.

He nods in response, his hair – normally neat and professional – now slightly tousled. You giggle at the sight. “Yeah, it was fun!”

The rest of your team piles out, all glancing at the warehouse you’d selected for the event.

“So this is what we’re working with,” Joseph notes as he pulls the front doors open. They slide open creakily, but stay open much to your delight.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, it was the best find I could get,” you reply, walking to the back of the bed and pulling the gate down. From there, you climb into the truck. “All right, everyone, let’s get this unloaded. Just drop the tables anywhere.”

With that, you set about handing off the chairs to your team. Once that’s done, you unhook all of the bungee cords before handing the tables down to your teammates one-by-one. They carry them inside in pairs, propping them against the inner wall.

You push the cooler to the edge, watching as a squad member lifts it and carries it away. Whew, that should about do it. You snag your bag, making sure you got everything.

“That it?” Joseph questions, stepping towards the back of the truck.

You nod, gripping the bag in your non-dominant hand. “Yep.”

Joseph holds his hand out to you, which you take as you hop down from the truck. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he replies, lifting the gate back up and locking it. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you follow the crew inside, all thankful to have some shelter from the grueling sun.

“Seeing this just makes me realize just how much we have to do. And you’re telling me we only have three days?”

“Really, we have two full days and until the evening of the event,” you correct. “Last day is for cleanup.”

“Damn,” you hear the guy mutter.

“Anyways, let’s get a table set up. If you want to sit, grab a folding chair.”

With that, you start unloading your bag as Joseph gets the table set up. You pull out your laptop, its charger, a stack of blank paper, some pens, a large Bluetooth speaker, and a pack of multi-colored markers.

Once Joseph has the table done, you set your belongings on top, taking a moment to thank him.

“Okay. So, let’s get started,” you announce, watching as everyone crowds around you before beginning your spiel:

“I’m not going to lie, guys – we have a lot to do and not a whole lot of time to do it. This whole meeting was kind of on short notice, which means we’re going to have to make do with what we have.

“Today our priority lies in getting food, drinks, music, and that kind of thing scheduled for the big day. Additionally, we need to clean this place up so we can start decorating. Commissioner said we’re free to use whatever we can find in the storage units, so let’s try to use what we can from there considering our budget is a little tight.

“I’m going to take a divide-and-conquer approach to this. Me, Joseph, and Jamie are all going to focus on finding services for the day of later today. Everyone else needs to get this joint more presentable. That means you’ll have to find the cleaning supplies that are in the storage unit. So, I’m going to let you guys borrow the key for that,” you note, flicking the key over to a member. “For now, we’re all going to pitch in for cleaning.”

“Okay, got it,” replies one of the members.

“Right now, I'm sending four people – I don’t care who – to the storage unit to grab whatever supplies you might find helpful. Take the truck and take note of everything that’s in there that you don’t bring back. The rest of us are going to set up the rest of the tables. I’m going to develop a rough station layout for the night of so we can plan our space accordingly. Sound like a plan?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Excellent. Another note – we also have a lot of citizens academy participants who volunteered to help out the night of. That means we’ll be slightly more staffed when that time comes, so don’t get your panties into a twist just yet. We aren’t completely screwed.”

“Sounds good!”

“Excellent. I’ll be around if anyone has questions. For now though, the person who wins a quick rock-paper-clamp tournament gets to connect their phone to the speaker. You have five minutes to do that, then it’s go time.”

With that, you leave them to begin, Joseph following you.

“So, a question – are there going to be any citizens here?”

“A select few, I believe. Mostly reporters, you know. Like I said, some citizens from the academy are coming in to help too. For the most part, though, it’s going to be us, the Royal Family, the ninja, part of the department, and the press.”

“I see. So, a relatively small party, hm?”

“I’m not completely sure. I think some of the ninja’s allies are coming too, but I haven’t heard back from everyone just yet,” you reply. “Probably?”

“Interesting. I’m curious to see who all attends. And what will the dress code be?”

“Really formal. Like, black tie.”

“Oh, wow,” he notes. “So, we’re all going to have to get dressed up.”

“Yep.”

“Anyways, where do we start with the layout?”

…

After surveying the different rooms and debating on what should go where, you and Joseph finally manage to develop a rough layout.

“Whew,” you mumble, looking around. “I’m glad that’s done. Hopefully that’ll help us figure out what we’ll need and where for the time being.”

“I agree. Ah, looks like they’ve arrived with the cleaning supplies,” Joseph notes, causing you to turn your head towards the entrance. Sure enough, your co-workers are bringing in lots of brooms, mops, buckets, things like that.

“Now, it’s cleaning time. Yay.”

…

About two hours of vigorous cleaning passes. By the time you all have finished, though, the place looks so much better!

“Good job, everyone. Let’s take a break. Joseph and I are going to grab lunch for everyone, courtesy of the Commissioner. We’re going to Chen’s Noodle House to see if the owner’s willing to cater while we’re at it, so write down what you guys want.” You wave a blank sheet of paper and pen in the air before setting it on the table.

An excited chorus of agreement flurries from the team as they immediately go to write their orders down.

“Skylor mentioned the other night that she could use more exposure, so I hope this will be what she needs,” you note quietly to Joseph.

“I hope so too. She works hard.”

“All right, they’re all on here,” one of your co-workers notes, handing you the order.

“Awesome. In the meantime, make sure you guys are hydrating. You can discuss which station’s you’d like to work. We have the rough draft right on the table, there. Feel free to write on it. We’ll be back soon.”

…

The day passes by in a flurry of activity. Skylor agrees to provide the catering for your event, you and your team get the building prepared for what’s to come tomorrow.

You deem today a success as you watch your co-workers prepare to leave for the night. Joseph stands next to you, arms crossed.

“We did well today,” you note, opening your phone so that you can send a quick text to the Commissioner saying that you’re all done.

“We did,” he replies, grinning softly.

You sigh. Looks like tomorrow’s going to be pretty busy, but even so...well, it’ll be doable. You just have to stay focused and keep your team on track.

“Damn, I just realized I’m hungry,” you mumble. “We were so busy today that I didn’t notice until now!”

“How about we stop somewhere for dinner?” Joseph suggests. “I could eat too.”

“Sure thing!” you chirp, following him out.

The two of you drive back to the police station to drop the truck off. You brief the Commissioner on today’s events before outlining your plan for tomorrow. Upon getting his approval, you two bid him goodnight before heading to a local restaurant.

…

“Good evening. How are you guys doing?” greets the hostess as the two of you enter.

“We’re doing well, how about yourself?” Joseph responds.

“Doing just fine, thank you. Just two tonight?”

“Yep,” you answer. She nods, grabbing two menus before twirling around briskly. “If you’ll just follow me, please.”

The restaurant you two had agreed upon was a more casual upscale type of restaurant. Cozy decorations line the interior, the walls painted a soft yellow color. Eventually, you’re led to a table situated in a more secluded section. You’re still able to view other tables, but it provides a good bit of privacy for speaking.

“Here you are. Someone will be with you guys in just a moment,” the hostess states, setting your menus down. “I hope y’all enjoy.”

You both thank her as she walks away, both going to study the menu intently.

“This menu is kind of crazy,” you note, slightly surprised at all the options available. “They do anything from basic breakfast items to really fancy dishes.”

“I suppose that means there’s something for everyone?” your partner suggests.

After debating on what to get – and finally deciding – you place your orders and enjoy your beverage for the time being.

“My feet are killing me,” you note, leaning back in your chair as you stretch them slightly. “That was a long day.”

“I know. Tomorrow’s going to be even worse,” Joseph notes.

“At least it’s only a day,” you muse. “Then we can crash. Maybe.”

“I hope so,” your partner agrees. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. How are you doing?”

You smile softly, averting your gaze down to your fingers. “Better.”

“And you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Nope. I really am feeling better since I talked with you guys. Skylor, too.”

“I see. In that case, I’m glad to hear it,” he says, smiling softly. “Regardless of what you decide to do, I hope it grants you healing.”

“Thank you, Joseph,” you mumble gratefully.

From there, the subject drifts to varying topics – anything from work to personal life aspects come up. At some point, you hear the hostess entering the section to seat another table – this one seemingly a little rambunctious judging by the amount of chatter and laughter – but don’t make a note of it until you feel a gaze lingering on your figure.

“Don’t look now,” Joseph begins, catching your attention. “But the ninja are here.”

“Are you shitting me.”

“I’m afraid not.”

You release a heavy sigh, leaning back for a second before shaking your head once. “You know what? I don’t care.”

Thankfully, your food arrives just in time. You thank the waiter, eagerly digging in as you push the others towards the back of your mind.

Even so, you can’t help but notice that feeling creeping back up on you. Like you can’t avoid him forever.

Thankfully, you can just pretend like you haven’t seen them considering you’re not even facing towards the group anyways.

As the minutes pass, you gradually begin to relax as you and Joseph strike up conversation once more. Joseph seems to take note of your slightly sunken mood, because he tosses a few jokes into the conversation, some of which get you laughing.

Eventually, the two of you deem it time to call it a day as you get ready to leave. You’re in the middle of double-checking that all of your belongings are somehow on your person when you make the mistake of looking up...

...and consequently locking eyes with none other than Cole!

You freeze, unable to look away for some reason. Unconsciously, you’re trying to decipher what he’s trying to tell you.

His green eyes are gazing into yours quizzically – his expression seems...hurt? Upset? That alone is enough to make you frown. Oh, he’s hurt? He’s upset?

Your scowl makes his stare almost...melt, in a way. Like he’s trying to apologize. Like he’s begging you to give him a chance to talk things out.

And damn, you forgot just how convincing his puppy-dog stare could be. You forgot how readable his expressions are. Even with your will whittling down the slightest bit, you harden your gaze before feeling Joseph’s arm slipping around your shoulders.

“Let’s get you home,” you hear him mumble, guiding you out of the restaurant. You oblige with no rejection, electing to ignore Cole’s stare once more.

…

After finally getting home for the night, you bid your partner goodbyes before going about your nightly routine.

A soft sigh escapes you as you step into your room, now in your jammies as you jump onto your bed, grateful to be home. You make yourself comfortable before pulling your phone out.

Ah. You should’ve seen this coming.

Awaiting you on your home screen resides a notification from Kai:

Swallowing nervously, you swipe the chat open.

Don’t act like you didn’t see us there tonight.

And don’t you dare ghost me again, either. It’s been long enough. We need to talk.

A shaky sigh escapes you. The fact he’s texting with decent grammar for once is enough to tell you he’s serious. And also, well...right.

You: Okay. You’re right.

Kai: Ofc I am.

Kai: Why haven’t you responded?

You: Idk...scared. I haven’t been okay ever since you know.

Kai: I get that. But you didn’t have to stop talking to me.

You: I’m sorry

Kai: u always do this

Kai: whenever u start feeling vulnerable u push people out of ur life

Okay. Grammar is back to bad. You’re getting somewhere.

You: I know

Kai: and im not gonna tell him anything

Kai: u know that right

Kai: i feel like u think im gonna tell him what you say in our convos but i wouldnt do that

Kai: i still value ur friendship. wouldn't sacrifice ur privacy for his benefit.

You: I think that’s what I was afraid of

You: I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking rationally and just stopped talking altogether bc I was too scared to address it

Kai: its fine but just know im here for u whenever

Kai: pls just dont ddo that again

Kai: i was getting worried but i saw u on the news not long after

Kai: kinda realized you were using ur typical coping mechanism. throwing urself into work and shit until u cant feel anymore. i decided to just give u time

You: Yep. Pretty much

Kai: he tried textng again right

You: Yeah. He sent me a long ass paragraph and now I have no idea how to respond. Or if I should even respond

You: Did he tell you what happened

Kai: yes

Kai: im sorry

Kai: hes smart but also dumb af sometimes

That gets you giggling slightly as you start texting your reply.

You: Yeah

Kai: how are u feeling about it all

Kai: i noticed u were with some guy tonight

Kai: coworker? new bf?

You: He’s my partner

You: And idk. Pretty mixed for the most part. I kind of want to talk to him, I kind of don’t.

Kai: yea i get that

Kai: i think hes jealous lol

You: fr??

Kai: def

Kai: he was pissed all night when we got back

Kai: went to the punching bag and all

You: wow

Kai: ikr

Kai: do u miss him?

You: I do, honestly. I miss him a lot. I’m just really pissed bc he never really told me why he left. Until he sent me that paragraph and now I just...

You: from what he said recently it seems like he didnt think i could protect myself and that really hurt me considering how much we both trained together

You: idk

You: I’ve kind of been a mess lately

You: I’m also scared that I might impulsively go back to him just bc I miss him and ignore what he did without addressing it properly

Kai: i understand all of that

Kai: well heres my opinion

Kai: i think u should talk to him. in person

Kai: itll help u both

Kai: but if u dont, then thats not my place to judge

Kai: if ur scared about the impulsive aspect then give it like a few days to clear ur head before u do it

Kai: but just from seeing his reaction paired w what u just told me makes me think that might be best for both of u

You: Okay

You: I’ll think about it

You: Thank you

Kai: ofc

You smile, continuing to chat with him about other things until late into the night. The chat ends with the two of you agreeing to meet up sometime.

Before you go to bed, though, you notice a new message from Cole:

Please?

That’s all. Not another long paragraph. Just that one message that manages to tug at your heartstrings.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, wondering if you should respond. After a few minutes of debate, you settle on a simple response:

Maybe.

Despite not receiving a message back, you go to sleep with a slightly lighter heart.

…

The next day approaches faster than you like. You find your alarm blaring after what only feels like seconds of closing your eyes.

A half-asleep groan escapes you as you angrily fumble for your phone, wanting the alarm off. Once you manage to turn it off, you sigh heavily and rub your eyes.

Ugh. The worst part.

Why does waking up suck? Early mornings are your favorite shift to work, but why must it be so hard to drag yourself out of bed?

You manage to do it a few minutes later, reluctantly going about your morning routine. At one point, you check your phone, noticing no new notifications.

Hmmm. Okay.

Once you’re finished getting ready, you gather all your belongings before heading out, ready to brave whatever the day holds for you.

…

“All right, keep it moving! We’ve got lots to do!” you call, your voice echoing throughout the warehouse as your team rushes to make preparations.

Explicit music blares throughout the warehouse as you all set up the tables, decorations, and miscellaneous items. A faux floor of sorts had been installed to give the place a fancier look – rather than just plain concrete – and peel-away wallpaper now lines the walls, with red curtains draping down the sides from place to place. Those two improvements alone have made the place feel more elegant.

Now, tables are being set up along the perimeter. Some are for the vendors, some are for the media, and others are for lounging.

This isn’t just going to be historic signing of a law – this is also going to be a celebration. It’s going to be an event commemorating the cooperation of Ninjago’s most influential figures in order to provide the citizens a better future. It must go well. You can’t mess this up.

Now, you’re helping set up a large, wooden backdrop that contains a pretty, realistic painting of a surreal Ninjago. You grit your teeth as you help push up a rather heavy backdrop – for photos – against one of the corners. Your muscles strain to hold it while one of your teammates locks the base down, effectively securing it up. You release it with a sigh of relief, backing away.

“Whew,” you mumble, taking a second to wipe the sweat off of your forehead. “Okay. That looks better.”

“That marks the last of the furniture that we have to set up. Well, aside from chairs, but we’re doing that tomorrow, right?”

You nod. “Yeah. Looks like we’re about done with that part. Okay, let’s shift our attention to the decorations now. I don’t care how you do it, just make this place look prettier!”

“You got it!” they respond, heading over to the (rather large) mound of boxes that have been stashed into the corner for the time being.

You take a moment to stretch your shoulders, knowing you’re going to be sore as hell tomorrow. You’ve never really done this much heavy lifting before.

You’re wiping off the sweat on your forehead with a damp towel when you spot Joseph entering with a brisk pace, face taut. You frown, wondering what’s wrong.

“What is it?” you ask as he approaches you.

“We have a slight problem,” he notes as the two of you turn towards the back of the warehouse. “So...the Commissioner called me like...five minutes ago because he couldn’t get ahold of you. And, to make a long story short, the Royal Family and ninja are both coming to get a look at the place and maybe rehearse their speech.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t meet with the Royal Family right now! Not only are you out-of-uniform and wearing casual clothes, but you’re also sweaty, gross, and exhausted. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m in no state to be meeting them! I have to-”

Joseph raises his hands in alarm, trying to quiet you down. You do so, wondering why he’s shushing you.

Your answer comes to you when you turn around.

Before you are none other than the Royal Family themselves, paired with the ninja surrounding them. Your jaw drops slightly as you realize that the explicit music is still playing, and that they definitely heard you cuss just now.

“Oh,” you mumble, grateful when Joseph subtly takes your phone out of your pocket to pause the music. “Uh...hi?”

The Princess is the first to step up, a gentle smile gracing her face as she giggles slightly. “Hello.”

“Uh...hey, everyone. Sorry that all of this is still a mess, and that I’m a mess-”

“Please don’t worry about it,” she replies. “We do not mind.”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead as you try to avoid catching Cole’s gaze. “I apologize. Normally I’m more...composed, I guess. We’ve just been busy trying to get everything set up.”

“Like I said, you’re completely fine. I understand this has been a stressful project – especially under such short notice – but we greatly appreciate the time you’ve dedicated to bringing our vision to light.”

“Oh, well...thanks,” you say, smiling as you relax slightly. “I promise you, though – it'll be way more civilized tomorrow.”

“Perhaps I could show them around?” Joseph offers. “That way we can get them acquainted with the layout.”

You nod. “Go ahead.”

With that, you back away silently as the group follows Joseph, eyes widening when Kai lingers back with a small grin.

“Hey,” he starts, mask pulled down for the time being.

You smile softly. “Hey.”

“Dammit, give me a hug!” he states, immediately coming in to embrace you. You giggle against his shoulder, returning the embrace. It’s been forever since you’ve inhaled that oddly smoky yet soothing scent of his.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, voice muffled as you relax against him.

“It’s in the past,” he notes. With your ear pressed against his chest, you can hear his heart beating. “I’m just glad we’re talking again.”

You nod, gaze becoming glassy as your throat tightens. How could you have just stopped talking to him so suddenly?

Kai pulls away slightly, still looking at you. “I know we’re both working right now, but we should catch up soon.”

Another nod racks your head. “Yeah, I agree.”

“Do you have an outfit planned for the ball yet?” he questions.

“Not yet. I’ve been so busy doing all of this that it completely slipped my mind,” you admit.

“Let’s go shopping for one, then. I’ll help you pick one out.”

Oh, thank the stars. Kai has superior taste in fashion. You’re saved.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

He nods, patting your shoulder a few times. “Of course. Text me later. I guess we’ll have to do it tonight considering the event’s tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

…

Thankfully, the rest of the shift goes by without much else of note occurring. Joseph keeps the visitors busy while you finish up the day’s preparations by guiding your team. You catch Cole’s eye every now and then, but...yeah. Nothing really happens.

Now, you’re about to leave the warehouse, taking a moment to run through your mental checklist of everything that you had to get done today. After verifying it’s all good to go, you pack all of your belongings before heading out.

Not to your surprise, you spot Kai leaning against the exterior wall, arms folded. Upon hearing you exit, he turns to you.

You chuckle as you approach him. “So, no text then?”

“Nah. Your partner mentioned that you’d be here until this time, so I just thought I’d cut to the chase and meet you here if that’s okay. Besides, we only have like two hours before the shop closes.”

“Good. That means you won’t have time for your bullshit,” you note as the two of you approach your car.

“What bullshit?”

“You just take so much longer than necessary when it comes to shopping,” you recall with a teasing smile. “Especially for other people who need your advice.”

“That’s not bullshit. That’s just the process!” he retorts, sliding into the passenger seat.

“If you say so.”

…

This is kind of a nightmare.

You groan, stepping out of the dressing room for what must be the thousandth time, in yet another dress. Kai frowns, staring at you in scrutiny.

“No.”

“Wow. What a surprise. Dude, we’re not gonna find anything!” you say, feeling awkward in the poofy dress that’s beginning to itch. “I’m just gonna go in my uniform!”

“No, you’re not! Come on, I have another one in mind that we can try,” he says.

“Kai...”

He holds a hand up, expression telling you that he won’t take no for an answer. “Again!”

You release a groan equivalent to that of a frustrated young child, marching back into the changing room. “How the fuck do I even take this thing off?”

You’re met with silence. A sigh escapes you as you tug the gown off, changing back into your undershirt and pants before you open the door.

Somehow, Kai has returned with three additional dresses, all vastly different. You shake your head in disbelief. He’s not human when it comes to this stuff!

He snatches the discarded gown and hands you a new one. “I think one of these three is going to be it!”

“I hope so. The store’s gonna close soon!”

“Try it!” he demands, closing the door on you.

With that, you strip (again) and hesitantly pull the dress on.

Okay, you know what? This one isn’t as bad. Unlike the previous dresses, this one checks two boxes – it compliments both your figure and your personality. The others had either only checked one or neither areas. It’s not itchy, not too tight or too loose...

You observe your reflection for a moment before turning to open the door. Kai immediately studies your figure.

“That one...” he mumbles, finally smiling in approval. “That one is it.”

“You think so?”

“If you like it, then yeah. It’s perfect,” he elaborates.

“I’ll take it,” you note exasperatedly. “Finally!”

“See, that wasn’t so bad!” Kai says.

“It was.”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” he scolds, smacking your arm lightly as you snicker. “Now, get changed so we can check out.”

You oblige, especially when an announcement plays over the speaker stating that there are fifteen minutes left until closing.

The checkout goes smoothly, and soon enough you find yourself driving back home with Kai.

“Thanks. I know I gave you a lot of shit, but I enjoyed that and appreciate your help.”

“Of course. I missed hanging out with you like that.”

“So did I.”

“By the way, do you want a ride? I just realized-”

“Nah, I can summon a dragon at will now, remember?”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m still not quite used to you being...well, a ninja. With powers.”

He chuckles lightly. “Yeah, I get that.”

A sudden silence falls between the two of you. Kai stares out of the window, studying the dark sky intently as you merge onto the road that will lead you home.

“It’s been so long,” he muses, voice soft as he doesn’t move. “I just...I feel like I haven’t really proceessed how much has changed, you know? Last time I saw you, we were both back in Ignacia together. Nya wasn’t kidnapped. I didn’t even realize that I was the Master of Fire...”

“I know,” you mumble. “And now...you’re a ninja. I’m a detective.”

“Yeah,” he muses, chuckling. “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you meet Cole anyway?”

A dreamy smile crosses your face as you recall the memory. “Well, I was interning with the commissioner at the time. I was accompanying him on an investigation at the theatre where he and his dad would always perform in. One night, there was a case of grand larceny there. We were interviewing all of the members there...and he was one of the witnesses. Because, you know-”

“His sleep schedule’s fucked?”

You chuckle, nodding. “Yeah. He was there at like two-thirty in the morning when the robbers arrived and ended up getting out so he could contact the police. So, he told us all of that. And his testimony is what actually enabled us to recognize the culprits. And when the perpetrators were arrested, and everything blew over...well, we kept talking. And eventually we started dating.”

“Aw,” Kai mumbles. “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah. I wish it hadn’t ended like it did.”

“You miss him?”

“More than anything,” you reply quietly, turning into your driveway. “The first few weeks of the breakup was just...it was horrible.”

The two of you exit the car, Kai grabbing your dress – now covered in plastic – before you lock your car.

“He was really happy that you texted back,” he states as he follows you inside.

“But I just said ‘maybe’.”

“He didn’t seem to care. He was just happy you responded.”

You take your new dress from him, deciding to lay it flat out on the table for the time being. “I guess I’ll try to talk to him soon, then. But what the hell am I supposed to say?”

“Just let it happen. It’ll come naturally,” Kai advises as the two of you sit down on the couch together.

“I hope so,” you mumble. “I know he’s going to be there tomorrow...”

“Then you should do it sometime after the event,” Kai says. “The sooner, the better.”

You nod. “I feel like the reason I’ve been pushing it all away is because I’m just...scared. Really scared.”

Kai leans forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “You know it’s okay to be scared, right? He’s going to be equally as nervous as you are. Maybe even more.”

You shrug. “It feels like I shouldn’t be scared. Like I should be angrier than I actually feel.”

“Well, don’t force yourself to feel one way or another. Just embrace what you think about the situation, discuss what you’re upset about, and see what happens,” Kai replies.

“Hm...okay. I’m just overthinking this. All right. Thanks, Kai. But enough about that, how’ve you been? How’s Nya? How do you like being a ninja?”

“I’ve been pretty great, honestly. She’s good too, been inventing a lot more stuff now that we don’t have to worry about the shop and all that. And being a ninja is pretty epic – I don’t have to think too hard. Just fight. Take down the bad guys, you know.”

You chuckle in response. “That’s fair.”

“Oh damn, you need to meet the rest of my team sometime!” he adds, perking up slightly.

“What are they like?”

“Well, Cole’s our leader. Jay’s an inventor. Dude will not shut up, but he’s great for lightening up the mood. Zane is the brains of the group. Really quiet but super smart. Nya also helps out too – she builds a lot of mechs and stuff.”

“Good for her. I’m glad she finally got to explore her interests more,” you note with a small smile.

The two of you talk some more, the time eventually ticking late into the night.

…

“I feel awkward,” you mumble.

“We all do, trust me,” Joseph replies, chuckling as the two of you duck into the room where your team is waiting, the civilian volunteers welcoming all of tonight’s guests.

You sigh, taking a moment to adjust your dress. Hopefully this thing won’t be too great of an inconvenience tonight.

“Okay!” you announce once you’re settled. “So! The plan for tonight is as follows: the Royal Family is being escorted by the ninja, and they’re supposed to be here in about fifteen minutes. Until then, we just need to make sure everything is in order. From there, I have to give a speech with the commissioner, then they have to do the signing, all that stuff. There’s gonna be more speeches. Yay. Just make sure the place doesn’t burn down while I’m off doing all that. I’m only scheduled for one speech so I’m gonna try to slip away while I can to help out.”

“Sounds like a plan!” a teammate yells, with the others speaking their agreements.

“Epic. If there are no questions, then let’s get this started.”

With that, the group disperses. You exit the room, deciding to check out the miscellaneous stands that are scattered about the perimeter.

Of course, the first place you have to check out is Skylor’s stand.

Thankfully, it’s not horribly crowded yet. You glance around, proud of all the hard work you and your team did in order to make this a reality. It’s crazy how much you can get done in so little time.

You make your way across the warehouse, eventually spotting Skylor – jaw nearly dropping as you stop to take in her dress – a floor-length one that’s a vibrant shade of orange. Its back is open with crisscrossed straps, and it features a little bit of sparklies on it too.

“Skylor!” you yell, coming over to her. “You look absolutely stunning!”

“There you are,” she notes, smiling as you step over. “Thanks, you do too.”

“Kai picked mine out,” you reply, practically drooling as you spot the amount of food she brought. “Oh, this all smells fantastic...”

“You’re welcome to have some anytime,” she notes, offering a smile as she gestures to the mounds of catering pans. “And, Kai?”

You nod. “Yeah. We met up last night, and he picked this dress out for me.”

“Good! I’m happy that you guys were able to catch up.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I’ll try to tell you about that later, though. For now, I have to check on everyone, though. I just thought I’d check in with you first.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re my favorite.”

She chuckles. “Well, I’m flattered.”

“I’m glad. I gotta check on the others, but I’ll talk to you later!”

With that, she waves you goodbye as you step over to where the media’s stand is. You notice Gayle Gossip sitting down, scribbling away at a piece of paper and dressed in a lovely dusty pink dress that compliments her normal style.

“Hi, Gayle,” you greet, approaching slowly. “How is everything? Did your setup go okay?”

“Hello,” she replies, not glancing up from what’s likely her script. “It was fine, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it,” you note, stepping away when you get the feeling she wants to be left to her writing. You nod in greeting towards her camera crew, who smile in return.

The other vendors in the area seemed to have a relatively smooth setup, as you learn. More people are beginning to trickle in now. When you glance at the time on your phone, you notice that it’s just about time for the Royal Family to arrive.

That thought in mind, you rush to the side door, where they’re supposed to arrive. The stifled sound of engines shutting off catches your attention.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself to remain professional as you open the door to glance out.

Sure enough, all of them have arrived as scheduled. Doing your best to keep a blank expression, you watch in silence as the Royal Family steps out of their disguised vehicle, the ninja in suit. And quite literally, at that.

All of them have been decked out in fancy, customized tuxedos that match their respective colors. You avert your gaze from Cole, doing your best to ignore how handsome he looks.

“Right this way, everyone,” you announce, stepping back inside so that they can follow you towards their designated waiting room.

“I’m so excited to see how everything turned out!” the Jade Princess notes as you close the door behind the last person.

“I hope it’s all to your liking,” you reply, smiling smally as you stand in front of everyone. “In any case, the commissioner is about to open with his speech in the next ten minutes or so.”

“What will the layout for tonight’s event look like?” the Emperor questions.

“So, commissioner’s going to give a speech, I’m going to give a speech, and at the end of that you guys will come up and make your speech. And then the signing will happen, then the actual ceremony.”

“That sounds like a plan for us.”

“Fantastic. One of my teammates will show you all to the staircase when it’s about time for you guys to make your appearance. Until then, just hang out in here. I’ve got to join the commissioner for the first bit, but I’ll try to hunt you all down later. If you have any questions, my partner will probably be floating around at some point.”

…

You swallow nervously, feeling eyes boring into you as you stand next to the commissioner as he gives his speech. Hopefully your discomfort isn’t horribly blatant.

“Tonight marks a historic date that will forever solidify our abilities to cooperate with each other in order to make Ninjago a safer place,” the commissioner says into the microphone. “But none of this would have been possible without my second-in-command and leader of our crime prevention department...” his name leaves your mouth, and for a moment your mind gets stuck on the fact that he just said “second-in-command".

You have no time to be surprised though, so instead you just plaster on that smile of yours before stepping up towards the microphone. You pull out your speech outline from the pocket of your dress, earning an obligatory “it-has-pockets!” from a random woman in the crowd.

“I know, right?” you reply into the microphone with a snicker, causing the audience to chuckle as well. You take a second to introduce yourself before beginning your speech:

“So, I pretty much planned this whole thing within the span of three days with a little bit of preliminary planning beforehand. I hope it turned out to be okay?”

A round of cheering answers your question. “I’ll take that as a yes! But, though, in all seriousness, I just wanted to thank the Royal Family for coming out here on such short notice, and for dealing with my shenanigans. Because, let me tell you, I’ve been running on like eight energy drinks, maybe two hours of sleep, and a dream-”

Another chuckle.

“-And their patience has been much appreciated. I’ve been leading this department for almost a year now, and of all the challenges I’ve tackled, this one is probably the most pressing. You ever hear the phrase ‘communication is key’? Well, as it turns out, it’s not just true for that wack couple’s failing marriage-”

More chuckles!

“-But it also holds a lot of truth within both our department and between the other two agencies here tonight. We all serve vastly different purposes, but ultimately our goal is the same: to protect you. Ninjago has proven itself to be a high-risk target, and in some circumstances, we just cannot afford to lose time to rules that limit what intelligence we share. So, I’ve decided that our best solution is to simply get rid of the ones that inhibit our communication during emergencies. You’d be surprised at how critical the little details are.

“This legislation will not only enable us to share information, but it also protects the citizens’ privacy. We have, at last, struck a balance between the two.”

A round of applause emanates from the crowd, causing you to smile as you patiently wait for it to subside. “Thank you. Lastly, I just would like to take a second to thank the community outreach department and the CPA for helping out. These people were out here helping me set everything up from dawn until dusk. Please take a moment to thank them if you see them, because I would have burned the place down by now had it not been for them.”

The audience laughs again, this time following with a round of applause. “And without further ado, I introduce to you none other than the Royal Family. Get on up here!”

…

The signing goes flawlessly, much to your relief. You’re finally able to step away soon after, walking around as the orchestra restarts the music and initiates a dance.

You spy the Princess and her parents walking about the area, talking to various people. It’s good to see them be a little involved with the community for once. It seems as if the ninja are taking turns accompanying the three, going in pairs. The rest are scattered about, doing their own thing for the time being.

The commissioner is doing the same thing – just floating around and talking to people. You exhale sharply, glad that tonight hasn’t been a disaster. You’re starting to relax slightly.

“May I have this dance?”

You turn to face the source of the voice, finding Joseph standing across from you as he offers you his hand.

A giggle escapes you as you take his hand, allowing him to pull you onto the dance floor.

“You did such a great job putting all of this together,” he notes as the two of you begin to sway together.

“Thank you,” you reply. “I’m really glad it turned out all right.”

“I knew it would with you in charge. Oh, and didn’t you hear the commissioner? He called you his second-in-command!”

Your heart begins to race as you smile, nodding eagerly. “Yeah! I need to ask him about that.”

He’s about to reply when your eyes shift over his shoulder, suddenly freezing when you lock eyes with Cole, who’s leaning against the wall with folded arms as he studies the two of you.

“What is it?” Joseph questions, stopping for a moment.

“Uh...” you trail off, averting your gaze. “It’s just Cole...”

“Ah,” he notes, twirling you so that your back faces Cole. “I see.”

You don’t reply, instead focusing on keeping up with the dance. Joseph follows suit in your silence, instead continuing the dance.

You do your best to ignore Cole, tuning into the rhythm of the music. Kind of ironic – he was the one who taught you how to dance like this. Your heart sinks slightly at that thought.

Eventually, you’re able to tune your thoughts out better. You enjoy your dance with Joseph, smiling and closing your eyes when he begins to twirl you around. His hands leave yours as you spin.

You elect to engage your mind in the present, enjoying the spinning sensation that accompanies your closed eyes. It stumbles to a halt when your hands return to his.

But...something’s different.

The hands are larger. Calloused. Familiar. Heart skipping a beat, you open your eyes.

The first thing your gaze lands on are those spearmint green eyes that you’ve come to miss.

Cole pulls you to his chest, the grip on your hands gentle but firm enough so that you can’t slip away so easily.

Your eyes widen as he not-so-subtly pulls you away from Joseph.

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗. 𝚒 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍. 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚒'𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝚎𝚝𝚌…𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗; 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘.

[kosmokai]

oh my days it just kept on going likeeeeeeeeeee YES

rent HAD to have been due with this one 🙂‍↕️ SO GOOD

Let Him See - Oscar Piastri x Reader One-Shot

❝ He kisses you like he’s waited for permission. And that’s what makes you break. ❞

[oscar piastri x reader]

~8.2k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, emotional neglect, infidelity, porn with plot, smut, possessive behavior, complicated breakup dynamics

lando stopped seeing you. oscar never missed a thing. now the whole paddock knows.

notes: i tried writing in present tense for this, which really isn't in my ballpark. not sure if i loved it, but maybe i'll do more of it later on. i’m sorry i made lando out to be such a dick. i promise ill make up for it!! enjoy! <3

IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED TO A TAGLIST FOR ALL OF MY FUTURE F1 FICS, COMMENT BELOW

The McLaren party is elegant in that vaguely overstated way team events always are—polished chrome fixtures, dim gold lighting, and drinks served in glasses that clink too delicately for the kind of tension simmering beneath the surface.

You walk in on Lando’s arm. A black strapless dress hugging you like it was tailored in vengeance. The ruffled ruching along the bottom cascades like spilled ink with every step you take. You planned everything—the heels, the bold red lipstick, the subtle shimmer in the inner corners of your eyes. All for him.

He barely glances down at you.

Lando says something to a passing engineer, nods at a sponsor, then slips out of your grasp as naturally as water slipping through your fingers. No one notices the slight shift in your balance when he lets go. But you do.

You’re left standing beside a bar you didn’t want to be near, surrounded by people who smile too brightly and ask questions you don’t want to answer.

You’re his girlfriend—the public face of a dying relationship neither of you have the courage to end. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. He’s across the room within minutes, grinning down at a woman in a red backless dress, hand resting low on her spine. It’s a familiar stance. You’ve seen it before. You’ve even been on the receiving end of it—back when he still bothered.

Your chest aches, but you don’t flinch. Not here. Not while people are watching.

Someone asks you if you want champagne. You decline with a polite smile, then excuse yourself—something about needing to take a call, voice breezy, unbothered.

You step out of the ballroom like you’re slipping out of a skin that doesn’t fit anymore.

The hallway is dim and mercifully empty. You exhale, back against the cool wall, and pull your phone out of your clutch—blank screen. No missed messages. No excuses to stay outside longer than you should.

You open WhatsApp. You type a few words. Delete them. Start again. Then stop. You let your head tip back until it rests against the cool wall, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

You wore this dress for him.

You practically starved yourself all day, got your makeup done by the same artist who preps you for photoshoots, shaved every inch of your body until your skin ached—and he didn’t even look at you.

A sharp sting pricks behind your eyes, but you blink it back. Your mascara is too good to waste on someone who hasn’t kissed you in public in weeks.

You shift your weight in your heels. They’re taller than you usually wear—he once said he liked when you looked just a little out of balance, like he had to catch you. He hasn’t caught you in a long time.

The hallway feels like limbo. You’re not sure if you want to scream or vanish. The silence settles over you like a second skin—until it breaks.

“Hey.”

You look up.

Oscar stands a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Brows knit with something like concern—or maybe anger, but not at you.

You straighten up instinctively, “Hey.”

His gaze flicks toward the ballroom, then back to you, “He didn’t even notice you left.”

Your voice catches before it comes out, “He never does.”

Oscar doesn’t speak. He just stays there, watching you like you’re not crazy for feeling the way you do.

For a few seconds, that’s enough.

You look away first. Not because you’re embarrassed—but because his eyes are too steady, too full of something that burns beneath the surface. Like if you look too long, you’ll start crying or say something you can’t take back.

Your gaze falls to the floor, to the veins in the marble tile, to the perfectly manicured hand holding your clutch like it’s the only thing holding you together.

Then, softly—like the truth finally scraping its way up your throat—you speak.

“He does this a lot,” you murmur, “Leaves me at these things. Flirts with whatever blonde he hasn’t slept with yet. Sometimes it’s just talking. Usually it’s not.”

You swallow. The bitterness coats your tongue.

“And I’m supposed to smile through it. Pretend I don’t care. Because we’re McLaren’s golden couple, right? I look good enough on his arm, and he looks better in the photos. Win-win.”

Oscar doesn’t interrupt. He stays where he is, still but attentive, like if he moves too fast you might break.

You don’t stop. It’s pouring out now.

“I tell myself it’s fine. That I knew what I was signing up for. That it’s just how he is. But then I see the way he touches them—like they’re interesting. Like they matter.”

Your voice drops, quiet and sharp:

“He hasn’t looked at me like that in a long time.”

The silence after that is loud. Heavy.

You take a shaky breath and force out a dry laugh. “God. I sound pathetic.”

“No,” Oscar says immediately, “You sound hurt.”

You blink. His voice is too honest. Too kind.

It cracks something wide open.

“Of course I’m hurt,” you whisper, “I feel disposable. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s why I don’t leave. Maybe I’m scared if I do, no one else will want me.”

Oscar moves then.

Just a step. Slow. Controlled. Like he’s grounding himself.

“That’s not true,” he says, sincerity and care laced in his voice. 

You lift your eyes to his. His tone doesn't match how furious he looks. Not at you—never at you—but at everything you just said. At every bruise Lando left behind that didn’t show up on your skin.

“I’m tired of watching him hurt you,” he says, voice like steel wrapped in silk.

The breath catches in your throat. You didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect him to say it. Not so simply. Not so seriously.

You fold your arms across your chest, trying to find a shield in sarcasm. It’s the only armor you have left.

“What, you want to make him jealous or something?” A laugh, light and mocking. A shrug, “Go ahead.”

You don’t mean it. It’s a deflection, a defense. Something to push him back before he gets too close to the bleeding parts.

But Oscar doesn’t laugh.

He steps in.

Close.

Too close.

You feel his hand brush the side of your face, gentle fingers slipping behind your ear. He pauses—waits for you to stop him—and when you don’t, he tilts your chin just enough.

And then he kisses you.

Your body locks. Every muscle goes taut.

Your lips are frozen against his, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

But his mouth is soft. Steady. Patient.

He kisses you like he’s waited for permission.

And that’s what makes you break.

You melt.

Fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt, you kiss him back. Rough. Desperate. Furious with yourself for how good it feels. For how long you’ve wanted this, buried it, pushed it down under years of Lando’s carelessness.

Oscar groans when your hips tip into his.

The kiss deepens. His hands grip your waist—hard, grounding. Yours slide up his chest, grabbing fistfuls of cotton like you need to hold on or you’ll collapse.

You hit the wall with a soft thud. He doesn’t stop. You don’t want him to. One of his hands finds your bare thigh where your dress has shifted, the other cradling your jaw.

He kisses you like he needs to prove something. Like he’s making up for every second Lando didn’t touch you.

You moan into his mouth—too soft, too shocked at yourself.

He pulls back just enough to breathe against your lips.

You’re both breathing heavily; you more than him.

Your lipstick’s ruined. His pupils are blown. His chest is rising and falling like he’s just come off a cooldown lap.

Then—voice low, rough, shaking with restraint—he says,

“Room 321. If you mean it.”

And he steps back. Hands still curled like he wants to reach for you again.

But he doesn’t.

He leaves you standing there in a dim hotel hallway, breathless, shaking, lips tingling, with your heart slamming against your ribs and your mind screaming that something just changed forever.

Room 321.

You stare at the number plaque for a moment.

You knock once, and the door opens like he was already standing behind it—waiting.

Oscar stands in the soft glow of the hotel room, still in his suit pants, white shirt rumpled with the top two buttons undone. His jacket’s folded neatly over the back of a chair. His hair’s a little mussed like he’s been running his hands through it since he left you.

His eyes land on your lips first. Then your throat.

Your lipstick is smudged from the hallway kiss. You didn’t fix it. You didn’t want to.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there. Chest rising slowly. Eyes locked on yours. There’s something sharp in his silence—not anger, not regret. Restraint.

You step into the room slowly. The door closes behind you with a dull thud that feels heavier than it should.

He still doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

The tension crackles between you like a tripwire no one wants to step on first.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly, eyes dark.

Your chest lifts, lips parted slightly as you look at him across the room, “Then tell me to leave.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he takes a slow step forward.

You mirror him.

Another step. Closer. Breath catching.

Until there’s no more distance between you.

He reaches out—hesitantly—fingers brushing your chin, then trailing along the line of your smudged lipstick.

“You look like you’ve already been kissed,” he says. 

You breathe, “You did that.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I did.”

That’s when the tension snaps.

The second his mouth meets yours again, everything else dissolves.

It’s rougher this time. Starved. Less like a kiss and more like a confession torn from his chest. His hands cradle your jaw, fingers pressing just beneath your ears like he’s grounding himself in the feel of you. Your arms loop around his neck instantly, your body melting into his like it always belonged there.

His tongue slips past your lips, hot and slow, as your backs bump blindly into the desk behind you. A McLaren cap falls to the floor unnoticed. You gasp softly into the kiss, and he groans into your mouth like it’s killing him not to take more.

His hands slide down your arms, then to your waist, where he grips you tightly—not to push, not to rush. Just to hold. Just to feel.

You don’t pull away when he reaches behind you and finds the zipper of your dress. It comes down slowly, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet of the room. His knuckles brush your spine as he guides the fabric off your shoulders.

You’re still kissing when it falls to your ankles.

Still kissing when you push his shirt off, fingers slipping under the undone buttons, palms brushing warm skin. He shrugs it down his arms and lets it fall with a soft rustle to the carpet. His pants follow soon after, as you blindly undo his belt and unbutton them. 

His hands don’t leave your body. Not once.

You walk backward together, mouths fused, breath short, until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you.

Then he bends slightly and lifts you—carefully, like you might shatter in his arms—and lays you down on the sheets as if it’s an offering.

Your hair fans out against the pillows. Your chest rises and falls quickly. Oscar stands over you for a second, chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes moving across every inch of your skin.

Then he climbs onto the bed and kneels between your thighs.

You watch him watch you, lips parted, body burning.

He leans in and kisses your neck—softly at first.

Then lower.

And lower.

Down the column of your throat, over the swell of your chest. He shifts the fabric of your bra aside, reaching beneath you and removing it gently, with trembling fingers, and kisses the curve of your breast, then bites gently.

You gasp, fingers grasping at the sheets.

He sucks gently—and when he pulls back, there’s a blooming red mark just beneath your collarbone.

Then another. Between your breasts.

Then one lower, over the swell of your ribcage.

He takes his time. His mouth moves down, and you lose count of how many places he claims with his lips and teeth.

You squirm as he shifts, adjusting on his knees to reach lower, pushing the edge of your panties aside so he can press another kiss just above your hipbone—then right at the inner curve of your thigh.

He sucks there, too. A long, slow draw that makes your fingers fist the sheets.

“Oscar—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice husky, “Let me leave them.”

Another bite. Another mark, just shy of the place where you’re already aching for him.

“I want him to see every single one of these.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

You’ve never been kissed like this—not for show, not for ownership, but for the sheer need to leave a piece of himself behind on your skin.

By the time his mouth trails back up your thighs, your panties are damp with heat and your breathing’s gone shaky.

Oscar leans up, one hand bracing beside your waist. His other hand finds the waistband of your panties and begins to ease them down—slowly. Carefully. Like unwrapping something delicate.

He watches your face the entire time.

They slide down your legs with ease, and he tosses them aside.

You’re bare for him now—fully, completely—and you’ve never felt so seen.

He kisses your knee. Then the inside of your thigh again. Then finally, finally, his mouth hovers over where you need him most.

You’re already soaked. He groans when he sees it.

“Fuck. Look at you. I’ve thought about this,” he says softly, eyes fixed on where you’re already wet for him. “So many times.”

You can’t answer. You can barely think.

His hands spread you open gently—reverently—and then his mouth is on you.

Warm. Wet. Soft.

The first stroke of his tongue is unhurried, a slow drag from bottom to top that makes your spine arch off the mattress. You gasp, hips twitching, but his grip is firm on your thighs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against you.

He licks again—long and deliberate—then presses soft kisses to your clit, switching between his tongue and his lips like he’s tasting something he wants to savor.

You moan—high and broken—and he groans back like he feels it.

His hands hold your thighs open, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin. You’re writhing now, overwhelmed, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly with every passing second.

Your fingers claw at the sheets. You feel it coming, your body locking up—

Until he pulls back.

Your hips lift off the bed, chasing the loss, but his hands still you.

He leans in, kisses the inside of your thigh again—slow and deep—a soft, open-mouthed press that lingers just long enough to leave another blooming bruise.

Then he hovers over you, mouth wet, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re close,” he murmurs, “I can feel it. You’re shaking.”

You nod, lips parted, breath stuttering.

His hands slide up your thighs, grounding you—but instead of returning to where you’re desperate for him, he pulls back more.

“Don’t come yet.”

Your brows draw together, lips twitching in protest, “What—why—?”

Oscar leans in again, hand wrapping around your thigh to hold you open as he presses a kiss just above your aching heat. 

His voice is low, but firm, “Because I want to be inside you when you fall apart.”

The authority in his tone makes you clench around nothing. You whimper as he sits back on his heels, rubbing his palms over your thighs in soothing strokes.

“Please…” you whisper.

His mouth tilts into the faintest smirk—not smug. Hungry.

Then he crawls back up your body, leaving another trail of slow kisses across the bruises he’s left down your chest.

“You don’t come without me tonight,” he says quietly against your skin. “You understand?”

You nod, barely breathing.

“Say it,” his tone is demanding, but not impatient.

“I—I won’t come until you’re inside me,” you surrender. 

He moves back up to kiss you—soft at first, then deeper, longer—as he reaches over to the nightstand. You hear the foil tear, the familiar sound grounding the moment in something real. His body shifts against yours as he sits back briefly to roll the condom on, his breath catching as his hand moves.

Then he’s back above you—one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand sliding down to guide himself to your entrance. His cock brushes against you, hot and thick and so ready.

But still, he pauses.

“Are you sure? You won’t regret this later?” he asks, voice quieter now. Not demanding. Not coaxing. Just open.

You reach up, cup his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek.

“Yes. I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

Oscar exhales—one soft, shuddering breath—and presses his forehead to yours for a moment, like he’s soaking those words in.

He sinks into you slowly—not teasing, just careful, controlled, like he’s doing something sacred. His hips press forward inch by inch, stretching you open, filling you fully until your thighs tremble against his sides.

You gasp, clutching his biceps, head tipping back into the pillows, “Oscar…”

“I know,” he breathes. “Fuck, I know. You feel—”

He cuts himself off with a groan, jaw tightening as he bottoms out, “So fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

He stills inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you shaking with the effort of not losing it too soon. He brushes your hair away from your face with the gentlest touch, his palm cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you might break if he lets go.

“You okay?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, “Move. Please.”

So he does.

The first thrust is slow and deep, rolling through your whole body. His hips pull back and push forward in a smooth rhythm that feels like worship. Each time he fills you, you feel more of yourself unravel, like he’s stripping you bare with every stroke.

He kisses you through it—long, lingering kisses against your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You breathe it against his lips, broken and honest:

“I’m yours.”

He groans, burying himself deeper.

His pace stays steady, grounding—not brutal, not rushed, but deliberate. Like he wants to make this last. Like he needs you to feel it for hours after.

His hand slides down your side to grip your thigh, pulling your leg up around his waist to angle you just right—and when he thrusts again, you choke on a moan.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod frantically, eyes wide and wet.

“Yeah, baby. That’s it,” He stumbles through his words, deep within his own pleasure, “You take me so well.”

You cling to him like he’s the only real thing in the world, his name slipping from your lips between soft gasps, your body clenching around him, slick and pulsing and completely his.

When your orgasm hits, it’s not sharp—it’s deep. A wave that rolls through you, full-body and consuming. You cry out, and he swallows the sound in a kiss, fucking you through it with soft praise and steady hands.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. I’ve got you.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he kisses the corner of your eye.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, “You’re safe.”

He comes only seconds later, thrusts stuttering, mouth falling open against your neck. You feel him groan into your skin as he grips your thigh and spills into the condom, his whole body shaking with the effort.

And when it’s over, he doesn’t pull away.

He just collapses into you—gently—his chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapping around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold.

You lie there tangled in each other, your fingers brushing through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, your thighs still parted around his hips.

Neither of you speaks.

You don’t have to.

You’re both suspended in that quiet stillness—the kind that only comes after something real, something that changes the shape of you.

After a long moment, he shifts slightly, careful not to crush you. His hand strokes your thigh where it’s still curled around his waist. He places a soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your jaw. Then he pulls out gently, drawing a small whimper from your throat.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, brushing his hand down your hip, “You okay?”

You nod. Your voice is still trapped somewhere in your chest, so you let your hand answer for you, fingers curling around his bicep. He disposes of the condom quickly, then returns to the bed without hesitation, lying beside you and immediately pulling you into his arms.

He doesn’t ask if it was good.

He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he cradles you, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other brushing soft fingers through your hair.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Just… a lot.”

You feel his smile against your forehead. His hand slides up and down your back, slow and steady, grounding.

“Hey,” he says gently after a pause. “You don’t… regret this, do you?”

You shift slightly to look at him. His eyes are wide, open, vulnerable—stripped of all the heat and control from earlier. He’s just Oscar now. Soft-spoken and careful with your heart.

You shake your head slowly, “No. I don’t.”

His shoulders relax.

“Okay,” he says, “Good. I just—I need you to know…”

He hesitates, thumb brushing your side, “This doesn’t have to mean anything. If it was just about him—if it was just something you needed to do — that’s okay.”

You blink. His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of sadness tucked into it. Like he means what he’s saying, but part of him hopes it isn’t just that.

You slide your hand up his chest, over the steady beat of his heart, “It wasn’t just about him.”

His brows lift slightly. You lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t mean anything.”

Oscar exhales—slow and shaky—and you see the tension leave his body like someone just untied a knot that’s been there for months.

He pulls you in tighter. You tuck your head beneath his chin, leg slipping between his, arms around his torso, his scent already warm on your skin.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “Stay?”

You nod against his chest, “I want to.”

You fall asleep like that—in his arms, his fingers tangled in your hair, your body marked with proof of what happened.

Not revenge.

Not just sex.

Something.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Oscar’s chest beneath your cheek. His arm still slung around your waist. The faint hum of city life beyond the hotel windows. You blink slowly into the early light, your lashes brushing the skin of his collarbone.

He’s already awake.

You can feel it in the way his fingers trace lazy, absentminded shapes along your back. He’s not in a rush. Not trying to move you. Just… there, soaking the moment in.

You shift slightly, stretch, and wince a little—your thighs ache, in the best way. Oscar immediately pauses.

“Sore?” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

“A little,’ you respond quietly.

He kisses your forehead, “Good sore or… need-an-ice-pack sore?”

You snort, hiding your smile in his chest, “Good sore.”

He hums, content. His hand returns to your back. You both stay still for a few more seconds—not talking, not overthinking—just breathing together.

Then, softly, “You don’t have to sneak out,” he says, “You can walk out like you belong here.”

You glance up at him, “I kind of do belong now… don’t I?”

His lips lift into a tired smile, “Yeah. You do.”

You press a soft kiss to his jaw before finally sitting up, the sheets slipping down your body, baring the constellation of love bites he left down your chest. His eyes flick to them, and his smile shifts—pride, possession, a little satisfaction.

“He’s gonna see those,” he says.

“Good,” you echo, voice quiet but sharp.

You find your underwear, pull on your clothes from the night before — everything still wrinkled from the floor. You go to the mirror, fix your hair just enough, and borrow his hoodie. He watches you do it all in silence.

Before you leave, he stands, cups your face in both hands, and kisses you slow. Sweet.

“See you down there?”

You nod, “Yeah. I’ll be around.”

You open the door.

Step out.

And you’re not five steps down the hall before you hear the elevator ding.

You hear the sound of footsteps before you register anything else—then the shift in atmosphere. Heavy. Cold. Unwelcoming/

You turn.

Lando steps into the hallway off of the elevator, coffee in hand, hoodie tied low around his hips, damp curls falling over his forehead like he just stepped out of the shower.

He doesn’t speak right away.

He just stops—eyes locked on you—and stares.

At the heels.

At the wrinkled black dress from last night.

At the hoodie hanging off your shoulders—Oscar’s '81' hoodie.

Then his gaze lands on your neck.

The bruises.

The silence stretches, thick and venomous.

“Wow,” he mutters, taking a slow sip of his coffee, “Didn’t think you’d stoop that low.”

You raise an eyebrow, heartbeat steady, “Funny. I was thinking the same about you for the last six months.”

His eyes flicker—a flash of guilt, gone in an instant.

“So what, then?” he snaps. “You fuck my teammate to even the score?”

You shrug one shoulder, “I didn’t realize we were still keeping score.”

“You really let him leave those on you?” His voice cuts sharper now, bitter, “Is that what you’re doing now? Walking around marked up like a fucking trophy?”

“He didn’t do it to prove a point,’ You step closer, just enough, “He did it because he wanted to touch me. Because he actually looked at me.”

Lando’s jaw clenches,

"You’re still mine.”

That’s when you laugh—not cruel, but quiet. Final.

“No, Lando. I was never yours,” you say with a confidence you didn’t know you possessed, “I just played the part.”

His lips part like he wants to fire back, but no words come.

You walk past him without another glance, heels echoing softly against the hotel carpet. His coffee hand twitches like he wants to stop you—to say something that could undo what he just saw.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

The bruises on your neck do all the talking.

The tension hits before you even step onto the concrete.

You’d heard whispers all morning—something about a joint media pen meltdown, Lando snapping mid-question, storming off, Oscar handling it with trademark calm. Nobody quite knows why. No one’s saying anything aloud. But everyone feels the shift.

Especially in the McLaren garage.

The energy is tight. Controlled. Like an engine revving just a little too high.

You move through it like a blade through silk.

Sunglasses on, McLaren pass hanging low on your chest. Hair neatly pulled back, hoodie zipped halfway. You tried to cover the hickeys— light foundation along your collarbone, you hadn't expected to need color corrector on this trip—but Monaco’s heat is unforgiving. The bruises are starting to bleed through the coverage, soft and red and obvious.

You don’t adjust your zipper.

Let them wonder.

As you step through the divider into the team area, a few heads turn. You're familiar enough to them. People don’t stare—not directly—but eyes flick. Conversations pause. It’s subtle, but you’re used to it by now.

Oscar’s standing just to the side of the media tent, debrief notes in one hand. He looks up the second you appear—and though his expression doesn’t change much, you catch the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth. Just for you.

He doesn’t come to you.

You don’t go to him.

Not yet.

You pass close enough that your arm brushes his, and the heat between you sizzles like something private. He doesn’t look, doesn’t touch.

But he says, quiet enough for only you to hear, “He cracked.”

You smile faintly, “I heard.”

“They asked about quali, he said something about ‘teammates knowing their place.’”

You raise a brow, amused, “Classy.”

“Zak pulled him out. Press has no idea what the fuck he meant,” Oscar says, with a hint of boyish triumph laced in his voice. 

“But you do.”

He doesn’t answer that—just smiles again, a little wider this time.

You walk past him and take your place in the viewing area beside one of the engineers. From across the garage, you feel Lando’s eyes land on you. Just a flicker.

Just long enough.

He sees the bruise peeking above the collar of your hoodie. The faint outline of teeth just beneath your jaw.

He looks away.

You don’t need to say a word.

Oscar already said it for you—with his mouth on your skin, with his name on your lips, with every mark he left behind.

Qualifying starts, and Monaco doesn’t give anyone room to hide — not on track, and definitely not off it.

From the team pit wall, you watch it unfold through tinted lenses, headset perched loosely around your neck.

Oscar’s smooth. Fast. Calm through Sector 1, surgical through the hairpin. Lando’s twitchier. Overcorrecting. Radio sharp. He goes wide into Turn 12 and mutters something that gets bleeped on the live feed.

The garage knows.

Everyone knows.

Even the engineers are glancing at each other between data runs. The tension hasn’t lifted—it’s just gone quieter. Deeper.

Zak walks past you once, then again, and doesn’t say anything.

You don’t move.

Oscar finishes P3. Lando P7.

When Oscar’s lap time flashes on the board, there’s a flicker of something like satisfaction in the way he lifts his visor. He doesn’t celebrate. Doesn’t gloat. Just pulls back into the garage like he’s done his job—and knows you were watching.

You head toward the back hallway after the session ends. Quiet space behind hospitality, where the drivers come through before facing the press.

You’re leaning against a wall when you hear the voices before you see them.

Lando’s.

“Why don’t you tell them what you were really thinking on that last lap?”

Oscar’s.

“Excuse me?”

Lando’s.

“You wanted to beat me. You needed to. Don’t act like this was just another quali for you.”

Oscar’s voice is quieter, cooler, “Every quali, I want to beat the guy next to me. That’s the point.”

Lando laughs, sharp and joyless, “You think you’ve won something, don’t you? Some prize of a woman?”

You step into view.

They both go quiet.

Oscar’s eyes flick to you first—not surprised, not smug. Just aware. Present.

Lando sees the faint hickey blooming again, the one the foundation couldn’t fully hide, and his jaw ticks. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to.

You tilt your head, “Everything alright?”

Oscar looks at Lando for half a second longer, then turns to you.

“Yeah,” he says, calm and even. “We were just clearing the air.”

This earns him a glare from Lando. 

You smile at Oscar, brush your hand lightly along his arm as you pass.

Lando stays frozen.

It’s dark when you find Oscar again—rooftop level, away from the noise. He’s leaning on the railing in his McLaren hoodie, watching the city lights flicker over the water.

You slip in beside him.

He doesn’t look away from the skyline.

“He’s pissed,” Oscar says.

“He’ll stay pissed,” you admit quietly.

“He’s not just mad about it being me,” a beat, “He’s mad because he never thought you would leave him.”

You nod, fingers grazing the edge of the railing, “He never thought I’d let anyone else touch me.”

Oscar turns to you then. The tension’s gone now, burned out somewhere between the lap and the hallway. He notices you shivering and removes his hoodie, handing it to you without a word.

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” you respond, more assurance in your voice than the last time he asked. You turn fully toward him, “Do you?”

He just looks at you—steady, thoughtful, something softer than anything he’s shown all day.

Then he shrugs one shoulder and smiles faintly, “Not even a little.”

You lean in.

Kiss him.

The kiss is soft—nothing like the one in the hallway, or the ones from last night, hot and breathless with desperation. This one is calm. Confident.

Yours.

Oscar’s hands rest lightly on your waist, the cool night breeze lifting strands of your hair between you. Monaco glitters below, impossibly golden. You kiss him once. Then again. Slow. Unrushed. Like no one’s watching.

Except someone is.

You don’t notice it at first—the small mechanical click behind you. Subtle. A shutter. A camera lens adjusting to the low light.

By the time you pull back, it’s already done.

Oscar’s head lifts just slightly, eyes narrowing toward a corner of the rooftop—barely visible through a line of glass. Not press-official. Paparazzi freelance. The ones who sell exclusives when the media team’s off-duty.

“Shit,” Oscar mutters under his breath.

You turn, eyes locking on the shadowed figure just as they duck behind cover.

Too late.

“Think they got it?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Oscar nods slowly, expression unreadable, “Yeah. They got it.”

You exhale—not panicked. Just… bracing.

Because the image will drop. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. You in his arms, mouth on his, Oscar’s hoodie on your shoulders, his fingers curled around your waist like he’s holding something that matters.

It’s not a rumor anymore.

It’s not a whisper in the paddock hallway or a locker room assumption or something Lando only suspects.

It’s proof.

The photo drops sometime after 2 a.m.

It’s soft. Intimate. The Monaco skyline blurred behind you, Oscar’s hands gentle on your hips, your lips brushing his in a kiss too tender to be casual. You’re wearing his hoodie, your body leaning into his like you belong there. The headline spins fast, and the image spins faster.

“Piastri and mystery girl— late-night kiss confirms more than paddock rumors.” #MonacoGP #OP81 #McLaren #F1WeekendRomance

By the time the sun rises over the harbor, the image has circled the globe. Instagram reels. Reddit threads. Private group chats with McLaren team tags. 

Some know who you are. Others ask. Everyone guesses.

No one’s surprised.

Not even Lando.

He sees it around 6 a.m. His phone buzzes with the notification, a WhatsApp ping from someone in media: “Bro…?”

He clicks it, thumb slow, still groggy from a half-slept night.

The image fills his screen in just about a second flat.

And for a second, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

Then it hits—slow and thick, like cold water spreading under his ribs. He stares at the photo, eyes scanning over the curve of your smile, the way your fingers curl into the back of Oscar’s shirt, the undeniable ease in your body.

You look happy.

He hasn't seen that look on you in months.

The worst part is how quiet the fury is—how it doesn’t come out loud, how it just sits there in his chest.

He doesn’t throw the phone.

He just stares, jaw tight, thumb hovering above the screen like he could rewind the moment and undo it.

But it’s already out.

And nothing will unsee it.

The paddock is different that morning. The kind of quiet that’s not actually quiet—just loaded.

Oscar walks in calm. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t shrink. He gives one quick nod to Zak, another to the comms lead. Then walks into the garage like he hasn’t just become the most searched man in F1.

Lando’s already in the back, zipped into his fireproofs, eyes locked on the telemetry like it might give him something to hit. When Oscar appears beside him in the media pen, the tension is immediate—even before the interviews start.

“Oscar,” one reporter says, half-laughing, “you’ve been trending all morning. Surprised by the attention?”

Oscar’s lips tug into a polite half-smile, “Not particularly.”

“Balancing a fast lap and a fast… personal life?” someone else jokes.

He doesn’t miss a beat, “One lap at a time.”

Lando laughs then—too sharp, too loud, “He’s got more than enough time to focus on everything else, clearly.”

The PR handler stiffens. The reporters go quiet. One camera clicks. Someone tries to move the topic on, but the moment lands.

Oscar doesn’t react. Just folds his arms across his chest, gives a small smile, and looks straight ahead.

You hear about it an hour later.

And when you enter the garage, it’s like parting smoke. The space tenses. Heads turn. No one quite meets your eyes, except for Lando —a glance, sharp and quick, from across the space.

He looks away.

Oscar doesn’t.

You find him standing near the screens, headset tucked around his neck, one hand in his pocket. He sees you and offers the smallest, softest smile.

You pass close. Don’t touch. Don’t stop.

But your fingers graze his as you go.

He breathes like it’s the first time all day he’s been allowed to.

Later, after the final briefings wrap, you find him alone behind the paddock—tucked into a quiet service alley, the marina glittering beyond the concrete walls.

He doesn’t hear you approach. Just stands with his back to you, hands braced on the railing, still in his gear. His shoulders rise and fall in slow rhythm.

You stop beside him.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, “So,” you murmur, “that’s one way to go public.”

He huffs a laugh. “Guess we don’t get to control the timing.”

You glance sideways at him. “Regret it yet?”

He finally looks at you — eyes soft, voice quieter than it was all day, “Not even a little.”

You nod slowly, “Me either.”

He exhales, like that’s what he was waiting for.

“It’s going to be loud,” He warns

“I know.”

“He’s not going to take it quietly,” Oscar adds. 

“He’s not my responsibility anymore.”

Oscar studies your face — the calm in your expression, the steadiness in your voice — then lifts a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing gently beneath your cheekbone.

“If it gets messy—” Oscar starts. 

“We’ll deal with it,” you reassure him with a confidence foreign to you. 

He nods once.

"Good luck out there."

The Monaco sun glints harshly off the harbor, but the air inside the McLaren garage is colder than it should be. Everyone’s already seen the photo. The photographers couldn’t have asked for a cleaner shot.

No one says a word about it — not to your face. But there’s something in the silence. The way engineers glance between Lando and Oscar before looking away. The way a strategist clears his throat before relaying sector data like he’s afraid it might ignite something.

You stay quiet. Poised. Present in the garage like you’ve always been. Just another figure with a headset and a McLaren pass. Except now, yesterday's bruises aren’t just hickeys—they’re headlines.

Oscar’s composed during formation laps, fully in the zone. Lando, on the other hand, can’t seem to keep still. His fingers twitch on the wheel. His visor drops early. And when he lines up behind Oscar on the grid, his car nose to the back of the #81, the message is clear:

He’s not racing for position.

He’s racing him.

The lights go out at the start, and the tension snaps taut.

Oscar gets off the line clean. Fast. Aggressive, but composed—the kind of driver who cuts through chaos like he’s above it. He settles into P3 behind Leclerc and Max, calm radio calls rolling through your headset.

“Tyres feel stable. Brakes coming up nicely.” His tone is smooth. Professional. Locked in.

“Copy that, Oscar. You’re looking good. Just manage the gap.”

Lando, meanwhile, is chewing through the field from P7, but he’s not driving—he’s fighting. And it shows. He’s too heavy into the Nouvelle Chicane. Nearly clips the barrier at Mirabeau. Gets squeezed by Hamilton going into the tunnel and screams down the radio like it’s personal.

“Is anyone actually gonna call shit today, or should I just punt him off the fucking track?”

“Lando, stay focused.”

“Oh, now you want focus. Should’ve told golden boy to stay out of my way in quali.”

Twenty laps in, Oscar’s holding steady in third with tire wear perfectly balanced. Lando’s muscling his way up to P5, then P4 after a gutsy dive into Sainte Devote. It’s impressive. Chaotic. Pure Lando.

“Tell him if he’s going to block me, he better commit to it. This half-ass defending doesn’t help anyone.”

The pit wall tries to smooth it over.

“Copy, Lando. Maintain focus. Oscar’s running clean.”

There’s a beat of static. Then Lando again.

“If he wants to play team leader, he better drive like it.”

In Oscar’s car, there’s only quiet. Steady updates. Clean cornering. No rise. No reaction.

Just sector after sector of control.

But it’s Oscar who makes it look effortless.

Final laps tick down. Lando’s close—closer than he’s been all weekend—but not enough.

You watch the checkered flag fall from the garage viewing area, headset still clutched in one hand, heart thudding in your chest. Oscar crosses the line second—a solid, beautiful finish. No mistakes. No drama.

Lando follows in fourth.

The crowd roars. The team celebrates.

But inside the garage, the energy is split.

Half the crew glances toward the monitors. The other half glances toward you.

No one says anything.

But the silence speaks volumes.

The garage claps for Oscar’s podium. It’s not dramatic. No confetti. But the applause is sincere. You stay tucked to the side as he peels off his gloves and helmet, curls damp and jaw clenched with adrenaline.

He doesn’t look for you.

He knows you’re there.

The podium happens in a flash champagne, interviews, cameras. Oscar is graceful. Deflecting the kiss photo with a shrug:

”I try to keep focus on track. Everything else…” He shrugs. “That’s not what wins points. I let the track speak louder than the tabloids.”

Clean. Cool. Unbothered.

Lando’s post-race media scrum doesn’t go as smoothly.

His smile is too tight. His answers too short.

“Happy with your pace today?”

“No.”

“Anything you’d like to say about team dynamics?”

“I think a few people need to remember who they were before the cameras showed up.”

You’re not sure if it’s coincidence or fate. Lando's leaning against the wall near the back of the hospitality area, arms crossed over his chest, fire suit still half-zipped, sweat drying on his neck. The air between you tightens instantly.

He sees you before you speak.

“So that’s it?” he says, voice low, mocking, “You get your moment? Photo hits the press and suddenly you’re Piastri’s girl now?”

You keep your voice even. “It’s not about the photo.”

“No?” His eyebrows lift, “Looked like it. Looked like perfect timing, actually. Right before race day. You really going for the full storybook arc, huh?”

You cross your arms, matching his stance, “You think I planned that? You think I wanted to be caught?”

He snorts. “Certainly didn't stop.”

You step closer.

“You didn’t stop sleeping around. You didn’t stop ignoring me. You didn’t stop until I was already gone.”

His mouth twitches—not a smile. Something bitter.

“And you think Oscar’s different?”

“I know he is.”

He studies you then. Really looks. Like he’s trying to find the part of you that still belongs to him. The part he can poke and prod and control like he used to.

But it’s not there.

His breath stutters. He looks away—jaw tight, hands clenched.

There’s movement behind you.

Lando glances past your shoulder—posture tensing.

Oscar stands just beyond the corner. Silent. Watching.

But he doesn’t step in.

He meets your eyes—not Lando’s—and with one subtle nod, he turns to go.

Because he trusts you to handle this.

Because you needed to take this one yourself.

You find Oscar later by the hospitality coffee station, half-dressed down from his suit, fingers curled around a water bottle, his race boots unlaced. The crowds have thinned. The crew’s winding down. But he’s still here—waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“You saw?”

“I heard,” he says. “Then I saw.”

He studies you.

“You handled him.”

You nod, then smile faintly. “So did you.”

Oscar lifts his water bottle and takes a sip.

You step closer. Not rushed. Just enough.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“For what?”

“Not stepping in.”

“Didn’t need to,” he replies, “I knew you could handle him.”

You lean into his side, your hand resting on his chest. His arm slips around your back like it’s instinct.

There are still cameras around.

Still whispers.

Still fallout coming.

But for now, it’s just the two of you.

Still standing.

FROM PADDOCK DARLING TO PIASTRI’S MYSTERY GIRL: MONACO GP’S MOST TALKED-ABOUT WOMAN

Well, well, well. Things are heating up in more ways than one at McLaren—and this time, it’s not just on track.

In case you missed it (though how could you?), Oscar Piastri made headlines this weekend for more than just his flawless P2 finish in Monaco. The 23-year-old Aussie was spotted sharing a kiss with a woman who—until recently—had been very publicly linked to his teammate, Lando Norris.

Yes. You read that right.

The viral photo, snapped late Saturday night on a rooftop terrace above the Monaco paddock, shows Piastri in what can only be described as a very cozy moment with a mystery girl who fans quickly identified as Lando’s longtime (but reportedly estranged) girlfriend.

Wearing his hoodie. With his hands around her waist. And what appear to be love bites peeking out from beneath her collar.

(We zoomed in. Don’t act like you didn’t.)

The woman once seen at every race on Lando Norris’ arm is no longer just a grid-side accessory—she’s made it very clear whose garage she’s in now. And it’s not Norris’.

Neither Oscar nor the woman in question have made an official statement, but the body language has said plenty. The pair has been spotted multiple times, hand-in-hand, unabashed.

While reps for McLaren offered no official comment on the photo, the tension in the garage during Saturday qualifying spoke volumes. Sources inside the paddock describe Norris as “visibly short-tempered,” with one engineer claiming he was “racing like he had something to prove.” As for Piastri? Calm, composed—and, if we may, focused.

He brought home P2.

Norris? P4—and reportedly less than thrilled.

Let’s not forget: this isn’t the first time Lando’s off-track antics have made waves—rumors of infidelity have followed the Brit through the past few seasons, though they were often brushed aside by his ever-loyal girlfriend. Until now.

While nothing has been confirmed (yet), it would certainly appear that she’s Oscar’s now.

Whether this unexpected romance will fuel drama or just give Oscar a boost on track remains to be seen, but one thing’s for sure: we’ll be watching.

Very closely.

Stay tuned. The summer break’s never felt so far away.

[kosmokai]

i can’t.

۶ৎ oscar piastri 81: cyber sex

☆ lia yaps: osc gets very horny when away for races, gf!reader lets him film their naughty time. osc is feral and filthy

☆ warnings: sex tape, a lot of praise, dirty talk, established rel, oral, p in v, aftercare, bonus scene of osc jacking off to the video

the room is quiet, the only sound is the soft hum of the camera recording.

oscar’s fingers linger on the camera, adjusting it slowly, like he’s buying himself a few extra seconds to gather his himself.

you watch him from the edge of the bed, legs swinging lazily, a small smirk playing on your lips. it’s always so cute to see him like this, caught somewhere between his usual polite composure and the rising heat that always burns hotter whenever you’re about to be apart for his races.

oscar steps closer, slow and deliberate. his fingers brush against your knee, tracing lazy shapes. “you’re serious?” he murmurs, voice low.

you leans back on your palms on the bed, tilting your head to meet his gaze. a teasing glance, “only if you think you’ll need it.”

oscar’s mouth twitches into the faintest smile.

“i will,” he says simply, hand sliding higher along your thigh, just enough to make you shift beneath his touch.

the vulnerability in his voice makes you clench around nothing. you reach for him, tugging at the hem of his shirt until he’s standing right between your legs, hands settling instinctively at your soft hips.

“so you’re going to watch it when you’re gone,” you say, voice teasing but eyes serious. “imagining us… just like this. touching yourself to it.”

his breath stutters. his hands tighten on your hips, cheeks flushed yet he doesn’t shy away. instead, he leans down, brushing his lips along your collarbone.

“you want me to?” he murmurs. “want me thinking about you, replaying every second… every sound i manage to get you to make?”

you gasp softly when his teeth graze your neck, thighs clenching around his waist.

“i want you to miss me so badly you can’t help yourself…. that you become like horny teenage boy for me again.” you tease, threading your fingers through his soft hair and tugging gently.

he pulls back enough to look at you, restraint dying second by second.

“how do you still make me nervous like this?” he almost laughs under his breath, forehead pressing against yours as he focuses on his hardened cock.

his hands slide under your shirt, palms spreading across your warm skin.

“i’m gonna watch it,” oscar says, voice rough. “gonna listen to you. watch you fall apart, all desperate and needy for me.”

you moan softly at his words, arching into him, and he groans low in his throat, gripping your hips even tighter.

“every night i'm away, when it’s late and i can’t sleep,” his hand slides higher, fingers ghosting along the edge of your bra. “i’m gonna picture this. picture you in front of me. on me.”

you bite your lip. the idea of your gentle boyfriend desperate and alone in a hotel room, it’s nearly too much to handle.

“you better make it a good one, then,” you tease, reaching down to unbutton his pants, brushing deliberately over his hardening bulge.

oscar’s breath catches. his glance is different now, less polite and more primal.

he chuckles. “i plan to.”

you smile against his neck, feeling the way his breathing turns harsh. his usual polite effortless restraint is fading, and you shift your hips to grind against him. he lets out a low, needy sound.

“fuck-”

he kisses you, deep but cautious, “if you keep teasing me, i’m not gonna last long enough to make this a memory.”

you giggle and tug him closer.

“then you better start soon,” you nibble at his jaw, “because i want you to have plenty to watch when you’re… lonely.”

oscar groans, pressing his forehead against yours.

“you’re evil,” he mumbles, his blush betraying him. “you want me so fucked up i have to jerk off in a hotel bathroom thinking about you.”

you grin, teasingly slipping your fingers under his waistband. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he lays your back against the bed and smiles.

“look at you,” he says almost to himself, trailing his fingers up your inner thighs, stopping just short of where you needs him most.

“already a mess for me, and we haven’t even started properly.”

you whine, shifting your hips up into his touch, but he only smirks cockily and pulls away to reach for the camera with infuriating calm.

“patience,” he says, adjusting the angle.

your breathing stutters as he flips the screen toward both of you, showing you flushed, trembling and spread open just for him.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, osc,” you gasps, when he presses his hand between your thighs, applying just enough pressure.

he smiles and leans in to kiss you softly. “then i’ll have something really special to watch… when i’m losing my mind thinking about you.”

you watch him adjusting the camera, pretending he’s in control, but the flush creeping up his neck and the trembling in his fingers gives him away. you spread your legs wider, letting your skirt ride up dangerously high. oscar’s jaw tightens. his hand flexes at his side like he’s physically restraining himself from escalating too quickly.

you smile sweetly. “quite a cute long distance gift.”

he stares at you, confessing all rough and low. “gonna fucking destroy myself watching this.”

the words send heat pooling through your core. you whimper involuntarily and oscar snaps. instantly, he’s kneeling between your legs, dragging his hands up your thighs and shoving your skirt up without any hesitation.

“open up, my sweet girl,” he orders quietly, voice stern. “show me. show me what im gonna be missing when i’m gone.”

you’re a moaning mess, lifting your hips off the bed as you obey, feeling filthy under his gaze. the camera records every needy breath, every trembling movement. he traces the edge of your panties with light tickling touches, making your squirm.

“already so wet,” he mutters, almost to himself. then he chuckles, “fuck, baby, you want it as bad as i do, don’t you?”

your hips are rocking into his hand, a desperate need for more friction,“i want you to watch this later… want you to see how messy you make me… want you jerking off so hard you feel embarrassed to be so needy.”

oscar finally hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down slow, dragging the soaked fabric along your thighs. he kisses up your legs, closer and closer, until he’s breathing against your drenched core.

just before he touches you, he looks up with a boyish grin. “smile for the camera, baby. I want to see everything.”

but you don't even get the chance.

oscar licks a filthy stripe up your core as you jerk off the bed, gasping. he latches onto your clit with soft, teasing kisses. but the careful control doesn’t last long.

every time you moan, every time you mumble his name, he gets rougher. messier. filthier. his tongue moves faster, sloppier, like he’s trying to memorise your taste.

“jesus, fuck-” his voice wrecked. “you’re so fucking sweet, baby. gonna go insane without this, without you.”

you tug sharply at his hair and he groans loud against your sweet cunt, the vibration making you cry out for him.

“osc baby, please—” you gasp, squirming under him.

“yea?” he rasps. “you want it, baby? want my cock now? want me to fuck you stupid for the camera so you can make me lose my fucking mind later?”

you nod frantically and shamelessly, tugging at his shirt and locking eyes with him. oscar fumbles his jeans down with shaking hands, cock flushed and leaking, aching just from eating you out.

he mutters some dirty confession that you can’t really hear, and he lines himself up against your hole.

“already so fucking desperate.” he teases you, dragging the head of his heavy cock through your folds. then with a broken moan, pushes in.

the stretch is filthy, slow, perfect.

“fuck-” oscar breathes deeply, his head dropping to your shoulder.

the stretch is perfect. too much yet still not enough. a delicious drag of his cock and oscar has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second to keep from cumming immediately.

“holy fuck, baby,” he chokes. “how do you feel so fucking good? been thinking about this all the time… can’t even jerk off without imagining how tight you are.”

your wrap your legs around him, locking him in and he loses it. he starts moving rough and desperate, the slap of skin on skin filling the room, recorders forever by the camera.

“gonna watch this video and cum so fucking hard… gonna jerk off so many fucking times thinking about this sweet pussy,” he groans.

every filthy word drives you closer, making your walls clench tighter around him and driving him to fucking into you even harder.

“gonna fist my cock wishing it was you. wishing it was your sweet cunt squeezing me. fuck, my little perfect slut—”

you cry out, nails clawing his back, and he’s a mess above you, thrusting harder, deeper, frantic for both of your releases.

“cum for me,” he begs, voice cracking. “please, baby. need to see you fall apart. need to watch it every fucking night while i’m gone.”

you cry out trembling under him, and oscar grits his teeth, pushing you higher, chasing your orgasm like the good boyfriend he always is.

“cum for me, pretty girl,” he begs, voice cracking. “wanna see it. wanna watch you cum around my cock over and over. i need it.”

and you do. you shatter around him with a broken sob of his name. oscar follows instantly, spilling inside with a desperate low moan, hips jerking as he empties himself deep inside you.

he collapses over her, panting and trembling. the camera records everything. every soft moan, every kiss he presses to your collarbone, your jaw, and your soft lips.

he doesn’t pull out right away. he stays buried inside you, breathing heavy against your skin.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, voice still wrecked and breathless. “you’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

you laugh softly, running your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. he looks flushed, just like after a race. “thought I already did,” you tease.

he cuddles closer. “mhm, years ago.”

finally, he gathers the strength to lean up and fumble for the camera.

“that’s gonna be on my mind all the time for next three weeks,” he mumbles, pressing lazy kisses along your collarbone.

“just me. locked in my hotel room. watching you. cumming so hard, it’s pathetic.”

you giggle, squeezing him tighter with your thighs, “you’re a disgusting perv.”

“your perv, you love it.”

“yea, i do.”

he smiles against your skin, that soft, stupid, lovey smile only you get to see.

his hand slides down between your thighs, touching your sticky, sensitive cunt. his thumb is brushing slow, lazy, filthy circles over the mess he made of you.

“still so fucking good for me,” he murmurs, voice filled with praise, sounding like still he can’t believe you’re his. “always so good for me.”

you’re oversensitive but still unwilling to make him stop.

“remember the first time you let me film you?” he says, voice smiling against your jaw. “you were so shy. kept hiding your face.”

you laugh, cheeks flushing, "you were definitely the shy one. you couldn’t even say ‘pussy’ without turning bright red.”

he chuckles, low and rough. “still can’t. just thinking about it makes me wanna fucking marry you.”

the words slip out so easy, so natural. your arms tighten around him and he kisses you again. it’s slower now, like he hates that he has to leave soon.

then carefully, he slides out of you, murmuring soft apologies when you whine at the loss. he disappears for a second to grab a warm cloth from the bathroom, like he always does, knowing exactly how you like to be cared for after.

when he returns, he’s gently cleaning you up. “thank you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hip, stomach and thigh. “thank you for letting me… for trusting me with this.”

⸻ ☆☆☆

a few days later

the hotel room is dark, except for the soft glow of his phone screen.

oscar is lying back against the pillows, legs spread, hand already working slow over his cock, biting back desperate little sounds. he’s exhausted. qualifying kicked his ass, but it’s all better now. much better now that he’s watching you.

the video is playing.

your wrecked moans.

his filthy words.

the way you look up at the camera, all pretty and ruined, soft body trembling under him.

oscar groans under his breath, hips lifting off the bed in little jerks.

“fuck,” he whispers all by himself, dragging his hand harder, squeezing the flushed head.

“baby, fuck, you’re so perfect.”

the video shows him pounding into you, your thighs shaking, your bodies being a beautiful, filthy mess.

he can’t tear his eyes away.

he thumbs over his slit, gathering the precum leaking and smearing it down his cock.

“wish you were here,” he pants. “wish you were riding me right now… taking every fucking inch like the good girl you always are for me.”

he strokes himself faster, thighs trembling, toes curling into the sheets.

“gonna make a mess,” he groans.

“im cumming all over myself. fuck-, all for you.”

his breathing turns ragged, hips fucking into his fist so desperately and pathetically. he pictures you wrapped around him, your pussy squeezing him so tight, your voice breaking when you beg for more.

he’s right there, seconds away, when your voice moans out through the video -

“need you, osc, please—”

he cums with a broken moan, spilling hot and messy cum all over his stomach, his own hand still working him through it. he falls back against the pillows, whimpering.

the video’s still playing. your desperate ruined moans filling the room and he smiles, all dazed out, wiping himself off with the hotel towel.

he taps a message out with shaking fingers:

oscar: just made a fucking mess thinking about you.

oscar: hope you’re ready for round two when i get home.

a minute later, his phone buzzes.

you: you made a cute mess and you didn’t show me? :( miss you.

you: gonna make an even bigger mess when you get back.

oscar groans, running a hand through his hair, cock already twitching at the thought.

god, he’s so fucking down bad for you.

[kosmokai]

i just reread this and i regret lowkey leaving 💔

would yall still read stuff from me 😔

𝚈.𝙳.𝙻.𝚁 ✵ 𝙲𝙷𝙾𝙸 𝙱𝙼𝙶𝚈

(𝚢’𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝)

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰𝙼 𝙸 𝙶𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙼𝚈𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾?

𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚝. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞— 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎. 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞— 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜. 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕.

𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴/𝙰𝚄?

𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃, 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍!𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚞

𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙴𝙲𝙷 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃?

5,362 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙿!

𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 (𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚖), 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚝, 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 (𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚖), 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗!!), 𝚍𝚘𝚖!𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞, 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡 (𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖), 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗!𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎?, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚢!𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝, 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔. 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚝, 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚒’𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚂𝙿𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙰𝙼𝙱𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴?

𝚒𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 — 𝚗𝚘 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝚢.𝚍.𝚕.𝚛 — 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚣

𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚜 / 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜 — 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚗𝚍.

𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 — 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚢𝚊𝚣

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

𝚊𝚐𝚑, 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔.

𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎, 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

𝚗𝚘, 𝚑𝚊𝚑, 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚒𝚝 ��𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎, 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚞𝚙, 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘, 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛.

𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚐𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎. 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞? 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚒 𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚘.

𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒’𝚖 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝? 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, ______, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍.

‘𝚜𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍.’

𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑’𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛… 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍?, 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚎. 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 “𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚞𝚙” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗.

𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍? 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢.

𝙰𝙲𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙴: 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺 𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶?

𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚍, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛. 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠.

𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜, 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚝, 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜. 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘, 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚢, 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 ����𝚏 𝚒𝚝? 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝.

𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚎-𝚌𝚞𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚌𝚑, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚓𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚙. 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚖, 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞’𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑.

“𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢.. 𝚗𝚐𝚑, 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎.. 𝚑𝚊𝚑, 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜..”

𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑, 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

✯⋆｡‧₊˚✵˚₊‧｡⋆✯

________ 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.

𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢? 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐!

𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚔? 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛!

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚍𝚞𝚘, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚢.

𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞. 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍.

𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝.. 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝. 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎… 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠.

𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍, 𝚒𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎.

𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔.

“𝚗𝚊𝚑, 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊!” 𝚢𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝. “𝚗𝚘! 𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎!” “𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖?! 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚎!” 𝚢𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍.

“𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜, 𝚌’𝚖𝚘𝚗, 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎?”

𝚑𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚊𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

“𝚖𝚎𝚑. 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢.” 𝚢𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢, 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚠𝚘, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕, 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚊𝚍𝚍 𝚞𝚙. 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞’𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜. 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚏, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍.

“𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚝—“ 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚢. “𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎?” 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚙, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚢𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗.

‘𝚘𝚑, 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞’ 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚍. 𝚒 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚢. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗, 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚜? 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔? 𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛.

𝙰𝙲𝚃 𝚃𝚆𝙾: 𝙸𝚃’𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙼𝙴, 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃?

𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗��𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙? 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐— 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚎!

𝚜𝚊𝚍? 𝚋𝚎𝚘— 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗’𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗!

𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝.

“𝚢𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗, 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 _______ 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍?” 𝚢𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞. “𝚗𝚘..? 𝚠𝚑𝚢?” 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢. “𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝.. 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗.. 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?”

“𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚐𝚢𝚞? 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎.” 𝚢𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚢𝚕𝚢, 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍. “𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗.” “𝚋𝚞𝚝—“ “𝚗𝚘, 𝚋𝚛𝚘. 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍, 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝.”

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝. “𝚋𝚒𝚗, 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛?” 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠. “𝚋𝚛𝚘, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚘.” “𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚋𝚞𝚝..”

“𝚒 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎. 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍.”

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍. 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚘, 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗? 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝.. 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜.

𝚒 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝. 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜.

𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝.

𝙰𝙲𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴: 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙼𝙰𝙽? 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺, 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈?

𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍? 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛.

“𝚐𝚢𝚞.. 𝚒 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐..” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛. “𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢?” “𝚒.. 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗.”

𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔.

“𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚒 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖?” 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎. 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜? 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐—

“𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞?” “𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑. 𝚞𝚑.. 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊.. 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛..?” 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔. 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑𝚢, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚒 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜.

“𝚊𝚑, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎! 𝚒𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎..” 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝— 𝚒𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑, 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐— “𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝.. 𝚒’𝚖— 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝’𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.”

𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎. 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕.

“𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞..? 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?” “𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑. 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕?” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

“𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑?”

“𝚋𝚢𝚎.”

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚣𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙.

✯⋆｡‧₊˚✵˚₊‧｡⋆✯

𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠. 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚠𝚘, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝. 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝, 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐.

𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏, 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗.

𝚊 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞’𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜. “𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝?” 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛. “𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚔𝚊—“ “𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎.” 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐. “𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞?”

“𝚑𝚊𝚑, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠.”

𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚍, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎. “𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝? 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚛𝚘.” “𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝.” “𝚒—.. 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚒? 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢.” 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙. “𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?”

𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕. “𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞..” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚐.

𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚣𝚎, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍’𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎. “𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢, 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎?” 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚘, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍. 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝. 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔.

𝙰𝙲𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝚁: 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝚃.

𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞? 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎. 𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚝. 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜. 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.

𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚢 𝚒𝚝. 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜.

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚞𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛.. 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚒𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋 𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝?

𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛, 𝚛𝚎-𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚙𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚜.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠— 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛— 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚝𝚘𝚘. 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗, 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

“𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝.. 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝?” 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍. “𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚒𝚝’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝. 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝.” 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍. 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚜.

𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. “𝚑𝚎𝚢, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢.” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚙𝚞𝚣𝚣𝚕𝚎𝚍. “𝚐𝚢𝚞? 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎—“ “𝚜𝚑𝚑, 𝚍𝚘𝚗���𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗.” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍. “𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎.”

𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝. 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. “𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞?!—“ “𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢, 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛.” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝. 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝. “𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞—“

“𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘, 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞..?” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐. “𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝.” 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚍, 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢. “𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎. 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗…” 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢. “𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎.” “𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎? 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗?”

𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

“𝚒.. 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞.”

“𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝.”

𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔. 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚝.

𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚍.

𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜, 𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜. 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙, 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑.

𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑, 𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍, 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘. 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑, 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎.

𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜. 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍. “𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝.. 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗—“ “𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎.”

𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢. 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚒𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝.

“𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚒—“ “𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎.. 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.. 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜..” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎’𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗. “𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔.. 𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎.” “𝚗𝚐𝚑, 𝚒’𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞.. 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜, 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜.. 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝.. 𝚖𝚙𝚑𝚏, 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞..”

𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚙. 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚝, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚌, 𝚛𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜.

𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚏. 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏, 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢, 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚖. “𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎, 𝚑𝚖?” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝.

“𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝. 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑.” 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚝, 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. “𝚊𝚑!” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚐. “𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢.”

𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢, 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏. “𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚑, 𝚐𝚢𝚞..” “𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎.. 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕..” 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚛𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢.

“𝚏𝚞-𝚌𝚔!” 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢. “𝚊𝚠, 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎? 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢.” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍. “𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝— 𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚑, 𝚞𝚙..!”

𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜. “𝚘𝚑? 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎? 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚒 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜?” 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚊𝚕. “𝚊-𝚊𝚊𝚑..!” “𝚜𝚑𝚑, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢. 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚑𝚖?”

𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜. 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝, 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢. 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍. 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑.

𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚝, 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎. “𝚖𝚙𝚑𝚏-𝚏, 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔..!” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜.

𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚍 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞’𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑.

𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍𝚕𝚢. 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

“𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢.. 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎.. 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎.” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛.

𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚏 ‘𝚢𝚎𝚜’𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 ‘𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎’𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚡𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 ‘𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚙!’ 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗.

𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑, 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜. 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎-𝚌𝚞𝚖 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚡𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍.

𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚕, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚙 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚜. “𝚗𝚐𝚑— 𝚐𝚢𝚞!” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢.

“𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚝. 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗? 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔?” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛, 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎. 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚔 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜.

“𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝.”

𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚙 𝚒𝚗— 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞. “𝚊𝚑— 𝚋𝚎-𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢— 𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚑!” 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚢, 𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝.

𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍. “𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢? 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚝, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢.” 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚝, 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢, 𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

“𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝? 𝚌’𝚖𝚘𝚗, 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗.” 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏.

“𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔- 𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚑-“ 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚊���𝚎. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚍, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚕𝚢.

“𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔.. 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎..” 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢, 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗. 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚏 ‘𝚝𝚜𝚔’𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑.

“𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝, 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛? 𝚝𝚜𝚔, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚟𝚎?” 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚢, 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚒𝚝— 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚣𝚣𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛.

𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍. “𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔.. 𝚜𝚎𝚎?” 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜. “𝚏-𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕-..!” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

“𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚗𝚐𝚑, 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎.” 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚕.

“𝚊𝚊𝚑!” 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞.. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙.

𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚜, 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. “𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚑— 𝚖𝚖𝚐𝚑𝚑𝚑—“ 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚒𝚐, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝.

𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢.. “𝚖𝚖, 𝚏-𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢.. 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚗𝚐𝚑, 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎, 𝚑𝚖?” 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙, 𝚏𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚝.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚝𝚞𝚋, 𝚜𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. “𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚙! 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚙! 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚙! 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚙! 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚙! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜..”

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚍. “𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎… 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗’𝚜, 𝚏-𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎’𝚜—” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎. 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜? 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚝?

𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛. “𝚐𝚘𝚍, 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚗𝚐𝚑, 𝚑𝚒𝚖? 𝚌’𝚖𝚘𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘’𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍?” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

“𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝? 𝚠𝚑𝚘, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝?” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛. “𝚝𝚜𝚔, 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑. 𝚠𝚑𝚘, 𝚘𝚛 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜.” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍. 𝚗𝚘, 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚜.

“𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚗— 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚎-𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢- 𝚊𝚑! 𝚐𝚢𝚞, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞! 𝚘-𝚗𝚕𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞!” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖. “𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔..!” 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑. 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎’𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜.

𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍, 𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚖𝚎𝚍. 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚖𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝, 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚋𝚘𝚝����𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜.

“𝚖𝚖𝚏𝚏𝚑𝚑, 𝚏𝚞-𝚌𝚔, 𝚗𝚐𝚑—“ 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚙 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜, 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢.

𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑.

𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚗𝚘, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚖. 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚞𝚙, 𝚣𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛.

𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑, 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜. 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙, 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍— 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜? 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚘.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖? 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢.

“𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞..?” “𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘.”

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏. “𝚑𝚎𝚢! 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎?” 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗.

“𝚑𝚎𝚑, 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙.” 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘, 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚝. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍’𝚟𝚎.. 𝚒𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞’𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚖 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜.

✯⋆｡‧₊˚✵˚₊‧｡⋆✯

‘𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚠? 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔, 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍, 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢? 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝.’

‘𝚒’𝚖 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛… 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢.’

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

‘𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝.’

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜. 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗? 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝.

𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝’𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗. 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗.

‘𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞.’

‘𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝..?’

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍.

‘𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚒 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎.’

𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚞𝚙, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢.

‘𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗.. 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗?’ ‘𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚒 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚐𝚢𝚞. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝.’

‘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚑𝚖?’

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ��� ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

☞︎ 𝙺✵𝚂𝙼𝙾 ⋆ 𝙺𝙰𝙸 ©

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‧₊ . ✮ ˚ ⋅

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THE PERFUME CLIP WAS INSANE

Rodrigo Santoro as Saint Malthus

Hilda Furacão (1998)

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yes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ☆ Catch me if you can, Salvatore ♱

[kosmokai]

dont take any of this too seriously. just spewing my thoughts. some rdr2 / johnigail stuff. mostly talking 2 myself. a lot of spoilers lmao

i really. i really like the relationship that john and abigail share both in rdr2 and later in rdr1. and what i like about it is that it, explicitly, is not a story of true love.

don't misunderstand, i think john and abigail love each other to death and ever after. they share such a deep and solid relationship and both make mutual connections to each other over the course of the game. but what makes them compelling to me is the deep realism rooted in their romance and the way that love is depicted as choice rather than fate.

rdr2 poses this more than once through out the story, with the most obvious example being mary-linton and arthur. when presented the choice to leave the gang or go with mary, arthur chooses the gang due to various internal and external factors. but the implication remains that things might've been different had arthur learned how to choose other things. himself. his future. etc. there's examples of this with hosea and bessie (said by hosea himself "she knew what i was"), with dutch and his varying models of young women. the van der linde gang chooses the outlaw life chronically, habitually, instinctively.

abigail joins the gang as a working girl. she sleeps with most of the camp, and then with john. they're sweet on each other. and she has a boy that she believes to be johns. john is hesitant to believe that (and maybe some of that is warranted) but most of it is him being a complete jackass. the kid is born. john is presented the option of fatherhood. he, like the rest of the gang, comes to a point where he feels he must choose what is going to take priority in his life.

(and this is important - because in my mind, so much of this pressure is so self-imposed. it's inherited in the way most sons inherit from their father or like most younger brothers inherit for their older ones. it's possible no one told john to choose explicitly. not then at least.

but well, john has seen this all play out before. and loyal men choose the gang, almost always. the gang is family, was family before jack and abigail. and if john owes anyone loyalty, it's dutch who raised him as a golden boy)

john, for better or worse, chooses neither. he leaves the gang entirely, for a year which is a huge point of contention. he leaves both things behind. he doesn't choose. he doesn't want to choose. but he comes back, and presumably makes the choice made many times before him. he chooses the gang and completely shafts responsibility of fatherhood and husbandry. but there is obvious uncertainty there.

the choice john makes to leave is interesting when you consider it thematically, and you consider arthurs specific advice to john before his death - that you can't be two men at once. something that is reiterated to john in the epilogue and that he acts on in rdr1. it's also interesting when keeping in mind some hidden dialogue hosea has with john, in which john says he knows that jack is his.

to me, john understands very well whats going on around him. and that his actions are informed explicitly by that choice.

and this to me is what makes his relationship to abigail so interesting. john is no doubt a loser, a deadbeat, and a bum (he is my favorite character) - but all of this information together makes me interpret his actions (coldness towards her and jack) not as genuine resentment but an externalized projection and defensive mechanism.

johns uncertainty is not towards jack being his or even towards abigail, but a baseline questioning of the violence he's been steeped in his entire life. what was once a simple, intuitive choice to be an outlaw is called into question by the legitimate possibility of something else.

arthur has a line to john, where he says that if you don't think jack is yours - why does it bother you so much? and it's a good question indeed, why does any of it bother him so much? why does abigails nagging bother him so much? why is it that john chooses to be actively antagonistic towards her when he could choose to simply be apathetic or choose to reject or stonewall her?

a lot of it is projection. its hypocrisy on johns behalf. he unloads his questioning and beliefs about the gang unto abigail who serves as a semi-constant reminder of his own problems. abigail during the main story game doesn't ask john to choose, but john knows that he has too. that's what that whole thing leads to.

when the gang starts to fall apart and when jack gets kidnapped, john immediately changes his tune. he's in clear disarray. the seeds of doubt planted in his head about dutch during blackwater only get increasingly extreme and as the game goes on into guarma and johns prison arc. he starts more clearly distinguishing where his loyalty will lie as the game closes, john is finally encouraged to make the cemented choice of jack and abi and not gang life (not all at once and something he will continue to struggle with) but he makes it all the same.

and then all of that intersects with abigail. and this to me is where the basis their relationship stems from because it's largely abigails influence, personality, and persistence that allows john not to make the same mistakes. abigail doesn't ask john for love, but she refuses to yield to him when it comes to jack. i know so many people see abigails nagging as nagging, or clinginess - but in my mind, it's simply her not letting john get away with being wishy-washy. abigail makes herself known and doesn't relent even when john continuously acts like a massive dick. she's not a pushover about it though either.

abigail loves john and probably understands him better than people give her credit for. especially with her calling him silly so often (a WHOLE different meta post) it's out of genuine love for john and in many cases, a genuine concern for john as a person that she acts the way she does. she gets on his case because she doesn't really want to give up on him, even though she probably very well could.

and she'd definitely be more at peace if she did lmao.

at a human level, abigails constancy and her both 1. not taking johns shit when he acts like a dick and 2. still wanting more and whats best for him is probably one of the base reasons john has full strength to make it out. and john knows that. abigail chooses john. she wants to choose john. she believes in him and so much of that contributes to the fact john doesn't end up somewhere much worse when the main story ends.

but again its not easy. for either of them. and it's not something that works until john gets his shit together. their relationship doesn't mend overnight, either. in the epilogue of the game, you see them face the same struggles they did through the main story. but like i said, abigail is no pushover. when john keeps choosing outlaw life, abigail leaves because she feels there's no helping him and john has to prove himself to her once more. he has to choose them.

(a lot of people critique abigail for being unfair to john and i understand that - but i think its mostly fear. john was in that life for years, and to abigails there's no telling if that siren song will take over and uproot her life again or not. i do think many times john took up the gun in the epilogue were completely fair, but i dont think abigails reaction is unwarranted.)

but again. again. the core of their love story is about choice. both john and abigail make the choice to choose their family and their love is founded on learning to choose each other. abigail straightens john out, and his character in rdr1 is so much more mellow than he is in rdr2. his loyalty to abigail is fierce and consistent, and john knows he owes a lot to her and never loses sight of that in the years they spend peacefully together.

he likes that abigail gives him shit and a hard time because he knows he deserves it and that it was one of the only things stabilizing him during some of the most tumultuous and difficult times of their life together.

they have such deep and genuine love for each other, built entirely in trying to believe and trust in one another and hold onto love in an era where everything was constantly at stake. it's not fairytale romance, but tried and true connection and choice. i love you because i chose you and i'd keep choosing you. they are so awkward with each other for so long because of the nature of their relationship to each other and that truly endears them to me all the more.

they just. they are so in love. but its not a fairy tale. and its not a case of john getting the girl because he's the hero or whatever. john loves her so much and she loves him and it all took a while and none of it was perfect. but it was real. so so so real between them. ack.

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YES

Piquancy- III

Summary: Arthur courts you properly. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 3,108 Tags: fingering, foreplay, LOTS of foreplay, oral, praise

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An: This journal entry is so unserious, but that's all I got today lol I've been re-reading The Odyssey and couldn't help alluding to it, shout out to my guy Odysseus.

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

Arthur Morgan wanted you. He wanted you in all the ways a person could want another. His desire for you throbbed like a muscle ache, painful but impossible not to press into. Longing like this had never worked out for him in the past. He was a fool to let himself wade into it, but the allure of you pooled all around him, a fate he could not escape. The memory of you still burned beneath his fingertips. He wanted to feel more: your lips on his, the curves of your breasts cupped in his palms, and your nails digging into his back. And oh, he wanted to taste you, to feel the skin of your neck between his teeth, to clash his lips against yours, and to lose himself in a heady dance of his tongue against the warmth between your legs. He wanted you so bad; the thought was burning him alive. Arthur Morgan wanted you, and if you let him have you, he wouldn't screw it up. Not this time, not ever. 

You were just as enticed with him, your fascination multiplied by his freshly trimmed face and the faint scent of bergamot soap wafting off of him as he greeted you outside the Blackwater Saloon that evening. While your "date" wasn't the sort of proper courting you read about in one of Marybeth's romance books, it suited the lifestyle you and Arthur shared.

The same man who made a living off of coarse intimidation metamorphosized right in front of you, unraveling himself to be a deep thinker, attentive, and tenderhearted. That tenderness made every step feel effortless as he led you up the stairs of the saloon to the room you'd shared the night before.

As the door clicked closed, Arthur made quick work of his satchel and gun belt, then sat on the bed with inviting arms. You walked into him, intertwining your fingers behind his neck, and he mirrored you, locking his around the small of your back. Finally, you allowed yourself to be enthralled by his eyes once more, drawn in like a moth to lantern light.

"Thank you," you whispered, mouth hovering close to his. As bad as you wanted to lean into him and let him swallow you whole, you held back. Making the first move felt too bold, too unladylike, and you cared too much about what he might think to risk it.

"What for?" he asked. You opened your mouth to respond, but he silenced you, closing the distance and kissing you once, quick, like a wave testing the shore. Then a storm brewed within you, and you surged back against his lips, swept away by the force of him. As the moment drifted away, you'd regained awareness of yourself, realizing you'd practically dissolved into the cowboy. The weight of you barely phased him, but he gave your waist a gentle tug, mooring you to his knee. With a slight grin plastered on his face, he nodded, urging you to go on with the thought he'd just unapologetically cut off with his lips.

"Thank you for this, courting, as you call it," You didn't mean for your voice to come out as shaky as it did, but you joked to calm your nerves, "would've got you drunk around me sooner if I knew I had this to look forward to."

He huffed low in amusement, a knowing smile growing as a cheeky thought flickered through his mind.

"Was only ever drunk on you, darlin'."

Tickled, you threw your head back in unrestrained laughter. His head dipped into your shoulder in an attempt to hide his sudden self-consciousness, making his speech come out muffled. "Weren't that funny," he said, trying to brush off his words. As he continued to nuzzle into your neck, he hummed and sighed contentedly as he took in your scent.

Smiling so much made your cheeks ache, but you couldn't help it. "You smell so nice," you mimicked his drunken flirting from the night before. He chuckled again, exhaled warm air onto your skin, and pulled you flush into him, holding tight. You'd never imagined you'd enjoy being trapped in an ursine hug, but Arthur's affectionate grip on you made his arms feel like the safest place in the world.

His lips made contact with your skin, and you tilted your head to give him better access. You could feel his lips curve upward as you sighed. 

"Not the only thing I said," he recalled, tugging at the fabric of your blouse, uncovering your shoulder, and kissing the now exposed skin. A shiver racked your bones as you gave into his shameless attempt to seduce you. Redirecting his attention from your goosebump-covered skin to your lips, you locked onto them, pushing through his teeth to tangle his tongue with yours. Arthur cursed himself as he felt his pants get tighter. Selfish, he thought and tore himself away from you. Damn, he was a greedy, thieving, heartless bastard. If he wanted something, he'd rob for it, but nothing—not even all the money in the world—could amount to you. In that moment, entirely consumed, he realized that everything he had was yours to take—and then some. He'd give it all to you, steal from others, and even kill to make sure you were satisfied. The mere thought of it terrified him, yet it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Your brow crinkled at the loss of his bodyheat but even more so at the frown etched into his features. Your mouth fell open to ask if something was wrong, but he shook his head assuringly. Of course, nothing was wrong; for once in his miserable life, everything was right. 

"Whoever he was– he was an idiot to have you and take it for granted. I won't." 

You wanted to believe him with every part of you. Self-doubt didn't have time to creep in before your attention fell to his hand wandering up and down your thigh. You kissed him hungrier than either of you had kissed anybody before, making his mind race. Closer, closer, closer hammered in his brain, inexorable. Two large hands gripped your backside, prompting you to lock your legs around his waist.

He panted against your mouth, "Let me make you feel good." You could only nod.

Soft pillows cushioned your head as you readjusted, laying on your back. As your eyes roamed up to the ornate chandelier, your legs opened with a mind of their own, giving him space to crawl between them. His bulk lay against yours, heavy in all the best ways.

"Yer'so goddamn beautiful, you know that?" His words came out strained, like he'd lost his breath as he trailed kisses down your neck. You knew he was observant, always finding something to sketch and write in that journal of his. Now, it showed in how he narrowed his eyes to see you better, how he grazed his fingers across untouched skin and looked up to see your reaction. You'd never had a man pay this much attention to you, to soak you in when he was the one doing all the work. Arthur didn't care a second about his own physical pleasure. Making you come around his fingers would be pleasure enough.

You were utterly lost in the man. When had the room grown so unbearably hot? When had he taken off your shoes? How did his hands find the waistband of your bloomers under the fabric of your skirt?

Pausing, his eyes met yours in a silent plea for him to continue. You answered by lifting your hips and forcing your skirt and bloomers down to your ankles. Arthur was swift in pulling them all the way off, grunting in delight as he tossed the garments to the floor, forgotten.

His breath whistled out of his nose loud like the wind of a dust storm, and his chest rose and fell hard at the sight of you. Eyes still fixed on yours, his calloused palm traveled up your leg like he was trying to memorize you. He wanted to be able to close his eyes and remember the shape of you from touch alone, to sculpt you in his mind. All his life, he'd been a nomad, traveling and exploring new places, never calling one home. Now, he realized home wasn't a place but a person–– you were who he wanted to call home yet never stop exploring.

As his hand finished its trek up your leg, almost landing at its final destination, a strange sense of self-consciousness washed over you like never before.

Arthur cared about you. That was evident. You couldn't deny it, and you'd be stabbing him with his own knife if you did. But you couldn't stop the nag of worry. What if this time was like every other time? What if, despite all his effort, Arthur would walk down the same road as the others, seemingly content with their own satisfaction but falling short of meeting yours. The what-ifs doused you like water on a fire, and you brought your knees to your chest, folding into yourself.

The fog of Athur's lust for you lifted, replaced by clarity and concern. Brow knit together, he scooted in close and rubbed his knuckles down your jaw. 

"What is it?" he murmured, nudging your chin to make you look at him, "We don't have to do anythin' you don't want."

He rested his hands so casually worshipping you a second ago on your knees with all the patience of a saint, finding your gaze and waiting for a response. He was so uniquely him, and for him to be yours was the only thought you'd had for forty-eight hours. You didn't just want him in the way he was five seconds ago, hot and heavy; you wanted him the way you were at the poker table, arm around your chair; you wanted him in the way you'd sat downstairs. To want him like that meant more than a one-night fleeting encounter. That meant giving yourself away to him, your whole self, not just your body, but your wants and needs and parts of yourself that scared you the most. Little did you know, he shared the same thoughts about you.

Storm-churned seas of blue bore into your own misty eyes, "want to," you squeaked, "it's just that––"

"I know what you said. I know, darlin'." His voice, tender as it was, broke the dam under your eyes. Silent tears spilled down your face for only a second before he caught them with his thumbs.  He waited, silently pushing you to go on, even though his heart ached at the sight of rivers etching a path down your features.

"What if there's something wrong with me?" You asked, openly admitting what you'd long suspected about yourself.

"Hey," he said as he rose up on his knees and towered over you. His hands tugged at the hem of your blouse and chemise, but his eyes caught yours in another silent ask. You adjusted to let him pull both garments up and over. Stricken by you, he shook his head slowly. Words were coming out of his mouth, but he was fixated on you. He couldn't stop his hands as they traced the curves of your body. "You say that, but from this side of the bed–– well, I reckon you're damn close to perfection."  

You were a siren, your body a beautiful symphony. Though he'd always clung to the mast of his own vulnerability, he would gladly untether himself and plunge to his death if it meant eternity in heaven with you. His declaration was Hermes' moly, making the spell of insecurity nonbinding.

Like the moon and the tide, you'd found yourselves in sync again, working together to shove his suspenders off his shoulders, untuck his shirt, and undo the buttons that were keeping it closed. You flung yourself into him, digging your fingers into his back and shivering as your nipples pressed against his chest. He tasted like tobacco and alcohol and somehow like an alcove of sunlight, fresh water, and vivid color. His suspenders hung loosely around his waist as he dipped you back down into the swell of blankets.

"You just relax now; let me take care of ye'. If you want me to stop, just say the word, alright?" You gave him the go-ahead, and he took hold of your knees, parting your legs to expose you to him again. His beard scratched the inside of your thighs as he dived between them, and you gasped as his tongue and teeth latched onto the skin of your thighs. You arched up off the bed, losing whatever control you had over yourself.

One of his hands snaked into yours. "I said relax, woman." He kissed your knuckles then went back to it, drawing dark marks into your thighs as if you were a page of his journal. Your whole being boiled with desire, a desire you didn't even know you could feel. While he kissed and nipped and sucked like his life depended on it, his hand untangled from yours and danced around your stomach, up your abdomen, and then to the shapely flesh of your chest, squeezing gently. You bit your lip, holding in a whine as he pinched a nipple through his index and middle finger, massaging lightly as he gave the same treatment to your other thigh.

As he neared heaven's gates, you tugged on his hair, urging him closer as the rough stubble on his face scratched your skin, a smile curling against your thigh. A disappointed huff escaped you as his face was level with yours again. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, and you looked up at him bewildered. He'd made a mess of you–– exactly what he'd aimed for.

He chuckled, proud of himself, and then his mouth found yours again, his tongue pushing through your lips to find yours. He kissed you with so much heat you could've broken out into a fever.  

Flames blazed through your veins as he slowly descended back to heaven. Arthur's lips burned like the tip of a cigarette wherever they touched. Just when you thought he'd finally taste you to relieve the aching, he began to kiss your thighs again, and you couldn't help it; you begged him.

"Please, Arthur," you choked out, not recognizing your own voice, shaky and desperate, "Please."

And to your pure bliss, he obeyed, never a rule follower, except for now. He spread you open, using his non-dominant hand to pin your knee to the bed while his shoulder kept your other leg parted.

With a touch so gentle yet purposeful, he drove his index finger from the top of your clit, all the way down until it dipped briefly into your folds. And he swept it back up again, curiously exploring you. He ground his throbbing cock into the bed as you yanked on his locs. Wet sounds of your sins filled the room, and you'd be embarrassed if you weren't entirely delighted. Arthur looked back up at you, his touch unrelenting.

"You okay? This good?" he asked. You could only bob your head up and down, gasping fast and loud. "Good," he said, kissing the inside of your thigh again and teasing the opening of your pussy with his finger. "Keep still for me?" you nodded again, the austere head movement the only thing you could muster.

You braced for discomfort that never came as his meaty digit sunk into you with ease, disappearing to the knuckle. You pressed your head deeper into the pillow only to rise a second later with your mouth agape as you felt his tongue, soft and wet, swipe at your clit.

And fuck, you whimpered.

All thoughts led back to one place now, and all your self-restraint leaked out of you with the movement of Arthur's finger. As your hips rocked feverishly against him, he slipped another inside of you, groaning exultantly. He'd transformed you, turning you into a hollering minx.

You belted his name in time with the rhythm of his fingers, "Oh Arthur, oh Arthur, oh Arthur," over and over again at a higher pitch each time. And the gunslinger couldn't help himself; he withdrew his tongue and pounded his fingers into you, using his palm to feed your needy clit. He wanted to taste you forever but needed to watch you, to see your pretty face when he pushed you over the edge.

"Perfect," he said, his finger thrusting steadily with your hips. His lips crinkled as he felt your walls spasm around him. "That's it, sweetheart, let it go."

A familiar ache built in your gut, one you'd only felt in your moments of solitude. Arthur reached for your hand again while the other steadily plowed. Though his arm muscles scorched with the workout you were giving him, he knew better than to give up now. "So goddamn beautiful wrapped around my fingers like this," he cooed. 

Goosebumps formed all down your arms and legs. Arthur's fucking eyes, staring up at you so proud, so endearing, opened the floodgates.

"There you go," he hummed, feeling your insides constrict around his fingers, "give it to me, good girl, let me have it."

And you did, going from a whimpering mess to silent as your orgasm baptized you, washing away all the doubt you ever had about yourself. Arthur went on babbling whatever depraved thoughts crossed his mind as you came.

"So damn good for me."

His fingers slowed, but he didn't stop, letting you ride them until you couldn't anymore. It wasn't until you gasped his name and squeezed your legs shut that he finally conceded, removing his hand and caressing your thigh. Unusually deft, he rolled over onto his back but turned his head to look at you. The cowboy was smirking like he did when he beat you in a game of dominos, triumphant. You were breathing heavily, returning his glance wide-eyed.

"Shit," you gasped, essentially speechless.

Arthur chuckled, cupping your face in both his hands and kissing.

"Told you," he said, "Told you, I'd take care of you. I'll always take care of you if you want me to––" his last five words came out in a quick jumble, self-doubt creeping back even after it all. You threw a leg over his and begin a slow grind into the leather of his chaps, taking your turn to bite into his neck.

"Take care of me all you want, Mr. Morgan."

You didn't have to tell him twice.

[kosmokai]

　 　 ⿸ 　 ⊹　(✿ ◜ᵕ◝)　⚓️ ˚ . ゛ ⚘

[kosmokai]

i need to suck Jake Peralta's Dick IMMEDIATELY

I just know he would let out the sloppiest moan and his hips would do the little buck thing to try and come faster.

he's muttering to himself crazy "shit shit shit fuck I can't- I need-"