#Lost in Time - ch 20 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mangowillow · 23 days ago

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last to know | ch. 3: today's curtain opens

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst, hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: somewhere in this chapter, seokjin punches jeongguk

word count: 12.7k

author's note: oooh look at her coming back after more than a YEAR!

i have no words, no excuses to offer. most people would have forgotten this story already. BUT I DIDN'T and that's all that matters right now <3

gentle reminder that italics are flashbacks! please forgive any oversights or mistakes or whatnot; as of posting, i am sick and i just wanted to post this chapter that's been sitting in my drafts for the longest time now.

one more very important thing: since i haven't updated in so long, i lost track of my taglist i am very sorry! to make everything more organized, i came up with a google form that readers can fill out if they're interested in being included. i know this is such an inconvenience but because i am a very irregular poster, i will need all the help with tracking i can get!!!

so if you're interested in being tagged for this fic, please fill out this form. any requests for tags in the comments or ask box will not be considered at this time. tysm!! enjoy this very humble update!

As usual, you didn’t notice time passing until you realized it was already nighttime.

You are still cleaning up the art room at the university where you were teaching until you heard the pitter-patter of the rain. Big, fat raindrops relentlessly hit the window, creating a steady beat. The sound calms you but at the same time, it seems to mirror the turbulent thoughts that are running through your mind. Not that the thoughts were anything urgent or worrying; your mind just can’t seem to stop… thinking.

You pack the last of the paintbrushes your students forgot to return to the crate when your phone starts to ring. You wipe your hands across your paint-stained apron before picking up. You place the phone between your ear and shoulder as you start packing your bag.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Mrs. Jeon ____?”

You haven’t heard that name in years; let alone be addressed as such.

“I um— may I know who is speaking?” you ask, your grip on the handle of your bag tightens.

“This is Kim Ae-jung calling from Gangnam Heights Medical Center. I’m calling regarding Mr. Jeon Jeongguk,” the caller states. Your heart starts to beat faster, knuckles almost turning white as you now grip your bag strap even more.

“Oh. Right. Is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Jeon has been admitted to our hospital. There's been a health emergency and they're currently receiving medical attention.”

The moment you hear “medical attention,” the thumping in your ears becomes louder. You clutch your heart tighter as the caller goes on, “I understand this is a lot to take in. The situation is being taken care of by our medical team. It's important that you come to the hospital as soon as possible to be with them—”

You didn’t have to be told anything further. You start gathering your things, hastily putting them inside your bag, and run out the door.

It didn’t matter that you got soaked in the pouring rain on the way to the bus stop. Of all days, you had to have your car at the shop for an oil change. You gnaw at your nails as you anxiously wait for the next bus to come. You look at your watch: 9:30 PM. You wonder why Jeongguk was in the hospital. You wonder why he was here— in Seoul.

As a self-proclaimed overthinker, you start to spiral and descend into negativity. You try to recall if Jeongguk has ever had any illnesses while you were still together. You try to remember if you missed anything then— a symptom, a cough, a fever.

The moment you sit down on the bus your heart starts to steady a bit and it allows you to think a bit clearer. Gangnam Heights Medical Center was a few kilometers away from the university. You can’t help but glance at the time almost every minute, your leg bouncing in agitation.

In that seemingly long bus ride, you are flooded with so many memories of Jeongguk almost instantaneously— the day you met him, the day he held your hand for the first time, the day he kissed you after a fireworks display—

The day he married you.

All of the memories you have tried so hard to keep buried in the recesses of your mind— they all came rushing back like no time has ever passed.

When you are reminded of Jeon Jeongguk, you are reminded of pain. But you are also reminded of the deepest love you’ve ever known your entire life.

As the public announcement on the bus declares that the next stop is the hospital, you hastily push the STOP button above you.

And you have never run as fast as you did to the hospital lobby. You were met by a very kind nurse who gently asked you to fill up a form before anything else even though you were clearly in distress.

You didn’t know what to write on the form. Legally speaking, you aren’t Jeongguk’s legal guardian. Not anymore. You grip the pen tighter, the ballpoint hovering just above the line that asks for “Spouse Name”. Your eyes start to blur and because of the adrenaline, you don’t realize right away that you are in near tears. For whatever reason, you didn’t know what to do.

So many questions run through your mind— why did the hospital call you? Why isn’t anyone coming to Jeongguk? Was he alone here in Seoul? Does he have anyone at all?

Your hands shake as you give back the form to the nurse. She gives you a small smile as she directs you to the room where Jeongguk is. Inside was the doctor in charge, as well as a different nurse.

They tell you Jeongguk had a panic attack on the side of the road. They also tell you that the attack was quite alarming because he fainted from sheer panic. You were asked if he had been taking his medication– a question you couldn’t straightforwardly answer. The doctor continued to advise you on his condition and what you could do to support him further but their words barely registered.

All you cared about at that moment was that Jeongguk was here with you in the same room. Lying on a hospital bed.

“Is— is he going to be okay?” you ask softly, your eyes never leaving Jeongguk’s form.

“Yes, he will fully recover. However, I do advise that he monitor his triggers and form a safety plan should another panic attack happen when he’s out in public or when he’s alone. Your husband was lucky because kind strangers helped take him here.”

You wanted nothing more but to cry, but your tears cannot seem to fall. You thank the doctor as he leaves the room, leaving you and Jeongguk completely alone.

You didn’t wake up today thinking that you’d see him again. Under the worst circumstances yet again, you look at the man who you used to call your husband. Jeongguk is no longer the lanky 21-year-old you married. He's more muscular now, with his physique sculpted in all the right places. Although his face was covered with an oxygen mask, you could still see the prominent eye lines, perhaps due to exhaustion and sleepless nights. He now sports a full tattoo sleeve on his right arm, a striking blend of intricate designs that flow seamlessly down to just above his wrist. A delicate lotus flower blooms amidst the ink, its petals unfolding with quiet elegance, while scattered stars add a celestial touch, as if mapping constellations across his skin. He finally did it, you thought. You look at Jeongguk and see that everything and nothing has changed.

You step closer to his bedside, your movements hesitant, almost fragile. With a trembling hand, you reach for the one free of the IV, your fingers brushing against his skin as if afraid he might break or worse– wake up. A shudder runs through you and your bottom lip quivers. You swallow hard, desperate to contain the sob threatening to slip past your lips.

Since when did Jeongguk suffer from panic attacks? No matter how hard you search your memory for warning signs, for any fleeting clue, you come up empty. Jeongguk was always strong, always steady—if anything, it was you who carried the weight of a restless mind.

Jeongguk had always been the one to carry the both of you.

You remain still, fingers laced with his as silent tears slipping down your cheeks. You mourn not just for him, but for everything you’ve lost—the Jeongguk you once knew, the love that once consumed your world, now reduced to fragments of what used to be.

"Mind telling me about you and ____?" Jeongguk starts, voice steady but laced with something ugly underneath.

He had been discharged just a day after—against Yoongi’s insistence. It wasn’t just the recklessness of it all that pissed Yoongi off—it was Jeongguk’s sheer stubbornness, his refusal to rest, his insistence that keeping himself busy was better than being left alone with his thoughts. He claimed it was for his mental health and that working was preferable to rotting away in self-pity.

But the truth was simpler. Jeongguk didn’t want to be alone.

Not after seeing you again.

Not after seven years.

Yoongi exhales sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets, already anticipating where this conversation is headed. He meets Jeongguk’s gaze—there’s something raw there, something unsettled. He tries to deflect. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? Because I am and—”

“I’m not in the mood to eat,” Jeongguk cuts in, his voice quieter but firm, the weight of his words sinking deep. “I need you to tell me what the hell is going on.”

Yoongi stills. The moment Jeongguk’s tone changed to his CEO voice, he knew—there was no dodging this.

The worst part is, Yoongi doesn’t even need to deflect. He just doesn’t think this is the time. They had barely even settled back in Seoul, and already, they’re reopening old wounds that never really healed. Then again… had he really expected Jeongguk to just let it go? To come back here, breathe the same air as you, and not at least try to find you?

Yoongi sighs. Over the years, he’s learned something that even Jeongguk himself refuses to admit—your name still undoes him. Every single time. Jeongguk is haunted by you— in ways he doesn’t even realize. It’s written in the way he grows quiet, in the way his jaw tenses, in the way his eyes darken with a sadness that only those closest to him can recognize.

And now, with Jeongguk looking at him like this—like he’s grasping for something, anything—Yoongi knows there’s no way out.

“It’s not a big deal, Jeongguk.” Yoongi hates downplaying anything especially when it comes to his friends, but even he doesn’t believe his words. “We just talk sometimes. I send her wishes on her birthday, greet her during Christmas, check in every now and then. But it’s rare.”

If Yoongi had any sense, he’d realize he sounded defensive. And if Jeongguk had any sense, he wouldn’t care.

But he does. Of course he does.

Jeongguk lets out a breathless scoff, shaking his head. “And you just… what? Didn’t think to mention that to me?” His tone is sharp, but not out of anger—out of something deeper, something resembling hurt. “Because everything you just said doesn’t sound like ‘rare.’”

And the worst part? Jeongguk isn’t even mad at Yoongi for keeping this from him. He’s mad at himself—for the fact that it even matters. That even after all these years, anything to do with you still destroys him.

God, Jeongguk hates himself for it—because it reminds him of all his past mistakes.

Yoongi sighs. “Because I knew you’d be like this.”

Jeongguk stills. His grip tightens. “Like what?”

Yoongi meets his gaze, exhausted. “Like this, Jeongguk. Tearing yourself apart over something that’s already gone.” He pauses, measuring his next words. “If I told you, would it have helped? Would it have made you feel better to know that your ex-wife still keeps in touch with your best friend?”

Jeongguk blinks, stunned into silence. Yoongi referring to you as his ex-wife is a fresh kind of pain he hadn’t anticipated.

"But you’re supposed to be my friend, Yoongi—” His voice wavers, cracking. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

"I am your friend, Jeongguk. I am on your side.” Yoongi’s voice is steady. Then, softer, “But ____ is my friend too. And you know damn well that I don’t condone what happened between you two.”

That shuts Jeongguk up. His mouth opens, but no words come out. Because he knows. He knows exactly what Yoongi is talking about. He knows the extent of the damage he caused. He’s known for years, and yet, it still hits him like a freight train.

His bottom lip trembles but he forces himself to keep it together. “It just… really hurts.”

Yoongi’s expression softens. “What does?”

Jeongguk swallows, looking past the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Everything.”

Yoongi exhales, his gaze dropping to the floor. In the heavy silence that follows, the only thing Jeongguk can hear is the thick sound of him trying to keep it together.

Then Yoongi speaks. “She panicked that night, you know?” His voice is quieter, careful. “Last night was the first time I heard her voice in a long time. She was worried about you.”

Jeongguk turns, eyes glassy. “She was?”

What Yoongi doesn’t tell him is how worried you were. The way your voice cracked when you said Jeongguk’s name. It wasn’t just panic— it was also helplessness, the way you sounded just as lost as Jeongguk feels now.

Yoongi hesitates, but Jeongguk speaks first. “I’ve always thought about it,” His voice is quieter now. “What it would be like… if I ever saw her again.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “And? Was it what you expected?”

Jeongguk lets out a humorless chuckle, one that sounds more like a sigh. “Definitely not me lying in a hospital bed because of a panic attack.” He rubs his face, shoulders slumping. “I thought about it a million times. But never like that.”

Yoongi watches him carefully. “You know what’s interesting?” His voice is almost amused, though his eyes remain heavy. “You never changed your emergency contact.”

Jeongguk doesn’t move.

Yoongi shrugs. “Jeongguk if the same thing had happened while you were still in New York—”

“I know.” Jeongguk cuts him off, a pang of something sharp hitting his chest. His voice drops. “I just… never got around to changing it.”

There’s a beat of silence. A kind of silence that carries the weight of all the things left unsaid.

Yoongi nods, almost to himself. “I guess that’s just it, huh?”

Jeongguk exhales. “I guess that’s it.”

And for some reason, those words feel heavier than anything else.

Yoongi sighs just as his phone notifies him of a text message. "I'll see you later, kid, okay? Take it easy, will you? You're still healing."

Jeongguk scoffed, "Healing is such an understatement, hyung." Yoongi gives him a look. "Fine, fine, I won't work too much today. Happy?"

Yoongi nods and walks out of Jeongguk's office. He takes a look at the message he received once he closed the door behind him.

It was you.

"How’s Jeongguk?"

NEW YORK, 2016

The golden hour light had long since faded from the university's art room windows, replaced by the harsh fluorescent glow that buzzed overhead. You sat motionless on the paint-splattered stool, your brush suspended mid-air above a canvas that remained untouched since morning. The half-finished painting— a landscape of a giant tree where you and Jeongguk used to find shade when you were in high school— seemed to mock you now with its vibrant colors and brushstrokes.

The divorce papers lay beside your easel like a death sentence— a few stark white pages against the chaos of paint tubes and dirty water jars. You hadn't moved them. Hadn't touched them since a stranger had placed them in your trembling hands eight hours ago.

"Ms. ____? Papers from Lee & Associates Law Firm."

The memory echoed in the silence.

The sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway broke through your trance. The footsteps paused, then quickened, and suddenly the art room door burst open with enough force to rattle the supply cabinets.

"____! Thank God, I've been looking everywhere for—" Yoongi's voice cut off abruptly as he took in the scene before him. His chest heaved from running, dark hair disheveled, but his eyes immediately found your slumped figure, seemingly spaced out looking outside the window. The color drained from his face.

You didn't turn around. You continued staring out the window at the empty courtyard below where university students had laughed and studied just hours before. Now it was nothing but shadows and abandoned benches.

"____..." Yoongi's voice was barely above a whisper. He stepped closer, his usual confident demeanor cracking.

You finally moved but only enough to quietly acknowledge Yoongi’s presence. Your movements were eerily calm, like someone sleepwalking through their own nightmare. Without a word, you picked up the papers and slowly extended them toward him, never meeting his eyes.

Yoongi's hands shook as he took them. The sound of rustling paper seemed deafening in the still room as he scanned the first page. His face went through a series of emotions—confusion, disbelief, and then a rage so pure it made his jaw clench.

"That bastard," he breathed, his voice trembling with fury. "That absolute—" He looked up at you and the words died in his throat.

You had finally turned to face him and the sight nearly broke him. Your eyes were dry but hollow. Dark circles shadowed your face, and your lips were pressed into a thin line that spoke of hours spent holding back screams.

Or sobs.

"____, I... I didn't know. He didn't tell me he was—" Yoongi's voice cracked. He crumpled the papers in his fist, then immediately smoothed them out again, as if destroying them could somehow undo what they represented. "When did this happen?"

"This morning." Your voice was barely audible, hoarse from not speaking the whole day. "Around ten maybe."

"It's past six now." The realization hit him like a physical blow. "You've been sitting here alone for eight hours?"

You shrugged, the gesture so small and defeated it made his heart ache. "I kept thinking... if I didn't move, if I didn't acknowledge those papers, maybe they weren't real."

Yoongi sank into the chair across from you, the divorce papers still clutched in his hands. He wanted to storm out, to find Jeongguk and demand an explanation, to shake his best friend until he came to his senses. But looking at you—really looking at you—he knew he couldn't leave. Not like this.

"Why didn't you call someone? Call me?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Your laugh was bitter, maybe a little broken too. "'Hi Yoongi, your best friend just divorced me through a law firm'? 'Could you come sit with me while I figure out how to breathe again'?"

"Yes," he said fiercely, almost frustrated. "Exactly that. You should have said exactly that."

Your composure finally cracked. Your shoulders shook, and you pressed your hands to your face. "I don't understand, Yoongi. We— we fought three days ago and he never came home after. He— he did that sometimes. But I always thought he’d come back, you know?" Your voice rose with each word, years of pain spilling out. "B-but how do you go from an argument to divorce papers in three days?"

Yoongi felt his own eyes burn. He'd known Jeongguk since they were teenagers, and had watched him fall for you like a man falling off a cliff— completely and without reservation. He'd been your witness at the courthouse wedding, had celebrated with you both, and had listened to Jeongguk talk about growing old with you just last month.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice thick. "I swear to you, ____, I don't know. He hasn't said anything to me about problems, about wanting... this."

"Maybe that's the problem," you whispered. "Maybe he never talked to anyone about us. Maybe I was the only one who thought we were okay."

The words hung in the air like a funeral shroud. Yoongi wanted to argue, to tell you that wasn't true, but the evidence was literally in his hands. No one files for divorce if they're happy– were you and Jeongguk happy? But no one serves papers through a stranger if they still care.

"I want to confront him," Yoongi said quietly. "I want to find him and demand answers. Maybe punch him. Definitely yell at him." He looked down at the papers, then back at you. "But now... God, ____, I can't leave you alone like this."

"You should go to him. He's your best friend. This probably hurts you too."

"You're my friend too," Yoongi said firmly. "And right now, you need someone more than he does."

You stared at him for a long moment, and he saw the exact instant you stopped holding herself together. Your face crumpled, and the sob that escaped you was raw and devastating. Yoongi was out of his chair in seconds, pulling you into his arms as you finally, finally let yourself break.

"I loved him so much," you cried into his shoulder. "I loved him so much, and it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough."

"Don't say that," Yoongi whispered fiercely, his own tears falling now. "Don't you dare say that. This isn't about you not being enough. This is about him being a coward."

You cried until you had no tears left, until your body was exhausted from the force of your grief. Yoongi held you through all of it, one hand stroking your hair while the other kept the divorce papers from falling to the floor. Even now, even in your pain, he found himself protecting you from having to see them.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen and red, but there was something different in them. Not peace—you were too far from that—but a kind of terrible clarity.

"I need to sign them," you said.

"What are you– no. Not tonight." Yoongi's voice was gentle but firm. "Tonight, you need to go home and rest. The papers can wait."

"What if waiting makes it worse?"

"What if rushing makes it final when it doesn't have to be?"

You looked at him with something that might have been hope, if hope could be so fragile. "Do you think... do you think he might change his mind?"

Yoongi's heart broke all over again, because he could see how much you wanted him to say yes. How much you needed him to say yes. But he also knew Jeongguk, knew that his friend never did anything without thinking it through completely. The divorce papers weren't a mistake or a moment of anger— they were a decision.

"I think," he said carefully, "that you deserve someone who doesn't make you question whether you're enough. Whether he changes his mind or not."

It wasn't the answer you wanted, but it was the truth. And somehow, that seemed to be what you needed to hear.

You nodded slowly, then looked around the art room as if seeing it for the first time. "I should clean up. I've made a mess."

"Leave it," Yoongi said. "Just... leave it all. Come on, I'll drive you home."

As you gathered your things, you paused at the easel. The unfinished painting of the tree stared back at you, beautiful and incomplete.

"I don't think I'll ever finish it," she said quietly.

Yoongi looked at the painting, then at you. "Maybe that's okay. One battle at a time, hm?"

You nodded, understanding. Some stories didn't have happy endings. Sometimes love wasn't enough to make someone stay. And some paintings would forever remain half-done, frozen in a moment before everything fell apart.

The muted hum of the café outside your art studio filtered through the walls, but inside, the space remained still, save for the quiet strains of piano music playing in the background. The scent of paint and brewed coffee lingered in the air as you moved through the space, half-distracted by the canvas in front of you— until you heard your friends’ voices.

"Holy fuck, are you kidding me?"

You paused, your brush hovering mid-stroke over the canvas. That was Hoseok’s voice.

"Jesus wouldn’t be too pleased with your manner of expression, but no, I am not kidding." Taehyung’s response was calm, almost deadpan. "Can you keep your voice down? You should be feigning ignorance about all this."

"What good would that do?" Hoseok huffed. "Feigning ignorance, are you crazy? This is big, sweetie, and you know it."

Taehyung sighed like he was explaining something to a particularly slow student. "Honey, you’re acting like this is news. We already knew Jeongguk was back in Seoul."

“Yes, obviously, because you told me like five minutes ago!” Hoseok shoots back.

You froze for half a second before rolling your eyes. So that’s what they were talking about.

"It’s different knowing and talking about it," Hoseok shot back. "You’re gossiping."

"Of course I’m gossiping," Taehyung replied, unfazed. "We are gays, babe. We live for piping hot tea."

Hoseok groaned. "This is not the same as discussing someone’s bad haircut, babe—"

At that, you stepped into the room, making sure your voice was casual. "Someone had a bad haircut?"

The effect was immediate. Hoseok nearly jumped, eyes widening like he’d just been caught committing a crime, while Taehyung— though externally composed—blinked a little too fast.

"Ah," Hoseok choked out, his voice a little higher than usual. "____! Didn’t see you there. You, uh, move so quietly."

You arched a brow. "I literally opened a door."

Taehyung shot Hoseok a glare before turning to you, slipping into his usual laid-back demeanor—except for the way his fingers twitched against the edge of the table. "Nothing important," he said smoothly. "Just... discussing world events."

You bit back a smirk. "World events?"

Hoseok nodded a little too quickly. "Yes. You know, global issues. The stock market. The weather—"

"The weather," you repeated, unimpressed.

"Yes! Very unpredictable these days."

There was a beat of silence where you let them both squirm under your gaze. Internally, you were highly entertained. Two grown men who dominated the fashion industry– usually so confident and self-assured, reduced to awkward messes right in front of you.

You sighed, pretending to contemplate their words. "Hmm. The weather. That’s funny, because I could’ve sworn I heard Jeongguk’s name before I walked in."

Hoseok visibly winced. Taehyung dragged a hand down his face. "Goddammit."

"You two do realize that I already knew Jeongguk was back, right? And that I heard you both talking about it just now?" you asked, amused.

Taehyung exhaled, resigned. "Yeah, but we didn’t know if you were, like, in a place where you’d want to talk about it."

You hummed, considering. "And instead of asking, you decided to whisper behind my back like two teenagers?"

"Technically," Taehyung said, "only Hoseok was whispering. I was speaking at a reasonable volume."

Hoseok scoffed, offended. "Excuse me, I was being discreet!"

"You said ‘holy fuck’ loud enough for the café and for Jesus to hear."

Hoseok looked away. "Can you stop it with the holy jokes–"

You shook your head, lips twitching. "You two are ridiculous."

"But... are you okay?" Taehyung asked carefully.

You took a slow breath. The truth was, you didn’t know what you felt yet. Maybe it would hit you later, maybe it wouldn’t. But for now, you only had one response.

"Yes," you said simply. "I think I am."

Hoseok let out a breath like he’d been holding it for hours, while Taehyung gave you a long, measured look before nodding. They do not believe you— not even one bit.

But they let it slide for now.

"Alright," Taehyung said. "But if that changes, we’ve got you."

You smiled, softer this time. "I know."

The first time Woosung came to your art studio, he didn’t say much. He just wandered the space with his hands in his pockets, eyes drifting over your half-finished paintings and the faint smudges of color on your fingers.

Now, years later, he was here again, seated at the small wooden table near the windows while you worked, a book in his hand and a cup of coffee cooling beside him. You weren’t sure when it started— when he began showing up like this, keeping you company without needing to fill the silence with words.

Today was one of those days. Rain pattered against the glass, the sky outside dark, but inside, the air was warm.

You stood by the canvas, brush in hand, completely concentrating on your work. You had long since tuned out the world, lost in the rhythmic strokes of color. You always tie your hair up in a bun whenever you work but you also barely notice the strands of hair that keep falling in your face, sticking to your skin when you become so focused on the work.

At some point, you felt your lover’s quiet presence beside you. Without a word, Woosung reached over and gently tucked the stray strands behind your ear. His fingers were warm, his touch like a feather, and when you blinked out of your trance to look at him, he just smiled—soft, unhurried.

"Better?" he asked.

You nodded and smiled. "Yes. Thank you."

He hummed, stepping back, but before he could return to his seat, you reached for his wrist.

"Wait."

Woosung stopped, his eyes curious.

"Stay here. Just for a little bit," you murmured, not even sure why you said it. Maybe you just liked having him close.

Woosung didn’t question it. He just nodded, pulling a stool and positioning himself beside you. He watches you paint in comfortable silence.

Every so often, he would tilt his head, his gaze intent as if he were memorizing the way your fingers moved, the way the colors blended together under your touch.

"You’re really focused today," he observed after a while.

You hummed, biting your lip as you tried to perfect a small detail. "I am. It’s nice, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think it’s because you’re here."

You said it without thinking and you realized how easily the words had slipped out. Woosung smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He lifted his hand, brushing a smudge of blue paint off your cheek with his thumb.

"Then I guess I’ll stay a little longer," he murmured.

And he did.

A little while later, the rain had softened to a drizzle, leaving the air thick with that post-rain stillness. Your brush hovered over the canvas, but your mind had long drifted elsewhere. Across the room, Woosung sat at the table, still flipping absently through his book, but you could tell— he wasn’t really reading. He was waiting.

It had been like this since last night.

He had held you while you cried, rubbing slow circles into your back, whispering, "It's okay, I’ve got you," even though he had no idea what had shattered you. He never asked, never pushed. But now, with the night stretching thin between you, you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down.

"You didn’t sleep much," Woosung finally said, his voice gentle, as if he were testing the waters.

You swallowed, still dragging the brush along the canvas in slow, aimless strokes. "Neither did you."

Woosung exhaled a small chuckle, but it was knowing. "You cried yourself to sleep, ____. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I slept soundly through that?"

You winced at that—at the truth of it. At the guilt that curled in your stomach. He wasn’t accusing you of anything, but you felt like you had placed something heavy between you both.

You took a deep breath, still not looking at him. "It was just… a hard night."

Woosung nodded, his gaze steady. "Because of what happened at the hospital?"

Your fingers clenched around the brush. A long pause settled between you.

You could lie. You could brush past it, act as though it was just one of those nights where the weight of everything caught up to you. But Woosung had always been careful with you, had always made space for you to be honest in your own time. You had told him that you saw someone unexpectedly at the hospital before you went silent all over again last night.

You exhaled. And you poised yourself to tell Woosung the rest of what happened.

"I saw him," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Jeongguk."

Woosung didn’t react—not right away. He just closed his book, setting it aside, like he had been expecting this. He didn’t ask how it happened. Didn’t ask why you hadn’t told him immediately. He just let you sit with it, let you offer whatever you were willing to.

You hesitated before continuing. "I didn’t even know he was back in Seoul, but then I got a call… he was in the hospital. I don’t know why they called me, but they did, and I—I went."

A deep breath.

You could feel Woosung’s eyes on you, but you kept your gaze on the canvas, focusing on the way the paint streaked across the surface, trying not to feel the way your throat was tightening again.

"I didn’t stay long," you added, half-truthfully. "I just… made sure he was okay before Yoongi came."

You heard the shift of a chair, and then Woosung was beside you. He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist before curling around it lightly.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t know. Everyone keeps asking me that today."

“Everyone?” Woosung asked.

“Taehyung picked me up from the hospital. He uh, of course, he told Hoseok about it right away.”

Woosung nodded as if he understood that more than words could ever explain. Without hesitation, he pulled you against his chest, his chin resting atop your head. His arms around you were steady, warm. A grounding weight.

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," he murmured. "Just… let yourself feel it. Whatever it is."

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He smelled like rain and coffee, like the warmth of something familiar and safe.

"I’m here," he added, voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it. "Whatever you need."

And just like that, the ache inside you loosened, just a little.

The apartment in Seoul was vast and hollow. Open-space style with high ceilings and sleek, modern finishes—everything about it screamed luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows spanned one entire wall, revealing the bustling Seoul skyline, lights flickering like stars.

It was the kind of apartment regular people dream of having. But right now, Jeongguk thought it felt more like an empty shell.

Half-unpacked boxes scattered all over the floor, some opened, some untouched. The air smelled of unlit scented candles, the kind his assistant had left, thinking they would make the place feel more like a home. He hadn’t bothered.

Jeongguk went through his things with quiet efficiency, pulling out clothes, books, old notebooks filled with immature, maybe even brilliant thoughts. His movements were mechanical— until his eyes landed on a single, still-sealed box in the farthest corner of the living room.

Something in his chest tightened.

For a long moment, Jeongguk just stood there, jaw tense. When he finally mustered up whatever courage was left of him, he crouched down, pressing his fingers into the packing tape and tearing it open. Inside, neatly stacked and untouched for years, were remnants of a past he had buried but never truly let go of.

Art books, their covers slightly worn. A few pieces of clothing, folded carefully as if waiting to be picked up again. And at the very bottom, almost like a cruel afterthought— photographs.

Jeongguk swallowed as he reached for them.

They were yours– belongings you never brought back to Seoul with you. And the photographs were from his high school years. Senior year. Before New York, before the weight of adulthood, before everything fell apart.

In one, you were laughing, head tilted back, eyes shining under the golden autumn sun. Jeongguk was next to you, hand in his pocket, pretending to be indifferent, but the way he looked at you even then—it told a different story.

Memories rushed in, sharp and clear as if no time had passed at all. Jeongguk braced himself for a fresh wave of unshed tears.

Busan, Hanseong High School - Three Years Before New York

Jeongguk had been at Hanseong High for three weeks and already, he was used to the routine.

The stares. The whispers. The way people spoke his last name like it carried weight, like it meant something.

Jeon Jeongguk. The son of a powerful real estate family. The new kid who was rich, handsome, untouchable. He was already bored of it all.

That afternoon, he found himself lingering in the school’s indoor gym—not because he had a reason to be there, but because he had nowhere else to be. The air smelled of sweat and old wood, the faint echo of bouncing basketballs in the distance. He leaned against the railing on the second floor, watching the scene below with disinterest. Maybe even boredom.

A group of girls sat huddled together on the bleachers, giggling. Among them was you— though you didn’t seem to be part of it. Not really.

You sat slightly apart, a book open on your lap, fingers idly turning the page. Your expression was neutral, but Jeongguk had already spent the last few weeks observing you in passing. You were in the same classes as him and yet, not even once did you acknowledge Jeongguk’s presence, let alone look his way. You weren't loud like the others and weren't desperate for attention. You had this quiet presence— one that didn’t demand space but somehow held it anyway.

You intrigued the hell out of Jeongguk.

But then it happened.

One of the girls suddenly stood, walking up behind her with a smirk. It was a slow, seemingly calculated movement, the kind that sent an uneasy feeling crawling up Jeongguk’s spine.

“Oops,” the girl said mockingly, just before tilting her hand.

A full carton of milk tipped forward, spilling over your head, soaking through your uniform, dripping onto the pages of the book.

Laughter erupted around you after that.

Jeongguk didn’t move. He should have done something. But he didn’t. Other people who were in the gym stopped whatever they were doing– waiting to see what you’d do next.

You sat there for a moment, milk running down your hair, shoulders stiff, fingers clenched into fists. Then, after what seemed like an eternity– silently, you shut your now soaked book, stood up, and walked away.

To this day, Jeongguk does not know what compelled him to follow you. His feet, at the time, moved of their own accord, his heart knowing he needed to do something. Anything.

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was guilt because he could have warned you of what was going to happen. Maybe it was something else entirely.

You had made it outside to the back of the school, where the sky stretched wide and empty, where no one could see you. You stood with your hands braced on your knees, shoulders shaking—not in sobs, but in silent frustration.

“Hey.”

You flinched at Jeongguk’s voice, turning sharply. Your wet uniform clung to you, strands of milk-dampened hair sticking to your cheek. Your eyes flickered with something unreadable before you schooled your expression.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly as you turned away from him in humiliation.

Jeongguk shoved his hands into his pockets. “That was messed up.”

He hears you scoff. “No kidding.”

For some reason, your sarcasm made the corner of Jeongguk’s mouth twitch.

“Here.” Jeongguk shrugged off his school blazer, holding it out to you. “You’re cold.”

You looked at the blazer, then at him. “I don’t need it.”

“Well clearly, you’re shivering.”

You straightened. “I don’t need your pity.”

Jeongguk tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “Who said I pitied you?”

Silence. You stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to believe him. After a few seconds, without another word, you turned away, arms crossed tightly over yourself.

Jeongguk didn’t leave.

Instead, he sat down on the steps nearby, watching as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement. You didn’t tell him to go away.

And Jeongguk, for the first time since moving to this school, wasn’t bored.

The memory faded, but the feeling remained, lingering in the quiet of Jeongguk’s new, empty space.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. The box remained open in front of him, pieces of the past staring back at him. He should have put them— the whole box— away. But instead, he picked up the photograph again, tracing the edges with his thumb.

It had been years since that day in the gym. Since he saw you stand at the cramped space at the back of the school looking so defeated, arms crossed, yet too stubborn to accept his help.

And yet, even now, you remained the only person who had ever made him feel like he wasn’t just Jeon Jeongguk—the boy with a name too heavy to carry.

Maybe, he thought bitterly and quite sadly, he had been trying to follow you ever since.

Yoongi stared at his phone screen, your message glowing back at him: "How's Jeongguk?"

Three simple words that felt like a loaded gun.

He set the phone down, then picked it up again. Typed a response, deleted it. Typed another.

His apartment felt suffocating suddenly. He walked to the window, looking out at the Seoul skyline—the same view Jeongguk probably had from his new place. With a scotch in hand, Yoongi clenched his jaw, thinking about how everything that was starting to unfold was quite funny.

He hadn’t counted on Jeongguk finding you so soon– even if it was by accident. Yoongi chuckles to himself like an idiot. “I guess this is what they call fate.”

Yoongi exhaled slowly and finally typed back: "He's physically fine. Discharged yesterday."

Your response came quickly: "And mentally?"

Yoongi closed his eyes. How could he explain that Jeongguk looked like a ghost of himself? That he'd been carrying this weight for seven years?

"He's struggling," he typed. "But then again, so are you."

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

"Did he ask about me?"

Yoongi's heart clenched. The honest answer was complicated— Jeongguk had asked, but not in the way you'd want to hear.

"He knows you were there that night— you already know that."

"That's not what I asked."

Yoongi found himself smiling despite everything. Even through text, you were still sharp, still direct.

"Yeah," he typed. "He asked about you."

Yoongi's thumb hovered over the keyboard. He could discourage you, protect you both from reopening old wounds. Or he could do what his heart was telling him to do.

“What now?”

“I just want him to be well,” you respond.

Yoongi purses his lips– you were still the same girl he met all those years ago. Selfless, kind-hearted.

Self-sacrificing.

And he will do anything in his power to protect you.

It was nearing closing time when the bell above the café door jingled softly, signaling one last customer. The warm yellow lights reflected on the glass, casting long shadows along the wood-paneled walls. Jimin, who was wiping down the counter, looked up instinctively and froze mid-motion.

Jeon Jeongguk stood just inside the doorway.

For a moment, Jimin simply stared, cloth in his hand. There was something surreal about it— Jeongguk, in this space, under this light, in this cafe of all places, with his hair slightly damp from the rain and his hoodie slightly crumpled from travel. Seoul clung to Jeongguk in an unfamiliar way, the years since New York etched into the way he carried himself. But Jimin recovered quickly, stepping forward with a practiced smile.

"Welcome," he said, his voice pleasant and casual. “Long day?”

Jeongguk blinked, slightly thrown off. He nodded, eyes flicking around the café. “Yeah. Just needed a place to warm up. This place looked...” He trailed off. Familiar? Safe? He didn’t finish the sentence.

Jimin gave a soft chuckle and gestured to the counter. “We’re just about to close but I can still get you something. Americano? Or do you want something sweet?”

There was a flicker of recognition in Jeongguk’s eyes as he looked at Jimin more closely. “...Have we met before?”

Jimin paused before giving a small nod. “New York. At a student exhibit in university. You came with Kim Namjoon.”

Jeongguk’s brow furrowed, but nothing clear surfaced. “Right,” he said quietly, though it was clear the memory didn’t fully register. “Sorry— I’ve had a long few days.”

“No worries.” Jimin’s smile didn’t falter but there was something distant in his eyes. “What can I get started for you?”

“Oh, um… a hot latte would be nice.”

Jimin worked the register but when Jeongguk was about to give him his card, Jimin smiled politely. “It’s on the house.”

“Oh, god no, I don’t want to—”

“It’s okay, Jeongguk-ssi,” Jimin smiles. Jeongguk honestly does not have the energy to argue further. Slumping his shoulders, he nodded and quietly thanked Jimin.

“You are very welcome. Please take a seat. I’ll get your drink started for you.”

Before Jeongguk could move toward a table, another door swung open at the back of the café.

“Yah Jimin-ah, did we confuse the flour with the cornstarch this time—”

Seokjin.

Still wearing his apron, flour smudged along one sleeve, Seokjin halted mid-step the moment he laid eyes on Jeongguk. The tray in his hands clattered onto the counter as his face twisted— recognition sharp and instant.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The words cut across the room like a knife. Jimin looked up sharply from behind the espresso machine.

Jeongguk straightened, confusion flashing across his face before he registered who it was. “Seokjin?”

Seokjin didn’t give him a chance to speak further. He strode toward him in a blur of fury, fists clenched at his sides. “You have the audacity to walk in here? Like nothing happened? Like you didn’t fucking destroy my sister—?”

“Seokjin—”

“No,” Jin snarled, closing the distance. “You don’t get to say anything.”

Before Jeongguk could defend himself, before he could even raise a hand, Seokjin’s fist landed squarely against his jaw with a sickening crack.

Jeongguk staggered back, clutching the side of his face. He didn’t fall but the impact left him breathless. “What the hell—?”

The doors to the art studio burst open from the sound and you emerged, paintbrush still tucked behind your ear, paint smudges along your forearms. “What’s going on—?”

Your voice faltered as you took in the scene: Jeongguk standing by the counter, blood forming on the corner of his mouth; Jimin frozen; and Seokjin, chest heaving with rage, his knuckles still clenched and red.

“Jeongguk?” Your voice broke around his name.

He looked up slowly, eyes meeting yours like he’d been hit a second time. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.

You turned sharply to Seokjin. “Did you hit him?”

“He deserved it,” Seokjin snapped.

“What the hell, Seokjin?”

“You’re really going to defend him?” Seokjin barked, disbelieving.

“I didn’t say that—” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “But punching him isn’t going to fix anything.”

Seokjin let out a sharp but bitter laugh. “Oh, so now you're protecting him? After everything?”

“I’m not protecting anyone, I’m trying to de-escalate this.”

Jeongguk wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stepped back, unsure whether he was allowed to speak, to breathe, to even stand there. It felt like trespassing. Maybe it was.

Seokjin turned on you now, jaw tight, voice low but shaking. “He broke you, ____. And now you’re defending him like he didn’t spend years forgetting you existed.”

You clenched your hands into fists, shoulders squaring. “I’m not defending what he did. But I am asking you not to turn this place into a battlefield. This is our café, Seokjin. Not a fucking war zone.”

Seokjin looked at you for a long moment, anger still coursing through his veins— but it was your eyes, calm but hurting, that finally made him yield.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t ask me to be civil. Not with him.”

With that, Seokjin turned on his heel and stormed back toward the kitchen, door slamming shut behind him.

The silence that followed was tense. Jimin still stood behind the counter, lips parted as if unsure whether to speak.

You turned to Jeongguk. You didn’t step forward. You didn’t smile. Your voice came out quieter this time. “Why are you here?”

Jeongguk looked at you with wide, pained eyes, as if trying to memorize you all over again.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know this was your place.”

You nodded once as if that explained everything and nothing.

“You should go,” you added, softly. “It’s late and it’s raining.”

Jeongguk didn’t argue. Only glanced once more around the space, at the painting above the pastry display, at the polished wood tables, at you.

Then he turned and left, the door closing quietly behind him.

You stood there for a long while after, the paintbrush behind your ear suddenly feeling like the heaviest thing in the world.

After what seemed like an eternity, the clang of the swinging door echoed louder than it should’ve. You stood in the middle of the café for a moment longer, letting the silence settle like dust, before turning and pushing your way into the kitchen.

Seokjin was by the sink, aggressively scrubbing a saucepan that didn’t need cleaning. His back was tense, shoulders rising and falling with every breath like he was trying—and failing—to calm himself down.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” you said, voice steady, but your chest still trembled.

Seokjin didn’t look at you. “Didn’t I?”

“You don’t get to make that call.”

He whipped around at that, eyes blazing. “He left you, ____. No— he ruined you. And now what? He shows up here, like nothing ever happened, and I’m supposed to just, what, smile? Be polite? Serve him coffee?”

You folded your arms– not out of defiance but to stop your hands from shaking. “I’m not asking you to be polite. I’m asking you not to lash out like this is still your fight.”

“It is still my fight!” Seokjin’s voice cracked. “____ do you really think I forgot what you looked like after he walked out? I remember how quiet you got. How you stopped painting for months. How I had to sit with you in silence night after night because you couldn’t even cry anymore. You were gone, ____. He didn’t just leave you. He took the best parts of you when he did.”

His words stung because they were true. You bit your lip and looked away. “I let him in. I let him love me. That was my choice.”

“Don’t you dare turn this into your fault,” Seokjin said, voice softer now but still full of that same frustration. “You didn’t deserve what happened.”

“I didn’t say I did.”

There was a beat of silence. The sound of the refrigerator humming in the corner filled the space between you.

“He’s not the same,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “His eyes… he looks like someone trying to hold the world together with fraying thread.”

“I don’t care,” Seokjin said but it was a lie. You both knew it.

You stepped closer to your brother. “I’m not defending him, Seokjin. But I’m also not ready to hate him as much as you do. I never did… I don’t know what that says about me… but it’s how I feel.”

Seokjin exhaled, hands braced on the countertop. “It says you’re kinder than he deserves.”

You gave a small, broken smile. “Or stupider.”

Your brother didn’t argue. Instead, after a long pause, he turned to you again. “Just… promise me one thing.”

“What?” You realize your exhaustion was already weighing you down.

“Don’t let him back in just because you think he’s broken.”

You nodded slowly. “I won’t.”

That was a lie too. But you both let it slide.

The door of the café closed behind Jeongguk with a dull thud and the cold Seoul air hit him like a wave. The rain hadn’t let up but he didn’t pull his hood over his head. He decided to walk slowly even though his car was still parked near the cafe, no destination in mind, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as water soaked through the fabric.

His jaw ached where Seokjin had punched him but that pain was nothing compared to the one building in his chest.

Seeing you again had cracked him open.

You looked like someone he’d only ever see in dreams now—still ethereal, still grounded in color and softness. But the way you looked at him… like he was a stranger wrapped in old clothes. Like he didn’t belong in the same room as you anymore.

And maybe he didn’t.

Jeongguk wandered for blocks, barely paying attention to the street signs or blinking storefronts. He only stopped when he reached the Han River. The wide stretch of water lay quietly under the moonlight, blurred by the drizzle. Jungkook sat on the bench, shoulders hunched, and stared out at the current as it flowed without him.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. No new messages. No missed calls. He unlocked it anyway and scrolled to his contacts, hovering over your name.

Still there. Still untouched.

His thumb brushed against it but he didn’t press.

Instead, he leaned back, eyes closing. Rain kissed his cheeks, soaked into his lashes. He welcomed it because it was easier than crying.

He let himself remember. Your laugh echoing across a sunlit room. The way you’d wrinkle your nose when you were concentrating on a painting. The way you used to trace circles on his palm when you thought he was asleep.

And he remembered the day it all fell apart.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He didn’t know what he wanted.

No— he did. He wanted to rewind time. To walk into that café and see you smile at him like you used to. But time didn’t offer that kind of grace. It only offered consequences.

Jeongguk let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how long he sat there— just that eventually, the rain stopped and he was still alone.

The apartment was quiet when you got home.

Too quiet.

You slipped your keys onto the dish near the door and toed off your shoes slowly, trying not to make any noise. The familiarity of home—the throw blanket on the couch, the books stacked near the lamp, the faint scent of jasmine from the candle Woosung lit earlier—should’ve grounded you.

But it didn’t. Not tonight.

You stood in the dark for a moment longer than necessary– unsure whether to head straight to the shower or collapse into bed. You weren’t expecting to find Woosung still awake, let alone waiting for you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a warm mug in his hand.

“I made tea,” he said gently, as if his voice might spook you. “It’s probably cold by now.”

Your throat felt tight. “I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

He gave you a soft, crooked smile. “You said you were heading back late, not that you'd come home looking like you fought a ghost.”

You offered a weak laugh. “It kind of feels like I did.”

He didn’t press. Just walked to you, slowly, like he always did when he sensed you needed space and presence at the same time. When he reached you, he simply wrapped his arms around you, grounding you in the warmth of his chest, his chin resting lightly atop your head.

You didn’t cry. Not this time.

You just stood there and let yourself be held.

After a long pause, he spoke, voice low and careful. “Was it him?”

You didn’t need to ask who. “Yeah.”

You didn’t miss the way he stiffened just slightly before exhaling. “Did you talk?”

You nodded against his chest. “Not really. Seokjin hit him. I… I stopped it. Then I told him to leave.”

Another silence.

Woosung's hand moved in slow, rhythmic circles on your back. “How do you feel?”

You let the question hang there because you weren’t sure. Hollow? Rattled? Like someone had opened a box in your chest you’d long sealed shut?

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Woosung didn’t respond with reassurance or try to fix it. He just kissed the crown of your head.

“I’m here,” he said.

You finally pulled back to look at him, eyes scanning his face. Kind. Patient. Still here.

You hated that part of you wished he weren’t.

The sun was already high in the sky when Jeongguk dragged himself into Yoongi's studio. He hadn’t slept. He looked like hell— bloodshot eyes, jaw bruised, hair a mess. But he moved like he had unfinished business burning in his veins.

Yoongi noticed immediately.

“Jesus, you look worse than yesterday.”

Jeongguk ignored the jab and dropped onto the couch with a sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Yoongi didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the screen in front of him, tapping a few keys absently, before finally swiveling in his chair to face Jeongguk.

“Didn’t sleep, huh?”

“I walked for hours. I don’t even know how I ended up by the river.”

“You always end up there when you’re falling apart.”

Jeongguk let out a dry laugh. “You know me too well.”

Yoongi leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So? What now?”

“I saw her. I mean—I really saw her. It wasn’t just a memory or a picture in some gallery post. She was right in front of me, looking at me like I was…”

“A stranger?” Yoongi offered.

Jeongguk nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

“She didn’t look angry?”

“No,” Jeongguk muttered. “She looked… tired. Like she didn’t know whether to scream or hug me. Like she’s been trying to forget me and I just made it harder.”

Yoongi sighed. “That’s because you did make it harder. By showing up unannounced. Walking into her safe space.”

“I didn’t know it was her café. I swear.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Jeongguk stared down at his hands. “I think she has someone.”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away, which told Jeongguk enough.

“Where did that come from?” Yoongi asked.

“I’m not sure… but just thinking about it… it hurts more than I expected,” he added quietly. “I don’t know what I want from her. I just… wanted to be seen. Not hated. Not erased.”

Yoongi’s voice softened. “She did see you.”

Jeongguk shook his head. “But not the way she used to.” He slumped further into the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers.

“I used to be her whole world.”

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “And then you burned it down.”

Jeongguk didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

“What do I do now, Yoongi?”

Yoongi looked at him for a long, quiet moment. “You ask yourself if you’re ready to rebuild anything. And if you’re willing to accept that the pieces might not fit the way they used to.”

Woosung watched you sleep from across the room, hands loosely wrapped around his coffee mug. The pale morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the floor—and across your face, peaceful but withdrawn, even in rest.

You hadn’t said much since last night. Just that you were tired. Just that it had been “a long day.”

But he wasn’t dense. He saw it.

The tremor in your voice when you said his name. The way your arms wrapped around him like you were bracing yourself for a storm that hadn’t yet passed. The way your body felt warm against him but your mind had drifted somewhere far, far away.

He knew what a closed door looked like.

Woosung loved you. That wasn’t in question. And in most moments, being with you felt like being home— quiet, anchored, enough. But there were times—like now—when he could feel something slipping between his fingers. Something he couldn’t hold, no matter how gently he tried.

He knew you had a past. He’d accepted that. But he hadn’t prepared himself for what that past would look like when it returned, not as a memory, but as a man.

Jeongguk.

The name alone was a ghost in his mind. You rarely said it but when you did, it was with the kind of softness that didn’t belong to pain. Not completely. Woosung didn’t want to be the jealous type. Didn’t want to become the man who questioned the cracks in someone else’s heart. But when you looked at him last night, it wasn’t just sleep in your eyes— it was absence.

And he hated that he didn’t know how to bring you back.

He walked over to the window, mug still warm in his hand and stared out at the quiet street below. He’d give you time. Space. Safety. Whatever you needed.

But part of him already knew: if Jeongguk was back in your world, he would have to brace for a future that might not include him in it.

And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

The rain had finally stopped by the time you stepped out of the university gates that afternoon, sunlight peeking out from behind thin clouds. You hadn’t planned on stopping by the park, but your legs carried you there anyway. The world felt too loud lately— colors too sharp, memories too close— and you needed quiet after teaching the whole day.

The small café near the entrance of the park wasn’t busy. A few students occupied scattered tables, chatting over drinks, the occasional laughter bubbling into the air. You stepped inside and ordered chamomile tea.

You didn’t see him right away.

It wasn’t until you turned toward the window seat—your favorite one—that you noticed him. Sitting at the far corner of the room, hood pulled low, black journal open in front of him, pen tapping against the edge.

Jeongguk.

Your stomach dropped.

He looked smaller here somehow. Not in stature—his presence still drew attention—but in energy. Like someone trying to disappear into the corners of a page.

He hadn’t seen you yet. You froze, cup warm in your hands, unsure whether to approach or flee. You could walk away. You should.

But then he looked up.

Your eyes met. And time, once again, forgot how to move. He didn’t smile. He didn’t stand. He just looked at you like he’d been waiting. You walked toward him slowly. Carefully.

“Is this seat taken?” you asked, quietly.

Jeongguk stared at the empty chair across from him then shook his head. “It’s yours.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The air between you was heavy but not hostile—more like something ancient and sacred. Something that didn’t know how to begin again.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, finally breaking the silence.

“I didn’t expect to be seen,” Jeongguk replied, eyes flickering to yours. He looked down at his journal, then closed it slowly. “I’m sorry. About the café. About… all of it. I didn’t know it was yours and Seokjin’s.”

You didn’t respond right away. You let the words hang there.

“I know,” you said eventually. “I believe you.”

He blinked, surprised by how easily you’d said it. But you weren’t done.

“That doesn’t change what happened,” you continued, voice steady, even if your heart wasn’t. “Seokjin was right. It doesn’t erase what we lost.”

“I know,” he said again. “I’m not here to fix anything.”

You looked at him then— not as the man who hurt you but as the man who now sat quietly with his regret. Not demanding anything. Not begging. Just… present.

For the first time in years, you didn’t look away.

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells,” you murmured. “Not with me. Not anymore.”

Jeongguk swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m trespassing.”

You gave a faint, sad smile. “Then don’t try to be anything. Just… be here. If you want to be.”

Jeongguk nodded, jaw tight with the kind of relief that was almost indistinguishable from grief. And for a while, you both just sat there. Not as lovers. Not as exes. Not even as old friends.

Just as two people who once loved each other so deeply.

Jeongguk left the university café feeling hollow. The brief encounter with you—unexpected, painfully gentle—had undone something in him. You hadn't screamed. You hadn't walked out. But your voice, your eyes, the way your fingers gripped the edge of your mug—it haunted him more than any shouting ever could.

He had rehearsed nothing and left with everything unspoken lodged in his throat. It hadn’t been enough.

Not by a long shot.

So when night fell, his legs carried him somewhere he hadn't planned—your café. The one you shared with Seokjin. He didn’t expect to see you. Not really. But part of him hoped, in the smallest, most reckless corner of his heart, that maybe you’d still be there. That maybe you’d let him speak.

That maybe he could try again.

“I’m telling you, I nearly salted the croffle again,” Seokjin said as he wiped down the counter with exaggerated flair. “That’s the third time this month.”

“Hyung, you’re not cursed,” Jimin laughed, nudging the sugar shaker toward him. “You just have poor labeling habits.”

“It’s not labeling. It’s sabotage. Someone moved the sugar again. Probably Hoseok. He always looks guilty when I serve the wrong order.”

“He looks guilty because you gave someone a tuna melt instead of a vegan sandwich last week.”

“That was one time.”

Jimin smirked. “You are the chaos. Don’t drag Hoseok into your crimes.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, drying the last mug. “Speaking of chaos, where’s my sister?”

“Still in the studio,” Jimin said, nodding toward the door to the attached workspace. “She’s been trying to finish that commission all week.”

At that moment, you emerged from the studio door with paint on your sleeve and a weary but focused expression.

“You guys can go,” you said, waving them off. “I want to get this done tonight.”

“You sure?” Seokjin asked, frowning. “I can stay—”

“I’m fine, really. The piece is almost done, I just need a few more hours.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You just want to be alone with your tortured genius.”

You snorted. “Exactly.”

Seokjin opened his mouth to argue again but you raised a hand. “I’ll lock up. Promise.”

“Okay, but if a raccoon breaks in again, don’t call me,” Seokjin muttered as he grabbed his coat.

“Noted.”

Jimin gave you a kiss on the cheek before heading out. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

You nodded. “Goodnight, both of you.”

The café door clicked shut behind them, leaving you with the hum of quiet jazz and the smell of old coffee grounds. You turned back into the studio, prepared to pull an all-nighter.

You were cleaning brushes when you heard the door chime. Without looking up, you called out, "We're closed today, sorry—"

"I know."

The brush slipped from your fingers, clattering into the sink. You turned slowly and there he was.

Jeongguk stood in the doorway of your studio, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense.

"Hi," he said quietly.

"Hi." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between you. Jeongguk's gaze wandered around the studio—taking in your paintings, the organized chaos of your workspace, the coffee-stained easel in the corner.

"It’s a really nice cafe… it has an art studio just like how you wanted it," he said, for lack of anything else.

"Thank you." You wiped your hands on a towel, grateful for something to do with them.

"I wanted to thank you," Jeongguk continued. "For coming to the hospital. You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." The words came out sharper than intended. You softened your tone. "I mean... when someone calls and says you're in the hospital, of course I'd come."

His jaw tightened slightly. "Right. The emergency contact thing."

"Why didn't you change it?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Jeongguk looked down at his hands. "I don't know."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

You set the towel down slowly, trying to still your hands. The air between you had grown heavier, charged with too many years of silence and everything neither of you had the strength to say before now.

"Why are you really here, Jeongguk?" you asked, your voice low but steady. "Because if it's just to thank me—"

"It's not," he interrupted, voice frayed at the edges. He ran a hand through his hair—a gesture so familiar it knocked the breath from your lungs. "I don't know, okay? I’ve been back in Seoul for three weeks and I can’t stop thinking about you. About us."

"There is no us, Jeongguk."

"I know." His voice cracked. "Trust me, I know that better than anyone."

You leaned back against your workbench, exhaustion creeping in like a tide. “Then what do you want from me?”

“I want to explain—”

"Seven years too late for that, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. Probably. But I have to try.” He stepped forward instinctively, then caught himself, freezing mid-step like he didn’t trust himself to be closer. “The way I left… the way I ended things… it was wrong.”

“Wrong?” You let out a short, breathless laugh— one with no humor in it. “Jeongguk, you served me divorce papers through a stranger. A fucking stranger from some law office. I found out my marriage was over from a man who mispronounced my name.”

Jeongguk flinched, visibly. Shame seeped into the curve of his shoulders, the downturn of his mouth. “I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice wavered now, frustration bubbling up with the grief. “Do you know what that did to me? I sat in a room for eight hours—eight, Jeongguk—just staring at those papers, waiting for someone to tell me it was a mistake. That maybe they got the wrong person. That my husband wouldn’t do something so… something so….”

“____…”

“Do you know I reread the papers so many times I memorized the clause about 'irreconcilable differences'? Do you know I hated that phrase because it sounded so... neat, like we were just a bad spreadsheet?”

His face crumpled. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so—”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” you snapped, voice breaking. The tears came before you could stop them, burning hot trails down your cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t give me back the part of myself I lost when you decided I wasn’t even worth a conversation.”

There was a beat of silence so loud it pressed against your ribs.

“You think this was easy for me?” His voice rose slightly, hoarse and unsteady. “You think I wanted to hurt you like that?”

“I don’t know what you wanted. That’s the problem. You never gave me the chance to understand anything. You just... vanished, Jeongguk. I know we didn’t really resolve anything after our last argument. I knew we had our problems but…” Your tears continue to betray you. You bite your lip to keep yourself from sobbing even further.

“I didn’t think you’d leave me, Jeongguk…” you whisper helplessly.

Jeongguk took a deep breath then exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to keep standing there. He wanted to come closer, maybe wrap you in his arms but he didn’t. He stood where he was. “I was scared.”

The words landed like a stone in water.

“Of what?” you asked, quieter now.

“Of everything,” he whispered. “Of not being enough for you. Of waking up next to you and realizing you were slipping away and I couldn’t stop it. Of becoming a burden. Of watching you look at me and wonder why you ever said yes.”

You stared at him, stunned. “So you left instead.”

“So I left instead,” he echoed, bitterly.

Your tears had stopped but your chest felt hollow.

“You didn’t even let me choose,” you said. “You didn’t give us a chance to fight.”

He looked at you then, something desperate flickering in his eyes. “Would you have? Chosen me?”

The silence that followed wasn’t cold—it was aching.

You wanted to say yes. To scream it. But the truth was heavier than that. The truth lived in long nights and unanswered texts and waking up alone.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, and it hurt you to say it. “But I would’ve tried.”

Jeongguk nodded slowly like he had already guessed your answer but hoped hearing it might change something. It didn’t.

“I think about that night a lot,” he said, his voice lower now. “Our last fight. I replay it all the time, trying to figure out where the breaking point was.”

“What was it even about?” you murmured. “I’ve tried to remember but all I can see is you walking out.”

He hesitated. “Money. My parents. My crazy ambitions. But it wasn’t really about that, was it?”

“No,” you whispered. “It was about the silence. About how we were living side by side but stopped reaching for each other.”

“Yeah.”

You stood in that shared quiet for a long beat, surrounded by the smell of paint and memory.

"I loved you Jeongguk," you said, your voice barely audible. "Even at the end, even when everything was falling apart, I loved you."

“I know.” His voice broke entirely now. “And I loved you. That’s why I thought letting go was the least selfish thing I could do.”

Another silence stretched, not as sharp this time. Just tired. Real.

Jeongguk rubbed at his jaw, the movement weary. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… needed you to know. I’ve carried this for so long and it’s eaten me alive… ____ I’m really sorry. I know there’s no apology that can ever make up for everything I’ve done to you but… I’m just really sorry.”

You look up at Jeongguk with your tear-stained eyes and it breaks Jeongguk more than he can ever describe in words.

“____ I am so sorry for leaving you the way I did…”

You nodded, barely. “I— I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied gently. “You’ve said more than I deserve.”

The studio had grown darker without either of you noticing.

Only the soft light from the café filtered in through the open door, casting long shadows across your half-finished painting and the uneven flecks of dried pigment on the floor. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed. A door slammed. But here, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you—and the distance between what was and what could never be again.

Jeongguk looked down at the floor then back up at you, his mouth pressed in a tight line, like he was still deciding whether to say one last thing. Maybe something small. Maybe something huge.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped back, slowly, like approaching a cliff’s edge he’d finally accepted he couldn’t jump from. His gaze lingered on your face a moment longer—memorizing you, or maybe just letting go. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it again. Whatever words he might’ve said had dissolved before they ever formed.

“I should go,” he said finally, and his voice was hoarse in that way people get when they’ve cried recently or haven’t slept in days.

You nodded. It was all you could manage.

He turned to leave, his footsteps almost soundless on the studio floor. When he reached the door, he hesitated—just long enough to make you wonder if he’d look back.

He did.

A brief glance over his shoulder. Nothing dramatic. No tears. Just that same familiar sadness in his eyes, now quieter. A little more surrendered.

“Goodnight, ____,” he said softly.

And then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft click. You stood there for a long while, staring at the space he’d just vacated, your hands still smeared faintly with color and time. The silence returned—but it was different now. Not peaceful, not exactly painful either.

Just... honest.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #bts au #bts au fanfic #bts au fic #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #woosung x reader #woosung #jungkook fic

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lowkeyerror · 1 year ago

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The Family Business Ch.3

WandNat x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Chapter Notes: Mentions of death, violence, underaged drinking, slight mentions of SA, lisichka=little fox

Summary: Natasha has heard stories of you from Wanda. It has her doubting your current day skill level. With Dragos and Wanda in a meeting, you get the chance to tell her a bit about the person you've become.

An: Finally something between Y/n and Natasha (I say finally as if this isn't chapter 3 lol) Anyway enjoy this chapter and see you back next week.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You could feel Natasha’s eyes on you as you worked. It was tedious work, but you typed away with a smile on your face regardless. You thought that maybe she’d pick up her phone or something, but she seemed to just watch you.

“You want to ask me something or you just going to keep staring?” You kept your eyes on the computer screen as you addressed her.

“You’re different than Wanda said you’d be,” was all that she said.

You finally looked at the red head, “Well like I said, it’s been a while since she has seen me. A lot has changed in the years she’s been gone.”

“Like what?”

You paused your work to give Natasha your full attention. You sat back fully in your chair pondering back to the last time you saw Wanda. “Well, she left before I graduated. Back then I thought I was going to take my degrees, find an honest job, and live a normal life. I was fragile, even after the self-defense training. I hadn’t held a gun, I hadn’t hacked into anything, I was just a little girl.”

“And now?”

You gesture around you, “Now, I have this nice office. I crunch numbers for the most high-profile company in town, that just happens to be a front for a criminal organization. I have 2 degrees, I can defend my family and myself, I’ve shot a gun more times than I can count, and I could hack into anything that you could imagine.”

“You’ve got a ledger?” The line about the gun seemed to stick out to Natasha.

You shrug your shoulders, “I’ve carried my weight.”

“How many?”

The question startles you a bit. It was so candid as if she was asking about the weather. You could see them, the people you had killed. It wasn’t a large number, not even in the double digits, but still.

“7.” You don't know what compelled you to keep speaking,” I remember all of them. What is it they say about the first one? You will never forget it. I was 20, it was before I joined the organization. Pietro had dragged me to some party.”

“I take it you weren’t a party animal back then?”

You chuckle and shake your head, “Not even a little so I did what everyone does to get comfortable at a party. I took a few shots, it was stupid. As a light weight and someone not of legal drinking age, I should've been more careful. The shots had loosened me up, so I was enjoying the party for awhile. I lost Pietro at some point, but I was too drunk to notice.”

You see Natasha frown a bit, but you continue, “The host of party finds me on the dance floor. We dance for a while; we don't say much, just hi. Someone spilled a drink on me while we were dancing. He offered to get me a new shirt. Like the innocent little idiot I was, I followed him up to his room.”

You paused, almost feeling like you were back in that moment. You could feel everything again, your skin was hot and sweaty, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, you could feel him on you.

Natasha could sense she lost you to the memory. She got up from the couch in your office to make her way towards you. She took a seat on the edge of your desk and pulled your hands into hers. “What happened in his room?”

“He tried to take advantage of me. He tore my shirt off just so his gross hands could grope my skin. He pulled me against him fiddled with his belt before trying mine. His breath was hot on my neck as he peppered kisses on my collarbone. When his hand slipped into my pants, is when it really clicked in my head. I had told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. You know the kind of guys that say, ‘you want this’ or ‘you teased me all night’ or ‘You’re the one half naked in my room’. He was one of those, no wasn’t going to cut it.”

Natasha squeezes your hand as you recount the harsh memory. It looks like you could cry right there in the office. Then all of a sudden, the tears pooling in your eyes are gone. A blank expression takes over your face.

“For a minute, I pretend I’m into what this creep is doing to me. Only enough for him to loosen his grip on me. At this point my back was against his front. I reach behind his head, like my arms trying to loop to bring him closer. Except one of my hand rests on top of his head and the other one is on the opposite side of his jaw. I snapped his neck. His body hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.”

“Y/n- “

“I threw up when I saw him. After I was done, I called Pietro, he found me upstairs with the body. He felt so guilty for leaving me, but I could tell he was surprised too. So surprised that fragile little Y/n had snapped someone’s neck.”

Natasha’s eyes bored into yours, “That asshole deserved that. He deserved worse.”

“He didn’t rest even in death. Dragos made sure of it. He made that family’s life a living hell. It was a message to the entire city that I was under their protection. If anyone so much as laid a finger on me there would be dire consequences.”

A silence filled the room. Natasha didn't remove her hand from yours and you didn't ask her too. You glanced back at your computer, knowing you had to finish your work.

“Wanda never said you were fragile, just delicate,” Natasha’s fingers drew patterns on your hand.

You shake your head, “Wanda has always had a way with turning something negative into a positive. I never saw the difference between the two words, but she’d always say- “

“Fragile things break quickly into millions of pieces under the slightest pressure,” Natasha starts as if she had been there when Wanda said it to you.

“If you were fragile, you wouldn’t be here with us. You’re delicate, beautiful, intricate, and deserve to be handled with care,” you finish with a fond smile on your lips.

“For what it’s worth, I think she was right,” Natasha returns to her space on the couch to allow you to keep working.

She finally pulls out her phone seeming to have relaxed a bit because of your vulnerability. You want to refocus on work, but there are some questions that are nagging you about the woman in your office.

“How did you two meets? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Natasha ponders a minute for a suitable answer, and you take note of it, “The short version is that we met at work.”

You raise an eyebrow, “And what did you do for work?”

“Guess.”

You let your eyes look over the woman. You took in her relaxed posture, the muscles hiding under her shirt, the way she allowed you to be vulnerable with her, the mischievous glint in her eye. She was a multifaceted woman, you could tell.

“Spy, a Russian spy to be exact.”

Natasha seems slightly surprised, “How’d you guess Russian?”

“Romanoff sounds suspiciously close to Romanov, common last name in old Russia.”

“You’re a smart lisichka aren’t you?”

A blush takes over your features, “Little fox is new, but you’re stalling, Natasha.”

She crosses her arms across her chest, “Well I was formerly spy, turned into assassin for hire. I was anonymously hired to kill Wanda.”

“Too charming to kill?”

Natasha sighs, “I tried, but she was just too good. We started this rivalry, playful banter, suggestive tones, I spent a lot of time trapped under her thighs. It got to the point where I didn’t want to kill her, I had terminated the contract, but I just kept coming around to see her. She told me that my skills were being wasted on petty assassinations, when I could be working for her. I said the only way I’d consider was if she went out with me. The rest is history.”

“Leave it to Wanda to seduce an assassin.”

Natasha laughs, “Hey, she only seduced me because I let her.”

“Whatever you say super spy. I’ve got to finish this work before we have to leave for dinner.”

“Flora might have your head if you show up late,” Natasha comments.

You press the small button on your desk, “Thanks for reminding me. Kate, do you think you could get me some hydrangeas for Mrs.Maximoff.”

“Of course, Y/nn, anything for you,” she responds cheerfully.

You roll your eyes, “Thanks Katie.”

With that you're back to working. Though Natasha pulls out her phone, you still feel her eyes on you at time. It sends shivers up your spine, yet you don't want her to stop looking.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername

#lowkeyerror #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wandanat x reader #wandanat #pietro maximoff

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a99jazzybean · 5 months ago

Text

Why do we Keep Playing These Games?

Chapter 3: Beg

Masterlist/ Prev. Ch/ Next Ch

synop: College TA au

Jayce Talis... He's your unrequited sworn enemy. You are the object of his obsessive affections. After discovering your disdain toward him, He decides to win your heart... Through playing games. Winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want. You'll take him up on the bet, but what will happen if he wins?

words: 5K

includes: jaycexfem!reader, sexual implications, sexual tension, enemies to lovers, humiliation, betting

The first day of school had arrived. Humidity clung to your skin as you made your way across campus. It was going to be a boiler today, and not just because of the weather. While you were anxious about starting the first year of your masters, the thing at the top of your mind that you were really concerned about was your deal with Jayce. After your first office hours that night, you were going to have your first game. If he won… no, you couldn’t imagine that. You weren’t much for superstition, but just in case, you didn’t want to somehow manifest a win for the man.

Briskly walking, you clenched your palms. Attempting to squeeze out the anxiety coursing through you. Once you made it to the physics building, you paused. Taking a deep breath as you were about to open the door. Before you could push it open, a large hand reached over your head and pushed it open for you. Craning your head you felt a rush of heat as your eyes met honeyed hazel ones. They were practically sparkling with excitement. A wide smile plastered on his face.

“Morning!” He said, way too cheerily.

“Morning.” You mumbled back, charging forward.

Attempting to outpace him was a futile effort. He casually strode along with you, that damned smile never leaving his face. Behind you, you heard the familiar sound of a cane clacking on the tile. You slowed, allowing Viktor to catch up to you. In hopes that it would prevent the object of your disdain, from speaking with you.

“Please, don’t wait on me. I’m going to the same place you are.” Viktor said.

Viktor was technically not working this class period, but Heimerdinger wanted all three of you to attend all of the classes during syllabus week since you were “resources” for all of the students, regardless of what section you helped instruct.

Thankfully, none of you had classes that overlapped with Heimerdingers today, so it worked in your favor to be introduced to all of the students. Sadly, that meant you would be spending the majority of your day with Jayce.

You were all aiding in six courses that Heimerdinger taught. Three were introduction to physics, the others were secondary level courses. Two you would work with Jayce and the other two you would work with Viktor. The three of you had various office hours during the week that any student could attend for assistance. You disliked the fact that many of your hours overlapped with Jayce’s, but it couldn’t be helped. The first of your shared office hours were that night. While the likelihood of students coming in was slim, you were required to work 20 hours a week. So you were stuck with him for three hours that evening.

The three of you arrived at the giant lecture hall in the physics building. Professor Heimerdinger was already inside preparing his syllabus day presentation. Jayce, ever the gentleman, opened the door for you and Viktor. You mumbled a thanks and rolled your eyes. Viktor pat the man on the shoulder as his face fell from your response. No matter, he had plenty of time to win you over. Plus, you had your first game that night.

Jayce could barely sleep the previous night. It wasn’t because of his excitement for the school year. No, it was because of the anticipation for the game you were going to play. Based on your clear determination, he had no doubt you were going to continue to play with him. No matter what the bet would be, or if you lost. You were too driven to win. Something he adored about you, but you didn’t seem to notice. He would make you realize it though. His intentions were clear with you, and he wasn’t planning on hiding them.

“Ah, my star pupils!” Heimerdinger turned to you as you entered the room.

He shuffled over to you, offering his hand to each of you. His cheery cheeks red, a soft smile hidden under his large moustache.

“Well, how are you feeling? Any first day jitters?” He asked.

“I’m excited, professor.” You said, giving him a polite smile.

“As am I.” Viktor chimed in.

“Yeah, really excited!” Jayce looked at you when you spoke.

You ignored his gaze, and the red rising to your cheeks.

“Well, I’m very excited to have you three working together! Especially since you are all such good friends! It’s always important that colleagues get along, and you’ve already checked that box off!”

You were taken aback at that statement. Giving Viktor a questioning look, who returned with a confused shrug. Then your gaze turned to Jayce, your eyes narrowing in accusation.

“Right.” You said lowly.

Heimerdinger was seemingly oblivious to the tension that had suddenly appeared in the room and continued to ramble. Jayce avoided your searing gaze, feeling sweat prickle at his forehead.

“Well, now that we’re all here I’ll prepare you before the students get here.” The short man walked over to a large stack of papers. He split them into thirds and handed each of you a stack.

“That’s the syllabus. You’ll pass these out as I’m completing attendance. Then I’ll introduce you to the class!”

A few minutes later students began to arrive in the room. They filled up most of the seats in the lecture hall. As Heimerdinger took roll, you walked up and down the rows handing out the syllabi. Afterwards, joining Viktor and Jayce at the front.

“Now class, I would like to introduce you to my teaching assistants this semester!” Heimerdinger motioned to the three of you. “Would you like to introduce yourselves and your studies?”

Jayce stepped forward, beaming at the class.

“I’m Jayce Talis, currently on track to getting my masters in applied physics.” The man turned to you to introduce yourself.

“I’m y/n. Studying for my masters in theoretical physics.”

“And I’m Viktor. Studying applied physics as well.”

Heimerdinger smiled at the three of you.

“Jayce and y/n will be your official TA’s in this course, but Viktor will be available to assist you during his office hours.”

The rest of the period went by slowly. Heimerdinger going on about the requirements for his course and grade percentages. You spent it sitting idly, just waiting for the period to be over. Begging for the time to pass faster as Jayce decided to sit next to you. Giving you puppy dog eyes while you attempted to avoid looking at his gaze. It was his attempt to catch your attention, and it was mostly catching your irritation. He nudged your shoulder, making you whip your head and glare at him. The expression on your face doing nothing to deter the man. Instead, making him smile as you finally looked at him.

“What?” You hissed through your teeth.

He leaned close to you, making you catch a whiff of his cologne. Oh, okay he smelled really good. Wait, no, now is not the time. You raised a brow, waiting for him to speak.

“I just wanted to say you look nice today.” He gave you a sweet smile that tugged at your heart.

You mentally shook off the reaction to his words. Whatever, he was your opponent. You wouldn’t allow yourself to waver from some kind words.

Looking over your outfit you huffed. Sure, you had to look nice. Heimerdinger was very clear of his expectations for you and your compatriots. He expected you to be dressed prim and proper for all of his classes except for Fridays. Designating them as “casual Fridays.”

“Just like at an actual workplace.” He said, giving one of those cheery smiles of his.

You worked up a smile to return to Jayce. Speaking through grinding teeth.

“Thanks.”

He softly chuckled. Leaning back, a smirk on his face.

At the end of the period the new students milled around you and the other TA’s asking questions about the course. From the corner of your eye you spotted the group around Jayce clearly attempting to flirt with the man. Jayce knew what the younger students were doing, he was hoping that you might be a tad jealous at the attention he was receiving. Instead you just rolled your eyes and continued speaking to the student in front of you. It didn’t bother you, this wasn’t your first rodeo being around Jayce. The man was a magnet for attention from everyone, you weren’t surprised that fresh new students were attracted to his charm. Again, the man was objectively attractive. No one could argue that. Plus, you knew he wasn’t one to entertain them.

After seeing you ignore him, Jayce’s cheery smile fell. He watched as you continued to discuss whatever it was with the student before you. His jaw tightening as you didn’t even give him a passing glance. Instead, giving all of your attention to your conversation.

“So Heimerdinger’s a good professor, right?” The man in front of you asked. You believe his name was Sam, if you could recall correctly.

“Uh, yeah. Do you have any questions about the course?” You personally didn’t enjoy small talk.

“Oh um…” The student was taken aback at your bluntness. “Oh I guess…”

You tapped your foot impatiently.

“How easy is the course?” He asked.

“Depends on if you’re willing to put in the work.”

“Can you help with that?” He asked. There was something suggestive behind the question, making you cringe inwardly.

Before you could respond, a strong hand grasped the guy’s shoulder. Jayce had on one of his bright smiles, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course we can! That’s our job after all!” He told the student, a slight hint of malice behind the otherwise cheery tone.

“Right.” You said, giving him a questioning look.

The student looked over his shoulder. Slightly sweaty as he caught the irritation in Jayce’s eyes.

“O-okay. Good to know.” He shook the large hand off of his shoulder. “Well I look forward to working with you guys.” He squeaked before making a quick getaway.

Jayce puffed out his chest, glad the student was out of the way. Specifically away from receiving your attention. He smiled at you, making your gut twist.

“What was that about?” You huffed in irritation.

“Just helping you out with answering student’s questions.” He stated cheerily.

“Yeah, more like subtly threatening them.” You muttered.

Jayce leaned closer to you. His proximity making you shiver.

“Well, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be having that conversation any longer. Thought I could assist.”

“Right, cause you weren’t concerned that another man was speaking with me at all.” You raised your brow at him, making the man look down in embarrassment. “Am I wrong?”

“N-no…” His cheeks burned as you’ve caught him. “I just didn’t appreciate it.”

Groaning, you turned away from him. You didn’t realize how easily jealous the man could be. Just to make it worse though, you decided to push him.

“It’s not like I cared when you had that gaggle of students checking you out and batting their eyelashes for your attention.”

Jayce’s jaw tightened. He knew you were just trying to get to him, but it was working.

“Well you don’t seem to care about me all that much anyways.” He said, hurt laced in his voice.

Viktor stood nearby, overhearing your spat. He cringed at Jayce’s last response.

You froze up, then turned back to Jayce. Expression softening. It was the first day of school, you shouldn’t be working each other up so soon.

That didn’t seem to matter to Jayce though. Instead he was plotting up what he would be wagering during your chess game that night. You weren’t playing nice, fine. That just meant that he wouldn’t be either. Sure, he was ultimately trying to get your heart, but the man felt he needed to teach you a lesson. If you wanted to make him hurt, he’d make you hurt as well.

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” You said.

While Jayce’s own expression softened, his resolve didn’t crumble. He’d make you see. He had to. Something primal inside him needed to prove to you his abilities. While you understood he was extremely intelligent, he needed you to see he had more to offer you. And to make sure that you would accept those offerings. He knew that he could get you to like him, you just needed to see how good he could be.

“It’s fine.” Jayce huffed, then let a small smile find his face.

You could tell he was still affected by your little spat, but hoped he would get over it soon enough. After all, you had extended a truce of sorts. At least you had apologized.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Too soon you found yourself tucked into the cramped office with Jayce. Checking the time on your phone you groaned internally. There was still an hour left before your office hours were over. Which meant you had to play your first game with the man. Jayce was very chipper after seeming off earlier in the day. He was giddy for your game. Ready to absolutely cream you at chess and make you do what he pleased. And boy did he have quite the wager.

You had spent the day trying to figure out what you would make Jayce do when you won your game against him. After passing through many ideas you landed on having the man clean your apartment. Due to the hectic beginning of your masters program, you knew you were not going to have much time to clean it. Not that you were a slob or anything, just that you had more dishes piled in the sink than you wished to deal with. Your compromise, having Jayce do the cleaning for you. The man was a very clean person, you were sure it would be an easy job. And you could lounge on your couch and watch as he became your personal maid for a day. Yeah, that would be quite nice. The thought brought a smile to your face.

“What are you so pleased about?” Jayce’s voice broke you out of your daydream.

“Oh nothing. Just how I’m going to enjoy my win after our match.” You said smugly.

The smirk and glint in your eyes causing butterflies to churn in Jayce’s stomach. He chuckled at your cockiness.

“Right, because you’re definitely going to win.” He said sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah, obviously. You think I’m going to let you beat me? Nice try, Talis.” You scoffed.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He bit his lip after the term of endearment. Red bloomed on your face, that you begged to calm down.

You hadn’t ever spent this much time in close proximity with the man, and to your dismay, you had somewhat enjoyed it. So much for “sworn enemy”. You had to at least try to keep a strand of your dignity. But you were failing quite miserably at it. Especially when it was so easy for him to get a laugh out of you. A laugh that had the man wishing he could rewind time just so he could hear it over and over again. Beautiful, chiming, with the tiniest hint of an adorable snort. God, you were something. Something Jayce desperately needed more of. If this was how your office hours were going to go, he would gladly work overtime with you.

The only thing that seemed to stand in his way were the few students that had already visited with claims of not understanding the syllabus. Jayce wasn’t an idiot, he knew when people were interested in him. The gaggle of young students weren’t subtle about their advances, but the man had boundaries to uphold. Plus, they paled in comparison to you. No one that tried to schmooze with him could ever throw your charming sass and wit his way, and he wouldn’t have it otherwise.

“Well, I am going to beat you. I’ll have you know I was a chess champion.” You said smugly.

“Is that so? When’s the last time you competed?” This was news to Jayce.

You paused, a flush of an embarrassment on your face. Lips pursed into a thin line as you contemplated telling him the truth. Not that you could really lie, Jayce would be able to easily see through that. It wasn’t a secret, you were a terrible liar.

“Sixth grade…” You said quietly.

A booming laugh jolted you out of your seat. Jayce was practically crying as he laughed at your expense. The grimace on your face making him laugh even more.

“Wow, y/n. I’m impressed. 12-year-old chess champion over here.” He smiled at the thought of a younger version of yourself crushing the youthful competition. It was cute.

“At least I’ve won something in it!” You argued.

Jayce smirked. He could tell you that he was highly ranked in the local chess club, or he could enjoy watching you flounder. Chess wasn’t his pick of game for no reason. It was very calculated. He knew you loved a challenge, and he knew he was very good at the game. While he had a feeling he could make a game end quickly, he decided that he was going to enjoy his time with you. Especially if he could toy with you.

“Sure, sure. You talk pretty big game. We’ll have to see how you really do.” He said with a wink.

There was about ten minutes left of your office hours when a student walked in. Another person asking Jayce questions over the syllabus. The man bit his tongue to avoid sighing in annoyance. He hoped this wouldn’t extend past their hours. Your game time was so close, and he didn’t want to wait a minute longer than he needed to.

You watched in amusement as Jayce rushed through answering the girl’s questions. Almost laughing out loud at how he kept scooting his chair further and further away from her as she attempted to move closer. His jaw was tight, grinding his teeth as he continued to help the poor thing. Hazel eyes glanced up to meet yours, melting at the smirk you had on your face. While most would find your smugness irritating, it was oddly endearing to him. Maybe it was because it was directed toward him, but regardless he enjoyed it.

“Well, I think that’s everything. If there’s anything else I suggest visiting Professor Heimerdinger for assistance as he was the one who wrote the syllabus.” Jayce said, trying to end the office hours.

“Okay, thank you so much, Jayce!” The student gave him a dazzling smile.

“Of course. And don’t be afraid to ask the other TAs for help too.” He gave a pointed look at you.

“Right.” The girl glanced at you, as you continued to smirk at them.

“Well, office hours are over now. Have a goodnight, get home safe!” Jayce stood up, motioning for the student to leave.

“Actually…” The girl lightly placed a hand on Jayce’s arm. You held back a snort at the action. “I was wondering if you could walk me back to my dorm.”

“Ah, um…” Jayce was trying to figure out how to let her down softly. “That’s not really something that’s appropriate for me to do. I’m sure y/n could walk you home.” He said, knowing full well she wouldn’t take up the offer.

“Are you sure?” She attempted to give him puppy dog eyes.

“And besides, I have some thesis work that I’m planning on getting done here anyways.” His eyes were pleading with her to just leave already.

“I’m patient, I can wait.” This girl!

“Look, I’m not walking you home.”

“I’ll take you home.” You said, grabbing your backpack.

Jayce narrowed his eyes in warning.

“Oh that’s not necessary.” The girl said.

“Nonsense! I know campus at night can be a bit eerie.” You clamped a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll walk you.”

Jayce spoke your name lowly.

“She said she’s fine walking herself home.” He looked at the girl, all hints of tenderness absent from his face. “Am I correct?”

The girl’s eyes widened at the shift in demeanor.

“Um, yes…” She quickly grabbed her items. “I’ll see you in class.” She squeaked before leaving.

Once the door shut, Jayce sighed and slumped into his chair.

“I thought she’d never leave.” He practically whined.

“That excited to play chess with me?” You poked his shoulder teasingly.

He grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb along the top. The tender action warming your heart, before you abruptly pulled back.

“More like excited to beat you at chess.” That dazzling smile of his had reappeared.

You felt a churning in your gut as the man walked to lock the office door. He grabbed the chessboard from his backpack and set it on the desk. Meticulously setting out the pieces, each clack making you shiver.

It had been a long time since you had last played the game, and you were sure you were rusty. By the glimmer in Jayce’s eyes you had a feeling he knew the game well. Signing away your win with just a look. You gulped, and mustered up a determined look. You were going to try at least. And that’s what mattered, right?

“So who’s gonna be white?” You broke the tense silence building in the room.

Jayce hummed thoughtfully before answering.

“I suppose we can flip a coin for it.” He said. “Or if you really need it, you can play white.”

“I don’t need it, I was just wondering.” You feigned confidence.

“Right. Of course, my mistake. Miss sixth grade champion.” He grinned at you, making you gulp again.

“Don’t doubt my skill.”

“Oh I would never, sweetheart.” There it was again, that pet name. The one that had your heartstrings tugging.

“Whatever, let’s get this started.” You sat down and cracked your knuckles.

So you began, moving out one of the many pawns two spaces forward. Jayce’s grin never leaving his face as the two of you played. He decided to make the game last a bit longer than necessary. Enjoying the way he could make you sweat. The furrow on your brow growing as you bit your lip red in frustration.

“You sure about that move?” He said after you sent a knight forward.

You glared at the man before you. His side practically full, while yours held a measly five pieces. Almost all of your pawns obliterated, a bishop, and two rooks, and a knight on the sidelines. Jayce was pretty much chasing your queen across the board, picking off other pieces one by one as you attempted to protect her and your king.

The tension was making your breath harder. With no idea what Jayce was wagering, you only had your running imagination to think of his future plans with you. It was inevitable, your loss. Even if you tried to buy yourself time, you knew he would win in the end. Perhaps he would be kinder to you if you forfeited. No, there was still a chance. Your king was still out of check, you could do this. Maybe.

“What interesting choices.” Jayce teased.

You attempted to pay him no mind, which ultimately was your foley. The man snatching up your queen with a sneaky bishop.

“Would you look at that?” He exclaimed.

You wanted to cry. Losing your queen at this point was your undoing. Jayce quickly cornered your king, making it impossible for you to get out of check. You groaned, fingers pressing into your temples. Something, there has to be something… But there was no way out.

“Just accept it.” Jayce said smugly, enjoying the scowl on your face. “I’ve won, sweetheart.”

“I will not accept it.” You moved your king to take his queen, making the man chuckle.

Toppling over was your king as a bishop sealed your fate.

“Checkmate.” That damned smile was larger than ever.

He was giddy, so excited for you to keep up your end of the deal. And based on how you had complained that you were broke, he knew you had no other way out.

Shoulders tense, you pushed yourself up from the desk. Of course, of course this happened. And you were so nervous about what was to come. He could ask anything of you, and you would have to do it. There was a part of you that knew you could end this, but the thrill of competing had you nixing that idea completely. No, you would follow through on your end.

You looked at him with a heated glare.

“Aww, don’t look like that. As cute as I think it is when you’re mad at me, you should take the loss with dignity. Don’t you think?” He was gloating, and loving every reaction he got out of you.

“Cut to the chase, Jayce. What were you wagering?” You spat.

“Oh nothing big…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Just that you have to beg for my forgiveness. On your knees. And..” He pulled out his phone. “I get to record it. For my own personal use, of course.”

Your eyes widened at the deal. No fucking way…

“Beg for forgiveness?!” You said incredulously. “Forgiveness for what, exactly?”

“Just for being so mean to me, avoiding me all these years.” He said, that smug smile growing on his face.

You grumbled, turning away from him. Fists clenching as red rose to your face.

The man walked up to you. Fingers lifting your chin to look at him.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’ll be the only one to witness it.”

“Do I have to be on my knees?” Your voice wavered.

“Yes.” There was no negotiating with him on this.

If you wanted the games to continue, you had to follow his demands.

“How do I know when you’ll be satisfied with my apology?” You looked up at him, scowl on your face.

His smile didn’t waver.

“I’ll let you know when I’m satisfied.”

You let out a huff of frustration. God, this was embarrassing. And he was going to have video evidence of you doing it. Since he was only going to keep it to himself, it didn’t go against the rules. You had to follow through.

Jayce sat back down, turning his chair towards you. Continuing to grow giddier as your frustration and embarrassment grew. He spread his legs apart, and held his phone up. Pressing record, he looked back up at you.

“Well, I’m waiting.” He said smugly.

“Give me a moment.” You said quietly.

Just get it over with. You sighed as you began to sink to the floor. The wooden boards hard against your knees. When you looked up you had to hold in a gasp. The man before you, looking so smug appeared almost kingly. The chair he was seated in, the throne of a champion. And now you his prize, kneeled down before him as if you were worshipping him. You didn’t want to admit it, but it sent something straight to your core. Something that would certainly keep you up with want that night.

With a harsh breath, you began.

“I-I’m sorry, Jayce…” God he loved the sound of your voice.

“For what?” He pushed.

“For being mean to you.” You turned from him, a motion he did not appreciate.

A strong hand grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“No, you have to look at the person you’re begging for forgiveness. Try again.”

You ground your teeth, wanting to spit an insult at him.

“Please forgive me, Jayce.”

“That’s better, keep going, sweetheart.” The way he said the pet name, sending a shiver through you.

“Please forgive me for being mean to you.” You looked straight into his eyes. Your words shooting straight to his groin.

He hoped you wouldn’t notice him getting hard at your words. So far you hadn’t, as you focused on his eyes while you spoke.

“Please forgive me for purposely avoiding you.”

“And why would you do that to me?” You did your best not to glare at the man before you.

“Because I consider…considered you my enemy.” That made him raise a brow.

“You no longer consider me your enemy?” He asked, sincerity in his voice.

“More like my rival.” You gave him a cheeky grin, one he couldn’t help but return.

“Mmm…better than enemy, I suppose. Please, continue.” He motioned toward you.

“What else is there to apologize for?”

He chuckled.

“Beg me for my forgiveness for all of your wrongs. For hiding your beauty from me for so long, for running away from my affections, for fighting against me when all I wanted was your attention.” His voice was low, he fully expected you to beg.

Your heart tugged at your chest at his words. Did he really think all of that? Beauty… It wasn’t a word you associated with yourself. Yet, hazel eyes glimmered with sincerity. He was being fully and completely honest with you.

You sighed. Fine, you’d comply. Looking up at him, you continued.

“Please forgive me for my wrongdoings. For hiding my…” You paused, not sure if you wanted to continue. Red painted your cheeks as you thought of his words. “Forgive me for hiding my beauty. Forgive me for running away from your affections.”

“Will you keep trying to run?” He questioned. Still looking mighty upon his seat.

“I thought I was only begging for your forgiveness.” You stated, your teeth worrying over your lip.

“Forgiveness is not just asked for through words.”

“Jayce…I…I can’t promise that.”

“But you can try.” He said, eyes growing dark.

You only nodded, then continued with your final apology.

“I beg you to forgive me for fighting against you. For not giving you my attention.” You looked up at him, eyes pleading for it to be over.

He nodded, stopping the recording on his phone. He stood from the seat, then kneeled down before you. A warm hand twirling a loose strand of you hair as he looked into your eyes.

“Thank you.” He said.

He offered a hand, and you took it. Allowing him to lift you up on your feet. His strength is always surprising to you, despite having those large muscles.

“Now what?” You asked, feeling yourself come down from adrenaline rushing through you.

“Now, you let me walk you home.” He gave you a soft smile. “It gets eerie on campus after dark.”

#jayce arcane #jayce arcane x reader #viktor arcane #mel medarda #college au #modern au #arcane #arcane fanfic #jayce talis #enemies to lovers

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gingerteafairy · 4 months ago

Text

i want to thank @marchsfreakshow for encouraging me to post it. this is insanely long, had to be divided into other chapters, this is the first one. hope you guys like it because i loved to write this fic. sorry for the mistakes here. english is not my first language. special thanks for @ikkyfics!!

THE GREAT GUIDE FOR JAILBIRDS IN LOVE

warren lipka x fem!reader part two

summary: tough times shows up after prision. His only alternative? Working miles away from home. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

tags n warnings: postprison!warren, singlemom!reader, language, age gap (late 20s/early 30s), suggestive, complicated family scenario. word count: 13k

Rule #1: Make a Good Impression

Warren was cornered. Spending time in prison wasn’t as tough as what came after: having to rebuild his life from scratch, with that stupid criminal record hanging around his neck like a weight. There was no place for him anywhere, not even at street corner markets selling stolen cigarettes. He felt useless. He’d been turned down even for a job at a sleazy motel, where not even the criminal underworld seemed to want him anymore. Rent was overdue, and his last meal of the month was expired cereal from a month ago and a warm bottle of beer, which he was still deciding whether or not to drink to numb the pain a little.

He had almost given up on looking for more opportunities. Maybe selling art on the beach, like Spencer, or getting rid of all the junk in his place until he was left with just a bed and a fridge. Because, honestly, even a wood-burning stove could come in handy these days.

What was there to do now? The answer was simple: absolutely nothing. Just shrink. He slouched on the couch, legs stretched out, eyes glued to his phone screen, as if it were his last lifeline. The internet bill was the only thing he had managed to keep up with. Funny. He could be broke and starving, but funny videos were a relief. Reality, no matter how harsh, could wait. He mindlessly scrolled through the feed, as if in some way postponing the inevitable, until a message flashed on the screen, snapping him out of his stupor.

Spencer:

Hey man. My buddy’s market is hiring. Cashier. Male. $1,720. Fuel help. Only requirement is knowing how to count change. No small talk. Just show up today at 3 PM.

It was impossible not to feel an immediate sense of relief, like life had suddenly given him a second chance. This had to be some kind of miracle. But of course, there was a catch. It was already 2 PM, and the market was on the other side of the city. So, what did he do? Like an automatic reflex, he glanced at the dirty mirror on the wall. He needed a shower, at least.

He grabbed his phone again without thinking twice. Before stepping into the bathroom, he sent Spencer a message.

Warren:

Thanks, man. I know this could be my last shot before I fade into invisibility.

Spencer:

I know things are tough. Good luck. I know you’ll nail it.

With that, Warren rushed into the shower, doing the bare minimum to look like someone who hadn’t completely lost himself. He thought about his clothes. His first option was what was left of the most “decent” outfit— the T-shirt and jeans he’d worn the day of the robbery. “Great, perfect impression, Warren Lipka,” he muttered, staring at himself in the mirror. The shirt was wrinkled, and the jeans had a hole in the pocket, but deep down, he didn’t care anymore. Ironing? Maybe another day. If he had to go, he might as well go in style. A style that was wrinkled, but still, style.

He checked the GPS and entered the address. The drive would be long, the kind of trip that makes you see parts of the city you only know by name. It felt like a tour, but of a place you didn’t want to know. The city stretched out, as if it couldn’t quite handle its own misery. Finally, he reached a run-down market and parked in a secluded corner. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

“Last Chance? What a joke,” he muttered to himself, laughing quietly as he stepped out of the car. He locked the door quickly, not wasting time. What kind of neighborhood was this? You never know when a bigger problem might pop up, something worse than a simple job interview.

He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but a strange wave of nervousness hit him. It was just another job, he told himself. Just another one, a way to get things moving, even a little. If he was lucky, maybe he'd even come out with some dignity. If he was unlucky... well, he was used to that.

The one thing he knew for sure was that, somehow, life wouldn’t wait for him to figure things out. He had to try. Even if it was at a place called Last Chance.

He pushed open the door, hearing the little bell ring, announcing his entrance. The place was so quiet that the sound seemed to echo in the emptiness. As Warren had expected, no one was in sight. He let out a low, almost scornful laugh, twirling his car keys in his fingers before slipping them into his pocket. "This place looks like it’s been forgotten," he thought, feeling an odd sense of discomfort, but he knew there was no choice but to press on.

“Is anyone here?” he shouted, hoping no one would answer. That way, he could just turn around and leave this bizarre place behind, a bad judgment call.

The silence lingered for a few seconds, but no answer came. With nothing else to do, he shrugged and began walking through the narrow aisles. Hands in his pockets, Warren scanned the area, his eyes sharp, looking for any sign of a security camera. No security in this place? Typical. He gave a crooked smile, and as he passed a shelf, he grabbed a chocolate bar and slipped it into his pocket with a quick, almost natural motion.

"Why are you stealing?" The sudden, sharp voice of a child cut through the air, making Warren jump back, knocking the candy off the shelf. They fell to the floor with a small clatter, creating an absurd scene. "Shit, that scared the hell out of me."

"Jesus, kid. Where did you..." He muttered, instinctively raising his fist, as if it were an automatic reaction, but quickly lowering it when he saw the child. It was just a little boy, there was no way he could hit someone that young. "I wasn’t stealing, man. I was just saving it to pay later."

"Luke, who are you talking to?" Her voice came in soft but firm. Warren turned, his eyes widening, and there you were: so beautiful, it almost seemed out of place in this dead-end town. You appeared so suddenly he barely had time to process it.

"Talking to this guy who was..." The little boy began to reply, but you interrupted him with a calm smile.

"Warren Lipka." He quickly introduced himself, extending his hand to you. He wanted to make a good impression, or at least seem less pathetic than he felt. "I’m here for the job interview they said was going on."

You paused for a moment, then let out a short laugh, gentler than he expected. "Oh, you’re Warren, I should’ve guessed." You shook his hand politely, with a confidence he couldn’t even pretend to have. Then, with a motherly gesture, you turned back to the boy, who was still staring curiously at Warren.

You bent down and kissed the boy on the top of his head, the gesture so natural, like it was something you did every day. Afterward, you turned and started walking toward a door behind the cashier. "Come on, or are you going to steal another chocolate?" You asked, your voice laced with light teasing. Warren almost wanted to bury himself right then and there, embarrassed for being caught.

"How..." He began to ask, unsure of what exactly to say.

"Hidden camera," you explained, flashing a mischievous smile. You watched as he began scanning the room with his eyes, trying to piece together what had just happened. "I’ll show you later. Now come on."

With one last glance around the place, Warren, still confused and wearing an awkward smile, followed you to the door.

The room revealed was simple, with white walls and a large shelf on one side covered in folders and a few books—most of them children’s books, others Warren couldn’t identify, but from the titles, he could tell they were probably boring. You gestured for him to sit, and then took a seat across the desk. Warren distractedly looked at the small photo on the desk: the little boy outside, smiling beside you in a park filled with trees. Their smiles, so natural, reflected a moment of happiness.

"You two look alike." Warren started the conversation, pointing at the photo with one hand while the other fiddled in his pocket.

"They say he has my eyes. But I think it’s the hair, maybe the shape of the face." You smiled softly, stretching your neck to look at the photo more closely, the movement light and effortless.

"Maybe it’s the eyes. They really do look like yours." Warren said, shaking his head with a somewhat awkward smile. "You’re a really great older sister."

You let out a soft laugh, masking a smile that slipped out for just a moment. "Thanks, but Luke’s my son."

Warren froze, his jaw dropping at the revelation. He widened his eyes, unable to believe it, then quickly disguised his shock, putting his hands to his mouth like he was trying to wipe the look of disbelief off his face. "Now it all makes sense," he murmured, unaware of how visibly stunned he was.

"What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, curious.

"I’ve never seen a sibling so affectionate. I used to fight with mine all the time." Warren laughed, still in disbelief, furrowing his brow casually as if trying to make the moment less awkward.

"Really? I had Luke when I was really young, 18 years old to be exact." You added, your hands folding on the table, your expression now more serious, as if you were sharing a piece of your story.

"Damn. God, I’m sorry. Shit, I feel like such an idiot now." Warren muttered, running a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

"It’s fine. You don’t need to get nervous." You quickly reassured him, your voice calm and soothing. You leaned forward slightly, as if trying to show empathy for him in that moment.

"And I even called you beautiful. Shit, I’m really not cut out for this." Warren placed his hands on his head, leaning on the table with a heavy sigh. He lifted his eyes to you, his gaze now loaded with guilt. "You think your husband would kill me if he knew?"

"Maybe he would, if I had one." You joked, tilting your head lightly in a playful way, trying to ease the tension in the air. Warren noticed a slight sadness in your voice that didn’t go unnoticed, but for some reason, he decided not to bring it up.

You sighed, straightening your posture and sitting up straighter as if shifting the conversation. "Alright. You’re hired."

"What? Already? What about the interview..." He paused, scratching his head, visibly surprised at how quickly the decision had been made.

"You were hired the moment you walked through that door." You laughed softly, stretching in your chair casually. "Not many people make it out here."

"No wonder. A dump like this..." He scoffed, mocking the place, but his eyes widened when he realized what he’d just said. "Oh my god. Again. Shit, I just say the dumbest stuff. Sorry."

"Don’t worry about it. It really is a dump." You laughed, getting up and walking around the table with light steps. Out of nowhere, you surprised him with a quick, almost warm hug that left Warren feeling momentarily disoriented. "Welcome, Warren."

"Thanks. I won’t let you down." He said, offering a weak smile, but mentally cursing himself for noticing how good you smelled as you pulled away. The feeling of being an idiot didn’t leave his chest.

Warren opened the door for you, and you gave him a gentle smile, your eyes sparkling with a kind of genuine warmth. He followed right behind you, closing the door with a soft click, breathing deeply as he watched you walk through the market, seemingly immersed in something only you knew. He wondered if it was something related to the boy’s father or if you were just worried about something missing from the shelves.

"Did you pay for the chocolate?" Little Luke inquired, a confused expression plastered on his face.

"How old are you, kid?" Warren questioned, furrowing his brow, briefly glancing at you before returning his gaze to the boy.

"Seven. But I’m almost eight. In nine months and thirteen days." Luke declared proudly, crossing his arms like an adult.

"Weird kid." Warren thought to himself, silently laughing at the little one with big, curious eyes. Something about him seemed strangely familiar. So he pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. Maybe it was a desire to please you or to apologize to the kid. "Here. It’s for the chocolate."

"It’s $2.35. You’re short $1.35." Luke blinked, extending his hand toward him.

"Oh, kid. Just take the dollar and be quiet, alright? I’m struggling here." Warren hissed at the boy, but instead of crying, the little one just smiled.

"You’re weird. I like you." He chuckled, a funny, purely childlike melody echoing through the small space of the market.

Something warmed in Warren’s chest as he watched that toothless smile. The thought of being a dedicated father flooded his mind, creating false scenarios of an idealized life – a family smiling, him hugging his wife, holding his son in his arms, walking him to school, giving him a dog, teaching him how to shoot. Damn, he’d do anything to be the best dad for Luke, and it wouldn’t even be just because he wanted to win over the beautiful mom from the market. That was the one thing missing from his life, maybe that’s why he was born.

"If you start today, I can give you a tip." Your voice, breaking the idealized moment, brought Warren back to reality. He was an ex-convict, semi-in-love with a single mom, and still trying to figure out if any of this even made sense.

"You don’t have to. I can help." He tried to hide the silly smile that was about to appear, taking the uniform you handed him.

"I insist. The salary’s not great, and you’re practically the only employee here." You remarked, with that radiant smile Warren had already memorized. The sincerity in your tone was palpable.

"No, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be a pleasure working with you." He stated without thinking, quickly clearing his throat with a small gesture. "Working with you. You get it."

"Yes. Thanks. I owe you one." You waved your hand, heading back to the room with Luke happily trailing behind you, both walking away while Warren stood there, eyes fixed, his heart still beating harder than usual.

"Alright… time to work." Warren stretched lazily, raising his arms above his head before shuffling toward the employee bathroom.

The space was small and functional, a far cry from the public restroom, which for some reason, was absurdly large and had a strange smell that didn’t leave, even with air freshener. He grabbed the uniform you had given him—a yellow shirt with the store’s name printed on the front. Since there were no pants in the package, he decided his own would do the trick.

When he came out of the bathroom, he closed the door with a quiet click and, with a swift motion, tied his hair in a tiny ponytail. He walked to the register, where you were already standing with a notebook in hand. The moment you heard his footsteps, you looked up.

"Looks good on you." Your tone was kind as you pointed to the shirt identical to yours. He hadn’t even noticed when you had changed—maybe it was when you went into the back room.

"Now we match, look." The voice emerged from behind him. Luke appeared beside him, wearing the same uniform, which, even in the smallest size, was still too big for his tiny frame.

"Yeah, kid. Now we’re coworkers. A real man." Warren smiled and lowered his hand for a high five with the boy, who tried to slap it with all his might.

"Wow. You’re strong. You gonna tell me you’ve been training secretly?"

"I train. I watch fight videos on YouTube." Luke replied proudly, striking a boxing guard pose.

"Luke, we’ve talked about this." Your voice came with a warning tone as you approached.

"Ah, mom. I don’t watch blood. Only sometimes." He pouted indignantly, and you tilted your head before pinching his nose with two fingers.

"Ow, mom!"

"Didn’t see that coming, huh?" Warren chuckled without thinking, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment longer than necessary. In the brief silence that followed, something in his expression made his heart skip a beat. Warren Lipka didn’t seem like the dangerous criminal from the TV—just a guy with a big heart and an intensity that even he didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah... we have a routine.” You cleared your throat, shaking off the unnecessarily sweet thoughts and handing the sheet over to him. “Monday is deep cleaning day, Saturday we count the stock. I’m here at 8 AM every day, except Thursday, when I pick up Luke from his grandparents’ house and drop him off at school. I get here at 10 AM that day. The rest is pretty easy, not much movement. Here, take this to memorize.”

“Got it.” Warren took the notebook, noticing how detailed your notes were.

“Today is Wednesday. You’ll be in the deli section.”

“Just checking expiration dates?”

“Yep. Luke usually helps me, but today he has homework.”

“Can I stay with Warren first?” Luke inquired, his eyes shining with expectation.

You gave an indulgent smile before raising an eyebrow. “Promise you won’t fight with your classmates at school tomorrow?”

“I promise.” He nodded firmly and raised his pinky. “But only tomorrow.”

Warren let out a low chuckle, and you gave him a playful disapproving look.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He laughed even harder, covering his mouth with his hand. “Let’s go, Luke. Let’s see if this meat is still good. Did you know that a lot of good meat gets thrown away here in the US? I used to collect it.”

“Seriously?” Luke’s eyes widened as he walked alongside him to the refrigerators.

“Yeah. I’d go to markets like this one and take the ones that were still good.” Warren opened the fridge and started checking the labels. Then he paused, blinking as if realizing too late what he’d just said. “…But don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.” He tried to hold back his laughter but failed miserably. “Hey, what do you think of this one?” He picked up a steak package and held it up for Luke to see.

“I think it’s still good to freeze. It’s got 10 days left.”

“A deal, then. 50% off this stuff that’s about to expire.” Warren shrugged, smiling and tossing the package back into the freezer.

…

Warren paced restlessly back and forth in their usual café, his hands moving nervously, his nails gnawed down to the quick, until a small piece of nail polish chipped off. He could feel a tightness in his chest, as if he were about to burst. His body swayed back and forth, his gaze locked on the clock on the wall, the anxiety consuming him. The weight of the conversation he was about to have was crushing his mind. When he finally saw Spencer walk through the door, the relief was instant, but it didn’t ease his nerves. His snack, the one he’d ordered earlier, lay forgotten on the table, untouched. He didn’t even notice it was still there.

Spencer greeted a few people in the café with a disinterested wave before walking over to the table. He sat down, casually tossing his backpack into the chair beside him, and extended his hand to shake Warren's.

“I want to be a stepdad.” Warren blurted out, not wasting a moment, before Spencer had a chance to say anything. The words came out fast, clinging to his chest like gum, almost as if the pressure had reached a point where it could no longer be ignored.

"Hey, how’s it going, Spencer? How’s work? Good. Thanks." Spencer mocked, rolling his eyes at Warren’s approach. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "We haven’t talked in two weeks, and that’s the first thing out of your mouth?"

Warren didn’t care about the teasing. His mind was already fixated on what he had to say. "It’s been two weeks since I met my son." He slammed his hand on the table with conviction, the slap of his palm echoing in the otherwise quiet café. The tension in his body was palpable now, his shoulders tight. He quickly ran a hand through his disheveled hair and pulled a nicotine lozenge from his pocket, placing it in his mouth almost mechanically.

"Since when are you quitting smoking?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow, an almost amused smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to grab one of the lozenges and popped it into his own mouth.

"Since I realized innocent people suffer from the crap smokers exhale," Warren replied in a serious tone, biting down harder on the snack, the crunch almost matching the stress he was feeling. "I saw it in the paper."

Spencer frowned, skeptical, but chose not to comment. Instead, he flagged down the waitress to put in an order. The conversation was starting to take a curious turn, and he didn’t want to miss his chance to figure out what was really going on with his friend. The café bell rang, and suddenly, Eric appeared at the door, casually waving to the crowd before heading straight to the table.

"Hey, guys." Eric greeted, throwing himself into a chair and locking eyes with Warren.

"Warren wants to be a stepdad." Spencer said, his tone bored, hiding a smirk of irony, and Warren smiled broadly, relieved to finally say it out loud. It was a mix of nervousness and excitement he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Dude, that’s a bad idea." Eric shook his head, disapproval written all over his face. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing to explain himself seriously. "Those things never work out. Once you get attached to the mom, she’s never gonna let you go. You’ll regret it."

"That’s sexist, Eric." Warren hissed, grabbing Spencer’s coffee cup and taking a sip without caring that it was someone else’s drink. He knew he was breaking the unspoken rules of the café, but he needed something—anything—to relieve the pressure building inside. "And what’s wrong with her getting attached? I like her."

"When’s her birthday?" Eric shot back, his voice relentless, eyes narrowing as if he were conducting an interrogation.

"I don’t know." Warren replied quickly, but a hint of doubt crept in.

"And the kid’s?" Eric pressed, staring at Warren, waiting for a response.

"Wait, I remember, he told me..." Warren trailed off, trying to recall the details.

"What’s her favorite color, and why is it blue?" Eric fired again, a mocking edge in his tone.

"That’s not the point!" Warren snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation, his frustration growing. "I don’t know, man. It’s the way she looks at me. Her and that weird kid. The little pest knows everything, he rattles off stuff I don’t even know. He answered 37 + 53 like it was nothing."

"90." Eric responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"That doesn't count, you're a robot." Warren muttered, shaking the snack bag with frustration as he glared at Spencer. He noticed the bag was almost empty. "No, seriously. The kid’s really smart. I know he’s not mine and everything. But I’d make an effort. He has the same nose as me."

"Alright, you're stretching it a bit now." Spencer warned, his voice taking on a serious tone as he finished his coffee with a sigh, setting the empty cup on the table. "What about the job?"

"Tiring. I lift boxes, stack them, store everything. I do almost everything. She helps with cleaning and sometimes takes the register when I'm organizing the fridges. The kid helps her with the change. Everyone who passes by loves him."

"Hmmm. Sounds good." Eric shrugged as the waitress approached with a new order, and he gave a distracted thumbs-up.

"What made you change your mind?" Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked at Warren with more intensity, his eyebrows raised in genuine interest.

"She’s a hard worker. Women like that are strong. She’s probably fought hard to get this far." Eric spoke with an almost knowing conviction, his tone calm but determined. "Just don’t screw it up, Warren."

"Now it’s my fault?" Warren defended himself, shaking his head in frustration as he stood up from the table, stepping back slightly while slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Where are you going?" Spencer looked up, concern now evident on his face.

"Home. I need to get some sleep for work tomorrow. See you guys." Warren replied quickly, his movements hurried, shoulders tight as he turned to leave. The tension still hung in the air, but he needed a moment alone to process everything.

Rule #2: (Try) Not to Stick Your Nose in Other People’s Business.

Warren woke up earlier than usual that morning. He felt surprisingly energized, a rare occurrence, so he made sure to take a proper shower before heading out for work. He knew that today was one of those days you tended to be late, so he planned to take care of everything until you arrived.

As he parked the car in front of the shop, his eyes immediately found you sitting on the doorstep, shoulders slumped, hands pressing against your head. Something was off. His chest tightened at the sight. You looked... desperate.

His brows furrowed slightly, and Warren stepped out of the car, walking toward you with measured steps, trying not to invade your space too abruptly.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice was low, cautious, as if afraid of startling you.

You quickly lifted your face, eyes misty, and your chest rose and fell unevenly, betraying the anxiety trapped in your breathing.

"It’s Luke..." Your voice cracked, and you stood up, your hands nervously twisting in front of your chest. "My car broke down, I can't pick him up from his grandparents’ house, and it's almost time for school. He’s going to miss class, and his teacher already said he’s struggling. My brother isn’t answering, no taxis are coming, and..."

With every word, the weight in your chest grew heavier. You didn’t even notice your hands trembling until Warren gently interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

"Hey, hey." His voice was firm but kind, and without thinking much, he pulled you into an embrace.

The warmth of his body surrounded you, and the sudden gesture made your walls crumble for just a second. The woody scent of his cologne mixed with the softness of his jacket fabric made you realize how tense you were. Your heart, which had been pounding against your ribs, began to slow down.

"Sorry. I thought you needed this," he murmured close to your ear.

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and pulled back slightly, but without fully breaking the closeness.

"I did. Thank you." Your voice was steadier now, though there was still a lingering edge of panic. You quickly wiped your face with your hands, trying to erase the traces of tears. "Sorry for unloading all this on you, I’m just... desperate."

Warren tilted his head slightly, watching you closely, as if he were analyzing every layer of your nervousness before speaking.

"Where’s his grandparents’ house?" His voice was resolute, like he had already made up his mind.

You blinked a few times, confused by the sudden question.

"What?"

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, taking a deep breath before repeating himself.

"Where’s Luke’s address? I’ll go pick him up."

You froze for a moment, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. Your instincts told you to refuse — he was just your employee, he didn’t need to get involved. But the desperation pressing down on you was heavier than the pride that wanted to hold you back.

"You’d do that?"

The smile that appeared on Warren’s lips was small, but genuine, his dimples barely visible as he grinned. His eyes lingered on them for a moment before you realized you were smiling too, even if shyly.

"Why wouldn’t I?" He raised an eyebrow, as though genuinely finding your hesitation puzzling.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your chest warmed in a strange way.

"Come on. Let’s go." He gestured toward the car.

"And the shop?"

"Ah, no one comes here at this time anyway." He chuckled, as if the place was his to command. And for a moment, you found yourself wishing it was.

Warren walked around the car and opened the passenger door, waiting patiently for you to get in before closing it carefully with a swift motion. He settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The silence stretched for a few seconds. You were still tense, biting your lower lip, trying to hold onto the last threads of control. Warren noticed and, without saying a word, turned on the radio. A loud rock song blasted through the speakers.

"Shit." He muttered, quickly lowering the volume and switching stations.

The sensual melody of Careless Whisper filled the car.

"Goddamn radio." He grumbled again, spinning the dial hastily. This time, soft instrumental music filled the air. "Better," he said, leaning back into his seat and relaxing.

You chuckled quietly. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For this." You gestured vaguely at the radio and at him. Warren cast a quick glance in your direction before returning his focus to the road.

"Do you like the job?" You asked, trying to ease the weight of the moment, your fingers nervously tapping on the edge of the seat.

"Yeah, actually, I’m pretty attached to it. I think it was my last chance to be a decent citizen." He said with a playful smile, his eyes momentarily glancing at you before turning back to the road.

You tilted your head slightly, studying his profile for a beat, the soft tension in the air palpable.

"Do you like it just for that?" Your question came out more curious than you’d intended, a little more pointed than you planned.

Warren gripped the steering wheel with one hand, using the other to run through his hair, the hint of a mysterious smile curling at the corners of his lips.

"There are other reasons too."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned your gaze to the window, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. You weren't sure why, but the way he said it unsettled you, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"What about you? Do you like your job?"

You let out a soft, nasal laugh, tilting your head back slightly. "Being the manager of a run-down market wasn’t exactly my childhood dream."

Warren chuckled through his nose, shaking his head in amusement. "How’d you end up there?"

Your smile faltered slightly, and you took a deep breath before answering.

"Well... I got pregnant with Luke."

The atmosphere in the car shifted subtly. Warren fell silent for a moment, as if processing the weight of your words, his hands firm on the wheel, eyes focused ahead.

"Do you regret it?" He asked quietly, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

"In the beginning, it was hard. I didn’t have much support, just graduated high school. College seemed impossible." You glanced down at your hands resting on your lap, fingers twisting nervously. Warren nodded slowly, never looking away from the road. "But then he was born, and... everything changed. It was like my whole life suddenly had a new meaning."

Warren smiled, his thoughts clearly drifting to Luke. And as he did, he realized something interesting: his smile was almost identical to the boy's. That same genuine sparkle in his eyes, a light untouched by time, despite all the struggles life had thrown their way. Without thinking, Warren’s own smile softened, mirroring the one he had just seen.

"Can I ask you about his dad, or would that be too intrusive?" Warren’s voice was gentle now, eyes fixed on you, the concern clear in his gaze.

"No... no, it’s not intrusive." You shook your head, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. "Luke's dad is complicated. He was a great father in the first few months, but then he started saying that Luke was getting in the way of his career."

"What a jerk." Warren spat without thinking, his jaw tightening in indignation. He frowned, immediately realizing his own boldness. "Sorry."

"No... jerk is too mild a word." You shot back, your tone still sharp, but softened by the vulnerability that lingered beneath it. Warren relaxed his shoulders, relieved that he hadn’t crossed a line. "When he said that, I couldn’t take it anymore and ended it. Since then, it’s just been me and Luke. I ended up raising him alone with the help of my parents. Luke doesn’t even know who he is. I prefer it that way. If he asks about him in the future, I’ll tell him, but not now. I’m still angry about it, though."

Warren nodded slowly, processing your words, his expression softening with understanding. For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the distant rumble of tires on the road.

Finally, Warren let out a small, knowing smile, his gaze gentle.

"I may not know much about you guys, but Luke is a really cool kid." Warren’s voice held a genuine tone of admiration. "Not many seven-year-olds can count the days until their own birthday."

"You really think so?" Your eyes lit up at the question, and a soft smile crept onto your lips, the warmth spreading across your face.

"Of course. The kid’s a little terrifying sometimes, I’ll admit." Warren teased, making you laugh out loud. "Seriously, I get freaked out when he starts doing mental math."

"He’s the best in his class at math." You said, the pride evident in your voice.

Warren rolled his eyes dramatically, his expression playful. "Of course he is. That kid’s going places. He’s going to be the next Einstein, and they’ll write books about him. Mark my words."

You laughed again, and Warren held onto that sound, savoring it, like it was a melody he didn’t want to forget. The sound was infectious, and his chest swelled with an unfamiliar warmth.

"He sounds like my brother. He was always super smart, too. Top of his class, just like Luke. He’s the one who owns the market and helped me get this job. That’s how I ended up there."

"So it’s in the genes."

"Maybe." You fell quiet for a moment, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. Your thoughts drifted as you absentmindedly added, "Does he have a girlfriend?"

The question came out casually, but it hung in the air with an unexpected weight, more serious than you’d intended.

"Me?" Warren raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. He let out a surprised laugh, his face lit up with disbelief. When you nodded, he shook his head, still laughing. "That’s a good one."

"Why?" You chuckled, leaning slightly towards him. "What’s wrong with that? You’re good-looking, charming, funny. There must be someone."

Warren snorted, resting his elbow against the car window, the air suddenly a little heavier. "Oh, yeah, sure, women love a former convict who can’t even afford a Coke." His voice had a mocking tone, but there was something beneath the sarcasm—a hint of self-deprecation that made your chest tighten with empathy.

"No... no one." He answered quietly, his gaze now fixed on the road ahead. "What about you?"

"No…" Your response came out almost hesitantly, and for a brief moment, a flicker of hope danced in your mind before you pushed it aside.

The conversation fell into a heavy silence, the kind that lingered like a thick fog between you. You could feel the change in the air, the tension that wasn’t quite palpable but couldn’t be ignored either. You silently thanked the universe that you were close to your destination. As Warren parked the car, you quickly unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out, eager to escape the weight of your own thoughts before they dragged you deeper into uncertainty.

You hurried up to the door, your hand moving quickly to press the doorbell without hesitation. Warren followed closely behind, stopping a step back, his body still tense, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if ready for something unexpected.

The door swung open.

And then, your blood ran cold.

"Daniel?" Your voice came out as a strained rasp, barely a whisper, your face draining of color instantly.

The man standing there, with his captivating green eyes and a charming smile, widened the door to let you in. "I was really hoping to talk to you. Come on in."

He then looked at Warren, sizing him up with a quick, calculating glance before extending his hand. "Hey, man. How’s it going? I'm Daniel Beavers, but you can call me Dan."

Warren held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, his jaw tightening, before he shook Daniel's hand with deliberate firmness. "Warren." His voice was cold, the warmth and ease from earlier gone completely.

Daniel laughed, a little too loudly. "Damn, you’re strong." He gave Warren a friendly slap on the back, but Warren didn’t flinch, keeping his expression neutral, only offering a polite smile before stepping inside.

Once out of Daniel’s line of sight, Warren leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his breath brushing your ear. "Who’s that guy?"

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor for a moment before your voice barely escaped your lips, a whisper heavy with discomfort. "Luke’s father."

Warren went silent for a beat, his body stiffening as though the weight of your words had struck him physically. His chest tightened, and his next words came out as a low, almost inaudible murmur. "Shit."

Without thinking, his body straightened, as if some primal instinct had taken over. His shoulders subtly broadened, and he instinctively positioned himself a bit closer to you, as if shielding you from whatever lay ahead. The gesture was so natural, so automatic, it was almost like he was becoming a human barrier.

He didn’t have the right to interfere.

But something inside him screamed that he should.

“Hi, mom!”

Luke’s cheerful voice shattered the tense silence in the room. The little boy appeared, his backpack already slung over his shoulders, running to hug you before turning to Warren with a bright, wide smile.

"Warren!" he exclaimed, launching himself into Warren’s legs for a tight hug.

"Hey, little man. Hope I didn’t take too long." Warren grinned, gently messing up Luke’s hair.

Luke pulled away, furrowing his brow. "What happened? I thought you weren’t gonna come."

"The car broke down, buddy. Warren’s gonna take you to school." You explained, maintaining a smile, though out of the corner of your eye, you couldn’t ignore the way Daniel was watching the scene, his gaze quiet and calculating.

"Cool!" Luke cheered, raising his hand for a high-five with Warren. "Can I sit in the front?"

"Not this time, kiddo." Warren pretended to sound disappointed, crouching down to meet his eyes with a playful expression. "But next time, I promise."

"Okay." Luke whispered, clapping his hands excitedly.

You glanced around the room, feeling the house unusually quiet. "Where are your grandparents?"

"They went to the market. They’re planning a party for Daniel. For some celebration." Luke answered innocently, not noticing the way your shoulders tensed at the mention of Daniel’s name.

You inhaled deeply, trying to keep your composure. "Alright, let’s go. Luke’s gonna be late. It was nice seeing you, Daniel." The falseness of your smile was clear, but it was a necessary mask.

"Wait." Daniel stepped closer, pulling a shiny gold envelope with navy blue details from his pocket. He extended it toward you, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I didn’t even tell you the big news."

Your stomach churned before you even looked at the contents.

"Daniel and Honey?" Your voice came out low, almost incredulous.

"I’m inviting you to my wedding." He announced as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You can bring Warren too. It’d be great to have you both with us. Honey really wants to meet you."

Daniel then pulled out a smaller piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Warren, who hesitated for a moment before reluctantly taking it.

You laughed—not out of happiness, but out of pure disgust. "Yeah, Daniel. You really outdo yourself every day." You stuffed the invitation into your pocket without a second thought.

"It’ll be great to have you there." He softened his voice, his hand making an almost theatrical gesture as it brushed your arm. "Please, sweetheart…"

The silence was thick, suffocating.

Warren watched the scene unfold like a predator studying its prey. His jaw was clenched tight, and his fists were subtly balled at his sides, barely contained by the tension in his body. Something inside him had already pegged Daniel as a fool, but seeing this whole act up close... that was too much. His protective instincts kicked in.

He couldn’t hold back any longer.

"Dude, what’s up with this? Don’t you think this is a little weird?" Warren broke the silence, his voice a low growl that drew every eye in the room to him. His tone came out rougher than he intended, but at that moment, he didn’t care to hide his feelings.

Daniel blinked, genuinely confused by Warren’s reaction. "Weird? Why would it be weird?"

That question only fueled the fire inside Warren.

"Don’t you realize how completely bizarre it is to invite your ex to your wedding without even giving a heads-up? You abandoned this kid, and now you show up years later like everything’s fine?" Warren narrowed his eyes, his muscles visibly tensing as his posture became more aggressive, as if he was ready to jump at any moment.

Daniel let out a nervous laugh, trying to downplay the situation with a dismissive gesture. "Relax, man. I just thought… I don’t know. We’d be good friends. Didn’t know she was already seeing someone again." He shrugged, giving you and Warren a mischievous look, as if he was enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

The statement caught Warren off guard for a moment, making his eyes narrow even further, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. "Yeah. Exactly." He reaffirmed without hesitation, crossing his arms firmly. "And even if she wasn’t, you can’t just keep popping in and out of people’s lives like it’s a game. Look at yourself. How old are you?"

Daniel was slightly thrown off, the first crack in his confidence showing in his hesitation. "Twenty-seven."

Warren let out a dry laugh, almost sarcastically. "Twenty-seven." He repeated, savoring the irony of the situation. Then, he stepped forward, forcing Daniel to retreat until his back hit the wall. The intensity of Warren’s presence was palpable. "Listen, man to man. I’m thirty-one. But I had a grip on things long before that."

The discomfort on Daniel's face was unmistakable. He tried to recover his posture, but Warren wasn’t letting him off the hook.

"Alright, man. No need to get all upset or rude." Daniel hissed, attempting to regain his composure as he pushed lightly against Warren’s chest. Warren instantly lifted a fist, ready for any reaction.

It was only then that he remembered you and Luke were still there, silently observing the scene. Warren took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and relaxed his shoulders before speaking in a more controlled voice, though still firm. "Stay out of our lives again, alright?"

Then, with a sharp smile, he straightened Daniel’s perfectly aligned suit jacket as if he were adjusting a porcelain doll, his touch almost mocking. "Are you a lawyer?"

"Yeah." Daniel replied automatically, quickly wiping where Warren had gripped him, trying to salvage his composure.

"I hate that kind." Warren muttered between his teeth, his gaze hardening, but he quickly turned to you, softening his expression. He gave you a more serene smile, almost affectionate. "Shall we go, babe?"

Your heart skipped a beat at hearing him say “babe.” Not out of fear, but because, in that moment, you realized something different. The way Warren said it felt... right. As though he had claimed a piece of you without even realizing it.

"For sure." You smiled, your eyes softening as you started walking toward the door. But then you stopped, turned around, and walked back to Daniel with steady steps.

Without hurrying, you took the invitation from your pocket with a smooth motion and extended it to him, without any emotional appeal. "Keep it for someone who actually wants to go. Best wishes!" Your voice was sweet, but the sarcasm beneath it was impossible to ignore. Every word carried a subtle criticism, something you could no longer hide.

Daniel stood there, frozen, holding the invitation as if he had finally realized it was irrelevant to you, his expression draining of any confidence he had left as the reality hit him. He was out of place. And that seemed clear to everyone in the room.

Warren opened the door for you to pass, but before you stepped out, he gave Daniel one last threatening glance. A silent, but clear, warning.

You both walked toward the car, no longer needing to hide the smile on your faces. The tension from the earlier conversation still hung in the air, but somehow, the whole situation seemed to have brought you even closer.

"Alright, all set..." Warren murmured as he buckled Luke's seatbelt in the back seat. "Now, school."

He was already turning to head to the driver's seat when Luke's curious little voice caught you both off guard:

"Are you and mommy dating?"

The silence that followed was instant. You and Warren froze for a second before exchanging a knowing glance.

Warren raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well... I'm a pretty nosy guy," he said, looking directly at you before turning to Luke. "So, I guess we are."

He twisted the key in the ignition, but before pulling away, he cast a quick glance your way. "Is this alright with you? Us... this."

The question came without hesitation, but with a genuine undertone of concern. You held your breath for a moment, feeling the weight of the silent exchange between you two. Then, you smiled. Not just any smile, but one of those effortless, warm, and real smiles.

"Great." You replied, feeling a lightness in your chest.

He studied your face for a second longer than necessary, as if he wanted to lock that expression in his memory. Then, he nodded, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips.

"Great." He repeated, turning his attention back to the road before accelerating, as if the whole world had just fallen back into place.

Rule #3: Your friends aren’t always right.

After school, you drove to the grocery store. The car’s engine hummed softly before going silent as you turned the key in the ignition. The sound of the seatbelt undoing echoed in the silence between you. You opened the door and climbed out, unlocking the passenger door without looking back. Warren stepped out soon after, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his gaze scanning the storefront as if something was different, even though everything looked exactly the same.

Inside, the muffled sound of an old radio played some generic music as you made your way to the checkout. Warren, on the other hand, detoured to the warehouse, his steps slower than usual. The smell of dust and cardboard filled his nostrils as he entered. The shelves were crammed, the boxes stacked chaotically, as usual. But Warren didn’t care about any of that.

He just needed a moment here, alone, to gather his thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it with trembling fingers. His gaze ran over the words written there—how many times had he read them?—but before he could get lost in his own thoughts, the creak of the door opening made him quickly shove the paper back into his pocket.

"Can I come in?" Your voice sounded hesitant, head peeking through the crack in the door. He blinked a few times before forcing a smile.

"Of course you can. You own the place." He gestured with his hand, a relaxed movement, but his shoulders remained tense.

You walked in, closing the door behind you, the dry sound of wood echoing through the small space. Your eyes wandered around the warehouse for a second before returning to Warren, who was now swinging his foot on the floor, his right hand still deep in his pocket.

"I just came to say..." You began, walking slowly towards him. "Thank you for what you did today."

He let out a short, humorless laugh, looking away from you to the floor. "Oh, that?" His shoulders lifted in a casual gesture. "It was nothing. In fact, I think I was kind of stupid."

"No." Your answer came out firm, quick, taking him by surprise. You cleared your throat, trying to soften your tone. "It wasn't stupid. It was... it was really good. Really helpful. I lost my mind, I didn't know what to do in that situation. He was such an asshole."

Warren tilted his head to the side, watching your expression for a moment before asking, "Has he always been like this?"

You let out a tired sigh, leaning against the wall behind you. "I guess he always has. I just didn't want to notice."

"That sucks." He muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. After a second of hesitation, he walked over to stand next to you, leaning against the wall as well. "I guess we always have that in life. Not realizing the right person was right there."

You frowned, lifting your chin with a hint of indignation in your voice. "Why do we do this, huh? All the signs were there. The way he ignored me, how I had to ask him to the school dance..."

Warren turned his face towards you, blinking slowly. "You asked him to the school dance and not the other way around?"

"Yeah! Can you believe that?" You huffed, crossing your arms. "He said he forgot! When we were picking out my dress the night before!"

Warren closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh before muttering, "What an idiot." He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, the fluorescent light above casting soft shadows on his face. With a slow movement, he licked his lips before speaking again. "I would never do that to you."

Your chest tightened, your breath catching for a second.

"What do you mean by that?" Your voice came out low, almost reluctant.

He pressed his teeth against his cheek, looking away to the floor, as if seeking courage there. When he finally looked back at you, his expression was more serious.

"I would never treat you like that." His voice was firm, but there was a certain hesitation in his gaze. "I'm not exactly a good guy, you know that. But I’d never leave you hanging like that."

"Really?" You leaned your head against the wall, still looking at him, your fingers tightening the hem of your blouse with an unconscious reflex of nervousness.

Warren nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips, almost as if he was amused by your reaction. You snorted and went back to staring at the ceiling. The silence that followed was almost palpable. Your breathing seemed to echo in the small warehouse, while the dust danced in the air under the yellowish light.

"Oh my God..." The laugh came low, exhaled along with a sigh.

"What?" He frowned, but the corner of his mouth still carried a trace of amusement.

"Now I want to go to Daniel's wedding with you just so he can see that I'm okay." You admitted, covering your face with your hands, feeling the heat rise to your ears. "That's so immature. I'm such an idiot."

Warren let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, come on, I don't care." Without hesitation, he took another step towards you, leaning in slightly as he gently removed your hands from your face. "I still have a password, we can say it's yours and that I'm following."

"No, Warren... That's not right." You protested, but the lightness of laughter was still present in your voice. "I'd be using you and that's so wrong..."

"Do it. I just don't want you to look like that because of that idiot." His voice lowered slightly, seriousness seeping into his tone.

"He doesn't deserve even a second of your emotions, of anything you have to offer. So use me. Do whatever you think is best, because you have a hard enough life to worry about anything else and I'm willing to do anything to help you."

Your heart stumbled in your chest when you felt his warm touch against your wrists. Warren gently lowered them, letting his hands rest on either side of your body. The space between you was decreasing with each passing second without anyone making an effort to break it.

He bit his lower lip, his gaze flickering between your mouth and your eyes. You felt your breath catch at the realization, heat rising in your stomach, in your cheeks. Your own attention followed suit—his lips, then his brown eyes, intense, filled with something unsaid but completely understood. The atmosphere was heavy in a way that seemed impossible to ignore.

Warren's heart hammered against his ribs as he raised one hand, bracing it on the wall beside you. The other still held yours. The space between your bodies slowly disappeared. He leaned toward you, his lashes lowering as your faces came closer, your breath mingling.

Then, the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a sharp blade, making you both pull away in an instant. You took a step back, your chest rising and falling with your ragged breaths. Warren ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling as if cursing the universe.

"I better... you know... go outside." He nodded, his voice thick with something that sounded like disappointment.

You nodded, crossing your arms over your body as if that could contain the wave of feelings that were stirring inside you. He hesitated for a moment before leaving, closing the door behind him. But he didn't leave right away—Warren leaned his back against the wood for a few seconds, exhaling slowly, trying to regain control. Only then did he pull away and walk to the cashier.

You stood there for a few more moments, your fingertips brushing your lips, as if trying to feel something that had never happened.

If you had kissed... would it have been wrong? Or was the doorbell a signal not to?

You shook your head, muttering "Stop it" to yourself, trying to push the thought away. But the knot in your chest was still there as you left the warehouse and headed back to the market.

Across the way, Warren was handing over the customer’s groceries with automatic movements, but his mind was elsewhere. When his eyes met yours, for just a second, something flared again—a question, an uncertainty, a regret.

Without saying anything, you looked away and walked into the office, busying yourself with anything that felt like work. You needed to distract yourself, needed to convince yourself that this didn’t mean anything.

The customer left, and Warren stood behind the register, still holding the last bag as if he’d forgotten to let go of it. His mind raced in circles, trying to find a way to talk about what had almost happened. To tell him how he felt without ruining everything.

He walked slowly to the office door and raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. His fingers hovered over the wood for a second before curling into a fist and pulling back.

This didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

And if it did, he was sure it would ruin everything.

Eric was right. It was better to just give up.

Rule #4: Don't hold back an emotion for too long, it might take over you.

The doorbell rang, and Warren didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The familiar jingle of keychains rattling in his backpack and the sweet smell of grape candies in the air were enough to recognize Luke.

"Hey, little man. How was school today?" Warren beamed, walking around the counter with lazy steps to talk to the boy.

"It was nice." Luke replied excitedly, throwing his backpack on the floor before wrapping Warren in a brief, tight hug. Soon after, he pulled away and stuck his small hand in his pants pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Look, I made this today."

"Awesome, a frog." Warren took the green origami between his fingers, studying the careful folds. He turned the piece from side to side, smiling. "Where did you learn that?"

"On the internet, look. Come see, it jumps." Luke took it back, placed it on the counter, and pressed it lightly on the paper. The little frog jumped. "See?"

Warren raised an eyebrow. "Boy, you're scary." He tested the frog, squeezing the paper as Luke had done, and the creature jumped again. "This is witchcraft, isn't it? You put magic in it and didn't tell me, you little brat."

"No!" Luke laughed, shaking his head. "It's just origami. If you fold the paper the right way, it moves, like a lever."

"I see..." Warren feigned distrust, crossing his arms. "So it's pure skill and not some dark pact?"

Luke laughed, shaking his head. "Wanna make one?"

"Tsk, I don't know." Warren leaned back a little, as if it were a risky challenge. "I'm pretty sure I'll ruin it before I even touch the paper."

"Stop being a wimp." The boy, however, didn't take the refusal lying down. Luke took his hand with determination and pulled him down the hallway to the office. The air grew heavier as Warren walked through the door.

His eyes met yours for a moment too long. Something unresolved hung in the space between you, and you both looked away almost at the same time, disguising it with silent discomfort.

It had been a week.

Seven days since what almost happened in the warehouse.

Since then, conversations had been limited to short sentences about work, polite words that didn't fill the awkward silence. You spent as much time as possible in the office, while Warren remained at the cash register busy with anything other than talking to you. Always busy. The only close interaction happened when it was time to restock the shelves or when one of you left. And even then, you both avoided looking each other directly in the eyes.

"Hi, sweetheart. How was school today?" You broke the silence first, forcing a smile as Luke let go of Warren's hand and ran over to you.

"It was cool, but Warren and I are really busy right now." He explained excitedly, grabbing two sheets of paper from your desk.

"With what, exactly?" You asked, your gaze falling on Warren more than the boy.

"We're gonna make frogs." Warren answered casually, twirling the sheet between his fingers.

"Frogs?" Your brow furrowed slightly.

"Of paper, Mom." Luke rolled his eyes, as if your question was absurd. "I made one in class and now I'm going to teach Warren how to make one too. Sit here, facing Mom."

Warren hesitated, his eyes meeting yours again, almost as if he was asking for permission. You held his gaze for a second before nodding, pointing to the chair across from you. He sat down, looking guilty, shifting in his chair as Luke stood beside him, full of excitement.

"Here's how it is, follow everything I do or you'll get lost and do it all wrong." The boy began to fold the paper with precision. Warren imitated the movement, frowning in concentration.

"That's it. Now you're going to fold it here... like this."

"Okay..." Warren replicated the fold, narrowing his eyes to check if he was doing it right. "And now?"

"Do it like this, like this. Now fold it like this... Now turn it over. Don't let it get wrinkled, it has to be right. Turn it over again, fold it."

"Easy there, Luke. I'm old." Warren laughed, his hands fumbling to keep up with the boy's agile movements.

Luke snorted, but held back a smile. "You're slow, Warren."

"Hey, that was unnecessary." He made a playfully offended expression.

"Now just this one more and it's done!" Luke showed off his perfectly aligned frog, proud.

"Congratulations, honey!" You clapped your hands, amazed at your son's work. “It looks exactly like a frog. Good job.”

Warren looked at his origami, then at Luke’s. He held up his creation—a crumpled, shapeless ball—and raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, it looks just like mine.”

Luke laughed loudly. You put your hand over your mouth, trying to hold back your laughter too. “Sorry, Warren. It’s just so funny.”

“It looks like a frog that got run over!” Luke laughed, placing his hands on his stomach.

“I know, I know. I should’ve seen that coming. You two are against me.” Warren sighed dramatically, tossing the paper ball aside. “It’s definitely not for me. I’ll leave that to the little man and his super smart mom.”

But even though he failed miserably at origami, the smile on his face seemed genuine for the first time in a week.

“You don’t pay attention either, Warren Sillyka!” Luke laughed, sticking his tongue out at Warren.

“Did you see that?” Warren raised an eyebrow at you, pointing indignantly at the boy. “The kid just gave me tongue!” And without thinking twice, he returned the gesture.

"Hey!" Luke protested, grimacing and pulling the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

"Now, you little criminal..." Warren narrowed his eyes before standing up, his hands ready to attack with tickles.

"No, stop! Stop!" Luke squirmed, laughing as he tried to escape. Warren, however, was faster, grabbing him easily and lifting him in his arms, swinging him from side to side.

"Serious infraction, young man!" Warren mocked, holding Luke tightly. "You have the right to remain silent! Hands where I can see them!"

"Never!" Luke challenged, laughing loudly, clearly enjoying the joke. "I will not give in to you, Sillyka."

"Oh, then let's go again." Warren took a deep breath and threw the boy slightly in the air before catching him again, eliciting more laughter. "What now? I’ll only let you go with an apology!’

You watched them, the scene unfolding before your eyes like something you never imagined you would see. Your son laughing freely, sharing such pure happiness with someone other than you. Warren holding him in his arms felt... right. Like this was where Luke was always supposed to be.

The laughter escaped your lips before you could stop it. And when Warren and Luke looked at you, your laughter turned into something else—louder, looser, more genuine. Your eyes grew teary, but not just from laughter. The emotions inside you bubbled up in a way they didn’t know how to express, that you had kept locked away under lock and key deep in your heart for many, many years.

"No... don't look at me." You tried to contain your laughter, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "Keep going..."

"Mommy?" Luke frowned, his joy turning to instant concern.

Warren noticed the same and quickly put the boy down before approaching you.

"Mommy, are you okay?"

You took a deep breath, blinking a few times to hold back the tears. "Yes, my baby... I am." You smiled, even though your voice shook a little. "I'm just happy." It was true. Partially, at least. "Can you go to the storage room and get me a tissue?"

Luke hesitated, still suspicious, but nodded. "Yeah." And then he left, looking back one last time before disappearing down the hallway.

The moment the door closed, the barrier you were trying to hold collapsed. A sob escaped your throat, followed by an uncontrolled sob.

"I'm sorry." You buried your face in your hands, unable to stop the wave of emotion.

Warren's heart clenched, and before you knew it, he was kneeling in front of you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders in a firm embrace.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there.

Your face buried in his neck, your hands clutching the fabric of his uniform, feeling the heat of his body as you cried without reserve.

“I'm here. Shh..." Warren murmured against your hair, stroking your back in slow circles. "I'm here."

"I'm soaking your clothes…”

"Fuck it. I'll wash them when I get home."

He slid his fingers through your hair, brushing his lips gently against your temple, a silent gesture of comfort. Your breathing began to calm, still shaky, but less suffocating. You sniffed and pulled away slightly, staring at his face so close to yours. The way he looked at you... calm, steady. Like a beacon in the middle of your storm, guiding you back.

"I forget how incredibly perceptive he is." Your voice still cracked. "He always knows when I'm not okay. I can't hide anything from him."

Warren smiled weakly, running his hand over your wet face, brushing away the remnants of your tears with his thumb.

"You don't have to hide it from me either." He said softly, then leaned down, still on his knees, to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Don't hide anything from me."

The door swung open.

"Here, Mom! I got it." Luke came running back, holding the box of tissues. "Sorry I took so long. It was really highI had to grab a chair to get up. But I didn't drop anything."

You let out a shaky laugh, accepting the tissues and opening your arms to him. Luke fit into the hug without hesitation. You looked at Warren over your son's head, his gaze full of gratitude.

"Well... I guess I'll be going now." Warren mumbled, standing up slowly.

"Where to?" You asked, grabbing a tissue and blowing your nose. "Leaving already?"

"To the cashier. It's my turn." He smiled weakly, watching Luke grab another tissue for you. "Take care of your mom, okay?"

"I'll do it." Luke nodded with the seriousness of someone who takes the mission seriously. He held the trash can for you to dispose of the tissues. "It'll be okay, Mommy."

You smiled, tightening your arms around your son. "I know it will, my baby. Thank you.

" Warren took slow steps towards the door, almost hesitantly. You watched him go, feeling a tightness in your chest as you watched him walk away.

"See you later." He paused for a brief second, turning just enough to look you in the eyes.

"See you..."

…

Warren turned the "Closed" sign on the door, taking one last look at the street before returning to the cash register and writing down the day's records. You always dropped Luke off before five, so you'd be back soon. He wanted to get everything done early to make his job easier.

After reviewing the checklist, he went to his office and left the paper on his desk. When he returned to the cash register, he heard the door open and looked up in time to see you come in. You walked over to him with a small smile on your lips.

"You look happy." He commented, resting his hands on the counter.

"I just found the perfect dress for Daniel's wedding." You said, leaning a little on the counter.

"When is it?"

"Tomorrow, Saturday."

You walked around the counter, stopping next to him. "Do you have an outfit yet?"

"I have that damn thing I wore on my first day here. Will that fit?" Warren asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms.

"It'll do. It's perfect." You replied, placing your hands on your hips. "I can't wait to show you."

"The dress?" He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded. "I want to see it too. What color is it? No, wait... Isn't that bad luck?"

"What?"

"To know what the woman will wear on her wedding day." He explained, confused. You let out a laugh.

"No, Warren." He blinked, waiting for the explanation. "That's only for the bride. You can know."

"Oh... sorry. I've never been to a wedding before." He confessed, relaxing his arms. "Are you excited?"

"Nervous." You admitted, leaning against the counter. "I don't know how I'm going to react."

"I'll be there." Warren comforted. "Do I have permission to punch him if he messes up with Luke?"

"Luke isn't going. It's at night. It starts at eight, but these things always take a while. I don't want him to stay up until the early hours of the morning."

"So it's just going to be the two of us?"

The question came with a subtle but noticeable tone of curiosity.

"Yes." You nodded, feeling an unexpected nervousness grow in your chest.

"Do you want me to pick you up?" He asked, and there was something else in his voice—a hint of expectation.

"Yes, it's okay. I was just going to drop Luke off at his friend's house and come back to get ready."

"Deal. I'll stop by at seven-thirty?"

"Seven-thirty is fine." You nodded, crossing your arms. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but he just smiled sideways.

"Shall we go out? It's closing time, and I don't want anyone knocking here." You changed the subject, walking to the door.

"Good idea." Warren grabbed his keys and followed you out, locking the store behind you.

Warren scanned the street, frowning slightly when he noticed one of the streetlights flickering, casting irregular shadows across the sidewalk. The silence of the night seemed to drag on with the cold wind.

"So... is it okay to walk home in this darkness?"

"Yeah, I always walk back after work." You answered matter-of-factly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

He let out a short sigh, pulling the iron to cover the store window. "This isn't good."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as he locked the door. "Since when did walking two streets over become a problem?"

"Since always. Anyone can run into the wrong person." He turned to you, glaring firmly.

"No problem. If anything happens, I'll scream and run." You joked, shrugging.

Warren chuckled and shook his head before approaching. With his hands firmly on his waist, he tilted his face, his eyes assessing you up and down.

“Come on. I’ll take you.” You hesitated for a moment, but ended up nodding and starting to walk. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Going home?” You pointed to the end of the street.

“No. Get in the car.” He patted the hood of the vehicle twice with a half smile.

“It’s only two streets.”

“And I don’t know who’s coming around the corner. Do you know?”

“You’re so worried.”

“Baby, after you go to jail, even your neighbors are suspicious.” He joked, unlocking the doors. “Maybe you have your own criminal record and I’m here all by myself thinking I’m safe and sound.”

You smiled, getting in the car. “And what would my crime be?”

Warren started the engine and pulled out of the space, his eyes narrowing as if he was evaluating the response.

“Murder, for sure. In cold blood, plain daylight.” He teased, turning the steering wheel to enter the avenue. “Maybe poisoning.”

“And why?”

He gave you a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road.

“Because you have this innocent woman look, all pretty, cute eyes who make men fall in love at first sight… the perfect stereotype.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “When I least expect it, I’ll wake up in an ice bath.”

You gave a short laugh and lightly pushed his shoulder. “How awful, Warren. I’d never kill you.”

“I don’t know… what if one day I make you angry?”

He turned onto your street and parked in front of your house. The engine purred softly before being turned off. Silence filled the car.

“Then I don’t know…” you teased, biting your lip as you pretended to think.

Warren chuckled softly and shook his head. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“See you tomorrow.” You said, unbuckling your seatbelt.

But before you could reach for the door handle, you hesitated.

“Warren.”

He turned to face you, leaning in slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was lower, as if he already knew what was coming.

You hesitated for a second, your gaze locked on his lips. Your heart raced as your bodies leaned almost instinctively toward each other. Your hot breath mingled in the small space between you. But at the last moment, you pulled back, looking away.

“Nothing…”

“Fuck, stop saying it’s nothing.” Warren grumbled, letting out a short sigh before unbuckling his belt and cupping your face with his warm hands, pulling you into an unexpected kiss.

The touch was intense, a mix of urgency and pent-up desire. Your fingers tightened the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, opening your mouth for more of what you craved so much.

When you pulled away, a mischievous smile played on his lips. You smiled, still feeling his breath against your skin, your mouth damp from the trace of what had happened.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, trying to pull away, but he pulled you back, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

This time, you moaned against his lips and released his belt, seeking more proximity. Warren slid his hand under your shirt, pulling your waist closer and feeling the soft skin against his touch. His other hand went to the back of your neck, his fingers intertwining in your hair as the kiss grew more intense.

Time seemed to have stopped. You turned your body so that he had more access, your hand touching his face, the hairs of his growing beard prickling your skin, brushing against your chin. It stung, but it felt so damn good. When air became a necessity, you pulled away with a silly smile, your eyes shining under the dim light of the streetlamp.

“You’re very welcome.” Warren murmured, his eyes fixed on your mouth, his fingers lightly brushing your skin as if he still didn’t want to let go.

You smiled and looked away, opening the door.

“See you tomorrow, Warren.”

“Why?”

“I’m in front of my house.” You laughed softly.

Before you could leave, he pulled your hand and stole one last kiss.

“Just one more.” He murmured against your lips, sealing them once more. You smiled against his mouth before finally leaving.

Warren waited until you got in and closed the door to start the car. He licked his lips, capturing your trail. He frowned, smelling a strange smell in the air. Looking around, he decided to look at his pants and...

“Shit, Warren. What’s wrong with you?” He groaned in disgust, seeing his own situation. His jeans were darker, damp, soft. “I can’t believe this. One kiss! One kiss! I’m so fucked up. That’s the ending.”

Disgusted, he just decided to go home as soon as possible to resolve the outcome of the little moment between you. Even though he was uncomfortable with the sticky feeling between his legs, the satisfied smile didn’t leave his face.

And it didn’t leave throughout the entire night.

#warren lipka x y/n #warren lipka x you #warren lipka x reader #warren lipka #imagine #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #evan peters x y/n #american animals

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tinfoil-jones · 7 months ago

Text

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch.20

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

Believe it or not a large section of this chapter was actually one of the first things I wrote for this story, it was written out before the first chapter actually and I’ve been really excited to show it. This chapter is super long and has shifting perspectives.

This chapter also mirrors Ch.10. This is a long chapter.

First - Prev - Next

WARNING: T/W implications of past sexual assault. Implied past torture. Character death.

CH.20

“So you’re gonna show me that super off-limits study room?”

“Yes. I only ask that you keep an open mind, and please do not judge me.”

“Alright PhD, I’ll only judge you the normal amount.”

“Come inside.”

“-Woah- ahhh. You really like …Triangles, huh?”

“Stanley, you’re shaking.”

“It uh, it kinda makes me uncomfortable, not gonna to lie. Are you in a cult?”

“No. Come here, follow me to the mat in the center.”

“Okay…”

“Now, what do you think of this? Does it remind you of anything?”

“A newspaper clipping? Uh… That’s a pretty messed up car- oh, wait, yeah it does remind me of something.”

“What does it remind you of?”

“I used to have a car just like that. A red El Diablo.”

“And what happened to it?”

“...I don’t remember, actually. I’m trying to remember but it just makes my brain feel like it's on fire.”

“How did I not see this before…?”

“See what?”

“Stanley, when you were first traveling with Sanchez, were you sick at all?”

“Oh yeah, totally sick. I had this massive chest infection. Kept knocking the air mask off when I was delirious. If Rick didn’t constantly shoot me up with weird sci-fi drugs, it probably woulda killed me.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Where’re these questions coming from Doc?”

“I’ll explain soon, but I need to show you something else. Sit down on the floor.”

“Okay…?”

“I’m going to sit back-to-back with you. I need you to fall asleep.”

“You want me to… sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Doc, you know I got problems sleeping.”

“I doubt it will be a problem this time. I’m going to meditate, but I need you to sleep.”

“You’re not setting me up for some ritual sacrifice, right?”

“Do you trust me?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer that. Either meditate or sleep, whichever comes first. But I’m going to meditate.”

“...Alright. But if you cut my heart out and sacrifice it to the math gods or whatever, I’m haunting you.”

(...)

“Stanley.”

“Huh? Where are we?”

“The dreamscape. Specifically, we are in your dreamscape. You could also call it the mindscape. It’s a metaphysical representation of your mind.”

“You can beam yourself into people's minds?”

“Within limitations, yes. If I were to do so when the person is awake, I could only access their surface thoughts and memories. If the person were asleep, I could go a bit deeper and see their dreams, but I wouldn’t be able to easily traverse, and some deeper, more unconscious memories can’t be accessed.”

“So… Ya brought me here? What for?”

“We can access your mind deeper. But I need your permission to do so.”

“You can un-bury all of my lost memories?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to force it. I want to help you… but I know this is painful; both not knowing, and knowing. Do you want to know your real past? Even if it meant you’d have to remember why you forgot it all in the first place?”

“...Yeah. I think- hey what’s that thing coming out of your chest? Is that a rope?”

“...Yes, how did you-”

“I think I have that same thing, hold on, lemme just-”

“You’ve never been here, how would you-.”

“See, same thing. Is it supposed to do something?”

*Ford in shock suddenly grabs at the severed ends of both ropes and tries desperately to push them back together, but the ends keep repelling each other like magnets with the same charge*

“Hey doc, I don’t think you’re gonna attach ‘em like that.”

“Why isn’t it working? It’s supposed to work. It needs to-.”

“Woah! Calm down, PhD. Aren’t we here to dig up the past?”

“Right, right. We’ll get back to that. Do I want to know why your mindscape resembles a gambling lounge?”

“I spent a lot of time in a place called Lottocron Nine before I was banned from it.”

(...)

“Have you been in my mind before?”

“...Yes, during one of your sessions with Fiddleford.”

“...What kind of session?”

“An interview.”

“Oh, thank god. So ya just… broke into my mind?”

“Stanley, I understand if you are feeling-.”

“That’s really cool.”

“...What? You’re not upset?”

“Pft, I’ve broken into houses, cars, shops, warehouses; and even the Infinetentiary, twice . A persons mind though? That’s hardcore.”

“You’re being awfully candid about your multidimensional adventures with Sanchez.”

“There’s no point in hiding it now. You learned the first time you went into my mind, didn’t ya? That's how you knew who I was talking about when I mentioned Rick.”

“You’re handling this rather well.”

“Doc, we’ve both seen some crazy shit. This dreamwalking stuff isn’t even in the top ten.”

(...)

“FORRESTER!”

“Catch you on the flipside, sucker!”

“God, I hated that guy.”

“That IRS agent… What’s his name?”

“Agent Powers, why?”

“Just putting a name to a face.”

(...)

“I don’t like remembering this.”

“Tell us where your boss is hiding, and maybe we’ll spare that ugly mug of yours.”

“You think anything you do is gonna be worse than what Jimmy will do to me if I rat her out? I’ll take my chances with your sleazy ass.”

“This ‘Jimmy’ is female?”

“Yeah. Jimmy Snakes is just a street name. Other bikers wouldn’t take her seriously if they knew from the bat she was a chick. Her real last name is Jiménez.”

“But the J is pronounced as a-”

“Yeah, but guess how everyone who doesn’t speak Spanish tries to pronounce it when they read it?”

“Tough talk, Alcatraz. But everyone's got a limit.”

*the gangster takes the lit cigarette out of his mouth and brings it closer to Stan*

“Yeah, we don’t needa see this.”

*the memory suddenly blacks out but a sizzling noise is still heard*

(...)

“Stanley, this is a pit memory. These are memories your unconscious mind has been hiding from you.”

“Do we just, ya know, jump in?”

“Yes. In a way, it is like the bottomless pit, we would fall back right where we started, or your mental defenses could forcefully-.”

“Screw that, I’m imagining stairs.”

“You can’t just imagine -”

“Violá. Stairs.”

“...”

“What? This is my mind, anything I can imagine should be possible, right?”

“It should not be this easy for you. It takes months of rigorous meditation to-.”

“Maybe it woulda been easier for you to control what's in your head if it wasn’t so far up your ass all the time.”

(...)

“I don’t remember this.”

“It’s the science fair incident I told you about.”

“This is all your fault, ya dumb machine!”

“And now you’re about to-...”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, what did I do?”

“Man, did I fuck up or what?”

“There. Alright. Good as new. Probably.”

“...Stanley. You- you didn’t ruin my machine on purpose?”

“I don’t see you anywhere, but it looks like it.”

“You only hit the table …”

“Does it matter? The results are the same.”

"Stanley, I haven't been honest with you about this incident. After this, yes we fell out, but our father overheard and-."

"And he kicked me out? Yeah, I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah... I think I always did. Just didn't wanna."

"But... I lied to you about it. I told you that you chose to leave."

"Dude. All I fuckin do is lie. I'm not feeling like being a hypocrite today."

"You're not mad at me? I turned my back on you!"

"Get in line, PhD. Rico outed me to the Aryan Brotherhood. Rick cheated on me with an Alien Hivemind. Jimmy chased me for fifty miles on the interstate on a flaming motorcycle trying to drag out my soul with bottles and chains. You got tired of my shit and told me to buzz off? Big deal!"

"I ruined your life..."

"I ruined my own life. It's kinda my thing, ya know."

(...)

“No- no. Oh, no. We can’t stay here, we need to leave.”

“This looks like the homeless shelter from Glass Shard Beach.”

“Hey- sir? Can ya help me with something?"

"Watcha need, kid?"

"I haven't been to one of these places before and its kinda-"

'Scary - no, I can't say that out loud. He'll think I'm being a baby.'

"It's kinda new to me. I heard there were phones here that don't charge ya?"

'I wanna call ma...'

"There sure is, just follow me."

"We need to leave."

"Stanley, what-?"

"We need to leave we can't stay here we need to-"

"This isn't- wait, what're ya d-? Hey!”

“Brats like you are too damn easy.”

“Back off you piece a-!”

WACK

“Why isn’t this memory blacking out, I’m trying to end it-.”

“Get offa me! Stop!”

“I don’t wanna remember this.”

“Stanley, I’m so sorry. I had no idea-.”

“Cry all you want, it won't help you.”

*the memory blacks out*

(...)

“...Do you want to talk about it?”

“ No. ”

“Okay. I won’t make you.”

“I think this pit over here is the one that… ya know, made me forget everything.”

“You are sure it’s this one?”

“There’s a giant neon sign over there that says ‘Do Not Enter: Everything is Worse’.”

“How considerate of your subconscious.”

“…I don’t think I can go any further. Go on without me.”

“Stanley-.”

“Stanford. I’m giving you permission to see that memory, whatever it is. I’m not going to kick you out of it. Just tell me what you saw after you get out, and we’ll go from there.”

“You are okay with that? Are you sure?”

“You asked me outside if I trusted ya. Here’s your answer.”

(...)

‘Moses, the fog’s getting pretty bad… can’t see shit’

‘Ain’t safe with all the curves ahead’

‘I should take a stop soon and wait for it to clear’

‘Huh? What’s up with my breaks?’

‘WHY ISN’T IT WORKING? WHY?’

‘He didn’t! That son of a-’

SCREECH

CRASH

Fwooosh!

‘Fuck! I gotta stay calm- I’ve gotten out of worse’

‘Ugh the smokes getting really thick-.’

‘Why isn’t the seat belt unbuckling? I don’t have a lotta time here.’

‘Where’s my strap cutter? Why isn’t it-!’

‘I’m really lightheaded…’

‘Can’t-’.

‘It’s too hot-.’

‘I’m trapped.’

‘I-I can’t breathe.’

*Stanley reaches up and pulls the picture of himself and Ford, which is on fire, off of the sun visor. It burns up into ash within his hands, which then start shaking*

"That was all I had... Now I have nothing. And I have nobody... I'm… alone."

‘I'm alone…’

‘I'm alone.’

*the memory suddenly blacks up, and then the scene changes and he’s looking at Rick Sanchez as he lies on the floor of his space cruiser. Ricks words are muffled at first*

'Where am I?'

'Who's this guy?'

'He tased me? Is this a cop?'

'Why was I in the woods?'

'Catatonic...?'

“This isn’t going anywhere. Can you tell me your name?”

'I'm alone'

“It’s…? I... 'm alone . Wait. It’s- Stan.”

“Stan Malone huh? My name’s Rick Sanchez.”

(...)

“I do not understand… I suspected the car accident was the catalyst, but how did he escape? Did Sanchez rescue him and lie about it? What would he gain from that?”

“Nope!”

“Bill?”

“You know you can’t go anywhere without me, Fordsy.”

“Why did you wait until now to show yourself?”

“Dramatic entrance, of course!”

“...Right. Why doesn’t Stanley remember escaping his burning car?

“Because he didn’t. He died of smoke inhalation right there.”

“... What ?”

“Yeah. He died. Ironically, of suffocation. Isn’t that hilarious, Sixer? He used to suffocate you, and that ended up being the thing that killed him.”

“CIPHER! Whatever cruel joke you are trying to-.”

“Joke? I’m hurt Fordsy, I know when to be serious.”

“He didn’t die! We are in his mindscape! He’s asleep right behind me in the waking world!”

“Oh, Sixer… Your mommy was right when she said denial like this isn’t healthy.”

“STOP PLAYING THESE GAMES WITH ME BILL CIPHER.”

“Alright, alright. Here, let me give you a sneak peak of what happened between the scenes; he doesn’t remember, because it happened in his mindscape. So here’s my memory of what happened.”

“Your-?”

SNAP

(...)

“Hey there slick! Things getting too hot to handle?”

“What are you supposed to be?”

“Call me a guardian angel.”

“Are all angels as geometric as you?”

“I took a form that would be comforting to you. I’m the symbol on the back of the money, you like money right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well there we go! I’m here to help you.”

“... Why?”

“I’m a friend of a friend. And that friend would very much hate it if you burnt to death here. Shake my hand and I can get you out.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Like I said, friend of a friend. Just shake my hand. I’ll have temporary use of your body, and you’ll get to live.”

“I’d sooner chew up and spit out a gold chain before I fall for some Faustian bargain. No ones ever been nice to me in my entire life; there’s no reason my death would be any different. Leave me alone.”

“What about your family?”

“They won’t be surprised, there’s no way they didn’t see something like this coming. I’m surprised I lasted this long.”

“What about your brother? Your twin? You’re two halves of a whole - are you really going to leave him to live the rest of his life incomplete?”

“I’m the incomplete one, I failed by myself. But he can stand on his own.”

“Don’t you realize this will devastate him?”

“... I know it will.”

“Then why aren’t you taking this deal? Fordsy isn’t going to get over this. I know everything about him, and I’m telling you he never will. This will haunt him the rest of his natural life. The same way it would haunt you if he died.”

“If you’re such a Stanford expert, would he ever think I’d take a deathbed deal with a floating triangle in a top hat and fake eyelashes?”

“The eyelashes were a low blow. But, I’ll give it to you, slick; he does know you would never fall for flattery and trickery. But he’d also agonize why you’d give up like this.”

“There’s giving up, and there’s acceptance. Every decision I’ve ever made has led up to this. And most of them were the wrong ones. The consequences have caught up to me, and there’s nowhere to run anymore.”

“You’re choosing now of all times to accept the consequences of your actions?”

“Might as well, it’s the last chance I can.”

“You are going to die here. Stanley Romanoff Pines, if you don’t take a deal with me in the next minute you will die.”

“Guess I get one whole minute to reflect on everything huh?”

“And what would you reflect on?”

“If you’re really friends with my brother… if he ever asks about me for some reason, could you tell him that I love him?”

*a rope suddenly appears, with one end fading into Stanley’s chest. The other end appears to fade off into the distance*

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“Your twin bond with Sixer.”

“That’s a real thing, no shit?”

“Yes. It’s how I found you, actually. IQ was getting this sinking feeling of dread and didn’t know why, so I just followed it without telling him.”

“Does that mean he’ll feel it when-.”

“Yes.”

*Stanley looks at the rope before grabbing it with both hands, and pulling it in opposite directions until it’s broken into two. The end not connected to him disappears.*

“He doesn’t need to know what dying feels like.”

“...He doesn’t want you dead. He never hated you.”

“I know. But he doesn’t need to worry about supporting all of this dead weight. Ha! Get it? Dead weight! …Dead weight? It’s funny because I’m about to be dea-”

(...)

“-and he died exactly how he lived; making stupid jokes that no one but him finds funny- except for you, I can see even though you’re crying, you’re also trying really hard not to laugh .”

*Ford covers his face with his hands in grief*

“...That was a good one…”

“I waited for his heart to stop before I could take over - I can possess corpses you see, and for those fleeting minutes, he counted as one. I flexed just enough of my power to drag him out of his car - had to wait for that stuck seat belt to burn enough to rip - but all of that activity re-started his heart and brought him back, kicking me out of his body.

I had enough time to change some things - kept enough oxygen in his blood supply to prevent brain damage, deleted his fear of heights so he could climb out of the ravine, and rewired his optic nerves so he didn’t need glasses anymore - he wasn’t going to get any for himself anytime soon, he won’t need them until he gets cataracts at fifty-seven.

Anyways, that’s the real reason he was immune to that green cryptid; his worst nightmare was dying alone, and he already went through that.”

“...Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“You didn’t ask. Not me. Not anyone. Not even yourself.”

“...”

“You always pushed your thoughts of him into the corner of your mind, Sixer. In your journals, any mention of him you’d cross out or write in a code. I saved him because I know you care about him. I didn’t tell you what happened because you wanted him out of sight, and out of mind.”

“Bill!”

“It’s true, isn’t it? And look at that, he still made his way back to you. Either that twin bond was magnetically pulling him towards its broken half, or I left just enough of an impression on his mind that the weirdness of Gravity Falls drew him here.”

“You left an impression on my brothers mind?”

“It’s like when you crinkle paper, Sixer. You can try to smooth it out all you want, but there’s still going to be traces that something happened. There’s not pieces of me left in his mind, if that’s what you’re worried about. He didn’t make a deal with me, unlike you. He just picked up some of my tendencies. Definitely explains why he uses nicknames so much, doesn’t it?”

“This is my nightmare.”

“This is the dreamscape.”

“...Why did you repress his memories?”

“You think I did that? Sixer, he died . You don’t come back from that the same way you were before.”

“Then why would he still remember most of the last ten years of his life, but not being kicked out or his entire life before that?”

“Fordsy, you heard his last conscious thoughts, and those became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Before he passed out and then away, all he could focus on was how alone he felt. His brain did that thing all human brains tend to do; hid all the stuff that would hurt him more.”

“...No, he wouldn’t-.”

“Sixer. I know you can see the truth, you can’t hide your thoughts from me; why bother remembering himself, why bother remembering loving people when they didn’t bother to remember him, not even when he needed them the most?”

“...”

“Oh, goody, now you’re crying! Don’t worry, I know exactly what to do in situations like this. I don’t care if you don’t understand the reference, you’re not the one who’s supposed to.”

*Bill conjures up and then starts playing the Nightmare Realms smallest violin*

To be continued…

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hestzhyen · 6 days ago

Text

How Much More?

I just... man. Hakuri...

Despite the Rakuzaichi arc having finished a while ago now, we are still revisiting aspects of Hakuri's life with his family. But we the audience are the only ones privy to the information presented- none of the other characters are aware. And Hakuri doesn't seem inclined to share how bad he's had it. It's like a very slowly unfolding horror story that you thought was over but it just keeps going when you least expect it...

Let's look at the direct vs. indirect information about his abusive past provided since he was introduced:

Ch. 19

Hakuri lost his pet preying mantis (a metaphor for luck/courage) about five years ago

Hakuri also lost his entire family around the same time (indication of tragic backstory most likely)

Nonchalant about his bloody nose

Ch. 20

He was too weak and got in the way, so he was disowned (indicates a family that equates usefulness to worthiness)

Once again unflinching despite being in immense pain

Ch. 23

His hand trembles when he mentions that his older brothers are strong and scary

He says his family will kill him on sight (turns out to be a red herring)

He's very concerned with being useful in any way he can, even if it's just running errands

He looks frightened when he encounters his older brother

Ch. 24

Flashes back to being physically abused multiple times before attempting suicide (immediate response trigger, would rather die than go back)

Truly believes that the family wants him dead for "ruining merchandise"

Directly states that Soya expresses affection through punching and kicking him (doesn't deny the abuse as a valid expression of sincere love)

Soya is unfamiliar with Hakuri defying him

Hakuri tries to protect Hinao and gets punched down to the ground for his efforts (Soya will continue to abuse Hakuri if he's allowed to)

Soya is obsessed with getting Hakuri back and doesn't seem to consider Hakuri's refusals to do so something he's capable of making a rational, informed decision of himself

Ch. 25

Kyora summons Hakuri back and immediately puts a sword at his throat to use him as a hostage (clearly not important to his father)

Calls Hakuri a pathetic wretch, completely worthless, and a hindrance while stepping on him (emotional and physical abuse)

Appears prepared to kill him

He's extremely upset and apologetic afterwards, fully blaming himself

Kyora states that Hakuri has finally been useful for the first time ever

Ch. 26

Hakuri's usual exuberance is gone and he's much more subdued

His father's words about his uselessness and worthlessness are echoing in his head while he continues to blame himself and apologise for being a burden

Chihiro is able to cheer him up by telling him he was useful after all by telling him what he needed to hear, and can keep being useful by providing information

Ch. 30

Tenri calls Hakuri a useless coward

Rejects Soya's joy at seeing him again; Soya once again believes Hakuri's refusals are due to other people manipulating him; implies Hakuri never had much agency, if any at all

Extremely negative self-talk when trying to figure out how to handle an unexpected situation

Ch. 32

Gets kicked around and demeaned by Soya and acknowledges that he is weak (this is nothing new for him, especially with it being framed as Soya trying to put him back in his place)

Hakuri is able to remain calm and think clearly while he's being hit and kicked

Still doesn't reject Soya's abuse as a form of love; only rejects the mischaracterisation of Chihiro

Being abused helped him become sturdy enough to survive Hiyuki's punch to the face

Ch. 33

Tenri considers Hakuri to be stupid

Also remarks that their family would be disgraced as a whole if word of Hakuri's lack of ability got out

Ch. 34

Kyora confronts Hakuri's sadness over his grandfather's death with blunt truth, showing a distinct lack of compassion

Hakuri was intended to possibly receive the storehouse power when Kyora died

Was manipulated into saying he loved his father (emotional abuse in the name of continuing tradition; Kyora even uses "ai" to drive home how farcical the bonds of love he claims they have are)

Admitted he wanted his father's praise and was only able to snap out of it because someone "set him on the right path"

Ch. 35

Admits that Soya uses tools like pliers on him to "bully" him instead

Also drops that Soya usually goes back to beating him up the "normal way" once the tools are lost

Blames the abuse he receives for himself being weak and useless, is desperate to be useful

Won't talk about the abuse when it's worse than usual, just clams up instead

Realises his own mindset and how he treated her directly led to her killing herself in front of him

Ch. 36

Tools come back, peeler even appears to possibly have dried blood on it

Hakuri's storehouse also has a log, metal pipes, pliers, sticks, a wrench, rope, and a chair in it Jesus fucking Christ

Kyora once again refers to Hakuri as a failure, Soya agrees

Hakuri acknowledges Soya's treatment of him as "love", albeit bitterly

And that's it for a long time. Hakuri still wants his father's love even at the very end, and he's still desperate to be useful (while also being surprised when people consider him as such); his abysmal self-esteem and twin core motivations to sacrifice himself to see things through are still major problems for him. He has a complicated situation to work through but there's some hope- especially now that he's back on his feet in the most recent chapters. Likely re-traumatised and with some diminished power, but managing to keep his agency intact. Uruha even came back!

Except...

Ch. 80

Hakuri was abused for ten years, not just the five after Kyora gave up on him

There are multiple ways to interpret Hakuri's knuckle covering that bolded "love"- maybe he's aware it isn't actual love now, maybe he's trying to avoid thinking about it. It's up to interpretation until we get a direct statement. But the point is that we are still learning that his life of tragedies and abuses is still somehow worse than we knew.

So now I'm wondering what the hell else there is to know. Will he have more issues to explore with his dead mom? Will we see more details about how often and in what ways Soya tortured him? Will we see him being neglected and forced to scrounge for food scraps and clothes like so many fans headcanon? I kind of don't want to find out!

This is all for a point though, I believe. We are getting details like this to remind us that Hakuri doesn't fucking talk about his own trauma.

He's not yet at the point where he even acknowledges that he had what most people could consider a very hard time of things. He can't acknowledge his own circumstances yet. So until that point, we will probably keep learning things at random until there's a tipping point of some kind. I hope it's a positive way like he's safe enough to talk about it all with someone to start healing. But it could also manifest as a "last bad memory that breaks him and it all comes spilling out" kind of way too.

No matter what happens, though, I think we have to brace ourselves for more random "what the fucking fuck Hakuri you poor guy" moments until he's ready to confront it all. Until he admits that he not only actually had a shit life, but that he didn't deserve any of it.

Suffering = character development not holding up in this scene. It's just pure suffering at this point. Why?

This is basically just a more condensed version of that essay I wrote back in October I guess. But I can't stop thinking about how there's still more to learn about how Hakuri suffered if this came up so long after his intro arc ended. Why are we still getting this kind of information when we don't need to feel bad for him any more? His main abusers are dead and he chose to follow Chihiro in order to help accomplish his own goals. Shouldn't we be progressing to part of his arc where he starts to heal?

But we aren't. We're seeing him be more self-destructive than ever while staying fixated on making sure he's as useful as possible. We're still learning details of how he was abused. It's not to endear him to us at this point- I don't think it's even possible for me to be any more attached to him. So there has to be some other meaning behind it.

That's why I'm beating on the “Hakuri has to face his abuse for what it really was” drum. I can't see any other reason from a narrative sense. Hakuri's arc started with the slow drip of information being shown to us and barely any being told to other characters in-universe. Chihiro and Shiba probably don't know about the torture, or how long it went on for, or Ice Lady. He doesn't talk about it. He only thinks about it when intrusive memories come up or he needs to explain something. That literal metaphor of the the torture tools he keeps in his storehouse, a space only he can access and knows about what's inside.

Most importantly, Hakuri himself hasn't directly acknowledged that he was being abused in the first place.

He's only ever called it love and expressed understandably complicated feelings for his dad in particular. The only hint we have that he might be reconsidering his treatment as "love" is that ambiguous panel of him partially covering the word in chapter 80. This, to me, says that Hakuri's character arc won't really be on an upswing until he acknowledges his past for what it was. And until that point we are going to keep getting reminded that he's not willing to do so via these random details cropping up.

I'm extremely invested in where he goes and how it's handled and... please, don't pull another Hiruhiko. I sincerely hope Hakuri's situation is dealt with the care and respect it deserves as the story goes on. And if I'm wrong and giving the author too much credit and he's actually fine now that Uruha's alive after all? I'll close up shop and never write another post for Kagurabachi again out of shame I guess.

Anyway I don't know how to end things so, uh. Give yourself a sincere compliment and be proud of how far you've come. You're worth all the effort it takes to live.

#kagurabachi #sazanami hakuri #I just want to talk about him all the time I love him so so much #I'll keep writing smut even if I have to shutter this blog out of sheer embarrassment because HakuHiro rewired my brain #Seriously though Hokazono please don't let me down with a character that's helped me so much

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d33pwithinmys0ul · 5 months ago

Text

•°. *࿐Public Display of Affection •°. *࿐

(first chapter only, rest on ao3!)

I just published chapter 6 of my Stalker Eren x Anxious Reader fanfic on ao3, check it out if you're interested. I haven't posted any of the rest of the fic here on Tumblr, so here's chapter 1 to tempt you :)

read tags please, and minors dni

જ⁀➴ Eren Yeager x Reader, college au, barista x bartender, slowish burn, paranoia, masturbation, stalking, inspired by YOU on netflix

Ch 1

It was 90 degrees in the middle of summer, and you wanted more than anything to rot in bed at home on your day off.

Your “grocery” list was short enough, and you’d taken a hit from your cart as soon as you parked. You were planning to take your time inside so you could sober up enough to drive safely back home when the trip was done. Almond milk, green tea, face wash, pasta and pasta sauce. Simple.

You didn’t look very nice today, it wasn’t the kind of store where you’d get stared at for not trying. Hideous but comfortable shoes, a baggy shirt to hide that you didn’t want to wear a bra—no makeup, shorts, a tote bag over your shoulder, and hair that needed to be washed. You wondered if the tote bag was a bad choice, in case they’d think you were stealing.

You would probably notice if someone started following you. It’s not like you were going to steal anyway, but isn’t it about seeming like a normal person, not acting suspicious?

God, you needed to rein these thoughts in. You can’t let yourself think like this, like a paranoid freak.

You almost didn’t come, nearly willing to pay an extra $20 in fees for your tiny grocery order to be delivered to the apartment, but you couldn’t afford it. You’d get good tips tomorrow at work, but you needed things today. It was probably better to make yourself do the things you didn’t want to do. If you rotted too long you’d be stuck in the depths of your misery for a long time.

You’d taken a shaky breath and grabbed a basket. You didn’t know there were baskets for this store, you only ever saw people pushing carts. It was a dumb thought, but you really never noticed before. You weren’t sure where to go first, and just headed for the first thing you could think of—green tea.

You hated doing errands alone, it always filled you with dread. Your roommate Sasha was out of state for a summer job and you’ve been technically living by yourself for almost three weeks now. It was lonely, even though you’d call sometimes. You missed being able to relax around her, allowing for her earnest jokes about your silly anxieties to quell you.

You tried to look normal as you circled the beverage section multiple times, lost in thought, struggling to find the teas before finally stopping in an aisle full of coffee. Surely they would be in the same place.

You walk through, reading labels, and hoping you’re not in someone’s way. You find the tea boxes—chamomile, black tea, jasmine, organic matcha, jasmine matcha… All so expensive, and what if they weren’t good?

Your craving was so bad today you’d gotten an iced matcha from the cafe you worked at, just to make the walk through the grocery store a little more fun. You were glad you did, the weed and the heat combined made you so thirsty.

You really should buy a pack of water bottles or a five gallon refill for the dispenser in your apartment, but you knew you didn’t have the strength to carry either up the stairs and inside—or a Sasha to do it for you.

You winced as you saw someone in your peripheral. Breathe. Just another shopper.

Why’d they put paper towels and paper plates in the same aisle as the tea and coffee?

You couldn’t remember if you applied deodorant before you left the house. You let yourself glance at him briefly. A man, wearing a bright neon shirt and work boots. Could he smell you? Oh my god, did you stink? You were sweating so bad, it was so hot.

You took a deep breath and held it, counting to four in your head before exhaling softly. You repeated the technique and redirected yourself to the tea.

You didn’t have much money today after paying off the bills, and buying a $6 matcha (after employee discount) didn’t help either.

You swallowed when another man entered the aisle and walked right behind you. You tensed up at the blur of gray and tried to focus again.

Organic green tea, green tea with lemon, decaf green tea… Green tea. Simply packaged and $2. Perfect.

You toss the box into your basket and turn the other way, further from the two other men in the aisle, frowning when you see a mother and two kids pushing a cart slowly towards you. Fine. You turn again and stalk down the aisle and towards the milk.

You nearly ran into someone and mumbled an “excuse me” when you spotted the fridges. Your heart pounded in your ears. God, so high.

Were you holding your basket weird?

The rest of the grocery trip was like this, slow and torturous, occasional missteps as you navigated the aisles and awkwardly apologized for taking up other peoples’ space. The back of your neck prickled and your anxiety wouldn’t let up the whole time.

You made your way to the skincare and grabbed the brand of face cleanser you like. You found a trash can to toss your empty matcha cup—so so worth it—and lingered by the makeup and nail polish, wishing you could make an unplanned purchase. You wanted something glittery.

You managed to calm down a little more by the time you’d rounded up everything you wanted. You dared to try a new kind of pasta sauce. You were glad you went out today. It wasn’t all bad, you supposed.

It was the first time Eren ever spotted you.

Long before you’d made the hike back to your car, one bag of groceries in your hand while the other fumbled for your keys, and even before he blocked your way by “accident” near the milk fridge, Eren was in his car in the parking lot, AC blasting, when you’d caught his eye. He hadn’t gone inside yet, and he had planned to people watch today.

You parked next to him, the thudding bass of your music catching his attention, at first with annoyance.

He watched you try to fix your hair in the mirror, and you frowned at your reflection. You had a beaded bracelet and a little charm keychain hanging from your rearview mirror. There was a small plushy on your dashboard, and Eren almost smiled– cute. You took a long hit from a pen, and a deep breath before you opened your car door and stepped out.

His eyes grazed your body and it was like everything clicked. The flush of your cheeks in the heat, the way those shorts hugged your thighs and hips. Your eyebrows were pinched and you bit your lip anxiously as you rummaged for something in your purse. Your eyes were glassy and low, and he was captivated.

How lucky he was to see you, and linger a few feet behind you as you went inside. He was curious.

He had to walk past you when you lingered by the baskets, looking at them intently, and he wished he knew what you were thinking when you stared at them. He paused to look at some display a few feet away when you finally picked one up and started moving, sipping at a green drink in your hand.

Eren would never shop here. It was cheap and low quality, and he wondered about the kind of situation you were in. Poor thing. He had picked the store at random after driving around for so long, stuck in a rut, stuck in his head, for these past few months. He hadn’t been in love in so long.

You lingered so long in the green tea aisle, lost in thought. He couldn’t stop staring at your lips, the way they puckered around the straw of your drink, the curve of your neck, how you swallowed.

He let himself stride behind you, walking towards some paper towels that another man in the aisle was looking over as well. Eren almost groaned at the smell of you as he passed, faint hints of perfume intermingling with your subtle musk from the summer heat.

He pushed ahead into the meat section, watching you from another angle a bit further away. There was an abandoned cart in the aisle and he grabbed it, picking a few random things to fill it, when he saw you make your way to the milk fridge.

You had turned around at the last minute after nearly running into some poor elderly couple because you were staring at the ground as you walked. Who does that?

Why did you do that? You were so beautiful, what was there to be ashamed about when you were just walking?

You flushed with embarrassment and stopped on the side of the walkway, blinking in a daze before you had kept going.

He almost darted for the milk fridge, getting there before you did, and parked himself right in front of it. He tried to look like he was deciding between all the options of milk as he gazed at you through the reflection of the glass. You were sizing him up nervously, occasionally glancing at the phone in your hand.

Were you texting someone? No, you were just looking at it, your thumb didn’t move. Like you were trying to pretend to be busy while you waited for him. Really cute. His lips curled into a smile and he started to walk away, at the last minute going the other direction just to catch you off guard.

You’d look up at him in surprise, chewing your lip again before you looked away, and Eren knew he wanted you.

He’d never seen someone so nervous at nothing before, and be so ridiculously tempting. How dare you exist so skittishly when you practically flaunted yourself for everyone to see? How could he be expected to control himself with the way sweat ran down your neck, the way your tits jiggled under your shirt? You didn’t wear a bra. It’s like you were asking it for it, all the while being so coquettishly wrapped up in your own little world.

He burned to know what you were thinking, why you had such a short shopping list, how your mouth would feel around him. It was in his nature, and your best interest.

You spent twenty minutes sitting in your car in the grocery store parking lot trying to sober up. You scrolled through your phone, chewing your nails nervously and occasionally taking note of the cars around you.

Would anyone say something to the store employees if you were lingering around here for too long? The car next to you, in front of you, and a few cars away all had people inside them. It was hot, everyone was probably cooling off or waiting for someone else who had gone inside. Nobody was going to crucify you for lingering just a little bit.

You took another deep breath. You missed your matcha and swore to yourself you’d make one as soon as you walked into work tomorrow.

Eren followed you when you drove home, just a few cars behind so you wouldn’t notice. Your car, which he’d already memorized the model of, approached a residential neighborhood, a collection of houses and apartments. He prepared to make a different turn in case your pretty little head started giving you any paranoid thoughts.

Eren figured you’d be the type of girl that would notice if a car was following her. He was also sure that you were the type of girl that wouldn’t remember the vehicle a few hours later.

After making a mental note of the street, he decided to come back at dark and search for your parked car so he could figure out exactly where you lived. It would only take a few days to take full surveillance of you, nothing he couldn’t handle.

He drove off and went home.

Eren put away his randomly picked groceries, along with your brand of face wash, and the cup you had thrown away. He smiled at his little find.

You had liked your drink enough to finish it in ten minutes–maybe you were a regular there. He turned the plastic cup to see writing in black sharpie with your order and your name.

Lav matcha almond light ice, y/n!

There were hearts and stars drawn around your name, with a smiley face. Eren frowned. The handwriting looked feminine, so unless he was very unlucky, he hoped a friend made your drink today.

Eren sank into his couch and pulled out his laptop. The dim light in his apartment flickered. He hadn’t been taking care of himself lately, since his last break up. Now, he had good reason to clean up and look nice again.

He looked up the cafe online, clicking on their social media page. He looked for your name, and saw that you followed their Instagram. He opened your profile and was pleased—and a little surprised—to see that it was all public. You posted a lot. And your most recent picture made his cock twitch.

Your face was pouty and bored, the flash of the picture causing a subtle blur. You wore a mini skirt and a skimpy top that your tits strained against—the comments were filled with girls complimenting you, calling you hot and beautiful, and you’d reply back, swearing they were even more gorgeous.

Incredible.

Eren couldn’t believe his eyes as he went through your feed. Latte art, concerts, books you were reading, meals you had. You were so open online in comparison to your meek disposition at the store. This had to be a facade.

He went through your tagged photos as well. You didn’t seem to have too many friends, and no boyfriend in sight. You were perfect. He would get to know you in no time.

He went through your following, looking at stores, brands, artists, and actors. You were dumb enough to use the same username for everything, and within an hour Eren found you on more apps and websites. He went through your public music playlists, the movies you’d review online, where you graduated high school, what kind of family you had. It was too easy. Like he was meant to find you, to love you. He wanted to teach you how to hold your chin up, or hold it for you.

Eren saved all his favorite pictures of you, still pleasantly surprised at the kind of outfits you’d wear to the bar or the club. Glittery makeup, low cut tops, fishnets, short dresses. He pulls out his cock as he goes through the new photo folder he created, titled “My Y/n.”

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orchidyoonkook · 1 year ago

Text

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 6 | M

Title: Eastern Arrivals and Unwanted Doubt

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel's here for the week and you couldn't be more excited!! Jungkook's another story though...

Warnings: M, fluff, smut, swearing, drinking, pining, angsstt, slight boundary pushing (not sexual), unwanted/ unneeded overprotectiveness, jealousy, lying, [reader eats bacon and eggs but it's not specified what kind or where it's from, just bacon and eggs, so whether that means veggie, vegan or normal is up to you], intentional pissing off of Nel, a little spat between major characters, sex as a plot device.

Mature warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 6,945

Release Date: April 20, 2:00PM

A/N 1: 6 months later and we have chapter 6! slow updates, but they will be written and they will be posted. I have no plans to abandon this, I just, very unfortunately, have a bit of an outernet life now. So not a lot of free time to be creative which I hate. But it's here!!

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Mature Warnings: Consensual sex x 2, both reader with Nel and JK with Ady -> sorry not sorry cuz it's plot sex. We got us some: kissing, protected sex (as we should), missionary, fingering, oral (f. rec), tiny bit of groping (consenual), multiple orgasms, loud sex, like annoyingly, sex as a terrible coping mechanism (imo), fantasizing.

Bouncing lightly from foot to foot, you’re buzzing after finally receiving the text you were waiting on a few minutes ago.

Nelly <3 [10:10pm]: Landed. See you soon 😘

He’s almost here. He’s almost here!

Just a few more seconds until—

The gates slide open. A flood of people in a mixture of sweats and business casual wear with luggage of all sizes and neck pillows walk through. You hold up the sign above your head with both hands, a smile that could outshine the sun plastered on your face, and search.

Where is he? Where is he, where is he, where is he, you think as you scour the bodies filing out of the automatic doors. You can’t see him. He’s none of the nameless faces that pass you by as they find their family, friends or rides.

Is this even the right group of people? What if his luggage got lost and he won’t be out with this group. What if he got taken aside for some reason, and now he’s being held in some dusty room being asked a bunch of stupid questions he doesn’t know how to answer? What if he’s fig—

But then there’s a gap in the crowd, and the boy you’ve spent the last half decade of your life with comes into perfect, crystalline view. His lips pulled taught, teeth beautifully bared as he sets his sights on your sign high in the air, then down to you.

And you're running.

You’re running and dodging and swerving until you’re jumping into Nels arms as he abandons his suitcase in favour of keeping you both up right. He buries his face into your neck, holding you so tightly you think he’ll never let go. And that’s just fine with you as you hold on just as tight, taking in a big breath of him too.

He smells like airplane and coastal breeze and most importantly, home.

Nel smells like home.

A muffled, “Ohhhhhhh, I missed you,” greets your ears, and you melt into him even more if that's even possible.

“I missed you too,” you say, pulling back and kissing him. You don’t really care if there’s an audience or not right now. Not when Nel’s here, and he’s in your arms, and he’s yours for a whole 9 days and life is as it should be once again.

He releases his hold slightly, but your arms don’t leave his shoulders. The sign still clutched, now crushed and crinkled, in one hand.

“Car?” he asks, a kiss to your nose.

“This way,” you lead, releasing your hold.

Luckily, his suitcase is small, so he forgoes rolling it, instead gripping the handle at the top and carrying it in one hand. Your own reaching for his other and not letting go. He’s going to have to peel you off him if he wants space right now.

Nel’s wearing his usual fall attire; a dark green school sweater that has ‘ECAD’ written over the chest in a large, academic looking mustard yellow font, regular old blue jeans, and dark brown lace up boots. His short, dirty blond hair's covered by a hat you’d gotten him as a highschool graduation present, and his ocean blue eyes remain as gorgeous as they were the day you met.

Passing through doors to the outside and back to lot J, you hop in the car as he puts his bag in the trunk.

“How have you been? What’s new? What’s not? Tell me everything,” he asks as he climbs in and sits beside you, hand finding yours again.

Never gone for too long. You relish in the comfort and happiness that alone brings you.

He’s finally here. You finally have him back.

“I’m great. Yuri’s still Yuri, classes are only a little more challenging this year, but I’m still at the top of them,” Nel slips in a ‘not surprised’ and you smile brighter as you continue. “They’re already telling us to start brainstorming ideas for our thesis show next year,” you have no idea what you’re going to do, but you’re working on it. “Campus is the same, dorms are the same, the cafe’s the same. Though, they have the egg tarts I like in more, which is awesome for my taste buds and terrible for my bank account.”

Vivian stayed true to her word, and now they had the tarts in every week.

“I can only imagine,” Nel jokes.

“Uhhmm, what else…” a thought pops up, and you guess you can tell him. It doesn’t reveal anything the whole world doesn’t already know. “The prince is dating Adaline Dupree.”

His eyebrows raise, remembering, “Oh yeah, that’s right, the prince goes to your school now.”

“Yep.”

“Have you met him?”

Is he seriously not completely shocked at the prince dating Adaline? You only bitched about her to him all the time.

“Uhhh… yep, once or twice, I guess.”

You hate it. You hate lying, especially to Nel. You hate it so much, but it’s for the greater good. It’s to keep the peace. But that doesn’t stop the burning feeling in your chest nor the roil in your belly.

“The day he arrived Yuri dragged me down to see him speak. She made us sit front row because Yuri,” Nel nods, knowing exactly what you mean. “He had everyone assemble to hear why he was at school and tell us not to treat him like a prince. He wants to be able to study without his title getting in the way.”

You hit your blinker, making a one handed left turn.

“Makes sense. Is he nice at least?” Nel doesn’t sound at all suspicious, and why should he? You’ve never given him reason to not believe you at your word before. Never lied to him before.

Fuck you hate this so much. It was so much easier when he was 5000 miles away. But now that he's right beside you? This week may end up being more difficult than you thought.

“He was very princely. Tried to kiss my hand like he did like every other girl there, but I made it a handshake instead. Figured if he wants to be treated like everyone else, I would liste—Oh!” you laugh before you can even get the words out.

“What?” he asks, intrigued but confused.

You can barely speak coherently. “You should have seen Yuri’s face when I called him Jungkook and not Prince or Your Highness...her eyes nearly fell out of her head,” tears are starting to form from laughing so hard. “It was great.”

“He didn’t mind?” Nel asks and you shake your head. Yuri’s face that day will forever be seared into your brain for whenever you need a pick-me-up.

“No, he was grateful actually. I was the first person that had addressed him like that, the way he’d asked to be.” Stopping at a red light, you're finally regaining yourself.

“Well,” he squeezes your hand, “you always were good at first impressions,” and looks at you so softly you can’t help but smile into the kiss you give him.

He remembers that school art fair just as fondly as you do.

Nel pulls away first with a thought. “Is Yuri with us this time?”

Yuri hadn’t been able to go home last year, her parents too busy on a work trip, so she stayed back and kicked it with you two, but also gave you your space when needed.

Lots and lots of space.

“Nope! Parents welcomed her with open arms this afternoon, I’m sure. They’re all on some tropical island down south. She’s bringing me an ocean bottle though, so I’m excited for that. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to add a new one.”

Everytime you travelled somewhere with a beach you got a glass bottle and filled it with half sand, half water, added in some shells or rocks and labelled it. Instead of towels, keychains, or magnets, you did ocean bottles. They lined a shelf in your room back home.

You probably have at least fifteen of them by now. Your mum likes to travel and make sure you experience the world around you, not just your little corner of it.

“Oh that’s great babe! I know how much you love those.”

“Yeah, it is.” You lean your head on his shoulder, basking in his presence for as long as the light remains red.

He’s here. He’s yours.

You only have to do this for a couple more years and then you’ll be together all the time. God you can’t wait. But you are nothing if not disciplined.

And it’s going to be so worth it in the end.

The rest of the ride to your dorm goes by quickly.

Some more red lights, some more kisses. You point out the same things you always do on the way back, and Nel acts like it’s the first time he’s seen them, just like he always does.

His hand never leaves yours over the center console.

Soon enough, you find yourselves flopping down on your bed. Bags, jackets and shoes, scattered. Nel pulls you into him, his head on your pillow, yours lying on his chest. True peace settling in for the first time in months.

“I can't wait until we’re done school and I have more than four and a half months with you a year,” he sighs. “It’s not enough. I want more. Need more.”

“Me too. But good things come to those who wait.”

“Yeah…I’m just really sick of waiting.”

“Me too,” you repeat in a yawn.

Nel’s breathing slowly evens out as you lie there, content to be in your arms again. And you look up to see his eyes closed, warm exhales brushing over your face from his nose.

You can’t blame him for being so tired. He’d had an early morning exam before flying out, even brought his suitcase to it so he could leave the second he was done. Then, the flight alone was ten hours, plus travel times to and from the airports was about an hour each way, and the wait time before boarding was another two.

Shit, he’s probably been awake for around eighteen hours straight at this point because he’s also the type that can’t sleep on planes no matter what he tries.

Oh, Nel...Of course he’s exhausted.

Giving him a squeeze before getting up, you take off his socks and jeans carefully, then tuck him into bed as much as you can. You’d try the sweater, but it involved too many working parts and you didn’t want to wake him, so you figure it’s best to have the window open tonight instead.

Grabbing your phone, you tiptoe to the bathroom and do your night time routine. It’s not an overly complicated one, just brushing your teeth, washing your face and a simple 3 step skincare routine of cleanser, toner and moisturizer. Short and sweet, but it does the job.

Halfway through brushing, you do your friend due diligence and send Yuri a ‘back safe’ text, just like she’d sent you her own ‘here safe’ when she’d landed.

You spit and rinse, moving onto washing your face and applying cleanser.

Teeth clean and face moisturized, you sneak into your room again. Nel's still out cold.

You sneak out of habit—your mom wakes at the sound of a pin dropping. But absolutely nothing could wake Nel now outside of his mother’s voice and his morning alarm. It’s a talent of his you’ve always been jealous of.

Removing today's clothes and tossing them in your overflowing hamper—reminder to self: do laundry—you slide on your pjs and climb into bed beside him, plugging in your phone and setting it down.

A thought pops into your head and you pick it back up, shooting a quick text before you can think twice.

You [11:26pm]: home safe

It pings not seconds later.

PJK [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso PJK [11:27pm]: glad ur home safe

Your heart beats a little louder at the nickname, and you chalk it up to the excitement still in you at having Nel here and being tired.

But you sleep better that night than you have in a long time.

A short, repetitive, rhythmic vibration.

Picasso [11:26pm]: home safe

Jungkook is still standing in the same corner by the wall, Adaline somewhere in the crowd in front of him dancing with her friends. She asked him to join her, but he declined. He doesn’t need to see himself more than half drunk and dancing on the cover of tomorrow’s news cycles. Not to mention his security team would shut the party down the second a camera flashed.

His guards are carefully stationed throughout the house, all dressed down in casual wear, a few with empty cups in their hands. One is watching some sort of beer pong like game in the corner, another is mingling with some guys over in the kitchen. Three he can’t immediately see. And he knows his head guard is outside in a black car ready to get him out at a moment's notice.

Nobody can tell they aren’t here for the party, not unless they’re sober enough to notice watchful eyes continually making their way over the crowd as the night goes on.

Your text woke him from the stillness he’s adapted from standing so long, trying hard not to draw attention to himself.

You were home safe. Home safe from the airport. Home safe from picking up Cornelius.

Your boyfriend.

Cornelius, your boyfriend.

He doesn’t acknowledge his teeth grinding.

You were home from picking up your beau but even then, you’d texted him to let him know you were back on campus safely. To let him know you were okay.

It’s the first thing that makes him smile all night.

So he sends back, a bit to quickly:

Me [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso Me [11:26pm]: glad ur home safe

Because it means something to him that you deem him close enough to send a ‘home safe’ text too.

That you want him to know you’re back.

Want him to know you’re safe.

Whether you know it or not, your safety means a lot to Jungkook, so that little two word text makes his heart lurch.

He needs to leave.

He needs to get out of this fucking house and back to his dorm. He came, he drank, he observed, he fulfilled his boyfriend duty.

That’s enough for him.

He shoots Adaline a text that says he isn’t feeling well and gets out as fast as he possibly can, dodging bodies left and right and doing his best to hide his face.

Once he’s out, security team in tow, the cooling midnight air does him some good.

“Someone make sure she gets back to her dorm safe,” he says in their general direction, brain too muddled to be polite in this exact moment, but it’s nothing they haven’t seen before.

This is going to be such a long week.

He can’t wait till it’s over. Till he doesn’t have to share anymore.

He was never very good at it anyway.

The smell of bacon wakes you.

And toast, and…

Eggs?

You think, at least. Since when do you have bacon? Or eggs? Toast is a given, it’s part of your life’s blood.

Opening your eyes, you blindly reach for your phone, successfully unplugging it and bringing it to your face.

The screen is too bright but you suffer through it, squinting.

9:27am.

9:27?

You slept for ten hours!?

You can’t remember the last time you slept more than 6 consecutively, aside from recovery nights, and even then it was fitful.

Nel comes in with two plates, his full with a very Eastern breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Yours with two pieces of toast, lots of bacon, a bit of eggs and some fruit. Where did he—?

He smiles at your confusion, “You have a cafeteria that sells breakfast food, you know.”

You know that.

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because the look on your face says otherwise.”

You flop back down and pull the pillow over your head, mumbling incoherent nonsense. You rarely used the dorm cafeteria for breakfast. Much preferring the greenhouse cafe or simple toast and juice that you can make in your dorm.

He chuckles. “Two breakfasts for me then, okay, if you insist,” Nel moves to leave but you screech, uncovering your face.

“Noo! I want it. Please, sweet nutrition,” he hands the plate over when you sit up, arms out stretched, and you dig in.

After a piece of bacon, you ask, “How long have you been up?”

Nel’s sitting with his legs crossed at the end of your bed, munching away, “Long enough to get changed, grab my wallet, get food and come back.”

The bacon is really good. You’ve never been so glad he knew you so well as you grab another piece from the dwindling pile.

“You slept well then, too? That’s good, I’m glad. You needed the rest.”

“Having you around always makes it easier to fall asleep,” he nudges your knee with his elbow.

Even after five years he can still make you blush.

“I know the feeling.”

You two fall into step, starting your weeks in advance prepared plans, the rest of your day passing quickly.

Too quickly.

And so does the next day, and the next, and the next.

All of your activities are going great. The zoo, picnics, study dates, restaurant dates, historical, artistic and architectural museum tours. Even a swim at the school’s indoor pool, and there’s plenty more to come.

Things slip back into being easy, just as they always have been with Nel, ever since that first day back in tenth grade.

He knows you like the back of his hand and predicts your moves before you make them, just like you do for him.

You know his favourite foods, and where he prefers to park when driving—always avoiding open curbs—you know his dream travel destinations, and who his favourite musicians are. You know his favourite pencils to design with and his favourite pencils to shade with, that he always put on his right sock first, then right shoe, then left sock and left shoe. You know that his drink order is an iced coffee with two cream and two sugar, that he prefers loose shirts over fitted ones, and that his favourite colour is orange.

It’s a pretty orange too, not just any orange. You wonder if it’s anything like Jungkook's–

Wait.

You search your memory for the information, going through favourite foods, drinks, music—all discussed previously, because you know their answers. But colour?

Nothing.

How have you never asked what Jungkook’s favourite colour is?

Isn’t that usually one of the first things people ask when they’re trying to get to know one another? Funny. Guess you’ll have to inquire the next time you see him.

Anyways, just like you know everything there is to know about Nel, he knows everything about you too, including your routines.

Which is why at twelve noon every day, he starts getting ready to go to the greenhouse for your afternoon study session.

Including today.

Your week’s already half over and you hate it. Time always moves far to fast when all you want it to do is slow the fuck down.

You only have five days left. Five days.

You’re lucky the greenhouse cafe is open during break, some places on campus are required to stay open for the students who can’t make it home, but greenhouse chooses to.

As you and Nel turn the corner you see a familiar figure sitting in his old spot at the back of the patio. The same hat, mask and hoodie, now paired with a leather jacket on top due to the weather starting to cool down.

You can tell Jungkook wasn’t expecting to see you by the way he stiffens before those all too familiar brown eyes of his meet your own. Which is fair, your schedule shifts a bit when you’re on break, he isn’t used to you being here at twelve on Wednesdays.

But as quickly as he sees you, his gaze is back on his laptop, like he never saw you in the first place.

Like you asked him to do.

And a sharp pain stings inside your chest.

When you and Nel get to your table, he sits in the seat opposite to where you always do, leaving where Jungkook usually sits beside you, empty.

A part of you is grateful for that, though you can’t figure out why and table that self discussion for a later date.

Setting down your things, you ask Nel if he wants coffee. He answers yes, like always, and after a quick visit with Viv, you're pulling out your chair and setting down your cups. Your back faces Jungkook. It’s a small mercy you can’t see him. Maybe you can forget he’s here and actually focus on your work.

But it’s also exactly because of your position, that you can’t see as Jungkook subtly watches you over the rim of his laptop while you and Nel talk quietly and study.

Nel can though.

It feels weird to ignore him. To pretend you don’t know one another when for the better part of the last seven weeks all you’ve done is talk, hang out, study or a mixture of the three, every day.

When having him sit behind you and not beside you feels so wrong and so foreign.

But this is your own doing, you caused this. So you need to suck it up and get used to it.

This is exactly what you asked for all those weeks ago. The perfect solution to your problem.

No one can know.

Not Nel.

Not anyone.

But fuck, if it didn’t absolutely suck in practice.

Setting some of your books out around you and on the table Jungkook usually uses, you dig into your business homework. Having a major and a minor are great for job prospects, on paper, and in practice after you’ve completed them.

But getting them? It takes years of hard work and dedication with no distractions.

None.

You spend almost every free moment you have doing homework or practicing, trying to get ahead, trying to stay on top.

…Trying to beat Adaline.

But you just use that as fuel for your drive to be better. To be the best.

Competition is healthy. Especially when you’re winning against the rich brat who’s used to getting what she wants.

Not that you're petty.

Ehh…You are. But only a little bit. At least you can admit it.

Nel gets to work as well, the sunlight from his spot is great for drawing. He’s working on a rough version of his thesis project that’s due at the end of the year. He has to have multiple completed renderings as well as a scale model, and he’s been brainstorming since last year about what he wants to do.

Currently, he’s drawing up an airport, trying to design so that it’s not confusing and complicated for first time users.

However, his occasional swearing and muttering to himself makes you think he’s having a tough time with it.

You try not to laugh, but a small giggle slips out.

“What,” Nel asks, a little distracted.

“Nothing.”

“No really, what’s up? I could use a laugh right now,” he insists, eyes on you at first. But then something behind you steals their attention every few seconds.

Someone.

“You just…you still make funny sounds when you're frustrated with a drawing. It’s endearing.” You reach to place your hand on his knee, trying to gain back his full attention.

Ignore him, Nel. Please ignore him.

“Yeah...” he exhales. “I guess airports are out,” his hand covers yours quickly and you hear a faint chair screech from behind you. Nel doesn’t miss it as he says. “But I do have a much bigger appreciation and understanding for all those who came before me,” pupils now unmoving from their target behind you.

Fine.

You’ll acknowledge it.

“Is everything okay? You keep looking at something? Is there an animal or…” You know what he’s looking at, but go so far as to turn anyway, playing up the ‘confused girlfriend’ role. But Nel squeezes your hand, stopping you.

He leans in, placing a fake mask of serene on and lowers his voice. “That guy keeps looking at us, moreso you. And he looks pissed off.”

Fuck, think of something.

Anything. Anythi—Oh!

You lean in too, so close your noses almost touch. “He’s probably just upset we’re talking. The greenhouse cafe is usually a quiet place to work,” good enough, you think. That’s believable, right?. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just ignore him and get back to work.”

You place a quick kiss on his lips but Nel isn’t letting up on his unnecessary vigilance. But then again, he doesn’t know that Jungkook is the opposite of a threat to you. So you reassure him, in your own way.

“Babe, seriously. If you’re going to be all protective or whatever, don’t. I come here everyday when you're not here and I’m still alive and unharmed. Go get a sandwich or a refill to get your head off of it and say hi to Viv. She’s still here, and I’m betting she remembers you. You’re kinda hard to forget.”

You can tell Nel’s about to reject the idea when you insist. “I’ll be fine, Nel. Promise. Three years and not a scratch on me.”

He sighs through his nose, but relents.

Placing his drawing pad on the table, he gets up, but not before placing another kiss to your forehead and mumbling, “Scream ‘cumquat’ if you’re in danger and I’ll come running, okay?”

You laugh outright at that. “Will do.”

You watch him as he goes, and the second he’s inside, you’re racing for your phone, typing at an astounding speed.

You [1:45pm]: Didn’t your royal upbringing teach you not to stare so blatantly!??? Nel caught you

You hear a quiet ping from behind you followed by a small exhale that sounds more like a disguised chuckle.

PJK [1:45pm]: Yes.

You [1:45pm]: So you intentionally got caught?

PJK [1:45pm]: Maybe

You [1:45pm]: Shithead

PJK [1:46pm]: Rude

You [1:46pm]: You deserve it

PJK [1:46pm]: I know. I’m just making sure he’s treating you right. PJK [1:47pm]: and trying to see if he acts differently when he knows he’s being watched. He’s very protective you know

Jungkook saw the second Nel noticed he was watching you.

His posture changed from easy going to on alert. His hand went so quickly to yours on his knee and his public displays of affection increased significantly.

It was pathetic, really. It went above a normal amount of protection. Nel was claiming his ‘property’, making sure Jungkook knew not to touch.

And the nasty look Nel gave him as he entered the cafe—gratefully still unrecognizable in his disguise—was another silent way to say back off, stay away, and don’t try anything or you’ll regret it.

It was a red flag in Jungkook's mind. A small one, but it’s still there because his efforts are completely unneeded. After five years together, Nel should know that you can handle yourself.

Hell, Jungkook knows that and it’s only been two months.

You [1:47pm]: yes I know he is, and I already told you he treats me well because he always. Does. Not just in public or under watchful eyes You [1:48pm]: and since when does my boyfriend of half a decade need your ~princely~ seal approval?

He ignores the small jab. You only ever brought up his title when you were mocking or upset with him. And he knows that in this case it's the latter.

PJK [1:48pm]: Since now PJK [1:49pm]: And it’s not that I don’t trust you at your word, but I usually like to decide for myself

That has you reeling.

Where does he get the audacity to think he has any say in or about your relationship? Your very solidly built, five years strong, healthy, happy relationship?

Because he’s the Prince? You’re pretty sure you established on day one that you didn’t and still don’t give a fuck about his birthright.

If he thinks he gets an opinion on any of this he’s got another thing coming the second he asks you anything about Adaline again.

You’re in the middle of typing out a paragraph explaining all of this when another text comes in.

PJK [1:49pm]: Because I’ve seen far too many women in love who are blind to certain things PJK [1:50pm]: And far too many hurt in the end because of it.

You pause. Fingers frozen mid swipe.

Blind to what?

How many women did he know that were in love but missing something about their partner? Surely there couldn't be that many. Right?

But this was Jungkook you were talking to, he’s lived numerous lifetimes already. That fancy birthright of his you don’t care about having given him far too many life experiences to have at his age. And they’re only going to increase from here.

So instead of hitting send and cursing him out quite spectacularly, you stop and think for a moment.

What did he see that they didn’t?

That you might… not?

You’re a decent judge of character if your record tracks. And it does.

So your curiosity gets the better of you as you delete your rage paragraph and settle for a simple two word question instead.

You [1:50pm]: Like what?

You can see that he’s typing out a response but the bell on the cafe door rings and you put your phone down. It buzzes with his response a few seconds after.

You’ll check it later.

Nel takes his seat again, and you notice he has his sandwich, but also that he’s moved his chair and starts sketching from the new position giving him a direct eye line with Jungkook.

You internally scoff at that.

Nel has always been protective. But he was raised that way and you don’t mind too much. You don’t expect him to change his core values for you, just like he never expects you to change yours for him, even when a couple of his are just the slightest bit overbearing.

But that’s part of a relationship. Give and take and compromise. No one person is going to be perfect for another. It’s healthy to have differences.

That being said, Nel doesn’t change positions for the rest of the hour. Even as Jungkook packs up and leaves, Nel eyeballs him until he’s out of sight.

That night while Nel is brushing his teeth and you're lying in bed, you check the text from Jungkook.

PJK [1:51pm]: Like if they’re getting treated the way they should be or if they’re settling for the best they think they can get or for the first guy that showed interest. The one who hasn’t grown up even though time has passed. The one who’s holding her back by not setting her free

You stare at your phone. At the text. At his words.

And dismiss it.

You aren’t one of those women.

You know yourself.

You know what you deserve and how you should be treated. You didn’t settle, you just happened to find your love at a young age. That’s something special and rare and should be protected. And Nel has most certainly grown up as time passed.

Jungkook is being ridiculous for absolutely no reason. Surely he’ll have seen that today. Seen how Nel loves you, treats you how you deserve to be treated, holds you up. Supports you.

You’re confident he’ll be eating his words soon enough.

Finished brushing, Nel comes back to the bedroom and snuggles up behind you and you put down your phone.

He cuddles you for a minute before placing a kiss at your neck. Then another. And another before he’s mouthing up your neck, and sliding a hand up your thigh and to your waist. It pauses on your stomach with teasing caresses, before dipping lower and lower, beneath the fabric of your sleep shorts, and under the elastic of your underwear.

A small moan sounds in your throat at the touch. His fingers meeting your folds and the sensitive bundle of nerves at their apex.

You wanted this.

Need it.

He’s grown, you think; as a finger slips in you and you gasp at the stretch, legs opening wider for him. A second finger plunges in and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every thrust. Just like you can feel a bulge forming behind you.

You know what you deserve; as he uses them to scissor you open, making sure you’re ready. You roll over, now on your back with Nel over you as he pulls your shorts and underwear down to get better access, your own hands removing your shirt.

You’re not settling; as Nel moves down, tongue making a couple swipes at your entrance and you hiss in pleasure before he’s reaching over, grabbing a condom from the nightstand drawer and sliding it on, length hard and dripping at the sight of you bared before him.

Nel wasn’t the first guy who’d shown interest, just the first you’d said yes to; and he slides in. Both of you moaning at the snug fit.

“Fuck...” he says and you nod, agreeing, before pulling him down into a deep kiss.

He eases into a slow, steady rhythm that has you breathy and his abs tensing.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to erase these past two months without him, and take enough to last for the next two. It’s never enough, but you try.

“Faster baby,” you beg, “Please…faster.”

Nel isn’t holding you back. Jungkook doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.

Nel picks up the pace and you start moaning, louder like you know he likes. Likes to hear he’s doing a good job. He’s grabbing your breast and sucking in a nipple, tongue swirling and you're bringing your hips to meet his with every thrust.

It feels good. It always feels good with Nel.

He was your first everything. First kiss, first intimate touch, first love.

Only love.

And he makes you feel good with that love. That touch. His kiss.

He makes you feel safe, inside and out.

Jungkook can go eat grass. He doesn’t know your relationship. Doesn’t know the first thing about it.

“There, right there!” you whine as Nel hits your sweet spot once and you arch. He tries again but misses, continuing faster, his peak coming quickly.

Jungkook can never understand what you two have. What you two have built in these five years. The understanding and security that comes with it.

He’s being an unrightfully opinionated ass on something he knows nothing about and—

Fuck! Why are you thinking about Jungkook? You’re having sex with Nel. You shouldn’t be thinking about anything or anyone other than that.

Than him.

So why can’t you get what Jungkook said out of your fucking head?

“Ahhh… oh fuck. I’m cumming.” Nel’s hips stutter, his face contorting in pleasure as he releases, filling the condom.

You kiss him passionately to rid yourself of your princely plagued thoughts, the ones filling you with unwanted and unnecessary doubt. You want them gone, gone, gone. Nothing but Nel in their place.

And you slip an, “I love you,” in between kisses for good measure.

Jungkook could never understand.

Nel kisses you back just as hard, dramatically slowing his thrusts, drawing out his high for as long as possible.

“I love you too.”

Jungkook doesn’t know anything.

Nel groans into your lips when it becomes too much and pulls out.

Removing and tying off the condom, Nel goes to the washroom to throw it out and starts the shower he knows you’ll be joining him for when you're done.

A routine you’re all too familiar with.

One you created.

He knows you need a few minutes to get yourself off.

You’ve never been able to cum from sex with a partner. No matter how hard you tried. No matter what you did.

Most would think Nel wasn’t a good lover or wasn’t trying enough, but it was through years of constantly trying anything and everything that you learned you just…couldn’t.

No amount of fingering or oral or penetration from your partner could make you orgasm.

So Nel knows to wait for you in the shower as you finish yourself off, your own fingers making quick work of it, because you always could for some reason.

It isn’t your ideal situation, and it isn’t anyone’s fault. But it works. You both get the intimacy you crave and you accepted a long time ago that you were just one of the unlucky few.

Screams fill Jungkook’s ears as a hand finds his hair and nails rake against his scalp.

Adaline isn’t a quiet receiver.

“Ohmygod!” She shouts for the twentieth time. “Yes! There…so goo-oohhhh,” the last syllable turning into a loud moan.

He’s holding her downwith a forearm by her pelvis, mouth full as he brings out her third orgasm of the night, juices flooding his tongue.

He’s working out earlier frustrations and proving a point to himself in this fucked up version of self therapy.

He shouldn’t be.

But he does.

Has to.

Seeing you today with Cornelius spurred feelings within him that he didn’t know he had. Sure, there were bits and pieces of something stirring he refused to name, but today?

They were in a whole different ballpark. Different than anything else he’s ever felt before, brewing inside him, bubbling up to the surface even though he’s been trying his best to pop them and shove them down.

Anger?

Feelings he doesn’t want to have.

Jealousy?

Does have.

Wanting you to look at him the way you look at Nel?

Can’t have.

Not for…

He admits he provoked Nel because he could. Dick move, but it was because Jungkook knew just by looking at him that giving you any form of attention would piss him off. He seemed the type.

Overly possessive, overprotective.

Overbearingly so.

Suffocatingly so.

Because Nel knows how lucky he is. That you chose him. That you still choose him.

He knows he has to keep others away.

Knows he isn’t good enough for you, holds you back. But keeps you anyway.

The selfish prick.

So Jungkook eyed you up and down, leisurely, and for as long as he wanted. Purely out of the need to prove to himself he was right about his little assessment of your boyfriend. At least that’s what he told himself.

Was it childish and unnecessary?

Yes.

But he was right. And that felt good.

He could see in your posture and your hushed words you didn’t want Nel’s protection, didn’t need it, and that Nel ignored that wish of yours. Did what he wanted to instead of respecting your ability to make decisions for yourself. Bulldozed your opinions.

It pissed Jungkook off.

He’d left a little while after sending you that text to read, but you never did. At least not since the last time he checked. And so he’d made plans with Adaline the second he was out of your earshot. Calling her up and setting a time for what’s currently taking up his primary focus.

Because even though it was Adaline underneath him, for the very first time, that’s not who he imagined it was.

Not who he just dragged a fourth orgasm out of with his fingers because he could.

Because he would. He would be so much better. Give so much more. If only…

Fuck.

Jungkook stands and drags his cock over Adaline’s entrance, whacking it against her clit a couple times before running the tip through her folds and pushing in. He hisses at the feeling. At who he was sinking into in his head, splayed out in front of him. Skin glistening with sweat mixed with arousal. Mouth open, slack jawed in pleasure.

Adaline moans loudly and it dissolves his visual.

His tattooed hand moves to hold her hands above her head, the other silences her mouth.

“Quiet now,” he whispers, low and deep. A bead of sweat dripping off his brow, hair sticking to his neck and temple.

He intends it to be sexy for her, but in reality, he’s just sick of hearing her. It’s ruining his mental image. Not that she’ll ever know that though.

To Adaline, this session is all about her and making her feel good.

But constant screams and loud, pornographic moans aren’t appealing to him in the slightest. They're taking him out of the mood. Making him soft.

Once or twice when it’s genuine? Sure. But the constant assault she loves to give his eardrums? Not even a little bit.

He sets a fast, rough pace, and Adaline’s eyes roll back in pleasure, screams finally subsiding in white hot bliss, replaced by bitten lips and smothered whimpers.

He is going to prove this point to himself over and over again. All night if he has to.

And he has to.

To get whatever it is he’s feeling for you out of his system.

To keep his sanity.

To forget.

And while it’s Adaline’s name is on his lips when he cums.

It’s not the name he repeats in his head like a prayer.

Chapter Seven: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

A/N 2: Thanks for waiting for this chapter. I'll try my best to have 7 out as soon as I can get it. I promise.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

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trippiexlove · 2 months ago

Text

Ch.20 - Serendipity

Story Master List

Main Master List - If you would like to be tagged comment below!

Because y'all asked so nicely ☺️ , enjoy!

Druitt POV

recap...

Trin stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable, her eyes holding a truth I both desperately wanted and desperately feared to see. The silence in the room intensified, every nerve in my body screaming for the answer etched on her face...

"It's negative, girl," I let out a sigh of relief, placing my hands on my chest. Trin tossed the test in the trash and walked over to me. "How are you feeling?"

"Slightly relieved. I don't think we're quite ready to have children together right now," I admitted.

"Why you think that?" she asked, a confused look on her face.

"Well, we're both really focused on our careers right now, plus we haven't even been dating for that long," I shrugged as I pulled my gear out of my bag.

"What about years from now? If you're still champion, would you hold off then too? Look at Becky, she had a baby, came back, and won titles back to back. A baby isn't going to stop you, sis," she said with a knowing look before heading out.

I sighed, lost in thought. The opening of the door startled me, pulling me away from my thoughts. I turned to see Jey walking in.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, walking over to me. He placed his hands on my lower back, giving me a quick kiss, before heading over to the couch to sit down.

"Hey, babe, what's up?"

I went over and sat in his lap. "I've got a backstage segment and then a match with Jade. I think we're closing out the show," I said, fiddling with his curls.

"Mmm, I might have to start calling you Ms. Main Event then," we both chuckled at his joke.

"I guess so," I replied, smiling. We talked for a few more minutes until he had to leave to finish getting ready for his match. After he left, I quickly changed into my gear, since my hair and makeup were already done.

After I was done changing, I left the dressing room and headed towards the interview area, where I met up with Cathy.

We filmed the interview quickly, and then I made my way to Gorilla to get ready for my match. I saw Jade there, and we went over the plan. Finally, it was time for Jade to make her entrance. Her music hit, and she walked out of Gorilla to a loud pop from the crowd. I waited a couple of minutes, getting myself into position. Once my music hit, I was completely in the zone.

As I walked out, the crowd cheered just as loudly for me. I looked around, holding my title up in the air as my pyros went off. A smirk played on my lips as I walked to the ring, keeping intense eye contact with Jade.

Samantha announced the match as the ref held up the title. Soon, the bell rang, signaling the start.

~After the Match~

The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving a pleasant weariness in its wake. Back in my dressing room, I methodically gathered my gear, the familiar weight of my bag a comforting presence. Stepping out into the backstage hallway, I offered quick goodnights to the passing superstars and the hardworking crew, their nods and smiles a testament to the shared experience of the night.

The roar of the crowd beyond the backstage doors was still a vibrant hum. As I emerged, a few enthusiastic fans called out, their cheers a final burst of energy. I waved in their direction, a genuine smile on my face, before spotting Jey leaning against our car. Eager to avoid lingering and the potential for a larger gathering, I slipped into the passenger seat.

With Jey behind the wheel, we pulled away from the arena, the sounds of the night softening as we headed towards the familiar comfort of our hotel. A low melody drifted from the car speakers, a relaxed soundtrack to our post-match calm.

I noticed Jey subtly rotating his right shoulder, a slight wince creasing his brow. "You okay, babe?" I asked, concern lacing my voice.

"Yeah, I'm good ma," he replied, his voice a little tight. "Shoulder's a bit sore, that's all."

"I can work on that for you when we get to the hotel," I offered, gently rubbing the tense muscle beneath my fingertips as he drove.

A small smile touched his lips. "I definitely won't turn that down."

The drive to the hotel was quick and comfortable. We gathered our bags and made our way to our room, the quiet normalcy a welcome contrast to the electric energy of the arena.

Inside, we fell into our familiar nighttime routine, the unspoken rhythm of our shared life a comforting ritual. Emerging from the bathroom, I found Jey sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped slightly. I moved behind him, my hands finding the knots and tension in his muscles. I kneaded and pressed, feeling the tightness gradually ease under my touch.

After a while, his head tilted forward, a sigh escaping his lips. "You good, babe?" I murmured.

He placed his hands over mine, stilling my movements. "Yeah, thanks, beautiful. Shoulders feel a lot better." He turned his head slightly, his eyes finding mine.

Leaning over his shoulder, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a silent expression of care and affection. We settled into bed, the soft glow of the television screen casting a warm light as we cuddled close, the day's excitement fading into peaceful sleep.

~A Few Days Later~

Atlanta was a welcome change of pace, filled with the happy chaos of spending time with Jey and Jeyce. Today, though, I was carving out some solo time, eagerly anticipating a lunch date with Trin, who was also in town with Jon.

I was just putting the finishing touches on my hair when Josh strolled into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe with a playful smirk.

"Mmm," he drawled, his eyes running over me. "Might have to tell Trin you're not going to make it."

I turned, a confused look on my face. "Why would you do that?"

"Have you seen how you look?" he said, stepping closer. "Girl better be lucky I won't get you pregnant right now."

A nervous laugh escaped me at his bold statement.

If only you knew... the thought flickered through my mind, a secret warmth blooming within me.

"Could you help me with this necklace?" I asked, turning my back to him. He moved behind me, his fingers fumbling slightly with the delicate clasp before securing it. He then pressed a soft kiss to the nape of my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me close.

"Josh, I really don't have the time," I said gently, though a shiver traced its way down my spine.

"Just a few minutes," he murmured into my hair. "Trin can wait."

A soft chuckle escaped me. I turned in his embrace, my hands resting on his chest. "As much as I would absolutely love to," I said, my gaze softening, "one, Jeyce is downstairs. Two, I really do need to go. And three," I leaned closer, my lips a breath away from his, "we both know it wouldn't just be a few minutes." I punctuated the statement with a quick kiss before stepping out of his arms.

"That's okay," he said, a knowing wink in his eye as he backed out of the bathroom. "This weekend, you mine tho."

I gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror, soothing my hands down my outfit. A small smile playing on my lips, before grabbing my purse and heading downstairs, the promise of lunch with Trin and the anticipation of the weekend mingling in my thoughts.

"Alright, I'm gone, babe," I said, leaning in for a quick peck, already turning to leave.

"Here," Jey called out, and I turned back to see him tossing me a set of keys. "Take the Cedes. Take care of her."

I caught the keys, a smile spreading across my face as I looked up at him. "I promise to take care of your baby," I replied playfully, before heading out the door, sliding into the luxurious car, and pulling away from the house.

The drive to the brunch spot was easy, and I immediately spotted Trin at a cozy corner table. As I walked over, her face lit up.

"Hey, sis!" she exclaimed, pushing back her chair to embrace me in a warm hug.

"Hey, girl," I said, settling into the seat as the waitress approached to take our orders.

"So, what's up with you?" Trin asked once we were alone again.

I shook my head slightly. "Nothing much, still processing that little scare from a few days ago."

"Yeah, did you tell Jey?"

"No, I didn't," I admitted, my gaze drifting for a moment. "I don't think I'm going to tell him, to be honest." Just then, our food arrived, and we paused our conversation to savor the delicious smells and take our first bites.

"Why not?" Trin prompted after a comfortable silence. "Have y'all ever talked about having children together?"

I nodded. "Yes, we have. We're both on the same page about where we see ourselves in the future." I took a slow sip of my mimosa before continuing, "I have absolutely no doubts about having children with him. He's a fantastic father to Jeyce."

"I'm sensing a little hesitation there," Trin observed gently.

"I mean," I began, a thoughtful frown creasing my brow, "if I were pregnant, wouldn't it be too soon? We've only been dating for five months."

"I hear what you're saying," she acknowledged, "but you guys have such a strong connection already." I nodded in agreement, the truth of her words resonating within me.

"Yeah, we do, and I want to nurture that for a while," I explained. "Not saying our relationship couldn't handle having a child, but right now doesn't feel like the right time." I shrugged. "Plus, he just asked me to move in, and I still haven't given him an answer."

"Is there a reason why?" Trin asked, her eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

"I guess a part of me is still holding onto insecurities from my past relationship," I confessed, my voice softening. "It's no fault of Josh's at all."

"I say go for it," Trin encouraged, leaning forward slightly. "I mean, think about it. When was the last time you were actually home?"

I paused, considering her question. I couldn't help but agree; lately, Josh's place had become my de facto home. "Okay, I see your point," I conceded with a small smile. "I guess I will give him my answer this weekend."

The conversation then meandered to other topics, the easy camaraderie between us a comforting constant as we enjoyed the rest of our brunch. Eventually, the telltale buzz of our phones interrupted us, both texts from the boys, expressing how much they missed us.

I looked up at Trin, a knowing smile on my face. "I guess we need to go before they come and drag us out of here."

Trin laughed, nodding in agreement. "That part." We paid the bill, shared another hug, and then went our separate ways, the warmth of our friendship lingering as I headed back to Jey.

Did I get you with the plot twist? 👀

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acescorazon · 3 months ago

Text

Changes

Title: The art of...flirting?

Chapter: 23

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Dialogue Heavy.

Word Count: 6541

Chapter Excerpt:

“You try too damn hard,” Buggy mutters under his breath. He’s not actually complaining or anything, though. If anything, he’s just stating the truth. He doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone try this hard to get on his good side before. Hell, even his own men don’t try this hard to win him over.

“Am I bothering you or making you feel uncomfortable?” Mihawk asks, “If so, I apologize. I just haven’t had feelings for someone in a long, long time.” He admits, “I’m nervous and I just…” he chuckles quietly. He's nervous? No, that can't be true. Mihawk doesn’t get nervous. “I just really want you to return my feelings, but I’m worried that our disastrous past will prevent you from ever liking me back,” He squeezes Buggy’s hand softly, “I’m completely lost here, Buggy. I don’t know how to redeem myself and make myself more likable. If i’m bothering you in anyway, though, just tell me and i’ll back off. I swear.”

…

It takes Buggy a moment to respond, but he eventually squeezes Mihawk’s hand back, “...You’re not bothering me.” he whispers quietly. Part of him hopes Mihawk won’t hear him, but the moment he sees Mihawk smile softly and look down at their hands, he knows he got his hopes up for nothing. God, what am I doing? He finds himself wondering yet again.

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Buggy passes the hell out not long after he returns to his room. When he wakes up, it's almost dinner time, and he's surprised that he’s slept all day. He sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes, before he glances over at the clock at his bedside. It’s 5:45 PM, and Buggy can’t help but wonder why his crew or even Mihawk and Crocodile let him sleep for so long. When was the last time he got the chance to sleep the day away like this? It’s been a while, hasn’t it? And in theory, he should feel refreshed after what? 10 or 11 hours of sleep? Instead, there's a dull ache in his skull, and he has the urge to lie back down. He doesn't allow himself to rest any longer, though, he has a ship to run.

As Buggy dresses himself, thoughts of Mihawk briefly enter his mind. Why can’t he get that man out of his damn head? He’s always thinking about Mihawk for one reason or another and he hates himself for it. Before Mihawk and Crocodile came into his life, most of Buggy’s thoughts were related to the mundane aspects of his daily life – He often wondered how he would run his island, how he would get more recruits and make more money, or how he would make the most of his power as a warlord. Of course, Buggy’s past would also come back to haunt his thoughts more often than not and he would think about his old crew a lot and his good for nothing best friend, but he doesn’t think there was ever a time when he couldn’t pull himself out of his own thoughts. That all changed after the formation of Cross Guild, though.

Buggy thinks back to earlier in the morning when he and Mihawk held each other so… tenderly. He hates to admit it, but that’s exactly what they did. They didn’t have a simple, fleeting hug, they held each other in a tight embrace that meant a lot more than either of them let on. It was too warm, too secure, and way too intimate for them, or it should have been. Buggy should have hated that hug, he should have been repulsed by the mere idea of hugging someone who has caused him so much pain and suffering, he shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place, really, but…

Something major has changed whether Buggy admits it or not.

Buggy can still remember how Mihawk's body felt pressed against his. In fact, it’s almost like his stupid brain has the shape and feel of Mihawk’s body memorized after that one dumb hug. Mihawk is almost all muscle. His shoulders and back in particular are firm and broad, but Buggy would be a liar if he said he wasn’t secretly a sucker for broad shoulders. That god awful, red-headed best friend of his has some of the broadest shoulders that Buggy’s ever seen on a man, and he would also be lying if he said that there wasn't a point in his life when he was obsessed with Shanks' body and more meaty, well built body types in general.

Mihawk is slightly smaller than Shanks, and he’s not as meaty, but he’s… Nevermind it doesn’t matter. Buggy shouldn’t be thinking about Shanks and he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about Mihawk, not like that, at least. He will admit, though, that Mihawk’s chest is comfortable. It’s kind of like a brand new pillow - firm yet still comfortable enough to lie his head on. His grip is also insanely tight and secure, too.

Buggy truly thinks he’s gone too long without being touched because he practically melted in Mihawk’s arms the moment he grabbed his waist. Good lord that hug was snug, but it felt so good. Buggy…Buggy has this thing… He thinks it’s because he’s spent his life living dangerously, but he’s not sure. Anyways, a good, secure hug always does numbers on him. Maybe he just wants to feel safe and protected for once. Being the captain or even the leader of Cross Guild means he’s supposed to be the strong one who protects everyone and gives them the support and encouragement they need, but sometimes he just wants to be the one who's being taken care of. He wants to be the one who feels loved and protected.

But Buggy doesn’t want to think about all that. He doesn't want to think about how long their embrace lasted, or how he felt during it, or even how he let Mihawk pull him in for a second deep embrace. If he thinks too much about it, he might go nuts.

The fact that Mihawk and Buggy were able to hug so tenderly without anything feeling awkward or forced is surreal. It shouldn’t have happened, not in this lifetime at least. Buggy supposedly hates Mihawk, and Mihawk isn’t the affectionate type, so why were they hugging like that? Why did it seem like Mihawk’s been waiting for the day that Buggy would let him hug him? He grabbed him as soon as he was close enough, like he’s been dying to finally get his hands on him and then he hugged him and didn’t want to let go. God, Buggy needs to move on, it was just a hug.

It was just a stupid, unnecessarily long hug, that’s all. He’s putting way too much thought into this.

Why am I still thinking about it? Buggy wonders as he puts a shirt over his head. Just get over it already... He tells himself, despite knowing that he's never been the type to 'just get over' things. He has to get over this, though, he can't allow thoughts like these to constantly enter his mind. He can’t allow himself to constantly think about Mihawk, it’s…weird.

With a sigh, Buggy finally leaves his room and heads out to check on his men and their ship. Much to his surprise, everything seems to be peaceful. It's almost as if the attack from the sea king last night never happened. The blood and tentacles are no longer on the front deck, and if there were any minor damages from the attack, his men made sure to fix them before Buggy woke up. That lingering sense of dread is long gone too, and Buggy's men happily make their way around the ship, either tending to their duties or chatting to each other happily. Buggy almost wonders if he dreamt the entire sea king attack until one of his men informs him that the ship has already made a slight change in its route and that they're now heading to a nearby island, just like Crocodile and Mihawk said they would.

At some point, after he's checked on his men and been brought up to date, Buggy spots his fellow leading members of Cross Guild. They seem to be in the middle of a casual conversation, one without any bickering or snide remarks. So even these two know how to enjoy a peaceful evening, huh? As Buggy has that thought, the ever perceptive Mihawk seems to notice he's watching them and glances over in his direction before silently beckoning him over to him and Crocodile.

Buggy hesitates for a moment before he makes his way over to the other two men. The art of having a casual conversation with Mihawk and Crocodile is still something he struggles with, but they seem to have the same issue. They greet each other and then there's a long, dreadful pause before Mihawk speaks up, "I take it that you're well rested now?" He asks. More or less, Buggy thinks as he gives Mihawk a quick nod in response. "Good. And I suspect that your men have already informed you that we will be going through with our plans and will be stopping at a nearby island." Buggy nods again.

"I still don't think we need to make any stops. The ship's fine, and so is the crew..." Crocodile mutters under his breath, "It's a pointless excursion if you ask me."

"Good thing nobody asked you." Mihawk replies. He seems to ignore the nasty look Crocodile gives him and continues telling Buggy about their plans: "We'll head to the nearest island and stay a couple of days. It'll be good for the mens' psyche after such a major attack took place. There we can restock, even though I doubt we'll need to do that, and we can also assess the ship for further damage." Mihawk makes a lot of sense and Buggy agrees with him completely, but Crocodile… Well, Crocodile never agrees with anyone but himself:

"For fuck’s sake, the attack from the sea king wasn't that bad. You're just being dramatic, Hawkeye."

"No, I'm being the logical one, as always."

There they go again, Buggy thinks as he stands there, listening to Mihawk and Crocodile start to bicker again. The peaceful atmosphere on the ship was nice while it lasted, even though Buggy only got to experience it for about ten minutes at most. He looks out at the vast and open sea, taking in the breathtaking view of the sun setting over the horizon. Watching the sunset was always one of his favorite things to do as a child on the Oro Jackson. He doesn't do it much as an adult, but whenever he does, a sense of nostalgia always washes over him. Sometimes said nostalgia makes him sad, sometimes it comforts him like a warm embrace, today the latter seems to be the case, though. He allows himself to enjoy the scenery and stares up at the overcast skies that are painted in various shades of red and orange, but only for a moment, before he turns his attention back to Mihawk and Crocodile.

"Personally…I don't mind stopping at a nearby island," Buggy says slowly, with the goal of remaining a neutral party to avoid any arguments (mainly with Crocodile.) "It'll give us a chance to reevaluate our plans for this trip and finalize them. We can sit down and factor in things we might not have thought of before... like another sea king attack or unstable weather conditions, that way we're better prepared and won't have to stop again." He adds, hoping to pacify Crocodile so he'll finally shut up about their detour. "It won't be a pointless excursion, it'll be...a regrouping session."

"Whatever," Crocodile huffs, "This little detour better not set us back, or I'll be pissed."

"It won't." Mihawk assures him, "But if we do happen to face any setbacks, I'll take full responsibility for them."

“Yeah, you fuckin' better."

Buggy fights off the urge to roll his eyes at Crocodile's snarky reply. Well, at least one of their problems has finally been solved. They manage to put their little argument to rest right before they're told dinner is ready, and Buggy couldn’t be more grateful. As soon as he hears what's on the menu -- Some steak (and roasted vegetables that he couldn't care less about) -- he suddenly remembers that he hasn't eaten all day and takes off. Buggy has been dreaming about eating steak for weeks, and it looks like they’re finally having something other than seafood for once. He’s guessing it’s because they went through such a stressful night last night and this is supposed to be a treat, but even if that’s not the case, Buggy won’t complain.

Buggy ditches Mihawk and Crocodile the moment he hears the food is ready. He's the captain of the ship, and if anyone's guaranteed a plate of food, it's him, but there's always been a voice in the back of his head that tells him that if he isn't one of the first people in line to get food, then he just won't eat. Maybe that's just part of his trauma from being at sea his entire life talking again, though. In any case, Buggy gets his steak (and his vegetables) and has a seat in the dining room, where a few of his men are already sitting and enjoying their own meals.

He makes some casual chit-chat with his crew and listens to various members ramble about their day and tell some stories before he shares a few short stories of his own with them. Dinner time was always a big deal on the Oro Jackson, so naturally it’s the same when it comes to any ship Buggy’s the captain of. He loves feeling like a real family and having dinner with his children, if that wasn’t obvious already. Is it partially because it gives him the chance to brag and to tell a bunch of (fake) stories about himself and his past?! Maybe, but it’s really nobody’s business.

“Say, did I ever tell you kids about the time I took on all seven of the orginal seven war lords?!” Buggy asks the small group of pirates surrounding him. “It was an intense seven versus one battle, and I didn’t even have Cabaji or Mohji to back me up!”

The men surrounding him all give him a look of disbelief, as they rightfully should. There’s a brief pause in their chatter before things quickly become lively again. “No, you never told us that story, Captain!” One of the men replies.

“Tell us about it, Captain!” Exclaims another.

“Woah, you fought them without any backup at all? Chairmen, you’re too cool!” Praises a third member of the crew.

Buggy grins at their responses, “You kids know me. Your captain Buggy is nothing but an honest man, So I won’t lie and say the battle was over quickly. In reality, it was a little difficult, even for someone of my caliber.” he pretends to think about this supposed battle he had with the seven original warlords. “Hm, out of all of them, I think Doflamingo was the toughest. No, it was Kuma. No, no it was…”

Just as Buggy’s about to finish his sentence, the door to the dining room swings open. First Crocodile comes in and then Mihawk follows closely behind him. The sight of them causes Buggy’s words to dry up in his mouth. “On second thought, I’ll tell you guys the rest of the story later. It really is a long one and I don’t think I could tell you it over dinner.”

Naturally his children look disappointed and begin to complain: “Aw, but we want to hear the story!”

“Yeah, tell us about your fight against the seven warlords anyways, Captain! We’ll sit here all night if we have to!”

Buggy chuckles nervously, mainly because Crocodile’s staring him down now, “No, I'd rather tell you about the time I… I had a friendly dispute with Red-Haired Shanks and fought him for twelve days and twelve nights!”

One of the crew members gasps, “Twelve days and twelve nights?!” That’s what he said, isn’t it? Of course, it’s all bullshit regardless of what story he tells, though. Buggy does have some real harrowing tales of his own that he could tell, but he doesn’t like the emotions associated with some of said tales. He doesn’t like to admit that his past is filled with tragedy, defeat, and endless hardships. In fact, everything that’s ever happened to Buggy in his life was either dumb luck or bad luck, and there’s been no in between.

As Buggy tells this new fictional story, he somehow winds up sitting in the middle of Mihawk and Crocodile. He doesn’t understand why they have to sit right beside him when there are plenty of other free seats at the dining table. He tries not to think about it, though. After all, they are shipmates... or something like that, and Mihawk and Crocodile are the closest with Buggy, so their choice of seats makes sense in a way. The other two don't really socialize like the rest of the crew do, they only offer curt replies and grunts in response to most things said to them or asked. Nobody seems to really mind it, though, and the atmosphere somehow continues to be light-hearted and fun despite their presence.

Buggy's not like Crocodile and Mihawk (obviously), he rambles endlessly to his crew as he eats because they never get tired of listening to him. Even if he sometimes retells the same story or gets caught telling a small white lie, his crew never bothers to correct him, so he never shuts up. “And that’s when Red-Haired Shanks threw his sword down on the ground and finally surrendered!” Buggy tells his men. They seem amazed, but Mihawk obviously doesn’t feel the same way. He snorts and mutters something under his breath, but thankfully Buggy can’t hear him, so it doesn’t matter anyways.

Funnily enough, Buggy doesn’t seem to mind that Crocodile and Mihawk are around. In fact, he forgets they’re even in the same room as him from time to time until one of them scoffs quietly after he says something unbelievable. Every now and again, though, he does catch one of them looking at him. Mihawk in particular, often stares at him with a blank expression on his face, whilst Crocodile looks just plain agitated with him whenever he looks at him. Buggy would assume that they’re angry or annoyed with him, but they never say anything. They don’t tell him to shut up, or really react, they just give him the same unreadable reactions over and over again. Surely if they were actually bothered by anything he’s saying or doing, they’d say something. So, after a while, Buggy realizes they’re not angry, just mean looking. (Well, he knew that before, but still.)

Much to Buggy’s dismay, his steak is gone within no time. He didn't even get to savor it really, he just inhaled his food without thinking, and now he’s poking at some potatoes that look rather unappetizing, well, less appetizing than a steak does. He glances over to his side and takes note of how Mihawk has barely touched his own entrée. Perhaps Buggy should have saved the best for last, like Mihawk did, but he was dying to sink his teeth into something that wasn’t fish, sea king, or crab for once. All of a sudden, Mihawk looks over at him again and locks eyes with him, "Here." He simply says before he cuts his steak and gives Buggy half of it without waiting for him to give a proper response.

“You don’t have t-...” Buggy tries to stop Mihawk from sharing his steak with him, but it’s too late. Less than a second later, it’s sitting in the middle of Buggy’s plate, and he stares at it. “Thank you.” He mutters, feeling slightly defeated yet grateful. So, the world’s strongest swordsman is good at sharing, who would have known?

“Mhm,” Mihawk replies in a quiet voice, “There’s no need to thank me…”

A sharp click of the tongue comes from Buggy’s right all of a sudden. “You starving or something?” Crocodile asks, glancing over at Buggy as well.

“What? N–” Buggy tries to reply again, but before he can, there’s already a second piece of steak on his plate courtesy of Crocodile. Why are they like this…? “... Thank you.” he says yet again, and he receives a grunt from Crocodile in response:

“Tasted cheap anyways.”

Of course, he would say something like that. Buggy thinks as he heaves a small sigh and continues his meal. This time he eats a little slower, and actually enjoys the juicy steak and all its rich flavors. It most definitely does not taste cheap in Buggy’s opinion, but what does he know? He’s not loaded like Crocodile is.

Dinner is fantastic and for dessert they have some chocolate cake. It’s nothing special, but when you’ve been eating the same crap for a while, anything slightly different from the norm tastes like heaven. Buggy was starting to feel full by the time dessert rolled around, but how could he ever pass up a piece of cake, especially when he doesn’t really get the chance to eat sweet things?

Buggy groans softly when that first bite of chocolate cake enters his mouth. It tastes so rich and chocolatey, and– Mihawk glances over at Buggy, and watches him eat for a moment before he proceeds to slide his entire plate of cake over to him. “Eat it. I don’t like sweets.” He tells Buggy. Then why’d you take it in the first place? Buggy thinks, confused as hell. Why the hell would Buggy want his cake? He has his own, and Mihawk literally just saw him eat a huge meal.

Buggy’s just about to tell Mihawk that he doesn’t want his food when Crocodile clicks his tongue, “Take mine too. Chocolate gives me heartburn, and I don’t like that shit.” Are they serious right now? What’s Buggy going to do with three pieces of fucking cake?!

Buggy sighs, “Look, guys, I–...”

“Eat it.” Mihawk and Crocodile order at the same time, and Buggy… Well, Buggy listens to them obediently, just like he usually does. His original slice of cake is delicious and goes down smoothly, but halfway through the second slice of cake, he starts to wonder if he’s involved in some sort of cruel and unusual punishment. In the end, he doesn’t finish all of the cake given to him but Mihawk and Crocodile don’t seem to mind, and it makes Buggy wonder what this was all for.

…

After dinner, the crew gathers around on the front deck and tries to figure out who will watch over the ship while everyone else sleeps tonight. Since Buggy is the most rested member of the crew, he volunteers for night patrol. He expects a few of his men to volunteer to join him or even take his place, but Mihawk beats them to the punch: “I’ll join you.” He simply states, “I don’t sleep well during the night anyways.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Buggy mutters quietly. Why is it that every time Buggy volunteers for something, Mihawk immediately follows suit? “It shouldn’t be too much trouble to keep guard on my own.” He gives a generic excuse, but truth be told, he’s not sure if he’s ready to be all alone with Mihawk again, especially for an entire night. He can’t tell him that, though.

Mihawk puts up his hand, “It’s fine, I don’t mind helping out. Besides, there’s no such thing as being too cautious, especially after last night. It’s better to have an extra set of eyes around just in case something goes amiss like last night.” His argument makes sense, but Buggy can’t help but think Mihawk’s not being completely honest. Does he really want to just help Buggy look after the ship, or does he just want to be alone with him for around 8 or 9 hours? Actually, he doesn’t think he wants the answer to that.

Buggy’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts when he hears Crocodile snort loudly, “You know, I was going to volunteer to keep watch with you, but Hawkeye beat me to the punch,” he complains with a scoff.

Mihawk heaves a sigh, “If you want to join us, I won’t stop you.”

“Oh, please. We both know you want him all to yourself.”

Buggy blinks once, twice, thrice. There was a lot to unpack from that small conversation alone, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to try to figure out the meanings behind their words. Nope. Instead he turns around and leaves while Crocodile and Mihawk start bickering with each other. He starts saying goodnight to the rest of the crew, turns off any lights that the others accidentally left on, and makes sure they’re still on the right course before settling down for the night.

Earlier in the day, one of his men had informed him that the island they’re heading to is about two days away. Mihawk picked their destination, and It’s supposed to be an island with a tropical climate that’s west of where they are right now. Buggy forgets the name of it, though, but thinks it’s something related to plants or nature. They’ll go there and then rest for a couple of days before following their original plans and going to Prickly Pear. Maybe Buggy will finally get the chance to relax and clear his mind during their little detour. God knows he would love to get Mihawk off his mind finally.

Buggy’s sitting on a large wooden crate not too far from the ship’s helm when he suddenly hears soft footsteps approaching him. Speak of the devil, he thinks as Mihawk comes into view. He’s all alone, though, and Buggy can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “What happened with Crocodile?” He asks when his curiosity gets the best of him.

“I ended up asking him to go to bed,” Mihawk casually replies as he has a seat on a crate that’s next to the one Buggy’s on. That reply makes Buggy even more curious. He knows he shouldn’t ask for Mihawk to elaborate but he ends up doing it anyways.

“Why’d you do that?” Buggy asks - like he doesn’t already know.

Mihawk is silent for a moment before he shrugs, “I didn’t feel like arguing with him all night.” He replies, which isn’t quite the response Buggy was expecting to hear. “Plus, he was right, I did want you all to myself.”

Buggy almost chokes on his spit after the second part of Mihawk’s reply. “I didn’t think that the world’s strongest swordsman would be such a shameless flirt.” he mutters, looking away. Words can’t describe how irritating he finds it every time Mihawk’s words catch him off guard and make him feel all flustered.

“A shameless flirt?” Mihawk repeats, sounding slightly amused. “I wouldn’t say I’m a shameless flirt by any means. I just don’t hold back when it comes to my feelings for you.” He can say that again. “Should I try and tone things down, though?”

“Oh, why are you even asking me something as stupid as that?” Buggy grumbles under his breath, “I don’t care what you do, okay? You could flirt with me until the end of time, and it wouldn’t make any difference!”

“What a shame.” Mihawk sighs, “And here I thought maybe I was finally making some progress with you.” Ha, yeah, right! Buggy still feels the same way he felt about Mihawk as before. That hug earlier was a fluke and nothing more… Mihawk leans back, stretching his long legs out and getting more comfortable on the crate he’s sitting on, “Well, in any case, I’m just glad that we’re on speaking terms. I won’t ask for too much.”

Buggy doesn’t have a reply for that. He doesn’t have a reply for, like, half of the things Mihawk says, actually. He’s come to realize that Mihawk’s ridiculously sweet and selfless at times, and he doesn’t know what to do with that information. He’s used to the aloof Mihawk that doesn’t try to talk to him and often insults him, not the sweet, regretful Mihawk who finds little excuses to be around him and converses with him at every opportunity.

“Dinner was nice tonight.” Mihawk suddenly says, pulling Buggy out of his thoughts. It was nice, minus the part where Mihawk and Crocodile kept insisting he take their food. Ugh, Buggy still feels a little bloated and it’s been a whole two hours since dinner. “But what was that story you were about to tell the crew? The one about you facing the seven warlords all by yourself?”

Buggy’s eyes widen to a comical degree. “What? What are you talking about? Me? Fighting the seven warlords on my own?! That didn't happen.” he says quickly, waving his hand dismissively. “I was one of you guys, remember? Why would I fight the other warlords?”

“No, you definitely told the rest of the crew that you fought the other warlords on your own,” Mihawk insists, “I don’t remember this happening, though. Perhaps you knocked me senseless during battle?”

Buggy covers his face with one of his hands. God, why did they have to walk into the dining room at that exact moment? He goes quiet for a long moment, unsure how to explain himself. “Did you beat me too?” Mihawk asks, and his soft voice takes on a playful edge to it. Well, at least he isn’t mad about Buggy’s story time.

“Yeah, yeah. I beat you.” Buggy mutters, still feeling painfully embarrassed by his own white lie.

“Oh, Congratulations,” Mihawk tells Buggy, sounding a little impressed. “And here I thought I’ve gone undefeated in battle for over two decades now, If only I knew the truth.”

Buggy whines softly, “Please, don’t be mad. I just say shit sometimes, okay?” He says, trying to explain himself a little. He… He’s a chronic liar, a show-off, and a big mouth!

“Oh, I know.”

Oh, thank G– Wait, what does he mean ‘I know’? Buggy side eyes Mihawk for that little comment, but he doesn’t try to start an argument with him or anything (not that he would win anyways.) “If I really wanted to, I could probably defeat all of you, though.”

Mihawk stares at Buggy wordlessly, “...” he turns his head away a moment later, and Buggy feels his eye twitching. What was that look supposed to mean?! Huh, is he saying Buggy couldn’t beat him? (he couldn’t). Is he saying Buggy is weak? Buggy is so tired of people looking down on him, an—

“I’’m glad you’re finally acting normal again.” Mihawk suddenly says, and the words catch Buggy completely off guard. “You were awfully pitiful for a while there.” Yeah? Well, whose fault was that?! “I don’t like seeing you look down, but… I don’t know how to comfort people.”

They stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Buggy replies in a soft voice, “I wasn’t feeling down. But, if I were, why would I want you to comfort me?” he asks, scoffing.

Mihawk shrugs, “You have a point. I haven’t been good to you in the past. You probably still see me in a negative light, right?” He exhales a quiet breath, “In the future, though…If you’re sad and need someone to comfort you, I hope you’ll come to me first.” he reaches over, and before Buggy can even process what’s happening or being said to him, Mihawk puts his hand on top of his. “I’m not good at comforting people, but I’ll try my best to ease your worries.”

Buggy shuts down completely. He can’t speak, he can’t think, all he can do is stare at Mihawk. He spends an unreasonable amount of time searching those golden eyes of Mihawk’s for any signs of deception. Mihawk’s face and expression looks so soft underneath the warm glow of the ship's lights, though, and he looks like he's being honest. Does he really mean it…? Buggy wonders one last time before he finally accepts Mihawk's words as the truth.

God, he means it.

Buggy swallows down a thick wad of spit, “Ha! Nothing can bring me down,” He says at long last, lying through his teeth yet again, “But… I’ll keep what you said in mind,” He adds quietly before he looks up at the dark, starless sky. He searches for something to keep his mind off of Mihawk as well as the weight of his hand on top of his. There are no stars, no moon, hell, there’s not even a single cloud in the sky to look at.

With nothing else to focus on, Buggy’s thoughts bounce around chaotically. He suddenly realizes that Mihawk’s moved a little closer and that he smells incredible. Whatever cologne Mihawk is wearing smells warm and earthy, and kind of expensive too. Has he always smelled this good? Buggy shakes the question out of his head, and his attention soon turns to the fact that his heart is thrumming in his chest. He doesn’t want to think about how his body is reacting to Mihawk right now, though, so he forces himself to try to listen to Mihawk as he begins chatting to him again, but then he realizes that Mihawk’s talking to him more and more these days. Not only is he talking to Buggy more and more these days, but his voice is always so soft when he speaks to him, and the words he says are often thoughtful and earnest.

Several words are exchanged, and conversations flow easier than ever before between the two. It’s then that Buggy realizes just how much effort Mihawk is putting into trying to talk to him, so… so he returns that energy. The two discuss their future plans some more, talk about Buggy’s men, and even exchange some stories with each other. Normally, Buggy would tell a story that makes him look good, that story could be real or fake, but it would most definitely make him seem like a great and mighty pirate. He decides to just tell small little tales from his time on the Oro Jackson instead, stuff that he’s always found funny. He doesn’t expect Mihawk to find his stories humorous or even interesting, but on more than one occasion, Buggy catches Mihawk leaning in closer, listening to him intently and even chuckling at some of the things Buggy says.

As they speak, Buggy also notes how every once in a while Mihawk will look down at his painted lips for about three or four seconds before he quickly looks back up at Buggy’s eyes. Buggy tries to ignore it, but it’s hard when Mihawk stares so shamelessly at him. Whenever he notices him doing it, he always short circuits, unsure what to do. In fact the next time it happens, he loses his whole train of thought.

He’s in the middle of telling Mihawk another story when Mihawk’s gaze suddenly drops down to his lips again. It’s like the third time he's done that, but who’s counting? Once again, Buggy’s mind goes blank, and he can’t help but look down at Mihawk’s mouth in return. It was for, like, less than a second, though! He quickly looks away, horrified at his own reaction.

God, what is wrong with Buggy?

There's another tense moment of silence before Mihawk finally speaks up again, “I have a random question to ask you,” Mihawk announces softly as he reaches out slowly and brushes a couple of pieces of silky blue hair out of Buggy’s face. “Do you have feelings for anyone right now? It doesn’t have to be for me, it can be for anyone.” God, it must be getting late in the night. The type of late where anyone talking to you wants to have deep and meaningful conversations.

Buggy scoffs, “Hell no.” He replies, not wanting to think about the question or take too long to answer it, either. “I haven’t had feelings for anyone in over a decade.” He admits - that’s the truth.

“Was it Shanks?” Mihawk asks, “I mean… Was he the last person who you had feelings for?” Oh, good grief, is it that obvious? Does Buggy seem like a bitter ex lover or something or is Mihawk just really perceptive?

Buggy groans, what a mood killer, he thinks as he looks away. “Yes, it was Shanks, but who gives a shit?” he retorts.

“Was he your first love?”

“Oh, who cares?!”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

Buggy feels a headache coming on, “Yes. He was my first love. He was my first…everything, okay?” He replies with a groan, “But I’m telling you, none of that matters. We’re not together or anything, and we haven’t been together for a while now.”

Mihawk is silent for a moment before he asks Buggy yet another annoying question, “Do you still love him?” He loves Shanks as much as he loves a hangnail. There couldn’t be a more annoying man on the surface of this planet than Red-Haired Shanks. “You can be honest, Buggy. I won't get upset or anything.”

God, does he really think Buggy has feelings for Shanks? Is this what this is all about? Oh, that’s stupid. “Look,” Buggy replies, clasping his hands together, “I will always love him, he’s my best friend, okay?”

“But are you currently in love with him, Buggy?”

No, you idiot. Buggy pauses. For some reason, he wants to put Mihawk's mind at ease even though he knows he doesn’t have to. It’s not like he and Mihawk are together or anything, but still… Buggy sighs and continues, “I’m in love with a couple of memories from twenty years ago, but nothing more.” He admits, “I’m old enough to finally understand that we just want different things in life, and that’s okay. I’m over him, okay? He’s a fucking idiot.”

Mihawk nods in response, “So I’m guessing you’re into men who are more like Shanks then?”

Buggy snorts, “Oh, god. No.” He groans, “I couldn’t be with someone like him again. He pissed me off too much. I would rather be in a more stable relationship with someone who is kind, loyal, and reliable, you know?”

“Mhm,” Mihawk hums, “That sounds like me.” You must be sleep deprived, Buggy thinks. Reliable, maybe, but Mihawk being kind and loyal? Buggy’s not too sure about that, even if Mihawk has been on his best behavior as of lately. “I’m reliable, loyal to a fault, and… I know I haven’t been the kindest in the past, but…give me a chance to prove myself, will you? I can be warm and gentle.” He threads their fingers together, holding Buggy’s hand for real this time. Buggy doesn’t pull away from his touch either, even when his stomach practically does flips, he still doesn’t pull his hand away from Mihawk’s.

…

#cross guild #changes #my writing #April fools! The April fools' joke is that i updated a 6k+ word chapter on a random tuesday without much of a warning.

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expresso-bean · 6 months ago

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The Man Out of Time [A ShadAmy and Silver Story]: Chapter 25

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Amy Rose

Description: It has been seven years of peace following the grueling war with Eggman and his army. Though it took time to rebuild what they have lost, life for the Freedom Fighters could not be better. Whether it's finding love or trying to run from their past, celebrating post-war times has been different for each of them.

All is well until a silver hedgehog comes knocking on Amy Rose's door to deliver the tragic news about an incredible force that seems to be the cause of the future's destruction.

Will anyone believe the mysterious hedgehog's cry for help? Or will he be left to fight for his future alone? Read to find out!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3k

POV: Shadow the Hedgehog

!! I do not own any of the art/gifs/borders used in my chapters. All credits to the rightful owners !!

Masterlist ❀ Ch.1 ❀ Ch.2 ❀ Ch.3 ❀ Ch.4 ❀ Ch.5 ❀ Ch.6 ❀ Ch.7 ❀ Ch.8 ❀ Ch.9 ❀ Ch.10 ❀ Ch.11 ❀ Ch.12 ❀ Ch.13 ❀ Ch.14 ❀ Ch.15 ❀ Ch.16 ❀ Ch.17 ❀ Ch.18 ❀ Ch.19 ❀ Ch.20 ❀ Ch.21 ❀ Ch.22 ❀ Ch.23 ❀ Ch.24

Friends.

Is that what I call these people lying on the grass in front of Rose's lawn?

My creation was meant to be an aid to my creator and humanity. An emotionless vessel meant to serve a greater purpose compared to others. My destiny was changed when I met Maria. She showed me that I can be beyond my so-called 'purpose'. Despite being 'created', I was a being worthy of love just as much as anyone else.

When I lost her, a part of me went with her, as what happens when you lose anyone you love. I never wanted to connect with another being for the rest of whatever life I would have left. I dedicated my life to fighting and helping a man who told me I could one day destroy the people who murdered her. That alone was the only peace I had up until the last year of the war.

Rose changed everything for me. My entire frame of thought was brought into question with a single phrase:

'What is it that you are truly fighting for?'

I could barely answer her then, yet I can now.

The people lying on the lawn come from all walks of life. There is no reason to insult them. How can I blame them for fighting for the freedom of others?

Any anger toward them comes from my discontent of feeling underserving of all the kindness they had offered me despite my grievances.

If not for Rose, who knows where any of us would be.

'Ensuring her safety means protecting the others,'

There was a sense of familiarity seeing their tired corpses laid out. I couldn't help but smile as my eyes laid upon Rose. She looked so at peace, staring up at the evening sky. Cream's fingers lightly played with her quills as she looked as if she was going to fall asleep right where she sat.

'That is something I can live with.'

As I grew closer, S broke away from his conversation with Tails to wave over at me.

'He is just as vibrant as ever,' My gaze locked on her again. A still and perfect being was encapsulated within my vision. I could not break it if I tried. 'I've come to terms with it. How could I not? It is impossible to not fall for her, the future heroine of Mobius. To deny my feelings for her is an insult to her character.'

I took a breath. My body felt hot again. I hated it when it did that. Though love is a weakness, I am willing to endure it for her sake.

"This looks oddly familiar," I announced to everyone as I gained the courage to approach her. I heard a collective groan come from Rouge and Knuckles. I rolled my eyes as I stood over Amy. Her eyes pierced mine as I leaned down as to put my face toward hers. "Especially you."

My body grew warm again upon seeing her smile. Her playful glare nearly broke me into laughter.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing for you to worry about, Rose."

I stood upright before sitting down only inches away from her. Cream looked and softly beamed at me. I could only nod at her politeness.

"So," S stood up and smiled slightly at everyone. He was clearly filled with emotion despite his eyes seeming tired. I failed to remember he and Tails had spent almost all day planning this. "Everyone who decided to stay is checked in on base. We let them know they are in the clear to come home whenever they please, but by the end of September, they should bunker down with food and water."

Tails stood beside him, nodding.

"Each resident has an 'emergency call' button that is capable of transmitting audio messages. As of now, they are offline until the end of September when we can monitor them."

"I can't thank you all enough for helping us. We wouldn't have been able to get everything done if it weren't for you all helping. Truly, I really appericate it."

'No one can deny the boy has some heart. The more time they spend here, the worse I feel for him,' Anyone can see his unsettling smile. I could only sigh at his uneasiness. 'That isn't my burden. Why entertain worry in the first place?'

"Thanks to you, we're saving the lives of a lot of people,"

'Oh, great, another profound speech I have to sit through.'

I looked over at Rose. She was still looking up at the sky. I could not tell if she was paying attention to what everyone else was saying. What I could see was how tired she looked.

'She has been getting more sleep than usual. It is unlikely that this entire session has tired her out. I've seen this woman take on way more than this and still be able to walk back to base and fight harder than before. What is it that she is hiding now?'

Sonic stood up and walked toward S. As much as I wanted to, I refrained my eye roll from escaping onto my expression.

I can stand Sonic better than before. He cannot say I haven't tried to be civil toward him.

'I call him by his preferred name,' I can still remember the arrogance on his face the first time I said it. He nearly threw a party the fool was so thrilled. 'Ugh, it still makes my skin crawl.'

"I think I speak for everyone when I say you're a true Freedom Fighter, S."

"Thanks Sonic," The two stared at one another, exchanging an oddly knowing nod. "I mean that."

'Did they reconcile that quickly?'

The others around me weren't even looking at them by this point. They were too distracted by their own exhaustion to continue to gaze upon whatever situation S and Sonic were working through.

'I am not one to go around prying into people's personal lives, but the way Sonic fought him makes me question what caused either of them to snap the way they did.'

They were smiling at each other as if the battle was a figment of my imagination.

It was real. I know it was.

I never felt that pain in my chest before. What was that from anyway?

"Can we go home now? Don't we have to wake up early for training tomorrow?"

S broke away from his silent conversation with Sonic. Knuckles was lifting a fist, pointing at S' sorry expression.

"Y-yeah, sorry, I'll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for the help again!"

Bodies lifted from the grass like corpses. Sonic shook S' hand for the third time in his short conversation before waving goodbye.

"Good night everyone, we're going to turn in."

Sonic swept his fiancée off her feet. Her eyes were closed as she rolled over in his arms to hide her face. An eruption of similar farewells followed suit.

"Good night!"

"Bye!"

"See you tomorrow."

"See ya!"

I stayed situated in my place beside Rose. The entire time, she has said nothing about what was discussed. Her eyes were closed. They were no longer staring longingly at the sky.

'It's a shame too. The stars are so beautiful.'

"Hm..." A noise escaped her lips. My eyes were still glued to her face. "I'm gonna lay here for just a while longer."

"Rose," I breathed out her name, holding in a chuckle. "your house is inches away from you. Surely you can muster up the strength to make it there."

"No...!" She covered her eyes, refusing to look up anywhere other than the skin of her own arm. "Leave me here..."

"Nope," She didn't move an inch as I grabbed her by her upper arms and lifted her up. I carefully placed her on her feet, and she opened her eyes only then. She said nothing while she stared. I took the time to analyze her face. "Wow."

"W-what is it?"

'I didn't mean to let that out! What do I say now?'

"You seem tired."

Her mouth creased into a nervous smile. My fingers curled into my palm. I couldn't bear to move an inch.

"What? Tired? Says you, you did most of the work!"

"I..."

'Was that the wrong thing to say?' My heart was pounding against my chest. I could hear it so vividly in my head that I feared she would notice. My fingers shook slightly as they curled into my palms. They felt... clammy. 'What is this? What am I doing? I can't believe a being such as myself is acting so...' I looked at her. She stared at me, waiting for me to utter something. But I couldn't stop looking at her. I could never get tired of looking at a face like hers. 'I'm probably looking pathetic right about now. Say something!'

"I recover quickly."

"I was thinking you'd say that," Rose giggled a bit into her hand. My mouth twitched, holding back a smile. I did not want to embarrass myself further than I already had. "We should try and get some rest. Tomorrow is pretty important."

"Our training formally begins tomorrow. It's been a while since we've sparred."

Rose nodded, sighing a bit.

"Well, it's been a while since we've all been in this situation."

She looked down towards the ground. Her shoulders tensed up, her eyebrows knitted together tightly. She did not look angry. No, she looked worse. She looked intense.

'Is that why she looked so tired? Could it be because of how much she must have been thinking about the fight?'

It seemed like even the air around her changed as I shuddered at the sudden cold that drifted between us.

"Rose?"

"I'm starving," She announced. I blinked, and she looked completely different in that moment of distraction. Her body was relaxed, and a small smile adorned her face. It was almost as if whatever she felt a moment ago was never there. Yet, I was not convinced. "Do you want to come over? I can treat you to something."

"Hm, That does sound appealing,"

'I don't want to cause more trouble for her than I already have. She looks exhausted. I could run out to buy something. Maybe at the 24-hour marts in the area?'

"Let me treat you this time."

"Shadow! You can cook?"

'Cook?'

The word caught me off guard so much that I nodded. This fatal mistake made her eyes come back to life. Her hands intertwined together, and she placed them towards her chin.

"Of course I can, anything you desire, I can make."

She gasped, and her face seemed to glow. Whatever I said, I can't take it back now.

'I know I can't cook! But,' I stared at her face. It seemed to beam as I anticipated her next sentence. 'She looks so happy. I can't take that away from her now.'

"Strange, I didn't know this about you. I thought you didn't need to eat."

"Yes, I need to eat. Rose, you've seen me eat before," She shrugged and smiled brightly. I almost wanted to laugh at the lighthearted misunderstanding. Ironically, this isn't the first time I have had this conversation. "Wait, did you really think I didn't need to eat?"

"Maybe a little bit. You always boasted about being the ultimate life form."

"I'm still made up of biological matter. I need to sustain myself with something."

She looked unconvinced.

'We have shared meals countless times by now, what does she think will happen to me if I don't eat?'

"What even is you're favorite food?"

"Salt."

"Salt?"

'Salt?'

"Salt is my favorite additive. It keeps me hydrated longer."

"Yeah," She shook her head, giggling quietly at my comment. I was surprised she didn't taunt my poor choice of words. "salt does that to you."

"But I enjoy foods with lots of salt in them. Like pastas, and soups."

'How do you even make soup? Doesn't broth take hours to make?' The louder my thoughts get, the more I realize that not even I, the ultimate life form, can be the master of all things. 'No, this isn't entirely hopeless. Pasta is simple. I've made it before, but I have no idea how to make the sauce.'

"Oh, those sound delicious freedom now. I love soups after a long day."

I felt warm again. It was different from the warmth I felt before. It was as if I was bracing myself for a hit I knew would never reach me. Yet, I wanted nothing but to stand and wait for it.

'Panic will do nothing to improve my culinary skills. Though, at least now I know I will eventually need to learn to make soup from scratch.'

"Well, if you're offering to make something, you can choose. Either way, I can't wait to try it!"

"The broth I like to make takes hours to steep. Would you like some spaghetti instead?"

'Perfect salvage if I ever saw one.'

"Oh that's perfect, I picked up some stuff for spaghetti the other day. I think S mentioned something about wanting to make it for everyone."

'Of course he is.' I tried not to make the bitterness and annoyance evident on my face. It seemed as of late, S had been outshining my presence in her life. 'I would give anything for things to go back to the way they were.'

I followed Rose into the house. When we opened the door, there was a smell of sweet vapor coming from the kitchen.

"Hey you two! I'm in the kitchen!"

S' sing-songy voice rang through the house. Amy giggled and made a bee-line for the counter. I followed slowly behind her.

"Hi, S. Shadow and I were just talking about you outside," My arms were crossed and when S finally came into my view. He was putting things away in cupboards to even look toward either of us. "Shadow here wanted to make a spaghetti dish."

S met my gaze. When he closed the cupboard he looked like a child who had broken a vase and was about to confess.

"Oh, um, I just started making some rice bowls with steamed chicken and vegetables. I thought I could treat you guys to something for helping me with this,"

S shot me an apologetic look. Though I wanted to look annoyed, I was somewhat glad he had saved me from potentially embarrassing myself from my mediocre cooking skills.

'At least it gives me time to experiment before I actually have to come through with my promise to Rose.'

"But I could help you make the sauce and we can have it for lunch tomorrow."

Rose's face lit up beside me and she looked up at me with a smile that already had me caving into any request she was about to make.

"Doesn't that sound like an amazing idea, Shadow?"

I tried to hide my nervous gulp by nodding my head. That seemed to make her smile even more lively.

'In the end, that's why I'm doing this, no? Her smile. Her happiness.'

"Let me see if there's space in the fridge first."

She rushed over to the fridge. The cool air made the smell of the vapor stronger. I looked over to S, who was mixing in different sauce bottles together. He worked so effortlessly, no sense of struggle of hesitation as he mixed, poured, and tasted. Truly, he was more skilled than most people I've seen in the kitchen.

'Maybe I could...'

"We should be good to go. But I'm going to run to the store first. We're out of a few things."

I perked up at the sound of her voice.

"Alone?" Was the first thing I said to her. She tilted her head while closing the dual doors of the refrigerator. "I mean, it's already nighttime."

As she approached me, she reached out and set a hand on my arm. She might as well have doused me in gasoline and ignited me aflame from the way my entire body burned with excitement of her touch.

"Shadow, we've done far more dangerous missions in far worse conditions. I think I'll be fine," She smiled, and patted my arm to attempt to reassure me. "Plus, it's only a six minute walk to Mobi-Mart, I'll be quick."

"I did not mean to come off as overbearing."

That confession made her go silent for a second. She didn't break away from my eyes before she parted her lips to talk again.

"Don't be sorry. It makes me happy that you worry about me at all,"

She moved her hand away from me. Even as he walked away from me to grab her bag from the coat hanger near the door, I thought of her sentiment towards me.

"'It makes me happy that you worry about me at all,"' It pounded in my head, drilling itself into the core of my being. 'Worry? Rose, if you only knew how important you've become to me.'

"I'll be back! I can't wait to try the rice bowls, S."

"Bye!" S' shout echoed through the kitchen.

"Be careful, Rose."

She smiled at me again, she hummed and nodded her head once.

"I will. I'll try and be quick."

The door clicked behind her and there was an lonely silence that left the moment she did. And although I wanted to walk out after her, I knew it would do nothing good.

'I should know more than anyone how capable she is.'

"Here," I turned my attention back to S who, the entire time I had my attention on the door, was cleaning around the kitchen space. "I can move this so you can have some space to work," S moved several sauce bottles and moved the rice cooker to the side. He grabbed a rag from under the sink and wiped down the area before holding his hand out to present the glistening counter space. "It's all yours!"

'This is going to be a long night.'

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