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foreverisntenough · 5 months ago

Text

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend. You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy?

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 30- 'Pretty Girl's All Good' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 13.4 k

“T’s coming over.” You mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, curled up in the corner of the sectional in the living room. The oversized blanket you’d wrapped around yourself felt thin compared to the comfort you craved. Your knees were tucked tightly to your chest, your phone held like a lifeline. The words felt like reassurance—if you said them aloud, maybe the ache in your chest would ease. Jack sat across from you, his jaw clenched, his leg bouncing slightly. He’d been patient, more patient than most would be, but something inside him snapped—not with anger, but with fear masked as frustration.

“Y/N, enough…” he said firmly, his voice steady but low, trying not to shatter you more than you already were. “You need some space.” You blinked, stunned by the sudden break in his usual gentle approach. The words stung like ice water against raw skin. Your throat tightened as you swallowed the lump rising, your defenses kicking in before your heart could catch up.

“No… fuck off, Jack,” you shot back, your voice brittle, trembling under the weight of hurt and exhaustion. It wasn’t loud or sharp—it was fragile, like a glass about to crack. You weren’t angry. You were terrified. “He’s coming over, so if you have an issue then say that in front of him.” Your words were meant to sound defiant, but they wobbled, your voice betraying you, thick with unshed tears. Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face.

“Y/N… You’ve gotta stop. You’re building your self-esteem around him. He’s not who you are.” The words were heavy, but his eyes were soft, glassy even, like he hated every syllable as it left his mouth. Tears broke free, streaming silently down your face, hot against your cold skin.

“Tell him that,” you snapped, your voice crumbling like the rest of you. “Say that in front of him.” You tried to threaten Jack thinking maybe he only had the gall to say it to you. And that’s when Trent walked in. The sound of the front door shutting behind him cutting through the room.

“Yo, bro—” His voice was light, casual, like it always was when he entered a room with you in it. But the second his eyes landed on you—your tear-streaked face, the tension thick enough to choke on—his words died mid-breath. His eyes darted to Jack, confusion flashing before morphing into panic. What happened? His mind raced. Did I do something? Was I gone too long?

“Tell him,” you whispered aloud, your voice broken, a plea hidden beneath the challenge. Trent didn’t waste a second. He crossed the room in quick strides, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands found your face, thumbs brushing away the tears with the gentlest touch, like you might shatter if he pressed too hard. His forehead rested against yours for a brief, grounding second.

“Please…” He quietly whispered, begging you to not cry anymore. His heart couldn’t take it anymore. “Can you wait right here for me, pretty girl?” His voice was soft, a balm against the sting of Jack’s words. “Save me some space under that blanket, yeah?” You nodded, your bottom lip trembling, clutching the blanket tighter like it could keep you from falling apart completely. Trent pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering a second longer than necessary, as if trying to pour all his comfort into you through that one touch. Then he stood, his jaw tightening as he turned to Jack. “Bro, c’mere for a sec.” His tone was calm, but there was a current of something deeper beneath it—controlled, but coiled tight. He nodded toward the hallway, silently asking for space, for privacy. Jack hesitated, glancing back at you, then got up and followed. It wasn’t far—just a few steps separating them from you—but far enough that their words wouldn’t reach your ears. The muffled hum of the television you’d left on for background noise faded under the weight of unspoken tension pressing between them. Once they were out of sight but mildly out of earshot, Trent’s posture shifted. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp. “What’s going on, Jack?” he asked quietly, but his voice held an edge. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose.

“I’m worried, man. She’s not… she’s not okay. And I get it, I do. But she leans on you like if you’re not there, she’ll fall apart.” Jack blurted out his honest answer. Trent’s jaw clenched, his mind flashing with every night you’d fallen asleep tangled in his arms, every time you’d reached for him like he was the only thing keeping you afloat. Trent ran a hand over his hair, rocking slightly, his jaw tight. His heart was still racing from seeing you like that, tears streaking your face, clinging to your blanket like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground but he also hated that Jack wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Bro… I know. I see it,” Trent started, his voice low but thick with frustration, not at Jack, but at himself—for not noticing sooner, for letting it get this far. “But I’m not doing anything but being a shoulder right now. I’m just listening to her. Being there for her, I swear.” He exhaled sharply, like admitting it out loud made it more real. “I’m very aware of what this could morph into. It’s not, though.” The words tumbled out in a rush, like he’d only just realized them himself. Dianne’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, soft but pointed, making him see things differently now. Jack crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the opposite wall with a skeptical expression etched into his face.

“T… come on, mate. You’re all over her just the same.” Jack replied. Trent’s composure cracked. His hands shot up in frustration before dropping to his sides, clenched into fists. His voice rose slightly, not in anger, but in desperation.

“I am all over her because I’m fucking scared, mate!” he burst out, his chest heaving with the force of the words. “I don’t feel okay leaving her. If she wants me there, I’m going to be there. I have to be there.” The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished. Trent’s breathing was heavy, his emotions barely contained. Jack didn’t flinch. His voice remained steady, calm—anchoring Trent’s storm.

“I don’t want her to need you.” Jack said earnestly. It wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t jealousy. It was fear—the kind of fear that seeps into your bones when you watch someone you love disappear into their pain, gripping onto someone else like a life raft. Jack didn’t want you to drown if that raft drifted away. But Trent shook his head, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, urgent tone.

“She does need me though, Jack.” His eyes burned with conviction, but underneath that—guilt. “I understand it’s been really intense lately, but I promise I’m working on it. I won’t let her slip, but I’ll do it the right way. I’m not trying to push. But she needs someone to hold her up so she doesn’t collapse.” The words spilled out in a rush, fast and uneven, like he was afraid if he didn’t get them out, they’d choke him. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his eyes pleading for Jack to understand—not for himself, but for you. Jack sighed heavily, his back pressing harder against the wall as if it could absorb the weight he was carrying. He tilted his head back, eyes closing for a brief moment, letting the silence stretch between them. “And maybe I’m part of the problem,” Trent admitted quietly, surprising even himself at the admission. “But I’m also the only thing that makes her feel safe right now. You think I don’t know how heavy that is? You think I don’t lie awake wondering if I’m helping her heal or just helping her hide?” Trent confessed. Jack looked at him, the anger in his face softening into something closer to understanding. “I love her,” Trent continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, like the words were sacred. “But if I have to be the wall she leans on until she can stand on her own, then I’ll be that wall. Because I’d rather be too much than not enough for her.” Jack swallowed hard, his shoulders deflating. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, worn thin by worry but threaded with understanding.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, his shoulders slumping. Trent stepped back slightly, his own exhaustion catching up with him.

“Jack, please.” His voice cracked just a little, the vulnerability bleeding through. Jack rolled his head to the side, opening his eyes to meet Trent’s gaze. There was no judgment left, only the shared ache of two people desperate to keep someone they loved from falling apart.

“I just don’t want to lose her.” Jack muttered. He’d spoken to Dianne about you but there was an additional undercurrent. The one that had coursed through him since he found out about you and Trent, since he asked Megan to be his girlfriend, it wasn’t in his control… it was the tide of your mother, losing another important woman in his life wasn’t an option.

“You won’t,” Trent said, his voice steady now. “Neither will I. But we’ve got to meet her where she’s at, not where we wish she was.” Trent explained. Silence settled between them, heavy but less suffocating.

“I know. I know,” Jack murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He straightened up, stepping closer, his face serious but kind. “Can we just… Trent, I need to make sure she’s okay. And I know you want that too. So can we do it together and not like…”Jack sighed unsure how to say it. Trent’s eyes narrowed waiting for his words. In reality, Trent had been blinded by love and fear and protection. He hadn’t realized how reclusive you two had been. “Like just not lock yourselves away for days at a time, yeah?” The sincerity in his voice was disarming, breaking down the invisible wall Trent had been bracing against. Trent nodded slowly, his throat tight. “And, bro,” Jack added, his tone softening with a small, crooked smile, “it’s not lost on me that this has to be hard on you too. I just need you two to be okay. So please… just let me in a little. Come up for air every once in a while, yeah? There’s oxygen elsewhere.” The words hit Trent harder than he expected, like a lifeline thrown into waters he didn’t even realize he was drowning in. He gave a breathy chuckle, shaking his head, then reached out, gripping Jack’s shoulder firmly—a silent thank you wrapped in the gesture.

“Thanks, Jacky.” His voice was rough but honest. “Trust me… I’m struggling, mate but we’re all coming out of this.” Jack nodded, his hand patting Trent’s back briefly as they turned to head back to you. Because despite everything, they were in this together. It was the only option and you were waiting, the one thing tethering them both to hope. Trent pushed off the wall, heading back toward you, but not before glancing back at Jack one last time. “We’ll figure it out. For her.” Jack nodded again, his chest tight, but his heart a little lighter. And Trent? He went back to you, because that’s where he belonged.

---

“C’mon, move over for me,” Trent smirked as he stood beside the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. His tone was playful, but the warmth in his eyes softened the teasing edge. You barely looked up, curled up in the corner of the sectional, wrapped in a thick blanket like it was the only thing holding you together. The minutes apart since he’d gone to Dianne’s till now had felt like an eternity, and though you wouldn’t admit it, your body still buzzed with the residual unease of his absence. Instead of moving, you just blinked at him, hesitant. Trent’s smirk faded slightly. “Pretty girl… ” he murmured, immediately picking up on your hesitation. His expression shifted to one of quiet understanding, and instead of waiting for you to move, he simply settled into the space beside you, pulling you into him with ease. His arms wrapped around you, a steady and familiar embrace. He kissed your temple gently. “Baby, he just wants you all good, yeah?” His voice was soft, meant only for you, each word laced with reassurance. Another kiss, this time to your forehead. Jack sighed heavily from his seat across the room, shifting slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Just looking out for you, Y/N.” His voice was steady, but the weight of it was unmistakable.

“Okay…” you mumbled, but your tone was dismissive, your face still buried against Trent’s chest, unwilling to engage in the conversation any further. Trent let out a quiet hum, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back.

“C’mon, gonna watch the game,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair. With one arm still wrapped around you, he attempted to adjust you, trying to turn your body so you could see the TV instead of burrowing into him. But you resisted, gripping onto him tighter.

“No.” The pout in your voice made him chuckle, but he didn’t cave this time. Instead, he maneuvered you carefully, positioning you so you were settled between his legs, your back pressed against his chest, his arms still locked securely around your stomach.

“Yeah, sorry, pretty girl,” he cooed, pressing another kiss to your temple, amusement laced in his voice. He wasn’t giving in this time. Jack, watching silently, exhaled a quiet breath of relief. His eyes met Trent’s, and he gave him a small nod, mouthing “better.” Trent didn’t respond, but the flicker of acknowledgment in his expression was enough. For a moment, you stayed like that, nestled against Trent, your body finally relaxing as the quiet murmur of the TV filled the space. But soon, the discomfort of being apart, even by just a few inches, became too much. Without thinking, you turned fully into him, shifting so that your body curled over his, your cheek pressed against his heartbeat. Trent let out a small breath of amusement, unsurprised by your need to be closer. His arms instinctively tightened around you, his hand smoothing up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. Your foot dragged up his toned leg, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing against the warmth of his skin. The contact was necessary, grounding. His body had become your safe haven, the only place where you felt truly at ease. Jack watched silently from across the room, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t judgment, nor was it frustration—it was concern, laced with something softer. He didn’t fully understand the weight of what you were carrying, but he knew you were holding on to Trent like he was the last solid thing in your world. Trent, for his part, simply held you. He didn’t push you away, didn’t tell you to move, didn’t tell you that you were clinging too much. He just kept rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, his other hand resting protectively on your thigh. The game continued on the TV, but neither of you were watching. The rise and fall of Trent’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the gentle brush of his lips against your hair—it was enough to lull you into a sleepy haze. “Go to sleep, baby,” Trent eventually murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He pressed another soft kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “I got you.” And for the first time that day, you allowed yourself to fully believe it.

---

Trent had promised Jack he’d help, that he’d be mindful, that he wouldn’t let things spiral. But that was easier said than done when every day, he saw you like this—fragile, weary, sinking deeper into him as if he were the only thing tethering you down. Every time he saw you clinging to him like he was the only thing you knew, he felt that promise slipping through his fingers. And maybe he was. How was he supposed to pull away when you needed him so much? When he needed you just the same?

Dianne’s Sunday roasts were tradition, a staple in the Alexander-Arnold household, and today was no different. The garden was alive with laughter, plates clinking, the scent of spices from inside seeping outside into the air. The whole family was there, sprawled out in the back garden, chatting away, the summer heat melting into the kind of warmth only home could bring. His brothers were chatting, his cousin fussing over the family dog, and his mum was flitting between guests, ensuring everyone had what they needed and then back to the kitchen. The house was full of love, warmth, and normalcy-something you hadn't felt in a long time. But you barely registered it. You were sitting in Trent’s lap, tucked against his chest, your body draped over his like a second skin. His hands rested on your waist, fingers lazily grazing under the sheer fabric of your top, tracing the soft skin of your stomach absentmindedly. Every touch was slow, deliberate, his presence wrapped around you like a shield. Your back rolled into him as his nose brushed against the curve of your neck, his lips finding the soft skin just below your ear. Your head rolled to the side, exposing more of your neck, and Trent didn't hesitate to nuzzle into the space. He whispered, ‘I love yous’ quietly and just for you. It wasn't the first time he'd said it today. In fact, he'd been murmuring it to you all afternoon, as if afraid you'd slip away if he stopped reminding you. You let out a slow exhale, and hummed softly in response, your hands moving over his forearms in front of you, fingertips tracing over the muscles and veins beneath his skin. You weren't really here. You were with him, yes, but the rest of the world barely existed. The laughter, the voices, the chatter-it was all just background noise. The only thing you could feel, hear, breathe, was Trent. He was comfort. He was safety.

“Hun, come help me, yeah?” Dianne’s voice cut through the quiet bubble you and Trent had wrapped yourselves in. Your eyes fluttered open, barely processing the request before turning to her. She stood just a few steps away, nodding toward the house, an easy smile on her lips. You always helped Dianne. In fact, you usually offered. But today? Today, you just wanted to stay right where you were. Your body stiffened slightly, the thought of leaving Trent—even for a few minutes—causing unease to bloom in your chest. Trent felt it instantly before you even had to say anything.. His hands gripped your waist a little tighter, his own muscles tensing beneath you. The way your body stiffened, the subtle hitch in your breath, the way your hands instinctively gripped his forearms tighter. His fingers pressed against your stomach, rubbing soothing circles, silently reassuring you that you didn't have to move if you didn't want to.

“Mum, I don’t think—” Trent started, already intervening, already ready to reject the request on your behalf, ready to make an excuse for you before you even had to answer. But Dianne didn’t budge.

“Yeah, I need this gorgeous girl,” she cooed, her voice soft but unwavering. Her eyes met yours, her meaning clear, patient but expectant. Trent’s arms curled around you a little tighter, a silent plea to stay. But you knew Dianne. This wasn’t just about getting help in the kitchen. You let out a breath before shifting slightly, preparing to move. Trent hesitated, then hugged you against him for a moment longer, as if to imprint the feeling of you there before finally standing with you. You exhaled slowly before shifting, preparing to move. Trent's hold lingered for just a second longer before he reluctantly let go, his hands trailing down your waist as he helped you stand. You adjusted the hem of your tiny knit shorts, smoothing them down, but Trent’s hands never fully left you. They hovered, warm and familiar, settling on the small of your back as he dipped his head down, lips brushing against your ear. His hands lingered on the small of your back, warm and grounding, his fingertips lightly pressing into your skin.

“Just for a little bit, yeah? I’ll be right here, waiting for you.” He kissed the top of your shoulder, lips brushing against the ribbing of your top, before trailing up to press another against your temple. Jack, who had been watching the entire thing unfold, shot Dianne a knowing look from across the garden. She simply winked at him, her patience unwavering. She was giving you space, gently forcing you to take a breath of air outside of Trent’s hold, even if just for a moment. Trent hesitated before finally pulling away completely, but even then, his fingers trailed down your arm, as if reluctant to break contact entirely. You nodded softly, stepping away, but not before Trent reached out again, fingertips grazing your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I’ll be here," he whispered. It took everything in you to turn away and follow Dianne into the house. Jack exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he watched you disappear inside. Dianne had done what he couldn't-pried you away from Trent's grip, even if just for a few minutes. And Trent? Trent was still standing there, his eyes fixed on the door you had just walked through, already waiting for you to come back.

---

“Hun, how are you doing?” Dianne asked you softly in the empty kitchen. You shrugged continuing to slice vegetables she’d given you on the cutting board. She sighed at your response. “Sweetie, I’ve never seen you like this…”She spoke again. Dianne was being patient, she wasn’t going to push you further than needed, she knew how sensitive you were but she also wanted to help. Dianne waited but you didn’t speak so she did again instead. “You know, I’ve talked to two boys who love you very much….” In that moment your heart sank… she knew. “Talk to me, hun, please. I’m here.” She encouraged you. Dianne turned to you fully now, her warm eyes softening as she reached out, placing both hands gently on your shoulders. She gave you a slight squeeze, her touch firm yet soothing, grounding you in the moment. Dianne’s heart ached watching you. She could see how fragile you were, the way your hands trembled slightly as you wiped your face, the way your breath hitched as you fought against the sobs threatening to spill out. Without hesitation, she pulled you into her embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around you, cradling the back of your head as if you were a child again.

“Come here, sweetheart,” she murmured. The moment your body pressed against hers, it was as if the weight of the past weeks broke free from inside you, shattering the fragile composure you’d been holding onto. The tears came freely now, silent at first, your shoulders shaking as she ran a soothing hand over your back. Your arms wrapped around her, fingers gripping at the fabric of her blouse as a choked sob left your lips. Dianne held you tighter, one hand stroking your hair, the other smoothing comforting circles down your back. “It’s okay, darling,” she whispered, her voice steady, a rock in the storm of your emotions. “You’ve been holding so much inside, haven’t you? A lot’s been going on, hmm?” You nodded into her shoulder, your entire frame trembling. The pressure in your chest, the one that had been suffocating you, finally gave way. Tears streamed freely now, soaking into her shirt, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just kept holding you, humming softly under her breath, a mother’s instinct taking over. “You are so loved, sweet girl,” she murmured, her voice filled with conviction. “I know it feels safe with him. I know he makes it all feel okay, like the world is a little less heavy when he’s there. But sweetheart, you need to be okay even when he’s not.” Her words cut through you like a blade you were just using, sharp but true. You tried to shake your head, to deny it, but she pulled back slightly, cupping your tear-streaked face in her hands, her thumbs wiping at your damp cheeks. “You are strong,” she insisted, her voice firm but tender. “Even if you don’t feel it right now, even if it’s buried under all this pain, it’s there.” Your lips wobbled as more tears spilled over.

“I—I don’t that way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Dianne sighed, her thumbs still brushing over your cheeks, her gaze unwavering.

“I know, hun. And that’s okay. Strength isn’t about feeling unbreakable all the time. It’s about taking even the tiniest steps forward, even when it hurts.” Her voice was calm and it made your heart ache. A sob wracked your chest, and she pulled you in again, holding you as if she could stitch your broken pieces back together just with the force of her love. “It’s going to take time, sweetie. No one expects you to just wake up one day and be fine. But you have to start finding yourself again—little by little.” Your breath hitched as you clung to her.

“I just need to be with T, Di. I’m scared. I don’t feel like myself without him.” You whimpered a confession, your voice fragile, barely there.

“No one can make you more yourself than you can. Hun, that boy…” She paused with a sigh. “The one that hurt you, he doesn’t define you. And as much as he brings out the best in you, Trenty doesn’t either.” She explained. You sniffled reluctantly listening to her.

“Sorry, Di.” You whimpered as you wiped your face, stepping back from her feeling guilty like you were burdening her but she reached out to you again.

“Sweetie, not one apology needed.” Dianne exhaled, pressing a kiss to your hair. Let’s figure it out together, yeah?” she whispered. “You’re not alone in this, hun.” She swayed slightly, rocking you in place like she used to do with her own children when they were small, letting the warmth of the kitchen, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the quiet love she poured into you fill the space. And for the first time in a long time, even without Trent there, you felt a little less lost. And then in a moment of vulnerability you heard the words come from your mouth like someone else was speaking them.

“Di…. I miss her,” you choked out suddenly, the words tasting foreign in your mouth, but feeling so deeply true. “I miss my mum so much.” Dianne inhaled sharply, her own eyes glistening as she held you tighter.

“Oh, hun. I know you do,” she whispered. “And I know she would be so proud of you. She would be holding you just like this if she could.” You nodded against her shoulder, the warmth of her comfort breaking down something in you.

“I just don’t know who I am. And without her I felt like I didn’t know where home was anymore, what that felt like anymore but with T, he gives me that. Without—without Trent. I feel like I’ll fall apart.” You muttered in between shaky breaths. Dianne pulled back just enough to cup your face, her thumbs wiping away the endless stream of tears.

“Listen to me. I know you feel lost right now. And I know Trent is your safe place, but you need to remember that you are still here. You are strong. You are still you, even without them right next to you.” You sniffled, shaking your head.

“I don’t feel strong.” You tried to tell her once again. Dianne smiled sadly, brushing a piece of hair from your face.

“That’s the thing about strength, hun. It doesn’t always feel like it. Sometimes it feels like just waking up and getting through the day. Sometimes it’s crying and still standing after. And sometimes, strength is knowing when to hold on, and when to let yourself breathe.” You swallowed hard, her words settling deep in your chest. You wanted to believe them. You wanted to trust that you could be okay, even if you weren’t wrapped up in Trent’s arms every second.

“I’m scared,” you admitted in a whisper. Dianne kissed the top of your head gently.

“I know, sweetheart. But you’re not alone. And you never will be. We’ll figure this out, together, promise. I’m here. We’re all with you.” And you let yourself believe it as you nodded.

---

The house carried the familiar, comforting scent of home-cooked food, mingling with the low hum of conversation drifting in from the back garden. The warmth of the kitchen should’ve been soothing, but you felt restless, your mind tangled in too many emotions to focus on something as simple as cooking. Your hands moved mechanically, slicing vegetables, stirring sauces, going through the motions without truly being present. You were trying to be there but your emotional conversation with Dianne moments earlier lingered. Trent and Jack stepped inside, their presence filling the space instantly. Trent’s eyes found yours immediately, scanning your face with that quiet, searching intensity he always had when he was worried about you. You knew why he was here. It wasn’t really about the food.

“Food ready?” he asked, voice casual, but the question held a deeper meaning. A lame excuse in an effort to make sure you were okay. Dianne’s hands brushed your arms as she passed, her touch gentle but grounding. She didn’t miss anything—never had, never would.

“Almost…” she cooed, before adding with a knowing softness, “Takes time, hun.” You knew she wasn’t just talking about the food. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken understanding. Trent hesitated, lingering for a moment like he was debating whether to say more, but instead, he exhaled, giving you one last glance before following Jack back outside.

By the time the meal was finally finished, the back garden had settled into the kind of easy, familiar atmosphere that always came with these family gatherings. The sun had started breaking through the thick English clouds, casting golden streaks across the table. There was a light breeze, the kind that made the trees rustle lazily, the sound mixing with the distant laughter of Trent’s brothers. You sat beside him, close but not quite close enough, resisting the urge that had become second nature—to curl into him, to let his warmth swallow you whole. You wanted to, so badly, but Dianne’s words still echoed in your mind. Maybe Jack’s did, too. But resisting Trent was like trying to fight gravity. Mid-sentence, as he spoke to Tyler and Noah, Trent’s hand moved instinctively. His fingers dipped into the waistband of your knit shorts, his touch slow, deliberate. Before you even had the chance to react, he pulled you into him with quiet certainty, his arm winding around your waist as if reminding you there was no use in fighting it. The second your body met his, it was like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. The tension in your shoulders melted, your muscles softened. You belonged here. Noah, ever the comic relief, threw out a joke that had the whole table chuckling. The sound of it nudged something loose in your chest, and before you knew it, you were giggling too—light, breathy, real. Trent stilled for just a moment, as if soaking in the sound, as if letting it seep into his skin. Then, ever so subtly, he exhaled, his body finally relaxing, his hand squeezing your waist in quiet acknowledgment. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, murmuring something against your skin that you couldn’t quite make out, but you felt it all the same. And suddenly, everything seemed… clearer. The food you had cooked no longer felt like a chore; its rich scent curled around you, grounding you in the moment. The sun’s rays warming your skin didn’t just feel like another passing part of the day—it felt like something to lean into. The familiar voices around you, the laughter, the ease of it all—it was a reminder. You were safe. You were here. And maybe, just maybe, the haze was beginning to lift.

---

The back garden of your house was alive in a different way days later with the rhythmic thud of the ball against the ground, the occasional smack of it colliding with the crossbar, and the relentless banter between Jack and Trent. It was a competition neither would admit to taking too seriously, but the way Trent’s brows furrowed and Jack’s smirk grew every time he landed a shot told a different story.

“Bro, just fucking hit it!” Trent whined, his frustration bleeding through as Jack took his time setting up his strike. They were deep into a game, who could hit the crossbar the most given 50 tries. They were nearing the fiftieth strike and Jack was trailing behind.

“Gimme a minute, mate!” Jack shot back, eyeing the ball like he was lining up the perfect shot in a World Cup final rather than a backyard challenge. Trent groaned, shifting impatiently, but Jack ignored him, reassessing his stance before finally letting the ball fly. The crisp sound of leather meeting metal rang out as the ball ricocheted off the bar with precision. Jack’s lips curled into a barely-there smirk, pleased but refusing to show just how much he’d surprised himself. Trent, on the other hand, scowled. Jack wasn’t a professional footballer, nowhere near his level—but moments like this, when Trent could actually lose, were golden. It wasn’t about talent or skill. It was about how hilariously terrible Trent was at losing. Jack, now fully embracing the moment, plopped down onto the grass with a dramatic sigh, rocking onto his back, feet briefly in the air. He stretched out leisurely, basking in the satisfaction of having a shot at beating Trent at his own game. “Trenty, you got two more… gotta hit both, win by two…” Jack taunted, a teasing chuckle in his voice. He was finally… relaxed. Trent exhaled sharply, shaking out his shoulders as if preparing for a match-winning free kick in stoppage time. Jack and Trent didn’t need to speak more about you. It was obvious, out in the open, what needed to happen, what had happened so instead they did what they did best… laugh. Just lads being lads

“Yeah, yeah, mate, I got it. I got it,” he muttered, his expression shifting into one of razor-sharp focus. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and stepped up. His leg pulled back in a perfect stride, ready to strike—but then, the unmistakable sound of the back door sliding open cut through the air. Even without looking, he felt you. Trent’s focus lapsed. Your presence was as real to him as the ball at his feet. The way the air changed when you walked into a space, the way his body instinctively reacted, drawn to you before his brain even caught up. His focus flickered for the briefest moment—but it was enough. The ball flew off his boot, but the precision was gone. The strike was sloppy, mistimed. The ball sailed wide, nowhere near the target. Jack, seeing the perfect opportunity, didn’t let it slide.

“Wayyyy!” he bellowed, mimicking an English football crowd heckling a poor attempt. He clapped his hands together, grinning wildly as he stood up and dusted his palms off on his shorts. “Sorry, lad… we keep going then. You lost it, bro.” Trent, stunned for a second, spun around in protest.

“Nah, nah, nah! I get a redo! No way, she distracted me. That’s not—” He stopped himself, gesturing wildly at you as if the mere fact of your existence had cost him the game. It was genuinely ridiculous how bad he was at losing. Delusional, even. But that was Trent—so incredibly competitive, so unwilling to accept defeat in even the silliest of games. And because you loved him, and always had, you found it painfully endearing. You crossed your arms, a knowing smirk creeping onto your lips as you watched him grumble, already gearing up to argue his case.

“Excuses, excuses,” Jack teased, shaking his head. Trent shot you a look, dramatic and wounded, like you’d betrayed him simply by existing in his line of sight. You only laughed, stepping closer, and with that, whatever frustration Trent had was gone. Because at the end of the day, no loss—no matter how much he hated them—mattered when you were there. Jack jogged up to Trent, shoving him roughly, laughter bubbling between them as they wrestled like kids in the schoolyard.

"Hey, c'mere..." Trent called out to you suddenly, swatting at Jack to get him off before jogging in your direction. The way he looked at you, slightly breathless from the game but entirely focused on you now, made your stomach flip. "You distracted me, you know," he smirked, reaching for your waist and pulling you flush against him. The movement was so unexpected that you let out a surprised giggle, tilting your head just out of reach of his kisses—not to reject them, but just to tease. In truth, you loved the feeling of his hands splayed over your bare skin, his warmth pressing into you, the way his scent mixed with the summer air, fresh-cut grass, and whatever faint cologne lingered on his shirt. His laugh, so genuine and perfect, sent your heart into overdrive. You hadn't even realized he was here. From inside, all you heard was their whining back and forth, the sounds of a game in progress. It had been a small surprise seeing him, but as he held you close, it felt... good. Normal. "Sorry, baby... I should've told you-" Trent muttered, suddenly realizing that he wasn't just at Jack's house; he was at yours. He hadn't told you he was coming, and there was an awkward flicker in his voice like he was afraid he'd overstepped.

"It's okay," you whispered, pressing your nose against his in reassurance. "It's good." Trent's breath hitched slightly. He had expected hesitation, maybe a flicker of hurt that he hadn't called ahead. Not anger, but something... instead, you just looked at him with soft eyes, your lips pursing slightly, silently asking for a kiss. He obliged instantly, cupping your face as he pressed his lips to yours, slow and warm, melting into the moment.

"Hey!" Jack's voice rang out, exaggeratedly impatient, feigned annoyance. "We're in the middle of a game!" His arms flew up dramatically, as if the fate of the world depended on their crossbar challenge. Trent pulled back with a grin, his lips curling into the most beautiful, mischievous smile you'd ever seen. Without warning, he bent low and tossed you over his shoulder with ease. You shrieked in laughter, gripping onto his back as he took off running toward Jack, your giggles filling the air. He kissed your thigh in front of Jack's face, smirking at his best mate's dramatic sigh, before carefully setting you down on the grass with such tenderness that it made your heart flutter. In that moment, everything felt light-like the weight you'd been carrying had momentarily lifted, leaving just the warmth of the sun, the sound of laughter, and the feeling of being wrapped in him.

“Alright, alright, game’s back on. I got distracted,” Trent announced, but not without shooting you a cheeky wink. You giggled again, your chest rising and falling with the remnants of laughter, still coming down from the sheer lightness of the moment. Jack scoffed, shaking his head as he nudged Trent toward the ball.

“Yeah, she’s been distracting you for years. Play the game, mate.” Jack complained but not without a tease. You curled your legs beneath you, settling comfortably onto the grass, watching the two most important people in your life go back and forth, their bond evident in every jab and shove. There was something mesmerizing about it—the way they could argue, tease, and compete, yet the love and loyalty between them never wavered. Trent refocused, rolling his shoulders back before hitting the ball with precision. The sharp crack of his foot against the leather was effortless, the ball soaring toward the crossbar and bouncing off with a satisfying clink. Another point to him. But just as he was about to take his next strike, he did something unexpected. Instead of immediately stepping up, he turned to you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, something playful and adoring dancing in them. He kissed his fingers, then pointed directly at you, his signature smirk tugging at his lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, he swung his leg back and struck the ball—smooth, confident, no hesitation. He barely turned to track its trajectory, his attention back fixed on you, his grin widening by the second. And then— Whack! The ball smacked the post with pinpoint accuracy. He didn’t even need to see it. The game set, finished, won.

“Oh, fuck you!” Jack whined, throwing his hands up in frustration, while you burst into laughter. Trent was at the end of the day a very very good footballer and equally pompous about it.

“I’m a big game player, bro!” Trent laughed obnoxiously, basking in his win. He strutted towards you, brimming with triumph, before cupping your face between his hands and pressing a firm, eager kiss to your lips.

“Trying to impress me?” you murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough to tease him. Trent hummed smugly in response, his nose brushing against yours. Not wanting to leave Jack out, considering how much he always included you, you reached for Trent’s wrists, using them as leverage to pull yourself up.

“Okay, okay, my turn, Jacky!” you yelped, moving past Trent toward a loose ball. Jack grinned, passing it to you as you set it down near the edge of the 18-yard box. “If I hit it, you have to get dinner,” you challenged with a playful smirk. Jack chuckled, tilting his head with an exaggeratedly skeptical hum.

“Yeah? Go on…” He rolled his eyes. Just as you prepared to take your shot, Trent leaned in and gave your ass a teasing slap. Jack was immediately on it, throwing a hand in the air as if holding an invisible card, his referee instincts kicking in. Trent lifted his hands in mock innocence, raising an eyebrow as if he had no idea what Jack was accusing him of.

“That’s a yellow…” Jack insisted, shaking his head with faux seriousness and gestured again giving him the imaginary card. You just laughed, shaking them both off as you focused on the ball. Taking a deep breath, you swung your foot through. It wasn’t perfect, not as effortless as Trent’s, but it floated just enough—clipping the top bar with a soft ting. You were beaming.

“Come on!!!!” Trent’s voice rang out across the garden, pure elation laced in every syllable. His excitement was so infectious you couldn’t help but giggle, heat rushing to your cheeks as he sprinted toward you. His arms wrapped around your waist seamlessly, lifting you off your feet like you weighed nothing, spinning you around in wild celebration.

“Fuck you both!” Jack yelped from behind, feigning annoyance, but the laughter bubbling in his voice betrayed him. Jack exhaled through his nose, giving you a slow, approving nod.

“It’s what we do, bro!” Trent shot back through his grin, still twirling you in his arms like you were some sort of trophy. “My girl’s got tek you know!” His grip adjusted—one arm sliding down your back, the other hooking under your legs—before he scooped you up entirely, carrying you around the grass like he’d just won the Champions League.

“Dinner’s on you, Jacky lad!” you teased, your voice a mix of giggles and breathless excitement. Trent pressed frantic kisses along your cheek, his stubble tickling your skin, making you squirm in his hold. You squealed in protest, but he only laughed harder, dropping to the ground with you still in his grasp, landing in a dramatic sprawl on the grass. His arms tightened around you, refusing to let you go as you caught your breath, your body molded into his like a missing puzzle piece. Jack shook his head, hands on his hips as he watched the two of you tangled together. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no shadows lingering around you, no weight pressing down, no tension knotting shoulders. Just light. Just love. You and Trent finally happy, finally safe, no tears, no anger, no fights, just you two doused in the setting sun, love and permanent smiles.

“Honestly…” Jack sighed, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He saw it now—how natural you and Trent were together, how safe you finally felt. “What do you lot want to eat then?” He asked.

“Mmm, pizza please,” you hummed, nuzzling your face into Trent’s neck, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of him as his fingers traced gentle patterns against your skin. Jack sauntered over to the edge of the grass where their belongings were scattered—phones, water bottles, and, conveniently for him, Trent’s Prada wallet. He plucked it up, flipping it open with exaggerated ease, fingers rummaging through its contents.

“And the Amex Centurion is fine, yeah?” Jack quipped, holding up Trent’s sleek black card with an impish grin. Trent’s head snapped up immediately, his brows furrowing before his jaw slacked in realization.

“Huh?…. Nah, wait, mate. Fuck right off—” he started, but before he could finish, Jack was already making a break for it. Trent barely had time to place one last kiss against your temple before he was springing to his feet, launching into a full sprint after Jack, their laughter echoing through the garden. They barreled toward the house, limbs flailing, their rivalry turning into something straight out of a slapstick comedy as Jack fumbled with the sliding door, trying to shield himself. You sighed, a slow, contented exhale, and let yourself sink back into the grass. The sky stretched above you, painted in soft hues of pink, orange, and lilac, melting together at the edges like a watercolor. The clouds drifted lazily, moving at the same steady pace as your own heartbeat. The sun’s warmth seeped into your skin, a golden glow settling over everything. And then you felt it—really felt it. You were okay. For the first time in a long, long time, you were okay.

---

“I’ve been keeping a secret…” Layla’s voice was barely above a whisper as she tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie, pulling you into the hallway off the kitchen. Her eyes were wide, almost mischievous, but there was something serious beneath the playfulness. Her eyes darted around, checking for eavesdroppers, her whole demeanor screaming mischief.

“Another one? No thanks,” You smirked, your brows shooting up as you folded your arms across your chest. “What could you possibly be hiding?” You asked her at a normal volume, narrowing your eyes in suspicion, Layla took a deep breath, her lips twitching like she was trying to suppress a smile. Then she dropped the bomb she couldn’t hold onto anymore.

“Y/N…” Layla took a breath, her grip tightening on your wrist as if to steady herself. Then, with a look so grave it sent a shiver up your spine, she said it— “I slept at Noah’s.” Your jaw dropped. Your heart pounded so hard you were sure she could hear it.

“EXCUSE ME?!” You shrieked, voice bouncing off the walls of the hallway like an echo in a canyon.

“Shh! Shhh!” Layla panicked, her hands flying to your mouth as she glanced back toward the kitchen, dragging you further into the corridor. You could still hear Noah and Jack’s laughter mixing in the distance, the faint sound of the front door opening—Trent just arriving at the house. “We didn’t have sex,” she rushed to clarify, her expression dead serious. You cocked your head to the side, giving her a slow, knowing smirk.

“Mmhmm, sure,” you teased, popping your lips before letting a wicked grin spread across your face.

“I swear we didn’t!” she squealed, half defending herself, half laughing at her own situation.

“I just don’t believe you.” You popped your lips, tilting your head with an infuriatingly knowing smirk. Layla let out a dramatic groan, but her cheeks flushing as she tried to double down.

“I swear… Trust me, I—” She started to finish her sentence but suddenly dissolved into a fit of giggles, shaking her head like she couldn’t even process what she was saying or what happened. “No, but seriously, we didn’t,” she reiterated, though it was entirely unnecessary at this point. You raised a hand, gesturing for her to spill everything, and she did. Layla told you everything—every little detail you never needed (or wanted) to know about Noah. The way he looked at her, the way he held her, the way he made her feel. She took the bait, launching into every intimate detail about her night with Noah all the things she’d been dying to tell you—how he was charming, how he somehow managed to make her feel safe but turned on, how he pulled some kind of witchcraft on her, making her feel so sexy, yet so at ease. “Like, I don’t know what juju that man has, but good lord…” Layla whispered, shaking her head with a dreamy sort of daze before she burst into laughter, hands flailing as she dramatically recounted the way Noah had completely bewitched her. You couldn’t help but laugh too, wrapping her in a playful hug as you both dissolved into giggles, the two of you stumbling slightly in the narrow hallway, barely able to contain your giddy energy.

“Jack really has great friends,” you mused teasingly, still giggling as you started walking back toward the kitchen, Layla beside you.

“Don’t say it like that.” She groaned but fell into a cheeky laugh. You shot her a wink, still grinning as you linked arms and continued walking. The boys’ voices grew louder—Jack laughing at something, Noah’s unmistakable banter in response—and then… Trent. You didn’t have to see him to feel him. The air shifted, that familiar pull settling deep in your stomach before your eyes even landed on him. The way he occupied a room, effortlessly magnetic, like some invisible string tying him to you no matter how much distance you tried to put between you. Jack had great friends, sure. But one of them had you utterly, helplessly in love—had for years. The distant sound of Trent’s voice carried through the house, and suddenly, your heart did something ridiculous—it skipped. Because if Noah had some sort of juju over Layla, then Trent… Trent had spent years casting a spell on you. One you had no intention of ever breaking.

“Y/N, you can’t meddle though, yeah?” Layla’s voice was hushed but firm as you both stepped into the kitchen, where all the boys were gathered but still on the other side of the room.She gave you a pointed look, her eyes gleaming with both warning and amusement. You scoffed, eyes widening as if she’d just accused you of a crime.

“When have I ever meddled?!” you yelped, clutching your chest in mock offense. Layla didn’t even need to say anything—her face alone was enough of a response. “Like, all anyone does is meddle with me. Meddle in my life, my relationships, everything,” you huffed dramatically, crossing your arms. It wasn’t even a lie. Lately, it felt like everyone had something to say about your choices, your love life, Trent. Layla just shook her head at you, her expression unimpressed.

“Nothing. Not a word.” she warned lightheartedly, her voice quieter now, but the look in her eyes said she meant it. You pursed your lips, sealing them like a vow, and parted ways with her as you moved toward Trent, who was sitting at the kitchen counter. He was busy laughing at something Jack had just said, but the second your hands slid around his waist, dipping under the soft fabric of his jumper, he felt you. Trent shivered slightly at the cold touch of your fingers against his abs, the drag of your nails on his skin, a sharp inhale slipping from his lips. His body instantly relaxed into yours as your head found a home on his shoulder.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he purred, tilting his head back, trying to reach your lips. You met him halfway, letting his mouth brush against yours in the softest, laziest kiss.

“Hi,” you giggled against his lips, the warmth of his breath fanning against your skin as his mouth curled into a perfect pink, pouty smile. Jack less amused by Trent’s lips couldn’t resist a little tease after overhearing you and Layla moments ago.

“Yeah, well, I just wish you wouldn’t meddle with my mate in my kitchen,” Jack interrupted, his voice laced with teasing disapproval before he picked up a grape and threw it at Trent’s head. The grape bounced off Trent’s temple, and he barely reacted, just chuckled and picked it up, lobbing it with some arch across the room with perfect accuracy. Noah, ever the chaos magnet, opened his mouth and caught it effortlessly in his mouth, chewing with a smug grin.

“Eh, meddling can be a good thing,” Noah added through a mouthful of grape, his words slightly muffled. His eyes flickered toward Layla, and before anyone could react, he winked at her. You felt Layla stiffen across the room. It took everything in you not to react. Not to squeal or poke fun or say something incriminating. Instead, you bit down on your lip so hard you nearly hurt yourself, gripping Trent’s jumper for support as you fought the urge to explode. Nothing. Not a word, just as she said. But God, was it hard.

---

Noah strolled back into the kitchen later that night, his presence easy and familiar as you stood at the counter, halfway through preparing dinner for what felt like an entire army. It wasn’t an official movie night—not really—since no one had agreed on a film, and the TV in the living room was flipping between some rugby games. Jack had a few of his mates over, you had Layla, and somehow, that meant you were now in charge of feeding everyone. You sighed, silently cursing your own generosity.

“Alright?” Noah cooed as he made his way toward the refrigerator, his tone warm and teasing, as if he could feel your exhaustion. You hummed in response, nodding slightly, your focus still on the chopping board in front of you. Your hands moved on autopilot, slicing ingredients, measuring seasonings. But when you caught sight of the butter near your workspace, you hesitated, remembering something.

“You can’t have dairy, right?” you asked, glancing up at him with a soft smile as you cheekily slid the butter away from you. Noah, mid-search in the fridge, looked up in slight surprise before a smirk curved onto his lips.

“Yeah, sorry… Thank you for remembering.” He answered you. You shook your head as if to say it’s nothing, but then he noticed the olive oil sitting on a lower shelf. Without missing a beat, he grabbed it and slid the non-dairy alternate across the marble countertop toward you. A silent, unspoken exchange. You took it without a second thought, pouring some into the pan.

“So, what’s been up with you?” The question fell from your lips naturally, without much thought. But then, as soon as you asked it, you realized. Shit. Would he mention Layla? Would he talk about his night? Her night? Maybe Layla was right. Maybe you did meddle. Noah, either unaware of your overthinking or simply choosing to ignore it, leaned back against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Eh, laying low… looking out after you.” That stupid, knowing smirk of his made you roll your eyes instantly.

“Shut up.” You scoffed, reaching for the salt and sprinkling it into the pot of boiling water. The hiss of the bubbles matched your playful annoyance. Noah chuckled, amused, before pushing off the counter and grabbing a handful of grapes from a bowl nearby. He popped one into his mouth, watching you as if waiting for you to break—to prod him for more information, to slip up and meddle. You wouldn’t. At least… you’d try not to.

“Nah, just chilling though…” Noah’s voice was casual, filling the comfortable silence between you. He popped another grape into his mouth, chewing slowly, but you barely acknowledged him, too focused on stirring the simmering sauce in the pan. You could feel him still standing there, though. He wasn’t just lingering—he was building up to something. “Erm… quick question for ya…” He cleared his throat, the shift in his tone so subtle it might’ve gone unnoticed if you hadn’t known exactly where this was going.

“Shoot.” You finally turned to him, brow raised, curiosity feigned. Noah scratched the back of his neck, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Yeah… just curious…Erm… you know if Lays is seeing anyone?” He asked sheepishly. You felt your entire body internally scream, but on the outside, you played it smooth. Too smooth. You let out a slow, measured breath, forcing your expression into something casual, as if the question didn’t make you want to combust.

“No, she’s just chilling, laying low, I think,” you replied, your voice laced with an effortless, knowing smile, borrowing his words. There was no indication that you knew anything more than what he was asking. Noah, however, was suspicious. His head tilted slightly, his brows furrowing, eyes narrowing on you as if you were some sort of enigma.

“Not gonna grill me with questions?” He looked at you curiously. You shrugged, keeping the smile on your lips.

“No… should I?” You looked back. His eyes narrowed even further.

“Nah, fuck off—what’d she tell you?” He let out a laugh, shaking his head at you. Your lips curled as you bit back a giggle, but it was no use.

“Noah has a crushhhhh,” you sang, your voice playful and teasing as you reached out to squeeze his arm.

“Nah, see…” He scoffed, laughing as he shook your hand off him, pretending to be unbothered. But the slight redness in his ears gave him away. He turned away from you, making a beeline for the exit, but not before tossing a cheeky, mocking, “Thank you for making dinner, Y/N,” over his shoulder. Like he hadn’t just asked about Layla. Like you hadn’t reacted exactly how he suspected you would. And as he disappeared from the kitchen, you couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face.

---

The low hum of the TV filled the dark cinema room, the glow from the screen casting soft shadows over you and Trent as you crawled up his body, giggling softly after you’d finished cleaning up after dinner. He let you, his strong arms instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you close, like he always did. His warmth, his scent, the way his fingers ran up and down your back absentmindedly -it all made you feel so safe, so at home. Everyone had gone home, save Noah. And Jack had popped over to Megan’s but said he’d be back tonight. Layla left a bit ago too and so for now, at least until whatever was on tv ended it was just the three of you.

"Guess what?" you whispered, lips brushing against his ear as you pressed a quick kiss there. Trent hummed in response, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, tilting his head to the side so you had more room to kiss his neck. His hands tightened around you, fingers spreading across your back. "He kissed Layla," you murmured, meddling, voice playful, teasing. Trent tensed beneath you, his body stiffening in surprise as he suddenly gripped your waist and pulled you back to look at you properly. His jaw slacked, his lips parting before pulling into the most amused, stunned grin. His eyes were wide, flickering between you and where Noah sat across the room, completely unaware.

"No," Trent whispered, like he couldn't quite believe it. His eyes lit up, Trent loved some gossip. You grinned, biting your lip, nodding as you snuggled back into his chest. Trent's wide eyes darted to Noah, watching him lounge in the chair, his face relaxed, completely unbothered. Noah must have caught the look from the corner of his eye because he sighed, shaking his head, still not bothering to turn around.

"Stop," he muttered, his tone flat, already knowing exactly what was being said and going through Trent's head. You burst into giggles, burying your face against Trent's chest, your whole body shaking from the effort of keeping quiet. Trent raised his brows at you, biting back his own grin, but decided to leave it. He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Noah didn't say anything else, just carried on watching the game like nothing had happened. And eventually, he called it a night, grabbing his things and heading out, leaving just you and Trent alone in the house. The second the front door shut, Trent pulled you completely on top of him with a mischievous smirk.

"Been waiting to get you alone… " he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, the only thing separating you from another long night of trouble. You leaned forward with a whimper and sentences full of sin. Trent's hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was grounding himself in the moment, like he couldn't believe you were actually here-straddling him, whispering sinful promises into his ear. His dark eyes flickered with something primal, something possessive.

"T..." You whispered, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of his neck, leaving featherlight kisses that had him exhaling a sharp breath. He hummed, his hands sliding up your back, fingertips teasing beneath your shirt.

"What do you need, pretty girl?" He asked smugly, his voice thick with desire.

"You. Please." You murmured, sitting up fully on his lap, locking your eyes with his. Trent's smirk widened.

"Yeah?" He tilted his head, his hands sliding lower to grip your ass, kneading it in his palms like he'd been dying to do it all day, dying to do it for years. You nodded, your lips parting as you watched him take in the sight of you, the way his eyes darkened, how his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

"Do you know how long l've wanted you in here?" His voice was low, rough, like he was holding himself back.

"Tell me..." You swallowed, biting your lip as heat pooled in your stomach.

"The amount of times l've sat in here and thought about you-" He exhaled, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your thighs. "Fuck, you don't even wanna know." Your stomach tightened at his admission, and your hands slid up his chest, gripping his shoulders.

"Baby," you whispered, leaning in so your lips ghosted over his, teasing. "Tell me all the places you've wanted me..." You dragged your nails lightly down his back, loving the way his breath hitched. "I want you to fuck me everywhere you've ever thought about..." Trent groaned, his hands squeezing your ass again, harder this time. His smirk turned lazy, dangerous.

"That's a lot of places..." He murmured, his voice thick with promise, his hands gripping your hips, pressing you down against him so you could feel exactly how much he wanted you. Your stomach flipped, your heart raced.

"Good," you whispered, dragging your lips over his jaw. "We have time." The cinema room was dark, the soft glow of whatever was on the telly casting just enough light to illuminate Trent's face as he looked up at you, his pupils blown wide with desire. His hands roamed your body, gripping, teasing, exploring like he couldn't get enough-like he never would. You straddled him, your thighs wrapped around his waist, completely lost in the way his mouth moved against yours-hungry, demanding, possessive. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing a breathy moan from you as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up beneath your shirt, fingers trailing over your skin, making you shiver but you were desperate and he was moving too slow, so you took control, peeling your top off over your head leaving you completely bare, completely on display just for him.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," he groaned, his lips moving down to your jaw, then lower, his teeth grazing your neck before sucking lightly, knowing exactly how to make you fall apart. Your fingers tangled in his short curls, tugging slightly as you rocked against him, feeling the heat between you intensify. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, his breathing growing heavier, more erratic.

"T..." You whimpered, pressing your forehead to his, your lips brushing

"I got you, baby," he whispered, his hands sliding down your back, gripping your ass as he shifted beneath you, making you gasp. Everything was a blur of heat, of whispered names and desperate touches, of breathless moans swallowed by deep kisses. His hands worshipped your body, his touch electric, igniting every nerve as he pulled you closer, as he took you apart piece by piece. And when it was over, when you were spent and tangled up in his arms, your head resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you sighed in pure contentment. Trent pressed a lazy kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles on your bare back.

"So good for me," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“What you wanted?”You whispered, nuzzling into his warmth, feeling completely safe, completely his.

“Mmmhmm.” He hummed. After a few moments of blissful silence, you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him.

"So... where's next on the list?" You asked. Trent chuckled, the sound deep and full of mischief. He shook his head with a grin before gripping your thighs.

"List is fucking pages, pretty girl" he teased, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. You giggled, wrapping yourself around him as he stood up with ease. "C’mon," he murmured, carrying you out of the cinema room. "We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” He whispered into your ear and you felt yourself fall a little bit more with him and maybe a little bit more in lust.

---

When Jack came back to the house that night, the silence immediately put him on edge. It was too quiet—unnaturally quiet. Noah’s car was gone, but Trent’s was still parked outside, which wasn’t unusual. He figured you two were probably just watching something or maybe gone upstairs. Nothing alarming. But then he heard it. A breathy sound he didn’t recognize. A soft, muffled noise that made his brow furrow. His lips twisted in confusion. He took a few more steps, rounding the corner—

“Oh my fucking god!” Jack yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls. His entire body jolted back as if he’d been physically slapped by the sight in front of him. “Nah! I'm gonna be sick. I changed my mind! You can’t be together! Oh my fucking god!” Sheer horror plastered itself across his face as he smacked a hand over his eyes, his entire existence now dedicated to unseeing what he had just seen. You gasped, mortified, your body collapsing against Trent’s chest in sheer panic on the sofa in the living room. The third location on Trent’s list, although maybe the laziest and arguably the stupidest considering Jack had said he was coming home.

“Shit, sorry, mate…” Trent muttered, his voice shaking with amusement as he scrambled for a blanket, tossing it over your half-dressed torso in a poor attempt at damage control.But then—he laughed. Jack whipped around, absolutely appalled.

“It’s not funny, bro!” he shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of trauma. His hands rubbed aggressively over his face like he was trying to scrub the memory out of existence. Meanwhile, Trent’s bare chest shook beneath you as he tried (and failed) to contain his laughter. You, on the other hand, wanted the earth to swallow you whole. “Y/N!” Jack practically yelled again, voice strained with disgust. “That’s so gross! Put your fucking clothes on!” He let out a loud, exaggerated grunt, facing away so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

“Oh my god,” you whispered into Trent’s skin, too mortified to lift your head. It was dark enough, but still—the silhouettes alone were scarring. Jack continued, pacing aggressively as if sheer movement could shake this nightmare from his brain. You groaned against Trent’s chest while he laughed like this was the funniest thing to ever happen to him. And maybe it was. He was just genuinely so in shock and mildly disinterested in Jack considering he had you on top of him without a top on. For Jack, though? It was a fucking tragedy. He left without another word.

"You may have to move," Trent murmured against your neck, his voice thick with laughter, warm breath ghosting over your skin. One arm remained splayed across your lower back, securing the blanket over you both, while the other reached blindly along the sofa in search of your discarded shirt.

"I know..." you groaned softly, pressing your forehead to his bare shoulder, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. Jack had walked in. Jack. Your brother. You squeezed your eyes shut at the memory, a mortified laugh bubbling in your throat. Trent felt it-the way your body tensed slightly against him. And for once, he didn't tease. He just kissed your temple gently, the weight of his lips lingering for a second too long.

"I just wanna be able to fuck you whenever I want," he whispered against your skin, voice tinged with playfulness, but beneath that, something deeper, something real. Your breath hitched as his lips moved lower, his teeth grazing just below your jaw. The warmth of his body, the scent of him surrounding you-it made your stomach flip.

"T," you giggled, shaking your head, fingers absently tracing over his ribs, feeling the way his chest vibrated with quiet laughter. His hand continued searching for your shirt, but when his fingers finally closed around fabric, he realized it wasn't yours. He gave a little huff of frustration before handing you his own instead.

"Here, pretty girl, as much as I hate it, think should put something on" he muttered, pressing it into your hands. You sat up slightly, shifting against his lap as you pulled the shirt over your head. It was soft, oversized, and smelled exactly like him-clean, musky, safe. You curled your fingers into the hem, glancing up at him through your lashes.

"Yeah?" Your voice was soft, a little shy. Trent's gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes, something unreadable settling over his features.

"Yeah," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, without hesitation, "I think you should move in with me." The words fell so effortlessly from his lips that for a second, you weren't sure if he even realized what he'd just said. Your body stilled, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

"Really?" Your voice came out quieter than expected, unsure, as if you were waiting for him to backtrack. Trent's brows furrowed slightly at your hesitation.

"Yeah, really," he repeated, tilting his head, studying your reaction. You swallowed hard, licking your lips.

"T... you don't have to say that." you replied worrying this offer was circumstantial. His lips parted slightly, realization dawning in his dark eyes.

"Pretty girl," he sighed, his voice softer now. "I want to say it. I mean it." Your breath caught in your throat. "I think it'd be good for us," he continued, his fingers finding your chin, tilting it up just slightly. "Good for you. When the season kicks off, I want to come home to you. No use in being apart when we don't have to be." Your lips parted slightly, heart pounding as he searched your face for anything-doubt, hesitation, uncertainty. But all he found was soft eyes, an even softer smile. "I just always thought..." He paused, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "That's where we were going." Your chest rose and fell a little harder, your fingers curling around his wrist, holding him there.

"We are," you whispered, voice barely above a breath. Then, a giggle slipped from your lips, your nose scrunching slightly. "I'd like that." Trent let out a small, relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing. His expression softened into something completely smitten as he leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your nose.

"Good."

---

“Jack, I’m so sorry.” Your voice was small, hesitant, as you stepped into the cinema room. Jack had holed himself up in here since yesterday, ever since you’d scarred him for life by getting caught on top of Trent. He hadn’t even gone up to his room last night—he’d slept here instead, fully unwilling to risk hearing anything from upstairs. Now, in the quiet morning light, you finally had a chance to talk, just the two of you. Jack didn’t even look at you at first. His eyes stayed locked on the TV, the remote balanced lazily in his hand.

“Gross…” he muttered flatly, before finally glancing at you. “Fine, but gross.” His expression was smug, but there was no real malice behind it, and you exhaled with a relieved smile.

“I’m sorry! I forgot you said you were coming back,” you whined, plopping down onto the sofa beside him, tucking your feet up beneath you. Jack scoffed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand, chuckling slightly. It was equal parts acceptance and tease. Still, you couldn’t shake the lingering guilt that gnawed at you. You imagined moments like this, well maybe not exactly like this, you didn’t want to relive this embarrassment but moments of comfort and familiarity with your brother. If you moved out, you wouldn’t have that. You wouldn’t be able to walk to the next room and find him.

“I am really sorry,” you mumbled, your voice quieter now. Jack must’ve picked up on the shift, because he turned his head to look at you properly, his brows furrowing slightly.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he said, but the usual bite in his voice was gone. Now, there was something softer, something more concerned. “You alright?” You hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the edge of your sleeve.

“Yeah, just… yesterday Trent said something… I don’t know how legitimate it is, but I just don’t know,” you rambled, half-talking to yourself, half-talking to Jack. Jack’s posture stiffened just slightly. His caution was obvious.

“What did he say…?” He asked and your stomach twisted, a lump forming in your throat. You suddenly felt young—like his little sister all over again, sitting beside him, looking to him for reassurance. You swallowed.

“Erm…” You hesitated for a second longer, then finally forced the words out, barely above a whisper. “He asked me to move in with him.” Jack didn’t react at first. His face didn’t give anything away. You watched him anxiously, waiting for some kind of response—something, anything. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Oh.” Just oh. Your heart sank.

“I don’t have to… because, Jack, you’ve taken care of me my entire life,” you blurted, speaking a mile a minute, terrified he’d be upset. “I know that, and I’m so grateful for everything you do for me. And I know—even if it’s little things—I help out here, so if you want me to—” Jack cut you off, his voice calm but firm.

“You want to though, yeah?” He asked. His eyes were serious, searching yours. You swallowed hard, nodding sheepishly, lips pouting slightly. Jack sighed, his face softening.

“Y/N, you’re my little sister… but you’re also an adult. I know that. And you don’t owe me anything.” His lips curled into a small smile, his voice reassuring. “I’d do everything I’ve ever done for you a hundred times over, no questions asked.” It was comforting, but you caught it—the flicker of sadness in his eyes. It was so subtle that no one else would’ve noticed, but you did. The kind of sadness Jack would never put into words.

“Thank you, Jacky,” you murmured, voice quiet as you tried to fight the lump in your throat. You glanced down, then back up at him with wide, hesitant eyes. “I know you’re my big brother, but you do know you’re, like, my best friend too, right?” Jack’s lips twitched into a smirk, but he let you finish. “So if he actually wants me to move in… and if I do… can we still do our things?” You hated how small your voice sounded, but Jack understood instantly.

“’Course,” he said immediately, nudging your ankle playfully. “Always. My best friend too, yeah?” You nodded, lips curling into a small, sad smile. Jack exhaled, leaning back into the sofa.

“It’ll be good… about time he took you off my hands.” You let out a breathy giggle, but there was a weight to it. A bittersweetness.

“Yeah… about time,” you muttered under your breath. Jack glanced at you, then turned back to the screen.

“Love you, alright? Where you live doesn’t change that.” You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. Jack’s voice was so steady, but you felt the weight behind it. Then he added, softer this time, “Mum would be really happy. She’d want this for you.” Your heart ached. “She knew you loved him. And he loved you.” You sucked in a breath, eyes welling up. Jack’s jaw flexed as he stared straight at the TV, refusing to look at you. He wasn’t stoic about Mum—not really. He just didn’t let himself show it. But right now, his voice was full of quiet emotion. “I knew too…” he admitted, his tone a little lighter. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t the best cheerleader from the jump, but if you two are happy, I’m happy. She’d be happy. Dad will be too, Y/N.” That was it. That was what broke you. Without a word, you shifted across the sofa, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Jack let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding and instinctively pulled you closer, draping an arm around you. He pressed a firm, warm kiss to the top of your head. “All good,” he murmured. You sniffled, tucking yourself against him. Jack just held you there, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against your arm, neither of you in any rush to move.

Eventually you settled back into your own seats, You and Jack sat in comfortable silence for a long while, the TV playing in the background though neither of you were really watching.

“Think T’s having a movie night tonight if you’re interested,” Jack muttered eventually, his eyes focused on his phone as he typed out a text.

“I know.” You replied, unphased. Jack’s body tensed for a brief second—just a subtle, unconscious reaction—but you caught it. He still wasn’t used to this. You knew that. But he was trying, and you knew that too. He’d told you as much an hour ago, but you still couldn’t help yourself. “Jack… are you actually okay with this?” You mumbled, voice hesitant. Jack didn’t look at you right away, just let out a slow breath before nodding.

“Yeah. I am.” He confirmed, his tone even, honest. Then, after a beat, his lips twitched into a smirk. “Just don’t hook up with him on the sofa in front of me again and we’ve got no problems.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” You let out a groan, rolling your eyes as a smile tugged at your lips. Jack just chuckled, shaking his head, clearly pleased with himself.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

The Final Chapter - Chapter 31 - Movie Night

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #Movie Night Fic

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theharrowing · 2 years ago

Text

Dollhouse 25 💛: Chasing ghosts

Hoseok’s job is simple: He enters the host’s body, he confiscates or terminates the target, and he gets back into his own body by dinnertime, easy peasy. Until a client comes along who becomes as obsessed with his life as he becomes with theirs, and the lines between their realities begin to blur.

PREVIOUS | INDEX

💛 Hoseok x Namjoon, Hoseok x Taehyung x Jimin 💛 word count: 13.4 words 💛 hired assassin au, sci-fi, body swapping, graphic violence, infidelity, body dysphoria, lgbtq, smut, fluff, angst, poly, nsfw, smut, 21+ 💛 chapter warnings: tripping on acid (time becoming disjointed and scenes switching abruptly; hallucinations), heavy feelings & crying, infidelity (kind of), smut (sex while high, mmm threesome, you know the drill), minor character death (kind of), unhappy & unresolved ending!!! i warned you before, and i am warning you again!

💛 listen: i feel an immense amount of emotional connection to this fic, having spent over a year and a half writing it, and reaching this point has been so bittersweet. i struggled a lot writing this last chapter, and i have realized it is because of two reasons. 1.) it makes me sad to say goodbye. i think i have been grieving the end for months. 2.) this chapter is completely unnecessary. with the way i plan to "resolve" things, i could have done it easily at the end of the last one, without dragging it all out. but we're here and i decided to give Hoseok one last trip. i feel like i am pulling a neon genesis evangelion, and that because this fic has been such a reflection of my depression and anxiety and gender confusion, that it won't have the ending anyone likes. i'm okay with that, but i hope you at least have fun one more time. 💛 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 💛 posted july 2023 | read on ao3

There is something about this strange, dimly-lit whiskey bar that sits along a busy tourist street, with tons of foot traffic, 7,000 km from home that makes Hoseok feel nostalgic. The place is cramped with loud customers, the music is tacky and awful, and the vibe of the place is—for all intents and purposes—off.

But as Hoseok slides into a booth along the back wall and a glass of neat mid-tier whiskey is set in front of him in a round tumbler, he takes in the cracked burgundy leather and golden glow of the light fixtures, and he remembers sitting in a booth just like this the day Jeongguk suggested they partner swap.

What a strange memory to hold onto so dearly, Hoseok thinks, chewing on the inside of his lip.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Jimin scoots in on Hoseok's right, closer than Hoseok would have expected. He wears a faint floral and citrus perfume that is inviting and not too cloying, and a plain black tee tucked into tight black jeans with a light blue denim jacket over top. A light shimmering pink is dusted over his eyes, which Hoseok has a better look at sitting this close, and he wears sunglasses on his head that push his hair back, as well as silver dangling earrings, a black leather belt, and black Chelsea boots.

Taehyung sits across the table, in a chair. His outfit is all warm tones and flowy fabrics, with an oversized honey shirt unbuttoned low to reveal a generous amount of skin, and a hint of low-cut beige fabric, all of which is tucked loosely into tan slacks. His brown loafers disappear under the wide-cut pants, and his neck, ears, and fingers are adorned in silver. An earthy musk hangs around Taehyung, greeting Hoseok as he leans over the table to rub a thumb just under Jimin's eye.

"You have some mascara where it doesn't belong," he mutters while Jimin swats his hand away with a pout.

The leather upholstery whines and bounces as Jimin shifts around, facing Hoseok. He pinches the fabric of Hoseok's floral bomber jacket in his fingers, eyeing it up as if he wants to ask about it, but then asks, "What brings you here," instead.

It takes a second for Hoseok to catch up, reeling a little over Jimin's proximity. He tries to respond while looking at the man, but those wide, curious eyes dusted in pink and lined in black make it hard for him to think, so he turns away, glances at a curious Taehyung, and lets his gaze drop to the caramel-colored drink in his hands.

"Honestly," Hoseok sighs, lifting his glass toward his lips. "I don't know. I was on a work trip but plans changed, and now I'm just…chasing ghosts."

Taehyung hums, catching Hoseok's attention, then nods in understanding, wearing a beautifully sad smile. "Sounds lonely," he mutters, and Hoseok chuckles.

"Yeah," he admits, "it is."

Now that they are seated, and Hoseok is able to fully take in the appearances of the two men, he struggles to wrap his head around the fact that they really do exist. Both Taehyung and Jimin are anomalies in their own right, and Hoseok cannot put his finger on whether they are genuine or not. They are both strikingly beautiful with curious smiles, and they both look so sad.

Taehyung shifts and leans forward, resting both elbows on the table with his left arm stretched all the way forward as if pointing to Jimin while he speaks, but with a relaxed hand. He mutters something low and soft in a dulcet tone impossible to pick up on from across the table, and Jimin hums in understanding, nodding his head.

Hoseok does his best to alternate between glancing at Taehyung's lips and staring at his drink while listening, curious if he can pick up on even one word, but it is almost as if the man is speaking an entirely different language. The rise and fall of syllable tone sounds like a Gyeongsang dialect, especially when he speaks clearly, somewhere between Busan and Daegu. But although he can make out hints of pattern and drawl, he cannot pick up on a single word the man is saying.

"I feel like a ghost sometimes," Jimin says with a sigh, pulling the conversation back as if they never stopped.

Taehyung, with his arm still outstretched, turns his head to Hoseok, hanging loose as if it is on a string—as if he is not in full control of his body, dangling awkwardly. He pulls his lips into a strange, toothy, rectangular smile that Hoseok cannot quite parse, and then he sits up tall, rolls his shoulders back, and begins to drink.

Hoseok heavy-blinks and turns slightly toward Jimin, whose wide eyes are watching him intently. Jimin almost appears to be searching for something—mouth tugged down into a frown—but then he blinks and smiles, as toothy as Taehyung but far less forced.

"You should let us dose you," Jimin mutters softly with a sudden sparkle in his eye.

"Dose?" Hoseok asks, looking between the two of them, wondering if they mean LSD or something similar.

"We're gonna start coming up kinda soon," Jimin says, placing a hand on Hoseok's thigh that feels warm and inviting, which Hoseok looks down at quickly before pulling his eyes up to Taehyung. "It might be weird for you if you're the only one who isn't high."

"Do you ever take acid?" Taehyung asks, and Hoseok shakes his head, looking between the two of them. He has taken acid back in college, but not enough to hallucinate. Never enough to hallucinate.

"But you've taken ecstasy before," Jimin states—not asks.

Hoseok turns to him, knitting his brow and searching his face, muttering, "How do you know that?"

Jimin squeezes Hoseok's leg and says, "Everyone has, silly!" with a bright, infectious giggle.

Yes, Hoseok thinks, but if you are who I think you are, then you know firsthand that I have.

"Are you afraid of taking drugs?" Taehyung asks, but Jimin squeezes Hoseok's thigh again before Hoseok can turn to respond, keeping his attention on him.

"I bet there are things you want to ask us," Jimin says sweetly, leaning in as if telling Hoseok a secret. "And we will tell you absolutely everything you want to know. But only once you're high."

With a pounding heart and curious mind, Hoseok swallows thickly and considers the proposition.

"What kinds of things do you think I am curious to know about you?" Hoseok asks, causing Jimin's smile to widen and become more dangerous.

"Anything," Jimin mutters, leaning in close, wetting his lips with a bubblegum pink tongue. "What are two beautiful, enigmatic men doing on the wrong continent, for starters."

"But you can't have all the fun," Taehyung adds, pulling Hoseok's gaze to where he rests his chin in his hands, with his cheeks squished cutely, both elbows on the table. "We get to ask you questions, too."

Taking a somewhat unknown substance in an unfamiliar place with two potential strangers feels dangerous. Every instinct tells Hoseok that it is the wrong thing to do, and that he should not agree to do it.

But if this is Yoongi and Jeongguk, he knows he has to. Maybe they only feel comfortable with revealing their identities to Hoseok while he is high. All he has to do is hold onto the memory…how hard can that be?

"Alright," Hoseok says, watching as Taehyung grins wide and feeling Jimin's excited hands claw at his thigh. "But I don't know what to expect. You guys…you have to look out for me."

Fingernails scratch at Hoseok's scalp, and he turns to find Jimin grinning as he musses up Hoseok's hair, then drapes his arm around his shoulder, saying, "We are going to take such good care of you," while using his index finger to boop Hoseok on the nose.

A chill runs down Hoseok's spine, and he attempts to get his bearings, but the atmosphere of the bar is overwhelming, and these two are acting very strange. But also very fun. He cannot seem to keep his eyes off Jimin, and the way he is acting—very touchy and smiley—does not help.

"I hate this place," Taehyung announces with a sigh and a pout. "It was more fun the other night."

"I hate it too," Jimin whines before picking up his whiskey and slamming it back. He sets his glass down with a thud and says, "Bottoms up! Let's move."

Without thinking twice, Hoseok picks up his glass and slams its contents back, swallowing it all too fast to second-guess the oily quality of the liquid, and the bitter taste and smell that is so slight, it is barely detected. But Hoseok does detect it, and he licks his lips, eyes trailing between the two of them.

"Did you already—" Hoseok begins to ask, but Jimin is yanking him by the arm out of the booth, and in a frenzy, he complies, getting onto his feet as best as he can while scooting sideways past the table at his hips.

When he is on his own two feet, standing without obstruction, Jimin takes him by the hand and pulls him through the crowded space, to where Taehyung is already walking ahead, toward the exit.

"Did he already dose me?" Hoseok asks, to which Jimin giggles loudly without looking back.

The evening air hits Hoseok and he scrunches his shoulders high. It is not necessarily cold, but everything feels heightened—anticipatory—making him shiver as gusts of wind blow through his hair. Jimin's hand is warm and holds firm, and their pace seems somewhat rushed as they make their way down the block, snaking through pedestrians on the sidewalk, to a nightclub that Hoseok has walked past but never entered.

Taehyung shows his ID at the door, and Jimin rummages through his pocket for his, letting go of Hoseok's hand only long enough to pull the card from his wallet and allow Hoseok to do the same. Once security has scrutinized their foreign cards and compared them to their faces, Jimin has Hoseok's hand in his, tugging him through the dark entrance.

"I liked the first club we went to," Jimin pouts as a short hallway opens into a larger space packed with writhing bodies.

Loud house music thrums through every inch of the space, into Hoseok's bloodstream, and the rainbow lights that flash colorful beams throughout are somewhat disorienting.

"I did too," Taehyung responds over his shoulder. "But it's too soon to go back there."

"Why?" Hoseok asks without thinking.

Jimin shrugs and looks over his shoulder to say, "Just 'cause!" as they continue leading the way.

They walk past the main dance floor, to a tall, muscular security guard near the back bar. Taehyung lifts a hand to whisper something into the ear of the man, who nods his head to the side and then nods his head to Jimin.

Taehyung leads the way through a black door that is almost indistinguishable against the black wall, into another hallway, which stretches about twenty feet before curving to the left, at a set of stairs. As they walk up, Hoseok surmises that this must be some sort of VIP section, and he wonders what kind of pull Taehyung has—how does he have access to places like this? If they have only been in Sydney for a little while, what kind of connections does he have?

The space they enter is a mezzanine that overlooks the club. There are tables along the railing and a bar off to the left. Past the bar are booths with privacy curtains, and Jimin leads Hoseok in that direction while Taehyung veers off toward the bar.

"You guys must have connections," Hoseok shouts over the music once they are close to the booths and seem to be out of earshot of most people.

Jimin pulls Hoseok to the last booth, checking each one they walk past and seeing that they all appear empty, with their curtains open, and then he holds out his hand, motioning for Hoseok to get in.

Hoseok hesitates, then has a seat on the round black leather cushion and begins to slide toward the center. Jimin follows suit, sitting very close despite how much room there is. Once they are settled, Jimin lifts his arm, resting his elbow on the seatback between him and Hoseok, and begins running his fingers through Hoseok's hair.

"Are the two of you a couple?" Hoseok asks.

Jimin's eyes widen and shimmer as he says, "We are."

Hoseok nods, wetting his lips while looking around at the black leather and velvet enclosure. "How long have you two been together?"

Taehyung arrives with a round black tray balanced on his hand, holding three glasses of caramel-colored liquid. "Forever," he says, as he sets the tray down and slides it to the center of the table.

"Forever, hmm?" Hoseok challenges playfully, glancing between Jimin, who stares at Hoseok, to Taehyung, who closes the velvet curtains before having a seat and sliding in on Hoseok's other side.

There is a small, purple overhead light, and a candle encased in a red glass cup in the center of the table, giving the space an eerie glow. It feels as if Hoseok's senses have suddenly dulled, and the dizzying pounding of his heart certainly does not help.

Taehyung does not scoot quite as close, but Hoseok can feel his warmth radiate, and as he sits back, staring forward at the small golden flame, an odd sense of discomfort settles over him.

"Did you dose me already?" Hoseok asks, turning to Taehyung, whose features almost appear gruesome in the dim light.

"I did," Taehyung responds sweetly. "But only after you said yes."

Hoseok nods and accepts the response, though he would have liked to know how much of the substance he was given. Anxiety buzzes through him, just under his skin. He shrugs from his jacket, suddenly feeling too warm, and looks ahead at the three untouched drinks on the table, asking, "So, now what?"

"So," Jimin responds sweetly—emphatically, "now we drink these drinks, and we wait."

The anticipation of a high is often so nerve-wracking that Hoseok already laments the idea. But what choice does he have?

"And after we wait…?" Hoseok tries, glancing between Taehyung and Jimin, who both watch him.

"You seem tense," Taehyung says so low it is almost lost beneath the loud club beat. Oddly, Hoseok had been unaware of the music blaring until he struggled to hear soft, dulcet tones blending through and beneath it.

With a nod, Hoseok rolls his shoulders back in an attempt to relax. "I have that habit," he responds.

Fingertips dig into Hoseok's shoulders in deep, slow circles and firm lines, tugging him to and fro, making his eyes roll back. Jimin is surprisingly good at massaging, and while Hoseok shifts around to give him more access, his mind flashes to a certain bathtub all those months ago, with a certain set of hands.

"Relax," Jimin purrs close to Hoseok's ear, dragging the syllables long as warm breath wafts against his skin, turning the path to goosebumps. "Taehyungie and I got you for tonight. Don't let any other outside stressors cloud your mind."

As Jimin's hands move down Hoseok's back, he blurts, "I'm married," unsure why the information feels pertinent to share, aside from how intimate everything feels. To his surprise, Jimin's hands do not pause.

"Hmm?" Taehyung hums as the weight in front of Hoseok shifts physically and audibly. He hears a glass getting set down on the table close to him. Taehyung's voice is playful as he adds, "And where is your husband?"

Hoseok's eyes flutter open, and he blinks Taehyung into view, finding the man sitting closer than before with his torso facing Hoseok, one leg crooked on the seat, cradling a glass between long fingers.

"How did you know my spouse is a man?" Hoseok asks, feeling his heart grow heavier by the second.

With a shrug and lift of a brow, Taehyung mutters, "Lucky guess," and Hoseok frowns, feeling unsatisfied. After a moment of tracing Hoseok's face with his eyes, Taehyung adds, "Straight men don't usually allow other men to drag them around and give them back massages, let's be honest."

"I suppose that's true," Hoseok mutters as Jimin's thumbs rub up his neck, causing his head to tip forward and his eyes to close.

"So," Taehyung begins, paused by the sound of him taking a drink from a glass. "Why were you searching for us?"

Hoseok feels startled as his eyes dart open once more. He instinctively tries to sit up and adjust his posture, but Jimin's small but strong hands hold him in place.

"It's fine, darling," Jimin purrs sweetly, squeezing and rubbing Hoseok's shoulders and biceps. "You were just…not very discrete."

Hoseok sighs, then reaches for the drink that Taehyung had set closer to him. His glass feels colder than usual against his palm, and condensation drips down his wrist. Although Jimin's hands remain on Hoseok, his touch is much lighter, trailing fingertips up to his neck and back down, dragging the cloth of his white t-shirt.

"I thought you were someone," Hoseok admits before taking a long sip of his drink. The whiskey is sweeter than expected, and he lets it settle on his tongue before swallowing it back.

Jimin responds, "You thought we were…someone else?"

"It's…a long story," Hoseok says, taking one more drink and setting his glass down.

Taehyung leans close and smiles, and for just a moment his pouty rectangular mouth sharpens. His eyes become wide, round galaxies, and Hoseok's mouth hangs around the name Jeongguk.

"You'll have to tell us all about it," Taehyung says, deep voice lilting high and sweet, familiar in a way that makes his heart ache.

Hoseok blinks, and Taehyung is himself again. A surge of emotion fills him, and he swallows a lump, ignoring the way the vines that squeeze him so tightly sharpen with thorns. He almost feels guilty for wishing Taehyung were Jeongguk.

"It might seem too strange to believe," Hoseok says, attempting to change the topic.

"We'll circle back to it later," Jimin says, giving Hoseok's shoulders a squeeze before scooting away, leaving Hoseok feeling alone. "You're about to come up, and I don't need you stressing out about silly little details at a time like this."

"Oh," Hoseok mutters, nervously gripping his glass tightly. He wants to ask how Jimin knows he will be coming up soon—what coming up even entails—but he agrees that this may not be the time to stress about silly little details.

Not to mention, the space they are in is beginning to appear foggy, and Hoseok is unsure whether that is a product of an actual fog machine, or if it is just a trick his brain is playing on him. Either way, he can't stop thinking about it.

"How does the music feel?" Taehyung asks—and it is strange that Taehyung should ask this, because right in this moment, the bass of the loud club music feels visceral and enrapturing, throbbing and pulsating through him, changing the nature of his nervous system, in synch with his heartbeat. Somehow, the music has found a home buried under his skin, and he thinks the way the candle flickers gently on the table must be tethered to his soul.

What the fuck did he drink?

"Good," is all Hoseok can bring himself to say. "Feels…" his mouth is dry, and he lifts his glass, muttering, "good," before taking a final gulp.

"Should I get us water?" Jimin asks as the sound of him sliding away can be heard.

Panic strikes Hoseok, who looks to Jimin worried, but Jimin smiles sweetly at him and then at Taehyung, nodding as he continues to slide.

"Thanks, hyungie," Taehyung says, blowing a kiss in the air.

When the curtains part for Jimin to exit, blue and purple beams of light enter the booth, and Hoseok's heart soars. He thinks that he would like to see more of the lights, but once the curtain is drawn, he is washed over with relief. It was glorious but too much, he thinks; likely to overwhelm him quickly.

"Is he okay?" Hoseok asks, lurching slightly between words; he feels gassy, like he is belching, but only the tiniest pockets of air seem to be rising to his throat, and he finds it unsettling. He swallows thickly, wetting his lips. "Uh—out there alone, I mean."

"Oh, he's fine," Taehyung responds with a wide smile that morphs back to a familiar one that Hoseok has to blink away. "Not his first rodeo. And the bartender is a friend."

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm."

Time seems hard to grasp, or maybe Hoseok is overthinking it. For all he knows, Jimin left two minutes ago or an hour ago; all he can fully comprehend is that his heart is pounding and he feels antsy.

"Hoseok," Taehyung prompts, after an amount of time that could have dragged but maybe not.

"Hmm?"

"Be honest," Taehyung drawls slowly and easily.

And Hoseok sits up straight, readying every fiber in his body to being honest. He may not be aware of too much at this moment in time, but he is sure that he wants to be honest, come what may.

Taehyung smirks easily—lips tugging widely, showing more teeth than Hoseok thinks he may have ever seen. When he opens his mouth, Hoseok leans in close, ready to listen.

"Do you think this haircut suits me?"

Taehyung's hair is a tuft of waves hanging over his forehead, framing his face beautifully with the sides and neck cut tight. Hoseok does not have to inspect it, but he does, leaning forward and nodding his head.

"Yeah," he responds somewhat slowly. "It does."

"I wasn't too sure about it," Taehyung pouts, running his hands through it.

Hoseok mirrors the pout, asking, "Oh?"

"I'm not used to wavy hair, so it was a challenge to learn how to style."

"You're not?" Hoseok asks, tilting his head, inspecting the hair. There is no way this is a perm, he thinks; it looks natural.

Rather than respond, Taehyung just sits back with his arms crossed over his chest, and he smiles widely. Something glimmers in his eye that Hoseok thinks he should be able to interpret, but he finds that he cannot. Suddenly, he feels like he is forgetting something. No, not forgetting—missing.

Hoseok wants to ask, but how would Taehyung know what he is missing? It makes no sense. Still, Taehyung knows something, with how he studies and smiles.

"Where are you from?" Hoseok asks. His mouth feels terribly dry, and he looks around, disappointed to only see empty whiskey glasses. Three. There is a third person…where is Jimin?

"The countryside," Taehyung responds, "near Daegu."

"Daegu," Hoseok mutters under his breath, reprimanding his heart and mind for both thinking about Yoongi. Don't think about him, don't think about him, don't think about him.

"Jimin's from Busan," Taehyung says, lifting an eyebrow.

Busan trails into Jeongguk trails into the letters that they forged. Why did they make those letters? Who were they hiding from? Were they trying to hide from me? Hoseok squeezes his eyes closed, lifts his heavy, heavy arms, and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"You alright?" Taehyung asks, and the words sound slow, like they are sinking deep, deep, deep into wherever Hoseok feels like he is dropping.

"Thirsty," Hoseok mutters, holding back the rest. How can he tell Taehyung that he thinks he may be missing something very dear and important? Would Taehyung understand?

Loud house music plays, and Hoseok allows himself to hear it. It feels sleepy and awake at the same time—a quick drum beat over something dreamy and slow. Hoseok drops his hands down, but his eyes stay closed, and he imagines stars swirling across a dark sky, dancing and leaving a trail of glitter in their path, illuminating the heavens brighter and brighter. It feels hopeful.

But then he thinks of Namjoon and how much he has fucked up being a good husband to his big dumb cutie in the last year. Will Namjoon be home when he returns? He continues to dwell on it—thinks he wouldn't deserve it if he was. Even if the thought threatens to suffocate and swallow him whole—suck him up into the glittering, swirling, unforgiving sky—he cannot stop thinking about it.

"Water!" Jimin sing-songs, and Hoseok opens his eyes to find him standing in the open curtain, shrouded in a halo of purple light. He looks angelic, covered in a sheen of sweat with wide, high pupils. In his arms, he hugs six water bottles, and when he bends to place them onto the table, they tumble haphazardly and begin to roll in all directions.

Hoseok half-stands and reaches for one that threatens to go over the edge close by, and he stands it on the table before assisting with gathering the rest. Although the music is louder and the lights are bright, Hoseok kind of likes having the curtains open. He begins to ask if they can keep them there, but Jimin begins to dance, and Hoseok loses his words.

"I love this song," Jimin sighs as he runs his hands up his neck and into his hair, swaying his body slowly from side to side.

His jacket is gone, and he only wears a black tee tucked into black pants, and although it is dark, the material hugs Jimin as he sways and swishes. Hoseok would try not to stare if he were in his right mind, but he finds he simply cannot help himself. Jimin is a sight to behold, and with the bright purple glow of the lights, he is magnificent.

"You should dance with me," Jimin says, and Hoseok continues to watch him, expecting Taehyung to get up and join him. But then, when nothing happens, Hoseok glances around and realizes that Taehyung, and now Jimin, are looking at him.

"M-me?" Hoseok asks, shifting in his seat, unsure whether he could stand, much less move his body, in his current state.

"Yes, you, silly," Jimin giggles, holding out his hands.

And it is not that Hoseok would deny someone like Jimin anything, but he needs to adjust to his current situation first. Hoseok nods, but he reaches for the closest water bottle and twists the tiny plastic top. The water is cold—so cold it takes Hoseok by surprise, and he has to stop and catch his breath for a split moment before continuing to drink.

Water is a gift. Suddenly, Hoseok feels recharged—a new man! He replaces the little plastic cap and then places both hands down on the booth to slide along the curve to freedom. Jimin continues to sway, holding his arms open wide for Hoseok, who finally scoots close to the edge and holds his own arms up.

Jimin's hands are cold and soft when they grip onto Hoseok's wrists and yank with a surprising amount of strength. Hoseok chuckles as he is tugged on, and he stumbles onto his feet, nearly crashing into Jimin in the process, making Jimin's giggles turn into full-body laughter.

"There you are," Jimin says sweetly, wrapping his arms around Hoseok's shoulders and slowly swaying his body for him. "How do you feel, baby?"

Jimin's face shifts and morphs ever so slightly as he speaks, tugging hard at Hoseok's heartstrings. He can almost hear the question asked in a deeper timber, grazed with a rasp. The vines suffocate.

"Good," Hoseok lies, because physically, he really does feel good despite the treachery his mind is playing on him.

"Are you sure?" Jimin asks, dancing his fingers into Hoseok's hair. "You look sad."

"I am," Hoseok admits with a smile that he can feel tugging down into a frown. He is filled with the sudden urge to cry, and he shakes his head, doing his best to stay present and sway his body along with Jimin. At some point, the song must have changed, but the beat is similar, and he likes how it makes him feel floaty and soft and a little bit heavy. "I miss someone. Two someones. And you two sort of remind me of them. But that's fine. Missing people is another part of loving people, right? It's just life."

Hoseok knows he is rambling, but he finds it hard to stop once he has started. And Jimin is so patient, watching with an expression that looks so sad despite his attempt to smile.

"Where are they now?" Jimin asks sweetly, tilting his head to the side.

Hoseok laughs through a sob, realizing suddenly that he has been crying. Hot tears pour as he blinks, but he allows them to fall freely as Jimin sways him to the music, letting his arms hang at his sides.

"I don't know," Hoseok says, searching Jimin's face before letting his gaze fall to some spot on his shirt. "I thought perhaps they would be here, but…"

"But you found us, instead," Jimin responds so quietly, it nearly gets lost in the music.

"Why did you dose me?" Hoseok asks, lifting his gaze to find Taehyung standing behind Jimin, leaning against the edge of the booth with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Taehyung shrugs. "Because we thought it would be weird if you were the only one sober."

"But why me?" Hoseok has no idea what he is asking for; he simply refuses to believe that all of this is random.

"You came with us," Taehyung simply responds.

"Hmm," Hoseok nods, but he does not accept the answer.

"You let me come with you," Hoseok continues, thinking about the conversation moments ago—maybe hours ago, "even though you thought I was looking for you."

Jimin laughs, leaning forward with enough force that it pushes Hoseok back, and he stumbles slightly. The more time he spends with Jimin, the less he finds it likely that he could be Yoongi or Jeongguk…except every once in a while, he says something that Yoongi would say, and it throws him off.

"We were avoiding you when we realized you were looking for us," Taehyung teases as Hoseok attempts to get his balance back and Jimin continues to lean into him, laughing. "But you didn't seem like much of a threat, so—"

Before Hoseok can stop himself, he blurts, "Are you hiding from someone?"

The laughter dies, and Jimin straightens out and turns back to Taehyung, who continues to stand stoically and watch them. With a lift of his brow, Taehyung mutters, "Aren't we all?"

Hoseok considers it. He is not hiding from anyone, necessarily, but he was also not completely forthcoming with Namjoon about his whereabouts.

"Maybe not hiding," Jimin adds with a disarming smile. "Maybe some of us are running."

Hoseok nods, accepting this addendum. "I am running," he admits. "But I'm not sure in which direction."

"What do you mean?" Jimin asks, tilting his head while watching Hoseok with wide, eager eyes.

"I'm not sure if I'm running to someone or away from someone."

Hoseok's arms are lifted, draped over Jimin's hips. He has no memory of positioning them this way, but it feels nice. He notices Taehyung's gaze drift to his hands, and he wonders what the man is thinking. Luckily for him, Taehyung seems to always blurt out whatever is on his mind.

"You don't have a wedding band."

"No," Hoseok says with a frown. "I'm not allowed to wear one at work, so I have grown accustomed to not wearing one at all.”

"And your husband?" Taehyung asks.

Come to think of it, Hoseok has no idea whether Namjoon wears his band anymore. Although it is not prohibited for him to do so at work, he prefers not to. They used to wear their bands on the weekends, but it has been months since Hoseok has removed his from the little gold dish that it rests on, atop their dresser.

"I don't know," is all Hoseok says, swallowing thickly, mouth running dry.

He is grateful when they do not ask for more information. And, when he drops his arms from Jimin's swaying sides and turns to grab for a bottle of water, he is grateful that Jimin's hold loosens before falling away entirely, giving Hoseok full mobility.

Hoseok's pulse is heavy, and he feels dizzy as he stands as steadily as possible—feet planted hard onto the floor—and puts his focus on another tiny white cap. He must be squeezing the bottle too hard because water flows from the mouth once the cap is free, dribbling onto his hand.

His hands shake a little as he lifts the bottle to his lips, and the water is so cold that it takes Hoseok by surprise again. He wants to gulp it back quickly, but he takes his time, one frigid sip after another until he feels sated enough to set the bottle down. Maybe he should have taken a drink from the one he had already opened, but that one is far away, and he is unsure whether he can trust his body to bend at the hips and not topple over completely.

"Are you overwhelmed here?" Jimin asks at the same time fingertips dance in the hairs at the nape of Hoseok's neck.

"I think so," Hoseok responds, suddenly acutely aware of just how intense the bright lights and booming music are becoming.

"I know a place," Jimin says, leaning in close enough that his breath is warm and inviting on Hoseok's neck. His voice is so low when he asks, "Do you trust me?" that Hoseok once again lets his mind wander to someone else.

"Yes," he responds without hesitation. "I trust you."

Hoseok barely keeps up with the rush of movement, but suddenly Jimin is wearing his denim jacket again, and he is putting water bottles into pockets on the inside of the jacket that are large enough to fit two each. Hoseok climbs into the booth on his knees to stretch forward and get his coat, then he slides his arms into the sleeves and holds onto the bottle that he had just been drinking from. Taehyung must grab the others, and Jimin takes Hoseok's free hand and tugs him along, causing him to stumble as they make their way past the booths to the stairs.

Although he enjoys their company, Hoseok hopes that they do not continue to bounce from place to place. He feels heavy on his legs but also too light—like his body is made of boiled rice cakes that wobble in an attempt to hold him steady. Hoseok shoves his water bottle into a jacket pocket and grips the railing tightly as they go down the stairs, watching as the shadows and light bend and move beneath him, focusing instead on trusting his legs to know the right size steps to make because watching his feet is impossible and borderline terrifying.

The music warps and sways around him, twisting and pulling in strange, disorienting syncopations—dizzying and hard to follow. He can feel that his hand is sweaty in Jimin's grasp, but Jimin continues to hold tightly and guide Hoseok through the hallway, into the main club, and to the front exit.

Briefly, Hoseok's feet stop, causing his hand to partially slip from Jimin's grip. He watches the dance floor, taking in the lights and the sounds and the writhing bodies, and he thinks very briefly that he would like to be part of that. But imagining himself in the hot throng of limbs, bass, and sweat makes him nervous, and he shakes his head, dispelling the thought while gripping onto Jimin's hand a little tighter and muttering, "Let's go."

As soon as Jimin tugs Hoseok out into the street, everything in the world shifts. The sky is a strange murky, mossy green that skies never are, and the sidewalk feels too soft underfoot and far away. Hoseok stumbles and struggles to get his bearings, and when Jimin lets go of his hand, his heart beats too heavily in his chest, and he feels like curling into a ball and crying.

"Piggyback?" Taehyung asks, crowding in front of Hoseok and bending low.

"I don't…feel…" Hoseok begins, and Taehyung turns slightly, and says, "I know. It's okay, I'll carry you."

Although Hoseok is no stranger to piggyback rides, getting onto Taehyung's back is extremely precarious. Hoseok flings his arms over Taehyung's shoulders, but he cannot, for the life of him, seem to be able to pull himself up and lift his legs. Two hands on his ass gently but firmly shove him upward, and then arms wrap around his thighs in a haphazard tangle that has Hoseok gripping onto Taehyung for dear life.

People pass them by on the street, and the sounds of their voices are too loud, too high, too conspiratorial. Hoseok buries his face into the nape of Taehyung's neck and attempts to breathe, but his breath is sticky-hot against Taehyung's skin, and he finds that his hair smells oddly familiar.

"What shampoo do you use?" Hoseok mutters with his lips grazing over the salty-sweet neck.

"Hmm, good question," Taehyung says softly—almost too soft to be heard over the incessant loud clattering of the busy street. "Whatever the hotel supplies."

"I don't think so," Hoseok mumbles, rubbing his nose against the short hairs at Taehyung's neck, detecting hints of something that he knows very, very well—something distinct.

He wonders if his behavior is odd, but decides he does not want to put Taehyung on the spot to ask. If it is, he finds he does not really want to stop, anyway. If it is not, that may be a strange thing for someone like Taehyung to have to admit to him.

"Who do I smell like?" Taehyung asks, taking Hoseok by surprise.

"Jeongguk," he says without giving it a moment of thought.

"Jeongguk," Taehyung parrots, squeezing at Hoseok's heart because to say a name aloud gives it power, and Jeongguk is the kind of man who—Hoseok surmises—has had a little too much power at his fingertips. "Pretty name. Who is that?"

"Someone I love," Hoseok says, resting the side of his face against Taehyung's shoulder and daring to open his eyes. All the lights on the street vibrate and trail, vivid and abnormal, almost oppressive in their glow. "Someone who broke my trust but who I would give anything to see again."

Hoseok thinks he hears Taehyung hum; he thinks he feels it. And then Taehyung carries him off the main stretch and into a quieter area. Hoseok lets out a deep exhale, thankful for the barrage of sounds to end. Even without glancing around, he can smell pollen and tree sap, and he thinks he knows where he is.

"The botanical gardens?" Hoseok asks.

"Clever, clever," he hears Jimin respond.

Hoseok closes his eyes and sighs, and when he opens them, he is standing on his own two feet, staring up at the night sky through large panes of rectangular glass. The stars and clouds twist and sway like a Van Gogh painting, and he blinks slowly, curious when they change form and disappointed when they begin to smudge and wither away.

And then he is sitting on a wooden bridge beside a pond, watching koi fish walk by. They all hold briefcases and wear little top hats, and Hoseok giggles at the thought of them all leaving to go to their day jobs. What would koi fish do for a living, dressed that way? Stockbrokers? Too droll for something so pretty and lucky, he thinks, but it is perhaps a prosperous enough career.

"It was overwhelming," Hoseok hears himself say, and then he realizes he is holding his hand out so that giant, mutant moths and butterflies might land on him. They have fangs and many eyes, but there is something in their body language—their gentle wingbeats—that tells Hoseok they are not to be feared. Or, perhaps, he is too trusting. "It felt like the start of an action film scene when the music comes on, and everything is just…culminating to something big and scary and…overbearing."

Hoseok forgets what he is talking about until Taehyung says, "That can happen sometimes, but I had you safely on my back."

Oh, right, Hoseok thinks. He must have been talking about the walk over here. He wonders how long ago that was.

So many things occur, and Hoseok lies on his back and simply experiences them. He thinks he sees Yoongi's face in everything—the flowers, the trees, the make-believe butterflies and woodland creatures with too many eyes. Hoseok thinks he sees his parents, and he even gets up and chases his mother around along the wooden bridges that go over a small river, laughing and singing her name. But then he is returned to his back in a large patch of itchy grass, in between two bodies.

"Is he one of the ghosts you are chasing?" Taehyung asks.

Hoseok turns to Taehyung and asks, "Who?" and as soon as Taehyung responds, "Jeongguk," his face morphs, causing Hoseok's eyes begin to well up with tears.

"Yeah," Hoseok says. "It's a long story."

"Chasing ghosts," Jimin mutters to himself, and Hoseok hums.

Hoseok's palm snags on wood, and although it does not hurt too much, when he looks at his hand, blood that morphs into flowing red glitter pours from his skin and into the river below, causing all the water that he can see to begin to shimmer and glow. He laughs so much he cries, and then he turns to tell the others what he saw, realizing he is standing on a bridge at the center of the garden, alone.

Jimin and Taehyung are true to their word of answering Hoseok's questions, but he struggles to fully wrap his mind around too many of the details. Everything looks so strange and silly—currently drawn in crayon and wiggling as if the pages of a sketchbook are being flipped quickly from frame to frame.

"...chasing us," Taehyung's voice says.

"Have you ever heard of cryogenic freezing?" Jimin's voice asks.

"It is not as if your body dies fully," Taehyung's voice adds, "it just rests for a long period of time, somewhere safe."

"...one day, but for now, we like these ones," Jimin mutters softly. Then, he adds, "Hmm, I think he's too high for this."

Hoseok opens his eyes, attempting to sort out what they are talking about, but finds he is standing at the foot of a small waterfall alone. He stumbles away from the whooshing water, down semi-familiar paths that seem to be made of dirt until he blinks and they become stone and then he blinks and they become the large scales of a massive snake, or maybe a dragon, then the clearing opens, and he finds the other two standing with their arms stretched out at their sides and their heads tipped back.

"Oh," Hoseok says, feeling uncomfortable with disturbing their peace, muttering much more quietly, "I found you."

Jimin drops his hands and runs over with a smile so bright, Hoseok has to look away.

"There's my favorite boy," Yoongi's deep voice rasps as Jimin presses his warm hands into Hoseok's hair. Hoseok thinks he is sweating a lot, but Jimin does not seem to mind.

As Hoseok watches Jimin, he tries not to feel too sullen about how easily he can morph into Yoongi and back. When it becomes too much to bear, he closes his eyes.

"My dad owned it," Jimin says, and Hoseok stares at the sky with teary eyes, unsure what they are talking about.

"And then what?" Hoseok asks in an attempt to catch up.

"He died," Jimin says, "and I inherited it. I don't know what to do with it…what does one do with a botanical garden? I might sell it. It's in a good spot, being on the harbor. I think that's why my dad owned it."

"What do you mean?" Hoseok asks, blinking heavily—dizzy.

"Ugh, this conversation is boring," Jimin pouts, rolling over and draping his arm over Hoseok's body.

Hoseok realizes, from Jimin's touch, that he is lying in the grass naked—no, not on the grass, but maybe on his clothing. When he looks up, Jimin, on his left, and Taehyung, on his right, are also naked.

"I'm—we're—naked," Hoseok points out, and Taehyung chuckles.

"Don't worry, we didn't do anything. The grass was just getting itchy and the clothing felt constrictive. Do you feel better now?"

Hoseok says, "Yes," but he is unsure how he felt before.

"Good," Taehyung says, voice closer than Hoseok expects. Fingertips brush through Hoseok's hair, and he closes his eyes.

Time passes, and voices speak to and around and beneath and inside him. Hoseok struggles to keep up, only able to focus on the fingertips that occasionally lazily play with his hair.

"I miss him," Hoseok croaks, feeling tears rise. Around him, vines and branches twist and crowd, closing in on him—suffocating. He is still naked but sitting up. "I miss him so much. I shouldn't love him; I know I shouldn't love him. But I do."

Jimin reaches up and gently grabs Hoseok with both hands, cupping his cheeks and thumbing at his tears. His features twist and shape, soft to sharp to soft, clenching at Hoseok's heart. He asks, "You love him a lot, hmm?" and Hoseok sobs a laugh that is wet and disgusting, stuck in his throat.

"He saved my life," Hoseok mutters, staring Jimin in his ever-shifting eyes. "I was shot and the order was to wait until our team called all clear before they would come and assess me. But I was bleeding a lot and he…he stormed in and he killed the man right in front of me—the one who shot me—and he carried me out. Nobody would have…nobody could have ever done that for me."

Hoseok does not fault Namjoon for not being able to, and he hates that his brain considers the notion at all. Namjoon has neither the training nor life experience to have handled a situation like that; it all happened under unique, specific circumstances. But the truth stands that without Yoongi, Hoseok could have been in critical danger that night. There is a chance he could have died.

"It's unfair," Hoseok mutters, feeling as if the air is thickening around him and crushing him down into a pulp. "I didn't mean to love someone else. It's not fair, and what I did was not fair." Another sob works its way up into Hoseok's chest, and he leans forward into Jimin's hands, forehead resting against his. "I love him so much. I love him so much, Jimin; I don't know what to do. He's gone and a piece of me feels empty and I don't know what to do."

"What would you say to him if he were here?" Taehyung asks, making Hoseok gasp; he had forgotten briefly that there was a person sitting beside him, despite feeling the consistent warmth that Taehyung emits.

"Just that I love him," Hoseok mutters, sinking further down until Jimin's arms are wrapped around him, and his head is resting on Jimin's shoulder, warm skin on warm skin. "That I'm sorry. I'm sorry to him. I'm sorry to Namjoon. I'm sorry to Jeongguk. Everything is a mess that I cannot handle on my own, and I am sorry."

Hoseok continues to cry. He worries about being a burden and bringing the others down—after all, this could not have been what either of them hoped for when they set out to do drugs tonight. But he cannot help himself.

Briefly, it feels as if all the vines in the garden wrap around and lift him, slithering and writhing, holding him pliant—oppressive, but comforting. And then he opens his eyes, and he is laying on his back with his hands under his head, looking upward.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Taehyung asks, and Hoseok watches as the night sky flickers into view, stars twinkling in full display.

"Yeah," he mutters, licking at his dry lips. "Really beautiful."

There are moments as he stares at his surroundings when Hoseok watches everything twist back to normalcy. He thinks he may finally be evening out a little. The sky above looks a faint blue, as if light is beginning to seep into the dark but only ever so slightly, and he wonders if so many hours have passed that night is ending.

"How do you feel?" Taehyung asks so close that hot breath wafts over Hoseok's bare shoulder.

"Good," Hoseok says through a sigh, limbs loose and mind contented. There is still a buzz on the periphery of everything, and his eyelids flutter and tremble, but Hoseok thinks he is beginning to return to normalcy once more.

Jimin stands and stretches his limbs out, letting his head loll back as he sighs in a way that nearly sounds like a moan. Hoseok is stunned by the taut, firm muscle and soft, supple skin that makes up Jimin's form. He looks like someone who trains hard physically to stay in shape, like a dancer.

"It's rude to stare," Jimin drawls deeply, forcing Hoseok's eyes to his face.

"S-sorry," Hoseok begins, and Jimin grins mischievously as his hands rub over his pecs and down to his hips.

"Don't worry, baby," Jimin says sweetly, dropping to his knees and crawling to Hoseok, slotting his body beside him. "I know you like to look at me; you've been doing it all night. It's been hard keeping my hands off you, but…you know…the drugs."

Hoseok does not fully know, and he shakes his head, "What do you mean?"

With a soft chuckle, Jimin says, "I wanted to fuck you all night, but it's hard to consent when you're tripping, so I held my tongue—didn't wanna ask."

"Oh."

Suddenly, Hoseok's body sings with excitement, and he takes a deep breath. Fingertips trace over Hoseok's hip at the same time lips touch his shoulder, and he turns his head to find Taehyung's long, golden limbs cuddled very close.

"Glad I wasn't the only one thinking it," Taehyung mutters against Hoseok's skin, giving him goosebumps.

"But you're married," Jimin audibly pouts, forcing Hoseok's attention back to him.

"I'm—" Hoseok begins. He closes his eyes and attempts to get his head set straight, but fireworks burst brightly behind his lids, causing his entire body to feel electric and warm.

"What if we were them?" Taehyung asks so softly, Hoseok wonders if he imagines it.

"You could pretend," Jimin responds so close to Hoseok's face, he can smell his warm, tangy-sweet breath.

When Hoseok opens his eyes, the gardens tilt and sway—he is definitely still high, but not nearly as much as before. Jimin kisses his neck while Taehyung kisses his shoulder, and he shudders against the feeling and sighs.

"Don't you want me, Seokie?" Jimin asks, only the voice does not belong to Jimin—the words do not belong to him, either. Hoseok gasps and looks at him, finding Jimin's pretty round eyes going sharp once more.

"Yes," Hoseok mutters without giving it too much thought, drunk on the idea of fucking someone who can so easily look like Yoongi. "Need you."

"Are you consenting to just one of us?" Taehyung asks against Hoseok's skin. "Or both of us?"

"Both of you," Hoseok whimpers, eyes fluttering closed again, desperate to see Jeongguk one last time, "please."

"Sure you're not too high?" one of their voices asks.

"I am high," Hoseok admits, "but I don't think I'm too high."

"Tell us to stop if you get overwhelmed," the other voice says, "call your safeword if you need to."

Hoseok nods, says, "Yes, okay," and opens his eyes to Jimin hovering close, shifting and sharpening and softening.

When Hoseok reaches up and gently takes Jimin's face to pull him close, he feels an electric spark snap between his and Jimin's mouths. Jimin is pillow soft and salty-sweet, and Hoseok falls pliant at the feeling of a tongue and teeth scraping gently at his lip.

Limbs twist and tangle, and Hoseok cannot keep up with the warmth that engulfs him, moaning and sinking to the feeling of hands and mouths. Taehyung swallows his cock in one swift motion that has him sobbing into Jimin's open lips, and his body feels pulled taut, and ready to burst, each feeling magnified almost to the point of driving him mad. He is dreadfully hard but not sure whether he could actually come, chasing and chasing his high as Taehyung audibly gags around him, covering him in drool.

Jimin is gone but Taehyung is still here, and he has Hoseok flipped onto his stomach and is eating him out like a man starved. He keeps muttering shit like, "You taste so fucking good," and Hoseok's head absolutely spins. He is grateful the two of them are so intent on pleasing him; although he is returning to himself more and more, little by little, the thought of using his hands and mouth to make someone feel good is daunting, at best.

When Jimin returns, he gets between Hoseok's thighs and begins to prod him open with lube-slicked fingers. Hoseok could swear that with each moan, the flowers around him open a little wider and bloom a little brighter.

"Color?" Taehyung asks sweetly, petting the hair away from Hoseok's sweat-slicked forehead with a smile that shifts from rectangular to something almost resembling a long-lost friend.

"Green!" Hoseok sobs, feeling prised open and prodded at in a most delicious way. Jimin's movements are perfect, almost as if he knows Hoseok's body by heart.

Hoseok whimpers into Taehyung's open mouth, face held tightly in place as Jimin eases his cock into his ass, carving him slowly. The pleasure that bursts through his limbs causes him to tremble and shake violently.

"Color?" Taehyung mutters while sucking on the tip of Hoseok's tongue.

"Green," Hoseok responds as best as he can.

Blunt fingernails scrape down Hoseok's back, then Jimin grips tightly to his hips and slams forward, spearing his cock nice and deep, and asking, "Does this feel good, baby boy?"

"Yes, daddy," Hoseok whimpers into Taehyung's lips, fisting the loose, scattered clothing beneath his hands nice and tight, barely registering his own words.

Jimin sets a punishing pace, fucking Hoseok so hard and good that the only sounds he can make are choked sobs. When he finally gets the courage to sink Taehyung's cock into his throat—pleased with the lack of gag reflex—Taehyung grips tightly to Hoseok's hair and moans, "F-fuck! I'm still not used to how good this feels."

Hoseok is full and sated in the best way possible, and he sits pliant with his ass held high as Taehyung shifts onto his knees and begins to fuck his face. Tears, drool, and lube drip cool and sticky, making Hoseok feel used and dirty—elated.

"So fucking needy, baby," Jimin grits as if the words are hard to say. His hands squeeze and slap at Hoseok's flesh, making him tremble and whine—sputtering choked sounds and drooling around Taehyung's thick cock.

"I don't know if I can come, but I don't ever want to stop fucking you," Jimin whines.

"Same," Taehyung cries. "Holy fuck, this feels so good!"

Hoseok is certain that he will also be unable to come, and he has no desire to stop. He hardly feels sore where he is fucked or firm-touched, and his jaw is relaxed.

They change positions. Hoseok is on his back, watching with wide, greedy eyes as Taehyung lifts his ankles onto his shoulders and presses a lube-slick cock nice and deep and slow into him. Taehyung is much bigger than Hoseok expects and the pleasure-burn of the stretch has him fisting handfuls of grass and fabric while he pants through the feeling and sobs.

Jimin disappears and returns again shortly. "Danm, you two look so fucking good," he groans, making Hoseok blush and bite his bottom lip, feeling giddy.

As Taehyung begins to set a steady pace with his thrusts, Jimin crawls over Hoseok and wiggles his ass in his face. Hoseok grips onto Jimin's hips and pulls him close, lifting his head to lick and suck at Jimin's pretty, puckered rim. He tastes like heaven—heady and ever so slightly salty-sweet—and Jimin moans pretty and deep as he leans forward and trembles in Hoseok's grasp.

Hoseok only stops to gather clothing beneath his head like a pillow to support his neck better in his efforts to eat Jimin out. Taehyung fucks Hoseok hard and fast, and the three of them create a symphony of sounds between choked and screamed syllables, and the slapping of skin against skin.

Time is still an elusive thing, but it feels more tangible now than it has in hours. Hoseok is more able to stay in the present, although he seems to lose track between eating Jimin's ass and swallowing his cock nice and deep.

Sun begins to shine ahead, and as their bodies slow and begin to gradually wear down, they become less of a machine meant to fuck and please and take, and more a writhing tangle of limbs—heavy and tired.

"Let's sleep," Jimin mutters into Hoseok's drool-covered neck.

"Sounds good," Hoseok responds through trembling lips.

They gather their clothing and stumble naked through grass, along paths Hoseok hadn't taken, into a door that says Employees Only. Inside is a large room with a bed, a television, and more amenities that Hoseok is unable to fully comprehend—a coffee pot, maybe. Perhaps a microwave.

The three of them fall into bed, and Hoseok closes his eyes, thinking only of Yoongi and Jeongguk. And when he wakes up alone beside a pile of folded clothing, his heart sinks, and he misses the two of them more than ever before.

Hoseok is not one to wear out a welcome, and he gets dressed quickly. He is exhausted, and his thirst and hunger are so intense, his body feels like an empty husk. Although he trusts that Jimin and Taehyung have not robbed him, he pats down his pockets for his phone and wallet, and then he leaves, checking to make sure the door locks from the other side, in case the others will not be back until later.

People meander around the botanical garden, which feels a bit strange. Hoseok glances around, taking in the paths that lead into trees. He thinks about the small waterfall and wooden bridges; of the little river, and the koi fish. Vaguely, he remembers the fish on their way to work, and the mutant moths and butterflies, and the glittering blood shimmering into the stream. He looks at his palm and sees a tiny wooden splinter surrounded by pink, angry skin, and he picks at it for a few seconds before determining that it will need to be dealt with later.

As he makes his way to the exit, he tries to remember more, but the conversations are too hazy, and he struggles to make sense of much. There is a sinking feeling that the two of them told him something important, but all he can do is hope that it all comes back to him, at some point.

Hoseok feels strange in his body. Discombobulated, as if he is in someone else's skin for the first time. This sensation is not foreign, but it is not usual for him to feel this way without being jumped into a host. He has a looming sense of dread and loss that, no matter how much he tries to distract himself with people-watching and searching his surroundings, he is unable to shake.

He comes to a café that is between the botanical garden and his hotel, and he has a seat on the patio. When the server brings him a menu, Hoseok finds he struggles to read it, having a hard time focusing on the English words in front of him, breathing with his eyes closed so he can get a grip. He orders an omelet and coffee, and then grips tightly to a tall glass of water which he nearly finishes in two gulps. Then he fishes out his phone, eager for the first time in what seems like ages to know what time it is.

It takes Hoseok by surprise to see that it is three in the afternoon, but that would explain why the sun is so bright and hot. On his screen are two notifications, one from Namjoon and one from an unknown number. He assumes the unknown number belongs to Seokjin and opens Namjoon's first, noticing it has come in several hours ago, and responds in earnest.

Namjoon: Hey, Seok! Just checking in. Do you fly back soon? I want to discuss something with you when you have a chance to talk.

Hoseok: I fly back tomorrow, home probably some ungodly hour on Monday, but I will let you know when I know more. Do you want to call or wait until I'm home?

As soon as Hoseok opens the other message, it becomes clear that it is not from Seokjin, and his heart begins to thump wildly.

[Unknown]: Sorry we have to say goodbye this way, but our flight is soon. What will you be doing at precisely 8:30, tomorrow morning? There is something we want to discuss.

Hoseok: I will be here, likely waiting to board my flight home. Call when you're free, and I will make sure to be available.

Hoseok does not expect the others to respond so soon, and actually gasps at the sight of three dots bouncing, watching intently for the message to come.

[Unknown]: Sounds good. ;] Will call when we land. Thanks for the fun night, Seokie!

Hoseok's heart sinks, and he smiles through the urge to cry. How can he possibly miss the two of them so much, when he hardly spent any time with them—when the time spent was so strange and disorienting.

Hoseok: Thank you, as well! Safe travels!

Half of Hoseok's omelet is left uneaten. Although he still feels like a shell of his former self, he is also somewhat nauseous, and he sips at his coffee until it becomes too cold in the afternoon air, then he pays his check and leaves. Rather than make his way back to the hotel, Hoseok doubles back and begins to meander the streets, taking in the sights and sounds and allowing himself to remember them a little more.

Hoseok: My flight is tomorrow morning at 10:12, and I should be home just after midnight. Namjoon: Ok. I'm gardening with my mom right now, and we have dinner plans for later. Mind if I call around 6:30 in the morning, your time? I want to take my parents to breakfast, and you know they like to wake up really early.

Hoseok: Sure. That's fine. Namjoon: Great. Talk to you soon, Seok!

Hoseok: Sounds good.

Hoseok has restless sleep. He dreams of Yoongi and Jimin morphing into one another, speaking in tongues too soft and convoluted to understand, always just out of reach. He dreams of searching high and low for Namjoon and never finding him, and of Taehyung holding up a deflated, empty version of Jeongguk's skin in his fingers, fiddling with his facial features and commenting on them as if they used to be his.

When he wakes up in a cold sweat to the sound of his alarm blaring at 6 AM, he sighs and rolls over onto his back, blinking the room into view. The sun has yet to begin rising, but the sky that he can see hints of through dark curtains is a faint dark blue of twilight. Hoseok thinks of the sky through the glass ceiling of the botanical garden, and rolls onto his side as the urge to bawl snakes up into his throat and eyes, rocking through him in devastating waves.

Hoseok misses everyone he has ever loved so dreadfully, and he has no idea what comes next.

By the time his phone rings, Hoseok has stopped crying. He smiles at the photo of Namjoon on his screen—a picture taken so long ago, showing a crescent moon eye and deep, happy dimple.

"Hey," Hoseok mutters, voice sounding rough.

"Seok," Namjoon responds. "Sorry for calling so early."

Hoseok sits up against the headboard of the bed and pulls over the snot-stained pillow to hold against his chest. "It's alright, I wake up early, anyway."

"True."

Silence hangs, and Hoseok gives Namjoon time to gather his thoughts. Although he is eager—antsy, even—he has no reason to rush him.

"I took a job in Busan," Namjoon finally blurts.

Hoseok's eyes widen, and he sits up taller. "What?"

"I…listen…" Namjoon sighs. "I love you, but everything has been too much for me to handle. I'm getting angry and taking my anger out on you, and I can't stay focused at work. I just need a little space. I'm sorry for springing it all on you, especially over the phone, but…I don't know. I haven't been able to say it to your face. It's a temporary position training people at a new facility, six months at most, but I think it will be really good for me—for us."

"Okay," Hoseok butts in when it becomes clear that Namjoon will continue to ramble and spiral if he is not cut off. "I don't blame you for needing space. I'm sorry…about…everything."

With Namjoon's next words, his tone has shifted into something more stern and resolved. "Things have been weird between us, and I know that we won't fix them unless I take a step back."

"Okay."

"I don't want to date anyone else," Namjoon adds quickly, "and I don't want to get a divorce. I just need to take a little time."

The old familiar vines of guilt twist and twist as the memory of letting Jimin and Taehyung fuck Hoseok begins to seep in. "Alright."

"Have you heard from…you know?" Namjoon asks. "Them?"

"No," Hoseok says quickly, then sighs. "No, I haven't."

Namjoon's voice sounds sad and somewhat small as he asks, "Will you tell me if you have?"

"Of course," Hoseok lies, unsure what the circumstances could be, should he hear from them—unsure whether Jimin and Taehyung truly were not them, somehow; unsure which parts of his trip were real and which were not, struggling to grasp onto what they discussed throughout the night. "Of course, I will."

"Okay," Namjoon mutters. "Thank you, Seok."

"Anything you need," Hoseok says, feeling somewhat numb. Although Namjoon insists that it is all temporary, there is a finality in his tone that Hoseok detects. He knows Namjoon well enough. And, try as he might to feel sad, he struggles in this moment to feel much at all.

"I have to go. Mom wants to try a new breakfast spot, and dad is fussing about getting there before there's a crowd."

"Of course," Hoseok says with a sad smile; he misses Namjoon's parents. "Tell mom and dad I say hi."

"Will do."

"And let me know how the new position goes. I'm rooting for you, Joonie."

"Okay," Namjoon says softly. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Hoseok mutters, chest tightening. "Just take care of yourself. We'll talk soon."

"I love you, Seok."

Hoseok says, "I love you too," in a choked voice, hanging up before Namjoon can hear him cry. Suddenly, all of his emotion floods back, threatening to drown him.

This is the end, he thinks to himself.

Namjoon has a new job, and soon he will have a new life. Soon, with clarity of mind, he will fully understand the gravity of Hoseok's actions, and he will not forgive him. And why would he? Hoseok knows that what he has done is unforgivable.

This is the end, and everyone he has ever loved is gone. Hoseok cries into the pillow, sobbing loud and terrible as his body quakes, weathering the storm inside him. When crying becomes too much, he drifts off to a short, dreamless sleep, feeling both heavy and gutted all at once.

At the sound of his phone ringing, Hoseok rubs his snotty, tear-streaked face on the pillow and groggily sits up. He knows without looking at the screen who is calling, and he sniffles as he answers with a raspy, "Hello?"

"Hoba," Jimin's voice—Yoongi—says on the other line, making Hoseok's heart sink. "Hey, baby."

"Y-Yoongi?" Hoseok croaks, practically no sound coming out as his head spins.

"I'm sorry we couldn't fully be honest. Do you remember anything we told you last night?"

"No," Hoseok sobs, and tears rise, clouding his vision.

"It wasn't safe for you to know while we were there. It's still not safe. You need to break communication with Seokjin and turn your company's sights on him."

"What do you—"

"He's my brother," Jeongguk says in Taehyung's soft but deep voice; they must have him on speaker. "He's been tracking us down and trying to kill me. I didn't realize until recently that he and dad have been working together. It's…a long story. He's been on the run for so long, I didn't think he would come back, but when Yoongi's father died, it seems he got paranoid. I think he's been protecting dad. We had to change our identities. Now do you understand?"

"I think so," Hoseok mutters, "but why—"

"It all happened so fast," Jimin's voice responds. "It was my idea to run. We wanted to tell you, but we were unsure which lines of communication were safe."

"Not to mention," Taehyung's voice adds, "since you did so much to help us, you deserve to know that this was the reason we wanted the implants, all along."

"Oh," Hoseok responds, remembering back when he and Yoongi were in the hospital, and Yoongi said, You're our hope.

"I'm sorry we had to leave without saying anything," Jimin's voice chimes in, deep and sad, with a slight rasp that feels familiar. "We knew all along that we would eventually have to say goodbye, and we tried not to get too close, but…well, you guys made that pretty difficult for us. And when your company began to look into us, as Jimin and Taehyung, I knew that Seokjin was at the heart of it."

"We started appearing out in public a little carelessly, hoping he would lead you to us," Taehyung's voice adds, "we wanted to see you one last time."

"But we had to keep hiding," Jimin's voice says. "He knows my dad owned the botanical garden as a drug front, staying close to the harbor. We've had our own security team tailing us while trying to be as public as possible, for you to notice us."

"We were weary at first," Taehyung's voice adds, "spending a little time watching you to make sure you were alone."

"Sorry we had to keep so much a secret," Jimin's voice continues, sounding sad. "I love you, Hoba. You know that, right?"

Hoseok attempts to respond—wants to tell Yoongi so badly that he loves him more than he could ever put into words. But the syllables choke and fail, and he sobs so hard his chest feels as if it might be caving in. He tightens up into a ball, hugging the pillow and his knees tight to his chest, squeezing the phone against his ear.

"When the coast is clear, we can come back," Taehyung's voice finally says. "Our bodies aren't dead, they're just…"

"Resting," Jimin's voice adds. "Frozen. If you can help us get rid of Seokjin and Jaebeom, we can come home."

For all he knows, the two of them could be using him again—toying with him in some new scheme, just as they had been in the beginning. But Hoseok cannot bring himself to care. Not when there is a goal. Not when he has a chance to see the two of them again.

"Can you submit a formal request?" Hoseok asks. "If The Boss knows it's you, she'll—"

"We can, but we don't want her to know," Taehyung's voice responds.

"Wait, why?"

"We're not fully sure we can trust her," Jimin's voice adds sternly. "She seemed to know my dad well, and although she was willing to call the execution order, she always seemed to have ulterior motives…something she was not telling us. When she almost left you in the warehouse to die, it opened my eyes. We'll be contacting her with agents who we have been working with, once we have our story straight, but only you will know that it is us."

"If you can do this one last job, it will all be over," Taehyung's voice says.

"We can return to our former selves, and you can take that vacation you talked about," Jimin's voice adds.

"I could retire," Hoseok mutters under his breath.

"Maybe the four of us—" Taehyung's voice begins, and Hoseok scoffs, cutting him off.

"Namjoon's gone."

In tandem, one voice asks, "Huh?" while the other asks, "What do you mean?"

"He took a job in Busan. He's been staying with his parents. We've…we're not getting along anymore. He says he wants to clear his head and have some space, but I know him; I could hear it in his voice. I don't think he's coming back."

"Hyung," Taehyung's voice says in a comforting tone, but Hoseok shakes his head for no one to see.

"It's fine. Regardless, I can't look forward to him coming back. I can't keep my hopes up. If he does, then I will do my best to be there for him, but I have already fucked up so much that I can't look forward to it."

"I'm sorry, Hoba," Jimin's voice mutters sweetly.

With a sigh, Hoseok begins to feel antsy to pack his suitcase and get to the airport. He just wants to return to his empty home, climb into bed, and close his eyes to the world.

"Submit your request when you're ready and I'll see what we can do," Hoseok says, sitting up, feeling his tear streaks finally begin to dry.

"Will do," Jimin's voice says. "Safe travels, Hoba. We're going to head off to another continent soon. We'll try to keep in touch."

"What about the real Jimin and Taehyung?" Hoseok asks, unsure whether he wants the answer.

"Ah," Jimin's voice says, "they're…dead."

"Dead," Hoseok responds flatly.

"They were in a coma," Jimin's voice continues, "and their families were going to take them off life support. The hospital had been working with my father in some shady dealings…essentially handing over nearly-dead people as test subjects whose bodies could be jumped into—pretending to take patients off life support in front of their families, faking identities, and so on."

"How does the company fake open casket funerals?" Hoseok asks through a dark laugh.

"Artist renderings," Jimin's voice responds with a sardonic chuckle of his own. "You would be amazed what they can do with wax, clay, and paint. I touched one of the fake bodies once, and the texture was uncanny…I wouldn't be surprised if they were using real, human skin. I didn't want to ask. It's morally grey at best…pretty fucked up, honestly…but we saw an opportunity and we took it."

Taehyung chimes in, "Jimin and Taehyung were a couple. They went into a coma while using cocaine that was laced with fentanyl…ironic, considering that was the charge we were using to put a stop to our dads, in the first place. Jimin was pronounced dead first, and then Taehyung three days later. We left Korea, and their families have no idea."

"You know I have to shut that program down," Hoseok mutters, feeling both disappointed but relieved that they had such a convenient way to escape.

"We'll add it to the file," Jimin's voice says, smile evident in his tone. "Give us a few days…a week at most."

"Alright," Hoseok says, feeling a strange sense of resolve. "Submit your request as soon as possible, and I will do whatever it takes. And keep in touch, please?"

"Of course," Jimin's voice says, "I love you, Hoba."

"I love you, too. Both of you. Very much."

"Be safe," Taehyung's voice says, clenching at Hoseok's heart.

"You too. And thank you for the trip. It was…strange. But perfect, too. I can't pinpoint why, but it was exactly what I needed."

"I know," Jimin's voice says. "I know you."

Silence hangs on the line, and Hoseok holds his breath, counting the seconds. For the life of him, he cannot bring himself to end the call.

"Alright," Jimin's voice says, "This is goodbye, for now. I don't know when we will be in touch, but I promise you, we will."

"Okay," Hoseok responds sullenly. "Goodbye. I love you."

"I love you," the voices say, followed by, "Goodbye."

Hoseok hangs up and clenches his phone tightly to his chest. Everything feels final in a way, but also hopeful. He at least has something to set his sights on, and although he laments on how events have happened, he is just glad to know that everyone who he holds dear is safe. Despite how everything hangs in the balance, shrouded with so many unknown factors that only time can unravel, he has a goal, and he feels hopeful.

Despite his deep loneliness, he feels loved.

"Alright," Hoseok mutters to himself, stretching his limbs and kicking the hotel bedding away. The sun shines brightly through the dark curtains, and he glances around the space with a sigh. "Time to go home."

Tuesday comes and goes with Hoseok barely leaving bed. Namjoon had already packed and moved out many of his belongings, and everything feels too fucking weird to comprehend.

On Wednesday morning, Hoseok returns to work bright and early.

The Boss waits for him beside his office door, clutching a manila folder in her grasp. She wears a black satin shirt with a ruffled neckline tucked into a bright red pencil skirt and sharp, black high heels. Hoseok wonders what new client she is trying to impress.

"New case," she says as Hoseok approaches. "Seems the guys Kim Seokjin were after are pulling an uno reverse and filing a claim against him."

"Oh?" Hoseok asks, taking the file and unlocking his office door.

When The Boss says nothing, Hoseok turns and finds her standing with her arms folded over her chest, regarding Hoseok with a lifted eyebrow.

"Yes?" he asks, making her scoff.

"What did you find in Australia?" she asks after a moment.

"Nothing," Hoseok says, schooling his features to appear impassive. "I spent the weekend chasing ghosts. I have a hunch the two of them caught onto me being there and fled; perhaps they knew Seokjin was asking me to look into them."

"Hmm," The Boss responds, unconvinced. "So you don't think Jimin and Taehyung could be Yoongi and Jeongguk?"

With a shrug, Hoseok flips through the file, catching onto keywords on the first two pages, and then says, "If it is them, we likely won't know until Seokjin is removed from the equation. Maybe your earlier hunch is correct, and Seokjin is protecting his father from Jeongguk. If these two are Yoongi and Jeongguk, then the hit on them may have been real, rather than a decoy…but for now, there is no way to know."

"Well, I want you on this case as the point person, so once you are ready to meet with the agents who have filed this report, let me know and we can discuss the details. Unfortunately, it seems our Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung have fled to the United States, but we have a phone number on file in case we need to get in touch with them."

"Sounds good," Hoseok says, turning to make his way to his desk.

"If you think it really is them, then I want to treat this case with the utmost urgency," The Boss adds, and for the first time, Hoseok thinks he might detect something like fondness, maybe even worry in her tone. "If it really is our boys, then I have a feeling that key players from Min's former team could be helping them out. Maybe they know something about the technology that could help us. Either way, I want our boys home safe."

"Okay," Hoseok says, resolved with his new task, feeling hopeful. The sooner he kills Kim Seokjin and Jeon Jaebeom, the sooner he can bring Yoongi and Jeongguk home. Luckily for them, nobody is better at this task than Jung Hoseok. "We'll do whatever it takes. We'll bring our boys home."

wow. here we are, at the end. when i set out to write this fic, all i wanted to explore were the messy feelings and the body swap smut/selfcest. i kind of intended for it to be a whirlwind that has no solid ending, but then i became too busy to update frequently. i hope that this ending, after all this time, does not feel like a letdown. i rather like the idea of everything being up in the air and hopeful. i can't, in good conscious, give them a truly happy ending after everything they have put each other through, but giving them a concrete sad ending also breaks my heart. like yoongi and jungkook, i set out on this mission to perform a quick and dirty job and get the fuck out, but i grew attached.

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this fic. my writing style has completely changed from chapter 1...it hardly feels like the same person when i look back at it. i love this story a lot, and it is an honor that you have spent time reading it with me. it is one of the more experimental ones on my list, and despite its longevity, it gets very little love compared to my other fics. if you have ever read, commented, reblogged, or liked, you mean the world to me!!! i am so sad to say goodbye to these four, but a massive weight has been lifted. it has been so long, and we are finally here, and i am very grateful. 💛💛💛 stay hydrated!!! i love you!!! if you have any questions involving the characters or events, or if you want to discuss possibilities about their futures, i am happy to wax poetic day and night!

maybe one day i will write an epilogue. we'll see.

please don’t be a silent reader! feedback & reblogs do so much to help content creators! and likes are nice too!!!

tag list: @codeinebelle, @dasexydevitt13, @giriiboyy, @jminssiii @m1sss1mp, @mgthecat, @moonleeai, @spookyminyunki ✨

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#hoseok smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #bts smut #bts poly #bts angst #fic: dollhouse

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